‘Come on, I’ll take you across to the retiring room.’ Blind, she let him guide her across the room while she sneezed and coughed. Then the noise dropped and she realized they were out of the doors. ‘Here, it is just down that corridor.’
Julia emerged from the handkerchief and managed a sticky, watery smile. ‘Oh dear. Did I make a total exhibition of myself?’
‘Not at all. I could hear Will saying something about you being attacked by a wasp. I am sorry.’ His lips were twitching and she could hardly blame him: she must look a sight. ‘I made you jump.’
‘We were just talking about you.’ She should go and make herself presentable, but somehow she could not make her feet obey her.
‘You were?’ He was smiling now and his eyes were almost blue. Julia smiled back, warm and happy just to be with him when he was so obviously glad to be with her. He looked well, less drawn than she recalled. The dark shadows had gone from under his eyes.
‘Captain Grey gave me my winnings,’ she explained. ‘Are you…were you ill? Only you look different, as though you had been unwell and are better now.’ He went still and she cursed herself for tactlessness.
‘I have not been drinking brandy for a few days,’ he said. ‘I had not realized it made a difference to how I look.’
‘Not drinking? Why? Oh, I beg your pardon, it is none of my business.’ Why did she feel she could say any thing to him? And why did she forget her manners and do so?
‘No, of course you may ask.’ He looked rueful. ‘I thought perhaps you would prefer it if I gave it up. I did tell you, at the picnic, that I was attempting to reform, did I not?’
‘So, that means you have given up strong liquor and, I believe you implied, bits of um…muslin,’ she said, very daring. He nodded, his eyes laughing at her. ‘Which leaves gaming and fighting, does it not?’
‘It does.’
‘And so long as you remain lucky with the gaming, I suppose that is not so bad.’
‘Have you no opinion on fighting?’ He had moved very close now. She could see the grain of his close-shaven beard and the tiny details of the gold braid of the frogging on his jacket. The corridor seemed suddenly short of air. Her head began to spin.
‘I found it exciting, when you hit Major Fellowes,’ she admitted, shocking herself and startling him.
‘Oh, Julia.’ His eyes were very definitely blue now and she had a disturbing mental image of that stained-glass window of the falling archangel. A tempter. His voice had become husky. ‘You say such provoking things.’
She could feel the blush sweeping up from her toes, even as she spun round and ran, down the corridor and through the door into the ladies’ retiring room. Two matrons looked up from the sofa, their stares congealing into disapproval at her precipitate entry and her flushed and streaked face.
‘Excuse me,’ she blurted out. ‘Wasp,’ and hurried into the inner room to splash cool water on her face.
Exciting. Of all the things to say! And it was true, that is what is so awful. And he found my reaction arousing. There had been no mistaking the lookin those wicked blue eyes, even for someone as sheltered and in experienced as she was. They burned with the heat and the focus of a hunting cat. And she had been the mouse, foolishly playing between the cat’s paws.
Julia stared at her flushed face in the mirror and tried for some semblance of calm. Her pupils were wide, her cheeks still pink, and her mouth, for some reason, seemed swollen. As though he had kissed it and not just looked as though he wanted to ravage it.
After careful work with rice powder and ten minutes sitting out, Julia felt strong enough to go back. The room was full of uniforms now, and there was a strange atmosphere, as though everyone was listening
, taut, for a clap of thunder.
She wove her way through the talking groups, trying to find someone she knew, or catch a hint of what was causing the tension. The officers seemed more alert, taller—which was absurd. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Julia found herself facing a sober suit of black, immaculate but plain white linen and the rounded and stubborn jaw of the Reverend Thomas Smyth.
‘Mr Smyth.’ Julia managed a creditable smile, despite her surprise. ‘I had no idea you were here.’ He frowned. ‘Why is everyone so strange? I was sitting out for a while, and when I got back, the atmosphere had quite changed.’
‘Napoleon is at the border,’ he said.
‘They’ve been saying that for weeks,’ Julia shrugged, tired of rumour and false alarms.
‘No, this is from a military despatch. We must assume it is accurate. That is why I am here, to find you.’
‘You mean you were not invited?’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘And why the urgency? Napoleon can hardly reach Brussels so very fast, surely?’
‘Within days,’ he said tersely, drawing her into a curtained alcove at the side of the room. ‘I would wish to make your status as my affianced wife official, to be in a position where I may organise the travel arrangements for your family. We must leave tomorrow.’
‘My status?’ Something very like panic swept through her, the urge to turn and run was so great she had to grip the back of a chair to steady herself. ‘But you have not asked me. Mr Smyth—Thomas—you are presuming a great deal.’
‘Then I will ask you now.’ He took both her hands in his and stood staring down with an expression she could only describe as grim. This was hardly the romantic proposal a girl dreamed of. ‘Will you do me the honour, Julia, of becoming my wife? Naturally, I will ask Mrs Tresilian formally as you have no male relative here.’