Julia London 4 Book Bundle (37 page)

She found her sewing contentedly in her rooms with her mending ankle propped on a tiny little stool. “Good afternoon, milady,” she said cheerfully after bidding Lilliana to enter. “It’s early yet, isn’t it? I shall be down to tend you at five o’clock, just as I always do,” she said, glancing at a clock.

“Polly, do you recall the painting in the gallery I mentioned to you?”

“Of Ladies Evelyn and Allison? Fine painting it is too.”

Lilliana hastily moved to her vanity, grabbed the bench there, and dragged it to where Polly sat. “Who
are
Evelyn and Allison?” she asked.

Polly grinned. “Why Lord Albright’s girls, of course! Darling little girls, they were.”

“Were they cousins?”

The woman snorted. “They were
sisters
, Lady Albright!” she exclaimed, and shook her head at what she obviously considered a ridiculous question.

“Lord Albright believes his mother was an only child,” she stated, and watched Polly’s gray brows arch high, almost into her receding hairline.

“Beggin’ your pardon, mum, but that’s silliness. Of course Lady Kealing had a sister! The two were thick as thieves!”

At that bit of information Lilliana eagerly leaned forward. “What happened to them?”

“Why, what happens to all young girls, naturally. Lady Evelyn, she went off and married Lord Kealing, and Lady Allison, she went off to London. I don’t know after that. The girls never came back to Longbridge, and Lord Albright, well, he wasn’t the talkative sort. I corresponded with Lady Kealing for a time, but she rarely spoke of her sister, not after …” Polly suddenly shifted. “Lady Allison always talked of living in Italy. Perhaps she did.”

“But don’t you know where she is?”

“No, milady. It’s been more than thirty years now.” A slight frown creased Polly’s brow for a moment before she resumed her sewing. “Ah, but they were the loveliest girls in the parish. Lady Evelyn was the youngest, and she was married first. Lady Allison left about the same time.”

“But I don’t understand! Why wouldn’t Adrian know of his aunt?” Lillian insisted to the wall.

Polly’s frown deepened. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Ask him indeed.

Lilliana left Polly’s rooms, lost in thought as she slowly made her way to her own rooms. It was as if pieces of a puzzle were scattered across her mind—the portrait of two girls at Longbridge, the portrait at Kealing Park of a man who so closely resembled Adrian. The paintings somehow fit together, she was certain, but for the life of her she could not see how.

The afternoon was proving unbearable for Adrian. Having followed Lilliana to the house after retrieving their things, the first thing he had to do was face the dozens of servants and accept their congratulations for the miraculous recovery of his sight. He felt almost sinister, as if he had perpetrated some fantastic scheme on all of them. More than one looked at him a bit suspiciously, and who could blame them? What blind man went out for a picnic and came back with his sight fully restored? Still others marveled at the glory of God, insisting that he had been blessed. That was almost cruel—he wasn’t blessed, he was doomed.

The second thing he had to do was face Benedict, who had appeared unannounced, as he was increasingly fond of doing, without invitation, and strutting about the place as if he owned it. Oh, but Benedict was in fine form. After proclaiming himself to be ecstatically happy about Adrian’s restored sight—and naturally, the end to Archie’s ridiculous suit, Benedict chatted easily about his attempts to soothe Lilliana, not caring who heard, and describing in great detail her pretty, tear-filled eyes. But he assured Adrian he had done his best to comfort her. Adrian could just imagine that he had. Now that he could actually
see
Benedict again, he did not trust him for a moment. Yet that ignoble thought made him cringe with self-loathing. Where was the mercy he was so intent on showing Benedict? Where was the benefit of the doubt?

His insides felt as if they had rotted, but as the afternoon wore on he grew more distrustful of everyone around him. Damn it, he
had
seen the shadows of his wife and his brother together when they had thought he was blind. And as much as he would love to dispel that suspicion, Lilliana had locked the damned door to her rooms and refused to speak to him. And just what had he done that was so horrible? Could she not understand how awesome the gift of sight could be to a blind man? Could she at least attempt to comprehend how he might have felt at that moment?

Or was there another reason she was so angry?

When she came down to supper—wearing a rich blue brocade gown that hugged her curves and succeeded in lighting a torch in him—she walked past him with just a flick of her eyes. She glided to a seat across from Benedict, who immediately engaged her in some pointless chatter until Adrian thought he might explode. How he endured the meal, he hardly knew. It was impossible to take his eyes from her. God, oh God, how could he have missed her natural elegance? In the warm light of the candelabrum, her porcelain skin and rosy blush made her look ravishing. Her hair had grown well past her shoulders, and she swept it back and up in a very simple but graceful style. The Princess was gorgeous, he realized with a jolt.

Benedict saw it too.

Hell, he not only saw it, he
catered
to it. When they retired to the green drawing room after supper, his brother proceeded to practically make love to his wife right before his very eyes! He spoke softly to her, constantly touching her hand, her shoulder, her knee. He laughed at the things she said, hung on every word that fell from those full lips. Lilliana responded politely, Adrian noticed, but was never coy. Was her restraint for his benefit? Just what
had
gone on while he had been blind? As hard as he fought it, he was growing furiously jealous of Lilliana’s dimpled smile, particularly when
that smile shone upon the weakling Benedict, no matter how briefly.

When at last it came time to retire, Adrian made his way to his rooms after Lilliana had gone up, an irrational anger mounting in him with every step. His crime was not so great to warrant such cool haughtiness from her. Granted, he should have told her about his sight, but he could hardly see how that should condemn him. Perhaps he had misjudged her—perhaps she was much shallower than he had recently come to believe. Or was she perhaps more conniving than he had thought, even angry that they could no longer carry on their little affair right under his nose? He was uncertain about everything. Except that he was furious. And that his head was killing him.

Fury pushed him to crash through the door of his rooms, shove out of his coat and drop it on the floor. He did the same with his neckcloth, practically clawing it from his neck, and then his waistcoat, which he also carelessly discarded onto the floor. All of this he did as he walked to the door to her rooms. God help her if he found it locked, he thought, and shoved hard against it. The door swung open, bouncing against the wall.

At her dressing table, Lilliana shrieked and whirled around, bringing a hand to her throat. “You startled me!”

Adrian clenched his jaw and surveyed the room as he made a half-assed attempt to get hold of himself. Honestly, he did not
want
to get hold of himself! He had been blinded for two months and had regained his sight, and
he
was not the villain here! And he had thought her so passionate, so extraordinarily forgiving. “You owe me a bloody apology,” he said through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened with shock, then narrowed dangerously. “I owe
you
an apology?”

He walked farther into the room, facing her with arms akimbo and legs braced apart. “First and foremost for locking your door to me. Don’t
ever
lock your door to
me,” he growled. “This is
my
house and you are
my
wife. I will enter here when I bloody well please.”

Lilliana slowly rose, her hand gripping a hairbrush so tightly he could see the white of her knuckles. “The inventory of your chattel is duly noted. Is there anything else?”

“Oh yes, madam, there certainly is,” he snarled. “You further owe me apology for having behaved so childishly today.”

She gasped with outrage.
“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Funny, isn’t it, that I should think my wife would be grateful my sight had returned? Yet I find myself wondering why she is incensed that I can see her!”

“You must be out of your mind!” she snapped, and slapped the brush down hard on the vanity. “Of
course
I am grateful, but you are forgetting one important fact, Adrian. You
lied
to me! You didn’t tell me your sight was restored, and I can only presume it was because you were too preoccupied with spying on me and everyone else on this estate!”

“I walked around this estate seeing
nothing
, hardly trusting what I was seeing! Do you have any idea how many images I saw in my mind while I was blind?
Hundreds
of them! Images so real that I questioned my own sanity! When my sight began to come back, I could not be sure it wasn’t my mind conjuring up those very same images!”

“I am quite certain,” she said raggedly, “that it was traumatic. I could never have endured what you did, or as bravely as you did! But the fact remains that you did not trust me enough to tell me! Nothing has changed, Adrian, and I honestly thought it had!” she cried. “This … this is not about your sight, it’s about
us.
About you and me, and your ability to trust me, to be
honest
with me! You were
spying
on me!” she cried, and swiped angrily at a tear that spilled from one eye.

“God in heaven, I was not spying on you!” he roared to the ceiling. “I have tried to explain to the best of my
ability why I didn’t tell you! Oh, but you have made it exceedingly clear that you don’t like the reason, Lilliana. And I cannot help but wonder why you are so god-dammed intent on
not
believing me! Perhaps
you
are the one who is hiding something!”

“Me?”
Lilliana’s eyes clouded with confusion. Or guilt. With a trembling hand she wiped another tear from her cheek. “What could I possibly be hiding?” she asked, her voice ragged.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said snidely. “Perhaps we should ask Benedict.”

Like a bolt of lightning Lilliana’s hand shot out to strike him, but Adrian caught her wrist and flung her arm away. “How
dare
you imply such a thing? My God, you are
obsessed
with him! Everything comes back to Benedict, doesn’t it? Everything about you is about him! Well, hear this, Adrian! At this very moment I can truthfully say I find him
far
more desirable than you!” she shouted hysterically.

His head burst into a thousand tiny shards. Without thinking, he grabbed her arms, hauling her into his chest. A thousand retorts, a thousand threats rifled through his brain. But as he glared down into her gray-green eyes, he saw his own fear and anger reflected in them. The fact that he, of all people, could be driven to such a jealous rage disgusted him.

The whole, emotionally sickening scene instantly reminded him of Archie. It was almost as if he was holding
Archie
in his arms. But it wasn’t Archie. It was Lilliana rejecting him, Lilliana despising him, Lilliana loving Benedict.

He hated her.

He hated her for turning against him after he had opened his rusty heart to her. What a pathetic fool he had become, a weak, pathetic fool who had let a silly parish princess affect him! And he had convinced himself that he
loved
this little cretin? Appalled, he shoved her away. Lilliana stumbled into her vanity, catching
herself on the edge. With an indolent smile Adrian shrugged at her pretty little pout of fear. “Madam, you may believe what you will,” he said indifferently, and casually strolled out of her room as if nothing had happened.

     
J
ULIAN DID NOT
want to go, but Arthur made him. They argued the entire way to Longbridge, Julian protesting that their vow to meddle in one another’s affairs was to be on the anniversary of Phillip’s death, and not willy-nilly in between. Arthur countered that they had vowed not to allow another of them to fall, arguing effectively that when a man lost his sight—and under questionable circumstance, no less—then
that
certainly constituted despair. And if that wasn’t enough to suit Julian, they had promised to deliver the emerald and diamond jewelry Albright had commissioned for his bride.

As there was no adequate retort for that, Julian turned his complaints to the road conditions, the weather, and the very irritable notion that Albright’s
despair
stemmed from his turning into one of those soft-bellied country earls. As they turned onto the mile-long drive leading to the Longbridge estate, Arthur spat, “The Lord as my witness, I shall
never
so much as cross the
Thames
with you again!”

“Please God, don’t make me idle promises,” Julian sighed. “As I have been coerced into accompanying you
on more than one useless excursion, I should be forever thankful if—Bloody hell, that’s Thunder!” he exclaimed.

“Pardon?” Arthur muttered, and glanced to his left, instantly recognizing Adrian’s prized stallion galloping toward them. Both men cringed when it looked as if the rider would hit them broadside, but the stallion was reined to a halt just short of that.

“Mary and Joseph,”
Julian muttered under his breath. Arthur peered closely at the rider—just as he had suspected, it was a woman riding astride in a pair of buckskin trousers! Which, he could not help noticing, hugged two very shapely thighs. She also wore a man’s hat beneath which blond curls peeked, and a lawn shirt that skimmed two very delectable breasts. Arthur glanced at her face—large gray-green eyes, thick blond lashes …

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Julian, looking quite surprised, responded, “I am Julian Dane, the Earl of Kettering, and my companion—”

“Lord Arthur, I presume,” she finished for him. “I know all about the two of you. I suppose Adrian is expecting you?”