“I’d expected a passionate lover, not a quibbling lawyer.”
“Sorry to disappoint, tesoro.” To her regret, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. “Sleep on it. The carriage remains at your disposal.”
“I don’t want you to be a good man,” she said in a muffled voice, frustration and chagrin swirling in her belly.
He frowned as he looked back. “I’m not good. I’m a beast and a brute. Didn’t Roberta tell you?”
She swallowed piercing compassion. “My sister was mistaken.”
Sadness tinged his smile. “No, bella, she wasn’t.”
He left her alone in the shadowy library.
The rewards of virtue were sparse indeed.
Jonas surveyed the mean little bed in his dressing room and couldn’t help thinking of the feather mattress he might be sharing right now. Soft, warm, roomy. And filled with the charms of Sidonie Forsythe. For all that, he couldn’t be sorry he’d made the ultimatum.
Sighing, he slumped onto the bed to tug off his boots. At least Mrs. Bevan had lit a fire so the room wasn’t the usual icy hellhole. Any chill emanated entirely from his yearning heart.
He caught himself staring into space with one boot in his hand and the other still on his foot. How elated he’d been to discover Sidonie downstairs. Briefly everything had turned right in his world. He was in such a pathetically bad way, seeing her when he’d thought never to set eyes on her again had seemed a blessing.
Whereas it was a curse.
The sooner she left his life, as she inevitably would, the sooner he’d forget her.
No point saying he’d never forget her.
Sidonie was just another woman. The conviction that he’d see her face when he shut his eyes the last time, probably as a bitter, bereft old man, was mere fancy. Nobody could mark his heart that deeply in four days. He might feel like she had, but good sense would prevail. One day.
He set down his boot and tugged off the second one. Every moment had a horrible pointlessness. Another moment would follow, then another. All the way to the end. Not one scrap of light or love or laughter in any of it.
Feeling like that old man, he rose and shucked his shirt. He splashed water into a bowl and sponged the day’s dirt away. The water was warm but felt cold. Everything felt cold. His life was immutable winter.
Ah, Sidonie, if only you knew what pain you cause.
He turned to grab a towel and something, perhaps a stray eddy of air, made him glance up. Sidonie, her hair flowing around her like shot silk, hovered in the doorway.
Jonas bit back a groan. How much more could he take before he broke? Midnight encounters with his only desire tested resolve beyond measure. Especially when his only desire wore nothing but his sheer white shirt extending to mid-thigh.
The towel slipped from his hand as droplets of water trickled down his naked torso. “What is it, tesoro? Is something wrong?”
Her face was pale and set and her tension was visible even from several feet away. When she didn’t immediately answer, concern made him step forward. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head. Her great dark eyes fixed upon him as though she drowned and he offered her only hope of reaching shore.
“Sidonie?” he asked, seriously worried now. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t,” she croaked, and her delicate throat moved as she swallowed. He couldn’t help remembering how fine and fragrant the skin there was. She’d given him more than she should. Damn it, she hadn’t given him nearly enough.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t… say anything.”
What the hell? None of this made sense. Before he could inquire further, she launched at him with a rush of bare feet.
Automatically he caught her. His mind had a confused moment to register warmth and softness. His heart had a gratified moment to bask in touching her. Only a moment…
With trembling hands, she grabbed his head and dragged him down to press her mouth to his.