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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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She smiled knowingly, skeptical of his flattering tones, and James felt proud to be escorting her. She
could
hold her own socially, he knew it. See how the young men who had been speaking with Xavier were now looking at her? They gaped at her, dazzled by her Classical beauty, as if she truly were the goddess he had called her.
“Xavier,” James acknowledged his friend. “Thank you for the invitation tonight. Are you portraying our ailing, lamented king in his youth?”
“The Sun King, rather, I think,” Xavier drawled. “Our George never enjoyed wine, women, and song nearly so much as did Louis the Fourteenth. You could hardly expect me to portray a
dull
creature, now could you?”
He smiled, slow and dangerous and lewd, and Louisa drew in her breath sharply. Was she indignant? James, mindful of his duty to safeguard her from impropriety, nodded to his friend and thanked him again, drawing her away from the group of men.
“I don't suppose he would do for Julia,” Louisa whispered in his ear, casting a dubious glance back over her shoulder as they walked away. “That look he gave me—I felt positively undressed. It was very uncomfortable.”
“No,” James said shortly. “He wouldn't do.” Behind him, he heard the Sun King resume the tale about the pineapple. He looked back to see his old acquaintance's eyes still on Louisa, thoughtful and dark, even as he held his friends spellbound with his bawdy story. “He definitely would not do at all.”
“He's a friend of yours, though?” she asked doubtfully, a worried crease between her brows.
“Yes, he is,” James replied. “We grew up together, as Pellington and I did. I don't know that I've got all that much in common with either of them anymore. Xavier's a bit younger than I, and still very wild. He came into an enormous fortune at an early age and seems to be doing his best to run through it in any number of creative ways.”
“He's quite handsome, though,” Louisa mused. “And obviously very intelligent.”
Handsome, James would grant, though it seemed odd to think that about another man. But he knew the lean, dark looks of Alexander Edgware, Lord Xavier, appealed to many women—as did his air of barely curbed wildness. And he was intelligent, too; he could read people with uncanny swiftness, he always rose the winner from a game of cards or chance, and he could be very quickwitted, even uncomfortably so.
However . . .
“He's not kind enough,” James informed her. “Not for Julia. Of the two, she'd be much better off with Pellington.”
Louisa shuddered. “Then we obviously need to find a third possibility for her.”
As it turned out, Julia found that third possibility herself. Pellington had steered her around the room and into a smaller side salon, introducing her in his fractured, enthusiastic style to several of his acquaintances. At the moment James and Louisa reencountered them, they were speaking in the smaller room with Sir Stephen Saville, a baronet in his mid thirties.
“Damnation,” James said when he saw them, ignoring Louisa's gasp at his unguarded language.
Pellington was hovering around Julia and the baronet as they sat on a sofa, interjecting frequent comments that were mostly ignored by the other two. Sir Stephen, wearing a simple black domino with its accompanying mask flipped up atop his head rather than over his face, was staring spellbound at Julia, holding onto her every word as if it were a gem, plying her with questions whenever her conversation wound down. Julia, for her part, was chattering away merrily to the older gentleman, darting occasional replies to Pellington and frequently shoving her slipping turban back into place atop her now-untidy hair.
“This looks much more promising,” Louisa commented in James's ear. “Who's that with Julia and Pellington?”
“Sir Stephen Saville,” he replied shortly, unable to keep all his annoyance out of his voice. “Widower. Childless. Lives in Surrey much of the time. Known to be on the lookout for another wife.”
“Kind?”
“Yes, if you like stuffiness.”
“Intelligent?” Louisa asked, ignoring his editorial comment.
“Yes, I suppose. We're looking together at a parcel of land near his estate; I rather thought I could learn something about hog farming from him,” James admitted.
“Really,” said Louisa, and James could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “So, financially solvent, too.”
“Yes,” James reluctantly admitted. “He is.”
“Well, then, I think our search is over. Probably the best thing you or I can do is leave them alone,” she decided.
“I want to hear what they're saying,” James protested, and tugged Louisa's arm. He couldn't help himself. What was Julia saying that had the older man so transfixed?
“A kitchenmaid or scullery maid only wants a bit of kindness,” she was telling the baronet at the moment they drew closer. “I do understand that the poor creatures can tend to be skittish, but a housekeeper or cook who shouts will only make matters worse. Why, we haven't had a single broken dish since we gave the cook a raise in wages and added an extra scullery maid at Stonemeadows. The cook is so much happier now, and the maids are, too.”
All right, James thought with relief; so at least it was hardly romantic.
Sir Stephen, however, reacted as warmly as if Julia had stripped off her clothes right in front of him. (There was another of those thoughts he ought not to be having, James reminded himself; not even when thinking in similes.) More warmly, in fact, considering the man's well-known sense of propriety.
“Really?” the baronet replied, astounded. “So you take quite an interest in the staffing of a household, then?” He looked at Julia as if she were delicious, and he were starving. (There, nothing improper about that simile, James thought to himself.)
Unable to help himself, he cleared his throat loudly to draw their attention to his presence, ignoring another of Louisa's discreet stomps on his foot.
Julia turned at once, and beamed at him. “Hello there,” she said. “I wondered where you'd got to. Have you two met Sir Stephen Saville?”
“Indeed, I have had the honor of long acquaintance with his lordship,” the baronet explained, standing to acknowledge the arrival of the domino-clad viscount and Helen of Troy.
James took his cue to present Louisa, who responded to her introduction to Sir Stephen with more warmth than James had almost ever seen her display. She was almost . . . effusive.
Lady Charissa Bradleigh bounced up just then, saving James from having to decide how to respond to what seemed to him a horribly obvious attempt on Louisa's part to throw Julia together with a man who was patently much too old for her, and much too dull. Even if he did, technically, have all the qualities she was looking for in a husband—well, damn it, the fellow simply wasn't
right
for her.
Charissa demanded all their attention at once. “Oh, do come,” she gasped, without greeting or preface. “Lord Xavier has
promised
that we may have dancing,
and
that there will be a waltz!”
In fact, couples were already beginning to trickle into formation for a country dance, right there in Lord Xavier's drawing room. James sighed with annoyance; this was just perfect. Sir Stephen would ask Julia to dance, and his regard would be absolutely cemented once he had her all to himself for another half hour. Any man's would be.
His sigh drew Charissa's large gray eyes to him. “Ah, Lord Matheson!” she burbled brightly. “Don't you intend to dance?” She batted her eyelashes at him with what he supposed was meant to be appealing flirtatiousness.
“Yes, of course,” he said hurriedly, with a speaking look to Louisa. Without a word, she accepted his hand, and he led her to the bottom of the forming row of couples.
“Thank you for that,” he said in a low tone as they waited for the dance to begin. Sure enough, Julia and Sir Stephen were right behind them, followed by the determined young Lady Charissa dragging a cheerfully protesting Freddie Pellington by the elbow.
“For what?” she asked, puzzled.
“Coming to dance with me,” he prompted. “Getting me away from . . . ah, you know,” he indicated Charissa with an incline of the head. He didn't add, but thought to himself, that perhaps he did owe the energetic earl's daughter a debt of gratitude for interrupting the world's coziest conversation between Julia and Sir Boring. Sir Much Too Old for Her. Sir Stick in the Mud.
The fact that such thoughts were beneath the dignity of a grown man, and a viscount no less, did nothing to temper his desire to boot the baronet out of Lord Xavier's house.
Louisa replied to his thankful admission with a quiet smile. “Isn't it my duty to follow where you lead?” she replied wryly.
And before he even tried to wrap his head around what
that
might mean, the music began, and the dance separated them.
 
 
The night ended late, with much more dancing followed by a spirited and not precisely proper game of charades. Lord Xavier had apparently determined all the clues with the help of several other eager young gentlemen, because the company found itself acting out “Madame de Pompadour,” “Mrs. Fitzherbert,” “Nell Gwyn,” and a series of other royal mistresses. Lord Xavier's eyes glittered with amusement at the young ladies, especially, as they attempted to create a tableau that would reveal the answer without compromising propriety.
James thought this not quite well done of the man, but had to admit that he himself seemed to be the only gentleman, besides Sir Stephen, of course, not laughing uproariously and having an excellent time. Good Lord, he had never expected to be in company with Sir Tedious. Maybe he really was sobering up now that he was an engaged man.
Thinking of his engagement, as his party began hunting for Lady Irving in preparation for their departure at the end of the night, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he might not have done right by Louisa on this evening. She had asked him for his help, and he had given it only grudgingly. She hadn't seemed to think his behavior odd, but he wondered if
she
wondered why he'd acted that way.
Honestly, he wondered why as well. Why couldn't he just let Julia go, to find a kind, intelligent, et cetera, et cetera man who would treat her well, as she deserved? Didn't she deserve to be as happy as Louisa?
Ah, as happy as Louisa.
Now how happy was that? He couldn't help but wonder, as he watched her calm, expressionless face, her eyes searching the crowd in the drawing room for her aunt's familiar bobbing ostrich plumes. He had absolutely no idea how happy she was. But he certainly hadn't helped matters with his reluctance to fall in with her husband-finding scheme. He hoped she wouldn't look too deeply into his reasons, and he would try not to either.
Lady Irving made her appearance from a second side salon, followed by several other card players. She was holding the corner of her black domino in front of her to create a makeshift pouch for her winnings.
“Forgot my blasted reticule,” she explained. “Look what I've won, though; I skinned Sylvia Alleyneham alive tonight. The poor woman's never had a head for whist,” she added gleefully.
“Aunt,” Julia said sweetly, coming up next to James, “isn't it
vulgar
to display your winnings like that?”
James grinned, unable to resist Lady Irving's nonplussed expression. After a frozen moment, she barked, “For you it would be. Don't you worry about me, though, young miss. I'd like to see the person who would call
me
vulgar.”
“I think you just did,” James replied. Her ladyship's annoyed harrumph of reply was more beautiful in his ears than any music could have been.
That
was why he didn't want to introduce Julia around. Fulfill her list of requirements though he might, Sir Stephen would never, never appreciate her sense of humor.
Not like he did.
Damnation, there was another one of those thoughts.
Chapter 17
In Which, Alas, There Is No Man-Tree
Louisa sat musing in the library, heavy-eyed from lack of sleep, the morning after the masquerade. It was barely eight o'clock, and the party had only returned to the Grosvenor Square address five hours before. It was so early, in fact, that the tentative winter sun barely cast any light into the room. Louisa hadn't bothered to ring for a fire to be lit, so the room was dim and quite cold.
She didn't mind the weak light, and she hardly noticed the room's temperature. She sat in a huddle on her aunt's swooping Grecian sofa, lost in thought. She had, she realized, a great many things to think about.
First and foremost, she was beginning to see that Julia didn't need her here, after all. Perhaps she hadn't given her sister enough credit. Perhaps she'd drawn too much upon her own miserable experience in London and assumed that Julia's would be the same.
But good heavens, Julia hadn't needed her help with anything. She'd gotten the most desirable
modiste
in town to dress her, without even trying; she'd made friends, even if they were a bit silly; she'd seen more of London already than Louisa had seen in her entire season.
And now, it seemed, she had a kind, handsome, intelligent, reliable, and financially solvent man—a man who was everything she said she wanted—displaying honorable interest in her. It was why Julia had come to London, to find such a man, and the season hadn't even begun.
So much for Julia. What about James, then? Louisa mused, curling herself into a smaller ball as she considered the other person for whom she had come to London.
Well, what about him? She had told Julia that courtship was a matter of logic, so she might as well be logical about this.
James was unfailingly gentlemanly to her. She saw him often. He liked her family quite a bit, and he certainly gave their aunt tit for tat, for which Louisa thought Lady Irving rather admired him.
His family had become more polite as well; Louisa even had a standing weekly engagement to take tea with them. The invitation had been extended by his sister, who was thawing out noticeably. Given time, Louisa thought, she and Gloria might come to be friends.
But time—time was the problem. How much time did she have to give? Or
want
to give, for that matter? How much time would she give herself to feel right about her decision to marry James? Was she ready to give a lifetime?
Families aside—how did she and James
really
feel about each other?
She tried to curl up even more tightly, but she had reached the limits of how small she could make her long form. She wasn't ready to think about the answers to those questions, especially not the last. She might read a lot of novels, but she had always tried to be a sensible girl, and it would hardly be sensible to jeopardize her standing as one of the luckiest girls of last year's season.
If she just wasn't so tired, maybe everything would make more sense. And so, very sensibly, she went back upstairs to her bedchamber, and did her utmost to fall asleep, until she heard others moving about the house and could get up again.
 
 
Naturally, Sir Stephen called later that day, bearing a bunch of snowdrops “as fresh and dainty as are you, Miss Herington, if you'll permit my saying so.”
Julia was willing to permit this statement, although it seemed a bit . . . well,
flowery
, to be honest. But she couldn't help being flattered; she'd never had a man give her flowers before.
She had liked talking to Sir Stephen the evening before. He'd been interesting to talk to, unlike Freddie Pellington—who, though she supposed he really was as kind as James had promised, couldn't seem to make anything come out of his mouth that didn't involve at least two “dash its” and one “old fellow.” But Sir Stephen had talked with her about household management, and actually seemed to care about what she said and thought. He'd listened, which she knew from long experience with her head-in-the-clouds stepfather Lord Oliver was something that many men just didn't do. James did, of course, but James was unusual.
Anyway, she was glad to see Sir Stephen again, and he was just as interesting to talk to as he had been the evening before. Julia could talk for any length of time about household matters or her family, and she was delighted to be encouraged to do just this by a new acquaintance.
True, there was that one hitch in the conversation, when she made a mild joke about her young siblings running her down to within an inch of her life. Sir Stephen had blinked at her in concern, and asked if she were “able to apportion herself sufficient time to recuperate from her charges' enthusiastic behavior, in order to maintain her good health.”
Then it was Julia's turn to blink, and reel through the lengthy words to figure out what he had asked her.
“Oh,” she finally replied after she had parsed the sentence. “Yes, it's fine. I, ah, didn't mean it literally.”
“Ah,” Sir Stephen said, enlightened. “You were being hyperbolic.” He smiled appreciatively. “I understand perfectly.”
Julia just nodded, puzzled. Didn't the man understand a simple figure of speech? Well, he did now—he knew she was being “hyperbolic.” But still, it was odd to be taken so literally. So
seriously
. A girl appreciated the attention and everything, but there were limits.
However, she brushed it aside, and they passed the remainder of a very proper twenty-minute visit under the lax chaperonage of Lady Irving, who kept “forgetting” items that she needed and leaving the room to retrieve them.
Sir Stephen commented that it was a shame to have her ladyship's industry so often interrupted, and he did hope it didn't make Julia feel uncomfortable to be left alone with him even momentarily. He even offered to stand outside the door until Lady Irving should return to the drawing room. Julia assured him this wasn't necessary, after which statement he looked at her with concern and said that he only had her reputation in mind.
“Yes, well, I certainly appreciate that,” Julia replied patiently, “but I assure you, my aunt will return in just a moment.”
After that they fell silent, a bit constrained. When Lady Irving did return, the baronet stood and took his very proper leave of both ladies. He asked if he might call again, and before Julia could even reply, her ladyship jumped in with a dazzling smile.
“But of
course
, Sir Stephen, we'd be simply
delighted
to have you. Please come
anytime
.”
And with that reassurance, their male caller left with a smile on his face.
Lady Irving turned at once to Julia and hissed, “Next time, make good use of the opportunity when I leave the room. Wealthy, single gentlemen don't grow on trees, you know.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I
know
that, Aunt. There's no man-tree for husband-grubbing maidens such as myself. I know why I'm here, I promise. But what would you have me do, jump in his lap? Honestly, I think he'd leave in terror.” Not to mention she didn't really want to jump in his lap.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew they had been a mistake. Lady Irving always considered even the most outrageous “hyperbolic statements” with the same level of seriousness she gave to the selection of her silk turban each morning. Which was a surprisingly high level of seriousness.
“Jumping into his lap . . . it's not a bad idea,” the countess now replied thoughtfully. “Good girl. I wasn't sure you had it in you. Mind you, though, I'm not saying that's right for Saville. He's keen on propriety, and it might put him off. But if he doesn't come up to scratch, that would work like a charm with most other young gentlemen.”
“Wouldn't it make them think I was fast? You know, like a lady bird?” Julia asked doubtfully.
“Don't say ‘lady bird,'” Lady Irving admonished. “It's vulgar. Where did you ever learn about lady birds, anyway?”
Julia had to think about this one. “Maybe I heard you mention them?”
“Hmmph.” Her aunt looked skeptical. “Possible, but it's unladylike to talk about. For a young miss, that is. I can say whatever I want. Just you keep in mind the difference between an unmarried lady and a widow, my girl—especially a wealthy widow.”
Julia dutifully promised to keep the difference in mind, though she wasn't exactly sure why there was such a large gulf between what was permitted for a lady unmarried and a lady married. Wasn't a maiden allowed to have a brain in her head? She was beginning to wonder. Her aunt had certainly told her that any number of her phrases and behaviors were vulgar or unladylike since coming to town. She'd have to watch herself carefully, she was beginning to realize, especially when the
ton
started streaming back to London in greater numbers to begin the season in earnest.
She sighed. She couldn't help missing Stonemeadows when she felt London pinching away at her like this. And sure enough—
“It's unladylike to sigh,” Lady Irving replied automatically. “You'll be wanting to avoid that type of thing when you're around Sir Stephen.”
No, actually, she wasn't sure that she would.
 
 
Several weeks trickled by, weeks in which James and Sir Stephen were frequent callers at the Grosvenor Square address. Sometimes both of them came at once and squired her and Louisa around the city. During these outings, they inevitably began with Louisa and James paired, leaving Julia to accompany Sir Stephen.
She supposed he was nice enough, but his intense seriousness began to pall on her, and his eager interest in her every word was intimidating. She felt she had to weigh each word with care lest it be misinterpreted, which was an undeniable hardship for a girl used more to speaking in paragraphs than sentences.
Whenever she could, she tried to break the stride of the foursome as they walked out together—by stumbling, staring into a shop window, whatever it took—so that she could try to switch their grouping around and walk with James. She felt a tiny bit guilty leaving Louisa with the baronet, but Louisa never admonished her for it. And anyway, Louisa got to see James all the time, while Julia did not.
In truth, Julia hardly ever saw James anymore, since she was out so much of the time with Charissa Bradleigh, or paying the requisite morning calls with her aunt. Between the efforts of those two aristocratic ladies, she was learning more and more about the ins and outs of London society as the wealthy and titled, bit by bit, straggled back to town from their country estates.
She had never expected to be kept so busy, and with such a series of inconsequentialities. Some days she came home late, exhausted, and couldn't think of a single memorable thing she had done. She didn't mind it, she supposed, since she knew it was the reason for her being in London. But more and more, she understood why Louisa's spirits had been lowered by the relentless social beating each day brought. Julia
liked
talking to a lot of people, and still, it was tiring.
So, she and James rarely crossed paths now. No one seemed to think it at all necessary that she should ever get to spend any time in the company of her sister's fiancé. It was much more important that she meet powerful strangers, or undergo yet another dress fitting, or be seen driving out in Hyde Park with someone or other, by someone or other.
And she supposed it wasn't such a social necessity that she see James . . . but she missed him, anyway. He was a necessity to
her
. Even though she'd promised to look for a husband, she thought about him more than she cared to tell anyone. It felt like a secret she ought to keep, even though she couldn't think of the last time she'd kept a secret, especially from Louisa. The knowledge of her hidden fixation preoccupied her, putting a feeling of distance between her and Louisa.
So passed the remainder of January, and the grayness of February. The weeks flew quickly, and Julia could recall little of them after they had passed. The delivery of the first batch of Oiseau dresses was, perhaps, Julia's favorite day of that time. She realized it was probably very shallow and vain of her to enjoy them so much, but she couldn't help it. She'd never had such beautiful clothes before in her life, and while the thought that they were only just
beginning
the season, after having been in town for two months, was daunting—well, it helped a bit to think of getting to wear her lovely new gowns.
At the end of February, Charissa Bradleigh excitedly called to tell Julia that there would be a ball at Alleyneham House in a few weeks, to begin the intense and unrelenting whirl of gaiety that made up the London season.
“Lord, it's going to be absolutely amazing!” the young aristocrat exclaimed. “We've never had a ball so early in the season, but I suppose Papa and Mama are keen on getting us married off this year. They've been planning this one almost since the last one was over with.”
She laughed unconcernedly. “What care I why, though? A ball is a ball, am I right? Except this one will be grander than any we've ever had before. Why, everyone who's
anyone
will be there.”

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