The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page
are you going to do to me because I’ve crossed you? Forbid me from coming to the house?”
“I’d never do that.” That slow, sizzling smile—like the path of a flame on a fuse—lifted his lips again. “I’d never get the chance to bring out your passionate side. When you’re angry, you burn. You glow with an energy that crackles like lightning.”
A mad thought hit her. “You did not just do all of that to make me angry.”
“No, but I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”
He took two steps toward her. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. His arms bracketed the wall on either side of her, making her suck in a sharp breath.
“I figure the cook was stealing from the pantry, too, but I don’t much care about that.”
“That’s a bold accusation to make. Don’t Americans believe in a proper trial with evidence, just as the English do?”
“I’m not firing her for the theft, even though I’m sure she’s guilty. She was offended right off the mark and I figured all that outrage and indignity was because she was hiding something. Also, she kept glancing at the pantry door. Her guilty conscience revealing itself.”
“I—I had no idea this was going on.”
“Why should you? It’s not your house.”
“Anthony—” She broke off.
His fingers gently touched her cheek, turning her to face him. Just the contact of his fingertips made her knees feel wobbly, as if she’d danced to jazz all night.
“What about my cousin Anthony?”
“He asked me to look after his family when he went away to war.”
“Why would an earl and countess need you to look after them?”
She couldn’t answer that. She’d never really understood why. “I did make him a promise and Lady Worthington needs my help now.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a painting to finish. I’m hot to get all this fire and fury in you down on canvas. But before I go—”
His lips lowered. They were in a shadowed downstairs corridor, but only feet away in the kitchens came the voices of the servants—all filled with vehement astonishment over what had just happened.
Anyone could walk in and see.
That thought alone should make her draw back at once.
But his lips seemed to have become the whole of Julia’s universe. His lips were full and sensual and she wanted to touch them. The ache that shot through low in her belly made her gasp.
Now she knew what she felt for him. Lust. Pure and simple. And ladies with sense never let themselves be controlled by lust. Even in this modern age.
She had opened her heart twice and had been terribly hurt. She was almost twenty-seven and it was so hard to think she might never touch a man and be touched by him. She might never know passion or make love.
But she wouldn’t do it without marriage. She couldn’t...
She couldn’t do it with this man who wanted only to destroy an estate and people she loved.
She jerked back. “You championed Hannah. What about the other people who live on this estate and who work hard? When you sell to the highest bidder, what will happen to them? You should meet the people who will lose everything when you sell. Or are you afraid to face them?”
He was breathing hard. “You’re goading me.”
“I’m pointing out the truth,” she said sweetly. “I challenge you to take a tour of the estate with me. To meet the people who are now putting their faith and their trust in you. Who are doing so with no idea that you want to destroy everything they’ve worked for. Some of those families have farmed for generations—”
“All right. I’ll go.”
“Fine. Why don’t we go now? We could ride out from the house? Or do you ride—”
“Of course, I don’t ride,” he said brusquely. “The closest I’d gotten to a horse before the army were the ones pulling rag-and-bone carts in our neighborhood.” His eyes narrowed. “My father did that at one time for the money. He drove a rag-and-bone cart. When do you think I should share that story with the countess?”
“Don’t. It would kill her.”
She’d spoken without thinking.
It was a mistake. His face tensed. His mouth went hard.
“It would be better to drive,” she said quickly. “I have my motorcar.”
He leaned closer and she forgot to breathe.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, Julia. That’s why I’m painting you. But the portrait can wait for today. I’d much prefer to spend the day having you try to teach me a lesson. Who knows, maybe you will heal my bitter heart and turn me into a changed man.”
Oh no. He was mocking the very thing she hoped to do. She hoped to heal his bitterness. She hoped to change him.
He knew it—and was making fun of it.
She gave him the smile all young ladies learned—polite, sweet, the butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “I believe I shall.”
* * *
“You know,” Cal said to Julia from the passenger seat as they rumbled down a country lane, “you’re the only woman I’ve ever let drive me.”
“I know my way around the estate and you do not. It is far more sensible for me to drive.”
“Yeah, but someday I want to tempt the sensible right out of you.” He grinned.
“I doubt that will happen,” she said, her tone prim even when shouted over the roar of the engine.
He liked the way she looked while driving. She had put on goggles to keep out the wind and the dust, and they made her look sweetly adventurous. She had pulled on a cloche hat and wound a scarf around her neck that fluttered and snapped behind her like a crisp flag.
She was so determined to change his mind about Worthington. But what he had seen today had cut to his bone. He had felt for the girl Hannah. She was supposed to “know her place.” What a load of damn crap.
Cal had returned to the kitchen and told Hannah she could give orders to any of the footmen to help her. The snooty butler, Wiggins, had sputtered, until Cal had told him he could follow Mrs. Feathers out the door if he wanted. Wiggins had drawn himself up and had claimed to have been in service to the family for five decades. “What a hell of a way to waste a life,” Cal had said. Then he’d gone out. He’d found Julia in the drawing room with Diana, who looked strained and worried. The thing was—he’d looked at Diana’s drawn expression and felt an unexpected jolt of guilt.
“So where did your brother get a beautiful American automobile like this?” he asked. “I’m surprised he lets you drive one of his cars.”
“It’s my motorcar. Not my brother’s.”
“You bought this fine automobile?” He had to admit he was surprised she knew how to drive and didn’t just have a chauffeur take her around.
“It was a birthday present from Zoe, my sister-in-law. She had it sent from New York. She called it a symbol of my freedom. I do love to be able to say ‘I shall go here’ and I can take myself there. It does make you feel powerful.”
“Does it?”
The car was a spiffy roadster. The chrome gleamed and the glossy cream paint shone in the sunlight. Julia was a surprisingly good driver, taking the winding turns with skill. She slowed and accelerated with confidence where she needed to. “I guess a duke’s daughter is used to getting what she