Chapter 20

Julian was late for his own supper party.

He finished buttoning the falls of his trousers on that sour thought.

How had it come to this? How was he hosting a supper party on this of all nights, anyway?

Tonight was a night when he got sauced to the gills and sought blackout oblivion. He'd been doing it for years. Rake would come by—later and with no expectation of a formal meal—and see him through to the morning with a second or third decanter of whiskey.

And that was this day done.

Would she have liked you feeling pity for yourself?

The memory of those words pulled a flinch, even as a defensive note still echoed through him. What did Tessa know of it, anyway? She knew loss, yes, but not like his.

Yet, another feeling had been expanding through him since their conversation…

You could give her the birthday she wants.

That…the very idea of it…sparked a feeling inside him…A good feeling, which was an emotion he'd never associated with this day. It had always been a day of grief—of getting through. But…

What if it could be something else?

What if Clarissa's birthday could be a day of joy?

Of…celebration?

His mind couldn't comprehend all that would mean or entail—it needed time to brew—but the idea had him between its teeth and would be working on him for a while, for it had conjured another feeling—one fragile and easily scared away…

Hope.

He reached for his cravat, and the back of his hand brushed the whiskey decanter. It remained at the halfway mark—exactly where it had been during his conversation with Tessa. He hadn't taken another sip since, and felt himself to be sober, mostly.

And shockingly uninterested in taking another gulp.

Once he'd finished dressing, he grabbed the decanter and left the dressing room to join his guests. He'd lost all use for the whiskey clutched in his hand but didn't want to return to his bedroom to find it there later.

A mixture of voices met his ear in the corridor outside the drawing room. Rake…his new bride Gemma…and Tessa. His next heartbeat delivered a wave of relief and that new, fragile feeling, too—hope.

All eyes shifted toward him the instant he entered the room. Tessa assessing…Gemma smiling…Rake wary. His friend's gaze immediately fell and landed on the decanter. Rake expected him to be completely foxed.

Julian strode to the whiskey cart and nonchalantly deposited the decanter before saying with his best charming smile, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Rake and Tessa held similar quizzical cants to their heads, but Gemma returned his smile. "Not at all," she said pleasantly.

From Rake and Tessa's twin expressions, they remained unconvinced. They hadn't expected him like this—sober.

Or mostly so.

"Now." He crossed the room and extended a hand toward Rake. "I believe congratulations are in order on your marriage."

Rake stood, and they gave each other manly claps on the back. As Julian kissed Gemma's hand, he said, "I wish you every happiness and all the luck in the world"—a jut of the chin toward Rake—"with that one."

Rake snorted. The wariness hadn't entirely receded from his eyes, but it was fading fast. He still didn't know what to make of this Julian on this day.

That made two of them.

This was unknown territory for him. His steps held a slight ambivalence as he ventured forth, but he was finding he didn't mind it.

"It'll be Gemma keeping me on my toes," said Rake. "I can assure you."

Julian rather suspected it would—and that Rake wouldn't have it any other way.

"We were just discussing The Archangel," said Gemma. "I was about to ask Lady Tessa which game was her favorite."

Rake caught Julian's gaze with an easily interpretable question in his eye. What in the blazes is Lady Tessa Calthorp doing at Nonsuch?

Yes, well, one would have that question.

And Rake would have to settle for not getting the answer.

"That's easy," said Tessa. "Hazard."

"Like a toss of the dice, do you?" asked Rake.

Julian heard the protective note in his friend's voice. One who preferred Hazard was a certain type of person, to put it delicately. The type of person Rake had no use for.

"And why is that, Lady Tessa?" asked Gemma, instinctively smoothing over her husband's rough edge. Julian saw how they fit together as a couple.

"Hazard earns The Archangel the most blunt on any given night," answered Tessa, a slight sneering curl to her mouth. "Naturally, it's my favorite."

As a delighted laugh escaped Gemma, Julian watched Tessa rise in Rake's estimation by several degrees.

"Shall we dine?" asked Julian.

Thankfully, when they walked into the cavernous dining room, every surface polished to a high shine reflecting the light of four fully lit crystal chandeliers, Julian saw the capable Mrs. Morningstar had instructed the table be set all to one end. Otherwise, as the table seated thirty, they would be shouting the evening's conversation from one end to the other. As master of the house, he was seated at the head. Mrs. Morningstar must've decided Tessa was the guest of honor, for she was seated to his right. And since they were newlyweds, Mrs. Morningstar had seated Rake and Gemma side by side, to his left.

Rake held up a glass of water and opened the conversation. "To your win at the Derby."

Julian nodded and drank. "Filthy Habit is a right goer, and Smithwick gave him a good ride." He settled back in his chair as a footman set a bowl of soup before him. He met Gemma's gaze. "Your brother is an impressive jockey himself."

A competitive glint sparked within her eye. "He'll be riding Hannibal in the Race of the Century."

Rake snorted. "That's the small talk all finished."

But Gemma wasn't. "Don't want you getting a hope in your heart about poaching him, is all."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Julian, a smile curling about his mouth.

Gemma snorted. She didn't believe him, and why should she? Horse racing wasn't for the timid of spirit. Bold moves characterized the sport as much off the turf, as on.

"Speaking of the Race of the Century," said Rake, nonchalant, as if he weren't bursting to speak on the subject. "The field is nearly all set. Just leaves the St. Leger to be run, and that'll be that."

"Bruising race, the St. Leger," said Gemma.

"Any race in Yorkshire would be," said Julian. "Men from the north have a reputation to uphold."

A snort from Rake.

From the corner of his eye, Julian stole a glance at Tessa. She appeared content to observe the conversation, rather than engage with it. Still, there were moments when he could feel the heat of her gaze on the side of his face.

"And how is Artemis faring in the north?" asked Julian, testing the ground.

The fact was Rake was one of his oldest friends, but so, too, was his younger sister. And last time Julian had seen Artemis, she'd been in a bad way.

"She has the horse sanctuary now," said Rake, tightly.

"Oh, it's not limited to horses, mind you," said Gemma. "The locals have learned they can leave any animal, and Artemis will take them in."

She didn't speak with a scold, but rather with a great deal of respect. Julian remembered that about Gemma. She had a special bond with animals. When Hannibal wouldn't let anyone on his back, she'd been the one who had found a way.

Still, he sensed something unspoken about Artemis. "I figured she would have a horse in the running for the St. Leger, seeing as how the racecourse is only a stone's throw from Endcliffe Grange."

Rake and Gemma shot each other a look. A look confident it knew precisely what was in the other's mind. A look only an in-love couple could exchange.

A look that unleashed an arrow of envy straight through Julian.

Again, he felt the heat of Tessa's gaze. Except this time when he turned, she didn't avoid him. She'd seen that look, too, and known it for what it was. That was what her eyes were telling him.

And it struck him full in the chest with no small amount of irony.

That look…

He and Tessa were sharing it now.

"Artemis has vowed notto race again," came the Duke of Rakesley's unhappy voice.

Somehow, Tessa made herself tear her gaze away from Julian and rejoin the surface conversation that had nothing to do with the deeper conversation that was occurring between them with their eyes.

"Dido left her in a bad way," said the duchess.

Tessa cleared her throat of any telling rasp and asked, "Dido?"

"Dido was Artemis's prized Thoroughbred," supplied Julian. "A real goer."

"I wasn't about to admit it at the time," said Rakesley, "but I expected Dido to take the Triple Crown this season."

There were solemn nods all around.

"But…" Rakesley sighed, helpless to the immutable facts of the past.

"Her first race was the Two Thousand Guineas," said Julian. "She was leading the entire race."

"I'm not sure she even broke a sweat," Rakesley cut in.

"I didn't have a hope of catching her," said the duchess.

"Then in the last furlong, she fell."

"Fell?"

"And didn't get up again."

"It was her heart." The devastation of that day was writ plain upon the duchess's face all these months later. "It gave out."

"An occurrence not as rare as one would like," said Rakesley. "Most of the time, heart defects are detected before race day, and those horses can be put to other uses. But…"

"But sometimes, the problem outs on race day," said Julian.

Silence descended as servants set the table with the fish course. Tessa knew little about the world of horse racing, but she could see the genuine pain and respect these three had for the animals. She'd only seen the sport from the tawdry moneygrubbing angle, never from this side.

A sparkle entered the duchess's eye. "But there is a horse up in Yorkshire."

Julian's head whipped around. "What horse?"

Tessa couldn't completely suppress the smile that wanted out. Oh, horse folk…

"You know the stories," said Rakesley, dismissive. "Everyone's always banging on about lost Arabians and Thoroughbreds up in the wilds of Yorkshire."

The duchess shook her head and finished chewing her bite of food. "I've seen the horse. His name is Radish."

Julian's eyebrows shot together. "Radish? Who names their Thoroughbred Radish?"

The duchess held up her finger while she finished another bite of fish. She knew this answer, too. "Sir Abstrupus Bottomley, that's who."

"Should I know him?"

Rakesley shook his head. "Eccentric old neighbor. Nothing Artemis can't handle."

"Is this Sir Abstrupus racing Radish?"

"That's the question of the day," said the duchess. "Not if Artemis has a say."

Rakesley met Tessa's inquisitive gaze. "My sister has the will of a Roman legion once she digs her heels in for a fight." He smiled. "I'm happy to see it. For a while there, I was worried."

The duchess reached out and squeezed her husband's hand. Tessa glanced over to see that Julian noticed the small act of intimacy, too.

"Little Wicked is a fast little filly and likes the longer courses," said Julian. "She might take the St. Leger if Deverill chooses to race her there."

"Which he will," said the duchess, sounding none too pleased. She turned toward Tessa. "According to some"—she shot her husband a playful glance—"Deverill doesn't have any business owning a Thoroughbred, because he doesn't know horses."

"All true," said Rakesley.

"Further, he doesn't exercise proper judgment about when to race her."

"He races her on back-to-back days," said Rakesley. "No judgment whatsoever."

"In Deverill's defense," said Julian, "the filly has the energy of ten horses. She seems to love it out there. With its few extra furlongs, the St. Leger will be her sort of race."

Rakesley shrugged. "I'll give you that Doncaster is a broad, galloping course, like Newmarket, but there are the Yorkshire weather conditions to consider, too. Half the years, it's the mudders who take the St. Leger."

"If Little Wicked takes the St. Leger, that'll be just four horses in the Race of the Century."

Everyone appeared to have the same thought at once. A one in four chance of winning, instead of one in five—shortened odds.

"Of course," said Julian, "you're aware Lady Tessa's brother, the Duke of Acaster, is an investor in the Race of the Century with the Duke of Richmond."

Tessa couldn't say she liked the experience of the room's attention shifting in her direction. "We've met your brother, actually," said the duchess.

Tessa felt her brow lift. "Oh?"

"Oh, yes, at the Great Yarmouth racecourse several weeks back," she continued. "He was with his, erm…" The rest of the sentence seemed to get tangled in her mouth.

"Future duchess," provided Rakesley, with so faint a whiff of irony that it almost might not have been there.

But Tessa caught it.

Lover.

Gabriel and Celia would've been lovers then—everyone in this room knew it.

Tessa wasn't one to avoid a subject when it needed going at directly. "I think we can all agree my brother and his future duchess had a short and unconventional courtship."

Tessa wasn't apologizing for Gabriel's unconventional courtship and marriage to Celia. There was nothing to apologize for. Gabriel and Celia were blissfully happy and well suited.

The duchess turned a mischievous smile onto her husband. "Rake and I are certainly no strangers to a short and unconventional courtship, are we, dearest?" she asked, all innocence. "I was your jockey, after all."

Tessa was no prude and certainly no snob, but if the duchess had been looking to shock, she'd achieved her goal. A laugh, irreverent for the elevated company at the table, bubbled up and she was just able to swallow it back. However, the next instant, it spilled over. Then the duchess joined her, and it didn't feel so wrong anymore. And even less wrong when the duke joined in. Then Julian was smiling and a laugh, deep and genuine, rumbled from his chest.

And it struck Tessa for all they'd shared, they'd never shared this—slightly inappropriate laughter that was utterly and completely lost to joy. The magic and intimacy of such laughter felt wonderful as it soaked into her.

It felt right.

On the wave of collective laughter, Julian stood and lifted his glass of water. The smile on his face…It was one she'd never seen from him. It wasn't the golden-lord-of-the-ton smile. It was free and from within.

This smile wasn't for anyone else.

It simply was.

"On Clarissa's eighth birthday," he began, laughter still in his voice, "Father woke her up at dawn and led her straight out to the stables. She was wearing her nightgown, but Mrs. Morningstar insisted she pull on her boots." He chuckled wryly. "Of course, I wasn't too far behind, Clarissa's little shadow that I was. Anyway, when we got to the stable yard, there was a groom holding the reins of a chestnut pony. Clarissa's scream of delight must've echoed all the way up to Shetland as she flew across the cobbles and introduced herself to the pony and immediately named him King Arthur—the Knights of the Round Table being our particular favorite nighttime stories. Then she mounted King Arthur and refused to get down for the entire day."

Rakesley smiled. "I remember your father escorting them into the house to take her birthday meal."

A shocked laugh escaped the duchess. "A horse at the dining table?"

Julian's smile increased with the memory. "Oh, yes. Father got a grand old laugh from it. He even handfed birthday cake to King Arthur."

"What happened to King Arthur after…," began Tessa, the rest of the question dying a quick death in her mouth. What was she thinking by asking such a question?

"Father couldn't bear the sight of him," said Julian, his voice taking on the familiar flat quality that struck a warning signal through Tessa. "So, he gave King Arthur to a local family." One could hear that second loss in his voice all these years later. "But," he continued, "he was a sweet, little pony, and I'm certain he brought immeasurable delight to the family who took him in."

A sudden onslaught of tears filled Tessa's eyes. "A legacy of Clarissa that lived on."

Julian nodded. "Indeed." His smile turned wistful. "If it weren't for the portrait of her, I'm not sure I'd remember her face. But I remember her smile and her laugh. She liked to laugh. So, I propose on this day of her birth that we celebrate Clarissa, rather than mourn her." His gaze slid toward Tessa. "The mourning has gone on too long." He lifted his glass. "To Clarissa."

"Here, here," said Rakesley.

The duchess swiped a tear away. "To Clarissa."

Tessa joined the toast, impressed by Julian. Just as he had all his life, he was doing his best—and his best tonight was profound.

He was attempting to break free of the shackles that had been binding him all these years. In truth, she didn't know if he could fully. His family and all their tragedies were no small thing of the past. They shadowed him every moment of every day. But perhaps he was willing to try a different way of navigating them.

And that meant something.

It wasn't long after the toast that Rakesley and the duchess spoke their farewells. The duke met Tessa's gaze for a full five meaningful seconds, his message clear—he was leaving Julian in her hands. She gave a discreet nod, and within a minute, it was only her and Julian and they were walking side by side without touching, through the castle until they reached her bedroom door.

"Do you need someone to stay with you tonight?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Disappointment sheered through her. She'd thought he would've escorted her to, well, his bedroom.

Her body wasn't taking the disappointment lightly.

She could see he was deep in his mind. Tonight had represented a complete revolution in his thinking. He needed time to allow it to steep and soak in.

She nodded her acceptance of this and shut the bedroom door behind her. But she'd barely undressed and slipped into bed before she was tossing about, unable to sleep.

It was Julian.

She needed to see him—see he was all right with her own eyes. She could sleep in a chair in the corner. She didn't need to share his bed.

She needed him to know he had a friend.

In his bedroom, she found him in bed, flat on his back, hands behind his head, chest bare, coverlet at his waist, staring at the ceiling.

He turned and met her gaze in the moonlight. "Come here."

She slipped into his bed, and he reached out and took her in his arms.

The kiss was slow and thorough, the sort of kiss that reached deep and could steal one's soul, if one wasn't careful. And the thing was—Tessa didn't feel like being careful.

In truth, pure intentions hadn't been her sole motivation for coming to his room—and here was the truth out. She needed his large, masculine hands on her…his mouth on hers…

"Oh, Tessa," he spoke against her lips, "my body is a temple of ache for you."

She moved so her body pressed against the length of his. How she loved the feel of his rough, calloused hands moving on her skin. The fact was she'd become addicted to this man.

She didn't only want to solve him.

She wanted him.

Though she'd become obsessed with many a mathematical equation brought home from Eton and Cambridge, she'd never once wanted to tup one.

Julian had introduced her to the novel idea that before the needs of the mind came the needs of the body.

On a pained moan, he broke away, panting. "I know how to do this—pleasure you."

A smile tipped about her mouth. "Indeed, you do, my lord."

He didn't return her smile. "But I don't know how not to do this."

His eyes searched hers, hoping to find understanding.

And she did.

How easily they could fall into established pattern and make love.

But, tonight, Julian was striving for a new pattern.

What was happening within him—and between them—was delicate and required careful handling.

New…fragile…uncertain…

"I don't know how to do this."

Be with another person, he didn't have to say the words.

They both heard them.

She delivered one final kiss to his lips before slipping from the bed. She hesitated. He was so beautiful in the moonlight. "This Monday night," she began. "I'll be at Vauxhall Gardens with my sisters."

"Would you like me to be there?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall be."

As she made her way to her own bed, a feeling, bright and ephemeral, glittered through her.

Hope.

The words she and Julian had spoken—even the ones left unspoken—felt like a beginning.

As it had so many times this last week, her hand brushed across her stomach. Still, her menses hadn't come.

Another beginning—perhaps.

The thought she'd kept tucked in the back of her mind remained there—for now left uncertain.

But that possibility was, in truth, a welcome one to her.

And for the beautiful man she'd left lying in the moonlight, it wasn't.

Right.