All Things Beautiful (3 page)

Wolf laughed, a rich, genuine sound made all the more attractive by a flash of white teeth. “Oh, no sow’s ear, Lady Julia, but you do need a silk lining. I’ve mistresses who dress better than you.”

“Mistresses, Mr. Wolf? And now you are taking on the support of the Markhams? I wonder which will prove the more expensive.”

“Oh, the Markhams, I have no doubt. And perhaps the more entertaining, if the last hour is an indication.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Tell me, would your brother really drug you and sell you to a brothel?”

Julia’s cheeks burned with humiliation. So he
had
heard what Harry said. Well, she wasn’t going to back down or let him bait her. “There are some items I want included in the marriage contract.”

“I believe all this has been discussed and arranged with your father.” His voice was curt, impatient.

“Ah, but Kimberwood is entailed to me.”

“Ah, but as your husband I will have legal right to its rents.”

“Not if the marriage doesn’t take place. Trust me, Mr. Wolf, I have come up against my father before and won. I can do so again. Kimberwood is mine to sell, and I will never let you have it.”

Wolf leaned back in his chair and studied her. Defiantly, Julia stared back at him. She had no trouble maintaining her anger, since the cynical twist of his lips made him appear amused by her sense of bravado. Well, no cit was going to have the best of Julia Markham, no matter how formidable and dangerous he appeared. This time she was going to win.

“I believe you mean that,” he said at last. He
made a chiding
tsk
sound. “Harry will be very disappointed.”

“My brothers have lived with disappointment before.”

She had the satisfaction of catching the gleam of appreciation in his eyes for her retort and gained courage.

“Let us be plain spoken between us, Lady Julia. What is it you want? Pin money? A clothing allowance? My assurances that your extravagances will be tolerated?”

“I want a pension for Chester and Emma Beal and a place for them on Kimberwood.”

“A pension?”

“And I want you to include in my father’s portion of the contract that he will turn over to you all lands connected with Danescourt, including the rentals and responsibilities of the present tenants connected with those lands. The Markhams may keep the house, but I want the care of the tenants.”

Julia had the satisfaction of seeing Brader Wolf sit speechless for a moment while he digested her demands. Finally, he asked, “Is this all?”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes.”

“And if I don’t meet these—ah—requests?”

“Then I won’t marry you,” Julia answered, looking directly in his eyes, surprised that eyes which first looked so dark and fierce were actually a brown flecked with gold…and humor. He was enjoying this interview. She found herself wondering
what his eyes would look like crinkled with laughter.

“And if I meet your demands, what have you to offer in return?”

Startled, Julia blinked at him. His question caught her completely unprepared. “I…I will be a good and—ah—docile wife to you—”

“A wife I don’t need,” Wolf stated flatly. “Nor would anyone believe Julia Markham could be docile to save her soul. The reputation you have created lingers.”

Julia’s spine stiffened. She wasn’t about to be lectured on morals by a man who didn’t know her. A man who boasted of mistresses—in the plural! Fortunately, she kept her silence.

“But I do want Kimberwood,” Wolf said, rising from his chair and walking around the desk toward her. He stopped, standing so close they were practically toe to toe. Julia, a tall woman by society’s standards, felt dwarfed by his presence towering over her.

She stood silent and proud, studying the negligent way he tied his cravat. She’d spent too long on the marriage mart not to know when a man was judging the appearance and worth of a woman. She knew her cheeks were tinged with rosy indignation. Hopefully, it heightened her color and made her more attractive. The futures of the Beals, and others for whom she had come to care deeply, depended upon this man’s agreeing to her demands.

This close to him, she caught the fragrance of sandal wood and the shaving soap he favored. If she leaned forward, her breasts would touch him. The unexpected direction of her thoughts surprised her, especially when her breasts tingled in response to this new awareness. What would it be like to be in this man’s embrace—or his marriage bed?

The answer to the last question did not seem as distasteful as she had assumed before meeting her future husband.

“What is it you want?” he had asked earlier. And Julia found herself thinking of the other way she could have answered his question. What would he say if he knew her innermost secret desire? The desire she dared not voice to Brader Wolf, her family, or any other human—was the desire for a child, a babe of her own to love and nurture, a babe to give all the love she had never had in this world. She wanted a chance to start over.

Wolf stepped back, drawing her attention to him. “Done, Lady Julia, done. Although Danescourt is heavily mortgaged. Oh, yes,” he said to her unspoken question, anticipating it accurately, “I’ve had a thorough accounting of all Markham’s holdings. To meet your requests will cost me a pretty penny.”

Julia had to blink back a tear. She had succeeded. She had gambled and won. Her voice filled with gratitude, she said, “And I will most certainly be in your debt, Mr. Wolf. You will never be sorry you married me.”

“We’ll see about that, Lady Julia. However, an act of good faith is necessary.”

“Please, whatever you wish.”

“I wish to announce and celebrate our engagement at a ball.”

Panic welled up inside her. Julia fought the emotion down and answered stiffly, “I don’t go out in society, Mr. Wolf, and I believe you know why.”

“It is of no matter to me, Lady Julia. Since I lack a hostess, I will expect your mother and yourself to manage all the details. My secretary, Hardwell, will assist you.”

“But I don’t go out in society, Mr. Wolf,” Julia repeated, hoping he didn’t detect the hint of shakiness in her voice.

“An act of good faith, my lady. And I have one more request.”

“Which is?” She hoped it was easier than his first.

“You offered yourself as a docile wife, and upon reflection a docile wife is exactly what I need. I want your promise that you will never countermand one of my decisions or reject one of my requests when put to you in public.”

“Why do I feel you are laughing at me, Mr. Wolf?”

He adopted an air of wounded innocence that set her teeth on edge. “You don’t understand, Lady Julia. I merely want a docile wife, a helpmate for my golden years…as you promised.”

Julia bit back a tart rejoinder. Was he laughing
at her? She gave him a hard stare, speaking volumes with her eyes before giving a curt nod of her head. “Agreed, Mr. Wolf. You can rest assured that I will not mistreat my husband in public.”

Wolf laughed, the rich sound ringing through the office.

She lifted her chin. “I didn’t know it was so easy to afford you amusement, Mr. Wolf.”

“Normally it isn’t, Lady Julia. Normally it isn’t. I will see you have a line of credit in your name in order to prepare for the ball. Plan the wedding however you wish. I bow to your decisions, but I want the whole matter settled in three weeks’ time.”

He turned to leave when, on impulse, Julia reached out and caught the superfine material of his sleeve. The physical action surprised him. Wolf’s gaze looked down at the hand touching him before traveling up her arm and to her face. A dark eyebrow rose in askance.

Suddenly shy, Julia removed her hand, although it did not feel unpleasant to touch him or feel the movement of muscle under the cloth. His coat did not need to be padded like Harry’s.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she looked straight into his dark eyes. “I want to assure you that I intend to honor my vows to you.” She felt her face flood with color but forced herself to continue. “I will endeavor to be a good wife to you in every—” She faltered, but finished, “In every way…Brader.” His name felt new and exotic on her lips.

The corner of Wolf’s mouth quirked cynically to one side. “That won’t be necessary…Julia. Don’t prize yourself too highly. Kimberwood is what I want, not you.” He lifted her hand and turned it palm side up. His finger traced the faint scars at her wrists before he added, his voice soft and slightly menacing, “And if you ever decide to attempt suicide again, cut here, and”—his manicured nail traveled up her arm to the crease—“cut here. That method is more effective.”

Julia jerked her hand away from him and without a second’s hesitation slapped him, her hand smacking soundly against the side of his strong jaw. The sound reverberated in the room.

“I don’t believe we could be considered in public now, could we,
Mr.
Wolf?” Julia ground out. “I will send my father in to you.” Not waiting for his answer, she sailed over to the door and threw it open.

His laughter followed her out of the room.

N
othing was going as planned, Julia thought, as she stood in the receiving line the evening of her ball. Gently, she traced her fingers over the smooth kid of her gloves, which concealed the scars at her wrists, the gesture reminding her to be strong, be brave.

Wolf had not been on hand to welcome the Markhams to his home, Foulkes Hall. Hardwell, offering Wolf’s apologies, explained that Mr. Wolf had been detained by a business meeting. He pointedly ignored the “again” that Julia murmured under her breath.

Indeed, the last appointment Wolf kept with her or any other Markham had been in the solicitor’s office two weeks ago. Business apparently consumed every aspect of this man’s life—including his choice of a wife!

Such inattention didn’t bother Lord and Lady Markham. Ordering Wolf’s servants as if they were their own, Lord Markham and three of his four
sons, Harry, Lionel, and James, the latter two recently returned from life abroad, had enjoyed several bottles of port before the guests arrived. Lady Markham, basking in what she termed the “family tragedy,” proceeded to hound Hardwell while ordering the servants to meet her slightest whim.

Left alone with her thoughts and her fears, Julia cooled her heels in the foyer, hoping to have a private word with Wolf. Her hopes were high for this evening. Julia Markham was not to be treated like some troublesome commodity he was saddled with as a result of a business transaction.

With that goal in sight, she’d swallowed her pride and spent a good amount of the “pin money” Wolf had had Hardwell place in her name on the dress she was wearing. Designed by Madame Jacqueline, the most exclusive and expensive dressmaker in London, the Empire-style gown with its sapphire velvet bodice and flowing silk and lace skirt set her figure off to perfection. The touch of vivid color on an unmarried woman was daring, but Madame pointed out that Julia was betrothed…and past the first blush of youth.

Julia didn’t remember fashion dictating so much cleavage. Madame convinced her the low neckline was high style, and Julia had agreed in the solitude of the dressing room. Now, preparing to be reintroduced into society, she regretted her decision. She didn’t dare lean forward—or present herself to an Anglican minister! Or had she been buried in the country too long, as Madame claimed?

Since she owned no jewels, her mother’s dresser loosely threaded gold ribbon through her glossy dark curls, arranged
à la grecque.
The style gave the impression that one pull of the ribbon and her hair would fall in a glorious mass to her waist, an effect more arresting than diamonds. Even her brothers had stopped their bickering to stare when Julia descended the stairs to leave from home.

She’d dearly love to see Wolf stopped speechless at the sight of her or, at the very least, express sorrow over not visiting her over the past fortnight. Her hopes for a few moments of triumph were interrupted by Lady Markham, who breezed into the foyer and ordered everyone assembled and into a receiving line.

The first guest set the tone. A merchant king and his wife, barely civil to Lady Markham, whose behavior was no better, snubbed Julia outright, to the amusement of Lionel, standing next to her. When the merchant covertly turned back for a second look at Julia, Lionel leaned close. “Well, if Wolf doesn’t come up to snuff, you may have found another protector.”

Her hand itched to slap him. Instead she lightly tapped the scars on her other wrist. Be strong; be brave. Julia could almost hear Chester whispering the words to her. Have courage. She lifted her chin. She’d brazen this evening out.

The number of guests from the
ton
was surprising—or not surprising, if one remembered how much society enjoyed a good scandal. The
day after the announcement of her betrothal to Wolf, the gossip sheets had buzzed with a rehash of the details of “the scandalous behavior of a certain Lady J.” Hardwell assured Lady Markham that Wolf would shut the hounds up. And true to his word, not another mention of the “incident” appeared in any of the tattlers the next day.

What manner of man was she marrying who could command both the gossip sheets and the House of Lords to do his bidding?

And what could he want with Kimberwood that would make marrying a Markham palatable?

As guest after important guest arrived, Lady Markham basked in the success of the ball. Her shrill voice carried up the receiving line, mixing with the drunken bon mots of her father and brothers.

Please, Lord, see me through this night and I will never,
never
display an inch of cleavage again, Julia prayed, with her most gracious smile plastered to her face, ignoring the leers of the gentlemen and the scorn of their ladies. She wished herself in virginal white sackcloth and ashes, up to her neck! Or better yet, she wished herself invisible—

“Julia, please tell me you forgive me.” Peter Jamison grabbed both her hands in his, startling her from her catechism and catching her off guard.

Peter looked wretched. He needed a shave, some sleep…and a bath, she added, as she caught a strong whiff of him. She could smell the sweet and sour fumes of brandy on his breath.

Instinctively, Julia started to pull her hands away and then stopped. All eyes down the receiving line watched them. Peter had broken his way through the herd of people to reach her. Conscious of the sudden quietness in the reception room, Julia’s mind raced frantically. How should she handle Peter? “Peter, what is there to forgive?” She laughed lightly, as if sharing a jest, while gently trying without success to pry her hands from his.

Sinking to his knees, Peter reverently kissed her palm. He turned bloodshot eyes up toward Julia and hoarsely whispered, “Forgive me, please, Julia.”

Forced to bend down toward him, Julia pleaded under her breath. “Peter, don’t do this to me. Please.” In as normal a voice as possible, and feeling a complete fool, she asked, “Is Arabella with you tonight?”

“No.” His voice filled with such emotion, Julia had a sudden fear he would start crying. “She refused to witness your humiliation. See what I have done to you, Julia!” Peter’s voice picked up volume, attracting more witnesses than Julia wanted to this scene. “I have sacrificed you to that devil. Forgive me, please, forgive me.”

“You are being melodramatic, Peter.” She quietly enunciated each word, hoping to reach his reason and his pride. She hated the growing number of people ogling them and eavesdropping on their conversation. “I forgave you years ago. Now let me have Hardwell see you home.”

“No. Not until you agree to come with me. Let me save you, Julia. Let me take care of you.”

Julia was horrified. Peter went on, apparently caught up in the emotion of too much brandy.

“Leave with me now, Julia. I can’t live tormented by the knowledge that you will belong to that monster.”

Lionel, standing next to her and clearly enjoying the scene, spoke up. “A monster, Peter? Come now, that is doing it too brown. Wolf’s no monster. Close-fisted, maybe, but no monster.” His eyes dancing, he stage-whispered to his sister, “Julia, I am always amazed at the number of men who throw themselves at your feet.”

“Will you help me with him?” Julia snapped at Lionel.

At that moment, Peter stiffened. His face draining of all color, he stared past Julia’s shoulder and rose unsteadily.

Brader Wolf had arrived. Without turning, Julia sensed his presence. The footmen stood straighter and the guests stirred, reacting to the aura of power that surrounded their host.

Lionel and James, who had never met their benefactor, gaped openly at the large man who filled the hall.

He stood directly behind her. Julia’s senses were alerted by the fresh scent of sandalwood, the brush of his breath upon her bare shoulder, and the tight grip Peter had on her hand.

“Is there a problem?” Wolf’s voice was silky and
deep with the barest hint of irritation. Peter’s fingers sprang open, releasing Julia’s hand. She turned toward Wolf.

Elegant black evening attire became him, adding exactly the sinister air alluded to by Peter. “The devil,” Peter had named him, and indeed, Julia could easily imagine Brader Wolf in the role.

She met the question in his eyes with a cool lift of her chin. She’d done nothing of which she was ashamed. “Peter was worried about Arabella, Brader,” Julia lied smoothly, placing a slight emphasis on Wolf’s given name for Peter’s sake. Regardless of Peter’s fears, Julia would honor the betrothal. She held no other option.

“She isn’t here tonight?”

Peter started to say something, but Julia diplomatically cut him off. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

“I am sorry to hear that your wife is ill, Lord Carberry.” There wasn’t a hint of regret on Wolf’s features, or of belief, and Julia found herself wondering what Peter held against Brader Wolf—especially since he had spoken for Wolf to her parents.

Sudden blinding realization told her Peter had not spoken for Wolf by his own volition. Julia took a deep breath to steady herself. A Markham understood subterfuge. Perhaps it was Wolf who held the aces on Peter? She needed time to think on this new suggestion, but first she needed to remove Peter. Her voice soft, she suggested, “Perhaps you should return to Arabella, Peter. I am sure she would appreciate your company.”

Peter mutely nodded his head. He didn’t look well. She recognized an act of desperation and wondered what drove him. She slid a considering look toward her betrothed. What role did Brader Wolf play in Peter’s problem?

“Yes.” Peter’s acceptance sounded like a resignation. “Yes, I should return to my wife.” He turned away, checking himself a moment when he realized that the three of them were the focus of attention for all in the receiving room. Mentally and physically Peter straightened himself, gave a short bow to his host, and left through the front door.

“Was he planning to be your St. George?” Wolf’s low voice brushed her ear.

She squared her shoulders. “Do you feel I have need of one?” she countered tartly. “Good evening to you, sir. We are all grateful you have decided to grace us with your presence—finally.”

He feigned regret. “And here I feared to interrupt an important conversation. Don’t tell me Lady Julia’s tired of making conquests?”

A blaze of anger flashed through her so hot and molten, she forgot all her plans to impress her future husband with beauty and charm. “Don’t pretend you’ve overtaxed your brain over me through the past two weeks,” she shot back. “If I had known I was expected to stand in this line alone, I would have dampened my skirts to really give your guests a thrill.”

“You mean you didn’t?” Wolf pretended shock. “Everything else you have is amply displayed.”

Julia’s mouth dropped open. She fought the strong urge to double her fists and punch him right in his arrogant nose.

Wolf accurately read her thoughts. “Don’t even think it,” he warned. “I will not have you creating a further scene in front of my guests. Nor will I spend the rest of my life stepping over lovesick puppies.”

“Are you my judge, jury, and hangman, Mr. Wolf?” Julia carefully kept her voice low, her smile social, even managing to move closer to her betrothed. For all the world to see, they were a happy couple. She hoped she seared his body with her anger. “As for your guests, they may say what they will. I answer to my own conscience.”

Wolf matched her, false smile for false smile. “Brader.”

“What?”

“My name is Brader. If we are going to see this charade of a marriage through, you must call me Brader. Or are you planning to use my Christian name only when searching for protection from unwanted swains?”

At that moment, James and Lionel engaged in wine-soaked laughter at some witticism expressed by Harry at the expense of a heavy woman in green brocade making her appearance at the doorway. Wolf’s eyes narrowed with the keen piercing gaze of an eagle spotting prey. “Harry I know, but who are those other men?”

She took a deep breath. “They are my brothers, Lionel and Jamie.”

“Those rumpots are what I paid good coin to have returned to England?”

Julia enjoyed delivering the coup de grâce. “Those rumpots are your future brothers-in-law.”

His eyes glowed with an unholy light.

Never one to cry coward, Julia continued mercilessly, “But there is still my brother Geoffrey. He’s presently residing in a Greek prison. If we can believe Lionel, Geoff was caught in some affair involving the daughter of a prosperous merchant.” She opened her eyes wide with innocence. “Oh, dear me, I forgot. Lionel says you may even count yourself an uncle soon if the merchant and the authorities manage to get Geoff in the same room with a parson.”

Wolf’s jaw turned stone hard. He snapped his finger, and a footman instantly answered his summons. With a word from Wolf, and before Julia could blink, her brothers were removed from the receiving line. So neatly was the job done that Lord Markham turned to say a word to Harry and found him gone.

“Where did you have them taken?”

Wolf gave her a sanguine eye as he dusted off a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I have no idea what Hardwell will do with them, but I have infinite faith in his ability to think of some suitable place.”

“Are you always so autocratic?”

He smiled. “Yes. Always.” He leaned closer. “And you would be wise to remember that fact.”

His words were serious, but there was a teasing light in his eyes that Julia found mesmerizing. She gave her head a little shake to keep her mind on her objective. Her goal this night was to conquer him, not vice versa.

“Come,” he said, offering his arm. “Let us start the dancing, or this evening will go on forever.”

Julia placed her hand lightly on his arm, feeling the flex of muscles beneath her fingertips. And there was the slightest bump to his strong aquiline nose that hinted to its having once been broken. Wolf was far from a bookish trader. More pieces to the puzzle.

Someday soon, I will have the answer to all your riddles, Brader Wolf, Julia silently promised before sliding a look of flirting challenge toward him from beneath her lashes. “You dance, sir? And here I thought you had room in your life only for ledgers, statements, and contracts.”