Chapter Eleven
Julian followed her, of course. What choice did he have?
Catching up to her in the entryway, he grasped her by the elbow and wheeled her around. She tottered on her heels. For a brief moment, he considered throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her straight out the door. Then he found himself enjoying that image, far too much.
“No,” he said simply. To her or to himself, he didn’t know.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” she said, darting a glance about the place. “Let’s stay.”
Julian surveyed the place. She was right; it didn’t look so bad. The room was crowded with a number of tables, stools, benches and the occasional straight-backed chair. About half of the tables were occupied with couples or chatty groups of men, many of whom clutched playbills in their hands.
“Very well,” he said, resigned. “Just dinner.”
Because truthfully, he didn’t want to take her home. In the theater, with the peerage hovering above them, he’d suffered the constant fear of discovery. But in a place like this, it was so easy to imagine that there was nothing to fear. That she was just his sweetheart, and he was simply … himself. He wanted to revel in the illusion of honesty, if only for a while.
He chose a small table in the furthest, most isolated corner of the room. Once they were seated, a serving girl made her way to them.
“Have you beefsteak?” Julian asked her.
“Yes, sir. Also joints of mutton, and a very fine fish pie.”
“Is the beefsteak truly beef? You know, from an actual cow?”
“Julian!” Lily chided.
He raised a brow. “You never know in these places.” To the girl, he said, “Two of the steak, then. Ale for me, and spruce beer for the lady.”
“Spruce beer,” Lily muttered. “What am I, twelve years of age?” She motioned for the serving girl’s attention. “That’ll be wine for me, thank you.”
They waited in hungry silence. Looking around the room, looking at each other. Their gazes collided, and his face warmed with an unaccountable blush. God, he truly was like a youth again.
“I’ve just decided something,” she said. “What to name the parrot.”
Please, not “Julian.” Please, not “Julian.” He couldn’t bear to think that once he was gone from her life, his legacy wore feathers. Better to be forgotten entirely.
“I’m going to call it Tartuffe.”
He chuckled with relief. “Excellent choice. Very clever.”
After another minute, their food and drink arrived.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, sawing away at her steak. “I’ve been putting the subject off, but I suppose I feel emboldened tonight. There’s no one in this place to overhear.” She gulped her wine, then stared into it. “This helps, too.”
Julian wondered what in the world she was on about. He was a little afraid to find out.
“Did my brother have a … Well, did he have someone special?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, a …” Her cheeks colored. “I truly don’t mean to be nosy, and I don’t want details. It’s just that if Leo had a longstanding … you know. Someone who perhaps depended on him financially? I would like to set aside a legacy from the estate, but it must be done before my cousin arrives in England.”
Julian shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.” It was the truth, and he’d never been more blissful in ignorance. Of all the conversations he wouldn’t want to have with Lily.
To be sure, there’d been many nights when he and Leo met for drinks at the club and then pointedly went their separate ways. But they’d never discussed details. Julian had always avoided asking about Leo’s affaires because he’d rather not open the topic of his own. Leo was a principled, loyal sort. While Julian had his reasons for pursuing the women he did, he wasn’t especially proud of himself for it. He would have felt downright shabby discussing his conquests with Leo. Though he’d never explicitly asked, he’d always assumed Leo had a regular mistress whom he kept housed and comfortable somewhere in Town. That was why Julian had been surprised to hear of Leo approaching a Covent Garden prostitute on the night of his death. It seemed so out of character, and now Julian wasn’t sure of anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If he did have someone, I don’t know her name.”
“Oh. Well, I had to ask.” She reached for her wine again.
As she drank, Julian relaxed, pleased to escape this topic of conversation unscathed. He cut a large bite of steak and stuffed it into his mouth, just to preclude further inquiry.
Lily gave her own meat a thoughtful jab with her fork. “I’m thinking of taking a lover.”
He choked on his steak.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What? People do it all the time. You do it all the time. Why shouldn’t I?”
Julian could think of a hundred reasons, but they were all currently dammed behind an unchewed hunk of beef. For the moment, he couldn’t speak—only listen.
“I know what you’ll say,” she went on. “You’re so convinced I should marry. But I don’t want to settle down, Julian. I want to live. When we kissed this afternoon, it was magical. I feel awakened now. And not roused by the first rays of dawn, either. It’s like my eyes have snapped open to greet the full light of noon. Everyone else is out there living, and I’ve been sleeping the day away.”
She put down her knife and fork. The edge of her cloak slipped back, exposing her pale, perfect shoulder and a wispy peach-colored sleeve. With her fingertip, she traced the edge of her wineglass, circling round and round in a seductive manner.
“Yes,” she said. “I think taking a lover will be just the thing.”
Good Lord. What had he done?
Lily was a sensual woman. Julian had always been exquisitely aware of it. Now he’d made her exquisitely aware of it. That awareness should have been a good thing, when properly directed toward eligible suitors who might make suitable husbands. But instead of placing her in company with those sorts of gentlemen, he’d brought her alone to the theater. And now to dinner in a seedy alehouse, amidst a clientele that was growing rougher by the minute.
He was an idiot. He needed to get her out of here. Just as soon as he managed to swallow this damned piece of steak. Bloody hell. Had the beast been raised on India rubber? His eyes watered as he furiously chewed.
“You can’t do that,” he managed to croak around the remainder of his bite, shaking his head for emphasis.
“I don’t believe I asked your permission.” She propped her chin on her hand and gave him a coy smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think gentlemen will find me attractive enough?”
He rolled his eyes and reached for his ale. She knew very well that wasn’t his objection.
She looked at him through lush, lowered lashes. Her wine-stained lips made a silky, sulky pout. “God only gives us one life, Julian. From this point forward, I intend to make the most of every minute.”
With a long draught of ale, he washed down the last of the steak. Finally.
“Good Lord,” he said, slamming the mug to the table. Empowerment be damned, he was taking control. “First, no more wine for you. Second, you are not taking a lover. Third, fix that cloak. We’re leaving. Now.”
But she hadn’t understood him. Her attention had turned. To the wall, of all things.
“Do you feel that?” she said, placing her hand to the flat surface. “It’s music, isn’t it?”
He nodded. It was music, emanating from the establishment next door. The fiddling had begun some time ago, but the intensity and volume had suddenly increased. Now a thunder of footfalls joined the instruments, rattling the silver on their plates.
“Dancing,” she said, lighting up with surprise. “They’re dancing.” She looked to him, all but leaping from her seat. “Let’s go.”
Once again, she fled before he could argue against the wisdom of such an activity. Swearing to himself, Julian threw a few coins on the table and gave chase. He followed as she dashed into the street and hurried on to the next shopfront. He caught her by the waist.
“Lily, no. We’re not dancing here.”
“Can’t you see?” she said brightly, staring past him into the tavern. “It’s the same country dance. The one you tried to teach me earlier.”
Julian followed her gaze. Inside, a dozen couples lined the narrow floor, stomping and twirling and clapping as they danced a lively pattern. It was indeed the same country dance they’d tried—and failed—to work through in the drawing room.
“I can feel it, Julian.” She placed her hand to the windowpane, which shivered in time to the beat. “The rhythm’s bouncing all through my bones. You have to let me try.”
“This is no place for a lady.”
“No one knows I’m a lady.”
She grasped his hand and tugged, catching him off-balance. His boot skidded on the damp cobblestone of the lane, and he stumbled to regain his footing without losing her hand. By the time Julian stood solidly upright again, they were inside. Dancing.
And Lily danced beautifully. Just as he’d predicted during their practice session, she had a much easier time following the steps with ladies lined up beside her. They joined the dance at the end of the line, and Lily threw back the hood of her cloak. She watched the other dancers carefully, taking her cues from them and copying their movements. Which allowed Julian to stare openly at her. He loved watching her unabashed enjoyment, almost as much as he admired the fearless spirit with which she embraced the challenge. When she made the inevitable misstep, she made a breathless, laughing apology to the green-clad man at her corner—and Julian could tell, that green-clad man would be delighted for Lily to tromp on his boots all night. In fact, he could sense every man in the room strategizing how to engage her for the next dance.
But when the music stopped, Lily gave them no opportunity. She flew to Julian’s side, as if she belonged to him. Meaningless as the gesture was, it swelled him with triumphant pride.
She pressed against him, panting for breath. “There now. Did I do well?”
“You were magnificent.”
A look of satisfaction graced her face. A bright flush painted her cheeks and her brow glistened with perspiration. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”
“Neither can I.” And what a surprise that was. He’d promised Holling that Lily would enjoy tonight, but what Julian hadn’t realized was how much he would enjoy it, too. While they were dancing, he’d felt almost … carefree. He couldn’t recall that word describing his emotional state, ever.
And God, she was so beautiful. He wanted to touch her so damn badly. He compromised by reaching up to tease an errant curl. The ringlet gave a voluptuous, undulating bounce. Her gaze softened, and her mouth … her mouth was the shape of a kiss. Not a chaste pucker, but a lush, pouting kiss a man could sink into for days.
The moment slowed. Stilled.
Shattered.
A voice behind him sent chills down his spine, freezing him where he stood.
“Mr. Bell?” the unseen someone called, from a distance of mere paces away. “Mr. Bell, is that you?”
Bloody hell.
The instinct of self-preservation was a powerful force. Julian didn’t stop to wonder which of his employees or business associates had recognized him. He didn’t ponder the implications of his two lives colliding in this crowded tavern, or even pause to think of some witty, deflective remark that might have fixed everything.
He didn’t think at all. He acted.
“Let’s get out of here.” He slid an arm around Lily’s waist, whirled her around, and pulled her straight into the thickest knot of dancers, weaving through the crowd.
“Mr. Bell!” the voice called again, closer this time. “Mr. Bell, it’s me!”
Deuce it all. It was Thatcher, his secretary at Aegis Investments. He would know that voice anywhere, and of course the man would recognize him in any crowd. Here Julian had been so concerned about Lily being recognized, he hadn’t thought to conceal himself. So bloody stupid. He briefly cursed himself for paying his employees such generous wages that they had coin to toss away on ale and dancing. Thatcher would be on starvation pay, from this day on.
A hand touched his shoulder.
Julian swiveled his head.
Thatcher grinned. “Mr. Bell, it is you. We’ve a table just there. Come join us, if you will. Can I buy you and your lady a—”
Julian gritted his teeth and shook his arm free. “Thatcher, damn you. Not now.”
Then he pressed ahead in the opposite direction. Lily hadn’t heard Thatcher, she hadn’t heard him. She knew nothing, and he was determined to keep it so.
“This way,” he said, tugging her to the back of the room and through a narrow corridor. They passed by a small, crowded kitchen and through a storeroom, where Julian located a back exit through a narrow door.
They emerged into the alleyway. It was a step down to the pavement, and Lily stumbled a bit as he hurried her into the street. Julian tightened his arms about her delicate form, and together they reeled to a stop just before colliding with a brick wall.
He gasped for breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed. Light shone through the open door, casting a cone of illumination into the dark alleyway. With his heart drumming in his ears, Julian scanned the surroundings.
No one, thank God.
“Did that man in the brown suit know you?” she asked, twisting in his arms. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“No.” Damn it. Wrong answer. The correct one would have been, What man? I didn’t see any man. There was no man.
“Then why did he follow us? And why have you brought me out here?” She looked to the sky and shivered. “Perhaps we should go back inside.”
“No.” He cinched his arms about her waist, pinning her close. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” In the dark, her pupils were wide and inquisitive.
He had to do it. He had to supply some reason for dragging her out here, and he had to stop the flow of questions from her lips. Really, it was the only way.
He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.”
Again and again, he feathered light, teasing caresses of his lips against her mouth. Just the merest suggestions of a kiss. She went soft in his arms, releasing a sigh of pleasure.
“Kiss me, Lily,” he whispered, teasing the seam of her lips with a flick of his tongue. Telling her what he wanted in clearer terms than spoken words. “Let me know that you want this. Kiss me.”
He stopped, pressing his brow to hers. Their breath mingled in the ribbon-thin gap between their lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted so much more than that. God, how he wanted. But if this went any further, it had to be because she wanted it, too.
Kiss me, he silently pleaded. The real me. The man who cares nothing for clubs or parties or the current style. The man who spends all day thinking of you, wondering where you are and what you’re doing and what it is you’re thinking. The man who wants nothing more in this life than to come home to you after a day’s honest work and listen to anything and everything you have to say before sweeping you off to bed.
Kiss me.
Arching her neck, she pressed her lips to his, just softly. Then retreated. Teasing him as she’d been teased.
“That’s it,” he murmured, nearly mad with the effort of holding back. He nuzzled closer, letting his breath warm her cheek and lips. “More.”
And there came an instant—a blissful instant—where the air around them took on an electric charge, or the night warmed a degree with revelation. Somehow, he just knew it was going to happen.
Still, he wasn’t prepared for it to happen so fast.
She flung her arms around his neck. Caught off-balance, Julian stumbled a step in reverse. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, stretched up on her toes, and gifted him with a warm, passionate, open-mouthed kiss. His lips fell apart, and she slid her tongue between them, exploring his mouth with an innocent, fearless passion.
He was, honestly, more than a little surprised.
But he was not complaining.
He let her have her way, forcing himself to be patient as she tentatively swept her tongue against his, over and over again. So delicious. She tasted of wine and that essential Lily sweetness he’d sampled earlier that day. But there was something new in this kiss. Determination had replaced curiosity. She kissed him not only to satisfy needs of her own, but to incite need in him.
And damn, was it working. He craved her like nothing he’d ever known. That mad rush of blood and energy that had fueled their escape—rather than dissipate, it took new purpose, surging all through his body and centering in his groin. Julian couldn’t think; he could only act. He kissed her back, taking control of the embrace by fisting his hands in the heavy wool of her cloak and pulling her tight against his chest.
“Wait,” she said, tearing her mouth from his and stepping back. Her fingers went to the ties of her cloak. “This thing is unbearable.”
“Don’t. You’ll catch a chill.” He turned his palm to the heavens in demonstration, and a few droplets of rain collected in his hand.
“You’ll keep me warm.”
The cloak fell to the wet, filthy ground. The instant it hit the cobblestones, Julian knew the garment was irretrievable. Deepest apologies, Holling.
“There’s no one to see,” she said. “No one but you.” The brilliants and pearls sewn into her gown sparkled and flashed. “I want you to see. I only wore it for you.”
He groaned as she ran her hands down the bodice, smoothing her palms over her slight breasts and hips.
“Well? How do I look?”
Stupefying. Words failed him for a moment. Until at last, he peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Like the most brilliant, beautiful star in the heavens, fallen to earth.”
She laughed, drawing closer. “It’s too dark. I have no idea what you’re saying, but I love the way you’re looking at me. As if you’re not even seeing the dress, but what’s beneath it.” She picked up his hand where it dangled at his side, then pulled it to her waist. “Put your hands on me.”
He did. Devil take him, he put his hands all over her. Skimming her trim waist and gently rounded hips, reaching up to cup one pert, perfect handful of breast.
And he kissed her, hard. So hard, her head recoiled with the force of it, and for a terrible moment he feared he’d hurt her. But then she moaned eagerly around his tongue, renewing her own efforts with vigor. Giving him back as good as he gave. She wound her fingers into his hair. Her fingernail scraped the flesh behind his ear, sending a sharp burst of pain to sweeten the pleasure. He would find a mark there tomorrow. Proof he hadn’t imagined it all.
Good Lord, this was happening. Really, truly, disastrously … finally … happening.
He bent his head and pressed his lips to her exposed throat, reveling in the heat and scent of her skin. His tongue flicked over her pulse as he murmured her name. “Lily. Lily.”
“I lied to you earlier,” she whispered, between arousing gasps and sighs of pleasure. “I haven’t been thinking of taking a lover. I’ve been thinking of you.”
“I can’t do this,” he murmured, even as he traced her jaw with his tongue. Bollocks. He was already doing this, and he was primed to do far more on the slightest encouragement.
And encouragement was what she gave. Nothing slight about it.
“I can’t stop thinking of you. All day long, all yesterday for that matter. Ever since that first kiss. I can’t concentrate. I’m so restless in my own skin. When I close my eyes, all I see is you. All I feel is this.” She kissed his temple, his cheek. “I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I need this, Julian. I need you.”
Sweet heaven. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words. A fount of bliss and lust opened up inside him. He couldn’t dam it now. It just wasn’t in his power. Perhaps he juggled two identities, but he was only a man, at the base of both. A man who went after what he wanted—and he’d wanted her for so damned long. What restraint he possessed had been exhausted earlier that afternoon, walking away from her in the drawing room—and there, he’d had the added inducements of servants about, full daylight to reveal them, Leo’s ghost, and a judgmental parrot dangling from the gilt chandelier. Here, in this alley, they were just a man and a woman, stripped down to essentials. Anonymous. Libidinous.
Nothing could stop him here.
Possibilities churned furiously in his mind. He could have her, just for one night. Satisfy her curiosity, slake his own need. Just this once. He could protect her from consequences; he was expert at preventatives. If he experienced a sudden attack of conscience, they could simply refrain from actual intercourse. He needn’t physically join with her to give her pleasure.
God, the vivid images that thought inspired … A groan scraped from his throat.
But where? There was no good place. This was Lily. He could not take her to Julian Bellamy’s house, the scene of so many illicit liaisons. He would never allow her near James Bell’s humble rooms. A hotel? Too public. A carriage? So sordid.
“Take me home,” she said, intuiting his dilemma. “Just see me home, then stay. No one will notice. No one will care.”
Her house. Leo’s house. Inconceivable. He might as well dig up the man’s coffin and spit on it. “Swift would murder me.”
She launched herself into his arms, sending him back against the brick wall. He landed with her straddling his leg, the luscious swell of her thigh rubbing against his arousal. Pleasure blanked his brain. He grasped her backside, rocking her pelvis against his. How could something feel so unbelievably good, but still be not nearly enough? He needed more from her. He needed all of her. There had to be somewhere they could go.
She licked his ear, and he bit back a growl.
Here. There was here.
“Greedy bastard!”
The shout from the end of the alley froze him in place. Lily, oblivious to the interruption, kept right on tracing the contours of his ear with her tongue, greatly impeding his ability to think. Had a man from inside followed them? Or was this someone new?
“’Ere now, lass,” the man called. “Give us some o’ that, eh?”
Julian’s stomach turned. Not only from the quite deserved implication that he was about to use Lily like a cheap whore in the street, but because the accent marked the man a Scot.
There were thousands of Scotsmen in London. Thousands.
Still, Julian couldn’t help but wrench Lily away and crane his neck for a glimpse of the shadowy figures disappearing into the mist. Two large, densely muscled men. As they moved around the corner and through the feeble illumination of a lamp, Julian thought he caught the light glinting off a smooth, hairless head.
Two men. Large brutes, the both of them. One a Scot, the other bald.
Jesus Christ. After all his futile searching … Could it be Leo’s murderers had finally found him?