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She was feeling happy.
She had told Constantine that she loved him, and she was not sorry. She did love him, and it had needed to be said. She expected nothing in return—at least, so she persuaded herself. But too many things were left unsaid in life, and their unsaying could make the whole difference to the rest of life.
She had told him she loved him.
They had scarcely spoken to each other all afternoon. It was not that they had avoided each other. But they had both been involved in playing with the children and conversing with the neighbors, and their paths had hardly crossed.
Of course, she had made no great effort to see to it that they did cross. She felt embarrassed, truth be told. She knew he would not laugh at her for telling him such a thing, but …
What if he did?
She was not going to brood. There was one whole evening of her house party left, and though everyone would undoubtedly be tired, they would also enjoy relaxing together in the drawing room, she believed. She was looking forward to relaxing with them.
And she believed she had female friends who would remain friends after they had all returned to London. Friends in addition to Barbara, that was. She had felt the friendships this afternoon—Cassandra and her two sisters-in-law, even Mrs. Park and Mrs. Finch. Both Lady Montford and the Countess of Sheringford had found a moment in which to invite her to call them by their given names. Katherine and Margaret.
If only she could find the courage to be her i
Life was complicated. And exciting. And uncertain. And …
Well, and definitely worth living.
“That will do nicely, Adèle,” she said, turning her head from side to side so that she could see her hair in the mirror. It was prettily piled and curled without being overelaborate.
She wore a gown of deep rose pink. She had intended to wear no jewelry, but the low neckline was too bare without anything. A single diamond pendant—a real diamond—hung from a silver chain. And on her left hand she wore the most precious of her rings, her wedding present, along with her wedding ring.
“That will be all, thank you,” she said, and she gazed at her image for a while after her maid had left the room. She tried, as she occasionally did, to see herself as others saw her. In London, of course, she always made sure that other people saw her a certain way. But here? She had felt friendship here during the past few days. Apart from the fact that she was the hostess, she had felt as if no one viewed her as being any more special than any of the other ladies.
Was it her clothing? She had not worn white even once. Or her hair? It was more formally dressed tonight than at any time since she had come into the country, but even now it was not as elaborate as she wore it in town. Or her relative lack of jewelry?
Or was it something else? Had her guests seen during the past few days what she was seeing now? Simply herself?
Was she able to inspire love, or at least liking and respect, as herself?
She was not the only beautiful woman in the world, after all. Even here. Cassandra and her sisters-in-law were all strikingly good-looking. Mrs. Finch was pretty. So were Maria
Ha
She hoped for the sake of both him and Constantine that that situation would resolve itself soon.
“TOMORROW NIGHT,” he said, gazing up at stars too numerous to count. “My carriage at eleven o’clock. At my house by quarter past—not one second later. And in my bed at twenty past. Not to sleep. Be prepared for an orgy to end orgies.”
She laughed softly, her head on his arm.
They were lying on the bank of the lake. Everyone was pleasantly weary after the children’s party and picnic and quite content to sit about the drawing room after di
His female cousins and Cassandra were actually calling her Ha
“You must not expect to hear any argument from me,” she said now. “But having made such a boast, Constantine, you must live up to expectations. I insist upon it.”
“I’ll be going down to Ainsley the next morning,” he said. “I must go. Everything is probably settled happily by now, but I must go in person to smooth things over with Kincaid and the other neighbors. And to thank Wexford for handling the matter on my behalf. And to assure Jess that I am certainly not disappointed in him. I may not see you for a week or more.”
“That will be tiresome,” she said. “But I daresay I shall survive, you know. And I daresay you will too. You must go.”
Suddenly the end of the Season seemed not very far off at all. Indeed, if it were not for his affair with the duchess, he would probably decide that it was not worth coming back to London this year. But he could not contemplate putting an end to their affair quite yet. And perhaps …
Well, he would think of that some other time.
She had told him this morning that she loved him. What exactly had she meant by that? It was not a question he could ask aloud, though he would dearly like to know the answer.
“In the meantime …” He slid his arm from beneath her head, raised himself onto one elbow, and looked down at her. “Tomorrow night seems a long way away.”
He bent his head and kissed her—a lazy exploration, first with his lips, then with his tongue deep inside her mouth.
“It does,” she agreed with a sigh when he raised his head again.
He rubbed his nose back and forth across hers.
“I will respect your wishes, Duchess,” he said, “even though your guests probably have their own idea of what is going on between us out here. Let me love you without dishonoring those wishes.”
“How?” She reached up one hand and set her forefinger along his slightly crooked nose.
“No penetration,” he said. “I promise.”
“And so respectability will be preserved,” she said. “Everything but penetration, and our guests believing the worst. It is the story of my life.”
He rose up onto his knees and straddled her body. He slid her gown off her shoulders and beneath her breasts and smoothed his hands over her, fondled her, rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, lowered his head to suckle them one at a time, and kissed her mouth again, his fingers tangling in her hair, his tongue sucked deep and then luring hers into his mouth to be suckled in its turn.
Her hands pressed over his back, under his shirt, down inside his drawers.
She was hot with passion.
He was throbbing with need.
Not a good idea after all. And what the devil difference would it make if he entered her and rode to completion with her? It was what they both wanted. It was what they had both lived without for far too many days and nights.
He moved to one side of her, his mouth still on hers, and slid a hand beneath her skirt, up over the smoothness of her silk stockings, along the heated flesh of her i