The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

Oblivious of Julien’s heightened color and a puzzled look from Hugh, he concluded imperturbably, “Do hope that Riverton has taken the fair Yvette off your hands, old boy. Ah, and poor Lady Sarah, all low in the brow because you’ve not shown her enough affection. What is the chit’s name, Julien?”

“Really, Percy,” Hugh said, seeing Julien’s appalled discomfort. “You go too far. How Julien wishes to conduct himself on his own lands is certainly none of your concern, or mine. We’re off to London tomorrow. And keep your mouth closed and chewing on those bloody artichokes.”

Percy once more bent his gaze on Julien’s face and said a trifle glumly, “Must be serious, Hugh. Never have I seen him make such a cake of himself over his mistresses. Good Lord, he’s been miles away from us for the past three days. He didn’t even blink an eyelash when he lost twenty pounds to you in cards last night. Yes, it’s a damned woman, and he’s ready to have her in his bed.”

Julien found himself at a loss for words, a condition he was becoming rapidly used to. Lord, had he been so obvious? He quickly picked up his glass of claret and downed it in one gulp. He met Hugh’s eyes over the rim of the glass and saw the light of comprehension spread over his serious face. Only Hugh had met Katharine.

At that moment, Hugh seriously questioned the powers of his own intellect, which he had always considered more than tolerable. He felt somehow that his ability to comprehend his fellow humans had grossly betrayed him. Good God, Percy was right and he hadn’t even known, blast his heathen’s eyes. A woman— Katharine Brandon to be exact, that winsome, smiling, utterly outrageous girl— had somehow turned Julien’s head? He could not believe he had been so blind. He consoled himself with the fact that in his long acquaintance with Julien he had never seen him treat any of the endless bevy of charming girls making their come-outs with anything but polite indifference. Why, it was not long ago that he had confided to Hugh that he found the chatter of young females quite beyond his limits of endurance. He had always taken his pleasure with older women, who were experienced in the games of flirtation and love, and were, above all, married. Or with his mistresses.

Hugh blinked. How could such a change be wrought by a mere girl in the country? All he could actually remember of her person was that she was quite pretty and had remarkable large green eyes. She also had a dash of summer freckles across the bridge of her nose.

But she wore breeches and that wretched old hat pulled down over her ears. He gazed up at Julien, a frown furrowing his brow. His friend had always been fastidious in all things, and in particular, in his choice of women. All knew it.

What the devil was going on here?

6

Percy was quite satisfied with himself, as his devastating pronouncement had reduced his friends to silence. Having had the last word, he returned his attention to his dinner. What Julien chose to do with his women was no concern of his. He merely hoped that his friend had not been ensnared by some ill-bred, conniving wench. But then, Julien was such a proud, arrogant man. He would never besmirch his noble lineage.

Julien pushed his plate aside and eyed his friends with wry good humor. He wondered if they thought him mad. He found to his own surprise, however, that it had never occurred to him to deny Percy’s comments. If he tried to do so now, he would only appear the more ridiculous. He would also be a liar. He broke the short silence and remarked in a creditably calm voice, “Have I been such poor company, Hugh? Come, Percy, you cannot say that you wish to leave François’s cooking. Haven’t you enjoyed testing his culinary abilities?”

Percy lost all patience and waved an empty fork at Julien, “Dammit, man, I, like Hugh, have no desire to remain and watch you mooning after some girl. It’s unnerving, it’s unworthy of a man of your reputation. Maybe it’s something in the country air. What do you think, Hugh? Is it the damned lazy warm air here? You’re silent as a grave, Hugh. Well, if that’s it, I, for one, certainly do not wish to catch it.”