“Yes, and quite a lot of it, apparently.”
She turned her beatific smile to him; he felt it shimmer down his spine and land firmly in his groin. “Quite a lot,” she agreed with an emphatic nod.
It was also a contagious smile—it spread to his own lips as he moved closer to her. “You are a bit into your cups, my dear, and I’m afraid there is only one thing to be done for it.”
Claudia immediately stepped back, and laughing, he caught her elbow. “Don’t fret—I am hardly going to accost you.” No matter how badly I want to. “I had in mind a dance or two … just until you are feeling your old, demon self.”
Claudia laughed as he slowly pulled her toward him. “You taught me how to waltz, do you remember?”
“I remember.”
Her smile faded; she peered up at him, as if seeing something in the distance. “I was a demon then, too. And you … oh, you were terribly handsome.”
If she hadn’t been quite so far in her cups, Julian might have read more into that throaty whisper. But he merely chuckled. “As opposed to now?”
She flashed another, terribly alluring smile. With the tip of her finger she touched the knot of his neckcloth. “Now I think you are devastatingly handsome.” Those words banished every gentlemanly instinct from his head. But before he could even react, she added lightly, “for a rake,” and giggled devilishly.
“Demon’s Spawn,” he muttered, straining to hold himself from kissing the smirk from her lips.
“Libertine,” she shot back, and suddenly leaned into him, asking breathlessly, “Dance with me?”
Nine
CLAUDIA WANTED TO dance under the moon and the stars, even if they were rather crude renditions, just as they had years ago at Kettering Hall. Julian didn’t think that such a grand idea and muttered something about stars and demons and trouble. But when the strains of the string quartet’s waltz drifted out onto the terrace, he very gallantly bowed, smiling when she managed a clumsy curtsy. She slipped one hand into his and placed the other on his shoulder.
“Hmm … it appears I might have to count the steps for you.”
She snorted. “Dance, will you?”
With a chuckle, he pressed his hand against the small of her back and swept her into the rhythm of the waltz. He moved as gracefully as she remembered, leading her easily, twirling her one way and then the other so effortlessly that Claudia had the sensation of floating. She smiled up at the moon and the sun and the stars painted above her head, watching the bright colors blur into a kaleidoscope. The champagne had muddled her mind a bit, making her feel all woozy and shiny and wondering if perhaps he wasn’t such a very bad rake. And she liked dancing with him; she liked the way his arms felt like iron beneath her fingers, the way his hand rode the small of her back. She just wasn’t quite sure why that made her giggle.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed,” Julian remarked.
Oh, she was relaxed, all right. Practically weightless.
“I had rather thought you might never grace me with your smile again.”
That was ridiculous and made her laugh as she lowered her gaze from the ceiling to look at him. His dark eyes were fixed on her lips; a strong shiver ran down Claudia’s spine. “Why, I smile all the time, sir. From sunup to sundown practically, and particularly in the mornings when Randall brings me tarts.”
A corner of Julian’s mouth tipped upward. “Tarts, is it? I would have thought you learned your lesson. You recall, don’t you, that you once ate your weight in them? You had a bellyache so ferocious that I had to send for Dr. Dudley. I should hope at the very least you learned to pace yourself.”
She laughed gaily; what an absurdly faulty memory he had! “You have us all smashed together in your head, don’t you? Can’t remember one from the other. That was Eugenie.”
“I don’t have you all smashed together, I assure you,” he said, his smile fading softly. “There is one that stands out from all the others—one that I can’t seem to get out of my head.”
Her initial assumption was that he meant Valerie by that, but his black eyes seemed to pierce her, boring down, down, down, into her very heart, and she realized that he was speaking of her. She missed a step—something she hadn’t done in years—and Julian expertly righted her without missing a beat or taking his eyes from her. Heat and an odd sense of fear rumbled like thunder into her core. He was toying with her, seducing her for the sake of the chase, wanting to use her for God knew what purpose. “Why?” she suddenly blurted. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you suddenly everywhere that I am?”
His response was to pull her closer so that their bodies touched—his thigh pressed to hers, her breasts to his chest. His hand curled around her fingers, gripping them tightly. “Because I can’t get you out of my mind, Claudia! I haven’t in a very long time and I am sick to death of pretending you aren’t there.”
All right, she was suddenly having trouble breathing. He was lying! Julian Dane thought of no one but himself—he certainly didn’t moon over women! Oh God! This was too confusing! She couldn’t think now, and curse Mary Whitehurst for so relentlessly begging her to come along tonight while her husband was away! She should have known this was the sort of affair he would attend!
“Are you all right?”
No, she was not all right. She forced herself to look at him. “Do you remember the night of Eugenie’s wedding ball?” she suddenly asked. Julian’s brows dipped into a confused frown, but he nodded. “You asked me to stand up with you for the first waltz.” A moment passed; he blinked. There was no recognition in his eyes, nothing in his expression that suggested he remembered it at all. Claudia felt her heart begin to sink a little. “You … you asked me to stand up, and when it was over, you asked me to save another dance for you.” There. It was out, one of the tentacles in the root of her distrust. But Julian only looked puzzled, and the heat quickly spread to her face and neck.
“I don’t understand. Do you mean to say that I requested a second dance but did not claim it?”
Heat that was turning to fire—he looked appalled. “You … you just … yes. That is what happened.” Her face was flaming. Really, she could use a bit of champagne just now!
“It is?”
Perhaps the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Having stated his horrid perfidy aloud she felt completely ridiculous. Ridiculous and pathetically silly. “You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered miserably.
“You are quite serious, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice incredulous.
Claudia realized they had come to a halt at the edge of the terrace. “What I am trying to say”—she closed her eyes for a moment, tried to concentrate—“is that I have known what you are for years now.”
He dropped her hand, folded his arms across his chest as his eyes narrowed with obvious displeasure. “You have known what I am for years now.” It was a statement of incredulity, not a question.
“Ah … yes,” she said, sounding terribly unsure.
“And that would be?”
Now was hardly the time to dissemble, she thought wildly and muttered, “A rake.”
The expression in his eyes darkened. An absurd sense of panic welled up in her.
“A word, madam,” he growled, and snatched her wrist, dragging her across the terrace, down into the garden, marching along at quite a clip toward the hothouse in the corner of the grounds. Claudia moved almost unconsciously, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, her heart warring mightily with what was left of her good sense.
Halfway there, he seemed to think better of dragging her and hauled her into his side, clamping an iron arm around her waist and steering her onward. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you are not only the Demon’s Spawn, you are also woefully ignorant of men. And let me just add that this discovery is rather astonishing, what with the way you topple men over like chess pieces everywhere you go.”
“What?” she gasped as he reached for the door of the hothouse and pushe
d it open. “I don’t topple them!”
“The bloody hell you don’t,” he said, and pushed her across the threshold of the hothouse, following right behind. “I could list them all if you’d like,” he continued sharply as he rooted around a table, producing a candle. Lighting it, he swung the door shut with his foot and held the candle high. “Benjamin Sommer, Daniel Brantley Maurice Terling, Colin Enderby—”
“Oh!” she fairly shrieked, insulted that among the list of suitors was the invidious Baron Enderby. “Colin Enderby has never darkened my door, and if he ever does, Randall is quite clear that he is to shoot upon sight!”
Julian paused to place the candle on a workbench. “I beg your pardon, Lady Claudia,” he said, dipping into a mocking bow, “I surely meant to say the Duke of Gillingham. Or the Marquess of Braybrook. Or the Marquess of—”
“All right!” Claudia snapped, and pressed her forehead into her palm. “Honestly, I don’t know the point of all this!”
“The point,” he said, his voice noticeably softer, “is that I confess that I can’t get you out of my mind, and you respond with some perceived cut from a half dozen years ago. You think that makes me a rake, and I think you haven’t the slightest idea of what a rake is.”
“I know what a rake is,” she said slowly. “I know what you and Phillip used to do. I know where you went.…” Her throat felt thick; she didn’t want to think of Phillip now.
Julian said nothing for a long moment. “I hope to God that isn’t entirely true,” he muttered.
So did she.
“But it doesn’t change anything,” he said, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he moved toward her. She looked up when he reached her; he took her hand and folded it into his. “It surely doesn’t change the fact that I can’t get you out of my mind,” he said, reaching for her temple to brush his knuckles into her hair. “When the sun comes up, I think of you. When it sets, I think of you, and every moment in between, it seems.”
Even though his words were absurdly sentimental, they made her heart race erratically. It was racing so badly that she feared it would fail her. His fingers twined in a strand of lose hair, untangled it from her earring, then trailed down her neck, to her shoulder, gently caressing her skin. “When you walk into a room, everything else ceases to exist for me. I think about how you would feel in my arms or lying beneath me,” he added quietly. “I think about how you would feel if I were deep inside you and your body surrounded me.”
She was going to faint. “I d-don’t believe you,” she stammered.
He said nothing, let his gaze scorch her with its intensity. His hand slipped around the nape of her neck and he gently pulled her forward. Oh no. He was going to kiss her and make her mad with longing all over again. She didn’t want that … oh yes, she did! She wanted it with every fiber of her being; wanted it as badly as if it were the air she needed to breathe.
“You are afraid to believe me,” he softly corrected her, and his other hand slipped around her back, urging her into his chest. Julian trailed the pad of his thumb across her lips. “You are afraid of me.”
She was afraid, all right. Of the dark glint in his eyes, the seductive set of his mouth. Of the whispered words that captivated her, suspending her between wild desire and reality. Something in her womb fluttered, a rush of breath escaped her. Julian ran a thumb across her lips, and as if in a dream, she watched as he lowered his head to hers, quailing only when his lips brushed softly across hers. Her lids fluttered shut, and she at once felt outside of herself, almost as if someone else was experiencing the tender pressure of his mouth and tongue.
What was she doing? Her mind screamed to stop, knowing that his kiss could melt all of her defenses, knowing that it was nothing more than play to him. Yet her heart had raced too far ahead, her body simmered beneath his hands, and she instinctively feared that it would take a team of four to pull her away from him now.
His hands came up and cupped her face, barely touching her, yet sending a thousand tiny bolts of electricity through her. He drew her lips between his teeth one at a time, tasting and shaping them to his will. With his tongue, he probed deeply, while his hands trailed to her ears, her neck, and her shoulders. She had the strong sensation of drifting, and he must have thought so, too, because he slipped one arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.
This was insanity! It was madness that allowed him to use her, madness that allowed him to charm her into this! But when he deepened the kiss, Claudia boldly pushed her tongue forward to explore his mouth. It was wonderfully erotic, the taste of champagne on his breath, the feel of his tongue twining with hers. With the tips of her fingers, she felt the cut of his thick sideburns against his skin, the tender spot of his temple, the satin feel of his hair. She had never kissed like this, never experienced such a swell of pleasure as this.…
Julian suddenly wrapped his arms around her and hauled her into his chest, pressing her tightly against him as he surged into her mouth. His arousal pressed hard and long against her belly, and when he lifted her onto the workbench, against the apex of her thighs. Fascinated—provoked—she moved against the hardness, wanting to feel it through her skirts.
With a moan deep in his throat, Julian suddenly toppled her onto her back on top of the workbench and covered her.
One hand spanned the whole of her rib cage, moving upward until it rested against the side of her breast. With the heel of his hand, he pressed against it while his mouth moved over hers, filling her with his tongue and his breath and his passion.
The prurient sensations unfurling in her body numbed her mind to everything, including her conscience. Claudia’s hands tangled urgently in his hair, then fell to his shoulders to feel the muscles there and in his back contract with his movement. His hand pressed more firmly against her breast; his thumb flicked across the hardened peak pressing against her gown, and another violent shudder rifled through her.
Julian lifted his head, sucking in his breath. “You are right to fear me,” he gasped. “I fear myself—I want to touch all of you, every inch of you.” His lips skimmed the column of her neck as his hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently, fitting it to his palm.
She wanted him to touch every inch of her, and it scared her. “I fear myself more,” she exclaimed hoarsely, and pushed against his chest. “I don’t know why I allow you to seduce me like this!”
“Seduce you? Darling, you seduce me, with your eyes and your mouth and your voice,” he murmured hoarsely. “Can’t you believe that I want you? Can’t you feel that I do?”
Oh, she could feel it, deep inside her, tingling in the pit of her belly. “I know what you are doing, Julian. You are toying with me—”
“Not with you, Claudia. Never with you,” he whispered earnestly, and continued his gentle assault of all her senses. Her body was giving way to him even though her heart knew it was a tryst, a meaningless dalliance. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift even further down this course with him, instinctively knowing she had passed the point of return and that she couldn’t stop this now, that she didn’t want it to stop. Her body burned everywhere he touched her—and when he reached inside her gown and freed her breast from her camisole and bodice, she felt herself slide even deeper into a fog of pure, undiluted pleasure. Her breast swelled in his hand; his fingers massaged the tender flesh that had never been touched by another living soul, sending waves of desire crashing through her.
But when his lips closed around her, the desire spiraled out of control, drawing from a well between her legs and pulsing to the breast that he suckled. He snaked one arm behind her back and lifted her to his mouth. Claudia’s arms entwined above her head; pots and trowels crashed to the gravel below them. She felt herself surging upward as the desire she was feeling built to an intolerable pitch, its pressure both sharp and pleasurable—
“Oh my God!”
A woman’s voice, an intruder, shattered the passion that surrounded them and Claudia suddenly could not breathe. She s
truggled to sit up, but Julian shoved her off the side of the bench, away from the door. She landed hard on the gravel; pebbles embedded in the palms of her hands. Her first thought was that he had shoved her away in shame, but she realized he had come to his feet, was standing between her and whoever had found them.
“Good God, is that you, Kettering?” The voice belonged to Harrison Green. Now on all fours, Claudia crawled to safety behind the bench and several potted plants. “I saw a light and I thought—”
“Who is that?” the woman’s voice whispered audibly. “Claudia Whitney?”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Frankton, you are mistaken,” Julian said sharply. Behind the bench, Claudia wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face on the top of them. “Sorry about the light, Green … you understand?” Julian continued.
Harrison nervously cleared his throat. “Yes, yes. We two were just wandering about. So sorry to have disturbed you. Mrs. Frankton? Shall we rejoin the others?”
The woman made a sound of disapproval, and then Claudia heard the rustle of her petticoats. There was some flurry of movement at the door, and after what seemed like minutes, it closed.
“Claudia.”
There was regret in Julian’s voice, but not nearly as much as was in her heart at that moment.
She was ruined.
“Claudia,” he said again, and his hands were on her arms, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled upward, realized she was still in a shocking state of undress, and quickly turned away to arrange herself as her mind rifled through all the horrible possibilities—of which there were an alarming number.
“What …” Her voice was shaking; she could not bring herself to speak.
Julian moved, slipping his arm around her abdomen and pulling her into his chest, and Claudia realized she was trembling uncontrollably. “It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair. “Everything will be all right.”
That was a lie, and well she knew it. “No it won’t,” she hoarsely disagreed. “Mrs. Frankton knows it was me … with you … like that. You know her as well as I … it shall be all over town on the morrow!” Her father. He would expire with shame.
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