Julia London 4 Book Bundle (126 page)

“Ouch!” he exclaimed, and watched through something of a haze as Kerry scampered down the corridor to her suite. When her door had shut quietly behind her, he turned slowly and reluctantly headed in the opposite direction.

He dreamed of their lovemaking that night, of her above him on the bench of the gazebo, her eyes a watery shade of blue, glistening with her pleasure as she reached her climax. And then Phillip appeared, strolling in a circle around the gazebo. The moon sent a shaft of eerie light through the hole in his chest when he passed the western fagade. With his hands clasped behind his back, Phillip shook his blond head again and again. “Arthur, lad,” he whispered sadly. “What is it you do?”

Arthur came up out of the dream with a bad start; perspiration pasted the linen nightshirt to his back. He sat up, stared at the glass-paned window. “When, Phillip?” he muttered, and thrust his hands through his hair. “When will you at last sleep in peace?”

I
N THE EARLY
afternoon the next day, Lilliana—she had adamantly insisted that Kerry address her so—dragged Kerry to the orangery to show her where she painted. As Lilliana proudly showed each of her paintings, Kerry began to see a glimpse of a past that could have been Arthur’s—idyllic paintings of languid picnics, hunting, and May Day games. There were portraits of the Albright ancestors, dressed formally in sashes and coronets and heavy rings.

There was one in particular, however, that caught her attention. Kerry gaped at the painting of four men. She recognized Arthur and Adrian right away; Arthur standing with one foot propped on a large stone, Adrian with his hat in his hand. She assumed the taller, black-headed man standing behind them was Julian Dane. And the handsome blond man kneeling in front, his arm lazily propped on one knee, had to be Phillip.

“The Rogues of Regent Street,” Lilliana said proudly.

“Who?” Kerry asked.

Lilliana blinked.
“Who?”
she echoed, and when Kerry confessed she had never heard that name, Lilliana eagerly sat her in a cushioned wicker chair near a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the northern meadows and launched into a tale of four young men
who had met at Eton and had grown to men together. Kerry was not surprised to hear this—Arthur had told her the same thing. But what she was surprised to hear was exactly
how
they had come to be known as Rogues, and more significantly, apparently, the four infamous Rogues of Regent Street.

Spellbound by the tale, Kerry sat on the edge of the chair, hanging on every word that fell from Lilliana’s lips. She blushed when Lilliana whispered the roots of their reputation—complete with names, and in some cases, actual dates. She held her breath when Lilliana spoke conspiratorially of the half-dozen fracases the four of them had started, engaged in, or ended at what sounded like bawdy gatherings in London.

But she sagged into the chair with emotion when Lilliana told her of the death of Phillip. Naturally, Arthur had referred to Phillip, just as he had referred to all of them at one time or another. But she had noticed something was different when he spoke of Phillip, she had sensed a deep sorrow in him. Now she understood; now she felt that sorrow a little herself.

When she had finished, Lilliana glanced at the painting. “This is to be a surprise for Adrian, but I confess, I’ve no idea when to give it to him. He still carries such guilt over Phillip’s death, yet he misses him terribly. I pray one day he will be at peace with what Phillip did.”

She looked at Kerry again. “What do you think? Do you like it? I took each likeness from other paintings and arranged them as if they had posed together. I had a deuce of a time finding a portrait of Phillip, however—but Adrian’s brother, Benedict, found this one at Kealing Park and had it delivered to me. I think he is rather young, don’t you?”

Oh, he was young, all right. Far too young to have frozen in time forever this face, this smile. Kerry gazed at the portrait, at the smiling eyes beneath the blond curls, and wondered what had gone so terribly wrong that he would seek to end his life. She looked at the other three
men, all looking terribly relaxed and jovial, with the exception of the stern Lord Albright. They were four men whose lives had grown and stretched around one another like vines of ivy until one could not tell where one ended and the other began, all inextricably tied to one another and to Phillip.

No wonder Arthur had set out to Scotland as he had—in a moment of clarion vision, Kerry suddenly realized that the journey to Scotland had as much to do with Arthur’s life as it had Phillip’s.

And she couldn’t help but wonder, standing there in the orangery of Longbridge, if he had found what he was looking for.

Arthur was in grand spirits as he dressed for supper in another set of Albright’s finest coats and trousers. Having politely refused the services of Adrian’s valet—he thought taking his clothes
and
his valet a bit much—he hummed as he wrapped the neckcloth around his collar. The return to Longbridge had been so easy,
much
easier than he had anticipated. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror above the basin, recalling their inglorious arrival. He should have known his old friend would accept him and Kerry without qualification.

And it was precisely that acceptance that held Arthur in such good spirits. If Adrian Spence of
all
people could accept Kerry into his home so readily, then so too could his friends and family in London.
Of course they would!
They would hardly refuse
him
entry, and if accepting him meant including Kerry, they would not dare object. It was so simple, really, he wondered why he hadn’t realized it before now. Now he was rather anxious to return to London. Lately, he had begun to worry about his business interests; there was much to be done, not the least of which was finding good counsel in the matter of Moncrieffe’s death, should the need arise.

Even
that
ugly incident had seemed to fade with
their arrival at Longbridge. Kerry was as genteel as he had ever seen her; had he not known from where she hailed, he would have thought her a lady of the country, quite accustomed to quiet days and leisurely evenings. Even more encouraging to him was that she and Lilliana seemed to have formed a fast friendship. It gave him great hope that similar friendships could be forged among the
ton
in spite of her less than acceptable background.

But his smile faded as he slowly finished tying his neckcloth. Thoughts had been whirling around his head the last few days, thoughts that were disturbing him, stirring the deep waters of his soul. His pleasure at seeing how easily she adapted to her surroundings continued to translate into thoughts of the future, of Kerry by his side, of home and children and growing old together.

Arthur groaned, exasperated with himself. That simply wasn’t possible.
Was it
? No! He could never justify such a marriage, and Lord knew his family would not sanction it. Yes, well then, what exactly
did
he intend? The shadowy thought of a mistress flitted briefly into his consciousness, but he dismissed the notion immediately. He loved Kerry; he could not bear to ask such a thing of her.

Then what?

With his palm, Arthur smoothed his newly trimmed hair.
Then what?

He turned and strode across the room, ignoring his conscience, pushing down the inevitable question to its proper place. He would think of an answer sometime soon, but not now. Now, he would tell Kerry that they were to London in two days’ time. Really, there were more immediate dilemmas. As he strode down the corridor to the gold salon, he crushed the small, niggling thought that perhaps there was no answer to the question of
then what
?

At least none that he would ever accept.

————

Kerry somehow managed to make her way through supper, thankful once again that the Albrights and Arthur were engaged in a lively discussion of places and people that were foreign to her, something to do with a debut. She felt terribly out of place, longed for May’s simple stews instead of the plates of artfully arranged foods she could not name.

But that was all forgotten with Arthur’s blithe announcement over custard pudding that he and Kerry would be continuing on to London by the week’s end. It not only stunned her, it
appalled
her. What did he think, that they would simply traipse into London dressed in someone else’s clothes and on a borrowed horse?

She lowered her spoon and looked around her as Arthur fit a spoonful of pudding into his mouth, apparently oblivious to the silence that had suddenly fallen around them. Lord Albright, she noticed, looked just as horrified as she felt.

He, too, lowered his spoon and glared at Arthur. “To London?” he asked, stealing a glimpse of Kerry. “Are you quite certain?”

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “Of course. I’ve been gone far too long—there are several matters that need my attention.”

“I should think you could easily dispose of those matters from Sutherland Hall.”

Arthur frowned at Adrian as if that were a perfectly absurd suggestion. “Sutherland Hall? It’s as remote as Longbridge. My interests are in London.”

Adrian looked at Kerry again with a pained expression, as if there was something he could not quite bring himself to say. Well Good God,
she
could say it, and would, the moment they were private. Had he lost his bloody mind? How did he think he would explain
her
? She could not go to London!

Then where, Kerry?

She could not stay here, she knew that. As much as she liked Longbridge, as much as she admired Lilliana, she was wearing another woman’s clothing, sitting in another woman’s orangery, admiring another woman’s children and furnishings—another woman’s
life.
She was only a visitor, and an uninvited one at that. There was no choice but to follow Arthur for the time being, unless she wanted to return to Scotland to face what she had done.

The conflict made her suddenly queasy, and Kerry slowly shifted her gaze to Arthur. Sitting across from her, framed artfully between two candelabras, he smiled reassuringly. “You’ve never seen London, Kerry. I think you will like it very much.”

His ability to divine what she was thinking was nothing short of unnatural. Kerry’s gaze dipped to her pudding. There was no place for her to go. She didn’t belong anywhere.
Except Glenbaden.

“Julian is in London, is he not? He was rather determined to stay through the autumn,” Arthur easily continued.

“He is,” Adrian muttered, shoving his pudding away. “Lilliana, darling, perhaps you and Kerry would allow a couple of old Rogues a port and cigar?”

“Certainly.” She smiled at Kerry and came to her feet. “Max, the blue drawing room?” Her heart in her throat, Kerry came slowly to her feet and followed Lilliana. When she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder at Arthur, her beautiful stranger, sitting there so regally.
Oh God
, what was to become of her?

She walked through the door, to where Lilliana was waiting. She looped her arm through Kerry’s as they moved down the corridor. “You mustn’t fret,” she said kindly. “We’ll see to it that you have a proper wardrobe. I’ve some slippers, too, that I think—”

Slippers and gowns!
“Lilliana!” Kerry cried, pulling
her to a halt in the corridor. “Do you know who I am? No—do you know who I am
not
?”

Lilliana’s smile faded. “Let’s go to the drawing room. This corridor is rather drafty—”

“Please stop,” Kerry begged her. “Please doona pretend I am someone I am not. This corridor is not drafty, it is far warmer than I could ever seem to heat my little house in Glenbaden!”

“Well, then,” Lilliana responded coolly, her arm falling away from Kerry’s, “the blue drawing room is very small and should suit your sensibilities nicely.”

That brought Kerry up short. She stared at the woman who had shown her nothing but kindness from the moment she had landed on her doorstep.

“Yes, I know who you are not, Kerry. I know that your circumstance must be quite different from mine. But I also know that Arthur Christian loves you, and if I were you, I would not seek reason to reject it.”

Kerry blinked.

Lilliana sighed and grasped her hand. “Oh honestly. Come on, then,” she muttered, and began a solemn march to the blue drawing room. Once there, she asked that they be left alone and waited until the door shut behind the footman. Then Lilliana began pacing, her gold skirts rustling loudly with each sharp turn.

“I will apologize—” Kerry started.

“There is hardly any need for that,” Lilliana interjected. “You’ve every right to be upset with your situation. I’ve no idea, and shouldn’t want to know, thank you, how you and Arthur came to be here … together … but it was plainly not a, ah,
suitable
situation.”

Kerry cringed with shame and sank into an overstuffed armchair.

“I really don’t care how,” Lilliana hastily assured her. “All I know is that you have endured more hardship than a woman has a right to know, I think, and survived
it. It is so terribly plain to see how Arthur adores you. I know how the desire to help someone you love can burn in your soul, especially when that someone feels pain. I know how desperately Arthur must want to take your burdens for his own.”

“But I canna allow that,” Kerry muttered miserably.

“Do you remember what I told you in the orangery about the Rogues?” Lilliana asked, sinking onto an ottoman directly in front of Kerry. “Arthur has always been the one among them that could adapt to any circumstance. He stood by Phillip during the worst of times, he helped Julian through a horrid scandal, he has been a rock of support to Adrian through the years. If there is anyone who can help you now, it is Arthur. He loves you, Kerry. He wants to help you, and you may trust me, with the Sutherland name to help you, you could not possibly ask for more. And frankly, I don’t see what choice you have.”

Kerry sank back into the cushions of the chair, trying to conjure up even one reason that Lilliana could be wrong. Nothing came to mind. Lilliana was right, of course—she truly had no other choice. Her choices had been taken from her the day Fraser died. There was nowhere for her to turn, nowhere she could go.