Julia tried to maintain her anger and not be distracted by the muscles in his throat. She wondered what they would feel like beneath her lips then nearly expired from shame at the thought.
What on earth was the matter with her?
Striving to bring this uncomfortable conversation back to the realms of polite society, Julia spoke again.
“I apologise, my lord. I have let my tongue run away with itself. I should not—”
“For heaven’s sake, if you wish to keep your honour, do not mention your tongue while there are witnesses about.”
Julia’s gaze flew once more to his, green eyes clashing with blue.
“I—”
“No, do not bother scolding me,” he said, a wicked smiling hovering at the corners of his mouth. “I know that was not an appropriate thing to say. And you are so very concerned with propriety.”
He turned to ensure that his mother and the dowager were safely ensconced on the sofa.
“I must admit, however, I am vastly relieved.”
“Oh, and why is that, my lord?”
“For a moment there, I thought you had lost that fire that has kept me thinking about you these past months. I am pleased to see it still burns beneath the ever-so-proper surface.”
Julia dipped her head and practically ran to the dowager, stumbling a little in her haste.
“Careful, Miss Channing,” he said, his voice low and altogether too delicious.
“Oh, I shall be,” she answered pertly.
His chuckle followed her across the room.
Julia took her seat beside the dowager and tried desperately to calm her erratic breathing.
That man was trouble. She had guessed as much during their brief meetings, but she knew for sure now.
And the most troublesome part of all was how much she enjoyed his teasing, his attentions, and his entirely inappropriate comments.
Julia smiled calmly at the dowager, refusing to even glance up when Lord Ranford took a seat opposite them.
“Charles, Lady Hartridge and I were just reminiscing before you came in. Do you know, it was in this very room that Tom and Caroline first met? Of course, at the time, we had hoped Caroline and Edward would marry.”
“Really?” Julia piped up, unable to help herself. “I am sorry to speak out of turn,” she said hastily. “It is just -- well, it is so hard to believe. Mr. Crawdon is so very much in love with Lady Caroline, and the duke looks at Lady Hartridge as though—” She stopped and blushed, unable to think of a delicate way of saying what she meant.
“As though he wants to devour her. Yes, we know,” said the dowager drily. “And, of course, Tom is no better.”
“And my girls are just as bad,” said the countess now, though her smile was such that nobody could think she was anything other than delighted at the idea. “But they are happy and really, we could not ask for more than that.”
“No, indeed,” agreed the dowager. Then, with an all-too-familiar mischievous glint in her eyes, she continued. “Now, all that’s left for us is to find a wife for Charles, and we shall be well pleased.”
CHARLES, WHO HAD BEEN in the process of sipping tea from the ridiculous china cups he despised, nearly choked at the dowager’s words.
How had the conversation turned from misty-eyed memories of his sisters’ marriages to him getting stuck with a wife for the rest of time?
“Oh, no. Do not get any ideas into your heads. Either of you,” he said firmly, making sure to stare at each lady in turn.
“But, dearest, you must marry. You know that. It is your duty.”
Charles bit back a curse. Though he would have dearly liked to use his extensive swearing vocabulary, it wouldn’t be worth the lecture that was sure to follow.
Why, even Miss Channing would disapprove.
He looked at her now and could not stop a little smile at the thought of one of her disapproving lectures. Somehow, her disapproval was more exciting than irritating. To see those full, rosy lips pursed like a stern governess’s just made him want to loosen them with his own. To see those bewitching green eyes flash with temper before she reigned in her emotions just made him want to replace that anger with desire, with excitement. Yes, her lectures would be vastly entertaining…
“Charles? Dearest?”
He snapped back to attention and recovered his frown in time to scowl once more at his mother.
“I am well aware of my duty, Mother. And I will marry in due course. But it will be my decision, and it will be made without any interference from you. Or from anyone,” he added sternly with a look at the dowager for good measure.
For ladies who had lived as long as they had, they could certainly sulk like a pair of toddlers.
Miss Channing had remained studiously quiet during the exchange.
“Now, if you will excuse me, there is estate business to take care of.” With a perfunctory bow, he left them and headed straight for his study.
Estate business, as far as he was concerned, involved drinking copious amounts of brandy and trying not to dwell too much on Miss Channing’s rich red hair and head-turning curves.
Usually, he would be keeping his mind very firmly on such things, not off. But with his mother and her hawk-eyed friend in the house, it would be safer for everyone to ignore her impressive attributes as best he could. At least when Edward and Tom arrived, there would be shooting, card playing, and any manner of gentlemanly pursuits to keep him away from the temptation of Miss Channing and the watchful eyes of his mother and her friend.
“WELL, UNLESS HE DOES something about that mood of his, he shall definitely need our help,” the countess announced gaily as she watched her son stomp from the room.
“Hmm…” The dowager nodded her agreement. “…although, I must say, my dear Mary, from the stories I hear, he is never short of female admiration and company.”
“Too true, Catherine. Unfortunately, the admiration is from a distance since the mamas are rightfully wary of him, and the company.” She shot a glance at Julia, who was listening avidly though she knew she should not be interested. “Well, let’s just say it is less than salubrious.”
“Not to worry. After all, both Edward and Tom were determined they would not marry, and look how that turned out.”
The countess went to speak, but the dowager held up her hand.
“No need to thank me, dear. It was my pleasure.”
“Thank you?”
“Why, yes. If it hadn’t been for me, they never would have gotten their heads out of their—”
“Yes, quite,” the countess interrupted quickly. Clearly, Rebecca was a bad influence on the dowager. “Anyway, there will be plenty of time for Charles to find himself a respectable wife when he goes back to London next Season. But enough about that. Miss Channing, I know so very little about you. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Julia froze in horror. She’d been rather relaxed listening to the chatter of the two older ladies. Had foolishly let herself relax.
Of course, the countess would be curious about her. She would have learned little from the dowager because Julia had avoided talking about herself as much as possible, and the dowager had given up asking.
The countess was gazing expectantly at her, and Julia felt her hands get decidedly clammy.
“W-well,” she stuttered. “There is not much to tell, my lady.”
“Nonsense,” said the countess stoutly. “I am very well aware of the kindness you did my daughter, Miss Channing. And both my girls and the dowager speak so very highly of you. I’m sure a young lady with your grace and manners must have come from a very good family. Yet I have never heard the name Channing, I confess. Who was your father?”
Think, Julia, she commanded, even has her head began to spin. You’ve answered these questions before. Only, what did you say?
Mercifully, the dowager came to her rescue.
“Miss Channing’s parents passed away, Mary. She was raised in her uncle and aunt’s household, w
ere you not, dear?”
Julia let out a whoosh of relief. In the midst of her panic, she had clean forgotten the story she had concocted for herself. Now, thankfully, it came rushing back.
“Yes, your grace,” she answered demurely, in control of herself once more. “My mother and father died when I was a child. My aunt and uncle took me in and raised me in their home.”
“Oh, I am sorry, child,” said the countess, her eyes filled with compassion. Julia found she couldn’t hold that kindly gaze. The guilt of lying gnawed at her as it frequently did.
“Your father was a gentleman?” the countess pressed.
Julia rapidly weighed up the danger of telling the truth and decided it would not be so dangerous. They could, perhaps, search for a baron named Channing, but they would not find one. She had adopted her uncle’s last name when she had come to London.
“Yes, a baron. We did not have a grand estate, but our home was comfortable,” she answered, almost truthfully. Her home had indeed been comfortable in terms of size and servants. But then, it had not really been a home at all.
“Ah, so you were well provided for,” the countess said satisfactorily.
Julia blushed. How she hated these questions!
“I am afraid not, my lady. We, that is to say, my father spent rather a lot.”
She drew to an embarrassed halt, and the countess nodded sympathetically.
“I am sorry, my dear. I should not have pried so. I have always been far too inquisitive. We shall speak no more about it. Now, Catherine, tell me all the news from London.”
Julia heaved a sigh of relief and was happy to sit back and allow the other ladies to gossip about all the latest on dit from Town.
Julia knew none of the people they spoke about, regardless. She may have met them every now and then, but she had made sure, from her first event with the Hartridge family, that she remained quiet and unforgettable, forming no close attachments or lasting impressions.
After a while, the countess rang for the housekeeper and instructed that the ladies be shown to their rooms and allowed to rest before dinner.
Julia was surprised to find that, as in the dowager’s townhouse and the duke’s estate, she was assigned a guest bedroom right beside the dowager.
“My lady,” she said now, her eyes gazing longingly around the beautiful bedchamber, taking in the palest pink silk wallpaper, the plush cream-coloured carpet, and beautiful rosewood furniture. “I could not possibly stay in this room. Surely, the servants’ quarters—”
“Now, Julia. Do not start up this servant nonsense again,” interrupted the dowager before ignoring Julia altogether and turning instead to the countess. “The child has notions about not being entitled to this and entitled to that. Really, I just smile and nod now and then get on with it.”
“Er, I can still hear you, your grace.”
“Yes, dear.”
Julia wasn’t quite sure what to say in response, but it seemed a response was unnecessary.
“You just rest awhile, dear,” said the countess. “And when you are ready to bathe and dress for dinner, ring the bell and one of the maids will attend to you.”
Julia frowned in consternation. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful. She was vastly grateful to both ladies for treating her so well, but the fact remained she was a paid companion, not a guest.
But it seemed that neither lady had any plans to listen to her objections or at least take them seriously.
“I do not know what to say, my lady,” she said in a low voice.
“A thank you will suffice.”
“Thank you. Truly,” she added with sincerity.
The countess smiled and patted her hand.
“You really are a remarkably beautiful girl, Julia.”
“I told you,” said the dowager. “Wouldn’t they be charming?”
“Oh, quite.”
Before Julia could ask what they were talking about, the ladies took off down the corridor, leaving her feeling a little nervous and extremely curious.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLES PEEKED HESITANTLY AROUND the corner before deciding that the coast was clear.
He’d been hiding in his study long enough, and Murphy, their long-suffering butler, had informed him that the ladies had retired to their chambers and would not return until it was time to assemble for dinner.
He’d been cooped up for too long. Checking his timepiece, he saw that there were two hours before dinner, which meant he had at least one hour before his valet Jefferson came chasing after him to make him respectable.
Charles decided to burn off some of his energy at the lake.
He’d been tense and jumpy since the arrival of Miss Channing and the dowager.
It didn’t help that his mother had gotten that I want grandchildren look in her eyes the second his marriage had been brought up.
It helped even less that, while his mother was yearning after more grandchildren, he was thinking of the beautiful redhead sitting across from him and how those babies would be made.
Biting back a groan of frustration, Charles quickly made his way through the conservatory and into the brisk evening air.
The winter chill was well upon them now and already a frozen mist was descending on the verdant grass. Soon it would be dark. Soon he would have to go back inside and try not to drool over his soup as he sat across from Julia Channing.
He had wondered if perhaps he had over-exaggerated her beauty, if his mind had conjured up the mysterious something about her that was so very intriguing.
Charles had had his fair share of women. In fact, he’d had others’ share of women too. And one was really no different to the other, he reminded himself.
Why then had he felt that damned tug on his heart when she’d stepped into the room? Granted, it wasn’t the only part of him he’d felt a tug in, but that he could understand.
What he couldn’t understand was his fascination with this woman. Yes, she was beautiful. In fact, she was far too beautiful for his peace of mind, considering they’d be sharing a house for the next few weeks.
But he’d had beautiful women coming out of his ears and never felt this, this frisson of awareness whenever they were near him.
Striking out toward the lake, Charles hunched his shoulders against the biting winter wind. Perhaps his mind was looking for a distraction.
Ever since his father had passed away and Charles had been shoved into the position of Earl of Ranford, his responsibilities had weighed heavily on his shoulders. And, of course, being that he was the only son and heir, he had to be strong to help his mother and sisters through the mourning period, to comfort tenants and friends and offer his assurance that he would keep the estate running just as his father had, or he would try to anyway.
The thing was, Charles didn’t feel like he was made for that sort of responsibility. He had lived a less than pure life for many years now and had thoroughly enjoyed every second of it. He walked a fine line, just the right side of utterly debauched, though he had managed to keep the worst of it from his fretting mother.
Upon his father’s death however, Charles had no choice but to bid a fond farewell to his previous lifestyle and return to take up the reigns at Ranford Hall.
He loved the Hall. Always had. It was home, after all. He had taken his first steps in the corridors of the rambling old mansion. Had had his first romp in the hay with a very friendly village girl in the stables beyond the house.
Yes, there were plenty of good memories for him there.
And he found, to his surprise, that he enjoyed his role as lord of the estate. Enjoyed the rapport he was building with the estate steward and with his tenants and their families.
But there was a constant worry that one day they would all see him as a useless fraud. Or that he would buckle under the pressure and lose the estate that had been in his family for years. And he would admit, albeit only to himself, it was a sometimes lonely life.
Oh, there was always company to be
found in the tavern in the local village. Or, if the mood took him, at one of the many establishments in Dublin only a day’s ride away.
And yet.
He had been feeling more and more like something was missing. He did not know what, just that he was ready for something more and he feared that a quiet country estate was not the place to find it.
And then Julia Channing had arrived.
And with her, that curious pull of attraction. A pull that seemed to go beyond the physical.
Well, it was no good.
He could hardly seduce her when she was now under his protection, under his roof.
And he would certainly not want to encourage any ideas his mother and the dowager were possibly entertaining.
Besides, he’d been taken in by the apparent innocence of one beautiful woman before. He was not about to make the same silly mistakes he’d made in his youth.
No. Best that he keep his distance. Be coolly polite. And wait impatiently for Edward and Tom to arrive so he could divert himself from thoughts of her.
Lost in his brooding thoughts, Charles’s attention was caught by a brief flash of red to his right.
He knew what it was, there was no point in denying it. He knew from the way the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up, by the flash of heat that shot through his body. It was her.
So, he could do the sensible thing and continue on his walk to the lake. Or he could be insensible and torture himself.
Changing direction, he started off after that tantalizing flash of red. Of course, he had chosen torture.
JULIA SHIVERED AND PULLED her heavy woollen cloak tighter round her shoulders. Perhaps it was foolhardy to walk in the gardens in such cold weather.
But frankly, resting for two hours did not appeal to her, and she was feeling decidedly jumpy.
For one thing, the countess’s questions had rattled her. For another, she couldn’t stop thinking about the earl. And though Julia had called herself all kinds of fool, the man refused to leave her head. Thinking about him was doing her no good; she must put him from her head at once.
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 3
