by Diana Bold
If she asked him to make love to her, made it clear she had no intention of demanding anything more than a single night of pleasure, he’d probably be relieved. He’d laugh that soft sexy laugh and offer to teach her everything she’d ever wanted to know.
But could she bear that? To know he’d never really wanted anything more?
Yes. She could bear that, and more. Better one lovely evening than a marriage filled with lies and deceit.
Wrapping herself in the heavy flannel robe from the foot of the bed, she slipped out the door. She feared if she paused for more than one second, she’d lose her nerve.
She’d never done anything this daring in her entire life.
Oh, how she wished she had Emma’s courage and sense of adventure. If she did, she’d wear purple silk instead of white flannel, and she’d flirt shamelessly instead of tripping over her tongue or hurling waspish insults.
Biting her lip, she lifted her hand to knock on Julian’s door, then thought better of it. She couldn’t stand here and wait for him to answer. Someone could come along at any moment.
But she’d ventured too far to turn back now, so she gathered her nerve, turned the knob, and slipped inside. Breathing erratically, she sagged against the wall and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark.
Oh, this was a bad, bad idea. He was already asleep, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate her barging in on him like this even if he wasn’t.
“Who’s there?”
Julian’s raspy, sleepy voice startled her. She shrank even closer to the wall and wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She couldn’t go through with this. But she didn’t know whether to leave or simply remain quiet until he fell asleep again.
The bedclothes rustled, and then he moved toward her through the darkness with unerring accuracy. “Who’s there?” This time, his voice sounded dark with menace. “Identify yourself.”
Before she could draw breath to answer, he slammed her against the wall with the full weight of his large body. Her breath escaped in a terrified rush as the cold press of steel bit at the tender skin of her throat.
She made a soft sound of distress, dizzy with fear, but with even that small movement, the blade pricked her. “Julian. Please. It’s me, Jane.”
Immediately, he released her. “Jane?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and confusion. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her in the dark. “I don’t know,” she whispered, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry. This wasn’t going at all the way she planned. “I just wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to see me?” He repeated her words slowly, as though he feared he hadn’t understood them. “I must be dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.” As she spoke, she groped behind her for the doorknob. “But this was a mistake. I never should have come.”
Finding what she sought, she pulled the door open, only to freeze as light spilled into the room from the hallway beyond. Her earlier suspicions were illuminated in stunning, beautiful detail.
I was right. He sleeps in the nude.
Her gaze swept over his body, taking in every hard, muscular detail. She couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it. In fact, she feared she was the one dreaming.
But even in her wildest fantasies, she’d never imagined this.
His black hair was mussed and fell in soft waves over his forehead, framing his dark eyes. His chest was powerfully chiseled, covered by a mat of curly dark hair that narrowed to trail down his lean stomach. She dared to let her gaze drop even farther, then swallowed dryly at what she saw.
“I really should go,” she repeated, a bit desperate. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
Julian stepped forward, barring her exit. “Don’t leave.” He lifted a large warm hand and tenderly cupped her cheek. Then he paused, staring down at her throat. “I’ve cut you.”
“It’s all right. It doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re bleeding.” Shutting the door, he took her hand and drew her across the room, dangerously near the bed. “Wait here.”
The was some rustling and a low curse, and after a moment, an oil lamp flared to life, casting a small island of light in the darkness. With some regret, she noticed he’d wrapped a crisp white sheet around his lean hips.
Cutting off a corner with his knife, he dipped the ragged piece of fabric into a glass of brandy on the nightstand beside his rumpled bed.
“This might sting.” Moving closer, he dabbed gently at the small cut. “God, Jane. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she assured him. “This was my fault entirely.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut at his tender touch, and she breathed deeply, inhaling Julian’s clean warm scent. She felt so strange. Her limbs seemed heavy, as though she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to.
“There.” At last, he lowered the damp cloth. “I think you’ll live.”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and found him staring down at her, his beautiful mouth just inches from hers. “I really should go.”
“No.”
His sharp tone startled her. She took a step back, but he immediately gentled. “Please, Jane. Stay for a while. Tell me why you came.”
She stared at him, unsure how to go about getting what she wanted. With a nervous swallow, she pulled her robe tighter around her waist.
This was definitely not how Emma would have handled the situation. Dropping her gaze to the middle of his broad chest, to the soft-looking patch of dark hair that grew between his flat male nipples, she struggled to find the right words.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. And I’ve come to a decision.”
“You have?” With a glad cry, he swung her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. “Thank God,” he whispered, covering her face with a tender storm of kisses. “I thought you’d never forgive me. I thought I’d live the rest of my life without ever holding you in my arms again.”
Stunned by his erroneous assumption of her motives and overwhelmed by his kisses, Jane couldn’t find the breath to contradict him. He turned and lowered her to the bed, then followed her down, pressing her deep into the mattress with the heat and weight of his lean body. “I’ve been such a fool.” He met her gaze earnestly, tracing her cheek with one gentle fingertip. “But I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She knew he thought she was agreeing to marry him, but she was so enraptured by his tenderness she couldn’t bring herself to shatter the illusion. Feeling quite daring, she brushed a few strands of silky black hair out of his eyes and lifted her mouth to his.
With a soft groan, he transformed her chaste kiss into a scorching brand of possession. She gasped as his tongue captured hers, flooding her senses with a taste of brandy.
He’d kissed her before, years ago, but she’d forgotten how quickly passion could build. Restless, she ran her hands over his hair and the warmth of his skin, trying to get closer.
He nudged her clenched thighs apart with one knee. His scalding erection rubbed insistently against her core, and the resulting pleasure was nearly more than she could bear.
Shuddering, he broke the kiss and stared down at her. His chest heaved as though he’d run a great distance. “Tell me you love me. Please, Jane. I need to hear the words.”
Tell me you love me. As she looked into his beautiful, passion-drawn face, she knew she always had. She always would.
Tears filled her eyes, and she tried to drive them back. “Let’s not talk. Don’t spoil it.”
“Spoil it?” Julian resisted her clinging arms and pinned her with an incredulous look. “What’s going on? Why the hell did you come here tonight if you don’t love me?”
“I’m offering you my body. Isn’t that enough?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed. Trembling, she sat up and drew her
knees to her chest as she stared at the rigid line of his back.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said, after an endless moment of silence. “You don’t love me; you just want to fuck me?”
She flinched at the ugly word but refused to let him make her feel bad about this. He was the one who had walked away. He’d broken her heart. How dare he expect her to be foolish enough to trust him again?
“I can’t marry you,” she told him, struggling not to give in to her tears. “I can’t give my heart to you again.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t want just one night in your bed, Jane. I want all of you. I want us to have what Dylan and Natalia have.”
She inched toward him and gently caressed his shoulder. “I want that, too. But surely, you see how impossible it is. I couldn’t hold your love when we were young, and I doubt anything has changed. You see your friends marrying, and you want to have that kind of closeness. But how can we, when you don’t even know me?”
“I know you. You’re the only one besides Dylan and Michael who has ever given a damn about me.”
She sighed. “You want me to love you, but I don’t think you’re capable of loving me in return. I can’t live like that. I can’t spend the rest of my life worrying that you’re with another woman every time you walk out the door.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” he whispered. “I would never do that to you.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted it with every fiber of her being. But she couldn’t. She knew him too well.
“I want you. Can’t it be as easy as that? Just give me tonight, Julian. You know that’s all you really want. Don’t make me live the rest of my life without ever knowing passion.” Emboldened by desperation, she let her hand drift down to rest on the straining bulge of his manhood, which pressed against the thin sheet.
He caught his breath, and the rigid shaft of flash leapt against her hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know you’re playing with fire?”
Before she could answer, he closed his eyes and covered her hand with his. Then he moved her hand again. One long, slow stroke. His entire body shuddered, and he let out a low sound of what she hoped was pleasure but could just as easily have been pain.
That was all he allowed himself before he firmly thrust her away.
“I do love you,” he told her, his voice shaking with frustration. “But I’ve never been so insulted in my life. I offer you marriage, and you tell me you’d rather become my whore.”
“Julian, please...” She tried to touch him again, but he surged to his feet.
“Get out.” He glared at her as though the mere sight of her disgusted him. “Right now.”
She stared at him for one long minute, her heart breaking anew as she realized how terribly she’d wronged him. She had insulted him. From the look in his eyes, she didn’t think he’d ever forgive or forget this. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she fled.
LONG AFTER JANE LEFT, passion still surged through Julian.
He sprawled across his bed on his back, glad for the chill in the air, though it seemed to be doing little to cool his aching erection.
“Bloody hell!” he cursed violently, reaching for the brandy on his nightstand and downing it in one gulp. He still couldn’t believe she’d come to him, wanting nothing more than sex, throwing his claims of love in his face, refusing to trust him, refusing to love him.
He couldn’t believe he’d let her go. She’d felt so good beneath him, her vanilla and lavender scent enveloping him, kissing him so sweetly he’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He’d thought that she’d forgiven him and had briefly envisioned that they’d manage to build a life together.
How had he become such a lovesick fool?
He should have taken her up on her offer. Maybe she was right and once he’d had her, he’d grow bored and want to move on.
He covered his face with a pillow, muffling a groan of frustration. Because he knew that wasn’t true. He’d been with enough women to know the difference between love and sex. And with every encounter he had with Jane, he was more convinced that if she’d just give him a second chance, he could show her more love than she’d ever imagined.
But after Michael and Emma were married tomorrow, he’d no longer be seeing her on a regular basis. And without their friends pushing them together time and again, he had no idea how to continue his suit. Should he even try? How could he bear it if she rejected him again?
Chapter Eight
Jane glanced over her shoulder at the darkened street, shifting nervously as she waited for one of Julian’s servants to open his front door. The hour was late, and she’d arrived unescorted. She’d be ruined if anyone saw her here.
The anxious energy coursing through her reminded her of last week, when she had gone to Julian’s bedroom at Sherbourne Hall. This time, however, her purpose was not seduction.
Another interminable minute passed, but finally, the door opened, creaking on its hinges. The dour-faced butler stared at her, obviously aghast. “May I help you, madam?”
Jane’s face grew hot. She knew how this must look and could only hope Julian’s staff would be discreet. “I need to speak with Lord Basingstoke. Immediately.”
The man stiffened with disapproval. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Lady Jane Bennett,” she answered, then wondered if Julian would receive her after the way they’d parted. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“Very well.” The butler stepped aside to let her in, then showed her to the receiving room. “I’ll see if Lord Basingstoke is in.”
Jane perched on the edge of the nearest chair. Her pulse thundered in her ears. What would she do if Julian wasn’t in? In all likelihood, he was in the arms of another woman at this very moment. Perhaps he even had a woman here, and that was why the butler seemed so flustered. She didn’t know what she’d do if the butler tried to send her away, but she’d have to think of something.
She couldn’t leave here until she’d spoken to Julian.
Long moments passed, but at last, footsteps echoed in the hall. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, then let it out in a rush of relief when Julian entered the room.
He’d obviously been getting ready for bed, as he wore only a loose white linen shirt and buff trousers. Her gaze dropped to the shocking elegance of his long bare feet.
“So.” He leaned against the door frame, a mocking expression on his saturnine face. “Have you come to try your hand at seducing me again? Perhaps, this time, I’ll let you.”
He was in a dark, dangerous mood. She thanked God she hadn’t come here for herself. He would never believe how sorry she was for hurting him.
“I thought you might want to know that your friend, Michael, needs you. He stands accused of murdering the Earl of Warren.”
“My God.” Julian pushed away from the wall, his entire manner changing from anger to concern. “Are you quite certain? How did you learn of this?”
“My lady’s maid.” Jane was glad to provide him with what little information she had. “She’s been seeing one of the earl’s grooms, and the young man raced over to spread the news right after it happened.”
Julian raked one hand through his dark hair. “Bloody hell, I knew I shouldn’t have let him confront the bastard on his own.” For a moment, he seemed stunned into immobility but then he shook himself. “I have to go sort this out.”
His confidence filled her with relief. She didn’t know what had happened, but she couldn’t imagine Michael hurting anyone, especially his father. There had to be some sort of mistake.
If anyone could help, it would be Julian.
Muttering under his breath, Julian turned back the way he’d come. Then he stopped abruptly and gave her a grateful glance over his shoulder. “Thank you, Jane. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to come here tonight.”
She smiled at him thr
ough a veil of tears. “Go help your friend, Julian. And then, perhaps, when this is over, we can talk?”
He gave her a searching glance, then returned her wry smile. “Perhaps.”
He left the room, and she allowed the butler to see her back to the door. As her carriage started toward home, sudden tears filled her eyes. He’d been kind to her, when she had very much feared that he’d be cold and cutting.
After what she’d done to him at Sherbourne Hall, he had every right to be angry with her. That next day, during Emma and Michael’s wedding, he’d been polite but distant, talking to her only when he had to but overall doing his best to avoid her.
During the long, lonely trip back to London, she’d had plenty of time to think about everything that had happened between her and Julian, from their first kiss to the passionate encounter at Sherbourne Hall. As she’d obsessively dissected everything she knew about the man Julian had become, the more convinced she’d become that he’d grown up, that he was no longer the reckless boy he’d once been.
He’d done everything he could to try and apologize for his past actions. He’d reached out to her time and again, and she’d done nothing but slap his hand away. Shame over her actions the night she’d gone to his room had overwhelmed her. He’d said he loved her, and she didn’t think he’d faked the look of hurt and betrayal in his eyes.
If all he’d really wanted was to have his way with her, he would have done so. The fact that he’d turned her away had proven that he’d changed more than anything else possibly could have.
But now that she believed him, she greatly feared that it was too late.
All she could hope for was that he truly did come to find her once he’d done what he could to help Michael.
DURING THE NEXT FEW days, Julian put all his energy into helping Michael extricate himself from the dangerous accusations he faced regarding his father’s death. He’d ridden hard for Sherbourne Hall to tell Emma what had happened, then went to tell Dylan as well. Since he knew what Dylan had told Michael about their mother’s death, he’d immediately assumed that Michael truly had killed his father, determined to make him pay for his past crimes. However, Michael had claimed that the earl had committed suicide when he’d confronted him with his crimes, preferring death to scandal and prison.
