After seeing Meera off in a rather unusual manner, to put it politely, Ulrich returned to the house.
He had ended up having sex with her outside, on the cold ground, with nothing but the courtyard walls and the sound of the fountain to give them any privacy. If someone had described such behaviour to him that morning, he would have regarded it with contempt. Ulrich Van Rubenhart did not lose control of himself in the open air, much less in a part of his own estate that servants used every day.
Yet he had done exactly that.
Meera had a way of getting past his defences. She laughed when he tried to be stern with her, pressed closer when he meant to keep his distance, and seemed to know when his patience was about to give way. There were moments when she reminded him of a succubus, though that was hardly a fair excuse for what had happened. She had drawn him in, certainly, but he had not tried very hard to escape.
Perhaps he had been closer to the edge than he realised.
