Loving Julia (17 page)

“Don’t you want to kiss me anymore?” she whispered humbly. His eyes blazed into hers for an instant, and then his mouth tightened into a thin straight line.

“I’m a swine, but not that big a swine,” he muttered. “I do draw the line at making love to inebriated little girls.”

Before she could say anything else, he strode with her from the room. Jewel was vaguely conscious of Johnson’s astonished face as Sebastian carried her through the great hall and up the stairs without uttering another word.

“I feel … funny.” Jewel mouthed the words as the world started to twirl around her. Her face must have whitened because he glared fiercely down at her.

“Don’t you dare get sick,” he warned through gritted teeth.

Jewel, head lolling back against a surprisingly comfortable broad chest, barely heard him. She felt as if she were spinning round and round in increasingly fast circles. He was striding along the south wing’s upstairs hallway, making short work of the distance between the landing and her room. Jewel felt herself growing dizzier and dizzier as he made turn after turn after turn….

Just as he reached the door to her room her stomach gave up the fight. He barely managed to tilt her away from him before she lost her dinner all over the woven wool runner that covered the floor.

“God damn it anyway,” he said bitterly, looking at his spattered boots. He set her on her feet, supporting her with one amazingly strong arm as she sagged limply against him and he fumbled for the doorknob. Then he was opening the door and picking her up again. Jewel kept her eyes tightly closed as he shouldered through the door with her limp in his arms. She couldn’t bear to see the disgust that she knew must be plain on his face.

“My lord …!”

“What has happened?”

The anxious voices belonged to Emily and Mrs. Thomas, who had of course been waiting up for her. Jewel’s head swam alarmingly, but it cleared enough for her to recognize how deeply she had disgraced herself, again. Oh no, she moaned inwardly, keeping her eyes closed tight and wishing she was dead as she was descended upon by the exclaiming pair of women.

“Miss Julia became ill at dinner,” Sebastian gritted in response to their alarmed inquiries as he dumped Jewel unceremoniously into the middle of her bed. He dropped her from such a height that she bounced, and immediately her stomach lurched again. Moaning, she rolled onto her stomach, burying her head in the pillows.

“Oh, my poor lady,” she heard Emily say sympathetically, while Mrs. Thomas’ less charitable mutterings did not quite manage to drown out the sound of boots retreating or the sharp closing of the door as Sebastian left.

XIII

“…and you have disgraced me, utterly disgraced me! How I shall ever manage to hold up my head in his lordship’s presence again …!”

Jewel had been listening to Mrs. Thomas’ harangue throughout the morning and now into the afternoon. Her head still felt as if someone was pounding on it with a hammer, her stomach churned at the mere idea of food, and there was a foul taste in her mouth that nothing seemed able to eliminate. But her physical miseries were as nothing compared to the shame she felt. How would she ever face Sebastian—but even the memory of how she came to be calling him that made her wince. She had behaved like the veriest trollop.

Mrs. Thomas’ shrill berating voice distracted Jewel from her thoughts, for which she wasn’t altogether sorry. So far, she had listened to the governess’ continuous scolding with a large amount of humility. To be perfectly honest, she agreed one hundred per cent with nearly every word the woman said. She had disgraced herself, and she supposed she had disgraced Mrs. Thomas as well. She would have even more trouble than Mrs. Thomas in holding up her head in Sebastian’s presence. Everything that had transpired after dinner last night was slightly hazy in her mind, but not hazy enough to allow her to forget the most vital part of what had occurred. She had kissed Sebastian, kissed him passionately, and had wanted to go on kissing him forever and ever and ever. Even now, despite the shame that made her want to crawl away and just die, the mere memory of that kiss could send a shaft of flame shooting through her body.

Of course, she had too much to drink, but that was no excuse for the way she had behaved. And she couldn’t blame it all on Sebastian, either. He was a man, and men were subject to strong compulsions of the flesh. Everyone knew that. But she was a woman, a lady (or at least she was trying to be) and it had been her place to stop what had occurred. She hadn’t even tried. Then, to make her humiliation complete, she had nearly passed out and Sebastian had had to carry her up to bed, for which she had repaid him by emptying the contents of her stomach on his immaculate boots once again. She moaned inwardly, remembering. How would she ever be able to face him again?

“Oh, shut yer mouth, ya old bag o’ wind!” Jewel hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but Mrs. Thomas’ constant yammering was driving her out of her mind. The lady puffed up, uttered an outraged “
Well
,” and marched out of the schoolroom with a sniff.

“I know when I am fighting a losing battle!” Mrs. Thomas threw over her shoulder as she went through the door. “A lady you’ll never be!”

The door slammed behind her with a force that made Jewel moan and cradle her head in her hands. She was still sitting that way a good twenty minutes later, fully occupied in wishing herself dead, when the door opened again. Sure that it was Mrs. Thomas returned to scold her some more, Jewel sought to head off the coming tirade by saying wearily, “I apologize, all right?”

“It is quite all right with me, but not, I fear, with your esteemed mentor.” There was no doubt that the silken syllables belonged to Sebastian. Jewel’s head popped up, and she stared at him in horror while scarlet color suffused her face.

“My-my lord.” Hardly knowing what she was doing, responding to some dimly felt inner wish to convince him that she
had
learned some of the lessons of a lady, she jumped to her feet and essayed a clumsy curtsy. Her knees seemed unwilling to cooperate, and for a moment she feared that she would finish her humiliation by toppling over. But she managed to right herself, and stood staring miserably at the snowy folds of his cravat. Not for anything on earth could she have forced herself to meet his eyes.

“What an interesting color your face is,” he observed after a moment of silence. “Bright red mixed with sort of a caterpillar green is not exactly, er, becoming, but it is certainly unusual.”

Jewel’s eyes flew to his face. She was amusing him to no end, no doubt, although his mouth looked perfectly grave. His mouth! She was staring at it and he was watching her! Her face went redder than it had been before, and her eyes dropped to his cravat again.

“I owe you an apology for my behavior last night, my lord,” she managed, praying that the stiffness of her voice would mask her deep sense of shame. She wanted to salvage whatever tiny scraps of dignity that she could from the debacle.

“Let’s forget it, shall we?” he said abruptly. Jewel risked a look at him, surprised by the sudden roughness in his voice. “I was at fault as much as you. I should have kept a closer account of the amount of wine you were drinking. In future, you are to limit yourself to a single glass.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jewel whispered, his temperance when she had expected furious condemnation making her feel even worse. She felt ashamed tears forming in her eyes and blinked rapidly to disperse them. If she broke down now and cried in front of him, she would have to throw herself off the nearest cliff.

“I thought we agreed that you were to call me Sebastian.”

He was standing just inside the door, still speaking in the same rough tone as he toyed with the riding crop he carried in one hand. He was dressed in an old tweed coat and a pair of suede pantaloons that had worn places about the knees. It was infuriating that even in such a shabby riding outfit he still managed to look elegant. Something to do with his build, she decided as her eyes went from the broad shoulders and lean torso to the narrow hips and hard muscled legs before she realized what she was doing and hastily averted her gaze.

She was miserably conscious of how dreadful she herself must look, with her eyes mud-brown today instead of golden and red-rimmed to boot, her complexion wan instead of creamily pale, and her hair drawn back off her face in a knot so tight (she suspected that the hairstyle was Emily’s subtle version of punishment) that it tugged at her scalp and made her headache worse. In a high necked dress of black kerseymore she felt as drab and colorless as a candlemoth in the presence of a monarch butterfly.

“If you wish.” Her voice was low. He looked at her in silence for a long moment, his lips compressing as she refused to meet his eyes. The riding crop flicked once, twice through his fingers, then abruptly slapped against the leather of his boot. Jewel started, and her eyes flew automatically to meet his.

“You look like death warmed over. I suggest you sit down before you fall down.”

Jewel was so glad to do as he suggested that she didn’t even resent being told how horrible she looked. Sinking into the chair she had vacated upon his entrance, she looked up at him again. He was really being very nice about the whole thing, not berating her for behaving like a light-skirt. And not saying a word about her losing her dinner all over him again. She tried offering him a tentative, tremulous smile, but just the facial movements required to form one caused such a pain to shoot through her head that she groaned, and had to lean forward and rest her forehead on the table.

“That bad, is it?” He sounded suddenly, hatefully amused. “Don’t worry, I know just the thing to make you feel better.”

She felt rather than saw him step out into the hall. His bellowed “Leister!” made her wince. There followed a low conversation, and he returned to the schoolroom. A few minutes later a dapper little man whom Jewel recognized as Sebastian’s valet arrived holding a tray upon which rested a bottle of amber spirits, another bottle of some sort of spice, an egg cup (of all things), a glass, and a spoon.

“My special remedy, my lord,” Leister said, carefully not looking at Jewel as Sebastian moved to take the tray from him. Sebastian dismissed him with a word of thanks and closed the door before turning back into the room with his burden.

“What’s that for?” Her voice was suspicious.

He set the tray on the table and started mixing right before her eyes. First a splash of liquour, then the egg, then a dash of spice were put into the glass. He then stirred the revolting mixture vigorously before holding the glass out to her. Jewel stared at the frothy concoction with unconcealed repugnance.

“I ain’t drinkin’ that,” she stated with utter conviction and a complete loss of her carefully cultivated accent.

“Don’t be tiresome if you please. The hair of the dog that bit you is the best cure in the world for what ails you right now. And Leister has added his own modest refinements to an age old remedy. Drink this down, and in a little while I guarantee you’ll feel much better.”

He was looking amused again, and Jewel scowled at him. It was surprising how thoroughly he had managed to set her at ease when not a quarter of an hour ago she had just wanted to die.

“ ’Course you should know.”

He smiled seraphically, holding out the glass again. “Don’t be sarcastic, Julia, it doesn’t become you. Come, if you won’t drink it under your own steam, I shall be forced to employ drastic measures.”

“Like wot?” She was not going to drink that—that disgusting mess. She could feel her stomach heaving at the mere thought of it. He could not make her—could he? Her scowl darkened. The unconscionable swine probably could.

“I can always hold your nose, and when you open your mouth to breathe pour it down your throat.”

“Ya wouldn’ dare!”

He smiled in reply, holding out the glass to her. Julia, frowning fiercely, knew when she was defeated.

“Bully!” She muttered the word under her breath, taking the glass from him with a fearsome glare. He said nothing, merely folding his arms on his chest as he waited. She scowled again, first at him and then at the awful mixture. Finally, with a dreadful grimace she picked the glass up and bolted the contents. As the slimy mess went down her throat she gagged, and for an awful moment she thought she was going to compound her humiliation of the night before by throwing up again. But this time, if she did, he deserved it, she thought—and in her anger the mixture made it down to her stomach unrejected. Her head swam for a moment, but then it cleared and she knew that the horrible concoction was going to stay down.

“Very good.” He sounded like a parent praising a wayward child. Jewel felt too awful to even scowl at him any more. Instead she groaned, and rested her head against the table again. To her fury he actually chuckled.

“You’ll feel better soon, I promise. I suggest you spend the rest of the day in your bed. Tomorrow morning I’ll see you in the library at nine sharp.”

She looked up at that. “In the library?” She was confused. Why could he possibly want to see her in the library so early in the morning?

He paused on his way to the door. “Oh, did I forget to mention it? The estimable Mrs. Thomas just gave notice. She, uh, no longer feels capable of teaching you. Until a replacement can be found, I propose to assume the role of your instructor.”

“You?” Words failed Jewel. The haughty Earl of Moorland teach a little guttersnipe—his words!—to be a lady? The idea was laughable, if she wasn’t afraid he was serious.

“Why not? I thought it might prove amusing.” And with that he went out the door, pausing to say over his shoulder, “I’ll send your maid to you. She can help you to bed.”

XIV

During the rest of that spring and summer, Jewel Combs gradually all but disappeared. Her place was slowly, painfully, but in the end thoroughly taken by Julia Stratham, who was (nearly) every inch a lady.

Under Sebastian’s implacable guidance Jewel even began to think of herself as Julia. In the mornings when she sat before her dressing table mirror while Emily brushed her hair, it was Julia she saw looking back at her: Julia with the smooth white skin and soft pink mouth, Julia with the slanting black eyebrows (expertly shaped now so that they gave her appearance a touch of the exotic instead of being merely bushy) above golden eyes to which health and happiness had added a vibrant sparkle, Julia with the thick glossy hair the color of ebony, Julia with the feminine curves that filled out the hated black dresses so that they really didn’t look so drab after all. It was Julia who read the books Sebastian gave her and gravely discussed them with him later; it was Julia who curtsied and pirouetted for his approval; it was Julia who listened attentively to all he could tell her about the ways of the world he had inhabited since birth. It was Julia who learned to look on Sebastian as the family she had never had; friend, father, brother, and mentor all rolled into one gorgeously wrapped package, an omnipotent being who could make her laugh with a wry lift of his eyebrows, or explode her still hasty temper with a teasing remark. It was Julia whom he could reduce to shamed silence with no more than a frosty look, and it was Julia who strictly monitored her behavior so that it would please him. Because she wanted to please him badly. Sebastian had become far and away the most important person in her life.