Chapter Eleven #2
He swallowed. That was the trouble with a perceptive woman. They spoke truth to you that you believed you had hidden, hidden well.
And yet apparently it was quite evident from his face, unfortunately.
“My home…my home is not where it was,” Lawrence found himself saying.
It was not a thought he’d had before, but now he said it, the truth was quite evident.
Home was where Julia was.
A shiver of heat, a rush of desire, an ache he knew could never be fulfilled claimed his bones. Lawrence abandoned himself to the feelings, just for a moment.
Then he tried to pull himself together. This was madness! He had a job to do, unusual for most dukes. But he had volunteered for it, the moment the news of his brother’s death had been brought to Penshaw Place, and he was not about to abandon it for—
Julia’s hand slipped into his own. “You don’t have to talk about it. I know it pains you.”
Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat. There was such softness in her, such kindness, and yet such strength, such resilience. Had ever these two opposites met so perfectly?
“I always thought, once I left Pen—where I was born,” Lawrence said slowly, only just catching the repeat of his initial mistake, and thanking the heavens he had not completed the word, “that I would return there. That I would…fight my way back there, I suppose.”
He laughed at the thought. Julia’s fingers squeezed his. They gave him the courage, courage he had not realized he needed, to continue.
“Yet I think it was only when I left that I could look back on it with any sort of—well, clarity!” Lawrence smiled, and Julia met it with one of her own. “Does that make sense?”
“Not in the slightest,” she said cheerfully.
Lawrence’s face fell. “What?”
“Well, there’s so much about you that I don’t know,” Julia said pointedly, though there was no malice in her words. “It’s your own business, naturally, and I would not wish to pry, but… Lawrence, you fascinate me.”
Her words were untamed, her tone unrestrained, and Lawrence’s heart pounded painfully as he tried to look away.
He fascinated her?
Dear God, it was nothing to his curiosity about her. How had he managed to suffer four Seasons in London—he had managed to spend most of the last few years in the north, pleading responsibilities he had pretended or just made up—without being captivated by her?
Without knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved—
“You are far more fascinating,” Lawrence said in a low voice.
Julia smiled, her gaze dropping to her hands—hands that were entangled with his own. “If you were a gentleman, I would ask what your intentions were.”
Lawrence bit his lip as a shout echoed down the docks.
If he was acting the gentleman, he would have made them clear by now to her father, if he lived, or her brother.
But he was not. His cover would not permit such niceties, and he could not trust anyone else with the secret of his true identity until the blaggard was caught.
And who knew when that would be?
“If I were a…a gentleman,” he said quietly, the words feeling strange on his lips, “I would tell you.”
She laughed, and a spark of teasing happiness fired through Lawrence’s chest. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Honestly, Jules, if I knew what my own plans were for the next year—the next six months, the next week, I would tell you,” Lawrence said urgently, the need for her to believe him billowing in his chest. “But I don’t know. I cannot tell you.”
Until John Mortimer is dead or caught, Lawrence was starting to realize, everything he wanted for himself, for Julia…well, it would have to wait.
Wait until the man was found and his own true identity could be revealed.
Only now did Lawrence realize what a trap he had laid. The rest of his life stretched out before him, empty, devoid of anything save John Mortimer. He could neither commit to Julia nor reply to any of the urgent letters his sister had sent to his rooms at the Dulverton Club, sent on by Alan.
“But if you could,” Julia said quietly, “dictate your fate, I mean. What would you do?”
Lawrence swallowed. He should not say it. He should not—“That would depend.”
“On what?”
He should not—“On you.”
Her eyes widened. “On—on me?”
Lawrence nodded, unable to tear his gaze away, knowing if he had his own way, they would leave this place, return to his rooms, and—
“Lawrence,” Julia breathed.
Somehow, he had lifted a hand to her cheek, turning her face toward him. His head lowering, slowly, inch by painful inch. Julia’s lips parted, she wanted this, wanted this kiss, wanted him—
And Lawrence knew if he kissed her now, if he lost himself in the heady temptation Julia did not even know she offered, he would have to do it. He would offer marriage.
And then what would she do? The elegant young lady, part of the ton and Almack’s voucher holder…would she accept the hand of a poor fighter who lived in two rooms?
Lawrence would never know. Twisting to lean into him, Julia’s eyes widened in horror as she suddenly lost her balance and plummeted four feet down into the Thames.
“Jules!”
She floated, which was a relief. Lawrence was no expert in these matters, but it appeared sufficient air was entrapped within her billowing skirts to provide her with the necessary buoyancy to—
“L-Lawrence!” Julia spluttered, trying simultaneously to brush the water out of her eyes, not consume any of the Thames, and glare up at him as he tried not to laugh. “Get me out of here!”
Lawrence kneeled down and heaved. A sopping wet, slightly irate, and glaring Julia emerged.
“They are laughing at me,” said Julia stiffly, trying to ring out water from her bonnet, which had somehow managed to remain on her head.
He glanced up. She was correct. The dockhands had found the entire adventure rather amusing. It was quite funny from up here, Lawrence thought, though he knew better than to remark on this.
“You’ll freeze,” he said instead, drawing an arm around her and wishing he could warm her up in quite a different manner. “Come on, I’ll find you a carriage.”
“I d-don’t n-need a—”
“Yes, you do,” Lawrence said firmly. Why was it that the woman was always so obstinate? “Come on.”
Julia grinned as they reached a street whereupon two carriages were loitering, their drivers sharing a measly cigar that looked to Lawrence’s eyes to have been constructed of odds and ends.
“You were about to kiss me.”
“I was indeed,” admitted Lawrence ruefully. “That’ll teach me to attempt romance by the Thames.”
“I would take romance from you anywhere,” Julia whispered.
He tried not to think about stripping off all those wet things and taking her to such heights of pleasure she had never known. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
She laughed as Lawrence nodded at one of the men who immediately handed over his cigar to his companion and strode over. “Not where I want. Not with you.”
Lawrence’s stomach lurched. She did not know what she was saying; or if she did, she was doubtless giddy from the fall.
Or, a third and more delectable option, she knew precisely what she was saying…
“Home with you,” Lawrence said, wishing to goodness he had fewer morals and better digs. A better bed. “Off with your wet things as soon as you get in, and—”
“Care to come with me?”
Lawrence’s jaw tightened, but he shook his head with a wry smile as Julia settled into the carriage. “You’re a temptress, Julia Dryden.”
She grinned mischievously as the driver mounted and clicked at the horses. “Not enough, it seems.”