by Sylvia Day
The Sapphire Room was the loveliest room she'd ever seen. The walls were covered in deep blue-and-cream stripes of silk, the massive bed was layered in lush indigo velvet, and the parquet floors were covered with rich Aubusson rugs. She spun slowly, attempting to picture Remington here.
"My lady?"
Julienne started in surprise at the use of her courtesy title. "How did you know?"
Janice smiled. "'Tis impossible to hide good breeding. I'll go now and fetch you something else to wear and some supper. I won't be long."
"Thank you. I'd be very grateful to get out of these clothes."
After the courtesan left, Julienne tossed the wig into the coal bucket and sank into a chair, once again admiring the luxuriousness of her surroundings. Remington's Gentleman's Club was a pleasure den, a bastion of male comfort and iniquity. Hugh had steeped himself in the environment, surrounding himself with erotic novels and scandalous peep-show boxes, as well as a social circle made up entirely of debauched rakes. She'd been forced to study the enemy simply to know what she faced.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Julienne had to admit she was curious about carnal relations. She hated to be in the dark about anything, and Aunt Eugenia was no help at all, stuttering and stammering every time she was asked anything of a sexual nature. The books and contents of the boxes had answered many of Julienne's questions, but in the process they had raised many more, and unfortunately they had told her nothing about how to remove Hugh from his path of self-destruction.
Standing, she crossed to the window and stared at the darkened London skyline. Remington's was Hugh's favorite establishment, and after seeing the inside of the famous club, Julienne could understand why. He'd been absent for a week, which was not unusual, but the hounding creditors were driving her mad. Usually Hugh dealt with them, charming them into allowing him a few more days. She, on the other hand, had no notion of what to say, and while the duns strove to be polite to her, they grew angrier by the day.
There would be hell to pay when Hugh showed his sorry hide again. But in the meantime, she was inclined to think her adventure had been worth it just for the few stolen moments she'd enjoyed of Lucien Remington's company. The fact was, the possibility of seeing him up close, of hearing his voice, of watching him at her leisure, was what had prompted this plan. Finding Hugh would have been a bonus.
Under no other circumstances would Julienne have been allowed to make Remington's acquaintance. She knew very little about him, since he was not a fit topic for unmarried ladies. Furtive eavesdropping in retiring rooms had only whetted her appetite to learn more. But there was one thing she knew for a certainty: Lucien Remington was a naughty man.
And she rather liked that about him.
He knew how to enjoy himself without running headlong into the poorhouse. In fact, rumor said he was one of the richest men in England. She hoped Hugh could learn similar self-restraint and financial acuity.
Releasing a deep breath, Julienne turned toward the bed. At times she truly hated being an earl's daughter and all of the social strictures that came with that station. She wished she could be like her abigail, who was seeing the neighbor's footman and was blissfully in love. Instead Julienne would be forced to marry for prestige and money. It really wasn't fair. Playing the martyr didn't suit her nature. Hugh made his own messes, and as far as she was concerned, he should clean them up himself. Unfortunately, that wasn't the way it would be.
But her dreams were her own. And if those dreams were of Lucien Remington and his wicked smiles, no one else would ever have to know.
Lucien strode to the sideboard, poured two fingers of brandy, and tossed the fiery liquid back in one gulp.
He'd lost his damn mind. There was no other explanation for forcing Lady Julienne La Coeur to stay. His hand went to the front of his trousers and rubbed the length of his aching erection. His arousal was ridiculous. She was dressed in men's clothing, for Christ's sake!
Closing his eyes, he pictured the sway of her hips in those trousers as she'd left the room. His cock throbbed in response.
Hell and damnation! He should have shoved her out the door. Gently, of course, but shoved with haste, nevertheless.
Instead he had sent her upstairs to the room that adjoined his. She was an innocent, that was painfully obvious, but despite her unfamiliarity with sex, she was no stranger to desire. She'd looked at him as if she wanted to eat him alive. And, God, he'd love to allow her to. With very little effort, Lucien could imagine sliding his cock in and out of her delectable mouth. It would feel like warm silk…
He groaned as his trousers grew even more uncomfortable.
With a muffled curse, Lucien set his empty glass on the desk and walked to the bookshelf. Glancing quickly through the spines, he located the file for the Earl of Montrose. The earl's entire monetary history could be found in here, from the amount he owed his tailor to the balance in his bank account.
Lucien had been aware that Montrose was playing too deep. Any other patron would have lost his credit privileges long ago. But Lucien had left the young earl's accounts open, for one reason and for one reason only-he wanted Julienne La Coeur. He'd coveted her across many a crowded ballroom. Tiny but temptingly voluptuous, with dark blonde hair and mischievous eyes, Julienne had stolen the breath from him at first sight.
He'd wanted to approach her, to beg a dance with her, so he could hold her in his arms. But his reputation as a notorious rake and debauched libertine, as well as his livelihood in trade, had made him vastly unsuitable for even an introduction, let alone a waltz. So he'd allowed Montrose, his one connection to Julienne, to continue playing, to keep him close until he could think of a way to get to his sister.
Lucien wasn't certain what he'd do with Julienne when he caught her. Perhaps he could seduce her and ease his craving. Maybe a longer association would be required. He honestly didn't know what he wanted. He only knew that he wanted. Badly.
Never in his wildest imaginings (and his imaginings could get pretty wild) had he ever thought she would come to him. And dressed as a man, no less.
But he rather liked that she had. It took a formidable will to risk such a scandal. And she'd stood up to him, before whom even some dukes cowered. Julienne La Coeur was no simpering miss.
Now she was upstairs, preparing to slip into one of his beds. He could imagine her curls spread across his silk-covered pillows, her head thrown back with pleasure, as he rode her hard and deep. She'd be ravishing all flushed with passion…
Hang it!
He was driving himself mad.
Before he aroused himself enough to do something he'd regret, Lucien returned the file to the shelf and exited to the gambling area. He wandered among the gentlemen of the Beau Monde, keeping an eye on who was winning and who was losing. He directed the courtesans toward members who looked to be in need of a little amusement, and signaled the servers to water the drinks of those who looked to be falling too far into their cups. He socialized with patrons who sought him out, and paid attention to the quantity and quality of food leaving his kitchens.
Busy with work, he was able to pass some time without a full-blown cockstand. But as the hours passed and more gentlemen made use of the courtesans, his mind wandered back to Julienne.
Beautiful, untouchable Julienne.
He'd watched her draw wallflowers out of their shells and turn the Beau Monde's social dragons into purring pussycats. And he coveted her gentle regard.
Lucien left the main floor and made his way upstairs. Before he realized it, he stood in the bedroom he reserved for his own use when the lateness of the hour or sheer exhaustion made it impractical to go home. He hesitated in front of the connecting door to the Sapphire Room. His erection was back, hot and throbbing in the tight confines of his trousers. He rested his forehead gently against the portal, knowing Julienne was just inside, so close. Achingly close.
He paused and took a deep breath. He reached for the doorknob and was gratified when it turned. Julienne
hadn't had the foresight to turn the lock. Fortuitous, or a disaster? Lucien couldn't be certain. A gentleman would walk away. Of course, a gentleman wouldn't have come up here in the first place.
But then he'd never claimed to be a gentleman.
Before he could think better of it, Lucien pushed the door open and walked right in.
Chapter Two
Julienne woke, alerted to the presence of someone else in the room. She was a light sleeper, always had been, and she lay quietly, attempting to ascertain who'd entered.
"You're awake."
She stiffened. That velvety voice was unmistakable. Sitting up in the massive bed, she held the sheet to her neck and glanced toward the door. Light filtered in around Lucien Remington's tall form, casting half his features in shadow. He looked like the devil incarnate, all raw power and luscious dark masculinity.
"You woke me," she censured in a sleep-husky voice, her body taut as a bow. Her dreams had been fraught with images of him. His hands on her, his lips melded to hers, his hard body pinning her down… Nocturnal fantasies she enjoyed with only the tiniest amount of guilt. "This is most improper, Mr. Remington," she said sharply, hiding the heady excitement she felt. "Why are you here?"
He came toward her with his long-legged stride, a sexual predator in motion. Stopping by the bed, he lit the taper on the side table. His mouth fell open when the circle of light revealed her.
"Jesus! You're naked!" he accused, stumbling backward with an expression of horror.
"Hence the reason you should not be in here." Julienne pulled the sheet up higher and gestured with a toss of her chin toward the transparent negligee slung over a chair. "Being naked seemed no better or worse than wearing that."
He never took his eyes from her. "I should have allowed you to leave," he mumbled, shaking his head.
She colored. "You should leave. You have no right to enter my room."
He'd backed up almost to the door when she stopped him. "Has my brother arrived?" she asked eagerly, pushing her hair away from her face.
Remington stood frozen by the doorway. "No," he croaked. "Montrose is not here." He stared at her for a long moment before blurting, "Are you comfortable?"
"Am I-?" Julienne frowned, confused by the sudden change in topic. "Yes, I was quite comfortable."
"And the food? Did you enjoy it?"
"The food was excellent." She smiled. "Your entire establishment is breathtaking. I'd heard rumors, of course, and Hugh-er, Montrose-raved about the beauty of this place, but nothing equals actually seeing it with my own eyes. It's very impressive. I admire what you've accomplished here."
"You ad-?" He swallowed hard. "Thank you. I'm pleased you like it."
"You must hear that often."
"Actually," he admitted, "that was the first instance where someone other than my parents expressed admiration for me."
"Oh." Julienne didn't know what to say. She knew what others said about him, but she was saddened to realize he knew it as well. "Is that why you came? To check on my welfare?"
An uncomfortable silence descended.
"Perhaps I've come to ravish you," he said finally.
She choked and then laughed aloud, even as her stomach did a little flip. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Remington's eyes widened. "Why? You don't believe I would want to ravish you?"
Julienne rubbed her forehead and shook her head, wondering if she was dreaming this mad encounter. "Mr. Remington, you are the handsomest man in all of England. Your reputation is well known to me. I am aware a libertine like you would have no interest in a green debutante like myself."
He moved toward her again with painful slowness, as if he pulled against his will. "The handsomest man in England?" he queried softly. "Is that your personal opinion, or one you repeat from the mouths of others?"
She twisted at the waist as he approached, hiding her bare back. "Both," she admitted. She raised a finely arched brow. "I did not take you to be a man of vanity, Mr. Remington, but if you are, and you require confirmation of your attractiveness, I would be more than happy to oblige you … in the morning. At the present time, I would appreciate-"
"I'm curious, my lady," he interrupted, his mouth curving intimately. "How would you confirm my attractiveness?"
Julienne grew wary at the hot flicker she saw in his eyes, the same look he'd given her in his office. She liked it, but Lord above, she was naked! The whole situation was… thrilling… but far beyond her experience. Clutching the sheet firmly with one hand, she held out the other to halt his advance. He stopped immediately. "What do you want?"
"To ravish you."
He said it so simply, his expression so earnest, that she was momentarily rendered speechless. Oh, he was wicked. And far more interesting than the other men of her acquaintance.
"You can have any woman you want."
"No." His smile was wistful. "I can't have you."
Her breath caught.
"You're very good," she said finally, honestly awestruck. She'd never seen such a talented rogue. "Charming, seemingly sincere. I can see how you've managed so many conquests. But really, I am not worth the effort, I assure you, although I am flattered."
Remington laughed. "Sweetheart, you're amazing. You dress as a man to sneak into my club, tolerate my extorting you into spending the night, and then feel flattered when I barge into your room and tell you I want to ravish you." His voice softened when he said, "I wish I could keep you."
The expression on his face made her heart race. Julienne felt light-headed and dizzy all over again. Then she was struck with a thought that made sense, unlike all the others that swirled in her head. "Have you been drinking?"
He moved casually to the chair and sat. "Tell me why you want to find your brother, and I'll tell you why I came in here."
"If you're interested in conversing with me, can you at least allow me to dress?"
His blue eyes glittered with eagerness. "In the negligee or the trousers?"
Her mouth fell open. This really had to be a dream. An odd, wonderful, bizarre dream. "I don't know how to deal with a man like you, Mr. Remington." She was out of her depth.
"You can start by calling me Lucien," he suggested. "Then you should probably begin screaming. Most debutantes would have run from the room in terror by now. I'm a stranger to you except for my scandalous reputation, which decries me as a hedonistic seducer of women."
She smiled. "I'm not afraid of you. You've no need to force yourself on a woman."
"Who said I would have to force you?" he purred seductively.
"Good grief," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "You deliberately cultivate your image, don't you? I'd wager you're not as bad as they say."
One side of his mouth twitched in amusement. "No," he agreed. "I'm much worse. If you weren't the purest, sweetest, most beautiful thing I've ever seen, I would have already had you on your back, with your heels in the air."
Julienne's mouth parted in surprise, and she looked away, her face flushed. He was a perfect scoundrel to say such things, but she didn't care. Strong, virile, and devastatingly handsome, Lucien Remington was her fantasy come to life. He had been since the first moment she'd seen him at the Milton country rout.
Taller than most of the other men there and heavily muscled like a common laborer, Lucien had permanently imprinted himself on her memory when he'd inclined his head toward her with a rakish wink. She'd not passed one night in the month since without dreaming of him in ways no proper lady would dream about any man, not even their husbands.
Ah, what she wouldn't give to be brazen and desirable, if only for a moment. She would love to be the kind of woman who could retain the interest of a man like Lucien. The thought made her sigh aloud.
"Bloody hell."
She looked up in surprise and was startled by the anguished look on his face.
"What is it?" she demanded. "Why do you look like that?"
Lucien stood and rounded the backside of t
he chair, putting the piece of furniture between them as if she posed some grave threat to his person. "Because you look like that't I know what you're thinking, and you must cease. Now."
"My thoughts happen to be none of your business." She waved toward the door. "The hour is late, and I'm tired. I'm undressed, and-"
"I wanted to watch you sleep."
Julienne blinked. "Beg your pardon?"
"You asked me why I was here." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to watch you sleep."
She frowned, confused. "Why would you want to do that?" Lucien Remington, notorious voluptuary, watching her sleep? How much more intimate that seemed than ravishment.
She studied him, noting his hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. It couldn't be possible that he was interested in her. It was so against his known nature, she simply couldn't credit it. He preferred mature, and usually married, women. "Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Rem-er, Lucien? Perhaps you are slightly in your cups?"
"I am not in my cups!" he growled. "But I am decidedly unwell. I'm coming undone. And damn it, the way you look at me tells me you feel the same. I'm not an honorable man, and I do not aspire to be one. I'll take your innocence and walk away without looking back. You'll be ruined, Julienne. I've been panting after you for weeks. Weeks." He shoved away from the chair and began to pace. "I wish to God you had not come into my club."
Julienne gaped. From the moment she'd arrived in London at the start of the Season, her life had seemed to turn completely upside down. Her brother was missing, creditors hounded Montrose Hall, and Lucien Remington wanted to bed her. She couldn't decide which event was most disturbing. Her skin grew hot and tight, her body achingly uncomfortable.
"Aren't you going to say something?" he snapped. "Shout at me. Call me a cad, or worse, if you have the coarse vocabulary to do so. Tell me to leave." When she just stared at him, wide-eyed with incredulity, Lucien approached her and grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her roughly. "Do something! Anything, damn it, to make me go." His fingers kneaded restlessly against her skin, as if he couldn't bear not to touch her.
