Page 60 of To Marry and to Meddle
“It would,” he said dryly, with a slight twist to his mouth that Emily didn’t understand. “The fact that Miss Congreave neglected to mention to you is that she wrote it.”
Emily’s jaw dropped.
“Miss Congreave is a playwright?”
“She seems to have ambitions, yes,” Julian said in exasperation. “Which would be all well and good, if they didn’t interfere with the job I actually hired her to do, which is tobe an actress.”
“But Julian!” Emily exclaimed, stepping out of his grasp. She began to pace, her mind racing, all thoughts of any amorous activities instantly having vanished. Julian sighed, then flung himself into one of the armchairs before the fire, reclining lazily with one leg draped over an arm of the chair.
“This is perfect,” she said, turning to face him. “Don’t you see? The fact that it’s a play about women,forwomen,writtenby a woman—it practically sells itself.”
“Towhom?” Julian asked incredulously. “Not to any gentlemen I know.”
“But you already have quite enough of those, don’t you see?” Emily asked eagerly. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t see the brilliance of this plan—he made so many of his decisions at the Belfry with such clear-eyed intelligence, and yet he seemed to have lost that ability of late. First,Much Ado About Heaven—about which Emily privately continued to have doubts—and now this.
Perhaps, she thought suddenly, it was time to turn to more underhanded means.
“I don’t want every drawing room in London to be full of ladies discussing how appalled and insulted they are—” Julian was saying, but Emily stopped listening. She reached out her foot to kick at his leg dangling over one arm of the chair, bringing it back down before him, his foot landing on the floor with a thud.
Julian broke off mid-sentence. “What—” He cleared his throatas he gazed up at her, and Emily realized that, lit as she was by the firelight behind her, her nightgown must be somewhat sheer at the moment. “What are you doing?”
“I am employing my feminine wiles,” she said—a bit primly, it was true, but she negated this by sliding down onto his lap and straddling him without further hesitation. “Is it working?” she asked, gazing down at him; she liked this angle, raised up slightly on her knees, as she’d never before had the advantage of height over him.
“See for yourself,” he murmured, reaching out both hands to seize her firmly by the waist and pull her down on top of him; she wiggled slightly, and he groaned.
“So,” she said, her breath coming a little more quickly as his hands began a path up her torso, “as you can see, ladies, in fact,dohave ways of exerting power over their husbands—”
“Mmm,” he murmured, one hand at her breast, leaning forward to place a kiss to her jawline. His other hand busied itself with the hem of her nightgown, tugging it upward.
“—so really, all you need to do is appeal to the ladies and they shall quickly take—” She broke off as he pulled her nightgown over her head, something within her going molten at the look in his eyes as he gazed at her, at the bare skin on display. His hand curved back around her waist, pulling her down for a long, heated kiss.
“You were saying?” he murmured against her mouth when they broke apart for air at last.
Emily inhaled deeply, her heart pounding in her chest, all of the sensation in her body seeming to have fled south and taken up residence in one particular spot between her legs.
“I—I don’t recall,” she said breathlessly.
“Excellent,” he said, lowering his head to her breast.
“But I will!” she said as firmly as she could manage, and could not help but experience a moment’s satisfaction when he let out a resigned sigh. This conversation was one she was determined to continue, even if she had become sidetracked for the moment.
But really, she thought, as his mouth touched her skin and one of his hands began a slow, deliberate path down her body, under the circumstances, who could blame her?
Eighteen
The next afternoon, instead ofheading to the theater, Julian took himself to his club.
It was not, in the past, an establishment he had frequented. He had never been ostracized, exactly—indeed, in something of a miracle, his membership had never been revoked—but he generally didn’t like to risk running into his father.
It was undeniably a good place to go if one wanted to run into acquaintances by happenstance, and so over the course of this year’s Season, he’d taken pains to visit more often, as he slowly tried to work his way back into this world. It was here, in fact, that he had happened to share a drink with Penvale one evening, which had led to his invitation to dinner at Penvale’s sister’s house, his entire involvement in the Audleys’ marital woes, and—ultimately—that fateful meeting with Emily.
Emily, who, at the moment, was occupying many of his thoughts.
Too many.
“Women,” he muttered aloud, only belatedly remembering that he wasn’t alone. He was slumped in a chair in the morning room at White’s, a glass of brandy in hand, Bridgeworth sitting in the chair opposite, looking annoyingly composed as he sipped his own drink. He’d been here when Julian arrived and hailed him, and they’d madefriendly enough conversation for a quarter hour before Julian lapsed into a moody silence.
“Ah,” said Bridgeworth, setting down his glass. “I wondered if that was what had you so despondent.”
