Page 37 of The Lady’s Sweet Revenge

Chapter Thirteen

Reese made himself too busy after luncheon to join Harlow for their usual afternoon activities. He’d needed some time alone without her on his mind. But as he sat in his study looking over the books and drinking whisky at an ungodly early hour, he was still thinking of her.

He’d grown too comfortable with her, because she’d been here so long. But any day now, his mother should arrive and he could be done with Lady Harlow and all the temptation she had become to him.

She was a danger to his peace of mind, and he’d embraced it rather than wanting her to leave. Surely he was going mad.

When he decided avoiding her wasn’t helping, he went to the library to find she was already there, spread out across his settee as she did in the evenings as they read. She’d kicked off her boots and while her feet were tucked demurely under her skirts, he still knew they were there.

Of course, her feet would be attached to her legs under her dress. This kind of thinking was why he was concerned for madness.

“Are you well, my lord?”

He blinked. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…”

She didn’t have a word for what he was either. Perhaps she was too polite to use the word mad to describe him.

“Agitated,” she finished.

“Agitated?” He played the word across his tongue and found it suited somewhat. She had riled his blood like no other woman had done before.

“Shall we read? Do you wish me to start tonight?” he asked to move things along.

“That would be lovely,” she said though she continued to watch him too closely.

As he read the words on the page, he felt her gaze upon him, studying him. He didn’t dare look up for to see her with her attention focused on him might be the last strand of his restraint.

He wanted her. Desperately. But she was a maiden, and he’d not debauch a virgin. If she would have agreed to marry him, she’d no longer be a maid.

But she hadn’t.

Thea Stonecliff—make that Thea Hayes now—would likely be upset with the disregard with which he was reading her latest book. He read the words in the order they were printed on the page, but that was all he could say for it. For a thousand pounds he couldn’t tell anyone what had happened in the last chapter.

When it was Harlow’s turn to read, Reese was careful not to touch any part of her hand when he passed the book to her. He’d thought it would be a reprieve, but listening to her soft, smoky voice read to him was just a different form of the same torment.

He wanted her. And he could never have her.

It seemed their bold conversation on the beach today had irreparably broken something between them. He wished to fix it, but what was the point? She would leave to her home soon enough, and next Season she would marry a man of her choosing. She’d have the life she wanted and he would have what he wanted. To be alone.

Except, it was becoming clearer by the minute that was no longer what he wanted.

He wanted her, the thought repeated again, as if hoping for a different answer. But it was the same.

He could never have her.

*

When Harlow had read her chapter, she moved to pass the book back to Reese, but he was not paying any attention. It looked as if he was studying the painting on the ceiling. If she was correct it was a depiction of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, with a falcon on her hand as she rode a stag. Of course, like most portrayals of goddesses, she was bare chested.

Breasts again. Whatever did men find so very appealing about them?

Whether it was the breasts or something else, it was clear the earl was distracted this evening. She’d barely seen him through the day and she wondered if he would join her for their nightly reading. She was almost surprised when he entered the room. Though perhaps she wasn’t wrong, for while he was here physically, his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Did he wish her to leave his home? He was a man who enjoyed his peace and quiet. She was a guest who had likely overstayed her welcome. Maybe he’d grown weary of her impertinent questions. She’d gone too far during their walk, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize, even if she should.

“It is your turn, my lord,” she said holding out the book for him. He turned toward her and took it but didn’t start reading.