by Alyson Chase
He narrowed his eyes. They were the first thing she’d noticed about him when he’d saved her those months ago. Not quite brown, not quite green. They’d mesmerized her, given her something to focus on as he’d raced her away from the hangman’s noose.
Gleaming in the moonlight, they didn’t look as warm and reassuring now as they had that day they’d met.
Laying his arm on the back of the settee, he grimaced slightly. Amanda knew that shoulder troubled him. A past injury he didn’t speak of. It usually acted up after a visit to Gentleman Jack’s or a race through the park. Or sometimes after one of his illicit undertakings, which he thought she knew nothing about. On one such occasion he’d favored his right arm for a week. What had he been doing so late tonight to inflame it?
He drummed his fingers on the wood behind her shoulder. “Might I ask why you want me to, as you so quaintly phrased it, have my way with you?”
Amanda smoothed a hand down her skirts. This wasn’t going as planned. Weren’t most men supposed to jump at the chance to lay between a woman’s thighs? Not waste time with interrogations.
“You think men are alone in their needs?” She willed her gaze to remain steady on his face. The dark hid the blush that heated her cheeks. “Much is made of the act. I know my sister enjoys her marital duties. And … bed sport,” she said, tumbling over the words, “is something that all mankind has in common. Nature demands it, regardless of class or race.” She worried the fabric of her gown between her fingers and raised one shoulder. “I’m curious. And I want to feel”—like everyone else—“something. You are a physically attractive man and I hope I am not unpleasing to your eye. As I will never marry, this solution only seems practical.”
“Prettily said, for an act that is far from pretty.” Julius crossed one leg over the other, tugging at the knee of his trouser. “When I fuck, there’s sweating, moaning, the slap of flesh on flesh. You’ll scream from pleasure, but there’s not one damn thing pretty about it.”
She swallowed, her throat thick. Julius had succeeded where she had failed. He’d managed to shock her senses, just as he’d intended, she was sure. She knew all that the act entailed, but she hadn’t thought the earl would put words to the deeds.
It shouldn’t have surprised her. The man was intense. Julius Blackwell, Lord Rothchild, was known throughout England as someone it was best not to aggravate. There were whispers about him. About how his time in the East had damaged his mind. Made him unsound.
She didn’t believe them. Julius had never been anything but kind to her. A steadying presence she relied upon, especially in her sister’s absence. A man she trusted.
She had hoped that the first time she consented to a man touching her, there might be gentleness.
She licked her dry lips. “Does that mean you agree?”
“Hardly.” He exhaled loudly through his nose and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
She knew he desired her. She’d learned enough in life to see the signs when a man wanted her body. And Lord Rothchild, for all his kindnesses, for his fraternal protectiveness towards her, was not immune.
“Even if I were in the habit of dallying with unmarried chits, you are the sister-in-law of my friend.”
Amanda sank back against the settee. She was prepared for this line of defense. “A friend who left me here. All alone. With you.”
“In my care,” he amended. “And not all alone. The Lady Mary Cavindish is your chaperone.”
She laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. Julius looked as surprised at the noise as she. “Marcus is a smart man. If he were interested in preserving anything but the bare appearance of propriety, he would have called for another one of his aunts to come to London. Lady Mary is …” simple, sweet, and oblivious, “… inattentive. And Marcus knows that.”
“Are you implying that Montague wishes for us to become intimate?” He snorted. “He and I are close, but I don’t think he’s friend enough to wrap up his wife’s sister in a pretty bow for me to take my pleasure in.”
“And if he thought it would benefit both of us?” Staring into the darkness of the room, Amanda considered her new brother. He’d been nothing but polite and kind. But he had no illusions about the type of woman she was. He knew there was no reputation to protect. She turned to Julius, her knee brushing his. That brief contact made her skin tingle and her stomach churn. She wanted Julius. But would she have the courage to go through with it? In equal parts, he made her ache and then feel as though she were about to cast up her accounts. If she could take this step with anyone, however, it would be him. “I believe Marcus was giving us the opportunity, if we wish to take it.”
Julius cocked his head. “Why do you think you’ll never marry?”
Amanda shot to her feet. One hand curled into a fist, and not for the first time she wished she were a man. She hadn’t thought he would mock her. “All you had to do was say no. I will look elsewhere.”
She turned for the door, ignoring his curse. She couldn’t ignore his hand on her wrist.
“I apologize, Miss Wilcox. I’d forgotten—”
“That I’m soiled goods? Has the beau monde stopped whispering about the trollop who killed her father already? Who seduced him with her body, who spread her legs for half the men in prison?” His hand tensed around her wrist, and she shook herself free from his grip. “I’ve heard how I’m spoken of. My sister, the Duchess of Montague, is given the cut direct by half the ton. I’m treated as though I don’t exist. Whom, exactly, do you see me marrying?”
She pressed her palms to her stomach to keep them from shaking but she couldn’t control her voice as easily. Julius stepped forward, his face falling into shadow, and she was glad. She couldn’t bear to see his expression. The pity. The disgust. Both were equally repellant.
With as much insolence as she could muster, she dipped into a low curtsy. “If you will excuse me, my lord, it is past time for me to retire.”
“No.”
Amanda hesitated. “Pardon me?”
“I said”— Julius took another step forward—“that I will not excuse you. Not until we’ve cleared this matter up.”
Amanda stumbled back until her shoulder blades hit the bookcase. Julius rested his hands on the shelves on either side of her. His body was close, close enough to feel the heat of it through her cotton gown. He smelled of bergamot and musk, and her breath caught in her throat. A queer rolling, sliding feeling slipped through her stomach and she didn’t know whether to revel in it or try to escape the sensation. Lord Rothchild was like a drug. Intoxicating, stupefying, and thrilling. Her fingers flexed, needing to hold onto something but finding only air.
“Where do you hear these things? You never leave the house.” His breath brushed across her lips. It smelled faintly of brandy, and she wondered if she rolled up onto her toes and kissed him, if he would taste of it as well.
He leaned closer, his chest brushing against hers. “Answer me.”
She almost moaned. The tips of her breasts tingled and a hollow ache settled low in her belly. What was the question again? Oh, the insults. “If you think only those in society enjoy gossip, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“The servants.” His voice was icy. “Montague’s staff talks about you.” Julius rocked back, and her body cooled.
“Of course, they do.” Turning her head, she blinked at the burn in her eyes. She’d thought shame had been long lost to her. “I overhear them gossip about what is said of me in the other grand homes.” Intentionally, Amanda was sure. Her maids did little to hide their words. “And I’m sure if I did anything of interest, that information would be spread among the other houses.” Lifting her chin, she said, “It’s unfortunate for them that I don’t leave the premises.”
“I don’t know.” Julius tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I find your proposition to me the most interesting event of the night.”
“What else happened to you tonight?”
Resting his hand on her should
er, he brushed his thumb across her collarbone, sending a shiver straight down her spine. “Maybe if you weren’t too afraid to have a life outside these walls, you’d find out.”
She narrowed her eyes. Well, if that wasn’t a challenge to go after what she wanted, she didn’t know what was. Grabbing the lapels of his wool coat, she yanked him down.
His grunt of surprise was muffled by her mouth. His lips were firm, unyielding, and warm. With the tip of her tongue she poked at the seam of his mouth until the tip hit his teeth. He did taste of brandy.
And he wasn’t kissing her back.
Pulling away, she tried to catch her breath. Her throat was bone dry and her palms were damp. Why wasn’t he kissing her back?
“Julius?”
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You’ve never kissed a man before.”
Her spine snapped straight. “I beg your pardon! Am I to infer from your comment that my technique was lacking?”
“Yes.”
She gaped at him. “You … scoundrel! A gentleman wouldn’t point that out.”
“A gentleman also wouldn’t fuck you upon request. As you’ve asked it of me, you must know I’m no gentleman.” Putting action to words, he slid his hand off her shoulder and down her body. Slowly, ever so slowly, he cupped her breast and squeezed. His eyes never left her face, assessing.
Moisture pooled between her thighs. Julius’s broad shoulders blocked out the moonlight, and darkness blanketed her like a cloak. It seemed like all the major moments of her life happened in the dark. She wanted this, wanted him. Wanted to feel like an ordinary woman, one who could enjoy a man’s touch. Bedding Julius would be a healthy first step.
Her body clamored with mixed messages. Desire, yes. But the slight trembling of her hands wasn’t only from lust. She leaned into his caress, tried to focus on the sensation, but her throat squeezed more tightly and tightly closed. She slipped away from his grasp fighting back tears of failure.
He raised his hands. “There. You see? You’ve asked for something for which you are not prepared.”
“Was that a test?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “And the outcome was as I expected.”
Shame mixed with outrage. She’d been attempting to expand her boundaries, quavering with the effort of it, and he stood there as unaffected as a teacher delivering a lesson. But the disgrace of it was, he was right. She wasn’t ready. Not tonight. But soon. Tonight, she would retreat and examine her reactions and try to plot a way forwards.
But she had her pride, and it refused to let him see her run back to her room to lick her wounds. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer my inadequate attempts at congress. Perhaps I’ll seek a less critical partner elsewhere.”
She reached the door before he responded.
“Miss Wilcox, as your temporary protector, I feel beholden to insist that you run the name of any potential scoundrels by me before you commence any affairs.” He stalked towards her. “I feel duty bound to investigate their character.”
“And you’d allow me that liberty?” Disappointment crashed through her, and tears burned the back of her eyes. She could never put herself through this with another man.
“Of course. As you point out, there is no marriage bed to save yourself for.” Pausing next to her, he tugged at the neckline of her gown, straightening the lace trim. “Though I don’t think I need worry about it.”
Amanda froze. Surely he didn’t see that clearly into her mind. See that of all the men she’d known, she held him in an especial regard. Even after this failure, she knew she would try to seduce him again, and the tender feelings he evoked would make giving her body that much easier. That didn’t mean she wanted him to know of them.
“And why is that?” she whispered.
“You’d have to leave the house to find yourself a buck. And that, Miss Wilcox, is something we both know you won’t do.”
Chapter Three
“Lady Mary?” Amanda knocked on her chaperone’s door again. “Are you there?” Tugging her wrapper tightly around herself, she hopped from foot to foot, the hall floor cold beneath her bare skin. No Polly this morning with her cup of chocolate, and now no Lady Mary. The house had an empty feel to it. Bleak. Or maybe that was just her own mood.
She looked down at Reggie. The pup tilted his head, and his left ear flopped inside out. Amanda flipped it right and scratched his nose. Reggie was her sister’s foxhound, not yet a year old. With Liz away on the Continent, he had become Amanda’s companion. His warm body snuggled close to hers in the bed was the only thing that helped her fall asleep at night. His paw nudging her leg when he wanted to play drew her from her waking nightmares, kept her in the present. Amanda was fortunate Liz had left her in such good hands.
“Well,” Amanda said, shrugging, “let’s go dress and get you breakfast.” Reggie yipped, in full agreement. Lifting the hem of her skirts, Amanda tip-toed back to her room, her eyes on the floor. More than once Reggie had tripped her up by darting between her legs.
She didn’t see the man standing in her doorway until she’d almost bumped into him. “Julius!” Her heart leapt before she remembered her previous night’s embarrassment. She grabbed the collar of her night rail. “What are you doing here?”
He swept his gaze down her body. Her night rail and wrapper covered as much skin as her day gowns, but with no undergarments constraining her, she felt bare.
“I’ve come to see if you need assistance dressing. Polly is no longer in the duke’s employ.”
“Polly left her position?” She leaned against the opposite door jamb and focused on the faint scar crossing his left cheek. It was the only blemish on an otherwise beautiful face, and after Julius’s rejection the night before, she needed to see his imperfections. His thin blade of a nose, his high cheekbones, spoke of an elegance that Amanda couldn’t match. Even the fact that his skin was several shades darker than any other aristocrat couldn’t hide that Julius was a man of breeding, only one who spent much of his time out-of-doors. She was one giant wound, and that scar of his brought them a little closer.
Except, he hadn’t quite rejected her. She cleared her throat. “What about Sarah? She can serve as my lady’s maid.”
“Sarah is gone, as well.” Sweeping his hand towards her bed chamber, he guided her inside. Her stomach quivered at the intimacy. He blocked Reggie’s entrance with his leg. “Not you, whelp. Off to the kitchen with you. Get some breakfast.” He shut the door in the dog’s face. Reg gave one indignant yip, but Amanda knew his heart wasn’t in it. The dog thought with his stomach and had quickly learned the words ‘breakfast’ and ‘kitchen’. ‘Nuncheon’ and ‘dinner’, too. The clatter of toenails on wood confirmed that Reggie was eager to get downstairs to the generous cook.
Julius strode to the window and thrust the curtains apart. He cracked a glass pane open. “I assure you I’ve had considerable practice helping women dress. I’ll do for your needs until Mr. Carter finds replacements for the servants.”
“But … you can’t help me dress.” Amanda clasped her hands tightly in front of herself. “It would be highly—”
“Improper?” Julius raised one eyebrow. “I thought we’d dispensed with all pretense of propriety last night.”
Yes, she supposed they had. Amanda fingered the trim of her wrapper. There was a growing hole in the lace that Polly had never seen to. Four months ago, Amanda wouldn’t have noticed. All she had known was that she no longer wore filthy rags. Prison had stripped her of many things, including her modesty. But a lifetime of breeding crept back. “All the servants have left?”
“Not all.” Julius opened the wardrobe and tossed a clean chemise onto her bed. He ran his hands through her dresses. “About half. Enough to keep us fed and bathed. I told Carter there was no rush hiring replacements.” He pulled out a forest green gown. “This will do,” he said, holding up the dress to Amanda’s body. “It brings out your eyes.”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Amanda stared at the
carpet. “My eyes are brown.” Was the man that oblivious to her existence? She knew every detail about his person, down to the slight crook of his little finger on his right hand. He didn’t even know the color of her eyes.
Cupping his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up. “A beautiful brown, as rich as my morning coffee. And when you become angry or agitated, small flecks of green bubble to the surface.” He traced her upper lip with his thumb. “I know what your eyes look like, Amanda.”
She stopped breathing. Every swipe of his thumb sent chills racing down her spine. His normal polite reserve was gone, perhaps forever after last night’s indecent request. Had he changed his mind?
“You called me by my Christian name. That’s the first time you’ve done so.”
Stepping aside, he laid her gown over the back of her dressing chair. “I’m here to help you dress. I think the time for formalities has passed.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you wish me to ask the cook to assist you?”
“No.” Clenching her fists, Amanda tried to dredge up her courage from the night before. She still wanted an affair with Julius. Still needed to prove to herself that her father hadn’t broken her, hadn’t stolen one of the most basic functions of womanhood from her. And that required allowing Julius access to her body.
She sucked in a deep breath. “No. You will do fine.” She grabbed the belt of her wrapper.
Julius made it easy on her, and turned back to the armoire. Picking a crumpled blanket from the bottom of the wardrobe, he folded it into a neat rectangle.
She shucked her wrapper and night rail and slid the cotton chemise down her body. “I’m, uh, I’m covered. Ready for my stays.”
Picking up that garment, he turned back to her. His eyes flared but his steps were steady as he approached. She raised her arms, but he made no move to drop the underbodice over her head.