Perhaps, she thought, he is used to waking up with women.
At least he had remembered her name.
‘I pulled your boots off last night and tried to get you under the covers and you pulled me into the bed and trapped me.’
Giles hauled himself up against the pillows, grimaced and pulled off his coat, then dropped it on the floor. ‘That’s better.’ He looked down at her quizzically ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Because I would have had to ring a handbell in your ear to do that,’ Julia retorted. ‘You were deeply asleep. I hadn’t the heart to wake you and it was all quite respectable, you are fully clothed, after all.’ She sat up, too, and managed an insouciant shrug. Perhaps not quite insouciant enough, judging by Giles’s expression.
‘Your idea of respectable is quite different from mine, it seems. What if someone had come in?’ he demanded. ‘Then where would we be?’
‘Miss Jepson and Miss Margaret would never enter someone else’s bedchamber and if Dorothy had come in, I would have explained. She is very discreet.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, good morning, Julia.’ Giles rolled over and took her in his arms.
It was a leisurely kiss, one that took its time to stray from her lips to her cheek, to her ear to her eyes—which had inexplicably closed themselves—and back to her lips via another exploratory nibble at her earlobe.
After a while, by which time Julia thought that she was becoming much less clumsy in kissing Giles back, it did occur to her somewhat hazily that perhaps this was not wise. Or prudent. Or possibly not even decent. No, definitely not decent.
Unfortunately, by that time Giles seemed to have lost his neckerchief—Julia suspected she had something to do with that—and his shirt was untucked from his trousers and her hands had found their way under it.
The skin of his back was warm and smooth and dipped into the line of his spine and he made a most satisfactory growling sound when her fingers traced down, vertebra by vertebra, to the waistband. She wriggled closer and her dressing gown slipped from her shoulders and now she was immersed in the heat and the scent and the feel of the man in her arms. Or was she in his arms? But it was of no matter because his mouth was trailing kisses down the slope of her breast and then his lips found her nipple and sucked through the thin cotton of her chemise and there was a shriek and she realised it was her.
Giles sat bolt upright, hair tousled, shirt hanging loose, eyes dark and wild. ‘Oh, hell.’
Oh, hell? Julia kicked at the bedding and scrambled off the bed, furious to discover her legs were like jelly, angry with him, angry with herself. Oh, hell? That is the first thing he says after kissing me and...and whatever that was?
‘You, sir, are no gentleman.’
It was a good parting line and it would have been even better if her feet had not become tangled in the trailing sash of the dressing gown so that she tripped, fell against the door, jerked it open and banged her way out before realising that she was making enough noise to rouse the entire household.
There was the sound of feet hitting bare floorboards in the room she had just left and Julia fled into her own room and closed the door just in case Giles was rash enough to pursue her.
The bed was close, but she shied away from it instinctively and took refuge on the window seat, where the cold penetrating the glass was enough to banish the last tendrils of sensual fog from her brain.
What was I thinking?
She hadn’t been, of course. She had been reacting.
The little clock that was ticking on the mantelpiece gave a sharp ting and she looked at it. ‘Oh, no. Quarter past nine.’
She jumped up, shivered her way to the washstand, splashed chilly water about as quickly as possible and got dressed in all the layers she had before she brushed her teeth. Was everyone downstairs listening to doors banging and feet thumping from room to room? What if they had heard that shriek of alarm? And of delight, she had to admit.
All the other women in the house were in the kitchen, Julia discovered when she ran downstairs, not delaying to do more than plait her hair. Some armchairs had been dragged in from the parlour along with a low sofa and Annie was lying there holding the baby. Dorothy seemed to be cooking a belated breakfast and Miss Jepson was sorting through a pile of tiny fluffy blankets. Of Giles there was no sign.
No one looked at her with disapproval or speculation. Perhaps they had heard nothing or assumed that Giles was simply a noisy riser.
‘Good morning. How is Master William Giles Julian Smith?’ She went and marvelled at the perfection his mother demonstrated—tiny hands, fingers with a vice-like grip on Julia’s, blue eyes and a shock of dark hair on his head.
‘Breakfast won’t be more than ten minutes, now you’re up, miss,’ Dorothy said. ‘We were going to have ours, seeing as how you were so late to bed, and make yours later, but I’ll just add some eggs and bacon and another spoon of tea in the pot. Is Mr Darrowby coming down?’
‘I have no idea,’ Julia said, wondering if she was blushing as much as she feared. ‘His bedchamber door was closed when I came past just now. I’ll lay the table, shall I?’
She escaped into the scullery, where Molly was counting out cutlery into piles with her tongue stuck out between her teeth to help with the calculation required. When Julia felt less hot and bothered—and managed to stop wondering whether it was the lingering after-effects of Giles’s caresses or embarrassment—she found the plates and carried those through to set by the range to warm.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ Giles said, choosing that moment to arrive when her back was to the door, which made her jump and almost drop the marmalade jar and sugar bowl she was putting on the table. ‘I do apologise for sleeping so late.’
There was an immediate chorus of protests. Mr Darrowby deserved to spend the day in bed having his meals brought on a tray after his heroic efforts the day before, Miss Margaret declared. Her sister worried that they had no steak because gentlemen did like their steak and he probably needed it after his exertions. Annie exhorted little William to see who had just come in, which made him howl, and Molly dropped the toast rack.
It at least gave Julia an excuse for looking flustered. When they were finally all seated and Annie provided with a tray, she managed not to look at Giles by dint of concentrating on buttering her toast and cutting into the excellent bacon. Thankfully, with all the chatter from Miss Margaret, there was no need to make conversation.
‘You will stay for Christmas dinner, of course,’ Miss Jepson pronounced. ‘We have a fine goose.’ She did not wait for a reply, but turned to say something to her sister.
‘I—’ What did she want? Julia realised that she had no idea. The longer they stayed at Bluebell Cottage, the sooner Miss Jepson, with the worry about Annie relieved, would realise how very strange it was that Giles had been in Julia’s house.
On the other hand, if they went back to Beech View, then she would be alone with Giles and, however much she might trust him, she was not at all certain she trusted herself. Not after the way she had felt in his arms in the bed upstairs. However hazy she still might be about her future, becoming any man’s mistress was not among her plans.
Perhaps wealthy, sophisticated ladies might manage discreet liaisons, but she was neither wealthy nor sophisticated, she was well aware. And how did one cope after such a relationship ended, as presumably it must? It was difficult to imagine wanting to experience such intimacy with a man for whom one did not have deep feelings. And of course, how could one feel more than liking and attraction after just two days? To imagine anything deeper was ridiculous.
Chapter Six
‘Julia?’
She stared at Giles blankly across the breakfast table.
‘You have just dropped your toast into your tea.’
‘I—Oh, goodness, so I did. I was momentarily distracted.’ As she mopped at the poo
l of liquid with her napkin she looked more than distracted, she looked positively distressed.
Which is all my fault, Giles thought bitterly as he got up to fetch a cloth from the sink.
For the moment, the other women had all their attention on the baby, who was gurgling and kicking in what was clearly considered to be an endearing manner.
He sat down and handed the cloth across the table to Julia, who took it with a muttered word of thanks and without meeting his eye. Which was not surprising. Now she was wide awake he was amazed she hadn’t hurled a teapot at his head. Or perhaps she was trying to behave as normal because she did not want to alert her neighbours to what had just happened. Almost happened.
You, sir, are no gentleman.
The words stung and he knew they were justified. He had found himself in bed with a virgin and protesting that he was half-awake was absolutely no excuse. Arguing that she had been willing was even less of one.
* * *
Eventually the interminable meal dragged to an end. Giles attempted to help clear the table, was firmly repulsed by Miss Margaret and retreated to the range.
‘Miss Chancellor, should I perhaps go along to your cottage and make sure that all is well? The fires will have gone out and the house will become very cold.’
Julia put down the dish she had been returning to the dresser and straightened her back. The effort it took to look at him was palpable and cut as much as her angry reproof had. ‘What a thoughtful idea, Mr Darrowby. I will come with you.’
‘But you will come back,’ Miss Jepson urged. ‘You will join us for the rest of the day and dinner?’
‘Yes, thank you, I would be delighted,’ Julia said with a very creditable smile.
‘I do appreciate your offer of hospitality, but I had best make my way down to the village,’ Giles said. The sooner he removed himself from Julia’s company the happier she would be, he was certain.
‘There has been no thaw,’ she said. ‘It would be a very dangerous thing to attempt.’ Her chin tilted up and she met his gaze. ‘For absolutely no purpose.’
He could read no encouragement in those grey eyes. Presumably she was attempting to convey the message that if he came too close he might expect to encounter a rolling pin at the very least.
‘We can discuss it while we are checking your house,’ he said before the ladies picked up the tension that was sending prickles down his spine.
Julia nodded and began to layer on her outdoor clothing.
They walked in silence back as far as the dividing wall. ‘May I—?’ He hesitated, unsure whether he should physically help her up.
‘Yes, of course, thank you.’ Julia seemed surprised that he needed to ask and showed no awkwardness when Giles lifted her, his hands around her waist, until she could sit on top of the wall and swing her legs over. She jumped down and waited for him, her head cocked on one side, looking so much like the robin that he almost laughed. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked.
‘This morning. I wanted to come out to apologise, as much as anything.’
‘So did I. I should never have said that you were not a gentleman. But honestly, how could you?’
‘How could I kiss you? And apparently pull you into my bed and take even worse liberties. Saying that I was half-asleep is no excuse, is it?’
Julia, who had begun to walk towards Beech View, stopped so abruptly that he almost cannoned into her.
‘That? I cannot blame you for that. I could have protested, only I did not want to wake you, and to be honest, it was lovely to go to sleep like that, so warm.’ She turned away, but not before he saw the colour in her cheeks. ‘And I enjoy kissing you, it would be hypocritical of me to pretend that I do not.’
‘Then why were you so angry with me?’
‘How would you have liked it if it had been me who had stopped and said, “Oh, hell”, might I ask? You could not have sounded more horrified to find me in your bed than if you had rehearsed for a week.’
Giles regarded the back view of the infuriating woman as she stamped off down the path they had cleared towards her own back door. He contemplated either sticking his head in a snowdrift or going back to bang it on the wall and finally strode after her.
‘That was because I was horrified,’ he said as he caught her up. ‘You are an innocent, virtuous lady. You know perfectly well what the consequences of my taking that innocence would be.’
‘You mean you would have to marry me? But who would know?’ Julia had reached the door to the lean-to, unlatched it, went through to the kitchen door and opened it to reveal a swearing, ginger furball that resolved itself into one large, affronted cat. It gave them a withering stare, then stalked off.
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Fred, you had food, you had water, you could get outside. Anyone would think that you had been abandoned to starve.’ Julia shed gloves and a scarf and went to the range. ‘I think this is still alight. Yes, it is, thank goodness.’
‘Confound the cat and the range, too. Do you mean you do not want to marry me?’ Giles demanded, throwing hat, scarf and gloves on top of hers. Had he gone mad, talking about marriage of all things? He had not really compromised her, even if it had been a near-run thing, and he had absolutely no desire for a wife, not for years. ‘Why not?’ he demanded, discovering that he was indignant. ‘I am perfectly eligible. I’m comfortably off, I’ve a title and estates—’
‘And a well-developed sense of your own value,’ Julia retorted, reaching for a poker and riddling ash out of the grate with some force. ‘On the plus side of the scales, I will admit that you kiss very nicely and that you were exceedingly good with Annie and the baby last night. Your title and wealth are of no concern to me whatsoever. On the negative side of the balance is the fact that on both the occasions we have met you were engaged in some madcap, and outrageous, scheme with your friends. Forgive me, but even if I were in the market for a husband, which I am not, you do not appear to be much of a bargain for a woman who cares more about a relationship than a title.’
Giles bit his tongue on the various retorts to that which came to mind, turned on his heel and went to get an armload of wood and a bucket of coal.
Kiss very nicely, do I? And so do you, Miss Chancellor, and I would very much like to stop this conversation and resume where we were a few hours ago.
His sense of self-preservation was adequate to stop him seeing what would happen if he followed his inclination, even though Julia had never once rejected his kisses.
He should have been relieved that she had dismissed his offer so easily, of course. The single life held many attractions and why would he choose a lady of such obscurity when he did decide to settle down? Yet the sensation he was feeling now felt uncommonly like disappointment. It was simply hurt feelings, no doubt.
‘You do not want to marry?’ he asked, stacking the logs by the range and trying to ignore the ache under his breastbone. Every single lady wished to marry, surely? ‘Why did you do the Season, if that is the case?’
Julia stopped riddling the grate and sat back on her heels, looking at him as though he had just asked a difficult, but intelligent, question and she was having to wrestle with the answer.
‘Because everyone assumed I would. That I must, I suppose. And so did I, even though I was painfully shy and frightened about being in London when I hardly knew a soul. We had led such a quiet life you see, my parents and I. There were lots of friends, but no one very grand, no big parties where status and getting things right mattered one bit.
‘I told myself that people would be kind and I wanted to make friends and see the sights and go to the theatre and the bookshops and some parties. But all anyone was concerned about was who was related to whom and how attractive one was and which men were the best catch.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I wasn’t pretty enough to stand out and I certainly was not well connected and I think I was terribly gauche. Certainly
I was naive.’
Julia stood up and shook her head at him when Giles started to protest that she was exceedingly pretty. ‘You really do not have to, you know. I do not want reassurance or flattery. But I have come to realise that I took my aunt’s vapours about my so-called ruin as an excuse to escape and I ran away. But now I am older and know what I want, I can manage things to suit myself. I see now that my aunt is not the only person who can organise my life in London, because I have money of my own, enough to employ the services of someone to introduce me about. I have heard there are several ladies of good family who are short of funds and are only too glad to help someone to maintain appearances. In exchange for a consideration, of course.’
She scooped up Fred and began to scratch behind his ears. ‘That is so, is it not? I am sure if I asked my cousin in Bath she would be able to recommend someone to me.’
‘Yes, it is so,’ Giles agreed unwillingly, finding a corner of the kitchen table to lean against while he looked at her. He could think of half-a-dozen youthful widows who were only too happy to supplement their straitened income in that way. But Julia had suffered one bad experience in London already, he had no desire to see her fall foul of the gossip and sharp tongues again.
‘I thought so,’ she said with a nod of satisfaction. ‘I should have done that, gone back and enjoyed the Season on my own terms and not been such a coward as to seize on an excuse to hide. After all, if one is not seeking a husband—and they all seemed such a gamble—then one can do what one wants. Theatre, libraries, exhibitions, shops, concerts. The occasional small party, picnics, perhaps. I have no ambition to attend the grand balls.’ Fred began to purr and hung limp in her grasp like a vast, weighty fur muff. ‘I do not think I would enjoy the high-flown parties at the very top of the tree. They must be such a strain.’
It had never occurred to Giles that they might be, but then he had never spared a thought for the feelings of the young ladies herded like nervous sheep into the arena to be judged on their looks and their manners, their breeding and their dowries.
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