It wasn’t Cam.
At the sight of the cloaked figure standing on the landing outside, Simon faltered into silence. He, renowned for his eloquence, was rendered speechless with amazement.
“Simon, I had to come. I can’t just stand by and let you risk your life,” Lydia whispered, glancing around to check that nobody had noticed her. “You have to stop this duel. You can’t fight Grenville. Not over me.”
His heart bucking like a half-tamed horse, his mind spinning as he grappled with her astonishing presence, Simon seized her arm and drew her inside. She’d
taken such a risk coming here. If anyone saw her, any small hope of repairing her reputation would disintegrate.
Elation made his heart stutter. There was so much he needed to say. He wanted to discover how she’d come to his rooms and whether she could stay. He wanted to apologize for his damnably reckless behavior earlier this evening. Not for kissing her—no man worth his salt apologized for storming the gates of heaven—but for the hellish mess afterward.
Still the shock of seeing her where he’d dreamed so often and so vividly of holding her in his arms crammed every question in his throat. The oppressive night turned bright with promise. Breathing heavily, he shouldered the door shut and gently but adamantly pushed her up against it. With surprisingly steady hands, he slid the hood of her gray cape back to reveal her lovely face. She looked pale and troubled.
“Simon, are you listening to me?” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she stared up at him. Her voice shook with desperation and strain etched her face. “He’ll kill you.”
Simon couldn’t doubt how frantic she was to stop the duel. Explanations rose like a surging tide inside him. Words like ‘honor’ and ‘the gentlemen’s code’ and a thousand other justifications for his need to face down his rival with a pistol.
Then the wild clamor of words retreated. Words didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lydia had come to him. “Shh.”
He cradled her cheeks in his hands. He had absolutely no right to touch her, but nothing short of the sky smashing down on his head could stop him. She’d entered his kingdom. Years of longing culminated in this moment. Lightly, thoroughly, he began to explore her face, learning her through touch alone.
Annoyance flashed in her eyes, although she made no attempt to avoid the wondering examination of her features. The proud cheekbones. The straight, high-bred nose. The soft flutter of eyelashes. The moist fullness of her lips. Ah, her mouth. One of nature’s masterpieces. He could devote a year to kissing her and consider the time well spent.
“Simon, I know you think Grenville is a joke, but don’t mistake that he means to shoot you,” she said earnestly.
The reminder of Berwick, both as Lydia’s betrothed and as a man seeking his blood, should have dissolved Simon’s enchantment. But his rival’s existence faded into insignificance compared to the burgeoning joy of Lydia’s arrival.
Reverently Simon brushed her hair back from her delicate face, teasing the faint frown lines that appeared between the fine brows. It seemed essential that at this moment, he paid due attention to every detail of this woman he’d loved so long. He’d always imagined that if his chance ever came, he’d be mad with haste, frantic to rush Lydia into his bed before he lost her as he’d lost her once before.
Instead it was as if he had all the time in the world. Time to stroke the softness of her hair, drawing the pins out until a russet curtain fell around her face; time to smooth his palm down her jaw, tracing the fragile bones.
She made a half-hearted and futile attempt to break away. “Simon, stop it. We need to talk!”
No, they didn’t. Right now, they needed to feel. “Shh,” he said again.
The world outside this quiet, candlelit apartment faded to nothing. After years of picturing Lydia seeking him out, she was finally within reach. Even the looming possibility of his death couldn’t undermine his happiness.
“Simon, tell me you’ll withdraw from the duel.” She curled her hands into the loose linen of his shirt and her pleading gaze fastened on his face. “It’s madness for you to chance your life over a few kisses. If you left, nobody would care. Nobody would speak ill of you.”
He hardly heard. “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, finding his voice. His hands trailed down her slender neck to the engraved silver clasp fastening her cape. He knew he smiled like a lunatic. She was here. She was here.
She flattened her hands against his chest in an unconvincing effort to keep him away. Fear sparked in her eyes. “Simon, this is important. I couldn’t bear it if Grenville hurt you. Don’t be a fool. You have nothing to gain by fighting him. Go back to the Continent. You’ll be safe there.”
Her furious commands bounced uselessly off the sphere of glowing pleasure that encased him. “All the time I was away, I told myself that you couldn’t be as beautiful as I remembered. But, God help me, you are.”
He paused to swallow a lump of emotion that constricted his breathing. How he wanted her. His body was hard and ready. But more important than desire was the love he’d always felt for her.
With leisurely movements, he slipped the cloak from her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground in a damp heap. It must have started raining since he’d left the musicale. He didn’t care. At this moment, his life was all sunshine.
His voice softened to an awestruck murmur. “You’re more beautiful than I remember. It hardly seems possible.”
Under the cloak, she still wore the pale green dress. Slowly, savoring every inch, he traced one finger across the creamy swell of her breast above the scooped bodice.
She bit her lip. “You can’t stay and face Grenville tomorrow. There’s no time to lose. You have to go now.”
“Shh.” His finger followed the slope of her breast to where her pulse beat so swiftly in the notch above her collarbone.
“Simon!” she said impatiently. “Listen to me, for heaven’s sake.”