by Joanna Shupe
Julia had gasped. “Eight-nine days without seeing your parents! That is terrible.”
“It was a ridiculously large house,” was his answer.
“And what did you do on holidays and breaks?”
“Traveled. Went home with Winchester or Quint. By the time I was old enough, I’d find a lady friend or two who did not mind an insatiable, ever-randy fourteen-year-old hanging about.”
“Not much has changed, I see. You are still insatiable and ever-randy,” she’d pointed out.
“Yes, I am. But only around you, it seems. And are you not glad for it?”
The moment had passed, but she began to understand why he’d run away from his family—including the wife his father had forced upon him. Guilt pressed heavily on her chest, and for one brief, insane moment she had even considered confessing her real identity. Fear held her tongue, however.
If she conceived, Julia did not believe herself capable of telling him face-to-face. She knew how devastating the news would be to her husband. He truly did not want to be a father, something he’d stated quite clearly again today.
No, a nice long letter would do the trick. Sent from somewhere far, far away.
She looked down at him, long black lashes fanning his cheeks as he slept, the hint of dark stubble on his jaw. Her heart squeezed—and the truth hit Julia like a bolt of lightning.
She was falling in love with her husband.
Oh, dear Lord, she could not allow something so ridiculously idiotic to happen. Quickly, she tried to remind herself of all the reasons she should hate him, how he’d ignored her for eight years. His reputation as a debaucher of women. Templeton. Her servants, all of whom would soon be out on the street.
But she couldn’t do it any longer. She did not hate him; she understood him. And she could see past the façade he presented to the world: the Depraved Duke, a gambling degenerate who needed no one. No, that was not the real man. Nick had opened up to her in the last few days, sharing more of himself and showing a sweet, caring side to his personality.
In all her scheming and preparations, Julia had never thought to guard her heart. The idea of caring for him never crossed her mind. And now she was dangerously close to loving a man who would hate her forever—once he learned what she had done.
Remain strong, she told herself. You can survive two more days without sacrificing your heart.
Chapter Seven
Guard your heart. Keep it safe, for no one should ever confuse lust for love.
—Miss Pearl Kelly to the Duchess of Colton
By their last day together, they had fallen into a comfortable routine.
As he had almost every morning, Nick roused her with gentle kisses and knowing fingers, priming her body, and then sliding inside. The pace was slow and leisurely, Nick drawing out the pleasure until she was nearly mad with it. She clutched at him, begging and pleading for an end to the sweet torment.
He only chuckled in her ear. “I want to make this last, tesorina. Although I plan to have you at least twice more today.”
Julia couldn’t take it. She pushed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. His face registered surprise as she straddled him and positioned his shaft at her entrance. “Perhaps I plan to have you at least twice more today as well.” Bringing her hips down, his shaft rammed deep and both of them groaned.
She did it again, causing him to gasp and grip the wooden headboard. “Bloody Christ, I love when you do that.” His hands found her breasts, where he pinched her nipples and rolled them with his fingertips while she continued to ride him. The friction soon had her on the edge, and Nick knew it. He leaned up and took a nipple into his mouth, alternating between suckling hard and laving the tiny bud with the flat of his tongue.
“Oh, yes, Nick. God, yes,” she breathed, her hips rolling frantically.
Nick moved his hand down between them, stroked her sensitive nub with his thumb. “Come for me, cara. Scream my name,” he murmured at her breast.
The crest was upon her, with Julia swept into a fierce orgasm, her legs shaking, body rocking through the delicious storm. Dimly, she heard herself shout his name.
When she floated back down, Nick’s eyes were dark and glassy, watching her intently. “You are so beautiful when you find your pleasure. You make me feel like the most powerful man on Earth.”
She barely had time to process those words before he switched positions, settled himself between her thighs, and began driving into her with a determination she’d hardly experienced from him. He was possessed, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl, chest heaving with effort. After a short minute, he stiffened and let out of a shout of his own.
He collapsed, certain to brace himself on his elbows so as to not crush her. Julia rubbed her foot along his calf and stroked his sweat-slicked shoulders, content to feel the weight of him atop her while both of them sought to regain their breath.
Eventually he shifted and pulled her against his long frame. “Perhaps we should spend the day in bed.”
Twining her fingers through his black chest hair, she smiled. “Perhaps. But I should like a bath at some point.”
“Will you allow me to wash you again?”
The memory of yesterday’s bath, when Nick had soaped and rinsed every part of her body, warmed her face. “You may play lady’s maid anytime you like, Your Grace.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I live to serve you, my dear.”
They ate in bed, where they shared a leisurely feast sent up by his cook, with Nick occasionally feeding her with his fingers. After, he attended to her every need in the bath, the water long cold by the time she finished.
Gray and chilly, the afternoon seemed best spent in the library in front of a fire. The two of them settled on the sofa with books, Nick’s head resting in her lap while they read.
He made love to her again before dinner then helped her into an evening dress. She watched as he changed, merely content to be in the same room with him. In his black evening clothes, her husband was impossibly handsome. The arrogant set of his jaw, the width of his shoulders, those sinfully full lips curved into an intimate smile just for her. . . . Her heart sped up as their eyes met in the looking glass.
“I know that look,” he murmured, finishing off his cravat. “Shall we skip dinner?”
“Indeed not. I need to keep up my strength. You take quite a lot out of a woman.”
Nick chuckled and strolled toward her. “I could say the same of you, tesorina.” He gave her a lusty kiss then continued dressing.
“What does that mean, tesorina? You have called me by that name ever since I met you.”
He buttoned up his waistcoat, an emerald green with white stripes. “Venetians use it as ‘my darling.’ Literally, however, it means ‘my little treasure,’ which is what I think every time I have you naked.”
Her heart melted a bit further. She reminded herself to stay aloof, that she would leave on the morrow, but it was hard when he continued to be so attentive and charming.
Over dinner, they conversed easily as they ate, sharing thoughts and opinions on various topics. Surprising how much the two of them agreed upon, she thought. Under a different set of circumstances they might have even been friends.
For dessert, he arranged for her favorite treat: ices flavored with neroli, made from the blossom of a bitter orange tree. The resulting taste was sweet, sour, and fragrant, and Nick chuckled when she not only finished her bowl, but his as well.
How could such a kind and thoughtful man ignore his wife for eight years? Sorting the man she’d believed him to be from the man she now knew proved challenging—especially when he assumed her to be someone else. The deception soured in her mouth every bit as much as the dessert she’d just consumed.
No doubt about it, she’d created quite a mess.
“Tell me,” she asked as they lingered at the table. “Do you harbor any regrets over the things you’ve done, or the way you’ve lived your life?”
He cocked his head, sl
ightly frowning. “Everyone does, I suppose.” He sipped his wine and gave it consideration. “I wish I’d spent more time with my brother before he died, certainly. Then there’s my wife.”
Julia tensed. “What do you mean, your wife?”
“Winchester is forever after me to do the right thing by the duchess, to come up to scratch. And he’s correct, of course. I should. But what would I do, show up on her doorstep like a midshipman lost at sea for eight years? She’d laugh me out of London, I daresay.” He sighed. “I never should have agreed to marry her. I should have stood up to my father and found a way to fight back. If I had, it would have been one less life ruined by the whole business. So yes, I regret that I was not strong enough when it counted most.”
Julia swallowed hard, struggling not to show any hint of the shock streaking through her system. He actually regretted his horrible treatment of her. The revelation was staggering. It’s not too late, she wanted to shout. She would never laugh you out of London. She would get on her knees and thank the heavens you had returned.
“So will you truly never return to England?” Difficult to say what response she hoped for, her emotions were so tangled. Their week together was concluding in a much different manner than she’d originally assumed.
“No—though seeing you again may be the first good reason I’ve had to go back.” He lifted her hand and pressed his warm lips to the inside of her wrist. “Does this mean you want to see me again?”
“I am not sure,” she answered honestly.
Nick’s gaze turned thoughtful, almost fond, and he kept hold of her hand. “There’s something so refreshing and honest about you, about us. You’re a woman without guile, completely open about your affairs and lifestyle. And I’m quite single-minded in my pursuits of the fairer sex. I’d say we’re evenly matched, comfortable with one another. Wouldn’t you?”
Her tongue thick with guilt, all she could do was nod. A woman without guile. She almost laughed. Yes, she’d noticed how comfortable it was between them—she’d just been thinking the very same thing during dinner—but only because he didn’t truly know her or her purpose. A pang tore through her heart.
And at that precise moment, she realized how much she wanted all of this—him—for the rest of her life.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
She loved him. Completely, utterly, and without shame, she loved her husband with all of her heart. Oh, no. She closed her eyes briefly.
“I would like for you to stay with me for the remainder of your time in Venice,” he said, his thumb stroking her palm. “I have the space, and I’m sure Winchester will understand. I want you here, by my side. Every day. Every night.”
Panic fluttered in her belly. She would love nothing more than to stay with him—forever, if possible—but he had no idea what she’d done. Nick would hate her for it, and she couldn’t bear to see his affection poisoned when her betrayal was revealed.
And now she’d fallen in love with him—despite her resolve not to.
Oh, no.
He calmly stared at her, clearly awaiting a response. She took a sip of wine to moisten her dry mouth. The only way to answer and not arouse his anger or suspicion would be to evade the question. “I—I will think on it, Nick. I shall need to return back to my own palazzo for a few days but then we may discuss it.”
“Fine, but I shan’t drop this, Juliet. I want you and I usually get what I want.”
Normally, a saucy remark would have found its way out of her mouth, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Horror had taken hold of her tongue.
“Come, my dear. I want to show you something.” Clasping her hand tighter, he helped her out of her chair. She tried to relish the feel of his warm, strong skin against hers and forget the rest. He was still here, affectionate and sweet, oblivious to what she’d done.
Wordlessly, they traveled up two flights of stairs to a small door at the end of the corridor. The door opened to reveal another smaller set of stairs. “Where does this go?” she asked.
Eyes twinkling, he guided her up the steps. “You shall see. Follow me.”
At the top, he pushed open another partition and Julia felt a blast of chilly air. She shivered as they stepped out onto the roof of his palazzo. Nick shrugged out of his topcoat, draped it over her shoulders, and led her to the side of the building. His chest at her back, he pulled her close, his arms enveloping her for warmth, as she blinked at the sight before them.
Lights twinkled in every direction, with the high arches of the Rialto Bridge visible in the distance. Gondolas slid silently along the black water of the canals, the glow of their soft yellow lanterns bouncing off the surface. Interior lamps inside the palazzos and restaurants made the city sparkle.
It was peaceful, and she could well imagine Nick standing here at night, watching over the city.
“This is my favorite spot in all of Venice,” he murmured into her hair.
“It’s breathtaking.”
“I know it is a bit cold to be out tonight, but I wanted you to see this. It’s the very reason I purchased this particular palazzo.”
“I am glad you did. It is beautiful.”
He turned her around and then tipped her chin up. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, cara.”
His head dipped, lips claiming hers, rubbing gently, tenderly, and Julia almost melted into a puddle on the ground. Though she willed it not to, her foolish heart swelled, full of love for this man. She clung to him and poured emotion into her kiss, telling him without words how she felt. That she cared for him. What a wonderful, unexpected gift the last seven days had been. And how sorry she was for the hurt he’d feel when she eventually revealed her secret.
Because she now realized what she must do in order to protect them both.
She kissed him good-bye.
Nick found himself whistling—whistling, by God—as he continued the last few steps toward Florian’s. He planned to meet an old friend for coffee and then he’d stop by Juliet’s palazzo to surprise her.
He missed her. Though he hadn’t seen her in only two days, it felt more like two years. And it was more than just the physical release. He missed waking up next to her. And the way she smelled. Everything about her, really. Bloody hell, listen to him, mooning over a woman. He never thought it would happen to him, but now that it had . . . he didn’t mind. It felt right, these feelings he had for Juliet.
Though Juliet had been strangely subdued the last time he saw her, as she left his palazzo after their seven-day tryst. He wasn’t sure the reason for her mood, so he’d decided to surprise her with a gift.
He’d learned from Signor Marcellino how much Juliet admired the cameo set, how wistful her face had been while she’d studied the delicate carvings. Nick knew she’d wanted the set but pride kept her from accepting such a gift. So he’d purchased it and would give it to her today.
He couldn’t wait to see her face when she opened the box.
Nick entered the coffeehouse and searched the crowd for Quint. Unsurprisingly, he saw his friend near the back, scribbling madly in a small book, oblivious to a comely waitress who was attempting to get his attention.
Nick wandered over. “Quint. I see you haven’t changed.” Nick tipped his head toward the retreating girl.
“Colton! Damn, it is good to see you.” Damien Beecham, Viscount Quint, stood up and the men slapped each other on the back.
Nick sized up his friend and concluded Quint really hadn’t changed since the last time he’d saw him. A bit taller than Nick, Quint was his normally disheveled self, with brown hair haphazardly brushed back from his face and appallingly mismatched clothing. He was uncommonly intelligent, however, and loyal to a fault.
“It’s been what, three years?” Nick asked as he took a seat.
“Something like that. I came to see you in Paris, I think. We had those two lovely women—”
“I remember,” Nick said, laughing. “God, I loved Paris. Although Venice has been good to me as well.”
> The waitress returned and Nick ordered coffee. Then he turned to his friend. “Winchester is here, too. Did you know?” Nick, Quint, and Winchester had been close since Eton. Those boyhood friendships were the only ones to survive the scandal, and Nick was grateful to both men for standing by him.
Quint’s eyes widened. “No. I’ve been in Rome for the last month. I can only imagine the fun you two are having.”
“I have not seen much of him, I’m afraid.” Not at all in the past nine days, in fact. “Where are you staying?”
“Not far from here, actually. I arrived two days ago. There’s a scholar in Venice I’ve wanted to speak with regarding—”
“No doubt the conversation shall be riveting.” Nick had learned over the course of their twenty-year friendship to cut Quint off before his friend started in on the topics of philosophy, engineering, or science. “And how have you been since I saw you last? No wife in tow, I see.”
“Didn’t you hear?” When Nick shook his head, Quint continued. “I was betrothed last spring. Girl ran off to Gretna Green with a stable boy a week before the ceremony. Damned good thing, too. The last thing I wanted was to be married.”
Quint’s troubled eyes gave away the lie. It was obvious the girl had broken his heart. “My sympathies,” Nick said in all seriousness.
Quint looked away. “Eh. I’ll survive. Speaking of marriages—”
Nick groaned, causing Quint to chuckle. “I was merely going to say that I see your wife quite a bit in London. You do not know what you’re missing, my friend.”
“Believe me, if she’s half as wonderful as Winchester says, I’m well aware of what a paragon she is. But it hardly matters.”
Quint held up his hands. “I know better than to pursue that line of conversation. So . . . how are the ladies of Venice?”
Nick thought of Juliet and couldn’t keep from smiling. Quint’s eyes widened. “That good, eh? You’re positively grinning. So who is she?”