Page 12 of The Rake and Lady Julia
"Maria," Julia said, jumping with fright, "She will want to help me undress for the night."
Maria and I have much in common, Rob thought to himself with a smile. Though his smile faltered as Julia pulled away from him.
"I must see you again," he whispered urgently, as she made for the door.
Lady Julia hesitated, though she did not turn back to look at him when she spoke.
"I am afraid that is not possible, my lord," she said, shoulders rigid, "Not given our families' history—though I thank you for the kiss."
With that, she slipped through the French doors, shutting them with a firm click, and pulling the drapes so that she was concealed from view.
"Not possible?" Robert muttered to the now closed door, "We'll see about that."
For anything seemed possible now that he had tasted Lady Julia's lips, anything at all. Even climbing back down from the balcony posed no challenge, for he felt as though he were floating on a cloud.
Lady Julia was wrong, Robert decided, as he stole across St James' Square, love between a Cavendish and a Montague was perfectly possible—she just needed to be persuaded, that was all.
Chapter Three
A sensible lady would have screamed for help when Lord Montague climbed up to her balcony. A practical lady would never have allowed the dissolute rake to kiss her with tender lips. And, had that sensible, practical lady slipped, and allowed him to do that very thing, she most certainly would have pushed all thoughts of Lord Montague from her mind the instant that she closed the door on him.
Unfortunately, Julia was beginning to think that she was neither as sensible nor as practical as she had assumed herself to be.
The following morning, Lord Montague occupied a rather large part of her mind as she went about her business. At breakfast, she was so distracted that she dropped jam laden bread on her lap and had to change. Whilst making calls, her mind was so far away that afterwards she could not properly remember a word that Charlotte and Violet had said to her—though she did recall that Penrith had invited Charlotte to go riding in the park.
Even now, as she stood in the dressing room of theton'smodiste d'excellenceMadame Lloris, her mind could not focus on anything, except Lord Montague.
His eyes. His smile. His lips.
Most particularly his lips, if Julia was honest. She had never been kissed before. Though Julia's part in the kiss had not been so passive that one could truly say she had "been kissed". She had kissed back—most enthusiastically.
A blush crept over her cheeks as she recalled the way that she had responded to the marquess. She had not shoved him away from her, nor thwacked him with her fire poker. She had melted against him. She had pressed herself against his chest.
She had kissed him. She was equally as dissolute as London's most infamous rake—and, worse, she did not regret it, for it had been the single most exhilarating moment of her life.
"Lud, what have you done?" Julia whispered to herself, forgetting where she was. A dozen seamstresses all sprang to attention at her moan of dismay, and Julia was forced to spend the next five minutes assuring them that everything was alright.
"I was just thinking of something," she assured them, as they fluttered about her.
"A man, perhaps?" Madame Lloris questioned, and as Julia blushed further, themodistegave a throaty laugh.
"Ah,l'amour," the Frenchwoman said, her dark eyes twinkling in Julia's direction.
"What's that?" Lady Cavendish twittered, from her chair on the far side of the room. She had been reading a book, but themodiste's laughter had attracted her attention.
"We think your daughter is in love," Madame Lloris explained, "We are teasing her for her blushes."
"Oh," Lady Cavendish beamed across at Julia, "Well, she did meet a rather handsome fellow at Almack's yesterday evening."
For a moment, Julia felt as though the whole world had tilted upon its axis—did her mama know of Lord Montague?
"Lord Pariseau is quite the catch," Lady Cavendish continued, setting aside her book to stand up and inspect themodiste's work, "Not that I wish to name names, of course."
"Oh, of course," Madame Lloris whispered in an assuring tone, though Julia was certain that by evening all of London would know of it. And she was equally as certain that her mama had intended it that way.
"Perhaps you will soon be making Julia a wedding gown, instead of a day gown," Lady Cavendish continued, further fanning the flames of gossip.
Julia gritted her teeth, as she resisted the urge to growl with frustration.
