Julian decided to nudge further into the subject, to see if he could discern just how serious Rupert was about Grace. “Perhaps she wished to stock it with books she’ll want in the future?”
Rupert smiled and looked chagrined. “I don’t want to assume.”
“Is it serious, then?”
Rupert stared at his wine, considering. “She’s a grand girl.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“Very kind, very generous.”
“That’s clear.” Rupert did not look like a man in love, but he did look like a man trying to make up his mind about something. He was only doing what many men did when in search of a wife. He’d met a nice girl, taken note of her many fine qualities, and determined she might suit. And she would...for someone else, not for Rupert.
He had to proceed carefully. “It doesn’t seem as if your interests quite align.”
“What’s it matter? How many young ladies love horses the way I do? Or hunting? So she’s not a sportsman. She’s interested enough to ask me to teach her to ride. Shows a certain spirit.”
“She did?”
Rupert nodded. “We’ve been going out to Hyde Park most mornings so she can practice.”
They were together every morning in a nearly empty park? An image bloomed in his mind, of Rupert adjusting her hands on the reins and her foot in the stirrup, his hand curled around her ankle, and an unpleasant emotion unfurled in his chest. He did not want to be jealous of his best friend. He would not. Undeniably, he was physically attracted to Grace, and the idea of Rupert touching her in a way he never could would no doubt spark a certain physical longing. It was not, and could not, be jealousy.
“She has no family,” Julian said around the lump in his throat.
“No, but does she need one? She’s got friends. Quite well-connected friends, actually.”
“And no fortune.”
“She doesn’t need that, either, should she marry the right man.”
Julian looked closely at him. “I think she’s trying to.”
Rupert shrugged. “Grace isn’t the greedy sort. Money doesn’t matter to her.”
But it would, in time, Julian thought. She’d resent Rupert for being her only option. “I only mean to be sure you truly know her before you make any permanent decisions, Rupert.”
“She’s a fine woman, kinder than any woman has ever been to me, outside of your Honor. I like Grace quite a lot.”
Julian bit back everything else he wanted to say, because it wouldn’t help to change Rupert’s mind. The only thing which might was if he knew what had passed between Grace and himself. But he couldn’t expose her that way, not even to save Rupert. He’d begun the conversation hoping to point out to Rupert all the ways in which Grace was wrong for him, but all he’d managed to do was to push him into defending her. He’d looked uncertain at the start, as if he was still trying to resolve things in his own mind. Now he looked positively determined.
Julian attempted not to panic. If only he could delay it for a bit. Rupert had hardly spent time in London. Give him a Season or two and he was sure to encounter some other woman, one better suited to him.
“I just want to be sure you know your own heart. Don’t do anything rash.”
Don’t marry her. Just don’t marry her. Not yet. Not until I’ve mastered this inconvenient obsession with her.
“You know me,” Rupert said with a laugh. “I’m not one to do anything speedily. Besides, until the house is finished, I’m still living in rented rooms. Quite all right for a bachelor, but not for a wife.”
Julian’s stomach cramped at the thought of Rupert bringing Grace home to his townhouse, to his bed, as his wife. He had to stop this marriage. For so many reasons.
Chapter Eleven
As girls newly out, Grace, Victoria and Amelia had looked forward to the Sanford’s ball with a great deal of anticipation. Everyone who was anyone in London came, so there were plenty of partners for dancing and many lively conversations to be had. Although tonight, she’d nominally come with Genevieve and Hazel, Gen’s current charge, she was really there to be with Rupert. He’d met her at the door and stayed by her side all night, fetching her drinks and dancing athletically but inexpertly with her.
In the run-up to the ball, she’d worried herself to distraction about encountering Julian. He and Rupert were friends. Surely it meant they’d spent the bulk of the evening in each other’s company? So far, every time she’d encountered Julian, it had ended in a fight.
Julian, however, had come with Honor and Lord and Lady Dorney, Honor’s parents. He never once glanced in her direction or indicated in any way he knew she was there. He seemed quite consumed with Honor and Lord Dorney, and a number of gentlemen Lord Dorney introduced him to, which made sense. Now he held the title, he was preparing to launch his political life. His future father-in-law was the ideal mentor to assist him. And Lady Honor would be the perfect political wife. Even setting aside the close relationship of their families, he couldn’t have chosen better. Honor was practically perfect in every way. She’d be easy to hate if she wasn’t so terribly kind.
“Grace,” Rupert said, touching her elbow to draw her attention back to him. She must stop thinking about the hateful Lord Knighton and focus on Rupert, dear Rupert, who, if she played her cards right, might soon be her husband.
“Yes, Rupert?”
“Would you like to dance? This one’s the polonaise. I always get the steps muddled, but I’m game if you are.”
She couldn’t bear stumbling through another set with him just yet. She’d dance with him again tonight, as many times as necessary to imprint herself as his de facto fiancée, but...not this set.
“I’m just a bit tired, Rupert. Perhaps I’ll visit the ladies’ retiring room for a few minutes and then we can dance the next set?”
“All right,” he said, all good-natured cheer. “I’ll just go say hello to Julian and Honor, then?”
Yes, yes, speak to him while she was nowhere near. That was safer for everyone.
“I’ll come find you when I return.”
The ladies’ retiring room was packed to the rafters with women repairing sagging hairstyles, adjusting gowns and lounging about gossiping together. Grace stayed just long enough to touch up her hair and tug down the bodice of her dress—another glorious gift from Victoria, all ivory satin and pale green ribbons—before she escaped the hot and overcrowded room.
Across the ballroom, Rupert had joined Julian’s party and was enthusiastically explaining something to Honor. Probably about the horse he just bought. He’d told her all about it, but she only grasped every third word and failed to appreciate the magnificence of the animal adequately.
Joining Rupert and dealing with Julian was out of the question, so she skirted the room, thinking to visit the refreshment table when no one was around. A familiar voice mentioning her name stopped her in her tracks. The voice belonged to Kitty Ponsoy, a baron’s daughter who’d come out the same year as Grace, and she was talking to someone just on the other side of one of the palm tree arrangements. She was an unpleasant viper of a girl who’d been nothing but awful to Victoria and Amelia because of their working class backgrounds. Grace hated her in staunch solidarity.
“I can’t believe Grace Godwyn has set her cap for Rupert Humphrey, of all people,” Kitty hissed under her breath. “She must be truly desperate to settle for him.”
“Well, you know she hasn’t got a penny to her name,” her companion said. It sounded like Kitty’s weak-willed little shadow, Margaret Whidby. Grace didn’t like her either. “And no family to help her out. That’s got to make a girl desperate.”
“But to sink to an oaf like Rupert Humphrey! I’d die first.”
“He’s got plenty of money,” Margaret said. “And he’ll inherit an earldom one day.”
Grace fumed on Rupert’s behalf. How dare that nasty little chit malign him? Rupert might not be handsome, witty, or sophisticated, but he was kind, a quality someone like Kitty would never appreciate.
“He’s got good friends, though,” Kitty went on. “Lord Knighton is ever so handsome.”
“A bit scary, don’t you think?” Margaret ventured. “He’s so serious and stern.”
“I can handle him.” As if Julian’s head would ever be turned by Kitty Ponsoy.
“Isn’t he all but engaged to Lady Honor?” Margaret asked.
Kitty gave an undignified snort. “They’re not engaged yet. A few whispers about Lady Honor would tarnish her lily-white reputation, and then we’ll see if he’ll still have her.”
“Kitty!” Margaret gasped, with a shocked giggle. “You wouldn’t!”
“I’d do whatever it takes to land a prize like that.”
“Even with the unpleasantness in his family?”
“The father is dead. And if his mother wasn’t woman enough to keep her husband at home, that’s her fault. I wouldn’t make the same mistake.”
Grace had heard more than enough. Drawing a deep breath to steady the rage flaring through her body, she stepped around the potted palms. Kitty glared and Margaret’s eyes went wide.
“I dare say, Kitty, with your face and that spiteful tongue, you will have a challenge keeping your husband tied to your bed.”
Kitty’s eyes went wide. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? You’re the one blithely discussing ruining the reputation of a wonderful girl to further your own ends. Don’t you dare whisper a word against Honor.”
Kitty huffed, crossing her skinny arms under her unremarkable bust. Her chin tilted up obstinately. “And just what do you think you’ll do to stop me?”
Grace hesitated, a finger to her chin, as if pondering the issue. “Well...I just might have to put it around that you spent most of the Longville’s musicale last Season out on the terrace with Archie Vintner with his hands up your skirts.”
Kitty’s cheeks mottled with color. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I would. And my slanderous gossip has the added benefit of being entirely true. Hazel Shaw saw the whole thing, Kitty. You really should be more discreet.”
Kitty made as if to reply, but then snapped her mouth closed again, her eyes blazing.
“Yes, I thought so,” Grace continued, straightening her glove. “So, not a word about Lady Honor will cross your lips.” It was not a question. “And if I were you, I’d leave off blathering about Lady Knighton, as well. You have no idea what you’re talking about, and her son, who you were discussing in a rather shameless manner, is fiercely protective of her. He’ll take you to pieces if he finds out you slighted her. Are we understood?”
Kitty clenched her teeth mulishly, but gave a jerky nod.
“Miss Whidby?” Grace asked politely.
Margaret, far more timid than Kitty, had turned snow white with fear. She nodded rapidly, looking like she might faint.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Kitty muttered.
It was only after the girls had disappeared into the crowd that Grace let herself exhale, and then her hands started to shake. Hostile confrontations did not come easily to her. Amelia was an expert at them, and Victoria had mastered the art of elegantly ignoring. Grace usually kept her head down and drew no attention to herself. What on earth had made her confront Kitty? She hadn’t even debated the merits of it, she’d just charged in and leveled her. Grace’s situation was tenuous enough without drawing the ire of someone like Kitty Ponsoy. If she was willing to go after Honor, even in her exalted position, there was no telling the damage she could do to Grace.
“It looks as if I don’t have to take Katherine Ponsoy to pieces for her impertinence, since you did it for me.”
She spun around, heart still pounding and palms still clammy from her confrontation, to find Julian standing right behind her. All the blood drained from her head, leaving her feeling faint.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Nearly all of it, I think.”
“I...I’m sorry you heard it.”
“I’m not. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Defending my mother. And Honor. It was good of you.”
“She’s a beast. It was my pleasure.”
Julian narrowed his eyes, eyes roaming over her. “No, I don’t think it was a pleasure for you.” He reached for her, grasping her wrist gently between his fingertips and turning it over. Her breath stalled in her chest when he ran the pad of his thumb slowly over her rampaging pulse. Then, as if he’d never done something so intimate, he released her and clasped his hands behind his back. “Quite the opposite, I suspect. Still, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even defend yourself, when she insulted you just as grievously.”
Grace smoothed her palms down her skirts to hide her trembling. “She’s going to say whatever she wants about me. I can’t stop her, or anyone else.”
“But Honor...”
“I would never stand by and let someone like Kitty ruin the reputation of someone as kind as Honor just to further her own ends.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
“I’m not as heartless and mercenary as you like to imagine me. Not always, anyway.”
Julian huffed out a frustrated breath. “That’s not what I meant—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “Never mind. Is Rupert looking for me?”
“Rupert?”
“Isn’t it why you’re here?”
“I came to ask you to dance.”
Grace’s shock must have registered on her face far more than she realized, because Julian hastened to explain himself. “Rupert’s seized Honor for the next, so—”
“Oh, of course—”
“If you’d rather not—”
“No, that would be nice.”
Then he smiled at her, a conspiratorial smile which sent her reeling, and he leaned in close—so close she could smell him. “Won’t that make Miss Ponsoy seethe with envy?”
Despite her nerves and the lingering jitters from her run-in with Kitty, she laughed. “Indeed. And you know I live to thwart Kitty Ponsoy.”
Julian held his white-gloved hand out to her and met her gaze. “Then shall we?”
Those eyes, so dark, so fervently alert, were always her undoing. Whatever she’d convinced herself of regarding him when she was alone, it all melted the moment she looked into those eyes again. He seemed to know it, staring at her as if he would see into every part of her, to her innermost secrets just with a look. Was it a trick of the light? Some part of his impossible magnetism? Something affecting Kitty—and no doubt many other women—the same way it did her?
Then she laid her gloved fingers in his palm and his hand closed over hers and she suspected that wasn’t quite the truth, either. This was something specific to the two of them, something more than a dangerous mix of animosity and attraction. Something elemental she had no words for.
Julian led her to the floor, where the orchestra was tuning up for the waltz. Oh, why the waltz? Why not a stately, impersonal quadrille, when they’d be clustered with three other pairs? The waltz meant staring into his unsettling face for the whole of the dance, at an intimate distance. It meant his arm around her and her hand in his. The last thing she should be doing was waltzing with Julian.
Then the music started, Juli
an pulled her into place against him, and they began to dance. He was a beautiful dancer. She’d grown so accustomed to being flung around the floor by Rupert that Julian was a refreshing shock. Her body fit against his as if she’d been fashioned for this purpose and nothing more. Each movement she made seemed anticipated and answered by him.
In her days as a debutante, Grace had waltzed with her fair share of gentlemen, but it had never been quite like this. For a start, Julian declined to keep his eyes politely fixed over her shoulder as they danced. He looked right at her. There was no escape from his gaze. For another, he held her hand too tightly, as if he were restraining her, keeping her from fleeing. It wasn’t unpleasant. Truthfully, she rather liked it, the hard warmth of his fingers curling forcefully around hers, commanding her presence here in his arms.
The other differences between this and previous waltzes lay entirely within her. Dancing with other men had been nothing more than exercising her well-honed skills, her command of the steps, her perfect posture, her graceful smile. There was little personal investment in the business. By contrast, everything with Julian felt personal. Dancing with him felt so intimate she nearly blushed knowing other people were watching them.
They didn’t speak. Julian made no attempt to and she wasn’t sure she could have managed it anyway. She preferred the silence, if only it weren’t so loaded. He never looked away from her, and she found herself unable to look away either. It felt as if some communication was happening, with or without words. Her body understood it, at any rate. She was aware of him everywhere, up her arms and down her legs. She felt him at the nape of her neck and the small of her back, behind her ear and against her belly.
The music ended. They swayed together for another three steps, then stopped. He didn’t release her.
“Grace...”
“There you are! Look, Julian, I’ve brought Honor back, good as new and only a little winded, eh, Honor?”
Honor laughed and Grace tore her eyes away from Julian, wrenching her hand free from his. Why did she feel so guilty? It was only a dance. Neither of them had said or done a single improper thing during it. The problem no doubt was hers, letting herself be affected this way by one man while single-mindedly pursuing another. It didn’t matter, though. Julian was a man of single-minded determination himself and he’d determined she was his enemy. A little heat and attraction on the dance floor wouldn’t change that.
A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 13