“Not bullets, devil take me!” He was having a devil of a time of it, that was clear.
“Then what?” she asked helpfully. Or wickedly, depending upon how one wanted to view it.
“Discharged my chitty,” he strangled out, the tendons in his neck standing out starkly. “Fetched my own mettle. Spewed my spunk. Jetted my juice!” At that, she had a most difficult task maintaining her bewildered façade. “Do you not behold what’s before you?” With a harsh gesture, he pointed to the tray. “The trajectory of the evidence?”
“Evidence? Oh!” she exclaimed with great feeling. “You mean when you…”
“By God, yes, that is what I mean.” He stole the remaining crumb from her unresisting fingers and tossed it overhead.
“By damn, you cannot eat that! I forbid it.” The poor dear looked so aghast at the very notion, was so caught up in protecting her supposedly delicate sensibilities, he failed to notice when Henry came round the settee, batting the morsel between his front legs. “And pardon my damn language!”
“Mrrrowww.” They both looked over to see her precious, if somewhat scraggly, tom bathing one paw as if he’d just downed dinner.
Or one very savory scone.
She chose not to point out the significance to her intended. Her intended. How wondrous that sounded, how magical it felt. For by now, Juliet was fair convinced not only were they betrothed, they were bound for life.
To distract him, she pointed to a remnant still on the tray. “Your—ah, the evidence, you soaked in here, I believe. Not the piece I tried. See? This, um, darker, moister-looking section over—”
“God grant me patience!” He had the temerity to interrupt her consoling efforts.
“That won’t work, you know.”
“What won’t?”
“Praying for patience. God is busy tending to sinners, I’m sure. And you, dear sir, are a saint. A saint among men.” Twenty-four men at the very least. “Or did you forget?”
“We agreed I wasn’t a saint. Didn’t we? Of course we did!” he finished on a roar.
“Well, pish-posh. Appears I forgot. You do that to me, you know. Scramble my wits. Make me forget everything but you.”
“As flattering as that sounds, I’m not convinced that isn’t to your detriment. I mean look—” Again he slashed one arm toward the table. “You…just…ate…”
“And watch,” Juliet said tartly as she deliberately reached for the darker, moistened section, determined to snaffle his wits until he agreed to stay. “I’ll do it again!”
Before he could stop her, she popped another brittle piece on her tongue. She chewed and swallowed in a rush. “Oh dear. Appears we ran out of sugar and butter again.”
Zeus lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Is this penance, God? Are you punishing me—”
“Nay, not penance. ’Tis passion,” Juliet told him, blatantly licking his bulging arm muscles to rid her mouth of the sorry scone. “Now you, blessed man, taste intriguing.” She licked him again, swirling her tongue over the surprisingly silky skin, dazed at not only her desire to do so, but at how she felt no qualms instigating the action. “Inviting even.”
He slowly brought his head down to glower at her. “I can’t decide whether you’ll be the death of me. Or the life.” He jerked a nod toward the scattered contents on the tray, that rakish sweep of hair falling forward. “Out of sugar and butter again? That’s all you have to say?”
She gave a silent nod, choosing to stop—for now—baiting him. He seemed sufficiently snaffled.
“And you weren’t apprised of it?”
“The staff keeps trying to protect me from how bad off things are.”
No wonder she in turn sought to protect them. Zeus marveled at such loyalty—and how it was reciprocated. On the streets, a man would as soon thrust a knife in one’s gullet as remain loyal. Especially with meager pay and minimal rations—the very circumstances he knew her servants had operated under for some time now.
Juliet. Juliet. “Juliet.” Her unexpected acceptance, the way she brushed back his hair, lingering to stroke his jaw, promised to wash away his guilt, every bit as much as the roaring rain buffeting the windows.
“They don’t want me worrying.”
Neither did he.
But if he wasn’t there to protect her, who would? Could he trust another man to always have her interests at heart?
Zeus told his fingers to stop twining themselves within her mussed hair.
“But that matters not,” she maintained. “That test was supposed to be a study of your manners. Not of your stomach’s resilience. What matters is you hated that dreadful scone! Yet you ate it, with a smile I might add, for me.”
She was right. By the time the salty silt crossed his lips, he’d been solely focused on pleasing the enchantress behind the screen. He’d no longer been thinking of Amherst.
One rebellious hand traveled toward a creamy breast. Unable to stop himself, he settled his palm over the mound. “Juliet… My lady…”
“Why would you do that”—she gasped when he kneaded—“if not to please me? Because no matter your parentage, Zeus James Tanner, you’re Quality!”
His mouth and mind were fighting a losing battle. As was his hand which only fondled her more intently. With each desperate word she uttered, she drew him toward her every bit as much as her fingers clasping his cheeks and compelling him to hold her gaze. Every bit as much as her bare foot grazing the back of his thigh, soothing the spot she’d gouged earlier. “Quality? I’m not even—”
“Because you’re honest and true!” An elongated clap of thunder loudly proclaimed how she had the right of it. “You make me laugh ’til my throat aches.”
When he only shook his head against her restraining hold, as if sensing his disintegrating resolve, she boasted, “Number nine broke my leg!”
His hand froze atop her breast. “What?”
“It’s why I had to postpone the remaining interviews. The rotter insisted on bringing his hunting dogs inside. I insisted they be leashed. And they insisted on tangling round my legs when Henry insisted they weren’t welcome.”
His chuckle dried up before it ever emerged. She was so very strong. So damn determined to convince him. When he should be the one convincing her. “Juliet, you’re everything sweet and proper and…I’m everything not.” He watched his weak-willed thumb draw a circle around her apricot nipple even as he put forth one more attempt to persuade her (and maybe his former self?) how very unworthy he was. “My mother was a maid in his household. Letheridge’s. Seduced by the lecher and cast out when his third wife couldn’t stomach having his bastard underfoot.”
She touched his lips, traced them, seduced him to stop. “Zeus—”
But he wasn’t finished. Had to get it all out. “After eight years running free over Amherst, thriving within its walls and on its lands despite his neglect, Mum and I were evicted with only a pittance to salve his conscience—and she with no character or way to find work. I always thought it ironic justice none of his other children lived past infancy. Now I hear myself say that and I realize how cruel and selfish I sound. How just like him.”
“You’re nothing like him. After three years of hiding my true self, I’ve blossomed more this afternoon than I have my entire life. Whatever thoughts you had, they’re in the past now. Let them trouble you no further.”
Oh, the vengeance he’d thought to exact, honing his skills in order to decimate his own father at the gaming tables only to have the old lout stop frequenting London and his clubs just when Zeus amassed enough blunt to bribe his way in. The hate he’d felt, thrived on at the time… It faded now at the compassionate way she continued to gaze up at him—waiting for the rest without judging. Only accepting. “Do you know I came to him five years ago, contacted him through Hastings because he refused to acknowledge me otherwise? Swallowed my self-respect and attempted reconciliation with the ogre who’d cared not whether we lived or died.”
His voice broke on the
last word. But rather than feeling shame over the weakness, the way she continued to pet him, to console and encourage, gave him strength.
With her in his arms, he’d faced down his demons. Admitted them out loud. And the world hadn’t come crashing down.
Instead, Juliet lifted him up.
“Mr. Hastings knows the truth?” she asked lightly.
“Of my origins, you mean? He does. And I’m convinced when I presented myself in response to your advertisement, he scoured my references all the more for it.” Her body squirmed a bit beneath his. Zeus ceased torturing her nipple and came onto his elbows, taking more of his weight. Her leg prevented him from going far. “But I was determined to win your lands, never once giving thought to you, to what you’d suffered at Lecherous’ hands or how my tainted lineage might affect—”
“Stop it, my love.” And if that unexpected endearment didn’t halt his very blood. Love? “Do you hear yourself? I cared not to condemn your birth before and I refuse to condemn it now. You are the finest man I’ve met, certainly the only one I could consider taking as husband.”
“Juliet—” She slapped his flank to still the protest.
“Do you want to stay? Do you want to rebuild Amherst together? With…me?” she finished with the strongest hint of uncertainty he’d heard since she’d confessed her inability to read. When he made no move to abandon his position, she continued with more confidence. “We could, I do believe, hire stewards to oversee these other dilapidated estates, focus our efforts there…?”
At her unforeseen but wholly workable suggestion, his blood resumed pumping with a vengeance. Zeus’ mind whirled faster than the wind buffeting the sagging rooftop, fiercer than the nails digging into one side of his arse.
That’s why Hastings had confined him to Duffield? The crafty solicitor hadn’t wanted him discovering Amherst was gone because… He’d been on Zeus’ side all along!
Rebuild Amherst…together. How that beckoned. He had the funds, surely. “And we could bedeck it with your magnificent embroideries,” Zeus pondered aloud.
To start anew, to start fresh…
But she wasn’t finished, not yet. As her splayed palm worked its way over his heated hindquarters, she informed him, “Applicant twenty-three tried to strike Wivy!”
So that was why the prizefighter of a footman had pounded and pummeled the last candidate on the way out? “And was repaid in kind from what I saw,” Zeus complimented. Exceptional servants were difficult to come by. Nice to know she already had them in place.
He played his last card; she’d trumped all the others. After nuzzling her downy cheek with his bristly one, Zeus pulled back to gauge her response. “But I lied to you, my sweet, I lied…”
Her eyes narrowed and another slap landed on his backside. Instinctively, he surged against her. “About?”
Heat searing his insides, he confessed. Or tried to. “My middle name. It’s not James. It’s…”
Hell, this part might be the toughest of all.
“Y-e-s-s-s?”
“It’s… Damn me, it’s Jupiter.”
She strangled off a snort and bit down on the smile that threatened, her face a study of bland inquiry that didn’t fool him for a minute. “Ah, interesting. Is that all?”
“Is that not enough? I’m Zeus Jupiter, for God’s sake!” Unable to withstand her merriment at what he’d never shared with another, he ducked and began plying her pale skin with kisses. “Mum couldn’t decide which of the ancient versions—Greek or Roman—were most exalted. So she chose both, by damn.”
“And I cannot read even one word of your grand mythological adventures,” she imparted on a rusty laugh, sweeping her nails along his back and buttocks, “so I’d say we’re well-suited!”
“We are indeed.” Rising up, he captured her mouth, allowing his kiss to convey everything he couldn’t yet articulate.
Merrowing his satisfaction, Henry used his bare butt as a launch to the back of the settee, causing them both to break apart and smile. Zeus dragged his thumb over her reddened lips, the bottom one slick from his kisses. “I’ll teach you, you know. To read.”
“You will?”
“With the patience of a saint. But we’ve another lesson to finish now. One you charged me with earlier—that of showing you passion.” Her eyes glinted, then somehow found a spot beyond his left ear fascinating. “And you might as well know, I take my assignments seriously.”
“Assignments? That’s how you view me? What I’ve become?” And suddenly she became all soft hesitance.
“Nay, not you. But helping you, aye. As in teaching you to read. As in rebuilding Amherst. Together.” He offered the commitment, and by association, himself, sincerely. “As in teaching you all about my protrusions and paraphernalia, so you have no need to ever again inquire about another’s. About—”
“As if I would!”
“About how well I’m going to love you.”
“Ahhhh.” Her gaze flicked back to his. “And how do you propose to go about something so very challenging?”
With alacrity! “Touch yourself.”
When she stared at him blankly, Zeus angled to the side and pressed his buttocks into the back of the settee to give her maneuvering room, unintentionally squishing Henry’s tail. With a sniff, the cat jumped down.
Zeus breathed a tad easier. It wasn’t necessarily that he minded an audience—Juliet’s earlier amorous appreciation had shown him that—but with the cat out of sight (and hopefully his hindquarters out of claw range) he could finally get back to the business of loving his bride-to-be.
Indicating her cleft by skimming the pads of his fingers over the sunset curls he doubted had ever, before now, seen the light of day, he again instructed, “Touch yourself for me.”
“Umm, pray, where exactly?”
“Where might you think?”
“Here?” Obviously stalling, the tide of red sweeping across her features telling the tale more clearly than any loquacious bard, she slipped one hand between them and pinpointed her index finger on the very tip of her sniffer.
“J-u-l-i-e-t.” He spoke as deeply as he could, drawing her name out with grave intensity.
“Z…eu….eu…us…s…s.” The little minx matched him, in timbre and tone.
Snagging that impudent finger perched atop her nose, he attempted to draw it lower. “You know I mean your quim.”
“Touch my…?” The adorable baggage beneath him sputtered. She resisted, rebelled. And judging by the unholy light in her eyes, damn near howled in horror.
“Come now—”
“Zeus! You— I cannot!” The hand he loosely guided downward balled into a lead weight and refused to budge beyond her navel. “A lady never— She absolutely never!” The man above her choked on his own laughter. “’Tis not funny!”
“Aye, it is. From my vantage point, absurdly so.” He released her straining arm and settled in beside her. He even refrained from freeing a sigh when the marmalade purr bucket hopped up behind him once again.
She must’ve seen it in his expression though. Wrinkling her recently emphasized nose, she apologized, “He thinks you’re usurping his position. As my champion.” A quick swish of a fluffy tail confirmed she had the right of it. “He’ll learn to share me. He likes you, I can tell.”
But Zeus refused to be distracted. A man on a mission, he plowed straight ahead. “A lady courageous enough to advertise for a husband, to forfeit clothing and exchange kisses for a taste of passion can do anything she damn well pleases.” He let that sink in. Then he added, “Especially when her chosen husband requests it of her.”
As if daring her to deny his assertion, he raised her shift to her waist. Exposing her charms completely. “Now, my lady, touch yourself. No more balking, hmm?”
Mayhap I’d rather touch you.
The naughty thought took Juliet by surprise.
Mutinously, determined not to give in to his demand, at least not quite yet, Juliet remained motionless. Henry just
gave her a single slow blink—of chastisement?—and jumped down when the wind blew in a few errant raindrops.
Traitor.
To Zeus, she said, “I should call you a brute, a beast.”
“You should’ve called Jacks,” Zeus chided, heaving a sigh. He came onto his knees, one on either side of her torso. “Called him long, long ago, and had me tossed out on my ear.”
“But I like your ears.” And that wasn’t all Juliet liked, she knew, given how she couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of Zeus’ erection. From the way he’d just knelt above her, the thick column swung heavily between them. So close she could reach out and touch it.
So she decided to, swallowing her apprehension, easing her arm forward ever so slowly. And in so doing, received an unexpected boon—avoiding that other place he’d requested.
Touch herself? Down there? Really! The bossy, beastly brute forgot himself.
Ladies hardly dallied and rarely explored skin typically blanketed by garments even during bathing. And that was under the cover of night and night rail! How could she fathom delving deep and discovering her own intimate parts—and in front of him no less?
“My lady?” His upper body was bowed, the corded muscles of his stomach rippling invitingly as he hunkered lower to look into her eyes. “Lady Juliet?”
She noticed how his voice had gone all raspy. His breathing all ragged.
She noticed more the unfamiliar weight of his glorious…prominence, brushing the backs of several fingers once she’d extended her hand.
A sharp flash of white illuminated the window side of him above her, bringing home how dark the sky and evening had grown. But more than that, it highlighted his nude thighs surrounding her. And how her hands had moved to either side and now rested firmly, solidly on each.
His strong muscles shivered beneath her untutored caress. His legs. His thighs.
No longer was she simply thinking or saying the taboo words designating his manly form. She was touching him, her virgin fingers mapping the warmly textured territory he’d only recently bared to her avid gaze.
Had that been just this afternoon? Then how was it that it seemed so long ago? As though she’d been yearning to clamp her fingers on these powerful legs forever?
Lady Scandal: A Sexy Historical Regency Page 11