Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(30)

“You’d best slip upstairs now,” Lily prompted the girl.

Claudia nodded and turned to leave. “Please,” she said, pausing on her way to the door. “Don’t tell the duke I was downstairs. And kindly don’t tell anyone about …” Her hand circled her belly. “… this. I promise not to speak a word of what happened here.”

Julian caught the girl by the elbow. “Nothing happened here.”

“Exactly.” Claudia smiled, looking from Lily to Julian. “You needn’t be concerned. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

The girl left the room, and Julian flopped into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. With that disappeared Lily’s last bit of hope that they might resume where they’d left off.

He dropped his hands. “God only knows what that child thinks she saw.”

“What did she see?” Lily wasn’t certain herself. “Julian, can we—”

He shot to his feet. “I have to leave. There are places I need to be.”

“No.” She moved toward him. “No, please don’t go. I won’t sleep at all, if I know you’re out wandering the streets alone.”

“You shouldn’t lose sleep over me.”

“I can’t help it.” She couldn’t help but lie awake at night and wonder where he was. Because she wanted him there, in bed with her. How could she not have understood it before now?

As she neared his side, she could actually see his breath come faster, in the accelerated rise and fall of his chest. If she laid a hand to that spot just beneath his cravat, slid her fingers under the edge of his waistcoat … she sensed she’d feel his heart pounding every bit as fiercely as hers. But there the similarities would end. She would find hard muscles there, and the masculine heat of his skin. Did he have hair on his chest, she wondered? How strange, to think that she didn’t know. Of course, she’d always known he was a man, and a fine-looking one, at that. But she’d heretofore focused on their commonalities, their affinity.

Now she looked at Julian and saw … otherness. Differences. New contrasts to explore. With each passing moment, she grew exponentially aware of the essential, primitive masculinity raging beneath those fine clothes and flip expressions. And her own essential womanhood asserted itself in response, plumping her flesh to a feverish pink in all the obvious places—and a few surprising ones, as well. Lips, br**sts, mons—she understood the significance of these. But what the backs of her knees had to do with anything, she could not possibly have guessed.

She reached for him, hoping he might help her understand. “Julian …”

He intercepted her touch, grasping her fingers in his and pressing them briefly—chastely—to his lips.

“We’ll be missed,” he said, releasing her hand. “And it’s growing late. I’ll speak with Morland. He’ll see you home in his carriage.”

“But can’t we—”

“You were right, I was an ass to the lieutenants earlier. I’ll make it up to them, take them round to the clubs and such.” In an apparent effort to collect himself—or avoid her—he tugged down the front of his waistcoat and ran both hands through his tousled black hair. “No boxing or bull-baiting, I promise.”

Disappointment twanged in her chest, but Lily didn’t know how to argue. Hadn’t this been her aim when arranging this party? To push Julian back into the social life he’d once loved—the clubs, the theater, the company of friends? She should count this a tremendous success.

Except there were still so many questions churning in her mind, so many emotions coursing through her blood. Julian wanted something more than friendship, he’d said. What more did he want, precisely? Her body? Her affection?

What more did she want from him?

“Will you call on me tomorrow?” she asked.

After a brief pause, he nodded. “If you wish.”

“I do. I do wish it.” For that, and for something more.

When Julian arrived at Harcliffe House the following morning, he again found Lily seated at the desk in Leo’s library. Her neck was curved white and graceful as a swan’s as she bent over an open ledger. Something about the contrast between that elegant sweep of her neck and the precise point of her elbow as she dipped her quill … A tide of longing pushed through him, laying waste to everything in its path.

Bypassing the signal mirror this time, he entered the room and approached her from the side. She was so absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice him until he stood nearly beside her, just at her right shoulder. Even then, she did not look up. She simply went still, holding her quill at attention. Only the slight change in her breathing let him know she’d realized he was there.

She was waiting. Waiting to see if he would touch her.

So he did. He laid a hand on her shoulder where her thin fichu met her gown.

“Good morning,” she said distractedly, taking a moment to finish her notation before replacing her quill in the inkwell. With a breathy sigh, she tipped her head to the left, stretching the slender column of her neck. Then back to the right. “I’ve been sitting here too long. I’ve gone all stiff.”

How could he resist an invitation like that? Julian pushed aside the frail, gauzy fichu and squeezed her shoulder gently, running his thumb along the tense ridge of muscle and sinew at the base of her neck. She had indeed been working too hard. Her muscles were drawn taut, resistant to his touch. As he kneaded her shoulder, the tension melted beneath his fingertips.