She succumbed to everything rather quickly, as a matter of fact. Rastmoor overwhelmed her with the power of his passion, and before she knew it, she was panting, begging him to come into her and satisfy the yearning that two full nights of sharing his bed had not seemed to extinguish. He kindly obliged.
They lay there, tangled with each other and the tousled bedclothes. Julia basked in the warmth of his nearness and the glow of his loving. Sunshine beamed through the window, making Rastmoor’s skin glitter with the tiny droplets of sweat his efforts had produced. It was beautiful—the whole world was beautiful.
At least it was until Rastmoor rolled over and spoke.
Chapter Twelve
“How often did you let Fitzgelder make love to you in the daytime?”
It was a horrible thing to bring up just now, but Rastmoor had to know. He was rapidly losing his very soul to this woman. Perhaps the vulgar reminder of her betrayal would help him keep his sanity.
No, clearly it would not. The pain was evident on Julia’s face, and Rastmoor knew any man who would cause that in another human had already left his sanity behind. God, he wished he could take it back.
But he couldn’t. He needed to hear the answer.
“I told you,” she began, softly. “I never even met him.”
It had to be a lie. How could this possibly be the truth? He’d seen the announcement in the paper; he’d heard Fitzgelder’s own words. Why must she persist in this?
“It’s rather impossible to be married to a man without ever meeting him, Julia.”
“You don’t know the whole story,” she said. She turned her face away from him, but her limp body was still pressed against his.
“Don’t I? What more is there? Julia St. Clement married Cedrick Fitzgelder almost three full years ago. Then she died. Yet, here you are alone, and you look damn lively to me. Why is that?”
It felt an eternity before she spoke again, and the words seemed to be dragged from someplace very deep inside her.
“Fitzgelder never married me,” she began, slowly turning back to face him. “It was someone else.”
“Oh?” Of course he was skeptical. Even a sane man would be, wouldn’t he?
“It was my friend Kitty,” she said slowly, trembling. “She went in my place.”
His gut tightened. Her friend went in her place? Did she expect him to believe that? Ridiculous. He was not so easily duped. Even though he might want more than anything for this tale to be true, he was careful not to let any of his warring emotions be evident in his voice when he spoke.
“I’m surprised you didn’t think to mention this before, Julia.”
“Because I wish to God it had never happened.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because Fitzgelder murdered my friend, that’s why.”
Oh, so the story got even more sordid, did it? “Murdered?” he asked. “No one ever said Fitzgelder murdered his wife. She died in childbirth.”
“That’s what he’d have everyone think,” she said, shaking her head and pushing herself away from him. The space between them was painful. “I never believed it. Kitty was fit as a horse—she came from a family with twelve healthy, sturdy children. She should have birthed her child well and easily.”
Rastmoor reached for Julia, but she stayed out of reach. It was just as well. Touching her was dangerous. Still, her body was shaking furiously now. The least he could do was to drag some of the counterpane over her. She clutched it to her like a child and took a deep breath.
“She was an actress in my father’s troupe. When her lover abandoned her in a delicate condition, she kept silent. I wish I’d known, but I didn’t. Not until it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“She was desperate. One day Fitzgelder sent a note backstage—to me. He wanted to meet, but I had no clue who he was and threw the note away. Kitty retrieved it. She went to Fitzgelder in my place and began an affair. He thought she was me! Kitty was so determined to have a name for her child that she convinced Fitzgelder to run away and marry her. She even stole some of my clothing and jewelry so he would continue to believe the deception.
“Once they were married, she must have realized what a monster he was. She warned me in a letter never to let him find me. I should have known she was in danger, but instead of finding her and helping her, I convinced Papa to stay in hiding. And then she died. I know it was at Fitzgelder’s hand, likely because he learned she’d deceived him. And I allowed it.”
Damn it all, but she played the part too well. She was more than believable; everything she said made sense. Was it possible this was real? That his cousin’s claims were simply misinformation? His thoughts ran back through the years, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
He’d been so convinced Julia was the one for him. Even when he learned the truth that she was nothing more than an actress, he still chose to believe her worthy of taking the Rastmoor name. His friends thought him daft, of course, but he would not listen to their warnings.
One night over cards, however, he was forced to listen. Fitzgelder had shown up, boasting that he’d been bedding Julia for weeks. Hell, he had one of her shawls—one that Rastmoor had purchased for her himself—to prove it. The shock of Fitzgelder’s accusations wiped away any common sense—he’d believed the bastard’s assertions without so much as confronting Julia, hadn’t he?
He’d been humiliated. His friends said he was fortunate to learn the truth before he’d gotten shackled for life—she was nothing more than a greedy little bitch who’d played him for the fool. For the sheer fun of it he offered to let Fitzgelder deal a hand of cards—winner kept possession of the fair Julia St. Clement. Rastmoor lost. He prayed to God she would find out one day how easily he’d wagered her away that night.
Was it possible all that had been a lie?
“How did Fitzgelder find out he’d been tricked? Did you tell him?” he asked.
“Certainly not! I may have been too cowardly to rescue Kitty when I had the chance, but I never did that. He must have figured it out on his own, pestering her as he did, night and day about that stupid locket.”
“The locket?”
“Good heavens! Did he think I had your precious locket?”
“So you knew about the locket?”
“I only knew what Kitty wrote in her letters. I’d let myself forget all about it until now, actually. Apparently, right from the start Fitzgelder believed I had the locket.”
“And you don’t?”
“No! I told you, somehow Fitzgelder had it, and Sophie accidentally took it. I don’t know how he got it.”
“Why did he think you had it?”
Her slender shoulders shrugged under the covers. “I don’t know. But Kitty knew how badly he wanted it, so she let him think if he married her she would get it for him. She was desperate. She was abandoned and knew she’d soon have a child to care for. I suppose she felt she had no choice but to play along with Fitzgelder.”
“And so he married her. She must have been quite convincing, your little friend. Clearly, though, Fitzgelder knew the child wasn’t his. Hell, he’s the one who told me it was mine.”
“He told you that?” She honestly seemed surprised. Then again, as she’d just reminded him, she was an actress, too.
“He did.”
“And you believed it.”
“I had good reason to believe it, didn’t I? He seemed convincing enough.”
He was propped on one elbow looming over her, but she didn’t shy away. She did, however, pull the thin counterpane more tightly over her. He could see the outline of her breasts all too clearly. If she intended for this conversation to continue much longer, one of them was going to have to send for a bucket of cold water. How on earth could he possibly want her this badly again so soon?
“What have you done to make your cousin hate you so?” she asked.
“I was born, I suppose.”
“Born legitimately, you mean.”
“Yes. If his mother had been someone his father could have married, then he’d hold the title today.”
“And what was so horribly wrong with his mother?”
Rastmoor was about to answer then had to laugh as he recognized the bitter irony of it.
“She was an actress,” he finally replied.
Julia’s voice was stone-cold. “No wonder you were so eager to be rid of me that you resorted to gambling.”
He winced. “You found out about that?”
“Of course I did and, damn it, Rastmoor, all this time I’d hoped it wasn’t true.”
She shoved away from him and rolled out of bed. Oblivious to her nakedness and his obvious reaction to it, she marched across the room to collect her clothing. Watching her graceful form as she stalked about was absolutely painful for him, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away. Never would any woman ever affect him the way Julia St. Clement did. Still.
“Well, I’m sorry. It is true.”
“You found out I was a dirty little actress, so you got rid of me and thought to have a little entertainment in the process, did you?”
“No! I didn’t care that you were an actress! Hell, I was such a fool back then, I’d have married a fishmonger.”
“Well, thankfully Fitzgelder informed you of my profession before you did something so foolish as that.”
She had her trousers pulled up and was tucking in her shirt. It was backward, but she didn’t seem to notice. He left the bed and followed her around as she gathered the rest of her things.
“Damn it, Fitzgelder didn’t have to tell me you were an actress, Julia. I knew about it the week after we met.”
That gave her pause. She whirled on him and hesitated just a heartbeat as her eyes scanned his naked form. He supposed he should have been a bit more unnerved to know she must recognize how he felt about her—Lord knew it was obvious enough right now—but the fact that he detected the same sort of hunger in her own expression gave him a certain satisfaction. Not the type of satisfaction that he would have really appreciated just now, but some measure of contentment. As much as he wanted Julia, she wanted him, too. Again.
Surely they could build something on that, couldn’t they?
“Then why did you gamble me away at the table that night and never so much as send a note of farewell?”
“Because he’d been shagging you the whole time I was!” he said bluntly. “At least, that’s what he told me.”
“And of course you believed him,” she snapped and went back to concentrating on her costume. “You didn’t even bother to find out if it was true.”
“No. I was embarrassed and angry and drunk. He showed me the shawl I gave you, and I assumed that was proof enough, so I believed him.”
He caught the hint of a smile cross her lips. “He had my shawl? I wondered where it went. It wasn’t with your other gifts when I burned them. Well, I suppose Kitty borrowed it, and that’s how he got it.”
“You burned my gifts?”
“The ones I couldn’t sell.”
“Is that all you thought of them? Of what I thought we’d had between us?”
“Whatever we had between us got gambled away when you didn’t care enough to trust me over your hateful cousin.”
“But he had proof! And I already knew you’d lied to me about living in Mayfair.”
“We were staying in Mayfair.”
“You and your father were visiting the mistress he kept there! You led me to believe you were a gentlewoman, that you had decent connections and a proper station in life.”
“No, you assumed all those things. I simply agreed with you.”
“You acted a part to deceive me, Julia.”
“That’s what I do, Anthony,” she replied. “I’m an actress.”
Those, he realized, were the truest words she’d ever uttered. He made a lavish bow to her and smiled.
“I should have never endeavored to take you away from your true calling.”
She threw his trousers into his face. “No, you shouldn’t have. We lost everything when you caused Papa to give up his theatrical license.”
“When I did what?”
“Put your clothes on, Rastmoor. You look like a randy racehorse.”
“No. I need you to explain yourself. What do you mean, I caused your father to give up his theatrical license?”
“I suppose I can’t blame you,” she said, crawling halfway under the bed to retrieve a boot. This did nothing to reduce his so-called racehorse condition. “I lied. You were humiliated. I was merely a passing fancy to make your nights a little warmer, and I had the nerve to expect more. Of course you retaliated.”
“You were a hell of a lot more to me than a passing fancy, Julia. It’s true you ran away and married my damnable cousin, but I never . . .”
“Kitty ran away with your damnable cousin. I ran away with my father, since it was obvious you didn’t care enough to give me the benefit of the doubt, and Fitzgelder seemed to want Papa dead.”
“Fitzgelder wants a lot of people dead. You should have come to me with this, Julia.”
“So you could have laughed to my face? No, Anthony. You don’t believe me now; can you honestly think you would have believed me then?”
By God, yes, he would have believed her. It was all he could do right now not to grab her back into his arms and promise her the world. If he would have just let himself see her once more back then, he would have never let it end as it had. But he’d known that, and he’d been a coward.
He’d known that if he faced Julia again, he would have forgiven her of anything. That was why he never sought her out, never attempted to steal her away from Fitzgelder. He’d wanted to, but he hadn’t allowed himself. He stayed so drunk for two full weeks his valet had begun seeking other employ. He’d let Julia—or so he’d thought—go off with Fitzgelder, because he knew if he didn’t, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to win her back. He’d be nothing more than her groveling slave until the day he died.
But damned if he was going to let that keep him from facing Julia today. Everything he thought he knew these past three years had changed. He no longer knew what was truth, but he was sure as hell going to find out. If there was the slightest chance Julia had honestly felt for him a portion of what he still felt for her, then he was most definitely going to find out if . . .
A quiet knock on the door stopped him from taking the two strides he would have needed to get her into his arms. She stared up at him, wide-eyed and terrified. Her slight little nod toward his still unclothed—and still prominent—self brought him quickly back to reality. The search for truth would get exceedingly more difficult if someone were to walk in here and find them together this way.
He dove for his clothes, scooping shirt, cravat, coat, and sundries into one wrinkled armload. Julia, still supposedly mute, of course, could hardly call out to the door and announce her status. She would have to open the door to gesture to the knocker. Bloody hell.
She shoved him toward the door, positioning him carefully off to the side where he would be completely hidden when it opened. Hopefully. If the person in the hall decided to make an uninvited entrance, it wouldn’t do to have them find him here in his present condition.
JULIA DID WHAT SHE COULD TO TIDY HER APPEARANCE and opened the door. Rastmoor gave her one last, pitiful look that clearly begged her to be quick about this. He was rather cute, huddled there in the corner behind the door with his clothing, desperately trying to conceal what was really and truly far too huge to conceal. Quite flattering, actually, but certainly not something she envied having to explain to whomever was at the door.
As it turned out, their guest was none other than Lady Dashford.
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Nancini,” she said politely, although her expression said she was more than a bit surprised to find her guest so disheveled.
Julia yawned, hoping she would get the idea he’d been doing nothing more sordid than taking a peaceful afternoon
nap. Partially dressed. After having just woken from a nap barely one hour ago.
But if the viscountess noted anything amiss, she was too generous to point it out. “I just wanted to be sure you had everything you needed and to remind you that we keep country hours. Dinner will be early, if that isn’t too much trouble for you.”
Julia shrugged, shook her head, smiled, bowed, nodded, and did whatever else she could think that might assure her ladyship all was well. Lady Dashford’s dewy green eyes swept the room and seemed content that all was as it should be. Julia yawned again.
“Very well,” the lady said. “I see you have fresh linens. Shall I have the maid bring you water to wash as you dress for dinner?”
Julia nodded. Indeed, a bit of a wash was not at all a bad idea.
The hostess smiled warmly. “Fine. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Julia smiled her away and nearly heaved a sigh of relief when Lady Dashford turned to go. But suddenly she turned back to her.
“It will probably take the maid a full half hour to bring the water, Mr. Nancini. I’m quite sure the upstairs staff will be put to other tasks until that time, in fact. The hallway will likely be empty of everyone. I do hope that isn’t, er, inconvenient for you?”
Julia shook her head. Why ever would Lady Dashford see the need to discuss the actions of her upstairs staff, unless . . . And then she noticed the darting glance Lady Dashford gave to a spot on the floor just behind Julia. It was the spot, incidentally, where Rastmoor had left their boots.
Good heavens, there were two pairs of men’s boots! And one pair was conspicuously larger than the other. Drat everything.
But the lady simply smiled and left. Did she know? Had she figured them out? Did she see through Julia’s disguise? Or worse, did she not see through Julia’s disguise? Oh, poor Rastmoor! How on earth was he going to explain this to his friend?
She shut the door and stood near it, listening for Lady Dashford’s soft footfalls to fade away. Finally she glanced up at Rastmoor. Yes, without the door to block his view, his gaze had wandered over to the double pair of boots, too.
Damsel in Disguise Page 18