It Had to be the Duke - Christi Caldwell Page 0,17
way, not the kind of dizzying, exciting, all-consuming passionate love she’d known with Geoffrey. “But no,” she murmured, more to herself. “Lawrence was not my soulmate.” He couldn’t have been. Not when her soul had been melded to Geoffrey’s. “I believe…” Her words trailed off.
“What do you believe?” he murmured.
Her gaze locked with his. “I believe that there are many kinds of love and that it is possible to find love with different people at different times. I loved him as a very dear friend. The best of friends.” As soon as those truths left her, she winced. “I trust I’ve… offended you?”
“Because you loved your husband?” He shook his head. “Never that, Lydia. I could never have been unhappy knowing you found happiness in your marriage. I only wanted that for you. I wanted your happiness.” A half grin—his rogue’s grin, as she’d oft called it—curled his lips in a tempting smile. “Of course, I wanted you to have that happiness with me. But I would have never begrudged you coming to love Lawrence or his loving you.” A somberness replaced the earlier teasing glimmer. “Ever, Lydia. You were the light of my life, and my heart was happier in knowing that you weren’t suffering.”
The pieces of her heart that had so very recently been saddened by loss and loneliness stirred as, in the place of a mournful sorrow that had so consumed her, a lightness slipped in. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He brought a hand out, and in a smooth, effortless caress, he glided his knuckles along the curve of her cheek, and Lydia froze.
She went absolutely motionless.
Over the years, when the memory of Geoffrey and the times they’d shared had crept in, she’d convinced herself she merely imagined the passion of something as simple as a kiss upon her wrist or hand. Or the shivers that came from a touch… or caress.
And he didn’t stop. Nay, Geoffrey stroked his hand back and forth. Up and down, and her entire body, all her senses, focused on that beguiling motion.
But then, suddenly, that touch stopped. He stopped. Lydia’s eyelashes flew open, and she found him staring at her. His hooded, opaque gaze, however, revealed not a hint of what he was thinking. Or whether he remembered how very good it had been between them.
Someone tried the door handle, jiggling that metal.
Heat scorched her cheeks, and she straightened quickly, lifting her head from where it rested along the back of the sofa.
Catching her eye, Geoffrey rested a fingertip against her lips, urging her to silence.
“It appears someone has beaten us to the library, sweet.” That deep, male murmur stretched from the corridor into the library.
“But I wished to explore Mardel’s naughty collection.” If words could pout, that high-pitched, slightly squeaky intonation would have been the visual of it. “Perhaps they’ll invite us in, allow us to join them, and we can all enjoy the books and one another?” The young woman’s hopeful query, breathless from desire, brought Lydia’s eyebrows shooting up once more.
Lydia fanned her flaming face and then caught the small smile upon Geoffrey’s hard lips.
She made herself drop her hand to her lap. He’d been naughty the moment she’d met him. And that reputation had followed him through the years. By his own admission, he’d ceased his wild ways, but also he’d been worldly enough to know about and—according to scandal sheets—experience the manner of wickedness the young pair engaged in on the other side of that panel.
The door handle rattled once more. “Hullooo? Do you want to shaaare?”
Lydia’s cheeks burned several degrees hotter, as there could be absolutely no doubting the double entendre contained within that request.
“It looks like they aren’t interested in your offer, dear heart, which means I’m going to have to pleasure you enough for four.”
There came a breathless giggle followed by a long, desire-laden moan and then a rhythmic thumping against the panel.
Lydia winced. “I’d say that is bad form, is it not?”
“Oh, undoubtedly so.”
Thump, thump, thump.
The young woman whimpered. “Pleeease,” she begged, and Lydia swiftly directed her gaze up at the ceiling, at the walls… anywhere but at the man seated across from her.
They would stop.
Surely soon.
“Ooh, don’t make me wait.”
“You don’t want it quick. I’m going to take you long and slow.”
Lydia winced. Apparently, they’d not be stopping anytime soon.
Except, the longer she remained seated there, those desirous groans and moans filled her ears and conjured wonderings about the wickedness that pair engaged in. She tangled her fingers in her skirts and