Chapter Twenty-Two

He should have bloody well known this would happen. After all, Gregory had written the damned book on libidinous, forbidden passions. When Julia had first told him of Lucas Campbell all those weeks ago, Gregory had thought nothing of the man himself. What were the odds the bastard would ever show his face again? Gregory should have known that life would never pass up an opportunity for absurd comedy.

Yes, this afternoon he’d felt a flare of jealousy in the library, but Julia had quickly driven those disquieting thoughts from his mind. She’d trembled because the pain and the trauma of her past had unmoored her, not because of any lingering desire she felt. Gregory had believed that.

But he’d returned with Huntington to find his wife locked in a passionate discussion with another man. Gregory had come to know every slight gesture of his wife’s body and the tiniest expression on her face. The rest of the ton, perhaps, was fooled by her performance, but Gregory had seen how she blazed with passion.

How that other man loomed over her, drew nearer to her.

How even when she shied away from him, that furious energy still connected them, an invisible tether.

During his hedonistic days as a womanizing rake, Gregory had engaged in blazing rows with his lovers. All had been born out of passion, infernal lust, furious regret. Usually a spat preceded an epic session of lovemaking; sometimes he believed his paramours picked fights in order to facilitate heated reconciliations.

Gregory could recognize the muted passion that glinted like sparks in his wife’s eyes.

“Who is that man?” he’d asked Huntington, praying the duke did not know. But, of course, Gregory could not be so blessed.

“Mr. Lucas Campbell. His family home’s not far from mine in Northumberland,” Huntington had replied. Whatever else the duke said, Gregory couldn’t bloody recall.

It was simply too much of a coincidence that the man his wife had tearfully discussed this afternoon should be at Vauxhall tonight. Perhaps that was why Julia had been so adamant about making a trip to the gardens when they could have been at the Carnahan ball.

In all his years as a rake, Gregory had pitied the husbands who shared their wives’ attentions with him. Was this what they had felt? No wonder they’d wanted to kill him.

“Gregory!” Julia approached him, but paused. Her smile vanished, the surest sign of guilt.

“Lucas Campbell, hmm?” Gregory wanted to call the man out on the spot, but talking to a lady in a public space was hardly a punishable offense. “How extraordinary to run into him here, of all places.”

“What precisely do you mean?”

“It was an observation, my dear. If you read more into it, perhaps ask yourself why.”

Two spots of color bloomed upon her cheeks; he’d roused her passions. Julia’s passions were easy to rouse. Gregory had learned that only too well today.

“Your Grace. A pleasure to meet you,” Campbell said, walking over to Gregory and giving a polite bow. “The duchess and I are old friends, and she was just speaking so highly of you.”

“Given your friendly history with my wife, you’ll forgive me if I harbor my doubts.” Gregory’s vision pulsated with rage, and he couldn’t stop the briefest fluttering of his imagination. He pictured Campbell lying in a field, having been laid low by the duke’s gun.

“Nothing has happened,” Julia said. For fuck’s sake, if anyone overheard her, they’d believe the exact opposite to be true.

“I shouldn’t think that it had. Mr. Campbell, you’ll have to excuse us, but my wife has had rather a tiring day. It’s best we return home now.”

The irony of it all would’ve been delicious if he hadn’t been so furious. Here he was, Gregory Carter, the greatest rake in London, now playing the part of a jealous husband. If only he didn’t know the truth of marriage and husbands and wives so bitterly well. If he were a normal man, he wouldn’t suspect Julia of anything. He might even believe this all to be a coincidence. But if he were a normal man, he’d be a mere cuckold and laughingstock. The thought made him want to rip all the blown glass constellations out of the trees and smash them underfoot on the earth.

“I hope to see you both again soon,” Campbell said smoothly. The bastard. If Gregory hadn’t wanted to avoid a scene, maybe he would’ve struck the fellow on the jaw right now. For what reason, he did not know. He’d make one up.

“What the devil’s got into you?” Julia snapped as they bid a quick farewell to Huntington and hurried along the path toward the boats. Gregory kept her arm tight through his.

“Do you truly want to cause a scene?” was his only response. That at least silenced her until they were into the boat. Julia attempted conversation on a couple further occasions, both in the boat and in the carriage afterward, but Gregory would not acknowledge her words. He couldn’t look at her.

He should have bloody well known better.

Finally, they had returned to Carter House and gone upstairs, marching alongside one another as rigidly as enemy soldiers waiting for an opportunity to draw.

“If I may be so bold as to inquire,” Julia said when they were shut away in the duchess’s chambers, “why are you acting as though the devil himself spat in your porridge?”

“Ah yes. A sampling of your finest country aristocrat wit.” Gregory made certain to stand as far from her as he could, because even now he could barely resist her. Julia angry was perhaps more erotic than Julia at any other time, or filled with any other emotion. His loins ached at the mere thought of her hot, furious mouth against his, of her moans as he entered her and as they rode one another to several heated climaxes in an effort to burn away the rage.

He was addicted to this woman, and it must stop. She’d scrambled his wits, but she would not make a fool of him. He would not allow that to happen.

“I’m perfectly delighted you looked as though you wished to murder Campbell, but I fail to see why I should bear the brunt of your displeasure!”

“You’re clever, my dear, but if you believed I wouldn’t see through the machinations behind your serendipitous little rendezvous, then you’re not half as clever as I first believed,” Gregory snapped. He started toward the door that divided their bedchambers, planning to lock it behind him, but Julia flung herself into his path. Her color was high, meaning that he was closer to the truth than he knew. She would never be ashamed otherwise, surely.

“And if you believe this little story that you’ve obviously concocted, then you’re as great a dunce as I once believed you to be!” she cried.

This would normally be the time to trade barbs with her, to test his wits against hers while they made quick work of their clothes. But this was different; this was war, not a mere skirmish.

Because in his most secret heart, Gregory had always known that she would not be his forever. Not because Julia herself was a wretched woman; no, she was and remained a damned goddess. But Gregory’s great curse remained, his inability to be enough. He could give her pleasure, he could lavish her with gifts, but he couldn’t inspire her with eternal fidelity. He just didn’t have it in him to be loved so completely.

This was my fault. I let this game go on for far too long.

“Talk to me!” His wife pleaded with him, her hands pressed to his chest in supplication. That was a far nicer sensation than her strangling him, though she might attempt that next if he didn’t cease infuriating her. “You must know that I didn’t arrange any secret meeting with Campbell. Good Lord, I’d have to be the thickest adulteress in the world if I told you he was in town while planning to meet him!”

Gregory shut his eyes, because of course that was the truth. Julia was many things, but not a coward or a liar. None of this was her fault. She did not yet know that she could still feel erotic passion for a man who’d jilted her, just as she did not yet know that Gregory could not hold her fascination forever. Even though Gregory was right to see the futility of their situation, he’d been wrong to accuse her of anything. Damnably wrong.

“Yes. You’re right,” he murmured. “I was a prat to say such things, my dear.”

“So! You damnable fool.” But this time the words were delivered like a caress, and Julia cradled his face in her hands. Gregory could feel himself losing the will to continue fighting already, so great was her spell over him. All he wanted was to fold her into his arms and bury himself inside of her sweetness, her passion.

But it would only delay the inevitable.

“I know you’re telling the truth,” he said. “But I saw how you looked at him, Julia.”

“I beg pardon? Then surely you noted my expression of incandescent rage.”

“After ten years without him, was it only anger that you felt? Or did you experience a reawakening of any other feelings?”

This time, his wife drew away looking as if he’d struck her, and Gregory felt like the greatest cad alive. But no, better to do this now.

Better to walk away while they both still had some dignity remaining.

“How dare you ask me that, after everything I told you?” she said softly.

“I’ve known women to curse a man’s name one instant and rush into his arms the next. I’ve seen my share of longing looks from thwarted lovers, many of whom said they wished me dead and in hell. Every one of those women came back with a word or a glance from me. There’s no such thing as hate without love. Though, in truth, I doubt the very existence of love itself.”

Or rather, I do not believe I’m capable of such a thing. But if he said that, it might make her want to challenge him and prove to him that he was wrong. Gregory couldn’t put Julia through this kind of madness one more night.

“Well. At least hate itself is quite real,” Julia snapped, though he saw something he could scarcely believe: tears stood out in her eyes, and one slipped down her cheek. His wife turned her face away in order to calm herself. “This is an absurd situation.”

“I agree entirely. Which is why, after the queen’s ball in seven days’ time, we should follow through on our original plan and lead separate lives. Happy ones.”

“Is that what you want?” Julia sat down on the bed, almost as if she were dizzy. He’d made her miserable, but it would have happened sooner or later. In time, she would welcome the next dashing rake into her heart and bed. Gregory’s vacant spot would be snapped up by some younger man eager to gain notorious experience, and Gregory himself would travel to the Continent and stay well out of the way. Perhaps he’d return to his old womanizing ways, though at the moment he couldn’t picture such a thing. But he couldn’t stand to watch Julia grow tired of him and find other conquests in the hunting grounds of Grosvenor Square. He knew he’d challenge any man to a duel, and he’d had enough of staring down the barrel of a gun.

Gregory didn’t want to be away from her for a second, but he saw now the horror he’d inflict upon her if he remained in her life. He couldn’t look at Lucas Campbell without seeing a potential competitor for her affections. He was too warped by his lifetime of debauchery to be the husband Julia needed. His jealousy would wear his duchess down until she broke, or until she broke him.

He’d either drive her away from him with his jealousy, or she’d lose interest in him naturally over time. It all led to the same unhappy end unless they did the smart thing now.

“What I want is to live in peace. I want your happiness.” God, but he meant it. “This is the way to achieve both those outcomes, my dear.”

“There has to be another way,” Julia began.

“Enough.” He held up his hand. “Please, enough.”

She stopped then, almost shocked by the weight of his tone. Gregory could not give her another chance to argue with him, or another opportunity to tempt him into making the wrong decision, so he left and shut the door behind him. Gregory locked it, and waited in the center of his room. He waited to hear her footfall, or the sound of her trying the knob.

But his wife made no attempt to come after him.