low in his throat, he was finally able to touch, to explore the soft and downy thatch where the hard bud of her arousal was hidden.
She was swollen.
So swollen.
And so responsive as Sebastian lightly stroked, above and below, never quite touching that engorged nubbin as his fingers became wet and slick.
‘Please …!’ Juliet’s groan was so low and aching that Sebastian felt a leaping response between his own thighs. ‘I want—Sebastian—I need—’
Sebastian knew what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved.
What he craved, too.
But not here.
How could either of them enjoy complete pleasure when they were standing here so publicly?
When anyone in the room might turn at any moment and see them together?
Juliet’s slippered feet no longer touched the floor as Sebastian placed a strong arm about her waist, and she felt herself being lifted, carried backwards out of the room and into the dark shadows of the terrace before he lowered her to turn her in his arms. His mouth claimed hers hungrily.
The new, craving sensations in Juliet’s body caused her to return the hunger of that kiss as she silently pleaded, begged for an end to the tormenting, unbearable ache between her thighs.
Her lips parted to the hard invasion of Sebastian’s tongue, and those moist, rhythmic caresses once again pushed her to the brink of—Of what …?
Juliet didn’t know.
But she wanted to know.
She needed to know!
‘… was most enjoyable. But I am so warm after all the excitement that I simply must go outside and take some air.’
Juliet barely had time to register that she and Sebastian were about to have their privacy interrupted before he wrenched his mouth from hers to place silencing fingertips against her lips. He swiftly manoeuvred her backwards, even further into the shadows.
Only just in time, too, as the elderly Duchess and Duke of Sussex strolled out onto the terrace before crossing to stand at the balustrade.
Juliet looked up in the gloom at Sebastian face, to find the darkness of his gaze glittering down at her.
In laughter, or in triumph?
Chapter Five
‘Personally, I fail to see what is so funny in the two of us nearly being found together in such a compromising situation.’ Juliet stood in the middle of her bedchamber, frowning her consternation as Sebastian, having refastened her gown for her, stood before her, clutching his sides with laughter. ‘Lord St Claire, you must desist!’ She glared at him reprovingly when her previous admonition had no effect.
His laughter finally ceased, although his eyes continued to gleam with merriment as he looked at her, and a grin still curved those sculptured lips. ‘I apologise. I simply found myself imagining how the Duke’s jowls would wobble and the Duchess’s mouth gape open like that of a fish if they had happened to turn and see us as we made good our escape!’
‘That is most unkind, My Lord.’ Although Juliet could not deny that their flight from the terrace had been in the nature of an escape.
The Duke and Duchess of Sussex had stood at the balustrade for several minutes, talking softly together on the success of the evening, before the Duchess had linked her arm with her husband’s and the two had begun to walk down the terrace.
Thankfully in the other direction from where Juliet and Sebastian had still been hiding in the shadows.
An occurrence which had caused Sebastian to take a firm clasp of Juliet’s hand before pulling her down the steps into the garden, to stride around to the side of the house.
And all that time Juliet had clutched at the front of her unbuttoned gown in an effort to stop it sliding completely from her body, her mood one of horror as she imagined what a pretty sight she would look, with her gown about her ankles and wearing no more than her chemise and her stockings!
Luckily that had not happened, and the two of them had been able to find access to the house through one of the servant doors. They had then proceeded to sneak through the house and up the back staircase to Juliet’s bedchamber. Much like two thieves in the night!
Juliet knew she had never behaved in such an undignified manner in the whole of her thirty years. And as for finding the situation amusing, as Sebastian St Claire so obviously did …!
‘Can you not imagine it, my dear Juliet?’ he prompted with an irrepressible smile. ‘The Duke’s jowls a-wobbling and the Duchess opening and shutting her mouth like a fish!’ He went off into another bout of laughter.
Juliet could imagine it—she would just rather not. What had happened this evening—especially her own behaviour—was no laughing matter. ‘Do you ever take anything seriously, My Lord?’ she murmured critically.
He sobered immediately. ‘Of course I do. Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends.’
Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends. They were indeed fine sentiments.
They did not signify where Juliet was concerned, however. She was neither friend nor family to Sebastian St Claire. As for honour—Juliet’s own honour was in shreds!
‘I think it better if you leave now.’ She spoke softly, avoiding so much as looking at him as she rearranged her perfume bottles on the dressing table. ‘This evening was—’
‘I trust you are not going to say regrettable?’ Sebastian cut in sternly.
Regrettable? Of course Juliet regretted it! Her only consolation was that it had not been the complete success Sebastian had hoped for. ‘I was about to express my doubts that this evening’s little adventure would be enough to win the wager for you!’ she said scornfully.
‘What wager?’ He frowned down at her.
‘Oh, come, My Lord.’ Juliet gave a disdainful grimace. ‘It is common knowledge that young gentlemen such as yourself enjoy certain wagers at their clubs. Escapades like curricle races to Brighton at midnight? Or the seduction of a certain woman …?’
Sebastian winced at the accusation. It was true that many such wagers took place in private—at least he had thought it was in private!—at the gentlemen’s clubs. It was also true that a year or so ago Sebastian had entered into such a wager himself, concerning another Countess. Although he very much doubted that was the wager Juliet referred to …
‘To my knowledge there is no such wager in existence where you are concerned,’ he denied. ‘And what do you mean by a man such as I …?’ he grated.
Juliet gave him a pitying look. ‘You are nothing but a rake, sir. A scoundrel. Indeed, a privileged fop, who meanders his way through life, imbibing too much alcohol, seducing women and laughing at anything or anyone who does not share those excesses!’
