He felt Julia press against him eagerly, and it stirred him even more, beyond thought or reason.
With a muffled oath, muttered against her lips, he wrapped her legs round him and pressed her against the nearest surface, a huge oak that towered above them.
The feel of her pressed against him was exquisite torture.
He allowed his hands to slide up her legs, hiking her skirts as they went. He felt as if he would perish from his need at any given moment.
“Charles, please.”
Her broken whimper was like being doused in ice cold water, the only thing to penetrate the fog of lust cutting him off to all else.
Dear God in heaven, what was he about? Was he really going to take her innocence against a bloody tree? On the path, no less, where anyone could walk by?
He pulled himself away from her, his breathing harsh and ragged, and tried not to notice how her own breathing matched his as she did things to her dress that he should try to stop noticing.
He placed her gently on her feet before moving away, even though walking was rather painful right then.
“Charles, what — what’s wrong?”
Her tremulous voice had him whipping back round to face her. She looked small and fragile and hurt, her eyes wide in her face, her hands fidgeting with her dress and righting her bonnet.
“Julia.” He heard the hoarseness in his tone but was helpless to do anything about it. His chest heaved with his continued efforts to control his breathing. “I can’t, I won’t do this here. Touch you like I long to, kiss you like I burn to. Not in a bloody forest, against a damned tree.”
He watched as his words sunk in.
Her eyes widened even more, and she blushed delicately.
“I-it really wouldn’t do to be seen doing — well, that,” she said quietly.
Charles couldn’t help but smile at her endearing innocence.
“No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed.
Julia sighed and cleared her throat nervously.
What the hell was wrong with him that he found even these tiny things about her so utterly adorable? He really had fallen hard.
“So, what should we do now?” she asked.
He grinned at her, moving close again and reaching out to take her arm, tucking it into the crook of his own.
“We should walk.”
“I suppose we should,” she agreed shyly, and they continued on the path, trying to act as though they hadn’t just wanted to tear each other’s clothes off.
The sooner I marry her the better, thought Charles and stopped dead in his tracks.
Where had that come from?
Marry her?
He looked down at her enquiring gaze, and suddenly it became blindingly clear. Of course, he would marry her. He loved her, more than he had ever thought possible. Why wouldn’t he marry her?
“Charles? What’s the matter?”
He grinned then, feeling as though he were on top of the world.
“Er, your dress. I am worried that it is quite ruined.”
It was the only thing he could think of at such short notice. It was bad enough that he’d ravaged her against a tree; he wasn’t going to blurt out a marriage proposal on top of it.
Her face dropped, and she looked stricken.
“Oh no, I hadn’t thought — oh, ‘tis only new. Is it very bad?”
Charles was surprised at her upset. It was only a gown, albeit a beautiful one. When she was Lady Ranford, he’d buy her every gown she ever saw.
He spent a happy hour walking with her, talking of everything and nothing, imagining her bedecked in the Ranford jewels, gracing the ballrooms of London in silks and satins, making every man in the room eaten up with jealousy that she was his.
He could barely wait to speak to her. Because, he figured, it was only reasonable to actually ask her, at least inform her of his plans to marry her.
“Charles?” Her questioning tone brought his thoughts back to her, and he turned with a smile.
They had arrived back at the Hall.
“Where are your thoughts?” she asked with a smile.
“Somewhere wonderful,” he replied softly, lifting a hand to caress her cheek.
He grinned with pure masculine ego as her breath caught and her pupils dilated at his touch.
“You are wicked, Charles Carrington,” she said with a smile.
“How fitting then that I should have an angel to save my soul.”
At that moment, Caroline and Rebecca came rushing out.
“Ah, there you are. I thought I heard voices. Julia, have you any idea where Mama put the list of flower arrangements she ordered? She is getting quite irate about it.”
“She’s becoming a complete wi—”
“Rebecca!”
Julia smiled at the quarrelling sisters.
“‘Tis in the dowager’s writing desk. I shall come directly and fetch it.”
With a brief smile in Charles’s direction, she swept inside with his sisters.
Charles was almost relieved to see her go. He needed time to think, to collect his whirlwind thoughts, and to plan for their engagement.
Briefly, he imagined that she might say no. But he pushed the thought away as soon as it came into his head.
The arrogant lord of old reared his head.
There was no way she would refuse.
With a grin, he made his way to the study and to the safe that held some of the family’s jewels.
The emerald, he thought. The perfect stone for her incredible eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE rushed and hectic in the house.
The ball was fast approaching, and Julia was helping as much as she could with the preparations, but Mr. Trent had been monopolising most of her time.
He seemed to be attacking the nativity preparations with a zealous enthusiasm, and Julia rather felt that the tasks he’d asked her to help him with would be just as easily done by himself.
She had barely seen Charles since the day in the forest. They were rarely at breakfast together, she was gone practically all the day, and, of course, at dinner they were in company.
Today, Mr. Trent had asked that she help him tie holly boughs to the ends of the pews.
Julia stopped all thoughts of the forest as soon as they tried to surface. For pity’s sake, she should hardly think such things in a church!
Besides, she dreamed of it nightly. She did not need to think on it every second of the day, too.
Julia couldn’t help but think, hope really, that something significant had changed that day. She felt as though she and Charles were on the verge of something wonderful.
Her dishonesty niggled at the back of her mind once more. She should tell him, she knew.
But waiting until Caroline had information seemed the most sensible thing to do.
“Miss Channing.”
Julia turned then stepped back as Mr. Trent was standing right behind her, closer than necessary, she felt.
“Yes, Mr. Trent?”
“Would you care for some tea?”
Julia didn’t want tea. She wanted to finish so that she could return to the hall, but politeness dictated that she accept graciously.
“Thank you, Mr. Trent. That would be lovely.”
Supressing a sigh, she followed him into the vicarage and into the small and pleasant drawing room.
“If you would be so kind?” He indicated that she should pour for them. “I took the liberty of popping in and asking Mrs. Brown to prepare the tea things a few minutes ago.”
He grinned as though he had done something wonderful.
Julia merely smiled in response and set about pouring.
“So, are things in hand for the Countess’s Ball tomorrow?” he asked, taking his cup from her with shaking hands.
He was a terribly nervous creature, she thought distractedly.
“Yes, things are all in the place. I am sure it will be a wonderful evening.”
She si
pped her tea as a silence fell.
There wasn’t a sound but for the ticking of the clock and Mr. Trent’s rather loud breathing.
Julia couldn’t for the life of her think of anything to break the awkward silence, so she raised her cup to her lips.
“Julia,” Mr. Trent suddenly screeched, making her jump and spill her tea.
“Good heavens, Mr. Trent. Whatever is the matter?”
Mr. Trent had leapt from his chair, and now, to her horror, he threw himself onto his knees in front of her. Unfortunately, he managed to whack his knee off the table as he fell, and his head landed, rather terrifyingly, in her lap.
“Mr. Trent.” She gasped in admonishment, pushing his head away.
“M-my apologies, my dear. The table, my knee—”
“Yes, yes I saw. Are you quite all right?”
He straightened up, fixing his jacket and sweeping his hair back from his brow.
“Miss. Channing. Julia,” he said, grasping her hands, well, her wrists, since her hands still held the cup. “I have tried so many times to speak to you thus.”
Julia was horrified. This could not be happening.
“Since I first met you,” he began then suddenly stopped. “Actually, would you mind terribly if I were to stand? I really did hurt my knee.”
Julia could only gape at him as he struggled to his feet.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said, cracking his leg as he spoke.
“You must be aware by now that I am very fond indeed of you,” he said with a smile.
Julia placed her cup on the table, a feeling of dread in her stomach.
“I haven’t been terribly successful in getting a chance to speak to you. And then, of course, I feared that his lordship had beaten me to it.”
Julia stood up. “Mr. Trent. I must—”
“And, of course, this new appearance of yours. Well, frankly, I wasn’t sure I approved.” He sniffed, and Julia felt her temper flare. “A vicar’s wife, after all, should not be vain, Miss. Channing.” He glared at her for a moment before his face cleared and his smile returned. “However, I am sure that your good sense will return when you are away from the earl’s bad influence. I have forgiven it.”
“Mr. Trent, please,” Julia began, stepping forward, but he held up a hand.
“Now, now. No need to thank me, my dear. I am aware that you are merely a companion. However, I am willing to overlook your lack of connections.”
Julia would have been furious were it not for the fact that he seemed to be completely oblivious to how insulting he was being.
“And of course,” he went on with a grin. “Your friendship with the Ranford family and indeed the Hartridge family, well, that is not to be sniffed at.”
He gazed at her expectantly, and Julia was flummoxed.
He hadn’t actually proposed, she thought, so really there was nothing to say.
Straightening her shoulders, she prepared to take her leave as quickly as possible.
“Mr. Trent, I think—”
“Oh, my dear, please call me Ernest. After all, if we are to be married—”
“But, we are not to be married, Mr. Trent,” she said firmly.
His face fell so swiftly it would have been comical if it wasn’t for the fact that he was asking her to marry him, and she was about to disappoint him terribly.
“But, I just explained—”His tone was bewildered as was his expression.
“Yes, but Mr. Trent you did not ask me. And I’m glad that you didn’t,” she continued loudly when he made to interrupt. “Because you are a good man, and I should hate to disappoint you.
She prayed that her expression conveyed her seriousness. Prayed that it would be enough to stop him from continuing with this excruciating conversation.
Julia watched as her words registered. Mr. Trent’s face began to turn that alarmingly puce colour that she was starting to recognise.
“Please, do not be upset—”she implored but stopped when he raised a silencing hand, closing his eyes and turning his face away.
“You have made your feelings clear, Miss Channing,” he said piously, his eyes still closed.
Julia wasn’t quite sure what to say. She fidgeted with her gown, another new one incidentally; this one, an ivory-coloured cotton that she wore with a deep blue spencer.
Still he didn’t speak.
Still he kept his eyes closed.
It was ridiculously dramatic, but she didn’t feel it was right to point that out to him.
“Well, it is getting late, so I shall, um, I shall be on my way then.”
Still nothing.
“What time should I arrive tomorrow for the nativity?”
This time he looked at her. Glared really.
“I am sure we shall manage very well without you,” he bit out.
Julia felt her jaw drop.
“But—”
“I would not keep you from the planning for the ball. No doubt your services are in great demand at the Hall.”
Yes, they bloody well are, she thought furiously. As they have been all week.
But instead of stooping to his level, she merely smiled politely.
“I am sure they are. If you are certain that you do not need my assistance, I shall see you at the service.”
“Humph,” was her only answer, which, she supposed, was better than complete silence.
There was no real point in saying anything else, so without another word, Julia turned and exited the vicarage, breathing a huge sigh of relief as soon as he door shut behind her.
She had been expecting it, she thought now. Everybody had.
And she was sorry to hurt Mr. Trent, but a large, selfish part of her was glad that she could now spend the day at the Hall and possibly get to spend some time with Charles before the guests arrived at the ball.
With a smile on her face, Julia set off hurriedly and made her way home.
THE NEXT MORNING JULIA awoke with the birds. It was so early that darkness still pressed against the window pane, which had iced over during the night.
The fire that had been banked the night before gave off no heat now, and Julia shivered as she threw back the counterpane and dashed across to the washstand.
The water was icy cold, and she shivered even more as she quickly carried out her ablutions before donning a simple morning dress of pale grey with a white trim. It was the plainest of her new dresses, but considering the ball gown that had arrived while she’d been at the vicarage the evening before, Julia wasn’t concerned. She had no problem looking drab today as long as she knew she was wearing such a dress later.
There was a brief knock at the door before Molly bustled in.
“Good morning, miss. My, you’re up with the lark, so you are,” she said, handing over Julia’s chocolate.
“I couldn’t sleep any later,” Julia said, sipping the warming chocolate gratefully while Molly went about stoking the fire. “I am so excited about tonight.”
“Oh, yes, miss”. Molly stood and brushed her hands together. “Even downstairs is all a twitter. And, of course, you’ll be wearing that gown.”
Julia smiled at Molly’s longing tone.
Truly, the gown was exquisite.
Far bolder than anything she had ever worn and probably ever would wear again, it was the absolute height of fashion and sophistication.
Julia had been hesitant at first, not because the dress wasn’t incredibly beautiful, but because it was a striking emerald green.
The colour did suit her more than any she’d ever worn, the shade almost the exact colour of her eyes.
But really, it wasn’t at all the done thing for a single young lady to wear such bold gowns; pastels and whites were really the only acceptable shades.
The dowager had quickly dismissed Julia’s concerns, however, when they’d been standing in the mantua maker’s large shop in Dublin.
“Oh, nobody would care for such things at a quiet country party,” she had insisted while she’d been
examining Julia head to toe. “Besides, it will be for orphans,” she’d exclaimed as though that made it all right.
Julia had offered no more objections. The dress was utterly exquisite, and she had never wanted to wear anything as badly. She could not help thinking of Charles’s reaction to it. She hoped that he would approve.
Molly was pulling Julia’s hair into a simple knot, since she was saving herself for a masterpiece later, or so she said.
The distinctive sound of the rest of the household waking up filtered through the closed door of Julia’s bedchamber.
Henry barrelled by their door, followed by a frantic-sounding Edward, and, from the sounds of it, one or both of them had bumped into Tom, who swore loudly. Unfortunately, Tom’s shouted oath was repeated over and over again by Henry, who sounded like he delighted in shouting it at the top of his tiny lungs.
Julia winced as Tom and Edward’s argument got louder and louder; Edward threatening to teach the twins every bad word in his vocabulary as soon as they were old enough, and Tom shouting about how immature Edward was. Both men’s voices interspersed with Henry’s continued swearing.
Julia stepped into the hallway just as the dowager arrived and put an immediate halt to the cacophony of sounds with one steely glare.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked, her tone all the more ominous because it was quiet.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine.”
“Good” said the dowager, still glaring.
Julia worked extremely hard to hold back her giggles at the sight of the two strapping men hanging their heads. Henry, apparently sensing the presence of trouble, turned and ran.
“Julia, be a dear and fetch my grandchild, will you?” said the dowager, not taking her eyes off her errant son and nephew.
Julia rushed after Henry, laughing to herself as she heard the dowager start what was sure to be a lecture of epic proportions.
“Very well, you pair of delinquents, you will apologise to each other, and then you will come to help me oversee the decorations in the ballroom.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHARLES HEARD THE SOUND of approaching footsteps and darted back inside his study.
All day he’d been avoiding his mother while simultaneously trying to catch Julia on her own. It was most aggravating!
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 22
