“Good heavens, Julian. Don’t tell me you went to your club last night after all. You look positively green, and if it’s because of too much drink, I’ll spend all afternoon teasing you to punish you for it.”
He laughed weakly. She had always been free about teasing him, as if he were just a beloved older brother. He blinked. That was it. Yes, he was fond of Honor, terribly so. But it was the affection of a brother, and always had been. And he could not—would not—take a woman to bed whom he looked on as his sister. No wonder the very idea of it was abhorrent.
“Yes, you’re right. Too much brandy.”
Honor rolled her eyes. “Honestly, men are quite ridiculous. What were you thinking, getting so foxed when you were so tired last night?”
In one sweeping moment, his future with Honor had been obliterated, to be replaced by...nothing. No, not nothing. Something was there. Someone. Someone so tempting, he dared not let himself dwell on it for even a moment. In his current frame of mind, he couldn’t risk crossing paths with Grace in even the most harmless of ways.
“Honor, I’ve just come by to let you know I’m leaving town for a few days.”
“Leaving? Now? Julian, it’s the height of the Season. We have Lord Upton’s dinner next week. It will be a wonderful opportunity to—”
“Yes, I know, but some urgent business has called me back to Knighton Park. I need a few days with the land agent to set things right.”
Another lie. What was one more in the face of all the lies he’d told? And Honor—sweet, trusting Honor—believed in him implicitly.
“Well, I’ll do what I can with Upton on your behalf.”
“I’ll be back in time for the dinner.” He would. He had to be. Back in London and back to his old self again. He’d conquer this, one way or another.
“Oh, well...that’s good. You could accomplish quite a bit there if you proceed correctly.”
The statement seemed to sum up his whole life at present. He could accomplish great things, if only he did everything right and nothing wrong.
“I’ll call on your mother tomorrow,” Honor continued. “Just to make sure she’s not lonely without you.”
“That’s kind of you, Honor.”
“I love your mother like my own. After all, I’ve known her all my life. Her and you.”
He smiled at her, full of all the love and affection he’d always felt for this girl who was as good as his sister. “Indeed, you have known me all my life, and I hope you always will.”
“Julian, do be serious. You don’t seem yourself today.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. But I will be soon. I promise you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Julian usually made his visits to Knighton Park, their country estate, alone. His mother didn’t like it there. Full of portraits of Knightons six generations deep, it served as a painful reminder of the family which had refused to embrace her, despite her marriage. Since Julian had spent nearly all of his childhood summers in America with his mother’s family, he felt no great kinship to it himself. But, as with so many things, it was part of his title, another responsibility to shoulder, and he meant to see to it properly, not turn his back on it as his father had.
It was a small estate, built in the early 18th century, and left to rot in the mid-1850s, owing to the family’s increasingly dire finances. Even his father’s marriage to his mother’s fortune hadn’t been enough to turn back its decline, since his father hadn’t stayed in the country to make it happen. It was only when Julian took it in hand on his father’s behalf when he was sixteen that things at Knighton Park began to improve. Never one of England’s great agricultural estates, it had been more renowned in its day for its well-stocked game preserve. But there were some tenant farmers attached to it, and he’d done his best to improve their conditions, and to keep the manor house from crumbling into the ground altogether. Someone had to see to it.
When he stepped down from the hack, his butler, Evans, was taken aback to find the master of the house arriving unannounced and out of season. Julian was rarely at Knighton Park at this time of year. Despite what he’d told Honor, his land agent ran the place with brisk efficiency, only occasionally requiring input from him by mail.
“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced, Evans,” he said. “I just...” The words died on his tongue. He could feed Honor a lie about being needed for work, but Evans would know it for what it was. And in truth, he had no good reason for being there. “I felt like stopping in,” he finally said, shrugging awkwardly.
Evans never missed a beat. “Of course, Your Lordship. Is your valet following?”
“No, just me this time.”
“Will any guests be arriving? Shall Mrs. Hemmings put together a dinner menu?”
“Nothing of the sort. Just a tray in my room for tonight. And then...we’ll see.”
What did he hope to accomplish here? And how long did he think to hide from his own desires in the countryside? He had no answers, so he handed his coat and hat over to Evans and made his way up to his cold, unused rooms.
* * *
He walked the halls of Knighton Park for two days, until his feet ached. Then he walked the park and grounds for another day, until the bracing spring wind drove him inside. No matter how much he walked, no matter the miles he covered, his mind continually circled back to the same place—Grace. Thoughts of her refused to leave him in peace, and at night, he tossed and turned in the dark, his mind reeling back to those wicked, forbidden moments in Rupert’s library.
Why Grace? Why now? She was pretty, even beautiful, but not in a remarkable way. While she possessed a fierce native intelligence, she also possessed a grim view of the world and a certain moral flexibility. Her position in Society, tainted as it was by her father, was everything he should be avoiding, considering his own perilous situation. Instead, everything about her had drawn him in until he couldn’t see which way to turn to free himself.
Instead of distance and time cooling his passions, they seemed only to grow, until they threatened to eat him alive. In the quiet of the country, with hours devoid of any useful task, he had nothing to do but think on her, remember her, long for her, like a wound he couldn’t help but touch.
He rose from bed on the fourth morning red-eyed, sleep-deprived, and feeling no closer to peace of mind. When he came down to breakfast, his tea and toast sat waiting for him on the table, the London paper pressed and waiting beside it. Julian stood in the doorway of the room, willing himself forward. He should go, sit at his place at the head of the table, drink his tea and read the news of the world. If he could only manage it day in and day out, eventually enough days would pass to divide him from the temptation of Grace altogether. Reaching out, he gripped the doorframe. Duty, Julian. Take your place at the table as you’ve taken your place as the head of the family. Do the right thing and set this aside.
But it was no good. His feet wouldn’t carry him into the room any more than his sense of right and wrong would carry him forward on the correct path into the future. Lord Dorney was wrong. He was just as weak as his father. He’d only needed to encounter the right trigger to bring it all crashing down on his head. All his life, he’d prided himself on his moral fortitude, when his father had shown none. Now, with one woman, and a handful of sordid encounters, his will was crumbling to ash.
Suddenly he knew what he must do. There was nothing for it. Wrong or right, it was inevitable. Even knowing the fate awaiting him—awaiting all of them—he couldn’t possibly turn back.
His hands were shaking as he turned with a jerk.
“Evans! Call the coach. I’m returning to London.”
Evans materialized as if he existed only to answer summons from the lord of the house. “What time will you want to catch the train, Your Lordship?”
“Right away.” He swallowed hard and
dragged both hands through his hair. “I’m leaving right away. I can’t bear... I must return at once.”
Evans cast him a concerned glance but said nothing and certainly didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Your Lordship. We’ll have you on your way at once.”
* * *
As he stood on the steps after ringing the bell, he realized he didn’t have the faintest idea what to say. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what he was doing.
A footman answered the door and he handed across his card. He was shown into the same gold parlor to wait, uncertain who would come to receive him. It was entirely possible she was out, and he’d spend the next fifteen minutes making awkward small talk with Lady Grantham and one of her young charges. After what felt like an age, but was probably only minutes, the parlor door opened, and Grace came in, alone.
She wore a pale green day dress and her hair was twisted into a heavy loop at the base of her neck. Her expression was puzzled as she took him in. Never in his life had he seen anything so beautiful. After four days spent at war with himself before finally declaring defeat, everything was now stunningly clear.
“Lord Knighton,” she began in confusion. “What are you—”
But her words were abruptly cut off when he rapidly strode towards her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. It was a wild kiss, full of his days of torment, full of his relief at finally finding peace in her presence. She gasped, but he swallowed her protest, and the next, and the next, until her lips parted for another reason, allowing him in. His heart pounded with unbridled desire as he kissed her, and kissed her again. Her hands, at first fluttering helplessly at her sides, came to rest on his shoulders, and then wrapped around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as he held her.
With his tongue, he tasted her, stroked her, memorized every luscious, warm corner of her mouth, drinking his fill of her, one glorious moment at a time. Finally, he pulled back, but only a breath, still holding her perfect face in his palms. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He dropped soft kisses on her nose and her cheeks, and brushed them across her lips.
“Marry me,” he whispered, his breath mingling with hers.
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“I love you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize it. Marry me.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Forget Rupert and marry me. Perhaps in time you’ll grow to resent me just as much as him, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what happens in the future. I just can’t do without you.”
He leaned in to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. “Stop.”
“Grace, forget what I said before.” Still holding her face in his hands, he turned her back to him, kissing her cheek and the corner of her lips again. “Marry me and let me be the one to take care of you. I have a title, I have money. I can give you everything you want, everything you need. Do you want to travel? I’ll show you the world. I’ll buy you a house full of art. Anything you want, darling.”
“Please stop,” she whispered.
“I know you feel this, too, Grace. Just marry me. I promise you, I can make you happy.”
“Stop!” She shoved him away forcefully and he staggered. Grace brought her trembling hands to her mouth, and then up to her temples, pressing her eyes closed.
“Darling—”
“I’m marrying Rupert.”
“We’ve got to have a better shot than you do with him—”
“I’m marrying Rupert,” she said with more force. Then she opened those cool gray eyes and looked at him. The pain he saw there made his stomach clench with dread. “He asked me and I said yes.”
The world seemed to stop on its axis as her words sunk in. He shook his head forcefully.
“No. No, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rupert. I’ll go to him now and I’ll explain—”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” she shouted. Then she stopped and closed her eyes again, swaying slightly as she drew in a deep breath. “He’s been courting me for months. I’ve been encouraging him at every turn. He asked me as a gentleman, honorably, and I accepted him. It’s done. He’s informed his uncle. The announcement was in the papers this morning, and now all of London knows. We’re to be married.”
“But you don’t love him!” he roared. “Grace, don’t do this. Just...please...”
“I won’t betray the promise I’ve made to him. Julian, I can’t.”
He reached for her hands. “Come with me. We’ll leave tonight. To the Continent, America, wherever you want, just don’t marry him.”
She shook her head and his heart ached to see the tears catching in her eyelashes. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Darling—”
“No, you don’t. He’s your friend. He’s your best friend. You can’t betray him that way. I won’t betray him that way.”
“But...what about us?” His thumb caressed her palm, but she tore her hands away with a strangled cry.
“There is no us.”
“The bloody hell there isn’t!”
“Not anymore. I’m going to marry Rupert, and I will be a good wife to him. I’ve given him my word, and I mean to see it through.”
He shook his head frantically, rejecting everything she was saying in her implacably calm voice. All this time, he’d wanted to protect Rupert from Grace, fearing she would hurt him in some way, because she wasn’t honorable enough to do right by him. And now her honor had proved as inflexible as iron. She would stand faithfully by his side even as Julian, his oldest and dearest friend, begged her to betray him. The irony of it would have made him laugh if he didn’t feel as if he was being crushed from the inside out.
“Julian,” she implored. “This isn’t you. You love Rupert. You can’t do this to him.”
She was right. It wasn’t him. He hated himself for this, but if she agreed to come with him, he’d take her, and leave behind the noble, honorable man he’d once been without a backwards glance. “No, it’s not me, but I don’t care. I just want you. To hell with the rest of it.”
“You don’t mean that. You’re not that cruel.”
She was right, he wasn’t cruel. But what was the alternative? Back away and let her go? Let her marry Rupert? He could barely draw a breath when he tried to imagine it.
“What am I supposed to do, Grace? Stand there at Rupert’s side at your wedding?”
“He’ll want you there. You and Honor. Julian, you’re supposed to marry Honor,” she said gently. “You can’t disappoint her.”
“No, I most certainly will not marry Honor. It’s impossible.”
“Julian, just stop and think...” Grace reached her hand out to him, and he snatched at it with both of his. Perhaps if he never let her go, this horrible future she had just committed herself to would never come to pass. He pulled her to him, then reached up to cup her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers. Her trembling breaths warmed his lips.
“Please, Grace...”
She touched his face, her fingertips tracing lightly over his cheekbones and down along his jaw. “I’m doing this for you, too.”
“No—”
“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now. “I’m going to marry Rupert and you’re going to be the man I know you to be. You will do what’s right and forget all about me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You will. You have to.” Then she gently gripped his wrists and drew his hands away from her face. When she stepped back and opened her eyes, they were clear, cold and dead. But the resolve in her expression was like iron, and he knew he had lost. Lost everything that truly mattered. “Now go.”
His devastation was complete. That night at Rupert’s, when he’d felt full of cracks, ready to fall apart at the slightest touch, he’d been right. But this wasn’t a touch. Grace had just brought a hammer down
on him and blown him to pieces. He didn’t have anything else to say to her, no words he could pull up from the charred void of his heart. There was nothing else to be done but what she asked, so he went.
Chapter Fifteen
It seemed all of London knew of Grace’s betrothal the moment it had been announced. When she arrived at the theatre, everyone she knew and a great many people she had never met had come up to her to wish her and Rupert well.
Perched on the edge of a gilt and red velvet chair, gloved hands clasped in her lap, she watched the performance as if from a very great distance. She’d moved through life in this fog ever since the awful scene with Julian. He loved her. He’d wanted to marry her. And she’d sent him away. His confession had opened the floodgates inside her own heart. He’d been denying what was growing between them, but so had she. Now he’d exposed those forbidden emotions to the light of day, and there was no going back. She was in love with him, too. And about to marry someone else.
“Don’t you think so, Grace?” Genevieve appealed to her, jarring her out of her silence.
“Pardon?” Somehow they’d reached intermission without her realizing it.
Genevieve scowled, the same expression of concern she’d worn for days. Grace had steadfastly refused to tell her exactly what had happened, but since Gen had come home to find her in a heap, weeping on the parlor floor, she’d surmised enough. Ever since, although she was delighted with Grace’s betrothal to Rupert, worry lingered in every glance.
“Are you sure you’re well, Grace?”
“Perfectly.” Grace forced herself to smile, only the latest in a long string of lies she’d told. It was all she ever did.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“I’m delighted to be marrying Rupert.”
“I’m so happy.”
“Grace? Is something the matter?” Rupert turned to her, concern clouding his eyes. She gave him the same false smile she’d given Gen.
“Absolutely nothing, Rupert.”
He relaxed, grinning. Everything felt wrong, every word she spoke, every breath she took...except this. When she looked at Rupert, despite her misery, she knew she was doing the right thing. She’d gotten this far in life by knowing herself and adhering to her own fine sense of right and wrong, even when it cost her.
A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 16