to her affaire with Tom was for the best. That leaving early on their final night together instead of lingering had been the only choice she could have made.
She could be the merry widow. She could take another lover. She would know other lips which also made her weak and other hands that brought her to ecstasy. Another man’s body would fill her with longing, and another man’s tender attentions would make her burn.
Tom was not the only man for her. He was not the only man in London. There were any number of gentlemen she could choose for her next paramour. Now that she had taken a lover once, surely doing so again would be commonplace.
But, alas, she was doing a damned poor job of persuading herself of the validity of any of those arguments. She had spent all the hours since their parting regretting the manner in which she had slipped away. Part of her had expected him to follow her home. To sneak into her garden. To send her an outraged note.
To respond in some way other than bleak silence.
Tom, however, had neither attempted to pursue her or contact her.
Now, Hyacinth edged nearer to the window in her salon, which happened to provide her with an unobstructed view of the walk leading to the townhome next door. Dimly, her mind struggled to focus upon Lottie’s words. Her friend had paid a call upon her quite unexpectedly in an effort to shake her from her doldrums.
A handsome carriage was just arriving. Hyacinth’s stomach cramped.
“Hyacinth?” Lottie prodded.
“Hmm?” she asked, distracted by the identity of the caller.
It was not the Duke of Brandon’s carriage, that much was certain. The door opened. A woman emerged.
And her heart ceased to beat.
At least, that was what it felt like.
All the air seemed to rush from her lungs. The woman was young. Lovely. Dressed elegantly in a fine silk visiting gown the shade of Hyacinth’s roses. Beneath her smart hat, her blonde hair had been gathered into a fetching knot, with curls framing her heart-shaped face. Good God, she was not just lovely.
The woman was beautiful.
“What is so intriguing on the street?” Lottie demanded. “The only acceptable excuse is that a dragon has landed and begun blowing fire at random. Otherwise, there is no reason for you to be ignoring your friend in such dreadful fashion.”
“Forgive me,” she said through lips that had gone suddenly dry. “What were you saying?”
She watched as the woman made her way up the pavements and disappeared into Tom’s townhome. Only when the door closed at her back could Hyacinth pry her gaze from the window.
Lottie was watching her with a concerned expression. “Well?”
She tried to recall what had been said. Her mind had been divested of everything before the stunning creature in the pink gown had arrived at Tom’s home. Who was she? A friend? His next lover?
Oh, why should she care?
Their fortnight was over. She had walked away from him in the darkness of the night, slipping away without a word. And he had repaid her in kind, acting as if she ceased to exist. Mayhap for him she already had.
Hyacinth’s heart gave a pang. “What was the question, Lottie?” she forced herself to ask.
“Is there a dragon?” her friend returned.
Dragons made her think of Tom’s formidable grandmother.
She frowned, her tortured mind attempting to understand. “The Duchess of Arrington is not paying him a call. It is another lady.”
A glorious one.
A woman who was perhaps taking Hyacinth’s place in Tom’s life. In his bed.
You do not care, she reminded herself. You wanted to preserve your freedom, and now you have.
But part of her was beginning to fear she was lying to herself.
“Oh dear heavens, Hyacinth.” Lottie rose and crossed the chamber, echoing the stern chastisement she was inwardly issuing to herself. “Never tell me you have broken the cardinal rule of taking lovers.”
Hyacinth bit her lip to stave off an impending rush of misery. “What is the cardinal rule?”
How had she fooled herself into believing she could walk away from Tom unscathed? She should have known better. She should have been stronger, smarter, wiser. Not that she could ever regret any of the time she had spent with Tom, nor any of the intimacies they had shared. He had shown her how rich her life could be, how filled with passion. He had helped her to free herself from the old fears and doubts. But the thought of an unknown lady calling upon him mere days after