Even still, guilt threatened to choke him. Fitz and Julia had nearly been killed because of Nick’s stupidity. How could he not have seen the madness within Angela? He’d learned eight years ago that she would lie and scheme to get whatever she wanted. So why did he not do anything to stop her then?
Nothing had gone as planned since he’d returned to England. He’d made a complete hash of it, not thinking clearly. First he’d been consumed with fury at Winchester and Julia, and then he’d been blinded by an unshakable lust for his wife. And even now, after Olivia’s birth, peace and happiness continued to elude him.
Mayhap it would always elude him here, where the memories and heartache were too powerful. The farther away from England he went, the better. Julia deserved more than the life she’d had thrust upon her, with a husband who could never be what she needed. Divorce was not a possibility, but he could at least give her a measure of freedom by returning to his life abroad.
God, he loved her so much, his teeth ached. He longed for his wife in a way he’d never experienced with any other woman, and to be near her and not have her was unimaginable torture. Distance would benefit them both, in his opinion.
Fitz snorted in his sleep and shifted, regaining Nick’s attention. Though Nick would resume his travels, Fitz would not join him this time. His friend was in love with Lady Carville and Nick would not dare deny Fitz a minute of happiness with the woman. Besides, now that Angela had claimed responsibility for the attacks over the years, Nick hardly needed a bodyguard. No, he would go alone. Tomorrow, before Fitz had fully recovered. Before Fitz could try and talk him out of it.
Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. Hell, he was tired. Last night had been awful. The day’s events combined with Julia’s revelations about her feelings ensured he hadn’t slept a wink. Even visiting Olivia in the early hours of the morning hadn’t bolstered his spirits. It had only depressed him more, had him wishing for things that he could never have.
The door creaked open and Lady Carville stepped in. “Is he awake yet?”
He stood. “Still asleep, I’m afraid. Is this usual? Should he be sleeping this long?”
“Sleep is the best thing for him, Your Grace,” she assured him. “I woke him every few hours last night because of the head injury. It’s likely he will sleep the rest of the day away.”
Lady Carville smiled at Fitz, love shining unabashedly in her eyes. Sensing the need for privacy, Nick started for the door. “Will you fetch me if he awakens? I need to thank him.”
“He knows, Your Grace. That is the way with those we love, is it not? We want to protect them from harm—whether they need us to or not.” Clear and steady, her eyes were full of meaning, and Nick realized they were no longer discussing Fitz.
“Nevertheless, if you wouldn’t mind, have one of the footmen fetch me if he awakens today.”
Hours later, after a long ride and a bath, Nick settled in the study. Many things remained to be done before he departed, such as letters to his solicitor and estate manager, as well as finishing his will.
And then there was Olivia. She deserved a written explanation as to why he hadn’t stayed, lest she feel abandoned when she grew older. The one thing he never wanted his daughter to believe was that he didn’t love her—because he did. Fiercely. The few hours he spent with her each night would be the best memories of his life.
Along with Venice, he thought ruefully.
He hadn’t the faintest idea how to say farewell to his wife. Sentimentality was a skill Nick did not possess, and baring his feelings would only make them both more miserable. Nevertheless, he had to say
something
and the devil only knew what it would be.
By the time he’d finished the instructions to both the solicitor and estate manager, the gray afternoon had long darkened into night. He rubbed the back of his neck, stretching a bit to ease the pain in his wounded shoulder, and continued his writing.
A knock sounded. Likely Thorton again, ready to badger him about food. “Enter,” he shouted, not even bothering to look up.
He heard the heavy wood swing open. “Thorton, I asked not to be disturbed. What is so pressing this time?”
The faint scent of gardenias suddenly stole through him, invading his senses, and Nick’s head snapped up.
Julia.
His wife stood there, so beautiful and untouchable that he wanted to howl at the unfairness of it. She wore a dressing gown, her feet bare, and even that small hint of bare skin had his heart hammering. Damn, but the woman tempted him at every turn.
Her face gave nothing away as she closed the door behind her. When the click of the lock echoed throughout the room, he shot to his feet, almost knocking over the chair. “Is something amiss?” he heard himself ask, his voice a mere croak as she sauntered forward.
Instead of answering, she lifted her arms and removed a pin from her hair. Six pins later and a curtain of blond curls swirled down her back. He froze, transfixed, unable to speak. Part of him couldn’t wait to see what she would do next. Another part of him wanted to flee, posthaste.
She ambled toward him, hips swaying and the tops of her breasts peeking out from the lapels of the dressing gown.... He could scarcely believe this was not a dream. When he met her sultry blue gaze—one he hadn’t seen since Venice—he clutched the edge of the desk to keep from pouncing on her.
“What are you about, Julia?”
Her hands reached for the sash at her waist, slowly untied it. “Showing you what you’re missing when you leave. Would you care to see?” She parted the layer of thin silk and began slipping it down over her shoulders. His mouth went dry.
The creamy skin of her neck and shoulders appeared, followed by the graceful ridges of her collarbones. Then the dressing gown fluttered to the floor, and Nick’s jaw fell. Jesus Christ . . . It was the boned red chemise from Venice.
Comprised of satin and lace, the garment did little to cover the beauty she’d been born with. The black lace bodice hugged her tightly, her breasts held up and out in a deliciously tempting offering. Her lower body . . . was on full, glorious display. The transparent red fabric stopped just above her mons in the front and dipped down to brush her buttocks in the back. His body responded instantly, hardening, until his stiff cock pushed painfully against the inside of his trousers.
She glided toward him, and he couldn’t make his feet work—or his arms, for that matter. He couldn’t do anything but watch, helpless to stop whatever she planned. “Julia,” he breathed. At least he still had control over his voice.
His wife shook her head, her lips curved into a secret smile. “Not tonight, my darling. Tonight, you may call me Juliet.”
She’d never forget the look on her husband’s face. The hesitation, the hope . . . and the bone-melting lust. His eyes glittered hot as they raked over her, and he appeared a hairbreadth away from leaping on her. Any nerves completely disintegrated, replaced with a surge of feminine power she’d not experienced since Mrs. Leighton packed up her powders and flimsy petticoats.
“Why?” he wheezed.
She trailed a finger over the tops of her breasts. “You profess to know what sort of man I need. But never once have you asked me what sort of man I
want
.” Once they were an arm’s length apart, she said, “I do not want a husband who asks permission before coming to my bed, groping me in the dark like an untried schoolboy. No, I want a man. A wicked man who enjoys my wickedness as well.”
Leaning in, she placed her hands on his chest, rose up on her toes, and whispered in his ear, “Because I quite enjoyed being wicked with you, Nicholas.” Her breasts grazed his hard chest, and she was satisfied to hear him groan.
His breath sharp and fast, he held himself utterly rigid. He was trying so hard to resist her, the poor man. A very good thing she had not yet used up all her tricks.
Her hand slid down his stomach until she reached the thick ridge of erection in his trousers. Tracing the outline with her fingertips, she watched as his lids fluttered closed, black lashes fanning his cheeks.
“Shall I tell you of all the wicked things I’d like to do with my hands?” she murmured, then moved closer until their lips almost touched. “With my mouth?”
That did it. With his good arm, he crushed her against him, his mouth crashing down to devour hers. The kiss was hard. Unrelenting. Desperate. There was no air to be had and their teeth clicked together, tongues stroking. It was everything she remembered from Venice and more.
His lips slanted over hers again and again, and she replied in kind, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back feverishly. Then her hands began touching him everywhere, relearning the taut planes of his shoulders and chest. She tried to get closer, nearly writhing in an effort to ease the insane craving deep inside her.
He moved to kiss her throat and murmured, “Let me take you to bed.”
Julia shook her head. “No. Right here.” She scooted her bottom up onto his desk. Perched on the edge, her bare legs dangled over the side. “I want you to take me right here.”
“We shouldn’t—”
She clasped his crumpled cravat and pulled him in close. He stepped between her knees, the heat of him pressed directly against her bare cleft. She gasped at the rough sensation, yet still needed more. “Nick,
please
.”
His hand moved between them, and he found her entrance, fingers sliding easily through the slickness gathered there. He teased her, stroking and caressing, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
“Christ, woman,” he panted. “You have the power to make me daft. If I don’t get inside you—”
Her fingers flew to the fall of his trousers, unfastening the buttons as quickly as she could manage. A few tore in her haste and dropped to the carpet. “Now, Nick. I need you now.”
When his shaft sprang free, he wasted no time before lining up and driving deep. They both moaned. His hardness stretched her, filled her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him in place. He withdrew with an agonizing slowness and then drove forward once more, burying himself inside her.
“I’ve been dreaming about this every night since Venice,” he said before thrusting with enough force to drive her back on the desk. He slid his good hand under her buttocks to hold her in place. “Embarrassing, but I’m afraid I won’t last.”
Julia couldn’t respond for the unbelievable intensity of it. He fit her perfectly, snug into the cradle of her hips while he drove them higher. She loved that he was so wild for her, both of them nearly mad with lust.
He kissed her again, panting into her mouth as he thrust, and then slid her bottom lip between his teeth. Bit down. The exquisite pain and pleasure raced down her spine, through her groin, straight to her channel, which clenched around his penis in sheer bliss.
“Oh, hell,” Nick breathed. He began slamming into her, his head thrown back, their bodies meeting in a frenzied rhythm.
She felt it building, the sensuous ribbons of exhilaration pulling her limbs taut. Her hands clutched at him and her nails sank into the muscles of his forearms. “Yes, faster. Oh God, Nick.” His fingers located the bundle of nerves between her legs, which he expertly rolled. Higher and higher she climbed . . . until her body exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Light sparkled behind her lids and a long moan tore from her throat, the orgasm stealing through every bit of her, turning her body inside out with the force of her pleasure. She shook and trembled, only vaguely aware that Nick began shuddering as well, his hips stuttering, muscles clenched in ecstasy.
Limp and spent, she clung to him and sucked in air. There were no words to describe how wonderful that had been. Nick didn’t speak either, merely leaned over to rest his forehead against hers. They stayed there a long moment, his shaft still buried in her.
When he caught his breath, he withdrew, awkwardly tucking himself back in his trousers with one hand while avoiding her eyes. “My apologies,” he mumbled.
She grabbed his arm. “Do not apologize to me. We both wanted this, Nick.”
“No, you don’t understand. This is . . .”
Julia took a deep breath for courage. “I love you.” His surprised gaze flew to hers, so she repeated it. “I love you. I fell in love with you in Venice and I don’t want anyone else. I certainly don’t want a husband who comes to me only in the darkness, touching me under the covers. I want a husband who will ravage me on the desk in his study.”
His brow furrowed. “You love me?”
“I love you,” she declared again with a nod. “And if you leave me, I’ll follow you, Nicholas. I swear it. If you do not want to live in England, Olivia and I will come with you wherever you want to go.”
He blew out a long breath. “You do not know what you’re saying—”
“Look at me.” When his stormy gray gaze met hers, she continued. “You will never be free of me, husband, just as I will never be free of you. I chased you down once, and I’m prepared to do it again. I know exactly what I want, and he’s standing right in front of me.”
“I’m . . .” His eyes slid away as he trailed off.
“You are what?”
He cleared his throat. “I do not know if I can be what you need.”
“You are
exactly
what I need.” She cupped his face in her hands. “Do you love me?”
He nodded. “I love you. God, I think I fell in love with you the minute I met you. I am miserable without you.”
She grinned. “Say it again, husband.”
Nick leaned forward, his mouth a whisper from hers. “I love you, wife. But what happens if you are wrong? What if I make you miserable?”
“No doubt you will make me miserable some days, just as I will do the same to you. There will be ups and downs in our marriage. But you cannot run any longer, Nick. Stay with me and let’s start the life we both want. The life we both deserve.”