Hesitant, Julian tugged her wrists away to reveal puffy eyes and streaks of black where tears had mixed with the soot on her face and trailed down to her chin. He bent his knees so he’d be level with her red nose. “Come on, now. It’s not so bad as all that, is it?”
She tried to jerk her hands away and cover herself again. “I couldn’t … e-even get a lady’s costume. I look so … mannish …”
Julian straightened his stance. “No. No.” Braving pulling her to him, he folded his chin over her head and stroked her hair where it hugged her ear. “You look nothing like a man. Perhaps a fine-boned young boy, but not a man.”
He realized he’d said the wrong thing when her sobs escalated.
“Willow. Ah, Willow.” His lips grazed her sooty hair. She seemed so fragile with her arms wedged between their bodies, curled up between her breasts—with her naked feet touching his. “You could don men’s suits and be bald like those little German children,” he murmured against her scalp, “and you’d still be the most feminine, fascinating woman alive.”
An echo of breath heated his chest where her nose and mouth nestled. “Perfect. Now I’m a sissy.”
Julian smoothed her hair again as if she were a flustered child. “Lord, woman. You’re too masculine; you’re too feminine. Make up your mind.”
“I can’t.” Willow sniffled, snuggling deeper into him. Her tears dampened his robe. “I am … discombobulated.”
“I can see that.”
She pushed back and frowned up at him—wet cheeks catching glints of light. “This is all due to Ridley’s. It altered me. You sent me there to assuage your confusion, but it only caused me more.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. It was time she learned the truth about the real reason he wanted her there. “I wasn’t completely honest about that … I saw Nick kiss you a year ago. I didn’t want to lose you to him, but hadn’t the fortitude to admit it. Even to myself. Sending you away for a time was the easiest solution to a timid man’s problem.”
After a few strained moments, she licked her lips. “Had you but told me, I could have explained the kiss. That it meant nothing. That it was just your brother being a rapscallion. I never fell for it. We could’ve avoided all of this, could’ve already worked all our confusion out. You hid your feelings so well…”
He’d expected fury, but instead, her features saddened, affecting him like a knife to the gut. “Yes. I am nothing if not accomplished in my stupidity. Do you think you can forgive me?”
Glancing at her feet, Willow didn’t answer. Julian stared at the top of her head and considered dropping to his knees to plead for another chance.
Thankfully, she glanced up before he could. “I suppose I must forgive you.” Her fingers clenched his toga, wrinkling it at his chest. “I’m out of things to throw at you.”
Julian braved a grin. He drew her into another embrace, relishing the feel of her in his arms. He couldn’t remember a time he’d hugged her like this, and couldn’t imagine why it had taken this long to try. “Do you feel better now?”
Her hands eased out from between them and circled his waist, squeezing him back—a delightful pressure. She turned her head, flattening her cheek to his chest. “I’m not sure. I am starting to think I don’t know myself at all. As if I can no longer stand on my own two feet. I feel lost.”
Julian nuzzled her head. “Then I’ll carry you. I shall help you find your way. Fair enough?”
“Are you sure you can? You admitted to being stupid.”
Smiling against her hair, he shrugged. “I have a great capacity for learning.”
“Ah. So that’s what drove you to pursue another woman tonight. So you could learn.” The accusation stretched out and vibrated against his sternum, as tense as a plucked harp string.
Willow hedged back. He released her, but rested his hands on the excess fabric around her waist to keep her from wandering too far. Now that he had her here with him, he didn’t want any more rash feats of escape.
“You’d never kissed anyone before me,” she pressed, her thumb swiping at what must be glaring black smudges along his nose and chin where they’d burrowed in her hair.
A lump settled at the base of his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. It didn’t matter; she could read the answer on his face.
“So … Medusa was to be your tutor for kissing?”
Chagrinned at how foolish the plan sounded upon hearing it aloud, he nodded. “But nothing more, I promise.”
Willow punched his chest. “Pollywoppus. We can practice all those things together, you know. That is as it should be.”
“I didn’t want you to think me inexperienced. Or boring.”
“I find your inexperience to be quite stimulating.”
“But I’m an intellectual, premeditating clod.”
“A what?”
“Nick told me that women—”
Her finger sealed his lips. “Aha. There’s where you went wrong. Listening to your unscrupulous brother. Personally, I’ve always found the bookish side of you to be most erotic. And spontaneity is highly overrated.”
“Is it?” Julian held her wrist and eased his tongue around her finger, licking off a coating of crumbs and sauce. “Are you sure about that?”
A flush colored her cheeks. She inclined against the wall, catching a breath. “You’ve been studying Emilia’s novel, page for page.”
Julian cringed. “In the future, could you not bring my sister into our interludes? It tends to have a dampening effect on things.”
“Sorry.” Her voice trembled.
Julian nodded. His leap at spontaneity had distracted her, just as he hoped … replaced her anger with something much more manageable: awe and wonderment.
“Now.” Julian banked his palms on the wall at either side of her temples. “What are we to do about you? You’ve soot in your hair and you need a bath.” He watched her expression in the soft light, saw her struggle to be in control.
“Well, you have soot on your face and you need a shave.”
The both huffed a laugh.
Her lashes fluttered shyly. “I apologize for pelting you with pie. Oh, and the copper headpiece. How’s the noddle?” She raked her fingers through his braid, loosening the plaits to caress his throbbing scalp.
He leaned into her touch. “Nothing but a scratch. I’m sorry I pounced on you.”
She shrugged. “It was a fun frolic actually. Seeing as I thoroughly trumped you.”
“Huh. That’s not the way I remember it.” He leaned closer. Her seductive scent intoxicated him with all the potency of opium. He brushed his lips across her brow and cheek. A sound—like a kitten’s mewl—slipped from her mouth. Then, like a cat leaping on its prey, she bounced to her tiptoes so their mouths met awkwardly, bumping their teeth with a loud clack.
Julian rubbed his lips with his thumb. “If you would just have waited a moment…” He was surprised he managed to speak without a lisp.
Willow scowled as her tongue ran across her front teeth as if checking for cracks. “You were taking too long. It has to be timed just right or it loses its potency.”
“How would you know that?” He had to temper the jealousy raging within. “How many men have kissed you?”
“Other than your brother’s brazen attempt … none.” Her eyes turned up at him with a sheepish slant. “But I’ve seen it done aplenty.”
“As have I. But seeing and doing are two completely different things, as I’m learning. Now hold still.” Before she could argue with him, he caught her chin and planted his lips firmly on hers, swallowing her surprised gasp.
He knew he’d won when her fingers clasped his nape; when her lips, so soft, drew him deeper. He framed her face in his palms and tipped out his tongue—tentative—to sample the honey he’d been craving ever since that first taste. A whimper shuddered in her throat. Bolstered by her reaction, he broke her lips’ seal so their tongues could touch and twine. After savoring her flavor, he drew back and gauged he
r reaction through his spectacle’s steamy lenses.
“Oh…” she murmured breathlessly, her eyelids heavy.
Grinning, Julian touched the lovely dimple in her chin. “See? Now I know we did it proper. You’re blushing.”
Clapping a hand over her lips, Willow muffled a snort. “How can you tell?” she asked from beneath her fingers. “Your spectacles are fogged.”
Julian laughed and pushed her hand aside, kissing her again. She laughed with him until something in her movements—in the way her stomach grated against his groin—quelled all levity. The instant their bodies made full contact, they both froze.
“Not so funny anymore,” he mumbled.
She tensed. “Not so at all.”
“Should we stop?” he asked, hoping he could—not wanting to.
“Speak my name.”
“Willow.”
“No. My full name.”
Tasting the corner of her mouth, Julian grinned. “Willomena.”
“More,” she whispered against his lips.
“More of your name?”
“More of you…”
“Mmmm.” Julian edged his kisses down her neck. His teeth nibbled, tasted, feasting on her soot and tear-streaked skin. When he reached her throat, she held him there and said something indecipherable—a plaintive plea that hummed under his mouth and drove him to the edge of madness.
Time seemed to blur around them, no longer holding them in its wake. Any inhibitions, any insecurities shattered as Julian surrendered to raw excitement. Why had he feared something so natural … so bone-deep compulsory?
He secured her ribcage and lifted her as she tightened her grasp around his neck. Pinning her between him and the wall so they were eye level, he stormed her mouth again, enacting a slow and consuming swathe with his tongue. She opened to him, receptive and wet and warm. Her teeth were smooth, the roof of her mouth bumpy and tickling—a glorious contradiction. When her tongue met his, a flourish of electricity shot through him.
Their bodies aligned in perfect symmetry, a reminder that she had nothing on underneath the robe. He eased one of her nimble legs around his waist, fingertips drifting over her naked calf. They gasped in unison, sharing bursts of staccato breaths.
Overwhelmed by the urge to carry her to his bed … to enact all of the fantasies he’d been suppressing for years, he became brazen. His hand found the tear in her toga, slipping within to stroke her silken flesh along her waist, searching for her tattoo. When his fingertips reached the bend at her lower back—stroked the dimples that bordered the mark—her skin trembled at the contact.
“Wait…”
Julian jammed his teeth together, his mind thick and fuzzy. Unsure if he’d heard her voice or someone else’s, he dragged his perceptions to the surface, refocusing. Forehead pressed to hers, he opened his eyes.
Thirteen
“Please, wait …” Willow mumbled the reluctant request once more, although it wasn’t at all what she wanted.
Julian’s gaze met hers. She tilted her head to lick the corner of his lips, tasting salt and a stray crumb from the fish pie. He grew still to appease her curiosity. But the instant his hand shifted toward her hip again, she tensed. “Julian, we must stop.”
“Oh, right.” His voice was gruff and gritty, affecting the same raw tingle through her blood as his whiskers along her skin.
She touched her chin, remembering the abrasive friction as he helped her unwrap her leg from his waist.
“I-I don’t know what got into me. I acted like a beast.” He let her slide down his body, grounding her bare soles halfway on his warm feet and half on the cool floor. Her robe’s hem fell into place and grazed her ankles.
You acted like a man with desires. She was too dazzled to say it aloud. Instead, she held his arms around her and snuggled into his sculpted frame—seeking that intimate solidness against her abdomen that she’d only read about in biology tomes, undeniable proof that he desired her as much as she did him.
“I have no excuse,” he mumbled. “Other than I’ve wanted to be close to you like this for longer than I dared admit to myself.” His confession rushed along the top of her head, stirring her hair.
This was not what she’d expected when he’d captured her on the promenade deck. No. This was so much more resplendent than anything she could’ve ever anticipated. She inhaled deeply, luxuriating in his scent.
She hadn’t dreamt it this time. The beautiful words he’d spoken, the tenderness of his touch. And to think, he’d battled his attraction to her for a year … perhaps more. She would have been furious that he’d hidden such feelings, had she not been so elated to hear him acknowledge them tonight.
Now his body was here, standing before her, blatantly declaring its need for her. And the kiss … cieli dolci … the kiss. It was just as she’d imagined—an all-encompassing barrage of sensation. To think they had only skimmed the surface.
Tensing, Julian pulled away. Willow felt the separation like ropes snapping free, leaving her unbalanced, tottering. She relied upon the wall’s strength to sturdy her while she tried to recover.
Julian’s face was flushed, his spectacles smeared and crooked, his hair out of its braid and tousled. She’d never seen him look so disheveled. She assigned the stunning image to memory—this masterpiece of unguarded emotion and vulnerability that she had painted with her hands, her lips, her body.
“Please, say something. If I frightened you by moving too fast, I won’t forgive myself.” He took off his spectacles which he then cleaned with a leg of her pantlets draped at the table’s edge. His eyes softened. “I’ll never intentionally hurt you. You know this?”
Willow smiled and nodded. Always the gentleman. He was going to be a wonderful lover. Thoughtful and tender. “You misunderstand.” She straightened her robe, wishing they were rolling around as they had on the upper deck. Only this time, without the cumbrance of clothes. “I stopped you because we are not alone.” She gestured to the pulverized dinner strewn about the floor. “I brought that back for him.”
“Him?” Julian had returned his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. “Him who?”
Willow smiled. Was that jealousy in his tone? “Come with me.” She laced her fingers through his.
Shaking his head, he fell into step beside her, avoiding spatters of food on the floor. “And where are we going?”
“To the bedchamber, of course.”
His steps slowed but he continued to follow, a befuddled expression on his face. As Willow reached for the door latch, Julian halted her wrist.
“Wait, I don’t remember shutting my bedroom before I left for the gala.”
Willow’s palm flattened against the wooden surface and she chewed her inner cheek. “That was my doing. I tucked him into bed and closed it so he’d feel safe.”
“Tucked him …? Wait, you’ve been in my stateroom before this?” Julian’s eyes widened. “You were one of the immigrant boys slinking around in the corridor earlier!”
She attempted a charming bow. “I go by the name of Wilson.”
Julian did not look amused. “So, it was you who stole the shoes, just like you did the costume—”
“I brought them back. They’re here now, so it’s all right.”
“It is never all right to steal. What in hell is going on, Willow?”
Willow watched the blush darken his complexion, no longer a sensual rush of heat but a threatening combustion. “I decided, since you sent everyone in steerage on a scavenger hunt, that the safest place for the shoes would be the one place no one would look. Here.”
“Why should you give a fig for the shoes?”
“You’ll get your answers. First, I need to check on him. Please keep your voice down. He’s sleeping.”
“No one can hear a thing in that bedroom. It’s insulated.”
Willow shushed him again.
Julian stepped between her and the door, blocking the knob. “I want an explanation, and I want it now. How did you get in
to my stateroom?”
Feeling every bit the fish in a frying pan, Willow wished she could flop around to alleviate the heat. “She unlocked it for me.”
“She?” He raked his hand through his hair, smearing remnants of pie through the strands. The effort made it even messier. “I thought you said ‘he’. How many guests are you harboring in that bedchamber?”
“Only one. Sort of. It’s complicated.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Always is with you. Just open the damn door.”
Willow crinkled her nose as she pushed around him. “You needn’t be so cross.”
“I needn’t be so—?”
“Shhh…” Willow pressed a finger to her lips and eased the chamber door open, ignoring Julian’s reddening ears.
The creaking hinges fell silent, suffocated by the room’s cushioned luxury. Darkness greeted Willow, soft and eerily serene. As she opened the door all the way, the light from the parlor slanted across the canopy’s opened curtains, revealing a small lump in the middle of the bed beneath the covers.
She took a step onto the plush carpet. The nap expanded between her toes as if she were sinking in sand. Julian hedged in behind her, his hand rested on her lower back—enticing, or perhaps chafing. Willow couldn’t decide.
“And what was your plan?” Julian whispered next to her ear. “Were you to be here when I returned? Were you to reveal your presence to me tonight?”
“No.” Willow answered on a threaded breath. “I was to gather up everything and be gone before you got back. By watching you, I would know when you were about to leave the party.”
“Brilliant.”
Willow didn’t have to see him to hear the sarcasm. Nor did she comment on it. Something seemed out of place here, and that uneasy apprehension held her distracted. “Newton?” She spoke his name aloud, hoping for some reaction from the inanimate lump in the bed’s midst.
Seeing no movement, Willow rushed in, losing the warmth of Julian’s palm on her back. Propping a knee on the bed’s edge, she willed her nervous stomach to stop pitching, then reached out to nudge the lump, hand sinking into the plushness of a pillow. Her breath left in a whoosh, as if a leech burrowed into her lungs—sucking out her oxygen.