With quite a few tables set under the shade of two large oak trees in the center of the garden, Julia and Gabrielle walked past a lovely area where guests could partake of breakfast, lunch, or tea, weather permitting, to a maze of tall hedges at the back of the garden.
Julia was desperately trying for some composure so it wouldn’t be so obvious that she was giddy with excitement. She couldn’t manage it. She was going to see him! Today. Within moments.
But she got unexpected help when she was nearly run over! The employee waved an arm indicating the final hedge, and Julia no sooner stepped around it when a tall man did the same. He was quick enough to put out his hands to keep her from colliding with him. He looked slightly oriental, due to the long black braid that hung over his shoulder. He blocked her view of the table behind him.
He looked her up and down. “Well, definitely not the lunch we ordered,” he said, sounding English, then added to the employee, “You forgot this table is already in use?”
“We were told Jean Paul—” Julia began.
“Right place,” the man cut in but then, noticing Gabrielle behind Julia, muttered, “Uh-oh.”
Gabrielle was raising her brow at him over that “Uh-oh,” but all Julia heard was Jean Paul’s voice from behind the man. “My angel of mercy from the ball? What an unexpected pleasure, chérie. Do come join me. And, Ohr, be a good sport and go find out what happened to that food, eh?”
Ohr started laughing. “I would, but your ‘angel’ isn’t alone.”
Julia couldn’t help grinning over the emphasis Jean Paul had placed on the word pleasure. But as Ohr stepped aside so she could actually see Jean Paul, her grin faded at the sight of him.
“My God, what happened to you?” Julia gasped.
“James Malory happened to me.”
“When? Surely not that night?”
“Indeed, he caught up with me as I was leaving the ball. Another few moments and I would have been gone.” Then he winced when he saw Gabrielle step next to Julia.
“My God, didn’t we give you enough warnings?” Gabrielle said in an appalled tone as she looked him over. “Maybe I should have taken a club to you myself and saved James the trouble?”
He gave his friend a half grin. “Your sympathy warms my heart, chérie.”
“Oh, shut up,” Gabrielle huffed, then stabbed a finger at Ohr. “You come with me, I want a full accounting.” To Julia she said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Julia barely heard her. She was drawn forward almost in morbid curiosity as Jean Paul stood to pull out the chair next to him for her. He was dressed too casually for a hotel of this caliber, no jacket, no cravat or tie, and perhaps that’s why he was tucked away at this private table. Or was it because of his bandages? When he bent slightly, she saw the upper edge of the bandages that were apparently wrapped around his chest, and the bruises above them. She saw him wince, too, and how stiffly he moved as he sat again. But his poor face! Whatever damage had been done there required a thick bandage that crossed the bridge of his nose and covered a good portion of the left side of his face.
“How badly are you hurt?” she asked as she took only a few steps closer to him. She resisted the chair he’d pulled out. She shouldn’t sit next to him, at least not until his friends returned.
The right side of his mouth rose in a cheeky grin. “Truly, not as bad as it looks.”
“But your chest is wrapped, isn’t it?”
“Merely bruised. I thought it was much worse, but the doctor assured me I’d be in a lot more pain if my ribs were broken. Malory was rather accurate in not hitting me in the same place twice.”
“Bruises that require bandaging?”
“Just as a precaution. The doctor couldn’t be absolutely certain there isn’t a small fracture hidden in there. Besides, while it might not look like it, I can breathe much easier this way.”
She winced. What a trouncing that must have been! But considering who had administered it, Jean Paul was lucky to have walked away from it.
“I take it your nose is broken though?” she said, staring at the bandages on his face.
“A minor nuisance,” he replied with a shrug. “Having been broken before, it breaks rather easily now. I’m usually much better at avoiding blows to my face.”
He said that with a wide grin that showed off some white teeth. He certainly didn’t sound seriously injured, but it definitely sounded as if he was no stranger to fisticuffs, which made her wonder again what sort of occupation he held, or leisure pursuits he indulged in. A young rakehell who frequented too many unsavory taverns? A pugilist like the younger Malory brothers, who took their exercise in a sporting ring? She wished Gabrielle had said more about him.
“All of those bandages can’t be for your nose,” she pointed out.
“Let me guess, you’re a nurse?”
She chuckled. “No, certainly not.”
His green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Well, if you were, you’d be leery of London doctors! They have such newfangled notions. This one first wanted to wrap my face up like a mummy’s. I refused. Then he suggested fish glue to stick the bandages to my skin. No thank you!” She smiled with him over his anecdote. “But truly, chérie, the doctor was just overly concerned with scratches on my cheek, so he did more than was warranted. And my nose will mend as it did before.”
“So no scars?”
“From scratches? But your concern is warming my heart. Perhaps if you visit me each day during my recovery, I will mend perfectly. You are my angel of mercy, after all.”
She blushed. She knew it wasn’t just compassion making her ask so many questions about his injuries, but her nervousness over being there. And some very real disappointment. She had assumed she would find out what Jean Paul looked like today. She’d been quite excited about that. But thanks to James Malory’s ire and an overzealous doctor, his face was just as distorted as when he’d been wearing the mask.
Despite all of the bandages, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was as young as she’d guessed him to be, somewhere in his mid-twenties. Nothing concealed his forehead today, so she could see that it was wide and smooth, with thick black eyebrows. And at least one cheek was undamaged, broad and masculine. His mouth was still just as fascinating as she’d found it that night, supple, quick to grin and quirk that thin mustache to a jaunty angle. Quite a dark tan he had, too, so he must enjoy the outdoors as she did.
“You’re not wondering how I found you when I didn’t know Gabrielle was a friend of yours?” she asked.
“I do not question gifts, chérie. Come, sit here and let me bask in your beauty.” He patted the seat next to him again. Had he moved it a little closer to him?
She knew she shouldn’t, but she found herself sitting down demurely anyway. Some unexpected heat washed over her, being this close to him. She must be blushing again.
His lack of curiosity struck her as unusual. Or perhaps hers was overabundant, since she had to know everything about every little thing—and had yet to really learn anything about him. But she’d always been that way, in her studies, in life, while learning the intricacies of conducting business from her father.
And a good deal of that curiosity was aroused by this man. “Georgina doesn’t know you’re French.”
“No, I didn’t want her to misunderstand my intentions, so I spoke my best English with her.”
She dropped her eyes to her lap before adding, “She doesn’t even know your name.”
He laughed. “I’d be devastated if I thought I’d told her and she so easily forgot, but I can’t recall mentioning it to her. My thoughts get quite scattered in her presence—as scattered as they are right now.”
Her blush got hotter, or maybe she was getting hotter. She feared she would let out a nervous giggle. She wasn’t used to this sort of excitement. It was a bit overwhelming. Her simply being there alone with him was so naughty! This must be what a lovers’ tryst felt like.
She shouldn’t have taken her eyes off hi
s face. The distortion the bandages caused was quelling her excitement and kept her mind focused on his condition, which raised her sympathy, not her attraction. So she lifted her eyes slowly, but didn’t get any farther than his shoulder. He’d turned in his chair to face her more directly, and his hair had fallen over his shoulder. It was that long!
She waved a finger toward it with a laugh. “Is that a French fashion?”
“The reason I wear my hair this way is actually a long story which I’d rather not recount. Suffice it to say, it delights me to wear it this way.”
“It’s nearly as long as my own hair!” she exclaimed.
“Is it? Let your hair down and show me.”
Now his tone was too husky by far. She felt a fluttering in her belly and her pulse was quickening. This was getting out of hand! It occurred to her that he might be thinking she’d come here to tryst with him. Why wouldn’t he? She shouldn’t be there!
“I should leave,” she said abruptly, and started to stand.
“No, no, don’t do that! My pain went away the moment you appeared.”
What a whopper, though she smiled anyway over the blandishment. Then he put his hand on her arm to stay her, and all she could think about was him touching her.
She finally got out, “Your friend Gabrielle thought you could use some cheering, but she obviously didn’t know about your injuries.”
“She worries too much about me.”
“With reason?”
He grinned. “Be my shield, chérie. She won’t yell at me while you’re here.”
She chuckled. “I have a feeling she—”
She stopped with a gasp when he suddenly leaned out of his chair and nearly across hers. But then she heard the buzzing sound of the bee close to her ear and instinctively moved away from it, which brought the side of her cheek up against his chest. He was batting at the insect to get it away from her. She heard his grunts. That was too much stretching for his bruised ribs. But she didn’t hear the bee anymore either, he’d swatted it away. What a chivalrous thing to do, despite the discomfort it had caused him.
“Thank you.”
She leaned back at the same time he did and saw immediately that the bandage on his face had fallen to the ground during his exertions.
“It was a nuisance and due to come off this afternoon anyway,” he said, then grinned as he leaned closer so she could see for herself. “Just a few scratches, correct? I don’t look too scary, do I?”
No, just too handsome, she thought before she met his eyes, realized she was far too close to him now—and felt his lips brush across hers. Her gasp was lost in the pressure that began immediately, her surprise so sudden, she didn’t even think to close her lips this time. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, carefully exploring, amazing her with his taste, with her instant, passionate response. He was holding her there against him with just one arm, but she wasn’t trying to get away. Oh, no. She was right where she wanted to be.
Carried away by that kiss, she put up a hand to caress him. Thoughtlessly, so thoughtlessly, her fingers got too close to his nose. She felt him wince and shoot backward as if burned.
“I’m sorry!”
He was giving her a wry grin. “Not as much as I am, chérie.”
She could see his whole face now. Despite the bruising on both sides of his nose and the abrasions on his cheek, she saw just how handsome he was, even more than she’d imagined that night at the ball. But his features seemed familiar to her. Had she met him before?
Maybe he’d ridden in Hyde Park—no, she would have noticed someone this handsome on her riding grounds, wouldn’t she? But she must have met him somewhere for him to look so familiar. She just couldn’t pinpoint where.
And then she did.
The anger didn’t creep up on her slowly, it burst instantly from inside her where it had been hidden away, just waiting for the sight of him again to spark it to life. Even after all these years he could still provoke her. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t show up when she’d just petitioned to have him declared dead and out of her life for good!
“Dieu, what’s wrong, chérie?”
Her relief was tremendous when she heard his French accent. He was French, not English. This wasn’t her fiancé. But, good God, it had been frightening to think he was, however briefly. And of course, it wasn’t. Jean Paul only bore a minimal resemblance to the fifteen-year-old Manford whelp she’d last seen eleven years ago, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had shared a trait or look with him that had brought that skinny, arrogant boy so clearly to mind again.
She was still shaken, though. She’d had no idea that such rage had been lying dormant inside her all these years.
She had to take a few deep breaths before she could trust her voice to sound normal. “Sorry, it was an old, horrid memory that snuck up on me.” Then she grinned to make light of it. “Your cuts are mostly superficial, but there’s an obvious dent in your nose. Will it go away once your nose mends?”
“My nose is fine. The bump is from an old break when I was young that wasn’t treated.”
“Broken when you were twelve?”
What was she doing? Did she still have doubts? She’d broken her fiancé‘s nose when he was twelve and she’d been so glad that she’d done so.
But he was frowning over her question, then his green eyes flared wide with the same memory she was having. “If you tell me you’re Julia Miller, I’m going to wring your bloody neck,” he said in a snarl.
She shot out of her chair so fast, she almost tripped. “You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch! How dare you come back when I’m almost rid of you for good?!”
“How dare you not be married so I can come home? My God, I can’t believe I’ve been trying to seduce you!”
The way he shuddered, or pretended to so as to insult her, made her see red. She almost flew at him. It was so close! But just enough of a sense of self-preservation remained that she quickly walked away before they picked up where they’d left off and tried to kill each other.
Chapter Thirteen
WHAT HAPPENED DOWNSTAIRS?” Ohr asked Richard from the doorway when Ohr returned to the room. “Gabby and I got back to the table and found you and the young lady gone. Gabby was still in high dudgeon after chewing my ear off and thought you two might have gone off somewhere more private. I’m thankful she just huffed off without another word.”
“Sorry about the ear-chewing.”
Ohr shrugged. “Since I was pretty much tasked with keeping you out of trouble, I deserved it. I finished lunch, though, to give you a little time in case you did manage to get the lady to come up here.”
“If you thought that was a possibility, you were dead wrong.”
Ohr finally noticed that Richard was stuffing clothes in his travel bag. “Did Gabby send up a message that we’re leaving early because of this?”
“No, but I am.” Richard didn’t look up to say it. The panic he was feeling was similar to what he’d felt nine years ago while waiting for his ship to sail away from England, afraid his father’s henchmen would find him and drag him back to Willow Woods, his home outside Manchester, Lancashire—his personal hell.
His fear had been very real that night because he’d known the search for him had already begun. He had a little more leeway now. Unless his father was currently in London, which was unlikely since he rarely traveled so far from home, it would take a day or two for a message to reach him, depending on the messenger’s mode of travel. Richard didn’t trust Julia not to send that message. But as long as he vacated this hotel, he could still control the situation.
“Let me guess,” Ohr said next. “The young miss wanted a ring on her finger instead of a nice tumble.”
“Exactly.”
“Er, I was joking. You haven’t been here long enough for a woman to insist on marriage.”
“Time is irrelevant if the woman has been engaged to you nearly since she was born.”
“That would actually
make time more than relevant,” Ohr pointed out. “This sounds more like an arranged marriage from my culture, not yours.”
“My people are half yours, or rather the Americans are, but it’s still archaic no matter how you look at it, and I didn’t escape from this horrid situation all those years ago to end up getting trapped by it again. Bloody hell, I really thought she’d be married by now to someone else whom she could torment for eternity.”
“Why didn’t you marry her if you were obligated to?” Ohr asked carefully.
“Obligated because my father signed a contract, thereby signing away my life? Not bloody likely.”
“Still—”
“No, by God, don’t try to make me feel guilty for not honoring the word of my tyrant father, who thinks he can live my life for me. Besides, there’s no polite way of saying this, Ohr. The girl and I hate each other. If I had asked her to marry me, then I might feel obligated, but I didn’t. I never wanted any part of her or her bloody fortune that my father covets.”
“I begin—to understand.”
Richard snapped his bag together before he glanced at Ohr and, with a nod, said, “Thought you might. Not every culture instills in children the importance of honoring their parents above all else. Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t honor mine out of love, if I had a parent left who was worth loving. I don’t. But I’m not catching a ship out of here until I break all my old ties to this place for good, and I can’t do that until I’ve seen my brother one last time.”
“The brother you mentioned a few years back when you were so drunk you couldn’t stand up?”
“I actually told you about him? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
Ohr shrugged. “Figured it was something you didn’t want to talk about since you never did—unless you were drunk beyond remembering.”
“You have an amazing lack of curiosity, my friend.”
“It’s called patience. If I’m meant to know, then eventually I will know.”
Richard chuckled. “You miss out on knowing a lot of things with that attitude.”
“Would you like some help in locating your brother?”
That Perfect Someone Page 8