Chapter Twelve

Though Ian and Juliette saw one another at supper and both participated in parlor games that evening, there was no opportunity for them to slip away together. Still, Ian was sure she could feel the heat and the promise of his gaze. He knew she could feel the caress of his eyes as they trailed every curve he longed to memorize with his touch—the recurrent pinkness of the translucent skin on her throat told him so.

Their brief interlude at the folly hadn’t been enough for Ian. He doubted anything would sate this simmering desire growing within him for this woman. As calm and rational a person as he was, he was far from it when she was within his reach. She couldn’t possibly know what she did to him. If she had, then she was a wise enough young woman to give him a wide berth. Instead, she brushed past him in the parlor and stood almost within arm’s reach during the ridiculous games the ton insisted upon playing at these house parties. This was a dangerous game they were playing.

If the earl so much as caught one of their glances or took offense to a smile, Ian’s career—his very future—would go up in flames. Worse, the ramifications for Juliette had the potential to be quite severe.

Though young, the earl was not a man with whom one trifled. Juliette had told him of her brother’s overprotective, almost dictatorial nature, and Ian had heard more than one story about the man’s temper in Parliament. Juliette had never given Ian cause to believe her brother might harm her, but, having dealt with and treated volatile individuals in the past, it was not always something easily controlled…especially when it came to what they viewed as protection of the ones they held dearest.

Still, against his better judgment, Ian had sat up awake in the chamber he’d been assigned long after the rest of the house had retired. Every little creak of the house settling around him made his nerves jump to attention. So torturous was it that his addled mind had even contemplated seeking Juliette out…before he promptly remembered that he did not know where her chamber was located. He couldn’t very well go knocking on each of the dozens of rooms on this floor and the one above it.

He could tell himself all he wanted that this arrangement with Lady Juliette was purely carnal—that he only wanted to seek her out because he desperately wanted her body—but there was more to it than that. There was more to Juliette than that.

He spent the night seething in patience, his mind and body too distracted to focus on work, until he finally drifted off in the early hours of the morning.

He did not see Juliette until the next morning when he encountered her sandwiched between the Duchess of Morton and Meredith. Snippets of the conversation answered his question as to where Juliette had been the night before. Apparently, the duchess had stayed quite late in Juliette’s rooms where the women had engaged in a voracious debate about a piece of literature; at least, that was what Ian gleaned while trying not to seem too obvious.

Juliette seemed to read his mind, though. She caught his eye when he turned back to the table, shooting him an apologetic look. He returned it with a barely perceptible shake of his head. The last thing she should do is feel bad about playing the part of hostess.

The party had just begun and he had no doubt there would be many more opportunities to be had.

∞∞∞

The day was slated for hunting and it appeared the glorious weather would hold. The excitement was palpable in the buzz of chatter, the nervous tapping of polished riding boots and gloves against palms, the squeak of leather crops being twisted. The men laughed a little louder while the women adjusted their riding habits and affixed a few more pins into their hats. Much of the party, led by the earl, was to take part in the hunt, leaving behind Mrs. Finchley (too portly to properly sit a horse), Viscount Sommerfeld (sullen and grumpy over the fact that he was physically unable to participate due to his injury), Juliette (forbidden from doing so by her brother…and the fact that she’d never been allowed to take riding lessons), Ian (who had never been one for hunting or riding outside of a necessary means of transportation), and Meredith, who would stay with her husband and emphasized the fact that she had never been much good at riding (and, though it was the truth, Ian knew it was more for the fact that she was still in the early days of her pregnancy). All had been going well in that regard as far as Ian knew and he hoped with the utmost sincerity that it would continue to do so. No one deserved happiness and a family more than Meredith.

At one time, he’d believed he could be the man to give that to her. He’d cared for her for many years, fancied himself to be in love with her rather than just loving her with the loyalty and devotion borne from years of friendship, shared experiences, and heritages. Had she accepted him—had he not taken so long to return from the Continent and had she not met Lord Sommerfeld—Ian didn’t doubt that they could have settled comfortably. His income would have provided more than passably for them both and they would have built upon their bond over their shared passion for medicine and healing. But settling was what she would have done. He saw that now with the clarity of a man who’d had his heart broken, or that was how it had felt to him at the time.

There was no denying that he and Meredith cared for one another deeply, but there was no passion there. He’d always been attracted to her, but the same could objectively be said about any number of women. Meredith deserved all-consuming passion, unwavering devotion, and, above all, love, and he was happy she had found it.

For that matter, was it that far-fetched that he might hope for the same thing for himself?

Ian shook off that train of thought, not enjoying in the least how maudlin it was turning him. If life had taught him one thing, it was that opportunities should be snatched while they were available. Tomorrow was not guaranteed, each breath could be one’s last, and all those cliches… While a majority of his time was spent with minor ailments, he did have significant first-hand knowledge of the fragility of it all and had more than his share of experience with mortality. Pondering this very thing lent a great deal of weight to his decision to follow through with Juliette’s ridiculous arrangement. He had spent decades working to live, while she had yet to truly experience life.

Just then, the dark-haired goddess of his thoughts drifted into the library where he’d been sightlessly perusing the numerous titles lining the walls for God only knew how long. He hated the way his pulse began to pound when she so much as stepped into his line of sight. Every one of his muscles contracted in anticipation, some ancient reflex ingrained so deeply he was helpless to it and could only be swept upon the crimson tide of it.

Everything else died away and his vision tunneled when she pressed the door closed with her back and slid a thick bolt home with a click that made his brain stutter.

“My brother doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working or in meetings with his solicitors,” she began softly by way of explanation. Even Ian knew there were usually a couple sets of keys for the doors within a house like this; one set kept by the countess and the other by the housekeeper. The deadbolt would prevent even one with a key from entering. “His study has a similar lock. He does not like to be disturbed.”

Ian could barely swallow for the painful tightness of his throat as Juliette approached him. He was sure he resembled a buck in the sights of an archer, helpless to save himself even when faced with a blatant threat to his well-being.

“Juliette,” he finally managed to eke out gruffly.

“Ian,” she replied with an amused tilt to her petal-pink lips. She wore her hair pulled back in several plaits and pinned in a neat coil to show off the tempting arch of her throat. The simplicity of her lilac gown with its square neckline and lace trim was demure and, yet, it managed to drive him wild. Everything about her spoke of confidence—how she leaned with one hip against the high wingback of a navy-upholstered chair, the way lifted her chin in a show of it, her steady voice—Ian knew her well enough at that point to recognize the flickers of insecurity in her crystalline eyes, but he applauded her for the demonstration of bravado. She opened her mouth once and snapped it shut before she decided to speak again. “I thought I might tell you some of the things I’ve learned and get your opinion.”

Ian’s brows rose to his hairline. Of the myriad of things that had run through his mind in the mere seconds since Juliette had entered the room, he hadn’t anticipated this.

“Very well.” Ian inclined his head and very politely gestured for her to take a seat. She obliged and Ian sat on the sofa beside her chosen chair. Though they were perched upon different pieces of furniture, no more than a few measly inches separated them. He was entranced by the way her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks when she looked down to adjust her skirts. She glanced up at the space beside him and sucked in a breath before she stood and, quickly enough that he wasn’t allowed to rise in deference, she plopped down beside him.

“Showing you is probably easier…” Her voice in the last word trembled with the beat of her heart; further evidence to Ian that he’d read her correctly.

“Oh?”

“I began with the basics in your book. Common words and phrases.” She leaned in closer and Ian inhaled her scent deeply, his eyelids involuntarily fluttering in rapture. “ Sròn ,” she said with a smile as she tapped him on the nose with her finger. He chuckled. “ Cluasan .” She gently pinched the lobes of his ears between her thumbs and forefingers and he nearly groaned. He’d never before understood how the ears might be an erogenous zone, but apparently they were when Juliette did the touching… His eyes fluttered closed and then he felt her lips upon his eyelids; he fisted his hands against his thighs when she said, “ Suilean .” He stopped breathing altogether in anticipation when he felt the shaky puffs of her breath against his lips. “ Beul… ” And then her lips sealed over his.

It took less than a heartbeat’s time for Ian to flip their positions and slide his tongue between her lips to sample her sweet nectar. She linked her arms around his neck and held onto him as if he was everything she desired in this world.

Ian was more than happy to allow himself to sink into that delusion.

He obliged when she tugged him closer; his hands began to peruse her curves and she sighed in surrender. The breathy little sound of surprised joy escaping her throat was his undoing. His patience and restraint had been held in check for so long by that time. He couldn’t go any longer without a taste of her—without more.

He knelt on the thick rug despite Juliette’s little moan of protest. “Fret not, mo chridhe .” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder until she relaxed and reclined, watching him with her inquisitive eyes, a swirling mixture of desire and curiosity. Sitting back on his heels, he took his time raising her skirts one delicious bit at a time. His heart raced more quickly with every inch of well-turned ankle and shapely calf clad in virginal white silk stocking gradually revealed to his ravenous eyes. The pink lace garter ribbons, her frilly undergarments only fanned the flames burning deep within his gut.

Though she didn’t stop him, he could read her insecurity in the tenseness of her creamy thighs. He began massaging her calves and gradually worked his way higher in carefully orchestrated circles. When she began to relax, he interspersed them with small kisses. They were nothing more than peppered pecks, but it was enough to make Juliette gasp and Ian’s breeches grow painfully tight. She smelled better than anything he’d ever experienced. She was as clean and sweet as a loch, as heady as heather with its complex, smoky undertones. He was not a betting man, but he would wager she tasted even better.

His body was wound so tightly that he felt as if he would combust if he couldn’t taste her properly. And soon. But he knew he needed to take his time. She was untried and he needed to build her confidence, not overwhelm her with the power of his desire.

“You are a treasure,” he breathed, attempting to keep the tremor of need from his voice. He slipped a fingertip beneath the edge of her drawers as his hands crept higher. “Have you ever explored your body?” he asked as he looked up at her from his subservient position.

The muscles in her delicate throat flexed as she swallowed. Though the skin of her cheeks and chest fairly glowed with embarrassment, she nodded. His cock throbbed as the image of her caressing her most secret of places flashed through his mind. He couldn’t entirely silence the groan of need rumbling in his chest.

“Do not be uncomfortable. Never feel that way around me. There is no shame in it; it is perfectly natural.” Ian continued his gentle stroking of her flesh, higher and higher. “I have done it,” he admitted boldly. “While thinking about you, in fact.”

Those large eyes of hers widened even more. The way she bit her lower lip nearly drove him mad with desire. It took every ounce of strength within him to not spread her legs and take her right there.

His thumb caressed the springy curls at the crux of her thighs, ever so slowly and softly creeping its way nearer to its target. She rewarded him with a shuddering sigh and her knees fell further apart. Ian pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, tasting the pale skin as sweet as sugar. His knuckle caressed the seam of her sex, now slick with her arousal.

“How do you like to be touched, Juliette… mo chridhe…mo leannan àlainn? ”

My heart. My beautiful sweetheart.

∞∞∞

Juliette was breathless with nervous excitement, wound so tightly that she nearly jumped up from the sofa when Ian’s fingers grazed her sex. She had no chance to feel shame over the evidence of her desire had Ian not made such a guttural sound of approval.

“How shall I touch you, hm?” One of his fingers began to stroke her, parting her ever so slightly. Even that small touch made her tremble from her head to her toes. More. She wanted more. She needed it.

“Like that,” she breathed so gently it was barely audible. Ian understood, and the pad of finger pressed more deeply to run from top to bottom, stroking around her entrance. Her hips canted upward to accept his touch.

“And this?” Ian asked in a voice deeper than thunder as he stroked higher to the most sensitive little pearl. And Juliette saw stars.

“Yes!” She arched into his touch, gasping and panting as he swirled through the moisture and stroked her there.

“So responsive,” he murmured approvingly.

Her eyes were clenched, but she could feel his gaze upon her watching her every heaving breath and twitch of her muscles. A buzzing began to overtake her limbs, forcing liquid heat through her veins and focusing her every sense on Ian and what he was doing to her. What he was making her feel.

“And this?” The thick pad of Ian’s thumb pressed into her narrow channel. She would have resisted, but the exquisite fullness combined with the consistent rhythm of his strokes made her shudder in delight.

“Oh, Ian!” Juliette whimpered and clutched at the sofa’s cushions to keep her grounded. She felt as if she were near to floating away on a cloud of unspeakable pleasure.

“And will you allow me to kiss you here?” came Ian’s voice, thick with what almost sounded like desperation. She unscrewed her eyes and looked down at him to be sure she’d heard him correctly. He meant to kiss her? There? The tautness around his mouth spoke of his sincerity and intense need to follow through. But she instinctively knew he would not do it without her permission.

Curiosity won out over modesty and Juliette nodded. This was all the prompting Ian needed; it took him less than a heartbeat to part the slit in her drawers and press his mouth to the dewy folds of her sex.

His kisses began very chaste, but all sense of time and place left Juliette the moment his tongue began to lick and stroke her. Her head dropped back and a moan of delighted surprise was torn from her throat when he started to nibble and caress that sensual pearl. His thumb curled within her, teasing her with little strokes and pressing somewhere that sent shockwaves of pleasure surging through her.

Gripping the sofa was no longer enough. Her hands, of their own volition, began to clutch at Ian’s head and shoulders. She held him closer to her body, rocking her pelvis against him as they worked in time to urge her crisis ever closer.

“Please,” Juliette sobbed. “Please, Ian.” Her heart pounded and her limbs quaked. She felt as if she was climbing to a height so unfathomable she could not breathe.

And when Ian sucked deeply, she really couldn’t.

Her breath was stolen from her lungs as her body curled around a silent scream. The world went black as she was consumed by pleasure, but Ian did not stop until every last tremor was wrung from her limp body. Only then did he give her relief.

After placing a damp, lingering kiss on her thigh, Ian joined her on the sofa. She allowed him to gather her in his arms and hold her against his chest where she closed her eyes and listened to the powerful thud of his heart.