Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

B irdsong flowing through an open window brought Julian out of his slumber. His hand tightened on Emily's and for a moment before opening his eyes, he simply savored the feel of her smooth skin. His fingers stroked the back of her hand. It turned over in his grip and he found himself touching the open palm. Turning his head, his eyes flickered open and he found himself gazing into the depths of hers. She smiled brightly, hair dark with sweat around her brow.

Two things of enormous significance struck him at the same instant. That her skin was cool to the touch, and that he was holding her hand without the protection of his gloves. That was when the memory crashed into his mind. He snatched his hand back involuntarily. Emily sat up, arms visibly shaking.

"My fever is gone," she began, "I am famished but I think I am on the mend."

"That cannot be… the curse…"

She shrugged, smiling. "Perhaps the curse is no more. Perhaps its potency has faded with time. Or perhaps it never existed in the first place?"

She added this last part gently, as though wishing to mock his belief in the curse but careful not to offend him.

Julian's brows drew down. He could not subscribe to her interpretation. The curse had been a reality for him for so long. Samuel's words came back to him then. Among the last words his brother had spoken to him before his untimely death…

" I have traveled the world, Will. And have never seen anything to make me believe in curses ," Julian murmured, softly. "My brother Samuel told me that when I was a boy."

"Wise words," Emily replied.

"But ultimately false . The curse took his life that very night after he insisted on holding my bare hands."

Emily sighed. "Could it not be that your brother died of natural causes? Or perhaps an illness he acquired in his travels? He would not be the first traveler to succumb to an illness unknown to our physicians."

Julian's eyes were sharp on her. "You are very perceptive. You seem to see much about my life and my past. Why can't I see yours?"

His words struck Emily as though they were a physical blow. Julian felt that blow in the tightening of her face, the slackness of her fingers, and the lowering of her gaze. All cut at him keenly.

He kicked aside the second chair with which he had constructed a makeshift bed and stood. Snatching his gloves from the bedside, he put them on, his armor against touch now complete. He denied his pain.

This was a woman he had known for the space of a day and two nights. An attractive woman who appeared to have ensnared him, putting hooks into his heart. There was no reason for pain. He did not know her and she had shown herself to be lying. Or at the very least, actively misleading him about her origins. She had mentioned Loughton Grange. He was vaguely aware of the property on the outskirts of Epping Forest.

"I'm sorry. I would not have lied to you if it weren't necessary to protect those who are innocent of any wrongdoing," Emily whispered plaintively.

Julian stopped in the act of walking to the door. He told himself to leave, that Emily was far better in the company of Molly, a servant of her own sex. But he could not bring himself to go. Part of him wanted to return to that glorious moment of awakening when he had been aware of nothing but the feel of her hand upon his. When the burden of memory had not yet settled back onto his shoulders, reminding him of the curse under which this beautiful, mysterious stranger was living.

His stomach clenched.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Emily was sitting up in bed, her nightdress clinging to her where sweat had rendered its opacity less than optimum. It hinted at the body beneath, at least as pale as her face. And even with the remnants of last night's sweat on her face, her beauty was remarkable indeed.

"I owe you the truth. You saved me," she stated.

"You owe me nothing, Emily. Your past is your own, as are your secrets. If you choose to share them, that is your prerogative," Julian replied, stiffly.

"I want to!" Emily cried.

Julian turned to face her, feeling the wall crumbling. Her eyes seemed to gaze into his soul, seeing past the gruff exterior that he showed to the world. He found that he wanted to know her more than anything. Wanted to know what had driven her to attempt to take her own life. To discover what despair wracked her soul so that he might attempt to relieve her of that burden.

Hovering for a heartbeat longer, he finally returned to his chair and sat with a deep huff. Emily cautiously reached out a hand to him and he took it. Immediately, the soft warmth of pleasure suffused him. He yearned to prolong that connection forever. It still felt wrong, however—the instinct to pull away and protect her from the curse was still strong. It was a taboo that he could not ever imagine being free of.

"My name is not Emily Granger. It is Ester Fairchild. My father is Percival Fairchild, Earl of Kendrick. My home is Kendrick Priory on the outskirts of Chester. Not that I will be able to go back there."

Her eyes filled with tears and Julian tightened his fingers around hers, wanting to communicate protection and comfort. She gave a weak smile, wiping her eyes.

"I am sorry. Sorry for getting upset and sorry for lying to you. No matter what you say, you deserve more as the man who saved my life. Though, in truth, I see little value worth saving."

"Do not say that!" Julian said fiercely. "Life is precious and to be clung to. It is all too easily snuffed out. Tell me, if you will, why you lied about your identity."

"It was to preserve my family's honor. My mother and father are good and decent people. They are well thought of in Cheshire. My father is a member of the Lords and a magistrate. My mother served on the board of a poor house and is known for her kindness and generosity. My sister makes her debut this year…."

"Forgive me, but this does not tell me why you are so keen to end your life or conceal your name. It seems you should be glad to be part of such honor," Julian said.

"I am... But there is a scandal which only my family knows of. It has not become public and to keep it from doing so, my family has been forced to relocate from one end of England to the other. To uproot their lives… all for me—because of a foolish mistake I made."

Silent tears flowed freely down her cheeks now. Julian moved from the chair to sit on the bed beside her. He pressed her hand to his lips, kissing her fiercely. It was inappropriate but her grief moved him to compassion. He could see the glimmer of truth now. This beautiful young woman was at the heart of a scandal. Her family rallied around her to protect her. She felt guilt at the necessity for this, and had attempted to go to extreme lengths to alleviate their burdens.

"I understand," he whispered, "you feel guilt at the demands that have been put upon your family. I too have guilt. It is a terrible weight and can be unbearable at times. There have been moments where I did not want to feel the weight of it any longer. Wanted to simply put that weight aside and rest. And there is only one means by which one can rest from guilt, isn't there?"

Ester nodded, eyes red with torment. Tenderly, Julian pressed her wrist to his lips, holding it there, willing his comfort into her.

"I couldn't bear it. I was humiliated. And exhausted. I had lied to everyone and all because of one stupid mistake!"

Julian wondered what the mistake was. But then what else could it be? A young and impressionable woman. A scandal. His mind found the solution all too readily. There were many men claiming the title of gentleman who had no right to it and they rarely looked as wicked and roguish as they were. Many women had been seduced by such men. Condemned by the morality of their society. Damned and judged.

"I'm glad you have told me the truth, Ester," Julian finally sighed, "and I do not judge. I understand why you lied. It must have been lonely, pretending to be someone else."

Ester nodded, gulping her sobs. Julian reached out impulsively to wipe away her tears, but she flinched from his touch. He let his hand fall. Despite her protestations that she could not be harmed anymore by the curse, she rejected his touch. At least when it was a more intimate touch than holding hands. He understood all too well and tried to repress the bitterness he felt at the rejection. It was her prerogative and he had no right to protest.

"It isn't the curse," Ester said suddenly, "I do not fear it. It is… something else…"

Julian frowned. "You do not have to lie any longer, Ester. Or to disguise your motives. I am well accustomed to such reactions—"

"I mean it!" Ester cried, sitting forward in the bed and seizing his hand. "I am not a liar… at least… not when there is no necessity… that is to say…"

She floundered and then clutched at the end of his glove. He clamped one hand over the other to prevent her from removing it. She glared at him defiantly, and then seized the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her, kissing him hard on the lips.

Julian's reason exploded.

He lost all sense of time and place, forgetting the day of the week and where he was. All that mattered was the feel of the warm lips against his own. They were soft, indescribably soft. She drew back, or tried to, but Julian pushed forward, taking her face in his hands. His fingers caressed her cheeks, then traced a path down her swan-like elegant neck. The kiss deepened for both of them, their bodies sinking together on the bed.

Julian's body acted of its own volition. He slid closer, crushing his chest against her breasts. The thin fabric of her nightdress clung to her like a second skin, damp from the remnants of her feverish night, molding to every soft curve. His fingers toyed with the neckline of her gown, brushing along the lace-edged border where her pale skin met the translucent fabric, tantalizingly close to the swell of her breasts.

Ester gasped softly beneath him, her breath a whisper against his lips, her eyes fluttering closed as her hands ventured boldly to his waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons. Her urgency matched his, each movement feverish, as if time itself had conspired against them. Julian knew he should stop, that the gulf between them—station, scandal, and superstition—loomed large. Yet the sensation of her beneath him, her warmth and fragility, made him reckless, tearing through the barriers of propriety and caution.

"Julian…" Her voice was a sigh, her lips trembling as his name passed through them like a prayer. He moved down to kiss the delicate hollow of her throat, feeling the soft pulse of her heartbeat beneath his mouth. Ester shuddered beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as though she might anchor herself to him.

He lifted his head, and their eyes met again, his breath hitching at the sight of her, flushed and desperate, a fallen angel in disarray. Her nightdress had slipped further down her shoulders, revealing more of her alabaster skin. The fabric clung suggestively to the curves that teased him with every breath she took.

But then came a knock at the door of the anteroom. Ester leaped away from him, scrambling backward on the bed. Julian sighed.

"Not now!" he shouted towards the outer door.

Ester jumped at the sudden noise. The anteroom door opened and Julian heard familiar footsteps. He jumped to his feet, straightening his shirt and waistcoat hastily. Crammond entered the room.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace. But the gentleman insisted."

Julian ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. The intercession had left Ester looking as though she were terrified of something. Perhaps the notion of being discovered in a compromising position? Then the butler's words hit him.

" Gentleman ? What gentleman?"

"The same gentleman who was scheduled to meet with you yesterday, Your Grace. A message was sent asking if he could attend tomorrow . That is today . He has obliged and awaits you."

"Ah, say no more. He always was the impatient type. Let Kingsley into the study and tell him that I will be down shortly," Julian remarked off-handedly with a wave.

Crammond nodded, then pivoted on his toes sophisticatedly and left the room.

Julian turned, his gaze locking with Ester's, a sardonic twist on his lips. "Pray, excuse my butler's behavior. Before your arrival, the conventions in this house were quite—"

"Kingsley?"

Her interruption sliced through the air, an unmistakable edge that made Julian's ears prick up.

"Ah, yes, the Viscount of Kingsley. An old friend of mine and a partner in many of my ventures. He is my eyes and ears in London, the face of our enterprise. Without his counsel, I would be lost."

For a fleeting instant, he could have sworn that he noticed a shadow of desolation flit across Ester's eyes. But then, her expression transformed, radiant with a smile so brilliant, he couldn't help but mirror it.

"I do not know the gentleman personally. It sounds like he is a good friend and trusted ally," she chimed.

"…He is that," Julian replied, wondering at the reaction and then thinking that perhaps he had simply imagined it all. "Would you mind terribly if I went to speak to him for just a moment? I will return forthwith."

"Nonsense, Julian. I wouldn't dream of intruding on your affairs. Take as long as you need. I must confess that I still feel somewhat weak. A few hours of sleep will do me the world of good."