The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

had married, but a poised and elegant young matron. Her eyelids flickered as he watched her now.

      ‘Will?’ The whisper from the chaise was incredulous. He spun a chair round and sat beside her. No time for dreaming yet. This was not going to be easy for he had no idea of what his own feelings were, let alone hers. Julia lay still, her face white, but she was thinking, calculating, he could tell. She might have fainted, but she was not in a daze any longer. ‘I thought you were a ghost,’ she murmured.

      ‘That was my line when we first met, if I recall. I am perfectly real, Julia.’ He remembered the courage and the pallor and the height. He recalled his body’s surprising arousal and, looking at her now, he was no longer so amazed that Julia had sent tremors of desire through a dying man.

      ‘I am very glad. And you are perfectly well by the look of you, which is wonderful,’ she said slowly, as though she could still not believe in him. ‘But, Will, what happened? You were so ill, and there has been no letter from you for eighteen months at least. I am delighted to see you again, of course, but it is such a shock!’

      The colour was beginning to come back to her cheeks. Three years had indeed wrought changes in her. The clinging silks of her evening gown revealed lush curves, smooth skin. Her hair was fashionably dressed, glossy with health. Julia was not a fashionable beauty, but she was undeniably attractive. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, drawing his eyes to the fullness and sending a bolt of desire through him. This was his wife. The emotions that produced were confusing and not all welcome, not yet. She was real now and he was going to have to deal with that reality.

      ‘Yes, I am completely well.’ He might as well explain now and get it over with. ‘I was very ill in Seville and the doctor that Jervis found, quite by accident, was one who practised Jewish and Moorish medicine. He gave me some drugs, but mainly he made me rest, out in the sunshine. He took over my diet and gradually the coughing stopped and the night sweats got less frequent. I began to sleep and gain strength.

      ‘Then he sent me south to the coast and from there over to North Africa to a doctor he knew.’ Will shrugged. ‘There is more to it than that, of course. Exercise, massage, swimming to build up my muscles again, days when I feared I would never get back to how I was before.

      ‘But the miracle happened, although for months I could not believe I was really cured. Every time I picked up the pen to write I did not know what to say. If I said I was getting better and it was just a false hope... I have been fully well for over six months but it is hard to believe it sometimes.’

      It was no easier speaking of it than it had been to try to write. Eventually he would learn to accept that he was going to have a future. A life. ‘I thought it would be better simply to come home.’

      Julia sat up and swung her feet on to the ground. Pink satin slippers and a provocative amount of ankle showed beneath her hem. His wife had obviously decided it was far too early to go into mourning for him, or perhaps she had simply found it easier to forget him.

      She is still damnably self-possessed, he added mentally as she studied him, her face almost expressionless. And yet, there was something beneath that cool scrutiny. What is she thinking? He did not like secrets. Probably she was still recovering from the shock of seeing him and that was all it was.

      ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘At this dance, I mean.’

      ‘I intended to come to King’s Acre in the morning rather than turn up on the doorstep when you were about to sit down to dinner. And then I saw the lights and heard the music and decided to dip my toe into English life once more. It never occurred to me that you might be here.’

      ‘Aunt Delia persuaded me to come. I am not much given to large public assemblies.’ Julia studied him. ‘And you have had no news of home, of course.’

      Something was wrong, he could sense it. ‘I have had no news at all. I collect that you and Aunt Delia are on good terms?’

      ‘We have learned to rub along together,’ she said drily. ‘And I have learned to bite my tongue even if she still sees no need to hold hers. But I should not be disrespectful, I have found her kind on many occasions. This is going to be a considerable shock to her; she has quite decided that you...that Henry is definitely going to inherit.’

      ‘Did you travel with her this evening?’ Time enough tomorrow to face Delia and Henry and shatter their hopes.

      ‘No. I used my own carriage. It is out of their way to collect me and I prefer to be independent.’

      ‘Then we will go back together, you and I.’ Now this meeting had happened there was no going back, no retreat into the neutral ground of a solitary inn bedchamber for the night. ‘If Delia has not seen me there is no need to tell her I have returned, not until tomorrow. Are you well enough to find her and let her know you are returning home?’ Julia nodded. ‘Then I will go and settle my account, pay off the postilions and collect my baggage. Jervis and I will meet you in the yard of the Stag’s Head opposite.’

      Something flared in her eyes, but it was gone before he could analyse it. Julia pressed her lips together as if on a retort and nodded again. This was not the place to talk. Will got to his feet and let himself out, wary now that Delia or Henry might see him. A confrontation in a crowded ballroom would set the district on its ears for weeks. That was the only reason for the knot in his gut, surely? He would be home within the hour. His life could begin again—on his terms now.

      * * *

      Julia stared blankly at the battered door panels as the catch clicked shut. She was not a widow. She was not even the pretend-wife of a man who had vanished as though he had been a dream. Her husband was alive and fit and, as far as she could tell, in the very best of health. Which meant he would find out exactly what had happened at King’s Acre in his absence.

      She had no idea what Will imagined he was coming home to, but she rather suspected that he had not thought through the implications of surviving his hasty marriage. Finally she would find out exactly what manner of man she was tied to, for this was all going to shake him off balance enough to reveal his true character. The baby. Her mind shied away from how she was going to break that to him.

      Think of something else. My goodness, but he is attractive. Julia jabbed loose hairpins in securely and told herself that physical attractiveness was no guide to inner character. And if Will Hadfield thought he was coming home to her bed tonight he must think again. There was far too much to be said, to work out, before things became that intimate. She swallowed. If they ever did. She was not at all certain what she wanted, although that was probably academic. Her desires were not going to affect Will’s reactions. For all she knew he might try to repudiate her now he no longer needed her. He certainly might when he learned what had happened in his absence.

      But that was something to worry about when she was alone. Now she must leave without arousing Delia’s suspicions. Julia opened the door and almost bumped into Henry. She slid her arm into his and produced a faint smile. ‘Cousin Henry! Just the person I need. I have such a headache—would you be a dear and let your mama know I am returning home now?’

      ‘Of course. Shall I go and call your carriage?’

      He was a nice young man, Julia thought, watching him weave through the crowd to the front door. Still self-centred and inclined to believe that things would fall into his lap by right, but he would learn. Yet however little he wished his cousin ill, the discovery that he was not going to inherit King’s Acre in a few years would be a blow that would set his world on its ear.

      When her carriage pulled into the inn yard the footman jumped down from the box to open the door and let the steps down and almost fell over his feet when he saw the two men waiting. ‘Mr Jervis! And—oh, my Heavens, it’s his lordship! Thomas, look, it’s his lordship just like he used to be!’

      ‘Praise be!’ Thomas the coachman must have jabbed the horses’ mouths in his excitement. The carriage rocked back and forth and she saw Will grin in the lamplight. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile like that. How had she ever thought him old, even when he had been so sick? This was a man in his