by Stacy Reid
“And I am to remain here…without you?”
“That is what I said.”
“But a valet always travels with his master. Will it not be odd?”
“You staying here also lessens the potential conflict of encountering your stepfather and risking recognition. I do not believe there is another lady in all of England with your eyes. Or a lad for that matter.”
Juliana had nothing to say to that, but she felt like hugging him to her and then kissing him. Even her brother called her eyes strange, other people said odd, but Wentworth said beautiful and unique. “Why are you going?”
A singularly bold question when she had no claim on his time or pursuits. An awful thought occurred to her. “Is it to your mistress?”
The eyes that looked at her gleamed with an emotion she could not decipher. “So, you think I have the makings of a rogue, to be wanting you desperately in my bed, but go to London to tup another woman?”
Juliana blushed and sat up on the grass. “I do not know why I said that.” Wanting you desperately in my bed.
He snorted, but it was more a sound of amusement. “I am going to procure a dress, dancing shoes, and a mask for a certain lady to attend a ball to be held here at Norbrook Park in a couple weeks.”
Me. She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her lips. “Why a masked ball?”
“Once you leave Norbrook Park, it is unlikely we might see each other again.”
Her heart gave a frightful squeeze. Unexpectedly the very idea felt unbearable. “You could visit me in New York,” she said with a soft smile.
“Hmm, and I am certain you will revisit England. But when will these magical visits happen? A few years from now?”
She pulled a few pieces of grass and tossed them toward the lake.
“At the ball, I want to see you in a pretty dress, dancing slippers, and flowers in your hair. I want to hold you in my arms and dance with you for the entire night, for I might never get the chance again.”
And I want that too.
“I’ll brush up on my dancing then, I’ve not much practice.” Looking out toward the lake, she said, “I would entrust to you a letter for my mother. She is in Bath at Camden Place and entirely unaware of what my stepfather has done. I do not want to alarm her if she does not know, but I must send her a letter to let her know I am staying with a few friends. I’ll be suitably vague about my whereabouts, but she will know that I am well.”
“I will arrange it for you.”
“Thank you, Wentworth.”
He fisted the back of her jacket and tugged her down, so she fell atop him.
“Tonight, I’m going to serve you.”
“With kisses?” she murmured, brushing her mouth against his.
“I am going to give you a bath in my chamber…and then towel you off.”
She froze at the provocative image that blasted in her mind. “You’ll do no such thing,” Juliana gasped.
He arched a brow. “So, you’ve taken a bath since you’ve been here? I do not think so. You’ve only been using a washbasin with tepid water. Anything more would risk the other staff discovering you. Imagine it,” the devil tempted. “That large copper tub, filled with hot water, a rose-scented soap, and you soak as long as you wish. I’ll even help you wash your hair.”
She moaned, and he closed his eyes, a shudder going through his body.
“Make that sound again.”
Juliana blinked, uncertain how to reproduce the sound; it had been natural and simply slipped out. Wanting to please him, she tried. It sounded like a dying frog.
He grinned, then laughed. The sound of his laughter was rich and husky. She liked it. “You—”
“My lord!” a high pitch voice squeaked in abject shock.
They froze, and Juliana barely shifted her head to see a small lad of about ten years, just staring at them, his eyes wide in his face.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
“I…I…mi…I…” The boy grunted, clearly flustered and frustrated with getting his words out. “Swim!” he finally said, still staring at the sight of a supposed gentleman atop his master.
“What is your name?”
“Tommy, milord!”
“And where do you work?”
“In…in the stables with me pa,” he said proudly.
She could feel Wentworth thinking.
“I forbid you from telling anyone what you’ve seen today.”
“Yes, milord!”
“Good, now run along.”
The boy disappeared, and Juliana blew out a sharp breath. Before she could speak, a voice said,
“Milord?”
“Bloody hell,” Wentworth said, “I thought you left, Tommy.”
“Yes, milord, but me came back. What ye mean by forbid?”
“I am your master, and you are not to tell anyone you saw me with my valet lying atop me.”
There was a thoughtful silence, and she looked up to see the boy staring at her.
“I didn’t know he was yer valet, milord. I thought it was a girl dressed as a lad. Shan’t tell a soul, milord!”
Wentworth reached into his pocket, withdrew a coin, and flicked it at the boy. His eyes went wide at the sum, and a toothy grin spread across his face before he took off.
It was to her credit that she kept a straight face until the lad disappeared. Juliana dissolved into laughter.
“I am not certain what there’s to laugh about,” Wentworth grumbled.
Despite his disgruntlement, laughter lurked in his tone.
“You should have seen the look on your face. Do you think young Tommy will gossip with the other servants?”
“He’s young, and he bloody well thought you a girl until I put other ideas in his head. How was I fooled, and the lad knew it with one look? No doubt it was your lush derriere that did the trick.”
“My derriere?” she asked archly.
“Hmm, it was this sweetly rounded mouthwatering backside of yours which first roused me…in every way.”
Juliana chuckled even harder. Wentworth spun with her, bracing his weight above her.
In his eyes, she spied something tender.
“Your laughter sounds like a goose.”
How did he manage to infuse such beguiling warmth in his voice? It took her a moment, but she gasped. “I do not!”
He grinned, leaned down, and kissed her. With a sweet sigh of contentment, she wrapped her hands around his neck and returned his kiss, wishing for the first time she could stay in England.
Chapter 11
Four days later, Juliana slipped inside the earl’s room. Since learning of her identity, he hardly required her to assist him, and Wentworth appeared just as well-groomed as he had been before. Each evening she stood behind him at the dining table and observed him as he laughed and chatted with his family. His mother had a quick wit, and Juliana found her delightful. His Aunt Millicent seemed a bit sterner, yet she glowed with good-natured warmth and indulged her twin daughters to a degree Juliana considered excessive. They discussed everything, their neighbors and the latest gossip, politics, news from abroad, next year’s season, and eligible ladies they suggested for Wentworth as prospective brides.
Hearing his mother stating how happy she was that her son was finally bride hunting created a stabbing pain in Juliana’s heart. The reaction was ludicrous and out of bounds for what was acceptable for their relationship. But that was it, wasn’t it? She didn’t understand the bounds of their odd friendship that simmered with such wanting.
We do not have a relationship. We have…nothing…everything, laughter, and such ease of comfort in each other’s presence.
Each night she would enter his bedroom after dinner to help him remove his boots and jacket, despite knowing he did not require her help. Each night she knew the bathtub waited for her. Still, she ignored it, knowing he watched her with tender amusement and something else, something unknown gleaming in the depth of his gaze. That something else always had an
answering surge going through her body. Still, she could not identify what his eyes spoke of and what part of her responded?
Was it just desire? Or something deeper?
After removing his boots and jacket, they would lie entangled by the fire, her head on his chest, her arm hugging him, and her leg touching or thrown across his. If she had been curious about anything they gossiped about, she would ask him, he would explain it to her, and she would laugh and bask in the contentment of the moment.
There had been another night when they had played chess.
Then last night, she had reposed with her head in his lap while he read Sir Isaac Newton’s Law on Motions aloud to her. How delighted he had been whenever she understood a section. How eagerly and with such remarkable insight he’d clarified whatever she had not understood.
It was not long since she’d first hidden at Norbrook Park, and Juliana couldn’t understand it, but in Wentworth, it felt like she had found something rare and so very precious. Now she stood in the center of Wentworth’s room, a slight trembling within her body. She was uncertain whether it was from nerves or anticipation. Her reckless heart declared it was with excitement.
Let me serve you.
As if she would allow him in the room when she took that bath. A silent affirmation Juliana repeated each night. Except tonight, she turned toward the bath chamber and stared, her heart pounding. The room was barely lit by a roaring fire, and a few candle tapers set around it. There was a pleasant scent redolent in the air, and she followed it to the luxurious bath chamber. The large copper tub was filled with steaming water, with rose petals floating on the surface.
On the peg near the entrance hung a bathrobe. The material was an icy blue, and so sheer Julianna flushed. Did he hope she would wear it? Towels had been placed on a wash stool with a bar of soap. Picking it up, she inhaled, breathing in the scent of perfumed roses. The door behind her opened, and her heart jumped a beat. Juliana sensed the earl entering the bath chamber with a thrill of expectancy. She felt that strange flutter low in her belly and felt elated.
“Your bath awaits you,” he murmured, husky mischief lifting his tone.
She couldn’t say what madness seized her, but she reached up and removed the wig and dropped it to the floor. “And you’ll help me wash my hair?” she murmured huskily.
The earl’s response was a sharp intake of breath. And she knew then he had intended to play the gentleman, not the rogue. He had not anticipated her answer, even though he had teasingly prepared the tub nightly. So many warm feelings crashed against her senses. Juliana removed her neckcloth, jacket, and undershirt. Next, she drew off her boots, trousers, and stockings, until she stood only in her drawers and bindings around her breast.
“I’ll turn away,” he said hoarsely.
He sounded like a man dying of thirst. No man had ever desired her so blatantly. In truth, Juliana had always believed her lack of voluptuous curves would not tempt any man. The most particular compliment she’d ever received was that she had a lovely smile. Most comments she received were about the unusual color of her lavender-blue eyes, criticisms of her skin's olive blush from her love of spending time outdoors, and snide remarks on the darkness of her hair.
But Wentworth made her feel utterly beautiful. She felt a sharp pinch in her chest. “I remember someone saying I had the sweetest backside he’d ever seen…you would turn away and miss seeing it unclothed?”
“No,” he groaned, with noticeable relief.
And with trembling fingers, and thousands of birds fluttering in her stomach, she undid the bindings, then untied the tapes of her drawers.
“Bloody hell,” he spat, almost reverently.
Then there was nothing more said, just a breathless, aching silence. The quiet almost made her squirm. She could feel his desire, urging her to turn around, but he did not voice his hopes. She wasn’t ready to turn around yet. Lifting her hand to her hair, she removed the pins, letting them clatter to the floor. Her wavy tresses tumbled to her shoulders and down to her breast. Juliana walked forward and stepped into the tub, a sigh of delight slipping from her.
How had she gone without a bath for so long?
She lowered herself into the large tub, giggling to see that it swallowed her petite frame. The water came up to her chin, and the heat of it enveloped her frame. Holding her breath, she slid lower, covering her head for several seconds. Juliana resurfaced with a sigh of bliss.
“Are you still going to help me wash my hair?” Juliana asked, reaching for the rose-scented soap and rubbing it along her throat and over her arms.
The rustle of sounds implied the earl was undressing, and her heart raced at such speed she felt faint. The temptation to turn around and watch him beat at her senses, but she held fast, soaping her body thoroughly, even slipping her hand beneath the water to her womanly center.
A hiss echoed in the bath chamber.
Wentworth hadn’t been preoccupied with removing his clothes; he still observed her. Heat swept along Juliana’s body, and she tried to move efficiently.
“Do it slower,” he said gruffly.
In the silence that followed his words, they were both very still.
“You cannot see,” she finally pointed out, quite aware of her entire body burning red.
“I can see the motion of your shoulders…and my imagination is healthy and very much active. I want it slower.”
Juliana licked her lips that had gone dry, reaching for the soft washcloth on the small table. She lathered it, leaned back her head, and coasted the washcloth from her throat down to the space between her breasts, over her trembling belly, and to her aching sex. There she slowly and carefully parted her sex, rubbing the cloth over her folds in a way she had never done before.
At his lack of response, she peeked around, and amusement wafted through her. The earl stood with his head tipped to the ceiling, a palm pressed against his forehead, his expression a tight grimace of arousal. He dropped his hand and looked at her. Her earl stood beautifully half-naked before her. Juliana allowed herself to make a leisured perusal of his charms. Her eyes wandered over the sculptured perfection of his body, emotions flittered through his eyes, reflected in the glass of his spectacles. She saw desire, hunger, admiration, and awe all fettered by a determined will. A will that was failing to suppress his very obvious arousal. When her eyes returned to his glasses, his lips twitched.
“The better to see you with, my dear,” he drawled with a sensual smile that was felt inside her belly and even lower.
Juliana stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Wentworth stood bare feet, only in his trousers, his naked chest on delightful display, and his spectacles perched on his aquiline nose. There was nothing soft on him, anywhere.
“I am ready to wash my hair,” she murmured.
He padded over, took up the rose-scented soap, and knelt behind her. Much in the manner she had done when she’d washed his shoulders. Wentworth took the washcloth, and it was Juliana’s turn to grip the edges of the bathtub as he swiped it gently across her back, shoulders, and around to her belly.
What was this hot, aching sensation throbbing at the very core of her body?
Swapping the perfumed soap for a plain bar, he lathered her hair. He worked his fingers into it, massaging her scalp, seemingly unaware of the breathless anticipation building in the air. He did it even better than the lady’s maid she often shared with her mother. A few minutes later, her hair was cleansed, and while she stood, he poured warm water over her head and down her body. She felt his presence withdrew, and Juliana turned to see him standing near the entrance to the bath chamber, his back to her.
He fascinated her. Wentworth did not overpower or hammer at her resistance. That would have probably sent her running despite the longing crawling through her body. In all her four and twenty years, she had never felt like this, and Julianna suspected it might never happen again. Such likings must be a rarity, and she had been lucky enough to find it in the most un
likely place.
No, her earl did not overwhelm her senses; his sensual threat was subtle, the lure to sweet recklessness insidious. He was scandalously in her presence while she bathed, yet he did not look at her body unless invited. When she rose from the bath, he looked away, giving her time to towel dry.
A gentleman and a rogue. Juliana smiled, wanting him even more. She hadn’t known she was capable of such dangerous self-indulgence. After patting dry her body, and most of the wetness from her hair, she slipped on the silken nightrobe. It clung to the moist places on her body and whispered around her feet in shimmering waves. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a mass of damp curls, which dripped the occasional droplet onto the night-wrap.
He walked ahead of her, and she followed him.
“Sleep in here with me tonight.”
Juliana swallowed tightly. “I…am here being so very liberal, Wentworth, but I am not ready to…to…,” she whispered, blushing.
“I know you are not ready for me to take you.”
Her heart beat violently. How did he know?
“Come here.”
She sauntered over to where he stood by the fire.
He lifted her chin with a finger. “It was an invitation, one you can reject.”
“I know,” she whispered. This man would never force her to do anything she did not want.
“I am leaving for London tomorrow…and tonight, I…” He lifted a shoulder. “I simply wanted you near. I will rest my head on the chaise.”
“That bed can sleep five people comfortably.”
He stilled. “You’ll stay.”
“Yes. It’s been days since you last kissed me.”
Anticipation leaped in his eyes. “Only kisses tonight…but let me tell you, these kisses will be shockingly scandalous. But if you do not want them, there is no problem.”
“I want them,” she gasped, knowing she was walking a dangerous edge.
“Lie down on the bed. I want to look at you. Do not take off the peignoir…but allow it to part, so I might see the shadows of your breasts…the hollow of your belly and that dark thatch of hair shielding the place I desperately want to taste.”
