Loving Julia (39 page)

But Emily, who swore eternal secrecy, clambered back into the hackney with the news that the stuffy butler had informed her that Oliver was not at home. Nonplussed, Julia thought for a moment, then scribbled another note asking Oliver to call on her without delay. She had Emily deliver that to the disapproving butler, then shrugged fatalistically. If Oliver did not receive her message in time to call on her before the rout, she would just have to tell him when she saw him there. It would be awkward, but not as awkward as it would have been if Sebastian were in the habit of attending parties. Surely she could manage a moment or two alone with Oliver; it was his own fault if she had to give him such news at a party. She had tried her best to do the honorable thing, but she was not prepared to risk any more.

Accordingly she had the hackney return to Bond Street, and resolved to put the niggling little worry that was Oliver out of her mind. After all, breaking such a private engagement was a relatively minor thing. She would simply tell him that she had changed her mind. Oliver, being the gentleman that he was, would take his congÉ with good grace. He would not fly into a rage as Sebastian might under the circumstances…. Sebastian. The dazzlingly handsome face rose in her mind’s eye, and she smiled. She was going to marry Sebastian. It seemed impossible, but it was true. Every time she thought of herself as his wife the day took on a rosy glow. So she banished Oliver from her mind for the time being, and concentrated on her shopping. It was almost six o’clock before they finished and returned home.

As luck would have it, she was almost upstairs, with Emily and a footman behind her carrying her purchases, when she came face to face with the dowager countess, who was on her way down. Julia hesitated, and the older woman, immaculately turned out as always, fixed her with a look that would have frozen a steaming cup of coffee in an instant.

Julia lifted her chin despite the craven pitching of her stomach, and said good evening in a cool but perfectly civil voice. The countess did not even bother to respond. She swept on down the stairs as if Julia didn’t exist, leaving only the memory of her eyes that were so like Sebastian’s glowing with hatred to follow Julia as she continued on up the stairs.

XXXII

Julia was of two minds about attending the rout. If Sebastian wasn’t going to be there, and she seriously doubted that he would be, she didn’t care to attend either. But it would give her a chance to talk to Oliver, and to face down those of the ton who might question her disappearance from Lady Jersey’s ball.

Besides that, it would take her mind off Sebastian’s whereabouts. According to Emily, whom she had sent down to inquire, he had not yet returned from whatever business it was that had taken him off so early that morning. The thought had occurred to Julia that he might once again have taken fright at the prospect of too much emotional intimacy and bolted, but she was able to dismiss that idea with scarcely a qualm. Last night she had sensed that he had stopped running from her at last. No, he was simply late. Rather than sitting around thinking about him she would be better occupied attending the party and tying up the few loose ends left in her life.

The dress she chose for the evening—actually Emily chose it, but Julia agreed it was a good choice—was of garnet red silk trimmed with yards of silver lace. The ruched bodice was fitted with a heart shaped neckline and a waistline that dropped slightly below her natural waist to end at a point just above her navel. The sleeves were puffed and cut short at the elbow, where they ended in points of silver lace. The skirt was shirred and full, but caught in just above the hem with a banding of silver lace so that its silhouette was narrow. Around her neck she wore a silver ribbon to which her cameo was pinned. Her hair was arranged in a twist high at the back of her head from which two long curls—the product of curling tongs and much coaxing on the part of Emily—descended to trail over one white shoulder. Looking at herself in the mirror, Julia was more than satisfied. She looked lovely, she thought, but, even more important, she looked every inch the lady. In appearance at least, she would not disgrace Sebastian.

She was late going downstairs, so most of the guests were already assembled. Still Caroline and the dowager countess stood by the door to the drawing room, receiving latecomers, and Julia had perforce to join them.

Caroline gave her a smile that was only faintly reproachful because of her lateness, but the dowager countess’ look could have chilled hell itself. But a false smile was pasted on her lips only seconds later as she replied to a crony’s teasing remark.

Most of the arriving guests were too well-bred to reveal if they were avidly curious about Julia’s abrupt departure from Lady Jersey’s ball, although as she shook hands and made polite remarks she was aware of a few speculative looks passed over her person. But she held her head high and acted as if she were totally unaware that there might even be grounds for speculation. She congratulated herself on a job well done when finally she was released from the line without so much as a single impertinent question being asked.

Caroline, in an aside, informed her that only Lady Carruthers had displayed enough ill-bred curiosity to actually ask about what everyone must secretly want to know, so Caroline had told her what they had agreed. No doubt it was already spreading around the room like wildfire, so if Julia just behaved as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had occurred they should brush through the evening tolerably well. Just as long as Sebastian didn’t make another impromptu appearance to spirit her off. Julia smiled at this, secretly rather wishing he would, and was still smiling when Mr. Rathburn came up to her.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stratham. You’re looking as lovely as the rose that dress makes you resemble.”

“Why, thank you very much, Mr. Rathburn. But I fear you flatter me.”

“That would be impossible,” he replied gallantly, offering her his arm. “May I take you to the refreshment tables?”

“You may, sir.” Julia smiled, placing her hand on his arm and walking with him toward where the long tables were set up in the dining rooms. “I am ashamed to admit it, but I am famished.”

“I, too,” he murmured, but from where his eyes rested it was obvious that he was not referring to food.

Julia appeared oblivious to his meaning, but she did not like it. As the evening went on, she liked what was happening even less. It became increasingly obvious that there had been a subtle but telling change in the attitudes of the gentlemen toward herself. Where before they were as respectful as a maiden aunt could have wished, now their remarks were occasionally just a shade too personal, their compliments too fulsome, their eyes too bold. In short, they treated her very much as if she were well on her way to becoming haymarket ware. Julia, deeply ashamed and even more deeply offended, still did her best to ignore all but the worst offenders. The best way to scotch such behavior, she reasoned, was to treat it as if it didn’t exist.

The ladies were a little better, but not much. None turned a condemning shoulder to her or cut her acquaintance outright, but some, particularly the very old ladies and a few of the very attractive young matrons, were noticeably cool. Julia could understand the elders, and she tried to redeem herself in their eyes by behaving with the utmost propriety. But the young matrons had her in something of a puzzle until she overheard an exchange that enlightened her.

“You know they say he murdered his wife.” The speaker was Lady Westland, a full figured brunette of perhaps thirty or thereabouts attired in a demi-robe of peach brocade.

“I don’t care if he murdered three wives,” replied the Honorable Mrs. Mayhew, a willowy redhead who was perhaps a little younger than her friend. “He is simply gorgeous! I could have died when he walked into Lady Jersey’s house like that, without so much as a by-your-leave, and waltzed out with that Stratham chit. It was so romantic! Why does nothing like that ever happen to
me
?”

“You may thank your lucky stars that it doesn’t. Would you like to end up like poor Elizabeth Tynesdale?”

Mrs. Mayhew made a charming pout. “Pooh! I never said I wanted to
marry
him, did I? And I very much doubt that marriage is what he has in mind with his little—what is she, his cousin? A brief affaire is more his style, I’m sure. And mine, as well.”

Lady Westland crowed with laughter, and smacked her friend sharply on the arm with a fan. “Naughty, Irena! What would dear Wesley say?”

“Why, nothing, for he will never hear of it, Besides. Wesley is boring. Did I tell you that he …”

Julia didn’t hear any more because the two ladies moved on. She had been sipping a glass of ratafia, waiting for Mr. Rathburn to return to her from replenishing his plate at the buffet. They were to go together to watch the whist players in the card room

Caroline had set up. A potted palm had shielded her from the speakers’ view during this exchange, but she had heard every word perfectly and it enlightened her considerably. Of course, a number of the younger women envied her! Naturally Sebastian was not a prime catch on the marriage mart; the suspicion that he had murdered his wife and his subsequent semi-ostracism from society was enough to ensure that, but as a lover … These correct ladies wanted her man in their beds, and the knowledge both pleased and annoyed Julia. It was fine as long as they kept their claws to themselves and Sebastian kept himself out of their way. But if he were to succumb to one of the ladies’ lures, it would be quite a different story. Julia was surprised to find that the very thought had caused her hands to clench around the cup she held. It was enlightening to discover that she could be just as fiercely possessive as Sebastian.

“There you are!”

The voice was Oliver’s, and Julia jumped like she had been shot. Ratafia splashed all down the front of her dress, and she let out a dismayed exclamation. The dark red silk was absorbing the stain without too much damage, but still she set the cup down on a nearby table and dabbed at the wet spot with her napkin before looking up at Oliver, who was standing over her with a glower. He was very late; she had almost begun to believe he was not coming.

“I want to talk to you, Julia. In private.” He looked very stern, his eyes hard, his mouth implacably set. His arms were folded across his chest, for all the world as if he were a schoolmaster and she a small boy to be chastized.

“I want to talk to you, too, Oliver, but please keep your voice down. There is no need to make the entire room aware of our personal affairs.”

“Affaire is the word for it, isn’t it?” he said bitterly. “For your relationship with Moorland, I mean. Or are you going to deny it?

I heard from three separate sources that he was seen kissing you on the Jerseys’ terrace. After that disgraceful display in the ballroom!”

Julia sighed. This was going to be worse than she had expected. The civilized gentleman that Oliver had always appeared to her to be had vanished with his anger. Ordinarily she would have grown angry with him in turn, but this time she felt she deserved every insult he could fling at her head. She had played him false, in a way, by leading him to believe that she could marry him when her heart had long been irretrievably lost to Sebastian.

“If you are going to rake me down, Oliver—and I concede you some right to do so!—at least have the decency to do it in private. Come with me to the study, if you please.”

Oliver clamped his lips together and bowed, obviously too angry to trust himself to speak.

Aware of the nudges and avid stares that were turning in their direction, Julia smiled at him for the sake of appearances. When he did not offer his arm she walked beside him, silently directing him to Sebastian’s private sanctum, which was the only room on the lower two levels left undisturbed by the party. When Julia indicated the entrance, Oliver stood back to let her precede him inside, then closed the door after him.

His eyes were hard as agates as he leaned back against the closed door and surveyed her as though she were a particularly distasteful bit of trash he had found in his path. Julia did not enjoy being looked at in such a fashion, and her chin came up. But after all, she reminded herself, he did have a right to be angry, so she resigned herself to enduring a blistering condemnation of her character and morals for a quarter of an hour before she sent him on his way.

“You owe me an explanation, I believe,” he said furiously after a long moment. “Am I right in believing that you are having an affaire with Moorland? Did he force you to it at last? If he did, I’ll—”

“Sebastian has asked me to marry him,” Julia interposed quietly, her hands clasped in front of her as she broke the news to Oliver in the least painful way she knew. “And I have said that I will do so.”

Oliver stared at her, a deep red slowly rising over his throat to mottle his face. “You certainly have a knack for collecting proposals, don’t you? This time last evening, you were engaged to be married to me. Or at least so I thought. What made you choose Moorland, I wonder? I’m by far the better catch, you know. I’m a wealthier man than he, and Moorland isn’t even received. And I’ve certainly never been suspected of murdering my wife. Or is that it? Do you like violence in a man? Have I been too gentle with you? I assure you, I’m not so gentle in bed!”

“I’m so sorry, Oliver, I …” Julia began, ignoring this furious speech in favor of placating him, only to be interrupted by a snarl.

“Sorry! You’re
sorry
. By God, I’ll make you sorry! No one makes a fool of me!”

He was across the room before Julia was even aware that he had moved, catching her in a cruel grip and dragging her into an embrace. His mouth came down to catch her lips, and his hands were roving over her in an intimate way that made her want to squirm with distaste. But he was strong, and he held her in such a way that she couldn’t move. His tongue entered her mouth, and she considered for an instant clamping her teeth down on it, but this was Oliver after all, and she had wronged him already. But then he picked her clear up off her feet and carried her to the tufted settee that sat on the opposite end of the room from Sebastian’s desk. Depositing her on it, he threw himself down beside her, imprisoning her with the weight of his upper body while he knelt on the floor at her side.