The Abduction of Julia (9 page)

“Well?” asked Alec.

Mr. Pratt placed the will on the desk and sighed. “It is true the executors could not withhold the funds under such circumstances, but—”

“Excellent.” Alec turned to Julia. “What do we do now, love?”

“Pardon me, my lord!” Mr. Pratt said, eyes bulging in alarm. “I must urge you to reconsider this step! Such a move could tie up the settlement for months, even years.”

“So? We would have the money.”

“But the time… the expense!
My lord, you’ve not thought of the time and trouble this could cause.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be any trouble for me.” Alec
smiled,
the flash of his white teeth startling. “But it would be quite irksome for my solicitor.”

A look of confusion swept across Mr. Pratt’s face and Julia experienced a moment of pity. She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Perhaps if you could arrange for the release of the funds now, Lord Hunterston will refrain from challenging the settlement.”

“But if the executors find your claim spurious—”

“They will not. My father was the Earl of Covington, and I have legally wed Lord Hunterston. The executors must accept this marriage.”

Mr. Pratt swallowed hard and rubbed a hand across his mouth. After a long moment that seemed to last an eternity, he sighed. “I will have the funds transferred immediately.”

Alec relaxed in his chair and sent a heart-stopping grin toward Julia.

Mr. Pratt pulled a clean sheet of paper in front of him. “The executors will require an immediate investigation into the validity of Lady Hunterston’s claim.” He smiled at Julia with a touch of admiration. “In order to expedite this matter, it would help if you could supply some information.”

“What do you need to know?”

“The approximate dates of your father’s birth and death.”

“He was born August 15, 1749, at the family estate in Derbyshire. He died October 7, 1807.”

The solicitor wrote the dates in careful script. “Where did your family reside?”

“Boston.”

The pen hovered over the paper.
“Siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child.”

“Hm.
And your father’s given name?”

“Jason Henry Frant. He was named after my grandfather.” She frowned. “I don’t know much about the details regarding the inheritance, but it should all be in my uncle’s papers.”

“I will call on Lady Covington this morning.” Mr. Pratt read through the information.
“One last question.
Where were your parents married?”

“They eloped to the border.” Julia smiled in remembrance. Her father loved to tell how he had swept his beloved Jane away during that wild ride to Gretna Green. “The third of June, 1778.”

Mr. Pratt wrote a few more notes before returning the pen to its stand. “I will let you know if we have any other questions. The first installment of the funds will be released this morning.”

“Good,” said Alec, standing. “And now, if you’ll forgive us, Lady Hunterston and I have some rather pressing errands.” He assisted Julia from her chair and escorted her to the door, leaving the solicitor staring after them.

Alec settled in the corner of their carriage, his hat rakishly tilted over one eye, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Thank God for debtor’s court.”

Julia bit back an impatient sigh. “I didn’t get to ask him to set up an account for my portion.”

The smile disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.

“Don’t worry,” he snapped. “You will get your fair share.
More than your fair share.”

She flinched under the sting of his words, and for an instant she regretted forcing him to give up half his fortune. After all, he had done nothing more reprehensible than to get caught in one of Therese’s detestable ploys.

But had she not convinced Alec to give up part of his fortune, not one farthing would have gone for anything truly worthy. Julia smiled brightly. “I’m sure you will see to it I get my fair share. I am very excited about spending it.”

His mouth parted in astonishment; then he chuckled. “At least you are honest. Shall I have Johnston go round to Tattersall’s, or will Bond Street do?”

She waved a hand.
“Oh, no!
I have other plans for my portion of the money.”

Alec pushed his hat back and sat up straight, his gaze narrowed on her.
“Such as?”

“First, I plan on supporting the Society for Wayward Women. They just lost their biggest sponsor, and are in a terrible fix financially. After that…” She frowned. “Well, I shall be very careful where I give the rest of it. Not all charities are well managed, you know.”

His gaze wandered over her, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Still the philanthropist, hm? All that will change, my innocent, once you’ve tasted champagne, felt raw silk on your bare skin, and wrapped a diamond necklace about your pretty little neck.”

Julia patted the scarf at her throat to make sure it was still in place. “I’ve tasted champagne before, thank you. I didn’t care for it at all.” She rubbed her nose. “It made me sneeze.”

He flashed a dark smile. “Then it wasn’t good champagne.”

“I was told it was the best, but you could be right. One never knows about those things.”

Alec studied her as if he’d never quite seen her before.

“No,” he said slowly, “I suppose one never does.”

Julia was acutely aware of the burning sensation left on her wrist at his earlier touch. It heated anew as his enigmatic gaze roamed. She put a self-conscious hand to her hair and discovered that most of it had escaped from the neat bun. Long wispy tendrils curled over and under her collar. It must look horrendous. She attempted to tuck the annoying strands back into place.

“For the love of God,” Alec said with a hint of impatience. “Let it be. It looks better down.”

Julia’s cheeks burned. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly.

“Do you?” He reached across the distance that separated them. To her astonishment, he slid her spectacles off her nose,
then
leaned back in his corner, a faint smile curving his mouth.

“There,” he said with obvious satisfaction.
“Much better.”

“Better for whom? I can’t see a thing.”

“Ah, but I can see ever so much more,” he returned in a soft voice, his smile suddenly intimate. “According to our bargain, my dearest Julia, I cannot touch you, but I can look to my
heart’s
content.”

Julia’s heart thudded so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it.
He is a rake
, she reminded herself severely.
He says those things to every woman he meets
. She desperately cast about for a safe topic of conversation. “You told Mr. Pratt we had some errands.”

Alec idly swung her spectacles to and fro. “We do.”

“Such as?”

“We, my dear, are going shopping.”

“For what?”

His gaze flickered over her attire, lingering on her outmoded pelisse and reticule.
“Clothes.”

She caught the censure in his glance and her heart contracted. Though Mrs. Winston had been able to press out many of the wrinkles, she knew she must appear dowdy. Facing Alec’s shimmering gaze, she found herself yearning for a spectacular gown, one that would magically transform her into a beautiful temptress.
One that would make his heart race as uncomfortably as hers.

Julia firmly took her wandering imagination in hand. “I suppose I will need one or two gowns,” she conceded, though she thought it a great waste of money. For the price of one gown, she could fund an innumerable amount of work.

“You’ll need more than one or two. We are about to cut a swath through society.”

That astonished her.
“Whatever for?”

“We don’t have a choice. As the efficient Mr. Pratt so obligingly pointed out, the will is very specific. We have to take our place in society.”

Julia smoothed her gray muslin gown over her knees. “I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I’m sure it will be dreadful for both of us,” he agreed easily. “The wealthy are like a pack of wolves. They like nothing better than to feed off the carcasses of those who have fallen.”

She lifted her brows. “And I should purchase a gown for that?”

He flashed a lazy smile. “Several. The only way we can hope to come off is to enter the fray bedecked in our finest armor.”

Julia reached over, reclaimed her spectacles, and sat them firmly on her nose. “It sounds like a childish game.”

“So it does. Unfortunately, neither of us has a choice.”

The coach slowed and came to a halt. Alec didn’t wait for the coachman but opened the door himself and pulled out the step, holding out his hand. It amused him when Julia
hesitated
the briefest instant before placing her fingers in his and stepping down. The scent of lemon and spice rose from her hair as the breeze stirred the loosened tendrils and he caught himself leaning forward to catch the scent more completely.

Johnston arrived. “What are ye about,
openin‘ yer
own door?” he said in an injured tone. “The next thing ye know, ye’ll be
wantin’
to polish yer own boots.”

Alec took Julia’s unresisting hand and pulled her toward a shop door. “We will be a while, Johnston. Lady Hunterston and I will be ordering a number of gowns for her debut.”

The groom harrumphed. “And what should I be
doin‘ in
the meantime?”

Julia pulled her hand from Alec’s and fished about in her reticule. She placed two pence in Johnston’s hand. “There. Stable the horses and have some nice hot soup. You can return for us in an hour.”

The groom, bemused by the sudden largesse, nodded mutely. Julia looked eminently satisfied as she turned toward the modiste’s. With her hair falling about her face and her cheeks pinkened with the chill of the day, she was delectable. Alec regretted he had allowed her to reclaim her spectacles.

Watching the sway of her trim backside as she strode to the shop, he leaned toward Johnston and murmured, “Whatever you do, try to appear sober when you return.”

The groom pocketed the coins and offered a cheeky grin. “I always
try
.”

Alec laughed and joined Julia.

She met him with the grim air of someone about to face an unpleasant task.
“Four gowns, but no more.”

“You are not a chaperone any longer, Julia.” She hesitated and he took her hands in his. “We may have managed to win a reprieve from Pratt, but it is only the beginning.”

Julia wrinkled her nose. “I’m not going to enjoy this.”

He had to laugh at her expression. “Neither will
I
.” Alec placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his. “But we’ll do it, or we will never see the rest of the funds.”

She stepped away as if anxious to put some space between them. “Very well, but I insist on paying for my own gowns.”

“No. I will pay for my wife’s clothing. It is only proper.”

Good God, what had made him say that? She already had half the money, and it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to expect her to pay some of her own expenses. But looking down at her small upturned face framed by an unbecoming frayed bonnet, the ribbons faded and uneven, Alec was assailed by the desire to provide her with something—something more, something better. “Damn it, Julia. I will purchase your clothes and anything else I wish.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Besides,” he added, catching her hand and placing it firmly in the crook of his arm, “it will leave you more money to squander on your charity work.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You said we had several errands, not just this one. Where do we go from here?”

“Milliner, mantua maker, and then last, the jeweler.”

She stared at him. “I don’t think jewelry is necessary. My mother gave me her garnets. That should suffice.”

“If you appear in something as trumpery as garnets, people will think I’m a nip-farthing or worse. You have no choice in this matter.”

“It is a waste of money,” she said flatly.

He scowled. Would she resist him at every turn? “Damn it! I will buy you jewelry and you will wear it.”

Julia met his statement with silence, merely fixing him with a serious stare. Alec tried to glare her down, but she never so much as flinched.

After an unconscionable time, she sighed, though a smile quirked at the corner of her generous mouth. “You are a stubborn man, Alec MacLean.”

“So they tell me.”

“Very well.
I will accept your gifts. However, once this charade is done, we will sell whatever items we purchase.”

He choked. “Sell?”

“And donate the proceeds to the Society for Wayward Women.” She patted his arm. “That way you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing your money has gone for a truly worthy cause.” Having settled everything, she gave him a blinding smile and entered Madame Moulin’s.

Alec watched her disappear through the door and wondered if any other woman of his acquaintance would have balked at his offer. Certainly none of them would have wished to sell any of her possessions for charity.

Sighing, he took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. He was coming to realize that having Julia for a wife was going to be a unique experience. Unlike life with the predictable Therese, life with Julia would be an adventure. Unfortunately, he was only now beginning to realize just how blasted uncomfortable adventures could be.

“I said I do not wish to see any visitors
,“
Therese snapped when the door opened. Damn the new footman. He was the seventh in as many weeks and as poorly trained as the rest.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to see me,” said a cultured masculine voice.

“Nick!” she cried, rising from the settee. “I was just about to send for you. Something has happened.”

He closed the door and walked toward her with a casual, elegant grace. As always, she was struck by his golden beauty. Whereas Alec had inherited the acclaimed dark allure of the Bridgeton family, Nick had taken his fair looks from his mother, a notorious French beauty who had reputedly killed herself in a fit of rage.