The Lady is Trouble: League of Lords, Book 1
Page 28
Julian tightened the noose knot around the painting and set it aside. The string had sent an image of a man loading spool through his mind. He blinked to clear it. “Did you come to review my latest work?” Grabbing another length of twine, he fashioned a piece long enough to secure the next bundle and slit his knife through it. “Make yourself useful then.”
Finn hummed beneath his breath in agreement.
Julian nodded to a partial nude leaning against the settee. “That one, please.”
Finn dropped to his haunches, tilted his head in assessment. “Naughty. Looks French.” He whistled in appreciation. “Is it de rigueur for the artist to take the clothes off the model? If so, I may take up painting.”
Julian flattened a square of paper with his palm. “Adam Davies can do anything he damn well pleases.” The name he’d used in the rookery served as his nom de plume. It wouldn’t do for a viscount to be associated with risqué artwork, which is likely why most days he felt more Mr. Davies than Viscount Beauchamp. “Out with it, will you?”
Finn brought the painting to Julian. “You’re going to have to do better. A lot better. Groveling of the first order. Your proposal was dreadful. Remind me not to ask for tips should I ever decide to go that route.”
“Astonishing observation.” He secured the paper around the canvas with a snap.
Finn handed him the length of twine. “You create striking masterpieces, yet you can’t charm the woman you love. This is where it’s proven we are not, in truth, blood relations. It should be easy. If you meant what you said, that is.”
Julian tied the knot, then gave it a vicious tug for good measure. “When have I ever not loved her?”
Finn huffed a laugh and settled his hip on the desk. “Give the hound a boon for having caught said fox.”
“You may want to consider another analogy. Piper may not love being compared to a dog.”
“Consider her predicament, then.”
“Finn, my boy, I’ve been considering her predicament since I was fifteen years old. And rescued her from most of them.” Finn had been too young to know the half of it. Did he think she’d gotten that blasted moniker for nothing?
Finn snapped his fingers. “Exactly. So, try a go at not being her minder. Court her, Jule. You can’t expect her to trust you when she’s always been the one on the hook. From a love standpoint, that is. I channeled no minds to gain this information, by the by. It’s out there, ripe for the taking.”
Julian froze, the twine sliding through his fingers. He’d never courted Piper. Never courted anyone. Never planned to court anyone.
Had he ever treated Piper like the woman he loved instead of the one he’d been asked to protect?
Show her you love her, Julian.
Finn clapped and peeled himself from the desk. “I see the wheels turning in the dusty equipment. My work is done.”
At the door, he paused, sending Julian a look shaded with chagrin. “But, um, send the love notes to Brook Cottage. Piper, Minnie, and half of Ashcroft’s army are heading there as we speak. I’m afraid…well, your woman has left you.”
Julian tossed the twine to the floor as the door closed behind Finn. Brook Cottage had been a gift, a very personal one if Piper looked closely. She wasn’t going to make it easy, and maybe he didn’t deserve ease.
What had he expected from the most fascinating, bothersome, stunning creature he’d ever encountered?
Women, he grumbled and set about winning his.
Chapter 22
Whoever loved that loved not at first sight.
~Christopher Marlowe
A week passed before Piper concluded that her rejection of Julian’s pitiable but heartfelt proposal might have been an unintentionally deceptive feminine ploy.
Minnie had located spare furniture in storage at Harbingdon and wonder of wonders established a comfortable home in short order. Brook Cottage was charming and agreeable, as Julian had known it would be. Ashcroft’s men patrolled, but unobtrusively, as the threat had lessened with Sidonie’s death. The gardens were beautiful and in need of just the right amount of attention to entice, not intimidate. Edward, Finn, and the Duke of Ashcroft visited daily, as did the new gamekeeper, a young man who delivered thoughts to her as steadily as bullets fired from a pistol without once opening his mouth. Simon had spent two nights on a pallet next to her bed, allowing them to continue reading David Copperfield. Henry had even begun to arrive in the afternoon, rolling about on his back among honeysuckle and a variety of wildflower Mr. Knotworth identified as enchanter’s nightshade.
She should not be lonely, yet she was. A bone-crushing, soulless ache the likes of which she’d never encountered. Not even while sequestered in Gloucestershire.
Not surprising as two crucial elements were missing.
Julian. And her bay.
Julian the most critical, of course.
She’d ridden twice in the past week, feeling like she trespassed as she tiptoed into the stable, although Murphy hadn’t blinked. Galloping along with her gaze fixed habitually over her shoulder, she’d finally deemed it unsafe to continue. Until Julian showed his face at Brook Cottage, she would walk. Or take a cart.
She admitted to being unsettled.
Because, for the first time in her life, Julian was pursuing her.
In an affectionate, persistent, patient, somewhat mysterious, oh-so-Julian way.
Every day for the past six, a gift arrived before dawn on her doorstep. Intimate selections chosen by a person who knew her better than she knew herself. The first a book on trees native to England wrapped in a sketch of the chapel in the wood and their picnic under the stars. The second a silver jewelry box decorated in tea roses, similar to the ones she had shown Julian on a clandestine, midnight walk, where she’d gushed over how well they’d blossomed under her tutelage. Inside, nestled among folds of royal blue silk, he’d left two things: the hairpin he’d been carrying with him for weeks and a brooch he’d given her on her nineteenth birthday, one left behind in the chaos surrounding her grandfather’s death. It was Julian’s mother’s, one of the few items he had from her. A treasured heirloom he’d not part with frivolously.
She scarcely drew a full breath upon opening the door each morning, her heart expanding with every present. A scandalous cobalt riding habit that would allow her to ride astride. A lavender bush planted in the corner of the yard, surrounded by river stones in the shape of a heart. A telescope placed in the center of the lawn, directed to Julian’s beloved Canis Minor. A handsome leather folio engraved with her initials and filled with suggestions for her research, one that brought to mind the partially-clothed investigative sessions they’d conducted in the lodge.
This thought sent her mind down a treacherous path littered with sensual images of stolen, breathless moments. Lying atop his body as they made love amidst the tall grass by the lake; standing in a heated press against the potter’s shed as he thrust inside her; laughing as they rolled from his desk to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
As if the gifts—a deliberate, chess-like advance—were not enough, now this.
This offering not only weakened, it slayed.
Nay, it was not a gift but a statement. So ardent a statement, she sank to the stone steps and pressed her shaking hand to her chest to steady herself. Beneath the modest portico of Brook Cottage, the air proclaiming the arrival of autumn, dew on the faded pink Hydrangea petals sparkling in the sun, she fought for composure.
Where in the world…?
He had kept it all this time.
She turned the tarnished locket—wrapped in a cravat she recognized as one Julian had used to attach her wrist to his bedpost—in her hand. Over and over in sluggish revolutions as if the movement could lessen the depth of emotion she experienced upon seeing it again.
As if she had any control over her love for the man.
Contain, ease, or rectify. She could do little.
As helpless as seaweed swept along by a strong tide.
He said his vision of her was the first time he didn’t despise his gift.
And for her…
As trite as it seemed, love, formidable and ruthless, at first glance.
My, she thought, what a fool I’ve been to deny him.
To deny myself.
The shadow fell over her, and she jerked her head up. Curled her hand into a fist, the locket’s clasp digging into her skin. Julian stood bathed in amber sunlight, dressed in nothing but shirtsleeves, trousers, and riding boots. He’d come to her directly upon waking if his tousled hair and shadowed jaw was any indication. Exhaling, his gaze found hers. His hands flexed at his side, something he only did when he was unsure. The scent of citrus and tobacco circled, overtaking her senses.
Motionless, he waited for her signal, her decision, his aura shimmering brighter than the light pouring over him.
She ducked her head, hiding a smile. She, Piper Scott, had rattled Julian Alexander—the most self-possessed man in all of England. The dart of pleasure this gave her surely meant she was headed for hell.
“What took you so long, you foolish man?” she asked and launched herself at him, pulling his mouth to hers. Their first contact in days sent a dizzying wave of lust streaking through her veins.
With a low groan and two short steps, Julian backed her into the door. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered against her lips before sinking in deep. “You infuriating…”
Passion erased the rest of his diatribe. A storm that ravaged her willing, weak body. His skin a damp slide beneath her fingertips, pulse tripping, heart thumping. She fisted her hand in his hair and urged him closer.
She wanted the explosive magic they made together. She wanted their inferno to scorch her like one of Ashcroft’s fires.
Gasping, she fumbled behind her for the doorknob. Market day. Minnie was gone. They were alone. “Inside,” she said and popped a button on his shirt with her free hand, deliciously trapped by the hard angles of the door and his body.
Sunlight speckled her lids when he released her.
“No,” he said. Quite clearly, again: “No.” His lips were slow to leave hers, however, lingering, drifting across her cheek and nipping her jaw.
She stumbled back, her shoulders lifting with her unhinged breaths. He looked as bewildered, hair spiking around his head, his gaze tarnished silver. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from his gleaming aura. “Why?”
His lashes fluttered as his lids slipped low. He laughed and dropped his brow to the door, air gusting from his lungs. “No, unless you say yes.”
Turning her head, she pressed her lips to the spot beneath his ear that never failed to elicit a response. Took a gentle bite. Smiled when he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. His proposal still needed a lot of work, damn the man. “Is my dragging you to my new bedchamber contingent on a positive response?”
He cradled her face, staring into her eyes as her heart stuttered. “I know I bungled everything. For years, a tangle. When you were there, waiting for me. Since that day on the earl’s drive. I can only say I’m a fool. My intentions were honorable, my love constant, though not suitably directed. But I’m done. I’m here. I want you for myself. And I apologize, humbly, for not arriving sooner.” Sighing, he moved to adjust spectacles that were doubtless in his waistcoat pocket. “I don’t have all the answers. My fear of letting you help me, heal me, remains, so stout is my desire to protect you. I want you to be happy and secure and safe. But I want to be happy as well, so my promises now are only to you.” He leaned in to kiss her brow. “Not one moment…not one moment from this day forward without you. I want you to be my wife. I’ll beg if you require it, which maybe you do.”
“The locket,” she whispered, a tear streaking her face. It was still clutched in her fist because she couldn’t bear to part with it. She would never again part with it.
He wiped the tear from her cheek. “Oh, love, I’d never let that go. Every time I held it, I saw you. It went with me to Rugby, Oxford. My good luck charm. Because you are the only treasure my gift has given me.”
“Are you trying to break my heart, Julian Alexander?”
“No. I’m trying to win it.”
She tucked her head against his chest, breathing him in. He was love, security, home. Acceptance. Everything she’d wanted and been so long denied. In the distance, the monotonous chirp of a hummingbird sounded, a light breeze tugged at her skirts. Typical occurrences on a typical morning when her life was changing forever. “I don’t know how to be a viscountess.”
“It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it, I’m sure.”
Sniffing, she said, “We’ll argue all the time. I’m trouble.”
“Nothing but from the first day I met you.”
Leaning back in his arms, she frowned.
“I don’t care. You’re worth the headaches. When Sidonie took you—” His eyes closed, and his grasp tightened, his strength, his certainty, his anger, flowing into her. “That would have been the death of me, Piper. You see, I don’t wish to be free of you. I don’t wish to live a day without you. Our world”—he caught her by the wrist, imploring—“I can’t do it alone. My dreams for the League, Harbingdon. Managing the visions. I need you.” A bemused expression crossed his face, his gaze going the color of the pebbles he’d scattered around her lavender bush. “I want to share my life with you, Yank. I want children, our children. Love is stronger than fear on that score and so many others. If I look deeply, it’s no comparison. I’m going to let my certitude guide me now.”
This is what love returned feels like, she thought in wonder.
“Lady Elizabeth Piper Alexander, Viscountess Beauchamp. There is a certain something,” he said with a tilt of his head. As if teacups in drawing rooms all over England were not rattling with the statement.
Tears blurred her vision; she dashed her hand across her eyes. “I love you, Jules. I always have. But I’ll make an appalling viscountess. I wasn’t even a passable granddaughter of an earl.”
Cupping her jaw, he brought her face into the light, into his view. “Rather, love, you’ll teach them how it’s done.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” she murmured and began to think of ways to do just that.
Tipping his head, he laughed as her temper sparked. She could play dirty. Scandalous Scott was known for it. Bouncing on her toes, she set her lips to his, pressing against him in the way he liked, as close as she could get when she loved such a very tall man.
His smile vanished as he tumbled into the kiss, a ragged moan creeping from his throat. “Unfair,” he said and reached to open the door and push her inside.
“Always.”
He pulled back just enough to see her eyes. “Promise?”
“Yes, my lord, I do.”
Epilogue
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
~Sarah Williams
Oxfordshire, 1869
Julian lingered by the bassinette, listening to his son’s whispery breaths, cut only by Piper’s sturdier ones coming from the settee she slumbered on. Make no mistake, and he never would again: his entire world lay within the narrow confines of Harbingdon’s nursery.
Walls he and Humphrey had painted an eye-stinging yellow because Piper had read bright colors comforted babes. Or encouraged intelligence or some such rot. He’d even gone so far as creating a wh
imsical series of landscapes featuring frolicking bears and romping unicorns, nonsensical apart from the smile that had lit Piper’s face when she’d seen it.
He would do anything, anything, to be the reason behind that smile.
He slipped his finger into Lucien’s curled fist and gave it a gentle waggle that had the boy cooing and shifting on the blankets. Then the baby smiled dreamily, a slight curve of his perfectly bowed lips, a tiny scrap of naught that shot an arrow straight through Julian’s heart. I’m going to paint a thousand paintings of you, my love. He leaned in and gave the boy’s silken cheek another caress, happiness as substantial a presence as the woolen coat warming his body.
Lost to love, he didn’t hear her walk up behind him.
“If you wake him, I may have to kill you,” she whispered as her arms circled his waist, her head settling on his back. Solace as necessary as the blood flowing through his veins, the oxygen entering his lungs. He released a tense sigh he hadn’t realized he held—had been holding since he left them at dawn.
“You know how I am when I miss dinner with my two favorite people.”
“Is that the reason for the pensive look? Isn’t our darling boy enough to bring a smile to your face?”
He linked their fingers and pressed her hands against his belly. “A joy is what he is. An absolute terror and delight. With his mother’s spirit—”
“And his father’s eyes.”
Julian released her and crossed to the window, ticked the drape aside to gaze into a night full of promise. The stars had agreed to create a remarkable show, bleeding light on the lawn and sparking off the blue-black waters of the lake. He located Canis Minor, his touchpoint, high in the heavens. Still bright, still there.
Piper fit herself onto the window seat, tucking her feet beneath her. “You’re going to worry yourself sick until Lucien can tell us he touches things and doesn’t see visions? Or until he tells he does? Just because he has your eyes…”