A Most Scandalous Proposal (10 page)

“With any luck,” Upperton went on, “the torture will be over soon.”

“Perhaps next year, you’ll convince your mother of the futility of the exercise,” Benedict said.

Upperton plucked at his impeccably knotted cravat, pulling it slightly askew. “The woman is as tone-deaf as my sisters. She’s convinced they’re prodigies. Next year, I believe I shall sneak off to my club and get thoroughly foxed.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow. “How’s that any different from what you do most nights?”

Upperton elbowed him. “Now, now, not in front of the ladies. I’ve got a reputation to preserve.”

“I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” Julia hid her grin behind her fan. “Unless you’re referring to your reputation as a wastrel.”

He put a hand over his heart, further wrinkling his cravat. “Miss Julia, you wound me.” Then he winked. “And you definitely spend too much time with Revelstoke if you’re bandying such terms as wastrel about.”

“Do you think so?” Over the lace edging of her fan, she widened her eyes. “It seems to me that after the time he spent with the cavalry, he could teach me some more interesting words.”

Upperton blinked. Then he threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “Miss Julia, I cannot believe some fortunate fellow hasn’t yet snapped you up.” He offered her his elbow. “If you’d consent to stroll with me, we might discuss a remedy to the situation.”

Julia smiled demurely and lowered her lashes. “And put a black mark on your reputation? I would not dream of it.”

Benedict arched a brow. “Besides, she has better taste than that.”

Upperton’s gray glance darted from one to the other. Then with a flourish, he stepped aside, leaving Benedict next to Julia. “Have the pair of you ever thought of making a go of things?”

Julia studied the pointed toes of her slippers peeking from beneath her gown. Blast Upperton for suggesting the same thing her sister had. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Benedict’s polished shoes—they shifted as he shuffled his feet. A thrill passed through the pit of her stomach, similar to the feeling of whirling in his arms to the strains of the waltz.

Upperton gave a small cough. “Have you considered any children you produced would be the absolute terrors of their schoolmasters?” He stepped closer, his expression
imploring. “It’d be perfect revenge. Put their names down for Eton the moment they’re born.”

Heat crept up Julia’s cheeks, and she prayed the flickering candlelight in the corridor was dim enough to mask her reaction. She slanted a glance at Sophia, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smile behind her fan. No help from that quarter.

Benedict’s shoes advanced a step. “That will do.”

His words held a tone of command that Julia had never heard from him before. She suspected he’d perfected it during the war. Upperton, at any rate, took the hint immediately. “Yes, quite.”

Over the rose silk of her fan, Sophia’s eyes glittered annoyingly. If they could talk, they would have proclaimed, “It looks as if I’ve hit on something delicious.”

Julia cleared her throat. “The musicale must be over by now.”

Upperton put his hand to his ear and made a show of wincing. “Not quite. I almost recognize the last movement to Mozart’s sonata in C.”

Julia took her sister’s arm. “Mama will wonder why we’ve been gone so long. We ought to get back.”

Just as she took a step toward the conservatory, Ludlowe appeared in the doorway. His gaze focused on Julia, and he smiled. “How fortunate, Miss Julia. I thought you might already have taken your leave.”

Julia favored him with a curt nod. It was the most she’d allow him. “I’m sure we’ll be off soon enough.”

“Perhaps we’ll run into each other later. Lady Whitby is hosting a rout, and I daresay there’ll be a spot of dancing. Might I hope you’ll save me a waltz?”

“Dreadfully sorry. I’m afraid I stepped out because I felt a headache coming on. I think it best if I head directly home.”

Ludlowe’s smile faltered. “Pity. I suppose I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

With a bow, he turned on his heel and, signaling for a footman, strode toward the stairs.

“The man is making himself a regular nuisance.”

Julia felt Benedict’s comment as much as she heard it. He’d managed to hover closer in the time Ludlowe took to summon his carriage.

Upperton crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “No surprise there, considering.”

“Considering what?” Julia asked.

Benedict stepped forward, menacingly in Julia’s opinion. “Yes, Upperton, perhaps you’d like to explain.” He punctuated this statement with a jerk of his head in Sophia’s direction.

Upperton raised a pair of pale eyebrows. “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to read.”

“While that might be true, you don’t always use your head, do you?”

Julia stared at one man, then the other. They’d been friends since their school days, and any insults they traded were usually good-natured. Not this time. Benedict was glaring at Upperton.

“I’m completely at sea,” Sophia said.

“As am I,” Julia chimed in.

Upperton pushed himself away from the wall. “Why should it come as a surprise that a charming young lady of good reputation and family should attract a suitor?”

There was more to it than that, but Julia knew she would not get the real explanation now. Not while Upperton and Benedict continued their silent conversation right over her head.

“What I want to know,” Benedict said at last, “is why Ludlowe thinks he’s going to see you on Monday.”

“Mama must have invited him to dinner,” Sophia said softly, the hurt evident in her tone. “She did not tell me.”

Julia stared at her sister. Sophia gave a small jerk of her shoulders in reply to her unasked question. Julia couldn’t
fathom their mother’s lack of tact. It was one thing to hold a dinner to announce Sophia’s betrothal; it was quite another to invite the object of Sophia’s infatuation to witness the proceedings.

Underneath it all, Julia understood what guided her mother’s actions. She’d seat Julia and Ludlowe next to each other in hopes they’d get on together. Ludlowe would serve Julia the choicest morsels from whatever rich dishes were closest and charm her with his wit and good looks.

Why marry off one daughter, when she could marry off two? And what’s more, to earls, the both of them.

If she dared, Julia could thwart her mother’s plans. Benedict would leap at the chance to separate her from Ludlowe. But would he see an invitation from her as encouragement? She stopped herself from shaking her head. She was being ridiculous. Over the course of their childhood, they’d dined in each other’s presence on any number of occasions. Surely he wouldn’t read anything more into an invitation than simple friendship. Just the way things had always stood between them.

Julia laid a hand on Benedict’s forearm. Beneath the fine wool of his tailcoat, solid muscles clenched. “Would you like to have dinner with us on Monday?”

“N
OW THIS
is a fine specimen of a mare. Lovely lines, healthy teeth, wide-set eyes, and deep chest.”

In spite of himself, Benedict tensed. He’d been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

As if she could understand the auctioneer’s words, Nefertari swished her tail and held her head high, looking down on the mere mortals in the crowd. Her groom clucked to her and tugged on the lead, but she stood stock-still.

“Excellent bloodlines on this one. Both sire and dam trace directly back to the Godolphin Arabian. Quite a record at the track.”

Such a statement was a cue for the groom to jog about the cupola at the center of the ring to show off a horse’s gait, but Nefertari remained firmly on the spot, her ears flicking back and forth. Not even a few paces of sideways dancing.

With a smile, Benedict leaned back against a pillar and folded his arms. Such stubborn behavior was likely to discourage most bidders, and if they couldn’t see her paces—well. He just might acquire a broodmare for a song.

Unperturbed, the auctioneer forged ahead. “What am I offered for this fine beast?”

Benedict opened his mouth, but another shout preceded his. “Two hundred!”

Damn. Pressing his lips together, he scanned the gathering of men about the perimeter of the ring. The dull day lent little light to the proceedings, but somehow his glance picked out a shock of golden hair on the opposite side. Ludlowe. Blast it all.

“Two twenty-five!” Another voice joined the fray.

“Two fifty!” cried a third.

“Three hundred.” Ludlowe. Damn that idiot’s eyes.

“Three fifty,” called the second gentleman before anyone else had a chance. No matter. The two unknown bidders were likely trying to get a bargain. Benedict could wait.

“Five hundred.”

The auctioneer smiled.

Benedict glowered across the enclosure. Ludlowe’s jump may have silenced the other two, but if the price kept rising at this rate, Nefertari would be beyond Benedict’s means. Time to test the waters.

He settled against the pillar and affected a bored expression. “Five twenty-five.”

“One thousand.”

Next to Benedict, Upperton let out a colorful string of invective, a sentiment echoed all around the enclosure. A thousand was probably the most Nefertari could hope to fetch in her condition. It was also the upper limit of what Benedict had hoped to spend.

Upperton nudged him. “Where do you think he’s getting all the blunt?”

The auctioneer intervened before Benedict could reply. “One thousand once!”

“Eleven hundred!” Benedict shouted.

Upperton raised his brows. “Come to that, where are you getting all the blunt?”

Benedict was on the verge of telling him to shut his gob, when Ludlowe bid again. “Twelve hundred.”

Benedict gritted his teeth. Upperton did have a point
about his finances. His father, the late Marquess of Enfield, had bequeathed him a decent settlement, and the sale of his commission had fetched him another two thousand or so. Once his stud was up and running, he might count on enough revenue to live quietly in the country. He would never have the sort of funds Ludlowe obviously did.

“Thirteen hundred!” Or Upperton, for that matter.

Benedict turned to his friend. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Upperton smiled. “Driving up the price.”

“I was bidding on that mare.”

“You don’t want a bit of horseflesh to drive you into the poorhouse, do you?” Of course, Upperton would have a general idea what Benedict could afford. They wagered on enough ridiculous trifles.

“Fourteen hundred!” At Ludlowe’s latest bid, a broader smile spread over the auctioneer’s features. Nefertari’s former owner would end today quite pleased with himself—and so would Tattersall when he collected his share of the proceeds.

“Fifteen hundred!”

“Upperton,” Benedict growled, “you haven’t got fifteen hundred pounds.”

His friend shrugged. “Not at the moment, no, but you’ll spot a few guineas to an old chum, won’t you?”

The deuced man had always been rather reckless where wagers were concerned. Benedict was about to refuse on principle, but the next second proved any protest unnecessary.

“Sixteen hundred.”

“Why do you think he wants that damned horse so much?” Upperton asked.

“You heard him. He thinks he’ll impress Julia with it.” Benedict allowed himself an ironic smile. “That or he’s a complete idiot.”

Upperton rubbed his jaw. “I’d vote for both. What’s more, he was a horse’s arse while we were at school. I can think of an incident or two I’d like revenge for.”

Benedict frowned. So could he—not so much for himself, but for others. Or, more specifically, one other.

“Sixteen hundred once!”

Upperton raised a hand. “Two thousand.”

Benedict rounded on him. “Are you mad? That’s fully twice what the animal’s worth.”

“I may be mad,” Upperton said with a flip of his hand, “but Ludlowe’s madder.”

“Twenty-one hundred.”

“There you are.” A wicked gleam came into Upperton’s eye. “Now let’s see how far we can push him.”

“F
IVE
thousand!” Upperton plunked his empty glass on the polished mahogany table and sloshed himself another measure of Boodle’s best brandy. “Good God. It must be nice to have those kinds of funds to toss about.”

His friend could well laugh, but the thought of emptying Ludlowe’s coffers, however deserved, did little to lighten Benedict’s mood. “You’re damned lucky you didn’t find yourself with a bill you couldn’t afford. Fully five times the nag’s worth.”

“Nag.” Upperton shook his head. “A fine way to refer to a beast you wanted.”

Benedict emptied his glass and set it down with a thump. “I’d have had more use for her than Ludlowe. At least I know Julia will never ride her. As long as he doesn’t try to impress some other girl with a fancy mare.”

“He would not have placed that wager if he was going to change his mind about his choice of bride. No one bets that sort of blunt, not even Prinny.”

That was just the problem. Ludlowe had made up his
mind and with his looks, his natural charm, with his usual success in seducing the
ton
’s ladies, Benedict was not sure even Julia could resist a determined assault forever.