Page 129

I t was impossible for Julia not to notice Lady Venerton, and the way she fawned over William at dinner.

Through five courses, the woman had chattered on with batted eyes and insipid giggles.

At times, she even settled her dainty fingertips on William’s forearm as she spoke. Her behavior was shameful.

Shameful and infuriating.

A sentiment that was echoed in Cecelia’s gaze every time her eyes met Julia’s. Lady Bursbury’s niece had been a longtime friend of Julia’s, and a bitter enemy of Lady Venerton.

Though William was coolly polite in his interaction with Lady Venerton, Julia could not quell the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. A hard ball of stubborn dread she couldn’t dislodge.

The only thing which had brought her joy, aside from Cecelia’s shared displeasure with the display, was the white puff of a dog beneath the table that readily lapped up scraps of food Julia smuggled down to it.

William had tried to dissuade her against it, warning her the little beast would forever follow her around, but she hadn’t bothered to listen.

In fact, with the exception of the dog, it appeared many of the guests were rather unhappy.

Lord Mortry was lost in his own world of inner torment, and poor Cecelia next to him was regaled with his perpetual tales of woe.

On Julia’s other side, Lord Hesterton’s sardonic replies to Lady Jane indicated an undeniable element of misery.

There was Lord and Lady Doursly who were, well, dour — no doubt at the lackluster reception from Hesterton toward their daughter.

And then there was Julia, who was lost in the storm of her own distress.

“Poor Lord Venerton,” Lady Jane said, opposite Hesterton.

“Agreed,” he muttered. “The poor sod has to put up with that prattling ninny for the remainder of his life.”

Julia pressed a napkin to her lip to suppress a laugh.

“Oh,” Lady Jane replied after a brief pause. “I was referring to his illness. I do hope he recovers quickly.”

“I’m quite sure not all in attendance would agree with your hopeful sentiment,” Hesterton stated with a bored drawl.

Hesterton had barely finished speaking when Lady Venerton gave a throaty chuckle at something Lord Bursbury had said.

William’s hand slid over Julia’s under the table. The touch should have brought comfort, but it was foreign, and the ache in her chest was far too great. She wanted to leave, to run from the room and lock herself in her chamber.

Nancy addressed the table with a pleasant expression, as if Lady Venerton hadn’t flirted with every man in the room, including her husband. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port while we ladies retire to the drawing room? Then we can reconvene for a night of games together.”

Julia almost gasped out her relief. She could finally escape with Cecelia and without the men, Lady Venerton wouldn’t have the opportunity to flirt and touch William. He had been formal in return, but still polite, as was expected. Regardless, it was still too much for Julia.

She needed to get out. Now.

She rose from her chair and suddenly William was there, pulling her seat out for her. His hand caught hers. “I confess I’m grateful for the reprieve, though I’ll miss your presence.”

What was wrong with her? Why was this affecting her so deeply?

She nodded and tried her best to offer him a convincing smile.

As soon as his back was turned, she fled and made her way to their chamber, chased there by a string of memories battering her mind.

Memories of her nineteenth birthday when Mother had acquiesced to Julia’s insistent begging to see the new play.

However, their family box had not been empty.

Father had been in the shadowed rear of it with a woman on his lap, her skirts raised as she moved over him.

He hadn’t offered excuses, or even bothered to look surprised. He’d simply regarded them with an irritated scowl. They left, riding home in a painfully silent carriage. The woman had been barely older than Julia.

Even now she shuddered in revulsion.

No one had discussed it with her later. Her father had offered no apologies; her mother mentioned not one word of it.

As though the entire incident had never happened.

It was then Julia realized she needed to leave that house, a family that was built on lies with a father who would do… that…and a mother who allowed it.

Julia buried her horrified disgust beneath a veneer of civility, but she never forgot. Never.

Once in her room, she dismissed the servants and lay on the bed for a goodly amount of time, but the burning ache in her chest did not dissipate. Nor did the understanding she would be missed downstairs and must return.

As if on cue, a knock came from the door. “Your Grace,” a gentle voice said through the door.

Julia covered her face with her hands, not wanting to see anyone.

“Julie,” the woman whispered.

Cecelia.

This time, Julia rose from the mattress, drew herself together, one shattered piece at a time, and opened the door. Cecelia waited for her on the other side, a worried expression on her face. “Don’t let her get the better of you.”

Of course she referred to Lady Venerton.

Julie put on the bravest face she could muster. “I absolutely will not.”

With that, she and Cecelia returned downstairs to attend the remainder of the night’s entertainments.

However, as she was on her way to the drawing room, her husband’s deep voice resonated beyond the thick wooden door where the men had congregated. “She’s a beauty, with a long, thick mane of hair.”

She paused, a smile softening her demeanor at the idea of her husband talking about her to the other men.

Cecelia gave a good-natured smile and waited patiently as Julia listened in on her husband’s speech.

“Such a lovely creature, with a dominant personality,” he continued.

A bit odd to be called a creature, but if he saw her personality as being dominant as he bragged to his peers about her, she would take it gladly.

“And she has the world in her eyes, like she knows everything.” He stressed the last word. “Large and wise and the deepest shade of brown.”

Julia froze. Her eyes weren’t brown; they were blue. The woman her husband was discussing with such affection was not her.

Cecelia frowned, her mouth opening in question.

Julia shook her head to stop her friend.

Nothing would change what they had heard.

She curled her hand into a hard fist and focused on the pressure at her palm to keep from flattening herself against the door.

And anyway, there was no need. Not when she could hear William’s words of praise as plainly as if she were in the room with him.

Certainly, she felt the impact of his subject as viscerally.

“I tell you, my girl is always ready for a bruising ride,” William said.

She stiffened as Cecelia’s hands flew to cover her mouth. Had he truly just said that?

“It’s those gorgeous legs of hers. Long and white.” He paused, presumably for a drink. “Just like her mother’s.”

Julia’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He wasn’t suggesting he’d…that, with the mother…and the daughter?

Cecelia reached for her. “Julia, come, let’s?—”

Julia pushed off her friend, unable to keep from listening.

“I know she’s going to go soon, but it breaks my heart to see it.” William sighed heavily. “I’m only glad Maribel has foaled twice, so she might forever live on in them.”

Julia’s shoulders dropped from where they’d climbed to her earlobes. What a blithering idiot she’d been. He was discussing his horse. Again. And she’d thought he was talking about another woman. Again.

‘His horse,’ she mouthed to Cecelia who chuckled silently with a shake of her head.

But Julia was not so easily given to mirth. Indeed, a sick sensation swirled in her stomach with a crushing realization. The issue was not with William at all. It was with her.

And the fear that what had happened between her mother and father could happen to her. The ache in her chest grew into something terrible. It robbed her of her breath and left her gasping for air as though she were dying.

She couldn’t stand the idea of trusting William, of letting herself love her husband and then finding him the way she’d found her father. Her heart would not be able to endure such hurt. She had never realized the organ was so very fragile, yet now it hovered on the edge of shattering.

Cecelia reached for her, no doubt to guide her toward where the other women had gathered, but Julia shook her head. Her heart wasn’t in it.

And how could it be with a fire burning in her chest? Cecelia did not protest as Julia returned to her room, but instead offered her a reassuring embrace of comfort. And Julia had great need of such comfort.

When he returned to their chamber, she would tell him the truth of it: she still wished to go to the country after she’d delivered him an heir.

William took the steps two at a time in his eagerness to see Julia. He’d meant to participate in the games with the rest of the house party, but when he heard she had retired to their room already, he immediately understood. She was waiting for him. To be alone with him.

He reached the landing and made his way down the hall, hoping she would still be wearing her silk frock so that he could peel it off of her. But when he opened the door, he was not met with a willing wife, but one who was red-faced from crying and wrapped in a bulky robe.

The servants had obviously been dismissed, as was evidenced by the disarray in the room. Stockings were crumpled in one corner, a pair of dainty red shoes lay on opposite sides of a chair, and various jars were left open.

“Julia, are you unwell?” He closed the door and rushed to where she sat on the edge of the bed. “Shall I summon a physician?”

She shook her head and glanced up at him. Her long lashes were spiked with moisture. “I can’t do this, William. Forgive me, but I-I do not think I am meant to be a wife.”

His mind reeled at her words. Were they back to this?

“I beg your pardon?” He sank to the bed beside her. “Has something happened?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m a coward.” She buried her face in her hands, and her throat flexed as she tried with an obvious effort to hold back her tears. “I married you to escape my father’s household, and now I’m realizing what I tried to leave has followed me.”

How very flattering.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” William said in an even tone.

It cost him dearly to keep the desperation from his voice, to keep from demanding answers.

He was finally on the cusp of getting the family he wanted, but she did not want him.

The same as all the families before who took him in after his parents’ deaths.

The story spilled from her, of her father and his lover in the theater box. A tawdry tale to be sure.

He listened attentively. “And you think I will do this to you?”

“I worry it might someday happen.” Julia gave a miserable sniff. “I hadn’t realized how much I feared it, until I was reassured that you did not have a lover at your country estate. But then seeing Lady Venerton flirting with you and touching you?—”

“I did not encourage her.” The anger had flared up within William. The odious woman had been impossible. Toward the end of dinner, he’d had to be downright rude to keep her from putting her hands upon him.

“You did not,” Julia agreed. “But someday you might. Or someday it might be a different woman whose attentions you do want.” She sniffled miserably. “Then I overheard you talking downstairs about Maribel, and again, I thought you meant another woman. Do you not see, William?”

He stared at her in question. For he did not see. Not a bloody whit.

“I will forever think you are with another woman,” she exclaimed. “It will drive me mad. It will drive you mad.” She pressed her lips together as her eyes welled with a fresh bout of tears.

He met her gaze and put his hand gently under her chin to keep her from looking away. “I am not your father.”

Her brow crumpled, and she nodded.

“Get to know me, Julia, and you will discover I am not that sort of man.” He didn’t bother to hide his hurt. “Get to know me and let me prove to you that you married me for more than an escape from your childhood home.”

“Forgive me, William.” She brushed at her wet cheeks. “Please, I need you to agree to allow me to move to the country once I’ve delivered an heir.”

“If you still believe me to be a man who will not be loyal, and who will not love you faithfully by the time you have delivered our son, then yes, I will allow it.” He chose his words carefully, intentionally.

She was correct when she said she did not know him upon their marriage.

The courtship had been only two short months.

Not nearly enough time to be fully acquainted.

His impulsivity sometimes spun around to bite him; this was clearly one of those times.

Except he would not let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

He had only one wife, only one chance for a real family, and he would not lose.

Julia’s shoulders sagged in evident relief. “Thank you. I am terribly sorry.”

“Do not be sorry yet.” He stroked a hand down her cheek. “You are still here.” He pressed a tender kiss to her brow and got to his feet to prepare for bed.

He took his time unwinding his cravat, pulling off his waistcoat, and carefully folding them as he set them aside. Julia watched him with an unreadable expression. “What are you doing?”

He tugged off his shirt and squared his shoulders so every muscle in his torso flexed. She looked away, but not before giving an audible intake of breath.

“Preparing for bed.” He went about the room, tidying up what had been left a disaster.

“It’s early.”

“Not so very early.” He scooped up the discarded silk dress and carefully draped it over a chair to ensure the fabric didn’t wrinkle. When he turned back to her, he found her gaze feasting on his backside before it snapped away.

His hands went to the placket of his breeches. “Are you ready?”

She gave a vigorous nod and darted under the covers, bulky robe and all. Her eyes remained averted as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them off. She did not look at him again, not even after he’d donned his nightshirt.

He put out the candles and slid into the large bed beside her. She stiffened. He settled himself on his back and closed his eyes.

It took only a few moments before Julia began to wriggle about. A slight shifting at first, then turning and tossing about like a fish flopping on the dock.

“William?” she said finally.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you…?” she left the question hanging unsaid.

“Going to sleep?” he finished. “Why, yes, that is precisely what I’m doing. Or rather what I would be doing if you weren’t squirming around.”

“What I mean to say is, aren’t you…going to…have relations with me?” She asked the question in barely a whisper.

And William smiled into the darkness.