A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours #11)- Stacy Reid Page 0,41

do not!”

He grinned, leaned down, and kissed her. With a sweet sigh of contentment, she wrapped her hands around his neck and returned his kiss, wishing for the first time she could stay in England.

Chapter 11

Four days later, Juliana slipped inside the earl’s room. Since learning of her identity, he hardly required her to assist him, and Wentworth appeared just as well-groomed as he had been before. Each evening she stood behind him at the dining table and observed him as he laughed and chatted with his family. His mother had a quick wit, and Juliana found her delightful. His Aunt Millicent seemed a bit sterner, yet she glowed with good-natured warmth and indulged her twin daughters to a degree Juliana considered excessive. They discussed everything, their neighbors and the latest gossip, politics, news from abroad, next year’s season, and eligible ladies they suggested for Wentworth as prospective brides.

Hearing his mother stating how happy she was that her son was finally bride hunting created a stabbing pain in Juliana’s heart. The reaction was ludicrous and out of bounds for what was acceptable for their relationship. But that was it, wasn’t it? She didn’t understand the bounds of their odd friendship that simmered with such wanting.

We do not have a relationship. We have…nothing…everything, laughter, and such ease of comfort in each other’s presence.

Each night she would enter his bedroom after dinner to help him remove his boots and jacket, despite knowing he did not require her help. Each night she knew the bathtub waited for her. Still, she ignored it, knowing he watched her with tender amusement and something else, something unknown gleaming in the depth of his gaze. That something else always had an answering surge going through her body. Still, she could not identify what his eyes spoke of and what part of her responded?

Was it just desire? Or something deeper?

After removing his boots and jacket, they would lie entangled by the fire, her head on his chest, her arm hugging him, and her leg touching or thrown across his. If she had been curious about anything they gossiped about, she would ask him, he would explain it to her, and she would laugh and bask in the contentment of the moment.

There had been another night when they had played chess.

Then last night, she had reposed with her head in his lap while he read Sir Isaac Newton’s Law on Motions aloud to her. How delighted he had been whenever she understood a section. How eagerly and with such remarkable insight he’d clarified whatever she had not understood.

It was not long since she’d first hidden at Norbrook Park, and Juliana couldn’t understand it, but in Wentworth, it felt like she had found something rare and so very precious. Now she stood in the center of Wentworth’s room, a slight trembling within her body. She was uncertain whether it was from nerves or anticipation. Her reckless heart declared it was with excitement.

Let me serve you.

As if she would allow him in the room when she took that bath. A silent affirmation Juliana repeated each night. Except tonight, she turned toward the bath chamber and stared, her heart pounding. The room was barely lit by a roaring fire, and a few candle tapers set around it. There was a pleasant scent redolent in the air, and she followed it to the luxurious bath chamber. The large copper tub was filled with steaming water, with rose petals floating on the surface.

On the peg near the entrance hung a bathrobe. The material was an icy blue, and so sheer Julianna flushed. Did he hope she would wear it? Towels had been placed on a wash stool with a bar of soap. Picking it up, she inhaled, breathing in the scent of perfumed roses. The door behind her opened, and her heart jumped a beat. Juliana sensed the earl entering the bath chamber with a thrill of expectancy. She felt that strange flutter low in her belly and felt elated.

“Your bath awaits you,” he murmured, husky mischief lifting his tone.

She couldn’t say what madness seized her, but she reached up and removed the wig and dropped it to the floor. “And you’ll help me wash my hair?” she murmured huskily.

The earl’s response was a sharp intake of breath. And she knew then he had intended to play the gentleman, not the rogue. He had not anticipated her answer, even though he had teasingly prepared the tub nightly. So many warm feelings crashed against her