A Tale of Two Lovers (24 page)

He pushed in farther, all the way, groaning in pleasure while still managing, barely, to keep kissing her. And then he began to move inside her, slowly at first, before everything was utterly beyond his control.

It hadn’t been like this before . . . that was the only thought he could manage. His mind was otherwise blank. His heart was pounding, though, like never before. And by God . . . her hands pressed into his back, urging him deeper. He buried his face in her neck, and his hands roughly caressed her. She held him tighter.

When she murmured, “Oh, Simon,” he was lost. Completely. He cried out her name—or some mumbled version of it—as he reached his own climax, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could while holding her as tightly as he could.

He had meant to claim her as his own, and she had claimed him, too.

Chapter 43

The following morning

I
f one wanted sweet reassurances from a friend, Annabelle was their girl. If one wanted humorous conversation, Sophie was the one. But when a friend was needed to embark on dangerous adventures, Eliza was just the person to turn to.

“What is the plan for today?” she asked with a devilish grin as they climbed into a hired hackney.

“We are going to St. Bride’s to visit the Man About Town during his calling hours,” Julianna said with a hint of excitement in her voice. She had never gone before because, given her previous work, she did not want to risk providing any information to her rival that might expose her. Now, she had nothing to lose.

Now, she had something to protect. Almost everything had changed late last night, and it wasn’t the intruder that she was thinking of. She ought not to think of that rapturous lovemaking with Simon, lest she begin to blush. Nothing escaped Eliza and Julianna wanted to keep this budding romance with her husband to herself. For now.

“And then what are we going to do?” Eliza asked. “Murder? Feed him false information? Follow him?”

“One of the above. Mainly, I’d love to see his face,” Julianna said. Having seen the face of the intruder last night, she wanted to investigate her hunch that it was the Man About Town. She explained the incident of the previous evening to a very rapt audience of one. After expressing her shock and horror, Eliza said, “Good luck with getting a glimpse of his face. He might not have gone himself, you know. He could have sent some minion. Although, I would never leave such important work to just anybody.”

“That is what I am counting on. But really, there is just no way of knowing. And we might not discover anything today. But I must do
something
,” Julianna said. Specifically, she needed to do something out of the house. Memories of last night flooded her with loving, lusty feelings. But then . . .

“And what does your husband have to say about this?” Eliza asked with a suggestive lift of her brow.

“He is not aware of it,” Julianna said, vexation creeping into her tone.

“Ah. I see,” Eliza said crisply.

“Do you know why he doesn’t know?” Julianna asked, her voice involuntarily rising.

“No, but I suspect you are about to tell me,” Eliza replied.

“Oh, indeed I am, Eliza. He doesn’t know because he left shortly after breakfast this morning and has not yet returned,” Julianna said. They had woken up together. They made love again first thing—a luxury she’d never before experienced and ached for again. They finally made their way down to breakfast where they read the newspapers. Then Roxbury said he was going out and that he would return later. In spite of her pleas and promises, he would not reveal his destination.

“Where did he go?” Eliza asked.

“I would guess to Gentleman Jack’s, or White’s or someplace I can’t get to him. But that is just a guess. The truth is that I have no idea.” It burned, it stung, and it rankled. Once again, he’d gone off with nary an explanation. And he didn’t need to tell her his whereabouts at any given moment, but it would be considerate. He knew how she felt about secrets being kept from her.

“Are you merely upset that he’s gone off, or done so in light of the break-in last evening, or is there something else?” Eliza was remarkably astute. Nothing escaped her.

Julianna did her best to maintain a passive expression, but her blush gave her away.

“Oh my,” Eliza murmured with a sly smile. “Definitely something else.”

“We made love . . . or something like it,” Julianna mumbled.

“Something like it?” Eliza echoed.

“Well, there’s been no mention of
love
. But we did . . .”

“And?” Eliza prompted, clearly delighting in this conversation, probably in part because the typically forthright Julianna Somerset Roxbury was tongue-tied and blushing furiously like an innocent schoolgirl.

“I know exactly,” Eliza said. “This morning he is having a panic about it because he’s discovered that his feelings are involved.”

“Is that what it is? Is that why he’s gone?” Julianna’s heart sank. She did not want him to have second thoughts or doubts or to leave. She was on the verge of love—and if he left now, she’d really be ruined forever. But she recalled those kisses and those caresses, and it had to mean something beautiful, lasting, and true.

“I’d wager on it. Now, hush, we are here.”

Julianna wasn’t consoled in the slightest, but their mission distracted her, which had been her intention.

They alighted from the carriage and dashed through a light drizzle for the entrance. Julianna slowed considerably as she passed through the doors. It was her first time here since she’d been married.

She recalled the cold-minded and iron-hearted determination with which she’d walked down the same aisle and greeted her future. The marriage was only to salvage her reputation; it was only a matter of convenience.

And now, weeks later, it might be love.

Julianna ventured down the aisle once more, this time with Eliza by her side. Thoughts of love, Roxbury, lust, and wonder were on her mind.
Focus,
she told herself. This was why she feared falling in love, because she would forget serious matters in favor of woolgathering about romantic midnight adventures and very wicked, pleasurable things she’d only discovered last night.

Today, the man she walked toward was the ever-mysterious, ever-annoying Man About Town. It was just like the stories claimed: a man in a voluminous black cloak knelt in prayer by the altar. One by one, a few of the people milling around would take turns and kneel beside him. With their heads bowed together, secrets, lies, and scandal were exchanged.

“Look,” Eliza whispered, subtly gesturing to some very thuggish-looking men lurking in the shadows and near the altar. It was likely that they were there to protect the Man About Town’s identity. Lord help anyone that tried to yank back that cloak and catch a glimpse of the face underneath.

There he was, just there—her arch nemesis and sworn enemy. Why had she never come here before? Because she did not want even a chance of being discovered. Because she was too jealous or too busy accumulating her own stockpile of scandalous tidbits that she didn’t have the time to share any—true or false—with her rival.

“You have to admit that this is a brilliant arrangement,” Eliza said quietly.

“Yes, grudgingly. He’s been at this for forty years, though,” Julianna replied. She’d had only one year as an acclaimed gossip.

“Forty years . . .” Eliza remarked, adding a low whistle. “Impressive.”

When it was her turn, after thirty minutes of loitering about, Julianna proceeded directly to the altar and knelt beside the only man who had vexed her more than Roxbury.

“I have a confession,” she began because it seemed the thing to say. He didn’t say anything, only nodded that she should continue. She bit her lip in annoyance, for she so wanted to hear his voice. Perhaps she might recognize it . . . perhaps that was exactly why he said nothing.

“Lady Rawlings and Lady Stewart-Wortly were seen acknowledging Lord and Lady Roxbury in Hyde Park yesterday,” she said softly, attempting to disguise her voice as best she could. “And Lady Feversham has invited the couple to her soiree Thursday next.”

Lady Feversham had done no such thing, but Sophie had mentioned the party and Julianna thought she’d like to attend. There was only one way to secure an invitation—and that was publicly, via the Man About Town.

“Really? I find that surprising,” he remarked, to her annoyance. But at least she heard his voice, which was so very English, yet with an indiscernible accent.

The Man About Town lifted his head, slightly, to look at her. Julianna, keeping her own face bowed down and covered by a large bonnet and black mesh veil, dared a sideways glance. She saw a clean-shaven chin. But most of all, she noticed very bruised, very swollen hands tug his cloak back into place.

Her heart started to pound, because those hands belonged to a
young man
.

Having seen enough, she stood and walked away briskly with her excitement barely contained.

All this time she had been searching for an old man! When in fact, he was young. How had she not guessed that it hadn’t been an old man writing gossip for forty years? To be fair, no one considered otherwise. Not in all those years! But that explained how he had kept his identity a secret for so long.

The Man About Town was a young man, with bruised and swollen hands. Julianna thought of last night—not the part where she made love with her husband for the very first time, but the part where her husband engaged in a rousing, vicious bout of fisticuffs quite nearly to the death on her bedroom floor. Two gentlemen had been brawling.

Was the intruder the Man About Town?

Chapter 44

28 Bruton Street

“W
here have you been?” Roxbury bellowed when she returned home after parting ways with Eliza. He greeted her in the foyer—yet another horrifically decorated room. This one featured black-and-white
etoile
wall coverings, black-and-white-checked marble floor, glittering chandeliers, and gold-framed paintings of utterly barren landscapes. It was bizarre, frankly.

“Hello to you, too, darling,” she said breezily. One of these days she would have to hire someone to redecorate this entire house. Perhaps tomorrow.

And by golly was that bruise on his cheek a rival to hers!

“Where did you go?” he demanded. “And in a hired hack, nonetheless!”

“You took the carriage,” she pointed out as she removed her hat and veil and handed them to Pembleton. “How else was I going to get to St. Bride’s?”

“What the bloody hell do you need to go to St. Bride’s for?” Roxbury asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was really in quite a huff, and it was adorable. Unless she was mistaken, this probably meant that he cared for her. If he didn’t care about her, he certainly wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in her whereabouts.

“I went to St. Bride’s to see the Man About Town, of course,” she answered.

“With that bruise on your cheek. Fantastic,” he remarked dryly. As if he were one to talk, with his own violent bruise on his cheek and around his eye. His knuckles had sustained some significant damage as well . . . just like the hands of the Man About Town.

“It’s fading. The light was dim. I had my veil and cloak,” she answered with a shrug.

“It’s a monstrosity,” Roxbury said flatly, and not entirely incorrectly, though it had improved remarkably in the past few days. “Now all of London will think that I beat you.”

“It’s perfectly legal,” she replied.

“So is kicking dogs, but that doesn’t mean a gentleman does it,” Roxbury retorted.

“No one will think you beat me,” she repeated. He seemed to mutter something to the effect of “No one would blame me if I did,” but in oddly charitable spirits, she declined to confirm it.

Like her bruise, her mood had also improved. Something like infatuation had done wonders, as had her very successful mission this afternoon. And after last night . . . the tension she held in her limbs was just plain gone.

For once he was the one in the foul mood. “What has you in such a temper, anyway?” she asked.

“Coming home to find my wife is missing,” Roxbury answered.
My wife.
He said it again and still it made her shiver—but no longer with complete dread. In fact, she shivered with something like pleasure.
Wife. Husband.

“I left a note,” she said, removing her gloves now and handing those to Pembleton as well.

“Yes, the one that says ‘Roxbury, I’ve gone out and will return shortly.’ ”

“The very one,” she replied, entering the drawing room and looking at the empty salver on the mantel. She had completely lied this afternoon. They hadn’t received an invitation from anyone to anywhere.

“Can you see how it is not remotely informative?” Roxbury queried.

“At least I left a note. You did not. Where have you been all day?” She whirled around to face him.

“Not skulking around Fleet Street. I went to Gentleman Jack’s. To White’s,” he replied. She eyed him suspiciously. He returned her gaze evenly. Still, she doubted him. Why did he have to leave so secretively?

“You went to places where I can’t get to you. If you’re trying to get away from me, why are you so upset that I’ve gone out?”

“Upset?
Upset?
”

“Storming around and bellowing,” she replied, as she returned to the foyer and proceeded up the stairs. He stormed and bellowed after her.

“I was concerned for your safety,” he said.

“I am very safe. And I am tremendously happy because I have discovered something about the Man About Town, which leads me closer to discovering him. If there is one thing I wish for, it is to know who he really is,” she said. She glanced back and saw that he was following her up the stairs and into her bedchamber.

“Oh, what lovely flowers!” she exclaimed, as she noticed the bouquets of fragrant red and pink roses, along with some other hothouse flowers he couldn’t name, on the bedside table. “Is this what kept you busy all day?” she asked.

Roxbury gave her a look that said,
Silly woman, don’t you know anything about romance?

“Perhaps. I did go to the club. Drank one brandy. Spoke with Brandon before saying I couldn’t stay long because I had to return to the missus. Then he smugly said he’d been waiting years to hear me say that, and—”

“I missed you, too,” she replied. She was thrilled with having uncovered that clue about the Man About Town and she took no small measure of delight in the information she had given him. But Roxbury giving a damn about her whereabouts topped it all.

Once, she had left to visit her mother in the country for a week. Somerset had not seemed to notice or care. Things had changed in a strange and wonderful way.

Roxbury kissed her again and again . . . leaving no inch of her skin left untouched. That, of course, necessitated the removal of all her clothing. His were cast off as well. Together they tumbled onto the bed, and were lost for hours in an intoxicating haze of kisses and whispers, sighs and moans, cries of pleasure and murmurs of contentment.

Later, as dusk was falling and Julianna nestled against her husband, she thought that if the Man About Town could see them now, he’d definitely put his money on their marriage being a love match.