Rion sighed and shook his head in an affectionate gesture which said Well, I would have if you’d given me the chance. ‘Libby,’ he said, beckoning her over, ‘this is Eurycleia, my housekeeper and a dear old friend. Eurycleia, I’d like you to meet Libby…’ He paused. ‘My wife.’
Eurycleia’s eyes widened, and then she gasped in delight, clapped her hands together and rushed over to greet Libby with a kiss on both cheeks.
It took Libby completely by surprise. Not Eurycleia’s benevolent welcome, but the way Rion had introduced her. It had been perfectly obvious in Athens that he’d never mentioned he had a wife, and she hadn’t supposed he’d planned on changing that now. Because surely if word got out that he was married it would be unpleasantly public for him if it didn’t work out? Unless…unless he was really that certain that it would?
Libby ignored the blood pounding in her ears at the thought. If Eurycleia was an old friend whose confidence could be trusted, it didn’t count. She switched into Greek herself. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eurycleia.’
Rion’s head shot up in surprise, but he didn’t say a word.
‘Beautiful and clever.’ Eurycleia gave another delighted gasp, but before Libby could deny any such thing, Rion interrupted.
‘Thank you, Eurycleia, for all you hard work. But I’m afraid Libby and I do not have long to refresh ourselves before we must attend the play this evening. Will you leave us now?’
Eurycleia looked inexplicably serious, as if he’d just announced he had to prepare to go to war. ‘Of course you must. I will just collect my things and then I’ll be gone.’ She touched Rion’s arm on her way past. ‘There are some fresh honey and walnut biscuits in the kitchen, if either of you are peckish.’
‘Thank you,’ Rion said gratefully. ‘And perhaps if you wouldn’t mind taking the next couple of weeks off—paid, of course. You’ll understand, I’m sure, that Libby and I would like some time alone.’
Eurycleia looked momentarily hurt, but then nodded respectfully and began to scuttle back upstairs.
‘Spend some extra time with that toy-boy of yours,’ Rion chuckled after her, lightening the mood.
Eurycleia threw her hands exasperatedly in the air and turned back to Libby. ‘He is three years younger than me—sixty-two!’ She clicked her tongue at Rion. ‘You make it sound as if he is twenty!’
Libby smiled after her, but the second Eurycleia had turned the corner at the top of the stairs she followed Rion into the open plan kitchen/living room and her face became solemn. ‘I hardly think dismissing her altogether was necessary.’
Rion scowled, completely misinterpreting her meaning. ‘No? You mean so long as you have someone to wait on you hand and foot you don’t care whose sensibilities you might offend?’
She blinked, baffled. ‘You mean if Eurycleia realises our marriage isn’t what it seems?’
‘No, Libby. I mean if Eurycleia walks in and finds us making love in the shower, or on the kitchen table, or sprawled out on the rug—’
Libby’s heart-rate rocketed, and she fought to stop her mind from filling with all the erotic images he’d just conjured. ‘Just because you are technically my husband it doesn’t mean you have to make love to me, Rion.’
Rion searched her eyes for proof that she was just feigning naïveté again. But he couldn’t see it. He stood back and regarded her thoughtfully. Was it possible that she really believed he didn’t want her? Yes, he realised suddenly, maybe it was. Because a man who possessed any integrity wouldn’t want a wife who didn’t think him good enough, who’d run away, who was guilty of infidelity. He gave a bitter snort of laughter. It had to be the only time she’d ever over-estimated him.
‘No,’ he growled, ‘I shouldn’t want you. But my body doesn’t give a damn about that.’
Libby eyed him doubtfully, but before she had time to wonder if there was a strand of truth in his words he showed her, placing his hands around the small of her waist and drawing her so close to his body that she could feel the hard shaft of his erection against her belly.
‘Now are you convinced?’ he murmured.
Liquid heat began to pump through her veins. She forced herself to step backwards, but he hauled her against his body again, placed one long finger under her chin and tilted it upwards, forcing her to look into his eyes.
‘I want you.’
No, it wasn’t possible. She knew it wasn’t because—Libby searched his face for the look of indifference she’d read on his face every day of their marriage, every time they’d made love.