by Lily Maxton
When he didn’t say anything further, his sister filled the silence with a sigh. “I like Julia,” she said softly. “I liked her when we were children, and I still like her now.”
“But?” he asked harshly.
“She’s been the mistress of at least five men, if not more. When you’ve lived your life like that, you don’t change your ways.”
“And how would you know that?” he asked. “Are you someone’s mistress? Does poor Francis know?”
She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t take that sarcastic tone with me,” she said, sounding just like their mother. “People only change if there’s a reason to change. And what reason would she have? She has everything she could ever want!”
Did she? Adam didn’t know how his sister could say that with such certainty.
“If she has shown an interest in you,” Molly continued, her words slamming into him like a sledgehammer, “it will only be because she’s bored. When Riverton returns she will lose all interest in you.”
Adam’s lips thinned. He didn’t like the way Molly was speaking of Julia, like she was a heartless seducer. Her morals might be a bit…colorful…but she was far from heartless. “You’re assuming she’s promiscuous.”
His sister flung her free hand into the air. “What part of ‘the mistress of at least five men’ didn’t you understand?”
“Since you seem to know everything about her—has she ever taken more than one lover at a time?”
Molly was silent, then said, “Not that I’ve heard.”
“I see,” he said calmly.
“You don’t see anything!” she cried, stamping her foot. Her face was splotchy. Adam was fairly certain if there were an object within reach, she would have hurled it at him. Luckily, there wasn’t, except for the baby, so he didn’t find out. “She might not welcome you into her bed, but she’ll flirt with you. She’ll make you think you’re the only man on earth. But what will you do when Lord Riverton comes back? She’ll break your heart.”
It wasn’t quite fair of Molly. Julia hadn’t done anything to give him false hope. But lately, hope seemed to be his permanent state around her. The desperate hope that she’d look at him with love shining in her eyes, and the years would fall away and the differences between them wouldn’t be so insurmountable.
It was an incredibly stupid hope.
Julia was the mistress of a powerful marquess. Adam was a gardener with a modest income. He couldn’t give her fine things. He couldn’t provide the kind of world she was used to moving in. He was a simple man with simple needs and a simple life. If he hadn’t been enough for her when she left him the first time, he certainly wouldn’t be enough now.
She’ll break your heart.
Not a warning he should take lightly.
Now if only his damned, breakable heart would heed it.
…
Julia and Mrs. Davis had started visiting together each evening in the informal sitting room that connected to Julia’s bedchamber. She liked talking to the housekeeper; she enjoyed the woman’s sharp, dry wit.
And Mrs. Davis knew about babies. She said she’d been the oldest of eight siblings so she’d practically raised a few of her brothers and sisters. She imparted her wisdom to Julia, who stored away the information in her mind and later wrote it down on parchment so she wouldn’t forget.
Julia smoothed down her skirt. She and Mrs. Davis were positioned across from each other in the sitting room, Julia in an upholstered armchair and Mrs. Davis on the small sofa. The other woman was watching her more carefully than usual. Did she have something on her face? Had Mrs. Davis heard a rumor about Julia’s life that disgusted her?
Finally, Julia could stand it no more. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she burst out.
“Like what?”
“Like I have some sort of dreadful secret.”
Mrs. Davis smiled slightly. “Did your maid do something different with your hair?”
Julia blinked, then started to laugh. Oh, Lord, she’d completely forgotten. She didn’t check her appearance in the looking glass as often here as she had in London. There was no reason to. “A child braided it for me,” she explained.
“What child?” Mrs. Davis asked.
“Just a child from the village.”
“Indeed?” Mrs. Davis asked with a knowing look. “I heard Adam Radcliff’s sister and nieces are visiting him. One of the gardeners said he saw you come out of the head gardener’s cottage this afternoon.”
Julia stiffened. “He shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”
“Is it true?” the other woman asked bluntly.
“Of course not.”
“And you were just wandering around the village and you let a child you didn’t know braid your hair?”
Julia sighed, meeting the calm gaze of Mrs. Davis. “Very well. Adam and I used to be friends, a very long time ago.”
“And what are you now?”
“Friends!” she exclaimed. “Not even that. I am not going to seek Lord Riverton’s ire by dallying with his employees.”
“Then you should tread carefully,” Mrs. Davis advised. “If he hears you were in Mr. Radcliff’s cottage, he won’t be pleased.”
“I was in Adam’s cottage when his sister and nieces were there,” Julia pointed out.
Mrs. Davis lifted one shoulder casually. “Do you think that would make a difference to Lord Riverton?”
Julia sighed. “I’d rather not talk about him.” All the man did was leave a sour taste in her mouth. “I wanted to ask you something about children.”
Mrs. Davis grinned. “Really? How shocking.”
Julia shook her head, exasperated. “I need to know these things. If I don’t, my child won’t stand a chance with me for a mother.”
The housekeeper leaned forward, closing the space between them to pat Julia’s hand. “You are going to be a wonderful mother.”
An insidious optimism filled her. “You don’t really think so, do you?”
“I know you will,” the other woman responded. “The only way to be a bad parent is not to recognize that having a child is a responsibility. No one who worries about it as much as you do will ever take that responsibility lightly.”
Julia looked down at her lap, and smiled. She actually felt a little weepy, which she hoped was due to the pregnancy rather than her becoming soft. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she admitted.
“I’m not being nice. It’s just the truth.”
And that actually did bring a lump to Julia’s throat.
That night Julia went outside to look at the stars. She’d never had much interest in the stars before, but then, when one was in London and looked up at the night sky, there were only a few bright spots that managed to shimmer through the haze of gaslights and coal smoke. When one looked up at the sky in the country, away from the light and the soot, it was like being in a whole new world.
There were thousands of pinpoints against a dark canvas, and stretched across the middle of the sky was a cloudy line thick with them. The air was so clear that she could actually see a few of the stars had faint hues. One shimmered red, another blue, but most were brilliant, perfect white.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there with her head craned back when she heard rustling amongst a row of nearby trees. She started, and nervously glanced in the direction of the sound. Noises like that were much more ominous at night. Most likely due to the fact that everything was shadowed and indistinguishable. Why, the rustling could be a harmless hedgehog or a deranged lunatic, and she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference until it was too late.
Not a comforting thought.
She peered closely at the trees. She was quite positive that one of the shadows had just moved. She froze when the shadow detached from the tree and started to come toward her. It gradually took the shape of a hulking man.
“Julia?”
She screamed. It was an instinctual reaction. A second lat
er, she came to her senses when she realized the voice was familiar. Her hand flew to her chest, where she could feel the violent thudding of her heart. “You had better have a good reason for lurking in the dark, Adam!” she snapped.
“I was removing a hornet’s nest. They sleep at night,” he said.
Well, she supposed that was logical—but he’d still frightened her nearly half to death. He moved closer. She saw his smile in the dim starlight. “What is so funny?” she asked, not feeling the least bit amused.
He lifted his hand to tug gently at a strand of hair that had fallen from its unruly halo. “This.”
“Oh,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “I’ll have the maid untangle it in the morning. Though, I fear it may prove to be unmanageable.”
“You could ask Molly to help. She’s good at that sort of thing.”
“Is she staying with you?”
“Aye.”
Julia chewed on her lower lip. She’d just decided an hour ago that it was a bad idea to be seen at Adam’s cottage. But it was nighttime—would anyone actually see her? And she knew if she slept without attempting to tame her hair, it would become even more tangled overnight.
“All right,” she finally agreed, and they set off, silently, toward his cottage.
A light was still flickering from the sitting room window, but when Adam held the front door open for her and she stepped inside, the room was empty. Two tallow candles had been left out, one on the mantel and one on the side table.
“Is she upstairs?” Julia whispered. The room seemed too still to disrupt with loud chatter.
“I’ll check,” Adam said. When he came back down a minute later, he shook his head wryly. “She’s asleep and snoring in the extra chamber. Hannah and Sarah took my bed.”
“But where will you sleep?” Julia asked. She eyed the settee, which was so short he’d probably only fit on it if he tucked his knees up to his chest.
“I’ll make do,” he said. “I can throw a blanket on the floor.”
“Aren’t you getting a little old to be sleeping on the floor?” she asked. “You’ll be creaking when you wake up.”
“I’m not that old,” he said sternly. “Only two years older than you.”
“But I know better than to sleep on the floor.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. I don’t want to wake them.”
“I suppose I should go, since Molly is indisposed.”
He hesitated, then said, “I could try to untangle it for you.”
“That’s not necessary,” she responded quickly.
“It will be worse in the morning,” he warned.
She smiled slightly. “That sounds like advice that could apply to a good many things.”
“Aye, it does, doesn’t it?” he said, responding to her smile with his own. He glanced around the room, then crouched down by the settee, peering under it. When he stood, he was holding a thick-bristled brush with a wooden handle. It looked like some kind of ridiculous toy in his large hand.
She glanced at the brush with undisguised longing. The braid was so tight and pinching that it was actually giving her a bit of a headache now. It always felt so soothing when her maid brushed her hair. Anyway, her logical mind asked, if it was something a maid did every day, how intimate could it be with Adam?
She sat down on the settee, turned her back to him, and waited.
The answer, she discovered, was that she didn’t, in fact, know everything about intimacy between a man and a woman.
As soon as she felt Adam’s weight sink down next to her, as soon as she felt the accidental brush of his fingertips against the back of her neck, her senses came to life. She held herself completely still, barely breathing, waiting in both agony and fear for his next accidental touch.
When it came as a soft whisper against her earlobe, she closed her eyes.
He was gentle, so gentle, and so meticulous, just as he was with his gardening. He untangled her hair with such careful progress that she barely felt any of the painful tugging she’d expected. Truthfully, he was doing a better job than her maid would have.
Her traitorous body started arching backward, trying to catch those accidental caresses on her neck and ears, trying to cause them. She pushed her head back so she could feel his fingertips on her scalp.
Behind her, he said nothing, but she felt his warm, quiet breath fluttering her hair. Felt that it wasn’t quite steady.
She didn’t think her breathing was any steadier than his. Her hands trembled, and she felt a slow, forbidden heat creeping into her limbs, pooling low between her thighs, and causing her breasts to ache and tingle.
The force of her desire for him stunned her.
It had been such a long time since she’d wanted a man like this. Had she ever? She tried to blame it on the fact that it had been too long since she’d been with a lover who pleased her. But maybe it was simply Adam.
When she felt the brush go through her hair once the braid was untangled, she nearly cried out—she wanted his hands on her, not that stupid brush.
Then his hands were on her—or the hand that wasn’t holding the brush was. It settled gently on her shoulder, right by her throat, and his fingers spread across her collarbone. It felt warm and alive and perfect against her bare skin.
“Do you like this?” he murmured, his deep voice sending shocks of heat all the way down to her toes. “Your heart is racing.”
“I—” Her voice croaked. She couldn’t answer. Her head fell back, onto his broad shoulder, and she smelled the faint musk of his skin.
His hand moved lower on her chest, touching the upper curve of her breast. She wanted it to move down and cup the full weight. And his mouth—she would have given anything to feel his mouth there.
His lips softly brushed the side of her throat. His tongue traced her quivering pulse.
With a low cry that was equal parts pleasure and fear, she pushed away from him and jumped to her feet. “Don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t.”
When she finally worked up the courage to turn toward him, he was watching her from the settee, the candles casting shadows across his face. “Why not?” he asked, just as hoarsely.
“I am—” She forced herself to say the words, even though they threatened to choke her. Her hands balled into fists. “I am Riverton’s.”
“Are you?” he said, his dark eyes intent.
No, she wanted to scream. But Riverton thought she was his, and that was all that mattered. And then there was that damnable contract. She’d signed it, and her whole future depended on keeping her word.
“Yes. This isn’t—” She stopped, began again. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. “I will accept your friendship while I’m here, but I cannot accept more. If you push me, I won’t accept anything.”
God help her, she meant it. As much as she despised Riverton, she wouldn’t betray him.
She left, or fled, rather, before Adam could answer. She needed the cool night air. She needed distance between them. She needed sleep.
Everything, she told herself as she pushed through the doorway out into the chilly night, would be fine. It was Adam’s touch that had nearly obliterated her common sense. She simply had to stay out of arm’s reach of him.
Chapter Seven
It had been, Adam thought later, a moment of pure weakness. He’d volunteered to untangle her hair under the guise of friendly concern—which couldn’t have been further from the truth. There was nothing remotely friendly about his interest. He’d wanted to feel her skin under his hands as soon as he’d seen her that night. He’d wanted to trace the elegant, pale column of her throat that was revealed when she’d tipped her head back to look at the stars. He would have uttered any lie to be able to touch her in that moment.
He’d been praying that Molly was already asleep when they’d walked to his cottage.
His prayers had been answered.
His own potent reaction didn’t surprise him. But her reaction h
ad. When his tongue had traced her skin, she’d exploded with movement like a fox being run to ground. In her eyes, he’d seen that wide-eyed hunted look. He’d seen fear.
Not the sort of smooth reaction one would expect from a courtesan.
The only answer was that she’d been affected, too, and affected strongly. The knowledge was satisfying and thrilling, and at the same time, horrible. Because all he could offer her was a small cottage. And himself. And, what, exactly, was that worth in her world?
Even if she wanted Adam, she would fight it. Like a wild, wily fox surging through the forest, every instinct pointing toward survival.
He wouldn’t stand a chance.
…
After falling into a restless sleep just before dawn, Julia slept late, too late to find Adam while he weeded the flowerbeds.
She moved through the day like a mindless automaton, barely aware of her surroundings or her actions. All she was really aware of was the imprint of Adam’s hand against her chest, still warm, as if she’d left him only a moment ago.
It felt as though, with that one subversive touch, he’d claimed her. Branded her.
A ridiculous notion. One could not claim another person simply by pressing a hand to their chest. Even if that touch had felt like heaven and warm chocolate and bliss, all rolled into one.
By the early evening, she was feeling like less of an automaton and more restless. She couldn’t sit still for more than a moment without starting to fidget, so she fetched her bonnet and gloves and decided to walk to the village. Perhaps if she kept her bonnet low on her face, she would be able to look around the shops for awhile without anyone recognizing her.
She nodded to some of the lower gardeners, who were pushing rollers across the lawn in preparation for scything, as she passed them. Their glances felt a little too interested, but she ignored them.
Halfway there, she heard the rumble of wheels on the dirt road ahead of her. She glanced up. A curricle was coming toward her, going too fast, which was fairly typical—the men who drove them were usually young and liked to think of themselves as daredevils.
She kept an eye on the equipage as it drew closer, wondering if she should step off the road.