From Courtesan To Convenient Wife. Marguerite Kaye

‘Ah no, I would not have said that, for your eyes are no such colour. I was wondering to myself only this morning, what colour are they, those beautiful eyes of my beautiful wife, for I would not call it turquoise or cornflower or even azure.’

      ‘What then would you call it, my love?’

      She was not laughing, but there was laughter in her eyes, just as there had been before, when she had forgotten to act. Heat prickled down his back and his belly contracted as desire caught him in its grip. ‘I have no name for the colour, but it is the blue of the Mediterranean in the south on one of those perfect days, when the sun is almost white in the sky, and the sea glitters, and the heat makes your skin tingle.’

      Sophia nodded. ‘I know,’ she said softly.

      He leaned closer. She smelled of flowers, like an English springtime after the rain, but at the same time he could swear there was an intoxicating heat emanating from her. ‘You want to dive in,’ he said, ‘to feel the cool lap of the waves soothe your burning skin.’

      ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Like gossamer, that is how I always imagined it would be.’

      Their knees were touching. He could sense the rise and fall of her breasts, only inches away from him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. ‘Gossamer,’ Jean-Luc repeated. ‘No, it is like silk. Like your hair,’ he said, his fingers brushing one long strand which had escaped her coiffure, then trailing down her cheek, her neck, to rest on her shoulder.

      He heard her sharp intake of breath and waited, but she did not move. ‘Jean-Luc, is this still—are we acting?’

      He could lie, but that would be a big mistake. No matter how beguiled he was by her, her scent, her curves, the allure of her mouth, he could not pretend in order to take advantage. ‘I am not,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Not any more. I forgot myself. Forgive me.’

      ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Sophia said, shaking out her skirts as she rose. ‘We immersed ourselves in our roles rather too enthusiastically, that is all.’

      He chose not to contradict her. ‘You play yours to perfection. No one will doubt you. But it is very late, and we have a very full day tomorrow. Come, I will escort you to your chamber.’

      He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, with her so tantalisingly close on the other side of the locked door. But at least tonight, it would be this astonishing creature who was to play his wife who would keep him awake, and not that other, deluded creature, the reason Sophia was here in the first place.