He considered her. “You’re unfashionably direct.”
“And you’re unfashionably honest and surprisingly self-aware, for a peer.” She tilted her head. “I expected you to deny my charge, or to throw me out for my impertinence.”
“Then why risk saying it?”
“Because I’m unfashionably direct,” she admitted, her eyes twinkling.
“And surprisingly honest and self-aware,” he added dryly.
“See?” She pretended to place a crown atop her head. “We’ve so much in common, we’re practically indistinguishable.”
“I’m not as pretty in a dress.”
“Am I pretty?”
“You know you are.”
“I know I am tosomepeople,” she corrected. “Andyouknow I am not pleasing to all.”
“I suspect you’re beautiful to anyone who has ever seen you,” he said. “Whether they can put up with your pert mouth and your impudent tongue, on the other hand—”
“Hurry it along, Lambley!” called one of the revelers. “I’ve got ten quid on you kissing her before midnight, not jawing the poor girl to sleep!”
Miss Thorne looked startled. “They’re not...reallywagering on...”
Julian could not allow his revelers to see him treating Miss Thorne differently than any other woman. They might think it meant she affected him in some way. That she threw him off balance. Julian was never off balance. He was in control of himself and this moment, and would give his guests the performance they expected and desired.
“I don’t jaw,” Julian informed his audience coldly. “I am a man of few words... and stealing high-stakes kisses.”
He pulled Miss Thorne into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she stammered. But she did not resist. Her hands on his upper arms clutched him tight, rather than pull away.
“Pleasing the crowd.” He lowered his lips to a mere breath above hers. “May I kiss you, Lady X, for the sake of theatre?”
“Only for theatre’s sake,” she repeated, the words breathless. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking I—”
He covered her mouth with his.
Her tongue found his at once. His hands followed the curve of her spine to the small of her back and pressed her closer to him. Her hands twisted in his hair, destroying his perfectly starched high collar. He had never cared less about being fashionable than in that moment.
The crowd cheered. Glasses clinked. The wager was won.
Julian did not pull his lips from Miss Thorne’s. He could barely hear the crowd over the thundering of his heart. All he could feel was satin over soft curves.Boundcurves that he wished to unbind.
All he could smell was the faint almond-and-vanilla scent of her hair. All he could taste was the champagne on her tongue. All he wanted was to scoop her up into his arms and charge up the stairs to the closest bedchamber, whereupon he would finally find—
Control. He was out of control. His heart was beating wildly, his thoughts in disarray, and he had completely forgotten whatever point he’d thought he was trying to make.
He broke the kiss at once, snapping his spine to a kingly height in order to gaze coolly at the crowd.
“To Lambley and Lady X!” they cried, raising their bubbling champagne glasses high until the ballroom itself glittered like a chandelier.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Julian said, and descended his royal steps to melt into the crowd without risking any more kisses.
He wanted to stop. To turn and look at Miss Thorne. To run back up the steps and toss her over his shoulder without slowing until they were naked and sweating.
Buthewas in control, not his libido. Besides, Miss Thorne was not a duchess candidate. If she tempted him to forget himself, he should stay clear of casual dalliances as well.
