"Thank you," he said, squeezing her hand.
A mistake. Looking startled, she pulled it away. "So." She cleared her throat. "Tomorrow evening at the ball…just how are you planning to ask Lady Amanda if you might court her?"
The quick change of subject made him feel as though his brain had just fallen off a cliff. How did women manage to do that? How had Juliana gone from holding his hand to assuming he was still planning to court Lady Amanda?
He wasn't. He'd decided he'd rather court Juliana—or rather, tempt her into letting him kiss her.
But he didn't quite know how to answer her question, because she hadn't asked him if he was planning to court Lady Amanda. She'd asked him how he was planning to ask for permission.
She must have taken his silence to mean he couldn't figure out how, because when he didn't immediately respond, she added, "Perhaps I can help you devise some particularly gallant method."
"Like what? Shall I ride into the ball on a charger, dressed in armor?"
"Really, now, James, be serious."
He was serious. He was serious about wanting to kiss Juliana. And touch her. And do all sorts of other things with her that would make Lady Frances faint dead away if she ever managed to come out of her fog enough to notice.
"James?" Juliana asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Another question he couldn't answer. He could hardly tell her the truth…that he was looking at her while imagining scenarios that would ruin her reputation beyond repair.
Lucky for him, the carriage rolled to a halt in front of the Egyptian Hall.
EIGHTEEN
THE EXTERIOR of the museum at Number Twenty-two Piccadilly bore a vague resemblance to an Egyptian temple. A very vague resemblance. In fact, it would look rather Palladian, Juliana thought, were it not for the ankhs along the cornice and the two full-length statues that flanked a window above the entrance.
"Are those sculptures supposed to be Egyptian?" Frances asked.
"An Egyptian god and goddess." James gestured toward the figures. "That's Isis on the left, and her brother and husband, Osiris, on the right."
Juliana wondered how he'd come to know such things. "They look like American Indians with headcloths," she said.
He laughed. "I suppose they do. Shall we have a look inside?"
He gave the doorman three shillings for their admission, took a guidebook and handed it to Juliana, and ushered her and Aunt Frances into the museum.
"So many people," Frances said, looking dazed as they jostled their way down a corridor.
"They've all come to see Napoleon's carriage," Juliana told her. "And Captain Cook's artifacts. And," she added, reading off the cover of the guidebook, "'the Collection of Fifteen Thousand Natural and Foreign Curiosities, Antiques, and Productions of the Fine Arts.'"
"I'm feeling faint," Frances said.
"You don't have to look at all of them, Auntie. Listen to this." Pausing in the first of the exhibition rooms, Juliana quoted from the introduction. "'The museum's owner, William Bullock, formed his collection during seventeen years of arduous research at a cost of thirty thousand pounds.'"
"Thirty thousand pounds," James said in wonder. "Just think how many vaccinations all that money could have provided."
Or how many foundlings it could have fed, Juliana thought. But there were other good uses for money. "Widening the horizons of the man in the street is also a worthy cause. Don't you agree, Aunt Frances?" She glanced around. "Aunt Frances?"
"There she is." James pointed toward an exhibit of stuffed African animals. "On that bench, by the rail."
Juliana wove through the crowd to sit beside her, beneath the raised trunk of a massive gray elephant. "Are you unwell, Auntie?"
"I'm fine, child. I thought I'd sit here a while and rest." Frances patted her chest with a happy sigh, and Juliana knew she was thinking about Lord Malmsey and his red roses. "You young people go ahead and start looking. I'll join you in a few minutes."
"We cannot just leave you here," Juliana said.
"Of course we can," James disagreed. "You wouldn't want to risk your aunt's health by taxing her, would you?"
"She doesn't look unhealthy to me. Her cheeks are rosier than I've ever seen them."
"Fever," James said succinctly.
Concerned, Juliana turned to feel her aunt's forehead. "She's not hot."
"Impending fever, then. She needs to rest as a preventative measure." When Juliana failed to rise, he reached for her hand and pulled her from the bench. "Will you argue with a physician?"
"Go on," Aunt Frances put in, waving her gloved hand in encouragement.
Juliana suddenly realized her own hand was bare, and James's felt very strong and warm.
"Come along." He tugged on her hand. "Your aunt will be fine. I believe Captain Cook's artifacts are in the next room."
She pulled her fingers free. Holding her hand in the carriage was one thing—and no doubt the result of those macaroons—but she shouldn't allow him to do so in public. "We haven't seen the things in this room yet."
"A bevy of stuffed animals," he said dismissively. Besides the African display in the center, the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with creatures in glass cases, stacked one on top of another. "What's so interesting about that?"
"There are hundreds of different species."
"You're too short to see most of them," he said. Then, apparently deciding the discussion was over, he draped an arm about her shoulders and began drawing her from the room.
Shocked, she darted a glance to her aunt, but Frances was staring into space, a vague smile curving her lips. Daydreaming, no doubt. She certainly wouldn't be smiling if she'd seen James's arm around her.
Unless, on second thought, seeing James's arm around her had made Frances begin fantasizing about Lord Malmsey holding her in the same fashion. Because Juliana had to admit that being tucked up against a man like this was a pleasurable sensation.
She wondered if Amanda would like it. Probably not, she decided. James was acting a bit more amorous than she'd had in mind. She'd had no idea the macaroons would prove to be so potent.
The next chamber's walls were covered with historical arms and armor. Still attached to her, James walked slowly, admiring the collection as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
"James," she said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"You have your arm about my shoulders."
"I know. I'm practicing for wooing Lady Amanda."
Oh, dear, just as she'd feared. She'd known she shouldn't have let him eat those macaroons. "I don't think Lady Amanda would want you to do this."
"Why not? It feels good, doesn't it?"
She couldn't argue with that, so she didn't.
"We fit perfectly," he added, studying a curved sword.
They did fit perfectly. She'd thought him too tall, but he was just the right height for her to fit perfectly under his arm. Not, of course, that that made it at all proper. And in any case, he wouldn't fit perfectly with Amanda, since Amanda was much taller.
"Um, James?"
"Hmm?"
"People are going to see us and assume you're courting me instead of Lady Amanda."
"We aren't acquainted with anyone here," he said easily, "so they're not going to assume anything." He looked up higher, to peruse a battered shield. "Fascinating, isn't it?"
Unsure whether he was referring to the armor or to the fact that no one would make assumptions, she tried to wriggle away without looking conspicuous. "I cannot really see it. I'm too short. Perhaps we should go see Napoleon's carriage instead."
"Use my quizzing glass," he offered, handing it to her with a smile.
She really had no choice but to take it. Like at the ball, he'd left the long chain around his neck, so she had to lean yet closer to raise the glass to her eye. Dear heavens, he smelled good. She couldn't seem to focus on the shield.
He moved behind her, which was a relief. But then his fingers brushed her nec
k, and a little shiver ran through her. She blinked through the lens at an ancient, pitted rifle. "What are you doing, James?"
"Just pinning up a strand of your hair that's fallen down."
Her hair was so straight it sometimes slid right out of its pins. But she'd never had a man fix it before. Studying the rusty edge of a cutlass, she wondered if she should stop him.
"I'd do the same thing for Lady Amanda," he said, apparently reading her mind. "It's very gallant, don't you think? I'm getting some excellent practice."
She switched to examine an old flintlock. "Are you finished yet?"
"Not quite."
That deep, chocolatey voice was making it difficult to pay attention, especially since it seemed to be coming from right behind her ear. "You're standing a bit close to me, James."
"You're holding my quizzing glass," he pointed out.
And whose idea had that been? "Do you expect Captain Cook used this pistol?"
"What pistol?" he asked, his hands leaving her hair to rest lightly on her shoulders.
She could feel his breath, warm on the back of her neck. "This pistol I'm looking at on the wall."
"That's part of Bullock's collection." His voice sounded even closer. "Captain Cook's artifacts are in a case to your right."
She turned her head to the right, and his lips met her nape.
Heavens, they felt hot and soft. She nearly groaned when the brief contact ended.
"You shouldn't do that," she whispered, scandalized—although, to be honest, she was mostly scandalized because it had felt so good. "I understand that you wish to practice, but you're taking things too far."
"What things?" James asked.
She dropped the quizzing glass and whirled to face him. "You kissed my neck."
"In public? I think not." His expression was one of studied innocence. "You have an active imagination, Juliana."
She'd been told that before, but she hadn't imagined this. "You'd better not do that to Lady Amanda," she warned. "She wouldn't like it."
"I wouldn't presume to kiss Lady Amanda. She's rather stuffy, isn't she? Rather like Castleton."
"The duke is not stuffy!"
He shrugged and motioned toward a glass case with a few people standing before it. "Did you want to see Captain Cook's artifacts?"
"Yes," she said and made her way over.
She'd wanted for months to see Captain Cook's artifacts, ever since the Morning Post had printed an article about their arrival at the Egyptian Hall. But they weren't nearly as interesting as she'd expected. As she stood before the glass case, her gaze wandering over yellowed shark's teeth and ugly specimens of cloth made from bark, she wondered how it would feel should the duke kiss her neck like James had.
Perhaps she ought to give the duke a few macaroons so she could find out.
"Do you expect those old bones are really from the grave of an ancient Hawaiian chief?" she asked.
"If Captain Cook said so, I'm sure they are."
She wondered if Amanda would find all of this more interesting. Probably, considering she was fascinated with crusty objects from ancient ruins. "Are there any Roman antiquities in this museum?"
"I haven't noticed any yet, but there might be." James slipped an arm around her waist. "Would you like to have a look around and see?"
"Not particularly." Remembering that he'd known the identities of the Egyptian statues outside, she asked, "Would you recognize Roman antiquities?"
"Most certainly," he said dryly. "My father and grandfather were both obsessed with the things."
"Really? Lady Amanda is, too." What an amazing coincidence. "Do you find Roman antiquities fascinating?"
"I wouldn't put it so strongly," he said, drawing her closer against his side. "Mildly interesting, perhaps."
Perfect. Amanda had said she wanted a man who was interested in Roman antiquities. Her friend was going to love coming here with him—as long as he didn't eat so many macaroons first. "Shall we go see Napoleon's carriage now?" she suggested, sidestepping away.
He sidestepped with her. "Absolutely, if that's what you wish."
As they headed to the next room, he kept his arm firmly around her. Endeavoring to ignore that, she opened the guidebook and read from it. "The Emperor's carriage was captured at Waterloo and later purchased from the Prince Regent for twenty-five hundred pounds," she reported. "And it's bulletproof."
"A wise precaution on Napoleon's part." He halted in the archway. "Good God, would you look at all those people?" The carriage was completely surrounded. "Perhaps it would be better to return another time."
She wouldn't be returning with him—his next visit here would be with Amanda. They would look at Roman antiquities.
"I want to see the carriage now," she said, picturing his arm around Amanda's waist instead of hers and wondering why that vision was so unsettling. Probably because Amanda wouldn't approve, she decided as she broke away from him and he followed her to the front of the crowd.
"Pardon me," he kept saying in a tone that sounded half exasperated, half apologetic. "Excuse me. Pardon." Short as she was, she was very good at burrowing her way through a pack of people, but apparently he wasn't.
Up close, the vehicle was beautiful, painted a rich dark blue and ornamented in gold. She looked up and back at James, who had come to a stop behind her. "Even the wheels are gold," she said.
James examined it over her head. "It's such a crush in here," he complained.
"The newspaper reported that ten thousand a day are visiting just to see this carriage."
"There seem to be twenty thousand today." He bumped into her from behind, then placed his hands on her waist to steady her. "My apologies," he murmured by her ear. "These people have no manners."
Although nobody seemed to be jostling, she let him keep his hands there, just in case. "There's a blanket inside, embroidered with the initials NB. Do you expect Napoleon actually slept in here?"
"He'd have been smart to, considering it's bulletproof." He wrapped his arms further around her, overlapping them under her breasts. "There's a desk inside, too."
It was built in below the front window, with many compartments for maps and telescopes. "Very clever," she murmured, leaning back into him so no one would nudge her. His body was warm. His scent swamped her again, making her curiously dizzy. She felt very cozy and safe.
"Do you think Lady Amanda would like this?" he whispered.
"The clever desk?"
"No, me. Holding her like this."
"Oh, yes," she breathed, followed by a horrified, "No!"
What had she been thinking? She could feel his quizzing glass against her spine, which she was certain Amanda would find quite uncomfortable. "Lady Amanda wouldn't like this at all," she said, twisting out of his embrace. "You're right. It's entirely too crowded here today." She pushed through the throng and began retracing their steps back to Frances. "I believe we should fetch my aunt and leave. You cannot be late to Parliament if you're giving a speech tonight."
Frances was still sitting where they'd left her, gazing happily into space.
"Come along, Auntie," Juliana said.
It took a few minutes for the coachman to bring James's carriage around—a few minutes during which she marveled that her macaroons had had such an astounding effect. No sooner had they climbed into the carriage than she burrowed into the basket to count how many macaroons were left.
"What are you doing?" James asked.
"I forgot to keep some for myself." She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule. "I'm sure Aunt Frances will want some."
"I don't need any macaroons, child." Her aunt patted her newly golden-brown hair. "A lady should keep a trim figure."
Frances had never had a care for her figure before. "Corinna will want some, then," Juliana said, piling them onto her handkerchief. She couldn't leave all the macaroons for James. She needed some for the duke, and besides, the mere thought of James eating nine macaroons made her cringe. Nine! If three had ma
de him so amorous, nine would likely bring on behavior Amanda might never forgive.
James took the basket and peeked inside. "One? You cannot leave me just one."
Maybe he was right. She did want him to act warmly toward Amanda tomorrow night—just not as warmly as in the museum. "Two, then." She put one back in the basket and folded the handkerchief around the remaining seven. "But don't eat them until right before the ball tomorrow," she instructed as she slipped the bundle into her reticule. "You're going to need extra stamina, so you mustn't forget."
NINETEEN
"I CANNOT SEE," Frances complained. "I should never have let you talk me into taking off my spectacles."
"But you look beautiful, Auntie." Juliana patted her on the arm. "Just wait until Lord Malmsey gazes into your big blue eyes. You won't be sorry then." Having just arrived at Lady Partridge's ball, she looked around for the man in question, smiling when she spotted him across the room. "There he is."
"Where?" Frances glanced around wildly. "I cannot see him."
"Right there, Auntie. Leaning on the mantel." Since it was quite cold for June, Lady Partridge had ordered the fireplaces lit on both ends of her impressive ballroom. "Come along. I'll take you to him."
Frances drew a deep breath and smoothed her soft peach dress down her sides, eyeing her lower-than-usual décolletage—although it wasn't very low compared to what most of the ladies were wearing tonight. "Do I look all right?"
"You look perfect," Juliana assured her, taking her arm as they started across the room. It was true. Frances looked much younger in the fashionable dress with her hair dyed and styled, and Juliana's skillful hand with the cosmetics had completed her transformation. She seemed to be trembling, but there was nothing Juliana could do to help that.
Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Page 12