Candace Camp - An Independent Woman

Hers was not the pale, insipid beauty of one such as the Thrall girl, whom Nicholas found crushingly boring. Juliana’s beauty lay not just in her thick dark-brown hair, sternly constrained in a firm knot at the base of her neck, although it was the sort of hair that made a man’s fingers itch to pull out her pins and release it in a luxuriant tumble around her shoulders. Nor was it only the well-modeled features of her face. Hers was a beauty that shone out of her lively gray eyes and blossomed in the smile that curved her lips, a loveliness born of strength and personality, and the multitude of small things that made Juliana uniquely herself.

He knew her, and yet he did not know her, and he found the combination compelling. Gazing at her now, Nicholas was aware of a sudden desire to lean over and kiss that softly curving mouth, to taste what he was sure would be the piquant sweetness of her lips.

His eyes darkened, straying to her mouth, and it was only with some inner firmness that he was able to pull his gaze away. He stared straight ahead above his horses’ heads for a few moments, pondering the instant of desire that had just flashed through him. This was not the sort of feeling he should be having about Juliana, he told himself.

She was the beloved companion of his childhood, the girl who had provided the only warmth he had known after his parents’ deaths. He had been eager to find her when he returned to England, but it had been the eagerness of an old close friend…of a brother, say. He loved her, he thought, as much as he found himself able to love anyone, but it was a small, pure, uncomplicated love, a deep fondness for a childhood memory.

Yet here Juliana was, not at all a memory, looking very much like a desirable woman, and the feeling that had just speared through him was not years-old devotion but the swift lust of a man for a woman.

The feeling shook him. It seemed perverse to experience this sort of sensation about someone almost a sister to him. Had any other man expressed feeling such a thing for her, he would have taught him a quick, brutal lesson.

This unexpected desire was certainly not something upon which he could act. Juliana trusted him; he could never take advantage of her, even in the smallest way. There were many, he knew, who considered him unscrupulous, even wicked, and he admitted that he was not a good man. But he would never do something so dastardly as to take advantage of Juliana’s kind feelings for him.

Moreover, aside from the importance of not violating Juliana’s trust in him, there was the matter of her reputation. She was a lady, and her reputation must be above reproach. It was even more imperative that nothing besmirch her name, given that she had to make her own way in the world. It was far too easy for even unproved black marks to attach to the reputation of a woman who had no family to protect her and no high name to bolster hers. He could and would, of course, defend her name, but it was a sad truth that merely the defense of a man of his uncertain reputation would probably only damage her name further.

Nicholas knew, therefore, that he could not even pay her particular attention without causing scandalous talk about her. He should not call on her too often nor take her out on the dance floor more than every once in a while. It would have been more politic, he was sure, to have taken the annoying Thrall chit with them today in a larger vehicle. It would have deflected attention from Juliana onto Clementine, and he frankly had little regard for whether tongues wagged about that girl. However, he had selfishly wanted Juliana all to himself, at least this once.

There were far too many looks being cast in their direction from the carriages and riders they passed, and Nicholas knew that the gossip circuit would soon be buzzing about the woman with whom Lord Barre had been seen in the Park. He would have to refrain from going out riding with Juliana again for a week or two, and it would be wise not to even call on her again for a few days. Nicholas despised having to kowtow to such arbitrary constraints, but he could not jeopardize Juliana’s reputation.

Juliana, looking up at Nicholas, had seen the subtle change in his face, the way his eyes flickered involuntarily to her lips. Her breath had caught in her throat, and her stomach had tightened. He was about to kiss her, she had thought.

Then he had looked abruptly away. She relaxed, not quite sure whether she felt relief or disappointment. Indeed, she was not quite certain anything at all had happened. Had she mistaken the look in his eyes?

Surely she was not wrong. There had been a spark, an infinitesimal tightening of his face, and something inside her had responded. She could not deny that response—eager, yet also a trifle wary, a tingle of warmth that moved through her with the speed of lightning. It had all been faster, more subtle, than thought. Instinctive, but beyond doubt.

She cast another sideways glance up at Nicholas. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw set. She wondered what he thought, what he felt. Had he regretted that momentary impulse? With a certain disappointment, she realized that he probably had. Why else would he have turned away so abruptly?

It was a lowering thought. If he had felt a flash of masculine interest in her, he had clearly and immediately regretted it. He was right, of course. Even though they had once been close, she was clearly someone whom he would not think of courting and marrying. The difference in their stations in life was now vast. All she could hope for was friendship from him, and desire would only hinder that.

He had been correct, and if it wounded her pride a little, that was simply something she would have to get over. It wasn’t, she reminded herself, as if she had wanted him to kiss her. He was, after all, virtually a stranger to her after all these years. And she was much too mature and practical now to give weight to the romantic adolescent dreams she had had about him. It did not matter that she had felt some sort of reaction when she thought he was about to kiss her, that there had been a flash of warmth in her midsection and a sudden tingling awareness of seemingly every inch of her skin. Why, she was not entirely sure whether what she had felt had been eagerness or fear.

And whatever she might have felt, she was, after all, the master of herself and her emotions. A kiss would have been highly improper, and she was glad—yes, glad—that Nicholas had turned away without giving in to his impulse.

Still, she could not help but be very aware of Nicholas now—of his warmth, his size, his very presence beside her on their high perch. She looked up at his face, sharp in profile, his skin taut across the slicing arc of his cheekbones, the only softening feature the thick brush of his lashes.

He must have felt her gaze upon him, for he turned his head toward her. Juliana glanced quickly away, a blush rising in her cheeks at having been caught staring at him. She would hate for him to think that she was overly bold.

Her eyes strayed to his hands, large and firm on the reins, encased in supple kid driving gloves. She remembered the touch of his hand on her waist as they danced, warm and strong. There was something about the memory of his touch that made her a trifle breathless.

A breeze caressed her flushed cheeks and lifted a few stray tendrils of her hair. She felt as if her skin was more sensitive than normal, more alive to the warmth of the sun or the brush of air against it.

Juliana clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. These sorts of thoughts would never do, she told herself. And Nicholas would think her a tongue-tied dolt, the way she was sitting here, saying nothing.

They passed an open landaulet, occupied by two middle-aged ladies who eyed them sharply. Juliana felt sure that by this evening, the word would be all over fashionable society that Lord Barre had driven out in the Park this morning with an unknown girl—and one of such plain dress and demeanor, too.