Knowing her penchant for organizing other people’s lives, Alec would not have been surprised to see her
do just that
.
Edmund turned to him, his gaze wild. “Tell Julia it’s deuced improper to discuss such things.”
“Not in my day, it wasn’t,” said Maddie, adjusting her shawl.
“Used to talk about worse things than that.
Spent hours trying to figure out who was slipping off with whom.
Kept us amused for days.”
Julia nodded. “My father said that a truth not spoken can cause as much damage as the vilest lie.” She glared at Edmund. “You should
always
tell the truth, no matter the cost.”
Edmund dropped into a chair and tugged at his cravat. “May we
please
speak of something else?”
Alec took pity on him. “Lady Birlington, I meant to thank you for assisting Julia with her transformation.”
Maddie examined his wife from head to foot and said grudgingly, “She’ll do, but she’d have made more of a stir with the bronze gown.”
Julia caught Alec’s questioning stare and blushed. “It was very indecorous and was cut down to here.” She gestured with her fan.
Alec stared where she had indicated, right where the modest lace of her gown covered the provocative swell of her breasts. He cleared his throat. “Surely Lady Birlington did not mean for you to wear anything so revealing.”
Maddie snorted. “Of course I did. I suggested she dampen her skirts, too, but she wouldn’t have any of that, either.
Pity.
Would have been more fun to launch a dashing matron instead of such a sedate one.
But then, life is never perfect.”
“You told her to
what
?” Alec wondered if he was hearing amiss.
“You should follow fashion more closely, Hunsterston. Everyone is dampening their skirts. I’d do it myself,” Maddie said with unimpaired calm, “if I weren’t afraid of catching my death. May look like a hag, but I still have the figure of a girl. Least, that’s what I’ve been told.” Something amazingly like a simper crossed her face.
“Who has been saying such improper things to you?” demanded Edmund.
“Oh, hush. We were talking about Julia, not me.”
The conversation between Edmund and Maddie quickly degenerated into an argument, and Alec turned to Julia.
He took her hand. “Let’s dance.”
“But that’s a waltz.”
“
All the
better.” Without giving her time to remonstrate, he swept her into the dance.
Within moments he began to understand Monsieur Armonde’s frustration. Besides having no sense of timing, Julia showed a disconcerting tendency to lead. By holding her tightly and dancing slower than the music demanded, Alec managed to settle into a reasonable facsimile of the waltz.
Yet there were compensations for her inability. For one thing, he had to hold her considerably closer than the prescribed twelve inches. Each time they turned, her breasts brushed against his coat, causing her to flush an adorable pink.
He found himself holding his breath in anticipation, his gaze inexorably caught by the sight of her silk gown sliding against his lapels. Alec could almost picture her breasts reacting, the rosy nipples tightening as they circled the dance floor, sending vibrations of sensation throughout her body.
Damn the will, damn the executors, and damn the entire ordeal. God help him, he was surely destined for Bedlam.
After what seemed an interminable time, Alec ventured a comment. “Shocking crush, isn’t it?” He winced at the triteness of it.
“Hmm.”
“I don’t suppose it will rain any time soon, do you?”
She didn’t even pretend to answer this time.
“It has been an incredibly chilly spring.” He tightened his hold the tiniest bit more. “The roses are sure to die horrible, painful deaths. Their little petals will shrivel, their leaves twisting in agony as they—”
Her startled gaze flew to his. “What?”
“I was merely commenting on the weather.”
Julia’s mouth quivered with amusement. “Dancing like a bumpkin, aren’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just not used to being ignored by my partner.”
“I can’t help it. I have to mind my steps, you know. I’d hate to break your toe.”
Alec chuckled and pulled her even closer. “Let me count the steps for you, love. I am generally held to be a creditable dancer.”
“Oh, yes. I know that.”
He frowned. It bothered him to think that he might once have danced with her and couldn’t remember it. “Have we danced before?”
Her dimple appeared, resting on one cheek with all the audacity of a caper merchant at a funeral. “You’d have bruises if we had. Therese said it was one of the things she liked about you. That and the way you kiss. Of course, I know how you ki—” Julia broke off, a deep blush staining her cheeks.
Entranced, he wondered what she would do if he traced the line of her blush with his lips. “Why shouldn’t you know how I kiss? We are married, love.”
Her gaze dropped back to the floor. “Edmund is right. I need to watch what I say.”
Had Alec been a true gentleman, he would have allowed the matter to rest. Instead he brought her body flush with his, ignoring the outraged gasps of the other dancers. “Do
you
think I kiss well?”
‘That’s not a fair question
,“
she said gruffly. Her color flared brighter, but she made no move to disengage herself.
“Why not?”
She had the loveliest skin, like the spill of cream, smooth and translucent.
“I can’t really compare it. I’ve never kissed anyone else.”
“And I suppose you need a comparison?”
“Oh, yes.” Julia tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps Edmund would do. He seems to have a penchant for married women.” She met his astonished gaze and chuckled.
Her laughter trailed through him like fire and he immediately loosened his hold. Alec managed a perfunctory smile, but no more. One touch, however innocent, and he would have lost all control and yanked her to him right there.
Julia noted his withdrawal and her liveliness fled. But other than casting an abashed glance at him, she did not offer any comment. Alec had never been so thankful when a dance ended. He escorted Julia to Lady Birlington as the last note died.
Maddie was deep in discussion with the Dowager Duchess of Roth, an imposing, gaunt woman with a prominent nose who was well known for her charity efforts. The two welcomed Julia and immediately drew her into conversation, exclaiming over Muck, who stood stoically by her chair, guarding the abandoned reticule.
Alec decided it would be far less worrisome to watch Julia from afar. If he saw Nick approaching, he would simply rejoin Lady Birlington’s party. He stationed himself in a strategic location that afforded him a good view of his wife and consigned
himself
to an evening of un-alleviated frustration. Oblivious to his presence, Julia talked and danced with an endless line of callow youths.
He decided it was a good thing his wife was such a wretched dancer. No man could wax poetic while the lady in his arms trod upon his feet every chance she got.
Only when waltzes struck up did Alec return. Yet each dance was more torturous than the previous one. By evening’s end, Alec’s mood fell just short of foul. Returning home, he placed a chaste kiss on Julia’s hand and consigned himself to the library with a bottle of his best brandy.
He poured himself a hefty drink and tossed it back in one gulp. There wasn’t enough liquor in the whole damn house to cool his blood, but it was all he had. Pouring another, he turned to sit in his favorite chair but pulled up short at the empty spot. It was still being repaired. Consigning all reformers and their troublesome charges to the devil, he dropped onto the settee and positioned the meager cushions to attain some semblance of comfort.
Glancing at the ceiling, he wondered if Julia were already asleep above, comfortably ensconced in her virginal bed, the covers pulled to her chin. But as his thoughts had a disturbing tendency to peer beneath her chaste covers, he quickly dismissed the image and forced himself to concentrate on his brandy.
He sighed heavily and glanced at the mantel to check the time, but no clock rested in the center of the ornately carved shelf.
Yet another of Muck’s casualties.
Alec cursed and rose to cross to the sideboard. Abandoning all pretenses, he opened another bottle of brandy and carried it to his lumpy settee.
It was going to be one hell of a night.
Two weeks after the rout, the Dowager Duchess of Roth appeared at Almack’s with a page even homelier than Muck. She further astounded her friends and family by graciously announcing that the child was a former pickpocket, plucked from the gutter and trained by her own tender care. The gossips clamored. No one seemed to notice that the dowager was also a distant, but fond, relative of Lady Birlington’s.
Within a fortnight, bewildered footmen from all across London were sent into the streets and alleyways to rescue homely children for the employment of their mistresses.
Julia’s success was assured. Therese, startled by this unexpected coup, immediately sent for Nick.
It took him three days to reply, but when he
did,
she had the coveted pleasure of riding out with him in his high-perch phaeton, an honor he afforded very few. After assisting Therese into the carriage, he climbed up beside her and set the horses to a smart trot down the tree-lined street.
Therese waited until they had left the fashionable confines of Park Lane before turning to him. “You must do something about Julia.”
“What do you suggest? Kidnapping?
Torture?”
The amusement in his voice stung. “You cannot mean to sit idly by and allow Alec to inherit the money.”
Nick directed the horses around a halted coach-and-four before returning his attention to her. His blue glance fell just short of boredom. “Never fear, Therese. I have everything well in hand.”
A sudden breeze sent the skirts of her blue silk gown into a graceful flutter, catching the eye of a young cit exiting a shop, his arms filled with parcels. On seeing Therese, he stopped, his mouth dropping open. She rewarded him with a blinding smile that caused him to drop his burdens into the street.
She peered at Nick, hoping he had noticed.
He didn’t so much as spare her a glance, tooling the phaeton across the bustling square, the great wheels coming within scant inches of a tanner’s lumbering cart.
Therese regarded his strong profile with a wistful sigh. Dressed in a multicaped driving coat of moss green thai complemented the wonderful fit of his pale yellow trousers, Nick could not have appeared more handsome. He represented wealth, position, and more. Once they married, she would be the wealthy Countess Bridgeton and Nick would be hers.
Though it frightened her to admit it, she was almost certain the yearning she felt for him was love. It had
tc
be, for she could not stop thinking of him. She wanted the taste of him in her mouth, the feel of him beneath her hands, the smell of him on her sheets. Therese allowed her gaze to wander across his broad shoulders down to the hard muscles of his thighs beneath his fitted trousers.
As if reading her thoughts, Nick flicked
her a
contemptuous glance. “It is rude to stare, Therese.
Even for you.”
Her cheeks heated to match the rest of her body. She forced herself to return his cool stare with one of herown. “I was not staring.”
His lifted brow told her he knew her lie for what it was. “I suggest you lift your gaze from my lap long enough to acknowledge what few admirers you have left.” Nick’s amusement doused her desire as effectively as sand over a fire. “We just passed Lord Marshton, who favored you with a very elegant bow. He appeared quite crushed you did not notice him.”
Therese shrugged. “He will call on me later. He is very devoted.”
“And up to his ears in debt.”
Nick smiled down at her. “But he may be all you have left. Just how many admirers have abandoned your court for the elegant Viscountess Hunterston? What is it now?
Five?
Six?”
“None,” Therese snapped, though a feeling of unease sifted through her. In truth, she had lost at least one admirer to Julia.
Lord Bentham had been pursuing Therese for almost a year, his declarations most passionate. But though he held an acceptable position, his portion was only adequate. Therese had held him at bay, enjoying him as an acceptable companion, but never intending to give in to his persuasions. Still, his defection had hurt, especially as he had promised to paint her portrait.
All the
ton
clamored for a Bentham painting and he was notoriously selective about his subjects. Therese suddenly wondered if Bentham had consented to paint Julia. It did not bear thinking of. She tossed her head and glared at Nick. “My cousin is
not
elegant.”
“I must disagree. Your cousin is elegant, intelligent and…” He frowned, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
“Julia is a countrified little colonial with no pretense at fashion.”
Nick laughed.
“How excessively ill bred.
No matter what you say of the intriguing Julia, you must admit she presents herself without fault. You would do well to discern what is so fetching about your cousin and emulate it as best you can.” His cool gaze flickered over her dismissively. “You aren’t getting any younger, my dear. Such fair beauty will not age well.”
It took all her efforts not to strike him. “You are cruel. You should be thankful I have your best interests at heart.”
“You, my little charlatan, have no heart. For us, everything is about money. It is what we crave, what we dream of.”
“If I simply wanted money, I would have already wed.”
“And just
whom
would you have married?” A touch of true amusement lit his eyes to the blue of a summer sky. “Who possesses enough of a fortune and a lofty enough title to satisfy your extravagant needs?”
The truth of his statement chilled her. Thanks to her father’s mismanagement of their fortune, her dowry was woefully inadequate. Though she had attracted more than her fair share of attention in her first season, each year her suitors numbered less. Sadly, few men were both wealthy and titled.