Ruthless Charmer (21 page)

"Indeed?" Julian smiled, pulled on the leather gloves a footman hurried to hand him.

"Care to know my latest prediction?"

Julian laughed as he took his hat from the footman. "Go on, then. Amuse me."

His hazel eyes gleaming with mirth, Arthur smiled at Julian. "I predict," he said, pausing dramatically to sip his port, "that you will fall madly in love with your wife."

Julian started inwardly, but caught himself and laughed roundly at his old friend. "Always the sentimental fool, Arthur," he said, and still laughing, turned away, suddenly desperate to be gone.

"Don'tyow be the fool, Kettering," Arthur called after him, and Julian kept walking, feeling all at once very uncomfortable.

At St. James Square, he bounded up the steps to his house and burst inside, tossing his cloak and gloves to a footman just as Tinley came dragging into the foyer.

"Ah, Tinley. Where might I find Lady Kettering?" he asked, fully expecting to be told she had not come down.

"Couldn't say, milord," Tinley said, earning a strange look from the footman. The butler never saw it, however—he continued along his path, disappearing into the north hall.

"Beggin' your pardon, milord, but her ladyship is in the blue drawing room," the footman offered.

With great surprise, Julian looked at the footman. "The blue drawing room?" The footman noded. Aha, so she had come out of her self-imposed prison. "Very well," he said curtly, and headed for the blue drawing room.

The door was open; he could see Claudia sitting at a card table near the hearth as he drew near, playing a solitary game. She was wearing a plain seagreen gown, her hair tied simply at her nape, no adornments of any kind. No matter—even plainly dressed, she was still quite alluring. It amazed him how the woman could take his breath away just by being.

She glanced up briefly as he crossed the threshold, but quickly focused again on her cards. "Wasn't there enough amusement in the streets of London to keep you occupied, my lord?" she asked pleasantly.

Interesting; the despair he had heard in her voice the last few days had vanished. "What could possibly occupy me there when I have the such a fascinating creature in my very own house?" he asked as he crossed the room.

Claudia snorted. "Full of piss and wind again, I see," she retorted cheerfully.

Julian laughed. He leaned over her, intending to kiss her cheek, but Claudia coyly ducked her head. All right, he would settle for the top of her head, which earned him only a bit of a squirm. Smiling to himself, he took the seat directly across the table from her and watched her play her game. Her brow wrinkled in thought; she chewed on her bottom lip as she studied the cards. Ignoring him completely, she tapped a manicured nail against her cheek, considering her next move. When she finally laid the card, she glanced up at him and smiled brightly. "Care for some good sport?"

He smiled. "Always."

"Yes, so I've heard," she said, and leaned back in her chair. One foot swung freely under the table, kicking her skirts up; a devilish little glimmer appeared in her eye. "Do you know the game of commerce?"

"Naturally," he responded, although a card game was definitely not what he had in mind.

"Would you care to play with perhaps a bit of wagering to liven up the game?" she asked sweetly.

Oh, now this would prove amusing. He chuckled, quite certain she didn't know the first thing about wagering—it was hardly the sort of thing that tutors taught earls' daughters. "It would delight me enormously, madam. Have you any coin?"

"Have you?" she shot back, and smiling wickedly, gathered up the cards. She dealt the first round, which

Julian easily won, as well as the second. In fact, he won the first four games so easily that he felt a bit guilty—it felt almost as loathsome as stealing from the blind. After the fifth round, Claudia got up, sailed to the desk across the room, and returned with a sheet of paper on which she scratched out a voucher for two whole pounds. Julian had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, and deliberately threw the round so she would not lose her measly two pounds. The poor girl knew nothing about wagering, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, and Julian was enjoying himself just watching her, so he continued to play, throwing an occasional game to her when her stack of vouchers got too high.

The night had passed well into the early morning hours when Claudia picked up the deck and shuffled, eyeing her vouchers stacked neatly at Julian's elbow. "I've a new wager," she said, peeking up at him through her thick, dark brown lashes.

"Yes?"

"My allowance next month. Double if I should win."

Was he imagining things, or were those tiny demon fires suddenly shining in her eyes? Intrigued, he asked, "And if you should lose? What would be my prize?"

Claudia flashed a languid, lazy smile at him as she laid the cards down and motioned for him to cut the deck. "If I lose, my lord," she said softly, "you may have the prize of your choosing."

And her smile turned so seductive that Julian's groin lurched in protest. He leaned across the table. "Anything?"

With a throaty chuckle, she moved forward, propping herself on her elbows so that her breasts threatened to spill right out of her gown, just under his nose. She ran her knuckles over the bare skin of her bosom, absently tracing a path down the cleft between her breasts. "Anything," she murmured huskily.

Hell yes, he'd take that bet, and eagerly cut the cards. "I believe the deal is yours, my darling," he said, and settled back, cheerfully thinking of exactly how he might claim his prize. In front of this very fire, so that he could watch her blue-gray eyes darken with desire—

"Another card?" she asked politely.

Julian glanced at his hand. Two jacks and a ten. "No, thank you." The demon fires in her eyes were blazing very brightly now, and he imagined them as she reached her fulfillment—

"Then shall we draw?"

Poor girl. Lucky boy. Julian laid his hand down and smiled. "Two jacks are rather hard to beat, love," he said apologetically.

Her smile faded. "Oh my. Two jacks are hard to beat, aren't they?" With a heavy sigh, she laid one king down. And then another. The heat began to rise under Julian's collar, and he fairly choked when she laid her last card. Three kings! Disbelieving his own eyes, he jerked his gaze up to Claudia.

She grinned like a cat. "But I suppose three kings are even harder to beat, aren't they?" She leaned across the table again, to where her mouth was only inches from his. "Now that is what I call good sport," she said, and stood gracefully, as if she duped men at cards as a matter of course. Incredulous, Julian looked at the cards again.

Claudia burst into a fit of laughter and instantly covered her mouth with her hand. She was laughing at him! "Oh, and a bank draft will do nicely, thank you," she added, and still laughing, sailed from the drawing room. Julian stared after her—the Demon's Spawn had just duped him! Expertly, too, and without the least bit of compunction! He hadn't been outplayed like that in years. Damn her!

Damn her twice—he had really wanted his prize!

In a tearoom nestled among the shops of a quaint little lane far from Mayfair, Sophie Dane nervously adjusted her gloves, taking great care to make sure there were no wrinkles in them. William did not approve of droopy gloves.

Nervously, she looked down, fingered the lace that edged the neck of her new gown, then adjusted her gloves again.

William was late.

He had said to meet him at precisely three o'clock with a stern warning not to be tardy. It was now half past three, and she was expected at Ann's for tea at five. Sophie sighed, glanced at the tea service again. This was becoming so difficult! She hated lying to her sisters most of all, but William had insisted they not be told of their secret meetings, as they would only take Julian's side in this. She had a hunch he was right about that, so she had told Ann and Eugenie she was paying a call to Aunt Violet this afternoon. Hopefully, if William wasn't too terribly late, she could hurry by Aunt Violet's so it wouldn't be a complete lie.

A tap on the window caused her to turn slightly; William frowned at her through the glass, then disappeared, reappearing inside seconds later. He looked terribly dashing in his dark brown frock coat. His blond hair was perfectly dressed; his moustache impeccably trimmed. As he walked to her table, Sophie thanked God one more time that William was in love with her. She beamed at him as he fell into a small wooden chair across from her and helped himself to a biscuit.

"I thought you'd never arrive," she said, smiling eagerly.

William shrugged. "I said I'd arrive by half past three."

Actually, he had said three o'clock, but William was under an awful lot of pressure.

"A plate of biscuits? Nothing more?" he inquired.

"I'm sorry," she said, and hastily poured him a cup of tea as he reached for another biscuit. "Did you, perchance, call on your acquaintance at the bank today?" she asked.

He frowned, sipped at the tea. "Yes, I called on him. He was not inclined to entertain my request for a short-term loan," he said, and looked glumly at the bud vase in the middle of the table. "Kettering is doing this to us, you know."

At the mere mention of her brother's name, Sophie's breathing constricted. "J-Julian? Whatever do you mean?"

William lifted his deep brown gaze to her, filled with dismay. "What I mean, Sophie, is that your brother is so dead set against us he has used his considerable influence to keep me from a small loan! He's out to see me ruined, I tell you, all for the crime of loving you."

"But. . . but he doesn't even know about us!"

William grasped her hand and tenderly stroked her palm. "Believe me, love, your brother knows."

"I don't believe it! How could he . . . it's so unfair!" Sophie exclaimed.

Gripping her hand tightly, William looked imploringly into her eyes. "I know, my darling, yet I have tried to tell you what sort of man he is! I cannot fathom it myself, but apparently he would rather keep you from your heart's desire than part with a single shilling!" he exclaimed, and let go of her hand. "God knows he can afford to!" he added irritably.

Anger soared in Sophie's heart. As much as she didn't want to believe it, she had seen the evidence of just how close-fisted Julian could be. She was still miffed at how suspiciously he had looked at her a few days ago when she had asked for a little more than her usual allowance. As William had pointed out to her, she never asked for more than her allowance, yet he had wanted to begrudge her a few trifling pounds! He had quizzed her, finally accepting her explanation of wanting some new, rather expensive hats. William was right—she was fortunate to have such a generous dowry and annuity so that she would not always have to rely on Julian. If only she had permission to marry so she could have her annuity! Honestly, the whole situation seemed so terribly hopeless. "Oh, William!" she exclaimed. "What will we do?"

"There now, Sophie," he murmured. "I will think of something. I've an appointment with another banker on

Thursday. Surely Kettering can't extend his influence to every financial institution in this town!" He smiled, picked up the remainder of his biscuit and popped it into his mouth. "In the meantime, have you a few pounds to spare, love?"

Of course she did—she always did. She reached into her beaded reticule and pulled out a thick roll of bills. William promptly stuffed them in his coat pocket without bothering to count them. He then fished in his pocket for a couple of crowns and tossed them onto the table. "Come on then, let's be gone from this place," he said, and stood, motioning Sophie to her feet.

She quickly gained her feet and straightened her bonnet.

"Your gloves, Sophie."

Horrified, Sophie hastily straightened her gloves so that they didn't sag around her wrists. When he seemed satisfied, he extended his arm to her and led her outside.

As they strolled down the street, William smiled charmingly at her. "Is that a new gown?"

Sophie's hand immediately went to her collar. "It is one of Ann's. She gave it to me. Do you like it?"

"It's very nice," he said, and Sophie smiled with relief and pleasure. "But it's not a particularly flattering color for you, is it?" he added thoughtfully.

Ann had said the apple green went very well with her complexion. "It's not?"

"No, I rather think not. A nice blue would be a much more appealing color for you, wouldn't it?" He chuckled, shook his head. "Really, my dear, sometimes I think you rush out of the house without regard for your appearance a'tall." Patting her hand, he proceeded to lead her down the street as Sophie forced down her humiliation at being unable to do something as simple as dress.

Apparently, Claudia delighted in torturing Julian.

There could be no other explanation for the fact that her behavior had done a complete turnabout in the few weeks since their wedding. She had gone from a stunned and saddened young woman to one who was, amazingly, suddenly brimming with life. She seemed to enjoy every moment of every busy day—and Lord God, they were busy—the bustling activity that filled her days spread light from one end of Julian's St. James mansion to the other.

Therein lay the torture.

That light did not include Julian. Not that Claudia excluded him, exactly—but there was a distance between them, a chasm he could not seem to bridge. When he got too close, something in his wife shut down, boarded up, refused to let him in. Sometimes he felt as if she was almost blind to him and wholly focused on something that only she could see.

Julian grew increasingly uncomfortable with the arrangement. A rash had spread inside him, driving him mad like an itch he could not reach. It did not take him long to comprehend that he could not live with his wife in this way, not with walls between them that he could not see, much less scale.

The extraordinary lovemaking they had enjoyed was only a memory now. Not that Claudia ever refused him; she was nothing if not a dutiful wife. But with the exception of that first week when her natural warmth and desire had shone through, she seemed to barely tolerate his presence in her bed, subduing her response altogether, determined to take no pleasure in his touch. And when his passion consumed itself, she would turn away from him or find an excuse to get out of bed.