Rules of Refinement (The Marriage Maker)

by Tarah Scott

  He nodded.

  The gleam darkened. “I sew your sister’s and mother’s gowns?”

  “Aye,” he said.

  “Done.”

  “Done,” he agreed before she could recant.

  “What if I lose?” she said.

  His heart began to thud. “If you lose, my dear, I will have you.”

  Juliet laughed. “Shall we seal the agreement with a handshake?” She extended a hand.

  Carrick locked gazes with her and clasped her smaller hand in his larger one. He took a step closer and looked down at her. “Have you the courage to seal the deal properly?”

  Understanding flickered across her face and her eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand free of his and for one horrible instant he feared he’d miscalculated. Then she seized his lapel and dragged his mouth down to hers.

  The instant their lips met, need rammed through him. She stiffened, and Carrick realized he’d crushed her to him. He loosened his hold and cupped her face with his right hand. Hope surged through him when he detected a tremor in her body. His heart soared. She wasn’t as impervious to him as she thought. God help him, he wanted her badly.

  She wasn't a doxy off the streets and this cardroom was no place to prove he could please her. Damn, she hadn't even signed the contract yet. He flicked her mouth with this tongue. His heart thundered. Would she allow him entrance? Juliet opened on a soft gasp and he plunged his tongue inside. He'd never tasted anything so sweet.

  Desire muddied his thoughts. If he miscalculated without a signed contract, she could send him on his way with no chance to redeem himself. When was the last time he'd miscalculated with a woman? When had he known a woman like Juliet Thatcher?

  Carrick broke the kiss and pressed her cheek against his chest. To his satisfaction, her heart beat just as fast as his. She would resist him through the summer, eh? It was just as he thought; the men she'd been surrounded with had treated her like one of her mother's whores.

  With a final deep breath, he gave her a gentle hug then forced himself to release her. “I shall send a carriage for you in the morning.” He nodded at the contract resting next to the deck of cards. “Sign it and join me in Lennoxlove House.” He brought her hand to his lips and murmured, “Until we meet again.”

  Carrick left her there, standing by the table.

  Chapter Seven

  Lennoxlove House

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, CARRICK’S carriage arrived, an extraordinarily large conveyance with elaborate, gilded cherubs and oiled-oak spoke wheels. Liveried footmen tied Juliet’s trunk to the back before she stepped inside, the satchel containing the signed contract, clutched close to her breast, and sat down on the plush velvet seat. The carriage jolted, and her heart did a flip as they rolled into motion.

  Juliet stared out the window at her mother’s townhouse. They’d exchanged farewells the night before, but she glimpsed her mother in the front window. Her mother lifted a hand that clutched a hanky. An expected lump formed in Juliet’s throat and she waved in the instant before the carriage left her mother behind. Juliet collapsed back against the cushion. She was being silly. She would see her mother at summer’s end, maybe before, if rumors of the duke were true.

  A man like him would tire quickly of a woman who didn’t swoon every time he entered a room. Blast it all, she nearly had swooned when she’d kissed him yesterday. What had gotten into her? The devil, that’s what. She grimaced. Was Honoria right, did her blood run hot? Nae. It was much worse than that. As much as she wanted to deny it, the man fascinated her.

  The days marched by. After six days of travel, the carriage rolled through the market town of Haddington and pulled off the main road onto the long carriageway of the Duke of Hamilton’s Scottish estate.

  With a growing sense of unease, Juliet eyed the towering pines until they parted and a magnificent castle built of honey-and-pink colored stone slowly came into view. The Hamilton banner snapped in the wind above one stone tower. Picturesque gardens and landscaped lawns rolled past the carriage windows.

  The carriage stopped, then tilted to the side. When the footman opened the door, Juliet clasped her satchel and allowed him to hand her out. She descended onto a graveled drive and took a deep breath of the crisp, pine-scented air. The wind soughed through the treetops, reminding her of the dull, distant roar of the ocean.

  “Miss Juliet?” a female voice called.

  Juliet turned toward the castle’s front door where a freckle-faced maid bobbed on the step, urging her forward with a wave of her hand.

  “Do hurry, miss.” The maid grinned. “The dowager duchess has asked to see you at once.”

  The dowager duchess?

  Juliet hurried to the door and followed the maid through the flagstone entrance and up the wide stairs with their ornate, walnut banisters. Heaven help her, she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or worried that Carrick’s mother wanted to see her immediately. The dowager’s presence at Lennoxlove would ensure Carrick behaved—she hoped. She’d asked herself a hundred times why he would invite her into the same home he shared with his mother and sister. Did he care that little for convention? He said he would woo her. A tremor rippled through her as it did every time she remembered his words. A man didn’t ‘woo’ his mistress.

  She broke from her thoughts when the maid turned into a room to the right.

  The sitting room was painted a soft, cheerful yellow and a red-and-gold carpet covered the floor. Afternoon sun flooded the room through large windows that spanned the wall. A young, blonde-haired girl sat in a gold brocade wingback chair, squinting at a book. She glanced up.

  “You must be Juliet,” a woman’s friendly greeting came from the left-hand side of the room.

  Juliet whirled as the dowager duchess entered through a second door she hadn’t noticed. She was a tall woman in her late fifties with pale blue eyes and blonde hair pulled back in fashionable ringlets only lightly streaked with gray.

  “My lady.” Juliet dipped into a low curtsey.

  “Carrick has been singing your praises, my dear,” the woman greeted her kindly as she swept across the room. “My daughter and I are quite excited over the prospect of new gowns. I must say, the dress you’re wearing is simply stunning. Is it one of your own?”

  Juliet dropped her gaze to her morning dress, a simple enough gown she’d decorated with tastefully elaborate stitching above the waistline. “Why, yes, my lady.” She smiled.

  “It is gorgeous,” the dowager duchess exclaimed. “If your other creations are anything like it, I suspect we will set the pace of fashion. Carrick tells me you just graduated from Lady Peddington’s School for Young Ladies.”

  “That is correct, ma’am,” Juliet said.

  The dowager gave a business-like nod. “It’s heartening to hear that some of the young ladies of today still value a good education.”

  Relief surged through Juliet. As she’d hoped, attending Aunt Honey’s school had been a wise decision.

  “But you can tell us more about that later. You must be tired from your journey.” The dowager turned to her daughter and clapped her hands. “Catherine, please show Juliet to her room.”

  The girl jumped to her feet, obviously delighted to leave her book behind. “Please, follow me.” She shot Juliet a wide grin over her shoulder and darted into the hallway.

  After bobbing another curtsey, Juliet followed the girl. They walked down the hall and up another flight of stairs.

  “This is one of my most favorite rooms,” Catherine said as she stopped before an oak-paneled door and opened it.

  Juliet entered the bedroom. A fine, gold carpet nearly covered the entire floor. An ornate chest of drawers sat on one wall with a red velvet curtained, four-poster bed on the wall opposite. The room was stunning, but Juliet had eyes only for the view beyond the balcony, visible through the open French doors. With a smile, she dropped her satchel on the bed and hurried to the balcony.

  “It’s so beautiful.” Juliet leaned against th
e wrought iron rail and drank in the beauty of the gardens, the rolling green woodlands, and the hills beyond. She’d never dreamt she could sleep in so fine a place.

  “Aye, beautiful,” Carrick’s deep voice startled her.

  Juliet whirled.

  He stood, tall and lean in a white shirt with dark breeches and black leather riding boots. Saints help her, she’d forgotten how handsome he was. Her heart beat a little faster.

  “I see you’ve made the journey safely and in good time.” He cocked a brow at his young sister and added, “Catherine, fetch Juliet refreshments, please.”

  As his sister obligingly skipped through the door, he faced Juliet again.

  “I believe you have something for me.” His gray eyes twinkled with amusement. “A contract, perhaps?”

  The contract. She’d signed and amended the agreement, adding their wager at the bottom. Juliet crossed to her satchel and rummaged through it. Her fingers caught on the soft folds his cravat, the one he’d worn at the Midnight Ball. She smothered a snort and pushed it aside to pull out the folded parchment beneath.

  “Only until summer’s end,” she said, extending the paper toward him.

  He strode to her side and took the contract from her. He stood close. Too close. Juliet frowned. The infernal man practically towered over her as he unfolded the paper, scanned its contents and tucked it into his jacket pocket. The corner of his mouth quirked upward.

  His smug expression caused her frown to deepen and she crooked a finger to beckon him closer. He angled his head so close that for a moment his heat distracted her, but only for a moment. “I’ll never be your mistress.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed, then dropped a kiss to the top of her ear.

  Damn, but his hot breath on her ear made her heart pound.

  With a wink, he bowed. “I have pressing business. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Juliet watched his lean hips as he left. She rolled her eyes and picked up her satchel, then pulled out the cravat. Strange how much the little strip of silk had changed her life.

  The footmen entered with her trunk and set it where she directed. As soon as they left, she set about unpacking. She’d just pulled out her sewing basket when Catherine returned with a tray of toast, tea, and fruit.

  “Why, is that a cravat?” the girl asked after setting the tray down on a small table near the bed.

  Juliet glanced over and snagged it from under the girl’s outstretched hand. “It’s nothing,” she quickly assured. “Nothing at all.”

  Her cheeks heated as she turned and stuffed the cravat into the sewing basket.

  Nothing? If it was nothing, then why was she blushing like a fool?

  Chapter Eight

  Unforgettable

  NEVER BEFORE HAD A woman gotten so deep under Carrick’s skin. That was odd enough, but even stranger, never before had he remembered the details of a woman’s face after being away from her for days. But Juliet’s? Her features burned in his mind in full, glorious detail, from her dark lashes to the slight worry line between her brows, to the curve of her lips. He couldn’t forget her. He had merely to close his eyes and a vision of her gold-streaked hair and laughing blue eyes danced across his mind. At last, she was here, and soon, she’d be his. He strode down the stairs to his mother’s sitting room.

  “My dear boy.” She looked up from a book as he entered. “Sit.” She nodded to the chair beside her sofa. “It’s time we discussed your marriage.”

  Marriage? Carrick sat in the indicated chair.

  “It’s high time you wed.” She carefully marked the page of the book she’d been reading and set it aside. “I must remind you that you have a duty to the estate.”

  Carrick stretched out his long legs. He’d heard this so many times before. A maid entered with tea and they remained silent as she set the tray on the table before them, then filled two cups and left.

  “I’ve taken matters into my own hands.” His mother lifted her tea cup and sipped.

  He tensed. Taken matters into her own hands?

  “I’ve invited a selection of young ladies to a series of dinners this month,” she said.

  Carrick pushed to his feet. “You are mistaken if you think I will be ambushed by a mob of vapid, title-hungry women.” He headed for the door.

  “Carrick, wait!” She set her teacup onto its saucer with a clatter.

  “There’s no need for concern, madam. You will have your grandchild soon enough,” he snapped, and left the room.

  He paused halfway down the hall. Grandchild? Where had that come from? Damn, his mother picked a fine time to parade women through Lennoxlove House. He didn’t have time to concern himself with prospective wives. He had a mistress to seduce.

  Chapter Nine

  Made for Pleasure

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING, WHEN Juliet observed, from the sewing room window, the fifth carriage pull up to Lennoxlove House and a beautiful young woman emerge, accompanied by a doting mamma or perhaps an aunt, Juliet realized the Duke of Hamilton was on the hunt for a wife. The question as to why he would contract a mistress while actively seeking a wife arose with the answer hard on its heels: he was a man.

  The next morning, the bustle in the kitchen told Juliet that the evening promised more of the same. She steeled herself against the ridiculous disappointment that hovered just below the surface, turned on her heel and headed toward another long day in the sewing room. She slipped down the hallway, reached the Servant stairs, took four steps, then halted. The male laughter coming down the hall was already too familiar: Carrick.

  She hurried back toward the kitchen, crossed to the larder, and reached the side door seconds later.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  She froze upon hearing Carrick’s voice in the kitchen.

  “Has anyone seen Juliet?”

  She didn’t wait for the staff to inform on her, but hurried out the door and alongside the wall. Her heart pounded. She could go around to the front stairs and enter, then return to her room. Nae, Carrick would find her there in an instant. What could he possibly want with her when he had so many beautiful women vying for his attention?

  He's a man, came the answer, yet again.

  Juliet glanced at the sky. Grayish clouds skittered across the light blue expanse. It might rain, but not for a bit. She set off east, toward the stables. A morning ride to clear her head was just what she needed. And Carrick won’t find you, said a small voice. She sighed. This was going to be a long day…and an even longer summer.

  When Carrick’s laughter filtered up through the window, Juliet paused in threading her needle and peered out the window. There he was again, for the third day in a row, helping another well-dressed lady from her coach in the drive below. The willowy brunette wore an expensive blue silk with an embroidered bodice cut low enough to expose the creamy white mounds of her breasts. Juliet frowned. No wonder he seemed so pleased. With his superior height, the brunette offered quite the view down her bodice. An unexpected pang of jealousy shot through Juliet and she scowled until Carrick passed from view. With a snort of exasperation, she returned to her sewing.

  Three days had passed since her arrival at Lennoxlove House. Her stay hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. After his initial interest, Carrick had all but vanished from her life. It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, she’d predicted that she wouldn’t hold his interest. Then there was the parade of women marching through his estate. Redheads, blondes, brunettes. He didn’t lack for variety.

  The needle pricked her finger. She jerked and dabbed the blood away with a fragment of cut fabric, astonished at the burst of jealousy.

  “To work.” She bent her head over the yards of peach-colored taffeta destined to become Catherine’s finely-stitched gown.

  The day passed slowly. The dinner hour arrived and, as the silvery tinkle of a woman’s laughter floated up through her window, Juliet decided she’d had enough for the day. It was time to clear her mind, and she couldn’t very we
ll do so when a continual symphony of feminine squealing assaulted her ears.

  She set aside her sewing and went down the stairs intent on escaping to the quiet of the gardens. The moment she stepped into the cool early evening air, her mood lifted. She took a deep, calming breath. Twilight streaked in dark blues across the sky and a full moon hung low in the east. Ahead, a stone fountain with an immense statue of the Greek god Apollo stood near an inviting stone bench. She stepped onto the garden path, headed toward the fountain, and reached the tall hedges when bootfalls scraped the gravel behind her. Juliet whirled with a gasp as Carrick grasped her shoulder.

  “Forgive me,” his murmured words sent a thrill down her spine.

  The man looked like a Greek god in dark breeches and, heaven help her, no waistcoat. The top two buttons of his startlingly white shirt were undone, and his dark blue cravat hung untied around his neck. Sight of the tanned flesh visible at the open V of his shirt sent a wave of heat racing through her veins.

  Mischief lit his eyes. “It’s hot,” he explained unabashedly, and she realized she was staring—and he’d caught her. He grinned. “Feel free to slip out of your gown, my dear. You’ll find the evening air cool on your skin.”

  Juliet blinked before realizing he was flirting. So, he hadn’t lost interest in her, after all. The knowledge pleased her far more than it should. She peered up at him through lowered lashes, prepared to reply, but she froze when he brushed her bottom lip with his thumb and the witty reply vanished.

  “You’ve been hiding,” he accused in a gruff voice before letting his hand fall away.

  A shriek of laughter emanated from the open dining room windows at the far end of the lawn.

  Juliet’s temper flared. “How would you know? You’ve been busy day and night with your guests.”

  Carrick’s eyes widened in surprise. His lips curved in dry amusement and she realized her mistake.