“I don’t recall you indulging before dinner,” she said.
“Another bad habit developed during my travels. Would you like some?”
“I doubt it’s good for the babe.”
Did that mean that she would have joined him if she weren’t with child? He’d never considered that perhaps she had a taste for spirits as well. “One sip.”
She was near enough now to take the glass from his hand. Near enough that he inhaled her fragrance. Roses. Unfortunate, as the rich sweetness always reminded him of that night in the garden when he had thought to take her mouth with no consequence. He watched as she carried the glass to her parted lips, tipped it slightly so the amber liquid flowed into her mouth. Why did he find the slow movement so riveting, so sensual? The delicate muscles at her throat shifted slightly as she swallowed, smiled, handed the glass back to him.
No cough, no sputtering. She looked out the window. “You never asked me to join you before.”
“For which I heartily apologize. I didn’t think you’d enjoy it, but I daresay I believe you’ve indulged before.”
“On occasion. My little secret.” She slid her gaze toward him, her eyes twinkling. “A countess should be above reproach.”
“On the contrary. A countess should be able to do as she wishes. At least mine should.”
With a small laugh, she looked back out the window. “I love winter.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I would have thought you’d favor summer.”
“I enjoy summer, but I like the bleakness of winter. It allows for much contemplation.”
“You fancy your thoughts more than I fancy mine, then.” She turned to study him, and he feared he’d given too much away. He kept himself busy with wine, women, wagering, and traveling so he wouldn’t have to examine his life too closely. He’d never possessed much in the way of ambition, other than to have a jolly good time and live with no regrets. Yet still the regrets were there, and a good many of them involved her.
“My lord, dinner is served,” the butler announced. Edward hadn’t even heard Rigdon enter.
Setting aside his glass, he offered his arm to Julia, relishing the feel of her fingers coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. “I believe I failed to mention that you look lovely tonight.”
“It’s nice to be out of black, although I didn’t want to go with anything too bright.”
“A commendable compromise.”
“You’re teasing now.”
She pressed her cheek to his arm, her rose scent wafted up, and it was all he could do to carry on through the doorway and not stop to kiss her. In her condition he could not take things further. Besides, if she’d been struck with the same awareness that night in the garden as he had, she’d have not married his brother.
When they walked into the dining room, the chair at the head of the table didn’t loom quite as large as he’d expected. It had helped matters that he’d dined in the breakfast room that morning, had taken his place at the head of that table. It wouldn’t be quite so uncomfortable doing it here.
Because he had dined with his brother, he knew that Julia preferred to sit at his right rather than at the foot of the table, so he escorted her there now, pulled out the chair for her, helped her settle, refrained from taking the chair opposite her, instead opting for the one that marked his brother’s place. It merely provided him with her profile. He much preferred his view from the other chair.
Wine was poured, the first course brought out. To ensure he made no blunders, he needed to control the direction of the discourse. “Surely you did more than read while we were away.” She blushed a delicate pink hue, and he wondered if she’d done the same while reading Madame Bovary or any of his magazines with the risqué stories. “How else did you fill your day?”
Delicately, she pressed the napkin to her lips. “I practiced my water coloring. I’m much improved, and I’ve been working on something special.”
“I hope you’ll share it with me.”
His answer pleased her. It was dangerous to please her too much, to have that smile directed his way.
“I’d rather wait until I’m further along.”
“Whenever you’re comfortable.” He sipped his wine, savored the flavor, trying not to recall the essence of the kiss she’d bestowed on him last night. Kissing her was not going to cause her to lose the child. He was going to have to come up with another excuse to avoid those lips, a reason that wouldn’t cause her to doubt herself.
Swirling the wine in his glass, he longed to down the entire bottle but knew he needed to limit himself, keep his wits about him. He was too stiff, too formal with her. He needed to stop thinking that he should relax, so he could relax.
“Do you think Locksley will ever marry?” she asked.
He was grateful for a topic that had nothing to do with them. “If he wants an heir, he must marry.”
“That’s such an unromantic reason to wed.”
“Still, it is reason enough for many lords. Wanting to play matchmaker?”
Pursing her lips together, she shook her head. “No. As much as I like him, I wouldn’t wish the life he offers on any woman. When you took me to Havisham to meet his father, I thought I might go mad during the short time we visited. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live there all the time. It feels so abandoned.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Because you were young. Boys. Always able to find adventure. But for a woman, I think it would be a very lonely place indeed.”
“Do you find Evermore to be a lonely place?”
“No, I feel as though I belong here. It’s my home. I take joy in it. I don’t know how a woman would ever make Havisham a home.”
He tapped his finger against his wineglass. “It would take a special woman. But then to be honest, I never expected Ashe to marry either.”
She took her wineglass, inhaled the bouquet, set it aside. “Do you think Edward would have ever married?”
Slowly he shook his head. “No.”
“I find it rather sad that he died without ever having been in love.”
“I didn’t say he’d never been in love.”
Her eyes widened. “Who?”
“Someone he couldn’t have.”
“She was married, then.”
“She could have been a servant.”
“No, had she been a servant he would have married her simply to shock all of London.”
He grinned. “You knew Edward better than I thought you did.”
“I would not have put it past him to marry a woman of ill-repute or at the very least a woman of scandal.” She was smiling as though she rather enjoyed the notion of him doing it.
“I didn’t realize you gave him that much thought.”
She blushed. “I didn’t. Just something that occurred to me at some point. He never much cared what people thought.”
I cared what you thought. And fearing she’d think the worse, he’d behaved in a manner that ensured she did. “I suppose he did enjoy doing things he ought not.”
“Therefore, I can draw the conclusion that the woman he loved was married. Otherwise he’d have wed her.”
“Love is a rather strong word.”
“You’re the one who used it first.”
“I misspoke. More like, infatuated. Besides, a good wife is not supposed to question her husband.”
“We long ago established that I’m not always a good wife.” She swirled her wine, inhaled again, set the glass aside. If he had to guess, he’d say she missed wine, but he had to admire her strength in not indulging. Her gaze came back to him and he felt it like a punch. “You didn’t marry me simply to gain an heir. You love me.”
Was that doubt in her voice? He didn’t love her, but he wasn’t going to lie to her either. “Every Earl of Greyling
married for love.”
Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Marsden told us.”
“How did it even come up?” Skepticism laced her voice.
“When our parents died, we lost a good bit of our history. That’s something one doesn’t really consider, how much one learns through stories shared. It bothered Edward, the things we didn’t know. How did our parents meet? What was Father like as a student? Every night before we went to bed, Edward would insist that we share something our parents had told us and he would write it into a journal. When we ran out of stories, he began to ask Marsden to share what he knew. I think that’s why Edward enjoyed weaving elaborate tales. He didn’t like the idea of history not being passed on. He probably would have made a passable minstrel.”
“What became of the journal?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in years.”
“Maybe you’ll find it when you begin going through Edward’s things.”
Not likely. He’d given it to Albert for safekeeping, to be passed on to his heir. Maybe when he went through Albert’s things. “Perhaps.”
“Speaking of Edward’s things . . . I would be happy—no, happy is not the correct word. I wish it didn’t have to be done, but I could sort through Edward’s belongings, spare you the sadness of it.”
It was an odd thing to realize how involved she was, how conscientious she was of lightening his burden. Her husband’s burden. He couldn’t forget who she was truly assisting or thought she was. Still, of all the women Edward had been with over the years, not one had ever seemed to care about any burden he might carry. They were only interested in what being with him might gain them. Even if circumstances were different, he wouldn’t have known how to accept her generous offer, but he did know it wasn’t Edward’s possessions that needed going through. He also knew that eventually she would be the one to go through things. Perhaps they would go through them together.
If she didn’t hate him with every breath she took.
“I appreciate the offer but I’ll see to the task.”
“What about his residence in London? I suspect you’ll want to get his possessions out of there as soon as possible.”
“I don’t see the need to rush.”
“But you’re shelling out money on a lease that’s no longer needed.”
“I can well afford it.” The words came out too tart. He softened his voice. “I have no desire to leave you alone until after the babe is born. And you certainly have no business traveling to London.”
“You could send word to the servants to simply pack up his things—”
“No!” He still needed his own London residence, as he intended for her and the child to live in the dwellings that belonged to the earl. “It’s a matter that can wait. As I’m finished with dinner, if you’ll excuse me—”
Her hand came to rest over his, causing the rest of his words to back up in his throat.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push. I know going through his belongings will only bring home that he is truly gone. You’ll take care of it when you’re ready to face it.”
“When we go to London for the Season will be soon enough I think.”
With a gentle nod, she gave him a soft smile. Why did she have to be so blasted understanding? “I’m going to the library for an after-dinner drink,” he told her.
“I’ll come with.”
Not what he wanted. He needed some time alone to regain his balance. “But you’re not drinking.”
“I know you like to use the time after dinner for quiet reflection. I’ll read.” Her hand had yet to leave his, and she gave it a tender squeeze. “I’ve had far too many nights without you of late. I promise not to intrude.”
How could she not intrude, he wondered, when they were sitting in opposite chairs before the fireplace in the library, he with his scotch—half the amount he would have poured had she not been there—and she with Wuthering Heights? While he stared at the low flames sending out their warmth, he inhaled her rose fragrance, heard her quiet breathing. He was quite simply so aware of her presence that she might as well be sitting on his lap. Not that she’d be reading if that were so. He’d have his lips on hers, his hands gliding over her back and shoulders. His fingers would unfasten the back of her gown, peel it down until—
“I think you should record your reflections.”
With horror that his errant thoughts might have been revealed on his face, he jerked his attention to her, relieved to discover her watching him with an incredibly serene expression. No suspicions. “Pardon?”
“You mentioned earlier about all the history that was lost when your parents passed. While memories of Edward are still clear, I think you should write what you remember as a legacy to your heir and all who follow. Otherwise, how will they ever know him?”
“I’m not certain they need to know him.”
“I realize he was a bit of a rapscallion, but based on the stories he told, he led a fascinating life.”
“He embellished.”
“You say that as though it is a bad thing.”
“Another word for embellished is lied.”
She held up her book. “All stories are lies, but there is always a thread of truth in them.”
“You are the last person I expected to be his champion.” She had him kicked out of the London residence, for Christ’s sake. It was the reason he had his own residence in London. Although he had to admit she’d done him a favor, as he preferred having his own place, being able to do what he wanted when he wanted.
“I’m not serving as his champion, but I do think your son should know him. You should write down all you remember while it’s still fresh in your mind. Memories fade, even though we think they won’t. There are times when I can barely remember what my parents looked like.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I should record what I remember about him. Maybe you can add your memories. Reveal what really happened that night I caught the two of you in the garden.”
She blinked, but held his gaze. “I told you. We were discussing the trip.” She tilted her head to the side. “What did you think happened?”
Taking a sip of scotch, he considered, then said, “I thought perhaps he’d kissed you.”
Her expression changed not one iota. Her gaze remained latched on his. “Why would I allow him to be the first man to kiss me when that honor was yours?”
She might as well have picked up the poker and hurled it through his chest. She’d never kissed anyone before him? Had never before had a tryst in the garden with Albert? Albert had been courting her for weeks. Edward had assumed his brother had taken advantage, that Julia had encouraged him—
But no. Their relationship had been chaste. Not even a kiss exchanged before that night. Little wonder she detested him. From her, he’d stolen what she’d intended to give another. Had his brother been a saint or a fool? On the other hand, he supposed a gentleman didn’t compromise a lady he wished to wed. Edward didn’t know if he’d have had the fortitude to resist her. He was having a hell of a time doing it now.
“Apologies, Julia. I wasn’t questioning your morals, but my brother was not one to resist temptation.”
“I assure you that he never found me tempting.”
“Every man in London found you tempting.”
Her cheeks flaming red, she looked down at the book in her lap. “You flatter me.”
Did she really not know how fetching she was?
She lifted her gaze to him. “You are the only one who ever tempted me.”
Dear God, but at that moment he rather wished those words were truly spoken for him. “What a fortunate man the Earl of Greyling is.”
“My attraction had nothing to do with your title. You know that.”
He tossed back what remain
ed of his scotch. “Still, a man is his title—if he has one.”
“You could have been a pauper and I’d have married you.”
He grinned. “If I were a pauper, I doubt I could have afforded to wed.”
She smiled. “You’d have found a way. You’re too smart to let me go.”
He wasn’t as smart as he’d always thought. If he were, he’d have appreciated her before now, would have realized she was far more than a flint to spark his passions.
“I’ve missed this,” she said wistfully. “Our sitting here in the evening sharing whatever thoughts occurred to us. While you were away, I’d often sit in here alone. I think because this room more than any other reminds me of you, belongs to you. I always felt your presence here more than anywhere else.”
Interesting. He wondered how Albert would have felt about that. As for himself, he’d want his presence felt in the bedchamber, in the bed, when she settled beneath the covers and laid her head on the pillow.
“It is a room designed for an earl,” he acknowledged. If she were correct, it would one day belong to her son.
“I suspect each earl made it his own.”
He wondered which room she might have made her own. A reading room, no doubt. Although she had nearly brought him to his knees with her kiss in the bedchamber last night.
She sighed. “Well, you’ve finished your drink and I’ve finished my chapter. I suppose we should retire.”
He didn’t much like the anticipation that rocketed through him with that suggestion. He’d located his brother’s nightshirts, had contemplated for all of half a minute that perhaps he should wear one to bed this evening, but he’d already offered an excuse to her for why he no longer wore one. He much preferred having his skin within easy reach of her fingers. He regretted that he’d not have a night with her when she also wore no nightdress—a night that she had hinted would come when she was no longer with child. But when the babe was born, he would reveal the truth and she certainly wouldn’t welcome him into her bed then—clothing or no.
He should make an excuse, say he needed to recheck the ledgers or wasn’t yet sleepy. But then he was prone to not doing what he ought. Setting his glass aside, he stood and held his hand out to her, feeling a quiver of need as her palm slid against his, skin-to-skin. He might ignite if their entire bodies glided together. This was Julia, his brother’s wife, he told himself, not someone he lusted after. It was only because he’d gone so long without a woman. A few more weeks and he could have all the women he wanted.
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