It was not smiling now. Instead the corners drooped as she tried to take in what her paramour, Lord Sutton, was saying to her. ‘But… I don’t understand. Arthur darling, we love each other!’ ‘The thing is, my dear, I love myself far more than I could ever love you.’ Lord Arthur Sutton eyed the woman who, just moments before, had been lying languid and willing in his arms. He could have waited until they had finished the business she was so clearly eager to engage in but he enjoyed this moment just as much as the other and making love to Maria had begun to pall. So needy. So desperate to hear those sweet, tender words of reassurance that her husband, Lord Kirkiven, the Earl of Montessor, was clearly unwilling to say. Women were all the same, really and he took pleasure in that moment when the look in their eyes changed, moving from disbelief to anger to despair. Maria had even fancied herself in love with him. It was too amusing. ‘But Arthur…’ she was stunned, truly taken aback by the sudden turn that her night had taken.
