Her Husband’s Lover Read Free

week was clearly to be one rife with trouble. Just as Emma was about to intrude upon her sister’s admirers, the drawing-room door swung open, admitting a blond gentleman.
    Emma’s concern switched to her husband. His expression was one of wistful delight, which transformed in an instant to one of rapturous joy. Good heavens, Lyle, she thought
.
Must you advertise the wickedness you’ve been about? She quickly turned her head, praying that, from what she could descry of the other gentlemen’s thoughts, they merely saw Lyle as merry and not licentious.
    ‘Darleston! God in heavens, what the devil are you doing here?’ Lyle crossed the room in several bounds. He stepped past her without so much as a glance in her direction and enfolded Lord Darleston in a fond embrace.
    ‘Langley!’ Darleston sounded equally surprised to find Lyle wrapped tightly around his person.
    ‘Heavens, man. How long has it been? It must have been years. You’ve met my wife, I see.’
    Lyle turned his head towards her and graced her with a nod. A fantastic smile lit his face. Emma frowned at him. She couldn’t see why Lord Darleston’s presence should make him quite so joyous. Then again, Emma sucked down an unsteady breath. No! No, it simply couldn’t be. The first man she’d felt remotely … No! Oh, but it was. She could tell just from the way their arms stayed around one another and the embrace encompassed not only the brushing of chests but of thighs and hips too.
    They knew each other, and not just in the platonic sense.
    ‘Yes, I knew of the wedding.’ Darleston pulled away first. He gave a swift glance around the room but the other occupants were still crowded around Amelia and seemingly uninterested in anything else. ‘My father made certain to send me the newspaper cutting. Happy, I trust?’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced first at Lyle and then at her as if he was seeing them quite anew. ‘Mrs Langley.’ His lips formed her name, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. Lightning flashed in his eyes.
    ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Lyle slapped him upon the back.
    ‘Children?’
    Emma bowed her head. She stared at her hands clasped tight around her teacup. Why did everyone have to pounce upon that particular subject as if breeding were the only possible purpose in taking a bride? Or one couldn’t possibly be happy without a dozen pale-faced imps running about one’s feet? She prayed they never had a child. Not a single blessed one. Her mother had carried fifteen of the little devils. See where it had got her – a cold box in a rat-infested cemetery, rained on and covered in moss.
    Lyle, clearly noticing her distress, waved aside the question. ‘None yet. What about you?’ He cast her an encouraging smile. He might take ridiculous risks, but Lyle also worked hard to maintain at least the illusion of an affectionate marriage.
    Darleston gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘Much to the Earl’s vexation.’
    ‘But there is a Lady Darleston?’ Emma ventured.
    ‘There is.’ His very abruptness explained all that was missing from his response. Likely he and his wife were not on intimate terms, assuming they tolerated each other’s company at all. Perhaps they even lived apart, occupying one grand house apiece.
    Lyle slapped Darleston across the back again, as he finally relinquished his embrace. ‘I insist that we celebrate with something more spirited than over-stewed tea. You don’t mind, Emma, if I snatch him away, do you? It’s been … gracious, how many years?’
    ‘Nine,’ Darleston remarked dryly.
    Emma gave a polite nod. What could she say? Foolish displays had never been her forte; she left such nonsense to Amelia, who would have stamped her foot and demanded a place in their conversation. ‘I’ll see to our other guests.’ She made to rise, but Lyle shooed her back into her seat.
    ‘No need to move, my sweet. Stay by the fire. We’ll walk. You don’t mind an evening stroll, do you, Darleston? You’re