When his mouth finally left hers, he kissed her cheek, and trailed a line of kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. When he pressed his parted lips to a spot just under her ear and his tongue swept out to taste her, her knees nearly buckled. Only his strong arm banded around her waist kept her upright. His kisses moved down, along the column of her neck, to the slope of her shoulder, left bare by her evening gown.
Eyes closed, breath coming in great gasps, she was unable to think beyond the next place his lips touched. His hand slid lower, too, across her other shoulder, fingertips trailing along the edge of her bodice, and then lower still, until his palm settled over the swell of her breast. Then his mouth was there, too, his tongue trailing a wicked line of wet heat along her skin where it disappeared into her dress. His thumb hooked around the edge, a luxurious confection of silk taffeta and ribbons, and tugged it down. It was merely an inch—the fit didn’t allow for more—but it was the right inch, in just the right place. Her breast slipped free and his mouth, hot and wet, closed over the peak. He moaned softly, the sound vibrating across her skin and setting off a tremor than wracked Grace’s entire body. Her thighs felt weak and she fisted her hands in his hair, steadying herself as his tongue flicked her hardened nipple.
He staggered forward and she fell back. It was just a few steps until her back hit the wall. Julian moved in, until she was pressed against him too tight for even air to come between them, and kissed her again. The delicious weight of his body kept her pinned beneath him, unable to do more than kiss him back. Not that it mattered. All she wanted was to kiss him and kiss him, and forget anything existed in life beyond this.
His hand left her breast, sliding down her body to grasp a fistful of her skirts. She felt the air on her ankles when he began to drag them up, and then the scalding heat of his palm found her bare thigh, just above her stocking. Then something finally pierced the fog of desire holding Grace firmly in its grasp.
It was only a murmured question, one servant asking another something inconsequential as they passed along the hall outside the library, but it brought her careening back to earth with a crash. She shoved at Julian’s shoulders and he reared back, staring down at her with eyes gone black with lust. His lips were parted, his chest heaving with each breath, his wildly disordered hair falling forward across his forehead.
Grace stared up at him in horror. “Oh, God...”
How had this happened? He had her pinned to the wall. Her skirts were hiked up and his hand was curled around her thigh. Her breast was still exposed. The wildness ebbed out of Julian’s eyes and rationality swept back in.
“Damn it.” He shoved himself away from her and staggered several feet back.
Grace tugged her bodice back into place, and shook her skirts down. Mortification burned through her as she tucked her loose hair back into place. How could she let him touch her this way? Why did he even attempt it, here and now? As soon as she asked herself the question, she feared she knew the answer. Her hands began to shake as she secured the pins in her hair.
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” he said, raking his hands through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. “I never meant... I didn’t...”
“Didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about? I’m just as shocked by what happened as you are.”
“So shocked and sorry that you’ll need to go tell Rupert you’ve compromised his intended, no doubt.”
She didn’t look up at him to see how her accusation landed, but the brittle silence stretching out in its wake told her enough. When he spoke again, his voice was taut with barely restrained fury. “Surely you don’t think I’d damage you that way.”
She shrugged a shoulder and checked for her earrings. Still there. Inside she was still a quaking mess, but she’d put the outside to rights well enough. No one would ever know what she’d just done—unless Julian told them. “We’re in Rupert’s library. Anyone could have walked in.”
He took a step towards her and grasped her by the shoulders. “Grace, you must know, I would never expose you, no matter how I feel about you and Rupert.”
“Then why...”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know why. I’m not this man. I don’t behave so recklessly. But something about you...something I don’t understand...it makes me... The things I think and feel with you... I don’t recognize myself half the time. It’s terrible, I know.”
The heat drained away, hearing him describe his desire for her as something distasteful and beneath him. She shrugged out of his grasp and took a step to the side, out from under his looming presence. The cool air of the room surrounded her, snuffing out the last of the molten desire. “You are correct. It’s unacceptable and it won’t happen again. If you’ll excuse me...”
“Where are you going?” He reached for her again, but she sidestepped him, gathering her skirts in one hand.
“To find Rupert, of course. He’s the reason I’m here.”
“Grace, you can’t mean to go on like this with him. Not after what’s happened.”
She let herself meet his gaze then, tilting her chin imperiously. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He began to protest again, but she didn’t stay to hear it. Slipping out of the library as quietly as possible, she glanced up and down the hallway. No one seemed to be about. With luck, no one had noted their combined absences. When she reached the parlor, her stomach still beset with butterflies and her hands still trembling, Rupert and Lord Dorney had rejoined the party. Gen took one look at her and frowned.
“Darling, are you sure you’re all right? You look quite pale.”
“I do have a bit of a headache. I’ve been sitting in your lovely new library, Rupert, hoping it would pass.” She flashed him a warm smile. “But it’s being quite persistent. Do you mind if we make an early evening of it?”
“Of course not. We’ll get our things right now.”
Rupert’s plain, rugged face was creased with concern. He reached out to touch the back of her hand. “I’m sorry you’re unwell, Grace.”
“It’s nothing. It’ll be gone by morning.”
“Perhaps we should put off tomorrow’s riding lesson.”
“Oh, no, please. I’ve been so enjoying them and I’m sure I’ll be well by then.”
His features relaxed into the open, easy smile he wore so often. She envied his untroubled mind, his easy approach to life, the way he found enjoyment in his simple pleasures and refused to let unpleasantness drag him down. In time, perhaps his steady good nature would rub off on her. What a joy it would be, to pass through life in such uncomplicated happiness. If he could give her that, it might—almost—make up for the rest, the fact that he’d never, not with a lifetime of nights in her bed, make her feel the way Julian just had in ten minutes of stolen lust.
“Very well, then,” Rupert said, turning to escort Gen and her to the entryway. “I’ll be by with the horses at my usual hour.” He paused and looked at his feet, a flush of awkwardness crossing his face. “I do hope you like the house, Grace.”
“Oh, I love it. You and Lady Honor have made it into such a welcoming, comfortable home.”
He smiled then, relaxing. “I’m glad you think so. Your opinion is important to me. The most important, in truth.”
It was likely as close to a declaration as Rupert was capable of getting. Grace kept her encouraging smile fixed in place as if it was set in stone, despite her rioting heart. “That’s so kind of you, Rupert.”
Rupert looked into her eyes, seeming to wrestle with something in his mind. Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed, and his expression cleared once more. “Until tomorrow, then?”
“I look forward to it.”
When they were settled in the carriage and heading back to the Grantham townhouse, Gen finally broke the silence.
“I think you’re almost there, Grace. It’s clear he intends this house to be your home. It’s only a matter of time before he proposes.”
Grace laid her head back on the cushions and stared at the streets of London passing by outside. Gas streetlights glowed in the dark. “I think so, too.”
She could feel Gen’s eyes on her. “You don’t sound as happy as one might expect.”
“Oh, I am,” Grace protested, her voice still flat, her eyes averted. “It will be such a relief, to have it settled at last.”
In the periphery of her vision, she registered Gen’s nod. “Yes, it’s what we all want for you.” After a moment’s pause, Gen spoke again. “He’s a good man. Not your match in wit or culture, but kind. Steady. You might be quite content together. Even happy, in time.”
Grace laughed softly. “Oh, Gen, we both know that’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Victoria and Amelia were fortunate enough to find love in their marriages. Of course, I hope for the same for you.”
“Well, don’t hope.” Her voice held more venom than she intended, and she drew in a shaky breath in an attempt to take the bitterness out of her words. “I don’t love him, Gen, but I like him. That’s going to have to be enough.”
“Of course. Grace, darling, was it really a headache tonight?”
Grace closed her eyes and swallowed, still feeling Julian’s hands on her body, his lips on her skin. She fisted her hands to stop the trembling. “Yes, just a pesky pain. A good night’s sleep should banish it forever.”
Chapter Thirteen
Julian lingered in the library long after Grace left, sipping a glass of scotch and willing his body to cool. He needed to give her time to rejoin the party, so his own reappearance wouldn’t be remarked upon. And he needed to give himself time to wrestle with what he’d done.
He’d attacked her, compromised her, nearly hauled her skirts up and buried himself in her in Rupert’s library, with Rupert just on the other side of the house. Raising the glass to his lips again, he noted the tremor in his hands. He felt himself coming undone from the inside out. His carefully controlled behavior, his finely attuned sense of right and wrong, were fracturing like glass. One tiny tap and he might fall apart into shards.
Closing his eyes, he let the scotch burn a path down his throat and pool in his belly, praying it would burn away this mad lust on its way down. He dug the heel of his palm against his eye. If only he had the power to burn her memory from his mind entirely. No amount of scotch or self-loathing would accomplish that.
Summoning every ounce of will power he possessed, he tossed back the last of his scotch and left the parlor to find the others. They were in the parlor, all except for Grace and Lady Grantham.
“There you are, Julian,” Rupert called out.
“Where did you get off to?” Honor asked, all wide innocent eyes and trusting smile. Good lord, he was a beast. An untrustworthy, ungrateful animal.
He forced an easy smile and lied through his teeth. “I went to find Rupert and your father in the billiards room, but they’d already gone. However, I couldn’t resist trying out your table for myself. Quite magnificent, Rupert.”
“Fine table, isn’t it?” Lord Dorney said. But when he met Julian’s gaze there was something in his eyes, as if he was trying to see beneath Julian’s words. He suspects. Honor, as trusting and kind as she was, would never think to question, but her father had noticed Julian and Grace disappearing together and begun to question.
“Very fine indeed.”
“Come ’round tomorrow,” Rupert interjected. “And we’ll have a couple of games.”
He was lying to Rupert, too. Betraying everyone he loved, indulging in this wretched infatuation.
“Sounds wonderful. Have Lady Grantham and Miss Godwyn gone already?” He kept his tone appropriately disinterested through sheer force of will.
“Poor Miss Godwyn had a headache,” Honor said.
“What a shame.”
“Not enough to put her off her lesson tomorrow, though,” Rupert said. “She’s quite dedicated to improving herself.”
Julian ground his teeth together. It was no good. He couldn’t stand here all night calmly discussing Grace, listening to Honor and Rupert talk about this home they’d designed for her comfort as Rupert’s wife.
“I think I’m off as well.”
“But it’s early yet,” Rupert protested.
“Are you well, Knighton?” Dorney asked, his piercing gaze dancing between Julian’s eyes.
“I will be,” he assured them. “I’m just a bit more tired than I realized. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.” He prayed he wasn’t telling yet another lie. “Will you see my mother home?”
“Of course we will,” Honor said. “Your mother is always welcome with us.”
In the front hall, as he accepted his hat and coat from the footman, Lord Dorney found him again.
“A word, Julian?”
Here it was. Dorney was about to confront him. There was nothing to do but brace himself and take the condemnation he had most certainly earned. He turned to face Dorney. “Of course.”
“Lord Upton’s invited myself, Lady Dorney and Honor to a small supper next week. I thought you’d like to join our family party.”
Dorney’s wording had been no accident. “I would be delighted.”
“A few men from the London County Council not closely allied with Lord Lydney will be there. It will be an excellent chance for them to get to know you. If you work this right, you can build an alliance already in favor of your plan before Lydney has a chance to oppose it next session.”
He could walk into Parliament next year with a coalition already at his back, instead of standing alone to face the scorn of Lydney and his faction. It would be nothing short of a triumph.
“I’d like that very much. The sooner we can begin work, the better for the people who’ve been evicted.”
“Yes, Honor’s concerned about that, too.”
Julian met Dorney’s eyes and smiled. “Naturally she is.”
“She’s got such a generous heart.”
“She does.” Julian wanted to wither into the ground. “I’m looking forward to Upton’s.”
He’d turned and started for the door when Dorney spoke again. “Julian.”
Dread settled in his stomach, but he wasn’t going to run and hide. He turned back to face Lord Dorney. “Yes?”
“I wanted you to know... You’re a good man.”
It was not what he was expecting. “Pardon?”
Dorney waved a hand. “It’s only...being there for most of your life as I have been, seeing the difficulties you suffered as a result of your father’s actions, you could have taken a bad turn because of it. And you haven’t. At every step in your life, you’ve shown judgment and good sense. I know what you’re facing isn’t easy, but you’re not shying away from it. You’re determined to repair the damage your father did. I’m proud of you. You’re a much better man than he was.”
Why couldn’t Dorney have thrown a direct accusation in his face? A brutal right hook to the jaw, a demand for satisfaction on the dueling ground... Anything would have been easier to take than this. Every word out of Dorney’s mouth made him feel more worthless than the last.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll see you next week?”
“You will.”
* * *
The next morning, he hauled himself from his bed after another sleepless night and went to see Honor. He needed to see her, to remind himself of everything he stood to lose if he failed to get himself in hand. If she was surprised at his unexpected visit, she never let on, although her eyebrows drew together as her eyes roved over him.
“Julian, you look quite spent. Are you well?”
His valet had shaved him and dressed him properly, but there was no hiding the unsettled night he’d passed.
“I slept badly,” he explained with a shrug. “How are you today, Honor?”
“Oh, I’m always quite well.”
Honor was always just...Honor. Bright as a new penny, enthusiastic as a puppy. He sat down next to her on the sofa and she set her embroidery to the side. She was wildly accomplished with a needle and thread. Honor was good at everything.
“Everyone seemed quite impressed with Rupert’s house. It was a great favor you did for him.”
She smiled shyly and dropped her eyes to her lap. “Oh, I’m afraid he’s the one who did me a favor. I do so like to feel useful, and it was wonderful to be able to help.”
“You did him a kindness.”
Honor made some diffident sound of agreement in her throat, glancing away out the window. Julian turned slightly on the sofa and looked at her—looked at Honor in a way he hadn’t done in ages, perhaps ever. She was a beautiful girl. Graceful, accomplished, educated. She’d be a sterling hostess, kind to everyone, forging friendships and alliances wherever they were needed. Even if their mothers hadn’t been friends, he could have scarcely chosen a better wife than Honor.
Then he made himself imagine the rest—all the other ways a husband and wife found compatibility. He’d never thought of Honor in those terms before. In the beginning, because she was younger than him, just a girl. Then when she’d come out a few years ago, the whole thing seemed already decided, and since he’d had no argument with the idea, thinking about the rest had seemed beside the fact.
But if things went according to plan, in a short while, she’d be his wife. He’d bed her. Often. He imagined doing to her what he’d done to Grace the night before, and he was shocked at his sudden, visceral reaction. When he pictured kissing Honor, everything in him revolted.
Gripping the arm of the sofa as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead, he stared at her, so perfectly right, and tried to sort out why the thought of sleeping with her repulsed him so. Just then, she glanced up at him and laughed.
A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 15