One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

She’d suffered a great conundrum an hour earlier when she’d come to her room. Call the maid to dress her in her finest new negligee so that Nick would see her at her best? Or assume he wouldn’t come and remain in her formal clothing? Her bright blue dress probably would not have been practical attire for climbing down the balcony, but it would’ve been better than the pale peach silk she wore now.

Damn him. She was going to have to sneak into the Ledbetter Hotel in her nightdress.

She stalked over to her bed to snatch the matching wrap off the mattress. Not that it covered much.

She was reaching for her cloak when her door opened. Her balcony door.

She froze, hardly believing he might be there. But then Nick walked in, his face tight with fury and his trousers ripped at the knee.

He pointed at the cloak in her hand. “You were actually going to do it, weren’t you?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Nick took a step toward her. “You manipulative, stubborn, impossible woman. I am trying to court you honorably and decently and you—”

“Oh, stuff it, Nick.” Cynthia dropped the cloak to the floor and shrugged off her wrap. When his eyes swept down she knew exactly what he was seeing. The pale silk did nothing to disguise the shape of her nipples or the dark thatch of hair between her thighs.

His eyes glittered.

Cynthia reached for the material at her hips and began to inch it up.

“Stop!” he whispered furiously.

“I want you.”

“We have to wait.”

“No.”

“There are things we need to discuss. Serious things that I wished to ease into—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just ask me to marry you and be done with it!”

Nick gasped, his mouth falling wide with shock. Then he cursed. Then crossed his arms. Finally he pointed at a chair in the corner of the room. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down or I will change hotels and you won’t see me again for weeks.”

“Hm.” She studied his face, trying to gauge his level of commitment. He did have a different sort of determination about him now.

Nick tugged at his cuff and offered her a casual smile. “I’ve another trip to America scheduled in four months. Perhaps I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, blast,” she huffed and flounced into the chair, making sure her gown rose enough to expose her ankles.

First, he checked to be sure her door was locked—as if she wouldn’t have thought of that. Then he paced to the open balcony door and looked into the midnight sky for a long while.

Finally, he turned back to her. “I went to see Imogene Brandiss and her father the moment I set foot in London. I did not even stop at my home. I want you to know that.”

“Was it difficult? Was she relieved?”

“It was…as difficult as would be expected.”

Cynthia cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“But she looked thankful, I think. I hope. And it was done. Of course, then I had to break the news to my mother.”

“Oh, no.” She’d been so consumed with her yearning for him, she’d forgotten all the difficulties he’d been suffering. “She must have been…disturbed.”