Page 17 of Lucien's Gamble

“No, you are not,” she argued. “I’m sorry you overheard that.”

“It was nothing I haven’t heard before.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Although I thank you for defending my honor.”

The feel of her skin against his was heaven. And hell. He glanced down at their joined hands, hers so pale, so tiny and delicate. Lucien remembered the feel of those hands on his body, their gentle exploration belying her ravenous hunger for him. Knowing he would soon lose her touch forever made his heart ache.

Julienne bit her lower lip. “Why say such horrid things about you merely because you are in trade?”

“’Tis more than that, Julienne.” He was silent for a moment, wanting to hide the things she didn’t know. But the moment was intimate, her gaze tender, and he found himself sharing the things he discussed with no one. “I’m a bastard by birth.”

She didn’t even blink. “You have no control over such things!”

“It gets worse,” he said dryly, squeezing her hand in silent appreciation. “I am the product of a long-term affair between a courtesan and a nobleman.”

“Good heavens!”

Lucien waited for her to put the pieces together. It took only a moment.

“Remington. Your mother isAmanda Remington?The famous demimondaine?”

He nodded, and wondered if Julienne would think less of him now that she knew he was the bastard son of a prostitute. A very wealthy, extremely discriminating, and, for the last thirty years, monogamous prostitute, but a one-time whore nevertheless. It was common knowledge. The fact that Julienne knew nothing of it proved once again how far removed their existences were from one another.

“How romantic,” she sighed, and Lucien almost fell off the chaise. “You’re a love child! How lucky you are.”

He stared at her, agape.

With gentle fingertips, Julienne urged his mouth closed. “Your blood is almost as blue as mine, Lucien. No wonder you carry yourself with such pride.”

“Are you quite mad?”

“Beg your pardon?”

He shook his head. It was almost as if she didn’t see his tarnish. Or perhaps she didn’t care … The possibility made his heart race, a tiny flame of hope sparking to life within him.

“Julienne, every moment I spend with you brings you closer to ruin. Why don’t you see that? I’m a hedonistic, self-centered bastard who has taken liberties with you that deserve to get me drawn and quartered. Beheaded. Hanged. Shot. Run through—”

“Fine,”she said sharply, pulling her hand from his and straightening her spine.

“Fine?”

“Yes. Fine. You are a horrible, wretched excuse for a man. Is that what you want me to say? Do you feel better?” She lifted the folder and opened it. “I will choose a husband posthaste so you will have no further need to seek me out.”

Julienne looked briefly at the column of names, then snapped the folder shut. “The Marquess of Fontaine, it is.”

Lucien’s hands clenched right along with his jaw. He was ashamed by how badly her words cut him when it was his own ill humor that had goaded her into saying them. Stung, he spoke rudely.

“Fontaine will never be faithful to you. He’s just like me. He’ll bed anything in a skirt.”

“I know.” Her voice held no censure, no sadness.

Her ready acceptance of another man, one who didn’t deserve her any more than he did, infuriated Lucien.

“That doesn’t disturb you?” he bit out.

“Certainly I wish things could be different,” she admitted, her fingers fidgeting with the file. “But it’s a common arrangement, Lucien. You are lucky to have two parents who care deeply for each other. They’ve been together for many years, have they not? Your mother and the duke?”

So, she knew who his father was. “Yes, almost two-score years now.”

“A lifetime of happiness. Some of us will have only fleeting moments of it. Your birth is nothing to be ashamed of. You have choices, many paths you can take. Some of us have only one.”

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