Lady Wicked (Notorious Ladies of London #4) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,3
of his Adam’s apple, where she had once dared to kiss him, called to her foolish lips.
Nothing could detract from Viscount Shelbourne’s allure. Nothing except for her self-respect. And the memories of how he had stolen her heart and then betrayed her.
Yes, there was that.
Her bitterness, pain, and loss had not diminished in the time she had been away in New York as she had expected them to. Her life had changed, and quite drastically. She had found happiness again, but the emotions she carried for Sidney—Shelbourne, she reminded herself sternly—had not worn smooth like river rocks. Instead, they remained sharp and jagged, capable of leaving scars.
“Are you quite through with your amusement?” she asked him coolly, pleased with herself for allowing nary a tremor into her voice.
She was sure there was no way he could detect her inner turmoil. Her time away from England had shown her how strong she was. She would not falter or surrender with ease.
He inhaled deeply, a smug, mocking smile curving the corners of his lips. “Depends, my lady.”
She hated the way he looked at her now. Initially, he had been indolent rather than cutting. She preferred the sauntering rakehell to the sharp-as-a-blade lord ready to wound.
Julianna struggled to maintain her sangfroid. “Upon what does your mirth depend, Lord Shelbourne?”
“Upon whether or not I am so drunk I misheard you. I thought you said you wanted to marry me. Ludicrous, is it not? Considering I offered to make you my wife two years ago. You were the one laughing then, were you not?”
Memories of that horrible day made her stomach churn. She tamped the recollections down, refusing to allow them to derail her from her tracks. “You heard me correctly. If you would cease laughing and allow me to explain—”
“No,” he interrupted.
His voice, like his gaze, was frigid. There was not a hint of amusement lingering in his visage or his tone.
“Please, Lord Shelbourne. What I am about to offer you is—”
“A jest, surely.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “The only offer I want from you involves you on your knees, sucking my cock.”
Scalding heat washed over her, and not all of it was embarrassment, much to her mortification. Some of it was desire, too. Because all the parts of her that could not be controlled still longed for this man. She always had, from the first moment she had seen him—her dear friend Lady Helena Davenport’s forbidden older brother. And she suspected it was likely she always would.
Damn him.
“If that is the offer you await, I am afraid to inform you that you are doomed to disappointment,” she told him, priding herself for her ability to remain where she stood, near enough to smell the familiar scent of him, mingled with wine and leather, and neither touching, kissing, nor slapping him.
All actions she wanted to take.
“Then I am afraid you are doomed to get the fuck out of my house,” he bit out, before turning away from her and striding to the door. “Wentworth! Where the hell is my wine? And an escort for my unwanted guest?”
His beleaguered butler appeared, bottle of wine in hand. “Here you are, my lord.”
The domestic was unflappable. And Shelbourne’s behavior unpardonable.
Moreover, more wine was the last thing the viscount needed. Julianna found herself hoping his current dissolute state was not a regular event. She had waited hours for him to arrive home, and it was likely three o’clock in the morning by now. But instead of going to bed, he was calling for more poison.
Shelbourne took the uncorked bottle from his butler, holding it by the neck, and raised it to his lips. Rudely, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth when he had finished taking a draught. “Get her out of here, Wentworth.”
The butler’s expression looked, for a fleeting moment, troubled. But then he did his duty and erased all emotion from his countenance. “Of course, my lord.”
Oh no he would not.
Julianna refused to leave until she was ready. Until she had said everything she needed to say. Her future depended upon it. Most importantly, Emily’s future depended upon it.
She pinned the butler with her frostiest glare. “You will have to forcibly remove me, sir. Is that what you want?”
The butler faltered, his gaze traveling between his employer and Julianna. It was clearly not what he wanted. Nor was it every day—indeed she suspected any day—that a butler was required to remove a female guest from the household by force.