The Mistake by Lily Maxton

Author:Lily Maxton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical romance, regency romance, romance novel, England romance, courtesan historical romance, courtesan romance, reunion romance, childhood sweethearts romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Scandalous)
Published: 2015-03-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

It had been, Adam thought later, a moment of pure weakness. He’d volunteered to untangle her hair under the guise of friendly concern—which couldn’t have been further from the truth. There was nothing remotely friendly about his interest. He’d wanted to feel her skin under his hands as soon as he’d seen her that night. He’d wanted to trace the elegant, pale column of her throat that was revealed when she’d tipped her head back to look at the stars. He would have uttered any lie to be able to touch her in that moment.

He’d been praying that Molly was already asleep when they’d walked to his cottage.

His prayers had been answered.

His own potent reaction didn’t surprise him. But her reaction had. When his tongue had traced her skin, she’d exploded with movement like a fox being run to ground. In her eyes, he’d seen that wide-eyed hunted look. He’d seen fear.

Not the sort of smooth reaction one would expect from a courtesan.

The only answer was that she’d been affected, too, and affected strongly. The knowledge was satisfying and thrilling, and at the same time, horrible. Because all he could offer her was a small cottage. And himself. And, what, exactly, was that worth in her world?

Even if she wanted Adam, she would fight it. Like a wild, wily fox surging through the forest, every instinct pointing toward survival.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

…

After falling into a restless sleep just before dawn, Julia slept late, too late to find Adam while he weeded the flowerbeds.

She moved through the day like a mindless automaton, barely aware of her surroundings or her actions. All she was really aware of was the imprint of Adam’s hand against her chest, still warm, as if she’d left him only a moment ago.

It felt as though, with that one subversive touch, he’d claimed her. Branded her.

A ridiculous notion. One could not claim another person simply by pressing a hand to their chest. Even if that touch had felt like heaven and warm chocolate and bliss, all rolled into one.

By the early evening, she was feeling like less of an automaton and more restless. She couldn’t sit still for more than a moment without starting to fidget, so she fetched her bonnet and gloves and decided to walk to the village. Perhaps if she kept her bonnet low on her face, she would be able to look around the shops for awhile without anyone recognizing her.

She nodded to some of the lower gardeners, who were pushing rollers across the lawn in preparation for scything, as she passed them. Their glances felt a little too interested, but she ignored them.

Halfway there, she heard the rumble of wheels on the dirt road ahead of her. She glanced up. A curricle was coming toward her, going too fast, which was fairly typical—the men who drove them were usually young and liked to think of themselves as daredevils.

She kept an eye on the equipage as it drew closer, wondering if she should step off the road.

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