“So you will not interfere?” It was her turn to kiss her husband, but she started at his neck and worked her way upward to his lips in a fashion she knew he loved.
When she drew back, he said, “With what?” in a thick voice.
“With my helping the two of them come together.”
“Guin,” Asher said, nuzzling her neck, “what do ye have in mind?”
“Well, I cannot very well tell Lilias what I think since I have no proof, and you won’t give it to me with Greybourne’s own words, but Icanmake sure she goes out on missions, and you could happen to mention them to Greybourne so he feels inclined to follow her. Then, perchance, fate will take over.”
“Ye’re playing with fire, Wife.”
“Then it is a good thing,” she murmured, slipping her night rail off her shoulders, “that I have you to keep me from getting burned.”
Chapter Seven
Nash knew it was a mistake coming to Serafina’s home the moment she opened the door. Still, he pushed himself forward with the rendezvous his sometimes partner in pleasure had requested with the note she’d sent him. He was determined to purge Lilias from his mind, if not once and for all, then, God willing, for an hour of mindless coupling.
Serafina was a widow Nash knew from Scotland who had a home in London as well. She was extremely wealthy in her own right, with a castle near his family’s there, and could do and live as she pleased. That was not necessarily a good thing, though, as the woman liked to indulge in drink and pleasure just as much as, if not more than, most men Nash knew.
She straddled him, her night rail bunching up on her thighs. “Yer mind is not here, Greybourne.”
If she only knew what an understatement that was. His mind was on Lilias. He’d gone straight from the Orcus Society to Owen’s, only to be informed by Owen’s butler that he had left that very night for the Cotswolds. It seemed Owen’s father had taken a bad fall, and Owen’s presence was required at his country home immediately.
Serafina’s hand slipped to Nash’s crotch and settled there. She frowned. “Yer desire is not here, either.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, grasping her by the waist and hoisting her up and to the floor. He stood and reached for his overcoat in one swift motion. He was aware Serafina was pouting at him as he put on his overcoat, and when he was done, he faced her, trying to think what to say so her feelings would not be injured.
They’d been intimate several times before in Scotland. Serafina knew not to expect any sort of commitment from him, and she’d assured him she wanted none herself. She had been wed once, and she vowed once was enough for her. But she had made one stipulation, and that was that he be honest with her.
She stared at him and asked him bluntly, “Why did ye come here tonight, Greybourne? It’s clearly not because ye were longing to be with me.”
He tugged a hand through his hair. “I was hoping to forget,” he admitted. “And there have been times you’ve been able to make me do that.” Though the moments had been brief.
Forgetting Lilias seemed to be an impossibility. He wasn’t certain why. He’d thought about it through the years but had been unable to come up with an answer. Was it because she’d been the only person he’d ever come close to telling about his brother? Was it because he’d seen in her eyes that she thought him better than he really was and it had given him hope that he could be that man? Was it because they’d never joined so he was left to wonder what it would have been like? Was it because he knew she was unlike any woman he’d ever met or would ever meet again?
Of course it was the bloody last one. He knew it. He just didn’t damn well care to dwell on it. It could be one of the other reasons, as well—or all of them. Who damn well cared? The result was the same.
He didn’t want any woman but Lilias—not truly. And he could not have her. So what now? He was getting older. He needed to produce an heir, of which his mother had reminded him when he first returned to England. And for an heir, he needed a wife. The prospect left him cold.
Another ducal duty.
“Greybourne, did ye hear me?” Serafina demanded, her tone slightly exasperated.
He snapped his gaze away from the wall he had not even realized he’d been staring at. Serafina’s green eyes were narrowed, and she was twisting a strand of her red hair around one of her fingers. “No, I’m sorry,” he admitted. “What did you say?”
She placed a hand on his chest and glanced up at him, her gaze earnest. “I said, as long as I’ve known ye, yer mind has never been totally with me, but I have never seen ye like this. Am I to assume ye have encountered the woman Lilias? The one who truly holds yer desire? Does she live here in London?”
His jaw slipped open. “How do you know her name?” he asked, not bothering to deny the statement.
“Ye muttered it in yer sleep the one time ye stayed the night with me.”
Good Christ. He talked in his sleep? That was a devil of a thing to discover. Thank God he’d never stayed the night with any other woman.
Serafina gave him a knowing look. “So, does she live in London?”
He nodded. Serafina lived her life with utter discretion, and he trusted she wouldn’t speak of Lilias or of him to anyone. Besides, she was not part of the same social circle. Her husband had not been of thetonbut a businessman who had a large share in one of the railroad companies. And the fact that her husband had not had a title and had worked for what he had kept the doors to thetonfirmly shut to them. It was rubbish, but it was the way of things.
“Have the two of ye never—”
