Sinful Confessions (8 page)

What had he been thinking? He didn’t even
like balls. Julian glanced at Mrs Whittleworth who was waiting by the door with
him. Tugging his necktie, he glanced up at the stairs and waited. Why was he
always waiting for her?

He
was tempted to scold Mrs Whittleworth for mentioning the ball but it had seemed
a good idea. The thought of braving London sent chills down his spine but a
small gathering... he could do that for Viola, surely? If only the thought of
being around all those people didn’t make his palms clammy. Of course, when he’d
suggested the idea—secretly praying she tell him she wasn’t interested—she had
been thrilled at the idea of a proper English ball.

He
really did hate balls. He hated people. And dancing. And... well he liked to
drink but not in the manner that people would expect at balls. He’d rather
throw back a few whiskies than sip some wine and port.

A
purring Patches chose that moment to be sociable and nuzzle his leg. Julian
shook his head and nudged the cat aside. He really didn’t need cat hair on his
trousers. However, the cat shot him a pitiful look so he bent to give him a
quick scratch behind the ears.

Footsteps
on the stairs announced Viola’s entrance and he snapped up so quickly, he
thought he heard a crack of bones. As she finally made her entrance down the
stairs, he conceded that she was worth waiting for. The pale blue silk set off
her auburn hair beautifully, which was curled up in some intricate hairstyle
and threaded with tiny matching blue flowers. Jewels gleamed at her neck and on
her wrist. Long gloves drew attention to the slender length of her arms.

He
wanted to pick her up and take her to bed this very instant.

 She
beamed at him when she approached. “You look very handsome.”

“You
look...” Blast it all, why could he not say it? Ravishing, delectable, like
every man’s fantasy... “lovely.”

Inwardly,
he grimaced. Give him a pen and paper and he was a veritable maestro of words.
Put a beautiful woman in front of him and he was a bumbling fool.

“Thank
you,” she replied with a knowing smile, as if understanding his struggle.

Viola
Thompson already knew far too much of him. He couldn’t quite believe he had
told her all a few days ago, but it had come as somewhat of a relief to spill
it all out. Everyone knew of his wives’ deaths but none knew the toll it had
taken on him or the intimate details—particularly those of his last wife’s
death.

“Patches
approves,” he said inanely when the cat tried to rub against her skirts and
nearly got lost in the fabric.

“And
thank you, Patches.” She glanced up at him. “I would give him a fuss but I fear
I can’t bend in this corset.”

A
bark of laughter escaped him. Trust Viola to break any tension by talking of
her undergarments. He only hoped she didn’t speak of such matters at the ball.
Or perhaps he did. It would certainly make the evening more interesting
although he’d rather poke both his eyeballs out than ruin her evening. There
were certain people who wouldn’t take well to an American woman in their midst—particularly
on the arm of a marquess. All the mamas loathed these rich Americans coming
over and stealing all
their
men. He’d have to ensure he steered her
clear of any of those sorts of ladies.

Julian
aided her into the carriage and they began their journey. Dusk had been and
gone and the night proved to be relatively clear, thank goodness. He never
relished journeying in the dark along the country roads. Viola couldn’t seem to
sit still so he rested a gloved hand over hers. She offered him a grateful
smile, but he could not help think she offered him comfort rather than the
other way around. Just like the other day. For the first time in a long time,
he’d felt content, at peace. Even thoughts of stripping her clothes off and
taking her to bed hadn’t played through his mind. Well, maybe just a little...

Most
of the people in attendance at Grovesbury hadn’t seen him since Mabel’s death.
A few had visited and he ran into one or two when he was visiting the tenants
and dealing with the farmers. However, for the most part, he had kept himself
firmly locked behind closed doors. There would be a great deal of gossip
surrounding him. His stomach churned at the thought.

“I
hope Lady—what was her name?—won’t mind a last-minute attendant?”

“Lady
Foxbury,” he reminded her. “And she doesn’t know you’re attending. She doesn’t even
know I am. But I’m a marquess and marquesses are welcome everywhere.”

Viola
giggled. “But of course. Even marquesses like you?”

“Whatever
do you mean?”

“Grumpy
ones mostly.”

He
had to concede defeat at her honesty there. He wasn’t the happiest of chaps. At
least he hadn’t been. Not until Viola entered his life. He frowned. How many
times had he laughed or smiled during her stay? Many, many times. Her love of
life seemed to work into his soul and banish just a tiny bit of the darkness.

“Even
grumpy marquesses are welcome everywhere,” he confirmed.

She
leaned her elbow against the door frame and peered out of the window. “I love
balls. The dancing, the music...”

“I
hate them.”

Viola
whipped her head around, a tilted smile on her lips. “I knew you did. Why ever
did you offer to take me then?”

He
lifted a shoulder. What could he say?
I’d do
anything to make you
happy. I’d dance naked around Westminster for you. I’d do anything to be free
of this damned curse and make you mine.

“Well
I do appreciate it.” She gave his fingers a squeeze and he half-wondered if she’d
also wrapped them around his heart as that felt a little tight.

When
they arrived outside of Grovesbury, she disengaged her fingers from his and the
temptation to drag her back, order the coach to depart and take her away to his
bed burned strong in his gut. Julian wasn’t prepared for this night for several
reasons. He did not want to face all these people but mostly he didn’t want to
share her with them. He knew full well she would be much admired by the men in
attendance.

Lit
torches lined the entrance to the old house. It wasn’t as big or as grand as
Lockwood but Grovesbury dated back to before the Tudor era and the front
entrance remained very much in that style. He suspected Viola would appreciate
the history of the building.

They
waited behind the long receiving line of late-comers. Strains of music drifted
out into the night air. While the sound should have been soothing, it only made
his pulse pound faster. The last time he’d been to a ball had been just before
Mabel’s death. It had been then he’d noticed his wife’s interest in another
man.

Julian
drew in a deep breath and kept his posture rigid. He glanced at Viola and
allowed himself a smile. She gazed up at the building with such wonder that he
almost forgot his apprehension. The golden light played over her features and
brought out lighter strands in her hair. He shouldn’t complain. Most men would
give away all of their fortune for the opportunity to attend a ball with such a
woman on his arm.

Lady
Foxbury and her daughters were gracious and showed only a little interest in
Viola. He seemed to be the most fascinating to them. He recalled that the three
girls were likely only just out in society and had yet to hear of his fearsome
reputation as a wife-killer.

Once
that was over, he led Viola into the ballroom. The scent of too much perfume
and pomade made him wince. Bodies clustered together on the dance floor whilst
the occasional shriek of laughter split the softer strains of the orchestra.
Overhead chandeliers lit the room. The medieval theme continued in this room,
from shields to swords and tapestries. Wood panelling covered almost every inch
of it. Viola was impressed, if her open mouth was anything to go by.

“You
like Grovesbury, I take it?” He handed her a glass of wine from a nearby tray.

“Oh
yes.” She drank the wine far too quickly, forcing him to retrieve another glass
from a passing servant. “I mean your house is beautiful. Much more elegant for
certain.”

“I
imagine this appeals to the lover of history within you.”

She
gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes, it really does.”

“Do
not get overly excited. This house does not have indoor plumbing either and I
hear tell that the bedrooms are even colder than mine.”

A
hint of pink sat in her cheeks and he couldn’t help but grin.

“How
did you know I was complaining about that?”

He
lifted his brows. “I know everything.”

As
she laughed, he scanned the room. There, this wasn’t so bad. He could spend
some time talking to her then hopefully skulk off to a quiet room somewhere
once she received some requests. He tightened his grip on the wine glass and
tried to ignore the idea that he would hate to see someone else dancing with
her. It was not fair to want to prevent her from dancing.

Julian’s
heart near sank down to his feet when he noticed the Alderton sisters
approaching. The two girls had been fast friends with Mabel and had known of
her affair. It made his stomach bunch to imagine them talking of him behind his
back. The women weren’t the nicest of creatures and had probably taken great
delight in the knowledge his wife had not remained faithful.

He
drew up his chin and perfected his most impervious look. Silly women should not
bother him at all.

“Miss
Alderton and Miss Prudence Alderton, how do you do?” He dipped his head low.

The
girls, only just over a year apart in age, dropped into a curtsey. They were mildly
attractive and might have drawn his attention in his younger years. With dark
blonde hair and petite features, they didn’t look nearly so vile as they really
were.

“Will
you not introduce us?” Penelope asked.

“This
is Miss Viola Thompson. Viola, this is Miss Alderton and Miss Prudence Alderton.”

“A
pleasure,” Viola gave them a bold smile.

“Oh,
you’re American,” Prudence exclaimed.

“I
am.”

“What
brings you to our little part of the world? And however did you persuade Julian
to leave his draughty old house?”

Julian
bit back his annoyance at being addressed in such a familiar manner. It implied
friendship—something he had never felt between them.

“I
am here on holiday. Julian knew of my love of balls so he offered to bring me.”

Was
it his imagination or did she lean slightly possessively into him? He was
half-tempted to grab her hand and stroke her shoulder just to watch the sisters’
reaction.

“And
where are you staying? At the Bell Inn?”

He
grimaced. They were leading her down a merry path and he was powerless to stop
it. No matter what she said, she could expect a snide response. He gave into
temptation and took her hand. She darted a look at him before she responded.

“No,
I’m staying at Lockwood, actually.”

The
sisters shared a look. Penelope let her brows rise. “Goodness... how very...
bold of you. Is your family with you?”

“No,
I’m alone.”

Damn
it, trust her to be so honest. Did she not know how it looked? Likely everyone
thought she was his mistress or some such. Now they would spend the whole night
gossiping about them.

Prudence
offered a tight smile, one tinged with bitterness. “I suppose Americans do not
worry about appearances much. You are all so very free with your manners. That
is what happens when new money is introduced to society, do you not think,
Julian?”

He’d
had it. He couldn’t stand these women any longer and he would not let the ‘spiteful
sisters’ have another moment with Viola.

“I
would not know,” he replied. “Viola, will you do me the honour of this dance?”

She
stared at him for what felt like a full minute before dipping her head in acquiescence.
He took her arm and led her onto the dance floor for a waltz but not before
muttering ‘bitches’ loud enough for the two women to hear. He felt Viola shake
with laughter.

When
he took her into his arms, her eyes twinkled with mirth. “You are terrible.”

“
They
are terrible.”

“It
seems like just about everyone hates American women. And here I thought the
English were meant to be such good hosts.”

She
put her hand to his shoulder and he felt the flex of her ribs beneath his
palms. The boning of her corset felt somewhat scandalous, probably because he
was imagining peeling it away and touching the pale flesh beneath.

“I
have been an excellent host, have I not?”

Viola
didn’t respond. As soon as he began whirling her around the dance floor, she
was lost. As was he. He’d forgotten what it was like to dance with a beautiful
woman in his arms. Mabel hadn’t enjoyed dancing with him. The crowds vanished
and only the strains of the waltz carried them. Her scent enveloped him, and
the feel of her body close to him consumed him.