Loving Julia Page 5

  Jewel had twisted in her chair to better see the speaker as this exchange took place, and her movement caught the lady’s attention. She stared at Jewel with repugnance, and Jewel returned her look with interest. Despite the earl’s icy manner and insults, Jewel felt herself instinctively siding with him in what she sensed was an ongoing battle with his icicle of a mother.

  “Prepare yourself for a shock, mama,” the earl said with a slight, malicious twist of his lips. “This is the newest addition to our happy family. Timothy’s widow, to be precise. Uh, Jewel, you may make your curtsy to your new cousin, my mother, the Dowager Countess of Moorland.”

  “Sebastian, I have had enough of your childish tricks, and so I warn you! If you think to palm me off with some Banbury story….!”

  “Oh, it’s quite true, mama, I assure you. I have the marriage lines right here.” The earl sounded as if he were enjoying himself. Jewel, far from following his admonition to curtsy to his mama, was glaring at the lady.

  “Sebastian, if this is another of your attempts to annoy me …”

  “Not at all, mama. You may see for yourself if you wish.”

  He profferred the marriage lines. With carefully controlled movements the countess crossed the room and took the document from his hand. As she read it, her face creased in the same slight frown that had marred the earl’s features earlier.

  “And are you going to let this—this creature pull the wool over your eyes with this? It is not worth the paper it is printed on.”

  “Who d’ ya think …” Jewel started indignantly, but was silenced by the earl’s quick frown and uplifted hand.

  “Be silent,” he said, scarcely sparing her a look. Much to her own surprise, Jewel obeyed him.

  “Strangely enough,” he continued, “I believe the document is genuine.” His mother glared at him. He smiled blandly back at her.

  “Even if she did somehow coerce Timothy into marrying her, we have only to turn her away, and it won’t matter. Who would listen to her with him dead—and besides, we have her marriage lines.” A cunning look came into the countess’ eyes as she regarded Jewel, who sat stiff and resentful in her chair. “Very foolish of you to hand over the paper, girl. Without this, what proof do you have?”

  “Why, mama, what other proof does she need if I am prepared to accept her as Timothy’s relic?”

  The countess made a low, choked sound as she stared at her son. “You cannot. Sebastian, you are doing this merely to persecute me. Oh, why was I cursed with such an unnatural son?”

  “Bad luck, wasn’t it, that I didn’t die instead of Edward? Well, such is the way of things.”

  “Sebastian, you can’t …”

  “Oh, but I can,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. “And I am. And, dearest mama, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

  The countess glared at him. Jewel could have sworn the woman’s eyes were filled with hate. But surely no mother could actually hate her own flesh and blood?

  “If you go through with this, you will rue the day, I promise you,” the countess said in a low choked voice. Turning, she fixed her eyes on Jewel. “And if you think that you will ever be accepted by this family, let alone anyone else—”

  “But I mean to see to that, too, mama,” the earl purred.

  And at that, the countess turned on her heel and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  IV

  The earl’s eyes returned to rest almost ruefully on Jewel. “Well, girl, I hope you are equal to this because now we’re for it. I mean to see to it that you become worthy of us.” He smiled faintly. “It will be a challenge, won’t it, rather like turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse? I wonder if it can be done.”

  “Yer bloody insultin’, did ya know that? Who ya callin’ a sow’s ear? I’m a person, I am, jes’ as good as ya, or that highfalutin’ ma of yers.” This insult on top of all the others was too much for her temper. Jewel sprang from the chair and stood glaring at the earl, her hands clenched in fists at her side. The blanket slipped, giving him an unrestricted view of her attire—and the body it covered. Jewel felt his eyes on her, and shivered. There was only the most detached kind of interest in his look, as if she were a tarnished piece of brass he was wondering whether it would be worth the effort to have shined up. But still it made her aware of herself as a woman in a way she had never been before.

  “That dress is an abomination,” he said as his eyes ran over the soaked red silk. Jewel looked down at the gown that she still thought looked mighty fine despite its wetting as he continued. “It’s something a whore would wear. Are you … Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

  “No, I ain’t no ’ore!” Jewel bellowed, taking a hasty step forward as her fists came up to waist level. She wasn’t taking any more insults, earl or no earl!

  “Sit down,” he said, the words barely audible. Something about his eyes gave them more force than her loudest shriek. Jewel surprised herself again by obediently sitting, but saved face by glaring at him even more fiercely than before.

  “The first thing you will learn is to moderate your voice when you speak. I will not be shouted at. Is that clear?” Those blue eyes met hers, and instead of celestial heavens the color reminded Jewel of cold blue steel. She scowled, opened her mouth for a sassy reply, met those eyes again, and muttered, “Ayeh.”

  He sighed. “I assume that is an affirmative. In future, when addressing me, you will say ‘Yes, my lord,’ or ‘No, my lord.’ Can you remember that, do you think?”

  “I ain’t a bleedin’ idiot.”

  Jewel’s resentful murmur brought a brisk “Excellent!” in reply. The earl got to his feet, and while she watched him with some trepidation moved with sinewy grace around the desk to tower over her as she sat in the chair. Looking up at him, she felt suddenly very small, and she didn’t like the sensation at all. When his hand came out, catching her under the chin, she flinched. His skin was so warm—just feeling his hand on her made her go all shivery inside. Cor, he was a very good-looking gentleman….

  But such thoughts did her no good at all, she told herself even as her hand shot out to knock his away. Before she could make contact he caught her by the wrist, imprisoning her hand in midair. His fingers were surprisingly strong, she noticed with a return of the shivery feeling. They tightened their grip and her eyes widened as she stared up at him. It occurred to her that this too beautiful lord could break her arm with no trouble at all, like snapping a sparrow’s bone.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, and Jewel realized with a quick flush of embarrassment that he must have felt her shiver. She was thankful he had misinterpreted it. “I just want to look at you. All right?”

  This first evidence that he regarded her as something other than an object to be ordered about mollified Jewel somewhat. She gave a jerky nod. He released her wrist, and turned her face up again so that the lamplight shone directly on it. His free hand caught the towel, pulling it from her head so that her hair fell from what remained of its pins to straggle in a damp, midnight black rat’s nest to her waist. His eyes raked the mess, then moved over the high cheekboned, pointy chinned face. Jewel knew that she was no beauty, but still she resented the almost clinical detachment with which he assessed and then dismissed each individual feature: high broad forehead partly hidden under the tangled mass of hair, thick brows as black as her hair winging upward at the edges so that they seemed to take flight at her temples, black-lashed eyes the color of amber set deep and with a faint slant at the edges, a small straight nose unbecomingly reddened, parchment pale skin that was chapped and roughened by exposure to the elements stretching taut over hollowed, hungry cheeks, and a full-lipped mouth that lacked color. Jem had often said that she looked like a little gypsy, but still it was galling to be less than pretty in the eyes of this haughty lord who was so dazzingly beautiful himself.

  “Open your mouth,” he said. Jewel blinked at him, and tried to jerk her chin free. On
ce again those long fingered hands proved surprisingly strong.

  “I ain’t a bleedin’ ’orse!”

  “No one said you were. Now open your mouth.”

  Sulkily Jewel obeyed. There was something about him that made a body feel that she was better off to do as he said. Not that she was afraid of him, mind.

  His eyes ran over her small teeth, which were relatively even and strong. He nodded once, and Jewel took that for permission to close her mouth. She did so, looking him over from head to toe with open provocation just so he would know she was not totally cowed. But he didn’t seem one whit disturbed by her close inspection; on the contrary, it was she who was bothered. Seen so close, it was apparent that the lean, broad shouldered frame beneath the impeccable evening clothes was impressively muscular. Jewel hadn’t realized it before, but now she became aware that she liked leanly muscled men. His physique didn’t repulse her as had, say, Mick’s burly form.

  “Stand up.”

  “Wot?” His command caught her by surprise, and she frowned. He repeated it with a cool lack of emphasis, and stepped back from her, allowing her sufficient room to obey. Jewel, to her own surprise, stood without further question, looking at him warily. The blanket drooped from her shoulder, and he reached out to remove it altogether, throwing it aside as though it might be unclean.

  “I ain’t got the pox, if that be wot’s worryin’ ya.”

  “You relieve my mind.” His voice was as tranquil as if they were discussing the weather. Jewel ground her teeth. This fine earl would drive her to drink within a week, she thought—or maybe even to murder him. The thought made her smile.

  “How old are you?” he demanded abruptly, his eyes narrowed as he watched the change a smile brought to her face.

  “Sixteen, or thereabouts, I think. How old ya be?”

  It was deliberate impertinence, and Jewel did not really expect him to answer, but he did without apparent rancor.

  “Thirty-one.”

  Exactly fifteen years older than herself, Jewel calculated as his eyes ran over her again. Old enough so that he was a full grown man, not a clumsy boy.

  “You’re way too thin, but I suppose that’s only to be expected and can be remedied. We will hope that your figure will improve as your diet does.”

  His eyes turned critically to her small breasts, clearly revealed even to the tiny upright nipples by the damp silk that clung to her. His gaze rested there for an instant before moving down over her tiny waist and boyish hips. The only undergarment she ever wore was a pair of drawers, and with her dress as wet as it was, every curve and hollow of her shape was revealed to him. Looking down at herself, Jewel felt a sense of shame that her body wasn’t more lushly female. But she told herself that it was just as well. He was very handsome, too handsome. And when he ordered her to do something in that voice of his she couldn’t seem to do anything but obey him. It was uncanny, the effect he had on her. She didn’t like it, not one little bit. It was time she started to show that she had a mind of her own again.

  “Seen enough?” she asked pertly as his eyes returned to her face at last. She was surprised to find that, standing, she still had to tilt her head back to look into those celestial eyes. She had not realized that he was so tall.

  The sight of those beautiful eyes frowning down into her own unexpectedly flustered her, and she took a step backwards, ending up with the backs of her knees pressed closely against the seat of her chair.

  His eyebrows rose faintly at her action, and his eyes narrowed on her face. Feeling herself blush, Jewel prayed that he would not be able to guess the unsettling feelings he stirred in her body.

  “You’ll never be a diamond of the first water, but I suppose you can be rigged out to be presentable enough. You’ll have to learn to speak, to dress, to conduct yourself like a lady. I’ll have to hire you a governess, I suppose. Some elderly female, perhaps.” His eyes gleamed brightly blue with calculation as they ran over her again. His impersonal regard when she was so intensely aware of him was maddening.

  “ ’old your ’orses a minute, ’ere. Suppose I don’ wan’ ter be turned into a bleedin’ lady? I don’ ’ave to do wot ya tell me, ya know. I can jes’ take wot’s comin’ ter me and leave.”

  He smiled then, a slow sweet smile that made Jewel tingle from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. There was something about that smile that made her feel the way she had felt once when she had been to an exhibition at Astley’s Amphitheater and seen a snake curl around its handler’s neck.

  “Let’s get something clear between us, my girl. You will do just exactly as I tell you. If you do not, if you do not obey me precisely in everything, then I will turn you back out into the streets without a second thought. Your marriage lines, as my mother so thoughtfully pointed out, are not worth the paper they are written on unless I choose to acknowledge them. If I do not choose to accept them and you, what will you do? Hire a barrister and press a suit against the estate? You’d be laughed out of court with your whore’s cant—even supposing you could find a barrister willing to take your case. With my sponsorship, however, you will be well fed, which from the looks of you is something you’ve never been, well clothed, housed, and educated far above your station. You will have my cousin’s name, and in four years time, on what would have been his twenty-fifth birthday, his not inconsiderable competence to call your own. But make no mistake, my girl. In return for all this you will do as I say without question. If you wish to go, you have only to say so now. But once you agree, there will be no turning back. In return for the future I hold out to you, you will obey me in all things. It is your choice. Think well before you make it. Once made, there will be no going back.”

  Jewel looked at the earl, her eyes narrowed to a dull golden gleam in the lamplight. Then she looked around at the leather chairs, the books that lined the walls, the luxurious carpet beneath her feet, the paintings on the wall. A fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, making the room toasty warm. The entire house was undoubtedly warm—here, in this mansion, warmth was not a luxury but something that was taken for granted, like air to breathe. She would have plenty of food to eat, and a warm, dry bed to sleep in free of bugs or the possibility of other, less welcome intruders, clean, whole clothes—and she would be safe. She would be a fool not to agree with any conditions he set on that. Then she thought of something, and frowned darkly.

  “There be jes’ one thing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I won’t be—do nothin’ bad wit’ ya!” She blurted it out, her voice belligerent, her eyes gleaming with golden challenge.

  His eyes widened slightly, and he stared at her for a moment. A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. He looked to be on the verge of laughing, which she sensed was a rare thing for him. Contrarily, the knowledge that he found her assertion amusing nettled her. It was humbling to discover that he thought her so lacking in attraction.

  “My dear girl, you may put aside any fears that you may be harboring. I assure you, I have absolutely no designs on your person. You are as safe with me as you would be with your own father or brother. If you have either.”

  “I ain’t got no family a-tall.” Her answer was muttered. The sudden shame that rose in her at the admission surprised her. Being the daughter of a woman who had had to whore for a living had never bothered Jewel particularly before. But now, in the face of this man, it did.

  “You are more fortunate than I then,” he responded dryly, lifting an eyebrow at her. “Well, do we have a bargain or don’t we?”

  Jewel nodded. “We got a deal.”

  He smiled then, a faint curving of his lips. “Very wise of you. You’ve given up little to gain much. I will have Mrs. Masters prepare a room for you. After she shows you to it, a bath will be sent up to you. Oblige me by making full use of it. Tomorrow I travel to the country. I think the best thing will be for you to accompany me. Your education will prosper better away from town where there are fewer eyes to see and tongue
s to wag. I leave at first light, so be ready. One of the maids will wake you in time.”

  He crossed to the side of the room and tugged on a tasseled rope while Jewel watched him with some trepidation. She would not have been at all surprised to see little horned gremlins descend out of the ceiling at his signal. It was somehow in keeping with her notion that she had just sold her soul to the devil.

  “Your name, what was it again?” He was looking at her with the merest suggestion of a frown.

  “Jewel. Jewel Combs.”

  “My lord,” he prompted.

  “My lord,” she echoed, feeling foolish, and he nodded.

  “Jewel Stratham, don’t you mean, since you have married my cousin Stratham?”

  Jewel was startled to realize that she hadn’t even thought about that. But, yes, she realized now, her name—and so much else—had been changed forever. “Jewel Stratham, then. My lord.”

  He nodded again, showing approval that she had remembered the correct way to address him.

  “Jewel is not, I think, fitting for the role of my cousin’s relic. It reminds one—quite irresistibly!—of the stratum which you will no longer occupy. I think you shall be called Julia. Similar enough so that you should have no problems answering to it, but still the name of a lady.”

  “But—” Jewel started to protest this disposal of her name as if it were no more than a dirty rag, but caught his eye in time to remember her promise to obey him in all things. She looked around her again at the warmth and luxury of the room, thought of the sumptuous dinner that was certain to be provided for her shortly, and bit her tongue. He could call her Henry the Eighth if he wanted, if she could eat good.

  “Are we agreed? Jewel Combs is now Mrs. Julia Stratham?” His eyes were on her, measuring her compliance. Jewel nodded.

  “Ayeh. My lord,” she added as those eyebrows went up. He smiled at her.

  “I can see that you’re a clever girl, Julia. We should get on very well. Ah, yes, Mrs. Masters.” He turned his attention to the plump middle aged lady who presented herself after a brief knock in the doorway. “This is Mr. Timothy’s widow. She requires a room—the gold one, I think—a bath, and a meal. Also, some nightclothes, and, uh, some suitable garments for travel on the morrow. Oh, and you may address her as Miss Julia. She is to be quite one of the family.”