Chapter Four

Oh, this was dangerous. Idling in a deserted corridor with a notorious rake would sink Julia’s reputation. No decent man would marry her, and she did not believe that this Duke of Ashworth would do the respectable thing and wed her out of obligation. Three duels in one month suggested that he didn’t care a fig for respectability.

She must leave this man, but found it impossible to move. His gaze was too captivating.

His eyes were the dark gray of a storming sky, but also warm. Almost playful. The duke studied her as if she were some marvelous toy. No man had ever looked at Julia like he wanted to swallow her in one sinful bite. Julia’s body grew heavy at the mere thought of his hand upon her skin. Her breath hitched when she imagined the duke slipping his fingers beneath her bodice, tracing his fingertips around and around her—

I must leave. Now.

“Your Grace. You’re blocking the way to the ballroom.” She must make him believe she had no interest.

“An astute observation, Miss Beaumont.” A wicked smile played upon his lips.

“Perhaps my veiled request was too subtle. Please move, Your Grace.”

The duke stepped aside and gestured for her to proceed. Julia walked quickly. Soon, they would part. She would be off to Susannah, he to some new, nameless conquest. Julia’s indignation flared. Really, he knew she was unmarried. She had much to lose in this game, and yet he still played with her? This duke was no gentleman.

“I don’t believe I properly thanked you for your assistance,” he said.

“Words aren’t necessary, Your Grace. Actions would be better proof of your gratitude.”

“You’re a woman of action, then?” The duke stepped before her again, halting Julia in her tracks.

“I believe in getting things done.”

“So do I.” The seductive purr in his voice let her know exactly what he meant. Julia felt her face flush. This man was being impertinent. He was shocking her with suggestion. He was more than a rake; he was a fiend. Yet she didn’t want to move, idiot that she was. No other man had ever captured her attention in this way, so quickly and so completely.

Except this duke probably made every woman feel like the center of his world. That charm had allowed him to make many conquests. Julia refused to become one of them.

“And what, pray tell, occupies your time in the day to day? You must be a busy man indeed if you arrive to Lady Weatherford’s ball three hours late. What matter of grave import could have detained you? A cravat that would not fluff? A grievous cologne shortage?”

“You are out to wound, madam.” He sounded delighted by it. Perhaps appearing listless would send this man away from her, but Julia did not want to feign disinterest. She hadn’t felt this alive in months. Years. Ever.

“You’re detaining me, sir. That puts my reputation at considerable risk. A gentleman would care, but such a thing hasn’t crossed your mind. Given what Lady Weatherford has told me of you, that hardly surprises.”

“Oh? She’s spoken of me?” The duke lifted his brows. “What a shame. She’s failed to mention anything of you.”

“Why should she?” Julia’s pulse pounded. She became so aware of the small distance between their bodies. It felt as though heat were building in that space, a spark about to ignite. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“I doubt that you and the word ‘nothing’ are in any way acquainted.” The Duke of Ashworth prowled about her with sinuous grace that left Julia breathless. She could leave if she wished, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor. It wasn’t that she felt helpless in this man’s presence. Rather, she did not want to miss out on the challenge of trouncing him. “Indeed,” he said. “There’s a very ‘something’ about you.”

Julia looked the duke in his wicked, storming eyes.

“And you, sir, are a man who must have everything, it seems. The married women of London no longer interest you, so you toy with the spinsters as well.”

“Yes. That raises a significant question.” He seemed genuinely curious. “How is it a woman of your considerable gifts hasn’t secured a husband?”

The truth only irritated her. Besides, why should she tell this man her private struggles?

“I’ve yet to find the man who matches me,” she replied.

“Now that I can believe.” The duke took one step nearer. Though she was tall, he was well over six feet. Julia rarely had to lift her eyes to meet a man’s gaze. She felt, for the first time in years, that a worthy opponent had presented himself. Her blood was fire in her veins. “You must allow me to show my gratitude. With actions, not words. Come.” The duke held out his hand. “A dance, perhaps? A waltz, to thank you for my rescue.”

“As I’ve said, Your Grace. No thanks are necessary.” Julia smiled. She must not let him know he’d rattled her. Shaken her to her core. He could not know how much she enjoyed it. “Merely refrain from fighting duels on Lady Weatherford’s property. At least until all of the guests have gone.”

Julia stepped around the duke. She couldn’t decide which urge was stronger: the desire to get away, or the wish to be detained.

To her suppressed delight, he stopped her yet again.

“Duels in the plural? You must think me a very naughty—and busy—man.” The words naughty and busy upon his lips conjured heated, dreamlike images of the velvet dark of a bedroom, the silken rustle of sheets. Julia was innocent, but not naive. She knew the specifics of what went on between a husband and wife, though she lacked all experience.

This duke was a true demon. He took no care for her reputation, or her innocence. How infuriating. How exciting.

“I don’t think. I know,” Julia said. “I don’t wish to play your games. I’m here to find a husband, not dally with a seducer.” For the first time, the gleeful light left his eyes. The duke’s whole expression darkened. Had she succeeded in wounding his pride?

“You believe one of those puffed-up dandies in the ballroom has a hope of matching you?”

Her skin prickled with gooseflesh. He sounded almost jealous of the idea.

“I’m afraid I haven’t much choice if I want to marry. I’m no longer some fresh-faced debutante. A spinster, particularly a clever one, must take whatever she finds.” Julia had never bared her true thoughts this quickly to anyone before, not even Laura or Susannah. She was being much too forward. If she wanted to find a husband, then time was running out. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Julia hurried away, but the man was not done.

“If you want to attract male attention, taking to the floor with me is the wisest decision you could make.”

Julia imagined his arm slipping about her waist as he led her in a waltz. The idea left her breathless.

“One dance with me, and every man in that ballroom will find you fascinating. They’ll lay themselves at your feet,” he said.

“I don’t need all of them,” she replied. “One will do quite nicely.”

“He must be the right one, though.”

The duke’s entire body radiated temptation as he held out his hand yet again. Julia believed that his touch would scorch her, burn its way straight through her glove. She drank in the simmering heat of his eyes.

“Yes. He must be,” Julia whispered. “And he is not here.”

Triumphant, she walked away from the bloody Duke of Ashworth.

Snap. The wobbly heel of her shoe broke when Julia put too much weight upon it. The treacherous heel shot across the hallway, upsetting Julia’s balance. She gasped as she began to fall.

Arms encircled her. The duke held her with the greatest ease.

Well. At least we know he can catch a falling woman.

She remained in his arms. Even after the duke righted Julia he kept her close. Surely he had to feel the way her heart throbbed in her chest. Should she free herself? It was the wisest thing to do, but then the duke lifted her chin to meet his eyes. The force of that gaze was like the ocean coming at her during the height of a storm. Others might have been swept away, but Julia knew how to stand her ground.

She did not budge, which delighted him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met such an obstinate lady before,” the duke said.

“I assure you, sir. You’ve barely got the measure of me.”

“Oh, I believe that. Nothing’s more attractive than a beautiful, headstrong woman with a smart mouth.”

No man had ever looked at Julia as if she were temptation itself. Every inch of her quivered at the thought that he might…

“That smart mouth,” he growled, “has me hypnotized.”

Julia forgot what she was going to say as he bent his head to hers. At the first touch of his lips, she was lost. The duke kissed as though he were hungry for her, like Julia was a dish that had been long denied him. His lips were soft, and his stubbled jaw scraped her cheeks. Julia should have pushed him away, but instead she wound her arms about his neck and deepened the kiss. Heat pooled between her legs, leaving her sore with wanting as she felt his tongue stroke just once against hers. She moaned, and he growled in reply. She could feel his burning, very masculine pride at reducing her to something so wanton.

When he pressed her closer, she could also feel the very masculine evidence of his arousal.

Julia had little experience in the way of kisses, but she could tell that this duke was devastatingly good. He pressed one scorching kiss after another upon her lips. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, wishing to feel more. To feel all. The next time he broke a kiss, she took his bottom lip between her teeth. She had never felt more animal—or more wonderful.

“Damn,” the duke whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes upon you. You’re a vixen.”

“I…” All of her words had flown away. Julia’s smart mouth wanted to be kissed, and kissed again. Her eyes fluttered shut as the duke kissed her jaw and all along her neck. Julia tilted her head back, lost in the blissful sensation of being in his arms, of his body pressed to hers, of his lips…everywhere. She adored the spicy, masculine scent of him. She…

She was about to ruin herself. The instant anyone laid eyes upon her, all hope was lost. Ashworth would walk away unscathed. People might judge him harshly, but none would deny him access to society. Whereas Julia’s hopes of finding a husband would be destroyed. Forever.

“No,” she gasped.

Ashworth stopped. Julia shoved out of his embrace and smoothed her skirts, looking this way and that. The corridor was empty, but that was no guarantee that they had not been seen.

“What have I done?” Julia had been given one chance to escape her fate as Constance’s drudge. She’d wasted it on a few moments of pleasure. The greatest pleasure, yes, but…she had to leave. After this exhibition, she must disappear before anyone could put her face to her name.

“Miss Beaumont?”

“This didn’t happen.” She touched her burning cheeks. Julia looked around, but didn’t see her broken heel. “Don’t follow me!”

Entering the ballroom, Julia slowed but did not loiter. She didn’t try to catch any gentleman’s eye. It was too late. Heart sinking, she made her way to Laura and Susannah.

“What’s wrong?” Her stepsister frowned. “Darling, where were you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Julia said to the women. “But we need to leave.”

…

Gregory had never been so consumed by a kiss. Miss Beaumont had set every nerve in his body sparking with delight. She’d been so soft, so yielding, and yet so strong. Her luscious mouth had been exquisite. She was ecstasy itself.

Intelligent as well. Perhaps her wit and intellect made the chase even sweeter. He’d never enjoyed speaking with any woman so much before. Hell, perhaps he’d never enjoyed speaking to anybody that much, period.

Fuck, his loins ached. He’d been reduced to a beast so quickly. In a kind of heady madness, he realized he needed to find her. Her touch had been fiery and also soothing, a burn and a balm.

Gregory scanned the ballroom for Miss Beaumont and caught sight of Lady Weatherford. Julia had said they were friends. Gregory made his way over, bowing his head in greeting.

“Your Grace. How wonderful to see you tonight.” The viscountess smiled, but Gregory could barely return the greeting. He searched the crowd for periwinkle satin and curling golden hair.

“A young lady,” he said. “That is, I was just speaking with a Miss Julia Beaumont. Do you know where she might have got to?”

“Miss Beaumont and her stepsister, Miss Fletcher, left moments ago.” Gregory could feel the lady watching him closely. “I believe they’ve ordered their carriage.”

He made excuses, and then Gregory was on the hunt. As he left the ballroom, he pushed past a few gentlemen who “accidentally” blocked his path. They wanted to intimidate the duke, but he was not in the mood for stupid games. He was in the mood for nothing but her.

Gregory exited the Weatherford house just in time to see Miss Beaumont hurrying along the front path with another young lady in tow. Julia looked back over her shoulder, saw him, and sped up. She grabbed her stepsister’s hand as a carriage arrived. The women hurried inside, closed the door, and clattered off.

She was gone. Damn.

Gregory walked to the street, watching her carriage as it vanished into the night. Miss Beaumont had done the correct thing. Gregory knew that he was a damn scoundrel to have taken advantage of an unmarried woman in such a way. How much lower could a man like him sink?

Even if love existed, a bastard like him didn’t deserve it.

Gregory turned back, and nearly tripped over something lying on the pathway. He picked it up and inspected it in the lamplight.

It was a beaded lady’s shoe, missing a heel.