Chapter Thirteen #2
He tried not to smile as she carried on attempting to explain herself. Dear God, his cover must be excellent. Did not think he could read? And here he was, fluent in Latin, Greek, French—
“—must think me silly.”
“No,” Lawrence said swiftly. Nothing could be further from the truth. “No, you would be correct in most cases. Remember, I had the mentorship of…of a duke.”
The half-truth slipped so easily from his tongue, he almost winced.
Was this how liars were born? One found a lie that was convenient, easy to say, and was easily believed, and before you knew it…
“Well, I am glad you have something to entertain yourself when not in the boxing ring,” said Julia cheerfully, as though she made it a habit to visit poor men in their rooms unaccompanied.
Lawrence laughed. Well, he was not a duke, was he? He could say what he liked. “Good God, Julia, you are a wild one!”
Though her cheeks were still pink, the mischievous grin that curled her lips was confident. “What, me?”
“You,” Lawrence said heartily, wishing the chairs were closer. If he could just reach forward… “You are here alone, in the rooms of a man you hardly know—”
“Now that is not true,” she countered immediately. “Yes, our acquaintance is perhaps not the oldest, but…Lawrence, there is no one in the world who knows me as well as you.”
Her gaze met his, so intense it near took his breath away. If he had fewer scruples…
“I like your room.”
He snorted. “You do not have to be polite.”
“No! No, I do it’s very…” Julia searched for an appropriate phrase. “Very charming.”
Joy seared through Lawrence’s chest. How did she manage it? Say so much and yet so little in just a few words?
She did something to him, this one, and if he was not careful, he was going to make a mistake, cross a line that had absolutely no going back.
“I like how…how Spartan you have kept it,” Julia said, laughing herself now. “No, truly! It is easy to drown in fripperies and ribbons, trust me.”
Lawrence could well believe it. He had seen his sister’s last haberdashery bill. “And do you?”
“Constantly.”
“Well, you must not judge me by what you see,” Lawrence found himself saying.
Now why had he said that?
True, it was not too revealing…unless, and the thought was a terrible one, unless Alan’s suspicions were correct? Unless it was a little too convenient that this beauty had decided to attach herself to a man out of her class and beyond the realms of polite Society?
“No, I suppose not.” Julia’s eyes lingered on a sock. “But that leads me to ask a very important question.”
Lawrence’s stomach tensed. An important question? What on earth could she possibly want to know about—
“What,” said Julia quietly, returning her gaze to him, “should I judge you on?”
Lawrence swallowed. The seemingly innocent gaze he knew so well was gone, replaced with…
Something new. Something different.
Still Julia, still those beautiful eyes, that proud mouth, that ability to look through him and make his insides become jelly because he could not stop looking at her.
But this was a more serious Julia. A Julia who wanted something, God knew what, and would not take no for an answer. She may not even leave the place until she got it.
A raw, hungry twist in his stomach was forced down—at least, as much as he could. No, she would not want that. She accepted his kisses, moaned at the way he touched her, but she was a lady!
A lady with a reputation. A lady who was under a deadline to marry.
Lawrence’s heart thundered painfully as he gazed into that beautiful face. If only he had found John Mortimer already, he would be free, free to regain his place in Society, remove his cover, and put on once more the trappings of a duke.
Free to walk up to Mrs. Dryden and declare himself.
The very thought made red-hot flames spiral through his chest. But Lawrence couldn’t do that. He couldn’t even reveal himself to Julia, though he desperately wanted to.
He would not put her in danger.
And still she waited for his answer.
“What should I judge you on?”
“You should judge me,” Lawrence said, his voice croaking, “on how I care about you.”
Care about you? Care—what sort of paltry words were this?
Try as he might, Lawrence could not stride across the room, throw open the door, and remonstrate to her that it was most scandalous, risking her reputation in this way.
How could he when he wanted to open the opposite door? The door that led not to the landing and to relative safety, but to his bed…
“Care about me?” Julia repeated softly.
It was all Lawrence could do not to reach and trace those delicate lips as she spoke.
By God, he cared about her. Some marriages were made by appointment, some with just a few hours of acquaintance. It was rare that a man like him spent such time in the private company of a lady at all, let alone one who was an actual member of Society.
But he wasn’t the Duke of Penshaw here, was he? Lawrence thought wildly. He was just Lawrence Madgwick. Lawrence, the boxer.
Lawrence, who Julia thought had no money, no title, no power… yet she was here.
“I care about you,” Lawrence said, the words tumbling from his tongue. “Care so deeply, Julia, I—”
“Yes?” Julia said eagerly, leaning forward.
Lawrence swallowed. The gentle tilt of her body made the view of her breasts even more tantalizing than his imagination if that were possible.
God, he was only human!
“I…” He had to stop, he could not permit himself to become entangled—“Julia, I…”
Lawrence’s words failed him. The room was closing in, the walls growing nearer, and all he could think of or look at was the woman before him.
Her eyes bright. Eager. But could she have any idea what was on his mind, any idea what he wanted?
Though Lawrence knew the danger he put both himself and her in by admitting even the faintest affection, he could not prevent it.
He had to tell Julia Dryden how he felt.