by Brenda Hiatt
He picked them up and sat back down by the desk. He lit an additional branch of candles, setting it on the desk so he could better examine the contents of the boxes. The first was made of tin, embossed with designs that put him in mind of pictures he had seen in his rakish forebears’ collection. He opened it, and was not completely surprised at its contents. Although he had never seen such things before, he knew their use. Apparently Uncle Harold had been prudent enough to prevent contracting diseases, and perhaps even to avoid siring by-blows on his mistresses.
He set the box aside, and took up the smaller one. When he opened it, a delicate brooch studded with sapphires and diamonds glittered up from the black velvet lining the box. He stared at it in surprise. He remembered having settled his uncle’s account with Rundell and Bridge last week, but he had thought Uncle Harold had already given this gift to his latest mistress. Apparently he had died before he’d had the chance.
Marcus stared down at the brooch. He told himself not to be superstitious, but he could not help thinking it was some sort of a sign. He took the brooch out of the box and turned it so the gems glittered in the candlelight. They reminded him of Mademoiselle Juliette’s eyes.
I cannot, he thought to himself. It would be mad.
He closed his palm on the brooch, hiding its fire. He would sell it, along with everything else of value in this house. To the best of his recollection, Uncle Harold had paid a hundred guineas for it. Though beautifully made, it was a small thing, not as opulent as some of the other jewelry Marcus knew Uncle Harold had given his mistresses in the past. It would probably fetch about eighty guineas.
He opened his palm again and turned the brooch again, watching the fiery brilliants and the more subtle, mysterious gleam of the sapphires. What did eighty guineas mean, after all? He needed tens of thousands if he wished to restore the family fortunes, and he was not going to get them.
I should not, he told himself, closing his hand around the brooch, feeling its delicate setting press against his palm, imagining how it might look on the right, perfect breast.
He arose from the seat and paced restlessly about the room, still holding the brooch. Duty and desire dueled within him. Was it wrong to wish for sweet, fleeting pleasure before facing ruin? He stopped by the fire and stared into its gleaming, hot center, as he contemplated the years of toil and self-denial that stretched before him.
I will.
Desire had won.
Chapter Seven
Juliana sat at the small dressing table in her bedchamber, applying the layer of rouge without which she did not dare leave the house. Yesterday, Jenny had helped her restore the reddish tone to her hair, which had just begun to fade. Juliana looked at herself in the mirror, deciding that if the masquerade went much longer, she would forget what she looked like.
She felt listless, and knew the reason. It was foolish to think about Lord Dare; he might already be gone from London. But she could not forget how he had made her feel. He had desired her, for herself, and not for her fortune. Of course that desire was not honorable, and it was unthinkable to yield to it, but for some reason she felt more flattered than offended. She only knew that having been kissed by Dare, she could not even think of marrying the dreadfully respectable suitor Grandpapa had chosen for her.
Still, she was beginning to miss Grandpapa, particularly since Jenny had related the little adventure that had befallen her earlier today when she had gone out for her first walk in a long time. Perhaps Grandpapa would relent, now that he’d dismissed the Bow Street Runner hired to find her. She hoped so.
Later that evening, in the Green Room, Juliana felt unusually vulnerable in her scanty costume. Jeremy Plumbrook and his friends were not in evidence, and neither, of course, was Lord Dare. Conscious of admiring looks from several young bucks who strolled in, she turned to the mirror and pretended to be concentrating on her steps.
She was so absorbed that at first she did not notice a tall gentleman making his way toward her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the others move aside to let him by, almost as if they were afraid of him. Irrationally, she hoped it was Dare, then she saw that the gentleman coming toward her was a trifle shorter than Dare, his hair and eyes darker.
What beastly luck! It was Lord Verwood, the rake who had eloped with and then abandoned poor Catherine to her fate last summer. As he approached, Juliana prayed he would not recognize her.
“My, my,” he murmured in a silky voice, as his gaze roved slowly over her, taking in every detail of her person and her shocking attire.
“Pardon, milord? You ’ave the advantage of me,” she said, with a coquettish smile.
“I am desolated to think you have forgotten me, Miss Hutton,” he replied, coming closer to her and speaking softly so no one else could hear.
How could he have guessed so quickly? Despite a sinking feeling in her stomach, Juliana forced herself to stay calm.
“I do not understand, monsieur. Perhaps you ’ave mistaken me for someone else?”
“Not at all, my dear. I never forget a face… or a figure, particularly when they are as memorable as yours. Surely you do not think a false French accent, some hair dye and the application of some rouge would fool an old friend like me?”
It was no use dissembling any longer.
“You are no friend of mine, Lord Verwood,” she replied, as sternly as she could without raising her voice. “Now that you have satisfied your curiosity, please leave me. I have nothing to say to you.”
“But I have much to ask of you!” he said, arching his eyebrows. “For instance, what has led you to embark on such a mad escapade? No, let me guess. Your grandfather wishes you to marry some appallingly dull lord, and this is your way of showing your defiance.”
“How do you know?” Juliana asked. His knowledge of people and events was almost uncanny.
“I make it my business to know many things,” he replied. “Have you no thought of the consequences of such a masquerade?”
“It’s none of your affair, my lord. And if I am discovered, perhaps my grandfather would then allow me to go my own way.”
“You are bluffing,” he accused softly.
She colored. She did not wish her grandfather to undergo the embarrassment of a scandal, and Verwood knew it. How would he use his knowledge?
“Besides,” he continued, “there are other, even greater dangers attached to your situation. Not the least of them is being imposed on by unscrupulous members of the opposite sex.”
“Such as you?”
“Who better to understand the dangers? However, in this case I assure you I mean you no harm,” he said, with a smile that would have tempted her to believe him, had she not known better.
“What do you intend, then?”
“Perhaps I shall restore you to your grandfather.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Pure chivalry, my dear Miss Hutton.”
“I do not believe you, and in any case, I will not go.”
He sighed. “You are so like your friend Catherine. I should have expected you would be stubborn. Perhaps I am mad to offer to help one of you again, but I could assist you in this predicament.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You could marry me, ma belle. I promise I’d not be a restrictive husband, so long as you allow me the same freedom.”
“I am not such a fool. You were supposed to marry Cat, but instead you abandoned her to her fate. Pen was right. We should never have trusted you!”
“Miss Talcott is a very perceptive young woman,” he said, a hint of hardness in his dark eyes. “I am sure her assessment of my character is, in general, quite correct. However, in this case she is wrong. As a matter of fact, your friend Catherine is perfectly happy, and much better off than if I had married her.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you will, but understand this: I shall not leave you here to be prey to the rogues that prowl here.”
She realized she had been unconsciously backing away from him, and stopped. Just then, over Verwood’s shoulder, she saw an unexpected but most welcome sight. Her heart leapt as she saw Lord Dare making his way toward them. Why was he here? After such an impassioned parting kiss, why had he returned?
Verwood turned to follow her gaze. This was a ticklish situation indeed. Would he reveal what he knew of her to Dare? If Dare chose to protect her, it could come to a fight. In any case, her masquerade was now in serious jeopardy.
Barely had these thoughts flashed through her mind when Dare joined them.
“Good evening, Mademoiselle Juliette,” he said, making her a bow. As he straightened back up, he shot a warning look at Verwood before turning back toward her. “Has this gentleman been annoying you?”
His concern warmed her. Dare was clever and brave enough to be a match for Lord Verwood, and he was obviously willing and even eager to help her. But could she accept, without causing him harm or creating a shocking uproar?
“Lord Verwood and I have met before, milord Dare,” she replied. “We were discussing some mutual acquaintances, but I believe we have now said all we have to say to one another.”
She hoped Verwood would take the hint and leave, but annoyingly, he stood his ground.
“Lord Dare?” he drawled, bowing. “I believe I’ve not had the pleasure.”
“I have spent the past few years on the Continent,” said Dare, returning the bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Verwood.”
“No doubt my own visits to Paris and Vienna were too brief for our paths to have crossed,” Verwood replied smoothly.
Juliana watched the interplay between the two men, intrigued by Verwood’s hints that Dare was not what he seemed. Looking back at Dare, she noted a tension in his broad shoulders, and a wary look in his intelligent hazel eyes. She could see he was hiding some mystery, and yet she felt sure that whatever it was, it was not to his discredit. Given a choice between the two men, she knew whom she would trust.
“An unfortunate circumstance,” said Dare after a pause. His voice remained polite, but held a hint of a challenge as he continued. “Now that we have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted, I must beg you to allow me a word alone with Mademoiselle Juliette.”
“I am desolated to disappoint you, Dare, but I was engaged in warning Mademoiselle Juliette of the dangers of encouraging the advances of strange gentlemen. I do not believe she was attending to my wise words.”
“I believe Mademoiselle Juliette is capable of deciding for herself whose advances she would like to encourage.”
A thrill rushed through Juliana at his protective words, and the desire that radiated from him. Had something changed in his circumstances? Had he come for her?
But she could not think about that. It would be unsafe to encourage either of them. Now that Verwood had penetrated her disguise and seemed determined to get her under his control, she would have to think of a way to escape the opera house as soon as she completed her part in the ballet.
“You both flatter me! I fear I cannot make such a difficult choice when it is almost time for me to dance. I must beg you both to excuse me now.”
“Until later, then, ma belle,” said Verwood in a low, intimate voice.
Fury coursed through Juliana as she saw a flash of jealousy in Dare’s changeable eyes. Did he really think she had arranged an assignation with Verwood, as that scoundrel suggested?
“I am sorry, milord,” she said addressing herself to Verwood. “I shall be too tired after the performance to think of anything but my bed.”
“I should not wish you to think of anything else,” murmured Lord Verwood, bending toward her but speaking just loudly enough for Dare to hear.
She pretended to ignore Verwood, but her heart was heavy. She would not only have to find a way to escape the theatre undetected by either of them, she would also have to think of a new guise and a new haven in which to await Grandpapa’s decision. It was time to truly end her association with Lord Dare. Without even the solace of another farewell kiss.
“Au revoir, milord Dare,” she said softly, trying to express with her eyes all the passion and all the wishes she could not voice in front of Verwood.
“Au revoir, Mademoiselle Juliette,” he replied, his voice a caress and a promise, a captivating light in his eyes. Regret assailed her; she should not have encouraged him with that long, passionate look. Perhaps he too would try to seek her out after the performance. For both their sakes, she would have to avoid him, even though her whole being cried out to be held in his strong embrace once more.
Not risking a backward glance, she hurried out of the room.
Marcus tried not to stare at Juliette as she sped away, though desire, hope, jealousy and uncertainty churned inside him. Had he misunderstood her final look at him?
“Well, it has been a pleasure, Verwood,” he said, striving to match the other man’s easy air. “However, if we do not take our seats soon we shall miss Mademoiselle Juliette’s performance.”
“That would be a great shame. For you, that is. For myself, I hope to be favored with a more private performance, later this evening. You would do well not to interfere.”
Verwood’s warning only incensed Marcus further, but he bit down on the angry words that arose to his lips. If his instincts were correct, Juliette feared Lord Verwood for some reason. If that was the case, it was better that Lord Verwood did not suspect Marcus would help her.
“I see that I have misunderstood the situation. I beg your pardon, Verwood,” he said, forcing out the meek words despite his longing to plant the other man a facer.
“I am delighted that you see reason,” replied Verwood, but Marcus could not be sure whether he was convinced. “Now you must hurry, or you shall miss the ballet.”
“I’ve no wish to see it now,” he said, assuming the peevish mien of a rival who knew himself beaten. “I bid you goodnight.”
He bowed and left, hearing Verwood’s tread behind him. They parted ways soon, as Verwood turned to enter the pit. Once Verwood was out of sight, Marcus doubled back. As swiftly as he could despite his bad leg, he ascended the steps, past the level of the balcony boxes, to the high gallery that spanned the upper reaches of the theatre. He looked down, and thought he could make out Verwood’s tall, dark-clad form at the end of one of the crimson-padded benches below.
The ballet had already begun. Juliette was on the stage with the other dancers, her delightful form ethereal in the distance. Later, he would try to find her in the backstage area and offer her his escort to wherever she wished to go. He had asked Barnes to discreetly prepare for a possible female visitor, and Barnes had been delighted by the request. Uncle Harold must have upon occasion entertained a mistress at home, shocking as it was. Barnes apparently found Marcus’s plans proof of his infallible Redwyck blood.
Marcus could only hope his butler was right. The way Juliette had looked at him made Marcus restless with longing, and he paced the gallery, watching her, only half-conscious of curious glances from the servants and idlers who frequented the gallery.
Did she reciprocate his desire? Was she, perhaps, even becoming fond of him, in her cynical way? Why did she fear Lord Verwood? Had he been her lover? She had spoken of lovers who had been too possessive. It was possible that Verwood had frightened her, even used violence. She might even have assumed her new guise in the hope of avoiding Verwood, not as a means of advancing her career on the stage, as she had said earlier.
Marcus’s fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of that scoundrel menacing his Juliette. Jaded and mercenary as she was, she still deserved to have the freedom to make her own decisions.
Especially in the choice of a lover.
Marcus continued to pace, glancing at the stage occasionally to check on the prog
ress of the ballet, and then down into the pit to be sure Verwood was still there. The final scene involved only the two principals. When Marcus saw Juliette dance off the stage, he looked down into the pit and saw that Verwood had arisen from his seat.
Marcus hurried out of the gallery, descended the stairs as quickly as he could and hastened toward the backstage area. Hearing a number of voices issuing from one of the doors, he decided that must be the common dressing room shared by the members of the corps de ballet. He took a deep breath, and entered the room. He was greeted by stares, giggles and coy shrieks from dancers in various stages of undress. Repressing his embarrassment, he scanned the dimly lit, crowded room, but could not find Juliette. The elderly little Frenchwoman he remembered from his first night at the opera came forward, bristling, her dark eyes shining menacingly up at him.
“You are wasting your time if you seek Mademoiselle Lamant, milord,” said the woman. “She has already gone.”
“Madame, you misunderstand,” he replied in French, hoping this would inspire her to trust him. “I am not the villain from whom Mademoiselle Juliette flees. It is Lord Verwood. Please tell me which way she has gone, so I may help her.”
The woman’s brows came together in a frown. “Lord Verwood! He has a bad reputation, that one.” She stared up at Marcus for an instant, then motioned with her hand. “Juliette went that way, toward the second stage entrance. Hurry!”
Marcus did not tarry, but sped through the backstage area toward the indicated entrance, praying he was not too late. Out under the colonnade in front of the theatre, he peered up then down the street. The street was full of carriages awaiting their owners, but there were not very many pedestrians about. The performance must not have ended yet.
Then Marcus saw Juliette further down the street, wearing her dark green pelisse, Verwood beside her. They appeared to be heading toward one of the carriages. For an instant, Marcus’s heart plummeted. Perhaps Juliette had merely been pretending to resist Verwood, all the while plotting an assignation with him. Verwood did have the appearance of a very wealthy man.