Page 83 of The Lady is Trouble

Humphrey grunted, stoic sentry by the hearth.

Julian threw out his hand. “It’s—”

“Don’t you say it’s not,” Piper snapped. “This is our family, and if you can’t admit to them what you feel, then how can we go on?”

Silent, Julian’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t shaved in days and was halfway to a full beard, giving him the look of a brigand. A serrated, rather angry scratch ran from his ear into the collar of his shirt. Yet he stood there in shirtsleeves and wrinkled trousers, hair askew, eyes flint, looking as formidable as a king. She should be frightened but was only vexed.

He braced his hand on the bedpost, effectively locking her in. “They bloody well know what I feel for you, Piper.Everyoneknows.”

“How about this for a novel idea? Tellme. Maybe I don’t know.”

“I’ve told you so many times in the past twenty-four hours, I’m hoarse with it.”

“Care to try when I’m conscious?”

“Maybe you should start this discussion by apologizing for being reckless for the last time in your life, so help me God,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Caught in the crosshairs of her affection, she was rendered motionless, breathless.

Oh, she was over the moon for the blasted man.

“I love you, Lady Scott. Obsessively. Ardently.Maddeningly.” He slapped the bedpost. “And you know it. You always have.”

“You sound thrilled. No, make that resigned. La, the romance is killing me.”

He looked away, lips pressed, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “Can we talk about this in private, please?”

“No.”

Julian exhaled, hand going to his temple in a bruising press.

She popped her teacup atop the table, tears stinging her eyes. She was irrational. Confused. Exhausted. Forcing his hand. They had played adversarial roles for so long, she slipped back into the Scott-Alexander groove without a moment’s hesitation.

Julian had finally told her he loved her, and she was acting like an idiot!

When his gaze traveled back, his look was all intractable male. “I’m securing a special license.”

She flopped to the bed with a sniff. “That’s an abysmal proposal.”

His aura rippled like a calm pond disturbed by a boulder.

As long as she’d known him, he had handled every hardship thrown his way with enviable composure. She didn’t want to present another ordeal for a man who, truthfully, needed someone to soften the wild splash coloring his life.

But, this time, she needed him to fight for her, forthem.

If she loved Julian in gross comparison, she would die a slow death.

When he realized she was not going to bend to his will, he growled to anyone willing to take on the job, “Reason with her, will you?” Then he exited her bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.

He went to the lodge to hide.

Being surrounded by the scent of turpentine and paint used to bring relief. Now lilacs and lavender invaded the space, upending his equilibrium. Add to that a thousand lewd images, and you had complete unrest. The weight of her perfectly round breast balanced in the palm of his hand. Her lids fluttering as she glided into ecstasy. Their bodies colliding into every piece of furniture in the room—and draped languorously on the floor.

And the more deadly reminiscences.

Piper lounging on his bed, his shirt barely covering her pert bottom, a wicked grin on her face as she debated his repeated use of green in his paintings of late. Toe grazing his as they worked together on her research, her gaze so genuinely inquisitive he was conquered. Brushing his hair from his face as he labored over the pages of her grandfather’s chronology deep into the night.

He hadn’t told her why he strived for the exact shade of emerald in those paintings. A shade he only seemed able to recreate in his dreams.