Chapter 12

"I'd planned an intimate supper for us," Louisa said, her head twisted over her shoulder.

The afternoon light filtered through the windows, radiated across the sitting area, gleaming off the mahogany furniture and gilt accents, but most off all had thrown her form into a halo.

She had such a gentle softness in her gaze that occasionally sharpened in the most interesting way. Louisa was not a classical beautiful by the ton's standards, but he did not care about those standards.

Her dark sable tresses complemented clean features. Her eyes, a sparkling, clear brown, were her loveliest feature and Julius could easily get lost in her gaze.

"Intimate?" he echoed, expression turning sly. "And what do you mean by that? A redo of last night, I assume? You expressed the same earlier."

"That too," she replied, color intensifying on her face, but her chin was notched up and her gaze held steady. "But I thought it would be better to turn intimate in another direction. I want to know you, Julius, that is the sort of intimate I would prefer for this night."

"Fair," he leaned in, arms resting on his thighs. "And where do you desire to have this conversation?"

"In the solarium," she admitted. "But…erm…picnic style. A mound of blankets and pillows on the floor near the terrace, easy treats on a tiered tray, and we talk."

"A picnic by candlelight," he smiled. "How romantic."

"Should I ask cook to prepare our repast?" she asked.

"And I will do you one better than the sunroom," he said. "Why not used the garden right outside it?"

Her face lit up. "I'd love to, yes, please."

They made their way on foot along one of the main path until they found a tree with sufficient shade from the sun and Louisa stood aside as Julius sat the basket—cook had put together pieces of cold chicken, sandwiches, fruit and even some cold apple cakes— aside and easily laid the rug on the verdant grass.

Holding a hand out for her, he said, "Please."

Taking the offered assist, Louisa gently lowered to the floor and shifted her legs to the side. Removing his boots, he joined her and shifted the basket to the side. Glancing up, spying on the bright clouds between the swaying tree boughs, a smile graced his lips.

"I have not had a picnic since I was a child," he murmured. "It is so…bucolic, isn't it?"

"We had many of these with mother," Louisa shifted. "It's one of the many mandatory things we had to do, go outside, feel the grass between our toes. She gave us breeches to climb trees and ride, but I—I was so free-spirited."

"You mean you did not trump the local lads at races?" Julius kept his expression sedate.

Her eyes narrowed, "At the same time you went around braiding every girl's hair in the village before sticking peonies and poppies inside it."

A breathless, genuine laugh rippled up his throat and a strange sound warmed his chest, and he let it flow. Rubbing his breastbone, he said, "Oh God, it feels good to laugh again."

"I am happy and sad to hear that," Louisa said, reaching out to hold his arm—but stopped, unsure.

Gently, he took her hand and placed it in on where he assumed she had originally aimed for. Instead of letting go, Julius kept his hand on her, his thumb smoothing over the back of her hand, "You can touch me, Louisa. Don't be afraid to do something as simple as this."

"Are you sure?"

His lips twitched. "I am not a wet cat."

Rolling her eyes, Louisa added, "I believe cook gave us some brandy. Would you pour me a glass?"

"You," Julius said dryly. "Brandy? Have you ever tasted brandy before?"

"No," she replied. "But I do believe the following conversation is going to be a hard one, so I would like something bracing."

Silently, Julius poured out two crystal glasses and handed one to her. "It is very smooth," he said raising his glass.

Nodding, Louisa squared her shoulders, took a breath and downed the drink in a gulp. When her eyes bulged and her face flushed red, he held back another laugh. "It's lovely, isn't it."

Her eyes watered, "Dear God, its v-vile and stop laughing at me you— you-"

"Me, what?" he teased. "Jackanapes, blackguard? Hellhound perhaps?"

"All three," she swallowed, "And a thousand more. Please hand me one of some fruit," she begged.

He handed her a bowl and she ate the cool apple slices and pineapples squares quickly. "No more brandy, I assume."

"Absolutely not," she replied while plucking out a blackberry tart.

He arched a brow. "No sticking to slimming plan this time?"

"Plans go to the gutters when one's chest is burning like hells' fire," Louisa demanded and humored, Julius tried one himself. "Hm, these are good."

"They are," Louisa admitted, brushing her fingers. "But I need to use moderation with them." Sedate now, she looked down on her lap and he noticed her fidgeting. Was it a nervous habit of hers or did it only come out when she was faced with something truly daunting.

"You're going to ask me something difficult, aren't you?"

"Yes, although I think I do know the answer," she said, her voice tight, but she did hold his gaze when she asked, "When you considered marriage, did you never think of having a love match?"

"No," he said, "But I assume you did."

"I did," she turned her head to the side. "A match like my parents have, but as the seasons grew on, I accepted the truth of the matter, the cold reality of life, that a love match is not the be-all and end-all of everything.

"A marriage of mutual respect and cordiality is better than no marriage at all. The young debutante crying against the fountain knows better now."

"I was a callous cad," Julius admitted. "Since our marriage, I have done little by way of considering your needs. In hindsight, I should have known what it is quite solitary to be in a marriage of convenience, and that you would miserable. I'd seen my mother suffer it for years I apologize most profusely for the underserving silence you have received from me."

She looked away and her hands clenched tightly. "Well, I had asked for the truth."

He offered a thin smile. "I am sorry."

She pinked. "When you said you were a shadow of yourself…what did you mean?"

Before he replied, Julius poured out another dram of whiskey and swallowed it in one mouthful. "I was haunted and barely noticed when day slipped into night because the memories of war would swim before my eyes at the worst times. And then—" he breathed "—I found that my anger was beyond the norm."

"Anger?" She turned to him, brows lowered. "What do you mean?"

A tick jumped in his jaw and his lips flattened while he stared away from her for a long, telling moment. The silence crept over her skin, until it began to chafe, and Louisa opened her mouth, probably to tell him not to tell her if he didn't feel comfortable, but she closed her lips.

"The war unveiled the anger I had buried inside me," he admitted. "I hated my father for his actions, and I resented mother for tearing Rose's confidence to shreds," Julius admitted. "I am not proud of it, but I am sure that anger propelled me to… survive. Let's keep it that way."

"You mean it kept you alert," she said.

I mean it made me kill more than one to be killed. I used the enemies as targets to purge the rage inside, but in truth…it's not fully gone.

"In decent words, yes."

Louisa slumped. "I think we've spoken about some of the worst things. May we start on another tract now? Tell me simpler things. Which book did you love as a child? Can you swim? What food do you absolutely abhor? Things like that?"

Leaning on the tree bark behind him, Julis pulled her into his side. "You'll have to start so I can copy you."

Listening closely, he made mental notes of the things she loved, The Canterbury Tales, puppies, lily flowers, how she was not fond of coddled eggs and how pigs scared her. She loved playing croquet and flying kites. Through is all he knew they were dancing around one main issue—why he had not claimed her on their wedding night.

Or last night.

Or tonight.

He told her that he had an odd fascination with falcons, had driven phaetons before and prized reading and silence were his favorite things. A comfortable silence rested between them before Louisa asked one more pointed question.

"What do you fear the most?"

Struck, Julius had to cast through his mind to find an answer as he had never considered such a thing before. "Losing the ones I love and have given my word to protect," he eventually said, "

Twisting her head, Louisa gave him a warm smile. He craned his head downward, and met her lips in a long, leisurely kiss.

Pulling away, he pressed his lips on her temple. "You don't have to tell me what your worst fear is. You can keep that secret for as long as you would like, and as for this intimate conversation—" his eyes swept up the sky. "—we will have another intimate liaison tonight."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I want you to know me." Julius replied getting to his feet. "And by that, I mean my body. I want to give you a lesson on exploring me."

Stepping into the room, fresh and washed from his bath, Julius avoided the bed and found Louisa sitting on a padded chair, a blanket tucked over her middle and a book on her lap. The flickering light cast her face in a warm glow—but while her eyes were down, he knew she was not reading.

"Stop pretending," Julius chuckled. "I know those words are meaningless to you."

Looking up, she closed the book, "I've been on tenterhooks since you told me you wanted to explore you…" she licked her lips. "And what did you mean by that."

Wordlessly, Julius undid the tie to his robe, let it slip from his person and sat on the chaise, clad only in his small clothes. "Come here."

She rose, and did as he asked, her lips parted just so. "Kneel," he ordered.

Louisa sunk to her knees; her eyes wide as saucers. Reaching out, he took her hand and pressed it to his cheek as he sunk to the sloping back of the chaise. "Touch me, explore me, get to know your husband's body. I will need a bath first."

At the sight of his strapping virility, her breath jammed in her throat. Before she dared move her hands, her eyes devoured him. She had read about heroes of old, Achilles, Romulus, David who slew Goliath but none of them could ever compare to Julius.

He was like a living, breathing warrior: powerfully honed, slabs of muscle rippling on his frame. A thin mat of dark hair covered his broad chest, and she followed that slip of hair gaze downward toward his corrugated abdomen, the prominent vee of muscle that girdled his pelvis, the taut hollows of his hips.

Swallowing, she traced her hand from his face, her fingertips flitting over his cheekbones, over his nose, his lips, his chin, down to the taught lines of his throat and over his collarbone.

Julius's eyes closed as she carded her fingers over the chest hair, over sinew of his broad shoulders and bulging at his biceps, tracing his scars on is forearms, turned his hand up and traced the lines of his palm like a soothsayer would.

Swallowing, she went back to his chest, thumbed her fingers over the broad disks of nipples and down to his belly, not daring to look at his tented small clothes and ran her hand over his lower half. She wetted her lips as the muscles of his thighs subtly flexing as her touch and slid her palms down the back of his shins.

"You have a lot of scars," she said.

"Swords grazed me, daggers bushed me and shrapnel from cannons," he said, eyes still closed. "I know that is not the question you want to ask me, or rather—" his eyes slit open. "— how you want to touch me. You see what you do to me, Louisa. Don't be shy you can touch me everywhere."

With hands that shook slightly, she tucked her hangers under the edge of his smallclothes and he eased up for her and pulled it past his hips. His cock sprang free, the shaft thick and upright, the flared crown brushing his abdomen. Below the jutting instrument, his stones hung heavy and swollen with seed and Louisa felt her belly burn.

Her eyes wide as she stared at his arousal, "Wh—what do I do with it?"

"Anything you want, Louisa."

When she gently curled her hand around him, his breath hissed out through his teeth. The satin-steel length of him burned against her fingers made her heart thump in her eyes while she folded her fingers firmly around his turgid shaft.

She attempted a few tentative strokes that she could tell were rubbing him the wrong way.

"Like this," he muttered, taking her and showed her how to touch him, which pace and pressure he liked, how to bring her fist all the way down to the root and slick her fingers through his weeping head.

She explored him with a torturously light touch, curious about the slickness and daringly, she slid a finger into her mouth. Salt, musky, purely male. The taboo taste of his seed upon her lips sent a jolt up her spine.

"It's better from the source," he said guttery.

The edges of her lips quirked up and she leaned forward, her soft fingers wrapping around the base of his member. The tip of her tongue darted out to swipe the swollen tip, circling it. Her fingers tightened around the base of him, and she pulled his shaft toward her, then set her lips to the long thin cords lining his cock, her tongue hesitant, exploring.

"I'm not delicate, sweetheart," He reached for her head. "Everything you're doing is perfectly right. But your soft tongue is going to kill me. Wrap your lips around me."

She took a breath and licked her lips, her gaze flicked to his face before she slipped her lips around the tip of his burgeoned shaft, bringing him into her mouth and suckled.

Pulling away, she slipped her tongue along his shaft, licking it from base to tip. A scintillating exhale from his mouth turned into a rough groan as she slid him deep into her mouth; she pulled up, sucking, her tongue swirling on the underside of him, sending tightly wound coils of pleasure spinning through his body.

"Are you running on instinct, or did you read a manual on fellatio, sweet?"