Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(9)

“I haven’t bothered with parties in years. The house was always full of his friends. I never felt deprived of companionship, but now …”—she straightened her glove—“those friends don’t come around so often as they might.”

He was unable to look at her for a moment. “I’ve been busy.”

In just how many ways was it possible to betray a friend? Julian had lied to Leo for the duration of their acquaintance, lusted after his sister for almost as long, and then sent the man alone to a violent death that had been meant for him instead. It galled and shamed him, to look back on the record of this “friendship” and feel how acutely, how catastrophically he’d failed. He’d vowed to prove a truer friend now, even as the poor man shivered in the grave. Justice for Leo’s murder and a suitable husband for Lily: These were now his guiding aims in life.

She noted his solemnity. “I know how hard it will be for you to let this investigation go. The senseless nature of it all offends you deeply. You’re so like Leo that way. He never could tolerate injustice. That’s why the two of you were such fast friends.” She framed his jaw with one hand, lifting his face until his eyes met hers. “He knew, as I do, that beneath all that scandal and devilry … you’re a good man, Julian Bellamy.”

A good man? Good Lord. She had no idea.

Just that slight, innocent touch—the curve of her palm, the scattered pressure of three fingertips against his cheek. Sensation rioted in his blood, incited by multiplying possibilities. They all started with a kiss. He wanted to kiss her again, right now, and do a proper job of it. Slide down the bench until their bodies met, steady her with a light touch, tilt her face to his … This time he would learn the taste of her.

This constant war between his base male instincts and what remained of his conscience—he’d been waging it for years. And by the gods, it was an epic struggle. Worthy of lutes and Homeric poetry. More. He deserved his own damned constellation.

You’re a good man, Julian Bellamy.

No, he really wasn’t a good man. Nor was he even Julian Bellamy. But he would pretend to be both, for a little bit longer.

“Leo was a good man.” He cleared his throat. “And you’re right. It’s the injustice I can’t abide. Good men should not be killed in alleyways. Brutal murders should not go unpunished. And,” he said with a meaningful look, “bright, beautiful ladies of marriageable age should not live vulnerable and alone.”

Her eyes went serious, unblinking. She leaned closer still. The epic battle, it would seem, was only beginning.

“Then don’t leave me.”

Chapter Three

It wasn’t easy for Lily, holding Julian’s gaze. His eyes were a bold, piercing blue. And the face they were set within … well, those fine features were unsettling indeed.

After years of friendship, Lily would have thought she’d be inured to his good looks. But no. She suspected there was something instinctual about it, something elementally female. Obviously, he had a certain effect on women. For a lady to look upon Julian Bellamy and not feel herself heat from within … well, it would be rather like a hare calmly staring into the eyes of a wolf. Improbable—and even if it could be achieved, imprudent.

But no matter how her heart bounded in her chest, Lily held his gaze, hoping to sink home the import of her words.

Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, too.

Could she even explain what his friendship meant to her? Their connection was both open and secret at once; in some ways freely admitted and in others never discussed. While she and Leo had almost known each other too well, every interaction with Julian felt fresh and exciting. He made her think, laugh, debate.

Lately, however, he just had her terrified. Since Leo’s death, each time she saw him, he looked a little more gaunt, a little less alive. And then that scare today in the early morning hours …

Even now, she felt the slick warmth of his blood on her fingertips, the strength of his grip tangled in her hair.

The taste of desperation still lingered on her lips.

That kiss … botched and meaningless as it was, it had changed everything. It was the kiss of a soldier marching off to war, or a man on his way to the gallows. The kiss of a man who expected to die, and soon.

She would not allow it. She couldn’t.

“Losing my brother was the most horrid thing to ever happen to me,” she told him. “I can’t lose you, too. I just want you to be safe.”

“Can’t you understand? I feel the same. I want you safe, and you only refuse my attempts to secure your future.”

“That’s not the same at all.”

“Isn’t it?” His frustration was obvious. “If you don’t like my matchmaking, by all means, go into society and choose a husband yourself.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Within her, a decision dovetailed into place. “Very well, then. Perhaps I will.”

He shook his head. “Lily, sooner or later you’ll have to …”

She could tell the instant her meaning sank in. Julian froze from the tips of his boots to the roots of his hair, his mouth hanging open a fraction. To his credit, he did not quite fall off the bench.

“What did you say?” he asked. “Repeat it for me, slowly.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought that’s my line.”