Lydia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I love you too,” she said. “You silly, reckless, ridiculous person.”
“I want you to love me because of how I am, not in spite of it,” he said. “I promise you, I will be a better man, from now on. This is the start of a new life.”
“Shh, you don’t have to…”
“I do.” He turned to face Karl-Heinz. “And I want to thank you also.”
“What for?”
“For what you just did. And for taking care of Lydia when I could not.”
“I’m not a babysitter,” he said.
“That’s not the way I meant it.”
The taxi pulled up outside Karl-Heinz’s Bloomsbury address and the threesome made their way up the steps.
It was dark and raining—hardly the most auspicious of conditions—and yet Lydia felt a strange excitement at the pit of her stomach, a sense that something incredible was in the process of happening. Karl-Heinz was allowing Milan into his home…Milan wasn’t sniping at Karl-Heinz…what on earth could it mean?
“All right, old man,” said Karl-Heinz, touching Milan’s elbow and steering him towards the bedroom, Lydia at their heels. “Let’s get you undressed and on the bed, shall we? Lydia, help him out. I’ll go and fetch the lotion.”
“This place is so very von Ritter,” remarked Milan, looking around the neat, dark room as he unbuttoned his cuffs. “Nothing is out of place. Not like my bedroom.”
“Not much,” agreed Lydia with a laugh, working on his shirt buttons. “Hold your arms still—that’s it.”
She saw the livid welts on his back and sucked in a sympathetic breath.
“Karl-Heinz really went to town on you,” she said.
“Touch them.”
“Won’t it hurt?”
“Of course it will. I don’t mind. I like it. Don’t look at me like that—you must like it too, or you wouldn’t be with von Ritter.”
“Well, I guess,” she said, feeling heat flood her face. She put a fingertip to one of the raised red lines, impressed by how warm it still was.
Milan removed the rest of his clothes, then he pulled Lydia into his body for a long and passionate kiss before lying face-down on the bed.
Her lips still stinging, she smiled blissfully, then caught sight of Karl-Heinz, standing in the doorway with his little pot of magic ointment.
There was something about the misty, longing look on his face before he realised she had seen him that made everything suddenly slot into place.
It could all work out.
It could be so beautiful.
Was it really possible?
Chapter Thirteen
“I like the scarf, is it silk?”
Vanessa shrank away from Ben as he reached over to ruffle the pretty Hermès accessory. Under no circumstances should he be allowed to get it off her. Not until that bloody love bite faded.
Her hand shook a little as she raised her gin and tonic to her lips. She mustn’t be tempted into letting him go home with her tonight. How would she put him off? She needed to think. Feigned illness? Exaggerated tiredness? Or maybe a simple ‘I want to be alone’. If it was good enough for Garbo…