The Counterfeit Mistress (2013)
“She had returned to London, that was true. It had been a silent, long, and awkward ride. If not for his healing wound he would have ridden down to start with, and ridden back beside a hired coach, but he was not such an idiot as to spend hours in a saddle until the tender mending underway had taken securely.
As for the rest—damned if he knew if he had again been her fool or not. Perhaps he had reacted exactly as she intended. Her lack of resistance suggested as much. He knew Frenchwomen to be very wily in their ways with men. A smart man would have nothing to do with them.
Any chance of choosing that path had now become complicated.
He wanted her. Hell, but she knew it, didn’t she? She was probably the enemy, and she would undoubtedly use it against him again and again, as she had already. Stopping himself in that bedchamber had taken more strength of will than he normally exerted these days. He never did with women, that was certain.
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