While Katrina had been contemplating what it would be like to be married to a man such as Lady Mary’s duke, the discussion had turned back to life in America. It was making her feel nostalgic for her friends back home. As Sarah was regaling them with tales of life in Washington, Katrina excused herself, to slip away for a few minutes to the ladies’ retiring room.
She was about ten feet from the end of the long hall when she almost walked directly into the last person she had any desire to see. It was that self-important Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s terrace, who appeared to be too proud to associate openly with an American.
She hadn’t been aware that he was in attendance, and he seemed just as surprised to see her. His green eyes widened momentarily with recognition, but as usual he said nothing—no greeting at all. Not one to be intimidated, Katrina looked directly at him and waited. Even without seeking an introduction it would be a great insult if he completely ignored her this time. Now she would see how high in the instep he really was.
This was the closest she’d been to him since the night they’d talked under the stars. He’d nodded acknowledgement to her one night at the theatre, but each time she’d seen him after that he had avoided making eye contact. A number of times she’d caught him staring at her, but he had always diverted his gaze so quickly, she’d been certain he must be giving himself a headache with each sudden shift of his eyes.
And now he was standing less than five feet in front of her, impeccably dressed in formal black evening attire, with candlelight shining on the chestnut waves of his hair.
Perhaps it was because they were so close, or maybe he had had too much to drink, but this time his gaze roamed over her body. The hallway was growing very warm, and she shook out her fan to cool her heated skin.
He gave her a polite nod. ‘Pardon me.’
That was it? That was all he would say?
It was quite obvious from his demeanour that he had no intention of saying more.
He must be great friends with Lady Mary’s duke.
They wouldn’t be able to continue down the hall unless one of them moved to the side. Katrina was tempted to take both her hands and push him over, but instead she inclined her head and swished around him, doing her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she’d got from hearing the rumble of his deep voice.
The next morning Julian could barely finish his paperwork. His attention kept drifting to the American. He’d been astonished at the sense of longing he’d felt when she had walked past him last night. While she hadn’t exactly given him the cut, her brief response to his apology for almost knocking into her for a second time had been anything but friendly. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the de Lievens’ ball. What could he possibly have done to warrant the daggers she had thrown at him with her eyes?
He was angry with this woman he didn’t even know for turning his life upside down. Thoughts of her popped into his mind at all hours of the day, and each time he saw her his body immediately snapped to attention. He hadn’t bedded Helena in weeks, and as of late his blood was only stirred by thoughts of the American. How could he get any work done?
He needed sex. His lack of release was playing havoc with his mind—that must be why he was so fixated on a woman he’d barely spoken to. He needed to see Helena.
Walking into the entrance hall of her townhouse, Julian handed her butler his hat and walking stick. The sound of footfalls on the wooden staircase caught his attention, and he watched Helena make her descent, her curves straining against a blood-red dressing gown. He should have felt like dragging her somewhere and bedding her for hours. He didn’t.
Perhaps it was because they were in a very public area of the house, with her butler not far away. Julian shifted his eyes to her drawing room door, giving her a wordless command. As they entered the sparsely furnished room Helena closed the door and locked it. She always had been good with discretion.
Before she could utter a word Julian pushed her up against the door and kissed her. He needed her to help him forget the American right now. But the kiss felt all wrong—awkward and unpleasant. He closed his eyes, willing his body to react. Her lavender scent filled his nose.
Why did it suddenly seem so overpowering and unappealing?
He pulled his head back and looked down at her inviting expression. She was one of the most beautiful women in England. Wasn’t she? He’d used to think so. His brow wrinkled as he studied her delicate features. The outline of her breasts was not even enticing him to undress her.
Helena slid her hand up his chest and combed her fingers through the hair by his temple. ‘We could retire to my bed.’
That would be the ideal place. However, he could barely kiss her, let alone bed her. He turned away from her eager expression and glanced towards the settee. ‘This room will suit our purposes.’ He placed distance between them and took a seat.
‘Would you care for some brandy?’ she asked.
His body was tied in knots of uncomfortable tension. If only he could relax... He nodded, and when she sat down he felt her right thigh push up against his left. He took a long draw from the glass. The warm liquid eased some of the tightness in his shoulders and he shifted his thigh so it was no longer pressing against her leg.
She sketched circles on his knee with her finger and avoided his eyes. ‘You are quieter than usual. Have I done something to displease you?’
‘No. I find I have much on my mind today.’ He forced himself to smile reassuringly. It was not her fault his body wasn’t co-operating. He took another drink.
‘What has brought you here? You’ve never called on me during the day.’
Unable to voice the real reason, he shrugged. ‘I needed to see you.’
That seemed to satisfy her, and she attempted to hold back a smile. ‘I see.’
She was giving him time to elaborate, but how could he? He had no idea why his body wasn’t responding to her. He kissed her again, more demandingly this time. In his mind he saw magnetic blue eyes and a warm smile—so he squeezed his eyelids tighter. He told himself that Helena could do amazing things with her mouth. It was no use. He wasn’t even remotely hard.
Julian released her and drained the contents of his glass. The burn washed away the taste of their kiss. This visit had been intended to cure him of the affliction brought on by the American. Instead it had made him want her more. He was out of ideas on what to do. He needed advice.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale swallow the remaining contents of his glass. When he was finished, the glass landed on the table with an audible thud.
He stood rather abruptly. ‘Pardon me, but I have matters I need to attend to today.’
Without giving her a chance to reply, he walked out of the room.
Picking up his discarded glass, she ran her tongue over the rim where his lips had been. He never called on her during the day. Surely this was the sign she had been looking for. She had finally caught him. This time all her plotting and planning would land her the title she so richly deserved. He might even have left to make arrangements about asking for her hand.
How she wished she could be there when her brother heard she would be the next Duchess of Lyonsdale! Her new title would trump his title of earl. Finally she would be above him. He and that puritanical wife of his would regret the day they had said they wanted nothing more to do with her when she had become obligated to marry Wentworth. They could beg all they wanted—they would never dine in Lyonsdale House!
She