by Anna Bennett
“Maybe.” Sam was breathing hard from the Herculean effort it took to resist throwing Nigel against the wall and wreaking havoc right there in Torrington’s study.
“You’re no prince, Sam. You don’t even have a godforsaken cottage to live in,” Nigel said coolly. “Do you honestly think you could give her what she needs? What she wants?”
“That will be up to her to decide.”
Nigel picked up his snifter and threw back the rest of his brandy. “She’s already decided. She’s chosen me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Juliette and I have a past. I tasted those sweet lips long before you knew her name.”
Sam gripped the back of his chair. “I don’t care.”
“She’s a passionate creature, as you well know. But she’s also a practical sort. She wants what’s best for her uncle and her family.” Nigel rubbed the back of his neck as though it would pain him to say the next bit. “Even if you were capable of providing for her, your reputation as London’s greatest rogue would do naught but damage her standing in society. She and her sisters have been struggling to crawl out of the hole they were in, through no fault of their own. If this town were to discover that you lived with her—even for a brief time—you’d essentially be kicking the whole family back into a pit of disgrace.”
“You’re despicable,” Sam spat. “If you cared for Juliette, you wouldn’t threaten to expose her.”
Nigel shrugged. “In any case, she has agreed to let me take care of her.”
Bile rose in Sam’s throat, but he had to ask. “You are engaged?”
“Not precisely … but under my protection, she’ll want for nothing.”
Sam blinked, unbelieving. “I don’t understand. You intend to make Juliette your mistress?”
Leaning an elbow on the fireplace mantel, Nigel said, “If circumstances were different, I might have offered her marriage. As it is, her devotion to her lunatic uncle is a serious liability. So I intend to take Lady Clementine—the Duke of Grimby’s eldest chit—as my wife. She’s pitifully plain, but her dowry more than makes up for her looks. The duke intends to gift me several hundred acres adjacent to my estate in Yorkshire.” Nigel’s blue eyes gleamed with greed. “I set my sights on that land years ago, and now it shall be mine.”
Sam gaped, incredulous. “Juliette would never agree to be anyone’s mistress.”
“She is headstrong, no doubt. That’s why some … persuasion was required on my part. Perhaps it is not the life she envisioned for herself. However, her choices are limited now that…” Nigel let his words trail off.
“Now that what?” Sam demanded.
Nigel snorted. “You’ve defiled her.”
Sam stalked toward Nigel, his thoughts lethal. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I do,” Nigel replied nonchalantly. “Juliette admitted as much tonight. I don’t mind though. You’re merely the stable boy who’s broken my wild pony. I shall be the one to ride her.”
Sam tackled his brother before Nigel knew what hit him. The snifter flew out of his hand and shattered on the hearth. Nigel bucked beneath him, but Sam pinned his shoulders to the floor and spoke in a low, lethal tone. “Don’t speak of her that way.”
“Why not?” Nigel spat, his face purple with rage. “It’s the bloody truth.”
Sam cocked his fist. “Keep talking. See what happens.”
“Maybe if you’d controlled your baser urges…”
Damn it. Nigel was right—Sam was partially to blame for Juliette’s predicament. He let his fist drop and shoved himself off his brother. “I don’t believe a damned word that comes out of your mouth.”
Nigel sat up and coughed. “Fine. Ask her yourself.”
Sam was already heading for the study door. “It would be an insult to even ask her the question. But I will seek her out.” One look into her beautiful eyes would tell him everything he needed to know.
“Fool yourself if you like, brother.” Nigel barked a hollow laugh, stood, and dusted off his trousers. “If you think of it, inquire about the earrings she’s wearing.”
“We’ve more important matters to discuss than jewelry. If you’re even one tenth of the gentleman I thought you were, you’ll allow her and her uncle to remain in their house—without any remuneration.”
“And if I don’t?”
Sam paused at the doorway. “Then you’re ten times the scoundrel I ever was.”
Having delivered that parting shot with considerably more confidence than he felt, he went in search of Juliette.
Chapter THIRTY-THREE
Julie had considered telling her uncle that she’d developed a headache and asking him if they could return home. But when she found him in the parlor, he was miming in front of a small but enthusiastic crowd of onlookers. He held his forefingers at his temples like horns.
“Antelope!” one bespectacled matron cried.
“Demon!” slurred a man well into his cups.
“Viking!” a young woman guessed.
Julie smiled to herself. Uncle Alistair was a satyr—one of his favorite creatures to act out during charades—but she wouldn’t dream of spoiling his fun. She watched him for a while, but when he spotted her, he grinned and waved her back into the ballroom.
Relieved to know he was enjoying himself but still shaken by her conversation with Nigel, she decided to seek out Charlotte. She’d barely ventured into the corridor before she ran smack into a rock hard, unyielding torso. She bounced lightly off the elegant but understated burgundy brocade waistcoat, barely managing to keep her balance.
Large warm hands cupped her elbows. “Juliette. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Sam. She looked up at him, and her heart tripped in her chest as she drank in the sight of his familiar, heartbreakingly handsome face. Dear God, it was him.
She opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to tell him that she’d been looking for him too, hoping to see him around every corner. That she’d missed him and wished he hadn’t stayed away. But all the emotion of the last few days bubbled up, threatening to erupt like a volcano.
“Forgive me for startling you,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, glad that no one else happened to be in the corridor. “It’s good to see you,” she managed. “I’d hoped … that is, I…”
He glanced up and down the hallway. “Would you like to go somewhere we can talk privately—the garden perhaps?”
She shook her head. The garden path was bound to be teeming with other couples, and she desperately wanted Sam to herself. “I’d rather find a spot where we won’t be disturbed.”
The wicked grin that lit his face made her knees go weak. Pulling her by the hand, he whispered, “Secluded spots happen to be my specialty. Come.”
He led her past the parlor into an unlit part of the house. Several yards down the hallway, he paused and pressed an ear to a closed door. After waiting a moment, he opened it a few inches and peered inside the room.
“It’s the library,” he said. “No one’s here.”
Feeling deliciously naughty, she tiptoed in and waited as Sam closed the door behind them. The moment the lock clicked, they crashed together.
No candles or lamps illuminated the interior, but they didn’t require light to find each other. His hands encircled her waist, and he tipped his forehead to hers. She pressed her palms to his chest, savoring his strength and the solid feel of him—irrefutable proof that he was truly there, with her.
God, she’d missed him.
As though privy to her thoughts, he said, “I wanted to come to you. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to stay away.”
Warmth and desire mingled in her chest, then unfurled through her limbs. “Then why did you?”
He held her cheek in his hand and brushed a thumb over her lips. “You needed time to think, and I didn’t want to take the chance of jeopardizing your reputation, as I did before. I was wrong to blindly f
ollow my brother’s orders without regard for you or your uncle. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”
Soft moonlight streamed through the library’s towering windows, and now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could see his sober expression. Tracing a fingertip over the swirling pattern stitched onto his waistcoat, she said, “If you hadn’t done Nigel’s bidding, we never would have had the opportunity to know each other.”
“About Nigel,” he began. “I just spoke with—”
“Did you mean what you said earlier? That it was difficult for you to stay away?”
“The last three days felt like three years. I thought of you every waking moment—and most of the non-waking ones as well.” He tilted his head and looked at her curiously. “You don’t truly doubt my feelings for you, do you?”
“No.” She sighed. “But you might have written a note.”
He hung his head, chastened. “I’ll write you a note every damned day, if that’s what you wish.”
“If you’re granting wishes,” she murmured, “what I’d like is for you to kiss me.”
He easily scooped her in his arms and stalked to a long leather sofa in front of the windows, where he sat and held her on his lap. Smoothing a curl behind her ear, he said, “You should know that you may have as many wishes as you like. I would give you the world if I could.”
“For now, I will be content with a kiss,” she whispered.
Smiling, he steadied her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers.
Sweet heaven above. He’s said he’d give her the world if he could … and it felt as though he had. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanded entry, and plundered her mouth. He swept his hands down her sides and cupped her breasts, tweaking the aching tips with his thumbs.
All the fear she’d felt while talking with Nigel in the ballroom slipped away, for as long as Sam loved her, nothing truly awful could happen. He hadn’t said that he loved her, hadn’t actually spoken the words, but he proved it with every passionate moan and every gentle caress. And their connection transcended the physical. She felt Sam in her heart, knew he’d always take her side and support her. He was her partner in the truest sense.
He kissed her as though she was at the center of his universe—which was precisely where she wanted to be. She savored this precious intimacy—a few stolen moments where they could draw strength, comfort, and peace from each other.
“Juliette,” he whispered. “We cannot remain here for long. Your uncle and friends will be looking for you.”
She peppered kisses along the hard line of his jaw and trailed more down his neck, delighting in the slightly abrasive shadow of his beard beneath her lips. “Then we should not waste this time.”
“I agree,” he said softly. “But we have much to discuss.”
“We can talk later—in the garden or ballroom. But we can only be together here. Now.” She looked up at his blue eyes and felt as though she were drowning in their depths. “Please … I need you.”
He frowned and swallowed. She could almost see the battle raging inside him. “I am powerless to deny you, Juliette—as you well know.”
“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” she said, memorizing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and fine scar above one brow. “But I do know that no one else can make me feel the way you do.”
“That’s because you’re mine. No matter what happens to us, in my heart, you always will be.” He tightened his hold on her and ravaged her mouth, his kisses almost bruising in their intensity.
She felt his arousal beneath her bottom and wriggled against him until he groaned. “And you are mine,” she countered.
He brushed his lips over the sensitive swells of her breasts and slid a hand beneath her skirts. With wicked fingers, he traced a path up the back of her calf, alternately kneading and stroking till he reached her thigh. His warm palm skimmed the inside of her leg, higher and higher, teasing her with feather-light caresses.
She already ached for him. A steady pulsing had begun at her core, and her legs parted of their own accord.
“If we had all the time in the world,” he breathed, “I would do this properly. Your hair would be down. Your gown would be on the floor. You’d be gloriously naked, and I’d kiss every inch of your body. Every. Single. Inch.”
She looked into his eyes, too dazed to speak.
“As it is, you will have to employ a little imagination.”
She blinked up at his handsome face, confused—for this seemed very real to her. “How so?”
“Close your eyes,” he ordered, even as his hand traced circles on the inside of her thigh. Smiling, she let her eyes flutter shut.
“Imagine we’re alone in a beautiful field of heather. It’s warm, but we find a shady spot beneath a tree and spread a soft quilt on the ground.”
“Mmm, that’s nice.”
“Not nice. Sensual. Delightfully wicked.”
“Very well.” She melted a little more. “I stand corrected.”
“I strip off every article of your clothing and pull every pin from your hair. A mild breeze kisses your skin and rustles your curls. I lay you back on the blanket and place wildflowers on your belly.”
Julie could almost smell the heather and feel the dappled sunshine on her bare limbs. “Why would you do that?” she asked.
“Because I want that picture in my head—forever.” He kissed her neck as his palm continued to stroke the supple flesh of her thigh. “And after I’ve showered you with flowers, I pick out the prettiest blossom, brush it over your lips, and follow its path with my mouth.”
Her lips tingled as if he’d actually done it. “Oh,” she said, swallowing.
“Next, I swirl the flower lower, around your breasts, between them, and over their taut peaks … before I capture one in my mouth. Do you remember how that feels?” he asked huskily.
Her nipples tightened into hard buds. “Yes.” As if she could forget.
“Good,” he said, approving. “I drag the flower lower still. It’s here”—he caressed the tops of her thighs—“and here”—he stroked the sensitive spot between her legs, making her whimper with pleasure. “My mouth follows,” he reminded her. “And I stay here until you are certain you cannot bear another second of pleasure. I stay here until you come apart.”
She opened her eyes and found his dark, heavy-lidded gaze trained upon her face, as though he were gauging her reaction to every word and touch. “I wish we were back in your bedchamber at Hart Street,” she said, “and that we had all the time in the world.”
“But we’re in a field of heather,” he said, mildly offended. “Your eyes are supposed to be shut.”
“I don’t need to imagine fields and flowers. I only want you, Sam.”
“Say that again.”
Bemused, she said, “I don’t need to ima—”
“Not that part. The next.”
Oh. “I only want—” He slid a finger into her, and she groaned with a potent mix of pleasure and need. “You. Sam.”
He crushed his mouth to hers and kissed her hungrily. Beneath her gown, his fingers stroked her inside and out until she arched her back, breathless and on the brink. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted all of him. That raw, primal connection. That deep, abiding intimacy.
She shifted on his lap, trying to straddle him, but her legs tangled with yards of silk.
“Easy, temptress. I wouldn’t want to tear your gown. Well, I would, but it wouldn’t be at all prudent.”
Running her fingertips over the edge of his jaw, she looked earnestly into his eyes. “I don’t feel like being prudent. I want you, Sam. And I know you want me too.”
Chapter THIRTY-FOUR
Sweet Lucifer. Sam wanted Juliette more than his next breath.
In five seconds flat he could free his cock from his trousers, grasp her hips, and bury himself deep inside her. She could wrap her lithe legs around his waist, throw her head back, and ride him until they both cried out in
ecstasy.
But, damn it all, he had to say no.
One of them had to stay on guard and be alert—and even with his trousers still on he was having the devil of a time maintaining a shred of control.
“I can’t make love to you here, in Torrington’s library.” He cupped her dismayed face in his hands. “It’s too risky. Someone could come looking for you. Or we could ruin your gown or muss your hair.”
“You act as though you’ve never had a tryst in a library before.” He detected the hint of a pout in her gorgeous lips. “Why must you be so honorable all of the sudden? You’re supposed to be a rogue.”
“What if I’m not any longer?”
She looked at him warily. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s only one woman I want.” Given everything Nigel had just told him, he must be mad to admit it, but the words tumbled out. “In case it’s not glaringly obvious … it’s you, Juliette. I only want you.”
As he awaited her response, his heart hammered in his chest, so loudly she must hear it. She seemed to return his feelings … but passion and love could be difficult to distinguish. And it was hard to be certain of anything when Nigel’s words still echoed in his head.
Juliette and I have a past.
Under my protection, she’ll want for nothing.
She’s chosen me.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why have you changed?”
“You and your uncle made me realize I need to be part of something bigger than myself. A profession … a cause … a family.” He wanted to drop to his knees and beg her to marry him, but he needed to make something of himself first. He needed to be worthy of her.
“Oh, Sam.” She kissed him tenderly, and his doubts evaporated like a morning fog.
He kissed her back, stoking the flames of her desire once more. Though he couldn’t make love to her, he could give her pleasure—or die trying.
She bit her bottom lip as he turned her on his lap so that she faced him, her knees straddling his. Slowly, deliberately, he slid a hand beneath her skirts once more. “Shall I close my eyes again?” she asked coyly.
“No, Juliette.” He stroked the slick folds at her entrance and slid a finger into her. “Look right at me.”