The ruby and diamond necklace had been the centerpiece of the Newhall estate jewels for more than seven hundred years. To this day, Julian could not understand why his father had let the symbol of his family’s honor be taken out of England. To be stolen by a woman who hated the very sight of him.
“As you have not yet married, that still leaves me as the Countess of Newhall. So, I am fully within my rights to wear them,” she tartly replied.
Julian held back the satisfied grin he would have loved to have shown her at that moment. “Actually, madam, since you have remarried and are now the Countess of Lienz, your point is mute. You are no longer the Countess Newhall. I would be happy to speak to the count about recovering my property, if you so wish.”
Word of his mother’s marriage had reached him while he was working in Paris. She was now the wife of an Austrian count, the same man she had run off to be with all those years ago.
She waved her delicately painted, evening fan in his face. “Oh, very well. I shall call upon you tomorrow and you may have your trinkets back. To be truthful, they are rather garish. The gold on the tiara your father gave me has tarnished somewhat, which I suppose is what comes from cheaply made goods.”
Julian was quickly tiring of the encounter with his mother. It had been more than ten years since he had last seen her, and the enmity between them had not lessened with time.
“Speaking of cheap goods, I see you have not developed any taste when it comes to women,” she said. Her gaze was now locked firmly on Caroline, who dug her fingers into his arm. “God forbid you would taint the English purity of the Palmer family blood with a half-French wife. Your father would turn over in his grave. Please tell me she is your mistress and nothing more.”
Julian was about to summon up gallant words to defend Caroline’s character and breeding, but he didn’t need them.
“Having met you, I should hope never to simply be a man’s mistress. From the way you are aging, I can see the years of living in sin have done nothing for your looks,” remarked Caroline.
You could have cut the air with a knife. Julian wondered if his mother had ever been addressed in such an insulting and disrespectful manner before in her life. He doubted it.
The countess opened her mouth, and Julian steeled himself for a vile retort.
“Considering your reputation as a cock-tease, I don’t expect you shall ever have to worry about any man bedding you, my dear,” said the countess.
She had not failed him.
Caroline gasped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw the white-haired Francis Saunders come in from the garden. He waved him over in the vain hope of avoiding imminent bloodshed.
“Ah, Newhall. Thank you. I have been looking for Caroline for the past fifteen minutes. Well done in finding her,” said Francis.
Caroline let go of Julian’s arm and hastened to her brother’s side. She gave Julian a brief nod in thanks, and Francis hurried his sister away.
The countess watched them go, then turned back to Julian. “Seriously, Newhall, why are you wasting your time with a harlot like that? Everyone knows she has a private group of young men who follow her everywhere. Of course, if you want a wife who will give you a brood of children all fathered by different men then be my guest. It would save you the trouble. I had heard you were not that bothered about women. If that is true, then the Saunders chit might be exactly what you are looking for.”
Julian took a deep breath and forced down the automatic response to his mother’s barbed insults. They were just the latest ones in a long series of taunts, all designed to cause him maximum pain and embarrassment.
They did however agree on one thing. Caroline Saunders would make a terrible choice for the next Countess Newhall.
“No, your highness. Rest assured, Caroline Saunders is the very last woman I would ever wish to make my wife. From my short acquaintance with her, I would say that she is as ruthless and cold as you. And after enduring the misery of my childhood, I would never inflict that same unhappiness upon my own children.”
And with that, he gave the countess a curt bow and took his leave. What should have been a quiet and relaxing evening in good company had been turned into one of frustration and slow-burning rage.
As he climbed into his carriage, he pulled a hip flask from his coat. He quickly emptied the flask down his throat before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Beautiful, conceited women could go to the devil.
Chapter Six
“I cannot believe that woman has the gall to parade about town wearing the estate jewels. She has no right. Even if she had not remarried, your mother gave up all rights to them the day she walked out on your father,” said Lady Margaret.
“Yes, well after today, that will no longer be an issue. She has sent word this morning that she will be arriving just before noon, and the jewels will be handed over. After that I don’t expect to see her again,” replied Julian.
Lady Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her chair. He saw that her hands were clenched into fists. “Would you like me to withdraw to my room for the duration of her visit? She still does not acknowledge me in public.”
Julian shook his head. “No. As far as I am concerned, until I take a wife, you are the lady of the Newhall estate. The countess has no rights in this house. You should not have to hide from her.”
Lady Margaret picked up her diary and smiled. She may not have been his mother, but after what she had done to heal his father’s broken heart, Julian had become fiercely protective of her.
From her diary she pulled out a folded-up piece of paper and showed it to him. “I have finalized the list of suitable young ladies for your estate party. I thought you might like to go over it. The sooner I am able to extend invitations, the more likely the chance that we shall have a full house.”
Julian held out his hand and took the piece of paper. He ran his gaze down the list of names. He barely knew any of the girls Lady Margaret had selected, so he would have to trust her judgement.
“If they meet with your approval, I am sure they will do fine,” he said.
A footman entered the drawing room and bowed low. “Her Highness, the Countess of Lienz.”
Margaret and Julian looked at one another as Julian handed back the invitation list.
His mother swept into the room with all the occasion that arriving at a grand ball would demand. She took one look at Lady Margaret and averted her gaze. She held out a gold case toward Julian, and let go of it. He made a hurried catch before it hit the floor.
“I have brought your cheap trinkets. My darling count says we cannot have you making noises about town that I have stolen from you. I forgot just how ugly some of the pieces were,” she said.
Julian ignored her comments and placed the case on the nearby table. A gasp of dismay came from his mother as he opened the case and examined the pieces one by one.
“You don’t trust your own mother? That is the height of bad manners, Newhall,” she said.
He looked up from the box and fixed her with a steely glare. “Madam, the Crusader Ruby is missing. Did you think I wouldn’t look for it?”
Lady Margaret rose from her seat. “I shall leave the two of you to sort out this matter.”
The countess looked her slowly up and down. Her gaze settled on the list in Lady Margaret’s hand. She quickly snatched it away, then stood reading it.
“So, what is this?” She laughed.
“It is none of your business,” replied Julian.
The countess waved the piece of paper in his face and laughed once more. “I know what this is: it’s a list of names of young, eligible ladies. Don’t tell me you are finally going to select a wife, Newhall?”
“The necklace,” replied Julian.
The countess looked from Julian, to the list, and back again. A wicked smile appeared on her lips. “I should have a say in my successor. How is this for a bargain? The Crusader Ruby, for the list.”
“What?�
� he replied.
“I give you the necklace, you allow me to make the final list and send out the invitations. I will make sure that the next countess is from the right family. I have already spotted several girls on the guestlist from new money, so clearly Lady Margaret has no idea what she is doing. You cannot possibly allow your father’s mistress to handle matters regarding your future marriage. As your mother, it should fall to me.”
Julian looked at Lady Margaret. He gritted his teeth when he saw tears shining in her eyes. His mother had him at a disadvantage, and they all knew it. If he didn’t agree to her terms, he may never see the most priceless piece in the Newhall collection ever again.
“Agreed. You get to make the final list and send out the invitations. But Lady Margaret is to be given a copy of the final names. As she is helping me to host the house party, she should know who will be coming,” he replied.
The countess quickly folded the list and slipped it into her reticule.
For several minutes after the countess had left, Julian and Lady Margaret stood in silence in the drawing room. His mind was a whirl of half-thoughts and worries. What was his mother’s game? Negotiating with the various European powers after the fall of Emperor Napoleon had been easier than dealing with her.
Locked firmly in his memories was the knowledge that the countess was a woman who always had a secret agenda. Nothing was ever straightforward with her. The one thing he could be certain of was that his mother could not be trusted.
Julian’s mind had already made up a long list of possible outcomes from allowing his mother to help select the guests for his house party. Of the myriad of outcomes, very few were favorable for him.
He would need to tread carefully when it came to the party. Knowing his mother, she would do everything in her power to arrange a marriage for him that was entirely unsuitable.
A wife who would treat him in exactly the same fashion as she had his father—that would be her ultimate revenge for him having the temerity to be born. Nothing would make her happier than to see her only son miserable.
Even now, he could imagine her sitting in her fine carriage on her way back to her fine new husband, plotting how best she could hurt her son.
“Just remember, no matter whom she chooses to invite, you don’t have to marry any of them,” said Lady Margaret eventually.
“Yes. But what damage will she manage to do in the meantime? Will the mothers of the ton be told that I am some kind of monster, entirely unfit for marriage?”
Only after he returned to London following the end of the week-long party, would he know whether the price of recovering the Crusader Ruby had been set beyond his means.
Chapter Seven
Julian and Lady Margaret stood inside the entrance to the ballroom at yet another society ball. He had only finally agreed to accompany Lady Margaret in order to help calm her nerves over the impending house party. If he’d had his way, he would be sitting quietly at home enjoying a glass or two of fine French brandy.
“We won’t have to stay till the end. I just wish to see some friends,” said Lady Margaret. She leaned in close. “And to put my ear to the ground to pick up any rumors your mother might be spreading about.” She pointed in the direction of a group of recent arrivals and gave Julian a cheerful wave goodbye. “I shall see you in a few hours. Now go and have some fun.”
He dipped into a bow. “Be careful. The countess has a lifetime’s experience in undertaking wicked deeds. You do not want to get caught up in any of her machinations.”
After hunting down a glass of brandy, Julian began his usual circuit of the room. It was interesting to observe London society in its favorite habitat: the ballroom. For every young, finely dressed dandy there were a dozen overweight middle-aged men who barely fitted their clothes.
Then there were the matrons, with their strict pecking order. The wives of the senior titled men were always the center of attention in the various circles of women. Then came the wives of the lesser titles, their friends, and finally, at the edge of the circle stood the women from new money.
He huffed, frustrated. The fact that the women whose families had new money could buy the estates of the older titles several times over did not seem to count for anything. It was far more important that a relative in the dim and distant past had once been close to some long-dead king. Or had fought in some bloody battle. The ton and its rules.
Rounding a corner, he came upon the dance floor. It was a crush of couples. In typical high society fashion, too many guests were crowded into too small a space. The room was stiflingly hot. He downed the last of his brandy and handed the glass to a passing footman.
He was about to seek out the fresh air of the supper room and sample its delights, when he caught sight of her. “Bloody Caroline Saunders,” he muttered under his breath.
True to form, she was standing with several admirers, all of whom were jostling to pay her their respects. He watched her for a time. She was a beauty; he could not deny that fact.
His body stirred to life as he took in her soft curves. Her hips were a perfect round shape. The fabric of her silver gown barely kissed them before falling gracefully to finish just above her matching silver slippers. His gaze lingered on the mound of her breasts which peaked out the top of the bodice of her gown. They were an enticing delight, which had his fingers itching to touch them. In her hair she wore several long ribbons. They trailed down her back and came to rest on the top of her womanly rump. Julian licked his lips. How delightful it would be to run his tongue down her naked back and place soft kisses on those hips.
He caught himself with a start. He had been indulging in a private fantasy about her, forgetting for a moment where he was, and who she was. He didn’t need to look down to know that he was rock hard.
The object of his attention turned and caught his unsuspecting gaze. Without thinking, he smiled at her.
Blast.
The grin fell from his face as she began to march with great purpose toward him, her group of admirers scurrying behind her.
Damn and double blast.
“Lord Newhall,” she said, stopping a few feet in front of him.
He forced himself to give her the bow which polite society demanded of him. After their last encounter, he would have much preferred to turn and show her his back as he walked away. But manners were deeply ingrained in men of his rank and as much as he wished it, he could not simply ignore her. “Miss Saunders, how are you this evening?”
She looked at the men who had followed her and sighed. At the back of the group stood the hapless fool who Julian had supposedly rescued her from at the ball earlier in the week. The gentleman in question had either not taken the hint, or as Julian suspected, not been allowed to leave Caroline Saunders’s sphere of influence.
He wondered if her fair-maiden-in-distress act had been just that: a means to get the attention of yet another man and make her disciples jealous. The more he looked at Caroline, the more he disliked her.
“I should like to dance. You owe me that much,” she said.
Her offer to dance with him did not go down well with her cluster of admirers. A hubbub of disapproval rippled through the members of the Ice Queen’s entourage. Julian, the interloper, was being pulled up the ranks to the head of the line and her steadfast followers were not happy about it.
She had a spine made of steel, he would give her that. After the charming way she had dealt with both him and his mother, he was certain that it was she who owed him, but the look on her face told him he would get nowhere by protesting.
Caroline held out her hand and wriggled her fingers impatiently at him.
Julian would have dearly loved to slap those long, elegant fingers. “Are you certain one of these other gentlemen could not accompany you in a dance? I can assure you that any one of them is far more eager than I to spin you around the dance floor.” He curled his toes up in his boots to stifle his delight at the anger which flashed across her face. When their gazes met, h
e slowly blinked. Fiery temptresses like her were easy prey to a man with a cool head.
Yet he hungered for her. Desire and dislike of Caroline now battled for his attention.
“No. I should like to dance with you,” she replied.
Julian considered the options set before him. He could say no, and then be torn limb from limb by her flock of admirers for his insolence. Perhaps that was not such a good way to start the evening.
He could cry off with an existing injury, but that would be cowardice, and he would have to limp around for the rest of the evening. It would also mean admitting to himself that she had got to him. He would poke sticks in his eyes before he admitted to such a foolish notion.
Which left the remaining option. The least appealing of them all.
He would have to dance with her.
“Of course,” he replied with a tight grin. He took hold of her hand, ignoring the low howls of protest from the others.
Julian led Caroline onto the dance floor as a waltz was beginning, and in one deftly timed move, pulled her roughly into his arms. He ignored her squeal of protest. As far as he was concerned, she had not made her stipulations about the dance clear enough.
“Lord Newhall, don’t hold me so tightly,” she said.
“Shut up and dance,” he replied.
Her other muttered protests were fortunately drowned out by the orchestra. When a frustrated Caroline attempted to stomp on his foot, Julian nipped the side of her evening slipper with his boot. He felt a wicked sense of satisfaction as his boot connected with her delicate foot. “Mind your feet, Miss Saunders. You could do yourself some harm.”
He spun her into a tight turn, and her arms flayed about as she struggled to hold onto him. Of course, he knew exactly what he was doing; his grip was sure. He was more than content to insult her on the dance floor, but he would not stoop to actually letting her fall.
The Ice Queen Page 3
