Loving Julia (6 page)

All this Jewel saw in the instant before she sat in the chair facing the desk. And it dazzled her into momentary speechlessness. So much care and warmth and comfort for one man. It was almost a crime.

“Now, please state your business.”

Jewel found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She fumbled in the beaded reticule at her wrist and produced her marriage lines, which she handed to him. He accepted the document as silently as she passed it over. Only the faintest wrinkling of his brow betrayed his feelings as he scanned the few lines that made her legally Mrs. Timothy Stratham. Then he looked up, his blue eyes colder than ever as they ran over her as if he were just now seeing her for the first time.

“If you will forgive me for saying so, you’re remarkably poorly dressed for an adventuress.”

Jewel blinked. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it was not this. “Wot?”

“My God, you even butcher the Queen’s English. And you are trying to convince me that my lately deceased cousin—who was many unpleasant things, but one hopes, not quite run mad!—married you?”

“If Timothy Stratham be yer cousin, then that’s right, ’e did.”

The earl was silent for a moment, the coldness deepening in his eyes. When finally he spoke, his voice was as chilling as his expression. “Tell me, what type of background breeds a vulture such as you, who would prey on the family of a young man not a week in his grave? You look rather young for that kind of game, so it stands to reason that someone has hired you. Come, admit it, and let’s have done with this farce. You might as well because you won’t get so much as a farthing out of me.”

“Timothy did ’ave a proper funeral, then?” Jewel’s voice was subdued. The idea of that sweet-faced young man lying in a cold dark grave was sobering, even in the light of the earl’s insults.

The earl’s eyes narrowed again. “I suggest again that you admit the lie and have done. Do you know that what you are attempting is called fraud, and is punished by many years’ imprisonment in Newgate?”

Jewel swallowed, her eyes widening as the threat went home. Newgate was more frightening than hellfire to London’s street people.

“But it be true! Timothy Stratham
did
marry me, and tol’ me ter bring me marriage lines to the Earl o’ Moorland, who ya claim to be! ’e said, ‘It’ll be one in the eye for ole Seb,’ and ’e laughed.”

The earl’s beautiful face tightened as if he were struggling to deny some unwanted emotion. Then just as suddenly, it emptied of everything save cool detachment. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Jewel. “You begin to interest me. Suppose you tell me this remarkable tale from beginning to end—the truth, mind!”

Jewel straightened indignantly. “I’m not no liar!”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” The earl regarded her affronted face without any apparent contrition. “Now tell me your tale if you please. Unless you want to be thrown out on your ear, of course.”

“By ya and wot army?” Jewel muttered to herself. But when the earl looked at her in that daunting way of his, she launched hastily into a somewhat censored account of how she came to be married to Timothy Stratham. In her version of events, she was merely a passerby who happened to see the poor injured man on the street and rendered him assistance. As she finished her account with Father Simon’s name and direction, she saw that the earl’s eyebrows were once again lifted slightly, and bit her lip. Had she somehow let slip something she shouldn’t?

“So you cared for him as he lay dying,” the earl mused when she had finished. He still leaned slightly back in his chair, but his eyes as they met hers were keen. “And you took advantage of my cousin’s weakness on his death bed to persuade him to marry you. Is that not how it happened?”

“N-No!” Jewel stuttered with relief that this was the area of her tale he was choosing to question. In this part of what had happened, she was completely innocent. “Timothy said ’e wanted ter give me a reward for takin’ care of ’im, but the robbers ’ad took all ’is money and ’e said ’e would marry me instead. ’e said that that way I’d be took care of fer the rest of me life.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” The earl’s eyes narrowed. He was just about to go on when the study door opened with scarcely more than a ceremonial knock.

“Sebastian, Caroline tells me that you refuse to join our guests. That is quite in keeping with your usual churlish behavior, but this time I must insist. Lord Portmouth is among them and he is your godfather, you know. You cannot be so rude as to slight him.”

“Oh, but I can, mama. You of all people should know that.” The earl smiled at the slight, imperious woman who stood in the doorway regarding him coldly. Her manner was so like his that Jewel would have known who she was even if he had not addressed her as “mama.” She had the same build as he, the same porcelain-perfect features, even the same coloring—although age had turned her hair a distinguished shade of silver and fine lines marred the flawless surface of her skin. Dressed in a high-necked, long-sleeved black silk dress that was ornamented only by a gleaming onyx brooch at the base of her throat, she was still as arrestingly attractive as her son. Only her voice, with its edge of petulant dissatisfaction, differed markedly from his.

“Really, Sebastian, just because you are the subject of some unsavory gossip over Elizabeth’s death is no reason to make a social outcast of yourself. Or are you worried that someone might ask about that backward child of yours? You should be used to that by now—My heavens, what in the world is
that
?”

Jewel had twisted in her chair to better see the speaker as this exchange took place, and her movement caught the lady’s attention. She stared at Jewel with repugnance, and Jewel returned her look with interest. Despite the earl’s icy manner and insults, Jewel felt herself instinctively siding with him in what she sensed was an ongoing battle with his icicle of a mother.

“Prepare yourself for a shock, mama,” the earl said with a slight, malicious twist of his lips. “This is the newest addition to our happy family. Timothy’s widow, to be precise. Uh, Jewel, you may make your curtsy to your new cousin, my mother, the Dowager Countess of Moorland.”

“Sebastian, I have had enough of your childish tricks, and so I warn you! If you think to palm me off with some Banbury story….!”

“Oh, it’s quite true, mama, I assure you. I have the marriage lines right here.” The earl sounded as if he were enjoying himself. Jewel, far from following his admonition to curtsy to his mama, was glaring at the lady.

“Sebastian, if this is another of your attempts to annoy me …”

“Not at all, mama. You may see for yourself if you wish.”

He profferred the marriage lines. With carefully controlled movements the countess crossed the room and took the document from his hand. As she read it, her face creased in the same slight frown that had marred the earl’s features earlier.

“And are you going to let this—this creature pull the wool over your eyes with this? It is not worth the paper it is printed on.”

“Who d’ ya think …” Jewel started indignantly, but was silenced by the earl’s quick frown and uplifted hand.

“Be silent,” he said, scarcely sparing her a look. Much to her own surprise, Jewel obeyed him.

“Strangely enough,” he continued, “I believe the document is genuine.” His mother glared at him. He smiled blandly back at her.

“Even if she did somehow coerce Timothy into marrying her, we have only to turn her away, and it won’t matter. Who would listen to her with him dead—and besides, we have her marriage lines.” A cunning look came into the countess’ eyes as she regarded Jewel, who sat stiff and resentful in her chair. “Very foolish of you to hand over the paper, girl. Without this, what proof do you have?”

“Why, mama, what other proof does she need if I am prepared to accept her as Timothy’s relic?”

The countess made a low, choked sound as she stared at her son. “You cannot. Sebastian, you are doing this merely to persecute me. Oh, why was I cursed with such an unnatural son?”

“Bad luck, wasn’t it, that I didn’t die instead of Edward? Well, such is the way of things.”

“Sebastian, you can’t …”

“Oh, but I can,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. “And I am. And, dearest mama, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

The countess glared at him. Jewel could have sworn the woman’s eyes were filled with hate. But surely no mother could actually hate her own flesh and blood?

“If you go through with this, you will rue the day, I promise you,” the countess said in a low choked voice. Turning, she fixed her eyes on Jewel. “And if you think that you will ever be accepted by this family, let alone anyone else—”

“But I mean to see to that, too, mama,” the earl purred.

And at that, the countess turned on her heel and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

IV

The earl’s eyes returned to rest almost ruefully on Jewel. “Well, girl, I hope you are equal to this because now we’re for it. I mean to see to it that you become worthy of us.” He smiled faintly. “It will be a challenge, won’t it, rather like turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse? I wonder if it can be done.”

“Yer bloody insultin’, did ya know that? Who ya callin’ a sow’s ear? I’m a person, I am, jes’ as good as ya, or that highfalutin’ ma of yers.” This insult on top of all the others was too much for her temper. Jewel sprang from the chair and stood glaring at the earl, her hands clenched in fists at her side. The blanket slipped, giving him an unrestricted view of her attire—and the body it covered. Jewel felt his eyes on her, and shivered. There was only the most detached kind of interest in his look, as if she were a tarnished piece of brass he was wondering whether it would be worth the effort to have shined up. But still it made her aware of herself as a woman in a way she had never been before.

“That dress is an abomination,” he said as his eyes ran over the soaked red silk. Jewel looked down at the gown that she still thought looked mighty fine despite its wetting as he continued. “It’s something a whore would wear. Are you … Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“No, I ain’t no ’ore!” Jewel bellowed, taking a hasty step forward as her fists came up to waist level. She wasn’t taking any more insults, earl or no earl!

“Sit down,” he said, the words barely audible. Something about his eyes gave them more force than her loudest shriek. Jewel surprised herself again by obediently sitting, but saved face by glaring at him even more fiercely than before.

“The first thing you will learn is to moderate your voice when you speak. I will not be shouted at. Is that clear?” Those blue eyes met hers, and instead of celestial heavens the color reminded Jewel of cold blue steel. She scowled, opened her mouth for a sassy reply, met those eyes again, and muttered, “Ayeh.”

He sighed. “I assume that is an affirmative. In future, when addressing me, you will say ‘Yes, my lord,’ or ‘No, my lord.’ Can you remember that, do you think?”

“I ain’t a bleedin’ idiot.”

Jewel’s resentful murmur brought a brisk “Excellent!” in reply. The earl got to his feet, and while she watched him with some trepidation moved with sinewy grace around the desk to tower over her as she sat in the chair. Looking up at him, she felt suddenly very small, and she didn’t like the sensation at all. When his hand came out, catching her under the chin, she flinched. His skin was so warm—just feeling his hand on her made her go all shivery inside. Cor, he was a very good-looking gentleman….

But such thoughts did her no good at all, she told herself even as her hand shot out to knock his away. Before she could make contact he caught her by the wrist, imprisoning her hand in midair. His fingers were surprisingly strong, she noticed with a return of the shivery feeling. They tightened their grip and her eyes widened as she stared up at him. It occurred to her that this too beautiful lord could break her arm with no trouble at all, like snapping a sparrow’s bone.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, and Jewel realized with a quick flush of embarrassment that he must have felt her shiver. She was thankful he had misinterpreted it. “I just want to look at you. All right?”

This first evidence that he regarded her as something other than an object to be ordered about mollified Jewel somewhat. She gave a jerky nod. He released her wrist, and turned her face up again so that the lamplight shone directly on it. His free hand caught the towel, pulling it from her head so that her hair fell from what remained of its pins to straggle in a damp, midnight black rat’s nest to her waist. His eyes raked the mess, then moved over the high cheekboned, pointy chinned face. Jewel knew that she was no beauty, but still she resented the almost clinical detachment with which he assessed and then dismissed each individual feature: high broad forehead partly hidden under the tangled mass of hair, thick brows as black as her hair winging upward at the edges so that they seemed to take flight at her temples, black-lashed eyes the color of amber set deep and with a faint slant at the edges, a small straight nose unbecomingly reddened, parchment pale skin that was chapped and roughened by exposure to the elements stretching taut over hollowed, hungry cheeks, and a full-lipped mouth that lacked color. Jem had often said that she looked like a little gypsy, but still it was galling to be less than pretty in the eyes of this haughty lord who was so dazzingly beautiful himself.

“Open your mouth,” he said. Jewel blinked at him, and tried to jerk her chin free. Once again those long fingered hands proved surprisingly strong.

“I ain’t a bleedin’ ’orse!”

“No one said you were. Now open your mouth.”

Sulkily Jewel obeyed. There was something about him that made a body feel that she was better off to do as he said. Not that she was afraid of him, mind.

His eyes ran over her small teeth, which were relatively even and strong. He nodded once, and Jewel took that for permission to close her mouth. She did so, looking him over from head to toe with open provocation just so he would know she was not totally cowed. But he didn’t seem one whit disturbed by her close inspection; on the contrary, it was she who was bothered. Seen so close, it was apparent that the lean, broad shouldered frame beneath the impeccable evening clothes was impressively muscular. Jewel hadn’t realized it before, but now she became aware that she liked leanly muscled men. His physique didn’t repulse her as had, say, Mick’s burly form.