Season for Temptation

by Theresa Romain

  Julia gaped at her for a second, stunned at this response. “What . . . what?”

  Louisa pulled back, her hands still on Julia’s shoulders. She looked guilt-stricken as she explained, “Simone brought me a paper this morning and I saw that terrible item. I know it’s all a misunderstanding, but it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t asked you to give the letter to James . . . oh, dear. I know you only went because I was so insistent and you wanted so badly to help me.”

  She sighed, her eyes defeated, and sat down hard again on the sofa, slumping. “I didn’t imagine you would go over to his home, but how were you to know that isn’t exactly good ton? So they’ve put this terrible insinuation into that scandal rag, when it was all perfectly innocent. It’s ridiculous, but it will sound very bad to anyone who doesn’t know the truth.”

  She straightened up and took Julia’s hands in hers, looking determined. “I promise you, I will do whatever I can to straighten things out. I’ll take all the responsibility upon myself, and will tell everyone I meet the truth.”

  Her voice faltered as she added, “That is . . . I haven’t spoken to Aunt Estella yet, but I swear she shall be the first to know. Perhaps she can undo everything; she has powerful friends. I only hope this unfortunate item will not affect your relationship with Sir Stephen Saville. I know he’s rather a stickler, but I’ll explain the situation to him as well.” She offered Julia a watery smile. “He may not ever forgive me my social trespasses, but he won’t think the less of you.”

  Julia simply stared at Louisa through this whole impassioned recital, swaying with shock where she stood. She simply couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Louisa had put entirely the opposite construction on everything that had been intended by the scandal item. She blamed herself, she trusted Julia, she thought only of how her own supposed faults might have hurt others.

  It made Julia feel much, much worse than if Louisa had refused to speak to her. Or yelled at her, or slapped her.

  But that simply wouldn’t be like Louisa to react in that way. Louisa’s way was always to look out for Julia, and to protect her however she could, regardless of her own inclinations. That’s what she’d done since they were children; that’s why she’d come to London. And that’s what she was proposing to do again now—to sacrifice herself so that Julia could recover socially.

  Not for the first time, Julia was struck dumb with disbelief at Louisa’s selflessness. She was too good; Julia wasn’t worthy of a sister like her.

  But she would try to be.

  Louisa still sat looking at her anxiously, awaiting Julia’s response to her apologies and assurances. Oh, dear. This was going to be really difficult, but it had to be said. Her sister deserved the truth.

  Julia sat on the floor in front of Louisa and leaned her head on her sister’s knee, so she wouldn’t have to look her in the face or trust her own legs to support her as she spoke.

  “It’s not your fault,” she began, then took a deep breath for courage. “Louisa, the item is true, in everything it implies. It’s not your fault. It’s ours—mine and James’s. And that ass Xavier’s,” she couldn’t resist adding.

  A pause succeeded her words; then Louisa said blankly, “Xavier’s? What has he to do with anything? I don’t understand.”

  Julia explained the situation as quickly as she could—how she’d sent the letter, how Sir Stephen had proposed, how she’d wanted to talk to James to work through her confusion, and how he’d read the letters and come to accept Louisa’s decision. She left out the part about how she and James had already admitted their love for each other on the previous night; it might be cowardly, but she justified it with the thought that it might hurt Louisa further.

  Instead she said, “And when I was there, it just . . . just happened. It wasn’t planned, but I wasn’t sorry for it. The only thing is, as I was leaving, Lord Xavier saw me, and apparently he’s blabbed everything to the papers. Not that it’s any of his business, damned scandalmonger,” she grumbled.

  For once, Louisa didn’t admonish her for her language. She simply began stroking Julia’s hair slowly. Julia waited for an agonizing minute for her to say something, but when Louisa remained silent, Julia raised her head to look at her sister’s face.

  It was nothing like what she would have expected. Louisa’s gaze was far away, her expression quiet and considering, but a small smile played about the corners of her mouth.

  “Louisa?” Julia asked hesitantly.

  The older girl’s eyes snapped into focus and turned toward the face of her seated sister. “I’m still trying to believe it,” Louisa said. “It’s all rather ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ridiculous? That was the word James had used too, and Julia was no less surprised this time.

  “I mean,” Louisa mused, “you loved him all along, didn’t you? I should have seen it; I should have been able to tell. And here I was pushing you toward this other man you couldn’t care a pin for, when all the while I was becoming certain of how wrong it is to marry without love. To marry for logic, and propriety, and security. It’s just not enough, is it?”

  She rested her hand on Julia’s head again, and Julia felt all the healing of her sister’s understanding and forgiveness.

  “He loves you, too, doesn’t he?”

  Julia nodded hesitantly, and Louisa continued. “I admit, I’m surprised at what you did—at least, what I presume you did—but if you really love him, I can’t fault you for anything.”

  She smiled ruefully. “I only wish I could have felt the same way, but I never did. He just wasn’t right for me, and I certainly wasn’t the one for him. He was my escape; he was never my destiny.”

  “You’re not angry with me?” Julia asked, scarcely able to believe it.

  Louisa sighed. “If this damned item hadn’t been in the paper—yes, Julia, I know those words as well as you do, and this is absolutely the time to use them—I would be unreservedly happy. I was afraid I had ruined our family’s relationship with James and that I would embarrass him terribly. I knew he didn’t love me and wouldn’t be hurt on a personal level, but I thought his pride would be touched. I’m . . .” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing you have each other.”

  Louisa began absently to tease tangles out of Julia’s hair in their familiar way. “I’m not sure what to do about the situation, though. The paper implies that my engagement was broken because of you, which is quite wrong. I would like to see that corrected.”

  Julia straightened up and looked Louisa directly in the eye. In this way, at least, she could show herself worthy of Louisa’s trust. “No, I won’t allow it.”

  Louisa looked taken aback. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Julia explained, “as it stands, you are innocent in the eyes of the ton. You have every chance to walk away from the situation unscathed and find happiness with someone else. It would be madness to do anything to change that.”

  “Madness? I hardly think that,” Louisa protested. “Julia, it’s not right. I won’t have you protecting me.”

  “Yes, you will,” Julia insisted. “For once, you’ll let me shield you. It’s the least I can do. Louisa, I feel as if I haven’t done right by you, even by allowing myself to think of your betrothed husband in a romantic way.” Or by acting on it, she thought, ashamed once again about the encounter in the carriage.

  She added, “Thank God, he’s an honorable man and he’s offered for me. Eventually, we will be married, and it’ll all be forgotten. We’ll spend time in the country for a while, and we’ll come back when everything’s blown over. We’ll be fine.” She tried to smile bravely. “A viscount can get away with a prodigious lot, you know.”

  Louisa gave a short laugh. “Yes, I know that well enough.” She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “I just don’t feel it’s fair to you,” she said again.

  “Trust me on this,” Julia said. “It’s more than fair. The least I can do, to help you through this situation—which wouldn’t even exist if
it weren’t for me—is to make sure that you come out of it unscathed.”

  “But if you hadn’t gone to James’s house, all the world would know the truth about me. That I’m a jilt,” Louisa insisted.

  “You aren’t,” Julia replied. “You only agreed to marry James out of a sense of obligation to our family, and to him. If anything, this is more like . . . an annulment,” she decided.

  “Now that is the most ridiculous thing of all,” Louisa said, smiling, and Julia knew she was beginning to come around.

  “So you’ll let it stand?” Julia pressed. “You won’t say or do anything to counter the story?”

  Louisa sighed and waved her hands in capitulation. “Fine, fine. I’ll allow you to throw yourself to the wolves—well, one wolf—in order that I might seem innocent and have a chance at finding another potential husband.”

  “James isn’t a wolf,” Julia protested, but she was smiling now, like her sister. Thank heaven this conversation had gone so well. Thank heaven above, Louisa was a generous and forgiving person. Thank heaven Louisa loved her—and didn’t love James.

  “All the same,” Louisa added, “I would like to leave London for a time. A long time. I think it will take me a while to come to terms with all this. I’m not angry,” she assured Julia, “but I feel like I’ve got to start over. I have to decide what I want, and who I want, and this certainly isn’t the place to do it.”

  “Well, Aunt Estella plans to take us back to the country very soon if James and I can’t pull off a hasty wedding,” Julia said. “Honestly, even if we can, I’d like to leave, too. I think we’ll all need to get away from the wagging tongues for awhile.

  “Besides,” she admitted, “if I ever cross paths with Lord Xavier, I’m sure I will haul off and punch him in the face, and you know that would cause a scandal of its own.”

  “Ah, yes; as Aunt Estella would say, that would be both vulgar and unladylike,” Louisa replied. “So our aunt knows, then?”

  Julia rolled her eyes. “She summoned me this morning and nearly flayed me alive. And she hit me on the head with her newspaper.”

  Louisa gasped, and covered her mouth to suppress a startled laugh.

  “Go ahead, laugh—” Julia waved a hand airily. “I deserved it. She was very angry, but I think she’s less so now. By the way, it was her suggestion to let the impression stand about your engagement being broken as a result of, ah, the events of yesterday. I do completely agree with her, of course. But I just wanted to let you know in case you tried to pull any self-sacrificing tricks.”

  Louisa gave her sister a small, knowing smile. “After all the fun you got to have? I suppose I’ll agree to both your wishes, so I at least have a chance of such fun in the future.”

  “It was wonderful!” Julia squealed. She blushed at once. Had she really just said that aloud?

  Louisa only laughed, so Julia hastily covered her discomfiture with a change of subject. “Come, let’s speak with our aunt. Perhaps she’s gotten word back from James by now.”

  Chapter 30

  In Which a Note Passes through Several Hands

  James had lain awake into the early hours of the morning, savoring the feel of the bedclothes against his nude body, thinking of Julia and how she had so recently been here with him.

  Julia. What changes the last day had brought. He could finally allow himself to love her, to long for her, to touch her. Good Lord, he wanted her even more now that they had been together and he knew what lovemaking with her was like. Would be like—for they would be doing that all the time once they were married, he would see to that. It had been amazing, transcendent; it was a pleasure he had never felt before, not with any other woman. He had grown hard just thinking of it, and wished mightily that she were in his bed so he could demonstrate to her just how greatly she affected him.

  He’d gone to quite a bit of trouble the previous day to procure a special license, as soon as Xavier had left him. He was looking forward to bearing Julia off as soon as the clock struck a decent hour of the morning, making her his wife, traveling to Nicholls with her, and having a spirited repeat of their activities of the previous afternoon. Or more than one repeat, preferably.

  Needless to say, he’d had trouble falling asleep in such a physical state.

  His mind wasn’t entirely untroubled, either, which didn’t help a fellow drift off. He had been feeling uneasy about that whole conversation with Xavier. Of all the damned coils, to have that man, of all the men he knew in London, come by at such a time. Xavier, who missed nothing, and—if James remembered their schoolboy days rightly—withheld even less.

  Xavier had come in off the street while James was still in that cursed dressing gown, drunk James’s best brandy while he waited for the viscount to dress decently, and smirked at his host when James rejoined him and tried to explain that there was nothing in it, simply a family visit related to his engagement.

  That had been a mistake. It would have been better to say nothing at all and just fill the man with so much liquor that he was too stupefied to recall what he’d seen. Instead, at the mere mention of James’s engagement, Xavier’s clever features had perked up like a hound scenting the fox. He had plied James with questions that the viscount simply refused to answer, but it was too late. The young earl had already seen more than enough to draw his own conclusions.

  By the time the sun rose in earnest, the viscount had only just drifted off into a troubled sleep. Unfortunately, he was soon awakened abruptly by a flood of sunshine.

  He squinted, startled awake, and gasped at the sight of his mother standing in his bedchamber, one hand still gripping the curtains that she had just wrested open.

  Good Lord, that was an unwelcome sight. She’d never before come to visit him at his lodgings, and now she had plowed her way past Delaney into his most private room.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, still blinking in the sudden brightness of the room.

  He drew the bedcovers up to his chin and tried, as his mother began to rant, to absorb the fact that she was standing in his bedchamber. Something must have happened. Something dreadful, judging from the fire in the dowager’s eyes.

  She said something about “how sharper than a serpent’s tooth” as well; James distinctly heard that even through the clammy fog that clouded his brain once he saw what was in his mother’s hand. In the hand that wasn’t scrabbling at his curtains, she held a newspaper.

  It was dreadful, all right.

  James snatched the paper from his mother’s hands and read the item she jabbed at with a furious forefinger.

  His whole body went cold, as if he’d been plunged into icy water. The words were there on the page in front of him, but he still could hardly believe this.

  He’d expected Xavier to bandy the news about in his club. He had expected lewd ribbing from friends, and probably even anger from Julia’s family.

  What he had not expected was that the news would be printed in the ton’s favorite scandal sheet for all to see, or that it would reach the eyes or ears of his mother before he was safely removed to the country with Julia as his bride.

  Some might call that a cowardly hope, perhaps; James had preferred to think of it as sensible. His mother wasn’t going to change his mind no matter what she said to him, and he knew she was going to be livid whether she spoke to him or not. So, he reasoned, he might as well save his time—and hers—by sparing them both the annoyance of a confrontation.

  Unfortunately—disastrously—none of it had worked out that way. Here it was, in the paper, for the whole ton to read and judge him. And to judge Julia. And here was his mother, ranting at him from the foot of his bed as if he were six years old and had rolled in horse shit.

  She’d already said the bit about the serpent’s tooth more than once; did the woman have no other way to call him ungrateful than by relying on Shakespeare? She also called him a rake, a disgrace to his illustrious name, and unprincipled, vulgar, and ungentlemanly. This last string of epithet
s almost made him smile despite the seriousness of the situation; Lady Irving would probably be proud of her old crony’s vocabulary.

  “Don’t you dare smile, young man,” Lady Matheson fumed, seeing his mouth curving. “You have dragged our name through the mud once again. Through filth, I say! Yes, filth is the word for this entire situation. At least Gloria’s debasement was Roseborough’s fault and not of her own choosing. Your engagement was bad enough, but I stood it, because your motives were honorable, and at least it was respectable—although barely so. Throwing yourself away on a baron’s daughter with a mediocre dowry!” She sneered.

  These inflammatory words blew away James’s lingering sense of shock. A trickle of anger began to fill him instead, slowly but mountingly. How dare she barge into his home and insult him and his decisions? She had no right, and he opened his mouth to tell her so—but her ladyship was hardly finished with her tirade.

  “Then you splash our name in the papers as if we were the vulgarest sort of cit, with no idea what was due to the sensibility of gently bred persons. And for what? A quick tumble with the daughter of nobody knows who? To slake your lusts with some upstart who hopes to entrap you into marriage! Was it worth it? Because you’ve disgraced us all. You are even worse than Roseborough. You disgust me,” she spat. “There are whores for that sort of thing.”

  Her words stung, as much as if she had raked her nails across his face. And just as if she had struck him a physical blow, he felt almost overcome with anger, hearing her insult not only Julia but the nature of his feelings for her. This was going much too far. The woman might have given him life, but he wasn’t going to stand this, even from her.

  James took a few breaths to keep himself from exploding at the viscountess, coiled up his rage into a small, icy ball, and let it burn his throat into hoarseness as he spoke.

  “Get out of my bedchamber at once, or I’ll remove you by physical force, regardless of my state of undress,” he began in a quiet, dangerous voice.

  “I will receive you properly, as a guest in my home, in the drawing room in fifteen minutes. At that time I will speak to you about Miss Herington, my future wife, in civil and logical terms. If you are at all insulting to me or to her, you will leave. And, I might add, you will also leave Matheson House, which I currently allow you to occupy as a courtesy, and you may draw on your jointure to find yourself other lodging. Is that absolutely clear?”