Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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Even hours after Lucian had left, his scent lingered on Maeve's sheets. Upon waking up on Saturday, she pushed her face into the pillow he'd used, inhaling his familiar smell deep into her lungs. That didn't fail to instantly put her in a splendid mood.
Stretching her sore limbs, she grinned at the ceiling, images of their intense night filling her mind. Even though he'd left relatively early, right before midnight, they'd taken as much as they could physically endure to compensate for the upcoming weeks. Being deprived of him entirely would be hard, but knowing they'd be married soon made up for it handsomely.
Gauging the intensity of the light in her room, Maeve tried to guess what time it was. It wouldn't surprise her to learn it was already past noon, since the day seemed well-advanced. Thankfully, no one bothered her in the mornings anymore, especially following an evening out. Ailia might have been a morning person, but Maeve wasn't, and more than once had she made it known.
Adamant to linger into the Lucian-scented sheets, she rolled on her stomach, relenting to get out of bed. Her body was still highly aware of his lewd ministrations, her skin tingling as if still under his touch, the tips of her breasts sensitive and needy, and that spot between her legs tender. The ghost of him was everywhere on her, and she was certain she'd be reminded of him every time she sat — the entire day and maybe the day after, too. Unsparing, he'd given her everything she'd asked for and more, his stamina astonishing as usual.
Outside in the hallway, she heard a commotion. Although she'd gladly spend the day in bed to recuperate from Lucian's attentions, it reminded her there was much to be done. In five days, the whole family was leaving the London terrasse to travel back to Leeds. After the engagement's announcement on Monday in the newspapers, it was certain they would receive many calls from acquaintances and friends, so there wouldn't be much time for packing then.
Her limbs ached when she rolled out of bed, exposing her bare body to the air of the room. She was growing increasingly comfortable in her nudity, despite over twenty-four years of clinging with fierceness to her modesty. Lucian was devilishly good at making all her inhibitions lower.
More ruckus came from outside, so she covered herself with her dressing gown before someone decided to storm in. She was just done doing the last button when the door flung open.
Startled, she turned to the invasive newcomer, ready to sermon whoever it was about manners. As she saw Ailia's enraged expression, she recoiled, wondering what on earth was happening.
Her twin made her way toward Maeve, clenching a newspaper in her angry fist, and their mother entered the room as well, alarmed.
"How could you do this?!" Ailia shouted, throwing the crumpled paper at her.
Appalled, Maeve swung her arm to intercept the projectile's course, sending it toward the floor instead. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"You promised, Maeve! You promised you wouldn't tell him!"
