red hot. Discarding the reed in the fireplace, he tilted back his head and blew out a thin stream of smoke.
“And there’s no point glaring at me,” Ethan remarked. “You know I’m right, and if you drink the rest of that bottle, you’ll only be angry with yourself when you wake up with a sore head come the morrow.”
“It’s my head. I’ll do with it as I please.”
But after one last defiant swallow, Rafe set down the glass on a nearby tray, leaving most of the whisky untouched.
Ethan strolled back and dropped down into his chair. “Besides, from what I hear you have an assignation tomorrow with a very tempting widow. I should imagine you’ll want to be at your best.”
This time Rafe really did glare. “I thought Hannibal had learned to keep his mouth closed by now. I see he and I will have to have another talk.”
“Don’t worry. He barely mentioned her and refused to give a name.” Ethan took another slow draw on his cigar. “You wouldn’t care to enlighten me as to her identity, would you?”
Rafe met the teasing amusement in his friend’s eyes and relaxed, knowing his and Julianna’s secret was safe and would go no farther than this room.
“No, I most certainly would not. And I’ll thank you to forget all about the lady.”
Vessey raised a golden brow. “My, she must be special for you to be so protective.”
Special? Yes, Julianna Hawthorne was that and so much more. Rafe’s body tightened at the thought of seeing her again, imagining how it would be to have her moving beneath him, her intoxicating scent a heady drug inside his brain, her taste warm and delicious as honey on his tongue.
Realizing where his musings were leading him, he stopped and forcibly shook off the fantasy. More than enough had been said about Julianna Hawthorne, for today and the future.
“So,” Rafe remarked, crossing to the fireplace to light his own cigar. “Tony has gone back to the country. Some difficulty at his estate, you said. How long will he be gone?”
Chapter Seven
R AFE WAS WAITING for her when she came through the door of the Queens Square house, greeting her with a kiss so devastating it sent her pulse skipping like a pebble across a placid lake.
Slowly, lingeringly, he eased away.
“Let’s get you out of that cloak and bonnet,” he murmured in a deep, silvery tone.
Without waiting for her agreement, he unfastened her mantle and swept it from her shoulders. Crossing, he draped the garment over the banister, obviously too impatient to bother hanging her cloak inside the closet this time. Next, he slid her hat free of her head, then set the velvet confection atop the carved newel-post finial, the headgear’s pretty emerald-hued ribbons dangling downward like streamers. She removed her gloves and passed them to him. Setting them aside, he enfolded her hand inside his own and led her forward.
Julianna shivered as she followed in his wake.
How similar everything seems today, and yet how vastly different, she mused.
On her first visit to this house, she’d been so afraid, convinced she would take no pleasure in an act she had always considered a duty, intrusive and rather demeaning by its very nature. Her stomach had churned then with anxiety, her devotion to her family the only thing that had held her to her pledge.
But today there was no fear and no thought of having to worry about promises, excitement the only sensation trembling inside her stomach, tingly as a hundred tiny butterfly wings. There was anticipation, too, jigging in her bloodstream like a lively hornpipe as her and Rafe’s shoes tapped out a duel rhythm against the wooden stairs before whispering across the thick wool of the Turkey carpet hall runners. Together they entered the sitting room, fragrant spice and earthy sweetness drifting on the air.
She inhaled, then smiled. Hot mulled wine.
Apparently Rafe had been busy, she thought, noticing a small copper pitcher that rested on the fireplace hearth so its contents
“And there’s no point glaring at me,” Ethan remarked. “You know I’m right, and if you drink the rest of that bottle, you’ll only be angry with yourself when you wake up with a sore head come the morrow.”
“It’s my head. I’ll do with it as I please.”
But after one last defiant swallow, Rafe set down the glass on a nearby tray, leaving most of the whisky untouched.
Ethan strolled back and dropped down into his chair. “Besides, from what I hear you have an assignation tomorrow with a very tempting widow. I should imagine you’ll want to be at your best.”
This time Rafe really did glare. “I thought Hannibal had learned to keep his mouth closed by now. I see he and I will have to have another talk.”
“Don’t worry. He barely mentioned her and refused to give a name.” Ethan took another slow draw on his cigar. “You wouldn’t care to enlighten me as to her identity, would you?”
Rafe met the teasing amusement in his friend’s eyes and relaxed, knowing his and Julianna’s secret was safe and would go no farther than this room.
“No, I most certainly would not. And I’ll thank you to forget all about the lady.”
Vessey raised a golden brow. “My, she must be special for you to be so protective.”
Special? Yes, Julianna Hawthorne was that and so much more. Rafe’s body tightened at the thought of seeing her again, imagining how it would be to have her moving beneath him, her intoxicating scent a heady drug inside his brain, her taste warm and delicious as honey on his tongue.
Realizing where his musings were leading him, he stopped and forcibly shook off the fantasy. More than enough had been said about Julianna Hawthorne, for today and the future.
“So,” Rafe remarked, crossing to the fireplace to light his own cigar. “Tony has gone back to the country. Some difficulty at his estate, you said. How long will he be gone?”
Chapter Seven
R AFE WAS WAITING for her when she came through the door of the Queens Square house, greeting her with a kiss so devastating it sent her pulse skipping like a pebble across a placid lake.
Slowly, lingeringly, he eased away.
“Let’s get you out of that cloak and bonnet,” he murmured in a deep, silvery tone.
Without waiting for her agreement, he unfastened her mantle and swept it from her shoulders. Crossing, he draped the garment over the banister, obviously too impatient to bother hanging her cloak inside the closet this time. Next, he slid her hat free of her head, then set the velvet confection atop the carved newel-post finial, the headgear’s pretty emerald-hued ribbons dangling downward like streamers. She removed her gloves and passed them to him. Setting them aside, he enfolded her hand inside his own and led her forward.
Julianna shivered as she followed in his wake.
How similar everything seems today, and yet how vastly different, she mused.
On her first visit to this house, she’d been so afraid, convinced she would take no pleasure in an act she had always considered a duty, intrusive and rather demeaning by its very nature. Her stomach had churned then with anxiety, her devotion to her family the only thing that had held her to her pledge.
But today there was no fear and no thought of having to worry about promises, excitement the only sensation trembling inside her stomach, tingly as a hundred tiny butterfly wings. There was anticipation, too, jigging in her bloodstream like a lively hornpipe as her and Rafe’s shoes tapped out a duel rhythm against the wooden stairs before whispering across the thick wool of the Turkey carpet hall runners. Together they entered the sitting room, fragrant spice and earthy sweetness drifting on the air.
She inhaled, then smiled. Hot mulled wine.
Apparently Rafe had been busy, she thought, noticing a small copper pitcher that rested on the fireplace hearth so its contents
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