Page 61 of Lyon of Least Resistance

At a nod from James, the two footmen cleared the bowls and began serving the main course, a joint of lamb that they placed before James. As he stood to carve, he met Cordelia’s gaze and gave her a smile, and the remainder of the meal passed without incident.

After the meal finished, James rose.

“Ladies, I’ll bid you goodnight. Margaret, it’s time you retired. See to it, will you, Georgiana?”

“But…”

“We’ve heard enough from you tonight. Please do as I say.”

Georgiana frowned, but she rose and approached the door. “Come on, Margaret, if I must deal with you.”

The younger sister scraped back her chair as Cordelia was rising. She approached Cordelia, hesitated, then rushed forward and embraced her. Cordelia blinked back tears at the onslaught of honest, artless affection, and she placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

“Margaret, that’s enough,” James said. “Don’t crowd my wife. She’s not—”

“It’s all right, James. I-I find it…” Cordelia hesitated as her voice caught and she bit her lip to suppress a sob.

Margaret pulled back. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You haven’t,” Cordelia said. “Quite the opposite.”

“Goodnight, Cordelia,” Margaret said. Then she lowered her voice. “Sister.”

A tear splashed onto Cordelia’s cheek and she wiped it away.

“Hurry along,” James said. “I’m eager for my port.”

Margaret skipped toward Georgiana, who frowned, and the two of them exited the drawing room, Georgiana’s sharp tones accompanied by Margaret’s softer voice fading into the distance.

Cordelia rose and approached the door.

“Are you well?”

The deep voice resonated in her bones and she turned to see her husband standing beside her.

“I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

He placed a hand on her arm and she stiffened, suppressing the firebolt of need. He’d hardly touched her since they had taken breakfast that morning, and her body’s craving for him had swelled to the point of agony.

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.

“W-will you be visiting me tonight?” she said, hardly daring to meet his gaze.

He let out a sigh. “I’m tired also.”

She nodded and they exited the dining room. They parted at the foot of the stairs and, without a backward glance, he approached a half-open door behind which a warm, welcoming light flickered.

“James?”

He stiffened, then turned to face her, his eyes glowing in the light from the chandelier.

“I am not Dahlia,” she said. “I’m Cordelia.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You think of Dahlia when you look at me,” she said. “Did you only ever want Dahlia as your whore—and never as a wife?”

He blinked, and the shame in his eyes almost broke her heart.