Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  Nodding furiously, Max gulped again and stuffed the cleaning rag in his trousers, then bolted for the massive mahogany doors, disappearing outside without even a cloak. Adrian smirked before starting for the music room, where he was certain he would find the mule lover with her beau.

  The music room was empty.

  Damn! He paused, hands on hips, as he tried to think of where two rustics might spend a snowy day. The terrace sitting room. He marched on.

  The door of the terrace sitting room was open and Adrian sailed through, but it was also empty. Frustrated, he shoved a hand through his hair while he racked his brain for an idea of where they might be, forcing aside thoughts of where they had best not be. If he discovered the two of them had gone alone to the west wing—

  A thud on the terrace window startled him from his thoughts. He glanced up just as another snowball went hurtling by. Good God, were they children? They were out there, all right, Lilliana’s forest-green cloak a stark contrast to the snow. Benedict tossed a snowball at her, and with a shriek she jumped out of the way, slipping on the icy terrace. She went down so fast that Adrian started; Benedict, however, was immediately at her side, helping her up, then draping his arm around her shoulder as he peered into her face.

  And then he kissed her on the cheek.

  Something exploded in Adrian’s head so hard and so violently that he did not see Lilliana forcefully shove Benedict away. He bolted for the doors like a madman and jerked them open, launching himself onto the terrace without really seeing anything, least of all the snowball she was hurling. It caught Adrian in the shoulder and he winced with surprise. Good Lord, she packed them hard!

  “Oh my! I am terribly sorry!” she said, and rushed forward, sliding precariously on the terrace.

  “I am quite all right,” Adrian snapped, and angrily brushed the snow from his coat before slicing an icy glare across her. “Have you no care for your person? You could break your leg!”

  Her cheeks, already rosy from the cold, flushed dark.

  “You are foolish,” he finished for her. “Come inside before you harm yourself,” he snapped, and pivoted on his heel, angry that he had allowed any feeling for the twit at all.

  The second snowball caught him completely unaware and squarely between the shoulders with a force that almost knocked the breath from him. Stunned, he turned slowly, disbelieving what he was certain had happened. And by God, as if to assure him, the Grange Princess actually laughed. Her eyes sparkled with little demon fires as she marched past him, a smirk on her lips. At least Benedict had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

  For the first time in his life, Adrian actually contemplated murder.

  When he stepped inside, she gave him a pert toss of her head, then flounced out of the room, leaving Benedict warming his hands in front of the fire. Adrian scowled at her retreating form, then turned his attention to his witless brother. “I didn’t think you so careless, Benedict,” he said curtly.

  “Careless?”

  “I saw her fall, no thanks to your silly games. What if she had broken a leg?”

  Benedict shrugged. “She is not a child, Adrian; a little tumble is not going to hurt her. And she wanted to go outside—we’ve been cooped up in here forever.”

  “Yes, well, the road is being cleared as we speak. I rather imagine you should have no trouble getting through come morning, so there is no need to remain cooped up here any longer,” he shot back.

  Benedict slowly turned his head to consider Adrian. “I see,” he said at last. “Then I shall take my leave of you in the morning.” He turned back to the fire.

  Bloody grand, Adrian thought, and left the sitting room without another word.

  But he was feeling a bit churlish for having lost his composure when Benedict’s coach was pulled around the next morning. Benedict was a weakling, not a man with courage enough to seduce his own sister-in-law. At least that’s what Adrian tried to tell himself. Fortunately, the sun was out and already melting the dozens of icicles that hung from the eaves. Adrian made a lame jest about it as he walked with Benedict out onto the circular drive, but his brother did not laugh. Sighing, Adrian shoved a hand through his hair. “Look here, I apologize for being so terribly rude yesterday. I was worried about Lilliana.” He winced inwardly at how pathetic his lie sounded.

  Benedict glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he shoved his manicured hands into leather gloves. “I understand,” he responded stiffly. “No offense taken. And it is high time I returned to the Park. Papa is probably quite concerned by now.”

  Oh, Archie was probably apoplectic by now—his golden child had been gone for almost a fortnight. Adrian nodded and stepped back so that Benedict could get in the coach. His brother paused to instruct his driver, and then opened the door, prepared to take his leave.

  “Benedict!”

  Both men turned as Lilliana dashed out the door without a cloak. The damn dogs that shadowed her every move scampered just ahead of her, barking excitedly. “Wait! I’ve something to give you!” she called, and holding her pale blue skirts high so they would not drag the snow, rushed forward. Adrian thought he would have to catch her before she barreled into the coach, but she stopped abruptly in front of Benedict and thrust a large sheet of music at him. “I finally finished it. If you be so kind as to—”

  “Lilliana! It’s such a wonderful gift, love,” he gushed, and Adrian’s chest tightened painfully.

  She smiled shyly and waved an airy hand at him. “It’s not a gift, really. But I promised—”

  “Precious all the same,” he said, and cupped her face with his hand, smiling down at her.

  Indignation soared; Adrian clenched his jaw tightly shut and looked away, unable to look at the two lovers standing there, oblivious to the impropriety. Or were they? Perhaps the lovers enjoyed flaunting it! He yanked his gaze to them again, but Lilliana had stepped out of Benedict’s reach, her traitorous face flaming. Adrian turned abruptly. “You must write,” he called over his shoulder, and walked away from the coach, his pulse racing with mad jealousy. He had tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, berating himself every time he suspected them, and for that, they would flaunt it in his face! He paused in the foyer and looked back—Lilliana was speaking earnestly to Benedict and he was looking at her with such adoration that Adrian’s gut twisted. Hadn’t he already lost everything to that weakling? Would he lose his wife to him too? The insult was more than Adrian could endure, and he whirled away from the touching little scene to glare at Bertram.

  “Have Lady Albright come to my study the moment he is gone,” he snapped, and strode to his study, where he paced for what seemed hours to him, alternating between anger and an acute sense of guilt. All right! He had stolen their happiness, goddammit—he understood that! But there was nothing that could change things now—she was married to him and he’d be damned if he would allow her to make a fool of him with his very own brother! Lord God, the quality of his mercy could not possibly get any worse than this!

  It was a full quarter of an hour before Lilliana at last deigned to grace him with her presence, and he had worked himself into a frightening fury. He shooed the mongrels outside and shut the door loudly before turning a furious glare on her. Lilliana took an involuntary step backward, her eyes shimmering with surprise and a touch of fear. Adrian turned on his heel and walked to the far side of the room so he would not have to see those eyes, those eyes that made him insane. He began pacing again, trying desperately to collect his thoughts while Lilliana watched him intently, rooted to the floor.

  After a few moments he managed to stop pacing like some stricken schoolboy, and very deliberately turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet spread apart. “There is,” he ground out, “no escaping our situation, madam. We are married, for better or worse, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

  Lilliana faltered. Her lips moved as if she would speak, but there was no sound. Her gaze fell to the floor, hidden beneath
the gold crescents of her lashes that fanned her cheeks.

  “I know this marriage is not something either of us desires anymore,” he continued, pausing only briefly to wonder where on earth that had come from, “but that is, unfortunately, too damn bad. We are married, and I would ask you do me the common courtesy of remembering that”

  Moments of tense silence passed before she slowly lifted her gaze, and Adrian’s heart lurched at the fury he saw blazing in her eyes. “I beg your pardon?” she asked hoarsely. “You would ask that I remember that? Have you lost your bloody mind?”

  With a derisive snort Adrian responded, “Quite the contrary, madam. I have found it. I had lost it when I thought to give you and my brother the benefit of the doubt, but I realize I have been an absolute fool to let your tender little attraction continue a moment longer than it already has.”

  She gasped, clenched her hands into little fists at her sides; Adrian was quite certain she was restraining herself from striking him. “What in God’s name are you implying?”

  “I am not implying, Lilliana, I am commanding you to stop inviting his attentions. Despite what you may want your situation to be, you are married to me. As unfortunate as that is for both of us, you will not make a fool of me in my own house!”

  Lilliana shrieked her outrage. “I cannot believe what I am hearing!” she cried, and whirled toward the hearth, covering her ears with her hands. “This is madness! My God, what ever made me think a marriage to you would be paradise? I beg your pardon, but it is not you who has lost your mind, it is I! I lost it irretrievably when I accepted your offer!”

  “Your indignation is almost convincing,” he sneered. “But do not take me for a fool. Don’t you think I know—that I can see what the two of you feel for one another?”

  That stunned her into speechlessness. She jerked around, her breast heaving with each furious breath. “I pity you, Adrian,” she finally whispered. “You are so bereft of compassion that you cannot see and accept a friendship between your brother and your wife! Your twisted mind must interpret something lurid in it! And you would do so while you think nothing of your little escapade to London, or God knows where else—”

  “Honestly! London again? What rubbish—”

  “It is not rubbish! Do not try and deceive me! God, what do you want me to do? If you should happen to acknowledge that I exist, you treat me so indifferently that I cannot tell if I am your wife or another servant in your home! You cannot bring yourself to even speak to me for the most part, and when you do, it is with great condescension and obvious disinterest! You have no desire to be with me except to use me as a vessel for your seed, yet you would accuse me of taking a lover in your very own brother! At least he shows me the kindness you are apparently incapable of! Why wouldn’t I prefer his company to yours, Adrian?” she shrieked hysterically. “God, I should have married Benedict!” The words were no sooner out of her mouth before her eyes flew wide with mortification and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

  The stinging realization that he had been shunted aside in favor of Benedict again was like a knife in his gut. It was almost as if Archie were standing there, comparing him to his brother, enumerating the many different ways he was so very inadequate. The habit of suppressing the pain borne from years of Archie’s abuse suddenly kicked in. “Yes, you should have,” he muttered, and smiled wryly.

  “I … I did not mean that,” she said frantically. “It’s not true!”

  He shrugged indifferently. “Isn’t it, Lilliana? I will admit it’s true—why can’t you?”

  She sucked in a sharp, incredulous breath. “It’s not true!” she insisted, almost pleadingly. “I may be confused about some things, but not that! He is kind to me, Adrian, that’s all—there is nothing between us!”

  Adrian laughed contemptuously. “Say what you will, love,” he said, spitting Benedict’s endearment, “but it is obvious.” He lifted his hand before she could speak. “Please God, do not argue with me. Do not invite his attentions, do you understand me?”

  “I do not invite his attentions!”

  “Really?” he drawled. “Oh, here’s a gift, Benedict, you are too kind, Benedict,” he mocked her.

  “That music was not—” Lilliana strangled on a cry of outrage. “Why do I bother to try and explain? You are a beast!”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I am many things, I will grant you that. But a fool is not one of them. Avail yourself of my wealth, of my home, of my name, Lilliana, but not my horse and not my brother, do you understand me?”

  She understood him. She understood him so plainly that she thought she might disintegrate into tiny pieces right where she stood. Her eyes were suddenly brimming, and she hastily turned away from him, swiping at the tears before he could see just how badly he hurt her. Hurt? Ah, but that was too mild a description for what he was doing to her. This was hell.

  It was over for them—and there was no escape, no turning back. They were apparently doomed to a life of mutual distrust, and she had no one to blame but herself. Of all the imbecilic, foolish, childish things she had ever done, marrying him was the most fantastic. Her chest constricted around her heart until she was fairly certain it would burst, and she started unsteadily toward the door, her mind reeling with the knowledge that her marriage had ended before it had even begun. Hysterical laughter bubbled to her throat at the absurdity of it all. When she walked out of this room, her hope of living with the man of her dreams would be gone, crushed, completely obliterated.

  She paused. But first, she would know why the hell he had ever offered for her in the first place! She glanced at him over her shoulder. He had moved to the mantel, and was leaning heavily against it as he stared into the flames, like some country gentleman quietly contemplating his supper. An overwhelming need to hurt him as he had hurt her took hold, choking the breath from her. “I do wish I had married Benedict,” she said hoarsely.

  Adrian shot her a furious frown and shook his head disgustedly.

  “Tell me why!” she demanded. His frown deepened. “Tell me why you married me, Adrian!”

  He suddenly pushed from the mantel, his eyes glowing maliciously. “You want to know why?” he asked nastily. “My father disowned me, Lilliana. He gave everything that was rightfully mine to your weak-willed lover. Kealing took everything from me, and Benedict never had the courage to stand by me when I needed him to! That’s why!”

  She flinched at the bitterness in his words, unable to believe him. “I know you and your father quarreled, but I do not see—”

  “Don’t you? Can’t you see that I took the one thing Ben wanted?” He paused, watching the astonishment and hurt fill her. “You need not look at me with such horror. I have already commended myself to the devil for it,” he said and casually shifted his weight onto one hip.

  She could not move. Paralyzed with revulsion, she could not move. Revenge? He had married her for revenge? Somehow she managed to get a hand to her throat and gripped tightly against a swell of nausea. Unable to absorb it, she closed her eyes. “It was a lie.” It was her voice, strange as it sounded.

  “More or less.” There was no remorse in his voice, nothing but the casual tone of observation.

  It was more than she could bear; about to be violently sick, she whirled around, fumbling for the door. Grappling blindly with the brass knob, she pulled with all her might until the latch finally gave and the door swung open. An impulsive need to look at the monster before fleeing in horror compelled her to drag a blurry gaze to him—he was still standing there, expressionless, as if he had not just uttered the crudest thing imaginable.

  “You are your father’s son,” she muttered raggedly, and raced from his study, running blindly down the corridor, her pups chasing behind her as she bolted up the stairs. The sobs were choking the life from her, the tears blinding her. Had it not been for Polly, she would have collapsed at the top of the staircase to die. But Polly put a strong arm around her and d
ragged her down the hall to the west wing, muttering under her breath that it was “just like the Albright girls all over again.”

  After a moment of confused terror at what he had done, Adrian stormed after Lilliana, watching in helpless frustration as Mrs. Dismuke gathered her up and dragged her away. Astounded by his own callousness, he pivoted around in the foyer, too appalled to witness her devastation, and caught sight of an ashen Bertram staring mutely at him. He was an animal! He strode angrily to his study, away from anyone who would remind him what sort of beast he was.

  Once inside he marched to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter of whiskey, then seated himself at his desk with it. What had he done? What madness had caused him to do something so horribly vicious? What in the hell was happening to him? His world was turning upside down—he hardly knew himself anymore. Adrian drank, numb to the burn of the liquor in his throat as the demons from his past emerged and clashed with one another in his head, sending him into a tailspin. He had known disaster would happen. He had understood there would be a price to pay for Phillip’s death. But he had never imagined it would destroy him.

  If there was one person Max admired, it was Lord Albright. In the nine years he had been with him, he had never seen him falter. Completely unflappable, the man was a rock—calm, cool, and terribly sophisticated in the direst of circumstances, and Lord knew Max had seen his lord in dire circumstances.

  But that was before he had married her. Oh, Max adored Lady Albright. He thought her very refreshing, and secretly laughed at her attempts to move the rock. But lately it seemed everything about her was trouble. Not her precisely, but … well, there was Lord Benedict, for example. That man acted as if he owned Longbridge, and his attentions to his sister-in-law were unnatural, in Max’s humble opinion. And Mrs. Dismuke, good Lord but that woman was constantly prattling about disaster, and the Albright girls, and history repeating itself.

  The worst was Lord Albright. Max had seen him in any number of dangerous situations, and he had never shown anything but that cool, silky demeanor. But he had changed; he seemed almost haunted, so completely unlike himself that it made Max even more nervous than usual. And now this … this was catastrophe. When Bertram had come running into the kitchens to tell him of the horrible argument between Lord and Lady Albright, Max had immediately gone off to see what could be done. But Lord Albright had locked himself in the study and would not allow anyone entrance.