Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

He looked to his bride—his wife; good Lord, she belonged to him now—and she gave him a wide, gracious smile. She’d seemed genuinely shocked by his proposal this morning. On close inspection of her appearance, however, he wondered if she hadn’t expected it all along and dressed expressly for the occasion.

She looked timeless in her beauty, as a bride should be. Fifty years from now someone could say the name “Lily,” and Julian knew his sieve of an octogenarian memory would still retain this image, from this day. No matter what changes time wrought on her aspect, he would always think of her thus. Looking not only lovely, but so very much herself. Straight-spined and resolute, but soft and feminine in that cherry-pink dress and pearls. Dark, gently curving tendrils of hair framed her milk-white cheeks and burnt-sugar eyes. So tempting and sweet.

Positively edible.

“Well,” she asked, clasping her hands behind her back and bobbing on her toes, “what now?”

What now? Oh, he would show her what now.

With his thanks and a generous donation for the parish, Julian dismissed the curate.

To Swift and Holling, he directed, “Give the staff a feast and good wine, then the remainder of the day off. Place a tray for us at the top of the staircase. After that, no one, and I mean no one, is to venture abovestairs unless we ring. No lady’s maid, no footman, no chambermaid, no boy carrying coal for the grate. Not today, not tomorrow. I don’t care if it’s been three days and you’ve given us up for dead, do you understand? We are not to be disturbed.”

“But sir, the—” Holling began.

He cut her off. “Not to be disturbed.”

The housekeeper curtsied. “As you please, Mr. Bellamy.”

Once the servants had cleared out, Julian crossed the room until he stood about an arm’s length from Lily. He didn’t trust himself any closer just yet. “I very much wish to kiss my bride.”

Her rosy lips curved in a smile. “Your bride very much wishes to be kissed.”

“But there’s a problem, you see. If I kiss you here, there’s a fair chance we’ll never make it upstairs.”

“Well.” Dark lashes fluttered as she surveyed the room with mock seriousness. “There is always the divan.”

“Some other time.” He moved toward her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Do take pity on poor Holling’s nerves, and try not to shriek.”

With that, he scooped her straight off her feet and into his arms. And she did shriek, but only a little. She clung to his neck with surprise—and perhaps a touch of playful desperation. The bite of her fingernails against his nape sent desire rippling down his spine. She weighed next to nothing, and rationally, he knew lifting her was no great feat of strength. But hefting her compact frame in his arms, fitting her tight against his chest … making a Julian-shaped bundle of Lily’s precious angles and curves … he felt protective. Powerful. And just a bit savage. His male pride swelled. Other parts of him swelled, too.

He carried her through the entrance hall and up the stairs. Visualizing the windows as he’d so often viewed them from the street, he set off down the corridor, counting doors until he arrived at her apartment.

“How do you know which one is mine?” she asked, as he shouldered open the door to her sitting room.

“Lucky guess.”

He covered the carpet in three paces, swept her into the bedchamber, and fell with her onto the bed. A heap of white pillows and downy quilts sucked them in like a snowdrift. Julian sputtered at a bit of lace in his mouth and rolled onto his side, facing her. What with all the white, and the hour of noon approaching, the room was wild with sunlight.

“Oh, it’s dreadful, isn’t it?” she said, batting away clouds of white bedding. “I had it done up this way when I was seventeen, and it’s never been redecorated.”

He huffed at a tiny feather floating between them, then gave her a wolfish grin. “Very virginal.”

All the better to ravish you on, my dear. This bed was like his most depraved adolescent fantasy come to life. Taking a well-bred lady on a cloud of white lace; pushing his crude, baseborn c**k into her immaculate, tightly guarded virtue. And this was even better than the fantasy, because Lily belonged to him. She was his wife. Her immaculate, tight … God, he just knew she would be so tight … virtue was his. Not for the taking, but for the keeping. Forever.

It was the most heart-tugging, frightening, and flat-out arousing notion he’d ever contemplated. His trousers pulled snug over his groin.

“Then it’s still appropriate, I suppose. I mean … that is to say …” Her face went pink against the white linen. “You know there haven’t been others.”

Dear, sweet Lily. He smoothed the hair from her brow, forcing himself to rein in his lustful impulses for the moment. “Are you anxious?”

“No. Well, only a little. But it’s a pleasant sort of anxious.”

“You needn’t worry. This is going to be amazing. Spectacular.”