Julia London 4 Book Bundle (52 page)

Smiling, Kettering said something to the footman. Whatever it was, the two of them shared a belly laugh over it. “Might I inquire what you find so terribly amusing, sir?” she asked, glowering at him.

He surprised her by suddenly leaning forward. “Why do you address me so formally, Claudia? You have called me by my Christian name since you were a girl, when you most certainly
should
have addressed me formally.” His
gaze dropped to her lips. “Don’t you suppose we are acquainted well enough to dispense with the formalities?”

No! Well … 
maybe
. Honestly, she hardly knew him well enough anymore to know what to call him. He wasn’t the same man she had known in her childhood, something she realized the day he had called on her to explain in that condescending way of his that she wasn’t good enough for Lord Rothembow and should therefore set her sights on other men. This from the man who led Phillip to his demise with the constant gambling and drinking and Lord knew what else. Granted, sitting beside her now he looked the very same as the Julian Dane she had known all those years ago. The same Julian Dane who
still
made her insides turn to jelly. But he couldn’t possibly be the same man, because
that
Julian Dane had disappeared when Valerie died, only to be replaced by this imposter. This incredibly handsome, exceedingly
virile
imposter.

Kettering chuckled softly to himself when she did not respond and turned his attention to Herbert, posing a question that Claudia did not quite catch. Herbert responded with much enthusiasm, and after several moments of unintelligible chatter between the two of them—really, she would be quite able to understand if everyone just slowed down a bit—Kettering signaled for the innkeeper. Smiling in that particularly charming way of his, he explained something to the innkeeper that included a gesture toward Herbert and a coin fished from his pocket.

“
Certainement, monsieur
,” the innkeeper replied with an enthusiastic nod, and taking the coin, pivoted sharply on his heel. “François! Où est
François
!” he bellowed, and hurried away, disappearing through a door as Herbert braced his hands against the table and pushed himself to his feet.

Alarmed, Claudia looked frantically from Kettering to Herbert and back again. “Wh-what are you doing, Herbert? Where are you going? You can’t walk!”

Herbert grinned and bowed. “
Bon voyage, madame
.”

“Not to worry,” Kettering cheerfully offered. “Herbert tells me you are returning to England tonight. As luck would have it, you and I are crossing on the same packet. I naturally offered my escort so that he might get an early start for la Claire. He is most appreciative, I assure you—particularly since he had not intended to come so far today.”

She ignored that barb because her mind was trying to absorb the idea that the scoundrel was returning to England … 
tonight
! On the same boat as she? How much worse could this be? She felt a bit of panic and opened her mouth to protest, but Kettering quickly interjected, “I am quite certain you will agree that Herbert has a long journey ahead of him. We wouldn’t want to see him start in the middle of the night unnecessarily, would we?”

A young man suddenly appeared, and with one look at Herbert, the two men burst into simultaneous chatter. As Herbert put his arm around the man’s shoulder, talking excitedly and gesturing to everyone around him, Kettering turned to Claudia. “Say
au revoir
to Herbert.”

“
Au revoir
, madame!” Herbert sang out, and gestured for the other man to proceed. The two Frenchmen began to work their way across the common room, each talking rapidly over the other.

“But—”

“It seems François is a friend of Herbert’s cousin,” Kettering explained.

“But he can’t drive the carriage!” she blustered as Herbert disappeared through the door.

“Ah, but he can. As he apparently tried to tell you all the way to Dieppe, the carriage has a hand brake, and he is quite confident that he can use it, seeing as how it was his foot you mangled, not his hand.”

That gave her a moment’s pause—come to think of it, Herbert
had
gestured to the brake quite a lot.

Kettering grinned. “Seems you had yourself a rather exciting escape.”

Blast it all, how on earth had she ended up alone with
him? “It was not an escape,” she insisted, noticing how his eyes danced with amusement. A nightmare—this was a bloody nightmare, she thought madly, because there was no one in Europe who could confound her like the Earl of Kettering!

She frowned; he casually sipped his ale.

As a girl she had worshipped him, had prayed nightly for an older brother just like him—strong and handsome and eager to shower her with gifts and attention, just as he did Eugenie and Valerie and Ann and Sophie. As an adolescent, she had felt the pangs of a deep infatuation turn to horrifying mortification when she impetuously kissed him on the terrace one night. She hadn’t really meant to do it, but he had been teaching them how to waltz, and she had been so moved by the magic of it that she had felt compelled to kiss him, bouncing up on her toes and bussing him on the lips. He had all but banished her from Kettering Hall then, but it hadn’t stopped her desire. As she grew older, she hung on every rumor and story surrounding the Rogues of Regent Street. Of all of them, the Earl of Kettering was the one with the reputation of being the suave lady-killer, and Lord, what she would have given to be slain by him!

But he never showed her any interest. Worse, he crushed her hopes when she was seventeen. At a ball given in honor of Eugenie’s wedding, Julian had smiled at her, told her she looked beautiful, then stood up with her for the first waltz. With effortless grace, he twirled her about the dance floor, all the while smiling down at her and arresting her heart with those black eyes. He spoke of how she had grown, how lovely she appeared in her gown, how very well she danced. If he hadn’t been holding her so close, she would have swooned right onto the ballroom floor. And when it ended, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her gloved knuckles. “Will you save me another dance?” he had asked. Too dazzled to speak, she had nodded dumbly, then waited all night for him to approach her again.

He never did.

He never so much as glanced in her direction again. And when Claudia saw him slip out a side door into the gardens with Miss Roberta Dalhart on his arm, she had been crushed.

That’s right, he had crushed her foolish heart, and she wasn’t about to idle away the hours with him. Claudia suddenly came to her feet. “
Au revoir
, Lord Kettering, I believe I shall wait alone,” she said coolly, and started to turn.

He caught her wrist in something of a vise-like grip. “Claudia. Sit,” he said low. “I may not be the perfect companion, but I’d wager I’m quite a bit more desirable than some drunken Frenchman you cannot understand.”

The
arrogance!
She had labeled him a Rake with a capital R seven years ago and could hardly abide the thought of being in the same room with such a terribly arrogant
Rogue
, especially one so full of esteem for himself.

She sat.

It seemed to her that his fingers lingered on her wrist a moment longer. But then he abruptly let go and smiled. “My, my,” he said as he settled back to observe her. “The last time I was successful at making you heed my word, you were twelve years old—and it was a rather shallow victory at that.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked warily.

“My horse.”

The heat immediately crept into her cheeks. “Oh honestly. My father allowed me to ride any mount I preferred. I naturally assumed you would, too,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

“Your father allowed you on the back of stallions accustomed to the weight and crop of a man?” he asked incredulously.

Claudia shrugged slightly and looked at her tankard.
Not precisely.

“And though I would like to think you never attempted to ride Apollyon again because of my sound
advice, I rather think it was the tumble onto your bum that did the trick.”

She couldn’t keep the thin smile from her lips. “You may be correct, sir,” she conceded. “But as I recall, your so-called advice was just as painful.”

Kettering laughed. “You were quite an extraordinary lass, Claudia.”

Please. She had been a plain little girl with knobby knees and a mouth that was too big for her face.

“And you are an extraordinary woman,” he added.

That caused her to choke on her ale. He might as well have called her a traitor, a whore—it was just as shocking. Conscious that he was watching her, she lifted the tankard and took a long, generous swig of the bitter stuff as her mind reeled. He had never thought her extraordinary when she was a child, and he certainly had not thought her extraordinary during her coming-out Season. Even after Valerie’s death, on those rare occasions she would encounter him at some ball or rout, he acted as if he hardly knew her. Ah, but all that had changed when Phillip began to court her, hadn’t it?

“On my word, some things never change.”

Claudia jerked her head up—Kettering was looking at the tear in the sleeve of her gown, an unfortunate mishap when she had tried to force the carriage backward and off Herbert’s foot. He leaned forward and probed the tear with his fingers, singeing the bare skin beneath it. “I rather imagine it had something to do with Herbert’s accident,” he surmised, and lifted his glittering gaze to hers. “Care to tell me why you were running away from Château la Claire?”

Or shall we move directly to your punishment
?

Claudia moved her arm away from his touch. “You know, you have a very peculiar way of appearing when I least expect you.”

“I was just thinking the same of you. You didn’t leave without bidding Eugenie a farewell—the two of you haven’t fought again, have you?”

She rolled her eyes at that ridiculous conclusion.

“Although it is hardly any of your concern, I should inform you that we do not
fight
—Eugenie and I are no longer girls.”

“That,” he drawled, “is quite evident, madam. If you don’t want to tell me, I shall have it from Eugenie, you know, so you may as well ’fess up.”

Squirming uncomfortably, Claudia glanced over her shoulder in search of the innkeeper.

“Very well, then, I shall have to conclude it was me,” he said cheerfully.

Oh, it was him, all right, everything about him. It was the way he looked, the polished way he spoke, the deadly charming way in which he smiled. It was that his name had been linked with every beauty among the
ton
, married or not—but never hers. And it was the way he had denigrated her when he told her she wasn’t good enough for Phillip, then had turned around and led Phillip to his demise. It was all of that and a sense of urgency to flee before she was forced to confront those demons again, relive Phillip’s death again, and the events leading up to it. She really did not want to despise Julian.

But she did.

“I confess I am rather keen to know why you would so desperately want to avoid me that you would run a man down. It rather injures my feelings.”

As if anything could injure his black heart. “I did not run a man down. I didn’t actually
see
him until it was too late. Really, I am not obliged to answer.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “But you will,” he said in that terribly silky way of his.

Claudia made a frantic motion for the innkeeper then, and when he acknowledged her, she turned to face her new escort. His black eyes locked with hers; a smile lazily lifted one corner of his mouth, and her insides somersaulted in response. That was
exactly
the problem—her insides
always
somersaulted when he smiled. But that didn’t change who he was, and he couldn’t sit with her, even if they were the last two people on the face of the earth. He was a selfish, arrogant, irresponsible rogue, and
though Adrian Spence may have pulled the trigger, Phillip wouldn’t have been standing on that field at all had it not been for Julian Dane.

But God in heaven, why did he have to
smile
like that?

“Oh,
please!
” she muttered hopelessly.

With a slight frown of worry, Julian leaned forward. “What is it, Claudia?” he asked, managing to sound genuinely concerned.

“Might we at least have a bottle of wine if we are to wait?” she asked, and immediately closed her eyes, mortified that those words had come out of her mouth.

C
LAUDIA
C
OULD
H
AVE
a whole bloody barrel of wine if she wanted it, as far as Julian was concerned—anything to keep her exactly where she was. The innkeeper beamed with pleasure when Julian asked for his finest bottle of wine and quickly suggested a platter of cheese and bread to accompany it. Julian nodded absently to that as his attention was sharply focused on the woman beside him. As her gaze darted to other patrons around the room, she drummed long, tapered fingers on the scarred table, then fingered the gold cross around her neck—

Phillip again. The obscure, demented feeling that he is watching.

Was she thinking of Phillip, too? Remembering what might have been? It had been only eighteen months—perhaps she still mourned him.

Bloody marvelous. It had been and was Julian’s grave misfortune to want her, more than he had a right to. More than common sense could justify, even now. Yet he desired her, completely and miserably, and although he
knew
she would never be his when Phillip lived, he could not bear to see her make the dreadful, irrevocable mistake of shackling herself to Phillip. For all of Claudia’s sophistication, she was an innocent. She had no way of knowing that if she agreed to Phillip’s suit she would be marrying a drunkard facing staggering debt and certain ruin.

So Julian had felt compelled to go to Claudia and
explain that Phillip was not the sort of man for her. He had done it for her sake … he was
certain
he had done it for her sake. Claudia, however, had not exactly thanked him for his advice. Actually, she had come dangerously close to hitting him, and Julian was not anxious to resurrect that memory.