Chapter 8

Eight

C harles could scarcely believe he'd allowed himself to be forced into assisting his mother with training Miss Julia. The past sennight had been spent in bouts of etiquette training and practice. Mother had forced him to role-play with Miss Julia and Celia as she instructed Miss Julia in all areas of deportment, manners, and society rules. Everything from introductions to dancing and wardrobe had been covered.

He'd had enough, but Mother was not yet satisfied. It mattered not that Miss Julia had passed all of her tests—the woman could recite the rules better than Celia could—yet Mother still insisted on pushing her. Now they were to have a luncheon that would mock a formal dinner. Charles tugged at his cravat as he entered the family parlor. Tonight he would put an end to Mother's teaching, despite her protests.

Miss Julia smiled as he entered the room, her eyes twinkling. "Good afternoon, Your Grace."

Standing there in a pink evening gown, she seemed no worse for the wear from Mother's constant instruction and testing. Nonetheless, she had to be weary of it. He returned her smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Julia." Turning toward his mother, who stood between Julia and Celia, he offered his greetings. With all pleasantries out of the way, he took a moment to study Miss Julia.

One would be hard pressed to prove she had not always been amongst the gentry. She stood with perfect posture, back straight and shoulders squared, her gloved hands resting at her side. Her manners were impeccable, from what he had observed, and her appearance in line with the rest of the ladies of his acquaintance. Furthermore, Celia adored her.

As did he. Since she'd come under his protection, he'd had many occasions to spend time in her company. Miss Julia charmed and amused him, to say the least. Her company, like a breath of fresh air, never failed to improve his mood. Moreover, she worked hard to please Mother—no easy task—and with a smile more often than not.

He slid his glance back to his mother. Truly, he felt sorry for Miss Julia having to continue with Mother's lessons day in and day out. He would speak to Mother without delay after the meal.

"Shall we?" Mother tapped her fan on her hip.

"Not just yet. I have invited a guest to dine with us." Charles leaned back on his heels. "He should be arriving any time now."

"How splendid," Celia said.

Mother arched an eyebrow. "Who is this mystery guest?"

The family butler appeared in the parlor door frame before Charles could reply. He grinned at Mama. "I believe you are about to find out."

"Your Grace, Lord Gulliver is here to see you." The butler bowed, then exited, allowing Gulliver to enter.

Glancing at Mother, Charles smoothed his cravat, rather pleased with himself for having the foresight to invite Gulliver. Mother adored his wastrel of a friend, and Gulliver never missed the opportunity to flatter and tease a woman. He would take Mother's focus off of Miss Julia at least some of the time.

"How splendid, indeed. This will allow Miss Julia a chance to practice her dinner skills in the company of an aristocrat…outside of the immediate family, of course."

Charles took a step back in order to allow Gulliver near the women. "I thought you would approve the idea."

Mother held her hand out, a flirtatious grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Always a pleasure, my lord." She offered a wanton wink.

"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." Gulliver took her hand, dropping a kiss on it.

Charles shook his head at the exchange. How quickly Mother abandoned her own strict guidelines when Gulliver paid her attention. For heaven's sake, she had broken several of her rules in the short time it took them to greet one another. But then, she'd always been that way with Gulliver—ever since the first time Charles brought him home from university.

That first visit seemed a lifetime ago, and yet, little had changed. There was nothing untoward between them, of that Charles was sure; it was simply that they enjoyed bantering between themselves. Gulliver could not help himself when in the company of a lady, regardless of age, marital status, or even looks. As for Mother, well, he assumed Gulliver made her feel young again, and there was little harm in that.

"Always the flirt." Mother laughed as Gulliver moved to repeat the gesture with Celia and Miss Julia, dropping kisses on their hands and offering up his rakish grin.

Charles could not help noticing the way Miss Julia blushed as Gulliver took her hand. Something unsettling needled at him—jealousy?—no, it could not be. He'd have to have designs on her, and he certainly did not fancy her in such a way. His only wish was to help her secure a better future than the one her wretched mother had signed her up for. Still, why did his mother's outrageous flirting and Celia's coy smiles in regards to Gulliver's antics not bother him, while Miss Julia's blush did?

He required a drink, something stronger than he'd find on the dining table. He looked across the parlor to the sideboard and its collection of crystal decanters. "How about a brandy before luncheon, Gulliver?"

"I've already been imbibing." Gulliver pulled his decanter from his coat, uncapped it, and took a healthy drink.

Bloody hell. "I should have guessed." Charles motioned for a servant to bring him a drink.

"Let us sit," Mother said, moving to a nearby wingback chair. "We can take the opportunity to catch up on your affairs, Lord Gulliver. It has been quite a while since you've made a visit."

Charles accepted his tumbler and took a swallow of the amber liquor. Mother certainly enjoyed Gulliver's company. No doubt he'd been correct that having the man in attendance would take some of the scrutiny from Miss Julia. She'd been behaving more like a debutante than a dowager since he strolled through the door. A look in Miss Julia and Celia's direction told him they too had taken note of her antics.

Charles and Celia exchanged a bemused look before he turned to watch the crackling flames in the hearth.

"I fear I have been rather busy of late. It was never my intention to stay away for long. Do say you forgive me?" Gulliver placed one hand over his heart. "I could not bear it if you remained vexed with me."

"Of course not, dear. I would never hold anything against you." Mother flipped open her fan, hiding a coquettish grin behind its lace border.

"You know I always try to make time for beautiful ladies. On occasion, life simply gets in the way." Gulliver winked at Miss Julia, causing pink to flood across her cheeks once more. "I will endeavor to do better in the future."

Charles drained his tumbler. On any other occasion he would find amusement in Gulliver's shameless flirting; today, however, he could hardly abide it. "Let us move to the dining room."

Gulliver proffered his arm. "Duchess."

With a girlish giggle, Mother took it.

Gulliver leveled his roguish grin on Celia and Miss Julia. "If only I had three arms, for I desperately wish to escort you both to the dining room."

Good lord. Charles fought to ignore his rising ire as he moved to offer his arm to Miss Julia. "May I?"

She wrapped her gloved hand around his elbow. "Thank you, my lord."

Celia looked at her brother as if he were a cat she'd caught licking the cream, a knowing, impish gleam in her eyes. This did not bode well for him; having his mischievous sister believing he fancied Miss Julia would only end in his aggravation—and God help him—her meddling.

He narrowed his gaze and gave a definitive shake of his head, hoping to convey how wrong her assessment was.

The hoyden smirked, taking Gulliver's free arm before winking at Charles.

Celia could not be correct. His ill mood had nothing to do with jealousy, nor desire for the dark-haired beauty. Charles fought the urge to look at Miss Julia as they all left the room for their meal.

C harles leaned back in his favorite plush velvet chair, a tumbler of Scotch in his hand. He'd never been so relieved to see a meal reach its end as he was this day. Mother had turned most of her attention to Gulliver, as he'd suspected she would, and Miss Julia conducted herself admirably; however, he'd spent the meal in utter disarray.

Celia took every opportunity to make faces and gestures at him. More than once, she'd caught him staring at Miss Julia, and raised her eyebrows in a most annoying way. If that were not off-putting enough, Gulliver continued to flirt with all three women throughout the meal.

By the time they'd finished the fish course, Charles wanted to challenge him to fisticuffs. He could no longer deny an interest in Miss Julia, for it certainly had been jealousy heating his blood. Regardless, he would have to find a way to get beyond his interest in the woman. She was Celia's companion. His employee. Besides, she was an innocent, and he had no desire to find himself caught in the parson's noose. He wanted to maintain his freedom to do as he pleased while he was young. There would be time enough for marriage and such once he'd sowed his wild oats.

Charles drained the tumbler and placed it on the silver tray beside him. Perhaps a visit with a willing widow would set his head back to rights. As it happened, he was well acquainted with one who happened to reside a short distance from Huntington Park. Less than thirty minutes on horseback would find him in her bed.

He made his way out of his private parlor, down the candlelit hall to the stairs, pausing after descending a few steps. Singing, or rather a whimsical humming, drifted from the ballroom below. Odd, as everyone should be abed at this late hour. What the devil was going on?

Was Mother giving late-night dancing lessons now? She had promised him to relinquish her duties as Miss Julia's teacher. His pulse increased in speed. Did no one under his roof respect him enough to follow his orders?

Charles made haste down the remaining steps and hall leading to the ballroom, the music growing louder as he drew nearer. Pausing in the doorframe, he leaned against the molding, captivated as Miss Julia moved across the waxed floor.

He could not take his gaze from her as she twirled and danced, her skirts fanning out about her ankles. Cast in candlelit and clad in white muslin, she appeared like an angel sent down from heaven.

With one arm arched over her head, she twirled closer to where he stood. Her posture perfect, eyes closed, a small grin bowing her pink lips. He could watch her all night without complaint. Hell, he would if he had any sense at all.

Ignoring his better judgment, Charles stepped into the room, clearing his throat. "The cotillion is best danced with a partner."

Miss Julia snapped her eyes open, freezing in place, her cheeks a becoming shade of pink. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I did not intend to interfere with anyone's slumber."

"You did not disturb me in any way." He drew closer and extended his hand. "Allow me."

She placed her hand in his, and without further delay, he led her into the steps of the dance. Not at all surprising, she was light on her feet and followed his lead without mishap. Taking her into his arms, he could hardly fight the pull between them.

What he would give to hold her all night. To taste and touch her. Bending his head close to her ear, he inhaled her intoxicating scent of jasmine and vanilla.

"You dance like an angel," he whispered, his breath stirring the fine hairs framing her face.

She tilted her head toward him, parting her lips.

Resolve crumbling, Charles brought his lips down on hers. A soft press of his flesh to hers.

Then, her arms came around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Nothing existed but her and him in this moment, together. He trailed his hand across her gown and down her back, relishing the tiny whimper of surrender that floated from her throat. Somewhere along the line, he'd fallen under her spell unaware.