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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The familiar hall was bathed in light when they entered it. It was good to be in Dorset, far from the overwhelming activity of London. Had Maeve not asked that they came here, Lucian might have done it himself. More than anywhere else, this felt like home.
It made all the sense in the world that Maeve had planned to spend her life here. There was something appealing about this manor, something uniquely tranquil.
Or at least, there used to be.
The children bolted to the staircase with excitement, ignoring the reprimands of their nanny, who followed suit with some luggage. During the entirety of their journey, they had begged and begged to be allowed to the beach as soon as they arrived. But despite their insistence, Maeve had remained firm in her decision that they ought to rest first.
It seemed the two little heathens they had spawned cared little about that, already on their way to change into more proper attires.
"You two are keen to take that nap," Maeve caustically pointed out.
"Mommy, please," Leigh, their five-year-old daughter, begged. "Can we go to the beach first?"
"We won't be long," their son added. At only seven, Hayden had already mastered the art of negotiations. The boy was as clever as his father when it came to strategy.
"If you go now, you will be exhausted by the time dinner comes, and you'll fall asleep in your plates. First a nap, then the beach."
With dramatic sighs of defeat, the children turned around and dragged their feet to the stairs. Domestics were coming and going, carrying their luggage and arranging the house after their long absence. Everything was hectic at the moment, but soon, it would all return to normal.
Since they tried to always show a united front as parents, Lucian had abstained from countering Maeve's decision. But after weeks of being bored to death in their London terrasse, and then hours in that dreaded carriage, it made sense that their children would long for some fresh sea air.
He took a couple of steps toward his wife, wrapped a hand around her back at the waist, and bent to whisper into her ear, "My darling swan, I believe you are being a little unfair on this one."
"How so?"
"You're the one who needs a nap, my love. They have slept most of our way here—they don't need more of it right now."
Her lips pursed into a discontented pout, her brow arching. As always, she didn't like being told she was wrong, too proud to admit it. But Lucian had learned how to navigate that reality with the years, and it was barely ever an issue anymore.
"Let them go to the beach. I'll take a nap with you." Just to make sure there would be no doubts about what he had in mind, he ran his hand down her back until he reached the roundness of her behind, and then he squeezed gently, enjoying her softness. The domestics paid them no mind, used to their displays of affection, unfazed by them.
