This wouldn’t do. If she did that again, he wouldn’t have the presence of mind to keep from plunging his aching cock straight through her maidenhead.
Julienne whimpered when he gripped her waist, pulling her higher over his body so that her breasts hung in his face and the crisp curls of her sex rested safely against his stomach. He held her slight weight easily above him, admiring the sight of her. Her eyes closed, she arched her back, presenting her breasts, while her golden hair drifted around her shoulders.
Lucien was captivated.
Lifting his head, he pressed a reverent kiss to a puckered nipple. Julienne’s soft cry encouraged him to go further. He teased her with licks of his tongue before suckling the taut peak into his mouth, intoxicated by the scent and taste of her skin. She arched into him, rubbing her sex along the muscled ridges of his stomach. She repeated the movement again. Then again. Julienne was riding herself against him, her nipple held firmly in his mouth, and he was on fire, every nerve ending vibrantly attuned to the woman he pleasured.
“Please,” she begged. “I need . . . more . . .”
He knew what she craved. To be filled with him, stretched by him, and ridden to orgasm with his cock stroking deeply inside her. But he would not do that. Could not. There was nothing about him that was honorable, but he’d make the effort. For her.
“Patience, love,” he murmured, releasing her breast. “I will attend to you.”
He rolled her over, capturing her other nipple with his mouth while his hand caressed the length of her body and dipped between her thighs. To his delight, she opened her legs eagerly, and he caressed her lips with soft, gentle swirls, pinching them together, then moving his fingers across the hard, swollen nub in matching cadence to his suction on her breast. Her lithe body began to undulate next to his, and he threw a leg across her hips, grinding his erection into her thigh, his body seeking a relief that would be denied to him.
It was a hell of a time to find his conscience.
Impatient, Julienne arched into his hand. Lucien obliged by venturing a finger inside her again, softly stroking. He pulled out with exquisite slowness, then pressed forward again. With a patience that surprised him, he took his time, loving her gently until her body welcomed his touch with a rush of moisture. She breathed his name, and he was nearly lost.
Lucien released her breast, afraid of hurting her as his jaw clenched with the effort to retain his control. His finger, slick with her cream, slipped out, and then he entered her with two fingers. He fucked her faster now, pulling back to watch her face as she struggled against her approaching orgasm, her skin flushed, her nipples tight and hard. Despite her virginal state, she was so aroused that he had no trouble pleasing her, his fingers twisting and rubbing, constantly changing tempo and direction, to keep her on the edge. Julienne writhed, her fingernails digging into his arm, marking him on the outside as she’d marked him on the inside. Her knees fell outward, opening her cunt completely, and then her hips began to move with him, rising and falling to meet his thrusts.
“Don’t fight it, sweet,” he coaxed softly as her head began to thrash, her skin so hot it burned his. “Just allow it to happen.”
The room was quiet except for the harsh sounds of their breathing and the slick sucking noises that accompanied the pumping of his fingers. Julienne turned blindly toward him, her lips parted with panting breaths, and he thrust his tongue between them, loving the taste of her. When she stiffened beneath him, he pulled away, pinning her down with his leg as she arched and cried out his name, shivering beneath him. She held his fingers so tightly in her orgasm, he could barely move them, but he managed it anyway, drawing out her pleasure. He was stunned watching her, never having seen anything so beautiful in his life.
And he would never be allowed to see it again.
Lucien was torn between masculine satisfaction and utter, wrenching despair.
Julienne opened her eyes and wondered if she’d fainted. She felt boneless, languid with warmth. As she realized the heat came from Lucien, her mouth curved with pleasure. She snuggled closer, and then stilled at the sound of his harshly indrawn breath and the feel of his erection against her thigh. She looked at him in dismay. He was suffering, and she’d been too sated to notice.
He rose to his elbow and looked down at her, his face drawn tight. “I have to go.”
She lowered her eyes to the hard ridge of his cock. Reaching down, she brushed the outline with a shy, tentative stroke of her fingers. It jerked beneath her touch.
He pushed her hand away with a curse, then caught it back and kissed her fingertips to soften his rejection. “You mustn’t touch me, Julienne.”
“But I’d like to,” she insisted. Her heart swelled, filled with tenderness for him. “That was so wonderful . . . what you did . . .”
His gaze was achingly tender. “I’m glad you thought so.”
Julienne pressed her lips to his.
His hand slid to her nape, prolonging the kiss. Then he sighed and rolled onto his back. In a fluidly graceful motion, he left the bed. Lucien grabbed up his shirt and dropped it over her head.
“Stay with me.” She shoved her arms through the sleeves and gripped his wrist quickly when he turned to leave.
“I don’t think I can.”
“But you wanted to watch me sleep.” When he hesitated, she pulled the counterpane back in invitation. He was so obviously torn that it touched her heart.
Suddenly he blew out the candle and slid in beside her. He curled against her back, his knees behind hers, his lips at her shoulder. She clung to his arms as if she would never allow him to go, which was entirely the way she felt. With his warmth and scent surrounding her, she quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Four
“Oh, dear, this is dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. We’re ruined. You are ruined! What will we do? We shall be run from our home and—”
“Aunt Eugenia, please!” Julienne threw up her hands. “Keep your voice down! The servants will hear you.”
Eugenia Whitfield snapped her mouth closed and bit her lower lip.
Julienne sank into her brother’s chair in the study of Montrose Hall and crushed his letter in her fist. The soul-deep satisfaction she’d enjoyed since leaving Lucien that morning was gone, replaced by weary resignation. “I am not ruined.”
“You spent the night with Lucien Remington!”
“Aunt Eugenia!”
Eugenia squirmed in misery on the chaise.
“I did not spend the night with Lucien Remington. I merely spent the evening in his establishment, which no one aside from you is aware of. I’d prefer to keep it that way, so lower your voice. Please!”
“What will we do about Hugh?”
Julienne looked at the missive in her hand and wondered the same thing. Hugh had retired to the country for an extended party with some of his friends, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his debts. As usual, he’d failed to consider notifying her until days after he’d left. Her brother didn’t mean to be hurtful. He was simply irresponsible and always leaped before looking, consistently landing in puddles of trouble. It was partly her fault, for always cleaning up after him. Hugh had never learned that every action has a consequence.
She rose from behind the desk and threw the letter into the fire. “Nothing has changed. I had to marry in any case.”
“Oh, Julienne . . .” Eugenia sighed. “You’ve been through so much. I cannot collect how you manage it.”
“The same way you’ve managed Hugh and me. We do what we must.”
Julienne turned back to her aunt and smiled. At fifty, Eugenia Whitfield was still a lovely woman. Widowed at a young age, she could easily have remarried. Instead she had taken over the care of her brother’s children when the Earl of Montrose and his wife were killed in a carriage accident. While she often wrung her hands and lamented the unruliness of her charges, Eugenia never said a word of regret about the things she’d given up. Because of this, Julienne loved her aunt more than a
nything.
“I just assumed Hugh was drinking and gambling himself silly in that club,” Eugenia said. “I could never have imagined he would leave town at a time like this! It’s your first Season, for heaven’s sake.” She pursed her lips. “That boy needs a switch to his behind.”
Julienne choked back a laugh at the picture. Aunt Eugenia had never raised a hand to either of them, although the hugs had been plentiful.
Sinking into her chair, Julienne let her mind drift to Lucien Remington, a man who was free and unrestrained by the rules that smothered her. Just the thought of the scandalous rogue made her body ache with remembered passion. If she closed her eyes, she could recall his richly masculine scent and the gentleness of his touch deep inside her. The memory alone aroused her, making her nipples hard and her skin hot.
If she listened to Society, she would feel some terrible regret or dismay at what she had allowed to happen, but she didn’t. Lucien had made her feel cherished, and while he’d only mentioned his physical attraction, his every touch, every kiss, had been underlain with an aching tenderness. Her entire life she’d been an object of fragile esteem, not considered a woman of passions, but just a female extension of the men in her life—first her father, then her brother, next her husband. Only Lucien had seen beyond the exterior to the woman within.
She was grateful to have had one night of passion with him, for she would have no more for the rest of her life.
Julienne had left him without saying good-bye. And three days later, Lucien still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Usually he preferred to avoid the morning-after farewell, an often messy affair. But Julienne’s silent departure had left him bereft. For the first time in his life, he’d wanted to wake up with the woman he’d touched so intimately only hours before. He’d wanted to share breakfast with her, talk with her, and discover what had her so troubled. He’d quite simply wanted to enjoy her company for a few hours more before losing it forever.
Julienne La Coeur intrigued him more now that he knew her than she had as a stranger. He’d watched her closely for weeks, admiring her graceful poise and social adeptness. But that night in the Sapphire Room, she’d been surprised by his interest, not because she underestimated her own attractiveness, but because she so esteemed his. She admired and was drawn to the very things for which he was usually condemned, and yet he didn’t feel like he was just a scandalous bit of excitement to her. Instead he felt like a man appreciated simply for being himself.
Her parting had left behind a void that none of the women he’d bedded since had been able to fill. Lucien wondered if she regretted her curiosity that night or resented him for taking advantage of the offer he should have rejected. He supposed he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. How could he, when he ached to love her again?
“I believe Lord Montrose has retired to the country.”
Scowling, Lucien looked across his desk at Harold Marchant, his man-of-affairs. Most men cowered when Lucien was irritated. Harold, however, took it in stride, which is why the man had worked for him for almost a decade. Lucien had made Marchant a wealthy man and in the process had earned his loyalty. Marchant was, in fact, the closest thing he had to a best friend. “Is the earl destitute?”
Marchant nodded gravely. “Very nearly. In addition to the staggering amount he owes Remington’s, merchants have begun repossessing goods and duns have become regular visitors to the Montrose residence here in town. Soon they will set up a veritable encampment on his doorstep.”
Lucien whistled softly. In these days of industrial progression, many aristocrats were losing centuries of inheritance due to their own reluctance to engage in trade or invest in the future. As a man of his own means, Lucien had little respect for anyone who allowed his pride to get in the way of survival. “How does his situation affect Lady Julienne?”
“Lady Julienne?” Marchant repeated, his gaze clearly perplexed through his gold-rimmed spectacles. “She’s just begun her first Season, which is remarkable only for the timing of it—she’s twenty. Why she waited until now to come out is anyone’s guess. She has a respectable portion, but the amount is rumored to be unremarkable. Any serious suitor for her hand will accept responsibility for her brother’s future debts. Quite frankly, she’ll need to marry for money, but that shouldn’t be a problem. She’s very popular, has excellent lineage, and boasts great beauty.”
Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Who is sponsoring her Season?”
“Her godmother, the Marchioness of Canlow.” Marchant frowned. “Why this interest in Lady Julienne?”
Preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, Lucien said nothing.
“No,” Marchant said suddenly. “Leave the girl alone.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen that look on your face before. Stick with your demimondaines and bored aristocrats’ wives. Lady Julienne has had a rough time of it. Her brother became Montrose at the tender age of nine and has proven to be ill-equipped for the responsibility. She must marry well. Don’t ruin it for her.”
On any other occasion, Lucien might have found the warning amusing. But this was no laughing matter.
His blasted conscience was to blame for his predicament. He should have fucked Julienne when he had the opportunity and sated his craving. Not even the past three nights of outright debauchery had relieved his desire. Instead he felt soiled. The emotionless encounters had been sad, sordid imitations of the sweet pleasure he’d shared with Julienne.
“Stay out of my affairs,” he growled.
“It’s my job to manage your affairs,” Marchant retorted.
“I don’t pay you to censure my behavior.”
“You overpay me, Lucien. Allow me to earn my wages.”
Lucien shot him a dark glance. “Why the concern for a woman you’ve never met?”
“I have met her.” Marchant smiled at his surprise. “A few months ago, you sent me to the earl’s home regarding his growing balance at the club. Montrose was away, but Lady Julienne invited me in for tea, despite my purpose for being there. She was charming and genuine, a true lady. I liked her immensely.”
In spite of himself, Lucien smiled. Julienne saw the individual goodness in everyone she met. One couldn’t help but bask in the glow of her regard.
“I have no intention of ruining her, Harold.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“In fact, I’d like to help her. Hire someone to find Montrose. I want to know where he is.”
“As you wish.” Marchant rose to his feet. “Anything else you require?”
Lucien was silent for a moment. “Yes. I want you to compile a list of suitable marriage prospects for Lady Julienne. Rich, titled gentlemen, neither too old nor too young. Attractive, if possible. And research their backgrounds. No one with any odd fetishes or disagreeable personalities. No one who smells or has uncontrollable vices.”
Marchant stood dumbfounded, with mouth agape, the first time in Lucien’s memory the man-of-affairs was rendered speechless.
And Lucien was so bloody miserable, he couldn’t even enjoy it.
Chapter Five
Julienne drank in the sight of Lucien Remington like a woman dying of thirst. He was stunning in black evening attire, his raven hair and remarkable eyes shining under the chandeliers, his golden skin in sharp contrast to the snowy white of his waistcoat and cravat. She’d thought of him constantly over the last week, wondered what he was doing, whom he was seeing. She suspected she was besotted, which would be the worst sort of foolishness.
“Julienne.” Aunt Eugenia tugged on her arm. “Lord Fontaine is heading this way.”
She turned her head and watched the marquess approach her with his slow, sultry stride. Greek god handsome, Fontaine was every bit the experienced rake. At the prime age of three and twenty, the young marquess had determined he was in need of a wife, and Julienne appeared to be on his list of suitable prospects. She pasted a sunny smile on her face and queried under her
breath, “Are you certain he’s kind enough to help Hugh?”
Eugenia maintained her pleasant expression as she whispered back, “Kindness would be a bonus. I can tell you he’s wealthy enough. Just remember, a woman can usually get what she desires from a man with the right amount of charm and compromise.”
Julienne wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to charm a man into being kind; she wanted him to be that way naturally. She hoped to find someone knowledgeable enough to set Hugh on the path to maturity and financial independence. She felt certain that with the proper guidance, her brother could be turned around. But the hand that guided him had to be compassionate as well as firm.
Lord Fontaine bowed before her. He claimed her outstretched hand and brushed a kiss across the back of her glove. “Lady Julienne, your beauty steals the breath from me.”
“And you, Lord Fontaine, are especially dashing this evening.”
Allowing her mind to drift, Julienne bantered the standard social pleasantries without thought. She was relieved when he asked her to stroll around the dance floor. As they began to walk, she saw Lucien take the hand of a beautiful brunette known for her scandalous liaisons. Her heart clenched. Their dark beauty as a couple was striking.
She stared, but Lucien never once turned to catch her eye. In fact, he hadn’t spared her a glance all evening.
Fontaine followed her gaze and snorted. “That Remington mongrel is a blight on Society. I have no notion why he continues to receive invitations.”
“Lord Fontaine!” Julienne was astonished by his rudeness. He offered a dashing smile, but she suddenly found him less than charming.
“His kind has no business mingling with First Society. It taints us all.”
She stiffened, and Fontaine easily adjusted his steps to compensate. Knowing it would be proper to hold her tongue, she still couldn’t manage it. “Mr. Remington has made a fortune for himself with hard work and determination. I would think that would be cause for admiration.”