Chapter Fourteen

Juliette’s body continued to tingle the rest of the evening and into the following day. It made it particularly difficult for her to concentrate on any of the conversations bubbling around her, and she nearly sent a ball through the library window when she attempted to participate in a game of pall mall. It was decided that all would be safer if she handed over her mallet and became a spectator. It turned out she was useless at that as well because she completely forgot to clap when the game concluded. All she could think about was Ian’s body covering hers and the sounds he made when he finally caught up to his release.

The memory heated her blood so quickly, so thoroughly, that she felt as if she were burning from the inside out. She barely caught herself before she began to fan her face.

As she joined the other ladies for tea, she could only think about getting Ian back into her arms.

Unfortunately, Ian excused himself from supper that evening. He sent his regrets down from his rooms, indicating that his work had suffered too much already this week. Juliette might have been concerned that she’d done something wrong—that she’d misstepped when she’d pulled him into the unoccupied second-floor room and into one of the most erotic, compromising situations she’d never dared to imagine—had she not received a separate note from him. At first, it made no sense, but it gradually became apparent that it was a code. In his absence, Ian had presented a new challenge to her in the form of a lengthy note written in lines of alternating languages.

The first line was in French, the second was incomprehensible to her. The third line was in Italian, and the fourth was again, unreadable—wait. She knew that word. C hridhe. It was the Gaelic word for “heart.” She recognized it from the children’s book Ian had gifted to her. And he’d used that word the last time they’d been together; “ mo chridhe ,” he’d said. My heart. And there, just above that word in the third line was the Italian word for heart, cuore . All at once, she realized what Ian had done. He’d written her a note in simple code, using a combination of languages he knew she could speak and read. Beneath each line of that text was a corresponding translation of that phrase into Gaelic. He had given her a linguistic challenge to further her education, just as he’d promised. He was a man of his word who knew just how to tantalize her thirst for knowledge.

She admired the graceful combination of foreign letter combinations and strange little accent marks. And her heart tripped and fell so hard that she knew it would never recover.

∞∞∞

A playful archery tournament was scheduled for the following day. Though she’d stayed up quite late working on her translation of Ian’s note, Juliette looked forward to the day’s event. The prize was more symbolic than an actual trophy: All the guests had raved about Cookie’s rich chocolate tart, so Juliette had asked her to whip up another to go to the winner of their competition.

“Each competitor will have three arrows, one shot from each distance marker. The most consistent archer will win our delicious prize.” A few men made appreciative murmurs in response to Juliette’s announcement.

“When you say consistent, does that also mean the archer who misses every shot could potentially win the competition?” asked Lady Morton cheekily. “Missing all three shots is still technically consistent.” Everyone chuckled, even Juliette.

“How about the archer with the most arrows closest to the center will be crowned our winner?” Juliette capitulated.

“Yes, winner of the best chocolate tart this side of the Channel!” one of the men shouted cheerfully, earning a round of approving cheers and applause.

Juliette and Ethan handed the equipment to the first archer, Lady Morton. For all her joking, she turned out to be a decent archer. Her arrows all hit the target and came within a hand’s length of the center.

Miss Finchley’s arrows flew less true. The first two landed shy of the hay-backed target, but the third struck the top of the target.

Lady Sommerfeld performed admirably, likely spurred on by the competitive streak she shared with her husband. Their quips in between shots provided much laughter and entertainment for the party.

Juliette was the final lady to have her turn, and Ian knew with sudden shocking intensity that he was in trouble. She held her back and forearm as straight as a pagan goddess, her chest thrust out and hips in perfect alignment. The arrow was nocked and she stood in that pose with unwavering confidence until the arrow was loosed and flew with a zing to within an inch of the target’s heart.

“Brava!” the Duchess of Morton clapped excitedly; the rest of the guests quickly followed suit.

“Your sister is an impressive shot,” Lord Leighton remarked appreciatively. Ian did not care for the appraisal in that tone. In even the short time of their acquaintance, Ian had learned the man never used it unless he was inspecting a particularly interesting insect. His fists clenched at his side, his teeth grinding until they squeaked beneath the pressure.

“She’s a touch out of practice,” the earl explained, watching while his sister prepared her next arrow. “But she is rather good. It was one of the few activities in which she had lessons.” The next arrow landed even closer to the center than the first.

“Quite good. And her form is lovely,” interjected another of the guests…Baron Something-Or-Other. Ian had not bothered to commit the man’s name to memory since the baron had demonstrated even less interest in getting to know Ian. Now, Ian was glad of it, because it would make killing the man all that much easier.

Juliette’s last arrow struck home and it was quickly followed by enthusiastic applause. Juliette strode over to the earl and poked him in the chest. “Prepare to lose, just like when we were children.”

“Hardly,” Hopesend laughed in reply before striding over with the larger bow and setting up for his turn.

Juliette stopped at Ian’s side under the pretense of watching her brother. She stood with her arms crossed and it took everything in Ian to not look down and appreciate the swells of flesh above the neckline of her emerald green gown, especially now that he knew how that flesh tasted.

“I’d no idea what a markswoman you were,” Ian murmured, never taking his eyes off the earl.

“I thought it might be a deterrent if you discovered I could find a hare’s eye from across a field.”

“Can you?”

He loved the way her lips curled. “In theory. I’ve hit such a target, but I never had the stomach for actual hunting—not that I would have been allowed to anyway.”

He and Juliette joined in the polite congratulations when the earl completed his turn and passed the bow along to Leighton.

“My father taught me to hunt when I was a lad,” he said in a low tone.

“With a bow?”

Ian shook his head. “A slingshot.”

“Indeed?”

“Like you, I didn’t care much for the killing, though I became quite adept at catching small game for supper.”

“That’s because you’re a healer and a provider.”

Ian turned to Juliette, but her face gave no hint of the depth of the words she’d just spoken—as if she hadn’t just touched a deep, guarded part of his soul. He swallowed past the burgeoning lump in his throat and returned his attention to the competition in time to watch Mr. Finchley’s arrow soar five feet above the top of the target.

“Your go, McCullom.” The baron offered the bow to Ian.

“I fear my skills will be sorely lacking,” Ian said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I would be glad to give you a quick lesson, Dr. McCullom.” Was it Ian’s imagination, or had Juliette shot a very pointed glance in Lady Morton’s direction?

No. Ian had been correct.

The duchess caught the earl’s attention with a delicate hand. “Your aim is rather impressive, Lord Hopesend. Might I trouble you for a lesson as well?” Juliette’s brother could not decline, nor did he seem to want to when faced with the beautiful duchess’s charms. In fact, she was almost too adept at garnering male attention, because every man in attendance quickly sought to provide his tips and assistance with her lesson. It was a remarkable trick, Ian had to admit that much.

Juliette cleared her throat and gestured for him to follow her to the first distance marker. With nearly everyone else distracted, Juliette and Ian were left fairly alone.

“You are quite a bit larger than I, so the bigger bow will be better suited to you.” Ian’s hand tingled when her bare palm grazed his in the transfer. He nearly shivered when she traced his palm and showed him how to position his fingers on the string. “You must be at once firm and flexible.”

“That does not make sense.”

“Of course it does. One must strive to be both firm and flexible in all situations.”

“ All situations?” Ian asked beneath his breath, thrilled by the subtle reaction he earned from her.

She cleared her throat daintily before replying. “Yes. All situations. Now, let me show you the proper stance.”

Ian immediately moved to imitate the position in which he’d seen Juliette and the others stand, but her light little laugh was proof that he was severely lacking in his mimicry.

“Here. Like this.” Juliette stood behind Ian and used her foot to nudge his feet further apart. An involuntary groan rose in his throat when she gripped his hips in her small hands and turned his pelvis. The blasted lass knew precisely what she did when she ran her fingernails up his sides and she pressed her breasts to his back. Thankfully, the rest of the guests were behind where they stood, so it appeared to them, for the most part, that Juliette was providing innocent guidance to him. There was, however, anything but innocence in the way she stroked his clenching abdomen and caused his breath to hiss through his teeth.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Juliette,” Ian gritted out through his teeth.

“Of course.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Archery can be quite dangerous.” She was being purposefully obtuse and it drove Ian mad with frustration and need. He wanted to reverse their roles; he longed to hold her back to his front with her curves nestled against him; he wanted to fit himself against the round curves of her bottom and—

“Now, practice pulling back the string. That’s it.” One of her hands braced his stationary shoulder while the other cupped his moving bicep, very clearly enjoying the play of muscle beneath the fabric of his coat. “And when you release, allow it to happen.” She couldn’t possibly be alluding to— “A proper release can be the most satisfying thing in the world.”

Ian turned his eyes to Juliette but continued facing the target. “Where has this minx come from?” he growled from low in his chest.

“She’s been here all along,” Juliette said, gently correcting the height of the bow he held. “No one else saw her before.” The last was added in a whisper, something so soft and delicate Ian might have believed it as intangible as a dream.

He saw her.

All of her.

Ian witnessed the brilliant woman with a passion for foreign tongues. He saw her sense of humor and her easy smile. He saw her shy side and her sensual side. Her mischievous side and her sweet side.

And he wanted all of it. Ian wanted all of her.

He’d been irredeemably ignorant believing he could walk away from this arrangement unscathed. He’d known it from the first time he’d looked into Juliette’s eyes on that London street that she would be his undoing.

“Feel the wind,” Juliette said in a smooth return to his archery lesson…as if she hadn’t shaken his world like an earthquake of extraordinary magnitude. “You will need to adjust your aim as it will carry your arrow.

Ian could sympathize with the arrow. He’d been carried off to places unknown just as helplessly as if he were a bit of stick and feather at the mercy of nature.

∞∞∞

Ian was staring at the papers spread out before him but saw none of them. He’d retreated to the safety of his chamber following luncheon under the guise of getting more work done, but it was futile. Especially when he realized his coat smelled like Juliette from having her pressed so near.

He’d performed just about as poorly as to be expected when it came time for him to shoot an actual arrow, but Juliette’s smile had been well worth the good-natured unmanning he’d received.

Now, instead of reviewing potential costs for ordering cloth strips, silk thread, and other basic medical necessities in bulk, Ian’s groin pounded with furious need. He suffered from an insatiable hunger for Lady Juliette Crawford.

Ian’s brows knit together following a small scratch at the door. He hadn’t sent for anything and none of the other guests had reason to disturb him. His heart kicked up instantly at the possibility that it might be Juliette, but surely she was not foolish enough to seek him out in the middle of the day when anyone might stumble upon her.

He would have lost that bet, however, because he opened the door to find her wide blue eyes and perfectly kissable lips waiting for him on the other side.

“Juliette?” Ian croaked disbelievingly.

“I thought you might like some chocolate tart,” she said, holding up the plate in her hand. Sure enough, there was a thick slice of the decadent desert waiting for him. “Even one of the worst marksmen of the day deserves a little something sweet.” He nearly groaned, because she couldn’t have known how he’d so recently imagined her being that something sweet, laid out across his bed like a desert spread for him alone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he managed to say.

“I am just delivering your conciliatory prize and I shall be on my way…leaving your virtue intact.” The glitter in her voice finally snapped Ian’s restraint.

He hauled her into his room and had just enough sense to drop the plate on the desk with a clatter before hauling her against him and kissing her with every ounce of longing he’d held in check for the interminable hours since the last time they had touched.

“You are the sweetness I crave,” he growled between kisses. His tongue stroked her mouth deeply, exploring, tangling with hers in a furious dance.

She pressed her lower body against his, gasping when she felt the rigid evidence of his need. He couldn’t resist the testing thrust his hips made against her softness. Painfully hard and desperate for her touch, Ian captured one of her hands and brought it to his groin, holding her palm there to cup him through his breeches.

“Do you feel what you do to me, lass,” he growled, grinding into her. “I’ve been hard since you teased me during archery…and I’m no’ a man to trifle with.”

“Show me.” Juliette’s words were muffled against his lips, but there was no mistaking them. Especially not when she squeezed him in the most delicious grip.

Panting, Ian freed his throbbing member, and Juliette’s hand immediately covered it with soft, exploratory fingers.

“So good,” he hissed. “I’ve wanted your hands on me for so long, lass.” And one of his fantasies was realized when she knelt in front of him and began to stroke.

“It’s quite beautiful,” Juliette said in a shaky voice. He could practically feel her appreciative eyes upon the thick, ruddy head. Her hand tested the girth and length next, trying to see if her fingers would meet as she wrapped them around him tightly, stroking where the root sprung from a nest of reddish curls. He moaned in delight, knowing her virgin flesh would be even more tantalizingly tight than this. He fought not to thrust into her, lest he break the spell of the moment.

“Not half as beautiful as you.” Juliette’s face flushed; he suspected his did as well when she looked up at him from that position, her beautiful eyes wide and her hand on his cock.

“May I kiss you?” she asked softly, and it nearly brought Ian to his knees.

“Please,” was his strangled reply. And Ian nearly died when he watched her grip his member reverently and place a very tender, chaste kiss upon one of the least chaste places he possessed. And he never wanted it to end. He nearly lost consciousness when she did it again and her lips parted, tongue darting out to trace the slit.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned and his fingers flew to her head; his heart thudded so hard against his ribs it made them ache.

He wanted to hold her there.

He wanted to thrust deep as she sucked him.

He wanted to watch her delight as he poured out his soul and surrendered to her completely.

Instead, he held so utterly still, afraid to breathe or move lest she disappear into smoke.

She rewarded him with another kiss. And then another. And another. Growing bolder and more comfortable with each one until she enveloped his aching head between her lips, sucking tentatively.

It nearly killed him to do it, but Ian forced himself to speak: “You needn’t do that.”

“I want to…”

And that was his undoing. He helped her find a rhythm with her kisses and caresses. She took him deeper, learning how a flick of her tongue could make him lose his breath, and a swirl around the head made him weak in the knees.

The groan ripped from his chest was animalistic, layered with amazement and disbelief at what she was gladly doing to him. Ian basked in the glow of her attention, the selfless way she wanted to learn to give him pleasure. His head fell back in surrender, his chest heaving as the strength of his arousal increased. It rose within him swiftly and violently, building at the base of his spine and ricocheting through his limbs, washing his mind free of everything except for her hands, her mouth on him. And when her free hand cupped the soft sac beneath his member, Ian knew all was lost.

“ Mo leannan àlainn ,” he gasped roughly. “You must stop.”

She did so instantly, removing her mouth and gazing up at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek. “It feels far too good.”

“Oh.” Her eyes returned to his aching cock, so hard it was painful as it strained for release. And then, Juliette did the unthinkable, she leaned in and took him into her mouth once more, redoubling her efforts.

He cursed in English, Gaelic, Italian, and likely several other languages as he careened helplessly toward his orgasm. His vision blurred and his fingers knotted in her hair, holding her still as his thighs trembled and his cock throbbed in release, pouring into her his hot seed as waves of pleasure rolled through him like an unstoppable tide.

As the last tremors left his body, he dropped to his weakened knees and cupped her face in his large hands, pressing his forehead to hers. Their panting breaths mingled between them.

“Did I do well?” Juliette asked softly.

In response, Ian kissed her deeply, tasting the salty musk of his release on her tongue and savoring it.