Just One Taste by Maggie Robinson Page A

at all pleased that their officers were captured and went out of their way to shame them. Jack almost preferred the Boer farmers’ interrogations—they, at least, had not thought him a coward.
    He was feeling a little cowardly now, though he was as ready as he’d ever be. The mirror reflected a painfully thin fellow with shocks of sun-bleached hair and a sun-baked face, its color fading to a rather sallow yellow. Two years ago, he’d had fewer wrinkles. Jack practiced a smile—did it reach his eyes? Not quite. He was a different man than the one who’d left his young bride sleeping in her bed.
    He wouldn’t leave her again. He’d resigned his commission—hell, he shouldn’t have gone soldiering to begin with. He was the Viscount Marbury and had numerous important affairs to attend to. His cousin Arthur had once been his heir, but now Jack had a son to raise. Birthday parties to organize. A country estate to supervise. A wife to talk up sweet and buy pretty trinkets for.
    She’d worn the Marbury diamonds on their wedding night, a pair of earrings said to belong to a long-dead maharani. Just the diamonds—he’d been a dog to be so demanding, but she’d obeyed, the earrings glittering against her loose dark hair in the low lamplight. Jack supposed given her natural reticence she would have preferred to keep her exquisitely embroidered lawn nightgown on, but he’d been a greedy fellow and wanted to see all of her.
    And seen her he had. Snow-white skin so translucent he could trace her veins. Small breasts the size of apples and tipped with deep brown areolas, such a contrast to her pale body. Dark curls at the juncture of her thighs which she’d tried to cover with a slim hand before he persuaded her to use it elsewhere.
    She was perfect. What a lucky man he’d been, if only for one night.
    He’d thought of that night through all the days he’d spent away from her. Now he wondered if she’d been glad he was gone.
    Jack and Delia weren’t in love when they married, but their match was suitable in every way. They had been equal in looks and fortune and consequence. The love might come yet. Jack was ready for love—he’d earned it under the scorching South African sky.

Chapter 3
    J ack’s face had lit when she entered the dining room. Delia knew she looked beautiful, even if she’d had to put a great deal of face powder under her eyes to cover up for the sleepless nights. She wore a lilac silk dress which made her irises look purple.
    In her first and only Season, poems had been written to her eyes, nonsensical things. Even a music hall song, the lyrics of which were rather racy. She had been mortified, and was greatly relieved when Jack Marbury had asked her to marry him so abruptly.
    As a married woman, she’d no longer be the object of such unwanted attention. Delia had done nothing to earn her beauty and found it to be no blessing. People expected so much of her, and she knew herself to be somewhat dull. A disappointment. Her guardian had been strict and she’d been sheltered in the country until she came to London for her Season.
    She could go back to Dorset when this was over. The house was hers to do what she wished. She could expand the garden. Do something useful with her days.
    She’d go mad without Johnny.
    Delia couldn’t stop her lips from trembling, and Jack’s smile faded.
    “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    Collapsing in her chair, she signaled to the footmen to hold off dinner. “We must talk.”
    “That sounds ominous.” Jack walked around the table and took a seat next to her. She was grateful he didn’t try to touch her. She was going to tell him. Rob Arthur of his advantage. Get all of this over with. Her guilt and confusion might not go away, but she had to be honest.
    “I—I only have one earring.”
    He looked at her blankly.
    “The diamond earrings you wanted me to wear.” She pointed to her bare earlobe.
    “You are lovely without diamonds, Delia. Did you misplace it? I