Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

She stopped making those silly little cooing sounds to the enormous little monster and glanced up at him. “Actually there are many things I am fond of that you don’t know. You like him, don’t you? Hugo, go and greet your papa,” she said, and pushed the puppy forward.

  “I am most decidedly not his papa,” Adrian growled, but he might as well have waved a bone at the little beast. The pup eagerly waddled forward and began sniffing the leg of his trousers.

  Lilliana came to her feet. “You do like him, don’t you Adrian?”

  Hell no, he didn’t like him. He despised dogs, especially little ones that chewed on his foot. He glanced warily at her through the veil of his lashes. Was it possible this beast could end the onslaught of her bizarre behavior? “I don’t mind,” he forced out, and gave another mighty shove to the pup. “If a dog is what you want, then of course I don’t mind,” he said, and shoved the dog away again with such force the puppy yelped.

  Lilliana’s bright smile quickly faded. “Hugo!” The pup, apparently unnoticing of the shoving, took a roundabout way to Lilliana’s side, stopping to smell every piece of furniture on his way. She picked him up and started quickly toward the door. “Thank you,” she said as she passed Adrian. “Because I very much want a dog.” She walked out of the room, her face buried in Hugo’s hide, and Adrian turned and strode for the sideboard, gratefully accepting the glass of whiskey the footman held out to him.

  Christ Jesus, a dog!

  That evening, he considered having the dog evicted, but assumed that would earn him some form of bizarre punishment, and convinced himself that he could live with the horror of having a dog about. After all, it wasn’t as if he saw her very often. It could not be that bad.

  It could be that bad.

  The next afternoon he stopped dead in his tracks and blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing double. In the corridor, on the expensive carpet he had brought in from Belgium, two yellow pups rolled over each other, chewing on legs and tails and ears. Lilliana suddenly appeared from the door of the library, carrying a bolt of cloth. “Oh! I didn’t know you were in,” she cheerfully remarked.

  “Has Hugo multiplied already?” he asked dryly.

  “Oh, Adrian,” she laughed. “That is Hugo’s sister, Maude. I have decided I should like two dogs. You know, for companionship.” She flashed him a devilish smile.

  Lord help him, was there no end to his punishment? “Two,” he forced out.

  “At least two!” she said, and cocked her head prettily to one side.

  “In the house.”

  “Of course in the house! They are my companions,” she said, as if that had not been made sufficiently clear. “Oh, you must be worried about your new carpet—well you shouldn’t, because Mr. Bottoms said it will only be a matter of a week or so before they … well, before they can control themselves.”

  “Control themselves?” he asked, madly hoping that meant they would stop chewing legs of expensive walnut consoles as they were, at this very moment, doing.

  Lilliana wrinkled her nose. “Before they step outside when nature calls.”

  With an impatient roll of his eyes, Adrian continued to his study, desperately hoping he could cope with the invasion of the little mongrels.

  He survived them well enough to brave a visit to her rooms later. It had been the first visit in several nights, as he had made himself stay away, alarmed at how much he was beginning to desire the Princess of the Grange. When he entered her room, Lilliana was sleeping, and when he slipped into bed next to her, she sleepily opened her arms to him. It was a simple but seductive gesture, and Adrian took her slowly, prolonging the experience of which he was so suddenly fearful. Their lovemaking was explosive; they reached a pinnacle together, then drifted slowly downward in a rain of tender kisses.

  And when he left her, he paused on the other side of her dressing room door, listening to the faint sound of her crying as he had so many nights before. He fought the urge to go back to her and gather her in his embrace until the pitiful sound of her tears had vanished. But as always, he backed away from the door, turned away, and entered his own suite.

  As much as he wanted to deny it, something was happening to him, changing him.

  He did not like it. Not at all.

  He walked to the drink cart and poured a brandy, then settled in front of the fire, staring thoughtfully at the flames. What was changing was Lilliana, he realized, and it was having a profound effect on him. He might have seen it coming, but against his will and breaking every rule he lived by, their lovemaking was stirring something deep inside him, something that had lain dormant for many years. When he buried himself inside her, when her hips moved with his and she parted her lips to breathe him in, he sometimes felt as if their souls touched. The Grange Princess fulfilled him in a way he had never thought possible.

  It had been easy to ignore her in the beginning. Other than the hour or so he spent in her bedroom at night, he thought little of the demure lass he had married. There was nothing about her that captured his imagination, other than the passion she showed him in her bed. But that was slowly changing. Impossible though it seemed, Lilliana was becoming vibrantly alive.

  Whatever he had done to anger her had turned her around so completely, so totally, that he had felt like he was living with a different woman than the one he had married, one with moments of great charm and a unique enthusiasm for life that was contagious. Adrian smiled absently at the memory of her in those wonderful trousers, her gorgeous hair now a mop of curl. He thought of that devilish little light that appeared in her eyes when she attempted to goad him with the neckcloths. She had pretty, expressive eyes, something he had not really noticed before, but Lord, how he noticed them now.

  And there was more—such as how the tenants adored her. How many times in the course of a single week did someone ask him with breathless eagerness when Lady Albright might ride by again? Max hung on every word she said, the cook made her pudding every night, and even stiff Mrs. Dismuke gushed around her.

  Adrian felt besieged in his own house. If there wasn’t some stout puppy getting underfoot, there was something else to take him by surprise. And there was laughter—constant, light, and coming from all corners of his house. Before the Grange Princess had come into his life, his servants jumped out of his way, nervously tended to him, and never uttered a word unless spoken to. They certainly never laughed, not until she had come and illuminated the musty old place. It was almost as if some strange light shone all around her, and drawn to it, they all lived in a pleasant state of derangement.

  Yet there were times at night when he was quite certain Lilliana would never laugh again. Why did she cry herself to sleep? What was it that caused her such heartache at night? He treated her well enough—certainly better than other husbands he had witnessed through the years. She had everything she wanted, and if she did not, she had only to ask. Her life was complete as far as he could see; yet something made her privately miserable, despite all the gaiety she created. Despite being able to stir the deepest of longings in him.

  He squirmed at that thought—such sentiments were dangerous. He did not want to feel, had spent years learning not to feel. The few times he had allowed himself the privilege disaster had struck. His mother, God rest her soul. Benedict. Lord God, his cousin Phillip, whose death stood as a grotesque monument to the pain his feelings brought him. The moment he allowed himself to feel was the moment disaster struck. That was the quality of his mercy.

  Yet he was feeling something, and it scared him to death.

  Adrian suddenly drained the snifter. Disaster would not happen here. It was his duty to see to it that their lives were kept perfectly normal, that they lived without the entanglement of needless, hurtful emotions that were neither necessary nor welcome.

  He closed his eyes against a headache that was threatening to erupt. Whatever Lilliana wanted of him, whatever made her cry at night, she would eventually learn to overcome. Her youth made her fragile, and he had a responsibility t
o make sure some misguided feelings for him did not destroy her. And to make sure that they did not, he would do her the enormous favor of keeping a respectable distance, both figuratively and physically.

  He was doing just that when he heard the crash the next morning. Frowning, he glanced at the door, hearing the distinct sounds of giant paws and liny yelps in the corridor. With a sigh, he walked to the door and pulled it open, scowling at the detestable little creatures who were apparently oblivious of the expensive vase they had knocked from a console in their play. “Idiot runts,” he muttered, ignoring the excited wagging of their tails. “Go find your mistress,” he said, walking back into his study and yanking on the bellpull. He paused then to check his pocket watch against the mantel clock, not bothering to look up when the door opened, intent on setting the time of his watch. “Have someone clean that mess,” he uttered.

  “Yes, my lord,” Max said.

  “Good day, Adrian.”

  Adrian’s head jerked up; his heart suddenly began thumping with a surge of anxiety.

  Benedict.

  Eleven

  HIS HEART WAS beating erratically, but Adrian calmly snapped his pocket watch shut and slipped it into his waistcoat. “What brings you to Longbridge? Did Archie send you?” he asked casually, and glanced up at his brother.

  Benedict flushed. “No!”

  Adrian’s brow lifted with skepticism. “Then you came to see Lilliana—”

  “No!” Benedict hastily responded, his flush turning crimson. “I came to see you, Adrian.”

  He didn’t believe that for a moment, and chuckled derisively. “Perhaps I should assume you covet Longbridge too?”

  With an uncharacteristically icy glare, Benedict snapped, “I do not covet anything of yours, and I never have! I can hardly abide what has happened, so much so that I have come to see if we can set things right between us!”

  Set things right between them? And how in God’s name did he propose to do that? Years stood between them, years of distrust, of turmoil … the sound of laughter suddenly drifted into Adrian’s consciousness. Lilliana was somewhere nearby, and he suddenly and irrationally did not want her to see his brother. “Rather ambitious undertaking,” he said with a shrug, and strolled to the door, feeling a strange sense of bafflement.

  He had assumed he would never see Benedict again, and that was exactly how he had wanted it. The sycophant was a traitor as far as Adrian was concerned, his cowardice keeping him squarely behind Archie until he had obtained Adrian’s rightful inheritance. But as he soundlessly closed the door of his study, the only thing Adrian could see was Benedict’s eyes the day of the wedding. The longing as he had watched Lilliana. The unambiguous look of grief.

  A pain stabbed at his eyes. “Shall I fetch you a drink? A brandy perhaps?” Adrian offered.

  “Whiskey,” Benedict muttered.

  Silently, Adrian moved to the sideboard and poured two very stout whiskeys. He handed one to Benedict, who took it uncertainly. “Adrian, please believe me. What Father did … I had no prior knowledge of it. It surprised me as much as it did you.”

  Adrian smiled thinly. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” he asked, and lifting his glass in a mock toast, gulped a mouthful of whiskey, hoping the burn would dull the pain in his head.

  “It is so!” Benedict blustered impatiently. “How could I have known? Father was in London and I was at the Park. I did not know about Phillip—”

  “Phillip’s death,” Adrian interjected impassionately, “had little to do with it, Benedict. Archie has contrived for years to do what he did. You know that.”

  Benedict blinked and shifted his gaze to the whiskey he held, staring into the small glass for a long moment before swigging a mouthful. “Nonetheless, it was Phillip’s death at your hand that drove him to it,” he muttered hoarsely.

  Phillip’s death at his hand—how succinctly put, Adrian mused, and turned to the sideboard for more whiskey.

  “Bloody hell, I had not meant to start this way, I swear it,” Benedict groaned. “You must believe that I want only to make amends. I know there is much between you and Father—I don’t know why, I have never known why! But … but I am not a party to it. I am helpless to affect the situation, and as you say, he was bound and determined. I cannot change what he did, but it doesn’t alter my feelings for you!”

  Adrian stood with his back to Benedict, pouring another whiskey and quietly absorbing each word like a knife in his back. “Your feelings for me?” he asked, and turned slowly, eyeing his brother with disdain. “Your feelings for me were decidedly absent that morning at the Park.”

  “I was as stunned as you were,” Benedict said meekly.

  Benedict was a liar. He had known before Adrian ever stepped foot in that library what Archie had done. Adrian strolled to his desk where he absently and blindly sifted through a stack of papers. Benedict had damn well known. But … what could he have done? What could one weak-willed man have done?

  “I scarcely believed it,” Benedict continued raggedly. “I still cannot believe it. So many times I have tried to understand, but I see no reason for his disdain. It is as it has always been … unwavering. And unfounded. I have no idea why—”

  “Have you ever asked him?” Adrian asked quietly.

  A palpable tension filled the room; silence stretched between them as Adrian nonchalantly flipped through the papers. “No,” Benedict mumbled at last. “Have you?”

  Adrian briefly considered telling his brother the truth, but to do so would denigrate his mother. Moreover, it would allow Benedict to know the true power he held over him. He shrugged carelessly and sipped his whiskey.

  Benedict sighed. “Whatever his reasoning, it is not fair. And I tried, I swear to you I tried to make him understand that you are … I have tried to make him see you as I do,” he said wearily, and Adrian heard him put the glass down and move toward him. “I have admired you since I was a lad, Adrian, and the thought of a permanent estrangement between us is not to be borne.”

  Staring blindly at the desk, Adrian did not for a moment believe the words he was hearings yet he could see nothing but the pain on Benedict’s face at the wedding. And then, as was inevitable, the pain on Phillip’s face in death. Phillip had admired him too. And he had let both men down.

  The pain in his head was excruciating. Adrian closed his eyes tightly shut against the images and downed the second glass of whiskey. Whatever Benedict was, he was not, in all fairness, Archie. Adrian’s sole complaint against his brother was that he had taken his father’s side in a monumental battle of wills. And for that, Adrian had struck back by marrying Lilliana. How contemptible it all seemed now. “I am sorry about Lilliana,” he said suddenly, surprised that the secret sentiment should somehow find its way to his tongue.

  “Lilliana?” Benedict said uncertainly.

  Adrian turned to face him, expressionless. “I am sorry if I caused you any hurt by marrying her,” he said simply.

  Benedict’s face darkened, and he suddenly focused on the cuff of his shirt, straightening it to perfection. “You didn’t hurt me,” he snorted. “I never harbored any real affection for her. She just seemed the sort to make a good wife. She was nothing to me.”

  Liar. Even now, fidgeting with his cuff as he was, Adrian could read much into the firm set of his brother’s mouth—he had held her in great esteem.

  And naturally, the object of his esteem should choose that inopportune time to poke her head in the library. “Adrian?” She gasped upon seeing Benedict, and suddenly sailed through, the two mongrels close behind. “Benedict!” she cried. For a moment Adrian thought she would fling herself into his brother’s arms, and gritted his teeth. But she stopped just short, grabbing Benedict’s hand and gracing him with a gorgeous dimpled smile.

  Benedict caught her elbow as he kicked at one of the dogs that had sprung up on his hind legs and planted two soggy paws on his trouser leg. “Lilliana, how good to see you,” he exclaimed, turning his attention
to her fully when the pups spied Adrian and came loping forward. For once, Adrian hardly noticed the insufferable little creatures. “You look radiant,” Benedict was saying, and smiled at her like a simpleton. She was nothing, eh, Benedict? Only a blind man could not see how he adored her.

  Lilliana’s eyes danced with laughter. “Did you come alone? Are you to stay on awhile? I must hear all the news! I had a letter from Caroline, and she fears—”

  “You may tell your sister that Mr. Feather eagerly awaits her return! I daresay he will never give up!” Benedict said, smiling.

  “Oh, how charming. I hope Papa relents. He calls him Mr. Featherbrain, you know,” Lilliana said, pulling Benedict to a settee. “And have you heard from Tom? He has written only once since I left!”

  “Tom is quite content in Bath. Now if only someone would explain that to Miss Mary Davis,” Benedict laughingly responded.

  “No!” Lilliana exclaimed. “Oh, you must tell me everything!”

  And Benedict eagerly began to relate what had transpired at some country dance, puffing up like a rooster every time she smiled—which was often. Lilliana anxiously sat forward, hanging on every word he uttered as the pups collapsed at her feet to have their midday wash.

  An extraordinary feeling of distress swept over Adrian as he watched them. He had kept them apart, two people who clearly deserved each other. He had not seen such joy on Lilliana’s face since—

  The surprising pang of jealousy roiled through his belly, and he clamped his jaw firmly shut. Unbelievable! He had to be mad to feel any jealousy! Was this the quality of his mercy—the guilt, the jealousy, the lifetime of knowing he had caused another being unnecessary pain? His headache was beginning to blind him now, and he started for the door, glad to let the two of them ramble on about people he did not know or want to know, events he could not care less about.

  “Adrian?” Liliiana’s voice stopped him. “Please sit with us! Surely you want to hear all the news?” she asked anxiously.