pinning her down with his leg as she arched and cried out his name, shivering beneath him. She held his fingers so tightly in her orgasm, he could barely move them, but he managed it anyway, drawing out her pleasure. He was stunned watching her, never having seen anything so beautiful in his life.
And he would never be allowed to see it again.
Lucien was torn between masculine satisfaction and utter, wrenching despair.
Julienne opened her eyes and wondered if she'd fainted. She felt boneless, languid with warmth. As she realized the heat came from Lucien, her mouth curved with pleasure. She snuggled closer, and then stilled at the sound of his harshly indrawn breath and the feel of his erection against her thigh. She looked at him in dismay. He was suffering, and she'd been too sated to notice.
He rose to his elbow and looked down at her, his face drawn tight. 'I have to go.'
She lowered her eyes to the hard ridge of his cock. Reaching down, she brushed the outline with a shy, tentative stroke of her fingers. It jerked beneath her touch.
He pushed her hand away with a curse, then caught it back and kissed her fingertips to soften his rejection. 'You mustn't touch me, Julienne.'
'But I'd like to,' she insisted. Her heart swelled, filled with tenderness for him. 'That was so wonderful… what you did…'
His gaze was achingly tender. 'I'm glad you thought so.'
Julienne pressed her lips to his.
His hand slid to her nape, prolonging the kiss. Then he sighed and rolled onto his back. In a fluidly graceful motion, he left the bed. Lucien grabbed up his shirt and dropped it over her head.
'Stay with me.' She shoved her arms through the sleeves and gripped his wrist quickly when he turned to leave.
'I don't think I can.'
'But you wanted to watch me sleep.' When he hesitated, she pulled the counterpane back in invitation. He was so obviously torn that it touched her heart.
Suddenly he blew out the candle and slid in beside her. He curled against her back, his knees behind hers, his lips at her shoulder. She clung to his arms as if she would never allow him to go, which was entirely the way she felt. With his warmth and scent surrounding her, she quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Four
'Oh, dear, this is dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. We're ruined.
'Aunt Eugenia,
Eugenia Whitfield snapped her mouth closed and bit her lower lip.
Julienne sank into her brother's chair in the study of Montrose Hall and crushed his letter in her fist. The soul- deep satisfaction she'd enjoyed since leaving Lucien that morning was gone, replaced by weary resignation. 'I am not ruined.'
'You spent the night with Lucien Remington!'
Eugenia squirmed in misery on the chaise.
'I did not spend the night with Lucien Remington. I merely spent the evening in his establishment, which no one aside from you is aware of. I'd prefer to keep it that way, so lower your voice. Please!'
'What will we do about Hugh?'
Julienne looked at the missive in her hand and wondered the same thing. Hugh had retired to the country for an extended party with some of his friends, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his debts. As usual, he'd failed to consider notifying her until days after he'd left. Her brother didn't mean to be hurtful. He was simply irresponsible and always leaped before looking, consistently landing in puddles of trouble. It was partly her fault, for always cleaning up after him. Hugh had never learned that every action has a consequence.
She rose from behind the desk and threw the letter into the fire. 'Nothing has changed. I had to marry in any case.'
'Oh, Julienne…' Eugenia sighed. 'You've been through so much. I cannot collect how you manage it.'
'The same way you've managed Hugh and me. We do what we must.'
Julienne turned back to her aunt and smiled. At fifty, Eugenia Whitfield was still a lovely woman. Widowed at a young age, she could easily have remarried. Instead she had taken over the care of her brother's children when the Earl of Montrose and his wife were killed in a carriage accident. While she often wrung her hands and lamented the unruliness of her charges, Eugenia never said a word of regret about the things she'd given up. Because of this, Julienne loved her aunt more than anything.
'I just assumed Hugh was drinking and gambling himself silly in that club,' Eugenia said. 'I could never have imagined he would leave town at a time like this! It's your first Season, for heaven's sake.' She pursed her lips. 'That boy needs a switch to his behind.'
Julienne choked back a laugh at the picture. Aunt Eugenia had never raised a hand to either of them, although the hugs had been plentiful.
Sinking into her chair, Julienne let her mind drift to Lucien Remington, a man who was free and unrestrained by the rules that smothered her. Just the thought of the scandalous rogue made her body ache with remembered passion. If she closed her eyes, she could recall his richly masculine scent and the gentleness of his touch deep inside her. The memory alone aroused her, making her nipples hard and her skin hot.
If she listened to Society, she would feel some terrible regret or dismay at what she had allowed to happen, but she didn't.
Lucien had made her feel cherished, and while he'd only mentioned his physical attraction, his every touch, every kiss, had been underlain with an aching tenderness. Her entire life she'd been an object of fragile esteem, not considered a woman of passions, but just a female extension of the men in her life-first her father, then her brother, next her husband. Only Lucien had seen beyond the exterior to the woman within.
She was grateful to have had one night of passion with him, for she would have no more for the rest of her life.
Julienne had left him without saying good-bye. And three days later, Lucien still couldn't stop thinking about it.
Usually he preferred to avoid the morning-after farewell, an often messy affair. But Julienne's silent departure had left him bereft. For the first time in his life, he'd wanted to wake up with the woman he'd touched so intimately only hours before. He'd wanted to share breakfast with her, talk with her, and discover what had her so troubled. He'd quite simply wanted to enjoy her company for a few hours more before losing it forever.
Julienne La Coeur intrigued him more now that he knew her than she had as a stranger. He'd watched her closely for weeks, admiring her graceful poise and social adeptness. But that night in the Sapphire Room, she'd been surprised by his interest, not because she underestimated her own attractiveness, but because she so esteemed his. She admired and was drawn to the very things for which he was usually condemned, and yet he didn't feel like he was just a scandalous bit of excitement to her. Instead he felt like a man appreciated simply for being himself.
Her parting had left behind a void that none of the women he'd bedded since had been able to fill. Lucien wondered if she regretted her curiosity that night or resented him for taking advantage of the offer he should have rejected. He supposed he should feel guilty, but he didn't. How could he, when he ached to love her again?
'I believe Lord Montrose has retired to the country.'
Scowling, Lucien looked across his desk at Harold Marchant, his man-of-affairs. Most men cowered when Lucien was irritated. Harold, however, took it in stride, which is why the man had worked for him for almost a decade. Lucien had made Marchant a wealthy man and in the process had earned his loyalty. Marchant was, in fact, the
