Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(77)

“Needs a great deal of work, doesn’t it?” Julian said.

“I’m not afraid of work,” she replied, giving him a cheeky smile. “Are you?”

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t. He dearly missed work, truth be told. Somehow he needed to find an excuse to visit his offices this week. They would only just now be expecting Mr. James Bell back from his journey north to visit the mills. He needed to settle his business affairs and quietly talk to his solicitor about selling off the whole concern—properties, mills. The thought left him feeling gutted and empty, not unlike this house.

Lily is worth it, he reminded himself. Lily is everything.

Surely he would find something to do with his time. Buy farmland and manage it, he supposed, like other gentlemen of leisure did. What he knew about agriculture could balance on the razor-thin edge of a scythe, but he could learn. He’d tutored himself in the principles of trade once. He would just start all over again. And if he occasionally woke in the night, roused from nightmare echoes of clacking looms and tolling church bells and scratching rats … well, Lily would be there next to him, her pale, slender arms and rosemary scent, ready to soothe his pounding heart.

“Tartuffe will love these high ceilings,” she mused, tilting her head.

The property agent led them on a tour of the second and third floors. With each bedchamber they toured, Julian found himself becoming oddly aroused. Since the object was to decide whether this house could be their house, it only felt logical to picture himself and Lily in every room. Dining in the dining room, sitting in the parlor … and now bouncing off the walls of each and every bedchamber.

Viewing the nursery gave him a very queer feeling indeed. A feeling that was not quite arousal, but extremely compatible with it.

“There’s the kitchen below, of course,” the property agent said as they descended the staircase once again. “And we haven’t yet properly seen the hall, but …” He checked his timepiece. “I’m afraid time is drawing short. I’ve an appointment back at my office in a quarter-hour.”

“Why don’t you leave us here?” Julian suggested. “We’ll show ourselves around the rest, then lock up. I’ll send a man round to your office later, to return the keys.”

The agent happily complied, no doubt sensing that the deal was within reach. He dropped the keys into Julian’s waiting palm. “Very good, sir.”

After Julian had seen the man out, Lily wandered into the hall. He followed her. She stood in the center of the large, open room, flanked on one side by a row of high windows. On the opposite wall, dark ovals and squares marked the spaces where portraits and mirrors had once hung.

“Oh, Julian. They don’t build houses with halls like these anymore, not in Town. We could have the grandest parties, with an orchestra and dancing.”

He smiled at her excitement. “Happy thought, indeed.”

Yes, they would throw grand parties, the two of them. With exotic foods and outlandish amusements and coveted invitations. Place cards engraved with whimsical creatures would live in the keepsake boxes of debutantes, for years and years to come. Lily would sparkle at the center of it all, joyous and carefree, surrounded by friends and admirers. And right there, it would be enough. Julian would know he’d lived his life to good purpose.

Yes. This house was going to be their house.

“We’ll need to replace the paper on the walls and give all the trim a fresh coat of paint.” As he moved forward, his boots clomped noisily over the parquet. The report echoed off the vaulted ceiling. “The flooring feels sound. Only needs a bit of wax.”

“Look, there’s even a pianoforte.” She went to the far corner, where the large instrument sat hidden under a dust cover. “I wonder why they left it here.”

“Couldn’t make it fit through the door, I’d wager.” Julian slid the canvas cover from the piano and let it drop to the floor. “It’s a great beast of an instrument.” He touched a few keys and winced at the discordant result. “Horribly out of tune.”

“I don’t care about that,” she said, leaning against the piano. “Do play something for me. I love watching you play. Love feeling it, too.” Her br**sts plumped atop the closed case, like two silk-covered pillows sitting on a shelf. His mouth watered, and sensual excitement gathered in his groin.

“I have a very wicked idea,” he told her, rounding the enormous instrument to stand before her.

She shifted her weight onto her back foot. “Do you?”

“I warn you, I won’t be dissuaded.”

“Oh, dear.”

He slid his hands to her waist and lifted her straight up, then deposited her atop the pianoforte. He pulled at the fabric of her petticoat and gown, yanking her skirts out from under her, so that nothing but the thin lawn of her chemise would come between her intimate flesh and the surface of the closed instrument.

“You say you love watching and feeling me play?” he asked, walking back around to the keyboard. She nodded, clearly breathless from her sudden change of altitude. “Then you’re going to adore this.”

He touched a finger to one ivory key, then tapped it with a firm stroke.

“Oh.” Her hand went to her throat. “Oh, my.”

Grinning, he played a quick arpeggio with his right hand, skipping up and down the high range of the keyboard.