Time stopped when she was in his arms. Her hands roamed his body. She refamiliarized herself with parts of him that she thought were lost to her forever. Her fingers weaved in the short crop of hair at his nape. She nibbled at his bottom lip.
He released a groan of pleasure before abruptly picking her up. Her feet dangled as he carried them deeper into the garden. Pressing her against an old English Oak, he devoured her hungrily. One of his gloved hands pulled down the bodice of her gown.
“Bloody hell, did I miss these beauties,” he muttered before his hot mouth engulfed a nipple.
“Yes!” she cried as his hands pulled up the edge of her dress, exposing her stocking-covered legs to the elements.
Desperate for him, she pulled him closer, forgetting the cold night as she burned from the inside out.
A door opened and the sound of water splashing near the kitchens woke Julia from her lust-induced haze.
She pushed at his shoulders, needing to clear her mind. “I-I have to go. Livie is going to wonder what happened to me.”
She slid down his body, the motion sending a thousand sensations through her awakened body. With trembling hands, she began righting herself, trying to make sense of what just occurred.
“Don’t go.” He pressed his lips against her forehead in a sweet kiss.
The gesture was so familiar, so intimate that it nearly bought her to tears, and she hadn’t cried in nearly three years.
She lurched away from him and walked back toward the house. Shaking her head to clear the emotions that tormented her. Tingles raced through her body, awakening her after years of sleeping.
“Julia, wait!”
“This was a mistake.” She desperately patted her hair trying to blindly straighten it as she walked.
“Why?” He caught her wrist and pulled her toward him for another soul-searing kiss. She lost herself again for a moment. He had that effect on her. He could make her forget anything, even herself.
“No!” she cried out to both herself and him. Remembering her anger, she shoved against his chest. ““We aren’t those two kids who fell in love anymore.”
She had to remember that he was the one who left her. There was no going back.
“I know.” The words were weak and did nothing to soothe her. “Meet me tonight in the library, please.”
“I-I can’t—”
He pressed his lips against hers, cutting off her words and rendering her speechless before he released her.
“Please.” His voice was a desperate whisper and all she could do was agree.
Julia ran into the house, refusing to think about what she was doing or planning to do.
Without paying attention, she bumped into a tall housemaid with dark hair who quickly avoided eye contact with her. “E-excuse me, my lady,” she said and hurriedly skittered away like a scared little mouse.
Julia stared after the woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but she must be new. Perhaps it was the new maid Mrs. Tewksbury had warned about.
Julia quickly made her way toward the Duchess Parlor. She stopped in front of a mirror and sighed. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, color flushed her entire face, and parts of her hair dangled vicariously in the back. She quickly righted it in the mirror, placing it back as neatly as she could without her maid.
“There you are, bird.” St. Clara made long strides down the hall toward her.
Julia blinked at his appearance. His handsome face was not the one that haunted her dreams every night. Should she tell him about Henry? They were friends first, before anything else. But what would she tell him? The incident in the garden changed nothing between them.
“St. Clara, are you leaving?” she asked, not able to resist comparing the two men. They were complete opposites. St. Clara was calm and collected all the time, while Henry was angry and full of regret.
“I am. I’m going to speak with my godfather, Melville, to see if he has heard anything from the former countess.” St. Clara leaned against the wall, his long legs crossed over one another.
“Why would she contact your godfather?” Julia tried to focus on the conversation as the vibrations in her body came to a simmer.
She could still feel Henry’s lips on hers, the warmth of his skin as he embraced her like he never wanted to let her go. The guilt she felt for lying to her friend was still present, but the subject of the former countess gave her something else to think about. While St. Clara did not love her, he trusted her, and that was perhaps more important.
