level of competence. She sent him a look from beneath half-mast lashes that made him realise how much he had underestimated her. How much he had misjudged her. She might come across as a bad girl from the wrong side of the tracks but underneath that don’t-mess-with-me attitude was a young woman with surprising dignity and class. And pride.
During the course of their meal he made desultory conversation: stuff about the weather, movies and the state of the economy but she didn’t seem inclined to talk. The questions he asked her were greeted with monosyllabic responses. He tried using open-ended questions but she just shrugged in a bored manner and mumbled something noncommittal in reply. She didn’t eat much, either. She just moved the food around her plate, only taking the occasional mouthful. Was she doing it to punish him? To make him regret his all-too-quick summation of her character and seeming lack of abilities? She was more than capable of holding her own in sophisticated company. Why had she let him believe otherwise? Or was she just contrary for the heck of it? Thumbing her nose up at anyone who judged her without getting to know her?
‘Are you not feeling well?’ Julius asked.
‘I’m fine.’
He studied her for a beat or two. ‘You’re sweating.’
She gave him a haughty look. ‘Ladies don’t sweat. They perspire.’
He felt another smile tug at his mouth at the way she so expertly parodied his accent. ‘Take off your cardigan if you’re hot.’
Her eyes skittered away from his. ‘I’m not hot.’
He watched as she made another attempt at her meal but every now and again she would shift in her seat or wriggle her neck and shoulders as if her clothing was making her itchy.
‘Holly.’
‘What?’
‘Take it off. You’re clearly uncomfortable.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Would you like me to adjust the air-conditioning?’
‘I told you, I’m fine.’
He shook his head at her in disbelief. ‘This afternoon you were parading around half-naked and now you’re acting like a nun. What is it with you? Take it off, for God’s sake, or I’ll take it off for you.’
Her eyes were narrowed as thin as twin hairpins. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
She shot up from the table and spun around to leave but Julius was too quick and intercepted her. He caught her by the back of her cardigan but when she pulled away from him it peeled off her like sloughed skin.
His heart came to a scudding stop when he saw what was on her upper arms before her hands tried to cover it. The cardigan he was holding slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. His mouth went completely dry. His stomach dropped as if it had been booted from the top of a skyscraper.
‘Did I do that?’ His voice came out rusty, shocked. He was ashamed. Mortified.
‘It’s nothing. I can’t even feel it.’
His stomach churned in disgust. ‘I hurt you.’
‘I bruise easily, that’s all.’
Julius scraped a distracted hand through his hair. Dragged the same hand over his face. How could he have done this? How could he have been so...so brutish to mark her flesh? For what? To prove a point? What point was worth proving if a woman was hurt in the process? It was against everything he believed in. It was against everything that defined him as a man—as a civilised human being. Real men did not use violence. It was the lowest of the low to inflict physical hurt on another person, particularly a woman or a child. How could he have lost control of his emotions to such a point that he would do something like that? He had grabbed her on impulse. He had been so het up about her goading behaviour it had overridden all that was decent and respectful in him.
‘Don’t make excuses for me,’ he said. ‘I’m appalled I did that to you. I can only say I’m deeply, unreservedly sorry and assure you it will never, ever happen again.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Her chin came up again, her gaze as hard and brittle as shellac. ‘Now, may I get on with serving the rest of the meal?’
Julius had never felt less like eating. His stomach was a roiling pit of anguish. Shame and self-loathing were curdling the contents like acid. He’d thought his father’s scandal was bad. This was even worse. He was worse. His behaviour was reprehensible. He had hurt Holly like a thug. ‘I think I’ll give dessert a miss. Thanks all the same.’
‘Fine.’ She made a move towards the table. ‘I’ll just clear these plates.’
‘No. Let me,’ he said, but stopped short of putting a hand on her arm to stop her. He curled his fingers into his palms. Put his hands stiffly by his sides. ‘You see to Sophia. I’ll clear away.’
Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly as if she found the thought of him doing anything remotely domestic in nature totally incongruous to her opinion of his personality and station. ‘As you wish.’
Julius bent down, picked up her cardigan from the floor and handed it to her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you said.’
‘Do you believe me?’ It was so terribly important she believed him. He could think of nothing more important. He couldn’t bear it if she didn’t believe him—if she didn’t trust him. If she didn’t feel safe with him. Sure, they could flirt and banter with each other, try to outwit each other with smart come-backs, but there was no way he could bear it if she didn’t feel physically safe under his roof—under his protection.
She held his gaze for a long beat, searching his features as if peeling back the skin to the heart of the man he was inside.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I do. You don’t strike me as the sort of man to take his frustration out on a woman.’
‘You have experience of those who do?’
Her eyes fell away from his to focus on his top shirt button. ‘None I care to recall in any detail.’
Julius wanted to push her chin up so she had to meet his gaze but he was wary of touching her. He longed to touch her. To hold her. To reassure her. To remove the stain of his careless fingerprints with a caress as soft as a feather. To press his mouth to her and kiss away those horrible marks; to make her feel secure and safe under his protection.
But instead he stood silently, woodenly, feeling strangely, achingly hollow as she turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
Holly had finished seeing to Sophia and tidying up the kitchen. Not that she’d had to do much, as Julius had loaded the dishwasher and washed up by hand the baking dish she’d cooked the chicken in. It surprised her he knew how to do such mundane stuff. He was from such a wealthy, privileged background. He’d had servants waiting on him all of his life. He wouldn’t have had to lift a finger before some servant would have come running and seen to his needs and that of his siblings. And yet he had left the kitchen and the dining room absolutely spotless. The uneaten food was packaged away with cling film in the fridge. The benches had been wiped. The lights were turned down. The blinds were drawn.
Holly was too restless to go to bed. She thought about going for another swim but didn’t want to encounter Julius. Well, that was only partly true. She could face him when he was stern and headmaster-ish but, when he got all caring and concerned and...protective, it did strange things to her insides. She had never had anyone to protect her. Not since her father had died. No one had ever stood up for her. Everyone was so quick to judge her. They never waited to get to know her, to try and understand the dynamics of her personality and what had formed it. Tragedy, abuse, maltreatment and neglect did not a happy person make. She knew she should try harder to be nicer to people. She knew she should learn to trust people