She focused on their joined hands. “Oh.”
Placing two fingers beneath her chin, he tipped her face up. “It is not my intent to coerce you into marriage, no matter how pleasurable it would be for us both.”
His fingertip traced her throat, ending where her pulse jumped. A small tremor passed from it to her skin. His nostrils flared, and his lips tightened in a grimace of agony and restraint combined.
“I want nothing more than to make you my wife indeed.” His hoarse words burned into her. Never in her life had she heard such stark hunger. “Your sweet response to my touch has left me aching to share the ultimate pleasure of your body.”
The longing in his voice reawakened the need within her, made her want, made her ache. Ultimate pleasure. How could anything possibly surmount what she’d just experienced? And yet his eyes blazed with such promise.
She could have all he offered. All she had to do was say yes.
TALK of the duel endured for several hours until they reached the cobblestoned streets of Mayfair. Normally bustling thoroughfares lay dreary under a leaden sky that any moment threatened to unleash an icy torrent.
Julia hugged herself to ward off the chill, as Benedict and Upperton attempted to find a means to extract Papa from his financial difficulties once honor had been served. Apparently Clivesden had behaved in a less than upright fashion during his years at school, delighting in setting the stronger on the weaker and cheating at sports.
Papa, however, snapped his fingers in the face of the evidence. “You won’t get him to call off a debt over such trifles. Most of the titled gentlemen of the ton have done similar.” His shoulders slumped. “I can do no better than to see my daughters settled and my wife looked after. After that, I must pay the penalty.”
No amount of argument could persuade him otherwise, and so they turned to the tedious details of the evening Papa had given Ludlowe, as he was known then, a marker for five thousand pounds. Who had been present? How deep the play? How much had anyone been drinking? Might Ludlowe have done anything untoward, and if so, could anyone else vouch for it?
Julia did her best to shut them out. The name Keaton came up among the participants. Keaton. Why did that sound familiar? No, she would not let them draw her into their brand of foolishness. They’d still not resolved the matter of Upperton signing on the wager. Above all, why did men insist on settling disputes by means that could see them dead?
They let Upperton out at his family’s town house before proceeding to Boulton Row. Benedict descended the steps, and leaned his head into the carriage. “Sir, if I could have a private word with your daughter. I shall not keep you long.”
At Papa’s assent, Julia took his hand and followed him up the steps to her front door—far enough away to ensure whatever they said remained between them but not out of sight.
“You’ve been awfully quiet the entire journey.” He studied her, his eyes wary and watchful. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
She stared down at her hands, folded as demurely before her as any miss. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t, but neither of them could do anything to stop the course of future events. No point in hashing it over. The men had done enough of that on the journey home.
“Look at me, Julia.” His voice carried such a note of command that she was compelled to obey. “You must choose how you intend to go forward, my dear. Either talk to me and tell me what’s made you so deuced angry, or risk destroying everything we’ve ever been to each other. But consider carefully. We have no alternative but to marry now. Whichever you choose, it shall determine our lives for the next forty years.”
Each ice-encased word stabbed her in the gut. She blinked back tears, even though she deserved his contempt for the way she’d treated him ever since—Well, with the exception of a very pleasant hour or so this morning, ever since the previous evening.
“Why can’t we remain friends as we once were?” To her own ears, her voice sounded unnatural, twisted and thick.
“We can never go back to the way we were.”
“But why?”
“Because I cannot go back now that I’ve had intimate knowledge of you. I cannot conceive of marrying another, because every time I go to her bed, I will close my eyes and see you, Julia. You. Nothing can erase that from my mind.”
His words now rang with the same conviction as what he’d said this morning. I love you. I always have. She closed her eyes and swallowed.
The conviction and the confidence. He’d calmly and blithely placed his heart in her hands. He’d given her a power she never wanted, a power to destroy, intentionally or otherwise. And in return, he demanded nothing—yet.
But he would. He’d marry her and, over time, come to expect such openness from her. He’d overwhelm her with his passion and demand a response from her at every turn. A response he’d pulled from her so easily this morning. In the moment, as it was happening, surrendering to passion had seemed as natural as breathing. But now, thinking back … Could she open herself to him on a regular basis, could she let herself embrace the utter vulnerability?
She trusted him, certainly, but the sheer intensity he evoked reached frightening levels. At times, it was too much.
“And, as you say, we must marry,” she whispered, acknowledging that truth.
She might find herself increasing as a result of this morning. Even if she did not, there would be no covering up the scandal.
“I’m sorry for the remark about Clivesden. It’s just …” She searched for the words. “Think about Papa, having to face him. Think of how I feel to be made the subject of a wager.”
“That was not my doing.”
“I know. But couldn’t you have told me? And Upperton! What were you thinking, encouraging him with his part in that bet?”
“That night …” He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it into wild tufts.
She took a good look at him, and his haggard appearance struck her in the gut. He’d barely slept last night, if at all. Guilt swamped her.
“The night of the Posselthwaite ball,” he went on, “we were at White’s. I cannot even remember what I was about to put down in the book. I saw that idiot dragging your name into a wager, and all I could think of was warning you away from him.”
“Were you really so concerned he’d turn my head? You ought to know I’d never do such a thing to my sister.”
“I do know, only … You will not like this, but there it is. Since all this began, I’ve been unable to think straight where you’re concerned. I left Upperton behind to track you down at the ball. If he signed on that bet, it happened after I left.”
“So you haven’t done any of this to help your friend win some blunt?”
“Julia, what do you take me for?” The left side of his mouth hitched. “Actually, he wanted me to. He came and told me of your engagement. I told him no. But then, you’d have to agree he was quite good at helping us get out of town.”
“Except the clothes he dug up for me are all a bit small.”
A sardonic smile spread over his face. Julia’s heart tripped a bit faster at the sight. “If he’d found you gowns that fit properly, I’d have had to call him out, too.”
An answering smile had begun to broaden across her face in reply, but at the mention of the duel, it faded before it had a chance to bloom. “Please don’t make light of that. Bad enough Papa must face Clivesden.”
“There’s no getting around it. Even if not for your father, he’d have called me out, no matter what he said earlier. In running off with you, I’ve cost him a great deal of money. Upperton cannot be the only one who took that bet.”
“That’s his own fault for being so arrogant and wagering so much. Five thousand. How ridiculous! He shall have to find himself an heiress if he wishes to pay everyone back.”
“Perhaps he hopes your father will shoot him and put him out of his misery.”
It was just the sort of sarcastic comment that made her laugh al
oud under normal circumstances. Not today. Not when Papa stood an equal chance of dying. “Please.” Her voice caught, and she had to swallow before continuing. “Please don’t say such things.”
“You’re not actually worried for Clivesden, are you?”
“I was thinking of Papa,” she croaked. As angry as she’d been with him for his part in this mess, she still didn’t want to see him risk his life.
He leaned across and picked up her hand, sandwiching it between both of his. Warmth flowed up her arm from his touch. “It will not be the first time he’s faced enemy fire, by his own admission.”
“Well, yes, but I know the outcome there. He survived.”
“You realize, don’t you, that in most of these affairs of honor, no one actually tries to kill his opponent?”
How she wanted to believe him, but doubt shone in his eyes and deadened his tone. Whatever Benedict’s past experience with Clivesden, it was enough to tell him that Clivesden was quite capable of resorting to violence to achieve his ends.
“I cannot stop the duel,” he said, as if trying to convince himself that everything would turn out fine. “You know that. But I’ll do my damnedest to ensure everyone survives.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAMA POUNCED on Julia the moment she came in the front door. She screeched while Billings took Julia’s wrap. She railed as she took Julia by the arm and marched her up three flights of stairs to the bedchamber. Once behind closed doors, Mama planted her feet, placed her hands on her hips, and settled in for a nice, long harangue.
Julia sat on the bed, rubbed what would likely show in the morning as five oval bruises, and took the tongue-lashing as her due, but all the while, she waited for Mama to pause for air. In no time, she lost count how many times Mama pronounced the words “scandal,” “ruined,” “shameful,” and “utter, arrant catastrophe.”
At one point, she uttered something that sounded suspiciously like a question. “Do you realize how hard I’ve worked toward this end, only to have you throw it away?”
Julia didn’t bother with a reply. No excuse was possible, and at any rate, Mama didn’t stop long enough to allow a response.
Half an hour or more must have passed before Mama finally reached “Well? What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing.”
Mama blinked, her hair long since fallen out of its coiffure to straggle about her reddened cheeks. Clearly, she expected some form of justification. “Nothing?”
“There is nothing I can say that I haven’t already said,” Julia explained, as if she were addressing a young child. Indeed, as if she were the parent. “So I say ‘nothing.’ ”
“And what is to become of us? Do you realize we’re ruined as a family? Bankrupt? Do you?” Mama’s voice strained toward notes usually only obtained by famous sopranos. “You might have saved us.”
“Begging your pardon, Mama, but it wasn’t my place.”
“Not your place? Not your place?” Mama puffed herself up once more. A fresh eruption was imminent, one likely to be punctuated with all the possible variations on “ungrateful.”
Right. Time to head her off. Time for Julia to see if her captain’s tone worked on anyone besides Benedict. “No, it was not my place. Papa should never have put himself in that position.”
She thought of the bleakness underlying his words when he’d despaired over ever giving Mama what she wanted. Good heavens, Papa must have loved Mama at one time. Perhaps he still did in his way. After more than twenty-five years of marriage, he was still struggling to attain the unattainable for his wife. Still trying to gain her approval.
Was she even aware?
“Of course he shouldn’t,” Mama said. “But what’s to become of us now?”
“I shall be settled, certainly. Benedict intends to marry me.”
“I should think so.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “I had best not hear of you turning him aside. Not after such brazen behavior.”
“I shall not turn him down. I’m as good as settled.”
“And Sophia is settled.”
Sophia had better be settled. Blast. Sophia had plans to cry off, but Julia couldn’t mention that to Mama now. She was going to have to find a way to convince Sophia to marry Highgate, in spite of the impending scandal. “Where is Sophia?”
“She’s gone with Highgate to the theater. But don’t try to distract me with trifles. You may think nothing of our predicament since the two of you have finally managed to find husbands, but have you stopped to think of your father and me?”
“Papa made me promise to see to your future.”
“My future?” A line formed between her brows. “Why my future as if he doesn’t plan on being there?”
Julia looked her mother in the eye. Best to face the truth head on. “He may not be.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” In contrast to her earlier outbursts, Mama posed the question faintly, almost delicately, as if the answer might break her.
“He’s challenged Clivesden over this.”
“He? Challenged Clivesden?” She drew herself up and found her voice once more. “What sort of nonsense is that? If anyone should have issued a challenge, it should have been Clivesden to Revelstoke.”
Well. Mama might prefer that scenario, since it would still offer her a chance at getting what she wanted. “Are you really so mercenary as to wish Benedict to face a pistol?”
“What? No.” She threw her arms in the air, but they just as immediately flopped back to her sides. “I don’t want anyone to face that. And your father …” She waved her arms again.
Long observance of her mother, both in society and in private, had always revealed a composed woman. Every move calculated, every gesture, every expression. Even earlier when she’d berated Julia for running off, her words had purpose—to arouse guilt.
Mama knew where she wanted to be and behaved as if she’d already attained a lofty position in society. She couldn’t even disagree over wedding plans with a long-term acquaintance in any but a rational, civilized manner. She’d long ago ingested and embodied the rules of proper conduct.
To witness such discomfiture now was unsettling.
“Mama.” Julia rose from the bed and laid a hand on Mama’s shoulder. Beneath her fingertips, the skin of Mama’s neck was cold and damp. “Mama, it’ll be all right. Benedict has agreed to act as Papa’s second, and Papa’s done this before.”
Mama laid her spread thumb and forefinger across her brow. “That old duel. He told you of that?”
Julia leaned closer. “He told me he called out Cheltenham.”
Was that an actual blush spreading over Mama’s cheeks? The heightened color dropped years from her face, until Julia could picture her as a young girl making her first foray into society. Her beauty must have turned all the men’s heads and sent the other young ladies into fits of jealousy. Not at all unlike Sophia.
“How much did he tell you?”
At the wariness in Mama’s tone, Julia pricked up her ears. “Only that he felt he had to defend your honor.”
Mama’s cheeks turned crimson, and the wash of pink crept toward her forehead. “That romantic old fool,” she muttered.
Julia let her hand fall. In all her years of observing her parents, she’d never imagined anything like this. They’d always treated each other with a stiff courtesy—when they had to interact at all. But to see Mama pinken like a schoolgirl over the memory …
“Mama, what happened?”
“No one was hurt, if that’s your worry. A small miracle, that. Neither one of them could shoot straight in their condition. They were both thoroughly foxed.”
Julia pressed her lips together and tried to imagine a younger version of her father, swaying with intoxication and pointing a dueling pistol vaguely in another man’s direction. “Why do you think he did it?”
She had her own ideas, but how much did Mama suspect?
“The man was besotted with me.”
The man. No
t your father, not Charles, but the man. The wrong man. And Mama was still bitter after a quarter century.
“Do you ever wonder if he still is?”
“What sort of question is that?” Mama snapped.
“An important one.” Yes, very important. A week ago, she wouldn’t have thought to ask.
“After all this time? I doubt it.” She heaved a sigh. “I suppose I might have remedied that in the beginning. It’s too late now. Too late for everything.” She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed. Then she raised her fingers to Julia’s cheek, the touch fleeting and cool like the passage of a ghost. “You take after your papa, you know.”
“How so?”
“Your looks, your temperament. He was never one to let his feelings show, either.” And with that, Mama swept from the room.
Mind abuzz, Julia sank to the mattress. I do not want to turn out like her. An echo of her statement to Sophia floated through her head. Those words had taken on an even more fundamental truth. She did not wish to become a replica of her mother, her beauty fading with the years, yet still pleasant to look at, but inside still seething with acrimony over a past she could not change.
But Julia did not have to become that person. She had her future before her, a future with Benedict, and, as he’d pointed out to her earlier, she had only to make the choice of how she intended to conduct their marriage. She need only open her heart.
By the time Sophia waltzed into the bedchamber, Julia had changed into her night rail and snuggled beneath the covers. She pushed herself into a sitting position and hugged her knees. And what sort of reception would Sophia give her? A row with her sister would only serve as a capital end to a perfectly miserable evening.
“How was the theater?” she ventured as a means of testing the waters.
Sophia went rigid for a moment. “You’re home.” Her tone betrayed only surprise.
“Yes, I’m home.”
“Oh, Julia.” Sophia’s face crumpled. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted the other night. I was so worried when you ran off, and thought at first it might be my fault—”
A Most Scandalous Proposal Page 25