Chapter Five

Dinner at the Sommerfeld residence was a smashing success…other than the fact that the earl watched his sister with hawkeyed intensity, affording little opportunity for Ian to speak with her. That, coupled with the thinly-veiled animosity and brusque treatment from the viscount meant dinner was a real treat for Ian.

When he’d arrived, Meredith had pulled him aside and begged him not to mention the pregnancy to her husband just yet. Ian wished she had already done so because perhaps then the glowering man might have been a smidge more tolerable.

After dinner, Ian and the other men retired for drinks and cigars. While Ian could appreciate a good, stiff drink, he did not enjoy smoking and desperately needed space from feeling as if he was the odd man out—to be fair, he was the only man in attendance without a title, so he was the odd man out. Ian excused himself from the study and slipped out onto the balcony spanning the rear of the house and overlooking the small, well-kept garden. The address was still situated on a fashionable street, but far enough from Aldborough House and the viscount’s parents that Lord and Lady Sommerfeld had privacy and freedom in the early years of their marriage.

Ian leaned against the carved stone railing and inhaled the thick London night air. He loved his profession, he enjoyed healing and spreading his medical knowledge, but there were times when he missed the Highlands of his childhood; the white-capped mountains, rolling fields of purple heather undulating in the wind, the crisp air carrying with it the bleating of sheep and whistles of their shepherds.

A small coo off to the side drew Ian’s attention away from the night. Lady Juliette. And she was staring back at him with those glorious eyes, her arms clasped in front of her in a tantalizingly shy, tentative stance. Ever since Meredith’s late-night visit to his offices, he’d been unable to think of almost nothing other than seeing the dark-haired young lady, though he’d never admit it.

His stomach flipped. His pulse stuttered.

She truly was uncommonly pretty, Lady Juliette; like a porcelain doll…not meant for a Scottish physician with rough hands and a questionable past.

She had been crafted to be some wealthy lord’s pride and joy.

Her gentle smile caused his body to betray itself. And when she stepped closer to join him in the shadows between the doors of the study and parlor, his heart sped up every inch she grew closer. He furiously schooled his features to remain calm despite this.

“Lady Juliette,” he greeted her, though his voice came out hoarser than he’d intended. “How does your leg fare? You seem to be moving quite well.”

She rewarded him with an even broader smile. “Much better, thank you. I believe this is to be attributed to the fact that I have a somewhat decent physician.” Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at her cheek. “May I ask why you are outside?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I felt like taking some air.” Her matter-of-fact reply and little shrug of her shoulders were endearing. Perhaps that was why he spoke the truth when he responded to her query.

“No matter how many dinners, balls, and parties I’m invited to, I still feel out of place.”

“Whyever is that?” she asked and leaned against the railing beside him, so close he caught a tantalizing hint of her light perfume, a hint of heaven. Her eyes softened in concern and he smiled gently.

“Because I’ll never be one of them.” One of you… It could have been a trick of the light, but he thought he witnessed a gleam of sadness in her eyes. He quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject; “Have you had any luck translating the phrase I gave you?” She shook her head, the light catching in the diamond studs in her ears and wound around her delicate throat. He nodded knowingly in reply. “There isn’t much of a market for the language of the Highlands.”

“Is that where you spent your childhood?” she inquired, tilting her head in the most charming of manners.

“It was.”

“Will you speak more of it, please? So I can hear it again as it is supposed to sound from a native speaker? I always prefer lessons from one born speaking the language than someone who had to learn it, themselves.”

At first, Ian thought she might be mocking him, but that was dashed in an instant as he saw the sweet, innocent candor in her eyes. She certainly hadn’t been jesting when she’d said she loved languages.

“ Tha thu a' coimhead àlainn a-nochd ,” he spoke softly, the words rolling off his tongue and caressing his lips with the old familiarity of a childhood home.

She made her best approximation of the words and sounds but failed miserably. Rather than become disheartened, she laughed with the lightheartedness of someone who loved life and learning. “What did you say?”

“‘You look lovely tonight,’” he replied, his heart kicking up as an unmistakable blush crested her cheeks. He waited to see if she would take offense; instead, she asked in a voice barely above a whisper for another phrase.

“ Tha d’ inntinn na iongnadh ,” he murmured. An unbidden heat began to pool in his loins.

Again, Lady Juliette tried her best to mimic the vowels and consonants. Though he did his best to disguise it with a cough, he couldn’t help a small chuckle at her clumsy efforts. “You are mocking me!” she hissed and swatted his arm playfully.

“Do not worry,” he reassured her, capturing her gloved hand in his, wishing he could feel the warmth of the soft skin beneath the satin. “No matter how good an ear you have, it is no easy language—especially not for a Sassenach who hasn’t heard its like before.”

“ Sassenach ?” She frowned. “What did you just call me?”

“‘English,’” he replied with a tilt of his lips.

“And before that? What was that phrase?”

“‘Your mind is a wonder.’”

She looked down to where he still held her hand in his, her long ebony lashes shielding her eyes from him. He knew he should release her, every fiber of his common sense told him to do so, but she didn’t seem to mind. She shuffled another step closer to him and met his eyes once more.

“Teach me something simple.” There was no denying her anything when she looked up at him like that. “How do I say, ‘My name is Juliette’?”

“ ’S e Juliette an t-ainm a th’ orm ,” he translated and then proceeded to guide her through every sound with deliberate slowness. He explained how to move her lips and tongue to form the unfamiliar words. It felt unexpectedly relieving to be speaking like this to a woman. The rest of the world melted away and he could almost believe she accepted him just as he was at his soul.

She was innocent.

She was naive.

And Ian would be damned if he knew what drew him to her like some ill-fated moth to the deadliest of flames. The way she watched his lips as he spoke; the way, as she leaned closer to better hear his hushed tone and pronunciation, he could feel the warmth of her body, drove him mad.

So mad, in fact, that Ian closed the gap between them and captured Lady Juliette’s mouth with his own.

She released a startled squeak and stiffened.

And Ian knew he’d just destroyed his entire career, his life, for an idiotic impulse. And that realization would forever color this moment in his memory.

He tore himself away from her petal-soft lips and released her to stumble backward several steps. It still didn’t feel like a safe enough distance. His heartbeat was deafeningly loud in his ears as the organ hammered against the inside of his ribcage. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Not even a pitiful sound.

Lady Juliette looked nothing short of dazed and confused.

Until she closed the gap between them and Ian braced himself for the slap he knew was coming. She raised her gloved hand and…cupped his cheek a moment before her fingers slid back to the nape of his neck to tangle in his hair. She stood on the tips of her toes and pulled Ian’s head down to meet hers once more.

Their lips met and Ian groaned at her taste, freely given. She was sweet and tentative, obviously unskilled, but he didn’t think he could have possibly enjoyed the kiss more.

He rested a hand at her waist just before the point where it swelled to the delicate slope of her hip; his other hand moved beneath her chin and a crooked finger gently tilted her head. He guided her and, as he suspected, she was a ready pupil. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and she sighed, leaning further into his arms. He could have gladly kissed her for hours, but a burst of masculine laughter seeped through the cracked door leading back into the study. Ian and Lady Juliette flew apart as if by electrical shock, both their chests heaving.

He was tortured by the dazed look in her eyes and the fingertips she pressed to her rosy, petal-soft lips.

“I…no one has ever done that to me before…” she murmured, though he could not be sure if it was to him or more to herself. Even in the shadows, he could see the bright pink coloring on the soft apples of her cheeks.

“My sincerest apologies, Lady Juliette.” Ian tried to sound contrite, but a twisted part of him enjoyed the fact that she would always remember him as her first kiss; he would have this part of her even as she went on to marry a great lord and bear his children. “I should not have taken such liberties with your person.” She quickly shook her head and held up her hand to forestall any further apologies from him.

“I should thank you.” This stunned Ian into utter silence; his mouth snapped shut in shock. “I admit I’d been rather curious about what it would be like to be kissed…and to kiss…and now I don’t have to wonder anymore.” Surely Ian couldn’t believe his ears? It took everything in him not to pull her to him once more and plunder her mouth like a feral beast. “My brother usually keeps such a careful eye on me, I’m not usually allowed into a situation where this might occur.” She began to ramble and then caught herself. “So, I suppose, I am trying to thank you. For the enlightenment. Again.”

She then quickly ducked back into the doorway to the parlor, the edge of her skirts disappearing just as the earl came out onto the veranda to find a very bemused Ian staring toward her retreat.

∞∞∞

Juliette returned to the parlor, her pounding heart deafening in her ears. She commended herself on handling her recent interaction with such decorum and nonchalance when her knees and insides felt less substantial than an undercooked pudding. She could scarcely believe Dr. McCullom had kissed her, and it took everything in her power to not draw attention to it by pressing her fingers to her tingling lips. He’d tasted of warmed brandy and honey. Sweet and seductively sensual.

“You look a little piqued, dear,” Lady Sommerfeld took notice of her return and addressed her from the sofa. “Are you well?”

Not trusting her voice, Juliette could only nod and cast down her gaze to her trembling fingers.

There was a slight pause before the viscountess spoke again. “The men should be joining us shortly for cards.”

Juliette’s head snapped up. She wasn’t sure she could face Dr. McCullom just yet; or her brother, for that matter. She could feel her cheeks warming and silently prayed it would stop before it became too obvious. Before she could pluck a decent response from her jumbled mind, Lady Sommerfeld leaned her red head close to Juliette’s and spoke in a quiet, reassuring tone, placing a conspiratorial hand over Juliette’s trembling one to steady it. “I promise not to tell if you won’t…as long as you don’t get up to too much mischief.”

Juliette rapidly shook her head in denial. “I don’t—that is…I am not—”

“Calm yourself,” Lady Sommerfeld whispered and smiled warmly, remarkably adept at disguising her words with a benign presentation. “Both you and I were raised in similar restrictive situations. Think of this as the opportunity to have the exciting, flirtatious girlhood we never had.” She nudged her shoulder against Juliette’s. “And what is youth without a little intrigue and forbidden romance?” Juliette’s cheeks flared an even deeper shade of crimson, but an incorrigible smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I promise to feign ignorance if your brother catches wind of anything and set him on another path. Just promise me you will be cautious; there is no harm in some stolen kisses with an honorable man, so long as you are smart about it and careful not to lose your head.”

Juliette could only squeeze her friend’s hand in return. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or mortified that she had so easily guessed what had transpired on the balcony, but she had to admit that it felt rather nice to have the support. A coconspirator.

True to Lady Sommerfeld’s word, the men joined the ladies in the parlor shortly thereafter. Juliette offered Ian a shy smile as he trailed in behind her brother and Viscount Sommerfeld with his cane, but his eyes danced over her as if she was no more important than another piece of furniture.

This continued throughout the rest of the evening and the games of whist Lady Sommerfeld seemed incapable of losing. While the undercurrent of competitiveness between their hosts was amusing and entertaining, Juliette couldn’t stop her eyes from continually darting over to Dr. McCullom. He was so handsome in his dark coat and starched white cravat. Despite his impeccable manners and cultured speech, there was still something half-tamed about him; and Juliette thought she may have gotten just a taste of it out on the balcony.

“I am finished!” announced the viscount. “She’s already tripled her pin money for the month and my ego can take no further bruising.” His words were exasperated, but there was mirth in there and it was echoed back in Lady Sommerfeld’s deep blue eyes.

“You knew what you were getting into when you suggested cards, darling.” She proceeded to shuffle the cards with a finesse Juliette had never witnessed.

“Another hand or two,” Ethan interjected. “The night is young and it would appear I’ve not learned my lesson.”

“Nor I,” announced the Duchess of Morton, an impressive flare of determination in her eyes. “I cannot leave this house without having won a single hand.”

Lady Sommerfeld laughed airly and looked at her other guests. “Lady Juliette? Dr. McCullom? Shall I deal you in for this round? Or would you perhaps prefer a game of chess?” She gestured to the far corner of the room where a carved marble board had been laid out.

Juliette quickly found herself seated across from Dr. McCullom, facing him over the chessboard. She played white and he, black, though her heart was not in the game. Every time she looked up, Dr. McCullom’s eyes refused to meet hers, though, internally, she commanded him to so much as hold her gaze for even three seconds. She desperately wanted to see how he would react to her nearness in the light. Would his breathing quicken as hers did? Would he watch her lips as they formed her words? Would his desire be as raw as she’d felt on the balcony?

Alas, he seemed intent upon steering their conversation to every inane topic known to mankind. She moved a pawn and he inquired after her ankle; he moved a rook and they chatted about the weather—anything to keep clear of what had happened between them on the balcony. Not that she wanted to discuss it within earshot of her brother…she didn’t know what, exactly she wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this coolness; it was in such stark contrast to the man who’d held her and kissed her in the dark! She didn’t know what she expected, either. It was just one kiss, after all. And Dr. McCullom was a virile, handsome, intelligent man with an excellent profession. He likely kissed women all the time.

But, maybe, she’d hoped for a hint that he’d felt even a modicum of the tremors she had…that she still felt.

Juliette’s mood turned darker with every move of the pieces across the board. She played recklessly and foolishly, losing one piece after another.

“You don’t play much chess, then, I take it?” Dr. McCullom said beneath his breath as he swiped away her rook in a move a child could have seen coming.

“I play a fair bit,” she ground out as pleasantly as possible. She slid her bishop several spaces.

“Unless you are luring me into an extremely deep false sense of security—which I highly doubt at this point—I don’t see much finesse on this playing field.” His words were aggravatingly lighthearted.

She nearly growled when he claimed another of her pieces. Even at that moment, she recognized how childish her turn in moods was, but there was simply no stopping it. “A true gentleman would hardly make such a comment when playing with a lady,” she finally snapped.

Dr. McCullom sat back in his chair as if her words had been a physical strike. Indeed, she must have spoken louder than intended because even the card game had paused and the room fell silent. Juliette flinched in shame when she realized how, not only were all eyes upon her, but there was a well-masked stricken glint to Dr. McCullom’s gaze and a tautness of his well-formed mouth.

Lady Sommerfeld’s mouth was agape; Ethan eyed them with hawklike interest, his body tense as he decided whether he needed to intervene.

She fully recognized that she had no reason to be snippy with Dr. McCullom. She’d likely given the poor man whiplash from the speed with which she’d gone from boldly thanking him for her first kiss to her irritation that it didn’t appear to have meant as much to him as it did to her.

Dr. McCullom’s expression and tone remained cool, though he raised a perplexed chestnut brow.

“I—I am sor—” she began to stammer a quick apology until the doctor cut her off.

“I apologize if I have offended you in any way, Lady Juliette,” he said, low enough for her ears only. “I seem to have misjudged the situation.” He stood and knocked over his king with the knuckle of his longest finger, signaling his forfeiture of the game with a final snap of marble-on-marble. She stared at the fallen piece on the board as it rocked back and forth on its polished side. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. McCullom sketch her a proper bow, pivot on his heel, and heard him make his excuses to the rest of their party. He claimed he had many appointments the following morning and really should be going.

Every clipped footstep taking him further from only deepened Juliette’s terrible mortification and guilt.