“Of course I do not mind,” he said mildly, taking her offered hand and bringing it to his lips for a perfunctory kiss. His lips scarcely grazed her gloves before he straightened, his gaze meeting hers.
Alice’s expression fell. “Ah.”
She understood. Alice was a clever woman, and that, above her looks, had been what had initially drawn him to her. Part of him had hoped feelings for her would blossom and grow, so that he would no longer be tormented by the suppressed longing he possessed for Julianna. Their time together at Farnsworth Hall, however, had proven beyond a doubt that no woman could ever take Julianna’s place. No one could even compete.
“I had not expected to see you so soon upon my return,” he said evenly, still attempting to navigate the speech he must give. The one that ended them without hurting her.
“Your note was not an invitation, then.”
What could he say? The truth, only.
“No.”
“I see.” She sighed, though she summoned up a smile once more—for his benefit, he was sure, and it was rather resigned. “Forgive me my presumption. It had been far too long since I had seen you last, and I thought you would wish for company.”
He had not invited Alice to Farnsworth Hall. Although she was a lady in her own right, their relationship had not been a secret amongst their set. A gentleman did not invite his paramour to a country house party where his innocent sister and his sister’s equally innocent friend would be in attendance. Particularly when he had been incapable of shaking his sister’s friend from his thoughts.
“I plan to be married,” he said bluntly.
Not to you.
His unspoken words fell between them, and though he should not feel guilty—they had entered into their understanding knowing it would be a comfortable physical distraction and little else—he still hated the way Alice’s composure crumpled.
Just for a brief flash, and then it was gone. Her brow was smooth, her smile firmly in place. “I am happy for you, Shelbourne. Did it happen whilst you were at Farnsworth Hall?”
“Yes, and before then as well.” He paused, thinking over his every interaction with Julianna from the moment he had first met her two years prior. “It has been happening for some time.”
“I had no notion you wished for marriage.” She studied him. “You hardly seem the sort.”
Julianna made him the sort.
But he did not say that either.
“I am sorry I was not clearer in my note,” he offered. “The truth is, I wished to speak with you in the coming days about our arrangement coming to an end. I am in love, Alice. I never expected to be, but…I am, and I have no wish to wait any longer. The time is right.”
“You are in mourning,” Alice pointed out quickly. “How can the time be right, as you say?”
Grandmother would have understood, he knew. She would have liked Julianna. He wished the two could have met.
“We will not marry until the proper period of mourning has passed. However, out of respect for both you and my future wife, I cannot continue with you, Alice.”
There. He said the words, and it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. He could offer for Julianna with an unburdened mind and heart. He loved her, and he intended to be faithful and true. She was the only woman he wanted, now and forever.
Alice inclined her head. “Of course. Again, I am sorry for importuning you today. If I’d had any inkling, I would not have come.”
“I would have sent you a missive, but I wanted to tell you face-to-face.” Well, not this way precisely. He had intended to call upon her. As it was, he had to hope no one had seen her arrival or would witness her departure.
“Thank you, Shelbourne. I did enjoy my time with you, and I am so very sorry about the dowager.”
He nodded, tamping down a surge of emotion at the mention of his grandmother. “Thank you.”
“I will take my leave,” she said, dipping into a curtsy and offering him one last, sad smile.
She whisked past him, exiting the chamber, and Sidney belatedly realized he had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had neglected to give Alice the parting gift he’d had the prescience to purchase some months earlier. A pearl necklace.
He owed her that, after the manner in which he had hurt her, albeit unintentionally. Sidney hastened to fetch the damned thing, hoping he had enough time to reach Alice before she departed, for he had no wish for them to cross paths so intimately again.
When he reached Wentworth, his butler informed him Lady Richards had already departed. Without taking the time to contemplate the wisdom of his actions, Sidney rushed from Cagney House, the necklace nestled safely in a box he carried. Alice was in her carriage, but he reached her before she could depart.
“Halt!” he ordered her coachman, who obligingly reined in the matched pair pulling Alice’s barouche.
She rose from her seat, coming to the edge of the open-topped conveyance as Sidney stood on the step. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No.”
“I loved you, you know,” she said softly.
Christ.
He had not expected tender feelings from her. Mantel clock manipulations, yes. Love proclamations? Decidedly not.
“I am sorry I cannot return your feelings,” he said, offering Alice the box. “My heart belongs to another. A parting gift for you.”
She startled him by taking the box and then cupping his cheek and pressing her mouth to his, there on the street in full view of any passersby. He took her wrist in a gentle grasp and ended the contact.
“Goodbye, Shelbourne,” she said sadly.
He stepped down. For a few moments, they stared at each other. And then her barouche swept into motion. He watched her go, an unsettled, ill feeling unfurling within him.
Chapter 18
Present
Today, I discovered the man I have spent the last few years loving, the man to whom I entrusted myself and my heart in every way, is not the man I thought him to be. What a fool I was. Words are insufficient to reflect my utter despair.
~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883
Shelbourne had defeated her at two games of billiards, but Julianna had bested him twice as well. The hour was late, she was weary, and the unexpected camaraderie they shared this evening had her on edge. She did not trust it. Did not trust him.
He was being…
Sweet.
Tender.
He had asked her an exhaustive amount of questions about her cold cream, her business, New York City, Emily, and the Lady’s Suffrage Society. Whilst they played, he worked an endless amount of information out of her. And she had given it willingly, because he was different tonight.
It was almost as if he was once more back to the man she had thought she had known, before… No. She would not think about that awful day now, when she had seen him kissing his mistress in her barouche on the street for anyone to see. Nor would she recall her heartbreak, the day and night she had spent sobbing in her chamber and feigning an illness so Father would not expect to see her.
Julianna clutched her cue before her as if it were a shield. “The hour is undoubtedly late, and we should get our rest. Thank you for the distraction this evening. It has been most pleasant.”
“It has indeed been pleasant.” The grin he sent her made her belly tighten. “I enjoy spending time with you, Julianna. It greatly pleased me to learn more about your business prospects.”
“Thank you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.
She was proud of the work she had done. It was not done for ladies of her position to own and run businesses, she well knew. But New York City had filled her mind and her heart with possibility, possibility she could not wait to make reality. And she could not deny his praise pleased her. Nor could she deny how dangerous it—and he—was to her.
You must not succumb again, Julianna. You must not—
“One more game,” he said smoothly.
“No.”
/>
One dark brow rose, taunting her. “Then we are to end the evening at a stalemate?”
“I hardly think it a stalemate,” she countered. “We have played four games.”
“One more.”
“I am tired.”
“Do you know what I think, Julianna? I think you are scared.”
Her shoulders went back. “Scared? Of you?”
“Of losing. Of lingering here with me too long. You do not trust yourself do you, chérie?” he asked, his voice silky.
Mocking.
Tempting.
Right, drat him.
“I would win,” she said, although he was an excellent player.
She, however, was competitive. She wanted to best him. And he knew it. They had not played billiards together since Farnsworth Hall, and she could not deny tonight and the ease that had fallen between them had taken her back to that golden summer.
“If you are so certain, then you will join me for another game.”
“One more,” she allowed reluctantly.
He grinned, but of course he was not pleased by her mere concession, the devil.
“The victor ought to receive a reward, do you not agree?” he asked pleasantly, his gaze warm upon her.
She felt it everywhere, that molten emerald stare. Just as she felt him everywhere—his presence, his tall, muscular form. More than once, she had caught herself admiring his hands on the cue, his bottom as he had bent over to strike a ball. His long legs. The way a lock of dark hair fell over his brow. She had been forced to clutch her cue to stave off the longing to brush that hair aside.
She cleared her throat, trying to keep her inner torment from reflecting on her countenance. “What manner of reward do you have in mind?”
His grin deepened. “What sort of reward have you in mind, chérie?”
Being with Shelbourne was easy. She had forgotten the camaraderie they had shared. Their banter. She had never felt at home with another gentleman, as if she were exactly where she belonged, the way she did with him. But she must not forget the other side of the coin. He was charming, yes, but he did not reserve his charm for her alone.
And that had always been the problem.
“A favor,” she suggested, thinking it a reasonably safe choice. “The loser must perform one favor for the victor.”
“Boring,” he declared.
“Rude,” she countered. “What do you propose? And before you begin, be warned that I will not agree to anything wicked.”
His grin slowly faded, but his stare was vivid, smoldering. “Where is your mind, Lady Shelbourne? I was going to suggest a gift.”
Her cheeks were scalding. “A gift?”
“Yes.” His gaze raked her, from head to toe. “The loser must present the victor with a gift. Better than a favor, no? Hardly something wicked. However, if wicked is what you prefer—”
“I already said I do not,” she interrupted, scowling at him.
If she had been flustered before, she was astonishingly discomfited now. She should have gone to bed and fallen asleep. She would have been far safer there than remaining in his maddening presence.
“Then you agree to the forfeit for the loser?”
Julianna had a terrible feeling that regardless of the outcome, the only loser in their every interaction would be her. But she was not about to admit her vulnerability to him.
“I agree.”
He prepared the balls for the next round, and although Julianna told herself she must look anywhere other than at him, he was all she could see. At some point during the course of their play, he had removed his coat so that he was in shirtsleeves, and even those had been rolled up to the elbows, revealing his forearms.
She had never had occasion to admire that portion of the male anatomy for so long before, and now that she had an unobstructed view of Shelbourne’s, she could not seem to keep herself from ogling him. His hands, his forearms—the strength contrasting with elegance.
The memory of those fingers on her, inside her. Oh…
Too much, Julianna.
She turned on her heel and pretended to admire a picture on the wall as she attempted to stay the heat coursing through her. She counted to ten. Backward from ten. Tried to summon the hurt of that long-ago day when she had chanced by Cagney House at the right—or wrong—moment.
“Ready?”
His deep voice at her ear, so near, had her spinning around, hand to her heart, wielding the cue as if it were a sword. “You startled me.”
“Admiring the picture?”
Her gaze tangled with his as she willed her pounding heart to calm. He was just a man, after all. “It is a lovely picture.”
“I had it commissioned.”
“Oh?” In truth, she had a brief impression of shades of blue. Ocean and sky, she thought.
“The painter is American. I met him in New York City, quite by accident. We were staying in the same hotel.”
The reminder he had been there jolted her. “You never did tell me how long you were there or why you traveled to America.”
A small smile flirted with the corners of his lips. “Long enough. As for why, I went there for you.”
He could not have shocked her more had he sprouted wings from his back and flown out the window. “For me?”
“As I said.” He nodded toward the billiards table. “Ladies first.”
Surely he did not intend to make such a revelation and then play a game of billiards. But a cursory examination of his handsome countenance suggested he did indeed. And what could she do? Everything inside her teemed with the need to know, with questions that wanted answers.
Instead, she turned to the billiards game. Her heart was still bruised and aching from the last time he had trampled it. She could not afford to give him another chance to do so.
This was what he did, she reminded herself. He charmed her. Made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. But he did the same to the other women in his life. That was the way of it with rakes and rogues.
She missed her first shot. Shelbourne did not.
Her hands were trembling as she took aim on her next turn, questions churning in her mind. “What did you mean when you said you came to New York City for me?”
“Just what I said.”
Her cue struck the ball, but once more, she did not manage to force a ball into a pocket. She flicked a glance in his direction, studying him as he took his turn, effortlessly scoring another point.
“Why?” she asked, needing to know.
“Because I missed you, Julianna.”
Of all the explanations he might have offered to her query, this was the one that cut the deepest. She felt it like a barb in her heart.
“You missed me.” The words escaped her, and she felt numb. Disbelieving. Of course she longed to believe them, quite desperately.
But she could not. Dared not. Would not.
“I missed you. I wanted you to come back to London.” A sad smile flitted over his lips for a brief moment, before disappearing again. “I thought I could persuade you.”
Her grip on the cue tightened. “But I never saw you. You never called upon me.”
“I intended to. However, I saw you with another gentleman. You seemed happy. I turned my attention elsewhere. Bought that damned picture and about a dozen others instead. One of them was a landscape of the harbor in New York. It reminded me of you, so I took a knife to it and then tossed the remnants in the fire. The rest are scattered about.”
He spoke matter-of-factly. As if everything he was revealing was not akin to a dagger being lodged between her ribs.
“You came to see me.”
His jaw clenched. “Take your turn, Julianna, else the game shall last all night.”
Finishing this dratted game was the last thing on her mind just now. “Why would you come to New York City and then leave without calling upon me?”
Part of her—the most foolish part—mourned that lost chance. She knew not why. If she ha
d known he had followed her to New York City, would it have changed anything? It certainly would not have taken away the fact that he had been kissing another woman in the street upon his return to London after his grandmother’s death.
Lady Richards.
The name still made her stomach curdle. Fleeing to America had meant she had not been forced to cross paths with the woman. But now that she was in London, it was inevitable they would see each other at some social event or other.
“I saw the way you were looking at him,” Sidney said coolly. “Turned out I had pride, just not very much of it.”
She struggled to recall who she might have been walking with that day. She’d had many friends in the city, some of them gentlemen. Mama had been determined to matchmake, her heart set upon a hideously wealthy American marrying her daughter, likely to spite Father. But Julianna had never been interested in any of the men she had met and befriended. Her heart had belonged to one man.
It belonged to him still.
“I do not know who was accompanying me that day,” she said softly. “It could have been anyone. Mama was quite set upon seeing me married off.”
“It no longer matters.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Take your turn, Julianna.”
Fine. If he did not wish to discuss it, she would leave things as they were. The hour was growing late, and her emotions were raw. She aimed and managed to score a point. Their game progressed in silence. Shelbourne missed three shots in a row, and Julianna renewed her effort to defeat him, all while turning this new information over again and again in her mind.
What did it mean? Why would he have followed her across an ocean when he had been kissing Lady Richards? Did she care? Should she care?
Her cue sent two object balls caroming into pockets.
“You are the victor, Lady Shelbourne,” he declared, his tone grim. “I owe you a gift.”
There was only one gift she wanted from him.
The truth.
And she was going to do everything in her power to get it. If not tonight, in the coming days. He had much to answer for. And mayhap she did as well.
Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4 Page 24
