The Wedding Night of an English Rogue

by Jillian Hunter

  The woman, Russell’s mistress, was staying here in London, which meant that he’d probably visited her after he saw Julia. If Odham had heard about the arrangement at his club, it would stand to reason that Heath would be aware of it, too. No wonder the sly devil had no compunctions about seducing her.

  “You great, big, corrupt cad, Russell,” she said aloud, startling Hamm, who nearly walked into a pedestrian at the sound of her irate voice. “Not you, Hamm,” she added with an apologetic smile. “I have grown fond of you.” And even more so of his master.

  A gust of wind blew down the street. Julia’s hair tangled in her face, and as she reached to straighten it, the book she had brought for Heath slipped from under her arm.

  “Oh, blast it all.”

  “Please, allow me.”

  She nodded in gratitude as a tall, darkly cloaked man in a high black beaver hat, gold-knobbed cane under his arm, reached down to retrieve her book. Before she could properly thank him, he had disappeared in the crowd of pedestrians on the pavement.

  “Is everything all right?” Hamm asked from behind his tower of Hermia’s purchases.

  “Yes.” She gazed out at the procession of carriages that clogged the street. “I dropped a book. A polite man rescued it.”

  She turned and found herself blocked by a hard, muscular chest. A strong arm encircled her waist, holding her steady. A familiar thrill shimmered down her spine at his protective embrace. Heath. She had just spent an hour studying the rudiments of giving pleasure to a man. She was certain she looked guilty. She wondered suddenly what he would think if he knew.

  “Don’t you know better than to talk to strangers?” he asked with a strained smile. “Come with me. My carriage is closer than yours.”

  “What about my aunt?”

  “Hamm will take care of her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He grasped her elbow, and she felt the length of his body, his strength, through her cloak. His eyes looked more charcoal than blue today—a reflection of the sky, or of his mood? He smiled at her, a reminder of how close they had come to making love last night. He had played her like an instrument, awakened all her senses. One day she would do the same to him.

  The mere idea made her heart accelerate in anticipation. She felt her lips quirk into a smile. His grip on her arm tightened as if he could read her thoughts. Without another word he ushered her toward his waiting carriage. The entire ride home, seated opposite him, she sensed the controlled tension in him. Had he found out anything more about Auclair? As always he looked impeccable, his blue frock coat perfectly tailored, his white linen shirt pristine, his Hessian boots polished to a high gleam.

  “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” he asked as they finally reached the town house.

  She watched as he studied the street before allowing her out of the carriage. “Well,” she said, a little breathless, “it was a distraction.”

  “And how was Audrey Watson?” he asked as they approached the front entrance.

  The butler left them alone in the hall. The book she had brought for him slipped out of her hand. “You followed me?”

  “Only to Bruton Street.”

  “But why?”

  “I wanted to see if anyone was following you.”

  “And?” she asked quietly.

  “No one followed you to the house.” His gaze held hers in an unwavering stare. “I admit to being a little astonished myself.”

  She bit the end of her tongue. She was flustered that he knew where she had been, flattered that he had taken the effort to guard her, but heavens, if he guessed what she and Audrey had discussed . . . The secrets to arousing and pleasuring a man. Specifically this man, in illicit and candidly graphic detail. Audrey’s advice echoed in her brain.

  The male organ must be revered, Julia.

  Revered? Really?

  Look at these pictures.

  My goodness. I certainly hope they were not drawn to scale. That looks more like a canon than a—

  Julia, you were married for years. Surely you examined your husband’s body.

  Well, yes, but I might have paid more attention if it had been this size.

  “Julia?” Heath gave her a puzzled look. “Your mind has drifted away. What are you thinking?”

  “What am I thinking?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I confess I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s a relief, isn’t it?”

  “What is a relief?”

  “That no one followed me. Except you. Was that the important duty that you mentioned?”

  “Audrey Watson is an accomplished courtesan as well as a family friend. On a professional basis, she has become known for dispensing sexual expertise to women eager to improve their bedroom skills.”

  Julia backed up against the hall stand. A shower of calling cards fell off the silver salver onto the floor. “Is she? Well, fancy that. I mean, who would have guessed?”

  “The entire English population, I’d say.”

  “Don’t forget I’ve been away.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Some knowledge is universal.”

  “Is it?”

  “The knowledge that Audrey imparts certainly is.”

  “You seem to know a bit about her yourself,” she retorted.

  “You’re the one who went to her house. And stayed quite some time.”

  “And you’ve never visited her?”

  The muted sound of voices, Hermia’s and Hamm’s, on the front steps, came to Julia’s salvation. She would probably have blurted out everything if he’d continued to question her.

  “A reprieve,” he said in amusement.

  She glanced at the door, rubbing her hands together. “It’s getting late. Let’s all have tea.”

  He caught both ends of her shawl and slowly drew her back toward him. “Just remember that I am always here if you need advice in the future, Julia.”

  “Advice?” she said faintly.

  “From the male point of view.”

  “On . . .” She saw the devil issue a direct challenge in his eyes, and the hellion she was at heart ached to accept.

  “Lovemaking,” he said, as if she didn’t know.

  Hermia burst into the hall, dragging Hamm with his armload of boxes after her. “We’re home, everyone.”

  Heath released the ends of Julia’s shawl. Suddenly she could not seem to draw enough air into her lungs. All she could think of was doing the things to him that she had studied today. He stared into her eyes, and she felt his incendiary look scorch through her guard, felt an answering spark kindle deep in her belly.

  “Julia?” he questioned softly, his wicked voice low with curiosity. “What were you up to this afternoon?”

  “I—” She glanced down at the floor and brightened. “Oh, I bought you a book.”

  Chapter 21

  Heath sat in the corner of Julia’s drawing room several hours later, the book of Egyptian hieroglyphs she’d purchased for him in hand. Hermia and Odham were playing cards by the fire, and Julia was serving as peacemaker to their squabbles.

  The twin demons of desire and a growing premonition of danger put him on edge. There were too many uncertainties in the air to lower his guard. He stared out the window onto the dark London street to keep from staring at Julia. To keep from undressing her with his eyes. His mouth went dry every time he looked at her.

  The warmth of her last night, the sensual openness she had shown, had tied him into knots. He gripped the unopened book in his hands. He was so hungry for her, so desperate for sexual relief that he could have run outside into the night and howled. His strategy for seduction could well end up killing him. Never had he been forced to exert this much discipline on his desires. Everything about her excited him, challenged the conqueror in him.

  “Don’t you want to play, Boscastle?” Odham asked him. “Hermia is cheating again.”

  “No,” he murmured.

  He wanted to play with Julia. Wanted to s
pread her naked beneath him and empty himself in her wet sheath. Wanted to make love to her until she was too weak even to walk.

  His need for her, sexual and intensely emotional, had complicated his course. If he lost her again, he would never find anyone like her. There was no one else. They complemented each other, Julia with her joie de vivre that lightened his darker outlook on life. She was the only woman he knew who could set him on fire with a smile, a glance. Her lush body had always beckoned him, her laughter soothed him.

  The thought of her consorting with a practiced courtesan intrigued him. He had to know exactly what she’d been doing. She had been uncharacteristically flustered when he’d questioned her. Did it have anything to do with what had happened between them in the gallery last night? Julia, soliciting advice in the sexual arts? He’d teach her anything she wanted to know, fulfill her every desire. He would be the most wicked mentor in the world.

  “Heath?”

  His entire body tightened at the brush of her hand on his arm. Last night she had touched him with a sensual promise that had ravished what control he’d maintained. By the time he’d carried out his plan, she would be begging for him to take her. If he didn’t beg her first. He could go down on his knees this very moment.

  “Do you like the book I brought you?”

  He glanced up and allowed his gaze to travel slowly over her with a sensuality that left her breathless. “I haven’t looked at it. My mind is on other things.”

  “I don’t think I should ask you what those things are,” she said under her breath.

  He smiled lazily. “I think you already know.”

  The unmasked desire in his eyes mesmerized her. She’d felt him watching her all night as if she were naked before him. As if he were biding his time before making another move. She was drawn to him, her bond to Heath growing more powerful by the hour. She could hardly wait for Russell to come home so that she could officially break off their engagement. She would be honest with him even if he refused her the same respect.

  He hadn’t known about her past encounter with Heath. Or had he? She began to wonder. He had been at the same house party in Cornwall all those years ago. It was only afterward that he had started to pursue her. Had he guessed what had gone on between Heath and her? Or had he desired her simply because he was jealous of Heath and wanted to win?

  The thought of Russell faded, replaced by the sinfully compelling man who sat before her. Heath looked dangerous tonight, more tense than she had ever seen him. Although he sat casually in the corner, Julia knew he was aware of every noise that disturbed the night. The rumble of a carriage in the street. The housekeeper’s keys jangling in the back of the house.

  Of every movement that Julia made.

  He drummed his fingers on the spine of the book. “Thank you for the gift. I’ll be able to look at it when we’re in the country. I’ve decided we should accept Grayson’s offer.”

  “The country?” She felt Hermia and Odham glance up at her in curiosity. The country. On Boscastle turf. No where to run but into Heath’s arms. Private evenings that invited intimacy. Long afternoons alone in the library behind locked doors. It would be an opportunity to learn more about him, to let down their guard a little. Perhaps Heath would have a chance to relax. It was a meaningful step for both of them.

  “Taking me into custody, are you?”

  He gave a low laugh. “For your own protection.”

  “I thought we would at least discuss it.”

  He shrugged. “We just did.”

  “Do I get any choice at all in the matter?” she asked with a teasing smile.

  “Apparently not.”

  “Arrogant devil,” she muttered. “I know what you can do with your book.”

  His eyes burned with amusement, and something that made her heart accelerate. “We’ll have plenty of time in Kent for reading.” His gaze indicated he had far less intellectual activities in mind. “Perhaps you should pack.”

  “But . . . I’m supposed to be fitted for some new clothes this week.” One of which had been a wedding dress. Not that there would be a wedding.

  He angled his head to smile at her. In the candlelight she wanted suddenly to sketch him. To undress him and run her hands over his marvelous body. “The wardrobe will have to wait.”

  “Fine. You can explain it to your family when I appear at the table in rags.”

  He laid his head back against the chair, the picture of sensual elegance. “I shall be happy to. In the meantime, you might want to pack those rags for our stay in Kent.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to let a few friends know—”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Is this an abduction, Heath?”

  “It might be if you’re not ready in the morning.”

  She suppressed a smile. She liked the way he took control, and he was undoubtedly right. They would be safer on Grayson’s private estate, and she was far more worried for Heath than for herself. Further arguing with him would not matter anyway even if she had not agreed. He had already made up his mind, and she might as well attempt to move the Sphinx with a wheelbarrow before she could change it.

  The worst part was that she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Audrey had said today that there was a little courtesan in every woman. Julia suspected she was about to prove that theory true.

  As soon as the ladies retired for the night, Heath left Hamm on guard duty and went straight to Audrey’s house on Bruton Street. She was entertaining friends: several politicians, a painter, and a pair of young pretty actresses who were apparently courtesans in training. Audrey had once been an actress herself, and she frequently said that playacting took a prominent role in pleasure.

  The two young women examined Heath as if he were a full-course meal to be devoured during a famine. Audrey quickly came to his rescue and ushered him into her private room. Diamond-headed pins glittered in her hair, and she wore a choker of gemstones around her throat. Her copper taffeta gown rustled as she took her place on her chaise.

  Heath went to the balcony window and casually studied the street below. He had not been followed.

  “Boscastle, this is a nice surprise. Is it business or pleasure?”

  He sat next to her and smiled. “Neither.”

  “But there isn’t anything else, is there?”

  “I want to know why Julia came to you today.”

  She widened her eyes. “I never tell.”

  He settled comfortably on the couch. “I shall sit here and stare at you until you do.”

  She fingered her choker, her gaze slowly drifting over his broad shoulders to his lower torso. “That’s hardly a threat. Are you going to torture me?”

  “I don’t have the time.”

  She sighed. “What a shame.”

  “Audrey,” he said softly, “I have to know.”

  She looked intrigued. “Why?”

  “Why did Julia come to you?”

  “Ask her.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  She began to fidget under his steady regard. “My lips are sealed.”

  He took her hand and kissed her fingers, one at a time. “Audrey, my beautiful temptress, how long have you been friends with my family?”

  She quivered in pleasure, closing her eyes. “Too long, you devil. Oh, damnation. If I tell you, will you promise not to let Julia know?”

  “My word as a gentleman.”

  “And as a rogue?”

  He laughed. “That, too.”

  Two days later Julia had packed her bags for an indefinite stay in the country. She knew it was an irrevocable step, to agree to go with Heath to Grayson’s estate. Hermia assured her it was the sensible thing to do, and Julia was grateful that she had her aunt’s support, for all she teased her. Still, common sense had less to do with Julia’s decision than the unreasoning power of emotion. She was only listening to her own heart. She wished she’d done so a long time ago.

  She closed her bedchamber door and hurried down to th
e music room where she had hidden her sketches of Heath. She meant to take them with her. Heaven forbid that any of the servants should come across them. She’d have the devil’s time defending that artwork.

  “What are you doing, Julia?” her aunt demanded from the door. “Boscastle’s carriage will be here at any minute.”

  Julia stared at the empty space behind the Irish harp that she had inherited from her grandfather. The sketches were gone. It couldn’t be. No one used this room. It was the best hiding place in the house.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. She turned to her aunt. “You haven’t been in here recently, have you?”

  “Not until today,” Hermia replied. “This room is such a mess, one can barely move. I did, however, take the liberty of having two young chimney sweeps clean it out for you yesterday morning.”

  Julia gasped. “You didn’t!”

  “I just told you I did. Goodness, Julia. There was so much clutter in here, so many old papers. You would not have wanted to start a fire, would you?”

  “What did they do with my papers?”

  Hermia shook her head. “Disposed of them, I imagine. There wasn’t anything of value, was there?”

  “That depends,” Julia said, not allowing herself to panic. “I wish you had asked me first, Hermia.”

  Chapter 22

  The Marquess of Sedgecroft’s country estate sat below a horizon of wooded hills on the outskirts of a half-timbered village in Kent. Built in the sixteenth century, the handsome house had changed over the centuries to accommodate the social needs of its owners. House parties and hunting pleased the current residents. The gregarious marquess and his wife enjoyed entertaining close friends in the tranquil surroundings of the grand manor.

  But Grayson and Jane had yet to arrive. The two sent word that they had decided to detour to the coast to visit Jane’s cousins. Heath and Julia had the estate practically to themselves. If one discounted Hermia, Hamm, and Sedgecroft’s efficient servants. Even then the manor’s wide-ranging rooms afforded plenty of opportunity for privacy.

  On the first night of their arrival, they did little more than take a light supper and go to their assigned rooms to unpack. A servant led Julia up a spiral stone staircase and through an endless torchlit hallway to an arched oaken door at its end.