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 naked body against mine. You have taken my cock 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 fuck 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 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 breasts 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 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.

“Thank you,” she said, with a grateful smile, swallowing back her misery.

Justin tilted his head in acknowledgment. “We rub along well together.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “We do.”

His gaze filled with satisfaction. Their nuptials were quickly becoming a foregone conclusion. Soon, very soon, Julienne would have to explain her brother’s plight. Raised an aristocrat, the same as she was, the present Marquess of Fontaine knew the workings of upper-tier marriages, and her situation, while pitiable, was fairly common. In fact, she was almost certain he already knew of her brother’s troubles.

When the reel ended, Justin escorted her back to Aunt Eugenia before departing for another event. Try as she might, and she did try, Julienne couldn’t stop herself from looking for Lucien. When she found him, she clasped a gloved hand over her mouth, containing a sob. Lucien was leaning over his red-haired lover, whispering in her ear and nuzzling her throat, the picture of rapturous attentiveness.

“Excuse me, Aunt Eugenia.” She turned away, her chest tight. “I have to sneeze.” She moved with haste toward the nearest hallway.

Afraid to go into the ladies’ retiring room and hazard running into other guests, Julienne made her way farther down the hall, where unlit tapers offered privacy. She slipped into the third closed door and shut it behind her. For a moment, she was blind in the darkness, but she stumbled her way to an open-sided chaise, where she threw herself down and began to cry in earnest. Arrested by grief, she didn’t hear the bolt slide home. When a large, ungloved hand covered her mouth, her eyes flew open in shock.

And clashed with Lucien’s furious gaze.

His intent was obvious as he covered her body with his own. Removing his hand, he replaced it with his lips, his wonderful scent overpowered by brandy, which filled her nostrils and flavored his kisses. Her heart raced and her chest ached as she struggled for air, her body coming to immediate arousal, needing him like it needed food and water.

Julienne tasted blood as her teeth cut the soft insides of her lips. He tasted it, too, and it seemed to inflame him, his ardor mounting until he took her mouth with savage intensity. A delicious shudder heated her body. Against her will, she arched upward into his cock, wanting him . . . needing him to fill the emptiness he’d left behind.

Lucien groaned at her response, his hands wandering possessively over her curves, the heat of his erection burning through her satin gown. His feet slipped between her own and then slid outward, forcing her legs as far apart as her dress would allow.

Where once there had been tender exploration and affection, there now was only pain and fury. Lucien’s hand gripped her breast convulsively, hurtfully, making her wince. Julienne’s hands moved off the chaise, sliding under his coat and waistcoat, tearing at his buttons in her desperation to get to his skin. Lucien yanked her skirts upward, ripping her stockings. The delicate threads of her gown popped, protesting his rough treatment. He lifted his mouth, and she gasped for air.

“You’ve ruined me.” His hands shook as they reached under her skirts. “I’ve been unable to bed another woman . . . since the last time I touched you.”

She smothered a sob, hating the thought that he’d even tried, and deeply, endlessly relieved that he’d failed.

“Julienne . . .”

“Go to your whore,” she cried, even as she held him tightly to her. Even as she prayed he wouldn’t.

“Damn you to hell!” he cursed, gripping her thigh with bruising strength. “You’re so willing to discard me.”

His fingers reached her sex, and he gave a tortured groan. “So wet, almost dripping. Can anyone else make you feel like this, Julienne? Or is this only for me?”

“Lucien—”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked hoarsely as he slid his fingers inside her.

She tried to pull away, but her traitorous body welcomed him with a rush of moisture. “I don’t want . . . y-your anger . . .”

“You want me,” he whispered savagely. “But you’ll send me to another’s bed.” His damp cheek pressed against hers, his hot breath burning across her ear. “That woman out there—she’s desperate for me, Julienne, as mad for me as you are, but she won’t turn me away. In an hour, I’ll be deep inside of her, and she’ll be screaming my name . . . while you rot in your virginal bed.”

“Bastard,” she sobbed, her hands fisting against his back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His mouth moved feverishly, pressing openmouthed kisses against her neck.

“Go to hell!”

“Ah, sweet,” he murmured, his velvety voice filling with sadness, his thrusting fingers never ceasing their torment. “You can’t say it, can you? You crave me too much.”

Julienne moaned as the pleasure built, Lucien’s fingers slipping easily through the cream that flowed from her, pumping faster and faster, making her writhe with the need for more than just this.

“Does it feel good, my love?” He pressed his damp forehead to hers. “Your cunt is so drenched, so hot and tight. I could fuck you properly, Julienne. Ram my cock in you until you scream with pleasure. Would you like that?”

She pressed herself against him, her hips lifting to give him greater access. “Lucien . . .”

He ground his erection into her leg. “You’ll miss me when you’re married to your philandering marquess.” He nuzzled the side of her face. “But I’ll accommodate you when you want to be held like this . . . pleasured like this. Wear those trousers and come to my club.”

“I hate you for this,” she sobbed. And she hated herself for loving him anyway.

“Show me how much you hate me, Julienne. I want to feel it when you come around my fingers.”

Lucien reached farther into her, stroking skillfully. And she climaxed on his command, a white hot, exploding orgasm that had her moaning his name. He swallowed her pleasured cries in his mouth, groaning along with her, holding her shuddering body tightly against him.

When it was over, Julienne gasped for air and strengthened her resolve. Before Lucien could pull away, she bucked upward, forcing his fingers from her and throwing him to the floor. She was atop him in an instant, straddling his thighs and shoving his palms under her knees, using the weight of her body to pin his hands to the floor. She drew off her long gloves and tore open the placket of his breeches.

He growled. “What are you doing?”

Staring down at his handsome features, Julienne watched the play of emotions that burned in his gaze. Her hands pulled his cock free and gripped him firmly. Her smile was feral.

“You won’t have anything left for that woman by the time I’m done with you, Lucien Remington.” She bent forward and licked his bottom lip, savoring his taste. Her hands slid along the hot length of his shaft, loving the feel of him. “I’m going to wring you dry.”

“I could throw you off easily,” he threatened.

“Ah, but you won’t.” Her thumbs drifted over the engorged head, feeling the slickness of his seed everywhere. “You crave me too much.”