Romney Marsh Trilogy: A Gentleman by Any Other Name / The Dangerous Debutante / Beware of Virtuous Women. Kasey Michaels
Читать онлайн книгу.
all Julia wanted to do now was hold him and kiss him and kiss him again.
And all Chance could think now was that he’d lost all control of himself and spilled his seed in Julia. And he didn’t care.
Julia did her best to slow her breathing, and then Chance kissed her one last time, smoothed back her hair and left the bed to snatch up a towel from the washstand, keeping his back to her as he buttoned his pantaloons.
He turned to her then, reaching for his shirt, and Julia finally came back to her senses. She tried to push down the skirt of her gown even as she pulled the bodice up and over her breasts.
“No, don’t do that, please. A man about to go off on a journey should carry with him the memory of why he can’t wait to return,” Chance told her quietly, pushing down her bodice once more, then kissed her breasts before stepping away again, smiling down at her. “Here, what’s this?”
Julia immediately knew what he was referring to—the black grosgrain ribbon she’d tied around the strap of her shift. She put her hand over it, thanking her lucky stars that her gad, at least, was safely hidden in her dressing table. “It’s…it’s nothing.”
“No,” Chance said. He pushed her hand away and looked at the bow visible on her shift. “It’s a tie for my hair. I left it here last night, didn’t I?”
“You may have,” Julia said, looking past him. Which was silly. She’d just made love with the man, certainly she could talk to him. But she couldn’t. Now who was foolish?
Chance pushed a little harder, caught between amusement and bafflement, with just a bit of pride mixed in, not that he’d think about that right now. “And you’re wearing it. Over your heart, too.”
“I tied it there so I’d remember to give it back to you,” Julia said, keeping her eyes averted. “Isn’t Billy waiting for you?”
Chance would have pushed some more, but even a stupid man, he believed, could recognize when it was time to withdraw from the field. “Julia Carruthers, you are an endless source of wonder to me. Just when I think I’m beginning to understand you I…You’re right, I’ve got to go now.”
Which is how Julia came to be lying on her side, totally bemused, her skirts barely covering her hips, her breasts bared, like some creature in a Renaissance painting, watching Chance Becket walk away from her.
“Please be careful,” she whispered as the door closed behind him and she sank back against the mattress, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Don’t do anything brave.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIA DIDN’T GO downstairs until the second dinner gong had rung, hoping to avoid conversation with the family in the main salon and holding on to Alice’s hand because…because she was a selfish, craven coward, that’s what she was.
“I like it here,” Alice told her as, still holding Julia’s hand, she jumped off the last stair, landing gracefully in her satin soft-soled slippers, her curls bouncing around her smiling face. “Everyone is so very nice, and I’m not stuck away in the nursery eating porridge. Although Buttercup will miss me horribly. Could I please go back upstairs and—”
“I don’t think there’s a place laid for Buttercup, sweetheart,” Julia said, smiling, then swiftly said something to divert the child. “But I have heard that you will sit beside Callie at every meal now that you behaved so well at luncheon this afternoon, and she’s almost as fine a companion as Buttercup, isn’t she?”
Alice became very solemn. “She’s better, but we can’t tell Buttercup because she’ll be sad.”
Walking slowly, in no hurry to enter the dining room, Julia said, “I thought Buttercup was a boy rabbit.”
“He was, but Callie and I decided that no boys should be allowed in the nursery, so now he’s a girl. We don’t like boys. They’re very fickle, you understand. We took a pact and everything.”
Now Julia grinned. “Is that so? Well, my darling, I think that’s very wise of you and Callie.”
“She says so. That we’re even brilliant, because boys are lower than snails, and that’s quite low. Julia? What’s a fickle?”
“Um…well…I suppose Callie meant that a fickle person plays with you very nicely one day and then ignores you the next—and for no good reason, too,” Julia said, trying not to think of Chance as she explained.
“Oh. Like Court being nice to Callie, tossing a ball with her one day and then when she wants to play again today, calling her a pernikious brat and telling her to go away?”
“Pernicious, sweetheart. And yes, that’s it exactly,” Julia said as they entered the dining room to see half the chairs still empty. Spencer was there, his left arm in a sling, his expression bordering on petulant, as if he dared anyone to say he was still too sick to have left his bed, but he was the only male Becket present.
Julia knew where Chance had gone, but to see that Rian, Court and Ainsley were also absent? Clearly something was afoot. And just as clearly she shouldn’t comment on that fact.
“Come sit next to me, Alice,” Cassandra called out cheerfully. “We’re all just sitting where we want to tonight, except for Spence, of course. He’d rather be in Hades than here with all us girls.”
“Stubble it, brat,” Spence growled halfheartedly, reaching for his wineglass as Julia sat down beside him.
Morgan, who was already seated across the table from her brother, made an elaborate business out of unfolding her serviette and placing it in her lap. “My, aren’t you the cheery one, Spencer Becket. What’s the matter? Wouldn’t the other boys invite you along to play?”
“That means they’re all fickles, and shame on them,” Alice solemnly informed Julia as she tucked a linen serviette into the neck of the child’s pretty pink gown, just as her father had done for her when she was a little girl.
“Yes, dear,” Julia said, biting back a nervous giggle. “But we’re polite ladies and we don’t make such comments in company.”
“Oh. But they are fickles, aren’t they?”
While Morgan and Spencer continued their argument, Julia tapped a finger against her own lips before intoning seriously, “Porridge. Nursery.”
“I’m sorry.” Alice pulled a comical face and quickly turned to speak with Cassandra.
“Morgan,” Elly said quietly from the head of the table, her chin lowered as she appeared to be inspecting her water glass, “that will be enough, thank you,” and both Morgan and Spencer went silent, holding their argument to glares across the table.
Then Eleanor looked up, smiled at Julia, who was suitably impressed with the seemingly fragile young woman’s quiet air of command. “Papa and everyone went to the Last Voyage to visit with our friends, something they do once a week, leaving us ladies on our own. Poor Spence couldn’t go with them, not with his injured arm.”
“Yes, your arm,” Julia said, something contrary in her not about to willingly swallow Elly’s fib. Either these people trusted her, let her in, or she would be as contrary as she wished to be. Even if her papa was sitting on some lovely cloud, tsk-tsking and racing to convince the other angels that he’d “raised the child up much better than this.”
So looking, she hoped, merely idly curious, she asked, “How did you come to injure your arm, Spence? A sprain, I suppose? I did notice that your mount had suffered some sort of…misadventure. Did you fall off?”
“I most certainly did not,” Spencer shot back angrily. “And where’s Fanny? Why is she always late?”
Morgan dipped her spoon into the soup that had already been set before everyone. “To annoy you would be my guess, brother dear. Oh, here she comes now.” Then in a low whisper Morgan added, “Bloody hell.”