The Rogue Is Back in Town

by Anna Bennett

  A strawberry stain colored her chest and crept up her neck as he set up a rhythm she liked. She clung to his shoulders, moaning each time he stroked the most sensitive spot, and her eyes took on a dazed, faraway look.

  God, she felt good. Hot, tight, and ready. “Next time,” he promised, “I will make love to you properly. Or improperly if that’s what you wish. I can promise you there will be no clothes, no interruptions, and no limits.”

  “I … I like the sound of that,” she said breathlessly.

  “But now, vixen, I need you to come for me.”

  Her head lolled back and her breasts thrust forward, her nipples visible even through her corset and bodice. Gorgeous. His.

  “Move against me,” he said. “Take your pleasure.”

  She leaned forward and rocked her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. “Yes,” she breathed. “Faster.”

  He obliged and watched in wonder as she crested. Every muscle in her body was tight as a drum when the first wave took her. He marveled at the power of her release, feeling it in her core and watching in wonder as it rippled through her body.

  Slowly, she drifted down from the clouds. Her face softened, and she sagged against him, sated. He smoothed her skirts and kissed her sweet mouth, humbled beyond measure that she’d trusted him.

  More than ever, he was determined to make her his. For always.

  He savored the weight of her head on his shoulder and the way she fit perfectly in his arms. Though he was loath to rush her, they simply couldn’t linger in the library. Not if they wished for their rendezvous to go unnoticed.

  He rubbed her spine and nuzzled her neck. “We must go,” he said regretfully.

  She sat up and blinked as though disoriented, then said, “Yes, of course.” She slid off him and stood, smoothing her hair and slowly regaining her composure. Already she was looking at the door, as though trying to figure out how to cross the bridge from this magical world back into the real one.

  But he couldn’t let her go just yet. “Before we part, there’s something I must ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I spoke with Nigel earlier this evening.” She frowned, instantly wary. “He said that you and he … that you’ve agreed to an arrangement.”

  “That’s not true,” she sputtered. She crossed her arms, adamant. “I’ve agreed to nothing.”

  Thank God. But Sam’s relief was tempered by her shuttered expression, and he sensed there was more to the story. Filled with foreboding, he asked, “So you haven’t agreed to the arrangement he proposed … but you haven’t refused him either?”

  For several beats, she didn’t answer—and her silence told him everything.

  “I didn’t refuse him outright, but only because I need more time,” she said hoarsely. “I realize how awful that must sound to your ears, but it’s terribly complicated. This isn’t solely about me. I must think about Uncle Alistair and my family.”

  Jesus. It sounded like she was actually considering Nigel’s proposal. “Juliette, I understand all that. But you deserve more than … than … what my brother is offering. You deserve…”

  Her eyes widened expectantly. But Sam was in no position to make promises—at least not yet. “You deserve better,” he said resolutely.

  “I agree. But we don’t always get what we deserve.” She gazed at him, wistful. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

  Her words gave him hope, but something else his brother had said still niggled at him. “You and Nigel were involved before we met?”

  “I kissed him,” she replied, unapologetic. “Just as, I presume, you have kissed other women.”

  “I don’t judge you for kissing him,” he said, even though the thought made his stomach roil. “Hell, I’d be the worst sort of hypocrite if I did. But we’re talking about my brother—and both of you hid the truth from me.”

  She gazed at the toes of her slippers. “At first I thought it was none of your concern. And I was embarrassed because…” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s so difficult to talk about this with you, but I fancied myself in … love with him.”

  Her words hit Sam like a kick in the gut, and he sank onto the sofa to keep from doubling over. “And now?”

  “I don’t love him, if that’s what you’re asking.” She lifted her chin, and the jewels at her ears sparkled in a shaft of moonlight—and a chill slithered down his spine.

  “The earrings you’re wearing,” Sam said evenly. “Are they from him?”

  He desperately wanted her to say no. Let the damned earrings be a gift from her parents or her uncle or one of her brothers-in-law. Hell, let them be from her first true love. Anyone but Nigel.

  She fingered a lobe guiltily but didn’t reply.

  No. “Please, Juliette,” he begged, his voice raspy. “You know the significance of such a gift. For the love of God, tell me they’re not from him.”

  Tears shone in her eyes, and she blinked for a heartbeat before meeting his gaze. “They’re from him,” she choked out. “But you should know I—”

  Voices sounded in the hall. A woman giggled. A man shushed her. Their conversation grew louder then faded as they staggered past the door and down the corridor, but they’d soon reach a dead end and circle back. Bloody hell.

  Instinct kicked in despite the hollow, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He pressed a finger to his lips in a silent warning and quickly guided Juliette toward the exit of the library.

  And maybe that was for the best.

  Juliette claimed she hadn’t agreed to be Nigel’s mistress, and maybe she hadn’t—in so many words.

  But she’d kept the expensive baubles Nigel had given her and worn them in public.

  Her actions told the true story. The woman Sam loved beyond reason had tied herself to his brother.

  Chapter THIRTY-FIVE

  Sam pulled Julie across the dark library, cracked open the door, and peeked into the hallway. Her body still shimmered from the pleasure he’d given her, but he wasn’t whispering tender words in her ear. He wasn’t pulling her close for a lingering good-bye kiss or promising to call on her tomorrow.

  Instead, he was stiff and stilted, his words clipped and cold. “Go. Find Charlotte or your uncle. I’ll wait here a while before I leave.”

  Dear God. How had she botched things so terribly? She needed to convince him he was the only one she wanted—the only one she loved.

  “Sam,” she said, placing her palm over his heart. He flinched as though her hand had scorched him. “Allow me to explain.”

  “The couple who passed by earlier will return any moment. You need to go.”

  He nudged her toward the corridor, but she kept her slippers rooted to the floor. “Listen to me. I realize how it must look, but you are the one I care about … and the only one I want to be with.”

  “Then why haven’t you refused my brother’s offer?” he asked, the question tinged with accusation and hurt.

  She swallowed, keenly aware that every second she remained increased the risk of a monumental scandal. “Nigel said I had a week before I had to provide my answer.”

  “You require a week to deliberate?” he asked, incredulous.

  His sharp tone cut her, but she pressed on, determined to make him understand. “Of course not. I have no intention of accepting his ridiculous offer, but I thought the extra time might be useful. I’m still looking for the deed, and—”

  “If you plan to refuse him, why are you wearing the earrings he gave you?”

  Blast. She wished she’d never laid eyes on the stupid things. “I’m wearing them because I thought…” She couldn’t quite bring herself to admit that she’d believed they were a gift from Sam. It presumed too much. “I only meant to try them on. I was going to remove them before I left the house … and then I forgot.” Heaven above, the excuse sounded lame to her own ears. “I’m going to return them,” she added firmly.

  He arched a brow, clearly skeptical.

  Her hands shoo
k with frustration. “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t doubt that in this moment you are sincere … and yet, your actions belie your words. My brother and I have placed you in difficult circumstances. I don’t fault you for being confused about your feelings.”

  “I’m not confused,” she said, a bit too loudly. “I know my mind, Sam. I love you.”

  Sweet Jesus. It wasn’t the most romantic of declarations and certainly not how she’d intended to reveal her heart. But now that the words hung in the air between them, she longed for him to return the sentiment—even if all he could manage was a simple kiss, gesture, or smile.

  Something.

  But his face was devoid of expression. She’d bared her body and soul to him, and the only sign that he’d heard her was a tiny tic in his jaw.

  “You said you once loved Nigel.”

  “I said I once fancied myself in love. I love you,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “Not him.”

  “I’m not certain that matters.” Ironically, laughter sounded from down the hall as Sam stared at her, impassive.

  “How can you say that?” she demanded, her heart breaking.

  “You needn’t love someone to be his mistress.” He angled his broad shoulders through the crack in the door and looked back at her, regret in his eyes. “Good-bye, Juliette.”

  Julie started to go after him, but the drunken couple stumbled toward her, so she slipped back into the library and sagged against the wall, debating her options.

  Perhaps she should chase after Sam and create a scene worthy of being featured in next week’s gossip rags. She could cause a scandal so great that he’d be forced to marry her. Her brothers-in-law would be livid with him, and her sisters would be gravely disappointed in her. But it was a small price to pay if she could have Sam.

  More tempted than she cared to admit, she stayed put in the library until the other couple was out of sight. She wanted Sam to marry her, but not because she was the alternative to a duel at dawn.

  No, she wanted the grand passion, the utter devotion. The romantic, if unconventional, courtships that her sisters had. And though this evening’s soiree had gone spectacularly wrong, she wasn’t about to give up on her chance at the fairytale.

  She wasn’t about to give up on Sam.

  He was understandably shaken after hearing Nigel’s lies and seeing her wearing the earrings, but she’d begin to heal the rift tomorrow. Somehow.

  She wished it were as simple as returning the earrings to Nigel along with a note saying she wanted nothing to do with him, now or at any time in the future.

  But she feared he’d immediately retaliate, not only by removing her and her uncle from their home, but also by spreading salacious rumors about her and Sam.

  Rumors that happened to be true and easy to verify, if anyone should be inclined to do so.

  So she had to bide her time. Refuse to give in to the panic that threatened.

  Taking a fortifying breath, she checked the corridor, found it clear, and glided through the door.

  No one seemed to be about, and if she did encounter anyone, she’d simply say she’d taken a wrong turn on the way to the parlor.

  She retraced her steps, wondering if Sam had already left the soiree, for that was what she intended to do. Much as she hated to cut short Uncle Alistair’s enjoyment, they couldn’t stay—not when Nigel might attempt to corner her again.

  So she would simply collect her uncle, say a quick farewell to Charlotte, and head for the safety of their carriage and home.

  She rounded the corner undetected and was only a few yards away from the parlor’s doorway when she heard the shouts. Men’s voices, highly agitated, peppered with jeers, laughter, and scuffling.

  Dear God. Please don’t let Uncle Alistair be involved in a fracas. Let the commotion be part of the game or a minor disagreement between other guests.

  But she already knew the truth in her gut.

  Steeling her nerves, she rushed into the parlor to find a chaotic scene. Uncle Alistair stood nose to nose with another bespectacled gentleman who appeared to be—good heavens, don’t let it be—Lord Vane. The gentleman from the Royal Society, whom she’d hoped would ease her uncle’s way into the esteemed group.

  Julie weaved her way through the circle of chairs, ignoring the whispers of onlookers who were far more riveted by the warring gentlemen than they’d been by the game of charades.

  “The very idea,” Lord Vane sputtered with disgust. “It’s preposterous.”

  “On the secretary,” Uncle Alistair countered, the white tufts atop his head waving wildly. “It’s scientific fact, and I have the correspondence which proves it.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Vane’s face was an unnatural shade of red. “And I have a letter from a drunken pirate saying mermaids are real creatures. That doesn’t make it so, Wiltshire.”

  Uncle Alistair’s wiry brows shot halfway up his forehead. “How dare you compare Mr. Shaw—a respected zoologist—to an inebriated primate? Of all the—”

  Oh no. Julie laid a hand on her uncle’s shoulder, and he turned to face her, startled. “My dear, I didn’t know you’d returned,” he said conversationally—as if he hadn’t been shouting at Lord Vane one second earlier.

  “I came to see how you were faring,” she responded. “It certainly appears as though it’s a … er … spirited game of charades.” She attempted a charming laugh, as if uncivil shouting matches were part and parcel of silly parlor games. To Lord Vane she said, “Please, forgive my uncle. He is a devotee of the game and a rather fierce competitor. I’m afraid his enthusiasm may have gotten the best of him.”

  “I’ll say.” Lord Vane yanked on his lapels, but nodded, slightly mollified. “I’ve never heard such an absurd claim. And as a respected member of the scientific community, I feel obliged to point out fallacies.”

  Checking the urge to defend her uncle, she pasted on a smile and through gritted teeth, said, “Yes, of course.” Though she had no idea what had spawned the argument between the men, she was certain nothing was to be gained from revisiting it.

  Lord Vane sniffed pompously and droned on. “I simply cannot allow such outrageous myths to be perpetuated. It would be irresponsible of me.”

  Julie bit her tongue—but only for her uncle’s sake. She could not afford to alienate a member of the Royal Society. Even if he was a puffed-up, self-important ass.

  Uncle Alistair shook his head in frustration. “It’s a pity, Vane, that you are unable to open your mind sufficiently to accept the existence of nature’s beauty and plunder.”

  Lord Vane snickered and smiled smugly at her uncle’s gaffe.

  Julie felt the eyes of at least two dozen guests trained on her and Uncle Alistair. She could hear his breaths coming in shallow, strained puffs. Curling her fingers around his creaky elbow, she said breezily, “I’m sure you must have tired of the game by now, Uncle. Shall we take a stroll to the ballroom and find some refreshment?”

  “Platypus anatinus,” he replied proudly.

  The crowd of onlookers burst into raucous laughter, and Julie tugged on his arm, desperate to whisk him away and spare him further humiliation. “Let us go,” she whispered urgently.

  “In just a moment, my dear.” To the room in general, he said, “The animal whose name escaped me earlier is the platypus. It possesses the flat bill of a duck and the body of a quadruped.”

  After a second of stunned silence, the guests erupted into a fresh fit of laughter. A young man wearing a peacock blue waistcoat roared and slapped his knee. A gray-haired woman wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. Julie wanted to melt into the floor.

  But Uncle Alistair smiled sagely, unperturbed. Shouting above the din, he said, “It is an odd-looking creature, no doubt—that’s what makes it such a marvel.” He turned to Julie. “Now we may leave.”

  “Let’s make our way directly to the carriage,” she suggested.

  “Of course—if that is what you wish.”

  They couldn
’t escape the room—nay, the house—fast enough for her liking, but Uncle Alistair refused to be rushed. He covered her trembling hand with his own and proceeded toward the door at a stately pace. “Hold your head high, Juliette. We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Julie swallowed. Perhaps he had nothing to be ashamed of. Her conscience wasn’t quite as clear.

  Nevertheless, she raised her chin and blinked back tears, incensed on her uncle’s behalf. A man as sweet, learned, and generous as he deserved the ton’s recognition, not their scorn.

  But Julie’s anger was not directed solely at Lord Vane and the insensitive onlookers—she was furious with herself as well. She was the one who’d dragged her uncle to the soiree and then left him to his own devices while she’d slipped off to the library with Sam.

  Blast. In the space of a few short hours, she’d managed to expose her uncle to ridicule, provide ample leverage to the man who would employ blackmail to make her his mistress, and irreparably wound the man she loved.

  In retrospect, it would have been an excellent evening to remain in bed with a good book. Or even a bad one.

  When at last she and Uncle Alistair were settled in the carriage, she stared out the fogged window and sighed.

  “Don’t be so forsworn, my dear,” he said kindly. “I regret any embarrassment I caused you, but confess I have little tolerance for the small-mindedness Vane and the others displayed. I shall never understand why people are predisposed to disbelieving when the world is full of wondrous things.”

  “Is there really a creature that is part duck and part…?”

  “Mole,” he provided. “There truly is.” He smiled to himself, bolstered by the thought.

  But she was still mulling over something else her uncle had said. Though his displeasure hadn’t been directed at her, she wondered if perhaps she’d been one of the small-minded people. She hadn’t believed that her uncle could really speak to Aunt Elspeth. Or that she herself deserved a husband who was devoted to her and her happiness. Or that a rogue could change his ways.

  Perhaps … it was time for her to take a leap of faith.