The Perfect Lover (Cynster 10)

He had unwavering confidence in her steel.

Never before had he considered that attribute at all necessary in a wife.

Now he realized how precious it was.

Recognized in it a guarantee sufficient to reassure that deeply buried part of him that, even now, even despite his decision and his own rigid will, shied from the mere thought of accepting the vulnerability of the Cynsters’ Achilles’ heel, from the emotional commitment that, for them, was an inherent part of marriage.

They’d reached the gardens and the wisteria-covered walk. The house loomed ahead.

Putting a hand on her sleeve, he slowed; she halted and turned to him. Sliding his fingers down to her hand, he interdigitated his fingers with hers, looked into her dark eyes.

“One thing I will promise.” He raised her hand, placed a kiss in her palm, holding her gaze all the while. “I will never hurt you. Not in any way.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t move; for a long moment, gazes locked, they simply stood. Then she drew breath, inclined her head.

Placing her hand on his arm, he turned to the house.

It was indeed her decision; she was relieved he saw and accepted that.

On the other hand, she wasn’t at all certain how to interpret such uncharacteristic magnanimity on his part. Uncharacterisitic it certainly was; he wanted her, desired her—knowing him for the despot he truly was beneath the elegant glamor, Portia required some explanation for his restraint, his patience.

Later that evening, she stood before her window and considered what it might be. And how it might impinge on her decision.

During the half hour in the drawing room, Simon had found a moment to murmur, low enough so only she could hear, the precise location of the bedchamber he’d been given, just in case she needed to know. If she’d thought he was pressuring her she would have glared, but one look into his eyes had confirmed that he was, indeed, battling his own instincts not to do so, and to that point was still holding the line.

She’d inclined her head, then others had joined them, and their privacy was gone. Nevertheless, she remained highly conscious that he was waiting for some sign of her decision.

Throughout dinner, from across the table she’d watched him—covertly, yet if the other guests hadn’t been so intent on managing the conversation, keeping it strictly within bounds, someone would have noticed.

Kitty had for once been useful; not, of course, intentionally. She’d reverted to her earlier role, but with greater dramatic flair; tonight, she was a lady grievously misjudged, determinedly, heroically, keeping her chin high despite the slings and arrows of those who should know better.

The ladies had repaired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen about the table. No one had had any wish for a lengthy evening; the atmosphere remained close, the emotions swirling between Kitty and various others fraught and tense. The tea trolley arrived early; after one cup, all the ladies had retired.

Which brought Portia to where she was now, staring out at the darkness considering her decision, the one she and only she could make.

For all that, her decision hinged on Simon.

Despite their previous history, indeed in part because of it, she hadn’t been surprised when he’d stepped in and consented to act as her guide in her exploration of the physical interactions between a man and a woman. He hadn’t approved, not at first, but he’d quickly capitulated once he’d seen she was set on her course; he’d known very well that if he’d refused, she would have gone ahead with some other man. From his insistently protective point of view, her going forward with him was, regardless of all else, better than her going forward with another.

None of which mitigated the facts that he was a Cynster, and she was an Ashford; they were both of the haut ton. If she’d been younger, a more innocent and gentle sort of lady, or one he didn’t know well, she would have wagered her pearls any unintentional intimacy would have resulted in a “now I’ve seduced you, I’ll have to marry you” decree.

Luckily, that wasn’t the case between them. He did know her—very well. He wouldn’t have aided her in her quest for knowledge if he’d believed that in so doing he was committing any dishonorable act; she felt ridiculously pleased that he’d accepted she had as much right to sexual exploration as he.

That right, she assumed, was enough to absolve him of any moral responsibility, any requirement to indulge in high-handed interference and paternalistic disapproval. He’d acted always at her behest, and subject to her active consent.

He wasn’t seducing her in the customary sense; he was merely agreeable—available—should she wish to be seduced.

Presumably his steadfast reticence, his determination not to pressure her, was some reflection of that, some convoluted male dictate of what was honorable in such circumstances. Perhaps that was the way a willing seduction was played out.

All that had occurred between them thus far was as she’d wished, as she’d wanted. The decision facing her was whether she wanted more—whether she truly wanted to take the final step, draw aside the last veil, and learn all.

The scholar within her wanted to rush ahead; her more pragmatic side insisted she weigh the pros and cons.

To her mind—even to most other minds—her age and status as an almost-confirmed apeleader freed her from missish considerations of virginity. If she didn’t, at some point, stick her toe in the water and learn what she deemed necessary, then she might well never marry, so what would be the point? For her, virginity was an outdated concept.

The risk of pregnancy was real, but acceptable, one she didn’t, in truth, mind running. Unlike Kitty, she wanted children of her own; given she had a strong and supportive family, given she cared little for the social world, there were ways such a circumstance could be managed. Provided she never admitted who the father was; her sense of self-preservation was far too strong to make such a mistake.

Otherwise, Simon’s certainty had slain her worry that, if the emotion growing between them proved to be lust, she might become addicted to the physical excitement as Kitty seemed to be; his sincerity and conviction had been too strong to doubt, and his reputation guaranteed he’d had ample opportunity to form an expert opinion on such a question.