Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“It is?”


“Yes, of course. It explains so much.” Her cheeks went pink. “I mean, it’s undeniably flattering. Or at least, reassuring. I was beginning to feel like the only woman in London who didn’t catch your eye.”

His heart sank. Nothing—in all his life, absolutely nothing—could have made Julian regret his history of debauchery more than this: for him to finally confess his desire for Lily, and for her to conclude that his admiration simply made her one of a crowd. So utterly wrong that she should believe that, and yet … so convenient.

“As long as we are being honest,” she continued, her gaze sliding to the side, “I have to admit that I find you attractive, too. Not that it should be surprising. Again, I seem to be in the female majority.” She smiled.

“So,” he said, groping his way down the escape hatch she’d opened. “We’ve established that we are two attractive people.”

She nodded.

“And that each of us, logically, finds the other attractive.”

“As is only natural.” She stacked her arms on the desk and leaned against them. “It makes perfect sense. I’m so glad we’ve had this discussion, aren’t you?”

Julian was stunned silent for a moment. That was it? Truly? He admitted to wanting her, and she confessed to harboring a few innocent fancies of her own, and then they just … moved on from the topic entirely? Could it really be so simple? She wouldn’t think so, if she could have seen him arching on his toes for a glimpse of her br**sts just now.

“Er … yes,” he finally said. “I’m glad, too.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s this you’ve brought me?” Her brow wrinkled as she studied the canvas-covered dome he’d placed atop the desk.

“A gift. Every dried-up spinster should have one.” With a flourish, he removed the canvas drape.

“You didn’t.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Julian.”

“Oh, Julian,” the parrot sang, bobbing its crimson head in agreement. “Oh, Julian.”

“Is he speaking?” Lily asked. “What does he say?”

“He seems to have taken a liking to my name. Or at least your pronunciation of it.”

“Oh, Julian,” the garish creature sang, rustling its blue-and-green wings. “Oh, Juuuulian.”

Oh, lovely. What an idea this had been.

He reached into his coat and retrieved a packet of shelled walnuts. “Here,” he said, pushing the packet at Lily. “He’s likely hungry.”

She shook some of the nuts into her palm and pinched one between thumb and forefinger, offering it to the parrot through a gap in the bars. She laughed as the bird swiveled its head nearly upside down to grasp the nut in its dark, hooked beak. “Wherever did you get him?”

“I lost a bet.”

“Lost a bet?”

“Yes. This fellow’s ancient, been passed around for years. He’s long outlived his original owner. A barrister supposedly brought him home from Jamaica ages ago.”

The parrot bristled. “Guilty, guilty!” it trilled. Its round, red head tilted, then righted itself. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“What does he say now?” Lily asked, offering the creature another walnut.

“He’s pronounced judgment on me, I believe. And I’ve come up wanting. No death sentence as yet.”

Clever bird. Truthfully, Julian had felt sorry for the poor feathered beast. It had been passed from gentleman to gentleman for years. Usually as the forfeit in some wager—loser gets the bird. No one seemed to want the thing, and he was beginning to understand why. The parrot’s vocal antics would be amusing at the outset but could quickly become a source of aggravation.

“You don’t have to keep him,” he told Lily. “I only brought him by because … Well, I felt I owed you some sort of peace offering. And I guessed you’d be drowning in flowers this morning.”

“Drowning in flowers? What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen the drawing room?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been working in here all morning. I told Swift I wasn’t at home to anyone but you.”

A genuine grin stretched his cheeks. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. He rose, lifted the parrot’s cage in one hand and offered the other to Lily. “Come.”

He led her down the corridor and into the drawing room.

“Oh,” she said upon entering. “Oh, my.”

From his cage, even the bird gave a whistle of admiration.

The Harcliffe House drawing room was, as drawing rooms went, a large one. Near palatial, really. And today it was full to bursting with grandiose flower arrangements. Roses, orchids, delphiniums in abundance—but overwhelming all of these, lilies. Lilies of every possible variety, covering every available surface and filling every niche.

“Between the parrot and the flowers, it’s a veritable jungle,” Lily said. She turned to regard the bird hopping madly in its cage. “Oh, do let him out. He must feel as though he’s home.”