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‘It was not your place to speak for me,’ he bit out.
‘I made no promises, but surely you see you cannot keep wasting your time with Lady Wentworth. That woman is an unacceptable choice. Her family is of no true consequence. It is time you secured this line. If Edward hadn’t been foolish enough to race his horse that day we would at least have had him as your immediate heir. But with his death the line falls to your grandfather’s incompetent nephew, should you perish, and he will destroy our good name.’
A familiar hollow feeling opened in Julian’s chest—which was why he never wanted to think about Edward. The way his mother had so callously mentioned his dear brother’s death fuelled the anger welling up inside him. Was there ever a time that she thought of either of them as more than a necessary part of fulfilling her own duty to bear an heir and a spare?
‘You have avoided marriage long enough,’ she continued. ‘It’s high time you fulfil your duty to marry again and finally bear an heir. Lady Mary will make us a perfect duchess. You should be thanking me for saving you from the trying task of finding you a suitable wife.’
‘Thanking you?’ he sputtered. ‘You chose a wife for me once. It did not end well. You will not dictate my choice to me again.’
His mother appeared hesitant to say more, and the tension eased somewhat in his shoulders. Maybe he would be lucky enough to have her abandon the conversation entirely.
‘At least consider Lady Mary.’
Or maybe she would continue to pester him till he lost his appetite completely!
He swallowed a mouthful of tepid coffee and pushed the cup away in disgust.
Before he could reply, his mother rushed ahead. ‘She is from a prominent family, has been trained from birth to assume such a title, is accomplished, and appears strong for breeding. You could not possibly require anything else.’
But he did. He felt it. Only he wasn’t certain what it could be. He simply knew he could not continue this conversation while he was still suffering from lack of sleep. This decision was too important—and his coffee was cold.
‘You never did say who you were with last night on the Ambassador’s terrace.’
‘No, I did not.’
His mother held out her cup for more tea. A footman immediately appeared at her side. She wasn’t leaving the table any time soon. Julian rose from his chair and dropped his napkin onto the table.
His grandmother glanced at his untouched plate and looked at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. ‘You have not eaten a thing. Surely you must be hungry? Would you like Reynolds to fetch you something else?’
Her genuine concern softened some of his anger. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I could have a tray sent to your study. Surely we can find something to tempt you?’
‘There is no need. I believe I have lost my appetite.’
* * *
Hart’s breakfast room was blissfully quiet. No one was pestering him to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Julian knew he needed to marry soon. He couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable. The longer he waited, the younger the girls would be. However, each time he considered marrying again his stomach would do an uncomfortable flip. This time was no different.
Why couldn’t he find a woman among the ton like the American woman who had captivated him last night? Staring sightlessly at his plate, Julian gave a slight start when Hart’s butler cleared his throat.
‘Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?’
‘Actually, Billings, would you see if His Lordship has any lemon curd?’
The butler exited the room as a sleepy Hart wandered in, wearing a black brocade dressing gown. A lock of hair covered his heavy-lidded blue eyes. Hart’s gaze followed his butler as Billings re-entered the room and placed a Wedgwood bowl before Julian.
‘So this is what my breakfast room looks like,’ Hart said through a yawn. ‘I was told you were here, however, I didn’t believe it.’ He dropped into his chair and stared in horror at his friend’s toast. ‘What has happened to the butter?’
‘It’s lemon curd.’ Julian took a bite of toast and closed his eyes, savouring the flavour.
‘I’ve never seen you eat lemon curd before. I did not even know I had lemon curd—and why the bloody hell are you putting it on your toast?’
‘I have no idea.’ Julian took another bite and wiped his lips with his napkin. ‘I woke with the oddest desire for lemons.’
Hart accepted a cup of coffee from Billings and reclined in his chair. ‘So what has brought you to my door at this ungodly hour of the morning?’
‘It’s past ten—hardly ungodly.’
Hart stilled, his cup halfway to his lips. ‘In all the years you have known me, and with all you know about me, do you really think I rise anywhere near this hour?’
‘Point taken. Your coffee is quite good. I do not believe I’ve tasted it before.’
‘That’s because you knew enough not to come here for breakfast. Now, enjoy this pot. I do not expect you to bother me for breakfast again any time soon.’
Julian continued to eat his toast. Lemon curd on toast was exceptional. He licked his lips, wondering why he hadn’t thought of eating it before.
‘What does bring you here?’
Perhaps if he talked about it with his friend he might release some of his frustration. Leaning back in his chair, Julian took a final sip from his cup. Billings was at his side in an instant, refilling it. Hart eyed his butler and the man retired from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘She wants an heir.’
‘Who?’
‘My mother.’
‘That’s no secret. She has made it quite clear that you have been remiss in fulfilling your duty. Is that why you are here at this hour? You have run away from your mother?’
Julian flung a piece of toast at Hart.
‘I say, that was quite undignified of you.’ His friend picked the toast from his chest and bit into it. ‘This is quite good.’ He licked his fingers. ‘Has she selected another simpering chit for you?’
‘Yes, but this time she has spoken to the family, indicating that I have an interest. She has gone too far.’
‘And who is this paragon of the ton she has so carefully chosen to bear the next Duke?’
‘Lady Mary Morley.’
As if he was trying to recall her name, Hart momentarily shifted his gaze. ‘Could be worse. She has the most delicious-looking breasts I’ve seen. They’re so full and tempting. Here—pass the lemon curd over.’ He picked up the bowl from Julian’s hand, dipped his spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’
‘Would you please focus?’
‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.
‘On my problem, dolt!’
‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’
‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.
‘Maybe you can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’
The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.
‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’
‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’
‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’
‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’
Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’
He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.
Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.
Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.
Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?
Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.
Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.
Chapter Three
Later that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.
Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.
‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.
They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.
‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.
‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’
‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these ton marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’
Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the ton is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’
‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’
‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in our direction for once.’
But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man was staring—a very surprised man.
* * *
Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.
The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.
‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’
Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’
Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.
‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.
‘Whose name?’
‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on me. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’
Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’
‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’
Placing the coin in his pocket, Hart took his spyglass and openly scanned the boxes across the way. ‘There is the Montrose box—nothing new in there. Rothschild has some guests, but unless you are interested in much older women I think we can safely say your attention was not focused there. Then there is the box with the American delegation... Hmm...potential there. Next we have—’
‘You know that box?’ Julian closed his eyes, praying his friend hadn’t heard the inane question.
Hart laughed softly and arched a cocky brow. ‘So your thoughts were of a political nature?’
He didn’t have to look so smug.
‘Oh, very well, Julian. The gentleman and lady seated to our far left are Mr and Mrs Forrester, the American Minister and his wife. The other gentleman in the front row is Mr Peter Vandenberg, an American author who has recently arrived in London and will be one of the American representatives at the Anglo-American Conference. Surely you have heard of him? My understanding is that he has been welcomed all over the courts and drawing rooms of Europe and has lived for the past eight months in Paris. It’s interesting that President Monroe has entrusted him to successfully negotiate the treaty between our countries.’
A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’
‘Dolt.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.
‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’
Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.
It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?
The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.
Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.
As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.
She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways he’d like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.
There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’
‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’
‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’
‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’
Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’
‘As do most women of the ton.’
‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’
‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’
He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.
Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’
However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.
Chapter Four
For days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the ton thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.
‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’
‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.
‘You do not like the girl?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’
‘You have danced with her recently.’
‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’
‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’
Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’
‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.
His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’
She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’
‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’
Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.
He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.
‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.
His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’
He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’
‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’
He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When he had returned home one Christmas he had been informed that he would be married to a girl he’d never met. It had made him ill, but he’d understood that his needs and desires did not come before his duty. What mattered above all else was the legacy he left to the Lyonsdale name. He had known that to be true then, just as he knew it to be true now.
‘I accepted my responsibility,’ he said, looking his grandmother in the eye and raising his chin.
‘Yes, you did—quite well, I might add. To my knowledge you never questioned your father’s decision.’
‘You know I could not cry off, even if I had wanted to. A man does not break an engagement. It is not done.’
She leaned in. ‘But would you have done so if you could?’
If he had, Emma would still be alive today.
He took a large swig of brandy. ‘I knew how important it was to have an exemplary woman share the Lyonsdale name. Father made an appropriate choice in Emma. There was no reason to protest.’
‘And yet even though you accepted their choice the spark in your eyes you had as a child went out when you made your vows, and it has not returned since. You need to find that spark again.’
She made it sound simple, but Julian knew that honouring the responsibility of his title meant he would be bound, yet again, to a marriage of convenience. The only sparks that mattered were the ones he could fire off in his speeches at Westminster.
‘Why am I certain you are about to tell me how I can regain what I have lost?’
His grandmother gave a slight shrug. ‘I was fortunate. I married your grandfather and we fell in love. Your father was not as fortunate. We were certain your mother would be a rose in his pocket, but she had thorns. Being married to her killed something precious inside him, and he became consumed with politics and Westminster.’ She leaned across the table and levelled him with a pointed stare. ‘There is more to life than that. It did him no good.’