Page 62 of The Lady is Trouble

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

The doorto the lodge closed behind them, and Julian pressed his back to the pitted wood, watching Piper cross the room, stepping over paints and a canvas he had completed but had yet to store, heading without deliberation toward his bedchamber. A bedchamber he’d never shared with another. Never considered sharing until she stumbled back into his life.

In that space, he tossed and turned night after agonizing night as reflections of her tormented. He kicked off his boots, telling himself to go slowly.

In the doorway, she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder with a smoldering green gaze, the look a blatant invitation. Then she disappeared inside.

Piper Scott in full, glowing arousal.

He expected no less as he’d never met a more determined woman in his life.

While reiterating the internal agreement he’d made with himself in Ashcroft’s medieval chamber, he followed with a resolute stride.

Show her what she wants to know.

Overcome your fixation.

And the last, so he did not lose himself in her:nothing is as good as imagined.

Yet, when he entered the bedchamber to find Piper standing by the bed—feet bare, hair unbound and flowing loosely over her shoulders, hands toying with the buttons of her bodice—the feeling that moved through him with a sharp primal thrust was so distinct he almost sank to his knees with the force of it.

Love.

He had no experience, certainly no practice. His examples of romantic love were nonexistent as his childhood had provided nothing representative. All he’d learned was survival. And the connections he considered his closest had been created not through love, but under duress.

An abnormal collection of people who fit nowhere in society were his family now.

Piper is your family, his mind threw out as justification.

Yes, he decided with an inward sigh of relief. He was notinlove. Love andinlove were very, very different things.

He could never let her go if he wasin love.

He watched as she struggled with the buttons, her hands shaking and making slow work of it. A smile curved his lips, and he thanked God the delightful woman showed some trepidation in this thing.

Two strides and he had his arm around her waist, his hand plowing into the dark tangle of hair and bringing her mouth to his. Her lashes fluttered as she complied with a mewling sound that tore through him. Bouncing to her tiptoes, she struggled for better reach, her fingers circling his shoulders, grasping his shirt, scraping the skin beneath crisp linen. She revealed no reluctance, no fear. A greedy response, one he answered.

The kiss was flawless, like they’d practiced a thousand times to arrive at this level of perfection. He had known, with that one, much more innocent kiss, oh, he hadknownshe was his missing piece. Call him a romantic fool, but he believed there wasoneperson who matched you, wit for wit, passion for passion.

A blistering fever swept him, settling in his groin, sending restraint and reason charging from him. The scent of lavender and crisp, warm earth, as if she’d been gardening and just come in from the sun, clung to her skin. There was desire, but also a powerful thread of affection stitching this experience together. A years-long bond strengthening everything he felt for her. Impatient, he deepened the kiss, hand trembling where he held her securely against his body. He angled lower, wishing he’d not grown so tall the summer after his seventeenth birthday.

The boy’s height would have better suited the man’s craving.

With an aggrieved sound, she placed kisses along his jaw while shoving him back a step. He stumbled, not realizing what she was about until she’d backed him into the wall. Her hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, her fingers slick, slipping. Her need battered him like a fierce, unrelenting wind.

Stunned, he lifted his head, his gaze landing on the mirror opposite him.

The ravenous expression on his face was not one he recognized. He’d never exposed himself in such an intimate way; of this, he was sure. Emotion flooded him, admittedly some unwanted.

Longing, doubt, eagerness, compassion.

She shook her head—no thinking—and brought his mouth back to hers.

There were no words to describe his obsession with the woman standing before him, though he spoke nonsensical ones against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her neck where it swept like silk to her shoulder. Urgent commands and avowals bounced between them as he unsteadily loosened buttons, ties, hooks, her clothing pooling about her in a twist of watery blue silk, boned stays, and cotton.

“Goddamn all these layers,” he growled and kicked her corset aside. Without a breath of hesitancy, she removed her garters and stockings, her movements languid, teasing, as she darted gazes at him throughout the unveiling until she stood naked before him.

His mind cataloged her beauty in separate dimensions.