Page 26 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

The truth may hurt.

The truth may smart.

But it must come out,

And tear my heart.

Despite Athene’s best intentions, they were three days into their sensual idyll before she mustered the courage to share her disreputable past with Hugo.

It wasn’t altogether her fault. Their insatiable hunger for each other meant that they devoted most of their waking hours to pleasure.

Athene’s carnal education had continued apace.

Hugo had taken her standing. He’d taken her sitting.

He’d taken her from behind on the bed, then bent over one of the padded chairs.

They’d used the wall. They’d used the floor.

They’d even splashed about in the large tin bath that he’d ordered the second day.

It was years since Athene had enjoyed the luxury of a long soak in scented hot water.

She’d never imagined that all that water could make for a slippery, steamy, slow seduction that propelled her to the fiery borders of the universe.

It turned out that in her wanton career, she’d failed to imagine a great many things.

“What are you thinking about?” Hugo asked.

It was late. Close to midnight. She wore her plain nightgown and he’d tugged on a shirt and breeches.

They sat in front of the sitting room fire, enjoying a port and some of Mrs. Treddle’s baking.

Mrs. Treddle’s tidbits had done much to keep Athene’s strength up.

“Our bath.”

“Ah.”

She sipped her wine, savoring the rich flavor. During her years of poverty, she’d forgotten quite how luxury eroded resolve. After the Three Crowns’ comforts, it would kill her to go back to her thin mattress at the back of Sylvie’s shop. Hugo was a bad influence on her.

Which didn’t mean that she intended to part from him until she had to.

“That was—”

“Splendiferous?”

“Yes.”

She admired his propensity for extravagant language. He loved words even more than she did, as it turned out.

Silence descended again. Easy. Alive with unspoken communication that somehow strengthened the bonds between them.

“You know, on a cold winter’s night, there’s nothing nicer than sitting with your sweetheart and dreaming in front of the fire,” he said in a thoughtful voice.

Athene should object to him calling her his sweetheart. In part because she loved it too much. Also the word carried an air of innocence that she didn’t deserve. And romance – when she struggled to remember that she was this man’s mistress and destined to be nothing more.

But lazy contentment swaddled her, and she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the languorous mood. “I can think of a few things nicer.”

He gave a brief grunt of amusement. “Well, there’s that, too.”

They’d done that when they came upstairs from a walk along the river. And that again after another extravagant dinner. She had a feeling that would make a return appearance, once they went back to bed. She could hardly wait.

A decade of celibacy had vanished into a whirlwind of lust. Athene couldn’t get enough of Hugo and his big, virile body. For the last three days, she’d wandered around in a daze of sexual fulfillment. Physical pleasure thrummed in her blood.

It was a good thing that he seemed equally rapacious for her.

Staring into the crackling fire, she took another sip of wine. And plowed ahead to puncture the languorous mood. “The coldest I’ve ever been was the winter Bonaparte occupied Vienna.”

“Vienna?” Hugo’s head swiveled in her direction. She read horror in his eyes. “Damn it, you were on the Continent during the war? Athene, I had no idea. I can’t bear to think of you in danger.”

“I survived.” Only just and only because of Sylvie.

She watched a whole string of dire possibilities cross his mind before he discounted them. If any man knew that she’d only had one inadequate lover before him, it was Hugo.

“You don’t need to reveal all your secrets. I accept – hell, I adore – the woman you are now.”

Adore? No, no, no. That went beyond the besotted that she’d admitted.

Way beyond. She needed to remind him why any liaison between them must remain temporary.

But dear Lord above, reality was cruel. Something in her cringed from extinguishing that light in his eyes when he beheld her.

Nobody had ever looked at her like that.

She had a sick feeling that nobody ever would again.

But this must be done, no matter what it cost her. “You’ve probably guessed a lot of what I haven’t said,” she said in a subdued voice.

He tilted his head in her direction. “A little.”

More than that, or she’d mistaken how perceptive he was. She set her glass on the table with a decisive movement. “I’d like you to know.”

To place any thoughts of forever out of reach.

So he treated her like a mistress and not like the woman who had stolen his heart.

They’d never spoken the word “love,” but every time he touched her, she felt his love.

Even worse, she was already too far down the road toward loving him in return to crawl back to safety.

***

Hugo observed Athene without speaking. For the past three days, she’d been happy. She wasn’t happy now. He hated to see her lips flatten in a purposeful line. She looked like she prepared to face an implacable enemy. He had a nasty suspicion that the enemy was him.

How it broke his heart to see the sensuous ease leach away from her features. But then, she broke his heart over and over, because he loved her, and love gave her the power to devastate him.

He’d fallen in love with Athene the instant he’d met her at Sylvie’s shop, so proud and prickly, yet so vulnerable.

But having her in his bed for three days, having her soft and trusting and responsive – so responsive – had embedded her so deep into his soul that he couldn’t imagine going on without her.

“You’ll never deter me from wanting to marry you,” he said, knowing he was determined and knowing equally well that all his determination counted for nothing in the face of her continuing refusal.

She made a dismissive gesture. “Wait until you hear me out.”

“Athene, you can tell me you serviced every man in Napoleon’s army and I’ll still want to marry you.”

Her laugh was hollow. “No, I didn’t do that. Although I was lucky I had Sylvie. Without her, no doubt, I’d have ended up selling my body just to stay alive.”

“So George remains my only rival?”

The way she rolled her eyes provided a brief reminder of his teasing companion over the last days. “You know George is no rival.”

Hugo liked hearing that. He liked it very much indeed. Even though he had no right to be jealous. Even though the toad was no longer alive. “He was your first love. That’s a powerful role to play in a woman’s life.”

She sighed and brushed back the wave of hair that shadowed her cheek. His hands curled on the chair’s arms, as if they stroked that silky fall. But he kept his physical distance. He feared if he touched her, she’d split in two. She was as brittle as an overbaked wafer.

“I didn’t love George.”

“What?” That wasn’t what Hugo expected. It might be what he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t accept it. “You must have, or else you—”

Her expression was stark with self-loathing. “Wouldn’t have been idiotic enough to destroy my life by running off with him? You’re giving me too much credit.”

“You must have thought you loved him at the time.” With difficulty, Hugo kept his tone neutral. She didn’t need to think he judged her. He could see that she was busy enough judging herself.

Another sigh. Heavier than the last. “I was headstrong and passionate. And lonely. He kissed me and told me I was pretty, and I convinced myself I was in love. But what I wanted was a man in my bed, not George in particular.”

Coruscating anger on her behalf flooded Hugo. Not for the first time, he wished to the devil that George was still alive. Just so he could kill the swine himself. Slowly and painfully. “He seduced an innocent girl away from her family.”

“The girl was willing to be seduced. You know how I—”

“Yield to desire?”

To his dismay, shame shuttered her expression. “I’ve tried so hard to control my wicked nature.”

He shook his head, as the urge sharpened to flay her odious lover. “It’s not wicked. It’s wonderful. A man wants a woman who welcomes his touch. Coldness in bed makes for a cold marriage.”

Her eyes darkened with what he could only call fear, and her hands made fists in her lap. “We’re not talking about marriage.”

“Not yet,” he said with his own hint of grimness. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“I was born into a well-to-do family in Yorkshire.” Her usually musical alto was toneless.

“Yorkshire?” he said in genuine surprise and pleasure. “If you’d told me that, I’d have whisked you away and married you the day I met you.”

Glassy eyes fixed on him. His attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell flat. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”

To his regret, he knew why. “You didn’t want to reinforce the bonds between us. That didn’t work too well.”

One pale hand made a defeated gesture. “No, it was a miserable failure. Because of course I understand your world. For pity’s sake, I come from your world. If I’d toed the line at home, I’m sure at some stage, we would have met. You almost certainly know my father or my uncles or my brother.”

“Maybe.” He’d had the same thoughts. He’d always known that she was as wellborn as he was. “I wish to Hades I got to you before George did.”

Anguish twisted her features, and he caught the shimmer of tears in her lovely eyes. “So do I.”

It was a huge concession. One Hugo would think about later. Right now, he wanted to hear how everything went wrong. “Were you already out in society when you met him?”