Never Less Than a Lady (21 page)

Since a hip bath full of water was available, Randall had a quick wash before he poured two glasses of port, donned nightclothes, and rejoined Julia in the bed. Her dark hair was in a neat braid falling over one shoulder and a modest muslin nightgown covered her thoroughly, but she was still distractingly attractive.

In fact, knowing what lay beneath the muslin made her even more irresistible. Perhaps the reverse was also true, since she watched him with unabashed enjoyment even though he was now as thoroughly covered as she was.

He handed her the wine, then slid under the covers next to her. Leaning back against the piled pillows, he draped an arm around her. “Drinking wine in bed with a beautiful woman is a soldier’s dream, especially when slogging through the mud of a military campaign.”

She smiled. “Is wine the first thought on a soldier’s mind?”

“The second.” He kissed her lingeringly, ending it with great reluctance. Now that the barriers to intimacy had been annihilated, he wanted to make love to Julia until he was too weak to even crawl out of the bed.

Reminding himself that there would be other nights, he asked, “Has Ash found any witnesses to the carriage incident?”

“Yes, but so far, nothing that proves whether or not it was deliberate.” She sipped at her port, her brows furrowed. “If it was an attempt to kill me, I don’t see how it could have been planned. Even Mariah and I didn’t know we’d be at that place at that time.”

“A man who was following you might have seen an unexpected opportunity to attack, and acted on impulse,” Randall said slowly.

“Perhaps that’s it,” she agreed. “Usually those streets are too crowded for a carriage to build up much speed, but the incident took place during one of the lulls in traffic that sometimes happen. A stalker might have decided to seize the chance to run me down.” Her fingers tightened on her goblet. “He might have killed Mariah, too.”

Mariah, and the child she was carrying. If the two women had been hurt, Randall and Ashton would have been fighting each other for the chance to administer justice to the culprit. “You knew Crockett. Might he ignore Daventry’s order to leave you alone if he still wanted vengeance?”

“It’s possible. Crockett’s loyalty was to Branford. They had a strange attachment that I never understood.” Her expression was troubled.

Randall tightened his arm around her shoulders. “While Ash is investigating the accident, perhaps I’ll start at the other end by tracing Crockett’s movements. He seems the most likely to want to do you harm.”

Julia sighed. “I’d like to think that the carriage really was an accidental runaway and Crockett was nowhere near London. I don’t want to have to be afraid for my life.”

“I shouldn’t have left you here alone.”

“Since I’m firmly planted in the middle of Ashton House, I was hardly alone,” she pointed out. “No harm was done except to a very nice bonnet, and I ordered another like it as a replacement. But what about you? You also had something to discuss, I think?”

Randall swirled his goblet, watching the lamplight reflect through the red-gold liquid. “At Roscombe, I received a letter from Rob Carmichael. He believes he’s found Branford’s son near Upton. He also recommended that the boy be removed from his present situation immediately.”

Julia straightened so abruptly that she almost spilled her port. She didn’t even notice when Randall rescued the goblet. “What else did he say? What kind of bad situation is the child in?”

“You know as much as I do,” Randall replied. “Rob isn’t much of a correspondent at the best of times, and I gather that he was in a hurry when he dashed off this note. I’ll have to track him down, which could take several days. I was lucky to find him so quickly before going to Roscombe.”

“We must go to Upton and get the child,” Julia said vehemently.

“Not before Mariah’s ball—she’d never forgive us.” Randall frowned. “Julia, why do you care so much about the bastard child of a husband you hated? There are many children in dire straits and if you establish your shelters, you will help a good many of them. Why this child?”

“I…I’m not sure. But surely the boy needs care.” She bit her lip. “He’s close to the age my child would have been.”

And Julia would never have another child. Randall could dimly understand her sense of connection to this particular lost boy. But he was Branford’s child. “Julia,” Randall said. “What if the boy is mad like his father?”

“I hope he isn’t.” Julia looked at him with pleading eyes. “But even if he’s troubled…Alex, you’ve said yourself that if Branford had been raised better, he might not have been so destructive.”

“Perhaps not. But perhaps he would have been vicious no matter how he was raised.” Randall remembered the horror of lying pinned down while his large cousin gleefully wielded the glittering stiletto. His mouth tightened. “If this boy is like Branford, I don’t think I could bear living under the same roof. Could you?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But even if he’s difficult, surely we could find a better place for him than where he is. What about the Westerfield Academy? All of you speak of how Lady Agnes performs miracles.”

“Only if the basic human material is sound under the bad behavior,” Randall said. “A fair number of boys arrive at the academy on the verge of explosion, but they get over that when they’re treated well. Lady Agnes won’t keep a student who takes pleasure in hurting others.”

“I suppose not. But he’s your uncle’s only grandson. Surely Daventry would want to take charge of the boy?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Why should he care about an unknown bastard when his wife is about to give him the son he’s wanted for so long? Even if he is willing to do his duty by the boy, Daventry might turn the child into as great a monster as Branford,” Randall said bluntly. “If the boy is violent, the best solution might be to hand him over to a press gang. On a Navy ship, he’d have to learn discipline or die.”

Julia shuddered.

More gently, Randall said, “Not everyone can be saved, Julia. I’m willing to look for him. As you say, he’s my cousin. But if he’s a monster like his father, I won’t let him endanger others.”

“I know you’re right,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “But there’s a good chance that the boy is normal. We must find out. Can we go the day after the ball?”

“That depends on when I locate Rob Carmichael.” Randall drew her against him. She relaxed on his chest with a sigh. “For the next two days, don’t think about this boy. Concentrate on the ball, your friends, and your new life.”

“That’s good advice.” She covered a yawn. “For now, I’m ready to sleep.”

So was he. He’d sleep, and dream of Julia.

Randall awoke with Julia burrowed against him, her hand resting in a very personal place. His body was responding, too. He shifted a little, rubbing against her hand, and she came awake.

Her eyes fluttered open. After the briefest moment of surprise, her hand slowly squeezed around him. He caught his breath as he became rock hard. “I hope you weren’t planning to get out of bed immediately,” he said in a choked voice.

“Definitely not.” Her smile was teasing, her hand more so. “I have a dozen years to make up for, Alexander.”

“I shall do what I can to help you get caught up. But this morning you must do the work.” He caught her around the waist and pulled her over on top of him.

His brave, dignified lady wife giggled. Then she bent into a kiss, her soft body molding to him. They made slow, satisfying love until the end, which wasn’t slow at all.

Passion temporarily exhausted, they stayed joined together, her hair spilling down his throat. “I didn’t know what I was missing,” she breathed. “I didn’t know.”

Randall had known passion, but never had it been so infused with tenderness. He gently kneaded her back from smooth shoulders to slim waist to ripe derriere. Fairly early on, their nightclothes had been tossed aside so that they lay skin to skin. “I knew I wanted you from the first moment I met you, milady.” He laughed. “I didn’t understand why then. Now I do.”

They lay contentedly for a few more minutes before Julia said regretfully, “We really must get up. You have to look for Mr. Carmichael and I have to help Mariah with a few thousand details for the ball.” She slid off Randall and sat up, a delicious naked nymph. “Also, Lady Kiri is coming by this morning, partly for the kedgeree and partly to give me a perfume she has blended especially for me. Mariah says she’s very good, too.”

“I doubt she can make you smell any better than you do now.” He rolled onto all fours and began stalking Julia across the mattress.

She laughed and descended from the bed. “You are seeking to undermine my plans for the day, Major.”

“Indeed I am.” But he had much to do himself. “I shall be out until dinner.”

“Anthony wants you to sign a quitclaim waiving your husbandly rights to my fortune.” Julia looked a little uncomfortable. “You did say you would.”

“Of course.” He didn’t mind signing away his legal right to her money. He just wished that she didn’t have it.

Lady Kiri arrived as Julia and Mariah were having a last cup of tea over breakfast. But not before the kedgeree was removed from the dining room. Julia smiled at the younger woman. “You have a fine instinct for arriving while food is still available.”

“The mysterious wisdom of the Orient,” Kiri said loftily as she served herself a portion of the Indian dish and added a slice of toast. After setting down her plate, she pulled a lovely cut crystal perfume bottle from her reticule. “Here’s the perfume I blended for you, Lady Julia. I do hope you like it.”

Julia would never be rude about a gift, especially when accompanied by the giver’s anxious expression. Mariah had told her that Kiri was very serious about her perfumes. “I’ve never had a custom-blended perfume before, so I will certainly love it.”

Kiri still looked concerned. “Usually when I blend perfume for someone, I let her try different scents and talk about what she likes. But Mariah speaks of you often, that I know you a little. When I saw you the other morning, inspiration struck, and I went home and started blending like a painter running mad with watercolors in the Lake District.” She handed the bottle to Julia. “This is just the first version. Scents react differently on different people, so they must often be adjusted. With Mariah, it took several attempts to get it just right.”

“Five, but it was a wonderful experience. You mustn’t worry so, Kiri,” Mariah said soothingly. “I’m sure you’ve never had anyone dislike your blends.”

“No one would say so to my face,” Kiri said tartly. “But people lie all the time. Especially those in ‘good society.’”

Deciding it was time to end Kiri’s worry, Julia unstoppered the bottle and put a dab of perfume on her wrist. Then she sniffed the heady fragrance.

She froze as she was transported back to her childhood. Her throat closed, and tears formed in her eyes. “Oh, my…” she whispered.

“I’ve never had anyone cry from my perfume before!” Kiri exclaimed, aghast. “I’m so sorry, Lady Julia!”

She reached for the bottle, but Julia shook her head. “The scent makes me think of my mother,” she said, her voice choked. “She was beautiful and bright and…and safe.” After her mother died, Julia hadn’t felt safe again for many years. Not until now, with Randall.

“That’s all right then.” Kiri relaxed and took a bite of kedgeree. “Does it remind you of other things?”

Julia sniffed the fragrance again, trying to be more analytical. “There seem to be layers of fragrance here. Like flowers, only more complex. I’m reminded of lilacs, which I love, but there is also a richer scent of rose and a hint of…of a dark forest at night.” She raised her wrist again. “And through it all, there is something wild and fragile that reminds me of an oboe threading its way through violins and cellos.”

Kiri nodded her head with satisfaction. “You describe well, Lady Julia. I wanted that kind of complexity for you. Now to see how it wears on your skin.”

Mariah took the bottle and inhaled. “Mmm, wonderful, Kiri.” She smiled mischievously. “Randall will like this, Julia.”

“I think he will.” Julia smiled to herself. Her husband would particularly like the perfume if she was wearing nothing else.

Rob Carmichael responded to Randall’s note by setting up a meeting at Rob’s home on the morning of the ball. Randall was glad it would be daylight. The area near Covent Garden wasn’t the worst in London, but it certainly wasn’t the best.

Randall’s hired cab dropped him off on a nearby street and he walked the last blocks. The neighborhood was quiet at midmorning, but he stayed alert.

Not alert enough. He’d almost reached Rob’s home when a hard object was jammed into his back. A deep voice growled, “Yer money or yer life!”

Randall slammed an elbow into his assailant’s ribs. The man made a strangled sound.

Whirling, Randall knocked his attacker’s legs from under him with a scythe kick, then whipped out his concealed knife. The man, a roughly dressed laborer, went sprawling. Ashton had taught his classmates
Kalarippayattu
, an Indian fighting, when they were boys. Randall had later acquired practical battlefield fighting experience. The results were usually quite adequate.

Randall sheathed the knife when he got a good look at the ragged laborer. “Lucky I recognized you before serious damage was done, Rob,” he said with dry amusement.

“I always underestimate how fast you are,” the Runner said in his normal voice as he rose lithely to his feet. “I thought I’d be home and cleaned up before you arrived for our meeting, but my previous business took longer than expected.”

“And naturally you couldn’t resist testing me.” Randall scanned his friend as they resumed walking. “I’d shake hands, but I might catch some revolting disease. What did you stick in my ribs?”

“A
kottukampu
. It’s a short stick used in
Kalarippayattu
.” Rob showed him a shaped piece of wood as thick as a thumb and about a handspan long.

Randall studied it with interest. “I never saw Ashton use anything like this.”

“It’s an advanced technique that he didn’t know.” Rob tucked the small weapon inside his coat. “I learned how to use it while I was in India. I prefer to keep this handy rather than a knife because I’m less likely to kill someone accidentally.”

“And they say that soldiers live dangerous lives,” Randall remarked. “I suspect that life in Wellington’s army is peaceful compared to what you do.”

“Most of my days are peaceful enough. But a Bow Street Runner who expects safety will have a short career.” The old building where Rob lived had a pawnshop on the ground floor and a flat above. Rob unlocked the door to the stairwell beside the pawnshop and ushered Randall inside.

When they’d climbed a flight of shabby stairs and gone through another locked door, they reached Rob’s quarters. The main sitting room was surprisingly comfortable and furnished with military neatness. Rob’s man, Harvey, came out to check who’d arrived. Battered and broad with muscle, he was formidable despite his wooden leg.

Recognizing Randall, he gave a nod of recognition. “G’day, Major.” Then he disappeared into the rear of the flat.

“Give me a few minutes to restore myself,” Rob said as he followed Harvey out.

Randall settled into a chair by the window and took one of the day’s newspapers from the stack on the side table, but he had trouble concentrating on the news. Tonight was Julia’s grand ball, and she would enjoy the evening more when the uncertainty about Branford’s bastard was resolved. Randall was reluctantly curious about the boy himself.

Ten minutes later, Rob returned carrying a tray with a steaming pot of coffee and two cups. Gone were the wild hair and the ragged, filthy garments. His friend wore the neat, unobtrusive clothing of a gentleman of modest means. This was as much a disguise as the beggar’s outfit, but the mode of dress allowed him to travel in places high and low without attracting much attention. His lean build and brown hair were unremarkable. Only Rob’s cool blue eyes suggested that he was more than he seemed.

Randall accepted a cup of coffee and stirred in cream. One sip confirmed that it was burning hot and strong enough to stun an ox. He added sugar as well. “Tell me about my misbegotten young cousin. Was it hard to locate him?”

“Not really.” Rob poured himself coffee, adding nothing to soften the taste. “Lady Julia’s recollections were accurate. The boy’s mother, Sally Thomas, was indeed a barmaid. She worked in a tavern several miles north of Upton. It was no secret who the boy’s father was. Branford visited Sally Thomas regularly for years, and the child resembles him enough that no one doubted the relationship.”

So the boy looked like Branford. Not an appealing fact. But Randall doubted that would deter Julia. He could hardly criticize her for her warm, nurturing heart, since he was a beneficiary. Thinking it was time to stop saying “the boy,” Randall asked, “What is his name?”

“Benjamin Thomas. Known as Ben, or that bastard Benny.” Rob downed half a cup of the scalding coffee with one swallow, then topped it up again. “He lived with his mother in the tavern until he was about nine. She died in childbirth and Benjamin is her only surviving child. Sally Thomas was a fine, strong wench, I’m told, and apparently tolerant of Branford’s uglier traits. She came from somewhere in the West Country, but no one knew where. No known family, so Benjamin was left alone in the world.”

“Where is he now?”

“The parish didn’t want to support him, so he was basically sold as slave labor to the most brutal farmer in the area,” Rob scowled. “No one wants the boy. No one cares if he lives or dies.”

Randall felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. “Was any attempt made to inform Daventry that he had a grandson?”

“That I couldn’t learn. If the attempt was made, it failed for some reason.” Rob swallowed more coffee. “The farmer, Jeb Gault, is a nasty piece of work. He had a wife but she left him. He has trouble keeping laborers, which is why he generously offered to take in a hungry boy so the parish would be spared the expense of supporting him.”

“It sounds like a bad situation for any child.” Randall thought again of the boy’s resemblance to his father. “Does Benjamin have his father’s crazy violence?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t speak to him myself.” Rob frowned. “But one of the locals I talked to said that everyone assumed that sooner or later Gault would kill the boy, or the boy would kill Gault.”

A bastard who looked like Branford and who might be a killer. Wonderful. Randall sighed. “I’ll go down to Gloucestershire and get him away from the farm. After that, it will depend on what young Benjamin is like. I promise that he’ll end up in a better situation than he’s in now.”

Rob poured himself more coffee. “Family can be hell.”

Too true. But they were still family.

Julia took the news about Benjamin Thomas calmly. “Let’s leave first thing in the morning, Alex.”

He laughed. “I guarantee you’ll be exhausted from tonight’s ball. So will Mariah. She’ll want to spend a quiet day dissecting the events of the evening and as a good friend, you should indulge her. There will also be guests calling to offer appreciation of the ball. I don’t think that leaving tomorrow will work.”

Julia frowned. “I suppose you’re right. The next day then.”

Part of Randall wanted to avoid this journey as long as possible. A different, better part of him wanted to get his unknown, baseborn young cousin away from the brutal farmer. No child should be a victim of violence.

The irony that Randall’s brutalization had come at the hands of young Benjamin’s father did not escape him.

As Julia prepared for the ball, her dressing room was crowded with people ensuring that she would look as good as she possibly could for her debut in London society. Julia stood patiently while Madame Hélier and a seamstress dressed her in the ball gown and made small adjustments. The modiste had forbidden Julia to go near a mirror until her appearance was perfection.

Naturally Mariah’s personal maid was present to aid Elsa in the grand production. Mariah, exquisite in gold brocade, had come to offer encouragement. Lady Kiri appeared, splendid in scarlet. In theory, she’d come to offer help should any be required, but really, she admitted cheerfully, because she wanted to be part of the fun. Lastly, Grandmère swept in, looking more regal than the queen, in black satin lavishly trimmed with silver lace that matched her hair.

As Elsa pinned up Julia’s hair, Julia murmured to Mariah, “I’ve become superfluous, I think. If I slipped away, no one would notice.”

“They would eventually,” Mariah said with a laugh. She glanced at the clock on the dressing table. “I need to go down and greet the first guests. Don’t appear for another quarter hour, and be sure to enter with Randall. The two of you together will look even better than you do separately.”

Julia closed her eyes. “Is too late to cry off from the evening?”

“It most certainly is!” Mariah patted her friend’s arm. “I know that you’re not fond of being the center of attention, but I promise this will go well. You have friends here, and by the end of the evening, you’ll have more.”

Mariah collected Grandmère and Lady Kiri and politely herded them from the room. Elsa finished styling Julia’s hair while Mariah’s maid used a hare’s foot to dust the faintest blush of color on Julia’s cheeks. A rosy salve gave similar color to her lips.

“Very well, Lady Julia,” Madame Hélier said with approval. “You may now look at yourself. You look very splendid indeed.”

Julia crossed the room to the tall mirror. The image reflected back at her was a stranger—a startlingly fashionable stranger. The sea-tinted blue silk Lady Kiri had picked was perfect for Julia, bringing out the delicate color in her face and auburn undertones in her dark hair. The neckline was high for a ball gown, but as the modiste had promised, the back was cut so daringly low that custom-made stays and shift were required.

The lines of the gown were simple, and her only jewelry was a pearl necklace and matching earrings. They had been a gift from Grandmère, who had inherited them from her own grandmother.

A string of smaller pearls had been woven through Julia’s upswept hair, along with tiny rosebuds fashioned of the same silk as the gown. A single teasing lock curled down to her shoulder. The effect was exactly what Julia had wanted: modest but stylish, attractive but not blatant. Turning, she said warmly, “Thank you all. I look better than I ever dreamed I could.”

Madame Hélier gave a satisfied smile. “If you continue to let me dress you, Lady Julia, you will be considered one of the great beauties of the beau monde.”

The dress might be modest, but not the modiste. Suppressing a smile, Julia dismissed Madame Hélier and the maids. She applied Lady Kiri’s perfume at the base of her throat and the nape of her neck. Then she went in search of her husband.

She stepped into the sitting room from her dressing room just as Randall was entering. Her breath caught at the sight of him. She’d always found him strikingly handsome, even when they first met and he was scowling half the time. He looked even better now that he’d remembered how to smile.

Mariah had been right. In his dress uniform, Randall was a sight to make strong women swoon. The tailored scarlet jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders and the buff pantaloons set off his powerfully muscled legs, while candlelight burnished his golden hair and sculpted the fine planes of his face. A Nordic god, and he was
hers.

Randall stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his gaze riveted. “You look…magnificent.” He cleared his throat. “Even though I wanted you from the beginning, I hadn’t actually realized what a beauty you are, milady.”

Julia laughed with delight. “I have never been a beauty, but I’m glad if you think so.” She moved forward to take his arm. “You, sir, will have impressionable females following you around the ballroom like dazed ducklings. Shall we go down to the ball?”

Ignoring the remark, he bent and pressed his lips to her nape, then trailed a kiss down her shoulder. “You smell wickedly delicious. Shall we be late to the ball?”

Sharp, sweet desire spiked through her. “I know you’re teasing,” she said breathlessly, “but beware. I may take you up on it.”

He looked hopeful. “I am always at your service, milady.”

Julia thought of the nights they’d shared since his return to London, and desire became even sharper. Now that the barriers were down, they were discovering intoxicating new ways to pleasure each other. “Don’t tempt me, Alexander! Too many people have worked on this ball. We must play our roles.”

He smiled and led her to the door. “Duty calls. It always does for both of us. But I warn you, after the ball is over, I shall do my utmost to seduce you into my bed.”

Laughing, they walked down the sweeping stairs together.