She didn’t know. She had been in love with Paul, and this perhaps had kept her from ascribing any significance to the nature of Brightwall’s attention. Or to the way he fascinated and unsettled her. To the way he’d inspired something almost like protectiveness, perhaps even tenderness, in her from the first. Yes: as he’d said to her father, they had developed a rapport.
And she’d simply been a different person then.
She’d never had a lover in the literal sense of the word.
She had never...ached... with want in the presence of a man, the way she did now, in Magnus’s presence. Not even with Paul, whose kiss had admittedly been lovely. And her first and only kiss to date.
She was still young, and every moment she spent in proximity to Magnus reminded her of how she’d been hiding from herself how excruciatingly lonely she’d been for five years. Because it had been far too painful to confront.
And she was certain Magnus—even as he sent her what she decided she’d call the banishment documents—knew how she felt.
If he’d ever dreamed of exacting the perfect retribution... taking advantage of this would be the perfect way to do it.
It seemed wildly unfair, infuriating, that he should hold yet another card. That he should possess the superior experience and all the control.
Then again... perhaps hedidn’tpossessallthe control.
What would he do if she were to test his resolve?
That would be a risky game, indeed.
But one, she decided, worth playing.
He’d intended to be at the boardinghouse for dinner—the food here was astonishingly good—but he’d been delayed in various meetings andhe’d been obliged to take a quick pub meal instead.
He’d dodged the sitting room in favor of the smoking room when he’d returned, as he’d been in the mood for brandy, cheroots, and uncomplicated company.
Also because he was not quite ready to see Alexandra.
Telling her two truths he’d never uttered to another soul had left him feeling conflicted and unsettled and raw.
He hadn’t told her the entire truth, of course. He was no fool. One did not recklessly show one’s hand.
The second truth he’d shared had been by way of playing a card. It had been a defensive maneuver of sorts. Because the first truth had left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, which was his least favorite way to feel. Shocking her had been a way to retrieve some of his power, an attempt to ascertain something he suspected.
He’d had the breath-stealing pleasure of watching her eyes go dark, which had been his answer. And he’d thought about this for the rest of the afternoon.
Magnus believed the animal-den snugness of the smoking room was a further testament to the genius of the proprietresses of The Grand Palace on the Thames. A handsome yet stain-hiding brown was the prevailing theme, evident in the worn but still-plush carpet, long velvet curtains, and the furniture, which was of the pleasantlybattered variety that invited a man to sprawl or prop booted feet upon it. Clearly Hardy and Bolt were fortunate in having wives prescient enough to anticipate a man’s occasional need to be unbridledly disgusting in the company of other men.
Captain Hardy, Lord Bolt, Colonel Brightwall, and Mr. Delacorte leaned against the four walls in companionable silence. Brandies had been passed around. Cheroots had been lit and sucked into life. Smoke rose and mingled.
They were all thinking about sex. For different reasons.
“At least he lets her go first every time,” Mr. Delacorte finally said. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
While Mr. Delacorte was rather pleased to finally not be the only one making untoward noise in the boardinghouse—an irritated guest had once compared his snoring to the sound of a rusty saw dragged across rough bricks—no one who’d heard them was exactly enjoying the sounds emanating from Corporal and Mrs. Dawson’s room.
Apart, presumably, from Corporal and Mrs. Dawson.
Corporal Dawson seldom joined them in the smoking room. He and his wife kept a busy schedule behind a closed door.
“Well, there isn’t much a bloke wouldn’t do for his lady, am I right?” Delacorte pressed, when no one replied, and merely stared at him, warily.
“Tread carefully, Delacorte.” Captain Hardy exhaled smoke.
“Of whom and what are we speaking, if I may ask?” Magnus liked Delacorte.
“Corporal Comesalot and his wife,” Delacorte said.