Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2)

by Royal, Lauren

  She pulled his head down and kissed him again, a quick, joyous kiss.

  "I'm never going to last until next Saturday," he said. "I need macaroons for extra stamina."

  "Oh," she said with a sigh, and then, "You know what, James? I don't want there to be any more secrets between us."

  "I agree," he said. "No secrets, and no lies."

  "I never lie," she said, sounding a little defensive. "Well, I did lie to that dratted doctor, but I never lie unless it's absolutely unavoidable. I don't want any lies, either, and no half-truths." She drew a deep breath. "The macaroons don't really lend a man stamina," she confessed in a rush.

  "Oh, really?" He snickered.

  "Did you snicker at me? Me, the woman you want to marry?"

  Well, maybe he had, but only because he found her little superstitions so amusing. He wasn't superstitious at all, and he couldn't quite believe anyone would think macaroons could lend a man stamina. Or do anything else, either, other than taste delicious.

  But he hadn't snickered in a nasty way; he'd only snickered because he loved her, and he loved all her little quirks, especially this one. "I didn't snicker," he said, although that meant he was already telling her a half-truth.

  He'd been married before, so he knew some half-truths were necessary to sustain a harmonious relationship. But he wouldn't tell her a half-truth unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

  "All right," she said, and then, in a lower tone, "I actually baked them to make you amorous."

  "Oh, really?" he repeated, but he didn't snicker. He was actually feeling quite amorous at the moment, even without her macaroons, which made sense because there was no way macaroons could make a man amorous, either. But he loved that she thought they did. "You're a treasure, Juliana," he told her, hoping she'd bake him macaroons many, many times in the years to come.

  Hoping very hard.

  And then he kissed her again and left, and went home and spent the rest of the night with his fingers crossed, even though he wasn't superstitious.

  FIFTY-ONE

  IN THE END, Amanda was the one who objected.

  Shaking like a leaf, she arrived at Juliana's house at quarter past ten. "What took you so long?" Juliana asked. "You were supposed to be here at ten. You only live down the street."

  "It was this dress." She brushed at enormous, voluminous white skirts that were at least twenty years out of fashion. Dear heavens, they were so wide there had to be hoops under them. "Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder in a dress this big?"

  "Why are you wearing it?"

  Amanda looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "It's my grandmother's wedding dress. It's a tradition in my family to wear it."

  Fifty years out of fashion, then. The skirts were actually somewhat yellowed, not pure white. "You're not getting married today, Amanda. That's the whole point of going to talk to Lord Neville."

  "After I told my father I was getting dressed for my wedding, I couldn't very well not do that, could I?" She looked to the duke. "Besides, we're getting married today, aren't we?"

  "Not today," the duke said stiffly. "A ducal wedding generally requires some months of preparation."

  "If you love a woman," James said disparagingly, "I should think you'd want to marry her as soon as possible."

  Juliana thought she heard him mutter "what an ass" under his breath, but surely he wouldn't say that. Not about a duke. And she worried for a moment that the duke would blurt out that he didn't actually love Amanda, but only held her in some affection, which could ruin everything.

  But thankfully that didn't happen. They all walked next door to Lord Neville's house, and James banged the knocker.

  The gaunt butler answered. "Yes?"

  "We've come to call on Lord Neville," Juliana said.

  The old fellow's eyes widened when he spotted Amanda in a wedding dress that his own bride could have worn fifty years ago, assuming he'd ever married, which he probably hadn't since most people required their butlers to remain bachelors. But he was a mannerly sort of butler, so he didn't say anything. About that, anyway. "Wait in the drawing room, if you please," he said instead, "and I shall see if Lord Neville is at home."

  Viscount Neville was at home, of course. He spent his evenings with various mistresses or at his club, which meant he was never out and about very early. In fact, he came downstairs looking a bit rumpled, as though perhaps his valet had needed to drag him out of bed.

  Juliana could see right off that he was Amanda's father. Amanda fit in age between Emily's two brothers, the one who was married and the other one who was away at Cambridge most of the year. Lord Neville was blond and gray-eyed like both of his daughters, and tall like both of his daughters, too. And as he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn't surprised to learn that he'd slept with Amanda's mother.

  Or at least not as surprised as she'd have been a few weeks ago. It seemed she lived on a very promiscuous street. Besides Lord Neville sleeping with Amanda's mother, Lord Wolverston had slept with the late Duchess of Castleton when she'd lived in Juliana's house.

  It was a good thing she and James would be living in St. James's Place, not Berkeley Square. Assuming everything worked out, that was. She really couldn't wait any longer to find out.

  No one was saying anything, and, in fact, Viscount Neville seemed a little mystified to find all these people in his house. He seemed especially fascinated by Amanda in her ancient wedding dress. Juliana was dying to resolve everything, so she figured she might as well just spit it out. "Lord Neville, are you Lady Amanda's father? She has a fleur-de-lis birthmark in the same place as you and Emily."

  Amanda gasped and blushed wildly, and Juliana was sorry to embarrass her, because she knew Amanda considered that private. But she figured it was better to come out and say it than to wait and have Lord Neville ask to see it, which would have been even more embarrassing for Amanda.

  "I've been wondering about that," Lord Neville said slowly, "for twenty-three years. Please, let me explain."

  Lord Neville had been between wives when Amanda was conceived. He'd been very much in love with Lady Amanda's mother, but Lord Wolverston had refused her the divorce she wanted. Unfortunately, it was impossible for a woman to divorce a man, although a man could divorce his wife if she'd been unfaithful. Lord Neville and Lady Wolverston weren't precisely sure that the child she was carrying was the viscount's, so they'd been planning to wait to see if the baby had the Neville birthmark, and if that proved to be true, they'd planned to use it as leverage to pressure the earl for the divorce. He wasn't the sort of man who would have wanted word out on the street that he'd been cuckolded, especially if they'd had the proof to show all of society. His honor meant everything to him. He put his reputation before everyone else's happiness.

  "Well, that's certainly the truth," Juliana muttered.

  "I'm so sorry, my dear," Lord Neville said to Amanda. Her face had gone rather white, and she was looking at him. Just looking at him. He started walking toward her. "I was terribly distressed when your mother died giving birth and Lord Wolverston refused to let me even see you. He wasn't a very nice man."

  "He still isn't," Juliana said.

  "I never knew for sure whether you were my daughter," Lord Neville continued, still walking toward Amanda, who was still just looking at him. "I hoped you were, but there was no way to find out. As you grew, I would see you sometimes, and I thought more than once about asking you if you had the birthmark. But you seemed a very reserved young lady, and I feared such a question would shock you clear down to your toes."

  "It would have," Juliana said.

  Lord Neville was standing right in front of Amanda now. "I also feared Lord Wolverston might treat you harshly, suspecting you might not carry his blood in your veins—"

  "He did," Juliana interrupted.

  Lord Neville hung his head. "I'm so sorry."

  Amanda suddenly came to life. She was a very reserved woman, so she didn't jump into Lord Neville's arms
like Juliana might have done, but she finally opened her mouth.

  "Don't be sorry," she said. "I understand. And I'm so glad you're my father instead of Lord Wolverston."

  Lord Neville did gather her into his arms then, embracing her tightly. Amanda's arms went around him, too, although they stayed rather loose.

  "I'm glad that's settled," the duke declared. "Now we can start planning our wedding for next summer."

  And that's when Amanda objected.

  She released Lord Neville—heaven forbid she should stay too close to a man, even a man she'd just discovered was her father—and turned to the duke. "I object to that plan," she said, and then she added disparagingly, "If you love me, I should think you'd want to marry me as soon as possible."

  Once again, Juliana feared the duke might blurt out that he didn't precisely love Amanda, which could ruin everything. But he didn't. Instead he stood there with his mouth open, just looking at her.

  Amanda lifted her chin. "I'm wearing my grandmother's wedding dress. I think we should elope right now to Gretna Green."

  "That wouldn't be very ducal," he finally said, "and, in fact, it would be highly improper."

  Amanda raised her chin higher. "I don't care," she said. "I'm tired of being proper. I want to marry you now."

  And then she gave him the look. She glanced down, bowing her head a little to display her lashes against her cheeks. Then she swept her eyelids up, gazed at the duke full on again, and slowly—very slowly—curved her lips in a seductive smile.

  The duke didn't fall at her feet. But he did sigh and say, "Very well, then."

  Juliana was shocked. Positively shocked. When she'd tried that on the duke, he hadn't reacted at all.

  Obviously she'd been right that he and Amanda were ideal for each other. The duke needed Amanda. With Amanda in his life, he might learn to be affectionate and manage to sire a child inside of a decade.

  James's arm stole around Juliana's waist, in front of everyone. He pulled her against his side, where she fit perfectly. "Everything worked out," he said in that low, chocolatey voice that made a shiver run through her.

  Though everything probably had worked out, it was too wonderful to quite believe. Especially because someone could still make an objection. "What about Lord Wolverston?" she asked Amanda, crossing her fingers. "He might still have an objection."

  "He's not my father," Amanda reminded her, flashing a smile at Lord Neville. "I have no obligation to obey him. And I couldn't care a fig about my inheritance. David is all I need."

  It was too bad Amanda didn't want the duke instead of needing him, Juliana thought. But neither of them possessed enough emotion for anything that strong. And with her help, Amanda was changing. Perhaps she wasn't quite a swan yet, but she was far from being an ugly duckling.

  Juliana uncrossed her fingers, thinking she was so, so thankful that everything had turned out all right. "Oh, James, I'm sure I've never, ever been so happy," she breathed, turning to him and throwing her arms around him. And then, her heart swelling so much she feared it might burst, she kissed him in front of everyone.

  It was a divine sensation. He tasted of love and lust and James, which made her senses begin whirling in an oh-so-familiar way.

  "Ahem."

  The caress was over all too quickly. She broke apart from James to find the duke gaping at them, looking very disapproving. Unlike Amanda, he hadn't changed much. But after all, it had taken an entire childhood of cold treatment to turn him into the man he was today. She shouldn't be surprised if it took more than a few years with Amanda to counteract that.

  And Juliana had changed. She'd learned a lesson. And she had a declaration.

  "I'm never going to meddle again," she said.

  James snickered, and everyone else laughed.

  "THANK YOU very much," one of the Foundling Hospital's Governors said in the Committee Room that afternoon. "Our next reception day is the second Saturday in August."

  "The tenth?" Juliana asked.

  "Yes," another Governor confirmed. "We very much appreciate you donating the baby clothes, my dear."

  James held his tongue until they were outside in the Hospital's courtyard. But he couldn't contain himself any longer than that. "I cannot believe you committed to making more baby clothes! You're exhausted and overwhelmed!"

  "How can I deny these poor children anything I'm able to give?" Juliana gestured to all the girls exercising in their matching uniforms. "If, due to my donation, only one more baby can be accommodated, only one more mother restored to work and a life of virtue, it will be so worth it."

  Apparently seeing he wasn't convinced, she moved closer and reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. She smelled of sunshine and flowers.

  "I know what I'm getting into this time," she said. "I can pace myself better. Last time I started with just one party a week, but now I know—"

  "You're not having any more sewing parties," he interrupted. "I'll hire people to make the baby clothes."

  "Much as I love you for doing that yesterday, this shouldn't be your responsibility. You have enough trouble finding people to hire for the Institute."

  "You solved that problem for me, and I won't have any trouble hiring seamstresses. My former assistants all owe me favors."

  "I should say so. You gave them fifty pounds each! Do you realize that's enough to cover a small family's expenses for two years? You're too nice, James. You're too generous."

  He could never be too nice or too generous to her. She deserved everything he could give her and more. Quirks and all, there couldn't be a more wonderful woman in all of London—nay, in all of the world—than Juliana.

  She was a treasure. She was exactly what he'd needed to make his life complete. He didn't know how he was going to wait until next Saturday.

  "None of those former assistants will have to give their babies to the Foundling Hospital," he reminded her. "But they cannot really work, either; no one will allow them to bring their children to a place of employment. Yet they can sew the baby clothes at home, and I'm sure they can use the extra income even with my fifty pounds."

  "But you need to save your money to pay for smallpox vaccinations."

  "Oh, my precious Juliana." Was there another woman anywhere as concerned for everyone else? "I don't have enough money to rid the world of smallpox by myself, but I can do my part here in London and still afford to pay a few seamstresses. And buy you beautiful dresses and anything else you ever want. I'm not a pauper, you know."

  "I know. You set your table with gold spoons."

  "They're sterling plated in gold," he informed her.

  "I figured that out." She sighed. "Are you sure you don't want me to make baby clothes?"

  She wasn't particularly good at it, and there wasn't another lady of the ton who wanted to do anything more with a needle than embroider and make samplers. But then, no other aristocratic ladies he knew set foot in the kitchen, either. Juliana was different, and that was why he loved her.

  He smiled down at her, loving her more than he'd ever thought possible, wanting her more than he wanted his own life. The next seven days were going to be hell.

  Sheer, utter, excruciating hell.

  "Of course I want you to make baby clothes," he told her. "For our babies."

  And he watched her eyes turn blue before he kissed her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Saturday, August 10

  Cainewood Castle

  WHEN JULIANA had dreamed of walking down the aisle the past few weeks, she'd often pictured the duke. But she'd never imagined Amanda on the man's arm. Yet here in her family's ancient chapel, as she turned to face her guests after the ceremony, she glimpsed the two of them and realized her wedding picture was perfect.

  Even with a snake accompanying the flower girl.

  Everything had worked out. Emily had never come down with smallpox, and the Lambourne girls had recovered. Since Amanda and the duke had returned from Gretna Green, Juliana had sometimes se
en them holding hands, and she was beginning to think they might make a child within a year. And miracle of miracles, Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey had already started a child. Juliana had returned from delivering the baby clothes to find the two of them waiting in the drawing room with a minister and a special license. Two weeks later, Frances had missed her monthly.

  Everyone was happy.

  Except for James.

  She could feel the tension in his arm, and, gazing up at him as they walked back up the aisle, she feared he was gritting his teeth. He'd been so frustrated when Frances, his aunts, and his mother had all insisted on having a full month to plan this wedding, and even more frustrated to find that the preparations had proved so consuming—and all the older women in his life suddenly so vigilant—that the two of them had found it impossible to steal even a moment of private time.

  Well, she'd been frustrated, too, of course. But after all, she planned on marrying only once. She'd needed a wedding dress, and she'd wanted everything to be perfect. And although she knew James was so proficient at making her lose her head that she'd have been moaning and giving in had he managed to get her alone for thirty seconds, she'd suspected that waiting until they were married would make their wedding night that much more special.

  Besides, sharing a bed before the wedding would have been highly improper. True, she wasn't reserved, but she did try her best to do what was right. She wasn't a rebel like Corinna. Kissing before marriage was one thing, making love quite another.

  Still and all, waiting had been terribly difficult, and she'd found herself relieved a couple of weeks ago when Parliament adjourned, meaning the season ended and everyone dispersed to their estates in the countryside. James had stayed in London to help his mother move to his aunts' house, and the four of them had arrived here only last night.

  The hours since then had proved to be sheer, utter, excruciating hell for them both.

  As they emerged from the chapel into Cainewood's quadrangle, James ran his hand down all the little covered buttons on the back of her beautiful white wedding dress. "There. We're married. Can I make love to you now?"