The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

said to Julia. “I’m not ashamed to say where I came from. And truth is, I don’t give a damn what you want.”

      The countess went white.

      He knew his mother would have been shocked at his behavior. She had struggled to raise him to be honest and decent and good—then he’d had to throw all that away to survive and help his family after his father was killed.

      A lot of good it had done. He’d had to do bad things to bring home money for her and his brother, to support them, to make sure his family survived. He’d had to work for the gang who... Hell, it was join them or be beaten to death by them. After all that, Mam had died anyway—

      Cal felt everyone’s eyes on him. They all looked at him with disgust or anger. Good—there was no point making them like him before he ripped the estate apart and destroyed Worthington Park—destroyed everything they cared about.

      * * *

      After dinner, Lady Worthington approached her. “I am exhausted. Fear is a very draining thing. Julia, my dear, do help me upstairs.”

      Then Julia saw Lady Worthington look at Diana and frantically move her head to urge Diana to go to the group of gentlemen who were moving toward the drawing room—Cal, along with the duke and the viscount.

      Julia knew what the countess was up to—getting her out of the room to give Diana a better chance to pursue the men.

      Then Julia saw Nigel was heading toward her, leading the Earl of Summerhay.

      And all she wanted to do was escape. She couldn’t face making polite conversation with a man who might want to marry her, when she didn’t want him. “I would be happy to take you up to your room, Lady Worthington.”

      But the countess didn’t look pleased her plan had worked. She still looked afraid. Deeply afraid.

      When they reached the door of the countess’s bedroom, Julia knew she must speak her mind. “You must not force one of your daughters into an unhappy marriage. I will not let the new earl destroy Worthington. Or hurt you.”

      She was again reminded of the promise she’d made Anthony when he had gone away to war, a promise to look after his family if he didn’t come back. His family desperately needed help now, and she must live up to that promise.

      The countess laughed. A hard, mirthless laugh, just like Diana’s, and it shocked Julia just as much. “What can you do, Julia? Accept that you are as powerless in this as I am.”

      With that, the countess opened the door to her bedroom and her lady’s maid quickly came toward her.

      When she returned downstairs, Julia did not go to the Oriental drawing room where everyone had gathered. Instead she slipped through the music room and went out to the terrace that looked over the east lawns and the woods.

      The other drawing rooms overlooked the ornate gardens and decorative fountains. But Julia had always loved the view of the woods, which were wild and tangled. Ferns grew all around the edge of them, and the shadowy depths looked like a place where you could find faeries if you were very quiet and waited without moving. Julia used to do that with Diana, Cassia and Thalia when they were children.

      Later, she would walk through the woods with Anthony. Looking at them brought that poignant mix of emotion, remembered happiness and pain.

      Was she powerless to help? Or could she be like Zoe? Be courageous and grasp life. She believed the countess—who had been so kind to her when she was young and her own mother had fallen deeply into grieving—and Diana, her good friend, were worth fighting for.

      “Lady Julia.”

      She knew who stood behind her from the husky male voice with its distinct American twang. She turned, rubbing her arms as a cool breeze rippled over her. “Good evening, Worthington. It’s a lovely night.”

      He came out onto the terrace, his hair almost silver in the bluish moonlight. Shadows made his cheekbones look even more pronounced, revealed a slight cleft in his chin and curved around his full, sensual mouth. He definitely looked wilder, rougher than Anthony had done. Cal looked untamed and by comparison Anthony had looked gentle and domesticated.

      Cal grinned at her around an unlit cigarette he had clamped in his teeth. “I saw you sneak past the drawing room to come out here. Escaping your suitors?”

      So he’d noticed that. She was surprised. “I just needed a bit of air.”

      “You’re shivering,” he observed.

      She turned from the balustrade, toward the glass-paned door. “I should go back inside.”

      “Don’t go back in. Here, have this—” In a quick movement, he pulled off his jacket and gallantly draped it around her shoulders. She was wrapped in his warmth, in his masculine scent—slightly smoky and earthy, and crisp with witch hazel.

      He held it around her and stepped close to her. “You’re different than the rest of them.”

      Caught in the embrace of his coat, she felt a shiver go down her spine. He looked so much like Anthony, yet he was so utterly different. It was confusing. Her heart raced, and she felt, strangely, on the verge of tears just from looking at him. She couldn’t stop gazing at his face, thinking how familiar it was. But this was not Anthony. He wasn’t Anthony come back to her. He was someone else.

      “You’re angry with me still,” he said.

      “No. I was just...just lost in thought. In memories.” Then she thought: she must get to know this man. If she were to do battle with him, she must understand him. “How am I different?” she asked.

      “You welcomed me and you don’t talk to me like you hate the sight of me. I’m sorry I was rude to you at dinner. You didn’t deserve that.”

      He looked so forlorn, her heart suddenly panged for him.

      This didn’t sound like an angry, vengeful man. How hard this must be for him, to suddenly become an earl, to be thrust into a position of responsibility, with a family he didn’t know.

      “You must understand Lady Worthington,” she said impulsively. “Women in our situation know someone new will inherit and we could lose our homes. That is why the countess is so sharp. She really is a good person—she was always like a second mother to me. She is simply afraid. If you were to reassure them they have nothing to fear, I am sure it would help.”

      Cal looked at her thoughtfully. “What’s she so afraid of?”

      “She fears you will turn her and her daughters out of the house with nothing.”

      He stepped back from her. From a pocket, he drew out a silver-colored lighter and lit his cigarette. He leaned on the balustrade and smoked, his shoulders hunched and tense.

      “The estate is mine now,” he said. “I can do whatever I want with it. Maybe she’s right to be afraid.”

      Julia’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? What do you mean to do?”

      “Maybe exactly what she fears,” he said softly.

      “What did she do that deserves such a punishment?”

      He blew smoke into the dark. Then he said, “I’m gonna sell the other estates—the hunting place, the house in Scotland. As for Worthington Park, I’m gonna sell it piece by piece.”

      Horror gripped Julia. She stumbled back, gripping his coat. “You can’t do that! You can’t destroy Worthington!”

      “The countess was right. To say I’m bitter and vengeful would be an understatement. I want to torture the Carstairs family with the pain of watching something they love die.”

      “You cannot do this! Think of the tenants—all the people who live on this estate and rely upon it. What are you going to do with them? This house has been in the Worthington family for four hundred years.” She began to tremble. Anthony had loved Worthington Park. He was devoted