The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

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 to keeping it strong and secure. She and Anthony would talk of future plans when they were married—improvements to the house, a new nursery, a garden in which children could play. New equipment for the farm, improvements to the school so all the children of the estate would be educated.

      “You can’t destroy the estate,” she went on, trying to fight the shakiness of her voice. “It would be heartless. Senseless. If you really want revenge, be the most beloved Earl of Worthington there has ever been. Prove them wrong.”

      He laughed—a hard, bitter laugh. “No one here is ever going to love me. These estates should be ripped apart. They belong to the people. There should be no lords and masters.”

      Her heart thundered. “Well, there are even in America. Can you tell me that in America, rich men believe poor men are equal to them? You can’t, I’m sure.” She leveled him with a firm gaze. “And I will stop you.”

      He looked amused. “How do you plan to do that, Lady Julia?”

      “I will—” She didn’t know what she would do but she had to think of something. She couldn’t watch Worthington—the place Anthony had loved with all his heart—be destroyed. “I will make you understand you have a responsibility to the land, the house and the people who live on the estate. I won’t stop until you love Worthington so deeply, you won’t let it go because it is a part of your soul.”

      “That’ll never happen.”

      “Yes, it will.” She pulled his tailored tuxedo jacket off her shoulders and shoved it at him.

      He caught it and straightened, towering over her. A roguish smile curved his lips. “We’d better go back inside, Lady Julia. Even I know that if we’re away from the crowd long enough, people are gonna start talking about us.”

      He took out the cigarette. His mouth lowered toward hers.

      She was literally shaking in her shoes. Shaking with fury. But also with something else. With heat and confusion and a sudden, intense...whoosh.

      Dear God, she wanted to kiss him.

      And he was awful. Cruel. The enemy.

      She took a determined step back and glared at him. “If you think I would kiss you after you just announced you would destroy this beautiful place and ruin hundreds of people’s lives, you are mad. Nothing is going to happen between us. Not ever.”

      She turned and walked toward the door, determined not to shiver in the cool night air.

      “I think you’re wrong,” he called out behind her.

      She turned. In clear, no-nonsense tones, she said, “The only thing that will happen between us is that I will make you see sense, Worthington.”

      She had no idea just how to do that at the moment, but it made a rather lovely exit line. Julia tipped up her chin and went inside, for once thankful she had been trained with a book on her head and could glide in victorious manner with aplomb.

       3

      Two Proposals of Marriage

      Julia stormed back toward the drawing room.

      How could she have felt a sudden, dizzying whoosh for that man?

      The whoosh had been something she’d experienced with Anthony—that sudden feeling of the world stopping on its trajectory, while she looked into his eyes as if for the very first time.

      She’d felt it with Dougal Campbell within minutes of meeting him. It had been when he had begun to describe the surgery he had performed to repair a child’s leg and save it from amputation. Her head had swum a little at the thought of an operation, but she had fallen in love with him right then, right there, because he had been so passionate about what he’d done.

      Dougal—well, she’d lost Dougal forever now. He was marrying the daughter of a doctor, a girl who would make the perfect doctor’s wife. She was happy for him—he deserved the perfect wife.

      But after caring so deeply for Dougal, how could she have had that devastating moment of—of something with Cal?

      He actually thought he could kiss her after what he’d threatened to do to Worthington. Well, really! And she now knew why she had been riveted to the spot, unable to move. She had been shocked. That was all.

      The man was infuriating. Not because he was angry and hurting—she could understand that, if his family had been rejected by the previous earl. His father had been disowned after all.

      No, he was infuriating because his mind was closed. This was the modern world—every breath you took was full of change. He must let the past go.

      Destroying something never fixed anything. Heaping on more pain never made pain go away. She was certain of it. Healing was the most important thing in the world. Zoe had healed Nigel, helping him finally escape the way the War had hurt him. Her mother needed to heal more from the grief of losing Will—if Mother could, she could be happier.

      Julia knew the power of healing. She had to make Cal see it.

      “Julia.”

      She almost collided with the Duke of Bradstock as he stepped out of the shadows.

      Frowning, he looked down at her. “You were outside with that American, Julia. I saw him follow you out onto the terrace. Did you invite him out there?” he demanded.

      James had followed her. Why? Because Cal had?

      “I went out on the terrace for some air,” she said. “Then the new earl joined me.”

      “So he just followed you.” James grasped her wrist and held it in the circle of his long, strong fingers, capturing her. He peered at her face in the darkness of the corridor—only two electric lights illuminated it. “You look upset. Did he try to force himself on you? Tell me and I’ll grind him under my heel like the piece of dirt he is.”

      Most girls thought the Duke of Bradstock was more handsome than any movie star in the pictures. His features were striking and autocratic; his hair raven black, his eyes dark green and surrounded by thick, long lashes. He had a wicked allure, like Valentino.

      Grandmama believed he was interested in Julia, since he had never married after he returned from the War. Grandmama’s words haunted her: you could be a duchess with one simple word.

      James was looking at her...as if he would slay a dragon if she asked.

      For some reason, she did not feel like a heroine who wished to swoon into the muscular arms of a sheikh-costumed Valentino. She was angry with Cal, but she would not insult him. “He is not a piece of dirt—he is the Earl of Worthington, and we are in his house, James. It is most impolite to be rude. And we simply spoke out on the terrace. Worthington was the perfect gentleman.”

      “Was he? You were trembling when you came back inside.”

      “It was cold outdoors.”