Amanda McCabe (6 page)

Chapter Eight

It were all one

That I should love a bright, particular star

And think to wed it, he is so above me.

—
All’s Well That Ends Well

After an excellent supper, where Mrs. Gilbert’s superb beef boulogne and apricot tart proved that peace once again reigned in the kitchen, Marcus and Julia retired to the library for sherry and tea.

It was quiet and cozy in the dark-paneled room, with the green velvet draperies drawn across the windows and a fire blazing in the hearth. It should have all been conducive to easy conversation and amiability, yet their words had been rather strained at supper, and now they sat in silence in each other’s company. The memory of the afternoon’s misunderstanding still hung heavy between them.

Julia sipped at her sherry and looked about the library. When Gerald was alive it had been his own sanctum, and she had only been in there once in a while, to find new books to read. After he died, she found entering it too painful. It was so full of memories of her stepfather, redolent of the scent of his pipe and echoing with his deep laughter.

Tonight, though, she did not feel the pang of loss. It had become too much Marcus’s room, and no longer Gerald’s. The smell of pipe tobacco was replaced by the faint citrus tang of Marcus’s cologne. His crates had been delivered that afternoon and were stacked along the walls now, spilling out all sorts of exotic, enticing items.

Including the one that now sat on the desk.

Julia was so drawn to it that she forgot Marcus was sitting there watching her. She put her glass down on the table and walked over to examine the object closer.

It was an alabaster sculpture of a woman’s head, barely ten inches high but utterly exquisite. Julia ran a careful fingertip over the woman’s perfect features. The cold stone of the eyes seemed almost alive, wry and sparkling as the ancient woman looked out on the modern world.

Marcus came up beside Julia quietly, so quietly that she did not even notice him until he spoke, his warm breath gently stirring the curls at her temple.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he said softly.

Julia smiled at him. “Lovely. Where did you get her?”

“In Egypt. I found her in a small shop in Cairo. The proprietor was aghast that I would not bargain with him over the price. I would have paid anything to have this statue.”

“I do not blame you.” Julia perched herself on the edge of the desk. “It must have been very exciting in Egypt.”

Marcus laughed. “I am not sure
exciting
is the word for it. Terrifying at times; dull as tombs at others. It was hot, and travel was very slow. But it was fascinating.” He sat down on the chair behind the desk and leaned his elbow next to Julia, his gaze very far away. “The food was unlike anything I had ever eaten. Not like bland English food at all. They used spices never even heard of here. And the people were endlessly intriguing.”

“Did you see the pyramids? And the temple at Karnak?”

He smiled up at her. “How do you know about Karnak, Julia?”

“I am not an uneducated ignoramus, you know. I have a book about Egypt, with engraved illustrations. I’ve spent so many hours looking at them, imagining what it must be like to actually be there.” She did not tell him that she had bought the book after he wrote to Gerald from Egypt and Gerald had read the letter aloud to her. She didn’t want to spoil this moment with reminders of what was past. “I should like to go to Egypt one day. And Italy and France, maybe even India.”

“I think you would like Egypt very much. But did you not tell me that you only want to be a country homebody from now on?” he gently teased.

“I
do
want a home,” she answered with a laugh. “A place I can come back to that will always be mine. That does not mean I want to lock myself into that home and never leave! I fear I could never entirely leave behind my wandering youth. Perhaps one day I
will
go to Egypt!”

“Well, until then . . .” Marcus went to one of the open crates and rummaged about until he found a small, wrapped object. He came to her and pressed it into her hand. “Keep this with you. It will bring you good fortune.”

Julia unwrapped it eagerly. It was a small turquoise beetle, covered with tiny, odd carvings. She turned it over on her palm, to see more of the carvings on its flat belly. “It is a very lovely . . . bug, Marcus.”

“It is a scarab,” he said. “Carved with magical incantations. You can put it on a chain and wear it, see this tiny hole here? The man I bought it from swore that it would bring good fortune to whoever possesses it.”

“Then I must wear it. I could use some good fortune.” Julia closed her fist around the scarab and held it very tightly. “Thank you, Marcus.”

She looked up to find him watching her intently, his blue eyes almost black in the firelit shadows.

“Julia,” he said quietly, “I am very sorry about this afternoon. I was so presumptuous, assuming that you would want to go to London. I should never have made such plans without consulting you.”

Julia shook her head. “No, Marcus,
I
am sorry. I behaved like such a spoiled little chit! You were only trying to help me, in the best way that you knew how.”

He smiled wryly. “It seems we are fated to be always stumbling and apologizing with each other.”

“Oh, no!” she said brightly. “As long as you ask before you pack me off to London, we should never have to apologize again!”

Marcus laughed. “Agreed.”

“The flowers were lovely, too, Marcus.”

He shrugged. “They were only flowers I picked from the gardens, much to the head gardener’s chagrin. They were all I could find at such short notice. I doubt that there are any respectable florists in Little Dipping!”

“They were more beautiful than any hothouse orchid. I would never complain. At any rate, it was the first bouquet I have ever received except from your father.”

“The first bouquet! No, I do not believe you. I am certain the local beaux must shower you with blossoms.”

“What local beaux? Eligible
partis
are rather thin on the ground in the neighborhood. Though I do think Mr. Elliott, the new curate, rather likes me.”

Marcus frowned. “Well, then, all the more reason why you should go to Town, if the local swains are so blind . . .”

“Ah!” Julia laid her finger lightly against his lips. “Now, you agreed not to mention London.”

He smiled. His lips were soft against her finger, the movement of his smile intoxicating. She watched in fascination as the dimple appeared in his chin. She longed to trace her fingers across that dimple, along the sharp line of his jaw, into the softness of his hair. . . .

She pulled back as if burned. What could she have been thinking to touch him like that? Most improper.

He looked as dazed as she felt, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at her. “Julia, I . . .” he began, only to have his voice trail away into silence.

Julia understood entirely. What could there be to say?

“I should say good night now,” she whispered. “It is late.”

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose—good night.”

Julia nodded. Then she slid down off the desk and tried to walk in a slow, dignified manner out of the library. Once the door shut behind her, she raced up the stairs, fleeing to the safety of her bedchamber.

Julia lay awake late into the night, long after the rest of the household slumbered. She held the scarab tightly in her hand, clutching at the reality of the cool stone because she very much feared that reality was slipping away from her.

Those few moments in the library with Marcus had seemed magical. Like a time out of time. For one brief instant, they had not been the Earl of Ellston and Anna Barclay’s daughter; they had just been a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company. Attracted to each other.

Or at least
she
had been attracted to
him
. She had felt like she could fall into the sea blue of his eyes and happily drown there.

Then cold reality had intruded, as it always did. They were not just a man and a woman who could meet and talk and flirt and perhaps hope for an understanding. He was the same man who had left home rather than accept her mother into it. She was still the daughter of that actress.

Marcus was not a bad man; she knew that. He was remorseful now for his behavior toward his father. He wanted to do right by her, even if he was not certain what that right could be. She had even been tempted to confide in him that evening, when they had seemed so close in the firelight, to tell him about Abelard and the others, to ask for his help.

Fortunately, she had not been so foolish. Marcus was kind now, but she could not know how far that kindness would reach. He was still an earl, with certain lofty standards to uphold—at least in his own mind. One day he would bring a wife to Rosemount, probably someone like Lady Angela Fleming. He would have little patience with Julia then.

Julia sighed and rolled over onto her side, still clutching the scarab. It was a full moon tonight; the great silvery wash of it fell from her uncurtained window, across the floor. That was probably what was causing these restless thoughts tonight.

For one second, looking at Marcus across his Egyptian statue, she had had the giddy sense that everything was changing between them. In reality,
nothing
had changed at all, except that suddenly her life was far more complicated.

She seemed to be falling in love with Marcus.

“No!” she muttered aloud. “It is not love. It is only moon madness. No one falls in love in two days.”

And only the greatest of fools would choose this moment, and this man, to fall in love with. Julia had never considered herself a fool.

She just needed to sleep. After a good night’s sleep, everything would be clear again. The light of day would clear away these moon dreams.

The only solution would be to stay away from Marcus as much as possible, to stop these wild feelings before they became painful or dangerous.

She turned her face into the pillow and closed her eyes tightly.

“Ping!”

A sharp, tinny sound echoed across the room. Julia lifted her head and looked around. There was nothing in the room; not even a mouse scurried across the floor.

So now she was hearing things, as well. Julia laid her head back down with a sigh.

“Ping!”

She did
not
imagine that! Julia threw back the bedclothes and climbed out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown. It sounded like someone was trying to break her window by flinging little pebbles at it.

She opened the casement and peered outside. If this was Mary or Daphne come to draw her into some mischief again . . .

It was not Mary or Daphne, or John or Ned, or any of the actors. It was Marcus, standing below her window bathed in the glow of moonlight. His arm was held back, ready to toss another pebble. At the sight of her, he dropped his arm and smiled up at her sheepishly.

Her heart gave an unwilling little leap at the sight of him there.

“Hello, Julia,” he said. “I hope I did not wake you.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered loudly. “Do you want to wake the whole house?” Then she frowned suspiciously. “Are you foxed?”

“Of course I am not foxed,” he answered indignantly. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk? About what?”

Truth to tell, Marcus was not at all sure what it had been he wanted to talk to her about. It had just seemed urgent that he
did
talk to her.

Well, it had seemed urgent when he was sitting alone in the library, anyway.

He did not like the way they had left things. It had seemed like a new understanding was growing between them. When he looked into Julia’s eyes, he had felt he could tell her anything, confide anything in her, and she would understand.

It was a warm, comfortable feeling, even when mixed with the less comfortable sensations of his desire for her, of his nearly overwhelming need to kiss her.

Then the wariness had crept back into her eyes, and she had withdrawn from him.

He understood, of course. Their situation was so odd, so strained. She was right to be uncertain; God knew he was.

But it had pained him, nonetheless. He had wanted to talk to her some more, to restore that comfortable, exciting feeling between them. His life had been so devoid of comfort; he found it to be quite addictive.

Julia
was quite addictive.

Marcus rubbed a rueful hand along his jaw. Perhaps he
was
a bit foxed, though he had not really had that much brandy to drink. It would explain why he was behaving in such a wildly uncharacteristic way.

He had never before even vaguely considered going to a woman’s window and throwing pebbles at it.

Yet there he was, looking up at Julia in the moonlight.

She looked so lovely, so otherworldly. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders in its cascade of curls. Her white nightdress glistened almost silver. She could have been in truth the angel he had first imagined her.

Except that angels didn’t frown.

“I only wanted to say that I am sorry I made you run away from the library so suddenly,” he called to her. “I do always seem to be saying the wrong things to you.”

Her frown eased. “You did not say the wrong thing, Marcus, or make me run away. It was simply growing late; it was time for me to retire.”

“Then you are not angry with me?”

She shook her head. “How could I be angry with you, when you gave me such a lovely gift as the scarab?”

He smiled in relief. “Good. Excellent.”

“So, is that all you wanted? To say you’re sorry?”

No, that was
not
all he wanted. He wanted so much more from her; to kiss her, and touch the wild fall of her hair, to hold her close. But he could never tell her that. It seemed that all his new tangle of emotions from this strange night would have to stay locked up inside him.

“Yes,” he answered. “That was all I wanted.”

“Well, you could have told me that in the morning,” she said, her voice full of laughter.

“Did I wake you, Julia?”