He moved up behind her, and her anxiety dissolved into a warmer, deeper whirlpool of emotion. The solid heat of his body sent a shiver down her shoulders into her very fingertips. His hard chin brushed her nape. Her dark, irresistible Boscastle. She ached to fall into his arms and simply surrender to his allure.
“What do you think of my brother?” he asked in a voice low with amusement. “Subtle, isn’t he?”
“He’s charming.”
“A charming rogue.”
She turned then without warning; she wondered if she could take him off guard. But he stood his ground, allowed her to reposition herself without moving an inch to accommodate her. She faced him now; she could feel the latent strength of his body against hers. His firm mouth tightened at the corners in a slight smile. She knew she was standing too close to him, but she could bask in his virile presence for hours. He was so disarmingly male, mesmerizing her.
“You’re both rogues, I’d say,” she murmured after a moment.
“Me?” He lifted a hand to his chest. “Gentleman that I am?”
“A gentleman rogue then. You’re more subtle, therefore far more dangerous to the female heart.”
He laughed. “You judge me unfairly.”
“I’m in no position to judge you at all.”
“Perhaps you should,” he said, his brow arching.
Julia hesitated, aware that she was being led, but into what, she could not guess. Something undeniably inviting. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I should rather be judged unfairly than be ignored.”
It was her turn to laugh. “As if anyone could ever ignore a Boscastle.”
He took her gently by the elbow, acknowledging the comment with a wry smile. “Sit down. Jane is playing in the salon below. She does so every night in the hope she will produce a pleasant-natured child. Listen.”
“Do you think it will work?” she asked, allowing him to draw her deeper into the room. Into temptation.
He led her to the bisque-satin chaise lounge that sat in a shadowed corner. Julia could hear the poignant strains of an old English melody on the pianoforte, and the music had a magical, soothing effect on her, lulling her senses.
Heath traced his forefinger down the curve of Julia’s cheekbone. She held her breath, transfixed, as he continued the seductive caress down to the swelling tops of her breasts. Her nipples tingled in anticipation. Warmth pooled in the hidden places of her body.
“I believe you just asked me a question,” he said, bringing his mouth to hers. “For the life of me I do not remember what it was.”
“It was . . .” She faltered, aware of his firm lips teasing the edge of her mouth. His tongue played with hers, enticed her into breathless submission. His kisses could have seduced one of the statues behind them.
“It was?” he asked, amused.
“I don’t remember.” And she didn’t, heaven help her. All she could think of was him.
“Perhaps there are other things on your mind.”
She decided she would die if he did not stop playing and kiss her. And yet her every instinct warned her that the precarious balance between them had shifted. But in whose favor? That depended on how she hoped her relationship with Heath would end. Or not end.
She leaned into him, her body softening, magnetized to his masculine power. The radiance of the wrought-iron wall sconces imparted a rosy warmth to the gallery. The dreamlike glow of candlelight and Jane’s haunting music in the background conspired to wear down Julia’s defenses.
“There’s another thing we both seem to have forgotten,” she said after a long hesitation.
His perfectly chiseled mouth touched hers again, aroused, invited. “What would that be?”
“I’m engaged. To Russell.”
“Hmm.” He met her gaze, his eyes heated, flagrantly sensual. “That shouldn’t pose a problem.”
Her heart missed several beats. “Shouldn’t?”
“Well, he’s not here, is he?”
“He won’t be away forever.”
“I’ll take care of him.”
“Take . . . care of him?” She heard her voice catch. This was another side of Heath she had never experienced. He guided her back in subtle degrees toward the chaise. “Take care of him?” she asked again. “You don’t mean you and he would fight or anything so uncivilized?”
The shadow of a possessive smile crossed his face. His dark gaze drifted over her. “If it comes to that. Don’t you consider yourself a woman worth fighting for?”
She felt the tufted arm of the chaise against the backs of her legs. Her knees felt unsteady. Her stomach clenched in a knot of sensation. “This isn’t like you, Heath.”
“Yes, it is.” He caressed the curve of her hip with his palm. A shudder of longing slid down her spine. “It’s more like me than anyone knows.”
His hand slid around her hip to capture her more firmly. His gaze lowered to her mouth, lingered there for so long that she felt her lips part in invitation. He accepted, his eyes darkening, and bent his head to hers. He kissed her before she could draw another breath. He slanted his sensual mouth over hers and kissed her deeply until she could not stand. Her body melted back against his forearm as he lowered her to the chaise. A rush of excitement swept her senses.
He groaned, eating at her mouth. “Oh, Julia.” He wasn’t playful now, heat radiating from his hard masculine body. This was a lover’s kiss, fraught with sexual fire, with hunger. A declaration of his intent to possess her. She leaned back into the crook of his arm, her eyes fastened to his. The smile that crossed his face promised seduction, offered trust and intimacy.
His voice sent a fresh shiver of delight down her back. “Here we are.”
“At last,” she whispered, her breathing suspended. It felt right to be with him, no matter how long it had taken her to find her way back to where they’d begun. It felt right in a way it never had with her late husband, or with Russell.
His smile deepened. His gaze devoured her. “I’m not letting you escape me this time.”
“I hope not,” she said faintly.
His knee pressed her down deeper into the chaise. She sank in a rustle of silk, willing, her body receptive to whatever he demanded. Her bones had turned to water. She was aching for him to touch her.
“Do we understand each other?” he asked, his voice deep-pitched. “I will not let you go again, no matter what Russell says or does.”
“I understand. I’m not sure whether he will.”
“That doesn’t matter. Just trust me to take care of him.”
“Are we destined to relive our past mistakes?”
His devilish eyes darkened. “It is my intention to remedy them.”
“This remedy sounds very interesting,” she whispered.
“Doesn’t it?” he replied.
She drew a breath. She felt as though she were dreaming. She had never expected to have this chance with him again. It was almost too much to take. Her sensuality overwhelmed her. He leaned over her, his blue eyes burning, and trailed his kisses across her collarbone, the aching peaks of her breasts. His tongue circled her nipples, licked through the fragile silk that covered them. Fire raced over her skin. His free hand drifted up the side of her knee as he sculpted her body through her thin dress.
Every curve. Every crevice. Every indentation knew his arousing touch, and she allowed it, made no secret of her enjoyment. He explored her, inflamed her with the merciless eroticism of a master. And he hadn’t even undressed her. It intrigued her to imagine what he could do to her in bed. What they could do to each other. She wanted to show him pleasure, too.
“You are here now with me, Julia,” he whispered. “If Russell did not wish to risk losing you, he should never have sent me in his place.”
* * *
Make her burn.
Make her burn.
Heath pushed the tantalizing words to the back of his mind, but not the strategy. Grayson’s advice seemed to have worked in reverse
. Heath was the one who burned to the core of his being. And yet he was a patient man. One who got what he wanted.
What he wanted was temptingly positioned beneath him, her eyes misted over with desire. He smiled and brought his hand to her low neckline and lightly tugged. She shivered a little as the cool air of the gallery brushed her exposed breasts. She looked deliciously wanton, her milky white skin spilling out of her gown, the rims of her nipples rosy and enticing. His cock swelled inside his pantaloons.
“Heath,” she whispered, catching her breath. “It’s a little cold in here.”
He lowered his head to draw an engorged nipple deep into the moist heat of his mouth. A fierce need filled him, pounded through his blood. He murmured, “Is that better?”
He suckled on the distended tip of her breast until she closed her eyes in helpless pleasure. With aching refinement he drew her other nipple between his sharp white teeth and soothed the deep pink crest with his tongue.
Julia moaned and buried her face in his arm. He moved his hand slowly beneath her silk dress, caressing the soft interior of her thigh. “You’re not cold here, are you?” he asked. “Let me see what I can do to help the problem.”
“You are the problem, devil,” she whispered. “I’m shivering all over because of you.”
“Well, you feel very warm here, darling. And so wet.”
“You deceived us all,” she whispered, biting her lip. “You are wicked.”
He laughed, his hand parting her legs, his fingers probing the moist hollow of her sex. “Would I be less wicked if I asked politely?”
“Most definitely not.”
“Please, Julia, please . . . may I do what I have wanted to do for years?”
“Asking like that makes it seem even more wicked, as you’re well aware.”
“You know what we Boscastles always say?” He shifted, his knee nudging her thighs even farther apart, forcing her into an indecent pose. Her dress was pushed up around her hips.
“No, and perhaps you shouldn’t tell me,” she whispered, her heart in her throat.
“ ‘There is a time to be wise and a time to be wicked.’ ” His clean-shaven jaw rubbed against the blushing undersides of her breasts. “Unfortunately my family usually chooses to be the latter.”
“And everyone thought you were different.”
“What do you think?” he asked, taunting her.
“I’m not thinking. That’s the trouble.” She gave a low, shivery moan, flexing into him. “What are you doing to me?”
He began to stroke the wet folds of her flesh, whispering in a soothing, seductive voice against her breasts as he did, “I’ll do anything you let me. Everything.” And he would. He couldn’t imagine a man living with Julia and not taking full pleasure of her passionate nature. He wondered suddenly whether her passion was something he alone could summon. The thought gave him a primal satisfaction even as his body begged for release. He wanted to be the only one who made her wild. She did the same to him. His experience gave him a slight edge. Unless . . . how experienced was she?
He pressed her deeper into the chaise. How he craved her, needed her, delighted in stealing her control. A strong woman she might be, but in this arena he would dominate her. He held her soft body in place with his own harder frame. His mouth captured the deep-throated whimpers that she could not hold back. He eased another finger inside her dewy channel, his jaw firm with fierce restraint.
He would seduce her one step at a time, even if he could barely walk a straight line. God knew he felt dangerously close to falling into an abyss. Had he ever known such consuming desire? His head swam with the blinding red blaze of it.
“Heath,” she murmured, her hand gripping his forearm. “We’re in your brother’s house. Shouldn’t we stop?”
“Not yet.”
She felt herself spiraling. She was caught in a force that demanded a surrender of her whole self. She sensed the need in him, saw the raw and unapologetic lust on his taut face as he brought her to a climax that almost stopped her heart. She did not think she would ever recover, shaken to her very core. Her spine arched as spasms overcame her. She buried her fingers in the folds of his black evening jacket, gripping the fabric until her knuckles turned white. For several moments it was all she could do to breath.
Awareness returned in degrees, and with it, embarrassment, regret that they’d lost so much time . . . a deeper longing, an awakening of emotions denied. She was hesitant to look at him again. Once a dutiful wife, she realized that his own needs had not been slaked. Slowly she regained her self-control and reason. Even then she wanted more of him, to show him a similar pleasure, to learn what brought him gratification. She almost cried at the sting of loss she felt when the hard warmth of his body lifted from hers. It hadn’t been enough. Not for him. Not for her.
He had destroyed all her defenses. She met his dark gaze and felt a stab of illicit pleasure. There was no mockery on his face. Only a naked sensuality that made her shiver, a promise that this was not the end.
“What will happen next?” she wondered aloud, feeling his fingers closing over hers.
“It’s all right, Julia. I will handle whatever comes our way.”
“I have a feeling that it will be harder than you make it sound.” Russell would not take her rejection lightly, even though he had betrayed her. But she could not marry him now. She wanted Heath. Was he offering her a future? A temporary arrangement? A position as a wife or as a mistress? She wanted to be both. She should have been his from the beginning.
She submitted as he deftly lifted her pale silk bodice back into place. Clever devil. Wicked and wonderful man, so full of secrets and sexual power. She stole another look at him, felt her heart beat wildly at the dark passion in his eyes.
How could he appear so collected, so elegant and devastatingly attractive when she had just splintered into a thousand fragments . . . well, it was unfair.
“The music has stopped,” she exclaimed. “Where have Jane and Grayson gone?”
His sensually molded mouth curled into another smile. The hard angles of his face, the muscular planes of his body mirrored the classical beauty of the male statues in the gallery. She loved his quiet strength, his humor. It felt beautiful and pure to be with him like this. Did Russell regard his love affairs in such a light? Would he have ever told her he was having a child with another woman?
“I wouldn’t worry about Jane and my brother,” he said. “This is their home, and while it is monstrously large, they’re not likely to get lost.”
“They can certainly find their way here.”
“They won’t,” he said reassuringly.
“I shan’t be able to look your brother in the eye again.”
“Do you think Grayson is a stranger to seduction?” He drew her back onto her feet. “I am your protector, Julia. I wouldn’t be touching you if I weren’t prepared to stand beside you afterward.”
Whatever that might mean, Julia thought feverishly as she followed him to the stairs. She was half afraid to speculate. He was not a man to make false promises. Or false threats. His family appeared to support him. Grayson and Jane had embraced her with unmistakable warmth tonight. She felt comfortable with his brother Drake.
She glanced back into the candlelit gallery. In the ethereal rose-gold glow it appeared that the eyes of the vestal virgin’s eyes had widened. Julia grinned ruefully. If she had spent another minute alone with Heath on that couch, the poor statue would have had a good reason to drop her urn.
Chapter 18
Julia sat at her desk an hour later, trying to ignore the light tapping at her door. She’d been working again on her secret sketch of Heath. Well, she had been admiring it anyway. The last thing she needed was for Hermia to find her mooning over a drawing of a naked man.
Not just any naked man, either, and Julia doubted she’d done him artistic justice with her amateur effort. She had seen his beautiful scarred chest and strong powerful back, had touched the sculpted muscle and s
inew with her own hands. The other undeniably male parts of his body remained more of a delicious mystery.
One she wanted to solve. After tonight, Julia’s curiosity had been irrevocably aroused. She could still feel the imprint of where he had lain on her, the possessive strength of his body against hers. Her lips were lightly bruised from his kisses, her breasts still swollen from his love bites.
She took out a fresh piece of paper, grinning, and started to draw her personal Apollo in caricature. Absolutely no one would be allowed to see this rendition. It would be wicked and unspeakably naughty. One day, if all went well, she might show it to Heath. . . .
She threw her shawl over the sketch and stood as the door opened. Hermia, in a purple gauze wrapper and a frown on her face, regarded her in concern.
“I just wanted to make certain everything is all right. You were quiet coming in. Dinner with Sedgecroft went smoothly?”
A little too smoothly, Julia thought, but only said, “Lovely. The best. The meal was divine. The marchioness is beautiful and great fun.”
“Great fun,” Hermia murmured, her eyes reflective. “Well, that is fine then.”
“Fine, yes.”
Hermia hesitated, taking another step into the room. Julia reached behind her and smoothed out the shawl to keep the sketch from slipping. Hermia would be shocked if she saw what Julia had just drawn “Did you entertain Odham?”
“That old rascal. I am never speaking to him again. He kept trying to kiss me in front of the servants. Can you imagine? By the way, Madame Tournier has asked if you would be available at the end of the week.”
Julia studied the carpet, remembering Heath’s mouth as he had kissed her, the small scar on his upper lip, the hard weight of his manhood. She knew what she would dream of tonight. Would she dream of being kissed by him? She could dream of a lot more.
“Will you?” Hermia asked a trifle impatiently.
“Will I what?” she said, startled.
“Be available for the modiste? The fitting for your wedding gown, Julia. You do recall you are engaged to be married when Russell returns?”
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 19