Chapter 20
20
M artin balanced an invalid’s tray in the palm of his hand while he knocked on the door of the Rose Bedchamber. “May I come in?”
Charity greeted him first smiling and then gaping at the ample selection of sandwiches, biscuits and fruit nestled around a teapot and three cups. “I say, brother, I do not believe I’ve ever seen you carry any service before, let alone a tea service.”
“I thought our guest might care for a refreshment,” he replied, sidling past his sister and looking to Lady Julia. “Since Mr. Smallwood mentioned your inclination to be a wee bit bashful, I thought it best to limit the number of servants traipsing in and out of your chamber.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said the beauty atop the bed, looking radiant and nothing like a woman who’d been thrown from a carriage only hours prior.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Quite well. In my opinion the doctor was being overly cautious when he ordered me to remain abed until the morrow.”
Charity followed Martin as he strode to the bedside. “I disagree. Besides, since Mama is away with Modesty and Grace, it has been ever so diverting to chat with Julia.”
The two women exchanged glances, looks Martin had oft seen shared between females as if they had some sort of unspoken code they conveyed with their eyes. He placed the tray with the posts on either side straddling Her Ladyship’s lap. “It seems you two have been busy during my absence.”
“We have, indeed,” Charity agreed. “And I daresay we are two like-minded ladies.”
Why was it he sensed the two of them had suddenly become fast allies in a very short time? To be honest, he was a tad piqued that his sister had wheedled her way into Her Ladyship’s confidence while he still felt as if he was merely breaking the ice. “I take it both of you abhor the ton and prefer to idle your time at your families’ country estates?”
“That would be it exactly,” said Lady Julia gesturing to the teapot. “Shall I pour?”
As she spoke, the mantle clock chimed. “Heavens, look at the time.” Charity pattered toward the door. “Georgette was emphatic about meeting me in my chamber at half five. She has a new hairstyle she wants to attempt before Almack’s next ball. If you’ll please excuse me, I must away.”
Martin grinned.
Interestingly Julia did as well.
Of course, he’d summoned his sister to the Rose Bedchamber to ensure there would be no impropriety, but now that Lady Julia was here and the physician had come and gone, no one would utter a word if Charity stepped out for a few moments.
“Must you?” Julia asked as if an afterthought.
“Oh, I must. But not to worry, I’ll return anon,” Charity said as she swept out the door, closing it behind her.
Martin waited for a moment as he listened to her retreating footsteps, then he slid into a wooden chair beside the bed. “I hope you’ll find something on the tray to your liking.”
“It all looks delicious. I missed the midday meal and I’ve suddenly realized I’m famished. Now, as I was saying, please allow me to pour.” Ignoring her sling, the lady wrapped her fingers around the handle of the teapot, but a bit of tea spilled out of the spout when she attempted to lift it. “Dear me, how clumsy.”
Martin reached in, his fingers skimming hers with only the faintest of touches, but the contact created a thrill that shot through his blood, making every fine fiber of hair on his body stand at attention. “My dear lady,” he said, filling a cup for her before seeing to his own. “I do believe when one is thrown from a carriage and suffers from a sprain as bad as the injury to your wrist, she canna be expected to wield a teapot like a well-trained earl’s daughter.”
“Apologies.” She picked up her cup with her uninjured hand. “I suppose I’ll need to use my left for a day or two.”
He reached for his but watched while she sipped, pursing her lips and caressing the rim of the cup. “See, you’ve adjusted already.”
“You overestimate my dexterity.”
“I think not.” After sampling the tea, Martin set the cup down and reached for a shortbread biscuit. “It seems my steward has stepped out for the moment, but I have taken the liberty of leaving him instructions to book a suite at Lady Blanche’s Boarding House on the next street over.”
“Oh?” Not meeting his gaze, Julia slowly lowered her cup. “I mustn’t prevail upon your charity, sir.”
“Balderdash.” He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “It is the least I can do. After all, it was my carriage from which you were thrown. I have a responsibility to see to your recovery. And since Dr. James informed me it is not advisable for you to travel unless you are in a private coach, accompanied by a footman and a lady’s maid, I felt Lady Blanche’s was the best alternative.”
The corners of her lips tightened. “I say, the doctor is overly cautious. I mentioned the same to Charity.”
“Well, I for one, am glad he is erring on the side of caution. Besides, this will give us a chance to grow better acquainted. I’ll appoint a maid to see to your needs?—”
“I do not need a maid. Absolutely not.” Julia sliced a sandwich through the air, making a bit of cucumber drop onto the tray. “I might be able to accept your generosity because it seems I’ve no choice in this delay, but I cannot take a maid away from her duties here.”
“I assure you, it isna an imposition?—”
“No,” she said flatly, as if providing her with a maid crossed a forbidden line. “Though I thank you.”
Her Ladyship smiled with her thanks, making Martin feel a tad better. She’d warmed to Charity so well, he might ask his sister to lend Julia a hand rather than appoint a maid. Besides, with Mama away for a few days, his eldest sister could use something with which to occupy her time.
Julia bit into her sandwich and her eyes lit up. “My, this is delicious.”
“Ham?” he asked.
“No, it is some sort of mixture blended with a delicious sauce.” She held up the remaining morsel. “Try it.”
He opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him. And though the taste was pleasing, Martin barely noticed while Julia leaned forward, her lips slightly parted, watching him with keen anticipation.
“Well?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to the intimacy between them.
“Stunning,” he whispered, moving toward her as if drawn by forces beyond his control. “I meant to say it is good, but when you look at me while the candlelight reflects in those mahogany brown eyes, little else matters.”
With her finger, she wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth, the friction of her touch, causing him to emit a rumbling sigh. His cock might have been already standing at attention, but when she slid said finger into her mouth, her pink tongue licking off the treat, he all but spilled. Martin gulped against the thickening of his throat. “Forgive me, but I have an overpowering urge to kiss you.”
Julia’s beguiling gaze slipped to his mouth as her lips parted. Not uttering a word, she closed the distance and swept petal-soft lips across his. Martin needed no more encouragement. He moved his fingers to the nape of her neck and claimed her mouth, showing her exactly the impact she’d had upon him.
Though the lass began a bit timidly, she soon matched the languid sweeps of his tongue, placing a firm hand on his upper arm and squeezing the taut muscle there. She tasted of tea and sandwich and a hint of sweetness. But it was her scent that stoked the fire burning within. With his every inhalation, he was reminded of an entire garden of lilacs, or lavender. Damnation, her essence comprised so many fragrant blooms, the only thing on his mind was immersing himself in them all—all of her to be exact. As he surrounded her in his arms, it was as if he were diving into a pool of Parfum de Julia .
Martin traced the curve of her jaw with his lips, continuing to a lithe neck. With her shiver, a small voice at the back of his head chimed a warning. The last time he’d kissed this woman, she had fled into the darkness. And though she clearly harbored passion within her breast, he must not allow his hot Scottish blood to abscond with all reason, roll the woman onto her back, and take his plunder, no matter how much he wanted to do so.
Clenching his eyes shut, he forced himself to stop, though he couldn’t help but stroke the fine hairs just below her chignon. “Forgive me. I should not have taken liberties.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, sliding her warm palm from his arm to his chest. “Why do I feel as if I’m floating in a soap bubble whenever we are together?”
“A soap bubble, aye, I ken exactly what you mean.” Martin took a ringlet curling beside her ear and lazily twirled it around his finger. “The feeling is disconcerting, yet I am unable to ignore it.”
She nodded. “Mayhap ’tis a bit shameful.”
“Never. I do not believe God gave us feelings for us to ignore that they exist.” He kissed the silken hair wrapped about his knuckle. “And canna deny the incident in the park was fortuitous—excluding your injuries, of course. Lady Julia, I want to see you…ah…to court you.”
Had he just uttered the word “court”?
Yes.
And it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.
As she blushed, Her Ladyship looked to the hand resting over his heart and slowly drew it away. “I must be forthright in reminding you that my father relies on me for his care. I cannot be parted from him much longer.”
“I understand and, believe me, as a man who lost his da far too soon, I ken the importance of family. But I will ask again—whilst you remain in London, will you do me the honor of allowing this somewhat reformed rake to court you?”
Gradually, those long chestnut lashes rose until she met his gaze. Those lovely browns were filled with the same desire churning in his heart, a desire so intense he forgot to breathe. But then she shook her head. “I?—”
Before she could utter a rebuttal, he grasped her hand and drew it over his heart, where it had been only moments ago. “Please, do me the honor of giving me a mere fortnight.”
Her fingers pressed into him. “Only a fortnight?”
“Aye.”
Ever so slowly, a smile as bonny as an angel’s spread across her lips. “Yes, Duke. I would like that very much.”
Before dawn and especially before the servants began to stir, Julia slipped into her rooms and changed into Mr. Smallwood’s clothes, which was no easy feat considering her swollen wrist made her clumsy. As she stood in front of the looking glass tying her neckcloth, she spotted a parcel on her writing table. And by the clammy chill spreading over her skin, she knew who it was from.
Wiping her palms on her coat and tugging the cuff over her wrist to hide the swelling, she moved to the desk and stared at the brown sealed paper containing only one word. “Smallwood.” She stood frozen for a moment as if breaking the seal would cause her to be smote by an act of God. Her every other thought might be of winning Dunscaby’s affection but, far too often, she also wished she could have stayed in Scotland where things were far less complicated.
She broke the seal and pulled out the contents—a note addressed to her and another, smaller sealed parcel:
“Hand deliver this to Mr. Rodger Drummond at Messrs. Drummond and wait for a reply. To avoid scandal, the letter must be presented to Mr. R. Drummond directly. I expect a reply within a day…”
Julia dropped into her chair and groaned. Had Mr. Skinner no scruples whatsoever? Did he honestly think to swindle one of the wealthiest men in Britain—a man who managed the accounts of the royal family?
And when was she supposed to find a moment to carry out this task? Smallwood had to arrange for accommodation for Lady Julia before Jules was scheduled to visit the Pool of London with Lord Gibb and Dunscaby to take possession of The Prosperity .
Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed to allow the duke to court her. It was dangerous to be sure. On the other hand, Julia had enjoyed so very few dalliances of her own. For the first time in months, she could dress like a woman. For the first time in years, she would be seen among polite society as Lady Julia, daughter of the Earl of Brixham. Yes, she only had a fortnight, and no, she didn’t expect a proposal in that time, but was it too much to ask to allow herself the comfort of Dunscaby’s arms? To kiss him, to act on all the feelings that she had suppressed since arriving at Newhailes?
However, there was no time to ponder upon it now. The sun was about to rise and she must pay a visit to Lady Blanche’s and establish an inordinately expensive suite in one of the few of the luxurious boarding houses provided exclusively for ladies of the ton . She stowed the parcel from Mr. Skinner in her stationery drawer and hastened out.
Unfortunately, Jules Smallwood was made to wait in the boarding house entry for what seemed like ages until the Lady Blanche met with her. Under the guise of needing quiet and having an unnatural fear of heights, she was able to secure a suite on the first floor at the rear of the building where there was a window looking out upon the gardens—Charity’s idea, of course.
By the time Julia returned, it was after the breakfast hour and she’d no sooner hung her hat on the peg when Dunscaby burst through her door. “Where the devil have you absconded to with your cousin?” he demanded with a deep furrow between his eyebrows.
Julia’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest as her mind warred with the urge to laugh aloud or the need to grovel and apologize and tell him what a godawful fool she truly had been.
If only she could reveal all and say Julia and Jules were one in the same and that she was quite happy with her accommodations near the mews. She was also very satisfied with her employment, which absolutely must continue in order to satisfy Mr. Skinner. But, alas, she merely turned from the peg holding her father’s old hat in one hand and sliding her injured wrist behind her back. She affected a most businesslike expression, very careful to lower her voice as deeply as it would go. “Good morning, Your Grace. I have just returned from seeing to it Lady Julia is situated in a lovely suite at the boarding house.”
“I see.” The tension in Martin’s shoulders eased. “Why did you not first have her venture to the dining hall for breakfast? Did she go hungry? Are you entirely insensitive to the needs of young ladies?”
“No, sir.” To be honest, if anything, Julia was highly sensitive to the plight of women, especially when in such dire straits to force her to dress as a man in order to earn a respectable wage. “I indeed asked if she had eaten, and Her Ladyship explained that she’d filled up on the remaining biscuits and fruit which had been delivered to the Rose Bedchamber last evening.”
Julia moved to her writing table and tapped the contract for the purchase of Lord Gibb’s ship. There hadn’t been much time to review the document, though it had been sent from Mr. MacCutcheon’s offices with a note saying all was in order. “Her Ladyship also mentioned that she didn’t want to pose any more of a burden to your household than she already had.”
“Good Lord, I canna imagine that woman ever being an imposition.” Dunscaby sat in the chair opposite Julia’s writing table and propped his feet up, crossing his hessian boots at the ankles. “She is quite clever—witty I’d say, would you agree?”
“Ah…yes. I suppose she’s a bit like Lady Charity in that respect,” Julia mumbled, sliding into her seat.
Martin gave a knowing nod. “Aye, the two of them got on smashingly, for certain.”
“How nice for them both.”
A light knock came at the door.
“Enter,” said Dunscaby as if these were his rooms, which in effect, they were.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were occupied,” said Lady Charity, popping her head in. “I was wondering why we didna have the opportunity to enjoy Lady Julia’s company in the dining hall this morn.”
“She had already departed for the boarding house,” Martin explained.
Charity stepped inside. “I hope she likes it there.”
“She will,” Julia said, “I am sure of it.”
The lass twirled the tassel of the ribbons on her day dress. “I thought I’d ask Her Ladyship to accompany me to the modiste. She’d mentioned that she brought but a few items from Brixham and the dress she wore yesterday had been soiled with mud.”
“Excellent idea,” said Dunscaby while Julia gaped at his sister, ready to leap forward, grasp her shoulders and give the woman a good shake. What was she thinking? Julia didn’t have money to spend on new gowns. Furthermore, Charity had offered to lend her a few things from last Season—they’d agreed.
Gah!
Yet another dratted knock came. “Gibb here.”
Julia hopped up, opened the door, and beckoned him inside. “By all means, do come in, my lord. I have in my possession the contract for the purchase of your ship.”
“Is all squared away with the admiral?” asked Martin, removing his feet from the table and perusing the document.
“Aye.” Lord Gibb rubbed his hands together. “And as soon as the ink dries on that bit o’ parchment, I’ll set to recruiting my crew. I’ll wager we’ll sail for America within a month or two, returning in time to supply the lads’ factory with a load of Irish sharecropper’s cotton before the looms are ready to weave.”
“I like the sound of that.” Martin stood and clapped his brother on the back. “Mark me, the MacGalloway sons will establish a dominant presence in Britain and beyond.”
“I do think it is a fabulous concept,” Charity agreed. “If only there were something I was able to do to help.”
Julia offered Her Ladyship a sympathetic smile before she collected the contract and slid it into her leather portfolio, trying not to wince with the pain the movement caused. “We must be going, sirs. The ship merchant at Barry and Coates is expecting us.”
Martin seemed not to notice her discomfort and stepped in front of the looking glass to adjust his neckcloth. “Perhaps I’ll accompany Charity and Lady Julia to the modiste.”
“No,” Charity blurted, earning a stern look from her eldest brother. “I-I mean, you ought to be there with Gibb whilst he takes possession of his very own ship.”
“She’s quite right, Your Grace.” Julia said, trying not to sound hysterical as she grabbed her hat and shoved it onto her head. Good glory, this was only her first day of playing two roles at once, and things were already in a muddle. “You are needed at the wharf. The Prosperity may be Lord Gibb’s barque, but as the Duke of Dunscaby, you must be there to christen her.”
“Well, then, let us not delay.” Martin strode to the writing table, pulled open the drawer—the same one with Mr. Skinner’s parcel. Julia held her breath, ready to die while the duke gave it a cursory glance, pushed it aside, and took out a slip of stationery. “I’ll send a note for Her Ladyship along with you, Charity. I shall invite her to attend the theater with us this evening—and I need you to see to it the lady agrees.”
While the duke dipped the quill and set to addressing his letter. Julia quietly moved beside him and gently closed the blasted drawer.