The Abduction of Julia

  Julia looked down at her morning dress of pale yellow muslin over a bodice of blue satin. “What’s wrong with this? I thought it was charming.”

  “That’s the problem. You don’t want to look charming. You want him to nuzzle your neck and try to slip his hand up your—”

  “Aunt Maddie! I could never wear anything like that in public.”

  “Who’s talking about in public? And don’t try to tell me you don’t want his attentions in private. You’d have to be blind or dead not to know your husband has more than his fair share of looks.”

  Julia was perfectly aware of her husband’s physical charms. “What do you think Alec would do if I just admitted I was…fond of him?”

  “Run like his coattails were afire. Never saw a man more determined to remain uncommitted.” Maddie shook her head, the artificial flowers scattered in her wig flopping dramatically. “That’s his grandfather’s fault. John felt as if he’d ruined things for Alec’s mother by coddling her. He was determined not to make the same mistake with his grandson.”

  “Mrs. Winston told me he was forever ripping up at Alec over the littlest things.”

  “Barked at him all the time. So much that I don’t think the boy knows his own worth.” Maddie frowned. “Probably feels worse around a philanthropist like you. Hell, sometimes you make me feel like a sham.”

  “How could Alec think such a thing? Why he’s…he’s so…Alec.”

  “Handsome as Hercules, isn’t he?”

  It was more than that. It was the fact that he’d brought Muck a toy ship when he thought no one would see; that he allowed Mrs. Winston to call him “Master Alec” without a wince; and that night after night he pretended to drink Burroughs’ warmed milk. “Alec can be very kind when he wants to be.”

  “For your sake, I hope so.” Maddie tapped a gnarled finger on the arm of her chair. “I suppose you have shared his bed by now.”

  Julia blinked.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Maddie said, though a spot of color touched the parchment of her cheeks. “You’ve been married almost four months. Ought to have some idea what I’m talking about. And if you don’t, then Hunterston is not near the man I took him for.”

  “We…we have…if what you mean is—”

  “Good gracious, don’t enact a Cheltenham tragedy just because I asked a question! I don’t know what has made today’s generation so missish. In my time, we would have just said it aloud.” Maddie cocked a discontented brow. “Well? Have you?”

  “Yes. Once.”

  “Once? Only once? A fine, handsome man like that in your home, and you’ve only slept with him once? Good God, you don’t have ice water in your veins, do you? If I had a man who looked like—” She broke off at Julia’s anguished expression. “Well, that’s between the two of you. Daresay it’s a good thing I don’t have such a randy stallion at my disposal. My heart’s not as strong as it used to be.”

  “Neither is mine.” Julia blushed when Maddie’s mouth quirked in a devilish grin.

  “We’ll have to start at the beginning. You need some admirers. I noticed the other day Alec don’t like it by half when one of those lap dogs you’ve had trailing after you starts yapping for attention. He stands and stares as if he’d like to march across the room, toss you over his shoulder, and storm out.” Maddie regarded the gold knob of her cane with a thoughtful gaze. “Maybe Bridgeton would do. He seems intent on catching your attention.”

  Julia remembered Alec’s bleak reaction at her mention of Nick. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. They hate one another.”

  “Hmm. Well, we don’t want a duel or anything like that. They say Bridgeton has killed more than his fair share.” Maddie sighed. “A pity, for he would have been perfect.”

  Julia didn’t respond. Ever since Nick had pointed her in Desiree’s direction, she’d expected him to avoid her. Instead, he had an annoying tendency to show up when Alec was not about and play the charming cousin until she longed to slap him.

  Ephram growled in his sleep and kicked with his back paws. “There, there,” cooed Maddie. She patted him on the head before fixing her gaze back on Julia. “Perhaps Wexford would do, though he does gad about, disappearing for weeks on end and doing God knows what.”

  “I doubt he would agree. He is Alec’s best friend, you know.”

  “All the more reason for him to flirt with you. But I suppose you are right. What about young Bentham? Still painting your portrait, isn’t he?”

  Julia nodded. “For the charity auction. I thought it would take hours and hours, but all he did was make a few sketches. It’ll be interesting to see if it even looks like me when he’s done.”

  “If Bentham paints it, you can be assured it will be recognizable. He’s a talented artist. Handsome, too.”

  “And infatuated with Therese. He speaks of her all the time.” Shortly after the Bastions’ rout, Julia had feared he had developed a partiality for her, but he had quickly reverted back to her cousin’s circle of admirers. It was rather curious that he wanted to paint her at all.

  Maddie waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter who he is in love with. All we need is for Alec to think he might be interested in you.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Now we have a plan of action. First clothes, and then Bentham.”

  Julia wondered if such silliness would really make a difference. It sounded like a lot of fustian, but in a way it was not much different from Alec’s steady attack on her senses with his suggestive touches and simmering glances. She sighed. Silly it might be, but right now it was all she had.

  Lucien quirked a brow. “Well, halfling? Are you or aren’t you?”

  Edmund fingered first one card and then another. After staring at his hand for what seemed to Alec like an eternity, he drew a card and laid it on the table. “There.”

  Alec drew a card and tossed it beside Edmund’s. Usually, he found the more lively company at the gaming hells of the East End far preferable to the stuffy, conventional atmosphere at White’s. But tonight, the stultifying club perfectly suited his mood.

  Lord Blackmore, a pompous ass who practically lived at White’s, scratched his bulbous nose. “Hm. Playing deep, are you?” He squinted at his cards before selecting a discard.

  Lucien placed his own hand on the table. “Ah, the fruits of patience. I believe that puts me over the top.”

  “Damn you, Luce,” Alec said without rancor. He tossed his cards aside and refilled his glass. He’d rather lose money to Lucien than to anyone. At least he knew it would go to better use than with some of the ivory turners he’d been playing against this week. He suspected some of them had been cheating—not that he really cared. It had been a relief, losing money. As far as he could see, his grandfather’s fortune was little more than a curse.

  Alec took a deep swallow of his brandy and grimaced. He was tired of brandy, tired of carousing, tired of everything this evening. The glass curved into his hand and he regarded it gloomily. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered to drink. It did little to dull either his anger or his lust.

  And oh, how he lusted. Him. The renowned Devil Hunterston—in lust with his own wife. It was laughable.

  But worse was the galling knowledge that Julia preferred another man. No, he corrected himself, not just another man, but Nick.

  The idea of Julia with Nick ate at him, stalked his waking thoughts, and preyed upon his sleep. The last week had been his own private hell. Yet his desire for Julia grew stronger with each passing day. He reached for the bottle of brandy.

  “My, my, my. What have we here?” Nick’s smooth voice cut into Alec’s thoughts.

  “What in the hell do you want?” Alec slammed the glass onto the table, heedless of the brandy that sloshed onto the cards.

  Blackmore glanced uneasily from one to the other as he dealt the cards for another game. “Easy, Hunterston. It’s only Bridgeton.”

  “There is no ‘only Bridgeton,’” Alec replied ungraciously. Not even to Julia. Especially
not to Julia.

  Nick regarded him with a faint smile. “Such affection. You unman me.”

  The mocking tone lifted the bile in Alec’s throat. “Go to hell.”

  For one delicious instant, an answering flare of anger sparked in the blue eyes. Though it was quickly extinguished, an immediate sense of satisfaction warmed Alec.

  Edmund’s uneasy laughter broke the silence. “Don’t mind him. Alec always trifles when he’s jug-bitten.”

  Nick’s smile became a sneer. “I never mind Alec—jug-bitten or not.”

  Alec put down his cards and made to stand, but Lucien grasped his arm.

  “Don’t,” Lucien said quietly.

  Jerking his arm free, Alec subsided into his chair. Though he yearned to do otherwise, Lucien was right. “Say whatever it is you came to say, Nick. I’m busy.”

  “Such rudeness,” he sighed. “And here I came to congratulate you on Julia’s recent triumph in reforming London.”

  Alec sloshed more brandy into his glass. “What are you talking about now?”

  Nick raised his brows. “Tsk, tsk. What’s the matter, Alec? Doesn’t Julia confide in you?”

  “My wife confides in me,” Alec said succinctly, “each and every night.”

  Nick’s jaw tightened, his eyes blazing to life before he caught himself and pasted a thin smile on his lips. “Perhaps Edmund is familiar with Julia’s latest reform efforts.”

  Edmund lifted a befuddled gaze from his cards. “What?”

  “Desiree,” said Nick succinctly.

  “Oh, my God! Don’t remind me! I thought I would die.” He turned to Blackmore. “There I was, sitting at Lady H.’s dinner party, when I look up and see this bit of muslin I’d been chasing. Bold as brass she was, carrying in a plate of crimped cod as if she owned the place.”

  Lord Blackmore appeared properly scandalized. “You don’t say? Same thing happened to me once. Sitting there at supper and caught a glimpse of a ragged fellow out in the hall. Coal scuttler or some such thing. Just traipsed in, pretty as you please, asking if he could work. Shocking. Had my butler give him the go.”

  “This woman didn’t wander in. Lady H. hired her as a maid. Forever helping out the plebeians, you know.”

  “Servants are a deuced nuisance. We’ve been without a proper footman for a week now. Caught the last one nipping my private stock.” Blackmore frowned. “Now that I think on it, my wife mentioned something about Lady Hunterston and servants just the other day. What was it? Oh, yes—I remember.” He fished in his pocket and produced a card, handing it to Edmund.

  Edmund slowly read the bold lettering. He started, then blanched and sent a harried glance at Alec before cramming the card into his waistcoat.

  Alec stared, a horrible thought rising. “What is it?”

  “Oh, I think you know,” said Nick.

  Alec ignored him. “Damn it, Edmund. What is it?”

  Edmund shook his head. “Just a card. Nothing special.”

  “Read it.”

  A slow flush lifted in Edmund’s cheeks. “I already did. No need to read it again. I remember exactly what it says.”

  Alec glared. “Edmund.”

  The harassed young man cast a wild glance at Lucien.

  Lucien shrugged. “Read it. He’ll pummel it out of you if you don’t.”

  Edmund wiped a hand across his damp face and slowly pulled the card free. He cleared his throat and read aloud. “S.W.W. Servant Referral Service. All experienced and highly trained. References provided.”

  At first, Alec hoped it was a joke, but Nick’s satisfied smile told him otherwise.

  “Cousin Julia is always a delightful surprise, isn’t she?” purred Nick.

  Alec glared, relieved to find an object for his anger. “Just what do you mean by that?”

  “Merely that I find your wife fascinating.”

  Lord Blackmore blew out his cheeks. “Easy, Bridgeton. Careful what you say about someone else’s wife.”

  Nick’s gaze narrowed on the chubby man. “Oh, but Julia is so much more to me than my cousin’s wife.”

  “Good God, man!” Blackmore shot a startled look at Alec.

  But Nick was not finished. His smile heavy with meaning, he leaned across the table. “Tell me, Alec. Is there fire beneath that prim exterior? I have been dying to discover for myself.”

  Seeing nothing but a haze of red, Alec leapt across the table. Cards, coins, and markers scattered across the floor. The room erupted into a cacophony of shouts and yells as men began placing bets on the outcome of the fight.

  Though Nick was ready for the attack, Alec’s fury was unstoppable. His charge carried Nick backward, across a table, and toppled them both to the floor. When Lucien and Edmund finally managed to pull Alec away, Nick lay on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth and nose.

  Shaking off Lucien’s grasp, Alec looked down at him. “Never, never speak my wife’s name again.”

  He turned sharply on his heel and left. Inwardly seething, Nick wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand and slowly got to his feet.

  Blackmore huffed. “Demmed shame who they let in the club nowadays.” He shot a dark look at Nick from under heavy, black brows. “Demmed shame.”

  One by one, the spectators returned to their game as servants scurried about, resetting tables and bringing out fresh cards and drinks. Nick placed a handkerchief to his nose and winced. He should never have goaded Alec, but the idea of causing dissention in the Hunterston household was too sweet a thought to be ignored. He’d known Julia would not mention her business venture to her strict husband and he’d been right. Alec had been shocked.

  Unfortunately, Nick had been caught off guard by the strength of Alec’s reaction. It was beginning to appear that Therese was right. Alec did indeed have feelings for his wife. Nick scowled and tucked his handkerchief into his pocket.

  Once again, it seemed as if his cousin would win everything. The thought infuriated Nick. He was through wanting just the money. Now, he wanted it all.

  He replaced his hat and bowed to the room, but no one acknowledged him. Nick set his teeth in a smile at the snub, inwardly seething like a bed of embers. It was one more indignity he could lay at Alec’s door.

  Fortunately for Nick, there were more subtle and infinitely more gratifying ways of reckoning vengeance than fisticuffs. Alec would pay dearly for this little incident—and it would take more than money, now. It might even take the attentions of the fascinating Julia.

  The thought calmed him. Alec’s wife was unlike any woman he’d ever known, and Nick had known hundreds. They loved his face and craved his affection, but none had ever touched his heart, if he indeed possessed one. Yet there was something about Julia that made him wonder if she could wake his hardened soul back to life.

  Chuckling a little at his own folly, Nick waved down a hackney and climbed in. It was nonsense, of course. His soul was as dead as his heart.

  Within a remarkably short time, the hackney deposited him at No. 10 Laura Street. Nick hated this part of the city. Full of cits and lawyers, it reminded him too much of the ease with which he himself could fall into obscurity. He climbed a set of rickety stairs and knocked on a faded door.

  Thirty minutes later he emerged, a smile once again on his face, his steps jaunty. He located another hackney and ordered it to drive past Hunterston House. As the conveyance creaked up the road, he lifted a corner of the ragged curtain and watched as it came into view.

  It wasn’t as impressive as Bridgeton Manor, yet Hunterston House held its own charm. For now, it was dark with the exception of one solitary upstairs window. Nick wondered if the irrepressible Julia awaited her husband’s return.

  He smiled and dropped the curtain. Soon, it would all belong to him. Satisfied with his work, he thumped his cane on the roof and ordered the hackney toward Mayfair, where his palatial residence awaited him in solitary splendor.

  Chapter 25

  Dawn was just breaking when Alec let himself
into Hunterston House. Without waiting to divest himself of his gloves and hat, he took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door to Julia’s bedchamber.

  Julia sat upright as the door banged against the wall. Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, she clutched the sheet to her and blinked sleepily. “Alec?”

  Irritation flared. “Who else would be coming to your room at this time of the morning?”

  She frowned and pushed the thick, honey-colored braid over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  He made an impatient noise and strode to the bed and threw the card onto the counterpane. “What is this, madam?”

  Julia picked it up and squinted. “Looks like a card. I can’t quite make it out, but it looks like 8–4–4 something.”

  “It says ‘S.W.W.’ to be correct.”

  She opened her eyes absurdly wide. “Is that a haberdasher?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “What a pity. Edmund was just telling me the other day that he needed a good—”

  “You know very well whose card that is.”

  Julia sighed, the innocent expression disappearing. “Of course I know whose it is.” She held the card at arm’s length. “We should have gotten the cream ones, but Aunt Maddie wouldn’t have it.”

  “Lady Birlington was with you when you ordered those?”

  “Oh, yes. She argued about the color, the size, and what to write on them. A very helpful woman, Lady Birlington.”

  Alec raked a hand through his hair. “Good God.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Julia threw back the counterpane and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. “You are the most absurd man, coming in here ranting and raving about a simple card. You have become more of a prude than Vicar Ashton.”

  Alec barely heard the words. Julia’s nightrail gleamed in the early morning light, the rosy pink satin as luscious as the flesh it covered. Low cut, the scanty bodice hinted at the gentle swell of her breasts while the skirt hugged her body like a second skin, molding to her narrow waist, the delightful curve of her hip, and the long line of her leg.