by Shana Galen
“You are shocked,” he said, scrutinizing her. “You also seem dubious.”
“I wouldn’t dream of questioning you.” She tried to sit.
He stalled her with one finger. “But?”
She looked askance. “You seem to have some experience.”
“And you have none? I’ll wager you’ve been kissed before.”
“Yes, but not—” Her cheeks felt hot, though why she should feel at all embarrassed after lying half-naked and exposed before this man was a mystery. “Not the way you kissed me.”
“I kissed you in an unvirginal manner?”
He’d raised her ire. “‘Unvirginal’ is not a word, but to answer your question, you kissed me like a man who has kissed many women. Like a man who knows how to kiss, how to enjoy it, and how to make certain I enjoy it.”
She realized what she’d said too late and sighed at the wide smile on his face. “So you enjoyed my kisses. What else did you enjoy?”
“You know the answer to that.”
The finger that had rested on her shoulder slid down. “The way I touched your breasts?” He pushed her hands aside with lamentably no resistance on her part and moved the material covering her. His hand stroked over her skin, just as she’d hoped he would. “The way I suckled your nipples?” He bent and lapped at one hard tip with his tongue, and she put an arm around his neck as though to keep him there. What was she doing? She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust men, and yet this man was not at all like any other man she’d known.
“But I think what you really enjoyed was my hand between your legs.”
“You shouldn’t say such things.”
“My darling, Juliana, what you don’t seem to understand is that I may be a virgin, but I’m no priest. Just because I haven’t ever”—he seemed to be thinking of the way to put it—“known a woman in the biblical sense doesn’t mean I haven’t known women.”
“I see.” Her voice was barely a whisper as one of his hands trailed a lazy path down her abdomen.
“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know all the extremely pleasurable, but very naughty, things we might do without there ever being any chance of a bastard.”
“No, I don’t.” She gasped as his hand stroked over her center.
“Shall I show you another? That had been my plan before you accused me of all manner of nefarious plots.”
“And how do I know you don’t have nefarious intentions now?”
His hand fisted in the fabric of her skirts and began pulling it higher, revealing more and more of her legs. “Oh, I do. I intend to behave most wickedly, all in the name of giving you pleasure. But, Juliana.” She opened her eyes at the demanding tone in his voice. “I do this because I want to, not because I expect anything in return. The day you give me more than the pleasure I take from watching you climax and hearing you moan and feeling your body writhe beneath my touch is the day you offer, freely and willingly, to pleasure me. Do you understand?”
His hand was between her legs again, and she couldn’t possibly answer him. Her body was already tightening in anticipation of the feelings she knew he could give her. Though she could not manage to find words, she understood something very well. She had found a man who was, ostensibly, far less selfish than she because she planned to take what he gave and give nothing in return.
He moved over her, less tender now, and lifted her by the waist until she was farther back on the bed. He settled himself between her knees and spread them wide. Julia reached to cover herself, but he caught her hands. “I only want to look at you, to see what I will taste.”
“Taste?” she squealed.
“I promised nefarious activities, didn’t I?” His gaze went back to her core. “Perhaps I wasn’t entirely honest earlier. Seeing you like this—lovely and pink and wet for me—is more than enough payment.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Shh. I know what you meant, and I don’t fault you. You’d be a fool to trust most men, most women too. And you are no fool. No.” He bent and brushed his stubbled cheek along her inner thigh. Julia jumped. “You are brave.” He kissed her thigh. “Determined.” He kissed the other, this time a bit higher. “Intelligent.” His lips brushed her curls. “Caring.” His mouth brushed against that innermost part of her and she gasped. “And beautiful. So beautiful.”
His mouth settled against her and then she felt his tongue stroke and part her. The little bud he had teased with his hands earlier tightened and strained and was finally rewarded with a lick from his tongue. Julia moaned. He licked her again, his tongue lazy and inquisitive, rubbing against her until pressure began to build.
This pressure was unlike what she had felt last time. That had been pleasant and warm. This was more grasping, more desperate. As much as she had enjoyed the pleasure he’d given her before, this time she knew it would be more.
His hot breath feathered over her swollen flesh. “Do you enjoy my tongue here?”
She nodded.
“I can’t hear you all the way down here.” He blew a breath of cool air over her and she let out a small cry. “Do you like this?” He laved his tongue over her, and her hands fisted in the bedclothes. “Or this?” He flicked the tip of his tongue across her, and she cried out.
“Yes! Oh yes!”
“Good.” His tongue returned, grating and tapping against her until her whole body strained toward something indefinable. The entire experience wasn’t even pleasurable. It was agony, but the sweetest sort. She would have killed him if he had stopped, and she wanted to kill him for making her feel this way.
And then with a growl he pushed her legs wider. One finger slid inside her while his tongue kept up that exquisite torture. Then another finger slid inside her, stroking her, moving in and out as his tongue lashed at her. White spots blurred her vision and her entire body tensed. Then he did something. She could not have said whether it was his tongue or his fingers in the end, but everything inside her broke free. She felt as though her body was the fluffy dandelion seeds, blown apart by a wild gust of wind. Ecstasy rushed through her, making her cry out at its intensity. It twirled and danced and blew where the breeze would take it. And when it finally ebbed, she could only gasp in a breath and lay in an exhausted heap of feeling.
She managed to open her eyes and found him beside her, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Tenderness? Affection? Desire?
“What are you doing to me?” she murmured.
“I think the better question is, what are you doing to me?”
* * *
Several hours later, when he’d bathed, shaved, and changed into his evening clothing, Neil could admit he had not been entirely honest with Juliana. He’d been honest that he was, in the strictest sense, a virgin, but he was no sexual martyr. It was true that when he took a woman to his bed, he enjoyed giving her pleasure. Certainly, there had been times when, after the heat of battle, he needed a quick release and a woman willing to give it to him. For the most part, he was a considerate lover who gave as much as he took. The truth of the matter was that he did take. Juliana had been right to assume he would—any man would—seek his own release after giving her one.
But for the first time, his pleasure hadn’t been paramount. For the first time, he wanted only her fulfillment. She deserved an hour of joy in an otherwise difficult day. What to him seemed like a stream of difficult days. Putting her pleasure above his didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy her. She was a beautiful woman, despite the drab gowns and mussed hair. And she was even more beautiful in the throes of passion. He was still aroused from their encounter, and Neil wasn’t certain how he would manage to keep his hands off her the rest of the night.
Fortunately, the Earl St. Maur solved that problem. He arrived with the coach at half past eight, and soon, Neil and Juliana were inside with her father. Though her father attempted to appea
r interested in the orphanage by asking about the boys and the repairs, his questions were polite and his responses noncommittal.
For her part, Juliana sat stiffly and spoke only when spoken to. She was a vision in a white dress ornamented by sparkly gold flowers. She shimmered in the dark of the carriage, looking like a queen. Neil’s gaze continued to drift to her lips, still swollen from his kisses. What he would have given to kiss them again.
St. Maur’s next words reminded him, however, that this was the end of his association with Lady Juliana.
“And have you given any more consideration to my request you come home? I’m afraid if you are away much longer, people will begin to talk.”
It was not an idle observation. People would talk, if they hadn’t already, and then she would be ruined beyond repair.
“Papa, I told you, I don’t care about what people say. The orphanage is my home.”
“And what if I care? What if I do not want our family name dragged through the muck and mud?”
Juliana sighed. She could hardly argue against duty and honor.
“Fortunately, the way for Lady Juliana to return home should clear after tonight,” Neil said. “The last of the major obstacles should be dealt with.”
From across the carriage, Juliana glared at him. Her father, however, clapped his hands. “Capital! That is the best news I have had in weeks.”
Neil barely paid attention to the receiving line or the performers at the musicale. His attention was focused on the guests and the servants. Slag was here somewhere, and Neil intended to find him before he found Juliana. He spotted Rafe at one end of the large music room. A brunette woman was on his arm, staring up at him adoringly. Rafe nodded to Neil and made a cut with his hand, indicating he had not spotted Slag yet. On the other end of the room, Ewan stood, all foreboding blond menace. His wife, Lady Lorraine, whispered to him. She was one of the most verbose women Neil had ever met, and he didn’t expect an opera singer’s aria was enough to silence her, even for a few minutes. Despite the distractions, Ewan caught Neil’s eye and shook his head.
Juliana leaned toward Neil. He was seated on her right while her father sat on her left. “Do you think he is here yet?”
“If he is, no one has spotted him,” Neil murmured back.
“Should I excuse myself and walk about? Perhaps that might lure him into the open.”
Neil tensed. Was the woman mad? Why would she risk herself like that? “No. Under no circumstances should you be alone. Stay beside me or your father at all times. We will find Slag and deal with him.”
“I hope this works,” she said, sounding doubtful.
A woman behind them shushed them, and Neil focused his attention on the soprano again. Her high notes grated on his nerves almost as much as the stiff material of his cravat. Jackson, excited to have a reason to dress Neil in his best, had tied the damn neckcloth too high, not to mention starching the thing within an inch of its life.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, their host announced a brief intermission. Footmen in crisp, blue livery circled with wine and champagne, and ladies fluttered their fans and waxed poetic on the musical talent. Many of the men approached the soprano, who was young and pretty and spilled out of her bodice. Neil escorted Lady Juliana and her father toward one of the open windows and then excused himself. He headed toward Rafe, but he made certain to give Juliana a warning glance as he strode away. If she took even a step away from her father’s side, he would have her head.
He’d taken no more than a few steps himself when he felt his arm entangled with another. He turned to face a woman who was familiar but whose name escaped him. “Mr. Wraxall,” she cooed, drawing him close to her circle of three other ladies. “I have not seen you in ages.”
“Ladies,” he said with a quick bow. It must have been ages because he barely remembered her—Lady Sutcliffe perhaps? She had been one of the ladies vying for his oldest brother’s hand in marriage. She had not been successful. “Lady Sutcliffe, how is your husband?” he asked, peering about and finding the older man leering down at the opera singer’s chest.
“Tedious.” She waved her fan. “Do you know Lady Marsh? And this is Mrs. Kemp and Miss Elliott.” She made the introductions and Neil bowed, but his gaze sought Rafe. Ewan had joined Rafe, and the two watched him with undisguised amusement.
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you, but if you will—”
“Why do you not go into Society more often, Mr. Wraxall?” Lady Sutcliffe asked with a pout. “You are a war hero, and I, for one, know how to treat our heroes.” She gave him a wink, and Neil had an inkling how Rafe must feel.
“I will endeavor to be more social,” he said, knowing he would do nothing of the sort.
“Please do,” Mrs. Kemp said. “There are no dashing young men to dance with at any of the balls. I imagine you…dance very well, do you not, Mr. Wraxall?”
At any other time and place, Neil would not have minded this feminine attention. Now, he could all but feel Lady Juliana’s eyes boring into him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her glaring across the room.
Seeing the direction of his gaze, Miss Elliott stepped forward. “Are you courting Lady Juliana? You were with her at the Sterling ball, were you not?”
“Her father and I are acquainted,” Neil answered.
“She is a curious one, is she not?” Lady Marsh added. “I don’t know why the men seem to fall all over her. She has that awful hair and spends all of her free time with dirty orphans.”
“No wonder all her dresses are from last season!” Lady Sutcliffe laughed.
Neil turned and met Juliana’s gaze again. “I can tell you why men fall all over her,” he said. “She’s the most beautiful woman in this room.” He looked back at the four women surrounding him, all of them scowling. “And not just on the outside. She has the kindest, most forgiving nature of any person—man or woman—I have ever met. You would be lucky to have half of her courage, spirit, or compassion. If you will excuse me.” And he strode toward Rafe and Ewan, leaving the women sputtering behind him.
Fifteen
Julia wondered what Wraxall had said to the women to cause them to glare at her with such malice. She had been giving him warning looks from the moment Lady Sutcliffe waylaid him. The quartet of ladies were overly fond of gossip, and they were not overly concerned as to whether the gossip was true. The last thing she needed was Wraxall making the wrong comment about where she had been living or where he had been sleeping. She could no longer claim—to herself, at least—that she and Wraxall were not involved romantically, or at least physically, but she had no desire for that knowledge to become public.
She let out a relieved breath when he finally reached his friends—the big blond soldier and a handsome man who dressed better than she did.
“Is everything all right?” her father asked.
Julia quickly pasted on a smile. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem tense.” His kind green eyes assessed her. “I worry about you, Juliana. That is why I want you to come home.”
“Papa, please. Not tonight.”
He sighed. Julia hoped the discussion was over, but her father spoke again, his eyes on something across the room. “I am sorry, you know.”
“Sorry?” she asked.
“For my neglect of you and Harriett after your mother died. I should have been there for you both, but instead I retreated into the only thing I knew—work.”
“I suppose we all must cope with tragedy in the best way we can. Harriett and I never doubted you loved us.”
He looked at her, his eyes bright. “Don’t you see? That was the exact cause of my anguish. I loved your mother. Not when I married her.” He waved a hand. “I barely knew her, but I grew to love her. When she died, it was so sudden. One day a fever and the next she was gone. Julia, I never told her.”
Julia blinked in shock. He had never told her mother how much he loved her? “I am certain she knew, Papa.”
“Are you? I am not. And not a day goes by that I don’t wish I had but one more hour, one more minute with Mary so I might be certain she knew how I felt.”
Julia took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “She knew, Papa. Harriett knew you loved her, and I know you love me.”
“I only want the best for you, my darling. I only want another chance to be the father I should have been. Will you please consider coming home?”
Julia wished she could tell him yes, but she could never go back to the life she’d lived as an earl’s daughter. The orphans needed her, especially now with Slag threatening them all. She could not leave them. “I will consider it, Papa,” she said, but the way he looked at her told her he knew she did not mean it.
“Lady Juliana?” A servant appeared at her elbow with a silver tray holding a slip of foolscap.
“Yes.”
“This came for you, my lady. A man delivered it and said it was urgent.”
Frowning, Julia lifted the paper off the tray and opened it. Her hand shook as soon as she saw the words.
I propose a trade. Your Billy for my blunt. The price is now two thousand pounds and a month in my bed.
Don’t keep me waiting or the boy suffers.
“What is it?” Neil asked. She could not stop staring at the letter, and she had not even noticed that he’d crossed the room to her or that everyone was taking their seats for the next performance.
“Billy,” she whispered, her throat feeling as though it was choked by sand.
Neil took the letter from her hand.
