A pang went through Julianna at her newfound friend’s revelation. “To the devil with the things we are taught not to discuss. Soon we shall all have an equal voice in our representation when we have the vote. What has he done?”
Tilly’s smile was tremulous. “Enough. More than enough. However, I have done my duty by him now, and he has agreed to leave me alone since I have at last provided him with an heir. The trouble is, I did not realize what he meant when he promised I would be alone, or the lengths he would go to…” She shook herself, as if she needed the physical reminder to stop herself from revealing too much. “But never mind that. I have come to visit you and get to know you better, not to unpack all my sadness upon you.”
Julianna wanted to know more about how the Duke of Longleigh had hurt her friend, and how she was certain she was safe from his abuse now. Bitter outrage filled her on Tilly’s behalf. How terrible a plight, to be caught under the dominion of such an insidious man.
“Has Longleigh beat you?” she asked bluntly.
“This tea is quite excellent,” the duchess said, taking a delicate sip from her cup as if Julianna had never issued the question at all.
Apparently, she did not wish to discuss the subject further. But Julianna could not leave matters as they were. Her conscience would not allow it.
“Tilly, are you safe?”
Her friend raised a golden brow, replacing her cup in its saucer. “I am safer than I have ever been for the moment. Longleigh is on familiar shores for you, having departed to take part in The America Cup with his yacht. He is in Philadelphia at the moment, I believe, where the race has been postponed thanks to a lack of wind. If Longleigh were to offer an oratory, I am certain the requisite amount of wind would appear, and the contest could continue.”
The revelation of Longleigh’s distance—an ocean away—gave Julianna a measure of temporary relief. However, she was still determined to do everything in her power to make certain her friend was protected.
“What of when he returns?” she pressed, concerned.
“I can only hope he will not.”
The edge in Tilly’s voice took Julianna by surprise. She was being sincere.
“Has he suggested he will remain abroad indefinitely?”
“Oh, sweet Julianna.” Tilly’s smile was as sad as her eyes. “Your heart is far too good. I am hoping his yacht shall sink to the bottom of whatever bay it is inhabiting and take him with it.”
Julianna sipped her tea. “Ah. I begin to understand. Promise me, Tilly, if you have cause to fear, that you will seek me out. Our doors shall always be open to you.”
The duchess nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”
* * *
Fencing with Northwich was supposed to have cleared Sidney’s damned head. Or at least to have provided him with some distraction amidst the crushing realization he was still very much in love with Julianna.
Instead, it had only left him more muddled. The bout had ended without Sidney earning a bloody point. He had been too caught in the maelstrom of his thoughts and emotions to offer decent opposition. He was confused. Terrified of what his love for his wife would mean for the future of their marriage. Angry at himself for his weakness and his loss both.
He longed to whip his foil across the room.
In lieu of such an action, he pointed it at his victorious friend. “I demand another bout.”
“Hardly sporting of you, chum.” Northwich, who had doffed his mask, raised a dark brow, looking as sullen as Sidney felt. “We decided on a lone bout because I have other engagements this afternoon, if you will recall.”
Engagements, yes. Northwich had failed to elaborate on what they were.
“You owe me one more,” he countered. “I did not score a point in that bout.”
“And whose fault is that? The man with his head up his arse or mine?”
Damned Northwich. Why the devil did Sidney like him so much? It was difficult indeed to recall at this particular juncture.
“It is not sporting of you to deny me another bout.” He paused, lowering his foil. “My head was decidedly not up my arse, you vicious-mouthed cur.”
“Thinking of your lady wife?” Northwich taunted.
Because the blighter was some sort of a soothsayer.
“Thinking of defeating you.”
The duke laughed. “Next time, Shelly.”
“Not next time. Now. Surely you can spare me another quarter hour.”
Northwich sighed. “Shelly, you and I both know that I will defeat you in another bout as well.”
Yes, but mayhap he would score a goddamn point. One point, that was all he wanted. Defeat was crushing enough on its own, but he already felt as if he were a drowning man.
“Throw a starving old dog a bone, won’t you?” he pressed.
The master, Beltrande, was busy with another bout on the opposite end of the club. Their battle would be informal. And hell, Sidney just wanted to talk. The last match had been stilted on account of their audience. With no one else about to overhear, mayhap he could unburden himself.
Northwich understood things in a way their friend Huntingdon didn’t. To say nothing of the fact Huntingdon was now happily married to Sidney’s sister. Seeking counsel from him would seem deuced wrong these days. Northwich was bedeviled by something—a woman, it was certain. He would understand better than anyone.
“Do you truly want to suffer another humiliating defeat?” Northwich asked.
Smug bastard. And yes, the duke had a right to be smug. The man excelled at everything he did.
“One more bout.”
He did not know why he was insisting at this point. Mayhap it was because he was delaying his return to Cagney House and Julianna. He had been avoiding her since breakfast, it was true. Because he had awoken that morning with her wrapped around him—her scent, copper curls, one pale arm, and even a hip slung over his. As if she had claimed him in her sleep. And because he had wanted to keep her there forever. In the absence of his rage, all that remained was the same suffocating emotion which had ruined him before.
“If I give you one more, do you promise to stop crying?” Northwich taunted.
He clenched his jaw. “I am hardly crying. Merely attempting a sporting bout. I was distracted on the last match. Gave you an easy victory. One more to provide us both with some distraction.”
The duke’s jaw clenched. “Who says I need distraction?”
“Your face.” He decided it was an excellent time to use his friend’s weapons against him. “You look like you are about to attend a funeral.”
Northwich shook his head. “Come now, Shelly. I thought you above that.”
“Above what?” He was reasonably sure he was capable of stooping to anything, however low.
He was a desperate man, it was true.
“Using my own words against me. Besides, I am not grim. You are grim. And defeated.” He paused, cocking his head as if he were in deep thought. “Also, bloody terrible at fencing.”
That stung. “I am not always terrible.”
“Agreed. But when you are lovelorn and distracted, you are.”
Lovelorn. His stomach clenched. Surely he was not? Oh, who did he think he was fooling? Of course he was. Desperately, deeply in love with the same woman who had laughed at his offer of marriage and disappeared from his life for years, taking their child with her. What was the matter with him?
But he frowned, and never mind that his expression was shielded. “Am I that obvious?”
“Christ, yes.”
Sidney tore off his mask, and this time, he gave in to his temper and tossed it to the floor. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his foil. “Lovelorn. Yes. I am that. Fuck.” He dropped his foil, ripped off his gloves, raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell. Arse. Shite.”
Northwich’s gaze narrowed. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, damn it.” Indignation speared him. “Why the hell does everyone always assume I have been over-imbibing?�
��
“Because you often have.”
“Fuck you, Northwich.” He glared. Nothing was unfolding the way it was meant to unfold. Not his marriage to Julianna, not this fencing bout, and not this bloody conversation.
“Do you still want another bout?”
“I see what you did there.” It was his turn to quirk a brow and study his friend. “Seeking to distract me because you fear the possibility of my victory and your crushing defeat?”
“This is not about fencing, is it?”
Sidney sighed. “No.”
Nor had it ever been.
Everything, since the first time he had laid eyes on Lady Julianna Somerset in the library at Farnsworth Hall, had been about her.
And it still was.
“You are in love with your wife,” Northwich observed, and not for the first time.
On this occasion, however, Sidney did not argue. His pride had fled him some time last night when his gorgeous vixen of a wife had been in his bed. “Yes.”
“Then why are you here, demanding another sound trouncing?”
Why indeed? The answer was complex. Laden with meaning he had no wish to examine.
He swallowed. “She does not love me.”
“Then love her enough for the both of you.” Northwich shook his head. “Believe me, old friend. Of all the priceless possessions a man can amass, love is by far the most rare and coveted. Treasure it when you have it. Seize it when you do not. The rest will come.”
The devil?
Was Northwich giving him romantic advice?
“How should you know?” he demanded. “You are a dedicated bachelor.”
“Not because I choose it,” he said cryptically. “Go home to your wife, Shelly. Woo the hell out of her until you have her in the palm of your hand. Then woo her some more. Stop to remind yourself how fortunate you are. And bloody well woo her again.”
With that, the Duke of Northwich turned on his heel and stalked away. Sidney watched his friend go, thinking he had almost seemed shaken, as if he, too, was tormented by the same emotions haunting Sidney. By love.
Northwich in love? It seemed preposterous. However, the more he thought over their recent interactions, it also seemed possible.
And Northwich was right.
Sidney had nothing left to lose. He was married to Julianna. She was the mother of his daughter. She already owned his heart. Nothing had changed that—not time, not her defection, not distance. He was, and had always been, hers.
Clarity hit him in the form of a bruising weight being lifted from his chest. Sidney was going to go home and woo the hell out of his wife. Mayhap it was not too late for an attempt at happiness for the both of them.
Chapter 16
Dear Julianna,
You have returned. Two years ought to have taught me a lesson in pride, but it would seem they have not. Since Hellie gave me the news, quite without realizing how much you once meant to me, yesterday—curse you, how much you mean to me still—I have been able to think of precious little else. It seems you consume my every waking and sleeping hour. You are here, and you are not mine. You are here, and in all this time, no one has ever come close to replacing you in the scarred, tattered remnants of my heart. You are here, and I will do everything in my power to make certain our paths shall never cross.
Bitterly yours,
Sidney
Julianna blinked as she descended the stairs for dinner later that evening and paused mid-step. Surely she was mistaken, and the handsome, debonair figure dressed in formal evening attire awaiting her at the foot of the staircase was an illusion.
She hesitated, lingering where she was as his emerald gaze melded with hers. A jolt went through her, even from her height, despite the distance separating them. Her heart was beating fast, both from his presence and the heated remembrance from the night before raining over her.
He was here.
Just when she thought she could use her quiet dinner solitude to fortify her defenses.
Wrong, whispered that wicked voice.
“My lord,” she managed, wetting her suddenly dry lips. “I thought you would be taking dinner in your club again tonight.”
“Why would I take dinner in my club when I could be here with you?” he asked, raising a brow.
Oh yes, the devil she knew was proving himself to be, more and more, the devil she did not know at all. Julianna almost begged his pardon, but there were servants about. And she could not continue to hold their conversation while she was on the stairs. With a deep breath for fortification, she resumed her descent.
“I am gratified you will be joining me,” she forced out as she reached the last stair and stood before him at last.
His intoxicating scent—bay, musk, Sidney—invaded her senses.
“Liar,” he said softly, but the accusation lacked heat.
She blinked, confusion reigning. “I beg your pardon?”
“You hardly appear pleased your husband is joining you for dinner, chérie.” That stare swept over her like a caress. “For one, you are abusing your lip in cruel fashion once more. For another, you are looking at me as if I have given one of your favorite gowns to the chimney sweep.”
“Why would a chimney sweep require one of my gowns?” she asked instead of agreeing with him.
“I would hardly know.” He grinned. “I am not a chimney sweep.”
Odd, irritating, vexing, charming man.
“That makes no sense.”
“I often do not. Ask my sister.”
“Hellie said you had been beastly to her recently, favoring her marriage to that dreadful Lord Hamish White.” It was true; however, that conversation had happened weeks ago, and well before Hellie’s marriage to Huntingdon. Mayhap it was churlish of her to bring it up now, but it had bothered her ever since Hellie’s revelations.
And she needed to cling to reasons to distrust and dislike this man. He had an unwanted way of skating ever nearer to her heart. Her heart couldn’t trust him, but it was too foolish to know that. The sooner she returned to New York City, the better.
“I had been…distracted recently, and I did not champion her with our father as I ought to have done,” he admitted, his expression contrite. “There are a great deal of things I have not done properly, it would seem. I would like to rectify that. Beginning with dinner.”
He swept into a belated-but-elegant bow.
She barely dipped in a curtsy. “You are being terribly formal, Shelbourne.”
He winked, extending his arm to her. “And here I was, thinking myself charming. May I escort you to dinner, wife?”
Did she have an option? She eyed his arm warily, rather as if it were a snake poised to strike. “What is this about, Shelbourne?”
If he was attempting to charm her so he could have her in his bed each night, he was about to be disappointed. She had already decided earlier she would summon every bit of resistance she possessed to harden herself against him tonight and every other night for the foreseeable future.
“This is about dinner, chérie.”
“Dinner?”
“Indeed, a repast involving multiple courses during which one sits at a table and consumes—”
“I am aware of what dinner is,” she interrupted, frowning at him. Where was his levity and lightness emerging from? “I was not asking you what it is, but rather why you are here for dinner this evening when you have been absent thus far. What are your intentions?”
He caught her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow when she still hesitated. “My intentions are to dine with my lovely wife, and that cannot happen if we remain here all evening, arguing over the definition of dinner.”
“I was hardly arguing,” she grumbled.
He made a noise of subtle disagreement in his throat as he led her into the dining room. “Hmm. If you insist, chérie.”
The table was laden with three overflowing vases of white roses. They caught her attention immediately not just because they were beau
tiful and unusual, an extensive showing when there were no guests in attendance. But rather, it was because white roses were her favorite flower. She had told him so once, long ago.
Surely he could not remember?
He escorted her to her seat, seeing her comfortably settled. And just when she supposed he would put some much-needed distance between them and go to his own place setting, he leaned toward her, inhaling swiftly.
“You smell particularly divine, my dear.” His hot lips glided over the shell of her ear.
And just like that, every part of her went weak and wild for him. So much for her dratted defenses. He had torn them down as if they were fashioned of clay rather than stone.
“Thank you.” And to the devil with her voice for being so breathless.
He moved away, taking his heat with him. She tamped down an errant surge of disappointment. What had she expected, that he would kiss her senseless before the footman standing in attendance?
Shelbourne seated himself and the first course arrived. The soup was Chiffonade de Pintade, and the rich scent of thyme and guinea fowl reached her nose as the serving was laid before her. The servants disappeared from the room, following Shelbourne’s nod, leaving them alone.
She was acutely aware they were the only people in the chamber. Quiet descended as they began to consume the dish, which was quite excellent. But whereas the tranquility had not disturbed her before when she had been alone to dine, it seemed to scream now. His presence was magnified, taking up all the empty space between them.
Making her uncomfortably aware of him.
And warm. Good heavens, her dratted palms were at it again.
“You are dressed in my favorite shade of blue,” he said into the silence.
Surprised, she glanced down at her bodice. One of the few pieces she had brought from New York City, it was fashioned of silk satin, with blonde lace adorning the bodice and dripping from the sleeves. It happened to be one of her favorites, and she had worn it in an effort to lift her spirits.
Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4 Page 21
