Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (13 page)

Disappointment twanged in her chest, but Lily didn’t know how to argue. Hadn’t this been her aim when arranging this party? To push Julian back into the social life he’d once loved—the clubs, the theater, the company of friends? She should count this a tremendous success.

Except there were still so many questions churning in her mind, so many emotions coursing through her blood. Julian wanted something more than friendship, he’d said. What more did he want, precisely? Her body? Her affection?

What more did
she
want from him?

“Will you call on me tomorrow?” she asked.

After a brief pause, he nodded. “If you wish.”

“I do. I do wish it.” For that, and for something more.

When Julian arrived at Harcliffe House the following morning, he again found Lily seated at the desk in Leo’s library. Her neck was curved white and graceful as a swan’s as she bent over an open ledger. Something about the contrast between that elegant sweep of her neck and the precise point of her elbow as she dipped her quill … A tide of longing pushed through him, laying waste to everything in its path.

Bypassing the signal mirror this time, he entered the room and approached her from the side. She was so absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice him until he stood nearly beside her, just at her right shoulder. Even then, she did not look up. She simply went still, holding her quill at attention. Only the slight change in her breathing let him know she’d realized he was there.

She was waiting. Waiting to see if he would touch her.

So he did. He laid a hand on her shoulder where her thin fichu met her gown.

“Good morning,” she said distractedly, taking a moment to finish her notation before replacing her quill in the inkwell. With a breathy sigh, she tipped her head to the left, stretching the slender column of her neck. Then back to the right. “I’ve been sitting here too long. I’ve gone all stiff.”

How could he resist an invitation like that? Julian pushed aside the frail, gauzy fichu and squeezed her shoulder gently, running his thumb along the tense ridge of muscle and sinew at the base of her neck. She had indeed been working too hard. Her muscles were drawn taut, resistant to his touch. As he kneaded her shoulder, the tension melted beneath his fingertips.

She moaned low in her throat.

Lust rocked him in his boots.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Just there.”

Suffice it to say, now Lily wasn’t the only one contending with uncomfortable stiffness. He slid his hand forward, over the ridge of her collarbone. Excitement surged to his fingertips. Mere inches below, the snowy expanse of her décolletage tempted.

Here was a perilous slope.

He did what any man approaching a precipice would do. He inched forward and peered over the edge.

What a breathtaking view. The gentle mounds of her breasts cradled a steep, luscious valley. She looked so soft. Julian had seen and touched and held to his cheek the finest textiles the world had to offer—velvets, silks, luxurious furs from every corner of every continent. And yet he knew instinctively, none of them could approach the sleek perfection of Lily Chatwick’s bosom. There would simply be no apt comparisons. Just as the terms “oak,” “granite,” and “tempered steel” failed to describe the current state of his arousal.

“You can’t have her,” he told himself aloud. “Not like that.” Before he could second-guess himself, he jerked his hand from her body.

She circled her head, stretching. “Mm, thank you.” Then she looked to him, eyebrows rising in expectation. “Well …?”

“Well.” Eager to conceal his own expectant, rising parts, Julian pulled up a chair and seated himself across the desk from her. “Good morning. I brought you something.” He carefully lifted his offering onto the desk. He’d been holding it in one hand all this while, and the parcel’s contents had grown noticeably agitated.

She was having none of it. “Julian. Do you honestly mean to pretend last night didn’t happen?”

He froze. He’d been asking himself that very thing. If he wished, he could deny everything. With a bit of bluster and diversion, he could lead her to believe she’d misunderstood his words and actions. He could convince her that no, he actually
hadn’t
lost his wits and impulsively confessed to harboring years of lust for her. With luck, he could have her believing that whatever he’d planned on doing instants before they were interrupted, it most certainly had
not
been kissing her for the second time in one day.

But today, looking into her lovely face, he found he simply couldn’t stomach more lies.

“No,” he said. “I don’t mean to pretend anything.”

Why shouldn’t she understand that since the day they’d met, he’d been seized by a powerful attraction to her? Lily was no fool. She would understand, as he did, that nothing could ever come of it. So many factors prevented him from acting on his desire—her mourning, the inequity of their rank, the recent resurrection of his innate sense of decency. Not to mention the fact that within a fortnight, Julian Bellamy would permanently disappear from London society. One way or another.

Let her know. Let her know what she did to him.

“So.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “You desire me.”

“Yes.”

“Always have.”

“From the first.”

Her drumming fingers stilled. “And last night, when you flew into a rage with that Commander …”

“Merriwin. Commander Merriwin.”

“Yes, him. It wasn’t because you thought I was weak, or in need of protection.”

“No. It was jealousy. An instinctive male reaction, and one I should have suppressed.” He leaned forward. “I do believe in you, Lily. I know you could handle that man, or ten just like him. The weakness was mine.”

“Well.” Leather creaked as she sat back in her chair. “This is all so very enlightening.”

“It is?”

“Yes, of course. It explains so much.” Her cheeks went pink. “I mean, it’s undeniably flattering. Or at least, reassuring. I was beginning to feel like the only woman in London who
didn’t
catch your eye.”

His heart sank. Nothing—in all his life, absolutely
nothing
—could have made Julian regret his history of debauchery more than this: for him to finally confess his desire for Lily, and for her to conclude that his admiration simply made her one of a crowd. So utterly wrong that she should believe that, and yet … so convenient.

“As long as we are being honest,” she continued, her gaze sliding to the side, “I have to admit that I find you attractive, too. Not that it should be surprising. Again, I seem to be in the female majority.” She smiled.

“So,” he said, groping his way down the escape hatch she’d opened. “We’ve established that we are two attractive people.”

She nodded.

“And that each of us, logically, finds the other attractive.”

“As is only natural.” She stacked her arms on the desk and leaned against them. “It makes perfect sense. I’m so glad we’ve had this discussion, aren’t you?”

Julian was stunned silent for a moment. That was it? Truly? He admitted to wanting her, and she confessed to harboring a few innocent fancies of her own, and then they just … moved on from the topic entirely? Could it really be so simple? She wouldn’t think so, if she could have seen him arching on his toes for a glimpse of her breasts just now.

“Er … yes,” he finally said. “I’m glad, too.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s this you’ve brought me?” Her brow wrinkled as she studied the canvas-covered dome he’d placed atop the desk.

“A gift. Every dried-up spinster should have one.” With a flourish, he removed the canvas drape.

“You didn’t.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Julian.”

“Oh, Julian,” the parrot sang, bobbing its crimson head in agreement. “Oh, Julian.”

“Is he speaking?” Lily asked. “What does he say?”

“He seems to have taken a liking to my name. Or at least your pronunciation of it.”

“Oh, Julian,” the garish creature sang, rustling its blue-and-green wings. “Oh, Juuuulian.”

Oh, lovely. What an idea this had been.

He reached into his coat and retrieved a packet of shelled walnuts. “Here,” he said, pushing the packet at Lily. “He’s likely hungry.”

She shook some of the nuts into her palm and pinched one between thumb and forefinger, offering it to the parrot through a gap in the bars. She laughed as the bird swiveled its head nearly upside down to grasp the nut in its dark, hooked beak. “Wherever did you get him?”

“I lost a bet.”

“
Lost
a bet?”

“Yes. This fellow’s ancient, been passed around for years. He’s long outlived his original owner. A barrister supposedly brought him home from Jamaica ages ago.”

The parrot bristled. “Guilty, guilty!” it trilled. Its round, red head tilted, then righted itself. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“What does he say now?” Lily asked, offering the creature another walnut.

“He’s pronounced judgment on me, I believe. And I’ve come up wanting. No death sentence as yet.”

Clever bird. Truthfully, Julian had felt sorry for the poor feathered beast. It had been passed from gentleman to gentleman for years. Usually as the forfeit in some wager—loser gets the bird. No one seemed to want the thing, and he was beginning to understand why. The parrot’s vocal antics would be amusing at the outset but could quickly become a source of aggravation.

“You don’t have to keep him,” he told Lily. “I only brought him by because … Well, I felt I owed you some sort of peace offering. And I guessed you’d be drowning in flowers this morning.”

“Drowning in flowers? What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen the drawing room?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been working in here all morning. I told Swift I wasn’t at home to anyone but you.”

A genuine grin stretched his cheeks. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. He rose, lifted the parrot’s cage in one hand and offered the other to Lily. “Come.”

He led her down the corridor and into the drawing room.

“Oh,” she said upon entering. “Oh, my.”

From his cage, even the bird gave a whistle of admiration.

The Harcliffe House drawing room was, as drawing rooms went, a large one. Near palatial, really. And today it was full to bursting with grandiose flower arrangements. Roses, orchids, delphiniums in abundance—but overwhelming all of these, lilies. Lilies of every possible variety, covering every available surface and filling every niche.

“Between the parrot and the flowers, it’s a veritable jungle,” Lily said. She turned to regard the bird hopping madly in its cage. “Oh, do let him out. He must feel as though he’s home.”

Julian obliged, setting the birdcage on the floor and opening the door. The bird didn’t move.

Lily kneeled before the open cage, beckoning the reluctant bird. “Come now, pet. Take a turn about the room.”

“Guilty, guilty!” the agitated parrot squawked. “Thank you, that will be all!”

“Perhaps he’s timid in a new place,” Julian suggested, helping Lily to her feet.

“Perhaps. We’ll give him time.” She turned a slow circle in place, surveying the exotic flora. A laugh bubbled from her throat. “All these lilies. They don’t have much imagination, do they?”

“Perhaps not. But they do have unquestionably good taste.” Julian reached for a salver heaped with calling cards and hand-delivered notes.

She sifted through the correspondence. “I can’t imagine how word got around so quickly.”

“Can’t you?”

Julian knew how word had got around so quickly. He’d spread it. After leaving Morland House last night, he’d taken those lieutenants to every gentlemen’s club, gaming hall, and opera house in London, all the while leading them in a voluble discourse on the inexhaustible topic of Lady Lily Chatwick. Her beauty, elegance, virtue, good humor, and, most important of all, sudden availability. “It’s just as I said. The gentlemen are falling over one another to court you.”

“I’m not sure they’re truly interested in that. After so much time out of circulation, I suspect I’m more of a curiosity at this point.”

Julian didn’t know how to argue, because he suspected it was partly true. But once everyone had the chance to see how intelligent, lovely, and personable Lily was, idle curiosity would become keen pursuit.

“You should give some thought to the invitations.” He plucked a familiar-looking envelope from the heap. “Start with this one.”

She opened it and scanned the contents quickly. “An assembly next week at the Shelton rooms, hosted by Lord and Lady Ainsley. You’ve already heard of it?”

He nodded. His own invitation had arrived weeks ago. The assembly would be the last major social event before most families adjourned to the countryside for Christmas. Everyone who was anyone in London would be there, and it was unquestionably Lily’s best opportunity to encourage suitors before the end of the year.

“You should attend,” he said. “Most definitely.”

Her eyebrows arched. “I should attend? Don’t you mean to say ‘we’?”

“Yes,” he forced himself to say. “Yes, of course.
We
should attend.” Why was it so hard to say that word? Putting the two of them in one syllable … it just seemed imprudent, somehow. In the same way he should avoid being mashed together with Lily in a small, dark, enclosed space. No telling what would happen.

“Oh, Julian, look out!”

He ducked instinctively, an instant before the parrot swooped over his head.

“Oh, Julian,” the bird squawked, coming to land on an unused candelabra. “Oh, Juuuuuulian.”

He glared at it. “Don’t ‘Oh, Julian’ me.”

Lily laughed. “I think I will keep him, if I may. He reminds me of you. Handsome, ruffled. Decked out in bright colors. A mimic.” Her eyes shone with merriment. “Perhaps I’ll name him after you, since he likes the sound of it so much.”

Julian couldn’t even form a response to that. No polite response, at least.

“The assembly,” he said, reaching out to tap the invitation. “We should attend.”

Her expression went pensive. “It’s been so long since I’ve danced. I don’t know if I remember the steps.”

“You needn’t dance at all if you don’t care to. You can always use mourning as an excuse. I’ll ward off anyone who pressures you.”