Never Less Than a Lady

by Mary Jo Putney

  Under the colorful shawl the countess had given her, his hand curved over her breast, his stroking thumb bringing sensitive flesh to startled life through the layers of fabric. Wanting to explore his body as well, she slid her hand down his torso, enjoying the feel of taut flesh and bone under the tailored garments of a London gentleman.

  Her wrist brushed the hard bulge in his breeches. To her surprise, she was pleased, not alarmed, at such undeniable proof that he found her attractive. Loving the effect she had on him, she began to unbutton his breeches.

  He caught her hand. “You needn’t do this, milady,” he said roughly. “It’s enough that you are kissing me.”

  She tilted back her head and caught his gaze. “Alex, so far this marriage has mostly been about me and my fears. Now I want to do something for you.”

  He drew an unsteady breath. “If you’re sure…”

  “Entirely sure.” She returned to the buttons, releasing the taut, hard shaft into her hand. She knew from experience that male flesh could be used as weapon, but that knowledge was distant memory, no longer relevant.

  What mattered was how his hands gripped her shoulders, the immense enjoyment she found in pleasing him as she stroked and squeezed and teased. In the early days of her first marriage, she’d learned how to satisfy a man.

  The teaching had been harsh, but she’d learned well. Later she’d used those skills in self-defense, hoping that if Branford was sated, he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Now she remembered those sensual skills, and she was with a man who wouldn’t hurt her. When it occurred to her that she could give him even greater pleasure, she hesitated, not sure she was ready for such intimacy. It took long moments to recognize that her desire to please was more powerful than her misgivings. She drew a deep breath, then bent and took him into her mouth.

  “My God, Julia!” His hands spasmed on her shoulders.

  Startled, she raised her head. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No!” His breathing was ragged. “Dear God, no!”

  Gratified, she bent again, her mouth and tongue remembering the subtle techniques she hadn’t used in so long. To her surprise, she enjoyed this intimacy, not only for the pleasure it gave him, but for the power she felt in creating that pleasure. The very air of the carriage was saturated with passion as her own excitement echoed his. His harsh pants and rigid body made her feel like his sexual equal, a true partner rather than a victim or a passive recipient.

  In her enthusiasm, she triggered his climax sooner than she’d intended. He cried out and knotted his hands in her hair, his pelvis rocking. When his body stilled, she rested her head against his belly, feeling vastly pleased with herself.

  His fingers loosened in her hair, becoming a caress. “You are the most extraordinary woman, Julia.” His voice was less than even. “If you will permit me…” He scooped her across his lap. “You are just the right size for holding.”

  “I enjoyed that,” she said as she settled comfortably in his arms. “I trust you’ve forgotten your visit to Daventry House?”

  “Never heard of the place,” he said promptly. His left hand stroked down her leg, shaping calf and ankle before sliding up to her knee under her skirts.

  She caught her breath as his warm palm on her inner thigh stirred her from contentment to yearning. He parted her knees so that his hand could move higher, higher. She gasped at the sensual shock when he touched her most intimate flesh. Sensation hazed her mind as he caressed more deeply. Yet this time pleasure was not a surprise. It was…anticipated.

  He knew what she wanted better than she did, and the searing climax blazed through her entire body. Her fingers bit and her lower body rocked hard against him as unbearable need culminated, then unwound swiftly, leaving her collapsed against him.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “I’ve been royally rewarded for wanting to please you.”

  “Mutual pleasure is better.” He kissed her damp temple. “Next time we should try this in a bed. More comfortable, and we can go to sleep after.”

  “That would be nice.” She covered a yawn as her eyes closed and she felt the steady throb of his heart against her cheek. “I hope this is the worst tangle of traffic in London history and that we don’t get back to Ashton House until midnight.”

  He laughed and raised his shade a couple of inches. “No such luck. We’re out of the worst of the traffic and will be home in a few more minutes.”

  But neither of them was in a hurry to move. Julia realized with amazement that she wasn’t just content. She was happy.

  She was also curious. He knew all he needed to know about the one man she’d shared a bed with, but she knew almost nothing about his romantic experience. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but where did you learn so much about pleasing women?”

  “There hasn’t been an endless stream of lovers, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His hand lazily stroked her nape. “An officer on campaign has limited opportunities.”

  “Limited, but not nonexistent?”

  “I avoided the camp followers because I didn’t want the diseases,” he explained. “A decision practical rather than moral. But I had one significant affair during those years. I rescued a French officer’s widow and her maid from Spanish partisans who wanted to take vengeance on anyone French, even two helpless women.”

  Major Randall, the protector. Of course. “The lady must have been very grateful.”

  “She was, but the affair was with her maid.” He smiled reminiscently. “Celeste was pretty and saucy and very French. She said I wasn’t her type, but she missed having a man and I’d do for the time being. She and her mistress spent a long winter quartered in Portugal near my regiment until they could return to France and their families.”

  Julia regretfully acknowledged that no one had ever thought of her as saucy. “Celeste must have been quite an education for an Englishman.”

  “She was.” He grinned. “Her best piece of advice was to pay attention to what a woman says—and to what she doesn’t say.”

  “A wise woman,” Julia said. “I hope they both made it back to France safely.”

  “They did. Madame sent me a note that eventually made its way through enemy lines. They were both home and safe in Lyon. Celeste married a young man she’d known for years who had been invalided out of Napoleon’s army.”

  “She sounds very amusing and uncomplicated.” Also words not usually applied to Julia.

  “But you’re much more interesting.” His voice changed. “We’re entering the gates now. Idyll over.” He transferred her to the seat beside him. “Time we made ourselves at least marginally presentable.”

  “I can smooth down my hair, but I don’t think I can get rid of my cat-in-a-cream-pot smile,” she said as she straightened her clothing.

  He returned her smile. “I have one, too, I think.”

  “I can almost see you licking the cream from your whiskers,” she agreed.

  “Licking?”

  She blushed, embarrassed but more pleased.

  “I’ll never get into a carriage again without remembering this ride,” he murmured provocatively as the vehicle stopped and a footman opened the door.

  Julia’s contentment lasted until they entered Ashton House and the butler approached. “Lady Julia, you have a guest waiting in the small salon.” He handed her a calling card. “He has refused to leave until he sees you.”

  A guest? Surprised that anyone in London knew she was alive, she read the calling card. The blood drained from her face. Lord Stoneleigh. “Merciful heaven,” she whispered. “It’s my brother Anthony.”

  “You don’t have to receive him if you don’t want to.” Randall’s gaze was steady. “And if you do want to see him, you don’t have to face him alone.”

  Julia thought despairingly of her appearance. She must look like a well-tumbled dairy maid, with flushed cheeks and rumpled clothing. But this was another meeting she couldn’t avoid.

  Jaw set, she drew Lady Daventry’s shawl
around her shoulders as if it was protective armor. “I might as well get this over with. Please…come with me?”

  “Of course. You’re a trooper, milady.” Randall placed a comforting hand on her back. “To the small salon we go. I hope your brother doesn’t much resemble Castleton.”

  So did she.

  Chapter 23

  When Julia and Randall entered the small salon, she stopped dead in her tracks, shocked by how much her brother had grown to look like their father. “Anthony,” she whispered despairingly.

  Her brother had been a schoolboy when she last saw him, all big hands and feet that he hadn’t yet grown into. Now he was a man, expensive and aristocratic to the bone. He was taller than her father but with the Raines features and the Raines coloring—and an anger that scorched the room. She wanted to weep. Or run away.

  Randall placed a warm hand on the small of her back, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. No matter how much her family despised her, Randall was on her side. That conviction made it possible to stand her ground in the face of her brother’s anger.

  Randall spoke to fill the silence when she couldn’t. “Lord Stoneleigh?” he said easily as he closed the door behind them. “I’m Major Randall.” He offered his hand. “I presume you’ve heard that we are now brothers-in-law.”

  Ignoring Randall as if he was invisible, Anthony stalked forward, his gaze never leaving Julia’s face. She glimpsed Randall beside her from the corner of her eye. He was cool and composed—and quietly prepared to stop her brother dead in his tracks if the younger man threatened harm.

  “It really is you, Julie,” Anthony said tautly. “I couldn’t believe it when the duke wrote that you were alive.”

  She tried to smile. “Indeed I am, Anthony. A dozen years older. I hope a little wiser. I…I thought of you often.”

  “Then why did you let me believe you were dead?” His cry from the heart splintered his polished façade to reveal the boy who had been her dearest friend. A boy who had suffered greatly from the loss of his only sister, and now felt betrayed.

  Julia blinked back tears, but her gaze didn’t drop. “I didn’t dare, Anthony. It was too large a secret for a young brother to bear.”

  “Perhaps you were right then.” His mouth twisted. “But in all the years since?”

  “The only way I could survive was to turn away from my past, because remembering was too painful,” she said haltingly. “And…I feared that if you learned I was alive, you would despise me for my deception. Apparently I was right.”

  “Damn you, Julie!” Voice breaking, Anthony stepped forward and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “How could you think I would despise my own sister?”

  “You…you’ve grown,” Julia choked out before she began to weep from relief. Because she had expected nothing good from her father, his contempt was painful but predictable. But she and Anthony had been close. His rejection would have been devastating.

  After her tears slowed, Randall said, “I gather this means that even though your father has disowned Julia, you won’t be giving her the cut direct if you meet socially.”

  “Of course not.” Anthony’s voice was husky as he stepped back a little to study Julia’s face. His eyes were his father’s, but his caring expression came from their mother. “You are my sister, Julie, and I’m proud to tell the world that. Castleton can cut you, but he can’t actually disown you since your inheritance is from Mother.”

  “I don’t care what Castleton thinks about my wicked ways.” Almost giddy with relief, Julia sat on the sofa, tugging Anthony down next to her. “What matters is that you are welcoming me.”

  “I’ll talk to the family lawyer about transferring your inheritance.” Anthony gave Randall a wary glance. “Of course a settlement should be drawn up.”

  The wariness was understandable. Because Julia and Randall were already married, he was legally entitled to complete control of all her property. In a properly arranged marriage, there would have been negotiations and a prenuptial contract. Julia trusted Randall to be honorable, but Anthony didn’t know him.

  “I didn’t marry your sister because of any possible inheritance,” Randall said coolly. “I’ll waive my claim so she can control her inheritance herself.”

  Anthony relaxed. “That’s decent of you, Randall. Too many men would be itching to get their hands on her fortune.”

  “How much is my portion?” Julia asked. “I was never told.”

  “I don’t know the exact figure.” Her brother thought for a moment. “But it’s close to a hundred thousand pounds.”

  “Good God!” Randall exclaimed, staring at Julia. “You’re probably the greatest heiress in England.”

  “I had no idea it was that much.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s hard to imagine such money when I’ve been bartering my services for chickens and eggs.”

  Anthony blinked. “How did you survive all these years, Julie?”

  “I was a midwife in Cumberland.” Julia smiled wryly. “It’s a long story.”

  “One I want to hear,” her brother said firmly. “I want to know everything.”

  “You two have much to discuss.” Randall clasped Julia’s shoulder with a warm hand before moving away. “I’ll leave you now.”

  Julia glanced up at him, hoping her smile would convey her gratitude. “Thank you, Alex. For everything.” Then she turned back to her brother to exchange the tales of their last dozen years.

  Numbly Randall closed the salon door. In a day with far too much drama, the size of Julia’s inheritance was the greatest shock of all. He’d been glad he could offer her a comfortable life and a modest but pleasant estate. It was unnerving to realize that she could buy and sell him several times over.

  He turned to see the Duchess of Ashton, who waited in the hall with a concerned expression. “How is Julia’s meeting with her brother going?” Mariah asked. “I assume you wouldn’t have left her if he was behaving badly.”

  “Stoneleigh is upset that Julia let him believe she was dead for so many years, but once that was addressed, they fell into each other’s arms,” he said succinctly. “Though her father will cut her, Stoneleigh won’t. She’s happy and relieved, and they’ll probably talk for hours.”

  “Oh, good.” She took Randall’s arm and steered him back toward the front hall. Glancing up, she said, “You look particularly granite-faced. Daventry?”

  Randall shrugged. “He showed off his pregnant countess and announced that I was not only superceded but disowned. A typical interaction with my uncle. I fondly hope it’s the last time I shall ever have to deal with him.”

  Mariah winced. “You’ve had far too eventful a day.”

  “Indeed.” The high point had been in the carriage, but he could hardly tell Mariah about that. “The biggest shock was learning how much Julia’s portion is. The world will say that she married beneath herself.”

  “What nonsense!” she scoffed. “Who cares what the world says? When she was the midwife of Hartley, society would have said that you were the one who had married beneath your station. But you are both the same people now that you were then.”

  Mariah was right, but Randall still wished that his wife’s dowry was less extravagant. Obviously he preferred to feel magnanimous and broad-minded rather than like a fortune hunter. “Actually, I’m not the same person. Being around Julia is improving my disposition.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Mariah said with a smile. They entered the front hall at the same time that Holmes was admitting a visitor, a white-haired lady garbed in black silk and shimmering pearls. She swept into the hall—petite, beautiful, and with a command presence that rivaled Wellington’s.

  “Her grace, the Duchess of Charente,” Holmes announced.

  Mariah made a strangled sound before sinking into a deep curtsy. “Your grace. Welcome to my home. I didn’t expect you to respond to my note so quickly.”

  “Naturally I wish to see my granddaughter now that
she is officially alive again,” the older woman said with a tart French accent. “Stand up, girl. Respect for your elders is all very well, but one duchess should never grovel to another.”

  “I stand corrected.” Mariah rose, eyes dancing but voice demure. “But I am the newest and most inexperienced of duchesses. I can’t begin to match your…your duchessness.”

  “You will in time,” her grace said grandly, but her lips quirked with amusement.

  Randall had expected Julia’s grandmother to be frail, perhaps an invalid. Clearly the lady’s health had improved since Julia had visited her in the spring. Julia resembled her grandmother—and she would be just as beautiful when she was the duchess’s age.

  Mariah continued, “Julia and her brother are in the small salon, renewing their acquaintance after so many years of separation.”

  The duchess sniffed. “Stoneleigh is here? I trust he is behaving appropriately.”

  “He welcomes his sister’s return,” Randall said. “They were very close, and will be again, I think.”

  The duchess turned her gimlet gaze on Randall. “I suppose this is Major Randall, Julia’s husband?”

  He bowed. “Indeed I am, ma’am.”

  “Daventry’s heir, I believe?”

  “Heir presumptive,” he said, “but unlikely to inherit. Daventry and his wife are expecting a blessed event.”

  The hazel eyes sharpened. “I hadn’t heard that. A pity that you’re being superceded. Julia should be at least a countess. What makes you think you’re good enough for my granddaughter?”

  “I’m not,” Randall said. “But sometimes the gods smile.”

  “They did in your case,” the old lady said dryly. “My granddaughter is the richest prize in England.”