A Perfect Hero (23 page)

Dane sat back. “Hardly flattering,” he said in a clipped, abrupt tone.

The silence in the carriage was stifling. He was scowling fiercely, his jaw clenched so hard it ap
peared he might splinter into a million pieces.

Finally, his gaze veered away. “Good God,” he suddenly exploded, “why the hell haven’t we moved?”

The very same thought was running through Julianna’s mind. Outside, the patrons were still drifting from the theater. Theirs was on the cor
ner, but with the endless procession of carriages, the narrow streets were jammed so that none had yet moved.

Julianna glanced through the window. A cou
ple strode past. Half of the man’s face was shad
owed, yet there was something about him that drew her attention.

His companion wore a jaunty hat covered by a sheer red veil that matched the silk of her gown. They had stopped at the hired hack on the corner. The driver was there, a lantern in hand as he moved to assist her. She placed an elegant, gloved hand in the driver’s. With the other she pushed back the veil.

It spun idly through Julianna’s mind that the woman had undoubtedly been a stunning beauty in her day. Why, she still was. She was neither young, yet neither was she old. Her body was as trim as someone half her age.

Just before she entered the carriage, she paused and glanced back at the man.

The light from the lantern fell full upon her face.

Disbelief gripped Julianna’s mind.

The world seemed to freeze. And for one per
ilous moment, her blood did as well.

“Oh, God.”

Fumbling for the handle, she flung it wide and lurched through the opening. In her haste she landed hard on one knee, catching herself on her hands.

Her head jerked up.

The door of the hack clicked shut. It rolled smoothly away, the first of the night to do so.

An arm about her waist, Dane pulled her up
right. “Julianna! What the devil!”

Julianna did not hear. “Wait,” she cried. “Wait!”

His gaze swiveled sharply between the carriage that had just disappeared into the night and Ju-lianna’s white features.

“What is it?” he asked sharply. “Do you know that woman?”

Her gaze wrenched to his. Shock spilled through her, for the face she had seen was one she had barely known. A face she had never in all the world thought to see . . .

But one she could not fail to recognize.

“It was my mother,” she said numbly. “It was my
mother.
”

do not mean to doubt you, kitten. But weren’t you just a child when you last saw your mother?” Dane lowered himself to the gold brocade sofa in her sitting room. Dane would not soon forget Julianna’s expression. It had sent an eerie prickle all through him once more. She had looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

There had been no hope of catching the veiled woman’s vehicle, however. Dane had tried to fol
low on foot, but it was no use.

Julianna nodded. “I was three years old.”

She was still visibly shaken. He filled two glasses of wine from the tray Mrs. MacArthur had just deposited on the table before them. Sit
ting back, he handed one to Julianna.

“Drink it. You’re still pale.”

She took a sip.

“Another,” he bade her.

She obeyed. A smile grazed his lips. “There,” he approved. “That’s better.”

She smiled back, then suddenly her gaze slid away. She bit her lip. “How can this be? How?”

“You don’t know that it was,” he reminded her. “You only saw this woman for an instant. And in the dark—”

“I know. I
know
. And yet when it happened, I had the strangest sensation ...I’m not sure I can explain it. It was as if I knew she was a stranger, yet every sense inside me was suddenly screaming that she was familiar. That I should recognize her. And then I
did
.”

“Julianna,” he said gently, “if you were only three years of age, you may not remember her with any clarity.”

Something flashed across her features. “It’s true that I have no memories of her. I—I do not recall ever being sad because I had no mother. I had my brothers to love and—and who I knew loved me in turn. But there is a portrait at Thurston Hall, the family home, a portrait of me, Sebastian, Justin, and my parents. It was painted just before my mother left. It’s said the artist’s likeness is quite remarkable, the way he captured the essence of all of us. Sebastian’s protective
ness, Justin’s rebellion, my father’s severity, my mother’s frivolity. After she deserted us, my fa
ther had it removed to the attic.

“But I used to sneak up to look at it. And when my father died and Sebastian became marquess, he returned it to the gallery. But I was always fas
cinated by it. I rarely passed by it without glanc
ing at it. When I was very young, I thought my mother was surely the most divinely beautiful woman ever.” She touched a chestnut lock that lay curled on her breast. “I remember once, one of my friends remarked that it was a pity I did not inherit her green eyes and stunning coloring, as Justin did. But I was quite content with myself...I do not recall a time when I wasn’t somehow aware that she had done something aw
ful. I admired her beauty, but I did not want to
be
like her.
Or
my father.

“Perhaps I am a fool,” she said, her voice very low. “Perhaps my sight has failed me. Perhaps my mind as well. Yet there is a part of me that tells me that thewoman Isaw wasmymother.”She shook her head. “Yet how can it be? How can it be?”

It was hardly compelling. Reason balked. A dead woman come to life after nearly a quarter century . . . It seemed unfathomable. And yet, Ju
lianna appeared so convinced.

“Julianna,” he said quietly. “You said she died years ago. Tell me again what happened.”

“She ran off with another man. The ship they were on capsized crossing the Channel. Everyone on board drowned. That’s all I know.”

“What about Sebastian or Justin?”

“I’m not sure.” Almost helplessly her eyes sought his. “Dane—”

He put their glasses aside. “You’re trem
bling!” he exclaimed. For a moment he regarded her; he did not speak, but placed his fingertips gently on her cheek. Something flared in his eyes.

He pulled her up and into his arms. “Protest all you want,” he told her, “but I’ll not be leaving you tonight.”

She buried her face against the side of his throat. She didn’t want to protest. Nor did she want him to leave.

In her room he tugged off her gown. She obliged when he knelt to remove her stockings and slippers, balancing with a palm on his shoul
ders. His clothing was dispatched with the same impatient efficiency. When he straightened, she still hadn’t moved.

Nor did he when she stretched out a hand, slim fingers tangling in the dark mat of hair on his chest.

Their eyes collided. A wordless entreaty. A wordless surrender. Did it matter? She was naked in the moonlight, naked in his arms. Her mouth
lifted, seeking his. His insides turned to fire. The feel of her soft lips beneath his burned him.

He never broke the kiss as he lifted her to the bed.

She ran a hand over the supple muscle of his back. Perhaps it was the wine that made her reckless. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel.

And what she wanted to feel was him.
Dane
.

Shy fingertips strayed down the plane of his belly. She reached the place where the hair was rougher. Thicker.

His muscles clenched. He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes, kitten. Oh, yes.”

His encouragement made her cheeks burn. Curling her fingers around him, feeling him leap and grow even hotter, she ran her thumb over the sleek, round tip of his organ.

“Impressive,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Her eyes widened.

He laughed.

She feigned outrage. Her fingertips retracted. She released him. “Do I not please you?”

“Impudent, cheeky wench.” Husky laughter rushed across her cheek. Lean fingers closed around hers, guiding anew. Unbidden, she glanced down. His body was hungry—hungry for her.
For her
. And the sight of her hand wound
tight around his flesh—the feel of him in her hand—was incredibly erotic.

Her eyes widened once more. He was hot. So very hot. But most of all, so very
hard
.

“But I beg you, lady, pray continue.”

And she did, until he groaned and declared he could bear it no more.

He rolled her to her back. His hand drifted down to one knee, idly caressing the skin behind it, then slid up between her legs. His hand clamped possessively around the top of her thigh. He kissed her almost lazily, his touch hovering tormentingly near but not quite touching her cleft.

“What was it you asked?” he whispered. “Do I not please you?”

His thumb thrust just inside the heat of damp, pink folds, only to pull back. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“What, Julianna? Do I not please you?”

She pushed at his shoulders in mute frustration.

He lowered his mouth onto the hollow of her belly. Her brain flashed with stark, wanton im
ages of that last night at the cottage, the way he spread her legs wide with the breadth of his shoulders. His dark head planted
there
between them, brazen thumbs parting the damp, tight curls to expose the nub of pleasure hidden high and deep in her cleft
.. . .

“Will you tell me what you want, sweet?”

His tone was cajoling. His tongue traced a flaming line just above her triangle of chestnut curls. He raised his head to sear her with golden eyes.

“I—I can’t say it.” She was cold no longer. Her body was on fire.

“Are you still so shy? Of course you can. You can have whatever you want, love.”

“Dane!” He knew, damn him. He knew. “I can’t!” She turned her head aside.

She could feel his breath, moist and daring. Please, she thought desperately. She yearned to feel his molten caress
there
. Just once more. Just once ...

“Tell me. Tantalize me.”

She wet her lips. “Kiss me like you did before.”

He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. “How, sweet?”

“You know,” she said faintly.

“Like this?” he whispered.

Like a brand of fire he touched the very heat and heart of her, the part that swelled and wept and ached.

At the first glide of his tongue, her body went taut, while everything inside went weak. The air sped from her lungs in a torrid rush.

She surged against his tongue. His mouth. Against him. Writhing until she was steaming in
side, until a ragged moan caught in her throat. Unable to stand any more of the exquisite tor
ture, she tangled her fingers in his hair and grasped his upper arms to clench him to her.

He reared over her. Their hands caught. His fingers locked tight with hers. His mouth tasted of unbearable sweetness, of raw possessiveness.

Only one thing would do. Only
he
would do.

“Now, Dane. Now.”

She felt the vibration of his laugh. “Patience, kitten, will make it all the sweeter.”

But he gave her what she wanted, what they both needed. A fluid twist of his hips and he plunged inside her. His penetration was deep. Hard. It resounded in every part of her.

He withdrew, keeping a scant inch inside her. Her wet channel clung to the helm of his mem
ber, as if she could not bear for him to leave her.

And she couldn’t. “Don’t stop.” It was a ragged plea, a moan. “Don’t stop.”

When he kissed her mouth, she nearly cried out. “Kitten,” he muttered. “
Kitten
.”

Slowly, he raised his head. The gold of his eyes flared hot, hotter than flames, blistering her with their heat.Juliannacouldn’tlookawaywhenhe plunged again. And when he kissed her, she cried out.

Rampant pleasure spilled through her. To her very bones. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, thrilling to the resiliency of muscle and skin.

Climax hurtled close. It was there in the quick
ening, almost frantic tempo of his thrusts. And she was nearly there as well. Reaching. Seeking.

Her arms tightened. A wave of emotion broke over her. And she knew then...

This was heaven. This was bliss.

This was love.

Early the next afternoon, Julianna stepped into her sitting room. Her brothers had just arrived and followed her through the doorway.

“What’s this about, Jules? Your note sounded rather urgent.” Justin was a step ahead of Sebas
tian.

Dane was already there, lounging against the mantel. He straightened when they entered.

“Sebastian. Justin. This is Viscount Gran
ville.” Julianna made the introductions, her tone a trifle breathless.

The men exchanged pleasantries. Sebastian’s gray eyes drifted to Julianna.

“We can return later if you like, Jules.”

Julianna cleared her throat. “No. Actually, I’ve asked Dane to be present while I spoke to you.”

His name slipped out before she realized it. The familiarity did not go unnoticed by her brothers, who exchanged a look. Her color was high as well; both gray eyes and green lingered.

Sebastian took the wing chair across from the sofa. Justin lowered himself to its mate, extended
a long leg before him. Dane moved to stand near the chess table.