Cressida's Dilemma

Why, Cressida would no more frequent a place like this than have a public affair with the footman.

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 five 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 this 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 stared, hiding his horrified confusion behind a concerned, interested smile as she created a fiction about her loss in that maddeningly sensual, familiar, breathy voice. Could his innocent, protected little Cressida really be in Mrs. Plumb’s house of ill repute, making up to a strange gentleman?

He recalled her obvious reluctance the last time he’d made love to her, two months after Thomas had been born. Every time he’d ventured close during the past ten months, she had recoiled.

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?

Then he realized it 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 t

he 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. It trembled in his, and another wave of her familiar scent assailed his nostrils, making him weak with longing. Not that he’d remain weak for very long when given the opportunity to bed her again.

“I miss his love and his comfort,” she whispered.

“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. Good God, 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 gently stroking her neck, tangling his fingers in the silky, flaxen curls at the nape. She had always liked that.

It was a successful strategy. He heard her faint intake of breath before she moved slightly against him, whispering, “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. “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, 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 examining the location’s 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.

Cressida was in charge of this breathtakingly erotic little intrigue, and it was clear she had no doubts about his constancy, else she’d not be issuing such an obvious invitation for the resumption of the intimacies they’d once so enjoyed.

“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, that he was more than happy to continue her charade.

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.

“I will return next Wednesday.”

Her voice was breathless and full of indecision. He felt the barrier rise between them 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. Five beautiful children since their marriage eight years ago had only increased her womanly charms.