of the sort.” Her fingertips trailed down his abdomen in a slow seduction that already had his cock rising to half-mast once more. “She is merely looking after your best interests, and I cannot blame her. Our arrangement will soon be at an end, and taking her to task hardly seems necessary.”
Curse it.
There it was again—the reminder that the end of their arrangement loomed in grim portent on the horizon.
But of course it would. He had known that all along. Why did this latest reminder, along with Hyacinth’s light tone—as if she had already accepted the finite ending of their time together—disturb him so?
“Nevertheless, I will not have her meddling in our affairs,” he said, nettled anew at Grandmère’s machinations.
“In a few more days, we will no longer have mutual affairs,” Hyacinth reminded him unnecessarily.
“Four,” he said grimly.
Four more days of Hyacinth and then…what? Not even being jilted by Nell had filled him with such hollow dread. Which was foolish, was it not? This fortnight of pleasure had been his scheme. As Brandon had said, he required the distraction of a lover. Not love itself.
“Four,” Hyacinth agreed, her touch going perilously near to his cockstand once more.
“What if I want more?” he dared to ask. “What if four is not enough?”
She stilled, tension radiating from her. “It has to be enough for both of us, I am afraid. I will not be a mistress.”
The old argument once more. Hyacinth feared the loss of her freedom. He could hardly fault her after what she had endured, even if he wanted to extend their time together. Asking for more from her was selfish and he knew it.
He brushed a kiss over her crown. “What will you do, after our time together is at an end? Will you take another lover?”
The notion made his gut curdle. It was not his place to ask, but he could not help himself. He had to know.
“I have not thought about it yet,” she said softly, her fingers reaching his cock at last. She gripped him, stroking from root to tip. “And what of you, Tom? You will inevitably marry at some point, do your familial duty to please the Duke and Duchess of Arrington.”
How the devil was he to think with her grasping his cock?
Indeed, he suspected that was rather her intention—distract him from the conversation. And she was succeeding admirably.
He hissed out a breath when she circled his sensitive cockhead with her thumb. “I am not marrying. My last attempt cured me of the need to wed.”
“A lover?” she asked, her voice husky. Melancholy.
He closed his eyes, tried to imagine ever bedding another woman, but all he could see was a golden-haired beauty with pouty lips and eyes the color of the summer sky.
“Mayhap,” he gritted, not sure why he said the word when he had no intention of seeking anyone else.
He had excellent experience at being the fool.
She stroked him again before she rose, straddling his lap. The promise of her warm, wet heat was enough to drive all other thoughts from his mind. Lust roared through him. Along with the need to drive inside her. To make both of them forget about the future.
“Then I had better make certain you will not forget me,” she whispered, just before sinking onto him.
“I could never forget you, Hyacinth,” he promised as the overwhelming pleasure of being buried deep inside her rolled over him.
“Nor could I forget you.” She sealed their lips in a kiss.
Tea with Lottie was always an adventure.
Ordinarily, it was an adventure Hyacinth looked forward to.
Not today.
The despondency haunting her refused to be dispelled. She could not shake the impending sadness that grew in magnitude with each day that took her closer to the day when her fortnight with Tom would be over.
The conclusion of their arrangement was for the best, and she knew it. Nothing had underscored that more than the Duchess of Arrington’s visit, no matter what Tom said to the contrary. He had already endured enough heartache and scandal at the hands of his former betrothed. Hyacinth would not be a burden to him, one more broken creature to be rescued.
“Hyacinth, dearest?” her friend’s voice cut through her doldrums. “Am I a more tedious conversationalist than I realized? I will own the Duke of Brandon’s disinterest has been perplexing me ever since that dratted ball, but you are my friend. If anyone ought to be obliged to listen to my nattering without resorting to woolgathering and glazed eyes, it is