Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(43)

“I’m going to call it Tartuffe.”

He chuckled with relief. “Excellent choice. Very clever.”

After another minute, their food and drink arrived.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, sawing away at her steak. “I’ve been putting the subject off, but I suppose I feel emboldened tonight. There’s no one in this place to overhear.” She gulped her wine, then stared into it. “This helps, too.”

Julian wondered what in the world she was on about. He was a little afraid to find out.

“Did my brother have a … Well, did he have someone special?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, a …” Her cheeks colored. “I truly don’t mean to be nosy, and I don’t want details. It’s just that if Leo had a longstanding … you know. Someone who perhaps depended on him financially? I would like to set aside a legacy from the estate, but it must be done before my cousin arrives in England.”

Julian shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.” It was the truth, and he’d never been more blissful in ignorance. Of all the conversations he wouldn’t want to have with Lily.

To be sure, there’d been many nights when he and Leo met for drinks at the club and then pointedly went their separate ways. But they’d never discussed details. Julian had always avoided asking about Leo’s affaires because he’d rather not open the topic of his own. Leo was a principled, loyal sort. While Julian had his reasons for pursuing the women he did, he wasn’t especially proud of himself for it. He would have felt downright shabby discussing his conquests with Leo. Though he’d never explicitly asked, he’d always assumed Leo had a regular mistress whom he kept housed and comfortable somewhere in Town. That was why Julian had been surprised to hear of Leo approaching a Covent Garden prostitute on the night of his death. It seemed so out of character, and now Julian wasn’t sure of anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If he did have someone, I don’t know her name.”

“Oh. Well, I had to ask.” She reached for her wine again.

As she drank, Julian relaxed, pleased to escape this topic of conversation unscathed. He cut a large bite of steak and stuffed it into his mouth, just to preclude further inquiry.

Lily gave her own meat a thoughtful jab with her fork. “I’m thinking of taking a lover.”

He choked on his steak.

Her eyebrows lifted. “What? People do it all the time. You do it all the time. Why shouldn’t I?”

Julian could think of a hundred reasons, but they were all currently dammed behind an unchewed hunk of beef. For the moment, he couldn’t speak—only listen.

“I know what you’ll say,” she went on. “You’re so convinced I should marry. But I don’t want to settle down, Julian. I want to live. When we kissed this afternoon, it was magical. I feel awakened now. And not roused by the first rays of dawn, either. It’s like my eyes have snapped open to greet the full light of noon. Everyone else is out there living, and I’ve been sleeping the day away.”

She put down her knife and fork. The edge of her cloak slipped back, exposing her pale, perfect shoulder and a wispy peach-colored sleeve. With her fingertip, she traced the edge of her wineglass, circling round and round in a seductive manner.

“Yes,” she said. “I think taking a lover will be just the thing.”

Good Lord. What had he done?

Lily was a sensual woman. Julian had always been exquisitely aware of it. Now he’d made her exquisitely aware of it. That awareness should have been a good thing, when properly directed toward eligible suitors who might make suitable husbands. But instead of placing her in company with those sorts of gentlemen, he’d brought her alone to the theater. And now to dinner in a seedy alehouse, amidst a clientele that was growing rougher by the minute.

He was an idiot. He needed to get her out of here. Just as soon as he managed to swallow this damned piece of steak. Bloody hell. Had the beast been raised on India rubber? His eyes watered as he furiously chewed.

“You can’t do that,” he managed to croak around the remainder of his bite, shaking his head for emphasis.

“I don’t believe I asked your permission.” She propped her chin on her hand and gave him a coy smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think gentlemen will find me attractive enough?”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his ale. She knew very well that wasn’t his objection.

She looked at him through lush, lowered lashes. Her wine-stained lips made a silky, sulky pout. “God only gives us one life, Julian. From this point forward, I intend to make the most of every minute.”

With a long draught of ale, he washed down the last of the steak. Finally.

“Good Lord,” he said, slamming the mug to the table. Empowerment be damned, he was taking control. “First, no more wine for you. Second, you are not taking a lover. Third, fix that cloak. We’re leaving. Now.”

But she hadn’t understood him. Her attention had turned. To the wall, of all things.

“Do you feel that?” she said, placing her hand to the flat surface. “It’s music, isn’t it?”

He nodded. It was music, emanating from the establishment next door. The fiddling had begun some time ago, but the intensity and volume had suddenly increased. Now a thunder of footfalls joined the instruments, rattling the silver on their plates.