Her hand itched to slap him. Instead she lightly tapped the scars on her other wrist. Be strong; be brave. Julia could almost hear Chester whispering the words to her. Have courage. She lifted her chin. She’d brazen this evening out.
The number of guests from the ton was surprising—or not surprising, if one remembered how much society enjoyed a good scandal. The day after the announcement of her betrothal to Wolf, the gossip sheets had buzzed with a rehash of the details of “the scandalous behavior of a certain Lady J.” Hardwell assured Lady Markham that Wolf would shut the hounds up. And true to his word, not another mention of the “incident” appeared in any of the tattlers the next day.
What manner of man was she marrying who could command both the gossip sheets and the House of Lords to do his bidding?
And what could he want with Kimberwood that would make marrying a Markham palatable?
As guest after important guest arrived, Lady Markham basked in the success of the ball. Her shrill voice carried up the receiving line, mixing with the drunken bon mots of her father and brothers.
Please, Lord, see me through this night and I will never, never display an inch of cleavage again, Julia prayed, with her most gracious smile plastered to her face, ignoring the leers of the gentlemen and the scorn of their ladies. She wished herself in virginal white sackcloth and ashes, up to her neck! Or better yet, she wished herself invisible—
“Julia, please tell me you forgive me.” Peter Jamison grabbed both her hands in his, startling her from her catechism and catching her off guard.
Peter looked wretched. He needed a shave, some sleep…and a bath, she added, as she caught a strong whiff of him. She could smell the sweet and sour fumes of brandy on his breath.
Instinctively, Julia started to pull her hands away and then stopped. All eyes down the receiving line watched them. Peter had broken his way through the herd of people to reach her. Conscious of the sudden quietness in the reception room, Julia’s mind raced frantically. How should she handle Peter? “Peter, what is there to forgive?” She laughed lightly, as if sharing a jest, while gently trying without success to pry her hands from his.
Sinking to his knees, Peter reverently kissed her palm. He turned bloodshot eyes up toward Julia and hoarsely whispered, “Forgive me, please, Julia.”
Forced to bend down toward him, Julia pleaded under her breath. “Peter, don’t do this to me. Please.” In as normal a voice as possible, and feeling a complete fool, she asked, “Is Arabella with you tonight?”
“No.” His voice filled with such emotion, Julia had a sudden fear he would start crying. “She refused to witness your humiliation. See what I have done to you, Julia!” Peter’s voice picked up volume, attracting more witnesses than Julia wanted to this scene. “I have sacrificed you to that devil. Forgive me, please, forgive me.”
“You are being melodramatic, Peter.” She quietly enunciated each word, hoping to reach his reason and his pride. She hated the growing number of people ogling them and eavesdropping on their conversation. “I forgave you years ago. Now let me have Hardwell see you home.”
“No. Not until you agree to come with me. Let me save you, Julia. Let me take care of you.”
Julia was horrified. Peter went on, apparently caught up in the emotion of too much brandy.
“Leave with me now, Julia. I can’t live tormented by the knowledge that you will belong to that monster.”
Lionel, standing next to her and clearly enjoying the scene, spoke up. “A monster, Peter? Come now, that is doing it too brown. Wolf’s no monster. Close-fisted, maybe, but no monster.” His eyes dancing, he stage-whispered to his sister, “Julia, I am always amazed at the number of men who throw themselves at your feet.”
“Will you help me with him?” Julia snapped at Lionel.
At that moment, Peter stiffened. His face draining of all color, he stared past Julia’s shoulder and rose unsteadily.
Brader Wolf had arrived. Without turning, Julia sensed his presence. The footmen stood straighter and the guests stirred, reacting to the aura of power that surrounded their host.
Lionel and James, who had never met their benefactor, gaped openly at the large man who filled the hall.
He stood directly behind her. Julia’s senses were alerted by the fresh scent of sandalwood, the brush of his breath upon her bare shoulder, and the tight grip Peter had on her hand.
“Is there a problem?” Wolf’s voice was silky and deep with the barest hint of irritation. Peter’s fingers sprang open, releasing Julia’s hand. She turned toward Wolf.
Elegant black evening attire became him, adding exactly the sinister air alluded to by Peter. “The devil,” Peter had named him, and indeed, Julia could easily imagine Brader Wolf in the role.
She met the question in his eyes with a cool lift of her chin. She’d done nothing of which she was ashamed. “Peter was worried about Arabella, Brader,” Julia lied smoothly, placing a slight emphasis on Wolf’s given name for Peter’s sake. Regardless of Peter’s fears, Julia would honor the betrothal. She held no other option.
“She isn’t here tonight?”
Peter started to say something, but Julia diplomatically cut him off. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“I am sorry to hear that your wife is ill, Lord Carberry.” There wasn’t a hint of regret on Wolf’s features, or of belief, and Julia found herself wondering what Peter held against Brader Wolf—especially since he had spoken for Wolf to her parents.
Sudden blinding realization told her Peter had not spoken for Wolf by his own volition. Julia took a deep breath to steady herself. A Markham understood subterfuge. Perhaps it was Wolf who held the aces on Peter? She needed time to think on this new suggestion, but first she needed to remove Peter. Her voice soft, she suggested, “Perhaps you should return to Arabella, Peter. I am sure she would appreciate your company.”
Peter mutely nodded his head. He didn’t look well. She recognized an act of desperation and wondered what drove him. She slid a considering look toward her betrothed. What role did Brader Wolf play in Peter’s problem?
“Yes.” Peter’s acceptance sounded like a resignation. “Yes, I should return to my wife.” He turned away, checking himself a moment when he realized that the three of them were the focus of attention for all in the receiving room. Mentally and physically Peter straightened himself, gave a short bow to his host, and left through the front door.
“Was he planning to be your St. George?” Wolf’s low voice brushed her ear.
She squared her shoulders. “Do you feel I have need of one?” she countered tartly. “Good evening to you, sir. We are all grateful you have decided to grace us with your presence—finally.”
He feigned regret. “And here I feared to interrupt an important conversation. Don’t tell me Lady Julia’s tired of making conquests?”
A blaze of anger flashed through her so hot and molten, she forgot all her plans to impress her future husband with beauty and charm. “Don’t pretend you’ve overtaxed your brain over me through the past two weeks,” she shot back. “If I had known I was expected to stand in this line alone, I would have dampened my skirts to really give your guests a thrill.”
“You mean you didn’t?” Wolf pretended shock. “Everything else you have is amply displayed.”
Julia’s mouth dropped open. She fought the strong urge to double her fists and punch him right in his arrogant nose.
Wolf accurately read her thoughts. “Don’t even think it,” he warned. “I will not have you creating a further scene in front of my guests. Nor will I spend the rest of my life stepping over lovesick puppies.”
“Are you my judge, jury, and hangman, Mr. Wolf?” Julia carefully kept her voice low, her smile social, even managing to move closer to her betrothed. For all the world to see, they were a happy couple. She hoped she seared his body with her anger. “As for your guests, they may say what they will. I answer to my own conscience.”
Wolf matched her, false smile for false smile
. “Brader.”
“What?”
“My name is Brader. If we are going to see this charade of a marriage through, you must call me Brader. Or are you planning to use my Christian name only when searching for protection from unwanted swains?”
At that moment, James and Lionel engaged in wine-soaked laughter at some witticism expressed by Harry at the expense of a heavy woman in green brocade making her appearance at the doorway. Wolf’s eyes narrowed with the keen piercing gaze of an eagle spotting prey. “Harry I know, but who are those other men?”
She took a deep breath. “They are my brothers, Lionel and Jamie.”
“Those rumpots are what I paid good coin to have returned to England?”
Julia enjoyed delivering the coup de grâce. “Those rumpots are your future brothers-in-law.”
His eyes glowed with an unholy light.
Never one to cry coward, Julia continued mercilessly, “But there is still my brother Geoffrey. He’s presently residing in a Greek prison. If we can believe Lionel, Geoff was caught in some affair involving the daughter of a prosperous merchant.” She opened her eyes wide with innocence. “Oh, dear me, I forgot. Lionel says you may even count yourself an uncle soon if the merchant and the authorities manage to get Geoff in the same room with a parson.”
Wolf’s jaw turned stone hard. He snapped his finger, and a footman instantly answered his summons. With a word from Wolf, and before Julia could blink, her brothers were removed from the receiving line. So neatly was the job done that Lord Markham turned to say a word to Harry and found him gone.
“Where did you have them taken?”
Wolf gave her a sanguine eye as he dusted off a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I have no idea what Hardwell will do with them, but I have infinite faith in his ability to think of some suitable place.”
“Are you always so autocratic?”
He smiled. “Yes. Always.” He leaned closer. “And you would be wise to remember that fact.”
His words were serious, but there was a teasing light in his eyes that Julia found mesmerizing. She gave her head a little shake to keep her mind on her objective. Her goal this night was to conquer him, not vice versa.
“Come,” he said, offering his arm. “Let us start the dancing, or this evening will go on forever.”
Julia placed her hand lightly on his arm, feeling the flex of muscles beneath her fingertips. And there was the slightest bump to his strong aquiline nose that hinted to its having once been broken. Wolf was far from a bookish trader. More pieces to the puzzle.
Someday soon, I will have the answer to all your riddles, Brader Wolf, Julia silently promised before sliding a look of flirting challenge toward him from beneath her lashes. “You dance, sir? And here I thought you had room in your life only for ledgers, statements, and contracts.”
His eyes glinted with appreciation. “I’m under contract now,” he reminded her as the crowd parted in front of them. Leading Julia to the center of the dance floor, Brader nodded his head to the dance maestro, who rapped his baton for the attention of the orchestra. Their guests quieted in expectation.
With the downward sweep, a violinist played the introduction, noble and melancholy. Julia felt the bite of tears and a well of emotion. Soon she would have a place in the world again with this strong man before her, forced marriage or no. I will make you a good wife, Brader Wolf, she vowed, whether you desire one or not!
Her curtsy to Brader was deep and graceful. She rose slowly, conscious of all eyes focused on them. His arm stretched out to her, and Julia placed her hand in his large palm. Other strings joined in the introduction, the music building to the melody that broke out—in three-quarter time!
Julia attempted to push away even as Brader pulled her closer. His large hand rested heavily at her waist, holding her firmly in place.
“We can’t do this,” she bit out in a harsh and furious whisper.
“Dance?”
“Waltz!”
“Come now, you don’t subscribe to that silly taboo the ton has against the waltz?” Brader sounded genuinely surprised.
“It’s not done in polite society,” Julia answered, her body stiff as a board.
“Nonsense. People waltz all the time. Relax. There is more to life than some rigid rules dictated by stuffy society matrons.”
Julia couldn’t even justify that sacrilege with an answer. When she still didn’t relax, his eyebrow shot upward. “Are you refusing a request, Lady Julia?” The tone of his voice taunted her.
She glared at his lapel, her anger building. “Are you doing this deliberately? Isn’t my name black enough without making a spectacle of me?”
“Make a spectacle of you? Good Lord, no. I merely wish to dance. And I enjoy the waltz. Or perhaps Lady Julia Markham does not know how to do such a simple dance. Oh, yes, I forgot,” he chided, his voice for her ears alone. “You have been—ah—rusticating for the past several years.”
Eight hundred years of noble blood drummed through Julia’s veins. She would be damned for eternity before she would allow herself to be laughed at by a cit.
Her eyes blazing with the fury of a young goddess, she placed her hand in his. “Then let us waltz, sir, and be damned.”
“As you wish,” he answered, his teeth flashing the smile of victory, before he swept her into the spinning, breathtaking movements of the dance.
Years ago Julia had practiced the waltz with giggling girlfriends, but this did not prepare her for the reality of being in the circle of a man’s arms, his body and long legs brushing against hers. Brader was an excellent dancer, with a grace and finesse surprising in so large a man.
By the time they started their second pass in the dance pattern, Julia had relaxed enough to allow Brader to dip and twirl her to the majestic, lilting melody as though they’d been dancing an age together.
In her soul, she knew she and Brader made a spectacular couple. One by one, other couples joined them on the dance floor. The vivid colors of swirling silks, candlelight, and sparkling jewels spun around them. Julia felt free, free and beautiful, wrapped in the joy of a lovely melody. This was life at its best—and dear, sweet Lord, she was so glad she was here to savor it!
Without thinking, she tilted her head back and laughed with pleasure.
Brader caught his breath, missing the step. Recovering, he whispered under his breath, “By God, you are beautiful!”
Julia’s eyes flashed in triumph. “You sound surprised.”
“Now, don’t look at me like that.” His voice was intimate, brushing her ear and vibrating through her body.
“And how am I looking at you?” An answering huskiness in her own voice startled her.
“Like I am a piece of mutton you’d like to gobble up.”
Julia laughed. “How ungenerous of you. Lady Julia Markham has never ‘gobbled’ mutton.”
“And Brader Wolf has never been hypnotized by a pair of laughing blue eyes the color of the Mediterranean.”
“Are you hypnotized?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.
“Madam, there is no man alive who can fight the call of a siren,” he answered, tightening his hold on her waist and stepping up the pace of their movements. They moved as one, and Julia discovered herself satisfied to be sheltered in his arms.
No words could express what she felt at that moment. There was the waltz and the perfect harmony of their bodies moving together. And she was content.
The music came to a halt, the piece finished. Slowly Brader spun them a final time. His dark eyes did not leave hers. Unwilling to leave his arms, Julia became aware of her surroundings in stages: the other dancers, the musicians riffling their music for the next dance. She lowered her hand from his broad, strong shoulder. Brader didn’t let go of her other hand but held it for a moment longer, and then lifted the tips of her gloved fingers to his lips before releasing it.
Her fingers brushed the side of his face, the masculine roughness of his skin scratching the fi
ne kid leather of her glove, and her heart beat faster. This man was to be her husband…her destiny. She was shaken by her discovery but also very pleased.
Suddenly self-conscious at so public a display, Julia dropped her hand, reminding herself of her station. Stepping back, she instinctively looked toward her mother.
Lady Markham was not where they’d left her standing when Brader led Julia to dance. Nor was Lord Markham anywhere to be seen.
Slowly, Julia noticed the company in the grand ballroom was thinner than only moments before. Those guests who were left stood quiet and subdued, as if hiding a guilty secret.
Shock, realization, and then the burn of humiliation spread through her body. They’d abandoned her! Missing from the guests surrounding the dance floor were the ton, including her parents. She’d disgraced them and they had walked out, leaving her in the company of merchants and tradespeople.
The waltz, she told herself. She shouldn’t have danced the waltz. Once again her passions had led her down an unwise course. She should never have allowed Brader Wolf to bait her into a dance frowned upon by society.
Julia’s knees shook as if they would buckle beneath her. She’d had her chance to reenter society tonight, had been judged and found lacking. The only people left in the room were of Brader’s class. She felt their stares, burning into her. Were they whispering or was it her imagination?
Courage, she ordered herself. You are Lady Julia Markham. Hold your head up. Her face felt brittle with her artificial smile.
“Mr. Wolf,” she started, her strained voice carrying in the stillness of the ballroom. At least her voice didn’t tremble, the way her stomach did. Why couldn’t the earth open up and swallow her whole? She understood why the ton left her, but why did her parents leave? Why did her parents always leave?
“Julia, don’t let narrow-minded…”
Julia flinched at the sound of sympathy in his voice. His body stiffened as if she’d struck a physical blow. He swore softly under his breath.
A deep breath steadied her nerves. She couldn’t look at him. There might be pity on his face, and she would not stand for pity.
All Things Beautiful Page 4