Scandalous Liaisons

“Such as how the sight of you at your desk makes my heart race.”



He arched a brow.



“And the way you look with your shirtsleeves rolled up.” She licked her bottom lip. “Why, it inspires positively carnal feelings in me.”



“Carnal feelings?” His eyes widened, even as his cock swelled further. Lord above, how he loved this woman.



“Yes.” Cool fingertips brushed his hair back from his face. “And your hair. I just love it. It’s thick and soft like spun silk.”



Just as she stretched her body along his, someone tried the knob and then knocked on the door. “Mr. Remington?”



“Go away!” he growled, “if you’d like to remain employed.” Lucien raised his head to capture Julienne’s lips, slipping his tongue between them to taste her sweetness.



There was a weighted pause. “Yes, sir, but Lord Fontaine respectfully requests a moment of your time.”



Julienne slid off of him in an instant. Lucien glanced at the door and saw the dark outline of his secretary through the oval-shaped watered glass.



“Good heavens! What does he want?” She glanced down at him. “And what horrid timing.”



“Fontaine is a damned nuisance,” he complained.



“Hush, or he’ll hear you.” She bent over and picked up her book. Before she could turn away, he grabbed her wrist and drew her to him, kissing her with deep possessiveness.



“Umm . . . Mr. Remington . . . sir?” inquired the secretary hesitantly.



“Give me one damned bloody minute!” he yelled.



“Of course, sir,” came the obviously shaken voice.



“What a horrid temper you have, Lucien Remington,” Julienne teased as she opened the hidden panel in the wall. She stopped before she made her way upstairs. “You know, one of these days I would like to see your home. Your taste is excellent, I would wager it’s one of the finest in London.”



Lucien ran a hand through his hair to restore some order to the disheveled locks. “Marry me, and my home will be yours.” He gestured around him. “Everything I have can be yours.”



“It’s your heart I want.” She blew him a kiss before she shut the panel behind her.



Taking a deep breath, Lucien unlocked the door and returned to his desk. The flushed secretary came in bearing Fontaine’s card, and a moment later returned with Lord Fontaine.



As the marquess entered, Lucien reluctantly admitted that the peer was a formidable opponent for Julienne’s hand. Fontaine radiated aristocratic privilege from every pore. Tall, with the light-footed grace of a predatory cat, he had an austere, golden beauty. Dressed in light taupe trousers, with matching striped silk waistcoat and brown jacket, he was an impressive sight.



Fontaine settled into a chair and glanced around Lucien’s office. “Impressive, Mr. Remington.”



“What can I do for you, my lord? I was”—he paused a moment in delicious remembrance—“wrapped up in something important.”



“So I gathered,” the marquess drawled, with caustic amusement. “I shall get to the point straight away.”



“I wish you would.”



Fontaine crossed his ankle over his knee, settling into the chair with casual arrogance. “I’m here to pay Lord Montrose’s debt to your club.”



Lucien kept his face impassive as he rose and went to the sideboard. “Care for a brandy?”



“Thank you,” Fontaine said. “I would.”



Lucien poured two rations. “Did Montrose send you?”



Fontaine took the offered snifter before answering. “No, but I will have to settle the debt eventually. I would rather see to it now.”



Lucien resumed his seat and spun his snifter slowly between his hands. “It is not your responsibility.”



“You’ve never quibbled before, Remington. I have it on good authority that you will take a payment on a debt from anyone.” Fontaine’s voice turned derisive. “Just so long as you get paid.”



Lucien tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. He wasn’t a fool. Money was money, and he never turned it down, especially when it was his own being returned to him. “This situation is different. I’ve already made arrangements with Montrose. Your assistance is not required, nor is it welcome.”



Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so eager to hold his debt?”



“Why are you so eager to pay it?”



“I’m marrying his sister, Lady Julienne. I want Montrose’s finances to be in order so Julienne feels free to marry without worrying about her brother’s affairs.”



“Ah,” Lucien murmured, with a tight smile. “Shall we be honest? You hope to marry Lady Julienne, and you wish to pay off Montrose’s debt so she feels obligated to marry you.”



Fontaine stiffened the instant before he downed his brandy in one swallow. He set his empty glass on the edge of Lucien’s desk. “You are the other gentleman she referred to, are you not?”



“I am.”



“Are you attempting to buy a highborn bride with a gentleman’s debt?”



“I’m not buying anything. I have no hold on Julienne other than her affection for me.”



The marquess snorted. “If you had any care for her at all, you would want her to marry someone of her station. Her feelings for you will ruin her life, and you know it.”



“Spare me your aristocratic entitlement,” Lucien bit out. “I can give her everything you can except for your blasted title. I can assure you, my love for her will more than make up for that.”



Fontaine’s crossed ankle began to flex rhythmically in agitation. “Well, well. I have always acknowledged your excellent taste, Remington. I see it extends to all areas of your life. But you fail to see that with my title come privileges like social acceptance and respect. Doors will slam shut in her face if she weds you. Will your love be enough to soothe her pride when that happens?”



“Will your title soothe her loneliness when you’re warming another woman’s bed?” he retorted.



Fontaine flushed.



The two men eyed each other carefully before Fontaine spoke. “I’ll make taking her away from me as difficult as possible, Remington.”



“I would expect nothing less. But don’t forget, Lady Julienne is a very intelligent woman. She will decide what is best for her without any help from either of us.” Lucien gestured toward the door. “I think we’re done here.”



Fontaine stood. “She deserves to be a marchioness, with all the power that comes with that station.”



“She deserves to be loved. Good day, my lord.”



“Good day, Remington.”



Lucien released a deep breath as soon as the door closed behind his nemesis. His entire body was taut with the primitive instinct to protect what was his. Julienne was his. She loved him. And at this very moment, she waited for him upstairs. He wanted to go to her and claim her in the most basic way possible. To brand her as his so that no other man could ever have her.



With a sudden ferocious movement, Lucien pushed away from his desk and strode to the door. “I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day,” he informed his secretary, then he closed the portal and took the hidden hallway to his suite of rooms upstairs.



As he entered the Sapphire Room, most of his tension fled. Julienne was there, in his element. A small fire lit the chamber. Although it wasn’t cold, it added a cheery atmosphere and bathed her in a soft glow. He wanted this welcoming scene greeting him every day for the rest of his life. He wanted to take her to his home, to make love to her in his bed, to wake up with the scent of her on his skin and her hair spread across his chest. His very soul ached for her.



“The colors of this room suit you,” she said softly, her gaze soft and adoring, just as it always was when she looked at him. “Your beautiful eyes glow.”



His mouth curved in a warm smile. “That’s because I’m looking at you.”



Her answering smile was fleeting. “What did Lord Fontaine want?”



“He wanted to pay off your brother’s debt. When I refused his money, he guessed my involvement with you.”



Julienne took a deep breath. “I see.”



“Don’t worry. He still wants you.”



“I’m not worried,” she denied, and then she dropped her head. “Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. He’s been kind. I think, had I not met you first, I would have been content to spend my life at his side. It’s not his fault my affections are engaged elsewhere.”



Lucien leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. “I want to pay off all of your brother’s markers. No strings attached.”



“Beg your pardon?”



“I want you to decide between Fontaine and me with your heart, not with your brother’s welfare in mind. I’ll have my solicitor draw up documents stating all the debts are paid, regardless of which one of us you wed.” His voice lowered and throbbed with emotion. “I would give up everything I have, Julienne, to give you a choice.”



“No.” Julienne rose from her chair. “I don’t want you to do that. It isn’t money that will decide my mind.”



Lucien remained by the door with the greatest of effort. “If I told you I loved you, would you believe me?”



“Lucien . . .”



“Haven’t you wondered why your brother has allowed me to see you?”



“Well, yes . . .”



“Extortion.”



Julienne blinked.



“He owes me a great deal of money. I leveraged it against him to get what I want—time with you.”



She sank back into the chair.



“I warned you I wasn’t honorable, my love. I told you I wasn’t a gentleman. I’ll do whatever it takes to win you. Anything at all. I have no scruples or morals to hold me back.” Lucien watched her closely. “Now, if I told you I love you, would you believe me?”



“I don’t know,” she breathed. “But I want to.” She held out a hand to him, and that was all the encouragement he needed.



He reached her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. Heat swirled around them, as did endless hunger. He would never have enough of her, would always crave her. “I need you, Julienne.”



Her fingers entwined in his hair. “I’m here, my love.”



“Not just now. Forever.” His mouth traveled down her neck. “You are mine. You belong to me. I won’t allow Fontaine to have you.” He tugged at her bodice, releasing her breasts, then laved her nipples until she clawed at his back.



“Marry me,” he urged against her breast.



“Love me,” she countered breathlessly.



“Sweetheart,” Lucien said, smiling, “I already do.”



Chapter Twelve



Lucien watched Hugh La Coeur pace behind his desk in Montrose Hall. Unlike his own spacious and airy office, Montrose’s study was paneled in dark walnut, with parquet floors covered in Aubusson rugs. With red drapes so dark in color as to be almost black, the room was oppressive and forbidding, nothing like the jovial, irresponsible man who owned it.



Leaning back a little farther in his chair, Lucien released his breath in a quiet rush. Unfortunately, this meeting was going exactly as he had anticipated.



“You’re daft!” Hugh cried. “You cannot marry Julienne. It’s just not done, I tell you!”



“I realize that,” Lucien replied calmly.



“Then why are you here?”



With endless patience, he repeated his request. “To ask for her hand and discuss the settlements with you. I am prepared to be generous.”



Hugh shook his head. “Damnation! You can’t purchase a bride.”



“For God’s sake,” Lucien muttered in exasperation. “I am not attempting to buy Julienne.”



Montrose leaned over the desk, his palms flat on the surface. “Why my sister? Why not one of the other debutantes out this Season?”



“My lord, you are under the false impression that I merely wish to acquire a wife. One of the benefits of being untitled is that I have no need to wed. I am not required to sire heirs to carry on a family name.”



“Then why are you here, damn it?”



Lucien didn’t have time for this. “We’ve already established why I’m here. Now here is the proposed settlement.” He tossed the thick legal contract onto the desk. Hugh picked it up and flipped through it, his eyes widening. “You keep Julienne’s dowry, but I manage it for you. I will make investments as I deem appropriate for the next six months, after which I will turn the balance over to you. I’ve opened an account in your sister’s name, and I’ve deposited funds equal to her dowry for her own personal use. She will also receive an allowance, the amount of which is detailed in the agreement.”



Hugh found the number and paled. “Good God, this is extraordinary. You must be rich as Croesus.”



“You will meet with me in my office every Tuesday and Thursday morning for the next six months. I’m going to teach you about money, Montrose. How to make it, and how to keep it.”



“Preposterous,” Hugh cried in outrage. “I cannot—”



“Hold your tongue,” Lucien ordered, in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Your blasted pride got you into this mess. I’ll bail you out this one time, Montrose. I’ve already paid all of your creditors. But I shall have a wife now and, God willing, children. I won’t waste their inheritance on you. You will learn the skills I can teach you.” Lucien watched the young earl flush with embarrassment and relented, slightly. “You were only ten when you came into your title. I don’t blame you for feeling overwhelmed. But I won’t allow your irresponsibility to continue. It’s time to grow up.”



Hugh dropped into his chair, the hand holding the agreement falling carelessly into his lap. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his expression dazed.