“Really?” asked the countess gently. “You seem upset.”
Charles muttered a muffled yet audible oath, which earned a stern look from him mother and a delighted cackle from the dowager.
“Feathers ruffled, Charles?” she asked gleefully.
“I am not upset, and my feathers are unruffled. I just, I am— that is to say, I believe—” He flailed about for a moment much to the amusement of the older ladies in the room before barking, “Dammit, it isn’t right.”
“What isn’t, dear?”
“This!” he yelled. “Him. Her—” He pointed frantically at Julia, who sat in stunned silence. “He waltzes in here, using my house as some sort of, of hunting ground and preys on unsuspecting young women. Young women, who, I might add, are under my protection. Well, she’s not going anywhere with such a cad.” Rounding on Julia, he said fiercely, “I mean it. You’re not. I forbid it.”
The end of his rant was met with total silence, stunned from the dowager and countess and furious from Julia.
She had absolutely no desire whatsoever to go driving tomorrow with Mr. Trent, but how dare he presume to forbid her from doing things?
He was just like her father. Her evil, tyrannical father. Her rational self argued that one incident of odd behaviour could never prove that Charles was anything like Sir William, but Julia was too annoyed to listen to that.
“Well,” began the dowager, sounding rather surprised. “I did not think—”
Julia, however, did not give her a chance to finish.
“My lord,” she said loudly now, bringing all eyes to her. “I thank you for your concern. However, I hardly think Mr. Trent is a predator. And an invitation to go driving is hardly ruinous. And much as I appreciate your interference…” she continued, her teeth clenched. “…it is not necessary or even acceptable for you to forbid me to doing anything.”
Julia knew she should stop. After all, she didn’t even want to go driving with Mr. Trent, but his boorish manner and presumptions that he could order her about were too much to be borne. And why did he care anyway?
“I should very much enjoy seeing some of the countryside. I have never been outside of England before, and Mr. Trent was kind enough to offer himself as an escort.”
There was silence once again as Julia drew to a halt. She shot a nervous look at the dowager and the countess, but both ladies offered her an encouraging smile before turning back to Charles to await his answer.
For a moment, Julia thought he would not answer at all.
Then, after a rather awkward pause, he spoke.
“I should have been more than happy to show you around, Miss Channing. It was remiss of me not to do so. However, I would be honoured if you would join me the day after tomorrow so that I may rectify my mistake.”
Julia felt confused at his words but grateful that he was no longer in a temper.
“Thank you, but, well, Mr. Trent is taking me tomorrow.” She felt compelled to remind him.
“Yes, which is why I want to take you the day after. You won’t see anything tomorrow if Mr. Trent is taking you.”
Julia was even more confused.
“Why ever not?”
“Because the man is so painfully dull he’s likely to put you to sleep within five minutes.”
The countess gasped, the dowager laughed, and Julia supressed a smile.
“Charles,” the countess berated. “You cannot speak so ill of Mr. Trent. He is a vicar, for heaven’s sake.”
Charles smiled wickedly, and Julia suddenly found it difficult to breathe again.
“Yes, I know, Mother. Some of my best naps have been during his Sunday sermons.”
The countess looked about to say something else, but Murphy at that moment came to announce that dinner was served.
Not standing on ceremony, the countess and dowager went ahead. Julia made to follow but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
Looking back, she saw that he was staring at her in that disconcerting way of his.
“You will join me for a drive?”
“Well, I—”
“A ride then,” he interrupted, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say. “I should like to show you my estate.”
Julia reminded herself sternly of all the reasons she should keep her distance. Not least the fact that she craved his kiss more than she craved her next breath. Staying away from him was by far the safest and most sensible thing to do. And yet…
“I would love to,” she answered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHARLES CALLED HIMSELF ALL kinds of idiot, fool, and a plethora of other insults.
Not only had he gone back on his decision to keep his distance, he’d acted like a jealous suitor in front of two of the nosiest women in Christendom.
God only knew what his mother and the dowager would read into his actions.
And, really, why had it bothered him anyway?
Charles had been involved in plenty of drunken brawls, but he’d never felt violence toward a man of the cloth the way he had when he had heard Mr. Trent was sniffing around Julia.
Perhaps it was just male pride? Yes, that was it. That must be it.
The audacity of the man to pounce on Julia as soon as she’d come into the country. He had a duty to protect her! That was it; he was just doing his duty.
And if he had felt that he wanted to rip the man’s damn throat out, well, that was to be expected, was it not?
It had been his protective instinct in action. It had nothing to do with the fact that the thought of anyone’s hands, lips, or other appendages anywhere near Julia made his blood pressure go through the roof.
Dish after dish had been served at the dining table. His mother and the dowager had droned on about Mr. Bloody Trent and all his virtues. Julia, for the most part, had said nothing.
Which was just as well.
If she’d been extolling the man’s angelic qualities, Charles wasn’t sure the table and its contents would have survived the conversation.
Every once in a while, she’d glanced up and locked eyes with him. Then, like clockwork, that delectable blush had travelled up her throat and had stained her satiny cheeks.
And every single time Charles had felt that tightening in his gut, his groin and, confusingly his heart.
He’d practically forced the girl into agreeing to go riding with him. Though, he thought now a little smugly, she hadn’t seemed displeased with the idea.
Well, he decided calling for more wine; he would just have to make sure their outing was infinitely more enjoyable that her boring trek around the village with Mr. Boring.
Charles felt the beginnings of a wicked smile.
He could think of plenty of ways to make sure their day was far from boring. Each one more appealing than the last.
JULIA TRIED HER LEVEL best not to stare at Charles throughout dinner, but it was impossible. She had exercised rigid self-control her whole life. In her youth, it was for protection against her father; in her later years, her father and his friends. And since she’d escaped to London, it was keeping a cool and safe distance from everyone, even the dowager who was becoming more like a mother to her than any she’d ever had.
But it seemed as though that reliable self-control was no more immune to the charms of Charles Ranford than anybody or anything else.
Julia tried not to be thrilled at his reaction to Mr. Trent’s paying attention to her. But she was. It seemed very much as though he was jealous. Impossible, of course. Ridiculous, most definitely, and yet, it really had seemed that way.
And then, of course, he had asked her to go riding. Her heart skipped around when she thought of their spending the day touring his vast estate.
She wished that she had a flattering riding habit and then cursed herself for her folly. She had never before wished for attractive clothing. Had concentrated on making herself as plain as possible.
But now, selfish vanity had her wishing for something flattering, a warm colour that woul
d turn his head, rather than the serviceable olive-green velvet she possessed.
Julia supressed a sigh and risked another glance at the man who had invaded her waking moments and deepest dreams.
He was looking right at her, the intensity of his eyes taking her breath away once again.
Julia could feel the blush that betrayed her innocent confusion creep up her throat. She willed it not to appear, but it was useless.
The man set her to the blush every single time he looked at her that way.
“Julia?”
Julia snapped out of her reverie at the dowager’s querying tone.
“I apologise, your grace,” she said, blushing further still. “I was wool-gathering, I’m afraid.”
Another quick glance at Ranford showed him to be smirking in that self-satisfied way that should have set her teeth on edge, but it just made her want to press her lips against his own.
Shocked at her wanton thoughts, she quickly turned back away. She was sure he knew where her mind was taking her, especially given the soft chuckle coming from his end of the table.
“Thinking about your Mr. Trent, are you?” the dowager said with a sly look at Charles. Julia was stopped from answering by the sudden coughing fit that afflicted the earl at the top of the table. “Do not choke yourself, dear,” the dowager said, less than sympathetically, before turning back to Julia. “I was just saying how wonderful it will be to have the others arrive at the end of the week.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
“I confess I am quite beside myself with excitement,” said the countess now. “It seems like an age since they were here. It will be nice to see them under happier circumstances.”
The countess’s quiet reminder of her husband’s death and subsequent funeral dimmed the jovial mood somewhat, but after a moment or two of quiet contemplation, the lady’s smile returned and even brightened.
“How I long to see the twins,” she said. “They are beautiful, are they not?”
“Oh my, yes,” the dowager answered. “Quite the most beautiful babies I ever saw, excepting Henry, of course.”
The two ladies went into paroxysms of joy as they discussed their grandchildren, and Julia was happy to allow them to indulge themselves, mostly because it required no input from her.
She could not understand what the dowager was about. Suggesting a far more intimate relationship between Julia and the vicar was bad enough. Using it as a stick to beat Charles with was significantly worse.
Julia tried not to let her heart gallop too much at the thought that it did seem to bother Charles — which was obviously wishful thinking. Yes, they had shared a kiss. And yes, that kiss had evoked more passion in Julia than she had ever thought she was capable of feeling.
But Charles Carrington was not the type of man to be overset by one kiss. The man must have had hundreds.
No, she must be stricter in not letting her imagination run away with her. Charles did not care about her. He did not care about Mr. Trent. He did not care, full stop.
HE CARED, DAMMIT. THAT was the devil of it. He cared that she was clearly taken with that insufferable bore, Trent. He cared that his mother and the dowager were clearly elated by the thought of a match. He cared enough to bloody well choke on his wine, no doubt adding fuel to their gossipy little fire.
Charles set aside his port and reached instead for the brandy. The woman would turn him into an absolute drunk if he wasn’t careful.
The ladies had not long retired, and Charles didn’t intend to hang around too long by himself before joining them. Last night she had snuck away. In fact, they hadn’t spoken at all since that kiss, unless you counted his demands that she join him for a ride, and he didn’t count that.
He meant to catch her before she ran away again. He did not know why he was so compelled to seek out her company, particularly when he had told himself that it was dangerous and complicated and all manner of other negative things to be around her. But he could not help wanting her company. She appealed to him in some indefinable way. And he didn’t want to define it. He had a suspicion that definition would lead to more brandy.
Lust was there in spades, of course. She was an absolute siren; he would have had to have ice water running through his veins not to feel lust for her. He liked her too, which surprised him. Charles tended not to like the members of the fairer sex, especially the very attractive ones.
Vapid, vacuous, and altogether conniving; he had long since learned not to trust any of them. And lack of trust was not conducive to likeability in his opinion.
But Julia…
Julia was different. More beautiful than any woman he’d ever know, even Isobel. She had not that air of arrogance about her that both intimidated and fascinated a man. She was not vapid or vacuous. Her green eyes shone with intelligence, and integrity oozed from her in waves. He managed a small smile as he remembered her sense of propriety and her desperate attempts to remain unnoticeable, instead of trying to draw attention at every turn like other females.
Didn’t she know that she was fighting a losing battle? How could she ever be unnoticeable when she lit up a room just by being in it?
He uttered a soft oath and raked his fingers through his overlong chestnut hair. Jefferson would have a seizure if Charles didn’t let him hack off some of it soon.
Finally, having decided that enough time had passed that he wouldn’t seem too eager, Charles moved to the door.
He barrelled out of the room, intent on getting to the drawing room quickly enough to stop Julia disappearing, and ran straight into the woman he was chasing after.
Instinctively, he reached out to clasp her shoulders as she staggered backwards. God, she was tiny. He had an almost overwhelming urge to gather her close, for no other reason than to protect her from the world and its horrors, which was stupid.
“Miss Channing, we really must stop meeting like this. I fear it will lead you to an injury one day.”
Julia giggled, and the sound weakened his knees and straightened his—
“I apologise, Lord Ranford.” She sounded a little out of breath.
He found he liked what it did to her voice, almost as much as he liked hearing his name on her lips. “Where are you rushing off to?” he asked and hoped she would not notice the fact that he still grasped her shoulders because it felt wonderful.
“I was retiring for the evening.”
“So soon? We have not had a chance to speak above two words to each other.”
He watched, mesmerised as she swallowed nervously, then nearly lost control altogether as her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“I, I um—” She cleared her throat and spoke again. “I do not want to be overtired tomorrow, and I did not sleep as well as I should have liked last night.”
A jealousy such as he had never known lanced through Charles at her words.
The idea that she wished to be well rested, wished, perhaps, to look her best for Trent was enough to make him see red.
“But of course,” he sneered. “We cannot have you looking anything but your best for Mr. Trent, can we?”
He ignored the widening of her eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly, Miss Channing. How are you to catch yourself a man if you’re not looking your absolute best?”
“I assure you, I have no intentions of catching—”
“Of course, if you continue to insist on hiding your beauty beneath all that drab material, one as dense as Mr. Trent is hardly likely to appreciate what a prize you are.”
He heard her gasp and knew he was being cruel, lashing out at her when it was his own stupid feelings that had him in this pit of jealousy. But he could not seem to stop himself.
“But then, a vicar’s wife should be as dull as the man himself, I suppose.”
“His wife?” she repeated now incredulously, and Charles noticed for the first time that her air of quiet primness had disappeared, and, in fact, she looked
to be in a towering rage.
And, depraved soul that he was, the knowledge sent a shot of desire racing through his veins.
“For God’s sake,” she continued, and strangely her anger seemed to lessen his own.
Instead, all he was starting to feel now was pure, unadulterated lust.
“I do not even know the man. I was being polite, which is clearly a concept that you do not waste time being familiar with. Well—”
“No, you don’t know him, do you?” he interrupted hoarsely and was pleased to see her expression turn from angry to surprised then wary at his tone. “Not the way you know me.”
Julia laughed breathlessly.
“Know you?” she repeated. “I cannot work you out at all, my lord.”
“Ranford,” he whispered, stepping closer, his anger forgotten, his desire definitely not.
“I — you, you cannot say such things and then expect me to—”She stumbled over her words, and her face began to flame as he stepped closer still.
He found it incredibly endearing.
“I apologise for my anger. It was misdirected.”
“I think you mean entirely illogical. There is no need for it. You—”
“Oh, there’s every need for it…” Charles said, and his eyes devoured her upturned face. “…when I know he will desire you, when I know he will try to win you, when I know that he will, without doubt, try to do this.”
He kissed her then with all the anger, jealousy, desire, and madness he’d been experiencing since she had arrived. Since before she had arrived. Since the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
He felt her surrender, felt her arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer still, and, with a growl of satisfaction, he complied, increasing the pressure of his lips, his tongue dancing with her own.
Unbidden and unwanted, a thought flashed through his mind, the only thing coherent in the storm of feelings raging through him.
She’s mine.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JULIA AROSE LATE YET again after another sleepless night, courtesy of the devilishly handsome earl.
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 6
