“One moment.” Hicks slammed the door, and Garrett growled, tapping the porch with his booted foot. Bloody hell, he wasn’t even admitted into the foyer. What was w
rong with the man?
Protective, he thought, shaking his head. He could understand the emotion. He felt quite protective of Julia himself.
The door swung open only moments later, and Hicks peeked around the edge. “She will see you.”
Garrett hurried inside before Hicks could change his mind, and swiftly removed his hat. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and winced when he realized he probably looked rumpled and hot. He straightened his jacket with a quick tug, adjusted his cravat just so and caught Hicks watching him with a bemused expression.
“You look fine, my lord. She awaits you in the drawing room.”
Before Garrett could say another word, the old butler shuffled off, muttering something Garrett couldn’t understand, which was probably for the best. Most likely complaining about him, which seemed to be Hicks’s favorite thing to do.
Telling himself it was now or never, he went into the drawing room to find Julia pacing the floor in a simple cream muslin dress sprigged with delicate green flowers. Her loosely tied hair drifted in slight waves to the middle of her back, and when he entered, she stopped so abruptly it tumbled over her shoulder.
“Lord Bedingfield.” She paused and glanced around him, no doubt looking for Hicks or her maid. “Garrett. What are you doing here?”
She sounded incredulous, which she had every right to be. He had never made an appearance like this in the middle of the day, when all of London might see his carriage waiting outside her home, where everyone could assume he was visiting within.
Exactly what he was doing, though she didn’t seem to know that.
“I’ve come to see you. Make a social call.” He tipped his head toward her. “You look lovely,” he murmured, and his voice sounded raw.
“Well, I can see that, but…why?” She rushed toward him and stopped just short of touching him, which he wished she would do.
But he held himself in check, as did she. Damnation, if he was going to do this properly, then he needed to remember himself. “I have a question to ask you.”
Her delicate brows drew together, and she frowned. Looking sweetly adorable. “This couldn’t wait until…tonight?”
This was supposed to be their last night together. Hell no, his question couldn’t wait. “I wish to consult with you now.”
“Well, of course, by all means.” She appeared flustered, the color high on her cheeks, and she offered him a shaky smile. “Would you care for some tea? Stella is preparing some, and I’m sure she could bring an extra cup.”
As if by magic, Stella entered the room with a serving cart, a teapot and two empty cups rattling on top of it. Most likely Hicks had informed her of his arrival, bless his cranky heart.
“Oh perfect. How did you know?” Julia rushed toward Stella, seemingly happy to have something to do. Such a mundane task, serving tea, but she waved Stella away, and the maid fled the room while Julia poured them each a cup.
He settled upon the pale blue velvet settee and murmured a quiet thanks when she handed him a cup of tea. She’d added a dollop of cream and two sugars, just as he liked it, and it hit him how much she knew about him even though their so-called relationship had consisted only of long, torrid nights together.
But they’d spent those long, torrid nights not just tangled in the sheets, but also talking, eating, drinking. Sharing their dreams and thoughts and memories, laughing and teasing and kissing and touching.
“So?” She sat across from him in a delicate armchair, clutching her teacup and saucer so tightly that her knuckles went white.
“So.” He set his tea on the table and rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her. “I came because I wanted to ask if you would allow me the privilege to…”
“To…” she prompted when he didn’t finish.
Garrett cleared his throat, feeling as if he was setting everything on the line, for what would he do if she told him no?
“To court you.”
He waited breathlessly for her answer.
She studied him, her lips gone soft, her gaze distressed. She dropped her head and stared at her hands, at the cup she clutched. “Surely you jest.”
Julia had said those very words to him only a fortnight ago when he’d finally gathered the nerve to ask her to dance. Yet again she didn’t believe him.
That cut him like a knife.