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JAMES’S BACHELOR LODGINGS were in Stratton Street, not far from her aunt’s fashionable Grosvenor Square address, but Julia felt as if she were walking for hours. The delicious, unfamiliar freedom of leaving the house unaccompanied was almost overcome by her nervousness about being spotted by someone she knew. The wide square’s crisscrossing pathways had never seemed so long nor so crowded. She could have sworn every eye was on her, that everyone knew where she was going.
When she finally reached James’s door, she paused before knocking. She inhaled deeply to try to calm herself. In. Out. In. Out. Then, overcome with nerves, she tapped on the door with the large brass knocker. Her hand seemed to jitter out of her control, striking a quick, incessant staccato with the knocker until, after what seemed like at least a week, that arrogant servant of James’s opened the door with his brows lifted skeptically.
Despite her anxiety, Julia was gratified to see Delaney’s supercilious expression change to one of surprise. His mouth gulped open and closed again silently.
“Miss Herington,” he finally managed, looking behind her for the presence of a maid. “Er . . . welcome.”
“No maid with me,” she replied to his unspoken question, feeling her self-possession return a bit. “Could I— that is, I would like to speak with Lord Matheson.”
“Of course,” Delaney responded, slipping back into his proper servant mien as if there was nothing remarkable about her showing up unannounced and unescorted. He showed her up to the drawing room and, when she declined refreshment, promised to notify his master of her presence directly.
She plumped herself down onto a sofa in the quiet room and waited, feet tapping, for James to come in. What was she going to say to him? She hadn’t thought this through. Her sister had only just today decided to break off the engagement, and Julia was now going to start talking about having turned down a proposal.
“What was I thinking?” she muttered. For all she knew, James hadn’t even read the letter yet from her or from Louisa. He might not know anything had changed. Good heavens, he might not even be awake yet. In which case it would seem as if she was here to throw herself at him. Again.
Humiliating.
Though . . . the thought sounded more appealing when she toyed with it a bit. She remembered the luscious pleasure of his kisses, the heat between her legs, the longing such as she had never felt before. Maybe throwing herself at him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
But this wasn’t the time; she still had that proposal looming over her. The thought of Sir Stephen was a dash of cold water, sobering her in a second. Yes, that was why she had come; she needed someone to talk to about Sir Stephen. In truth, it had been very sensible to come. If for no other reason than to escape Lady Irving’s wrath for a short while.
She began to feel agitated again, so she got up and began to pace around the room. Despite her preoccupation, she was curious about James’s house. Had he put anything of himself into it, as he was beginning to at Nicholls?
She hoped not, actually. It was so bland. The paper was plain, the furniture of good quality but without color, and a bit out of date in its mahogany heaviness and formal arrangement against the walls. It was an impersonal, humorless room. The only sign of character was the positive riot of books and newspapers on a few side tables. Curious about James’s taste in reading, Julia picked up a volume and opened it to the title page.
Mansfield Park, volume 1. A copy of the book he had given Louisa when he first began to court her last season. She felt a twist of sadness in her chest. Just then, she heard the door open and James’s footsteps enter.
“I don’t like this room,” she said without turning around.
“Neither do I,” said the familiar voice, without missing a beat. “But then again, this isn’t really my house.”
She turned in surprise to look at him, and he continued, “By the way, good day to you. I can’t say I think much of your new greeting style.”
She ignored this last statement. “What do you mean, this isn’t your house?”
“I mean, it’s a rented house, and rented furniture,” James replied. “I didn’t choose any of it, but it suffices for now. I live here when I am in town. Someday when Nicholls is completely restored, I flatter myself that you and your family will be able to walk into a room without telling me how much you hate it. Although,” he added, his face pensive, “your aunt may never come to that point, considering her reaction on first seeing the place.”
Julia goggled at him. He looked untroubled, and he was talking about her family as if everything were normal. Had he not read the letters yet?
James stared her right back in the eye. “Not that I think you came to talk about interior design. What did you come for? I have to admit, I am surprised to see you after the very interesting set of letters I received from your household this morning. As a friend.” He laid heavy stress on the last few words, then folded his arms, looking at her expectantly.
Ah. So he had read the letters. She scanned his face intently for a hint of his feelings, but he gave no clues.
Her nervousness was back again in full force, and she twisted her gloved fingers together as she searched for words. “I . . . I just . . . there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”
He continued to stare at her, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
Julia squirmed under the chill of his gaze. “Sir Stephen asked me to marry him, and I told him no, but then he asked if he could still hope and it seemed unkind to insist, and I just wanted him to leave me alone, so I said he could. But I don’t want him to hold on to any hope, and I don’t want him to propose again. And I can’t tell my aunt because she’ll be so angry, and I can’t talk about this with Louisa, especially not today, and I really needed to talk to someone because I’m not sure if I did the right thing.”
James’s eyebrow lifted even higher. “Not sure if you did the right thing? By saying no, you mean?”
She was getting tired of this haughty nonsense. “No, you ass,” she replied, and was pleased to see his shuttered expression crack into one of shock. “I’m sure I was right to say no. What I mean is, I don’t know if I did right by leaving him with any hope. Because really, I will never want to marry him. Only it’s the first proposal I ever received, and I don’t know how these things are done. How does one make a gentleman understand that one’s response is irrevocable?”
James was still gaping at her. “What on earth did you call me?”
“Um, nothing.” Julia’s face grew hot. “I didn’t call you anything. I just, um, explained the situation and why I had come, and why I was feeling, um, a bit at sea. But, um, I’ll be going now.” She sidled toward the door.
“Not so fast.” In a flash, he darted a hand out and caught her arm in a gentle grasp. She looked up at him, startled, then to her relief noticed that he was smiling.
An answering smile spread over her own face, and then they both started to chuckle. Her heart seemed to warm, and she wanted desperately to hold him. She even began to reach for him with her free arm.
So when he dropped her arm from his grasp, still shaking his head with laughter, she felt lonely. He was right there, but so far away. Why had she come? What could he possibly tell her that would help? What could either of them do now?
“Sit down.” With a graceful bow, he directed her toward a very hard horsehair chair, and he sat on another facing her that looked just as uncomfortable.
He started laughing once more. “That’s my Julia. Two minutes in my house, and she tells me she hates it and calls me an ass.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she tried to explain, but she didn’t feel the need to justify herself too much. He had read the letters, and yet he laughed with her. Maybe he had been angry, but he was laughing now and he had called her his Julia. His.
She relaxed. A little. As much as she possibly could relax in such a cursedly hard chair.
“So.” James slapped his hands against his knees. “The man finally came up to scratch, and you said no.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I had to.”
She searched his face, looking for some sign of ardor or excitement, or even of acknowledgment that something significant had happened between them. But the familiar, loved countenance remained open and expectant.
So she continued talking. “I know you had told me that he would be a good person to marry, but I couldn’t say yes. But then he badgered me, and I agreed that he could still hope, which I now regret. I don’t know what to do next. Maybe I should avoid his company as much as possible? So as not to encourage him further?”
James puffed out all of his air. “God almighty, what a ridiculous couple of days we’ve had.”
She bristled. “What do you mean, ridiculous?”
“Only this: Two days ago, I was engaged and thought I would be so indefinitely. I knew Louisa wasn’t the most enthusiastic bride-to-be, but I had no idea that she was miserable, or that her sister loved me. I wasn’t even fully aware that, over the past several months, I had fallen so jealously, madly in love with that same sister that I would forget myself as I never had before. And that when precisely the kind and eligible gentleman I urged her to marry finally proposed, it would make me so much more jealous that I would contemplate throwing him through a window, even though she told him no.”
“Not quite no,” Julia corrected.
“True, not quite no, and not ‘no’ enough for me,” James said. “I don’t think I’d be satisfied unless you had told the fellow you never wanted to see him again, and spat on his boots as a finale. I still want to throw him through a window.” He stood up and looked around the room. “Where’s my coat? I know where he lives. He has big windows; they’ll look positively amazing shattered to bits.”
“Oh, stop it,” Julia said, half laughing, and put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t come to tell you to make you feel jealous. Although it is a nice bonus.”
“Why did you come tell me then, minx?” He crouched down in front of her and took her chin in his hand. He stared intently at her, a roguish smile on his lips, his gaze hopeful.
The yearning in his eyes unsettled her. Heated her. “I was so confused,” she faltered. “I knew what I wanted to say, but not what I should say. And now that I’m here with you, I know what I want to say again, but not what I should say.”
“Why not?” His clear gaze fairly burned her.
“Well, I know it would cause a nine-days’ wonder if it became known that Louisa had jilted you,” she began.
“It would.”
“And also if anyone found out that I had rejected Sir Stephen’s suit. Especially if I then took up with you,” she continued.
“A positive scandal,” he agreed, drawing her face closer to his. The heat of his gaze made butterflies flit through her whole body
“And I know your family’s very proper, and they would be mortified to be a part of a scandal,” she added. “Especially considering what your poor sister has already been through. Not to mention they wouldn’t delighted to have you throwing yourself away on an girl with no title and no more than a passable dowry.”
“They are, indeed, most proper,” he mused, then leaned forward to press soft kisses along the line of her neck. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his lips, the whisper of his breath.
She drew in a gulp of air at the quick flashes of pleasure, then strove to continue. “And . . . I . . . you . . . you know, we . . . um . . .”
Her head was foggy from his kisses. Her neck began to feel so pliable, her head so heavy, that she simply had to tilt it back to allow his mouth better access.
“Something you wanted to say?” he murmured, a laugh in his voice as he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone and began to toy with the edge of her bodice.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I can’t think straight when you do that!” Julia exclaimed.
Obediently, James drew back, crouching in front of her chair. She felt disappointed and cold, and she impulsively held out her hands to him.
He grabbed them at once and raised them to his lips. “You said you didn’t know what you ought to say,” he reminded her, “but you knew what you wanted to say when you came here.”
His bright green gaze bored into hers. “Why did you come? What did you want to tell me, Julia?”
She faltered, embarrassed. “I . . .” She had tried so hard to be a proper town lady, and a proper lady would never, never say what Julia wanted to say.
“Darling,” James whispered. “You can tell me anything.”
There was such hope in his eyes, and his endearment was like a kiss in itself.
She drew up her courage and told him.
“I don’t care about the scandal. I don’t care about anything else that might happen. I want you, in the way a woman wants the man she loves.”
It was all he needed to hear. He leapt to his feet and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed less than nothing. He kissed her fiercely and then, still carrying her, strode quickly to the door.
“What are you doing?” She laughed shakily, hoping she knew the answer.
“You said you didn’t like this room,” he replied. “I think it’s time you saw my bedchamber instead.”