Kathryn Smith - [Friends 03] (6 page)

T
rapped.

That was exactly how Julian felt as he stared out the narrow window at the rain. Even if his carriage wasn't in need of a new wheel, the roads beyond the cottage were the consistency of cold gravy— soft and lumpy. His horses would be exhausted before they made it out of the village.

He was trapped here, in Sophia's house, totally at her mercy.

And so far she had yet to take advantage of the situation. In fact, his hostess had made herself surprisingly scarce. Mrs. Ellis had shown him to this closet of a bedroom where a steaming bath had sat waiting— courtesy of the marchioness. Julian's clothes had dried in front of a comfortable fire while he soaked in the heavenly hot water.

Now, dry and as warm as he could be in the drafty cottage, he paced the length of a faded carpet so worn the floor boards peeked through in several spots, and wondered yet again why Sophia's brother-in-law allowed her to live in such lowered circumstances. What had she done?

And more important, why did she look at him as though daring him to mention it?

He didn't care. He didn't care that her house was drafty. He didn't care that her clothing was out of date and still in the subdued shades of half mourning. She was but a pale shadow of the vibrant creature she had once been. Only when she looked him in the eye and told him she did not want him in her house did he see any resemblance to the girl he had once…

The girl he had what? Desired? Admired?

Loved?

Standing at the window, the warmth of the fire at his back as he stared into the bleakness outside, Julian thought back to the time when Sophia could have had his heart for the asking. It had been a long time since he had thought of it, and even longer since it had actually happened, but it resurfaced in his mind with startling clarity.

He had first noticed Sophia during her first season. In a bouquet of delicate English roses she had been an exotic orchid. Her half-Spanish heritage set her apart from the other debutantes. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. What little self-confidence he possessed dissolved whenever he ventured within a few feet of her and it angered him. He made a habit of staying as far away from her as possible, even though he envied every man she danced with.

His avoidance of her went on for two seasons. It had become a habit by then. Julian had already watched several of his friends make fools of themselves over Sophia and had no desire to do the same. What other outcome could there possibly be? He was quiet and moody. He wrote poetry. She was vibrant and happy and seemed far too worldly to be impressed by the verses he scratched.

So when she walked up to him at a ball and boldly asked him why he never danced with her he had stammered something inane— he couldn't remember what. She looked up at him with those enormous, fathomless eyes of hers and asked him if he would care to dance. He said yes.

They danced twice that night. He actually asked her the second time. Even if he had known where those innocent dances would lead, he knew without a doubt he would have danced with her anyway. He would have taken that risk just to hold her in his arms, because when she looked at him he had felt as though there was nothing he could not do.

She had made him feel like a man.

The creaking of the chamber door brought him back to the present. He turned, half dreading, half hoping to see Sophia standing there.

It was Letitia.

"Yes?" He had expected her to pout longer than this.

She closed the door behind her. Dressed in an evening gown of dark copper silk, his sister was a vision of elegance. She looked so much like their mother that sometimes it brought a lump to Julian's throat. She had much of their mother's goodness as well— when she wasn't being obstinate.

"I have been thinking," she told him, raising her hesitant gaze to his.

What scheme had she come up with now? "About?"

She clasped her hands in front of her skirts. "About returning to London. I will go with you on one condition."

She was going with him and that was all there was to it. If Miranda's death had taught him anything, it was to be firm where his youngest sister was concerned.

"And that is?" he asked curiously, leaning his shoulder against the window frame.

"I want Sophia to come to London with us."

She didn't want much, did she? "No."

Letitia met his simple declaration with a defiant lift of her chin. "Then I am not going."

Damnation! What was she trying to do, drive him to violence? Dragging a hand through his hair, Julian silently counted to ten.

"You are going," he insisted from between clenched teeth. "Even if I have to carry you out of here."

His sister's color heightened but she did not back down. "Will you force me to go to balls as well? Will you lock me in my room to keep me from seeing whom I choose? You can only force me to do so much, Julian. No one can force me to say 'I do.' Not even you."

She had him there, and the smug smile on her face told him she knew it too.

"I would never force you to marry a man you could not in time learn to love, Lettie, as you are well aware."

Her smile widened at that. Locking his gaze with hers, Julian continued, "But you will leave this house with me as soon as we are able to do so, and Lady Aberley will
not
be coming with us. That is final."

Letitia's smile crumpled into an expression somewhere between tears and rage. For a moment, Julian thought Letitia was going to either burst into tears or throw something at him, but before she could do anything, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called.

Mrs. Ellis appeared in the open doorway. "Begging your pardon my lord, but the marchioness wished me to tell you and Lady Letitia that she will wait upon you in the parlor before going in to dinner."

So Sophia wished to break bread with him, did she? No doubt this show of hospitality was for Letitia's sake.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellis," he replied with a smile. "Please tell Lady Aberley my sister and I shall be down directly."

"I am not going anywhere with you," Letitia informed him once the housekeeper was gone.

Julian turned to face her with a heavy heart. Did she think he enjoyed denying her? For more than a decade he had been both mother and father to her. He gave her whatever she wanted, no matter how big or small. Perhaps that was the problem. Letitia was used to having her own way, but this was one time he would not give in.

"Fine," he told her. "I shall have Lady Aberley send a tray up to the nursery for you. If you wish to act like a child you can be treated as one."

If it were possible to slay someone with a glance, he would have expired right then and there, so dark was the gaze his sister fixed upon him.

"Sometimes I truly despise you," she whispered.

He knew she was angry with him, and it wasn't the first time she had said such words to him, but they still hurt all the same.

"I know," he replied with the faintest trace of regret. "Shall we go downstairs?"

She refused the arm he offered her as they met in the doorway and brushed past him with all the hauteur of a queen avoiding a peasant. Stifling a sigh, Julian didn't press the issue and left the room behind her.

Why must she always make him the villain? Why could she not see that he was only doing what was best for her? He wanted her to have a husband who would adore her, children to love and dote upon. These were things she deserved to have. Surely she desired them as well? And now was the time to do it, before she became too set in her ways.

Plus, he needed to see her settled and cared for before he could get on with his own life, and lately Julian had felt the urge to do just that. Over the past few years he had witnessed the marriages of his two closest friends. He envied the happiness Brave and Gabriel had found and wanted it for himself, but first he had to find it for Letitia. He would not always be there for her and he needed to know she would be well looked after should anything happen to him.

One would think that Sophia would encourage Letitia to marry, and marry well. After all, she had set out to get herself a rich husband and she ended up a marchioness. How fortunate she must consider herself that Julian hadn't offered for her, otherwise she would have ended up a mere countess.

Would she prefer that to being a reclusive widow in a house with creaky floors and drafty windows?

Outside the parlor door he straightened his coat— which was, thankfully, dry and comfortable once more— and ran his fingers through his hair. He winced as several tangles pulled at his scalp. Damn stuff. It was too thick and unruly for his liking.

As soon as he stepped into the parlor, Sophia met his gaze with an expression somewhat akin to panic. Julian's brain barely had time to register that and how lovely she looked in her dark plum evening gown before realizing that he was not the only man in the room.

Charles Morelle, the present Marquess of Aberley, followed his sister-in-law's gaze and flashed Julian a smile that was no more sincere than it was welcoming.

"Wolfram." The marquess greeted him coolly. "How good it is to see you again."

"Likewise," Julian replied with a slight smile. Charles stood very close to his sister-in-law, and every nuance of the man's stance and expression made it perfectly clear that he considered Sophia and all her soft curves as his property.

Was that why Sophia looked so distressed when he entered the room? She didn't want him to see that there was something going on between herself and her dead husband's brother? Were she and Morelle lovers?

The idea soured Julian's stomach.

Sophia discreetly put some space between herself and Charles. "Lord Wolfram, I am so glad you decided to join us."

Julian arched a brow, forcing himself to look at her face and not the soft flesh exposed by the low neckline of her gown. Had she thought he would stay up in his room all evening?

"Thank you for the hospitality, Lady Aberley. I apologize for any inconvenience my presence might cause you."

Was it his imagination or did she blush at that?

"Well," she said finally, after a brief but awkward silence. "Shall we go in?"

Aberley stepped forward to escort Sophia. Julian watched her stiffen as he did so. She didn't seem any happier to take the marquess's arm than Letitia was to take his. Either Sophia had learned to become an even better actress than she had been in her youth, or she truly did not want her brother-in-law touching her.

Julian wagered it was the former. Charles Morelle was a handsome man. He certainly wasn't as tall as Julian, nor was he as long of limb, but the marquess possessed the physique of a sporting man and a blond ruggedness that most women would find attractive. Surely Sophia wasn't immune.

His dislike for the marquess rose.

In fact, he thought as they entered the dining room, Sophia and Charles made a very handsome couple, just as she and the late marquess had. They looked as though they belonged together, and there could be no doubt that Charles wanted Sophia. The hunger in his gaze when he looked at her was unmistakable.

So why did she look more like a poor relation than a rich man's mistress?

It was none of his concern. After tomorrow, when he and Letitia were on their way to London, he wouldn't give Sophia or her lover another thought. They could go at it on the dining-room table for all he cared.

But when Julian imagined Sophia naked and writhing on that polished oak surface, it wasn't Charles Morelle he saw poised to devour her like the tart she was.

Good lord. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he even imagine making love with a woman he didn't even like? But he had liked her very much at one time. He never had Sophia as he had wanted all those years ago, perhaps that was the reason he was having these thoughts now. That had to be it.

Sophia sat at one end of the table, Charles at the other. She seemed much more relaxed with several feet of china and silverware between them. Did she hope that he wouldn't notice the way Charles looked at her? A man would have to be blind to miss that.

Dinner was an informal affair, with each of them serving themselves from platters on the table and nearby sideboard. The food was simple but delicious, and Julian was thankful for it as there was little conversation.

"So you're bound for London tomorrow, eh, Wolfram?" Charles asked around a mouthful of bread.

Lowering his fork to his plate, Julian nodded. "Yes." He didn't bother to add he'd steal a carriage if he had to.

The marquess looked very pleased to hear this. "Lady Aberley will miss your lovely sister's company, I fear."

If he feared it why did he look so damn happy about it?

"I invited Lady Aberley to join us," Letitia replied, fixing Julian with a mutinous expression. "But she declined."

This announcement seemed to surprise Charles as much as it surprised Julian.

"If you want to go to London, Sister, all you have to do is ask." There was a hint of innuendo in Charles's tone, a trace of intimacy that made it sound as though Sophia could have whatever she wanted, provided she asked the right way.

With her body.

It was tempting to knock the marquess's teeth into his lap. How dare he be so blatant in front of Letitia!

But Letitia didn't seem to notice. She was too busy moving her vegetables around her plate with her fork.

Julian glanced at Sophia. She looked as though she might throw something at her brother-in-law. Julian rather hoped that she would. He wanted her to refute the insinuation that Charles knew her more intimately than a husband's brother should.

Instead, she tightened her grip on her knife and fork. Disappointment stabbed at Julian's breast. "I have no desire to go to London," she replied politely. Only that brief flash in her eyes betrayed how truly angry she was.

She turned to Julian, her face an expressionless mask. "Please do not think I was trying to win an invitation, my lord."

In other words she didn't want to be in the same city as him, let alone the same house. It shouldn't affect him, but it did. It served to drive home the fact that she had never truly cared about him, that she had only paid attention to him because of his title and his fortune. What a fool she must think him.