Theresa Romain - Season for Temptation

No, there was only one person she could talk to about all of this.

She had to act quickly; she knew she had only a few moments before her aunt came in and demanded a full account of what had passed. Alive with purpose, she peeped out of the parlor, and finding no one around, quickly retrieved Simone’s cloak. The capacious garment was the best she could do to disguise her appearance. It wasn’t much, but anything that would keep her from being recognized would help, since she was going to do a thing a gently bred young lady ought never to do.

She was going to James, to see him at his home.

Alone. Now.

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 her home unaccompanied was almost overcome by her anxious desire to see James and 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 at once, 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, for all she knew. In which case it would seem as if she was just here to throw herself at him. Again.

Humiliating.

Though. . the thought actually 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 after all.

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 antsy 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, hello 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, but that’s very little. 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 and cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “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 his expression was shuttered and unreadable.

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,” she said lamely.

He continued to stare at her, arms folded, eyebrow raised.

Julia squirmed under the chill of his gaze, then blurted, “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 cold expression crack into one of shock. “Of course 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 seemed not to have heard her explanation. He was still reeling and gaping at her. “What on earth did you call me?”

“Um, nothing.” Julia felt her face growing hot with embarrassment. “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, worried, 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 very 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,” he said, still chuckling. 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 shook his head again. “That’s my Julia. Two minutes in my house, and she tells me she hates it and calls me an ass.” He started laughing once more.

“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.

Her feeling of isolation eroded a little, and she relaxed. As much as she possibly could relax in such a cursedly hard chair, that is.

“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. 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 just couldn’t say yes. But then he badgered me, and I caved in and agreed that he could still hope, which I now regret. I don’t really know what to do next. I suppose I should plan to avoid his company as much as possible so he won’t get any false hopes.”

Now it was her turn to look at him, waiting for a reply. He puffed out all of his air, and shook his head again. “God almighty, what a ridiculous couple of days we’ve had.”

She bristled. “What do you mean, ridiculous?”

He must have noticed her displeasure, for he hastened to explain. “Only this: Two days ago, I was engaged and thought I would be so indefinitely. I knew my fiancée 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, crazily 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 said no.”

“Not quite no,” Julia corrected, though a beaming smile was breaking across her face.

“True, not quite no, and not ‘no’ enough for me,” James continued. “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, made butterflies flit through her whole body.

“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,” he agreed, still looking at her intently.

“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 was twisting her stomach into an excited knot.

“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 be all that delighted to have you throwing yourself away on an untitled girl with no more than a passable dowry.”