Unlaced by Candlelight. Кэрол Мортимер
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nose wrinkled with distaste as she took in his disreputable appearance—the crumpled clothes he had been wearing the evening before, the darkness of his curls in disarray, a growth of beard darkening his jaw. That jaw now tightened. “I asked—”
“I heard you,” Sylvie spoke quietly, her own appearance immaculate as she perched, ladylike, upon the edge of her chair, several loose gold curls peeking out from beneath the yellow silk bonnet that was an exact match in color for her gown, her hands and arms covered by cream lace gloves.
Christian gave a wince as the brightness of those colors hurt his eyes. “And yet you did not answer,” he bit out.
In truth, Sylvie regretted the need for her having to come here at all, let alone finding herself faced with Christian’s disreputable appearance. His evening clothes were crumpled, as if he had slept in them. At the same time, the dark shadows below his eyes and the stubble on his arrogant chin gave the impression he had not been to bed at all. To sleep, at least...
She stiffened her spine. “Perhaps you would like to return upstairs and...see to your appearance before we commence our conversation...?”
He raised mocking brows as he threw himself down in the chair facing her own. “I am perfectly comfortable as I am, thank you,” he drawled dismissively as he leaned his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. “And I believe we are already in conversation...?”
Sylvie drew her breath in sharply, having known the moment she saw Christian’s rumpled appearance that she should not have come here today without first making an appointment. She had thought to put Christian at a disadvantage by doing so, and instead she once again found herself the one who was wrong-footed. “You put forward a suggestion to me yesterday evening—”
“If you are referring to becoming my mistress, that was not a suggestion but a statement of intent,” he cut in, eyes gleaming through narrowed lids as he looked at her above those long, steepled fingers.
Sylvie was well aware of that. Just as she knew she had no intention of allowing this man to call at her home. The home where Christianna also resided...
“Perhaps your...other activities last night have now rendered that conversation obsolete?”
Those chiseled lips tilted in a humorless smile. “If you wish to know if I bedded another woman last night then just ask, Sylvie,” he mocked. “I promise I will not lie to you.”
“That will certainly be a novelty!”
Christian’s eyes narrowed in warning. “To my knowledge I have never lied to you. Nor will I lie to you now.”
Sylvie’s cheeks warmed even as she berated herself for caring one way or the other whether or not Christian had gone to another woman’s bed last night. In truth, it would be preferable if he had done so, would give her the perfect excuse to turn down his scandalous offer to her the previous evening. “Very well. Did you bed another woman last night?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Do not look so disappointed, Sylvie.” He gave a hard laugh. “Why would I even consider the idea of bedding another woman after making love to you earlier in the evening?”
Her mouth firmed at his mockery. “You must know that you are not known for your constancy in regard to any particular woman.”
He raised dark brows. “And is that to be a condition of our own arrangement? That, for the time of our...affair, I will occupy only your bed?”
“We do not have an arrangement—”
“As yet,” Christian bit out decisively. “But that is your reason for being here today, is it not? So that we might thrash out the terms and conditions of such a relationship between the two of us?” The alcoholic fog and lack of sleep had now cleared enough from Christian’s head for him to have considered all of the reasons Sylvie had chosen to call on him this morning.
She wished to reiterate that there would be no affair between them, now, or in the future? Something she could far more easily have told him in a note, or when he called upon her later in the day.
That she had decided to take another man as her lover? He was sure Sylvie knew him well enough to know that he would never accept such a decision.
Which only left the more obvious reason: that Sylvie had decided to accept his offer after all, but on her own terms.
And Christian was very interested in knowing what those terms might be.
“Well?” he prompted at her continued silence. “Is that not the reason you are here, Sylvie?”
Damn him!
Damn, damn, damn Lord Christian Matthew Faulkner Ambrose, the Earl of Chambourne, to the hell he deserved!
Because, having considered all of the options during the long and sleepless night, and out of a need to protect Christianna, that was precisely the reason Sylvie had called upon him this morning.
Christian had made it abundantly clear the evening before that, the two of them now having met again, he had no intention of quietly absenting himself from her life a second time. Not, at least, until he had taken what he wanted from her. As clear as he had made it that what he wanted was her, in his bed, for as long as it took him to tire of her again. None of which would have—should have—mattered in the least to Sylvie after Christian’s despicable treatment of her four years ago.
And it would not have done.
If not for Christianna.
The man Sylvie had met yesterday evening was even less the man she had thought him to be four years ago, the Christian from the past having at least given the appearance of warmth and caring. Last night he had been every inch the cold and arrogant Lord Christian Ambrose, the Earl of Chambourne, a known rake and a man who cared for no one—except a possible affection for his grandmother?—and neither expected nor wanted anyone to care for him. Even so, Sylvie had no doubts that he would care about his daughter if he ever learned of her existence. As he must surely do, if he were ever to actually see Christianna.
Which was precisely the reason Sylvie had decided to accept, and put her own limitations—some control—on the...relationship, Christian stated, no, demanded, there now be between the two of them.
That, and the fact that—despite everything that had once passed between them—Sylvie still responded physically to this man. Her heart, she was sure, was in no further danger from this man; how could it be when he had used her so shamefully in the past?
She rose briskly to her feet. “Being a young and wealthy widow, I have received several such offers as yours these past few months—”
“A young, wealthy and beautiful widow,” Christian corrected softly.
Sylvie refused to allow herself to be moved by his compliment; Christian Ambrose was a silver-tongued devil bent on seduction, nothing more. A seduction that would take place under Sylvie’s rules or not at all. “I obviously cannot vouch as to that—”
“I can,” he bit out tersely. “If anything, Sylvie, you are more beautiful now than you were four years ago.” And it was true, Christian acknowledged with a frown. There was a confidence to Sylvie now that had not been present four years earlier, an elegance in her carriage and demeanor that implied a coolness to her nature that Christian knew to be only skin deep; her responses to him yesterday evening had been every bit as fiery as he remembered from the past.
“Yes. Well.” She gave him a scathing glance. “Several of these gentleman have been...pressing, in their attentions—”
Christian’s eyes were narrowed. “Tell me the names of these other gentlemen and I will consign them to the devil.”
She