Chapter Two
Julius’s eyes flared, but he betrayed no other indication of surprise at her language. And that surprised Amanda. She thought she’d shock him. What man wouldn’t be by such a request?
“Pardon me,” he said. “I must have misheard. What is it you wish?”
Amanda’s stomach twisted, squeezed. It had taken all her courage to ask him the first time. Now he wished her to repeat her scandalous demand?
“You heard me correctly.” She cleared her throat. So much depended upon his answer. The idea had taken root the first week he’d moved into Marcus and Elizabeth’s home. He was the first man in whose presence she felt safe since … forever. Yet she’d had no idea how to implement her desires. How to seduce. Each day she’d watched him leave the house, get swallowed up in the London streets, and leave her behind. Each day she grew more and more desperate.
He narrowed his eyes. They were the first thing she’d noticed about him when he’d saved her those months ago. Not quite brown, not quite green. They’d mesmerized her, given her something to focus on as he’d raced her away from the hangman’s noose.
Gleaming in the moonlight, they didn’t look as warm and reassuring now as they had that day they’d met.
Laying his arm on the back of the settee, he grimaced slightly. Amanda knew that shoulder troubled him. A past injury he didn’t speak of. It usually acted up after a visit to Gentleman Jack’s or a race through the park. Or sometimes after one of his illicit undertakings, which he thought she knew nothing about. On one such occasion he’d favored his right arm for a week. What had he been doing so late tonight to inflame it?
He drummed his fingers on the wood behind her shoulder. “Might I ask why you want me to, as you so quaintly phrased it, have my way with you?”
Amanda smoothed a hand down her skirts. This wasn’t going as planned. Weren’t most men supposed to jump at the chance to lay between a woman’s thighs? Not waste time with interrogations.
“You think men are alone in their needs?” She willed her gaze to remain steady on his face. The dark hid the blush that heated her cheeks. “Much is made of the act. I know my sister enjoys her marital duties. And … bed sport,” she said, tumbling over the words, “is something that all mankind has in common. Nature demands it, regardless of class or race.” She worried the fabric of her gown between her fingers and raised one shoulder. “I’m curious. And I want to feel”—like everyone else—“something. You are a physically attractive man and I hope I am not unpleasing to your eye. As I will never marry, this solution only seems practical.”
“Prettily said, for an act that is far from pretty.” Julius crossed one leg over the other, tugging at the knee of his trouser. “When I fuck, there’s sweating, moaning, the slap of flesh on flesh. You’ll scream from pleasure, but there’s not one damn thing pretty about it.”
She swallowed, her throat thick. Julius had succeeded where she had failed. He’d managed to shock her senses, just as he’d intended, she was sure. She knew all that the act entailed, but she hadn’t thought the earl would put words to the deeds.
It shouldn’t have surprised her. The man was intense. Julius Blackwell, Lord Rothchild, was known throughout England as someone it was best not to aggravate. There were whispers about him. About how his time in the East had damaged his mind. Made him unsound.
She didn’t believe them. Julius had never been anything but kind to her. A steadying presence she relied upon, especially in her sister’s absence. A man she trusted.
She had hoped that the first time she consented to a man touching her, there might be gentleness.
She licked her dry lips. “Does that mean you agree?”
“Hardly.” He exhaled loudly through his nose and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
She knew he desired her. She’d learned enough in life to see the signs when a man wanted her body. And Lord Rothchild, for all his kindnesses, for his fraternal protectiveness towards her, was not immune.
“Even if I were in the habit of dallying with unmarried chits, you are the sister-in-law of my friend.”
Amanda sank back against the settee. She was prepared for this line of defense. “A friend who left me here. All alone. With you.”
“In my care,” he amended. “And not all alone. The Lady Mary Cavindish is your chaperone.”
She laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. Julius looked as surprised at the noise as she. “Marcus is a smart man. If he were interested in preserving anything but the bare appearance of propriety, he would have called for another one of his aunts to come to London. Lady Mary is …” simple, sweet, and oblivious, “… inattentive. And Marcus knows that.”
“Are you implying that Montague wishes for us to become intimate?” He snorted. “He and I are close, but I don’t think he’s friend enough to wrap up his wife’s sister in a pretty bow for me to take my pleasure in.”
“And if he thought it would benefit both of us?” Staring into the darkness of the room, Amanda considered her new brother. He’d been nothing but polite and kind. But he had no illusions about the type of woman she was. He knew there was no reputation to protect. She turned to Julius, her knee brushing his. That brief contact made her skin tingle and her stomach churn. She wanted Julius. But would she have the courage to go through with it? In equal parts, he made her ache and then feel as though she were about to cast up her accounts. If she could take this step with anyone, however, it would be him. “I believe Marcus was giving us the opportunity, if we wish to take it.”
Julius cocked his head. “Why do you think you’ll never marry?”
Amanda shot to her feet. One hand curled into a fist, and not for the first time she wished she were a man. She hadn’t thought he would mock her. “All you had to do was say no. I will look elsewhere.”
She turned for the door, ignoring his curse. She couldn’t ignore his hand on her wrist.
“I apologize, Miss Wilcox. I’d forgotten—”
“That I’m soiled goods? Has the beau monde stopped whispering about the trollop who killed her father already? Who seduced him with her body, who spread her legs for half the men in prison?” His hand tensed around her wrist, and she shook herself free from his grip. “I’ve heard how I’m spoken of. My sister, the Duchess of Montague, is given the cut direct by half the ton. I’m treated as though I don’t exist. Whom, exactly, do you see me marrying?”
She pressed her palms to her stomach to keep them from shaking but she couldn’t control her voice as easily. Julius stepped forward, his face falling into shadow, and she was glad. She couldn’t bear to see his expression. The pity. The disgust. Both were equally repellant.
With as much insolence as she could muster, she dipped into a low curtsy. “If you will excuse me, my lord, it is past time for me to retire.”
“No.”
Amanda hesitated. “Pardon me?”
“I said”— Julius took another step forward—“that I will not excuse you. Not until we’ve cleared this matter up.”
Amanda stumbled back until her shoulder blades hit the bookcase. Julius rested his hands on the shelves on either side of her. His body was close, close enough to feel the heat of it through her cotton gown. He smelled of bergamot and musk, and her breath caught in her throat. A queer rolling, sliding feeling slipped through her stomach and she didn’t know whether to revel in it or try to escape the sensation. Lord Rothchild was like a drug. Intoxicating, stupefying, and thrilling. Her fingers flexed, needing to hold onto something but finding only air.
“Where do you hear these things? You never leave the house.” His breath brushed across her lips. It smelled faintly of brandy, and she wondered if she rolled up onto her toes and kissed him, if he would taste of it as well.
He leaned closer, his chest brushing against hers. “Answer me.”
She almost moaned. The tips of her breasts tingled and a hollow ache settled low in her belly. What was the question again? Oh, the insults. “If you think only those in society enjoy gossip, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“The servants.” His voice was icy. “Montague’s staff talks about you.” Julius rocked back, and her body cooled.
“Of course, they do.” Turning her head, she blinked at the burn in her eyes. She’d thought shame had been long lost to her. “I overhear them gossip about what is said of me in the other grand homes.” Intentionally, Amanda was sure. Her maids did little to hide their words. “And I’m sure if I did anything of interest, that information would be spread among the other houses.” Lifting her chin, she said, “It’s unfortunate for them that I don’t leave the premises.”
“I don’t know.” Julius tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I find your proposition to me the most interesting event of the night.”
“What else happened to you tonight?”
Resting his hand on her shoulder, he brushed his thumb across her collarbone, sending a shiver straight down her spine. “Maybe if you weren’t too afraid to have a life outside these walls, you’d find out.”
She narrowed her eyes. Well, if that wasn’t a challenge to go after what she wanted, she didn’t know what was. Grabbing the lapels of his wool coat, she yanked him down.
His grunt of surprise was muffled by her mouth. His lips were firm, unyielding, and warm. With the tip of her tongue she poked at the seam of his mouth until the tip hit his teeth. He did taste of brandy.
And he wasn’t kissing her back.
Pulling away, she tried to catch her breath. Her throat was bone dry and her palms were damp. Why wasn’t he kissing her back?
“Julius?”
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You’ve never kissed a man before.”
Her spine snapped straight. “I beg your pardon! Am I to infer from your comment that my technique was lacking?”
“Yes.”
She gaped at him. “You … scoundrel! A gentleman wouldn’t point that out.”
“A gentleman also wouldn’t fuck you upon request. As you’ve asked it of me, you must know I’m no gentleman.” Putting action to words, he slid his hand off her shoulder and down her body. Slowly, ever so slowly, he cupped her breast and squeezed. His eyes never left her face, assessing.
Moisture pooled between her thighs. Julius’s broad shoulders blocked out the moonlight, and darkness blanketed her like a cloak. It seemed like all the major moments of her life happened in the dark. She wanted this, wanted him. Wanted to feel like an ordinary woman, one who could enjoy a man’s touch. Bedding Julius would be a healthy first step.
Her body clamored with mixed messages. Desire, yes. But the slight trembling of her hands wasn’t only from lust. She leaned into his caress, tried to focus on the sensation, but her throat squeezed more tightly and tightly closed. She slipped away from his grasp fighting back tears of failure.
He raised his hands. “There. You see? You’ve asked for something for which you are not prepared.”
“Was that a test?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “And the outcome was as I expected.”
Shame mixed with outrage. She’d been attempting to expand her boundaries, quavering with the effort of it, and he stood there as unaffected as a teacher delivering a lesson. But the disgrace of it was, he was right. She wasn’t ready. Not tonight. But soon. Tonight, she would retreat and examine her reactions and try to plot a way forwards.
But she had her pride, and it refused to let him see her run back to her room to lick her wounds. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer my inadequate attempts at congress. Perhaps I’ll seek a less critical partner elsewhere.”
She reached the door before he responded.
“Miss Wilcox, as your temporary protector, I feel beholden to insist that you run the name of any potential scoundrels by me before you commence any affairs.” He stalked towards her. “I feel duty bound to investigate their character.”
“And you’d allow me that liberty?” Disappointment crashed through her, and tears burned the back of her eyes. She could never put herself through this with another man.
“Of course. As you point out, there is no marriage bed to save yourself for.” Pausing next to her, he tugged at the neckline of her gown, straightening the lace trim. “Though I don’t think I need worry about it.”
Amanda froze. Surely he didn’t see that clearly into her mind. See that of all the men she’d known, she held him in an especial regard. Even after this failure, she knew she would try to seduce him again, and the tender feelings he evoked would make giving her body that much easier. That didn’t mean she wanted him to know of them.
“And why is that?” she whispered.
“You’d have to leave the house to find yourself a buck. And that, Miss Wilcox, is something we both know you won’t do.”