Page 79 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“But not when among Society?”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Out here, Society can go to the devil.” He rose and pulled her to a sitting position. “May I ask you something?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Will you let me visit you tonight?”

“You’ve no need to ask me, James,” she said. “I’m the woman who will never resist. I’m a—”

“You’re my wife,” he said, pressing a finger against her lips. “And you don’t have to lie with me out of duty or obligation.” He caressed her lips with his thumb. “Or to stay alive, or earn your keep. You must only lie with me because you choose to.”

She stared at him, her eyes flaring. Then she blinked, and the apprehension in her expression disappeared. Dare he hope that he might, one day, see trust in them?

“Then,” she said, lifting her hand and placing it on his cheek, “I choose to.”

Chapter Nineteen

The fire cast a soft-orange light about the bedchamber that flickered as the flames danced and crackled. As she slipped into the bed, Cordelia let her gaze wander over the painting on the wall opposite. The reflections of her candle in the glass frame obscured the details of the painting, but she had long since memorized the roses—every line, every stroke of the brush.

Today had reminded her of the evenings she’d spent with James in the Lyon’s Den: evenings of companionship when he’d spoken of his love of the countryside. Some evenings they had largely sat together in silence, comfortable merely being together, with no need to speak.

Most men visited whores for physical gratification and the chance to indulge in exerting power over a woman. But James had visited because he’d nobody else to talk to on matters other than the management of his estate, or Society gossip, and his quiet innocence had won her heart.

Though he was surrounded by peers, acquaintances, and servants, he was the loneliest man Cordelia had ever known. Perhaps lonelier even than Cordelia herself. At least she’d had Isidore, Puck, and her other friends at the Lyon’s Den—people to whom she could reveal her heart and from whom she could seek comfort and counsel.

James had nobody.

Except me.

But the man with whom she’d fallen in love had disappeared the night of their marriage, when he’d discovered that the bride he’d sold himself to in order to further his family’s prospects was the whore he visited at the Lyon’s Den. That recognition had cracked the terrain between them, opening up a fissure like a jagged wound.

But today, by preparing a picnic for her, James had begun to heal that wound. After sharing a slice of game pie left over from last night’s supper, washed down with Mrs. Vaughan’s lemonade, they’d spent the remainder of the afternoon seated on the picnic blanket, lulled by the musical notes of the waterfall. There, they had settled into the companionable silence that only those completely at ease in each other’s company could endure without discomfort.

She caught sight of a shadow at the bottom of her door, then someone knocked.

“James?”

The door opened to reveal her husband, his skin glowing in the warm light of the fire. Her mouth watered at the sight of him—the perfectly formed body that exuded the athleticism of the aristocrat who preferred the outdoor life, the muscles of his chest that nestled together in pairs, the dusting of blond hair on his chest that grew thicker lower down, and…

Her pulse quickened and she squeezed her thighs together to temper the flare of heat in her center.

Inexperienced in the bedchamber he might be, but he was ready for her. His swollen member jutted toward her, already glistening at the tip.

“Cordelia.” He spoke in a low growl that elicited a pulse of desire deep within her body.

She drew back the bedsheet and he approached.

“I find myself a little disappointed in my wife.”

Her stomach clenched with shame and she reached for the bedsheet to cover herself, but he raised his hand.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Do you not wish to know the cause of my disappointment?”

He took another step toward the bed.

“My wife is overdressed.”

She reached for her neckline to unlace her gown, and he leaped forward.