Worth Winning (31 page)

Julia gave a sniffling little cry, and Charles was shocked to see tears gathering, unshed, in her eyes. “I don’t have much of a dowry, you know.”

Charles was even more confused than before, not at all certain why Julia felt this was an important fact to convey. He could think of few dowries that would seem at all significant compared against the Dresford coffers, and who in their right mind would have pursued a vicar’s daughter for her supposed dowry? The conversation seemed to be spiraling wildly out of control.

“I didn’t know, but I had more or less guessed that to be the case. It doesn’t matter. I’m not quite as destitute as I’ve made myself out to be.” He smiled, thinking of her reaction, wondering if now was finally the time to tell her the truth. She hadn’t yet agreed to marry him, it was true, but she cared deeply for him—that much was obvious. “I have quite the plan to, ah, resurrect my funds actually, in the very near future.”

He took in a deep breath, thinking that he had spoken in circles for long enough. She hadn’t said that she would marry him, but she’d told him, through words and actions, everything he really needed to know. “In fact, I—”

Julia reached up and put a finger against his lips before supplanting the finger with a kiss. “I care for you very deeply, you know. I would care for you even if you were completely and utterly penniless. As long as you were honest with me, I don’t think I would need anything else.”

“And if I ceased to be penniless? Would that change how you felt for me?”

Julia looked down and, though he couldn’t fathom why, seemed to look disappointed. “Of course not. I’m simply trying to let you know that the state of your finances means nothing to me, that it wouldn’t change how I felt about you if you survived on a pittance, had no allowance, or even if you were deeply in debt. I care for you.”

He was getting nowhere, fast, that much he could tell. Now that the moment had come, however, he wasn’t sure how to come out and say it. He could tell her he was rich, though that would certainly lead to a barrage of questions about how rich was rich. He could try telling her he was titled, but that seemed somehow tangential to where her worries were currently centered. He decided to try a different tack. Though he had never come close to declaring anything as messy as feelings before, he now found himself talking a breath before declaring, rather blandly, “I care for you, as well, you know.”

Even when he’d realized he wanted to marry her, wanted to bind her to him, he’d been hesitant to try to categorize his feelings for her. They ranged from passionate to protective, from tender to exasperated. He’d worried about whether he’d have to make a formal declaration of love in order to win her hand and had shuddered at the thought. He cared for her and was willing to say so, but he wasn’t prepared to call it love.

Not if he didn’t have to. Not yet.

“You don’t have to sound so reluctant. As if caring for me is a disease.”

“The way the poets describe it . . .” he allowed his words to trail off. “But you have a point. It’s just that I’m unused to . . . speaking about my emotions.”

She kissed him again, her mouth opening slightly this time, her position on his lap shifting a little. “Then don’t speak,” she whispered against his lips.

He gave an inward groan and thanked the merciful heavens that his Julia seemed just as satisfied with physical declarations as she was with verbal ones. He returned her kiss slowly, lingeringly, letting her drive the pace between them, opening his mouth only after she had opened hers. Nipping and licking only after she’d given explicit invitations asking him for more.

He slid his hands down to her hips and shifted her slightly, so that her buttocks were cradled just so along his inner thighs, so that with each small shift she brushed against his rapidly awakening manhood, something that was simultaneously torturous and delightful and in that seemed to reflect the rest of his relationship with Julia.

“Julia, my love,” he said a bit urgently, as her hands slid from around his neck to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with a rapidity that quite stole his breath. “If you do that, I don’t think I’ll be able to—I’m not sure I can stop if—” She continued to kiss him even as her hands slid his coat off his shoulders, with no resistance (and indeed a little help) from his traitorous body, which was busily reminding him that it had been denied last time and had no intention of being held at bay a second time. She reached greedy hands inside his gaping shirt and ran them along his chest, learning him caress by caress, making it difficult for him even to remember the words he’d been trying to formulate, much less the intentions behind those words. “We’re quickly passing the point of no return.” He grasped both of her hands with an effort and met her eyes before continuing. “If you continue for much longer—correction, for even a moment longer—I won’t be held accountable for my actions. I will pick you up, take you into that bedroom, and divest you of your clothes and your innocence within a matter of minutes.”

Julia’s eyes widened only slightly. “I’m almost twenty-six years old. Don’t you think I’ve held onto my innocence for long enough?”

Charles drew in a deep, shaky breath. “There will be no turning back after this, you understand?”

In answer, Julia leaned her head forward and kissed him, on his neck. Situated as she was, on his lap and with her hands trapped in his, there was little else she could do, really, to assure him of her acquiescence. “I don’t want to turn back. Make love to me. Please?”

Charles groaned. He was certain that he ought to resist, ought to wait until he spoke with Julia’s father and worked out the particulars. That one simply did not bed an innocent vicar’s daughter, even if one intended to marry her forthwith. That it had to be a sin of some sort. But for the moment, he wasn’t sure that he cared.

Julia was kissing his neck and even nibbling a little, shifting her hips against his erection in such a way—perhaps unwittingly, or perhaps purposefully, the impertinent brat!—that the blood had long since left his more rational brain. He jerked back a little and said, the words unbidden and even a little unwanted, “Just remember you asked for this, you little minx.”

Julia giggled. “I’ve never been called a minx before.” She wiggled her hands, still trapped in his. “May I have my hands back now? If I promise to behave?”

Charles loosened his grip. “You may have your hands back if you promise to misbehave, just as I fully intend to indulge in all manners of vice and sin with you, long into the afternoon.”

Julia’s stillness gave him a moment of pause. “Have I shocked you, finally?”

“No,” she said, after such a brief moment of hesitation that he thought he’d imagined it. “I’m just pleased to know that I’ve managed to corrupt you, finally. I’ve never tried seducing a man before, but I must own, I never thought it’d be quite this hard.”

Charles chuckled and then shifted her off his lap for long enough to stand and lift her effortlessly into his arms.

“I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do here would be to concede defeat and let you have your wicked way for me?”

Julia nodded against his shoulder, and a moment later, they were in the bedroom together, just as they’d been yesterday . . .

Only today, he had no intention of stopping until he’d had his fill of her.

Julia sighed as Charles deposited her gently on the bed and joined her so that his body lay next to and partially on top of hers, his weight barely pressing her into the mattress.

“We’re exceedingly overdressed for the next part of our conversation.”

“Exceedingly?” Julia laughed even as she parroted his word. She never would have imagined that it would be like this, that desire and humor could be so intertwined together, that she’d enjoy not merely the kissing and the rest of it, but also just the simply act of lying with him, the anticipation of it all.

Part of her wanted to tear off his clothes and her own. But another part wished she could prolong this moment, and this day, forever. The joy she felt was fleeting, she knew this, knew without having to think that this could not last. She shut her eyes and mentally shut out those unwanted, unwarranted thoughts. She’d have plenty of time, too much time, to think about that later. For now, she wanted to enjoy this moment, this man.

She reached for the buttons of his shirt, finding that her fingers were shaking a little, so that he had to stop her finally, had to take his hand in hers and say gently, “I won’t hurt you.”

He kissed her fingertips one at a time, as he had done—was it only weeks ago?—in the Clarks’ library. “Promise.”

It was a struggle suddenly to blink back her tears, to tell him that he’d already hurt her and would no doubt do so again. But all she said was, “I’m a bit nervous is all. Edgy. Anxious. Highly strung.”

Charles almost suppressed a smile. “Yes, thank you, I do know what the word nervous means.”

“I mean it’s not that my nerves are affected, I’ve never understood what that means, actually.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth again. “You’re rambling, you know.”

“I know. It’s horrid. I’m ruining everything. This is supposed to be a romantic moment, not a lecture. But I just can’t seem to stop talking.”

Charles chuckled. “And talking can’t be romantic?”

“Not about nerves, certainly.”

“Surely nerves are better than aphids,” Charles teased before continuing in a more serious tone. “We don’t have to do this—if you have any doubts at all, we should not proceed.”

The way they were lying against one another, Julia could feel the imprint of his erection against her thigh; even through two layers of clothes, his desire was obvious, and his offer all the more touching because of it.

She smiled. “That’s not exactly truthful.” She slid her hand, biting at her lip and fighting what was surely a whole-body blush even as she did so, down to where the shape of his penis was clearly outlined.

Charles drew in a shaky breath and briefly pressed himself more firmly into her hand. “I know I’ll be upsetting your love of all things logical to say this, but I am more than positive, more than sure, that I would never, ever want you to do something you weren’t completely—more than completely—ready for.”

“You’re right, that was one of the least logical things you’ve ever said to me.”

Charles chuckled. “It’s hard to be logical when half of the blood in my body is no longer circulating through my brain.”

Julia pressed her body closer to his, mimicking the hand that was pressed against him. “Are you always so prone to exaggeration?”

He laughed, “Yes. I seem to remember noting that men, in general, are prone to hyperbole.”

“I’m almost certain you said women last time.”

“I’m almost certain your memory plays you false.” He gazed down at her, and Julia wondered how she could have ever considered his eyes to be cold in any way. They were better described as a warm gray, with flecks of blue and perhaps even hazel buried within. His mouth twisted a bit, and it was with a touch of self-deprecation that he said, “I’m completely capable of stopping, Julia, despite what I said earlier.”

Julia leaned up and kissed him. “And I meant what I said. I don’t want you to stop. I’m anxious and a little nervous, all of which is natural, none of which means I don’t want to do . . . this, as much as you do.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. His head lowered and he began kissing her with an intensity she found a bit shocking. Always before he’d built up the flames of passion gradually, allowed her time to feel and catalogue, to explore and adjust.

This time, his lips were demanding, parting hers almost immediately. His tongue tangled with hers even as his hands quickly unbuttoned the front of her dress. Without looking, without needing to look, he undid the bow at the front of her chemise, and his hand slipped inside with a surety that stole what was left of her breath.

He kissed the edge of her mouth and then nibbled along the underside of her chin, whispering, “I’m so glad you didn’t have me stop.”

She smiled against his lips even as she arched her body into his caresses in a way that she was certain she’d feel embarrassed about, later, when she was capable of thinking again. “And here I thought you were so noble.”

“I
was
noble. Offering, and being willing to follow through on the offer, was extremely noble. Sacrificial, even.”

“I’ve never thought of you as a martyr.”

“And today, I don’t have to be.”

He kissed her again, their tongues tangling and mating in a preview of what was to come, and he said, “This might be the most unromantic, asexual pillow talk I’ve ever engaged in.”

Julia pulled away a little. “I’m sorry. Should I—”

“No, no, simply an observation. And don’t worry, one thing that people never understand is that it’s not the words that are erotic, it’s the person who’s saying them.”

“Are you implying that you think I’m . . . erotic?”

Charles nodded, meeting her eyes and smiling a little. “Let me put it this way: you make aphids sound stimulating.”

Julia laughed again, the tension easing from her body. “You were not attracted to me then.”

His fingers curled around the smooth underside of one of her breasts, and his thumb against teased one peak into rigidity. “Wrong again. I found you distracting and annoying, perplexing and also, yes, attractive.”

She gasped a little as he continued his ministrations, and he lowered his head to hers again. “Then again, why am I talking when I could be tasting?”

He drank from her lips, as if she were a feast to be set upon, and, like last time, he soon divested her of her clothes. A tug here, a wiggle there—it all happened far less awkwardly than she would have thought possible.

This time, he stood and took off his own clothes as soon as he’d removed all of hers. Where his movements with her had been sure and graceful, punctuated with a kiss and a nibble for each newly uncovered area, his clothes came off in a flurried frenzy. Julia was almost certain that he tore one, maybe two buttons in his haste to take off his shirt. His boots were kicked off and his trousers soon followed.