Jane stared at him without comment, still unruffled, giving nothing of her feelings away.
He met her gaze for a long moment, remembering the trick he had up his sleeve, surprisingly happy to be in her sweet, calming presence again after so long apart.
Why didn’t I stay for her father’s funeral? She needed me, and I failed her. I can’t believe she isn’t ordering me to leave.
Determined to keep things light, he laughed and produced a single red rose with a quick flick of his wrist. His older brother Nathanial had taught him the trick before he’d died, and for some reason, tonight he’d hidden the rose in his jacket with the intention of performing it for some lovely lady. He’d just never expected that lady to be Jane.
“Oh, Julian.” Jane’s mask finally fell, and she accepted the rose, sudden tears filling her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”
He stared down at her, wanting to tell her that she was lovelier than any rose could ever be, but he knew he’d lost his chance to whisper sweet words to her. Suddenly, he regretted the rose trick. This was Jane. She wasn’t like all his other conquests, not merely a game to be won. In fact, she was the only woman he’d ever loved. And as he gazed into her blue eyes, he wondered if he’d ever really gotten over her. Swallowing thickly, he whirled and left the box.
His mind racing and heart aching, he hurried after Michael, who seemed determined to leave the theater entirely.Bloody hell.He’d never expected seeing Jane again to resurrect all those old feelings for her he’d thought long dead. But now that he’d seen her, now that he knew what had happened to her, how could he possibly ignore the fact that he was largely to blame for her reduced circumstances? She should have been his wife...
He finally caught up to Michael on the bustling street outside. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he commented, hoping to take his mind off of Jane. “I find Miss Marks quite refreshing.”
Michael threw him an exasperated glance. “If you like her so much, why don’tyoumarry her?”
Julian chuckled openly. “Because I don’t need her dowry, my friend. And I haven’t any relatives breathing down my neck, insisting I breed an heir. Besides, if I married her, what would you do? There aren’t any other heiresses of her ilk this season.”
“I’m aware of that. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t be considering an American,” Michael snapped.
“American or not, she’s one of the most exotically beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.” Julian raised one brow. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“I prefer my women blonde and biddable,” Michael replied, still angry.
“Blonde and biddable?” Julian scoffed. “You’d be bored to death in a month.” He shook his head. “If you ask me, I think your brother has the right idea. I don’t intend to wed until I find someone who makes me feel the way Dylan feels about Lady Natalia.”
Michael gave him a disbelieving glance as Julian motioned for his driver to bring up the coach. “You can’t mean never to marry. What about your title? Surely, you don’t want your wastrel of a brother to inherit it?”
“I don’t give a damn about my title,” Julian replied bitterly. “It’s brought me nothing but misfortune. Ethan is welcome to it, though I doubt he’d want it either.”
Julian’s luxurious coach arrived, and they climbed in. He gave a sharp rap on the roof to signal they were ready to leave.
As the lumbering vehicle moved through the crowded streets of Mayfair, they both settled against the blue velvet cushions.
Having inherited his title and lucrative estates at a very young age, Julian had never had to deal with the sort of pressure Michael did. The viscount’s wastrel of a father was gambling their earldom into the ground while constantly pressuring Michael to wed an heiress to cover his losses. Julian’s own parents had been dead for nearly a decade now, and the title had always seemed like more of a burden than a blessing. It should have been Nathaniel’s, not his, and he was reminded of that fact every day.
He met Michael’s icy gaze and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. I’ll try to keep my jests to a minimum.”
Michael managed a tight smile in return. “I do appreciate the introduction. I’d been at a loss on how to arrange it.”
“Think nothing of it,” Julian said lightly.
They both became lost in their separate thoughts of the women they’d just left. At least, Julian assumed Michael was thinking about Miss Marks. For his part, he couldn’t get Jane out of his mind. When he’d heard that she had let out her house and was sponsoring the American girl this Season, he’d been upset by the news, but now that he’d actually seen her again, he didn’t know how he could continue to ignore the situation.
“I’ve known Jane since we were children. Although never official, there was always an understanding we would wed. I’ve always been ashamed of myself for not proposing after her father died.” As the words left his lips, Julian realized how badly this had been weighing on him, how much he’d needed to talk about it.
“I’d forgotten all about that.” Michael offered him a sympathetic glance, seeming glad for the distraction. “It’s not your fault the marquess had a gambling problem. No one expected you to marry the girl without a dowry.”
“You don’t understand. I treated her quite badly, simply walked away and never looked back.” Julian winced as he thought of the tears she’d shed that last day that he’d seen her. How many more had she shed because of him? “Perhaps I should arrange an anonymous bequest. I don’t want her to have to spend the rest of her life pandering to rich Americans.”
Michael braced himself as the coach bounced over a deep rut. “You’re not the heartless rake you pretend to be.”
“And you’re not the staid, joyless paragon you pretend either,” Julian retorted. “Come on, old man, admit it. Miss Marks is exactly what you need to make life interesting.”
“I admit no such thing,” Michael countered, obviously aghast at the very thought.
Julian sighed, turning away to look out the window once again. Now that he truly understood Jane’s circumstances, he couldn’t ignore them. And now that he’d seen her again, he couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t been his first—hisonly—love.
