Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 56
Betrothed? Julius gulped. No, he would remember if he’d done anything that stupid. “I believe I misheard you, my dear lady. Did you say an arrangement exists between us?”
Her bottom lip drooped into a pout. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten. You asked me what type of lady I was, and I declared I was the marrying kind.”
The marrying kind. A vague recollection of a conversation floated just out of reach.
“You offered for my hand last night,” she said. “I accepted. Don’t you remember? I called you my very own scoundrel for Christmas.”
The words crystalized in his memory. Egads! She had said those exact words to him.
He sat up too fast and his head spun. His fate stretched before him like an icy lake. A foreboding crack was snaking across the surface, racing toward him. He would be lost in the water below, trapped. Every plan he’d made over the last two years, every pound saved, would be for naught. Sagging against the headboard, he tried to remember how to breathe properly.
She sighed. “Julius, you cannot have forgotten. Not after we—” Her gaze strayed to his lap and blood rushed to her cheeks. “I needn’t tell you. You were there, all three times.”
Three? No, he would remember if they had been intimate—even once, wouldn’t he?
“Please say something, my love. You are frightening me.” She touched his thigh.
“I believe there has been a misunderstanding.” He tossed the covers aside and crawled from bed, bare as the day he was born.
“Good heavens!” She averted her eyes, blinking several times.
Where the hell were his clothes? His discarded drawers were on a chair by the hearth, which meant his pants had to be here somewhere. While he searched the floor, she pleaded with him to cover himself. He ceased the hunt to gawk in her direction, perplexed by the rising panic in her voice. It was too late to be acting missish now.
Her chest rose and fell with agitated breaths.
Faith, is she going to cry? He felt helpless when ladies cried, which had been a frequent occurrence with five sisters at home. Before any tears fell, he’d always made it a practice of exiting the room. A retreat was impossible, however, when one didn’t have his trousers.
“Wh-where are you going?”she asked.
He looked under the bed. There was nothing there. “Apparently, nowhere.” He marched to the chair to grab the still damp drawers and pulled them on. “Could we clear up this matter after I’ve had a cup of tea? I cannot think at the moment.”
“I don’t understand. You promised”—her voice caught—“You didn’t mean a word you said last night. How could I be so stupid?” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
“Now, see here.” He approached her side of the bed, compelled to offer comfort and having no idea how to go about it. “I’ll not listen to you insult yourself.” He patted her back harder than intended.
“Ow!” She angled her body away.
“Sorry. Uh, I’m sorry.” Hesitantly, he reached for her again, feeling like a clumsy oaf. “Please, don’t cry. We will figure this out.”
“What is there to figure out?” Her voice was muffled, but the sobbing had stopped. “We have an understanding.”
Taking a deep breath, he managed to suppress his mounting alarm. She needed a rock right now. He would be that for her, since this mess was his fault. He must have been much drunker than he’d realized.
“As it appears we are the only ones who know what occurred last night,” he said, “there is still time to salvage the situation. Surely, you have no desire to remarry. Think of the freedom your status allows. How happy could any woman be when she is tied to one man for life?"
“Ha!” She raised her head; her eyes were dry. “I knew you were the type of man who would try to weasel out of a promise. I was right about you.”
“Damnation, woman. You haven’t shed a single tear.”
“My heart is crying.” She smirked. “My eyes didn’t receive the message.”
Julius gasped. Never had a woman spoken to him in such a manner. His muddled brain couldn’t decide if he was more offended or awed by her gall.
She took advantage of his gobsmacked state to scoot from the bed opposite him. “Your view on marriage is disturbing, Julius Everly. Tying up women? Is that what you believe a husband does?”
“No, of course not.” Julius was too tired to make sense of the conversation. “You are twisting my words, purposefully assigning a literal meaning.”
“I will have you know Lord Hadley was the kindest, most encouraging man I have ever known.” Her hand landed on her hip, her expression smug. “I became my own woman after we married, something I was never allowed to be in my father’s house. My husband was my dearest friend.”
He frowned. His mother said much the same about his father. From Julius’s observations, it was a sly way of saying a man was henpecked. His mother was the undisputed ruler at Everly Manor, and his father never went against her wishes.
“I pity any woman unfortunate enough to find herself tied to you, Lord Julius, and your outdated ideas of marriage.”
“I don’t understand.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, wishing the cobwebs would clear from his head. “Are you saying you don’t wish to marry me?”
“That is exactly right.” She jutted her chin to punctuate her message and bit out each word. “Not even if my life depended on it.”
He should be relieved to be released from his promise, but her tone and saucy attitude was offensive. “I will have you know I am a catch.”
She scoffed. “A catch, my big toe.”
“You are insufferable. Are you baiting me on purpose?” He stalked to the side of the bed where she was standing. Her green eyes widened. When her breath hitched, the tops of her small breasts peeked above the neckline of her dress. She was gorgeous up close with color high in her cheeks and her tousled hair framing her narrow face.
Her gaze lowered to his bare chest, lingering but a second before returning to look him in the eye. His anger dwindled as desire surged through his veins. She wet her lips, then perhaps realizing the enticing picture she presented, clamped them tightly. Damn him for overindulging last night. Memories of their night together would have sustained him through the holiday.
“Is this remorse speaking, my lady, or do you have a true objection to me?”
“Remorse? Me?” She sputtered and couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I’ve done nothing wrong, but you— For heaven’s sake, you disrobed in the kitchen. Your behavior is scandalous and unacceptable.”
Good old regret it is.
No doubt she had fancied herself incorruptible before he led her down the path of wickedness. Julius made it a practice of avoiding paragons of virtue. If he had been in his right mind last night, he never would have bedded her.
He wouldn’t be surprised if she had fabricated the proposal to ease her guilt after a night of hedonistic pleasure, and now she was instigating a row to cover her lie. Perhaps he would make her squirm; she’d had no qualms about doing the same to him a few moments ago.
“I recall you knew of my reputation before you accepted my proposal and joined me beneath the sheets.” He allowed a seductive smile to ease across his face. “Was it three times, love?”
He hadn’t thought it possible she could blush any harder, but her face was bordering on plum.
“I am afraid you’ve misjudged me, my lady.” He clicked his tongue. “I am wounded to have you think so poorly of me. I never would have tumbled you had I realized you played me false and never intended to make an honest man of me.”
“Th-that is a lie.”
He shrugged. “I suppose we will never know since I did, in fact, propose before bedding you.”
A squeak of protest was cut off when she snapped her mouth closed. She bristled, and her eyes burned with an intensity that threatened to singe him. If she was less of a lady, he was certain she would hurl curses at him.
He derived immense pleasure in vexing her.
“It is time to take care of your man, wife-to-be. Fetch me a pot of tea.” He swatted her behind, expecting she’d retaliate. She did not disappoint.
“Get it yourself.” Like the she-devil she was, she stomped his toes as she marched past.
He laughed when she slammed the door. Revenge was a sweet dish, served hot or cold.
After searching every corner of the chamber without unearthing his trousers, his merriment turned to dread. Parts of his memory were returning in flashes. He’d been frozen to the bone, his clothes turning to ice. His fingers had shaken and he’d fumbled with the front fall of his trousers. He’d left them below stairs, along with his greatcoat.
“Faith,” he muttered and collapsed on the side of the bed. He and Lady Hadley had failed to use protection last night.
Chapter Four
Bess retreated to her bedchamber to splash cool water on her face before storming to the hightop dresser. The reflection in the looking glass startled her. On first glance, she didn’t recognize herself. The woman staring back with parted lips and eyes glimmering with feverish intensity looked feral—a woman driven by strong passions and prone to foolish choices.
Destined for ruin. Her stepmothers’s sad proclamation echoed in her memory.
“No,” Bess murmured. She wasn’t that same young woman she’d been at age eighteen. She had turned her back on that reckless girl long ago and mended her ways before any lasting damage occurred.
Except to your pride.
Unbidden and unwelcome, a memory bubbled up from the dark well of her past. She couldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror as old humiliations resurfaced. Once upon a time, before Bess was a respectable countess, she’d listened to the lies of a scoundrel. Sweet words whispered into her ear, promises of an eternal love.
Lies and more lies.
She’d been naive and smitten in those days. To deny Merrick Bradshaw anything, had been inconceivable. A wild drive through Hyde Park with her clinging to his arm. Saving every waltz for him, spinning and laughing from the sheer joy of being near him. Steamy kisses in the Eldridges’ garden. Merrick had been the sun and her, a seedling stretching for his warmth. Bess sickened at the thought of what might have become of her if the scoundrel hadn’t lost interest overnight and turned his attentions toward courting another.
“Let it go,” she said through gritted teeth and jerked open the dresser; her pins and brush went flying and banged into the back of the drawer.
Lord Julius might have awakened that foolish girl, but Bess knew how to control her now. Once she collected herself and he came below stairs to break his fast, she would reveal the truth about last night—just like she had planned before he stormed around the bed and scrambled her thoughts. Law. She was truly featherbrained to think she could teach the rogue a lesson.
He was shameless.
Rather than pulling her lady’s maid from work for a simple task, Bess twisted her hair high on her head and stabbed a pin into the knot. Quinn, agreeable woman that she was, had offered to work alongside Anne in the kitchen until the cook returned. The two servants formed a bond soon after Bess’s cousin arrived at the dowager house in Mayfair with Robbie and Anne in tow. At Bess’s urging and with Gemma’s blessing, Quinn was training young Anne to become a lady’s maid, too.
After setting herself back to rights and donning a new pair of stockings, Bess went in search of her cousin. Gemma was at the writing desk in the drawing room, sorting the large stack of post that had been waiting for her return. It was the only piece of furniture in the room not covered with a sheet. Sunlight filtered through the window at her back, creating a halo around her dark blonde hair. When they had met for the first time, Bess had been shocked by how much they resembled each other.
Gemma glanced up with an envelop and brass letter opener in her hands. “We received a letter from the agency. They found a housekeeper with excellent references and wish to know if an interview should be scheduled. Did you expect a response this soon?"
“I was hopeful.” Bess moved behind her cousin to read the inquiry over her shoulder.
Two weeks before the journey to Davensworth Cottage, Bess had spoken with the most reputable service agency in London about the need for a butler, housekeeper, and stable master. She’d reasoned once the senior positions were filled, the head servants could hire their own subordinates.
“There is no mention of other candidates.” Gemma frowned as she concentrated on breaking the seal on another letter. “Will it be difficult to find manservants? I don’t know how long we can manage without a butler and footmen. Robbie isn’t much stronger than you and I, and we cannot keep sending for your men in the stables.”
“Not all men are opposed to female employers,” Bess said. “Tripleton has been with me for years. Someone will be pleased with the opportunity for advancement.”
“I trust your experience in such matters.” Her cousin sighed and dropped the correspondence on the desk. “I wish Papa had better prepared me. It is a lot of responsibility running a house and owning the brewery.”
“I understand, but rest assured, I will remain at Davensworth Cottage to assist you until you demand that I go home.”
“I am more likely to beg you to stay.”
The poor dear had experienced a rough go of it after Uncle Roger’s death. Bess, herself, had been lost after her husband’s death. Without guidance from Hadley’s nephew and heir, she couldn’t imagine how she would have made decisions with the fog of her grief clouding her mind.
Bess gave her cousin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Since your father’s man-of-affairs reported all is well with the business, I believe it is safe to turn our attentions toward hiring a housekeeper. Write the agency and take the interview.”
“Of course, although I’m unable to frank a letter today. Last night’s storm made the lane impassable. No one will be coming or going for days, including Lord Julius.”
Bess gasped and hurried to the window to push the ivory sheers aside. The hills. The trees. Everything appeared to be encased in glass. The rain and snow mix had turned to deadly ice overnight. How had she not thought to check the weather earlier?
“No-no-no.” Bess flapped her hands against her thighs in frustration. “Why?”
Her cousin joined her at the window. “It’s a marvelous sight, is it not? Marvelous and treacherous.” The descriptions could apply to Lord Julius as easily as the landscape.
“Gemma, he was supposed to leave today. What are we going to do?”
“You can start by taking a breath before you faint.”
“I’m too level-headed to faint,” she grumbled. Her body chose to betray her at the exact moment. Her head spun and she swayed into the window.
Gemma put her arm around her shoulders, smiling. “I can see you are perfectly balanced.”
Julius waited a bloody long time for a servant to respond to the bell pull. It took even longer for the boy to return with his clothes. After dressing in haste, Julius scrounged up toothpowder from the late Mr. Price’s belongings to prepare for an audience with Lady Hadley.
Elisabeth? Bess? Yes, she prefers Bess.
Her name was the total sum of what he knew about her.
Wincing, he rubbed the space between his brows where an ache lingered. It wasn’t like him to fall into bed with a woman upon their first meeting. Wooing a lady was half the fun and made the reward sweeter in the end. He also preferred remembering the deed. Had Price’s ale always been so potent?
“Upon my word,” Julius muttered, “never again.”
Not that his oath changed the situation. He’d been careless last night, and given Bess’s poor opinion of him this morning, he didn’t know how to proceed.
Had he truly promised marriage before they were intimate, knowing he had no intention of honoring his word? If so, the ale he drank did more than addle his brain. It had turned him into a despicable cur, a man he didn’t recognize.
His reputation for being a hellion hadn’t been earned from being reckless with another’s heart. He craved the rush of adventure and satisfied it with racing. His mother believed the hunger was in his blood, inherited from her Dane ancestors. Everyone in his family accepted this explanation without question, including Julius. He couldn’t rid himself of the hunger anymore than he could lob off his own arm or leg.
Despite his lack of clarity on what had occurred overnight, he went in search of the lady. His honor as a gentleman was at stake. If their liaison resulted in a child, he could never deny his flesh and blood. He and Bess must reach an understanding—in whatever form she deemed appropriate—before he returned to Everly Manor.
He didn’t encounter a single servant on the upper level to request an audience with the lady, nor was a soul in sight below stairs. It was the oddest of circumstances. Deducing the help was congregating in the kitchens, he followed the scent of bacon and drew up short in the doorway. “Lady Hadley, what in the devil are you doing?”
The three women cried out in surprise. More aptly, two women and one girl. The servant frying bacon wasn’t old enough to hold a position above scullery maid, and Bess appeared to have taken over her duties.
When the occupants simply gaped, he entered the warm kitchen. The delicious fragrance of sweet bread baking in the oven and salty meat wrapped him in a comforting embrace.
“Where is the cook?” he asked. “Has something happened to her?”
The elder servant, a willowy young woman with high cheekbones and meticulously neat appearance, recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance. She bobbed a curtsey. “The weather has delayed her, my lord.”
“I see.” Her explanation did little to clear his confusion. Why was the cook away from Davensworth Cottage, and how had Bess been recruited to wash dishes? “And the other servants, Lady Hadley? Have they fallen ill?”
Bess’s mouth thinned. She lowered the dish she was holding into the washbasin and dried her hands on her apron. “I will speak with Lord Julius privately, Quinn. If you will continue to assist Anne, I would be grateful.”
