They didn’t see out the rest of the opera performance. Within minutes of them both returning to earth and after adjusting their attire, Stephen called for an attendant to have their carriage brought around to the front of the theater.
As soon as they reached Bridget’s home, it was a race to the bedroom and the beginning of a second, long night of passionate lovemaking.
Bridget couldn’t remember how late or early it was when she finally fell asleep in Stephen’s arms, but the sun was well up in the sky when she awoke.
He was gone.
She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, while her mind and heart battled one another for supremacy.
I love him. Don’t be a fool. What if he feels the same as I do? This is Stephen Moore you are talking about; the man is a renowned rake.
Rolling over onto her side, she glanced at the door, praying that at any moment he would step through it and come back to bed. As the minutes ticked by, hope faded, and she eventually called for her maid.
There was no word from him that day, nor the next. When she finally summoned the courage to send him a note, she regretted having done so as soon as it had left the house.
Stephen had made his position clear; one night only. And if he had stuck to that, she might have been able to save her heart. But for her, he had broken his cardinal rule. He had spent two nights and one long afternoon in her bed. And there was the opera.
The longer she spent with him, the more times they made love, the deeper the hole she had dug for herself. She wanted him, but she wouldn’t beg. He had to be in this alongside her. Never again would she be a fool and suffer the indignity of unrequited love.
A reply to her missive arrived mid-morning on the third day. It was short and painfully to the point.
Lady Dyson,
Sir Stephen is working with a new client and is at present unable to spare the time for social calls. I hope you understand.
A.T. Jones.
RR Coaching Company
“He can’t spare the time for social calls,” she muttered.
The sheer effrontery of the man. It was a good thing Stephen had declared he had no intention to ever marry.
“Because no sensible woman would have you. Fancy ending things in such a cold and perfunctory way.”
A wave of sadness washed over her.
“He did say he couldn’t promise you anything. And he never stayed for breakfast.”
She screwed the note up and tossed it into the fire.
Relationships of any kind were always fraught with danger. She had learned a hard lesson in allowing herself to yet again succumb to the temptation of love.
It was time to put her heart back on ice and forget about Stephen. Hopefully, the memories of their lovemaking and falling asleep in his arms would fade, and he would become nothing more than a dim and distant name in her past.
“The next man I involve myself with had better stick to his hard and fast rules about dalliances.”
Sir Stephen Moore had shared her bed for the very last time.