It should have.
Julia, however, had lived on the streets of the Rookeries long enough to identify a predator.
And then, with the sleekness of one of those dangerous jungle cats Adairia had told her about, the gentleman pushed himself away from the doorway and walked closer with sleek, pantherlike steps. The pace he set was deliberately slow and one he no doubt used to unnerve her. And… his efforts worked.
Her already racing heart pounded all the harder, rattling against her rib cage, the beat increasing with every step he took.
And, God help her, not for the reasons her pulse should have behaved so erratically.
Yet, as he stalked her like that primitive panther she took him for, Julia was hopeless to take her eyes from his approach, and just one word slipped through the cacophony of her disordered thoughts. Beautiful.
The gentleman was all chiseled perfection and gloriously hard angles. His jaw was broad and slightly clefted, his cheeks high, firm slashes, his nose aquiline. And with that body, broad of muscle and barrel-chested with enormous thighs, he didn’t have the look of a gentleman’s stuffed and soft physique, but of a flesh-and-blood fairy-tale prince come to life.
He reached her, keeping two paces between them, a barrier she was grateful for, as she didn’t have to arch her neck back so far to meet his flinty gaze.
With more of that deceptive insouciance, he rested his hip upon the edge of the pianoforte. “Do you find yourself unable to sleep, my lady?”
My God, even the blue of his eyes was a stunning masterpiece of artistic perfection assembled by the Lord Himself. Blue like the skies Adairia had spoken of, a painting of pale shades so clear that Julia had longed to see them. They were here, before her now. “I am,” she brought herself to murmur through her appreciation. “It is… all foreign, this.”
His lips formed a hard smile. “Oh, I expect it is.”
That frosty cynicism had a sobering effect.
Blue like the skies?
A form like a prince?
Her mouth pulled in a grimace.
What madness was this, noting his beauty? When she was the last person to ever have her head turned. Though, in fairness, she’d never seen a male specimen like him. Even so, she’d be wise to focus on the threat he posed.
He’d said something and expected a reply.
What had he said? Something about it making sense that she’d found her way to the music room. It hadn’t really been a question he’d put to her, but a statement, and as such, she’d no reason to trip herself up by saying more than she ought, more than was wise. So instead, Julia opted for the course that had always proven the wisest and gave him her silence.
Lord Ruthven lifted a tawny eyebrow, and she fought to push back the daze cast on her already muddled thoughts. “Well?”
“Yours wasn’t really a question, was it, my lord?”
His long gold lashes swept low as he peered through the thin, menacing slits they formed, and then he closed the last bit of distance that existed between them. “No, you are correct. You always had a fondness for this room, did you not?” he murmured, reassembling his earlier words into the query they hadn’t been, forcing her hand. “But you remember that, do you not, Adairia?”
Hearing her sister’s name applied to Julia hit her like a punch to the stomach. Guilt and pain and so much regret roiled in her breast. “I…” She eyed him warily.
He stared directly at Julia, his gaze locked on her face, awaiting her response so he could pick out lies, no doubt.
Her pulse kicked up its cadence once more. “I am afraid I don’t remember, Lord Ruthven. It has been years. There is much I don’t”—know—“remember. And if you would…call me Julia. It is the name I’ve been known by these past years.” That request would surely only further rouse his suspicions, and yet, she couldn’t allow him and the duchess to refer to her by that name.
He flicked that icy stare up and down her person, his gaze lingering briefly upon the gap in the garment that put her bosom on display. “How unfortunate, Julia… or… mayhap it is something else.” He straightened, abandoning his place at the instrument and slid close; he stopped before her.
Heat rolled off his powerful frame, touching her with an unexpected warmth and stealing her breath. “Or what, my lord?” she challenged. “Fortuitous?” Her voice emerged breathless and husky to her own ears.
His body froze. He remained motionless, like a man riveted. Captivated. By her? Surely not.
“Ah, but then, you are the one who uttered that word, my lady.” Then his eyes fell to her mouth. “Not I.” There was a distracted afterthought quality to those latter words. His hand came up, and he brushed his thumb along the seam of her plump lower lip.
The flesh quivered and trembled under his gentle caress. He toyed with that flesh, and there was a gentleness to his exploration.
A delicious warmth stole through her breast, slipping and twisting around inside.
As close as he stood and the tone of his questioning screamed danger, and yet, her body knew nothing about prudence and caution as her breath caught from his nearness and his touch. Heat pooled in her belly.
Suddenly, he lowered his arm, letting it fall to his side, and took a step back. His deep mask of suspicion was firmly back in place.
And then, it hit her.
Why… he’d not been captivated by her mouth. He’d been studying her features. He’d been searching out some hint or sign of proof of her identity.
Julia shivered, drawing the folds of her night wrapper closed and belting it tighter. She resisted the
