Season for Temptation (2 page)

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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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Amid a chorus of giggles, a bustle of cups, plates, and crumbs, the children scooted off across the room as Julia had indicated.
She laughed softly as she poured out two more cups of fragrant dark tea.
“Heavens, we
are
coming at you all wrong. I am so sorry, my lord. The only explanation I can think of is that we are out of practice in receiving Louisa's fiancés.” She smiled at James. “Milk or lemon?”
James blinked. Surely she hadn't just said what he thought she'd said. “Er . . . have there been many?”
“Many what? Lemons? I suppose so. We all like them prodigiously.”
“No, fiancés.” He held his breath waiting for her answer.
Julia looked puzzled for a moment, regarding the tea tray as if looking for the fiancés in question. Then understanding broke over her face.
“No; you're the one and only, which I would have thought you'd have known. But it is so much easier to throw Louisa to the wolves than to blame the whole household for our topsy-turvy welcome.”
She laughed, and James let a relieved breath whoosh out of his lungs. He settled against the sofa back again, considering her thought process.
No, it still didn't make any sense to him, but the distraction was delightful. After a moment, he gave up and just chuckled. “Miss Julia, your logic is impressive. Lemon, please, and one sugar.”
 
 
Julia handed him a delicate cup, then prepared her own tea and piled up a plate of biscuits for herself.
Settling back on the sofa, she chose a piece of shortbread and let it crumble in her mouth. Their cook made the most wonderful shortbread, light and sweet. The only thing better in the world was her ginger biscuits. She chose one of those next.
Julia hadn't realized she was so hungry, but before she knew it, she was staring at an empty plate.
“Did I really eat all my biscuits?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
She looked up to see the viscount's green eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.
“If you didn't, someone stole them from you very quietly indeed,” he replied with a straight face, but his eyes brimmed with laughter.
Her treacherous face turned hot again with embarrassment. “I suppose that's possible,” she replied, struggling for dignity.
She forced herself to set down her plate. She would have loved to refill it, but there was no way she was going to let this dashing young man watch her make even more of a fool of herself than she already had. More than once.
“Er . . . a watercress sandwich for you, my lord?”
He looked surprised, but accepted one of the foul treats. He actually began to
eat
it.
“Do you want some more biscuits, Miss Julia?” he asked between bites. “Not that it's my place to offer you food in your own home, but I'd feel better if I weren't the only one eating.”
“The children are still eating, too,” Julia replied, but she was too hungry to put up any more than a token resistance. She eyed the tray, considering how much food she ought to leave for her parents and Louisa.
They never ate much in the early afternoon. Perhaps two biscuits each would do? She took the rest.
“Admirable,” the viscount spoke up, watching her pile biscuits onto her plate.
Julia could feel her face turning pink again. She never could hide her embarrassment, which itself was always embarrassing to her. “I'm certain everyone else will love to have the watercress sandwiches,” she explained, knowing her words sounded lame. “No need to let these biscuits go to waste.”
“Of course not,” he replied, hoisting his teacup in front of his face and making a choking sound. “It's very resourceful of you.”
Now Julia was suspicious. “I could have sworn your cup was empty.”
He set it down, a poorly feigned expression of surprise on his face. “So it is. Well, my mistake.” His face was serene, but his eyes were laughing again.
“I hope you choke on your horrid sandwich,” Julia muttered under her breath, too quiet for him to hear.
Of course she didn't mean it, though. Every time the viscount smiled at her, she felt triumphant. Glowing, like she'd accomplished something wonderful.
She just wanted to keep looking at his eyes; she'd never seen anyone like him. It wasn't that he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, though he was undeniably good-looking, tall and lean. It was more that . . . he seemed happy. As if he was exactly where he wanted to be.
If he'd only keep smiling at her like that, she'd keep eating biscuits to amuse him. Whatever it took to keep that smile on his face.
Actually, eating more biscuits was an excellent idea for her own sake as well. She wondered if it would be too rude to leave none for Louisa. Her sister had never actually
said
she hated watercress, after all. The mere fact that she'd never taken one of those sandwiches in her whole life meant nothing. It could just be a coincidence.
She reached for another ginger biscuit and looked at the viscount expectantly.
He picked up on her cue right away. “Must I take another sandwich to keep up with you?”
“I knew it. You don't like them either.”
He shrugged. “That would hardly be polite for me to admit, Miss Julia. Perhaps I should just say that I preferred the shortbread.”
She was seized by a sudden urge to break down the final barrier between them. After all, she'd already bullied, insulted, fed, and amused him. If she couldn't permit a future relative to call her by her Christian name after that, there was simply no good time to begin.
“Please call me Julia if you like,” she offered. Then, wondering if she'd been too forward, she backed off, explaining, “Or if you insist on formality with one who is to be as a sister to you, then you must address me as Miss Herington. You see, I am the oldest of the Miss Heringtons. To be fair, the only one as well, as we are a family of remarriage.”
Oh, dear, there she went talking her head off again. Louisa always said she never used a word where a sentence would do, and never a sentence when she could use a paragraph.
It didn't seem to bother the viscount, though.
“Very well,” he agreed at once. “I'll be happy to call you Julia, and you must call me James. I am not the only Matheson, you see; I have a cousin with the same family name who's got his eye on my estate, so for his sake if nothing else, informality must be introduced so that we are distinguished from one another. Imagine the confusion if you were to shout for Matheson at a party and got the wrong one.”
“It would be much more likely to raise eyebrows if I were to shout James and get the attention of a dozen young men, or more likely the whole room. Wouldn't everyone look at the ill-bred shouting girl? And then I'd have your attention regardless of how I had addressed you.”
James looked at her with mock suspicion for a moment, and his green eyes kindled. But his face was sober as he replied, “Quite true, and most efficient it would be. Were you to take up the habit of shouting, you need never address me by anything at all. But perhaps we had better leave it at first names, to be spoken at a moderate volume.”
First names. Spoken at any volume, Julia liked the sound of that.
 
 
James could hardly believe he was saying such ridiculous things to a young woman he barely knew, but he was enjoying himself as he had never expected to when embarking on his journey to Stonemeadows Hall. An engagement of convenience ought not to be a matter of concern for a man who'd spent his life under the quizzing glass of the
ton
—and yet, he'd been as nervous entering the manor house as a young man entering a woman's bedchamber for the first time. He was shamefully afraid he wouldn't be able to perform up to the expectations of his audience.
All right, perhaps that was taking the simile a bit far. But he'd been apprehensive. He was, after all, the head of his family now, which was still a rather startling realization even after a year. And his family needed him, and so he needed Louisa. It was as simple as that. But he hadn't quite felt right about the situation until he started talking to Julia.
Why was it that his thoughts flew to the bedchamber? To the heat of the physical? He swallowed.
Suddenly, the door swept open again. James was grateful for the distraction.
Louisa's slim form appeared, attired for the outdoors in sensible walking boots and spencer. She looked proper and lovely, and as demure as a woman should be.
Her eyes at once found James's, and she strode to greet him. “Oh, Lord Matheson—I mean, James—I'm so sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you arrived. You must have made good time on the road; I'm glad of it. I have only just got back from a walk. I do apologize.”
She looked worried, as if she expected him to be displeased. He gave her his sunniest smile of reassurance, but the pucker remained between her delicate brows.
Something must be amiss with his face. Did he look odd? Was Louisa bothered that he had been speaking with Julia? Surely not; they were to be family, after all.
The thought made something twist deep inside him.
But he had made his choice, logically and irrevocably, and he knew how to act. He reached reflexively for Louisa's hands, hoping to soothe the troubled expression from her face.
“My dear Louisa, please don't give it another thought. It was a remarkably fine day for travel, and indeed I did make excellent time. I know I've arrived before I was expected. Since I've gotten here, I've been enjoying fine refreshments and some very, um, stimulating company.”
Good Lord, had he just said the word “stimulating”? That came a bit too close to the truth. He could have bitten his tongue for that.
But Louisa seemed not to notice any unwitting double meaning in his words. Her gaze was instead drawn to the four small children swinging their heels in the air as they sat in a line on the long sofa at the back of the room, munching on biscuits and chattering among themselves.
Her dark eyes widened at the sight, but her voice, when she spoke, was calm. “How lovely that the children have introduced themselves already,” she replied. “I suppose we are all to be family, and I hope you'll forgive us for being somewhat unconventional in greeting you.”
We are all to be family
. Yes, just as he'd reminded himself.
“Of course,” he replied. He hoped Louisa wouldn't notice the catch in his voice.
He escorted her to a seat in a cushion-piled wing chair near the tea tray. As she sat, her brows again furrowed, and she shifted on the chair seat. “What on earth . . . ?”
Leaning to one side, she felt behind an embroidered cushion and pulled out a much-creased sheaf of sheet music. She held it, bemused, for a moment, then looked up at Julia.
“The music!” Julia exclaimed. “Emilia's pianoforte music. I'd forgotten all about it.”
A vague memory stirred in James's mind. “Music? Is that what you were shouting about when you ran in here?”
“Shouting?” Louisa echoed, glancing from James to Julia and back again. The corners of her mouth began to curve upward. “I'm terribly sorry I missed that.”
“Nonsense. No one was shouting,” Julia said, eyeing James with a gimlet stare. “Honestly, the very suggestion is ridiculous. As our illustrious companion and I have already discussed in some detail.”
Louisa nodded. “I'm sure his lordship is teasing you.”
“I would never do such a thing,” James demurred, wiping a poker-straight expression across his face.
Julia's hand rose to cover her grin, but not soon enough to suppress a snort of laughter.
“Watercress sandwich?” she finally choked out, extending a plate to Louisa.
“No, thank you,” Louisa replied. “I know how much you enjoy them, Julia. You go right ahead and finish them all up.”
Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and James was sure Louisa knew
exactly
how much her sister enjoyed watercress.
“I . . . I don't care for any more,” Julia faltered. “I'm rather too full, and you know we'll be dining fairly soon.”
“Full?” Louisa raised her eyebrows. “Have you already had several watercress sandwiches, then? I didn't realize they were such favorites of yours. Perhaps we should arrange to have them served to you more often.”
James raised his teacup to his lips so the sisters wouldn't see him struggling not to laugh.
Over the rim of the teacup, he saw Louisa look back to the sheaf of music she still held. The impishness vanished from her eyes, and again that pucker of worry knit her brows.

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