Chapter 17
At the news of her marriage to another, Julian felt like he had been punched in the stomach.
“You’re going to marry Lord Eastclere?”
Verity bit her lip, a mix of panic and indignation crossing her face.
“I never said I was intending to marry him. I said that my father and Lord Eastclere have devised a plan for me to marry him. They want the marquess to court me and convince me that it would be a good idea before my father must resort to forcing me into it.”
“Would he actually do so?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Julian stepped back and away from her, suddenly overwhelmed by an unexpected need to pace back and forth across the room.
“I know you do not particularly like the marquess—”
Julian stopped, turning on his heel to stare at her. “It does not matter if I like him. It matters what you think of him. Do you enjoy his company?”
He had to force the words out, for they made him queasy, but if Verity wanted Lord Eastclere…
She shrugged. “As an acquaintance, I have no issue with him. But I cannot see him as my husband. Of me being…”
Julian lowered his voice. “Intimate with him?”
“Yes,” she interlaced her fingers together and looked up at him. “Julian, this is all my fault.”
“Not entirely.”
“You told me that trying to get information from him through a flirtation was a bad idea, and you were right.”
“I should be the one taking the blame.”
“Why?”
“I gave you a weapon. One I never knew you could wield so expertly. But I gave you none of the instructions on when and how to properly use it.”
He stared at her, hating that there were secrets between them about the sordid aspects of his family’s past, one that was connected to hers through the letters she had found.
He desperately wanted to tell her, for there to be nothing between them any longer, but he didn’t want to put her in any danger by knowing too much.
Suddenly, though, he wanted nothing more than to be close to her. He didn’t like that Lord Eastclere wanted to claim her, and there was a small piece of him, deep down, that knew he didn’t want anyone else to claim her.
Anyone except him.
But he couldn’t be that man for her, couldn’t marry her, couldn’t commit himself to her. To one woman.
“What do I do now, Julian?” she asked, and the way she looked up at him, hope in her expression that he could solve this for her, nearly broke him.
But who was he to be the one to do that for her? His brother’s message, that he could solve all of his problems by marrying, flicked through his mind. James was right, it would solve quite a few problems—both for him and for Verity. But would it be fair to either of them?
“I’ll think of something,” he promised her for now. “You’ll just have to hold him off for a few days until I can devise a plan.”
“Thank you,” she said with some relief. “I knew you could help.”
“So, are you happy, then, that I came through your window tonight?” he asked with a slow-growing grin.
“Well, I am glad it was you and no one else,” she said, an answering smile lighting her face, and his heart jumped at the thought that he had brought this side of Verity back to life. “You really shouldn’t be here, though.”
“Is there a chance that anyone will come into your room?”
“Likely not, if there is no reason to bring them in.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure not to make any noise,” Julian said, studying her, first with his eyes, as he prepared to do so in other ways.
He sat back down on the bed next to her, his eyes running over her as he lifted a hand to take hers when she settled in next to him.
Her blonde hair was slightly mussed from sleep, tendrils falling out from her braid and around her face in a way that made his fingers itch to touch them.
The soft white wrapper hung loosely over the simple nightgown beneath, hugging her frame, the delicate fabric doing little to hide the curves beneath.
In the moonlight filtering through her window, she looked ethereal—beautiful and vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache, and he didn’t think he had it in him to continue to stay away.
“Verity,” he said, his voice dropping lower than he intended. “You know what our first lesson was about.”
She nodded, her eyes widening slightly.
“I want to continue it,” he went on. “But not with flirtation this time. I want to teach you about pleasure.”
Her breath caught, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “Julian, I—”
“Only if you want to,” he added quickly. “I would never force you.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I want to. I do.”
Julian’s heart hammered against his ribs.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger against her cheek.
“This is between us. Not to… not to be shared. At least, not until you find the person worthy of you. I won’t ruin you.
I just… I need to touch you. You can tell me to stop whenever you want. ”
“I trust you,” she whispered.
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she remained still, her eyes locked on his. When their lips met, it was different from before—softer, more deliberate. He deepened the kiss gradually, savoring the sweetness of her mouth.
“I’m going to touch you now,” he murmured against her lips. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
His hands slid beneath her wrapper, finding the warm skin of her waist. She gasped at the contact, and he paused, searching her face for any sign of discomfort.
“It’s all right,” she breathed. “I just… I’ve never…”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
He slowly slid the wrapper off of her arms, letting it pool on the floor as he guided her back against the pillows, his mouth finding her throat, her pulse jumping beneath his lips as his hands moved over her with deliberate slowness.
He kept the blankets pooled at her waist, her nightgown still covering her chest, as he sensed that she needed the comfort of it.
He kissed his way down from her jaw to her collarbone, pressing his lips against the delicate ridge of bone, feeling the slight shiver that moved through her. Her skin was impossibly soft here, thin and warm. He ran his tongue along the hollow at the base of her throat and felt her swallow.
He drew the edge of her nightgown aside, slipping her arms out of her sleeves so that he could press his lips to the curve of her shoulder, then traced his fingers down her bare arms, watching her skin prickle in his wake.
“Cold?” he murmured against her skin.
“No,” she breathed. “The opposite.”
He worked slowly, unhurriedly, learning her. He found that when he scraped his teeth lightly against the side of her neck, she made a small, involuntary sound and her fingers tightened in the bedsheet. He made note of it to remember for future—and then did it again.
Julian moved to kneel at the foot of the bed, easing the blanket farther down her legs before lifting the hem of her nightgown with both hands, raising it slowly until the fabric gathered just below her hips.
He ran his palms up the outside of her calves, her knees, her thighs, feeling the muscle beneath tense and release beneath his touch.
He paused with his hands at the inside of her thighs, close enough that she could feel his heat without contact, and watched her chest rise and fall faster.
Then he continued upward, sliding his hands beneath the loose fabric, finding the soft weight of her breasts.
When he brushed his thumbs across her nipples, she inhaled sharply.
He did it again, more deliberately, rolling them gently between his fingers, and she threw her head back against the pillow, her throat exposed, her lips parted.
He needed more contact, and crawled back up the bed until he was beside her again, taking her lips once more.
This time she kissed him back with an urgency she hadn’t before, her hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, her mouth opening beneath his.
She tasted faintly of wine and something warmer underneath, and when he tugged lightly at her lower lip with his teeth, she made a sound against his mouth that sent heat straight through him.
She shifted, lifting one leg to press against his hip, and he responded with growing desire—desire that she must have felt as they lay flush against each other.
His hand trailed down from her breast, over the soft plane of her stomach, and lower.
She tensed immediately, her thighs pressing together.
“Shh,” he said against her mouth. “I won’t hurt you. But if you want me to—”
“No, don’t stop.” Her voice was hushed, slightly unsteady as she anticipated his offer. “I was just… surprised. But—oh. Yes. Keep going.”
He touched her softly, just the barest pressure of his fingers against the warm, slick center of her, and her breath stuttered out.
He kept his eyes on her face, watching. Her brow furrowed slightly, not in pain but in concentration, like she was trying to understand something new and extraordinary.
He stroked her slowly, learning the shape of her response—the way her hips shifted toward him when he moved in a particular direction, the way her breath went shallow when he found the small, swollen point at the top of her folds and circled it with the pad of his thumb.
“Julian,” she gasped. Her hand gripped his forearm. “That feels—”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Stay with it.”
He kept the pressure of his thumb steady and worked one finger carefully inside her, feeling her clench around him, tight and warm.
She made a soft, startled sound. He stilled for a moment, watching her face, then moved again when her hips rose fractionally to meet him.
He added a second finger, stretching her slowly, crooking them forward while his thumb continued its work above.
She locked eyes with him then, her gaze unfocused and dark, and he almost came himself the moment she crested.
Her lips parted on a soundless gasp, her back arched up off the mattress, and then she cried out softly against his shoulder as she shuddered around his fingers, her inner walls pulsing in long, rolling waves.
He kept moving, drawing it out, until she collapsed back against the pillow with a long exhale, her whole body loose.
He withdrew his hand carefully and watched her chest rise and fall in the moonlight, her cheeks deeply flushed, her lips still parted.
“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she said finally, her voice full of genuine wonder.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There is more.” The thought of showing her all of it settled somewhere low and insistent in his chest. “But that’s enough for tonight.”
Verity sat up. The languid softness in her face shifted into something more purposeful as she reached out and pushed the lock of hair from his forehead. “Your turn.”
Julian shook his head. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”
“I don’t care.” She pressed her palm flat against his chest, warm through his shirt. “I want to learn how to please you, too.”
“Verity—”
“Please.” Her fingers found his buttons, working them with slightly unsteady hands, the small discs slipping before she caught them. “Show me. I need to learn.”
He didn’t let himself think about why she needed to learn. Didn’t let himself picture who else might benefit from it. He took her hand in his and guided it beneath the open placket of his shirt, then lower, past his waistband.
“Like this,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
He wrapped her fingers around him, and her eyes widened as she looked down, then up at him again.
“Lower your trousers,” she said, and he obeyed her command, though the instant he did so, she appeared slightly startled by it, her gaze lingering on him as he looked up at her, shifting onto his knees before her.
He placed his hand over hers, moving them together, showing her the pressure, the pace, the slow drag and release.
Her eyes went even wider as she wore her particular expression of startled fascination that he was beginning to recognize, and she adjusted her grip carefully, watching his face for confirmation in the same way she had watched him earlier.
“Is this right?” she whispered.
“Yes.” The word came out strained. “Exactly like that.”
She learned quickly. Too quickly. His jaw tightened when she moved her wrist at a certain angle, and she must have noticed, for she did it again, deliberate, curious.
When he let out a rough exhale, she looked pleased with herself, and that expression alone nearly undid him faster than anything else.
When he finally came, it was with her name breaking apart in his throat, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, her hand still moving in slow, careful strokes as he shuddered against her. Her other hand came up to rest between his shoulder blades, light and warm, steadying him.
They lay together afterward, her head against his chest, his breathing gradually slowing. The moonlight fell in pale strips across the bed. He stared at the ceiling and told himself to enjoy the moment and not think about what came next.
“That was…” she began, trailing off.
“Unexpected?” he finished for her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. “What happens now?”
Julian sighed, his fingers tracing patterns on her back. She was right. They couldn’t ignore the world around them forever, as much as he wanted to. “I don’t know. But I do know this—you deserve more than being a solution to Eastclere’s problems. More than being the answer to anyone’s problems.”
Including his own.
“Perhaps,” she said softly, “but I don’t have many options.”
The weight of her situation settled over them both. Julian knew he should leave—should not complicate matters further—but he couldn’t bring himself to move from her side.
“We’ll find a way,” he promised, though he had no idea how. “I won’t let you be forced into a marriage you don’t want.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You can’t stop my father if he’s determined.”
“Then I’ll have to be more determined,” Julian replied, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice.
Verity’s fingers traced the line of his jaw. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“Not enough,” he said, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “Not nearly enough.”
As Verity adjusted her nightgown back into place and they lay together in the quiet darkness, Julian realized with startling clarity that what had begun as a simple flirtation had transformed into something far more dangerous.
He was falling for her—this quiet, overlooked woman who hid such passion beneath her reserved exterior.
And that terrified him more than any gambling debt or family scandal ever could.
Leaving her might be more than he could bear.
But staying scared him just as much.