Chapter Eight #2
“You don’t want a husband?”
How could he ask her such a question? It took all Julia’s self-control to speak calmly, rather than rage against his presumption. His presumption that she had not thought of him in such a way…
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I…well, I always thought I would get married. I hoped, despite my station in life, for a love match.”
Her eyes cautiously met his, and she was astonished to find him looking at her closely.
“Love matches aren’t for the likes of you,” he said quietly.
A shiver rushed up her spine. “What do you mean?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lawrence said in a low voice. “There’s little choice, from what I see. A gilded cage, no opportunity to fight for what you want.”
Her heart soared. “But you can. Fight for what you want, I mean. Who you want.”
Try as she might, she could not keep her voice level. Did he understand? Could he see in her heart was she was trying to—
“So you want to learn to fight?” Lawrence said, changing the subject.
Julia swallowed. He was right. Matrimony was a dangerous subject for anyone, let alone two people from vastly different backgrounds who had most injudiciously kissed. “Of course, it is unlikely I shall ever have to fight, but… you never know. If you truly cared about me, you would teach me.”
Her eyes met his, as boldly as she dared, as her lungs tightened with every breath. How could she have said such a thing! How was he supposed to react to her immodest—
“Oh, Julia,” murmured Lawrence, almost closing the gap between them. “I care about you more than you know. Probably…no, almost definitely too much.”
Julia gasped, fighting for breath as his serious eyes met hers.
Oh, it was too much—and at the same time, not enough. How could she stand it? How was it possible that she was still able to stand as Lawrence stared deeply into her face, his taut stomach muscles twisting as though he fought something just as she did.
Was she imagining it? Was it all in her mind…or was there something stirring a little lower than his stomach?
“God, I shouldn’t have said that,” Lawrence breathed.
Julia’s cheeks were surely red, for they were scalding. “I am glad you did.”
“Still,” said Lawrence in an undertone. “You are a lady, and I—”
“You are a fighter,” she interrupted, her very breath stolen. “Teach me.”
He would never do such a thing, and she was foolish to request it. She should not have come here.
Yet as Julia kept Lawrence’s gaze, she saw something far more than the base animal instincts. Something…far more noble. Something deeper, darker, and yet more gallant.
Lawrence grinned and held out a hand. “Come on then.”
Julia almost stumbled—a habit, it appeared, whenever in Lawrence’s presence—as he led her to the open ground where he had been practicing. His hand branded her. When he released it, Julia half expected to see his name seared into her palm.
“Now, you stand like this,” Lawrence said in a businesslike manner that roused Julia from her reverie. Mostly. “See? Feet like this? More apart.”
Julia tried desperately to concentrate, but it was rather difficult when one couldn’t see one’s feet and a handsome man without a shirt was two feet away from you.
“Yes,” she said, hoping to goodness he did not ask her to lift her skirts to show him.
She might just die. Or fall into his arms. Either seemed inappropriate.
“Right, then you’ll need to raise your hands up like—no, not like that,” Lawrence said with a laugh. “Here.”
And before Julia could do anything, before she could explain just how outrageous it was that they were doing this, before she could remind him anyone could come in at any moment, Lawrence had stepped before her and taken her hands in his.
A jolt rushed through her body, and Julia swayed, holding onto Lawrence as though he was the only one who could sustain her. Perhaps he was. His eyes met hers as an aching longing overwhelmed her, and she knew what she needed. She needed him.
“Lawrence,” Julia breathed.
She watched him swallow, hoped beyond hope he felt the same. That he could feel the need to be close—was that desire in his eyes? Was she fooling herself, tricking herself into believing what she wanted, rather than what was true?
“Th-Then you need to bunch your f-fingers into fists,” Lawrence murmured, his breath as jagged as Julia’s felt.
He curled his hands, turning her fingers into fists as his own fingers enclosed hers.
Julia tried to think, she really did, but it was feeling now that was taking over, not thought. Emotion, not reason.
What need had she for reason, when Lawrence was but inches away, his strong chest just waiting to press into hers—
“And then?” Julia whispered. “What do we do next?”
His dark eyes flashed for a moment, but he said not a word. How could he? Julia knew he was suffering, too, his heart surely beating as frantically as her own.
Surely she could not be alone in feeling this way? As though the whole world was now turning not on an axis, but on this point, right here?
“What we do next is…is up to you,” Lawrence whispered.
Julia whimpered slightly, unable to keep the need from her throat. How could he do this? Tease her with such closeness, such heady masculinity, then force her to take the next step?
If only he did not look so… If only his scent did not overwhelm her mind, a heady mix of sweat and power, something that overawed her so entirely all reason disappeared.
“I…I…” Julia managed.
Then it was over. The moment was gone, Lawrence was gone, his touch on her hands absent, and she could have cried out with despair. How could he leave her when—
“Let me show you,” murmured a voice by her ear.
Julia’s eyelashes fluttered shut as Lawrence’s strong arms came around her, her pelisse crushed against her as his chest encircled her shoulders.
Oh, this was heavenly. This was certainly not something she had ever felt when discussing art with gentlemen at dinner or trying to laugh at their awful jokes around an afternoon tea.
No other man had ever made her heart sing, her whole body tighten with something that was not pain but appeared to be close…
“Like this,” Lawrence said quietly, his breath warming her neck.
Before Julia could point out the impropriety of such a situation—words she had heard her mother use countless times—Lawrence punched forward with his right arm, the gentle force of it encouraging her own right arm to follow suit.
Oh, it was poetry in motion, moving in time with him. A spark of joy rushed through Julia’s heart, and she laughed almost with glee at the sense of satisfaction she felt by punching into the air.
“Like that?”
“Just like that,” Lawrence said approvingly, his voice soft. “Now your left—”
They both punched forward, Julia overjoyed in the sense of him around her, embracing her, his breath caressing her cheek, his very body acting as a shield against the world.
“And now we step forward.”
Julia did not need further explanation, not with the warm yet solid pressure of Lawrence’s left leg against hers, pushing her forward.
They moved together, each step punctuated with a punch from the other side, and Julia could almost fly, it was so splendid.
How had she never known this before? The ecstasy of moving in time with another, of seeing their body shift with yours, the sense that in a way, they were one—
“Lawrence,” Julia breathed, halting and twisting in his arms to turn to him, to affix her mouth where it needed to be, on his own, needing to taste him, to finally permit herself the relief of kissing him.
He did not move away. His hands met now behind her waist, on her back, encircling her completely.
Julia looked up into his face and knew he felt as she did, that something bigger than them, more powerful than them, was drawing them together.
It would be foolish to fight it, for who wished to fight fate? One could not punch away providence.
His breathing was quick, his bare chest moving against hers in a delightfully pleasing way. Julia could not understand why the brushing of her breasts against him elicited such a powerful response, but it did, and it would soon overwhelm her.
She needed him to—
“Julia,” he said quietly, and he raised a hand to her cheek, cupping it slightly as he dipped his head to—
“Oh, Lawrence—”
“Lawrence! There you are!”
Julia had never known a man to move so quickly. Retreating so rapidly she almost fell, the loss of his secure support gone, Lawrence grinned at the older man she had seen him with so many times.
“Alan! I was just looking for you, Miss Dryden here—”
“Miss Dryden is leaving,” snapped the older man, and Julia wilted in the fierce judgment of his gaze. “And Miss Dryden might want to think twice about risking her reputation by being here.”
Julia bristled. “I do not think,” she began icily.
“That sounds accurate,” interrupted the man darkly. “You have not been thinking. Do you not think gentlemen of your class frequent this place? Would you wish tittle tattle to rush around the ton that you were found in the arms of—”
“Yes, thank you, Alan,” said Lawrence curtly.
Julia’s head was whirling, she could hardly take in their words. Because he was right. It was shameless, what she had been doing, what she had wanted—and worse, she had done it in public.
Just because there had been no one there, that did not mean they were not seen…
“Julia?”
She blinked. Lawrence was standing before her, pulling a shirt on—most regrettably—but there was a soft kindness in his eyes that did not quite hide the desire still flaring in his pupils.
“Julia, I will see you soon,” Lawrence muttered under his breath. “Soon. I promise you.”
Julia glanced at the irate man behind him as happiness soared through her. Her mother, this man… no one would keep them apart.
“Soon.”