Damn her! He cursed the day he’d set eyes on Julienne La Coeur. His hands clenched into fists as he struggled to control the shaking of his body and the torment in his mind.

And then suddenly his cock was drenched in moist heat. Instinctively he tried to back away, but Julienne’s hands gripped the cheeks of his ass and kept him still. He looked down, his eyes wide with stunned amazement, as she took more of his shaft into her delectable mouth.

In all of his life, with all of the women he’d been with, in all of the positions and places he’d been, Lucien had never seen anything as erotic as Julienne sucking his cock on her knees in the grass, her breasts spilling over the top of her gown, her lush form turned to silver in the moonlight.

Her attentions were unschooled, innocent, and all the more effective because of it. Her tongue swirled around the head, her mouth pulsing with a gentle suction, her fingertips kneading the clenching cheeks of his buttocks. She pulled her head back and then pushed forward again, her mouth stretched wide to accommodate his size.

Julienne rode his erection with heartening enthusiasm, making soft little humming noises as she sucked on him, and her enjoyment increased his a hundredfold. Unfamiliar with the act, she took him with shallow strokes, but the pleasure was still intense, brought on as much by her selfless giving as the burning that spread from his groin and coursed through his veins.

Lucien threw his head back and growled deep in his throat, his hands drifting into the golden curls at her nape, directing her rhythm, taking care not to completely disrupt the stylish arrangement of her hair. His hips pumped in an unconscious tempo, gently fucking her mouth, as his body sought the relief it could find only with Julienne. Her tongue dipped into the tiny hole at the tip of his cock, and his sac tightened, his shaft swelled. “Pull away, sweet,” he gasped. “I’m close . . . I can’t . . .”

Julienne ignored his direction and sucked him harder, driving him mad, until he came in an orgasm so intense he swayed on his feet, his seed flooding her mouth, pouring out the depth of his lust and longing. Lucien cried out her name, grateful she held his hips so he didn’t fall to his knees and crush her. Blood roared in a raging torrent through his veins, making his ears ring and his eyesight fade to blackness.

He had never come so hard in his life, his cock jerking until he was emptied.

When Julienne rose to her feet, wiping her mouth with the palm of her glove, her lovely face was alight with satisfaction. Trembling, Lucien leaned against her in a weary embrace, sated to his very soul.

Chapter Six

Julienne held Lucien tightly to her, bearing his weight as best she could, her heart light and filled with joy that she had given him such pleasure. She licked her lips, tasting him, and felt a surge of female triumph at her accomplishment. The sensation was heady. Unable to contain it, Julienne laughed with delight.

“You find this to be funny?” he asked, his husky voice tinged with wry amusement. “You will be the death of me.”

She grinned. “I made you happy.”

Lucien pulled back. His handsome face was flushed, misty with sweat, his beautiful eyes glazed with bliss. And she had made him look like that. She laughed again.

“Julienne.” His voice was gruff but tender. “You’re happy to have made me happy?”

She gave him a quick, fierce hug. “Of course.” Pulling away, Julienne began to rearrange her dress, restoring her appearance. She watched as Lucien righted his own clothing. When he tried to reach for her, she sidestepped with a giggle. “Oh, no.”

His mouth curved with a heart-stopping smile. “It’s your turn, sweet.”

She ran up the wide, grassy steps toward the manse, but he caught her easily and dipped his head for a kiss. Julienne savored the heady taste of him for a moment before pulling away.

“No, Lucien,” she scolded, even as her heart raced at the seductive promise in his eyes. “You mustn’t touch me again tonight. With your reputation, it would not be amiss for you to return to the ballroom looking as you do now, but if I were to return looking that way, it would be a disaster.”

He ran his hand down her arm, grinning as he saw her shiver. “I shall feel like a selfish cad, sweetheart, if you don’t allow me to pleasure you in return.” Lucien bent his head to nuzzle her neck, but she backed away with a chastising wag of her finger.

“Now you see how I felt the other evening when you refused my touch.” Julienne turned away and neatly avoided his grasping arms. “Remain in the garden for a few moments. I’m certain my aunt must be frantic by now. You may call on me tomorrow at two. Aunt Eugenia has an appointment, and she’ll be gone for hours.”

“Where shall I meet you?”

“Come through the mews. I’ll find you.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “You’re putting yourself at great risk to see me.”

“I know.”

Lucien was right, of course. But her reputation, so vital to the well-being of her family, stood no chance against her desire to steal whatever time she could with him. “But you’re quite impossible to resist.”

He grasped her elbow when she tried to move away. “You shouldn’t like me, Julienne. I’m not good for you.”

“Oh, Lucien.” She sighed. She brushed his damp hair back from his face and watched his eyes close with pleasure at her touch. How she adored him, this beautiful, wicked man, with his carefully hidden honor. “You act as if I have more control over this than you.”

She lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips to his with a soft moan. “Come tomorrow. Or not. The choice is yours.” Turning quickly, Julienne left him in the garden.

“You look . . . respectable,” Marchant said, with wide eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

Lucien ignored him. “Did you compile the list I requested?”

“Prospective suitors for Lady Julienne? Of course.” Marchant slid the file across the desk.

Scanning through it, Lucien grumbled, “Why is Fontaine at the top?”

Marchant arched a brow. “Besides being an extremely handsome marquess with seventeen estates, hundreds of servants, unlimited funds, and considered the catch of the Season by the entirety of the Beau Monde?”

Lucien snorted. “What about his personal life?”

“He’s a known womanizer, but he doesn’t gamble or drink to excess. I was unable to find any evidence of his siring any bastards.”

“And socially?”

“He maintains his seat in the Lords, and he’s held in high esteem by the peerage.”

Lucien dropped the folder. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, remembering the sight of Julienne kissing Fontaine.

From that recollection came unbidden images—Fontaine holding Julienne and caressing her luscious breasts. Fontaine riding between her thighs, plunging into the silken heat of her, as Lucien could not. Sick with jealousy, he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached.

Julienne was a lady to the core. Lucien knew he could do nothing but ruin her, nothing but cause her to be ostracized by her peers, shaming her, until her spirit was crushed and the affection in her eyes faded to bitter resentment.

“Mr. Remington? Are you feeling unwell? You look feverish.”

Lucien opened his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Perhaps you should rest a bit. You’ve been working too hard lately.”

Lucien stood and collected the folder. “No, I have an appointment.”

“With whom? I see nothing on your schedule.”

“It’s none of your damn business,” Lucien growled.

“Your attire . . .” Marchant glanced at the file in Lucien’s hand. “Tell me you don’t intend to call on Lady Julienne!”

For the first time, Lucien damned the high intelligence of his man-of-affairs.

But instead of censure, Marchant laughed. “Are you branching out into matchmaking, Lucien? Or do you hope to collect on Montrose’s debt through his brother-in-law?”

“Go to hell, Harold,” he growled.

Sobering, Marchant asked, “Are you quite certain you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course.”

“And what is it you’re doing?”

Lucien paused on the threshold of his office. “The honorable thing. For once.”

“Marriage prospects?” Julienne gaped at him, her dark eyes wide with disbelief.

Lucien clutched his hat in his hands. His throat was so tight, it was hard to swallow. Seeing Julienne’s golden beauty in daylight made him think of all the things they’d never be allowed to do together. They would never go for rides in the park or strolls down the street. They could never enjoy a picnic or even the simple act of tea. Hell, he’d had to use subterfuge merely to exchange a few words with her. The harsh reminder strengthened his resolve. He had to remove her from his reach before he destroyed her.

Lowering himself to the chaise, Lucien nodded. “I know your brother has deserted you, sweet. You must marry quickly, and I thought perhaps I could assist you with that endeavor.”

She set the folder on the seat between them, her eyes downcast, hiding her thoughts.

“Aren’t you even going to look at it?”

“Certainly.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “But you know far more about my circumstances than I do about yours. So, before I choose my future husband, I want to discover all there is to know about you.”

He scowled. The less she knew about him, the better. “I dislike discussing myself.”

“Why? I find you fascinating. Your deportment is faultless, your manners impeccable, your taste excellent. You’ve obviously had some schooling—”

“Didn’t you listen to Fontaine last night? I’m a mongrel, a blight on Society.”

“No, you are not,” she argued. “I’m sorry you overheard that.”

“It was nothing I haven’t heard before.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Although I thank you for defending my honor.”

The feel of her skin against his was heaven. And hell. He glanced down at their joined hands, hers so pale, so tiny and delicate. Lucien remembered the feel of those hands on his body, their gentle exploration belying her ravenous hunger for him. Knowing he would soon lose her touch forever made his heart ache.

Julienne bit her lower lip. “Why say such horrid things about you merely because you are in trade?”

“’Tis more than that, Julienne.” He was silent for a moment, wanting to hide the things she didn’t know. But the moment was intimate, her gaze tender, and he found himself sharing the things he discussed with no one. “I’m a bastard by birth.”

She didn’t even blink. “You have no control over such things!”

“It gets worse,” he said dryly, squeezing her hand in silent appreciation. “I am the product of a long-term affair between a courtesan and a nobleman.”

“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.