by Olivia Drake
“But how can we keep our plans a secret? The instant the banns are announced, someone will congratulate my parents.”
“Not if we marry by special license. I may not be wealthy, but I wield a duke’s influence.”
His cool self possession disturbed her. He’d spoken no words of love, no promise to cherish her. Did he want her for money? She tried to banish the thought, but it seared like a hot coal in her stomach.
“My father is sure to cut me off without a penny.”
“He can burn his millions for all I care. I want you, Juliet, not the Carleton fortune.”
This time his eyes blazed with feeling and his hands held her tightly. She felt dizzy and reckless, caught in a whirlpool of happiness. “Oh, Kent, I want to believe you. Truly, I do.”
“If it will ease your mind, I’ll have my solicitor draw up papers renouncing any claim of mine to your father’s money.” His lips brushed hers in a petal soft caress. “Think about it, Juliet. By this time tomorrow, we can be man and wife.”
His palms slid down her back, his fingers splaying over her hips, pressing her to him, stroking a torrid longing that melted au reason. She drew a shallow breath. How could he ask her to think when their bodies were fitted so tightly together, when his earthy scent enfolded her, when his musky sweet taste lingered in her mouth?
“Come home with me as my duchess, Juliet. Share my life and my bed. Bear my children. I need you. We’ll never be apart again.”
Like leaves before an autumn wind, her doubts scattered. He was asking her to banish the darkness from his soul. He was asking her to make him forget the tragedy of his past. He was asking her to reawaken his ability to love.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His arms relaxed. He gently cupped her jaw, and in his hand she detected a faint tremor of emotion that made her spirits soar.
“I’ll make you happy, Juliet,” he vowed, as if trying to convince himself. “I’ll grant you all the freedom your parents denied you... the freedom to pursue your interest in botany. You can spend your days restoring the neglected greenhouses at Radcliffe. I’ll never cage you like that sapling.”
“As long as we’re together, I’ll be happy.”
She brushed her lips across his work roughened palm; his sharp intake of breath thrilled her. “I’ll set your spirit free,” he whispered. “I’ll unlock all the sensuality hidden inside you.”
“I want that, Kent. I want everything you can give me.”
He tilted her chin and his mouth caught hers again.
Wanting to bind herself to him, she wreathed her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his chest. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, and his thumbs rubbed her temples, the combination of caresses drawing a deep and magical response from her body.
When at last his mouth ceased its sorcery, he continued to hold her, his hand drifting over her back, as if he could not bear to let her go. She nestled her cheek in the hard hollow of his collarbone and let herself float. Like wingbeats of joy, her pulse joined with his. She wanted to bask forever in the heat of his body, the strength of his arms.
Too soon, he drew back. “I must go. There’s still time today for me to see the bishop about the license.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
Kent shook his head. “I’ve no wish to subject you to any embarrassment.”
“I’m not ashamed of my love for you.”
“You don’t understand.” He hesitated. “I’ll have to say that we’ve consummated our relationship.”
Perplexed, she cocked her head to the side. “We’ve finished our relationship? But isn’t it just the opposite?”
Those dark eyes gleamed; a slight smile softened his mouth. “You have been sheltered, haven’t you, my Lady Botanist?” Tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear, he added, “I’ll have to tell him that I’ve compromised you, taken you to my bed.”
Understanding flamed in her cheeks. Such a declaration would brand her a fallen woman. People would speculate about the abrupt marriage; her parents would endure stares and malicious gossip.
“Is there no other reason you could give?”
“Trust me. It’s the only way to ensure that our marriage takes place immediately.” He paused, and although his hands still rested on her shoulders, she had the curious impression of his withdrawal. “You see, the bishop will grant a special license only if he believes you may be carrying my child.”
He walked away to tug on the bell cord. Juliet wondered what had triggered his sudden aloofness. Was it the mention of a child? He must still mourn the unborn baby who’d died with his beloved wife.
Wife. The thought sent shivers down her spine. She slowly bent to retrieve the gloves, which she’d dropped during the kiss. Kent stood by the sofa, his broad back half turned as he gathered his father’s drawings and tucked them into the satchel. The sight of his lean body brought a rush of reckless rapture. Once they were married, she would bear him a baby, an heir. He’d be so proud and happy...
“Yes, sahib?” Ravi stood in the doorway. His brown eyes impassive, the servant flicked a glance at her.
“Tell Hatchett to bring the landau around. Immediately.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Bowing, the servant left, as silently as he’d arrived.
“Will you wait while I fetch my coat?” Kent asked her. “This once, I insist on escorting you home—or at least as close as we can risk. The future Duchess of Radcliffe shan’t be going about London in hired hansoms.”
She stood still, staring as he strode out of the library. Her heart beat fast under the force of a stunning thought. She would be a duchess... Her parents wanted her to wed a titled man, and she could scarcely do better than a duke. Once they understood that Kent intended not dishonor but marriage, wouldn’t her father set aside his animosity?
Excited resolve built within her. The moment Papa came home today, she’d gently break the news. He’d be angry at first, but Mama would help ease him into acceptance. Given time, he would concede to Juliet’s determination and realize how important his blessing was to her. At last he’d regard her as an adult...
She took a deep breath. Better that Kent shouldn’t know her plan; like her father, he’d order her to leave such matters to the men. But she would prove to him that Papa could love as fiercely as he could hate. Like Romeo and Juliet, she would bring together the two feuding families.
Some thirty minutes later, she sat beside Kent in a closed landau that smelled of ancient leather, the wheels creaking as the carriage jolted over the cobbled street. The contemplative look in his eyes revealed little of his private thoughts. The absentminded drumming of his fingers on the seat exhibited the only sign of nerves. But even his preoccupation couldn’t dim the sunshine inside her. She could sit for hours and study the strong angles of his profile, the black hair that curled slightly behind his ears, the raven slash of his eyebrows, the noble set of his jaw. She envisioned them married, passing a quiet evening in the drawing room, children gamboling at their feet while Kent held her close and told her about his day...
He turned abruptly to her. “We’ll have to get our start during the night. Can you manage to be in front of your house at two tomorrow morning?”
His words dashed her into dismay. “So soon? I thought we’d wait a few days—”
“I cannot wait to make you mine, Juliet.” He gathered her hands in his. “Unless you’ve doubts about becoming my wife.”
He bent his head, and his warm lips caressed the back of her hand. His mouth lingered a moment; then he looked up, his face mere inches from hers. His eyes gleamed with a dark fire that nourished the flame of longing inside her. She could no more resist him than she could stop the wild beating of her heart.
“No, Kent. I’ve no doubts.”
His hands tightened before releasing her. “It’s settled, then. We’ll leave tonight.”
Her soul sang with excitement. She wanted to run away with Kent, to experience the heady thrill of es
caping propriety, to let him initiate her into all the mysteries of womanhood.
Still, she yearned to banish the need to steal away in the middle of the night. She had no wish to damage her parents’ dearly bought position in society. A long engagement period followed by an elaborate wedding would fulfill her mother’s dreams and swell her father’s pride.
Regretfully Juliet tucked away her craving for adventure. Once she settled things with Papa, she’d send Kent a message that at last the feud was over. He’d come and make amends with her father. Perhaps Papa would even finance Kent’s inventions...
Around the corner from Belgrave Square, the landau halted and Kent helped her down. He caressed her cheek and murmured goodbye; she hoped tonight she’d be able to tell him all this secrecy was unnecessary. The black door with its faded gold ducal crest clicked shut. She stood on the curbstone and watched as the carriage drove off into the congestion of traffic.
Juliet started toward her house. Feeling blissful, she grinned at a liveried footman who hurried down the walkway. Feeling generous, she pressed a silver half crown into the grimy palm of a flypaper vendor. Feeling mischievous, she waggled her fingers at a housemaid who polished a brass door knocker.
Occupying an entire corner of the square, Carleton House stood with fluted gray columns supporting a portico that towered to the third floor. The palazzo like mansion seemed warm and inviting today. As she climbed the marble steps, the approach of a carriage drew her attention.
Her father’s brougham rounded the circular drive and stopped near the entryway. Before the footman could reach the handle, the door burst open and Emmett Carleton stepped out.
Her heart danced over a beat. The chance to speak to him had come sooner than expected. She could scarcely contain the eagerness and anxiety roiling inside her.
Like a lion closing in on its prey, he surged up the stairs. His mind must have been on unpleasant matters; his lips were thinned beneath the handlebar mustache.
Juliet took a deep breath. “You’re home early, Papa.”
“And a damned good thing, too.”
The curse shocked her as much as the fury beneath his taut mask of civility. Seizing her arm, he jerked her toward the door. Potter held open the mahogany panel and stared straight ahead.
She half stumbled as her father hauled her into the house. “Papa? What’s wrong?”
His glance scorched her. “Don’t play the innocent with me.”
A second shock wave struck. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Dear heaven, he must have found out about Kent.
Emmett marched her up the grand staircase. Her arm throbbed as he drew her down the hall and into her bedroom. He released her abruptly. She caught at the doorjamb to steady herself.
Her maid, Charlotte, stood before the dressing table. She froze in the act of pouring perfume into a cut glass bottle. The rich scent of oil of jasmine wafted through the air.
“Out,” Emmett growled.
Charlotte hastily corked the vial. Her wide eyed gaze darted from father to daughter; then she bobbed a curtsy and scurried out, shutting the door.
Fists clenched, he swung toward Juliet. His chest rose and fell with terrible fury. “You faithless liar. How long have you been sneaking off to see Deverell?”
She struggled to control her disgust and hurt that he’d treat her so crudely. As soon as he knew the truth, he’d calm down. “Papa, things aren’t what they seem—”
“Don’t deny that you got out of his carriage. I was close enough to see that much.”
“I wasn’t denying—”
“I saw the way that damned blackguard touched you. The way a man would caress his mistress. Now answer me: how long has this abomination been going on?”
His thundering voice alarmed her, but she refused to flinch. “I’ve met him a few times, but you must understand—”
“That conniving devil! I should have guessed he wouldn’t stop at invading my home.” He slammed his palm onto the dressing table so hard, the bottles and jars clinked. “By God, he won’t get away with stealing you, too!”
“Too?” Cocking her head, she sensed that something simmered below the surface of his anger, something beyond her perception. “What do you mean?”
Emmett turned away, his expression hidden. “A Deverell can’t be trusted,” he growled. “That’s all you need remember. He means to smear your reputation so that no decent man will want you.”
Juliet stepped in front of him. “Where do you get such horrible ideas? Kent would never dishonor me.”
He glowered. “Hah! He’s ruined more lives than you can know.”
Her lips softened into a reassuring smile. “But he’s asked me to marry him. And I agreed, Papa. I agreed because I love him. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him.”
Emmett stood perfectly still. “You betraying bitch.”
With a snarl of fury, he lunged at her. His palm struck her cheek. Reeling from the blow, she staggered backward until her spine met the carved bedpost. Pain shot up her back.
Shaking with disbelief, Juliet stared at her father. The echo of the slap hung in the quiet air. She cupped her red hot cheek. Without the support of the bedpost, she would have wilted like an ice stung bloom.
His harsh expression dissolved into horrified regret, and he took a step toward her. “Princess, forgive me,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Bewildered, she shook her head slowly. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Kent wants me for his wife.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “He’ll never have you. Never.”
Bitter disillusionment soured her soul, and she swallowed a choking upsurge of tears. “Then you aren’t apologizing for what’s really important. You can’t bear for me to love Kent because that would mean you’ve been wrong all these years.”
“I know him better than you think, Princess. I just don’t want him to hurt you.”
“You’ve already hurt me.” She touched her stinging cheek. “I didn’t realize how much until a moment ago.”
“Put that bastard out of your mind, do you understand me?” Her father shook a finger. “He’s no better than a dirt farmer—”
“Mr. Carleton! What’s going on here?”
Her mother stood with her hand on the doorknob, her figure trim and ladylike in a gown of gentian blue silk.
“I’ve not invited you into this discussion, Dorothea.”
She hesitated, her gaze moving from him to Juliet. Then Dorothea took a determined step forward. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Carleton. But Potter informed me that you’d dragged Juliet up the stairs in a most extraordinary fashion. Now I see you’ve struck her, and I wish to know why.”
“She’s been lying to both of us. For the past fortnight, she’s been sneaking off to meet Kent Deverell.”
Dorothea gasped and turned to her daughter. “Is this true?”
Juliet held her head high. “Yes. But you needn’t worry about scandal. Kent and I wish to be married.”
“Married! Dear me ...” Eyes alight, Dorothea looked at Emmett. “Darling, imagine! Our daughter, the Duchess of Radcliffe!”
“She’ll be the Marchioness of Breeton. That’s prestigious enough for me.”
“But Mr. Carleton, your grandson could be a duke–”
He cut her off with a downward slash of his hand. “I said that’s enough. I’ll not hear another word on the matter.”
The enthusiasm left her delicate features, and she lowered her gaze. “Yes, of course.”
Their argument left Juliet sickened, for neither of her parents considered her happiness. “You might ask me what I wish.”
“I know what’s best for you, Princess.” Emmett stalked toward the door, then pivoted, his expression stony. “Go near that devil again and by God, you’re no longer my daughter.”
Though his words cleaved her heart, she lifted her chin. “You’re not treating me like your daughter, but a share of stock to be traded at your command
. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“You’re acting like a child. I’ll leave you alone to think about your unseemly conduct.”
Seizing his wife’s hand and snatching the brass key from the inside lock, he slammed the door shut behind them. Before Juliet realized his intent, the key rattled in the lock. The heavy tread of footsteps marched away.
She rushed to the door and shook the knob. A sob lodged in her throat and tears blurred her eyes. She sank to her knees and pressed her cheek to the door. The cool wood soothed her cheek, but the rent in her heart burned with the heat of her father’s callous words. Kent had been right all along; Papa hadn’t even been willing to listen. He didn’t trust her to make wise choices. He’d never offer his blessing on the marriage. And she couldn’t depend on her mother for help; no matter what her private feelings, Dorothea Carleton would bow to her husband’s wishes.
Go near that devil again and by God, you’ll no longer be my daughter.
Her mind a maze of grief, Juliet buried her face in her hands and wept. The burst of raw emotion gradually subsided, leaving her as desolate as a storm lashed garden. If she went through with the elopement, she would lose her parents forever. Yet could things ever be the same again? To make them happy, she’d have to forfeit the man she loved and shackle herself to that shallow, fox hunting Breeton.
She had the sudden, unbearable need to feel Kent’s arms around her, to lay her head on the firm warmth of his chest, to hear the reassuring beat of his heart.
Tonight she would pledge her life to him.
The decision cleared her mind. Rising, she looked around the bedroom. French gilt furniture, an ornately plastered ceiling, a silk hung, four poster bed with a pale blue counterpane. A pretty cage. The expensive decor reflected her mother’s style and her father’s appetite for luxury. Only the vase of dried wildflowers and the botany books on the nightstand marked the room as her own.
Going to an opened window, she peered down. The stone ledge above the terrace looked alarmingly narrow, and extended to an enormous oak at the corner of the house. She had to escape. Could she manage to inch her way to those thick branches?