Julia and Douglas had arrived three hours ago to the flashbulbs and shouts of the paparazzi, but now they were shouting her name too. She held on to his arm for dear life, doing her best to keep a slight smile pinned to her face (it wouldn’t do to have her picture flashed across the newspapers looking like a deer caught in headlights or worse). They’d also had to stand for photos for the society papers and magazines as they were not only representatives of Tamsin and Gavin, who were being memorialised in the programme, but Douglas was the largest benefactor of the event.
Then, that was it. Charlie and Oliver had come in from London for the evening and found them. Charlie swept her away for a round of introductions and Charlie-induced fun. Julia hadn’t seen Douglas again except in the crowd every once in awhile. The strange thing was, every time she caught sight of him, he was looking directly at her. Still no expression on his face but she found his constant stare highly disconcerting.
Now, Charlie determinedly pushed through the crush and just as determinedly sought out, nailed down and introduced Julia to every available (and some not-so-available) man of Julia’s age (and some a bit younger than Julia’s age). It was impossible not to laugh at Charlie’s outrageousness or, indeed, participate in it herself, enjoying every moment as the harmless diversion it was. Diversion was good, Julia needed diversion and Charlie, she was realising, gave the best diversion there was to give.
So, she thought, as she sipped her seventh glass of champagne, she’d have a great time and Douglas could stand there and glower and scowl with Oliver, who was also glowering and scowling…
Julia stopped laughing at something her male companion was saying, which was what she was doing when she caught sight of Douglas and she swiftly averted her gaze, a feeling of dread seeping through her.
“Charlie,” Julia said, her voice low with warning, rudely ignoring the man at her side as a chill ran up her spine.
Charlie threw back her head and roared with laughter at something a rather handsome man of somewhat average height was saying to her.
Julia felt a pair of eyes, maybe two, boring hotly into her back. She hazarded a peek and then turned quickly away again at what she saw.
It was true, she wasn’t seeing things. Douglas was glowering, scowling and now, she could say, glaring at her and Charlie.
“Charlie.” She grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her away from the man she was laughing with. “Excuse me, I just need a quiet word,” she explained awkwardly to the man.
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, immediately registering Julia’s discomfiture.
“Um, don’t look now but I think your husband may be a bit peeved and Douglas looks…” she glanced back and then away again as his eyes drilled into hers. “Fit to be tied,” she finished lamely.
Charlie whirled around and gave them a bold, anxiety-free stare. “Well, well, well,” she said, “the beast awakens. About bloody time.”
Julia’s mouth dropped open and, because she was acutely aware of being the recipient of censorious glare from across the room, she snapped it shut again before asking, “What do you mean?”
“No time to explain, call me tomorrow. And remember, you owe me,” Charlie said mysteriously, leaned forward, kissed her cheek and then disappeared.
Julia had no time to react or to do anything because the next thing she knew, her hand was taken in a firm, almost painful grip and she heard an iron-edged, velvet-cloaked, deep voice growl in her ear, “We’re going.”
That’s when she knew she was in trouble.
Chapter Sixteen
Julia’s Realisation
Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne, was not happy.
“I’ll kill her.” These were Douglas’s thoughts but they were uttered by his friend, Oliver, who was standing at his side.
For the last half an hour, Oliver and Douglas had witnessed a display of womanly wiles so practised and successful that Douglas had no doubt his phone would be ringing off the hook tomorrow.
Which meant, tonight, after he was finished with Julia, thoroughly finished with her, he was going to leave her exhausted, na**d body in his bed and then throw every phone in the whole damned, bloody house in the bin.
Jealousy, and he knew exactly what the feeling was, there was not a thing vague about it, was eating at him. A fine, red film of fury had long since glazed his vision. The only thing that stopped him from striding across the room and dragging her from the building was the scene he knew it would cause.
He’d spent the last three weeks calmly, he thought, patiently, he felt, waiting for her to come to him. He thought, if he allowed her some space, she’d come around to his way of thinking. If he let her have a moment to think, to settle in, she’d stop being so bloody-minded and realise she wanted him.
He’d been wrong.
His usually precise strategy had been spectacularly inaccurate. She’d been blithely unaware of him the entire time. Only once or twice he caught her looking at him with what he thought, even so far as f**king hoped, was longing, but nothing came of it. She was impossibly busy, always doing something for her charity, for the kids, nursing an ailing Mrs. Kilpatrick, setting a big bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce in front of a grinning Nick, decorating the damned Christmas tree.
The only time he felt as if he was making any headway was when she’d brought her business plan to him last night. She looked devastated when he’d set it aside without comment and gone back to his work. He thought his actions would make her react, finally (and verbally).
They did not.
The truth was, he’d been inordinately pleased she’d asked him, even trusted him to read it and he’d reached for it the moment she left the room.
That was then, this was now.
If she felt she could flirt, under his nose, with practically every man in the room, it was time for Douglas to disabuse her of that notion.
He’d only made his decision when he caught her eye and she blinked at him, her laughter at something the idiot at her side was saying dying on her face.
He realised that she knew he was displeased and that satisfied him immensely. He watched as, in the next moments, she glanced anxiously at him a couple of times and grabbed Charlotte.
“If you’ll excuse me, Oliver, I think I’ll call it a night,” Douglas muttered to his friend, deciding quickly to make his move before Julia had any chance to make hers.
“Capital idea,” Oliver muttered right back.
Douglas’s angry, ground-eating strides went unfettered by the crowd as they parted to accommodate him. In reality, they had no choice; he would have simply run them over.