Julia London 4 Book Bundle (72 page)

“Ah, no. No!” Claudia tried to reassure him, and feeling the lie on her face, walked quickly to the desk, where her school ledger was lying open.

Julian strolled up behind her; his arm slipped around her waist. “It’s awfully quiet this afternoon,” he said, nuzzling her neck, making her shiver with that strange, cool heat only he could invoke.

“Rather thought you’d have planned a tea or some such thing,” he murmured against her skin. His lips grazed her earlobe; a thousand white-hot tingles ran down her back and arm.

“Ah … the, ah, teas … are Thursday,” she stammered. Julian kissed her ear; Claudia turned her head slightly, so that his next kiss caught the corner of her mouth, enticing all of her senses, and she felt herself on dangerous ground. One more kiss, one more moment in his arms, and she would succumb to his touch. When he lifted his hand to her face, she ducked abruptly out of his embrace, walked unsteadily to the other side of the desk, and sat heavily in the chair.

Julian regarded her warily. Claudia pretended not to notice, but bent over her book as if she studied it intently. He moved to the corner of the desk, absently fingered the violet blooms in a little pot there. “What are you about?”

“I am, ah, reviewing the ledger in which I record the donations to my school project,” she replied.

“Is something amiss?” he asked, walking around the desk to stand behind her.

“Oh no. No, I’m just balancing the latest entries, that’s all.”

He leaned over her shoulder, the spicy scent of his cologne wafted across her, and from the corner of her eye, she could see his clean-shaven chin. With his finger, he quickly ran down the column of figures she had carefully recorded. “Why don’t you leave it? I’ll do it for you,” he said, and turned into her, kissing her temple.

Claudia squirmed. “That’s really not necessary. I don’t mind—”

“You shouldn’t have to
worry
about financial matters, love. I’ll take care of it.”

Shouldn’t worry about financial matters? What, did he think her too ignorant to balance her own blasted books? “Thank you, but I am really quite capable of doing the calculations. I
did
learn to add and subtract.”

Julian laughed, stroked her cheek with one finger as if she was a precocious child, and pulled the open ledger across the desk so that he could peruse it. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. Of course you are capable. But it …” His voice trailed off; he straightened, retrieved his spectacles from his coat pocket and donned them, then leaned over again, peering intently at the open book. “What have we here?”

Claudia glanced at the ledger page and knew instantly what he saw; the withdrawal of Lord Cheevers’ donation. “Oh, that. Lord Cheevers withdrew his donation—”

“Why should he withdraw his donation?” Julian interrupted, yanking the spectacles from his nose.

Claudia felt the warmth of humiliation creep into her cheeks. “Because … because of the scandal,” she muttered.

He looked at her, seemingly confused for a moment, then glanced again at the ledger. “And Montfort, the same
thing?” he asked, not really needing an answer. “Nothing from Belton, either?”

“I never received many of the pledges that were made to me.”

Julian said nothing as he stared down at her ledger. After a long moment he suddenly moved, strode around the desk to fetch a chair, and carried it around the desk, placing it next to Claudia with a decisive
thump
. He sat down, shoved his eyeglasses on his face and picked up the pen.

“Julian, please,” Claudia implored him. “I can balance—”

He abruptly covered her hand with his. “Claudia. I
know
you can balance your ledgers and I rather imagine you could do it standing on your head. I only want a list of names.”

“But why? What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

He smiled thinly. “I think that perhaps Lord Cheevers has forgotten a little debt owed to the Duke of Sutherland during a particularly nasty parliamentary debate. I rather imagine Alex might persuade Cheevers to reconsider his donation. As for Montfort, well, I shall spare you the ugly details of
that
debt, but rest assured, he should make a very generous donation once I have spoken to him.”

“Do you mean to say that you would speak to them on behalf of the school?” she asked, incredulous.

Julian lifted one brow in puzzled amusement. “Of course I would speak to them! Claudia, if this school is something you want, then I shall gladly bring all my influence to bear on it. You need only ask me.”

She blinked; Julian smiled, brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “I want to help you in any small way that you will allow me.” With that, he turned his attention back to the ledger. “Belton,” he mumbled, and idly scratched his chin. “Nothing to be said for him really, except that he is a consummate idiot.” Julian continued to squint at the ledger, his brow creased with the frown of concentration as he mumbled similar sentiments about several of the other patrons listed.

Claudia watched him, surprised, fascinated, and even a bit heartened. Her father had never shown any interest in her charities, and neither had Julian, really, other than to inquire politely about her activities from time to time. It was not her experience that men were ever particularly interested in what they deemed a lady’s pastime, and they most certainly were content to leave the charitable functions to the women. It had never occurred to her, not once, to ask her father or Julian for help. That he would offer, would take such an interest—and such detailed notes!—both confused and touched her and made her question for the thousandth time if perhaps she had misjudged this Rake, her husband.

F
ORTUNATELY
, C
LAUDIA
D
IDN’T
have to lie to anyone when Sophie slipped out to meet Sir William the next day, as she discovered Julian had left early for Cambridge. Nor did she have to lie the day after that, when Sophie came home more in love than ever and peppered her with a hundred questions about men and love and the universe. As the weather was starting to turn, Claudia used that as an excuse to escape Sophie’s delirious state and paid a call to the house on Upper Moreland Street before the rains came.

And as she stood in the small parlor on Upper Moreland Street, she felt the cold seep through her bones to her very marrow. Doreen Conner stood in front of the small fire, her bony hands on her hips, impassively watching Claudia, having just given her the news.

Ellie was dead, strangled by her lover.

Claudia had met Ellie only a handful of times. The young woman had worked as a “daily” servant until a few weeks ago, when some incident involving her current beau had gotten her ejected from her employment and her living situation. With no money and no family to whom she could turn, she had been brought to Upper Moreland Street by a woman who had once stayed at the little town house. Ellie was there only a few days before her beau discovered where she was and began to make himself known. Doreen said that Nigel Mansfield often came around after he’d been in the public houses, quite
late at night, and far into his cups. On one occasion, he was so intoxicated and angry with Ellie over some slight that he had tried to break down the locked door. But the barrel of Doreen’s gun, a rather huge thing Claudia had appropriated from her father’s gun cabinet, had properly cowed him.

Ellie was trouble, everyone thought so, but Claudia had genuinely liked her nonetheless. Plump and cheerful and pretty, she was so very thankful that she had been given a place in the town house that she was eager to contribute in any way she could, most notably by doing a great amount of work around the place. “There must be something we can do,” Claudia muttered helplessly, heartsick at the news of her death.

“There ain’t nothing to be done for her now, miss,” Doreen said stoically. “All of us, we tried to tell her that Nigel was a mean one, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“He must be brought to justice!” Claudia insisted, shivering unconsciously at the memory of Doreen’s description of how they found Ellie—lying on the back stoop, her own scarf bound so tightly around her neck that it had cut the skin.

Doreen resolutely shook her head. “We’ve no evidence it was him. For all we know, Ellie found herself another bloke last night that done this to her. And besides, there ain’t a magistrate who’d care enough about poor Ellie to go after the man. No, miss—he’d take one look where she come from, her lot in life, and he wouldn’t waste one moment on her. No one gives a damn about our Ellie, save us.”

Despair sank in around Claudia at the naked truth in Doreen’s matter-of-fact reasoning. The injustice done to women was the very reason she had found this house, wasn’t it? To protect them when the world turned a blind eye? Yet in spite of this house, she hadn’t helped Ellie at all. She might have had a place to sleep, but nothing else had changed. In the end, she’d had nothing to fall back on but a drunk. “There is
nothing
we can do?”

“Ellie’s in a better place now, miss. You done your best.”

Then her best wasn’t good enough.

Riding home, Claudia realized just how little the house on Upper Moreland Street really meant. Now, more than ever, she understood how important it was to build her school so that young women like Ellie would have
some
choices in life and not end up strangled on a stoop. But even the school hardly seemed enough—it certainly did not change the way the world thought, or how the law treated women. And it certainly didn’t change
men
, for heaven’s sake.

Claudia closed her eyes, laid a hand across her lower abdomen, cramping with the pain of her monthly cycle. Saddened by Ellie’s death and feeling ill, she felt alone and vulnerable, wishing there was someone to whom she could turn for comfort.

She missed Julian
.

The sentiment crept into her mind, surprising her. Gone to Cambridge, or so his terse note had said. She suddenly pressed her fist to her temple, trying to clear the ugly thought from her mind, not wanting to pursue the dull suspicion that he might have a mistress in town. He certainly wouldn’t be the first man to take one and would hardly be the last. Claudia had reminded herself at least a dozen times that it was quite common among the
ton
; she could easily think of a half-dozen men rumored to have mistresses, kept in relative splendor. And those half-dozen men had a half-dozen wives who did not seem to care particularly. She told herself she didn’t care, either.

Oh, but she did
.

As hard as she had tried to be indifferent to him, unwelcome emotions kept bubbling to the surface and she just couldn’t force them down any longer. She cared, Lord God, she
cared!
She wanted him all to herself, wanted his smile to be for her alone, his hands and his mouth …

Claudia closed her eyes, leaned her head against the
squabs. Everything about her life was a mess, a vast jumble of confused emotions and longings and bitterness. One day she would think she had everything sorted out, had discovered that place inside her where she could survive. And in the very next breath she’d find herself rearranging her day just to catch a glimpse of him as he strode into his study or laughing with Arthur on his way out. As hard as she had fought it, she could not help herself—she loved him still, as much as she had as a girl and in spite of everything that had happened between them.

It was bewildering to be so smitten with The Rake. He confused her. There were moments he seemingly adored her, was interested in what she was about, eager to be helpful. But then there were the moments he would go off with Arthur and leave her to daily activities in which he appeared to have no interest. In those moments, she felt as if she did not quite succeed in measuring up to the expectations of a man like Julian, and that as there was nothing particularly unique or special about her, he apparently thought nothing of seeking his satisfaction in other quarters.

The irony of her situation was not lost on Claudia—she had long forgotten her indignation over Julian’s advice that she wasn’t good enough for Phillip.

Because it was
Julian
she wanted to love her.

It had always been him.

The rain came in the afternoon as expected, and Julian was chilled through to the bone by the time he reached St. James Square. Kettering House was awfully quiet, he thought, as he paused in the entry to hand his things to Tinley. “All is well, I trust?” he asked the old butler.

“There aren’t any ladies about, if that is what you mean, my lord,” he said wearily, and Julian gathered the old man was just as harassed by Claudia’s activities as all the other men he knew.

“Where is her ladyship?” he asked.

Tinley missed the coat stand, dropping Julian’s greatcoat onto the floor. “In her rooms, my lord.”

“And Sophie?” Julian persisted, stooping to pick up the overcoat and hang it for the butler.

Tinley paused, looked at the mirror above the entry console, obviously thinking. “I wouldn’t know, my lord,” he said at last.

That hardly surprised him, but sick of the suspicions, he refused to allow himself to wonder exactly where his sister was.

Julian sighed wearily as he mounted the stairs, wondering if Claudia had even noticed he was gone this time. As he moved down the wide corridor of the first floor, he paused at the door leading to her rooms and stared at the brass knob, overwhelmed by the urge to see her. Hell, he
always
wanted to see her gorgeous face. Yet a few weeks of this forced marriage had trained him to leave her be, to ignore his gut instincts and pass her door when he wanted to go in. It was the way she wanted it.

But it was not the way
he
wanted it, and it never would be. A man ought to be allowed the company of his wife on occasion without feeling as if he were intruding. He had been gone two days, had thought of little else but her, and did not think it so very unreasonable to expect his wife to greet him.

Julian put his hand on the knob and turned it, pushing open the door before he allowed himself to change his mind.