Sinful Confessions (5 page)

She
didn’t resume eating until the maid had left. The temptation to ask her more about
Julian’s wives niggled at her but surely if Julian wanted her to know all the
details, he would have told her. Perhaps the incidents were too painful for him
to speak of. She took a sip and lowered the spoon to stare at the portrait of
one of his ancient ancestors that dominated the opposite wall.

Poor,
poor man. Her heart stretched for him. How dearly she would like to help him
get over his pain. She allowed herself a smile in spite of the headache
consuming her. He might not be dashing and bold as she had hoped but he was
hurting and a little bit broken. Someone she could fix perhaps. The idea
certainly appealed.

Julian cursed at the ink splot on his
letter. Damnation. He couldn’t concentrate knowing she was in his house. He
hadn’t shared his house with a woman—oh his staff didn’t count—for a while and
his last wife had avoided being home with him at all costs. His complaint to the
Atlantic Telegraph Company would have to wait. He couldn’t help but release a
grin as he laid down his pen and lifted his legs up onto the desk. If it hadn’t
been for writing a letter of complaint to Viola’s father, she never would have
written back, explaining his illness and how she was taking care of his
correspondence. He couldn’t help but soften at her charming turn of phrase and
his complaints had soon been forgotten. Before long, he’d found himself talked
into what could turn out to be a profitable business scheme.

A
noise outside the library had him guiltily shifting his feet from the table and
sitting upright. His pulse thrummed in his ears while he stared at the open
doorway that was framed by shelves of books. The tension slowly coiling into
his belly was nothing new. He had been feeling this way since Viola had arrived
three days ago. Knowing
she
lay in bed, in his house, made him feel as
though he was walking on hot coals everywhere. Frankly, he didn’t know what to
do with himself.

And
while he had visited with her, the moments together had been awkward and stilted.
She expected him to be something more than he was—he knew it. She had
anticipated the eloquent man from the letters. Julian snorted and rubbed his
forehead with two fingers. He wasn’t sure that man existed anywhere other than
on paper. Expressing himself in the written word was much easier than doing it
in real life.

His
tense posture hadn’t been for nought. She slipped in through the door and the
pounding in his ears increased. Even in the low light of the library, he noted
she had regained a little colour. Wearing a slim-fitting skirt in a deep plum
shade with a white shirt and her hair wound up into some complicated hairstyle,
she looked quite unlike the woman he’d found on his doorstep two days ago.

But
just as devastatingly beautiful.

“There
you are.”

Her
familiar tone made him stiffen. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had
greeted him like that. With an almost excited manner. Even the servants who
knew him well tended to regard him with apprehension, perhaps expecting his
latest outburst. And his brothers... Damn, those men. They came by when they
needed something. A more dissolute, reckless bunch, he’d never met. How was a
man meant to relax when he had six brothers throwing the family name to the
wolves?

But
of course, society didn’t mind dissolute rakes. It was he who was the one to
avoid. Heaven forbid he might attend an event and bring his
touch of death
with him.

Julian
stood and waited for Viola to approach the desk. She paused and did a rotation,
lifting her gaze up to eye the walls stacked with books. The library at
Lockwood was one of the finest in the country and one of the few places he
enjoyed spending time. The scent of leather and old paper never failed to
soothe him, even in his loneliest hours.

“You’re
feeling better.” He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. It was clear by the sparkle
in her eye and hints of pink skimming her creamy cheeks.

“Much
better, thank you.” She didn’t look at him. Her gaze followed the lines of the
carved spiral staircases and then she tilted her head up to stare at the
painted ceiling. “This is the most incredible room.”

For
a moment, Julian forgot to do anything but eye that expanse of neck that begged
to be touched by a man’s lips. No, not a man’s lips. His lips.

A
few curls escaped down her back and he flexed a hand. It had been so long since
he’d felt the soft touch of a woman’s hair under his fingers or tasted the arch
of her neck. Mabel, his last wife, had avoided touching him at all costs and a
bedding with her had been perfunctory—a mere duty to try to get her with child.

“No
wonder you spend so much time in here.” Viola met his gaze head on.

“How
do you know I spend a lot of time in here?”

“Jenny
said as much.”

Damn
his servants. He didn’t like the idea of them discussing him, even if he was
aware there was no preventing servants from gossiping. What else did they talk
of? His wives? How he had brought them nothing but bad luck? Julian clenched
his jaw and watched her approach his desk

Viola
skimmed a hand over the mahogany surface. She traced the curls and indents of
the engraved wood and lifted her head to smile at him. “This is where you write
your letters?”

“Yes.”

“Where
you used to write to me?”

“Yes.”

Those
fingers paused and came away from the wood. He’d never wanted to be a piece of
furniture so badly. Would her touch be soft and gentle or bold and brash like
her? He’d never met anyone so open. Sybil had been open and honest with him but
only behind closed doors, in very private moments. Never anywhere the servants
could hear or in any of the public rooms. In those moments, his second wife was
every inch the reserved English woman. He’d often lamented the change in her,
wishing she would be the wife he adored all the time.

Damn
it, his necktie was making a fair attempt at strangling him. Why had he even
worn one? Yes, he hadn’t gone as far as shaving for her but he’d felt some need
to impress her. Why that was, he didn’t know. Julian seldom received visitors
and rarely put on a show for them.

“Have
you read all these?”

Julian
lifted a brow and gave the thousands upon thousands of books a glance. “Hardly.”

“What
of
Nicholas Nickleby
? Do you have a copy of that?”

So
she remembered. It seemed he wasn’t the only one absorbing every snippet of
information she told him in her letters. It pleased him far too much.

“I
have several on the upper level.” He pointed at the narrow balcony that ran
around three sides of the room.

“Will
you show me them?”

He
stared at her for a few moments. That pleading look to her expression couldn’t
be denied. Clearly, he was a bit of a fool for this woman whom he hardly knew.
He certainly didn’t believe that a few letters could properly acquaint one with
another person. Hell, he’d known Mabel for eight years and he hadn’t known her
properly or else he could have prophesised that their marriage was doomed.

“This
way.” He strode over to the spiral steps on the right and waited for her to
follow. The carved wooden staircase was narrow and wound tightly. “You had
better go first.” He didn’t want her falling and that skirt certainly wasn’t
made for climbing steps.

She
stepped past him and began her ascent. Julian realised his mistake instantly.
If he wanted to ensure she came to no harm, he’d have to follow closely and he
had the perfect view of her rear. Without the enhancement of a bustle or heavy
skirts, he could make out the gentle curve of it. A faint moment of amusement
tickled him when he wondered how she’d react if he leaned forward and bit into
it.

She’d
likely scream and slap him. Not that he would ever do such a thing. Christ, she
might have a proper fall and break her neck. Knowing his luck that was quite
likely.

Viola
paused at the top and waited for him to join her. She shuffled back on the
balcony to accommodate him, but the narrow confines meant they ended up nearly chest
to chest. Her height surprised him. He’d been suffering too much from the
vestiges of the previous night’s excesses to really notice upon their first
meeting and one couldn’t judge the height of a woman when they were lying down.
Julian tried not to groan aloud. He didn’t need to be thinking about Violet
Thompson lying down. He still needed to address getting her out of his house
and finding out how long she intended to stay in England now she was recovered.

Warmth
stirred in his veins as she tilted her chin to view him.

“You
had better go first.”

Her
words were breathy. They made him wonder how she’d sound in bed. She spoke with
firm clarity but would she be like that when she had a man between her thighs?
Would she release small mewling sounds perhaps or strong demands for more?

Bloody
hell, he needed to get a grip of himself. This was a vulnerable young woman
who—whether he wanted her to be or not—was under his protection whilst under
his roof.

It
was the way she carried herself and how she spoke, he decided. And his
knowledge of her intelligence. It made him think she was more mature than her
years.

Julian
slid past her, not unaware of how her breasts brushed his chest. “Over here,”
he said gruffly.

Hand
to the wooden railing, he led her around the corner to the rear of the room.
When they stopped, she leaned over to view the rest of the room. His heart gave
a small hiccup of fear.

“Careful.”

“I
can see why you spend so much time here. It’s a wonderful room.”

Anxious
to keep her away from the banister and the drop to the floor, he motioned to
his collection of Dickens’ titles. “Here they are.”

She
leaned forward and peered at the leather-bound books. Up near the roof, the
meagre light of the lamps didn’t reach and he only kept a few lit in the library
for fear of fire. The golden lettering on the spines was only just visible.
Unfortunately for him, the faint flicker of light that had managed to reach
them skimmed over her features, making them all the more appealing. The shadows
made her face interesting while the golden glow made her skin smooth and he
itched to stroke it. To him, Viola had always been fascinating on paper, but
apparently he found her just as enthralling in person.

When
she glanced back at him, she gave him a coy smile. He’d been caught watching
her. She certainly didn’t seem embarrassed by that, however. Did she have any
inkling of this attraction that was steadily burning through his body? Did she
feel the same? Had she torn open his letters with eager anticipation and
devoured each word?

He
turned away and motioned to the other side of the room. “I have some Austen
titles here.”

Admiring
her at a distance had been fine. It had been safe. This, however, was not, and
he didn’t like the heavy sensation filling his chest. He’d felt like this about
Sybil and look how that had ended. He’d lost her and his child in one fell
swoop.

Julian
drew out
Pride and Prejudice
and handed it to her. She stroked the cover
and opened the book to flick to the opening chapter. He watched her mouth the
first few lines. He’d never seen anything like it. The pure, utter joy she
received from holding a book seemed to transcend the minute distance between
them and pull him close. When she closed the book, he was near enough to inhale
the gentle hint of vanilla emanating from her. She reminded him of freshly
baked cakes or vanilla ice cream.

And
he’d never been so hungry for a taste.

“I
love this book.” Her words were soft, distracted. She kept her gaze on his.

“I
know.”

More
space vanished between them. He felt as though his lungs might collapse, as
though the air had thickened.

He
had no choice.

He
closed the gap. His lips touched hers. Shards of sensation bolted through him
and she gasped. Sweet and breathy. That’s how she’d be. Loud and outrageous
outside of the bedroom and then she’d whisper his name and make him come undone
inside it. He knew it as sure as he knew he was the Marquess of Lockwood.

Drag
him to hell and roast him on a spit. He didn’t care. She tasted better than ice
cream. Her lips parted and her fingers curled around his arms, digging into his
jacket. A hand on the back of her head, another to the base of her spine, Julian
let his tongue slip in and he tasted the warmth there. Taking another sample,
savouring it, he withdrew and dropped his hands from her. She released him at
the same time.

He
braced himself, gaze on the floor. The sting of a palm across his face perhaps
or some bitter words flung at him. When he lifted his head, she merely beamed
at him.

“I
was hoping you’d do that.”

Julian
nearly choked on a breath. “You were?”

She
nodded and pressed her lips together, a smile still haunting them. “Oh yes.
Ever since I arrived.”

“I
should not have done that.”

He
wrapped his fingers around the railing behind him as though it might give him the
support not to try to kiss her again. Or worse. Making love in a library was
one of his fantasies. And he had to admit to wondering what the enigmatic lady
on the other side of the ocean looked like, then implanting her into his
fantasies. But there was a distinct difference between that and reality. Julian
Cynfell did not
do
women and he did not take innocent ladies in
libraries.

“It
was only a kiss, Julian.”

She
shouldn’t be speaking to him in such a way, either. If only he didn’t like it
so much.