Authors: Theresa Romain

Season for Temptation (32 page)

BOOK: Season for Temptation

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Perhaps it was, in part. Now that she was thinking of it, she longed to see him again, naked and proud, and she longed to have him touch her and wake those primal, ecstatic feelings.

But they
did
have other things to talk of; James was right. How had their letters gone awry?

With an effort on both of their parts, they turned their attention from the sensual to the logical, figuring out the timeline of messages sent, messages received, visitors, and departures. For the most part, it was a calm process, except for when Julia described for James the contents of the letter she had sent, and the one she had received back in his name.

“My dear,” he whispered, reaching for her hands. “My poor love. You sent me that, and you got backâwhat did it say? No, never mind; don't think of it. If I'd truly gotten the message you sent, I wouldn't have been able to stay away from you for a second.”

He drew his chair nearer to her, his expression urgent. “I wasn't yet dressed at the time your message came, but if I'd seen it, I would have sprinted over in my dressing gown, special license in hand.” He sat back to smile at her wickedly. “As soon as we were married . . . well, there would have been less to take off that way.”

Julia smiled back at him, but absently; she was still trying to sort out the chain of events in her head. What had happened to her letter? It must have gone astray sometime while he was upstairs. It was the only possibility.

“Oh, no,” she realized with dawning horror. “It was your mother.”

“What?” James looked confused.

“It was your mother,” Julia repeated more firmly, beginning to feel angry. “It had to be. Don't you see? She was alone for what, fifteen or twenty minutes? She must have intercepted my message, and . . .” She thought for a moment. “I believe Aunt Estella had enclosed my letter in an extra sheet of paper for privacy, since I wrote so large that I covered both sides of the paper.”

She was unable to keep all of the bitterness out of her voice as she recalled that measure, intended to be so helpful. “Your mother must have broken off the seal when she saw who it was from, read my letter, and used the blank sheet with the seal to write one of her own.”

James shook his head. “No, that can't be. I'm sure it wasn't her handwriting.”

They both looked crestfallen for a moment. Then James snapped his fingers, seized by a sudden memory.

“She had her lady's maid with her,” he recalled. “Some poor creature who was probably terrified of her. She must have had the maid write the letters for her.”

James looked so livid as he said this that Julia felt a bit nervousânot for herself, but for Lady Matheson, should that unfortunate viscountess happen to cross her son's path. He rose from his chair and began pacing around the roomâJulia knew that urge wellâkicking at the legs of every chair in his path, and muttering something about Matheson House and eviction.

It was rather amazing, actually, but the angrier he seemed, the calmer Julia began to feel. Her anger, her sense of having been wronged, began to melt away. What, after all, had she lost? Merely a couple of days with James, and perhaps the good opinion of people she didn't care about anyway, and might never meet again in her life. But what had the viscountess lost? In her desperate attempt to control her son, to bring him to heel and accept a bride of her own choosing, she had lost his trust. Perhaps forever.

The poor woman was almost to be pitied. Did she really think her stratagem would hold? That they would make no attempt to contact each other? That they would be so hurt they would stay apart?

No, that was too ridiculous. Although now that she thought about it, there was still one question that remained unanswered.

“James.” Julia seized his hand and arrested him in his chair-kicking path around the room. “James, it doesn't matter. It didn't work, don't you see? She couldn't keep us apart.” She stroked his arm, loving the feel of his muscles leaping beneath her touch. “Here I am. Here I am with you.”

As he stared at her, trying to calm himself enough to listen, she drew a deep breath of her own. She had to have him answer that one last question.

“I do want to know, though,” she asked in a small voice, “why didn't you come for me? After you knew what had been printed about us, why didn't you try to come for me or contact me in any way?”

He sat down, hard, in the chair across from her again. “But I
did
,” he said urgently. “I came as soon as I could herd my blasted mother and that damned prosy baronet out of my house,” he said, without the slightest touch of filial respect.

“I don't know what business he thought it was of his, but he honestly seemed to think he was being helpful, and he said he was going to speak with you, too. And my mother was even worse. Gad, the woman simply wouldn't leave. She was clinging to my hand and telling me about how lonely she was, and how glad she was to be having coffee with me.”

He snorted in disgust. “It was all a pack of damned lies, designed to keep me there with her until you had gotten discouraged and left.”

The fact that this was exactly what
had
happened did not decrease Julia's feeling of sympathy. She had won; she could afford to be generous.

“Likely she did mean what she told you,” she murmured, breaking into James's angry reflection. “I think she must be a very lonely woman. Although she probably did time her revelation for that very reason, to keep us away from one another. There's no denying that was her purpose for coming. Well, maybe not precisely her original purpose, but she certainly seized the opportunity when it arose.”

James merely looked skeptical at Julia's placating words, then explained further what had happened. He had gone by the Grosvenor Square address as soon as he could, but the knocker was already off the door. Sheepishly, he admitted, “I pounded on it anyway. And . . . and I shouted for you.”

“You did?” Julia was delighted by this mental image. “I imagine you entertained the whole square.”

“Probably I did draw rather a lot of attention,” James granted, “but I didn't even notice. Once I was sure you weren't there, I thought maybe youâor at least your auntâreally had meant what was said in that letter I received.”

“That your mother had forged.” Julia was unable to refrain from correcting him.

All right, so she wasn't perfect; she might still be feeling a
little
bit angry. This whole situation really did sting, and maybe it was for the best that the viscountess wasn't present right now, for everyone's sake. Julia wasn't entirely willing to promise that she wouldn't have taken a very unladylike swing at the older woman's face.

“Right,” James agreed, continuing with his narrative. “I must have just missed you by a few minutes, though I couldn't have known that. Anyway, I decided to come homeâhereâand shake the dust of London from my feet for a time. I traveled all day yesterday, practically. I was determined I should get here before another day passed.”

“And what about me?” Julia pressed. “What were you going to tell me, and when?”

James stood, without a word, and shuffled through the papers atop his secretaire before laying hands on the sealed missive Julia had noticed earlier. He handed it to her, and she turned it over and noticed that it was directed to her.

“I was going to post this today,” he explained. “You can read it if you want to.”

Was the man crazy? Of
course
she wanted to read it. She was dying to see what he would have said to her to try to make things right.

Julia, my love,

I don't know what happened in London, or how things went so terribly wrong yesterday. I came to your aunt's house and you had left for Stonemeadows Hall. I felt like the worst sort of fool for letting you go, regardless of what your aunt might want.

I wish I could have spared you even the smallest amount of worry. I love you stillâalwaysâand I would like to be married as soon as possible. If you feel the same, please let me know and I'll come for you at once, special license in hand.

Yours ever,
James

“Special license in hand,” Julia whispered, joy bubbling up in her. He meant it. He wanted her. He always had.

“It
is
in hand, as I said,” James replied, an answering grin on his face. “Well, practically. Here it is on my desk. I was determined to keep it until either we were married or I knew you didn't want to have anything more to do with me.”

There followed a gleeful few minutes, during which the couple eagerly sorted out the last few lingering uncertainties with kisses, laughs, and hurried explanations. They decided to be married as soon as possible from Stonemeadows Hall. James was all for being married the next day, as soon as they could return to the barony; there was no one, he insisted, that he wanted to invite.

“I'm soured on London,” he said. “Honestly, Julia, I think you are my truest friend.” He looked warmly at her as he said this, but then a little bleak as he continued, “I don't know if any of my others were ever even real.”

“That's no way to talk,” Julia said, even as his compliment caused her to flutter inside. “You should at least have your family present at your marriage.”

She corrected herself conscientiously. “That is, you should at least have your sister at the wedding. I can't say I'm eager to see your mother right now. But you must have your sister there.”

She cast her memory back a long way, to a Christmas fireside, and James's trust that she could help him bear the weight of his family's honor. “I'll stand at your side, and we'll offer her and your nieces a respectable home, just as you always wanted. I intended to invite them all to the country anyway. And they really should get out of that terrible house.”

James smiled and traced a fingertip over her face. “You remembered,” he wondered.

“I remember everything,” Julia replied. “Though I'm not sure I'll always be able to be as respectable as you hoped.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You're just as respectable as I'd want you to be.” He touched the tip of her nose. “My dear viscountess.”

So it would happen. They were going to get
married
. They would be able to spend their lives together. During the day, and at night . . .

James's thoughts seemed to be roving as well; his expression grew wolfish. “Now that we've got all the details sorted, what shall we do next?”

His hands roamed down her back and cupped her bottom, pressing her against him. Those hands positively stole the thought right out of her.

Julia felt warm, liquid, and eager, savoring his touch, allowing it to raise fires inside her even as her own hands began to explore his body with passionate curiosity.

Then an idea bobbed into her head that she was
sure
James would like, and she would, too.

After all, they were going to be married so soon . . . what would be the harm in anticipating the ceremony, just once more?

“I'll show you what we can do with our time,” she said, and with a gentle shove, she laid him out, amazed, on the study's sofa and then turned the lock of the door.

Simone remained lost for two hours before she returned to the study to check on
mademoiselle
. Putting a cautious ear to the door, she quickly whipped her head back at the sounds from within.

“Nom d'un nom,”
she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips as she scooted away from the door. “All is well. They will certainly be getting married now.”

And then she became dutifully lost again for several more hours.

Chapter 34

In Which They All Live Happily Ever After, and Even Have Plum Pudding

The weather, in the days before the wedding between James, Viscount Matheson, and Miss Julia Herington, turned unromantically cool and overcast. Watching the skies, the Stonemeadows tenants reflected with avid superstition among themselves as to whether this was some type of omen for “the young miss's” wedding day.

The bride and groom never even noticed the clouds, however; they were too wrapped up in one another and in the press of final arrangements. The five days that elapsed between Julia's visit to Nicholls and the marriage ceremony seemed to them like an eternity, even though they hardly left one another's presence (except to sleep, of course, since under the supervision of Lord and Lady Oliver, strict propriety as to bedroom matters was observed).

These five days were needed to bring an eager Gloria and her daughters from London and establish them in Stonemeadows Hall's best guest bedrooms. Besides the usual inhabitants of the hall, these were the only guests, since the hurried nature of the wedding made it desirable to keep it as selective as possible.

James's letter of invitation to his sister had included a rather ungracious postscript about how he supposed his mother could come to the wedding as well if she wanted to. Lady Matheson declined the honor of this invitation, finding herself not up to the rigors of the journey.

“Laziness,” decided Lady Irving. “Laziness, and vulgarity.”

In her stead, however, the dowager sent the couple a most unexpected wedding present.

Julia first opened the package, which Gloria brought from London with no idea as to its contents. When she saw what it was, her mouth fell open in surprise. She poked her finger into it to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. Could it really be just what it seemed? Wasn't it more likely that James's mother would send her an artillery shell, disguised with a thin layer of confection and ready to explode in her face when she cut into it?

No, it was a plum pudding, all right. Interesting.

She carried this unusual gift around the house, looking for James, until she finally found him sorting through some correspondence. As she presented it to him, explaining its source, she added, “This should prove how much I love you. I didn't even cut a slice.”

James was bemused at first, turning the partially wrapped sweet around in his hands as if he expected it to transform into a croquet ball.

Finally he shrugged and handed it back to Julia. “I suppose this is a peace offering of sorts. Do you remember when you came to dine at Christmas, and there was thatâ”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Julia cut him off, embarrassed to remember her faux pas in pointing out the absence of her favorite dessert on the viscountess's table. “I know what you mean.”

Her cheeks turned pink, but she had to ask him. “Do you think she is being kind, or is she trying to remind me that I tend to say the wrong thing? Because I know I do, and maybe she is hinting that I won't serve the title well. But I think I will, or at least I will certainly try my best, because I know how to run a large home, and of course there is your man of business to help with much of the estate management.”

James dropped a reassuring kiss on his bride-to-be's lips, stopping their flow of words. “Everything you say is delightful,” he replied. “Even when it makes no sense. And I agree that you will make an excellent wife and viscountess. I don't know what my mother meant by sending an unseasonal pudding, but let us assume it was kindly meant. It might be nice to serve it at the wedding breakfast.”

Satisfied, Julia rose to leave James alone with his letters again. As she reached the doorway, he added, “Except for that piece you poked your finger into, of course.”

So they were married, quietly and cozily, on a gray March morning. In honor of Julia's long-lost father, they had arranged for the humble parish curate to officiate the wedding, a fact which, when drawn to Lady Oliver's attention, caused her to clap her hands in mistyeyed delight.

The bride wore the ivory silk ball gown made for her by Madame Oiseau, the same one she had worn so recently to the ball at Alleyneham House. Lady Irving, looking at her niece before the wedding, told her that it was completely unsuitable.

Julia, feeling not a bit of pre-wedding nervousness, was unbothered by this statement. “Is it vulgar? Unladylike?” she asked, not bothering to hide her dimples.

The countess looked at her suspiciously. “I suppose it isn't as bad as all that,” she allowed. She took in the details of the gown, and her expression turned knowing. “I dare say you have your reasons for choosing that one, anyway.”

Indeed she did; Julia felt warm just from the memory. The last time she was in this gown, she and James had first admitted their love for one another. Now, little more than a week later, they would pledge their love forever. It seemed only right.

Besides, it was the most beautiful gown she owned, and a girl did want to look her best for her wedding.

Louisa attended the bride in a gown of the pale primrose shade that suited her rich coloring so well. She had been unfailingly supportive of Julia through what had been one of the strangest and most trying weeks the sisters had ever lived through. When Julia begged her to wear her Helen of Troy costume for the marriage ceremony, though, she put her foot down.

“I won't do it,” she said, though her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I'd look ridiculous. Besides, it would be very odd for people to be thinking of Twelfth Night, considering how there's been a change of bride since then.”

She made this statement without a hint of resentment or constraint, but Julia deemed it best not to press the issue. Mainly because that would then give Louisa cause to demand that Julia wear the terrible fortuneteller costume at her own wedding someday, and she would have to stand up next to her beautiful sister looking like a tomato.

Of all the possible uncomfortable situations at a wedding, that of the former fiancÃ©e serving as a bridesmaid to the hastily traded brideâwho also happened to be her sisterâheld great potential to be among the most awkward. Because of the small, close-knit nature of the wedding party, however, everyone carried it off without the least bit of self-consciousness.

Julia granted much of the credit for the success to her sister, who, once she broke her engagement, truly did feel that she had no further hold on James, or he on her. Following the ceremony, Louisa congratulated the bride and groom both with heartfelt embraces. To James, she said simply, “You've made the right choice. She truly shall be your better half, as I never could have been.”

James smiled gratefully. “I'll accept the slander to myself, but not to you.” He cleared his throat, and added in a choked voice, “I'll be very proud to be a part of your family.”

“Not just that,” Julia chimed in. “She'll be with us quite a bit of the time, I hope. That is”âshe looked questioningly at Louisaâ“if you still want to catalogue the library?”

Louisa drew in an eager breath, and looked from Julia to James. “Really? I wouldn't be in the way?”

James put his arm around Julia and gave her an affectionate squeeze. To Louisa, he nodded his willingness and replied, “If you can keep your sister off the library ladders, you can have every single Gutenberg Bible you find.”

As she had at Lord and Lady Oliver's wedding so many years before, Lady Irving made a trenchant observation. She had told her brother, long ago, to marry “a snip in her first season,” someone without a family of her own to complicate his life. Amazingly, he remembered this, and he reminded her of it as they all progressed into the dining room for the wedding breakfast.

“Stuff and nonsense,” the countess replied, seating herself next to her brother. “You can't possibly recall what I told you before your remarriage.”

“I do; I remember it well,” Lord Oliver insisted. “I had just told you I met her at Tattersalls, where she had been looking at the most beautiful dapple gray mare.”

Lady Irving cast her gaze up to heaven, believing this animal-related explanation for his uncannily accurate memory only too well.

“Someone without a family of her own,” she repeated, musing, as she cast her eyes down the long table.

Where the four young Olivers kicked their chair legs, chattered happily, and threw bread across the table at one another.

Butternut the parrot sat on young Tom's shoulder, stretching his neck and opening his beak for a morsel of food.

Lady Oliver chatted with Gloria, who was letting her younger daughter unpin her hair and create small, messy plaits in it.

Louisa wiped a smut of pudding from Julia's nose, laughing, as Julia cheerfully motioned to a footman to serve her far more food than any bride ought to have an appetite to eat.

And James sat smiling at his new wife, with such love in his eyes that the countess, who had thought herself immune to this sort of sentimental silliness, actually felt tears well up.

To choose someone without a family . . . if he had, none of this would ever have existed.

Lady Irving turned to face her brother again, a repentant expression on her face. She leaned in close to his ear, and spoke to him in a voice pitched for his ears alone.

“Brother, dear, you are only going to hear this from me once in my whole life, so enjoy it.”

She paused, sighed heavily, and said, “I am afraid I have to admit, I was full of rubbish.”

BOOK: Season for Temptation

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