“Are you deaf? Get off her,” Charles bit out, stepping closer.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lord. You see, she belongs to me.”
Julia was trying to get her arm out of the man’s grip, her eyes beseeching Charles to help, or perhaps to try to understand the madness of the situation.
“She belongs to nobody, least of all some stranger who—”
“Ah, but you see, until she’s married, she does belong to her dear old papa.”
Charles had heard him say she was his daughter but still felt the shock of his words right down to his toes.
She had lied about being orphaned. Why?
“Be that as it may,” Charles continued conversationally, all the while his brain trying to process what he was seeing and, at the same time, trying to keep himself from tearing the man apart, limb from limb. “She is a guest in my home, and I won’t stand here while she’s manhandled by you.”
“Ah, prefer to be the one handling her, do you?”
It was the first time the younger of the men spoke, and Charles barely gave him a chance to finish the sentence before he lashed out and landed a blow on his cheek with a satisfying crunch.
The man went down, sprawled against the wall before scrambling to his feet again, his eyes wild with anger and his breathing harsh.
“How dare you?” he snarled, and Charles grinned in response, his blood heating at the sign of a fight.
“Stop.”
It was Julia’s whimper that stopped him from stepping toward the man again.
Her father had let her go but was now assessing Charles with a cold, calculating look.
“Most Peers,” he started, a cruel smile touching his lips, “wouldn’t hit another lord just for the sake of the woman he’s bedding.”
Charles scowled and stepped now toward Julia and, well, her father, he supposed.
“Do not speak about her that way again,” he warned, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched.
“Why? Will you hit me too?” The man smirked. “You’ve already beaten her fiancé. I suppose you won’t balk at hitting her father too.”
His words were like a blow to the heart, and Charles could almost feel his whole world crumbling around him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WHEN SHE’D FIRST LEFT home, Julia had imagined a hundred scenarios where she would see her father again.
Never, even in her worst nightmares, had she imagined the face of the man she loved crumpling before her very eyes.
He looked at her, and the stark pain and desolation in that look would haunt her for the rest of her days, she knew.
“Charles, it’s not what you think. I—”
“Are you engaged to him?”
His tone was flat. Completely devoid of emotion.
“I—” Oh, God. How to tell him? How to even start? Anything she said now would incriminate her; she needed to be able to explain, to make him understand. “There was an arrangement, an understanding of sorts between them. But I didn’t—”
Julia faltered to a stop at the look on his face: rage, hurt, despair. It was more than she could bear.
She was frightened by the thought of what her father and Lord Larsden would do. Of course she was. But she was more frightened by the thought of never seeing Charles again, of having him think ill of her.
Her father, sensing Charles’s upset, sensing that there was something between them, Julia supposed, stepped forward once again and put an arm around her.
Larsden had remained silent, shooting daggers at Charles but not brave enough to actually approach him.
Julia, all of a sudden, felt as if she were watching things from a great height, like she wasn’t really there, like this wasn’t really happening.
It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be under her father’s control once more; Larsden couldn’t be here to claim her in the most horrific way. Charles couldn’t be looking at her as though she were a stranger, someone he didn’t recognise and didn’t particularly like.
“So, you see, my lord…” Sir William was all false deference. “…whatever games my darling girl has been playing, the fact remains that she is promised to another. Don’t worry, we shan’t cause a scene at your party. I’ve just come to collect my dearest child. We’ll be gone before the ball ends.”
Charles flinched as though he’d been slapped, and Julia’s heart ached with the need to go to him. More than his heart and pride were at stake here. She couldn’t be released to her father’s clutches, nor Lord Larsden’s.
“Charles, please.” She did not know what she was asking, she only knew that she never wanted to see that look on his face again.
“Charles, is it?” Larsden spoke now, and his cold voice and colder smile was enough to put the fear of God into her. “Just how well do you know my fiancée, Ranford?”
Don’t let him turn me away, Julia prayed. Please, please let him say that he cares for me. Let him help me.
Her fervent prayers were quieted by the look of icy disdain that fell over Charles’s features.
Looking only at her, he spoke, his voice sounding dead and emotionless.
“I don’t know her at all,” he answered before turning and leaving her to her own devices.
Julia watched Charles walk away, tears streaming down her face. How could this have happened? How had things gone so, so wrong in such a short space of time?
Her father’s menacing laughter brought her back from her thoughts, and immediately the impact of him being there hit her. Now that Charles had walked away, there was nothing for her to focus on except the fact she’d been found, and all of the horrible ramifications accompanying that.
“Almost caught yourself a good one there, Jules,” he said with a smirk, turning her to face him so that he could look her over like a piece of horseflesh he was considering purchasing — or selling, more accurately.
The childhood name was as unwelcome as the feel of his clammy palms on her skin, and she pulled away from him in anger, in fear.
“I hope you realise, Berkley…” Larsden spoke now, his usual swagger having returned in the absence of a man who could stand up to him. “…that this changes our arrangement. I didn’t mind paying for an innocent, but you’re not getting full price for some earl’s used seconds.”
Julia felt herself tremble at the words. They brought her right back. And though she knew it would take a miracle for her father to change, to have to listen to the evidence of his depravity still as present as ever made her feel sick to her stomach.
“We had a deal,” her father bit out coldly, his arm tightening about Julia as though he sensed her desire to flee.
“We did. And then she ran. Who’s to say how many men have had a go.”
“She’s still innocent. Tell him, Jules.”
Julia had a flash of memory at her father’s words: her mother, standing in a room full of drunken men, stoically ignoring their cat calls.
“She’s an adventurous one,” her father had said, and Julia had had no idea what his words meant. “Tell him, my dear.”
The memory, fleeting as it was, snapped Julia out of her passive fear, and she whipped round, the suddenness of her movements causing her father to let go of her.
“Keep your hands off me,” she spat before rounding on Larsden. “And you will not touch me. Not ever.”
She turned and ran for the ballroom, just beyond the threshold. But she hadn’t made it more than a few steps before a hand shot out and grabbed her hair, painfully yanking her to a stop.
Tears of pain filled her eyes, but rather than pull her back, the hand pushed her further in, until she was standing in the doorway, able to see the entire room but invisible to the occupants.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, desperately trying to see a familiar face. Even Mr. Trent would be welcome now. Somebody, somebody who could help her.
Charles was nowhere to be seen. She tried to ignore the voice telling her that he would come back for her. What good was it to get her hopes
up? She should have told him the truth. She had known that he found it nigh on impossible to trust her sex, and still she had hidden her past. Why shouldn’t he have believed that she had tricked him? She had given him no cause to think anything else.
Her heart thudded as Rebecca and Edward suddenly came into view. If only she could get their attention. She could scream, Julia thought desperately, but if she did, her father would drag her out before anyone could see her.
“Take it all in, my dear.” It was Larsden’s voice that spoke in her ear, his hand gripping her instead of her father’s. “All of those people, and none of them give a damn about you.”
Julia tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip, pulling her back to press against his body.
“I do so enjoy it when you try to fight.” He laughed, and her stomach turned. “Where is your wonderful earl now? Probably already lifting someone else’s skirts. I know his reputation. We would get on rather famously, I think, me and him. We seem to have certain things in common.”
“He is nothing like you,” she spat through clenched teeth.
He laughed and nipped hard at her neck.
“Well, you’ll soon find out, won’t you? I don’t mind you comparing. In fact, I should probably enjoy hearing tales of your exploits.”
At that moment, Edward seemed to glance in their direction, and Julia’s heart soared.
“We need to leave,” her father spoke brusquely now. “The lad is bound to tell someone what’s happened, and I have no desire to take on the Crawdons. Ranford is bad enough.”
Larsden murmured his consent, loosening his grip on Julia’s hair but moving instead to clasp her arm.
“Come on,” he said, and Julia had a moment’s indecision before opening her mouth and screaming as loud as she could.
TOM WAS JUST BENDING to steal a very scandalous kiss from his wife when the sound of a scream echoed around the ballroom.
“What the hell was that?” he frowned, straightening.
It wasn’t coming from the room they were in, since all around him people were frowning in the same manner as he.
“I have no idea,” answered Caroline, equally scared. “Did that sound like Julia to you?”
Tom immediately laughed.
“Ah, that might explain it. She’s probably with your brother.”
Caroline slapped his arm, but there was no real effort in it. She was still grimacing in the direction of the scream.
“That was a frightened scream, Tom, and we both know Charles would never hurt her.”
“True enough,” Tom agreed then sighed as he took in her worried expression. “I’ll go and investigate,” he offered, earning him that smile that made him feel like the sun had come out.
He bent and kissed her thoroughly, though briefly, before setting off in the direction of the sound.
Bloody Charles.
When Charles stepped into the hallway, he nearly collided with Edward who was standing there frowning.
“Sent to check out the bloodcurdling scream, were you?” Tom asked.
“By Rebecca and my mother.”
Tom nodded in understanding.
“Caro seems to think it was Julia,” he said, glancing up and down the empty hallway.
“Becca said the same. Can’t say I’ve ever made a lady scream like that, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Losing your touch, are you?” Tom grinned, which earned him a filthy look.
“In fear only, I assure you,” said Edward, placing his hands on his hips. “Well, there’s nothing here, but it does seem odd that they both thought it was Julia.”
“Yes, I can’t say I’m altogether happy about that,” Tom agreed. “And I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“True, but then Charles has disappeared too, and you can safely assume that if Charles has disappeared at the same time as a beautiful woman, it’s for the basest of reasons.”
“So, find Charles, we find Julia?”
“Exactly.”
NUMB. THAT’S WHAT HE felt. Charles poured another drink, determined to do everything in his power to hang on to that feeling for as long as possible.
If he kept drinking, the full horror of the situation wouldn’t hit him yet. He wasn’t ready for it. Not now.
When this had happened with Isobel, he’d been humiliated, wounded, and angry. But this felt like someone had ripped out his heart and stomped all over it.
And the worst part was that for a time there, when her father had been hammering home the words that were killing him, he hadn’t given a damn. He’d still wanted her. Wanted to fight for her. Wanted to beg her to choose him.
He’d stopped himself, forced himself to walk away. It had been for the best.
And yet…
He couldn’t shake the image of her standing there. She’d looked terrified. She’d looked desperate. She’d been looking at him like she wanted saving, and he’d just turned his back.
But that was her father. And her fiancé, for Christ’s sake. She’d lied to him about them both.
But, why? The questioned kept niggling at the back of his mind.
She’d lied, and she’d looked scared.
A sick feeling began to unfurl in his stomach.
He’d walked away because of what had happened with Isobel. But Julia was nothing like the older, cynical woman.
And that look of fear…
Charles began to get the feeling that he’d made a mistake letting her go, refusing to discuss things.
There was more going on here than met the eye, and if he hadn’t been so worried about his damned pride, maybe he would have noticed it sooner.
He frowned into his glass.
It was entirely possible that everything was as Julia’s father had said; she’d run away from her fiancé, and he’d come to claim her back.
But the meeting of Mrs. Birch in Dublin… the subsequent panic attack… the very goodness that made up the core of her. These weren’t things he’d normally associated with a morally bankrupt socialite, unhappy with her lot.
The feeling of dread was growing stronger.
Something was wrong. And even if it was just a case that Julia had decided against that odious man, that was reason enough to keep her here.
If she wanted him, then she would have him, fiancée or no.
If she would have him, he’d fight tooth and nail for her. Beg her, if he must.
God, he’d been an idiot.
Standing abruptly, Charles decided that no amount of hurt or dented pride was worth Julia leaving and his never seeing her again. Her father had said they were leaving, which didn’t give him much time.
Moving to the study door, he pulled it open only to have Tom and Edward come crashing in, nearly knocking him off his feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, righting himself and pulling at his jacket.
“Eavesdropping,” said Tom cheerfully, stepping more fully into the room. “Now, where have you put her?”
“What? Who? Have you gone mad?”
“We heard Julia screaming,” explained Edward, moving to look behind the drapes. “And in the ordinary way of things, we wouldn’t interfere, would probably congratulate you, actually. But, you know, at a ball, in full hearing of all your guests. It’s a bit — er — awkward.”
Charles felt himself turn icy cold as he listened to Edward’s words.
“You heard her screaming?”
“Yes, how could we not. So, whatever it is you’re up to, stop it and let her come back to the ball.”
Charles moved to grab Edward by the shoulders.
“She’s not here. She’s with her father,” he stuttered, almost incoherent with desperation. “He must have gone already, but why would she scream? Unless, unless he forced her to go. Damn it all to hell, I’m a fool. I let him take her.”
“No arguments here,” said Edward, removing Charles’s hands from his shoulders.
“Her father?” questioned Tom with a raise of his brow. “Her
dead father?”
He lifted the brandy bottle and sniffed it suspiciously.
“What exactly have you been drinking?”
“I’m not drunk,” said Charles impatiently, moving to don his discarded jacket.
“Insane then,” offered Edward.
“Will you just listen—”Charles began but was interrupted by the arrival of Caroline, Rebecca, his mother, and the dowager.
“Well, where is she?” asked Rebecca without preamble.
“We’re not entirely sure, but apparently Charles is mad. Really, this time. Seems he thinks he sent Julia off with her dead father,” supplied Tom.
The gasps and looks of horror weren’t the reaction Tom had been expecting, but they certainly helped prove to Charles that something was very, very wrong.
“Oh my God. Charles what have you done?” exclaimed Caroline.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JULIA AWOKE WITH A start as the carriage she was travelling in with her father and Lord Larsden drew to a stop.
She was surprised that she’d managed to sleep. Furious, too. She could not afford to let down her guard enough to sleep. Not when she was with these men.
It was still dark, so she had not slept through the night.
An icy wind blew through the carriage, and Julia shivered. The satin wrap that accompanied her ball gown was no use against the freezing winter weather, and her father had not allowed her to take anything else with her.
“Where are we?” she demanded now, sitting up and refusing to allow even a hint of fear to show on her face or in her tone.
“At a hotel on the outskirts of the city,” her father answered abruptly. “Larsden is gone to procure rooms for the evening.”
Julia gulped, wanting desperately to ask what the plans for her sleeping arrangements were but not wanting to give her father the opportunity to see her discomfort. No doubt, he would find it amusing.
She said nothing else to him, and he made no attempt to speak. Surprising, really. She was sure he would have something to say, but he did not even reprimand her for leaving. In point of fact, he had ignored her for most of the journey. And when he had looked at her, it had been with a calculating gaze, like he’d been puzzling over something.
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 24