Edith Layton (12 page)

She was too flustered to see the joke. “It’s that, of
course, too. But I’m not the sort who lets that matter—or at least I didn’t used to be.” She stopped fussing with her gown. Now she began to straighten her hair. “I don’t want a babe out of wedlock, it would ruin my parents as well as me. To say nothing of the poor child. And don’t say you’d marry me, because that’s a poor reason for a marriage, though I know it’s a common one.”

Her arms were raised as she pulled her hair back, and he saw how that made her breasts rise against the fabric of her gown. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his own hair to smooth it.

“I don’t understand,” he said, with honesty. “Where is the objection? I’d make sure there was no babe. There are ways, you know, and if you don’t, I do. So, no one would know. What’s wrong with that?”

He knew she’d say no, knew a discussion never seduced a woman, but was fascinated by her reasoning. She’d been all fire in his arms, he’d tasted her surrender on her lips, and then she suddenly rejected him. That had never happened before. He knew a woman’s willingness too well to mistake it. And he’d thought he knew her. Were the women in England really so puritanical? Or was it only the unmarried ones? Then they truly were like none he’d ever met. But then he remembered the only women he had met in his scrambled life: the convicts, whores, sporting ladies, and began to realize how badly he might have erred. He wanted her badly, but never wanted or expected her to be hurt by his desire.

“What’s wrong with that?” she echoed, lowering her arms and staring at him. “Oh, my. We come from
different worlds, all right. I couldn’t. Or rather, I suppose I could, but I shouldn’t, and I always do what I should. It makes life easier. Because don’t forget,
I’d
know. And I have to live with myself after you’re gone—one way or the other.” There were better arguments about morality she could cite, but looking at his grave, handsome face made them seem inadequate.

But it seemed to settle the matter for him.

“Yes,” he said. “So.” And then he was the calm, cool man she’d first met again. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“Oh no,” she exclaimed. “It was my fault as much as yours. I’d just like you to forget it.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I hope you won’t either. But no one else will know. Thank you for the warning, Julianne. I do apologize for doubting your reasons for giving one to me. But I’m staying here. I’m not afraid of the baronet or what he might prove. In fact, I hope he does find something. It may help me. I’ve come to claim Egremont and to hold it. But I’ve also come back to find out why my father and I were falsely accused and sent away. I’m staying to do both those things, and more,” he added, with a warm smile for her.

“Be careful…If you were arrested, I couldn’t bear it,” she blurted. “I’d grieve, I would. It goes beyond the effect you have on me, which is obvious, and which embarrasses me. I’d protect you for my brother’s sake, if nothing else. And if you aren’t really Christian—well, at least I warned you that they might know it. We can still be friends, I hope. It’s just that I won’t meet you alone again.”

She turned on her heel to go to her horse, then looked back at him. “I have to tell you that those kisses only showed my feelings, not my mind,” she added. “I still don’t know who you are. But one thing I do know, I don’t want to see you come to harm.”

He took her hand. “I won’t ask you to trust me. I have to earn that. But don’t worry about me either—although, you know? It’s very good to have someone doing that—aside from myself.”

She gave him a wavering smile, and he stood looking at her. Then he let go of her hand.

“Look at the light!” he exclaimed. “Back you go, then.” He made a cradle of his hands to help her mount her horse again. Once she was up and settled in the saddle, he handed her the reins. “Go home. If they notice you’ve been gone, tell them you couldn’t resist the fine morning,” he advised her. “I’ll see you at luncheon. I know you won’t be able to say a private word to me, but don’t worry, I’ll content myself with guessing what they would be if you could.”

She hesitated. “Don’t imagine too much,” she said.

His smile was wide and winning.

“And don’t think about those kisses, please,” she begged him. “Because if you do, I’ll know, and I’ll blush. And then they’ll know; and
then
my word will be good for nothing, and I might as well leave this place and go home right now.”

“I’ll think about what I will, ma’am,” he said. “But don’t worry, I never show what I’m thinking unless I want to.”

She frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said.
She kicked the horse into a gallop and rode off into the awakening day.

He stared after her, aching with unfulfilled desire, sorry he’d let her go, though he knew he’d had to. He could have detained her in spite of her objections. He knew women well enough to be sure of that. Whatever he was or was not, he was a good lover, and experienced enough to know she had no experience. He’d have known when she was at the end of that long slope he’d been pushing her toward, and by the time she knew, he’d have had her over the edge and plunging toward ecstasy. There was no bed, there was nothing but the grass, or the wall of the inn, but that was better than he’d often had to deal with, and that would have been fine. Though he was sure she didn’t know that either.

A few more minutes in his arms, and it would have been too late for her, and he supposed, for himself. So he’d let her go.

He could have eased himself, and given her something fine to remember. He knew he was a good lover, that wasn’t just vanity. He’d been taught by the best. The women he’d known may have started out in life being as virtuous as Julianne, but they’d had to trade every item of virtue they’d possessed in order to survive. So when at their leisure, they felt it was their due to take their pleasure, and so they’d told him—especially when they’d showed him what their pleasure was.

It had always been a mutually beneficial arrangement. He’d never loved, but always loved the pleasure
he could share with women. He hadn’t lied to Julianne. The world he came from didn’t see virginity as a thing to treasure, maybe because, he realized now, they didn’t see virginity that much at all. Instead, it was a thing to barter, because sex was a thing either to make money or take comfort from. He could see that it might be a way to show love as well as passion; he even wished that was something he’d done in his time. But as he hadn’t loved, it was a moot point. Sex itself had always been good enough for him.

Even so, he hadn’t really wanted to take Miss Julianne Lowell tonight, though he needed to and could see that though she didn’t know it, she’d wanted him to. Because he’d realized it would trouble her, at least, later. And it just might be that he really cared for her. More than that, it was entirely possible, he thought, that he might have found love, at last.

And so he knew too well that actually making love wouldn’t be good for either of them right now, or maybe, ever.

“S
uch excellent food,” Christian told his guests when the innkeeper had closed the door to the private dining room, “but no one seems to be hungry. I think I should try to clear the air and restore your appetites. Item one: I know my cousin Maurice has arrived. I received a note from him this morning,” he added, glancing casually around the table.

Julianne breathed a silent sigh of relief. Her tension eased, but she didn’t dare meet Christian’s eyes. Since she’d arrived at the White Hart with her cousin and her cousin’s fiancé she’d been quiet as the maid who came with them. Christian had greeted Sophie and Hammond calmly and blandly ordered more food and chairs, as though he thought they were there to chaperone her and he didn’t know they were only trying to learn more about him.

Julianne felt the shoe was on the other foot; she was terrified they might guess how she felt about Christian if she so much as looked his way. She was sure she couldn’t keep the memory of his kisses from
her eyes. So she studied her plate and listened closely.

Christian went on. “Item two: I’ve been invited to Egremont tomorrow to meet Sir Maurice. He tells me he’s an expert on antiquities, and feels honor-bound to show and explain the treasures of Egremont to the prospective heir, so that nothing of value gets overlooked or ignored in the transfer of the estate. It’s very kind of him to go to such trouble for me.”

“It’s not just for you,” Sophie snapped. “He wants Hammond to know what’s valuable and what’s not, too.”

“He’s really doing it for the sake of the estate,” Hammond explained. “He’s very proud of the family name and heritage.”

“I never said otherwise,” Christian said smoothly. “He also invites me to tea after the tour. Now that puzzles me. I was denied access to anything at Egremont, so I assumed everyone else was, too.”

“Oh, true, true,” Hammond said immediately. “I wasn’t allowed to do anything but take measurements. We were only there to meet you when you arrived because your note said that’s where you were going.”

Christian frowned. “So you’ve said. But now, here’s Sir Maurice, not even next in line, a mere baronet, and he’s able to open the house and order the servants, and even have company for tea? How can that be?”

“Well, I suppose the staff is glad of a chance to do something,” Hammond said, shifting in his chair, looking vaguely hunted. “They must be dead bored with so much inactivity since their master died.”

“Oh yes,” Christian agreed, “servants hate having all their days off with nothing to do but make themselves comfortable.” He glanced at the maid, who now wore a studiously blank expression.

“I think it’s because it’s so hard to ignore his wishes,” Julianne quietly said. “Sir Maurice has such an air of command.”

“Fiddle,” Sophie said, “it’s because they
know
Sir Maurice. He used to visit the earl often in the old days. And he said there were treasures he wanted to show us, things he was afraid the new owner might pass by because they didn’t look valuable to the untrained eye. So, of course, it would look shady if the staff didn’t let him in.”

“Really?” Christian asked. “And how does he know my eyes are untrained? We’ve never met.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t think you’re going to
be
the new owner,” Sophie said triumphantly.

Hammond winced. Julianne bit her lip.

But Christian laughed. “That’s the daisy! That’s showing me. But what will you do if I am?” He leaned forward, not smiling now. “Look, Miss Wiley, let’s have some plain speaking. I’m tired of this nipping and pinching. I never meant to upset your applecart. I don’t bear you and Hammond any ill will. But I am who I am, and I’ll be damned if I’ll go away because it doesn’t suit you. I’m here, and here I’ll stay, and I’ll prove my right to do it. So you should accept it because you’ll only make yourself unhappier if you don’t.

“I’ll prove my father’s innocence as well as my own,” he went on. “And I will be the master of Egre
mont. I know I have enemies, that’s why my father and I were imprisoned. But I also know Hammond was too young to have been one, and so were you. Besides, you had no reason to hate me until I snatched Egremont from you. And so I also tell you I’d like to be a friend as well as a neighbor. But that’s entirely up to you.”

He sat back. “You really should try the fricassee, it’s the best thing the landlord has done.”

He hadn’t raised his voice once, but he’d spoken in such a voice of command that even Sophie fell still. Julianne sat openly staring at him. She was enormously proud of him, and yet curiously found herself a little frightened of him as well—until he turned his head a fraction and dropped an eyelid in a wink at her.

And then she was only worried again.

They were all assembled in the great hall at Egremont the next afternoon, waiting for the man who called himself Christian Sauvage to join them. Even the squire and his wife had asked to come along on the tour Sir Maurice was going to give Christian and Hammond.

Julianne stood with her hands knotted together, just the way her stomach felt. Because she didn’t know how Sir Maurice would greet Christian. He hadn’t said a word about him last night at dinner although his thin face was eloquent whenever Christian’s name had been brought up. Then it had been a study in contempt. Now, at last, they’d be meeting face-to-face. Julianne doubted that Christian would be anything but cool and charming to the older man, as he was to
everyone he met. But she didn’t know Sir Maurice. She didn’t think she could bear it if the old gentleman was rude or cruel to Christian, and didn’t know what she’d do if he was.

It was one thing to have been a spy for her cousins before she’d met Christian. It was quite another now. He might be an imposter; she still hadn’t made up her mind about that. He might also be a seducer, but she’d already spent the day chastising herself for her part in that. But she was sure that, whatever the man who would be earl of Egremont was, he was also a man who had suffered greatly. And, she admitted sadly, she was rapidly losing her heart to him, much good it did her.

Julianne had worked it out during her ride back to the squire’s house at dawn. She’d been weary, yet exhilarated in that febrile way that weariness begets. She realized she wasn’t reasoning perfectly. Lack of sleep didn’t encourage rational thinking, but sometimes it helped a person leap over barriers. Her part in all this business finally made sense to her. It didn’t make her happy, but it made sense.

If Christian Sauvage were really the boy she’d known, it would be wonderful. It would mean he carried the living memory of her brother in his heart and mind. But even if it were true, it wasn’t likely he’d carry more than that of her in his heart or mind.

His heart and mind was one thing, Christian’s body was another story—a more adult one. Julianne repressed a shiver, just thinking about it. But there was no sense in thinking about it. If he really was an earl, he couldn’t offer her much more than that lean body,
and probably a lot less. A rich, titled gentleman would look much higher for his bride. As well he should, and she knew it. So she couldn’t take so much as another one of those wondrous kisses.

A fine thing if she made love to him! It wasn’t so much the loss of her maidenhead that troubled her, although she was practical enough to see the dangers in that. It was that she knew the loss of her heart would be even worse. She reasoned that if she’d suffered so long from the loss of her brother, she’d probably exile her heart much longer if she lost a true lover. And she’d be little more than a slut if she gave herself to any other, even if he was the man she eventually married.

Christian the imposter could offer her pleasure, but there was no future in that, even if he did marry her. He’d either come to an end at the end of a rope or fly the scene one night while she lay sleeping. Even if he were faithful to her and escaped punishment, making love to such a man would be like running off with the Gypsy Davy, like in the old song. She didn’t want to end up sleeping in haystacks, an outcast and a rover, the way that poor lady had.

It wasn’t likely. Even if he asked her to flee with him, and she didn’t expect that he would, she wouldn’t go. Because that would mean he was a liar. She’d almost given her body, and that shocked her; but she wouldn’t give her life to a liar.

So that was that. But she couldn’t help being spellbound; it was like being part of an enthralling play. She had to know how it all turned out.

Now she waited for Christian to arrive so the second act could begin.

The great hall at Egremont was filled with light that shone in through the high windows above the twin staircases, so the expressions on every face of the waiting players could be seen with pitiless clarity. Sophie, a vision in a primrose gown, had an expression that reminded Julianne of a spoiled child at a sweet shop, one of smug, expectant greed. Hammond was dressed for a day in the country; but though his clothing looked comfortable, he didn’t look as though he felt that way. The squire looked uneasy, too; his wife’s expression was strained. Sir Maurice, dry and proper as a vicar at a wake in his neat black-and-gray attire, wore no discernable expression. He just kept looking at the big gold watch he held in his thin, long hand.

When the tall clock in the hall began pounding out the hours, the old gentleman closed his watchcase with a snap. “They teach prayers and handicrafts in the better prisons,” he commented dryly, “but I see they don’t teach promptness there.”

Julianne frowned.

The baronet saw it. “Punctuality is a gentleman’s trait,” he explained. “I doubt even a man sent to the antipodes for his crimes would forget such a basic tenet of good breeding. Further proof of what I suspect, my dear. Because those of our class are taught from childhood that when one is expected at a certain hour, the least one can do…”

They heard the great front door swing open. “Good morning,” Christian’s voice rang out, even as the last chime of the clock faded away.

He gave his coat to a footman and came into the
hall where they were waiting. Julianne’s pulses picked up at the sight of him. He was dashing in a dark brown jacket over a mustard-and-gold-patterned waistcoat. His neckcloth was tied casually but correctly, his breeches were dun, his polished boots, brown with small gold tassels. He wore no other ornaments. But his eyes were luminous as any gemstones and blazed with dancing light as he looked at her, then at each of them, and bowed.

“I give you good morning,” he said, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long. My horse wasn’t saddled as I’d requested, and that ate up a few crucial minutes.”

He didn’t introduce himself to the baronet, but looked straight at him with interest. The baronet gazed back at him with no expression. They were like a pair of cats, Julianne thought uneasily, staring each other down before they decided when to pull each other’s fur off. And then she realized how alike they were in their silent appraisals of each other, and her mood lifted. They might be jockeying for position; but in poise, at least, Christian was showing he was the baronet’s equal.

No one else in the party spoke. As the silence dragged on and threatened to become embarrassing, Julianne remembered her role as a minor player in his drama. That gave her the courage to speak up. “Sir Maurice,” she said, breaking the silence, “may I present Christian Sauvage?”

The baronet inclined his head.

“Sir,” Christian said, bowing. “Though we’re related, we’ve never met.”

“
If
we are related,” the baronet corrected him. “But yes, in any case, that is true.”

Christian’s calm expression didn’t change. “You did meet my father, though,” he said pleasantly. “He mentioned it to me once, when he was telling me about all the family members who didn’t answer his letters asking for help.”

The baronet raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Geoffrey Sauvage did write to me. And I did investigate the charges against him and his son. They seemed valid. So I did nothing to help him. My poor cousin the earl did, however, and it is his house and treasures that I feel honor-bound to explore with the heir this morning. There’s much of value here, as I’m very sure you know. I have an obligation to the family, and that’s why I suggested this tour. I would add that the staff has been apprised of all these pieces I will show you, and they have been and will be well guarded. Well,” he said, turning to the others. “Shall we begin?”

Neatly done on both sides,
Julianne thought. She was relieved that their ill feelings were so politely expressed. She took a deep breath and followed the baronet as he led their little group out of the hall and into the great house.

“Many would pass this up,” the baronet went on, holding up a small brown-and-yellow vase, “but it’s worth more than the oil painting that hangs above it. Note the glaze. Very similar to the urn I showed you in the long gallery, remember?”

He looked at Julianne.

“Yes, it is, very,” she lied, because she didn’t remember the urn he was talking about.

It pleased him. He smiled, and carefully placed the
vase back on the table. “Now, if we proceed to the blue drawing room that adjoins the Queen’s chamber, I think you’ll find the hangings there of interest.”

“But isn’t that a Van Dyck hanging above the vase?” Christian asked.

Sir Maurice paused. Christian stood next to Julianne, and it was she whom the baronet looked at as he answered.

“It is a Van Dyck,” the baronet said curtly, “but a very inferior one. The vase is some three hundred years older, and in this case, age is superior to youth. Especially if youth is imperfect and the article of antiquity is rare and fine.” He smiled at Julianne, and added, “Now, shall we go on to the Queen’s chamber?”

Julianne nodded. But she no longer knew what he was asking her to admire. It was, she thought as they followed in the baronet’s wake, like having to smell too many perfumes. She couldn’t tell the difference between them anymore. She didn’t think she was uneducated, but she felt like a savage dragged in from the wilderness to look at and praise Edgemont’s treasures. She’d seen so many riches, heard so many new terms used, been shown so many things like marble therms and pedimented doorcases and Venetian windows, that she was dizzy.