The Perfect Mistress. Victoria AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.
Worse, they at once reminded her of the intimacies with William she admittedly missed as well as those completely improper they’d never shared. That was a thought she immediately dashed from her mind although it did seem to resurface with every new dream. It was most annoying even as it was altogether too arous—
A knock sounded at the door and heat washed up her face. Nonsense. No one could possibly know what she was thinking simply by looking at her.
“Yes?”
The door opened and Daniels stepped into the room, carrying a small silver salver that bore a single calling card. “A gentleman is here wishing to speak with you, my lady.”
He crossed the room and presented the tray with a slight flourish. Even in these times of limited finances, Daniels refused to let her circumstances affect his demeanor. She bit back a smile. Poor dear. While he might well have felt suited to a much loftier household, his sense of loyalty was stronger than his ambition. He would remain with her until the time came that she forced him to go.
She picked up the card and studied it. It was of the finest quality, elegant in its very simplicity bearing only a small embossed coat of arms and a title.
“How very interesting,” she murmured.
“I can tell him you are engaged and send him on his way if you wish, my lady,” Daniels said. The butler was as protective as he was loyal. She sighed to herself. He deserved better.
She smiled. “Tempting, Daniels, but not necessary.”
“Shall I show him into the parlor then?”
“Yes. No.” She glanced around the library. William had often worked in this room late into the night. While it was even smaller than the parlor, there was an air of businesslike competence here she suspected she would need. “I shall meet with him here.”
“Very well, my lady.” Daniels nodded and left the room.
Julia rose to her feet. Much better to stand than to allow his lordship to look down on her. She drew a deep breath.
Daniels opened the door and stepped aside to allow the earl to enter. He strode into the room with an almost visible air of purpose and determination. He was taller than she’d expected and far more attractive as well with brown hair of a shade so deep it was nearly black and eyes almost as dark. His shoulders were impressively broad, his jaw square and set with resolve. His nose was narrow, noble, and his lips a shade fuller than one would have thought attractive on a man. Veronica had spoken of him, of course, but had only mentioned his dashing presence in passing. She tended to speak more of his unyielding nature and annoying sense of propriety. His clothes were perfectly appointed, his style elegant and quite perfect in an understated sort of way that spoke of wealth and breeding. Julia could see by the way he entered the room and approached her that this was a man used to being obeyed, to getting exactly what he wanted. Without thinking she raised her chin slightly and met his gaze. Her stomach fluttered. This was obviously not a social call. He stepped closer and she could see his eyes were blue, the deep unrelenting shade of a winter night.
She adopted a cordial smile and nodded, grateful they were separated by the desk. This seemed a man it would be wise to keep as far away as possible. “What a pleasant surprise, my lord. Especially as we have never met.”
A touch of annoyance glinted in his eyes then vanished. He offered a polite smile. “To my everlasting regret, Lady Winterset.”
She gestured at the only other chair in the room, a worn wingback positioned off to one side of the desk, then took her seat. It was only after she sat down that she realized the lamp on the corner of her desk obscured his view and he had to lean to see around it. She’d never noticed before; she couldn’t recall the last time she’d sat behind the desk with someone in the chair. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
“Thank you but no, I shall not be here long.” He shifted toward one side of his chair and peered around the lamp. “This is not a social call.”
“I thought not.” She leaned slightly to see around the lamp. It was an ornate thing with an amber glass shade. Its bronze base was the figure of a woman with wings folded against her back, a fairy she’d always thought as a child but as an adult thought it was perhaps more a fanciful depiction of some other sort of mythical creature. Her mother had given it to her when she and William had set up housekeeping because Julia had always loved it whereas her mother had not. She really should move it but it was there in the first place because of its oddly comforting presence. Besides, she suspected he was more disconcerted than she. It was an advantage she preferred not to lose. “Please, go on.”
“I have been informed by Lady Smithson that you are in possession of the scandalous memoirs of Lady Middle-bury.”
She nodded and settled back in her chair, obscuring his view of her. “I am indeed, my lord.”
He shifted again to aim a disapproving look at her. “I must tell you, Lady Winterset, I have read the portion you gave to Lady Smithson and I am most disturbed by it.”
“Imagine my surprise,” she said under her breath. She should have known Veronica would show him the pages Julia had given her. Not that it mattered.
“To read about the dalliances of my father with a woman who was …”
She raised a brow. “Who was what, my lord?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Completely improper, thoroughly scandalous, and without any sort of moral standards whatsoever.”
It was all she could do to keep the anger that rushed through her from showing on her face. Anger was not the way to deal with this self-righteous snob. No, she needed to remain calm and collected. Besides, Hermione herself would freely admit to her improper, scandalous nature. However, as Julia discovered with each page she read, her great-grandmother did have certain moral standards. They simply did not conform to those of the rest of society.
She folded her hands on top of her desk and smiled slowly. “Then her memoirs should sell extremely well.”
His brow furrowed in a forbidding manner. “They will not sell at all if I have anything to say about it.”
She leaned slightly to one side, partially obscuring his view of her once again. “But you don’t, my lord.”
He huffed, stood up, towering over the desk, and a prickle of alarm stabbed her although surely she had nothing to fear. This man’s sense of proper behavior would never allow him to resort to violence against a woman. He grabbed the wing chair, moved it to a spot directly in front of the desk, set it down with a thud, then sat back down and glared at her.
She bit back a satisfied grin. “So you read what I gave Lady Smithson.”
He snorted. “I did indeed.”
“Did you not find it interesting?”
“I found it deplorable.”
“But did you not find the writing of it”—how had Mr. Cadwallender put it?—“engaging and enthusiastic?”
“I found it offensive and appalling.”
“The story itself then. Did you not find it intriguing?”
“Not in the least. I found it scandalous and disgraceful.”
“I see.” She leaned forward slightly and met his gaze. “The particulars then.” Even as she said the words, a blush washed up her face but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Did you not find them … exciting?”
“I found them disturbing. Extremely disturbing.” Shock sounded in his voice. “I do not find reading about the misdeeds of my father to be the least bit arousing.”
She raised a brow. “I did not say arousing, I said exciting.”
“I know what you said even as I know what you meant. This is my father we are speaking about!”
“Just as my great-grandmother is the subject of discussion.”