Viola heard his key turn in the lock. Fifteen minutes passed before he returned. A blast of cold air entered the room with him. Bijou was trembling. “Did she do her business?” Viola demanded.
“Of course,” he said, setting Bijou down on the floor. Instantly, the little dog eliminated on the floor. “Perhaps not,” Julian said solemnly.
“She doesn’t like the cold,” said Viola.
“I’ll clean it up.” Julian went for the closet as Viola picked up the dog and returned her to the chair. “Unless you’re absolutely certainly she’s done her business outside, don’t put her on the floor,” Viola instructed. “She’s too small to hop down from the chair, and she won’t go where she sleeps.”
“That’s good to know,” said Julian, finishing the cleanup. He glanced at Viola’s travel clock. “Fancy a cup of coffee?” he yawned.
“It’s four in the morning,” she protested. “Aren’t you coming back to bed?”
He shook his head. “I’m wide awake now,” he said ruefully. “Must have been the bracing air! I think I’ll try to do a little work. I’ll just be in the next room, if you need anything. I won’t disturb you.”
And to her astonishment, he left her. Again, Viola felt insulted, almost cheated.
Angrily, she punched her pillow and lay down.
For his part, Julian found it difficult to concentrate on Lady Viola’s marriage settlement in the next room. Having to hide a fortune for a spoiled aristocratic lady while eaten up with worry for his own future put him in a thoroughly bad humor. Adding to his worries was a painful erection that he had no hope of satisfying without Mary’s help, help she did not seem at all inclined to give him. Not even walking that bloody dog up and down the cold, dark street for twenty minutes had cooled his ardor.
Angrily, he opened Lady Viola’s portfolio.
Much later in the morning, Hudson made the mistress’s tea and toast personally, plunking it all down on a tray for Cork to carry upstairs. The kitchen was now his de facto bedroom, and he would sooner have taken to dancing the hornpipe in church than allow a lady’s maid access to his bedroom. “About time she woke up,” he said irritably.
“You let her alone,” Cork said angrily. “A lady’s allowed to sleep late after her wedding night. She’ll be all done in, I shouldn’t wonder.” Taking the tray, she swept off.
Viola had bathed and changed her clothes in Julian’s dressing room.
“Is that my breakfast?” she asked, returning to the bedroom. “Put it on the fender—there doesn’t appear to be anything like a table. Where’s the bacon?” she asked, puzzled, as she surveyed the tray. “The eggs? The marmalade?”
Having relieved herself of the tray, Cork picked up the dog. “I think that’s all there is, madam,” she said. “I think Mr Devize is poor.”
Rather grimly, Viola poured thin brown tea from the brown teapot into a chipped enamel cup. “Where is he?”
“Captain Devize? Oh, he’s gone to ’Change, madam.”
“Change?” Viola said crossly. “Change what?”
“The Stock Exchange, madam.”
“I see,” said Viola, glancing up at her little pink clock. It was half past ten. She was amazed that she had slept so long; she was used to rising with the dawn in Yorkshire.
“Shall I unpack your trunk now, madam?” Cork asked eagerly.
“No,” said Viola, going to the bedroom door. Opening it, she listened intently. “Where is that manservant of his, do you know?” she asked, hearing nothing.
“In the kitchen, I think. He doesn’t like you very much, madam.”
“How tragic,” said Viola, stealing out into the hall. Quick as a cat, she ran lightly down the steps and tried the front door. It was locked. Viola looked around impatiently. There must be a spare key somewhere. If she could find it, and hail a hackney carriage, she could be breakfasting at Gambol House within the hour; she was not at all afraid of London by day.
Summoned up from the kitchen by the bell, Hudson stood in the doorway of the tiny study, his long face a mask of disapproval. Why, the impertinent female had quite torn apart his master’s study! Books, ledgers, and newspapers had been tossed about with reckless abandon. Hudson felt a burst of anger toward his master.
It serves him right, he thought, for marrying so far beneath him! Why, there had been no engagement at all. Not even a notice in the Post. It was all highly irregular. Hudson hated all irregularity, but he particularly despised irregular females.
“You rang, madam?” he coldly intoned.
In her search for a key to the front door, Viola had discovered a desk drawer that she could not open. At present, she was more interested in the contents of this drawer than in her freedom. “Why is this drawer locked?” she demanded angrily. “Where is the key?”
“There is no key, madam.”
“I see.” Viola found a letter opener in another drawer. Ignoring his protests, she plunged the thin blade of the letter opener into the lock and twisted it viciously. Hudson could only watch, trembling with impotent rage.
“Captain Devize will not be pleased, madam!”
“Give me the key!” said Viola, struggling with the lock.
Hudson’s temper gave way. “If the captain had wanted you to have the key to that drawer, he would have given it to you himself!” he said indignantly.
Viola only redoubled her efforts to force the lock, and succeeded at last in breaking off the tip of the letter opener.
“Now you’ve done it!” said Hudson.
“No,” said Viola, tossing aside the broken letter opener. “But I shall.” Pulling herself up, she slowly removed her toasting fork from her pocket. It looked quite insignificant until she extended the handle. Hudson’s eyes widened. “This,” Viola said proudly, “is Sheffield steel.”
Eschewing the lock, she inserted the tines between the drawer and the frame of the desk. The front of the drawer broke in two with a violent crack, sending a stack of papers on the desk flying. Unperturbed, Viola reached inside the drawer. They both heard a metallic snap, and then Viola felt a sharp pain in her fingers as a mousetrap clamped down on her hand.
“Is anything the matter, madam?” Hudson asked sweetly.
“No,” Viola choked, her eyes smarting with tears as she pried her hand free of the trap. She pulled her hand out of the drawer and inspected her fingers. “I’m perfectly all right. Thank you for your…concern.”
They both heard Julian opening the front door at the same time. Hudson hurried downstairs to take his master’s hat. Viola froze, surrounded by the wreckage of the room. She felt oddly guilty, almost as if she had done something wrong. She looked around furtively, as if to hide, but there was nowhere.
“What’s the matter, Hudson?” she heard Mr Devize say quite cheerfully.
Hudson could scarcely contain his glee. “Good morning, Captain. Mrs Devize seems to be having some difficulty with a drawer.”
Julian went up the stairs, frowning. “Why didn’t you help her?” he demanded.
Hudson blinked at him. “It was your desk drawer, Captain,” he explained. “She broke it! I–I tried to stop her, but what could I do?”
Viola stood up defiantly, braced for an unpleasant scene.
“Hullo,” said Julian, entering the room. He was carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. He placed it on the desk. Most of his papers were on the floor, but if he was annoyed, he gave no sign. “I see you’ve cleared a space for our luncheon,” he noted wryly. “Good. Ham or tongue?”
Viola stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“The sandwiches,” he explained, drawing a chair up to the desk and seating himself. “I’ve got ham and I’ve got tongue. What is your preference?” Opening his coat, he pulled out two amber bottles. “Lemonade for you, and ale for me. Ham or tongue?” he repeated, unwrapping the sandwiches.
Viola’s stomach lurched. She was quite hungry, she realized. Seizing the nearest sandwich, she tore into it ravenously, hardly tasting it.
> “Good lord,” Julian said mildly. “Didn’t Hudson give you breakfast?”
Viola finished chewing and swallowed. “Toast!”
“He’s not much of a cook, I’m afraid. You’re dressed to go out,” he noted.
Viola was wearing her white leather coat over a deceptively simple gown of lemon-yellow muslin. She had changed the black lamb cuffs and collar for ermine. At her neck was clasped a string of pearls. “Yes, I was going out. Am I a prisoner?” she asked defiantly.
“Not at all. Where did you want to go?”
“Well, I was hungry,” she said. “Then I thought I’d see the sights.”
“The sights. Yes, of course.” He looked amused. “I have some free time this afternoon, as it happens. I could show you the sights. What would you like to see first?”
Viola had just discovered that she had chosen the tongue sandwich. She looked longingly at his ham sandwich. “I don’t know,” she said irritably. “The Tower, or something. Westminster Abbey.”
He chuckled. “All in one day? They’re on completely opposite sides of Town.”
“I was going to buy a guidebook.”
“No need. You have me.”
Viola pushed her sandwich away.
“Were you looking for something?” he asked, looking about the room she had torn apart. “Or just having another tantrum?”
“The key.”
An amused smile curved his mouth as he surveyed the broken drawer. “You obviously didn’t need a key,” he observed.
“Why do you keep that drawer locked anyway?” she demanded. “There was nothing in it but an old mousetrap.”
“A mousetrap? Really? I never use that drawer because it sticks.”
Viola felt like an idiot. Her fingers throbbed from the mousetrap. “What are you doing here anyway?” she asked him rudely. “You said you only came home to sleep.”
“I left something here,” he said. “Besides you, I mean. A ledger I needed. I don’t suppose you saw anything like that while you were…ahem…tidying up?”
“What sort of ledger?” she wanted to know.
“Actually, it’s Lady Viola’s portfolio. I’m working on a little project for her ladyship.”
“Are you indeed?” she said suspiciously. “What sort of project?”
“The lady is soon to be married, as you know. I’m hiding her money so that her future husband can’t get his hands on it. The more I hide, the less Lord Bamph can claim in the marriage settlement.” He smiled at her. “You want the ham, don’t you?” he asked gently, pushing his sandwich toward her.
“Thank you,” Viola said gratefully. “I was so hungry I forgot I don’t like tongue.”
Julian uncorked her lemonade for her. “I’ll try to remember that. No tongue.”
“Do you not think it’s wrong for a wife to hide her money from her husband?” she asked him presently. “You would not want your wife to keep secrets from you, I am sure.”
Julian shrugged. “If Lord Bamph gains control of all Lady Viola’s money, it’s a safe bet I won’t be kept on as her ladyship’s broker. His lordship and I not the best of friends, you see.”
Viola’s eyes flickered. “You are acquainted with Lord Bamph?”
“I’ve met him. Lucky me.”
Viola smiled to herself. “Didn’t you like him?”
“Well, let’s see,” said Julian between bites of his sandwich. “The man’s an idiot, a snob, a coxcomb, and an ass of epic proportion. I tried to like him. I just couldn’t. Lady Viola is to be pitied, I think.”
“Perhaps she will take a lover when she marries,” Viola said lightly. “It’s often the case, is it not, in these Society marriages? Theirs is not a love match, after all. One cannot expect the lady to be faithful under such trying circumstances.”
“I see,” he said, his eyes darkening. “You approve of adultery, do you?”
“N-no, of course not,” Viola stammered. “But where the gentleman and the lady have not been given a choice in the matter…” She faltered beneath his brooding gaze. “Surely they should be given some latitude. One must have love, after all.”
“I’m sorry I can’t join you in your enthusiasm for adultery! Frankly, I’m shocked that a clergyman’s daughter should take such a lenient view of the matter. Shocked and grieved.”
“But Lady Viola’s position is unique,” Viola protested. “She won’t get her money if she doesn’t marry Lord Bamph. Do you expect her to choose a life of poverty?”
Julian chuckled drily. “Her fortune! It would simply revert to the estate, and, since her brother’s one of the richest men in Britain—thanks in great part to me—I seriously doubt she would suffer anything like poverty. The duke dotes on her, from what I can tell. He’ll give her anything she wants.”
Viola frowned; this aspect of the matter had not occurred to her. “But it was her father’s wish that she marry Lord Bamph,” she argued. “Is she not bound by a father’s promise? You would not disobey your own father, I am persuaded.”
“I’m no example of a dutiful son,” he replied. “I joined the army against my father’s wishes, and I have yet to beg his pardon.”
“Did your father’s wishes mean so little to you?” she asked.
“There was a war on, Mary,” Julian explained. “I’m a younger son. I had to go. Family honor was at stake. My father allowed his affection for me to interfere with his judgment. It was unthinkable that Lord Devize’s son should cling to safety while the rest of Sussex sent their sons off to war. My father would not listen to reason, so I had no choice but to disobey him.”
“He must be very proud of you,” said Viola.
Julian laughed shortly. “Not at all, I assure you. Shall we talk about something else?” he went on quickly. “Something more pleasant? I’ve half taken a house for us in Gracechurch Street. If you like it, I’ll close on it directly.”
“What?” she said, astonished.
“Well, I can’t keep my wife in rooms over a pawnbroker’s.”
“But I’m not your wife,” she pointed out.
“You will be,” he said confidently. “There really is nothing else to be done. You can’t go on living with me, unless we marry—I’m not that sort of man. And, if you don’t live with me, what will become of you? Where will you go? What have you decided to do instead of marry me and bear my children?”
Viola’s cheeks were burning. “Children! Are you mad?”
“It has been known to happen following marriage.”
“Madness?”
“Children.”
“You are mad. I’ve no intention of marrying a madman.”
“What will you do otherwise? You could be a governess, I daresay,” he went on before she could answer. “My sister has a numerous family, as it happens. She always seems to be looking for a new governess. You play and sing, of course?”
Viola stared at him, rigid with indignation. “Are you suggesting that I work?”
Julian burst out laughing. “It’s just as I feared. You’re fit only to be married. And, since we’ve already spent one glorious night together, you’re fit only to marry me.”
“It was hardly glorious!” she protested.
“It was for me,” he quietly insisted, and even though she did not take him seriously, a tingle went down her spine.
“You snore,” she lied.
“You smell nice,” he retorted.
Neither of them heard Hudson open the door, and he was obliged to clear his throat.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain. Mr Parsley is here to see you. He says the matter is quite urgent.”
“I’ll say it’s bloody urgent!”
The booming, angry voice was accompanied by the violent pounding of feet on the stairs, but, to Viola’s relief, the man who pushed his way into the room was plump and harmless-looking. “Dev!” he bawled, catching sight of his quarry. “Dev, you lying, thieving bastard! I ought to cut your throat, same as you’ve cut mine!”
“Is anyth
ing wrong, Tom?” Julian asked politely.
“Wrong! How can you sit there chewing, you bastard, when you know damn well that you’ve ruined me!” Here the caller lapsed into a string of gutter talk that brought Viola into the fray.
“I beg your pardon!” she said coldly.
The Cit could only stare at her with his mouth open. Belatedly, he snatched his hat from his head. He was bald in the middle, but well-endowed with thick brown hair over both ears.
“What my wife means,” said Julian calmly, “is that you should beg her pardon for your unseemly language. If you don’t, Tom, I’ll kick you down the stairs.”
Mr Parsley’s mouth worked helplessly to form words. “Beg pardon, ma’am!” he finally exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t see you there! I didn’t even know Dev had a wife!”
“It was immensely sudden,” Viola explained graciously. “You seemed to be upset about something when you came in,” she prompted him. “Perhaps you should tell us about it, now that you’ve calmed down.”
Mr Parsley glanced at Julian. “It’s business, Mrs Devize. I think it would be best if I talk to your husband alone.”
“You come into my home,” Julian said idly. “You browbeat my servant. You swear at my adored one, and now you expect me to send her from the room so that you can go on swearing? Think again, Parsley.”
“I would very much like to hear what you have to say, Mr Parsley,” Viola chimed in.
“Well, missus,” said Parsley, gripping the brim of his hat. “I don’t want to shock your delicate female sensibilities, but your husband is a lying scoundrel!”
“Please, go on,” Viola invited him politely.
“What the devil do you mean by selling off all your shares in Australian wool?” Mr Parsley demanded, turning to Julian. “You told me I’d triple my investment! You said I couldn’t fail with Australian wool! You said it would go up.”
“It is going up,” said Julian. “I was loath to sell at two and six, but I needed the money.”
“But it’s not going up,” Parsley protested angrily. “Since you sold off, it’s gone down, and nothing but! Everyone thinks you know something they don’t. I’m ruined! What am I going to tell my wife? How am I going to feed my children?”
The Heiress In His Bed Page 14