With the precision of a man who dealt with figures on a daily basis, he folded his coat and laid it on the back of a chair. He tugged at his cravat, placed it on top of the coat before proceeding to unbutton his vest with what Juliana considered maddening deliberation. If he kept this up, she was going to scream.
Which was undoubtedly precisely what he wanted. The beast!
His shirt slid over his head, tousling his black waves into a disorder that was all too familiar. She’d swear her heart turned over. Dear God, how many times had she seen him thus?
She gaped at his well-remembered chest. The coal black hair narrowing to a V that led to . . . to a positively obscene bulge in his form-fitting trousers. Horrified by the nervous giggle that threatened to erupt, she clamped a hand over her mouth and waited with embarrassingly avid interest for what came next.
Boots of course. Forced by necessity to sit on the edge of the chair, Darius wrestled off his boots, giving her the satisfaction of thinking she caught a quiver in his fingers. His deliberate calm—his seeming indifference—was evaporating. Oh yes, she’d caught him out.
And she was as wet as if he had been caressing her most intimate places instead of not so much as laying a hand on anything but himself.
He peeled off his socks, tossed them aside. Getting careless, was he? Not so tauntingly indifferent. He unbuttoned the drop front of his trousers, slowly slid them down.
What was she doing, lying here, watching him like her girls watching one of the demonstrations at the academy? But she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t open her mouth in protest or in love.
Once again his hands betrayed him as his drawers came down with more alacrity than his trousers. Dear God, he was as well made as she remembered him, though she’d made every effort to shut him from her mind.
And startlingly erect.
It was going to happen. After all these years alone, he would be inside her, plunging, bucking, gasping. Murmuring her name. Shouting his release. Holding her tight, whispering words of love until desire rose up to swallow them again. And again.
Control. Control. He had to stay in control. He wanted to fall on her, devour her, run without stop through every one of the sexual tricks they’d practiced over the years. He wanted to hold her so tight they were not only joined in flesh but breathed as one, felt as one, melded together for all time. The words hovering on the tip of his tongue were: Remember, Jewel. Remember how it was with us.
A fatal error. The last thing he wanted was to remind her of Geoffrey. Geoffrey watching, Geoffrey participating. All three writhing together on the bed.
He almost tossed his boot into the far corner of the room. Instead, muscles quivering with his fight to take it slow and easy, he carefully placed the boot upright on the floor next to the one he had already removed.
You’re free now, Jewel. Free to love. Free to marry. How many times had he said it? All to no avail.
He stood, unbuttoning his trouser front with what he hoped was maddening deliberation.
Think of the children we could have. Which was what he’d thought when he offered for Natalia. Words smacking of a bloodless, contrived marriage. Which was not at all what he wanted, as he’d discovered almost too late.
Pretend we met for the first time at the Mablethorpe’s ball. Silently, Darius groaned. For all that his Jewel ran a school for courtesans, she would be horrified at the thought of lying with a man she’d just met. Devil a bit, if she wouldn’t lie with him when she’d known him for years . . .
I love you? But that too had been said before and failed to melt the armor she had built around herself. Failed to penetrate her fear, her guilt, her certainty she was ruined forever. So what was left?
Maybe shut up and just show her? his inner voice mocked.
Darius swallowed a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. He’d known this was a risk, but he’d never expected that he, the man known for his skillful ability to manipulate words, would find his tongue bound in bands of steel.
His hands shook as he shoved his drawers to the floor, air whooshing out of his lungs in relief as his erection sprang free at last. God, but he had to have her now!
No-o-o-o! Darius dug his fingernails into his palms, clamped his teeth into his bottom lip. Standing stock still, he drew slow breaths into his lungs. This was Jewel, diamond-hard, yet ready to shatter at a touch. The precious Jewel he was determined to seduce back into his life, since friendship, cajoling, reason, jealousy, and protestations of love had come to naught.
There were no more clothes to remove.
Except hers.
His hands uncurled, a smile nipped at his lips. The wisp of fabric she was wearing didn’t appear to be much of a challenge. Suddenly, his customarily boundless confidence came rushing back from wherever it had been hiding. He could do this. Tonight would be the beginning of the life he dreamed of for so long.
In one swift motion, Darius stripped the bedcovers all the way down to the end of the bed, allowing him to feast his eyes on moonlight kissing her long bronze hair, on wide amber eyes whose expression remained hidden in the dim light, the faint rose of nipples straining against nearly transparent fabric, her flat stomach, the darker patch not far below. The outline of legs just long enough to wrap tight around him, her small pink toes begging to be kissed.
Perhaps he’d start there and work his way up instead of starting at her ear and working his way down. Would that be different enough to unsettle her, to shut out the past and leave her thinking only of the new?
As he eased onto the bed, his gaze fixed on those toes, his painfully hard erection eased a trifle, as if it had finally understood, though reluctantly, his determination to go slow. Thank you, Lord. Going off like a fountain at his age might have been a mortification he could never live down, his Jewel well rid of him.
He kissed each toe, one by one, then worked his way up, feeling no little satisfaction when he felt her quiver as his tongue swept her inner thigh, drawing ever closer . . .
Abruptly, he abandoned his apparent goal, hitching himself up until he could give proper attention to each luscious breast in turn. Darius could feel her heart beating faster as he licked and sucked, but not a sound passed her lips. Not surprising. He’d long known she was as stubborn as he.
He eased himself up, his lips feathering over her forehead, her ear, trailing along her cheek. He felt a soft puff of air as she expelled a breath, the first sign she felt any response at all. His mouth found hers, swallowing the small sound she made. For a moment her lips remained stiff, unyielding, until with a faint whimper she let him in. Dear God, Jewel! His tongue plunged inside, and as he imitated what he longed to do to her clitoris, he felt his control begin to slip.
He would not attack her in the manner Geoff so loved to watch. The manner he’d so often demanded. Would. Not. But, oh, the scent of her, the feel of her, every inch of skin a well-remembered map to pleasure. A groan wrenched from him as he pulled away, burying his face between her breasts.
Her arms came around him, hugging him tight. “It’s all right, it’s all right. Truly. I’m so sorry, so selfish . . . I didn’t realize . . . never thought you too have nightmares.”
“It’s just us, Jewel. We have to remember that.” To say anything more would fully open the Pandora’s Box that was now barely ajar.
“I’m afraid . . . but not of you. Only that this won’t work. That I’ll still be frozen in guilt and loathing, unable to be the woman I want to be.”
“He was my friend, but I should have killed him.” More softly, Darius added, “There was never a day I didn’t love you. I wanted you so badly, I shut out every moral tenet I’d ever been taught and leaped at Geoff’s offer like a drowning man at a straw. I knew how wrong it was, but I had to have you.”
“And this is our punishment.”
“My punishment. You were an innocent, Geoff and I the guilty ones. But tonight? Tonight is just for us.”
“No ghost in the corner
.”
“No ghost,” he murmured, “just Darius and Juliana and the whole night to play in.”
And with that he trailed kisses down her belly, through her soft mat of hair until he found her lower lips, drinking in the telltale moisture pouring out of her, proving her stoic stance a lie. He barely had time to put his tongue in motion before her body clenched and she gasped out his name, tremors shaking her from head to toe.
Now! Darius shoved up her legs, found her opening, and plunged inside, heedless of his determination to be slow and gentle. His control broken at last, he pumped hard and fast, his breaths becoming harsh pants, his mind soaring into a realm of nothing but pleasure. Pleasure startling in intensity. Fierce. Possessive. This was Jewel, and she was his.
Only his.
Shock waves of intense, almost painful pleasure broke over him. His jaw went so rigid he couldn’t even shout her name. Never, never before had it been like this. Chest heaving, Darius collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath.
Surely now . . .
But as his mind slowly returned, reality came with it. Her hands were on his back, yet he could almost feel her pulling away. She’d gone still. Lifeless. As if he’d touched her physically but failed to put more than an insignificant dent in her armor.
Idiot! Thirty seconds after bliss, you’re reverting to the businessman. Examining the situation from every angle, finding flaws where none exist. Tonight was perfection, the culmination of an agonizingly long quest.
But when he woke just before dawn and reached for his Jewel, she was gone, the Baroness Rivenhall’s private wing at Thornhill Manor deserted. Silent. Without so much as faint stirrings from pupils, teachers, or servants in the Aphrodite Academy. All that was left was a neatly folded, excruciatingly brief note lying on top of his neat pile of clothing: Darius, I am so sorry. J.
Chapter 15
A week later
“Am I to understand you wish to provide an education for servants, my lady? Even female servants?” The scholarly young man on the far side of Juliana’s desk regarded her with something close to horror.
“I presumed Mr. Wolfe had made that clear to you,” she returned evenly. “I am sorry this interview has been a waste of time for both of us.” Juliana proffered a regal nod. The young gentleman, not long out of Cambridge, flushed, stumbled to his feet, and exited the room.
The next interview ended just as poorly when Juliana quickly ascertained that the starched-up governess who had spent her career dinning knowledge into the heads of the children of a duke and two earls would not take kindly to a position as schoolmistress to housemaids, footmen, and stable boys. The singular lack of suitability in the candidates she had interviewed so far was clearly all Darius’s fault—revenge for her requesting to interview the candidates herself. Revenge for . . . other things as well. Devil take him!
“A sorry lot, my lady.” Fetch rose up from the wingchair in the corner of the bookroom of the house on Mount Street, where he had been a hidden and silent listener to the interviews. The school was his idea, after all. And, besides, he was as shrewd as they come. Despite his age, Juliana trusted his judgment. He had a right to his opinion about the teacher for the school they hoped would be the first of many.
“I suspect Mr. Wolfe sent them just to annoy me.”
Fetch bit off a bark of laughter. “Oh aye, my lady, reckon he did.” At the pain on her face, his grin faded. “But I’d wager a guinea or two the right one’s out there. We just haven’t got to him yet.”
Which was true. No matter how things stood between them, Darius would never let her down. “Of course,” she murmured. “Please tell Penniman he may send in the next.” Fetch, his face set in the stubborn determination that was so much a part of him, did not move. “Well?” Juliana snapped. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
“Miz Cecilia, Miz Holly and Miz Belle have been trying to see you for days now, and you keep turning them away. They’re your friends, my lady. You need them. It’s not right to turn your back on them.”
“I didn’t!” Juliana blanched as she heard the undignified screech in her tone. Heaven forfend, she’d lost all claim to being a lady.
“Yes, you have. Just when you most need your friends, you’ve shut yourself up in this house like it was some prison.”
“I am taking a respite from society,” Juliana intoned. “Nor do I need to listen to the ladies of St. Mark’s give lip service to aiding the poor while shrieking in horror over a project to educate their servants!”
Fetch heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I reckon that’s not all that’s wrong, my lady. Miz Cecilia says you’ve made a mistake big as a house and need to do something about it right quick.”
“Says the boy without so much as a name.” Juliana’s hands shot up to cover her mouth. Eyes wide, she stared at Fetch above her clenched fingers. “Oh, dear God, forgive me,” she burst out. “Every word out of your mouth is true, which is why it hurts so much. That I should say such a thing when I have always prided myself on helping people, not hurt—”
“It’s all right, my lady, truly it is. We all know what it is to hurt and be hurt. We understand. And as for the name, I’m working on it. I just . . . well, I have to speak to Nick about it, now don’t I?”
How someone his age could be so wise, offering a smile that managed to be understanding, forgiving, and even hopeful all at once was a moment to be treasured, hugged to her heart. Juliana proffered a minuscule nod to indicate she understood his message. “The next candidate, Fetch, if you please.”
In the end they found a young man who had attended Oxford on a scholarship, bowing and scraping to all his “betters,” fetching and carrying for years, in order to get an education. And finding, upon graduation, he was too independent, too rebellious to settle for a position as junior clerk in the City or in the law offices of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Teaching servants about the world outside their small, isolated sphere, however, suited him to perfection. As did the salary that was twice that made by clerks or tutors.
He was, undoubtedly, the young man Darius would have chosen. He had sent the other five just to torment her. It wasn’t as if they had not been through these silent struggles of will before, but this time there was no exhilaration, no thrill to demonstrating her independence. Only a sense of agonizing loss and the knowledge the fault was entirely hers.
As Juliana thanked Fetch for his help, she added, “You may tell Cecilia I will be at home to visitors tomorrow.”
“To all three of them, my lady?”
She huffed a sigh. “All three.”
“My lady?” Juliana forced her head up, meeting Fetch’s blue gaze eye to eye. “I know it’s none of my business,” he said, “but we all want to see you happy. There’s not one of us has a past that bears close looking. But we put it behind us because we had to. We couldn’t go on, else.”
Juliana’s lips quivered as she fought for a reply. “You’re right, I know you’re right. And yet who would I be if I shoved my memories aside? I cannot, will not, be that silly child, Juliana Lisbourne, ever again.”
“Nor will I be that boy fetching things in a bawdy house, but what would I be if I’d been some fancy nob raised by a governess like the one we saw today? Gawd, my lady, I wouldn’t trade what I learned on the streets for all the velvet-draped nurseries in Mayfair.”
Dear God, if Nick Black were ever willing to give the boy up, she’d take him in a minute. Cathy was a very fortunate girl.
“Off you go,” Juliana returned with her first genuine smile in a week. “Tell Cecilia I shall expect them all tomorrow, the time at their convenience.”
“Yes, my lady.” Fetch proffered an elaborate bow and took himself off, leaving Juliana to wonder what she’d just done. Given herself wiggle-room? Offered up the crack in her armor Darius had penetrated a week ago—the crack Fetch had just pried open a bit more—to the determined efforts of Cecilia, Holly, and Belle, who would undoubtedly arrive armed with verbal crow-bars to rend all objections fr
om her, propelling her into Darius’s arms, whether she wished it or not.
Lie to everyone else if you please, but do not lie to yourself!
Not a lie! She wanted, she needed. She simply couldn’t. Something inside her wouldn’t give in. Each time she thought she could, self-loathing snapped her back.
Yet perhaps this time . . .
What could three young women accomplish that Darius had not been able to do?
Nothing. Only you can make the change. Only you can find a way out of this coil of misery.
Something she had totally failed to do. Six years since Geoffrey’s death and here she was, her inner turmoil still unresolved. Nothingness yawned before her, a bleak, lonely life stretching into infinity. Was this her fate? Or would she let her friends take her by the hand and lead her into the light?
Beyond tears, Juliana lowered her head to the desk and let the ache in her heart swallow her up.
Early the next afternoon, Juliana’s three erstwhile students arrived in one carriage, each sporting a look of reproach tinged with anger. Their greetings cool, Cecilia flounced to a chair across from her hostess, while Belle and Holly perched on the sofa, backs straight, eyes inscrutable.
“’Tis said that now Mr. Wolfe is saved from that woman, Longmere is backing away,” Cecy announced. “Even though, through some wrong-headed notion none of us can fathom, you refuse to benefit from his ploy.”
Juliana blinked, regarding her friend in some confusion. “I beg your pardon.”
“Oh, don’t tell us you didn’t know,” Holly declared. “Longmere sacrificed himself for you, drawing La Charlbury away from Mr. Wolfe, showing him what a shallow twit she is.”
“Truly, Juliana,” Belle added earnestly, “I don’t think the marquess can stand the woman, yet it took but a cock of his eyebrow to have her panting after him. I swear he’s done your Mr. Wolfe such a favor, he should return some of the money he choused out of Longmere.”
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