Julia London 4 Book Bundle (53 page)

He waited until the wine had been brought, and as he filled her goblet, he remarked, “I had occasion to visit the Jardin du Luxembourg while I was in Paris and happened upon one of the finest displays of roses I have ever seen.”

Immediately, Claudia shot him a look of suspicion. “Roses?”

“It brought to mind a garden that once boasted England’s finest roses. Not as brilliant, perhaps, but nonetheless quite pleasing to the eye and rather well thought upon by residents of that particular parish.” He smiled and handed her the goblet of wine.

Her eyes narrowed. “And?”

Very deliberately, Julian poured wine for himself. “And, I was reminded of its unfortunate demise.” He lifted his glass and touched the rim of hers with it. “All for the sake of an imaginary castle. You were incorrigible, Claudia.”

The memory danced across her eyes. “I beg your pardon, you are mistaken,” she said politely. “It was not for the sake of an imaginary castle, but the castle’s imaginary bailey, where the imaginary knights housed their steeds. And by the bye, I was
not
incorrigible, I was creative. You, on the other hand, were quite rigid.”

“Rigid? Me?” He chuckled, lifted the goblet, and sipped. “Do not confuse discipline with austerity. I assure you, instilling a little discipline into five young girls was not an easy task. I am quite certain you recall the rainbow incident? No doubt you thought me rigid, but I should have taken a switch to all five backsides for running off like that, and at the very least to
yours
.”

Claudia almost sputtered her wine. “You think
I
was responsible? I’ll have you know that it was all Genie’s
idea to find the end of the rainbow. I merely claimed it was my doing to protect her from your wrath, as I was often forced to do.”

Now that made him laugh. “You would have me believe that? Should I take it then that
Eugenie
chopped down the rosebushes? Or frightened poor Sophie nearly to death?”

“It was hardly my fault that you coddled Sophie so shamelessly,” she said, trying to hide an impudent smile behind her goblet.

“I hardly coddled her. But when an eight-year-old girl climbs into one’s bed, and clings to one’s nightshirt with the grip of ten men because she is frightened out of her wits, one is inclined to allow her to stay.”

Claudia actually laughed at him. “All right, I shall concede that point,” she said cheerfully. “But I was only twelve! And it really wasn’t such a terribly scary story!”

But it wasn’t a very scary story!
For a brief moment, Julian was transported back in time to where the twelve-year-old Claudia stood before him in his study, her little hands fisted at her sides, her chin raised defiantly, Eugenie and Valerie cowering behind her.
But didn’t you think the child would be frightened when Eugenie pretended to be a ghost?
Claudia’s pert little nose had wrinkled at that and she had stolen a glance at her partner in crime.
I didn’t think she was very scary a’tall. I thought she should have made some noises
.

“It was frightening enough for an eight-year-old. Sophie slept in my bed for three nights before I finally convinced her it was Eugenie underneath that linen.”

With a sheepish smile, Claudia dropped her gaze; thick, chocolate lashes dusted her cheeks. “I suppose we might have been a bit careless,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t mean you weren’t terribly rigid.”

“What, rigid again?”

“I rather imagine old Tinley had to screw your boots on every morning.”

Julian smiled broadly. “Is that so? Then what have you to say about the ponies?”

“Oh! That was hardly my fault!” Claudia insisted with an indignant gasp. “What of Genie? Why is it that you don’t recall
her
wretched behavior?”

“My dear Eugenie was a veritable saint. And I suppose the disaster with the rabbits was hardly your doing, either?”

She threw up her hand, palm outward. “On my honor,
that
was most assuredly Genie.”

Julian laughed for the first time in weeks, a laugh that started somewhere deep in his belly and twirled about his heart before escaping him. “You were a willful child, and it is a wonder to me that Redbourne didn’t lock you up in some convent.”

Her smile brightened considerably.
Lord, but her eyes were arresting
. Julian lowered his goblet and looked about the room as he gathered his composure. “What brings you to France?” he asked. “I had heard you were nettling poor Lord Dillbey to draft a parliamentary bill that would allow labor organizations for women and children.”

Color crept into Claudia’s fair cheeks and she sobered somewhat. “Is that such a horrible thing? Men have them. There is talk in France of allowing them for women.”

“And exactly how would you know that? As you can scarcely speak French, I rather doubt you can read it.”

That earned him a saucy grin. “Why, Lord Kettering! There are other ways of communicating—one does not necessarily
have
to speak French.”

Oh, yes, he could only imagine that was true. “I suppose your considerable charms were enough to convince Dillbey?”

With a rather unladylike snort, Claudia shook her head. “The
king
could not convince Dillbey! That man is
impossible!
Rather pleased with himself, if you ask me, and fancies the rest of us should be just as pleased.…”

Lord Dillbey was, apparently, often on Claudia’s mind, as she spent the better part of the next quarter of an hour detailing his many idiosyncrasies, not the least of which was his apparent disregard for womankind in general.
That was not entirely true—Dillbey
was
a regular customer at Madame Farantino’s, a rather expensive and clandestine gentlemen’s club—but he was rather odious. Although not as odious as Claudia found him, and Julian was terribly amused by her description of his long, thin neck and peculiar walk as resembling an ostrich all dressed up for Christmas.

The more she talked of Dillbey and her causes, the more she seemed to relax. He would have thought it impossible, but Julian grew increasingly enchanted. The aloofness he had suffered from her at Château la Claire seemed to dissipate altogether, and it was easy to see why Claudia was so popular among the
ton
’s eligible bachelors. She had a dozen ways of smiling that made a man feel as if he was on top of the world. When her eyes glittered with amusement, that same man could not help but wonder how they might glitter in the tumult of love-making.

God Almighty, was there
nothing
he could do to steel his heart against this impertinent, charming, stubborn, and beautiful woman?

Phillip never had her
.

He was ashamed to think it, but the knowledge kept creeping into his thoughts, unwanted, unfounded. Yet Julian was glad for it. He wanted the privilege of holding her, of making passionate love to her.
He
wanted her all to himself, and at this moment, he didn’t give a damn what that said about his character or his actions almost two years ago. He wanted her so badly,
had
wanted her for so long now, that sometimes he actually felt paralyzed with a longing he could hardly contain. That didn’t stop him from feeling like a traitor to Phillip, even now, but he couldn’t make himself care any longer.

He just wanted her.

Claudia was in deep trouble. Oh, yes,
very
deep. Ocean deep.

She swirled the contents of her goblet with one hand
and watched his fingers caress the lines on the palm of her other as he pretended to read it, the skill dubiously gained during a particularly memorable trip to Madrid some years ago.

She had tried to remain aloof from the arrogant rake, but he had to go and be insufferably clever and charming and witty, and good
God
was he handsome! Ah, but she knew what he was about. At five and twenty, she was well acquainted with the signs of subtle seduction—reading her palm, indeed! It galled her to think that she might still succumb to such adolescent games!

“Ah. See this line? It means you will love well and be well loved in return,” he said, and lifted his raven eyes to hers.

“Rather, you
wish
that’s what it meant.”

“You’ve no idea how much,” he easily agreed, and dropped his gaze to her palm again as he languidly traced the line with the tips of his fingers, his touch feather light. Her skin tingled deliciously, and she recalled. Beatrice Heather-Pratt, the wife of the invidious Viscount Dillbey, whispering to her, “
No man can pleasure a woman like Kettering—dear me, what that man can do with his hands!
” This, she had said breathlessly to Claudia as she tried to adjust her coif, having just come from the closed morning room at a Harrison Green party. She and Beatrice had been standing along one wall, both of them surreptitiously watching Kettering saunter across the crowded room like a bantam cock upon his exit from the very same morning room.

“And this line means you will live a long life, apparently with many grandchildren to comfort you in your old age.”

Her skin was on fire.

“What nonsense, your palmistry!” she scoffed, and withdrew her hand.

“Perhaps, but I think there is something to be said for it. After all, one’s skin reveals many things about one’s character.”

Her scalp prickled; she took a gulp of wine. “By one’s
skin
?” she asked, feeling a little light-headed.

“Yes, indeed.” He leaned forward, only inches from her face, and peered closely. “For example, the fine lines around a woman’s eyes,” he murmured, lifting his hand to brush her temple, “tell a man that she likes to laugh, that she is happy.” Heat shot down Claudia’s neck and into her chest as he traced a line around the corner of her eye. “And the fine lines around her mouth,” he continued, his gaze and his finger dropping to her lips, “tell a man when she is not happy.” He touched the corner of her mouth so lightly that Claudia’s pulse was suddenly racing. Impossibly, he leaned closer. He meant to kiss her. Her mind screamed to pull back, but Claudia froze, unable to stop him,
wanting
him to touch her with his lips—

“
Pardon, monsieur
.”

Claudia started, her cheeks flaming, but Julian calmly leaned back and removed his hand from her cheek, his gaze still riveted on her lips. “
Oui
?”

The innkeeper reported something in rapid-fire French.

“
Merci
,” Julian said, his gaze still locked on her. “It would seem the
Maiden’s Heart
is ready for boarding.”

“Oh! That’s very good news,” she blustered clumsily, and looked down as she tried to fit her hand into a glove that Julian had somehow coaxed off her. The innkeeper said something more, and by the time Claudia had managed to stuff her hand into the tight kid leather glove, Julian had come to his feet, was shoving a hand through the thick tousle of his hair as the innkeeper walked away. He regarded her rather sheepishly. “We’ve a bit of a problem, I’m afraid.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“It would seem we owe the man a little more than a franc. Claims we drank from his finest stock,” he said, and motioned lamely toward the empty bottle.

Judging by the trouble she was having getting to her feet, Claudia thought that she in
particular
had drunk
from his finest stock. Grasping the table for support, she hauled herself up, smiled broadly at Julian, and could have sworn she heard something very much like a groan. “Claudia … it’s rather a long story, but the short of it is, I’m afraid you find me without my purse.”

She blinked.

He frowned. “I have no money.”

That sobered her. A thousand things tumbled through her mind, not the least of which was the distasteful notion that he had insisted on keeping her company because he had no money. And exactly how was it that one of the richest men in England could find himself in such a predicament? She did not want to know. “I see,” she said, and snatched up her reticule.

“No, you really don’t.”

She raked a look across him, and with surprising dexterity given her state, managed to pull open the little bag and produce several coins that she tossed onto the table.

“That is very kind of you,” he muttered.

“Think nothing of it,” she responded tightly. The man was a
rake
, had always been and undoubtedly would remain so for the rest of his bloody life! She should have known his interest was insincere, his attentions self-serving!

She stooped to fetch her portmanteau, but Julian was there before her, and easily hoisted it onto his shoulder. “Please allow me,” he said, balancing himself with his small satchel in his other hand.

Oh, but she already had. She had allowed him to make a fool of her.
Again
. Claudia started walking—weaving, really—out the door, her heart thumping angrily in her chest, and marched indignantly down the pedestrian walkway toward the pier.

“Claudia, I’m as anxious to get to England as you, believe me, but I can’t fly,” he said somewhere behind her.

She realized she was practically sprinting and stopped, folded her arms across her chest, and glared out across the Avant-port. Julian paused to catch his breath,
adjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder. “It’s not what you think,” he said, reading her mind.

Bloody hell if it wasn’t
.

“The Captain has my purse—
and
my pistol—it’s Renault’s way of aggravating me. When we reach Newhaven, I’ll repay your generosity, every last franc of it.”

“You must think my manners quite appalling if you think I would begrudge a fellow traveler some wine,” she said in her best aristocratic voice. “There is the
Maiden’s Heart
,” she quickly interjected before he could speak further, and marched onward, not caring if he kept up or not.

Fortunately, the captain was the same one who had brought her to France, and was quick to show her to his best cabin—a small, airless pocket, really. Lying on the hammock that served as a bed, Claudia battled herself, trying not to think about The Rake. That man was one of the original Rogues of Regent Street, a libertine with a nasty reputation for breaking hearts, a ruthless charmer. Her biggest mistake was sharing a bottle of wine with him in the first place.