Coleen Kwan - Darke London

But now she’d transformed into something else, some shameless creature with primitive, insistent urges. Or perhaps it was Julian who was the cause. Perhaps she’d always carried these latent feelings buried deep within, and it was only Julian who could bring them to the surface.

The idea perturbed her. She screwed her eyes shut, but still Julian’s image floated in her mind. His bronzed body was a thing of beauty, the sculpted lines of muscle, bone and sinew a hymn of virility. And of course it was Julian’s personality who powered this physical charm. It was his strength of character, his passion and his vulnerabilities that made her heart tumble over.

She could not lose her head over Julian. Her father had relinquished all ties with her, her husband had at best abandoned her, at worst connived to do away with her. Had she not learned her lesson? Tenderness was a trap, and she could not allow herself to be snared by Julian’s appeal. She must get away from him. She must make her escape before her desires pulled her into the seductive vortex.

The juniper bush rustled as she spun round and hurried away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian glimpsed a flurry of red skirts disappearing around the corner of the house. Nellie . He barely had time to register before a heavy mass struck him in the midriff and tumbled him backwards to the ground.

“Oof,” he grunted as Gareth’s considerable weight landed on top of him.

“Ha!” Gareth wrestled him into a headlock. “Do you concede?”

Julian grimaced as the ex-soldier began to crush his neck. “Never,” he gasped out.

His opponent was bigger and stronger and knew every dirty trick, but he was also overconfident. Julian made himself go limp, and as Gareth started to chuckle, he jerked his knee up and drove it into Gareth’s flank. The headlock loosened just a fraction, but it was enough for Julian to twist free and roll to his feet.

“A neat recovery, boyo.” Heaving for breath, Gareth raised his hand in acknowledgement. “We’ll call it a draw, shall we, even though I almost had you then.”

“Almost, but not quite.” Julian squinted past the juniper bush, but there was no sign of Nellie. How long had she been standing there?

Gareth plucked his grubby shirt off the grass and mopped his streaming brow with it. “You want to watch out getting the wibble wobbles over a woman. It could be fatal.”

“Wibble wobbles? I’ve no idea what you mean,” Julian scoffed.

“Oh, come off it, man. It’s as plain as the nose on my face you have a yen for Nellie. You were gawking after her so badly just then I coulda slung you a haymaker and you wouldn’t have seen it coming.”

With a scowl Julian grabbed his shirt from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. “Leave it, will you?”

The levity faded from his companion’s face. “My apologies. You’re deadly serious about this one, aren’t you?”

“It matters naught what I feel.” Julian thrust one arm into the sleeve of his shirt and then the other. “She is a married woman.”

“Perhaps, but she married a man who promised himself to another.”

“Regardless of that, in Nellie’s mind she is married to Ormond’s son.” Even though he’d repeated that fact to himself several times, still it came as a shock to Julian. Nellie was not a free agent; she had promised herself to another man, and he had no right to lust after her.

Gareth shrugged. “There is married, and then there is married. She’s not hotfooted it back to her spouse, and the dear Pip has made no apparent attempts to find her. Those facts are more important than any mumbo jumbo some priest might have muttered over them.”

Julian worked the dirt beneath his feet, scuffing the muddy earth between his bare toes. “I must disagree. It would not be honourable to pursue her in such circumstances.”

“Honourable!” His friend snorted. “Julian, that is why you are the gentleman, while I am the buccaneer. I have a suggestion. Why don’t you let me track down the truth about this so-called prior engagement? If you give me the name of the alleged fiancée, I will go and shake the truth out of a clerk or two.”

Julian eyed his friend warily. Gareth’s chequered past had included working as a military spy, and doubtless his methods of interrogation were as unorthodox as the man himself. “What do you mean by ‘shake the truth out’?”

“Oh, I meant that only in a manner of speaking.” The big man grinned. “Come, let me do this for Miss Barchester, at least. I feel terrible for acting the way I did the first time I met her and would like to make amends. I promise to treat the clerks like newborn babes.” Still grinning, he cracked his knuckles.

“In all fairness you should ask Miss Barchester’s permission first. She might not like you interfering in her personal affairs.”

“You’ll vouch for my discretion. ’Tis my profession to investigate matters like this.”

“True enough,” Julian conceded. It would be something at least to have the question of Pip’s betrothal cleared up one way or the other. In the interim, he was still pursuing the matter of Mr. Cazalet’s deadly house fire. He’d managed to question the brigade captain, whose opinion it was that the conflagration had been caused by Mr. Cazalet not positioning the fire screen correctly before going to bed. According to a neighbour, the old man had done that once before and almost burned his house down but for the vigilant neighbour. There was no suspicion of any foul play, and though Julian was outwardly relieved by this, he wanted to question all the neighbours until he was satisfied. “I’ll broach the subject with Nellie,” he said finally.

“It’s Nellie now, is it?” Gareth jested.

Stung, Julian retorted, “It’s Miss Barchester to you.”

“Damnation! Another good man lost from the cause of glorious and perpetual bachelorhood.” Gareth slapped his thigh. “By that mournful look of yours, Miss Barchester has you well and truly by the nutmegs.”

Julian shot his friend a scathing glare. “Mind your tongue, Derringer.”

“I always do.” Unrepentant, the other man clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s forget those vexing females for the moment and go inside. I could murder a jug of ale right now.”

Inside the house Nellie sought the sanctuary of the library. Of all the rooms this was her favourite, as the walls of books formed a cosy cocoon against the outside world. She shut the door softly behind her and moved towards the window seat with some vague hope of stealing a further glimpse of Julian, even though she knew it would do her no good.

From behind a wingback armchair, a newspaper rustled before Elijah Darke stood up. “Good afternoon, Miss Barchester.”

She turned, surprised to see him. At this hour he was usually out seeing to his hospital or visiting patients; rarely did he use the library during the day. “Good day, Dr. Darke.”

“I hope I didn’t startle you.” He folded up the newspaper and tucked it under his arm before advancing towards her. “I saw you taking the air outside. It’s good you’re recovering so well.” He paused, and it seemed he was waiting for her to say something, but she couldn’t fathom what it might be. “Soon you’ll be venturing beyond this house,” Elijah added.

Ah, so he was questioning her about her future plans. “I know I’ve trespassed on your hospitality for too long, and I assure you—”

“No, no, you mistake my meaning entirely. I’m very appreciative of everything you’ve done with Mrs. Tibbet. The meals are as they should be, Mrs. Tibbet is less confused and therefore happier, and the house looks so much better.” He gestured around the room, now clean and tidy thanks to her efforts. “Your labours have not gone unnoticed.”