A most unsuitable lover, p.15
A Most Unsuitable Lover, page 15
All of her.
Ian witnessed the brilliant woman with a passion for foreign tongues. He saw her sense of humor and her easy smile. He saw her shy side and her sensual side. Her mischievous side and her sweet side.
And he wanted all of it. Ian wanted all of her.
He’d been irredeemably ignorant believing he could walk away from this arrangement unscathed. He’d known it from the first time he’d looked into Juliette’s eyes on that London street that she would be his undoing.
“Feel the wind,” Juliette said in a smooth return to his archery lesson…as if she hadn’t shaken his world like an earthquake of extraordinary magnitude. “You will need to adjust your aim as it will carry your arrow.
Ian could sympathize with the arrow. He’d been carried off to places unknown just as helplessly as if he were a bit of stick and feather at the mercy of nature.
∞∞∞
Ian was staring at the papers spread out before him but saw none of them. He’d retreated to the safety of his chamber following luncheon under the guise of getting more work done, but it was futile. Especially when he realized his coat smelled like Juliette from having her pressed so near.
He’d performed just about as poorly as to be expected when it came time for him to shoot an actual arrow, but Juliette’s smile had been well worth the good-natured unmanning he’d received.
Now, instead of reviewing potential costs for ordering cloth strips, silk thread, and other basic medical necessities in bulk, Ian’s groin pounded with furious need. He suffered from an insatiable hunger for Lady Juliette Crawford.
Ian’s brows knit together following a small scratch at the door. He hadn’t sent for anything and none of the other guests had reason to disturb him. His heart kicked up instantly at the possibility that it might be Juliette, but surely she was not foolish enough to seek him out in the middle of the day when anyone might stumble upon her.
He would have lost that bet, however, because he opened the door to find her wide blue eyes and perfectly kissable lips waiting for him on the other side.
“Juliette?” Ian croaked disbelievingly.
“I thought you might like some chocolate tart,” she said, holding up the plate in her hand. Sure enough, there was a thick slice of the decadent desert waiting for him. “Even one of the worst marksmen of the day deserves a little something sweet.” He nearly groaned, because she couldn’t have known how he’d so recently imagined her being that something sweet, laid out across his bed like a desert spread for him alone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he managed to say.
“I am just delivering your conciliatory prize and I shall be on my way…leaving your virtue intact.” The glitter in her voice finally snapped Ian’s restraint.
He hauled her into his room and had just enough sense to drop the plate on the desk with a clatter before hauling her against him and kissing her with every ounce of longing he’d held in check for the interminable hours since the last time they had touched.
“You are the sweetness I crave,” he growled between kisses. His tongue stroked her mouth deeply, exploring, tangling with hers in a furious dance.
She pressed her lower body against his, gasping when she felt the rigid evidence of his need. He couldn’t resist the testing thrust his hips made against her softness. Painfully hard and desperate for her touch, Ian captured one of her hands and brought it to his groin, holding her palm there to cup him through his breeches.
“Do you feel what you do to me, lass,” he growled, grinding into her. “I’ve been hard since you teased me during archery…and I’m no’ a man to trifle with.”
“Show me.” Juliette’s words were muffled against his lips, but there was no mistaking them. Especially not when she squeezed him in the most delicious grip.
Panting, Ian freed his throbbing member, and Juliette’s hand immediately covered it with soft, exploratory fingers.
“So good,” he hissed. “I’ve wanted your hands on me for so long, lass.” And one of his fantasies was realized when she knelt in front of him and began to stroke.
“It’s quite beautiful,” Juliette said in a shaky voice. He could practically feel her appreciative eyes upon the thick, ruddy head. Her hand tested the girth and length next, trying to see if her fingers would meet as she wrapped them around him tightly, stroking where the root sprung from a nest of reddish curls. He moaned in delight, knowing her virgin flesh would be even more tantalizingly tight than this. He fought not to thrust into her, lest he break the spell of the moment.
“Not half as beautiful as you.” Juliette’s face flushed; he suspected his did as well when she looked up at him from that position, her beautiful eyes wide and her hand on his cock.
“May I kiss you?” she asked softly, and it nearly brought Ian to his knees.
“Please,” was his strangled reply. And Ian nearly died when he watched her grip his member reverently and place a very tender, chaste kiss upon one of the least chaste places he possessed. And he never wanted it to end. He nearly lost consciousness when she did it again and her lips parted, tongue darting out to trace the slit.
“Fucking hell…” he groaned and his fingers flew to her head; his heart thudded so hard against his ribs it made them ache.
He wanted to hold her there.
He wanted to thrust deep as she sucked him.
He wanted to watch her delight as he poured out his soul and surrendered to her completely.
Instead, he held so utterly still, afraid to breathe or move lest she disappear into smoke.
She rewarded him with another kiss. And then another. And another. Growing bolder and more comfortable with each one until she enveloped his aching head between her lips, sucking tentatively.
It nearly killed him to do it, but Ian forced himself to speak: “You needn’t do that.”
“I want to…”
And that was his undoing. He helped her find a rhythm with her kisses and caresses. She took him deeper, learning how a flick of her tongue could make him lose his breath, and a swirl around the head made him weak in the knees.
The groan ripped from his chest was animalistic, layered with amazement and disbelief at what she was gladly doing to him. Ian basked in the glow of her attention, the selfless way she wanted to learn to give him pleasure. His head fell back in surrender, his chest heaving as the strength of his arousal increased. It rose within him swiftly and violently, building at the base of his spine and ricocheting through his limbs, washing his mind free of everything except for her hands, her mouth on him. And when her free hand cupped the soft sac beneath his member, Ian knew all was lost.
“Mo leannan àlainn,” he gasped roughly. “You must stop.”
She did so instantly, removing her mouth and gazing up at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek. “It feels far too good.”
“Oh.” Her eyes returned to his aching cock, so hard it was painful as it strained for release. And then, Juliette did the unthinkable, she leaned in and took him into her mouth once more, redoubling her efforts.
He cursed in English, Gaelic, Italian, and likely several other languages as he careened helplessly toward his orgasm. His vision blurred and his fingers knotted in her hair, holding her still as his thighs trembled and his cock throbbed in release, pouring into her his hot seed as waves of pleasure rolled through him like an unstoppable tide.
As the last tremors left his body, he dropped to his weakened knees and cupped her face in his large hands, pressing his forehead to hers. Their panting breaths mingled between them.
“Did I do well?” Juliette asked softly.
In response, Ian kissed her deeply, tasting the salty musk of his release on her tongue and savoring it.
Chapter Fifteen
Juliette’s hands were less than steady at supper that night. She couldn’t prevent her mind from replaying her encounter with Ian again and again. Seeing him so uninhibited, so wild was thrilling. Realizing she was able to have him at her mercy and bring him to his knees was overwhelming.
Her untried mind had never before pondered what it would be like to take a man in her mouth, but she hadn’t been able to resist when confronted with the impressive beauty of Ian’s arousal. Something deep and primal within her knew she had to have him inside her; she was driven to return the pleasure he’d given to her.
And she had loved it.
It was a foreign act, but one she would not mind repeating—not when Ian praised her and so obviously cherished her efforts.
She wondered if this was the bloom of love…this desire to step out of one’s usual life and comfortability for the sake of another’s joy…to derive one’s joy and pleasure from that of another. The feeling was at once humbling and thrilling. It made her want more. And it was what drove her to decide that she would give herself fully to Ian that night.
She had not come to this decision lightly, but she’d be lying if she claimed she hadn’t considered the possibility since they had first made their arrangement. How could a woman not wonder what it would be like to be forever ruined by a man such as him?
The very thought made Juliette’s throat tight and her palms sweat.
He’d given her so many tastes of pleasure, but they had only whetted her appetite. She wanted Ian to claim her utterly and completely. Irrevocably. She could live a century, her brother could decide to throw open the doors and allow her into a world of endless suitors, and Juliette knew she would never meet another man like him.
And she loved him.
Despite his words that melted her body and soul; despite his care and worship of her body; despite his undeniable ability to listen to her and go out of his way to show her he thought of her, Juliette was keenly aware that he likely did not feel the same. Ian was an honorable man who had compromised those morals for her. She might have felt guilty about it had she not known they’d both derived so much pleasure from their time together.
She was still determined to hold up her part of the bargain. She’d promised Ian that their arrangement would be only temporary. It might break her, but she was determined to keep her word…after she experienced what it was to be skin-to-skin with this amazing, beautiful Scotsman.
Juliette smoothed the pleated skirt of her ice-blue gown and adjusted the strings of pearls and dangling aquamarines at her throat. The neckline was one of the more daring ones she’d commissioned just that Season. Normally, she opted for more comfortable, serviceable styles since she was so rarely in situations where she would require the extra flare and attention. She was glad she’d listened to that little voice in the back of her head a few months prior, however, when her modiste had presented her with the fashion plate and Juliette had instantly listened to her gut and daring gown was now hers.
The color had been chosen to highlight the brightness of her eyes and stand in even more striking contrast to the rest of her coloring. She felt ethereal. She felt unexpectedly confident. Perfect for a seduction and one scandalous night of passion.
∞∞∞
“I adore the theater,” Miss Finchley said shyly after a sip of her wine. Ian had been seated between the young lady and her mother, much to the delight of the matchmaking Mrs. Finchley.
The poor girl had leaned over as soon as her mother was occupied by an inquiry presented by Lord Leighton to her left and apologized to Ian for her mother’s rather tactless behavior. He’d instantly assured her that no apologies were necessary; he was quite used to these efforts and was unfazed by them. The young lady was quite pretty when she smiled. She had a pleasantly plump face and dark eyes that lit from within when she smiled. She was also a very interesting conversationalist when one or both of her parents weren’t talking over her. He sincerely hoped she would find herself a good match so she could be free of her parents; Ian, however, could not be that man. He’d cast a glance up the table where Juliette sat beside her brother, looking resplendent in a gown as blue as a crisp spring sky.
For now, he would enjoy Miss Finchley’s company and give the girl an evening of pleasant conversation without subtext or hidden agenda.
“Have you seen any recent productions?” Ian asked her. “I fear my schedule does not permit me to attend the theater as much as I would like, but I do enjoy hearing about it.”
This proved to be quite the right topic of conversation for the normally reserved Miss Finchley. She instantly launched into a description of Drury Lane Theatre’s most recent dramatic interpretation of Richard III.
“Edmund Keane is remarkable,” she breathed. “He has such a way of playing the despicable villain. He surely must be one of the most emotionally expressive actors of our time—aside from Garrett Frost, of course.”
“Frost?” Ian frowned as he sifted through his memory. “He is with The Mask & Lyre, is he not?”
“Indeed, he is. I saw him perform the lead in Hamlet this Season and it was quite the performance. I confess I cried right there in the theater for his poor tortured soul.”
“It must have been quite the experience,” Ian said with a kind smile.
“Oh, it certainly was!”
Just then, he caught Juliette watching him. He met her eyes and, rather boldly, refused to be the first to look away. Heat crackled and sparked between them, instantly causing his breeches to grow too tight and his pulse to throb in his skull. Deep inside, something roared to life and demanded satisfaction. It wanted to sink inside of Juliette over and over again and keep her with him always. It was futile. It was foolish. But there was no reasoning with that slumbering beast now that it had been awakened.
One of Juliette’s perfectly shaped dark brows rose in a question and Ian replied with a subtle inclination of his head. Whatever it was, he would walk through fire for her.
Ian turned his attention back to Miss Finchley to continue their conversation about plays and dramatic productions.
∞∞∞
Ian stood outside a wide mahogany door, its polished brass knob so shiny he could see a warped version of his reflection staring back at him. His heart was pounding fitfully, almost concerningly, as he debated whether to knock or listen to his better judgment and walk away.
His left hand held the small scrap of parchment, upon which had been written Gaelic instructions to this very room. The note had been slipped to him beneath Juliette’s curled fingers as he’d bent over her hand to bid her goodnight.
He’d been surprised to feel it hidden there, but he’d masked his reaction and accepted it before secreting it into an inner pocket of his coat. He’d excused himself for the evening very soon thereafter and escaped into the hall to read it.
Staidhre an t-seirbhiseach. An treas làr. An ceathramh doras air an taobh chlì. Meadhan oidhche.
Ian’s breath had died in his lungs. Servant’s stairs. Third floor. Fourth door on the left. Midnight.
He’d spent the next hour-and-a-half pacing his room in indecision and anxiety. She wanted to see him, that much was clear, but what did it mean? What did she hope would happen?
The previous day in his rooms had been their most private of interludes, but it had also been spontaneous. She had some plan in that beautiful head of hers, and Ian was unsure whether or not he should go through with it…especially now as he was realizing the depth of his feelings for her. This could only lead to disaster.
But his body did not seem to agree. At three minutes to midnight, Ian’s legs carried him from his room to the disguised doorway leading to the servants’ stairwell. He climbed the narrow flight to the floor above his where the family rooms lay. He didn’t remember counting the doors, but he found himself face-to-face with the one behind which held one of his greatest desires.
He raised his hand and rapped one knuckle on the doorframe.
∞∞∞
Juliette’s heart stopped at the slight knock on the door to her bedchamber. She’d hoped to hear it. She’d been waiting for nearly two hours for it. But, now that it had happened, it was as shocking as gunfire beside her head.
She had to shake herself and force her feet to move. She’d asked for this; she had dreamt about it. Nothing else had occupied her mind beyond imagining that moment when she found Ian standing there waiting for her.
His head was tilted in a charmingly unsure way—as if she hadn’t been the one to invite him there, to have been the one to provide him with directions to where she awaited. She hooked a finger in his waistcoat and tugged him forward, closing the door behind him.
His breathing was shaky as she guided him further into the rose-colored room.
“What am I doing here, Juliette?” Ian rasped as she slipped her hands into his. Despite his words, he wove their fingers together. There was something so achingly sweet about it—a familiarity she’d never even considered and now realized she did not wish to live without.
“My education is lacking in one area,” Juliette began, hoping her voice was steadier than her stomach.
“Your note was well done.”
“I do not mean my Gaelic.” Ian’s mouth snapped shut; the knot in his throat bobbed. “I know there is more I do not know, and I wish to know all of it.”
“This is not something that can be undone.”
“Have I once shown any regret for anything we have done, Ian?” He averted his eyes and she knew his resolve was waning. She was winning. “I will not regret this either.”
“I am not the man—”
“You are exactly the man…the only man I want this with.” She brought his hand to her face and pressed a lingering kiss to the palm. His eyes shuttered and his lips parted. She could practically scent his desire on the air. “Unless you do not want this.”
Ian yanked her to him with a suddenness that made her gasp. His thick thumb traced her lower lip. “Lass. I’ve wanted nothing more in my life…and I’ve dreamt of nothing else since kissing this mouth of yours.”
She would have told him she hadn’t either, but his lips slanted over hers, his tongue sliding home to dance and tangle and claim her breath and her heart as his.
Ian witnessed the brilliant woman with a passion for foreign tongues. He saw her sense of humor and her easy smile. He saw her shy side and her sensual side. Her mischievous side and her sweet side.
And he wanted all of it. Ian wanted all of her.
He’d been irredeemably ignorant believing he could walk away from this arrangement unscathed. He’d known it from the first time he’d looked into Juliette’s eyes on that London street that she would be his undoing.
“Feel the wind,” Juliette said in a smooth return to his archery lesson…as if she hadn’t shaken his world like an earthquake of extraordinary magnitude. “You will need to adjust your aim as it will carry your arrow.
Ian could sympathize with the arrow. He’d been carried off to places unknown just as helplessly as if he were a bit of stick and feather at the mercy of nature.
∞∞∞
Ian was staring at the papers spread out before him but saw none of them. He’d retreated to the safety of his chamber following luncheon under the guise of getting more work done, but it was futile. Especially when he realized his coat smelled like Juliette from having her pressed so near.
He’d performed just about as poorly as to be expected when it came time for him to shoot an actual arrow, but Juliette’s smile had been well worth the good-natured unmanning he’d received.
Now, instead of reviewing potential costs for ordering cloth strips, silk thread, and other basic medical necessities in bulk, Ian’s groin pounded with furious need. He suffered from an insatiable hunger for Lady Juliette Crawford.
Ian’s brows knit together following a small scratch at the door. He hadn’t sent for anything and none of the other guests had reason to disturb him. His heart kicked up instantly at the possibility that it might be Juliette, but surely she was not foolish enough to seek him out in the middle of the day when anyone might stumble upon her.
He would have lost that bet, however, because he opened the door to find her wide blue eyes and perfectly kissable lips waiting for him on the other side.
“Juliette?” Ian croaked disbelievingly.
“I thought you might like some chocolate tart,” she said, holding up the plate in her hand. Sure enough, there was a thick slice of the decadent desert waiting for him. “Even one of the worst marksmen of the day deserves a little something sweet.” He nearly groaned, because she couldn’t have known how he’d so recently imagined her being that something sweet, laid out across his bed like a desert spread for him alone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he managed to say.
“I am just delivering your conciliatory prize and I shall be on my way…leaving your virtue intact.” The glitter in her voice finally snapped Ian’s restraint.
He hauled her into his room and had just enough sense to drop the plate on the desk with a clatter before hauling her against him and kissing her with every ounce of longing he’d held in check for the interminable hours since the last time they had touched.
“You are the sweetness I crave,” he growled between kisses. His tongue stroked her mouth deeply, exploring, tangling with hers in a furious dance.
She pressed her lower body against his, gasping when she felt the rigid evidence of his need. He couldn’t resist the testing thrust his hips made against her softness. Painfully hard and desperate for her touch, Ian captured one of her hands and brought it to his groin, holding her palm there to cup him through his breeches.
“Do you feel what you do to me, lass,” he growled, grinding into her. “I’ve been hard since you teased me during archery…and I’m no’ a man to trifle with.”
“Show me.” Juliette’s words were muffled against his lips, but there was no mistaking them. Especially not when she squeezed him in the most delicious grip.
Panting, Ian freed his throbbing member, and Juliette’s hand immediately covered it with soft, exploratory fingers.
“So good,” he hissed. “I’ve wanted your hands on me for so long, lass.” And one of his fantasies was realized when she knelt in front of him and began to stroke.
“It’s quite beautiful,” Juliette said in a shaky voice. He could practically feel her appreciative eyes upon the thick, ruddy head. Her hand tested the girth and length next, trying to see if her fingers would meet as she wrapped them around him tightly, stroking where the root sprung from a nest of reddish curls. He moaned in delight, knowing her virgin flesh would be even more tantalizingly tight than this. He fought not to thrust into her, lest he break the spell of the moment.
“Not half as beautiful as you.” Juliette’s face flushed; he suspected his did as well when she looked up at him from that position, her beautiful eyes wide and her hand on his cock.
“May I kiss you?” she asked softly, and it nearly brought Ian to his knees.
“Please,” was his strangled reply. And Ian nearly died when he watched her grip his member reverently and place a very tender, chaste kiss upon one of the least chaste places he possessed. And he never wanted it to end. He nearly lost consciousness when she did it again and her lips parted, tongue darting out to trace the slit.
“Fucking hell…” he groaned and his fingers flew to her head; his heart thudded so hard against his ribs it made them ache.
He wanted to hold her there.
He wanted to thrust deep as she sucked him.
He wanted to watch her delight as he poured out his soul and surrendered to her completely.
Instead, he held so utterly still, afraid to breathe or move lest she disappear into smoke.
She rewarded him with another kiss. And then another. And another. Growing bolder and more comfortable with each one until she enveloped his aching head between her lips, sucking tentatively.
It nearly killed him to do it, but Ian forced himself to speak: “You needn’t do that.”
“I want to…”
And that was his undoing. He helped her find a rhythm with her kisses and caresses. She took him deeper, learning how a flick of her tongue could make him lose his breath, and a swirl around the head made him weak in the knees.
The groan ripped from his chest was animalistic, layered with amazement and disbelief at what she was gladly doing to him. Ian basked in the glow of her attention, the selfless way she wanted to learn to give him pleasure. His head fell back in surrender, his chest heaving as the strength of his arousal increased. It rose within him swiftly and violently, building at the base of his spine and ricocheting through his limbs, washing his mind free of everything except for her hands, her mouth on him. And when her free hand cupped the soft sac beneath his member, Ian knew all was lost.
“Mo leannan àlainn,” he gasped roughly. “You must stop.”
She did so instantly, removing her mouth and gazing up at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek. “It feels far too good.”
“Oh.” Her eyes returned to his aching cock, so hard it was painful as it strained for release. And then, Juliette did the unthinkable, she leaned in and took him into her mouth once more, redoubling her efforts.
He cursed in English, Gaelic, Italian, and likely several other languages as he careened helplessly toward his orgasm. His vision blurred and his fingers knotted in her hair, holding her still as his thighs trembled and his cock throbbed in release, pouring into her his hot seed as waves of pleasure rolled through him like an unstoppable tide.
As the last tremors left his body, he dropped to his weakened knees and cupped her face in his large hands, pressing his forehead to hers. Their panting breaths mingled between them.
“Did I do well?” Juliette asked softly.
In response, Ian kissed her deeply, tasting the salty musk of his release on her tongue and savoring it.
Chapter Fifteen
Juliette’s hands were less than steady at supper that night. She couldn’t prevent her mind from replaying her encounter with Ian again and again. Seeing him so uninhibited, so wild was thrilling. Realizing she was able to have him at her mercy and bring him to his knees was overwhelming.
Her untried mind had never before pondered what it would be like to take a man in her mouth, but she hadn’t been able to resist when confronted with the impressive beauty of Ian’s arousal. Something deep and primal within her knew she had to have him inside her; she was driven to return the pleasure he’d given to her.
And she had loved it.
It was a foreign act, but one she would not mind repeating—not when Ian praised her and so obviously cherished her efforts.
She wondered if this was the bloom of love…this desire to step out of one’s usual life and comfortability for the sake of another’s joy…to derive one’s joy and pleasure from that of another. The feeling was at once humbling and thrilling. It made her want more. And it was what drove her to decide that she would give herself fully to Ian that night.
She had not come to this decision lightly, but she’d be lying if she claimed she hadn’t considered the possibility since they had first made their arrangement. How could a woman not wonder what it would be like to be forever ruined by a man such as him?
The very thought made Juliette’s throat tight and her palms sweat.
He’d given her so many tastes of pleasure, but they had only whetted her appetite. She wanted Ian to claim her utterly and completely. Irrevocably. She could live a century, her brother could decide to throw open the doors and allow her into a world of endless suitors, and Juliette knew she would never meet another man like him.
And she loved him.
Despite his words that melted her body and soul; despite his care and worship of her body; despite his undeniable ability to listen to her and go out of his way to show her he thought of her, Juliette was keenly aware that he likely did not feel the same. Ian was an honorable man who had compromised those morals for her. She might have felt guilty about it had she not known they’d both derived so much pleasure from their time together.
She was still determined to hold up her part of the bargain. She’d promised Ian that their arrangement would be only temporary. It might break her, but she was determined to keep her word…after she experienced what it was to be skin-to-skin with this amazing, beautiful Scotsman.
Juliette smoothed the pleated skirt of her ice-blue gown and adjusted the strings of pearls and dangling aquamarines at her throat. The neckline was one of the more daring ones she’d commissioned just that Season. Normally, she opted for more comfortable, serviceable styles since she was so rarely in situations where she would require the extra flare and attention. She was glad she’d listened to that little voice in the back of her head a few months prior, however, when her modiste had presented her with the fashion plate and Juliette had instantly listened to her gut and daring gown was now hers.
The color had been chosen to highlight the brightness of her eyes and stand in even more striking contrast to the rest of her coloring. She felt ethereal. She felt unexpectedly confident. Perfect for a seduction and one scandalous night of passion.
∞∞∞
“I adore the theater,” Miss Finchley said shyly after a sip of her wine. Ian had been seated between the young lady and her mother, much to the delight of the matchmaking Mrs. Finchley.
The poor girl had leaned over as soon as her mother was occupied by an inquiry presented by Lord Leighton to her left and apologized to Ian for her mother’s rather tactless behavior. He’d instantly assured her that no apologies were necessary; he was quite used to these efforts and was unfazed by them. The young lady was quite pretty when she smiled. She had a pleasantly plump face and dark eyes that lit from within when she smiled. She was also a very interesting conversationalist when one or both of her parents weren’t talking over her. He sincerely hoped she would find herself a good match so she could be free of her parents; Ian, however, could not be that man. He’d cast a glance up the table where Juliette sat beside her brother, looking resplendent in a gown as blue as a crisp spring sky.
For now, he would enjoy Miss Finchley’s company and give the girl an evening of pleasant conversation without subtext or hidden agenda.
“Have you seen any recent productions?” Ian asked her. “I fear my schedule does not permit me to attend the theater as much as I would like, but I do enjoy hearing about it.”
This proved to be quite the right topic of conversation for the normally reserved Miss Finchley. She instantly launched into a description of Drury Lane Theatre’s most recent dramatic interpretation of Richard III.
“Edmund Keane is remarkable,” she breathed. “He has such a way of playing the despicable villain. He surely must be one of the most emotionally expressive actors of our time—aside from Garrett Frost, of course.”
“Frost?” Ian frowned as he sifted through his memory. “He is with The Mask & Lyre, is he not?”
“Indeed, he is. I saw him perform the lead in Hamlet this Season and it was quite the performance. I confess I cried right there in the theater for his poor tortured soul.”
“It must have been quite the experience,” Ian said with a kind smile.
“Oh, it certainly was!”
Just then, he caught Juliette watching him. He met her eyes and, rather boldly, refused to be the first to look away. Heat crackled and sparked between them, instantly causing his breeches to grow too tight and his pulse to throb in his skull. Deep inside, something roared to life and demanded satisfaction. It wanted to sink inside of Juliette over and over again and keep her with him always. It was futile. It was foolish. But there was no reasoning with that slumbering beast now that it had been awakened.
One of Juliette’s perfectly shaped dark brows rose in a question and Ian replied with a subtle inclination of his head. Whatever it was, he would walk through fire for her.
Ian turned his attention back to Miss Finchley to continue their conversation about plays and dramatic productions.
∞∞∞
Ian stood outside a wide mahogany door, its polished brass knob so shiny he could see a warped version of his reflection staring back at him. His heart was pounding fitfully, almost concerningly, as he debated whether to knock or listen to his better judgment and walk away.
His left hand held the small scrap of parchment, upon which had been written Gaelic instructions to this very room. The note had been slipped to him beneath Juliette’s curled fingers as he’d bent over her hand to bid her goodnight.
He’d been surprised to feel it hidden there, but he’d masked his reaction and accepted it before secreting it into an inner pocket of his coat. He’d excused himself for the evening very soon thereafter and escaped into the hall to read it.
Staidhre an t-seirbhiseach. An treas làr. An ceathramh doras air an taobh chlì. Meadhan oidhche.
Ian’s breath had died in his lungs. Servant’s stairs. Third floor. Fourth door on the left. Midnight.
He’d spent the next hour-and-a-half pacing his room in indecision and anxiety. She wanted to see him, that much was clear, but what did it mean? What did she hope would happen?
The previous day in his rooms had been their most private of interludes, but it had also been spontaneous. She had some plan in that beautiful head of hers, and Ian was unsure whether or not he should go through with it…especially now as he was realizing the depth of his feelings for her. This could only lead to disaster.
But his body did not seem to agree. At three minutes to midnight, Ian’s legs carried him from his room to the disguised doorway leading to the servants’ stairwell. He climbed the narrow flight to the floor above his where the family rooms lay. He didn’t remember counting the doors, but he found himself face-to-face with the one behind which held one of his greatest desires.
He raised his hand and rapped one knuckle on the doorframe.
∞∞∞
Juliette’s heart stopped at the slight knock on the door to her bedchamber. She’d hoped to hear it. She’d been waiting for nearly two hours for it. But, now that it had happened, it was as shocking as gunfire beside her head.
She had to shake herself and force her feet to move. She’d asked for this; she had dreamt about it. Nothing else had occupied her mind beyond imagining that moment when she found Ian standing there waiting for her.
His head was tilted in a charmingly unsure way—as if she hadn’t been the one to invite him there, to have been the one to provide him with directions to where she awaited. She hooked a finger in his waistcoat and tugged him forward, closing the door behind him.
His breathing was shaky as she guided him further into the rose-colored room.
“What am I doing here, Juliette?” Ian rasped as she slipped her hands into his. Despite his words, he wove their fingers together. There was something so achingly sweet about it—a familiarity she’d never even considered and now realized she did not wish to live without.
“My education is lacking in one area,” Juliette began, hoping her voice was steadier than her stomach.
“Your note was well done.”
“I do not mean my Gaelic.” Ian’s mouth snapped shut; the knot in his throat bobbed. “I know there is more I do not know, and I wish to know all of it.”
“This is not something that can be undone.”
“Have I once shown any regret for anything we have done, Ian?” He averted his eyes and she knew his resolve was waning. She was winning. “I will not regret this either.”
“I am not the man—”
“You are exactly the man…the only man I want this with.” She brought his hand to her face and pressed a lingering kiss to the palm. His eyes shuttered and his lips parted. She could practically scent his desire on the air. “Unless you do not want this.”
Ian yanked her to him with a suddenness that made her gasp. His thick thumb traced her lower lip. “Lass. I’ve wanted nothing more in my life…and I’ve dreamt of nothing else since kissing this mouth of yours.”
She would have told him she hadn’t either, but his lips slanted over hers, his tongue sliding home to dance and tangle and claim her breath and her heart as his.
