Rogues and Ripped Bodices (10 page)

“Forgive me,” he murmured, though he didn’t
sound terribly contrite.

She helped him shove her skirts from her hips
and with the same brisk movement, he had her corset and under things wrenched
from her. A chill whispered over her skin and her nipples peaked. In only her
stockings and slippers, she felt decadent and wanton in the most beautiful way.

Not for one moment did this feel sordid. Nor did
she feel ruined. From the way his gaze roamed her to how his chest rose and
fell with deep breaths made her feel treasured and valuable.

Julian’s upper lip lifted in a slight growl—a
sort of masculine movement that set her knees trembling. It was as though she
was the most succulent meal on the table and he had not eaten for weeks. And,
oh how she wanted to be devoured by him.

She kicked off her slippers and peeled down her
stockings, aware of him watching her every movement while he unbuttoned his
pants. By the time she had stripped, he was standing naked in front of her. She
might have giggled at his impatience had his expression not been so dark and
dangerous.

Without giving her time to think, he was upon
her. Hard against soft. Crushing her to him, consuming her. His kisses stole
her mind. They stole her sanity. He hitched her leg up onto his hip and pressed
her back against the bookcase. Shelves dug into her back but she didn’t care.
The heat of his body eased away any discomfort, and the harried touch of his
hands quickly made her forget.

Julian thrust his manhood against her open quim.
She bit back a cry. Never had she wanted anything so badly in her life. Not
even marriage to an English lord.

“Please,” she begged.

He hitched her leg higher and pressed kisses to
her neck. His hips rocked forward again but still his arousal only teased her.

“Damn it.”

Julian lifted her, drawing her legs around his
hips and she thought he might take her like that, pressing her back against the
hard wood. At the same time as hoping he didn’t, she wanted him inside her so
much that she would have been willing to accept any discomfort.

However, he carried her over to the fire and
laid her down on her stomach on the soft Persian rug in front of it.

“I’ve been wanting to see this arse for so
long...” he said before pressing his body over hers.

The rug tickled her breasts and stomach and his
hot body covered her like a blanket. He eased up her hips just a fraction,
shifted her legs apart and rested his hands over the back of hers. Their
fingers entwined as he took the first lunge. He took her quickly but gently.
She gasped as he filled her and his grip on her hands tightened. The fabric
beneath her teased her folds. Julian’s breaths blew harshly in her ear. He
whispered her name and other endearments. He groaned while he thrust. Thrust,
thrust, thrust. All she could do was lie there and accept his love-making with
little tilts of her hips.

And it was perfection. He took her body and
claimed it with every inch of his. Before long, a sweet buzz grew in her core.
With every movement, the intensity increased until she shivered from head to
toe.

“Yes,” he said, encouragingly. “Yes, Viola.”

She clamped her fingers tight around his and
scrunched her eyes shut. The pulse of him inside her and the strength of him on
top of her threw her over the edge. She held her breath—in fact forgot to
breathe—as the throb of ecstasy ebbed through her. When she opened her eyes and
took in lungfuls of air, she saw the tension in his hands, the way the veins in
the back of them stood out. He gave a harsh groan and withdrew, spilling onto
her bottom.

Nothing about Julian had been the way she’d
expected it to be. Not from the way he dressed to the way he made love. But she
did not mind that one bit.

Chapter
Eleven

Afterward,
they lay in the flickering light of the fire for what might have been hours.
Julian didn’t care. He could lie with her forever. He watched the way the
reflection of the flames danced about her skin, casting it into a beautiful
golden colour. Viola Thompson was worth more than gold, more than jewels. He
had likely loved her from her first letter but now there was no doubting it.

He skimmed a hand down her shoulder and side
before drawing up the blanket he had stolen from one of the chairs. She twisted
to lie on her front on the rug and moved her head to face him. With one hand
tucked under her face, she looked entirely too charming. He longed to run his
fingers through her mussed hair, skim his hands up and down her body and find
her sweet, wet heat so he could bring her more pleasure. For surely that was
all Viola Thompson deserved. All the pleasure in the world.

It shouldn’t have happened. Making love to Viola
had been a mistake. Yet how could he regret such a thing? For the first time in
a long time, he felt alive. In fact, simply spending time in her company did
that to him. And look at her. She glowed. Not just from the light of the fire.
He hoped he had gone some way to convincing her she wasn’t ruined or unwanted.
Hell, if the hot arousal coursing through him at the sight of her bare back was
anything to go by, she was very much wanted.

Julian pressed away some auburn locks from her
shoulders and propped himself up on an elbow to trace circles on her back. He
followed the bumps of her spine and pressed down the blankets to skim a
fingertip over the hollows above her rear. The slight curve of her bottom peeked
out and his mouth watered.

“That tickles,” she protested.

He stopped for a moment before trailing a path
back up. “I cannot resist touching you.”

“You don’t have to.” She gave him a satisfied
smile.

“I should have resisted.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I forget now.”

Viola laughed. “Then don’t.”

“Viola, I...” Words clogged in his throat. He
shouldn’t say it. He wasn’t sure he knew how to anyway. It would complicate
things, give her hope. But it was also important for her to know how much he
cared for her. He did not want her leaving him, thinking he had done this out
of simple lust or believing she wasn’t worth anything.

“What is it?”

“I...” He drew in a breath and stared at her
creamy back.

“Why do you not write it?”

He stared at her. “Write it?”

“Yes, you always express yourself so well in
letters.”

“Well... I...” Yes, she was right. He always had
been better with the written word, even as a boy. But to now he felt a fool. He
turned his focus back to her beautiful skin and the way it warmed his
fingertip. “Dear Viola,” he began, tracing the words on her back and feeling
idiotic.

She simply gave a small sound of satisfaction
and watched him as he wrote his letter.

“You will never know how much your letters have
come to mean to me. In my darkest hours, you were there, shining a light. Like
an angel, you saved me from many a grim moment.” He continued to trace the
swirling letters on her skin and noted the way the rise and fall of her body
increased as her breaths grew heavier. “I have little to offer a woman. Yes, I have
riches and a title, but I am not a man of soft words or actions. I have a
temper and I am set in my ways. If I was a better man, a different man, I would
offer you the world. But, for the moment, I must tell you...” His mouth grew
dry.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I must tell you that no man has ever loved a
woman like I love you.” She made a little
oh
sound but he didn’t dare
look at her. “You carry me through every day. If I could, I would spend the
rest of my days on my knees worshipping you. For me, you are like air, like
water. I cannot survive without you.” He finally gave in and looked at her.
Tears sparkled in her eyes. He sank down beside her, skimmed a tear from her
face and kissed her cheek. “Just know that you are loved,” he told her softly.
“Whatever happens in your life, know that.”

She nodded and drew in a noisy breath. “As are
you.”

Julian’s chest felt fit to burst. At that
moment, nothing mattered but that. He would hold onto that, treasure it,
nurture it. Even if she got married and stopped writing to him, he would
remember that and that would be what would take him through the rest of his
days.

“Come here,” he murmured, coaxing her onto her
side and then over to straddle him. He gazed at her sweet breasts and raised a
hand to cup them both.

Earlier had been too frantic. He had not had the
chance to appreciate her fully. But now was that chance. He circled her breast,
feeling the weight of it before rolling her tight nipple between his thumb and
forefinger. Her startled inhalation made him grin. Around and around, he played
his finger, drawing it into an even tighter nub. Then he coaxed her forward and
took that bud into his mouth, drawing it in with his tongue. She wound her
hands into his hair and moaned.

He turned his attention to her other breast,
then back to the other. Back and forth, left and right. He tasted her until she
wriggled against him. Her wet heat made him clench his jaw, but he had to
savour this. He would not give into the animalistic instinct that begged him to
grip her hips and ram himself up into her. Viola would be leaving him soon, and
he had to make the most of her.

When he pressed her back, he let his gaze linger
on her pert breasts as her hair left little auburn trails over her porcelain
skin. Julian turned his attention to the apex of her thighs and brushed a thumb
through the curls there. She closed her eyes, her lashes fanning against her
skin. Bloody hell, he’d never seen anything like it.

She moved into his touch, released a low breath
that he should not have been able to hear over the crackle of the fire. But he
did. He was aware of everything about her from the way her body ebbed and
flowed with his touches to how her skin pimpled when he brushed just so at her
sensitive folds.

He took the time to touch her, watch her
movements, learn about her body. Then, with his hands to her rear, he coaxed
her forward and touched his tongue to her centre.

“Julian—”

He cut off her strangled protest with a strong
lick and she relaxed into him. He held her there with strong licks, tiny
nibbles and gentle kisses to the insides of her thighs. When he shifted back to
her core, she moved with him and cries fell from her lips.

While he tried to be patient, his arousal
throbbed desperately for release. As she began to chant his name, his restraint
broke and he shifted her down to thrust up inside her. He took her in one
smooth motion and watched her eyes widen. Julian did not think he could ever
get used to being inside her. For him, it would always consume him. The
sensation was too like that of a meeting of souls.

Viola moved her hips in circles in an
experimental manner and he gritted his teeth. “Lord Almighty,” he hissed,
grasping said hips.

Taking control, he showed her how to move atop
him. From this position, he got to watch himself enter her. The sweet sensation
bubbling through his veins turned to fire. He felt as though he were a steam
train simply waiting to unleash all its power and might.

She picked up speed and Julian gave himself up
to his impatience. She was too hot, too tight, too beautiful. How could a man
be expected to control himself around such a woman?

“Oh, Julian,” she panted.

He thrust and thrust and gripped her hips until
she tensed about him and collapsed forward. With her body pulsing around him,
he eased her off and onto the rug. Joining them again, Julian plunged
mindlessly into her. There, on the rug, in his favourite room, he let the bliss
carry him over until he spilled onto her stomach. She gazed up at him and their
gazes connected at the last important moment before his orgasm consumed his
body. At that moment, he knew he’d love her forever.

Chapter
Twelve

Viola
groaned. Her body ached all over and something pinned her down. She drew open
one eye and groaned again. Thick streams of light shimmered into the room and
hurt her eyes. She flung an arm over her face and peered out from underneath
it. The prickle beneath her reminded her that she lay on a rug. The strong arm
across her belly made her recall who lay next to her.

And exactly what they had done last night.

He loved her. She drew away her arm and eyed
him. His hair lay slightly across his face which was scrunched against the rug.
Viola grimaced. A rug was all very well for making love on but not for sleeping
on. Who could blame her though? Julian had thoroughly claimed her body. She
ached a little there too but in the most pleasant way.

Squinting at the mantel clock, she tried to
decipher the time but could not tell what hand was where. When she tried to
push Julian’s arm away from her, he grumbled. It really was an adorable sound.
The temptation to stay and watch him sleep was great but what if someone came
in and found them like this? Admittedly the scandal probably wouldn’t follow
her to New York but she still didn’t wish to suffer the embarrassment.

New York. It seemed a world away from this house
in the country. Yes, she missed running water and warm rooms. She wasn’t too
sure she liked the creaking sounds the old house made at night and it really
did seem to rain a lot in England. But none of that mattered when she was with
Julian or out roaming the countryside. Even when it rained, she wanted to run
about in the open fields and climb over trees and explore ruins. She couldn’t
do any of that in New York.

However, Julian had not made her an offer. Would
he? After all, he loved her. He spoke with such passion yesterday. Could he
really send her away? She didn’t wish to leave. She would marry him in an
instant, she knew that for certain. But he’d talked of her writing to him. That
meant he wished her to leave, did it not?

The sound of hooves on the gravel outside made
her scowl. She pushed his arm again. “I think there’s a visitor.”

“What?” He lifted his head and gazed sleepily at
her.

Viola fought the desire to pull him down for a
kiss. No doubt a marquess wouldn’t much like to be thought of as adorable but
he really was. “Julian, there’s someone outside.”

There was no doubting it now. She heard voices
and the sound of carriage wheels.

He lifted his head again, kissed her and pressed
up to sitting. “Fine, I shall see who it is. It’s probably only a delivery.”
Then, gloriously naked, he strode over to the window.

Viola bit her lip as she eyed the taut roundness
of his backside. She wished she had been able to take more time to appreciate
it last night. Still, if she could persuade him he wanted her around, she could
take all the time in the world to enjoy it.

He peered through the curtains and the muscles
in his back stiffed. “Damn it.”

“What is it?”

He faced her, his expression grim. “My mother.”

She felt her eyes widen. Ice water ran through
her veins. Julian had spoke a little of his mother and her exacting standards. 
And here she was, naked, in a blanket. What a way to meet the woman she hoped
to make her mother-in-law.

“Oh no.”

She scanned the room for her clothes. Her skirts
remained in a puddle on the floor and her undergarments had been flung to the
winds. Scrabbling to her feet, she found her bloomers and tugged them on.
Julian did the same, drawing on his pants and stuffing his bare feet into his
shoes. She discovered her corset hanging off a ladder and groaned. There was no
way she could put it in time and he had damaged most of the lacing.

“Leave it,” he said. “There’s no time.” He
looked out of the window. “She’s entered the house now.”

“Oh Lord.” Viola scrambled into the rest of her
undergarments and flung the corset aside. She stepped into her petticoats and
skirt and dragged the heavy dress up. Oh no. He’d ripped that too. How could
she have forgotten?

A commanding female voice echoed through the
house and her palms grew clammy. The dress would stay on well enough but if she
turned, it would be clear that it was not laced properly. Not to mention how
crumpled it was. And her hair. Oh, dear Lord, her hair.

She rummaged through it in search of pins and
darted a glance at Julian. He had his shirt and waistcoat on and was
frantically doing up the buttons. He looked presentable—at least more so than
her. She found a couple of stray pins still left in her hair and managed to pin
up a few strands to keep it back from her face.

“Julian,” she motioned to her back, “my dress.”

He glanced at it and grimaced. Footsteps cracked
down the hallway outside and her heart ricocheted in time with it.

“It’s too late now. Come here.” He motioned for
her to stand at his side and he put a protective arm around her. She wasn’t
sure if that was better or worse.

The door opened to reveal an elegant woman in a
beautifully cut jacket and skirt. Stripes elongated her, making her seem taller
and the raise of her chin enhanced the impervious air. Her dark hair which was
streaked with a little grey was set off perfectly by the deep red of her
clothing. Viola had never felt more small or dishevelled in her life.

A dark eyebrow rose as she eyed them both. She
could see where Julian got his looks from. Even at her age, she was stunning.

“Mother,” Julian greeted. “I did not think you
would be back for another month.”

“The weather was grim and Lady Fothergill’s
chest did not take well to it so we decided to return.” Her gaze ran over Viola
and Julian’s grip on her tightened.

Grateful for the warm strength of his arm around
her, she leaned into him. His mother’s gaze narrowed.

“Will you not introduce us, Julian?”

“Of course. Mother, this is Miss Viola Thompson.
Viola, this is my mother Lady Lockwood.”

“A pleasure, my lady.” Viola dipped, aware of
her dress gaping at the back.

“You are American.” The statement near dripped
with ice. The eyebrow that had remained lifted the entire time inched a little
higher.

“I am, my lady. From New York.”

“Viola has come to see the sights, Mother,” he
put in.             

“What sights could she possibly see in the
library?” The woman waved a hand. “Julian, I need to speak with you.” She gave
Viola a pointed look.

How could she sneak past the woman without
revealing her back? Panic clutched tight at her chest. Could this experience be
any worse? All that needed to happen now was for her dress to fall completely
from her and the humiliation would be complete.

“So soon?” Julian asked. “Would you not like to
take a cup of tea first? You have had a long journey.”

“Now, Julian,” his mother barked.

He gave her waist a little squeeze and released
her. “While you are here, will you not look at this?” He indicated to a letter
on his desk.

Lady Lockwood moved over, giving Viola the
chance to slide sideways without revealing her back. She murmured her farewell
and gave a tiny dip before hastening away while Julian distracted his mother.
Her gaze fell on her corset, hanging from a tall candelabra. Oh no. She snatched
it quickly, gave Julian one last look and scurried out of the door.

Once in the safety of the hall, she paused and
pressed her back to the wall. Lady Lockwood’s disapproval of her could not be
any clearer. Perhaps it was that she had caught her in a compromising position
or that she was American. She suspected both. Viola recognised the way his
mother had said
American
. As though it were a dirty word. She probably
could have been English and titled and been completely naked and won more
approval.

That didn’t matter though, did it?

“Who
is
that woman?” she heard his mother
ask. Viola rolled her eyes at her tone.

“Miss Viola Thompson, Mother,” Julian told her.
“I told you only a moment ago.”

She had to cover her mouth to prevent herself
from snorting at his deliberately patronising tone.

“I am not senile, my boy, I remember her name
perfectly well. But why is she here and how do you know her?”

“She is the daughter of a business associate.
She came here to—”

“See the sights, yes I know,” his mother said
impatiently. “But why is she here? In the house?” Viola could practically hear
her eyes narrowing to slits. “You are not continuing on with her are you? It’s
bad enough that you refuse to find yourself a wife. Do not tell me you are
having an affair with an
American
.”

There it was again. That bitter tone. As though
she were nothing more than an insect. Viola let her lips curl in annoyance. She
could not very well confront the marchioness but it took all her effort to
remain still.

“I am not having an affair with her,” Julian
replied steadily.

Well, she supposed he couldn’t really tell her
they had been making love on the rug only a few hours ago.

“She is no one.”

No one.
The words rattled like gunshot
in her head. No one. Was she really no one to him? Had all her hopes been
shattered once again? She pressed a hand to her chest as a great ache began to
throb in it. Her throat grew tight.

“Good. I’d hate to see you waste your time on a
girl like that. These American women have no grace and manners, Julian. Half of
them are very free with their favours.”

Viola didn’t remain to hear the rest. Listening
to such vitriol and being unable to respond made her want to scream and rage at
the same time as double over in agony. She had proved herself to be a fool
again, had she not? Hoping for something that would not happen. If his mother
couldn’t accept her, no one else in England would.

She hastened up the stairs and flung herself on
the bed. Tears burned her eyes and she let them fall, soaking into her pillow.
If she had been less hurt by Julian’s dismissal of her, perhaps she would have
stood up to the old woman. Who was she to cast aspersions on her character? The
problem was, she was right. Viola did not have much grace and didn’t understand
English etiquette. No matter how many books she read on the matter, she wasn’t
sure she could ever conquer her free tongue. And she wasn’t so sure she wanted
to now. Not if it meant behaving like the marchioness or those women at the
ball and the castle. She would rather be a crass American than a bitter
Englishwoman.

Swiping her eyes, she pushed herself to sitting.
Once again, she began to pack. This time she would not be persuaded otherwise.
Julian would not coax her to stay with his humble apologies. Nothing could
convince her she belonged here.

Except perhaps an admission of love and a
proposal.

She smirked at herself. She really was a fool.
That would not happen.