One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(49)

"Your father loved you," she murmured, not entirely convinced she spoke the truth.

"Once," his voice cracked the air. "He loved me once. Before I ruined Julianne." Swallowing, she crossed her arms and faced him, "He needed someone to blame."

"He blamed me because it was my fault," he snapped, then, shaking his head, dragged a hand over his face. "Never mind. I did not bring you here to discuss such things. My father is dead. Whether he loved me is not a question I ask myself."

Dropping his hand from his face, the familiar steel returned to his gaze. "I'm sure you would like to rest in your room before dinner."

"Of course," she replied, not the least bit weary.

Crouching, he gathered her shoes and stockings. Before she quite realized what he was about, he was brushing the sand from her foot, each swipe of his fingers a caress that sent a spark of heat up her leg to the core of her. Her stomach quivered and contracted.

A lump formed in her throat as he delved higher beneath the hem of her skirts, his fingers closing around one ankle. Her breath caught at his warm touch on her damp skin. She looked down at his bowed head. Sunlight gilded the brown strands. Whiskey trapped in cut glass. Her fingers itched to caress the tendrils, to feel the softness against her open palm. He slid her stocking up her calve, his touch burning a trail toward her garters, fingertips light as a feather stroke on the sensitive flesh of her thighs. Her throat tightened, the lump growing into a painful knot as he turned his attention to her other leg.

By the time he slipped on her shoes, she was a quivering wreck, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Rising to his feet, his gaze snared hers, the centers of his eyes glowing with the knowledge of her arousal.

Without a word, he took her arm and led her back to the house.

Her mind drifted, moving to the night ahead. Would he come to her?

The pulse at her neck shuddered wildly at the prospect. She prayed he would. Her flesh longed to join with his again, to feel with her body what her heart could not. Gregory rose from bed at the soft knock on his door. Hastily donning a robe, he opened the door, sensing, as he did so, who would be standing on the other side. Yet even knowing, he did not hesitate. Could not stop if his life depended on it. With his heart in his throat, he pulled open the door.

"Julianne," he greeted, his voice a croak as he drank in the sight of her. The upturned angle of her face, so expectant, so hopeful, so pure, captivated him and made him ache in a way he never had. He clenched his hands at his sides to stop from reaching out and touching her. With Seth on his impromptu honeymoon and Rebecca visiting relations, he had been thrust into the role of companion, something that had been both a pleasure and a torment. He almost wished he hadn't suggested that Seth leave him behind. A consummate romantic, Julianne had jumped at the suggestion, insisting that Seth eschew his use for a valet during his honeymoon. As a gentleman lacking wealth and property, he could never hope for a life with Julianne, yet that was what he had found himself doing. Daring to hope, to want. Imagining them together as only a man and woman could be. He longed to chase the shadow of loneliness from her face. He should have put a halt to their growing relationship, knowing her brother would disapprove, knowing Seth would in fact see it as a betrayal, but he hadn't possessed the strength.

"May I come inside, Gregory?"

The question was simple—as his answer should be. Yet the world stuck in his throat alongside his heart. He swallowed. Despite what the blood pumping through his blood urged him to do, he found the strength to utter, "No."

Her face fell. "No?" she echoed, tightening her night rail about her and stepping back. "I understand." She shook her head, her unbound mane of auburn hair tossing over her shoulders. "I thought you liked me, Gregory. I thought—"

He caught her wrist. "No. You don't understand. What I feel for you cannot be diminished to mere liking. It's because of the way I feel for you that I'm telling you—" He broke off with a growl of frustration, his fine thread of control snapping as he hauled her hard against him for a hungry kiss.

Her hands crept up and wrapped around his neck, the touch of her fingers silk against his nape. She moaned deep in her throat and the sound vibrated through him. Dangerously close to forgetting every reason he could not have this woman, he wrenched free of her, stepping back several paces.

"Go," he rasped. "Leave and never come to my room again." Tears sheened her eyes. "Why must you send me away?" She stepped toward him again and he set her back gently.

"Don't be foolish, Julianne. Nothing can come of this. An earl's daughter does not carry on with a valet."

"I don't care—"

"Well, you should. A woman of your station, your rank—" He broke off shaking his head. "In any case, I care enough for the both of us and I'm ending this now." He gentled his voice. Unable to resist one more touch, he ran his thumb over her kiss-bruised lips. "It can never be, Julianne." Her expression changed, the soft lines of her face hardening. "We'll see about that," she uttered before swinging around and striding down the corridor, one hand lightly skimming the wall as she marched off with martial stiffness.

We'll see about that.

Part of him worried over her words, fearing she would pursue her infatuation with him—pursue him. But there was another part of him, buried deep in his heart where impossible dreams clung, that fervently hoped she would persist and break down his resistance, that what she felt for him amounted to more than one overly sheltered woman's first foray into love, that it was genuine and lasting and could conquer good sense and the strictures of Society. Then perhaps he could consider breaking every principle that governed him and spend his life with a woman with whom he was fast falling in love.