Julia London 4 Book Bundle (54 page)

That was true in more ways than one, she realized as soon as the ship began to move. She’d never been terribly good at sea, particularly in the fast little clippers, and with a good amount of wine in her, she was feeling ill before the ship had hardly put to sea. She tried to brave it as best she could, but an hour into the voyage, she was in desperate need of air.

She hurried up onto the deck, smiled thinly at two sailors who were coiling a rope as thick as a man’s arm, and frantically sought a place where she might be alone. On the lee side of the ship, she found a spot that seemed about as private as one could hope, and leaned over the railing, taking deep gulps of the salt air. That helped to steady her roiling stomach, and after a few moments, she was feeling much improved, her head clearer. She glanced up; the night sky formed a brilliant canopy above her. The full moon illuminated their course and stars glittered like
diamonds suspended from the heavens. It was a vast, natural wonder that she never tired of, and for a few moments, she forgot everything else.

“Few things are as breathtakingly beautiful as a starlit night on the Channel.”

Slowly, she lowered her head and turned toward the sound of his voice. He was standing several feet away with one foot propped on a barrel, his arm resting on his knee, and a cheroot dangling carelessly from his hand. He had loosened his collar and untied the neckcloth; in the moonlight, the tails of it fairly glowed down the front of his chest. He dragged on the cheroot; its tip flared red hot against the backdrop of the night before he flicked the remainder over the railing. “I know of only one other sight with the power to seize my heart so.”

A good Scotch whiskey and a demimondaine at Madame Farantino’s, she would wager.

Julian dropped his foot from the barrel and, shoving his hands in his pockets, strolled toward her. “There is another beauty that takes my breath away time and again.”

Perhaps it was the starry night or the lingering warmth of the wine—Claudia didn’t know exactly—but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

She laughed—a rather loud belly laugh.

One of his thick brows floated upward, but he kept on, closing the distance between them. Her heart did a strange little flutter, an internal warning of danger. It was the wine. It was the wine making her heart beat so.

She laughed again.

“And now,” he said softly, ignoring her snicker, “I see that beauty in the moonlight.” He lifted his hand to touch her neck; Claudia flinched as if he’d scorched her. A smug smile curved his lips, and he leaned into her so that she could feel his breath on her neck. “I see that beauty in the moonlight, and I am compelled by an unearthly desire to hold it in my arms,” he murmured.

And the sudden desire to be held in his arms stunned her—Claudia promptly took one very large step backward.
“My, my,” she said behind a nervous little laugh, “I thought I had drunk most of the wine, but apparently, my lord, you indulged in a goblet or two. You must think me terribly naïve.”

“Naïve? No. Innocent, yes.”

“Not so innocent that I don’t know what you are doing.”

He grinned. “I wear my admiration openly.” And his gaze casually swept the length of her as if to prove it. “You are as stunning in moonbeams as you are by morning’s light, Claudia.”

With a shout of laughter, Claudia wildly shook her head. “Please God, would you stop? I’m quite fearful you will cause me to snap a rib or some such injury.”

“I can’t stop.”

Curse her knees, but they were starting to shake, giving credence to the ridiculous theory circulating around London salons that his smile could actually melt a woman. “Look here, I know what men are about, and I am
not
a wanton, Julian.”

“Ah, so you
do
remember my name,” he said as he took another step toward her. And another. There was suddenly nothing but a sliver of moonlight between them. “So tell me, fair Claudia, what are men about?”

She knew
exactly
what they were about, but she was having trouble speaking up at the moment because his dark eyes were piercing hers, boring down into her, past the façade of propriety and well into the very core of the heat that was suddenly creeping into her neck and face. “P-pleasure,” she stammered.

“Hmm,” he mused, and one hand appeared from behind his back to clasp her elbow. “Not a bad pursuit all in all. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully as the other hand snaked very casually around her waist, “you are a bit jealous of men and all that pleasure?”

She would have protested, but she was caught off guard by the grain of truth in his statement, and besides, his head descended so quickly that she was being swept away on a tide of pleasure before she even knew what
had happened. The soft pressure of his lips on hers threw her completely off balance and turned everything upside down; she lost all sense of reason when his tongue touched the seam of her lips, at once shaping and devouring them. The faint taste of tobacco mingled with the masculine smell of him, and the tingling sensation in her lips was suddenly spreading like wild fire through her entire body.

His hands came up and cupped her face; through no accord of her own, Claudia opened her mouth beneath his, and he thrust his tongue deep inside, swirling over her teeth, the soft skin inside her cheeks, around her tongue. She stumbled backward—he caught her with an arm tight around her back and crushed her to him.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think a kiss could be so shamelessly erotic! Her body squirmed for more, all of a sudden pushing against him, her hands around his neck, her tongue darting around his. It felt as if she had drifted into a strange fog and she was suddenly pushed up against the railing, his thigh wedged deep between hers while his tongue thrust into her mouth in an ancient rhythm she instinctively understood and responded to in kind. His hand fell to her leg and he grasped a handful of her skirts, inching the brocade up. A primordial warning sounded in Claudia’s fogged mind and she tried to push his hand away.

Julian responded by hoisting her up until she was sitting on the railing, her legs on either side of him, one of his sinewy arms anchoring her firmly to him. With his free hand, he gathered her skirts until his hand found her leg beneath.

If it weren’t for his iron grip around her, Claudia would have tumbled right into the sea and drowned in a state of happy delirium. The gentle caress on the inside of her knee—the forbidden touch of a man—sent a current of desire through her that culminated in a raw, moist heat between her legs. Her heart thrashed madly about in her chest and, scarcely able to breathe, she gasped against his mouth. Julian dragged his lips from hers and buried his
face in the crook of her neck. “Let me show you pleasure, Claudia,” he murmured. “Let me show you pleasure you’ve never dreamed of.”

The passion in his voice made her shudder. But though her body ached for more—
begged
for more—her conscience squeaked a faint protest. This was Julian Dane, a man who had once crushed her tender heart and then killed her intended, no matter how much she didn’t want to think of that now. Julian was right—she might be innocent, but she wasn’t naïve.

His skill at seduction far surpassed that of any man she had ever known and it frightened her to know how quickly and easily she had surrendered to it. But he was still a rogue polished in the art of seducing women, and the sensual words whispered in her ear were firm evidence of it.

“Let me down,” she muttered.

A moment’s hesitation and he lifted her from the railing, held her against him while her body slid through his arms till she stood. He didn’t let her go immediately, but kissed her forehead and the place on her cheek rubbed raw from the bristle of his beard. “Where is your cabin?”

Claudia shoved against his chest, clearly startling him. “I won’t be one of your conquests. I will not be swayed by your charms! Save your kisses for someone who wants them, Julian.” And with that, she stepped free of him and walked away, silently castigating herself for being so weak and almost yielding to his charms. What a
fool
she could be! There was not a more celebrated rogue in all of England! What, would she fall into a man’s arms just because he spoke prettily to her? Certainly not, and least of all
his
arms!

She despised him!

She
did
, didn’t she?

B
ERKELEY
S
TREET
, L
ONDON

M
ARSHALL
W
HITNEY,
The Earl of Redbourne, had just returned from St. James Palace and was holding his own court in the south drawing room of his rather impressive town house on Berkeley Street. The men of the King’s Privy Council gathered here every afternoon at precisely six o’clock, and Randall, the earl’s butler, served brandies all around.

That’s where Claudia found her father upon arrival from Newhaven, where the
Maiden’s Heart
had weighed anchor that morning in a steady downpour. Claudia’s father and his guests came to their feet the moment they saw her. “I wasn’t expecting you today, moppet,” he said as she ignored his outstretched hand and embraced him. “I understood you would remain at Madame Renault’s another fortnight.”

“Renault’s aunt is failing, and I felt rather in the way,” she said, and pressed her cheek to her father’s shoulder.

“Ah, pity, that. You shall tell me all about your little adventure into France over supper.” He stepped back, out of her embrace, and smiled. “You know my guests?”

She dipped a polite curtsy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said to the Duke of Dartmoor.

“Lady Claudia,” he mumbled with a quick bob of his head.

“My Lord Hatcliffe, how good to see that your ankle is much improved.”

The smaller of the two men, Lord Hatcliffe smiled sheepishly and wiggled his ankle. “Much improved indeed, my lady. Nasty twist of the thing.”

“My dear, you will want to rest now,” her father interjected, and grasping her elbow, steered her toward the door and rapped softly. It was immediately swung open by a footman who stood ready to attend. “Rest now, and I shall see you at supper,” he said, and releasing her elbow, turned back into the room. “Randall?” As the door swung shut, Claudia saw him motion his guests to be seated as he resumed his seat, extending his hand so that Randall could fill it with his snifter.

Dismissed
. It was the same scene that had been played out hundreds of times in this house and one that never failed to embarrass her. She was to retire to her rooms, fret over hats and gowns and teas while they, the men, talked about the king and the affairs of the monarchy, and reforms and—

“Madam? Shall I ring for your maid?”

She realized she was still standing in the corridor, staring at the closed oak door. Claudia glanced at the footman from the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Richard, that won’t be necessary.” Pivoting on her heel, she marched smartly down the corridor.

Even the footmen were trained to think her helpless and fragile, she thought irritably as she bounced up the wide, curving staircase to the floors above. Fragile and empty-headed and useful for only one thing in particular. Ah, but it was the way of the man’s world—a little fact of life she had never realized until Phillip was gone.

She supposed that at the very least, she could thank the Rake for waking her up to the inequities between men and women.

That, and the passion between them
.

Claudia paused at the door of her suite and laid her forehead against the cool oak as she recalled that wondrous, searing kiss. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking
about it for even a moment all day, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw his tousled hair, the glitter in his black eyes, the dark stubble on his chin. Worse, she
felt
him—oh God, she felt him—his hands on her skin, his tongue in her mouth, his breath in her ear.…

She abruptly straightened and frowned at the door. She had never felt such gut-wrenching yearning for Phillip.
Phillip!
Lord above, she was making herself insane! Shoving the heavy door open, she stepped across the threshold and headed straight for her bedchamber, not bothering to ring for her maid. She peeled off her pelisse, untied the sash at her waist, and unbuttoned the front of her travelling gown as she went, then collapsed, facedown, on her bed.

There he was again
. That devilish smile haunted her mind’s eye. Why did he have to charm her so? Why must he be such a rotten rogue? Seeing him again in France had dredged up old feelings for him that she had thought long dead. If he hadn’t kissed her like that, she was quite certain she could have buried them again. She
had
to bury them, because, unfortunately, the passage of time has not really changed her opinion: Julian Dane had led Phillip on that fatal course with no regard for anyone but himself, and least of all, her. But then, he had made it quite clear that she was not worthy of Phillip’s affections … just as he had once made it abundantly clear she was not worthy of his.

All right. In truth—not that she would ever admit it—no one was more surprised than she when she caught Phillip’s eye at the Sutherland ball. It had astounded her that Lord Rothembow, one of the Rogues of Regent Street, the elite of the
ton
’s most eligible bachelors, would be interested in her. As charming as he reputedly was reckless, he was a figure bigger than life to her, terribly handsome with his blond curls and laughing blue eyes. She had thoroughly enjoyed his attentions, but who wouldn’t? In the beginning, Phillip made her feel as if she meant something to him, as if she were important. He escorted her to a number of events, gave her trinkets as a
token of his admiration, and seemed truly genuine in his affection.

Naturally, it hadn’t been very long before her friends were whispering that Phillip would offer for her. Even Phillip hinted at it once—nothing very direct, really, but just a casual remark of their future together. God knew she was certainly open to the possibility. Rather hoped for it, actually. But then, in the last few weeks of his life, Phillip grew distant—even belligerent—and that could only be blamed on the Almighty Lord Kettering. She remained quite convinced that Phillip
never
would have fallen so far had it not been for him. Even that horrible, wretched night Phillip had called unexpectedly, well into his cups—even
then
he had been out with Julian.