And then with a growl he pushed her legs wider. One finger slid inside her while his tongue kept up that exquisite torture. Then another finger slid inside her, stroking her, moving in and out as his tongue lashed at her. White spots blurred her vision and her entire body tensed. Then he did something. She could not have said whether it was his tongue or his fingers in the end, but everything inside her broke free. She felt as though her body was the fluffy dandelion seeds, blown apart by a wild gust of wind. Ecstasy rushed through her, making her cry out at its intensity. It twirled and danced and blew where the breeze would take it. And when it finally ebbed, she could only gasp in a breath and lay in an exhausted heap of feeling.
She managed to open her eyes and found him beside her, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Tenderness? Affection? Desire?
“What are you doing to me?” she murmured.
“I think the better question is, what are you doing to me?”
*
Several hours later, when he’d bathed, shaved, and changed into his evening clothing, Neil could admit he had not been entirely honest with Juliana. He’d been honest that he was, in the strictest sense, a virgin, but he was no sexual martyr. It was true that when he took a woman to his bed, he enjoyed giving her pleasure. Certainly, there had been times when, after the heat of battle, he needed a quick release and a woman willing to give it to him. For the most part, he was a considerate lover who gave as much as he took. The truth of the matter was that he did take. Juliana had been right to assume he would—any man would—seek his own release after giving her one.
But for the first time, his pleasure hadn’t been paramount. For the first time, he wanted only her fulfillment. She deserved an hour of joy in an otherwise difficult day. What to him seemed like a stream of difficult days. Putting her pleasure above his didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy her. She was a beautiful woman, despite the drab gowns and mussed hair. And she was even more beautiful in the throes of passion. He was still aroused from their encounter, and Neil wasn’t certain how he would manage to keep his hands off her the rest of the night.
Fortunately, the Earl St. Maur solved that problem. He arrived with the coach at half past eight, and soon, Neil and Juliana were inside with her father. Though her father attempted to appear interested in the orphanage by asking about the boys and the repairs, his questions were polite and his responses noncommittal.
For her part, Juliana sat stiffly and spoke only when spoken to. She was a vision in a white dress ornamented by sparkly gold flowers. She shimmered in the dark of the carriage, looking like a queen. Neil’s gaze continued to drift to her lips, still swollen from his kisses. What he would have given to kiss them again.
St. Maur’s next words reminded him, however, that this was the end of his association with Lady Juliana.
“And have you given any more consideration to my request you come home? I’m afraid if you are away much longer, people will begin to talk.”
It was not an idle observation. People would talk, if they hadn’t already, and then she would be ruined beyond repair.
“Papa, I told you, I don’t care about what people say. The orphanage is my home.”
“And what if I care? What if I do not want our family name dragged through the muck and mud?”
Juliana sighed. She could hardly argue against duty and honor.
“Fortunately, the way for Lady Juliana to return home should clear after tonight,” Neil said. “The last of the major obstacles should be dealt with.”
From across the carriage, Juliana glared at him. Her father, however, clapped his hands. “Capital! That is the best news I have had in weeks.”
Neil barely paid attention to the receiving line or the performers at the musicale. His attention was focused on the guests and the servants. Slag was here somewhere, and Neil intended to find him before he found Juliana. He spotted Rafe at one end of the large music room. A brunette woman was on his arm, staring up at him adoringly. Rafe nodded to Neil and made a cut with his hand, indicating he had not spotted Slag yet. On the other end of the room, Ewan stood, all foreboding blond menace. His wife, Lady Lorraine, whispered to him. She was one of the most verbose women Neil had ever met, and he didn’t expect an opera singer’s aria was enough to silence her, even for a few minutes. Despite the distractions, Ewan caught Neil’s eye and shook his head.
Juliana leaned toward Neil. He was seated on her right while her father sat on her left. “Do you think he is here yet?”
“If he is, no one has spotted him,” Neil murmured back.
“Should I excuse myself and walk about? Perhaps that might lure him into the open.”
Neil tensed. Was the woman mad? Why would she risk herself like that? “No. Under no circumstances should you be alone. Stay beside me or your father at all times. We will find Slag and deal with him.”
“I hope this works,” she said, sounding doubtful.
A woman behind them shushed them, and Neil focused his attention on the soprano again. Her high notes grated on his nerves almost as much as the stiff material of his cravat. Jackson, excited to have a reason to dress Neil in his best, had tied the damn neckcloth too high, not to mention starching the thing within an inch of its life.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, their host announced a brief intermission. Footmen in crisp, blue livery circled with wine and champagne, and ladies fluttered their fans and waxed poetic on the musical talent. Many of the men approached the soprano, who was young and pretty and spilled out of her bodice. Neil escorted Lady Juliana and her father toward one of the open windows and then excused himself. He headed toward Rafe, but he made certain to give Juliana a warning glance as he strode away. If she took even a step away from her father’s side, he would have her head.
He’d taken no more than a few steps himself when he felt his arm entangled with another. He turned to face a woman who was familiar but whose name escaped him. “Mr. Wraxall,” she cooed, drawing him close to her circle of three other ladies. “I have not seen you in ages.”
“Ladies,” he said with a quick bow. It must have been ages because he barely remembered her—Lady Sutcliffe perhaps? She had been one of the ladies vying for his oldest brother’s hand in marriage. She had not been successful. “Lady Sutcliffe, how is your husband?” he asked, peering about and finding the older man leering down at the opera singer’s chest.
“Tedious.” She waved her fan. “Do you know Lady Marsh? And this is Mrs. Kemp and Miss Elliott.” She made the introductions and Neil bowed, but his gaze sought Rafe. Ewan had joined Rafe, and the two watched him with undisguised amusement.
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you, but if you will—”
“Why do you not go into Society more often, Mr. Wraxall?” Lady Sutcliffe asked with a pout. “You are a war hero, and I, for one, know how to treat our heroes.” She gave him a wink, and Neil had an inkling how Rafe must feel.
“I will endeavor to be more social,” he said, knowing he would do nothing of the sort.
“Please do,” Mrs. Kemp said. “There are no dashing young men to dance with at any of the balls. I imagine you…dance very well, do you not, Mr. Wraxall?”
At any other time and place, Neil would not have minded this feminine attention. Now, he could all but feel Lady Juliana’s eyes boring into him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her glaring across the room.
Seeing the direction of his gaze, Miss Elliott stepped forward. “Are you courting Lady Juliana? You were with her at the Sterling ball, were you not?”
“Her father and I are acquainted,” Neil answered.
“She is a curious one, is she not?” Lady Marsh added. “I don’t know why the men seem to fall all over her. She has that awful hair and spends all of her free time with dirty orphans.”
“No wonder all her dresses are from last season!” Lady Sutcliffe laughed.
Neil turned and met Juliana’s gaze again. “I can tell you why men fall all over her,” he said. “She’s the most beautiful woman in this room.” He looked back at the four women surrounding him, all of them scowling. “And not just on the outside. She has the kindest, most forgiving nature of any person—man or woman—I have ever met. You would be lucky to have half of her courage, spirit, or compassion. If you will excuse me.” And he strode toward Rafe and Ewan, leaving the women sputtering behind him.
Fifteen