“Let me make one thing clear,” I said, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward, pinning her with my eyes. “I am indeed a dangerous man. I am in no way safe. But I belong to Ivy Leavold as much as she belongs to me, and I will never, ever let any harm come to her.”
Esther swallowed, and I relaxed a bit, knowing the effect my direct stare often had on people.
“I didn’t kill Violet,” I repeated. “And while propriety and personal inclination force me not to name the circumstances, Ivy is aware of my alibi for that night and is satisfied of my innocence.”
“I see,” Esther said slowly.
I appraised her dispassionately, how her breathing had grown rapid and how she seemed unable to take her eyes off me. She responded to me in the way that Ivy had responded to me the first night I met her. She’s one of us, I thought. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Hell if I’d be the one to bring her into the fold—there was only one woman who could satisfy me now. But it may prove useful in winning back Ivy. Maybe she should come to the Baron’s party after all. The Baron himself was quite a fan of breaking in the newly converted—or those who didn’t even know they were converted yet.
“Miss Ivy Leavold,” a servant announced, startling Esther. I stood, turning, and as always, feeling my breath catch. Christ, this woman was beautiful.
She wore a blue dress—some pale color that set off her rich skin and glossy dark hair. That hair was bound up high, exposing the long elegant neck that I so loved to kiss, revealing the curve of her shoulders. For a moment, I lost myself in remembering what it felt like to push those shoulders down until she was kneeling in front of me. What it felt like to slide my cock past those soft lips…
I forced myself away from those perfect memories and stepped forward to kiss her hand. I didn’t let my lips linger on her skin, but from the shiver that passed through her at my touch, I knew I didn’t need to. I straightened and looked her in the eye. “Wildcat,” I whispered.
A wistful smile ghosted across her lips. “Julian,” she murmured.
God, what she did to me when she called me that. She had no idea, I knew. But she was the only woman who’d ever called me by my name—the only woman I’d ever allowed to call me by name. To other women, I had always been Mr. Markham or Jules or any other number of variations—all of which I encouraged. Let them think that informality and nicknames let them claim some sort of familiarity with me. They were wrong. But to me, there was something so intimate about hearing my Christian name from Ivy’s lips. Like she knew me. The real me. The real Julian.
Esther coughed politely and the moment dissolved.
“How about a stroll through Hyde Park?” I suggested, already reaching for Ivy’s hand again. “It’s a lovely day outside.”
Ivy quirked her head at me, that smile still tugging at her lips, and I knew she was wondering what I was doi
ng, what Julian Markham cared about taking a chaperoned walk through the park, why I was settling for chaste touches when we both knew that I’d rather have her on all fours panting in ecstasy.
It’s all for you, I wanted to tell her as I pressed my lips to her hand once more. Only for you.
The day was unseasonably warm and incredibly windy, the trees heavy with leaves about to turn, but I didn’t pay attention to anything other than Julian’s arm, ever so casually brushing against mine as we walked. Esther trailed behind us by several feet to give us privacy. I wasn’t sure what had transpired between her and Mr. Markham before I came downstairs, but Esther’s attitude toward Mr. Markham seemed quite altered. She had been very unhappy this morning when I told her that he would visit, but now…now she almost seemed to be encouraging us to spend time together.
“You look tired, Miss Leavold,” Mr. Markham said. “Are you feeling well?”
I looked up at him. His tie was knotted neatly around his neck and his face was freshly shaved. So different from the half-wild appearance he often had at Markham Hall. He was so perfectly handsome right now, but yet, I missed that wildness, I realized. This was how a man should look and should act when he was wooing a woman, but I wanted more. I craved more. I needed it.
And then I shook my head, trying to clear that thought away. No. Just because you need something doesn’t mean it’s right.
But I couldn’t keep myself from saying, “I am feeling better now that you’re with me.”
His eyes fairly smoldered then, and his hands twitched, as if he was holding himself back from something. From fucking me, probably, knowing him. The thought made me grin.
“I like seeing you smile, Ivy,” he said. “I wish I knew what was in that wild mind of yours.”
A gust of wind blew through the park before I could answer, blowing leaves off the branches, surrounding us in a miniature storm of emerald green. I stopped walking and closed my eyes, lifting my face to the sky.
I felt the kiss of the air on my face, the brush of leaves against my shoulders and arms, and I wished more than anything I was back in the forest behind Markham Hall. I wished I was fresh from splashing in the stream or gathering flowers.
I wished I was home.
And then there was the whisper of rough fingertips on my cheek. When I opened my eyes, I saw Mr. Markham staring at me, lips parted slightly.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “You have a leaf in your hair.”
I laughed, but his face remained completely serious as he reached up and gently tugged it from my hair. And rather than drop it on the ground, he slid it into the pocket inside his jacket, the one close to his heart.
“Are you keeping that?” I asked teasingly.
