that had been deliberately designed to entice, Christian had realized after he returned to England and learned that she had married another man, another earl, in the three short months of his absence.
He found the confident woman who now stood before him, her every thought a mystery to him, totally frustrating and yet no less intriguing.
His mouth firmed. “What time will you come to me tonight?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed before answering. “Does eleven o’clock suit?”
Christian’s brows rose. “You do not intend to join me for dinner first?”
She eyed him coolly. “For what purpose?”
He scowled. “So that we might engage in conversation before the bedding.”
“Again, for what purpose?” She eyed him disdainfully. “The rakish life you have led these past four years holds no more interest for me than I am sure my own more sedate one does for you.”
“Very well.” Christian breathed his irritation with her coolness. “I will expect you here at eleven o’clock this evening. And I will endeavor to ensure there is no lingering odor of ‘cheap liquor or even cheaper perfume’!” he taunted as she straightened her appearance in preparation for leaving.
Christian remained where he was for several more minutes after Sylvie’s departure, knowing there was something about her acquiescence to becoming his mistress that was...not quite right. Oh, there was no denying her physical response to him the previous evening, or his own determination that Sylvie would become his mistress. But she had fought her own attraction to him last night, been determined that she would not give in to him, that she had no intention of ever becoming ‘his woman’. Even under her own terms.
Something had happened to change her mind in those intervening hours, and despite what Sylvie said to the contrary, Christian did not believe for one moment that it had anything to do with those other gentlemen ‘pressing’ for her attention.
“Would you care to join me in a glass of port?” Christian indicated the decanter on the table beside him as he remained seated in an armchair beside the unlit fireplace, looking across the room to where Sylvie stood hesitantly beside the door Smith had recently closed behind her, and looking ethereally beautiful in a gown of deep gold. “Or perhaps you would prefer a glass of wine?”
Sylvie was more than a little disconcerted to find herself in a room that was so obviously Christian Ambrose’s private domain, serving as both a library and his study, if the book-lined walls and the cluttered desk in front of the window were any indication.
She was even more disturbed by Christian, his appearance impeccable and stylish this evening, in a dark-green superfine worn over a paler-green waistcoat and snowy-white linen, buff pantaloons outlining the muscled strength of his legs above shiny black Hessians. His dark curls looked slightly damp, as if he had recently bathed, the squareness of his jaw showing no evidence of this morning’s stubble.
A pity his manners did not match that gentlemanly appearance. But no doubt his neglecting to stand up when she had entered the room was an indication of their arrangement.
“Sylvie?” he prompted softly at her continued silence.
Her spine stiffened. “Thank you, but no, I do not require any refreshment. I would much prefer that we just retire to your bedchamber and get this business over and done with.”
Christian’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You earlier refused conversation, and now you are also refusing to share a glass of wine with me?”
She nodded. “Because I do not believe either of those things to be a requirement of our arrangement.”
Christian frowned. “You would prefer, perhaps, that I dispense with the niceties altogether and simply toss your skirts up now and take you where you stand?”
She gasped. “There is no need for crudeness!”
Christian sighed as he placed his glass of port down on the table beside him. “I freely admit I do not quite know what to make of the woman you are now, Sylvie...”
He had been angry with Sylvie four years ago for not waiting for him as he had asked her to do, but he’d had every intention of her enjoying their lovemaking tonight. Of perhaps realizing all she had given up in her youthful eagerness to become Gerald Moorland’s countess...But he found her continued coolness, despite having agreed to become his mistress, completely baffling.
“There is nothing to know,” she dismissed flatly. “We have an arrangement, I am simply making it clear that I am...willing to begin that arrangement.”
Christian looked at her through narrowed lids for several moments before giving a rueful shake of his head. “I am used to receiving a little more enthusiasm from my lovers.”
“No doubt. But I should perhaps tell you—warn you—that there have only been two men in my life, Christian.” Her cheeks were flushed. “You. And my husband. I am not—I ask that you not expect me to have the physical expertise of your previous mistresses.”
Christian drew his breath in sharply at her hesitant admission. “I do not believe I found you in the least wanting four years ago, Sylvie.” The opposite, in fact—Sylvie’s enthusiasm for enjoying all things physical had been its own aphrodisiac to his battle-numbed senses. “And it pleases me to know you have taken no other lovers since your husband died,” he added.
She blinked. “It does?”
“Yes.” Christian nodded. “Whatever thoughts you may have of this arrangement, Sylvie, I assure you it is not my intention to ever hurt you. On the contrary, it is my hope that we both enjoy our times together.”
Sylvie’s fear was that she might enjoy Christian’s lovemaking too much, that she might fall in love with him all over again.
If she had ever stopped loving him...
She might only have been eighteen when the two of them were last together, but her love for Christian had been that of a woman, deep and true. Much as she had liked and respected Gerald, she had never felt a romantic love for him. Or for any other man. Mere hours after meeting Christian again, being in his company, she found herself here in his home, having agreed to become his mistress.
Oh, she had told herself earlier today that she acted out of a need to protect Christianna, to ensure that Christian never learned of the existence of his daughter, with all the accompanying complications that knowledge was sure to create.
But that excuse did not explain the excitement that had thrummed through Sylvie’s veins earlier this evening—that still thrummed through her veins!—as she had dressed to meet her lover, deliberately choosing a gold gown that she knew flattered her fair coloring, its low neckline revealing the full swell of her breasts. Breasts which Christian had caressed and suckled the evening before...
And which Sylvie knew she had longed, ached, for him to caress again ever since.
“Will you join me here, Sylvie?” Christian held his hand out to her invitingly.
Her cheeks felt flushed, her heart beating wildly
