Without warning her climax slammed through her, shattering her into hundreds of pieces, making her arch and twist and hug the cushion she held with all her might.
Julian left her, and she floated, vaguely aware of him tearing at his clothes, flinging them randomly about. "Come here," he muttered thickly, gathering her into his arms, tossing the settee cushion aside. "Hold on to me instead."
He lowered her to the carpet, coming down over her and entering her in one ravenous thrust.
"Julian!" She couldn't remain silent, her own contractions beginning anew as her still-sensitized flesh reacted to the force of his entry.
"God." He ground out the word, his powerful hands anchoring her hips, dragging them up to meet the frenzied motion of his.
Aurora raised her legs, wrapped them around him, twining her arms about his neck. "Julian," she whispered, staring into the burning topaz flames in his eyes. Ardently she drew his mouth down to hers.
They kissed—deep, hungry kisses—again and again, Julian's powerful body moving in fast, urgent thrusts. He tangled his hands in her hair, devoured her mouth, taking her tongue, her breath, making them his.
"Come for me again," he commanded on a rasp. "Let me feel you—with me, all around me. Now, Aurora."
"Yes." Her nails dug into his back, the clawing tightness preceding her release already too excruciating to withstand. "Now…"
"Look at me." He waited only until she complied. Then, their gazes locked, he drove into her deeply, holding himself there, impaling her until she dissolved into wrenching spasms around him.
"Julian!" Aurora threw back her head, cried out his name as everything inside her converged and exploded.
"Yes … yes … yes." He erupted, pouring into her like a man possessed, shouting her name again and again as he sought her womb, spilled his seed at its mouth.
They collapsed, drenched in sweat, gasping in air as if they'd been drowning. Neither moved nor spoke. They just sank into each other's arms, their minds utterly dazed, their hearts thundering like cannon fire.
"Your Grace?" Thayer's crisp tone accompanied his knock and permeated their passion-drugged haze. "I heard a commotion. Is there something amiss?"
Julian's moan was a wisp of sound in Aurora's hair.
"Your Grace?" Thayer rattled the unyielding door handle. "Sir, I asked if something was amiss."
This time Julian gathered enough strength to reply. "No, Thayer," he called, propping himself—with enormous effort—on his elbows. "Everything is fine. The duchess and I were just…" He kissed the hollow at Aurora's throat. "…exploring the library."
Aurora bit her lip to control her mirth.
"Very good, sir." Sounding unconvinced and decidedly curious, Thayer retraced his steps.
Aurora's gaze met Julian's and she dissolved into laughter. "Thank goodness the door held. Thayer would have swooned. Maybe worse."
"Definitely worse," Julian concurred, lazily stroking strands of hair off his wife's face. "As it is, the man already thinks I'm a heathen."
"That's only because Lawrence let him believe that," Aurora demurred softly.
"Perhaps." Julian shrugged, flashing his heart-stopping smile. "On the other hand, my actions just now would support his claim. I did behave like a savage."
"Not a savage. More like a pagan god," Aurora amended, her fingers sifting through the longer hair at her husband's nape.
That assessment seemed to amuse him. "A pagan god?"
"Um-hum." Aurora was still floating on a pink-tipped cloud where nothing existed but the shimmering aftermath of their union. "That was how I first viewed you when we met at Dawlish's."
Julian arched a brow. "Did you? Why?"
"Oh, many reasons. Mostly because you were sinfully handsome in a dark and forbidden way that made everything inside me melt."
"Ah. Now that notion is even more appealing than the one in which you likened me to a stallion." His lips brushed her neck, swept over the sensitive hollow behind her ear.
"I thought it might be." A tiny shiver ran through her.
"And now?"
"Now … what?" Aurora's head was already swimming with sensation, everything inside her weak and trembling, reawakening to Julian's touch.
"You said you viewed me as a pagan god." His hips pressed forward, his body responding to her signal, swelling to fill her. "How do you view me now?"
"The same way," she admitted. Her breath broke as he withdrew, surged deeper. "You're powerful, unconventional, turbulent, seductive."
Julian caught her face between his palms. "And you're a fire in my blood." His thumbs caressed her cheeks. "One that nothing can extinguish." He held her gaze, keeping his rhythm slow and deep, watching her face as she arched to meet his thrusts. "God, you're beautiful," he ground out between clenched teeth. "So damned beautiful." His burning eyes bore into hers. "Do you feel it?" he murmured. "Do you?"
"Yes—oh, yes." The world was spinning away, and Aurora had no desire to recapture it.
"Tell me. Tell me what you're feeling."
Something profound and wonderful was unfolding inside her—something that had nothing to do with passion. "I love you," she whispered.
Julian went rigid.
The pink cloud disintegrated.
Oh God, how could she have blurted it out like that?
Aurora squeezed her eyes shut, willing the floor to swallow her whole. Damn her impulsive tongue. Damn her unmitigated candor. Damn her inability to think beyond Julian's touch. Damn, damn, damn.
"Aurora, look at me."
She complied reluctantly.
"Say that again."
She searched her husband's face, looking for a sign, any sign, of his reaction to her declaration. But all she could see was intentness, a wary anticipation as he awaited her reply. Well, it was too late to retract her words now. "I love you," she repeated. A pause. "Are you very angry?"
"Angry?" Julian caressed her face, tunneled his fingers through her hair. "Why in God's name would I be angry?" He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a wealth of tenderness, a touch of awe—and a fine tension that hadn't been there before. "No one's ever given me those words before," he admitted quietly. "I'm humbled." He buried his lips in hers. "I'm honored." He slid his arms beneath her thighs, raised them to hug his flanks. "And I'm more profoundly touched than I can say."
"I'm … glad." Aurora desperately needed to think, to understand what Julian's words truly meant. But she couldn't, not when he was making love to her; transporting her to that extraordinary place she ascended to only in his arms.
"Let me show you," he was breathing into her lips. "My dazzling Aurora—let me show you."
In contrast to his earlier abandon, this time Julian was achingly tender, his body moving in exquisite strokes that seared through her body, delved straight to her soul.
Afterward, lying quietly in her husband's arms, Aurora's thoughts tumbled forth, tripping over each other in their desire to be heard.
Julian's reaction had been neither the anger she'd feared nor the arrogance Courtney had suspected. Instead, he'd felt honored, humbled, touched—emotions she'd never have attributed to Julian Bencroft.
But then, why not?
Hadn't she seen glimpses of his warmth, his ability to feel—not only in the way he treated her, but in the way he'd spoken of his brother? The answer to that was an unequivocal yes.
No one's ever given me those words before.
It was high time someone did.
Still, Aurora reminded herself, he had tensed when she'd first uttered her admission—out of shock, yes, but out of something more.
And that something was uneasiness; concern that being loved meant sacrificing his autonomy, relinquishing his freedom, altering his life.
Loving in return.
Julian might be half in love with her, but he was going to fight like hell to keep the other half to himself.
How unfortunate that he couldn't see how much he needed her.
Ho
w spectacular that she'd have to show him.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
"So this is your Windmouth lighthouse." Julian paused, tilting back his head to view the entire stone structure, nestled at the foot of the hills just south of Pembourne.
"Isn't it glorious?" Aurora darted about, assessing the fifty-seven-foot tower with as much pride as if she herself had constructed it.
"It is indeed."
"You'd never know it was over a hundred years old, not with the condition Mr. Scollard keeps it in. His magic is evident in every gleaming stone, every flicker of the lighthouse beam…"
"Every thrilling legend," Julian teased.
He saw the unexpected flash of hurt in her eyes—something he'd never seen before, much less put there—and instinctively he reached for her, drew her to him. "Soleil, I didn't mean…"
Aurora gazed up at him, that incomparable candor supplanting the hurt, compelling her to explain. "You're but the second person I've ever brought here. Somehow I knew Courtney would love both the lighthouse and Mr. Scollard. With you—I'm just not certain. You're more of an enigma, Julian; you have the mind of a realist and the soul of an adventurer. Frankly, I don't know what sort of reaction to expect from you. I know I shouldn't care—but I do. You're my husband, and I badly want you to understand, perhaps even to share, my faith in the lighthouse and Mr. Scollard." She paused, a sort of sad resignation crossing her face. "However, I suppose I, too, must be realistic. So if what I wish cannot be, if you find this whole experience dubious at best, all I ask is that you respect my feelings. This lighthouse has been my refuge all my life, the only place I could go to find peace, joy, and most of all, friendship. Mr. Scollard is as dear to me as if he were my own father. So if you find him—or the enchantment I feel over his legends—inane, please refrain from saying so. And please, don't ridicule me."
"Aurora." Struck by an unfamiliar surge of emotion, Julian framed his wife's face between his palms, damning himself for causing the light of her exuberance to be doused even for a moment. "I'd never ridicule you. Nor did I mean to diminish either Mr. Scollard's role in your life or the magnitude of your faith. On the contrary, I find everything you've shared with me about the Windmouth lighthouse and its keeper fascinating." Julian's thumbs caressed her cheekbones. "And if I haven't yet told you this, I'm telling you now: I find your enthusiasm, your zest for life, both exciting and infectious—one of your most alluring traits. Never explain nor excuse it. And never, never let it fade." He felt an odd constriction tighten his chest. "As for the lighthouse being your refuge, I'm glad you had such a place, such a man, to go to."
"Because you didn't," Aurora finished for him. She stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips to his. "But you're about to." With that, her melancholy vanished, and she tugged Julian toward the lighthouse door. "I know Mr. Scollard will help us solve our puzzle." She tapped Julian's coat pocket, within which the falcon book was carefully tucked. "He'll guide us as flawlessly as his lighthouse beam guides passing ships."
As if on cue the door swung open and a white-haired gentleman with brilliant blue eyes stepped out. "Rory—good. The tea is still hot." He wiped his hands on an apron, his keen gaze leveled on Julian. "'Tis a pleasure, sir." He paused. "I shan't address you by your title, not out of any disrespect, but because you loathe the memories it conjures up. All that will change, of course. Not my form of address, but your aversion. Actually, both. But the former won't be the result of the latter. No, I'm proud to say that by the time you've overcome your aversion, I'll be addressing you by your given name. Therefore, I'm not destined to refer to you as 'Your Grace'." A decisive nod. "Won't you come in?"
Somehow Julian was more amused by the convoluted greeting than he was surprised. In fact, Mr. Scollard was precisely what he had expected. "'Tis a pleasure to meet the man of whom my wife speaks so highly."
"Ah, she speaks of me, but she dreams of you."
"Mr. Scollard!" Aurora's jaw dropped.
The lighthouse keeper chuckled as he led them inside. "I've no more embarrassed you than I've uttered a great revelation. Your openness precludes both."
Julian liked Mr. Scollard already.
Strolling into the cozy sitting room, he glanced about, noting the pot of tea and cakes—complete with three cups—that awaited them. The room was furnished with twin armchairs, a cushioned settee over which hung pastel watercolors, and a brick fireplace housing a roaring fire, and Julian found himself thinking that the decorating matched Mr. Scollard perfectly: warm, distinct, and attuned to the finest of details.
"Have a seat, sir." The lighthouse keeper gestured toward an armchair, hurrying over to pour the tea.
"Since you've already foreseen it, why not begin addressing me by my given name now?" Julian suggested, lowering himself to his seat and placing the book on the end table beside him. "I'm not terribly partial to 'sir'."
"But you are partial to black tea laced with brandy." Mr. Scollard offered him a cup. "A preference you acquired in the Far East—a delectable melding of their tea and your fine French brandy. Julian," he added, blue eyes twinkling.
"Quite right." Julian grinned, taking an appreciative swallow. "It's good to know I can find that enjoyable combination right here in England. This tea is exceptional."
"I'm pleased you like it."
"I won't," Aurora announced, leaning forward on the settee and eyeing the untouched cup before her. "Must I drink it?"
"No," Mr. Scollard replied. "But you'll want to. Else how will you wash down your favorite cakes?"
"All right." Sighing, she took a tentative sip, her expression growing puzzled. "This is neither black nor laced with brandy."
"Of course not. Why would it be? It's the duke who likes his tea that way, not you." The lighthouse keeper settled himself in the other armchair, taking up his own cup. "Yours is lighter of strength and sweet, just as you prefer. And mine is my own favorite blend, imported from Java, with just a touch of cream."
"But you made only one pot … never mind." Aurora reached for a cake. "Why am I questioning you?" She took an enthusiastic bite. "Julian, try one of these. But I'm warning you—they're addicting. I very nearly didn't fit into my wedding dress, thanks to Mr. Scollard's cakes."
"By all means, help yourself," Scollard urged him. "You have long journeys ahead—journeys of the body, mind, and heart. You'll need your strength, more for some destinations than for others."
Julian chewed thoughtfully, ingesting far more than the delicious confection. "Do I?" He licked his forefinger. "Then I hope my journeys are equally as satisfying as these splendid cakes."
"Some fulfillments are more readily attained than others. However, flavors too swiftly savored ofttimes dissolve like confections on the tongue. 'Tis the arduous journeys, the ones whose goals are clouded, even unperceived, that yield the greatest rewards." A thoughtful pause. "Then again, some readily attained fulfillments, rather than transient, are pivotal representations of the greatest prize any adventurer could seek."
"Are we speaking of the black diamond or my own personal quests?" Julian stared intently at Mr. Scollard.
"I believe you just spoke of both."
A faint smile. "I suppose I did." Julian leaned forward, abandoning his refreshment and seizing the falcon book in his hands. "This is one quest I perceive only too well."
"'Only too well'—an interesting choice of words." Scollard glanced at the volume but made no move to touch it. "How may I help you?"
"Rory and I need to understand James's message. Would you please look at the inscription and the underscored words?"
"It isn't necessary. I've seen both."
Incredulity flashed in Julian's eyes. "Very well. Can you tell us which of the two are significant?"
"Both."
"Yet we're missing some crucial piece."
"Perhaps. On the other hand, perhaps you're still not ready to assimilate that which you've already been offered."
"What avenue must we
pursue to become ready?"
Scollard's gaze never faltered. "One you must discover yourself."
"Can you tell me nothing else?"
Mr. Scollard placed his cup and saucer on the table. "On the contrary, I can tell you several things. First, that you're quite thorough. Your great-grandfather would indeed be proud—proud and confident that you will restore honor to a name long tarnished by injustice from without and bitterness from within."
Julian inclined his head. "Is that your belief or your prophecy?"