Page 3 of The Lady is Trouble
“We have to leave this place.” His hand tensed, fingers trembling against her jaw. “Open your eyes, Piper.”
Julian’s voice. Rich, deep, captivating. To look in his eyes would break the spell. Disappointment. Censure.Evasion.
His aura, however, would bemagnificent.
He swore beneath his breath and lifted her into his arms.
“A mistake,” she whispered, her cheek settling against fine wool with a sigh of surrender. “The papers. My research.”
As he strode through the garden, she breathed, dismissing smoke and summoning Julian. He was surprisingly luminous, the feel, sound, and scent of him. Memories swirled, years and years of them. She couldn’t shake the calm that settled over her, thecompleteness.
How utterly foolish.
Nothing had changed in her heart.
Wheneverythinghad changed in his.
“You have no idea how much rests on my protecting you,” he hissed in her ear, rage vibrating from him like ripples from a pebble tossed in a pond. On an oath, his arms shifted, bringing her closer. She crumpled into him, his heat warming her to the depths of her soul. This was all Julian, a gridwork of contrasts. Resentment and tenderness, irritation and concern.
He wanted the lines clearly drawn when they were muddled, every last one of them.
“You have no idea,” he repeated.
Actually, she had quite a fine idea.
Other little girls had gone to sleep listening to stories of fairies and princesses, gods and knights, towers rising amidst fields of lavender. Her stories had been filled with mystics and the supernatural, magical gifts that set her apart.
And those who sought to use those gifts to destroy her.
Chapter 2
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
~Lord Byron
A steady intakeof London’s stench began to clear Piper’s mind. Damp earth and foul river, and beneath it all, the alluring scent of the man holding her without a hint of compassion. Citrus and bergamot, wonderfully enticing, though she wished she hadn’t noticed.
Julian had them cornered between a flowering hedge and the garden wall, near an entrance to the street. A street bustling with a horde either watching the pandemonium or helping eradicate it. Their auras pulsed like a dawn sun, one merging into another in their excitement. It lit the street, and she lifted her hand to shade her eyes.
The movement caught Julian’s attention. Bracing, he shoved his arm against the brick. “You think they’re glowing now? Wait until they see us step out of the garden of a hotel known for trysts, in a state of dress that tells a very debauched story. Or worse, the revelation that one of their own is a spiritualist who has a penchant for starting fires. If you keep this up, my next mission will be retrieving you from Bedlam.”
She wiggled her chilled toes, realizing she’d lost a slipper. She surely looked a fright. Or at least, not as sheshould. Madame DuPre dressed for informal consultations and did not have the sartorial expectations of the granddaughter of an earl. And everyone expected a little grandeur with a spiritual reading.
Her gaze sought Julian’s, an explanation,someexplanation she was sure, on the tip of her tongue. But shadows and obstinacy kept them silent.
Temper lighting, she shoved against his grasp.
He shook his head, lips pressed.No.
The warmth of Julian’s skin seeking hers through layers of cloth, his breath scalding her cheek with each uneven exhalation, combined to bring all those awful, beautiful, forbidden hopes to life. His touch still had the power to obliterate, as well as the fire raging around them.
Damn him.
“You, too, Yank,” he whispered.
Mortified by the nickname and her thoughtlessness in speaking out loud, she struggled. “Let me go.” She jabbed her elbow in his ribs. “I won’t run. I promise.”
With a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a snort, he shifted enough to let her slide down his long body. He gave her no more than a second to catch her breath, then captured her wrist, the strength exerted conveying how, due to promises broken in the past, he held little trust. She inched back, gathering her equilibrium. In the years since she’d last seen him, he had cast aside the too-lean, scrappy young man. His broad shoulders blocked the moonlight; his thickly muscled arms tensed against hers. Combined with his height, which had presented attraction and annoyance when it arrived, he created a daunting picture.