“That man does not deserve your feelings.” Such certainty. Such finality.
She attempted to penetrate the shadows to catch a glimpse of his face. “What could you possibly know about it?”
“I know a great deal about Ludlowe, a great deal of which is unsavory.” He paused and drew a breath. “Consider what he’s done to you. He could have helped extricate us from the situation, but has he acted?”
“He … He told me he’d do what he could. He said I could count on him.”
“Hmmm.” Another pause during which she imagined him nodding. “And have you been able to?”
“I’ve no way of telling, do I?”
“Convenient, isn’t it? I could tell you more, but I see you will not listen. You will not wish to believe the truth.”
He pronounced each word with a clipped finality that stole her breath and made her heart quake. A cold foreboding settled into the pit of her stomach. Thank goodness she’d merely picked at her supper. He knew something awful about Ludlowe. No. She thrust the idea aside. She was not ready to admit she’d frittered the last five years away on a sugar-spun fantasy. If she gave up on Ludlowe, she would have to accept spending the rest of her life on the shelf, faded and forgotten, as Mama often reminded her.
She hugged the book to her chest. “I’d rather not hear it right now, if you don’t mind.” Her voice wobbled horribly on the words.
“Will you accept it on trust then?” His tone softened into a rolling resonance that surrounded her like an old blanket. It conjured a vivid image of a warm, crackling fire on a cold night, of reclining on a settee, her head cradled upon a masculine pair of thighs, listening to that voice read poetry. She could almost feel his fingers sifting through her curls.
No! She had no business imagining him this way, especially not when the fantasy was attainable. All she had to do was refrain from crying off. But she knew nothing about him. Hadn’t the last five years taught her the futility of existing in a world of fancy?
Shaking her head, she pressed the novel to her skin.
“What have you got there?” Somehow he’d caught the motion in the low light.
Wordlessly, she gave up her shield.
He moved to the window, and beneath the pale filter of moonlight, his shadow-self coalesced into flesh and bone. “What is this? I cannot read the title.”
She swallowed. “Sense and Sensibility.”
“You’d do better to put more value in sense than sensibility.”
“What do you know of it?”
“Perhaps more than you realize.”
His words bore little substance, yet his tone was fraught with meaning, as if he were hinting at a past emotional entanglement.
“Is that your answer then? Rely on sense alone? On cool logic to govern your entire life?”
“Isn’t that what Elinor Dashwood did? And come to think of it, Ludlowe reminds me of Lucy Steele, although he’s not after any particular fortune, only respectability.”
She stared at his profile. The moonlight softened its harshness until even his scar faded. “You read novels?”
“I believe in putting a thing to the test before I consign it to feminine frivolity.”
“Have you read any other such works? I greatly enjoyed Pride and Prejudice.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
She made her way back to the shelves, where leather-bound volumes had once stood in rank after rank like soldiers. Able to locate it in the dark, she reached for another much-thumbed book.
“I think you ought to give it a try. You might even recognize your sister in Lady Catherine.” In the process of handing the novel to him, she hesitated. “Unless you’ve drawn the conclusion such occupations are indeed frivolous.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Never let it be said that I backed down from a challenge.” He took the book, his fingers brushing hers as the exchange took place. “Perhaps we can discuss it once I’ve read it.”
She snatched her hand away. “You mean if you don’t find it too frivolous.”
“Miss St. Claire, I never proclaimed the other a frivolity. If that is the conclusion you drew, you were in error. And now if we wish to avoid further difficulty, we really ought to rejoin the others, painful as the notion may be. I shall go first. Wait a few minutes and follow.”
With a sweeping bow, he turned and left the library, leaving Sophia alone with her thoughts. A third shiver passed through her. How on earth had she managed to challenge this man?
“MISS Julia, if I might have a word.”
Julia turned on her heel, but a glance in the direction of the drawing room showed her mother and Lady Wexford already seated, studiously ignoring each other. Thank goodness. Neither had overheard Ludlowe’s whispered request.
The silence emanating from the room was so deafening, the prospect of conversation with Ludlowe was nearly tempting. Nearly.
She turned back to him. “Aren’t you going to drink port with the gentlemen?”
He grinned. “Highgate’s already taken himself off somewhere and your friend Revelstoke doesn’t seem to care for my company.”
Julia sent him a pointed stare. If the man could discern Benedict’s dislike, why couldn’t he pick up on her lack of enthusiasm? For that matter, he ought to have noticed Sophia’s affection long since. “Would you like to join us in the drawing room, then?”
“I was rather hoping I might speak with you alone.”
Thinking of her sister’s predicament, she narrowed her eyes. Sophia had mentioned his presence that night. If Ludlowe sought to win her by placing her in a compromising situation, he’d best make other plans. “We are barely acquainted, sir. What could you possibly have to say to me that you cannot say in front of my mother and Lady Wexford?”
He reached out and placed a hand on her forearm. “It would only take a moment of your time.”
Arching a brow, she pulled back. “Then, whatever it is, you may state it here.”
“Please, I realize this is highly unusual, but it is a most urgent matter.”
“Most urgent?” She waved a dismissive hand, the gesture bordering on rudeness. Not that she cared, as long as he cottoned on to the idea she was not interested in his attentions. “Before the Posselthwaite ball, you barely addressed two words to me in your entire life. I cannot imagine what has changed in the days since, as you keep cropping up.”
“My station, if I may speak plainly. That is what has changed.”
“Ah, yes, the earldom. Have you received word from the Lord Chancellor?”
He shook his head. “It’s far too soon. As your friend Revelstoke was so eager to point out the other evening, there’s still the matter of the widow.”
Julia studied him carefully. While his mild expression barely flinched, his voice had taken on an edge at the mention of Benedict. “Still, I fail to see what that has to do with me.”
“My dear, it has everything to do with you. As Clivesden, I shall have a responsibility to assure the future of the line. I shall require a countess.”
Even though she had known this was coming, the contents of her stomach churned. The second helping of syllabub threatened to put in a reappearance all over Ludlowe’s impeccable tailcoat and embroidered waistcoat. That would be taking rudeness a bit too far.
While she didn’t care much for Ludlowe, she took pity on his valet, and swallowed hard. “Surely any number of young ladies out this season might fulfill your requirements. Why, my own sister—”
“Is already betrothed. In any case, I have already made up my mind.”
“And the young lady in question?” Julia couldn’t help goading. “Is she to have any say in the matter?”
“That is what I wish to determine.”
She clutched at her bodice. “You cannot possibly—”
He cocked his head. “Why can’t I? You’re of good family.”
“Not that good,” she broke in.
He gave a small cough. “Good enough
. Your reputation is spotless. Come now, it is a splendid match.”
For her, yes, and she must consider the family’s finances. If her mother insisted on pushing her in Ludlowe’s direction, he must have the blunt to go along with the title. But was she to be responsible for her father’s gambling debts? She was not the one at the card tables night after night, wagering money she didn’t have.
And Ludlowe’s presumption that she should simply fall into his arms! She inhaled and prayed he would attribute the heat rising in her cheeks to a virginal blush. “I’m afraid I must decline. My sentiments are not engaged.”
He laughed, actually laughed, and she stole another glance in the direction of the drawing room. The last thing she needed was her mother’s interference. Fortunately for Julia, but perhaps unfortunately for Mama, conversation had renewed between the two ladies. From the looks of things, they had returned to their dinner discussion. Lady Wexford leaned in, quite red in the face, and her finger jabbed the air as she drove a point home.
“You, Miss Julia?” Ludlowe’s reply brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “You worry about your sentiments being engaged?”
“It has always been my hope to make a love match,” she lied.
His eyes glittered, and he raised a skeptical brow. “A love match? Surely you’ve had ample opportunity to make one by now. That baronet who offered for you two years ago. What was his name?”
“Brocklehurst,” she supplied mechanically.
“Yes, that Brocklehurst fellow. He was utterly taken with you.”
Precisely the reason she’d refused his suit. “I had no idea you paid such close attention to my doings.”
“Oh, not at the time, certainly, but one hears things.”
She dropped her hand from her throat and hid it in her skirts to mask its shaking. Keeping her voice steady became a concerted effort. “What sort of things?”
“Only that certain women have a tendency to guard their hearts and not open them to any man. And you, my dear, you trump them all.”
“And men accuse ladies of gossiping,” she said faintly. Well-bred young ladies didn’t shout, after all. “I suppose you believe yourself to be the man to win such a vaunted prize.”
He let out another bark of laughter. “Your heart doesn’t interest me in the slightest.”
She recoiled from his words. They repulsed her even more than his touch. “You may rest assured you are quite safe from its sentiment.” She drew herself up and took a step in the direction of the drawing room.
His hand snaked out and latched onto her wrist. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly what makes you the ideal bride for a man like me.”
She fixed him with a glare. “Unhand me, sir. I no more invite your touch than I do your suit.”
“But—”
“You heard the lady. Remove your hand from her person.”
Julia let out a breath, as, shoulders set, Benedict stepped between them. He’d adopted the officious tone he’d perfected in the cavalry.
Ludlowe took the hint immediately. “I hope you’ll give due thought to what I’ve said tonight.”
She inclined her head. “Rest assured. I’ve already given your proposal all the consideration it merits. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling quite unwell.”
She backed away. Ludlowe lurched in her direction, but immediately stepped back, as, jaw set hard as granite, Benedict advanced. She headed for the staircase, intending to take herself off for the evening. Halfway up, the thud of booted feet met her ears, descending the flight toward the ground floor. Then from the foyer, rose the echo of Ludlowe’s voice grumbling for a footman to call his carriage.
“Miss Julia, wait.”
At the sound of Benedict’s voice, she turned. He stood at the foot of the staircase, one hand on the newel post, his expression inscrutable.
“Of course,” she breathed. “I did not mean to be so rude, but Ludlowe is completely insufferable. I owe you my thanks.”
Below them, the front door cracked shut. Her heart lightened.
“Nonsense.” He didn’t move a muscle—he simply held her gaze captive—but she felt as if he were commanding her without words. Commanding her to come back down the stairs and stand before him.
She clutched at the polished mahogany railing, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her bedchamber and forget every vile word Ludlowe had said. He’d just offered her the sort of match she’d always wanted, but stated in the terms Ludlowe had used—it turned her stomach.
And now Benedict compelled her to stay.
After another moment’s hesitation, he mounted two steps. Julia slanted a glance toward the drawing room. If her mother were to see …
“What is it?” she asked, her voice low.
He climbed a few more stairs, far enough to bring his face on a level with hers. “I heard part of what he said.”
Her grip on the railing became painful. “I prefer not to discuss it.”
He ascended to her riser, forcing her to look up at him. “I want to know everything.”
He’d never addressed her in that tone, the one he’d most recently used to get rid of Ludlowe. His captain’s tone, brimming with authority.
She swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. “I cannot bear to repeat it. It was vile enough having to listen to it the first time.”
He reached out, his hand pausing for a moment in midair before settling over hers. Her breath hitched at the contact. He’d touched her any number of times in the past. Why must she be so aware of it now? “That’s exactly why I want to know what he said. If he dishonors you, by God, I shall call him out.”
Her heart tripped over itself. “Oh, please don’t.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but shrill voices ringing from the drawing room cut him off.
“I shall be quite relieved when this entire mess is over.” Lady Wexford’s stentorian tones echoed through the hall. Heavy footfalls announced her imminent appearance.
Mama burst out a reply that Julia didn’t catch. Benedict chose that moment to take her hand and pull her noiselessly the rest of the way up the stairs. Reaching the upper corridor, he led her into the first doorway on the left.
Papa’s study lay shrouded in darkness. Benedict pushed the door closed until no illumination remained but a tiny wedge of light from the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Julia whispered.
“Making sure we have a chance at a little uninterrupted conversation.” The direction of his voice told her he’d come to stand before her. The thick Axminster carpeting muffled the thud of his shoes. She could not see him, but his presence hovered inches away, a tangible force.
“Do you wish us to be discovered?”
“Little chance there. I’ve already taken my leave with your father. I thought it prudent not to brave the drawing room.”
But Julia could think of nothing beyond her sister’s situation. Mama might disapprove of Revelstoke, but she’d play the situation into an excuse to push her at Ludlowe. “What will my mother make of this if she finds us here?”
“One can only hope.”
She stiffened. The words had floated from his lips lightly enough, but their long-term friendship had familiarized her with every nuance of his speech. His tone reminded her of their waltz, when she accused him of practicing his flirting. Now she wondered. Had he indeed been practicing or in earnest?
With her.
“Come,” he added, when she didn’t respond. “You’d be happier with me than Ludlowe.”
“Mama will find a way to let you off the hook. She favors Ludlowe’s suit.”
“The devil you say!”
She didn’t even flinch at his language. Long acquaintance had inured her to it. At times like this, she envied him the freedom to express himself in such terms. “He’s going to be an earl, you see.”
“Whereas I’m a mere second son of little enough means.” The level of bitterness in his tone shook her far more than his profanity. She�
�d never before heard him express acrimony for being born the spare.
“There’s no need to sacrifice yourself for my sake. I’m perfectly capable of refusing Ludlowe until he gives up. I’ve had plenty of practice. Although …” She chewed her lip for a moment. “Perhaps if I’d had less practice …”
He drew breath in an audible hiss. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really. Just a remark Ludlowe made.”
That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Strong fingers wrapped about her elbow. “What remark?”
His tone brooked no argument. Drat it all. She wanted to forget the things Ludlowe had said to her, not open them up to Benedict’s scrutiny. “Apparently, I have something of a reputation.”
His fingers tightened their grip. “How dare he impugn you when your reputation is impeccable?”
“Except when you drag me to a darkened room for a tête-à-tête.”
He dropped his hand. Cool air wafted over her as he strode away. His shoes thumped toward the far end of the room. “That is a different matter. By God, I shall call him out.”
“You shall do no such thing. I care nothing for Ludlowe, but this simply isn’t important enough for you to risk your life over the truth.”
The merest whisper of dull thuds told her he’d marched back. His presence loomed over her. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“He only noted that I’ve turned down every man who’s offered for me. You cannot call him out over such a thing.”
“Then what did he say to make you so upset?”
“It seems I’ve refused so many suitors I’m considered a bit of a cold fish.”
“He said that to you?” Fabric rustled. She imagined his tailcoat shifting as he dragged a hand through his hair. No, more thuds. He was marching away—toward the door. “I must contact Upperton. He’ll agree to be my second.”
A memory surged into her mind. Her nine-year-old self slipping on a stone. That momentary sensation of weightlessness followed by a heavy splash. A white-faced Benedict hesitating only a moment before jumping in after her. His head had disappeared twice under the murky water before she pulled him out. How little he’d changed, flying off half-cocked over a trifle.
A Most Scandalous Proposal Page 10