Dangerous to Love (42 page)

Hearing his disgruntled tone, Loukas said, “Just look at it this way, my boy. By staying out of the public eye this last sennight, you have given your poor bruised face a chance to return to its former beauty.”

Julian worked his jaw.

“Is it still tender?” asked Loukas in a commiserating tone.

“A trifle,” admitted Julian.

Loukas beamed. “I think I am ready for that breakfast you promised me. Oh, and don’t stint yourself on account of your sore jaw. I have enough appetite for the two of us.”

“You are too kind,” said Julian.

T
he Wards,
en famille,
with Mr. Hadley in tow, were among the last of Lady Kirkland’s guests to arrive at Bagley. There was just enough time for a hasty toilette before they were summoned to the great salon where the guests were assembling before going into dinner.

Serena was tense the moment she joined her family to begin the long descent of the cantilevered staircase. She knew, of course, that Julian would be there accompanied undoubtedly by Lady Amelia, just as he knew that she would be there with Mr. Hadley making up one of their party. It was all part of an elaborate charade concocted by Julian and Jeremy to scotch the rumors over that horrid fiasco at Ranelagh.

Under the interested eye of polite society, the principals in the affair were to meet as affable though distant acquaintances, and generally conduct themselves like the well-bred ladies and gentlemen that they were. Then her spotless reputation would be reestablished. That was the whole point of the exercise, according to Jeremy.

It was a worthy ambition, she supposed, only it wasn’t her ambition. She was here because Julian Raynor—damn him!—had suddenly turned skittish on her. And elusive. No, not elusive, precisely.
Truant
was the word she wanted. It was as though he were deliberately avoiding her. Since that night in his gaming house, he had not come near her. He really was the most perverse specimen of masculinity ever to have fallen in her way, and that was saying something. And now, she was reduced to chasing
him down so that she could tell him that the way was clear to announce their marriage.

He had won. She was willing to admit it. Let him publish the nuptials. She wanted the whole world, including Lady Amelia Lawrence,
especially
Lady Amelia, to know about it. She was Mrs. Julian Raynor, and had her precious certificate of marriage to prove it. It’s what he said he wanted. So why the devil had he taken himself off this last week, without giving anyone his direction?

She had not come to her decision without a great deal of soul-searching. Julian wasn’t the sort of man she had ever thought to marry. She had wanted someone nice and civilized. Julian was too wild, too reckless, too .  .  . What it came down to was he wasn’t the sort of man a woman could manage very easily. But she was willing to give it a try. She couldn’t say fairer than that.

Good Lord! Who was she trying to convince? She didn’t want to manage him, no more than she wanted
him
to manage
her.
She wanted to make a home with him, mate with him, bear his children, be with him. When she was with him she felt more alive, more herself than she had ever felt in her life. Julian had fostered these feelings in her, and he had done it deliberately. She was in love with him and she believed, hoped, that he loved her too.

She wasn’t afraid that history was repeating itself. Her feelings for Captain Allardyce had been based on a sham. Aliardyce had flattered her, pandered to her vanity, skillfully manipulated her until he had her just where he wanted her. And all the time it was her dowry he had coveted.

Julian wasn’t like Allardyce. He had nothing to gain by allowing their Fleet marriage to stand. He could look much higher for a wife. He was the one with the fortune. He was the one whose star was rising. Marriage to her
brought him nothing but her own person. He must love her. Nothing else made sense.

When they reached the doors to the great salon, Jeremy cast a glance over the members of the Ward party. “For God’s sake, smile!” he barked out, and everyone dutifully bared a set of pearly white porcelains the moment before their host and hostess came forward to receive them.

Lord Kirkland, as ever, hung back behind his wife’s skirts, and Serena remembered the great wit Horace Walpole remarking that while all the company was afraid of the countess, the earl was afraid of all the company. Serena made it a point to greet his lordship with as much warmth as she could muster, especially since she, too, was afraid of all the company.

Lady Kirkland, on the other hand, was in her element. If the Prince of Wales, himself, had deigned to put in an appearance, she could not have been more gratified. The flower of English nobility was represented here, as well as those fashionables accepted in polite society because of their own merits—wits, playwrights, and personages of some celebrity, such as Julian Raynor. Her house party, she knew, would be an event that would be long remembered.

Julian’s eyes fastened on Serena the moment she stepped into the salon, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to go to her and claim her openly as his wife. Never had she looked more beautiful to him. With her finely molded features and powdered blond ringlets caught back and entwined with a string of small seed pearls, she was the epitome of an English rose. By the prevailing standards, he supposed her gown was rather plain. In his view, the simple cream silk over moderate hoops made every woman present appear vulgarly ostentatious.

Breeding. Grace. Poise. As he watched her progress
toward him, with Lady Kirkland subtly edging Serena closer to the group which surrounded him, he felt the admiration swell in his chest. Serena must be aware of the avidly interested glances of the oh-so-casual bystanders. Yet she appeared sublimely unaware that everyone in that room was anticipating the moment when they would come face-to-face.

“The consummate actress,” whispered Lady Amelia at his elbow. Her eyes were trained on Serena.

Though the words conveyed a grudging respect, they launched Julian’s mind on an unpleasant course.
The consummate actress.
A muscle in his jaw clenched and his eyes went blank.

Serena was painfully aware of the suspense which seemed to charge the atmosphere. Though she tried to appear natural, she was sure everyone must know that her knees were knocking together, and that her ringers were clutched in a death grip around her fan. Only Jeremy remained by her side, like a faithful hound. The other members of their party, as was to be expected, had been waylaid by various acquaintances to become absorbed in the crush.

Bystanders fell back, opening up a path that led directly to Julian and Lady Amelia, and suddenly Serena came face-to-face with them.

“I believe, Lady Amelia,” said the countess in a voice that reminded Serena of melting treacle, “that you are acquainted with Miss Ward?”

Both ladies inclined their heads gravely while uttering the usual pleasantries.

Though Serena longed to look at Julian for reassurance, she could not tear her eyes from the woman at his side. Lady Amelia was an incomparable. There was no other way to describe her. She knew for a fact that the lady was
on the wrong side of thirty, yet her flawless, timeless beauty cast every woman there into the shade.

She braced herself for the familiar feelings of inferiority to sweep over her. They were there, but muted, and she was overcome with the oddest sensation, as though a ghost that had long haunted her had suddenly been exorcised. Even the woman’s perfume no longer irritated her.

But how was this? It came to her then that there was nothing to fuel a woman’s confidence so much as the knowledge that she was truly loved for her own self. If Julian had wanted Lady Amelia, he would have destroyed the proof of their marriage. He had chosen her, Serena, not because she had a dowry, not because she could ease his way in society, but because he preferred her. It was as simple as that.

And Lady Amelia knew that this time she had lost. Serena could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t a hostile expression. It was closer to perplexity, as if she were trying to fathom what Julian could possibly see in a girl with no claim to beauty or style.

With that thought, the tension drained out of Serena. “A long time ago,” she told Lady Kirkland, “Lady Amelia did me a very great service.” Her eyes met Lady Amelia’s. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for it?”

“What service?” asked Jeremy.

Lady Amelia smiled provocatively. “It was of no moment,” she murmured. “I merely removed a .  .  . a splinter that had become embedded in Miss Ward’s .  .  . em .  .  . thumb. I take it there were no lasting effects from the wound?”

“None whatsoever,” conceded Serena airily, and she turned her sparkling gaze upon Julian.

She could see at a glance that he was going to be difficult. His face was lean and hard and almost inscrutable. But Serena sensed the fierceness in him, and she wondered
if it was because the last time they’d been together, she’d had the presence of mind to go back for her marriage certificate. There had been nothing devious or cunning in her thinking. It was simply that she’d feared he might take it upon himself to consign it to the fire, believing that was what she wanted him to do. Of course, it was the last thing she had wanted, and so she would tell him the first chance she got.

A wave of tenderness washed over her. She was the guilty party here. She was the one who had provoked that daunting look by hesitating to commit herself to him, as was natural for any woman in her position. She would make him understand.

Though her words were bland, the melting look in her eyes weighted them with meaning. “Mr. Raynor .  .  . Julian .  .  . I wish I knew how to thank you for .  .  . for Ranelagh, and everything. Your kindness was .  .  . is .  .  . deeply appreciated.”

His words were equally bland, equally weighted with meaning. “Put it out of your mind, Miss Ward. I assure you, I have already done so.”

Serena was still mulling over this oblique dismissal when the stately butler rapped out a tattoo on the parquet floor with his gilded staff to announce that dinner was served.

As the guests began to idle their way toward the gallery which served as the dining room on formal occasions, Jeremy regarded Serena with an assessing eye. “What was all that about?” he asked.

Now was not the time to enlighten him, not when Julian was keeping her at arm’s length. She managed to look vague. “Beg pardon?”

“You and Raynor. Catherine thinks there may be something between you?”

Serena’s eyes were trailing Julian and Lady Amelia.
They made an extraordinarily handsome couple, as indeed one elderly gentleman remarked to his companion in Serena’s hearing.

She gave what she hoped was a convincing laugh. “Raynor and I? Are you serious, Jeremy?”

A slow grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He patted her gloved hand. “I knew I could count on your good sense,” he said.

   When they came to the man-made lake, Lady Amelia slowed her steps and gazed quizzically at Julian. “I must have been blind not to see it,” she said.

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Is it so obvious?”

She shook her head, sending her dark ringlets dancing. “Not to anyone who does not know you. I tell you, Julian, I feared I would be burned to a cinder in the current that passed between you, in there, when you and she came face-to-face.”

They both laughed, and Julian looked at her appreciatively. Amelia was a woman after his own heart. Not only was she the most beautiful and sensual woman of his acquaintance, but she was not jealous, nor was she vindictive.

He brought himself up short. Damn this game he was playing! He must suspect everyone, and play his part accordingly.

“You do realize,” said Lady Amelia, “that you will never have her without benefit of marriage?”

Julian pulled a long face. “It had occurred to me.” He was wondering what the devil Serena had done with their marriage certificate. But he would get to that later.

“I’m .  .  . surprised, to say the least,” said Lady Amelia.

“Surprised that a man of my station should reach so high as Serena Ward?”

By tacit consent, they had resumed their walk. Occasionally, they nodded to other strollers who, like themselves, had come out for a breath of fresh air in the interval between dinner and the ball that was to follow. From the corner of his eye, Julian spied his watchdogs—three gentlemen who had ostensibly left the house to enjoy a quiet smoke together.

“Your station?” She laughed. “Julian, these days you are considered a matrimonial prize. You are a man of property, are you not? You have friends in high places. Why, you are getting to be boringly respectable. No. What surprises me is that your interest should fix on someone like Miss Ward. I’ve always thought of her as a cold sort of girl.” She emitted a small laugh. “I suppose you will say I have only myself to blame for that.”

Julian halted, and catching her by the wrist, turned her to face him. Pale moonlight played across her features, sculpting bones and flesh into something of incredible beauty. Very quietly, he said, “What happened, Amelia? Didn’t you know she was in love with Allardyce?”