Twenty

Julia watched Neil’s face go from a mask of control to soft and vulnerable. He was a beautiful man, and when his eyes darkened to azure blue and his full mouth relaxed, she found him utterly irresistible. She lowered her lips to taste him again, sweeping her tongue over his tip.

He smelled musky and clean, like the gardens in Mayfair after a hard rain. At first she explored him tentatively, learning the shape and feel of him, but gradually also the way he tensed or the hissed exclamations of pleasure he made to let her know what he enjoyed. She closed her mouth over him, taking him inside, and he swore loudly.

She paused and looked up. “You don’t like that?”

“I like it,” he said between clenched teeth. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I want to do this,” she said, taking him in her mouth again and sliding her tongue over his length. She understood now why he enjoyed giving her pleasure. She loved the way he reacted to her touch. She loved knowing she could have this effect on him—this man who was so strong and confident, this man who was not afraid to face down even the worst villains of the underworld. He was hers at this moment, completely hers. She loved knowing he wanted her, and that she could make him feel the same pleasure he’d given her.

She loved touching him intimately, and she loved his touch on her.

She loved him.

She hadn’t wanted to fall in love. It had been the furthest thing from her mind when she had twelve boys to care for, an orphanage to keep up, and three rats to keep contained, but how could she help falling in love with him? From the moment she’d met him, he’d done nothing but take care of her and the boys. He’d done nothing but protect her. He might have been ridiculously regimented, overprotective, and overly concerned with duty, but she could trust him. She could count on him, and he was the first man she really believed she could rely on.

And that was not taking into account his perfect face or his hard soldier’s body. Appearance should not have mattered. She of all people should know that, considering the Viscount of Lainesborough was considered handsome by most ladies of the ton, and he’d used his appearance to steal Harriett’s heart and then her dowry. But Neil was no rake, and though she knew what she did broke every single rule of her upbringing, she did not care.

She wanted him.

She wanted this.

She wanted more.

“Julia,” Neil said with a choked sound. When she pulled back, he stepped away, his glorious manhood stiff and at the ready. “I can’t hold on any longer.”

“Then don’t,” she said. She wanted more. She wanted all of him. She moved back on the bed and held out her arms. “Come here.”

Though he breathed heavily and she could see the desire in his eyes, he did not move toward her. “I cannot.”

“Neil, I want you. I…” She faltered. If she said the words now, she could not take them back. But if she did not say them, she might suffer her father’s curse and spend the rest of her life wishing she had. “I love you,” she said quietly.

His eyes widened and lost some of that hazy quality. She thought for a moment, he might turn and bolt. Instead, he merely stood motionless before yanking his shirt over his erection and covering himself.

The action only made her feel more vulnerable. She was still lying naked on the bed. She sat, drawing her knees up to her breasts. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You obviously don’t feel the same.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He moved closer to her, which she wanted to believe was a good sign, but his face looked hard again. The warrior was back. “You don’t know me or what I’ve done.”

“I do know you,” she protested. “And I know exactly what you’ve done. You’ve repaired locks, built rat cages, guarded the door, fed hungry children, defeated Mr. Slag—”

“That was my duty, and protecting a beautiful woman and innocent children is no penance. At least, not the penance I deserve after the sins I’ve committed.”

She rose on her knees, taking his hands in hers. “What sins? Defending your country? Safeguarding your men? Killing an enemy who would have killed you if you hadn’t acted first?”

“Juliana, I was never supposed to come home. I was sent to die and take as many of the French with me as possible.”

“But you did come home, and you’re alive.” She took his face in her hands. “Act alive. Kiss me, Neil. Make love to me.”

He shook his head.

“Neil, I know how you feel. When I lost Davy, nothing else in my life mattered. I’d lost my sister and best friend, and then I lost her child. I wanted to die. But strange as it seems, this pitiful orphanage and the lost boys saved me. They gave me a home and a family. You can be part of that family.”

His body went rigid. “What are you saying?”

What was she saying? What was she saying to this man in the middle of the night, as she knelt on her bed, naked and vulnerable? “Marry me,” she whispered, wishing for all the world she did not have to be the one to ask him. Praying he would want her as much as she wanted him because she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him.

He shook his head, and she felt ice slide down her bare back.

“That’s not possible.”

“I see.” She sat back, feeling more naked than ever before. She reached for the coverlet and pulled it up and over her.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Juliana.”

She moved back and out of his reach when he extended a hand toward her.

“You simply do not want to marry me. I understand. I run an orphanage. No man of my station will ever want to marry me when I won’t return home.”

“No.” He took her shoulders in a firm grip. “That’s just it. I’m not of your station. I’m a bastard—”

“You are the acknowledged son of a marquess, Neil. That hardly makes you lowborn.”

“But not a legitimate son. My father’s legitimate son—the youngest, Christopher—died in the war. I was there that day, and I couldn’t save him.”

“Neil—”

He released her shoulders and stepped away. “It should have been me lying dead on that battlefield, not Chris.”

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Do you think God or fate or whatever you want to call it makes mistakes? You survived and you deserve to live a long, happy life with a family.” She could see the word family affected him. He swallowed convulsively. “I am sorry about your brother. So sorry. But you are the one who is here. And if you know me at all, you know I wouldn’t care if you were a cobbler or a beggar on the street. I love you.” She should stop saying that. She should stop ripping her armor off, especially when he possessed so many arrows.

“And what kind of husband would I be? I have no fortune, no title, I wake with nightmares.”

“You would be the husband I love,” she countered. “Do you think I’m perfect? I have a list of flaws as long as Rotten Row.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” She held up a finger. “I’m headstrong.” Another finger. “I’m impulsive.” Another finger. “I don’t think before I act.”

“That’s the same as impulsive.”

She scowled at him. “I repeat myself when making lists. I can’t keep a servant. I’m a horrible judge of character, if Mr. Goring is any example—I could go on all night. Whatever your imperfections, I love you despite them. The circumstances of your birth matter not a whit. It’s the two of us together that matter. Together we are stronger than anything.”

He gave her a long look, then shook his head. “I wish things were different.” He straightened his clothes and moved toward the door.

“That’s it then?” she called out. “You’re leaving?”

“I was always leaving. I’ll make sure the roof is repaired, and I’ll speak to Billy before I go.”

Her mind reeled as her body grew ice cold. “You won’t even try? You won’t even consider giving this…this family a chance?”

“This is the best thing for both of us.”

She reached for the closest object and took hold of a pillow, throwing it with all her strength across the room. Unfortunately, he reached up and caught it easily. “Arrogant man! Who are you to tell me what’s best for me?”

He tossed the pillow onto the bed. “You needn’t worry I’ll leave without making certain you’re safe.”

“Damn your bloody duty, Neil Wraxall,” she yelled. “I don’t want it.”

He went to the door, and she grabbed another pillow. She threw it, but the cushion thudded uselessly against the closed door.

Neil was gone.

* * *

Walking away from her had been the hardest thing Neil had ever had to do. It was also the right thing. She needed a peer—a man with rank and wealth and connections. Not a former soldier and a counterfeit hero. Even the boys at the orphanage deserved better. They needed a man they could emulate, not one who had been born into circumstances little different from theirs.

Neil paced the orphanage, patrolling it and checking to be certain doors and windows were locked. Slag was gone, but that didn’t mean Julia wasn’t still vulnerable. After his third pass, he found himself in the servants’ quarters and the room he’d been given. He stared at the bed. For the first time in memory, he wanted sleep. Tonight he was weary enough to succumb quickly. He stripped and lay down, asleep before his eyes were fully closed.

He knew it was a dream as soon as he saw the battlefield. He stumbled through it, as he had all those years ago, his focus on the fallen infantry, looking for Christopher’s golden-blond hair. Men with brown hair, black hair, gray hair, and dark-blond hair lay with unseeing eyes or clutching bleeding arms or legs. One man held a hand over a gash across his middle, keeping his intestines from spilling out. Neil couldn’t let himself see this. Couldn’t allow himself to believe any of it was real, else he’d lose his breakfast and his faltering courage. Neil trudged through the pools of blood, halting at the bright cap of blond hair lying in one of the bloody puddles.

His breath caught and his belly tightened.

“Chris,” he said hoarsely, turning the man over. His heart pounded wildly, his vision dimmed, but when he opened his eyes again, the man he touched was not Christopher, not his brother.

“Water,” the man croaked. With shaking fingers, Neil unfastened his canteen and pressed it into the man’s hands. He moved on, moved down the hill, his eyes scanning for that crown of bright curls.

Please, God. No.

He almost passed another man with blond hair. This man’s cap was still on his head, his face obscured because he lay facedown on the hill. Neil did not want to do this. Did not want to see the dead face. But he had to know. He’d go mad otherwise. Neil got behind the body, dug his heels into the steep slope for purchase, and flipped the man over.

Shock and pain stabbed through him as he stared at the face of Christopher Wraxall.

But in the dream, Chris’s eyes were closed. They’d always been open before. They’d been open, seeing nothing, that day on the battlefield. Neil stared at the face of his dead brother and noticed it was not as defined as it had once been. He was forgetting the small details, not only of that day, but of his dead brother. Before he could decide whether this was good or bad, the corpse opened its green eyes.

Neil woke, a scream lodged in his throat. But that was all it was—lodged in his throat. He hadn’t made an actual sound. His throat was not raw. No one came running to see what was the matter. His hands still trembled, but he clenched them, and the shaking ceased.

Slowly he became aware of the clink of pots and pans, the shuffling sounds of people moving about, and the pinpoints of light that filtered through the dark curtains.

It was morning. He’d slept the entire night. Without drink. Without waking in a cold sweat from nightmares. He wanted to hope and yet he didn’t. He’d had good nights before. One good night didn’t mean anything. But his brother’s eyes had been closed. What did it mean?

And what did it matter? Today he would leave. He would go home, and if he saw Juliana again, it would be for a moment when he checked on the roof repairs or stopped by to ensure the orphanage’s board of directors passed on the funds donated.

He’d never kiss her again, touch her silky skin, make love to her—and perhaps that was for the best. She’d never be his, and he’d be the worst sort of rogue to take her innocence without the promise of marriage.

Neil dressed, and when he stepped out of his room, he met the disapproving look of Jackson. The valet’s gaze slid over the haphazard way Neil had yanked the nearest available clothing on, and the man shook his head.

Neil raised a hand. “Before you decide I’m not up to snuff, let me remind you we are in an orphanage.”

“That is no excuse for poor—”

“And we are leaving this morning.”

That announcement silenced Jackson.

“Pack my things and your own. I want to be off first thing.”

“Leaving, sir?” Jackson asked.

“As soon as I speak with Billy, yes.”

Jackson’s expression was still one of shock. “Does Lady Juliana know this, sir?”

Neil put his hands on his hips. “Not that it matters, as she has no authority over me, but yes, she knows. I believe she will be quite glad to see my back.”

“But I thought—”

“Do not think, Jackson. Pack.”

“Yes, sir.” Jackson trudged into Neil’s chamber, shoulders hunched in dejection. Neil blew out a breath. He’d thought at least Jackson was on his side.

Once upstairs, Neil found Billy easily enough. He was in the dining room with the other boys, waiting impatiently for the morning meal.

“Major!” a chorus of voices rang out, surprising Neil. James ran to him and grabbed one of his legs in a fierce hug. Charlie smiled around the thumb in his mouth. George held up a paper where he’d drawn what Neil thought might be a horse—or a ship—and even Ralph nodded at him, his black eye now just a faded yellow.

“Can I sit by you, Major?” Sean asked.

“I get to sit on ’is other side,” Angus said.

“He sat on that side of the room yesterday,” Michael announced. “He’s eaten on that side five times and only four on this side. That is, if we’re counting.”

“You are always counting,” Robbie muttered.

“When do we eat?” Jimmy asked. “I’m starving, and once Mrs. Dunwitty finds us, we’ll be trapped all morning.”

“Can I sit on your lap, Major?” Charlie asked around his thumb.

“Actually,” Neil said, speaking through the cacophony for the first time, “I haven’t time to eat this morning. I need to speak with Billy.”

Billy, who had been sitting in a corner, looking down at his hands, raised his head. He was clean of soot and ash, but he had a welt on his forehead and his lip still looked swollen. The boy rose slowly to his feet. “What is it, Major?”

“I’d like to speak in private.” Neil motioned to the door. Billy made his way across the now-silent room, and Neil led him into the parlor, where he left the door open slightly. “Sit,” Neil ordered, gesturing to the couch. He tried not to remember lying on that couch himself, Juliana wrapped in his arms. He tried not to remember her in his arms, pushed up against the far wall, her lips hot and eager.

“You have a choice to make,” Neil said when Billy sat. “About your future.”

Billy looked up, his eyes defiant. “What choice? No one ever gave me a choice. I had no choice about living here. No choice about being beaten every day, before Lady Juliana came, no choice about what to eat. What choices do I have?”

“You have to choose between living here or out there,” Neil said, crooking his thumb at the street.

“That’s no choice. If I don’t do what Slag wants, he hurts me.”

“Slag is gone now. That means you do have a choice.”

“And when another takes his place?”

“Walk away. If you can’t, you send for me.” Neil reached into his coat and took out a card. “This is the name of my solicitor. He can always find me, and his offices are not far from here.”

Billy took the card, looking at it as though it were an exotic piece of fruit.

“You can always come to me for help, but if you want to live here, if you want to stay at Sunnybrooke, you’ll have no more dealings with the gangs and the upright men.”

Billy pressed his lips together. “I don’t see the problem with making a little extra on the side.”

“The problem,” Neil said levelly, though he wanted to rage at the boy to stop being an idiot, “is that sort of activity leads to the events of last night. Either I have your word you will walk the straight and narrow, or you pack what meager belongings you have and leave right now.”

Billy’s head came up. “You can’t make me leave. Lady Juliana won’t make me leave.”

“Yes, I will.”

Neil’s gaze shot to the door where Juliana stood in the small opening. She pushed it wider, the skirts of her green dress swishing against the wood. She looked beautiful with her copper hair in a sleek tail down her back and the tight-fitting bodice of the dress molding to curves he wished he could forget. The contrast between her fragile beauty and the dark squalor of the orphanage was stark, but somehow she managed to look regal all the same.

She did not look rested. Her eyes were puffy, her mouth a tight line. If he hadn’t known her well, he might not have noticed, but he knew her now. Knew he was most likely the cause of her tossing and turning.

“Mr. Wraxall is correct, Billy. You do have a choice to make.” She moved into the room, her gaze on Billy and studiously averted from him. “Last night proved to me that every relationship has give-and-take. I can offer you love and safety and a home, but I can’t make you take it.”

She didn’t look at Neil, but he knew she spoke to him as well as to Billy.

“And you cannot have things both ways. You choose this orphanage and me, or you leave. I do not want to give you up, but I have eleven other boys to think about. I won’t sacrifice them for you. And I won’t risk them for you again either. Make your choice.”

Billy looked from Juliana to Neil and back again. The silence in the room was so heavy Neil wished he could push the weight from his shoulders. He wished he could take Juliana in his arms, tell her he’d made his choice for her.

Because he loved her too.

Then Billy lifted a hand and swiped at his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to stem the tears. Juliana leaned forward and stopped herself. She wanted to take the child in her arms—and that was what he looked like again, just a child—but she would wait until he made his choice.

“I want to stay with you, my lady,” Billy sobbed. “Please let me stay.”

And then Billy was in her arms, and she was patting his back and smoothing his hair, and whispering that everything would be okay. Over Billy’s shoulder, Juliana’s gaze met Neil’s. Neil nodded. Everything was as it should be again. She had her lost chick back under her wing.

She’d saved another boy, but Neil was no child who could be soothed with a pat on the back. She couldn’t change the station either of them had been born to.

With a sardonic salute, he walked away—out of the parlor, out of the orphanage, out of her life.