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Her expression must have given something away, for Alec’s gaze darkened. Heedless of where they stood, he reached out and grasped her arms, his fingers pressing into the tender flesh above her elbows. “Julia, why did you marry me?”
The question seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, for he dropped his hands and took a startled step back.
Every move he made to distance himself confirmed Julia’s fears. She only prayed he had not seen too much. “You know why I married you.” She forced a light laugh. “The same reason you married me—for the fortune.”
For a long instant he stared down at her, his gaze shadowed by the brim of his hat. Then, without another word, he turned and opened the door of the phaeton and pulled out the steps. “Get in.”
Her chest felt as if a huge rock had been placed upon it. Julia twisted the strings of her reticule and wondered miserably how things had gotten so muddled. “Perhaps I should find Johnston.” Though the old groom might be dour-faced and grim, she’d prefer him to this too handsome stranger who scowled at her as if for two pence he’d happily wring her neck.
“Johnston is attempting to set the stables to rights.” Alec reached out and unceremoniously lifted her into the phaeton.
Julia snatched her hand away as soon as she was certain she would not tumble to the ground. “I should get a hackney. I have dozens of things to do before this evening and you’ll—”
“Accompany you,” he said briefly and climbed in beside her. His thigh brushed against hers as he loosened the reins and flicked at the lead horse with the whip. The horses sprang forward and soon they were bowling down the wide lane.
Julia clasped her hands in her lap and searched desperately for a safe topic of conversation. “I’m surprised to see you looking so awake. Last night you seemed….” She wondered what the polite term would be. “Ill,” she finally said.
“Drunk,” he said with a dark glance.
“Edmund calls it ‘a trifle to let.’”
“I was more than a trifle, Julia. Trust me on that score.”
Trust him? Of course she trusted him. Hadn’t she married him, helped him regain his grandfather’s fortune, and dedicated herself to helping him defeat his rakish tendencies? Though if last night was any indication, she was failing miserably.
A dog darted into the street and the horses reared, kicking against the traces. Alec half stood, his feet planted wide as he forced the bays to settle. Gripping the edge of the seat, Julia found herself at eye level with Alec’s thigh, marvelously encased in fawn-colored breeches.
Heavens, Aunt Maddie was right. Men were wearing their breeches tighter every year, and it certainly was a disgrace. Yet somehow Julia could not dredge up a single morsel of regret, only a breathless admiration and an overwhelming desire to touch that beautiful thigh, to splay her hands across the rock-hard muscles that flexed within inches of her mouth and taste the warmth of his skin and—
Alec resumed his seat and set the horses back in motion. He turned the phaeton off the main thoroughfare. “I assume you wished to visit Bond Street first.”
It took all of her powers of concentration to remove her gaze from the rippling muscles of his thigh. “Oh, yes. Shopping,” she said, her voice sounding husky even to her own ears. “I am going shopping.”
He glanced sideways at her, his silver gaze curious. “What item do you so desire that you would rise at dawn?”
Glad for the excuse to turn her face away, Julia tilted her head back to look at the sparkling sky. “It is at least nine o’clock, to judge by the sun.” She smiled, the beauty of the day warming her to her toes. “My father used to awaken at six every morning.”
Alec noted how her eyes shimmered behind her spectacles, the verdant green flecked with gold. The lashes curled lushly and cast shadows over her cheeks and the sun kissed the honey of her hair to gold. God, but she was lovely.
She turned those amazing eyes on him. “My father and mother would sit on the front steps every morning and watch the sun rise.” A dimple hovered in her cheek. “I think it was just an excuse to be alone, but Father would never admit it.”
Alec tried to remember something of his own mother, but all he could recall were tears and clinging arms that weighted his shoulders even now. He shrugged the uncomfortable feeling aside. “Your parents were unique.”
“They loved one another,” she said simply.
For the barest instant, Alec found himself envying the love Julia’s parents had shared. He grimaced. He was just tired from yet another sleepless night.
Blithely unaware of the turmoil she caused, Julia pulled a list from her reticule. “I need blue ribbons and a rose-colored scarf.” She glanced up at him and chuckled. “The scarf is for Aunt Maddie. She won’t admit it, but she has a tendre for Admiral Hutchins. Just yesterday I heard him say how lovely she looked in her pink pelisse, and I thought this would be just the thing to thank her for her help.”
Alec could only smile at such an enchanting confidence.
Color bloomed in Julia’s cheeks and she hastily turned back to her list. “Oh, and we must choose some livery for Muck. It will make him feel much more important.”
“Important?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, earnestly. “Children are not so very different from adults. We all need a purpose, something to believe in and work toward. It keeps us from becoming selfish.”
Alec frowned and turned the horses toward Bond Street. Frankly, he couldn’t think of a single thing he believed in. His gaze fell on Julia’s bent head as she tucked her list back into her reticule. The straw bonnet sat crooked, and she’d tied the ribbon in a huge, lopsided bow that threatened to come undone at any moment. To his surprise, he heard himself say, “Perhaps there is one thing I believe in.”
“Only one?” She looked disappointed. “I believe in all sorts of things.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, yes.” She counted off on her fingers. “I believe there is good in all people, if they only have the opportunity to show it. I believe everyone has a duty to help their fellow man. I believe children are the most precious resource of society. And I believe in lo—” She halted and bit her lip, her face flaming bright pink.
“Love,” he finished for her. “Like your parents’.”
She nodded, the bow slipping completely free. Twin cherry ribbons framed her face as her generous mouth curved in a tender smile. “They had true love. The kind you read about in books.”
He looked at her and his heart squeezed painfully. “There is no such thing as true love.”
With the quiet dignity he had so come to admire, she answered, “It is the only kind I will accept.”
Fighting back an absurd sense of disappointment, Alec fell silent and concentrated on guiding the phaeton through traffic.
For the rest of the day he was careful to keep the conversation light, though he was annoyingly aware of her. Every move she made served to remind him of the scene in his study the night before—of the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her, the taste of her mouth beneath his. She, on the other hand, seemed to think nothing of the incident, for by neither word nor action did she betray any hint it held some meaning for her.
By the time Alec pulled the phaeton to the curb in front of the house, he was grimly determined to remind her of her promise. With great restraint, he handed her down from the carriage and followed her in.
Once in the foyer, he closed the door and leaned against it, watching her intently. She untied her bonnet and pulled it from her head, shaking her curls free. One lock of hair stayed mashed to her head while another looped out in a messy bump.
It was, simply, too much. He shoved himself from the door. “You’ve forgotten something, love.”
She looked down at her reticule, then checked the bandbox that swung from her other hand. “No, I have everything here.”
He stepped closer, placing a hand on the wall just above her head. “There is the little matter of your daily forfeit.”
Her ey
es widened, and Alec witnessed something akin to fear in the velvety depths. He almost took a step back, chagrined to have inspired that look. Had he been more violent last night than he’d thought? Perhaps his passion had overwhelmed her, though that seemed impossible when he remembered her response. Mayhap she feared both his passion and her own.
Strangely, the thought encouraged him. Taking his galloping lust under firm control, Alec lifted a hand to her face. He lightly traced the curve of her cheek, allowing his fingertips to linger just beside her mouth.
Her lips parted and her eyes half closed, her breath sliding between her white teeth in shallow gasps. With a thunk, the bandbox hit the floor and rolled to the corner.
Alec trailed his hand from her mouth to her chin. Leaning forward ever so slowly, he slid his lips across her smooth jaw to the delicate skin right below her ear. She shivered, one hand coming up to clutch at his lapel. Alec closed his eyes and forced himself to end the tortuous kiss with a soft touch of his lips and no more. Then he stepped away, fighting with every breath to maintain his control.
Julia’s hand fell to her side and she stared at him, her gaze filled with yearning.
It was exactly the expression he had hoped to see. He would woo her slowly until she came to know and trust him. He would show her that there was more to life than the illusion of true love. There was the release and beauty of passion.
For now, that would have to be enough. “You had best change before Lady Birlington arrives.”
Julia blinked as if she’d just awakened from a deep, dream-filled sleep. “Who?”
“Lady Birlington,” he repeated gently. He took her hand and pulled her forward, stopping to gather the lost bandbox. He placed it in her hand and led her to the bottom of the stairs. “Shall I send Mrs. Winston to your room with some tea?”
Like a sleepwalker, Julia nodded and began a dreamy climb up the steps, weaving ever so slightly as she went, one hand still on the place his lips had just left. Alec watched her go, admiring the hypnotic sway of her hips. At the top, she stopped and looked down.
Their eyes met and color flooded Julia’s face. Then she whirled and disappeared down the hallway.
Chapter 14
London’s bawdiest slum rang day and night with the sounds of gin, sin and filth, yet the Society for Wayward Women remained a haven of safety. No untoward attacks or robberies occurred within its hallowed walls. Ruffians and robbers alike gave the locale a respectable berth, mainly out of a reluctant respect for the kindly Vicar Ashton.
Julia climbed the narrow steps leading to the front door. She loved this building. Once a brothel spattered with filth, it now gleamed, sparkling under a new coat of paint in startling contrast against its grime and soot-covered neighbors.
Stepping into the gleaming entryway, she smoothed her dress. A simple round gown, it had been divested of bows and trimwork and seemed startlingly plain when compared with the costly garments that now filled her wardrobe. Here she was once again plain, simple Julia Frant. The transformation did not lighten her spirits.
It was time she faced the truth: she was a total failure as a reformer. Not only was the Society still without a project to help the women, but Alec was just as sinful, just as seductive, just as prideful as he had been the day they had wed. Oh, she had managed to win a few compromises, but he’d undergone no real transformation of character.
Unfortunately, she could not say the same for herself.
Julia brushed a hand over her mouth and shivered. She never knew when Alec would appear to demand his forfeit, and she spent each day and the better part of each night wondering when the next kiss would come and how wantonly she would react. To her dismay, there was no predicting either.
She was both fascinated and terrified, dreading and yearning for his touch, and all the while sinking ever more under his spell. Of course, a spell of Alec’s weaving was hardly the stuff of nightmares; it was more that of dreams—hot, sensual dreams that left one lying awake in the middle of the night, yearning and trembling with raw lust.
Julia fanned herself with a limp hand. She was weakening. Every day brought her a step closer to begging for more than a mere kiss. And Alec had let her know by look and touch that he would be more than willing to comply.
If she didn’t come up with another way to reach her stubborn, lustful husband soon, she would be just as lost to sin as he. Refusing to dwell on such unhappy thoughts, she gathered herself together and entered the office.
The vicar rose from his chair at the head of the table, his thin, patrician face creased in a welcoming smile. “There you are, my dear. We were just about to begin.”
“About time you arrived,” growled Lord Kennybrook, shooting her a sharp glance from under gray, bushy brows. “Late. Just like a dratted female. And after making us move our meetings to this ungodly hour of the morning.”
Julia smiled. “Are you trying to raise my hackles, Lord Kennybrook? I should warn you it won’t work.”
His brown eyes twinkled from beneath fierce brows. “Why not?”
“I don’t have the energy. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Or the night before. Or the night before that. Actually, she hadn’t had one good night’s rest since her wedding night.
“Trouble sleeping, eh?” asked Lord Burton, full of bluff sympathy. “You’re just in time, then. Tumbolton here was just about to explain one of his queer philosophical notions.”
Kennybrook snorted. “That’s enough to put any soul into a trance, listening to such drivel before the sun’s fully up.”
Julia regarded the small group about the table with a fond smile. The disparate assemblage that made up the Society’s Board of Directors had come together under the gentle persuasion of Vicar Ashton. Men of position and wealth, they freely gave of their time and expertise for the simple reward of helping others. Julia loved them dearly and considered them the closest thing she’d had to a family since leaving Boston.
Vicar Ashton picked up a sheet of paper and peered at it through his spectacles. “I am pleased to announce that the Society for Wayward Women currently has enough money to establish any number of businesses.”
Mr. Tumbolton leaned over to read the sum at the bottom. “I vow, but that is a lot of money.” He coughed, the shallow, racking sound plunging the meeting into momentary silence.
Dr. Crullen shook his head. “You should not be in London, Augustus. It is poisonous to someone with your lungs.”
Julia caught the faint scent of peppermint. The doctor kept a store of candy in his pockets for his younger patients, though Julia believed he ate more than he ever gave away.
Tumbolton pressed a handkerchief to his colorless lips before taking a shuddering breath. “I can’t leave yet, Marcus. I’m in the middle of developing my new theory. It’s due at the publisher next month.”
“You won’t be around to do anything if you don’t take heed,” warned Lord Burton, his heavy jowls quivering with each word. “But I must admit we need your help if we’re to decide how to fix this sum from the new sponsor, whoever he is.”
Kennybrook narrowed his gaze on Julia. “This new sponsor bothers me. Something smoky about him, damn if there isn’t.”
Lord Burton nodded. “Shame we lost our last sponsor. He was a great man. I always thought John was the—”
“He was, indeed,” interrupted Lord Kennybrook with a meaningful glare.
“Oh, yes,” replied Burton hastily. He cast a guilty glance at Julia. “No more to be said about that.”
Vicar Ashton favored the assembly with a sad smile. “We still haven’t found a solution to our problem. I begin to fear we may never find one.”
“Humph. I still think a sausage factory is the thing.” Lord Kennybrook said. “There’s a huge demand and not enough suppliers. My own chef told me so. Perfect time to go into the business.”
Julia shook her head. “It is much too unsanitary.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “All that fresh meat. What could be better?�
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She wrinkled her nose. “Just about anything.”
Kennybrook’s face folded into a scowl and Dr. Crullen interposed, “I cannot think of a large scale project for the women, but I do need a housekeeper. Mrs. Jenner has decided to return to the country to be with her daughter. Perhaps I could hire one of the women to take her place.”
“It’s hard to find good help,” Mr. Tumbolton commiserated. “I need someone to do my laundry.”
Julia wished Hunterston House were larger. At the most she could employ two or three women, and then she would have to deal with the fact that they were untrained. Of course, she and Mrs. Winston could instruct them, just as they had Muck.
“Heavens!” Julia cried. “That’s it! Mrs. Winston has been looking for a cook for weeks, and Lady Birlington is short a maid, and the Duchess of Roth said she’d give her left eye for a maid that could braid hair!”
Lord Kennybrook snorted. “What good is all that? Even with Tumbolton’s laundress, that places only four women and we have hundreds to see to.”
“Exactly! We will set up a company to train the women of the Society to become the best servants London has ever seen. We’ll run a servant referral service!” Julia drummed her fingers on the table, excitement buoying her spirits. “I know of a dozen matrons, the best of the ton, who are looking to hire maids, cooks, housekeepers—oh, all sorts of servants.”
The vicar stroked his chin. “Julia, I believe you have something there.”
“It is a healthy, respectable occupation,” Tumbolton said, giving a thoughtful nod. “And it certainly would not take much effort to begin.” He beamed with growing enthusiasm. “We should start immediately.”
“There’s only one flaw,” Dr. Crullen said. “In order for this effort to succeed, we will need a spokesperson who will vouch for us. Preferably someone within the ton itself.”
Kennybrook waved a hand. “We’ll get Lord Burton’s new ball and chain to do it. Have her blow it about town a bit. Won’t take long once the females start chattering.”
Julia looked hopefully at Lord Burton.