Chapter Nine
Lily knew all about Julian Bellamy. He was a profligate seducer, an infamous rake, a devil-may-care scoundrel.
Who could have guessed the man would be so difficult to kiss?
First that disastrous lip-lock in the early morning yesterday, then their interrupted embrace at Morland House … Lily was hoping the third time would prove the charm. All morning, she’d been waiting for him to make the advance. She’d all but begged him to dance with her. She’d nudged the conversation down suggestive paths.
Finally, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. And she’d juggled those matters clumsily, nearly dashing them to bits on the floor. But none of it mattered now. Because now his arm was around her, holding her fast, and his strong hand cupped the back of her neck. She’d just read that thrilling “no” on his sensuous lips, and his eyes were full of affirmation. He wanted her, that intense blue gaze said. And this time, he meant to have her.
His lips met hers, and her eyes fluttered closed.
Yes, the third time was a charm.
The third time was pure magic.
He kissed her firmly, then softly. A bit too chastely for her preference. Lily felt herself growing impatient for more. But he refused to hurry, wouldn’t heed the plaintive whimpers tickling the back of her throat.
No, he took the kiss slowly, leading the way with tender, masterful care. Sipping first at her lower lip, then the upper. Teasing the corner of her mouth with his tongue, until her lips parted to release a sigh of pure delight.
His tongue slid inside her mouth, and she welcomed the gentle invasion. At first she tried to hold still, as it only seemed the hospitable thing. She’d invited him in, and the least she could do was facilitate his exploration. But as his tongue rubbed hers again and again, she found herself moving helplessly against him. Snaking her arms around his neck, nestling closer into his embrace.
Lily didn’t have a great deal of experience to judge by, but from where she was standing … he was very, very good at this.
There was spice and a hint of sweetness in his kiss, and she curled one hand into his hair, drawing him close so she could savor it. How was it possible she could know a man so well, but only now be learning his taste? He thrust his tongue deeper, and she closed her lips around it, suckling lightly.
He groaned. She felt the sound rumbling from his chest. The low vibration played her ribs like piano keys, and the tune was a slow, sensual burlesque. They were dancing to it, the two of them, moving mouths and hips in a steady rhythm.
Her whole body sparked and snapped with sensation. Another lady might have thought to herself, I can’t wait to tell my friends how wonderful this is. But instead Lily thought to herself, I can’t wait to tell Julian how wonderful this is. She almost laughed at the irony. But she didn’t dare let him in on her joke or pay him any pride-swelling compliments just yet. She was too afraid of breaking the spell, because …
Oh, because.
His hand had begun a slow, steady descent from the small of her back, down the curve of her hip, all the way to the bottom of her … well, of her bottom. He palmed one cheek of her backside and squeezed, lifting her up on her toes and pulling her flush against him. Taking the kiss to a whole new level.
His chest was hard; his abdomen, flat. She loved pressing against him, feeling her pliant, feminine contours mold around his solid male physique. And, wedged against her soft belly, the stiff ridge of his manhood made quite the impression. His obvious arousal only inflamed her own desire. Her nipples puckered to tight darts, jutting against the restrictive confines of her bodice. She imagined how they must look—red, puckered nubs standing out, desperate for attention. His attention. Because he would understand just how to soothe them.
As he claimed her mouth over and over, she writhed in his arms, trying to ease the ache in her breasts. The friction only stoked a different flame of need. One that burned deeper, darker. Distinctly lower, down between her legs.
This … this was true desire. This was animal lust.
This was never going to end. Not if Lily could help it.
She might be inexperienced, but she was hardly a ninny or a prude. She understood the sensation of arousal. She’d felt, many times, physical attraction to a man. But never before had she found herself in this kind of situation, where proximity and possibility worked their strange alchemy, transforming vague desire into urgent, undeniable need.
Her breathing, her hunger, even the beating of her heart … her every primal instinct centered on one goal. And Lily clung to it—to him—with both hands.
Until he let her go. Lifted his mouth from hers and released her with no warning whatsoever.
She swayed, unsteady on her feet. He grasped her by the shoulders and braced her with outstretched arms, holding her up. But also holding her away. Stunned, she blinked hard at his cravat, gasping for breath.
He dipped his head to catch her attention. “Lily …” His gaze was steeped with regret. “Lily, I’m—”
“Don’t.” She closed her eyes in defiance. At her sides, she clenched her hands in fists. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m not sorry. I could never regret what just happened between us. It was wonderful, Julian. I haven’t felt so alive in months. Years. And if you mean to apologize for it … to give me some nonsense about liking me too much to spare me the attentions you’ve lavished on half the female population of the ton …” She sniffed. “Please, just don’t.”
Another, more prudent lady would be grateful he’d showed restraint. It was a true compliment, that Julian liked and respected her too much to seduce her. That he’d been attracted to her all this time, but he valued their friendship too much to act on that desire. He didn’t want Lily to be just another garter decorating the club’s billiard room. She understood. It was decent of him. She’d always known him to be a decent man, at heart. It was only … she’d just had her first taste of his indecent side.
And she’d liked it, a great deal.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Only to find him wearing a sheepish grin.
“Lily, I only meant to say … I’m sorry, but there’s a damned parrot on my shoulder.”
She jerked her gaze to the right. There, from its perch on Julian’s impeccably tailored sleeve, the bird in question swiveled its head and stretched its beak in a squawk.
Lily put a hand over her mouth, laughing into it until tears streaked her face. Tears of relief, more than amusement. “Dratted bird,” she finally managed. “What a nuisance you are.”
“Shall I take him away?”
“No, no. Just one more way he reminds me of you.”
“Brilliant.” With a gentle touch and soothing words, he coaxed the bird from his arm to his outstretched finger. He returned the parrot to its cage and latched the door.
When he came back to Lily, Julian’s expression was serious. “All joking aside, Lily. You know nothing can happen between us.”
“Something’s already happened between us.”
He sighed. “Nothing more.”
“Julian, please. I asked for one kiss. We shared one kiss. If it can never go further than that, I understand. All I’m asking is … don’t dismiss what happened. Don’t wish it away.” She reached for his hand. “And don’t leave. Or if you must go, take me with you. I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been spending far too much time alone. We could go somewhere, anywhere … What about the theater?”
His surprise was evident. “The theater?”
“Yes.” The idea took form as she spoke. “Yes, I want to go to the theater. I read in the paper they’re doing something of Molière’s at Drury Lane. I should like to see it. I haven’t been to the theater in years.”
“Then why do you want to go now?”
“I just do. And you must take me. We made a bargain, Julian. You promised me three nights.”
“I promised three social events.”
“The theater is a social event,” she countered. “One I thought you typically enjoy.”
To be truthful, the theater had never held a great deal of fascination for Lily, and even less after she’d lost her hearing. But she just knew she couldn’t sit at home alone tonight, wondering where Julian was and whether he was safe … and now, when she slept, dreaming of his kiss. Since she didn’t suppose she could conjure up a second last-minute dinner party in two days, the theater it must be.
At length, he said, “Leo always had a box at Drury Lane. Unless you’ve loaned it out, I suppose it’s been sitting empty.”
“Oh, dear.” Her stomach knotted. “No. I can’t go sit in Leo’s box. It’s just not right. Everyone will be staring and whispering about him, about me. I can’t abide the thought of it.”
“Shall I find another box?”
“No, no. Everyone will still be staring. And they’ll still be whispering. About Leo, about me, about why I’m not in Leo’s box.” She blew out her breath. This hadn’t been such a brilliant idea after all. “Besides, I can’t follow anything from his box. It’s at an odd angle, and much too far above the stage. That’s the reason I stopped attending years ago. I wish I could just go and sit on benches in the pit, the way the common people do.”
“Lily, you’re the daughter of a marquess. You are not common people.”
“Sometimes I wish I were.”
He turned a meaningful glance around the room. Marking the expensive pianoforte, the silver-framed portraits on the wall, the gilt chandelier overhead. “No, you don’t.”
Her cheeks heated as she absorbed his gentle rebuke. Though he pointedly never discussed his past, she suspected that Julian had not always lived so affluently as he did now. She, by contrast, had always enjoyed a life of wealth and privilege. From an early age, she and Leo had been taught to be mindful of their advantages. She could hear Mother’s litany in her ears: Be grateful to God, humble before friends, charitable to those less fortunate.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling churlish and small. Her eyes stung with frustration. “I didn’t mean to sound petulant.”
He caught her chin and tilted her face to his. “You didn’t. Just disappointed.” His gaze searched hers. “This is really that important to you? A night at the theater?”
She nodded. It was that important to her, for reasons she didn’t quite comprehend. “If you’ll take me.”
“I’m going to leave.” Releasing her chin, he warded off her protest with an open palm. “But I will come back for you at seven. Be ready. Do something simple with your hair, and wear your plainest gown.”
“That’s not how I would dress for the theater.”
“Precisely.”
She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Julian. Are we going to the theater in disguise?”
“No. Absolutely not. You’re not attending the theater at all, Lady Lily Chatwick.” He gave her a crafty wink as he backed toward the door. “A common woman is going in your place.”
He bowed. And then he was gone, leaving Lily alone with the thrill of anticipation, a full afternoon to dress, and one very interesting question. If a common woman was attending the theater tonight …
Just who would her escort be?
“Mr. James Bell. At your service, ma’am.”
When Julian returned to Harcliffe House that evening, Lily met him in the entry. He doffed his hat and made a deep bow. So deep that his rain-misted spectacles slid to the end of his nose, and when he straightened, he had to push them back up with a fingertip. An appropriately clerkish touch, he thought.
Lily clapped a hand over her laughter. “No. It isn’t you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He pulled a serious face. “I’m a lowly clerk, as you see. An overworked one, in desperate need of an evening’s diversion at the theater.”
There was more truth to the guise than fiction, and exposing even this much made him nervous. It was an unprecedented risk, coming straight from his offices without even changing his attire. But this was important to Lily. Over the course of their friendship, he’d heard Leo lament many times that he couldn’t coax Lily to the theater anymore. Today, for the first time in years, she’d asked to go. And she wanted to watch from the seat that would best allow her to enjoy the performance. She deserved that much. As Julian Bellamy, he could never escort Lady Lily Chatwick to the pit of Drury Lane, where she would sit front and center, brushing sleeves with working men and their mistresses. They would draw too much notice. Her reputation would suffer, at best.
But as James Bell … he just might pull this off.
He cleared his throat. “If you’d care to join me, miss, I’ve two seats reserved at Drury Lane, in the second row of the pit.”
“You don’t say.” Wonderingly, she shook her head. “I can scarcely credit the transformation. Your hair’s so tame, and those clothes …” She gestured at his buff trousers and brown coat, his simple, unadorned boots. No buttons or tassels to be found. Her gaze made the slow climb back up to his face. “Those spectacles!”
He wrinkled his nose and squinted up his eyes. “Don’t I look like a nondescript mole of a man?”
“Not at all. You’re more handsome than ever.”
He waved off the remark, stepping over the threshold and into the entrance hall.
“No, I’m serious,” she said, her eyes still laughing. “Have I never told you what a penchant I have for men wearing spectacles?”
He couldn’t answer her. For he’d just peered at her through said spectacles, and the twin discs of glass might as well have been air, for all the protection they afforded him against her appearance.
Lily looked stunning. And not in an “Oh, what a pleasant surprise” sort of way, but in a “Help, I’ve been clubbed with a mallet and am suffering visions” sort of way. She wore a diaphanous creation of peach gauze, held together with … with strands of ether, apparently, and seeded with an alarming number of brilliants and pearls. And the cut of the gown … If that squared neckline edged but a half-inch lower, Julian felt certain he—and any ogling passersby—would be treated to a tawny glimpse of areola.
The prospect left him breathless.
“That,” he finally managed to croak, “is not your plainest gown. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen you wear a gown that so completely failed to approach the definition of plain.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s the point. All my gowns are plain. The only dresses anyone’s seen me wear for months are black or gray or dark blue. Even before I entered mourning, my tastes were modest. That’s why this is the perfect disguise.” She twisted in place, and the gown threw an audacious shimmer about the room. “It’s horrid, isn’t it? It’s been in my closet for years. I never wore it anywhere.”
“This will never work. Everyone in the theater will be staring at you.”
“They might stare at the dress, but they won’t see me in it.” She flicked open an ivory fan, obscuring the lower half of her face. The mischievous quirk of her brow drew his attention up, to the cluster of overwrought ringlets piled high atop her head and tumbling loose around her ears.
“What have you done to your hair?” he asked. “Lily, you were meant to look like a commoner, not like a common—”
“Trollop? Why not?” She raised her eyebrows coquettishly. “Surely a lowly, overworked clerk like Mr. Bell deserves a treat for himself now and then?”
Oh, no. They would not play this game. They would not.
“Go upstairs and change,” he told her.
She lowered the fan, and her face fell. “Do you know how long it took me to dress? We’d miss half the play.”
Julian bent his head and raised a hand to his brow. “Holling!” he barked.
The stout, middle-aged housekeeper took her time shuffling out—presumably to belie the fact that she’d been standing just on the other side of the door.
“Yes, Mr. Bellamy? Can I help you, sir?”
“Holling, have you a winter cloak? Something drab and utilitarian?”
“No, sir. My winter cloak is ermine, lined with silk.” The corner of her mouth twitched.
He cut her a droll look. “Why, Holling. It’s your annual flare of personality.” He tsked. “Subdue it, please, and just fetch the cloak. Her ladyship requires loan of it.”
“Yes, sir.” The housekeeper curtsied and left. A minute later she returned with an armful of heavy wool in a dark shade, the ideal hue between charcoal gray and beef-drippings brown.
“Perfect,” he said, taking the cloak from Holling and promptly swinging it around Lily’s slender shoulders. Thanks to the disparity in the two women’s body shape, he could nearly wrap the thing around her twice.
As he fastened the ties and tucked in the edges, wrapping her tight as an Egyptian mummy, Lily’s bottom lip protruded in a pout.
When he yanked the hood up over her curls, she frowned down at her shapeless woolen cocoon. “I look like a charred potato.”
“Ah, yes. Wholesome.”
“Lumpy.”
“Come along, then. I have the costermonger’s wheelbarrow waiting just outside.”
Despite herself, his charred potato quivered with laughter. As he could not offer her his arm, Julian gave her a stiff thump on the shoulder, prodding her into motion. She turned her back to him and shuffled toward the door.
“I’ll repay you for this,” he heard her growl.
“No doubt.” He smiled, and was further amused to catch Holling smiling, as well. “What is it, Holling? Are you ill?”
She shook her head.
“It’s the bird, isn’t it? You’re vexed about the bird.”
“No, sir. Well, perhaps a bit, but …” The older woman sniffed and wiped her eye. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bellamy. It’s been too long since her ladyship enjoyed herself, that’s all.”
Dear devoted Holling. Julian was glad Lily had her. And now, he was mildly regretful about the bird.
“She’ll enjoy tonight,” he assured the housekeeper. “I’ll see to it.” If there was one thing he knew well, it was how to keep a lady entertained. His challenge would be ensuring that he didn’t enjoy the evening too much. Memories of their kiss had haunted his every thought that day. They would likely do so for years to come. And good Lord, that gown …
Holling helped the cause of restraint by sending him out the door with a pocketful of guilt. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “It’s an unconventional outing, but I believe the late Lord Harcliffe—God rest his soul—would approve.”
With a grim sigh, Julian tugged down the brim of his hat. Leo, approve of this? He sincerely doubted it.