by Diana Lloyd
Winchcombe’s frustration and obvious care for his brother softened Julianna’s temper. The poor fellow, like her, was just trying to prevent a wrong. She would go to any lengths to help her father; maybe Winchcombe felt the same way about his brother. It was increasingly hard to dislike his determination.
“This way.” Julianna turned down the hall. She knew this house. She’d been creeping around it the past month, using the servants’ stairwells and gangways to avoid encounters with her aunt. Pressing the latch hidden within the woodwork, she stepped into a walkway.
“Do you even know where the library is?” His skepticism was irritating. She’d risked all to warn him. The least he could do was trust her.
“I’ve been staying here while in London.” Grabbing up his hand, Julianna pulled him along the dim, narrow hall. Brushing her thumb against his palm revealed he’d slipped off his glove somewhere between the garden and the ballroom. Her steps faltered when he gave her hand a questioning squeeze in return.
“Whose house is this?”
“My aunt and uncle’s. Lady Dunwoody is my father’s sister. Don’t you even know whose party you’re attending?”
“No. My brother made the arrangements and dragged me along. Not unlike what you’re doing now. The invitation was unexpected. I haven’t been out in Society for…well, ever, actually.”
“I don’t think you’ve missed much.” Her month-long taste of London consisted of daily harangues by her aunt and silent tears of heartbreak into her pillow at night. Her father had made a trip to London to visit relatives sound so reasonable, a jolly adventure to recover from heartbreak. Pain of unrequited love had blinded her eyes to the chaos raining down upon Boston. She’d been a fool to leave and with every passing day feared that she may never return.
“My thoughts exactly. I am not naturally a social creature.”
“Why the library?” She hurried them along the narrow walkway, pausing once to flatten herself against the wall to let a servant pass by. Aware of both the tight quarters and his large hand in hers, she looked away so he wouldn’t see her blushing.
“My brother is obsessed with books.” Winchcombe maneuvered himself around the harried servant. “He also admires a certain miss who admires books.”
“You think they might be in the library admiring each other?” If ever there was a cause that would steel her courage and resolve to see this rescue through, it was love.
“My brother has sacrificed much for me. I cannot stand by while your cousin springs her trap and he misses his chance at happiness.”
“I’m glad I wrote the note.” Hand in hand, she hurried him down the hallway. “If I can stop an injustice to another person, it is my duty to do so.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
“It’s what decent people do.” Down the hallway and up a closed staircase used by the servants, they popped out into the main hallway in front of a pair of double doors. “These doors lead to the library, but they’re closed. Do you think we should…”
Without waiting for her to finish, he grabbed the latches and threw the doors open, revealing a perfectly ordinary and uninhabited library.
“Dammit,” he cursed.
“Oliver?” Outside the glow of the room’s lone brace of candles and nearly hidden by the draperies, a man wearing a silver domino matching her companion’s mask stepped out of the shadows.
“Penry?”
“I say, Oliver, this is highly irregular. What are you about, crashing in here and cursing like a madman?” Penry Chalford spared Julianna a single curious glance as he addressed his brother. From behind him, a figure in a pale, modest gown stepped into the light.
“Miss Bartleby.” Oliver bowed to the woman, who made an unsuccessful attempt at hiding her face behind a lace fan. “You need to leave. Now,” Oliver said, addressing his brother again.
“What the devil have you done?” Pulling off his mask, Penry Chalford regarded his brother with suspicion.
“Me? Nothing. There is a young lady sharpening her claws to sink them into your sorry hide this evening. If you value Miss Bartleby, you will be long gone before she can spring the trap.”
“Oliver!” Penry stepped between his brother and his female companion, as if he could shield her from the reality of Oliver’s words. He turned and narrowed his gaze on Julianna.
“Not her.” Oliver cut him off before he could mount a protest. “She’s the one who warned me.”
“It’s my cousin, you see,” Julianna explained. “And she is determined to orchestrate a compromising situation my aunt will conveniently discover.” A soft gasp erupted from behind Miss Bartleby’s fan.
“Your cousin is Dunwoody’s daughter?” Penry asked. Julianna swallowed hard to gain herself another second of time to think. This rescue was becoming more and more dangerous for her by the moment.
“Yes,” she admitted at last. “She’s quite sure that you’re the earl. Lady Udele isn’t stupid, not about titles and such. If she thinks you’re Winchcombe, there’s a reason for it.”
“Good heavens.” Miss Bartleby’s fan dropped away and she reached for Penry’s arm for support. They exchanged a look of such besotted devotion that Julianna’s heart skipped a beat from jealousy.
“I’m not Winchcombe,” Penry said as he walked over and stood next to his brother. “By our design, everyone was meant to think that I was until Oliver took his seat in the House of Lords.”
“Aren’t there laws against impersonating nobility?” Looking from one brother to the other, Julianna put her hands on her hips. She thought she was saving one man from treachery—was she now saving both?
“We did it because of this.” Untying his domino, Oliver pulled it free and tossed it to the floor.
“Oh.” A small sound of surprise escaped Julianna’s lips before she could stop it. The domino had hidden all but the edges of his scarred face. The scar started just above his left eye, bisecting his eyebrow. The shiny, slightly puckered scar zigzagged across the bridge of his nose like a bolt of lightning, contorting the right side of his mouth into a perpetual frown.
“As so many found my countenance frightening, upon my father’s death I devised a scheme wherein Penry would be the face of the earl while I functioned as the earl in all legal matters.”
“You’re twins.” She hadn’t intended to state the obvious, but the revelation shocked her into speech. With the brothers now standing side by side, even in the candlelight, Julianna could see that, other than the scar, they were identical.
“Yes,” Oliver replied. “I’m the elder by nearly a quarter hour, making me the rightful earl.”
“I told you it was a foolish plan from the start.” Penry shook his head peevishly. “You had to come to Town to claim your seat in the House of Lords eventually. Someone was bound to notice.”
“I never said it was a perfect plan. I don’t recall hearing you complain much. Was it not on one of those assignments that you met Miss Bartleby?”
“I agreed to be your emissary. I never should have agreed to you hiding yourself away at Winchcombe Abbey.” Penry might have said more but was stopped by Miss Bartleby’s hand on his arm.
“Thank you, Lord Winchcombe, and you, miss, for your kind consideration.” Miss Bartleby spoke up at last. At her pleading look, Penry nodded his silent thanks to Julianna and his brother.
“Penry, see Miss Bartleby back to her chaperone, then take the carriage and leave as quickly as you can.”
“What about you?” Penry led Miss Bartleby to the doorway before turning back with a pleading look to his brother.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll escort your savior back to the ballroom, and then walk home.” With one more worried glance in their direction, Penry offered his arm to Miss Bartleby and led her from the library, closing the doors behind them.
“If your brother is meant to be the
face of the earl, why were you both here this evening?” With her mission accomplished, Julianna took advantage of the privacy to ask the question at the forefront of her mind. As her father always said, she could be like a pup after a juicy bone when her curiosity was piqued.
“I came to town to claim my seat in Parliament. The invitation for this evening’s ball was an unsolicited surprise. Penry and I decided that this small affair so early in the season would be my reintroduction into Society.” He’d lowered his voice, not quite a whisper but spoken in the reverent tone people used for churches, libraries, and the revelation of meaningful secrets. “And a masked fête suited my purposes.”
“You didn’t take my cousin into account.” Julianna walked to the nearest bookcase and ran her fingers along the leather spines. He had purposely hidden himself away while she’d always made efforts to be seen, be heard. How odd it was that their paths had crossed. “I was meant to be the most scandalous thing about the evening until Lady Udele sprang her trap.”
“What’s so scandalous about you?”
“The King has declared my home to be in rebellion against the crown. My Aunt Hester refers to me as ‘the rustic.’ Everywhere I go, people turn their heads and stare. The girl who put up my hair asked if I lived in a wigwam.”
“Ridiculous. Everyone knows colonists live in caves,” he said, quirking his mouth into a half smile.
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” They shared another smile before she continued. “It’s been rather like being on exhibition.”
“I know a little something about being stared at in public.” He moved closer and leaned toward her as he spoke. “You’re a lovely young woman. I’ll bet you’re smart as a whip. Not many would have been brave enough to help me. My brother and I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“No matter the consequence, I would do it again.” Heart swelling with all the emotion she’d hidden away since that long-ago afternoon when it had been torn in two, Julianna blinked back sudden tears. She could use a friend like Winchcombe, but it was more likely they’d never meet again.
“Thank you.” He brought a thumb to her cheek, ready to catch the tear, but she refused to let it fall. “I am your servant.” Oliver brought his face close to hers and, one second after she realized what he was about to do, pressed his lips against her cheek in the most sincere gesture of thanks that she could imagine.
“You’re welcome.” But the words alone were inadequate. Julianna turned her face, grazed her bottom lip against his, and whispered the word, “welcome” against his lips.
Chapter Two
She kissed him. And then she curved those perfectly formed lips into a sweet smile, never once making that face women made when looking at something unpleasant. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time a woman not in his employ had smiled at him.
Her features—eyes, nose, mouth—none remarkable on their own, achieved elegance on her face. Eyes, that at first glance might appear brown, were in truth polished amber. Her hair, a shade that might be mistaken for common brunette, transformed itself into a crown of exotic cinnamon and cocoa upon her head.
One so beautiful could never want me.
Had she returned his kiss, or was he dreaming? Had his imagination conjured up the soft fullness of her lips against his own? Real or not, once experienced, he wanted more. One taste of her was not enough. His eyes drifted closed as he pressed his disfigured mouth against her perfect one. Daring, for as long as she allowed it, his imperfect lips to feel the warmth of covering hers. And still he wanted more.
He slipped his arms around her, gathering her to his chest. Like a bloom-scented breeze or a wisp of smoke, she would soon drift away, never to be experienced again. But, for now, she was in his arms. Willingly, happily, and contentedly kissing the man from whom other women openly recoiled. It was too good to be true.
When finally their lips parted, he brought up his hand and brushed a fingertip across her full bottom lip. “So soft,” he whispered.
“Yours are…”
“Scarred?” he offered.
“Warm,” she replied. She smiled again. How easily smiles came to her. If she only knew how rare they were to him. He tried to return it and knew he failed. Surely now she would pull away to reveal she’d been mocking him all along. Instead, she reached a dainty hand up to his shoulder and pulled him closer. Her touch burned his skin through his evening clothes.
Oh, I am playing with fire.
She kissed him. No need to pinch himself awake from a dream—the kiss was as real as the woman in his arms. Drunk from her tenderness, he cradled her perfect face in his hands. Could it possibly be that such a beautiful creature was as lonely as he?
As if in answer to his thought, her lips parted and he felt the tip of her tongue flick against his lower lip. The sensation spread through him, across his shoulders, and all the way to his fingertips. Heat gathered in his chest and pooled low in his abdomen. He wiggled his toes in his boots to remind himself that he was standing in a library and not dreaming after all.
A shout of alarm erupted from the doorway. There was no mistaking its meaning and consequence. He’d heard it all too often in his life.
“Your name, miss. I must know it.” He lay his hand upon her arm. “Quickly.”
“Jul—” The library doors burst open.
A young woman with a large headdress and garish gown stood in the entry, her mouth a perfect O of shock and surprise. Stepping in front of his companion to shield her from whatever fresh hell was about to come crashing down around them, Oliver stood his ground. Defending himself was familiar territory. It was time Society knew just how beastly the new Earl of Winchcombe could be.
Squinting his eyes and curling his lip, he snarled at the intruder. It had the intended effect. She let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed to the floor in a heap.
Delicately bred women were so predictable. First they screamed, and then they fainted. He would use the confusion it caused as a diversion to rush his companion from the room. What had she said her name was? Oh, yes, Jewel.
“Run, Jewel. Go now.” She ran. But as she stepped over the prostrate figure at the doorway, the banshee roused and grabbed a handful of ball gown, stopping Jewel in her tracks.
“Udele, let go,” his brother’s savior pleaded. The scheming cousin. Her own trap failed, Lady Udele seemed determined that someone should be caught, and she engaged in a tug-of-war over the hem of Jewel’s gown.
“Let me go!” Pulling at her skirt, Jewel struggled to wrench it free from her cousin’s grasp.
“You!” The banshee spit out the word like a curse as she attempted to regain her feet while holding fast to a fistful of gown. “Hoyden,” she sputtered as she stood. “Whore.”
“Here, now!” Oliver jumped into the fray just as a new interloper grabbed Jewel by the elbow. He had to stop this before things really got out of hand. “Madam, I…”
The woman took one look at him and screamed.
Bloody fucking hell. Soon women would be pitching over like wickets.
“What have you done?” The old gal refused to conveniently faint as she demanded his reply. “What have you done?”
“Noth—”
“Mama, his hands were on her!” Lady Udele, still holding fast to Jewel’s gown, grabbed her arm as well.
“Beast! Molester!” The countess threw the insults at him without waiting for his response.
“Aunt Hester, please. It’s not what it seems.” Jewel’s protest sounded weak even to his ears. She wrenched herself free and stood between him and the cursing woman, as if she could somehow shield him from the ugly words being thrown at him. A kind gesture he knew would be futile.
“Who are you?” The woman demanded, her face ruddy with anger.
“I am Lord Winchcombe. And I have done nothing.” His declaration sent a ripple of whispers through the gatheri
ng crowd. Then he heard the new taunt. Not a very creative one, but it was at least original.
“Lord Scar has ruined the rustic. She let that…monster touch her.” Lady Udele shouted the words, playing to the growing audience drawn by her dramatics.
He would remember Jewel’s kiss and her smile. The revulsion and name-calling would roll off his back like water on a duck. He’d heard it all before, endured it all before. Despite Penry’s optimism, inheriting the title and claiming his rightful place in Society changed nothing. To others, he would always be a beast. The man-monster earl to be privately feared and publicly reviled.
Pushing himself through the crowd gathered in his library, The Earl of Dunwoody urged onlookers to return to the ballroom festivities. His next suggestion, worded most sternly, was that Oliver vacate the house. Immediately.
Compliance seemed the wisest course of action.
…
“Well?” Penry filled the doorway to the room Oliver used as his office during their temporary stay in London. Hat and gloves in hand, his brother was dressed to go calling and had the audacity to be smiling.
“Well, what?” Oliver moved the letter he was pretending to read so that it covered the short note he’d written and rewritten a dozen times that morning.
“I saw that.”
“Oh, shut up.” Having a twin, a kindred soul who understood your most intimate thoughts and motivations, was often a blessing. Today it was a bloody curse.
“You’re not dressed.” Penry arched an eyebrow at Oliver’s well-worn silk banyan. “Don’t ever say you only sent a note. That’s rather poor form.”
“I did not send a note.” Oliver crumpled up his latest attempt and tossed it to the fire grate, earning a squawk from his pet parrot, Jones, as it sailed by.
“That’s a relief. Hurry on then and get dressed. I’ll even ride over in the carriage with you for moral support. It’s not every day that one’s brother gets betrothed. Besides, I never did get a chance to properly thank the young miss for saving my life.”