Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

Julian’s hand fell on hers, warm and strong. When she lifted her face, he spoke slowly and distinctly. “Your mother’s Aunt Beatrice was an unforgivable, imbecilic, self-righteous bitch.”


And with that, he gave her exactly what she’d been needing. This was why she’d told Julian. Leo never could have said that. He was far too congenial, and besides—Aunt Beatrice had given him his first pony.

“Yes.” Lily nodded, feeling years of resentment uncoil within her. “Yes, she was.”

“As if an illness could somehow be your fault, or God’s will.”

Sensing an opportunity in this vein of conversation, Lily asked, “If not mine or God’s, whose fault was it? The doctor’s? My parents’?”

“No one’s, of course.”

He pried her fingers from the ceramic dog and held her hand in his. Strange, confusing sparks of sensation traveled from her wrist to her elbow.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he went on. “Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s nowhere to point the finger of blame.”

“Exactly.” The current of electricity buzzed through her whole body now. “Just like with Leo. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s no one to blame.”

“That’s different. That’s different, and you know it. Where there’s murder, there’s blame. By definition.”

“But—”

He dropped her hand and stalked to the unused hearth, propping one boot on the grate and leaning his forearm on the mantel, glaring hard into his fist.

She crossed to him. “We have to talk.”

“We’ve been talking.”

“No, I mean …”

Curse him, she’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. Ever since Leo’s death, Julian had become so protective of her, so intense in their every interaction. And now it would seem she’d caught the same contagion. Unable to put him out of her mind, ascribing strange tingles to his casual touch. Perhaps if they discussed this tension between them, it would dissipate.

“Ever since my brother died,” she began, “I’ve been struggling to answer this question: Without Leo, who am I? He was such a large part of my life, and in many ways I defined my existence in relationship to his. In too many ways, I fear. I’m sorting out the tangle, slowly. But as if that weren’t hard enough, there’s this other question. It comes to the fore whenever we’re together. I can only imagine it’s the reason we’re always quarreling of late.”

He stared at her, impassive. “What question would that be?”

Anxiety prickled in her throat. Using all available willpower, she blunted her nerves and met his gaze. “Without Leo … who are we?”

A glimmer of some inscrutable emotion lit his eyes, but she didn’t dare focus on it too long. Instead, she dropped her gaze and concentrated on his mouth, awaiting his reply. As much time as she’d spent staring at him, she couldn’t help notice that his lips were so well-shaped. Wide and sensual, curved at the edges just a bit. The faintest pull of his jaw muscle could tweak that curve into a playful smirk or a genuine smile or a wicked suggestion. He must be a very good kisser, when he wasn’t under the influence of pain and sleeping powder.

Her own tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Oh, this was terrible.

Words, Lily. Concentrate on his words.

“I mean,” she continued nervously, “we became friends through Leo, and now that he’s gone, it’s only natural that we would be forced to … ask ourselves that.”

“And have you arrived at an answer?”

“I know what we aren’t. You can’t be Leo’s replacement. I don’t need a substitute brother, watching over everything I do.”

A little tug of his jaw tipped his mouth. “I don’t want to be your brother.”

“I don’t need a guardian, either. I’m eight-and-twenty, not a girl.”

“I’m well aware of that, too.”

“Then why have you become so protective and overbearing? Always demanding that I marry, then chasing off any man who so much as dares to touch my hand?” Even as she asked the question, Lily knew the heat building between their bodies was a very good clue.

Still she prattled on, hoping more words would dispel it. “You …” She touched a hand to his chest. A mistake. Too solid, too strong. Those sparks again. “You feel guilty and bound to protect me, and I …” She withdrew her touch and pressed the same hand to her own breast. Softer, uncertain. Quivering with each pounding beat of her heart. “I feel lonely and unmoored. We’re both emotional and searching for answers, and I just wish …”

She dropped her gaze, because she couldn’t bear to be interrupted. She had to get these words out. “I just wish our friendship could be the one thing that’s never in question. Can you understand? It pains me so much, to always be arguing with you, worrying about you. Just because Leo died, it doesn’t mean everything between us must change. I want to go back to the way we were before.”

She paused, eyes lowered and breath bated, wondering why those words tasted false on her tongue.