Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

sipped the rest of the wine in silence, her hands cupped around the glass bowl, her eyes focused deep within. He felt an odd desire to ask her if she’d miss him. Not once in all his years on the town had he wanted a woman to remember him once their affair was over. He preferred to think of them moving on, as he moved on to some new alliance. Just the thought of her sitting like this beside a warm fire in quiet companionship with another man caused his heart to still.

      Even if he wasn’t the first man in her life, he felt closer to her than he’d felt to anyone, except maybe Charlie. And that had been years ago.

      He got up from the floor, and sat beside her on the sofa, tucking her into the hollow of his arm. She leaned back against his shoulder. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured, taking another sip. ‘It really is quite delicious.’

      It was no good thinking of the future. He needed to mine what enjoyment he could glean from today in full measure. The knowledge that they could at least be friends. This evening would make for a pleasant memory. For them both.

      Her eyelids slid closed and the glass, with only the dregs left in the bottom, tilted. The covering around her shoulders rose and fell with each deepening breath.

      The evening was about to end. With a sense of loss, he slowly removed the glass from her grasp and set it on the floor.

      She was sleeping. Time to put her to bed and honourably depart.

       Chapter Twelve

      Carefully, he slid from beneath her and propped her in the corner of the sofa. She looked vulnerable and young. He couldn’t leave her here, sitting up, still clothed. He scooped her up in his arms, still bundled in the counterpane, her head lolling on his chest, her breathing wine-laden and heavy. He carried her through to the bedroom and lay her down on her side on the bed. She made no movement as he pulled down the covering and undid the laces down the back of her bodice. Her nape, so elegant, so delicate, so pale in the candlelight, begged his touch. He pressed his lips to the top of her spine and rolled her on her back.

      Her eyelids, crescented by dusky lashes, fluttered. Her head lolled on the pillow.

      ‘Hush,’ he whispered. ‘Sleep. You are safe.’

      Held fast by the drugging effect of the wine, her lips parted on a sigh. Her eyes remained closed. The skin of her eyelids was as translucent as the finest porcelain.

      Inch by inch, he eased the gown off her softly rounded shoulders and releasing her arms. He pushed the bodice down to her waist, keeping his mind fixed on the task, not on the rise of pale breasts above her chemise and stays. Practical front fastening stays for the girl who dressed without the help of a maid. It took no time at all to unlace them and pull them free.

      The gown he worked carefully over her lovely hips and down her legs. He tossed it aside and went to work on her shoes. How he loved her elegantly arched feet inside the practical woollen stockings, the curve of her calf, the gentle bend of her knee. So pretty. And soft. And lost to him.

      Beneath her shift, her veiled body tempted his ardour. The rosy peaked rise of high small breasts. The darker triangle of soft fur between her thighs. Granite hard with desire, he allowed himself no more than a glimpse before he covered her up.

      He leaned over and kissed her forehead. ‘Sweet dreams, little elf,’ he murmured.

      Her eyelids flew up. She caught at his sleeve. ‘You are leaving?’

      Damn it. It was as if she had a sixth sense where he was concerned. ‘Sleep. It will be a busy day tomorrow. You will need your strength.’

      Eyes wide open, she stared at him. ‘You said you would stay.’

      ‘I thought you were asleep.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed.

      ‘Lord R-Robert?’ she said.

      He turned back with a frown. ‘What is this lord business?’

      ‘That is your title, is it not?’

      ‘I’m Robert to my friends.’

      ‘Is that what we are?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Friends?’

      Friends. Lovers. And so much more. ‘Yes,’ he said firmly, knowing that was all she could be. If he didn’t draw back now, he might never be able to let her go.

      ‘Do you have to leave?’ she murmured. ‘I feel so much better with you here.’

      Dear God, she was impossible to resist when she looked at him with such trust.

      She trusted him. And needed him. It had been years since he felt needed. He liked it. He stroked a wisp of hair back from her forehead, felt the warmth of her skin. ‘If you sleep now, it will all seem much less worrisome in the light of day.’

      His gaze fixed on her face, he kissed the inside of her wrist. A shiver ran through her. Imperceptible to anyone else, he felt her desire like a bolt of lightning through his body. He was rock hard and aching.

      ‘Lie beside me until I sleep?’ she asked.

      Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Of course she did, the little minx. But she didn’t understand that as a practised seducer he had a will of iron honed by years of practice. More experienced women than she had failed to break his control.

      He stretched out beside her on the bed, cradled her in one arm. ‘Now, close your eyes,’ he said.

      She snuggled against him. God, it felt good. Never had he experienced anything like this sense of companionship with a woman. Holding her, feeling her warmth, the tickle of her hair against his cheek, the pressure of her elbow against his ribs, the swell of her hip against his thigh filled him with contentment, with the desire to protect. Not in the way a man would protect any woman from harm, but the primal need to shelter and ward.

      He would remember her always. Just like this.

      Unless he stayed with her.

      Something inside him snapped, like a cord pulled too tight, it whipped back at him, flayed at his soul. If he stayed, how would he support them? He could not live on the money she made from painting and keep any shred of himself.

      ‘Come with me to Italy,’ she urged sleepily.

      Did she read minds? Or only his? The temptation to say yes burned in his throat.

      ‘What would I do?’

      ‘You could carry my bags,’ she said, her eyelashes flicking up, a mischievous smile curving her lips. ‘Guard me from the banditti I hear are rife in the hills, while I earn money painting portraits of rich travellers against the backdrop of famous landmarks.’

      He laughed to hide his discomfort as even this vision of himself tempted unbearably. She’d cast her wood-sprite spell, soft, seditious strands of longing, until he lay before her like a willing captive ready to do ought to please her. Had he sunk so low he no longer cared what he became? ‘Is that all you want of me?’

      ‘You could bring me my chocolate in bed every morning.’ She cast him a knowing little elfin smile that said far too much.

      His groin tightened. He caught her and pulled her close. ‘Only if I can lie beside you and make wicked love to you as you drink it,’ he growled.

      She wriggled with pleasure.

      Her hands went to the handkerchief at his throat and pulled at the knot.

      This was a game he had played many times. But it felt so much more important with her. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t casual. Each time he made love to her, it made leaving that much harder. He closed his hands around hers and she stilled.

      ‘Don’t deny me our farewell, Robert,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t deny us our last night together.’

      ‘Sweetheart, it’s the wine talking.’

      ‘I