Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(36)

“I know that. I knew that, and yet—somehow that only made it more thrilling. I lay awake all that night. I didn’t know how I would react when I saw you again. I rehearsed polite demurrals and cutting setdowns, and …” She swallowed. “And there was a part of me that didn’t want to refuse.”

“Lily …” He stepped back.

She held his hand fast, keeping him close. “But I didn’t need to refuse. The situation never arose. When I saw you next, you were friendly and polite. Even charming. But you never pursued me that way again. What changed?”

“Nothing changed.”

“Something must have changed. Was it you? Or me?”

“Neither.” How could he explain? It was one thing for her to be generally aware of his reputation, and quite another for him to openly admit he’d spent those years methodically bedding his way through the wives of the English aristocracy, simply out of spite. And since the Marquess of Harcliffe had no wife, Julian had decided seducing his twin sister would suffice. But then he’d spent an evening in this house, where he’d been welcomed as an equal and a friend. Before the night was out, he was a charter member of London’s newest, strangest, and most elite society: the Stud Club.

For those few precious hours, they’d made him feel he belonged here. In a way that Julian—a bastard child raised on the streets—couldn’t remember feeling he’d ever belonged, anywhere.

“I suppose,” he said honestly, “I decided I liked you too well to seduce you.”

She laughed with self-effacing charm. “There’s a compliment to me in there somewhere. If I think on it long enough, perhaps I’ll make it out.”

Julian hated to offend her, but he could see no good way to end this conversation. A blunt exit was his only hope. “I’m sorry, but I have business that requires my attention.” That wasn’t prevarication. He was horribly late to his office, again. “We’ll practice again tomorrow.”

“Wait.”

What could he do? He waited.

“If I really intend to do this,” she said, picking at an invisible bit of fluff on his sleeve, “… attend this assembly, invite the attention of suitors … I need practice with more than just dancing.”

He frowned, waiting for her to explain.

“I’ve lost all talent for flirtation. What little I possessed to begin with. I can’t even remember the last time I was kissed.” She threw him a quick, guilty glance. “Well … er … aside from the other morning, but that hardly counts.”

“Right.” Good Lord, would he never live that down?

Her words tumbled out in a breathy rush. “Anyway, I just thought perhaps, since there was once a time when you actually meant to pursue me … and since you say you’ve always found me attractive … that maybe you wouldn’t mind … kissing me now.”

He could only stare at her. Somewhere in that great chain of words, had she just asked him to kiss her?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being ridiculous.”

He nodded. Yes, ridiculous.

She took a deep breath and began again, looking him full in the eye as she spoke. Her whole demeanor had changed. No girlish nervousness now, just direct communication, woman to man. “Julian, let me be perfectly clear. In an embarrassing, utterly juvenile way, I am offering you the chance to kiss me. Just this once, without promise or penalty attached. Without the influence of sleeping powder.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Without interruption.”

She stared at his mouth, awaiting his response. Which made him stare at hers. Her lips were so pink and so plump and so alluring. And trembling, just a little, because despite the forthrightness of her request, she was frightened of what came next.

She was wise to be afraid. She wanted a kiss? He wanted more. So many impulses buffeted him. Not just the tickling breeze of fancies, but full-force, catastrophic monsoons of desire. If she could see the images whipping through his mind, she would turn on her heel and run. In one instant, he wanted to hold her, wrap his body around hers, and protect her from the world. In the next, he wanted to strip her bare and ravish her completely. Possess her, lay waste to her, have her naked and quivering right here on the floor.

Truly, man? On the floor?

Yes, devil take it. He was that depraved. He wanted this elegant, noble lady who was thirteenth in line for the Crown, and he wanted her bared and panting on the waxed parquet. A kiss was what she asked, but for him—a kiss would not be enough.

And now Julian trembled, because he was a little scared, too.

At some point, he’d released her hand. Her touch had slid from his shoulder. They stood facing one another, arms dangling at their sides. They weren’t even touching anymore. It ought to be easy to walk away.

Just like waltzing. Slide one foot back …

“A kiss, Julian. Just this once.” As his hesitation stretched, her brown eyes glimmered with hurt. “Are you truly going to refuse?”

He closed his eyes. Sighed. Opened them again.

And spoke the only word he could.

“No.”

The decision made itself. He lashed one arm around her waist, cinching her close. With his other hand he cradled her neck, tilting her lips to just the perfect angle.

Because this time, damn it—he was going to do this right.