To Catch A Duke (3 page)

"No," she said with a
finality that chilled him to his very bones, "there is not, Lord
Radcliffe, and you and I both know that.
 
I am a spinster now, and a spinster I shall remain.
 
No man can overlook what I am or how I
appear.
 
You may be my friend, but you
are also a man.
 
You know desire and
beauty, and how the two are intertwined.
 
In your heart, you know it's true."

He wanted to deny it, say that he
knew no such thing, but the words clogged in his throat.
 
Much as it pained him, he knew she was
telling the truth.
 
Julia Rosemont would
never have a fairy tale ending.
 
Her
life as a lady of society had ended when she was child, in a time she didn't
recall, long before it had ever really begun.
 
That was the way of things.
 
It
didn't mean he had to like it, however.

The waltz ended and they broke
apart before Benjamin led her from the dance floor over to a corner where, as
if out of nowhere, Miss Thomas had magically appeared.
 
He left her in the care of her chaperone, murmuring
some polite words and trying to ignore the hint of loneliness in her eyes.
 
Not to mention the well of anger that he
knew was visible in his.

Quickly, he made his way to the
front hall and instructed the butler to send a servant to fetch the Rosemont
carriage, as he was certain that both Julia and Avaria would be leaving
soon.
 
His suspicion was confirmed a few
moments later when he saw the two women emerge into the front hall, Julia
uttering some nonsense about a headache, tears glistening in her eyes.

The twinge of guilt he'd felt
earlier now blossomed into a full-blown, nagging ache.
 
She was crying.
 
Because of him.
 
Because
he'd stupidly reminded her of what she would never have.
 
He'd meant for her to enjoy the season, not
for the social whirl to cause her pain.
 
But it had, and he was at fault.
 
And tonight, in trying to make things better for her, in attempting to
save her, he'd brought all of the pain she'd somehow buried back into the open.

He had tried to be kind, telling
her that one day she might marry, but all he'd done was spin lies and fairy
tales, which had only served to hurt her further.
 
He knew as well as she that it would take a very special man to
overlook her scars, and quite frankly, Benjamin wasn't certain a man like that
existed in the
ton
.
 
He
didn't notice them, but they'd grown up together.
 
He was used to them and now thought of them as simply a part of a
beautiful whole.

As he watched her take her wrap and
then depart through the wide front door, Benjamin made up his mind to undo his
mistakes, or as many of them as he could.
 
She was suffering because of him, so therefore, it was up to him to make
her smile again.
 
He had no doubt that
he could do it.
 
And best of all, he had
a plan.

"You were dancing with Lord
Radcliffe tonight."
 
It was a
statement, not a question, and Julia didn't even bother to ask how Meggy, her
lady's maid, knew that she'd danced with the handsome duke at the ball.
 
Julia had long since discovered exactly how
swiftly the rumor mill belowstairs moved and was no longer surprised by it.

"I was."
 
Meggy pulled out the last of Julia's pins,
and Julia shook her thick mane of coppery brown hair hair, thankful to be free
of the restrictive hairstyle.
 
"He's
an old family friend.
 
Longer than my memory.
 
You know that."

Pulling back, Meggy put her hands
on her hips, clearly disapproving.
 
"And a charming rake, as well, from what I hear."
 
She shook her finger at Julia in warning.
 
"Watch yourself, miss.
 
He's not to be trusted.
 
I hear stories, you know.
 
He's..."

Rising, Julia pushed away from her
dressing table, her fury, bottled up since earlier in the evening, rising
now.
 
"Yes, yes, I know.
 
He has deflowered scores of innocent virgins
and has left a path of broken hearts a mile wide through the
beau monde
."
 
She'd heard all this before and each time,
it exasperated her more than the last.
 
"He's been my friend since childhood, Meggy.
 
I grew up with him.
 
Of all the men in the
ton
, I am
safest with Benjamin."

"Benjamin is it
now?"
 
Meggy was practically
scolding her mistress, something Julia didn't care for at all.
 
"I didn't know you were on such
familiar terms with the duke.
 
Is there
anything else I should be aware of, my lady?"

Julia shot Meggy a menacing glare,
one of the many tricks she'd picked up from Benjamin over the years.
 
"No, and it is not your place to
interfere.
 
We have been friends for
ages.
 
I do not remember a time when he
has not been a part of my life.
 
He has
been a friend when all others have abandoned me.
 
So yes, in private, I call him Benjamin.
 
It is my right, one of the few I have left
to me, and I will enjoy it!"
 

She knew her chest was heaving and
her anger palpable, but she did not care.
 
How dare anyone question her relationship with Benjamin?
 
They were friends.
 
Nothing more.
 
That she
might dream of him when she was alone, imagine how it might feel if he were to
kiss her or touch her, well that was her business and no one else's.

"I'm sorry, miss."
 
Meggy was contrite now, if not overly
apologetic, knowing she'd overstepped her bounds, and probably afraid for her
job as well.
 
Servants did not speak
that way to those who employed them, at least not usually, another sign of how
different the Rosemont household was from others.
 
Or at least how different Meggy was.
 
"I truly am.
 
I just
don't want to see you hurt is all."

Julia settled back in her chair,
shooing away Meggy's hands when the other woman attempted to braid her hair
into a plait for the evening.
 
"I
won't be, but thank you anyway.
 
Lord
Radcliffe is my oldest friend, and, unlike many other women of the
ton
,
I have no wish to get him into the parson's noose.
 
He is simply Benjamin.
 
A
fixture.
 
Nothing more or less.
 
Can you understand that?"

"I believe you, miss,"
Meggy agreed as she rose to leave, knowing by her mistress' stiff posture and
chilly attitude that her services were no longer wanted.
 
"He is your friend, after
all."
 
She paused.
 
"Will you need anything else?"

Shaking her head no, Julia waited
until Meggy departed before turning back to the mirror on her dressing
table.
 
Reaching out with trembling
fingers, she skimmed her fingertips along the mirror's smooth surface, tracing
the lines of her scars that were reflected back at her.
 
There were six in total on her face, three
on each side.
 
The top-most one followed
her cheekbone precisely, while the second one fell a bit below it, the line
just as straight as the one above.
 
On
both sides, the third and lowest of the lines started by her ear and then dipped
down under her jaw a bit before going lower.
 
All so precise and perfectly straight.
 

When she'd been younger, the scars
had been thicker and wider, but as she'd grown, they had thinned out, pulling
the skin a bit, but nothing terribly puckered.
 
At least, she decided, there was that, even if it was only a small
blessing.
 
Now, the impossibly thin
lines looked more like shadows if seen from a certain angle, even though they
were still a bit discolored after all these years. When she blushed, however, the
color difference became much more noticeable, just as it had earlier in the
evening.
 
The skin around the scars
didn't flush as the rest of her skin did.
 
Instead, it remained stark white, creating the patchwork of colors that
had been visible, much to her shame.

The scars had been there as long as
she could remember.
 
There wasn't a
memory from her youth when she didn't have them, and while she no longer
believed the story of an animal attack on the grounds of Seldon Park, no one
was willing to tell her how she'd acquired them.
 
The animal attack story was the official one, her mother had
always said and that to question it would be to open doors that were best left
shut.

Julia had attempted to ask Nicholas
about them a time or two, but he closed down every time she approached him and
always changed the subject.
 
He knew the
truth.
 
She was certain of it.
 
She was also just as certain that he did not
want her to know.
 
After some time, she
simply stopped asking.

There was one other person she
could ask, but she wouldn't.
 
She
couldn't and had never been able to even broach the subject around him.
 
For all that she and Benjamin shared, she'd
never asked him about how she'd acquired her scars, and he had never offered
the information on his own.
 
She was,
however, certain that he knew the truth as well.
 
She could see it in his eyes as he took in the horrible markings
each time they met.
 
There was a sadness
and anger that made no sense to her, but those emotions were there, revealing,
to her at least, that the duke knew the truth.
 
Still, in many ways, he was the only true friend she had, and she didn't
want to push him away by pestering him about the issue.
 
Perhaps her mother had been right.
 
Perhaps it was best to leave well enough
alone, especially if finding the truth might cost her the one thing she held
dear - her friendship with the duke.

Benjamin Sinclair was the
wealthiest duke - some even said the wealthiest man - in all of England, and,
for some strange reason, a true friend to her.
 
He always had been.
 
He'd been at
Seldon Park nearly every day while she'd been growing up, their country estates
bordering each other closely.
 
No one
had ever indicated that the duke had no right to sit at the dinner table or
take a horse from their stables as if he was family.
 
In turn, she had never questioned his presence.
 
She had never thought to.
 
He was simply Benjamin.
 
Ever present and ever welcome.

He was also responsible for her
season, even though he was unaware that she knew.
 
She'd overheard him and Nicholas discussing the details one day,
and rather than embarrass him, she'd kept silent.
 
For whatever reason, it was important to Benjamin that she have a
year in London, and, despite everything, she was grateful to him.
 
No one else knew how stifled she'd been in
Sussex, not even her brother.
 
No one
else had, quite frankly, cared.
 
But
Benjamin had seen.
 
And he'd done
something about it.
 
He'd given her an
amazing gift, and she had no way to repay him other than with her silence,
continuing the pretense that her time in town had been all Nicholas's idea.

Julia had told Meggy that she felt
safe with Benjamin, which was the truth.
 
She did.
 
But she'd also told her
maid a lie as well.
 
Julia had told
Meggy that she didn't want to marry Benjamin, that she wasn't like the other
women of the
ton
, grasping and clawing for his affection.
 
That was a lie.
 
In a way.

In general, Julia didn't allow
herself to want things that she could not have.
 
There was no point to it.
 
She'd learned at an early age that hoping and wishing and wanting accomplished
nothing.
 
She could wish all she wanted
that the dratted scars didn't mar her face, but she couldn't change the fact
that they were there.
 
The lines would
be there every morning for the rest of her life.
 
There was no escaping them.
 
Just as there was no escaping the reality that no man would ever be able
to look past those scars long enough to see Julia for who she really was - a
desirable woman with much to offer.
 
A
woman who would make a good wife and mother, if only she'd have the chance.

Benjamin, however, did see Julia as
she truly was.
 
To him, she was more
than a collection of scars and marred flesh.
 
She had laughed with him, cried with him, and confided in him, secrets
that she'd told no one else.
 
Except for
one.
 
She had never told him of her
desire to marry, for that was a line that she could not cross.
 
She knew that even though she treated the
duke as family, in truth, he was not.
 
And once those words were spoken, things would change.
 
She did not want that.
 
In many ways, he was all she had, and she
was not about to risk that friendship.

Still, sometimes in the silent
depths of the night, Julia allowed herself the tiniest of wishes, let her heart
long, just for a moment, for something it could never have.
 
She wished for Benjamin.
 

She wished that one day, he might
realize that she would make a good wife to him.
 
She didn't require love or any of the other emotions the silly
young chits on the marriage mart bandied about.
 
She wouldn't even require he spend time with her.
 
She would allow him to live his own life,
separate from her, just so long as she had a place to call home, somewhere she
belonged.
 
In return, he would be a
husband to her, and, hopefully, she could give him children, an heir to carry
on the Radcliffe line.
 

But she would never, ever ask for
love.
 
In her deepest of hearts she
might want it with a ferocity that scared her, but she would never ask for it,
never wish for it.
 
Wishing for Benjamin
to some day share his life with her was enough of a risk for her heart,
something that, logically, she knew she would never have.
 
Still, it was a tiny bit of hope, the shadow
of a dream, and on very lonely nights like tonight, it was a small
comfort.
 
It was the only dream she
allowed herself.
 
Love was not part of
the equation.
 
It never could be.

Julia didn't know when she'd begun
to cry, only that as she focused on her reflection once more, she could see the
tears flowing feely down her cheeks.
 
Letitia and Henrietta's words that evening had hurt her far worse than
she'd initially thought.
 
Not that she
would ever allow anyone to see that pain, either.

Then Julia did something she hadn't
done in a very long time.
 
She pulled
away the top of her nightrail and exposed her breasts and chest.
 
Here was the answer to the bet in that
dratted book at White's, the one that only Nicholas and Benjamin knew the truth
about.
 
Not even Meggy knew for certain,
for Julia never allowed her maid to see her completely unclothed.
 
No one had, at least not since she'd been
very, very young.

Everyone assumed that the two scars
that snaked under her jaw and down her throat ended just at the top of her
chest, a fraction of an inch below the bodice of her gowns.
 
They didn't.
 
Instead, they fanned out, six tiny, shallow lines radiating from
the longer, deeper center line that ended just above her nipples, much like the
pattern of a fan.
 
Two more, one on each
side of her body, snaked down her sides, from her breasts to her waist.
 
Those weren't deep, and the one on her left
side not as smooth as the others, more jagged where it ended abruptly halfway
down her body.
  
Like the scars on her
face, Julia had no idea how they'd come to be there.