Page 11 of No One's Bride
“Never mind. There’ll be other paintings.”
“It’s not a painting. It’s a book about a fictional society.”
Miss MacTavish would press him for a detailed explanation before questioning his ideas. Lissette said, “Perhaps it’s a good thing. It sounds rather dull.”
Not as dull as watching this woman admire her reflection.
Fully clothed, he sat on the end of the bed, wondering what Lissette would look like with her hair scraped back in a severe knot and minus the rouge. Then he pictured Miss MacTavish sitting there, her red hair like a wild burst of flames, her eyes bright, wearing that sheer silk negligee, not a tartan day dress.
For the first time since walking through Lissette’s door, he felt a warm stirring in his loins. A flicker of desire for a woman who’d give him fifty lashes with her tongue if she knew his current train of thought.
Damnation!
That blasted spell book had wrought havoc with his senses.
He was having visions, conjuring imagined scenarios.
Is this what happened to Michael? Like an addict in an opium den, had he lost all grasp of reality? Had he thrown himself overboard, and that’s why there was no body to bury?
For fear of contamination, we had to have a sea burial.
“Are you not undressing?” Lissette shot him a questioning glance through the looking glass.
When had she ever stared deeply into his eyes?
As many times as she lost her temper. Not once.
“I came merely to talk.” Perhaps Miss MacTavish was right, and talking made kissing better.
Her nose wrinkled. “Talk? Whatever for?”
He laughed to himself, all illusions slipping away to reveal the bare bones of this meaningless relationship. As if to prove he was wasting his time here, Miss MacTavish’s bewitching words drifted into his mind again.
If it means that much to you, you may have the book.
Without doubt, it was the kindest thing anyone had said to him.
He was at a loss to know why she cared.
Maybe she didn’t care and merely viewed it as an opportunity to own the Tudor diary. Either way, their verbal tussles hardened his cock more than anything that happened beneath Lissette’s bedsheets.
Sebastian stood and straightened his coat.
“You’re not leaving?” Lissette’s voice grated like grinding metal. “You’ve been here half an hour, and it’s only ten o’clock.”
He shrugged. “There’s no easy way to say this. We’re unsuited, and we’ve both grown tired of using each other.” And he would not bed one woman while thinking about another. Not that he wanted to think about frolicking with Miss MacTavish. “You need someone who visits more frequently.”
And he needed to find a different pursuit.
A new venture to occupy his time.
One that did not involve annoying women.
“Yes.” Lissette’s sad sigh sounded hollow. “Often, you’re like an empty shell. It’s like you’re lost in the wilderness far from home.”
Unable to argue, he took a few seconds to study Lissette’s silky skin and pouting lips, yet it did nothing to spark a fire in his blood.
“I need someone who’s excited to see me,” said the woman who had no interest in talking. “Not someone who mopes like they’re at a funeral. You’re miserable most of the time.”
