Theresa Romain: Season for Temptation

James shook his head. “No, that can’t be. I’m sure it wasn’t her handwriting.”

They both looked crestfallen for a moment. Then James snapped his fingers, seized by a sudden memory.

“She had her lady’s maid with her,” he recalled. “Some poor creature who was probably terrified of her. She must have had the maid write the letters for her.”

James looked so livid as he said this that Julia felt a bit nervous — not for herself, but for Lady Matheson, should that unfortunate viscountess happen to cross her son’s path. He rose from his chair and began pacing around the room — Julia knew that urge well — kicking at the legs of every chair in his path, and muttering something about Matheson House and eviction.

It was rather amazing, actually, but the angrier he seemed, the calmer Julia began to feel. Her anger, her sense of having been wronged, began to melt away. What, after all, had she lost? Merely a couple of days with James, and perhaps the good opinion of people she didn’t care about anyway, and might never meet again in her life. But what had the viscountess lost? In her desperate attempt to control her son, to bring him to heel and accept a bride of her own choosing, she had lost his trust. Perhaps forever.

The poor woman was almost to be pitied. Did she really think her stratagem would hold? That they would make no attempt to contact each other? That they would be so hurt they would stay apart?

No, that was too ridiculous. Although now that she thought about it, there was still one question that remained unanswered.

“James.” Julia seized his hand and arrested him in his chair-kicking path around the room. “James, it doesn’t matter. It didn’t work, don’t you see? She couldn’t keep us apart.” She stroked his arm, loving the feel of his muscles leaping beneath her touch. “Here I am. Here I am with you.”

As he stared at her, trying to calm himself enough to listen, she drew a deep breath of her own. She had to have him answer that one last question.

“I do want to know, though,” she asked in a small voice, “why didn’t you come for me? After you knew what had been printed about us, why didn’t you try to come for me or contact me in any way?”

He sat down, hard, in the chair across from her again. “But I did ,” he said urgently. “I came as soon as I could herd my blasted mother and that damned prosy baronet out of my house,” he said, without the slightest touch of filial respect.

“I don’t know what business he thought it was of his, but he honestly seemed to think he was being helpful, and he said he was going to speak with you, too. And my mother was even worse. Gad, the woman simply wouldn’t leave. She was clinging to my hand and telling me about how lonely she was, and how glad she was to be having coffee with me.”

He snorted in disgust. “It was all a pack of damned lies, designed to keep me there with her until you had gotten discouraged and left.”

The fact that this was exactly what had happened did not decrease Julia’s feeling of sympathy. She had won; she could afford to be generous.

“Likely she did mean what she told you,” she murmured, breaking into James’s angry reflection. “I think she must be a very lonely woman. Although she probably did time her revelation for that very reason, to keep us away from one another. There’s no denying that was her purpose for coming. Well, maybe not precisely her original purpose, but she certainly seized the opportunity when it arose.”

James merely looked skeptical at Julia’s placating words, then explained further what had happened. He had gone by the Grosvenor Square address as soon as he could, but the knocker was already off the door. Sheepishly, he admitted, “I pounded on it anyway. And. . and I shouted for you.”

“You did?” Julia was delighted by this mental image. “I imagine you entertained the whole square.”

“Probably I did draw rather a lot of attention,” James granted, “but I didn’t even notice. Once I was sure you weren’t there, I thought maybe you — or at least your aunt — really had meant what was said in that letter I received.”

“That your mother had forged.” Julia was unable to refrain from correcting him.

All right, so she wasn’t perfect; she might still be feeling a little bit angry. This whole situation really did sting, and maybe it was for the best that the viscountess wasn’t present right now, for everyone’s sake. Julia wasn’t entirely willing to promise that she wouldn’t have taken a very unladylike swing at the older woman’s face.

“Right,” James agreed, continuing with his narrative. “I must have just missed you by a few minutes, though I couldn’t have known that. Anyway, I decided to come home — here — and shake the dust of London from my feet for a time. I traveled all day yesterday, practically. I was determined I should get here before another day passed.”

“And what about me?” Julia pressed. “What were you going to tell me, and when?”

James stood, without a word, and shuffled through the papers atop his secretaire before laying hands on the sealed missive Julia had noticed earlier. He handed it to her, and she turned it over and noticed that it was directed to her.

“I was going to post this today,” he explained. “You can read it if you want to.”

Was the man crazy? Of course she wanted to read it. She was dying to see what he would have said to her to try to make things right.

Julia, my love,

I don’t know what happened in London, or how things went so terribly wrong yesterday. I came to your aunt’s house and you had left for Stonemeadows Hall. I felt like the worst sort of fool for letting you go, regardless of what your aunt might want.

I wish I could have spared you even the smallest amount of worry. I love you still — always — and I would like to be married as soon as possible. If you feel the same, please let me know and I’ll come for you at once, special license in hand.

Yours ever,

James

“Special license in hand,” Julia whispered, joy bubbling up in her. He meant it. He wanted her. He always had.

“It is in hand, as I said,” James replied, an answering grin on his face. “Well, practically. Here it is on my desk. I was determined to keep it until either we were married or I knew you didn’t want to have anything more to do with me.”

There followed a gleeful few minutes, during which the couple eagerly sorted out the last few lingering uncertainties with kisses, laughs, and hurried explanations. They decided to be married as soon as possible from Stonemeadows Hall. James was all for being married the next day, as soon as they could return to the barony; there was no one, he insisted, that he wanted to invite.

“I’m soured on London,” he said. “Honestly, Julia, I think you are my truest friend.” He looked warmly at her as he said this, but then a little bleak as he continued, “I don’t know if any of my others were ever even real.”

“That’s no way to talk,” Julia said, even as his compliment caused her to flutter inside. “You should at least have your family present at your marriage.”

She corrected herself conscientiously. “That is, you should at least have your sister at the wedding. I can’t say I’m eager to see your mother right now. But you must have your sister there.”

She cast her memory back a long way, to a Christmas fireside, and James’s trust that she could help him bear the weight of his family’s honor. “I’ll stand at your side, and we’ll offer her and your nieces a respectable home, just as you always wanted. I intended to invite them all to the country anyway. And they really should get out of that terrible house.”