And he did. He drew up her skirts, and he kissed her knees, swirling his tongue in tantalizing strokes. And he drew her skirts higher and kissed her thighs, all over and between them, little kisses that were melting her, melting her heart, melting her resolve. And then he drew her skirts higher still, higher and higher, until they were pooled around her middle. Without lifting his head, while he was still kissing her, he bared her all the way up to her waist.
She knew she should stop him, but she was moaning, and she couldn't seem to help herself. Though she knew she was wanton, she didn't care. And then he lifted his head and, using his hands to ease her legs wider, he looked at her there…and she knew it was wicked.
But she'd never experienced anything better or more exciting. Ever.
"Should I kiss you here?" he rasped.
She'd never heard of such a thing. Never even imagined it. But she wanted him to kiss her there more than she'd wanted anything in her life.
That place wasn't just pulsing now—it was throbbing.
"Should I?" he asked, and his hot breath made it throb more. "Should I kiss you here?"
She couldn't bring herself to say yes. She couldn't bring herself to agree to something so wicked. Even though she wanted him to kiss her there so badly that tears pricked in her eyes.
He lowered his head, but he didn't kiss her. His hair had flopped over his forehead, those dear, unruly curls, and she couldn't see his eyes. But she knew he was looking, and that knowledge made the throbbing mount unbearably.
"Should I?" he whispered, and his breath was hotter than ever, so hot it made her hips lift right off the bed.
"Yes!" she cried. "Oh, yes!"
And he kissed her there. He kissed her there over and over and over, his tongue finding that sweet spot that made her throb even more. It felt hot, slippery hot, little slippery hot strokes. She wanted to touch him more than ever, but she couldn't reach him anywhere, so her fingers curled into the damask beneath her instead. And he stroked and stroked until that slippery heat sent her flying into oblivion.
She had never, ever felt anything like it in her life. Not even in the greenhouse. She moaned. She moaned until James crawled up her body and captured the moans in his hot, talented mouth.
She thought she might calm then, like last time, but the opposite was true. His kisses were devouring her, making the ache build all over again. She tasted not only James now, not only lust and wine and James, but also the faintest hint of herself. A combination that proved the most delicious, most incredible, most arousing flavor ever.
It wasn't enough. She wanted that flavor forever, she wanted him to kiss her forever, but it wasn't enough.
And then he lifted his head and looked at her for a moment. Just looked at her. And kissed her again and lifted his head again and just looked at her again.
The expression in his eyes, the devotion and the love, was almost more than she could stand.
"Can I come inside you?" he whispered in that raspy, heartbreaking tone. "I swear, Juliana, I want you more than I want to breathe. More than I want my own life. Sweetheart, can I come inside you?"
She moaned again, but it was a silent moan, only a moan in her head. Why couldn't he just take her? Why did he always have to ask? Why did he make it her decision as much as his, make it so she couldn't claim he'd ever taken advantage, not even to herself?
Why, why, why?
But she knew why. It was because he was honorable. Because he was the best man she'd ever known. Because he was everything she'd ever wanted all along, even before she'd known herself enough to know it.
She loved him. She loved him more than she'd known it was possible to love another human being. And he was waiting. He was still waiting for her to answer. Waiting to hear she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Patiently waiting, his heart in his chocolate brown eyes.
How could she deny him? How could she deny herself? They'd be married soon anyway, and if anyone deserved to hear the words he was waiting for, if anyone deserved to know she wanted him with all of her heart, it was James.
She drew in a breath. And, "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, please. Please make me yours."
He froze. He didn't move; he didn't even breathe. "Are you sure, love?"
Why did he have to ask?
But she knew why. "I'm sure. I want you more than I want my life."
He didn't ask her again. He rolled off of her, leaving her wanting, but only to rip off his cravat and tailcoat and waistcoat. And unbutton his shirt. And pull it off over his head. And then, while she drank in the mouthwatering sight of his firm, bare torso, his fingers went to the buttons on his falls, and she realized, somewhere in her hazy, love-drenched mind, that all this time he hadn't even unbuttoned. He'd kissed her and caressed her and sent her to oblivion without even unbuttoning.
He unbuttoned now, and before she knew it, he was naked. Dear heavens, he was magnificent. She wanted him even more, much more than she'd thought possible. He fell on her then, and took her mouth with his, and she could hardly wait to have him inside her. He kissed her, and kissed her, and—
"James? Are you home?"
It was his mother, out in the corridor.
"James, is that you?"
"Bloody hell," he gritted out and leapt off of Juliana. Muttering obscenities the likes of which she'd never heard, he stalked to the new Hepplewhite wardrobe and slammed the door open. And yanked out a red silk dressing gown. And shrugged into it so violently she feared he might rip it.
"James?" His mother knocked on the door.
"I'm coming, Mother."
Juliana had enjoyed seeing him without the dressing gown much more than with it. Looking furious, he tied the belt and tied it again, and knotted it with a jerk, and went to the door and opened it just enough to slip through—so his mother wouldn't see her inside, thank heavens—and shut it behind him.
And then Juliana lay there on the red damask, shaking, listening to their conversation.
"Oh, James, I thought I heard you. How are you feeling, dear?"
"Tired. I was sleeping."
"Poor dear." There was a pause, during which Juliana imagined Lady Stafford ruffling James's hair, even though he was much too old to have his hair ruffled. "I'm so sorry about everything that's happened. I so wanted you to marry Juliana."
"I know." She heard James sigh. "It may still happen."
"What do you mean?" Lady Stafford sounded very excited. "What do you mean, it may still happen?"
"I'm very tired, Mother, and I don't want to explain it now. Can we talk about this in the morning? How are you feeling?"
"Better. Much better. I think I'll be able to attend your wedding tomorrow."
"I'm hoping there won't be a wedding." His voice was getting fainter. "Let me take you back to bed, Mother. We'll talk in the morning."
"I really don't want to wait until morning to hear this, James," Juliana heard very faintly.
And then she heard nothing. He must have been walking his mother back to bed. It took him a very long time to return, and at first Juliana figured that was because it was a very long corridor, but when he took even longer, she figured he was probably explaining everything to his mother. Lady Stafford was rather persistent, after all. Most mothers were. Juliana figured she'd probably be a rather persistent mother herself. If she ever got to be a mother.
Dear heavens, what if everything didn't work out?
At last James hurried back into the room and shut the door behind him. His fingers went to the knot in his belt.
She sat up on the edge of the bed, pushing her skirts down and pulling her bodice back up. "What are you doing?"
"Getting out of this damned dressing gown." He seemed to be having trouble. Apparently he'd knotted the belt too tightly when he'd jerked it. "Getting back to what we were doing."
"We cannot do it, James."
"What?" He looked up, his fingers still working the knot. Or rather, not working it. It didn't look like it was going to budge. "Whyever would you say that?
I realize you've probably cooled off some while I was talking to my mother, but I'll soon have you warm again, sweetheart. I'll have you moaning in no time—"
"What if everything doesn't work out?"
"What do you mean, what if everything doesn't work out?"
"I heard you, James. I heard you tell your mother it may still happen. I heard you tell her you're hoping there won't be a wedding tomorrow."
His fingers slipped on the knot, but he bent his head and resumed fighting with it. "I was just trying to get her back to bed. I didn't want to stop and explain everything. I didn't want to have a discussion. I wanted to get back to you."
"We cannot go back to doing that. What if everything doesn't work out? We cannot make love if you're going to marry Amanda."
He stopped working the knot and looked at her. "I'm not going to marry Lady Amanda. You read Castleton's note. Everyone is in agreement."
"Her father isn't."
"He isn't even her father!"
"That doesn't signify. He's legally her guardian. He might have another objection."
James plopped to sit on the bed beside her. "What could he possibly come up with now? Who could he possibly claim slept with whom in order to make Lady Amanda and Castleton's marriage impossible?"
"I don't know. All I know is we all thought he couldn't possibly have a valid objection before, and it turned out he did. So he could have another objection. Or someone else could have an objection. We don't know, James." She rubbed his back through the red silk, thinking he felt very tense and looked very frustrated. Well, she was frustrated, too, but that didn't change anything. "We're going to have to wait. It won't kill us. It won't be long."
"Damn right it won't be long. As soon as we straighten everything out, we'll be wed tomorrow. I was planning to get married tomorrow, anyway."
Despite her frustration, despite everything, she couldn't stop a soft laugh from escaping her throat. "Don't be ridiculous. We cannot get married tomorrow."
"Why not? It was ridiculously simple to get the special license to wed Lady Amanda—all it took was money. I can get another license with your name on it tomorrow with no trouble."
"We need more than a license, James. I need a wedding dress. And we have to deal with the whole mess regarding Amanda's parentage tomorrow, and I have to deliver the baby clothes. The Governors are expecting me at the Foundling Hospital tomorrow afternoon, with two hundred and forty items."
Thank heavens they were finished. The women James had hired had only needed to make twelve more. Everything was going to work out.
She hoped.
"All right," he said dourly. "We'll get married the Saturday after that. Can I kiss you now?"
"Yes, you can kiss me. And then we need to go let Amanda know what's happening."
He kissed her and he kissed her again, and all the while, all the time she had her arms around his neck and was kissing him, she was crossing her fingers and hoping everything would work out.
Chapter Fifty
And so it was that James arrived at Lady Amanda's house on the day Lord Wolverston had commanded, but a full twelve hours before the man expected him. Also not according to plan, he didn't arrive by the front door.
"I think her bedroom is right there," Juliana whispered, peering up from the back garden. "That window with the pale blue drapes."
It was on the second floor. James eyed the wall, which was plain stucco with no footholds in sight. He bent down to gather some pebbles.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting Lady Amanda's attention." He tossed one, and the little clink sounded like it carried for miles.
She winced. "You're going to wake someone."
"Mmm-hmm. That's the whole idea." Clink.
"I thought you would scale the building."
Clink. "Sorry to disappoint you"—clink—"but you're marrying a physician, not a sportsman." Clink, clink. "I already have one bad knee."
"I'm marrying a physician," Juliana echoed as though she couldn't quite believe it.
James also thought it was too wonderful to quite believe. Especially since several people involved didn't know what was happening yet. Especially because someone might make an objection. That was the reason she'd insisted they couldn't make love, and she'd been right to insist.
But he still loved hearing those words from her mouth.
"James."
"Hmm?" Clink.
Before he could toss another pebble, she caught his hand. "I love you."
He turned and smiled down at her. The rain had stopped, and the sky had cleared, and the low light of the full moon gleamed off all her beautiful, straight hair that had slipped from its pins while they were on his bed. Her hair that was a million different colors of blond and brown. She reached her free hand to touch his cheek—he imagined she was feeling the slight roughness—and as he bent his head, she sucked in a breath of anticipation—
"Whatever is happening out there? Lord Stafford?" Lady Amanda had opened her window. "Whatever are you doing with Lady Juliana?" She didn't sound very approving.
James and Juliana jerked apart. "We came to wake you," he said.
They quickly explained their discovery, while Lady Amanda's eyes got wider and wider. At the end, Juliana sighed sympathetically. "I do hope you're not terribly distressed to learn you're…well…"
"A by-blow?" Lady Amanda supplied shakily. "I shouldn't be, should I? After all, the man I love is a by-blow, too."
"Dear heavens," Juliana exclaimed with a soft laugh. "You've surely had a change of heart. Meet us at my house at ten o'clock. The duke will be waiting, and we'll all go next door to Lord Neville and verify the truth."
"My father won't let me out of the house at ten. He's expecting me to marry at noon."
"He's not your father," Juliana reminded her. "You have no obligation to obey him. I'm sure you can find a way out."
"I cannot—"
"Tell Lord Wolverston you're dressing for the wedding," she said out loud, and then softly under her breath, "Honestly, do I have to plan everything?" She sighed and raised her voice again. "I'll make sure there's a ladder from your window down to here. I'll have one of my brother's footmen deliver it."
"I cannot climb through a window!"
"Then use the servants' exit. Either way, I'll expect you at my house at ten o'clock."
Muttering, Lady Amanda shut the window, and Juliana turned and looked at James for a moment. She raised her hands and placed them on his shoulders. "I was going to kiss you before Amanda opened the window," she said softly.
Actually, he'd been going to kiss her, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to argue. Especially when she was looking at him like that, with her eyes so very blue. Even with only the moonlight, he could tell they were blue.
"Can I kiss you now?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, and Juliana kissed him. After all the weeks he'd spent trying to tempt her into letting him kiss her, she kissed him. She kissed him as they walked back to the street, stumbling and kissing along the side of the house. And as they walked down the street, ignoring a carriage that rumbled by. And when they got to her doorstep, she still kept kissing him.
Finally, James pulled back with a low laugh. "You're wearing me out."
She pulled his head down and kissed him again, a quick, joyous kiss.
"I'm never going to last until next Saturday," he said. "I need macaroons for extra stamina."
"Oh," she said with a sigh, and then, "You know what, James? I don't want there to be any more secrets between us."
"I agree," he said. "No secrets, and no lies."
"I never lie," she said, sounding a little defensive. "Well, I did lie to that dratted doctor, but I never lie unless it's absolutely unavoidable. I don't want any lies, either, and no half-truths." She drew a deep breath. "The macaroons don't really lend a man stamina," she confessed in a rush.
"Oh, really?" He snickered.
"Did you snicker at me? Me, the woman you want to marry?"<
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Well, maybe he had, but only because he found her little superstitions so amusing. He wasn't superstitious at all, and he couldn't quite believe anyone would think macaroons could lend a man stamina. Or do anything else, either, other than taste delicious.
But he hadn't snickered in a nasty way; he'd only snickered because he loved her, and he loved all her little quirks, especially this one. "I didn't snicker," he said, although that meant he was already telling her a half-truth.
He'd been married before, so he knew some half-truths were necessary to sustain a harmonious relationship. But he wouldn't tell her a half-truth unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
"All right," she said, and then, in a lower tone, "I actually baked them to make you amorous."
"Oh, really?" he repeated, but he didn't snicker. He was actually feeling quite amorous at the moment, even without her macaroons, which made sense because there was no way macaroons could make a man amorous, either. But he loved that she thought they did. "You're a treasure, Juliana," he told her, hoping she'd bake him macaroons many, many times in the years to come.
Hoping very hard.
And then he kissed her again and left, and went home and spent the rest of the night with his fingers crossed, even though he wasn't superstitious.
Chapter Fifty-One
In the end, Amanda was the one who objected.
Shaking like a leaf, she arrived at Juliana's house at quarter past ten. "What took you so long?" Juliana asked. "You were supposed to be here at ten. You only live down the street."
"It was this dress." She brushed at enormous, voluminous white skirts that were at least twenty years out of fashion. Dear heavens, they were so wide there had to be hoops under them. "Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder in a dress this big?"
"Why are you wearing it?"
Amanda looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "It's my grandmother's wedding dress. It's a tradition in my family to wear it."
Fifty years out of fashion, then. The skirts were actually somewhat yellowed, not pure white. "You're not getting married today, Amanda. That's the whole point of going to talk to Lord Neville."
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 42