Scandalous Liaisons (15 page)

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.

“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!”

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 anything.

“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.

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.”

“I admire his ability to make money, Lady Julienne,” he conceded, “but the manners in which he does so are vulgar. He’s nothing more than a domesticated pirate, and his . . .
personal
deportment leaves much to be desired. Lucien Remington is no gentleman.”

Julienne stopped abruptly, causing Fontaine to stumble. Lean and sinewy, he recovered quickly.

“I find your comments offensive, my lord.”

Fontaine frowned. With a firm hand, he urged her forward again. “I apologize if I have offended. I merely stated the truth.”

“Are you that well acquainted with him?” she challenged.

“Now . . . I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then perhaps there are hidden depths to his character of which you are unaware.”

Her gaze drifted to Lucien as they passed him. He engaged his companion with singular attention. He’d found his latest conquest. And here she was defending his character like a lovesick ninny.

“You appear flushed, Lady Julienne,” Fontaine murmured.

She was furious with herself, but certainly couldn’t say so. “I’m a little warm.”

With a mischievous smile, he led her neatly out a nearby set of French doors and came to a stop on the balcony. “Better?”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Fontaine
was
remarkably handsome and charming, if a little on the wrong side of arrogant. She wondered if, given the chance, he could incite her to the heights of passion Lucien had. She felt nothing for him at the moment besides a slight irritation, but perhaps an attraction could grow. In any case, she could not continue to pine for a man who was never meant to be hers. “Will you escort me through the garden, my lord?”

He arched a brow. “Should we find your chaperone before proceeding?”

“Would you prefer that we did?” she asked, knowing she should insist they find Aunt Eugenia, but more concerned about fleeing the sight of Lucien and his lover.

He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

As they strolled along the nearby gravel paths, she forced herself to relax and to enjoy the slight evening breeze. They found a small bench in viewing distance of the manse and sat down. Fontaine turned to her, taking both of her hands in his. “I would be delighted, Lady Julienne, if you would allow me to escort you to the Derby at Epsom next week.”

Julienne knew that to be seen with the handsome marquess at such a public gathering would solidify his courtship in the eyes of Society. “Lord Fontaine—”

“Justin, please.”

She was stunned. His offer was an intimate gesture. He could probably count on one hand the number of people who called him by his given name rather than his title.

“Very well . . . Justin.” She took a deep breath. She could also offer intimate gestures. Lucien could not be allowed to ruin her for every other man. Certainly she had not ruined him for other women. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would kiss me.”

Fontaine looked understandably surprised, then wary, before grinning with delight. If they were caught, it could be a disaster for her. He would either offer marriage to save her reputation, or he would walk away. As a powerful marquess, Fontaine could not be forced into anything, certainly nothing as drastic as marriage, but at the moment she felt reckless, her stung pride and aching heart goading her to further foolishness.

“With pleasure,” he murmured, drawing her closer.

Julienne closed her eyes and prayed for passion. His mouth brushed across hers, featherlight and fleeting. The exchange was not the least distasteful—it was actually quite pleasant—but it was sadly lacking in any combustible qualities. Her heart didn’t race, her breath didn’t catch. But then she hadn’t really expected otherwise.

She opened her eyes and hid her disappointment with a smile. “I would very much appreciate your escort to the Derby, my lord.”

“Was that a test, Lady Julienne? And if so, might I safely assume I passed?”

Julienne couldn’t tell him the truth, so she simply kept smiling. Thankfully, Fontaine didn’t press her further. He stood and held out his arm, but she demurred. “Go ahead, please. I want a moment to catch my breath before I return to the ballroom.”

“I cannot leave you out here alone,” he said.

But she insisted.

Fontaine stood indecisively for a moment, but in the end his desire to earn her regard won out. He gave a courtly bow and kissed the back of her hand. “I will inform Lady Whitfield of your whereabouts.”

When she was alone, Julienne acknowledged that it was time to abandon her dream of a grand passion. She couldn’t go about kissing men while thinking of Lucien. She needed to marry, and she couldn’t afford to be picky. No one in the
ton
married for love or any other elevated emotion, and it was futile to long for her marriage to be different.

“You kissed him!”

Standing, she turned her head toward the low, accusatory voice.

 

Lucien kept his fisted hands behind his back. It was bad enough he’d barely restrained himself from beating a marquess to a bloody pulp, but to allow Julienne to see how much he cared would be the worst sort of folly. She’d obviously moved past their one night together, while he had not. He couldn’t allow her to discover how completely smitten he was.

He’d been watching her all evening. She bore his mark, although only he knew it. There was a new knowledge in her dark eyes, a subtle swing to her hips, a deeper color to her lips, that said she’d experienced passion. Julienne had always been alluring, but now . . . now he could hardly restrain himself from sweeping her into his arms, carrying her away, and fucking her until neither one of them could move.

He’d heard her defend his honor to Fontaine when they passed by him, and her obvious irritation with the marquess had touched him as few things in his life ever had. Lucien knew he was too bold and aggressive to be accepted in the upper tier of Society, but he was too rich to mingle anywhere else. Men envied his business acumen and enjoyed the comforts of membership in his club. Women liked him for his pretty face and sexual appetite. Somehow between the two genders he was invited everywhere, but fit in nowhere.

Except for those all-too-brief hours he’d spent with Julienne. He’d fit then. Perfectly.

Lucien had followed her out to the garden, wanting desperately to claim her, and instead had watched her kiss Fontaine. And now she sat dreamy-eyed on the bench, while acidic jealousy ate at him.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I kissed him.”

“Why?” He had no right to ask, but he was unable to stop himself.

She smiled—the same sweet, open smile that said she saw things in him worth seeing. “I wanted to know if it would feel the same as when you kissed me.”

He wasn’t certain what he had expected her to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. Satisfaction filled him. She’d been thinking of him, even while kissing another man. His fists unclenched. “And did it?”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. It’s been a sennight since you kissed me. My memory may be faulty.”

He reached for her hand and pulled her into the shadows. Staring down at her upturned face, his heart ached at her beauty and the trust she gave him so readily. His voice was husky when he whispered, “Allow me to remind you.” Lowering his head, Lucien kissed her deeply, making no attempt to hide his desire, determined to erase from her memory any thought of another man’s lips on hers.

Only a week since he’d held her, yet it seemed like an eternity.

Julienne returned his kiss with similar passion, her hands slipping inside his jacket and caressing his back. Her tongue brushed across his, and he tasted her sweetness. Nothing in the world quenched his thirst like the taste of her mouth.

“Did it feel like this when he kissed you?” he asked.

She moaned. “Dear God, no.”

He thrust his thigh between her legs and lifted her against it. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, her lips wet and swollen from his kiss. Only a kiss, and she was melting in his arms.

He must have done something in a past life to earn Julienne’s passion, because he certainly had done nothing worthy of her in this life.

“Julienne,” he murmured, hugging her close. “I need to speak with you. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk with you here. You’re too tempting, sweetheart. I can’t resist taking advantage.”

Her smile curved against his cheek. “You are incorrigible.”

“Is there any way I can meet with you? To talk.”

She pulled away, her dark eyes shining with amusement. “Anywhere we meet would have us alone.”

Lucien sighed, hating the class distinctions that would forever keep them apart. “That’s true, but perhaps in the light of day, I’ll be better able to restrain myself.”

Julienne giggled, a wonderful sound that warmed him from the inside. “If you want to speak with me, you will have to call on me. I’ve no intention of dressing up as a man ever again.”

“I quite enjoyed the sight of you in those trousers.”

She laughed. “You are a scoundrel, Lucien Remington.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that,” he said dryly. “You should run in terror when you see me coming.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I know you would never hurt me.”

Her utter confidence in the goodness of his character rattled him to the core. God help him if she ever came to care for him. He would never be able to resist her.

“How can you know that?” he challenged. “My intentions toward you are not honorable.”

“Is that so? Then why do you wish to speak with me in a place where you can’t take advantage?”

“Why don’t you ask me instead what I’d do if you went further into the garden with me?”

Julienne crossed her arms and gave him a chastising look. “Why is it so important to maintain your dissolute image?”

Mocking her, he crossed his arms and raised a sardonic brow. “Why is it so difficult for you to collect that it’s not merely an image?”

She pursed her lips.

He growled low in his throat. “Damn you, Julienne! Your girlish fantasies about me are just that—fantasies. I’ve ruined dukes and then tumbled their wives. I’ve—” His voice choked into silence, his throat refusing to form the sounds that would drive her away.

Be frightened
, Lucien thought desperately.
Run from me before it’s too late for both of us
.

Her gaze narrowed. “Because if you were really as wicked as you say, you would have divested me of my virginity that night in your club. But you didn’t. I’d wager I could lift up my skirts for you now and beg you to take me, and you wouldn’t. You
couldn’t
!”

“You innocent fool,” he bit out, suddenly furious that she would torture him so. “Never challenge a man’s virility. You force him to defend himself in the only way possible.”

Fuming and frustrated, wishing she would disdain him instead of entice him, Lucien wrapped his fingers around her elbow and dragged her away from the manse, descending the wide grassy steps into the darkened lower gardens. Julienne followed him easily, making no protest, and her acquiesce only inflamed him further. Finding a yew-enclosed alcove occupied by a marble statue, he pressed her against the cold stone with his aroused body and reclaimed her mouth.