"Good heavens!"
Lucien waited for her to put the pieces together. It took only a moment.
"Remington. Your mother is Amanda Remington? The famous demimondaine?"
He nodded, and wondered if Julienne would think less of him now that she knew he was the bastard son of a prostitute. A very wealthy, extremely discriminating, and, for the last thirty years, monogamous prostitute, but a one-time whore nevertheless. It was common knowledge. The fact that Julienne knew nothing of it proved once again how far removed their existences were from one another.
"How romantic," she sighed, and Lucien almost fell off the chaise. "You're a love child! How lucky you are."
He stared at her, agape.
With gentle fingertips, Julienne urged his mouth closed. "Your blood is almost as blue as mine, Lucien. No wonder you carry yourself with such pride."
"Are you quite mad?"
"Beg your pardon?"
He shook his head. It was almost as if she didn't see his tarnish. Or perhaps she didn't care… The possibility made his heart race, a tiny flame of hope sparking to life within him.
"Julienne, every moment I spend with you brings you closer to ruin. Why don't you see that? I'm a hedonistic, self-centered bastard who has taken liberties with you that deserve to get me drawn and quartered. Beheaded. Hanged. Shot. Run through—"
" Fine," she said sharply, pulling her hand from his and straightening her spine.
"Fine?"
"Yes. Fine. You are a horrible, wretched excuse for a man. Is that what you want me to say? Do you feel better?" She lifted the folder and opened it. "I will choose a husband posthaste so you will have no further need to seek me out."
Julienne looked briefly at the column of names, then snapped the folder shut.
"The Marquess of Fontaine, it is."
Lucien's hands clenched right along with his jaw. He was ashamed by how badly her words cut him when it was his own ill humor that had goaded her into saying them. Stung, he spoke rudely.
"Fontaine will never be faithful to you. He's just like me. He'll bed anything in a skirt."
"I know." Her voice held no censure, no sadness.
Her ready acceptance of another man, one who didn't deserve her any more than he did, infuriated Lucien.
"That doesn't disturb you?" he bit out.
"Certainly I wish things could be different," she admitted, her fingers fidgeting with the file. "But it's a common arrangement, Lucien. You are lucky to have two parents who care deeply for each other. They've been together for many years, have they not? Your mother and the duke?"
So, she knew who his father was. "Yes, almost two-score years now."
"A lifetime of happiness. Some of us will have only fleeting moments of it. Your birth is nothing to be ashamed of. You have choices, many paths you can take.
Some of us have only one."
"And what of your happiness?" he asked harshly.
Julienne's smile was brittle. "I am one of those born with only one choice."
Lucien swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the folder. He recalled every name it contained, men who were considered his superior because their parents had married while his had not. He had more money than every one of them, more property, more affection for Julienne.
If she would give up her station for him, he would give her the world.
Words tumbled out of his mouth before he thought them through. "If you are so open to having a philandering husband, why not wed me?"
The file slipped from her hands, papers spilling out and spreading all over the floor. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the sheets together.
Lucien joined her, noting the shaking of her hands and her rapid breathing. He said nothing, startled by what he'd asked and afraid to say something that would affect her decision.
Long, torturous moments passed in silence.
"Aren't you going to answer?" he asked finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
"Beg your pardon?" She turned her head to look at him, her expression bemused.
"Bloody hell! I just asked you to marry me."
Her lashes lowered, shuttering her gaze. Julienne hesitated before choosing her words carefully. "While I admit to the need for haste, I'm not desperate. I have several excellent prospects. There is no need for you to make such a sacrifice."
Lucien stared blindly ahead. He'd never imagined proposing to anyone, but he also never imagined being refused. He felt ill. Maybe Marchant was right.
Perhaps he had caught the fever.
He set his hand atop hers, stilling its movement. "I realize I cannot compete socially with your other suitors, Julienne, but financially I can hold my own with any of them." He steeled himself inwardly and then bared his thoughts. "I want you in my bed. I need to be inside you so badly, I'm about to lose my mind, and I'm beginning to think one time won't be enough. It might take weeks, months, to rid myself of this craving. It doesn't matter how many women I take, and hell, I've had at least a dozen since—"
"Stop!" she cried, leaping to her feet. "I don't want to know."
Lucien straightened, staring at the top of her downcast head. "Julienne." His voice dropped seductively. "I'm extremely wealthy. I can help your brother, and I can give you everything Fontaine can, except for a title. Is a title so important to you?"
She lifted her chin, her gaze soft and liquid with tears. "No. A title does not matter to me, Lucien."
He reached out and captured her hand. "Then take me," he urged, sweat misting his skin. "I'll take care of everything. I'll take care of you."
"Oh, Lucien," Julienne breathed. "I cannot."
"Why?"
Her chin quivered. "Because I couldn't bear to share you if you were mine."
Lucien was stunned. "But you will tolerate a peer's indiscretions? I don't understand."
"I know." She sighed miserably. "We must forget this conversation. Your friendship is important to me, Lucien. I—"
" Friendship?" His hands tightened brutally on hers. She winced, but he couldn't make himself release her. "We are more than friends, Julienne. My fingers have been inside you. I've held your nak*d body against mine. You have taken my c*ck in your mouth—"
She covered his mouth with her hand. "Please, don't be angry. I would never take advantage of your desire by forcing you into marriage. You would be miserable tied down in such a way, which would, in turn, make me miserable. I can meet with you. We can arrange to—"
"You will f**k me," he snapped, "but not wed me?" He broke into a sweat, even though his heart was cold.
A tear rolled down her cheek, breaking him, and he fought back in self-defense.
"You act as if my background and social standing were of no consequence to you, but that's a lie, Julienne. You consider me beneath you. Not worthy of marriage. I'm good enough to fuck, but nothing more." Lucien dropped her hand and turned away. He didn't trust himself to touch her. He might do something completely idiotic—like drop to his knees and beg.
"That's not true!" she cried. "You know that's not true."
He shot her a furious glance, and the sight of her tore at him. Her lush mouth, which had loved his body so ardently the night before, was quivering, and she was struggling to hold back tears.
The damned thing was, so was he.
Without a word, Lucien strode through the open French, doors and out to the garden beyond. He heard Julienne calling his name, her voice choked and pleading, but he couldn't go back.
God, how he wanted her! His hands were shaking and his breath shuddering as Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
he mounted his horse in the mews. He was completely undone, knowing, as he pulled away from Julienne's home, that it would be the last time he ever spoke to her.
Chapter Seven
Julienne watched Lucien boldly, uncaring who saw her. After weeks of self-imposed exile, he'd reappeared in Society looking leaner and paler, the skin around his eyes shadowed. He didn't look well, but to Julienne he looked wonderful. Beautifully dressed in evening attire, he stood out from the crowd, his presence so compelling and so uncivilized despite his refined exterior.
Lucien must have felt her regard. He turned his head and met her gaze, his expression altering not at all upon seeing her. He turned back to his companion, a voluptuous and obviously smitten woman of the world. An experienced femme fatale, with flame-red hair and lips, who held his arm and rubbed her full br**sts against it, while Lucien sliced Julienne through the heart with the cut direct.
She reminded herself that she'd never had a claim to him. Even when he'd rashly offered marriage, Lucien had never agreed to be hers. But that didn't stop her from feeling as if she would cast up her accounts all over the ballroom floor.
"What are you contemplating, Lady Julienne?" Fontaine asked as he leaned over her.
"I'm thinking you should ask me to dance."
Her handsome suitor's mouth curved in a smile that caused other women to swoon, yet affected Julienne not at all. "Another dance?" he murmured. "How deliciously scandalous."
With consummate skill, he moved her from the edge of the dance floor and into Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
the line of waiting couples. As the music began and they moved with the other dancers, she watched Lucien lead the redhead to a deserted corner, his hand cupping the curve of her derriere. Dismayed, Julienne missed a step. Fontaine's arm tightened, supporting her, his quick response preventing any embarrassment for them.