Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

When Julian arrived at Harcliffe House the following morning, he again found Lily seated at the desk in Leo’s library. Her neck was curved white and graceful as a swan’s as she bent over an open ledger. Something about the contrast between that elegant sweep of her neck and the precise point of her elbow as she dipped her quill … A tide of longing pushed through him, laying waste to everything in its path.

Bypassing the signal mirror this time, he entered the room and approached her from the side. She was so absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice him until he stood nearly beside her, just at her right shoulder. Even then, she did not look up. She simply went still, holding her quill at attention. Only the slight change in her breathing let him know she’d realized he was there.

She was waiting. Waiting to see if he would touch her.

So he did. He laid a hand on her shoulder where her thin fichu met her gown.

“Good morning,” she said distractedly, taking a moment to finish her notation before replacing her quill in the inkwell. With a breathy sigh, she tipped her head to the left, stretching the slender column of her neck. Then back to the right. “I’ve been sitting here too long. I’ve gone all stiff.”

How could he resist an invitation like that? Julian pushed aside the frail, gauzy fichu and squeezed her shoulder gently, running his thumb along the tense ridge of muscle and sinew at the base of her neck. She had indeed been working too hard. Her muscles were drawn taut, resistant to his touch. As he kneaded her shoulder, the tension melted beneath his fingertips.

She moaned low in her throat.

Lust rocked him in his boots.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Just there.”

Suffice it to say, now Lily wasn’t the only one contending with uncomfortable stiffness. He slid his hand forward, over the ridge of her collarbone. Excitement surged to his fingertips. Mere inches below, the snowy expanse of her décolletage tempted.

Here was a perilous slope.

He did what any man approaching a precipice would do. He inched forward and peered over the edge.

What a breathtaking view. The gentle mounds of her br**sts cradled a steep, luscious valley. She looked so soft. Julian had seen and touched and held to his cheek the finest textiles the world had to offer—velvets, silks, luxurious furs from every corner of every continent. And yet he knew instinctively, none of them could approach the sleek perfection of Lily Chatwick’s bosom. There would simply be no apt comparisons. Just as the terms “oak,” “granite,” and “tempered steel” failed to describe the current state of his arousal.

“You can’t have her,” he told himself aloud. “Not like that.” Before he could second-guess himself, he jerked his hand from her body.

She circled her head, stretching. “Mm, thank you.” Then she looked to him, eyebrows rising in expectation. “Well …?”

“Well.” Eager to conceal his own expectant, rising parts, Julian pulled up a chair and seated himself across the desk from her. “Good morning. I brought you something.” He carefully lifted his offering onto the desk. He’d been holding it in one hand all this while, and the parcel’s contents had grown noticeably agitated.

She was having none of it. “Julian. Do you honestly mean to pretend last night didn’t happen?”

He froze. He’d been asking himself that very thing. If he wished, he could deny everything. With a bit of bluster and diversion, he could lead her to believe she’d misunderstood his words and actions. He could convince her that no, he actually hadn’t lost his wits and impulsively confessed to harboring years of lust for her. With luck, he could have her believing that whatever he’d planned on doing instants before they were interrupted, it most certainly had not been kissing her for the second time in one day.

But today, looking into her lovely face, he found he simply couldn’t stomach more lies.

“No,” he said. “I don’t mean to pretend anything.”

Why shouldn’t she understand that since the day they’d met, he’d been seized by a powerful attraction to her? Lily was no fool. She would understand, as he did, that nothing could ever come of it. So many factors prevented him from acting on his desire—her mourning, the inequity of their rank, the recent resurrection of his innate sense of decency. Not to mention the fact that within a fortnight, Julian Bellamy would permanently disappear from London society. One way or another.

Let her know. Let her know what she did to him.

“So.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “You desire me.”

“Yes.”

“Always have.”

“From the first.”

Her drumming fingers stilled. “And last night, when you flew into a rage with that Commander …”

“Merriwin. Commander Merriwin.”

“Yes, him. It wasn’t because you thought I was weak, or in need of protection.”

“No. It was jealousy. An instinctive male reaction, and one I should have suppressed.” He leaned forward. “I do believe in you, Lily. I know you could handle that man, or ten just like him. The weakness was mine.”

“Well.” Leather creaked as she sat back in her chair. “This is all so very enlightening.”