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For one horrified second, he thought she would cry. Instead, she gave him a tremulous smile that made his chest swell with an inexplicable ache. To cover his discomfort, he said sternly, “From now on, I expect you to take Johnston when you go out.”
“Oh, were you visiting your charity again, Julia?” Therese asked with deceptive sweetness. Despite her attempt to play the part of devoted cousin, she could not resist flicking him a malicious glance. “Julia has always been so generous with her time. I fear, Alec, you will have to get used to sharing your new wife.”
Though the hand that lay quietly in his never moved, he was aware Julia had tensed. He tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm and led her to the door. “I don’t think I could get used to sharing my wife with anyone.”
Therese’s mouth tightened.
Alec hid a grin and bent solicitously over Julia, whispering, “I asked Roberts to gather your things when I arrived. He should have them by now.”
He opened the door and nodded to Therese. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I fear I must rush home to tuck my wife…back into bed.” At Therese’s outraged gasp, he pulled Julia into the hall and bustled her to the carriage. She offered no resistance, murmuring her thanks to the graying butler as he pressed a worn bandbox into her hand.
Within moments, they were on their way home. Alec took the opposite corner from Julia and lounged in the seat, taking up more than his fair share of space. Since he had discovered her missing, he’d had to fight off the damnedest thoughts. Julia, trying to find a hackney in the dark. Julia, lost in the dark streets of London. Julia, changing her mind about their marriage and going back to the only home she knew.
The last thought had sent him posthaste to the Covington household. The flood of relief that flowed through him when she’d appeared had been almost overwhelming. And strange. He pulled his hat low so he could watch his wife in the gathering darkness.
Julia leaned her head against the worn squabs, and shot an apologetic glance his way, barely visible in the approaching night. “I meant to return before supper. The time just slipped by.”
“Mrs. Winston wouldn’t serve anything until I’d found you.”
Her wide mouth curved into a tired smile. “Mrs. Winston is a charming woman.”
“Not when she’s holding an entire basted ham hostage.”
She chuckled and he was assailed with an instant desire to taste her laughter. Low and rich, it would trail down his throat and heat his empty stomach. God, she was a taking thing, even for an avaricious reformer. “You should have told someone where you’d be.” He almost winced at the petulant note in his voice. He sounded far too much like a jealous husband.
Fortunately, she didn’t think his comment misplaced, for she gave a nod. “Was Mrs. Winston upset?”
“She was weeping over the bread pudding when I left.”
Julia laughed. Her white throat caught the light and he allowed his gaze to wander down the graceful column to the long row of tiny buttons that adomed her pelisse. Her breasts pressed against the material, small and firm, perfectly made for a man’s hand. His mouth watered and he pictured himself bending over her shapely body, his mouth fastened on her ni—
“Did you hear me?”
Alec blinked. Good God, what was he doing? He glanced down and placed his hat across his lap. “No, I didn’t hear you. Forgive me; I seem to be wandering.”
“Tired to death? Me too. I merely mentioned how pleased the vicar was at the donation.” She continued to expound on the vicar’s reaction and the possibilities that awaited the Society.
He nodded absently, noting how animated she became as she talked about her charity work. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. He admired her determination and intelligence, but the ease with which she made him stiffen with desire was disturbing. How on earth could he lust after such a prim woman?
Of course, he’d been without a mistress these past two weeks. The little charmer he’d enjoyed had become too demanding, and that was always a sign a change was in order. Perhaps his reaction to Julia was a combination of his unsatiated urges compounded with the tantalizing knowledge he couldn’t have her.
He’d given his word and she was, after all, an innocent. Her reaction to his kiss this afternoon had proved to him how easily her innocence could be taken advantage of. It strengthened his resolve to keep his promise that the marriage be one of convenience only.
Alec had always enjoyed the company of women, particularly those who loved life. He had lounged in the beds of many a high-priced lightskirt, laughed through the raucous comedies at Vauxhall with doe-eyed cyprians who encouraged him to slip his hand under their skirts, and driven more than one somewhat married woman to distraction in a dark carriage. He reveled in their softness and indulged himself between their thighs. But he had never been even remotely interested in a woman like Julia.
Innocent and virtuous, she represented the exact type of female he avoided. Interested only in commitment and the boring necessities of life, women like Julia enjoyed the closed confines of Almack’s, desired nothing more than a home in the country, and dreamed of babies. Alec wanted no part of any of those things. He knew what he was: the son of a questionable union between a landless Scottish nobleman and a hellion. A man branded by sin to sin.
Julia, with her rows of buttons and sensible spectacles, should have had no more effect on him than the money-grubbing Therese. Yet somehow, all his prim wife had to do was part her generous mouth in a smile and he instantly thought of those soft lips parting for other, less chaste reasons. His groin tightened uncomfortably and he shifted, suddenly aware she was looking at him with an expectant gaze.
He adjusted his hat on his lap and thought furiously. What had she been talking about? “Uhm. Yes.”
“Good.”
The relief in her voice worried him. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should explain again what I just agreed to.”
After a prolonged silence, she asked flatly, “You weren’t listening, were you?”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
In the dim light, he could just make out her squared chin. “Too bad,” she said. “You’ve agreed and I refuse to allow you to take it back.”
She sounded so much like an outraged governess that he almost chuckled aloud. Instead, he crossed his arms and stretched out his legs so they brushed the side of her skirts. “I’m a man of my word, Julia. Enlighten me to the extent of my folly.”
She pulled away and tucked her skirts back. “I asked if I could hire a few servants for the house. Not many, but one or two. Mrs. Winston is woefully short-handed.”
More servants? Damn his inattention. He had better get his lust under control before he ended up agreeing to something far more costly.
“A wonderful idea.” Even in the darkness, he could feel the force of her smile. He cast about for a safe topic of conversation. “Where exactly does the Society meet?”
“Whitechapel. We own a house. It was once a brothel, but the building is sound. With a few repairs, it should serve us well.”
He sat up straight, his hat slipping to the floor. “Whitechapel? Good God, don’t tell me you traipsed through that hellhole without so much as an escort?”
“Very well, then; I won’t tell you. But I do it all the time and have never come to any harm.”
“What you did before you became my wife is of no concern,” he replied frostily. “You will remember you are Viscountess Hunterston now. In the future, Johnston will accompany you.”
In the occasional flicker afforded by the streetlights, he could see her face, colorless against the squabs, her mouth pressed into a straight line. After a long moment, she nodded. “Very well, but I will not curtail my visits. There’s much work to be done. Besides,” her glance pinned him with deadly accuracy, “we have a bargain.”
“I am beginning to believe our bargain was very onesided,” he snapped.
“That is no fault of mine. When we first struck our agreement,
I asked if you had any conditions you wished to mention, and you couldn’t think of any.”
“Well, I can think of some now.” He stretched his legs out even more until the warmth of her knee pressed against his.
She attempted to pull back further, but she was already pressed into the corner as far as her slim body would fit. “I’m sure you can. Unfortunately, it would be very unfair of you to insist on new conditions at this point.”
His anger sparked anew. “If you risk a scandal with your trips to Whitechapel, my lady, I will be well within my rights to demand a new agreement.”
Julia sniffed. “There will be no scandal. After all, I am merely helping those less fortunate.”
With deliberate menacing intent, Alec leaned forward and placed his hand on her knee. “And if there is?”
Her fingers tightened about her reticule. “If for some unthinkable reason I cause a scandal, then we will speak again about our bargain.” She turned to look out the window.
Alec grinned, feeling inordinately proud. It wasn’t the assurance he’d wanted, but it was all he would get. And from Julia, it was more than enough. The woman was nigh bursting with prudish honor; she’d keep her word or die.
Julia was the most exhilarating challenge he’d ever faced. He burned to wrap his hands about her trim waist and pull her across the hard leather seat. He dreamed of sliding her sensible skirts up to her waist, parting her tender thighs, and plundering every delectable inch of her.
Alec stifled a moan at the hot images flickering through his mind. God, he needed a drink. A drink, and his hat back in his lap.
As he bent over to retrieve it his arm brushed against her skirt. Julia started as if he’d run his hand up her thigh. Muttering to herself, she hunched a shoulder and looked steadfastly out the window.
She was not immune to him. With one or two well-placed kisses, he could ignite the fire that smoldered beneath her primly buttoned exterior and win any assurances he desired. She possessed the wild Frant blood, despite her belief to the contrary.
The only problem was, there was more than mere honor at stake. Alec wasn’t at all sure he would be able to stop a simple kiss from progressing into something far more dangerous to his own peace of mind. If he were to compromise Julia in such a way they would be married in more than name only, and that was a commitment he was not about to make. Especially not to a woman who had wed him for no other reason than to secure a hold on his purse strings.
For that very reason, he would turn Julia over to Lady Birlington with his blessing. He needed some time to adjust to the fact there was at least one woman he could never have and that he’d been foolish enough to marry her. For now, he would remain on his side of the carriage, his entire body achingly stiff, his disposition lowering with every passing moment.
Sighing heavily, Alec decided Lucien had been right. Noble intentions were a damned inconvenience.
Chapter 11
“Edmund!” Maddie thumped her cane on the carriage floor. “Wake up! How do you expect us to get out of the carriage with you sprawled across the doorway?”
Startled from a comfortable doze, Edmund jerked upright, his head cracking against the low roof. Shawls and books tumbled to the floor as Ephram barked hysterically.
Edmund clutched his chest, wrinkling the gaudy green and yellow waistcoat. “Tare and hounds, Aunt Maddie! I’m having heart palpitations!”
Julia choked back a laugh. Edmund possessed a natural sweetness of temperament that had won her instant favor. For the past fortnight he had been everything polite and charming, escorting them everywhere and offering her numerous suggestions on how to wear her hair, which color best suited a rainy day, or what type of half-boot complemented her new pelisse.
As his own taste seemed somewhat questionable, she usually listened politely and did the opposite. So far, her instincts had not erred.
Maddie patted Ephram on the head. “There, there, precious angel.” When the dog’s barking had subsided into satisfied grunts, she poked her nephew in the stomach with her cane. “Cease your wailing and open the blasted door.”
“The coachman—”
“Is older than I. It will take him an hour just to climb from the perch.”
Edmund gathered the strewn articles and dutifully opened the door. “Don’t know why you keep him on if he’s so blasted slow. Took us almost a half-hour to get here. I can make it in ten minutes in my curricle.”
“That’s because of the way you drive your cattle.” Maddie took her great nephew’s arm and climbed from the carriage.
Edmund blinked his surprise. “Why, thank you, Aunt Maddie. I can’t understand why they won’t let me in the Four Horse Club. I am a fair hand at the whip, if I do say so myself.”
She snorted. “Bound to say it yourself—no one else would. Most cow-handed fool I ever saw.” Maddie glanced over her shoulder at Julia. “Once saw him tip over right in the middle of Bond Street. Biggest green ’un ever to handle the ribbons.”
“I say, Aunt Maddie,” sputtered Edmund, his face deep red. “It’s cursed unfair of you to remind a fellow of the things he did years ago.”
“Hmph. You’ll be as wet behind the ears when you are forty as you are today.”
Julia climbed out of the carriage. With a reassuring smile at Edmund, she relieved him of some of his burdens, taking a book and shawl that seemed in imminent danger of toppling to the ground.
“Thank you, Julia,” he muttered. “I vow, some days I want to throttle my aunt. She can—”
“Edmund?” Maddie called over her shoulder. “I’m too old to stand out here in the sun all day. Might wither and look worse than I do now.”
Julia chuckled as Edmund spared her a smiling shake of his head before he hurried after his aunt. Though Julia had been apprehensive at meeting Lady Birlington, she had warmed to the cantankerous woman from the beginning. Julia suspected Maddie’s crusty exterior hid a soft heart.
The old lady settled her shawl around her shoulders and led the hapless Edmund toward the subscription library. “Come, Julia. I wish to find that new book Lady Castlewaite was telling me about at the modiste’s.”
Julia grimaced. For the last two weeks, she and Lady Birlington had spent a good portion of every morning shopping. Julia had been pinned, primped, and pressed until she felt like a paper doll. Yet even she had to admit the transformation was amazing. Now, when she looked in a mirror, an astonishingly fashionable woman stared back.
Her hair, artfully cut and arranged, emphasized her eyes and made her appear younger than her twenty-seven years. Her face, framed by soft tendrils of hair, seemed less angular, and her eyes appeared even larger. But the most astonishing change of all had been in her figure. She’d always considered herself sadly flat chested and much too short ever to command attention. But now she was beginning to see she was perfectly suited for the current fashion.
Not, she thought peevishly, that Alec noticed. Since the night he had met her at Therese’s, he had studiously avoided her. Although he appeared each morning for breakfast, looking shadow-eyed with fatigue, he offered nothing in the way of polite conversation. He seemed totally uninterested in her progress and had scarcely noted her changed appearance. Yet she treasured those morning visits, silent as they were, for they were among the few times she saw him.
She knew the servants whispered. Mrs. Winston had taken to the annoying habit of patting her hand with an expression of tearful concern, while Burroughs had begun to bring her an obligatory glass of milk every night. Julia accepted it all with stoic silence. Though she was very fond of them both, they were Alec’s retainers, not hers.
Night after night, Julia lay awake hour after hour until she heard the sound of his measured tread in the hallway, followed by the soft thud of his door. In her own way, she was every bit as assiduous as Burroughs.
It was a silly thing to do and she knew it, but no amount of stern lecturing seemed to make her able to sleep until she heard him return. She wondered where he spent h
is evenings. Though she knew he would never break his word, she could not help but picture him in the arms of some painted Cyprian, his arms about her slender waist, his face buried in her neck.
Julia usually stopped the image right there, before she dissolved into tears.
Distracted by her thoughts, she stumbled as her new half-boot caught the bottom step. Books slipped from her arms as she tried to regain her balance.
Strong hands clasped about her waist. “Easy, love,” murmured a deep voice.
Julia clutched at the broad chest and looked up, her heart in her throat.
It wasn’t Alec. Instead, she found herself staring into the faintly smiling face of the Earl of Bridgeton. She flushed and pulled away, aware she had leaned against him much longer than was proper. “Pardon me. I thought you were someone else.”
The amused glint in Nick’s blue eyes deepened. “Did you?” He released her and bent to retrieve her scattered books, glancing at the bindings as he straightened. “Novels, Lady Hunterston? I am surprised.”
“You shouldn’t be. I’ve been able to read since I was a child, you know.”
His finely carved mouth quirked into a smile. “That’s not quite what I meant.” He tilted his head and favored her with a considering gaze. “I’d never have thought you, of all people, a romantic.”
“Nonsense.” She took the last book from him and tucked it under her arm. Truthfully, Julia had never indulged in novels before her acquaintance with Lady Birlington, but she had to admit there was enjoyment to be had in reading a story one felt reasonably certain would have a happy ending. “All people are romantics, one way or another.”
“No person would ever condemn me as a romantic. Lascivious, yes. But romantic?” He replaced his curly brimmed beaver with easy grace, the sun glinting off his golden hair, his slow, deliberate movements as sensual as a snake’s.
There was something compelling about the aura of forbidden maleness of this man. It was almost as if the perfection of his face and form was at constant war with the scarred blackness of his soul. A flash of pity softened her irritation. “Maybe you should try a novel. Love is good for the soul.”