Page 49 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
James was silent for long moments before he spoke. “Neither have I, Wildflower. Why must it be denied?”
She felt light-headed, off balance. “Denial and restraint are a part of…living.”
“What is the purpose of this restraint?”
“To protect oneself from consequences that might be too hard to bear,” Jules said hoarsely.
He faltered into stillness before stepping back. “Perhaps in this, you are correct. I bid you goodnight, Wildflower.”
This time he whirled and went inside his room without hesitation. She wilted at the closing of his door and tipped her head to the ceiling.What just happened?Surely it could not—
The opening of his door careened her thoughts.
“Given the primal urges and temptation beating at me, it is best I do not smell you behind that door again, Wildflower.”
She swallowed. “I will remove myself from it.”
He closed the door without replying. Jules smiled, at a loss as to why she did. Wrenching open her door, she spilled inside the bedchamber, hurried to the bed and under the covers, and promptly fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
James closed the book he’d been reading for the past few hours, an annoyed grunt leaving him and echoing in his bedchamber. Leaning over, he set aside his copy ofProgress and Povertyby Henry George, an American author whose work had even reached England’s shore, on the desk beside his bed. It was just one more book added to the stack he read this week.
James had always been an avid reader, and he’d devoured many books upon his return, keen to understand the societal and political changes he had missed. He could not show himself to be ignorant of the laws and state of society when he entered Parliament at the next sitting. Some might challenge his stance and any motions he would support simply because of the fact he had been missing and had not received any formal education by attending Cambridge like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.
Concentrating was proving to be difficult, and James knew the source of his current distraction—Jules Southby. That inexplicable sensation rattled inside his chest, and he closed his eyes against the memory that had been his constant companion. The feel of the wildflower’s mouth was still imprinted upon his, the sweet taste of her still an indescribable wonder on James’s tongue. Three days had passed since he took her mouth in that carnal kiss. Three damnable days of a hunger unlike anything he had ever known. Nothing replaced that taste, not even eating or drinking several glasses of brandy each night before retiring. James drank the bitterest coffee, the harshest liquor, and even sweetened his tea deplorably. Her taste had become a part of him and would not leave.
Yet this damnable craving did not stop at her flavor. There had been a time James felt such intense need for physical contact it had petrified him, for there had been no one he could touch or receive it from in return. His survival instinct had killed the desire for that contact, and even though somewhere inside of him he wanted to be touched, there was another part that preferred the exile of the desire which he had forced upon himself from necessity. Yet now he wanted Jules to touch him…and he wanted to touch her in return.
James hissed at the needs pummeling his body and with an irritated grunt, he pushed the covers from himself and tugged on his trousers. James padded barefoot from his chambers, down the winding hallway of the west wing, and outside into the bracing cold. The chill of the night wrapped around him like a soothing blanket. The feel of the grass brushed the soles of his bare feet as he walked across the lawns toward the edge of the wood. He would sleep in his house in the forest tonight.
But first…
James plucked a few leaves from a bush and tossed them into his mouth. He would eradicate her taste so he could damn well concentrate on what was necessary.
“Good heavens. You are eatinggrass,” a choked voice said from behind him.
He closed his eyes and slapped a hand over his forehead, as if that small sting would spare him from the need crackling through his veins. She drifted closer, her scent floating before her like a siren’s call.
“Why are you here, Wildflower?”
“Well…I could hear you pacing in your room like a caged animal…and when you left, I followed,” she said with an unapologetic air. “I was concerned. Why are you eating grass?”
James turned slowly to face her. He raked his eyes over the gentleman’s suit of clothes she was wearing. She had discarded her cravat and her white linen shirt was undone at the throat, although only the top button had been opened. Her coat and trousers were dark gray with a faint pinstripe and her waistcoat almost black in a stiffer cloth than most men wore. James suspected it helped prevent any shadows in the cloth revealing her form beneath, noting that the curves he had felt against his body were not distinguishable in any way. Southby truly had the appearance of a slim, refined gentleman. “Youheardme pacing?”
Those lovely green eyes widened, and a sheepish smile touched her mouth. “My room is connected to yours, Your Grace.”
For a moment he heard nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat like a war drum within his ears. “You are beyond the connecting door in my chambers.”
“Yes.”
“A few nights ago, you were across the hallway.” And a mouthwatering temptation he’d wanted to ruthlessly devour.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, but a slight pink dusted her cheekbones. “I thought it best to be closer.”
“I did not smell you.” Impossible, given how much she had occupied his thoughts.
Her eyes gleamed with laughter. “I thought I was rather clever to put several vases of flowers in the room, and also sprinkle the chamber with lavender oil. I believe it worked.”
