Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

Yet the doubt refused to be dislodged. Frowning, Justin cautiously seated himself beside her as he was bid. It was impossible to make out her features, but the slender line of her body beneath the black silk gown and the swell of her breasts, even more desirable after four children, were devastatingly familiar. He shook his head to clear it. He was being ridiculous. It was wishful thinking or his worst nightmare.

The sofa was small and he sat awkwardly, his thigh touching hers. If it was, in fact, Cressida, he acknowledged wryly, then this tableau promised greater intimacy between them than they’d shared in many months.

Doubt dissipated when she moved slightly and a faint waft of lavender mixed with his wife’s familiar scent confirmed what his sixth sense had been screaming since she’d spoken.

This was no bereaved widow wanting to lament her late husband.

He hid his confusion behind a concerned, interested smile as she created a fiction about her loss in that maddeningly sensual, familiar, breathy voice of hers. What was she about? How could his innocent, protected little Cressida be in Mrs. Plumb’s house of ill repute, making up to a strange gentleman?

On the one hand, Justin wanted to leap up and declare himself —and thus force her to reveal herself. On the other, he wanted to tease out her reasons and so lay his torment to rest. Cressida... revealing hidden desires in a house of sin and not able to tell him?

Perhaps she did know it was him. And yet, the room was so dim and he’d replaced his mask. It was possible she did not. Good God, it was entirely possible she believed him someone else!

He shook his head to clear it and hurt welled up where confusion had set in. Did she no longer find him attractive now that age had set in and he was no longer the vigorous sapling of a youth he’d been when he married her? Could that be why she was seeking alternative avenues of pleasure by coming here? H ere? To such a place? He swallowed painfully. How could she know of it? Had Catherine introduced her to it?

Then realisation and, with it, relief swept all confusion away. Of course! This was all part of the charade. She knew exactly who he was, just as she knew he realized her identity.

Cressida, who had allowed him to lie with her only once since Thomas’ birth, was now here, using Mrs. Plumb’s as the setting for signaling his readmittance to the marriage bed. God knew how she’d located him, but she had, though it seemed too incredible to believe, it was so out of character.

It was also unbelievably exciting. The dull ache in his loins became almost painful as he forced down his desire.

“You miss your husband, madam?” He hoped he sounded more sympathetic than hoarse with anticipation. Cressida had used this charade to initiate their physical reunion, and he was fully determined to play along.

He took her gloved hand and placed it on his knee. Her hand shook and another wave of her familiar scent assailed his nostrils, making him weak with longing. Not that he was going to remain weak for very long when given this incredible opportunity .

“I miss his love and his comfort,” she whispered, her eyes fixed coyly upon their linked hands.

“So that’s why you came here? To Mrs. Plumb’s?” He could feel the warmth radiating from her body a hair’s breadth from his and longed to offer her the love and comfort she sought with no further preliminaries. Then he’d proceed to remind her of all the other delights she’d been missing for so long.

But this was Cressida’s charade. She wanted to set the pace. Desire and anticipation ratcheted up even further. Cressida could set whatever pace she wanted if it meant a resumption of the bedroom delights he missed so much. Restraint did not come easily, but he satisfied himself by reaching across and gently

stroking her neck, tangling his fingers in the silky, flaxen curls at the nape as he drew her closer into his embrace. She had always liked that.

It was a successful strategy. He heard her faint intake of breath before she whispered, “I am not in the habit of frequenting such a place except that my cousin told me sometimes both ladies and gentlemen come here f-for reasons other than the music.” Her voice faltered as she raised her eyes to his. “Do you come here for reasons other than the music, sir?”

He weighed up his answer, her hand captive in his. Without going into greater detail than he was prepared to at this time, he could not tell her about Mariah and the specific undertaking with which he had concerned himself on her behalf for the past three weeks. Cressida must have innocently followed him here in disguise. She certainly could not understand what went on at Mrs. Plumb’s, else she’d not have made it through the front doors.

And yet...

With vivid clarity, he recalled Cressida’s enthusiasm for the decorous, almost chaste lovemaking they’d enjoyed in the early days of their marriage. Had she grown bold, all of a sudden? Wished to up the pace now that she was ready to allow him access to her body at last? Why else would she bare her charms and speak so suggestively unless she knew exactly what she was about?

As to her inevitable question regarding what had brought him to Mrs. Plumb’s in the first place, he’d be in a position to reveal everything within just a few days. Cressida’s close friend, Annabelle Luscombe, who worked with him on the Sedleywich Board of the Foundling Home, was too closely involved and he was honor-bound to help Mariah locate her lost child first, as promised, before discreetly explaining the details to his wife.

Let Cressida assume he was in this house to examine its proximity to the river as a cause of water infection, or the possible exploitation of children—perhaps she’d think he was merely here to accompany a friend from his club.

“I enjoy the music,” he said. Smiling, squeezing her hand, he added, “But tonight I prefer the company.” He wanted to reassure her that he was still the same loving husband, despite her emotional and physical withdrawal, and that he was more than happy to continue her charade on her terms.

The feel of her hourglass figure beneath her widow’s weeds when he discreetly skimmed her waist as he shifted position speared him with another rush of lust. The rapid rise and fall of her bosom indicated she felt as he. She tilted her head, and beneath her veil, he could just make out the curve of her lips. It was an invitation he’d never been able to resist. An invitation he’d not had from her in years, in fact.

But when he clasped her waist to draw her to him, she jerked back.

“I must go!” Her unexpected reaction shocked him. Like a frightened deer, she made an attempt to withdraw her hand and would have risen had he not pulled her back down, caging her hand on his thigh as he ground out, “I am sorry for your loss, madam, but consider me at your service.” He heard the strained suggestiveness in his voice. The tone sounded alien, even to his own ears, but he was desperate that she not lose courage now.

“Let me go now, sir, and I will return here to meet you next Wednesday.”

She sounded breathless and full of indecision as she pulled decisively away, smoothing her black silk skirts as she stood. He felt, rather than observed, her resolve falter and imagined her biting her lip, that adorable habit he remembered from her youth that made her dimples so gorgeously evident in her delicately tinted cheeks, though tonight he could not see behind her veil. Lord, she appeared barely older than a debutante, even now. Four beautiful children since their marriage eight years ago had only increased her womanly charms.

He let her go. Everything was in Cressida’s hands now, and he was her putty. She clearly did not want to continue in this tawdry place. He imagined the seduction scene she was no doubt planning a short while hence. He’d come to her like he’d done a hundred times and still be affected by the glow of candlelight on Cressida’s ivory-tinted flesh and the limpid look in her cornflower blue eyes as she gazed up at him with love and trust...