“I stopped Jenkins from fetching her. I would like to speak to Lady Calpurnia before they meet.” He paused. “Alone, if you please, Nick.”
Callie’s heart began a rapid hammering. What could he possibly have to say to her that his brother could not hear?
Nick bowed low over her hand, and said, “I look forward to next time, my lady.” He straightened, offering Callie a bright smile and another reassuring wink.
She couldn’t help but smile back. “As do I, my lord.”
Ralston waited for the door to the room to close before waving Callie into one of the nearby chairs, seating himself across from her. Callie tried to ignore the way he dwarfed the furniture—and the room itself—as though the entirety of Ralston House was designed for a lesser creature. She dipped her head, pretending to be enthralled by the upholstery on the chair in which she sat—eager to appear as though he were outside her notice. It was a fool’s errand. He was not a man who went easily unnoticed.
“I want to discuss Juliana before you meet her.”
Callie quashed a pang of disappointment. Must he be so perfunctory? She did not look up, instead turning her attention to her gloved hands, clenched together in her lap, and desperately trying to forget that mere hours ago those hands had touched Ralston intimately. But, how could she forget? His warm skin, his soft hair, his strong, muscled arms—she had touched all those places. And he seemed entirely unmoved.
She cleared her throat delicately, and said, “Certainly, my lord.”
“I think it best you come to Ralston House to work with Juliana. She is in need of significant guidance, and I would not like for her to make a misstep in front of the Countess of Allendale.”
Her eyes widened as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “My mother would never betray the confidence of your sister’s lessons.”
“Nevertheless, the walls have ears.”
“Not Allendale House walls.”
He leaned forward in his chair, close enough to touch her, his muscles bunched with tightly leashed power. “Let me make myself plain. I will not cede this point. Juliana is resistant to joining society and eager to return to Italy. She is likely to wreak a bit of havoc before she accepts that her new home is here. Your mother and her friends are pillars of the ton—women for whom ancestry and reputation are paramount and, while Juliana does not have a family line that can be traced back to William the Conqueror, and she is quite likely to be tarnished with the soiled reputation of our mother, she will meet London’s aristocracy. And she will make a smart match. I will not jeopardize that opportunity.”
He spoke with complete certainty, as though the one true path to Juliana’s success was the one he had planned. And, yet, there was no mistaking the urgency that laced his tone. He was right—Juliana Fiori would need far more than Callie’s support if she was to succeed in society. She was the daughter of a ruined marchioness and an Italian merchant—not aristocratic, barely legitimate in the eyes of the ton.
But Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, would not allow the dark history of his family tree to tarnish his sister’s future. The fact that the brothers St. John had committed to bring Juliana into society’s fold showed their mettle and, as a proud and committed sister herself, Callie respected their decision. These were not men who failed.
“I am eager to meet your sister, my lord.” A simple enough sentence, but one that carried an unmistakable meaning. I am with you.
He paused, watching her with the piercing, knowing gaze and, for the first time in a decade, she did not look away. When he spoke moments later, it was with a softer tone. “I did not think that you would come today.”
A hint of a smile played across her lips. “I confess, my lord, I did consider avoiding the visit.”
“And yet, here you are.”
Her cheeks pinkened as she dipped her head, shyly. “We have a bargain.”
When he replied, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “Indeed. We do.”
The deepened tenor of his voice sent a flood of heat through Callie, and she cleared her throat nervously, making a show at looking to a clock on a nearby table. “It is getting late, my lord. I think it is time I meet Miss Juliana. Don’t you agree?”
He held her gaze for a long moment, as if reading her innermost thoughts. Eventually, he seemed satisfied by what he saw. Without speaking, he stood and went to send for his sister.
The first thing one noticed about Juliana Fiori was not her beauty, although she was most certainly beautiful—with arresting blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a mass of rich chestnut curls that most women would commit serious bodily harm to have for themselves. It was not her delicate features, or her lilting voice, accented with her native Italian. It was not her height, although she towered above Callie and would do so over many.