She already knew the answer. Russell was about to receive a viscountcy for his bravery in the light cavalry, for the risks he had taken protecting his brigade, some of which had been, in Julia’s private opinion, downright foolhardy. But he had caught the great Wellington’s notice, and rumor had it that Sir Russell had a golden political future ahead of him. She knew it meant a great deal to him, and he deserved the acclaim.
She thought he was well-suited for a public career. She was a little less sure of her skills as a social hostess. Out of practice. She could probably survive a monsoon more calmly than London Society. She’d grown far too accustomed to behaving as she wished. Perhaps if she and her husband, a light dragoon officer, had lived in Calcutta instead of a bungalow in a remote country district, she would have been better prepared for her return to the social arena.
She had married Sir Adam Whitby only a month after meeting him at a horse race. Her father had encouraged the match, presumably because it was his duty and Julia’s other suitors had gone off to war. Adam was sweet, attentive, and so infatuated with her she knew that he was a man who would never deliberately hurt her, and he hadn’t until his death. Neglected her, perhaps, but not on purpose.
Like so many other young Englishmen he’d been caught up in a dream of serving in India and making a fortune there. He had assured Julia it happened all the time. She’d had enough adventure in her soul to agree to follow him, even though they’d needed special permission from the army to marry.
She had been unbearably lonely in India, soon realizing how much she missed rainy, green England and her father. She’d had a French cook and a great deal of freedom, but the only time she’d spent with Adam had been a stolen moment here and there. They’d been married for three years when he was killed. Now she was starting her life all over again and discovering how difficult it was.
She could not simply resume her former position in Society. Most of her friends had married and were raising children. If it hadn’t been for Russell’s support, she would still be struggling to find her bearings. He had helped her to take care of her father, Viscount Margate, while he was dying. Russell had been exceptionally kind and patient, handling the details of the funeral and legal matters, and he wanted a family of his own, having grown up as an orphan, an only child. He was quite a self-made man.
In fact, Julia was not sure how she would have gotten through her father’s death without Russell. Her mind had been in a fog. It was only now beginning to clear. She had felt quite bewildered, losing her husband, then coming home to see her father die while she watched helplessly.
She had accepted Russell’s proposal without really thinking it through. She was certain her heart would become more engaged when she settled back into her new situation. He was an enormously attractive personality.
She stopped in the middle of the hall to take stock of her present surroundings. It was one in the morning by the brass hands of the tall rosewood case clock behind her. She had an appointment. She was already late. She had to hurry before Boscastle realized she had left the ballroom, if he hadn’t already. She would not be wise to underestimate him. Or to underestimate his effect on her. As wonderful as it had been to see him again, she wasn’t convinced it had been good for either of them. It bothered her to discover that she had not quite gotten over their encounter. Or that time had not diminished his appeal. And yet . . .
She still did not trust herself alone with the man. What a horrid thing to discover at the age of twenty-six.
She pulled out her ivory fan, snapped it open, and peered at it in the dark. Tucked inside was an amateurish map, a layout of the house.
A large X marked the private study of the ball’s host, the Earl of Odham. The room appeared to be located just around the corner, to her left, four doors down.
She found her destination without further difficulty; the door, however, was locked. She pressed her ear to the panel and heard the unmistakable rustling of papers inside the room. She frowned in disapproval before raising her knuckles to rap quietly at the door.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, then, in an impatient whisper, “For heaven’s sake, Hermia, open this door before I am caught.”
The door flew open. Her aunt’s pale elongated face in its coronet of silver-blond curls scowled at her in recognition. Julia squeezed in around her, praying no one had seen her.
“Why didn’t you let me in?”
“You did not use the secret knock.”
“My goodness,” Julia said, glancing around at the letters and unfolded envelopes strewn around the room. “This room is a shambles. I hope you found what you are looking for.”
Her aunt straightened the vase of peacock feathers she had knocked over. “I did not. The scoundrel has guarded his secret papers very well indeed.”
“Well, clean up this mess.”
“Why should I?”
“Do you really want the earl to know you are a housebreaker?”
“I do not give a fig for his opinion of me.”
Julia knelt and efficiently began to gather the scattered letters into an orderly pile. “Help me, please.”
“Oh, all right. No, those went in the lower-right-hand desk drawer. These with the red ribbon go over here in the box.”
Julia crawled under the desk after her aunt. “Did you see these?” she asked, peering into a leather portfolio of old letters.
“No.” Hermia frowned. “It must have fallen out of the drawer. Can you read any of the papers inside?”
Julia sighed. “I can hardly tell in the dark. They appear to be business letters. Let’s look at them properly, shall we?”
“We’re running out of time. I told Odham I would meet him at half-past one.”
“How can you look the man in the face after you have just ransacked his personal possessions?” Julia asked crossly as she crawled out backward onto the carpet.
“That’s a very good question,” a deep, cultured voice drawled above her. “Perhaps you’d like to practice your answer on me before I escort you to the earl.”
Julia straightened quickly, her eyes dark with emotion. So he had followed her. She should have known. He’d never been like anyone else she’d met, a man always several moves ahead of others. He enjoyed analyzing human nature. His quiet façade hid a dangerous perception, which was, oddly, one of the things she’d liked best about him. One of the many things.
“Boscastle!” the older woman behind her exclaimed. “What in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”
“I should ask—”
“He’s guarding me,” Julia broke in impatiently.
“He’s what?” Hermia asked in confusion.
“Protecting me while Russell goes off to find that Frenchman. Isn’t it the most hideous idea you have ever heard?”
Lady Dalrymple eyed Heath with open admiration. “I think it’s a stroke of genius. A Boscastle as your own personal bodyguard. Splendid. I had no idea he was up for hire, or I’d have snapped him up myself.”
“He wasn’t,” Heath said, shaking his head in obvious chagrin. “Isn’t. Well, at least not for money.”
Hermia’s brows rose toward her widow’s peak. “Then why?”
“Because Russell is afraid that this man who means to kill him might decide to send someone after me while he is hunting the villain down,” Julia said curtly. “He fears I shall be held for hostage, if you can imagine why anyone would bother.”
“You can’t blame him for wanting to protect you,” Hermia said.
Heath pivoted. “There’s someone coming. A man, by the sound of the footsteps. I suggest we finish this fascinating conversation later.”
Hermia took hold of Julia’s arm. “It must be Aldric. Hide me.”
Julia looked at her aunt’s large-boned figure in exasperation. The red silk gown with its taffeta bustle hardly underemphasized Hermia’s substantial frame, or enabled her to blend into the furnishings. “Where do you suggest I put you?”
> “Behind the desk . . . we should all hide to save us an explanation.”
“I’m not hiding,” Heath said, folding his arms across his chest. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and I refuse—”
Hermia grasped him by the sleeve of his evening coat while simultaneously giving Julia a strong push toward the desk. “We shall explain everything later, Boscastle. It is crucial that Aldric not discover us.” She looked Heath in the eye. “You are a man of the world, and Julia’s chosen protector. I doubt any of Society’s trivial scandals could shock you. You see, Aldric is blackmailing me.”
“The earl, black—”
The three of them dove down behind the desk as a key turned in the lock and the door slowly opened. Heath found himself on his knees, sandwiched between Julia’s bare shoulders and Hermia’s ample bustle. There was hardly room to move a finger. If he had ever been trapped in a more preposterous situation, he could not remember when.
Julia lifted her head and looked up at him. Their eyes locked. The corners of her full red mouth lifted as if she were about to burst into laughter.
She had laughed a lot the day he’d spent with her, at little things, at the larger ones, too, such as shooting him by mistake. He felt suddenly, inexplicably, like having a good laugh, too, despite the fact that he could still be drawn to her after years of believing he would never see her again, that she was marrying his rival, that her knee was propped up against his backside. It was tempting to laugh at the sheer capriciousness of life.
Instead, he focused his attention on the pair of leather-shod feet that shuffled around the room. The Earl of Odham wasn’t what one would call a young man, in his mid-sixties, but his mind had seemed agile and alert when he and Heath had met at their club.
Alert enough to notice the letter he had just stepped on.
“Hello,” Odham said softly, bending at the waist to pick it up. “Someone’s been rifling through my desk. That isn’t a very nice thing to do. Quite unfriendly, in fact.”
He got down on his knees, practically eye level with the trio of guests huddled behind his desk. By some miracle he did not appear to see them. Another inch closer and he surely would.
Heath frowned. He had no idea how he would explain being caught snooping around his host’s private study when he really did not understand it himself. He had no excuse for his behavior. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was hiding.
“Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy,” the earl muttered. And then clearing his throat, he added in a loud voice, “It’s a very good thing I don’t hide my personal papers in here.”
A few moments later he was gone, humming to himself as he locked the door behind him.
Hermia crawled out from beneath the desk and straightened her gown and bustle. “Well, that was an invigorating experience.”
Heath came to his feet, eyeing her darkly. “Invigorating is hardly the term I would use to describe a crime.”
“It wasn’t a crime,” Julia said in her aunt’s defense, smoothing out her gown. “Odham issued us a personal invitation.”
Heath snorted in disbelief. “Surely not to rifle his study.”
“Stay here a few minutes while I make sure the coast is clear,” Hermia said, unruffled by his disdain. “You’ve done a bit of spying, Boscastle. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t. Nor, I suspect, do I wish to be involved.”
“I don’t either,” Julia whispered over his shoulder. “Not exactly, anyway, but she is my aunt, and I will not see her wronged.”
He turned, aware of her standing behind him, and examined her face in the darkness. He had always been attracted to the contrasts of her vivid coloring, her fire-red hair, wide-set expressive eyes, and smooth-textured skin. But there was more beneath her subtle beauty to draw a man. There was substance, intelligence, a warmth. He wondered if Russell really knew what he was getting into, or how fortunate he was. “I trust you don’t do this sort of thing often.”
“This is our first attempt at housebreaking, believe it or not.”
He withdrew from his waistcoat pocket the map she had dropped in the hall, grinning at her. “Oh, I believe it. I hope it shall be your last.”
Her full mouth curved into a faint smile. “Once is more than enough for certain experiences, isn’t it? Especially those of the more sinful variety.”
There was no mistaking what she meant. His pulse quickened in response. “I don’t know, Julia. A few of us find a taste of temptation merely whets the appetite.”
“Then what a good thing it is that I am not a hearty eater.”
“Perhaps you’ve been sitting at the wrong table,” he said smoothly.
She arched her eyebrow. “Perhaps I prefer to eat alone.”
He smiled slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d matched wits with a woman and not known whether he would win. The challenge aroused him.
“Come on, you two,” Hermia whispered back at them. “This is not the time for renewing old acquaintances.”
He shook his head in bemusement as Hermia pushed open the door, peered outside again, then disappeared into the hall. He wasn’t even sure what they had just done and how he’d ended up in the thick of their conspiracy.
“What,” he said as he turned back to Julia, “was all that about? You don’t really expect me to believe that harmless old Aldric is blackmailing your aunt?”
She gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s true.”
“Then it should be dealt with in a proper manner. That is to say, through the authorities as opposed to two females breaking into a man’s desk.”
“This is not a proper affair,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “It is a personal one. Aldric is threatening to publish Hermia’s past love letters if she does not comply with his demands.”
“That is—” Heath broke off, curious despite himself. For a man who rarely attended parties, he seemed to be making up for lost time. “How did he come into possession of your aunt’s letters, anyway?”
Julia shook her head. “The letters were written to Aldric.”
He fought a grin. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid I am. You see, Aldric and Hermia had a torrid love affair many years ago, and she was foolish enough to describe certain details of their liaison in their correspondences.”
She looked him straight in the eye, as if warning him not to bring up certain details of their past. He schooled his features into a bland mask.
“And Aldric has threatened to publish her letters unless she pays him some exorbitant price?” he asked, trying to sound appropriately disgusted.
“No.” Julia brushed around him. “Not quite. He has threatened to expose their affair unless she agrees to marry him.”
Heath could not suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth. This explanation was not what he expected, but it made more sense than an image of a malicious, blackmailing Aldric. An elderly earl obsessed to the point of blackmail, in love with a buxom widow who had apparently been quite the temptress in her youth. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to hide another grin. Perhaps youthful indiscretions ran in Julia’s family. They certainly ran in his. No wonder that the two of them, caught alone together, had created such a volatile combination. It was heredity’s fault.
“Well, my goodness,” he said. “Who would have thought it? Aldric and your aunt?”
“My aunt is mortified at the prospect of having this embarrassing part of her past revealed for public titillation.”
“Yes, I can imagine. Hermia and Odham must have been quite a pair in their day.”
Julia gave him another quick warning look as if to remind him that she, too, wished to have the past buried and private. She needn’t have worried. Heath had absolutely no intention of bringing up their history, which made it all the more surprising when she said, out of the blue, “Just to clear the air, I have not forgotten what happened the last time we were together in the library.”
He drew a breath and pretended to study the glo
be on a brass stand in the corner. Where was this leading? Clear the air, indeed. If anything her revelation only fanned whirls of smoke. Now that their past was out in the open, it begged for further discussion. “Neither have I.”
“Perhaps we ought to check the door,” she said with a meaningful look. “Just in case we find ourselves locked inside a room.”
He glanced up, his smile dark. “Perhaps.”
There was a pause. Heath allowed it to expand. He had long ago realized while intelligence gathering that one could learn far more about a person during a silence than a conversation. What would he learn about her? He studied her covertly. He’d never been sure exactly what she had felt for him. Perhaps he had made an irrevocable mistake that day, and she could not forgive him. He might have frightened her away.
She was as cool as a snowdrop in a February frost. The silence did not appear to unnerve her in the least. Well, she had lived quite a life, shooting a fellow Englishman to defend a native servant. The old rules did not apply, or she had never bothered to follow them in the first place. She swept past him to check the door for herself. Her confidence and purpose woke up all his dormant senses, attracting him to a danger he had never encountered before.
She was Julia Hepworth all right, but not the Julia he fondly remembered in his robust sexual fantasies. Perhaps she was more, temptation multiplied by ten. His heart gave a heavy, dangerous thump. How could this be? Part of him yearned for the reckless young girl of their youth, the girl who’d laughed at life and shared her innocence with him. At least with her he had been able to take the lead.
“I heard your father has died,” he said, seeking balance in the safe, the expected. “I am sorry, Julia.”
She sent him a half-grateful, half-searching look over her shoulder. “He would have loved it if you’d visited him. Most of his friends couldn’t be bothered. His mind wandered at the end, but when it returned, it was as sharp as ever. You’d have done him a world of good.”
“I wish I’d known.” And he meant it. Her father had been a big, kind-hearted man whose passion for life had been infectious. Generous to a fault, a gentleman. He’d passed on much of his character to his only daughter.
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 4
