by Beth Trissel
He couldn’t take this innocent girl, and then pack her off to England. Her patriarch father would maim, sue, and otherwise annihilate him, and rightly so. And if he wed her––good heavens, what was he thinking?
His grandmother would leave Foxleigh and her fortune to the Historical Society as she’d threatened on more than one occasion. Rather like a high-handed duchess wanting everyone at her beck and call and pitching a fit if they balked, especially him. He seemed particularly burdened with her strong bias, maybe because he was all the family she had left. And vice versa, which partly accounted for him tolerating her.
The old lady had a list of spousal choices with her favorites starred. Julia wasn’t on it, and Will doubted her name would be added to the roster. Grandmother Nora preferred female offspring from aristocratic Southern families with lineages that reached back into the earliest roots of Virginia.
‘Discreet affairs are tolerable, William, if you must indulge your base desires,’ he could hear her say. ‘But marriage is an alignment of two families, in your case, elite families. Romance doesn’t come into it.’
It wasn’t the fortune Will minded losing so much, though it would go a long way toward paying off law school. For some obstinate reason stretching beyond his grandmother, he was bound to Foxleigh. The ties of the past equally roped him to this house and land that was so much more. It wasn’t just a place, but a reality that defined him.
So, what was he to do about fair Julia?
Nothing, he reminded himself.
He snatched up the pillow and flung it at the wall, narrowly missing the framed portrait of Grandmother Nora. Why did he still have her hanging there, anyway?
Likely the same reason wallpaper patterned with fat pink roses plastered the upstairs. He’d made few alterations to the apartment since moving in here two months ago. If people didn’t already think him queer, they would after checking out the meadow of blossoms, ‘froo froo’ curtains, and mauve upholstery sporting lace doilies. Hell, even his comforter was pink.
Hurling a second pillow, he knocked the portrait to the carpet with a satisfying thud. He still had four plump missiles left to go and a dozen decorative cushions on the end of his bed. Grandmother Nora was pillow mad.
“William?”
Will sat up, listening hard. He really must be going round the bend. He glanced at the clock––midnight. No one would be asking for him at this hour, unless––
“William? Are you awake?”
It was as much of a sob as a question and came from just outside his bedroom door. “Julia?”
“Yes. Please let me in.”
“Coming.” He sprang out of bed and snagged a pair of gray sweats, pulling them on as he stumbled for the door. He groped for the knob and swung it open.
Julia stood trembling in the hall illuminated by the light he’d left on at the landing. Her eyes were red and puffy, hair disheveled with bits of grass stuck in the tumbled lengths, feet bare and dirty; she must’ve slipped on the wet lawn as she ran to the house. Her legs and dress were muddy and grass-stained. She clasped sodden tissues in one hand, bedraggled lilies in the other. Pollen from the orange pistols smeared her tear-stained face and her dress.
“Julia, what on earth?”
“Did you give me these?” she gasped.
“Yes. I won’t do it again if it upsets you.”
She flung herself at him. “I’m sorry. I know you have rules––I’m probably breaking one being here now––but I saw him. I saw Cole. He gave me a lily and said to watch out. He’s going to die all over again if I can’t stop it.”
This time Will didn’t hold Julia lightly, but fastened his arms around her. She trembled all over. Holding her more tightly, he clutched her to his bare chest. “Cole can’t die twice. It was a dream. That’s all.”
“No. It was so real, as if I were with him. He picked up the pearl button from my glove and kissed my fingers.”
Will wondered if his damnable cousin had kissed anything else. It was absurd to be jealous of a man dead for two centuries, but he was. Oh, how he was. He fought for control over this fiery emotion and reasoned gently.
“Dreams seem real, Julia. And you’re more connected to the past than anyone I’ve ever known.” Unnervingly so, and he had no rational explanation for it. Trying to think, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You have a heightened awareness of people and places, a sort of sixth sense. I’m sure that’s all it is.”
She heaved a shuddering breath. “Maybe I’m from the past somehow...with Cole.”
“You’re here right now with me, aren’t you? I gave you the lilies, sweetheart, and I’m telling you not to cry.”
“Did you just call me sweetheart, Will?”
“Did you just call me Will?”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“A long time ago, a schoolboy name. I’d say we could both do with a stiff drink. But first, a warm bath. You’re a mess.”
She lifted incredulous eyes. “You’re going to bathe me?”
He wished. “No. Usher you in that direction.”
Taking her by the shoulder, he guided her down the hall to the bathroom. Fortunately the maid had recently been through. “You’ll find everything you need. There’s a washer/dryer in the corner. Run your clothes through while you wash. Look in the closet for a robe. My grandmother left enough to supply a lingerie shop. I swear she has some kind of lace fetish.”
Julia walked dazedly in among spotless pink porcelain and tile. “You’re not sending me back to my room tonight?”
He took the fragrant bouquet from her. “No. Mine. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Not right away,” she said with a sniffle.
“Not right away.”
Lord have mercy, Will had some hardcore comforting to do, and nothing more. He bounded back to his room, flipped on the bedside lamp, and laid the lilies on the only uncluttered surface available––the top of the wardrobe. The maid wasn’t allowed in here and it showed.
Racing around, he stuffed newspapers and magazines under the bed. Empty soda and water bottles quickly filled the burgeoning trashcan. He stripped pillow cases from the plump projectiles on the floor to use as trash bags and emptied the rubbish inside them, then stuffed the clinking bags in his closet. Grabbing a T-shirt, he attacked the layer of dust on the dresser, chest, and end tables then tossed it in beside his impromptu trash bags. A barrage of grimy socks and shorts followed and he forced the door shut.
Now for himself. Orange pollen had spread over him like fungi and he was in a sweat. He bolted down the hall past the tempting splash of Julia in the tub. Naked. That green-eyed nymph was naked just beyond the bathroom door.
Fortunately, he wasn’t bare just now, or his hardened manhood would be impossible to conceal. And he burned to climb in the tub with her.
Gritting his teeth, he charged into the compact kitchen and ran the tap. He soaped a clean dishcloth and washed his face, arms, chest, then rinsed and blotted himself with a floral tea towel. He paused by the cabinet for the brandy and two tumblers, and raced back to his room. A dash of cologne, fresh University of Virginia T-shirt, and he sat panting on the bed. This was more tiring than his daily run, but he and his surroundings were somewhat presentable now; he could hardly entertain a lady in his usual disarray.
It was all worthwhile when Julia appeared in the doorway. Her freshly blow-dried hair cascaded in a shining spill and the white robe she’d chosen floated about her like angel’s wings. He could still tell she’d been crying, but her face had lost that blotchy look and she didn’t seem so stunned.
She drifted toward him in a fragrant cloud of lavender and sat beside him. “Thank you, Will. That was very soothing. I don’t know what I’d do tonight without you.”
“That’s all right, Julia. I’m glad to help.”
She stopped and gazed around. “This room is awfully pink and frilly. Don’t you think you’re carrying that gay thing a bit too
far?”
He grimaced. “The décor is left over from my grandmother.”
An answering smile lit her eyes, and he was glad to see the humor. “At least I’m good for a laugh,” he said.
Reaching out tentative fingers, she touched his cheek, and then drew back her hand. “You’re good for a great deal more than that.”
The tenderness in her expression gave Will hope, but she was so infatuated with Cole. Damn him. Could she love Will for himself?
Why did it matter so much? He only knew it did.
“Sit back and relax.” He scooted back toward the headboard and drew her beside him. They leaned against the pile of pillows. He reached to the bedside table, poured half a tumbler of brandy and handed it to her. “Sip this.”
She obediently raised the cup to her smooth pink lips.
He wondered again what it would be like to kiss that beguiling mouth. Had Cole beaten him to it? Focus, he commanded himself, dragging his eyes away.
He poured another glass and swallowed the warming brew. Her eyes watered with each sip, but she got through her allotment and Will had no difficulty in finishing his. She was relaxing by the moment. “It was divine, my dream, being with Cole.” Her head nodded against his shoulder. “You smell good...like him.”
Will explored her closely. Her eyes drifted shut. “What did you do, exactly?”
“We were just together, at last, in the garden.” Her eyelids fluttered. “And then, he warned me about the past being the present…I don’t understand.”
Neither did Will, though a sense of foreboding tightened his stomach. Now, he was being as unreasonable as she. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Julia, this obsession you’ve formed for Cole isn’t healthy. And it’s harsh on my ego,” he chuckled, for both their sakes.
“I didn’t ask for it,” she protested drowsily. “He feels the same.”
“Do you hear yourself? You’re speaking of a man long gone.”
Her voice was breathy with the weight of sleep. “No...he’s very near. Cole said.”
“In your dream.”
“By moonlight,” she whispered.
A pearly beam fingered her face. But what did she mean?
“Cole held me close, said he’d been waiting. We have a chance...” she trailed off.
Despite Will’s acute jealousy and disbelief, he was intrigued. “A chance for what?”
She didn’t answer.
He gave her a light shake. “A chance for what, Julia?”
“To be united. But there’s danger––”
With that unaccountable alarm, she slumped limply against him. Will gathered her in his arms, pressing his lips to her perfumed hair and soft cheek.
“Cole,” she murmured.
Sharp pain wrenched his heart. She was peaceful now and so beautiful. “No, sweetheart. It’s Will. I held you this evening. Me, not Cole. I slipped back to check on you, but you were asleep and never knew...like now. That’s when I brought you the lilies. You think you’re in love with Cole, but darling, I’m fast falling in love with you.”
****
“Julia.”
She roused drowsily at the voice she knew intimately. Heaven help her, she just didn’t know if it were Will or Cole’s. She looked around to see Will poke his handsome head in through the cracked bedroom door.
“Awaken and greet the day. How did you sleep, my lady?”
“Well, sir. Thank you,” she yawned.
The smile at his sensuous lips did funny things to her insides, like a host of butterflies fluttering about.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She pushed herself up on her palms and nodded.
“Good. Breakfast is served.” He carried in a silver tray bearing a rose-sprigged china teapot, cup and saucer of the same pattern, small sugar and creamer, spotless napkin, silver spoon, knife, fork. Her eyes fell on the matching plate laden with buttered toast, marmalade, and sausages fried with mushrooms and red tomatoes, British style.
She looked at him wonderingly. “Oh, my. It’s lovely. But you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”
He laid the tray down on the bedside table. “It wasn’t that much trouble. I can cook sausage with the best of them, but this is the extent of my culinary skill.”
Darting a horrified glance at the clock, she gulped. “Nine-thirty? I was to meet Charlotte at eight.”
“Don’t worry about it. I explained to her that you’d had a considerable shock and needed time to recover.”
Julia’s cheeks grew hot. “I’m mortified, Will––or is it William?” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “You said we’d start afresh in the morning. Or is it Mr. Wentworth again?”
He smiled and poured her a steaming cup of tea. “Will is fine when we’re alone. I’d prefer Mr. in public, but I won’t have you drawn and quartered should you forget.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“Yes, well. Call me indulgent.” He set the teapot down on the bedside stand. “Cream and sugar?”
“Please.”
He poured in a dollop of cream and stirred in a spoonful of sugar, then handed her the fragrant brew. She sipped appreciatively. “Brilliant.”
“Must be if it suits a Brit.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking how well the fitted khakis and blue striped shirt suited him.
Nodding, he turned to go. “I’ll leave you to it. Your clothes and sandals are in the bathroom closet. Join Charlotte when you’re ready.”
“Wait. Could you stay for just a minute more? I should like to speak with you.”
He slowly pivoted toward her. I suppose I could spare you a moment. All members of staff are in place, even the Shakespearian Aussie,” he said, making a face.
“Except for me. I’m sorry.”
Will’s demeanor changed. The intensity in his eyes was so reminiscent of Cole’s. They bore an inherent resemblance to each other, though Will was his own man.
“You are so much more than staff.” He lowered himself to sit beside her.
“Are you just being kind?”
“No. Honest.”
She watched in amazement as he lifted his hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers over her skin.
“You wanted to ask me something. What can I do for you, sweet Julia?”
The thrill shimmering through her rent her with guilt. She felt disloyal to Cole indulging in the shivery delight Will triggered in her. Good heavens. Was it insane to be forsworn to a man gone for two centuries? Undoubtedly. And yet, somehow, somewhere, Cole throbbed with life.
“Will, I’m so confused.”
“After last evening, I’m not surprised.”
She raised her hands, palms up, and waved them at the ceiling. “You must think me utterly mad. I’m wondering myself.”
“Not mad. Just extremely impressionable.”
That was generous, she supposed, after her high drama.
Catching one outstretched hand, he circled his fingers around hers. His grasp was soothing, yet deeply stirring, as were the words he spoke in his low voice.
“Listen, sweetheart. I know you can’t help what you think you saw, or how you feel, but promise me something.”
She gave him a sidelong glance, fearful he’d try to rob her of Cole. His eyes appealed to her with a hint of pain in their depths.
“Honor the past, but keep it where it belongs and savor each day as a gift. Can you do that?”
The beauty of his words touched her...it was something Cole would say. She smiled tremulously. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” His manner grew brisk, but his tone was light and teasing. “Now, eat your breakfast and get dressed. I want you downstairs and out in that garden in half an hour, Miss Morrow.”
“Yes, Mr. Wentworth.”
“And one more thing––”
Will bent over unexpectedly and brushed her lips with his in the barest hint of a kiss. She caught her breath at the near electrical current singing through her
.
“See if you can find a small place for me in the midst of your passion for Cole,” he said huskily.
She stared weakly after him as he walked away, wondering if she’d dissolve completely if he really kissed her...full, long, and hard. And she found herself wishing he would.
Chapter Six
Will discovered Julia in the herb garden conducting her first tour. Her hair reflected the sunshine like polished copper and was pulled back in an adorable ponytail. The resident cat, Mr. Tibbs, had also found her and rubbed orange and brown calico fur against her bare legs. Seemingly unaware of the abbreviated length of her skirt, Julia bent down to pluck a handful of lavender blossoms from the purple ribbon outlining the culinary bed.
Several men in the assembly tilted their heads to the side for a better glimpse of her curvaceous thighs, then colored and glanced away at Will’s disapproving stare. Honestly, didn’t the girl have any idea the sensation she was causing?
Apparently not. She straightened with an expression of pure innocence.
“Isn’t lavender delightful,” she said in her charming accent, holding out the small bouquet. The visitors sniffed appreciatively as she spoke. “To quote an old herbalist, ‘Tis of especial good use for all griefs and pains of the head and brain.’ I can vouch for its soothing properties in the bath,” she added with a pensive note.
One gentleman coughed under his hand.
Will could well imagine what he was envisioning.
Summoning a bright smile, Julia stepped in among the thyme. Again she bent to pluck a sprig, and again revealed more than she realized. But the men kept their eyes averted with Will looking on, arms crossed over his chest.
She inhaled the aromatic leaves and spoke out with enthusiasm. “Thyme is an age-old emblem of activity, bravery, and energy. In the days of chivalry it was the custom for ladies to embroider a bee hovering over a sprig of thyme on the scarves they presented to their knights. How romantic.”