“The idea is that people ought to choose their lovers freely,” he explained. “Legal or religious blessings shouldn’t be necessary to sleep together. Sharing a bed should end when the love is gone, not when a government decree grants it.”
“Ah,” she said. “Yes, I know it. We call this the Shelleyan way of cohabitation. It caused some trouble for some of our suffragists.”
“My friend in Lyon likes these ideas.”
“How interesting.” Her tone was neutral, but her face looked as though she was of a mind to bite someone.
He lifted a hand and stroked her overwarm cheek with his finger. “See. You shouldn’t have asked.”
She leaned back, out of his reach. “It sounds as though only your friend’s convictions prevented a marriage between the two of you.”
He dropped his hand back onto the mattress. “You have stories in your head,” he said mildly. “Her convictions made our arrangement possible. I don’t pay for a woman’s company and I had no plans to marry at the time.”
In truth, he hadn’t even planned on taking a lover. He had grown up thinking he’d share his body only with his wife. Then he had lost his mind over Nayla and after emerging from the stupor, he had decided that regular release and a habit of talking to pretty women who weren’t kin would keep him from turning into an idiot again should the next pair of gazelle eyes glance his way. So how has that worked out for you, mocked a little voice as he eyed the bewitching naked Scotswoman next to him in the sheets.
“But you stayed faithful to her,” she said softly, as if to herself.
He put a hand over his eyes. “I’m always places in between, Catriona. I live and work in two, three different countries, I keep changing between different clothes, cuisines, languages . . . I liked having one part of life in just one place.”
Her face softened. “Right,” she said. “I gather you won’t follow this free movement with your wife, then,” she added in a teasing tone.
His lips twitched, as though she had said something endearingly na?ve. “No,” he said. “My wife will be mine. And I hers. Until the end.”
His words seemed to freeze her in place; her whole body went still as though he had triggered two equally strong but directly opposing emotions in her. Well. In the presence of a flighty creature, he just had to refrain from making loud noises and sudden movements to keep them from taking off.
Chapter 24
They lay face-to-face, warmed by the morning sun slanting through the window. The scent of their sleep-kissed skin rose from the linen. It struck Catriona as significant that they were creating their own fragrance when they were together. She was new in the space they created. Softer, bolder. Recklessly happy.
Elias’s fingertips were skating lazily from the dip of her waist to the curve of her hip and back again, leaving her in a state of relaxed arousal. She had no idea what time it was, only that it was still early enough to stay in bed a little longer.
He raised himself up on his elbow. “Habibit albi,” he said. “When will you know a date for the artifact transfer?”
Her brain was slow at forming a response.
“The transfer,” she repeated. “From Oxford to London?”
He nodded, his eyes dark and serious.
She tugged the sheet a little higher over her hip. “Well, we shall have to talk to the curator at the British Museum. We can try to do that this week. My father already sent word to him; he promised me he would.”
He gave her waist an appreciative squeeze.
“I’m not sleeping with you to dissuade you from it, by the way,” she said.
His hand stilled. “Dissuade me from what.”
“Your quest. I want to assist you. I just . . . wanted to make it clear.”
“Ah.” His dark eyebrows looked sarcastic. “You think I would bed you if I thought you were doing it with that in mind?”
“No,” she said. It was just that an urge kept gripping her: to explain whatever was explainable about her objectively reckless behavior. The thought that he might misunderstand her twisted her stomach.
Elias’s palm rested warm and heavy on her hip. “Is it very strange for you, to be with me like this, and under such circumstances?”
“I know it should be,” she said. “But it isn’t.” The strangest part was how very natural it felt to be with him; to be naked in front of him, and to say things like yes, she would sleep in his arms all night.
“Why,” she asked, “is it strange for you?”
He made a vague motion with his head. “When the stakes are high, it’s best to either do it right or not touch it. This is . . .” He searched for the word, then shook his head. “Listen, I’d ask you to not think about my issue with Leighton at all unless I need information from you, but I don’t think your head ever stops thinking.”
“Sometimes it does,” she said with a sideways glance.
His eyes brightened with understanding. He gripped her chin and kissed her, his mouth delicious, and she wrapped her arms around his neck with sudden emotion. When he lifted his head, she was breathing hard.
“We don’t have to talk about the artifacts,” she said, “but . . .” She swallowed. “Please don’t just disappear, when you are done.”
He looked surprised. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
“Let’s just not talk about it, then, not now.” She threw back the sheet. “I shall make some breakfast tea. Then I must be on my way.”
He sat up. “Where are you going?”
“To Acton.” She had received Lady Middleton’s note with Mrs. Weldon’s address yesterday noon.
Elias caught her by her hand when she clambered off the bed. “You are going with Mrs. Blackstone?”
“No.”
She could tell it made him uneasy; her going places on her own bewildered him.
“You could accompany me,” she said on a whim. “I take the District Railway from Sloane Square; it goes through Acton in no time. No one knows me in Acton.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “And what are we to each other, in case someone does ask?”
“Cousins?” she suggested after some thought.
For some reason that made him smile quite diabolically. He pulled her back by her wrist, so she stood between his spread thighs with her knees against the mattress and her chest was at the height of his eyes. He shaped his hands around her breasts, looked at them thoroughly, then gave each a leisurely kiss.
“Get dressed, then, chère cousine.”
* * *
—
The address on Lady Middleton’s note led them to a handsome, detached double-fronted house, located on a leafy street a short distance from Acton’s railway station. A flower wreath decorated the white entrance door and a tabby cat lazed on the steps next to potted plants.
Catriona lingered on the pavement. “It looks friendly enough, doesn’t it?”
Elias wrinkled his brow. “The curtains are drawn.”
“Perhaps to keep out the summer heat. In I go, then.”
She sounded confident but her stomach had dropped a wee bit. She was trying to ascertain whether a perfect stranger might sue her spouse for a good cause, an outlandish endeavor even by her standards, and this house looked so respectable she might as well save herself the trouble of trying.