Brogan grunted an assent. He’d sat next to her for the whole performance, arms crossed and gaze sweeping over the guests in Hyacinth’s sitting room with a regularity that had so disconcerted the couple on his left, that they had found other seats halfway through the second song.
Juliana and Brogan had decided that he was to be a cousin of hers for this evening, sent by her father to chaperone her about the city. If anyone disbelieved them, they were too polite to raise an eyebrow. And the clothing he’d borrowed from the agency fit the ruse. His cravat was a lovely camel color, with a waistcoat with matching stitching. He still wore trousers, but they were finely sewn, and hugged his thighs in a way that made her belly quiver. Tall, leather boots, a tailored jacket, and he was as well-dressed as any man there.
What he didn’t look was comfortable in those clothes.
Fortunately, Juliana was of little consequence. No eyes were turned their way to see the odd couple they made. As the daughter of a poorer earl, there was no dowry for suitors to fight over. She offered no great beauty or charm for those who didn’t require a wealthy bride. Her decided manners and conversation turned many men off. All in all, she was in the perfect position to enjoy evenings out among society without having to worry about the demands of said society.
Even discounting their lie of his familial relationship to her, surely Brogan could see how inconsequential it was for her to be seen out with someone who wasn’t a peer. How easily he could integrate into her world if he chose.
Hyacinth’s sister went to the pianoforte at the front of the room and joined Mrs. Bergen in the next set.
Brogan grumbled. “I thought it was over.”
“It has only been twenty minutes,” she whispered. “It will go for at least an hour and a half.”
Brogan blew out a long breath, then resumed his statue-like posture, the only thing moving was his head as it swiveled to keep an eye on the guests.
For a man who spoke little of his feelings, he said much in just the way he held his shoulders. There was his ‘you’re boring me with your stupidity’ posture. The ‘I sense trouble and am ready to leap into action’ stance. The ‘I’m patient and can wait until you finally agree with me’ set of his shoulders. That one was by far her least favorite.
But tonight was different. Tonight Brogan sat, his shoulders slightly raised towards his ears, his posture all but screaming, ‘I’m uncomfortable and can’t wait to leave.’
At Brogan’s insistence, they had taken seats at the back of the room. It was easily done to take Brogan’s hand and slip from the musicale unnoticed.
“We’re leaving.” He sighed. “Thank God. I’ll ask for the carr—”
“We're not leaving.” She peered down the hall, searching for an appropriate room. Dragging Brogan behind her, she opened the first door on the right. Large, uncurtained windows let in light from the street. She opened another door, and another, until she found a room suitable for her purpose.
“What…” he began.
She dragged him inside and closed the door behind them, turning the key in the lock. The music from the main room could still be faintly heard, the cheerful melody from the harp urging her to recklessness.
“I think we both need to learn the fine art of compromise,” she said. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards until the backs of his thighs hit a high desk.
He plopped down. “What are we compromising on?” His eyes scanned the room before settling back on her face.
“On us both getting what we want. Me, a night of lovely music.” She paused, listening as the harpist’s efforts danced about the room. “And you…” She plucked at the corner of her fichu and dragged it off her neck. She drew her finger along the edge of her bodice. “And you get me.”
She didn't mention that she would enjoy having him as much as he would her. This compromise gave her two things she wanted to his one. But no one said compromises had to be completely even.
He wrapped his hands around her hips, squeezing. “Juliana.” His voice was a low rumble. “This is the home of your friend.”
“Yes.” She ran her hands up and down his arms. “And if Hyacinth knew how much pleasure I expect, she wouldn’t begrudge me a moment. Do you not think these rooms have been used for such before?” She pressed her lips to his jaw. “Many men get bored at these events and escape to side rooms with their wives to be better entertained.”
The fine muscles around his eyes winced, so quickly, she almost missed it. It was the word ‘wives,’ she knew. At some level, he still thought their affair immoral. But that wasn't anything she had control over.
She slid her hands under the lapels of his jacket and pushed the fabric over his broad shoulders. She widened his legs with her own, and stepped into the space between his thighs. He might think their actions immoral, that a man in his position shouldn’t be with a woman in hers, but he didn't stop her from removing his jacket. Didn't stop her from untying his cravat and tugging it loose.
He cupped the back of her neck and drew her face to his. This kiss held none of the frenzy of their first joining, nor the sweet tenderness of initial exploration. But this kiss held expertise, an awareness that couldn’t exist without some practice between two partners.
He rolled his tongue along hers, and she moaned. He dug his teeth into her bottom lip, nipping with just the right amount of pressure to make her gasp.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against his chest. This kiss was perfect.
He slid his hands to her back. His fingers tangled in the laces to her gown.
She pulled back. “Leave it on.” She licked her bottom lip, still tasting him. “It's harder to redress a woman than it is a man.”
“Agreed.” In a movement so quick she barely had time to blink, Brogan gripped her waist and spun them around so she faced the desk and he stood behind her.
