Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) (15 page)

The unexpected knock jarred Julian from planning Amelia’s next seduction.  He gave the polished mahogany a good frown before granting permission to enter.

His frown vanished as soon as his wife opened the door.  Rising from his chair, Julian noticed her outfitted in one of the twelve new gowns he’d ordered from Madame Deveraux.  He’d sent a note to the
couturière
while still in London with instructions to use Megan’s measurements, certain they were nearly identical in stature.  He’d been accurate, he decided, seeing how well Amelia filled the silky peach dress.  “Please, do come in.”

She hesitated, and Julian noted the wariness in her eyes.  Then she sighed, set her shoulders, and entered the room.

Julian had to grit his teeth as she neared.  Her glossy hair had been braided at the sides and pulled back, the rest falling down her back in waves of brown velvet.  A slight scent of vanilla reached him and his loins twitched.  Clearing his throat, he asked, “Would you have a seat?”

After she’d perched on one of the leather wing-back chairs before his desk, Julian took his own seat.  God’s truth, he’d rather round the desk, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but thought better of it.  Because if he touched her, he’d not stop.

Where in the bloody hell had his iron-clad control gone?

“Now,” Julian leaned back in his chair, “to what do I owe this pleasurable surprise?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, took a deep breath, and then asked, “Where is Alex?”

Julian hid his disappointment behind a smile.  “It seems we shall have the devil of a time keeping him away from the telescope.  He’s in the observatory counting down the minutes till sunset.”

Amelia nodded and looked down. 

“There’s something else.  What is it?”

Clamping her hands together in her lap, she slowly looked up.  “You…I…that is, we…” she paused and shook her head, then continued in a rush.  “Last night was a mistake, my lord, and will not happen again.”

Julian’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair.  Even though Amelia’s cheeks glowed pink, her eyes shone with determination.  Be damned, she meant every bleeding word!

Anger shot through him.  He had also grown rock-hard and throbbing.  Be damned, she could arouse him to the point of pain and refuse him at the same time!  That bloody well did not make him happy.

Breathing in a deep, slow breath, Julian reined in the turbulence.  He loosened his grip from the chair and relaxed his stiff shoulders, feeling more in control.  “What do you mean last night was a mistake?” He had to force calmness to his tone.

Her hands clutched so tightly together, they turned white.  “Ours is a marriage of convenience, if you will recall.  You married me because of Alex.  And as such, that doesn’t give you the right to—”

“It gives me every right, woman.” Julian had had enough.  He jumped out of his chair.  “I am your husband.”  He rounded the desk and pulled Amelia to her feet.  “And I have needs.”

The fear that had flitted into her cornflower blue eyes melted into sparks of ire.  “Then go sate your needs on someone who wants them.”  She tried pulling her arms free of his grasp.  “Lady Bridgewater, perhaps?”

He gave her a hard stare.  “Are you telling me that you’re repulsed by my touch?” He knew she wasn’t, but wanted to see if she would lie to his face.

“Let me go, my lord,” she said, the fear in her eyes increasing.

“I’ll not let you go until I have my answer.” He wrapped his arms around her.

Her eyes widened.  “What are you doing?”  She struggled uselessly to break away from his hold.

“I want an answer,” Julian said with gritted teeth.  With her body wiggling against his solid shaft, he could hardly speak at all.

When she made no reply, his patience snapped.  He lowered his lips to the base of her exposed neck and pressed a kiss against her hammering pulse.  Hearing her quick intake of breath, he continued to kiss her, moving up to behind her ear.

She went still.  “What are you doing?”  Her voice had grown feeble.

“Shhh, don’t talk.” He nibbled on her earlobe, feeling her shudder.  Then he lifted his hands and worked the tiny pearl buttons at her back, kissing a path down the column of her throat as he slowly exposed skin.  He halted as he came to those fleshy mounds rising rapidly above the square neckline.  After unfastening enough buttons, he slid the gown off her shoulders.

“Julian!”  She tried to move back, but he tightened his hold.  The pebbled apricot nipples showed through the thin chemise.  Keeping one hand around her, Julian used the other to delve into the sheer material and retrieve a breast.  She gasped, and as his lips closed around the hard bead, he heard her moan.

When Amelia began to sway, he scooped her into his arms and laid her down on the sofa.  Covering her body with his, he brought his lips down onto hers.  He kissed her long and deep, pleased when she threaded her fingers through his hair and returned his kiss.

Their tongues dueled madly.  Julian pulled Amelia’s gown away, then threw it somewhere in the room.  Her chemise soon followed.  Rotating his hips, he pressed his impatient bulge against her heated middle.  She moaned and spread her legs.  And as the musky sweet scent of her arousal drove Julian near insane with need, he moved his hand to her center, feeling the slick dew drench his fingers.

His mouth continued to feast on hers, his hunger insatiable.  With jerky movements, he released his member.  And as he led it forward, something gave him pause.  Then it came to him.

Julian ended the kiss and lifted his head.  He watched Amelia open her eyes, glazed with passion, and saw the confusion enter them.  Her kiss-swollen lips parted as if she would ask a question but had forgotten how.  Slowly, though it damn near killed him, he grazed her with his shaft but didn’t enter her.

Amelia’s body jerked beneath him.  When he did it again, a whimper tore from her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut.  “Julian, please.”

“Please, what, my love?” he asked, pressing just a hair’s width inside of her.

“Please.” She moved her head from side to side.

Droplets of sweat beaded on Julian’s forehead, but he would not continue until he heard the words.  “What are you trying to tell me, Pixie?  Do you want me?”

She groaned.

“Open your eyes, Amelia, and tell me you want me,” Julian said, feeling his control about to snap.

Amelia stilled.  Her long, dark lashes swept up from her pale cheeks, revealing eyes vulnerable with unguarded truth.  “Yes,” she whispered, “I want you.”

And Julian slid into her.

His lips met hers, and the kiss grew ravenous.  So was their lovemaking.  Hungry and carnal.  Julian pumped hard and fast.  And Amelia answered him stroke for stroke, seeming to know exactly what he needed.

Never had he been so in tune with a woman, like their souls had melded.  Julian didn’t know where he ended and she began.  It frightened him, this unfamiliar feeling, but he couldn’t stop.

And for the first time in his life, he lost control completely.  In mindless bliss, he soared up to the stars.  Higher and faster he moved.  Until finally, he exploded.

When his senses returned, he realized he lay on top of Amelia, dragging in deep gulps of air, his heart feeling as though it would leap right out of his chest.  Damn, what had he done?  Never had he acted so barbaric before.  Had he hurt her?

Just as he started to lift up and make sure, he felt her touch.  It stopped him cold. Soft as a butterfly’s wing, she grazed her lips across his cheek.  And in that very second, a warmth settled into his chest.  Something unclenched within him.  The thick stone shell around his heart cracked. 

He swallowed hard.

CHAPTER 15

Amelia’s body still hummed from Julian’s torturously slow lovemaking several hours ago.  She sighed, sifting her hands through the cool, damp soil of the herb garden she had found the week before.  Why couldn’t she resist him?  For two whole weeks, Julian had been able to slake his desires on her whenever and wherever he wanted.  And each time, her mind had turned to gruel, and her body had obeyed his every wish.  Without even the slightest objection.  Curse his black soul!

Shaking her head, Amelia decided she had become a spineless, witless fool.  And worse yet, she was falling in love with her husband.  Deeply, madly in love.

Perhaps she had never stopped loving him.

Seeing what a good father Julian was to Alex didn’t help, either.  Julian never got too busy for her son.  In fact, they often spent hours at a time together, mostly in the observatory with that shiny telescope, or dragging the thing out into the garden when it got dark.  And the thought of Alex being the happiest she had ever seen him brought a smile to her lips.  Her smile slid away.  She supposed seeing Alex happy was worth any amount of torment she suffered—or would suffer once Julian tired of her, leaving her aching and unfulfilled when he no longer wanted her.

“I cannot believe it, Mama,” Alex said from beside her, distracting her from her thoughts, “Lord Julian says he wants me to be his son.”

Amelia’s hand stilled as her heart rose up her throat.  Then she took a deep breath and calmed.  Julian had not told Alex the truth.  Not yet.  She turned and smiled, though her heart lurched in a painful spasm.  She couldn’t help feeling that she was losing her son.  For so long, it had been just the two of them, and now, she knew Alex loved Julian a great deal.  Probably as much as he loved her.

“And I’m to go to Eton soon,” he continued, causing her another spasm.  How would she go on without seeing her son every day?  Not a single day since his birth had they been separated.  Not one.

Just as tears glazed her eyes, a clod of cold, wet dirt hit the side of her face.  Slowly she glanced up and found a horrified expression on Alex’s face.  “Oh, Mama, I-I’m so sorry.  The spade slipped an—”  His words were cut short when Amelia threw a ball of moist dirt, hitting him square on the chin.

“There, that makes us even,” she said, wiping the sticky mud from her face with the back of her hand.

He laughed and shook his head.  “I’m afraid not.” Those dove-gray eyes filled with an impish twinkle, an exact replica of Julian’s.  “You threw more.”

As Alex extracted a handful of sticky dirt, Amelia shot to her feet.  “Don’t you dare, Alexander Thomas,” she said, holding her hands out before her as if to ward off an attack.  Too late.  The muddy ball splatted her chest and oozed slowly to the ground right on top of her new half boots.

Looking at the damp brown trail down the front of her mint green dress, she couldn’t decide if she felt anger or joy.  Perhaps a little of both, she decided and slowly lifted her head.  Alex had a filthy hand over his mouth, but not because of surprise or sorrow for what he’d done.  No, indeed.  The scamp fought to contain his laughter.

Narrowing her eyes, she kneeled down and picked up a goodly amount of the sticky sludge then threw it at him.  To her satisfaction, it caught him at the bend of his neck and across his right shoulder.

Alex froze, no longer laughing, and slowly lowered his hands.  A gleam came to his eyes and Amelia knew what he meant to do.  She shook her head and backed up a step.  “No, Alex, that’s enough.” She tried hard not to giggle.  “You’ll ruin my pretty new dress.”

But her son didn’t heed her words.  Without saying anything, he scooped up an enormous lot of mud with both hands and started in her direction.

With a squeal, Amelia picked up her skirts and ran.

Julian had just concluded business with his estate manager when Jennings met him out in the hall.  “Your parents are here to see you, my lord.  They are waiting in the drawing room.”

He sucked in a quick breath.  “Thank you.”  He had expected a note from them and not their bloody arrival, certain they would not leave Megan.  Not now.

With a deep breath, he entered the drawing room and noticed his mother perched on the sofa, her brow furrowed in worry.  “Hello, Mother,” he said with one of his special smiles.

“Hello, darling.” She rose to her feet to accept his kiss on the cheek.

Then he turned to his father, who had been pacing before the windows.  “Father.”

“Julian.” His father withdrew the letter from his coat pocket.  “What is the meaning of this?  What important news do you have to tell us?”

He opened his mouth, but couldn’t recall one blasted word of the eloquent speech he had planned.  Instead, he blurted it out, wishing to have it over and done with.  “I have married.”

“You what?” his parents asked in unison.  His mother stared at him with wide, horrified eyes, while his father’s glare deepened into a scowl of fury.

Damnation.
  Taking a deep breath, Julian repeated his announcement.  He watched his mother stumble down onto the sofa, her eyes dazed.  His father, however, continued to seethe for half a minute before speaking.  “Start from the beginning,” Father demanded, then joined Mother other on the sofa.

Left with no alternative, Julian sat on one of the chairs across from them and told them about Amelia, prudently withholding the part about the bet he and Jeremy had made those years ago.

His mother’s head was bowed so he couldn’t read her reaction.  Father’s fury never left, and that was to be expected.  But Mother was the key.  She was the only person alive, perhaps other than Megan, who could defuse Father’s anger in a quick manner.  Julian could not possibly allow them to meet Amelia and Alex in such a state.  He wouldn’t allow it.

Then Father’s eyes narrowed.  “You said her name is Amelia.  Is this the same woman Megan had been taking care of?”

Who had caused Megan to become ill?
  Julian could just about read his father’s thoughts.  He glanced over to his mother, who had yet to react, then back and squared his shoulders.  “Yes.”

Slowly, his father rose to his feet.  “Where is she?”

Julian’s own anger had blazed a fiery path up from his chest to heat his cheeks.  He stood and faced his father, his hands balling at his sides.  “I will not have you meet my wife as angry as you are, Father.”  He took a step forward.  “That is the very reason I didn’t invite you to the wedding.  You would have no doubt scared Amelia away.  Probably for good this time.  Locating her and convincing her to marry me was a miracle.”

Father crossed his arms and raised his right brow.  “
You
had to convince
her
to marry you?”  He snorted and shook his head.  “I find that hard to believe.”

Julian ground his teeth together.  “Actually, she refused.  So I had to threaten to take Alex away from her.”

The anger lifted from Father’s face long enough for his brows to pop up.  But before he could say another word, Mother rose up from the sofa and placed a hand on his arm.  “Surely you haven’t forgotten our wedding day, Joseph?”

Father glanced down to Mother’s upturned face.  All the anger drained away.  He placed both hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes delving into her soft gray ones.  “Ah, Maggie, my love, I haven’t forgotten anything.”

Julian knew how much his parents loved each other.  He’d seen it all his life.  But witnessing it now was somehow different.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced away.  The reason for his discomfort slowly dawned and he walked to the window and glanced out.  He watched the gardeners clip stray branches from the ancient dogwood hedge that had probably been planted while Henry Tudor was scheming to do away with another wife.  Four wrens sprang out of their mossy houses and flew sporadically to the nearby cluster of sweet chestnut trees.

He crossed his arms and faced what he had been trying to avoid thinking about.  The guilt eating away at him.  Not only did he still feel guilty as hell for what he had done to Amelia ten years ago, he just added another heaping dose of guilt for how he got her to marry him.  Well, hell.  She wouldn’t have agreed, otherwise, he reasoned to himself.  The stubborn woman would have worked herself to death trying to take care of Alex.  He had to do something.

Did he have to use such tactics, a soft voice whispered from somewhere deep within?  Couldn’t he have been more patient and tried wooing her first?

Then he thought about coming into Amelia’s bed at night and desire shot right through his body.  The corners of his lips sprang up.  Twelve nights.  Straight.  That had been worth any price, he thought, and refused to feel any sort of remorse for them.

Glancing over his shoulder, he grimaced at his parents embracing, and quickly turned back to the window.  He recognized something else.  Longing.  He actually wanted what his parents had.  With Amelia.  That scared the hell out of him.

“Julian?”

Steeling himself for another round with his father, he turned.  He was surprised to see all the anger gone, replaced by a look of pleasant anticipation.  His mother’s handiwork.  As her smile widened, Julian gave her a grateful nod, knowing his parents would not do or say anything to frighten Amelia.

“May we meet them?” his mother asked.

Relaxing his stiff shoulders, Julian nodded.  “Sure.  This way.”

Amelia laughed so hard, tears streamed down her face.  Alex, sitting in a pile of mud beside her, had his mouth open, laughing just as hard.  From head to toe, both were covered in at least an inch of the sticky mud, both blissfully unaware of the three people gaping in disbelief at them.

When a female throat was cleared, Amelia stifled her laughter.  Swiping the grime from her eyes, she glanced around.  And noticed Julian standing there with his arms crossed, looking like he wanted to murder her.  Then she noticed the other two standing beside him.  After a swift intake of breath when she recognized the duke, she nudged Alex—who hadn’t quit laughing—to gain his attention, and rose clumsily to her feet.

The woman, who favored Julian, turned to him.  “Well, Son, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Reluctantly, Julian presented her and Alex to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Kenbrook.

Amelia had never been so mortified.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”  Her ungainly curtsy caused several clumps of mud to slide from her dress to the ground. Then, before anything else could be said, she excused herself and Alex and made a hasty retreat to get clean.

In record time, Amelia had Alex and herself clean and changed into fresh clothes, all thanks to Ruth and several maids helping out.  Slightly out of breath, she entered the drawing room with her son at her side and noticed the duke and duchess’ surprise when they saw Alex not covered in mud.  She halted, ready for a quick retreat if they said anything about him resembling Julian.  Before a word had been exchanged between any of them, however, Jennings rushed into the room.  “This urgent message, Your Grace, from Claremont,” he said, handing the duke a folded piece of paper bearing a red wax seal.

The duke took the message and broke the seal.  He read the note then turned to his wife, his expression grim.  “Come, Maggie, we must hurry back to London.”

“What is it, Joseph?”  Her eyes filled with terror.  “Megan?”

“Come,” the duke said gruffly.

“Wait, Father.” Julian stepped in their path.  “A horse will be much quicker.”

Kenbrook nodded at his son, then turned to the duchess.  “Maggie…”

“Go, Joseph, I’ll be right behind you in the carriage.”  The poor woman had lost all color and her hands trembled.

“Don’t worry, love.  Our daughter is much stronger than she looks.”  With a kiss on her forehead, the duke left the room.

“I’m going with him,” Julian said, then turned and followed his father.

As the duchess started for the door, Amelia halted her.  “Would you mind, Your Grace, if Alex and I rode along with you?”

The duchess turned, her dove-gray eyes so much like Julian’s and Alex’s delved deeply into hers for a moment.  Then she nodded.  “I’d like that.”

Amelia smiled and turned to her son.  “Quickly, Alex, run upstairs and retrieve my bag.”

Just as pink and orange streaks tinted the sky, Amelia followed the duchess up the stairs of the Claremont town house.  Alex had agreed to see what sort of delicacy Nan had brewed up—agreeing only if Amelia sent word of how Megan fared—and loped off toward the kitchen.

Entering the antechamber to the duke’s bedroom, Amelia bit back a smile.  Julian and his father both glared at poor Nicholas, who looked ready to pop with nerves.

Margaret rushed to her husband.  “How is she?”

“So far things are well,” Julian’s father stated as he and everyone else rose to their feet.

“So far?” Margaret frowned with concern as she glanced from her husband to her son.

Julian came forward.  “There is some concern—only a little—” he hastened to add when the duchess paled “—that the babe hasn’t yet turned.”