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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When Lucian came out of 10 Downing Street, he was in a foul mood. He had confirmed with Liverpool he would accept Wellington's demand.
A boat with fresh men and supplies was scheduled to leave Douvres on the seventh of June, and three days after that, he would be with the rest of the officers, near a small town called Waterloo. His decision to enroll again, which had seemed like a great idea a few days ago, was now tainted by the fact that his best friend wasn't talking to him anymore, mad at him for risking his life again.
Lucian knew it might not sound rational that a sane person would willingly subject themselves to war again. Especially given how much he had already suffered from it. As much as he wanted to blame Lady Langston and her low blow, he knew there was no way John would have taken the news well.
His body reacted instantly at the thought of the young woman. Even days later, the vivid memories of her still haunted him. For a moment that had seemed to last hours, he'd lost himself with her in his arms. Had she not stopped him, he would have embraced the burning passion that possessed them, until they were both left panting and satisfied.
He had been surprised by how responsive she had proved to be. He usually wasn't that forward, especially since she was innocent, but he hadn't been in control of anything, her moans and sighs making him mad with need. When they had stopped, he had been so disturbed by his reaction to her, by what had happened, that he had impulsively decided to insult her, deciding it was better for them to go back to resenting each other, rather than this confusing state.
After Hyde Park, he had guessed she was attracted to him, but what they had shared was much more than a common attraction. It had been pure, unaltered passion, the type one did not come across often. He couldn't help but wonder what this meant, what this could lead to. Lady Maeve Langston, the Black Swan, one of the finest, most beautiful women in England, wanted him with fierce intensity, and the feeling was mutual.
How did one resist such temptation?
Shaking the thought of her out of his head, he entered his coach and signaled the driver by knocking on the ceiling with his cane. As scheduled, they would be heading straight to his sister's house. Tonight, he had been invited by Harriet to dine with them.
He usually found a random excuse to refuse her invitations, but with his upcoming departure, it seemed appropriate to visit her. She had been married for almost nineteen years to a gentleman who dabbled in the import of Italian and Greek delicacies.
If the conversation was never meaningful during those dinners, at least the wine was more than acceptable, as he favored bottles from Tuscany, which his brother-in-law had an abundance of. The coach arrived rapidly, and he didn't wait for the valet to get out.
His sister lived in a lovely house of modest size in Chelsea. They also had a house on the east coast where they spent most of their summers. Lucian reached the green door and knocked on the surface with his cane.
