Page 58 of Better Love Next Time
She unfolded the letter.
Her eyes rounded at the salutation.Andrew.
She dropped to the hard-backed chair and scoured the page. The Earl of Tindall demanded Julian marry in alternately hateful and cajoling phrases. What father called their son a worthless spawn? She flipped over the paper and read the directions. The letter fell to her lap. She shoved it off and stood, gripping the desk’s edge.
The earl knew Julian had returned to Southampton.
“Madame?” Althea Dixley said from the door. “Are you all right? You cried out.”
“Did I?” Kitty stared out through the gauzy drapery into the late night. Even from her position on High Street, she heard shouts from the quay. In her terrified state, it sounded like a riot. Would Julian’s father visit Southampton? Surely not. No, surely that would be lowering, for the Earl of Tindall to chase after his son. The man had demanded Julian come to him.
She breathed out through pursed lips. A semblance of calm filled her. Her limbs were only slightly shaking when she turned to Althea.
“Mr. St. Clair’s father is a horrible man,” she said. “He belittles my husband and his accomplishments. Has since he was a young boy. He is controlling and—and evil in the extreme. I would put nothing past him. If you are ever to be in his presence, take care.”
Behind her most unfortunate lenses, Althea’s grey eyes darkened. Kitty hurried forward and clasped her friend’s hand.
“Do please take care,” Kitty said with more force. “And say nothing of this to Mr. St. Clair, what I have relayed.”
Althea nodded. “Madame, mayhap?—”
A key scraped into the apartment door lock, and boot heels knocked in the entry. Althea hastily returned the letter to the desk and caught Kitty as she fled Julian’s room, plopping the ink bottle in her hand.
Kitty froze at the threshold to the main room.
Julian’s black hair was in wild disarray. His stock was missing and his cravat bloodstained and balled in his left hand. His cheekbone showed the beginning of a monstrous red bruise.
He strolled to the liquor standish and reached for a decanter. With his right hand he unstopped the brandy and poured two fingers. That arm was bleeding through his fawn-colored sleeve.
“I’ll get a surgeon,” Althea said and hurried from the apartment.
Kitty fetched a basin and cloths. Returning with a pitcher of water, she found Julian reclining on the vast sofa, his bare feet kicked to the silk cushions. The corner of his mouth was split and swollen.
She wedged in at his side, facing him. “Julian, what happened?”
“Good evening, wife.” His eyes traced the line of her breasts beneath the claret velvet robe. He finished his brandy. “I hoped you’d be asleep.”
“Who did this to you?”
“Hard to say exactly.” He yanked the wet cloth from her hand and sat up, swiveling around her until he was at her back.
She twisted around and studied his left hand while he scrubbed his face with the right. Kitty shivered at a deep, oozing knife wound across his palm. A faint nausea crept up her throat. Althea was right to fetch the surgeon.
Julian peeled off his coat, brushing her off when she tried to inspect his arm. She gasped at his blood-soaked linen sleeve.
“I need no mothering,” he said. “Or a lecture.”
“Why would I lecture you?”
“For obvious reasons. I’m drunk. I’ve been in a brawl.” He pulled a shard of glass from his forearm and tossed it on the table. “I caused it, actually. And still we’ve not one more man gained for your business than we had a week into this.”
“I don’t care about the men.”
“Yes, you do.” Grabbing his glass, he pressed to his feet and stepped around her to pour more liquor. “Don’t deny it. I can smell your disappointment. See it. And here’s a thought. If you wish to feign optimism, try smiling. Why don’t you smile?”
His question took her back. “I am not disappointed in you.”
He sipped from the glass. The liquor had to sting, but he acted as if the cuts on his knuckles, a bruised face, and knife wounds were a matter of course. “I didn’t say you were disappointedin mebut you are, aren’t you?”
