Hadn’t he helped her father and his studies enough? Studies Radcliff had financially supported for many, many years because he’d always believed in providing humanity an understanding of what he knew they all were—animals. He simply hadn’t been prepared for what had been discovered.
In chronicling the breeding habits of over a hundred South African mammals, the earl had consistently found correlations between animal and human courtships, providing proof that relationships did exist beyond that of a mere man and a woman, that a physical bond could also exist between a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, as it did in nature.
The work was fascinating, but far too dangerous and liberal for England. Which is why Radcliff had pried a promise from the earl not to publish any of those observations until all the buggery laws had been changed.
A year later, Radcliff was left with half a face and a brother who would forever hate him, but one thing had remained a constant in his life. Justine’s endearing weekly letters. Though he had refused to respond to any of them, lest he encourage her or his obsession, she had continued to write, keeping him sane during those months of seclusion.
Then the damn earl had published his observations and forced his own daughter to make an offer that had crushed the last of Radcliff’s will to stay away. For if her letters could offer him sanity in his darkest of hours, he could only imagine what she could offer him as a wife.
Justine icily stared him down. “You aren’t even listening to me, are you? Nor do you seem to care.”
He shrugged. “I care.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and went on talking as if he were fully clothed. “Even your own brother has graciously offered to call upon His Majesty about this injustice. Can you not do the same?”
Radcliff narrowed his gaze. His brother knew nothing about graciousness or compassion. He didn’t know what Carlton’s reasoning was for getting involved in Justine’s plight, but Radcliff was certain it had nothing to do with common decency. To be sure, there was only going to be one captain sailing this ship, and it most certainly wasn’t going to be Carlton.
Not giving a damn if Justine altogether fainted, Radcliff whipped the trousers away from his lower half, sending them rustling toward her, and spread his arms wide. “Perhaps I ought to call upon His Majesty at this very moment. As I am. Naked and fully aroused by your presence! Would that by any means please you?”
A gasp escaped her lips as her gaze flicked over his erection. Her face instantly bloomed with as much color as a British flag. She popped up a sooty hand, shielding her eyes, and further turned her head to the side, as if the hand simply wasn’t enough. “For heaven’s sake, I am attempting to have a civilized conversation with you.”
He snorted and waved a hand toward her. “You haven’t even been in London long enough to know the meaning of being civilized. Hell, your father seems to think he can publish books that insult our ways, our laws and our King without consequence, whilst you seem to think you can storm into my home, uninvited, and intimidate me with African tribal airs. Let me assure you, I am not a man who can be intimidated. There was a reason I did not want to see you before the wedding. If it isn’t already obvious to you, I have a lack of self-control.”
“So be it.” Still hiding behind a hand, she frantically kicked his trousers away from her feet, sending them flying back toward him. “Regardless, I cannot take this conversation seriously with your member fully exposed.”
Radcliff snatched up his trousers and violently yanked them on. Buttoning the front flap into place, he adjusted his erection, then gestured toward the tub. “I suggest you wash your face before you leave. You look like a native with all that gunpowder.”
“Hah. I doubt you even know what a native looks like.” Nonetheless, she set her chin and marched straight for the tub. Glancing back toward him every now and then, as if to ensure he kept his distance, she dipped her sooty hands into the water and scrubbed at her face. The backside of her skirts and her bum hidden beneath wagged enticingly at him.
Radcliff swallowed, trying not to envision what those buttocks and legs looked like beneath the fabric of her gown. Or what they would feel like against his roaming hands. He folded his arms shakily over his bare chest.
“There.” Justine patted the sides of her dampened curls, sighed and turned back toward him. Lightly freckled, her smooth skin now glistened freshly. The powder had vanished, exposing a delicate nose, arched brows and the striking hazel eyes he’d never been immune to.
By God. She was even more alluring than he remembered. To wait a whole week was going to be merciless torture. Because what he really wanted to do was—
Radcliff clenched his jaw and dug his fingers deep into his rigid biceps. He knew better. Lingering on his need would only allow his hedonistic side to fester. He had to prove to himself before he wed that he’d mastered his obsession.
Tightening his crossed arms against his bare chest, he tried to set whatever physical barrier he could between them. “I cannot have you here. I cannot have you in my presence until we are husband and wife.”
She folded her arms over her full breasts, scattering a fair dusting of gunpowder, and continued to stand there before the tub. Clearly unwilling to cooperate.
He had to get rid of her before he ended up between her thighs. Radcliff strode toward her, closing the distance between them. “You leave me no choice.”
Her self-assured stance grew more uncertain as her eyes warily watched him approach. “I am not done with this conversation.”
“Yes, you are.” He grabbed hold of her corseted waist and yanked her up. Hard.
A shriek escaped her as she turned and fumbled to get away from his grasp. “I am not a carpet bag!”
Shoving his head beneath her flailing arms and cloak, he crushed her warm softness against him and scooped her up onto his bare shoulder, his fingers digging into her curved thighs hidden beneath.
He froze, his bare fingers lingering on her warmth and the soft feel of her gown. This was a mistake. A horrid mistake. In a torrent of solid blows, she hit his backside, making him even more aware of her body and his own. His hands gripped her more firmly, pressing her against his hard chest, even as she flailed. His cock pulsed against the wool of his trousers, taunting him to indulge. Taunting him to break his fast.
He sucked in a breath. No. He wasn’t ready for any of this. Yanking her off and down his shoulder, he dumped her slippered feet onto the floor and scrambled back.
Her eyes widened as her arms flailed for balance against the ledge of the tub.
Radcliff lunged to grab on to her, but she toppled backward, cloak, skirts, stockings, slippers and all, with a huge scream, and disappeared with a splash, causing the water to rise up from within the oval tub.
“Oh, damn. Justine—” He laughed, despite his own discomfort, and scrambled to yank her out of the tub by grabbing hold of her arms.
She sat up, pushing his arms away. “Do not touch me!”
He jumped back, shaking the water from his bare arms, his chest heaving and his heart pounding.
“Pfffff!” Strands of wet, long hair were unraveling from their pins and streaming around her face and shoulders. Well defined, full breasts rose and fell, the drenched, clinging material of her gown displaying each labored breath she took. “Why … you practically tossed me in!”
A shapely, pale limb, visible up to her rounded knee taunted him as she shifted, and her wet gown bunched up in the water, bubbling around her waist. Feeling his trousers clinging to a still solid cock, he hissed out a breath and desperately fought his need to spill seed.
He had to leave. Now.
Radcliff jogged straight into the bedchamber and slammed the door behind him, leaning