Rogues and Ripped Bodices (8 page)

Chapter
Nine

What
had he been thinking? He didn’t even like balls. Julian glanced at Mrs
Whittleworth who was waiting by the door with him. Tugging his necktie, he
glanced up at the stairs and waited. Why was he always waiting for her?

He was tempted to scold Mrs Whittleworth for
mentioning the ball but it had seemed a good idea. The thought of braving
London sent chills down his spine but a small gathering... he could do that for
Viola, surely? If only the thought of being around all those people didn’t make
his palms clammy. Of course, when he’d suggested the idea—secretly praying she
tell him she wasn’t interested—she had been thrilled at the idea of a proper
English ball.

He really did hate balls. He hated people. And
dancing. And... well he liked to drink but not in the manner that people would
expect at balls. He’d rather throw back a few whiskies than sip some wine and
port.

A purring Patches chose that moment to be
sociable and nuzzle his leg. Julian shook his head and nudged the cat aside. He
really didn’t need cat hair on his trousers. However, the cat shot him a
pitiful look so he bent to give him a quick scratch behind the ears.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Viola’s
entrance and he snapped up so quickly, he thought he heard a crack of bones. As
she finally made her entrance down the stairs, he conceded that she was worth
waiting for. The pale blue silk set off her auburn hair beautifully, which was
curled up in some intricate hairstyle and threaded with tiny matching blue
flowers. Jewels gleamed at her neck and on her wrist. Long gloves drew
attention to the slender length of her arms.

He wanted to pick her up and take her to bed
this very instant.

 She beamed at him when she approached. “You
look very handsome.”

“You look...” Blast it all, why could he not say
it? Ravishing, delectable, like every man’s fantasy... “lovely.”

Inwardly, he grimaced. Give him a pen and paper
and he was a veritable maestro of words. Put a beautiful woman in front of him
and he was a bumbling fool.

“Thank you,” she replied with a knowing smile,
as if understanding his struggle.

Viola Thompson already knew far too much of him.
He couldn’t quite believe he had told her all a few days ago, but it had come
as somewhat of a relief to spill it all out. Everyone knew of his wives’ deaths
but none knew the toll it had taken on him or the intimate details—particularly
those of his last wife’s death.

“Patches approves,” he said inanely when the cat
tried to rub against her skirts and nearly got lost in the fabric.

“And thank you, Patches.” She glanced up at him.
“I would give him a fuss but I fear I can’t bend in this corset.”

A bark of laughter escaped him. Trust Viola to
break any tension by talking of her undergarments. He only hoped she didn’t
speak of such matters at the ball. Or perhaps he did. It would certainly make
the evening more interesting although he’d rather poke both his eyeballs out
than ruin her evening. There were certain people who wouldn’t take well to an
American woman in their midst—particularly on the arm of a marquess. All the
mamas loathed these rich Americans coming over and stealing all
their
men. He’d have to ensure he steered her clear of any of those sorts of ladies.

Julian aided her into the carriage and they
began their journey. Dusk had been and gone and the night proved to be relatively
clear, thank goodness. He never relished journeying in the dark along the
country roads. Viola couldn’t seem to sit still so he rested a gloved hand over
hers. She offered him a grateful smile, but he could not help think she offered
him comfort rather than the other way around. Just like the other day. For the
first time in a long time, he’d felt content, at peace. Even thoughts of
stripping her clothes off and taking her to bed hadn’t played through his mind.
Well, maybe just a little...

Most of the people in attendance at Grovesbury
hadn’t seen him since Mabel’s death. A few had visited and he ran into one or
two when he was visiting the tenants and dealing with the farmers. However, for
the most part, he had kept himself firmly locked behind closed doors. There
would be a great deal of gossip surrounding him. His stomach churned at the
thought.

“I hope Lady—what was her name?—won’t mind a
last-minute attendant?”

“Lady Foxbury,” he reminded her. “And she
doesn’t know you’re attending. She doesn’t even know I am. But I’m a marquess
and marquesses are welcome everywhere.”

Viola giggled. “But of course. Even marquesses
like you?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Grumpy ones mostly.”

He had to concede defeat at her honesty there.
He wasn’t the happiest of chaps. At least he hadn’t been. Not until Viola
entered his life. He frowned. How many times had he laughed or smiled during
her stay? Many, many times. Her love of life seemed to work into his soul and
banish just a tiny bit of the darkness.

“Even grumpy marquesses are welcome everywhere,”
he confirmed.

She leaned her elbow against the door frame and
peered out of the window. “I love balls. The dancing, the music...”

“I hate them.”

Viola whipped her head around, a tilted smile on
her lips. “I knew you did. Why ever did you offer to take me then?”

He lifted a shoulder. What could he say?
I’d
do
anything to make you happy. I’d dance naked around Westminster for
you. I’d do anything to be free of this damned curse and make you mine.

“Well I do appreciate it.” She gave his fingers
a squeeze and he half-wondered if she’d also wrapped them around his heart as
that felt a little tight.

When they arrived outside of Grovesbury, she
disengaged her fingers from his and the temptation to drag her back, order the
coach to depart and take her away to his bed burned strong in his gut. Julian
wasn’t prepared for this night for several reasons. He did not want to face all
these people but mostly he didn’t want to share her with them. He knew full
well she would be much admired by the men in attendance.

Lit torches lined the entrance to the old house.
It wasn’t as big or as grand as Lockwood but Grovesbury dated back to before
the Tudor era and the front entrance remained very much in that style. He
suspected Viola would appreciate the history of the building.

They waited behind the long receiving line of
late-comers. Strains of music drifted out into the night air. While the sound
should have been soothing, it only made his pulse pound faster. The last time
he’d been to a ball had been just before Mabel’s death. It had been then he’d
noticed his wife’s interest in another man.

Julian drew in a deep breath and kept his
posture rigid. He glanced at Viola and allowed himself a smile. She gazed up at
the building with such wonder that he almost forgot his apprehension. The
golden light played over her features and brought out lighter strands in her
hair. He shouldn’t complain. Most men would give away all of their fortune for
the opportunity to attend a ball with such a woman on his arm.

Lady Foxbury and her daughters were gracious and
showed only a little interest in Viola. He seemed to be the most fascinating to
them. He recalled that the three girls were likely only just out in society and
had yet to hear of his fearsome reputation as a wife-killer.

Once that was over, he led Viola into the
ballroom. The scent of too much perfume and pomade made him wince. Bodies
clustered together on the dance floor whilst the occasional shriek of laughter
split the softer strains of the orchestra. Overhead chandeliers lit the room.
The medieval theme continued in this room, from shields to swords and
tapestries. Wood panelling covered almost every inch of it. Viola was
impressed, if her open mouth was anything to go by.

“You like Grovesbury, I take it?” He handed her
a glass of wine from a nearby tray.

“Oh yes.” She drank the wine far too quickly,
forcing him to retrieve another glass from a passing servant. “I mean your
house is beautiful. Much more elegant for certain.”

“I imagine this appeals to the lover of history
within you.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes, it really
does.”

“Do not get overly excited. This house does not
have indoor plumbing either and I hear tell that the bedrooms are even colder
than mine.”

A hint of pink sat in her cheeks and he couldn’t
help but grin.

“How did you know I was complaining about that?”

He lifted his brows. “I know everything.”

As she laughed, he scanned the room. There, this
wasn’t so bad. He could spend some time talking to her then hopefully skulk off
to a quiet room somewhere once she received some requests. He tightened his
grip on the wine glass and tried to ignore the idea that he would hate to see
someone else dancing with her. It was not fair to want to prevent her from
dancing.

Julian’s heart near sank down to his feet when
he noticed the Alderton sisters approaching. The two girls had been fast
friends with Mabel and had known of her affair. It made his stomach bunch to
imagine them talking of him behind his back. The women weren’t the nicest of
creatures and had probably taken great delight in the knowledge his wife had
not remained faithful.

He drew up his chin and perfected his most
impervious look. Silly women should not bother him at all.

“Miss Alderton and Miss Prudence Alderton, how
do you do?” He dipped his head low.

The girls, only just over a year apart in age,
dropped into a curtsey. They were mildly attractive and might have drawn his
attention in his younger years. With dark blonde hair and petite features, they
didn’t look nearly so vile as they really were.

“Will you not introduce us?” Penelope asked.

“This is Miss Viola Thompson. Viola, this is
Miss Alderton and Miss Prudence Alderton.”

“A pleasure,” Viola gave them a bold smile.

“Oh, you’re American,” Prudence exclaimed.

“I am.”

“What brings you to our little part of the
world? And however did you persuade Julian to leave his draughty old house?”

Julian bit back his annoyance at being addressed
in such a familiar manner. It implied friendship—something he had never felt
between them.

“I am here on holiday. Julian knew of my love of
balls so he offered to bring me.”

Was it his imagination or did she lean slightly
possessively into him? He was half-tempted to grab her hand and stroke her
shoulder just to watch the sisters’ reaction.

“And where are you staying? At the Bell Inn?”

He grimaced. They were leading her down a merry
path and he was powerless to stop it. No matter what she said, she could expect
a snide response. He gave into temptation and took her hand. She darted a look
at him before she responded.

“No, I’m staying at Lockwood, actually.”

The sisters shared a look. Penelope let her
brows rise. “Goodness... how very... bold of you. Is your family with you?”

“No, I’m alone.”

Damn it, trust her to be so honest. Did she not
know how it looked? Likely everyone thought she was his mistress or some such.
Now they would spend the whole night gossiping about them.

Prudence offered a tight smile, one tinged with
bitterness. “I suppose Americans do not worry about appearances much. You are
all so very free with your manners. That is what happens when new money is
introduced to society, do you not think, Julian?”

He’d had it. He couldn’t stand these women any
longer and he would not let the ‘spiteful sisters’ have another moment with Viola.

“I would not know,” he replied. “Viola, will you
do me the honour of this dance?”

She stared at him for what felt like a full
minute before dipping her head in acquiescence. He took her arm and led her
onto the dance floor for a waltz but not before muttering ‘bitches’ loud enough
for the two women to hear. He felt Viola shake with laughter.

When he took her into his arms, her eyes
twinkled with mirth. “You are terrible.”

“
They
are terrible.”

“It seems like just about everyone hates
American women. And here I thought the English were meant to be such good
hosts.”

She put her hand to his shoulder and he felt the
flex of her ribs beneath his palms. The boning of her corset felt somewhat
scandalous, probably because he was imagining peeling it away and touching the
pale flesh beneath.

“I have been an excellent host, have I not?”

Viola didn’t respond. As soon as he began
whirling her around the dance floor, she was lost. As was he. He’d forgotten
what it was like to dance with a beautiful woman in his arms. Mabel hadn’t
enjoyed dancing with him. The crowds vanished and only the strains of the waltz
carried them. Her scent enveloped him, and the feel of her body close to him
consumed him.

“Dead wives,” someone murmured.

Reality near slapped a glove to his face. Again,
someone else murmured something. All around him, people gossiped and glanced
his way. He clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on the sensation of
having Viola in his arms but his breaths grew harsh and his skin hot.