And ohGod, this was a mistake. He could not touch her. He had to stayawayfrom her.
He could not take advantage of her. Bleeding hell, if he compromised her—if he had her in truth the way he’d had her in his mind—they would be honor-bound to marry.
No one who knew her true identity was aware of their marital pretense; her reputation was not at stake. But if he lay with her—
She would think he had done it on purpose, for her fortune. She would think he had used her, far worse and far more ruthlessly than Davis had.
And he would never know if he could have done things the right way. He would never know if he could have won her properly, captured her heart and her affection for himself and not because he was her only choice. Her consolation prize.
“What on earth,” came Lord de Younge’s voice from outside the door. The knob rattled again.
“Och,” Arthur said, pitching his voice loud enough for Lord de Younge to hear, “sorry, man. Needed a moment with my bride.”
The words felt strange on his lips—sweet and astringent at the same time, desire and reality at war with each other.
Lord de Younge laughed. “The hysteria of young love! For God’s sake, don’t tell Didier, or you’ll never hear the end of it. I’m only wanting my cigar case.”
Lydia was frantically tugging at her bodice and patting her hair. “Do I look all right?” she said in an undervoice.
He took her in and, despite himself, memorized the sight. “You look as though you’ve been well ravished, but I suppose that’s how you ought to look.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she mumbled. Then she turned back toward the door and—with no concern whatsoever for his still-exuberant erection—opened it.
Chapter 14
Having such a splendid time in Sussex that I’ve decided to stay on longer still. Please don’t trouble yourself to visit!
—from Lydia to her brother Theo, enclosed in a letter to Selina
That evening, Lydia shoved hairpins into her hair and tried not to look at Georgiana, cross-legged on Lydia’s bed.
“I feel,” Georgiana said blandly, “there is something you have neglected to share with me.”
“No. Nothing. Truly, Georgiana, wheredidyou find that dress? You have an unnatural talent for disguise.”
Georgiana glanced down at the coarse serge frock she was wearing. It was slightly too big for her narrow form, which only added to the impression that she was, as she claimed to be, Lydia’s lady’s maid. When she ducked her head and put on the round tones of a South London accent, Lydia could quite forget that Georgiana was an earl’s daughter who’d once been the most promising debutante of the Season.
When she arched one blond brow, as she was doing now, it was rather easier to remember who she was.
“I am not interested in discussing fashion,” Georgiana said.
“Are you quite certain? Because I’ve brought these really lovely slippers with sort of a gold bit in the weave—”
Georgiana ignored her. “You’re telling me that you broke into Lord de Younge’s office, found absolutely nothing of note, andnothing else happened?”
“Correct.”
“Then why are you avoiding my eyes and turning the color of a tomato?”
“I really think you would like these slippers.”
Georgiana gave her a dubious look, which Lydia pretended not to notice by turning to examine her own face in the glass. She appeared much as she’d imagined she would: scarlet-faced and guilty as anything.
She needed to get hold of herself.
Yes, she had kissed Arthur. That was perfectly fine. The sky was not falling. Only—
Oh God, she hadkissedArthur. She’d wound her fingers into his hair and practically dragged his head down toward her mouth, which might have been embarrassing if Arthur hadn’t responded as though she were a banquet and he a starving man.
