The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      But this was going to turn messy and emotional and unpleasant, and all her training leaped to the fore. “Dear James, any woman would jump at your proposal. But you deserve a woman who can give you her entire heart. I can’t.”

      “But if you could—” He left the sentence hanging.

      What did she do? Lie? It was the ladylike thing to do. One simple statement had her facing the most stunning truth—did she want to be a lady and lie, or did she want to be bold and brave and tell the truth? “If I could...well, things would be quite different, I assure you.”

      That was a lady’s response. It didn’t insult and it said absolutely nothing. She felt rather guilty giving it. But her heart told her it was for the best.

      “Julia, I can’t wait any longer.”

      “I don’t want you to wait, James. Please, do find someone else and be happy.”

      He straightened his dinner jacket. “I bid you good-night then.”

      He was gone.

      Julia let out a deep, relieved breath.

      Then she heard a soft movement. Smoke drifted out from the doorway of the music room. She suspected Cal was in there. He must have come in from the terrace and heard everything. She stalked to the door. Cal was leaning against the fireplace mantel.

      He looked up as she walked in. “Why did you refuse him?”

      Julia felt her cheeks get hot. “That is none of your business.”

      “He’s a duke, isn’t it? Your family’s gonna be disappointed.”

      “My family accepts that I will marry only for love.”

      “That’s what you want? Love? Love can destroy you, you know. It can hurt you like nothing else can.”

      And he had been hurt. Very badly. By the loss of his parents? Or by something else? “I know that,” she said softly. “I lost my fiancé. I know how much it can hurt to love someone and lose them.”

      “Do you think it’s worth it?” he said suddenly.

      “Of course it is.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Tell me why your heart is so badly broken,” she said impulsively.

      But he only grinned. “Angel, I have no heart to break.” He threw the stub of his cigarette into the fireplace grate and, this time, he walked away from her.

      Of course, it was because he was running away from her question.

      * * *

      In the kitchen of Worthington Park, early in the morning, Hannah Talbot let out a huffing breath as she lifted the porridge dish. This was the plain one, the one used for the servants’ dinners and not one of the large gleaming silver dishes that was kept under lock and СКАЧАТЬ