Spanish Lullaby (3 page)

The impassioned speech made her lose the inner battle and scalding tears poured down her cheeks, her vision suddenly blurred. He was the one who didn't understand. It was selfish, but the day he'd told her he was sailing first thing the next morning for the Peninsula, she'd known she couldn't bear it. The only way to combat the worry, the fear, the overwhelming dread of what could happen, was to slice him out of her life right then and there. He said he loved her, but he had proven himself a liar. How could he truly love her and then risk the thing she needed most in the world?

"Juliet?” A hand touched her wet cheek.

She hadn't even realized he'd moved closer but she could feel the heat from his tall body. “I'm not crying about you,” she said on a choked sob.

"Of course not.” There was just a hint of tender amusement in his tone.

"I don't even care that you're home.” An embarrassing hiccup punctuated her statement.

"You've made that quite clear.” His arms slid around her.

The warmth of his embrace surrounded and overwhelmed her. He smelled slightly spicy, like brandy and male. The sharp recollection of that scent transported her back four years.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

The tears were probably because she was just tired. She hadn't slept well ever since she'd gotten the news he was coming home.

His chest felt hard, ridged with muscle, his arms strong around her trembling body. “Let me go. I want to go to bed,” she mumbled against his skin, wondering why she was even letting him touch her.

"So do I.” His response was hushed, the quiet in his voice somehow poignant.

As soon as he spoke she knew they did not mean the same thing.

* * * *

Honor be damned for all he knew was he had her slender body in his arms once more, neither of them wore more than one easily removed article of clothing, and desire held him in a vise-like grip.

By measure of circumstance and choice, Carlos had been abstinent a very long time. The only woman he wanted pressed against him, her wet face resting against his shoulder as she wept tears of ... joy? Sorrow? Regret? He wasn't sure, but he did know that her cold claim of indifference was a lie. A welling triumph rose within him as he felt the tremors of her body with each telling sob.

He kissed her. Just a brush of his mouth against her fragrant hair at first, then a feathering of his lips across her temple and the delicate curve of her cheekbone as he moved lower. The salty wetness of tears mingled with the warmth of her soft mouth as he claimed it.

There was no way he could help but pour the hunger of the past lonely four years into the kiss. It was in the way his tongue explored every inch of her mouth, tasting her, branding her essence forever into his memory. It was the tightening of his arms so she was against him and he could feel each delicious curve, the full surge of his erection no secret as he swallowed her gasp—of surprise or outrage, he wasn't sure.

A moonlit balcony, Juliet in his embrace, a warm seductive breeze whispering past...

He sure as hell hoped he wasn't asleep in some tent in a military camp on a rocky Spanish hill somewhere, waiting for the next horrific battle. It felt like a dream, especially since she wasn't resisting in any way but instead kissing him back, her slim fingers trailing up his neck to thread into his hair.

She
was
kissing him back. Still crying—he could feel the continued seep of warm wetness on her cheeks—but she clung to him with equal fervor.

It was good, it was miraculous, in fact. But it wasn't enough.

With effort he tore his mouth away and simultaneously lifted her in his arms. Juliet made a small sound—maybe it was of protest but he ignored it and instead carried her to the doorway of his bedroom and went inside to deposit her on his bed.

Her stunning beauty never failed to move him. He stared down at where she lay in disarray, golden hair tumbled over the rumpled linens, the thin lawn fabric of her nightdress the only barrier between him and paradise, her lovely eyes framed by long sticky lashes and wet streaks on her cheeks.

"Carlos.” His name was a choked whisper. “I—"

"No,” he interrupted with urgent harshness. “We'll talk later, Jules ... please. No words now. I want to make love, not fight. I am so tired of fighting."

"I'm engaged."

"You've always been mine.” He unfastened his breeches, effectively ending the argument if it even was one. Shoving the garment down past his hips, he stepped free, his erection stiff and high against his stomach, throbbing with every beat of his heart. Juliet stared at the evidence of his desire for her, the expression on her lovely face hard to decipher, but she made no move to resist when he leaned over, caught the hem of her nightrail and eased it upward.

She was as breathtaking as he remembered, and even more so if that was possible. Long supple limbs, full, taut breasts tipped with rosy nipples, the juncture of her thighs framing a dainty patch of hair a darker gold than her long tresses ... her nude body was every man's dream come true and especially his.

After tossing aside her nightdress, he slid on top of her and captured her mouth in another long, hot kiss even as he pinned her to the bed with his body. That first time he should never have done it, never touched her, never taken her innocence when he'd known already he was leaving, but this time, this night, was so right. His hard cock pressed her hip and he rubbed against her, one hand going to cup a firm breast. Juliet moaned softly into his mouth and he gave an inner smile of masculine satisfaction.

If he'd always known they were meant to be together as lovers, now he'd prove to her it was true.

Nothing was off limits because by the morning he wanted her to know there was no going back.

If there was one thing he'd learned as a soldier it was hesitation could be deadly. Wicked, sinful pleasure was not a bad plan, and if that was how to win her away from Lord Drake—damn the man to hell—he was going to use it. She'd evidently nursed her hurt and feelings of betrayal for four long years. But, it seemed from the way she arched into his touch, she'd also held onto the passion they felt for each other.

Good. He'd exploit it, use it, do whatever he could to make her forget he'd ever left.

If he spoke he was afraid he'd break the spell. He lifted the silken weight of one breast in his palm, his thumb slowly circling the tight nipple, his mouth drifting down the graceful arc of her throat, teasing the small hollow where he could feel the beat of her pulse, the flutter there telling him more than any words. The taste of her skin was exquisite and he moved lower, nuzzling the valley between her full breasts, licking, savoring, finally taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking with gentle adhesion.

It's just the beginning,
he vowed in silent promise.

As responsive as she'd been that fateful sun-drenched afternoon when they'd both been swept away and yielded to desire what felt like a lifetime ago, now she was no longer virginal, no longer a seventeen-year-old girl but a woman. Her body quivered with each touch, each caress, and the breathless erratic pattern of her small pants made his cock throb harder. Carlos kissed his way down her ribcage and stomach, his hands urging her legs apart, his goal the beautifully warm, soft folds of her sex. She cried out as he gave the first long wicked lick across her labia, either from shocked sensibility or pleasure.
Probably both.
He enjoyed the sweet taste of her arousal. Slim hips shifted but he held her in place and began to bring to her to climax, ignoring the incoherent protest she made even as she shuddered reflexively.

Perfect.

The small bud of her clitoris began to swell as he teased and toyed with it, using tongue and lips, kissing her with intimate purpose. The escalation in her breathing and the almost frantic grasp of her hands on his shoulders was a perfect gauge of her climb to orgasmic release. When it happened she screamed, a low telling sound as she toppled over the precipice.

Carlos rose up, positioned himself, and even as she lay in the damp, panting aftermath, claimed her body. He pushed his rigid length into her tight wet vaginal passage, his eyes drifting closed at the sheer pleasure of it, the knowledge he would not last long one he could accept because he'd waited what felt like an eternity for her, waited so long to feel this exquisite joy.

Maybe he thrust five times. Maybe it wasn't even that before he felt the blissful, earth-shattering rush of ejaculation. He buried himself as deep as possible as it happened, a groan rising from his chest as he deposited his seed against the mouth of her womb. The moment went on and on, each pulse more satisfying than the last, until, shaken and spent, he collapsed to his side, taking her with him in a loose tangle of arms and legs.

God willing, he'd just settled things between them.

He was wrong.

A few moments later he felt Juliet pull away. She scrambled off the bed, a vision of loose pale hair and ivory skin, her face averted. Without a word she picked up her nightdress, slipped it on over her head, walked out the door to the balcony. A moment later came the clear sound of the doors into her bedroom being pulled shut.

Now what the hell did he do?

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How matters had gone from tense to ridiculous in the space of one night was a mystery but there wasn't much doubt things were even worse than the day before. Luncheon had been so strained it was obvious something had happened to make things more edgy between Carlos and Juliet.

Mary eyed her son's face with suspicion and wondered how to approach the subject. “Did you sleep well, darling?"

He glanced up, his expression abstract and distant. “I beg your pardon?"

"Sleep,” she repeated succinctly. “Last night. Well. Did you?"

"No."

She settled down next to him on the bench by a truly spectacular bed of blooming roses, the crimson color of the flowers vivid in the sunshine. The gardens were truly lovely in the early afternoon glow of another wonderful day.
Just five more
, she gave a silent prayer to the powers above that governed such things. It would be so much more of a success if the weather was this pleasant for the celebration party. Rain made such a mess, not to mention the ballroom got stuffy if it had to be closed up.

Carlos gave her a smile that was a pale imitation of the real thing. When he truly smiled, the world lit up. The pretense told her a great deal. As gently as possible, she asked, “What are you going to do?"

His mouth tightened. “About what, may I ask?"

"Juliet."

Just the mention of her name sent him restlessly to his feet. He paced across the garden path and reached down to pluck one of the roses from a bush, snapping off the flower and twirling it idly between his long fingers. In a matter-of-fact tone that didn't fool her at all, he said, “Why would I do anything about Juliet? She has made her choice and her feelings quite clear."

"Her feelings are certainly clear to me,” Mary acknowledged dryly. “Please remember that after you left I was witness to how it affected her. Oh, she tried to hold on to the façade of indifference and pretend she didn't care, that she was angry enough to disregard whatever was between the two of you, but she wasn't particularly adept at it. Even when she finally agreed to have her coming out in London almost a year later, it was easy enough to see though she flirted and danced and allowed all those eager young men to court her, her heart lay elsewhere, Carlos. With you, in Spain. With you anywhere, I would guess. It wasn't good for the child. That's perhaps why she lost it right after you sailed, but maybe not. Those things do happen. She's young and healthy and will have another."

If she had slapped him it couldn't have had a more profound effect. The rose dropped from his long fingers, landing on the path in a scatter of pedals like a splattering of blood, and her son stared at her in open shock. “What?"

Oh yes, she was definitely meddling now. Juliet had made her swear to never tell him, and she'd just betrayed that trust. All for her niece's own good, Mary excused herself, hoping she was doing the right thing. She loved Juliet as much as she loved Carlos and to see them happy and together she would do more than reveal a secret that wasn't hers to tell.

Mary folded her hands in her lap and gave him a level look. “Surely you knew it was possible."

A muscle flexed in his jaw. It was hard to tell with his sun-bronzed skin but he seemed to be faintly flushed, probably because of having to discuss something so personal with his mother.

“Yes, I knew it was possible. “Good God, she was pregnant and didn't tell me?"

"Would it have stopped you from going?"

He hesitated and turned away, his profile making him look all at once distant. “I don't know,” he admitted finally in a quiet voice, his dark eyes somber. “But I would have married her before I left. I wanted to anyway, but she refused to even discuss it once she knew I'd bought a commission."

"I can speak from experience and tell you it is difficult for a woman to realize her child may never know his father. Not only was she abandoned and frightened for the future, but there was also that responsibility on her very young shoulders. If she is still angry with you, perhaps you understand a little better why now."

"I also lost a child.” His tone held a definite edge. “I had the right to know."

"I think Juliet would argue you gave up the right the day you left."

"Damnation, Mother, you know why I went!"

She ignored the profanity. Considering what she'd just told him, she didn't blame him. “Yes, I do.

So does Juliet. However, that does not change the fact it was very difficult for us here That aside, you are home now, but she is engaged to another man. I am personally convinced she still loves you, but it is up to you to convince her to change her mind about Lord Drake."

Carlos gave a small humorless laugh. “Convince her? I don't need to do that. I can force her to change her mind."