by Erin Rye
“I beg your pardon,” Juliet said behind him.
“I beg your pardon?” one man echoed.
Two men came to their feet.
Another snorted and opened his mouth to object.
He nodded at the door. “Tell the lady of the house to send your bill to the Duke of Hamilton.”
“Duke of Hamilton?” one man said. He looked at Juliet. “Is this man who he says he is?”
She remained mute.
Carrick imagined she wanted to condemn him to the darker parts of hell, but he kept his attention on the men. They exchanged glances with one another, then shrugged and filed from the room.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Carrick faced Juliet once more. His gaze caught on the hint of pink nipples peeking out of her gown. A flush of heat tightened his groin. He had to maintain his dignity. It was one thing to desire a prospective mistress, quite another to ogle her like a common doxy. He returned his gaze to her face. The blue eyes staring back at him through the mask had narrowed.
“I am pleased to see you again,” he said.
She remained silent.
“Surely, you can’t be surprised to see me after what transpired between us at the Midnight Ball, Juliet.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but he couldn’t read her expression through the damn mask. He’d had quite enough of the thing. He rounded the table in two strides and grasped the ribbon holding the mask in place. Juliet jerked, but he grasped her shoulder with one hand and tugged the tie free with the other. The white satin mask fell to the floor.
Juliet stiffened.
Carrick’s breath caught. He’d known she was beautiful—after all, the silk creation hadn’t hidden everything—but unmasked… Almond-shaped blue eyes held his gaze with an intensity that started his heart to hammer. Dark hair framed high cheekbones and flawless skin. He well understood how her mother had named the establishment after the goddess Aphrodite. He was powerless to look away.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Juliet blinked, her thick lashes fanning her cheeks. She shifted, as if to stand, but he whirled and returned to his chair.
“A game of commerce, shall we?” he murmured.
“I am not for sale, Carrick,” she said in a fierce whisper. “You cannot just take my body.”
“I’m not trying to, lass,” he said.
Juliet snorted. “How did you find me? No doubt my aunt sold me out. Honoria doesn’t know how to keep quiet.”
Aunt? Lady Peddington? Interesting. “Your aunt told me nothing save that you had returned to your London home.”
Her mouth thinned. “Why are you here?”
He pulled the contract from his inner vest pocket. Alarm crossed Juliet’s face as her gaze fell to the parchment. With a grim twist of her mouth, she snatched it from his grasp and stared at the words.
Finally, she laid the paper on the table and rose. “I must speak with my mother.”
He pushed to his feet and stepped into her path. “I won’t force you, Juliet. I’m not that kind of a man.”
“Won’t force me? Then what is that?” She jabbed a finger at the contract.
“That is protection.”
The eyes staring up at him were rife with suspicion. “Protection? From?”
They stood close, her breasts inches from his chest. The perfume of her hair swirled around him. “From me,” he said. “This contract ensures you’ll never do anything you do not wish to do.”
Interest lit her eyes. “That includes bedding you?” At his nod, she added, “Of what possible advantage is such a contract to you when I’ve no intentions of letting you in my bed?”
“Time,” he answered truthfully. “The contract buys me time to seduce my mistress.”
Juliet laughed, a silvery sound filled with wry amusement. “I’ve seen it all in the brothel, Carrick. There isn’t a trick I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Then you have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I’ll send my carriage around for you in the morning to take you to Lennoxlove House. My mother and sister are in sore need of a dressmaker.”
She went ramrod stiff.
“Should you, indeed, prove impervious to my charms” –he flashed a smile— “sewing the gowns of the Dowager Duchess and her daughter will go far in establishing your reputation, will it not?”
She blinked. “Is this some sort of trick?”
He shook his head. “My mother and sister are in need of new dresses.”
“They will be there?” she said, then added as if speaking more to herself than him, “That is very good,” and he realized he’d erred. He hadn’t intended on his mother and sister being at Lennoxlove House.
“The dowager duchess will not be pleased that her son has installed his mistress as her dressmaker,” Juliet said.
“She will not be staying permanently.”
“Neither will I,” Juliet said. “I see the contract allows for a cottage of my choosing.”
He angled his head in agreement. “Even here in London, if you choose.”
Juliet pinned him with a stare. “You will tire of me before the year stipulated in the contract—especially when I keep turning you away.”
He bent his head until his lips almost touched her ear. She stiffened, but didn’t step away. “Shall we say I have until summer’s end to…woo you?” Carrick drew back enough to see her face.
A calculating gleam –with a hint of amusement—lit her blue eyes. “If I manage to resist your charms until the end of summer, you honor the contract for the year—the money and a cottage.”
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 the 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.