Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(52)

She trembled with all the fear he would not admit. She cried the tears he refused to shed. His arms were steel bands about her chest, and she pulled him closer still, crushing her ribcage to his—as if she could draw the pain from his heart and take it into hers.

When she brought her hands to his shoulders and pushed him away, she hated to release him. But he was speaking, and she needed to understand.

“Wait,” she said, touching the backs of her fingers to his cheek. “Go slowly. You’re losing me.”

“Yes.” Sighing, he closed his eyes. “Yes, I know. And you were never even mine.”

“Julian, please.” How should she take such words? She looked for clues in the features of his face, scanning for an ironic quirk of his brow or a serious set to his jaw.

He joined her on the floor. They both sat, legs folded and hands doing the things hands did when left at loose ends. Picking at seams, tracing cracks on the floor. Light crept up the paneled wall. The new day was gaining strength, taking shape. It could no longer be ignored.

“What happens now?” she asked. Where did they go from here? So long as they went together, Lily wasn’t sure she cared.

He said, “I’m leaving London.”

The air left her lungs. “You’re … you’re leaving? But when?”

“I don’t know precisely. Soon.”

Inwardly, she told herself not to panic. Men left London all the time. They had things to do, people to see. Horses to purchase and investments to look after. She said casually, “When will you return?”

“I won’t be returning.”

Cruel, cruel man. She’d just shed a basin’s worth of tears for him, and now he told her he was leaving forever?

“This is why you must marry,” he said. “I can’t stay around to look out for you, and I can’t bear the thought of you alone.”

“And I’m supposed to rejoice at the thought of never seeing you again?”

“Yes, if you know what’s best for you.” He gestured with one hand, stirring the cloud of dust motes between them. “You’re always saying what a decent man I am, beneath the devilry. But it’s not the truth. It only seems that way, Lily. It only seems that way because I’m a better man when I’m near you.”

Perhaps he meant those words to be flattering or romantic, but they didn’t land that way. A horrid notion wormed in her stomach. “Does this have to do with your mother? Because she was deaf, and I am too? Is that why you feel so …” She hardly knew the word to say. “… attached to me, but unwilling to act on it?”

“No. No, it’s not like that. Trust me when I say this.” His eyes wandered her body, and his mouth quirked with sensual mischief. “When you’re close to me, I’m not thinking of my mother. At all.”

Lily pressed her lips together, hoping he was being truthful. She shuddered at the thought of being some sort of maternal figure to him.

“You do share certain of her attributes,” he went on. “Kindness, loyalty, courage. Naturally I admire those qualities in you. But you look nothing like her, I promise. And when it comes to the hearing, or lack of it—if anything, I’m more poised to see the differences. My mother was born deaf. You were deafened by illness. It’s an entirely separate thing. I can say to you, the pianoforte is out of tune, and though you don’t hear it, you understand exactly what I mean. Not so with my mother. But she and Anna and the others downstairs, they notice things—little subtleties of sights and smells and textures—that you and I would never think to heed.” He smiled. “If it helps, they don’t see you as one of them either. They’ll be gracious to you, but that’s because you’re with me.”

She thought of Anna’s bewildered expression when Lily confessed she couldn’t sign, and her message on the slate: Friend of Jamie welcome.

“Is that your name, then? Jamie?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s just what they’ve always called me here. As an adult, I began going by Julian.”

“So it is your real name. Julian.”

He shook his head again. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I’m so confused.”

“My mother was illiterate. She could barely recognize the letters of the alphabet. When she took me to be christened, she and the priest couldn’t make one another out. He grew frustrated and just picked a name. Wrote it in the register and pointed, but all my mother could catch was the first letter, J.”

“So you don’t even know your given name?”

“Of course I do. It’s this.” Bringing both hands together, he made the sign for the letter J and tapped it twice against his heart. “That’s my given name.”

The tears pressed again at the corners of her eyes. With every minute that passed in this cramped attic, she realized how little she truly knew about him. And now she might never have the chance to learn. “I wish I could have known your mother.”

“I wish you could have, too.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I wish a great many things were different.”

“So let’s change them. Tell me everything. Whatever your difficulty, we’ll work together to find a solution.”

“We can’t change the world, Lily. And the difficulty is here, between us. You’re a lady of noble birth, and I have you crouched on the floor of a dusty garret, chilled through and weeping. Last night, I was a minute away from deflowering you in a damp, reeking alleyway.”