“Good evening, Lady Juliet. You look enchanting,” Christian said and this time he happened to be telling a woman the truth. “You’ll be the talk of the ball.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Christian.”
Lady Felicity threw him a look of admonishment as Ian swept forward, the epitome of gentlemanly sophistication as he offered Juliet Pervill his arm.
“Your beauty will most assuredly occupy the minds of the ton for weeks to come.”
Both ladies smiled at his brother’s chivalry and Christian objected, “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“No, it was not.” Lady Felicity took his arm, which he had thus far failed to offer, and then led them out of her home.
The brothers assisted the cousins into the marquis’s exquisite carriage, and as the foursome sat, Christian could see Juliet’s anxiety increasing.
“Countess Pervill wished to convey her gratitude for your escort. She would have come herself but I convinced her that we were late.” Juliet grinned at Christian, knowing how uncomfortable he was with her mother’s probing into his marital ambitions and then she turned to Ian. “I myself wanted to . . . thank you, Marquess Shelton, for . . . offering yourself as escort.”
Christian’s heart constricted. Juliet Pervill had never been one to ask for help and she absolutely abhorred pity.
“It is I who should be thanking you, Lady Juliet,” his brother said. “I do not attend functions frequently enough, and when I do, the mamas of the ton descend like a pack of ravenous wolves. However, tonight you will provide my protection from the most dogged of pursuers.”
They all chuckled and Christian met Felicity’s eye, both of them thankful to Ian for making tonight tolerable for Juliet.
“A winning situation all the way around,” Lady Felicity said with a quirked brow.
“Quite.” Ian smiled, full of charm, as their carriage rolled to a stop. “And I shall expect to be saved as many dances as you can spare.”
“Oh, I believe my dance card will be rather open,” Juliet observed dryly.
Felicity turned to her cousin and Christian watched as she discreetly squeezed her hand. “You have many friends attending this evening’s event, Juliet.”
“I myself wished to reserve a cotillion,” Christian asked his dear friend. “As you are the only lady of my acquaintance who enjoys a cotillion without concern for what the ton thinks of you while dancing it.”
It had sounded better in his head, but fortunately Juliet understood his meaning.
“I would be delighted to dance with you, Christian.” Juliet smiled, amused. “As I know I could do no more damage to your reputation than you have done yourself.”
His brother burst into laughter at Lady Juliet’s brutal and unerringly accurate honesty.
“Quite true,” Ian agreed, adding a condemnatory, “Regrettably.”
Lady Felicity pulled the loops of her reticule around her delicate wrist, but Christian could see Felicity’s embarrassment at the veiled reference to his many indiscretions.
The door to the landau opened and Christian changed the subject, quite relieved to do so. “Ah, we’re here.”
≈
Seamus arrived at the Duke of Glenbroke’s ball late. His valet had taken longer than expected to dress him. He was now bathed and clean shaven, his black jacket setting off the dark green of his waistcoat and enhancing the gold of his eyes.
Not that he gave a damn about his appearance, but if he was going to find a new paramour this evening, he thought it best to display his wares in the most flattering light.
He glanced about the ballroom, the corners of his lips turning upward when he saw the ton’s most eligible widow and his night’s goal. She was young and beautiful and, if the gentlemen at White’s were to be believed, insatiable in bed.
Seamus walked toward the lady but a movement to his left caught his eye. He turned and sighed at the sight of his brother’s large arm waving him over toward his small group.
He hesitated, deciding in the end that he would dance with his brother’s wife and then spend the remainder of the evening wooing the lovely widow, unmolested.
“My lady.” Seamus kissed his sister-in-law’s hand with just enough rakishness to annoy his taxing brother.
Daniel took a step back to make the introductions to the other members of their party. Christian St. John stood next to a slightly shorter, slightly more muscled gentleman who resembled Christian so closely that he could only be his older brother Ian, the Marquess Shelton.
The elegant marquis inclined his head then reached back to assist his companion to her feet. “May I introduce to you, Lady Juliet Pervill?”
It was the second time Seamus had seen Juliet Pervill wearing a ball gown, but the first time that he was paying attention.
“How do you do?”
The lady wore a pale blue gown of the finest silk and her face had been lightly powdered to conceal the freckles decorating her nose. Her burnished brown hair was piled atop her head in ringlets secured by a lovely sapphire comb. As Seamus bowed, however, it was her surprisingly full décolletage that drew his discreet scrutiny.
“And may I introduce, Lady Felicity Appleton,” Christian was saying and he turned away from Juliet Pervill in favor of her beautiful cousin.
“How do you do, Lady Felicity?” Seamus bowed again, smiling charmingly.
“Very well, thank you, Mister McCurren.” The lady smiled back, her pink gown and fawn-like eyes adding to the ethereal aura surrounding her.
“Well,” Christian chimed in. “This would be my dance, I believe, Lady Felicity.”
“Oh.” Felicity Appleton glanced at the card dangling from her wrist as the opening cords of a gavottes were struck. “Is it your dance already?”
“Yes,” Christian insisted, hurrying her away.
The group watched the pair leave and then gathered closer so that they might hear one another over the soft murmur of the crush.
“And what have you been up to, Seamus?” his sister-in-law asked. “It has been an age since I’ve seen you outside of a ballroom.”
Seamus smiled at the marquis and touched, only briefly, on Lady Juliet’s clear, blue eyes before answering, “I’ve been quite occupied with my latest acquisitions.”
“My brother studies ancient tomes,” Daniel explained for the benefit of Ian St. John and, he believed, Juliet Pervill.
“Ah.” The marquis nodded, politely interested.
“Well, that makes two scholars then.” His brother’s wife glanced at Juliet Pervill, and Seamus felt the instant paralysis of dread. He watched his sister-in-law’s beautiful lips, willing her to speak no more, but she did. “Lady Juliet is quite the scholar herself.”
Uncomfortable, the lass fiddled with her already perfect curls as all eyes settled on her.
“I’d no idea, Lady Juliet,” Daniel said, truly surprised as the Marquis Shelton looked at the lady with renewed interest.
“Nor I. What is your area of expertise?” the marquis asked graciously.
Unable to witness the inevitable outcome, Seamus turned his head to watch the dance floor, praying that the lady would have the decency to lie.
“Differential calculus.”
Damn!
Seamus groaned to himself when Daniel choked on his champagne.
He avoided his brother’s questioning eyes as Daniel coughed then asked with a devilish grin, “Differential calculus, you say?”
“Yes.” Juliet nodded, embarrassed. “It is really rather tedious.”
“It sounds quite interesting,” Ian St. John remarked, but Seamus was too busy tossing back his champagne to notice.
“Quite interesting,” Daniel echoed, the words directed at Seamus.
Seamus met his brother’s gaze, silently telling Daniel to sod off.
“If you will excuse me, I am expected for the next dance.” Seamus lied.
“Certainly,” his sister-in-law said. “But I shall expect you for the seventh.”
“I look forward to it as always.” Seamus bowed toward the group as a whole and shot Daniel a warning glare before making his way toward the lovely widow.
She was encircled by dandies, pups, and rogues but Seamus was undeterred.
“Our dance, I believe,” he gambled.
The widow smiled at his audacity and gave him her hand. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Seamus swept her into his arms as the next dance began, noting how pretty her pale skin looked in contrast to her black hair.
“Are you residing in town permanently, Lady Everett?” he asked seductively, pulling her slightly closer than was advisable.
“Yes, I am, Mister McCurren.” The experienced woman fluttered her lashes. “Although my town home is in desperate need of updating and lord only knows how long that will take. My late husband had absolutely horrid taste when it came to décor,” she added, making it clear that she was a lonely widow in need of companionship.
“Thank goodness I was able to secure the services of Mister Ferguson.” Seamus had the distinct impression that he was supposed to be impressed. “Mister Ferguson has already begun to refurbish the ground-floor parlor, choosing a palette of vermillion and gold. I am quite pleased with the outcome thus far and hope to host a musical as soon as the ground floor is complete.
“Unfortunately, my bedchamber will not be refurbished until the common areas have been finished.” The widow smiled, invitingly grazing his thigh with hers as they held one another in their sensual dance. “However, that should not interfere with the overall function of the room. Do you not agree?”
“I shouldn’t think that it would,” Seamus said, suddenly not interested in finding out.
The widow laughed suggestively and Seamus danced with her until he was able to return the worldly woman to her adoring hordes.
Juliet turned her head at the strident sound of a lady’s laughter as an attractive woman spun the length of the room in Mister McCurren’s experienced arms.
She stared and, much to her annoyance, found Seamus as elegant on the ballroom floor as he was eloquent in his academic suppositions.
Yet, as arrogant as he was, Juliet had to admit that the man was beautiful—stunningly, breathtakingly, ruggedly beautiful—and the woman in his arms obviously thought so, too. The lady was absolutely simpering and Juliet was sure that they would end up in bed together. The idea was somehow . . . disheartening.
A widow could do as she pleased, bed any man she wanted, and as long as she was discreet . . . the ton looked the other way. Yet polite society was not so blind when it came to virtuous ladies like herself . . .
“So, what have you been doing with these studies of mathematics, Lady Juliet?” Daniel McCurren asked and Juliet all but groaned aloud at her continuing interrogation.
“Nothing as of late,” she fibbed, wishing she had her cousin’s ability to mask her mood behind a polite smile.
“My God, Daniel!” Lady Dunloch came to her rescue, piercing her husband with her violet eyes. “Do stop badgering Lady Juliet and come dance with me.”
The Marquis Sheldon turned to Felicity and offered her his arm, saying, “Shall we,” with all the grace of an experienced politician.
Dipping her head as if immensely honored, Felicity conceded, “Yes, thank you.”
Sighing at her perpetual solitude, Juliet leaned back in her chair in the corner of Sarah’s massive ballroom, swinging her feet beneath her voluminous skirts. She was not a shy woman, by any means, but neither did Juliet enjoy the idle chitchat so prevalent at society functions.
And what on God’s green earth was the matter with Daniel McCurren? At one point, Juliet was sure he was going to ask her to present her mathematical papers at this very ball.
Regardless of the viscount’s annoying prodding, Juliet was relieved that the evening seemed to be going so well. Not a single person had given her a second glance, no doubt because Sarah’s husband would toss them out on their ear if they did.
Still, it was a relief, and Juliet was grateful to both the Duke and Duchess of Glenbroke, not only for this evening, but for their unwavering support of her. Juliet was contemplating ways in which to show her gratitude when someone entered the circle of chairs.
Thinking Christian had finally wandered back to the fold, Juliet looked up, smiling at her friend. “Nice to see you again, Christi . . . Oh, it’s you.”
“Your enthusiasm for my companionship is overwhelming.” Seamus McCurren glared down at her like a handsome laird.
What was it about a dark man that made him more masculine, more sensual, more utterly . . . appealing?
Flustered by just how appealing the man was, Juliet offered him her right hand, saying tartly, “My enthusiasm is directly proportionate to the quality of my companion.”
The Scot brought her hand close to his lips and then dropped it, taking the seat to her immediate left.
“You’ve quite an acid tongue, Lady Juliet,” he said, his golden eyes cold.
“How would you know, Mister McCurren, as you have only tasted my lips?” Juliet ignored the sting of his assessment and focused on her anger.
His full lips compressed into two thin lines. “I came to offer you my apology.”
“For your kiss?” Juliet raised both brows as Seamus McCurren glanced about the room, clearly not wishing the ton to know that he had kissed the notorious Lady Juliet.
The Scot met her eye, refusing to answer, and she sharpened her aim on the one thing men valued above all else . . . their pride.
“Yes, it was rather a sloppy kiss, now that you mention it.” His spine stiffened and she continued to torment him. “Do you apologize to all the women you kiss or just the women not in your employ?”
His eyes flashed and Juliet was pleased to have shocked him. She lifted her left eyebrow and grinned at her bawdy implication, both of them knowing that she had managed to bring him to a heated simmer.
His already impressive chest was made broader as Seamus McCurren took a calming breath before allowing himself to speak.
“I merely hoped to assure you that my . . .” He sought the appropriate word. “Actions of yesterday were not motivated by a desire to see you resign your commission at the Foreign Office.”
“Then what was your motivation for your ‘actions of yesterday’?” Juliet asked, her heart jumping from a trot to a canter.
Seamus McCurren blinked his beautiful eyes once and then said, “My ‘actions of yesterday’ were motivated by an admiration . . .” Juliet could not breathe, her heart now at a gallop as embarrassment passed over his perfectly proportioned features. “For your books.”
Her heart faltered and she sputtered inelegantly, “My books?” as if the man were not adding up.
Seamus McCurren nodded. “You have read my papers. You know that my research involves the analysis of ancient texts.”
Juliet could not believe what the man was implying. “Are you suggesting that you kissed me yesterday out of some peculiar sense of . . . appreciation?”
“I have never seen a book of that . . . age written in Mandarin. I suppose if you had been a man, I would have . . . embraced you. But as you are a woman . . .” He shrugged his flawless shoulders. “I . . .”
“Kissed me.” She nodded.
“Quite.” The Scot inclined his dark head, saying, “Therefore, I offer you my most sincere apologies and wish to assure you that my enthusiasm for my work shall never again interfere with our assignment.”
Dumbfounded, Juliet had no notion what to say to the man. She understood to some extent having passion for one’s work, understood the thrill of intellectual discovery. But this . . . “enthusiasm” for old tomes seemed a bit beyond the pale.
But then again, the man was a Scot and they tended to be people of passionate sensibilities.
“Would it be easier for you if I removed my books from the offi—”
“No.” The unflappable Seamus McCurren actually blushed. “I am confident that my enthusiasm will never,” h
e said with such emphasis that she felt a twinge affronted, “be repeated.”
Juliet paused, knowing she had but two options. One, she could resign from the Foreign Office, or two, accept Seamus McCurren’s somewhat offensive apology.
“Very well.” Juliet chose the latter, shaking her head as she shrugged. “I accept your . . . apology.” She looked at the man, and upon seeing his considerable relief, her mouth opened of its own accord. “It is not as though anything remarkable—”
“Excellent.” Seamus McCurren turned, interrupting her discourteous assessment of his amorous abilities. “I shall see you Monday morning?”
She only wished that the insulting appraisal were true.
Chapter Twelve
~
Seamus sat in his carriage wondering why in the hell he had touched the obstinate woman. It was humiliating enough that he had behaved like an ass, only to have to kiss her hand for the pleasure of that humiliation.
He sniffed his white glove for the twentieth time, knowing that the glove was ruined. It smelled so strongly of lavender that Seamus was sure the girl had a bar of soap tucked beneath her stylish chignon.
His carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home and Seamus jumped down. He scarcely looked at his butler as he walked into the entryway.
“Put these in the rubbish bin, they smell of lavender.” Courtesy of an irritating little woman with a freckled face and larger breasts than he’d given her credit for.
Before he had the opportunity to hand his butler the tainted calf-skin gloves, the man announced, “You have a guest, Mister McCurren. I have taken the liberty of placing him in your study.”
“Who is it?” Seamus asked, stuffing the gloves in his jacket pocket.
“His lordship Viscount Dunloch.”
Seamus opened the door to his study, rolling his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”
Daniel rose from a chair in front of the fire, grinning like the blackguard that he was. “Can’t a man visit his beloved brother merely to—”
“Not this man.” Seamus sat behind his desk. “Now, cut line, Daniel. I’ve not got all night.”
The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Page 9