by Beth Trissel
If he hadn’t been bent on comforting Julia, he would have cursed loudly, pounding his fist on the wall, then charged downstairs to fire holes into Cole’s portrait––rather like shooting at himself in the mirror but he was beyond caring. Instead, he forced back the turmoil churning in his gut and smoothed the hair from her damp cheek.
“You’re just deeply affected,” he offered with an assuredness he did not possess.
She swiped trembling fingers across her eyes. “This has gone well beyond that.”
“Maybe. But it’ll be OK, sweetheart. I promise.”
“You won’t send me away?”
He caught her fingers and gave them a squeeze. “No.”
Charlotte appeared in the doorway, a glass in hand. Will saw her look hard from him to Julia, and back to him. No doubt this astute individual knew what lay between him and the woman he was making futile efforts to console.
“Jon’s taking over the tour while I see to Julia.” Charlotte bustled inside the brightly lit room.
“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Julia sniffed.
Drawing the frilly rosebud curtains against the sunshine, Charlotte soothed, “You’re no bother, honey. If I had a daughter like you, I’d want her looked after.”
She stepped to the bedside and bent over Julia in that kind way she had. “I phoned Doctor Phillips and he said you could take one of these little blue tablets I keep on hand for my insomnia. All you need is a good sleep.” She slid a motherly arm beneath Julia’s shoulders and lifted her head to hold the cup of water to her lips. Eyes like a frightened child’s, Julia swallowed obediently.
Cole had scared the life out of her, damn him. Will was sorely tempted to call in an exorcist. Father Seth from Saint Ann’s Chapel would gladly answer the call and bring half the parish with him. But Will couldn’t do it. He wasn’t sure why, maybe because it was eerily like having himself evicted. God help him, he was beginning to sound like a crackpot too.
Charlotte settled Julia back down on the copious pillows. “Shut your eyes and you’ll be out in no time.”
“I should help you with the visitors.” Julia arched up on her elbows.
A gentle push from Charlotte returned the protesting young woman to the cushions. “Don’t you worry about a thing. There’ll be plenty of time for that when you’re feeling better. Rest up. You’ve a big day with the Queen mother tomorrow.”
Julia looked at Will in alarm. “What in the world must she think of me?”
He managed a reassuring smile. “You’ve impressed her as an excellent candidate for the part of Ophelia.”
“Only because Ophelia was crackers.”
“I’ll tell her you’re a polished actress. That will excuse your curious behavior and win you extra points.”
“But I’ve never acted in my life.”
“Nothing?” He’d performed ever since he could remember. “Not even a tree in elementary school?”
“Tutors,” she reminded him with a wry curve of her mouth. “We did hand puppets. And read aloud.”
Her sheltered home life was damn near incomprehensible. “Never mind. I’ll rehearse your lines with you. Besides, you truly are a natural for the role. And not because you’re crazy,” he added hurriedly, “just unique and lovely like Ophelia. Besides, it was Hamlet who drove the poor girl mad. She was fine in herself.”
Skepticism creased Julia’s face, but she seemed more pensive than apprehensive he was relieved to see.
“What am I to wear to this brunch?” she asked.
Charlotte intervened. “I’ve just the outfit saved from my younger days. Even Nora Wentworth can’t disapprove of that. I was far slimmer back then so it should fit you fine. I’m off now. Sleep well.” She patted Julia’s shoulder and turned to go, then stopped. “You’re still the same, Julia,” she added softly, and walked away.
Julia stared after her. “What did she mean?”
“Nothing.” Will was convinced the entire household grew stranger by the moment. He bent back over Julia. “I hate to leave you, but I should go. I’ll check in on you.”
She melted him with a soulful glance. “Thank you, Will, for all your kindness.”
“What did you think I’d do?”
“Send me back to England, but I can’t leave Foxleigh.”
“I don’t want you to.”
She winked sleepily. “At all? Not even a cat’s whisker’s worth?”
He smiled at her odd expression. “Not even that. You really are the most unusual girl.”
Drowsy from the medication, she smiled faintly. “I see...” she drifted off.
He gently shook her. “What?”
“Cole,” she murmured, “in your eyes.”
He winced at the name. “Why is it always about him?”
“Because...it is.”
Julia’s head nodded to the side and she sank into oblivion, leaving Will to wrestle with a phantom. Damn him.
****
Julia woke to dusky shadows seeping through the ridiculously feminine drapes in Will’s bedroom. She must have slept for hours and couldn’t be called awake even now. Her memories of the morning and early afternoon were vague, though Cole’s––or was it Will’s––striking face stood out in her mind. She wanted to get up and search for him, but couldn’t stir from the bed anymore than she could have her own grave. The weight of medication lay heavily upon her like a sleeping potion from centuries’ past.
Mandrake root, she decided, enough to make her sleep like death without killing her.
She must have dozed again. When she woke the second time the room was dark. Then she heard a man singing Josh Groban’s throbblingly beautiful melody, To Where You Are. At first, she thought the song came from a radio playing beneath the window, but it repeated again a little more loudly. That couldn’t be a radio, perhaps a CD player. No. It was a real voice.
His powerful baritone soared into the night like when she and Cole had sailed Manney over hedges and walls. The lyrics filled Julia’s head, branding her very soul, and she joined with the singer in her soprano.
His rich lead swelled to unbearable heights and she sang with him tremulously. “‘Fly me up to where you are...’”
Then his tone dropped deeper and she whisper-sang. Again, the vibrant voice soared above her faint soprano in the vaulting refrain. He seemed to be in the house now, then on the stairs. Was he real, or only a dream?
Her heart rose in her tight throat. “Cole, please don’t leave me alone. I can’t bear it anymore.”
The door opened. Through her watery gaze, she saw Will silhouetted in the doorway. He walked into the room singing under his breath. Sweet Jesus, it was the same tune.
****
Will sang in hushed tones listening for Julia’s barely perceptible echo. It sent an unspeakable thrill through him when he first detected the exquisite thread that was hers. Then her plaintive notes had faded away. Perhaps he could coax more from her.
Wait. Something was wrong. She sat up in bed clutching a pillow, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Was that you singing before?” she squeezed out as though she were speaking past a knot in her throat.
He halted in his tracks. He thought she’d realized. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to upset––”
He got no further.
“Oh, Will––thank God!” Dropping the pillow, she reached out her arms.
The Lord be praised, she was reaching for him.
As if she couldn’t get to him fast enough, she scrambled from the bed. Her legs couldn’t keep pace with her volatile emotions and she staggered. She would have fallen, but he sprang forward just in time to catch her.
Instinct beyond all reason urged him to sweep her up off her feet and hold her to him. By heaven, he’d never let her go, if Cole didn’t pry her away. Let him try, blast him. Will was the one she clung to now, that blue gown spilling over him. How heavenly she felt. If angels were as Julia, he wouldn’t ever choose mortal company again.
&n
bsp; “I was singing with you,” she gasped.
“I heard. Why did you stop? You were wonderful.”
“So were you. But I thought you were Cole.”
Yet she seemed so glad that he wasn’t. Will was beyond confused.
“You sound alike,” she rushed on.
God forgive him, Will was heart and soul in love with a mad woman. He couldn’t help himself and tenderly circled with her in his arms, vowing never to forsake this dearest of all creations, crazed though she was. He alone could understand. He alone could care for her.
“It’s all right now,” he said.
“Oh, yes.”
He slowly lowered her onto the mattress and sat beside her. A quick snatch of tissues from the bedside stand and he blotted her tear-stained cheeks. “I brought you some ice tea earlier,” he said, quelling the huskiness in his voice. He closed his hand around the still chilled glass and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She sipped readily and sat it back on the stand.
“Hungry?” he asked, gesturing at the darkened sandwiches.
“Not for food.”
Again, she reached for him and curled her fingers around his arms. Then she sank back down onto the pillows, drawing him with her so that he was poised just above her. Lifting her hand, she slid her fingers lightly over his face spreading tremors at her caress.
Will touched red hot lips to her cool fingertips. It was as if the most provocative chords in all the earth were a chorus in his ears and she stroked his inmost parts.
Pulling him down beside her, she draped herself against him. Only the glow from the hall revealed her, but he didn’t need to clearly see Julia’s supple curves to know the delights that easily removed layers of clothing separated him from.
His heart drummed in his chest and he quivered at her wordless invitation. “I shouldn’t take advantage of you. I’m your employer. Besides, you’re still drugged.”
She pushed up unsteadily on one elbow. Luxurious lengths of her lavender-scented hair tickled his cheek as she bent over him. He looked into her shadowed eyes, wanting, willing.
He fought to control the racehorse lunging inside him as she pressed seeking lips to his undeniably welcoming mouth. Everything in him, all the fiery longing of a lifetime––perhaps two––surged through him. Had he wandered the desert, womanless, for ages...or just without this particular woman?
His arms closed around her of their own accord and he hungrily pulled her into his parched kiss. Just once he would drink deeply from the sweetness that was Julia...let the wonder of her wash through him as he tasted her lips...and then get a grip on himself for both their sakes.
He let his tongue slip inside her pliant mouth and traced her full lower lip, then her upper...maybe just a little further inside. Her unconscious response to his tender probing rocked him more than the most seasoned courtesan ever could. Julia did as he did, touch for touch, following his lead with an artless surrender that had him groaning in passion and striving wildly for control.
She was everything and more that he could possibly desire, and he must not take her. Hammer that in his head as he might, it wasn’t his brain he was thinking with now.
Good heavens. Was she actually struggling out of her gown? “Julia––we aren’t anywhere near ready for this––” he panted.
“Why?”
Had she any real idea what would follow if he proceeded? He doubted it and stammered a breathless argument, “My grandmother––your parents––me being your boss. You name it,” he said, not mentioning the one name looming as large in his mind as another part of his anatomy was in his pants. “You could get pregnant.”
Julia tossed fluttery yards of muslin on the end of his bed, her expression the epitome of sincerity. “Isn’t that what your grandmother wants above all?”
Will tried not to gape, scout’s honor, and he was a highly decorated Eagle Scout, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from her. “Following marriage, to Miss Patterson.”
“You’d never marry her in a million years. I’m the one meant to bear the next Wentworth heir.”
If only that were true.
Off came the sleeveless white chemise, like an angel divesting herself of her wings. It went the way of the dress, leaving her in a shimmery pink bra and panties.
What did it matter that women wore bikinis showing more? Julia’s satin skin, the swell of her firm round breasts, sleek curve of her hips, was enough to render him nearly speechless. Nearly.
With superhuman effort, Will grabbed her hands before she could remove another article and torture him beyond all endurance. “For Christ’s Sake. Stop.”
She lifted wide eyes. “But we’ve waited forever.”
His insides twisted at her assertion. “No, Julia. It’s been two days since we met.”
He might as well have struck her full in her vulnerable face, and driven his fist into her unprotected stomach. She stared at him, a world of pain in her partially hidden gaze.
“Don’t you want me?” she asked in a voice robbed of breath.
He hated himself. “There are no words to speak my want, sweetheart. But it isn’t me you truly desire.”
She was substituting him for Cole and before Will succumbed to unbearable temptation, he slid from the bed. “Stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said, and fled.
Call him a coward, but this battlefield was lined with mines and he didn’t want either one of them caught in the explosion.
Julia didn’t remain where he’d left her, though. He turned unbelievingly to see her stumble down the hall behind him, pale, shaking, so utterly impulsive.
“No Will! You’re wrong.”
Lord help him. He clenched his teeth and ran back to her. She burrowed into his arms and he held her almost fiercely. Her unique scent filled his senses, her soft body so close, driving him mad. “Wanting you sears me to my soul. But I need to be sure it’s me you crave, not some damnable ghost.”
“You’re already in my soul. Two melded into one––can’t you see?” she cried.
“I see an impossibly beautiful girl head over heels in love with my noble cousin. And if I have an ounce of honor I’ll not rob her of what she’d so willingly give to him. Trust me to care for you, Julia Maury.”
She startled in his grip, swiveling her face up at him.
Will caught himself and pressed his lips together, then said, “I meant Morrow.”
A glint of wonder lit the scrutiny she directed at him.
He dropped his arms. “This stops now.”
The ghost of a smile curved her beguiling mouth.
“You haven’t won any sort of victory,” he insisted.
She tilted her head at him, looking as if she’d damn well come out on top of a skirmish. “That so, my lord?”
He pointed to the open bedroom door. “March yourself back in there, Miss. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She curtsied, unspeakably ludicrous and appealing in her state of undress, then pivoted. “Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight, my lady,” he indulged her.
Eaten up with desire, Will watched her track away from him in that luscious wealth of hair.
It was a no-brainer. He dove in the bathroom and slammed the door, heading for a cold shower. He’d exorcise this demon one way or the other and not yield to Julia’s intoxicating persuasion until he bloody well knew about her.
Now, when had he started saying bloody?
Chapter Nine
“Oh, my.” Julia paused nervously beside Will in the immaculate yard of the enormous Victorian home, now the Marmalade Inn. Flamboyant cherry roses and purple heliotrope lined the brick walk, flanked by green boxwood. The sweet perfume from masses of flowers rose on the sultry morning air.
She lifted her eyes up, up, up, to the many gabled roof. Not a shingle was out of place. A turret––no, two––jutted among the extravagant peaks and lent a strangely medieval effect to the house. And, of course, the walls of would be painted rosebud pink. The
full-blown gingerbread scrolling beneath the eaves, along the wide porch with its spindled railing, and above the bay windows was a sugary white. The excessively decorated house resembled a decadent dessert. Gumdrops and cotton candy came to mind, and Hansel and Gretel.
Will linked his arm through hers. “Come on.”
“I’d rather go into battle.”
A grim smile, and he said, “You are, and dressed to kill.”
The admiration warming his eyes sent a ripple of delight through Julia. “So are you.” He was as excessively handsome in that gray pinstripe as the house was ornate. The expensive suit fitted his athletic build as if a skilled tailor had designed it especially for him. Likely one had.
Feeling far better armed in this vintage frock than anything she possessed, Julia took courage from Charlotte’s contribution. The off-the-shoulders dress followed the natural curve of her bust line and snugged in daintily at the waist. A full gored skirt flared to mid-calf in floral splashes of lilac and teal; the short-sleeved teal jacket added elegance and modesty. The delicate gold heart Will had given her hung from the black ribbon circling her neck and she clasped a beaded purse. The white pumps were her own, but suited the period look.
Julia smoothed back a stray tendril. Charlotte had French-braided her hair and wound the gleaming coil on her head, just the sort of style to meet with Mrs. Wentworth’s approval. Mostly, Julia was thrilled to meet with Will’s.
She took a steadying breath. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to enter the fray.”
He swept his free arm toward the imposing home in a mock bow and straightened with a salute. “Hail, Caesar. We who are about to die salute thee,” he muttered in the manner of ancient gladiators.
Flutters in her middle, she walked by his side up the brick steps and onto the deep-set porch. Ceramic pots overflowing with bright geraniums and trailing ivy bloomed amid the wicker chairs and rockers. Several guests sat comfortably reading the Sunday paper, or simply soaking in the wonderful Victorian ambience.
An older gentleman stood graciously and dipped his head as they passed. Will acknowledged him with a courteous nod. Julia summoned a smile and fixed it there, a kind of merry shield.
