The Secret Life of Lady Julia

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The Secret Life of Lady Julia Page 24

by Lecia Cornwall


  “Surely you’ve had dozens—­hundreds—­of other, um, encounters, since then,” she said, the pounding of her heart making her breathless.

  “As have you, no doubt,” he said.

  She looked away. “Of course.”

  “My God, you haven’t, have you?”

  She stared at him ferociously. “Just because I do not make a habit of going about seduci—­” She choked on the word.

  He looked contrite for a moment. “I didn’t realize until after that I was the first. I would not have—­”

  “That’s why you came to see me, on Bond Street. It wasn’t to return my earring, was it, which I assume you—­took—­on purpose?” She couldn’t say “stole.”

  His lips tightened. “I wanted to be sure you were—­unhurt. I feared I might have been too rough.” Was he blushing? She should be the one to blush!

  Did his bedmates usually announce such facts? She had no idea of the etiquette for illicit seductions.

  He looked at her as he had that night, his eyes gentle, lit by an internal fire that set her own blood alight.

  He caught her hand in his. “Forgive me, Julia. I am not usually so—­”

  “What are you two discussing over there?” The prince’s voice rang out. “Come and sit here on the bed beside me, Lady Julia. There are some ­people here even more sheltered than I. They haven’t heard the tale of your heroic actions in the park. I daresay there are a lot of rumors and half-­truths surrounding the encounter, so you must tell us the true tale—­or embellish it further, if you prefer—­so long as it is a good story.”

  Thomas watched Julia blush, felt his heart turn over in his chest. How long had it been since he’d seen a genuine blush? She was still as innocent as she’d been that night. Almost. He felt frustration that their conversation had been interrupted, and yet he was intrigued that she had yet another adventure to recount. Did she make a habit of daring escapades?

  Escapades like him. He felt a surge of desire.

  “There’s not much to tell, Your Highness,” she said, smiling at the prince. “Just some robbers in the park.”

  De Ligne gaped at her. “Some robbers? I heard there were twenty men, armed to the teeth. They shot four bystanders and swarmed over the coach carrying the imperial jewels of Austria—­the empress had ordered them fetched from the vault buried deep under the Hofburg Palace so she could wear them at a ball at Schonbrunn. Lady Julia disarmed one of the thieves, and used his own pistol to shoot him and four more of his fellows.”

  “Doesn’t a pistol hold just one single shot?” Kostova asked blandly.

  A robbery in the park? Thomas felt his stomach clench. Donovan’s robbery? He stared at Julia in stunned silence—­and he’d been afraid she was too fragile to withstand his rough seduction.

  He assessed the delicate lines of her body, the slim fingers, soft skin, demure blush.

  The woman was an Amazon.

  He watched as she gently corrected the story. She had shot one man, not four, and only in the leg. The coach had contained the wife of the Bavarian ambassador, not the Austrian crown jewels. She told her tale modestly, hoped she hadn’t killed the man, even if he was a criminal. He noticed she carefully avoided using the word thief, and did not look at him as she told the story.

  By the end of the tale it was perfectly clear that Lady Julia Leighton had shot his valet. He stood and stared at her, numb.

  She was not the woman he’d thought she was—­she was more. More complex, more intriguing, more womanly—­and he wanted her more than ever.

  Chapter 41

  Dorothea waited until Mrs. Hawes stepped out of the nursery to go down to the kitchens. She slipped into the nursery and stared down at the baby asleep in the cot.

  How beautiful he was, how much like her son, William. Will, Matthew had called him, saying he was far too small for such a long and princely name as yet. He was only a few months older than Jamie when he died.

  Children were so fragile. Life itself was fragile. She touched the baby’s plump pink cheek, checking for signs of fever, but he was perfect, and healthy, and beautiful.

  She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and reached into the cot to pick him up.

  He stirred, cooed, as she rocked him, humming the familiar lullaby.

  Chapter 42

  Dorothea looked beautiful tonight, Stephen thought as he watched her at dinner. She’d planned a private supper in the small dining room, like the intimate parties she used to give when Matthew was alive. He hadn’t seen her sparkle so brightly since before her husband died.

  He sipped his soup and looked up as Julia laughed at some comment Dorothea made to her, and his breath caught in his throat at Julia’s beauty. The two women genuinely liked each other, it seemed to him, and if all went well tonight at the French Embassy, he intended to formally ask Julia to marry him. If she succeeded, performed such an important ser­vice to Castlereagh and her country, no one would dare to call her a fallen woman.

  He wondered if he should tell Dorothea of his plans to marry. Surely she wouldn’t object. He watched as his sister leaned over to speak to Peter Bowen, brushing his hand with her fingertips, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other. He felt a frisson of irritation. Perhaps Dorothea should be speaking to him, but surely she didn’t intend to marry Bowen.

  He watched the good doctor with narrowed eyes. If it did not go well tonight, he would be unable to marry Julia, but as long as Dorothea was traveling with him, her brother, he could make Julia his mistress, but that would be impossible without Doe. Julia turned to him and smiled, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and his heart turned over in his chest. Yes, he loved her. He smiled back, and wondered if she was nervous about the mission tonight. He most certainly was. He’d almost gone to a jeweler today, but hesitated. Tomorrow he’d buy a betrothal ring if all went well.

  Julia’s pulse was racing. She barely tasted the soup. She was aware of Thomas Merritt’s presence across the table from her and of Stephen’s eyes on her. Were they thinking abut the mission that would take place later tonight? She laughed at something Dorothea said without really hearing it.

  Thomas Merritt was watching her, his eyes roaming over her borrowed gown—­yellow tonight. His expression was unreadable. He was staring at her as if she were a stranger. Had the tale she told at Prince de Ligne’s shocked him? He’d left the prince’s birdcage without even saying good-­bye. Surely he would not hold her to his “condition” now. She looked at him, trying to read some clue, anything, in his eyes. There was none of the searing heat that had so stunned her that afternoon. He looked devastatingly male in his evening clothes, dark and dangerous, the way she remembered him. He trapped the light, held it.

  In contrast, Stephen’s fair hair shone in the candlelight and his scarlet military tunic glowed like honor itself. She could read his thoughts easily enough. He didn’t approve of Dorothea’s budding romance with Dr. Bowen. Quite the opposite. Then his face softened as he looked at her, his eyes gleaming, his smile intimate and meant for her alone. It made her stomach tremble.

  She looked away from both men, concentrated on going over the plan for the evening in her mind. She would attend the salon with Thomas by her side. He would be introduced as a new arrival from London, someone who had come with diplomatic papers for Lord Castlereagh and an old friend of Julia’s. When the party began, they would slip away to Talleyrand’s secret office. Thomas would pick the locks and take the documents. She took a long sip of wine, but it didn’t melt the knot in her throat. If they were caught—­and her limbs trembled at the very idea—­she would simply say she had wanted to show Thomas the paintings that graced the private little room, and the door had been open.

  She wondered what the punishment was for espionage, and touched her neck.

  She slid her eyes to Thomas once again, smiling now at something Dorothea was saying to
him. Stephen was speaking with Peter Bowen.

  Both men looked up at her at the same time. Thomas’s grin faded to something dangerous. Stephen’s smile flared as if the sun had just entered the room.

  She had to remind herself to breathe.

  Julia Leighton did not look capable of shooting a man, Thomas thought. Where on earth had she learned to use a gun? There were a lot of things about her he didn’t know. Right now she looked harmless . . . well, certainly not harmless to his self-­control, of course. She was dressed in a gauzy yellow silk that brought out the gleam of her dark hair, the golden light in her hazel eyes, the creamy perfection of her skin. She was indeed a lady, to her long, delicate fingers, looking for all the world like she was meant for decoration, not spying or shooting or vanquishing burglars with warming pans. He had a hard time paying attention to anyone else in the room. He was aroused at the idea of the condition he had imposed on her. She’d fulfill it if he insisted. She was brave—­but would she do so willingly, or in tears? He watched her lift a hand to her throat, caress it, and he imagined her hands on his flesh, and his on hers, raising soft cries of desire from those perfect pink lips.

  Of course, if he—­they—­were caught stealing documents at the Kaunitz Palace tonight, if he managed to get it all wrong and failed her, he would do his best to make sure she got out safely. Ives would be waiting outside, hidden in the dark. He’d insisted that the major be there, just in case. Thomas wondered if Julia had a pistol strapped to her leg under her elegant gown or a sharp knife in her stays. He wouldn’t be surprised.

  Then the door opened and everyone turned. Thomas’s gut tensed at the sight of Lord Charles Stewart’s all too familiar swagger. It was too late to hide and avoid the ugly scene that was about to occur. He could only sit quietly and wait for Charlie to notice him. His hands closed into fists in his lap.

  This was going to be a disaster.

  Chapter 43

  “Well well, what have we here?” Stewart said. He was dressed in evening clothes, ready to go out, Thomas noticed, but he was already well past drunk. He leaned against the sideboard and regarded the assembled company from behind Thomas, who felt the man’s presence like an icy wave about to wash over him. “I came to see Miss Leighton. Her ladyship summoned me from my bed this afternoon.” He grinned. “Well, not my bed, but still—­”

  Stephen rose to his feet. “My lord, you are drunk, and there are ladies present. We can discuss this in the morning.”

  Stewart didn’t leave, instead he began to circle the table, his footfalls soft on the carpet. Thomas felt his neck prickle.

  “Ladies, Ives? I only see one, and a good evening to you, Lady Dorothea,” he said. He pointed at Julia. “Her ladyship has had quite enough of her behavior. She’s made a laughingstock of this embassy, shooting ­people in the park, and she is to be dismissed at once, without references. She sent me to see to it, now, tonight.”

  He watched Julia color, turning scarlet. Dorothea gasped, and Stephen walked toward Charles, preventing him from reaching Julia. Good for him, Thomas thought. “Lady Julia received a commendation from Lord Castle­reagh for her actions in the park, my lord. Have you spoken with him?”

  “He’s closeted with Metternich again,” Charles said. “He’s leaving as soon as the great Duke of Wellington arrives to take his place. Her ladyship wants loose ends tied up before she goes, won’t have whores going around shooting ­people.”

  Thomas was on his feet in an instant. His fist and Stephen’s hit Stewart’s jaw at the same moment, getting in each other’s way, making neither blow effective. Stewart staggered back, hit the sideboard, sending cutlery and crystal flying. He picked up a carving knife, and Dorothea screamed. Julia was on her feet, and Thomas wondered what the hell she planned to do.

  “Charlie,” he said quietly. Charles Stewart turned and caught sight of him then. His eyes widened and he dropped the knife in surprise. As he stared at Thomas, Peter Bowen picked up the weapon, took it out of harm’s way.

  “Tom Merritt?” Stewart said, and looked him over. “Tom Merritt, here?”

  Thomas said nothing. His fist was clenched at his side. He’d dreamed of having Charles Stewart in front of him, thought of all the ways he’d kill the bastard.

  Charles smiled slowly, the familiar obscene light filling his eyes. “Taken a wife lately, Tom? Who’s wife was she?” He laughed alone at the old joke.

  “You were my brother’s best friend, Charlie,” Thomas said softly.

  Charles smirked. “You could have told him the truth, but you thought it would be honorable to keep her little secret, didn’t you? D’you think I was the only one she was dallying with? Your brother married a whore, and when you refused her—­you should have tried her, by the way. She was quite good in bed—­well, hell hath no fury, isn’t that what they say? And who would believe a swive-­anything lad like you would turn down a beauty like Joanna? Not your brother.”

  The room was suddenly silent, fascinated. Thomas dared not look at Julia, or Ives, or anyone but Charlie.

  Stewart lunged for the table, but only to grab Julia’s glass. He drained it at a swallow, the red wine dribbling down his chin to stain his cravat.

  “This is not the place for this,” Stephen tried again, but Stewart turned on him.

  “And how do you know the good viscount, Major Lord Ives? But wait, he isn’t a viscount anymore. He slept with his brother’s wife. Haven’t you heard the stories? He was cut off by his family without a penny, cast out for his sins, his name stricken and forgotten.”

  Thomas felt every eye in the room turn on him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been guilty. He’d woken up as his brother’s wife slipped into his bed, stark naked. And then the door had burst open.

  “The vowel,” Thomas murmured now. “The money you owed me? That was it, wasn’t it? Why you did it?”

  Stewart smiled. “P’raps. P’raps I just had had enough of your damned face, Tom. So had your brother, in fact.”

  Stephen Ives had stopped trying to force Stewart to leave. He was standing, watching, listening. And Julia too? Shame and anger warred in his chest.

  “What a fool!” Stewart said, coming close, breathing sour wine into Thomas’s face. “Get out. Her ladyship is a friend of your brother’s, Tommy lad. She won’t be pleased to know you’re here, under her roof.” He cast another look at Julia. “You can take that whore with you when you go.”

  Thomas didn’t hesitate. He had defended Joanna, though his sister-­in-­law hardly deserved such chivalry. It hadn’t been his fault, but this time, with Julia—­he hauled his fist back and planted it in the center of Stewart’s red face, putting all the force of two years of anger behind the blow. He heard the bone crunch, and Charles stared at him in dull surprise for an instant before he toppled like a fallen oak.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Would someone please remove him? I won’t allow him to ruin my dinner,” Dorothea said tartly. “I daresay he’s fortunate that Julia does not have her pistol this evening.”

  Thomas looked at Julia’s scarlet cheeks, watched as she forced a smile, saw the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes. He crossed and rang the bell. When the footman arrived, the man gaped at Stewart’s fallen form on the carpet. “We’re finished with this dish,” Thomas said, forcing a light tone, and Dorothea and Bowen raised their glasses in salute. Even Ives looked slightly envious. Julia looked thoughtful. He looked away. He didn’t want her pity. There would be worse to come.

  Charles Stewart had to wake up sometime, and now he knew that Thomas was here in Vienna.

  Chapter 44

  Julia clasped her hands in her lap as the coach set off for the Kaunitz Palace, trying to appear calm, though her heart was pounding. She would need to be very calm indeed once they arrived at Talleyrand’s salon, try to look as if she did this all the time. They said Talleyrand could smell fear, taste we
akness, and had not met an adversary he couldn’t best with a simple cutting remark, delivered with such wit that the victim didn’t notice the killing blow until it fell.

  Across from her, Thomas and Stephen sat in uncomfortable silence. Stephen had changed into dark clothing, making him nearly invisible in the darkness, except for his blond hair. Thomas wore evening wear, well-­cut and elegant, every inch the viscount he’d once been. He stared out the window, his profile lit by the lights on the street as they drove.

  “Would you mind explaining what Stewart was talking about?” Stephen asked.

  “Why do you wish to know?”

  “I knew Edward Brecon. I had no idea he even had a brother.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “What did you gather, Julia?” Stephen asked her. “I heard that Thomas was having an affair with his brother’s wife, and Stewart caught him and told Brecon, who disowned him.”

  She didn’t get time to answer, but that wasn’t what she understood at all. He’d rescued his brother’s wife, saved her from disgrace of some sort. That part hadn’t surprised her.

  “It’s none of your business,” Thomas warned.

  “But it is, you see. This is a very important job, and I wonder if I can trust you.”

  Thomas looked at him. “With Julia, you mean? She’s safe.”

  “Are you sure? If anything happens to her, I’ll hunt you down and kill you, is that clear?”

  They had both missed the point of Stewart’s unexpected visit entirely. He had come to remove her, on Lady Castlereagh’s orders. They were about to come to blows over her now, tonight, when tomorrow it wouldn’t matter.

  “I plan to leave tomorrow morning,” Julia said to no one in particular, her voice cutting through the argument.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Where will you go?” Stephen asked.

  “The Bavarian ambassador has offered me a place in his household.” She watched Thomas’s head turn toward her, but he didn’t speak, and his face was in shadow.

 

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