“I shall leave and—”
“Stay, have a drink with me,” Wentworth invited.
“A drink?”
The lad appeared as if he would collapse, and to Wentworth’s thinking, that show of anxiety should be investigated.
“Yes. It would not be remiss if you prepared two glasses of brandy.”
“Two brandies?”
“Yes. You’ll be having one with me.”
The lad blinked rapidly. “It is not fitting, my lord!”
Another glare that was far too bold but had Wentworth’s curiosity stirring. “If I say it is fitting, then it is,” he said.
“You often invite your servants to drink with you, my lord?”
“I believe you are the first, Julian.”
His valet’s eyes widened, but he seemed to catch himself from protesting. Wentworth padded over to the chaise and picked up the book his valet had been reading. A romance. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. Amusement rushed through Wentworth, and he took the glass when Julian brought it over.
“My good man,” Wentworth said. “This is an interesting choice of reading material.”
What was even more interesting was the dusting of pink that suffused the boy’s face. Well, not a boy, he did say he was five and twenty.
That stubborn little chin lifted. “Miss Austen is an author I admire for her dry wit and the irreverent way she portrays her heroine. You should try her sometime in the future, my lord.”
How interesting. His previous valet wasn’t so decided. “Then I shall sit by the fire and you shall read it to me, hmm?”
“My lord?” his valet gasped.
“I am unable to sleep,” Wentworth said by way of explanation. “And as you are my man, I believe I will prevail upon you to keep my company, Julian. Or would you prefer to play a game of chess?”
He wasn’t sure why he offered that option, for it was unlikely his valet knew how to play.
“Chess, my lord,” Julian said, moving toward the two chairs and a small spindly table on the side of the fireplace.
His valet took a sip of his drink and coughed a few times. Wentworth noted the flush on his cheeks grew more pronounced, and he couldn’t help noticing just how bloody pretty the boy appeared. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay behind closed doors with his valet, and that very thought was simply ridiculous! He was not a man ruled by base urgers, nor was he undisciplined.
Annoyed beyond measure, Wentworth grabbed the carafe of brandy and joined his valet by the fire.
“Have you played before?” Wentworth asked, sitting down.
“Yes,” Julian said. “My father taught me. We…we often played together.”
An odd feeling of kinship surged inside Wentworth, and he cleared his throat. “My father taught me to play as well.”
His valet offered him a quick smile as if he too acknowledged they shared a similarity. That smile kicked Wentworth in the chest, and his hand tightened on his glass. “Let’s play,” he said gruffly.
Almost half an hour later, Wentworth laughed, thoroughly delighted. “I believe you might win, my good man.”
“Hmm,” Julian said, his brows furrowed in concentration. “How surprised you sound. Checkmate.”
“Your father was a brilliant teacher. This is the first in…I believe ten years another has said checkmate.”
Julian laughed, the sound low and husky, leaning back in his chair.
“Tell me about yourself, Julian,” Wentworth invited, leaning back in his chair and taking a healthy swallow of his brandy.
He flustered him, for once again, the lad seemed nervous.
“Who did you work with before coming in my employ?”
“I…I provided Mrs. Dawson with my references, my lord.”
“Are you suggesting I ask my housekeeper? Shall I summon her from London then?”
His valet swiped up his glass of brandy and took a careful sip.
“I worked within Lord and Lady Emerson household.”
Wentworth was familiar with the viscount and his lady. They also had a daughter of marriageable age who often made a cake of herself over the eligible gentlemen of society.
“And where are you from? You have a most unique accent, but I cannot quite place it.”
Julian’s eyes widened. “You have a keen ear, my lord. My mother often told me I sound like any other of the Queen’s subjects. I spent my early years in New York in America. I…we made our home in England four years ago after my father passed, and my mother returned to her birth land.”
A flash of pain crossed his features before his expression smoothed.
“You have my deepest sympathies, Julian. I know the pain of losing a parent.”
His valet made no reply but glanced at the clock on the mantle.
“I fear I must go, my lord. I do have an early morning, and it is already well past midnight.”
“You have my permission to sleep in.”
His valet looked as if he would swoon.
“I wouldn’t dare, my lord!”
“You are dismissed for the night,” Wentworth murmured, refilling his glass and lifting it to his mouth.
A soft, relieved sigh slipped from Julian, and he hurriedly stood, bowed, and scampered from the room. At the edge of the threshold, he looked back, and their gazes collided. Wentworth smiled and lifted his glass.
“Sleep well, Julian.”
And to his amusement, his valet quickly closed the door as if he were locking the devil inside.
How singularly intriguing.
Juliana dropped her forehead against the large oak door she had just closed. Her heart was a pounding mess, and her knees were weak. It was more than that; Juliana swore butterflies wreaked havoc with her stomach.
Juliana was struck by the incredible sensual beauty of his smile. It appalled her that she had noticed. The earl was shockingly handsome with his high-sculpted cheekbones, a strong patrician nose, and a full, sensual mouth. Even the wire-rimmed spectacles he wore mostly when reading only added to his unusual appeal.
He wasn’t handsome in the soft manner or anything like the refined and elegant men of society. He was all hard edges and so compelling she’d stared helplessly the first few times she attended to his needs. Yet he hadn’t noticed her distraction because he was always reading a book or some journal. It was poorly done of her, but whenever her brother talked about the earl’s love of mathematics and his brilliance, she had always imagined someone short, rotund even, with a pair of spectacles perched on a long nose.
The spectacles were about the only things she got right.
“Who cares if he is terribly handsome? This is most certainly not why I am here,” she reminded herself softly. “Oh, God, why did you notice me?”
Lords and ladies of society did not take note of their servants, and this lord did not seem any different. She had quaked in her boots the very first time she had helped him tie a cravat, but the earl hadn’t deigned to glance at her. His eyes had been fixed on some point beyond her, and that suited her purpose well.
Since living with her stepfather, she had learned that servants were not seen or heard. They moved about their employers’ homes like little elves, working their magic in keeping the mansion cleaned, food ready, clothes laundered and pressed, and always at the beck and call of their mistresses and masters. No matter the hour of the night, her stepfather, and his son, only had to ring a bell and someone would appear, desperately trying not to appear sleepy for fear of being scolded.