Somewhere My Love (3 page)

“Be warned, Miss Morrow.
That
means more work for everyone. See you in the morning.
Sweet dreams,” Charlotte added with an unmistakable wink at Julia.

Her appe
aling lips curved uncertainly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hensley.”

Char
lotte brushed the title aside. “Call me Charlotte.
Everyone does.” 

The melting sweetness in Julia’s eyes knifed throu
gh Will with unwelcome f
orce.
How could such loveliness be so unnerving? 

“I’m just plain Julia,” she said in her ear-catching British accent.

“There’s n
othing plain about you, honey.
Is there, William?” Charlotte added, with a twinkle.

Will nearly choked.
“Not remotely,” he muttered, as Charlotte very well knew.

This was going to be tough, like navigating the
worst sort of obstacle course.
Five minutes with Julia and he was sinking fast, tentacles from the miry past reaching for his throat.
Have some backbone
, he chided himself, resolved
only to be civil to Julia.
N
othing more
.

Giving a wave, Charlotte angled off to the left
toward the back of the house.
And that blithe spirit was gone.

“This way.
”
Will
swung to the right.
Julia trotted beside him as he hastened through the great hall. 

A parade of
Wentworths
enshrined in gilded p
ortraits lined the white plastered
walls, an ancestry
reaching back over 300 years.
A gold fainting couch and a dozen or more Queen Anne chairs with matching brocade seats and ball and claw feet stood along one wall.  Here and there, small tables had been
pushed back to make room.
Historic touches, a pair of eighteenth century spectacles, a leath
er-bound volume of Shakespeare and other antique books, porcelain figurines, china vases…all added to
the charm.
Everything
was as it had been time out of mind, and yet, he battled for control over his unreasoning emotions.

Lagging slightly behind him, Julia raised widened ey
es to the high carved ceiling.
The embellished plasterwork was a masterpiece of garlands and designs crafted eons ago.

She sighed.
“So beautiful.”

God help him, she was.
He fell into his guide voice.

“Formal balls have been held in this room since the m
id-eighteenth century.” He gestured
at the magnificent staircase rising to the second floor as if by magic, each tread gracefully scrolled, the banister polished with the oil of many hands.  “Musicians sat on the landing.”

“Yes, I can imagine that.
Do you have dances here now?”

A vision of Julia dressed in yards of lavender with a dazzling low-cut bodice flashed through
his head in a dizzying swirl.
He had no idea where that far-flung fantasy came from and braced for the next attack. 

“Sometimes.
Grandmother is particularly fond of our annual costume ball and resides over the affair like a queen
,
but she’s getting past all that now.”

“I should love to see one,” Julia said.

Her lilting voice chimed in Will’s head like a siren’s song, further drawing him.  He really had to get a grip and
offered her the barest smile.
“Perhaps you’ll have y
our chance on Midsummer’s Eve.
Though
members of
staff are here to wait on guests, you understand.”

She flushed prettily and shifted from
one slender foot to the other. “Of course.
I didn’t intend for you to think––I mean––”

“Don’t trouble yourself about it,” he broke in, unable to bear her adorable uncertainty. 

Bu
t Julia wasn’t easily put off.
She stopped Will in his tracks
with a light hand on his arm.
The warmth of her fing
ers radiated through his sleeve
and set his skin afire.  He almost jerked away, but stayed as he was, letting the sensual heat flow through him.

“Please, tell me what you want me to do, Mr. Wentworth?”

Her innocent question jolt
ed Will like a strong current.
He didn’t dare tell this young woman the thoughts searing him at this mome
nt.
He was no coward, but he had the urge to flee the house, the past, and definitely Jul
ia.  Hers was a deadly beauty.
How
he knew that, he couldn’t say.
Instead, he drew on inner reserves and looked steadily into her eyes.

“Nothing too difficult for someon
e with your impeccable résumé.
You are to assist Charlotte as needed with tours of the house.”

Julia ran the tip of her tongue over dewy pink lip
s and bent toward him eagerly.
“And the grounds?”

He almost leapt back like one teete
ring on the edge of a precipice
.  “Certainly.  With your degree in horticulture and focus on heirloom plants, we welcome any information yo
u’d care to give the visitors.
Foxleigh employs two expert gardeners, but they don’t like to be bothered with questions.”

She nodded, b
ouncing on her toes. “I don’t mind at all.
People lo
ve the smell and feel of herbs.
Shall I give short tours and tell something of their age-old uses?” 

“That’s a great idea.
You may use the gazebo if
you’d like to schedule talks.
We have benches and seats there.”

“That would do wonderfully,” she said, with a luminous smile.

Lord, give him air.
Julia had engulfed him in an
irresistible tide.
Her mouth...
he must s
top eyeing her enticing mouth.
“Let’s see the gardens now.” 

Like a soldier on drill, he turned and walked swiftly out of the hall and into the passage that
led to the front of the house.
Julia practically had to sprint to keep pace wi
th his ground-covering stride.
The gentleman
in him took over on autopilot and
he stopped in the worn flagstone foyer before the paneled entrance. 

He pushed open the white door embellished by the carving of colonial
craftsmen and beckoned to her.
“After you.” 

“Thank you.”  She walked across the threshold and onto the circular brick porch ringed with an iron railing. 

The breeze had picked up with the approach of evening and li
fted lengths of her long hair.
Her already s
hort skirt danced in the wind.
The green-gold light spilled through the trees overhead and
down across her blowing mane.
His artist’s eye took in the glossy sheen of red, copper, a
nd ginger reflecting the rays.
As if this weren’t torment enough, Will glimpsed even more of her shapely legs, almost to her thighs with one gust. 

Julia pushed the fabric back down, seemingly too absorbed in her surroundings even to notice.  “Just smell that,” she sighed, inhaling deeply.

The warm scent from an avenue of ancie
nt hedges filled the mild air.
“Yes.  I love the scent of
Old English
boxwood,” he said.
 

She flung her arms wide at the green expanse, knotted with herb gardens, and stretching dow
n to the gently lapping river.
“Magnificent!”

Will felt weak and emboldened in one, as if he wanted to lunge with a sword and stagger from a punishing blow. 

An inner voice whispered,
Julia’s back
. 

What did that have to do with him, he argued. 

Everything
.

For heaven’s sake, he’d practically le
t his grandmother  think his tastes ran to men
rather than submit to the parade of potential spouses from moneyed families that she’d dangled before him.

Because of Julia
, the voice insisted.

No.
H
e’d simply wanted his freedom. No ties.
He was a ‘leave m
e the hell alone’ kind of guy.
Hadn’t he endured
enough pain, enough
loss?
Enough bloodshed.

Now, why on earth had he thought that? 

“Foxleigh is indeed incomparable,” W
illiam said from behind Julia.
His voice had dropped quite low.

Tension seized her.  He sounded like one fading from consciousness. 

She glanced
over her shoulder.
He’d leaned back against the door, eyes closed an
d his face pale under the tan.
Panic fluttered in her chest.  Was he ill?  Wait––hadn’t
she seen him like this before?
Worse––sprawled unmoving on the floor.  Dear God.  Was she losing her mind? 

Whether she was or wasn’t, she had to be certain he was all right.  She pivo
ted and grasped his shoulders.
“Mr. Wentworth, are you alright?”

He roused, looking at her with eyes as brown as decadent dark chocolate, the expression in their dept
hs difficult to read.
She thought she detected a mute appeal, and then a shade seemed to lower and her glimpse of the inner man faded.

“No need for alarm.
I’ve just been overworking, that’s all,” he said with a smile.

She reveled in the momentary warmth
enhancing his allure.
Realizing she still gripped him, she dropped her hands from his hard shoulders and shifted her attention to the fan-shaped carving above the entryway. 

He said no more and they stood in silence, but his presence filled the space around her
in a way no
stranger’s
could.
A void within her cried out that
he had once filled her heart. What was happening to her? It made no sense.
Still, she must speak. 

She returned her search
ing gaze to his guarded study.
His reluctant eyes
locked on hers with a hint of recognition in their dark depths.

A wildly irra
tional hope pulsed inside her.
She bit her lip, hopin
g he wouldn’t think her balmy.
“Is it possible we’ve met before?”

The spark of life in his eyes faded. “I don’t see how.”

Yet, like a distant melody growing stronger, she insti
nctively knew his voice...him.
“I’m not familiar to you at all?”

“How could you be, Miss Morrow?”

That n
ame sounded alien on his lips.
“It’s Julia.”

His face tightened in an almost imperceptible wince. “I’d prefer we r
etained formal working titles.
At least until we’re better acquainted.”

Disa
ppointment washed through her.
“Then you really don’t remember me?”

He ran
long fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry.”

“I know you, somehow,” she persisted.

An inner s
truggle flickered in his eyes.
Warine
ss won out and he set his jaw.
“The mind sometimes plays tricks on us, especially when mixed with an active imagination.”

“It’s more than that,
rather like waking from a sleep when you cannot clearly recall the dream, only feel it.”

For a moment, he seemed pensive, then that sardo
nic look returned to his eyes. His gaze narrowed. “You’re dreaming, all right.
I expect you’ve joined the throng of women in love with the dashing Cole Wentworth.”

Julia felt a blush burn
h
er cheeks.
She c
ouldn’t deny that possibility.
The name alone ripped through her.

“Is this
a problem with your working here?” he asked.

Mustering what dignity she
had left, she drew herself up.
“I’m fully capable of conducting myself with propriety, Mr
. Wentworth.
I’m British, for God’s sake.”

He frowned at her.
“The Brits don’t ha
ve a monopoly on self-control.
But I’ll allow you the benefit of the doubt in this instance.”