Touch of Rogue (15 page)

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Authors: Mia Marlowe

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Touch of Rogue
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Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the warm circle of his arms.
It wasn’t just another bedding for either of them. Something was different. She was different. And until she understood what that difference was, she couldn’t bear to abandon this strange new development.
Or abandon him.
C
HAPTER
14
 
J
acob slept a sleep without dreams till the sky outside his window began to lighten from black to pearl. It wasn’t the faint rays fingering across his closed eyelids that woke him. It was the round feminine rump snuggled close to his groin.
Bare and warm, Julianne still spooned against him, her uncovered shoulder bathed in the growing light. His hand splayed possessively over one of her breasts. He thrummed her nipple and it tightened into a taut little peak. She stirred, but didn’t wake, burrowing deeper into his embrace. Her hair tickled his chest and neck. As the sun brightened, the rosy shell of her ear was almost transparent.
He inhaled deeply and her breathing adjusted to match his. A faint whiff of camellias wafted from her skin.
The woman must bathe in the stuff,
he thought with approval. The sweet scent was as much a part of Julianne as her wide dark amber eyes and kissable mouth. His body roused to her between one heartbeat and the next.
Even though he was feeling pleasurably male, he didn’t rock his hips against her. He’d never wakened beside a woman before and surprisingly enough, he didn’t want anything to end this quiet moment. With his previous lovers, he’d always slipped away from their trysts as soon as decently possible once the lovemaking was over. The possible imminent arrival of a jealous husband precluded any other course.
Which suited Jacob just fine.
He’d always thought it would be awkward to share a bed all night, that he’d never be able to truly descend into the relaxation of sleep in another’s presence. It would be too revealing, too vulnerable.
But somehow his body had found deep rest with Julianne by his side. What’s more, even though he’d used his gift last night, his head was clear and free of pain.
He began to wonder what it would be like to wake beside her every morning.
Alert the
London Crier
. The rogue Jacob Preston has discovered yet another new sensual experience,
he thought with a wry grin.
Simply sleeping with a woman.
He was loath for this sweet idyll to end, but if he wanted to spare Julianne embarrassment, she needed to return to her own room before the chambermaid arrived to sweep the hearths and stir up the fires for the day.
He eased out of bed and drew on his banyan. When he turned back to Julianne, she had propped herself on her elbows to watch him through narrowed eyes.
“Are you well enough to be up and about?” she asked.
He raked a hand through his hair. He felt entirely well, suspiciously well. He’d never had such a speedy recovery after using his gift. If someone told him Julianne was a witch and had hexed him with health and well-being, he’d have believed them.
“If I felt any better, it would be illegal,” he said. “Or at least immoral.”
“Given your reputation, I’ve no doubt of that.” She slanted him a teasing look.
He leaned down and kissed her. She tasted so good it was all he could do not to tumble back into the rumpled sheets with her, but she wouldn’t thank him for leading her into scandal, even if the Kilmaine servants were the only ones nattering about it. “It’s dawn. Let’s get you back to your chamber before the household wakes.”
She wrapped the sheet around her and slid out of bed. “Turn around so I can dress.”
“A little late to be shy, isn’t it?” He chuckled as he complied with her request.
May as well act the gentleman.
After all, he’d already seen and touched and loved every inch of her glowing skin.
“A woman needs to maintain a bit of mystery,” she said.
He heard the rustle of fabric sliding over her bare flesh and wished he hadn’t agreed to turn around quite so quickly. Julianne in nothing but her skin was an eyeful to tempt a much better man than he.
“Believe me, madam, no matter how familiar I am with your exquisite body, there are enough mysteries rolling around in that lovely head of yours to keep me baffled for years to come.”
“Good,” she said. “And while we’re on the subject of mysteries, have you given any more thought to the portion of my manuscript that’s in a language you don’t recognize?”
“I have a friend who might be able to read it. He’s a member of the Royal College of Physicians and quite learned in a number of fields.” He caught a shadowy reflection of Julianne in the window glass as she wiggled her nightshift on over her head. “I believe I mentioned him to you before, George Snowdon.”
“Ah, would this be George of the wee beasties called germs?”
“That’s the one.” He heard the bed creak and figured she’d sat down to put on her slippers. “I thought we’d nip over and see if he can help us after breakfast.”
“You’re sure you can trust him?”
“As much as I trust anyone.”
George was another one of the few who knew about Jacob’s unusual ability and the havoc he suffered after using it. Snowdon had suggested that there might be a metal that would act as a buffer for him, in the same manner as the relatively harmless cowpox inoculations protected patients against the dreaded and often deadly smallpox. George had helped Jacob discover that platinum provided a sort of shield for him from the invasion of other metals.
But Julianne had given him far more relief than platinum. All her rosy flesh was more or less covered, but she didn’t give him permission to turn around until she’d cinched up her wrapper too.
“May I say you look lovely by the light of the rising sun?” Jacob put his arms around her.
Her eyes flared as she realized how bright the sky was growing by the minute.
“I must go.” Julianne pulled away from him and padded to the door. She opened it a crack and peered up and down the hall to make sure it was empty.
Jacob pushed the door closed and swept her back into his arms. “Not until you give me a kiss good-bye.”
“It’s not as if we’re parting forever. We’ll see each other at breakfast in short order.”
“Does that mean you’ll kiss me in the breakfast room with my cousin and her husband looking on?” He cocked his head at her, enjoying the embarrassed flush that crept up her neck as he teased her.
“No, I suppose not.” She stood on tiptoe and pecked his cheek.
“Do I remind you of a doddering uncle?”
“No.”
“Then don’t kiss me like one.”
She arched a brow at him. “Very well, but remember. You asked for it.”
Julianne put a hand to both his cheeks and pulled his head down. Soft and pliant, her lips teased his. She nipped at his mouth. She suckled his lower lip. She slipped in her tongue and tormented him with it. By the time, she drew back, he was in danger of spilling his seed on the silk banyan just from the seductive play of her mouth on his.
“There,” she said, running a fingertip across his lower lip. “Satisfied?”
He palmed her buttocks and lifted her, pressing her close to his hardness. “Not even close, you little minx.”
She reached around to give his bum a playful swat. “Do not expect sympathy from me, sir. If you’re in discomfort, it’s your own fault.”
Then the teasing light went out of her eyes and he saw desire, banked but glowing hotly, in their depths.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m paying for that kiss too,” she admitted, her tone breathy. “But I expect you to remedy matters later.”
He kissed her again, passion-rough this time. “Depend on it.”
After he released her, she slipped out his door and he watched till she disappeared without incident into her own chamber down the hall. Rubbing his stubbled jaw, Jacob rang for a valet and his morning shave.
Yes, waking up beside a well-swived woman was a sensual pleasure he’d missed until now. He wondered how often Julianne would allow him to sleep all night with her in the future.
Of course, there was one way to make sure it happened with regularity, he realized as the servant appeared with a straight razor and all the accoutrements for his shave.
I could marry the lady.
The thought surprised him. Jacob had always considered himself too wily to succumb to the parson’s mousetrap. It was part of why he insisted on taking lovers who were already married. No danger of being leg-shackled by a conniving woman if she was already spoken for.
Of course, he’d already thrown that rule out the window for Julianne.
She’d told him early on that she wouldn’t trade the freedom of widowhood for another marriage. Her adamant stance should have given him comfort, but instead, he felt stymied by her insistence on independence.
Now that he thought about it, he was the only one who’d admitted to any degree of caring last night. Julianne’s touch was more loving than any he’d ever experienced, but she hadn’t professed to any tender feelings for him at all.
He’d finally met a woman who took her pleasures as he’d always taken his.
The knowledge didn’t sit well with him at all.
 
Jacob squired Julianne to George Snowdon’s professional office, located on the ground floor of his town house near Lincoln Inn Field. It was only a few blocks from the College of Surgeons and the operating theatre where the leading practitioners gave their lectures and their students trained on cadavers and the occasional unlucky live patient.
“George operates his medical practice out of his home,” Jacob explained as they pushed through the unlocked front door. Of course, George wasn’t officially a doctor yet. While he had the requisite education to be called a physician, he was part of a growing group of medical professionals who aspired to combine traditional medicine with the skills of a surgeon to become a “General Practitioner,” as adept with a prescription pad as with a bone saw.
But the nature of his private practice didn’t require he be expert with either of them.
No servant met them, but Jacob knew George didn’t have any live-in help. It might intimidate his patients, he always said, who rightly valued their privacy.
“I thought surgeons worked at hospital.”
“They do. This is George’s other practice.” The one that actually paid the bills, if his friend was to be believed.
Jacob led Julianne down a long corridor to the rear of the town house where chairs lined the hall. No patients were waiting, but he wasn’t surprised. He and Julianne had raced over with the manuscript in tow as soon as they finished their breakfast of eggs and kippers. He raised his hand to knock on the heavy English oak door that led to George’s examination room when a sound from inside stopped him.
A feminine moan.
“Starting early I see,” he whispered.
The sound came again, followed by rapid and loud breathing.
“What in the world—”
Jacob clapped a hand over Julianne’s mouth. “George has a very specialized practice.”
“Yes, yes!” the woman chanted.
Julianne’s brows arched. “My goodness. What’s her problem?”
“George says all his patients suffer from hysteria, a disease of the womb,” Jacob said with a smile. “She sounds a little hysterical, doesn’t she?”
Julianne sat in one of the waiting chairs and Jacob settled beside her. “And the treatment for this condition is ...”
“A rather intimate massage actually.” Jacob took her hand and started a little massage of his own on the inside of her wrist. “All quite the done thing if you ask a medical professional, but George doesn’t follow the rules exactly.”
“Is it wise to deviate from standard practice?”
“George thinks so.” Jacob leaned toward her, breathing in her sweet scent clear to his toes. “According to his medical books, which he’s lent me from time to time—they’re excellent reading, by the way—”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” she said, her tone breathy, “but does your raid on his library account for the fact that you know your way around a woman’s body better than most?”
That and dedicated practice.
He nodded and undid a few more of her glove buttons, the better to stroke her forearm. She smiled up at him and made no protest.
“In any case, the recommended treatment for hysteria is continuous pelvic massage until a state of ... paroxysm is achieved, but that can take hours if the woman is ... seriously hysterical. George gets better and quicker results with his own methods.”
“Paroxysm,” she repeated, a smile curving her lips. “Good word for it, though I’m not wild about the term
hysterical
as it’s applied here.”
George’s patients might try to pretend the treatments he gave weren’t sexual in nature, but Julianne’s knowing look told Jacob she understood exactly what was happening behind the thick oak door.
“So what are George’s methods?”

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