increased Thomas’s strain. He had last set eyes on her at that single morning call following her betrothal and had looked forward to their next encounter. But he had expected some advance warning and time to prepare. Certainly it should have taken place in the context of London’s superficial social whirl, which would provide both a framework and a buffer. To meet in the country at an informal house party was dangerous. Her being the only lady in residence was worse. How could he seek her company without betraying his honor? Yet ignoring her was an exercise in futility. He was but a moth to the flame of her beauty.
Each day he walked a precarious tightrope between honor and adoration, pain and passion, duty and desire. The sight and sound of her inflamed his senses while intellect and honor fought to control his actions. It did not help that she was even more alluring than he remembered, nor that she exuded a thinly disguised sensuality aimed pointedly in his direction. Too young to understand their changed relationship, she persisted in treating him as a much adored suitor, ignoring both his newly married status and her own very-much-alive husband.
“It is so warm in here,” she murmured one night, too softly to be overheard. “Would you show me the conservatory, my love? It must be cooler there.”
“That would be improper, as you well know,” Thomas reminded, wanting nothing more than to comply. His own temperature needed a dose of cooler air, though until she had voiced her request, he had considered the room chilly. He gave her no chance to coax a change of mind, beckoning a passing footman.
“Lady Darnley has expressed a desire to see the conservatory. Would you conduct her there?” Ignoring her sad eyes, he joined Sharpton and immersed his thoughts in horses. Or tried to.
Every day she loomed larger in his mind. Her natural grace lent a seductive sensuality to every movement. Her husky voice caressed his ears, even when uttering commonplace sentiments. How could he find the words horses bore me provocative? She lit up every room she entered, a mobile ray of sunshine whose presence left him burning.
Fortunately, he had a great deal of will power. His code of honor had always reigned supreme. Even during his periods of deepest debauchery, he had never bedded another man’s wife. And though he had occasionally pursued widows of quality, he experienced twinges of guilt over the subsequent liaisons, preferring to conduct his affairs with courtesans, who freely bestowed their favors with no expectations beyond payment for services rendered.
But neither could he tear himself away from Graystone while Alicia remained in residence. God knew he had tried. It seemed that fate was allowing him one last chance to enjoy her company, though memories of his uncontrolled debauch forced him to limit his attentions, both for the sake of his family’s sensibilities and to uphold his own dignity. Honor, honor, became his waking litany. He stayed away from her as much as possible, spending his days riding, working, and discussing horses with the other men. Only in the evenings did he allow himself to watch her.
News of his marriage led to congratulations by all and sundry. Lord Darnley had initially looked askance at his presence, fully aware of his very public obsession. But the viscount relaxed when he discovered Thomas had since wed and observed that his attentions to Alicia were no more marked than the other gentlemen’s. With his noticeably failing health, he rarely appeared during the day, saving his waning energy to join the company in the evening for cards.
Alicia made Thomas’s honor more difficult to uphold with each passing day. Her innocence worked on him like a drug, her sympathy with his pain enslaving him as much as her beauty, but capitulation would betray all he held dear. He drank in every sight of her, his eyes absorbing the tiniest nuance of her being, for he would have nought but memories
Each day he walked a precarious tightrope between honor and adoration, pain and passion, duty and desire. The sight and sound of her inflamed his senses while intellect and honor fought to control his actions. It did not help that she was even more alluring than he remembered, nor that she exuded a thinly disguised sensuality aimed pointedly in his direction. Too young to understand their changed relationship, she persisted in treating him as a much adored suitor, ignoring both his newly married status and her own very-much-alive husband.
“It is so warm in here,” she murmured one night, too softly to be overheard. “Would you show me the conservatory, my love? It must be cooler there.”
“That would be improper, as you well know,” Thomas reminded, wanting nothing more than to comply. His own temperature needed a dose of cooler air, though until she had voiced her request, he had considered the room chilly. He gave her no chance to coax a change of mind, beckoning a passing footman.
“Lady Darnley has expressed a desire to see the conservatory. Would you conduct her there?” Ignoring her sad eyes, he joined Sharpton and immersed his thoughts in horses. Or tried to.
Every day she loomed larger in his mind. Her natural grace lent a seductive sensuality to every movement. Her husky voice caressed his ears, even when uttering commonplace sentiments. How could he find the words horses bore me provocative? She lit up every room she entered, a mobile ray of sunshine whose presence left him burning.
Fortunately, he had a great deal of will power. His code of honor had always reigned supreme. Even during his periods of deepest debauchery, he had never bedded another man’s wife. And though he had occasionally pursued widows of quality, he experienced twinges of guilt over the subsequent liaisons, preferring to conduct his affairs with courtesans, who freely bestowed their favors with no expectations beyond payment for services rendered.
But neither could he tear himself away from Graystone while Alicia remained in residence. God knew he had tried. It seemed that fate was allowing him one last chance to enjoy her company, though memories of his uncontrolled debauch forced him to limit his attentions, both for the sake of his family’s sensibilities and to uphold his own dignity. Honor, honor, became his waking litany. He stayed away from her as much as possible, spending his days riding, working, and discussing horses with the other men. Only in the evenings did he allow himself to watch her.
News of his marriage led to congratulations by all and sundry. Lord Darnley had initially looked askance at his presence, fully aware of his very public obsession. But the viscount relaxed when he discovered Thomas had since wed and observed that his attentions to Alicia were no more marked than the other gentlemen’s. With his noticeably failing health, he rarely appeared during the day, saving his waning energy to join the company in the evening for cards.
Alicia made Thomas’s honor more difficult to uphold with each passing day. Her innocence worked on him like a drug, her sympathy with his pain enslaving him as much as her beauty, but capitulation would betray all he held dear. He drank in every sight of her, his eyes absorbing the tiniest nuance of her being, for he would have nought but memories
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