Season for Temptation (23 page)

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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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Chapter 24
In Which Julia Is, for Once, at a Loss for Words
Julia tried not to laugh. She knew it would be absolute disaster if she did.
She had never received a proposal before, so she hadn't exactly known what to expect. Still, she had always imagined it would be dignified and touching, even romantic and passionate. But this—this was just
ridiculous
.
Sir Stephen Saville meant well, she was sure, but filling her aunt's drawing room with flowers and referring to her as “the flower of his heart, and he hoped, his hearth” as he ardently clasped her hand to his chest was just too much, even for a girl who enjoyed a good novel.
That was the problem, actually. She enjoyed a
good
novel, and this was like something out of a very bad one. The flower of his hearth? As she thought of it again, her cheeks dimpled despite herself, and she tried desperately to school her expression into a serious one while Sir Stephen still gripped her hand.
“You are smiling,” he noted. “Can it be that my proposal meets with your approval? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”
Oh, good Lord, the man needed an answer right away, and she had no idea what to say.
Here it was, the proposal that she was supposed to angle for throughout her season, from a man that even James had recommended to her as kind and good. Now that the moment was here, though, she was startled all the same, utterly without the right words, which was a terrible feeling for her.
Why hadn't they prepared her for this, her aunt and James? She knew everything else about how to act in polite society, from when to use a fish fork to how to curtsy to the queen. But she had no idea what to say when she received a proposal.
Or maybe she did; at least, she knew what she wanted to say. She thought of the letter that Louisa had asked her to deliver, breaking an engagement to a man who was otherwise perfect, but whom she didn't love. She couldn't do what her sister hadn't been able to do: marry where she ought rather than where she longed to. Especially not after last night.
Images of James, the revelation of the carriage ride, and her note to him that morning bobbed into her mind and sobered her at once. No, she couldn't marry Sir Stephen, no matter what her aunt Estella wanted her to do, or what her parents—or the whole
ton
, for that matter—might be expecting.
What could she say to him, though? What did girls always say in novels? She thought desperately and seized on a vague thread of memory.
“I am honored by your proposal,” she began.
Oh dear, that couldn't be right. He looked far too happy all of a sudden. “But,” she quickly continued, and his face fell at once. “I cannot accept your offer. I am so sorry.”
The baronet inhaled sharply as if punched, then seemed to shake off the blow with an effort. He took her hands in his, peering closely at her face to gauge her reaction.
“Have I done something to offend you? Perhaps I danced with you an insufficient number of times last night, or I did not bring enough flowers with me today? I have tried to make my regard for you clear, and let me assure you I will make you a most devoted and steadfast husband. It will be my delight to meet your every need.”
Julia smiled again, this time in genuine appreciation for his kindness. It was a shame he was wasting it on her, really. It wasn't his fault she wasn't reacting as she ought.
She tried to lessen the blow, responding in like manner to the quiet formality of his words. “Dear sir, you have not offended me in any way. You've always treated me with great respect and warmth, and I feel the honor of it. But . . .” She trailed off, losing courage, and dropped her gaze. “My heart is already engaged, although not in any formal sense. I feel it would be wrong to promise myself to you under the circumstances.”
She nodded in satisfaction as she finished speaking. That sounded like something out of a novel, definitely.
He squeezed her hand gently, then dropped it from his clasp. His voice was still hopeful as he entreated her once more.
“I'm very sorry to hear it, for my own sake,” he said. “You have, of course, my best wishes for your future happiness. Will you at least allow me some hope, and promise me that you will still consider the possibility of marriage with me? If not now, perhaps at some point in the future? I am sure my own wishes shall remain unchanged, if yours ever do.”
Oh, good heavens. Now she
really
didn't know what to say. How did one decline a man's proposal twice when—in his view and the view of one's rather pushy aunt—there was no earthly reason to do so? How could she possibly let him know that no, there was no way she could ever marry him, because she could never get over James, but she could never have him, because he'd just been jilted by her sister, so she could probably never get married at all to anyone, ever?
Right. She'd just spill all of that out to Sir Stephen.
Suddenly mortified, Julia settled for what she hoped was a timid-looking nod. “Thank you,” she offered. She knew she ought not even to have said that much, but she wanted to put an end to this interview as soon as was humanly possible. She was too agitated to be more insistent with the baronet at this time. Vague though she had been on the details, she thought she had probably been remarkably tactless to bring up another man during his proposal anyway.
A man with whom she had precisely no chance of a future.
And yet, she wouldn't take it back, she mused, as she vaguely heard Sir Stephen making his proper good-byes to her and, on his way out of the house, to her aunt (who had suddenly reappeared from the nonexistent errand that had caused her to vanish from the room upon his arrival). She couldn't take back her no. She just couldn't marry out of obligation, ever, and she could never marry someone else while her heart and mind were so full of James.
She sat stunned for a few minutes, nervous energy coursing through her body. She wanted to go somewhere else. She needed to talk with someone about Sir Stephen's proposal, and what she had said, and why, and about what—or more precisely, who—was really weighing on her mind.
But today of all days, she couldn't talk to Louisa about engagements of any sort. And she knew what her aunt would say, should she explain the situation to her. Lady Irving would call her an idiot and insist that she summon the unlucky gentleman back so she could accept his proposal at once. She could still remember the feeling of her aunt's talon-like nails gripping her arm and dragging her around the Alleyneham House ballroom in search of Sir Stephen.
No, there was only one person she could talk to about all of this.
She had to act quickly; she knew she had only a few moments before her aunt came in and demanded a full account of what had passed. Alive with purpose, she peeped out of the parlor, and finding no one around, quickly retrieved Simone's cloak. The capacious garment was the best she could do to disguise her appearance. It wasn't much, but anything that would keep her from being recognized would help, since she was going to do a thing a gently bred young lady ought never to do.
She was going to James, to see him at his home.
Alone. Now.
Chapter 25
In Which More Than One Proposal Is Discussed
James's bachelor lodgings were in Stratton Street, not far from her aunt's fashionable Grosvenor Square address, but Julia felt as if she were walking for hours. The delicious, unfamiliar freedom of leaving her home unaccompanied was almost overcome by her anxious desire to see James and her nervousness about being spotted by someone she knew. The wide square's crisscrossing pathways had never seemed so long nor so crowded. She could have sworn every eye was on her, that everyone knew where she was going.
When she finally reached James's door, she paused before knocking. She inhaled deeply to try to calm herself. In. Out. In. Out. Then, overcome with nerves, she tapped on the door with the large brass knocker. Her hand seemed to jitter out of her control, striking a quick, incessant staccato with the knocker until, after what seemed like at least a week, that arrogant servant of James's opened the door with his brows lifted skeptically.
Despite her anxiety, Julia was gratified to see Delaney's supercilious expression change to one of surprise. His mouth gulped open and closed again silently.
“Miss Herington,” he finally managed, looking behind her for the presence of a maid. “Er . . . welcome.”
“No maid with me,” she replied to his unspoken question, feeling her self-possession return a bit. “Could I—that is, I would like to speak with Lord Matheson.”
“Of course,” Delaney responded at once, slipping back into his proper servant mien as if there was nothing remarkable about her showing up unannounced and unescorted. He showed her up to the drawing room and, when she declined refreshment, promised to notify his master of her presence directly.
She plumped herself down onto a sofa in the quiet room and waited, feet tapping, for James to come in. What was she going to say to him? She hadn't thought this through. Her sister had only just today decided to break off the engagement, and Julia was now going to start talking about having turned down a proposal.
“What was I thinking?” she muttered. For all she knew, James hadn't even read the letter yet from her
or
from Louisa. He might not know anything had changed. Good heavens, he might not even be awake yet, for all she knew. In which case it would seem as if she was just here to throw herself at him. Again.
Humiliating.
Though . . . the thought actually sounded more appealing when she toyed with it a bit. She remembered the luscious pleasure of his kisses, the heat between her legs, the longing such as she had never felt before. Maybe throwing herself at him wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
But this wasn't the time; she still had that proposal looming over her. The thought of Sir Stephen was a dash of cold water, sobering her in a second. Yes, that was why she had come; she needed someone to talk to about Sir Stephen. In truth, it had been very sensible to come. If for no other reason than to escape Lady Irving's wrath for a short while.
She began to feel antsy again, so she got up and began to pace around the room. Despite her preoccupation, she was curious about James's house. Had he put anything of himself into it, as he was beginning to at Nicholls?
She hoped not, actually. It was so
bland
. The paper was plain, the furniture of good quality but without color, and a bit out of date in its mahogany heaviness and formal arrangement against the walls. It was an impersonal, humorless room. The only sign of character was the positive riot of books and newspapers on a few side tables. Curious about James's taste in reading, Julia picked up a volume and opened it to the title page.
Mansfield Park
, volume 1. A copy of the book he had given Louisa when he first began to court her last season.
She felt a twist of sadness in her chest. Just then, she heard the door open and James's footsteps enter.
“I don't like this room,” she said without turning around.
“Neither do I,” said the familiar voice, without missing a beat. “But then again, this isn't really my house.”
She turned in surprise to look at him, and he continued, “By the way, hello to you. I can't say I think much of your new greeting style.”
She ignored this last statement. “What do you mean, this isn't your house?”
“I mean, it's a rented house, and rented furniture,” James replied. “I didn't choose any of it, but it suffices for now. I live here when I am in town, but that's very little. Someday when Nicholls is completely restored, I flatter myself that you and your family will be able to walk into a room without telling me how much you hate it. Although,” he added, his face pensive, “your aunt may never come to that point, considering her reaction on first seeing the place.”
Julia goggled at him. He looked untroubled, and he was talking about her family as if everything were normal. Had he not read the letters yet?
James stared her right back in the eye and cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Not that I think you came to talk about interior design. What
did
you come for? I have to admit, I am surprised to see you after the very interesting set of letters I received from your household this morning.
As a friend
.” He laid heavy stress on the last few words, then folded his arms, looking at her expectantly.
Ah. So he
had
read the letters. She scanned his face intently for a hint of his feelings, but his expression was shuttered and unreadable.
Her nervousness was back again in full force, and she twisted her gloved fingers together as she searched for words. “I . . . I just . . . there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said lamely.
He continued to stare at her, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
Julia squirmed under the chill of his gaze, then blurted, “Sir Stephen asked me to marry him, and I told him no, but then he asked if he could still hope and it seemed unkind to insist, and I just wanted him to leave me alone, so I said he could. But I don't want him to hold on to any hope, and I don't want him to propose again. And I can't tell my aunt because she'll be so angry, and I can't talk about this with Louisa, especially not today, and I really needed to talk to someone because I'm not sure if I did the right thing.”
James's eyebrow lifted even higher. “Not sure if you did the right thing? By saying no, you mean?”
She was getting tired of this haughty nonsense. “No, you ass,” she replied, and was pleased to see his cold expression crack into one of shock. “Of course I'm sure I was right to say no. What I mean is, I don't know if I did right by leaving him with any hope. Because really, I will never want to marry him. Only it's the first proposal I ever received, and I don't know how these things are done. How does one make a gentleman understand that one's response is irrevocable?”
James seemed not to have heard her explanation. He was still reeling and gaping at her. “What on
earth
did you call me?”
“Um, nothing.” Julia felt her face growing hot with embarrassment. “I didn't call you anything. I just, um, explained the situation and why I had come, and why I was feeling, um, a bit at sea. But, um, I'll be going now.” She sidled toward the door.
“Not so fast.” In a flash, he darted a hand out and caught her arm in a gentle grasp. She looked up at him, worried, then to her relief noticed that he was smiling.
An answering smile spread over her own face, and then they both started to chuckle. Her very heart seemed to warm, and she wanted desperately to hold him. She even began to reach for him with her free arm.
So when he dropped her arm from his grasp, still shaking his head with laughter, she felt lonely. He was right there, but so far away. Why
had
she come? What could he possibly tell her that would help? What could either of them do now?
“Sit down,” he said, still chuckling. With a graceful bow, he directed her toward a very hard horsehair chair, and he sat on another facing her that looked just as uncomfortable.
He shook his head again. “That's my Julia. Two minutes in my house, and she tells me she hates it and calls me an ass.” He started laughing once more.
“That's not what I meant,” she tried to explain, but she didn't feel the need to justify herself too much. He had read the letters, and yet he laughed with her. Maybe he had been angry, but he was laughing now and he had called her his Julia.
His
.
Her feeling of isolation eroded a little, and she relaxed. As much as she possibly could relax in such a cursedly hard chair, that is.
“So.” James slapped his hands against his knees. “The man finally came up to scratch, and you said no.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I had to.”
She searched his face, looking for some sign of ardor or excitement, or even of acknowledgment that something significant had happened. But the familiar, loved countenance remained open and expectant.
So she continued talking. “I know you had told me that he would be a good person to marry, but I just couldn't say yes. But then he badgered me, and I caved in and agreed that he could still hope, which I now regret. I don't really know what to do next. I suppose I should plan to avoid his company as much as possible so he won't get any false hopes.”
Now it was her turn to look at him, waiting for a reply. He puffed out all of his air, and shook his head again. “God almighty, what a ridiculous couple of days we've had.”
She bristled. “What do you mean, ridiculous?”
He must have noticed her displeasure, for he hastened to explain. “Only this: Two days ago, I was engaged and thought I would be so indefinitely. I knew my fiancée wasn't the most enthusiastic bride-to-be, but I had no idea that she was miserable, or that her sister loved me. I wasn't even fully aware that, over the past several months, I had fallen so jealously, crazily in love with that same sister that I would forget myself as I never had before. And that when precisely the kind and eligible gentleman I urged her to marry finally proposed, it would make me so much more jealous that I would contemplate throwing him through a window, even though she said no.”
“Not
quite
no,” Julia corrected, though a beaming smile was breaking across her face.
“True, not quite no, and not ‘no' enough for me,” James continued. “I don't think I'd be satisfied unless you had told the fellow you never wanted to see him again, and spat on his boots as a finale. I still want to throw him through a window.” He stood up and looked around the room. “Where's my coat? I know where he lives. He has big windows; they'll look positively amazing shattered to bits.”
“Oh, stop it,” Julia said, half laughing, and put a hand on his arm. “I didn't come to tell you to make you feel jealous. Although it is a nice bonus.”
“Why did you come tell me then, minx?” He crouched down in front of her and took her chin in his hand. He stared intently at her, a roguish smile on his lips, his gaze hopeful.
The yearning in his eyes unsettled her, heated her, made butterflies flit through her whole body.
“I was so confused,” she faltered. “I knew what I wanted to say, but not what I should say. And now that I'm here with you, I know what I want to say again, but not what I should say.”
“Why not?” His clear gaze fairly burned her.
“Well, I know it would cause a nine-days' wonder if it became known that Louisa had jilted you,” she began.
“It would,” he agreed, still looking at her intently.
“And also if anyone found out that I had rejected Sir Stephen's suit. Especially if I then took up with you,” she continued.
“A positive scandal,” he agreed, drawing her face closer to his. The heat of his gaze was twisting her stomach into an excited knot.
“And I know your family's very proper, and they would be mortified to be a part of a scandal,” she added. “Especially considering what your poor sister has already been through. Not to mention they wouldn't be all that delighted to have you throwing yourself away on an untitled girl with no more than a passable dowry.”
“They are indeed, very proper,” he agreed, leaning forward to press soft kisses along the long line of her neck. She closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on the feel of his lips, the whisper of his breath. It warmed her through to her very core.
She drew in a gulp of air at the quick flashes of pleasure he awoke in her, then strove to continue. “And . . . I . . . you . . . you know, we . . . um . . .”
Her head was foggy from his kisses. Her neck began to feel so pliable, her head so heavy, that she simply had to tilt it back to allow his mouth better access.
“Something you wanted to say?” he murmured, a laugh in his voice as he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone and began to toy with the edge of her bodice.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, I can't think straight when you do that!” Julia exclaimed.

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