Chapter Ten

Likewise, Ian was far from unmoved by Juliette’s nearness. Despite his most concerted efforts, he’d pondered little else in the days leading up to his trip to the countryside; each passing mile of that journey served only to inflame his anxious desire to be with her once more. He wanted to hear her voice, watch the way her dimples deepened when she smiled, bathe in her intoxicating scent, feel the softness of her skin and her lips beneath his. Perhaps most perplexing was his near-desperate need to simply talk with her. He longed to know what she thought of the book he’d sent to her. He wanted to know what else she was reading for her Society. And what else amused her and made her smile.

And now that the time had come, he was embarrassed about how nervous he was.

He was no lad, but a man solidly in his third decade of life. He wasn’t inexperienced by any means or any sense of the word. He was confident in his abilities and his knowledge. But there was something about being there with Juliette within arm’s reach that set him on his ear. She made the world tilt and turned his insides to mush. It only served to amplify his mild discomfort about eating in front of her—if his mother had done anything, it was to instill proper manners in him until they were as natural as breathing.

This dissipated like mist when Juliette leaned forward and plucked a few plump grapes from the pile upon his plate, smiling as she popped one into her mouth. Little did she know, the innocuous action made his insides melt even more.

There was something incredibly intimate about the small gesture; something surprisingly comfortable. His mind turned it over and over as his mouth enjoyed the savory meal the Hopesend kitchen staff had prepared.

“You could have sent for a servant to bring you supper, you know. We are fully staffed for the party.”

Ian finished chewing before responding. “I’m not all that comfortable requesting something so simple be done for me, not when I’m fully capable.” He proceeded to cut another piece of roast meat. “I don’t employ a valet either; it’s why I dress so simply because I need to be able to do it myself. Mrs. Brown—the woman you met when you stopped by my offices—is the extent of my hired help. She handles the cooking and cleaning.”

“Ah,” Juliette replied, her eyes glittering. “So there is no one to care for you besides your rather formidable gatekeeper.” The words were far from unkind, perhaps even somewhat admirable toward the older woman’s tenacity. “May I ask why it makes you so uncomfortable to have others wait on you?”

He lifted a shoulder. “As you may have suspected, I did not grow up with servants.” He hesitated, unsure how much of his life and past to divulge, but the earnest glint in her fathomless eyes, the way she leaned toward him as he spoke, decided for him. “My mother worked as a maid in a household in Edinburough to help fund my education and provide support as I moved on to medical school. I witnessed firsthand how hard she worked to earn what little she could; it was disproportionate. Even though I earned a scholarship, there were still everyday expenses and other necessities to cover. The courses were so rigorous they left little time to sleep, let alone hold a job to pay for us both.” He skimmed over the part where he’d always been forced to work twice as hard to earn half the accolades as his English classmates, or those with enough money to afford schooling without scholarship. Sensing a kindred soul, Meredith’s uncle had seen his potential and, in addition to mentoring him, he’d offered Ian a paid apprenticeship. Ian’s mother had never once complained about the sacrifices she’d made to support him, which made it all the sweeter when he’d been able to pay the rent on their small flat for the very first time.

Juliette seemed to think on his words very carefully, perhaps considering what it might have been like to grow up less fortunate, as she fiddled with a fold in her skirt. “And your father?” she inquired.

Ian set down his fork as a knife of ice struck him in the sternum. Words would not come at first.

“You needn’t answer if you do not wish to.” Ian’s eyes flew to Juliette’s face when she spoke. The calm warmth there was comforting and welcoming in an unfamiliar way, but Ian was grateful for it. The tension immediately melted from his body and, suddenly, the words fell from his lips.

“He died. When I was a lad.” The sting of it was still raw as a blister, even after all these years.

Juliette’s small, pale hand covered his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, absorbing the poignant grief in his tone. They shared a moment of comradery only those who’ve lost parents too early can comprehend. Ian turned his palm up and allowed her to weave her fingers with his.

“I was born and bred in the Highlands, like many of my family’s generations before me. The land is beautiful and wild; the people are just as rugged and hardy, singular in their determination to preserve the old ways of life. Unfortunately, the remoteness of the lifestyle means proper medical care can be few and far between, and what little there is, is of poor quality. More than half of it is antiquated, consisting of superstitions and treatments that do nothing.

“My father fell ill when I was younger.” Ian paused, focusing on the feel of Juliette’s fragile fingers on his own, his thumb stroking the cup of her palm. A wistful smile danced across his lips. “I remember him as a big bear of a man with the largest hands I’ve ever seen. He had a laugh like thunder and a heart of gold… Toward the end, he was gray and frail.” The image still haunted Ian. He’d ached with helplessness as he’d been forced to watch the man he worshiped and admired waste away into nothingness; as he witnessed every breath become a gasping labor when his lungs weren’t consumed with fits of violent coughing. “Many people in our village died from the same illness. Young and old were the first, then even the hale and hardy succumbed. The sickness didn’t discriminate. I still believe with every fiber of my being that something could have been done—some of them could have been saved—if there had only been proper medical care available to us.”

Juliette was silent.

Ian looked up to find her examining him, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“This is why you became a physician,” she murmured. He nodded once in reply and released her hand to resume eating to mask the swell of emotion ebbing through his chest. He did his best not to focus too much on the loss of Juliette’s warmth.

She remained quiet for several minutes. He could feel the caress of her eyes upon him, as tangible as a lover beside him in bed. She made his skin tingle and his blood heat several degrees until he felt as if he was boiling from the inside out.

He hadn’t believed his good fortune when he’d bumped into her on the stairs. It had taken all of his self-control to not seek her out earlier, but some benevolent deity must have found him worthy of grace because he had found her when he’d least expected to. Every one of his senses had been on fire since that moment of collision.

The night had been growing only better with each ill-advised decision—when he’d followed her down the servants’ stairs to the kitchens and allowed her to scrounge up supper for him; when, for some reason, he’d asked her to keep him company while he ate; when he’d followed her up to this remote corner of the manor; and, now, when they sat alone together in the dim room, the stars winking at them through the tall glass windows, making everything seem more intimate and expansive at the same time.

She looked stunning sitting there beside him in half-golden candlelight and half-mysterious shadow. Her cream-colored lace gown was elegant in its understated finery, highlighting her luminous skin with its hint of golden glow. He noticed, when they’d been pressed close together in the servants’ stairwell, that she smelled faintly of roses and warm skin, something uniquely Juliette, delicate and enticing. A scent that made him ache with need, his sex unbearably heavy in his breeches.

The entire carriage ride, Ian had been consumed with questioning his sanity. The days since Juliette had stopped by his office had been nothing but spinning in mental circles as he contemplated the voracity of his morals and decisions. And, yet, still, he found himself beneath the roof belonging to the very powerful brother of the woman who had taken over both his conscious and unconscious thoughts. It was ill-advised, to say the least. Reckless and unconscionable, to be honest. But, seated there in the intimate lighting, their legs brushing beneath the table, Ian had never felt anything so right.

His appetite having shifted, Ian set aside his silverware and shoved his chair back from the table. He held out his hand to Juliette, his pulse pounding through his body to a deafening degree.

“Come here,” he rasped. Her beautiful eyes bounced from his face to his hand and then back before she placed her fingers in his and stood.

All rational thought lost, Ian tugged her into his lap and marveled at how well they fit together.

“Ian,” she breathed, her cheeks catching fire.

“Where has the brazen lass gone?” he murmured and wrapped his arms around her slim frame. She had the most delectable shape; he could tell the curves of her bottom were pure perfection even through the damnable layers of clothing between them. A rush of fire filled his abdomen, dripping lower with molten need. She squeaked when he pressed his lips to the pulse in her throat and inhaled deeply.

“I—I…that is—oh!” Her words died abruptly when he nibbled the lobe of her ear, right behind the earring that had so helpfully come loose earlier and allowed them to find one another.

His hands caressed her back, cupped her hip, traced the delectable curve of her waist, ached to test the weight of her breast with his palm or dip to that warm, forbidden hollow between her legs.

Juliette’s hands were performing a tentative exploration of their own. Gooseflesh prickled every inch of his skin when she flattened her palm against his chest, and then slid upward to the edge of his cravat, curling around the back of his neck. Her fingers tangled in the strands at the nape of his neck, holding him close as he tasted the sensitive skin of her jaw.

“You still want this?” he murmured against her skin.

“Hmm?” Her head tilted back as he nuzzled her throat.

His hands tightened around her until their bodies were entirely flush with one another. “This,” he growled. “Me.”

Her breathing hitched and her body stilled. He loosened his grip enough to allow her to lean back a few inches to look into his face.

“Are you asking me if I’ve changed my mind?”

Ian’s jaw clenched by way of a reply. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he had to. It had been the only other thought occupying his mind for the past several days. He knew he would release her immediately if she’d come to her senses and decided to call off whatever harebrained scheme she’d concocted.

He could see her pulse flickering in her throat.

“I haven’t,” she finally whispered.

It was all the urging Ian needed to pull her head down to his, capturing her lips, claiming her mouth with his own. The faint whimper escaping from her throat caused a scarlet haze to burst behind his eyes and surge throughout his body. His grip must have been nearly painful on her waist and the back of her neck, but she only clutched him closer. Both of them were panting when he finally broke the kiss.

“If I ever do something you do not desire,” he forced out the words through lips which seemed to have lost the power of speech; “if ever there is something you do not wish, you need only tell me and I will listen. Say a word and I will stop.”

She gazed down at him, her pupils so dilated they nearly engulfed the color of the irises. “You can’t ever do something I don’t wish you to do.” Her voice was slightly tremulous but clear and honest.

“Good,” Ian growled. “Because I’ve thought of little else beyond this—” he squeezed her against him—“in days.” He craned his neck to capture her lips once again, a low moan eked unbidden from his chest when she met him with equal fervor. Her palms slid up the curve of his chest to grip his shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to have her straddling him, his straining cock nestled in the sweet heat at the crux of her thighs.

But Ian’s lust-hazed mind still knew there had to be a line he did not cross. They must not do anything irrevocable, no matter how they might crave it. The onus was on him as the more experienced of them to maintain restraint and a reasonable hold upon his sanity…though Lord knew it would be one of the most difficult ventures of his life. He was ravenous for this woman.

Their lips met in a frenzy, the click of teeth and breathless sighs filled the air of their little golden-lit bubble. It was easy to believe the rest of the world outside of this intimate space had melted away, evaporated with the heat of whatever it was that had burned so brightly between them from the very first. Having Juliette in his arms felt right, even though every fiber of his being screamed that it was so, so wrong. So dangerous. In more ways than one.

She pressed herself more closely to him, unconsciously rocking her hips against him in an instinctive rhythm. Ian’s breath hissed through his teeth. Even if Juliette was untried and innocent there remained, buried deep within her, primal urges. The femininity in her body knew the masculinity in his; it knew what to do, knew what it craved as naturally as how to keep her heart beating and her breath moving in and out of her lungs.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled against her mouth. She whimpered in response, shaking her head, unable to voice what she desired. “This?” he demanded, his large palms cupping the perfectly rounded globes of her bottom in a bruising grip. “You want my hands on you, lass?” His voice was growing harsher, the Scottish burr coming through more thickly with each second of the delectable torture of having Juliette in his arms, but not naked beneath him. “What are your plans with me?”

“This,” Juliette hissed, her fingers twining through his hair almost painfully, her teeth scraping his lower lip. “More of this.”

Ian growled, happy—nay, eager—to oblige. He shoved his half-eaten supper across the table to create just enough space for what he intended. Rocking his weight forward, he stood enough to slide Juliette’s bottom on the tabletop and propped her there. He pressed closer, nestling himself between her legs, standing over her, dominating her with his size, never breaking contact with his lips and tongue. She had to angle her head back to accommodate his height. Her hands, no longer able to reach his head, slipped down to his waistcoat to fist in the fitted silk. She was likely to leave wrinkles, but Ian didn’t care one whit. In fact, he knew he’d smile fondly upon those creases later when he saw them and recalled this interlude.

Juliette’s head fell back on a sigh when his lips trailed down her jaw.

“There are more places a man can kiss a woman to give her pleasure.”

“Oh?” she sighed, somewhat belatedly.

“Aye,” Ian breathed harshly. “Here.” He pressed his open mouth to the spot where her jaw met her neck.

“Here.” He nipped her earlobe and then soothed it with a kiss.

“Here.” He tasted the pounding pulse in her throat.

“Here…” He kissed the milky expanse of her decolletage exposed above the edge of her gown. He was enveloped in her intoxicating scent.

What he wouldn’t give to bury his face just there.

He teetered on a dangerous precipice of his self-control. He was mere inches away from all loss of sanity. He’d thought of little else but this woman in his arms; knowing her mind had been similarly tortured was heady. It drove him wild. It awoke something barbaric and untamed within him. It roared to life within him like a blistering mountain wind through heather. It made him tighten his grip on Juliette’s body, tangle his fingers in her hair, and yank her mouth to his once more to plunder her with his tongue. It bellowed at him to tear off her clothes and devour her.

The last thought was like a bucket of icy water over his head and Ian wrenched himself away from Juliette as if he’d been scorched. His chest heaved in time with the rise and fall of Juliette’s delectable bosom. He had to be the one in charge of drawing a line in this wildly absurd situation. The onus was on him to maintain restraint. It might kill him, but he knew what he must do.

Juliette’s heavily lidded eyes met his. He knew his pupils were likely as ravenous as hers were. Ian removed his shaking hand from her rear and tucked a loose black curl of hair behind her ear. Those mesmerizing eyes of hers slid closed and she tilted her head into his touch. It took everything he had not to send his senses to hell and take her right then and there.

“I fear we may have underestimated our chemistry.” Ian’s chuckle was as weak as his voice. “Might I suggest we part ways for the evening?” He cut off her mewl of protest by gently pressing his thumb to her lips. He couldn’t resist tracing the plump pillow of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. It was a mistake, however, because he was nearly undone all over again when those lips parted, gifting him with a little glimpse of her pearly teeth and carnation-pink tongue. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still noticeably husky. “This is not to say you haven’t considered everything and the implications therein, but I think we would be wise to keep our wits about us. And you must think on what exactly you hope to get out of this rather dangerous plan of yours.”

“Dangerous?” she laughed incredulously. She wouldn’t ask that if she knew exactly where his mind went… Ian didn’t dignify the question with a straightforward response; he was too afraid he would describe, in vivid detail, all the things he wanted to do to her.

“Now that this…is out of our system, I need you to think clearly about what you want.”

“What I want?” She leaned back a little, her shapely brows knitting together. “I told you want I want—”

“I know what you desire,” he said, cutting her off, doing everything in his power not to grind upwards and make his meaning blatant. “What do you want ? Where should the line be drawn? Because you and I both know there is no permanence here.” At least, they did when their minds and bodies weren’t otherwise occupied. He watched as Juliette’s eyes fluttered down, shielding her gaze beneath the fan of her impossibly long coal-colored lashes.

“Stolen kisses in the dark? A few forbidden caresses? A little taste of pleasure?” Her cheeks flared as he said the last, but her eyes did not return to his face. “I can give you those.” He crooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look back at him. “I will gladly give you those, Juliette.” Her blush deepened, but the desire in her eyes was unmistakable, bold.

Ian knew he needed to get away from Juliette before any more of his faculties fled him…before he did anything both of them would regret.

“It’s important that you are certain about what you want to happen between us. The last thing I want is for this to end poorly. For you to regret anything.” She opened her mouth to speak, but closed her lips once more, seeming to think better of what she’d been about to say. “The last thing I want is you to be hurt.”

“And you?” she whispered. “What about you?”

“Me?” Ian barely stifled an incredulous chuckle.

“You have feelings as well, do you not?” she clarified with a charmingly innocent tilt of her head. Lord, if only she knew how many feelings he had. The realization that she was concerned about him in this situation was sobering and heady at the same time; it both thrilled him and made him nervous.

“You need not worry about me.” His voice was husky, rich with everything pounding through his veins.

“And why not?” She wrinkled her nose most charmingly, an expression that would have sent many a Society matron into a fit of vapors. Whether she realized it or not, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting and twining in a way that began to drive him mad with need. If they weren’t careful, then they would wind up tangled in one another again. “You may be a man, but I would think you would have…opinions about all of this. In fact, I would wager you have more opinions than I do because you’re so obviously more experienced.”

This time, Ian did release a bark of laughter. His hands tightened around her. “You would be incredibly accurate in that assessment; I do have a great deal more fodder for my imagination. But, while I do appreciate your concern, you needn’t worry. Truly.” He added the last when she lifted a disbelieving brow. And then he sobered because he needed her to understand how treacherous this situation was. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she knew her mind or was blind to the dangers, but this was more than a stolen peck on the lips from a titled lordling at a ball. Ian was of a different class, a different world than she. And he had accepted an illicit invitation right beneath an earl’s nose. “Kisses, I will gladly give—a fact I believe I have made abundantly clear at this point. Holding you, touching you, are all things on the table. But how far do you wish this to go, Juliette? Where is the line you have drawn in that brilliant mind of yours?”

She chewed her lower lip and lowered her eyes, tilting her head away from him. They sat there in that compromising position for several minutes of silence. It should have been awkward and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Ian wanted to give Juliette all the time she needed to mull over her reply. When she finally did speak, she did so to the ceiling, to the walls, the cavernous, glass-filled room around them.

“This used to be my mother’s favorite room in the manor. Here, she would read, sew, and enjoy the view of the lands. It was always such a treat to be invited here into this sanctuary.” Her luminous eyes met his. “I spent a great deal more time here with her when I became ill.” Ian’s heart stuttered. “Scarlet Fever struck when I was seven years of age. My brother remained well—he, as the heir, was moved to another house under an abundance of caution as soon as the illness began to spread. I survived, just barely, but many children in the village did not. As if the weeks of fevers and hallucinations weren’t enough, I was sapped of all my vitality, my strength, my joy… My mother would bundle me up in a nest of quilts on that sofa. She would read to me, coax me into sipping barley water and bone broth, and we would watch the clouds race one another across the sky. I don’t remember being sick, but I remember recovering. I remember her. My health was so precarious that it caused everyone to treat me with kid gloves from then on. Even after my stamina grew and I was no longer piqued by a walk to the gardens, I was not allowed to do anything for myself. Everyone lived in constant fear that that outing, that exertion, that trip and fall so common in every childhood would, inexplicably, be the one to deplete me and do me in.

“I was not allowed to join my brother’s riding lessons. I couldn’t walk to the village or climb trees anymore. Anything above carrying two books to my rooms was considered too strenuous and, therefore, strictly forbidden. I was never even allowed to learn how to dance.” Pain flickered across her vision. Though Ian ached to comfort her, he could tell there was more she wished to say. He remained dutifully still as he listened. “The pattern continued after our parents were killed in a carriage accident and my brother became the new Earl of Hopesend…but it was different. Ethan survived my illness with his own trauma. He is my twin and we have always been closer than most siblings. When he thought he was going to lose me, it was not just the loss of a sibling he feared, but the horrible notion that he would be losing a part of himself. As such, he has developed a different sense of what is ‘right’ for me, and what is ‘safe.’ So, I attend my Reading Society meetings, I have few friends, and I do not attend balls where I would risk becoming overheated in a crush or—heaven forbid—asked to dance! Men do not court me, I suspect nearly as much for the fact that I am so secluded as the reality of just who my brother is. Everyone fears crossing him, so they do as he says. I am guarded like a precious porcelain doll. But with you, Ian…with you I feel like a woman for the first time in my life.”

This, Ian understood.

It wasn’t all that uncommon in families who had both suffered tragedy or narrowly escaped a tragic end. The reaction was often a way for them to hold onto what they had left and guard it with everything they had—whether or not those efforts were entirely rational. This, it would seem, would be exactly what the earl had been doing with Juliette. This vibrant woman had been condemned to a half-life because of her brother’s fear of losing her. And, in doing so, he had pushed her into Ian’s arms.

While it was tragic and Ian certainly felt sorry for Juliette, he couldn’t be too broken up about it. It had, after all, brought her to him—brought them to this very moment—however brief a time that may be.

Still, ever a physician, Ian asked, “And you have no lasting I’ll effects? No fluttering of your heart, dizzy spells, or periods of difficult breathing?”

“Not you, too,” Juliette groaned and made to push off of Ian’s chest; however, his hands held fast.

“I wouldn’t be who I am If I didn’t show care for your physical well-being.”

“And what about my mental well-being?” she demanded. “I have never felt more myself than when you look at me; when you touch me, Ian. I don’t believe etiquette lessons quite cover the proper way to admit such a thing to a man, so here I am treading into entirely uncharted waters and I hope it does not put you off of whatever this is.” She gestured to the limited space between them. “But I would not have you think you are in any way taking advantage of me. If anything, it is I who is taking advantage of you.”

She truly believed she was the one taking advantage here? Ian was practically struck dumb by the admission. He wanted to tell her she was wrong—that she was the epitome of delicate, well-bred fragility and he should have been drawn and quartered for even a fraction of the filthy things he’d imagined doing to her in the days since they had first met—but her earlier statements told him that would be precisely the wrong thing to say. The last thing Juliette wanted was to be viewed as the weak invalid she’d been treated as for so many years. That very view had deprived her of so many experiences and, while Ian had little to nothing to offer her, he could give her this much. He would offer her a taste of desire and passion here at this house party. It was an impermanent arrangement, but he would give her everything he could.

“So,” Juliette continued; “I will take what you are willing to share. Be it your Gaelic to assuage my thirst for languages, your time…or something else. Because it is all foreign and new and exciting. And I will cherish it.”

Ian gently tugged her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I understand,” he murmured against her soft skin. “For now, the hour grows late and we should both be off to our beds.”

“There is an excursion and a picnic scheduled for tomorrow along with games. You will join us, won’t you?”

“What sort of houseguest would I be if I didn’t?”

“You did miss supper tonight.” She shoved playfully at his shoulder.

“I consider this a working holiday; some of us do need to work for our livings.” It was meant as a lighthearted jest, but the flicker in her eyes told him she hadn’t considered such a thing and was torn between embarrassment and shame over her privileged lifestyle. He rushed to reassure her, saying, “Or I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to comport myself professionally when all I have been able to think about was pulling the beguiling hostess into my arms and kissing her senseless.” None of it was a lie; not one bit.

It was also the right thing to say. Juliette’s porcelain skin blushed prettily, temptingly. Ian placed one final peck upon the pert little tip of her nose and set her on her feet.

“Sleep on it,” he murmured, standing so he once more towered over her. “I will see you tomorrow for the outing.”

He was mesmerized by the way she pulled her full lower lip between her teeth as she nodded. He wondered if she was trying to find a taste of him there. Ian had to avert his gaze and clear his throat lest his body grow too excited.

“I will bid you good evening, then,” she whispered, her words lost in the close shadows around them. She leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for coming. I—I am looking forward to the coming days,” she breathed against his skin.

“ Oidhche mhath, ” he said. Goodnight.