Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  The more she talked of Dillbey and her causes, the more she seemed to relax. He would have thought it impossible, but Julian grew increasingly enchanted. The aloofness he had suffered from her at Château la Claire seemed to dissipate altogether, and it was easy to see why Claudia was so popular among the ton’s eligible bachelors. She had a dozen ways of smiling that made a man feel as if he was on top of the world. When her eyes glittered with amusement, that same man could not help but wonder how they might glitter in the tumult of love-making.

  God Almighty, was there nothing he could do to steel his heart against this impertinent, charming, stubborn, and beautiful woman?

  Phillip never had her.

  He was ashamed to think it, but the knowledge kept creeping into his thoughts, unwanted, unfounded. Yet Julian was glad for it. He wanted the privilege of holding her, of making passionate love to her. He wanted her all to himself, and at this moment, he didn’t give a damn what that said about his character or his actions almost two years ago. He wanted her so badly, had wanted her for so long now, that sometimes he actually felt paralyzed with a longing he could hardly contain. That didn’t stop him from feeling like a traitor to Phillip, even now, but he couldn’t make himself care any longer.

  He just wanted her.

  Claudia was in deep trouble. Oh, yes, very deep. Ocean deep.

  She swirled the contents of her goblet with one hand and watched his fingers caress the lines on the palm of her other as he pretended to read it, the skill dubiously gained during a particularly memorable trip to Madrid some years ago.

  She had tried to remain aloof from the arrogant rake, but he had to go and be insufferably clever and charming and witty, and good God was he handsome! Ah, but she knew what he was about. At five and twenty, she was well acquainted with the signs of subtle seduction—reading her palm, indeed! It galled her to think that she might still succumb to such adolescent games!

  “Ah. See this line? It means you will love well and be well loved in return,” he said, and lifted his raven eyes to hers.

  “Rather, you wish that’s what it meant.”

  “You’ve no idea how much,” he easily agreed, and dropped his gaze to her palm again as he languidly traced the line with the tips of his fingers, his touch feather light. Her skin tingled deliciously, and she recalled. Beatrice Heather-Pratt, the wife of the invidious Viscount Dillbey, whispering to her, “No man can pleasure a woman like Kettering—dear me, what that man can do with his hands!” This, she had said breathlessly to Claudia as she tried to adjust her coif, having just come from the closed morning room at a Harrison Green party. She and Beatrice had been standing along one wall, both of them surreptitiously watching Kettering saunter across the crowded room like a bantam cock upon his exit from the very same morning room.

  “And this line means you will live a long life, apparently with many grandchildren to comfort you in your old age.”

  Her skin was on fire.

  “What nonsense, your palmistry!” she scoffed, and withdrew her hand.

  “Perhaps, but I think there is something to be said for it. After all, one’s skin reveals many things about one’s character.”

  Her scalp prickled; she took a gulp of wine. “By one’s skin?” she asked, feeling a little light-headed.

  “Yes, indeed.” He leaned forward, only inches from her face, and peered closely. “For example, the fine lines around a woman’s eyes,” he murmured, lifting his hand to brush her temple, “tell a man that she likes to laugh, that she is happy.” Heat shot down Claudia’s neck and into her chest as he traced a line around the corner of her eye. “And the fine lines around her mouth,” he continued, his gaze and his finger dropping to her lips, “tell a man when she is not happy.” He touched the corner of her mouth so lightly that Claudia’s pulse was suddenly racing. Impossibly, he leaned closer. He meant to kiss her. Her mind screamed to pull back, but Claudia froze, unable to stop him, wanting him to touch her with his lips—

  “Pardon, monsieur.”

  Claudia started, her cheeks flaming, but Julian calmly leaned back and removed his hand from her cheek, his gaze still riveted on her lips. “Oui?”

  The innkeeper reported something in rapid-fire French.

  “Merci,” Julian said, his gaze still locked on her. “It would seem the Maiden’s Heart is ready for boarding.”

  “Oh! That’s very good news,” she blustered clumsily, and looked down as she tried to fit her hand into a glove that Julian had somehow coaxed off her. The innkeeper said something more, and by the time Claudia had managed to stuff her hand into the tight kid leather glove, Julian had come to his feet, was shoving a hand through the thick tousle of his hair as the innkeeper walked away. He regarded her rather sheepishly. “We’ve a bit of a problem, I’m afraid.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that.

  “It would seem we owe the man a little more than a franc. Claims we drank from his finest stock,” he said, and motioned lamely toward the empty bottle.

  Judging by the trouble she was having getting to her feet, Claudia thought that she in particular had drunk from his finest stock. Grasping the table for support, she hauled herself up, smiled broadly at Julian, and could have sworn she heard something very much like a groan. “Claudia … it’s rather a long story, but the short of it is, I’m afraid you find me without my purse.”

  She blinked.

  He frowned. “I have no money.”

  That sobered her. A thousand things tumbled through her mind, not the least of which was the distasteful notion that he had insisted on keeping her company because he had no money. And exactly how was it that one of the richest men in England could find himself in such a predicament? She did not want to know. “I see,” she said, and snatched up her reticule.

  “No, you really don’t.”

  She raked a look across him, and with surprising dexterity given her state, managed to pull open the little bag and produce several coins that she tossed onto the table.

  “That is very kind of you,” he muttered.

  “Think nothing of it,” she responded tightly. The man was a rake, had always been and undoubtedly would remain so for the rest of his bloody life! She should have known his interest was insincere, his attentions self-serving!

  She stooped to fetch her portmanteau, but Julian was there before her, and easily hoisted it onto his shoulder. “Please allow me,” he said, balancing himself with his small satchel in his other hand.

  Oh, but she already had. She had allowed him to make a fool of her. Again. Claudia started walking—weaving, really—out the door, her heart thumping angrily in her chest, and marched indignantly down the pedestrian walkway toward the pier.

  “Claudia, I’m as anxious to get to England as you, believe me, but I can’t fly,” he said somewhere behind her.

  She realized she was practically sprinting and stopped, folded her arms across her chest, and glared out across the Avant-port. Julian paused to catch his breath, adjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder. “It’s not what you think,” he said, reading her mind.

  Bloody hell if it wasn’t.

  “The Captain has my purse—and my pistol—it’s Renault’s way of aggravating me. When we reach Newhaven, I’ll repay your generosity, every last franc of it.”

  “You must think my manners quite appalling if you think I would begrudge a fellow traveler some wine,” she said in her best aristocratic voice. “There is the Maiden’s Heart,” she quickly interjected before he could speak further, and marched onward, not caring if he kept up or not.

  Fortunately, the captain was the same one who had brought her to France, and was quick to show her to his best cabin—a small, airless pocket, really. Lying on the hammock that served as a bed, Claudia battled herself, trying not to think about The Rake. That man was one of the original Rogues of Regent Street, a libertine with a nasty reputation for breaking hearts, a ruthless charmer. Her biggest mistake was sharing a bottle of wine with him in the first place.
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  That was true in more ways than one, she realized as soon as the ship began to move. She’d never been terribly good at sea, particularly in the fast little clippers, and with a good amount of wine in her, she was feeling ill before the ship had hardly put to sea. She tried to brave it as best she could, but an hour into the voyage, she was in desperate need of air.

  She hurried up onto the deck, smiled thinly at two sailors who were coiling a rope as thick as a man’s arm, and frantically sought a place where she might be alone. On the lee side of the ship, she found a spot that seemed about as private as one could hope, and leaned over the railing, taking deep gulps of the salt air. That helped to steady her roiling stomach, and after a few moments, she was feeling much improved, her head clearer. She glanced up; the night sky formed a brilliant canopy above her. The full moon illuminated their course and stars glittered like diamonds suspended from the heavens. It was a vast, natural wonder that she never tired of, and for a few moments, she forgot everything else.

  “Few things are as breathtakingly beautiful as a starlit night on the Channel.”

  Slowly, she lowered her head and turned toward the sound of his voice. He was standing several feet away with one foot propped on a barrel, his arm resting on his knee, and a cheroot dangling carelessly from his hand. He had loosened his collar and untied the neckcloth; in the moonlight, the tails of it fairly glowed down the front of his chest. He dragged on the cheroot; its tip flared red hot against the backdrop of the night before he flicked the remainder over the railing. “I know of only one other sight with the power to seize my heart so.”

  A good Scotch whiskey and a demimondaine at Madame Farantino’s, she would wager.

  Julian dropped his foot from the barrel and, shoving his hands in his pockets, strolled toward her. “There is another beauty that takes my breath away time and again.”

  Perhaps it was the starry night or the lingering warmth of the wine—Claudia didn’t know exactly—but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  She laughed—a rather loud belly laugh.

  One of his thick brows floated upward, but he kept on, closing the distance between them. Her heart did a strange little flutter, an internal warning of danger. It was the wine. It was the wine making her heart beat so.

  She laughed again.

  “And now,” he said softly, ignoring her snicker, “I see that beauty in the moonlight.” He lifted his hand to touch her neck; Claudia flinched as if he’d scorched her. A smug smile curved his lips, and he leaned into her so that she could feel his breath on her neck. “I see that beauty in the moonlight, and I am compelled by an unearthly desire to hold it in my arms,” he murmured.

  And the sudden desire to be held in his arms stunned her—Claudia promptly took one very large step backward. “My, my,” she said behind a nervous little laugh, “I thought I had drunk most of the wine, but apparently, my lord, you indulged in a goblet or two. You must think me terribly naïve.”

  “Naïve? No. Innocent, yes.”

  “Not so innocent that I don’t know what you are doing.”

  He grinned. “I wear my admiration openly.” And his gaze casually swept the length of her as if to prove it. “You are as stunning in moonbeams as you are by morning’s light, Claudia.”

  With a shout of laughter, Claudia wildly shook her head. “Please God, would you stop? I’m quite fearful you will cause me to snap a rib or some such injury.”

  “I can’t stop.”

  Curse her knees, but they were starting to shake, giving credence to the ridiculous theory circulating around London salons that his smile could actually melt a woman. “Look here, I know what men are about, and I am not a wanton, Julian.”

  “Ah, so you do remember my name,” he said as he took another step toward her. And another. There was suddenly nothing but a sliver of moonlight between them. “So tell me, fair Claudia, what are men about?”

  She knew exactly what they were about, but she was having trouble speaking up at the moment because his dark eyes were piercing hers, boring down into her, past the façade of propriety and well into the very core of the heat that was suddenly creeping into her neck and face. “P-pleasure,” she stammered.

  “Hmm,” he mused, and one hand appeared from behind his back to clasp her elbow. “Not a bad pursuit all in all. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully as the other hand snaked very casually around her waist, “you are a bit jealous of men and all that pleasure?”

  She would have protested, but she was caught off guard by the grain of truth in his statement, and besides, his head descended so quickly that she was being swept away on a tide of pleasure before she even knew what had happened. The soft pressure of his lips on hers threw her completely off balance and turned everything upside down; she lost all sense of reason when his tongue touched the seam of her lips, at once shaping and devouring them. The faint taste of tobacco mingled with the masculine smell of him, and the tingling sensation in her lips was suddenly spreading like wild fire through her entire body.

  His hands came up and cupped her face; through no accord of her own, Claudia opened her mouth beneath his, and he thrust his tongue deep inside, swirling over her teeth, the soft skin inside her cheeks, around her tongue. She stumbled backward—he caught her with an arm tight around her back and crushed her to him.

  Never in her wildest dreams did she think a kiss could be so shamelessly erotic! Her body squirmed for more, all of a sudden pushing against him, her hands around his neck, her tongue darting around his. It felt as if she had drifted into a strange fog and she was suddenly pushed up against the railing, his thigh wedged deep between hers while his tongue thrust into her mouth in an ancient rhythm she instinctively understood and responded to in kind. His hand fell to her leg and he grasped a handful of her skirts, inching the brocade up. A primordial warning sounded in Claudia’s fogged mind and she tried to push his hand away.

  Julian responded by hoisting her up until she was sitting on the railing, her legs on either side of him, one of his sinewy arms anchoring her firmly to him. With his free hand, he gathered her skirts until his hand found her leg beneath.

  If it weren’t for his iron grip around her, Claudia would have tumbled right into the sea and drowned in a state of happy delirium. The gentle caress on the inside of her knee—the forbidden touch of a man—sent a current of desire through her that culminated in a raw, moist heat between her legs. Her heart thrashed madly about in her chest and, scarcely able to breathe, she gasped against his mouth. Julian dragged his lips from hers and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Let me show you pleasure, Claudia,” he murmured. “Let me show you pleasure you’ve never dreamed of.”

  The passion in his voice made her shudder. But though her body ached for more—begged for more—her conscience squeaked a faint protest. This was Julian Dane, a man who had once crushed her tender heart and then killed her intended, no matter how much she didn’t want to think of that now. Julian was right—she might be innocent, but she wasn’t naïve.

  His skill at seduction far surpassed that of any man she had ever known and it frightened her to know how quickly and easily she had surrendered to it. But he was still a rogue polished in the art of seducing women, and the sensual words whispered in her ear were firm evidence of it.

  “Let me down,” she muttered.

  A moment’s hesitation and he lifted her from the railing, held her against him while her body slid through his arms till she stood. He didn’t let her go immediately, but kissed her forehead and the place on her cheek rubbed raw from the bristle of his beard. “Where is your cabin?”

  Claudia shoved against his chest, clearly startling him. “I won’t be one of your conquests. I will not be swayed by your charms! Save your kisses for someone who wants them, Julian.” And with that, she stepped free of him and walked away, silently castigating herself for being so weak and almost yielding to his charms. What a fool she could be! There was not a more celebrated rogue in all of England! What, would sh
e fall into a man’s arms just because he spoke prettily to her? Certainly not, and least of all his arms!

  She despised him!

  She did, didn’t she?

  Four

  BERKELEY STREET, LONDON

  MARSHALL WHITNEY, The Earl of Redbourne, had just returned from St. James Palace and was holding his own court in the south drawing room of his rather impressive town house on Berkeley Street. The men of the King’s Privy Council gathered here every afternoon at precisely six o’clock, and Randall, the earl’s butler, served brandies all around.

  That’s where Claudia found her father upon arrival from Newhaven, where the Maiden’s Heart had weighed anchor that morning in a steady downpour. Claudia’s father and his guests came to their feet the moment they saw her. “I wasn’t expecting you today, moppet,” he said as she ignored his outstretched hand and embraced him. “I understood you would remain at Madame Renault’s another fortnight.”

  “Renault’s aunt is failing, and I felt rather in the way,” she said, and pressed her cheek to her father’s shoulder.

  “Ah, pity, that. You shall tell me all about your little adventure into France over supper.” He stepped back, out of her embrace, and smiled. “You know my guests?”

  She dipped a polite curtsy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said to the Duke of Dartmoor.

  “Lady Claudia,” he mumbled with a quick bob of his head.

  “My Lord Hatcliffe, how good to see that your ankle is much improved.”

  The smaller of the two men, Lord Hatcliffe smiled sheepishly and wiggled his ankle. “Much improved indeed, my lady. Nasty twist of the thing.”

  “My dear, you will want to rest now,” her father interjected, and grasping her elbow, steered her toward the door and rapped softly. It was immediately swung open by a footman who stood ready to attend. “Rest now, and I shall see you at supper,” he said, and releasing her elbow, turned back into the room. “Randall?” As the door swung shut, Claudia saw him motion his guests to be seated as he resumed his seat, extending his hand so that Randall could fill it with his snifter.