Page 94 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

And yet, as close as she’d been to him, as close as he still hoped they might be, there were pieces of himself he could never share. He knew, with a miserable certainty, that in every way that mattered, he was destined to be a stranger to her.

Recognizing that fact had made him as cross as a wounded bear.

And now this.

“Did you say fifty thousand pounds?” he asked.

She nodded. “My great-aunt Elinore left it to me. She was widowed young, and had no children of her own. I believe she felt sorry for me.”

“Fifty thousand pounds,” he repeated, rather stupidly.

“She felt very sorry for me,” Julia amended. “When I was a little girl, she came to stay with us for a short time. My parents had me in bed with leeches and mustard plasters for the whole of her visit. Aunt Elinore had words with them about it. I never saw her again. She died the following year. That’s when I learned she’d left me all her money. I keep it in Hoares Bank in Fleet Street, the same place my father keeps his accounts. It’s how I bought Cossack. How I buy all the things that are important to me.”

He continued to stare at her, still holding her hand in both of his. Would she never cease surprising him? “Julia . . .”

“It isn’t as much as one hundred thousand pounds, I know. But it’s still sizable. There are other young ladies on the marriage mart with dowries no larger than ten or twenty thousand, and they’re considered great catches. But fifty—”

“It’s enormous,” he said.

A faint line of worry creased her brow. “Is it enough for your purposes?”

He kissed her hand once again, holding it to his lips. “You’re enough for my purposes. Even without the money.”

Her expression softened. Lifting her hand from his, she reached up to gently touch his cheek.

The shy caress sent a jolt of heat straight through his vitals.

Her eyes searched his. “A moment ago, I wouldn’t have believed you. But you truly mean it, don’t you?”

“I mean it,” he said huskily.

“You did want me for myself alone.”

“I still want you.” He lowered his head to hers, seizing her lips.

Her fingers slid into his hair as he kissed her with fierce tenderness—softly, deeply, and all too briefly.

The carriage shuddered, careening over a stone in the muddy road.

Julia gave a breathless laugh as they broke apart. “I fear this vehicle is too poorly sprung to support such activities.”

“A shame.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it back into the crepe-lined interior of her fashionable straw bonnet. “We shall have to postpone our kisses until this evening.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “I meant to ask you about that.”

He put his arm around her, drawing her close. “About kissing each other?”

“No. Not that exactly.” She snuggled against his side. “I was wondering if we’re going to share a bedchamber?”

The question ignited his already smoldering blood. It took an effort to answer with any degree of equanimity. “Ah.” He affected to consider the matter. “Would you like to share a room with me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Most ladies would rather have their privacy.”

“I do enjoy my privacy. And I hope I shall have plenty of it. But at night . . .” She slid an arm around his midsection. “I slept so soundly with you next to me, dearest.”

Dearest.