Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (28 page)

She laughed as he returned to the task of undoing her many, many tiny buttons. There might have been a hundred, and he wouldn’t have complained. With each closure he eased free, he kissed the patch of newly revealed skin. When he ran his tongue down the valley between her shoulder blades, she shivered and moaned.

“Bedpost?” she gasped, gripping the same as he drew the bodice down her shoulders, revealing her stays and tissue-thin chemise.

He let a swift yank on her laces serve as his curt refusal there. After undoing the tapes of her corset, he put his hands on her bared shoulders and turned her back to face him. Her loosened bodice gaped at the neckline, and he slid a hand inside to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her hardened nipple. He bent his lips to the creamy expanse of her décolletage.

She threw her head back, tilting her face to the ceiling as he kissed and nibbled her throat. “I am,” she breathed, “almost afraid to suggest ‘chandelier.’”

He chuckled against her skin.

“Plaster,” she blurted out, pushing on his shoulder.

He straightened. “What?”

“Plaster.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “‘Plaster’ is the perfect word. Not offensive, not suggestive.”

“Plaster,” he repeated. “Very well.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Lily, I adore you.”

Julian had to admit, he’d harbored worries in the dark recesses of his mind, about how to make
this
different. As in, the actual act. He felt the need to mark this time apart from every sexual experience he’d ever had before. He’d even searched his imagination for an as-yet-untried lovemaking position, much as he thought it prudent to begin with the basics.

But with her teasing, Lily had given him exactly what he needed. He could safely say he’d never discussed spiders and plaster in bed before, not with anyone.

And as he kissed her again, taking her mouth with possessive, unrestrained passion, he realized it wouldn’t even matter if he had. They’d filled this moment with so much genuine affection, there was no room for his sordid past to intrude.

This was different because this was Lily.

This was different because this was
love
.

And he needed to love her,
now
. Then again later. As many times as she’d permit. He tugged down her bodice and chemise to expose one breast, dipping his head to tongue the plump globe and taut, berry-red nipple. Drawing the nub into his mouth, he suckled with steady intent.
Moan for me, Lily
.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, Julian.”

“Oh, Juuuuuuulian,” Tartuffe squawked.

Startled, Julian jerked back his head. Unaware of the interruption, Lily picked the same moment to seek a kiss. They bumped noses, then recoiled from one another in pain. Deuce it all, now he’d truly hurt her.

“What is it?”

“Damned bird,” he grated out, pressing his fingers to his nose to check for blood, at the same time surveying her face for swelling. “Where is he?”

“In my sitting room,” she answered ruefully, flopping back onto the mattress and covering her face with both hands. “Perhaps he’s jealous.”

Julian scrambled from the bed and darted through the connecting door into Lily’s private parlor, gathering the birdcage with one hand and scooping up a stray lap blanket with the other. How he rued ever gifting her with the ridiculous creature. With determined haste, he shouldered open the door and marched the parrot down the corridor toward the staircase.

“There you are,” he said, setting the cage on the top step. “Holling will find you eventually.”

The bird chided, “Guilty, guilty.”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know. Stop reminding me.” He shook out the blanket and prepared to drape it over the cage.

“Oh, Juuulian,” the parrot shrieked. “Guilty, guilty! Mr. James Bell.”

His heart stalled. His hands froze in place, suspending the flannel drape in midair. “What the devil did you just say?”

Blue and green wings stretched. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“You miserable feathered …” Julian growled with frustration and tugged at his hair. It was that or pluck the parrot bare, plume by impertinent plume.

Mr. James Bell
. Who’d taught the bird to say “Mr. James Bell”? Tartuffe must have been nearby when he came to escort Lily to the theater. Bloody hell.

What a fool he’d been just a minute ago, thinking there was no room for his past to intrude. He hadn’t even been married an hour, and already the perfect future he’d imagined for himself and Lily threatened to crumble around him, all thanks to a loose-beaked, decrepit bird. Panic closed in, clammy and oppressive, sending rivulets of cold perspiration down his back.

“Now you listen to me,” Julian said, crouching low and leveling a finger at the impudent creature. “You’re going to forget you ever heard that name. Otherwise for tomorrow’s dinner, I will specially request parrot fricassee.”

The bird cocked its head and regarded him with an accusing eye.

“I mean it. I will endanger you and your entire species.”

The parrot turned away in indignant silence.

Julian threw the blanket over the cage. “Wise bird.”

As he made his way back to Lily’s chambers, he tried to convince himself this was no cause for concern. So the parrot had learned the name “Mr. James Bell.” It signified nothing. Lily couldn’t even hear it. None of the servants would ascribe any meaning to it. The bird had been passed from gentleman to gentleman for years now. He might have picked up the name anywhere.

Julian paused with his hand on the bedchamber door latch, letting the cool brass calm his nerves. He would not allow the ravings of a deranged parrot to ruin his wedding day. This was what he’d been waiting for all his life.

This was
love
. This was
Lily
.

Resolving to banish all worries, he flung open the door. And halted mid-step.

Because this was Lily,
naked
.

Lily paused, one foot propped on the bed steps, arrested in the act of rolling her stocking over her knee.

Aside from that half-unrolled stocking, and its untouched counterpart on her other leg, she was bare to the skin. And Julian was standing in the doorway, utterly entranced.

Oh, drat
.

“You …” she stammered. “Er, that was fast.”

He didn’t respond. Merely … tilted his head a fraction. His gaze roamed every part of her
except
her face. Fortunately, her bent leg and a fall of unbound hair served to conceal her most private places from his view. She didn’t dare move a muscle, for fear of exposing herself completely. Her hastily discarded gown, stays, and shift lay in an unhelpful heap on the floor.

“I meant to finish undressing before you returned,” she explained, “and wait for you in bed, under the covers. To surprise you.”

He remained silent, considering.

Lily blushed from head to toe. Now that she’d explained herself, she hoped he would do her the courtesy of ducking back into the corridor, counting ten, and allowing her to finish. But he showed no sign of moving at all.

“This is better,” he finally said, nodding in agreement with himself. “Much better.”

Still, he made no move.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me?”

“Not for long.” He stayed her with an open palm. “Hold right there.” Then he leaned against the doorjamb and began to work at removing his boots.

Hold right there
, indeed. Wherever would she go? She could act missish, she supposed. Blush, squeal, and grab for her chemise. Make an ungainly scramble up these low steps and dive under the bedclothes.

But as vulnerable as she was in her nakedness, she wasn’t afraid. She had power over him. The evidence was prominent indeed, where it pressed against his trouser fall. His obvious arousal told her he had needs. And the determined look in his eyes told her he had plans.

She wanted to learn what they were.

So she remained still, foot propped on the step and torso arched over her bent knee, watching him as he set his boots aside and shrugged out of his topcoat and waistcoat. Stripped down to shirt and trousers, he crossed to her in smooth, confident strides. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as he advanced.

He stopped at her side. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

The stark hunger in his gaze revealed the truth of his statement. And that unsettled Lily. He’d wanted this for a long time. Perhaps imagined it in vivid, shocking detail. What if the actual experience didn’t live up to his expectations? She wanted so much to please him. To reward his patience.

“Do you trust me?” His touch grazed her cheek.

“Always.”

Cat-like, he slid around her body, coming to stand behind her. She felt the flutter of linen against her back, then caught sight of his discarded shirt as it joined her garments on the floor. A moment later, his trousers topped the pile. She closed her eyes on a smile, knowing better than to wait for smallclothes.

His hands smoothed over her shoulders and came to rest on her upper arms. He tugged, drawing her torso upright and pulling her back flush against his naked chest.

Ah, warmth. Delicious heat slid over her chilled skin and sank deeper, permeating muscle and bone. He ironed her back with the hard planes of his chest, while his hands stroked up and down her arms. He bent his head, and his breath warmed her ear. His hips nestled against her backside, and she felt the springy hair on his thigh tease against her smoother flesh. He held her surrounded, captive. The heat of his body relaxed and aroused her, all at once. She was melting in his arms, becoming languid and wet.

She started to pivot in his arms and face him, but he held her fast, forbidding her to turn.

He trailed one hand up her arm, then across, skimming his fingertips along her collarbone. Then his touch dipped, tracing the line of her sternum and continuing around to caress the underside of her breast. She felt his breath catch. Lily looked down, entranced by the way he balanced the soft, slight weight in his palm and circled her areola with his thumb. Her nipple puckered to a taut peak, seeking his touch.

He didn’t oblige, the teasing cad. Instead he drew his fingers back up her chest. She stretched her neck, reclining her head against his shoulder as he feathered light touches up her throat, surrendering to the lovely ripples of sensation.

Now she knew why he wouldn’t allow her to turn. If they faced each other, he would be the focus of her concentration.
Was he saying something?
, she would continually ask herself, scanning his expressions. Had she missed some important direction or cue? But standing like this, he freed her from incessant questioning and allowed her to simply respond.

His tongue flicked and swirled against her neck, raising the little hairs on her nape. He cupped her jaw, pressing his thumb to the corner of her lips. Her mouth fell open, and she panted as he traced the shape of her lips, then insinuated his thumb between them. He rubbed her tongue, and Lily knew a moment of uncertainty. Did he wish her to lick his thumb? To suckle it?

Obeying the urges of her own desire, she let her tongue flicker against the tip of his thumb. His growl of approval rumbled through her. But before she could continue, he withdrew his thumb from her mouth. In the next instant, he pressed that moistened pad against her erect nipple, shocking her with the brisk sensation.

Who could have suspected bliss to be so cold? With every frosty lick of his wet thumb over the sensitive bud, she envied the intimate lives of seals and Laplanders. The exquisite chill had her shivering with desire, and growing ever more aware of the hot ridge branding the small of her back.

His manhood ground against her, hard and insistent, as he plucked at both her nipples now, cupping and shaping the mounds of her breasts. He nuzzled and kissed her neck and ear. The air surrounding them grew rich with musk, and Lily dragged it in and out of her lungs in open-mouth gasps. She writhed her hips, hoping to lure those talented fingers lower. She needed his touch
there
, down between her legs.

When he brought his first and second fingers to her mouth, this time she opened for them readily, sucked them hungrily. Another surprise, how the simple act of suckling aroused her beyond measure. She pulled his fingers deeper into her mouth, tracing their full length with her tongue and thrilling to his palpable groan.

She fought his retreat, pursing her lips tight and whimpering around his fingers as they slid from her mouth. But all complaining ended when he applied the wet tips to her intimate flesh, parting her folds with one confident sweep and centering on the sensitive nub at their crest.

She cried out. Nearly faltered, but he held her fast with one arm cinched just below her breasts, binding her to him as he worked that needy, aching bit of flesh. Her posture, with one foot propped on the step, eased his exploration. Just a few skillful swipes of his fingertips, and he had her on the brink of ecstasy. Her thighs quivered as she approached release.

Suddenly, she felt him shift behind her. The hard, muscular thigh that had bracketed hers now moved between her legs, spreading her wide. And the erection that had pressed against her back now sprang up snug between her legs. His hardness worked back and forth against her aroused flesh, stroking in delicious counterpoint to the steady motion of his fingertips.

She was so close. Teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Julian,” she gasped. “I need …”

But he knew what she needed. He pressed the tip of his arousal against her opening, nudging just inside. Not so much as to hurt her. Just enough to give her that full, tight sense of completion she craved. Her inner muscles stretched around his girth, and his fingers made feverish circles over her pearl.

She came apart, wracked by blissful shudders and inarticulate cries. He thrust, allowing her body to draw him in, steadily sheathing himself in her climax. The invasion hurt, but the pain dimmed in comparison to the bright, overwhelming pleasure. In the same way the cold against her nipple had only made her more aware of his heat.