Yours with regret,
Sidney
Julianna took her time returning to the salon where Shelbourne awaited her. She had yet to formulate her battle plan, which was concerning. Her every day had been a heart-piercing jumble of confused emotions, watching Shelbourne bond with Emily, and wondering when he would grow weary of playing the doting papa. Worrying over what would happen if he did not. Now, he wanted to discuss the particulars of their marriage. All she wanted to do was hide. Lock herself in her room and feign a sudden ailment.
Anything to avoid being alone with him.
Her father was likely at his club, or mayhap visiting a mistress. Julianna’s entire relationship with her father had been defined by his absence, so his refusal to spend time in her presence now that she had returned in shame was no surprise to her. Her mother had pleaded the megrims and was napping instead of presiding over Julianna and Shelbourne as she had been meant to do. There was no one about to save her.
And she needed saving.
Because her stupid, reckless heart was beating fast and her palms were sweating just as they once had in his presence. She had felt his gaze on her back as she had departed from the chamber with Emily as if it had been a brand. She would be lying if she claimed watching the natural, easy manner he had toward Emily had not melted some of the ice within her. He had surprised her by seizing the role of father with two eager hands.
The realization felt very much like a reproach. One that burrowed into her heart, deep, regardless of how much she attempted to harden that heart against him. When she reached the salon, she hesitated in the hall, taking a moment to gather her composure.
His back was to her when she entered the chamber. He stood before the windows overlooking the street below. Afternoon light glinted off his dark hair, surrounded him with a surreal glow. How many times had she dreamt of him when she had been in New York City? How many occasions had she thought she had spied him in the crowded streets or at a social crush, only to realize it was not Shelbourne, but a stranger instead?
She had lost count.
He seemed very much like a dream now. Until he turned to face her, his handsome countenance hewn of bitterness and harsh angles. “Has she settled down for her nap?”
Of course his first concern would be for their daughter. The responsibility he had taken on both surprised and nettled her. It was not what she had come to expect from the carousing scoundrel who had so thoroughly charmed and fooled her.
Julianna kept the distance between them, halting behind a chair and resting her fingers upon its gilt back. “She did.”
“Good.” He nodded, almost to himself, and moved forward. Long, swift strides. Coming toward her.
Thank heavens for the chair, her shield. Her hands tightened upon it. “What is it you wished to discuss?”
“Why are you hiding behind the chair?”
Drat.
“I am not hiding.”
A lie, of course. She was hiding. This man had too much power over her. He always had.
His lips quirked, as if he found her response humorous. “If you insist.”
“I have other obligations today,” she snapped at him, already feeling raw and worn thin by his presence, by the inevitability of their future. “Do carry on with whatever you wished to discuss.”
“I wished to discuss when our marriage will occur, naturally.” He studied her, his green eyes probing and vibrant. “I am ready to cease these visits. It will be better for Emily to live with her father instead of to remain at her grandfather’s home as a well-guarded secret.”
She could not deny the accuracy of his claim. He was right about that, of course. The ability to live openly and be free to acknowledge her daughter was incredibly alluring. Still, the idea of being married to Shelbourne, of the expectations he would have…
I need an heir.
Shelbourne’s words returned to her, bringing with them a rush of unwanted heat.
She was ashamed to admit that despite the way he had broken her heart, in spite of everything she knew, she still longed for him. Two years and one devastated heart later, and nothing had changed in that regard. All the more reason to return to America as soon as she could.
“When do you propose it should occur?” she forced herself to ask.
“Tomorrow.”
Had the floor opened up and swallowed her whole, sending her into the abyss, she would not have been more shocked. Julianna clung to the chair to keep from sinking into a heap.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated, then paused, licking her suddenly dry lips.
Good heavens. He could not possibly intend to get married tomorrow? She needed time to prepare herself.
“Everything is in order,” he continued, as if he had not just declared they would be husband and wife within a day’s time. “There is no need to delay. Indeed, doing so is only detrimental to Emily. The sooner she is settled, the better.”
Her fingers tensed on the chair. “But that leaves me precious little time to prepare.”
“If you wish to delay, I can bring her to Cagney House without you,” he offered calmly.
Of course, he knew how hateful the prospect of being without her daughter would be.
“No.”
“Cagney House is where she belongs, Julianna. She is my daughter, and the life she is living now—it is insupportable.”
She tipped up her chin. “It is the best I could do for her.”
Still, he remained poised. His self-control was impeccable. The bitter, drunken stranger who had greeted her on their first reunion was nowhere to be found. His transformation nettled and pleased simultaneously. She did not trust it.
Nor did she trust him. She had done so once, and look at where it had landed her.
“You could have done better for her,” he reminded her. “You chose this path.”
Their argument seemed unending. He was not entirely wrong, and neither was she wholly right. Julianna knew that.
Still, she defended herself. “I chose the only path available to me at the time.”
Slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers, he skirted the chair. “Wrong, Julianna. You chose the path that suited you. You told me yourself before you left that you were young and undecided. You wanted to experience life. Take lovers.”
He bit out the last word as if it left a terrible taste in his mouth.
She hoped it did.
She had told him that, to spite him. Attempting to hurt him as he had wounded her.
Julianna eyed him, hoping he would not come any closer. This proximity alone was stifling. Tempting, too. God, his scent washed over her. And memories. So many painful, wonderful memories.
“I do not want to speak of the past,” she told him coolly. “What happened two years ago cannot be changed or undone. We must look to the future.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” He reached out then, his fingers grasping her chin. “We will be married. That is the future, chérie.”
She wished his touch on her chin was not so tender. That it did not spark an answering ache deep within her. But it was and it did.
Still, she would not retreat for fear it would show her weakness. She had to be strong. She was strong.
“If I agree,” she reminded him.
“You will agree.” He caressed her cheek, the pad of his thumb running slowly over the ridge of her bone structure. “Will you not?”
Yes, she would.
Because what other choice had she? He was the devil she knew, the devil she had chosen.
“Why so soon?” she asked instead of offering him her immediate surrender.
He skirted the chair, forcing her to face him. There was no barrier between them now. The air in the chamber felt strangely thick.
Awareness crept over her.
Familiarity, too. The time they had spent together over the last week had somehow worn down all her defenses.
“Did you intend to linger in this purgatory forever?” His question was calm, his tone perfectly poli
te. But there was an edge. An undercurrent.
“Purgatory,” she repeated before she could think better of her response. “Is that what you think this is?”
Because to her, it was the sheerest form of hell.
Torture, on the cusp of marrying the man she loved. The man who had never loved her in return. Trying desperately to formulate a plan that would enable her to escape him with his blessing.
His jaw tensed. “Yes. That is what I think it is. If I had kept the knowledge of our daughter from you for the last two years, I cannot help but to think you would feel the same. I am weary of being kept apart from her. I want my daughter under my roof where she belongs, and to accomplish that feat, we need to wed. In private and with all haste, thanks to your lies.”
The reminder of her own omissions made her bite her lip. Her sins and his were matched, as far as she was concerned. How she wished she might take a step in retreat, put some distance between them. His proximity was doing things to her senses. Turning her insides to aspic.
Weakening her resolve, and she could not allow that to happen.
“Are you certain your plan to suggest we married in New York City will fool everyone?” she asked.
“We have been over this before, Julianna.” His tone was cool. Dismissive.
“Yes, we have, and yet you failed to confirm you had ever been to New York City in the last two years,” she pointed out.
“I traveled abroad. Where I traveled and for what purpose is my concern.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if his answer did not matter.
When it mattered to her. If he had been to New York, if he had come looking for her…
No, that was just the naïve girl she had not been able to completely shed. The one who had believed Viscount Shelbourne’s promises. The one who had melted beneath his touch and kisses. The one who had risked everything.
And who had been left with almost nothing.
Emily had made each risk worthwhile. Julianna loved her daughter with a ferocity that left her awed.
And that was why she needed to press the issue, she reminded herself—Emily’s sake. Everything she was doing now was for her.
“What if people begin to ask questions?” she asked him, trying not to notice the manner in which his gaze had dropped to her lips. “I will not have this plan of yours bring the very shame upon Emily we are trying to avoid.”
A mocking smile curved his lips. “Your concern for our daughter is touching. A bit late.”
She wondered what their marriage would be like. More of this push and pull, the prodding, the distrust and coldness? Either way, she supposed it was no different than the marriage she would face with someone else. And with this marriage, there remained the hope of escape.
“You forget she is the reason I am marrying you now.”
“Eh?” He shrugged again, his lips taking on a bitter twist. “I thought it was for money. Your darling uncle’s inheritance, no?”
His implication stung. Her decision had not been motivated by anything other than the desire to liberate herself from her mother and father. To live a life on her own, to further her business goals, to raise Emily. To call herself Mama. Dear God, how saying that single, momentous word to her daughter earlier had felt so incredibly freeing. Like a gift. She would not allow Shelbourne to ruin it.
“Is that what you think of me, Shelbourne?” she demanded. “That I am marrying you to gain a fortune?”
“You certainly did not want to marry me without one.”
There was ice in his voice, a sneer on his sensual lips. There was also a multitude of reasons why she had not wanted to marry him, not the least of which was that his offer of marriage had been insincere.
“I did not want to marry you because of who you are,” she countered bluntly. “You could have possessed a fortune one hundred times that of my uncle’s, and I would still have told you no.”
He closed the rest of the distance between them, until their bodies were flush, her breasts against his chest, no space between them. His forefinger hooked her chin, tipping her face up.
She held her breath, her left hand still firmly clutching the back of the chair as if she were a drowning woman who had been tossed overboard and the gilt her lifeline. Julianna told herself she would not retreat. That she would remain unaffected.
“Do you know what I think, chérie?” he asked silkily.
“Cease calling me that.”
The demand slipped from her lips. She was challenging him. She had promised herself she would remain calm.
But he was near. Touching her, his tall, masculine body pressed to hers. His scent invading her senses. His lips maddeningly close. He was affecting her. Just when she had believed herself impervious to him.
“Cease calling you chérie?” His head dipped.
There was a fire in his eyes. Old and familiar. Dangerous.
She recognized it well; so, too, the huskiness in his voice.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it. And she had a moment to make her decision. Would she flee or would she stay?
Run, urged her mind.
Stay, said her heart.
“Yes,” she managed to say. “Stop calling me that. We are not lovers. We are strangers.”
“But we have been lovers.” His finger traveled along her jaw, leaving a path of fire on her skin. “And we shall be again.”
She shivered, despite herself. Because being this man’s lover was not nearly as unwanted a prospect as her pride told her it should be. Indeed, being this man’s lover made her ache in places she had not thought about since the last time he had pleasured them.
“Only until you have your heir,” she reminded him. “And even then, we need to have an arrangement in place.”
One that suited her peace of mind. She could not afford to allow this man free reign over her body. Never again.
“Is that what you have told yourself?” His fingertip moved, finding the hollow behind her ear before slipping along the cord of her throat.
He was touching her.
And she could not stop him.
Did not wish for him to stop. Heavens, if anything, she wanted more. She wanted him to carry on. To do everything he had before. What was the matter with her? She was stronger than this. She had prevailed for all this time. She could continue to do so now.
“That is our agreement,” she forced out, holding still beneath his slow caress.
She could not afford to allow him to see how much he affected her. How deeply she longed for him, despite everything that had come to pass between them.
His fingertip traveled across her clavicle, then nestled in the hollow at the base of her neck. “That is what you have told yourself, Julianna. Is it not? But your pounding heart tells a different story. As do your eyes. You always had the most expressive eyes I have ever seen. You still do. They tell me everything.”
Not everything. She was confident of that. But too much, she had no doubt.
“What are you seeking to prove, my lord?” she asked.
“Nothing.” His head lowered until his lips were perilously near to hers. “Not one.” His mouth brushed hers. “Single.” Another featherlight caress. “Thing.”
And then, his lips were firm and hot and demanding, taking her mouth in a kiss she wanted and hated, all at once. She let go of the chair. Her arms wound around his neck.
Two years fell away.
* * *
It had been a mistake to touch Julianna.
Because the moment he had, kissing her became inevitable. It was the driving need pulsing within him. He had to have her mouth beneath his more than he required his next breath.
Sidney had been waiting for this, wanting this. For far too long. The silken heat of her lips on his brought a flood of remembrance and an answering arrow of heat. His cockstand was immediate, his body a conduit for overwhelming desire. And flame. He was combustible as dry kindling.
She kissed him back, responsive as that first frantic meeting of mouths they
had shared in the lake that long-ago, sun-drenched day. Her lips parted. His tongue swept inside. She tasted as sweet as he recalled.
Bittersweet.
Because this was Julianna, his Julianna, at last. Not a poor substitute. Not a redhaired beauty he had chosen because of her resemblance. But Julianna.
And the frayed threads of his control broke.
He kissed her deeper, harder, fervent and desperate. Kissed her as he had longed to do while they had been apart. He moved them, backing her up to the chair she had been using as a shield. Pinning her against it with his body. Allowing her to feel every inch of him. Especially the part of him that was ready for her.
Hell of a thing, this curse she had placed upon him.
He did not love her; she had killed that love.
But he could not stop wanting her.
And if her kisses were any indication, she wanted him too. It was cold comfort, but still a triumph over her. One he would treasure. He had so few. And he had not forgiven her for the way she had left things. Nor had he forgiven her for stealing his daughter from him all this time.
Good God, if her uncle had not left her a fortune with the caveat she must be wed, would she have ever told him about Emily? He did not think so, and the reminder filled him with a renewed fury. His kiss turned punishing. He caught her lower lip in his teeth, tugging, then nipping her.
Not hard enough to draw blood, but with enough force to make her cry out.
Then he soothed the sting with his tongue, with more kisses. The sweet passion he had once kissed her with was gone. In its place was nothing but angry desire. And with it a need to have his revenge on her.
To make her pay for everything she had done.
He was no longer the man he had been when she had laughed at his proposal and flaunted her freedom by traveling across an entire ocean. How dare she keep his daughter a secret? How dare she return and make him want her so fucking much?
Belatedly, he realized he had been intent upon teaching her a lesson. On showing her the longing between them—as natural as the sun in the sky—had never faded. Instead, he had only shown himself how helpless he was to resist the way she made him feel.
Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4 Page 9
