With This Kiss (21 page)

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not.” A soft smile curved her lips. “For all his swaggering, there was something magnificent about him, more than just his appearance or his wealth. He seemed to project a kind of inner beauty… nobility that separated him from other men.”

“Nobility,” he echoed. “I imagine your Lothario would be astonished to find himself thus labeled.”

“I imagine he would be.”

An unexpected pang of sadness washed over her. Perhaps Morgan had been right in calling it an epiphany of sorts, for on that night everything had seemed possible. She remembered the warmth that had filled the air, her first intoxicating taste of champagne, the gentle flirtations of the men with whom she danced, and the way the soft swishing of the ladies’ ball gowns seemed to create a music of their own. She recalled laughing with her parents, and her unwavering conviction that life would go on that way forever. On that magic night the future had held nothing but bright promise.

Lost in her reminiscence, she continued softly. “I saw him in the gardens later that same evening. I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and found myself meandering down a stone path. I was alone and occupied with my own thoughts — so much so that I paid little attention to my direction. I wandered past a tall hedge and nearly stumbled into him. He was with a beautiful woman. They had no idea that their privacy had been violated. Perhaps it was the wine I had been drinking that rendered me motionless, for I found myself transfixed.

“There was so much beauty and intimacy between them. I remember their soft laughter, their murmured whispers, the way he lightly brushed his body against hers. I watched her defenses melt away as he swept her up in a torrid embrace. It was just as I had always imagined it should be between a man and a woman. I turned away, of course, but the image stayed with me. That night and every night that followed for a week, I found myself lying in bed, wishing that he would come to me. That he would lock me in that same embrace, touch me as he had been touching her, that he would kiss me with all the passion and fervor that he had been kissing her.”

Morgan said nothing, but his expression had changed. He regarded her with a look of raw intensity, a light she couldn’t define smoldering within the depths of his gray eyes.

Abruptly recalling herself, she shrugged, sending him a small, embarrassed smile. “I warned you it was a silly story.”

“That’s the ending?”

“Yes,” she said definitively. “That’s the ending.”

An odd, intimate silence hung between them. Julia once again experienced the discomforting sensation of being too exposed, almost naked to his sight. With nowhere else to look, she directed her attention to the beaded fringe that hung from her reticule. Looking anywhere was better than meeting her husband’s eyes at the moment.

At last, unable to bear the silence or the memories any longer, she announced with forced brightness, “Very well, I’ve confessed. Now it’s your turn. Time to plumb your emotional depths. Shallow waters, granted, but let us attempt it nonetheless.”

He leaned back into his seat. “This should be entertaining.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

His cool, slightly superior smile returned. “I take it you mean with someone other than myself.”

“You were once engaged,” she pressed, ignoring his sarcasm.

“The lovely Isabelle.” His tone was completely flat, devoid of any semblance of emotion.

“She’s to be married soon — to Lord Roger Bigelow.”

“Indeed. I seem to recall reading that enlightening bit of information in your column. Tucked in between various rantings against the cruelty of the poorhouses.”

Refusing to have her temper baited or to be otherwise thrown off track, she persisted. “I imagine they’ll be in attendance tonight.”

“I imagine so.”

In a sudden burst of comprehension, Julia came to a bittersweet understanding. His flat responses weren’t mere sarcasm on his part, but a desire to keep his true emotions hidden. Feeling a sudden burst of sympathy, she asked gently, “Will it be very awkward for you to see them?”

His gaze moved over her features for a moment, then he released a short, harsh laugh. “Lord, you are a romantic, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you looking for, princess, heartbroken dejection? Shall I rail against the cruel twist of fate that tore my love from my side? Rue the treachery of my best friend? Will that satisfy you?”

“You misunderstand. I was merely—”

“Prying.”

Julia opened her mouth to protest, and then abruptly closed it at the dark amusement dancing in Morgan’s eyes. So much for her attempt to grow closer to the man she had married. It had been foolish on her part to even think it possible. From all indications it would be easier to scale the gates that circled his estates than to breach the walls of his heart.

Yet even as that cynical thought took root, she couldn’t help but feel that her initial instincts about him had been right. There was more to Morgan than what he let on, a depth of emotion that lurked just beneath the surface. Given time, she just might be able to draw that out. Or — more likely — fail miserably in her attempt to do so. The hope that he might one day come to care for her was undoubtedly ridiculous. Despite that knowledge, however, she knew she had no choice but to try. She released a small sigh at her own stubbornness. There was no greater fool than a woman who looked at a man and saw what he might be rather than what he actually was. But nothing died harder than a bad idea.

Their coach, having plodded forward in a series of jolting stops and starts, rumbled to an unmistakable rest. The driver leaped down from his perch above them, let down the stairs, and pulled open the door.

“Perfect,” Morgan announced with a smile. “We’ve arrived.”

He stepped down, then turned and held out his hand to assist her in alighting from the coach. Julia took a moment, deliberately keeping him waiting while she went through the elaborate motion of drawing on her gloves, arranging the soft brown kid precisely to her satisfaction. Then she gathered her skirts in one hand and extended her opposite arm, allowing him to assist in her descent. Mingling into the crowds, they moved up the broad stone steps that led to the main entrance.

“Maybe you’ll get your wish after all,” Morgan said, linking her arm through his. “Perhaps fortune will favor you, and your true love will be here tonight.”

“Actually,” she replied coolly, “I’m beginning to suspect that’s a far better dream than reality.”

They entered the estate and moved down a broad hallway toward the grand salon where the gala was being hosted. Candlelight flickered all around them; the sounds of the orchestra drifted out over the hushed footsteps of the guests. Julia discovered that the hall led to a plushly carpeted marble stair that descended gracefully into the ballroom. As they reached that landing, the reason for the long queue they had endured quickly became apparent. Apparently Lord and Lady Winterbourne belonged to the old school and were formally announcing each guest to the assembly, then welcoming their guests in a traditional receiving line at the base of the stair.

As the names Viscount and Viscountess Barlowe rang out, a heavy stillness descended over the room, followed immediately by a shocked murmur of scandalous delight. Julia found herself staring into a sea of upturned faces. The combination of her jittery nerves and overly tight corset had caused her to feel slightly breathless before — now she was positively dizzy. Shooting a glance Morgan’s way, she discovered that he was not the least bit rattled by their reception. Instead, just the opposite appeared to be true. He gazed out over the crowd with an expression of cool superiority, as though he were not only immune to their stares but slightly amused by them as well.

“Look at them,” he murmured softly in her ear. “Like sharks in murky water. Circling about in search of a tasty morsel of gossip to sink their teeth into. Shall we oblige them, princess?”

Without waiting for her reply, he slipped his arm through hers and led her down the stairs to greet their hosts. Fortunately her manners did not fail her. Despite her state of anxiety, Julia managed a wooden smile and a graceful curtsy. They moved on, intent on losing themselves in the swirling crowds.

Unfortunately fate, as was lately its habit, chose to amuse itself at their expense. They moved directly into the path of Lord Roger Bigelow and Isabelle Cartwright. The near collision was as unavoidable as it was mutually distressing. The other couple made no attempt to hide their discomfort at the awkward meeting. Their faces mirrored the tension Julia felt when yet another embarrassing silence fell over the crowd, as those nearby strained to catch every word of their exchange.

Morgan was the first to speak. “Isabelle,” he said coolly, giving his former fiancée a brief bow. Turning next to the man who had once been his best friend, he greeted him with a curt “Roger.” Then he shifted his hand from Julia’s arm to the small of her back, gently pressing her near. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my wife,” he said, graciously performing the introductions.

Roger and Isabelle’s gazes immediately fell upon her with looks of undisguised curiosity. Julia experienced a surge of primitive satisfaction in having chosen to wear her best gown. Affecting a serene smile, she moved slightly closer to Morgan in a tacit gesture of both unity and intimacy. Although it was a subtle movement, it didn’t go unnoticed; Roger’s expression reflected baffled disbelief, while Isabelle’s was one of possessive disapproval.

“You look well, Morgan,” said Isabelle, breaking the stilted silence that had followed the introductions.

“So do you, my dear.”

And she did, Julia thought dismally. Lady Isabelle Cartwright had earned a reputation as a singular beauty, and it was immediately apparent upon meeting her that that reputation was not undeserved. Her lush figure was draped in a gown of midnight blue satin, a shade that served as a perfect complement to her dark hair and eyes while bringing out the creamy ivory glow of her complexion. Julia’s first thought was to wonder at her husband’s reaction — was he experiencing a flood of nostalgic lust and longing at the sight of his former lover? As that disheartening thought crossed her mind, she watched in appalled dismay as Isabelle’s dark eyes scanned Morgan’s face and neck, undoubtedly searching for scars.

“Looking for something, Isabelle?” Morgan asked coolly.

An expression of embarrassment crossed Isabelle’s lovely features at having been caught, but she recovered quickly and gave a throaty laugh. “Morgan. How you do like to tease.”

“Yes. Don’t I.” Morgan turned to Roger Bigelow. “My congratulations on your engagement,” he said.

Roger nodded. He was a tall, handsome man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes that emitted no warmth whatsoever. Looking coolly superior, he pulled Isabelle’s arm through his.

A sardonic smile touched Morgan’s lips as he arched one dark brow. As the swell of the orchestra sounded behind them, he gave a gracious bow of parting and lifted Julia’s hand. “If you’ll pardon us, I promised my bride a waltz.”

He turned and led her away, guiding her directly onto the dance floor. He pulled her into his arms as the opening strains of a waltz filled the room. They moved silently through the beginning of the dance, each occupied with his or her own thoughts.

After a moment Morgan asked, “Can you feel him here?”

Instantly understanding that he was referring to Lazarus, she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I can’t say.”

He frowned. “You mentioned yesterday that you could feel his presence.”

“That was merely an impression, not a feat of clairvoyance that can be repeated on demand. Besides, it’s rather difficult to discern his presence when the entire room is staring at us.”

“Ignore them. Look at me.”

Exactly what she had been attempting not to do. It was difficult enough to maintain a sense of distance and decorum when Morgan was by her side. But doing that while he held her in his arms was simply impossible. Nevertheless she obeyed his command and lifted her gaze to his. Although he appeared perfectly cool and at ease, that was not the case for her at all. As his eyes locked on hers, a spiral of hot tension coiled through her belly. Her pulse skipped a beat and her heart leaped into her throat. Everything about him overwhelmed her senses. The smell of his skin, the feel of his body swaying against hers, the smoldering intensity of his eyes. It was all too much, she realized, wishing she had left herself some route of escape.

Searching almost desperately for a topic that might relieve some of the sensual tension she felt, she blurted, “So that was Roger Bigelow.”

“Yes.”

“What is he like?”

“Roger?” Morgan thought for a moment. “Brash, arrogant, wealthy, self-obsessed, cocky, tasteless, and immature. In short, a pompous ass.”

“If your opinion of him is so low, how is it that the two of you were such good friends?”

“I imagine that should be fairly obvious,” he returned. “We had so very much in common.”

A fleeting smile touched her lips at his reply, but her thoughts were elsewhere. “And what of Isabelle?” she couldn’t resist asking. “What is she like?”

Morgan made a
tsk
ing sound with his tongue. “Why should I mourn the loss of Isabelle when I have my lovely bride, the enchanting Julia, to warm my bed at night and heal my deepest sorrows?”

As he already held her hand in his as they danced, it was a simple matter for him to draw it forward and brush his lips against the back of her glove. An innocuous gesture perhaps, but one that was profoundly intimate nonetheless. Julia stiffened and pulled back, instinctively jerking her hand from his grasp.

A light of mocking disdain filled his eyes. “How remiss of me to forget. My bride has made it abundantly clear that she prefers phantom lovers to the embrace of her own husband.”

“Very commendable,” she replied coolly. “You waited an entire ten minutes before using my confession against me. How trying that must have been for you.” Her scorn at his teasing abruptly turned into alarm as Morgan’s hand brushed gently over her hip, then proceeded to lightly travel up the small of her back. “What are you doing?” she demanded shrilly.