after making love to you earlier in the evening?”
Her mouth firmed at his mockery. “You must know that you are not known for your constancy in regard to any particular woman.”
He raised dark brows. “And is that to be a condition of our own arrangement? That, for the time of our...affair, I will occupy only your bed?”
“We do not have an arrangement—”
“As yet,” Christian bit out decisively. “But that is your reason for being here today, is it not? So that we might thrash out the terms and conditions of such a relationship between the two of us?” The alcoholic fog and lack of sleep had now cleared enough from Christian’s head for him to have considered all of the reasons Sylvie had chosen to call on him this morning.
She wished to reiterate that there would be no affair between them, now, or in the future? Something she could far more easily have told him in a note, or when he called upon her later in the day.
That she had decided to take another man as her lover? He was sure Sylvie knew him well enough to know that he would never accept such a decision.
Which only left the more obvious reason: that Sylvie had decided to accept his offer after all, but on her own terms.
And Christian was very interested in knowing what those terms might be.
“Well?” he prompted at her continued silence. “Is that not the reason you are here, Sylvie?”
Damn him!
Damn, damn, damn Lord Christian Matthew Faulkner Ambrose, the Earl of Chambourne, to the hell he deserved!
Because, having considered all of the options during the long and sleepless night, and out of a need to protect Christianna, that was precisely the reason Sylvie had called upon him this morning.
Christian had made it abundantly clear the evening before that, the two of them now having met again, he had no intention of quietly absenting himself from her life a second time. Not, at least, until he had taken what he wanted from her. As clear as he had made it that what he wanted was her, in his bed, for as long as it took him to tire of her again. None of which would have—should have—mattered in the least to Sylvie after Christian’s despicable treatment of her four years ago.
And it would not have done.
If not for Christianna.
The man Sylvie had met yesterday evening was even less the man she had thought him to be four years ago, the Christian from the past having at least given the appearance of warmth and caring. Last night he had been every inch the cold and arrogant Lord Christian Ambrose, the Earl of Chambourne, a known rake and a man who cared for no one—except a possible affection for his grandmother?—and neither expected nor wanted anyone to care for him. Even so, Sylvie had no doubts that he would care about his daughter if he ever learned of her existence. As he must surely do, if he were ever to actually see Christianna.
Which was precisely the reason Sylvie had decided to accept, and put her own limitations—some control—on the...relationship, Christian stated, no, demanded, there now be between the two of them.
That, and the fact that—despite everything that had once passed between them—Sylvie still responded physically to this man. Her heart, she was sure, was in no further danger from this man; how could it be when he had used her so shamefully in the past?
She rose briskly to her feet. “Being a young and wealthy widow, I have received several such offers as yours these past few months—”
“A young, wealthy and beautiful widow,” Christian corrected softly.
Sylvie refused to allow herself to be moved by his compliment; Christian Ambrose was a silver-tongued devil bent on seduction, nothing more. A seduction that would take place under Sylvie’s rules or not at all. “I obviously cannot vouch as to that—”
“I can,” he bit out tersely. “If anything, Sylvie, you are more beautiful now than you were four years ago.” And it was true, Christian acknowledged with a frown. There was a confidence to Sylvie now that had not been present four years earlier, an elegance in her carriage and demeanor that implied a coolness to her nature that Christian knew to be only skin deep; her responses to him yesterday evening had been every bit as fiery as he remembered from the past.
“Yes. Well.” She gave him a scathing glance. “Several of these gentleman have been...pressing, in their attentions—”
Christian’s eyes were narrowed. “Tell me the names of these other gentlemen and I will consign them to the devil.”
She gave a shake of her head. “I only mentioned them at all in order to explain why I have decided to accept an offer of...protection, from one gentleman, a gentleman of my own choice, rather than continue to be plagued by many.”
“And I am to be that gentleman...?”
Sylvie looked at him coolly. “Only if you are willing to accept the relationship under my terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “And those terms are...?”
She drew in a deep breath. “One—there will be no other lovers in your life for as long as this...arrangement between us lasts, the arrangement becoming null and void if that should ever be the case.”
“I believe I have already stated there will be no other women.”
“No, you stated I should not be allowed other lovers but you,” she recalled dryly.
He frowned grimly. “I give you my word there will be no other women for me, either, for the time of our own affair.”
Her mouth thinned. “Two—we will meet a maximum of two nights a week—”
“Two?” Christian repeated, astounded. “I had it more in mind to spend every night together until we had sated our desire for each other.”
“A maximum of two,” Sylvie repeated firmly.
“Three,” he stated stubbornly. “And let us hope that you will succeed in so satiating my appetite during those times that I have no strength left to so much as think of bedding another woman the other four nights of the week!”
Sylvie looked at him searchingly for several long minutes before nodding slowly. “Very well, three.”
“Beginning with this one,” he added softly.
Sylvie’s eyes widened in alarm. Tonight? Christian wished to start bedding her this very night?
Somehow, in all her thinking the evening before, Sylvie had avoided actually dwelling on when Christian would require her to start sharing his bed. Just the thought of it being this night, in several hours’ time, was enough to make her tremble. In trepidation, she hoped...
“Very well,” she agreed. “Three—our times together will be spent here rather than in my own home—”
“Why?”
Sylvie
