Chapter 17
What will become of us now?
The sun had long since disappeared. Peter did not know the time, but judging by the face of the moon, which peered mournfully back at him, and the fact that he could only hear a faint murmur in the hall, he guessed the time was well after midnight.
The clinking of champagne glasses, the laughter, and the rustling of dresses were nothing but echoes now as guests slowly retreated to their chambers. In the coming days, they would all leave, returning to their ordinary lives. And that included him.
After he and Lavinia had enjoyed their moments of peace and quiet together, she had crept back to her room. He had stood in the doorway and watched her tiptoe up the stairs, and then, feeling rather restless, he had decided to leave the house and go out into the gardens.
He was thankful for the solitude at that moment.
He was always good at concealing what went on in his mind.
It was a skill that he had found ultimately useful.
When everyone was occupied with their appearances, he was at home or in his townhouse with one mistress or another, leading a blessedly quiet life.
But as he stared out at the gardens, his mind raced with thoughts of what had just happened. The ball had been grand, but the moments he had spent with Lavinia were ripped right out of his fantasies, something that must have been a dream.
The memory of Lavinia—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her loud moans, and the incredible heat between them—rose to the forefront of his mind.
His hands tightened on the lapels of his waistcoat, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
He had almost lost control last night, and it had taken every ounce of restraint to pull himself back from the edge.
Lavinia was no stranger to his desires; he had wanted her from the first moment he saw her, and now he could admit that.
The deep, gnawing need he felt for her was not like anything he had ever experienced.
He was no stranger to pleasure either. He had his share of mistresses—the rumors were true.
In that way, partially at least, his reputation as a rake was well-earned.
However, he had never felt this way before.
He had been with actresses, married ladies, and even housemaids for months, years in some cases, but none had shaken him the way Lavinia had.
It was not just physical desire. He was certain it was something more.
She’s extraordinary.
Peter exhaled slowly as he crouched and brushed his fingers across the cool grass.
The feel of her body against his, the warmth of her skin, the way her breath hitched in her throat as he roamed lower, all resounded in his mind.
The feel of her under his palms was spectacular, but her taste—his head almost exploded at the thought—was divine.
He cursed under his breath, frustrated by how vividly the memory clung to him.
He could still feel the silk of her gown as he had slid her skirt up to her waist, the way she had trembled when he kissed her inner thighs.
The sounds of the party had been distant, muffled, entirely forgotten inside his bedchamber.
He had kissed her, pulled her close, and at that moment, all the restraint he prided himself on had nearly shattered.
Her soft gasps, her arms clinging to him, had nearly undone him.
He had wanted to lose himself in her, and it had taken everything in him to stop before he took something from her that he knew he could never give back.
But the truth was, it had not been enough.
Even as he forced himself to step back, to catch his breath, and to press one last gentle kiss to her neck, the need had still burned in his veins.
And in that moment, standing in the empty garden with the echoes of the ball still lingering in the air, he felt that same desire rising again. A desire he could not ignore.
But what terrified him was not just the depth of his physical attraction to her—it was how much he needed her. He needed her in a way that was unfamiliar and unsettling. It was more than lust, more than the fleeting pleasure he was accustomed to experiencing.
With Lavinia, it was different. It was as if she had unlocked something within him, something raw and vulnerable, and that frightened him.
He knew, even if he truly desired her, there was no way he would be able to have her.
There was no way he would ruin her just to slide inside her and claim her as his own.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind, but memories of her kept flooding back. He could still see the way her eyes had met his, wide with need. She had wanted him too, and that had only made it harder to walk away.
God, why did she have to be so beautiful?
Leaving the estate seemed like the only solution left.
Perhaps it was for the best that the house party was over and the guests would all be leaving soon.
The longer he stayed at Crawford Hall, the harder it would be to keep his distance from Lavinia.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could trust himself around her.
What they had done had been scandalous enough.
If they had been alone for just a moment longer, if he hadn’t stopped after he pleasured her…
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to banish the thought.
His mind kept returning to Lavinia. To her smile. To the feel of her waist beneath his hands. To the way she had whispered and whimpered his name, her voice breathless and pleading.
He could not believe how much he wanted her. And it was not just the physical desire. It was the way he felt when they talked, the way her presence seemed to fill every room she entered.
Lavinia was more than just beautiful. She was intelligent and thoughtful. She challenged him in ways no one else ever had. And that, more than anything, drew him to her like a moth to a flame.
But what could he offer her?
His coffers were full. He could buy her anything she wanted.
Silk gowns the color of emeralds like the one she’d worn tonight, pots of ink so she could continue writing long letters to her closest friends.
He could even buy her a silver wreath, like her parents had done when they celebrated their own twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Peter nearly stumbled and fell on the pathway.
That is what Lavinia wants most. She wants to find love.
He ground his teeth and tilted his chin up so he could glare at the melancholy moon.
“Why?” he groaned. “Why must Lavinia want something I cannot give her?”
Just like every other affair, there would come a time when Lavinia would want more from him.
She would beg him to love her, marry her, give her children.
He could not pinpoint what specific requests she might make, but he knew what would inevitably happen.
He would offer her a comfortable life, one they could share amiably, but she would want more.
She would want everything he could offer, and then something else on top of that.
He cursed himself again, his frustration mounting.
It would be easier to leave, to put distance between them before things spiraled any further.
But the thought of walking away from her filled him with a sense of dread he could not explain.
The idea of never seeing her again, of never feeling her touch, made his chest tighten.
He lowered his head and turned his back on the cursed moon, running a hand down his face. He needed to get a grip on himself. Soon, he and his family would leave the estate, and he would have time to think clearly. Time to decide what to do next.
But at that moment, the memory of Lavinia lingered, teasing him and taunting him with what could have been.
He glanced up at the door to the house, as if half-expecting her to reappear. But both the terrace and the balcony were empty. The house was silent.
Peter shook his head, chastising himself for even entertaining the thought of seeing her again tonight. He was losing his mind over her, and that was dangerous.
No, it was better this way. Better to leave and put some distance between them. He could not risk letting his desire for her spiral out of control again. Because if it did, he was not sure he’d be able to stop himself next time.
But even as he resolved to leave, part of him knew that it would not be that simple. He could not forget Lavinia. He could not stop thinking about her, no matter how hard he tried. And deep down, he was not sure he wanted to ignore all these new feelings.
While he grappled with what to do next, Peter allowed himself to have one moment of clarity. There was one thing he knew for certain: Lavinia had changed him. She had shaken him to his core, and no matter what he did, he would never be the same again.