“I thought that would be obvious. I’m madly in love with Julienne. You must take care of yourself so she can cease worrying about you and concentrate on me.”
Montrose sighed. “Have you already paid your addresses to her?”
“I have.”
“Does she return your affections?”
Lucien nodded, his heart still light with wonder. “By some undeserved blessing, she does.” His voice softened. “I promise to care for her. She’ll never want for anything. I’ll adore her and cherish her until the end of my days.”
“You’ll have to. She’ll have nothing else. I will love her regardless, but Society . . .” Hugh took a fortifying breath. “Congratulations are in order then, Remington.”
Lucien tilted his head in acknowledgment. Inside he sighed with relief as the Earl of Montrose reached for his quill.
Julienne waited in the master bedroom of Lucien’s sumptuous mansion in Mayfair. They had stayed only an hour at the small wedding celebration, both of them eager to return to their own home and spend long-awaited time alone. The carriage ride had been spent sharing loving kisses and plans for their future.
She smiled in remembrance. Who would have guessed the heart inside the rake could be so tender?
And their home . . . Lord, it was every bit as elegant and opulent as she had expected it to be. She was now mistress of this beautiful residence, and she took great delight in anticipating receiving callers here.
Despite Lucien’s misgivings, Julienne was hopeful that they would not be the social outcasts he expected they would be. Some very prominent guests had attended their wedding, including the Marquess of Fontaine, the Duke of Glasser, and Lucien’s brother, Charles, the Marquess of Haverston.
Fontaine had promised to call on them and to urge his sister and her friends to do the same. Julienne’s godmother, Lady Canlow, intended to gather together Polite Society’s most powerful matrons to put their efforts toward making them acceptable. It wouldn’t be easy, and a positive outcome could never be guaranteed, but they would try. And if their efforts didn’t meet their aspirations, Julienne truly didn’t care that much. Lucien loved her. That was all that mattered. She’d never wanted a boring existence anyway, and life with her domesticated pirate would be anything but.
The bedroom door opened. She watched as her husband walked in and turned the key, locking out the world at large.
He leaned against the door with a smile. “You’re naked.”
She pointed toward the end of the bed. “It seemed pointless to wear that.”
Lucien looked at the filmy night rail slung over the back of a chair. He grinned and looked back at her. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she denied, a little too quickly.
“Well, I am.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“Of course I am. You’re the last woman I’ll ever make love to, and you’re a virgin. What if I bungle the first time, and you never want me to touch you again?” He shuddered in horror at the thought.
Julienne’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then she fell over laughing. “Oh, heavens, Lucien. That’s ridiculous.”
She saw the heartbreaking tenderness in his gaze, which was all the more poignant blended with the devilish curve of his smile.
“Feel better now?” he asked gently.
And then she understood. “You were teasing me,” she accused without heat, her heart racing madly that this resplendently wicked man was now hers. Forever.
“Relaxing you a bit,” he corrected. “You looked tense when I came in.” Lucien strolled toward the bed, untying his cravat. The rest of his clothing was hastily discarded. Then he was pressing her into the bed, his body hard and beautifully built.
“We must set some ground rules here, my lady.” His kissed the tip of her nose. “First of all, I do all of the touching.” He covered her protest with his hand. “I’ve needed you too long; I won’t last if you touch me. For the rest of our lives, you can touch me all you want, whenever you want, but not this first time.”
He waited until she nodded her acquiesce and then removed his hand, sliding it downward between her breasts, before letting it come to rest on her hip. “Second, it may be painful. You’re very small, and I’m fairly large.” He bit back a smile at her choked laugh. “But I’ll pleasure you, my love. I promise you that.”
“I know you will,” she said, loving him even more for his reverent approach to her first time.
“And last but not least, I love you, my wife.” He rested his forehead against hers. “With every fiber of my being, I adore you. I intend to cherish you and worship you forever.” He brushed kisses against her mouth. Slow, sweet kisses that skillfully stoked her ardor. “I thank you for becoming my wife.”
“Oh, Lucien,” she sighed, and tugged his mouth back down to hers.
With a chastising murmur Lucien disengaged her hands from behind his neck and laced their fingers together. He concentrated long moments on exploring her mouth, his kisses lazy and drugging, until she writhed against him, begging for his touch.
“Please . . .”
He smiled, and her heart stopped.
His mouth moved to the slim column of her throat, licking and nipping the sensitive skin. He began to undulate his body against hers, slow, sinuous movements of his powerful frame, awakening every nerve, making her moan with the torment. Lucien made love to her with his mouth, with his hands, with the gentle friction of his body, murmuring praise and encouragement so sweet she wanted to cry.
“These, my love, are perfection.” He lavished long licks of his tongue across her nipples and then blew on them, grinning as they puckered. “There is no greater pleasure than having these in my mouth.” Bending his head, he suckled her, the rhythmic tugging pulling at places deep inside, driving her to madness. She began to writhe, yanking at his hands, needing to touch him. Burning, aching, her skin was too hot . . . too tight . . .
“Darling,” she pleaded. But he wouldn’t cease, wouldn’t release her.
Julienne could feel the pull of his mouth everywhere, the sensation making her squirm as her arousal pooled between her legs. She begged him to hurry, desperate to hold him, kiss him, but Lucien paid her no heed as his mouth teased across her stomach with wet, openmouthed kisses. Moving lower, he spread her thighs wide with the broad expanse of his shoulders. She moaned in relief as his tongue finally delved between her legs.
“Yes,” she cried hoarsely, her hips lifting, pressing into his mouth, as her nails dug into the backs of his hands.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured passionately, before he thrust his tongue into her, groaning his pleasure. Julienne moved with him, arching and twisting. He worked urgently, building her desire quickly, brutally, until finally she felt the first clenches of her orgasm. Her back arched, her body tensed . . .
Lucien pulled away quickly.
“Damn you!” she cried, her eyes squeezed shut as her body trembled with the force of her need.
He laughed softly. “Now is that any way to speak to your husband?”
She opened her eyes as he covered her with his body. “I need you badly,” she whispered. “I’ll die if you don’t take me.” Her entire body shuddered, poised on the brink of release and denied.
“I love you,” he breathed. And then he was there, the hot tip of him just inside her, stretching her, warning her of what was to come.
Julienne opened her legs wide, her hips arching impatiently, and without further ado he thrust inside, deep and deeper still, until there was no farther he could go. Then he clenched his buttocks and went farther still, filling her, until there was no doubt she belonged to him.
Her breath held in wonder, she felt little of the pain she expected. She merely felt full and hot, her skin covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, her body throbbing around the hard cock that filled her.
Sweat dripped from his brow onto her breasts. Lucien clenched his teeth as he pulled out, despite her protests, and pressed forward again. He rocked his hips against her thighs, slowly working in and out, loosening her.
“Jesus, Julienne,” he gasped. “You feel so good . . .”
She shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and he cursed. Startled, she stilled, and he positioned her as he wanted, lifting her leg, opening her, and then he withdrew, only to return with a powerful lunge that made her cry out.
There was no more gentleness after that; Lucien simply wasn’t capable of it. As he pounded into her, pinning her hips when she struggled beneath him, Julienne realized why he’d taken such care to arouse her. He’d known, as only an expert lover could, that he would not be able to coddle her through this. He needed her too desperately, had reined in his appetites for too long. Moaning, sobbing, she could only follow his lead, holding still for his pleasure as he stroked his cock deeply within her, almost animalistic in his frenzy.
And it felt so good, she thought she would die of it.
“You’re mine,” Lucien growled, and he gloried in the knowledge. From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d wanted her just like this. Beneath him, filled with him, completely his in every way.
He plunged into her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming pleasure of it. She was so hot, so tight, writhing beneath him, mewling, and sobbing his name in a way that made it impossible to slow down or show her a moment’s consideration. But she wasn’t frightened or timid. Not his sweet Julienne. Her hips met him thrust for thrust, her cream so plentiful his cock was bathed in it, scalded by it.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. He thrust faster, harder, until he was pistoning into her, shoving her up the bed.
And then she tensed, her back bowing beneath him, her cunt gripping him so tightly it slowed his fevered pace. Her eyes flew open and locked with his. “I love you!” she gasped, and then she came, her orgasm milking his cock, luring his seed, until he spilled into her, flooding her, branding her in a way far more primitive than the ring she wore. He threw back his head and growled her name, certain he had never felt such joy in his life.
When he could move again, Lucien rolled, taking his wife with him, draping her limp, sated form over his body. His hands stroked her back, stilling her trembling. He murmured his love, his longing, told her all the things he’d never thought he’d have the opportunity to say. How he loved the smell of her hair and the beauty of her smiles. How he’d dreamed of her and wanted her with a soul-deep desire. How he’d give her the world, because she gave up the one she knew to be with him . . .
“Darling?” Her voice was a breathless whisper that made his cock swell, the sound of a woman well-pleasured.
Lucien smiled at her endearment, pure contentment pumping through his veins. Had he almost given this up? He thought of the infernal list of marriage prospects and acknowledged what a fool he was. Thank God, Julienne had never given up on him. “Yes, my love?”
He was hard again, the sensual heat of her body over his making him lustful. But Julienne was likely sore and tired. He could wait. She belonged to him now. He had a lifetime ahead with her. A lifetime to love her.
She raised her head from his chest, and her mouth curved seductively. “You’re so sweet, my love, with your beautiful words. I would never have guessed you could be so romantic.” Her hand brushed his sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. “But if you don’t mind, could you tell me how much you love me later, and just show me instead?”
With a delighted laugh, Lucien did not hesitate to oblige her.
Her Mad Grace
Chapter One
Derbyshire, December 1814
Rotting.
To Hugh La Coeur’s mind, that was the most apt description for the moldering mansion on the hill. Usually the bright white of newly fallen snow brought a peaceful serenity to the landscape. Not so with this property. Even the pristine beauty of winter could not hide the neglect apparent in everything about the place.
He hesitated for a moment, taking in the view with a disgusted snort. Ominous clouds roiled above him, but the sky was darkening for another reason—the day was ending. Thoughts of returning the way he’d come, through the snow and without light, forced Hugh to proceed. If his need were less dire, he’d ride on in search of a more hospitable-looking home. But he was desperate, and the curling smoke rising from the manor’s chimneys told him the place was inhabited. Help was at hand, and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he desired to.
He tied his mount, one of his prized carriage bays, to the metal ring protruding from a nearby stone pillar. At one time the pillar had held up the park gate, but not any longer. One side of the gate remained upright, while the other leaned precariously atop the frozen ground.
“Atrocious,” Hugh muttered to his horse, as he edged his way through the opening and started the long walk up the drive to the main house.
He glanced around with morbid fascination. It was easy to imagine how beautiful the property must have been once, a source of pride for its noble occupants. But fate had dealt a cruel blow to the peer and family who owned the place. It had obviously gone without maintenance for many years. Vines, long dead, crawled over the brick exterior. Places where paint had once brightened the façade now peeled and warped from lack of care.
The wind picked up, and soft, powdery snow began to swirl around Hugh’s polished Hessians. His hair blew across his forehead, his hat long lost in a ditch. The storm would be upon them soon. His legs lengthened their strides. He would have to hurry.
Reaching the door, Hugh banged the tarnished lion-head knocker. The sound echoed eerily, and he shook off the shivers. He was an earl, for Christ’s sake! The esteemed, if slightly scandalous, Earl of Montrose, an ancient title that carried a wealth of prestige. His station should place him above such childish fears. But frankly, the place looked haunted, and the forgotten air that surrounded the hall filled him with foreboding.
