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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As she pressed herself further into his arms, Lucian sensed all the weeks of pain and hardship dissipate. With every insistent touch of her lips, grazes of her tongue, and pulls of her hands, he was growing lighter and lighter, the weight on his shoulders disappearing.
She didn't loathe him any longer. Now that she knew the truth, Maeve wouldn't look at him with resentment anymore.
Despite his doubts, she'd come to him tonight. It meant a part of her had never truly forsaken him, still tender where he was concerned. And now... now he was holding her, ravishing her with passionate attentions.
This had never been the plan. He'd never meant for them to get lost in their need and desire for one another. All he'd wanted had been to speak with her, to earn her forgiveness. But now that it was happening, now that her soft shapes were against him, his hands coursing over her delectable body over the few layers of her attire, Lucian couldn't hold back and be reasonable.
He'd missed her terribly. And not just the physical aspect of her, but her mind most of all. Her fierceness, her witty mouth, her strong-headedness. But also the vulnerability and the candor that lay behind her combative spirit.
Lost in their embrace, they stumbled together, out of balance. Pain shot into his bad leg as he struggled to keep them from tripping over, and a groan passed from his mouth to hers. She must have detected it, because she pulled away from him, seeking his eyes with hers.
"Is it your knee? Is it hurting again?"
"Yes... Losing you has been my own version of hell, and... I haven't been taking good care of myself lately. My old injury has deteriorated to the way it was months ago — before we were acquainted."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, planting her ravishing eyes into his.
"It wasn't your fault, my love. All that matters is that things are back to the way they used to be."
His own version of Heaven.
Her eyebrows twisted with uncertainty, her mouth opening as if to protest. But she remained mute before him, and his chest tightened to an unpleasant pressure.
"Lucian, I... We can't keep doing what we were doing before. My family was never fooled, and we could only meet because they allowed it, for some ludicrous reason."
He grimaced with embarrassment and looked away. "I'm aware, yes. Your mother made it clear when she called on me."
"She visited you?"
"Yes, she wanted to make sure I would do right by you."
"This is what worries me," she said with a wince. "They knew. And if we try to do it again, they'll know once more. We can't... We can't keep seeing each other like that."
"So, what does it mean?" He feared he already knew the answer, but in case he was wrong, he needed her to answer.
"It means we have tonight. And then... only God knows. You have to find who did this, Lucian. You have to clear your name so we can be together."
