Sinful Confessions (9 page)

“Dead
wives,” someone murmured.

Reality
near slapped a glove to his face. Again, someone else murmured something. All
around him, people gossiped and glanced his way. He clenched his jaw and tried
to concentrate on the sensation of having Viola in his arms but his breaths
grew harsh and his skin hot.

“I
need some air,” she declared suddenly.

He
nodded and took her out onto the balcony. Steps led down into the square
gardens and a cool breeze washed over him. Taking in several deep breaths, he
didn’t stop until they had descended the steps and entered the relative
protection of the box trees.

“Are
you well?” Julian looked her over from head to toe and noted she appeared
perfectly composed.

“I
am well.” She put a hand to his arm. “And you?”

“I’m
fine,” he said tightly.

“You
didn’t need to dance with me.”

“I
wanted to.” To his surprise that statement was true. “Except perhaps next time
we do not do it with so many people around.”

Viola
offered him her hand and positioned herself in his arms. Apparently he no
longer knew how to use his arms as she had to take them and place them around
her.

“Whatever
are you—?”

“Shhh.”
She cocked her head and over the sound of talk and laughter, the music
surrounded them once more. She began to move, urging him into a dance and he,
the man who had apparently killed his three wives, found himself dancing in the
garden.

And
enjoying it, for Christ’s sakes.

When
the music ended, she gave a sigh that he assumed was one of contentment and
they retreated to a nearby bench. The stone was cold to touch and he unbuttoned
his jacket with the intention of giving it to her but she motioned it away.

“I’m
still warm, especially with all these layers.” She plucked at her skirts.

He
watched as she began to roll down her gloves and draw them off. Never had the
image of a woman pulling off gloves—
mere gloves
—seemed so erotic. She
flexed her fingers and he watched goose bumps appear on her skin.

The
scent of honeysuckle broke through his imaginings and he plucked a flower from
the tree behind them to offer it to her to smell. She inhaled and went to take
it from him but he couldn’t resist. He ran it down her arm and then back up.

“Are
you sure you’re not cold?”

Viola
shook her head mutely.

He
skimmed the flower up and down her arm once more before placing the bloom
behind her ear. He toyed with it until it was just so and studied the picture
she made. American or not, she fit in perfectly in this English country garden
with her wide blue eyes and long lashes. With her straight nose and stubborn
chin.

“Your
skin is pimpled,” he murmured, forgetting himself.

Who
was he kidding? He’d been forgetting himself all night.

“I’m
not cold,” she whispered, tilting her head up to him.

Julian
drew off a glove and laid it over the top of hers where they rested on the
stone between them. It seemed significant somehow, these two rather pointless accessories
resting atop one another. He used his finger to skim her arm again, feeling how
her body responded to his touch.

“Are
you sure?” He let his finger trail up to her shoulder and rest ever so lightly
on her chin.

She
nodded. “It’s not the cold causing it...”

She
didn’t need to finish the sentence. It was him. He affected her just as much as
she affected him. He wanted to punch the air in triumph. Even when his mind
reminded him that he did not want to let her get involved with him, he found
himself leaning toward her. He used a hand to cup the back of her neck and she
eased forward, closing the gap and knocking their gloves to the ground.

Her
lips parted. She invited him in. He had no choice. Julian kissed her. He kissed
her like a man giving worship at church. Here was a woman so beautiful, so
wonderful that she deserved to spend the rest of her days being worshipped.

Her
lips moved with his, letting him taste her deepest secrets. Wine sat on her
tongue and the scent of honeysuckle filled his senses. She skimmed her tongue
over his and he pressed the kiss deeper. Never had he felt so fulfilled yet so
starved for more. He needed so much more.

Hand
still clasping her neck, he brought up his other to cup her breast. He wanted
to curse at the God-awful corset she wore. The one that might make her look
like the most sinful creature around but stopped him from feeling the full
softness of her breasts.

She
moaned into his mouth. He kissed a path down her neck and to her collarbone. He
dashed kisses over it, eager to get to his prize. With some effort, he forced a
breast up and out of its confines. She gasped and wound her hands into his hair,
and he dropped his head to take one pebbled peak into his mouth.

Never
had another’s flesh tasted so good.

“Julian.”
She said his name on a whisper and rocked into him.

He
broke away to look at her, to simply imprint her into his mind with her puffy
lips and her breast scandalously escaping her gown. The English mamas could
keep their prim little innocents. He wanted this outrageous American woman.

She
murmured his name again and leaned into him to kiss his neck. Her hands
scrabbled about him, running dangerously close to his manhood which strained
for release. The idea of taking her here and now did strike him but never
settled. They were in public, she was young and innocent—though he struggled to
remember that with her bold ways. And, if the way she fell heavily into him as
she tried to nibble his ear was anything to go by, she had drunk too much wine.

Julian
clasped her hands and urged her back.

“Julian?”

Then
he pulled up her bodice and picked up their gloves. Slowly, he eased one on,
then the other. Guilt jabbed him at her stricken expression and he had to
reassure her somehow. After he’d drawn on his glove, he stroked her face and
gave her a smile.

“You
test my honour, Viola. Very much so. Do not underestimate how hard it is for me
not to lay you down in the grass, throw up your skirts and take you here and
now.”

The
beaming smile and the wicked twinkle in her eyes had him wondering if he had
said the right thing. He suspected she might test his strength again. And, Lord
help him, he wanted to be tested. He wanted to give in.

Viola found Julian in the library. It
struck her how at home he seemed there. With only the light of an oil lamp by
his side and one on a small table in the corner of the large room, darkness
shrouded most of him. But the golden glow revealed enough. A fire flickered in
the hearth, illuminating the other side of the library. The books watched over
them, like birds waiting on a washing line. The scent of leather and old paper
wrapped around her and mingled with that of the wood in the fire. She
understood why he liked it here. It was almost like being surrounded by old friends.

She
noted his ink-stained fingers and how his brow furrowed as he stared at the
letter in front of him. He hadn’t seen her come in, so lost was he in his correspondence.

“Who
are you complaining to now?”

 He
snapped his head up and his features softened. “For once, no one. I am writing
to one of my brothers.”

“One
of your many brothers,” she added with a grin. She had enough to contend with
having three brothers. She couldn’t imagine having six. “Which one is it? The
gambler? The rake?”

“Neither.
This is Gideon.”

“The
youngest?”

His
brows rose as if surprised she remembered. “Indeed.”

Of
course she remembered. She had read his letters over and over again. Viola
edged over to the seat currently drawn to one side of his desk. Almost fearful
of interrupting his solitude, she eased down into the chair. He had been
withdrawn since the ball. It didn’t surprise her. Although he had been
wonderful, even for her being around all those staring people was draining.

“What
can I do for you?”

“I
have word of a ship leaving for America in four days. I received a telegram
today.”

“Bramley
mentioned one arriving. He did not say anything more, however.” His tone was
surly, as though he should have known everything that was happening in his
house. Or perhaps...

No,
he wanted her gone, surely?

It
was all so very confusing. One moment he was kissing her lips and even... well,
never mind that. The next he had gone back to be the polite host.

“I
shall take the train down to London the day after tomorrow and stop there for
the night. Then I shall carry on to Southampton which will give me time to
purchase a ticket.”

“I
see.” Julian lowered his pen and pushed aside the letter. “Will I hear from you
again? I mean, will you keep writing, even though you know there will be no...”
He gave her a sideways glance.

“Marriage?”

Fresh
heat flowed into her cheeks. She thought she had gotten over the embarrassment
but clearly not. However the uncertainty in his eyes quickly conquered any pity
for herself. He truly wanted for her to continue writing to him and while the
thought of not seeing him again made her chest hurt, she couldn’t imagine not
reading his letters again.

“I
shall continue to write, I promise.”

“Good.”
He gave a satisfied nod.

“I
like you better in letters anyway.”

Surprise
quickly gave way to amusement and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Yes, I
suppose the idea of marrying me quickly lost appeal when you met me.”

“Oh,
I don’t know. You still have some appeal.” She nudged him with her elbow.

“Why
ever did you wish to marry a stranger anyway? Are there not many eligible men
in New York?”

Viola
let her shoulders drop a little. Tell him the truth or keep quiet? “There are
plenty, but none will have me.”

He
turned to face her fully. “They must be mad.”

“Not
mad, no.” She looked at her hands and turned them over in her lap, letting her
gaze fall to the third finger on her left hand. He waited silently, much as she
had two days ago. He intended to work a confession out of her with his silence.
It worked.

 “I
must tell you something,” she spilled out before she could lose her nerve. She
had to tell him everything of her. Every little sordid detail. After all he had
told her, all he had done for her, she owed him that much, surely?

A
crease formed between his brows but he waited.

“I
am not a virgin.”

There.
The words were out there. The words that had followed her around for so long.
Ruined. Spoiled. Broken.

Julian
did not move. Did not fling her out by her hair. But his jaw worked and he
waited.

“I
was engaged when I was seventeen. My father had begun to amass his fortune and
it was a good connection to make. The gentleman was twenty-five years older
than me and charming. I thought myself in love with him.” She released a small
smile. “I am ruined you see? I let him coax me into bed and a few weeks later,
he broke off the engagement and went on to marry an older woman. I suspect he
didn’t really want a naive girl like me for a wife.”

His
jaw continued to work. She heard his teeth grind even over the pop of the fire.
A coil of tension wound inside her. Would he think her foolish too? Her father
and brothers had declared it her fault. And of course, society blamed her too.
Rupert had gone on to enjoy a happy marriage and more success while she had
been left behind in the shadows of shame.

“I’m
ruined. No one wants me.” Her voice cracked a little. For so long she had tried
to forget the humiliation. Marrying Julian would have given her so much. A new
life, a restored reputation. Finally her family could be proud of her.

Before
any tears could spill, she leaped up from the chair and stalked away. She had
embarrassed herself in front of Julian enough as it was. She couldn’t let him
see yet more tears. Not to mention the one thing she feared most—seeing the
judgement in his gaze, the disappointment at knowing she had given herself away
so easily. That had been the one thing letters had shielded her from. He would
never have to know the full truth.

Strong
fingers latched around her wrist before she could reach the door. He whirled
her around and drew her flat against him. The air vanished from her lungs,
partly from impact, partly from the sheer shock of having his body pressed to
hers.

“I
want you.” His lips came down upon hers, firm and demanding.

Viola
gasped and he pressed his fingers into her hair. She heard a few pins drop onto
the wooden floor and curls fell about her face. Thrown off balance, she
staggered until her back struck the bookcase not far from the door. She drew in
another sharp breath but Julian merely used it to push the kiss deeper. His
tongue twined with hers and explored a part of her mouth no other man had.
Never before had she been kissed like this.

Panting,
he drew back. “You are worth so much,” he told her, gazing deep into her eyes
and holding her captive. “Your fiancé was an utter fool not to see it.”

He
dragged up her skirts, inching them higher and higher. Taffeta skimmed the tops
of her thighs and fabric crunched. She sucked in a breath when warm fingertips touched
the sensitive skin just inside the hem of her drawers.

“I
wish you were wearing a crinoline,” he muttered against her neck.

Viola
drew in a shuddery breath while his lips traced a path over her sensitive skin.
He played his lips up and down her neck. Up and down, up and down, sketching a
trail between her ear and shoulder.

“W-why?”
she asked, eyes closed. The sensations he summoned were unlike anything she’d
ever experienced. The overwhelming need to collapse in his arms and beg him to
do whatever he wished with her nearly consumed her.

“It
would not make it so easy to touch you.” He drew back and she opened her eyes.
Their gazes connected as he slipped a hand inside the opening in her drawers. “Christ,
Viola. Why do I always want to touch you?”

She
gripped the shelf behind her with both hands and pressed her chest and hips forward,
like an offering. Ready for him, open for him. She needed his touch as much as
he needed to touch her. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew. He could read
her as easily he did her letters.

A
finger skimmed her folds. She shuddered. “Again,” Viola demanded.

He
repeated the movement, never looking away. In those grey eyes, she saw so much.
The man who had written those letters perhaps. The real Julian Cynfell. Eyes
dark, breaths heavy, he revealed everything to her as he touched her so
intimately.

Simmering
pleasure started low down and he swept over her again and again. He traced
circles until hitting the sweet spot that had her breaths sticking in her
throat. It built slowly, slowly and the desire to close her eyes and concentrate
on the sensation struck, but his gaze held her captive. What did he see in her
eyes?

When
he pressed one finger into her warmth, she arched. Her body accepted the
invasion with gratitude. Never had she needed to be filled so badly. With one
hand propped at the side of her head, Julian leaned into her and held her in
place with his chest. That finger moved with careful patience until she was one
trembling mass of desire. His thumb found her nub again and skimmed it. She
quaked from head to slippers. He slid forward again, burying his finger deep
within her, then out, still using the same measured pace. His clever thumb ran
over in similarly cautious circles.

Ecstasy
unfurled slowly inside her. He only needed to press home a few more gentle
times to bring her near the edge. A trickle of perspiration pricked down her
back and her mouth moved in silent pleas.

“Yes,”
he urged. One more circle of his thumb, one more slow thrust of his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes,”
she repeated, surprised by how distant her voice sounded.

And
then, gazing into his eyes, captured by his body, his presence, her peak
blossomed. It came in a slow sweep, as tender as his touch. It consumed every
part of her. Breathless, hot and as weak as a kitten, she flopped her head forward.

Julian
touched his forehead to hers and brought his other hand to her face to cup it.
His breaths blew heavily over her face. Why her orgasm seemed to affect him so,
she did not know. When he tried to ease away, she latched her hands around his
neck.

“Don’t.”

“If
I stay, I will...” He trailed off but he didn’t need to say anything. She felt
the hard ridge of his desire. Felt the tension in his body. He wanted her.

“Do
it,” she begged.

He
jerked back and frowned at her. Perhaps he was used to taking charge, or women
who never sank so low as to beg. But, at present, all she could think on was
how she longed to be joined with this man. If she could take nothing else back
with her, she needed the memory of Julian making love to her.

He
shook his head.

“Julian,
make love to me.” She reached down and cupped him through his pants. He pulsed
against her hand.

A
harsh breath echoed around the library. Viola gazed up at him, silently pleaded
with him. She saw the crack in his restraint through his eyes first, then in
his body. Gradually, like a great wall crumbling, his body softened into hers.
She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, soothing him. This beautiful man was
hurting so badly inside. Oh, how she ached to take away some of that pain, even
just for a moment.

Using
his body to lever herself away from the bookcase, she flattened her lips to his
jaw. “Take me.” She kissed his chin. “Make me yours.” Then the corner of his
mouth. “Make love to me.” Viola let her tongue slip over the seam of his lips. “Here.
Now.”

With
a heavy sigh, he gave into her, taking her mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands
found her rear and held her tight against him. Even through her skirts, she
felt his arousal hard against her. She rocked eagerly into that hardness while
her body inflamed with sensation.

It
was almost too much. Hands cupped her. Muscle pressed against her. Lips and
tongue teased her. So many overwhelming sensations made her knees shake and she
had to cling to him lest she melt like candle wax on a hot day.

Her
gown grew too heavy, too tight. She wanted it off. She needed to be skin to
skin with him. Hoping he might follow her lead, she slipped her hands between
them to pluck at the buttons of his waistcoat. She couldn’t help but giggle
when he released her to shuck out of his jacket and help her. Soon he was down
to his shirt. Her hands trembled with need as she unbuttoned it. His kept up
his firm kisses, laying his lips to wherever he could reach—her mouth, her
neck, her cheek, her forehead.

Julian
tore off his shirt. A cufflink pinged off the bookshelf. Viola sucked in a breath
through her teeth and splayed her hands across his smooth chest. She glanced
down and noted the ripples in his abdomen and the small trail of hair leading
down into his pants. His skin was warm to the touch and muscles bunched under
her palms.

But
he didn’t give her long to enjoy his body. Before she could fully explore, he
began fumbling with the neckline of her gown, loosening it so that it gaped.
With a muttered curse, he spun her around and gripped the back of it.