Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3)

by Nadine Millard

  He watched as the ladies adjourned to the drawing room and prepared himself for what was coming.

  Not many people knew that Tom Crawdon’s cheerful demeanour could swiftly change. He was particularly violent in his protection of his wife.

  Charles felt a foolish desire to go with the ladies so that Caroline could protect him from her husband, but it soon passed.

  Tom wouldn’t actually kill him. He looked again at the other man, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him.

  Charles swallowed then bit back an oath as the last of the ladies exited the room.

  No, Tom wouldn’t kill him. Would he?

  AS SOON AS THE door closed, Tom leapt from his chair, simultaneously grabbing Charles’s coat and pulling him from his.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you for saying such a thing to my wife,” Tom bit out furiously.

  And Charles, though he knew he should just apologise like a man and accept that he’d been wrong, felt a perverse desire to goad Tom even further. Perhaps a bullet would be the best thing for him, rather than live with this turmoil he was feeling of late.

  “One good reason? Well, we wouldn’t want to ruin the new Persian rugs, would we?” he asked with a smile.

  He saw the fist coming, could have ducked out of the way. But Tom deserved to be able to get his anger out. Hell, if someone had insulted Julia, Charles would kill him with his bare hands.

  Deserving the planter he received, however, did not make it less painful. Charles landed with a thud on the Persian he was so interested in preserving.

  “Is that the best you can do?” he asked flippantly, touching a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

  “I’m only getting started,” answered Tom with a feral grin.

  Edward, who had been sitting back casually drinking his port, sighed and stood up, coming between the two of them.

  “Much as I enjoy watching a good thrashing, especially when the recipient deserves it,” he said with a glare at Charles. “I’m not sure the ladies would be as entertained. So let’s leave it there, shall we?”

  He put a calming hand on Tom’s shoulder.

  “Caroline wouldn’t want you to kill her brother, after all.”

  Tom glared at Charles for a moment longer before cursing and nodding his head in agreement.

  “Make no mistake, Charles, if you ever again so much as glance at Caroline in a manner I don’t like, it will be the end of you.”

  Charles nodded his understanding then sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  “I am truly sorry for what I said,” he said, looking Tom in the eye. “I do not know what came over me.”

  There was a moment’s pause as Tom looked him over then silently poured a snifter of brandy and handed it over.

  “I do,” he said wryly, handing the glass to Charles. “The same thing that makes men the world over act crazy. A woman.”

  “And if I’m not mistaken,” Edward said, once more sitting back. “‘Tis the beautiful Miss Channing that has you acting so.”

  Charles saw no point in denying it. But he was not yet ready to admit it. So he stayed mutinously silent.

  “Daughter of a baron, isn’t she?” Edward continued. “The family must have fallen on hard times if she is taking paid employment.”

  “Come to think of it…” Tom took up the conversational thread. “…I haven’t ever actually heard much about her family. What is her situation?”

  Edward shrugged. “I’ve never asked. Do you know anything about her, Charles?”

  Charles shrugged too. Yes, he knew about her. He knew that she had a heart that was surely made of solid gold. He knew that her proper exterior hid a passionate and outspoken woman. He knew that she was so beautiful no amount of drab, shapeless dresses in the world could hide it. And he knew that she had the ability to bring a man to his knees with her kiss. But he also knew that wasn’t what Edward was asking.

  “I know less than you. Hasn’t the dowager ever questioned her about her upbringing? Hasn’t Caroline?”

  It was Tom’s turn to shrug.

  “I can’t recall ever speaking to Caroline about it. I must ask. Anyway, it’s safe to assume she is definitely the daughter of a baron. You can tell she’s quality. Though it is a little surprising that she never speaks about or, apparently, to her family.”

  “Grew up with an uncle, I think Rebecca said, after her parents died,” said Edward, lighting his cheroot. “Quite a little mystery, isn’t she? How does it feel, Charles, knowing that you’ve fallen in love with a veritable stranger?”

  Charles nearly choked on his brandy at Edward’s words.

  “Fallen in love?” he repeated aghast.

  “Haven’t you?”

  “No, I bloody well haven’t,” he yelled.

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Well then, it clearly doesn’t take much to fool you.”

  “We saw how much you were staring, Charles,” piped up Tom, his mood suddenly lighter. “You looked like you were about to jump over the table to get to her at one point. You hang on her every word. For God’s sake, man. If you aren’t in love, then what exactly is wrong with you?”

  “I’m not in love. It’s just — an infatuation, that’s all. She’s a beautiful woman. I’d have to be blind not to notice.”

  “But you don’t love her?”

  “No,” he growled.

  “Good. So you won’t mind then if she up and marries that Trent fellow?”

  “She won’t,” Charles said, trying not to look bothered by the idea.

  “She might.”

  “She won’t.”

  “But she might.”

  “Dammit, she won’t,” he bellowed.

  “You know,” said Edward, who had been quiet throughout that truly childish argument. “Not every woman is like Lady Sturridge.”

  At the mention of Isobel’s name, Charles felt himself tense up, and it took all his energy to remain outwardly impassive.

  “I am aware of that, Edward.”

  “Who?” asked Tom in confusion.

  “Lady Isobel Sturridge. Remember a few years back when she and Charles—”

  “We all remember,” said Charles, who had absolutely no desire to discuss it further.

  Tom looked momentarily confused before his expression cleared.

  “Charles,” he said, his tone serious. “You can’t judge all women by the actions of one. Isobel Sturridge is—”

  “Unimportant,” finished Charles, his tone firm. “Come, let’s join the ladies.”

  “You might want to visit your valet first,” said Edward.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Rebecca is pregnant, and the sight of blood makes her sick.”

  Charles gave Tom the filthiest look he could muster before stomping off to have his valet undo the damage Tom had done to his clothing.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JULIA COULDN’T SLEEP. DESPITE her best efforts, the events of the past couple of days would not stop replaying in her mind.

  Mr Trent’s ghastly attempted proposal, her kissing Charles, but not before knocking him clean out with a door, finding out from Rebecca and then Caroline just how out of control his life was, and then her outburst at dinner.

  With a frustrated sigh, Julia climbed from her bed and covered herself in her thick woollen wrap. It was freezing, the fire having been banked hours ago.

  Ever since she’d been a young girl, Julia had managed to block out the days’ events and get a restful night’s sleep. Even the most horrific days. But tonight that hadn’t worked. They were due to go to Dublin tomorrow, a trip that she was looking forward to. But her anxiety about her feelings for Charles Carrington was colouring more and more of her life.

  Julia decided to see if she could go about making a warm drink in the kitchen. If there was nobody to assist her, she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. In her father’s house, she had been fending for herself since childhood, after all. And
warm milk, no matter how bad her day had been, always comforted her.

  The house was silent as Julia carefully stepped out of her room. She knew that the floorboards creaked so made sure to step as softly as possible.

  The very air seemed as still as it was cold. The house had been decorated with holly boughs and mistletoe in honour of the season, and because the countess had taken to her task of arranging the ball with a zealous enthusiasm.

  Julia breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the evergreens. Once again, she thought of their shopping expedition to Dublin and how she longed to purchase a gown worthy of a countess. She imagined Charles looking at her and tumbling into love with her. Ridiculous, romantic nonsense. Julia knew this. But it did not stop her dreaming of it.

  As she tiptoed down the stairs, the hairs on her neck suddenly stood up. There was a sound coming from downstairs, exactly where she was heading.

  Julia stood stock-still and strained her ears. A thud. A bang. And then, after a moment of silence, the haunting sounds of a beautiful melody being played on a pianoforte.

  Julia felt as relieved as she did confused. A thief was hardly likely to break in just to play a musical instrument in the wee hours of the morning. But who was it?

  Julia continued down the steps, but, instead of heading to the kitchen, she turned instead toward the music room. If someone was waiting until the house was abed to play, she or he probably did not want an audience.

  But Julia’s curiosity got the better of her. Whoever was playing was wonderfully talented. It was a melody she hadn’t heard before, simple yet intricate. It spoke of love, of longing, of loss, and it pulled at Julia’s heartstrings in a way that she could not explain.

  Inching closer, Julia reached out a hand and pushed the only partly opened door even wider. She should have known. Everything about him called out to her very soul. Why should his playing be any different?

  Julia watched fascinated as Charles’s deft fingers skimmed gently over the keys, and, to her shame, she imagined those same fingers and their magical touch on her flesh. Her heart beat faster, and her throat suddenly dried up. The music, the silence, the darkness that lent itself to secrets and hidden desires — they all served to make it seem as though her fantasy had come to life. She and Charles alone.

  Julia had not thought that she had made a sound, but she must have for in the next instance, he spoke.

  “Come closer if you wish. I do not bite.” He paused then continued, a smile in his voice. “Not unless you ask.”

  He should not say such things. And not for any proper reason. But because she wasn’t sure she could remember to breathe when he did.

  “You knew it was me?” she asked softly, as though speaking above a whisper would somehow shatter the air around them.

  “Of course,” he responded, still playing, still looking at the keys.

  “You have supernatural powers?” she quipped, though her throat remained as dry as a desert.

  He laughed softly.

  “Only when it comes to you.”

  Julia’s heart went from galloping to stopping in an instant.

  She could not help it. She wanted to know, and though she should not encourage such a conversation, she had to ask.

  “Why me?”

  He looked at her then, piercing her with his ice-blue gaze.

  “Come sit by me,” he said softly, and Julia moved to do as he bid. At that moment, she doubted she would have denied him anything.

  She perched on the piano stool beside him, and though she tried to keep a decent distance from his body, his large frame took up most of the bench so their thighs brushed frequently, and Julia almost expired every time.

  He didn’t speak, just continued playing, and Julia immediately began to regret her question. He obviously did not want to answer.

  “Are you going to marry Trent?” he suddenly burst out, and Julia felt her jaw drop in shock.

  “What?”

  “Well, are you?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” she answered a little tartly. “Doesn’t one usually have to be proposed to before planning a wedding?”

  “He didn’t propose?”

  “No, he didn’t. And I feel it’s only fair that the groom at least be informed when he’s getting married.”

  Her tone was still sharp, but Julia was disappointed that he hadn’t answered her question and was, in fact, thinking of her marrying another man.

  The truth of it was no matter how much she told herself that it was ridiculous to wish for anything to happen between her and Charles, it still didn’t exactly feel wonderful to know the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

  “But he was going to ask?” Charles was relentless.

  Julia noticed that the pace of the piece he was playing increased, and instead of sounding romantic and whimsical, was starting to sound passionate and rather angry. Charles did not seem to notice this at all.

  “How should I know?” she asked exasperatedly.

  Suddenly, the music stopped. Charles turned to look at her, and, once again, Julia was held captive by his gaze.

  “Julia,” he said through clenched teeth. “If the man was to propose to you, would you accept?”

  Julia stared at him. No, of course she would not accept, but if pressed for a reason, what would she say?

  Because I am so in love with you I can’t even breathe properly around you?

  Somehow, she did not think he’d appreciate hearing such a thing.

  And, to anyone, a marriage to Mr. Trent must seem like the most wonderful, sensible thing in the world for her.

  He was a man of good character and good prospects. He was decent and not frivolous. He must seem like a gift from God for a lowly, drab, and undesirable companion.

  Yet, she could not even consider it. She had not escaped her father to wind up miserable for the rest of her days, living in proximity to Charles and his wife and children.

  “No,” she answered quietly. “I would not.”

  Charles did not respond, simply gazed at her for a moment or two longer before turning to again pick at the piano keys. The melody had softened and slowed once more.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said after a moment.

  Julia felt just as confused and exasperated as she always did around him. The spurt of joy at his words was unwelcome, since it clouded her judgement.

  “Again, why?” she asked, this time more firmly in the hopes that she could coax an answer from him.

  She thought he was going to refuse to answer until, suddenly and softly, he began to speak.

  “You know, this reputation I have, the soulless, debauched rake. I was not always viewed in such a way.”

  “You are not viewed in such a way now,” she argued. “At least not by the people who truly know you. You care very deeply for your family. You are not soulless.”

  Charles’s lips quirked.

  “But I am debauched?”

  Julia shrugged in response.

  “You know, most of the rumours are only half true.”

  She raised a brow.

  “But there is truth in them.”

  Now it was his turn to shrug, and Julia could not help but laugh.

  “Before I was the not entirely soulless but very much debauched man you see before you, I was actually quite the romantic,” he said with a self-deprecating grin that simply melted her heart.

  “You were?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I cannot picture it, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sure you can’t. But it is true. I was at Oxford and was planning on staying in London for the Season with some friends instead of coming home. I had visions of meeting a debutante and falling helplessly in love, being married before the leaves changed colour.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened is that I did fall helplessly in love, or so I thought at the time. Only the woman I fell in love with was not a young debutante but a very secretive, very married woman.”

&n
bsp; Julia did not know what to say. So she stayed quiet.

  “Isobel was everything I thought I wanted in a woman. Obviously, she was beautiful. Fun, witty, sparkling. I thought myself the luckiest man in the world. Of course, I wasn’t a man but a boy, though I would have called anyone out for saying such a thing at the time. I knew she was married, but she spun such a tale. A cold, domineering husband who ignored her and mistreated her. I believed it. Believed it all. I believed when she told me that she loved me, believed when she said she wanted to run away with me to the Continent.”

  Julia could not contain her gasp of shock.

  Charles looked at her and smiled ruefully.

  “I wasn’t the cleverest chap back then, you understand.”

  “Did you? Run away, I mean.”

  “No, as it turns out. Oh, arrangements had been made. I was ready to throw it all away. My education, my family, my heritage. This title. All of it, because of a silly infatuation.”

  Julia could barely contain her curiosity. She told herself that it was all kinds of ridiculous to be jealous of a woman whom she had never met, was likely never to meet, and who was in his past. And yet, she still had a strong desire to claw the woman’s eyes out!

  “Anyway, the day arrived, and I bid an embarrassingly dramatic farewell to my friends. We arranged that I should call on her and travel to the dock together. After all, we were about to cause one of the biggest scandals Society had ever seen. Travelling alone together seemed less than important.”

  The playing continued, though Julia barely heard it. She was hanging on his every word.

  “I went round back to the stables. It was where we had always met. I was early, such was my enthusiasm.” He laughed, though it held little humour.

  “Anyway, I won’t embarrass you with the details, but suffice to say it appeared that I wasn’t the only young man who had caught Isobel’s eye. And apparently, she did not discriminate as to class.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes! But that is not all. No, my tragic tale gets worse still. Her husband, it turned out, was not the elderly curmudgeon she had led me to believe. He was, in fact, young and fit and quite capable of doling out sound thrashings, which I received when he came out to see what the commotion in the stables was. I would kill any man who put his hands on the woman I loved. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to do the same.”