Page 133

D inner was a far less extravagant affair than the previous days but was by no means without elegance or proper decorum. After all, one did not generally anticipate several extra days in a house party due to a blizzard striking in March.

In truth, Julia could have been served mealworms and probably would not have noticed.

Not when her body was still soaring from all those lovely sensations William had wrought upon her simply with the movement of his hand.

And now he sat at her side, handsome and charming, engaging in polite conversation as though none of it had happened.

But it had. Oh, it definitely had. The occasional side glance he slid her way told her he was anticipating the next time as much as she was.

But that was not the only thing she continued to remember.

Hodges’s words prodded at her as well. The reason William was so perfect.

He’d had spent the better part of his life making himself immaculate, so he could stay in a home where he was inevitably sent away from regardless.

And now, he was once more trying to be perfect to keep her.

The very idea tugged at the inside of her chest.

Her mind twisted, wrestling between the real William she was beginning to discover, and the fear she harbored that he might someday break her heart. What she did know was that the simple act of leaving him, even to use the necessary, made her ache to be with him once more.

That was not a good sign, was it?

After reaching the retiring room and convincing a very naughty Bruiser to wait patiently outside, Julia entered to find Lady Jane dabbing her eyes.

Her bright gaze found Julia’s. “Do you think he likes me? Lord Hesterton, I mean.”

Julia suppressed a cringe at the question. It was obvious the man was trying to be rid of the failed match attempt. “Why do you ask?”

“The topic of marriage came up at dinner. First Lord Mortry declared he would never trust his heart to a woman. With his terrible past, it’s so easy to see why, the poor dear. And then Noah proclaimed he had no wish to marry a pretty young thing who is merely out to get his title and wealth.”

“That is why you believe he doesn’t like you?” Julia asked.

Lady Jane nodded miserably.

“What do you like about him?” Julia asked.

Lady Jane blinked. “He’s a marquis.”

“And what else?” Julia prodded. “His pleasant demeanor? His willingness to try new things?” She barely managed not to laugh.

“What did you like about the duke?” Lady Jane asked.

Well, now, that was a good question, wasn’t it? Julia had been glad for the opportunity to escape her home. But it had been more than that.

“He was kind.” Julia smiled softly at the memories of when they were courting. “He’s such a large man, and yet his touch was always gentle, his words always soft spoken and considerate.”

Lady Jane furrowed her brow. “I don’t think anything about Lord Hesterton is soft…”

“Do you like that?” Julia asked.

The younger woman shook her head.

Lady Doursly shoved into the room, followed by the little white dog that immediately attached himself to Julia’s side.

“Jane,” Lady Doursly snapped. “Lord Hesterton is outside this very door.”

“Mama, I do not believe?—”

“This very door,” Lady Doursly repeated in a hiss.

She grabbed her daughter and pulled her into the hall.

Julia followed in time to see Lord Hesterton spin away and quickly limp in the opposite direction.

Lady Doursly walked toward him. He moved with more haste.

Lady Doursly matched his pace and the hunted marquis limped faster still.

Lady Jane, however, held back. “Thank you for your advice, Your Grace. I found it most enlightening.”

“As did I,” Julia said to herself. Not that it mattered, for Lady Jane was already making her way back to the salon for the games.

Julia followed slowly, her mind lost in her observation of William. He was kind, and always had a way of making her feel safe. Even their lackluster consummation had been the direct result of him not wishing to hurt her. Surely, such a man was trustworthy.

When she entered, the salon’s candles were half snuffed out and a large punchbowl had been set at a table’s center, which the guests gathered around. The distinct aroma of brandy hung in the air.

“Snapdragon.” Nancy clapped her hands. “Who is going first?”

The game had always frightened Julia. The entire bowl was to be lit aflame and people had to pluck a fat raisin from the fiery depths. She had never played the game herself.

“I think the Duke of Stedton ought to take the lead.” A dry, papery voice spoke up. Everyone in the room turned to find Lord Venerton, quite awake, his dark eyes glittering in the semi-darkness.

William gave a charming smile and stepped forward. “By all means.” He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, the one without the burn.

A servant touched a candle to the brandy, and blue flames leapt to life over the smooth surface amid the gasps and delighted coos of the small crowd. A muscle worked along William’s jaw and the jovial expression on his face looked more carved than natural.

It was cruel to make a man who had narrowly escaped from fire to plunge his good arm into a bowl of it. No doubt Lord Venerton knew as much.

Apparently, he did deserve his wife.

“Come now,” Julia said. “Shouldn’t it be ladies first?”

William startled and glanced down at her, his bared forearm held aloft. Even Cecelia cast her a curious glance at her sudden interjection.

“I’ll have a go of it, if you don’t mind, Your Grace.” Before her husband could protest, Julia pushed her sleeve’s dangling lace from her elbow and plunged her hand into the fire.

The brandy was warm, but even the flames were not hot where they whispered harmlessly over her skin. This was not nearly as frightening as she had always assumed. Her fingers skirted along the bottom, seeking out the lump of an unseen raisin. One brushed at her fingertips.

Blast. She’d missed it.

Her hand pushed forward and nudged the thing again. She chased it about the bowl, determined not only to catch the confounded thing, but to win the game. After all, when she won, she could choose her own prize.

Her arm was stretched out over the wide bowl now. The raisin couldn’t escape her now.

“Your Grace, mind your sleeve,” Cecelia said, her voice tight with anxiety.

But the hunt was on. And one deft little grab was all Julia needed to grasp the raisin and win the game. Julia straightened and was met with a flash of light.

“You’re on fire,” Nancy exclaimed.

Julia jerked back, but the flames came with her. She was truly on fire.

Fire, an all-consuming beast that destroyed everything in its wake, turning lives to ash. Years had passed, and yet still William could recall the torment of it on his skin, the flames licking over healthy flesh and burning it away.

He had lived in fear of it, never even smoking cheroots or getting too close to a hearth.

Until the moment Julia’s arm lit up with those wicked tongues of fire. He acted immediately, tugging his jacket free, wrapping her in it and using his own body to smother the flames.

Everyone stood in a moment of stunned silence before erupting in cheers and gasps of relief. He hardly heard them. He instead stared at the blossoming spots of red on Julia’s arm amid the singed lace. “You’re hurt.”

Lady Cecelia was at his wife’s side in a blink, eyes wide with concern. “You’ve been burned.”

“Only a little.” Julia fingered the blackened edge of lace. “My gown is certainly ruined.”

“Oh, Julia, I’m terribly sorry.” Lady Bursbury rushed forward and pushed a wad of linen into William’s hand.

It was cold against his palm, the cloth filled with snow to act as a cooling compress. “I’ll see to her upstairs.”

Lady Bursbury blinked rapidly and dabbed at her glossy eyes. “Yes, of course,” she choked. “Please do let us know if you need anything.”

Bursbury was at his wife’s side at the show of distress, his arm around her. “Perhaps we should resume games tomorrow.” He snapped his fingers. “Bruiser, out.”

The white fluff of a dog slunk away from the table of abandoned raisins.

“Naughty thing.” Julia gave a good-natured chuckle. A solid sign she was not severely injured.

“He must be used to someone feeding him the food meant for his betters,” William muttered and slid Julia a side glance. “Let’s get you seen to.”

In the few moments it took to arrive at their chambers, the Bursbury staff had already delivered a healing salve and fresh linen for binding. Hodges remained as the only servant in the room.

“Edith cannot tolerate the sight of injuries,” Julia said by way of explanation.

“How terribly inconvenient.” He extended her arm. “Let me see.”

Julia obeyed, shifting her elbow to display the burn. “I don’t get injured often.”

William nodded to Hodges, silently conveying he would see to Julia and the servant was dismissed. Hodges slipped from the room, while William studied the splotches of red on his wife’s forearm.

“Was it the fire?” Julia asked.

“I’m certain this did not come from feeding Bruiser under the table.” He lifted his gaze from her injury to meet her wide blue eyes.

“Not my arm,” she said softly. “Your parents.”

And just like that, with the simple reminder, the wound in his chest ripped open anew. “Yes.” He plucked the stopper from the salve.

“What happened?” she asked, her tone the vocal equivalent of a tiptoe.

I killed them. With my indecision and hesitation. I lived, and they died.

“I don’t talk about it.” He dipped his fingers in the greasy salve. “This may hurt.”

He was exceedingly careful when spreading the balm over her arm, almost not touching her at all. He remembered far too well how the slightest of brushes on charred skin brought pain. Her injury was not as bad as his had been, but he would not take any chances.

She did not flinch, not from the touch, nor from his refusal to answer. “Who did you live with after the fire?”

Her words prodded at his wounds, even as he so gently administered a balm to hers. “My aunt.”

“Until your maturity?”

“No.”

She bit her bottom lip and watched him with a quiet intensity. “How old were you when it happened?”

He put the top back on the jar of balm and wiped his hands clean on an extra square of linen. “Seven.”

She gave a soft cry. He jerked his attention back to her, thinking she’d injured the burned part of her arm. Instead, he found her staring at him in horror.

“Only seven?” Her fingertips went to her lips. “You were just a boy.”

He brushed off her concern. “It didn’t exactly happen last year. At any rate, it’s old news that no one need talk about any longer.” He lifted up the gauzy white bandage the Bursbury’s had provided.

She cradled her arm to her chest, keeping it from him. “Frustrated or angry?”

He studied her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you frustrated with me for asking these questions?” She tilted her head in genuine curiosity. “Or are you angry?”

“It isn’t my topic of choice, but I’m not angry with you.” He ran a hand over his jaw and paused, possibly detecting a rough patch. A second pass over the area reassured him there was indeed not a section of his face missed in his last shave. “I’m not frustrated with you, either.”

She held her arm out to him to wrap. “I believe it is well within my right to declare myself the winner of snapdragon.”

He eyed her arm. Balm glistened over the tender skin. “Are you so sure?”

“Yes.” She unfurled her fist to reveal a fat, brandy-soaked raisin at the center of her palm. “And since I am the winner, I have a prize to claim.”

Oh, yes. He slowly, tenderly eased the linen over her skin and tried to ignore how his body went instantly hot at the idea of what she wanted.

She had made it clear from the beginning what she would request. And while he had been reluctant at first, his own damnable teasing had stretched his control to the limit and made him nearly shake with the idea of touching her. Loving her.

“Yes, you do have a prize to claim.” He tucked the edge of her binding against her upper arm where the skin was uninjured. He leaned toward her and framed her lovely jaw with his fingertips, his mouth easing closer to hers. “Dare I ask what you’ll request?”

“I want…” Her brow furrowed slightly, and she studied him for a long moment, casting her gaze from his eyes to his lips and back again. “I want…”

She was having a hard time saying it, but he would not have a hard time giving it. He waited patiently, knowing exactly what she would say.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.