He shook his head, his thoughts still clouded with desire, but one idea was quickly coming into focus. He met her gaze, and the hazy look of arousal in her face was almost enough to break his resolve.
Almost.
“I'm so sorry, Julia,” he began, hating to see her expression change at once to one of hurt surprise. “I forgot myself. But I have to stop. I can't do this with you. I shouldn't have done any of this.”
She looked stunned, as if he had kicked her, and he hastened to explain.
“I love you so much,” he said, his throat tightening, his eyes lingering on her glowing skin and pale hair in the hints of moonlight that peeped into the carriage. “I never expected to fall in love, or to feel it so deeply. But I can't be other than who I was raised to be, either. I have betrothed myself to Louisa, and I can't go back on that promise.”
He drew in a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, and he continued, “And it would be dishonorable of me to compromise you, Julia. I can't believe what I just did to you; I'm so sorry. You are a young lady of quality, and if I were free to marry you, I would rightfully propose to you this instant. But I must marry someone else, and eventually you must, too, and I musn't take anything that rightfully belongs to your husband. I've already done far too much.”
His throat closed at the idea of Julia married to someone else. Kissing someone else. In bed with someone else. He felt sick.
Julia's expression softened into one of resignation. “I understand, of course,” she murmured. “I knew it couldn't be any different.”
Her voice broke, and she seemed to continue only with a supreme effort. “I'm glad I told you I love you, and I'm so glad to know you love me. But I always knew it couldn't be any different. I . . . only hoped so. Somehow. I forgot myself, too.”
Her voice trembled at the finish. Slowly, she let out a deep breath, and added in a more normal voice, “Thank you for being a gentleman. If you were other than you are, I wouldn't love you as I do.”
“We musn't say those things to each other ever again,” James said desperately. “You have to forget I said that.”
“Oh, no,” Julia said, and now there were tears winking in the laughing eyes he loved so well. “I'll never speak of it again, but I'll never, never forget it.”
The carriage drew to a halt, and she heaved a shuddery sigh. “Home. Perfect timing, I guess.”
He strove for normality. “Would you like me to see you in? This late at night, it seems only right that I see you in.”
She smiled sadly at him and grazed his cheek with her fingertips. “Always a gentleman. Very well, see me to the door.”
As he helped her out of the carriage, James felt as if he were leaving a cocoon, another world. Already the embraces and the words that had passed between them seemed unreal as he breathed the cool night air again.
But it had been real.
But he couldn't think of it.
But, he thought to himself, glowing just a little inside, it had been real. She loved him. She wanted him.
He smiled as he reached for the door knocker. He smiled as he wished Julia a very proper good night in front of the sleepy-eyed servant who opened the door to her. And he smiled all the way home, and through all of his preparations for bed, and until he was in his bed.
And then he realized again that he was smiling because he was in love with his fiancée's sister, and he groaned.
Chapter 22
In Which Julia Must, Unfortunately, Face the Day
Morning seemed to Julia to dawn earlier and brighter than usual. When she awoke, her head felt heavy, and the sun glared into her eyes with unaccustomed harshness.
“Mmmph,” she groaned, holding her hand ineffectually in the path of the sun's rays, and then putting a pillow over her face.
Ugh, she felt terrible this morning. She remembered James telling her she had drunk too much punch last nightâwas this what men felt like all the time after parties? Oh, her head pounded. She swallowed beneath the protective darkness of the pillow, trying to relieve the dryness of her mouth. She felt so tired. How had the ball at Alleyneham House gone last night? She couldn't summon it to mind right now. She wished Louisa had been there so they could talk about the ball as they always did afterward.
Afterward . . .
She sat bolt upright, the pillow and the sun forgotten as she suddenly remembered what had happened after she drank the punch. And after the ball, in the carriage. The kisses, the touches . . . James had . . .
No, actually, she did
not
wish Louisa had been there last night.
She groaned again, clasping her head in her hands, and the pounding in her temples took on a new urgency. How could she have said those things to James? How could she have
done
those things with James? With
James
, who was going to marry Louisa?
Despite herself, she shivered to remember the carriage ride home. It all began to come backâwhat she had told him, and how he had kissed her and told her he loved her.
He loved her. James, who was going to marry Louisa.
Julia shook her head. This was not good. This was the complete opposite of good. She hated to think of it as a bad thing, that the man she loved returned her feelings, butâhonestly, with him engaged to her sister, what else could she consider it?
And what should she do now? She couldn't possibly tell Louisa; it would crush her. No, the best way she could reward her sister's trust was never to break it again. Which meant simply ignoring the fact that James loved her.
Was she really better off than before she had known?
“I have always been so, so stupid about him,” she mumbled to herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
A perfunctory knock sounded on her door, and Simone entered at once and dropped an equally perfunctory curtsy. “Good morning,
mademoiselle
,” she tossed over her shoulder as she began to tidy the post-ball clutter of clothes and hairpins around Julia's room.
“No, it's not a good morning, Simone,” Julia groaned. “And I'm not awake yet. Can you come back later?”
Simone continued tidying as if she had not heard. “I heard you talking; I knew that you were awake. I came in to arrange you before you speak to your sister. You should put on a dressing gown, too.”
Icy dread washed over Julia, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “Why should I speak to Louisa?” Surely she couldn't know anything. Could she?
“And why should you not? You go to a ball last night; she wants to hear about it.”
“She . . . wants to hear about it?” Julia repeated feebly.
The maid turned and stared at Julia with a gimlet eye. “Why should she not?” she pressed. Then, noticing Julia's stricken expression, she relented.
“I saw you come in last night,
mademoiselle
. I helped you into your bed. I know that something happened that was not ordinary, but your sister does not know. And if you do not want her to know, you need to look your most normal, but in the best possible way. Neat and well clothed. The mind follows where the appearance leads.”
“That is
so
French,” Julia muttered, rolling her eyes.
Despite herself, she had to smile at Simone's reasoning. It was just possible that she was right. “Very well, what do you suggest? Not that you're right about anything happening last night, but, you know, a lady always wants to look her best.”
“I will fix your hair to be pretty, and you will put on a dressing gown,” Simone decided, retrieving the garment in question from the wardrobe.
“Louisa won't care if I'm wearing a dressing gown,” Julia protested.
Simone looked sharply at the younger girl. “Does your sister know you better than anyone else? I think she does. You need to know what you will say to her, and you cannot do that if your hair is all a mess and you wear no dressing gown. Come, I will fix you up.”
She sighed as she looked at Julia's tangled hair, and added to herself, “
Mon Dieu
, it would be better if we were to wait for this speech until you are dressed. But we need to be as normal, so this will have to do.” She stepped out of the bedchamber for a moment and Julia heard her ordering morning chocolate from a housemaid.
Suddenly Julia felt exhausted and very nervous. When the maid stepped back into the bedchamber, she shut her eyes against the still-sharp morning light and Simone's insistent voice, and passively allowed the Frenchwoman to minister to her. When the chocolate arrived, she sipped at it as Simone's deft fingers untangled her hair and her own mind whirled fruitlessly. What would she say to Louisa? She needed to act natural. But how could she possibly act natural after what she'd done? She was a terrible person.
In a very few minutes, between the chocolate and Simone's ministrations, Julia had to admit that she looked much better, even if she still had no idea what she would say to Louisa.
“You can thank me later, when your vocabulary has returned,” Simone said pertly, and Julia rolled her eyes again as the maid left the room. Would anyone but Aunt Estella have a servant more arrogant than half the
ton
?
Well, maybe it was for the best. Simone had at least distracted her. Now that she was alone again, she felt a sickness that had nothing to do with the aftermath of Freddie's punch. How was she going to hide the truth from Louisa? She had never hidden anything from Louisa in all the years they had known each other.
Of course, it helped that she'd never had anything to hide before.
She allowed a feeling of despair to creep over her for one minute, but only one. Then with a supreme effort, she forced it down. Despair was self-indulgence. She mustered all her determination that Louisa should never know what she had done; it would hurt her sister too much.
And for her own part, she would never be tempted again. She would never speak to James again; she would never hide anything from Louisa again. She believed, and hoped, that she meant all these things, for Louisa deserved nothing less.
But she swore she could feel the heat of his hands on her skin, his lips on her lips. She let the pleasure of the memory wash over her for just a moment, unable to resist, then pushed it aside again.
At the thought of her sisterâher loving, unknowing sisterâpart of the knot in her chest dissolved, and she was able to school her face carefully in preparation for Louisa's entry. Even so, she jumped when the knock came on her door.
“Julia, can I come in? Simone said you were awake.”
“Thank you
so
much, Simone,” Julia grumbled.
At a normal volume, and in what she hoped was her normal voice, she added, “Yes, of course, come in.”
Louisa came in, looking cool and elegant as usual in a morning dress of primrose muslin. She seated herself in a chair opposite Julia's bed, and looked expectantly at the younger girl.
“So? How was the ball last night?”
Despite herself, Julia felt her face grow hot. Her stomach clenched. “I had a very nice time.”
“I know you danced, because you always do,” Louisa said, smiling. “Who did you dance with?”
“Sir Stephen Saville, of course, and Freddie Pellington, and Mr. Cosgrove, and Mr. Milligan, and Lord Xavier, and . . .” She desperately tried to think of someone else, without mentioning
his
name. “Lord Alleyneham?” she finished weakly.
“Didn't James ask you?” Louisa said with some surprise.
“Oh, yes, that's right. I suppose I did dance with him, too,” Julia replied with forced nonchalance, feeling herself grow even redder.
Louisa seemed not to notice her discomfort. She fixed her gaze on the wall several feet to the right of Julia's face, and said, “I'm glad you had a nice time. And I . . . believe it was for the best that I wasn't with you. I didn't really have a headache; I needed some time to think. I did a lot of thinking last night while you all were out.”
After the silence had spun out for almost a minute, Julia realized Louisa wasn't going to scratch her eyes out. Clearly something was bothering her greatly, though. “What were you thinking about?” she prodded, relieved to have something to talk about besides herself.
“About . . .” Louisa trailed off, then collected herself and met Julia's eyes. “Well, there's no other way to say it except bluntly. I've decided to break my engagement.”
Julia didn't have to feign her shock at all. “What? You areâwhat? Are you serious?”
“Yes, I'm perfectly serious.”
“Does James know? Is it something he did? Or, er, that anyone else did?” Guilt washed over her, and she prayed that it wouldn't show in her treacherous face.
Louisa frowned, considering. “I don't think he knows I was considering this step, but he might not be surprised when he thinks about it. It's certainly not because of anything that he did or didn't do. He couldn't be kinder to me.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Julia had to ask. The wash of guilt became an ocean.
Louisa sighed, and despite the freshness of her appearance, her eyes looked tired. “It's the idea of being engaged, I think. At least, being engaged to him.”
She smiled ruefully, dropping her gaze to her fingers, which she began twisting together in her lap. “I suppose I ought to feel very fortunate, and I did at first. After all, I had come to London to meet someone just like him, and get married, and become part of his world.”
She sighed heavily, seemingly from the very soles of her feet. “Julia, I can't do it. I can't go through another season, and I can't go through with the marriage. I'm not ready; I don't love him.”
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “You were right about courtship; it
should
be romantic. We had a business transaction, not an engagement, and that's not what I want for myself. I don't want a marriage of convenience, and I don't want to be a viscountess, and I never, never want to come back to London again.”
She looked up at Julia, and Julia had never seen such pain in her sister's eyes before. “Julia, I've failed. I failed our parents, and Aunt Estella, and I failed James, who is an honorable man.”
“What do you mean, you failed?” Julia's face went white. Surely Louisa hadn't . . . ? “Did you . . . ah . . . you know . . . with someone else?”
Louisa gave a sad half-smile. “Nothing like
that
. I just couldn't do what they needed me to. I couldn't be the carefree young miss who made everyone fall in love with her. I couldn't be Evelina Anville, or Marianne Dashwood, or any of the other enchanting young women we used to read about. I couldn't become a part of this glittering, busy world. I could barely even speak to people.
“Every time I went to a party, I thought, this time it will be different. I know how to act, I know who these people are, I know what they want from me. All I need to do is smile and speak. That's all. But I could never do it, and people stopped noticing me.”
“Oh, Louisa,” Julia said softly. “I had no idea you had felt that way.”
“I was ashamed; I didn't want to tell anyone,” Louisa admitted. “I suppose I'd gotten used to being good at everything I put my hand to. I just didn't realize I'd never tried anything I didn't have an inclination for. I'd never been away from everyone I loved. It was a desperate feeling, and when James asked me to marry him, I thoughtâyes, this is it; this is my way out of this desolate situation.”
Julia's throat closed; all she could do was nod her understanding as Louisa continued.
“But it wasn't a way out. Do you see? Life with him would be the same world. Maybe not all the time, but every year he would want to come back to London. He knows this world, and he's comfortable in it, and I never can be.”
Louisa shook her head. “He's a kind man, and he wants a true companion in his wife. And he deserves to have that. I couldn't make him happy in marriage, and he couldn't make me happy. I know I'll be branded a jilt because of this, but I think it is the only thing to do.”
Her voice was hollow as she added, “It will probably get me the most attention I will have received since my come-out. An added bonus.”