As he walked through the household, he peered into room after room, searching out just one.
And then he found her.
Much the same way of the night of her arrival, she was seated at the pianoforte, her back slumped, her shoulders stooped. Attired in a modest night wrapper belted at her waist, she remained seated, giving no indication that she heard his approach.
“Unable to sleep?” he called over.
The lady swiveled on the bench, a reluctance to her movements as she did. Nay, even with the span of space between them, he caught the wariness etched in her heart-shaped features.
“May I join you?” he said, when she remained silent.
Julia immediately hopped up. “Of course.”
Both her hesitancy and formality were at odds with the eagerness that had filled his chest the moment he’d spied her there.
As he came forward with his confectionary offering, he considered her and her reaction. What accounted for her hesitancy around him still? And more, what accounted for his absolute loathing of her hesitancy? He was so very comfortable in her presence, while she should still be unnerved around him. And he hated it.
He reached her side.
She was quiet, as he’d never before seen her, her gaze worried.
“I come bearings gifts,” he said in a bid to break the awkward impasse.
Blinking slowly, she moved her gaze from him to the tray in his hands and then back to him. “I… thank you.”
Still, she made no attempt to take them, and Harris set the pastries on the pianoforte. Distractedly, she took the tip of her finger to the silver circular platter, setting it into a slight spin, the strawberry and blueberry and apricot preserves forming a kaleidoscope of colors.
At the same time, she gave no indication of any pleasure at his presence this moment. It was a humbling way to find himself. He, a man who’d rarely found himself without interest or attention of some sort.
“Reservations about your debut?” he murmured.
At his mention of the ball scheduled for tomorrow, her gaze grew veiled, her expression shuttered, and those tangible signs of her guard going up were like another punch to the gut. A reminder of her mistrust of him, and worse, the reasons she had for it. He had been a pompous, priggish arse in so many ways. Blind to the world around him. Self-absorbed.
In an absent way, Julia touched her index finger to the spinning tray, stopping it. She sighed, and in an endearing, girl-like way, she plopped herself onto the bench. Dropping her elbows onto the keys, she set off a discordant jangle. “I didn’t anticipate… this,” she said gruffly, her gaze nearly perfectly aligned with the pastries.
He found a space on the far corner of the bench. “What part of it?”
“Any of it,” she exploded and then drew in a steadying breath. “Any of it,” she repeated, this time more calmly. “The fine gowns. The luxuries I couldn’t even have dreamed of for the simple reason I didn’t know that ones such as they existed.” The timbre of her voice grew slightly pitched. “And now a London Season, Harris?”
He reached over and covered her palm with his, conferring support, and under his touch, the heat of her fingers transferred to his, and the tension in those digits eased.
The long column of her throat moved. Her voice fell to a whisper that, even with the midnight quiet, he strained to hear. “I didn’t want it, you know.”
“I know,” he said quietly. He knew that now. At every turn, she’d rebuffed whatever gifts the duchess had attempted to give her. Instead, she’d sought to take more meager offerings and give them over to the less fortunate instead. “It will be all right.”
She needed to tell him in her own words. She’d resolved to do so. Having come to know the duchess as she had, Julia knew the duchess would insist Harris accept Julia in Adairia’s place. No doubt Her Grace had taken care to omit some of the hardest parts Julia had shared with her.
Because of that, she’d spent the better part of the night crafting and scrapping and recrafting any number of explanations and words to explain why she’d come here and who she was, and yet, she had found none that suited. That was, none that would result in anything more than his assured loathing and disgust, and coward that she was, she didn’t want this to end.
But then he went and offered gentle murmurings of support that muddled her intentions and stalled what she knew she needed to do.
Julia bit her lower lip hard.
Why must he be so… kind?
And warmhearted.
And tender.
It made all of this impossible.
It will be all right.
And yet, how could it be? How, when he discovered the truth, it would change everything between them? And it certainly would not be all right when she finally put an end to this charade she’d carried out, with the duchess’ permission.
Julia exploded to her feet. “No, I need you to hear me. I don’t want this, Harris.” She gestured to the ballroom. “I don’t want any of it. I didn’t think to come here and have a wardrobe made for me.” She began go pace. “I needed to escape. To be free of…” Rand Graham’s influence and his intent to destroy. “All of it. But then there was Her Grace and the countesses.” Julia stopped abruptly, her back to Harris, unable to face him. “And you,” she said, her voice cracking. She jammed her fingertips against her temples and fought the panicky little giggle threatening to strangle her. Good God, who would have imagined
