A Most Scandalous Proposal Page 7

  Beyond Ludlowe’s shoulder, Upperton arched a brow. “Better listen to him, old man. When it comes to horseflesh, he knows what he’s about.”

  Ludlowe’s grin didn’t waver. Not a flicker. “Oh, I don’t want her for me.” He leaned closer, all manly confidentiality, as if he and Benedict were old school chums. “I’m in the market for a wife. Any bride of mine ought to ride in style.”

  Upperton broke into an explosive fit of coughing. Nefertari pinned her ears back and tossed her dainty head. Down the row, another horse kicked at his stall.

  Benedict balled his hands into fists, but he couldn’t let on what a complete and utter idiot Ludlowe was if he thought to win Julia over with a saddle horse. “You still don’t want this one. They retired her from racing because she broke down. She isn’t fit for much more than a sunny pasture and breeding.”

  Ludlowe tapped his chin with an immaculately manicured finger. “I suppose you would know a thing or two about horseflesh, wouldn’t you? Tell me, if you wished to surprise a lady with a really prime mount, what would you recommend?”

  Upperton’s coughing fit turned into a wheeze. His reddened cheeks darkened to crimson. Was he so childish as to laugh over an unintentional double entendre?

  “If you cannot rein in your juvenile sense of humor,” Benedict snapped, “would you mind stepping outside?”

  Upperton’s chest expanded as he drew in a lungful of air. With a series of splutters, he brought his breathing under control. “Go on then,” he gasped. “Answer the man’s question.”

  “It all depends on the particular lady. Some prefer to walk. Others prefer carriages.”

  “Nonsense!” Ludlowe burst out. “They all take to riding eventually. Some just want lessons.”

  The corners of Upperton’s mouth twitched. Benedict quelled him with a glare. “Subtlety is wasted on the likes of you.”

  “Oh, come now, Revelstoke. One might say you’ve misplaced your sense of humor.”

  “Or one might say I prefer to wait until I’m diverted to laugh.”

  Ludlowe made another tentative move toward Nefertari’s stall. “Do you think I might …?”

  Benedict could hardly prevent him. He didn’t own Nefertari—yet. Suppressing a sigh, he stepped aside and allowed Ludlowe to pass.

  “Ah! And aren’t you a fine-looking specimen?”

  Upperton arched a brow. “Perhaps they’d like a little privacy.”

  Benedict might have been all too happy to comply with the suggestion, except he wanted to ensure Ludlowe didn’t decide to bid Nefertari out from under him, in spite of her unsuitability. “Be certain to take a good look at her knees.”

  “Delightful things, ladies’ knees,” Upperton commented. “You might want to run your hands over them.”

  Benedict sent him another glare. “If you’ve got nothing constructive to add …”

  Upperton shrugged. “Just passing the time until we can get on to something more agreeable.”

  Ludlowe stuck his head out of the stall. “Run my hands down her legs, you say? Whatever for?”

  “Remind me why all the ladies twitter over him again.”

  Benedict ignored Upperton’s dig and stepped back into the stall. Resisting the impulse to shove Ludlowe into a fresh pile of manure, he bent down and cupped his hands about the mare’s near knee. “If you know what to look for, you can see she’s in no condition for any sort of hard riding. There’s swelling in the joints. They’re warmer than they ought to be. A nice, quiet life in the country is about all that’s left in her, and you might get a foal or two out of her once she’s had a good rest.”

  Or at least that was what Benedict was hoping to get from her.

  A jet of warm air shuddered out of Nefertari’s nostrils. Shuffling her feet in the straw, she nosed hopefully at Benedict’s pockets.

  He rubbed a hand down her bony face. “Sorry, old girl. I’m all out of carrots.”

  “Here.” Ludlowe produced a lump of sugar and held it out in his flattened palm. Nefertari shouldered Benedict aside and lipped up the offering. “Suppose I’ll be seeing you at the auction, then, Revelstoke.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  JULIA PRESSED her fingers to her temples, but the pounding in her head was relentless. The air in the crowded room weighed on her. If only she hadn’t chosen to sit in the middle of the row. Boxed in between Sophia and their mother, she could not escape easily. Henrietta Upperton’s rendition of “Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms” was not helping matters, nor was her younger sister’s accompaniment.

  The poor girl’s voice squeaked on the final note. She cut it blessedly short, while a blush crept up her cheeks. After a few moments’ awkward silence, a scattering of polite applause broke out.

  Julia nudged her sister. “Pardon me.”

  Sophia remained in place, her gaze fixed on the matron seated directly in front of her.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Julia whispered in her ear.

  Sophia gave a start and turned a vague glance on Julia. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “I was just remarking on Miss Upperton’s lovely voice. Don’t you agree?”

  Sophia nodded, the golden ringlets brushing the sides of her face. “Oh yes, quite.”

  Julia wrapped her fingers about Sophia’s upper arm and tugged.

  Sophia blinked at her. “Oh, is it over?”

  “Of course not, but I cannot stand another butchered rendition of Mozart, and you’re obviously off in your own little world.”

  With a quick excuse to Mama and many apologetic nods to the other spectators, she urged her sister toward the back of the room. As they slipped through a paneled door into the main hall of the Upperton town house, Julia cast a final glance over her shoulder.

  The reason behind her sister’s distraction became immediately apparent. His snow-white cravat arranged in an artfully complicated knot, William Ludlowe lounged against one of the far walls. He caught Julia’s eye and acknowledged her with a smile and a nod.

  Julia turned her back on him. “Why did he have to choose tonight of all nights to begin attending musicales?”

  In reply, Sophia let out a moan. Julia studied her sister for the least sign of illness. If anyone were to express disgruntlement, it should be Julia herself.

  “You aren’t feeling faint by any chance, are you?”

  Sophia waved her fan in front of her reddened cheeks. “Certainly not. I’ve resolved never to faint in society again. It gets me into the worst sort of trouble.”

  Julia was about to point out that fainting was not exactly a reaction Sophia could control, when her sister added, “Oh, I should never have come tonight.”

  “I cannot say I blame you there. The Upperton sisters do seem to get worse each year, don’t they?” The strains of a new tune reached the hallway. Julia winced.

  Sophia’s fan came to rest against her bodice. “I did not mean it that way.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Only I’m not fit to be seen in society now.”

  “What nonsense. Of course you are.”

  “But Lady Wexford—”

  Julia reached for her sister’s arm. “Lady Wexford is nothing more than a vicious gossip with nothing better to do than create scandal where none exists.”

  “Be careful who you say that to.” Sophia slumped against the fading chinoiserie wallpaper. The faint offkey warbling of some Scottish air drifted from the conservatory. “If she gets wind of it, she’ll be out to ruin you, as well.”

  “How will she get wind of it?”

  “You never know.” Sophia inspected her nails for a moment. “At any rate, Mama’s invited her to dinner on Monday, so be careful what you say.”

  Julia frowned. “Why would Mama invite her to dinner? Or perhaps I ought to ask why Lady Wexford would accept.”

  “Something happened today while you were out paying calls.” Sophia sighed and stared up at the crown molding for a moment. “I knew I should ha
ve gone with you. I might have avoided this mess altogether.”

  “What mess?” Her sister’s face took on a grayish tinge, and Julia grabbed her wrist. “Sophia, what’s happened?”

  “While you were out, Lord Highgate paid me a visit.” Sophia’s blue eyes sought out Julia’s. “He proposed.”

  “And?”

  “I accepted,” Sophia murmured.

  “You what? Sophia—”

  “It isn’t as if I intend to go through with it,” she rushed to add.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Sophia gasped. Julia whirled. Benedict loomed at the far end of the hall with George Upperton. Their heels thudded on the parquet floor as they approached.

  A grin split Upperton’s good-natured face. “Taking the intelligent route and hiding out in the corridor, I see. It’s a strategy that’s served me well over the years.”

  Julia nodded at the new arrivals, while inwardly cursing their sense of timing. She ducked her head to avoid Benedict’s gaze.

  “Miss Julia.” The gravelly quality of his voice struck her as somehow different. But why? She’d been hearing it for years.

  She closed her eyes in a vain effort to ward off an inner prickle of recognition. Drat Sophia, why had she teased her with the possibility that Benedict was in love with her? Now Julia would question all his actions toward her. And what if what Sophia had said in jest turned out to be true?

  If I remain forever a bachelor, I shall lay the blame at your feet. And what, precisely, had he meant by that?

  If she had to face his feelings, she might well have to examine this terrifying and new but insistent reaction she experienced in his presence. Soon, it would become impossible to ignore. Years of friendship had proven he wasn’t like the other men of the ton, but his experience with the cavalry had deepened those familiar traits. He’d grown graver, more earnest. His presence, his person, might swallow her so easily until the essential Julia became lost, the same way Sophia had lost herself in her unrequited tendre over the past few years.

  “With any luck,” Upperton went on, “the torture will be over soon.”

  “Perhaps next year, you’ll convince your mother of the futility of the exercise,” Benedict said.

  Upperton plucked at his impeccably knotted cravat, pulling it slightly askew. “The woman is as tone-deaf as my sisters. She’s convinced they’re prodigies. Next year, I believe I shall sneak off to my club and get thoroughly foxed.”

  Benedict raised an eyebrow. “How’s that any different from what you do most nights?”

  Upperton elbowed him. “Now, now, not in front of the ladies. I’ve got a reputation to preserve.”

  “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” Julia hid her grin behind her fan. “Unless you’re referring to your reputation as a wastrel.”

  He put a hand over his heart, further wrinkling his cravat. “Miss Julia, you wound me.” Then he winked. “And you definitely spend too much time with Revelstoke if you’re bandying such terms as wastrel about.”

  “Do you think so?” Over the lace edging of her fan, she widened her eyes. “It seems to me that after the time he spent with the cavalry, he could teach me some more interesting words.”

  Upperton blinked. Then he threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “Miss Julia, I cannot believe some fortunate fellow hasn’t yet snapped you up.” He offered her his elbow. “If you’d consent to stroll with me, we might discuss a remedy to the situation.”

  Julia smiled demurely and lowered her lashes. “And put a black mark on your reputation? I would not dream of it.”

  Benedict arched a brow. “Besides, she has better taste than that.”

  Upperton’s gray glance darted from one to the other. Then with a flourish, he stepped aside, leaving Benedict next to Julia. “Have the pair of you ever thought of making a go of things?”

  Julia studied the pointed toes of her slippers peeking from beneath her gown. Blast Upperton for suggesting the same thing her sister had. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Benedict’s polished shoes—they shifted as he shuffled his feet. A thrill passed through the pit of her stomach, similar to the feeling of whirling in his arms to the strains of the waltz.

  Upperton gave a small cough. “Have you considered any children you produced would be the absolute terrors of their schoolmasters?” He stepped closer, his expression imploring. “It’d be perfect revenge. Put their names down for Eton the moment they’re born.”

  Heat crept up Julia’s cheeks, and she prayed the flickering candlelight in the corridor was dim enough to mask her reaction. She slanted a glance at Sophia, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smile behind her fan. No help from that quarter.

  Benedict’s shoes advanced a step. “That will do.”

  His words held a tone of command that Julia had never heard from him before. She suspected he’d perfected it during the war. Upperton, at any rate, took the hint immediately. “Yes, quite.”

  Over the rose silk of her fan, Sophia’s eyes glittered annoyingly. If they could talk, they would have proclaimed, “It looks as if I’ve hit on something delicious.”

  Julia cleared her throat. “The musicale must be over by now.”

  Upperton put his hand to his ear and made a show of wincing. “Not quite. I almost recognize the last movement to Mozart’s sonata in C.”

  Julia took her sister’s arm. “Mama will wonder why we’ve been gone so long. We ought to get back.”

  Just as she took a step toward the conservatory, Ludlowe appeared in the doorway. His gaze focused on Julia, and he smiled. “How fortunate, Miss Julia. I thought you might already have taken your leave.”

  Julia favored him with a curt nod. It was the most she’d allow him. “I’m sure we’ll be off soon enough.”

  “Perhaps we’ll run into each other later. Lady Whitby is hosting a rout, and I daresay there’ll be a spot of dancing. Might I hope you’ll save me a waltz?”

  “Dreadfully sorry. I’m afraid I stepped out because I felt a headache coming on. I think it best if I head directly home.”

  Ludlowe’s smile faltered. “Pity. I suppose I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

  With a bow, he turned on his heel and, signaling for a footman, strode toward the stairs.

  “The man is making himself a regular nuisance.”

  Julia felt Benedict’s comment as much as she heard it. He’d managed to hover closer in the time Ludlowe took to summon his carriage.

  Upperton crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “No surprise there, considering.”

  “Considering what?” Julia asked.

  Benedict stepped forward, menacingly in Julia’s opinion. “Yes, Upperton, perhaps you’d like to explain.” He punctuated this statement with a jerk of his head in Sophia’s direction.

  Upperton raised a pair of pale eyebrows. “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to read.”

  “While that might be true, you don’t always use your head, do you?”

  Julia stared at one man, then the other. They’d been friends since their school days, and any insults they traded were usually good-natured. Not this time. Benedict was glaring at Upperton.

  “I’m completely at sea,” Sophia said.

  “As am I,” Julia chimed in.

  Upperton pushed himself away from the wall. “Why should it come as a surprise that a charming young lady of good reputation and family should attract a suitor?”

  There was more to it than that, but Julia knew she would not get the real explanation now. Not while Upperton and Benedict continued their silent conversation right over her head.

  “What I want to know,” Benedict said at last, “is why Ludlowe thinks he’s going to see you on Monday.”

  “Mama must have invited him to dinner,” Sophia said softly, the hurt evident in her tone. “She did not tell me.”

  Julia stared at her sister. Sophia gave a small jerk of her shoulders in reply to her unasked question. Julia couldn’t fathom thei
r mother’s lack of tact. It was one thing to hold a dinner to announce Sophia’s betrothal; it was quite another to invite the object of Sophia’s infatuation to witness the proceedings.

  Underneath it all, Julia understood what guided her mother’s actions. She’d seat Julia and Ludlowe next to each other in hopes they’d get on together. Ludlowe would serve Julia the choicest morsels from whatever rich dishes were closest and charm her with his wit and good looks.

  Why marry off one daughter, when she could marry off two? And what’s more, to earls, the both of them.

  If she dared, Julia could thwart her mother’s plans. Benedict would leap at the chance to separate her from Ludlowe. But would he see an invitation from her as encouragement? She stopped herself from shaking her head. She was being ridiculous. Over the course of their childhood, they’d dined in each other’s presence on any number of occasions. Surely he wouldn’t read anything more into an invitation than simple friendship. Just the way things had always stood between them.

  Julia laid a hand on Benedict’s forearm. Beneath the fine wool of his tailcoat, solid muscles clenched. “Would you like to have dinner with us on Monday?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “NOW THIS is a fine specimen of a mare. Lovely lines, healthy teeth, wide-set eyes, and deep chest.”

  In spite of himself, Benedict tensed. He’d been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

  As if she could understand the auctioneer’s words, Nefertari swished her tail and held her head high, looking down on the mere mortals in the crowd. Her groom clucked to her and tugged on the lead, but she stood stock-still.

  “Excellent bloodlines on this one. Both sire and dam trace directly back to the Godolphin Arabian. Quite a record at the track.”

  Such a statement was a cue for the groom to jog about the cupola at the center of the ring to show off a horse’s gait, but Nefertari remained firmly on the spot, her ears flicking back and forth. Not even a few paces of sideways dancing.

  With a smile, Benedict leaned back against a pillar and folded his arms. Such stubborn behavior was likely to discourage most bidders, and if they couldn’t see her paces—well. He just might acquire a broodmare for a song.