Nineteen

He stood looking at her as though she were daft. Julia could hardly blame him. Perhaps she was daft. Here she was, months after Davy had been taken away, crying over him as though he’d just been torn from her arms yesterday. But there were moments, many moments, when the wound still felt that raw and tender.

She half expected Neil to make an excuse and get away, but he didn’t look as though he was going anywhere. He stood before her, not touching her any longer, but remaining close, offering her the comfort of his arms if she would only step into them. And perhaps she should. She had already said far more than she’d wanted. What was one more mistake?

“And this Lainesborough won’t allow you to be part of the child’s life?”

She looked away, fighting the tears threatening to spill. “As I said, he hates me.”

Neil raised his brows. “I fail to see how anyone could hate you.”

She gave a short laugh, glancing at him to see if he was serious. “I think you know quite well that I have the capacity to be…shall we say stubborn?”

“You?” He shook his head. “Never.”

She was smiling, the tears held at bay. “Your charms will not sway me, Mr. Wraxall.”

“I have charms?” He pretended innocence. “We shall return to the matter of my charms later. Now, I want to hear the story of this man who is such a bad judge of character.”

She felt weary—and no wonder, as she’d destroyed a crime lord and fought off a knife-wielding assailant. And that had been just this afternoon. Julia sat on the bed. “Yes, well, the viscount thought I was a bad judge of character.”

“His character?” Neil sat beside her, which she knew was improper—as was his presence in her bedchamber—but she couldn’t seem to manage to protest.

“He was all show and no substance. I knew it the first time I met him. He is like an actor on a stage who plays a part with such depth and emotion it brings tears to your eyes, but offstage, he is shallow and vain and cares more for the cut of his coat than the thousands of orphans roaming the streets.”

“In all fairness, most of London cares more for the cut of a coat than the plight of orphans.”

She waved a hand. “Yes, but you know what I mean. He played a part with my sister, and she believed it.”

“And you did not. Did she also care for orphans?”

“Not really. She was a member of several benevolent societies, but all ladies are.” It shamed her to say this, but as long as she was spilling her soul… “I didn’t always care as much about orphans as I do now.”

“Well, this is shocking.”

She rolled her eyes, but she could appreciate how he used levity. She was trying quite diligently not to appreciate the feel of his body beside hers. When he’d sat on the bed beside her, the mattress had given, and his thigh rested against hers. She liked the solid heat of him there—too much. Images of earlier that day came to her—of his mouth on her breast and between her legs. She wanted that again, and she knew she should never have allowed it the first time. She should not even be thinking of it now.

“I always wanted to do something, to help as much as I could, which was why I became involved with St. Dismas. I even visited several times, but I was only too happy to allow myself to be convinced that all was as it should be, even though the children were dirty and too thin. I had balls to attend and the theater to dress for.”

She was quiet, remembering that life, when she’d been carefree and ignorant. When she and Harriett spent hours primping before mirrors and gossiping about the most eligible men in the ton.

“And then Harriett met Lainesborough,” Julia whispered, “and everything changed. I tried to like him if only because she liked him so much, but I could not. And I loved my sister and voiced my concerns to her. Of course, she told him, and though he pretended to play the gallant knight who would win me over, I could see he hated me for daring to jeopardize his chance with St. Maur’s eldest daughter. We both had substantial dowries. Well, I still have mine. Lainesborough wanted Harriett’s, and after they married, it became clear why.”

“Gambling debts,” Neil said.

“You know him?” But one look at his face told Julia he didn’t. She supposed it was not difficult to guess why a man of the upper classes might need blunt. “You know men like him,” she said. “Yes, he gambled too much and drank too much, and, well…did everything too much. The day after he married my sister, he disappeared for three nights. We later heard he had spent the time at”—her cheeks blushed—“a house of ill repute,” she whispered.

Neil didn’t comment, for which Julia was thankful. Nothing he might have said at that moment would have comforted her. Instead, he simply took her hand and held it. She surprised herself by squeezing his hand tightly. She closed her eyes to finish the story.

“After that he was more often away than home. When my sister discovered she was with child, she came home to be with me. Our father did what he could to keep Lainesborough away, but the viscount had little interest in her at any rate. He’d wanted her money, and he had it.”

Harriett’s confinement had been a mixed blessing. She had grown more beautiful with each passing week as her body ripened with child. The sisters had spent all their time together, something social responsibilities had made all but impossible the past few years. Despite her father’s protests, Julia had withdrawn from Society to be with her sister, who also shunned Society and the news she would hear of her husband’s infidelities.

“When her time came, there was no reason to think it should be anything out of the ordinary.” She could not look at him as she spoke these words. She shouldn’t have been in the room when the baby was delivered, much less speak about it to a man, but who else could she tell? And it seemed now that the dam was open, she could not stop it up again. “The delivery seemed normal to me. Difficult, yes, but when we were younger and my mother was still alive, she would tell us about her painful labors to make Harriett and I feel guilty for vexing her.”

Neil laughed quietly, and Julia smiled too.

“But then after the baby came, Harriett seemed to become worse, not better. She was too exhausted to hold her son, and she was so pale.” Julia swallowed. “And there was so much blood. I took Davy to meet his grandfather, but when I returned, I became alarmed at what I saw. Harriett could not be revived. The midwife was in tears, and when we called for the doctor, he said there was nothing he could do. She was dead before the end of the day.”

Neil’s hand tightened where it held hers.

“I laid Davy in her arms, but the baby cried when he was away from me. Still, we stayed until the end. And then, when she was gone, I made the mistake of falling in love with Davy, though he’d never been mine to love.”

“What did Lainesborough do when he was informed he had a son and heir?”

Julia swiped at her eyes. “Nothing. He did not answer our letters or come to see the child. I think I began to believe Davy might be mine. I can’t tell you how I wished he’d been born a girl. If he’d been a girl, Lainesborough wouldn’t have ever taken notice of her, no matter how much he wanted to spite me. Girls were not worth his attention. But I suppose because the child was his heir, eventually he had to take an interest. One day he came to the house and demanded to see Davy. The baby was almost six months old at that time and just so beautiful. Lainesborough didn’t speak to him or even touch him, but he saw how attached I was to the child and how much the little boy loved me. Maybe if he hadn’t seen that—”

Neil lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Shh. None of that now. No what-ifs.”

She nodded. She knew the particular hell she entered when she gave into that line of thinking. “He came back the next week with his attorney and his footmen and took the child away. I tried to protest, screaming and crying, but I had no argument. Legally, the child is his. I managed to be calm and feign happiness when I had to hand Davy over. He was scared enough as it was, and I didn’t want to add to that.” The tears fell unbidden. “But I will never forget the way he held out his chubby arms to me or the way he cried as though his world was ending or the fear in his eyes. I will never forgive myself for abandoning him.”

“You did not abandon him. He was taken away. Those are two very different situations.”

“And yet I still feel as though I failed him—as though I continue to fail him. Where is he now? Who comforts him when he wakes crying? Who holds him and hugs him?” She sniffed and closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears before they threatened to overwhelm her. When she opened her eyes again, Neil had a determined expression on his face.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to discover the answer to those questions.”

Julia wanted to hug him. Sweet, sweet man. “I already know the answers. Davy has a nurse and Lainesborough has a house full of servants. Though he may rarely be home, the child is cared for.”

Neil’s expression turned perplexed. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because it’s not me holding him. It’s not me comforting him. I loved him as though he were my own, and I think, for a little while, he was.”

“And now you have a dozen boys who are your own, a dozen boys who are unlikely ever to be taken away.”

She nodded, relieved that he finally seemed to understand. “And I don’t want to lose a single one.” Not ever again.

To her surprise, he reached over and cupped her cheek. She wanted to lean into his touch, to rub her cheek along the rough pads of his fingers. She wanted him to kiss her again until she forgot all about the leaking roof and the woman with the knife and the image of Davy’s scared face when he was torn away from her.

“Listen to me, Juliana. I want what you want, but I know something about boys. In particular, I know something about orphaned boys. I wasn’t an orphan, but I know what it is to wonder where you belong and to search for your place.”

She tried to draw back, uncertain what he would say and whether she wished to hear it. He took her shoulders and held her so he could look into her face. “These boys want to belong. Even if it means belonging to a gang of thieves. Even if it means taking orders from a man like Slag.”

“But they can belong here. I’ve made a home for them.”

He nodded. “Yes, you have, but all you can do is offer that home. You cannot force them to accept it. Some of these boys have never known what you are offering—warmth, security, and love. They only know fear and intimidation and following a man who would as soon kill them as pat them on the back. You may need to give up some of these boys to save the rest.”

“No!” She stood and backed away from him. Why had she thought he understood? He didn’t understand anything at all. “I won’t give up on Billy or Walter or any of them. I love them.” And though she hated him at the moment, she wouldn’t give up on Neil either. Because he had found a way into her heart, and she loved him enough to know that she would be devastated when he left.

Neil stood. “And would you allow Billy to stay and corrupt James and Chester and little Charlie?”

Julia’s heart thumped quickly. He knew the boys’ names. He pretended he did not, but he knew them. He knew all of them.

“Because that’s what he will do. Slag is gone, but another will take his place. Men like him are as abundant as fleas in the rookeries. Billy will find another upright man, and one of his first tasks will be to recruit other boys. Because if there’s one thing a gang needs, it’s a steady stream of thieves to replace the ones who are sent to prison.”

Julia wanted to argue again, but she knew he was right. And still she wasn’t ready to let Billy go so easily. “What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

Neil crossed to her and took her arms in his hands. His touch was so warm, so warm that she wanted to walk forward and put her arms around his waist and just let him hold her, wrap her in that warmth. Instead, she stood completely still. Finally, when the silence had dragged on for some time, she lifted her eyes to his.

“I want you to trust me.”

* * *

Neil saw the conflict in her face. She wanted to trust him, but she had not trusted anyone in so long that she rebelled against the idea of putting her faith in him. In many ways, she was like a new soldier—still learning to trust the commanding officer. Unlike a soldier, she had a choice. She was no meek, biddable female who would jump to follow his commands. She had her own mind and her own plans. He could only offer advice and hope she would take it.

At least that was the attitude he should have had. But for whatever reason, gaining her trust meant more to him than he wanted to admit. He’d been trying to gain it since the first day he met her.

And now, they were alone, and all the boys she loved so much were asleep. And he wanted her trust in an entirely different way.

“Do you trust me?” he murmured.

Her eyes widened at the low timbre of his voice. He hadn’t bothered to hide his desire in the way he looked at her or in the way he spoke.

“I want to,” she whispered.

“Then perhaps all you need is more practice.” He slowly lowered his mouth toward her soft, plump lips, giving her ample time to turn her face away. She didn’t, and when he brushed his lips over hers, he felt the same charge of heat he’d felt the first time he kissed her. Neil had to resist grasping the back of her neck and taking her mouth the way he wanted. Instead, he kept the kiss slow and light, moving his hands up and down her arms until she stepped closer and wrapped them around his neck.

And still he teased her mouth with his, nipping and licking and suckling her lips. She had such delectable lips and she had cleaned her teeth with tooth powder that tasted faintly of mint. She pushed closer to him, and he needed to touch her skin and to see her in the flimsy night rail he had been fantasizing about since he’d first laid eyes on it.

He ran his hands up her back, then up into her loose hair, brushed until it fairly crackled. His hands stroked down her neck and then pushed into the robe, easing it back and over her shoulders. He was prepared to pause and unknot the sash, but she had not tied it tightly, and the silky garment slid from her shoulders like a cascade of water.

And then his hands were on the bare skin of her shoulders and her neck, and he wanted the soft weight of her breasts in his hands.

But first he wanted a look at her body in the lacy night rail. Reluctantly, he lifted his fingers from her skin and took a step back. Her face was flushed, her hair falling over her shoulders, and her eyes closed. He could have admired that picture of her all day, especially the pinkness of her swollen lips. Those lips needed to be kissed daily.

She opened her eyes, and they were darker than he’d ever seen them, filled with desire for him.

“I want to see you,” he said, voice low and husky.

She blinked, slow and uncomprehending.

“Step back. I’ve been imagining you in that for days. I want to see the real thing.”

Her cheeks turned even pinker, red spots staining the centers. “You have seen it.”

“Bits and pieces,” he said. When she still didn’t move back, he ran a hand down her hair. “You are beautiful, Juliana. I only want to see you in all your glory.”

“I don’t know why I should feel so shy,” she said, ducking her head. “You’ve already seen… That is to say, I’ve never been overly modest before. You should have seen some of the ball gowns I’ve worn.”

He wished he had seen them and her in them. Though he would never be the sort of man who accompanied her to a Society ball, he wished he had known that part of her. Still, it would be no hardship to content himself with the woman she had become. Neil had known many soldiers who wore fancy dress and gleaming brass buttons. But when all the finery was stripped away and the cannons were firing and the men charging, it was the man underneath who mattered.

“Silks and flounces don’t impress me,” he told her. “I’ve already seen what lies beneath them. What is at the heart of who you are.”

Her head notched up.

“And I know you are as beautiful inside as you are on the outside.”

Her gaze met his, and though her color was still high, she stepped back and twirled around. The garment was made of expensive lace at the bodice. Neil supposed the lace had some sort of name, but he didn’t know it. Her sister must have been slightly smaller than she, for the bodice fit her tightly, her breasts swelling over the low neckline. The sides of the garment were held together by pink ribbons—three of them—that had been tied in pretty bows. More ribbons donned the lacy sleeves and the waistline. The skirt of the night rail was not lace, but it had been made of thin, almost-translucent silk. He could see the coppery curls of her womanhood and the outline of her buttocks when she turned.

It was the sort of garment that would make a new husband lose his breath, and Neil felt the air whoosh out of his lungs. He swallowed and attempted to tamp down the lust threatening to overwhelm his judgment, but then she faced him again, and his eyes were drawn to the dark pink of her nipples and aureoles against the white of the lace.

“Come here.” His voice was low and husky.

She took a step forward, then paused. “What will you do?”

“Not all I want to do.” Though certainly every time he was with her, it became harder and harder to keep his virginity intact. “But I’m certain I can think of something you’ll enjoy.”

“More nefarious activities?”

He smiled. “If you’ll indulge me.”

She did, moving close enough that he could wrap a hand around her waist and pull her hard against him. She gasped, and he took her mouth, swallowing the sound and the moan that followed. He took his time with her mouth again, exploring it and allowing her a turn to explore him, and then he broke the kiss and turned her around, lowering his mouth to kiss her neck. When he looked up, her eyes met his in the cheval glass across the room.

“You look like a medieval warrior.”

He liked the image. And he liked the reflection in the mirror even more. “And you are my prize?”

“I’m no man’s prize.”

“True enough. Then be my partner in this.”

Her eyes widened. “How?”

“I’ll show you, but first it has been too long since I’ve seen your perfect breasts. I can’t wait any longer.” His fingers reached for the first neatly tied pink bow.

Her hand covered his, and Neil paused. He wanted her. He wanted more with her than he’d ever wanted with any woman. With Julia, he dared to think of a future. He wanted her as his wife, the mother of his children, his partner through the good and the bad. But she had every reason to stop this now. He’d made her no promises, and she didn’t seem to want or need them from any man. She didn’t even need him, though he’d tried hard enough to make her believe she did—as he’d always tried to make anyone believe that he, who had always been the illegitimate one, the one who didn’t belong, was worthwhile and valuable.

Neil looked down at her hand. He could accept defeat. He’d lost eighteen men, proving to all the world that he was a failure and as unworthy as his status of bastard implied.

Neil looked up and met her gaze.

“Allow me,” she said.

His heart all but stopped. His breath caught in his throat and his hand dropped away. He could not seem to tear his gaze from her long, graceful fingers as they tugged at the ribbon to loosen it.

A small expanse of flesh, the creamy swell of her breast, was exposed. It was the most tantalizing image Neil had ever seen.

“Shall I continue?” she asked.

She wanted this. She wanted to be with him. He had to clear his throat to speak through the lump. “Please,” he said.

Her hand reached for another ribbon and she gave it a careless tug. The action allowed him to see more of the curve of her breast, more of the valley in between.

“One more,” she whispered.

Thank God or he would have to sink to his knees. He might anyway. She reached for the last bow, her fingers toying with the loops of pink satin. Finally, she caught an end and pulled. The ribbon seemed to hold fast for an eternity as the loop pulled through the knot. Neil’s hand clenched as he itched to tug it free and push the night rail from her body. His fingers dug into his palm as the loop finally slipped free and the bodice parted.

And caught on the hard points of her nipples.

Neil’s breath hitched. How the devil was he supposed to withstand this sort of torment? He needed a drink. He needed to sit down. He needed to touch her.

Neil sank to his knees before her. She blinked and gave a surprised laugh. “What are you doing?”

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. His mouth was at the soft expanse of her abdomen. “Kissing you,” he answered her.

“From there?”

“Right here.” He pressed his lips on the skin of her abdomen, and she drew in a sharp breath. He kissed her again slightly to the left and then again on the other side. “And right here.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I think you have left some terrain unmapped.”

“Have I?” He would kiss every inch of her before the night was through. “Perhaps right here?” He kissed lower, just above her navel, where a knotted ribbon held the skirt of the night rail in place. He placed his mouth on the ribbon and kissed her. “Or here?”

“Neil,” she murmured and swayed. He held her steady and looked up at her.

“Where else have I missed?”

Her eyes seemed to grow impossibly darker, and her mouth opened with indecision. And then her lips set in a familiar determined line. “Here,” she said. Her hands inched over the ribbons of the bodice and she slowly drew it open, revealing her full breasts with their dark-pink crowns. The nipples jutted proudly, and his cock jerked at the sight.

But he would take this slowly, savor her and give her pleasure. His mouth brushed up her abdomen, and she trembled as his lips slid over her warm skin. Finally, he reached the soft underside of her breast, and he ran his tongue over the skin, watching it pebble and hearing her breath come in gasps as her fingers bit into his shoulders. He traced the curve of her breast, up one side, over, and down the other. He moved inward, and her nipple hardened in anticipation. He wanted that hard point in his mouth, on his tongue, lightly between his teeth, but he deprived them both and worshipped her other breast as he had the first.

Her head had fallen back at his ministrations, and she trembled from head to toe. Her breath came in short pants, making her chest rise and fall in a motion that made him groan. And then finally, as he nuzzled between those perfect breasts, she grabbed his cheeks and pulled his face back so she could look down at him.

“Your mouth,” she said. “I need it here.” She touched one nipple, her pale finger sliding over the swollen peak, and Neil almost lost control. With a growl, he took her breast in one hand and captured her nipple with his mouth. He slid the hard point inside, teasing it with his tongue and sucking lightly until she moaned and arched. He sucked harder then, his hand holding her heavy flesh while the fingers of his free hand teased and rubbed at the untended nipple.

She moaned again, her hands thrusting into his hair to hold him to her. “Yes, like that,” she said on a half sob. “Exactly like that.”

He allowed her to move his head to the other breast, and when he licked that nipple, she shuddered. She knew what she wanted now, and as he served her, she slid her hands out of her hair and to the ribbon on her skirt. With one flick, it was loose, and the fabric fell away.

Her coppery curls brushed against his chest, and he caught the faint scent of woman and arousal. He slid one hand over her belly, then her bottom, so plump and smooth, and then over a hip and between her legs. She was wet and warm, and she bucked when he brushed over her.

“Please,” she said.

He slid two fingers into that slick heat, licking her nipple in a motion that mimicked his hands. She tightened around his fingers, only releasing him when he drew out and swiped moisture over her hidden nub.

“Neil,” she moaned.

His fingers moved inside her again, gently and deeply, sliding in and out as his palm pressed against her center of pleasure. She ground against him, her hips moving in an instinctual rhythm. She was close to climax. One glance at her flushed face told him that much. He slid out of her, his fingers wet and the scent of her all around him. Without thinking, he lowered himself, placing his lips against her curls. God, her scent was like sweet wine. He was drunk on her arousal and the heat of her.

“Neil,” she said again, her voice filled with more urgency. He slid his mouth lower, parting her lips with his tongue, sliding over her bud and making her cry loudly, and then lapping at her wetness.

He loved the taste of her even more than her scent. He would die remembering her sweetness on his tongue. Her hips moved and her cries grew more frantic. His fingers parted her, exposing her small, swollen bud. Red and all but throbbing, he placed the tip of his tongue on it.

She all but screamed, and he pulled back. “You’ll wake the children.”

She nodded and bit her lip, her hands sliding into his hair and clutching it almost painfully.

“Shh,” he said, blowing air where he had exposed her. She gave a choked sob. “Not a sound,” he said, putting his mouth on her and using his lips to tease her until her hips moved and she pressed hard against him. And then he touched her lightly, so lightly, with his tongue. Small, tortured sounds came from her lips and her hold on his hair became almost painful, but she did not scream as he flicked and swirled that tight, little bud.

She moved with his tongue, her bottom sliding against his hands as she tried to move closer, unashamed of her need and her reaction. Finally, she stiffened, and he took the bud in his mouth and sucked deeply. She shattered then, her entire body convulsing against him. How he wanted to free his cock and slide inside her. He slid his fingers inside her instead and wished her body clenched his cock and not merely his fingers.

Finally, she was spent, and he moved back to guide her to the bed. He expected her to fall onto it. He expected to join her, kissing her lips again, then her breasts, perhaps turning her over and running his teeth over her buttocks before he pushed her up on her knees and used his mouth and his fingers from that angle.

Instead, she caught herself on her elbows and looked up at him. The slant of her eyes and the tilt of her mouth were coolly seductive, and he paused in the process of joining her on the bed.

“What does that look mean?” he asked warily.

“I’m not ready to sleep.”

“Good,” he said, putting one knee on the bed beside her. “Because I have other plans for you.”

She cocked her head. “Are you content to give me pleasure and take none for yourself?”

He stilled. “We discussed this already.”

“I know, and while I want you inside me, I also know the risks.”

Neil closed his eyes and swallowed. In his mind, he knew he must remain a virgin, but his body did not always agree. Her words appealed to his body, and he fought the war between desire and duty.

“But do you never take any pleasure? I’m not a complete innocent.” The blush on her cheeks belied her words. “I’ve been touched by men, and I know they never touch me without wanting something in return.”

Neil stiffened. “I may be a bastard, but I’m a gentleman enough not to expect anything from you.”

“But what if I want to give you something?” She reached for his waistband and tugged him closer. “What if I want to touch you and”—she loosened the fall of his trousers—“see you?”

“I wouldn’t argue,” he said, voice tight. The placket came loose and his cock sprang free and into her small, warm hand. Dear God but those long, lithe fingers felt good as they curled around him and slid up and then down.

“You’re softer than I thought,” she said.

He blew out a breath. He felt anything but soft at the moment. “That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“What I mean is, I didn’t expect the skin to feel so much like velvet—velvet over steel. Do I move like this?” She slid her hand up and then down.

“Yes,” he managed, clenching his jaw. He swallowed, attempting to regain control. Think of something benign—long lists of orders, a game of billiards, polishing my boots. “And here I was thinking you had done this before,” he said when he managed to regain his voice.

“No. I’ve never touched a man skin to skin. I’ve never put my hand on a man or taken him in my mouth.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he said between clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to think of anything but the motion of her hand or the promise of her plump lips. She would be the end of him.

“May I?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. She’d risen to her knees and sat with her mouth poised over the tip of his erection. The image was the most erotic he had ever seen, and yet his first thought had nothing to do with fellatio.

She wanted him. Of all the men she might have had, all the men who had wanted her, she wanted him. Him—Neil Wraxall, bastard of the Marquess of Kensington, failed leader of the Survivors. The man who was responsible for the death of eighteen men.

He didn’t deserve her or this.

He began to shake his head, but then her tongue darted out, skating over him. “Please,” she said.

And he couldn’t say no. For the first time in a long, long time, he took the affection—or perhaps it was love?—offered.