The butler’s face darkened. He turned to Julian. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Beckwith. I attempted to bar her from entering. I will remove her posthaste.”
Julian lifted his hand. “No need. Miss Annesley is a dear friend of the family. It’s no intrusion. You may leave.” He stared down the butler until the man bowed and retreated down the steps once more.
I pressed my hand over my thumping heart.
Julian stepped closer to me. His shirt gaped open at the throat. I ogled that slight showing of skin before I raised my gaze to his.
He looked uncertain. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I flinched. I know that, but… “I wanted to speak with you.”
Liar. You wanted to kiss him.
“There are parlors downstairs.”
I met his gaze. “Here will do.” I glanced past him toward his bedroom. He’d left the door ajar, but from my angle I could see no more than the sliver of a bedpost in the room beyond.
“Francine…” His voice held a note that was halfway between a warning and a plea.
“I trust you.”
He sighed and rubbed his temple. “What are you thinking? If you’re found here…I can’t marry you. You know that.”
I bit my lip. “I know. I don’t want to marry anyone, Julian.” Not even you.
Was that still true?
I steeled my spine. It had to be. Marriage to Julian had never been an acceptable solution to my predicament. That wasn’t what I was asking from him.
“Can I sit down? My ankle is giving me grief.”
He stepped forward, offering me his arm to lean on as he led me into the nearest room—his bedroom. He shut the door behind us. The room, lit by a single candle, was dressed in dark colors. Brown, burgundy, a hint of green here and there. An armchair rested next to an unlit hearth. Julian helped me there, across from a wide four-poster bed. I licked my lips as I eyed that neatly made bed. The rest of his eveningwear was laid out along the foot. Would my courage fail me? Even if we were in his bedroom, I didn’t expect Julian to take advantage of me unless I asked.
I spent most of my life being a mouse. Maybe, just this once, I could be brazen. Relief swept through me the moment I lifted my weight off my ankle. The chair was more comfortable than it looked. I craned my neck back to meet Julian’s gaze. He had remained standing.
“I’ve always known this—whatever it is we have between us—is only temporary.” I wrapped my arms around my torso. “Eventually, you’ll return to your fiancée in Leicestershire and forget about me and I’ll—”
“Forget about you?” He paced the length of the room. “Never. That’s the bloody problem.” He dropped down onto the foot of the bed, covering his face in his hands. His voice was muffled, as he added, “I can’t hurt you, Francine. But it seems like no matter what we do now, I’m destined to hurt you.”
I’d never seen such vulnerability in a man’s eyes as I did when he looked up. “I love you, Francine, with all my heart. I can’t hurt you. I can’t lose you.”
His words stole my breath. I blinked back tears. “I love you, too.”
In a second, I crossed the room to kneel at his feet. I clasped his hands in mine, needing the contact. His palms were damp and clammy. I leaned up to press my lips against his, a brief, chaste kiss. He didn’t push me away. In fact, he leaned into my embrace.
When I broke the kiss, I sat back on my heels, still cradling his hands between mine. My ankle hurt, but I didn’t care. This was too important. “You won’t lose me. When you leave London, we’ll go back to writing letters. It’s been enough before.”
It would have to be enough. I didn’t want to contemplate the heartache otherwise.
“Give me tonight,” I begged. “Just one night.”
He took my mouth in a fierce kiss. His fingers delved between the loose strands of my hair, pulling me closer, as if he never wanted to let me go. He said with that kiss everything I wished he’d say out loud. That we were meant for each other. That I was his, wholly and forever.
Even if forever only lasted tonight.
He kissed me with all the passion, love, and hope that existed in this world. My head spun from the zealousness of his kiss. There was a desperate edge to it, as though I might disappear at any moment. I clung to him just as fiercely.
Standing, he scooped me into his arms. When he deposited me on the bed, I tugged him onto the mattress with me, shuffling to the side to make room. He stretched his body alongside mine, warming my left side. He cupped my cheek as he melded his mouth to mine in the sweetest of kisses.
It soon turned wicked. He lowered his hand from my cheek to my breast. My nipple hardened against my dress and his palm, begging for his touch. I arched into him, letting myself be wanton. With him, it wasn’t embarrassing or shameful. Julian wouldn’t judge me or find me distasteful. He loved me and I loved him. I refused to restrain myself or regret a single second. Breaking away from the kiss, I fumbled to unlace his shirt further.
“Francine.” My name emerged as a groan on his lips. He shook his head. “You drive me mad.”
I smiled. “No more mad than you drive me.”
He batted my hands away and swiftly undid his laces, though he left the shirt on. My gaze roved along his muscled torso as I catalogued all the places I soon would kiss. I reached behind me to unlace my dress. The maneuver thrust out my breasts but still didn’t leave me with enough leverage to unknot the laces.
Julian’s gaze grew dark with desire. He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him. His swollen manhood prodded my thigh. With a lascivious grin, he lowered his head to my breast. He tongued my nipple through the thin muslin of my dress.
My knees weakened with the sensation. When his teeth scraped my hard peak, I thrashed against him. Wanting—no, needing—more. “Julian,” I gasped.
He turned me. I fell onto my hands and knees as he fitted himself behind me to undo the laces himself. Once he got the knot free, he tugged them loose with one hand while the other slid around my side to knead my breast. He tugged aside my stays and chemise to reveal my skin beneath. He lavished hot, openmouthed kisses to every inch of my spine he revealed. When he reached the small of my back, his tongue darted out to pay special homage. I moaned, writhing against him. I hadn’t known my back could be so sensitive.
He tried to dip lower, but the fabric of my dress stopped him. It strained against my arms where the sleeves still clung. Julian swore as he draped himself over my body once more, his shirt scraping against my bare back and inducing shivers. He rubbed his hands over my arms, removing my sleeves. I shifted to help him.
On my knees, I turned to face him once more. We exchanged feverish kisses as he chased my dress and underclothes over my torso to my waist, leaving me bare. His hand gravitated to my breasts, which he cupped and kneaded every bit as vigorously as the hand that slid to my bottom. I pressed against him, trying in vain to get closer.
His shirt barred me from experiencing the warmth of his skin. I tugged it from the waist of his breeches. He retracted his hands to shuck the fabric over his head. I bent, attacking the fall of his breeches.
He moaned. His fingers tangled in my hair, holding me in place as I freed the last button of his fall. He pushed the breeches down over his hips, freeing his member to the air. He stripped off the remainder of his clothes, pushing them to the floor. Then he kneeled, stark naked, in front of me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off his thick, engorged manhood. It jutted from his muscled body at a perpendicular angle, almost falcate in its downward curve. A pearly drop of liquid gathered at the tip. Oh my. The anatomy books didn’t do the male organ justice. At least, not the ones I’d read. I met his hot gaze. His breath came in ragged pants. He was every bit as affected by our shared passion as I was.
He urged me backward onto the bed. I went willingly, lifting my hips when he bent to strip me of my clothes. He left me without a stitch, not even my stockings. I blushed as he settled his warm weight o
ver me.
“You don’t mind my freckles?”
“Mind?” He kissed me deeply, delving his tongue into my mouth. I met him stroke for stroke. He broke away, his chest heaving. “Francine, if I had the patience, I would kiss every last mark.”
I squirmed at the thought.
He kissed me again as he wedged his hand between my legs. My first instinct was to clamp my thighs shut, but he massaged my sensitive inner skin with small whorls until I opened to him. As he skimmed his hand higher up my thigh, he kissed his way down to my breast.
“Julian,” I panted. “What are you doing?”
He slid his index finger into my core, running his tongue around my nipple at the same time. I moaned at the hot, wet, intense sensation. Every last nerve ending begged me to get closer to him. He raised his head.
“I’m pleasuring you.”
He slid his thick finger from my core and replaced it with two. The sensation was overwhelming. I arched my hips off the mattress, panting.
“What about you?”
“I’ll take mine when you’re ready.”
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but I surrendered to his ministrations. He set a vigorous rhythm, massaging me inside and out until I could focus on nothing but his touch. Nothing else mattered, not even my next breath. He slid three fingers into my core, stretching me.
“I love you, Francine,” he whispered against my skin. I was too far gone to answer.
I moaned in protest when his fingers dropped away. He eased his weight onto me, spreading my thighs with his knee. He positioned himself at my entrance and slowly, achingly, slid inside. I squirmed, trying to meet him, to welcome him deeper, to urge him faster.
He groaned. “You feel so good.”
So do you. I wanted to speak the words aloud, but they were lost in the incredible sensation of our joined bodies.
He buried himself the rest of the way with a single, sharp thrust.
I gasped. That hurt.
He kissed me deeply. My body clasped him in the most intimate embrace two bodies could share. When I writhed my hips once more beneath him, he set a furious pace. I chased his withdrawals and moaned as he thrust deep again. He hooked his arm beneath my knee, drawing it higher and changing the angle at which we joined. With every plunge of his manhood, he nudged a spot inside me that radiated pleasure so hot, I couldn’t think. My muscles tensed. Desire coiled in my belly. I wrapped my free leg around his waist, clutching him to me and digging my fingers into his shoulders as spasms rocked my core. I cried out, seeing stars.
Julian moaned my name and buried himself deep inside me.
I held him tight to me as I slowly descended to reality once more. My bent knees ached from the prolonged position. I stretched them out slowly. Julian’s breath fanned my neck, raising goose bumps.
I gave a long, heartfelt sigh of bliss. “That was better than I could ever have imagined.”
“Incredible.”
He withdrew from me only to position himself on his side. He nestled me against him. His hand snaked over to my belly, anchoring me there.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered.
The longing in his voice chased an ache through me. I shut my eyes against the tears that beckoned. “I won’t.” Not yet, at least.
I would have to leave, eventually. However, neither of us wanted to contemplate our inevitable parting. How had life been so cruel to us?
“I made someone a promise, one that can’t be absolved. If there was a way…” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he held me close, his heart beating fast against my shoulder.
He didn’t have to speak the words aloud. I knew what he would say. If there was a way to break off his engagement, he would marry me.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the wall as my mind whirled. There had to be a way.
I couldn’t fathom a life apart from him.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment I stepped into the dining room, my appetite fled south of the Amazons. Steaming plates of food sat untouched in front of Mother and Papa. Mother stared at a letter in her hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
I backed away, but Papa beckoned me closer with one jab of his finger. “Sit.” His face was stony. I slinked to the chair beside him and lowered myself onto the seat.
“Bess,” he said, his voice clipped, “read the letter to Francine.”
I swallowed heavily. “I can read it for myself.”
Mother passed it to me with a tremor in her hands. My stomach sank like a stone.
I opened the missive and skimmed it quickly. I cleared my throat before raising my gaze to Papa’s. “We’ve been uninvited?”
He nodded once, curtly.
My lips quavered. I knew the answer. I’d even predicted it, but I had to ask. “Because…because of me?”
Again, he nodded. “Someone saw you enter the Marchioness of Carnavon’s townhouse. It’s well known in Town that the only person in residence is her brother.”
I’d been afraid of that. I still didn’t regret a moment with Julian. I swallowed heavily but couldn’t banish the large, aching lump in my throat. I reached for the glass of water, gulping it down. It didn’t help. My eyes pricked with pain. This was it. The cut direct. All hope had shriveled and died. Although, without Julian, I hadn’t seen much to look forward to in a marriage, anyway.
His voice heavy and blunt, Papa asked, “Did you go to visit with him unchaperoned, Francine?”
I couldn’t lie. The truth gave neither of us much solace. After all, even if Papa demanded, Julian wasn’t free to marry me.
…
Papa demanded, for all the good it did. Sunlight streamed through the study’s open window, a direct contrast to the sullen, tense atmosphere inside the room.
Julian didn’t look at me. He stared my father in the eye, his posture stiff. “I can’t marry your daughter.”
The words walloped me in the gut. They didn’t get easier to hear, even if I’d known his answer would be no different to Papa than it had been to me. Papa’s shoulders climbed to his ears. He clenched his fists so hard, his knuckles cracked. At any other time, I might have cowered in fear, but at the moment I was strangely…numb.
“It wasn’t a request.” Papa snipped off his words like he’d rather they were pieces of Julian’s body.
I expected Julian to show some qualms, but he held firm. Not a muscle in his body twitched. “Threaten all you’d like, it won’t change my answer. Drag me to the altar. Have me arrested—call the Bow Street runners, if you will! I cannot marry Francine.”
Each of his words sliced me to the core. The last four, said with biting, resolute emphasis, drained me of what little composure I maintained. I trembled but pressed my lips together.
“I’m engaged to someone else.”
Papa stepped closer. Although Julian stood an inch taller, Papa had at least two stone on him. “You blackguard. I’ll see you at dawn.”
My throat closed.
Resigned, Julian said, “You might as well shoot me now, for all the good it will do. It won’t solve anything and I won’t duel you. I couldn’t hurt Francine that way.”
“But you’ll hurt her this way?” Mama’s words were muffled by the hand she clasped over her mouth. She looked close to tears. She blinked, owlishly, from Papa’s shadow.
“Not by choice.” Julian’s words barely carried to my ear. He lowered his gaze to his feet. His mouth was set, but even when gifted with only his profile I read the agony on his face.
“Who?” Papa demanded. “If you’re set on treating my daughter as a common doxy, I’ll have the name of this shrew you’ve been unfaithful to.”
What did he mean to do, write to her and inform her of Julian’s misdeeds? Or did he believe Julian was lying? I didn’t. I believed him with all my heart, for all the good it would do.
“Alyssa Danby.”
What? “No. That can’t be right.” I’d never asked his fiancée’s name because I�
�d assumed he’d been forced to marry her for the connection it would bring his family. Never would I have guessed that he was engaged to our childhood friend, especially not Alyssa.
She was in love with his brother, Joseph. She had always been in love with Joseph.
Julian turned to me. “I’m sorry, Francine.”
Moisture swamped my vision, blurring the figures in front of me. No. I refused to cry in front of him. I turned on my heel and sprinted out of the room. The air in the hallway was too stuffy. I had to vacate the house. I couldn’t suffer a single second longer under the same roof as Julian. Alyssa?
No. It had to be a lie. I hadn’t stayed in touch with her the way I had with Julian, but her feelings couldn’t have deviated to this extreme.
How? Why?
Grimsby tried to stop me as I lunged for the door. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I brushed him aside. I yanked open the door myself and barreled down the front steps so fast I nearly tripped. My ankle throbbed, but it was a welcome pain.
I ran into the street. Once off the property and out of sight of the townhouse, I slowed to a walk. I stepped heavily on my injured ankle each time. A reminder. He had done this. He had wounded my ankle and my heart. I should have known he would when he didn’t return my letters for months, only to show up in London unannounced. And, come to think of it, he hadn’t presented himself at our townhouse, either. No, I’d only met him by chance at a ball.
My breath hitched as I nursed the stitch in my side. Had Julian ever cared about me at all, even as a friend?
The livery loomed ahead of me, at the end of the street. These stables housed the carriages for the entire neighborhood. They would have the Valentia conveyances inside. Impatience welled in me, and the fear that Julian would follow to confront me.
Or worse, that he wouldn’t.
I had to get as far away from the townhouse as possible.
I paused outside the livery door to compose myself. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, which were no doubt splotchy from crying. It would have to do. Laughter echoed from inside as the stable hands conducted the morning chores. Usually, we sent a footman to ready the carriages. I hoped the hostlers would release the phaeton to me.
How to Ruin Your Reputation in 10 Days (Ladies of Passion) Page 18
