Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

He twirled her to a halt, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she pulled their clasped hands closer, into the space between their chests.

Good. He needed that extra barrier. She was too close, and he was tempted to pull her closer still. His heart pounded a rhythm three times faster than the one their feet had so recently obeyed.

“Do you remember the night we first met?” she asked.

He bit back a laugh. Did he remember the night they met? Of course he remembered. He could have cited the date, the occasion, the warmth of the evening, the ruby-red shade of his waistcoat that night. The double twist of her pinned-up hair, the fourteen silk-covered buttons down the back of her gown. The precise moment he’d first seen Lily Chatwick smile. He remembered everything.

He said, “Remind me.”

“It was here, of course, at the house. Leo’s birthday dinner.”

“Your birthday dinner, too.”

“Yes, but the guests were his. It was the night he started that ridiculous club with the stud horse, Osiris. Do you recall it now?”

He nodded.

“You watched me all that night. Through our conversations, at the dinner table, then over drinks afterward … You never took your eyes from me.”

“I was attracted to you. Haven’t I confessed as much? You’re a beautiful woman, Lily. I’ve always been attracted to you.”

“It seemed more than that.” She tilted her head, looking at him from a new angle. “There was something almost predatory in your gaze that first night. I think you were forming designs on me.”

“Wh—?” His breath left him, and with it went any hope of denying the truth.

“Oh yes,” she said, her mouth curving in a subtle smile. “I knew it. You followed me from the room, remember? Before we went into dinner, I excused myself to check on the place settings, and you followed me. Most brazenly.” Her cheeks colored with a blush, and her gaze flirted with his lapel. “You’ve forgotten it, I’m sure. To you, it was just another idle flirtation. But it wasn’t an everyday occurrence for me.”

“It should have been.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s precisely what you said. I asked you if there was something you needed, and you said no.” She smiled. “I was flustered by that arrogant smirk you wore, however well I know the expression now. I asked you directly, ‘Why are you following me?’ And you said …”

He gave in. “I said, ‘Why are you surprised? When a beautiful woman leaves a room, she hopes a man like me will follow her.’”

She gave his shoulder a playful smack. “Exactly! And I was so angry with you.”

“No, you weren’t. You were pleased.”

“I was not.” She gave him a coy glance through lowered lashes. “Perhaps a little. I thought you would try to kiss me, but you didn’t.”

“No.”

Julian never kissed a lady upon first flirtation. He preferred to let her simmer with the possibilities a little bit longer, imagine what might have occurred. He found it made her all the more receptive on second approach.

“I shouldn’t admit this,” she said, “but I felt certain you meant to seduce me.”

“Perhaps I did.” He said carefully, “I’ve set out to seduce a great many women.”

“I know that. I knew that, and yet—somehow that only made it more thrilling. I lay awake all that night. I didn’t know how I would react when I saw you again. I rehearsed polite demurrals and cutting setdowns, and …” She swallowed. “And there was a part of me that didn’t want to refuse.”

“Lily …” He stepped back.

She held his hand fast, keeping him close. “But I didn’t need to refuse. The situation never arose. When I saw you next, you were friendly and polite. Even charming. But you never pursued me that way again. What changed?”

“Nothing changed.”

“Something must have changed. Was it you? Or me?”

“Neither.” How could he explain? It was one thing for her to be generally aware of his reputation, and quite another for him to openly admit he’d spent those years methodically bedding his way through the wives of the English aristocracy, simply out of spite. And since the Marquess of Harcliffe had no wife, Julian had decided seducing his twin sister would suffice. But then he’d spent an evening in this house, where he’d been welcomed as an equal and a friend. Before the night was out, he was a charter member of London’s newest, strangest, and most elite society: the Stud Club.

For those few precious hours, they’d made him feel he belonged here. In a way that Julian—a bastard child raised on the streets—couldn’t remember feeling he’d ever belonged, anywhere.

“I suppose,” he said honestly, “I decided I liked you too well to seduce you.”

She laughed with self-effacing charm. “There’s a compliment to me in there somewhere. If I think on it long enough, perhaps I’ll make it out.”