The Worthington Wife Page 17

  She looked to the table where the American had been sitting, but he was gone.

  “All right,” she said, and the moment she did, he put his hand to her lower back and drew her close. Right against his hard, lean body. Her head tucked into the space below his jaw, against the wide breadth of his shoulders.

  But she felt a jerk of his arm muscles against her, as if his anger hadn’t died away.

  “Who was that man? And why did he make you angry, before you returned the favor?”

  “I thought a lady didn’t pry into someone else’s business, angel.”

  “I do when I am concerned about the man doing business,” she said, “and the person with whom he’s doing that business.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Now dance with me, Julia.”

  He danced divinely, moving her on the parquet floor in a slow, sensuous rhythm. Julia barely felt the floor beneath her feet—she forgot there was one beneath her.

  Cal had a way of moving his hands that set her skin on fire. It wasn’t too scandalous—where a woman might have to resort to a slap. He didn’t touch her anywhere naughty. His fingertips stroked in a sensual way, lightly on her back.

  He bent to her. His lips grazed the line of her jaw, then moved lower, and on the dance floor of the Black Bottom, Cal kissed her neck.

  Sensation shimmered down her spine. She felt hot all over. And that ignited panic. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to keep kissing her until she couldn’t think and that would be her ruin. She pushed away from him. “Don’t.”

  She turned, desperately looking for Diana. Yanking her hand free of Cal’s grip, she rushed through the dancers, darted around a young waiter who carried a tray of elegant cocktails.

  She ran right into her friend who was hurrying from the opposite direction. “Let’s go,” Diana hissed. “His wretched wife is here.”

  “Diana, his wife isn’t wretched. He is.”

  “He’s trapped, Julia. He’s trapped in a duty marriage.”

  “Diana, you must understand he’s bad for you.”

  “But I love him! I love him desperately. I should go to his wife right now and tell her that he—”

  “No!” She grasped Diana’s arm. Rather harder than she intended. “He won’t leave his wife.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Diana protested.

  But she saw the fear in Diana’s blue eyes. “Diana, he should never have put you in this position.”

  “Then what am I going to do, Julia? What can I possibly do?”

  The music pounded and couples danced wildly on the floor. Julia moved close to Diana. She had to speak loudly over the racing jazz beat. “Switzerland.” Then she moved Diana to the side of the room, where it was quieter.

  Diana desperately shook her head. “No! This is about love. I don’t just want to be hidden away on the Continent, Julia. This is the modern world and I want it all. I want my child, I want love, and I’m willing to go through a little scandal to get it.”

  “It’s not the scandal, Diana—”

  “You said you didn’t care about scandal when it came to helping your widows. You should know how I feel.”

  She did. That was the problem—part of her was applauding Diana for wanting more than a ladylike life and a marriage without love. But she knew that Society would judge Diana ruthlessly. “I do. But men do not leave their wives.”

  “I can’t go away anyway. I have no money and Cal won’t give me any.”

  “Perhaps I can—”

  “No! Don’t tell him. He wants to hurt us all. What do you think he would do to me?”

  In truth, Julia didn’t know. She had seen him be so good, but he was also filled with anger. Anger that sizzled in him tonight. She felt someone watching her. She turned, expecting it to be Cal.

  It was his American companion. Staring at her, and giving her a slow grin. A smile that made her shiver. It wasn’t leering, but it looked...mean. She wanted to keep a large distance between her and that man. “We should go, Diana.” She hastened Diana to the table, told her she was tired and hurried her to pick up her wrap.

  * * *

  Julia was exhausted, but she could barely sleep. For some reason, that man’s smirking smile haunted her all night. So did Cal’s kiss.

  She lay in bed wondering what it would be like to fall into her bed with Cal. Have him on top of her, kissing her, caressing her, and then—

  Oh! What was she doing to herself? Cal wouldn’t offer her anything more than Diana’s selfish lover had offered her.

  Even if she were careful to avoid a disastrous pregnancy, would just sex be enough? Without love? Without a future?

  No—because if she went to bed with Cal, it would be because she was in love with him, and was willing to accept that she was, and had stopped trying to fight it.

  Right now, she was still fighting it.

  But could she really spend the rest of her life as a virgin?

  Julia awoke when the sun was streaming around her curtains. She hadn’t slept in so late for years. Groggy, she sat up as Sims came in. “There is a telephone call for you, my lady. Lady Diana Carstairs. She insisted you must be woken and brought to the telephone.”

  Worry gripped Julia’s heart.

  “I warned it will take quite a while to dress you—”

  Of course she had to be dressed as she did not have a telephone extension in her bedroom. “No. It won’t.” She wore a brassiere and pulled on a blouse and skirt. Sims fussed over her, especially her hair, but the truth was, with modern, simple clothes and bobbed hair, she could dress herself. Then she hurried downstairs and picked up the extension in the hallway. “Hel—”

  “Oh, Julia, I can’t stand it anymore. Cal knows my secret. I don’t know what he will do when I return to Worthington Park. I fear he’ll throw me out. He hates us, and ruining me would be just sport for him, and—”

  “Diana, please calm down.” Julia broke in on Diana’s desperate, frightened, shrill words. “Let us face this calmly. I don’t understand how he could know. I didn’t speak a word of it to him. Not to anyone, I promise.”

  “He insisted you didn’t say anything. He just—he just knew! I was having a drink when he returned from the Black Bottom. He came up to me, took the drink out of my hand. Then he asked me if I am expecting a child. He said he’d just...guessed. How could he do that? I was so shocked I almost passed out. I couldn’t say a word, my throat was so tight. But I know—I know he would love to see me ruined. He would love it if I were starving on the street.”

  “He won’t do that.” But would he?

  In that moment, Julia knew she had learned much about Cal, but she didn’t really know him. She couldn’t guess what he would do. Could he be kind to Ben and the Toft children, and then hurt Diana and her unborn child?

  But Diana was a member of the aristocracy and of the family who had hurt him.

  She must protect Diana. How could Cal have guessed? Then she remembered how he’d said his mother would deliver babies. Perhaps he knew the signs of pregnancy and had seen them in Diana. He must be incredibly perceptive—

  He was an artist. And he had seen things inside her that she believed she kept completely hidden from the world. He saw things in her that no one else had.

  “Julia, I must see him again. This will change everything. Now that Cal knows, he will know he must look after me. To protect me, he will do something. He wants to be with me. I know it.”

  Diana’s voice rose in desperation.

  It was confusing, but Julia knew which man Diana meant by “he” and “him.”

  “Diana, you must see it won’t help to pursue this man—”

  “No! He won’t leave me at Cal’s mercy.”

  But the man was married. How could he do the right thing? Was a
divorce the right thing? It would give Diana marriage—it would save her reputation. But it would hurt another woman.

  “I will talk to Cal. I’m sure I can appeal to his better nature.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Diana, I have seen him be kind. Especially to children—”

  “You can’t because Cal left this morning. He bought a new motorcar in London and he drove back to Worthington. The butler said he was angry. Very angry. He oozed rage. And I don’t know why—but I fear that anger will make him hurt me.”

  “Diana, no, don’t do anything foolish—”

  But the line went dead. Oh heavens, this was a disaster. What would Diana do?

  “My lady? Is something wrong?”

  She was standing, the receiver clutched in her hand. Their London butler wore a look of concern. “Everything is fine,” she lied, adopting a bright smile.

  “A Dr. Campbell has arrived for you. He is carrying flowers. He is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

  Dougal—here? And carrying flowers? It would make sense if Dougal had come to discuss Brideswell Hospital, but that didn’t explain flowers.

  He jumped to his feet as she walked into the south drawing room.

  She had never seen Dougal look like this. He wore a simple but attractive suit. His hair was slicked neatly back with pomade. Before she’d managed to say “good morning” in its entirety, he thrust out the bouquet. Pale pink roses.

  But she also saw his eyes were red rimmed and somewhat bleary. “Dougal, you look exhausted.” She took the bouquet, and took his hand, led him to the brocade settee, then rang for tea.

  “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I was up all night in surgery. A man struck by a motorcar.”

  “Is he all right?”

  Dougal’s mouth turned grim. “I lost him, Julia.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He lifted his hand as if to rake it through his hair, then stopped himself. His other hand rested against the sofa arm as if holding up his exhausted-to-the-bone body. “I fought for him. Fought for hours and I thought I was going to win. But in the end—I’m not God apparently. When I begin to think I can outdo our Lord with miracles, then I am brought down and humbled, but at the cost of a man’s life.”

  Tea came, halting their conversation. Efficiently, she poured for him and herself. Dougal’s leg was tapping, apparently with pent-up frustration, but it stopped as she handed him the cup.

  “You remember exactly how I have it?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Julia, I have no right to be here when I’m dead tired. No right to be here at all. But I realized, when I lost that patient, that the person I needed to speak to was you. You were the one person I knew I could talk to.”

  “But your fiancée—”

  “I care about Margaret a great deal, but she doesn’t have your strength. It made me realize how much I loved being at the Brideswell Hospital.”

  That surprised her. “I thought you were happier here?”

  “The truth is that here I have to answer to a board of governors. There are treatments I want to try but I’ve been refused. Too expensive. Too controversial. At Brideswell, when I went to the duke—your brother—I found him to be one of the most open-minded gentlemen I have met. He allowed me to do remarkable things. After his marriage, he was an extremely generous patron. He bought much-needed new equipment—gave me free rein in my purchasing and treatment plans—” He broke off, raking his hand through his auburn hair, but he stopped when he realized it was too pomaded to move. She smiled at the sweet gesture, but her heart seemed to have stopped beating.

  “I know the duchess offered the job to McLeod, but he would be willing to take my place at the London Hospital, if you would consider allowing me to come back to Brideswell.”

  “But—but what about your fiancée?”

  “I have to establish myself as a doctor before we can marry. I believe I could do that more quickly at Brideswell. Then I can have a house there and make her my wife. If you and the duchess—and the duke, of course—would consider giving me the chance.”

  Such fervent passion underlay his words.

  She thought of the time she’d spent with him. Quiet walks across the village green. Dougal had discussed his cases with her. She’d loved listening to him. She would make suggestions, but he was always lost deep in thought, his brain considering the symptoms, the possible diagnosis, until he came to the right answer. He talked to her like an equal, not like a woman who should be protected from rational thought.

  He would come back, but they could not do that anymore.

  “Do you believe your family would consider it?”

  He would be the perfect doctor for Brideswell. She could live with a little pain—the pain of seeing him, of being so close to him, but so distant.

  He was waiting for her answer, hope in his eyes.

  * * *

  Two days after the dance with Julia that Cal couldn’t forget, he stepped out of the small police station of Brideswell’s village. He’d gone into the village to the local pub to get some information and that had led him to the police station, manned by a sergeant and two young police constables.

  He walked out into a downpour. Sheets of gray rain swept in waves through the narrow streets. Cal lifted his collar. It was June, but bone-chilling today in the rain.

  Ahead of him, a woman struggled with her black umbrella. She gasped as the wind caught it, turning it inside out and pulling her into the street, just as an automobile roared around the corner, headed toward her.

  He ran out, gripped the woman around the waist and pulled her out of the path of the car.

  “Goodness!” she gasped.

  “Julia.” He hadn’t seen her since the Black Bottom Club. He hadn’t seen her, but he’d thought about her every damn minute. And now he heard his breath hitch as he realized his hand was cupped around her small waist. He moved his hand.

  “Thank you.” She looked at him awkwardly. He felt damned awkward with her. What would Julia think if she knew the things O’Brien had reminded him about that night in London? He’d heard she had gone to see the doctor she had been engaged to once. Maybe they’d rekindled their romance. Julia deserved a good man and he had to admire her for falling for a doctor, for being willing to marry a man who didn’t have a title.

  He took the umbrella and held it for her. As they walked together, they struggled to make conversation. She asked, “The gentleman you were speaking with at the Black Bottom, was he a friend from America?”

  “Someone I knew in the States. Not a friend.” He didn’t want to talk about Kerry O’Brien of the Five Points Gang with Julia. He didn’t want her to know anything about his past. Or what O’Brien had threatened him with.

  “Julia, I have to talk to you,” he said.

  “I have to talk to you. About Diana.”

  “We can’t talk out here in the rain,” he said. “I have my car here. Where can I take you?”

  “I’m finished in the village. You could take me home.”

  He stayed quiet until he got Julia into his automobile, out of the rain. It poured off her hat, dripped off his coat, as he went around to the driver’s side, chucked in the umbrella and climbed in. Rain drummed against the windshield, and he couldn’t see out.

  “Diana hopes the man responsible for her condition will get a divorce from his wife and marry her. She tried to see him again the day after the Black Bottom, but he wouldn’t respond. He didn’t pick up the telephone, answer her notes. She even went to his house, only to find he and his wife had gone to the Continent. She was devastated. She—”

  He heard her take a shuddering breath.

  God, she was pale. She hadn’t put on any makeup. She was lovely this way, but far too pale. “What did she do?” he asked
slowly.

  “She broke down into tears in her bedchamber and hammered her fists on her belly. She was trying to make herself miscarry. I stopped her, brought her back here, and promised to talk to you. To plead with you if necessary. She is so afraid, Cal. She fears you will throw her out.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she’s expecting a baby.”

  “What about afterward? If you throw her out because she is ruined, you would be condemning the child to poverty—”

  “You mean how could I do that, when I lived through it? You’re right. I couldn’t. I’d look after Diana. Make sure she always has a roof over her head and enough to eat. I’d make sure the child stayed healthy, grew up happy, went to school. I vow I’d do that. Maybe the hypocrisy galls me. The old earl and countess condemned my mother while their daughter had an affair with a married man and their son—” He stopped. “But I wouldn’t make the baby suffer. I’m a better man than that.”

  “I believed you were,” she said softly.

  The look on her face—

  It made him feel ten feet tall. It made him feel like crap. He started the automobile.

  “Cal, there is something you have to know. Women of our sort who get into trouble do not keep their babies. It ends any chance of marriage. Certainly a respectable one. Girls are taken away. They disappear on an extended holiday, where they discreetly have the baby. The child is given up for adoption. The girl comes back and she goes on with her life.”

  “That’s the way it’s done.” He looked over his shoulder, through the rain, then pulled away from the curb. “Do you agree with it?”

  “I don’t know. If I had a child, I think it would break my heart to give up the baby. But maybe I would be so terrified, I would agree. Terrified because I would know I’d lost any hope of a future. That, as a ruined woman, I couldn’t give my child a life anyway. But I admire the courage of women who keep their children, who struggle to raise them. I don’t know if I would be so strong.”