He lowered his voice until its unique vibrancy sang in her ears. “You’d like to have me wrapped around your little finger wouldn’t you, like Carberry and how many others? Watch your step, Julia. I’m not one of your aristocratic pets. You may get more than you bargain for.”
Julia struggled with a sudden breathlessness. Why did her body turn to jelly around this man? She fought back. “You’re so smug. You think you know everything about me, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother to reply but turned and started walking. Julia dearly wished she had something to throw right at the middle of his broad back.
“And you, Brader Wolf? What of your games? Why don’t you tell me why you want Kimberwood enough to marry me? How noble are your reasons?” When she still didn’t receive his attention, she added, “And I’m not leaving. No matter what you want, I will not leave!”
For the briefest second he paused, and then continued walking without looking back.
Julia wanted to grind her teeth and stamp her feet in the most unladylike way imaginable. Why was he so unreasonable?
Suddenly, weariness swept her temper aside.
What was the sense in fighting him? Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. No hope, no hope for any of her dreams…and then Nan’s soft voice came from behind her.
“My dear, I believe you are exactly what Brader needs in his life. Come and talk to me.”
Julia’s afternoon with Nan reinforced her determination to make her marriage work. They’d spent an enjoyable hour getting to know each other. Nan hadn’t spoken of her son directly, but Julia’s spirits were helped to know his mother did not feel the situation was as hopeless as Julia feared.
Nan’s companion, a Mrs. Elliott, who had been one of the two ladies accompanying Nan to their wedding, came for her mistress, announcing it was time for her to rest. Nan promised to meet with Julia the next afternoon in the sunroom, saying, with a conspiratorial wink of an unseeing blue eye, she would not join them for dinner that night. Nan never dined with her son, as she enjoyed an earlier supper and bedtime than he did.
Fisher escorted Julia to what had been Grandmère’s room. Although the workmen hadn’t started on the second floor, the furniture already shone with fresh polish and the bedclothes and drapes were clean and fresh. The master’s bedroom, the largest in Kimberwood, was across the hall. Julia did not have to ask where Brader slept. Nothing would do for the ego of her husband except the largest room!
Refreshed by a nap, Julia descended the stairs for dinner, ready for another round with her husband, determined to have him eating out of the palm of her hand in no time. Her ball gown had made him notice her as a woman. The dress she wore tonight was designed to do the same. The sooner they created her baby, the sooner she could wash her hands of him and his rude manner.
Before she’d left London, she’d spent several hundred pounds on a new wardrobe. Brader had enough black marks chalked up by her name that she wasn’t going to let dowdiness continue to be one of them.
And he’d never think her dowdy in this dress. The satin smoothness of heavy blue silk swayed and molded to her body with every step. The color brought out the sapphire of her eyes and, against the glossy darkness of her hair, gave her skin the smooth whiteness of alabaster. She looked sophisticated, fashionable, and, she hoped, enticing…at least enough to spur her husband to cross the hall from his room to hers tonight.
The house was in amazing order for the uproar she’d discovered upon her arrival earlier in the day. Not a trace of plaster dust could be found, and Fisher had even seen to a bouquet of hothouse flowers on a table in the foyer.
Stepping off the last step, she had the fleeting impression she’d caught the butler off guard, as if he hadn’t expected her to appear this evening. However, he bowed deeply, his manner unruffled and polite.
“Master Wolf is in the drawing room—”
“I’ll announce myself.” Again, she effectively cut off anything else Fisher might say. The scent of the apricot and rose-oil perfume she favored swirling around her, Julia dramatically threw open the door to the drawing room for a grand entrance.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Brader, standing by the fire, a wineglass in his hand, looked up from the guests he was entertaining. Julia found herself with a roomful of men—and a hostile husband.
A flash of hindsight told her she should have waited for Fisher to finish his sentence.
All the men jumped to their feet, surprised by her presence. There were five guests, Julia noted, conscious that she was now the odd seventh to the number for dinner.
“Brader, whom do we have here?” one man asked, his gaze appreciative.
“My wife.” He made the title sound like a prison sentence. Julia ignored his irritation, deciding to brazen the matter out. Why hadn’t Brader warned her they were having guests for dinner?
Because he hadn’t planned to include her.
Well, Brader Wolf had better start accepting her in his life. If anyone should be upset, it should be she! How had he expected her to have her dinner? He should not be surprised by her appearance at his table. Besides, this was her chance to show him he had room for her in his life. Every man of means needed a hostess.
Her most gracious smile in place, Julia fought the urge to run up the stairs and change her dress and, instead, entered the room with the air of one born to rule. Conscious of all eyes on her with open male admiration, she crossed to Brader, daring him to eject her.
The stem of his empty wineglass snapped in his fingers, but Julia thought she was the only one who noticed it. And surely only she knew the smile on his face was more of a grimace. The men had eyes only for her.
Brader introduced Julia to each guest, the role of doting bridegroom sitting ill on his shoulders. Julia played her role to the hilt. She quickly conquered each man with her practiced charm, her smile, and, she thought dryly, her feminine attributes displayed in the sapphire silk.
Mr. Rochester and Sir Evan Andrews were bankers. Sir Hugh Rawlins and his partner, Mr. Daniels, talked to Brader about a patent they needed for their invention. The fifth gentleman, Lord Barham, was a notable member of the House of Lords. The conversation over dinner was the most stimulating one Julia had ever had in her life.
One of the inventors, Sir Hugh, had traveled extensively through Africa. To her surprise, so had Brader.
During a discussion of the East India Trading Company, the bankers deferred to Brader’s assessment of problems inside the organization. Lord Barham agreed completely with her husband and stated he would take the matter up with the trading company’s directors the next week.
She didn’t want to excuse herself at the end of the meal for the gentleman to enjoy their port and conversation. However, Brader gave her little choice, announcing to the men that they would have to bid good night to his “lovely wife.” Julia blushed from the unexpected compliment, even though he appeared to deliver it through clenched teeth, the expression in his eyes unreadable.
Brader walked alongside the table toward her and offered his hand. The gentlemen stood. Since they were spending the night, they made Julia promise to grace them with her presence the next morning in the breakfast room. The boldest of them promised not to keep Brader overlong, bringing a flush of heated color to Julia’s cheeks.
At the bottom of the stairs, Brader stopped. “I hope you are pleased with your performance tonight—”
Julia placed two fingers across his mouth to stop any angry words. “No. No more harsh words, Brader. I did hot harm any of your business plans tonight and may have helped in some small measure. Let us have done with the animosity between us.” On those words, she stepped up on the first step, turned, and placed a chaste kiss on his surprised lips. She disappeared up the stairs before he could gather his wits.
In the quiet of her room, Julia felt triumphant. She’d conducted herself very nicely this evening. She’d been everything a good hostess should be and had even adde
d an intelligent word or two of her own to the conversation. Brader could not complain about her performance. They’d even managed to pass three hours straight without leaping at each other’s throats! Even the scene by the stairs held promise.
She dismissed her maid after being undressed for bed. Would he knock on her door? Too keyed up even to pretend to sleep, Julia lay awake, listening for the sound of Brader coming down the hall to his room. Perhaps she could claim his attention when he came to his room, and the two of them could discuss the success of the evening. Maybe tonight would be the beginning of a friendship between the two of them.
Or something more. Julia shifted restlessly on the sheets with the memory of Brader’s kisses on their wedding day. What if she’d kissed him like that by the staircase? Would Brader have followed her up the stairs?
The image of Brader struck lovesick made her giggle. He’d be furious if he knew her thoughts! She could hear him now, growling that no one took his mind away from business. Smacking the feather pillow between her hands, Julia suddenly hugged it to her. But a baby, a baby would be with her always, even if Brader left her again.
Another hour passed before she heard voices. Julia leaped from her bed and tiptoed over to the door. If it was Brader, did she have the nerve to knock on his door? He couldn’t accuse her again of being dressed in flannel. The fine lawn of her new negligee did nothing to protect her from a chill running across the floor and up her spine.
She opened the door a crack. The voices belonged to Sir Hugh and Lord Barham. She started to shut the door when she heard her name mentioned. Shamelessly eavesdropping, she leaned her ear closer, anxious to hear what a good impression she’d made.
“…stunning woman.” The speaker was Lord Barham.
“Wolf’s a lucky man. How does he do it? Everything the man touches turns to gold, including his wife.”
Lord Barham gave a short laugh. “Except his wife, you mean.”
“Any truth to the rumor that she is a member of the peerage?”
“Yes. On a social scale, Wolf’s beneath her touch, even if she was only a Markham.”
“Markham? She’s not related to Roger Markham!”
“Do you know him?”
“Who hasn’t heard of him? The man’s notorious. Little better than a sharp, and wasn’t there a story about his daughter—” Sir Hugh’s voice broke off in stunned realization. “That’s her! Julia Wolf is the daughter.”
“Um-hm.”
“She’s the one? The one I heard about three years ago before I left for Africa? The one who entertained—”
“Who entertained half the men from White’s in the nude? Yes.”
“Oh-ho! That was a scandal!” His voice dropped lower. “Wish I’d been there to see her. Is it true?”
“True? Rawlins, I personally know two of the men who saw her naked in the inn that night.”
“And now Wolf has her?”
Their voices were drifting down the hall as Lord Barham answered. “Apparently, and I’ve no idea why. The man is prouder than the Regent. I can’t imagine why he’d saddle himself with Julia Markham.”
“She’s a beautiful woman.”
“But he didn’t have to marry her. Her kind can be purchased without a man putting a ring through his nose. As to beautiful women, you should see Wolf’s mistress. Now there’s a woman who will make your mouth water if you’ve a taste for the exotic….”
Quietly, Julia shut the door and slid down the wall to the floor. What a fool she’d been to think she could start over.
She stayed on the floor until her mind could think again. What Lord Barham told Sir Hugh was untrue. Had Brader heard the same story? Or was the version he might have been told even more lurid? Julia cringed at the thought.
She’d no doubt he’d heard something. Several times he’d mentioned her reputation. And his snide innuendos. Pieces of their past conversations fell into place when considered with Barham’s wild story.
Tilting her head back along the wall, Julia watched shadows from her fireplace perform a wicked dance on the ceiling. She’d never spoken of that night to anyone. When she’d wanted to talk, to explain, no one was interested in her version. Could she speak now?
And what would Brader think of her once he knew the truth?
There was only one way to find out.
Six
After she heard the last door close, Julia opened her door to check if the passage was clear. Finding the hallway deserted, she tightened her hold on the soft, silk-fringed Norwich shawl she’d thrown around her shoulders for modesty and warmth and quietly, on bare feet, crossed to Brader’s room.
She considered knocking but rejected the idea. In the mood she’d left him, Brader would growl for her to go back to her room, and she had to talk to him tonight. This very minute. Before all her courage left her. How easy it would be to pretend she’d never overhead the conversation in the hall two hours ago.
Turning the handle, Julia cracked the door open and slipped through it.
Gentle light bathed the room, and the scents of sandalwood and shaving soap lingered in the air. The simple furnishings were studiously austere: a bed, a table, a desk, a few chairs—and books, stacks and stacks of books in different shapes and sizes piled haphazardly on the bedside table, the corner of the desk, the floor beside the desk.
In front of the fire sat Brader, his back to the door, hunched over the wide desk with the wicks of two lamps burning away. His attention firmly fixed on whatever he had on the desk before him, he didn’t hear Julia. She took a few timid steps toward him. Still he did not look up.
Now what? What did society dictate for gaining a man’s attention in his bedroom? Julia’s toes curled up in reaction to a chill dancing across the floor, and she sneezed.
Brader shot out of his chair, turning and knocking it over in his haste. “What the hell—?”
Caught off guard, Julia retreated several steps, until the back of her legs hit the bed with a bump. She took a quick step forward. “Brader. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He scowled, his attitude ferocious. As his mind appeared to register who had crept up from behind, his battle stance relaxed. “What are you doing here?”
Julia didn’t answer him, her attention focused on the gold wire frames perched on the end of his nose. Brader wore reading lenses! He’d been studying a heavy tome, much like the ones on the bedside table, spread open on the desk.
Suddenly aware of where her attention was fixed, Brader jerked the lenses from his nose and threw them back on the desk on top of the book. “What do you want?”
Not a good beginning. Julia’s mind searched frantically for an opening. She couldn’t just blurt it out: Brader, you may have heard wrongly that I entertained a roomful of men in the nude. Nor did he seem open to a confession.
Clasping her hands in front of her, praying for courage, Julia whispered, “I have to talk to you.”
“What?”
Julia cleared her throat. “I have to talk to you.”
Brader cocked his head, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.
Heat flooded her face as she became aware of her husband’s state of undress. He wore nothing but a loose pair of trousers, obviously not intended for street wear, that rode low on his hips. Very low. The muscles of his bare chest rippled and gleamed in the lamplight. A smattering of hair didn’t mar his chest like those of her brothers, or Lawrence, until right below his navel. There a thin line of dark hair started, disappearing into the drawstring waist of his sleeping trousers.
And his feet were bare. She’d never seen a man’s bare feet before.
The large room felt small, close, and filled with Brader’s presence. She wished her hair wasn’t tumbling around her shoulders, or that she’d had the good sense to have dressed before venturing into his room.
Steady yourself. Keep your mind on what you need to say during this interview. Julia started to sit down, then realizing the bed was beneath her, bobbed back up quickly. She took a st
ep away from the bed and closer to Brader.
“It’s very personal,” she added, admitting her discomfort.
A knowing grin, not at all unattractive, spread across his face. His voice low and slightly husky, he said, “I notice you’re not wearing flannel tonight.”
Julia opened her eyes wide. Dear Lord, he must truly think her wanton. The shawl had slipped down from her shoulders. She pulled it back up and held it protectively in place with one hand. “It’s not what you think, Brader,” she said quickly.
“Oh?” Brader frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. His face wore that unreadable expression, the one she was beginning to abhor. When he had that look on his face, his thoughts toward her were normally not charitable.
Lamely, Julia continued. “I need to—talk.”
“To talk?”
She nodded and repeated, like the village simpleton, “To talk.”
His eyes narrowed before he shook his head, as if confirming a thought in his own mind that had nothing to with their inane conversation. His strong arms picked up the chair he was sitting in and turned it toward her, placing it between the desk and the hearth. With a mock bow, he indicated for her to sit in it. For himself, he pulled another chair from the other side of the desk and placed it directly across from hers.
When Julia still didn’t make a move, Brader threw himself down in his chair, stretched out long, muscular legs and said, “So. Let’s talk.”
His emphasis on the word told Julia he was angry, and she had no idea why. With a deep sigh, she stepped over his legs to sit in her chair. Dark hair curled on top of his toes, a sight so personal and arresting Julia looked up as she sat down, only to discover staring at a male chest just as distracting.
She turned her face and looked instead at the fire burning low in the grate, hiding her own bare feet under the hem of her nightdress. No valet. She’d listened for one to leave his room and never heard a sound of a servant. He probably tended his own fire, too.
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