Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (19 page)

Good Lord, this was happening. Really, truly, disastrously … 
finally
 … happening.

He bent his head and pressed his lips to her exposed throat, reveling in the heat and scent of her skin. His tongue flicked over her pulse as he murmured her name. “Lily.
Lily
.”

“I lied to you earlier,” she whispered, between arousing gasps and sighs of pleasure. “I haven’t been thinking of taking a lover. I’ve been thinking of you.”

“I can’t do this,” he murmured, even as he traced her jaw with his tongue. Bollocks. He was already doing this, and he was primed to do far more on the slightest encouragement.

And encouragement was what she gave. Nothing slight about it.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. All day long, all yesterday for that matter. Ever since that first kiss. I can’t concentrate. I’m so restless in my own skin. When I close my eyes, all I see is you. All I feel is this.” She kissed his temple, his cheek. “I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I
need
this, Julian. I need you.”

Sweet heaven. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words. A fount of bliss and lust opened up inside him. He couldn’t dam it now. It just wasn’t in his power. Perhaps he juggled two identities, but he was only a man, at the base of both. A man who went after what he wanted—and he’d wanted her for so damned long. What restraint he possessed had been exhausted earlier that afternoon, walking away from her in the drawing room—and there, he’d had the added inducements of servants about, full daylight to reveal them, Leo’s ghost, and a judgmental parrot dangling from the gilt chandelier. Here, in this alley, they were just a man and a woman, stripped down to essentials. Anonymous. Libidinous.

Nothing could stop him here.

Possibilities churned furiously in his mind. He could have her, just for one night. Satisfy her curiosity, slake his own need. Just this once. He could protect her from consequences; he was expert at preventatives. If he experienced a sudden attack of conscience, they could simply refrain from actual intercourse. He needn’t physically join with her to give her pleasure.

God, the vivid images that thought inspired … A groan scraped from his throat.

But where? There was no good place. This was
Lily
. He could not take her to Julian Bellamy’s house, the scene of so many illicit liaisons. He would never allow her near James Bell’s humble rooms. A hotel? Too public. A carriage? So sordid.

“Take me home,” she said, intuiting his dilemma. “Just see me home, then stay. No one will notice. No one will care.”

Her house. Leo’s house. Inconceivable. He might as well dig up the man’s coffin and spit on it. “Swift would murder me.”

She launched herself into his arms, sending him back against the brick wall. He landed with her straddling his leg, the luscious swell of her thigh rubbing against his arousal. Pleasure blanked his brain. He grasped her backside, rocking her pelvis against his. How could something feel so unbelievably good, but still be not nearly enough? He needed more from her. He needed all of her. There had to be somewhere they could go.

She licked his ear, and he bit back a growl.

Here. There was here.

“Greedy bastard!”

The shout from the end of the alley froze him in place. Lily, oblivious to the interruption, kept right on tracing the contours of his ear with her tongue, greatly impeding his ability to think. Had a man from inside followed them? Or was this someone new?

“’Ere now, lass,” the man called. “Give us some o’ that, eh?”

Julian’s stomach turned. Not only from the quite deserved implication that he was about to use Lily like a cheap whore in the street, but because the accent marked the man a Scot.

There were thousands of Scotsmen in London. Thousands.

Still, Julian couldn’t help but wrench Lily away and crane his neck for a glimpse of the shadowy figures disappearing into the mist. Two large, densely muscled men. As they moved around the corner and through the feeble illumination of a lamp, Julian thought he caught the light glinting off a smooth, hairless head.

Two men. Large brutes, the both of them. One a Scot, the other bald
.

Jesus Christ. After all his futile searching … Could it be Leo’s murderers had finally found him?

Chapter Twelve

Lily hardly knew what was happening. One moment, she and Julian were entangled in a passionate embrace. The next, he’d set her on her feet and dashed off down the alley.

Her kiss couldn’t have been
that
bad. Could it?

She hurried after him, catching up to him at the end of the block. “Julian—”

He motioned for quiet, peering around the corner.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

Pointless to ask. In the dark, it wasn’t as though she could see to read his answer. He knew it, too, so he didn’t stop to give her one. He just grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her around the corner, pulling her down the street. They walked quickly, clinging to the shadows that edged the narrow lane. Lily spied two men some distance in front of them, lumbering down the street with the unhurried arrogance of men who’ve had too much to drink. Julian seemed to be following them. For what reason, she couldn’t imagine.

She struggled to keep pace with him, skidding and sliding over the wet cobblestones in her impractical evening slippers. She would have been better off barefoot. Her heel caught in a narrow gap in the pavement, and her ankle turned. Surprised by the sharp twist of pain, she cried out.

Ahead of them, the two men stopped in the street.

Then, they began to turn.

For all that Lily did not comprehend who these men were, or why on earth they were following them, her viscera intuited one thing: She and Julian must not be seen.

Julian’s gut evidently agreed. His arm shot around her waist. Yanking her off her feet altogether, he whisked her to the side of the street, pressing her into the darkened doorway of a shop. He anchored her to the far corner of the alcove with his hips, putting his body between her and any threat. His free hand clapped over her mouth to silence her.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes as she adjusted to breathing through her nose. The aroma of his glove leather overwhelmed her senses, pungent and sharp. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air. The instinct to struggle was strong.

Lily fought back panic by reminding herself this was Julian. She
knew
this hand that muffled her. She’d watched him use those long, dexterous fingers to play the pianoforte, shuffle cards, pen letters with graceful ease. But never, until this moment, had she realized just how much strength they had.

Long, agonizing moments passed. It was the worst sort of torture. She had no idea what was happening in the street. She couldn’t detect any footfalls or voices to let her know if the men were leaving or coming in pursuit. She didn’t even know what sort of men they might be. Harmless drunkards? Dangerous footpads? Julian could tell her nothing. She couldn’t even make out his facial expression, much less any words he might speak. But the frantic thumping of his heart and the labored huffs of his breath against her cheek were not very reassuring signs. They were in true peril, or so he believed.

What in the world was going on?

Finally, after an agonizing minute, Julian’s brow met hers. Butter-soft leather caressed her cheek as he cautiously slid his fingers from her mouth, then replaced them with his lips.

A kiss.
I’m sorry
.

Tearing his lips from hers, he pressed hard against her shoulders, pinning her to the shuttered door.

A demand.
Stay here
.

Keeping one gloved hand on her sleeve, he stepped back and turned, looking into the street.

“Did they see us?” she whispered. “Are they gone?”

He tapped her shoulder, warning her to stay back. Then he took two steps into the street. A distant streetlamp traced his handsome profile in gold. As she stared at him, Lily felt her breathing slow to a steady, calmer rate. She was still terrified. But she was also strangely relieved to be here, sharing the fear with him. No more sitting up alone at night, worrying about Julian’s whereabouts. His whereabouts were hers. If some grave misfortune befell him, it would befall them both.

Julian’s chest deflated with apparent relief. For the moment, fortune seemed to be on their side.

He turned to her and stretched out a hand. She took it.

He led her into the street, immediately turning her in the opposite direction of the way they had been walking. Julian set a slow, falsely casual pace, and he kept her close, tucked securely under one arm. They walked about a block before he stopped, directly under a street lamp, and turned to her.

“Are you well? Your leg … It’s not hurt?” As he spoke, he shrugged out of his coat.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Come quickly, then. And be silent.” He settled his coat about her shoulders and resumed walking.

She stopped him short, keeping him in the light. “Julian, what’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe.”

That was all he would say. Together they walked swiftly for another block or two, then turned down a narrow lane … emerged into a larger street … and then made a series of twisting turns. Lily didn’t recognize any of these streets or landmarks, and due to the circuitous nature of their journey, she no longer had any idea in which direction they were walking. She tried to take comfort from the warmth and scent of his coat, for she was well and thoroughly lost.

Finally, they approached a coffeehouse. The door was open, but the windows were dark. A woman in a white-lace cap was shooing a man out the door and into the street, sweeping him along with a broom as if he were a heap of ale-soaked rushes.

“Oy!” the man protested, jumping at another prod of the broom. “I’m on my way. No call to be rough.”

With her broom handle, the woman tapped a sign on the window. Lily squinted at it. It read, “Closed.”

As she and Julian approached, the woman caught sight of them. Her brow wrinkled with displeasure, and again she tapped the broom to the sign.
Closed
.

Julian was undeterred. Releasing Lily, he approached the landlady. As he moved toward her, he made a gesture with both hands.

The older woman stopped, peered at him.

Julian removed his hat to aid her examination.

The landlady froze. Then she threw down the broom in the street and flew at him. Julian reeled from the collision, disappearing into a mass of doughy bosom and starched lace.

Lily gasped, suddenly alarmed. Who would have guessed Julian would escape those two brutes, only to be smothered by an aged matron in a lace cap? She darted forward. Perhaps she could grab up the broom, use it as a weapon …

But as she neared them, it became apparent that Julian was not being attacked. He was being hugged. When the landlady finally released him, Julian gestured to indicate Lily. Lily nodded her head in greeting, and the older woman returned the gesture with a tearful smile. After wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron, she opened the coffeehouse door and waved them both inside.

So curious, Lily thought to herself. Julian and the landlady clearly knew each other well. And in the course of that whole broom-and-bosom interchange—so far as Lily could tell—they’d neither of them spoken a single word.

Even inside the coffeehouse, they continued this way. Neither speaking a word. Not with lips or tongue, at any rate. No, Julian and the landlady were communicating solely with their hands. Rapid, precise, two-handed movements that Julian only belatedly—after sending Lily an apologetic glance—began pairing with speech.

“She’s my friend,” he said to the older woman, matching his words with hand signals that Lily could marvel at, but not understand. “I need you to keep her here. Keep her safe.”

The landlady made a motion, and her eyebrows lifted in query.

“Not long,” Julian answered. “A few hours, perhaps.”

“A few hours?” Lily claimed his attention. “Julian, what do you mean? You can’t leave me.”

“I must.” He drew her aside. “Those men … I have to go back and try to find them.”

“Why?”

“Because those might be the men who killed Leo.”

“What? How can you possibly believe—”

He shook his head, impatient. “They match a witness’s description. I don’t have time to explain it further than that. But I can’t let them get away. This is the closest I’ve come in months, Lily. Five. Long. Months.” He shaped each word distinctly. She’d never seen his eyes such a dark, intense shade of blue. “Stay here, no matter what occurs. Here, you’ll be protected.”

Oh, certainly.
She
would be protected. But what about him? Chasing strange brutes down dark alleys in the night …

“Don’t go.” She rushed to him and grabbed hold of his arm. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

“Lily, I can’t take you with me. It’s too dangerous. You’ll be safe here.”

“But … but how can you know that?”

He paused. Then said simply, “I was raised here.”