Chapter Nine

It was as he’d feared. Mention of the wedding night stole all color from Julia’s cheeks. She looked as if the idea of giving herself to him like some virgin sacrifice was repulsive.

She had grown somehow more beautiful in the days since they’d last met. Maybe it was the dress she wore, one of the concoctions Gregory had paid Mrs. Maxwell to create. Julia glittered like a diamond in a gown of cream silk with crushed blue velvet accents. And there was something about the way she came alive when surrounded by books that excited him further. It was one thing to desire a beautiful woman, but a beautiful woman with a keen mind only fed the ache in his loins and the fire in his blood. Because ladies were discouraged from anything too mentally taxing, Gregory adored a woman who devoured knowledge for its own sake. It was the most glorious kind of selfishness, to become who you wanted to be without a thought for the narrow constricts of society. He was delighted by Julia’s boldness.

But she appeared so terrified at the idea of giving herself to him that it forced Gregory to look away from the gorgeous vision. His reputation repulsed her, and she was sacrificing so much of what she truly desired in order to marry him. She was his for show, but not for touch. Julia Beaumont was a fantasy. It’s all she could ever be.

“Forgive me for bringing it up,” he said. “I merely wanted to let you know that we don’t have to consummate our union.” He swallowed; his throat felt quite dry. He couldn’t let her see how bloody disappointed he was. “In fact, it would be best if we didn’t.”

“Of course.” She turned her back on him, studying the spines of his books with rapt fascination. Doubtless she was trying to hide her giddy relief.

“You don’t need to worry about an annulment. I never planned to marry or have children, so I won’t try to weasel out of our arrangement even after the ton’s wives and dowagers have moved on.”

“That’s very considerate of you.” Her tone was tart. Somehow, he found her desirable even when she was snapping at him.

“You sound as if you’re about to throw a book at me.”

“I am not.”

“Just don’t make it the complete works of William Shakespeare. That could kill me if you aimed wrong.”

“I never aim wrong.” Julia snatched one of the volumes from off the shelf and, just as he’d anticipated, chucked it at him with a short, sharp cry. Gregory caught the book as it sped toward his face.

“Christopher Marlowe. Excellent choice,” he said, reading the cover.

“You really can be a monumental ass, Your Grace,” Julia snapped.

“I don’t know why you’re spitting venom at me now.” Gregory went and shoved the volume back into its spot, coming face-to-face with the delectably furious Miss Beaumont. “I’ve just tried to respect your decision.”

“Oh, naturally. This has nothing to do with your desires, not at all!” Julia’s cheeks flushed. Gregory couldn’t help wondering if other parts of her naked body colored with passion. He clenched his jaw, trying to will his desires away. “If you can’t bear the thought of a proper wedding night between us, Ashworth, then say so. I’m not a child. I’m perfectly capable of behaving like a rational adult!”

“Says the rational adult who threw a book at me.”

But the world seemed to disappear all around Gregory as he beheld the infuriated vixen. She was angry because she thought he didn’t want to consummate their union. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought that meant that Julia wanted to consummate. That she was eager to consummate.

His breeches tightened at the very thought that she wanted him on top of her, thrusting in and out of her sweet, soft wetness. Desire almost fractured Gregory’s vision. He had to force himself to stay standing, and quiet.

“You made my ‘decision’ for me, just as I would expect from some overprivileged aristocrat.”

“Then tell me, madam. What do you decide for yourself?”

The color fled her cheeks once again. Julia looked away from him, feigning disinterest. Gregory’s heart quickened, and he heard his pulse in his ears. Had he gotten it all wrong? Was she as eager for a wedding night as he was? Was such a thing even possible? He wanted her to capitulate into his arms with a cry; he was terrified she’d do just that.

“Answer me, Julia. It’s up to you. I leave the decision totally in your hands.” He couldn’t help the mocking edge that sharpened his voice. “Do you want a proper wedding night?”

Say yes, God. Please say yes.

No. You have to say no, damn you.

Gregory wanted her to say yes; for her own sake, he begged her to say no.

“I…” Julia chose another book from his shelves, this time a collection of poetry by Shelley. As she turned the pages, the lady absently bit at her full lower lip. God, she was sensational. “I don’t see why we need to discuss any of this. It’s insulting.”

“Oh? A man insults a woman by giving her a say in her own destiny?” Gregory moved toward the door, willing her anger. He wanted a reaction worthy of her. Something volcanic and passionate. Something that matched the heated blood flowing in his own veins. “I didn’t realize you were so old-fashioned, Miss Beaumont.”

“You really are an incorrigible ass!”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Gregory turned and came face-to-face with the girl. Anger brightened her eyes, just as it whetted his wits…and engorged certain body parts. He noticed her gaze trail along his form, stopping at his rapidly developing excitement. She bit her lip, blushed, and looked away. “Tell me what you want, Julia.”

“What I want?”

“Has no man ever asked you that before? What do you want?” He drew nearer to her. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if out of protection. Likely no one ever had sought such an answer from her before. “Tell me what you want from me. I’ll do what I can to meet your expectations,” he whispered.

At least in the bedroom, he believed he could satisfy her. Even if it was only the one time. Even if it was just a few blissful hours before the rest of their lives began, apart.

“You’re being impertinent,” she whispered. But she couldn’t hide the way her body quivered for one moment, a leaf about to fall from a tree. She wasn’t afraid of him. Gregory realized that she feared herself. But why? Did she fear her desire? Her reluctance? Her passion? He wanted to know her, all of her. Beyond the superficial details like her age, her beauty, her spinsterhood, she was something rare. It was obvious. He just wanted to bloody see her.

“Do you hate my impertinence?” Inch by inch, they drew closer together. Her lips were warm, inviting, begging to be claimed and kissed once again. They had not kissed since that night at the Weatherford ball, but now much was permitted. Even if society would be scandalized by their being alone, entwined in passion, surrounded by books, they were engaged. In two simple weeks, everything would be allowed.

“I hate the way you toy with me.” But she didn’t try to move away from him. If anything, she inched closer. Gregory wanted to bury himself inside of her, his head in her hair, nestled in the slope of where her neck and shoulder met. He wanted to lift this fragile silk dress and have his way with her on the library’s velvet settee. His balls tightened at the mere idea of her soft inner thigh, of the sleek wet of her sex. He wanted to make himself one with this impossible, vibrant woman.

I want a wedding night. Just once. Even if it’s all I ever get from you, I’ll die happy knowing how you feel just the once.

But he needed to hear those words from her lips. He needed those words like he craved oxygen.

“Apologies, my lady.” Gregory did not move. He didn’t take her in his arms, or press his lips to hers. He needed to let her tell him the truth; whether she actually wanted him or not. “What would you have me do?”

“Just be honest with me. I know you don’t love me.” She was blunt, so straightforward. She didn’t sniffle, or look at him with doe eyes, pleading him to contradict her. The woman looked at him like he was an equal, not a fairytale prince she was desperate to create in order to satisfy her fondest dreams.

“Men like me aren’t capable of love, it’s true,” he said. “But it has nothing to do with you, Julia. I’m the one who’s deficient.”

“And that means you’re trying to protect me, then?” She took one step closer, so that their breaths mingled. Gregory felt her nearness, her body warming his in the narrow space between them. “You don’t want to hurt me, is that it?”

The thought of hurting her ate him alive, and it was made worse by the certain knowledge he would do just that. No matter what he did, stay or leave, he would hurt her in the end because that’s what he did. That’s all he truly was, a worthless man whom fate had given a fortune and title.

“Enough of these games,” he growled. She was driving him to distraction with her body, the heady scent of rosewater perfume that clung to her hair. “Tell me what you want, madam. Tell me, or God help me I’ll make the choice for both of us.”

“What do you choose?” she whispered. He felt her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers winding together as she clasped the back of his neck. Her luscious mouth twitched as she fought a smile. The vixen was teasing him.

Gregory couldn’t think. He couldn’t think of Percy and the two ladies in the other room, of the scandal of being alone with this woman. His brain could think of nothing clever to say, not when she was this near and her body this warm and her mouth this frustrating.

“I choose to silence you,” he whispered. “I’ve had enough of your talk.”

“I’m afraid I rather love talking,” Julia purred. “You’ll have to find something I enjoy more.”

She wanted him. Gregory’s breath caught in his throat, triumph shouting all through his soul.

“I have a few ideas,” he said.

Then he claimed her lips with his.

…

The first kiss had been ravishing. The second made her want to be ravished.

Gregory clasped her to him, fisted her array of golden, curling hair as he pressed her close. Once again, Julia was drowning in his embrace. He tasted heavenly, of secrets and wine, and his lips seemed to burn her with their passion. Julia had wanted to make him kiss her. She’d wanted to see him lose control and feel smug in how superior her own control was.

But she was lost in his arms again. This time, he did more than kiss her. As his tongue stroked against hers, as he moaned into her mouth, his hands roamed across her body. Julia quivered when he traced a hand along the curve of her back before cupping her bottom. She gasped, but he didn’t release her mouth. He kept kissing her greedily as he squeezed the plump swell of her backside, then reached down to claim her thigh. He lifted it, causing her to wrap her leg around his hip as he slowly, effortlessly laid her backward.

Julia found herself lying upon the settee, gasping for breath and sanity as the duke aligned his body with hers. She groaned as his fingers skated along her neckline until his hand landed upon her breast. He squeezed her through the silk, causing her to grow slick between her legs. She pulsed, desperate to feel him pressing down inside of her.

“Does this tell you what I want, you minx?” He kissed her neck, his whiskers scraping her delicate skin. Julia’s hips bucked at the unexpected surge of pleasure. His breath was hot against her ear. She whimpered when he took her delicate lobe between his teeth, when he sucked it into his mouth. Gregory slid up her skirt, one daring inch at a time, before running his hand along her calf.

He brushed his palm across her knee…and then went higher. Julia shut her eyes in blissful rapture at the sensation of his fingers on the soft canvas of her inner thigh.

Lord, he was coming to the tops of her stockings. A few inches beyond those, and he would touch her where no one else had ever been allowed to go.

She wanted him to explore her. She wanted his hands to be the first to touch her in every conceivable, secret place. Julia knew that this wasn’t love, that it could never be love between them, but she wanted all of this if only for a single night. She wanted consummation.

Even if it meant he never touched her again afterward, that they lived separately so that he could have his dalliances and she could have her freedom.

“You asked me what I want?” she whispered.

“Tell me,” he growled. It was difficult to growl as he kissed her lips, but he managed it skillfully. His attentions left her breathless.

“I want a proper wedding night.” Her voice almost hitched, but Julia managed to keep from sounding afraid. Gregory’s pupils dilated so that his eyes were dark, hungry pools of need. “And then that will be that.”

“You mean once, and never again.” His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. The duke’s hand squeezed her breast, and Julia saw bright pinpoints of light all around the room, her own private constellation of stars.

“I need to be sure of my place.” She lifted her chin, regaining control. “I need to be the true duchess, not just some imitator. But I don’t want to complicate matters, so we’ll be together one time only. Then we’ll go our separate ways. Do you agree?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Gregory’s voice came out as little more than a snarl. It made her flush, to hear how near he was to losing control of his senses. Because of her.

“You mean you don’t want to?”

“Does it feel like I don’t?”

True. Julia’s heart pounded as she could feel him pinned between her thighs. She didn’t need to be told what part of him had grown so rigid, and what he wanted to do to her. The very idea made her want to laugh with delight.

“This isn’t going to be a proper marriage. We both agreed to that. Being like, well, this for more than one night will set up expectations. It will create problems. I want to avoid that.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw as Gregory narrowed his eyes. He assessed her as a predator might before it went in for the kill. But he didn’t seem to realize that he hadn’t felled a deer. Julia was a female panther ready to claw his own eyes out should he deserve it.

The duke smirked.

“You’re a wise chit, I’ll grant you that.”

“Call me a chit again and I’ll grant you a fast, messy death.”

He struggled against laughter, a sight that always warmed Julia’s heart…and quickened her blood.

“Then we’ll have a wedding night,” he said. “A proper one. A mutually satisfying one.” His voice was like aged whiskey. Julia held her breath as he leaned over her, lips tracing hers as he spoke. “And the next morning, I’ll depart England. Alone.”

“Taking a honeymoon all for yourself, Your Grace?”

“Nothing could be more peaceful.”

Julia’s nipples hardened as he claimed a kiss from her one last time. Her toes curled as he moaned into her mouth. So she’d have this for one night. She’d consummate her union with this exasperating man.

And then their happily ever afters would commence, entirely apart.

“Speaking of peaceful,” Julia said. “If we don’t want Constance screeching and flying about, we’d better quit this room at once.”

“Indeed. You should straighten yourself up first, though.” He lifted his body from hers, and smoothed a hand through his wild, luxuriant hair. Julia sat up, adjusting her gown and stockings. She smiled with swollen lips.

“And you’d better calm yourself.” She couldn’t help how her eyes tracked to the prominent bulge at the front of his trousers. Julia felt her face go scarlet as she slid a foot into a lost slipper. “After all, we don’t want to cause a scandal.”