Page 78 of The Earl Takes All
A corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’m never going to marry, Julia. It would be unfair to her when my heart will always belong elsewhere.”
“So we live a lie?”
“Within that lie is the truth. I love you. I want to be your husband.”
She shook her head. “I need time, Edward, to be sure. If we take this path, we can never leave it. Already we risk Allie’s future by delaying the truth.”
“We have until the Season, until we go to London. But if we present ourselves as man and wife there, we will have to carry on.”
“When were you thinking of going to Town?”
“Sometime in May. We can delay until June. After all, I’m mourning the loss of my brother.”
And she was mourning the loss of her husband. How could she possibly consider pretending otherwise? She felt a great deal for this man; she simply didn’t know if it was enough or if what she felt was prompted by believing for two months that he was her husband. “You should remain in this wing so I am not unduly influenced by your nearness.”
“You want to be courted.”
“I want to be sure.”
“Know this, Julia. If you feel for me even a thimbleful of what you felt for Albert, I would be content. For the sake of propriety, to the world, I am willing to pretend to be Albert. But never again will I pretend to you.”
Chapter 19
Juliadidn’t feel quite comfortable not wearing black, but neither did she want to go down to dinner wearing the austere bombazine, with buttons secured up to her throat and at her wrists. So she chose a gown of black silk and lace, an off-the-shoulder style that was at once elegant and respectful, and if she were honest with herself, also seductive.
She saw the approval in Edward’s eyes when she joined him in the library before dinner, was very much aware of it during dinner. In the small dining room, she sat at the foot of the table that would accommodate eight, so she could look at him head-on, rather than his profile.
She wanted—needed—whatever it was they might be moving toward to be different from what it was they were edging away from.
“I was thinking of rearranging the family wing,” she announced during their third course.
Studying her over his glass of red wine, he nodded. “Rearrange the entire residence if you like.”
“Not the furniture so much as the people. I thought to move into another set of suites.”
Where she had no memories of being with Albert, where everything would be fresh and new and different.
His gaze never wavered from hers. “Splendid. But I also want you to feel free to replace any furniture, any art, anything that isn’t to your taste. Neither my brother nor I ever had any sentimental attachment to anything here. We never knew much of the history behind the items. A consequence of not living here in our youth.”
“I’ve always found the residence welcoming. I want only to move to another set of suites for a bit of a change.”
“As you wish.”
She hadn’t expected that he would deny her; she didn’t think he would deny her anything she asked.
Their conversation during dinner wasn’t as lively as it had once been. They were both treading lightly. She worried now about revealing something to the servants she shouldn’t, slipping up. She couldn’t call him Albert. She knew differently now. Although she knew wives who referred to their husbands by their title, she’d always found it a bit odd, Grey being so formal and distant.
When they were finished with their desserts, he invited her to join him in the library. As she walked into the room that no longer reminded her of Albert, but rather of Edward, she strolled over to the shelves, studied the volumes lined up like well-disciplined soldiers. “I thought I might read aloud tonight.”
Having some form of planned entertainment would remove a little of the strain of striving to come up with conversation.
She was suddenly acutely aware of him at her back, the heat radiating from his body warming her exposed flesh. Her breath held, she waited, even as her heart pumped with a madness that made her light-headed. He reached up toward a bookshelf, the opening of his jacket barely floating over the curve of her shoulder, as light as a butterfly’s fluttering wings just before it landed on a petal. Inhaling deeply, she took in his purely masculine fragrance, wondering why she had ever thought his scent was the same as Albert’s. His was more tart, more bold. He was not one for subtlety.
“This one would prove interesting,” he said, his voice low, provocative, hypnotic.
She wanted to turn into him, press her cheek against the center of his chest, have his arms close around her. But it was too soon for such intimacy. She needed to be more certain of her feelings, that they were not influenced by grief and the prospect of loneliness. So she stayed as she was, watching as he slowly tipped back the leather-bound book, brought it down and placed it in her hands.
He stepped away. “Brandy?”
