No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(40)

He might want her with a fierceness for which he had no compare, but he still had his limits. He was no Slag. He would not take her. If she was a virgin, he would not be the one to rob her of her innocence.

Their mouths met again and again, and Neil could not seem to have his fill of her. He was a man who had perfected the art of kissing. For most men it was an appetizer, but for him it had often served as the main course. He knew how to tease and tantalize with his mouth and his tongue, but he could not seem to control his movements. He could think nothing of skill or giving pleasure; he could only take and take and take from those sweet, supple lips. He tried to slow the kiss, to draw it out, to pull away from her lips so he might kiss her throat or the hollow behind her ear. No matter how he tried, he could not make himself leave her lips. He told himself One more kiss, one more kiss a dozen times and still his mouth sought hers.

Finally, she was the one who pulled away. His vision was blurry, but he could see the color high in her cheeks and the way her breath hitched in her throat. Slowly he became aware that he’d forced her into the position of wrapping her legs about his waist so she might keep from falling. His erection was cradled between them, and though he had no intention of freeing his cock from his trousers, if he had, he would have easily been able to thrust into her.

He looked down at their joined bodies and immediately wished he hadn’t. Her robe had fallen open, and the lace across the bodice of her night rail concealed very little. Her pale breasts spilled from the lace, the pink nipples pressing their hard tips against the intricate pattern.

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered. “I can’t think.”

Neither could he, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Nor could he drag his gaze from the lovely expanse of flesh where her robe had opened.

“Put me down,” she ordered.

Neil gritted his teeth, but he obeyed both out of respect and out of habit. He forced himself to step back and to separate his body from hers. It proved harder than he’d expected. Far from feeling sated after touching her, kissing her, and feeling her skin beneath his fingers, he only wanted more of her.

Lady Juliana slid toward the door, and Neil took another step back, proving he would not snatch her back into his embrace. “I didn’t think my touch so distasteful to you, my lady,” he said as she all but stumbled over her feet to move out of his reach.

“It wasn’t distasteful at all.” She pulled the edges of her robe together, covering herself. Neil felt the loss of the sight of those perfect breasts acutely. “That’s the problem.”

“It is a problem,” Neil agreed.

“It cannot happen again.” She kept her hand at her throat, clutching her robe as though it might shield her from her attraction to him. And that was what it was. He knew what he’d felt when he’d kissed her. What he’d felt when she had kissed him. She was attracted to him and desired him as much as he wanted her.

“How do you think to prevent it? There’s obviously some sort of”—he gestured to the space separating them—“pull between us.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Well, we shall simply have to ignore that…pull, as you call it. We are both adults. I am a lady and you a gentleman. Surely we can control our baser instincts.”

When she spoke like that, so haughty and self-righteous, he felt he would rather strangle her than kiss her. But when he looked down to avoid glaring directly at her, he noticed she had lost her slippers and stood barefoot on the carpet. Her toes were small and round and peeking prettily out from under the white folds of her robe.

And just like that, he wanted her again.

“We should set an example for the children,” she said, warming to her topic. “Surely they have seen the worst in humanity. We should strive to show them the best and the purest.”

Neil looked up at her, one brow rising. “If you are looking for a paragon of virtue, I am not he.”

Her mouth turned down. “I only meant—”

“I’m a former soldier, my lady. I only survived because of my, as you put it, baser instincts. I’m not proud of all I’ve done, but neither do I feel like I have to pretend to be something I am not so that children who are unlikely ever to overcome the stigma of their birth can be presented some unattainable myth of morality.”

She drew in a breath, and Neil steeled himself for the lecture to come. But instead of railing at him, she seemed to deflate as quickly as a punctured balloon. “You are correct. None of us is perfect. You are a hero and—”

Neil laughed. “Hero? What do you know of me that you think I am a hero?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “I did read the letters of introduction my father sent. You served in the war against Napoleon. My father said you were instrumental in his defeat and showed uncommon valor. Those were his exact words. My father is many things, but he is not the sort of man to give praise lightly.”

“What do you know of the war?”

She paused, not seeming to know where to begin.

“Have you ever heard of Lieutenant Colonel Draven?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“The Survivors?”

“The Survivors? It sounds like a name people might give to the boys here.”

It did at that, and it would have been no less accurate for these unwanted children than it had been for his troop of younger sons of nobility. “It’s what we called ourselves.” Neil moved closer to the fire. Without her body pressed against his, he suddenly felt chilled. He could see her shivering and gestured for her to come closer.