His For The Taking (5 page)

A small chuckle popped from his
lips and he sprang to his feet. "Yes."

Constance's
mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You do?
But…"

"But nothing." He leaned
over her, kissing her cheek. "And thank you helping me to see that."

Her eyes grew wide with disbelief.
"You can't love her."

He straightened. "And why
not?"

"B-Because you're supposed to
marry me!" she exclaimed, the shrillness of her tone set his teeth on
edge.

Still he laughed, the sound so loud
that it sobered him. "Supposed to marry you? Where did you get that
notion? Certainly not from my neglect of our short lived courtship."

"Well why else would I be
here?"

"I don't know. For the natural
beauty of the country? For the fresh air? Because if you're here with the
absurd idea that I would ever propose, you're wasting your time."

She raised her chin imperiously.
"How badly do you wish to know where she is?" Constance
asked, her brow lifted, her mouth pinched into a condescending line.
"Because if you think I'll ever tell you, you sir are wasting your
time."

***

Julianna held tight to her needle
and tried to focus on the intricate embroidery pattern. But her head ached and
she had no ambition to finish.

Grandmother sat at the far side of
the parlor, her head lowered as she read the mornings correspondence, her small
frail body resting atop the lavender cushion of the window seat.

"Anything interesting?"
Julianna asked, securing the needle to the fabric.

Grandmother looked up from her
letters. "No, not really. Just news from Stuart about the goings on at Oak
Park."

"Oh, Stuart, how is he faring
with Lady Whitcomb as his mistress?" she asked, wishing not to know about
Constance or her mother. But had there been word of Jonathan?

Oh how she longed to take up a pen
and tell him all her news. He would have male insight into Bennett Nesbitt. God
knew she needed guidance where that man was concerned. He was wild and free
spirited, so full of life and energy. But, she reminded herself soberly,
Jonathan wasn't her friend anymore, was he?

A small smile warmed Grandmother's
face. "Well, he says that Miss Constance is quite demanding and very much
ready to cry if tea is even five minutes late."

"Well, Cook is never
tardy," Julianna defended, setting her sewing stand to the side and rising
from the settee.

My how her legs ached from
yesterday's whirlwind tour of London
on the arm of Lord Nesbitt. Yet she had a new appreciation for the city and she
had to admit, he was ever so much fun. Bennett's laughter and passion was
contagious. Not to mention the fact that he was drawn to her. There was no
worry as to whether or not he found her attractive. She could tell by the
appreciation in his eyes and the compliments on his tongue.

She touched her lips, recalling his
kiss that night in the garden. If he tried to kiss her again, how would she
feel? Would she be so ready to push him away?

Heat inched its way into her cheeks
and her stomach flip flopped. No. She didn't think she would.

"Yes, that's very true. I hope
we have our dear staff when we return. She is driving Nellie to
distraction."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all I can think is the child
must be bored. All she seems to do is have Nell comb her hair, help her change
her clothes and force her to listen to her complaints."

Julianna drew her lower lip between
her teeth. Did she dare ask if there was more news? News of Denbigh Hall. News of
Jonathan? Her anxiety over asking was not nearly strong enough to stop her.
"And are there any other items of interest in the letter?"

Grandmother folded the paper and
held it tight in her hands before setting a chilly gaze upon her granddaughter.
"What sort of items of interest?"

"You know what I'm
asking," she replied, her fingers curling nervously in the fabric of her
gown.

"Yes I do." Grandmother
stood and lifted her hand, offering Julianna the letter. "There is. Are
you certain you want to know?"

Her throat seemed suddenly tight.
Did she want to know for certain? Judging by the expression on Grandmother's
face, she already knew.

"Has he been calling on Miss
Whitcomb?"

Grandmother lowered her hand, her
mouth dipped into a frown. "Yes."

Tears sprang uncontrollably from
her eyes and she sank back into the settee, burying her face in her hands. Her
heart hurt, actually ached, each beat painful in her chest.

Grandmother shuffled forward and
settled next to her, rubbing her back in slow, gentle strokes.

"I-I don’t know why, but I
thought he would mourn my absence," Julianna said through sobs. "He
is truly lost to me. Our kiss meant nothing to him, just as he professed."

"I'm sorry child."
Grandmother pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I carried the same
hopes as you."

Julianna looked at her grandmother
through tear soaked eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means I had anticipated
that passion is stronger toward absent lovers. That without you there, he would
realize just what you meant to him."

Taking in a deep breath, Julianna
forced down her pain. As far as she was concerned, it was over. She would never
again think of Jonathan as anything but an acquaintance. For there were other
men in the world and surely she could find love with one of them. If not love,
then something far more dependable and far less painful.

"Grandmother," Julianna
said with a sniffle. "I think I would like to go to Lady Nesbitt's
milliner. I was there yesterday with Bennett. And in the window was a stunning
turban."

"A turban?" Grandmother
asked, looking up at her as if she had lost her senses.

"Yes, it's charming. Green
with silver and gold bits of thread. I do believe it would look smashing on you
at tomorrow evening's ball."

Grandmother stood, slipping her arm
through Julianna's. "Yes, I do believe a bit of shopping is in order.
Music may well soothe the savage breast, but shopping eases a broken
heart."

***

Jonathan slammed the front door of
Denbigh Hall. "Blast that damned half wit," he grumbled stalking down
the hall and toward the steps that would take him to his room. But bloody hell,
what would he do once he got there? He could pace there or he could pace here.
He could pace in the parlor or in his study.

He let out a low, deep, feral growl
that echoed against the marble floors of the entry way. "Where the bloody
hell has she gone?" he asked of his reflection in a large gilded mirror.

God but he looked a fright. His
brown eyes almost black with rage. His dark blond curls wild with tangles from
repeated contact with agitated fingers. And the stubble on his chin was thick,
for he had neglected his razor since he learned she had gone.

"Damnation!" he shouted.
"Has she truly left the country?" The idea of a Frenchman, a Spaniard
or an Italian making love to her had his stomach roiling. Her beautiful body
should curl next to his at night. What a fool he was. What a god damned fool.

Julianna had left and taken his
sanity with her. How could he have not felt this passion for her when he was by
her side? How could he have been such an idiot? Love her hell. It was more than
love he felt. It was obsession.

Again he paced. When he found her,
he'd throw himself at her feet. Kiss those lips. Make her his in every way he
possibly could. He'd make love to her and he'd make her his wife. They'd never
be apart again. Never.

He continued to pace, his hands
behind his back. "Where could she be? Where?"

"Sir?"

The soft voice of his housekeeper
had him turning on her like a wild beast. "What is it, Jesse?" he
shouted.

She shrank back and dipping her
knee, held out a small missive. "This was delivered after you left for Oak
Park."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, sir." She
took two steps back and lowered her chin. "It came from a messenger. He
said he rode like the devil from London."

"London?
It's probably from my solicitor."

"No, sir. The man said it was
from Lady Chesterfield."

His heart lightened and for the
first time in a week he felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

Chapter Five

Julianna's cheeks warmed at the smile
Bennett bestowed upon her. His eyes sparkled as he stared down at her, the
lights from the chandeliers, the sound of the music, the feel of his arms
around her, all making her feel more alive than she had in ages.

My but his attentions were
addicting and the way he maneuvered her around the crowded dance floor had her
heart soaring.

Who needed Jonathan, anyway? But
she admitted being in Bennett’s arms lacked the enjoyment she felt when
Jonathan whisked around the floor. The strength in Denbigh’s embrace, the
perfection of his movements, the arousal at the feel of his body pressed to her
were all lacking when Bennett held her. But Bennett was here and his interest
was obvious. And she needed that more than the spark she felt when Jonathan
danced with her. This was enough, wasn't it?

"You’re a million miles away,
Miss Julianna," Bennett said, his voice pulling her out of her melancholy.

"I’m sorry."

As the musician's ended the waltz,
he spun her to a halt, the skirts of her rose colored gown swirling around her
ankles. With a laugh, she threw her head back. "You are quite the
partner," she said, her hand flying to her chest in an attempt to catch
her breath.

"And you, Miss Julianna are by
far the most beautiful maiden in all of England."
She felt a pleasant warmth rise in her cheeks and an uncontrollable smile
lifted the corners of her mouth. It was the perfect thing to say. Very
unJonathan like.

"I thank you, sir." She
pulled free of his embrace and dipped into a curtsy. "Now, do you suppose
we could get something to drink and see Grandmother? I'm curious as to how she
and her new turban are faring."

"Indeed," Bennett
replied. "But meet me in the garden first. I shall bring you refreshment
there and we can enjoy a bit of the cool night air." He tugged on his
collar, his forehead shiny with perspiration. "I am in agony, my
dear."

"Well, no one is forcing you
to dance every dance with me. A few other gentlemen have tried to ask."

"I know," he said, the
smile slipping from his lips, his green eyes taking on a seriousness she had
never seen him display. "But I don't wish to share."

"People will talk."

"Let them."

Her hand remained on her heart, the
fierceness of its beat no longer caused by physical exertion. "Sir…"

He bowed, his dark hair shimmering
in the low candlelight. "Meet me in the garden?"

"All right," she agreed
hesitantly, for the massive ballroom had grown warm from the throngs of guests
that flooded the Manchester's
beautiful mansion. But that warmth was nothing in comparison to the heat that
now seemed to encompass her entire body.

What
does he truly want?
She wondered. Was he going to attempt to kiss her
again? This time would she push him away? She gnawed on her lower lip. Her
reputation would be ruined if they were seen. Dear Lord she needed some advice.

He nodded as he departed. She
watched him go, yet doubted the wisdom of her decision to be alone with him.

She determined to see Grandmother
before she left. She’d know exactly how to handle the situation. She always
knew best.

On tiptoes, her gaze flitted across
the pastel sea of beautiful ladies dressed in silks and satins and equally
beautiful gentlemen in fine black suits.

Spying her beloved grandmother in
the corner, a glass of champagne dangled from her black gloved fingertips and a
wide smile creased her face. She spoke with the Duke and Duchess of Manchester.
Grandmother was in her element. Did she truly want to interrupt and chase the
Duke and Duchess away with her silly questions? After all, she was a grown
woman. She could go out into the garden and drink champagne if she wanted to.
What harm was there in that?

***

There she was, sitting on an ornate
bench, the moonlight playing in the small pearls that adorned her rich, russet
hair. Her skin, porcelain, her beautiful rounded breasts pressing against the
bodice of a lacy, pale gown. His Julianna, but ten feet away.

Still, how did he approach her? Did
he march up to her and tell her of his love? Or did he simply pretend their
meeting was an accident and ask her to dance? Better still, grab her and make a
run for Gretna Green.

Jonathan slipped into the shadow of
a massive boxwood, he took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever route
he chose to take. All he knew for certain was that he had to see her. To be
near her. To know if she still shared any bit of his feelings.

At the sound of her sweet laughter,
he craned his neck and to his dismay, found that she was no longer alone.
Jealousy pinched his gut into a painful knot.

A tall, slender, dandy looking
fellow stood at her side, handing her a glass of champagne. "Damn you
Bennett Nesbitt."

From his vantage point, Jonathan
could see and hear all the couple said to one another. And he felt suddenly
uncomfortable. He should take his leave. Give them their privacy. Walk away…but
how could he? For Nesbitt was obviously in love. The look in his eyes mirrored
the feeling that now slammed against his abdomen, making him feel nauseated.

"Julianna, I realize we have
known one another a short time, but you can't have been blind to my intentions."

Her eyes grew wide as they often
did when caught off guard. "Bennett, I know you are fond of me. That is
obvious by the attention you've offered me since my arrival in London…"