Chapter Two
Thomas waited outside Carrindale House in the rain until he saw Julia get in the coach and drive away.
He followed her to Bond Street, watched her alight and go into an exclusive modiste’s shop.
He watched through the window as she tried on a gown of sapphire blue silk.
The shop assistant spread a lace veil over her dark hair, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.
Her wedding gown. He clenched his fists and stepped away to wait for her to emerge.
“Why Lady Julia, how pleasant to meet you here so unexpectedly,” he said brightly, as if he had merely chanced upon her in the street. He watched her pale cheeks bloom like roses, saw fear war with curiosity in her eyes.
She dipped a curtsy and turned to her maid. “Wait in the coach. I’ll be along in a moment.” After the girl complied, she whispered to him, “What are you doing here?”
“I found your earring,” he said, and taking her gloved hand in his dropped it into her palm.
It was the only excuse he had come up with to see her again, returning what he’d stolen.
Well, half of what he’d stolen. “It must have gotten tangled in my clothing when we—” She shot him a wide-eyed look of horror, and he fell silent.
“Are you—well, my lady?” he asked stiffly, resisting the urge to touch her flaming cheek.
She glanced at the earring and closed her hand on it. “You’ve rescued me yet again.”
There were a million things he wanted to say—apologies, offers of marriage, confessions of feelings he had no right to, everything from concern to—affection. He’d call it that.
“Someday I shall have to return the favor,” she said.
“I came to see if—” But she tilted her head, and even if her blush betrayed her embarrassment at what had passed between them in the darkness of her father’s library, she schooled her expression into the same polite look of interest she’d given Fiona Barry in the park.
She did not need him, after all. She was stronger than she looked.
He felt admiration for her. She would make a magnificent duchess.
He took her arm and escorted her the few steps to her coach. “So when is the wedding to be?” he asked.
“January. At Temberlay Castle.”
They reached the vehicle, and he let her go and bowed. “Then I shall wish you well,” he said. “And happy.”
She lowered her gaze. “I am . . .” She paused, and he watched her throat bob as she swallowed the lie. “Thank you,” she managed.
He kissed her hand, felt her fingers tighten on his for an instant. He let her go and walked away, resisting the urge to look back. Whatever the future held for him, it did not include Julia Leighton.