Authors: Marilyn Kelly
“Yes, that was my conclusion. The scoundrel attacked my
character just as he attacked both of you.” Instead of sitting, the man who was
fifteenth in line to the British throne wandered around the room with a curious
eye. Cathryn watched him carefully, remembering similar agitated behavior in
her past encounters, although it had been some years. This time, he appeared to
be looking for something.
“Please take your seats. I regret that I am more comfortable
standing, but it is my lot in life.”
Cathryn assumed he had some medical issue that prevented him
from sitting, but her legs ached and she could see the fatigue in Julian’s
drawn face, so she sat on a settee facing the restless nobleman and glanced at
the seat beside her to encourage Julian to join her.
The duke stopped by Julian’s desk and picked up a slim
volume of Oriental poetry. “I fail to see the allure of Asia. Went to India
once, hated every sweltering moment.”
Cathryn didn’t know how to respond, and Julian remained
silent until the duke reached for a vellum journal.
“Was there something else, sir?”
The duke glanced up, but he continued to handle the private
papers as if he had every right. “Hedges said you were working on the
Digenis
Acritas
.”
“Yes,” Julian responded slowly as he rose to his feet and
made his way to the duke’s side.
Clarendon skimmed the journal. “What’s this rubbish?” He set
it down and moved on.
“Another project I’m working on. Clarendon,” he said flatly
as he positioned himself in the man’s line of sight. “How may I assist you?”
“Have you completed your work on the translation?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate, and his confident tone impressed
Cathryn.
“I’ll pay a thousand pounds if you suppress it.”
“My purses are full.”
“You plan to publish it, then?” He glanced around as if
expecting the manuscript to appear before him.
“That is generally the purpose of such a translation.”
Julian slid the journal to the far side of his desk.
“What do you want for the master copy?” The duke had moved
on to the bookcase. “Is it here?”
“I had thought to offer to defer publication of my work on
the
Digenis Acritas
…”
Clarendon’s neck twisted to gawk at Julian. “Your reason?”
“Hedges had a contract with Lady Sibley. My interest in her
surpasses my intellectual pursuits.”
Clarendon looked at her with new awareness, his gray eyes
lingering on her chest. “Yes, I heard you were intent on her.”
A frisson of fear coursed through her at his possessive
gaze. He looked ready to spirit her away.
“I’m searching for a new duchess.” He straightened as if to
display himself to best advantage. “Have you a sister?”
Cathryn shook her head, appalled at his gall. “No, my lord.”
Julian came to stand behind her, placing a comforting hand
on her shoulder. “Hedges seems disturbingly intent on her as well.”
That broke the duke’s assessing stare. Cathryn heaved a sigh
of relief, as if she had thrown off invisible shackles, but she was shocked
again when the duke answered, “Yes, he wants the Sapphos, of course.”
“The Sapphos?” Julian’s hand tightened, but he kept his
voice neutral.
“The Greek poetess, Sappho, and several others, all female,”
he said as he headed for a side table. “Sir Geoffrey translated most of the
existing texts. I understand Lady Sibley has ownership of the translations.”
A surge of protective pride lifted her off her seat. “Sir,
it was I who translated the female Greek poets.”
“Nonsense,” he said as he picked up a stack of Julian’s
correspondence. “I saw them myself. They were extraordinary, in several
dialects.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Apparently there was nothing of concern in the letters,
because he tossed the papers back and moved on to a low cherry table.
“Well, in any case, Hedges has mentioned them on occasion.
He thinks them quite valuable.” He lifted his eyes and scanned her. “Do you
have them here?”
She loathed the way he owned her with his eyes. Frustration
threatened to boil over her calm exterior.
“Duke, was there a purpose to your visit?” Julian stepped
forward and put his hand over his personal ledger to prevent the inquisitive
man from opening it.
“To offer my apologies on the appearance of impropriety this
incident has caused, of course.” The small man sniffed around the room one last
time as he headed for the door. “I appreciate that my name has not been in the
press, and that American fellow you sent was most diplomatic on your behalf.”
Nearly to Julian’s desk, he asked again, “Is your
translation here? May I see it?” He glanced at Cathryn. “And the Sapphos?”
Cathryn shot him daggers, but Julian deflected her ire with
a quick response. “My work is at the copy makers, sir. I would be honored to
show it to you when the copy is complete.”
“And Sir Geoffrey’s work?”
She wanted to demonstrate Fiona’s eye-gouging move on the
damned duke.
Julian managed to keep his tone deferential. “The Sapphos
are also being copied.”
“Poor timing on my part,” he muttered as he resumed his
course, detouring to pass the far side of Julian’s mahogany desk. “By the way,
Lady Sibley, well done on your piece in this morning’s press. That showed some
spunk.” Bold as brass, he picked up Julian’s journal and dropped it into his
outercoat pocket.
Cathryn’s chin dropped, and she turned to see Julian equally
slack-jawed as he pondered the dilemma. The duke made haste for the door, and
she grabbed a newspaper from the table and rushed to beat him to the exit. “Duke?”
She was nearly winded when she reached him and gave him what she hoped was a
distracting smile. “Have you seen the afternoon press?” Holding up the paper,
she folded it in half before he could reach for it. “Ten thousand women showed
up for the class, give or take a few thousand.”
Folding the tabloid again, she curtsied slightly. “We have
extra copies, sir. Please take this one to read on your way home.” Just as bold
as he had been, she slipped the rag into his pocket and withdrew Julian’s
journal, as discretely as she could, holding it behind her skirts as she rose
from her curtsy.
Julian stood close behind her. He took the retrieved item
and slipped it into his own pocket. “Thank you for your visit, Lord Clarendon.”
“Ten thousand, you say? Extraordinary.” The duke appeared
momentarily confused as he glanced back and forth between them. Cathryn held
her breath as she waited for his reaction. “I’m glad to see you’re both well.”
He bowed slightly. “I would like to see the copies when you have them. I shall
remain in London until that time.”
Cathryn released a sigh of relief. Julian left her side and
opened the door himself. “It will be a week at the least. Perhaps a fortnight.”
“Dammit,” he muttered. “I’ll stay until they are complete.
Hurry them along as best you can.”
“Clarendon?” Julian stopped him as Millman approached.
“Yes?”
“If you have a visit from Hedges, tell him I would very much
like to speak with him.”
“I doubt the man is still in London, but of course, I will
send him your way.”
Millman pulled the door behind himself and the royal
pilferer, and Julian turned with a grin. “Well done, love.” He removed the
journal and held it up. “Where did you learn to do that?”
She giggled nervously, unsure how to answer until vague
memories surfaced of highly irregular classroom discussions with street scamps.
“It seems the poorhouse children taught me a few tricks. I seem to be picking
up bad habits faster than good ones.”
“Well, you saved me a bit of embarrassment.” He flipped
through the pages absently.
“Why? What’s in your journal—dirty sketches?”
“No, love,” he said with a chuckle as he led her back to the
settee. “While you were out rallying the troops, I stared into the fire and
thought of you. Giles is very upset I didn’t sleep.” He waited as she sat, then
joined her. “I’m fond of Oriental poetry. It’s very contemplative.”
She was dying to know what was in the journal, but she
merely smiled. Perhaps he planned to declare his love, and she didn’t want to
interrupt him.
“I’d planned to show them to you at Gorham House.”
When her courses were over.
“But now that the duke has made them an issue…” He
hesitated.
“I should very much like to see them, Julian.”
He tapped his fingers lightly on the cover before he asked, “Have
you heard of hokku?”
“Wasn’t your poem to me a hokku? Five, seven, five
syllables?”
“Yes, love, or three, five, three—anything under seventeen
syllables. I know I’m a rank amateur and I don’t bother with exactitudes.” He
opened the journal and she saw his sprawling cursive filled the first few
pages. “Frankly, I haven’t written a love poem in a decade. I’m a bit rusty.”
She wondered for a moment at the recipients of his previous
efforts. Possibly Fiona, but how many others? “Julian, please, show me.”
He grinned at her innocent comment. “My favorite expression,
that. I shall have to include it in a future hokku.”
The ice was broken as memories of her boldness in her own
study flooded her with warmth.
“These are only bits of thought, Cat.”
“Please.”
He laid the journal in her lap and opened it to a page full
of short poems. His handwriting was a puzzle and she looked at him with a shy
smile.
“Could you read it, please?”
“Oh, yes, my scrawl. The bane of my instructors’ existence,”
he said as he put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“The poem you sent to me was very elegantly written. Did
someone copy it for you?”
“No, I can write neatly with effort. Today I let my thoughts
flow freely, and I meant to copy them for you later.” He cleared his throat
lightly and read in a soft, low voice that rumbled through her, “My love murrs,
a satisfied Cat,” He paused for effect. “Sweet as cream.”
His love. He called her that frequently, was this his
declaration? “That was lovely, Julian.” She relaxed and purred into his chest. “I
shall
murr
for you anytime you like.”
He kissed her hair and started to close the book.
“Another, please.”
“If you like.” She nodded and settled back into his arms as
he read slowly. “Birds in flight, Autumn’s bold delight.” Another break and his
tone was full of emotion when he finished, “Marry me.”
“Oh, Julian.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his strong
jawline, stopping to trace the dimple she adored. “Another, please.”
He nodded. “Sparkling Vauxhall lights, Fulfilling secret
desires,” he said with rising passion, “Stealing sounds of love.”
“That was the wickedest thing I’ve ever done, eavesdropping
like that.” A throbbing between her legs signaled her own response, and she
wondered if she would remain unsatisfied yet another day.
Julian shifted beneath her. “I’m afraid that last verse set
my mind in a more…physical direction. Perhaps we should wait.”
He had barely touched her in two days, and she yearned for
some sort of intimacy with him. “Just one more verse, please.”
“As you wish,” he said, and then he chuckled. “I could pair
that with ‘show me, please’.”
Her heart jumped at the suggestive comment, and he dropped
the book nearer to his lap. His tone was darkly seductive as he read, “Whimper
for me, love.” He kissed her hair and shifted again. “Murmur, moan, shudder,
and sigh,” his voice was raspy as he finished. “Fill me with your bliss.” He
drew her in for a long kiss that set her head spinning and her body thrumming.
Desire overcame her, and she broke away and rose without a
word, crossing the room in long strides to the door, where she turned the lock
quietly before returning to his side. She loosened the ties on her dress as she
sank back down beside him. He had undone his waistcoat and loosened his cravat.
Their eyes met and she said, “More, please.”
He glanced at the text and then back to her as he recited. “Lips
fall apart, Warm breaths guide my way.” She unbuttoned the front of his shirt
and stroked the light mat of hair on his muscled chest. He spread his legs as
he finished. “Lust trumps shame.”
Setting the journal aside, his eyes stayed on her breasts. “Show
me, Cat.” Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her gently. “Please.” He took
the initiative and lowered her bodice. “Lovely,” he muttered as he bent to
spread kisses across her breasts.
She watched his dark head pleasuring her and forgot all
propriety. Her head fell back as he sucked on her nipples and gently kneaded
her aching flesh, bringing waves of satisfaction with each firm touch. The
cloth of her gown constricted her reach, but she saw the bulge in his trousers
had grown. Poor fellow needed relief as much as she did.
Backing away slightly, she freed her arms and smiled at the
look of adoration in his golden eyes. Her half-corset displayed her breasts for
him, and he continued to feed greedily on the sight. She felt beautiful,
perfect for this man.
“Show me, please,” she said as she dropped her gaze to the
prominence in his lap.
“As you wish.” Leaning forward, he laved her breasts with
his tongue as he freed himself.
She could see the veins pulsing in his erection when he
finally revealed its length. Her puckered nipples glistened from his wet
kisses, and he drew her down to stroke the head of his cock across the slick,
sensitive tips of her breasts. His warm flesh on hers sent waves of desire
spiraling throughout her and she whimpered.
“Yes, love, whimper for me.” His low command incited her,
and a current of whimpers followed. He held his erection and wiped the bulb
against her crimson peaks in gentle caresses that sent shock waves through her
body.
The sensations became too intense and she backed away. “It’s
almost too much.”
His cock throbbed between them, and she stared for a moment
before he whispered, “Use your hands on me, love.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for him, and his cock
jerked when she touched him, but she circled him firmly with both hands, nearly
covering the length of him.
“Stroke me. Up and down,” he said through gritted teeth.
His hips lifted off the couch, and he groaned as she slid
her hands up and over the bulb and then down all the way to the base where she
met the cloth of his trousers. Remembering how wonderful the slickness felt on
her nipples, she leaned over and licked the tip of his cock, using the wetness
to glide her hand up and down the length of him. She enjoyed licking him and
when she did it a second time, she planted kisses and followed her hands with
her lips.
“Cathryn,” he muttered uncomfortably as he shifted away.
“Don’t you like it when I kiss you thus?”
“I like it too much.”
“Then teach me to do it properly.” Extending her tongue, she
licked from one end to the other, watching his reaction. “Fanny Hill had little
insight for me on this subject.”
“You do very well, love.” His thighs lifted and he groaned
as she repeated her wet caress. She looked up at him and saw a dam break in his
eyes, as if a flood of sensations overwhelmed him. His lids lowered as a
shudder passed through him, and he surrendered to her wishes. “Open your mouth,
take me inside.”
His bulb appeared enormous, but she parted her lips and
sucked the tip into her mouth. His loud, ragged breaths urged her on, and she
eased her head down and explored the rim of him with her tongue.
“Ah, yes, just below the head is very sensitive.”
She flicked her tongue, and he grasped her shoulders and
pulled her away. “That’s enough.”
She clasped him with her hands and felt him pulsing, a hard
rod sheathed in velvet, ready to explode.
“Lift your skirts,” he said as he undid his trousers
completely, easing the constriction on the rest of his bulge.
Their eyes met and she wondered if he had forgotten, or if
he planned to make love to her irrespective of the inconvenience.
“Leave a petticoat down, I only want to pleasure you.”
Reluctantly, she released him and bunched her silk skirts
and two layers of cotton onto her lap. She held her breath as she watched his
hand disappear beneath her blue silk. She leaned back and spread her thighs to
provide him access, still uncertain as to his exact intent, but she didn’t want
to stop him.
His fingers found her small hard shaft through the thin
layer of muslin and he flicked across the sensitive flesh, sending a satisfying
jolt of delight thrilling through her. She watched him pleasure himself as well
as her, and the carnal pressure that had been hovering just below her surface
for days quickly burst in a cascade of heat that consumed her from within. She
shuddered as her release continued in a long flow of ecstasy, and he rubbed
steadily until the last remnants ebbed.
“I should like to pleasure you forever,” he whispered in a
low rasp.
Her breath was recovering and she stammered through her
response. “That’s a desire…I will gladly…appease…my love.”
He withdrew his hand from her skirts and brought a
handkerchief to cover himself as he groaned, his mouth a perfect O. His eyes
shuttered as he ended with a grunt of satisfaction. His head fell back against
the settee and he smiled weakly at her.
She leaned over and kissed him, savoring the salty taste of
his soft lips and the masculine scent of him. This would be the time to tell
him her emotions; his poems already spoke for him.
“You are a remarkable man, Julian.”
“I hope you think so in fifty years.”
“When we’re wrinkled and gray?”
“Yes,” he said as he straightened his clothing. “I want you
to always think well of me.”
“I do, in fact—”
A knock on the door interrupted her declaration. She jumped
to her feet and glanced at the mantle clock. “Whatever was I thinking? Violet
and Rune are due at four-thirty.” She straightened her own costume as she
hurried to the door and unlocked it, relieved when no one entered. It must have
been a discreet warning. “What will people think of us, acting thus?” Heading
for a mirror, she checked her chignon and found only a few strands undone.
Julian appeared behind her as she replaced a hairpin, and he
placed his hands lightly on her waist. “They’ll think we’re falling in love.”
He turned her to face him, and she opened her mouth to tell him her thoughts.
He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, and she forgot what her
thoughts were. “They’ll think me the luckiest man on earth.”
A noise in the hallway disturbed them, and he growled at the
intrusion. “I want to spend months alone with you.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Perhaps
we could sail the world on our honeymoon.”
Violet and Rune shared the appearance of an enthralled
couple falling in love, and Julian smiled as he watched them mimic him and
Cathryn. Each time he kissed Cat’s fingers, Rune kissed Violet’s within the
minute. A caress of her cheek, a hand on her knee, an arm behind her to pull
her closer, all mirrored back at him. Julian wondered vaguely what would happen
if he started taking serious liberties, but he was well satisfied by their recent
encounter. His goal was to please Cathryn in any way he could, not embarrass
her.
Violet gazed at Rune with a look Julian recognized. “I can’t
say I regret missing the mob. We had a perfectly wonderful day in the country.”
Smitten.
“Violet shared some of her puzzles with me,” said Rune with
pride. “I enjoyed them immensely.”
The redhead colored and shook her head as if to deny him,
but Cathryn chimed in, “Oh, Rune, you should publish them. I know most of the
ladies at church would purchase a copy. Her puzzles are the only stimulation
some of them receive each week.”
“She says she has two hundred done.”
“I should like to see these puzzles,” said Julian, a bit
annoyed at Violet’s reticence. He didn’t like feeling the odd man out.
“We left them at the townhouse,” Violet said, discomfited. “Truly,
they are trivial compared to Cat’s works.”
Julian swelled with pride. He finally understood her
reluctance to share what were clearly inferior offerings in the face of
Cathryn’s accomplishments. “The Greek poetesses are extraordinary.” He faced
Cathryn and his heart leapt at the joy in her eyes. “I believe them worthy for
sponsorship to the Philological Society, if you would like to apply for
membership.” It was the simple truth.
Cathryn’s jaw dropped and tears sprang to her eyes. “You
would admit me?”
He hadn’t given this careful thought, but the concept
appealed to him. “I would favor your application, yes.” His chest filled with
emotion as he considered what this must mean to her. “You would need an
independent sponsor—Waldemere, perhaps. His wife is a fine poet. I imagine she
might be keen on membership.”
“Waldemere?” Cathryn echoed. “Yes, he said he would help me,
if ever I needed anything. He knew Geoffrey quite well.”
“Does every member need a major literary accomplishment to
be considered?” Rune asked.
Julian nodded, but his eyes were soaking in the sight of his
lady so consumed with happiness.
“What was your contribution to philology?” Rune pressed.
“I translated the surviving works of Aristophanes.”
“The Greek playwright?”
Julian nodded.
“When did you do that?” Cathryn asked.
“After my grand tour, I inherited Lindenhorn, which has two
thousand acres. I became a gentleman farmer for several years—I still return to
help with the planting and harvest. My evenings were often free.”