Chapter Ten
“No! Truly?”
“I swear on my honor,” grinned Julia happily. “A full proposal, but in Latin.”
She loved the way Lawrence snorted as they walked, arm in arm, back to the Almonry Den, a threat of snow drifting above their heads as the clouds grew heavier.
Lawrence was still laughing. “No, I am sorry, I do not believe it.”
“Well believe it! I speak only the truth when I say that I did expect something of the sort,” admitted Julia, grinning herself at the memory of the rather staid knight who had formally requested an audience with both her and her mother.
“Some additional formality was to be assumed when it came to Sir Moses, he’s such a stick in a mud, you have no idea. ”
For some strange reason, there was an odd smile across Lawrence’s face as he ducked under a shop sign. “Oh, I am sure I can guess.”
Julia’s smile faltered. It was not a topic of conversation they frequented often, this distance between them.
She had become rather accustomed to an intimate closeness with Lawrence that would certainly have startled her mother. At times it made her heart race so wildly, it felt as though it was going to leap out of her chest and deposit itself in his hands…
But still. Though their conversation meandered in almost all directions, there was one that they ensured to keep away from.
The difference in their class.
Julia swallowed. It was not so great, was it? That was what she tried to convince herself whenever they were apart. Daydreaming about the way he had taught her to fight, wishing she was bold enough to kiss him again, indulging in fantastic imaginings of what it would be like…
Yet when they were together, it was painfully obvious. His clothes—it was a wonder they had lasted this far into the winter! His coarseness of expression, the way he could just say whatever he liked.
A privilege not extended to those of her breeding…
“Well, anyway,” Julia said hastily, chasing away the thoughts troubling her mind. “He did not even get down on one knee, which I think outrageous—”
“Outrageous indeed,” interjected Lawrence with a hint of mischief.
Julia thumped him none too gently on the arm. “Honestly, I cannot be the only romantic soul in London! Is there not a romantic thought in any man’s head?”
When her gaze caught Lawrence’s, she had to work hard not to flush, even though she may have been able to blame it on the blustery winter wind.
“My point is, he should have got down on one knee, and he should have at least pretended to have some sort of amour for me,” Julia said with a laugh as they turned a corner, “and he should certainly not have proposed in Latin!”
They laughed as they waited on the edge of the pavement for a gap in the carriages so they could cross over.
“I cannot imagine it,” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “Lord, the last time I heard Latin used in that way I—never mind.”
He pulled her forward, stepping onto the road without as much as a look in either direction—but that did not matter. Julia was not looking at the road either.
She was looking at him.
Heard Latin used that way? When would a man of his birth have ever heard Latin in his life…unless, and the thought twisted her stomach most painfully and caused bitter bile to rise in her chest, unless he had been unfortunate enough to be imprisoned for something and taken to court…
Julia knew it was most uncouth of her, but as they stepped onto the next pavement and strode down the street on which the Almonry Den lay, she could not help but admit to herself that the thought of Lawrence being a criminal was rather…intriguing.
Intoxicating.
It added another layer of devilish excitement and scheming which she certainly should not be attracted to.
Julia’s stomach lurched. What a shame that she was.
“Why are we hurrying back?” she asked, deciding they’d had quite enough talk of proposals.
But apparently, Lawrence did not agree. “And what reply did you give him?”
She blinked. “Give him?”
He nodded, pulling his threadbare coat a little closer and refusing, though it was surely a coincidence, to meet her eyes. “Sir Moses. What reply did you give?”
Julia’s jaw dropped. The very idea there could be any answer to such a question other than no…
Prickles of discomfort drifted down her spine. How could Lawrence, of all people, think she would accept the hand of a man like that? When she spent so much of her time—all the time she could escape from her mother and her perpetual engagements—with him?
With the only man she had ever kissed. With the only man who made her feel—
“You didn’t say yes, did you?”
The worried tone within Lawrence’s voice quite put Julia’s mind at ease.
She grinned as they arrived at the Almonry Den and stepped inside. “What would you say if I did?”
And it happened so swiftly that Julia gasped, all breath knocked from her lungs.
Lawrence had pushed her to the left, her feet scrabbling backward, and Julia’s back hit the wall in the darkness of the unlit part of the Almonry Den. All she could do was gaze astonished up at the fierce face of the man who had pushed her there.
Lawrence. Who was now pushed up against her, his breathing heavy, his hands on her shoulders, pinning her against the wall—as though she would move.
As though Julia wanted to leave this spot.
As though she did not want to lean forward and accept his attentions. She could see, blazing in Lawrence’s eyes, the need for her, the possessiveness surely sparked by—
“Sir Moses,” Lawrence growled in a low voice, his eyes never wavering from hers, “is not about to be your husband.”
Julia tried to breathe, she really did, but it was impossible as sparks of excitement and pleasure rushed through her body. Every part of her was tingling with the expectation of something she both knew and had never known before.
“No?” she breathed, trying to smile.
Lawrence leaned closer, his mouth only a few inches away, his gaze flickering to her lips then back to her eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Julia could not help it. She moaned, just under her breath, twisting under his forceful grip.
The shift of her hips brought them into contact with his own, brushing past his breeches as she was sure she felt—
“Ah, there you are, Lawrence—oh. I say.”
Julia’s eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, and in that instant, he released her. He was gone. It was as though it had not even happened.
“Alan, I was just coming to see you,” said Lawrence smoothly.
With all the self-assuredness of an earl, Julia thought wildly. How did he do it? Be speaking to her of husbands, of men she should not marry, all crushed up against a wall…then lightly be discussing the next bout he was about to fight, quite happily, with Alan?
Julia tried to settle her skirts and pelisse without drawing too much attention from the older man, who had made it quite clear on numerous occasions that she was not welcome.
Not welcome. It would take a great deal more than that to keep her away.
“—not underestimate him,” Alan was muttering, glancing at her as though she was purposefully overhearing their tactics to betray him to the enemy.
Julia raised her head and nodded imperiously at Alan, then immediately berated herself for such a thing. Was she really going to become her mother?
“—here soon, I am sure,” Lawrence was saying in an undertone. “He cannot stay away much longer. He has been gone so—”
“He’s there, isn’t he?” interjected Julia lightly.
She had spoken to demonstrate she had been paying attention, that she was not here to distract Lawrence from his fights—far from it—but to encourage him.
Which did not explain why both Lawrence and Alan had such a surprising reaction to her pointing out that Tom was on the other side of the boxing ring.
Turning far more swiftly than she had thought the older man capable, Alan brought out a pistol, an actual pistol, from an inside pocket! Lawrence turned hastily, eyes wide, such furious anger in his eyes Julia had never seen before.
Vengeful. An anger beyond anything she had seen him possessed by.
Julia’s mouth fell open as the two men rushed forward as though hastening into battle. What was going on?
Only a minute later, they had returned.
“You meant Tom,” said Lawrence, a little sheepishly to Julia’s eye.
She frowned. “Well of course I did—who else could I mean?”
If she was not very much mistaken, he glanced at Alan as though to prove he had been right all along, though about what, she could not tell.
“Hmmph,” was the only reply Alan gave.
Julia discovered, much to her surprise, that her heart was beating rapidly, as though she had been the one to rush across the room and not them. “Why, what’s wrong with him?”
“Do you know a man called John Mortimer?” Alan asked.
Julia blinked. John Mortimer? The name did not ring any bells, but then she had been trotted out and paraded before so many gentlemen over the last twelvemonth or so, it was difficult to recall.
“Mortimer?” she repeated.
The sound of the name caused a visible pain searing across Lawrence’s face. Julia stared, but by the time she truly examined him, it was gone.
“Yes,” said Lawrence, and there was a darkness, a suspicion to his voice she had never heard before. “Know the name?”
Julia shook her head slowly, her heart pattering painfully in her chest. Why did this feel like a test? “No, I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. Mortimer, did you say?”
He held her gaze only for a moment, then nodded. “Come on, Alan, I’ve got a match to fight.”
But if Julia was not mistaken, Alan looked less happy with her answer.
“Hmmph,” was the only response he made, but he gave her a look. It was discomfortingly similar to the look her mother gave her when she had been twisting the truth to her own ends.
“Lawrence, I—”
“Dear God, Julia! Not here again!”
Julia winced. She would know that irritating man’s voice anywhere.
“How many times have I told you not to come here?” Donald said in a hiss as he stepped away from a pair of gentlemen and rushed over. “It is most outrageous that—”