The Proposition Part 1

THE PROPOSITION.

Leslie LaFoy.

For the Wichita Junior Wind Hockey Moms The best in the game.

CHAPTER 1.

London, England April 30, 1877.

Julia Hamilton looked at her reflection in the ladies' room mirror and wondered when she'd started to look old, when, precisely, the weariness had begun to settle into her bones. She tried smiling at herself, but it only deepened the lines at the corners of her mouth and made her blue eyes look even more faded and dull. Brides-to-be were supposed to be radiant and bubbly.

Radiant she definitely was not. As for bubbly ... Julia sighed. She'd never been fond of parties; had never liked all the noise and fright lights, the meaningless conversations, and the silly compet.i.tion among the women. It was all such a monumental waste of time and energy. And tonight's affair somehow seemed louder, brighter, more meaningless and wasteful than most.

At least, Julia consoled herself, glancing around at the half-dozen women primping before the other mirrors, she wasn't considered part of the compet.i.tion anymore. Her engagement last month had not only effectively removed her from that particularly unpleasant fray, it had also made her largely invisible. It was a small mercy, but she was exceedingly grateful for it. She'd be even more grateful when her fiance found her and announced that it was time to leave. Unfortunately, it would be quite some time yet before she could hope for such a deliverance. Lawrence had business to conduct. As he'd announced just after they'd greeted their host and hostess and just before leaving her alone ten feet into the ballroom.

"You'll never guess who's here!"

Julia turned with everyone else to consider both the breathless young woman standing in the doorway and the riddle she'd posed. The way her hands were pressed to her midriff suggested the news was fantastic enough that the girl had sprinted to the ladies' room to share it. The sparkle in her eyes suggested that it might well be the arrival of royalty. The girl glanced around the room and then, before anyone could hazard a guess, blurted, "Rennick St. James!"

Julia's heart tripped end over end, catching her breath and sending her pulse racing. Rennick was back in England? He was here? In her mind's eye she could see him; the rakish quirk to his smile, the mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes, the chiseled planes of his jaw. And she could see herself, too. Running to greet him, laughingly throwing herself into his strong arms and letting him pull her hard against his ma.s.sive chest.

Her heart hammering wildly, her blood heated, Julia ruthlessly stamped out the impulse. How could she even think of doing such a thing? Simply speaking to Rennick in public courted scandal. To actually throw herself at him on the ballroom floor. .. London would never forget, Lawrence would never forgive, and Giles would roll over in his grave. And her children . . . Her heart tripped again. Thank G.o.d Christopher and Emma were away at school, that they couldn't reasonably know that Rennick had returned. They so adored him. Just as Rennick adored them in return. How relentlessly they'd argued for her to wait for him. How deeply they didn't understand why she couldn't.

"Have you actually seen him?" she vaguely heard someone ask.

"Yes," the young woman replied, advancing into the room. "He'd just handed off his hat and gloves and was greeting Lord and Lady Wells when I came in here."

"How do you know it was him?" someone else asked.

"My father said it was and that I was to stay well away from him," the girl supplied, leaning over Julia's shoulder to peer at herself in the mirror. Pinching her cheeks, she added, "Papa said that if he asked for a spot on my dance card, I was to find a polite way to refuse."

Julia gathered her reticule and fan, then rose, letting the young woman have the mirror to herself. Rennick never asked for a spot on a dance card. Most of the time he simply took the card, grinned wickedly, tore it to bits, and took as many dances as he pleased. Which was typical of the way Rennick went through life. How she'd missed him the past three years. Life was always so interesting, so delightfully unpredictable, when Rennick was about. Even parties were endurable when he attended.

Yet another young, breathless voice asked, "Is he as handsome as everyone says he is?"

"Oh, yes," the girl sighed, then mashed her lips in a futile attempt to make the look fuller and darker.

"I wonder why he's come back to London all of a sudden."

"His father's health is failing, you dolt," someone on the far side of the room answered. "Don't you pay attention? The earldom is going to be his before the year's out."

Lord Parnell had begun to decline? Julia blinked, stunned by the news. How had she not heard of it before this moment? The answer came quickly and on a sad wave of realization. Robert St. James, the Earl of Parnell, had been one of Giles's friends, a man of similar age. With her husband's pa.s.sing, the world of his friends had slowly drifted beyond her awareness.

"Well, it's a good thing your father warned you away from him," said a girl with large b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a green silk bodice that barely covered the peaks of them. "I'd so dislike having to trample you on my way to his t.i.tle."

"As though a man like Rennick St. James would be interested in the likes of you."

Julia arched a brow and considered each of the young women in the room. Unless he'd changed a great deal during his exile, there wasn't a single one of them that Rennick would rebuff. At least not until he'd sampled as deeply as he could push them to allow. The odds were that at least two or three of them would allow him everything they had.

"I have a perfectly good lineage to offer."

"Rennick St. James isn't the least bit interested in lineages," announced a familiar voice from the doorway. Julia smiled and sat on the upholstered couch as Anne Michaels advanced into the room with her usual air of calm authority. "Unless you're willing to hand him your virtue on a silver tray, he won't notice that you exist."

"Perhaps I am," countered the girl whose father had forbidden her to so much as dance with Rennick.

"You certainly wouldn't be the first," Anne laughingly admonished, easing down beside Julia. "But if you think he'll ask to marry you in the morning, you're sadly mistaken. And you won't be the first woman in that queue, either. He's absolutely notorious."

"And all the more attractive for it, in my opinion," the girl in the green dress offered, fluffing the curls that framed her face. "Imagine the accolades in being the one to finally settle him down."

"He'll never settle down," Anne countered, echoing Julia's thoughts perfectly. "He may marry for the sake of producing a legitimate heir, but pity the woman he chooses. She'll be a brood mare and nothing more. He'll never be faithful to her. He's incapable of such restraint."

And she'll die of a broken heart, Julia silently added, her throat tightening. Opening her fan, she fluttered a breeze across her suddenly too warm face and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The movement caught Anne's attention.

"Julia, darling," she cooed, tweaking one of the silk roses that cascaded over Julia's shoulder. "I was quite surprised to see you come in this evening. I thought you would have declined Lady Wells's invitation out of sheer exhaustion. I know I would have."

She'd tried. No less than three times, but Lawrence had refused to hear of it. Julia managed a weak smile. "Lawrence maintains that parties are the perfect pretext for doing business after regular office hours."

"And he couldn't very well attend without you," her friend supplied knowingly. "Not without inviting speculation regarding your upcoming nuptials." She adjusted the trail of a grosgrain ribbon, asking, "How are your plans coming along?"

The Plans. She'd come to hate the very thought of them. Yet another very non-bridal tendency of hers. "As of this afternoon," she replied, summoning what she could of a smile and hoping it pa.s.sed for serene, "all the details have been not only decided, but carved in stone. I desperately hope that the next four days can pa.s.s without a crisis of one sort or another. It may be an effect of my age, but I honestly don't remember this much work attending my first marriage ceremony."

Anne chuckled softly. "I wonder what Rennick will have to say about your plans."

It was the most amazing, perplexing, disconcerting thing: part of her blood ran cold at the look she could well imagine on Rennick's face. Which set the other part burning molten through her veins. She quickened the tempo of her fanning and decided that the best course lay in trying to be at least outwardly circ.u.mspect. "I doubt very much whether he's aware of them. And, even if he is, I can't see any particular reason why he'd consider them worth comment."

"He was a good friend of your late husband. G.o.d rest his soul."

He'd been her friend as well, but sharing that bit of information wasn't in the interest of maintaining appearances. "Rennick will no doubt, at the first opportunity, offer his condolences at Giles's pa.s.sing, but I can't imagine that we'll have anything to talk about beyond that."

"Good," said the girl in the green dress as she stepped back from the mirror and tugged her bodice even lower. "I would so dislike having to trample you, too, Lady Clayburn."

"I shall stay well out of your way," Julia promised. "And wish you-all of you-the best of luck."

As Julia knew it would, the offering spurred them to action. With a barely controlled smile, she watched the girl in the green dress eye the door and the other young women who lay between her and a quick exit. The others discreetly did the same. And in the next second they were all moving in a flurry of bouncing bustles, swishing fabric, rustling silk flowers, and streaming ribbons and feathers. In the doorway, the girl with the bouncing bustle and b.r.e.a.s.t.s put an elbow into the ribs of the one who had selflessly shared the news with them all.

Anne laughed as the last trailing hem disappeared from the room. "Like moths to the flame."

"And not a one of them even slightly capable of fending him off," Julia added, shaking her head. "As welcome-home gifts go, he'll be delighted."

"Might I offer an observation, Julia?"

"Concerning?" she asked warily, knowing well her friend's penchant for honesty.

"Life, I suppose."

Julia braced herself, quickening the speed of her fanning and desperately trying to think of an excuse to bolt from the room. And go where? her rational mind posed. Out to where Rennick would see her? Out to where she would have to face temptation in evening attire? G.o.d, no man ever looked better in a suit than Rennick St. James. It was so deliciously, decadently easy to imagine what he'd look like stripped out of it.

"Lawrence Morris might indeed be a Knight of the Realm," Anne said softly, "and the keenest financial mind in the empire, but you're settling, Julia Hamilton. You can do ever so much better."

And she most certainly could do worse, too. "In what respect? I'm not interested in t.i.tles and social status. You know that. Or at least you should."

"That's not what I'm talking about at all," Anne instantly countered. "Lawrence is very much like Giles was. Except considerably younger and less personable. Don't you want more out of your second chance at marriage?"

Her stomach oddly turned to lead even as her rational mind took control and offered the patent explanation. "No, not really. There's a great deal to be said for the comfort of the predictable and the steadfast familiar."

"There's also a great deal to be said for Rennick St. James."

Her pulse skittered mad her throat tightened again. Instinctively she quickened her fanning and then, aware of the nervousness the effort betrayed, snapped it closed and laid it in her lap. "I'm thirty-three, Anne," she pointed out, pleased that her voice didn't sound as breathless and panicky as she felt. "I'm far too old to be a reliable brood mare. And far too prideful to stand by and watch my husband carry on affair after affair."

Anne waved her hand dismissively. "Thirty-three is not too old, Julia. My mother had four children after that age. And, that issue aside, he could well have changed in the last three years. He might be quite ready to settle down and be a good husband."

"Rennick?" she laughingly scoffed. "Never. You said so yourself not five minutes ago. Whether he dies a young man or an ancient one, his end will come in the bed of another man's wife and we all know it."

"And the pity," her friend said, rising from the couch, "is that you're not adventurous enough that it would be your bed."

"Anne!"

Her arms akimbo and her smile broad, Anne gazed down at her with an arched brow. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Julia. Are you the only person on earth who doesn't know that Rennick was Giles's friend largely because he hoped to seduce you?"

Oh, Lord. How hard she'd worked to keep the distance, to keep their relationship proper so that no one would ever have the slightest reason to suspect the quality of her character and the happiness of her marriage. Had it all been for nothing? Had everyone been whispering behind her back for the last thirteen years?

"Oh, not to worry," Anne offered gently, her smile taking on a patient patina. "No one ever once thought he had the slightest chance. You're the epitome of perfectly proper. Everyone always knew that for Rennick it was the attraction of the impossible conquest."

"I am not perfectly proper," Julia protested. Not if waking thoughts and restless dreams count against me, she silently added.

"Ha!" Anne challenged. "We've known each other all of our lives. Name one time when you didn't sweetly accede to the expectations of others. Name one time when you deliberately-or even accidentally, for that matter- took a step that could have led to the tiniest bit of gossip."

"Why would anyone want to create a scandal?"

"Scandal? Julia, my dear, you don't even know how to begin to inspire gossip. A scandal would be utterly beyond your abilities."

"And I should be ashamed of that?" she asked, for some inexplicable reason feeling deeply wounded.

"No, not at all," Anne replied gently. "I'm simply suggesting that when Rennick St. James offers his condolences on Giles's pa.s.sing, you really ought-just the one time-to take a tiny chance and see if there might be something more the two of you have to talk about."

She knew what Rennick would want to talk about.

She'd seen it shimmering in his eyes countless times over the years, heard it ripple beneath the surface every time he said her name. And she knew how it all affected her, how very dangerous being around him was. "I'm to be married in five days, Anne. It's a little too late to be entertaining Rennick's notoriously less than honorable attentions."

Anne sighed heavily and shook her head. "Who cares if they're honorable, Julia? And too late is when you're legally Lady Morris. For G.o.d's sake, do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what it would be like to make love with Rennick St. James?"

Julia stared up at her, stunned that somehow Anne knew the darkest, most secret of her private torments. Did everyone know? Was she that transparent? "I can't believe," she stammered, clinging to pretenses, "that you're even suggesting that I do such a thing."

"If it helps any, my dear friend..." Her smile faded. "Were I in your shoes tonight," she said somberly, "I'd have Rennick flat on his back before he could sputter so much as a single word of condolence. Life is for living. And boldly is better than safely and timidly. For once in your life, Julia Hamilton, dare to live boldly. Even if it's for only a few short hours."

And with that p.r.o.nouncement, that taunting challenge, Anne Michaels turned and walked away, leaving Julia alone in the ladies' room, stunned and reeling. And frightened.

She opened her fan and slowly moved the blade back and forth as she considered the road that had brought her to the horrible dilemma in which she now so unexpectedly found herself. She'd been seventeen when her father had arranged her marriage to Giles Hamilton. He'd been thirty years her senior, a widower without children, and the most considerate, doting, wonderful man she'd ever met. She'd been content as his wife, the mother of his children, the mistress of his various estates.

And then thirteen winters ago Giles had come back from a business trip to London with Rennick St. James in tow. She'd met them in the foyer and from that single moment life had never been the same. She'd looked into Rennick's eyes and an arc of heat had leaped between them, searing through her breast and down to her womb before filling the core of her soul. She'd literally hiked her hems and fled as soon as she politely could. It had taken no more than a few seconds, but running away had accomplished nothing; the effect had been inescapable and moreover.

She'd never believed in such foolishness as love at first sight. She had refused then to accept that that was what had happened to her. She'd studiously avoided him and immersed herself in being a devoted wife and mother. She'd focused on the contentment of her existence and ruthlessly quashed the powerful, troubling feelings that the mere sight of him stirred in her. When Giles came to her bed and made love to her, she kept her eyes open to remember that it was him, to keep Rennick St. James from invading their intimacy.

And then one night, during the height of the next season, he'd cut in on her dance with Giles and she'd had no choice but to face the truth. He'd smiled down at her and whispered her name and, like some giddy, starry-eyed debutante, her knees had all but given out. She hadn't been able to speak, hadn't been able to meet his gaze after that. She'd finished the dance with him for the sake of propriety, because she needed the time to gather her scattered wits and find a way to keep the tears at bay.

He hadn't spoken, either. Not until the notes of the music faded and she began to step out of his embrace. "I'll wait for you, Julia. For as long as I must."

No words had ever terrified her more. She loved her husband, cared for him deeply and would never hurt him. But she loved another man, too. A notorious, unrepentant rakeh.e.l.l. In a way that wasn't the least bit sane or wise or explicable. She wanted him with a pa.s.sion unlike any she'd ever felt for her husband, with a consuming desire she hadn't known existed.

And so she'd done the only thing she could have; she'd lived a careful lie, always pretending that she didn't know the truth, always protecting Giles and the genuine sweetness of their companionship, always pretending that Rennick was nothing more to her than a friend.

Now Giles was gone. And out there, somewhere in the glittering chaos of the ballroom, was the man who had promised to wait for her. The rake to whom no sane woman would ever be foolish enough to hand her heart.

It had been three years since she'd last seen him. Since he'd been called out by an enraged husband and had to flee the country for dueling. He might have changed, Hope wildly suggested. In the pa.s.sage of those years, he might have lost interest in pursuing her, might have forgotten the promise he'd made so long ago. And if, when he looked at her next, there was no spark in his eyes she might be free of her feelings for him.

But if the spark was still there . .. She had to go home. Before she found herself facing Rennick and the impossible temptation he'd always been. Julia snapped her fan closed and rose from the couch, her course clear. She'd spent thirteen years imagining what it would be like to make love with Rennick St. James. What was another thirteen? What was a lifetime? Especially when weighed against the certainty of a broken heart.

She poked her head out of the ladies' room and, not seeing Rennick, made her way along the back of the ballroom, keeping in the shadows of the palms as much as she could. Part of her felt ridiculous for the furtive scurrying. The other part felt dangerously exposed and vulnerable and fervently wished that Lady Wells had thought to bring even more plants from her greenhouse. She slipped behind a mercifully full specimen and surveyed the wall along which the smoking and gaming rooms had been set up for the men. It took several long, torturous minutes, but finally a door opened and Lawrence stepped out with two other men.

She glanced about and, still seeing no sign of Rennick, seized a deep breath and stepped from concealment. It was no great feat to summon a distressed expression as she approached her fiance.

"Lawrence, dear," she began without preamble or acknowledging his companions. "I'm wondering how much longer we'll be required to stay. I have the most hideous headache and would truly like to go home."

He c.o.c.ked a brow and withdrew his pocket watch. Studying the face of it, he replied, "I'm to meet Denham in the card room on the moment and can't leave now. He has some accounts he wants to move and there would be hefty administrative fees for the man who acquires them." He put the timepiece away and looked at her to smile thinly and add, "Perhaps Lady Wells has a powder she can give you."

Only a magic powder would save her. A magic powder that could make her disappear into thin air. "I'll speak with one of the maids," she said, her stomach churning with dread.

"Or perhaps you could take a walk in the evening air. Lady Wells's gardens are reputed to be quite well designed. Rumor has it that she pays her gardener an obscene monthly wage."

The gardens! Yes, of course. As an alternative to leaving, they would do nicely. They were huge and she could easily hide there. "That's an excellent suggestion, Lawrence. Thank you. Best wishes to you on your negotiations with Denham."

He bowed slightly at the waist and she took her leave, making a line straight for the opposite wall and the doors that led out onto the balcony and the sweeping stairs down to the darkness of the sprawling gardens.

Julia stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her, then glanced up at the half-moon. All right, so the gardens weren't going to be as dark as she had hoped, but at least she'd made it this far without encountering Rennick, and surely she could find some deep shadows in which to hide. The night air was cool and she hadn't thought to bring her wrap with her, but she'd survive. Lord knew she didn't dare go back inside to retrieve it.

Her skirts in hand, she skipped down the steps and turned to her left, intending to make her way out to the boxwood maze. She took only a single step before she froze in her tracks, her heart lodged high in her throat and pounding furiously.

"h.e.l.lo, Julia."

He smiled and her knees melted.