She was New Hyacinth. And New Hyacinth could fly on her own. New Hyacinth did not need rescuing.
“You may show me all you like,” she forced herself to say, keeping her tone as light as possible. “But I am afraid my back is aching and in desperate need of a plush mattress for the rest of the evening. If you do not mind?”
“Hell.” He kissed her again. “You are right. What was I thinking, bedding you on the floor of the library when there is a perfectly excellent bed awaiting us upstairs? I hope I have not left you with the permanent impression that I am an unthinking cad.”
“Never,” she reassured him tenderly, her heart bursting with an emotion she knew she would be best to subdue.
For emotion had no place in her relationship with Tom. It never had. Pleasure was what they shared. Friendship. That was it. That was all.
“Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Why have I never noticed you have freckles before now?”
“Freckles?” Frowning, she raised a hand to the bridge of her nose as if she could feel the offensive spots. “Never say I do.”
“A smattering of them, rather in the shape of Cassiopeia,” he confirmed.
“A constellation of freckles?” Hyacinth giggled. She could not help herself. “How silly.”
Oh, why did every moment with this man have to be so wondrous, as if he had been made purely for her, when she knew he had not?
“Beautiful if you ask me,” he told her, kissing the freckles in question. “Fetching. Utterly lovely.”
“That is enough.” She laughed, playfully swatting at him.
“Have I mentioned entrancing?” He dropped another kiss on her nose.
Their eyes locked, his countenance turning serious. The lightheartedness of the moment fell away, the air between them hanging thick and heavy once more.
“You have not,” she said softly.
“Well they are.” He kissed her lips this time, slowly. Lingeringly. “And you are as well, Hyacinth.”
Oh, Tom.
Her sweet, wonderful, beautiful man.
She had to put an end to this before she turned into a watering pot and thoroughly humiliated herself. Best, she reasoned, to end their affaire on this light note—pleasure, gratitude, mischievousness. Lottie would help her to find distraction as she had promised. Everything was happening as it should. Life would go on. She would maintain her independence.
“We had best get dressed and go upstairs,” she suggested, “lest we horrify the staff. Poor Brandon will regret giving us the run of his household.”
Tom kissed her nose and rolled to his side, tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening them once more. He rose and fetched his handkerchief, tending to her before he helped her to stand.
As always with him, there was no embarrassment for her at her nudity. No shame in the aftermath of their mutual passion. She took her time intentionally, plotting a means of sending him away from her. If she dawdled long enough, and if she clung to the pretense of not wishing to put on a display before the domestics, she felt she could seize the opportunity to make good her escape.
Even if it killed her.
“You go upstairs first,” she said, doing her utmost to keep her voice from faltering. “I will join you directly.”
He searched her gaze, almost as if he suspected something was amiss. “I will wait for you.”
“I have to repair my gown and bodice,” she argued, stretching a feigned smile on her lips. “It will take me a few minutes.”
She had settled upon her path, and she meant to follow through. Strike that—she had to follow through. Or risk humiliating herself.
She could not bear for their affaire to end in pain or upset. No, best to leave matters between them as they were. Mayhap she was choosing the way of the coward. But it was the only way she could bear. Saying goodbye to him at dawn and slinking away in her carriage would be far too painful.
“Please, Tom,” she added, slipping her drawers back on. “I will join you directly.”
He had already donned his shirt and waistcoat. His jacket hung from his fingers in careless fashion. His eyes raked over her half-nude form, and she could not quite suppress the shiver of renewed desire that look produced in her. A few minutes more, and she would be reduced to a puddle at his feet. She needed to remain firm.
He nodded. “Very well, sweetheart. Anything for you.”
Oh, how she hated the thought that these were the last words he would speak