He was looking at her that way now, but Julia ignored him. Her mind was back at Ranford Hall with Charles and everyone else. Would they notice that she was gone by now? Would they care? Would they tell Charles her sorry tale, and would it matter? Would it make him see why she had lied, and would he forgive her for it?
So many questions. So much wasted love in her broken heart.
The carriage door opened again, and Lord Larsden stood, grinning lasciviously and making Julia long even more for Charles.
“All right, come along. It’s freezing out here” was all he said as he handed her down from the carriage.
Julia briefly thought of running, but where would she go? She was in a country she didn’t know with no friends, no money, and no way of finding her way back to Ranford Hall.
Perhaps she could seek assistance from the occupants of the hotel. But what would she say? My father has forced me to come with him? Nobody would listen or take her seriously.
They stepped inside, and Julia was briefly relieved by the heat coming from the large fire in the tap room.
The proprietor came forward and fussed around them, bustling them to a private dining parlour and ensuring that their rooms would be ready shortly.
Her father and Lord Larsden asked that whiskey be brought. Julia refused refreshments.
As soon as the door closed on the subservient landlord, her father turned to her with a chuckle and sat himself at the dining table.
“Come, Julia. Will you refuse to even have some tea?”
“I do not want tea,” she said stiffly.
“Then come sit by your old papa.” He grinned.
“I would rather stand,” she answered, still in the same monotone, still not moving a muscle.
“You really should eat something,” Larsden drawled, taking a seat on the other side of the table. “You will need to keep your strength up for our reunion.”
Julia blanched at his words but refused to react more than that. Men like these fed off fear. Fed off unwillingness.
For a second, she wondered if her father would defend her, but, of course, he wouldn’t. When had he ever?
To her astonishment, however, her father did speak up.
“I think not,” he said softly, his eyes cold as they met Larsden’s.
“I beg your pardon?” The other man sat forward, and a flash of anger lit his brown eyes.
“You can’t expect me to let you ruin my daughter before you are wed now, can you?” her father asked with a shrug.
Julia frowned in confusion. Just what was he up to?
“Are you telling me that you expect me to believe she has remained untouched?” Larsden laughed. They were discussing her as though she wasn’t even in the room. “I have eyes, Berkley. I saw how Ranford looked at her. Possessive at the very least.”
“Yes, I saw it too. But I know my daughter. She is far from the whore her mother was.”
Julia flinched but did not speak in either her defence or her mother’s. What would be the point?
Her father continued.
“I believe she is untouched. I also believe that you tried to negotiate our terms, which displeases me greatly. I’m quite sure that the Earl of Ranford would be more than happy to match your price. Even beat it.”
At this, Julia laughed scornfully.
Both men turned to look at her.
“Do you really think Charles Carrington is the sort of man who would buy another human being?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Contrary to what you may have heard about him, Father, you do not know him at all. He would never debase himself so. Nor does he have to,” she finished, glaring pointedly at Lord Larsden.
Rather than anger him, however, her insults seemed to excite him.
“Ah, there’s that spirit I so long to break,” he said, undressing her with his eyes.
Then he turned back to her father, who was lighting a cheroot and grinning at her.
“But, however much I want her, I cannot be guaranteed that she is an innocent.”
“No, you cannot,” agreed her father. “But I find myself less interested in our deal by the second. In fact, I am tempted to send word to Ranford Hall and see how much truth there is in my daughter’s passionate description of the esteemed earl.”
Larsden’s expression darkened to a glower. He was clearly angry.
“Fine,” he said after a term, and Julia’s heart sank.
If he had just allowed her father to call Charles…
“I’ll pay the amount we agreed, old man. But you had better hope that she is pure.”
“Cash” was her father’s only answer.
“What?”
“I want the cash.”
He remained sitting back casually in his chair, looking for all the world like he hadn’t a care. Larsden, on the other hand, sat forward, his shoulders tense.
“We agreed that I would pay off your debts. I’m not about to hand over money for no reason. I will know soon enough if she is still a virgin. If she is, I will pay the debts as we agreed.”
They eyed each other across the table, and all the while Julia stood there listening to them discussing her virginity, discussing things she did not want to contemplate. How had she ended up back here?
“What’s to stop you taking her virginity and then claiming she was bedded before?” Her father scowled. “No, I want cash. And you won’t share a bed with her until there is a ring on her finger.”
Larsden leapt to his feet.
“That was not what we agreed.”
“Those are my terms now. After all, what sort of father would I be if I did not look after my little girl’s interests?” He grinned, standing. “No, I think we will wait this one out. See if you can procure a licence and wed her before the earl decides to show his hand. Either you will pay cash, or he will. But nobody is getting her until I get what I want.”
Larsden looked as though he would kill her father with his bare hands. Part of her wished he would; part of her was aware that her father was the only thing standing between her and Larsden.
“Why are you doing this?” she suddenly blurted, but her question was directed at the younger man. She had long since lost any hope of understanding her father. “You are wealthy and titled, and though I should never wish another woman to become ensnared by you, why this? Why buy the rights to someone?”
Her father scowled at her, but she pointedly refused to look at him or to cower before him. She kept her gaze as clear and focused as possible on Lord Larsden.
“I knew your mother,” he said softly, stepping toward her. His tone of voice left no doubt as to what way he’d known Julia’s mother. “And she was delectable. Like a trained monkey, only much more attractive.” He grinned.
Julia felt bile rise in her throat, but she swallowed and held her ground.
“I spotted you one day in the gardens, hair still down, skirts still short, and I knew even then you would have more beauty than her. I wanted you quite violently.” He spoke casually, as though discussing the weather and not a child. “Your father is a bastard, but he’s not a fool. He knew then that you would be in demand, particularly because he had been grooming you to be biddable from your childhood. He made me wait until you came of age.” He stopped just before Julia and loomed over her.
She would not meet his gaze, staring instead at his chest.
Once again, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up so her eyes were forced to clash with his own.
“There was quite the bidding war over you, my dear,” he said softly. “We knew what your mother could do, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Oh, and your apple seemed so much more delectable.”
She heard her father’s grunt of laughter. He was an utter swine.
“I knew you would be a good investment, since there were plenty of men I had outbid, men who would be willing to pay handsomely for you once I’d broken you in.”
At his words, Julia tried to pull away, but his grip was
vicelike.
After a pause, he let go and shrugged.
“You are right, of course. I could have anyone, and I will. I’ll just make sure to have you, too. You are of interest to a great many men, my dear. You will please me greatly.”
He lifted his hands and pulled her toward him, and Julia was completely helpless to stop him.
Oh, God. He wouldn’t. Not with her father in the room.
Suddenly, mercifully, Sir William spoke.
“Unhand her.” His tone brooked no argument, and Julia almost expired from relief when Larsden scowled then released her.
“Go upstairs to bed,” he said brusquely to Julia, still acting as though she hadn’t been gone for almost two years. Still acting as though they had a normal father-daughter relationship. “Lock the door. Do not come out until I come to get you in the morning.”
Julia stared at him. She did not know why, really. She knew she would not see any scrap of fatherly affection, even common decency in his face. Without a word, she turned and slipped from the room.
At least she was safe for tonight.
CHARLES TRIED TO CONCENTRATE on what Edward was saying; he really did. But he could think of little beyond getting to Julia and getting her away from the animal who had sired her.
The rage he felt was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and, coupled with his own sense of guilt, he was in no mood to be reasoned with.
“You heard what they said, Charles.” Edward was leaning forward in his chair, apparently trying to get Charles to look at him at least. “They didn’t even know the man was alive. What could we have done?”
Charles did look up then and he felt as though the helpless despair would kill him.
“I would never have let him take her, if I’d any idea. Don’t you understand that, Edward? I should have kept her here. Kept her safe. And instead, I let my damned pride get in the way, and now she’s gone.”
“You couldn’t have stopped him. She is single, and he is her father. The only way you would have stopped him would be to have killed him.”
“You think I wouldn’t?” Charles snarled.
“I think you would,” said Edward. “And you would have been no good to her with a noose round your neck.”
It would have been worth it, Charles thought. He would have given up ever seeing her again, given up his very life, if it meant that he would have kept her away from that bastard.
The ball went on in the house, and Charles could hear the muffled strains of music and conversation. He felt like running out and bellowing at them all. Here they danced and ate and drank like they hadn’t a care in the world. Didn’t they know his world was ending right here, right now?
“Where the hell is Tom?” he asked for the tenth time in as many minutes.
“You know where he is. He’s gone to arrange the carriage and horses, and, no doubt, he’s fending off attempts of a rescue from your sisters.”
“It shouldn’t bloody take this long,” Charles argued, agitated.
“Charles, you must try to remain calm,” Edward said, rising to grip his shoulder.
Charles threw him off.
“And how calm were you when Rebecca was kidnapped?” he snapped with a glare.
Edward sighed and dropped his hand. “About as calm as you are right now.”
“Exactly.”
Further discussion was brought to a halt by a commotion outside the study door. It sounded like a scuffle, followed by a screech, and then the door flew open and Tom, Caroline, and Rebecca tumbled in, looking for all the world like they’d been in a boxing match.
Caroline was wearing a cloak that was pulled to the side; Rebecca’s hair was completely undone and was a mass of wild, tumbling curls, and Tom looked like he had just received a none-too-gentle punch in the jaw.
“What the hell is going on?” barked Charles.
They at least had the grace to look contrite.
“Tom tried to stop us from coming,” said Caroline in the mutinous tone she used when she was going to get her own way, whether people liked it or not.
“So you punched him?” asked Edward, his jaw dropping open.
“By accident,” she answered defensively.
Tom was rubbing his jaw and scowling.
“It was an accident,” he admitted grudgingly. “I was trying to stop your harridan of a wife from running out the front door, and Caroline was helping her get away from me.”
“So who screamed?” asked Charles in spite of himself.
Tom blushed. Actually blushed.
“I yelled,” he countered. “Manfully.”
Charles shook his head and told himself that when Julia was back safely, and she would be, Tom would never hear the end of this one.
But right now, his entire existence hung in the balance. He needed to get to her.
“Becca, Caro, you must stay here,” he started. “The dowager and Mother are frantic, but they can’t leave the guests unattended. You need to—”
Caroline stepped forward, a glint in her icy eyes. He hated that glint. It brooked no argument.
“She rescued me. I’m rescuing her,” she said, her tone as icy as her eyes.
Charles didn’t have time to argue about this. Caro was Tom’s problem now.
“Fine, as long as you don’t slow me down. But you…” He turned now and pointed to Rebecca’s tiny figure. “…are not coming. And that is final.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows rose haughtily, and Charles could see the duchess in her all of a sudden.
“Oh yes I am,” she countered softly.
“No, you are not. What if you have that baby on the side of the road? I’m not stopping to help,” he threatened.
“The baby is not due for another two weeks at least,” she scoffed then placed her hands on her hips. “And if you leave without me, I’ll just follow you. On my own. In the dark.”
Charles swore profusely and wanted nothing more than to wring both their necks. He rounded on Tom and Edward and threw his hands up.
“Are you two going to do anything?” he roared.
“Sweetheart, please—”Edward began.
“Darling, don’t you think you should—” Tom and Edward had started speaking at the same time.
Rebecca and Caroline turned toward their respective husbands. They uttered not a word, and Charles couldn’t see their faces, but whatever they looked like, it was enough to shut the other two up abruptly.
Tom and Edward sighed and looked at Charles in defeat.
“They’re coming,” they mumbled.
Charles merely shook his head and stalked out of the room.
In truth, he didn’t really care who came. He just needed to get to Julia.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THERE WAS A POUNDING on the door, and Julia thought for a wonderful albeit brief moment that Charles had come, but then good sense returned.
Even if he was going to follow, and why would he when she’d lied to him, he wouldn’t have gotten to the hotel this quickly.
Julia scrambled from the chair at the window. She walked to the door and pressed her palms against in as though she could stop whoever was out there from coming in.
“Who is it?” she called, disgusted that her voice came out as a frightened squeak.
“It’s your father. Come downstairs at once.”
Julia heard his boots clump back down the corridor and released a sigh of relief.
She was still safe for now.
Her eyes were scratchy from tiredness, and her head pounded painfully. She hadn’t slept a wink last night; she hadn’t dared.
Oh, she knew very well that her father was only keeping her safe for his own ends, but that wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t get drunk and change his mind, or that Larsden wouldn’t try to get into her room anyway.
So she’d sat in the rickety old chair by the window, shivering with the cold but refusing to cover herself up in case the warmth made her doze off.
All night, Julia had relived the very
worst memories of her youth.
Being here, locked in a room, listening desperately for any sound of approaching footsteps had felt far too much like those nights of old.
She had thought once again of escape but had immediately dismissed it.
Escape to where and with what? No, she was well and truly trapped.
The most she could hope for would be to get back to England and run from there.
If she could give them the slip when they got to London, she could flee to the dowager’s townhouse. The dowager kept a skeleton staff in the place for the winter months, but they knew Julia and would admit her without question.
If they could hold her father off for a little time, for Julia had no doubt he would know that is where she would go, then she could borrow some money and run. The thought of asking the butler for coin was embarrassing to say the least, but Julia had no doubt that he would help her because the dowager would want that.
If she had enough to escape and go into hiding, she could write the dowager and get her wages and gowns sent. Then she could set herself up in a little cottage and repay what she had borrowed.
She knew the dowager would want her to return, knew that the weight of the Hartridge name and even the Ranford one would be at her disposal, but she could not ask it of them.
Charles would never want to see her again, and they were his family, not hers. She could not hurt him by staying in his life, even in the periphery, reminding him daily of her dishonesty.
Besides, she need only hide for six more months. Then she would be twenty–one, and her father would no longer control her.
Her plan wasn’t a great one. Sneaking away in London would be nigh on impossible. But it was the only plan she had, so it would have to do.
Julia sighed and moved away from the door. She daren’t defy her father’s demand. She would go downstairs and see what he wanted. She could only pray that he still thought her innocence was of use to him.
WHEN SHE ARRIVED IN the private parlour, she was comforted beyond measure that her father was the only occupant.
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 25
