Never Less Than a Lady (16 page)

“That was a dreadful summer for everyone. I am truly sorry for how you were treated, and very glad that you have a friend like Ashton.” The countess turned to Julia, her face intent. “Lady Julia—Daventry said you were a midwife. Can that be true?”

So that was what this conversation was about. Lady Daventry’s hospitality was real, but her interest in Julia’s midwifery skills was burning.

“Indeed it is.” Julia took a ginger cake, but her gaze was on her hostess. “I shall be happy to discuss your condition, but surely you have a physician here?”

“Sir Richard Croft, considered the best physician in London for such matters.” The countess crumbled a seed cake between anxious fingers. “I had my other sons when I was young, without any problems for them or me. I wanted another child. That was one reason I married Daventry. But now…I am over forty.”

“I’ve had a number of patients who delivered safely at your age,” Julia said reassuringly. “It’s not that uncommon.”

“I had hoped we would have a chance to speak privately.” The countess gave Randall a sidelong glance.

Julia nodded, a hint of smile in her eyes. “This will be the sort of conversation that sends strong men fleeing for the hills, Randall.”

He didn’t even want to imagine what they would discuss. He scooped up his teacup and a small plate of cakes. “There’s a salon through that door, I recall?”

“It’s now my private parlor. Daventry never goes there,” the countess replied. “He probably went out to his club where he is safe from females. Or perhaps he’s riding too fast in the park.”

Randall hoped the damned man would break his neck, but the devil protected his own. As he retreated to her ladyship’s private parlor, he prayed that he’d never have to enter this house again.

Julia emerged from Daventry House jangling with nerves. “That was the strangest tea party of my life,” she said after their carriage door closed and the vehicle rumbled into the late afternoon traffic. She pulled off her bonnet and ran stiff fingers through her hair, displacing several of the pins.

“Strange indeed.” Randall’s expression was as impenetrable as when they first met in Hartley. “How is Lady Daventry’s health?”

“Reasonable. The baby is very active and close enough to term that it will likely survive even if born early.” Julia thought of the lively kicks she’d felt at the countess’s invitation. “Beyond that, I can’t say. There seems to be a weakness in Daventry’s seed that has prevented him from fathering a truly healthy child.”

“Is the countess in danger? She seemed very worried.”

“She’s terrified that the delivery will kill her.” Julia pulled the shawl Lady Daventry had given her more closely around her shoulders. “And it could, of course. Much can go wrong.”

“You said you’d delivered many women safely at her age.”

“Yes, but I’ve also lost some.” Sometimes Julia dreamed—or had nightmares—of patients who had died. One’s best wasn’t always good enough. “Lady Daventry was gravely ill after her last miscarriage. This delivery will probably be harder on her.”

“What about the expensive physician Daventry has engaged?” Randall said rather dryly. “His precious heir will surely get the best care possible.”

“Sir Richard Croft has an excellent reputation. He’s been bleeding her and he has her on a reducing diet. It’s not what I would recommend.” Julia frowned. “I know that having male physicians in attendance is the fashion, but a competent midwife is as good or better than a physician. Of course, I’m biased.”

“A woman would have more respect for the territory,” Randall said with a faint smile. “I hope the countess comes through. I’m amazed that any woman would want Daventry for a husband, but she seems to see him clearly and still likes him.” He shook his head. “Women truly are extraordinary.”

Julia laughed. “Men and women are so often mysteries to each other. I succumbed to vulgar curiosity and asked why she married him. She was quite candid. She found him attractive in a Byronic sort of way.”

“Byronic?” Randall asked incredulously.

“As you say, women can be odd creatures, and they’re often attracted to powerful men. After her ladyship was widowed, she didn’t feel ready to languish into embroidery and good works. Marrying Daventry made her a countess, with wealth and influence. That also appealed to her, of course.”

“Of course.” His dryness had increased.

Julia’s thoughts moved from the countess’s health to the implications for Randall. “Are you upset to be displaced and disowned?”

“I think we’ve done rather well.” His profile was like marble as he glanced out at the crowded street. “Between us, we’ve been disowned by two of the most powerful men in England within the space of three days.”

“My father had virtually disowned me a dozen years ago, so hearing the words doesn’t change my situation,” she pointed out. “But you’ve not only been disowned, but likely lost an earldom. That does make a difference.”

Outside, an upraised Cockney voice shouted at another driver. Several rounds of insults were exchanged before Randall said, “I was getting used to the idea of becoming the next earl. There was a kind of justice to it.” He turned from the window and took her hand. “I would have liked to make you a countess.”

“That would be a lower rank than the one I was born to, so it’s no great loss to me,” she said lightly. “But you would have made a very good earl. Fair and wise and used to commanding men.”

He shrugged off the compliment. “For most of my life, I never considered the possibility of inheriting—there were too many others in line before me. So it shouldn’t take me long to readjust to being a mere major.”

“You earned your army rank, which is more than a peer can say.”

“The peerage is all about inheritance,” he agreed. “Even when I was heir presumptive, I always knew the estate would come to me only because it was entailed. Daventry would never voluntarily leave me any of his personal fortune. So as in your case, being disowned just makes official what was already the reality.”

Thinking his voice didn’t sound quite right, she studied his face. The carriage lurched forward and sunlight poured in the window, revealing his expression clearly. She was shocked by what she saw in his eyes.

Losing the earldom might not concern Randall over-much, but Daventry was the powerful man who had ruled his childhood. Though Randall had stood up unflinchingly to his uncle’s fury and abuse, he was not unaffected by it. Just as she had not been able to shrug off her father’s rage and revulsion.

A wounded spirit could ache far longer than physical injuries. Daventry’s grudging acceptance when he’d thought Randall was the heir wasn’t much, but she suspected it was the closest thing to approval her husband had ever known from his guardian. Today, Daventry had smashed that fragile bond into bleeding pieces.

Randall could not be as sensitive to her if his awareness hadn’t been honed by his difficult childhood. She imagined him as a wary boy, always watching his surroundings for safety’s sake, just like she had always been vigilant when Branford was near. Now Randall was hurting. It was time she took care of him as he’d cared for her.

“The ride home will be a slow one at this hour.” Julia pulled the shade down on her window, then reached across Randall to lower the shade on his side. “Let’s use the time to forget about our rather difficult visit to Daventry House.”

In the dim remaining light, she could see his brows rise. “What do you propose?”

“I was thinking about kissing.” A little hesitantly, she lifted her head and pressed her lips against his. “I’ve always been the kissed, not the kisser, so I hope you don’t leap away from me.”

“Why would I want to do a foolish thing like leap away when I’ve been campaigning to lure you closer?” His mouth opened and the kiss deepened.

She reveled in the touch and slide of tongues, which made it easy to forget the voices of angry old men. Reality was
this
man, who made her pulse quicken as they pressed together. His hands kneaded her back, causing her fingers to bite into his arms as pleasure simmered through her. No wonder chaperones tried to protect girls from kisses. Such drugging delight drove out good sense. But this dangerously attractive man was her husband, so there was no need to be sensible.

Under the colorful shawl the countess had given her, his hand curved over her breast, his stroking thumb bringing sensitive flesh to startled life through the layers of fabric. Wanting to explore his body as well, she slid her hand down his torso, enjoying the feel of taut flesh and bone under the tailored garments of a London gentleman.

Her wrist brushed the hard bulge in his breeches. To her surprise, she was pleased, not alarmed, at such undeniable proof that he found her attractive. Loving the effect she had on him, she began to unbutton his breeches.

He caught her hand. “You needn’t do this, milady,” he said roughly. “It’s enough that you are kissing me.”

She tilted back her head and caught his gaze. “Alex, so far this marriage has mostly been about me and my fears. Now I want to do something for you.”

He drew an unsteady breath. “If you’re sure…”

“Entirely sure.” She returned to the buttons, releasing the taut, hard shaft into her hand. She knew from experience that male flesh could be used as weapon, but that knowledge was distant memory, no longer relevant.

What mattered was how his hands gripped her shoulders, the immense enjoyment she found in pleasing him as she stroked and squeezed and teased. In the early days of her first marriage, she’d learned how to satisfy a man.

The teaching had been harsh, but she’d learned well. Later she’d used those skills in self-defense, hoping that if Branford was sated, he wouldn’t hurt her.

Now she remembered those sensual skills, and she was with a man who wouldn’t hurt her. When it occurred to her that she could give him even greater pleasure, she hesitated, not sure she was ready for such intimacy. It took long moments to recognize that her desire to please was more powerful than her misgivings. She drew a deep breath, then bent and took him into her mouth.

“My God, Julia!” His hands spasmed on her shoulders.

Startled, she raised her head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”
His breathing was ragged. “Dear God, no!”

Gratified, she bent again, her mouth and tongue remembering the subtle techniques she hadn’t used in so long. To her surprise, she enjoyed this intimacy, not only for the pleasure it gave him, but for the power she felt in creating that pleasure. The very air of the carriage was saturated with passion as her own excitement echoed his. His harsh pants and rigid body made her feel like his sexual equal, a true partner rather than a victim or a passive recipient.

In her enthusiasm, she triggered his climax sooner than she’d intended. He cried out and knotted his hands in her hair, his pelvis rocking. When his body stilled, she rested her head against his belly, feeling vastly pleased with herself.

His fingers loosened in her hair, becoming a caress. “You are the most extraordinary woman, Julia.” His voice was less than even. “If you will permit me…” He scooped her across his lap. “You are just the right size for holding.”

“I enjoyed that,” she said as she settled comfortably in his arms. “I trust you’ve forgotten your visit to Daventry House?”

“Never heard of the place,” he said promptly. His left hand stroked down her leg, shaping calf and ankle before sliding up to her knee under her skirts.

She caught her breath as his warm palm on her inner thigh stirred her from contentment to yearning. He parted her knees so that his hand could move higher, higher. She gasped at the sensual shock when he touched her most intimate flesh. Sensation hazed her mind as he caressed more deeply. Yet this time pleasure was not a surprise. It was…anticipated.

He knew what she wanted better than she did, and the searing climax blazed through her entire body. Her fingers bit and her lower body rocked hard against him as unbearable need culminated, then unwound swiftly, leaving her collapsed against him.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “I’ve been royally rewarded for wanting to please you.”

“Mutual pleasure is better.” He kissed her damp temple. “Next time we should try this in a bed. More comfortable, and we can go to sleep after.”

“That would be nice.” She covered a yawn as her eyes closed and she felt the steady throb of his heart against her cheek. “I hope this is the worst tangle of traffic in London history and that we don’t get back to Ashton House until midnight.”

He laughed and raised his shade a couple of inches. “No such luck. We’re out of the worst of the traffic and will be home in a few more minutes.”

But neither of them was in a hurry to move. Julia realized with amazement that she wasn’t just content. She was happy.

She was also curious. He knew all he needed to know about the one man she’d shared a bed with, but she knew almost nothing about his romantic experience. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but where did you learn so much about pleasing women?”

“There hasn’t been an endless stream of lovers, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His hand lazily stroked her nape. “An officer on campaign has limited opportunities.”

“Limited, but not nonexistent?”

“I avoided the camp followers because I didn’t want the diseases,” he explained. “A decision practical rather than moral. But I had one significant affair during those years. I rescued a French officer’s widow and her maid from Spanish partisans who wanted to take vengeance on anyone French, even two helpless women.”

Major Randall, the protector. Of course. “The lady must have been very grateful.”

“She was, but the affair was with her maid.” He smiled reminiscently. “Celeste was pretty and saucy and very French. She said I wasn’t her type, but she missed having a man and I’d do for the time being. She and her mistress spent a long winter quartered in Portugal near my regiment until they could return to France and their families.”

Julia regretfully acknowledged that no one had ever thought of her as saucy. “Celeste must have been quite an education for an Englishman.”

“She was.” He grinned. “Her best piece of advice was to pay attention to what a woman says—and to what she doesn’t say.”

“A wise woman,” Julia said. “I hope they both made it back to France safely.”

“They did. Madame sent me a note that eventually made its way through enemy lines. They were both home and safe in Lyon. Celeste married a young man she’d known for years who had been invalided out of Napoleon’s army.”

“She sounds very amusing and uncomplicated.” Also words not usually applied to Julia.

“But you’re much more interesting.” His voice changed. “We’re entering the gates now. Idyll over.” He transferred her to the seat beside him. “Time we made ourselves at least marginally presentable.”

“I can smooth down my hair, but I don’t think I can get rid of my cat-in-a-cream-pot smile,” she said as she straightened her clothing.

He returned her smile. “I have one, too, I think.”

“I can almost see you licking the cream from your whiskers,” she agreed.

“Licking?”

She blushed, embarrassed but more pleased.

“I’ll never get into a carriage again without remembering this ride,” he murmured provocatively as the vehicle stopped and a footman opened the door.

Julia’s contentment lasted until they entered Ashton House and the butler approached. “Lady Julia, you have a guest waiting in the small salon.” He handed her a calling card. “He has refused to leave until he sees you.”

A guest? Surprised that anyone in London knew she was alive, she read the calling card. The blood drained from her face.
Lord Stoneleigh
. “Merciful heaven,” she whispered. “It’s my brother Anthony.”

“You don’t have to receive him if you don’t want to.” Randall’s gaze was steady. “And if you do want to see him, you don’t have to face him alone.”