Chapter One #2
“I see. And will you be attending the betrothal ball on Thursday?” Fiona asked, accepting the explanation, lost in Thomas Merritt’s dazzling smile.
“No,” Julia said hurriedly.
“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” he countered, and smiled down at her, turning her knees to water again, squeezing her hand ever so slightly.
Fiona grinned, baring her teeth like an aging hound scenting prey.
“It is an event not to be missed. The Countess of Carrindale gives the most marvelous parties, and her dear daughter’s betrothal ball will surely be the event of the Little Season, surpassed only by her wedding.
” She sighed like a bellows. “I remember you in leading strings, Julia. It is hard for me to imagine you all grown up and about to become a duchess, my dear.”
Julia felt Thomas Merritt’s eyes on her once more, warm and appraising. He squeezed her hand yet again. “Forgive me, but I’ve remembered an appointment I cannot break, Julia.” Even her name sounded honey-sweet from his lips. “I’ll leave you to chat with Lady Barry.”
He kissed her hand, and she felt the warmth of his mouth through the lace of her glove.
It flowed through her limbs like whisky.
“It was a pleasure,” he said, looking into her eyes, and she could see that he meant it, that he was stepping away with regret.
Her tongue wound itself around her tonsils, making speech impossible.
And then he was gone, walking away without looking back, his long legs eating up the cinder path until the trees swallowed the sight of him.
She suppressed a sigh of regret, just as Fiona heaved one of her own.
She let Fiona tell her the latest gossip without even hearing it. She felt like a woman. Not a lady, or a bride, or the daughter of an earl. A woman.
It felt like stepping into the heat of the sun on a cold day, and she wanted more.
“Julia! Did you hear me? It’s time to go in.
We all miss James,” her mother said, and Julia realized that she was standing in the salon, staring up at her brother’s portrait, and seeing not his face, but Thomas Merritt’s.
“You are the future now, Julia. Your son will not only be Duke of Temberlay, but also the next Earl of Carrindale.” She didn’t want to think of the fact that she was simply the conduit for the next generation of the peerage.
“Temberlay has waited long enough,” her father added gruffly, barely glancing at his late heir.
He hadn’t spoken James’s name since the news of his death came, and he was no doubt pleased the wedding would take place at last. The nuptials had been delayed while her family mourned, but men without heirs to succeed them were ever anxious about the future, though David hadn’t objected to the delay.
How could he when his own brother, Nicholas, was a captain in the same regiment as James?
Every man in the regiment had escaped certain death thanks to her brother’s heroic self-sacrifice.
She was proud, of course, but she wished—just a little—that he had found another way to save the others, so she might still have her brother with her now, tonight, when she needed his reassuring arm to lean on.
Julia drew herself up straight. She was a woman now, a lady, and a duchess-to-be. She could and would stand on her own two feet. She cast one last glance at James, and pushed the image of Thomas Merritt’s appreciative smile out of her mind. She would soon see the same look on David’s face.
“I’m ready.”
She followed her parents into the ballroom, brilliantly lit with a thousand candles. Jewels glittered, regimental badges gleamed, champagne sparkled, and her betrothal ring shone brightest of all.
David didn’t even notice her entrance. He was deep in conversation with a group of gentlemen as Julia approached, just a trifle irritated by his inattention tonight, of all nights.
“Good evening,” she purred, and dipped a curtsy. The gentlemen bowed.
“Oh, hello, Jules,” David said with a vague smile.
He dropped an absent kiss on her forehead—the kind of kiss her brother might have bestowed on her.
David didn’t tell her she looked pretty.
Nor did his eyes light with pleasure, or anything else.
In fact, he looked away from her, swept the ballroom with a bored glance, and took a glass of champagne from a passing footman without offering one to her.
She reached for her own glass, and David’s eyebrows quirked in surprise, as if he thought her still too young for wine.
She gave him her practiced coquette’s grin and sipped.
Her mother beckoned them to the receiving line, and David took her glass and set it down with his own before he offered his arm.
“Shall we?” He led her to her mother’s side and stood with his hands clasped behind his back as they waited for their guests to arrive.
Julia watched the cream of the ton descending the stairs like an invading horde, drew a shaky breath and pasted on a welcoming smile.
Lady Dallen swept in like an ill wind, examined Julia’s necklace through her lorgnette, and wished her happy in a dry tone before going to stir things up in other corners of the room.
Lord Dallen slapped David on the back and said he looked forward to playing cards tonight, once “this betrothal business” was concluded, as if Julia was an interruption to the evening, and not the reason for it.
David, damn his eyes—she borrowed one of her late grandmother’s favorite and most forbidden phrases—looked extremely pleased by his lordship’s invitation.
In fact, he gazed at Dallen with the kind of appreciation she had hoped for.
If that was the way to his heart, she would have to learn how to play cards before the wedding.
Her mother would hardly approve, but what else was a bride to do?
David didn’t enjoy poetry, or music. He didn’t read or hunt.
They would have to spend their evenings at Temberlay castle doing something.
She felt a blush rise at the other idea that came to mind, but she was an innocent, and he had never so much as hinted at the physical aspects of marriage that would transpire between them after the vows were said.
Why, she’d learned more about that from a single glance into Thomas Merritt’s glittering gray eyes.
“David, my mother has agreed to allow me to waltz this evening,” she said, leaning into his shoulder, brushing against him in the most unsisterly way she could manage in her parents’ ballroom.
He patted her hand and smiled vacantly at her. “I don’t know how to waltz, Jules.”
Her heart sank to her ankles.
“Then perhaps—” But she didn’t have a suggestion. She folded her tongue behind her teeth and turned to smile at the next guest. Her heart stopped dead in her chest.
“Thomas Merritt,” he said in a dark voice, as if they’d never met.
He bowed over her hand, his grip warm through her glove, his eyes never leaving hers, filled with a mischievous, knowing, intimate stare.
The heat in that look set her heart beating again, very fast. He smiled, a slow, dangerous grin, and his gaze roamed over her.
His appreciation was perfectly obvious. Her heart climbed higher still, and lodged in her throat, making speech impossible.
A lock of dark hair fell over his brow, and she clenched her fist against the urge to brush it back.
He did so himself in a polished gesture as he stepped away.
He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
Her imagination hadn’t played her false.
He was just as she remembered him from their brief encounter.
She let her eyes linger on the lean length of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders under the black wool of his evening coat as he walked away.
She dared to guess that he waltzed . . . among other things.
He glanced back and caught her looking. She felt heat rise over her cheeks, and she made a small sound of dismay as he grinned at her again.
“Pardon?” David asked, glancing down at her.
“Nothing,” she managed. She snatched another glass of champagne from a passing footman and took a long restorative sip. The bubbles were almost as thrilling as Mr. Merritt’s wicked smile.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He did not go into the card room or join the other guests. Instead, he leaned against the wall insouciantly, in her line of sight, and watched her. She felt her composure slip. Suddenly her gown felt too tight, too low-cut, and the room too warm.
She sent him a scathing glance, meant to discourage such behavior, squelch it utterly, but he had the audacity to wink at her. It made her stomach wobble and her knees weak. She plied her fan, hid behind it.
Had he come to reclaim his handkerchief? It was upstairs, hidden in her drawer.
“Stand up straight,” her mother whispered. Julia stiffened, but with more annoyance than grace as the waltz began and David disappeared into the card room, arm in arm with Lord Dallen.
“D’you suppose they’ll take a house together by the sea for the summer?
” he quipped, and she turned to find Thomas Merritt beside her, watching David and Dallen go.
He was so tall she had to look up to meet his eyes.
“May I have this dance?” He extended his hand as if he was already sure of her acquiescence.
A thrill rushed through her. There was something about this man that warned her to say no, to run for the safety of her mother’s side, but she was a grown woman. Surely the tingle low in her belly at the look in his eyes proved that well enough.
“Thank you.” She took his hand and let him lead her out.
He waltzed smoothly. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, as if he knew she’d craved the compliment, exactly the way she’d needed a protector in the park. Did he intend to make a habit of rescuing her?