Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,41

willpower within him to slide her to the side and get out of the bed.

She pouted at him as he reached for his shirt. He was ashamed by the strewn clothing he’d have to reclaim and wear again. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said softly, watching her hand stretch across the sheets towards him. “I have to go.”

She heard the conviction and flopped onto her back, though even that was graceful. Her hair spilt across the pillows, she stretched, languid and the very epitome of temptation. As she stared up into the inside canopy of the bed. Will struggled into his underwear, embarrassed by the effect she still had on his body.

“I never thought I’d be a mistress,” she said as he pulled on his trousers. “I was taught how to be a wife in charge of a household and oiling the wheels of Society for my husband’s success.”

He twisted round to face her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She smiled, and he couldn’t help but reflect it. “If I’d married, I never would have been with you and I wanted that, secretly.”

“I wanted to be with you,” he said. “I resented other people for taking my time, I kept waiting for when I could see you again. I never dreamt I’d have anything like this with you. I’m sorry you won’t have the life you deserve, but the selfish part of me is glad we can have this.”

He leaned across and kissed her again, then brushed his lips down her throat, skimming her breast until he reached a nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He felt her back arch as she gasped and cupped the other breast in his hand as he nibbled playfully. When he pulled back, her green eyes were bright with lust, her cheeks flushed and lips deep red. She grabbed at his collar but he pulled back before she could catch it, wagging a finger.

“You’re a cruel man, William Iris,” she said, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as he resumed his dressing. “You do that to me before you leave? Am I to assume you want me to do nothing but lust after you all day?”

“I would like nothing more,” he said, truthfully. “I like the thought of you lying naked and restless under these sheets, needing me to return and quench that fire. I always knew something burned in you.”

“And I you,” she said. “We were meant to be together. Perhaps fate conspired on our behalf.”

“Perhaps.” He wondered why fate would be so unfair as to place Catherine in the role of wife.

Will did the best he could with the cravat, knowing he looked dishevelled and guilty of a night away from home. He ran his fingers through his hair in the hope of calming it into a neater tumble on the top, and took a last look at her. She’d rolled onto her side, propped up on one elbow, the sheet clinging to her curves beautifully. Her eyes were coaxing him back into bed.

“No,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He tried to leave, then kissed her once and forced himself to walk out of the room. When he shut the door, the rest of the world came crashing in: the guilt at not consummating the marriage, the worry over what Catherine was doing now and where they could go from here. He leaned against the door for a moment, wishing unreservedly that Amelia was his wife, that Cornelius was his brother and that Catherine was off living her strange life in her own strange way with someone else.

Sam dropped his keys onto the shelf in the hallway and slung his rucksack on the sofa. The house felt horribly empty and was lit only by the orange glow from the streetlights outside. He switched on the light and went to the fridge only to find lumpy milk and something unrecognisable that smelt awful. He rescued a lone tin of beer from underneath a rotting lettuce, poured its contents into a glass and leaned against the kitchen worktop.

He knew he had messages from work to pick up and emails to check but he just couldn’t face them. He was probably going to get dragged over the coals by his boss in the morning and rightly so; his productivity and attendance had nosedived. He’d wanted to talk it over with Leanne but she’d been obsessed with showing him the sights. It was as if