All Things Beautiful (18 page)

Only if you put me aside, she wanted to tell him, but she mastered the impulse to speak her
thought aloud. Instead she turned and whispered, “No regrets.”

Brader leaned closer and delivered a deep, possessive kiss. Julia kissed him back, wildly wishing she could bind him to her forever. With him by her side, she wasn’t afraid of turning her back on society and the world she once knew. But never would she admit her fear. Not to him. Never.

Tugging playfully at the sheet she still used to cover her body, he stretched out on the bed and announced, “And now for our riding lesson.”

Julia looked at him from under her dark lashes and pouted. “Riding lesson? Brader, I am not leaving this room to give you a riding lesson right now.” To emphasize what she
did
want to do now, she let the sheet slide slowly down over her breasts. She could feel the heat of a blush at her boldness stain her cheeks.

Brader followed the movement of the sheet with his eyes. He smiled. “You learn quickly, love.”

She pretended innocence. “Is that so very bad?”

His smile widened into a grin. “That’s why I believe our riding lesson will be so interesting.”

Julia raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Brader, what are we planning to ride?”

With a low, deep laugh, he answered. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

They didn’t leave the bedroom that day. Or the next.

Her life began to revolve around Brader and the
web of sensuality he wove. Wrapped in his arms at night, her world took on a security she had never known. The morning she finally stepped from their bedroom, Julia felt she was entering another world, separate and distinct from the private haven they had created together.

The next three weeks were the happiest of Julia’s life. Brader cut down on the number of meetings he needed to attend. He even delegated some of his responsibilities to Hardwell, and they discussed hiring a secretary to take Hardwell’s place.

One day, while going through samples for new draperies, Julia sensed Brader’s presence. She looked up. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame.

She smiled. “Did you want something?”

For a fleeting moment, so quick she might have imagined it, a look akin to sadness crossed his features before he returned an answering smile. “No, I was checking to see how you are progressing.”

Julia cleared a space on the settee beside her, indicating for him to sit. “I could use a second opinion. I’m discovering making choices is easier when you can’t afford whatever your heart desires.”

“Julia, I don’t think I know—”

“Sit,” she ordered, softening the command with a smile. Once he was seated, she covered his lap with samples.

“Pick the one you like best.”

“Julia—

“Choose!”

Brader resigned himself to his fate. “For which room?”

She gave him a sly look. “The bedroom.”

A big grin broke across his face. “Oh, well, that’s different. Of course you need my opinion.”

He flipped through several samples before he picked one. Holding the material up to the light, he nodded his head in silent agreement and held it out to her.

She took the blue damask from him. “How did you decide so quickly? I’ve been sitting here for the past hour trying to make up my mind.”

Brader leaned toward her to whisper. “I chose the color that most matched your eyes when you wake in the morning.”

Julia looked into his eyes to see if he teased her. He was serious. No compliment she’d received in her life touched her more than his words. “Then I shall order this from the draper,” she said, her eyes not wavering from his.

The color in his eyes darkened. “Can’t you think of a better way to repay me for my compliment?”

She didn’t mistake his meaning; her pulse picked up at the suggestion. Yet she protested. “Brader, it’s the middle of the afternoon—”

He smiled, his lips curving into the delicious knowing smile that always melted her resistance.

“—and the door is open,” she finished, her voice breathless at just the thought.

In fluid movements, he rose, walked across the room, and shut the door. He leaned his back
against the door to give her another smile. “Now it’s closed.” He pushed away and stalked her.

Julia stood up, the samples tumbling from her lap to the floor. Not knowing whether to laugh or run, she said again, “Brader, it’s the middle of the afternoon.” Her protests grew weaker.

“I know what time it is,” he answered reasonably.

She decided to take flight, laughing as she slipped around the settee to avoid him. Brader easily captured her—she didn’t provide much resistance—and they made mad, sweet love on the floor, on top of the samples.

From that afternoon on, Julia discovered herself searching him out several times during the day to touch him, kiss him, hear the sound of his voice. At night her fingers explored every muscle, every ridge, and every plane of his body. She knew his scent, his taste, and his touch better than the textures of her own body.

Words became unnecessary between them. No longer did it startle her when he anticipated her thoughts or concerns without a word spoken between them. Indeed, so alert was she becoming to every movement, every nuance from him, she too could almost predict his words or actions before they were carried out.

The week before Christmas, Brader was called away again to London. This time, at Nan’s insistence, Julia accompanied him. She approached the trip with apprehension, wondering how she would
react when confronted by her family and old friends of the
ton
if she should meet them in town.

Her anxiety was groundless. Brader introduced her to a new world composed of working, thinking people of many different classes. She discovered she enjoyed the company of those members of the peerage not to be found wasting time at gaming tables, Marriage Mart parties, or frivolous soirées. She also learned that London held many ethnic groups and peoples of different religions and philosophies. During her visit, Brader encouraged her to explore a London she never knew existed.

Her favorite new acquaintance was Herbert Fuller, a short, nondescript man who headed Brader’s private security force. While she waited three hours for one of Brader’s meetings to adjourn, Mr. Fuller kept her entertained with graphic stories of bizarre murders that had never made it into the London papers. Brader accused them both of having a taste for the macabre. Julia invited Mr. Fuller to join them for dinner. Brader
tsked
but proved over the evening that he, too, enjoyed a bloodthirsty mystery.

Before returning to Kimberwood, they made a side trip to Danescourt. The effect of Brader’s management was dramatic. In a short period of time, the hard, pinched look had disappeared from the faces of the tenants.

At Danescourt, Julia and Brader were honored to stand as godparents for the new baby of Emma and Chester’s daughter, Winnie, and her husband.
Holding the squirming infant in her arms while the minister anointed its head with oil, her gaze met Brader’s. There was such a deep tenderness in his eyes, she realized that he would make a wonderful father. He held out his finger, smiling when the babe grabbed and sucked it greedily.

The harmony of that moment during the christening continued until their return to the inn, where, bathed in the fading light of the day, Brader made slow, exquisite love to her. Afterward, her head resting on his chest, Julia listened to the strong, steady sound of his heartbeat mingling with the lighter beat of her own and made a Christmas wish. If God deemed it wise to bless them with a child, she prayed it had been conceived this afternoon during those moments of perfect contentment and accord between them.

They returned to Kimberwood two days before Christmas. Julia worried that she did not have much time to prepare for the holidays. She wanted a Christmas as full of life and joy as she remembered the Christmases at Kimberwood during her childhood.

She put Fisher and the footmen to work gathering holly from the woods to decorate the house while she worked with Cook to plan a special menu. Cook grumbled about the fuss since she had been expected to cook ten geese for the Ladies’ League’s charity Christmas baskets, too.

Late the next morning, while Julia sat in her room and ran her hands over the lovely heather-colored
cashmere throw she’d purchased for Nan’s Christmas present, Fisher knocked on her door. She called for him to enter, mildly surprised to see he held the silver dish they used for calling cards in his hand.

“You have a visitor, ma’am,” he announced formally.

Julia put the gift aside and crossed to the butler. A single white card sat on the dish. Taking the card from the dish, she murmured, “I wonder who—”

The name on the card in fine script startled her:
Peter Jamison, Lord Carberry.

J
ulia threw open the sitting room door, genuinely glad to see her childhood friend. The late-afternoon sun washed the room with white winter light. A cheery fire made the room warm and inviting. Peter stood before the fire, an elbow leaning against the mantel.

“Peter!” she cried, interrupting his contemplation of a heavy glass figurine of a sleeping cat that had caught her eye in London and now graced the mantel. “It’s good to see you again.” She held out her hands.

Peter stepped forward to take her outstretched hands in his. Anxiously he searched her face. “You’re looking well.”

She laughed. “You sound surprised.” She tilted her head toward him. His coat, cut of sober cloth, did little to enhance his coloring. Indeed, Peter looked tired and troubled. She kept her tone light as she teased, “Did you fear Wolf would do away with me?”

Peter gave a start. “Why do you say that?”

Gracefully, she sat down on the settee and indicated with her hand for him to sit in the chair across from her. “I remember you declaring Brader a monster.” Noting the guilty blush stealing up Peter’s neck and across his cheeks, she added quietly, “I’m very happy, Peter,” and decided diplomatically to change the subject. “So,” she said brightly. “How is Arabella?”

Peter sat on the chair as if his legs could no longer support him. His face turned pale, emphasizing the bloodshot veins and the torment in his eyes. He looked away from her, and as he did so, Julia finally caught sight of the dark armband around his left sleeve, the material so dark it blended with his coat.

Alarmed, she gasped. “Peter?”

The lines of his face defined by pain and recrimination, he answered, “Arabella is dead.”

Julia stood abruptly, her mind a mass of confusion and questions. “I don’t understand.” The words sounded inane. “Peter, we were of the same age. How could it happen?”

He rose and took her hands in his. “I forget you both were once friends—rivals, but friends.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “The fever came upon her suddenly. We were supposed to go to the theater. She said she felt poorly and urged me to go on without her. It was several days later before I was scheduled to see her again.” He looked into Julia’s eyes. “You
know how those things go in a marriage when you lead different lives.”

Julia didn’t know but was too numb to answer.

Peter’s eye twitched, a movement he denied with a shake of his head. He continued, his voice a monotone. “By the time I was informed she lay ill, the doctors had done everything they could with no success. They bled her.” His mouth set grimly, he added, “Unfortunately, when the leeches were removed, the bleeding could not be stopped. She fainted from loss of blood and never regained consciousness.”

Julia sank down to the settee, trying to remember the image of Arabella as she’d last seen her, years ago, before the scandal. She couldn’t remember. The inability to recall Arabella’s face distressed her even more than the news of her death. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

Peter’s eyes widened in horror at her tears. He knelt down on the floor beside her, offering her his handkerchief. “Please, Julia, don’t be upset on Arabella’s account. I should not have told you like this. I didn’t expect you to react so to the news.”

She took several swipes at her eyes with his handkerchief. “Peter, I am so sorry.” She paused to catch her breath and fight the sting of new tears. Laying her palm against his smooth cheek, she said, “You poor man. Here I am sobbing, and it is you who bear the greatest burden.”

Peter turned his face toward her palm and kissed it.

Julia whipped her hand away as if his lips burned, but he caught it and pulled her back to him, pressing it against his chest melodramatically. “I knew you were an angel, but I never knew how much until this moment, when you cried for Arabella.”

A frisson of warning ran through her. Her tears stopped instantly. When she again attempted to pull her hand back, Peter tightened his grasp.

“Julia.” His voice was husky.

“Peter, what do you think you are doing?” she asked in a clear, firm tone, telling herself not to panic. Peter was grieving and she shouldn’t misinterpret his intentions. After all, Fisher and three footmen stood in the hall outside the door. Panic would create a scene and gain Brader’s attention. She did not want Brader’s attention, remembering vividly his sharp words over Peter’s behavior at the dance in London.

Peter leaned toward her. “What I am doing is asking you to marry me.”

She snapped her hand back from him with sufficient force to reclaim it. Setting her palms on the brocade cushion, she started to slide her body away from him as quickly as the skirts of her woolen day dress would permit.

Peter’s arms wrapped around her body to capture her, his face near her cheek, and that’s when she smelled the brandy on his breath. “No, Julia, stay and hear what I have to say.”

With a shove against his shoulders, she broke
free of his arms and rose swiftly, stepping around the settee and placing it between them. “No, Peter, I think I’ve heard enough.”

“I’ve shocked you, Julia, but please, listen to what I have to say.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“Please.”

“Please leave.”

But Peter wasn’t to be dissuaded. Slowly he rose to his feet and lowered his hand to his side, looking every inch the English lord as he let words carry his argument. “I love you. I should never have married Arabella. She was no substitute for you.”

“Peter, please.” She placed her hands on the ornate back of the settee and leaned forward. “You are speaking lunacy. You’re grieving. Don’t say something you will regret later.”

“I was forced to give you up years ago. My parents wouldn’t hear of my making a match with you…. But I won’t give you up again.”

“That was long ago. Peter, be honest. You were wary of me yourself. Tying yourself to a Markham would have been a mistake.”

“Marry me.”

“Don’t say that!” Julia hit the back of the settee for emphasis. “I am already married.”

“Then run away with me.”

Stunned, she stared at him speechless.

Peter pressed on. “Once we are away from England, we can get your marriage set aside. For you, I’ll give up everything. Come with me.”

Speechless for a moment, Julia straightened her shoulders. She responded in her coldest voice. “I think, Peter, our interview is at an end. I’ll ask Fisher to see you out.” She took no more than a step toward the door before Peter stepped around the settee, blocking her exit.

He held his hands up to her, palms outward, the gesture of a supplicant. “I’ve shocked you, and that was never my intent. Hear me out, Julia. If, after hearing all I have to say, you reject my suit, then I will leave.”

She wanted to stamp her foot on the hardwood floor in vexation. “Peter, there is no reason to pursue this conversation. I am going to pretend I never heard any of this. You are reacting to the grief of losing Arabella.”

“Arabella has nothing to do with this. Believe me when I tell you she pitched my life into hell.”

“Peter—”

“I suppose Wolf told you how he convinced me to be his messenger?” Peter’s lip curled on Brader’s name.

“No, he said nothing to me.” Julia tried to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

Peter stiffened. “I’m surprised.”

“Brader is not without honor,” she chided softly.

“Honor! The man is an extortionist of the worst sort.”

“An extortionist? That’s absurd.”

“You defend him?” Peter accused. He turned on his heel to cross the room. Stopping, he turned
back to her, pride stamped on his aristocratic face. “It was Arabella’s fault. She cost me a fortune. She spent and spent.”

Feeling she had the situation firmly in hand once again, Julia relaxed. “More than a Markham?” she asked. Peter scowled at her. She kept her voice gentle. “Arabella was a prodigious heiress.”

“Based upon an inheritance she would have received when she turned five-and-twenty next September.”

Julia’s lips formed a silent
Oh.

“Yes, you’ve guessed correctly,” he answered bitterly. “Arabella died before I could inherit from her parents’ estate. Upon her death, the money was added to the inheritances of her younger cousins.” His jaw hardened. “For years she ate away at my fortune like a wolf ravaging a carcass. Every year a new coach, a new trip, jewels, soirées. There was no satisfying her.”

“How does that involve Brader?” she asked abruptly, not wanting to feel sorry for Peter. Unfortunately she understood the desperation of spending all one’s time trying to make ends meet.

“Arabella was absurdly extravagant,” he stated and then looked away from Julia to admit, “Also, I made several bad investments.”

Julia thought she started to understand. “With Brader?”

“No. I’d never heard of Brader Wolf until he first approached me. He’s not of our class, you
know. Nor was it a genteel request when he contacted me.” His fists clenched so tightly, the knuckles turned white. “Wolf bought up several vouchers I owed and didn’t have the funds to pay.”

“Vouchers? Oh, Peter, not for gambling?”

He relaxed a bit at her words, an indulgent smile pulling at his lips. “Don’t tell me I’m going to receive a lecture on gambling from a Markham?”

“Who better?”

“Aye,” he admitted ruefully. “Who better? But why not? It’s been known to happen. Fortunes have been won at the gaming tables.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“More often than not, they’ve been lost.”

The features of Peter’s face tightened. “Well, mine was lost.” He raised a hand ineffectually in the air. “And Arabella kept spending. I warned her, pleaded with her, demanded that she quit her extravagant ways.” He looked at Julia, his face bleak and hard. “No, I don’t mourn her death. Whatever goodwill we had between us before our marriage died years ago. She’s ruined me.”

“Peter, you can’t blame Brader for any of this.”

“I can blame him for buying the vouchers, for forcing me to represent him to you in a matter I found totally repugnant. He wouldn’t even tell me why he wanted Kimberwood.” Peter lifted his noble chin to punctuate the end of his story, as if he’d conveyed some dramatic information.

“I don’t see where any of his actions brand him an extortionist,” Julia said frankly. “Did he not
give the vouchers to you once you completed your task?”

“Yes.”

“Then I see nothing dishonorable about my husband’s behavior.”

Peter stared at her as if she’d sprouted wings. “Nothing dishonorable?” He frowned. “Julia, I am on bended knee, offering you my heart—”

“Oh, please,” she snapped, finally losing her temper. She placed her hands on her hips. “What you’ve offered me is a number of unfounded accusations about my husband and an acting performance to rival John Kemble’s.” Seeing his brows come together, Julia held up a hand as if to ward off his anger, not afraid to give him a dose of her own temper. “Oh, yes, and the dubious honor of leaving Brader and running away with you, a man who has obviously been tipping the bottle too much for his own good.”

“It’s the money,” he concluded. “You think I don’t have money. Don’t worry, I’m not a pauper—thanks to a little task I performed for Brader Wolf,” he added bitterly.

“Peter, you are being ridiculous. I won’t run off with you,” she said, enunciating each word, sure now that his drinking had affected his mind.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Perhaps Geoffrey was right.”

“Geoffrey? What has Geoffrey to do with this?” Julia felt a twinge of alarm.

His aristocratic lips curled in disdain. “He
warned me. Told me you were completely besotted with the brute. He said only death would pry you apart from your burly tradesman—but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t believe you’d throw your life away on a cit.”

Julia was so angry her whole body shook. “I think you had better leave, and I don’t ever wish to lay eyes on you again,” she managed to choke out.

A stricken expression crossed Peter’s face. “No, Julia. I don’t know what came over me. Don’t ask me to leave.”

She moved toward the door, but Peter, in two steps, stopped her, grabbing her arms. Julia pulled against his hold, her face turning away from his brandy-laced breath. “Let—go of me.”

“I didn’t mean to chase you away. I love you. Leave Wolf,” he pleaded, “and come with me. Now. This instant. We—”

He broke off, his eyes looking past Julia. Abruptly his grip loosened and she was able to pull free. Turning toward the door, Julia froze.

“I wasn’t informed we had a guest.” Brader shut the door firmly behind him and walked into the room. “Hello, Carberry. How are things in London?” His voice held the sharp edge of a knife slicing through silk.

He’d been working in his study. His hair was unruly and ruffled where he’d combed his fingers through it while debating over his reports and ledgers. An ink stain marked the index finger of his right hand. Dressed in buckskins, top boots, and a
fine linen shirt with the neck cloth loose and untied, as was his wont when he worked at home, Brader made a fine contrast against Peter’s more staid manner of dress.

Julia didn’t know if Brader’s presence made matters better or worse. For herself, she considered him a savior. Now, certainly, Peter would leave her in peace.

Peter allowed himself only one terse word in greeting. “Wolf.”

The animosity between the two men was a living thing eating up the oxygen in the room. Julia stepped between them. “Peter stopped to pay us a call on his way out of the country.” She kept her voice pleasant, as though it were the most common thing in the world for Peter to do.

Brader lifted his eyebrow in mock surprise. “Traveling, Carberry? How kind of you to go four hours out of your way to pay a call on me and my wife.”

“This isn’t a social call, Wolf,” Peter snapped. “And do I need to remind you how to act before your betters?”

Julia gasped at Peter’s audacity. Brader’s eyes took on a dangerous and unholy gleam. Completely unrepentant, he answered, “I beg pardon,
Carberry.
” There was nothing humble about his tone.

Julia intervened. “Peter’s wife, Arabella, has passed away, Brader. It happened very suddenly. He was kind enough to deliver the news to me personally.”