Page 83 of Her Beast

Julia didn’t know whether to be thrilled at having another question or offended that he was so incurious about her. But then he already seemed to know everything about her, so he probably didn’t need questions.

Before Julia could decide which question to ask, James entered the dining room. “This just came for you, sir.” He handed Malcolm something she recognized as a telegram, although she’d never personally received one.

Malcolm’s eye moved over it quickly, his features shifting into an expression that was truly… chilling.

He folded it twice, threw back the rest of his coffee, and stood. “I’m afraid I must be off, Miss Harlow.”

“Wait,” she blurted. “I still have the question you gave me.”

Rather than look annoyed, he seemed amused. “Go on, ask me.”

“Who is that telegram from?”

Julia knew it was childish to enjoy his look of surprise—quickly followed by one of chagrin—but she didn’t care.

“Brian Harlow.”

It was her turned to look surprised.

“But why is he—”

“Dress warmly tonight, Miss Harlow.”

“Warmly? Why?”

“You’re all out of questions.” He smiled. “I shall see you at dinner.”

∞∞∞

Julia spent her day painting and pondering Malcolm’s cryptic answers from breakfast. She had no idea why her uncle would have sent a telegram. But then she had no idea what was going on, full stop. She told herself that the next time she had a question she would use it more sensibly.

But she knew that was a lie.

Whatever Malcolm was up to—and whatever her father had done to him—she simply didn’t want to know.

By the time early evening came around, Julia had little to show for her endless mental dithering other than a slight headache and a ruined watercolor.

As she was evidently staying over Christmas, she had decided to paint pictures as gifts for Malcolm and her three card-playing partners.

But not today’s painting, which had turned out so wretched that she’d finally torn it up in frustration.

“Pleasetell me where he is taking me, Kemp,” Julia begged when the maid arrived to dress her for the evening.

The older woman smiled. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t you even give me a tiny hint? After all, how shall I know what to wear?”

Kemp gestured toward a huge Barton’s garment box on one of the settees. “He’s sent what you will need to wear, Miss Harlow.”

Julia glared at the box, guilt and greed warring within her. “Oh, I really shouldn’t. He’s already given me too much.”

“I think you should,” Kemp said, giving her a steady gaze that made Julia’s face heat, for some reason.

“Fine,” she said.

Kemp smiled and brought her the box.

“Oh, my goodness,” Julia breathed when she lifted the lid. “It’s magnificent!”

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