Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

She laughed. “Perhaps I should fault the arrogance of that statement, but I’m rather comforted by it, truthfully.”


“It’s not arrogance, it’s a promise. This is going to be wonderful,” he insisted, “and I will tell you why. Because if at any time, you are feeling something less than indescribable bliss, you are going to tell me so, and I will stop at once. Do you understand? I would never hurt you.”

She nodded. “What a very husbandly thing to say.” With a little gasp, she bolted straight up in bed. As if she’d just now received an express notifying her of the fact, she grinned down at him and said, “I’m your wife, Julian. I’m Mrs. Bellamy.”

Her eyes sparkled with delight, sending bright shards of happiness to pierce his heart. She’d never looked so beautiful.

“No,” he said, struggling to sit up next to her, “you are still the daughter of a marquess. You are Mrs. Nothing. You are, and will always be, Lady Lily Bellamy.”

“Heavens.” Her hand went to her brow. “Another L sound in my name. That’s four now.”

“Too late. You can’t take it back.”

“Are you sure?” She toyed with his cravat. “You still haven’t kissed me, you know.”

He slowly leaned in, giving her ample time to retract that teasing smile to a soft, luscious pout. Their noses touched. She inhaled a quick breath. And just the instant before he pressed his lips to hers, she whispered, “I love you so.”

He covered the precious words with his mouth, needing to drink them in. Sipping at each of her lips in turn, then delving lightly with his tongue. She reached for him, curling her fingers in his hair, and as he deepened the kiss, she moaned in the back of her throat.

Desire swept him like a flame through dry bracken. It took everything he had to hold to that promise he’d just made, and not simply push her back against the counterpane and sink into her at once. But he was determined to make this every bit as good for her as it was doubtless going to be for him.

He left her mouth and began a thorough investigation of the spot beneath her ear. Nuzzling first, then tasting with lips and tongue. She was so delicious, he couldn’t resist a playful bite.

She gave a sharp cry.

He pulled away. “Have I hurt you?”

“No.” She looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“You … you made a noise.”

“Oh, did I?” She smiled sheepishly. “I suppose because I liked it.”

Right. He needed her under him, now. His hands gathered fistfuls of billowing white lace.

“Now who’s anxious?” she asked, skimming a teasing touch along his jaw. “Last night in the hack, I’m positive I was making all manner of sounds. You weren’t so concerned then.”

“Last night was different.” Last night, he was different. Julian wasn’t sure how to explain it. In that carriage, he’d been a thief, taking what didn’t belong to him under cover of night. Today, he was a bridegroom, who’d just pledged to cherish and protect this woman all the days of his life. The difference was so profound, it was … well, it was night and day.

“Let’s settle on a signal,” she suggested. “A word. If I’m uncomfortable or in pain, I’ll say that word. With all other noises, you can assume the best. Do you agree?”

He nodded. “What word?”

She considered. “How about ‘spider’?”

“Spider?” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Who wants to think of spiders in the throes of passion?”

“No one, of course. That’s why it’s ideal.”

He shook his head. “Something else, if you please, with fewer legs.”

“Very well.” Her eyes wandered past him, toward the connecting parlor. “What about ‘armchair’? Perfectly harmless, and only four legs.”

“That won’t do. What happens when you beg me—and no mistake, someday you will beg me—‘Julian, make love to me right here in the armchair’? The moment will be ruined.”

Her eyebrow arched to a reproachful angle. She knew she was being teased. But here was a tried-and-true test of temperament—when confronted with sharp wit, did a person retreat or parry? Julian could never be friends with people who fell into the former category.

And Lily’s response was the reason he adored her, beyond expression.

“Well, then,” she said, working loose his cravat. “If that’s the case, we rule out so many options. Armchair, sofa, carpet, bathtub, dressing table, dining table, wardrobe. No good, any of those.” She pulled the unknotted cravat free, and the slow glide of linen against his neck made his body pulse with need.

Her fingers went to the buttons of his waistcoat. “Nor can we use coach, carriage, hackney, landau, or anything of that nature. Oh, and nature! We must rule out grass, meadow, hillock, haystack, grotto, lake … Really, Julian, there are very few words left.” Her hands slipped inside his open waistcoat, and she skimmed her palms over the thin lawn of his shirt. She was teasing him, with words and touch, and he couldn’t have loved it more.