All these little feminine moments had been something he’d greatly appreciated about Sybil. Women could have no idea how entrancing it was to watch a woman skim her fingers over her own skin.
Footsteps finally sounded on the steps and he watched her ascend the stairs much as he had the night she had fallen sick. Instead of seeming shaky and wan, she beamed at him. Vibrancy fairly shimmered from her and he couldn’t resist the smile curving his lips.
He skimmed his gaze down her and paused at the sight of stockinged legs peeking out of the dark green bloomers she wore. Good God, she was wearing trousers. He’d heard of some women in London kicking up a stink because they wanted to wear trousers whilst cycling but he’d never seen it himself. After all, this was the country. He tried to drag his gaze away from where the tight cuffs latched around slender calves but he couldn’t seem to.
“I thought I should dress sensibly for the occasion.”
Julian snapped his gaze up to her face. He’d already embarrassed the girl enough. He couldn’t possibly tell her how inappropriate her manner of dress was.
“Very well then.” He motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
Viola surprised him by looping her arm through his. Gone was the teary-eyed, furious woman from the previous day. He wished her letters had prepared him better for her temperament. Unpredictable wasn’t the word.
He shouldn’t like it.
Unpredictability didn’t mesh well with his life. He really should not like it.
Julian helped her up into the carriage and seated himself opposite her. He had thought that was the better option. He’d been wrong.
Instead of not worrying about her bottom jostling into him—a bottom he couldn’t help noticing under the short cut of her riding jacket—he was faced with the nagging need to stare at her. If he continued, she would probably jump onto the nearest ship back.
As the carriage took them down the road, past the trees and out through the main gate, he forced his gaze to the rolling hills of the Warwickshire countryside.
They passed a charming inn that he used to frequent before Sybil had died. He stole a peek at Viola. The road took them past some of the cottages on his estate. He flicked a glance her way and ran his gaze down to where her stockinged ankles sat primly together.
Julian eyed the flocked pattern of the curtains on either side of the window.
He darted another look at those ankles. The stockings were thick enough, made in the same deep green shade as her bloomers. But he could see the delicate bones of her ankles and the way they curved. He was fairly certain he’d never found an ankle so appealing and Lord knows, he’d been with enough women to see many a naked ankle.
Over the next hour, he tried to keep his attention—and hers—on the scenery and various buildings in the area. He pointed out the church where he had been christened and some of the older buildings in the county, and Viola eyed it all with avid curiosity. The unadulterated look of fascination on her face made not watching her impossible. She wore her every emotion so openly. He’d never seen anything like it.
It was with a certain sense of relief that they arrived in the village of Kenilworth. The carriage took them over the bridge and brought them around to the front of the grand castle. Its red stone loomed over the small cottages and large expanse of open land around it. Even he found it impressive.
“Oh my,” she breathed, half-standing to peer out of the window and admire it before the carriage had come to a complete stop.
As the vehicle did finally stop, she staggered a little and Julian put his hands out to brace her. Hips and a pert rear met his palms. He drew them back as if scalded and she gave him a sheepish look.
“It truly is magnificent.”
He waited for the groom to open the door and pull out the steps before stepping out and aiding her down. She lifted the brim of her hat and eyed the sprawling ruins. The old keep still stood and a wall encircled it. The rest of the building still filled the lines of the wall but was not in as good a condition as the Norman part of it.
“We have to climb the mound, I’m afraid.” He pointed to where the ground dipped into what had once been the moat and then rose back up at a steep angle.
“What a fine job I did dress appropriately then.”
Damn her, did she have to keep reminding him that he could simply glance down and have a fine view of her long legs?
Julian noted two other carriages on the road nearby and spied a group of people exploring the ruins. Since a book had been written on the castle, it had become an increasingly popular place for people to visit. He hesitated but Viola strode on and he was forced to follow. He didn’t do people well, not since—
“Well, would you look at this?” Hand to her hat, she paused to take in the full view of the castle. “It is beautiful.”
He nodded numbly. Beautiful. Indeed. Her auburn hair fluttered in the wind and a loose lock came to curl about her face, sticking to her lower lip as she turned to beam at him. Beautiful.
“I knew it would be wonderful, but I didn’t expect it to be like this,” she continued and began to march on again.
Taking a moment to gather himself, he let her go on a few paces. He had not expected her to be like this either. Bold, vivacious, breathtaking. He scowled and tried to recall how he’d pictured her when he’d been writing to her, but she’d been a sort of faceless entity. Julian was not at all sure he liked knowing how attractive she was. It made resisting the idea of anything further all the more difficult.
With a sigh, he trailed after her. Writing letters and falling for her had been easy. What better way to avoid women than to fall for a woman he could never have?
Underfoot, mud squelched and slurped. The rain from the previous days hadn’t drained away and what once used to be the moat proved to be particularly slippery. He hobbled across and caught up with Viola as she proceeded up the other side toward the castle.
Breaths coming heavily, they both stopped to admire the red walls. “It is said that Queen Elizabeth stayed here with her lover,” he told her with a grin.
“How exciting. Come on, Julian.”
Viola led him about the castle. He felt less like the guide and more like the guided. Her enthusiasm quickly made him forget the few other people milling around the ruins. Every now and then he’d pause and watch her as she stared up at the great walls. Each time he did so, his chest grew tight, as though his heart was swelling.
By the time they had finished exploring, it was nearing lunchtime. He motioned to the carriage and she hopped down from her spot on top of a short, crumbling wall. Behind her, Julian noted two young women staring at her with sour expressions. Viola must have seen him glance their way, as she paused to view them over her shoulder. When she turned back to him, he realised she knew as well as he did what they were thinking.
“I’m almost surprised she’s not smoking cigars and drinking,” one of the women muttered.
The other giggled. “She would fit in well at the gentleman’s clubs.”
Viola dropped her gaze. She darted another look at them and came up to his side. He perfected his most marquess-like expression and looped his arm through hers. “I am grateful you came appropriately dressed, Miss Thompson,” he said loudly. “Few ladies would have such foresight. And I hear tell the Viscountess Harberton is quite the patron of active wear for women these days. I do so prefer the company of women of sense.”
She stared at him for several moments before a grin broke across her face.
“Refer to me by my title,” he whispered.
She nodded, her smile expanding. “Why thank you, Lord Lockwood,” she replied, just as loudly. “I do like to wear the latest fashions and thank goodness, they are so very comfortable.”
The women stared at them before turning hastily away and scurrying off in the opposite direction. If they knew anything of society, they should know his name. He hoped they felt heartily ashamed of themselves.
“Silly cows,” he uttered under hi
s breath. “Mrs Whittleworth packed a picnic,” Julian informed her while they made their way back to the edge of the ruins. “Shall we?”
“Oh yes, I’m famished.”
They made their way down the side of the mound. She gripped his arm when her foot went from underneath her and he had to pause to ensure they didn’t both go down on their arses. But as they reached the bottom, she slipped again and this time her arm tore from his. She landed on her rear with a squelch.
Julian groaned. What a fine time he was showing her. First she had suffered insults from strangers and now she was coated in cold, English mud.
Then the strangest thing happened. She looked up at him, slapped her hands down on either side of her and laughed.
He stared at her for some time while tears of laughter began to form in her eyes and trickle out onto her cheeks. The woman was utterly mad. She finally gathered her breath and offered him a mud-coated hand. He took it and helped her up, aware of the dirt squashing between their joined hands. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring at her. It was as though his brain could not quite process her. Did he laugh with her? Apologise for letting her go? Ignore the fact she was now covered in mud?
He settled for an apology and drew out his handkerchief to offer it to her. “I am sorry.”
“Do not be.” She stepped close and flicked a lock of hair out of her eye.
A smear of brown marred her cheek so he leaned in and dabbed it away with his handkerchief.
“This has been wonderful,” she told him when he drew back, breathless and tense.
Viola flung her arms around him suddenly and flattened her lips just to the left of his mouth. The movement took him so by surprise that he jerked and found his lips pressed against hers. He froze.
Warmth and softness moved over his mouth. A groan rose from deep within him, and he could not help but respond. He slipped his tongue into the moist recess and she surprised him by responding in kind. Julian didn’t touch her. She had such a hold of him, he wasn’t sure he could move his arms to do so. The vague thought that the prudish women might spot them had him pressing the kiss deeper and finally drawing out his arms to wrap them around her and bend her backwards. Fiery need coursed through him, setting his senses alight. If there were people watching them now, he cared not one whit. All that mattered was the sensual taste of Viola Thompson.
When he drew back and righted her, her hat was askew and her lips were puffy. He offered her his arm and glanced back to see that they had indeed had an audience. Julian could not help but grin to himself. Tomorrow he’d likely regret kissing Viola but for the moment, he revelled in it very much.
Chapter Eight
Viola sank onto the chaise with relish. The cushions accepted her body with a sigh of fabric and she could not mask her own sigh of relief. All these new experiences—they had truly worn her out.
Julian dropped his newspaper and gave her an amused look as she sprawled dramatically. “Tired, Miss Thompson?”
“Exhausted, Lord Lockwood.”
“A day of rest tomorrow then perhaps?”
She lifted her head. “Oh no, certainly not. A good night’s sleep and I shall be raring to go.”
So far Julian had taken her all over the local area and into Stratford-Upon-Avon where Shakespeare had lived. She had never seen so much history in her life. The old Tudor buildings with their odd angles and beautiful wooden beams fascinated her. But she also wanted to see other things.
“I wondered if we could perhaps take the train to London? I stopped by oh so briefly on my journey here and saw virtually nothing of it.”
“No.” He snapped up his paper.
Viola gaped at him. “Pardon?”
“No London,” he said from behind the printed sheet.
“But why?”
“I do not like London.” Still, he didn’t lower his paper.
She scowled at the article and folded her arms. “I shall go alone then.”
“You will not.”
“I will so. I travelled all the way to England alone. I think I can manage a short train ride to London. Besides, Jenny can be my companion for the day. I’m sure she’d be thrilled.”
With a rustle, the newspaper lowered. Jaw tense, he thrust a finger at her. “You are not going to London and you are not taking Jenny.”
“Julian, whilst I appreciate you showing me around and your kind hospitality, you are not my husband.”A tiny tremor seemed to run through his body. She noted how her words made his posture stiffen. Nevertheless, she continued. “You cannot tell me what to do.”
“London is too dangerous.”
“Then come with me. You said yourself that I should visit London one day in your letters.”
“Yes, but certainly not alone.”
She lifted her hands in exasperation. She wished she understood this man better. One moment he was kissing her with a passion she’d never before experienced and being the charming, dutiful host, then the next he was gruff and thoroughly dislikeable.
“Come with me then,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
“Goddamn it, no!” He thrust aside the newspaper and came to his feet. “No London. No more pestering. I won’t have it.”
Viola fought the desire to scrabble back in her chair and curl up into a ball. It was not the first time she had seen his temper but last time she had run from him. Would she do that again or should she stand tall? She had spent much of her life bending to the will of men—her brothers and her father—even her fiancé. But stubborn pride didn’t dictate her reaction so much as curiosity. Why did the idea of going to London affect him so?
“Why not, Julian?” she asked softly, coming to stand in front of him.
He glowered at her, drawing up his shoulders in a threatening manner. Indeed with the wide breadth of his chest and the way his nostrils flared, he certainly threatened, but Viola knew he wouldn’t harm her.
“Will you forget about it?” he said through clenched teeth. “Just forget about it!”
She took a step closer until they were almost chest to chest. His rose and fell in aggravation while hers did the same as her heart thrummed against her ribs.
“What could possibly frighten you so much about London?”
“Frighten? I am not frightened.”
She tilted her head to view him and pressed a hand to his chest. Even through his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, she felt the quick beat of his heart. He flinched but didn’t move. Perhaps he was trying to prove his courage or maybe he felt as she did around him—captured by her presence. That might have been wishful thinking, but either way, she was grateful he didn’t attempt to turn away.
“Fear makes your heart beast fast. It makes your palms clammy.” She took his hand in her other one and thread her fingers through them. “I don’t know what could make a man like you scared but I should like to know. I should like to help.”
He snorted. “If you really wanted to help you would turn around and leave now. You would never look back.”
Easing closer and holding his hand tight in hers, she smoothed her palm over his chest as though she could ease away the pain beating in his heart. She didn’t say anything. Viola simply gazed up at him and waited. For this man, she had all the time in the world.
“It’s nothing.”
She waited until he heaved a breath.
“I cannot go to London. I cannot be around people.” He eased back and disengaged from her hand. Julian slumped onto his chair and ran a hand through his hair. She sat again and leaned forward, waiting. He glanced at her and lifted his tumbler of whisky. Swirling it around the glass, he eyed it. “I told you I’m a widower?”
“Yes.”
“Three times.”
She drew in a breath and remained silent. She knew this but this had to come from him.
“Lucy and I married very young. I had just inherited the title and all of its responsibilities. Of course one of my main ones was to sire an heir.” He gave a bitter snort. “Lucy w
as not particularly happy with me and nor I with her but we tried our best. We were children really. She died of consumption after three years of marriage.”
Viola nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. Her feet twitched and she longed to go to him and hold him against her chest but she suspected he would not take well to it and she needed him to tell her everything.
“I grieved for her in a way. Not so much for her company but for a life lost so young. Then I met Sybil. Her family purchased a large property in the area and my mother became friends with the Viscountess—Sybil’s mother. We spent much time together and I fell in love with her. We married just over a year after Lucy died. Some said that was in poor taste. At the time, I did not much care for what others thought and my family were pleased with the idea of me finally being able to have a son.”
Though a pang of jealousy seared through her, she checked herself. This was not about her but about Julian and whatever pain he was holding in. “How did she die?”
“In childbirth.” His gaze met hers and the agony in his gaze shot through to her heart. She had to fight not let the tears well up in her eyes. “I lost my son and my wife that day.”
The words hung in the air, hollow and agonising. What could she say to that? How could she possibly comfort a man who had gone through so much pain?
“What... what of your third wife?”
“You really wish to know all of this?” She nodded. “I had known Mabel since my younger years. We’d always been good friends and I believed we could make a go of it. She had need of a husband and I, of a wife. I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky as to find someone I could love and frankly, grief had eaten away at me. I couldn’t love someone again anyway. Within two years of our marriage, she grew distant. We spent much time apart and the gossips spoke of her spending time with other men. I avoided the gossips at all costs, hoping the rumours were false. They were not.” He took a sip of whisky and placed the glass on the table. “Just over a year ago, she left me a letter telling me she was running away with her lover. Two days later came the news of her death. She and her lover were shot in a highway robbery.”
Rogues and Ripped Bodices Page 6