Page 67 of The Lady is Trouble
He was, quite simply, the least frivolous person she knew.
When she was themost.
She checked her sigh and smoothed her hair to find a jumbled mess she and Minnie would be unable to salvage. She blew a lock of it out of her eye with a gusty breath. Silk stocking, indeed. “If I do, you were the one who tossed me high enough to reach it.”
“Inevitable,” was all he said as if the word carried such consequence.
“Isn’t it always?” she asked. Making love with him had been as instinctive as defending oneself from a blow.
“No.”
Leaning over the side of the bed, she rooted around for her shift but came up with his shirt instead. His eyes followed the movement, his back straightening as he retreated from his measured slouch. Lifting the wrinkled fabric to her nose, she inhaled the enticing scent she wouldneverlet slip from memory. Defenseless, her lids fluttered as his harsh exhalation settled like a barricade between them.
She had two options.
Make this easy on him by obeying his guidance.
Or follow her own counsel.
Decided, she let the sheet fall to her waist. With his gaze scorching every part of her it touched, his aura flooded fierce cobalt. While she—with the most leisurely undertaking unsteady hands could take—slipped his sleeve up one arm and then the other, the material dancing over her wrists, elbows, shoulders, trailing fingers of delight. An evocative caress. His scent enveloped her as she closed the buttons along the front, her nipples doing no one any kindness by pebbling beneath brushed linen in a way she couldn’t hope to conceal.
Still, she covered them, thank you very much.
Her gaze shifted to the mahogany side table and the pistol resting there. She raised a brow. “Is this part of your plan to force me back to the house?”
The sketch lay forgotten on his lap, charcoal dangling from his fingers. A tiny crease she had never noticed before popped in between his brows. “I called off the guards for the night.”
Ah, the reason for his uncertainty was becoming apparent.
His struggle was evident in his expression and his aura. Vulnerability and strength, apprehension and exultation.Patience, she told herself. He had to work out this shift in their relationship and what it might mean by himself.
He slid forward in the chair, and she found her eyes helplessly drawn to his thighs. Thin cotton did little to hide the taut muscle that had trapped her so effectively during the night. Or his hard length, which was rising to the occasion. “I seem to take things from you. Which is not my intent.”
“My father was a spineless wastrel, Julian. His death left me beholden to a befuddled man more interested in ferreting out the details of my gift than assisting me with it.” She laughed, pleating the sheet between her finger and thumb. “He expected a society marriage, can you imagine? With a meager dowry, an impossible reputation,anda frightening ability, he must have put great stock in my beauty.”
“Your beauty has never been in question.”
“This conversation is pointless—as I’ve told you more than once. I’m not marrying someone in the ton. I cannot. They wouldn’t understand.” She rolled the sleeves of his shirt high, ire pulsing fervently behind her eyes. Julian was not backing her into a marital corner out of a misplaced sense of propriety. And she couldn’t tell him the truth; that she’d never love anyone else. That would go over like a boulder dropped upon them. “Youtooknothing. Igave.”
Julian shook his head, a stock of dark hair tumbling in his face. He dragged his fingers through it with a sigh, creating further disorder.
“Think of who has cared for me in this world. You, Finn, Humphrey. You have been my savior.”
He was out of the chair in two strides, his weight denting the mattress and sending her into him. “I don’t want to be your bloody savior,” he snapped, his hands going to her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake.
“What do you want?” she whispered, head tipping until their gazes locked. His eyes were turbulent storm clouds, a blustery, troubled slate. His aura bubbled around him, his breath rushing forth as he studied her. In the distance, a blackbird issued a countdown on the time they had left, and her heart squeezed. “What do youwant?”
“Who cares what I want, Yank?”
She cupped his jaw, stubble dusting her palm. “I do.”
Powerless, his gaze swept her as his lids lowered. “I want you to be safe. Safe with a partner who can love you and give you a family. We have a timeline, Yank. You’re visiting a family friend this summer, fully chaperoned by a prostitute’s daughter posing as the most experienced maid in England. A country tradition abided by all. But…after? The disgrace, even for Scandalous Scott, would be ruinous. We need a plan; you need a husband.”
Tapping her finger on her bottom lip, she smiled as his gaze tracked the action like he was preparing for target practice. “I see how this goes. Oh, darling, your aura is a lovely shade of cerulean this morning. What is an aura? Gads, how long do you have?”
“Relationships are complicated, I agree, but your gift does not preclude you having one.”
“Yet it does for you?”