“Aye, miss, and for that we’re grateful.” He took a match from his pocket and pulled the end along his thick leather belt. Cupping the flame that erupted, he leaned in and placed the match beneath the kindling. “Won’t be long now.” He stood. “We’ll pull these doors closed and t’won’t take long for the heat to build.”
“Thank you again,” Juliet replied and walked with him to the door. “For everything.” She took his meaty hand and shook it. “I know I will leave Holly Grove in good hands. If you will excuse me, I must finish my packing.”
“Of course, miss.”
She turned away and started up the stairs.
Being a large man and used to speaking in the fields, his voice carried behind her. “Aye.” He swore. “The poor house is paved with souls praying for miracles. And a miracle is what we need.” Juliet’s eyes grew damp as the door closed, for no matter how she wanted to deny it, he was right.
***
As first impressions went, Holly Grove had its merits. A long, winding drive was flanked on either side by the trees that lent the manor its name. London pursed his lips and stared out the window.
“Like what you see?”
His gaze was drawn across the carriage to Amos Black who sat opposite him, his eyes closed as if in sleep. “The lawns could use some work.”
“An easy fix,” Amos replied.
Landon let out a deep breath and swallowed the sarcastic retort that sprang to mind. He should not take his bad temper out on the man working to help him reclaim his good name. He would admit, he’d used his reputation to his advantage. It was a grand way of avoiding the parade of young women the Ton would delight to cast upon his door. He might have succeeded, continued the ruse without a raised brow, foreclosed on Gilbert’s property, and returned to his rakish ways, had it not been for her.
“The girl’s name, Amos?”
“Juliet, Lord Montague.”
Landon stared at the man accompanying him to Holly Grove. “Surely you jest.”
Amos’s eyes filled with mirth. “I am afraid not. Juliet Eleanor Davenport Gilbert to be exact.”
Landon took yet another deep breath and muttered, “Poets will have a field day.”
“I dare say, gossip rags will enjoy the sensation,” Amos agreed.
Complication upon complication seemed to yoke him at each turn. He could only wish this day was at an end. For the hundredth time, he fished his watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. The second hand seemed to move with agonizing slowness as it counted off the minutes.
“Marking your last hours of freedom?”
Landon’s eyes narrowed. “Leave it.”
The sound of Amos’s laughter filled the coach.
“You laugh,” Landon mocked. “But, why would a man hide his daughter from society unless there was something amiss?”
“Amiss?” Amos opened his eyes, clearly interested in the hypothesis he planned to deliver.
“Yes, amiss, man,” Landon snapped. “Has she pockmarks? A laugh that sounds like a boar’s snort? Perhaps, she has a long face that reminds others of a mule.”
“Going or coming?” Amos blinked.
Landon arched his eyebrow at Amos as the comment cut to the quick. “Trying your hand at humor? I hear they are looking for a fool to play Touchstone at the New Chelsea off Lower George Street.”
Amos ignored the jab. “Oh, let us not leave out the fact she may be as tall as she is round.”
“Do not mock me.”
Amos lifted his hands in surrender. “Fear not, Lord Montague, I can see how much of a strain it would be for London’s most handsome rake to be saddled with something other than flawlessness.”
Landon shifted in the seat. “You make me sound callous.”
“Do I?”
Across the cab, Amos’s eyebrows arch in mock innocence.
“I am only stating the obvious. The ladies of London will ridicule her if she has but one imperfection.”
“Ah, the ladies.” Silence filled the interior. The image of the refined faces of the women who made the rounds in London’s finest salons entered his mind. Their mocking laughter and twitter behind their fans, as they ripped peers whose circles did not include their own. “Vicious vipers. It’s bad enough this will be a pity match. Society will demand that I bring her to London. I can only imagine how those…ladies will react.” Landon paused as if a taste soured his mouth.
“A woman with no record of a season, green as grass, set loose among the Ton. She will be fair game for the gossipmongers,” Amos agreed.
“No record of a season? Are you now playing detective?”
Amos shrugged. “One must check these things in order to take care of your future.”
“My future,” Landon bemoaned. “I suppose I should say thank you.”
“Then I must reciprocate and say you are welcome. But take heart, Lord Montague. If things are as bad as you imagine, there is always the option of separate households. You need only make a few journeys each year to perform your conjugal duties, for the sake of your reputation. We both know you already have an heir, even if conceived without proper timing.”
Landon’s sins seemed to mount. A deep throb began behind his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the pain. “Born without the benefit of marriage, I wondered if you were going to ignore that?”
“Still, you were able to convince your mother to step forward. The dowager has recognized the child and consented to provide Alexander a home as well as education befitting your station.”
“Which she reminds me, daily.” The words spewed from his lips. They sounded as bitter as they tasted. “Let us not talk on this. My head aches.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Amos fell silent. The carriage crested a small rise and bore left. Over the tops of the trees, Landon caught a glimpse of light against a window a second later, and the edges of the brick chimneys set on an angle above a rather well-kept slate roof. His hopes rose. It seemed the mansion was in better shape than he could have imagined. A surprise, considering the state of Gilbert’s finances. The coach lurched again as it made a right and pulled to the front of the manor.
“Make yourself presentable,” Landon grunted and brushed his coat, “for my hour of deliverance is at hand.”
The door opened.
“Go first,” Landon said.
Amos rose and stepped into the sunshine as a minister came into view. As Landon watched, the portly minister grasped his hand, shaking it with such vigor one would have thought he was trying to bring up water from an outside well.
“Lord Montague, welcome to Holly Grove. I am Reverend Phelps.”
“Reverend,” Amos began and turned to glower into the carriage.
The wicked grin for which he was known toyed with Landon’s lips. Oh, I shall pay for this, but one must have some fun before the yoke of matrimony is lowered. He slipped his mask of indifference on, gathered himself, and moved to the edge of the seat.
“Allow me to present Lord Landon Montague, Earl of Broadmoor.”
Stepping from the carriage, Landon blinked at the bright light as the minister grasped his hand between his sweaty palms and again pumped.
“Lord Montague, we meet at last.” The minister exchanged a nervous glance with Amos, who stood stoically by his side.
“Yes.” Landon managed to pull his hand from between the reverend’s and produced a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his palm. “We meet at last,” he said with a droll voice, then glanced across the drive to the small crowd gathered to meet him. “If you would be so kind to introduce me.”
“Of course.”
***
He was moving toward them. Juliet tried to steady the moment of terror that raced through her blood. Run! Flee before there is no chance! A hand fell upon her arm and gave a gentle squeeze. She glanced to her right and caught the look of concern that crossed Mrs. Phelps’s eyes.
“Fear not, my lamb. We will not let you down.” Th
e plump hand slipped from her arm and Juliet took a deep, steadying breath as the footsteps came to a halt.
“Lord Montague, may I present my wife, Anna, and Lady Juliet Gilbert.”
The pounding of her heart blocked the rest of his words from her ears. Her head rose and she brought her gaze to meet the man whose hand destroyed her world. His wild ways had not diminished his stature. Tall, broad-shouldered, he showed off the cut of his fawn-colored jacket to the utmost advantage. Dark curls swept back to brush the collar of his jacket while one randy lock dropped toward his right brow. Her gaze traveled lower only to find itself ensnared in the devilish light that danced in the indigo orbs. He was quite the mature man and a far different one than she had glimpsed three years ago at Spring Hill Manor when her father had relinquished to her demands and taken her along as he attended the summer party.
“Lady Gilbert.” His deep, rich voice filled the space between them. He extended a hand.
Spellbound, she placed hers against his palm and immediately the warmth sent a sensual ripple up her arm, intensifying the lump that had settled in the pit of her belly. This was everything she’d heard whispered about, right down to the depth of his mysterious eyes. The very threshold rumored to have laid waste to even the most respectable of reputations, and which now held her fate. Remembering her tongue, she spoke. “Lord Montague.” Then gave a slight bend of her knees to acknowledge the superiority of his station.
“I wish we’d met on more congenial circumstances.”
“As do I,” she said, then consciously pulled her fingers back hoping he would not detect her nervousness. “May I present the staff of Holly Grove?” She turned toward the left. “Our cook, Mrs. Branch. Beside her, our housekeeper, and her husband who is our groundskeeper, Mr. and Mrs. Nichols.” To her surprise, he stepped over and shook each hand, murmuring a greeting.
“I know you’ve had a long journey.” She looked to his solicitor and caught the man grinning at her nervousness with a bemused expression. Juliet glanced at the ground. She had fooled no one. Straightening her back, she resolved not to let her foolish heart over rule her mind. Her father would expect her to act as the lady of the house, and that she would do. Raising her head, she spoke. “We’ve prepared a small luncheon. Afterward, we shall show you the house and the grounds.”
“Of course.”
“If you will follow me.” Juliet took a half step toward the front door only to hear the crunch of gravel beneath a booted heel. She stopped and blinked as Lord Montague materialized at her side. He offered a glimmer of a smile and held out his arm.
“Milady?”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Only when she recovered did she place a tentative hand upon the sleeve of his jacket. The muscle beneath was as hard as stone and it made her heart beat just a wee bit faster. Her eyes widened as his other hand moved to cover his chest.
“Lead on, Lady Gilbert, for I shall follow.”
Chapter Three
Landon sat at the head of the table, a sense of satisfaction building within his breast and radiating outward. Not only had he acquired a surprisingly well-kept house, the woman to his right was a picture of English perfection. He grasped the stem of the flute and let the wine hide the growing smile upon is lips. The reverend asked a question of Amos. Through the curve of the glass, he watched Juliet lean forward to listen. The afternoon sunlight caught the mass of ringlets encircling her head, creating a golden halo reminiscent of Madonna. Thank God, Gilbert had a beauty for a daughter instead of a drudge. This would make his mission easier.
A smile spread across her delicate features. He stared at the liquid in the glass, musing that her face might have been sculpted by an artist’s hand. With that, he set his imagination free, conjuring the looks of envy as he escorted her to court or a turn around the park, perhaps an evening at the opera. Bathed in the day glow of his own musings, Landon startled when her hand brushed his arm. Glancing up, he found all eyes upon him.
“Lord Montague, Reverend Phelps asked you a question.”
He looked to the stout gentleman on his left. “Indeed, sir, I beg your pardon. I was a million miles away contemplating a business deal.”
“Perhaps no more than two feet, right.” He heard Amos’s low voice tease from his left.
Heat crawled past his cravat. He leveled a silencing glare before shifting his gaze back to the minister. “Pray, please ask again.”
“I merely asked if you had plans for Holly Grove.”
“Ah, I must admit, I did not expect to find the manor in such good shape.” He glanced toward Juliet. “Forgive me, Lady Juliet, but you appear to have a gift for management. I applaud you.”
At his compliment, she blushed. He decided that rose was his new favorite color. A moment lapsed as he studied the shade upon her cheek, and then realizing the company waited, he continued. “I would like to clean up the grounds and keep it as a residence.” Landon lifted the corners of his mouth. “Something away from London, I think. Something tells me, I might enjoy the serenity of country life.”
Juliet’s head turned with a snap. The reverend blinked. Even Amos’s brow careened toward his hairline. Good, I have caught them all off guard.
“You surprise me, Lord Montague.” The reverend’s plump wife interrupted the silence.
“Do I?” He drew his eyes wide in mock disbelief.
“I must agree,” Reverend Phelps said. “Forgive me, but with your reputation—”
“Ah, that.” Landon pressed his lips together. “I am afraid my deeds are highly exaggerated.”
Beside him, Juliet’s voice seemed to scold. “Are they?”
He glanced to his right. A shimmer of ice resided in her scathing glance. “Like any man, I enjoy a good warm fire, a game of cards now and then.” He lifted the wineglass. “Not to mention a glass of fine wine.”
“And the accompaniment of beautiful women,” she added primly, placing her hands in her lap and keeping her eyes upon the plate.
Her candor was a surprise. Landon sat back and placed glass on the table before turning to face her. “What man would not?”
She met his glance without flinching. A small rush of breath passed through that delicate, heart-shaped mouth.
“What Lady Juliet, you mock me?” He pulled his right hand to his chest.
“Mock you?” She bristled.
Landon watched as her long dainty fingers took hold of the linen and twisted it in to her fist. He wondered if she’d like to do the same to his neck.
“You, sir, not hardly. Yet, I do expect the truth. You sit here at what used to be my table and pretend to be a gentleman, whilst the ownership of my home transferred through a hand of cards, as easily as one takes possession of a trade. You knew that my father was well into his cups, and you did nothing to stop his bids. Forgive me Your Grace, but your”— she paused to search for the right words, then continued— “business practices indicate the opposite.”
Landon watched the rigid carriage of her shoulders and deep down the manly part of him thrilled to the fire flashing in her blue-green eyes. By heavens, to bed this woman and teach her the art of love would be a worthwhile effort.
“Lady Juliet,” he began, knowing that his words must be chosen with extreme care. “Let me take a moment to assure you I knew not of your existence or your father’s precarious financial status. I did not press Lord Gilbert to drink, or have a hand in the manipulation of cards that ended in my advantage. It was a mere game of chance. Your father had the right to withdraw with any hand played. He chose not to.”
“Because he was no doubt intoxicated and an easy mark,” she reminded him.
Landon glanced to Amos who rolled his eyes and lifted his napkin to wipe his lips. Using a conciliatory tone, he offered a slight apology. “In hindsight, I wish I might have known his difficulties with drink or in finance, for I would have forced him to recount the wager immediately rather than deny you your house.”
For a moment, he wondered if she bel
ieved his words. Her eyes narrowed. The rapid breathing that raised her breasts subsided. Juliet glanced down at her plate, her tongue damped her lips. “Forgive my doubt.”
He reached over and placed a palm upon her still-clenched hand. “I would forgive you anything.” At his words, he could feel her pulse quicken as a silence settled over the table.
Amos cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is a good time to see the grounds if you wish to keep the manor?”
“Yes, I think you are right.” Her hand retreated from his and she turned her gaze to his solicitor.
A pang of jealousy filled his breast. Landon wanted nothing more than enjoy the depth of her smile. He placed his napkin on his plate. “Yes, I am curious to see more of Holly Grove. Lady Juliet, would you do the honors?”
“Of course.” She made ready to scoot her chair back.
Landon rose and made a quick grasp of the back, easing it from the table. “I am thinking of perhaps moving my stables. Tell me, this looks like fine horse country.”
“It is.” The reverend stood and helped his wife rise. “Many a Darby winner has been sired in the surrounding countryside.”
“Excellent.” He smiled and looked to Juliet, hoping to see approval. She lowered her eyes and turned away, denying his anticipation.
“We shall need our cloaks.” Juliet turned toward the doorway.
He paused and allowed her to lead the party out. As he followed, Amos reached out to grasp his arm.
“What are you up to?” his lawyer asked, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear.
“Wooing.” Landon arched his brow as if he thought his friend mad.
“That girl is not a milkmaid fresh from the farm. There’s substance behind that beautiful face and innocent blue eyes, or have you been too rattled by her unblemished complexion to notice?”
“They are blue, aren’t they?” Landon grinned. This time there was no hiding the excitement in his voice.
Lord Heartless Page 2