Chapter Fourteen
Julia tried hard to keep her face neutral.
She failed.
She knew it, could feel it in the way her cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling in a hasty rhythm, unable to take in what Lawrence had just said.
“I care about you. Care so deeply, Julia, I—”
And she had almost decided against coming! If it had not been for the kind man who recognized her from the many times she had attended the Almonry Den, she would have remained ignorant of where his rooms were.
It had taken a great deal of boldness to walk up these stairs. To knock on that door. To sit here calmly as though she did not have the most wanton thoughts rushing through her mind.
“I care about you. Care so deeply, Julia, I—”
And then he had said that.
“I…I hoped you did,” Julia said softly.
What else could she say? She could hardly admit her own feelings.
Not that she knew what they were. First, she thought wildly, highly conscious of her fingers curling around the edge of her stool, she would have to understand them herself.
This heat, this need and longing to be near him—that was love, was it not?
Her admiration, the slight discomfort about his birth and background yet her ability to look past it. The way he made her feel like the center of a room, any room, whenever he was in it…
What was that, if not love?
“You shouldn’t have come.”
And in an instant, Julia deflated.
“I just meant,” Lawrence said hastily, “that it was inadvisable for you to—”
“I know.”
“And you may have been seen! Someone might have spotted you, your reputation—”
“I know,” said Julia softly, a slow smile creeping across her mouth. Did he not see?
“—a woman such as yourself, vouchers for Almack’s, the talk this could create—”
“I know,” Julia said firmly.
“—and you, you…you’re holding my hand, Jules.”
Julia could not help but smile. When was this rash, powerful, yet entirely clueless man going to understand?
“I know I was bold to come here,” she said quietly.
“Brazen, I call it.”
“But why?” Julia said, jutting out her chin. “Ladies—women of your class do what they like. They tell men they have a fondness for them or that they like them, visit them in their rooms—”
“Julia.”
It was not a warning, not quite. She saw in Lawrence a desperate desire to hear what she was going to say, yet a sense that he should not. That they should not.
Why, there was more gentleman in him than half the toffs she had the misfortune to meet at St. James’s Court.
“You said you cared for me,” Julia persisted. Her fingers were still entwined with his. “Well, I care for you.”
Some strange shadow passed over Lawrence’s face. “You should not say such things.”
Rebellion rushed through her. She had been to the Almonry Den, not once, but several times. She had even made a bet once! She had spoken with a man far beyond her class. She had kissed him, not once but several times. Had felt the warmth of his breath on her neck.
Would do so again if she had her own way tonight.
And she loved him. She could not say as much. Julia was not so much a fool as all that, but still. He had to know, didn’t he? Had to see it in her eyes?
“Lawrence, I…” Julia swallowed.
She had only been permitted out of the house at this hour—and out of that dreadful invitation with Miss Ashbrooke, the matchmaker to the ton—because she had promised Donald she would go and see Lawrence.
And break it off.
“Whatever it is, between you two,” her brother had warned with a forefinger waggled in her direction, “it is to end. Tonight.”
“Or what?” Julia had shot back as she had pulled on a pelisse.
“Or,” Donald had said darkly, “I finish it for you.”
Julia hesitated as she sat hand in hand with Lawrence, the words painful in her throat. But she had to say it. She had promised Donald she would at least say it.
“My family—my brother, I suppose I should say—does not want me to see you again.”
There. It was said.
And on paper, Julia knew wretchedly, it was the right thing to do. Why, she was a lady! Of good name and relatively good dowry. She had a position to maintain, honor to preserve. She couldn’t go around after boxers, or working-class men, or…
Lawrence. Julia’s shoulders slumped as tension left them.
She was unable to fool herself. She would have to hope she was better at fooling Donald.
“Lawrence,” she said.
There was disappointment in his face. Pain, a sort of heavy resignation.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
“No, you don’t,” Julia said frantically. “It’s just that—”
“Your family thinks I am of a…well. A different class to you.”
Julia swallowed. It was so sordid, having it laid out like that so plainly, but that was the truth. She could hardly deny it.
Her gaze swept across the room. It was so unlike the pretty elegance of her own home. Harder still to consider this the sort of life she could choose.
But choosing Lawrence…that was something she could not so easily give up.
“Yes,” she said softly. “A different class.”
Was that a quirk of a smile across his face? “Well, I cannot say they’re wrong.”
“But don’t you see, I don’t care about—”
“You should,” said Lawrence quickly. Somehow, he had let go of her fingers. “This is not the sort of life for a woman of your caliber, Jules, even if—I mean, not that I am asking you to…”
His voice trailed away as hope soared in Julia’s chest. Could he possibly mean…
“They judge me for what I am,” Lawrence said finally. “Your family. What they think I am.”
And she knew so much better. She knew the passion in him, the power, yes, but also the softness. The care, the wit.
“It’s my brother, really,” Julia said awkwardly.
Lawrence laughed. “Donald.”
“You cannot blame him, not entirely,” she pointed out quietly. “He doesn’t want his only sister marrying a boxer.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Boiling heat flooded through her body, a blazing contrast with the temperature in the rooms. Julia dropped her head, her gaze settling in her lap.
What had she been thinking, saying such a thing? How on earth could she face him, anyone, after saying those words?
“He doesn’t want his only sister marrying a boxer.”
“Well? What do you think?”
Julia’s head snapped up in shock. “I beg your—”
“I said, what do you think?” said Lawrence softly.
There was a strange sort of ringing in Julia’s ears. She must not lose her head, she tried to tell herself quietly, as though she had any control over the matter.
It was not what it sounded like. It could not be.
Proposals were…well, roses, wine, music, getting down on one knee…
Julia’s gaze roved over the strong mouth, bold eyes, and stubble on the cheeks of the man before her.
At least, that was what she had always thought. That they would appear in a shower of golden light, utterly expected because of course he would have spoken to her mother, and she would have spoken to her…
But perhaps proposals weren’t all about the pomp and circumstance. Perhaps they weren’t about riches and show. Perhaps it was about sitting on a damned uncomfortable stool, in a murky, undoubtedly damp room, with a man…a man you loved.
There was a teasing smile on Lawrence’s face. “Well, what do you think?”
Julia swallowed. “If…oh, dash it all, Lawrence, I think you are teasing me!”
“I would never tease you,” he said with a shake of his head. “At least, not about this.”
Well, she had been bold enough to come here, hadn’t she? What else had she hoped for?
“If…if you asked me to marry you, I might say yes.”
“In that case,” said Lawrence. “Will you marry me?”
“Not on your life.”
“Julia Dryden—”
He was unable to speak any further. At least, he could have attempted it, but Julia had rather thoughtlessly made it difficult by falling into his arms and kissing him, none too gently, on the lips.
If she had been concerned about her reception, she should not have been. Lawrence pulled her immediately into his embrace, returning her passion with a kiss just as fervent.
This was it. This was everything. He was everything.
Lawrence rose to his feet, and Julia almost stumbled to the floor. “You mean it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll really marry me?” he pressed. “With nothing for me to offer you?”
Julia stared in amazement. “Are you not worth anything?”
Lawrence did not reply in words. Instead, he took her head and pulled her the three or so steps it took to reach the only other door in the room. He opened it.
She gasped. He did not need to speak for her to understand what he was suggesting. Visible in the gloom was nothing in that room save…
“I love you, Julia,” Lawrence said quietly from just behind her, his hand still entwined in hers. “I want to make you mine, more than—more than anything. More than Society, reputations, honor, all that nonsense. The question is, will you let me?”
She needed no further invitation.
Launching herself toward him and almost crying out at the relief of being once again in his arms, Julia kissed Lawrence heartily, parting her lips so her tongue could immediately meet his own.
It was like…coming home. Like finding one’s place in the world. Her skin was tingling with anticipation, with the knowledge that only when Lawrence touched her was she complete.
It appeared he was just as eager to hold her, touch her, be with her. Lawrence’s hands immediately cupped her buttocks, drawing her close. Julia moaned at the intensity of the sensation, the hardness now pushing into her stomach.
Oh, all she wanted was him.
“Julia,” Lawrence moaned, raining kisses down her neck. “Julia…”
Julia arched her back, her body taking over—instinct knowing far more of what she wanted than her mind.
Her breath caught in her throat as his warm mouth closed around a nipple, scraping through her gown.
Oh, it had been a most excellent idea to leave her stays behind this morning…
“Lawrence,” Julia gasped.
And he halted immediately.
She looked up with desire hazed eyes. “Why did you stop?”
“You said my name,” came the reply from breathless lips. “I thought—well, that you wanted me to stop.”