Loving Julia (7 page)

“Stand up.”

“Wot?” His command caught her by surprise, and she frowned. He repeated it with a cool lack of emphasis, and stepped back from her, allowing her sufficient room to obey. Jewel, to her own surprise, stood without further question, looking at him warily. The blanket drooped from her shoulder, and he reached out to remove it altogether, throwing it aside as though it might be unclean.

“I ain’t got the pox, if that be wot’s worryin’ ya.”

“You relieve my mind.” His voice was as tranquil as if they were discussing the weather. Jewel ground her teeth. This fine earl would drive her to drink within a week, she thought—or maybe even to murder him. The thought made her smile.

“How old are you?” he demanded abruptly, his eyes narrowed as he watched the change a smile brought to her face.

“Sixteen, or thereabouts, I think. How old ya be?”

It was deliberate impertinence, and Jewel did not really expect him to answer, but he did without apparent rancor.

“Thirty-one.”

Exactly fifteen years older than herself, Jewel calculated as his eyes ran over her again. Old enough so that he was a full grown man, not a clumsy boy.

“You’re way too thin, but I suppose that’s only to be expected and can be remedied. We will hope that your figure will improve as your diet does.”

His eyes turned critically to her small breasts, clearly revealed even to the tiny upright nipples by the damp silk that clung to her. His gaze rested there for an instant before moving down over her tiny waist and boyish hips. The only undergarment she ever wore was a pair of drawers, and with her dress as wet as it was, every curve and hollow of her shape was revealed to him. Looking down at herself, Jewel felt a sense of shame that her body wasn’t more lushly female. But she told herself that it was just as well. He was very handsome, too handsome. And when he ordered her to do something in that voice of his she couldn’t seem to do anything but obey him. It was uncanny, the effect he had on her. She didn’t like it, not one little bit. It was time she started to show that she had a mind of her own again.

“Seen enough?” she asked pertly as his eyes returned to her face at last. She was surprised to find that, standing, she still had to tilt her head back to look into those celestial eyes. She had not realized that he was so tall.

The sight of those beautiful eyes frowning down into her own unexpectedly flustered her, and she took a step backwards, ending up with the backs of her knees pressed closely against the seat of her chair.

His eyebrows rose faintly at her action, and his eyes narrowed on her face. Feeling herself blush, Jewel prayed that he would not be able to guess the unsettling feelings he stirred in her body.

“You’ll never be a diamond of the first water, but I suppose you can be rigged out to be presentable enough. You’ll have to learn to speak, to dress, to conduct yourself like a lady. I’ll have to hire you a governess, I suppose. Some elderly female, perhaps.” His eyes gleamed brightly blue with calculation as they ran over her again. His impersonal regard when she was so intensely aware of him was maddening.

“ ’old your ’orses a minute, ’ere. Suppose I don’ wan’ ter be turned into a bleedin’ lady? I don’ ’ave to do wot ya tell me, ya know. I can jes’ take wot’s comin’ ter me and leave.”

He smiled then, a slow sweet smile that made Jewel tingle from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. There was something about that smile that made her feel the way she had felt once when she had been to an exhibition at Astley’s Amphitheater and seen a snake curl around its handler’s neck.

“Let’s get something clear between us, my girl. You will do just exactly as I tell you. If you do not, if you do not obey me precisely in everything, then I will turn you back out into the streets without a second thought. Your marriage lines, as my mother so thoughtfully pointed out, are not worth the paper they are written on unless I choose to acknowledge them. If I do not choose to accept them and you, what will you do? Hire a barrister and press a suit against the estate? You’d be laughed out of court with your whore’s cant—even supposing you could find a barrister willing to take your case. With my sponsorship, however, you will be well fed, which from the looks of you is something you’ve never been, well clothed, housed, and educated far above your station. You will have my cousin’s name, and in four years time, on what would have been his twenty-fifth birthday, his not inconsiderable competence to call your own. But make no mistake, my girl. In return for all this you will do as I say without question. If you wish to go, you have only to say so now. But once you agree, there will be no turning back. In return for the future I hold out to you, you will obey me in all things. It is your choice. Think well before you make it. Once made, there will be no going back.”

Jewel looked at the earl, her eyes narrowed to a dull golden gleam in the lamplight. Then she looked around at the leather chairs, the books that lined the walls, the luxurious carpet beneath her feet, the paintings on the wall. A fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, making the room toasty warm. The entire house was undoubtedly warm—here, in this mansion, warmth was not a luxury but something that was taken for granted, like air to breathe. She would have plenty of food to eat, and a warm, dry bed to sleep in free of bugs or the possibility of other, less welcome intruders, clean, whole clothes—and she would be safe. She would be a fool not to agree with any conditions he set on that. Then she thought of something, and frowned darkly.

“There be jes’ one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“I won’t be—do nothin’ bad wit’ ya!” She blurted it out, her voice belligerent, her eyes gleaming with golden challenge.

His eyes widened slightly, and he stared at her for a moment. A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. He looked to be on the verge of laughing, which she sensed was a rare thing for him. Contrarily, the knowledge that he found her assertion amusing nettled her. It was humbling to discover that he thought her
so
lacking in attraction.

“My dear girl, you may put aside any fears that you may be harboring. I assure you, I have absolutely no designs on your person. You are as safe with me as you would be with your own father or brother. If you have either.”

“I ain’t got no family a-tall.” Her answer was muttered. The sudden shame that rose in her at the admission surprised her. Being the daughter of a woman who had had to whore for a living had never bothered Jewel particularly before. But now, in the face of this man, it did.

“You are more fortunate than I then,” he responded dryly, lifting an eyebrow at her. “Well, do we have a bargain or don’t we?”

Jewel nodded. “We got a deal.”

He smiled then, a faint curving of his lips. “Very wise of you. You’ve given up little to gain much. I will have Mrs. Masters prepare a room for you. After she shows you to it, a bath will be sent up to you. Oblige me by making full use of it. Tomorrow I travel to the country. I think the best thing will be for you to accompany me. Your education will prosper better away from town where there are fewer eyes to see and tongues to wag. I leave at first light, so be ready. One of the maids will wake you in time.”

He crossed to the side of the room and tugged on a tasseled rope while Jewel watched him with some trepidation. She would not have been at all surprised to see little horned gremlins descend out of the ceiling at his signal. It was somehow in keeping with her notion that she had just sold her soul to the devil.

“Your name, what was it again?” He was looking at her with the merest suggestion of a frown.

“Jewel. Jewel Combs.”

“My lord,” he prompted.

“My lord,” she echoed, feeling foolish, and he nodded.

“Jewel Stratham, don’t you mean, since you have married my cousin Stratham?”

Jewel was startled to realize that she hadn’t even thought about that. But, yes, she realized now, her name—and so much else—had been changed forever. “Jewel Stratham, then. My lord.”

He nodded again, showing approval that she had remembered the correct way to address him.

“Jewel is not, I think, fitting for the role of my cousin’s relic. It reminds one—quite irresistibly!—of the stratum which you will no longer occupy. I think you shall be called Julia. Similar enough so that you should have no problems answering to it, but still the name of a lady.”

“But—” Jewel started to protest this disposal of her name as if it were no more than a dirty rag, but caught his eye in time to remember her promise to obey him in all things. She looked around her again at the warmth and luxury of the room, thought of the sumptuous dinner that was certain to be provided for her shortly, and bit her tongue. He could call her Henry the Eighth if he wanted, if she could eat good.

“Are we agreed? Jewel Combs is now Mrs. Julia Stratham?” His eyes were on her, measuring her compliance. Jewel nodded.

“Ayeh. My lord,” she added as those eyebrows went up. He smiled at her.

“I can see that you’re a clever girl, Julia. We should get on very well. Ah, yes, Mrs. Masters.” He turned his attention to the plump middle aged lady who presented herself after a brief knock in the doorway. “This is Mr. Timothy’s widow. She requires a room—the gold one, I think—a bath, and a meal. Also, some nightclothes, and, uh, some suitable garments for travel on the morrow. Oh, and you may address her as Miss Julia. She is to be quite one of the family.”

“Mr. Timothy’s wife, my lord?” Mrs. Masters’ voice was squeaky with disbelief as her eyes ran over the new Mrs. Julia Stratham.

Jewel stiffened, conscious of the picture she must present with the still wet red gown clinging to every slim curve, the pale flesh of her breasts peeking out above the bodice, and her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and hunger. Mrs. Masters looked scornful, affronted, and offended in turn—until her rheumy blue eyes met the celestial ones of her master. Then all expression was quickly wiped from her face. Jewel’s sizzling temper subsided. There was no need for her to say anything to put the snooty creature in her place when the earl’s silence was so eloquent.

“Yes, Mrs. Masters. Didn’t I just say so?” He turned to Jewel, who looked at him as a drowning man might a life line. “Go with Mrs. Masters. She will provide all that you require. I will see you in the morning.”

“Please follow me, Miss Julia.” Mrs. Masters turned to go. Her tone was stiffly correct, but Jewel knew that her dislike of having to treat courteously one whom she had instantly dismissed as a guttersnipe or worse was fairly choking her.

The earl made a gesture indicating that Jewel should follow the housekeeper. With a final sideways look at the beautiful masculine face, which suddenly struck her as being a port in a storm of dislike, and a determined straightening of her shoulders, she did.

V

When the girl had gone, Sebastian Peyton, eighth Earl of Moorland, moved back to the chair behind his desk and sat down, feeling suddenly weary. Automatically his hand reached for the mother-of-pearl cigar box that held the thin brown cheroots that were one of his numerous vices. Extracting one and lighting it, he inhaled the aromatic smoke with pleasure. He was engaged to meet a trio of cronies for dinner and a night of activities that would no doubt add to their unsavory reputations as scions of noble families whose scandalous careers put them outside the social pale. But for once his heart was not in it.

He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and put the cheroot between his lips, savoring it. Life held too few pleasures, he thought bleakly. It was a cold and barren business with only small things like his cheroots, a good glass of brandy, or maybe a particularly ravishing high flyer to provide leavening. Which was probably why he hadn’t sent the brass-faced little chit about her business. He was bored, deadly bored, and she looked like she might provide some amusing moments. Added to which, admitting her to the family had annoyed his mother mightily, and he enjoyed annoying his mother. It paid her back in small measure for all those years when she had ignored him.

Funny how life worked out when you thought about it. Edward, his sainted brother who had been the darling of his mother’s heart and would have been the earl now if he had lived, had been dead these past ten years. And he himself had been widowed for what would be two years next month. And now Timothy, too, was gone.

Sebastian had never cared greatly for the lad, whose mother had spoiled him rotten just as Sebastian’s mother, sister to Timothy’s mother, had spoiled Edward. But he had been very young to die.

“Here’s one in the eye for old Seb.” Sebastian could imagine how the thought had cheered the dying youth. Timothy had deeply resented his cousin because Sebastian had refused to pay another farthing of his monstrous gambling debts, or to finance his taste for expensive light-skirts, or to advance him any sums over and above the allowance which came to him each quarter. In addition, he had rung a rare peal over Timothy’s head the last time the boy had come begging to him, and recommended that he find honest employment if he could not support himself on the funds that were available to him. It was an object lesson designed to put a damper on Timothy’s rackety ways before the boy came into his adequate but not enormous principal and promptly ran through every last shilling of it. But Timothy had been furious, and had stormed out of the house in high dudgeon. That had been some six months ago, and as Timothy had his own bachelor lodgings Sebastian had not seen him since.

But there was one thing that Sebastian could do for Timothy, and he had already set the wheels in motion to do it: He could see that the boy’s killer was hanged from the highest tree at Tyburn. Already he had a pair of Bow Street runners on the job. Now that Mistress Jewel Combs—no, Julia Stratham, how could

he have forgotten?—had turned up they would have far more to go on than they had before. The girl’s story had enough holes in it to drive a carriage through, but he was sure somewhere in her web of lies lay the truth.

He opened his eyes and reached for pen and paper, scribbling a brief note, then sanding the missive, folding, and sealing it. He got to his feet, moving over to the bell pull and tugging it impatiently. When Smathers answered his summons, he handed the butler the note.