Sharon Page - The Worthington Wife

“That’ll never happen.”

“Yes, it will.” She pulled his tailored tuxedo jacket off her shoulders and shoved it at him.

He caught it and straightened, towering over her. A roguish smile curved his lips. “We’d better go back inside, Lady Julia. Even I know that if we’re away from the crowd long enough, people are gonna start talking about us.”

He took out the cigarette. His mouth lowered toward hers.

She was literally shaking in her shoes. Shaking with fury. But also with something else. With heat and confusion and a sudden, intense...whoosh.

Dear God, she wanted to kiss him.

And he was awful. Cruel. The enemy.

She took a determined step back and glared at him. “If you think I would kiss you after you just announced you would destroy this beautiful place and ruin hundreds of people’s lives, you are mad. Nothing is going to happen between us. Not ever.”

She turned and walked toward the door, determined not to shiver in the cool night air.

“I think you’re wrong,” he called out behind her.

She turned. In clear, no-nonsense tones, she said, “The only thing that will happen between us is that I will make you see sense, Worthington.”

She had no idea just how to do that at the moment, but it made a rather lovely exit line. Julia tipped up her chin and went inside, for once thankful she had been trained with a book on her head and could glide in victorious manner with aplomb.

3

Two Proposals of Marriage

Julia stormed back toward the drawing room.

How could she have felt a sudden, dizzying whoosh for that man?

The whoosh had been something she’d experienced with Anthony—that sudden feeling of the world stopping on its trajectory, while she looked into his eyes as if for the very first time.

She’d felt it with Dougal Campbell within minutes of meeting him. It had been when he had begun to describe the surgery he had performed to repair a child’s leg and save it from amputation. Her head had swum a little at the thought of an operation, but she had fallen in love with him right then, right there, because he had been so passionate about what he’d done.

Dougal—well, she’d lost Dougal forever now. He was marrying the daughter of a doctor, a girl who would make the perfect doctor’s wife. She was happy for him—he deserved the perfect wife.

But after caring so deeply for Dougal, how could she have had that devastating moment of—of something with Cal?

He actually thought he could kiss her after what he’d threatened to do to Worthington. Well, really! And she now knew why she had been riveted to the spot, unable to move. She had been shocked. That was all.

The man was infuriating. Not because he was angry and hurting—she could understand that, if his family had been rejected by the previous earl. His father had been disowned after all.

No, he was infuriating because his mind was closed. This was the modern world—every breath you took was full of change. He must let the past go.

Destroying something never fixed anything. Heaping on more pain never made pain go away. She was certain of it. Healing was the most important thing in the world. Zoe had healed Nigel, helping him finally escape the way the War had hurt him. Her mother needed to heal more from the grief of losing Will—if Mother could, she could be happier.

Julia knew the power of healing. She had to make Cal see it.

“Julia.”

She almost collided with the Duke of Bradstock as he stepped out of the shadows.

Frowning, he looked down at her. “You were outside with that American, Julia. I saw him follow you out onto the terrace. Did you invite him out there?” he demanded.

James had followed her. Why? Because Cal had?

“I went out on the terrace for some air,” she said. “Then the new earl joined me.”

“So he just followed you.” James grasped her wrist and held it in the circle of his long, strong fingers, capturing her. He peered at her face in the darkness of the corridor—only two electric lights illuminated it. “You look upset. Did he try to force himself on you? Tell me and I’ll grind him under my heel like the piece of dirt he is.”

Most girls thought the Duke of Bradstock was more handsome than any movie star in the pictures. His features were striking and autocratic; his hair raven black, his eyes dark green and surrounded by thick, long lashes. He had a wicked allure, like Valentino.

Grandmama believed he was interested in Julia, since he had never married after he returned from the War. Grandmama’s words haunted her: you could be a duchess with one simple word.

James was looking at her...as if he would slay a dragon if she asked.

For some reason, she did not feel like a heroine who wished to swoon into the muscular arms of a sheikh-costumed Valentino. She was angry with Cal, but she would not insult him. “He is not a piece of dirt—he is the Earl of Worthington, and we are in his house, James. It is most impolite to be rude. And we simply spoke out on the terrace. Worthington was the perfect gentleman.”

“Was he? You were trembling when you came back inside.”

“It was cold outdoors.”

“I saw his face when he was looking at the countess across the dinner table. Pure hatred. What reason does he have to hate them?”

“That is the mystery, isn’t it? I don’t know. But I really must find out, if I am to fix this problem and put a stop to Cal’s plans.”

“Cal? You call him Cal? What plans?”

“He objects to Worthington,” she said, not quite answering his questions.

“My God, Julia, you can’t approve of this upstart and his lack of manners and breeding?”

What an odd question. She should disapprove of Cal—of everything he intended to do and the way in which he meant to do it. But she knew about grief and pain, how viciously it could hurt.

James moved closer. Suddenly, he clasped her hand in both of his large ones. “Julia—” His voice was husky. “Julia, you must know how I feel about you.”

Oh...oh heavens. Grandmama was always right. It was an idiotic thought, but the very first one that leaped into her mind.

“I had no choice but to let you go to Anthony Carstairs,” he continued. “You were so fond of him, and he was a friend of mine. Then, after his death, I waited patiently. It has been nine years. Julia, I want to marry you. I must marry you.”

Oh heavens. She did not love this man. She’d known him since he was a boy and he had only ever been interested in one thing—himself. And if she were his wife, she could never do anything unless he gave her permission. That was the kind of marriage that existed decades ago. It was one she would never accept.

Grandmama would faint when she learned what her granddaughter was going to do. Gently Julia said, “James, I am so very flattered by your proposal. I am so sorry you’ve waited for so long—”

“Don’t go on,” he said brusquely. “There is no need.” He released her hand and stepped back. His face became a hard, emotionless mask. “But I would like to know why.”

“It is not you. Truly, it isn’t. I just—I just am filled with thoughts of Anthony still.” But there had been Dougal, so she knew her heart could be touched. Just not by this man.

“Even after this long? Julia, I would treat you like a queen. You would reign over my four estates. I still have a considerable income. My God, Julia, I dream of you every night.”

He grasped her wrist again, this time hard enough that she winced.

“James, you are hurting me.”

“I’m sorry.” He released her. “I’ve been a damned fool, haven’t I?” he said harshly. “Hoping you might realize how much I want you to be my duchess.”

He looked at her with such hurt she felt guilty. But she’d never asked him to hope or wait. Never once had she been anything beyond polite and proper.