by Anna Bennett
But at least one of them was lying to Sam.
Whoever the guilty party turned out to be, Sam was going to be gutted.
He shrugged to himself, shaking off his uncharacteristic melancholy. He was better off not caring. Nothing he could do would change his brother’s opinion of him—much less society’s.
And someone like Juliette could never see past his unsavory past and his myriad sins.
To hell with them both.
If a tiger couldn’t change his stripes … neither could a rogue.
* * *
The moment Julie stepped through the front door of her uncle’s house, she kicked off her heeled slippers and rubbed the arches of her feet, nearly moaning with relief. She couldn’t recall a night when she’d danced so much, twirling around the parquet floor into the wee hours of the morning.
But the joy she should have felt was dimmed by her frustration with Nigel. The disaster with the trellis had prevented her from receiving the answers she sought.
He’d certainly made her no promises where her uncle’s house was concerned … but she did have the distinct impression that the marquess was open to negotiations.
Which was, in itself, troubling.
Julie picked up her slippers, hoisted the hem of her dress, and tiptoed toward the parlor, mildly disappointed that Sam had not waited up for her. Ridiculous, that.
She’d danced with half a dozen handsome men, all of whom were eligible bachelors and infinitely more suitable for her than Sam.
And, at the moment, she could barely recall their names.
Sam was the one who’d tried to spare her embarrassment after her dress debacle at dinner. He was the one who’d made Uncle Alistair believe his research was worthy. He was the one who’d said she deserved a gentleman—even though she’d been certain he wanted to kiss her.
She walked slowly toward the staircase, navigating carefully around small tables and the stool at the pianoforte, and—
“Good evening, Juliette. Or should I say morning?”
Chapter SIXTEEN
“Sam?” Juliette waited for her eyes to better adjust to the dark parlor and took two steps toward the settee. “What are you doing?”
“Having a glass of brandy. I nicked it from the study.” His sounded weary. Jaded.
“Is everything all right? Why are you sitting here in the dark?” Julie moved closer, relieved to see he still wore his jacket and cravat. Not a glimpse of sinewy forearms nor tanned neck to be found, thank heaven. She tamped down a vague sense of disappointment.
“Everything is as it should be. Your uncle retired hours ago, and the house is quiet. But I couldn’t sleep.”
She tossed her slippers on the floor and lit a lantern on the mantel. “You could have enjoyed your drink in the study—I daresay my uncle wouldn’t have minded.”
“I started to,” Sam said. “But I couldn’t stand being watched.”
Julie sank on to the settee next to him and frowned. “Watched? By whom?”
“Elspeth.” He crossed his long legs at the ankles and rested the bottom of his glass on his taut abdomen while she endeavored not to stare.
“You couldn’t bear to be in the room with my aunt’s portrait?” she asked, teasing.
“She was judging me,” he said flatly.
“Is that what she told you?”
“She didn’t need to say anything—it was in her eyes.”
“I never met Aunt Elspeth, but by all accounts she was a kind soul. I cannot think that she’d be the sort to judge you.”
He shrugged. “Everybody does. I don’t blame them. That’s just the way of things.”
Julie wondered how much he’d had to drink. He seemed to have his wits about him, but something was different. If anything, he seemed more sober. More genuine.
Reluctant to bid him good night, she asked, “How did you and my uncle spend the evening?”
“We played chess. Chatted about a variety of topics.”
She prayed Sam hadn’t mentioned anything that might have alarmed her uncle. And her curiosity was piqued. “Topics such as…?”
“Mummies. Wombats.” He took a swig of brandy. “You.” He stared at her as though issuing a challenge.
Her blood heated, but she didn’t look away. “Me?”
“Yes. Infinitely more interesting than mummies and wombats—to me, at least.”
Julie winced at the thought of all the embarrassing childhood stories her uncle might have shared. “I hope he didn’t reveal too many of my secrets.”
“Do you have many?” He looked straight into her eyes—as though the question had crossed a line from playful banter into a high-stakes game of truth or dare.
A chill raced over her skin, heaven help her. “None that are particularly scandalous.” If one discounted the wholly improper kiss she’d shared with his brother.
He nodded thoughtfully—perhaps doubtfully. After a few moments, he shot her a mischievous smile. “Your uncle told me that you wanted a pet dog so badly you fashioned one out of a mop.”
“Unfortunately, I can confirm that. Her name was Moppet. Imagine my horror when I walked into the kitchen one morning to discover our cook using Moppet to clean broken eggs off the floor.”
“You must be scarred,” he quipped. “Haunted by the image.”
“You’ve no idea.” She let her neck rest on the back of the settee and stared at the ceiling, contemplative. “I never did get a puppy.”
“A pity. A puppy might have kept you out of trouble.”
Oh dear. “What else did Uncle Alistair tell you?”
“Not much,” Sam said noncommittally.
Julie smiled and breathed a sigh of relief—until he raised a finger in the air. “Although he did mention that you’ve been singing bawdy songs since the tender age of twelve.”
Heat crawled up her neck, and she made a mental note to scold Uncle Alistair for speaking so freely with Sam. “In my defense, I didn’t realize the songs were naughty until Meg threatened to wash my mouth out with soap. I’d found an old book of poems and made up my own tunes—I thought I was a budding singer.”
“You are welcome to perform naughty songs for me any time you wish.” He arched a wicked brow.
She shook her head vehemently. “I’m certain you’ve heard them all before. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
He stretched out his hand and let the back of it graze her bare shoulder. “You could never, ever bore me, Juliette.”
His low, husky voice and his heavy-lidded gaze made her belly do cartwheels. Suddenly, the settee seemed fraught with delicious danger. What was it about Sam that made her want to misbehave?
From a young age, she’d worked hard to rein in her impetuous nature. She’d learned that nice girls didn’t swim naked or run barefoot through the fields or climb trees. And when she was a bit older, she’d learned that proper young ladies didn’t flirt with scoundrels or read risqué novels or entertain gentlemen in their parlor without a chaperone—especially in the wee hours of the morning.
But Sam seemed vulnerable. Tonight, he wasn’t the rogue regularly featured in the gossip rags. Rather, he was the man who’d spent the evening listening to her uncle’s rambling, embellished stories because he wished to understand her.
But she could barely understand herself.
A scant hour ago, she’d been on the verge of kissing his brother, and now …
… all she could think of was kissing Sam.
She made one last, valiant attempt to do the right thing. “It’s late. I should say goodnight.”
“Don’t.” He traced the shell of her ear with a fingertip. “Don’t go.”
“Sam,” she said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I’ll admit I’m tempted to stay. But I fear I’d regret it tomorrow.”
“Of course you would. You will.” He set down his brandy and slid closer, cradling her face in his hands. “But I promise you’ll enjoy tonight.”
He dragged the pad of his thumb across her
lower lip … “Every.”
Pressed his forehead to hers … “Single.”
Speared his fingers into her hair. “Second.”
Oh my. She had no doubt he’d deliver on the promise. But the intensity of his gaze and the hint of gruffness in his voice told her that perhaps this was to be something more than mere passion. He was offering her a glimpse of his true self. The mysterious ten percent that the rest of the world had never seen.
“Give me a sign, Juliette. Or tell me to go. But don’t torture me like this.”
She pressed a palm to his chest and felt his heart beating wildly. Slowly, she brushed her lips over his.
He went very still. As though he were afraid that the pressure of her lips on his was merely a dream and he might wake at any moment. As though one sudden move could break the tenuous connection between them.
But he needn’t have worried—nothing could make her turn back now.
He tensed as she boldly twined her hands around his warm neck but remained stoically frozen.
More determined than ever, she teased the corner of his mouth with her tongue, savoring the tangy taste of him. Beneath her palms, his shoulder muscles twitched in protest of his self-imposed restraint.
But she sensed he was close to his breaking point, teetering on the edge. She could see it in the sheen on his brow and the fine lines around his mouth.
So she decided to take a page out of Uncle Alistair’s research papers on the mating habits of exotic animals … and let instinct guide her. She grabbed Sam’s cravat, pulling him toward her as she reclined on the settee.
She fell back against a silk pillow, breathless. His hips pressed against hers, pinning her to the seat cushions and shifting her gown. Her breasts spilled out of the top of her bodice, but she made no move to cover herself from his gaze.
“Jesus.” He devoured her with his eyes as he braced himself above her, his hair dipping across his forehead like he was some gorgeous fallen angel.
“Kiss me, Sam,” she breathed.
With a feral grin, he lowered his head. “Gladly, temptress.”
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Sam didn’t know what game Juliette was playing, but the hell of it was, he didn’t care.
Let her flirt with his brother one minute and play the seductress with him the next.
Maybe her goal was to make Nigel jealous.
Maybe she wanted to experience a torrid affair before settling into the role of a proper wife and marchioness.
Or perhaps she meant to bend Sam to her will—to try and manipulate him in an attempt to keep her uncle in his home.
The truth was, Sam didn’t give a damn about her motivation. Didn’t mind if tonight was simply the means to an end for her.
He’d take what she was willing to give—and savor every glorious moment.
Chestnut curls framed her heart-shaped face, and her skin glowed in the soft light of the lantern. The tips of her breasts peeked out of her dress, tempting as ripe strawberries.
She gazed up at him, her bow-shaped lips parted expectantly.
And he knew he’d die if he didn’t have her.
Stifling a curse, he slanted his mouth across hers and kissed her like he’d wanted to from the start.
No more tentative brushes or gentle touches. This kiss was hot. Unbridled. Raw.
With a groan, he urged her lips apart and greedily explored her mouth with his tongue. Most demure misses would have run for their smelling salts, but not Juliette. She met him thrust for thrust, parry for parry. Rather than lie back and wait to be ravished, she arched her body toward his and curled her fingers into his shoulders.
He drew her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. Grabbed a handful of curls at her nape and kissed her deeper, harder. Till they were both panting and breathless.
Everything about her felt right. Her breath, warm on his cheek. Her skin, satin smooth against his lips. He kissed a path down her neck and lower, over the swells of her breasts, and drew a taut tip into his mouth. Growling, he ripped the silk sash off her gown and slid it across her stomach. Let it trail between her breasts and across the pink tips, pleased to see her eyes close from the sheer bliss of it.
When her eyes fluttered open, she said, “This is madness. I know I should tell you to stop … but I don’t want you to. Does that make me very wicked?”
“You are only ten percent wicked,” he said smoothly. As if he weren’t aroused to the point he might explode. “But I happen to adore this side of you.”
The blush spread over her fair cheeks. “I must go soon. Perhaps five more minutes.”
“Then we shouldn’t waste any time.” He grasped her arms and gently pulled her up, so they sat facing one another. With her delightfully mussed hair and exposed, luscious curves, she was half innocent, half seductress.
He hauled her across his lap so that she knelt astride him, then cupped her bottom, reveling at how perfectly she fit in his hands. Holy hell. She was right—this was madness. And yet, he pulled her closer, willing time to stop.
Sam had experienced more than his fair share of erotic encounters. And while this one rated rather low on the wickedness scale, he’d never been so aroused—so attuned to the level of his partner’s pleasure. Every hitch of her breath, every soft sigh, was a beacon guiding him toward what she liked best.
He savored the honeyed taste of her skin. Slid his hands over her hips and between her legs, stroking her through the silky layers of her gown.
“Sam,” she whimpered.
Reluctantly, he sat back and brushed a curl away from her face. “What is it, siren?”
He shouldn’t care so much—not when she could be playing him for the fool. But the vulnerability in her eyes broke down his defenses.
And made him forget he was supposed to be a rogue.
She raised a palm to her forehead. “I don’t know what we’re doing here. That is, I do know. And I fear we’re making a mistake.”
“Why?”
“For any number of reasons.” The worry lines on her forehead said she was already regretting this night. Already regretting him. Maybe she was worried Nigel would discover what they’d done. Perhaps she feared Sam would expose her, ruining her reputation.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said. Mostly because he was certain that any reasons she gave would wound him further.
“Forgive me,” she said, leaving Sam unsure as to whether she was speaking to him or some all-seeing deity. She looked down and shook her head as though she couldn’t quite believe the extent of her wantonness. Suddenly self-conscious, she began to pull up the bodice of her gown.
Sam could feel the chasm between them growing. He could feel her drifting away. And he wasn’t ready to let go.
“I understand,” he said—even if he didn’t fully. “But would you grant me one favor before you go?”
She met his gaze, wary. “That depends.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand and drank in the sight of her heavy-lidded eyes and swollen lips. “Let me kiss you. One last time.” If she wanted nothing to do with him tomorrow, he needed one more chance to imprint himself on her, body and soul.
“But we already—”
He dragged a thumb across her bottom lip. “Please. Just a kiss.”
* * *
Julie considered the request. Where Sam was concerned, “just a kiss” was akin to labeling Stonehenge as “just some rocks” or Windsor Castle as “just a residence.”
But Lord help her, she wanted him. Her entire body still tingled from his touch, and there was an odd ache deep in her core which she suspected only he could ease. She was very aware of his muscled thighs beneath her bottom and the hard length of him straining against his trousers.
She felt utterly alive and free.
Every moment alone with him was temptation personified. She’d been trying valiantly to suppress her wanton side, and in less than a day, he’d succeeded in awakening it. So much so, that every part of her desired him. She could
not deny him.
She could not deny herself.
“Very well,” she said, her voice husky to her own ears. “Just a few moments longer. And then I must go.”
He swallowed and nodded like she’d given him a precious gift. One he didn’t intend to waste.
With heartbreaking tenderness, he pulled her face to his. Their noses touched and their breath mingled sweetly. “I want to savor this,” he murmured. “I want us both to remember.”
As if she could possibly forget the brush of his warm, calloused hands over her skin or the way every inch of her thrummed in response to the pull of his mouth on her breast. As if she could forget his scalding kisses and the heady knowledge that London’s greatest rogue desired her.
He teased her lips apart, tasting her like she was the rarest, sweetest chocolate. Holding her like she was the most precious jewel.
She wondered how two people could be so perfectly in tune. How he could know just what she liked—and what she needed.
He kissed her deeply and drew her hips closer to his, so that she rocked against him. “Do you see what you do to me, Juliette?” he whispered against her lips. “Do you see how much I want you?”
“Yes.” Of their own accord, her fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat, and she slipped her hand inside, skimming the hard contours of his chest and the flat planes of his abdomen.
He cupped her bare breast in his large hand and tweaked her nipple with his thumb, whispering naughty things in her ear. “If I could, I would taste every inch of you. I would touch you until you came apart in my arms.”
Oh dear. This was bad—very bad. She should be shocked or scandalized. Instead, she found herself intensely curious. And aroused.
This would never do. As she was under the spell of his knee-melting kiss, she was powerless to resist him …
And so, it was time to end their tryst.
She pulled back and scrambled off his lap, still dizzy with longing. Clutching her gown to her chest, she stood—and instantly felt the loss of intimacy and warmth.