His blue eyes sparkled with ready humor. “You have missed me, no?”
“Oh, yes, darling.”
Julian whisked off his shirt and joined her on the bed, covering her lush body with his muscled strength. “But there have been others—many others, haven’t there?” he asked with deceptive mildness.
Her alarmed eyes flashed up to his. “Chéri, I cannot help it. It is the way I live—survive—”
“Shhhh,” he admonished, laying his fingers tenderly over her soft, full lips. “I am not saying this to condemn you, ma belle.” Abruptly he grinned. “But you see, I have attained my manhood now, and I shall shortly come into my trust. I was thinking . . . perhaps it would be best that I move you out of here—to a place where I shall generously endow you, of course.”
“Oh, Julian!” Tears sprang to Genevieve’s eyes as she hugged him tightly. He’s just said the very words she’d most longed to hear ever since the day she’d met him. He’d just offered to make her his paramour, his mistress!
“Would you like that, chère?” he asked, nibbling at her throat.
The sharp love nips of his mouth, his teeth, were driving Genevieve insane. “Oh, yes, Julian! I would like nothing more than to be your woman alone. The others . . .” Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip.
“Yes?” Instantly sobered by her words, Julian pulled back to glower down at her.
Genevieve gulped. Staring up into Julian’s smoldering blue eyes, she knew she dared not tell him about the shameful things many of the others had asked her—indeed, forced her—to do. Like that crude, sadistic Irishman who had visited her once recently—and only once. If she told Julian of what the bastard had done to her—and was still threatening to do, if she didn’t grant her favors again—he’d be incited to unspeakable rage, she knew.
“What is it, ma petite?” Julian prodded with a deep frown. “Have the others hurt you? By God, if they have—”
She hugged him quickly to hide the lie she knew she must tell. “Non, chéri. It’s just that—none of them satisfy me as you do.”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling, sensual sound. Twining one of her golden curls about his fingertip, he murmured, “Indeed? You know, my pert, pretty miss, I think I’ll take you home with me tonight.”
Genevieve’s blue eyes grew huge. “Take me to your family’s home? Julian, you mustn’t! C’est un scandale!”
“Au contraire,” he said with a grin. “I’m surprised I haven’t thought of it before. My parents are gone, the servants are discreet, so who’s to know the better? I’ll take you to my town house, and then on the morrow, we can rent you a room somewhere until I can find you a suitable cottage.”
“Oh, Julian!” she cried, deeply touched by his words. “You would do all that for me?”
“Of course. You have become very special to me.” Julian realized the truth of his words even as he said them. He leaned over to run his tongue over her full mouth, tickling her in a blatantly erotic gesture that at once quickened her breathing. “But first—I know full well that we’ll never make it home, much less, out of this room, unless I make love to you.”
“Full well,” Genevieve agreed wickedly, running her hand over the hard, wonderful shaft that now pulsed against his trousers, pressing deliciously into her most intimate parts.
Julian groaned at her practiced stroking and kissed her with searing hunger. Genevieve loved Julian’s kisses and she opened her mouth wide to him, glorying to the bold, enervating thrust of his tongue.
Soon Julian’s hands pulled at the ties to her gown, tugging the gauzy fabric down about her waist. His mouth latched onto a rose-hued nipple, and she bucked in delight, running her hands through his hair and drawing his mouth deeper into her breast. She brazenly undid the buttons to his trousers, releasing his wonderful hardness.
About to burst with his need of her, Julian moved off her for a moment, impatiently shucking his trousers, then sliding the silken gown off her body, raking his gaze over her nakedness. He stared down into her eyes, deeply dilated with hunger for him, at the arms outstretched to him, and at the flush on her beautiful cheeks. Bien, she was ready. He’d spend the rest of the night driving her crazy with slow, deliberate lovemaking, but this first time, he knew they both needed to take the edge off their hunger quickly and explosively.
Julian returned to the bed and poised himself above her. His hand reached down, spreading the moist petals of her femininity, then he plunged in deeply.
Genevieve cried out in ecstasy and tossed her head from side to side. No one could fill her as Julian did; each time with him was like the first. He was so young, so splendid, so strong and hard. Her fingernails dug into his back and she breathed in sharp, painful gasps as he thrust into her again and again, fairly lifting her hips off the bed. “Oh, yes, Julian, yes!” she cried. “Yes, mon amour!”
Genevieve’s wild panting and sexy words excited Julian unbearably. He drove her to a quick, exquisitely sharp climax and held her there as he, too, tumbled with her into sweet oblivion. Afterward, they laughed and kissed like two shy adolescents who had just discovered each other in a hayloft.
Julian had just rolled off Genevieve when, suddenly, the door to the room flew open with such violence that the resulting blast of wind blew out the candles. Both Julian and Genevieve jumped in alarm to view the tall, ominous figure of a man looming in the doorway with booted feet spread.
“Deny me yer favors whilst you fornicate with another—will you, you lying slut?” the man bellowed in a voice seething with outrage. “I’ll kill the both of you, I will!”
Later, Julian would wonder at the speed with which everything happened. Now, he only heard Genevieve’s frightened “Mon Dieu!” before the first terrible shot rang out. In the darkness, she gasped, then fell limp against the pillow, even as the acrid odor of black powder assailed his nostrils. He realized with horror that she had been shot—perhaps mortally wounded. Yet he knew there was no hope of saving her unless he disarmed the madman now stalking toward them—toward him—with pistol again cocked and raised.
Julian sprang from the bed just as their attacker fired a second shot. The shot missed Julian, hitting the window. Even as the sound of shattering glass lanced his nerves, Julian leaped on the man and struggled to grab his arm as he attempted to cock the deadly pistol a third time.
The two men fought wildly, desperately. Julian was assailed by the odor of sour whiskey, and realized that his attacker was surely drunk. Still, the man seemed possessed of supernatural strength; his grip was like steel as he attempted to aim his pistol at Julian’s heart. No words were spoken as the two men fought on to the death, kicking and scratching and wrestling over the gun, their expressions grimly intense.
Then a third shot rang out, and at first Julian feared he’d been hit. His relief knew no bounds as he felt his opponent become a dead weight and slide to the floor. The first thing he did was to grab the pistol from the man’s failing fingers. Then he hurried to the bed and lit a lantern, blinking at eyes that still stung from the smoke.
Genevieve sat up, her face sheet-white as she looked down at her oozing shoulder. “Julian, I’ve been hit.”
The bullet had made a small tear; Julian dabbed at the stream of red with the sheet. “It doesn’t look too bad, love.”
Simultaneously, they heard loud voices heading in their direction. Both realized at once that they were totally nude. Julian grabbed a cotton wrapper from a nearby chair and hastily draped it around Genevieve; then he made a dive for his own trousers. He was just buttoning them when Madame Sophie and four others—two servants and a rumpled couple from a nearby room—burst in.
Madame Sophie waved at the black smoke still hanging in the air and stared aghast at the corpse bleeding copiously on the fine Persian mg. “Madre de Dios—what is this?”
“We had a visitor,” Julian said grimly to the ashen-faced group. He held up the Paterson Colt. “A crazed drunkard intent on murder. He burst in on us and started shooting like a madman.”
“But”—Madame Sophie again stared flabbergasted at the corpse—“who is he?”
Genevieve, dressed in the wrapper, now came forward gingerly from the bed. She stared dispassionately at the corpse. The man was stocky, dressed in the scruffy clothes of a laborer, and had rusty red hair and staring green eyes. “Him!” she cried in outrage.
Julian came to her side, placing his arm protectively around her waist. “You know this man?”
She nodded, her blue eyes blazing with indignation. “He’s the Irishman who’s been making my life hell lately. I brought him up to my room once, because I had to agree when he said his money was as good as anyone else’s. But never again.” She spat at the corpse. “He was a pig.”
Genevieve backed away, swaying slightly. Alarmed, Julian swung the girl up into his arms, while Madame Sophie gasped, “Genevieve! You’ve been shot!”
Genevieve looked down at the creeping red stain on her wrapper. “It’s not bad, madame, really.”