Page 50 of The Lady is Trouble

ELC.

Edward Lucien Chesterfield. The ninth Earl of Montclaire.

Julian opened the bag, his hand shaking. A vision of the earl and Ashcroft in a room he didn’t recognize struck him. He made a rough sound and stumbled back.

So this was how the Duke was surviving.

“What did you see?” Piper reached for him.

Julian grabbed her wrist, arresting the movement, then releasing her before the vision spread. Even this brief touch cleared his mind like bristles across a filthy floor. With a shake of the bag, the earl’s crystal rolled into his palm, cold against his flushed skin. “Fluorite.” Thankfully, gems didn’t transmit, or he’d have been on his knees as this one carried so many tales.

“The soul catcher,” she breathed. “I thought it—”

Drunken laughter in the hallway had Julian rushing to her side and pulling her to a crouch. He held his finger to her lips, dipping his head so their eyes were level. They’d locked the door, and left Finn to guard, but the situation was admittedly precarious. The voices in the hall lingered, a thump as a body, or bodies met the wall in what sounded like an amorous collision. Finn, bless him, cajoled the couple into choosing another area with the implication he’d already claimed this spot.

Piper’s gaze shifted, taking a leisurely path down his body, searing his skin as cleanly as a glowing torch tip. Even in this light, he could see desire shading her eyes the bottomless green he loved so much. She was done hiding her hunger because everything was there for him to see.

He didn’t know if he could fight her when two infinitesimal letters—no—were all separating them. A little word, barely a breath if you whispered it against one’s skin or into their waiting mouth.

He flipped the crystal from one hand to the other, tempted to forget his promise to her grandfather, an oath he no longer felt sure was the most capable plan. What would happen if he allowed his fascination free rein?

What if he let it consume them both and to hell with the consequences? Maybe his approach was more stringent than required.

Why not chose Piper’s instead?

She was clever, intelligent to a fault, and she believed one night of passion would excise the demon, lessen the enthrallment between them. Enthrallment sitting there like Henry, an obstinate, glowering dog.

Why not a swift, indulgent kick to get it moving?

They could ravage each other and be sounder for it. He could introduce her to a sensual world in the way women wanted and men often ruined: tenderly, skillfully, attentively. He, in turn, could overcome his fixation.

Truly, how could touching her be as good as he’d dreamed?

Nothingwas ever as good as one dreamed.

In the end, he would get over her. She would get over him.

“Have you decided?” she asked, the supple turn of her lips highlighted by a most accommodating band of moonlight. Dust motes danced in the strip, tiny glistening points in a world that suddenly seemed infinite. Leaning in, she slipped the crystal from his hand and began to roll it between her palms. She entranced, and he was held captive by everything about her.

He always had been.

“Decided?” His voice was thick with longing. If he heard it, she obviously could.

In return, her smile grew with feminine wisdom, age-old and carnal. “If you’re going to accept the agreement.”

There was nothing between them but darkness, moonlight, and a magical stone the earl had gifted to another. Desire warred with apprehension, but desire ruled.

Removing his spectacles, he tucked them in his coat pocket.

“So this means—”

He laid his finger over her mouth with a murmured hush. Her eyes were bright, glorious, and fixed on him. He was a fool. He couldn’t look away if a thief had a knife to his back when he’d spent the better part of their relationship renouncing what she did to him. “Let me show you a better kiss this time,” he whispered, sliding his thumb along the seam of her lips, gaining entrance with her soft inhalation. Her tongue touched the tip, and he questioned how long he could play this game. “One where I’m not fighting you, fighting myself.”

“Yes,” she said and swayed into him, the crystal tumbling to the carpet and rolling to a stop by her slipper. It flared, calming the aura surrounding them, reminding her of its proposed power.

Catching her, he cradled her face and brought her close enough to record all those treasures he had missed holding himself so far away. Parts of her he would add to his next painting. Freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, a slight crook in her front tooth, she was stunning.

And the only person he wanted to see in this incredibly intimate way ever again.