He didn’t care for it at all. He much preferred her as a moving beam of light, dancing from moment to moment, overwhelming his senses.
“Julia?” He stepped forward and took her cool hands in his, causing her to blink up at him, her gaze at last meeting his. The worry in their blue depths was concerning. “How is he truly?”
“Not well.”
“I’m sorry if my delay caused this.”
She had yet to move her hands. “It is not your fault, though he was looking forward to it. I only wanted to mention how easily upset he is so we could avoid anything like that happening again. In case you intend to visit him again someday.”
Someday. What a terrible word. It implied never, because someday never came. How had he never realized that before?
Despite their physical contact, a barrier remained between them, seeming vast and insurmountable. He detested it but wasn’t certain how to remove it. Or even if he could.
He released her hand to place his along her cheek, surprised to find it as cool as her hand. “What do you think is wrong? Have you called for the doctor?”
“Yes, but there’s little he can do at this time. He suggests rest, of course.”
“That hardly seems helpful.”
At last she managed a small but genuine smile. “That’s what I thought as well.”
“I know this is unusual, but could I possibly speak with him? Is he well enough that I could visit with him briefly?” Oliver could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was no nursemaid. In fact, he’d spent much of the past two years building a wall to keep the world out. Now he was reaching out.
Yet he felt compelled to help, despite how uncomfortable it felt. Whether it was Julia’s demeanor or the idea of her father sitting alone in his library, waiting for Oliver who’d never arrived, he didn’t know. Offering to help seemed like the right thing to do.
Julia shook her head. “I hardly think you would want to do that.”
“I would actually.” And it was true. “I won’t overstay. Perhaps a few minutes would lift his mood.” It was difficult to believe that anyone, even an old lord who shared his affection for medieval texts, would want to spend time with him. Nor did he think he had the power to make the man feel better. But at the very least, he hoped it would make Julia feel better and allow her to regain her normal joy for life.
He’d never met anyone who held the joie de vivre she did, nor anyone who managed to exude it so well. It shone out from her in a way that captured those nearby.
Especially him.
“I don’t know,” she said. As she thought over his offer, she tilted her head ever so slightly into his hand, as though tempted to share her burden. The sensation sent a spear of longing through him, landing directly in his chest, spreading warmth.
He took his hand back, uncomfortable at the sensation. Surely that was only lust. How selfish of him—the lady was worried about her father and he only thought of his own desire.
No, he wouldn’t lie to himself. It was far more than simple lust. That scared the hell out of him.
“If you’d like to check with him now and see if he’s feeling up to it, I’d be pleased to wait. Unless you’d rather I return tomorrow.”
Her gaze caught on his once more, studying him as though trying to determine what he was about.
Luckily she didn’t ask, for he didn’t think he could answer.
“Yes. All right.” She stepped back toward the door. “I’ll return directly.”
Oliver shook his head as he paced. What on earth did he think he was doing? If he had any sense, he’d leave while she was upstairs. The farther away he went for both their sakes the better. He could only offer a short-term friendship to Lord Burnham. The alternative to that was continued visits here where he’d come upon Julia frequently. Such an arrangement would only make him want her for—
He stopped short, not daring to allow himself to finish the thought.
“My lord?” A lady’s voice had him turning, but he already knew it wasn’t Julia. An older woman closer to Lord Burnham’s age crossed the room toward him. “You must be Viscount Frost.”
“Indeed,” he managed as he bowed.
“I’m Lady Matilda Hopwood, Lord Burnham’s sister, and Julia’s aunt.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” He paused, certain she had more to say. When she said nothing else, he added, “I’m sorry to hear the earl isn’t feeling well.”
“As are we,” she agreed. Her gown was a deep purple with a floral pattern designed in the height of fashion. She obviously took good care of herself. He’d guess she was several years younger than her brother based on her appearance. “I’m not certain what Julia told you, but he suffers from melancholy, which often manifests into other illnesses.”
“She mentioned that only a few moments ago.” Feeling the weight of her gaze, he couldn’t help but add, “I’m sorry if my unfortunate delay caused any harm.”
She heaved a sigh. “The mind and body connection is often dismissed by many. But with my brother, it is very apparent. It takes so little to set him off these days and has become far worse the last few years. He misses his wife dearly, you know.”
Oliver nodded politely, wondering what had happened to Lady Hopwood. He hated to think he’d be reduced to asking Hawke if he knew the details. Gossip was unpleasant in any form, but he truly wanted to know how Julia’s mother had died, and he had to assume Julia didn’t wish to speak of it. Then again, the less he knew, the better.
“She died while riding with her lover,” the lady offered, shocking Oliver. “Fell from her horse at the man’s country estate.” She shook her head. “Deplorable behavior.”
Oliver couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say to her news, uncertain if it was because of his lack of social skills or because of the lady’s frank delivery of such surprising news.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable.” She smiled and reached out to briefly touch his arm, reminding him of Julia. “I’m told I’m far too blunt, but sometimes it makes for more interesting conversations, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t agree or disagree if he wanted to be polite. Lady Matilda smiled, seemingly aware of his predicament and enjoying it.
“My brother was far too much in love with her. She preferred his money over his charms, I’m afraid. Poor Julia has borne the brunt of their unwise union.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t help but utter the word that would hopefully encourage the older woman to share more.
“I’ll let Julia tell you what she’d like about that. But I do hope she mentioned how careful we try to be with Alfred.”
“Yes, she did. I will keep that in mind.”
“Excellent.” She narrowed her eyes as though seeking more insight into him.
He had no idea how to react to that either.
“Julia is a very special woman. I hope you tread lightly, Viscount Frost. Her heart is tender and far too giving.”
The mention of her heart set his own racing. While willing to admit that his body reacted to her, he didn’t like to think of her heart. It truly would be best if he left now and never returned. Surely he could send some sort of message, stating he’d had to leave for the country. He could pretend to visit his parents. A few weeks away would surely calm his desire for Julia, wouldn’t it?
Doubt filled him as he knew what he felt wasn’t simple desire. Not anymore.
“Oh.” The single word spoken from the doorway had both of them turning to see Julia standing there, her gaze searching between them, obviously wondering what they’d been speaking about.
“I introduced myself to the viscount,” her aunt said with a smile.
“I see.” Julia’s gaze searched his as though concerned as to what her aunt might’ve said.
“It was a delight to meet you,” Lady Matilda said then turned to go.
“And you as well,” Oliver replied, still puzzled by her comments. After she’d left the room, Oliver turned to Julia. “She’s an
interesting woman.”
“Oh, dear. What did she say?”
“Just the usual pleasantries.” Oliver didn’t care to bring up her parents or their relationship, or lack thereof. He was certain Julia wouldn’t be comfortable with all that her aunt had shared.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Julia muttered even as she shook her head. “Aunt Matilda tends to be outspoken. Unfortunately, Father isn’t up to seeing anyone today but asked if you could possibly call upon him tomorrow?” Her brow quirked as though hoping he might say yes.
He searched for the excuse he’d thought of only moments before, but his mind was blank as he stared at those sky-blue eyes. Heaven forbid she ever realized how hard pressed he’d be to deny her anything. “Of course.”
She drew nearer, her hands folded before her once again. “Don’t say that unless you’re certain you can come. The mention of your visit pleased him greatly.”
“I’d be happy to come if it might aid him.” Cursing himself, he stepped close to trail a finger along her cheek. “If it pleases you.”
A tiny intake of breath sent heat through him. “Yes, it would please us both.”
If it hadn’t been for that quick breath, he’d have guessed her unaffected by his touch. He leaned toward her, longing coursing through him. “I don’t care to see you so worried,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes briefly. “He fell ill so quickly this time that it frightened me. Just as his sudden lack of interest in anything frightens me.”
“How do you mean?”
She hesitated before at last saying, “I can’t help but think that one day soon, he’ll look around and see nothing to hold him here on earth anymore. That he’ll simply let go.”
Her quiet words touched him. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing anymore than he could stop himself from gathering her into his arms. He held her tight, hoping his embrace brought her some measure of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mi—”
Her abrupt pause had him drawing back to look at her, wondering what she’d been about to say. But now her lips were pursed firmly, as though she wasn’t pleased at what she’d nearly told him.
“If I can assist you in any way, please let me know.” Then he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, hoping she’d take it as the comfort he intended.
She stayed there, in his arms, accepting his embrace for a long moment. Then she stood back, placing the distance he’d felt earlier between them once again.
“Thank you for calling.” Her gaze returned to that spot above his shoulder that made him want to force her to look at him, to talk to him.
He didn’t pretend to understand what was going on in her mind, but he didn’t like it. She’d appeared to have the perfect life when he’d first met her, but now he realized she was living as imbalanced a life as he was. Perhaps not to the extent of his own, but imperfect all the same.
With no choice, he dipped his head as he bid her farewell. “I look forward to the morrow then.”
She said nothing as he walked out the door, leaving him uneasy as he wondered what was behind those worried blue eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
“It is when ‘hard up’ times set in, and it is difficult indeed to earn an honest penny, that rudimentary exercises in the art of pillage tell against a man. It is then that he requires his armour of proof against temptation, and lo! it is full of holes and rust-eaten places, and he falls at the first assault of the enemy.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of the front door closing echoed in the foyer. She pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool the heat there. She’d wanted nothing more than to lean into Oliver, accept his comfort, and share the worry over her father. But what purpose would that serve? This was something she had to handle on her own. Oliver was a temporary distraction in her life. Nothing more.
If only she could make her heart believe it.
No matter how much she might wish he’d come to her rescue, he couldn’t. No one could. The need to help others, beginning with her father, was her solace—the only way she could find contentment and purpose in her own life. Without that, she’d be nothing. She’d be just a shell, a pretty object that wasn’t good for anything, much like the knick-knacks displayed so carefully about the room. Pleasing to look upon but nothing to hold anyone’s interest.
She breathed deeply, trying to control her emotions as she walked upstairs to her father’s bedroom to sit with him for a time. He was developing a cough. That worry was far more important than determining what Oliver had meant by his embrace.
Her hand was on her father’s doorknob when her aunt called from the other end of the hallway. “Julia?”
“Yes?”
“Viscount Frost is a wonderful man.” Aunt Matilda drew closer. “His concern for your father is touching.”
“Indeed. Though I wouldn’t have described the viscount as kind in anyway. He’s normally rather rude.”
“Sometimes gruff men hide a soft heart,” her aunt said with a smile.
“Oh?” She didn’t want to know such things. She already enjoyed his company far too much. If only she was strong enough to avoid seeing him. After all, nothing could come of her growing feelings for the man.
“I hope you have a chance to find out.” With another smile, her aunt walked down the stairs.
Julia shook her head, confused as to what she meant. Sometimes the poor dear made no sense.
The drapes in her father’s room were drawn. She wanted to pull them back and let in the light, but her father preferred his room dark when he was feeling poorly. She believed the dim interior added to his melancholy and therefore his ill health. Unfortunately, she couldn’t convince her father of that.
She walked slowly toward the bed as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and took a nearby chair.
“Julia? Is that you?” his weak voice asked.
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “I’m here.”
He drew a breath, the rattle in his chest alarming her. “Did you tell Frost to return on the morrow?”
“Yes, and he said he’d be happy to do so.”
“I must apologize to him for falling behind on the research he wanted.”
“I’m certain he understands.” That was the last thing her father needed to worry about. She wished he would simply give Oliver the book or at least allow him to borrow it for a time, but she’d already suggested that only to have her father adamantly refuse.
“I’d give anything to read the other book he mentioned. After reading De Animalibus for Frost, I’m even more intrigued by The Book of Secrets. I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but the author is said to have discovered the Philosopher’s Stone.” The reverence in his whispered words tugged at her.
Her mother had never understood her father’s fascination with such things. She’d insisted studying the past was a waste of time. That had been only one of the many things on which they’d disagreed. Her father had put aside his interests for years in an effort to please her mother. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been enough to make her happy.
But Julia enjoyed her father’s interests. She might not share all of them, but she certainly appreciated his enthusiasm.
“Yes, I remember you mentioning that before. It would be a privilege to read all of his books,” she agreed, wishing she knew of some way to find The Book of Secrets.
“You haven’t found any trace of it?”
Oh, how she hated to tell him no, hated to deny him anything, especially when he was ill. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t. I will continue my search though. One never knows where it might surface.”
“A man couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you.” He gripped her hand for a moment, squeezing her heart as well. His sweetness when he was ill made her want to try even harder to aid him however she could.
“I must caution you not to raise your hopes,” she warned him. “Viscou
nt Frost has been searching for it for some time with no success. If he hasn’t located it, I’m not certain I’ll be able to do so.”
“You were clever enough to get the copy of the last one before him. Perhaps you’ll be able to do so again. I have faith in you.”
She didn’t care to imagine Oliver’s expression if he discovered she’d acquired it, despite all his efforts. He’d never forgive her. Yet how could she deny her father his request? The chances of her finding the book seemed so slim that she decided not to worry over it.
“I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly, Father.”
“No need to apologize. It’s certainly not your fault.” He coughed again, each breath in between them a painful wheeze.
Then why did she feel so guilty as she did each time he fell ill? It was as though all her efforts to make him happy were insufficient. That she was insufficient.
“I’ll send for the doctor again.” She rose to adjust his pillow to a more comfortable position. She detested the helpless feeling that always came over her when he was ill. How she wished she knew exactly what to do to help him. Then again, not even the doctor seemed to know that.
He waved his hand in the air. “What for? He rarely has anything helpful to say, let alone any medicine that aids me.”
That wave of helplessness flowed even stronger. “We still must try.”
“Perhaps you should just let me go, Julia.” His voice was filled with hopelessness. “I seem to be ill more and more frequently of late. I’m a burden to you.”
“No.” The word came out so strongly that her father’s eyes widened in surprise. She breathed deep to regain control. “No,” she repeated more calmly, brushing the grey hair from his forehead. “I refuse to allow you to leave me.”
“I have to wonder if it would be for the best.” He rubbed his chest as though it hurt. “Julia?” he whispered, his eyes drifting closed.
“Yes?”
“Never risk falling in love. It is far too painful to live with no heart. Without it, you’re only skin and bones.”
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 16
