"Well?" His intense dark gaze was fastened on her in that way that made her wonder if he could read her mind. "Have you no suggestions?" He released the cravat, and it fluttered to the bench, a tumbled pile of white froth. "Do you think perhaps I should kiss her?"
He had read her mind.
She swallowed hard. "Maybe."
"I thought so." He eased open the top button of his shirt. And the second button. "I think we should practice," he said conversationally.
Her gaze was glued to the little V of golden skin where his shirt was unbuttoned. "Practice?"
"Yes, practice." He raised a wrist and unbuttoned a cuff. "You and me. Before I try it with Lady Amanda."
"You want to kiss me?" He couldn't. He shouldn't.
"Just for practice. Come here, Juliana."
His deep, chocolatey voice made another shiver ripple through her. The butterflies fluttered faster. He wanted to kiss her. Just for practice, but still…
James wanted to kiss her.
She wasn't supposed to kiss James—she was supposed to kiss the duke. But the duke had made it clear he wouldn't kiss her until they were married. He was so very, very proper. And Aunt Frances thought a kiss no great sin, and Corinna had told her she should kiss a few frogs so she'd know when she'd met her prince.
Not that James was a frog. He was…well, she didn't know what he was, precisely. A friend, she supposed. A friend who was rolling up his cuffs, exposing his muscled forearms to the innocent eyes of the last unkissed woman in all of England.
And unbuttoning the buttons that ran down the front of his waistcoat.
Dear heavens, if she didn't kiss him soon, he'd end up naked in the middle of Vauxhall Gardens.
"Very well," he said softly as the waistcoat fell open. "If you're not going to come to me, I will have to come to you."
And he did. He walked right up to her. She backed up, and he followed. She moved until her back was against a tall, fragrant hedge, and he followed until he was all but against her. Until there was a hairsbreadth between them, until his scent of starch and soap overwhelmed her, until her body tingled and the butterflies threatened to break free.
He was so close she could see golden flecks in his brown eyes. So close she could feel his breath upon her face. So close she found herself straining to get still closer.
"May I kiss you?" he asked, settling his hands on her shoulders.
She couldn't say yes and she couldn't say no. But she tilted her chin up, wondering, waiting, her heart pounding and her eyes drifting shut.
It was an invitation, albeit a silent one.
An invitation he accepted.
His hands drew her closer, then slipped down around her and pulled her closer still. His lips grazed hers, just a hint of a caress that left her desperate for more.
"May I?" he asked again in a husky whisper.
"Oh, yes," she whispered back, the words seemingly torn from her throat.
And his mouth settled warm upon hers.
It was a divine sensation, more lovely than she'd ever imagined. She swayed against him, feeling his hard body through her thin dress and his muslin shirt. She slid her hands beneath his loosened waistcoat and all the way around to his back, his muscles rippling under her fingers.
He slanted his head, changing the angle of the kiss. She felt as though she were melting, as though she couldn't tell where her lips ended and his started, as though she'd become a part of him.
And then he pulled back. Her heart still pounding, she opened her eyes and sighed. She wanted his mouth on hers again. It was a beautiful mouth, a sculpted mouth, the lower lip fuller than the top one. Above it, his eyes looked as dazed as she felt, warm pools of chocolate with golden flecks.
James was the handsomest man she'd ever seen.
She'd known he was handsome, of course. She'd told Amanda as much, many times. But his handsomeness had been just a fact like so many others. James was handsome. Corinna was a good painter. Griffin had been in the cavalry. All facts.
But now…
She looked at James. Really looked at him, seemingly for the first time. And what she saw made her want him to kiss her all over again.
She rose to her toes, and he met her halfway, crushing his mouth to hers. Not warm and caressing this time, but hot and demanding instead. His lips coaxed hers to part, and his tongue slipped inside, and it was shocking and exciting. Soft, slippery, sweet, tasting of the claret they'd sipped with supper. She was floating, whirling, she'd have spun right off her feet if he hadn't been holding her so tightly. One hand pressed the small of her back while the other drifted up to cradle her head, adjusting the angle so their lips meshed even more closely.
"Juliana!" It was Aunt Frances, her voice distant but recognizable. "Juliana, where are you?"
"Bloody hell," James grated out, breaking the kiss.
"Dear heavens!" Juliana stared at him a moment while her head cleared. He was standing there with half of his clothing unbuttoned. Aunt Frances was about to find them, and he was just standing there, unbuttoned.
"Dress yourself!" she hissed.
His fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat and began fastening them leisurely.
"Juliana!" her aunt called again.
She ran to the pocket garden's entrance and looked out onto the path. Frances was nowhere to be seen, thank heavens.
She turned back. "Hurry," she told James. "It's only a matter of time until she finds us."
Unrolling one of his sleeves, he shrugged and sauntered back to the bench, where his cravat lay atop his tailcoat in a jumbled pile. "Do I kiss better than Castleton?"
"I haven't kissed Castleton. He's too—"
"Stuffy?" he provided, looking all too pleased at that news.
"He's not stuffy! He's just—"
"A prig."
"He's not a prig! He's proper and reserved, which is more than I can say for you."
He grinned. "That's more than I can say for you as well. Which is a recommendation, to my mind—"
"Juliana!" Lord Malmsey's voice joined her aunt's this time. "Juliana!"
She peeked outside again. Still clear. Her heart pounding, now from panic instead of passion, she stalked over to James. He was buttoning his shirt so slowly it made her grit her teeth. "Hurry, will you?" She swept up his cravat, intending to throw it at him, but an enormous boom sounded overhead and she shrieked in alarm.
"Easy." The cravat drifted to the grass while James moved to wrap her in his arms. "It's just fireworks." Another boom exploded in the sky, accompanied by flashes of red and blue and white. "Your aunt will stop and watch," he said soothingly.
Knowing he was right, she pulled away and sat on the bench to watch the fireworks. But she wasn't soothed, and she didn't feel at ease. Not even after he'd retrieved the cravat and awkwardly knotted it and donned his tailcoat and buttoned it up. Her heart was still pounding, and her stomach felt queer.
Great, fiery streaks of light burst in the heavens, and all around she heard "ooh!" and "ahh!" from all the people in Vauxhall Gardens, but all she could think was thank heavens she hadn't been caught kissing James while half of his clothing was unbuttoned.
They'd have had to marry. And she couldn't marry James. She just couldn't.
I can certainly marry a friend, she remembered him saying. One can kiss a woman and make a child without falling in love.
The duke was falling in love with her, and James wouldn't. He'd said he'd never fall in love again. He'd only kissed her because they were friends and he wanted a child. And if he didn't marry Amanda, Amanda would have to marry Lord Malmsey—and Aunt Frances would be devastated.
She should never have let James kiss her.
THIRTY
JAMES HAD finally kissed Juliana, and it had been better than he'd ever imagined—and God knew he'd imagined it plenty.
Countless times, he'd imagined the feel of her in his arms. Day after day, he'd imagined the taste of her on his lips. Night after night, he'd imagined the
heat that would flash between them.
And it had all been better. Amazingly, exceedingly better. So much better, in fact, that it had left him rather witless.
He vaguely wondered what had driven him to unbutton so many buttons. And why he hadn't felt compelled to button them back up particularly quickly. And, most confounding of all, why he hadn't been nearly as relieved as Juliana when, after the fireworks, they'd met the older couple at the front gate of Vauxhall Gardens and her aunt didn't seem to be suspicious.
Now they were in his carriage on their way back to Berkeley Square. Seated across from him and Juliana, Lady Frances giggled like an infatuated adolescent. "Goodness gracious," she said, "when we couldn't find you, I half expected I'd be forced to tell my nephew he would have to demand the two of you marry."
Given that Lady Frances's cheeks were much more flushed than Juliana's, James found that statement somewhat amusing.
But then Juliana smoothed her yellow dress. "We were only watching the fireworks, Auntie. Besides, you know I'm going to marry the Duke of Castleton."
And James found that statement supremely annoying.
And that's when everything began to slowly come clear in his mind.
It was a realization the likes of which he'd never experienced.
He'd unbuttoned so many buttons to tempt her, of course. And he hadn't felt compelled to button them back up particularly quickly because he hadn't been worried that the two of them might be caught and forced to marry.
No, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't that he hadn't been worried they might be caught and forced to marry…it was more like he'd been hoping they would be caught and forced to marry.
Because he wanted to marry her. But he hadn't been able to admit that, not even to himself, because it would be a betrayal of Anne.
Except…it wasn't.
He'd fallen in love with Juliana, and it wasn't a betrayal at all.
He felt like he should be appalled. Or guilty. Or disbelieving.
But he wasn't any of those things. He was in love. And he couldn't disbelieve it any more than he could disbelieve he had two hands and two feet.
He'd been telling himself all along this would never happen, but maybe some part of him had realized he could, indeed, fall in love again someday. Maybe he'd been in denial.
Maybe.
It was a possibility.
He was willing to admit to that.
But if he had thought such a thing—if he'd considered that someday he could fall in love with another woman without desecrating his first wife's memory—he'd thought it could happen only after Anne somehow granted him permission.
Exactly how he could receive permission from a dead woman wasn't something he'd really considered. Maybe he could have gone to her grave and talked to her—he'd read such scenarios in books. Or maybe she could have come to him in a dream—he'd read that in books, too. Or maybe she could have sent him a sign; maybe he could have just seen something—something seemingly insignificant—and somehow known what it meant.
But none of that had happened. Because he didn't need Anne's permission. Because his love for Juliana had nothing to do with Anne.
Nothing.
Loving Juliana didn't diminish the love he'd had for Anne. It didn't mean he wouldn't always cherish the memories of their time together. He didn't love Juliana more than he'd loved Anne or less than he'd loved Anne.
He loved her differently.
She was a different woman, and he loved her for different reasons. Which made sense, because he was different now, too. This new love wasn't better or worse, or deeper or shallower. It was just different.
And it was exactly what he needed right now. What he needed to make him feel whole again, to make his life complete.
Unfortunately, Juliana seemed bent on marrying stuffy Castleton, that ass who wanted her only because she came with a horse.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of her brother's town house.
"Thank you," Lord Malmsey said as he stepped out.
"It was a lovely evening," Lady Frances said and stepped out, too.
Juliana didn't say anything as she stepped out to follow them. But before the footman could close the carriage door, she turned back to face James. "When are you going to take Lady Amanda to Vauxhall Gardens?"
He didn't want to take Lady Amanda to Vauxhall Gardens. He didn't want to take her anywhere. He'd never wanted to take her anywhere.
But he especially didn't want to take her to Vauxhall Gardens, the place where he'd discovered he was in love with Juliana.
"Never," he said. "I didn't enjoy Vauxhall Gardens much."
"Didn't you?" She narrowed her eyes as though she didn't believe him. Which was hardly surprising, since in truth he'd enjoyed himself immensely. "Well," she said, "then where shall you take her?"
He wanted to say nowhere, but he couldn't. Because then he'd have no excuse to see Juliana. She was bent on marrying the stuffy duke, which meant she wouldn't accept an invitation to accompany him anywhere unless it was for the sake of Lady Amanda.
That wasn't such a terrible thing, he consoled himself. He and Juliana were becoming fast friends, and that was good enough for now. If he continued the pretense that he was interested in Lady Amanda, he could keep touching Juliana, and kissing her, and tempting her. Juliana wouldn't try to trick him again—she'd promised not to, and he trusted her. He could afford to remain patient. Friendship in marriage was important, and there was plenty of time to make Juliana fall in love with him.
He was just getting used to the fact that he wanted to marry her. There was no reason to rush right into it.
"I'll take Lady Amanda wherever you'd like," he said. "Except Vauxhall Gardens. As long as you come along, too."
"I cannot come along!"
"You can if you're with Castleton." It galled him to say that, but he saw no other choice. No other way to keep touching and kissing and tempting Juliana.
Well, there was Friday, when he hoped to corner her in a treatment room. But that was four days away. Entirely too long to wait.
"If we go somewhere I've never been," he told her, "I'll need you there to provide guidance."
She mulled that over for a moment, and then she said, "Very well," just as he'd expected. He'd known he could appeal to her meddling nature. She'd probably never in her life come to believe he was capable of fending for himself, but he could live with that.
In fact, he looked forward to living with that. He rather liked having her look after him. It was a never-ending source of amusement, one of her many quirks he loved best.
"I think we should go see the new Battle of Waterloo panorama in Leicester Square tomorrow," she said. "I've heard it's very romantic."
Having witnessed war himself, James didn't think it was very romantic, and he had never heard the term romantic attached to the Leicester Square Panorama building, either. But he had heard it was rather dark, and he supposed darkness could lead to romance, and while he was well aware that Juliana expected him to find romance with Lady Amanda while she found romance with that ass Castleton, he knew that wouldn't happen, so her false expectations didn't dampen his spirits in the slightest.
"I believe it closes at four," he said, "so I shall return to fetch you and Lady Amanda at one o'clock."
"And Aunt Frances," she reminded him.
"And Lady Frances." Even that didn't dim his cheer. "Invite Lord Malmsey, too, will you?" he said, reaching into his pocket. "Here are your gloves, s—"
He cut off, turning the last sound into a very long s, as though there were more than two gloves.
He'd almost called her sweetheart.
He'd best be more careful; he wanted to tempt Juliana, not scare her away.
"Thank you," she said, taking them and going into the house.
James was in an excellent mood as his carriage continued on to Stafford House. Once there, he remained in an excellent mood as he searched the morning room and the music room and the Palm Room for his mo
ther. He took the stairs two at a time, still in an excellent mood when he finally found her in her sitting room, reading a Minerva Press novel.
He'd never seen his mother read a Minerva Press novel. They were torrid romances, and he didn't quite know how he felt about her reading such a thing, but that didn't affect his excellent mood.
"Yes, James?" she said, shutting it quickly and setting it upside down on the table beside her. "How was your evening?"
"It was rather pleasant," he said, perhaps the greatest understatement of his life. "I want to renovate my bedroom."
"You cannot change that room. It was designed by Henry Holland!"
"I don't care who designed it. Brown and plum are too somber."
Cornelia loved redecorating, but James's father had never let her touch Stafford House, so she'd had to content herself with overhauling their manor house in the countryside. James had known she wouldn't argue long. Clearly excited, she rose, belted her dressing gown more tightly, and walked over to sit at her feminine writing desk.
"What colors would you like, then?" she asked, dipping her quill in the inkwell.
"Red," he decided.
"Your favorite color. Yes, I should have guessed." She scribbled. "Any other requests?"
"And yellow. Red and yellow." He'd noticed Juliana often wore yellow, but he wouldn't explain that to his mother. The last thing he needed was her figuring out he'd finally decided to remarry.
"We'll do stripes," she said, still scribbling. "Wide red and yellow stripes on the walls above the wainscoting."
"I want the wainscoting gone. It's dark wood, and I don't want anything dark in the room."
She frowned, then brightened. "We'll paint the wainscoting white, then. Bright white enamel. And use narrower stripes on the upholstery. But solid red bedclothing, I think. Perhaps with yellow pillows."
"Fine." Henry Holland's design had used floral fabrics, so stripes sounded perfect. As different as could be. "And get rid of that monstrous old-fashioned bed, will you?"
"It's been in the family since the sixteenth century."
"It looks it."
"Nine Stafford earls were born in that bed—"
Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Page 20
