Page 26 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Practically coerced,” he said darkly.
“If Violet hadn’tconvincedyou to put your acting skills to use in her attempts to reconcile with Lord James,” she continued, ignoring his interjection, “she and I never would have attended a show at the Belfry, and you and I wouldn’t have met.”
He reached out and took one of her hands, tugging her out of her chair and toward him. “And what a shame that would have been.” The words landed with more weight than she thought he intended, his voice lacking the sardonic note that was often present, the sentence uttered with complete sincerity. A pause stretched between them for a moment as they stood facing one another, her hand still clasped by his, and then he spoke again, his voice an octave lower this time. “Was there a reason you were contemplating that particular word?”
Of course Emily blushed. “Well,” she said. “We did get married just a few days ago.”
“I recall,” Julian murmured, pulling her closer again, the space between them slowly being eliminated with each step she took. “An elderly man with a horrid collar rambled on about God, I believe.”
Emily let out a startled laugh. “I don’t think God looks very kindly upon husbands who mock vicars.”
Julian reached out to rest his free hand gently on her waist. “I personally hope God doesn’t pay overmuch attention to what a husband and wife do or say within the confines of their bedroom, to be quite honest.”
“And what, precisely, is it that they do?” she asked, her voice falling to a whisper as she spoke.
In reply, Julian kissed her.
It was a slow, languorous kiss, one that implied that there was no rush, nowhere else to be, nothing else that mattered except for thefeeling of his mouth on hers, his lips parting hers, the sweep of his tongue against her own. Emily kissed him back fiercely, the hesitation and uncertainty that had gripped her just moments before having vanished in a rush of sensation. She reached up to slide an arm around his neck, rising up on her toes to press herself against him, relishing the feeling of her body molding itself to his. His arm slid around her waist and his other hand gently cupped her cheek and the curve of her jaw, angling her face so that he could kiss her more thoroughly.
Thorough, Emily thought, with what limited mental capacity she possessed at the moment, was a good way to describe his kisses. He kissed her as if he were putting every part of himself into that kiss, as if there were nothing more important to him, in that moment, than kissing her.
Emily, without fully realizing what she was doing, lifted her hands to his cravat, fumbling a bit with the knot. Julian broke their kiss with a laugh, taking a small step back to create enough space between them so that he could assist her. His face was slightly flushed, and Emily felt a strange surge of power course through her with the knowledge that she had caused that. In all their warnings and advice about the marital act—and there had been many—Violet and Diana had not prepared her for the giddy rush that came from the knowledge that one had a man at one’s mercy and within one’s power. The knowledge that the man was, of all people, Julian Belfry somehow made it all the better. Emily had always been skeptical of the adage that reformed rakes made the best husbands, but—while it was too early yet to say what sort of husband Julian would prove to be—it certainly seemed to be true that they made exciting ones, at the very least.
Though, truth be told, Julian didn’t look like quite his usual rakish self at the moment, as he stood before her, struggling with his cravat.
“I think Humphreys might have gotten a bit overly excited at the notion that we’d be back in town among polite society at last,” he said, letting out a muffled curse, followed by a “ha!” of triumph when he finally tore it off. “He tied my cravat so elaborately that you’d think we were engaged to have tea with the queen.”
“Does this knot have a name?” Emily asked, trying and failing to tear her eyes away from the patch of bare skin now visible at his throat.
“I believe it is one of his own dastardly invention,” Julian said darkly, tossing the cravat aside and shrugging off his jacket as well. As he stood in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, Emily could not help appreciating the broadness of his shoulders. She reached a hand out to his waistcoat, undoing one of the buttons there. She cast a quick glance up at him, wondering if she was being overly bold, but he was regarding her with such warmth and heat in his gaze that she felt a blush creeping up her chest and into her face, and she decided that she couldn’t possibly be doing anything wrong, not if he was looking at her like that.
She made quick work of the rest of the buttons, her fingers nimble from the long hours she had spent in the drawing room at Rowanbridge House bent over her embroidery, though she didn’t think this was precisely the activity her mother had had in mind when she’d encouraged her to hone those skills.
At the moment, she was particularly grateful for those hours spent doing delicate handiwork, because it meant that Julian’s waistcoat was cast aside in a matter of moments and he was standing before her in his shirtsleeves, and even that was only for another brief moment before he tugged his shirt over his head and stood before her bare chested.
Emily wasn’t certain what she’d been expecting, but it was not the sight before her. He reminded her of a statue she’d seen in a museumonce, one that her mother had hurried her past, declaring it inappropriate for the eyes of a young lady. But Emily didn’t find anything remotely inappropriate about the sight of Julian, all bare skin and muscle, his blue eyes intent on her face, his breath coming slightly more quickly.
She reached for him even as he reached for her and they met in a bruising kiss, her hands skimming across his shoulders and down his chest, and she thrilled at the feeling of her skin against his, the heat and smoothness of him. His hands went to her hair, theclinkof hairpins hitting the floor a moment later. Then came the feeling of his fingers in her hair, loosening the braid and tangling at the base of her neck to cup her head, tilting it back to grant him access to the long line of her throat, upon which he placed a series of lingering kisses.
She gasped, then moaned, the noise sounding strange to her own ears, and she felt self-conscious all of a sudden, some of the lovely warmth vanishing. She could feel the curve of his mouth against her skin and knew he was smiling, but she could not stop herself from growing slightly stiff in his arms. He drew back and straightened.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and she noticed that there was the faintest ragged edge to his breathing. Couldshehave caused that?
“Nothing,” she said quickly, giving him her most reassuring smile, but for once this smile failed her, because he frowned slightly, a crease appearing between his brows.
“Did I do something you didn’t like?” he asked, sliding his hand down her arm to take her hand. “You should tell me at once if I do.”
“No,” she said hastily, a blush suffusing her face. “Quite the opposite. I just…” She trailed off, growing more embarrassed by the moment, and feeling so terriblyyoungcompared to him. He was sevenyears older than her, but in that moment it felt like more—all his years of experience as a gentleman out on the town stretching out between them.
“I worried I was—well, being toonoisy,” she said, the words barely above a whisper, feeling the heat spread from her cheeks down her neck and chest.
A slow grin appeared on his face at her words, but it didn’t look like he was laughing at her—instead, it was a grin of satisfaction.
“What if I told you,” he said, taking a step closer to her again, “that you can be as noisy as you like, and I won’t mind it?” He reached his free hand up to brush his fingers against her burning cheek. “Indeed, what if I told you that I’dlikeit?”
“You’d… like it if I were noisy?” she asked hesitantly, meeting his eyes quickly before her gaze flicked away.
“Quite a bit,” he said, his grin spreading, and his fingers slid from her cheek down to her chin, cupping it lightly, tipping her face up so that their gazes locked. “Anything you wish to do when we are alone together is what you should do. And if you’re noisy—which Idolike—it will just tell me when I do something particularly well. It’s… helpful.” He leaned in closer to brush a kiss to one corner of her mouth.
