Catherine turned away from Julian then so that he would not see the hurt on her face. Each time he used those words, teased her with a promise of what could not be, he cut her more deeply than the last time. To him, they were just words, but to her? They were everything. "You don't mean that," she whispered, the fight suddenly leaving her as her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "Everything you have said? You do not mean it. We have only just met a few hours ago and you are humoring a silly old woman whom you likely know finds you handsome and desirable. It hurts me so very deeply, you know, when you pretend..."
Reaching out, Julian yanked Catherine back to him when she would have walked way, pressing her backside hard against his front. "Does this feel as if I am pretending to you, pet?" he hissed in her ear as he thrust his hips forward, making certain that she could feel the hard press of his erection into her backside.
"N...n...no." That single word stuttered out and Catherine had to stifle a gasp. Though she was no blushing miss, in all of her life she had never felt a man's hard length against her body. And suddenly, she was aflame with need and desire and an entire range of emotions and desires she had not thought herself capable of - ever.
Perhaps she was not quite as frigid as she thought.
When she was married, Crossbury had entered her, spent himself and then withdrew. He had never touched her and certainly not with that particular part of his anatomy. It was new. It was exciting. It was...arousing.
Catherine's nipples tightened until they hurt and her breasts began to ache. She could feel herself growing wet and that churning in her stomach suddenly sank lower until her tummy twisted inside and she ached even more. For what, she did not know, but she ached all the same. In fact, she thought she might die from the ache it was so powerful.
"Good." Julian nipped at Catherine's neck as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her so close to him that she moaned. "Like that, do you, pet?"
She made a mewling sound and prayed that he was not toying with her again. She did not think she could take it if he was. "I never...that is I didn't..."
Another nip at her ear and then he suckled her lobe and she went limp in his embrace. "I know. Your name eventually sounded familiar to me so while you were upstairs, I went to my study and found the papers the previous earls left behind." This time, Julian nuzzled her neck, sucking at the delicate flesh there. "I know how they treated you, Catherine. How little regard they had for you. All of them." He splayed his hand over her stomach, his fingers dipping so low over her mid-section that it was scandalous. "How little desire you have known in your life. I can show you that desire, Catherine, give you a taste of what you have been missing. If you allow me. For saints above, I do want you. I want to give you that pleasure. More than that, I want to fuck you. Hard and fast, until we are both spent and yet still craving more."
"But you can't...oooh!" She gasped when his other hand came up to cup her breast. His words were crass, but she could not deny that they heated her blood even more and made her ache with need - a sensation that she had never truly known in all of her years.
"I can't what? Can't want you? Can't desire you? Can't fuck you? For I assure you I can, I do, and I will." This time he nibbled lightly at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Catherine, the moment I picked you up from the snow, something about you fired my blood and my soul, made me desire you in a way I have not needed a woman in a very long time." Another stroke of his other thumb, this time over her nipple through the thin fabric of her gown. "I thought that I was merely a fool but then you looked at me as you stood there dripping wet in my foyer and I saw the same attraction burning brightly in your eyes as well. Deny it. I dare you. Deny that you want me."
Catherine swallowed hard and arched into his touch. "I do want you, Julian. I have from the moment you picked me up. But I am..."
"Do not say old," he cautioned her as he slowly walked them to a nearby chair. He seated himself upon it and then pulled her onto his lap, her back still to his front, though her legs were now spread wide over his. "I do not wish to hear that word from you ever again."
"Inexperienced," she finally ground out as he shifted her again so that she could feel the hard length of him now nestled somehow against her feminine core. Given their positions, she wasn't certain how that was possible, but it was. "I am not skilled in the bedchamber. The gossips did not lie about that."
Julian laughed, though he seemed more amused now than angry, his passion banked and the gentleman in him back in control. "Then you are in luck, my sweet, for I am very experienced indeed in that regard." Then he slid his hand lower to rest between her legs and Catherine had to fight the urge to arch against his touch, her feminine mound aching for more of his delightful caresses.
"Why?" This didn't seem right or logical or any of the other things she had come to expect from gentlemen. "Why me?"
"Because there is attraction. Desire. Want. Need. I live for these things, and I suspect you could as well if you simply allowed propriety to go hang and simply feel. I could teach you much, Catherine. I desire to teach you much. Because I wish to taste your passion, tease it from you in a way that no other man ever has." Julian bit down lightly on her neck and she gasped, arching her hips forward so that they made contact with his splayed fingers. The feeling was exquisite. "Because we are trapped here, likely for several days and there is not much else we can do to amuse ourselves, save for parlor games and I tire of those rather easily. Because you have interrupted my peace and quiet, my sweet, and I cannot think clearly. Because, for some reason I cannot explain, I want to be the man to teach you about the pleasures of the flesh. Because my body desires yours and I am a man accustomed to having what I desire. Are those not reasons enough?"
Catherine could only whimper in reply.
"Come, Kitten," Julian coaxed and she found that she did not mind that nickname one bit. "I need an answer. Do you wish for me to bed you? To teach you all that you have missed while you are stranded here with me? I will not make this offer again. I offer you my body for the duration of your stay. If you wish it."
She knew he wasn't promising forever. He was simply promising passion. For Catherine, that was enough. It was more than she had ever dreamed that she might experience, especially at her age. She still did not quite believe him when he said that her age did not matter, but for the moment, she did not care. A virile, handsome young man desired her. This was a first. And she would be a fool to allow the opportunity to pass her by. So she put her fear aside and took the plunge into madness.
"Yes," she finally gasped as he palmed her breast more fully. "Yes, Julian. I want you. I want you to bed me, to teach me. Please."
He chuckled then and for a brief, horrible moment, she feared that he might be teasing her. Then, as if she weighted nothing at all, he lifted her up off his lap and in one seemingly effortless move, he turned her around so that she was now straddling him.
"Then let us begin with a kiss, shall we?" he asked as he pressed his straining erection into her feminine mound and Catherine felt herself all but swoon into his arms as he brought his lips to hers. It was the first true kiss of her life. And it was every bit as powerful as she had imagined it would be.
Chapter Four
As the dawn broke the next morning, the first thing that Julian became conscious of was that he was in bed alone. The second was that it was still snowing outside. Which was perfect because if he had his way, he would not be alone in his bed for many more nights as the snow continued to hold them captive within Hollywell's walls. He would have company in the form of the delectable Lady Crossbury. Catherine. His Kitten.
Julian was uncertain how long they had kissed the previous night, only that by the time he had pulled back, her lips were swollen and her eyes were glazed with desire. She was also likely drenched with desire, for he had fondled her breasts enough that she had repeatedly squirmed on his lap, making him so hard that it hurt and nearly causing him to spill himself like some green youth on
his first visit to a prostitute. She had not found release in his arms either, but she would. Soon. Very soon.
There was a part of Julian that had simply wanted to whisk Catherine up to his chambers and claim her for his own as soon as possible, but there was another part of him, the part that recognized that she was a lady above all else that had eventually forced him to remove her from his lap and bid her a good night. He hadn't wanted to, but it had been the right thing.
He had become even more convinced of that when she had blushed prettily and confessed that his had been her first kiss. He hadn't known what to say after that. Instead, Julian had escorted her to her chambers and then bid her good night before retreating back to his study - and his bottle of Scotch.
In the dark hours after midnight, he had read through the papers left behind by some of the previous earls and each of them painted a grimmer picture of Catherine's life than he had imagined. Her parents had loved her, just as she had said, but they also resented her to some degree for being the child who lived while her brothers died, leaving the family without an heir. Her deceased husband hadn't particularly wanted her either, but at least one of his many mistresses had wanted him to take a wife so that the mistress' bastard might be passed off as the true Crossbury heir. Crossbury must have had some shred of decency about him, for according to his papers, the old man had refused to foist that sort of shame upon Catherine. However, he had kept up his bedsport with his other lovers, performing a perfunctory bedding of his wife only once a month for a few minutes each time. Typically under a quarter hour, if that. Ten minutes at most and some months, less than five. It was little wonder she had been unable to get with child.
That arrangement, coupled with the growing jealousy of a woman named Madame Nicolescu, who was really a fisherman's widow from Dorchester that Crossbury had taken a liking to while on holiday there, had led to rumors and lies being spread throughout Society about Catherine and her suitability as a wife - both in bed and out. That, more than anything had angered Julian for he knew all too well how much lies could hurt a person. He also knew that once lies were deeply entrenched, they were often difficult to undo. His cousin's thievery was proof enough of that. Even if he could ever regain his title, would people ever see him as any better than the man who had stolen it from him?
Eventually, Julian had stumbled upstairs to his bed, falling into a fitful sleep while devising ways to pay court to Catherine. For at some point, he had come to the conclusion that she needed to be courted, even just a bit. To take her directly to his bed seemed...wrong. As if she was little more than a common whore. Which she was not. He could not even say why he cared, really. After all, she was hardly the first willing widow he had encountered - not to mention bedded - in his time. Nor was he looking to wed her. But she was the first woman who had burrowed into his arms as if she needed him above all others to keep her safe and protected. Likely, she wasn't even aware that she had done so, but the previous night when he had scooped her up out of the snow, Catherine had snuggled into his embrace and something within Julian had shifted rather profoundly.
So much had been taken from him over the years that he should not wish to give. He should wish to take. And he would take - in time. He would take pleasure from Catherine's body but he would also give her pleasure as well. He would give her passion.
She was the sort of woman he might wed if he was so inclined. Perhaps. In time. But not now. Therefore, she deserved better than a quick tumble in his bed.
So he would do this right or he would not do it at all.
Then there was the matter of how she had come to be at Hollywell in the first place, but Julian decided that issue could wait for another time. His first instinct was to believe that this was a plot on Nick's part to see Julian wed to a Society lady, which the duke knew very well Julian had no intention of doing any time soon. However, Julian had contemplated going to the Continent during the holidays to search for his cousin and reclaim the De La Croix title quicker than the courts seemed to be moving on the issue as of late. So there was a chance that the duke had merely been confused or missed Julian's last reply. Not likely, certainly, but possible. Julian decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. He really did not wish to believe that Nick desired to see Julian leg shackled so badly that he would resort to trickery.
So by the time he arrived at breakfast, Julian was in a much better frame of mind regarding all things. Though he was disappointed to see that the snow was slowing. If the roads cleared too soon, his evenings of bedsport with Catherine would be lost.
"Bernard assures me that this break in the weather will not last long." Julian was not surprised to see Catherine already seated at the table, her plate piled high with food. Good. He did like a healthy appetite in a woman. Especially for the sorts of activities he had planned. She would need her strength.
"Going out this morning, were you?" he asked as he helped himself to the vast array of foods spread out on the sideboard. Normally, he took a light breakfast, but he supposed his staff, thrilled about finally having a guest in the house, had taken this opportunity to show him their skills. He had inherited much of the staff when he purchased the house and, as of yet, he had not thrown any sort of gathering so that the assorted servants might prove their true value to him. The planned Christmas Eve ball was to be the first.
She gestured to the walls around them. "Of course. This place is empty what with Christmas approaching."
Julian frowned in confusion. "I am half French, you know. Is this some English term that is kept hidden from us foreigners? The room is not exactly empty." In fact, it was decorated just as it had been yesterday at this time. Well, with one very lovely addition, of course.
"It is a female idea," she corrected him. "Especially at the holidays. I am told that you are planning a Christmas Eve gala ball. That is only five days away from now. Not very long at all, really."
He shrugged, still not understanding where she was going with all of this. "The snow must cease falling first. Otherwise, there will not be any ball. It is hard to host a ball without guests."
"It will stop," she assured him easily. "The weather here is both harsh and fickle. Live here long enough and you will see."
Julian intended to do just that. Still, he did not understand the connection between this room and his ball. "But back to this empty room notion. I am afraid that I still do not understand."
To his delight, Catherine rolled her eyes, seeming to come alive right in front of him. This was a woman fit to be a countess. Just not his countess. "You are a man, so therefore, this room and this house look acceptable to you as the ball and the holidays approach." He raised an eyebrow, indicating that he still did not take her meaning. "A woman however, especially one with an eye to becoming your wife, would look at the castle and find it lacking in festive decorations."
"I don't desire a wife. At least not at present." Though he did desire a bedmate, which was an entirely different issue.
A look he could not decipher crossed her face. "No, I did not think that you did, Julian. However this is to be your first ball, and therefore, I would assume that you would wish to put Hollywell in its best possible light. It is a venerable old castle and how you care for her will go a long way as to how the people here judge you. You might not care for that notion." She cocked her head to the side. "In fact, I would wager that you do not. But it is still there. And the best way to do that is to fill the emptiness with decorations fit for the season."
She had a point, damn her. Julian knew that he would be a fool not to acknowledge it. Especially as a half-Frenchman living here as an English gentleman. If he ever did regain his title, that might be one more strike against him as the French aristocracy was not exactly in favor at the moment, but if these people knew him to be a good neighbor who cared for the beloved old castle? That might play well in his favor. Not that he cared. Well, not much anyway. He just wanted his title back and, in time, a wife who was not a feather-brained fool. Perhaps some ti
me in London each year when he was not ensconced here at Hollywell. Was that so much to ask? Maybe. He was no longer certain.
But that was not something to ponder at this moment. And Catherine's assertions about the undecorated state of Hollywell were still valid. He did wish to be a good neighbor and have the people here think well of him. Until that moment, he hadn't considered that such a thing mattered to him, but he found, strangely, that it did.
"Very well," Julian acquiesced. "What do you suggest?"
The sparkle of life was back in Catherine's violet eyes and he discovered that he was rather enjoying watching her come alive right before him. "Meet me at the east door in an hour and you shall see." Then, obviously finished with her breakfast, she rose and strode out of the room purposefully, leaving Julian with a plate of cooling eggs and an erection so hard that he thought he might die of it.
This woman would be the death of him, but if he could bed her first? Then he would die a very happy man indeed.
So an hour later, because of his still-painful erection and because of his wish to be a good neighbor and host, and because of his strange desire to be near Catherine, Julian waited for her by the east doors, uncertain as to what she had planned and wondered, again, why he even cared. Last night, before he had looked into those violet eyes of hers and fallen hard, he had thought that they would quickly come to an arrangement to stay out of each other's way. However that was before his body had informed his mind that she was lush and beautiful. That she both smelled and felt as a real woman should. And that bedding this widow was far preferable to bedding an innocent. Especially a widow as responsive to his touch as Catherine.
After that? The idea of staying away from her seemed all but impossible, no matter how big this castle was. And it was not nearly big enough to suit him at the moment, and yet entirely too small at the same time. Lord, he was losing his mind over her. That would not do at all. He had to get a grip on himself and quickly.
Christmas At Hollywell (The Seldon Park Christmas Novella Book 4) Page 5