Randall had known passion, but never had it been so infused with tenderness. He gently kneaded her back from smooth shoulders to slim waist to ripe derriere. Fairly early on, their nightclothes had been tossed aside so that they lay skin to skin. “I knew I wanted you from the first moment I met you, milady.” He laughed. “I didn’t understand why then. Now I do.”
They lay contentedly for a few more minutes before Julia said regretfully, “We really must get up. You have to look for Mr. Carmichael and I have to help Mariah with a few thousand details for the ball.” She slid off Randall and sat up, a delicious naked nymph. “Also, Lady Kiri is coming by this morning, partly for the kedgeree and partly to give me a perfume she has blended especially for me. Mariah says she’s very good, too.”
“I doubt she can make you smell any better than you do now.” He rolled onto all fours and began stalking Julia across the mattress.
She laughed and descended from the bed. “You are seeking to undermine my plans for the day, Major.”
“Indeed I am.” But he had much to do himself. “I shall be out until dinner.”
“Anthony wants you to sign a quitclaim waiving your husbandly rights to my fortune.” Julia looked a little uncomfortable. “You did say you would.”
“Of course.” He didn’t mind signing away his legal right to her money. He just wished that she didn’t have it.
Lady Kiri arrived as Julia and Mariah were having a last cup of tea over breakfast. But not before the kedgeree was removed from the dining room. Julia smiled at the younger woman. “You have a fine instinct for arriving while food is still available.”
“The mysterious wisdom of the Orient,” Kiri said loftily as she served herself a portion of the Indian dish and added a slice of toast. After setting down her plate, she pulled a lovely cut crystal perfume bottle from her reticule. “Here’s the perfume I blended for you, Lady Julia. I do hope you like it.”
Julia would never be rude about a gift, especially when accompanied by the giver’s anxious expression. Mariah had told her that Kiri was very serious about her perfumes. “I’ve never had a custom-blended perfume before, so I will certainly love it.”
Kiri still looked concerned. “Usually when I blend perfume for someone, I let her try different scents and talk about what she likes. But Mariah speaks of you often, that I know you a little. When I saw you the other morning, inspiration struck, and I went home and started blending like a painter running mad with watercolors in the Lake District.” She handed the bottle to Julia. “This is just the first version. Scents react differently on different people, so they must often be adjusted. With Mariah, it took several attempts to get it just right.”
“Five, but it was a wonderful experience. You mustn’t worry so, Kiri,” Mariah said soothingly. “I’m sure you’ve never had anyone dislike your blends.”
“No one would say so to my face,” Kiri said tartly. “But people lie all the time. Especially those in ‘good society.’”
Deciding it was time to end Kiri’s worry, Julia unstoppered the bottle and put a dab of perfume on her wrist. Then she sniffed the heady fragrance.
She froze as she was transported back to her childhood. Her throat closed, and tears formed in her eyes. “Oh, my…” she whispered.
“I’ve never had anyone cry from my perfume before!” Kiri exclaimed, aghast. “I’m so sorry, Lady Julia!”
She reached for the bottle, but Julia shook her head. “The scent makes me think of my mother,” she said, her voice choked. “She was beautiful and bright and…and safe.” After her mother died, Julia hadn’t felt safe again for many years. Not until now, with Randall.
“That’s all right then.” Kiri relaxed and took a bite of kedgeree. “Does it remind you of other things?”
Julia sniffed the fragrance again, trying to be more analytical. “There seem to be layers of fragrance here. Like flowers, only more complex. I’m reminded of lilacs, which I love, but there is also a richer scent of rose and a hint of…of a dark forest at night.” She raised her wrist again. “And through it all, there is something wild and fragile that reminds me of an oboe threading its way through violins and cellos.”
Kiri nodded her head with satisfaction. “You describe well, Lady Julia. I wanted that kind of complexity for you. Now to see how it wears on your skin.”
Mariah took the bottle and inhaled. “Mmm, wonderful, Kiri.” She smiled mischievously. “Randall will like this, Julia.”
“I think he will.” Julia smiled to herself. Her husband would particularly like the perfume if she was wearing nothing else.
Chapter 29
Rob Carmichael responded to Randall’s note by setting up a meeting at Rob’s home on the morning of the ball. Randall was glad it would be daylight. The area near Covent Garden wasn’t the worst in London, but it certainly wasn’t the best.
Randall’s hired cab dropped him off on a nearby street and he walked the last blocks. The neighborhood was quiet at midmorning, but he stayed alert.
Not alert enough. He’d almost reached Rob’s home when a hard object was jammed into his back. A deep voice growled, “Yer money or yer life!”
Randall slammed an elbow into his assailant’s ribs. The man made a strangled sound.
Whirling, Randall knocked his attacker’s legs from under him with a scythe kick, then whipped out his concealed knife. The man, a roughly dressed laborer, went sprawling. Ashton had taught his classmates Kalarippayattu, an Indian fighting, when they were boys. Randall had later acquired practical battlefield fighting experience. The results were usually quite adequate.
Randall sheathed the knife when he got a good look at the ragged laborer. “Lucky I recognized you before serious damage was done, Rob,” he said with dry amusement.
“I always underestimate how fast you are,” the Runner said in his normal voice as he rose lithely to his feet. “I thought I’d be home and cleaned up before you arrived for our meeting, but my previous business took longer than expected.”
“And naturally you couldn’t resist testing me.” Randall scanned his friend as they resumed walking. “I’d shake hands, but I might catch some revolting disease. What did you stick in my ribs?”
“A kottukampu. It’s a short stick used in Kalarippayattu.” Rob showed him a shaped piece of wood as thick as a thumb and about a handspan long.
Randall studied it with interest. “I never saw Ashton use anything like this.”
“It’s an advanced technique that he didn’t know.” Rob tucked the small weapon inside his coat. “I learned how to use it while I was in India. I prefer to keep this handy rather than a knife because I’m less likely to kill someone accidentally.”
“And they say that soldiers live dangerous lives,” Randall remarked. “I suspect that life in Wellington’s army is peaceful compared to what you do.”
“Most of my days are peaceful enough. But a Bow Street Runner who expects safety will have a short career.” The old building where Rob lived had a pawnshop on the ground floor and a flat above. Rob unlocked the door to the stairwell beside the pawnshop and ushered Randall inside.
When they’d climbed a flight of shabby stairs and gone through another locked door, they reached Rob’s quarters. The main sitting room was surprisingly comfortable and furnished with military neatness. Rob’s man, Harvey, came out to check who’d arrived. Battered and broad with muscle, he was formidable despite his wooden leg.
Recognizing Randall, he gave a nod of recognition. “G’day, Major.” Then he disappeared into the rear of the flat.
“Give me a few minutes to restore myself,” Rob said as he followed Harvey out.
Randall settled into a chair by the window and took one of the day’s newspapers from the stack on the side table, but he had trouble concentrating on the news. Tonight was Julia’s grand ball, and she would enjoy the evening more when the uncertainty about Branford’s bastard was resolved. Randall was reluctantly curious about the boy himself.
Ten minutes la
ter, Rob returned carrying a tray with a steaming pot of coffee and two cups. Gone were the wild hair and the ragged, filthy garments. His friend wore the neat, unobtrusive clothing of a gentleman of modest means. This was as much a disguise as the beggar’s outfit, but the mode of dress allowed him to travel in places high and low without attracting much attention. His lean build and brown hair were unremarkable. Only Rob’s cool blue eyes suggested that he was more than he seemed.
Randall accepted a cup of coffee and stirred in cream. One sip confirmed that it was burning hot and strong enough to stun an ox. He added sugar as well. “Tell me about my misbegotten young cousin. Was it hard to locate him?”
“Not really.” Rob poured himself coffee, adding nothing to soften the taste. “Lady Julia’s recollections were accurate. The boy’s mother, Sally Thomas, was indeed a barmaid. She worked in a tavern several miles north of Upton. It was no secret who the boy’s father was. Branford visited Sally Thomas regularly for years, and the child resembles him enough that no one doubted the relationship.”
So the boy looked like Branford. Not an appealing fact. But Randall doubted that would deter Julia. He could hardly criticize her for her warm, nurturing heart, since he was a beneficiary. Thinking it was time to stop saying “the boy,” Randall asked, “What is his name?”
“Benjamin Thomas. Known as Ben, or that bastard Benny.” Rob downed half a cup of the scalding coffee with one swallow, then topped it up again. “He lived with his mother in the tavern until he was about nine. She died in childbirth and Benjamin is her only surviving child. Sally Thomas was a fine, strong wench, I’m told, and apparently tolerant of Branford’s uglier traits. She came from somewhere in the West Country, but no one knew where. No known family, so Benjamin was left alone in the world.”
“Where is he now?”
“The parish didn’t want to support him, so he was basically sold as slave labor to the most brutal farmer in the area,” Rob scowled. “No one wants the boy. No one cares if he lives or dies.”
Randall felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. “Was any attempt made to inform Daventry that he had a grandson?”
“That I couldn’t learn. If the attempt was made, it failed for some reason.” Rob swallowed more coffee. “The farmer, Jeb Gault, is a nasty piece of work. He had a wife but she left him. He has trouble keeping laborers, which is why he generously offered to take in a hungry boy so the parish would be spared the expense of supporting him.”
“It sounds like a bad situation for any child.” Randall thought again of the boy’s resemblance to his father. “Does Benjamin have his father’s crazy violence?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t speak to him myself.” Rob frowned. “But one of the locals I talked to said that everyone assumed that sooner or later Gault would kill the boy, or the boy would kill Gault.”
A bastard who looked like Branford and who might be a killer. Wonderful. Randall sighed. “I’ll go down to Gloucestershire and get him away from the farm. After that, it will depend on what young Benjamin is like. I promise that he’ll end up in a better situation than he’s in now.”
Rob poured himself more coffee. “Family can be hell.”
Too true. But they were still family.
Julia took the news about Benjamin Thomas calmly. “Let’s leave first thing in the morning, Alex.”
He laughed. “I guarantee you’ll be exhausted from tonight’s ball. So will Mariah. She’ll want to spend a quiet day dissecting the events of the evening and as a good friend, you should indulge her. There will also be guests calling to offer appreciation of the ball. I don’t think that leaving tomorrow will work.”
Julia frowned. “I suppose you’re right. The next day then.”
Part of Randall wanted to avoid this journey as long as possible. A different, better part of him wanted to get his unknown, baseborn young cousin away from the brutal farmer. No child should be a victim of violence.
The irony that Randall’s brutalization had come at the hands of young Benjamin’s father did not escape him.
As Julia prepared for the ball, her dressing room was crowded with people ensuring that she would look as good as she possibly could for her debut in London society. Julia stood patiently while Madame Hélier and a seamstress dressed her in the ball gown and made small adjustments. The modiste had forbidden Julia to go near a mirror until her appearance was perfection.
Naturally Mariah’s personal maid was present to aid Elsa in the grand production. Mariah, exquisite in gold brocade, had come to offer encouragement. Lady Kiri appeared, splendid in scarlet. In theory, she’d come to offer help should any be required, but really, she admitted cheerfully, because she wanted to be part of the fun. Lastly, Grandmère swept in, looking more regal than the queen, in black satin lavishly trimmed with silver lace that matched her hair.
As Elsa pinned up Julia’s hair, Julia murmured to Mariah, “I’ve become superfluous, I think. If I slipped away, no one would notice.”
“They would eventually,” Mariah said with a laugh. She glanced at the clock on the dressing table. “I need to go down and greet the first guests. Don’t appear for another quarter hour, and be sure to enter with Randall. The two of you together will look even better than you do separately.”
Julia closed her eyes. “Is too late to cry off from the evening?”
“It most certainly is!” Mariah patted her friend’s arm. “I know that you’re not fond of being the center of attention, but I promise this will go well. You have friends here, and by the end of the evening, you’ll have more.”
Mariah collected Grandmère and Lady Kiri and politely herded them from the room. Elsa finished styling Julia’s hair while Mariah’s maid used a hare’s foot to dust the faintest blush of color on Julia’s cheeks. A rosy salve gave similar color to her lips.
“Very well, Lady Julia,” Madame Hélier said with approval. “You may now look at yourself. You look very splendid indeed.”
Julia crossed the room to the tall mirror. The image reflected back at her was a stranger—a startlingly fashionable stranger. The sea-tinted blue silk Lady Kiri had picked was perfect for Julia, bringing out the delicate color in her face and auburn undertones in her dark hair. The neckline was high for a ball gown, but as the modiste had promised, the back was cut so daringly low that custom-made stays and shift were required.
The lines of the gown were simple, and her only jewelry was a pearl necklace and matching earrings. They had been a gift from Grandmère, who had inherited them from her own grandmother.
A string of smaller pearls had been woven through Julia’s upswept hair, along with tiny rosebuds fashioned of the same silk as the gown. A single teasing lock curled down to her shoulder. The effect was exactly what Julia had wanted: modest but stylish, attractive but not blatant. Turning, she said warmly, “Thank you all. I look better than I ever dreamed I could.”
Madame Hélier gave a satisfied smile. “If you continue to let me dress you, Lady Julia, you will be considered one of the great beauties of the beau monde.”
The dress might be modest, but not the modiste. Suppressing a smile, Julia dismissed Madame Hélier and the maids. She applied Lady Kiri’s perfume at the base of her throat and the nape of her neck. Then she went in search of her husband.
She stepped into the sitting room from her dressing room just as Randall was entering. Her breath caught at the sight of him. She’d always found him strikingly handsome, even when they first met and he was scowling half the time. He looked even better now that he’d remembered how to smile.
Mariah had been right. In his dress uniform, Randall was a sight to make strong women swoon. The tailored scarlet jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders and the buff pantaloons set off his powerfully muscled legs, while candlelight burnished his golden hair and sculpted the fine planes of his face. A Nordic god, and he was hers.
Randall stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his gaze riveted. “You look…magnificent.” He cleared his throat. “Even
though I wanted you from the beginning, I hadn’t actually realized what a beauty you are, milady.”
Julia laughed with delight. “I have never been a beauty, but I’m glad if you think so.” She moved forward to take his arm. “You, sir, will have impressionable females following you around the ballroom like dazed ducklings. Shall we go down to the ball?”
Ignoring the remark, he bent and pressed his lips to her nape, then trailed a kiss down her shoulder. “You smell wickedly delicious. Shall we be late to the ball?”
Sharp, sweet desire spiked through her. “I know you’re teasing,” she said breathlessly, “but beware. I may take you up on it.”
He looked hopeful. “I am always at your service, milady.”
Julia thought of the nights they’d shared since his return to London, and desire became even sharper. Now that the barriers were down, they were discovering intoxicating new ways to pleasure each other. “Don’t tempt me, Alexander! Too many people have worked on this ball. We must play our roles.”
He smiled and led her to the door. “Duty calls. It always does for both of us. But I warn you, after the ball is over, I shall do my utmost to seduce you into my bed.”
Laughing, they walked down the sweeping stairs together.
Chapter 30
Julia knew they made a striking picture as they walked down the sweeping stairs to the entrance hall—any woman would look striking on Randall’s arm. But her stomach was knotted and she felt on the verge of becoming ill. All the pain, rejection, and misery around her first marriage and her exile from her childhood home had become intertwined with this grand return to society.
Mariah glanced up the staircase and gestured Julia to come to her side in a receiving line by the entrance to the ballroom. Ashton was there chatting with Grandmère, whose presence signaled her approval of her long lost granddaughter. Randall escorted her down the final steps and stationed himself beside her. She was surrounded by friends, and her anxiety dissolved between one heartbeat and the next.
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