A man needs good friends or ardent enemies

"I think I hated you at first," Charlotte said, thoughtfully sipping her tea. Sidney let the sweet smoke of his cheroot fill his lungs, regarding her steadily. She took it without batting an eye, which was fortunate, since her long lashes were one of his weaknesses.

"Truly?"

"Well, I supposed I was bemused first. You thought I was Mary's maid and then at the ball, you seemed aloof but rather intriguing and then you castigated me so roundly simply for speaking my mind. What a dressing down! I was quite in tears. It ruined my new blue slippers for me compleat," Charlotte explained. She sounded completely content, almost as if she savored the words she spoke.

"I was a cad," Sidney admitted. "I should think hatred wasn't the most apt word."

"No," Charlotte replied, shaking out the filmy sleeves of her peignoir. It was the sheerest silk and it couldn't compare to her skin. "I despised you. I detested you. I loathed you. Loathing you was actually the most delightful pleasure. Like sinking into a hot bath."

"Careful, my dear. You'll hurt my feelings," Sidney said wryly.

"Oh, I never will. You only say that so I'll fuss and tell you how wrong I was. I wasn't, you were such a mass of sneers and smirks. A terror. You didn't treat me anywhere near as politely as Mr. Stringer," she said.

"Be fair- he was in love with you, young Stringer. A wiser man than I, undoubtedly," Sidney said.

"Yes, he was altogether a finer person. It's my own sad fate that I couldn't fall in love with him in return. We'd be building an empire of pagodas and turrets and pavilions down to the sea, if only I hadn't fallen in love with you, half-broken my heart over it," Charlotte said.

Sidney put down the cheroot and reached his hand across the round table, taking her palm in his. Stroking the gold band of his ring on her finger and then the narrow grace of her wrist.

"I can never make it up to you," he said softly. "How I hurt you, when I loved you and I knew, I knew you loved me."

"Never is a long time, Mr. Parker," Charlotte said. She shifted in her chair and the peignoir slipped off her shoulder in a most gratifying fashion.

"You're saying I have enough time to make you forget how abominably I treated you?"

Charlotte laughed. "I'm saying you have enough time to try. And that your efforts have been fairly impressive, to date."

"Fairly?" Sidney said in false-affront. She'd been breathless in the night, calling his name, the moonlight silvery on her thighs. He'd recited Catullus as she quieted in his arms, beginning with the translation. She'd finished in the original Latin, her contralto voice unforgettable. Beloved.

"Mostly? Do you feel better?"

"A little," he said, still hearing her in the night, the scent of her iris and roses. Her hands on his head, clasping him to her, bold and demanding and honest.

"That's good enough for such a scoundrel," Charlotte answered smartly.

"Mrs. Parker, you forget yourself," he countered.

"Never, Sidney. I never forget how I married my worst enemy. My dearest."