by Joanna Shupe
Aunt Bea lowered herself into a chair opposite the sofa. “We were pleased to hear you had traveled all the way to New York.”
“I live in New York,” Mrs. Hatcher said, her brow wrinkling. “In Albany.”
The correction flustered Aunt Bea for half a second. “My apologies. I meant to say New York City.”
Nora came to her aunt’s rescue. “I have heard lovely things about Albany.”
“Except for the government riffraff, it’s a decent, upstanding place,” his sister replied. “We live in Julius’s home there. He bought it several years ago and generously allows us to stay.”
Julius “allowed” them to stay there? An odd way of phrasing it, Nora thought.
“You know that’s not true,” Julius said from the sideboard. “The house belongs to you and Mother.”
Aunt Bea accepted the glass of sherry from Uncle James and smiled at Julius’s relatives. “I hope you are taking some time to see the city while you are here. No doubt Mr. Hatcher can show you about.”
“If we are able to pull him away from his stock ticker,” the sister muttered.
Nora saw a muscle tighten in Julius’s jaw and her heart went out to him. “He certainly knows the city well,” she said, determined not to let these women ruin the evening. Not when she’d worn one of her best dresses. “And the exchange does shut down in the afternoons.”
“I’m not fond of staying up late,” his sister said. “The hours you society ladies keep are quite different than how we live in the country.”
“Undoubtedly that is true. Very often I’ve retired early with a good book, have I not, Aunt Bea?”
Her aunt nodded eagerly. “Yes, we all do. Not everyone can keep vampire hours for long. Not even vampires.”
Julius snickered and the sound lifted Nora’s mood considerably. At least he could still laugh.
“Know a lot of vampires, do you?” her fiancé asked as he joined their small circle, a glass of red wine in his hand.
“A few,” Aunt Bea said with a wink. “They’re a bloodthirsty bunch.”
Groans and chuckles erupted from half the room while the Hatcher women frowned fiercely. Nora cleared her throat and gave her aunt a pointed glare. “We should probably refrain from scaring Julius’s family, Aunt Bea. At least until after the wedding.”
“Yes, allow me to offer my congratulations,” Agatha said. “I am certain you and my brother will be very happy. You seem well matched in your interests.” The way Agatha stared at Nora’s dress suggested distaste with the garment, though Nora was modestly covered. Had that been a compliment?
“Thank you,” Nora said, confused but determined to carry on. “I believe we shall be happy together as well.”
“Have you thought about a date for the wedding?” Mrs. Hatcher asked.
“November,” she answered.
“September,” Julius said at the exact same time.
“Well, which is it?” Agatha asked sharply. “September or November?”
Nora waved her hand. “We are having a slight disagreement about the date. Julius is not excited about London in November, but I prefer the cooler weather.”
“London?” His mother’s eyes went wide. “You are getting married in London?”
“Of course.” Nora glanced at Julius, who was watching his mother and sister carefully. Oh, no. Clearly she’d said something wrong and there was no hope for it but to soldier forward since her fiancé remained mute. “We decided that would be best, considering my father’s schedule.”
“I cannot travel to London for a wedding,” Agatha said. “And neither can Mother.”
“I will work out your travel arrangements, if necessary,” Julius said. “I’d like both of you there. However, if you’d rather stay home, I’ll marry Nora without you present.” He held out his arm to Nora. “Now, shall we start dinner?”
The dinner party was a disaster.
Beatrice and James Cortland attempted to keep the conversation flowing, while Nora forced conviviality through her confusion. Julius tried not to drink himself under the table while ignoring his mother’s pinched expression and Agatha’s smug, self-righteous smile. That they both disapproved of Nora, the Cortlands, and his entire existence was perfectly clear to everyone in the room.
At least his family had remained fairly polite thus far. Any overt signs of disrespect to anyone in his home would not be tolerated, even if they were his blood relatives. Both his mother and sister were listening attentively and responding when asked questions, thankfully.
The dinner had been arranged behind his back. The Cortlands reached out to his mother directly, assuming she handled social functions like any normal society matron. How were the Cortlands to know that Rebecca Hatcher was nowhere close to a society matron?
There’d been no choice but to attend once it had all been settled. He had warned both his mother and sister beforehand to be courteous. Agatha, unfortunately, was unpredictable. Julius had no illusions his older sister would behave and the anticipation kept him on edge. Like when a stock started to plummet and you couldn’t take your eyes off the tape, waiting to see how low the number would finally drop.
So he drank—and surreptitiously watched Nora. His fake fiancée really was quite lovely. Not a flashy or obnoxious beauty, she possessed a classic elegance where every regal feature drew one’s eye. Brows evenly matched and sculpted. A straight and delicate nose. Her proud chin and fierce, commanding brown gaze. Pale, creamy skin that he would bet was every bit as soft as it appeared. Why hadn’t he run his tongue along the column of her throat when he’d had the chance?
Heat wound through his belly, along his spine. He’d come to a decision the other night, one that would benefit them both. They couldn’t deny there was an attraction between them, a spark that erupted whenever they were in the same room. Considering he had no intention of ever marrying and she was in love with someone else, where was the harm in acting on these base desires? No one would ever know. Besides, hadn’t seduction been in his plans since almost the beginning of this farce?
Are you seriously contemplating seducing the daughter of an earl and expecting no repercussions?
Yes, he was. Recalling that kiss from the Casino rooftop, he could contemplate almost nothing but seduction.
“Julius.” His sister’s sharp tone broke into his reverie.
He looked up. “Yes?”
“I asked if you plan to travel to Albany for Mother’s birthday in a few weeks.”
Christ, had it been a year already? “Of course. Don’t I always?”
“Are you planning to bring your fiancée? We would need to make arrangements, of course.”
“What sort of arrangements?” The large house could easily accommodate guests and there were enough servants on staff. What difference was it if he brought Nora or not?
“The house is ill suited for visitors at the moment. We would require advance notice of any guests.”
“Meaning?”
“Some of the rooms have been rented out.”
What the hell? He straightened in his chair and slammed the base of his wineglass on the cherry tabletop. “Why on earth are you renting out rooms?”
“Julius,” his mother said, reproach in her tone. “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”
“Absolutely not. I want to know why you are renting out rooms when the entire place is paid for. Not to mention the monthly expenses. So tell me, why are you operating some sort of boardinghouse?”
His mother and sister exchanged a look, one that had Julius bracing for the worst. “It’s not about earning money,” his mother said. “We do not charge them much rent. The point is to offer folks a reasonable residence, one they can afford.” She gestured to the opulent dining room. “Not everyone has a mansion to live in.”
A dull ringing echoed in his ears, his skin igniting with outrage. She had the nerve to criticize him when he’d provided her with that house? Were they running this charity as a way to save Julius’s greedy so
ul? If so, his soul did not require saving. And if his mother did not like it, then she could find her own damn house.
His lip curled and he leaned forward, opening his mouth to tell her exactly how he felt—
“Julius, I wondered if you would give me that tour you promised.” Nora motioned to a footman to help with her chair.
The wine must have dulled his brain because he hadn’t a clue what the woman was talking about. He blinked. “Tour?”
“Yes, of your home. You promised earlier that you would show me the turrets.”
She’s offering you a way to escape. Leave it to his bold and clever fake fiancée to come to his rescue. “Yes, the turrets.” He blew out a long breath and stood. “If you all will excuse us. I promised this charming lady a tour.”
“Of course,” Beatrice said, waving them toward the door. “We’ll relax and talk amongst ourselves. No need to hurry back.”
Julius paused, certain he was hearing things. If he didn’t know better, he would swear Beatrice was encouraging him toward inappropriate behavior with her niece.
Nora tugged him in the direction of the door. A footman opened the heavy wooden panel and they strolled into the hallway.
He took her hand and led her to the main stairs. Their shoes ticked on the marble floors and he noted she smelled of lavender. The tension between his shoulders eased up considerably. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. I assumed you would prefer those conversations remain private, which you undoubtedly would have realized had the heat of the moment not carried you away.”
“Correct. Also probably shouldn’t have had so much wine at dinner.”
“Are you drunk?”
He shot a grin down at her. “I might be. Would you mind?”
Her lips twisted into a smirk, eyes dancing with mirth. “As long as you’re not on horseback.”
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”
They started up the steps and she chuckled. “It was a memorable first impression, that’s for certain. Wherever did you get the idea for a dinner party on horseback?”
“A bet. Friend of mine said it couldn’t be done, that the floor couldn’t hold the weight. Decided to prove him wrong.”
“Allow me to guess, you did the calculations and knew exactly how many horses you could use.”
He liked that she knew this about him. “Of course I did. Louis Sherry wouldn’t take too kindly to the second floor collapsing onto his dining room.”
Once on the landing, she looked up at him, frowning. “Wait, where are we going?”
“To the turret.”
She dug in her heels and dragged them to a stop. “That was a fib. I merely wanted to get you out of the dining room.”
He eased in close so they were nearly touching. He liked touching her, had daydreamed about stroking her soft skin far too often. Daydreams that had nothing to do with their fake betrothal or flirting with her in an attempt to shake her affections for Robert, and everything to do with how a man drives a woman out of her mind with pleasure.
Recollections of their intense kisses had only sown the seeds of an obsession within him. An unhealthy heap of prurient fantasies and dangerous imaginings that had grown stronger each day. How had she managed to turn this all around and make him suffer?
He deepened his voice to ask, “Have you ever been inside a castle turret, my lady?”
“No,” she whispered, a becoming blush spreading over her neck and cheeks.
“Then, please, allow me to show you what you’ve been missing.”
He tried to pull her along but she held fast. “Julius, we shouldn’t be alone.”
“Says the woman brave enough to face down a Haymarket mob. Do not give up on me, Lady Nora.”
“It has nothing to do with giving up. You’re . . . I think it best if we remain in the company of others.”
“You think we need to be chaperoned?”
“Yes, I do. It would make things easier between us.”
Easier for her to resist him, in other words. Interesting. So his little English rose was worried. A heady jolt of satisfaction sped through him. “What if I promise to keep an arm’s length away at all times? Will that do it?”
The edges of her mouth turned down into a pretty frown. “You’re laughing at me.”
“A little, but I have no wish to cause you any discomfort. I merely wanted to show you the clever little nook I designed in the east turret while we escape the banal after-dinner conversation. Would you rather return to my mother and sister?”
That did the trick. She shook her head and swept her arm out. “Lead the way, good sir.”
Chapter Twelve
Before his fake fiancée could change her mind, Julius spun, took her hand, and hurried toward the end of the family wing. The turret was his own private retreat within the house and for some silly reason he was excited to show it to her. He sensed Nora would appreciate what he’d done with the space.
He pressed on the wall to the right of the last sconce and the mechanism released. The edge of the door popped open, behind it a staircase no one used but him. He held open the secret panel, threw the switch for electric, and gestured for Nora to enter. She swept through the opening and began climbing the stairs, her long train trailing her. Julius followed and tried not to stare at her tiny waist or the sway of her backside. Dashed impossible to do when she was right in front of his face, however, so he stopped fighting it and enjoyed the view.
The stairs curved near the top and ended at the edge of the turret. He heard her gasp when she reached the end and smiled to himself. “Julius, I cannot believe it. It’s a tiny . . .”
“Library. I know.”
He stepped up into the round reading room and stood beside her. Exposed wood beams in the domed roof met in the center, where a large black metal gasolier illuminated the space. Floor-to-ceiling curved walnut shelves packed with books covered three sides, complete with a wooden ladder to reach the volumes on top. An upholstered bench seat had been built beneath the two large windows, a perfect reading spot that was every bit as cozy as it appeared.
“I love it.” She spun around to take it all in. “It’s incredible.”
“Wait,” he told her and hurried to the bench seat. Lifting up the last cushion, he flipped up the top of the bench to reveal the compartment underneath. He gestured to the contents. “See?”
She peered around him into the bench where he kept his favorite bottles and glasses. “A hidden sideboard. How clever.”
Reaching in, he withdrew a bottle of brandy—his preferred French Cognac—and two snifters. Then he replaced the seat and the cushion. “Shall we have an after-dinner brandy?”
Nora’s attention had already turned to the books. “Sure, fine. Have you read all these books? The Theories of the Production of Wealth and Lectures on the Principles of Capitalism.”
“Indeed, I have.” He handed her a half-full snifter of brandy, which she accepted absently. “These are my personal favorites, as opposed to the library in the main part of the house that contains a little of everything.”
“Oh, I loved Gulliver’s Travels. Heavens, that appears to be a first edition.”
“It is. All of the books in this room are original printings.” He warmed the snifter with his palms, swirling the contents in the crystal bowl. He took a sip of brandy, then licked the rich flavor from his lips as the liquor burned all the way down to his stomach.
Carrying her glass, Nora trailed a finger over the spines and walked along the shelves. “Madame Bovary?” She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “I should have expected you to possess the scandalous books as well, you rogue.”
Smiling, he lowered himself onto a cushion at the window seat. “The tale of a restless woman searching to escape her circumstances through assignations and affairs? My dear, it is poetry on every page.”
She returned her attention to the shelves. “I suppose you’ll tell me that is how you see me.”
That h
adn’t been his meaning, not at all. “No, Emma is almost a child, looking for love and acceptance in high society. When she doesn’t find it she kills herself. You are far too brave, too self-assured to be Emma.” He lifted a shoulder. “The title character is probably more like my father, actually, though not the affairs. He suffered from the craving for money and the acceptance of one’s betters. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to the story.”
“To better understand him?”
“Yes, perhaps.”
She came to sit by him, her skirts spilling over the bench. “That is the second time tonight you have referred to me as ‘brave.’”
“Does that description honestly surprise you?” Had precious Robert never commented on that fact? Her father? “You are fearless, Nora.”
“Oh, how I wish that were true,” she said with an odd laugh that came out more pained than humorous.
“What do you mean? What has you so afraid?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Come on, tell me,” he coaxed. “Can it be so terrible?”
“I am terrified of this.” She gestured between the two of them. “Of whatever seems to be happening when we are in the same room. I am terrified of discovering I am as fickle as I suspect. I am terrified of becoming a—” She pressed her lips together but the rest of the sentence was as clear as if she’d spoken aloud.
Whore. Tart. Loose woman.
His chest tightened with an uncomfortable sensation he suspected was guilt. He had set out to seduce her, to shake her regard for the mythical Robert, without contemplating how that would make her feel. The doubt, the self-recrimination she would experience . . . Hell, he’d never wanted to hurt her.
The realization hit him with the force of a brickbat to the stomach. Oh, Christ. He was falling for this woman. Throwing back a mouthful of brandy, he willed the uncomfortable thought away for now. There would be time enough to wallow in regrets after all this had ended. For God’s sake, he deserved a broken heart, the universe’s way of keeping life’s tally sheet in perfect balance.