“I know you are.” She shivered but then lifted her chin. “But so am I.”
She’d followed him into a dark cellar, tasted his grandfather’s scotch, listened to his sad tale with but a few flickering candles for light, not once considering what would happen if they were discovered.
She believed she had a choice.
What had she said about trusting him?
God in heaven help him. Jules sat back and sighed. And although it meant he would deny them both, he would wait. The anticipation would be worth it. He released her hands and glanced down at the fob hanging from his coat.
He grimaced. “Time I escort you back upstairs. Tea will be served shortly.”
“I do believe, Jules, that you are my new favorite person in the world.” Greys lifted his glass in appreciation from across the table.
Jules had not joined his mother and her guests for tea. Nor had any of the other gentlemen. The Cocksure Gents, as Charley had referred to them—were content to remain in the billiard room from the moment they caught sight of the opened bottles Jules had had brought up from the cellars.
It would prove to be an altogether more satisfying beverage.
As the afternoon wore on, Jules suspected they’d absent themselves from the evening meal as well.
His mother would not be pleased.
The alternative was for him, Greys, Stone, Peter, Mantis, and Chase to present themselves as they were: several sheets in their cups and drowning in their wind. Or something like that. By this point, it was quite likely Jules was mixing his metaphors.
“I’ve always been your favorite, Greystone.” Jules made an attempt to bring the lofty marquess into focus.
“Oh, no, Blackheart is about to become his favorite.” Stone laughed heartily. “I will honestly declare for the first time in my life, I can hardly wait for the Season to begin.”
Mantis dealt the cards around the table and they all anteed up.
As a few servants moved around the room lighting sconces, Jules realized dinner had likely commenced.
Did Charley miss him? Although she’d looked almost crestfallen when he’d put an end to their tête-à-tête in the cellar, she’d quickly recovered.
And he’d had to wonder if he’d imagined that she’d wanted his kiss because she’d seemed quite unaffected when he’d left her outside the door of her chamber. She hadn’t gazed up at him longingly, willing him to kiss her goodbye. She’d not invited him inside. She’d not even alluded to any future meetings.
Damned chit had bid him good afternoon by shaking his hand.
“At least you will be free from all the husband-seeking chits and their matchmaking mamas this year.”
Jules stared at his cards, unseeing.
“Are you staying in?”
“Jules?” Stone’s voice jerked him back to the game at hand.
Two kings looked back at him along with a jack and an ace, but it was the queen who made up his mind.
Damnit, he should have kissed her.
“Folding.” He pushed himself away from the table. “I’m going to join the others.”
Five sets of incredulous eyes gawked at him as though he’d grown a second head.
“Why in God’s name would you do that?” Greys frowned, looking only slightly more perturbed than his normal unflappable self.
Surprisingly enough, the others folded as well and were pushing back their chairs. “What kind of friends would we be if we allowed you to return to the hunt without rein… reinforcements?” Chase swayed, slurring his words slightly.
“You’d be level-headed intelligent gentlemen, that’s what you’d be.” Greys dropped into a large chair, lifted his feet onto the low table in front of it, and leaned back, closing his eyes.
With a shrug, Stone scooped up their jackets and they assisted one another into what they believed was each of their respective garments.
“Wait!” Mantis reached out one hand. His arm managed to be stuck halfway into the jacket Stone had handed him. Peter, on the other hand, all but swam in his.
After trading off, they each took one last swallow of the bottle they’d been drinking from, and with a resounding belch from Chase, deigned themselves prepared for battle, er, to mingle with his mother’s guests.
And as they ambled along to the withdrawing room, the closer they got, an odd urgency grew in Jules.
Anticipation.
“Where have you been?” Jules’ mother caught his arm practically before he’d made it through the door. “Good God. Have you been smoking? And drinking?”
All he wished to do was scan the room to search for a certain bright redhead but instead, he gave his mother his attention. “Isn’t that what gentlemen are expected to do in the afternoon?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Afternoon is long since passed. You missed dinner.” She eyed the gents who’d entered behind him warily. “All of you.”
“And that was my loss, Mother, as you look particularly beautiful tonight. Is that a new gown?” He planted his feet wide so as to afford him additional balance and drew back his shoulders. “It was the height of rudeness. Will you forgive me?”
She was already shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
Sounds of feminine laughter had both of them turning toward the seats set up around the pianoforte. His sisters, two vaguely familiar ladies whose name he could not remember, Felicity, and, seated on one of the benches in the—Charley.
“I’m here.” He only thought the words but almost as though she heard them, she lifted her lashes, and her gaze caught his. Just as the corner of her lips tilted upward, however, she shuttered her expression and sent a sideways glance in the direction of the sour-looking woman seated beside her in the window.
Unnerved, Jules turned his attention back to his mother.
“Why is Mrs. Crabtree seated beside Miss Jackson?” His mother’s secretary, an old battle ax, exuded a stern, unyielding demeanor.
“I’ve assigned the poor girl a proper chaperone as the woman who came along with her is not at all appropriate for the task.”
“Is that really necessary?” He already knew the answer but just as quickly realized his mother’s decision would complicate his own personal objectives.
“She absented herself from everyone else early this afternoon and when I went to locate her myself, her maid didn’t know where she was. I cannot have an unmarried young woman under our protection wandering the manor alone. Why, she’s practically begging for trouble. I knew her mother, after all.” His mother glanced down when a popping sound drifted up from his right hand. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that.”
Jules hadn’t acted improperly with Charley.
But he’d wanted to.
“Lord Brightly is expecting you to make Felicity an offer this spring. It would be positively lovely if you did so before the party ended. We could celebrate your betrothal at the upcoming ball.”
As his mother’s words rolled through him, Jules wished he’d not taken that last swallow of the scotch—or perhaps the last twenty or so…
He ought to have come down with a clearer head. “Perhaps in due time.” He needed to have a serious discussion with his mother in the morning. Drawing this out wasn’t doing anyone any favors. Not him, and definitely not Felicity. With Jules out of the way, she would be free to entertain offers from other bachelors. And there would be several. She was a lovely and intelligent lady and would make some man very happy, he was certain.
But not him.
His mother frowned but then shifted her gaze back to where the bevy of ladies conversed at the opposite end of the room. She frowned at Bethany but then flicked her gaze to the window and frowned again. “Mr. Jackson should have sent his daughter back to her grandparents. My understanding is he’ll return to America without her. Lord and Lady Thornton certainly have their work cut out if they’re going to mold her into the sort of lady even the lowest of English gentlemen would be willing to settle for. Although,” She tightened
her jaw. “I suppose she will come along with a hefty dowry.”
Even his scotch-addled brain couldn’t soften the blow of his mother’s words. Ah, but you’re wrong, Mother. Jules fixed his gaze across the room. I’ll settle for her…
Charley’s shoulders hunched and the smile she occasionally flashed was forced, and yet she looked utterly beautiful. Wearing a dusty rose gown, her hair had been swept onto the top of her head with a jeweled clasp that matched the pendant at her neck. Heat shot down his spine as his gaze followed the few rebellious curls trailing along her cheek, dangling into a swirl, and ending at her décolletage. “I don’t think she’ll have any troubles.”
“I beg to differ. Not when compared to the likes of Tabetha or Felicity. Or even Bethany, for that matter.”
“What’s wrong with Bethany?” He turned back to ask.
“All her fidgeting aside, she does nothing whatsoever to attract a husband. What man wants a lady who cannot sit still?” His mother shrugged. “Which, all in all, is fine. She can keep me company in my old age.”
“She’s not yet three and twenty. I’d hardly consider her on the shelf.”
“We’ll see.”
Jules glanced back across the room.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother.” Moments such as this, Jules wished he could keep his mother in check half as well as his father had been able to. And yet on the occasions he was tempted to put his foot down, his guilty conscience always stopped him. If not for Jules, she would still have her husband. His sisters would still have their father.
Feeling far more sober than he had when he’d entered the room, he made a short bow with a frown.
She captured his arm as he went to step away. “Do consider making your offer to dear Felicity within the next few days, won’t you? The poor girl has waited long enough.”
Jules clenched his jaw and cracked knuckles on both of his hands. “You’ll be the first to know,” he finally answered.
Satisfied, his mother released him and, with a cheerful smile, moved away to join a few nearby elderly guests.
Everything she’d said about Charley set his teeth on edge… the chaperone, the criticism, even the consideration that her value lay only in the money that would come along with her. But now wasn’t the moment to challenge his mother on any of this. He’d have that conversation with her soon enough, and in private—when he informed her of his intentions to make Charley his wife.
Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the day after.
Presently, his greatest irritant was the fact that the woman he was courting was looking up at Chase and laughing with a smile that Jules inexplicably wanted to claim for himself.
Chapter 15
MY DEAR LORD WESTERLEY
Sitting in the drawing room following the evening meal, Charley couldn’t shed the feeling that she’d done something terribly wrong. When Lady Westerley had arrived at her chamber earlier and introduced her to Mrs. Crabtree, she’d felt more like a disobedient adolescent being scolded than a guest being afforded a courtesy.
And from that moment on, Mrs. Crabtree remained no less than three feet from Charley’s side, whispering instruction and criticism in her ear at every turn as the evening wore on.
The afternoon of scotch tasting in the cellar had been delightful. All of it. Not just the tasting of the scotch but her conversation with Jules. He was her friend. Nothing else. This was only a pretend courtship.
Her dejected mood had nothing to do with the fact that he’d made himself absent for the evening. Was he angry with her for pressing him to talk about his father?
She was the one who ought to be angry. His persistent refusal to accept that she wouldn’t marry him was… wearing her down. She wanted to think of him in nothing more than friendly terms, but people didn’t imagine kissing someone who was nothing more than a friend.
She had not, anyhow.
Earlier that day, sitting across from him in the light of the candles, she’d been almost magnetically drawn to him. Gravity had been altered and turned all of its pull onto the Earl of Westerley.
Julian. Jules.
She’d found herself leaning across the table. She’d touched his hand on a few occasions with no actual purpose for doing so. When he’d escorted her back up the winding staircase, she’d been wondering what it would feel like to press her lips against his. His mouth had been shiny, from the scotch, and from the moment before, when his tongue had slipped between his lips and licked them.
She’d thought he would kiss her, but of course, he hadn’t. It was a fake courtship, after all.
But he hadn’t joined the party tonight. Lady Westerley stood near the doorway almost as though she too was watching for him and his gang to arrive. She was perfectly cordial to her guests, but Charley suspected the countess was none too pleased when Lord Brightly speculated loudly as to what had happened to all of the bachelors this evening.
There were other bachelors present, but it went without saying that the absent ones were those who were the most sought after. Bethany had introduced Charley to two other young ladies who’d arrived that day, Miss Rachel Somerset and her younger sister, Miss Delia. They were pretty girls with glossy brown hair curled into ringlets and large brown eyes. Their similarities ended there. Whereas the elder girl was tall and slim and inclined to look down her nose, the younger was short and delightfully plump and admitted to being practically blind without her spectacles.
“Charley made the most interesting flower arrangement.” Hearing Tabetha say her name forced her to smile pleasantly. “She used herbs instead of the usual green cuttings. It smelled positively divine.”
The elder Miss Somerset raised her brows with what seemed to be a pained smile. “How charming.”
Except she didn’t sound as though she thought the idea charming at all. Charley had thought that brown eyes could not really look cold, but Rachel Somerset’s managed to do so.
“It’s probably good that we missed that activity,” Miss Delia said, sounding far less haughty than her sister. “Certain flowers make my eyes and nose run. Mama says I have a poor constitution, but nothing brings it on like being around roses.”
“You shouldn’t speak of such matters, Delia.” Rachel Somerset scowled at her younger sister.
“My mother was the same way around horses,” Charley said without thinking. The memory was a distant one, but it was the only time that her mother hadn’t seemed perfectly put together.
Miss Delia sent a grateful smile in Charley’s direction as Bethany finished playing her piece at the pianoforte.
“Do you play, Miss Jackson?” Miss Somerset’s cool brown eyes challenged her.
“No.”
“And you don’t paint?” Miss Somerset asked with what could only have been considered a sneer. “Everyone was discussing your… attempt… when I first arrived.”
“Ooooh, Westerley has finally deigned to grace us with his presence,” Bethany said. “Mother looks fit to be tied.”
Tabetha looked almost gleeful, whereas her older sister seemed pained at the prospect of her family not getting along.
All thoughts of Rachel Somerset’s insults fled Charley at the mention of their host. He looked weary as he responded to his mother. But he still smiled. He would still be charming.
She dropped her gaze to her hands but then felt a quiver of awareness. When she peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, that gravitational pull was at work again. She wanted nothing more than to return his smile, especially if doing so would will him to join them, but she was acutely aware of the chaperone seated beside her.
And of his mother.
When she glanced up again, Lord Chaswick was bowing before her, his pale blue eyes looking slightly bloodshot.
“Visions of loveliness everywhere.” He bent over her hand, and Charley’s musings as to where Julian had been all evening were immediately answered. The scent of peaty, spicy alcohol met her nostrils and she nearly laughed out loud. Her dear Lord Westerley, it seemed, would not
allow those lovely bottles they’d opened to go unappreciated.
Not my dear Lord Westerley, she chastised herself, Jules.
Her breath caught, and Charley tamped down these odd feelings when the person utmost in her mind joined them along with Lord Manningham-Tissinton and the Spencer brothers.
Of course, they would welcome the newly arrived ladies, who all seemed to have prior acquaintances with one another.
“Will you play for us?” the handsome blond Baron asked Felicity, who blushed and then traded places with Bethany.
Rachel Somerset had wound her hands around Julian’s arm and didn’t appear to be willing to relinquish it any time soon.
“Sit up straight. You’re slouching, Miss Jackson.” Mrs. Crabtree’s voice carried enough for everyone to hear.
Charley clamped her teeth together and straightened her spine. She’d grown tired of feeling embarrassed, of not being considered proper enough for present company.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Somerset.” Jules smoothly removed the young woman’s hand from his person with a polite nod.
Charley went to rise but Mrs. Crabtree’s hand gripped her arm with surprising strength, holding her back.
Jules glanced at the older woman and said, “If Mrs. Crabtree would be so kind as to collect your coat, I would be honored if you’d take a turn on the terrace with me, Miss Jackson.”
And as easy as that, the woman was gone.
“May I?” He indicated the seat vacated by her chaperone but then sat before Charley gave him permission. “You look stunning.”
Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks at his compliment. Just as everyone seated around them had heard Mrs. Crabtree’s admonishment to her, they also heard Julian’s compliment.
Felicity, who still sat on the bench at the piano beside Lord Mantis deciding what she would play, hopefully had not.
Everyone fell silent when the lovely young woman hovered her hands over the ivory keys spread out before her, then lowered them to begin playing a haunting tune in a seemingly effortless manner.
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