by Sharon Page
“Not to worry, doll. I’m not going to pull the rug out from under you.”
“Well...well, thank heavens for that at least. For then I would fall on my bottom.”
“I would never do that after what you’ve just been through.” He studied her and his voice was caress-soft. “But I’m thinking about making you a deal. If I keep going with you to meet the tenants, you have to sit for me.”
“Sit for him? What do you mean?” asked Zoe. She asked it politely, but she watched Cal with a rapier-sharp gaze. Julia wondered if Zoe was worried about her safety with Cal. But she wasn’t going to kiss him like that ever again.
“I’d like to paint a portrait of Julia.”
“Oh,” Zoe said. Then in a softer, but more intense tone, she said. “Oh.”
“I need to paint you, Julia.”
“I thought you already were. I saw the picture.”
“I had to scrap it. Without you to model for me, I couldn’t get it right. Say yes, Julia. This picture of you—it could be the best thing I ever do.”
He’d moved close to her, holding her gaze, his eyes full of hope and his voice full of urgency. It was as if it meant life and death to him.
She was going to say no—sit in front of him for hours? She’d yearn to kiss him.
Why couldn’t she find out about passion with Cal? She couldn’t do it without caring too much about him—she already did. And she couldn’t lose one more thing—neither Cal, nor the very last unbroken piece of her heart.
“Please, Julia?” His voice was the softest rasp.
But no didn’t come out. “Would you promise not to do a thing to Worthington while I sit for you?” she asked. She hadn’t even consciously thought that.
He cocked his head. A train whistle blew and she heard the clatter of locomotive wheels on the tracks in the distance. “I’m almost willing to do that just to get you into my studio.”
“But not willing to go that far?”
He grinned. “That’s probably the first time I’ve said it. I’m not willing to go that far.”
“Then what are you willing to do?”
“Keep an open mind. And give you another chance to convince me.”
She was about to point out that she was not getting much in return when Diana, who had been standing there, broke in. “Julia, darling, he does paint women naked.”
She had forgotten about that. “That’s not what you want me to do, is it?”
“I never would have dreamed of asking. Unless you’re willing.”
She was about to say: Of course I wouldn’t. Then she saw the wicked grin playing on his lips. He was expecting her to be shocked and outraged. So she gave him a serene smile. “The idea is more intriguing than I expected. I will be in London for three days. I’ll give you my answer at the end of the trip.”
He made a sputtering sound.
And despite the pain of yesterday, she felt a ray of hope blossom. She might just win the most important battle she’d ever waged.
The train chuffed in and smoke billowed out, wreathing them in its white mist. Julia felt a gaze on her, and turned to see Zoe staring at her with one brow raised.
People disembarked. Porters opened the doors of the first-class carriages. Farther down the platform, Julia saw all their luggage vanishing into the train, then Sims and Zoe’s maid climbed the step into their compartment. As they got on board, Julia asked Cal, “Are you opening Worthington House in London for your stay?”
“Wor—What?” he said. He’d been staring at her. She managed to hide a smile of victory.
If he wanted this from her, surely she could use it to save the estate. And to help him heal. She could use the time with him while he was painting to do just that.
“The London house. Worthington House is just a block from our London house. In Mayfair. Near Hyde Park.”
Then he said, “I plan to stay at a hotel. I don’t think a man needs more than one house that’s big enough to house a small village.”
“Worthington House is lovely,” Diana declared. “Of course, you’re going to stay there. Once we arrive, I will telephone and have it prepared. It’s short notice, but it can be done. I will stay there with you.”
“I’d rather stay in a hotel,” Cal muttered.
“It is your house,” Diana returned. “Get used to it.”
Cal murmured something. Julia barely heard it. It sounded like, “Not for long.” Her heart plunged. For a moment. Then stubborn determination kicked in as she followed Diana into one of the first-class carriages, and Zoe followed them as Cal held the door.
Maybe she would sit naked for him, if that’s what it would take.
But she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything so intimate unless it was for a man she loved. And who loved her back.
Diana took a seat by the window and planted her hand on the cushion next to her. “Join me, Cal?”
Julia sat across, so she could sit by the window. A few whistles, much haste on the platform, then the whistle tooted once more and they set off. She pressed close to the window as the wheels began to clack on the rails. She loved to see the steam billowing around them as the train started off, then to watch the scenery stream by.
“You look like a kid on her first train trip, Julia,” Cal said. “All excited.”
She looked away from the window. Cal was looking at her—only at her—as if they were the only two in the carriage. Zoe was reading a newspaper. Diana looked bored, as only a fashionable woman could, but she was watching Cal from under the fringe of blackened lashes.
“Travel does excite me,” Julia admitted. “I love this sense of hurtling somewhere new.”
“Hardly new, dearest,” Diana drawled. “You’ve been to London thousands of times.”
Diana partly slumped on the seat in a shockingly casual pose, extended one leg so it rested alongside Cal’s long legs.
“Have you traveled farther than London?” he asked.
“We go north for shooting,” Julia explained. “But that is the absolute farthest.”
“Not Paris? Not Monte Carlo?”
She shook her head. “My mother has been very weak and troubled since after the War, when my youngest brother died. She couldn’t travel and I didn’t want to leave her. But now she’s much better. Time seems to be healing her. And there is Zoe now, who watches out for her, too.”
Zoe looked up and smiled, then returned to her newspaper. The Wall Street Journal—sent specially to her.
“So you’re free now to go wherever you desire,” Cal said. “Where would you like to go?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” She hadn’t traveled very much. If she had married Dougal she wouldn’t have traveled. If she married someone like Bradstock, she would be expected to travel to fashionable places—places deemed socially acceptable.
Before she could respond to that further, he said again, “You’re free to go anywhere you like. Why don’t you travel the world?”
Vivid images flooded her head. Of palm trees and the rippling water of the Nile, where pyramids could be seen from the deck of a steamer. Or the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Or the stunningly tall buildings of New York. Of course, her mental pictures were all from images in advertisements and magazines. “I couldn’t afford to do that. Nor can I travel alone. Not as an unmarried woman. It would be much too scandalous and shocking.”
“It’s a modern world. You can be shocking.”
“I’m not shocking at heart.”
Zoe was not looking at her newspaper—she was discreetly watching them. But Diana piped up, “Oh no, Julia is not wild and adventurous at all. The most daring thing she’s done is go to an underground jazz club. I’ve tried to coax her to do wild things in London with me. I mix with the most exciting crowd of young arti
sts and bold young peers. They’ve taken to calling us the Bright Young Things.”
Cal pulled out a black-bound book from a satchel and a pencil. He began to sketch. “Where would you like to go, Julia?”
“Paris.”
His brow rose. “You’re decisive. Why Paris?” Then he smiled. “Your brother lives there. Go visit him.”
“I simply...can’t. I could hardly get on a ship alone and voyage so far.”
“Women do, doll. Or go with a friend. You know, I’d be happy to take you.” He had his sketchbook open on his thigh, but his eyes held hers. “I’d be happy to take you to see the world.”
She was aware of both Zoe and Diana taking in the whole conversation.
And her heart stuttered. He was gentle and teasing and deeply interested in her. She felt an impossible tug—a yearning to travel with him. To see the lights of Paris, the cafés, the galleries, the parks, and to do it with Cal, who was noble and exciting, naughty and sensitive—
But what did he mean? He must be teasing her.
She sat up in a straight-backed, ladylike way. “That’s really not possible,” she said briskly. “And I did want to talk to you about how women tenants at Worthington—women like Ellen Lambert—can be helped. I am still trying to push Ellen into starting a business. She is very adept with a needle and thread—and I believe she could readily learn to operate a sewing machine. That would open up many possibilities to her.”
Cal looked taken aback. “She’s going to struggle if she’s suffering from shell shock.”
Zoe frowned. “A woman with shell shock? I did not know such a thing was possible.”
“It is,” Julia said passionately. “Ellen Lambert was an ambulance driver in the War and I believe she is suffering the same symptoms as men. I spoke to Dr. Hamilton of course, but he just dismissed me. What she needs is help. Once she is able to deal with that issue, then she can begin a business.”
“Oh, Julia, you are so dreadfully serious,” Diana said. She leaned over toward Cal. “What are you doing, darling?” she trilled. “You keep looking at us, then down at your book. Are you sketching us? You devilish thing! Let me see.”
Laughing, Diana motioned him to show the pictures. But Cal shook his head.
“I shall fight you for that book,” Diana teased, batting her lashes.
“You can see them without doing that. But they’re rough.” He held out the book. Then he leaned back against the seat. His leg stretched along it. Julia realized he always sprawled over chairs in ways that looked defiant, not relaxed.
Propping the book on her skirted lap, Diana leafed through. “Julia...this is a good likeness. Here is Julia again. And—goodness, a figure without her clothing. But I can’t see her face. Who is she? That isn’t one of us, I hope. You aren’t sitting there and imagining what we look like without any clothes.”
“I hope not,” Zoe said. “I’m here as the chaperone.”
Cal gave Zoe a charming smile. “I hear you fly airplanes,” he said.
“I do. I love it. When Nicholas is older, Nigel and I will take him up. Do you still fly?”
“I haven’t done it since the War.”
Julia saw the quick look of pain that showed in Cal’s eyes. Then she glanced over at the picture. And swallowed hard. The woman was drawn with charcoal. Her hair was short and dark. She couldn’t be sure...but the woman’s figure looked like hers.
“That’s not something a gentleman would do,” Cal answered. “I admit I’m not a gentleman, but no, I wouldn’t do that. Anyway, Diana, you’re my cousin. That wouldn’t be right.”
Diana’s smile vanished. She let the pages fall. “People like us marry cousins all the time.”
But Cal just shook his head.
Diana put her hand to her mouth.
Julia realized Diana might be going to visit the married man whom she loved, but she hadn’t given up the idea of marrying Cal. Except Cal had just told her he would never do it.
Diana looked at the picture again, then up at Julia, her face sullen. It was as if the woman who had once been her best friend now hated her.
Julia looked at the picture again. Did it mean Cal had been looking at her and picturing what she looked like underneath her dress, her brassiere, her slip? He had said not, but she was not sure.
She felt hot, embarrassed. Uncertain.
Yet she looked at Cal and she remembered what he’d looked like without his shirt. What did he look like without any clothes?
“Behave yourselves,” Zoe said, glancing over the top of her newspaper.
The first-class compartment suddenly felt too small. Julia stood abruptly. “I have to use the washing compartment.”
But when she made her way back, bracing her hand against the swaying of the carriage, Cal stood in the corridor. His broad shoulders almost filled the space wall to wall.
Brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers. “Damn it, I want you, Julia Hazelton.”
Julia’s heart skipped several beats. Then she managed to give him a polite, restrained smile. “Cal, please don’t. It’s quite impossible. We kissed in a moment of intense emotion. But I cannot give myself to you in the way that you want.”
His lower lip jutted out slightly, in a sensual pout. “You could. The only thing stopping you is the stupid rules of the aristocracy.”
“It’s not the only thing stopping me.”
She moved to walk past him, but he stopped her. “I thought I could get over it. But I can’t. I dream about you.”
He dreamed about her? A forbidden image rushed in—Cal waking up in his bed, sitting up, sheets tumbling off him, revealing his naked torso. She swallowed hard. Cal made her have unladylike thoughts. Thoughts like she had never had in her whole life.
“I never thought this would happen,” he said urgently. “Not with a duke’s daughter. But you’re different. You’re special. I know you’d expect marriage. I know I can’t give that to you. I don’t know if I could even give you my heart. But I’d love to make you see what I already know—that you’re passionate and alive, and you are ready to burst out of your ladylike shell.”
“You wouldn’t give me your heart,” she repeated. She’d never expected him to be so blunt.
“I’d like to lay the world at your feet, Julia. I’d like to take you to Paris to drink wine in Montparnasse and dance to jazz. I’d take you to Santorini, where we could lie naked in the sun and eat figs and olives. I’d take you across a lake surrounded by vibrant autumn leaves in the Canadian north. I’d take you up close to the Arctic Circle, where the northern lights would dance overhead like veils of brilliant color floating through the sky. I’d like to show you the African plains, the South American jungles.”
If she never saw the world, and she did good works, and lived in the country that she knew, she could be content and happy. She was sure she would.
But deep inside, a voice whispered that she should have more. That she had waited and waited for life to begin, yet she had missed the point. She had to set her own life in motion.
What was she thinking? Cal had just told her he would never love her.
He moved toward her, bringing his lips close to hers.
On the brink of melting, she pulled away fast. “No. I can’t do it without love, Cal. Without marriage.”
“Julia is going to London, and will very likely see a man who was passionately in love with her.” Zoe’s husky voice startled. He jumped. So did Julia.
Zoe had come out into the corridor and leaned against the wall, smiling innocently.
“Who is it?” he asked. “One of those weak-chinned titled men who were chasing you at dinner? The Duke of Bradstock, a shallow, arrogant idiot who thinks he can rule over you?”
Julia was about to correct what Zoe had said, but her sister-in-law cheekily added, “He�
��s a doctor. A man who saves lives. He was absolutely perfect for Julia—a true hero who passionately believes in helping others, but he left Brideswell because the family objected and he listened, believing he shouldn’t marry a duke’s daughter.”
“Zoe—” Julia began. For Zoe was leaving an impression that was not quite true.
“Of course,” Zoe continued, “Julia would be willing to defy all her family...for the right man.”
Cal’s mouth was harsh, bracketed by lines. “He should have been willing to fight for you.”
“He left me for what he thought was my own good.” Julia felt she should leap to Dougal’s defense. She had no idea what Zoe was doing, and she felt a bit guilty for leaving the impression that Dougal was still in love with her. But really, did it matter if Cal thought there was someone else? She could never be his mistress. It just felt wrong inside.
Zoe moved on down the corridor. Cal moved closer.
“If I wanted you to be my wife,” he said huskily, “I’d fight heaven and earth to have you. I’d fight dirty to have you, Julia.”
“But you don’t want me to be your wife. And I’m not in love with you, Cal. Just as you are not in love with me. Now I really should return to our compartment. And you are blocking the corridor.”
He moved so she could pass him. “If anyone asks, I’m going to the dining car,” he growled.
“For lunch? They won’t be serving it yet.”
“For a stiff drink. Or ten.”
10
London
At luncheon, after Zoe’s appointment with a Harley Street specialist for pregnancy and “women’s concerns,” Julia dined with her sister by marriage in the elegant dining room of the Savoy. There had been a huge scandal at the hotel last summer when Ali Fahmy had been shot there by his wife, Marguerite. The trial was sensational, detailing sexual scandals in the style of The Sheikh. Despite the notoriety—or because of it—American film actors and royalty still flocked there.
