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“It is. Forget this happened.”

She moved, gathering her skirts in her hand. Without sparing him another glance, she turned away and walked from the room with angry purpose.

She had meant the words to convince herself. But unfortunately for her, the lingering heat between her thighs made a liar of her.

Nineteen

Ambrose stirred his tea, staring at the stray leaves floating in his cup. He still could not believe what he had allowed to happen the day before. He had been so overcome by his desire for Marina that he had very nearly not stopped at all.

He could not deny that it had felt glorious to hear the sounds she made. In fact, even thinking about it now made his trousers feel a little tighter.

No. No, no.

He took a sip of tea, only to discover that it was much too hot. The liquid burned his lips, and he set the cup down with a clang just as Marina entered.

“Good morning,” she said rather cheerfully, although there was something artificial about her cheer.

“Good morning,” he replied.

She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. A moment later, Celeste brought in her morning porridge. Marina poured honey over it and began to eat. Then she looked up.

The curtains were shut.

“I wish to eat breakfast in peace,” Ambrose said. “I do not want to debate the curtains.”

“I did not say anything,” she replied.

“Good. I think I have made a great many concessions to you. At some point, it must be quite enough.”

“Very well,” she said. “But I said nothing.”

She swallowed a spoonful of porridge, then looked at him again.

“I hope you do not feel too upset over what occurred yesterday.”

Ambrose could scarcely believe she was bringing up the matter.

“No,” he said. “I am not upset. But I do hope you realize that it was a momentary lapse of judgment. Nothing more. Nothing of the kind will happen again, and certainly nothing further. You recall what we agreed.”

“Of course,” she said, picking up her teacup. “I understand. And it is an arrangement I am perfectly happy with.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, I must get ready.”

He rose and picked up the newspaper. He had not finished his breakfast. In fact, he was still quite hungry, but he was not going to sit there and look at her from across the table, thinking about what he had allowed to happen.

The only thing that would work between them now was distance. He knew that.

Unfortunately, he had already used the London excuse. Besides, he did not wish to leave Emma alone for too long. Thus, he could do nothing but retreat to his chamber.

He was halfway out of the room when Marina called after him.

“I have a question.”

He turned around. “You always do.”

“The night you returned from London, after visiting my cottage, you came to the drawing room. I heard you walking outside. Well, I heard somebody walking outside. I opened the door, and there you were. You never told me what you were doing there.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to use my drawing room.”