Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3)

by Nadine Millard

  JULIA DID HER BEST to supress a sigh of disappointment as she gazed into the mirror. It was beyond foolish to now lament her wardrobe when she had purposely bought these types of gowns and for a very valid reason.

  They had never bothered her before, and they shouldn’t bother her now.

  Julia had never seen herself as one prone to vanity; in fact, she had come to hate her perceived beauty because of what it had meant for her growing up, but she could not help but wish that she had a luxurious satin gown in the height of fashion, something to show off her figure to an advantage. Something that would make Charles’s eyes light with those blue flames that sometimes danced in them.

  She lifted a hand and patted the severe bun that contained her gently curling, deep red hair. She imagined her hair, styled like Caroline’s or Rebecca’s, all delicate curls and soft tendrils framing their faces.

  She had seen how Mr. Crawdon and the duke looked at their wives. And she wished, almost violently, that Charles would look at her that way.

  Glancing at the clock, she saw that she was in danger of being late again, and as much as the prospect of bumping into the earl was enough to set her blood scorching, Julia could not be rude with guests coming.

  Besides, she had allowed the earl to take liberties that were just unacceptable. Allowed him to kiss her and make her feel things a single young woman had no business feeling.

  Company was good. There was safety in numbers. Not that she was afraid of him. No, she was just terrified of what he made her feel.

  CHARLES WINCED AS MRS. Fenwick’s piercing laugh assaulted his ears once again. What the hell had he been thinking of, hosting a dinner party? He despised the things.

  He pretended to listen to Mr. Fenwick, the local magistrate, tell his story about some drunken tavern brawl or other. It should have been a novel tale for Charles, since usually he was involved in them and, therefore, never got to hear about it from an outsider’s point of view.

  But his attention was fixed on every action of Miss Channing’s and the lovesick puppy at her side. He had told her that he thought of her as angelic. He didn’t realise how true that statement was until just then.

  Though the colour of her hair, the fullness of her lips, and her sensational body invoked thoughts of hot, tempting sin, she really did look like an angel. The candlelight danced across her sculpted cheekbones, highlighting the satin smoothness of her cheeks and adding a gleam to her deep green eyes. Once again, she was dressed in a drab, smothering gown, this time a dull grey colour. And once again her hair was contained in the most severe of styles. But nothing could hide her beauty, and nothing could stop him from wanting her and wanting to protect her all at once. Yes, an angel he’d called her and an angel she was. And she obviously had the patience of one, listening to that snivelling ba—

  “Charles,” his mother interrupted his less-than-Christian thoughts about the vicar.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Mrs. Fenwick was just telling us a most unfortunate tale.”

  “Was she?” he asked, decidedly uninterested.

  “Yes, the assembly rooms have been rendered completely out of bounds by a leak in the roof.”

  The table had quietened to listen to the tale.

  In a small town such as that one, a leaky roof was nothing short of a catastrophe.

  “What a shame,” Charles answered, unsure as to how this affected him. “I will, of course, make a donation toward its repair.”

  “Oh, you are very good, my lord,” twittered Mrs. Fenwick. “But, ah—”

  Charles raised a brow in expectation.

  “Well, the thing of it is—”

  “The Annual Winter Ball in Aid of Orphans and Widows was to be held there,” his mother explained then gazed at him expectantly.

  “That’s quite a mouthful,” he said after a pause, unsure as to what he was expected to say.

  The countess pursed her lips then huffed out a frustrated sigh.

  “Yes, dear. But now you see, the ladies who so charitably organise this event are quite overset for it is imperative that a venue is found to host it. And, of course, ballrooms big enough are few and far between in this area.”

  “The invitations have already been sent, and some guests are even travelling from England for it,” added Mrs. Fenwick.

  Charles was barely listening. Had Trent just brushed Julia’s hand? It bloody well looked like it! Why didn’t he just make love to her on the table in front of everyone and be done with it?

  “It would be such a shame to have to cancel it,” pressed the countess.

  “Yes,” said Charles, still not listening.

  He watched Trent signal to a footman to fill Julia’s glass.

  The damned man was trying to get her drunk obviously.

  “And, it would be so very nice to offer the use of the Hall. Your sisters will be home anyway, and how lovely it would be to bring some joy to the house, don’t you think, dear?”

  He would kill him. But not with a pistol or even a sword. No, he’d do it with his bare hands.

  “Charles?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, having no clue what he was agreeing with.

  The outburst of praise, applause, and general merriment finally caught his attention.

  “The Winter Ball at Ranford Hall, how wonderful,” beamed Mrs. Fenwick.

  Finally, Charles registered what they’d been talking about and what he’d agreed to.

  His hatred for Trent increased. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t been practically assaulting Julia at the dinner table, Charles wouldn’t be stuck now with the promise of a hosting a houseful of people he didn’t even like.

  THE DOWAGER SIGHED AND leaned back in her chair, gratefully accepting the cup of tea that Julia passed to her.

  “What a lovely evening, Mary,” she said to the countess who sat opposite her.

  “Oh, yes. A success, I would say. And how kind of you, dearest, to offer the use of the Hall for the Winter Ball,” she said to Charles who was sulking in the corner.

  Charles merely raised his brows and went back to sulking.

  But the countess was not put off.

  “Oh, do not worry, my dear. We shall take care of everything. Between Catherine, Julia, and I, you will hardly notice the plans being made. And, of course, Caroline and Rebecca arrive in a few days. So they will be sure to help. We must plan a trip to Dublin for supplies. And gowns! New gowns must be ordered for everyone. And I daresay Murphy will want extra staff...”

  The countess chattered on and on about the ball and the plethora of issues arising from it. Charles tried to maintain his air of anger and general grumpiness but found he couldn’t in the face of his mother’s excitement.

  He watched her now, so animated, her eyes shining with excitement instead of being dull with grief. She even sat straighter, as though the weight of grief was easing slightly.

  And suddenly, Charles was besieged by a rush of affection. His mother had been so sad, they all had, since his father’s passing. It was good for her to focus on something like the ball.

  The downside, of course, was that he’d have to watch that rodent Trent fawn all over Julia all evening. He tried to imagine it: Trent leading her around the dance floor, Julia smiling at him in that innocent way of hers.

  His good mood disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Charles muttered an oath of frustration.

  He’d experienced more emotions in the last few days than he had since he was a green lad, and he’d been consumed by passion for Isobel as only a boy could. He suspected, though he was loath to admit it, that if he allowed himself to feel anything real for Julia, it would be more than anything he’d felt for Isobel. He couldn’t remember feeling this strange protectiveness for Isobel that he felt for Julia. And even Isobel’s overt and experienced advances had not set him aflame like Julia’s innocent touch.

  He was brought out of his sombre and confusing musings by Julia herself, issuing a general goodnight. He watched her go, his
gaze intent and, he knew, brooding.

  He could tell she was confused by his silence, by his apparent lack of interest.

  If only she knew he was too interested. And he didn’t like it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PERHAPS HE’D FORGOTTEN. OR lost interest. Julia nibbled on her lip and tried not to care.

  Last night Ranford had barely looked at or spoken to her. Even when the guests had returned to their homes and the family had retired to the drawing room for a relaxing cup of tea before bed, he’d remained distant and aloof. The only time she’d seen him smile had been when his mother had become so animated talking about preparations for the ball.

  Julia had smiled, too, at the countess’s obvious pleasure in the upcoming task. Though the lady was of a wonderfully kind and joyful disposition, there had often been a look of sadness in her eyes, an air of grief in her countenance. It was nice to see her focused on something so positive.

  But Ranford? His coolness had shaken her. She’d become accustomed, even in this short space of time, to his charm and warmth. It threw her somewhat that he was being so cold.

  She had not seen him at breakfast, and now she stood in the morning room, dressed in her drab but serviceable riding habit, wondering whether or not he would keep their appointment.

  Julia glanced anxiously at the clock on the mantle. She would wait a little longer then run upstairs to change, lest either of the ladies see her waiting for a man who would not come.

  The door opened, and Julia sighed in relief. Ranford stood before her, looking as handsome as ever and dressed, thankfully, in riding attire.

  “You’re here,” she blurted out then coloured at the elation in her voice.

  He must have heard it too, for he smiled in that faintly sardonic way he had, which should have set her teeth on edge, but which actually made her almost faint with longing.

  “Of course,” he answered, and his voice, as always, stroked her skin like the softest of touches. “We had an arrangement to go riding today, did we not?”

  “Yes, but I thought perhaps you’d forgotten. You did not mention it.”

  He gazed at her for a moment, as if deciding how to answer. Then he stepped forward, and this time his smile was wolfish and wholly rakish.

  “I have thought of nothing else, believe me. Shall we?”

  Julia took the arm he offered and was glad of its support. How could she expect her legs to support her when he said things like that and smiled so?

  It was a glorious day for riding. The air was cool and biting, the winter sun pale and glinting on the rolling fields and meadows. Charles had chosen a quiet, biddable horse for Julia, and though Daisy was a strong and beautiful horse, Julia could not help feeling quite envious of Charles’s own powerful stallion.

  She knew that nobody would guess it, but Julia was a very capable horsewoman. It was one of the very few happy memories she had of her childhood, learning to ride and subsequently owning her beautiful mare, Cherry.

  Julia’s mind, as usual, skittered away from thoughts of her childhood and especially her horse. The day she’d lost Cherry had been the day that she had begun to truly understand the depths of her father’s cruelty. She’d come out to the stable only to find that he’d lost her precious horse in a card game the day before. And when her poor mama had tried to fight her corner… Julia forced the memory away. Sometimes, the pain was still so sharp it was difficult to breathe.

  The only way she would survive this world would be not to think about it.

  Looking sideways now at Lord Ranford, Julia could not help the feelings that surged through her.

  She had never felt such a consuming need for anyone or anything the way she did for this tall, proud man.

  He was an excellent horseman. His horse was both big and powerful and, really, she would expect nothing else. He wasn’t a skittish creature, but he knew his own mind and required strong handling. Charles handled him wonderfully.

  When he brought the animal out of the stables, Julia was delighted by him. His black coat shone spectacularly in the early morning sun.

  “This…” Charles said with a tinge of pride in his voice. “…is Diablo.”

  “Diablo?” Julia queried. “And is he devilish, my lord?”

  “He is named more for his owner’s personality than his own,” Charles answered with a wicked grin. “And you called me ‘my lord.’”

  Julia’s eyes widened in a mixture of alarm and excitement as he stepped forward, stopping mere inches from her.

  She tipped her head up to face his eyes and could not supress a shiver as she anticipated his kiss.

  Instead, to her great disappointment, he merely wrapped his hands round her waist and lifted her bodily from the ground.

  An almost painful shaft of desire shot through Julia’s body at the contact. Charles, impossibly strong, held her for some moments, their eyes dead level, his grip sure and steady on her waist.

  Julia could not have moved if her life had depended on it.

  Kiss me, she thought desperately, though she did not dare to say it aloud.

  But instead of their lips meeting, Charles leaned forward, mere inches from her lips now and whispered, “Say my name, Julia.”

  Julia was so under his spell that she complied without thinking. “Ranford,” she whispered, her voice gravelly with desire.

  But Charles shook his head and leaned closer still.

  “My name, Julia,” he repeated.

  It was shocking behaviour. She was in his arms, hovering about the ground, so close that if she were to lean forward only slightly, her lips would meet his easily. And to call him by his Christian name was so very intimate.

  And yet, how could she refuse? Julia was fast coming to realise she neither could nor would want to refuse him anything.

  “Charles,” she whispered now and was rewarded by the flash of heat and triumph in his impossibly blue eyes.

  “That’s better,” he said and promptly deposited her on her horse.

  Julia had been tied in knots ever since.

  THE HOURS THEY’D SPENT together were some of the best of Julia’s life.

  The Ranford Estate was truly one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen.

  If the house itself had not been magnificent, the grounds would have more than made up for it.

  Charles had regaled her with stories about Rebecca and Edward’s first meeting at the lake near the house. Had told her the history of the Hall as they’d made their way through the wooded areas. Had spoken with fondness of his tenants as they’d passed rows of workmen’s cottages and greeted their families.

  They had seen farmlands and spoken to farmers and their wives. Julia had been surprised and strangely touched to realise that Charles knew all of his tenants by name and seemed to genuinely care about them.

  The Ranford’s estate was vast and profitable. It would even compare favourably to the duke’s estates. And yet Charles was involved with what seemed to be all of his tenants.

  He kept her laughing with tales of his escapades as a youth. She laughed even more at the stories of Rebecca’s misadventures and more still at his stories of Caroline’s longsuffering battle with both Charles and Rebecca, trying to get them to behave themselves as the children of a Peer should.

  He had tried, on a few occasions, to ask Julia about her own life. But she had been very careful to tell him little to nothing about herself and, mercifully, he’d let the matter go.

  Throughout their ride, even when they’d reached the meadow and were able to give the horses their heads, Julia had been distracted by the almost visceral need she felt to kiss him.

  She had asked herself time and again what the matter with her was.

  She had tried being stern with herself. Had tried reminding herself of the stories she’d heard about him, and there were plenty to be had. It was no use. Nothing could stop her wanting him, and Julia was losing the fight with her rational and logical self.

  She knew that if Charles
desired to kiss her again, she would do nothing to stop him.

  They cantered then galloped until Julia’s cheeks stung in the sharp wind. The feeling of pleasure and freedom, such as she hadn’t felt in years, completely consumed her.

  She could not contain her laughter as they raced through the fields. Charles was ahead of her, his mount far, far superior to her own. But she did not care. It was enough to just be there. With Charles. Enjoying being on horseback again.

  After a time, Charles held up his hand and slowed his mount.

  They had reached the top of an incline, and he turned to her.

  Julia watched as the smile faded slowly from his face, leaving him looking intense and serious and so handsome it was hard to believe he was real.

  She wondered at this change in his expression.

  She could not know how she looked to him then. Her hat had blown clean away somewhere during their frenzied race, the pins that had been keeping her hair in place going with it.

  “Charles,” she said questioningly, not even noticing his name slipping so easily from her lips. “Is anything the matter?”

  He didn’t answer her. He didn’t speak a word. Instead, he slowly dismounted, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Julia’s breath quickened, her heart raced. She watched as he walked purposefully toward her. Watched as he reached up and lifted her from her horse.

  The silence was deafening.

  Julia was afraid to speak, afraid to move even.

  He lowered her slowly to the ground, her body brushing against his, his eyes still boring into her own. Julia felt every touch right down to her very bones.

  Without a word, without a sound, he lifted his hands and cupped her face.

  There was an endless pause.

  His eyes still held hers. She was under his control, completely.

  Then, so slowly it felt as though time had stopped, he lowered his mouth and kissed her.

  CHARLES FELT HIS WHOLE body respond to the kiss the second his lips met hers.