“You owe me one hundred thousand quid, my lord. I’m not likely to misplace you.”
Hugh scowled. “A drop in the bucket for you, Remington.”
“True. Now, I assume you’ve come to repay me?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Hugh said, “I was hoping to make payment arrangements with you.”
A black brow lifted. “I see. What do you propose?”
“At the end of the Season, I can repay half of what I owe, and then—”
Remington raised a hand. “I won’t accept Fontaine’s money. You owe me. You will pay me.”
“Damnation!” Hugh flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Money is money, damn it. Why do you care where it comes from?”
“The point is, I do care.”
“If you expect me to pay you out of my own pockets, it will take years.”
“I’m not inclined to wait any longer. Either pay me the money, or listen to my alternate proposal.”
Hugh stiffened warily. “What alternate proposal?”
Remington leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wish to see your sister socially. You will smooth the way for me. For every outing, every dance, every private moment with her, I will reduce your debt by ten thousand pounds.”
Hugh’s mouth fell open. “Bloody hell. This is extortion!”
Remington said nothing.
“Lady Julienne is close to announcing her betrothal to the Marquess of Fontaine,” Hugh pointed out. “Your request could seriously jeopardize his interest in her.”
Remington remained silent.
“She’s a debutante, Remington, not one of your trollops. I won’t whore her out for my debts.”
Remington’s brows rose, and Hugh colored with embarrassment at the silent challenge that said he was doing exactly that.
“Fontaine offers marriage,” he argued.
“So do I.”
Hugh choked. “The devil, you say! This grows more outrageous by the moment. Julienne can’t marry you! She’s an earl’s daughter, for Christ’s sake.”
“And I am a duke’s son.”
“Well, yes, but you’re . . . well . . . you’re . . . Damnation, you know what the hell you are! It’s not the same thing at all.”
Remington shrugged, not the least bit perturbed. “Marriage is out, so we return to my offer. You may begin this evening. I want one dance with Lady Julienne. Afterward you can deduct ten thousand pounds from your debt to me.”
Hugh ran both hands through his hair before massaging his temples. “She’s marrying someone else, Remington. Why not find some other chit?”
“My motives are my own.” Remington rested his elbows on his desk. “I’m a very busy man, Montrose. Tell me your decision now—the money or ten moments with your sister. What shall it be?”
“This is appalling.”
“Indeed?”
“You’ve gone mad.”
“Quite possibly.”
Hugh was dumbstruck, and damned himself for landing Julienne in this predicament. She was correct. It was time to get his affairs in order. “What if she refuses?”
“Then I will allow her to do so. But she must refuse me each time.”
“Hell’s teeth, this is abominable. You, sir, are no gentleman.”
Remington smiled. “I have never claimed to be one.”
“I have stipulations.”
Remington nodded. “I expected you would.”
“Outings must be chaperoned.”
“Of course.”
“If I acquire any portion of the money on my own, I can buy you out.”
“Agreed.”
“And”—Hugh flushed—“she’s untouched. Don’t think to ruin her to force my hand, or I will call you out. In case you hadn’t heard, I’m an excellent shot. You would not survive the encounter.”
“I accept your terms.” Remington’s confident expression never wavered. “I will claim the last set of the evening with Lady Julienne at the Dempsey Ball tonight. Don’t say anything to her. I will approach her myself and afford her the opportunity to refuse.”
“Fine.” Hugh rose and took another look around the elegantly appointed office. “I shall never wager another shilling in my life.”
“Good idea,” returned Remington as he picked up his quill. “I don’t like to wager myself.”
Hugh gaped in astonishment and then started toward the door, muttering to himself. “Doesn’t like to wager. Ridiculous. Man owns the largest gambling establishment in town.”
Lucien grinned triumphantly as the door closed behind Montrose. “And I just made the biggest gamble of my life.”
Julienne surveyed the glittering ballroom with bleary eyes. Hugh’s trips to his various creditors that afternoon had been successful. He assured her of the ready cooperation of all, including Lucien Remington, and seemed truly determined to take his responsibilities more seriously.
Having accomplished that, Julienne could have spent the evening at home and considered the day well spent. But Hugh had insisted she attend the Dempsey Ball. Now it was the early hours of the following morning, she was exhausted, her mind tortured by thoughts of Lucien, and her brother insisted they remain until the end. Julienne tried desperately to stifle a yawn.
“Hugh,” she muttered, “I’m retiring to the ladies’ room for a nap. You send for me when you’re ready to depart.”
He scowled. “You promised the last set to me.”
“Well, then, send for me just before. If I stand here another moment, I shall embarrass myself by falling asleep on my feet.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Go.”
Julienne moved away before he could change his mind. Reaching the hallway, she hid a yawn behind her gloved hand.
She screeched as she was yanked without warning into an alcove. Lucien slid the curtain closed behind her.
“What are you doing?” she cried, even as her heart leapt at his proximity. Stunningly handsome, he was impeccably attired in evening black. She hadn’t seen him all evening, and she hated to contemplate where he might have been. “Adding to my collection of bruises?” she snapped.
He had the grace to wince. “Julienne.” His voice was low and tinged with regret. “Please forgive me for last night. I was foxed. I should never have touched you the way I did.”
She lifted her chin and reached for the curtain. “You are correct about that. Now if you will excuse me.”
He gripped her elbow. “Julienne, please. Don’t go yet.”
“Why not? I think we’ve said all that needs to be said.”
Lucien pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pockets. The longing on his face arrested her. As his palm cupped her cheek, Julienne closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of his skin.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Every moment I’m not with you, I miss you.”
“Lucien, don’t . . .”
“Yes, Julienne. Look at me.”
Reluctantly she lifted her lids and met his gaze, the austereness of his features stealing her breath.
“I’m so very sorry, sweet. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Julienne fought the tears that threatened. “Allow me to explain something to you, Lucien. Something men of your sort don’t seem to comprehend. Women are feeling creatures, at least they are until they’ve been hurt enough to no longer care. We reserve parts of our soul for the men who are important in our lives, places where trust and respect reside. Once those feelings are lost, you cannot reclaim them. Once they are dead, they cannot be revived.” She shoved his hand away from her face. “I’ve heard your apology, and yet it means nothing to me. You want me to make you feel better, to tell you I understand and forgive you, but I don’t understand.” She turned to leave.
“I didn’t touch her,” he said quickly in a voice so hoarse she barely recognized it. “Since that day I came to your home, I haven’t been with another woman. I’ve been faithful to you.”
Julienne turned, searching h
is face, and found him in deadly earnest. “Why?” she asked simply.
“You are the only woman I want.” Lucien cupped her face with both hands. “When you rejected my proposal, I lost my head. I’m not accustomed to being denied something I want so desperately. I am so very sorry, Julienne. You don’t have to forgive me. All I ask is that you believe my sincerity.”
His mouth lowered slowly, giving her the opportunity to pull away. With heartrending tenderness, he kissed away the tears she hadn’t known were falling. Julienne turned her head to capture his lips, and she was lost. Lost in his scent, his touch. Lost in him.
“I believe you,” she whispered.
Lucien’s mouth brushed along her jaw and down her throat. “Why are you wearing this high-necked dress?” he murmured.
“To hide the bruises.”
He froze, his body turning hard as stone. His hands left her face and reached for the buttons on the back of her gown, his impatient fingers working with obvious familiarity of a woman’s clothing.
“Lucien, no,” she protested, agonizingly aware of the thinness of the curtain that separated them from the prying eyes of the ton. “Not here. Not now.”
He dipped his head, hushing her with a kiss. Soon her gown gaped in the back, and he pushed it to the floor. He growled, his fingers brushing over their own prints left in the tender skin of her breasts. “Jesus,” he breathed.
Pulling her to him, he kissed her throat. His mouth wandered downward, kissing every mark he’d left on her. The touch of his lips was gentle, reverent. He whispered anguished apologies against her skin, and as he dropped to his knees in front of her, she could feel the wetness of his tears soak through her chemise.
The depth of his remorse, his openness of feeling, his willingness to show her his vulnerability, stunned her. This was a side of Lucien she had never seen. Julienne wondered if anyone had ever seen it.
As he pushed up her chemise, his hot breath ruffled the curls of her sex. She shivered, her blood heating, her heart racing. Lucien groaned and buried his mouth between her legs. Slipping a hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg free of her gown and pulled it over his shoulder, opening her to his ravishment.
Gentle fingers parted her, and Julienne sagged against the wall as his tongue delved deeper inside, licking her as if he savored the taste of her. She stared down, watching him, and her heart clenched in her chest. She could never have imagined the sight of the powerful Lucien Remington on his knees before her, his gorgeous eyes bright with grief and other more frightening emotions. With long, slow, sinuous laps he cherished her. He loved her leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were alone and not mere steps away from ruination.
Melancholy welled up inside her. “Lucien,” she whispered as his tongue thrust into her. “My darling.”
Her fingers slipped through his hair and wrapped around his scalp. His tongue probed deep, and she bit her lip to hold back her cries. The coiling tension wound tighter, and her hips thrust forward, seeking to deepen the contact. She rode his mouth, undulating against him, her lips parted as she fought to breathe. He latched onto her and suckled with expert, gentle force, knowing just what she needed.
Her back arched, her breath seized, her fingers tugged at his hair as she came against his mouth. Her orgasm rolled through her, over her, releasing the relentless tension that had gripped her for over a week. A week in which she’d fallen in love and then had her heart broken.
He soothed her tremors with soft laps, gentling her before rising to his feet.
Boneless, Julienne stood unmoving as Lucien dressed her. He drew her against his chest as he buttoned the back of her gown. When he was done, he rocked her gently in his arms. Never in her life had Julienne felt more cherished.
“It’s the last set,” he whispered.
“I must go,” she sighed. “Montrose will be looking for me.”
Lucien nuzzled her throat. “This set is reserved for me.”
“Be serious,” she murmured, kissing the sharp line of his jaw. “You cannot continue to ravish me in public venues. We’ll—”
“I am serious. Montrose is aware of my intentions and has promised to offer no objection. Say yes, Julienne.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m an excellent dancer.”
“You’re also a conceited rogue.”
“Ah.” His smile stunned her wits. “But you wouldn’t wish me to be any other way. Now, go out to the ballroom and wait for me.”
Tossing a skeptical glance over her shoulder, Julienne exited the alcove and moved down the hallway to the ballroom. Within moments, Lucien was bowing over her hand. She glanced at Hugh, who scowled.
“Do you wish to dance with him?” he asked, giving her the choice.
“Yes,” she breathed, waiting for his refusal and astonished when he offered a curt nod to Lucien.
“How did you do it?” she asked as Lucien led her to the line of dancers with a sure hand and a confident step. His powerful body moved gracefully, and she found herself eagerly anticipating the upcoming cotillion.
“Never mind,” he said, grinning. “I believe I’m in heaven. Your taste flavors my mouth, and your scent clings to my nostrils.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and sighed.
Julienne blushed. “You say the most wicked things, Lucien.”
He raised a mocking brow. “You do the most wicked things, my love. Underneath that prim-and-proper exterior is a wanton dying to be satisfied. And I am just the repentant rake to do it.”
“Repentant?” She arched a brow.
“Definitely.”
She glanced around furtively before whispering, “Do you really think so?”
“Think what?” he asked. “That I’m the man to satisfy you?” His mouth curved with devilish amusement. “Do you doubt it? I think I’ve proven myself rather well, considering I haven’t been able to use all of my endowments.” His grin widened. “You do remember what I told you about challenging a man’s virility?”
“No, not that.” Her blush deepened. “I meant the part about my being a wanton.”
He laughed. “You liked that, did you?”
She blushed. “It’s a relief to know you find me . . .”
“Passionate? Desirable? Interesting? Beautiful?”
Julienne laughed, heedless of the scandalized eyes that watched them cross the dance floor. “You make me feel like I am all of those things. I thank you for that.”
“And you make me happy. So it is I who must thank you.”
Her eyes dropped shyly.
“Julienne.”
She glanced at him.
“I would like to take you on a picnic tomorrow.”
“Montrose would never—”
“Leave him to me.”
Julienne narrowed her eyes. “Even if that were true, I’ve already agreed to accompany Lord Fontaine to a literary luncheon tomorrow.”
Lucien’s lips tightened grimly. “The day after, then.”
She nodded. “If you can arrange to garner my brother’s approval, I would love to go on a picnic with you, Lucien.”
She knew what he wanted. He wished to say good-bye, and she was touched he wanted to make it a memorable event. He cared for her, perhaps more than he knew, but he would never change, and she would never ask him to. Eventually he would resent her for the marital restrictions imposed on his lifestyle. No matter how much he desired her, desire alone would never be enough to bridge the gulf between them.
However, she refused to think about that now.
Instead she threw herself into the dance and allowed Lucien Remington, notorious libertine, to sweep her away. For this moment at least, she could pretend all of her dreams had come true.
Chapter Ten
He was very handsome.
Julienne acknowledged that fact for the hundredth time as she studied Lord Fontaine furtively beneath her lashes. And quite charming. She glanced around the long table where they sat in Lady Busby’s London residence. Most of the othe
r women in the room were eyeing him covetously. But Julienne could dredge up no pleasure in the day. All she desired was to be enjoying a picnic with Lucien.
“Is the food not to your taste, Lady Julienne?” Fontaine asked solicitously.
She smiled. “Everything is wonderful. I’m just not very hungry.” She glanced at his plate.
“Liar,” he teased. “You want a bite of my scone.” He broke off a piece with his long, elegant fingers, swiped some softened butter on it with a knife, and brought it to her mouth. She parted her lips automatically, and he popped the morsel inside.
She blushed, knowing everyone at the table had duly noted the intimate gesture. “I sense a scandalous side to you, my lord.”
He grinned. “Does that disturb you?”
“You know it doesn’t, or you wouldn’t indulge me with it.”
“’Tis one of the reasons why I like you so well, Julienne.” He took a deep breath. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, but now is not the appropriate time. Perhaps tomorrow I could take you for a drive in the park?”
Julienne knew exactly what he wished to discuss with her, and she knew what her answer would be. But first she had one more opportunity to spend time with Lucien. “I’m afraid I must decline. I have plans tomorrow.” She saw the troubled frown and sought to allay his concern. “But the following day would be lovely.”
He nodded. “Of course. I look forward to it.”
Hours later, Julienne returned to Montrose Hall, determined to spend the evening at home so she would be fresh and alert for her picnic with Lucien. She had so much to say to him, so many things she wanted him to know, before they said good-bye.
She ordered tea brought to her in the family parlor and made her way upstairs with the afternoon’s post. Julienne sorted through the pile halfheartedly, until she came to a missive that caught her eye.
Delicate pink parchment, scented of roses and bearing a rose seal, stood out from the others. Julienne opened it curiously.
“Good grief,” she breathed when she realized who the sender was. And then she tucked into the letter with gusto.
She’d jilted him!
Lucien stomped back down the steps of Montrose Hall in a fine temper. He still couldn’t believe it. He’d never been jilted in his life. “Something came up,” Julienne had written in her far-too-brief apology. If that “something” turned out to be Fontaine, there would be the devil to pay.