by Anna Bennett
“We do not have an arrangement,” she countered, even as she dragged her gaze from his impossibly muscled thighs.
“Fine,” he amended. “We are working together for our mutual benefit.”
“No, we’re perpetrating a lie because you’ve placed me in an untenable position.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” He stretched, letting his arm rest on the back of the settee behind her, and his fingertips brushed against her shoulders—incidentally perhaps … it was difficult to be sure. Either way, the slightest touch had made her body thrum. “But we might as well make the best of the situation … vixen.”
Her eyes widened. “Stop that at once.”
“I was only jesting,” he said, grinning.
But he did have a point about their temporary alliance, blast it all. Regrettably, they would be spending an inordinate amount of time together, and until she could prove that Uncle Alistair was the rightful owner of this house, she had no choice but to trust Lord Travis. With one careless action or word, he could ruin her. Indeed, the shattering of reputations was all in a day’s work for an unapologetic rogue.
But she had no intention of falling victim, to either him or his charms.
“I am willing to form a truce with you,” she said, striving to keep her voice icy.
“Excellent,” he said smoothly. Hopefully. “There’s no reason we can’t make the next few days … pleasurable.”
Oh dear. “I’d prefer amicable.”
“Why split hairs?” he said, as if there were no distinction at all. “In any event, allow me to extend the first olive branch and make a gesture of good will. Simply tell me what you would like me to do.”
“Very well.” She sat a little straighter and folded her hands in her lap. “You may begin by acting the part of a gentleman.”
“Happy to oblige.” He pulled in his legs and squared his shoulders. “How am I doing so far?”
She cast a critical eye over him, from his slightly long sandy brown hair to the toes of his expensive boots. “Marginally better. However, there is still the matter of your cravat. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you my sister’s embroidery cloth is hardly an acceptable substitute.”
“You are correct,” he intoned formally. “I shall remove the offensive garment at once.”
Good heavens. As he grasped the cloth from behind his neck, she reached out with both hands to hold it in place. After all, a makeshift cravat was better than none at all. “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly.
But she was too late.
As he yanked the cloth free, it slid from beneath her fingers, leaving her palms on the tanned, warm skin of his neck and chest. Lord help her.
Stunned, she momentarily froze while Lord Travis lightly circled her wrists with his hands and tugged her closer.
“I’m trying to act like a gentleman,” he said hoarsely, “but it’s damned difficult in the face of so much temptation.” He stared at her lips, and her traitorous heart leapt in response.
“It wasn’t my intention to encourage you,” she whispered—but made no move to pull away.
“Perhaps not,” he breathed, “but you have earned yourself another name nonetheless … temptress.”
Chapter NINE
“I know what you’re doing,” Julie said coolly, as though touching a man’s bare neck was as commonplace for her as mending a sock.
“Tell me what I’m doing,” Lord Travis murmured, “because I have no idea.” His large hands still circled her wrists loosely, and his dark eyes searched her face.
“You are addressing me in a most indecorous manner, using highly improper names, so that your earlier request—to call me Juliette—will seem more palatable by comparison.”
“Is it working?” His deep voice, low and intimate, sent odd shivers through her body.
“Of course not. You shall not bully me into changing my mind.”
“Then I shall have to persuade you using other means.” His heavy-lidded gaze suggested he intended to employ his wickedest methods—and she wished she wasn’t desperately curious as to what they might be.
“I am not easily manipulated, Lord Travis,” she said, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was almost sitting in his lap.
“A moment ago, you called me Samuel,” he countered.
She sniffed. “I addressed you as Cousin Samuel. Besides, we were in the presence of my Uncle. I was merely keeping up the charade.”
“Fine. You may call me anything you like. Scoundrel, rake, sinner—take your pick.”
“I think not.” She tried not to stare at the light stubble on his chin. Tried not to think about what it might feel like beneath her lips. “You would probably consider any of them to be compliments.”
“No,” he said soberly. “But I’ve become accustomed to such labels.”
“Are they true?” The question had tumbled out of her mouth of its own accord. And yet she held her breath, awaiting his answer.
“Yes, they’re true.” He tugged her closer and touched his forehead to hers. Their breath mingled in the space between them. “At least ninety percent of the time.”
“So you are a rogue ninety percent of the time,” she repeated softly. “What are you the rest of the time?”
He released one of her wrists and brushed a thumb along the curve of her cheek. “I suppose that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
His words, spoken so earnestly, melted away her willpower, and she sank into his chest. His lips were a hair’s breadth away from hers. He slid his hand to her nape and traced little circles on her sensitive skin. The lightest of touches, and yet, she felt it throughout her body. Her belly somersaulted, her heart pounded, and the tips of her breasts tingled deliciously.
“Juliette.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head—
Knock. Knock.
Good heavens. They had a visitor. At the front door. While Julie was on the verge of kissing a notorious rogue. On the settee in her parlor.
Leaping off of him, she called, “I’ll answer the door, Mr. Finch.” While she frantically straightened her dress and smoothed her hair, she cast a pleading glance at Lord Travis. “I’m going to send the caller away. All I ask is that you remain silent and out of sight. No one may know you are here.”
He had the nerve to look amused. “A moment ago you were about to kiss me. Now I am a source of embarrassment?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You know very well that I—”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she ordered, “Just stay quiet and do not move from that spot.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently. Then he clamped his mouth shut, leaned back on the settee, and sprawled his legs as though he was relaxing in his gentlemen’s club. As though he hadn’t been wielding his considerable charms in an attempt to seduce her—and evict her at the very same time.
She must have been mad to even consider kissing him. But there would be plenty of time for self-recrimination and hair shirts later.
The first order of business was ridding herself of this visitor.
Quickly, she moved around the corner to the front door and placed a hand on the handle, pausing a moment to collect herself. She hadn’t been expecting callers, and yet, the second of the day was apparently on her doorstep.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door halfway open and saw Meg’s dear friend—the governess who’d introduced Meg to her now-husband, the Earl of Castleton.
“Charlotte!” Julie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
The governess angled through the small opening, pulled Julie into a warm hug, and giggled. “Not the most gracious of greetings, but I shall forgive you. Your lapse in manners is no doubt due to a lack of companionship. You must be terribly lonely with both of your sisters gone.” She released Julie and immediately began untying her bonnet. As if she intended to stay a while.
Oh dear.
Julie forced a chuckle and trie
d to block the entrance to the parlor. “Yes, please forgive me. But we’re actually quite content—Uncle Alistair and I, that is. I mean, who else could I possibly be referring to?” Good lord, she was a dreadful liar.
“I can’t imagine.” Charlotte shot her a curious look. “Are you feeling well? Has anything of import happened here since Beth left on her honeymoon?”
“No!” Julie replied—a bit too vehemently. “Uncle Alistair and I have decided to undertake a project of sorts.”
“Oh? That sounds interesting. You must tell me all about it.” Charlotte hung her bonnet on a hook in the hall and inched her way toward the parlor—and the rake who’d taken up residence on her settee.
Julie slid in front of her. “I would love to, however, I promised Uncle Alistair I’d help him with … something … in his study.”
Charlotte slid her shawl off her shoulders and draped it over another hook. “Perhaps I could assist as well. Or at least pay him a quick visit. How has his health been?”
“Fine,” Julie assured her. “Or rather, the same.”
Frowning, Charlotte peered past Julie into the parlor. “Have I come at an inconvenient time? I could return tomorrow if you wish.”
“No. I mean, you needn’t bother to return. All is well here,” Julie said with false brightness. “In fact, I—”
Charlotte planted her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and glared down her nose. Every inch the quintessential governess, she intoned, “Miss Juliette Lacey, step aside at once and permit me to enter your parlor so that we may enjoy a cup of tea like two civilized persons instead of conversing in the hall like heathens.”
Julie swallowed. Her friend’s curiosity had been piqued, and sending her away would only raise her suspicions. But if Charlotte had any inkling that a half-dressed bachelor was lounging in the Lacey sisters’ parlor, she’d take it upon herself to string him up by his boots and march Julie straight to the nearest convent.
“You are a dear to worry about me,” Julie said soothingly. “But I am not a six-year-old in need of minding.”
“No, you are my best friend’s youngest sister, and we both know that a little minding wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Charlotte, you’re being ridic—”
Before Julie could finish, Charlotte swept past her toward the parlor.
Oh no. The whole morning had been a nightmare, and surely this was the moment Julie would wake up screaming. Because the second her well-meaning friend laid eyes on Lord Travis, all would be lost. Charlotte would alert Meg, who’d feel the need to return to London at once in spite of her doctor’s orders to avoid travel. Then Meg would write to Beth, who would cut short her honeymoon so she could lend her support. And both her sisters would be distraught over the news that Uncle Alistair might soon be displaced—forced to leave the home that was as much a part of him as his wizened face, kind smile, or his untamed, white hair.
Charlotte would never be taken in by the falsehood that Julie had created. The perceptive governess would see right through the tale of Lord Travis’s apprenticeship as easily as she saw through a far-fetched excuse for a student’s tardiness.
Dear God. Julie took a step back, closed her eyes, and braced herself for Charlotte’s reaction. She would soon discover that Julie harbored a disheveled rogue in the parlor.
It would take the governess all of five seconds to deduce he was recovering from a night of excess, or worse—from an interrupted morning tryst. He had the arrogant, devil-may-care look of a man who’d been forced to make a hasty departure through a bedchamber window.
The sight was sure to shock Charlotte, and Julie prepared for anything from a gasp to a scream to a swoon.
“Julie…” Charlotte said curiously as she entered the parlor. “What, in heaven’s name, is going on here?”
Wringing her hands, Julie rushed into the room behind the governess. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you—”
The settee was empty. The window was open. A warm but gusty breeze blew sheet music, letters, and Uncle Alistair’s scribblings all over the room.
And the rogue was nowhere to be found.
Chapter TEN
Sam hit the floor behind the settee and stifled a curse. He was too old, too jaded, and too damned hungover to hide from would-be chaperones. Especially when he hadn’t even done anything terribly improper with Juliette—at least not by his standards.
He’d wanted to do plenty, though.
And she had too, in spite of herself. The telltale signs of desire were all there. Her slender fingers had curled into his shoulders, her breath had hitched in her throat, and her eyes had turned dark.
For a few moments on the settee, she’d almost forgotten that she hated him.
But the knock on the door had broken that tenuous spell.
He’d listened intently to the muffled conversation, and when he’d realized Juliette was unable to turn the caller away, his first instinct had been to flee. He couldn’t say why, exactly. His reputation would not have suffered if he’d been discovered with Juliette. He certainly didn’t give a fig what anyone thought of him.
But he didn’t want to make more trouble for her. He was causing her enough already.
Besides, they had a deal of sorts.
So he’d bolted for the window and had one foot slung over the sill when he remembered what she’d said—that if he left the house, she wouldn’t allow him back in. There hadn’t been time to close the window before the visitor, Charlotte, pushed her way past Juliette, so Sam had left it open and dove to the floor, where he was reduced to spying on their slippers and eavesdropping.
“Papers are blowing everywhere!” Charlotte exclaimed. “And what did you mean when you said it’s not what I think?”
“Did I say that? It was rather stuffy in here this morning, so I opened the window a crack.” Juliette’s pretty pink slippers padded across the room, the window slammed shut, and the lock clicked. As if there were any doubt as to how badly she wished to be rid of him. She was probably smiling ear to ear, thinking of him landing headfirst in a shrub outside.
“That was more than a crack, Julie. A sheep could have leaped through that opening without any trouble at all. Look at this mess!”
Sam held his breath as both women fluttered about the room, retrieving papers. It was only a matter of time before his hiding spot was discovered, and Juliette would be humiliated. He made himself as small as he could—which was not small enough for the settee to conceal him entirely. And when Juliette stooped to pick up some sheet music by his head he gave her a mock salute—nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.
She fumbled with the papers in her hand and quickly steered Charlotte away from him. “Let’s not fuss over this now,” Juliette said. “Please sit, and tell me why you’ve come.”
“I confess the governess in me will have a hard time relaxing so long as the room is untidy.”
“You are forgetting two things,” Juliette said. “First, you are not my governess, and second, it’s your day off. Honestly, Charlotte, the world won’t fall apart just because a few papers are out of place.”
“If you say so,” the governess said, clearly skeptical. She rounded the settee, and sat next to Juliette.
The ensuing clink of china and silver reminded Sam that he was still hungry, and he hoped Charlotte wouldn’t eat all the tarts. At least he’d avoided detection—for now. He carefully rolled onto his back and tried to make himself more comfortable among the dust balls on the hardwood floor. He had to agree with the governess on one point—the place could use some tidying up.
“You’re sure you haven’t been too lonely?” Charlotte asked.
“I miss my sisters,” Juliette confessed, “but how could I be sad where they’re both so blissfully happy?”
Charlotte sighed. “I can’t believe you’re the last remaining Lacey sister.”
“Don’t say that!” Juliette coughed as though part of her scone had caught in her throat. “Meg and Beth are married
—not dead.”
“Yes. Well, your turn is coming. I can feel it,” the governess said confidently.
“I am in no hurry to join their ranks,” Juliette assured her.
“Oh, I know. But that’s just when you’re most likely to be swept off your feet. I predict you’ll have many gentlemen vying for the honor.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I am content for now. Uncle Alistair needs me, and I want to help Meg when the baby arrives, and Beth—”
“Go to a ball with me tonight,” Charlotte interrupted.
“What?”
“Lady Breckinridge is hosting. I realize it’s terribly short notice, but simply don a beautiful gown and come with me. I am confident you shall not regret it.”
“How can you be so confident?” Juliette asked suspiciously.
“It’s my understanding a certain gentleman will be in attendance,” the governess replied, causing Sam’s ears to perk up. So Juliette had set her cap for someone. It shouldn’t surprise him—that’s what young, gorgeous unmarried misses did. What did surprise him was the stab of jealousy in his gut.
“I don’t know who you could possibly be referring to,” Juliette sputtered nervously. Odd, that.
“Oh, I think you do. I’m talking about the—”
“Do not speak his name!” she blurted. “That is, I would rather not discuss him.”
The governess chuckled softly. “Fine. But you needn’t be coy. I saw the two of you waltzing at the masquerade ball. The dreamy look on your face as he twirled you around the dance floor spoke volumes.”
Sam checked the urge to snort. Had Juliette’s expression been dreamy moments ago? When he’d been on the verge of kissing her? He wished to hell he could have that moment back—he wouldn’t waste it a second time.
Juliette sniffed. “Your romantic imaginings are completely unfounded.”
“You are a deplorable liar,” Charlotte countered, causing Sam to nod in hearty agreement. “But you needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning your beau to your sisters … as long as you agree to accompany me to the ball tonight.”