Julian, drat him, had been right to pry her out of her mourning, and right to make her come.
Her eyes sought him. He was dancing with Eleanor Chasen, looking impossibly handsome in his evening clothes. His coat and breeches were black, his waistcoat striped and his linen a blinding white. With his black hair brushed severely back from his forehead and tied with a simple black ribbon at his nape, and his eyes sparkling with devilment as he teased his petite partner, he was a sight to steal Anna’s breath.
A pang of jealousy smote her as she watched him. His enslavement of females seemed effortless, and as natural to him as breathing. Had he set out to attract her simply because he could not help himself? Was it a part of his personality that he must charm every women he met?
The idea was unsettling. But Anna had no more time to dwell on it as the tune ended with a flourish. Grace rose to her feet for what was apparently to be a short break.
George Harris and David Chasen had pulled two chairs to a table in one corner where they were engaged in a quiet hand of whist, while their wives seemed content to gossip on the other side of the room. Mary Childers fanned herself and chatted with her husband. Next to them, Antoinette held both Harris boys in effortless thrall while the Carroll girls looked on helplessly. Anna felt a quick stab of sympathy for Lucasta and Lucinda. With their dull brown hair and plain faces, to say nothing of their thin figures in their unflattering too-youthful gowns of frilly yellow and ribbon-bedecked peach, they were no match for Antoinette’s blatant attraction. Anna wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the woman had painted her face for the occasion. Her cheeks and lips were nearly as bright as the cherry-red stripes in her gown, and her cleavage spilling out of that eye-popping bodice was a feast for male eyes. All that soft white flesh had certainly been enhanced by a thick coating of rice powder, but of course, gentlemen being what they were, not one of them would realize that. The Carroll girls were outclassed by her, and it was clear from the nearly identical looks on the faces of the Harris brothers that they were completely dazzled.
It was amazing what advantages accrued to an overample bosom! Anna thought with disgust.
Charles escorted Anna to the edge of the floor and procured for both of them cups of punch. Anna was sipping the deliciously cool liquid and smiling at him over the rim of her cup when the voice she had been wanting to hear all evening spoke behind her.
“Enjoying yourselves?” If there was an edge to Julian’s greeting, which betrayed that he did not quite like to see her so cozy with Charles, only Anna seemed to perceive it. For a minute their eyes met, and it was as if, suddenly, there was no one else in the room.
“Immensely. And you?”
“Of course. Miss Chasen here is a most delightful partner.”
Eleanor, on his arm, giggled and cast her eyes modestly to the ground. It was all Anna could do not to roll her own eyes in response. Really, what could Julian possibly see in such a young and obvious chit? Besides the fact that she was really quite pretty and would one day be rich to boot, of course.
Anna’s smile dimmed a little at the thought.
Eleanor’s eyes lifted then, and she gave Julian a shy smile. Anna would have wagered her earbobs that the chit had practiced that smile in front of a mirror, too. She’d known Eleanor casually since she was a child of thirteen, and one thing the minx had never been was shy.
Perhaps her mother had impressed upon her that boldness was no way to win a husband. At the thought that Eleanor might be husband-hunting with Julian in mind, Anna frowned. She was still frowning when Grace Carroll, having apparently used the short break to fortify herself with a cup of tea, sat down again on the piano bench with her husband perched cozily beside her.
“What shall I play this time?” Grace called over her shoulder to the company, her fingers poised above the keys ready to strike up another air.
“A waltz! Oh, a waltz!” Eleanor trilled. Immediately she blushed and cast her eyes down again. Anna bit the inside of her lip. Surely Julian wasn’t fool enough to be taken in by such false innocence? A quick glance at his face left her disappointed; all she could read there was polite interest in his partner. But Charles clearly found Eleanor charming. He was smiling quite paternally at her.
Across the room, Antoinette abandoned the Harrises to move toward the group that contained Julian. Anna, watching her approach with the same enthusiasm with which she might have viewed an oncoming spider, watched also as Lucasta and Lucinda lost no time in reclaiming their men. With Antoinette out of the picture, the Harris boys were quickly subjugated. Lucasta was paired now with Michael Harris while Lucinda was partnered by Jonathan. Grace, looking on from the piano bench, smiled triumphantly. It was common knowledge that Grace had high hopes for a match between her younger daughter and the Harrises’ older son, so it was no surprise when she nodded in gracious acquiescence to Eleanor’s request and struck the opening chords of a waltz.
“Anna …” Charles began, turning to her. She smiled tightly up at him, all too aware of Antoinette, who was rapidly closing the distance between herself and her prey, and Thom Carroll, who was hurrying toward her. She should dance with Charles; after all, Julian, who was the only gentleman present with whom she really cared to dance, had not even asked.
But she couldn’t; she absolutely could not abandon Julian to the predatory clutches of either the merry widow or the wide-eyed innocent. Not when she wanted him for herself.
“I believe I’ve promised this dance to my brother-in-law,” she said, smiling a sweet apology at the other two even as she placed her hand on Julian’s coat sleeve. “Is that not right, Julian?”
For a moment, just a moment, he merely regarded her without saying a word. Anna began to fear that he would, most humiliatingly, deny that any such promise had ever been made. But then he smiled at her and drew her hand into the crook of his arm.
“What a wonderful memory you have, Anna my dear. If you’ll excuse us, Miss Chasen? Dumesne?”
Eleanor clearly pouted as Julian turned to lead Anna onto the floor. Antoinette, too late by mere seconds, had the presence of mind to smile. Charles was left with the dilemma of entertaining two lovely women, neither of whom particularly wanted to be with him, while on the dance floor Julian pulled Anna into his arms.
The most unnerving part for Anna was realizing that in his arms was precisely where she most wanted to be.
“To what do I owe the honor of this very flattering desire for my company? Earlier I had the distinct impression that you weren’t overly pleased with me.”
“I’m not.”
“So you haven’t forgiven me for—ah—persuading you to come.”
“No, I have not.”
“Liar.”
That was all he said, but he smiled slowly down into her eyes. There was a world of knowledge in that smile, as if he knew exactly why she had dragooned him into dancing with her. Trying to subdue a guilty flush, Anna dropped her eyes, Eleanor Chasen style. He was impossible, the rogue. She had the most lowering feeling that he knew precisely the effect he had on her. She was forced to suffer his arm around her waist, forced to endure the feel of his warm, strong hand gripping hers, forced not to react to the sensation of his thighs brushing hers, and all with no more than a polite smile for the benefit of nosy onlookers. Her skirt swished around his boots, the sight and sound disturbingly intimate. Her hand rested on his shoulder; with a quick thrill she registered the breadth of it in comparison to her palm. Her eyes were on a level with his jaw, and she could not help but be tinglingly conscious of the blue-black stubble of close-shaven whiskers that shadowed his skin. His mouth—she tried not to look at his mouth. But it was either look at his mouth, his eyes, or the moving scene over his shoulder. The scene over his shoulder made her dizzy as it whirled by, and his eyes—she did not like to meet his eyes. The smile in them made her dizzy, too, in a different though equally disturbing way. So she looked at his mouth, and wished she hadn’t.
Just looking at that long,
firm-lipped mouth, parted now as he smiled to reveal dazzlingly white teeth, made her remember what it felt like when he kissed her.
Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted him to kiss her.
“If you don’t quit staring at me like that, I’m going to scandalize all your friends by making love to you here on the dance floor.”
Scarlet color flooded Anna’s cheeks. Shocked, she shot her eyes up to meet his. He could not possibly have guessed what she was thinking—could he?
“Your face is very easy to read,” he told her, as if she had put the question into words.
“1 don’t know what you’re talking about!”
His eyes mocked her. “I thought you weren’t a coward, Anna.”
“I’m not!”
“Oh yes, you are. You want me, and I know it. And I—I want you.”
The last words were a husky murmur. Anna felt the texture of his voice like a physical caress.
“Stop it! Someone will hear!” she hissed at him, casting a quick look around to make sure no one had. Other couples danced past, oblivious to the hot blood stirring in her veins, to the tremors that snaked along her nerve endings. Dear Lord, the man could reduce her to mindlessness with nothing more than words!
“Do you like being the belle of the ball?” He was smiling down at her, his expression indulgent.
“Very much.” Anna stiffened her spine and lifted her chin defiantly. She would not allow him—or anyone else!—to guess the effect he had on her!
“I thought you would. You married Paul too young. You’ve never had a chance to have fun.”
“I wish you’d quit harping on Paul.” Her words were tart. She was having so much difficulty keeping the required twelve inches of space between them that it was making her cross. What she really wanted to do was slide her arms around his neck.
“I will—when you forget him.” Though he was smiling, the words were spoken through his teeth.
Then, suddenly, it hit her. With an awful flash of clarity she knew precisely why he was pursuing her so determinedly.
“Dear God, that’s it, isn’t it?” she asked, appalled. Her eyes fastened on his as she spoke scarcely above a whisper. “You want me because I first belonged to Paul. I’m just another spoil in your stupid private war with your brothers!”
He said nothing, merely stared down at her for a moment in a silence as shocked as if she’d slapped him. Just then the tempo of the music changed, quickened, and Julian was whirling her about the dance floor, faster and faster with his arm hard around her and his hand gripping hers as if he meant to crush it. A hard smile twisted his mouth. Anna forced herself to smile, too, and straightened her shoulders. To the other twirling dancers and the gossiping onlookers she guessed they looked no different than they had moments before: he so tall and dark, rakishly handsome with his chiseled features and knowing smile; she small and fragile-looking with her silvery green dress floating out around her like fairies’ wings as they danced, her skin pale as milk and her upswept hair the color of moonbeams. As that picture lodged in her mind, Anna was once again reminded of Hades and Persephone, and wondered if the love-hate that Persephone had felt for her captor had been anything as strong as what she felt for Julian.
She wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer, to pay him back for the way she was hurting at that moment—and yet she also wanted to curl up in his arms and have him hold her as if he’d never let her go.
From his reaction, she knew she’d been right. The thought made her want to weep.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” she asked quietly when the tempo of the dance had moderated so that she could speak again.
“You know me so well,” he sneered, and pulled her insultingly tight against his body.
“Let me go! You’re holding me too closely!” It was an outraged hiss. The buttons of his waistcoat were pressing into her breasts. His hips ground into hers, and every movement of his legs thrust them against her thighs. To struggle would have been undignified, and would serve no purpose other than to call the attention of the assembly to their suddenly scandalous posture. Anna thought for a minute, then deliberately trod hard on his toe with her tiny sharp heel.
“Ouch!”
To her relief, his grip loosened enough so that she could pull herself from his arms. The other couples pirouetted around them, their eyes on the intriguing scene being played out in their midst. Anna could feel interested stares from all sides.
“I have a headache,” she said clearly, for the benefit of whoever might be listening. “I believe I’d better sit down.”
“If you have a headache, then I’ll take you home,” Julian answered, his voice stony, and took her arm.
Anna was left with nothing to say as he escorted her off the floor.
XLII
He was drunk. Or, if not completely cast away, then certainly extremely well-to-live. Julian, sprawled at his ease in the book-lined office at Srinagar, minus his elegant evening coat and waistcoat and with his cravat twisted wildly to one side, pondered the ramifications. After a moment he took another swig from the nearly empty bottle in his hand—the glass had long since been abandoned— and swirled the potent liquid thoughtfully around his mouth before swallowing it. The irony of it was that he was not ordinarily a drinking man. He’d tried this method of drowning his sorrows as a youth, only to discover that the only thing that he gained from such excesses was a blinding headache and a mouth like a washboard the next day. So why was he abandoning such hard-earned knowledge in favor of what he knew was pure folly?
The answer was embodied in a single word: Anna. Had there been any truth in the accusation she’d hurled at him tonight? Did the fierce attraction she held for him have anything to do with the fact that she had once been his golden half-brother’s wife?
Julian probed the thought as carefully as if it were a sore tooth. Did it matter that she had once been Paul’s?
Damn the green-eyed little witch. Here he sat drinking himself senseless when what he really wanted to do was storm her bedroom and take her, over and over again, until she was reduced to a quivering mass or need in his arms.
And even that wouldn’t serve to douse the hunger that raged inside him. He wanted her surrender to be total: not just her body, which he knew he could have pretty much at will, but her heart and her mind as well.
He wanted all of her for himself alone.
The idea that she’d once belonged to Paul made him want to break things. But not because he’d always wanted what Paul had; he would have felt that way no matter who her husband had been. In Anuradhapura, when he had recovered the emeralds only to discover that they were no longer central to his happiness, he’d faced the dismal truth: he loved the chit. Loved her to the point of madness or folly. Loved her above and beyond any depth of feeling of which he had ever thought himself capable. Loved her with a hard-edged hunger that possession of her body failed to appease. What he wanted was to possess her soul.
He wanted her to love him, not Paul.
Jim called him crazy, and Julian supposed Jim might not be far wrong. To hesitate even for a second to claim the prize he had longed for all his life when he had the means of doing so within his grasp was folly, and worse than folly.
But instead he waited. Waited for Anna. Hadn’t some poet once opined that the world was well lost for love? That was exactly how he felt. Nothing—not the emeralds, not his dazzling new birthright, not all his once-grand plans for revenge—meant anything to him in comparison with his craving for Anna’s love.
At first he had felt a fierce glow of elation as he’d contemplated returning in triumph to Gordon Hall, ousting his despised half-brother from the ancestral acres, and reigning there himself as lord.
Then the thought of Anna had brought him thudding back to earth. The expression “cream-pot love” took up residence in his mind. If he returned to her, announced that he was Lord Ridley, and asked her to be his bride, she would very likely agree. Certainly she would be a fool if she didn’t. She would
be gaining a rich husband, a title, a stepfather for Chelsea of whom the child was already more than fond, and a bed partner who was obviously to her taste, all in one fell swoop.
But he would spend the rest of his life wondering: did she truly love him? Or, underneath her kisses and sighs, was she secretly mourning the thrice-damned Paul?
Julian knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the torture of imagining that. One night he’d end up wrapping his hands around her throat and choking the breath from her body, just to assure himself that his golden half-brother was truly driven from her thoughts for good.
So he had said nothing of his discovery to anyone but Jim. He’d resolved to make Anna love him and then tell her the truth. If, then, she wanted the two of them to return to England and claim their rightful place as lord and lady of Gordon Hall, he would be only too happy to oblige her. But if she chose to stay in Ceylon, that decision would please him well, too.
He didn’t care where he was, as long as Anna, loving him, was by his side.
The fire in which she’d nearly been trapped had brought the depth of his feeling for her home to him. If she had died … it didn’t bear thinking of. He would spend the rest of his life like a wild beast, howling at the moon.
He wanted her; he meant to have her. Countless females from all walks of life had fallen like dominoes before him since the days of his gangling youth. Why should this one whom he desired beyond all reason be any different? She might not be easy to win—her dogged clinging to the bonds that still tied her to his brother precluded that—but she was worth the fight. He would teach her to love him, however long it took.
The first step, of course, was to get her over Paul. Julian’s teeth clenched, as they did whenever his younger half-brother’s image intruded on his consciousness. All his life he had considered Lord Ridley’s two acknowledged sons as his bitter rivals, but never had he thought to feel the extent of the jealousy that consumed him at the idea of Anna loving Paul. The golden boy had won again, staking a preemptive claim to what Julian would have given his right arm to call his own. Where he had had to fight for everything of value he possessed, Paul had been handed it effortlessly. Even Anna. Had he appreciated her? Had he loved her?
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