Harlequin Historical June 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Substitute Countess\Reforming the Viscount\The Sword Dancer by Lyn Stone

Author:Lyn Stone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

There was no fathoming the riddle that was Lydia Morgan. And there was no point in trying. This was, after all, just a brief affair, on which he’d embarked to purge himself of her, once and for all.

And if last night had left him longing for more, well, that was no bad thing. On the contrary, it would have made staying here deuced awkward if he’d felt reluctant to have her back in his bed again.

Nicholas took one last look at himself in the mirror to check that his face revealed nothing of the turbulence coursing through his mind. He was going to have to greet Lydia in a few moments, over the breakfast cups, without raising suspicions about what they’d become to each other, to any of the other guests.

So the last thing he should be doing was dwelling on the way she’d discarded her clothing so impatiently, before fulfilling every fantasy he’d ever had. Or how she’d looked like a goddess, her limbs bathed in moonlight as she’d stalked imperiously to his bed. How it had all seemed more like a dream than anything he’d ever experienced.

Until the end. When they’d descended into bickering over...well, he still wasn’t sure quite what.

He tugged his waistcoat down, strode to the door and snatched it open. That was what he should be remembering when he next looked at her. The disappointment—nay, the rancour of their parting. That would give him a demeanour totally suitable for a public breakfast table.

It had been so typical of Lydia. If anyone had the right to feel annoyed, surely it was he? For the way she’d pushed him aside when she’d had enough of him, for one thing. Just as she had all those years ago. She’d used him to keep her spirits up while she’d been husband-hunting, but actually marry him? Oh, no. And he might be good for a romp, but actually feel anything? Not she.

He grimaced. That very prosaic little voice, complaining he was crushing her, had brought him back down to earth with a bump, and just as well, too, or heaven alone knew what he might have said, or done. For it hadn’t been tenderness he’d thought he’d detected under all those passionate kisses at all. He’d seen, and only just in time, that she had not been making frantic love to him at all. That she was nothing more than a sex-starved widow, revelling in finally getting her hands on a firm, young male body.

A bitter smile curved his lips as he descended the stairs to the main part of the house. He’d exceeded all her expectations, to judge by the shocked look on her face when he’d started taking her for the second time. Oh, yes, he’d given her a night to remember, all right. And the irony was that if only she hadn’t dismissed his proposal out of hand they could have had eight years of nights like that one.

So what had she meant by

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