The Redemption of Julian Price (4 page)

“Me too,” he said.

“Sometimes I try to imagine what it must be like to be with someone that way.”

That remarked snagged his attention. “You
fantasize
, Hen?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I have kissing dreams.”

“Kissing dreams?” he repeated. “And who exactly do you kiss in these dreams?” Was it Thomas or someone else? Did he really wish to know?

“I don’t know,” she replied. “You know how vague dreams can be.”

Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.  Was it a subtle invitation? Did Henrietta desire to be kissed? Julian tamped down the powerful urge to do just that. For once begun, he could never end it with just a kiss. He’d grown uncomfortably aware of her physically and feared he would soon be fully aroused. Kissing her could only end in ruin, shame, and disgrace.

We should return now,” he said abruptly.

“But it’s still early,” Henrietta protested. “Can’t we stay here for a while? Harry won’t return for hours yet.”

“That is
not
what I needed to hear, Hen.” He’d resisted the urge to kiss her, but any more time alone with Henrietta would only be tempting the devil. “Let’s go. Now.”
Before I do something I shall surely regret.

***

H
enrietta returned from her ride with Julian windblown, disheveled, and laughing so hard her ribs hurt. The past few hours had essentially evaporated the past six years. The time spent with Julian was all she’d hoped for—almost. There was that brief moment when she’d thought he might kiss her. She’d hoped fervently that he would, but he hadn’t. Had it just been wishful thinking? Maybe she’d read it all wrong. What did she know of men and kissing?

They drew up in front of the stables, where Julian dismounted and handed his horse off to the groom. “Thank you, Jules. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a ride so much,” she gushed.

He reached up to assist her. Their gazes met as his strong hands closed about her waist. Her breath hitched as the laughter faded from his eyes.  “I enjoyed it as well, Hen,” he replied stiffly, setting her firmly on her feet and then stepping backward a bit farther than strictly necessary.

Why the sudden formality? Although they’d had a wonderful time together, there was something different between them now, a strange and undefinable undercurrent. It had begun after the almost kiss. It felt very much like the last day they’d spent at the lake when she was thirteen. Nothing had been the same after that, and now it appeared to have happened again.

“I wish we could do it again,” she said wistfully. If only he would change his mind about staying in Shropshire. He was the only person in the world with whom she felt free to speak her mind and be herself. There was never any pretense with Julian. How wonderful it would be to spend more time together. Perhaps then she might have had a chance . . .

“I would that we could also, Hen, but sadly, I must return to London.”

“When do you leave?” she asked.

“This afternoon. I’m already packed. I need only hitch up my team.”

“I’ll be leaving for Chelsea tomorrow on the Shrewsbury mail. Perhaps I’ll see you in town?” she asked hopefully.

“You leave tomorrow? I didn’t realize you’d planned to travel so soon. When you mentioned London, I thought you were going after the wedding. Don’t all females live to plan these things?”

“Not this female.” She laughed. “I despise it. In truth, I’m looking forward to escaping all of it.”

“If that’s the case,” he grinned, “let me be your means of escape.”

“Are you offering to drive me?” Henrietta asked.

“Why not? We’re going in the same direction. As late as it is, I may as well wait and depart tomorrow. Have you much luggage?” he asked.

“Only a single trunk,” she answered. “But I have Millie to think of.”

“Millie?”

“My maid. I can’t go alone, especially not with you, Julian.”

His brow wrinkled. “Should I take exception to that?”

“No,” she said with another laugh. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just another one of those silly rules that apply to my gender.”

“If you only have one trunk, Millie can sit behind on top of it, providing she doesn’t mind the cramped space. I daresay it’ll still be more pleasant to drive with me in the open air than in a stifling mail coach full of flatulent farmers.”

“Must you be so crude, Julian?”

“But it’s true.” He chuckled. “I’ve been in such a predicament, and it was most unpleasant.”

“What if it rains?” she asked.

“Then I suppose we’ll get wet. The offer is open to you if you are willing to take the chance. I’d enjoy the company,” he said, “and you can then spend the fare you would have paid to the mail on something more enjoyable.”

“Thank you, Julian.” She grinned back. “I think I would much prefer your company to the flatulent farmers.”

“How long will you be staying on in London?” he asked.

“I’d planned on only a fortnight, but I have a feeling my aunt is going to ask me to continue on as a companion. I think this invitation was really to test how well I would suit her.”

“Is that your grand scheme, Henrietta?” Julian asked. “To throw your whole life away as a drudge to some old dragon? Is that what you really want?”

“What are my options?” she replied. “If I remain at home, I’ll be expected to care for Mama in her dotage and help raise Harry and Penelope’s children. My life will eventually become little better than that of a servant anyway. If that is destined to be my lot, I’d rather spend a few years in London with Lady Cheswick. The sacrifice would not be without its reward. She has already promised me a generous annuity when she passes, enough that I should then be able to live as I choose.” Henrietta heaved a sigh. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have been born a man.”

“It is indeed too bad you weren’t a chap, Hen. We rub along well enough that I would have invited you to stay with me.”

“But I’m not a man, Julian,” she sighed sadly.

“No,” he replied, gaze narrowed. “You most definitely are not. Can you be ready to leave by eight?”

“Yes. I can be ready.” Nearly bursting with happiness at the thought of spending two more days with him, she flashed her brightest smile. “Thank you, Julian.”

“You might not thank me if it rains,” he warned.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten me wet.” She drew back as a strange look passed over Julian’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered through his teeth. “Absolutely nothing.”

***

A
fter seeing Henrietta to the door, Julian declined an offer of tea and made a brisk departure, wondering what fiend had taken hold of him. Why had her most innocent remark conjured such salacious thoughts? It was probably her earlier comment about experiencing all that the marriage bed had to offer. He took a moment to emphasize those two words he’d never thought to couple together in a sentence—marriage and bed.

Hen had asked him if he’d ever considered marriage, and he’d answered her truthfully in the negative. While it wasn’t his habit to consort with camp followers or common street doxies—at least not since leaving Winston’s sphere of influence—his experiences with women were limited to brief affairs. He’d never contemplated anything beyond satisfying the immediate needs of his flesh. Nor had he ever lacked for opportunity. Lonely widows were plentiful since Napoleon had set out to conquer Europe.

His current mistress, Muriel, was such a woman, the widow of a fellow officer, Captain Charles Mathieson, a decent chap who’d fallen at La Victoria. Julian had called upon her to pay his respects and deliver some of Mathieson’s personal effects. Although it had been well over a year since he’d died, as soon as he’d recounted the full story of her husband’s death, she’d flung herself tearfully into his arms. Intending only comfort, Julian had held her. What had begun as simple consolation quickly became much more. Although he liked her well enough, and his body responded to hers, his heart had always remained untouched. He did not love her, nor she him, yet they met each other’s needs—his need for sexual release and hers for comfort and a small measure of security.

Security. That was the other reason he’d never considered marriage—because he had nothing of value to bring to the union. He’d returned to England to find his estate nearly as bankrupt as his person. Oh, not in the moral sense, although many in Shropshire might argue that. In comparison to his Uncle Winston and his cronies, Julian was a model of virtue. He referred to his emotional state. After six years on the Peninsula, watching men die, he was numb inside and almost utterly depleted of feeling.

Henrietta had also asked what would make him happy. He truly didn’t know if he was capable of feeling happiness, of feeling anything at all ever again. Even his mistress had failed to spark any life in his insensible soul. His time with Henrietta had been only a temporary balm, just as the bottles of port he’d drunk with Harry had been.

It was now time to return to London to face the ugly reality that had greeted him almost from the instant he’d set foot back on English soil. Julian had returned to Shropshire to make a thorough account of every asset in hope of finding some way to keep Price Hall. Though he made light of the state of his affairs to Harry and Henrietta, he was on the brink of losing everything, through no fault of his own. Winston had had control of it all until only three years ago. Once he’d reach his majority, Julian should have come back home then to claim what was rightly his. Mayhap then he could have still salvaged something, but duty and loyalty had prevailed while Winston the wastrel had stayed true to form right to his inglorious end.

Now, after risking life and limb for king and country, nothing remained of Julian’s inheritance but a heavily mortgaged estate. Many men mended themselves through an advantageous marriage, others through good fortune at the tables. But neither of these were viable options. He had no title to offer a wealthy bride and no luck at gaming. Other men in similar straights dealt with their debts with a muzzle strategically placed at the temple. Some called it the gentleman’s way. Julian called it the way of a coward. Having eliminated all of these possible solutions, Julian was left with only one option—a return to Portugal and a lonely life as a mercenary. Determined not to act in haste, Julian resolved to pass the next few days in careful contemplation of his future. Given the circumstances, the drive with Henrietta would be a much-needed diversion.

––––––––

J
ULIAN’S WISH FOR DIVERSION WAS GRANTED, yet it proved to be thoroughly unsettling. He’d become far too physically aware of Henrietta in the past few days and now his buckskin-encased thigh rubbed against hers each time the phaeton jostled, an almost constant occurrence on the rutted roads. He wished he could concentrate on something besides this case of unseemly lust for his best friend. Did she feel it too? She seemed unusually tense, sitting rod-straight beside him. He resolved to call upon Muriel immediately after delivering Henrietta to her aunt. He hoped a few hours with his mistress would effect a cure for this most annoying of maladies.

“Julian, may I drive for a while?” Henrietta’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I think not, Hen,” he replied.

“Why not?” she asked. “You know I’ve driven almost as long as you have.”

“But you’re never driven a high-perch vehicle. It’s quite different from the gigs you are accustomed to.”

Her tawny brows met in a scowl. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not so much you as the vehicle that I mistrust,” Julian responded evenly. “Phaetons have a precarious tendency to overturn.”

“Then I’ll be careful on the turns,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Hen.” Julian shook his head. “I’ve promised your family to deliver you safely to Lady Cheswick. I won’t shirk that responsibility.”

“Since when did you become such a stick in the mud?” she asked.

He arched a brow. “I won’t rise to that, Hen.”

She pouted for a moment in silence, miffed that he refused her the ribbons. “Given your state of affairs, I wonder that you even purchased such an extravagant vehicle in the first place,” she remarked.

“I didn’t buy it,” he replied tightly. “It was Winston’s and will soon be going up for auction, along with the horses and the rest of his belongings.”

“Oh.” Henrietta’s gray eyes flickered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give offense.”

“None taken.” Julian shrugged it off. “I am not quite the wastrel that everyone seems to think.”

“Yet you do nothing to dispel the false preconception,” she said. “Why is that?”

“Why should I trouble myself?” Julian remarked. “They are predisposed to believe what they wish to believe, regardless of what I say or do to the contrary. Winston and I have fed the gossip mills for too many years. Why should I now deprive the people of Shropshire of one of their chief pleasures?”

“You needn’t be so cynical, Jules,” Henrietta chided. “Not everyone in Shropshire thrives on gossip. Speaking of which, what actually happened to your uncle? I’ve heard rumors, of course, but rumor rarely bears much resemblance to truth.”

Julian arched a brow. “And what, pray tell, do the rumormongers say of Winston’s demise?”

“Some claim ’twas a duel over a game of cards,” she replied. “One said he fell from his horse during a drunken race, and still another said he was murdered by a jealous husband.”

“It was nothing so fantastical, I assure you.” Julian laughed. “Winston succumbed to a case of influenza.”

“
Influenza
?” Henrietta said incredulously.

“Yes. I’m quite certain he would have preferred a much more notorious death, but there you have it. The Maker rarely gives us our preference in these matters.”

“When did you learn of his death?” Henrietta asked.

“I received word of it about a year ago.”

“Why did you not come home then?”

He hesitated, recalling his reaction to the news. He’d been riddled with guilt that he’d felt nothing, absolutely nothing at the loss of the man who had raised him, albeit with almost total disregard. No, he couldn’t mourn Winston, but he did mourn Thomas, his friend, who’d acted as his closest confidant and conscience. Losing him had created a void that he was at a loss to fill.