To Wed the Earl Page 3

  “Come,” Juliana called.

  She engaged Henrietta in chitchat about the balls she had attended recently as the maid set the tea things out. Finally, the girl finished and left the room.

  “Tea?” Juliana moved to the small table and poured out a cup.

  Henrietta surveyed the table dubiously.

  “Whatever are these?” She poked at a plate of lumpy brown items.

  “Scones.” Juliana tried to smile. “I know, they look dreadful, but with plenty of jam they are edible. Sadly, the housekeeper is not the best cook.”

  Henrietta took a sip of tea, then regarded Juliana steadily over the rim of her cup. “Be sensible, Juliana. You may not have creditors turning you out on the streets, but you’re certainly not out of financial difficulty. It’s imperative you find a wealthy husband.”

  “I suppose.” She dropped a lump of sugar into her cup, and stirred.

  The swirl of liquid was like her own thoughts - going round and round, leading nowhere. But Henrietta was right. Staying at home would do no good. Her father was certainly not going to be of any help, either - it was up to her to restore the family’s fortunes.

  “The Caswell’s ball is Friday evening,” Henrietta said. “Viscount Wrenforth will be there, and he is your best hope. You must attend. Oh, and do leave off stirring your tea. I’m quite certain the sugar has dissolved, and the noise is making me peevish.”

  Putting Henrietta in a peevish mood was something to be avoided at all costs. Juliana quickly set her spoon down and took a sip.

  “As usual,” she said, “nothing but pearls of wisdom fall from your lips.”

  “Hmph.” Henrietta could not quite hide her smile. “A pity we can’t string them into a necklace for you to sell. That would nicely solve all your problems.”

  “A rich husband will have to suffice. Viscount Wrenforth is pleasant enough.”

  Henrietta nodded. “And his annual income is much larger than his nose. It’s all a question of comparison.”

  Indeed, that was part of the problem. Viscount Wrenforth did not compare at all well when measured up against Robert Pembroke. Juliana gave herself a mental shake, and forced herself to take a bit of scone as penance.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will attend the Caswell’s ball on Friday.”

  The memory of Robert might haunt her past, but she must look to the future.

  ~CHAPTER FIVE~

  The next Thursday, Juliana was again waiting for him in the parlor. She stood at the window, and despite the drab dress she wore, the light silhouetted her pert breasts. Robert smiled. He had plans for those breasts.

  He closed the parlor door behind him, then prowled over to where she stood.

  “Watching for me, Juliana?” he asked.

  “Hardly. I would not still be gazing out the window, were that the case.”

  She did not turn her head to look at him, which he found amusing. It was a sign of how deeply he was beginning to affect her.

  Are you quite certain you are unaffected, in turn? He shook off the ridiculous notion. His heart had finished with Juliana the day she had ground it under her bootheel.

  He came up behind her and let his breath feather against the side of her neck. “Your hair is styled as deplorably as ever. Let me take it down for you.”

  She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “Unless you are planning to kiss my hair, it will remain as it is.”

  “Tempting… but it’s not your hair that I plan to ravish today.”

  He set his hands at her waist, and felt her tremble, ever so slightly.

  “You have kissed my hand,” she said, “and my neck - what is next? My elbow perhaps? My knee?”

  He let out a soundless laugh, then drew one finger down her arm. “You were jesting, but the hollow of the elbow is very sensitive. As is the back of the knee.”

  Her skin was warm and soft in the crook of her elbow. He made a lazy circle there with the tip of his finger, and she drew in a breath.

  “Had we more kisses, and time,” he said, “I’d begin behind your knee and kiss my way up.”

  He slid his palm down the side of her thigh, half-expecting her to bolt out from under his caress. But she stayed, her breath quickening. His prior study of seduction was serving him well.

  “I’d let my lips explore,” he continued, “along the delicate skin of your thigh. Until I reached the most sensitive spot on a woman’s body. Do you know where that is, Juliana?”

  She shook her head, ever so slightly. The scent of orange-flower water wafted from her hair.

  “Here.” He moved his hand, letting it brush lightly over the sweet place between her legs.

  At that, she gasped and pulled away. She whirled to face him, her cheeks pink with outrage. And arousal.

  “You are scandalous! How dare you - ”

  “Never forget what you owe me,” he said. “But don’t fear. The secret place between your legs is safe from my kisses. For today.”

  Her eyes widened. Excellent. He’d planted the seed of an idea that would bedevil her - the anticipation of his final kiss. When he at last kissed her there, at her center, when he made her gasp and writhe and explode with pleasure, then his victory would be complete.

  He would be branded on her soul, and she would never be able to escape the memory of him.

  “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the settee. “It will be more comfortable for both of us.”

  “Will you hurry and get this blasted kiss over with?” She perched on the cushions and folded her arms. “I’ve far more important things to attend to this afternoon.”

  “Mm.” He sat next to her. “I have every intention of making you forget those things.”

  She lifted her chin, and said in a haughty voice, “I doubt that, Lord Eastbrook. But by all means, proceed.”

  Despite her words, he could see her pulse fluttering wildly. He leaned forward and slowly drew one shoulder of her gown down. She let out a breath and uncrossed her arms, but she said nothing more.

  Good. He was done with talking. There were other, better, uses for his mouth now. He continued to pull her gown down, revealing the white fabric of her chemise. Her skin was pale, and smooth as satin. Slowly, he folded her chemise back, revealing the pert slope of her breast.

  “Robert,” she whispered.

  “Shh.”

  Four springtimes ago, he had longed to caress her this way. He had kissed her breasts through the fabric of her dress, not daring to do more. Now, though, everything between them had changed.

  He tugged the cloth down, exposing her entire sweet breast. Her nipple was dusky pink, and beginning to tighten. Oh, but he would make it stand up, a taut bud of desire. Despite the urge to caress her with his fingers, he controlled himself. He wanted her to feel keenly the warmth of his mouth, the wet coaxing of his tongue.

  Slipping his hands around to brace her, he dipped his head and took the peak of her breast between his lips. She let out a gasping sigh, and he felt tremors race through her. With his tongue, he lapped at her nipple, encouraging it to stand. Her body did not need much coaxing - in moments she was taut.

  He continued to kiss her breast, alternately flicking his tongue against her nipple, then drawing it into the warmth of his mouth. She moaned, and her body betrayed her yet again as she arched her back. He risked a glance at her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her lovely lips parted. Excellent.

  Slowly, he moved one hand down to the place between her legs. She did not seem to notice, except to breathe more deeply. She was warm there, heated from her desire. He gently rubbed the cloth of her dress, sending her arousal higher without shocking her. Like blowing on the embers of a fire, stoking it until it could not help but blaze up. He was patient - and he did not want her to burn up, quite yet.

  At last he pulled back. She lay there a moment, eyes still closed, her entire body a sigh. Her nipple was still tantalizingly alert… but no. He was finished, for now. Still, he could not help the vision that flas
hed through his mind - Juliana lying in his bed, her golden hair spread gloriously about her, her face dreamy with desire.

  She opened her eyes. The disarming softness in her expression quickly fled as she sat upright and pulled her gown back into place.

  “That makes three,” she said, scooting awkwardly away from him. “I will see you next week, sir.”

  He stood, oddly sorry for the change in her manner. “Good day, then. And… pleasant dreams.”

  Her eyes widened, and he let out a low chuckle. There was no doubt his plans were ripening perfectly. Two more kisses, and Juliana Tate would never be the same.

  ~CHAPTER SIX~

  “You dance quite well, Miss Tate.” Viscount Wrenforth smiled at her as he guided her off the Caswell’s dance floor.

  “Thank you, my lord. I’ve always enjoyed the quadrille.”

  A pity the viscount was not lighter on his feet - she had narrowly avoided having her toes crushed. It seemed he attributed her quickstepping out of his way to skill and grace, rather than self-preservation.

  “Would you…” the viscount cleared his throat. “Would you like to see the conservatory? Lord Caswell was telling me about a new orchid he has acquired.”

  Juliana studied Viscount Wrenforth from beneath her lashes. Was he hoping to snatch a moment alone, or were his intentions more of a scientific nature?

  “Are you botanically inclined, my lord?”

  The tip of his large nose turned pink. “No, no. I simply thought ladies enjoyed flowers… but no matter, if you aren’t interested - ”

  “Oh, I am! I would be delighted to view the orchid with you.”

  This was a very good sign. If she managed the next half-hour correctly, she’d be well on her way to securing a proposal from the viscount. And, truly, there was nothing objectionable about the fellow. Scores of young women would be pleased to trade places with her.

  She took the viscount’s arm and let him lead her to the side door of the ballroom. Across the way, Henrietta widened her eyes and gave Juliana a significant look. She then caught her aunt’s elbow, turning their chaperone away from the sight of Juliana and Viscount Wrenforth departing the ballroom.

  It was quieter in the hallway, the length of carpeting muffling their footsteps. Juliana shot a sideways glance at the viscount. Had she misjudged him - was her virtue in any danger? He didn’t seem the type to whisk a young lady into an unoccupied room and have his way with her, and there was no gossip to suggest he was a scoundrel.

  Not like other gentlemen of her acquaintance.

  “You’re frowning, Miss Tate. Is everything well?”

  “Certainly.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Do tell me more about Lord Caswell’s orchid.”

  Oh, that was foolish. She should be asking questions about him, drawing him out, making him feel as though he was the most pleasant of company. That was how one managed a gentleman.

  “I don’t know much about the orchid,” he said. “Only that it is new. And white, apparently. He could talk of nothing else at the Club today, and encouraged everyone to come admire it at the ball. Ah, here we are.”

  He opened a door decorated with a large cut-glass panel and ushered her inside. Warm, moist air enfolded her, and Juliana sighed. Warmth was becoming a luxury, now that they were being so careful with the coals at home.

  If she were a clever girl, all that was about to change.

  “Tell me, Lord Wrenforth.” She squeezed his arm slightly. “What are your interests? I find myself fascinated to know.”

  “You do?”

  The tip of his nose turned pink again, either with pleased embarrassment or because of the heat. It was too bad - the viscount needed nothing that drew attention to his overlarge proboscis.

  “Yes,” she lied. “Do you like horses, perhaps? Or literature?”

  She and Robert had lain under the apple trees, reading Shakespeare to one another. With a silent curse, Juliana folded the memory and shoved it into the corner of her mind.

  “Actually,” the viscount said, “I don’t read much. But I am rather fond of dentistry.”

  Juliana blinked at him. “As in… teeth?”

  “Don’t worry.” He patted her hand, where it lay on his arm. “Yours are quite passable.”

  “Um.” She could not think of an appropriate reply. “Oh, look - that must be the orchid!”

  She slipped her arm free from his and quickened her steps toward that glimpse of white, grateful for the distraction. The viscount hurried to keep up with her as she brushed past an array of large ferns. She arrived at a low dais, where the flower in question sat in isolated splendor in a large blue-glazed pot.

  It was, without question, the ugliest bloom Juliana had ever seen - protuberant and pallid, at the end of a long bare stalk. The thing almost looked more like a fungus than a flower.

  Viscount Wrenforth came up beside her, and they stood for a moment, regarding the orchid.

  “It’s very… white,” he said at last.

  “Whiter than teeth,” Juliana said, then instantly regretted it. “The petals are so, um…” She could not bring herself to assign an adjective to them.

  “Well.” He glanced about, then took a step closer. “I’m very pleased you came to view it with me. Although you are lovelier than that orchid.”

  Considering the flower in question, it was not much of a compliment. Still, she gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  It was clear he was thinking of kissing her. Juliana leaned toward him and widened her eyes.

  After a tense second, he came even closer and dipped his head. She let out a silent breath of relief, though his large nose grew even larger as it approached her face. Juliana closed her eyes and tilted her face up. Their noses bumped together for an unfortunate moment. Then his lips landed on hers, warm, if a bit unfirm.

  He did not enfold her in his arms, or kiss her as though he craved the taste of her. Juliana shifted, trying to give him encouragement, but it did not seem to help. The cold tip of his nose pressed distractingly against her cheek.

  “Excuse me.” The voice was chilly, and all too familiar. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

  Viscount Wrenforth pulled abruptly away. Heart sinking to her toes, Juliana opened her eyes. She was relieved the kiss was ended - but that was the only good thing about the interruption. Slowly, she turned her head.

  Robert Pembroke stood, arms folded, on the far side of the hideous orchid. His features were controlled, but temper sparked in his amber eyes.

  “Eastbrook,” the viscount said, blinking rapidly. “Have you come to see our host’s flower?”

  “No.” Robert did not take his gaze from Juliana. “I will escort Miss Tate back to the ballroom. Good evening, sir.”

  It was a clear dismissal.

  “I, er…” The viscount glanced from Robert to Juliana, then back again. “I see. Good evening, Eastbrook. Miss Tate.”

  He ducked his head in farewell, then turned and hurried away. She did not know whether to be thankful or dismayed that he had capitulated so easily. The ferns swayed closed behind him, and then she was alone with Robert Pembroke.

  “What were you doing with Wrenforth?” Robert asked, circling the orchid. His voice was cold.

  “I think it was clear enough.” She held her ground. “You are not the only gentleman interested in kissing me. And at least he has honorable intentions.”

  Robert made a sound like a low growl. “Stay out of his company.”

  “I shall do no such thing! And I would thank you to stay out of my business, and stop scaring off my suitors. Viscount Wrenforth is a perfect gentleman in every way.”

  Not to mention her only hope for pulling her family from the brink of destitution.

  “Perfect gentlemen,” Robert said, “do not lure young ladies into conservatories and steal kisses.”

  “Oh, and I suppose a scoundrel like you would know all about such things.”

 
Her words were meant to be scathing, but came out a bit breathless. Robert was standing uncomfortably close, staring down at her with a possessive expression on his handsome face.

  “Indeed,” he said. “I do know about such things. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He took her by the upper arms and, before she had time to gather her wits, drew her against him. His touch was firm, but not so hard that Juliana felt trapped. One quick wrench and she could have been out of his grasp - had she wanted to free herself. Her treacherous heart beat so loudly she expected the nearby foliage to tremble from the force of it.

  Then his mouth descended over hers, and she closed her eyes. His tongue traced a wicked line along the seam of her lips. Sparks whirled through her and, despite herself, she let out a little sigh. This, this was the kind of wicked kiss that lured young ladies into conservatories.

  His lips coaxed hers open, and his tongue dipped into her mouth. Oh heavens - this was nothing like the lovely, fumbling kisses they had shared four spring-times ago. A taste of the wild and forbidden seared along her senses. This was plundering and surrender, the hot twining of desire whirling between them. She clutched his shoulders, trying to keep the heady sensation from pulling her under.

  His hands moved restlessly over her gown, one palm coming up to cup her breast. The peak tingled from his touch, then tightened even more when he swept his thumb across it. With his other arm behind her, he pulled her close. The heat of him seared along her entire body. His thighs were tautly muscled, pressed against hers, and there was an unmistakable bulge between his legs. It gave her an odd thrill, to know that she affected him so.

  Then Robert deepened the kiss, his mouth demanding over hers, and she was lost.

  There was no ball, no conservatory, no London night spread out darkly behind the glass. Only this - two bodies locked in an embrace, hardness against softness, mouths melding into sweet fire.

  Long moments later, he broke the kiss. She blinked up at him, trying to catch her breath.

  “That…that’s four,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  The hint of warmth in his eyes was instantly extinguished. “We had best return you to the ballroom. It wouldn’t do for people to gossip about what a lightskirt you’ve become, Juliana.”