Her Husband’s Lover by Madelynne Ellis

tears rolled down her cheeks as she fled the bedchamber. It did matter how Lyle took his pleasure. It mattered very much, because in this instance his pleasure was Lord Darleston.
    Ninnyhammer! Fool. You’ve spurred Lyle towards him now, when that was the last thing that you wanted.
    Though really, wasn’t that for the best? Daydreaming was one matter, but reality quite another. Nothing romantic would ever happen between her and Darleston. They’d never share a touch, while Lyle would find hours of satisfaction in kissing and holding the man. And what she needed was to keep her husband satisfied. That way he wasn’t in her bed making demands.
    A deep tremble rolled through her body as she imagined being crushed beneath Lyle’s weight and of being pressed tight to Lyle’s pale skin. No – she corrected – not simply pressed together. He’d be right inside her, so there’d be absolutely no retreat or escape. They’d be completely bound. He’d be under her skin, not just beside it.
    The notion froze her in mid-step. Emma clutched the top of the banister and sucked down several steadying breaths. No one else ever seemed to have such a problem with the idea of contact. They were all forever exchanging handshakes, kisses and embraces. The last person to cuddle her had been her nanny, right after she broke the news of Emma’s mother’s death. The embrace had made her skin crawl as though all the bugs and beetles of the graveyard were clambering over her. She’d avoided such clinches before that point, but that hideous show of false and vile affection had made her determined not to endure further embraces.
    She’d grieved by the graveside, alone, invulnerable and aloof.
    ‘Still abed, is he?’ Darleston called up to her. He stood awaiting her return in the hall below, his hat already perched upon his head of fiery hair and his cane swinging gaily in his hand.
    Since she didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t extended the invitation to Lyle, Emma remained silent. She mopped her tears, and then continued straight past Darleston out into the fine spray of mist that hung in the air at shoulder level. She fastened her bonnet as she went.
    * * *
    Darleston strode after Mrs Langley trying not to show his bemusement at her conduct. Although he had no hard evidence for his supposition, he’d lay money on Lyle being dressed and a more than willing companion on their walk. So naturally he had to conclude that Mrs Langley had deliberately excluded her husband from their jaunt. He couldn’t help speculating over the reason.
    Had Lyle told her of the passion they’d shared the night before? He hadn’t hinted at making such intimate confessions to his wife, but Darleston had known couples who reported the details of every extramarital tryst to one another. However, if Emma possessed such knowledge and hated the arrangement, why then had she agreed to accompany him out? Had he set himself up for a scolding? He wasn’t sure he could face that. Not after months of rebukes and a night during which recollections of Lyle’s welcoming mouth had left him largely deprived of sleep.
    The pale sun still seemed a little too bright this morning.
    Darleston lowered the brim of his hat. In truth, tired as he was, his body still ached for more robust loving. To hell with what he’d initially said to Lyle, the chance of pleasure, however fleeting, was too rare a thing to casually dismiss.
    It was fine to dismiss the need for love, when love surrounded one in abundance and affection could be bought by merely raising one’s brow. Things became rather more desperate when you were tarnished goods. Women avoided him, afraid that his homosexual tendencies might be transferred to them and onto their husbands, as if his preferences could be equated with the pox. And men avoided him for fear of – well, because they were preposterously conceited for the most part. He had standards as well as taste.
    He thought back over the nights he’d spent