Julia London 4 Book Bundle (87 page)

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “
No
.”

“Do you think this some sort of game?” he snapped irritably. “Another one of your little fantasies where women rule the world?”

“I told you, she is quite safe. But I won’t tell you where, not until you have calmed yourself. You can’t go after her, not like this.”

He suddenly lunged at her, but Claudia quickly stepped beyond his reach. “There is nothing you can do to make me tell you!” she cried, and whirled, fleeing the rooms.

You can’t make me stay in my rooms!
The sudden
image of the defiant little girl shattered him; Julian fell to one knee, covering his eyes with one hand as he tried to steady himself with the other. The discomfort of his skin was overpowering, tightening around his bones and his skull. She had done it at last, destroyed him completely. Funny, wasn’t it, that all this time he’d been worried that he would destroy
her
.

There was nothing left for them, except finding a way to end this farce of a marriage once and for all.

C
LAUDIA
W
AS
N
OT
invited to the family caucus that occurred the next afternoon, which was made exceedingly clear to her. Dejected, confused, and rather unsure of herself, she dismissed Brenda and spent the day in lonely solitude, moving woodenly to pack her things, knowing full well that it was over. The whole ugly mess was almost too complicated for her to fathom, and as hard as she tried, she could not put her finger on exactly what had ultimately destroyed his love for her.

There was so much distrust between them; doubts spanning years, too many untruths she could not seem to ferret her way through. Only one thing did she know with complete certainty.

She loved Julian.

Completely, with all her heart, as fiercely and futilely and fatally as she had when she was a young girl, if not more so. She loved him, but she loved Sophie, too, and she could not be entirely sorry for what she had done.

Nonetheless, Claudia intuitively understood that even if Sophie had never been, she would still be packing her things today. She and Julian were doomed from the moment they encountered one another in Dieppe, and if it hadn’t been this, something else would eventually have caused her to stand on the outside looking in. She was too independent for this world, too involved in social causes, too irreverent of society’s mores to have endured a marriage among the
ton
. Eventually, her school, or the town
house on Upper Moreland Street—
something
—would have come between them.

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to at this moment, she could not change who she was.

It was late afternoon when someone finally rapped on her door. Opening it, she found Tinley leaning against the doorjamb. He motioned her aside and shuffled into her room, easing himself down onto the couch at the hearth. “Forgive me, milady, but I must catch my breath.”

Claudia closed the door. “Tinley? Is something wrong?”

Tinley stuck his bony hand into a breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, extending it toward her with his crooked arm. It was from Julian—he had taken to writing things down rather than trust Tinley’s memory. Claudia did not want to read that note and watched it taunt her from Tinley’s wavering arm. “My
lady
,” he groaned when she made no move to take it.

She forced herself to take the note. Turning slightly so that Tinley could not see her face, she opened it.

I will have your presence in the blue drawing room at precisely four o’clock. K.

That was all—nothing more than a simple command. Claudia glanced at the clock. A quarter of an hour. She shifted her gaze to Tinley. “What does one usually wear to a hanging, do you suppose?” she asked grimly.

“Black, I’d wager,” Tinley responded affably.

At precisely four o’clock, Claudia was standing at the door of the blue drawing room, drawing deep breaths into her lungs in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart. When that didn’t work, she pressed her hands flat against her abdomen, swallowing hard between breaths so that her anxiety would not make her sick. She should knock, go into that room and face the consequences of it all, but
apparently there was no force in the universe that could make her raise her arm.

No force was necessary; the door suddenly swung open and Julian glared down at her. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped as he stepped aside to give her entry.

Willing her legs to move, Claudia walked into the room. Julian shut the door with a resounding
thud
, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace in front of her. Back and forth he went, the hem of his coat flying out behind him with every violent turn. Too cowardly to speak or move, Claudia watched him, watched the muscles in his jaw bulge with the force of his bite, watched him glance at her, then to the floor again, as if her face burned him like the sun. It went on for what seemed like an eternity, but finally, he stopped and forced himself to look at her. “Where is she?”

Claudia released the breath she had been holding. “What will you do with her?”

His eyes roamed her face, searching, as if he had never really seen her before now. “I will protect her with my life, Claudia … how can you not
know that
?”

There was pain in his voice; she swallowed past a sudden lump of emotion, blinking rapidly against tears that all at once welled in her eyes. “I
do
know it,” she admitted quietly. And she did—she knew it about him as well as she knew herself, and wondered madly why it had taken her so long to understand it. “I’ll give you the directions.”

Julian pivoted and strode quickly to a writing table, snatching paper and pencil, then strode back to her, thrusting them at her. “Write it down,” he said anxiously, “the
exact
directions.” He retrieved his spectacles and peered over her shoulder as she wrote the directions to 31 Upper Moreland Street, fairly snatching the paper from her hand when she had finished. He looked tired, she thought, much older than his thirty-three years. He frowned and glanced up at her. “I don’t know the street.”

“You wouldn’t,” she mumbled.

His frown deepened as he stuffed the paper into his
coat pocket, then walked swiftly to the door. “How far? I wonder if I might reach it before nightfall?” he muttered to himself, distracted. “I’ll just send a note to Genie—”

“I intend to go to my father’s house,” Claudia said quietly.

With his back to her, Julian paused, his body visibly tensing.
Please say no. Say no, say no
, she silently begged him. “I won’t stop you,” he said without turning.

What was left of her heart crashed like a falling star to the earth. Tears slipped from her eyes and raced down her cheeks. “I was rather hoping you would,” she said, and gulped back more tears.

Almost reluctantly, it seemed, he turned to look at her. His gaze faltered for a moment as he glanced at the paper in his hand, then at her again. “It’s rather useless, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” she whispered.

He nodded solemnly.

There it was—it was over, all hope gone, crushed—her husband plainly despised her. Claudia forced her gaze from his handsome face to the carpet at her feet—she never wanted to lay eyes on him again, not when he looked like this, so handsome, so virile … so distant and cold. “I’ve packed a few things. If you would be so kind as to send one of the footmen with it?”

“Of course.”

She kept her gaze riveted to the floor, wishing he would just go now, leave her to her sorrow and misery.

“Claudia …”

He would not let her go, not like this!
Her heart took wing, feebly attempting to resurrect itself.

“Is there anything I should know about this place? Will I encounter any obstacles if I want to see her?” he asked.

The wings on her heart broke and sent it plummeting to earth in a tailspin. “No, of course not,” she managed. “She is quite safe. You need only knock on the door, and the rest is up to Sophie.”

He nodded, turned away, and walked out of the room.

And Claudia collapsed onto a settee, doubled over in grief as the tears of her despair poured out of her heart.

Julian had but one thought upon seeing Upper Moreland Street: He was glad Claudia was gone, else he’d be tempted to have her head for subjecting Sophie to this place. Upper Moreland Street was clearly
far
beneath the standard of living Sophie was accustomed to, and Julian resented the hell out of it.

The coach pulled to a stop in front of Number 31; he alighted, closely watching the woman who appeared on the stoop. Small and thin, the gown she wore looked too big for her and had been patched in more than one place. Her graying brown hair was swept back and knotted tightly at her nape, making her look rather severe in countenance. She frowned as Julian walked toward her and folded her arms defensively beneath her bosom.

“Good evening,” he called.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“The Earl of Kettering,” he informed her with an aristocratic air.

The woman, however, did not seem particularly impressed. “Ah,” she remarked, as if they had met before. “So you’re him, are you?”

Him
? He let it go. “Might I inquire as to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“Mrs. Conner.”

“Mrs. Conner, I am given to understand that my sister, Lady Stanwood—”

“She’s here all right. Come on, then,” she said, and stepped into the little house.

Hesitating briefly, Julian walked up the steps of the little stoop, stepping into the tiny vestibule and passing through to the main corridor. Instantly, he encountered two young boys tumbling roughly in the narrow hallway as one of them rolled like a ball onto his foot. Julian cleared his throat, succeeded in gaining the lads’
attention. Both turned startled expressions to him, tilting their heads as far back as they could to see him.

“
Blimey
,” whispered one, his eyes as round as saucers.

“Blimey, indeed,” Julian drawled, and carefully stepped over the two ruffians, snapping his greatcoat away from their grubby little hands. He had lost Mrs. Conner, of course, and paused as the two boys resumed their boisterous play, peering into one room on his left.

Two women were seated inside the small parlor, darning a mountain of stockings. One of them glanced at him and smiled broadly. “G’day, milord,” she called out in a thick cockney accent.

Julian nodded curtly and quickly moved on. Rough lads and cockney women—what else had Sophie been subjected to? How had Claudia ever thought to bring her to such a place? Frustrated, he paused at the door to his right and looked inside. It was a dining area of some sort, except that bolts of cloth were strewn all over the place. Two young girls labored with a pair of shears over a bolt on the table, carefully cutting the cloth into large squares. The oldest girl paused in her work and peered curiously at him. “Are you the magistrate?” she asked.

“No,” he responded instantly, shuddering to think why a girl of that age should have a need to know what a magistrate was, much less be expecting one.
Good God
. Where in the hell was Sophie? He headed for the stairs at the end of the corridor but noticed a door behind it. Leaning to one side to have a better look, he thought he ought to at least try the door before he went up and accidentally blundered into someone’s bedchamber.

The door led to a narrow hall, which connected the front of the little house with another room in the back. As Julian squeezed into the narrow passageway, the scent of fresh-baked bread reached his nose. He had, apparently, stumbled onto the kitchens. He stuck his head in nonetheless to see three women baking, one up to her elbows in dough.

“Oh, my, look ’ere, Dorcus,” one chirped cheerfully. “ ’Av ’ye ever seen such a fine-lookin’ bloke?”

The woman at a washtub quickly turned around. A gap-toothed grin spread her lips as she hastily wiped her hands on her apron. “Well then, come
in
, milord! We won’t bite ye now, will we, Sandra?”

“I’m not making ’im any promises,” Sandra replied coquettishly, and the three women howled their shared amusement.

“I beg your pardon—apparently I have the wrong room,” Julian politely informed them, and received another round of cackling for it. He quickly backed out of the room, rolling his eyes at the laughter. What sort of strange place was this, filled with women and children? They were everywhere, in every room, engaged in every conceivable occupation. Julian mounted the stairs and paused to look in the first door he came to. Two more women, a stack of piecework between them, their needles flying over the cloth. He moved on before they could notice him, to a second door, where thankfully he found Mrs. Conner seated in a rocking chair, moving back and forth in time with her needle.

“Shall I pour a cup of tea for you?” she asked, never looking up from her piecework.

“Mrs. Conner,” Julian said, feeling uneasier by the minute. “I have come to fetch my sister. If you would be so kind as to bring her to me, I’d be much obliged.”

“She knows you’re here, milord,” Mrs. Conner casually informed him, still not looking up.

He seriously contemplated walking over and snatching the blasted sewing from her hand and demanding the attention that was his due. “Excuse me, Mrs. Conner, but I don’t believe you understand. I am here to fetch my sister.
Now
.”

“Julian!”

Sophie’s voice startled him; he whirled around, expecting to see … 
anything but this
.

She was smiling, albeit rather thinly. The smile was marred by the black and purple bruise on her chin, its yellow edges spreading to the corner of her mouth. The sight of it sickened him; he silently vowed then and there
that he would see Stanwood dead before he would ever see him near Sophie again.

“How did you find me?” she asked. “Claudia, I suppose. You see, Mrs. Conner? I knew she’d not keep it a secret for long.”

“It’s just as well,” Mrs. Conner remarked casually.