Chapter 13
“What are you doing?” Verity asked in a low voice. “I was just getting close to him. He would have told me about the diamond. I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, and you could have found yourself caught in a compromising situation with the man,” Julian hissed back. “Did you not say that he had been interested in marrying you in the past?”
“Well—yes.”
“And why did you not?”
“We both decided we were better off as… friends. Acquaintances.”
“Both of you, truly?” he raised his brows.
“Well, I decided I could not see myself married to him, and then my lack of interest threw him off.”
“I see,” Julian said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what do you think will happen now that you’ve shown interest once more?”
She shrugged indifferently, and he could tell she didn’t want to speak of it any further.
“I simply wanted to see if I could convince him to tell me more. Then… well, I suppose then it depends on what his true intentions are.”
Julian gaped at her. “So you would actually consider marriage to him?”
She sighed and turned away. “I don’t know what to tell you, Julian. I had always thought I would rather not marry at all than to marry someone I didn’t love. But perhaps I am being fanciful. It could be in my best interest to marry regardless of what I feel.”
She stole a glance at him, startled at the glare he was sending her way. Was he angry because she was using his lessons?
He was right. She did not want to marry Eastclere.
Even walking beside him, her hand tucked through his arm, had been…
unsettling. And yet, she could not deny the sense that he was beginning to trust her.
Was this what it felt like to be Julian all the time—to wield charm so effortlessly, to guide people toward what he wanted with little more than a smile or a carefully chosen word?
There was power in it, intoxicating power, and for the first time, she understood how a person might grow addicted to it.
But it wasn’t natural for her, nor was deceiving anyone, even a man like Eastclere, who so easily succumbed to her affections because he enjoyed the attention. She would rather obtain her evidence by other means, even if it were more difficult.
Which would also leave her free to explore other young gentlemen. She looked up and met Julian’s gaze, hating that he was the one she was most drawn to, when she knew he was the last one who would ever be interested in her.
“Here’s a question for you,” she began. “If I am interested in a man, how do I practice my affection without ruining myself?”
“I—” He opened and closed his mouth. “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “I thought you had all the lessons on charm and seduction.”
“I do,” he said defensively. “But… well, the flirtation I taught you, that’s usually where it ends for me with eligible young ladies.”
“And with everyone else?” she raised a brow.
“Well, with women who do not need to worry about being respectable, I don’t have to worry about ruining them.”
“I see,” she said, unhappy with the way the thought of him with these other women made her feel, but she was no fool, nor were his escapades a secret. “So you have no advice for me?”
“Well, I do have some advice,” he said, looking a little sick to his stomach.
“Yes?”
“Don’t get caught.”
Her mouth dropped open, especially when she could have sworn his eyes darkened slightly as he stared at her. She licked her lips, nervous suddenly, before looking around, realizing that Lady Seraphina and Lord Eastclere had walked away, leaving them completely alone.
“Julian,” she said in a low voice. “I do not want to frighten you—”
“Frighten me? What could possibly frighten me?”
“Well, we are alone now,” she said. “And if anyone happened upon us out here in the gardens…”
“Right,” he said quickly. “You would be ruined, and I would be—well, we would have to marry. Best we return and continue this conversation another day.”
She nodded, trying not to allow the fact that he was so horrified by the thought of being married to her to hurt so much.
They were about to take a step back toward the house when voices sounded, becoming louder as they neared.
A group of ladies, from the sounds of it.
Julian looked at Verity with a terrified glance, and she jumped off the path, behind a few of the ridiculous plants she had pretended to admire with Eastclere.
She led him deeper into the brush of the small garden until they were right against the other side of the pergola, Verity’s back flat against the wood.
Julian stepped forward, trying to keep their silhouettes as small as possible, but that only pressed him even closer against Verity.
So close, in fact, that his breath coasted along the soft, bare skin of the top of her shoulder.
“Verity?”
“Yes,” she whispered, having just enough room to tilt her head back to look up at him.
She could see the planes of his face from the moonlight, as well as the candles that flickered through the windows at the back of the house that overlooked this small garden.
He was too handsome for his own good. If he had been less so, would he have had a different personality? Would he still be the man he was?
Yes, she decided. Julian’s handsomeness did not define him.
It helped, yes, but his charm, his flirtation, the ease with which he spoke to everyone, the way he welcomed and accepted anyone who entered his circle, was admirable, and the entire reason she had always been attracted to him and his zest for life.
She had no desire to be the same way—she liked her books, her routines, the boring predictability of her day.
But she also liked the way he added fun to everything he did, the personality he brought, the joy he produced in everyone he met.
“Why did you choose me?” he asked suddenly.
She froze. He knew.
He knew how she felt, how she had always felt. Which was… humiliating.
“There are plenty of other gentlemen known for their rather… flirtatious ways,” he continued.
“I actually didn’t think you liked me much, to tell you the truth.
Which was why this was all rather… shocking.
Now, I am glad you chose me, for I do not want to think of what would have happened if someone with ill intentions were in my place. ”
Verity blinked. He had meant, why did she choose him to teach her flirtation, and nothing else? He didn’t know—or at least, he wasn’t referring now to her feelings toward him. Feelings that she didn’t want to have, for she had always used his betrayal to stand between them.
But feelings all the same. When she thought of being with a man, there was only one she had ever desired.
“I chose you for that very reason. Because I knew you would keep your head about you, and that you would see this as a bit of fun and not be horrified that I was even asking you. I chose you because, well, because I knew I could trust you, Lord Julian.”
His lips quirked upward. “Just Julian is fine.”
Before Verity could respond, the voices became louder, until they were standing right on the other side of them, gossiping about all of the people inside the ballroom—and, it appeared, the people beyond.
“I heard she’s been spending some time with Lord Julian.”
“I do believe it is because she is friends with the Duchess of Ravenscar.”
Verity’s eyes widened and met Julian’s gaze.
They were talking about her—and Julian. Together.
She could almost sense his panic, and she bit her lip.
The last thing she wanted was to trap him in any situation with her.
She never wanted anyone to feel forced to marry her, which was why she was nearing spinsterhood.
“Maybe she’s as scandalous as he is,” another lady said with a laugh. “Hiding behind those drab dresses and plain hair.”
Verity’s nostrils flared. It was one thing to gossip about her. It was another thing altogether to insult her.
“I doubt it,” said her defender. “She’s always been an agreeable thing, and never one to be involved with any gentleman, to be honest.”
“Although I did see her with Lord Eastclere as well earlier.”
“Interesting.”
The ladies moved on, and Verity found herself turning to stone as she stood with her fists at her side. This was the very reason she had always tried to fade into the background—so that she would never be the topic of scandal, so that no one would ever doubt anything she said.
She should have continued as she was, learning information by being quiet and unassuming, rather than trying to be someone she wasn’t.
She never should have dressed up for that masquerade. If she hadn’t—
“Verity,” Julian’s hushed voice came in her ear. “Do not.”
“Do not what?”
“Question your judgement. Think that you have done anything wrong. You have not. Ladies like that are just jealous.”
“Of me?”
That came out louder than it should have, but luckily, the ladies had moved on.
“Yes, of you. Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because I’m just… me. I have nothing for them to be jealous of.”
“Sure, you do,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You’re a good friend. You’re loyal and consistent, and you have a kind heart. You have beauty within that matches the outside.”
Wait… had he just called her beautiful?
“Do you mean that?” she asked, looking up at him, and he reached out slowly, wrapping his hand around her waist.
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”
“But you shouldn’t say such things,” she whispered.
“Why not? They’re true.”
“Is this… is this a lesson?”
“No, Verity,” he said, appearing hurt, if she didn’t know better. “I’m talking to you. It’s just you and me.”
His eyes flicked down to her lips, and she tilted her head, open to whatever he had to offer. This was what she had wanted, was it not? To experience fun, to know what it felt like to be wanted, even for just a moment?
“I might have misjudged you myself.”
“In what way?”
“You’ve looked out for me, cared for me in ways that I never would have guessed. You’ve been there for me to lean on. You’ve been sincere and understanding. You’ve seen me for more than who I present to the world.”
“You’re a woman worth seeing.”
His eyes flicked to her lips once more. She had been here before, but not as Verity—as a masked woman. Could he really want her? Before she could consider it any further, he bent his head and pressed his lips against hers.
For a heartbeat, she could not move—could scarcely breathe—as the world narrowed to the warmth of his mouth and the steady, certain pressure of his kiss. It was not tentative, nor entirely bold, but something in between, as though he were testing a truth he had long suspected.
Her gloved hand rose of its own accord, resting lightly against his coat, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath the fine wool. The sensation steadied her, emboldened her, and she tilted her head, allowing the kiss to deepen by the smallest, most scandalous degree.
A soft breath escaped her—half sigh, half surrender—and at the sound, Julian stilled for the briefest instant, as though struck by it. Then his hand came to her waist, firm but careful, drawing her closer without presumption, as though he feared she might vanish if he did not hold her fast enough.
When at last he drew back, it was only a fraction, his forehead nearly touching hers, his breath warm against her lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, though his voice held no true regret. “It seems I have lost all reason.”
“Why?” she asked, not entirely sure what she wanted to hear.
“You… affect me in a way that I have never before experienced,” he said. “At least, almost never… except one time…”
She nodded, and he leaned back, his eyes searching her face. As he did, a lock of his hair fell over his brow, and this time, she didn’t hesitate, lifting her hand and pushing that lock away from his face.
He stilled, staring at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Had the kiss really been that awful? “Julian?”
“You’re her.”
“Who?”
“The lady in purple.”