A Tale of Two Lovers (26 page)

Chapter 48

“W
here are we going?” Julianna asked. It was a fair question, she thought. She’d gone to great lengths to attend this party and after only an hour, Roxbury was leading her through the crowded ballroom, and beyond that to the private section of the house. In other words, away from the party.

“It’s a secret,” he replied, grinning. She loved his grin, and she was not at all averse to skulking about—it was always the most interesting part of any ball—but he was being so mysterious about it.

“I hate secrets,” she told him.

“You love them,” he countered.

“Yes, I love them when I know them, not when they are kept from me.”

“Here, my darling—” he said, tugging her close to him against a wall. He kissed her deeply and passionately and threatened to damage her very elaborate coiffure. But how could a woman care about that when she had a hot, wanton kiss from a devilishly handsome and—dare she say it—loving husband? The waltzing was lovely, but this was amazing. Would she ever tire of kissing him? She didn’t think so.

And then, after just a moment—one that was far too quick—he was leading her along again. She glanced at their surroundings—a long hallway, large ornately framed paintings on the wall, and a few candles in sconces to provide some dim light. She heard their footsteps on the marble-tiled floor: Roxbury’s thudding steps, her quicker steps and . . .

“Shh,” she said, pausing. “Do you hear footsteps? Is someone following us?”

She was suspicious by nature, and especially so after that intruder.

“I doubt there is anyone else,” he said, taking her hand in his. “If so, it’s probably another couple in search of privacy. Like us.”

“If you say so,” Julianna said. The gossip inside of her didn’t quite believe it. And, given all the times she’d followed people in search of a story, it was very plausible that someone could be following them just to glean some information to regale friends with it—or newspaper readers. Perhaps it was the Man About Town? No, that was too easy.

“Do you trust me, Julianna?” Roxbury asked suddenly as they walked along, hand-in-hand, to Lord only knew where.

Julianna was surprised by the question—here, now—and how earnest he was. She took a moment to think about it. But most of that time was spent marveling at how quickly the answer—yes—leapt to her lips. Yes, he had saved her in a midnight display of heroics. But since their marriage, he’d been loyal and stood by her, whether she was angry or sad or happy or utterly naked and completely ravished. She’d taken his name, moved into his house, had him on her mind constantly, and had given her body to him. The only question was of her heart . . .

“I do,” she whispered.

And with that, they rushed along again down the long dark hall. Where on earth were they going? And why?

She was sure there was another set of footsteps . . . or was it their own, echoing in the marble-floored hallway? No, no, it had to be the sound of someone following them, so she was glad when Roxbury opened a door to a private room and closed them in.

“What is happening?” she asked, a little vexed, a little excited, and definitely breathless.

“I want to steal a moment alone with my lovely bride,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him.

When he looked at her with lust in his eyes, she became heatedly excited. She couldn’t help but respond to his touch. When he kissed her, she couldn’t say no.

Julianna closed her eyes and Roxbury’s mouth met hers, and her lips parted to deepen the kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she said goodbye to her elaborate style, but what did that matter? Everything was just right—her man holding her, kissing her in a stolen moment. It might even be love.

But it didn’t quite feel right. She heard the sound of a door opening, and then closing, followed by footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Then Julianna heard it again: open, shut, steps. Open, shut, steps.

Roxbury feathered kisses along her neck, and began to tug down her bodice and explore her breasts. She sighed in pleasure, but she was nervous, too.

It was as if someone was systematically looking in every room. As if they were looking for them. Her belly began to ache with fear. Why would anyone be looking for them?

It was only a matter of time before whoever it was opened the door to the room in which they were currently engaged in very private behavior. Would it still be compromising and scandalous since they were married? She did not care to discover it.

Dear God, her hair was a wreck but even worse, her bodice was not where it ought to be and much more than her ankles was showing. It wasn’t just scandal she was worried about, but basic decency.

“Roxbury,” she said to get his attention.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured as he kissed her.

Open, shut, steps.
She heard it again. Someone was definitely on a mission. The door to their room would be coming soon.

“Simon, stop,” she urged. He held her closer and she writhed in his embrace.

Open, shut, steps. Louder now.

She tightly grasped the fabric of his unopened shirt in her fists, trying to hold him at bay. For the first time, she turned her head to avoid his kiss and it broke her heart to do.

“Let me go,” she urged. She did not want to be seen by a stranger in this state of disarray, and in this private moment with her new husband.

“Juli—” he murmured, holding her tight and holding her close.

The footsteps stopped outside of their door. She watched the knob turn as Roxbury kissed her neck. There was no way he could be oblivious to this—not when he had previously been so attentive to every sigh, to every moan.

She pushed hard against him. He tightened his grasp upon her.

Tears stung her eyes as she realized what betrayal was unfolding. And she wasn’t even fully, properly dressed—adding another level of indignity to a plan made without her, and one that involved her participation.

The door opened, as she had expected. Roxbury carried on feathering kisses along her neck and shoulder, each one landing on her skin like a poison dart.

She writhed for release, but he kept her close. At the very least, he kept her from being utterly exposed when the door opened a crack and the light flooded in.

All she could see was the silhouette of a man, and Julianna just knew that she was absolutely caught in a compromising position by the one who could only be the Man About Town. Because of the lighting, she could not see his face.

“Oh, I do apologize for the interruption,” he said smoothly. The bounder wasn’t at all sorry, and they all knew it. And with that, the intruder gave a short bow and shut the door.

Roxbury started toward him, obviously intent upon giving chase, brawling, and generally causing another raucous scene that would have the ton talking for years. Lord Scandalous, indeed.

Lord Dead Man,
she thought as she grabbed his coattails.

“Julianna, that’s him. The Man About Town,” he said urgently, straining to go after him. She held fast to his coat.

Later, she might fully indulge in the feelings of betrayal and heartache. Was it on the scale of Somerset’s indiscretions? No. Did it hurt any less? God no. For some reason it hurt more, because she was in the first throes of a new love.

“Darling,” he echoed. He took a step back. Apparently, he had his moments of not being a fool. Unfortunately, that moment was now and not five minutes earlier.

“You are a terrible actor,” Julianna said witheringly. She began to tug her bodice back into place.

“Julianna, I can explain,” he said, reaching out to assist putting her dress back to rights. That didn’t stop her from lecturing.

“You brushed off my concerns that someone was following us—as if you knew. Or expected it! And yet you claimed it was silly for me to think someone was following us. And you lead me here . . . to this dark, quiet room with an unlocked door, you hold me close, you kiss me passionately, you deliberately muss up my hair and my clothes and you won’t let me go when someone was coming . . .”

“Darling—”

“Forgive me,
darling
, if I think this is a setup,” she said, and tears were stinging her eyes, which was ridiculous because she never cried.

“Julianna . . .” Roxbury reached for her, but she stepped aside. It was all starting to make sense to her now.

“You have everything to gain from being seen in a compromising position with a woman. With your wife. The Man About Town can put to bed the rumors about your inclinations, once and for all. The Lady of Distinction cannot.”

“Julianna . . .” he murmured her name again. She wiped the tears away from her eyes.

“Are you going to deny it?” she questioned. “Because the evidence is quite damning to me.”

For a moment, they both fell silent. She bit her tongue to give him a chance to say what she wanted to hear: That she was a ridiculous woman letting her imagination get away with her. That she was suspicious and really ought to be more trusting. For the first time in her life, she prayed.
Please tell me I’m wrong.

“The truth, Julianna,” Roxbury said quietly, “is that I did it for us.”

“For us?” she echoed softly.

“For you, my wife, and for our marriage. So that we may be left in peace and not have to prove our feelings to the world or constantly defend our relationship to the lowlife Grub Street hack writers.”

“Might I remind you that I am—in my heart, if not in fact—one of those Grub Street hack gossip writers,” she said coldly.

“Julianna, you know what I mean,” he said softly, but firmly.

“Yes, I do. I know that you care more about what the world thinks of us than how I may feel in this relationship, or what I may think of you!” She resisted the urge to stamp her foot on the floor.

“That’s not true. I did this for
us
. For you—to show you . . .”

“And you didn’t even let me in on the secret, when you know how I feel about secrets being kept from me,” she said. Not that she gave a damn about secrets, per se, but she did care about not being consulted about a matter that concerned them both. She was not some child or little miss that would tolerate having decisions made for her. He knew that!

“I made a mistake, Julianna,” Roxbury said frankly. He took her hands in his, looked her in the eye and said, “I am sorry. My intentions were pure.”

She could see the pain etched in his features. It was made all the more worse because she could see that this was not at all how he had planned it. That he expected to be triumphant and now . . .

Her heart ached for him, because she wanted to make him happy but she could not tolerate what had just happened. She had trusted him, loved him, against all better judgment.

“I want to go home,” she said. And then she walked out.

It was a strange thing, Julianna thought, that the Man About Town had been just right there, and she was more consumed and concerned with the
other
man in the room. Surely, that signified something. Unmasking her nemesis no longer seemed like the most important thing. In fact, nothing seemed to matter at all because she had been betrayed by her lover, her husband, and her friend.

“Julianna.” Roxbury was calling her now, and she could hear his heavy footsteps following. She turned a corner. She needed to be alone.

“Julianna.” She missed him already. But if they spoke now, they would fight more. Quickly, she turned and opened the first door she saw and slipped inside. Her eyes widened in shock, and her lips parted to gasp but no sound came out.

The scene within was so improbable, so outrageous, and so wildly unexpected that Julianna actually pinched herself. The scene she had stumbled upon actually made her completely and utterly forget that her marriage had just collapsed. The sight before her eyes was indeed for real.

There was scandal and then there was hot, salacious, you-will-
never
-believe-this, dear God above SCANDAL. This was the latter.

Julianna turned to tell Simon—to share her joy, her triumph, her excitement—and he wasn’t there. The moment was utterly ruined.

Chapter 49

H
ome, it turned out, was 24 Bloomsbury Place. Roxbury woke the next morning to find his wife and all her belongings long gone.

When other women had moved out or moved on, he’d felt nothing but relief. If he was tempted to miss them, he need only take one look at a horribly decorated dining room or drawing room to remind himself of just what he’d escaped.

But now he felt hollow, incomplete, lonely, and all sorts of pathetically morose feelings.

His home was hers now—from the drawing room to the guest bedroom—and it was just wrong that she wasn’t there. What really made his gut ache was the realization that she had been planning on staying—Why else would she have redecorated the whole place from top to bottom, tastefully, and to her liking?

He had meant to seduce her, and had fallen in love with her. She’d been planning on staying so perhaps she had fallen in love with him, too.

He had completely, utterly cocked up.

As a gentleman does, he sought refuge in his club.

What ought to be a man’s haven no longer was for Roxbury. He could only imagine Julianna skulking through the rooms, dressed as a man, with a sly smile of triumph on her mouth. He thought of their one afternoon together here, when he’d had a lovely time with the last woman he’d expected to, in the last place on earth he’d expected.

He ordered a drink. Brandy might provide an escape.

But then Roxbury thought of clinking brandy bottles, toasting to ruined lives in his carriage. Or watching her first sputtering sip.

“When she said she wanted to go home,” Roxbury told Brandon, “I thought she’d go back to our house and sulk for a day or two. But no, she’s packed everything up and returned to Bloomsbury Place.”

He took another sip of his second brandy.

“Shocking,” Brandon replied dryly. He’d been reading the newspaper,
The Weekly
—damn him—while Roxbury rambled.

“You’re not at all shocked, I can tell,” he replied.

“Roxbury, you deliberately exposed the woman, which is one thing. Far worse than that,
you made a plan without consulting her.
I cannot stress enough how this is one of the worst things you can do,” Brandon told him.

“Why has marriage made you wise and I’ve stayed a fool?” Roxbury grumbled.

“I grew up with three sisters. I was born with an advantage,” Brandon said. Roxbury had only one wild and reckless brother who died in an attempt to avoid matrimony.

“Since you’re so wise to the ways of women, tell me what to do,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you try serenading her outside her window,” Brandon suggested, smirking. Roxbury scowled.

“Might I remind you that the last time I did that, I was shot.”

“Jewelry. Flowers,” Brandon said, suggesting the obvious. Flowers were not sufficient for a sin of this magnitude.

But jewelry . . . Roxbury thought of the ring he had locked in his desk drawer. He’d spent days away from her in search of it. He could give her that, if he could only get time with her.

However, the ring was still in his possession because—as he had been about to give it to her—she had said, “If there is one thing I want it’s to uncover the real identity of the Man About Town.”

He had tried that. If only diamonds and rubies were sufficient. Given the rift between them now, he would need both and more.

“I should finish this business with the Man About Town,” Roxbury said.

“Whatever you do, you should definitely not be seen talking to, looking at, or breathing in the direction of another woman,” Brandon counseled.

“Shockingly, the idea never even occurred to me,” Roxbury remarked. Brandon looked at him wide-eyed and then broke into a grin.

“Inchbald! This man needs another drink. He has just realized that he’s in love with his wife.”