With both hands free to work, he began to "practice" with a vengeance. Stroking her bare skin with both large, slightly rough palms, he took his first good look at his wife's delectable little body. Breasts that had seemed dainty by moonlight so long ago now swelled richly into his hands.
They were extremely sensitive, he discovered to their mutual delight, and he spent a while simply circling the perimeter of them with warm palms, just brushing the tips ever so slightly in passing. When she bucked and whimpered in protest at last, he took her swollen, darkened nipples between his fingertips and plucked gently until she
writhed in agonized pleasure and begged him with her eyes.
Smiling down on her with wicked satisfaction, he growled, "Tell me. Say it."
"I… kiss them. Oh, please kiss them!"
Keening with pleasure as he sucked them tenderly between lightly grazing teeth, she threw her head from side to side, almost unbearably aroused. Unknowingly, she parted her thighs, her feet moving restlessly on the sheets.
He moved his attention to her slightly distended belly. With a tremor of awe in his hands, he caressed the small mound that contained their child. Pressing a loving kiss to her navel, he kissed his way down to each knee, avoiding just barely the vee of her thighs.
She writhed beneath his pinioning body, and her breath came in urgent gasps as she strained to reach out to him.
Understanding that perhaps the slow torture had lasted long enough, Julian reached for the juncture of her thighs, caressing the soft flesh there with gentle fingertips. At the swift rush of her juices, he knew she was ready for him. At the feel and smell of her first nectar on his hand, he knew he couldn't wait.
"Ah, love, there is so much more I wanted to give—"
"Later!" she interrupted him. "I need you
now
, my love!"
At the sound of that endearment from her lips, he nearly burst. Knowing that further exploration would, indeed, have to wait for later, all the many, many laters, he rolled atop her, only then realizing he was still nearly fully clothed.
"Oh,
damn
!" cried his innocent bride, and ripped her hands from their playful binding. Tossing the hair-ribbon aside, she pressed him to the bed and tore at his clothing with great enthusiasm, if little finesse. He did not care. With his help, in very little time he was as naked as she.
As he'd dreamt for so long, the sweep of her hair over his groin was cool silk over fire. He wrapped the coiling strands gently around his fists and held on as if his sanity depended on it. She moved up his body, whispering an inaudible vow between each kiss she pressed to his shuddering, sweating form. He could not hear her words. He wanted to. He
needed
to know what it was she so fervently promised him against his flesh.
He pulled her lips to his, then demanded to know. She only laughed at him, that warm sweet laughter that had snared his heart so long ago. He gazed into her eyes, determined to discover her secret.
"Tell me," he growled. As she met the intensity of his hungry gaze, all teasing left her expression.
Slipping forward until her body lay heart to heart with his, she nuzzled his ear and whispered, "I love you."
With a primitive growl, he grasped her by the waist and flipped her beneath him. She could feel his naked flesh against her, the heat of his skin burning hers. Even as the thought crossed her mind that he was even more beautiful while wearing nothing, he wedged one knee between her willing legs and pressed his naked hips close to hers.
Then he was wearing
her
.
She gasped as his thickness stretched her within, then breathed a sultry sigh, giving him the reassurance he needed. Seeing her beneath him at long last, her magnificent mane spread over them both, was more aphrodisiac than his most desperate fantasy. Raising himself above her on straightened arms, he thrust once, then nearly withdrew completely.
When she whimpered in protest, he only bared his teeth in a primitive smile, then surged into her swiftly once again. Over and over, he stoked her desire with slow withdrawals and swift, powerful thrusts. And as he plunged repeatedly into her, he watched her face.
She knew he was watching her, but she was past caring. She was lost to anything but the feel of him within her and the sight of him above her. The dim light from the grimy window was more magical than the purest moonlight, for it revealed the depth of the love and need written in his eyes.
Each stroke sent her higher, each slow, teasing departure made her nearly mad with craving. Sliding possessive hands up his corded arms, she clung to him and gasped his name as she was suddenly pulled beyond thought, thrown helpless and willing into the current, flung skyward in a million shattered pieces.
Izzy's face as she found release was transcendent, angelic and so blatantly, beautifully animal in its sexuality that Julian felt his control die on the spot. With a few last hard thrusts, he joined her in the sky, clasping her to his heart as they fell together like two drifting feathers to the ground.
Eric looked up from his ale as Izzy and Julian rushed, laughing, down the stairs. When Julian saw him, he scowled. "What are you still doing lurking about?" It still burned that Eric had plotted to help Izzy leave him.
"Julian, if you bash Eric again, I vow it will not go well with you." Izzy's exasperation was apparent.
"No," he said ruefully. "I won't be bashing anyone." He eyed Eric. "Am I due for a bashing? I suppose I wouldn't blame you."
Eric considered the option for a moment, then grinned. "I think I'll let Izzy take on the task of whipping you into shape, old man. She's more suited to it than I." He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. "I'd be hiding those candlesticks if I were you."
Julian grinned but couldn't help raising a hand to where that damned lump had lingered for weeks. Izzy only smiled serenely.
Eric laughed. "Well, you missed the ship."
"Oh, dear." Izzy bit her lip. "I rather thought we might have."
"And whose fault is that, love of mine? I don't believe it was I who jumped back into the—" Julian's breath left him in a whoosh as Izzy's carry-case slammed into his stomach. She was blushing prettily as she turned back to Lord Stretton.
"It really is his fault, you know. Now what shall we do?"
Eric raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you could go back up to your honeymoon suite until the
Catherine
returns." He grinned when Julian looked back up the stairs hopefully. "But since it won't be for some time, you might want to rethink your lodgings."
Izzy looked pensive. "Julian, darling, you need to go home. You should not leave things that way with your father."
Julian, who had beamed foolishly down at her upon receiving such an accolade as "darling," began to scowl as the rest of her words penetrated.
"No."
"I think you must, my love."
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
Izzy sighed over the packing up of Julian's townhouse. It would be much easier if he were here to tell her what he wished to keep. As it was, she was dependent on the judgment of Greeley and Simms, who were constantly badgering her to include items of luxury not practical for their new beginning on the American frontier.
Pulling yet another gold candelabra from the trunk she was policing, Izzy waved it scoldingly at Simms, who was indulging in one of his periodic bouts of weeping at the loss of his. wonderfully stylish master to the tasteless fashion-void of the Colonies.
When Greeley came to the door of the study she was clearing, Izzy rose to her feet, grateful for the interruption.
"Lady Spencer to see you, Milady."
Blinking and wiping the dust from her hands, Izzy tried to remember where she had heard the name. Oh, yes. Spencer was the family name of the earl of Hardwick. Lady Spencer. Millie?
"Izzy!"
It
was
Millie. A Millie such as Izzy had never known. Plumper than she had been, her sallow cheeks full and rosy, her pale hair gleaming with life as she removed her simple but smart bonnet, Millie was now the beauty she had always wished to be.
As she stepped forward to take Izzy's hands and press a quick kiss to her cheek, it even seemed as though she moved differently. More confidently. Izzy was very pleased by the improvement. It looked as though Millie was truly happy with her new life.
"Oh, yes!" Millie gushed when Izzy asked her. "Our little home is simply sweet. And my Terence,
well
, I have never been so deeply in bliss! We do not see much of society, which is fine. We like to stay home and talk by the fire. My Terence is terribly learned, you know. Why, he knows simply everything about electricity!"
"I am glad to see you so well, Millie. Have you much contact with your mother? Was she terribly angry over your elopement?"
"Oh, silly Izzy! Mother packed my bags. She was beyond thrilled. Of course, somehow she had gotten the impression that my Terence had quite the income. I knew better, but he had stolen my heart clean away, I'm afraid. But Mother wouldn't listen. She had heard a rumor, you know. It wasn't at all true. We are poor as church-mice, but happy as larks!"
Izzy pursed her lips. "I do not suppose you know how such a story got started."
"Why, Izzy! Now where would I have learned such a devious tactic?"
Pressing one hand dramatically to her bosom, batting her eyes innocently, Millie gave her such a patently false look of offense that Izzy had to chuckle. As the two compared tales of their courtships, the small study reverberated with the fond laughter of two women in love with their men.
Were he not so in love with Izzy, he would never have come. Nothing else could have induced him to pursue this. Someone could have been sent to gather up his horses and the practical country clothing he had always kept at Dearingham.
Julian sat high on Tristan, his whip switching at his boots as he struggled within. Most of him wanted to ride away. One small part of him still wished to kill the man he had called Father. The rest of him wanted to know why.
Why he had never been good enough. Why he had never been cared for as Eric's father cared for Eric. Why even Manny had not been good enough, when Manny had been so very nearly a perfect son.
Manny had been what he had been, and Julian had decided he simply would not have cared that society considered it wrong. But the twisted, conditional love his father had had for Manny had been wrong. And the entire lack of love for himself had been wrong. It was difficult to accept, but it was something he needed to face before he faced the man inside that great, monstrous house.
Julian squinted at it standing as gray and looming as the clouds themselves over the bronzing, rolling Downs. If he had ever had a joyous moment in that house, he could not remember it. Only cold aching loneliness and misty grief came to mind. It would not be hard to leave it behind.
So why did he hesitate?
Slowly, he trotted Tristan up the drive and passed through the ornate gates. It was more than a mile still to the house itself, but Tristan's long legs made the distance seem short, and soon he rode up to the marble steps and dismounted.
After a few words to the groom about preparing the rest of his string for travel, Julian cursed to himself and stomped up the steps to the imposing main doors. He was admitted without needing to knock by the duke's impassive butler, and his whip and hat were silently received.
Perhaps it was that he had recently left the glow of Izzy's embrace, but the place felt even colder than before. It seemed as if nothing lived in the grandeur inside. His steps echoed on the pristine floors and his image was reflected by the many mirrors as he passed, but no other sign of warmth or life could he detect.
At last he stood before the gleaming ebony doors of the duke's study. He knew the man would be in there, reigning coldly over the realm he had awaited for so long. Pushing open the doors before he could change his mind, he entered.
The silvering head was bent over a single sheet of foolscap on the polished surface of the desk—not for the duke the clutter of unfinished business. His attention did not lift until Julian cleared his throat. The duke's gaze rose, then sharpened with disfavor as it rested on his wayward son.
"So you have returned. You must have lost the first intimation of a spine I have ever witnessed in you. Why am I not surprised?" The duke dismissed him with a nod and returned to his work. "You have ever been a disappointment."
Julian almost smiled at the familiarity of that contemptuous phrase. For so long it had carried the weight of a thousand stone on his mind. He had waited for it, worried over it, dreaded it for so many years. Now it was simply words, coming from a lonely, cold man whose opinions had nothing to do with him.
Realizing that he was finally, truly free of his father's bitter influence eased something within Julian. Izzy had been right. He had come here to leave properly, and doing so was as liberating as gaining her love. Suddenly, he was impatient to finish, if only to return to his wife's side.
"I have returned. To say farewell."
The duke's eyes narrowed. "Hiding out in town, then. Very well, go ahead. You are of little use to me here, at any rate. I shall send for the boy in a few years."
"You shall not. I am taking Izzy to America. Rather, she is taking me." He smiled.
The older man paled. The quill fell from his shaking fingers, inking a scrawling mark across the perfect script. "You cannot take away my heir. The estate is entailed. It is too late to change that now."
It was, indeed, a revenge, perhaps the perfect one. Julian could leave at this moment, and the duke's loss would fulfill his darkest fears. A devil in him told him he should prolong this power, and use it.
But Julian had passed beyond the need for vengeance, and he banished the little voice that sounded suspiciously like his father's.
"I have no objection to my son inheriting Dearingham. I simply will not allow you to raise him." Turning to go, Julian wondered if there was anything, anything at all he could say or do to be sure that this moment never bothered him again in memory. Pausing, he realized there was.