Courting Julia Read online

  Frederick looked at him sidelong and laughed with genuine amusement. “Well, well,” he said. “This competition could grow very interesting indeed. Poor Jule. I wonder if she is enjoying herself.”

  The Earl of Beaconswood did not comment.

  Very interesting, Frederick thought. If Dan was out of the competition, it would be more easily won. On the other hand, there would be less of a challenge. But perhaps the real challenge would be in determining whether Dan was in or not. And perhaps even Dan himself did not know.

  Julia awoke very early the next morning and could not get back to sleep again no matter how much she tossed and turned. She was to put off her mourning that day, she remembered. No more wearing black. The thought brought relief with it—she hated wearing black. But it also brought grief. Was Grandpapa to be so easily forgotten?

  She had forgiven him during the night, before finally falling asleep. It was a dreadful thing he had done to her, but she knew it had been done out of love. Grandpapa had always believed that she could find happiness only in marriage. And she tended to agree with him. But not in just any marriage. Only with someone she could love and respect and like. Grandpapa had tried to ensure beyond the grave that she would marry and that she would retain the home that had been hers from childhood. Not many men would have done as much for a granddaughter who was not strictly speaking a granddaughter.

  Julia gave up the attempt to get back to sleep and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She knew what she would like to do. She often did it on summer mornings. But only ever when there were no visitors at the house. The days of heedless youth were long in the past and had been succeeded by an almost decorous adulthood. But when she was alone at the house, with only Grandpapa and Aunt Millie for company, she had often run down to the lake early on a summer morning for a swim.

  She could not do that today. The house was full of visitors. There was far too much chance of being seen and chided. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was a little before six. Even most of the servants were probably still in bed. No one else would be up for at least two hours, more probably three or four. She could be back from a swim in less than an hour.

  She hesitated even so, but when she crossed the room to the window and drew the curtains aside, it was to find the perfect day greeting her eyes. The early morning sun was shining down from a cloudless sky. It was going to be a scorcher, she thought. The very best time of such a day was now before the heat made the outdoors almost oppressive.

  Just a short swim, she thought, peeling off her nightgown and dashing through into her dressing room to pull on some clothes without ringing for her maid and dragging the poor girl from her bed. She would be back well before seven, and she knew that she would feel fresh and invigorated for the rest of the day. An early morning swim was even better than an early morning ride.

  She chose a part of the lake that was a little more secluded than the area where she usually swam. A weeping willow hung over the water and the stone boathouse, built like a Greek folly, stood close to it. The air was loud with birdsong. Perhaps she should be content with just sitting on the bank for a while, Julia thought, drinking in the beauty and peace of nature, and perhaps dangling her feet in the water. But the lure of the water, sparkling with the sunshine slanting across it was just too strong. And it really was very early. She fetched a large towel from the boathouse, set it on the bank with her dress, and dived into the lake clad only in her shift.

  She shook her head and blew out when she reached the surface again and trod water. The first shock of the cold water had taken her breath away as it always did. But it felt wonderful. She laid back her head and spread her arms, content to float and watch the few small, fluffy clouds above her doing the same thing. Swimming—or floating— had to be the most relaxing exercise in the world.

  Grandpapa had always impressed upon her that she must never swim alone, that it was dangerous to do so. But how could one relax with a maid sitting demurely on the bank? Julia had always made sure that she did not worry her grandfather—she simply swam without his knowledge. Usually early in the morning.

  It was glorious, she thought, rolling over onto her stomach and doing a lazy crawl out farther onto the lake, away from the shadows of the trees. She would not even think about yesterday or last evening or about the month to come. But that decision had no sooner been made than it was broken. For of course as soon as one had determined not to think of something, one could think of nothing else.

  She wished that Freddie had had a chance to kiss her last evening before they were interrupted. She was curious to know what his kisses were like. How did a rake kiss differently from the two gentlemen she had allowed to kiss her during her Season in London? There were only so many ways two sets of lips could be pressed together, were there not? But she had no doubt that being kissed by Freddie would be an experience not to be forgotten. He was undeniably an attractive man with those bedroom eyes and that truant lock of hair. He was just Freddie to her, of course, but she could still begin to see him as other women must see him.

  Perhaps she would choose Freddie at the end of the month. His motives for wanting to marry her were far from romantic ones, of course, and she was not at all sure that she believed what he had said about gambling and the state of his finances. But at least he was being reasonably honest with her. And she believed that he was fond of her and that they would deal well together.

  She would doubtless have to accustom herself to having a husband with a roving eye, of course, and one who would occasionally take mistresses. She turned onto her back again and wrinkled her nose at the sky. Ugh! What a ghastly thought. It was more likely that she would grab the fire irons and bat him about the head with the poker the first time she had evidence that he had strayed.

  No, she could not marry so cynically. She sighed and wished she were not such an incurable romantic. And wished she could do with her mind what she wanted to do with it. It was always the least controllable part of one’s being.

  Julia turned and began to swim again. Soon she was going to have to dry herself off and whisk herself back to the house so that her hair would be dry in plenty of time that no one at breakfast would suspect how she had begun her day.

  Not even Daniel. Gussie’s pompous ass. She smiled at the remembered name and her remembered glee at hearing such vulgar language from one of her cousins. Daniel would probably have a thousand fits of the vapors if he could see her now.

  He had not slept well all night. And with the sun streaming through his window it was unlikely that he was going to get any more sleep. The Earl of Beaconswood sighed and sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing has eyes with the heels of his hands and yawning. What he should do was go out for a brisk morning ride to put air into his lungs and energy into his body. Or better still, he should go for a brisk walk.

  It was very early, he saw with a grimace when he reached his dressing room. Far too early to summon his valet, poor man. He would shave later, he decided, at a more decent hour for sending down for hot water. He dressed quickly, avoiding his black clothes with reluctance. It did not seem right to be donning a blue coat when his uncle had died less than two weeks before.

  He breathed in deeply when he had let himself out of the house and was standing on the terrace. It was a lovely morning and certainly the right time to be in the country. It would not be a comfortable day to be in town. The smells would be considerably less pleasant than those here.

  And yet, he thought, looking about him uncertain which direction to take for his walk, he would give a great deal to be in London right now, to be looking forward to seeing Blanche later in the day. Blanche could always be relied upon to behave with the strictest propriety and to remain sweet and feminine at the same time. He had never even been alone with her, except when driving her in the park with all the fashionable world there to act as chaperon.

  He made his decision and turned to stride in the direction of the lake. He wished he could just snap his fi
ngers and have the following month behind him. Not that he would not enjoy the company of his relatives. It was several years since he had been with them all together, and he had always been fond of them, even of those aunts, uncles, and cousins who were not strictly speaking close relatives since they belonged to his late aunt. But he had been brought up to think of them as close relatives.

  As he had been brought up to think of Julia as a cousin. And Julia was the trouble with this whole month, he thought, feeling his jawline tense. Without her he would be able to relax and enjoy himself. But then without her there would be no necessity for any of them to stay there for the month.

  If ever he wanted to identify the complete opposite of Blanche, he thought, it would be Julia without any hesitation at all. Even physically they were opposites. Blanche was small and slender and blond. Julia was rather tall with those long legs of hers—he could still remember seeing them clad in breeches when she was fifteen—and generously shaped and dark. But in every other way she was different from Blanche too.

  He swore out loud when he remembered his feeling on arriving at the lake the evening before to find that Julia and Freddie had been lost along the way—or had lost themselves. It was dark and they were among the trees and she was with Freddie of all people. Did she not know Freddie’s reputation? Or did she not believe that he could turn that fatal charm upon her to seduce her? And would she not believe him that Freddie was badly dipped and would grasp at the opportunity to enrich himself with a wise marriage?

  Foolish woman. How could he stand by and watch a member of his family deceive and perhaps debauch a woman whom his uncle had treated as a granddaughter? He could not do so. It was as simple as that. Even though she seemed to know nothing about propriety and decorum. Even though she had been inviting Freddie’s kiss the evening before. He had arrived just in time. He probably would have planted Freddie a facer too if Stella and Viola and Les had not been close behind him. He had been feeling white with fury.

  He had reached the lake and turned to stroll slowly along the bank. He frowned. The fury was strange really, he supposed. What if Freddie had kissed her? What if he had compromised her by keeping her away from the house for far too long? What if he had therefore been forced into marrying her? It was what he wanted anyway. And probably what she wanted too. Freddie was undoubtedly the most personable of the five of them, and she did not have the good sense to care about his character flaws.

  Why should he worry about protecting her? From what was she to be protected?

  But he was not given a chance to answer his own questions. Someone was swimming out on the lake. Alone. That was a foolish thing to do. One of the servants, he supposed. He almost turned away to walk back in the other direction until he looked more closely and noted the slim arms that rose rhythmically and gracefully from the water. Good God, it was a woman. Asking for trouble if any of the menservants happened along. Or perhaps that was what she was hoping for. He could feel anger rising.

  But of course, he thought suddenly, coming to a halt close to the boathouse. Oh, of course. Why had he thought even for one moment that that was a servant out there, swimming alone in deep water? The truth was so obvious that it was almost laughable that it had not jumped at him immediately. Except that he was not laughing. Anger progressed to fury in one leap.

  That was Julia out there! At the same moment as he thought it his eye was caught by her towel lying in the grass close to the bank not far away and the dress dropped in a careless heap beside it.

  Good God! What was she wearing out there? Or what was she not wearing? His heart felt suddenly as if it was beating at double time.

  She was swimming with leisurely strokes to shore. His first instinct was to turn and hurry out of sight. But fury kept him rooted to the spot. What if it were someone else who had wandered to that particular spot to witness what he was witnessing? What if it were one of the menservants? One of the gardeners? Or one of his cousins? What if it were Freddie? She would be swimming toward a fate worse than death.

  If he did not throttle her when she had hauled herself out of the water he would deserve a medal for restraint. But he had never craved medals and did not do so now. He would prefer the satisfaction of having his hands about her throat and squeezing.

  The Earl of Beaconswood planted his booted feet slightly apart, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited.

  6

  She set her hands on the bank, drew herself up out of the water, set one knee on the grass and then one foot, and pulled herself upright—all in one fluid, graceful movement.

  For one moment he thought she really was naked. But she might as well have been, he thought when he realized that she was wearing a shift. It clung to her like a second skin, leaving nothing at all to the imagination. His mouth went dry.

  She lifted her arms and her face to the sun filtering at a slant through the trees and pressed her hands back over her hair, squeezing the excess water from it behind her head. Then without lowering her head she passed her hands flat down her body, pressing out some of the moisture. They began at her shoulders and moved downward with spread fingers over her breasts—full, firm breasts clearly outlined against the soaked fabric—into her small waist, down over shapely hips, down the tops of her long, slim legs.

  She could teach the most accomplished of courtesans a thing or two about arousing a man, the earl thought as he stood very still and watched. Though he was not thinking clearly. His breath caught in his throat and he felt a tightening in his groin. He wanted to touch her. By God, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to circle those magnificent breasts with his hands. They would be cold to the touch. He wanted to warm them with his palms. He wanted to pinch those nipples visible through her shift until they were hard and peaked. He wanted to spread his hands over her hips and move them over her flat stomach. He wanted to touch her where the wet cotton clung between her legs. He wanted his hand beneath the fabric. He wanted to touch her....

  Probably only seconds had passed since she had set foot on the bank. She shivered and reached down for her towel. But she stopped and stiffened suddenly, her fingers not quite touching it. She raised her head slowly and looked directly at him as he stood in the shadow of the boathouse no more than twenty feet away. They stared at each other for several moments before she grasped the towel, straightened up unhurriedly, and held it bunched in front of her.

  She was the first to break the silence. “Are you enjoying the show?” she asked. “You should have hidden more carefully, Daniel. I usually remove the wet garment before donning the dry one for the return to the house. I am sure you would have enjoyed watching that.”

  Her voice and the usual brittle tone in which she spoke to him broke the spell and he was cold with fury again. Colder. She had made him desire her, by God, just as she had when she was fifteen years old. Even now she had not covered herself with the towel. Or dived back into the water with shame and the need to cling to some shred of modesty. She was standing with bare feet planted apart on the grass, shoulders back, head high. As if he was the one in the wrong.

  “Have you no modesty whatsoever?” The viciousness of his tone surprised even himself. “Will you flaunt yourself for the whole world to see? Will you so carelessly invite ravishment?”

  “Modesty?” she said. “I have been bathing—clothed—at six o’clock in the morning. And for the whole world to see? This is a private lake on private land. And ravishment? Is that what you have in mind, Daniel? Do you want me?”

  “Clothed!” His nostrils flared and he strode unwisely toward her. “Is this what you consider clothes, Julia?” He indicated the clinging shift with one expressive hand and let his eyes sweep down her body. “You might as well have removed that also and had two dry garments to put on when you came out of the water. What if a gardener had wandered this way?”

  “He would have wandered another way again,” she said.

  “And what if it were someone else from the house who had come?” he asked. “What if i
t were Freddie?”

  “If it were Freddie,” she said, “he would have made some appreciative comments instead of hiding in the shadows, remarked on his good fortune, and flirted with me.”

  “Flirted.” The word was spoken quietly. He was so furious that his anger could not even show itself openly without taking him entirely beyond control. He would do her some violence if he did not keep his temper tightly reined. “Do you have any conception of what form that flirtation would take, Julia?”

  “Do you?” She laughed at him and raised the towel to rub at one side of her hair.

  “You would no longer be wearing that shift,” he said. “You would no longer be standing upright. You would no longer be in possession of either your virtue or your virginity, Julia. If you are still in possession of either, that is.”

  Her hand stilled and color rushed to her face. “You become offensive,” she said. “I believe you should apologize for that, Daniel.”

  “My God, woman,” he said, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, “do you have no understanding of life at all? Or of men?”

  “Yes,” she said, and he could see from the flashing of her eyes that she too was now angry. “Yes, I understand men, Daniel. Some men anyway. I understand that they can desire what they hate and despise. I understand that they can accuse other men of doing what they would like to do themselves. You would like to ravish me, wouldn’t you, Daniel? But of course the thought horrifies you because you are the very proper Earl of Beaconswood. And so all the wrong must be mine. There is nothing improper in my swimming here early in the morning, but because you have seen me here and because you have desired me, then I must be a wanton. Perhaps even a whore.”