by Gayle Eden
“No. I promised….” Moreover, she realized what she was saying, revealing, affirming by that retort.
Shrewd as always, Jahi guessed, pulling back to look at her, “You promised the duke?”
“Yes.” She did not look away from his probing stare.
Those dark eyes were relentless. “And what will you do when he is wed?”
“I shan’t be—here. I have accepted Lisette’s invite to stay with them in London. By season’s end, I will have either accepted a proposal—if I get one, or made up my mind what to do. But I will be out of his life.”
Jahi started to say something, and then his head turned. He stilled.
Juliette followed his gaze and found herself regarding Monty, who leaned a shoulder against the French doors.
Under his breath Jahi said, “I shall send you passage should you ever decide to come to my country.”
She jerked her gaze to him. “I may take you up on that.” Oh God, but she was torn between resolving somehow the question in his eyes, the need to assuage any hurt on his part, and not flying into a full-blown panic that Monty saw—overheard—everything.
However, Jahi kissed her brow and then left her, walking around his friend as he strode inside.
Juliette, still in the moonlight, folded her arms and tried to discern what that expression on Monty’s face was.
The Marquis murmured, “I didn’t ask her.”
Something in her felt light but she halted the emotion before she could indulge in it. “You will.” She wet her lips.
He pulled away from the doorway and walked to her, stopping, staring down from his greater height. His nearness and presence always affected her. “What would you say, if I made the same request as Jahi?”
“I would say that you gave your word to the duke, as I did.”
He touched her cheek. “We lied. You and I.”
“Yes.”
Monty traced her lower lip with the pad of his finger, and then looked back into her gaze. “Marry me, Juliette.”
Oh, God help me, she thought, and supplied gruffly, “I’m not the woman your parents want for you.”
“My parents don’t have a clue what is best for me. Only what they think is best for the title. However, as much as I love and respect them, I am my own man. I won’t trade what I want for what they expect.”
“Your word to your father has to mean something.”
Monty brought both his hands up, cupping her face. His eyes were intense when they looked into hers. “You don’t want me?”
Her insides wanted to melt. Her fantasy and dreams held this image, these potent emotions. Her mind screamed something entirely different from what came out of her mouth. Juliette could not even be proud of her resolve as she supplied, “Want is easily satisfied. It’s not enough to shirk your obligations for.”
He smiled bitterly. “I see.”
Juliette wanted to cry. She could not take this. Could not stand that this moment came now. He always did this to her.
She rasped, “I want you. You know it. You read everything in me. You force me to tell you the truth, even when it’s good for neither of us.” It took everything in her to hold the sting of tears back.
He replied soft, silky, but with a steel behind it, “I want you. “
She swallowed—thinking, barely hanging onto to her promise, cheating and seeking a way around it. I am only human, she thought, I do not ask for everything…only something... “Very well. We satisfy that. Afterwards, we never see each other again.”
He breathed in and held it a moment, then said, “Is that your final word on it?”
“It is. As you constantly tell me, I am intelligent and mature enough to know my own mind; I beg you, do not try to convince me there could be more, Monty. We both know there cannot be.”
Wolford’s nostrils flared. A nerve ticked in his jaw. Before Monty turned to leave though, he took her in his arms—and kissed her passionately.
To Juliette it was both sultry heat and storms, a sweeping through her blood and bone, the kind of electric current and ravenous hunger that made her lose consciousness of herself, feeling that reaching into her as she responded and reached into him—deep, but not deep enough.
Knees weak, Juliette sat on a bench afterwards. Tears sparkled on her cheeks. She was destined to watch people walk out of her life. She could not have Jahi. He deserved a woman who loved him in a different way, and one he could worship, who would worship him in return. Moreover, she could not have Monty either.
The last thing she wanted was to be the “unwanted” Marchioness and future duchess. She had known for years, too many years, this day was going to come. She had felt in her bones what Wolford would not say—and it had always torn her up when he was around. Now, she knew why—why his knowing her, always trying to reach her, connect to her, affected her so much. He had always spoken to her soul on some level, and even when words never revealed it—she knew it, sensed it—saw it in his eyes.
Covering her eyes a moment, she shook her head then wiped her cheeks and breathed in, sniffed and looked up at the night sky. I know it is heartache and pain. I am going to hurt for this, ache all the more. I know I cannot walk away without it however.
* * * *
One week before the London departure.
Juliette’s chamber lay mostly in shadows, with muted amber lighting warming the rich upholsteries, velvets and silks, here and there. Monty had entered and looked around. He detected the trickle of water as he came further in—and told himself to leave. He told himself that he could be more honorable than this. Yet—part of him realized that it was inevitable, his feelings and emotions had been building toward this for a very long time. He may as well not have left Wolford hall, because his mind never had. It had been on her. Just as for too long, it had been Juliette in his secret fantasies, no matter how much he denied it.
He leaned a shoulder against the door facing, hearing the sound of her body emerging from the tub. His heart rammed his ribs. His blood flowed warm and thick. His whole being waited for her to appear.
When she emerged through the half-opened door, Juliette’s damp body was making the drying linen wet. Her hair was hastily piled up in a mussed manner with several curls stuck to her glistening nape. It was an unselfconscious seductive picture. Her exposed skin looked creamy and curves lush.
Juliette walked over to the vanity before she saw him.
Monty’s eyes had gone down her back, where the hastily tied linen swaged. She’d just un-tied it. Her beautiful back, spine, the dimples above her heart shaped ass, commanded his gaze—until he realized she had spotted him.
She turned slowly, her lips parted, cheeks flushed, but those hazel eyes were intense—even in their disbelief. Apparently she did not believe he would pursue things this far or take her offer.
Gazing over her body, her leg and well-shaped thigh were exposed. She had caught the thin material just at her nipple. Monty could see the twin pillows of her breasts above the line of linen, creamy white and heaving slightly. Given the ambiance of the room, the scent of perfumed oil and the surreal image of her in that drying linen, the sparkle of water on her skin—it stole his breathing, had his heart ramming his ribs, his blood flowing like lava through his veins.
She was beautiful. Breathtaking, absolutely the most stirring site Monty had ever seen. He had seen her at different ages, different activities, even in that fantasy realm, but here and now, this real Juliette was a thousand times more vivid and potent.
When she wet her lips, her breathing obviously shallow, Monty pulled away from his leaning spot and walked leisurely toward her. Meeting her gaze, he looked down from his superior height and covered her hands. He slowly moved them outward, making the linen fall to a pool on the floor.
Her nipples were dark, large, peaked. Her ribs were flat and tummy sensually round enough to match those curved hips. Her mons was fiery red—a beautiful bush, in lovely contrast to the marble of her thighs. Monty knew she could read everything in his
face and eyes. Everything was intense, hot, and thick, between them.
He released her hands only after leaning down to kiss her delicately. Their breathing, that kiss, careful, quiet, and secret—yet it was lush and erotic against his lips. Yes, she felt as he felt, and the carefulness was not exactly that, but a deliberate trying to contain a long smoldering fire that they now fanned to flames.
His hands free, Wolford undid his shirt and took it off, then divested of his boots. While she was looking over his dark torso, he nudged her back to the vanity chair, and had her sit. Going down on his knees, Monty spread her knees, catching a whiff of flowery bath oil and feeling the incredible silken skin of her legs, when he moved between them. He kissed her again, reading everything in her response to it, and in the slow and hot delve of her tongue, the mutual tasting and erotic plunging they did. It put sexual chills on his body.
Breathing jerky, her hands went to his hair and he loved it. He took each breast, lifted, weighed the globe, and then dipped to capture her nipple between his cooling lips. Monty flickered his tongue over it, suckled, and then attended the other, feeling the tremble in her thighs against his sides. Moving his head, laving wide around the areola, he made a sound of pleasure, getting the nipples shrunken, hard, and wet. Letting them caress his tongue as he caressed them and suckled, flickered, pleasured.
His cock strained, swelled and was aching to be inside of her. As intense as it was, he reveled in the sensation, in her. He could have done just that, suckled her breasts, all night. The connection to her went beyond physical, even if these moments were the ultimate surrender to the physical. He wanted her to feel sexual, but also to glory in the womanly lushness of her body. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
Raising his head at her tug on his mane, another thrill shot through him—fire at the descending of her head, then the way her mouth and tongue ravaged his, before she bit his neck, laved at it, and breathed his name hotly in his ear. It was something out of fantasy, a man’s most erotic dreams, and his had been centered on her for a long time. Her mouth was lovely, lips sexual, tongue sensual, the feel of it on him, let alone the sound of his name—that way, burned him to the bones.
“Juliette.” His hands skimmed down her ribs, sides, and hips, and then glided inside her thighs while he took her kisses and nibbles, loving the way her tongue flickered on his skin, her teeth bit at it.
His fingers found those fiery curls.
Juliette lifted her head, her feline eyes meeting his. “Yes.”
Monty whispered her name again, delving between the lips with his finger and finding her sex slick and hot.
She arched her neck and whimpered.
He played seconds more, delighted but also extremely aroused by her growing wetter. He stood, bringing her over, but not laying her on the bed, having her lean over, at the side of it, while he kissed her nape and back, down—over her ass—laving and licking her, biting.
Her legs parted, she bent more, obviously giving him access. Wolford began flicking his tongue on her sex before his finger filled her.
“Monty.” She gasped and then looked over her shoulder, her forearms and palms on the bed.
He slowly thrust his finger in and out of her. “Feel good?”
“Very.” She breathed hard.
He laved his lips a moment and winked, then got down on his knees again and spread her wider, his mouth and tongue pleasuring her, between his finger thrusting.
When he heard her moans getting louder and the deep groan, sexual pleading between harder breathing, Monty raised and turned her around.
Juliette caught his head and pulled him down for her mouth to deliver a of ravishing his. Erotic for Monty, knowing she could taste herself on him. He let her have her way, pleased with her aggression, her taking what she needed.
She rolled him to his back, and sat up.
“Christ. You are beautiful, Juliette. Amazingly beautiful,” he husked, then buried his hands in her hair as she began at his throat, laving, suckling his skin.
She tasted him as if she had waited years to do so, and mapped him as she kissed and flicked that tongue on his sensitive skin. Juliette sensually played at his nipples before leaving a moist trail down to his waist.
Monty was in such a daze of pleasure; he hardly noticed she was peeling his trousers off. He looked down to see his cock thrusting thick and full from the nest of black hair. He sat up, and glanced at her staring at it. His trousers were on the floor somewhere.
“Does it frighten you?” He hoped like hell not.
Juliette met his gaze, her eyes foggy with pleasure, her lips slightly puffed from laving him. “I want you. All of you. I have no fear.”
She put a knee on the bed, leaned over, and brought a groan from him when she flicked the head of it. There was no thought to contain or stop her while she kissed his sex. She took him fully into her mouth for moments. He chanted curses between his teeth but they were desperate curses. In all of his experience, he had never felt anything as intense as this.
The erotic and lustful tension—a hunger like Monty had never felt before layered and coiled. It grew ferocious. He could not kiss her enough, suckle her nipples enough, and feel enough of her skin. Even when he reached between her legs and fingered her deeper, pet her, rubbed, it was not enough.
Wolford gently nudged her head up, his blood flaming at the fire of passion in her eyes, and the slightly sultry position of her lashes. She laved her lips. She looked feline, sensual, and licked them again. He kissed them, and then rolled her to her back, parting her legs wide. “You have a beautiful body, a beautiful mouth.” He went down her body, where he wanted to be, between her legs, running his tongue from her moist opening upwards to her clit, repeatedly.
Her spine arched, Juliette murmured his name. “Oh, Monty. Please!”
Wolford moaned, suckled her, fingered her, felt her contract against him before he sat up, his teeth raking her juices from his mouth.
Juliette sat up too and rolled to take him again in her mouth. Monty started to protest, then laid the opposite and bent her legs, fitting his mouth on her sex. He played at the crease of her buttocks, fingered her, and suckled and kissed her, feeling her silken lips on his cock. His balls drawing tighter and tighter, his tongue worried her hardening clit. Finger gliding in her silken juices, he rumbled in his throat, pleased when she rode his stroke. He felt her tense for climax and gave her two fingers while he suckled her through it. His own seed was pumping out so forceful it blinded him.
It was intoxicating, in an explicit and bone melting way, pure primal. Even in his own pleasurable explosion he could feel, taste, hear hers, in the husky ahhh and mmmm, and that wringing every drop from it by moving her hips.
They were pan bathed later, having done so together. He had kissed her a dozen long times and held her in his embrace rather quietly after she combed her damp hair. A brief moment of stillness in the storm, though under the lull, the deep beat of their hearts still echoed. Nude, Juliette lay on her back, letting him shape her with his hands, suckled her breasts, kiss her body all over.
She touched him where she could reach, his flexing strong flank, rounded buttock, or his ridged and honed abdomen. He was a large and muscled man, a virile one. There was no spare flesh on his frame. It was just as handsome as his face. She loved kissing him. The feel of his tongue and lips—wonderful. They kissed many times in the lazy exploring he started on the bed. Somehow, it did not surprise her that they enjoyed each other and openly showed it. It was easy with him, natural, and he had a way of very open and honestly touching, even looking at her, that relayed his pleasure and hunger to do so.
His hand went between her legs while he lay beside her, kissing her, or leaning down to take the nipple, she fed him. Her legs parted more and Monty rubbed her sweetly into a long and delicious climax. They whispered, some lazy sexual lovers exchanged, kissed, and then he arose to dress...
Before going to his rooms, Monty husked in her ear, holding her to h
im, “Every night before you leave for London?”
“Yes.” She held him too, feeling the power and strength in him—feeling as if she were made for him, and knowing, finally knowing, how endless and consuming her desire for him really was.
Wolford loosed his hold and caught her chin, tilting her head up so he could read her face. He murmured in deep tones, “No lies between us, Juliette. Nothing but who we really are.” He kissed her again and then left.
She sat on the edge of the bed and scarcely looked up as Henny came to check on her. The older woman looked around the room, at her, and then silently re-filled the wash pan. She left her. Juliette bathed and then crawled into bed. Her hand smoothed where he had lain. She breathed in his scent. If only, the world could stand still…
It would not, so her thoughts before sleep were a slow replaying of their intimacy.
It was a torrid weeklong affair. Were it not for her morning rides with Lisette, and her going to Wimberley Court to finalize their plans to go to London together, Juliette knew neither she nor Monty would have confined the affair to the night hours.
One of those mornings after she had been with him, her sharp friend had mused, “I wonder which of them is your lover. Or is it both?”
Juliette pretended to take it as a jest. “What woman could handle two men at once?”
Lisette let her jest, but said upon leaving, “I cannot blame you if 'tis either man. Or both. A mature and seasoned man like the Marquis, with his face, and that lovely head of wavy brown hair. Something exotic about him. All the women note it. Jahi, his eyes would melt a woman. I would bed him in a heartbeat.”
Jahi rode into the village one of those evenings, after they had been at Wimberley, so alone in the coach, Monty gathered her in his arms, kissed her, and glided his hand up her silk stocking leg. The empire gown being a wispy satin—he found her slick and wet, and brought her to climax embarrassingly easy. When her moan and soft cry was only an echo, she opened her eyes; her head leaned back on the cushions, Juliette found him still holding her, his gaze soft, his smile sexy and pleased.
