Page 73 of The Lady is Trouble
“You’re getting that look again.”
Startled, he glanced over, his paintbrush leaving an inadvertent streak on the canvas. Piper rested in her favorite spot before the settee, her research papers spread on the floor around her. He worked as close to her as he could without touching because touching brought more touching, and then all plans were mislaid, though he did find it necessary to brush his foot against hers occasionally. Remove a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Dab paint on her wrist, then promise to kiss it away later.
She was dressed in nothing but her shift, he in his paint trousers. The open windows of the lodge allowed for a ripping cross-breeze powered by an approaching storm. The night was peaceful, the call of an owl beyond the only sound. The evening sheltered them, once again. They had turned the hours of the day upside down, working into the night, returning her to the house before dawn, where they then showed up later than anyone for breakfast. Except for Finn, who’d slipped into the role of bastard son like he slipped on his drawers, one easy, elegant leg at a time. When, for the first time in Julian’s life, he was keeping the indolent hours befitting a viscount.
“What look?” he asked, which was senseless when he knewwhat look.
Her gaze sparked at the edges, tinting the jade green that meant her mind was traveling to a place his body would soon follow. From his chest to his feet and back, he burned as she studied him. She enjoyed examination as much as he did, this coming from an artist who examined form as a matter of course.
She pressed her lips together, doing a little arse jiggle his cock recognized. His gaze fell to the dusky pink nipples hardening beneath her cotton shift. Couldn’t hide his response, either, as he wore nothing but trousers—thin ones at that.
Laughing softly, she glanced at the sheet in her hand as she shook her head to clear it.
Julian leaned, righting the paper where she could properly read it. He loved that he seemed to confound her as much as she confounded him. Even though this time, he suspected she’d planned her attack. Weak fool that he was, he let her play her game.
He dabbled with his paints, searching for the exact shade of purple for her to record in her research. It was the color she alleged signified pregnancy, which he found a fascinating discovery. “Someone has to think about the future.”
She dropped her head to the settee with a sigh. “Are we going to argue about this again? I don’t know if I have the strength to consider your subsequent apology. But I will certainly give it my best.”
He mixed the paint with more exuberance. Their argumentshadled to one or two very intense encounters. “It’s a lovely manor. The gardens are beautiful. And it’s officially part of your trust. Nothing scandalous whatsoever.”
“The earl’s solicitor is awfully willing to take your money. I bet Freddie choked when told there is an asset, previously undiscovered, that is not legally his.”
Julian made a dismissive motion with the brush. “London runs on bribes. At least you can presume a solicitor will keep the details to himself.” He added white as the color needed to be closer to amethyst, not violet. “I’m only doing what your grandfather should have. Or better yet, your thoughtless father.”
“That’s part of the problem,” she whispered, but loudly enough for him to hear.
“Don’t push me, Yank.”
She scooted high against the settee, and he tried to ignore the memory of his lips pressed to her thigh in just that spot two evenings prior. “Please go on describing my life in the charming, unentailed country manor my dear grandpapa left to me. It’s near Viscount Beauchamp’s country estate. A close family friend, you see, as the departed earl was a prudent man.” She slapped the folio to the carpet. “Will you sneak in there every night as well?”
He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “You’ll be safe, you and your reputation. You and your gift. I’ll make it a goddamn fortress. And you’ll be close to the League, twenty minutes by carriage. We can even have people come to you for healing.” At her look, his shoulders dropped. “It’s not like I’m suggesting Gloucestershire.”
“And this summer?”
He tossed his spectacles atop a blank canvas at his side. “A traditional house party. Chaperones, power of levitation aside, aplenty. We even have a duke this summer showcasing my heightened success. Ashcroft can confirm, lying through his teeth, mind you, how proper the goings-on. It actually may give your rather unfortunate status a boost. But when the next season starts, youcannotbe here. The wolves will rip you apart. I won’t let that happen.” He yanked his hand through his hair when she failed to concur. No way Piper Scott would immediately agree because the proposal was too sensible. “Remember the plan? To leave the door open for the bloody future, not slam it shut in society’s face.”
She rose to her knees, her finger drilling into his chest. It was pure helplessness on his part that even indignant contact sent a spike of longing drumming through his body. “What about whatIwant, Jules?”
“Ah, the narrative repeats itself.”
She laid her finger over his lips. Her heat seared him, and he just caught the swift inhalation before it started. He removed her hand but drew her close. “That’s not a fair fight.”
“I preferthisnarrative repeat itself,” she whispered.
A hairsbreadth separated them. So close, her breath grazed his neck, the scent of lilac invading his senses and scattering the self-control he prized so much. He dove into the emerald pool of her eyes, fully submerged. “I know nothing of how to love,” he murmured, “only how to survive. You have to take what I’m able, all Iknow, to give.”
She swept her hand down his throat and along the path of hair trailing to his waistband. A part of his body she seemed overly fascinated by. During the slow, slow glide, his muscles contracted beneath her touch. He knew where she was headed, and although he should, he had no intention of stopping her. “I’m tempted to make you mine, no matter the cost,” he said, his voice thick. If he did, his gift could destroy her. She’d enter the otherworld the visions thrust him into, following him out of love, not as a healer, and she might never return.
If she could help him asonlya healer, with some degree of detachment, he might be more willing. But love was leading them both down a dangerous path, he feared.
And he wondered if he would survive the hurt of leaving her.
When he felt sure she was strong enough to.
Her gaze steady, confidence born of his impassioned teachings, she unbuttoned his trousers with practiced efficiency. She understood how to wreck him and began to stroke with the perfect mix of speed and strength—slowing when his hips rose in a plea for her to go faster, a whisper touch when he needed her to squeeze the life from him. With a groan, he fell back, bracing himself on his elbows, his head hanging low. If he watched her do this, he would explode in seconds.
When the silken ends of her hair grazed his thighs, he grasped her wrist. “Piper,” he breathed between his teeth. She batted his hand aside and set her lips to his shaft, her tongue circling the tip hesitantly, then with more vigor when he moaned his devotion. He found the clawfoot of the settee and wrapped his fingers around it to keep from dragging her over him.Allow her, you fool. The bite of pitted wood against his palm only marginally dimmed the feel of her teeth skimming, her mouth closing, sucking. Brilliant lover that she was, she recorded each gasp, each groan, documenting what he liked until he lay utterly broken before her.