Spinster with a Scandalous Past by Sadie King

Author:Sadie King
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises ULC
Published: 2023-12-02T12:58:21+00:00

It took Louisa a few minutes to locate Charlotte, following the trail of her giggles as they echoed around the ground floor of the house. In the end she found her in a cosy parlour, sitting far too close to Mr Liddell on a green velvet sofa and enjoying a cup of tea. Neither of them got to their feet when she walked in; they were far too deep in some whispered flirtation.

Even in her turmoil, it occurred to Louisa that they were as brazen as each other. She didn’t wish to consider what Charlotte’s mother would think of this scene, if she was here to witness it.

‘Miss Conrad, do join us for some tea,’ Mr Liddell said in the end, gesturing towards one of the seats opposite. ‘Is my brother not with you?’

Louisa shook her head as she sat down. ‘No... No—he has some business to attend to,’ she lied. ‘He will be here momentarily.’

Mr Liddell clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. ‘That sounds like my brother—all business and no pleasure.’

That last word made Louisa’s heart flutter, and she felt a sudden heat grow in her cheeks. ‘I’m sure his tenants appreciate his endeavours,’ she replied flatly.

‘Are you all right, Louisa?’ Charlotte asked. ‘You look a little flushed.’

Louisa nodded, then sipped her tea, and was grateful when Charlotte and Mr Liddell’s attentions returned to each other. She sat rigid in her seat, listening to the pair of them talk about nothing much, while her mind ran skittishly over everything that had occurred in the library.

Isaac had kissed her, and she had allowed it—more than allowed it, in fact, since she had kissed him in return. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she relived the moment: the soft touch of his lips against hers, the rough hint of stubble brushing her neck, the muscular solidity of his arm beneath her hand. She’d wanted to touch those arms ever since he’d rolled up his sleeves and set about fetching Don Quixote. A glimpse of his bare skin, sun-kissed and covered by a layer of fine dark hair, was all it had taken to send her mind to places it ought not to go.

She supposed it was little wonder that she’d surrendered herself so completely to his kiss, when even the mere sight of his flesh seemed to place her on the cusp of ruination.

All the more reason that they must no longer see each other.

At least she’d had the presence of mind to end their embrace. To be firm with him. To tell him that it should not have happened, and to remind him of her grief, of the man she’d loved and lost. That had been as much as she’d been able to say.

There was so much more she could never say to him—so much more he could not know. About her, about her past, about why she was not the sort of woman he should attach himself to.

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