Her heartbeat returned, faster than before. Her first impulse was to run toward that carriage as fast as her feet would take her. Her second was to run in the opposite direction, to hide herself on the heath and never return. But Julia had learned quite a lot about self-possession in the weeks and months that Sebastian had been gone, and she did neither. She finished the ramble that she had just begun, and returned wind-blown to the house some forty-five minutes later. If she had secretly hoped to impress Sebastian with how unconcerned with his return she was, she had wasted her time.
Because the carriage brought not Sebastian but a message from him. She was, his note informed her tersely, to present herself in town in two weeks’ time.
XIX
The journey to London took two days in the closed carriage that Sebastian had sent for her. With only Emily for company, Julia soon felt she was going quietly mad. The country-bred girl, excited by this first venture beyond the confines of Bishop’s Lynn, chattered constantly, exclaiming over nearly everything she saw. Since she had experienced much the same thing in reverse when Sebastian had brought her into the countryside after a lifetime spent in London, Julia was sympathetic to a point. But even heartfelt sympathy could not quell the urge she felt to ask Emily to hush for just five minutes. Since kindness forbade her to do any such thing, Julia spent most of the journey praying that it would end.
But as evening fell and they entered the outskirts of London, bowling along the familiar narrow streets and crowded thoroughfares, Julia sudddenly wished that the trip would go on forever. The thought of seeing Sebastian again filled her with dread.
When the carriage rocked to a stop at the address on Lisle Street, Julia made no move to alight. Instead she delayed by leaning to look out the window. Her stomach churned with what she suspected was nerves and what she insisted to herself was travel sickness. To her surprise she saw that their destination was a neat little row house that looked cozily welcoming in the glow of the torches burning at either end of the street. It was a charming dwelling, but it did not look like any place Sebastian might live. A footman opened the door and let down the carriage steps. Julia could delay no longer. Frowning, she accepted his proffered assistance and stepped from the carriage.
Her anxiety over meeting Sebastian again was now overlayed with a different unease. Upon first reading his message she had noted that the address at which she was instructed to present herself was not that of his house in Grosvenor Square. She had guessed it was a lawyer’s office or some other business establishment. But this was definitely someone’s home with ruffled curtains and pots of big pink geraniums on either side of the door. She could not by any stretch of the imagination picture Sebastian living in this pretty little house. From her knowledge of the high and mighty Earl of Moorland, he took grand surroundings as much for granted as he did air to breathe. She made a face. Standing there wondering who owned the house was only another way of buying time. Sooner or later she would have to go in—and face Sebastian.
Was he even now inside? That was the question that drove all other considerations from her mind. She stood hesitating at the bottom of the modest set of stone steps that led up to the entrance, staring at that white painted door with the simple brass knocker as if it were the gateway to hell. There was no way to know without going in herself, of course.
Taking a deep breath to quiet the butterflies that were doing flips in her stomach, she climbed the steps, a thankfully silent Emily at her heels. The door opened as she approached it. A man stood there, but it was not Sebastian. A short, thin, cadaverous fellow in a butler’s uniform was looking her over in a way she could not quite like. She stared back at him nonplussed while his eyes passed quickly over what little of her body he could see, shrouded as it was by her hooded cloak.
“Mrs. Stratham?” His voice was extremely polite. Perhaps she had just imagined the look in his eyes.
She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and responded with a cool affirmative to the title that was still a little strange to her. He bowed his head as she passed by him into the entry hall, which was charmingly decorated in whites and yellows but was still nothing like what she would have expected of one of the earl’s residences. But, of course, it must be. There was no possibility of a mistake. The butler even knew her name.
“I am Granville, ma’am. Please call upon me for anything you may need. The staff here is rather small, just a cook-housekeeper, two maids, and myself. And now your own maid, of course.”
Behind them the footmen who had accompanied Julia were carrying in her bags. Granville raised his voice to a surprising degree, shouting out, “Mary!” A plump girl responded, and Granville directed her to show Mrs. Stratham upstairs.
Julia could stand the suspense no longer. “Is my lord Moorland here?” She had to know if he was liable to appear at any moment like a demon in a puff of smoke.
Granville’s face took on an expression that she couldn’t quite decipher. The look was completely devoid of respect; instead she could almost have sworn he leered. But that was impossible, of course. No servant would do such a thing in response to an innocent query from a member of his master’s family. It would be grounds for dismissal. She must be overly tired, and letting her imagination run away with her.
“His lordship left orders that word was to be sent around to
him as soon as you arrived. No doubt he will be with you in a very short while.”
The words were expressionless, but there was something there—she was sure of it. A kind of contempt? Perhaps this man somehow knew of her background? But how could that be? She was very sure that Sebastian would never tell anyone. With a cool thank you she followed the plump maid named Mary upstairs, followed by Emily, who carried her traveling case.
The house was quite small, Julia saw, though the bedroom to which Mary showed her was spacious enough. It occupied the entire front of the upper level of the house, and like the downstairs was decorated cheerily in shades of yellow and white. An enormous bed dominated the far wall, and Julia stopped as she entered, staring at it. Its headboard and footboard were of gilt, and bore carved images of naked females cavorting with chubby cupids amidst hearts and twining vines. The bed hangings were of riotous floral print whose pirmary color was lush pink, and pink velvet curtains which could be closed to give the bed’s occupant complete privacy hung from the canopy.
All in all the bed was like nothing she had ever seen before, and she found it rather shocking. She pictured Sebastian sleeping amidst the profusion of pink velvet and flowers, and her mind boggled. It was harder and harder to believe that this house was his. Perhaps it belonged to a friend, and he was merely borrowing it so that their meeting could be private?
“Miss Julia, would you look at that? Those ladies don’t have on any clothes at all!” Emily’s shocked whisper from behind her told Julia that the maid also was stunned by the bed. But if the house and servants belonged to someone besides Sebastian, she did not want to inadvertently insult them by seeming to dislike their taste in furnishings.
“Shh, Emily,” she whispered back, and turned to look as Mary pointed out the location of the room’s conveniences in a voice that was surprisingly coarse for a maid in a gentleman’s establishment.
“I’m sure you’d like to change out of your travel dirt and bathe, ma’am, so I’ll leave you alone now.” Mary finished, heading for the door. With one hand on the knob she stopped, and turned back as though struck by an afterthought. “Would you like me to take one of your nightdresses downt’ the kitchen and press it? Travelin’ is that hard on clothes.”
“You can press a dress for me, Mary, thank you.” She assumed the maid didn’t know Sebastian planned to visit her that evening. “And bring some hot water to wash in. A full bath will have to wait until later, I’m afraid. His lordship will be arriving shortly and I would not wish to keep him waiting.”
“No, ma’am.” A little grin played about Mary’s too full mouth. Julia, noting it, frowned a little
as she turned to Emily and told her which dress to remove from one of the trunks that the footmen were even now carrying into the room. Perhaps the girl was simple, she thought, puzzled by the maid’s expression. But, remembering the butler’s attitude, she shook her head. Perhaps the entire staff was simple.
Emily handed over a dress of fine black silk, which was indeed sadly wrinkled, and Mary bore it away with her. Another maid appeared at the door momentarily with a can of warm water, and Julia set about making a hasty toilette. She wanted to be ready when Sebastian arrived. Knowing him, he was quite capable of entering her bedchamber without ceremony if she kept him waiting. The thought made her heart speed up. Seated at the small dressing table in her underclothes, Julia stared into the mirror with unseeing eyes as Emily brushed out and repinned her hair.
The image of Sebastian rose up to suffocate her. She had banished it with such success for all these months, but now it would no longer be denied. He had shamed and humiliated her, and she despised him. She was furious at him. She resented his cavalier way of ordering her about; the note by which he had summoned her had been terse to the point of rudeness. But the very fact that he had requested her presence, however impolitely, made her heart pound so that she feared it might beat itself to death in her chest. She hated him for the way he had treated her—but perhaps he was ready to offer her some explanation for his behavior that would ameliorate her hatred.
A tap on the door announcing the return of her dress interrupted her thoughts.
“My lord has arrived,” Mary said with another of those annoying grins as she handed over the dress with a curtsy and slid back out the door.
Julia, watching the door close behind the maid, felt a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. She took another deep, calming breath, and allowed Emily to throw the dress over her head so that not a hair of her elegant upsweep was disturbed. Standing before the cheval glass as Emily fastened the dress up the back, her fingers were trembling. Quickly she clenched them into fists. She refused to let Sebastian see her agitated. Her pride demanded that she be as icily in command of herself as he always was. He might be the earl, but she could match him in dignity.
“You look lovely, Miss Julia,” Emily said at last, standing back. Julia, smiled, thanking her, and turned away from the mirror. To tell the truth, she was so nervous that she could hardly look at her own reflection. If only her agitation would not show.
“Go have your supper now, Emily. I shouldn’t be too long, but I’ll ring when I need you again.”
Then there was no more reason for delay. Julia, palms sweating, went down to meet Sebastian.
XX
His first thought was that she had changed.
She opened the door to the salon and stood for a moment, her slender body backlighted by the glow of the chandelier in the hall. Good manners dictated that he rise as she entered, but the sight of her standing there, so apparently cool and collected while he was as on edge as a debutante at her first ball, annoyed him so much that he remained lounging in his chair.
She saw him then. Her eyes had been moving over the room and at last they fixed on him in the high backed chair flanking the window. He watched her discover him, watched the widening of the golden eyes that had eaten like acid into his mind, watched the faint frown on the lovely ivory face smooth out into nothing. His second thought was, God, she is a beauty. His third was unreasoning anger that that should be so.
“I see your manners are as unexceptional as ever, my lord.” That cool little voice taking the offensive pricked him like the point of a sword. He felt his annoyance increase. She was not supposed to chide him for a lack of breeding, for God’s sake. She might choose to pretend that she was a lady born, but he knew better than anyone that she was not. She was just a little guttersnipe that he had chosen to elevate high beyond her station.
“Hello, Julia.” Instead of entering into argument with her, he chose to continue lounging in the chair, his legs thrust out before him in an attitude of utter relaxation. He was sure she had learned enough to recognize the insult of his posture, since a gentleman would never sit so in the presence of a lady. His eyes moved over her, weighing the pleasing curves and hollows. His memory had not played tricks on him as he had half-hoped. She was every bit as delectable as he remembered. The fact should not annoy him as it did. After all, she was his to enjoy.
In the absence of any further comment from him, she walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She moved to the fireplace, putting her back to it. There was a momentary silence as his eyes ran over her from the top of her elegant coiffure to the toes of the kid half-boots peeking out from beneath the modishly full skirts of her black silk dress. Anyone who did not know she was not a lady born would never guess her origins by looking at her. The high cheekbones and pointed chin, the delicate straight nose and wide forehead, the enormous black-lashed golden eyes and full, sweet mouth, the lustrous sheen of her ebony hair and the slender feminine curves of her body had none of the ripeness that was the form that beauty among the lower classes tended to take. Suzanne had been breathtaking, but the very abundance of her charms, the brightness of the blond hair she had “enhanced” with God knew what preparations, the fullness of her face and even the shape of her hands and feet had been a silent testament to her low birth. But Julia had long slender bones, lovely long fingered white hands, and narrow feet. It occurred to him suddenly to wonder about her father. Her mother had been a whore; the Bow Street runners he had hired to check her story had told him that. But who had her father been? Looking at Julia, he thought that the unknown father must have been well-born. There was no other way to account for her appearance, or the ease with which she had learned to act the lady.
“Did you bring me all the way up here just to stare at me?” Her voice was testy.
It made him smile involuntarily and very briefly. Few people dared to talk to him that way. Whatever else she was, she was certainly no coward. He thought of their coming association with satisfaction. He would enjoy having a mistress with a sharp tongue. In all the time that Suzanne had enjoyed his protection, she had never disagreed by so much as a sniff with a word he had uttered.
“Do you like the house?” The question, seemingly out of the blue, surprised her, Sebastian saw. It surprised him, too. He had meant to seduce her, and then inform her of the happy change in her circumstances. He had learned by hard experience that that was the way to save himself from having to listen to a lot of coy protests. From the way Julia had responded to him that night in the library, he had no doubt that she would be delighted to take up residency in his bed. The sticking point, as with all of them, was getting her to admit it. But Julia was an intelligent young woman, certainly more intelligent than any mistress he had had before. Perhaps he would be honest with her. It would make a nice change, and anyway he did not feel like seducing her. He felt more like wringing her neck.
“The house? It’s … it’s very nice.” She was looking at him strangely.
He stood up suddenly, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his dove gray breeches. It was the only way he could think of to control the almost irresistible impulse he had to grab her by those slender shoulders and shake her until her head rattled.
“It’s yours, if you want it.” He could not help himself, but growled the words when he had meant to be charming. She was maddening him just by standing there looking so damned innocent when he knew she was anything but.
“This house? It’s mine, if I want it?” She sounded as if she thought he had lost his mind. She was frowning as she looked at him. Then her brow cleared. “Oh, did it belong to Timothy?”
He gritted his teeth and took a step closer, cramming his hands deeper into his pockets.
“No, it did not belong to Timothy. Your inheritence from Timothy consists of some twenty thousand pounds invested in the funds. Not a fortune, but enough to keep you from starving one day if you are careful with your income. But the income will not provide you with luxuries, like
this house.”
“If it is not Timothy’s, then whose house is it, and how could it be mine? Are you suggesting that I buy it?”
His mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. “As the guardian of your financial affairs, I would never suggest that you squander your money on such an unnecessary purchase. No, I was not suggesting you buy it. The house is already yours if you want it. It belongs to me, and I would be more than pleased to give it to you.”
“You would give it to me?” She was looking at him, wariness plain in those huge golden eyes. He smiled at her again, not the charming smile he had thought to persuade her with, but a hard, cold baring of his teeth.
“Not only the house, but the furnishings, a carriage, and a substantial sum of money to maintain all that. Shall we say a sum of twenty thousand pounds, to equal what you will get from Timothy’s estate? The combined income will be enough to keep you in comfort for the rest of your life.”
He had not meant to offer so much, of course. It was pure folly. The accepted practice was for a man to support his mistress according to his pocketbook while she lived under his protection. When he tired of the arrangement, he settled a small sum on her and she was free to go on to another admirer. Never before had he offered a woman outright possession of this house, which was centrally located and convenient for him to visit and which had seen him through three mistresses. But then, never before had he wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one. He had found, first to his dismay and then his fury, that the hair of the dog was not as effective a remedy as he had thought for the malaise that had plagued him upon his return to town. At least not the hair of any dog. What he needed, he decided, was the hair of the very dog that bit him. And he meant to have it—and her—whatever the cost.
“In return for what, Sebastian?”
Loving Julia Page 19
