Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  “I noticed you are erecting something near the gardens—a gazebo?” Arthur asked, interrupting his train of thought.

  “Yes,” he muttered, and glanced out the window toward the stables.

  “I rather think he hopes to build one to rival Kealing Park,” Benedict remarked, then laughed, paling a bit when three pairs of eyes riveted on him.

  “I am so hoping it will be completed in time for summer.”

  Everyone started at the sound of her voice. Seeing her standing at the threshold, Adrian could not help the pang of desire that struck his chest as he gazed at her golden hair, her spectacular celery-green gown, her vivid eyes. How had he ever thought her plain? When Benedict stood, he quickly came to his feet, unwilling to let his brother near her, and forced himself to walk across the room for her.

  Her eyes flicked to his for a suspended moment as he neared, assessing him warily, then quickly shifted away.

  “Come and meet some good friends of mine,” he muttered.

  “We met this afternoon,” she said politely, and placed her hand—hardly touching him at all, really—on his proffered arm.

  Adrian led her to where the men stood among a cozy grouping of furniture near the hearth. “Lord Arthur Christian of the Sutherlands, and the Earl of Kettering, Julian Dane. My lords, may I present my wife, Lady Albright.”

  “A pleasure to meet you again,” she said demurely.

  “The pleasure is most assuredly mine,” Arthur said gallantly, and bowed.

  “And mine,” echoed Julian, and smiled admiringly. “Please allow me to comment that you ride exceedingly well, Lady Albright.”

  Lilliana smiled shyly. “Actually, I cling to Thunder’s back quite well,” she said. Arthur and Julian chuckled as Adrian sat her in a chair as far away from Benedict as he could get.

  “Oh, come now, you are much too modest, Lillie,” Benedict said. “You are an excellent horsewoman. Shall I fetch you some sherry?”

  A shot of anger rifled through Adrian. It was a seemingly innocent compliment, an innocent gesture. But as with all of Benedict’s actions of late, it felt like a blatant slap to his face.

  Lilliana barely glanced at Benedict as she murmured her decline, and turned a charming smile to Arthur. “My lord, I have heard such wonderful things said about your sister-in-law, the Duchess of Sutherland. Her work with orphans is quite admirable.”

  “Ah, indeed,” Arthur said with a genuine smile. “Rarely have I known such charity.”

  “Lilliana is rather charitable in her own right,” Benedict offered proudly. “The tenants adore her, and I daresay their welfare comes before her own.”

  Did Benedict have to hold everything she did up to the standard of sainthood? “She is indeed a fine mistress, Ben, but I hardly think it the same as the work the duchess performs,” Adrian remarked impassively. That earned him a scowl from Benedict and a look of surprise from Arthur and Julian. Lilliana did not so much as move.

  “Well,” Julian hastily interjected, “charity is commendable in all its forms.”

  Adrian shrugged indifferently. “I suppose that is true.”

  Arthur looked appalled, and Adrian thought to clarify his statement, but was saved from it by the appearance of Max, announcing supper. He quickly moved to help Lilliana to her feet before Benedict could do it, and escorted her from the room, rolling his eyes when he heard Benedict stop Arthur and Julian to show them yet another painting done by the very talented Lady Albright.

  “Must you be so open with your disdain?” Lilliana whispered as they walked down the corridor to the dining salon ahead of the others.

  Must she? Adrian slanted a smoldering look at her. “I am not displaying my disdain, Lilliana, believe me,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  She choked on a bitter laugh. “I beg to differ! You display it at every opportunity, but I hoped that you would at least have the decency to refrain from belittling me in front of your guests.”

  “Belittle you?” he scoffed. “That’s rich. You belittle me in my own house. I had hoped that you would have the decency not to display your affection for my brother,” he said nastily, and paused to let her precede him into the dining salon.

  Lillian stopped to glare at him over her shoulder. “My apologies, Adrian,” she said, and inclined her head graciously. “I foolishly thought you had regained your sight, but now I understand that you are as blind as ever.”

  Adrian opened his mouth to retort he was no longer blind to anything about her, but Julian and Arthur walked up behind him, and Lilliana turned and glided away. The muscles in his jaw working frenetically, Adrian stepped aside and allowed his guests to enter before him, then seated himself at the head of the table, hoping like hell Bertram had the good sense to bring the wine now.

  The first course passed uneventfully. Except that Adrian drank enough wine for two meals, smiling thinly if someone directed a comment to him and silently drowning in a pathetic sense of longing for the woman at the far end of the table. Why in God’s name would he still desire her? Why couldn’t he push her down to the bottomless pit of his black soul as he did everything else? Had he been cast to hell again?

  It was when the beef almondine was served that he took new notice of Benedict. Arthur and Julian were politely listening to his brother’s long-winded dissertation on life, but he was aware of the frequent exchange of glances. Motioning for the footman to fill his wineglass, he glanced at his brother—with one elbow on the table, he leaned forward, droning on about Kealing Park to Arthur and Julian as if he was an old, old friend.

  Kealing Park. The words suddenly burst into his consciousness, pricking him. If Benedict wasn’t flaunting his adoration of Lilliana in his face, he was flaunting Kealing Park.

  “I told Father that I could hardly sanction another mill. We produce far more than we can use as it is. But he is quite determined to profit from it, and I daresay he can,” Benedict said, laughing. “I shall have quite an enterprise on my hands one day. Another one.”

  When neither Arthur nor Julian responded to that, Benedict turned abruptly to Adrian. “Tell me what you think of this, will you? I’ve been toying with the idea of putting a track on the lower portion of the west side of the estate. Not terribly arable, but it is accessible from several roads. The summer months would be perfect for a little weekend wagering, don’t you think?”

  Adrian slowly lowered his wineglass.

  “You know Kealing Park well enough, don’t you? I mean, you know the portion I am speaking of?” Benedict flashed a derisive little smile.

  Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly as he calmly considered his brother. He reminded himself he was a master at affecting indifference. Benedict could no more openly goad him than she could.

  “Benedict,” Lilliana interjected softly. “This hardly seems the time—”

  “I think a track is a marvelous idea,” Adrian quietly responded. “You and Archie could race your nags around it.”

  A stunned hush fell over the dining table; Julian took a sudden interest in his beef; Arthur seemed intent on the carrots.

  Benedict chuckled and lifted his wineglass in a mock toast. “That’s very amusing. On our nags indeed!” He chuckled again and, shaking his head, turned to look at Lilliana. “You recall the sitting room at the Park you were so fond of?” he asked her. “The one you had hoped to make your own?”

  A chill seized Adrian; Lilliana paled.

  “It could use a new coat of paint, particularly the ceiling moldings,” Benedict blithely continued. “What color would you recommend?”

  Slowly, Lilliana lowered her fork and placed it carefully aside. “I have no idea,” she muttered.

  “Oh come now, don’t you? You adore that room, and you’ve such an eye for color.”

  A rage was building in Adrian that he feared he would not be able to contain. “Perhaps she would like to visit before she states an opinion. Wouldn’t you rather like to see it again, my dear?” he asked, and stared pointedly at Lilliana down th
e length of the long table. A small groan escaped Julian as he closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb.

  Lilliana placed both hands on the table, pushed her chair back before the footman could reach her, and stood. “My lord, if you will please excuse me. I find I have a rather sick headache,” she said, and began walking toward the door.

  Julian, Arthur, and Benedict all scrambled to their feet as she passed. Adrian did not stand, but sipped his wine as he watched her gliding toward him, her eyes fixed on a point beyond him. “Sweet dreams.” he muttered as she walked past.

  When the door closed softly behind her, Benedict fell heavily into his seat. Julian and Arthur slowly resumed their seats as well, but not their meal. Adrian lifted the wineglass to his lips again, wincing at the sudden stab of pain behind his eyes.

  Julian could not wait to leave Longbridge. He said as much to Arthur when they retired after that awful supper and earned a smirk for it “You see?” Arthur had crowed. “These people are quite mad.”

  Julian had politely informed Arthur he saw nothing of the sort, but meant merely that he was anxious to get to Whitten where a historical manuscript was waiting for him.

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “God, Kettering, you are so bloody obtuse.”

  “I’d rather be obtuse than a meddlesome old woman,” he had replied, and ducked artfully before Arthur could cuff him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in London, my friend,” he had said, and with a chuckle left Arthur grumbling that it was apparently his sorry lot in life to look after everyone.

  But Julian was far from obtuse. He privately agreed with Arthur—something was very wrong here. But Julian—despite his immense guilt over Phillip’s death—did not feel comfortable interfering in another man’s affairs. Not with his track record. He had tried in his own way to help Phillip, and look where that had ended. But Adrian was not Phillip. Adrian was not despairing—he was paying for a particularly hasty and bad decision. He was locked in the hell of matrimony.

  Julian could scarcely wait to leave Longbridge.

  He was so eager, he reached the breakfast room just after sunup, a time of day he very rarely saw. It surprised him to find Adrian already there, nursing a cup of tea. Unnoticed, Julian paused at the door. What was happening here was none of his affair, none at all. But he had spent a rather restless night, bothered that he had become somewhat angered for Adrian’s sake. Having observed the residents of Longbridge, the situation was crystal clear to him: Adrian was allowing his brother to wreak havoc here, whether he realized it or not. He might have erred in his decision to marry, but that did not mean he must allow Benedict to take such blatant advantage.

  Strangely enough, as he stood there gazing at Adrian rest his forehead in the palm of his hand, Julian was struck with the memory of their vow after Phillip’s funeral: to make sure that nothing goes unsaid between us. To make sure that not another of us slips away … Well bloody hell, then. He had vowed it over Phillip’s grave, and here he was, looking at one of his oldest and dearest friends slip away into a man’s private hell. Benedict, the little weasel, was doing his damnedest to make sure of it. Julian knew then that he had to say something—he owed it to Phillip if nothing else. Wouldn’t Christian be proud of him now, he thought, and abruptly shoved away from the door and walked into the room. “It would appear that our good friend Arthur has led you to the evil of drink, has he?” he quipped.

  Adrian grimaced when Julian called a cheerful good morning; he had a monstrous head from too much wine last evening. “Rather hysterical coming from you,” he muttered miserably. “Must be the one night you have gone to bed quite sober, isn’t it?”

  “Please, you offend me,” Julian said, smiling. “It is at least the second. But then again, I didn’t have a lovely woman waiting for me.”

  Adrian closed his eyes. “Neither did I.” There was no smart retort to that, and he opened his eyes. Julian’s smile had faded; he removed his wire-rimmed spectacles from his breast pocket and put them on, regarding Adrian thoughtfully. Bloody fantastic. Now Julian Dane was staring at him as if he were mad. Adrian groaned and shoved the tea away from him.

  “Look here,” Julian started awkwardly. Adrian cocked his head to one side, expressionless. It was so very unlike Julian to meddle. Arthur, yes—Julian, never. Since his sister Valerie had died a few years ago, the man had been too busy drifting through his own life to remark on others.

  Julian awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah, I know this is none of my affair, but I am your friend, Albright, and we … well … we did make a vow to one another.”

  “A vow?”

  “You know,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “We vowed never to let another of us slip away again.”

  Indignation rose swiftly in Adrian. He had had his fair share of hard times recently, but to suggest he was as cowardly as Phillip … “What exactly are you suggesting?” he snapped.

  Julian winced lightly and cast his gaze to the table. “I am suggesting that you are perhaps … in need of some sound advice.”

  “Advice,” Adrian growled.

  Julian impatiently waved a hand at him. “I am not speaking of … look, think what you will, but I must say this. Your brother is causing more harm than I think you realize. He is far too attentive of your wife, he purposely attempts to goad you, and I have no earthly idea why, but I would trust that you might find your peace with her if he weren’t here. There, I’ve said it.”

  Surprised, Adrian blinked. “Perhaps she is attentive of him,” he said slowly.

  Julian immediately shook his head. “He makes her rather uncomfortable, obviously. Hell, I only know that he intentionally seeks to drive a wedge between you and your wife. I can’t possibly fathom why, but his intentions are malevolent, I am quite certain. Take my advice, Albright, and send him home. At once.”

  That rendered Adrian speechless, and he stared at his friend as his mind began to click. Julian stood abruptly. “I beg your pardon,” he said sheepishly. “It is none of my affair. Look here, I’m off to Whitten to see after an old manuscript that may be of some importance to my studies. I had best get an early start.” He turned on his heel and walked quickly to the door. Adrian had yet to speak, his mind still reeling from the few words Julian had uttered. “I’ll see you in London soon, I hope?” he asked over his shoulder. When Adrian nodded, Julian lifted a hand and disappeared into the corridor.

  Adrian stared after him, still stunned. He didn’t need Julian to tell him Benedict was a problem. He did, apparently, need Julian to tell him that Benedict was intentionally driving a wedge between him and his wife. It suddenly all made sense, and he marveled that he had not seen it before. Of course that was what he was doing! He was seeking his own revenge and using Lilliana to do it. Adrian had certainly been pricked by Benedict’s talk of Kealing Park, but had thought it nothing more than Benedict’s childish attempt to needle him. He had not seen what Benedict was really doing, not until Julian had said it aloud.

  The little bastard was intentionally pushing him from Lilliana. And she, perhaps unwittingly, was playing along with him.

  It was high time he had a talk with his brother.

  Twenty-one

  LILLIANA FELT THE faint nausea begin to rise again as Polly fastened her blond curls to the back of her head. The sickness had not really left her since that horrible night when she had stood just where Polly was standing now and had told Adrian she preferred Benedict to him. She closed her eyes—what made her say such things? Nothing could be further from the truth; the mere thought made her belly lurch again. But she had been angry with him, and the words had tumbled out of their own accord. If only she had caught them, held them back … but she hadn’t, and Adrian’s mask of indifference had slid into place. Now he avoided her like death.

  Fine, she thought as the nausea passed, and opened her eyes. She couldn’t take those words back, and she was still furious with him for lying to her. They were hopelessly arrested in a strange and silen
t standoff, the gulf between them growing wider and wider with each passing day. The strain was taking its toll on her; she felt constantly ill. Desperate to air their differences, she was absolutely sick of Benedict’s constant presence! Adrian simply acted as if his brother didn’t exist—just as he pretended his wife didn’t exist. In the meantime, Benedict grew increasingly obnoxious. He treated the staff as if he paid their wages, was relentless in his unwanted and unwelcome attention to her, and belittled Adrian with veiled remarks about his father and Kealing Park.

  As if things couldn’t get any worse, those two Rogues had appeared unannounced, and undoubtedly suggesting all manner of things they might do now that Adrian’s sight was restored. The irony was not lost on her that there was a time she would have given anything to know the Rogues and experience their reckless ways. But that seemed like years ago—now, all she wanted was the blind Adrian back. Not a blind Adrian, but the Adrian he had been then—loving, gentle, and completely open with her. The Adrian who had made her sob with wonder when he took her, who would hold her tightly to him in sleep, who would reach for her at dawn’s first light. The Adrian who had allowed her to look into his soul. She wanted that Adrian, not the indifferent, coolly civil, pompous … incredibly distant Adrian.

  She did not know how to get him back.

  “My stars, but don’t you look lovely,” Polly said, beaming behind her.

  Lilliana glanced at herself in the mirror, unnoticing of the little wisps of blond curls that blanketed her neck and temple, or the stylish lavender gown she wore. She saw the dark circles, the bottom lip swollen from her chewing on it, the almost translucent skin. “Thank you, Polly,” she muttered sadly.

  Polly clucked her tongue. “Here now, milady, you’ve been moping about since his lordship got his sight back. You’re happy for him, aren’t you?”

  “Of course!” Lilliana said, and forced a smile.

  “Well, you don’t seem yourself a’tall, if you don’t mind me saying. I don’t suppose you’re carrying?”