A Most Scandalous Proposal (27 page)

“It’s already affecting you. You sound like your sister.”

His remark provoked another outburst, this one long enough to set the halo of curls about her face to swaying. “Oh my. Oh my goodness.” She covered the ruffles on her bodice with a hand. “At least I don’t sound like the strumpet. Do I?”

Benedict nearly spit out a mouthful of claret. “Strumpet? What do you know of strumpets?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that she really is a strumpet. Only Sophia calls her that because Ludlowe … No, I suppose he’s Clivesden now.”

“Call him whatever you like. Personally, I prefer ‘that great bloody idiot.’ ”

She broke into another fit of giggles, and he smiled to himself. Once they were safely married, he planned on having a great deal of fun plying her with strong wine and provoking her to laughter. Preferably while stark naked in his bed. If her giggling set her curls aflutter in such a way, he could only imagine the effect on her un-corseted breasts.

Ah, yes, once they were married, he would indulge her taste in wine. He’d indulge his own taste for it, as well—sipped straight from her body.

Pop!

The sound, accompanied by a fresh spate of giggles, brought him back to the present. “What the devil?”

Pop, pop
.

That hadn’t come from the fire. No, it had come from Julia. The rosy glow spread to her forehead. Her lips and chin quivered. Before long, she could no longer hold it in, and she broke into gales of laughter.

Pop, pop, pop
.

“What is that?”

“This gown.”
Pop
. “It’s rather too small.”
Pop
. “The stitches keep breaking.”

He ought to tell her to stop laughing, but the idea of her giggling her way out of that ridiculous gown was far too appealing. A flounce at her collar gave an ominous lurch. How long before the bodice gave way entirely to expose the creamy upper swells of her breasts? He shifted on the unforgiving wood of the chair, but nothing would relieve his current discomfort, unless it be her hand, her mouth, her soft, yielding body …

She paused to collect herself.

Damn.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes. That great bloody idiot threw Sophia over for a girl with the
ton
’s most irritating laugh. Come to think of it, she’s a great bloody idiot, as well.”

He bit down on his tongue to keep from smiling. He might regret the indulgence at some point in the future, but she really was endearing when she swore. “Why is that?”

“I think she must wish she had the great bloody idiot for herself. Good God, imagine if they produced children. An entire family of bloody idiots. In any case, at the Pendleton ball she gave me the nastiest look. And that was before Papa made the announcement about my betrothal. I had no idea why she would do such a thing, but I suppose she was jealous.”

She paused for air and made a sweeping gesture with one hand that threatened to send the congealing remains of her supper crashing to the floor.

Benedict propped his chin on the heel of his hand and stared for a moment. Claret, yes. After their wedding, he would order it by the case. It had surely loosened her tongue. He would have to find a better way to occupy that luscious pink tongue later.

“Now, where was I?”

“Nattering on about strumpets, I believe.”

“Nattering? Was I really nattering?”

“A little bit, yes. But do go on. I find it diverting. In fact …” He tipped more wine into her glass.

She blinked and took a ladylike sip. The tip of her tongue darted out to catch a stray drop, and lust streaked through his gut at the sight. He’d been about to pour himself another glass but decided against it. Once he had her warm and willing in his bed, he wanted to ensure he enjoyed every second of the experience.

The inviting smile that spread across her features sent another jolt southward. Tipsiness brought a becoming glow to her cheeks. Her hazel eyes sparkled. He held her gaze to memorize her as she was now—still innocent and yet willing to trust him, with her body at least.

If he wanted her heart as well, he’d have to work for it. He would start with the physical, and cultivate her response in the hopes of igniting deeper feelings within her. In unleashing her passion, he might yet foster love in her heart.

The direction of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, for she slanted her eyes downward. Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass, and she took a drink—more than a sip this time, a full swallow that sent a ripple coursing down her neck muscles.

He pushed his plate aside and stood. Her eyes snapped back to his, wariness flashing through them. He knew
her to possess an adventurous side, but, he supposed, a few nerves were only natural. Her eyes followed his movement, as he skirted the table and held out a hand to her.

She looked up at him through her lashes. “Don’t you want dessert?”

One corner of his mouth edged upward. “Oh yes.”

Again that slanting glance, down and away. He’d seen that before. It might mean a woman was interested, as long as—There. Julia’s gaze drifted back to meet his. Interest—anticipation, even—warred with the wariness.

He crouched at her knees, bringing his face below the level of hers, allowing her the power. If she wished to refuse him in the end, so be it. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her thigh.

With a gasp, she stiffened beneath his palm, even as warmth welled through her skirt and shift into his skin.

“Are you frightened?”

Her eyes glittered and her nostrils flared, a sure sign she was about to lie, but then she relented and nodded. “Perhaps a little.”

“Is it me that frightens you or the act?”

“I think it’s mostly the unknown.” Her voice broke on the final word.

That response might well apply to her ignorance of what transpired between lovers behind closed doors. Or it might refer to their future.

“I will not force my attentions on you. Not so much as a kiss if you do not want it.”

“The kissing is rather nice, actually.” The wine-enhanced pink glow on her cheeks deepened to red.

“Then I suggest we start there and see where it leads.” He paused. The second half of what he was about to say might prove painful indeed. “Wherever you wish to stop, I swear to you, I will.”

Eyes closed, she nodded again.

He leaned in and kissed her. Her lips parted beneath his on contact, her breath drifted into his mouth, and her tongue rose to meet his. She tasted of claret, and the air about her carried the slight salt tang of desire. God help him if her fears overcame her, and she asked him to stop. He would keep his word to her, but it might well kill him.

Not breaking the kiss, he reached up to smooth her hair back from her face, to tangle his fingers in her curls. A popping sound filled the air—a few more of her threads breaking—as her hands sought the support of his shoulders.

He bit back a groan. His mind had just filled with images of ripping that ridiculous too-tight confection from her body, ruffle by ruffle, to expose the porcelain perfection of her breasts. With a growl, he tore his lips from hers before he lost control entirely and laid her out on the table.

Oh God, to seat her firm little bottom at the very edge, lift her skirts and drive himself home. Or perhaps he’d feast on her first. His hand clenched in her hair, and he trembled.

No, too soon. She needed him to take this night slowly. He owed her that much. They’d have the rest of their lives to explore the depths of his passion and hers.

Her breath hitched, and her bodice sagged. “Why did you stop?”

He blinked open his eyes and held her gaze. “Do you feel the pull between us?”

Her eyes, flecked with green and gold, darkened with need, regarded him steadily. “Yes.”

“Where do you feel it? Show me.”

She slid a hand to cover her belly—just over her womb. “Here.”

Triumph surged through him, entwined with a bolt of pure need. Carefully, deliberately, he slipped his hand
from her hair, tracing along her neck and down beneath her gaping bodice, until he covered one firm, round breast. It filled the hollow of his palm perfectly. He’d always known it would.

“Oh!” Her eyes drifted shut, her head tilted back in such blatant invitation, while her nipple pebbled into a taut peak.

He leaned in to set his lips just below her ear. Her pulse beat, wild and erratic like the flight of a drunken butterfly. “How you respond to me, my love.”

She stiffened. The flutter against his lips increased, and her fingers tightened.

Too late, he realized his mistake. Too late to deny it. She was not so far gone with wine and lust that she missed the ring of truth behind the endearment.

“What is it?”

She pulled away and stared at him. The haze of passion had lifted to give way to fear. Her eyes were round with it.

“Julia?”

“I … If we do this …” The muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed. “What … what will happen to me?”

He dropped his hands. “What are you talking about? Nothing will happen. Well, no.” He rubbed the back of his neck while his thoughts raced. He had no experience with calming a virgin’s nerves to know what to say to her at this point. It didn’t help clear his mind that certain parts of his anatomy ached with an urgency to finish what they’d started.

“No?”

“I mean, you’ll be ruined of course, but you already are. We’ll have to marry. You know this.”

“Yes, I know that, but that’s not what I mean.” She stared at her folded hands. “When you look at me, the way you were looking just now. Like you want to devour
me. It’s just … Oh, I don’t even know how to say it. I feel as though you might consume me, and there won’t be anything left once you’re through.”

Oh God, she had no idea the images she conjured. He ignored the insistent throb in his groin and reached for her hands. “The last thing I wish to do is hurt you. I want there to be something of you left for next time.”

The line of her jaw shifted toward tension. Damn it, why had he thought to make light of the matter, when she was dead serious? “I can’t think of next time. I can’t think of the future.”

“Then don’t. Concentrate on how you feel. Relax and let the pleasure take you.”

Her brows lowered. “You swore you’d stop if I asked.”

The devil take it all. “That I did. Are you asking?”

“I …” She nodded. “I think I am.”

He released her hands and shot to his feet. His body screamed with unslaked lust. Time to get away from her now, before he broke something.

“Benedict?” She must have caught his expression if the hesitance in her voice was any indication.

He turned away and reached for the wine bottle. “Do me a service, would you?” He kept each word, each syllable tight and precise to hide the shaking that had begun within. “If you want me to keep my word, you will leave this room. Now.”

He didn’t turn until her footfalls faded and the soft click of the latch told him she’d gone into the bedchamber. The bedchamber, hang it all. He took a healthy swig from the wine bottle, wishing for something stronger to calm the raging need within.

So close. He’d been so close to having her willing beneath him only to ruin it with one unguarded slip of the tongue. Damn it to hell. He threw his head back and drained the bottle.

Coward that he was, he waited a good hour—until he
was sure she was asleep—before entering the bedchamber. If he’d had the foresight to order a bottle of brandy from the main house, he might have lasted rather longer.

But then if he had any foresight, he might have curbed his tongue. At least he’d learned. His honest utterance of emotional truth had brought her back to her senses. She wasn’t ready to face the full impact of his feelings for her.

Next time, he’d keep Upperton’s advice in mind and not allow her to think until it was too late. As long as he prevented her from thinking, she had no problem with sensual. No, she reveled in his kisses and touch.

Moonlight, unhampered by clouds this night, bathed the room in a silvery glow. The white of the linens and the sheer curtains shone like pearl in its gentle glimmer. Julia sprawled in the center of the bed, arms flung outward, as if, even in sleep, she meant to guard the entire feather tick.

Her breath ebbed and flowed in an even cadence, slow, steady and alive, even if she was dead to the world, helped to that state by the claret.

Air hissed through his teeth, while a surge of renewed lust jolted through him. Next time—soon—he would overwhelm her with sensuality.

Without thought, his fingers unknotted his cravat before going to work on his shirt buttons. He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, laying them flat on the clothespress. No doubt his valet would cringe at the notion of leaving them to wrinkle, but this cottage came with no amenities such as a dressing room with places to hang his eveningwear.

In the cavalry, his uniform had survived greater indignities. His civilian clothes would have to adjust.

He stripped off his trousers and stole to the bed naked. Julia might be shocked, but if he played his cards right, they might continue their explorations in the morning—as
long as he was fortunate enough to catch her just as she was awakening so he could distract her with sensual pleasure.

He fully expected to be aware when the moment for action came. He already knew he would not get a wink of sleep as long as he must lie beside her, unsated.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN