“Russell?”
Heath’s eyes blazed. “He convinced us we’d be heroes, he and I.”
“You were heroes,” she said weakly. “He was right.”
“He plotted out our brilliant military careers,” he ground out.
“He’s very good at plotting.”
He narrowed his eyes. “An absolute master. That’s why he’s got all those medals.”
Julia glanced around. The horses were skittish, as if they sensed the dark plunge of the driver’s mood. No wonder Heath kept his emotions under such tight control. It was a frightening thing, just to watch that temper building. A sensible person would not want to be in the vicinity when it exploded.
What should she do? Calm him down?
“Actually, you both are,” she said, smiling brightly.
He scowled at her. “Both of us are what? Masters of plotting? That may or may not be true, and I don’t seem to have plotted out my personal life very well. Anyway, what does that have to do with the price of eggs?”
“I mean, you both have. You both have, or had, or will have brilliant military careers.”
He snorted. “Perhaps he guessed how I felt about you all along.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Do you really think so?”
He urged the horses into a smart trot, his voice low and savage. “Of course I don’t. It just makes me feel better to blame someone.” And then he swore.
It occurred to Julia to ask him how he felt about her now, as well as then, but it wasn’t the sort of question an engaged woman could ask her betrothed’s friend. Not in the middle of Hyde Park. Besides, he was still swearing under his breath, and he looked so angry, so discomposed, so . . . beautiful. She had not seen Heath so on edge since the first time they’d met. It was a temptation to provoke him.
She cleared her throat. “Well, what do you think?”
He flicked her an inscrutable look. He’d stopped swearing. He wasn’t going to lose his temper, after all. “I’m not sure what to think. What do you think?”
She thought he hid his feelings far too well. “I think . . .” Her horrified gaze moved past him to the sandy track. “I think that we’re about to crash into that phaeton.”
They didn’t crash. At the last moment Heath drew the curricle to the rail, skillfully avoiding a collision with an expensive black phaeton. The young male driver, also dressed in black, jumped down from the box to apologize profusely.
“Correction,” Heath said, his voice sharp. “He was about to crash into us.”
“It’s Brentford,” Julia said.
Heath lifted his brow. “You sound surprised.”
Brentford strode up before them, his black cape fluttering in the breeze. His face looked drawn, unnaturally so, accentuating the liquid dark of his eyes. “I say, I didn’t mean to give you a scare.”
“Then why did you?” Heath demanded in an impatient voice. “This is the park, Brentford, not a race course. What were you trying to prove?”
“Well, actually, I was . . .” He glanced behind him, looking puzzled. “I was showing off to my friend, my fencing instructor, actually. He wanted to time my progress, but he’s gone. He’s gone.”
Heath blew out a sigh. “Why don’t you join him then?”
Brentford flushed as he stole a downhearted look at Julia. “Good idea. I will. If I can find him, that is.” He pivoted on his boot heels, then began to stride off in the opposite direction.
“In your phaeton, Brentford,” Heath called after him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to leave the blasted thing parked in the middle of the ring.”
Julia shook her head in chagrin. “Poor Brentford. You’ve got him so flustered he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going.”
“He’s definitely going.” He glanced at her, laughing with reluctance. “You mustn’t feel sorry for him, Julia. It could hardly have been an accident that he almost ran into us.”
Brentford, hearing their voices, turned and backed into his horse.
Heath sighed again. “Or perhaps it was. The fool, driving like that. Someone could have been killed.”
“A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Julia asked in a droll voice.
“Not at all. I could have killed him on the spot.”
“For his driving?”
He hesitated. “No. For looking at you.”
His gaze held hers, a smile of bewitchment lurking in his eyes. Julia felt a wave of liquid warmth wash over her. “For looking at me?”
“It’s my job, isn’t it?”
“Well—”
“Do you want me to fight over you or not? This seems as good a time as any to start, seeing that we’ve lost six years.”
Julia could not help herself; she started to laugh with abandon. It felt awfully good to be honest with this man. Then as Heath, grinning, drove through the gates, she noticed the bank of swollen gray clouds gathered overhead into an ominous mass. She glanced back again, thinking of Brentford caught in a shower. But as she resettled herself, her laughter died away.
A little chill chased down her backbone. She had just noticed a man behind the rail doff his black hat to her, the gesture almost impertinent, mocking, as if he’d been secretly watching the exchange with Brentford. The man stood alone, a walking cane tucked under his arm. Before she could see his face, he had turned to blend into the flock of gaily dressed pedestrians hurrying across the park to escape the impending rain.
“What is it?” Heath asked. “Did Brentford drive into the Serpentine?”
“No, it’s . . .” His elbow brushed hers, and she forgot the man who’d been watching them.
“Brentford is going to get caught in the rain,” she murmured.
“Good,” Heath said, driving smartly around a slow-moving barouche. “I hope he does.”
Chapter 16
Heath invited Julia to dinner that same night at his brother Grayson’s Park Lane mansion. Her natural inclination was to accept, although after their straightforward conversation in the park, she did not know how they would act toward each other. Clearly neither one of them had meant to speak so frankly. For the most part she had welcomed the chance to bring her feelings to light. But being candid was not always helpful. Often honesty stirred up more problems than it settled.
Had she shocked him? No. Not Heath, although she had gotten an unexpected reaction from him.
She couldn’t help wondering how different everything might have been if she’d had the courage years ago that she had today. She would never have run away from him.
She accepted his dinner invitation. Hermia had grudgingly agreed to attend the opera with Odham, and Julia was not quite sure that she trusted herself to be alone with Heath in the town house for an entire evening. At least not this soon after their emotional afternoon of revelations. She thought that Grayson and his wife might provide a buffer between her and Heath.
She was woefully misguided. Devils at heart, the Boscastle brothers apparently supported one another in sickness, and in sin. As it turned out, Grayson was only too happy to rekindle the sparks between her and Heath. With a pitchfork.
The Marquess of Sedgecroft’s mansion reminded Julia of a small-scale palace. Elegant Greek frescoes edged in gilt adorned the walls, and large mirrors enhanced the sense of light and spacious luxury. The servants appeared as if by magic to take her green silk stole and to draw her chair. Those same domestics disappeared like smoke the moment they were not needed. The atmosphere was one of understated wealth and ease.
Her slippered feet sank into the plush Persian carpets that covered the polished black oak floor as she was led to the dining room and seated at an enormous mahogany table between Heath and his brother the marquess, a gregarious golden lion of a man. There was a definite air of conspiracy in the house. She felt a little like a pawn on a chessboard. But it was not wholly an unpleasant feeling. Not when Heath’s brooding blue eyes met hers more than once, and held. To be in the presence of two dominant Boscastle men was to fee
l protected . . . and possessed. A mortal woman really could not fight it. A wise one would not attempt to try.
The dinner proceeded without a flaw. Then Heath and Grayson excused themselves during the dessert course for some private male conversation in the marquess’s study.
Jane, the honey-haired marchioness, smiled warmly across the table at Julia. She had been notably silent during the meal, observing her guests. “I have only one word for you, my dear. Beware.”
Julia stared down in feigned alarm at the wedge of cheesecake on her plate. “Poison?”
“Even more dangerous.” Jane lowered her voice, her green eyes glittering in the light of the silver candelabra. “Seduction.”
Julia put down her fork. “Seduction?”
“In classic Boscastle style.” Jane leaned back with a sigh of regret. “That is all I am permitted to say, having married into the family of devils.” She laced her fingers protectively over her abdomen. “And having conceived one.”
“But . . . beware?”
“Or enjoy. Whatever you desire. Heath is an enormously attractive man, and you’ve been married before. I daresay you know how to handle this.”
“Seduction?” Julia said again, as if she were surprised, although all the signs were there. But for his family to see? What could it mean? “Are you sure?”
“Trust me as one who has been seduced, Julia.”
“Well, then, what am I to do?”
Jane took a small forkful of cheesecake to her mouth. “Savor. Enjoy. It’s delicious.”
Julia laughed. “What am I to do if he tries to seduce me?”
“I just told you.” Jane’s delicate face glowed with mischief. “Savor. Enjoy.”
Grayson poured himself a generous glass of brandy and stretched his long legs comfortably across the tufted sofa. “I’ll give you another piece of advice, as this appears to be very serious. Don’t move too quickly with her. Take your time.”
Heath smiled drily. “Six years is hardly what I call running a race.”
“Well, you’ve waited this long for her.” Grayson swirled the amber liquid at the bottom of his snifter. “Make her want you. Make her burn.”
Heath sat down on the edge of the armchair. “I’m burning at the same time, you realize.”
Grayson gave a low, wicked laugh. “Of course you are. That’s why you’re doing this with such care. You want to build the passion moment by moment, kiss by kiss, caress by caress. Let her smolder. Any fool can go up in flames.” Grayson sobered. “I do believe you already know all this.”
Heath shook his head. “It’s never mattered so much before.”
“Dear God,” Grayson said. “It’s fatal, isn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re showing several of the symptoms. Trust me, I am a victim myself.”
Heath removed a cigar from his waistcoat pocket. “You are making no sense whatsoever.”
Grayson snorted. “Love does not make sense.”
“Love?” Heath said, lowering the cigar to look at his grinning brother. “Symptoms?”
“The Six Deadly Symptoms of a Man in Love. Inability to think straight?”
“Well, I do have quite a bit on my mind.” Heath smiled reluctantly. “Julia does challenge a man, yes.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Yes?”
“You usually frown. And the second symptom is an alarming propensity to smile at the oddest moments.”
“Is this an odd moment?” Heath countered.
Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Symptom three: Constant thoughts of the object of one’s desire.”
“For God’s sake, Grayson.”
“Is she or is she not the object of your desire? And do you or do you not think of her constantly?”
Heath leaned his head back. His refusal to answer was all too revealing.
“Four: Absolutely no interest in other members of the opposite sex.”
Heath sat in total silence.
“Five,” Grayson continued heartlessly, “a startling sense of goodwill toward the world in general.”
Heath lifted his head. “That lets me out right there. I hate the world in general.”
“And six,” Grayson concluded, his voice soft, “a perpetual state of sexual arousal.”
“Are you quite finished?”
“No. I’m just warming to one of my favorite subjects.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Bring her to her knees.” Grayson’s smile was devious. “In a figurative sense, I mean, or a physical one, if it pleases you. Has she found out about her faithless Russell?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a little help in that direction?”
“No. Absolutely not. I do not want her hurt, and I do not wish to win her by default.”
“You don’t have forever. When is Russell coming home?”
“I haven’t heard. Not a word. It’s too early anyway.”
Grayson hesitated. “Any chance he might be dead?”
Heath rose from the chair. “Not likely. He’s probably worming his way into Wellington’s graces, and I imagine there’s a pretty Parisienne or two on the side.”
“Then to the devil with him.” Grayson raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Remember my advice. Make her burn.”
Julia knew the moment Heath returned to the dining room. A delicious tingle of foreboding shivered over her skin. She and Jane were discussing their mutual desire to visit the Louvre and admire its plundered art treasures when he and Grayson strolled up to the table. Heath’s gaze went immediately to Julia, and lingered. She looked down, pretending not to notice as her heart leaped into her throat and pounded in response.
Seduction. That was what Jane asserted, and she did have experience. Was it possible? She glanced up to meet his steady look and felt a current of emotion electrify her. He lowered his lean frame into his chair with such unstudied elegance that she actually sighed aloud. And prompted him to smile, a small, private quirk of his sensual mouth that set her pulse racing all over again.
Grayson took his place at the table. “We must invite Heath and Julia to Kent next week, Jane, for our small family gathering.”
Jane lowered the napkin she had raised to her lips. “Our what? Oh, yes, our family gathering. It must have slipped my mind.”
“Don’t apologize for being forgetful, my love,” Grayson said with a tender smile. “It frequently happens to prospective mamas.”
“Oh, does it?” Jane asked, widening her eyes. “I’d no idea you were so well versed on the subject. Do enlighten us further.”
Heath glanced at Julia and grinned. She grinned back, relaxing, despite her conviction that the two brothers were plotting something that involved her.
Grayson lounged back in his chair, unruffled. “Well, my mother did have six of us.”
“And a handful we were,” Heath said, giving his brother a droll look. “Julia and I would love to come. You enjoy the country, don’t you, Julia?”
She glanced at Jane, who gave a small helpless shrug and shook her head, suggesting this was beyond her influence. “Yes, but Hermia—”
“Hermia suggested it, actually,” Heath said in a silken voice, looking very solicitous. “She thought you were under a strain after the incident in the garden.”
“And the street riot,” Grayson added. “What a horrifying experience that must have been. Ghastly, to be caught in the midst of a mob.”
Julia smiled tightly, feeling herself drawn deeper and deeper into their conspiracy. “Yes, it was entirely terrifying. Heath got hit by an egg. I still have nightmares about it, actually. The yolk everywhere, on his sleeve, his hand.”
Grayson blinked. “Really? Well, flying eggs can be dangerous. Especially if they’re rotten.”
“Oh, yes. It was almost as terrifying as the time a tiger cornered me in my garden in India at twilight.” Julia paused. “Almost but not quite.”
�
�Hermia is worried about you,” Heath said, dark humor in his gaze.
“How good of everyone to be so concerned about me,” Julia said. “I’m feeling so delicate I’m not quite sure I shall make it to the door without assistance.”
There was a long silence. Heath sat, in all his Sphinx-like serenity, while Grayson refolded his napkin into the shape of a boat, then asked, “Heath, did you show Julia the new Italian gallery yet?” He glanced at Julia with a smile. “Jane had it designed to duplicate the one at her house.”
Heath stirred. “No, I haven’t.”
“What a splendid idea, knowing how interested she is in art.” Grayson rubbed his large hands together in glee, as if he had not been the one to pose the suggestion. “You do know the way, don’t you?”
Chapter 17
It was indeed, Julia thought wryly, a scene set with masterful skill for a classic seduction. She studied the private candlelit gallery with a wistful smile. There was an inviting deep-cushioned chaise lounge in the corner, and masses of hothouse lilies arranged in a crystal bowl on a low Chinese table that sat on lion-clawed legs.
The plaster ceiling fresco depicted helmeted cherubim. In the recessed alcoves stood life-sized marble statues to replicate ancient Roman gods. Julia made a show of admiring a vestal virgin pouring out an urn.
She was apprehensive, on edge, but certainly not afraid, or even offended. She was perhaps confused by what Jane had revealed. More curious than anything. Temptation thickened the air. Alone with Heath Boscastle in a room designed to encourage intimacy. Where was her willpower when she needed it? And what exactly were his intentions?
Yet she found herself too fascinated to stop him before he made his move. She had inherited a little of her father’s gambling streak, his hunger for life. He had taught her by example that one should take a risk now and then.
Alarming, how intense her secret attraction to Heath had remained over the years. Had it grown even stronger, unattended and allowed to deepen? Her heart gave a painful twist at the thought of what she might have missed. Would miss. He was a unique man, but she had lost him. Who could she blame but herself, the choices she had made? Was there a chance that they could build upon their past to make a future?
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 18
