Hold Me Close Page 10

  Julia’s cheeks went blazing hot. “Oh, ridiculous!” she said, springing backwards out of his reach. “I—I am not at all the type for star-crossed romance!”

  “Are you sure?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Quite sure. I am a widow now. Such things are—they must be—quite behind me.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “I thought something similar about myself. In fact—”

  Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a thumping noise from Holsworth’s side of the divan. They all looked down to see that a little porcelain figurine of a King Charles spaniel that usually graced the end table had fallen and struck the carpet, apparently helped there by a bump from Holsworth’s elbow.

  Hastily, Holsworth snatched it up. It appeared to be unbroken. “Excuse me,” he said, as he placed it back where it belonged. “I’m not really designed to fit in delicate spaces.”

  Big as a bull, Julia thought. And then immediately clamped down on that thought. That was not the direction she needed her mind going just now.

  Mr. Maji fixed the major once more with a scholarly, considering look. And then, suddenly, he, too, rose to his feet. “Enough of this academic chatter,” he said. “It is a fine day outdoors. Perhaps we can all stroll in the gardens? I’ve never seen a proper English garden, except in paintings. I should be most gratified to make the acquaintance of a cowslip or a daffodil, if any are in residence right now.”

  “Oh,” said Margaret, jumping up as well, still looking rather flustered by the poetry. “I’m sure we can find you something properly English in bloom.”

  “Sister Margaret,” Mr. Maji said, holding out an elbow to her, “will you take one of my arms? My wife wishes to spend as much time in her sister’s presence as she can while we are here, and I should be most happy to escort both of you together. Major Holsworth, I am sure you would be willing to escort Lady Grantleigh?”

  Julia glanced at the major, and saw him square his jaw, as though preparing for an unwelcome duty.

  “Of course,” Holsworth said.

  “But wait!” exclaimed Margaret. “Poor Julia never had a chance to touch her breakfast! Marcus, dearest, will you be sure she actually eats something before you bring her outdoors? I fear she’ll flutter away in the wind if she doesn’t.”

  Holsworth hesitated a moment before bowing his head in acquiescence. “You can depend on me,” he answered somberly, Julia could not quite tell whether he was being jocular, or resigned.

  As the gray-haired trio strolled out the French doors that led to the gardens, Christopher’s two aunts on either side of Mr. Maji were giggling with their heads inclined towards one another. It was impossible to hear exactly what they were saying, but Julia thought she caught the words lovers and romance. Of course they were probably still talking about Bharati’s verses, but she couldn’t quite help feeling she was at the mercy of some sort of conspiracy.

  Nonetheless, she did as she was bid, and returned to the breakfast room, sitting down dutifully long enough to force down some toast with cherry conserves. She ignored the coddled eggs. Holsworth stood guard over her, quite literally, drumming his fingers on the top rail of the nearest chair.

  A hoot of laughter from Aunt Eleanor sounded on the other side of the breakfast room window. Apparently, they were taking their time in the China rose garden. “Oh, believe me, Margaret,” came Eleanor’s voice, quite loudly, perfectly audible even through the window glass. “It’s never too late to embrace the pleasures of love! We may be long in the tooth, but we certainly still have appetites!”

  The finger-drumming stopped, and Holsworth sighed wearily. “Lady Eleanor has been away from England a very long time. She forgets what topics are appropriate for polite conversation.”

  “Is it really any different from when you knew her as a boy?”

  He laughed gruffly. “No, I suppose not. Though, back then, she’d never speak of such…sensual matters within my hearing. She had that much propriety, at least.”

  Such sensual matters. Oh, Lord. Was Holsworth’s mind as distracted as hers was by the memories of what they’d done together on the hothouse divan? Or was he used to doing such things, with dozens of other ladies? Perhaps what happened between them, physically at least, had meant very little to him at all.

  Julia took a hurried sip of her tea, which had gone cold and bitter and barely tolerable to swallow. She choked it down anyway.

  Thankfully, Holsworth walked over to the window, looking out over the garden, giving her a bit of breathing space. “I’m sorry if hearing those verses embarrassed you,” he said, still facing away from her. “Bharati’s poetry is beautiful, though—truly it is, and very moving, once you adjust your mind to the particular sensibility.”

  That made her put her teacup down, lest her suddenly unsteady hands slosh liquid all over the tablecloth. Just yesterday at this time, she’d thought of Holsworth—when she thought of him at all—as always stern, almost somber. She wouldn’t have imagined him so skilled in the sensual arts. And she most certainly wouldn’t have expected him to speak of the beauty of poetry, or the sensibilities of the mind.

  She snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “I was a bit surprised to hear you reciting like that,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a lover of poetry.”

  His expression went stiff. “No? I do have a Cambridge education, Lady Grantleigh.” One eyebrow lifted. “And a soul.”

  Oh, Lord, and she’d insulted him again. Or so he thought. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. “Of course I know you have both.” Dash it all—it sent a pang through her to have him speak so coldly to her again.

  Though, of course, coldness between them was what she should want. The physical pull she felt towards him was still disconcertingly strong, and she couldn’t risk tumbling into chaos again.

  “Well,” he said, turning to face her again, his eyes and voice both gone hard as flint. “As you said yourself, you are not at all the type for star-crossed romance.”

  Oh, yes, he was cold. Very, very cold.

  And….hurt, perhaps?

  Oh, dear. Perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as she thought by what they’d done together. Or perhaps her distressed response to Mr. Maji’s story about the bracelet had simply wounded his masculine pride.

  What on earth was going on inside his mind right now?

  Heavens, have mercy. Much as she wanted to put last night behind them, she supposed they did need to speak about it, at least briefly. To clarify things.

  To put it all safely behind them.

  Pushing away her teacup, she rose slowly to her feet, crossing the few feet to join him at the window.

  “Last evening,” she began, softly, when she reached his side. “Last evening was a most unusual circumstance, one neither of us could have planned, or even foreseen. We both know that.”

  “So it was,” he said, his face expressionless.

  Her heart thumped. If only standing close to him did not make her feel she was weakening inside. Even now, some deep impulse made her want to lean into his body, to rest her head against his chest. But she had to try to keep her mind clear. Stay rational about all this.

  “I want you to know, I am…grateful to you,” she said. “For—for—” Oh, this was impossible. She broke off, fumbling for a tolerable way to phrase what she meant. “I am grateful that you were so compassionate to me last night, in a time of great need.”

  “Grateful?” He arched a skeptical brow at her, and his voice held a note of scorn. “Compassionate?”

  She felt herself blush. Oh, Lord, Holsworth did seem angry, and hurt. And she had no idea what she was supposed to do about that.

  Christopher had never been angry with her, ever, in all the years they’d spent together.

  A wave of sadness washed through her chest, and—as had happened so many times before—she felt heavy with longing for her husband’s steadiness, his warmth, his easy smile.

  She squeezed her fingers tight together, tried t
o fight back another flood of tears. “I behaved badly last night,” she said. “Selfishly. Thinking only of how our—our interaction affected me.”

  “Interaction? Is that what it is now?” His teeth ground together audibly.

  “Please, Major Holsworth. You must understand. I know you understand,” she insisted to the man standing so rigidly before her, “that I love Christopher. I am Christopher’s wife, still. In my heart at least, even if he is gone.”

  There, that needed to be said. It was the truth, after all.

  But why did her heart ache so badly now, as though it were being twisted at the root?

  Holsworth seemed to have turned to stone. “I do understand,” he said. “And Christopher deserves no less. I said as much last night.”

  “So,” she said, feeling rather as though she were groping her way down an unfamiliar corridor in the pitch dark. “Last night was…a short burst of madness, as it were. Brought on by grief.”

  “Most certainly.” His face gave away nothing of what he might be feeling. But, oddly enough, his eyes now made a quick, calculating sweep of the room, taking in the open doors to the kitchens and the parlor and the foyer hallway. “However,” he said, switching suddenly to the crisp, authoritative tone she supposed he used as a battlefield commander, “there are some more practical matters we need to discuss. And we should not do that indoors, where the servants might overhear. Let us do as Mr. Maji instructs, and take a turn in the gardens.”

  Julia bit down on her lip. Of course Holsworth deserved the chance to say whatever it was he felt he needed to say. She owed him that much, if not far more.

  And outdoors was certainly far safer than any private place indoors for that to happen.

  “As you wish,” she said, and took his arm.

  8

  Marcus clenched and unclenched his right fist, trying to master the restless discomfort that tensed his muscles as if he were headed into combat.

  Which was…ridiculous. There was no battle to fight here, and he had no right to behave as he was behaving. He had no claim on Julia. He never had. He never would.

  She’d made it perfectly clear she found it agonizing to have him under her late husband’s roof after what passed between them last night. If there weren’t urgent practical matters to discuss with her, the only decent thing for him to do would be to head straight to the Boar’s Head and take the next mail coach back to London.

  Unfortunately, there were urgent matters, and they couldn’t be ignored. The burden of duty weighed on his chest like a slab of granite, pressing down against his lungs.

  Fate offered him one small mercy, at least—when they walked out past the rose garden and onto the great rolling sweep of lawn that stretched down toward the village, Mr. Maji and Christopher’s aunts had disappeared from view.

  “Over here,” he said, directing Julia up a flagstone path that skirted the south side of the house, leading toward the wooded part of the estate. They could follow the walking path up the hill to the little Grecian folly, with its picturesque view of the river and surrounding valley, and its shielding marble walls. No one would overhear their conversation there.

  “Oh,” said Julia, tugging back on his elbow. “We won’t find the others in that direction. Margaret never climbs. She complains too much of the stiffness in her hips and knees.”

  “I know. I have no wish to find the others. They mustn’t hear what I have to say to you, any more than the servants should.”

  Julia stubbornly stood her ground. “But we’re private enough right here, or if you don’t think so, we can just go down into the apple grove.” She gestured down a gentle side slope to a grassy area surrounded by a few dwarfish espaliered trees—a place where anyone looking out the southern windows of the house could see them clearly.

  That slab of granite pressed down heavier and colder still.

  Damnation. She was actively afraid of being alone with him.

  “For pity’s sake, Julia,” he found himself growling. “Are you worried I’ll try to draw you into my clutches again? Believe me, I’m aware my behavior last night was utterly inexcusable, and if you had any living male relatives, I’d happily let them take me out and shoot me.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think? I don’t view you as having clutches.”

  “But you want to ensure we remain in full view of others.”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh, and dropped her hold on his arm, pivoting to face him straight on. “I’m just trying to be sure we behave properly from now on,” she said. “Let me repeat, Major, I blame only myself for what happened last night. I take full responsibility. I’m the one who kissed you, after all. And I refused to let you stop when you wished to.”

  He swallowed hard. Oh, how little she understood. Do you really think I wished to stop? Never. Never. My own impulses were quite out of control.

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen at all,” he insisted harshly. “You were overcome with emotion, and you’d never known anything but honorable marriage. I have far more experience of the world, and am at least meant to be a gentleman. So the responsibility was entirely mine.”

  “Great heavens!” Her brow furrowed now, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You make me sound like a fool—like a mindless hoop knocked along by a stick. Do you think ladies can’t control themselves, or discourage gentlemen who try to take things too far? Any girl out in Society learns how to fend off men trying to whisk her off for private assignations—a wedding ring doesn’t discourage the more audacious ones, you know. You didn’t take advantage of me, Major Holsworth, so get that noble thought right out of your mind. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

  “You told me you thought you were going mad!”

  “Not when I kissed you. By then, you’d reassured me there was nothing wrong with my mind, and I was—I was seeking to assuage my grief. Which I did. Which you did.” Her cheeks glowed red as apples now, but her gaze was firm and steady. “And I needed that more than I know how to express. Given the same circumstances, I would make the same choice again.”

  He stared back at her for a long moment, entirely thunderstruck. “Very well, then, Lady Grantleigh,” he said at last. “I will not insult you further with apologies.”

  “Good.”

  “To be clear, though, I do intend to behave honorably now.” He straightened his shoulders. This next part of their conversation would be the bitterest, and his throat constricted as though fighting back a surge of gall. “I will respect whatever preferences you have, of course,” he said. “But if it should become necessary—I mean, if there are, well, physical consequences of our actions—I hope you will consider accepting the protection of my hand and my name. For whatever they are worth.”

  Now she was the one who looked thunderstruck. “Physical consequences? You mean if—if I should find myself with child?”

  “Yes,” he said, scarcely able to draw air for the words. “Yes, that is what I mean.”

  “My husband and I shared a bed every night for six years, and despite our best efforts, I never conceived. I doubt there will be any cause to worry.”

  “Well, even if there are no practical concerns,” he said, “if you should come to feel any moral compunction about what we have done—” He broke off, his pulse suddenly pounding, the rush of blood loud in his ears. “Regardless of the reason, if you should wish it, I offer you marriage under any terms acceptable to you.”

  A muscle twitched along her jaw. “Such a romantic proposal.”

  “It’s not meant to be romantic. You’ve been quite clear about where your romantic loyalties lie.”

  That made her wince.

  Blast it all, he’d rather face a cavalry charge than continue this conversation. But, of course, he never backed down from his duty.

  “Since we are being perfectly honest with one another, Lady Grantleigh,” he said, “I’ll be
the one to say it out loud: I’m well aware that marriage to a man like me is not something a woman like you should be expected to find acceptable except under the most desperate circumstances. We both know my name has not the tenth part of the value of the one you already possess.”

  Her eyes went very wide. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Major.”

  “Damn it!” Anger flashed hot through his chest. “You ask me not to treat you like a fool, Julia. Please do not treat me like one. I’m well aware what most of your social set thinks about men like me—ones who dare rise from the lowliest ranks to assume any position of authority in the world.”

  She said nothing, but she cast her gaze to the ground. Of course she understood what he meant. She was born the daughter of an illustrious earl, and had married another just as illustrious. She was a countess, at the very pinnacle of society. She knew her place in the world, and she knew his.

  He spoke the words anyway, to ensure there could be no misunderstanding between them. And perhaps also out of a perverse sort of pride. “The Grantleighs are an exceptional family,” he declared. “They opened their home to me, to the orphaned son of a lowly farmer. They secured me an education, and never made me feel that I was an intruder in their midst. I will always be grateful for that. I will always, for their sakes, do my best to behave like a gentleman, worthy of their kindness, if not their rank. But the rest of the world is not so kind. I’m well aware what most members of the haut ton say about me. I’ve heard all the jokes.”

  “Jokes?” she said, glancing up again. She seemed genuinely surprised. “What jokes?”

  “About how the Grantleighs brought their livestock into the dining room to eat with them. That sort of thing.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say they were clever jokes.”

  “But that’s—horrid! Who made such remarks? I’ve never heard anyone say anything of the sort!”