by Stacy Reid
His body and heart screamed irrevocably that Julian was a woman, but his eyes still needed the irrefutable proof. He dipped the quill into the ink and scrawled in his journal.
Observation: My valet was most rattled at my naked body. Julian was hardly able to meet my eyes, and a rosy blush suffused his or perhaps her face. The breathing of my subject also became fast and erratic, and then he/she ran away. That could be considered the response of a very missish young lady with delicate sensibilities. So, if Julian is a female, she is an ingénue, not an accomplished light-skirt seeking to find a wealthy protector.
I wonder if one of my friends has paid her to this imposture, some will find that amusing. They think me too staid and obsessed with my books. It would be like Patrick De Vere to send me a beautiful demi-vierge, just out of pure mischief. However, there was a look of arousal in my valet’s eyes, but no understanding or experience was indicated. If she is a would-be courtesan, then she must be an outstanding actress. My valet is clearly more educated than Jeffers or any other valet I have encountered, so why would a young woman of a privileged family risk exposure and her reputation by taking on a male disguise?
I believe my valet was sincere in pleading to not be dismissed from my employment. I got the impression that the subject was frightened by the prospect of being turned off. So if my valet is a woman, what is she escaping from? That leaves me with the conundrum of my own desire for her and my responsibilities to my employees. I should not seduce an innocent or abandon one to unknown dangers. My desires conflict with my own moral standards, whether my valet is male or female and should be kept in check. The dilemma is stimulating and amusing. Although I should probably pay my valet to leave, I am enjoying his or her company very much.
It is still a possibility that my valet is a boy who is uncomfortable with having sexual preferences for his own sex. I do not wish to believe that conclusion, but if that is the case, I have the option to discourage his advances or sack him.
The subject’s return to the chamber immediately following his or her distress showed a temperament capable of rallying swiftly under pressure. It also revealed Julian possessed a mind able to think quickly and who is inventive in tight situations. Indeed the ruse being discovered would have made it difficult for him or her to return to my chamber because of my behavior, but the way in which Julian governed his or her reaction was admirable.
It is easy to conclude Julian has never seen another naked man. His or her fascination and alarm were too pronounced. This, however, is no conclusive evidence that Julian is a lady. As a young lad, educated at home, seeing the body of another naked male is not guaranteed.
Unexpected outcome: The variable I’d not made allowances for was myself. My reaction to Julian’s stare was rather alarming. I cannot recall ever feeling such pleasure at another’s admiration before. Not even Lady Sophia, my most recent lover, was able to elicit half of the desire I felt. From a mere stare. My own reactions bear scrutiny, and so do my responses to Julian. Why am I so powerfully attracted? I am not a creature given over to physical desires, yet I cannot help admiring the prettiness of her features or the lushness of her smile. Though I fear I am more attracted to her braveness and her ingenuity in planting herself in my household. The characteristics it reveals is one of strength and of quick wit.
The next phase in my experiment must allow for closer observations of Julian, and I should also undertake a probe into his background. While it would be relatively easy to hire an investigator, I am more interested in uncovering this through conversation. Even the lies he or she will be forced to make will be revealing.
Why? This desire remains unknown to me, but it feels more than mere curiosity.
Wentworth lowered the quill and closed the journal. A quick glance outside revealed a bright sky, which propelled him to his feet and to the windows. This autumn had been unusually wet, the rain only rarely stopping to allow the sun to emerge. He predicted it might promise a harsh winter, with the possibility of heavy snow. He had missed his morning ride, but he would take advantage of the weather and spend the day outdoors. Possibly do a spot of hunting.
Despite his love of mathematics and reading, he also immensely enjoyed the outdoors and sportsmanship. Wentworth did not bother to ring for further assistance, but quickly dressed and made his way downstairs. It did not escape him that it was several hours since he paused in reading Sir Isaac Newton’s theory on universal gravitation, which had been examined in the third edition of Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy. Wentworth owned the first edition published in Latin, which he had read in full, but enjoyed reading the differences between the editions and what it revealed about the expansion of knowledge. Knowledge, he had concluded, was exponential and would always grow and transmute to the delight of avid followers of the sciences like himself.
Spending more time with his valet and uncovering Julian’s real character could not wait. He scoffed. It escaped Wentworth’s attention that he wasn’t addressing exactly why it was so important.
This is just a diversion, he silently told himself. One that is merely fun and different. He had always been the type to enjoy new challenges and unique situations. He reached the landing only to draw up at the sight of his mother—Dowager Countess of Rawlings, Aunt Millicent—a viscountess in her own right, and his two cousins in the hallway. Three footmen were wrestling with their luggage, and his ordinarily unflappable butler gave the impression of being almost harried.
His mother, a woman of renowned energy and gaiety, could have that effect. “Mother?”
The dowager countess glanced up, a radiant smile blooming on her mouth. Wentworth’s mother remained quite a beautiful woman at seven and forty, having retained her youthful slenderness and vivacity. Her light brown eyes with striking green flecks at their center, a perfect replica of his own, glowed with warmth and delight.
The countess clapped her gloved hands together. “My darling, Wentworth, how wonderful to see you! I’ve missed you.” She hurried over to him, her arms held wide.
He hugged her to him for a few seconds. “I’ve missed you too, Mother. I thought you and Aunt Millicent intended to stay in Bath for the next few weeks.” Along with his hoydenish twin cousins who were in serious need of correction. However, their over-indulgent mother and father had spoilt them rotten. The girls were only sixteen years of age and were considered ravishing beauties and heiresses. How his aunt planned to take them in hand when it was time for their debut on the marriage mart, he had no notion, nor did he envy her the task.
His mother took her time examining him, and he mockingly bared his teeth for her inspection. She laughed and quickly hugged him again. “You do know when we are apart I worry for you. That is why I despair of you finding a wife. You need someone to take care of you.”
“I am a grown man with an army of servants,” he said drily. “My future countess will not be a caretaker but a helpmate, a lover, a confidant.”
A beautiful pair of lavender eyes flashed in his thoughts, and he jolted.
“I am surprised you know it,” she said caustically. “Considering you’ve gone another season without any notable attachment or even the vaguest whispering that you are courting a lady. My son, I declare I would be deliriously happy should I hear your name attached to a scandal.”
He grunted softly. “Mother, if you are here to harangue me about marrying again, you must turn right around and head onwards to Bath.”
Aunt Millicent came over to him in a whirl of petticoats, an overlarge feathered hat which tickled his nose when she enfolded him in a hug.
“Why have you all descended on me?” he muttered with aggrieved fondness.
“Ungrateful child,” she said cheerily, kissing his cheek. “Did you not get our letters?”
He vaguely recalled his butler presenting him some correspondence a few days ago. “I haven’t read through them as yet.”
“Well, if you did,” Henrietta, his spritely cousin, and the older of the twins said,
“You would know mama and Aunt Eleanor has planned a country ball, and it is their intention to hold it here at Norbrook Park in a couple of weeks’ time. That, my dear cousin, is why we are here! And to visit you, of course. We all dreadfully missed you.”
Isabelle, the younger cousin by only three minutes, winked at him, and Wentworth smiled. He smelled his mother and aunt’s scheme a mile away. Of course, if he had not selected a bride from the marriage mart in London, they would cast their net toward the local offerings.
Wentworth was tolerably amused. He would marry when he was ready, and not before, ignoring his mother’s machinations was the best way to get that message across.
“I am heading to do a spot of hunting.”
“You’ve invited a hunting party?”
“No. I am going alone with my valet.”
“Hunting alone? Why I’ve never heard the likes of it,” Aunt Millicent said, staring at him.
“We’ll have a larger hunting party in a few weeks for mother’s annual house party.”
His mother beamed. “And I am off to plan these marvelous events with my sister,” she said, strolling toward the larger drawing-room.
His aunt and her two troublesome daughters followed, their heads held close, whispering. They tended to aggravate his peace from time to time, but he was happier whenever his family visited. And he would possibly be happier with a wife and children underfoot.
Wentworth frowned, realizing that he’d never given serious consideration to the idea of matrimony in all his eight and twenty years of life. His mother mentioned it every time she visited him for the last five years. And the topic had held the same importance as if she’d mentioned cow dung. He barely paid any attention to her urgings, only knowing he would select a wife from the marriage mart when he was ready.
Perhaps he would have even given cow dung more thought since he’d written a paper once about the importance of fertilization for the growth of certain crops. It wasn’t that Wentworth was averse to the state of holy wedlock, for he would eventually marry as all gentlemen with responsibilities entrusted to them must do.
It just didn’t seem essential or currently inspiring, he thought with a jolt.
Julian appeared at the top of the hallway, and Wentworth’s mouth dried. His valet had a frown on his face until he glanced up and saw him. His expression changed to one of wary guardedness.
You are most definitely hiding something.
“My good lad, you’ll accompany me to do a spot of hunting.”
Pleasure lit in his eyes. “Yes, my lord. I shall retrieve the Manton.”
“Two of them. And a burlap sack for the game.”
“Do you use hunting dogs to collect the game, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll alert the kennel master.”
“And the stables.”
Julian frowned. “We’ll not go on foot, your lordship?”
Though riding on horseback while hunting was usually reserved for foxhunting, those skilled in balance and sight could seat a horse while bird-hunting. And Wentworth was skilled in that regard, and his lands too large to head out on foot. “No. Two horses. You do know how to ride?”
A slight hesitation, then Julian replied. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. I am heading to the dining hall for some breakfast. No need to tend me there. I will meet you in the yards in an hour's time.”
His valet bobbed and hurried away to do his bidding. At the same time, he made for the dining room, anticipation enlivening his blood. Wentworth found himself wondering what did he really anticipate, the thrill of being outdoors hunting, or spending time in his valet’s presence.
The idea of it being the latter irritated him, for he did not like to invest his time into anything that did not have an endgame. What if he truly proved his valet was a lady? What would he do with the knowledge? If nothing, then he would have wasted considerable time that could have been invested into something more worthwhile that might have an eventual positive outcome. Yet there was a small part of him that genuinely thought there was simply nothing better that he could be doing at this time.
Truly astonishing and preposterous.
Chapter 7
Juliana rode her horse with effortless grace, discreetly admiring the skillful yet elegant way the earl sat upon his horse. They had entered the deep forest of his lands over ten minutes ago, two large dogs bounding ahead. The earl held a hunting rifle with familiar ease and skill. She carried the other along with a burlap sack rolled behind her saddle to keep whatever game he managed to shoot down.
She hadn’t thought a gentleman so in love with books would be equally at ease with the outdoors. But she should have suspected it, given the perfection of his body. He hadn’t been soft anywhere, and the memory of his masculine nakedness had heat rising in her cheeks.
Do not think of it, Juliana!
His society loved hunting. Once they retired to the country, they would typically shoot birds and rabbits during the autumn and hunt foxes during the winter. She understood shooting the birds since they could be eaten, not so much pursuing the beautiful, furry creatures such as foxes. She acknowledged that they were a pest to farmers but regretted the brutal manner of their extermination.
The air felt crisp, clear, and a bit chilly. She inhaled it deeply into her lungs. Though she had been in the earl’s home a week now, this was the first time she had spent any considerable time outdoors. The rain and the chill of the previous days had been a deterrent to walking during her lunch hour. “What breed are they, my lord?” she asked, staring ahead at the beautiful pair of dogs.
“They are Belvoir hounds.”
“And they’ll bring back the birds without eating them?”
He flashed her a quick smile. “And without their teeth piercing the bird’s feathers and flesh. Ptolemy and Pythagoras are well trained.”
He nudged his horse into a trot, and she followed suit, watching the woods. The dogs raced ahead, a sharp bark sounded, and then a flock of pheasant took to the sky. The sudden flapping of their wings sounded loud in the stillness of the forest, and excitement thrummed in her blood.
The earl aimed and without hesitation fired.
“Did you get it?”
“Of course,” he said with a touch of arrogance.
She laughed but hurriedly tempered the sound from sounding light and airy. Juliana ended up choking and spluttering.
“Another bug?” the earl drawled mockingly, his gaze upon her was piercing.
She made the motion of plucking something from her mouth and tossing it to the forest floor. “Why, yes, but it is gone now. Thank you for your concern, my lord. It is positively heartwarming.”
He smiled, slow and far too sensual, and she had to avert her gaze.
“I find I am curious about you, Julian. Tell me about yourself,” the earl smoothly invited.
His words kicked her in the chest, and her grip reflexively tightened on the reins. “I led a rather boring life, your lordship. There is not much to tell.”
“I like boring. Indulge me, my good lad.”
My good lad. There was an emphasis on those words which had alarm stirring in her veins. She felt as if he knew something, but surely it couldn’t be so. She sent him a challenging stare. “What exactly do you wish to know, my lord?”
Admiration and an indefinable expression darkened his eyes. “Astonish me.”
A flock of birds rose in the sky, and acting on the dare in his gaze, she nudged the horse into a small trot, took aim, and shot the bird the farthest in the sky. It tumbled through the air to land in the bushes, and the dogs darted after it.
The earl rode up beside her, and a long whistle of admiration came from him. “Mightily impressive, my good lad! Are we to have a competition?”
She laughed and had to bite into her bottom lip to halt the too feminine sound. “I would thrash you soundly, my lord. It would be unfair.”
His eyes widened in mock outrage. “Is that so?”
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br /> “Yes.” Juliana tossed her head. “My father was an expert hunter and marksman, and he taught me everything he knew about shooting.”
“Ah-ha!” He quickly reloaded his rifle. “But can you do this?”
He urged his horse into greater speed, and Juliana raced after him, a thrill bursting in her heart. Without slowing, he aimed his gun and her breath caught at his majesty—the image he presented atop his massive black stallion, his coat flapping behind him, that rifle held so steadily…his form so graceful.
It was impossible for him to shoot anything at such a precarious speed, but he fired, and a pheasant fell from the air. Juliana felt breathless by the time she reached his side.
“Now, can you beat that my good lad?” he demanded, grinning.
“Ah…why yes, I can.”
His smile wiped away, and he narrowed his gaze. “Prove it.”
Juliana reloaded her rifle, then surged her horse ahead. He thundered after her, and for several minutes they were caught up in their own world of fun. Thunder rumbled overhead, and she scowled at the sky. “It was too good to last!”
“We might have about an hour or more before the rain starts.”
She peered up at the sky beyond the skyline of the towering beech and oak trees. “And how can you tell?”
“The clouds are not yet so swollen or dark. We’ve ridden a considerable distance from the main house, but you are an expert horse…man. We should make it back before the deluge.”
The hunting dogs had gathered the birds in one area, and she admired their skills. Juliana hopped down from the horse to stuff the mix of birds they had taken down, a few quail, pheasant, and even a couple of wild ducks. “We have nineteen birds between the two of us. I shot ten and you nine,” she said, grinning up at him.
His brow arched. “I am the loser in our impromptu match?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And I suppose you can tell which bird fell from your rifle?”