The Fictitious Marquis Read online

  Jamie shook his head violently, hoping to toss the idea out of his consciousness. He was a fool for even considering such things. And he was a bigger fool for feeling so strangely touched by the mere possibility. Especially when, in the next moment, Jamie turned around to see Julia, accompanied by Gavin, of course, stroll out into the garden. And Lord Neff was holding her hand.

  9

  Julia didn't slip her hand out of Gavin's grasp in the moment he took it—as she very well knew that she should have—because there was something so pleasantly sinful about it all.

  As they walked along the garden, Julia watched the shadows on Gavin's face. Freshly blooming flowers wrapped the night in a cocoon of sweetness.

  And, for a reason obviously known only to God himself, Julia found herself thinking of Jamie Lowell.

  It was ridiculous. Here she was, out on a full moon summer night with Gavin, and Julia's mind was inexplicably on a man she barely knew. Even worse, unlike previous occasions on which she'd been unable to drive Jamie from her thoughts, Julia wasn't even dwelling on some insult that he'd sent in her direction, but rather on the compliment he'd paid her.

  He had told Julia that she did a good job manipulating her uncle. Certainly, a professional rascal like Jamie would know when such a task were completed properly. And he had applauded her for it. So she must have done it well.

  How strange that Julia should take such pleasure from this most peculiar of venerations, coming as it had from that most peculiar of men. But, for some reason, she truly did.

  "And what is my beautiful Julia thinking about on this most lovely night?" Gavin stopped their walk to perch upon the edge of a ceramic bird fountain carved in the shape of a soaring swallow.

  "Oh. Nothing very important." Julia was certain that Gavin would neither be amused, nor would he approve, if she did tell him exactly what had been occupying her thoughts.

  "It is a splendid ball, Julia. You look ravishing."

  "Thank you."

  "I must admit, I did feel a bit put out. Here you are, barely six months after turning down my proposal, and you are announcing your engagement to another man. Whatever happened to that beautiful child who swore to me that she would never marry anyone."

  A pin pricked at Julia's confidence upon hearing Gavin refer to her as a child. Considering everything she'd been through in the last month, a child was the last thing Julia felt like.

  "Views change," she said. "Once, you swore that if you couldn't have me, you wouldn't want any other woman. Yet barely a month later you were engaged to Emma."

  "But surely you see how different that is, my dear. I am a man."

  Julia wasn't certain how exactly he expected her to reply to that remark, so she let it pass.

  "I changed my mind about marriage when I met Jamie."

  "Ah, yes. Mr. Lowell, your Aunt Salome's godson. The future marquis of Martyn did you say he is?"

  "Yes. The marquis of Martyn."

  "That's quite a grand piece of property the old man owns. Between the money you'll inherit from you father, and the marquis's estate, why, you'll be one of the wealthiest families in England."

  While he spoke on about the many things Julia would soon be able to purchase with her newfound wealth, a single thought ran through her head. The only thing I really need to buy is Miriam and Alexia's safety.

  Gavin was saying, "And my wife tells me your intended is a most handsome chap."

  She stared at him queerly. "Can you not see him yourself?"

  He laughed. "Oh, Julia, men are no experts at judging the appearance of other men. However, Emma could speak of nothing else save how attractive your Mr. Lowell was."

  After five months, Julia was already used to the mental jab to the stomach that she felt every time Gavin mentioned his wife. Yet she was completely unprepared for the intensity of the blow that came when he mentioned Emma and Jamie in the same sentence.

  She had seen the pair of them talking earlier in the evening, and the fact bothered Julia even then.

  "Yes," she said, slowly. "I suppose Jamie is attractive. He doesn't look very much like the other men of the ton, does he?"

  "And what an odd name that is. Jamie. His Christian name's Jeremy is it not? Most peculiar. I've never heard of Jamie as a diminutive for Jeremy, before."

  "Actually, that started when he was a small boy. He couldn't pronounce his name. Jeremy is quite the mouthful for a toddler. All he could say was Jamie. So that's what they called him."

  Funny, but when Jamie first told her that story, Julia barely paid any heed to it. Yet now, relaying it to Gavin, she felt strangely touched by the image of a tiny Jamie, probably already sporting a head full of that bright red hair, stammering and stuttering over those dreadfully complicated sounds in his name.

  "Gor," Gavin said, looking at Julia's face "You really are head over heels for the fellow, aren't you?"

  She stared at him as if he had suddenly gone mad. What in the world was he talking about? Surely, she wasn't that gifted of an actress. How could Gavin think that Julia loved Jamie, when, all evening, it had been a Herculean effort to hide from the world just how much she adored Lady Emma's husband.

  "I am pleased for you, my dear. Myself, no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to make myself feel the same towards Emma."

  No, Julia decided, this was not happening. She was not standing below this exquisitely full moon, listening to Gavin proclaim his inability to love Emma. This was a dream. Any minute now she would awaken and it would all blow away like a fog.

  "She doesn't love me either, of course. We both knew ours was to be a marriage of convenience. Why, I even told her about us." Gavin scratched his ear thoughtfully. "In retrospect, that might have been a mistake."

  Julia was still trying to collect her wits and come up with an adequate response to his confession when Gavin unexpectedly trailed off in his speech, gesturing instead towards an open window and inquiring, "What in the world is that?"

  Julia turned and listened. As far as she could discern, the orchestra had changed tempos, switching from a one-two-three-four beat to a one-two-three-four-five-six. And the shift was causing a great deal of commotion on the dance floor.

  Gavin's face hardened, and, with the expression of a man at long last identifying the origin of a particularly foul stench, he rolled his eyes and pronounced, "The waltz. Really, Julia, I hardly expected a woman of your breeding to grant respectability to such a common, public fancy."

  Feeling as sincerely surprised by her musicians' unexpected change of program as he was, Julia hurried inside. Gavin followed.

  What they both found was Jamie, standing before the orchestra, conductor's baton in one hand, patiently humming the new melody out loud, while her musicians attempted to follow.

  Sidling up to him, Julia demanded, "What exactly is it that you think you are doing?"

  "The waltz!" Jamie announced, sweeping both arms grandly over his head to emphasize his point.

  Simultaneously speaking for the benefit of both Jamie and the curious crowd beginning to gather all around them, Julia slowly emphasized each word, explaining, "I am afraid that I must claim ignorance with the mores and customs of titled life in Australia, Mr. Lowell. However, you see, in England, this dance of yours, the waltz, is simply not – it is not – we do not do it."

  "But I saw the Russian ambassador's wife and Czar Alexander dance it Almack's not two years past," he insisted.

  "Oh, you did, did you?" Try as she might, Julia suspected that a bit of her incredulousness had managed to squeeze through what she otherwise hoped might pass for a neutral tone.

  "Indeed, I did." He was smiling broadly, clearly enjoying himself for the first time all evening. Jamie ducked his head and whispered, "I would suggest though, that you refrain from inquiring what exactly it was I was doing at the aforementioned function, and we shall both lead longer and happier lives."

  Helpless in the face of his relentless cheerfulness, Julia turned towards her guests, hoping th
at someone among them might speak up to help her out of the awkwardness. A pond of faces stared back, their intrigued eyes sliding from Julia to Jamie.

  "And just what does this waltz look like, Mr. Lowell?" Lady Emma's voice carried easily from where she was standing, cutting through the crowd like the tip of a boat through the Thames. "I am afraid that I was not fortunate enough to have been in Almack's on the night you mentioned. And while, I have certainly heard of the waltz—after all, who among us, has not?—I cannot seem to recall its every intricacy."

  "It is very simple. I'll show you." Jamie moved to the center of the dance floor. "The waltz is a whirling dance. At the function where I spotted the Russians dancing, I also noted Lady Jersey enjoying this identical waltz with Mr. Cupid Palmerston."

  His mentioning one of the most respected women of the ton in conjunction with this faddish dance caused an audible ripple of murmurs among the guests.

  "That is true," Julia said. "I heard people speak of it."

  "Well, Miss Highsmith?"

  Unable to make up her mind, Julia glanced over one shoulder at Gavin. He stood, stiff-lipped, arms crossed, back pressed against the pair of doors leading out to the garden. She'd known him too long not to recognize Gavin's face of extreme disapproval.

  Coolly, he stated, "I cannot imagine that anyone, save the lowest sort of woman, would allow herself to partake in such a sinful, wicked, devilish dance."

  Refusing to budge from his stand, Jamie requested of Gavin, "Please, Lord Neff, do not beat about the bush so. Tell us what you really think."

  Julia was still trying to make up her mind how best to respond to Jamie's offer, when a woman's voice, clear as a set of crystal wind chimes, called out from across the floor, "I would be honored to dance the waltz with you, Mr. Lowell."

  Every head in the room turned in time to enjoy the sight of Lady Emma parting the crowd with one elegantly gloved hand, and making her way towards Jamie. She smiled pleasantly at Gavin, then took an even longer moment to linger over Julia's shocked features, before presenting herself to Jamie. "Do refresh my memory, Mr. Lowell. Was that step, step, glide, or turn, turn, step?"

  "Turn, glide, step." He corrected, gallantly.

  "Oh, yes. I'm afraid that you shall have to bear with me. I am going to require quite a lot of personal assistance before I master this—did you call it devilish, Gavin?—dance of yours."

  "It will be my pleasure to assist you, Lady Neff."

  "No." The violent denial shot out her mouth without Julia possessing the slightest say in the matter. She spoke before she thought, and then felt at a loss over why she'd done it, or what she intended to do next.

  "I beg your pardon, Miss Highsmith?" Jamie was already resting one hand on Lady Emma's waist, in preparation for the waltz.

  "I said . . . no." Now everyone was watching her. Especially Gavin. But she had already gone too far to back away. Besides, the sight of Jamie and Lady Emma was quickly making Julia feel sick. And thus angry. And thus foolish.

  "I am sorry, Lady Neff, but I should like to reserve the right to this dance with Mr. Lowell."

  Reluctantly, Gavin's wife stepped outside of Jamie's embrace, making an exaggerated show of handing him over to Julia. "You are our hostess for the evening, Miss Highsmith."

  Julia courteously accepted this ceremonial passing of the prize, but then, unable to help herself, she winningly suggested, "Perhaps your husband would agree to partner you for at least some of the dances, Lady Emma."

  Behind her, Jamie loudly commanded, "Maestro, the waltz!"

  Without an instant to prepare herself, Jamie swept Julia into his arms, the strength of his upper body nearly lifting her off the ground. He pressed Julia against him, a huge smile lighting up his features, as Jamie counted out loud, "And one, two, three, one, two, three, turn, glide, step, turn, glide, step," and guided Julia effortlessly across the dance floor.

  She might never have guessed that a man of his size could not only be such a graceful dancer, but also an equally skillful partner. Unlike most males, whose idea of leading a dance was to forcefully drag their ladies from one corner to the next, Jamie made Julia feel as if she were floating. Or flying.

  And yet, whenever it started to seem as if all the swift whirling about were growing dangerously out of control, there was Jamie's arm, securely wrapped around Julia's waist, to make her feel safe and protected and wonderfully cared for.

  Gradually, other couples at the ball grew convinced that a single waltz would not brand them degenerate, and joined in with Jamie and Julia's dancing, until the entire room became a marvelous blur of kaleidoscopic colors. Men and women laughed and twirled to the soul-lifting strains of an Austrian waltz, while the few guardians of public morality shocked by the sight of couples embracing so in public retired in a huff to another room. So engaged was she in the wondrous freedom and joy of the buoyant movements that Julia did not even care to note whether or not Gavin went with them.

  Instead, when the music stopped, she was among the first to urge her musicians to play, "A waltz, another waltz, please. And faster this time."

  Jamie threw back his head and laughed, spinning Julia into a new, more difficult series of steps, and acclaiming, "You, Miss Highsmith, are by far the most able pupil I've ever taught."

  "The same could be said for you, Mr. Lowell."

  "What? Oh." He tilted his head to indicate the presence of the ton. "That. I am doing my best to be charming. And to remember which fork to use for which course."

  "You're doing marvelously. Every woman in this room has already fallen in love with you."

  "Every woman?" Jamie slowed down his dancing, so that his face was no longer a blur, but rather an inescapable presence. "Are you certain of that, Miss Highsmith?"

  His mirror-blue eyes bore into her with such force that Julia felt certain Jamie could not only read everything that she was thinking, but also see through to all those things that she felt too scared even to think. His right thumb softly massaged the inside of her left palm, while the rest of his fingers gently stroked the back of her hand, sending a current of delicious sensations through Julia's body. Dancing so closely, Julia found herself wondering what it might feel like to lean completely against him, to rest her head on Jamie's chest and listen to his heartbeat. To wonder whether, at this moment, it were beating as frantically and as loudly as her own.

  She barely noticed it when Jamie stopped dancing, taking Julia by the hand and leading her away from the dance floor, towards an unoccupied balcony. Outside, the darkness swallowed his features, blending one into the other until only the intensity of Jamie's blue eyes seemed to shine like a beacon.

  Julia could not tear her gaze away from his. It was almost as if he had bewitched her in some way, leaving Julia so completely under Jamie's power that she no longer felt certain of her ability to resist. Or of her desire to do so.

  He lowered his head ever so slightly, this time whispering the words, "Surely, not every woman?"

  So eager was Julia to feel his lips upon hers, that she imagined already feeling them there a moment before it happened. Yet, in the instant he did touch her, there was no doubt in Julia's mind that even the most passionate hopes of her fantasies were a mere raindrop in a storm compared to the actual thing.

  Jamie pulled her to him, parting Julia's lips with his tongue and proceeding to stroke her from the inside out, until she felt herself growing limp in his embrace. Julia wrapped her arms about Jamie's neck, wanting to draw him in even closer, wanting to make certain that nothing, no one, could ever pull him away again.

  "Julia, really!"

  The voice reached to her as if traveling in slow motion and through a heavy London fog. Still, it was enough for her to recognize the disapproving tone of her Uncle Collin.

  Julia opened her eyes with a start, breaking Jamie's embrace, and spinning around to find the balcony doors leading into the ballroom opened, and not only Uncle Collin, but Gavin, and Emma, and even Moses, along with a good dozen party
guests, staring straight at them.

  There was a lot of whispering going on behind cupped hands.

  And no one was smiling.

  10

  Guessing that, of the two of them, he was the more experienced in talking his way out of uncomfortable situations, Jamie turned towards their visibly curious audience, and, resting one hand to his cheek in imitation of thoughtfulness, innocently asked, "Did I forget to announce that Julia and I are to be married?"

  A beat, and then the entire room broke into spontaneous laughter and applause. As if acknowledging a curtain call, Jamie took Julia by the hand and bowed deeply, indicating for her to curtsey as well. He accepted congratulatory handshakes from the men, and embraces from the women, all the while keeping one eye on dear Uncle Collin. Because Uncle Collin did not look happy.

  Gradually making his way through the crowd and towards where the duke stood keeping watch over the buffet, Jamie stretched his hand forward and inquired, "Don't you want to congratulate me, sir? Or should I say, Uncle Collin?"

  "You're a bloody fool, Lowell."

  "It is within your prerogative to think so."

  "Were you not listening to a word I said? Your life will be ruined if you marry Julia. Ruined, do you hear me?"

  "If you shout any louder, sir, His Royal Highness in London will be able to hear you." Turning his back on their guests, Jamie forced the duke into a corner out of sight. Darkly, he warned, "Don't you ever speak in such a manner about my wife-to-be again, or I will personally introduce you to the sport of wrestling, Australian style. That, in case you are unfamiliar with it, is the game where only one winner lives to walk away from a match."

  Sincerely terrified, the duke swallowed hard, and, in a much meeker voice, whined, "I am only trying to help you, son."

  "Your Lordship's sort of assistance I can live very well without, thank you kindly."

  "She's got the devil in her. Heretics, witches, all of them. You'll see. Just wait until your first child is born. You'll remember me then. But by that time, it will be too late."