by Anna Bennett
“It’s no rush,” Uncle Alistair protested weakly. “However, it is rather bad form to enter in the middle of a round.”
“Let us go. I insist.” Charlotte managed to keep a straight face as she graciously led the way to the elegant parlor. A multitude of chairs, sofas, and settees formed a semicircle, providing an optimal arrangement for viewing the miming. Even Uncle Alistair nodded in approval. Julie and Charlotte settled him with the small group of ardent charade enthusiasts, which was an odd mix of guests who considered themselves too old for dancing and several younger men and women who thrived on any sort of competition.
But Uncle Alistair seemed to fit right in, and Julie breathed a sigh of relief. As long as the game continued, he would be in his glory—and out of trouble. Julie would be free to spend time with Charlotte and perhaps even dance a set or two without worrying that he was wandering aimlessly or inadvertently making a scene.
He sat in an overstuffed armchair with an excellent vantage point, staring intently at the young man miming.
“Will you be all right here if Charlotte and I go and mingle?” she asked.
He nodded enthusiastically but continued to study the man who had dropped to the floor and crawled on all fours in a valiant attempt to mimic some sort of jungle animal. “Of course. Enjoy yourself.”
Julie planted a kiss on the top of his smooth head. “I shall return to see how you’re faring in a bit. Do not forget that we must speak with Lord Vane about the Royal Society.”
“I won’t forget.” But the lines of concentration on his forehead said he was only half-listening—and that his attention was devoted to the game.
“Have fun, and try to let the others win once in a while,” she whispered.
“Must I?” he asked, arching a fuzzy white brow.
She glared in a mockingly stern manner. “Play nicely.”
As she and Charlotte left the parlor, Julie shot her friend a grateful smile. “He’ll never want to leave. Lord Torrington shall have to summon footmen to carry us to our carriage in the wee hours of the morning.”
“You are welcome to stay all night if you wish,” Charlotte said. “I’m just delighted that you’ll be free to dance and converse with your many admirers this evening.”
Julie linked an arm through her friend’s. “Ever optimistic, are you?”
Nodding confidently, Charlotte said, “With your classical features, your ethereal gown, and the cascade of curls over your shoulder, you could pass as a Greek goddess. Trust me—you shall not want for attention tonight.”
“Neither shall you, my friend.”
They returned to a ballroom that was three times as crowded as it had been before.
“Goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed. “This has turned into quite the crush. I wish your sisters—”
“Good evening, Miss Winters,” a sour-faced matron interrupted.
“Lady Gotham,” Charlotte said smoothly. “What a pleasure. I believe you’ve met my dear friend, Miss La—”
“I’m in need of a chair.” Lady Gotham didn’t spare a glance at Julie. “And some champagne, if you please. I’m positively parched.”
Gracious as ever, Charlotte smiled at the older woman. “You’ll find plenty of seating near the refreshment table.” She motioned across the dance floor where lines of dancers surged toward one another and retreated in time to the music.
Lady Gotham nervously fingered her lace fichu and stared at Charlotte as though she’d suggested crossing the Pyrenees or swimming the Nile.
“Please, allow me to escort you there,” Charlotte offered.
“If you insist.” Lady Gotham sucked in her cheeks and clung to Charlotte’s arm.
The governess gave Julie an apologetic look.
“Do not worry about me,” Julie said brightly. “I see a friend of my uncle’s and should pay my respects.” Which was not quite true, but she didn’t want Charlotte to fret over her, and she could certainly survive a quarter of an hour on her own.
Indeed, for a one-time wallflower, the perimeter of the dance floor was familiar territory. Not in the least bit daunting.
She watched as Charlotte and Lady Gotham weaved their way through the crowd and was debating whether to peek in on her uncle when—
“Miss Lacey.” The deep, familiar voice at her ear made her shiver.
“Good evening, Lord Currington,” she said, keeping her tone chilly. Reluctantly, she faced him. “I was just headed to the parlor to see my uncle.”
Nigel stepped in front of her, the wall of his chest a blockade. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you wearing the earrings. You liked my gift?”
Blast. “They are lovely. However, I shall be returning them to you in the morning.”
“Nonsense. You look like a princess in them. They were meant for you, Juliette.”
“You misunderstand. I’m only wearing them because I didn’t have the opportunity to—”
“No need to explain.” He surreptitiously placed a hand at the small of her back. “We need to speak about the house. Privately.”
She snorted. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“What of your decision?” he said more sharply. “Time is running out.”
“I still have three days.” She was hoping for a miracle. Divine intervention. But there was no cavalry charging over the horizon to save her and Uncle Alistair. “I am close to procuring the necessary documentation,” she bluffed.
“Are you?” He smiled smugly, apparently unperturbed. “I don’t know why you would concern yourself with legal papers and such when all you have to do is say the word.” In a whisper, he added, “Let me take care of everything. The only thing I ask for in return is your friendship.”
Damn him. For trapping her in a crowded ball room.
For pretending to be a gentleman when he was the worst sort of scoundrel.
For making her consider his rotten proposal for even one second.
Frustration welled up inside her. “I really must go,” she said. “My uncle will be looking for me.”
Subtly, Nigel grasped her elbow and pulled her back, toward the wall. “You can’t dismiss me so easily, Juliette.”
Chills skittered over her skin, but she boldly met his gaze. “No? Watch me.”
She yanked her arm free and took one step away before he called after her, “I understand my brother is no longer staying with you.”
Halting in her tracks, she feigned nonchalance. “What of it?”
He shrugged. “Samuel can be exceedingly charming, can he not?”
“I don’t pretend to know what you mean,” she choked out.
“You mustn’t blame yourself for succumbing to his dashing good looks and infamous wickedness,” Nigel said. “You aren’t the first innocent miss he’s seduced, and you certainly won’t be the last.”
“You are mistaken. He did not seduce me.” He’d made her fall in love with him, which was entirely different. Wasn’t it? She glanced over both her shoulders to make sure no one was within earshot. “In any event, my relationship with Sam is none of your concern.”
“I hope he hasn’t broken your heart, Juliette—as he has so many others.” Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “He led you to believe he cared for you, didn’t he?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I hate to see you hurting,” he said, his voice laced with sympathy. “I’m all too familiar with the way my brother operates. He seduces with passion, pretty words, and promises. And then he leaves. It’s not your fault that you fell under his spell—I know that. The rest of London, however, will likely judge you more harshly.”
Heaven help her. “I know precisely what you’re implying, and I do not care for it.” She’d attempted to sound outraged, but the skin on the back of her neck tingled ominously.
“It’s hardly fair,” he continued, undaunted. “Samuel will continue on his merry way, debauching other naïve young ladies. Mean
while, your reputation will soon be soiled beyond repair.”
Dear Jesus. A low buzzing sounded in Julie’s ears. “Is that a threat, Nigel?”
He placed a palm on his fine brocade waistcoat as though the mere suggestion offended him deeply. “On the contrary. I am offering you my protection. The last thing I would want is to see your family’s name sullied.”
Julie closed her eyes briefly. Nigel knew her family was her Achilles’ heel. Just the mention of the shame she might bring upon them was like the twist of a knife in her chest. “If you were half as concerned for my reputation as you claim to be, you would never have sent your brother to stay with us in the first place—and you certainly wouldn’t be making such an indecent proposal to me now.”
His icy blue eyes gleamed, and his thin lips curled into a snide smile. How had she ever thought he resembled Sam? Sam was warm, true, and charming. Nigel was cold. Devious. Calculating.
“You make me sound like a villain, Juliette. But the truth is that the Duke of Grimby has offered me a prime piece of land next to my country estate—in return for marrying his daughter. It is an offer that I simply cannot refuse. Perhaps in a storybook world, I could ignore my obligations. I would offer you marriage, and you would bear me a houseful of children.”
“My, what an enchanting tale,” she said dryly.
“But we cannot ignore our responsibilities. I have a duty to my title, just as you have a duty to your family. That doesn’t mean we should be denied each other’s company.”
Of all the—“I do not wish for your company, Nigel. Not in a storybook world, nor in the real one. Not now, nor ever.” She brushed past him, intent on finding Charlotte.
“Samuel hasn’t called on you, has he?” Nigel drawled.
Julie froze but did not turn to face him, loath to dignify his rude question with a response. Perhaps because it hurt too much to admit the truth—that she’d had no word from Sam since their passionate night together. No visit, no chance encounter, no note.
“My brother has always been the charismatic one—the one adored by ladies, admired by men … even favored by our father. But Samuel, as you may have noticed, is fickle and cares for naught but his own pleasure. He cannot give you and your uncle the stability and protection you crave.” Nigel approached her from behind and dipped his head so that his breath blew hot on her neck, turning her skin clammy. “You still have three days in which to come to your senses, darling, and I am confident you shall. Do not worry—I shan’t hold this little episode, this slight lapse in judgment, against you. In fact, the cat and mouse game that you’re playing only heightens my desire—and makes me want you more.”
With that, he strode away, leaving his awful words echoing in her ears and a violent shudder wracking her body.
Chapter THIRTY-TWO
Sam had left a mountain of work piled on his new desk, which was temporarily situated against a wall in Griff’s office. Sam’s friend had assured him he’d have his own office as soon as it could be arranged, but Sam didn’t mind. He watched everything Griff did—and learned.
He’d planned to stay late into the evening looking over the contract Griff’s solicitor had drafted. But as dusk fell, one of Griff’s footmen brought Sam a message that had been delivered to the house, to Sam’s attention.
Dear Cousin Samuel,
I’m gratified to know you are well and committed to pursuing your own passions, whatever they may be. I do hope that you will keep me disguised of your progress and visit Juliette and me on occasion. In the event that you plan on attending Lord Torrington’s soiree this evening, we shall see you there. I know Juliette would be delighted.
Alistair
Sam had barely read the last word before he’d extinguished the lamps and locked up the office. He couldn’t forgo the chance to see Juliette. He’d thought of her constantly, and the mere prospect of being near her made his heart hammer in his chest.
He quickly changed into an evening jacket and walked the three blocks to Torrington’s brightly lit townhouse, where a line of coaches wound around the corner. The soiree was obviously well underway.
As he entered the bustling ballroom, he searched the crowd for Juliette’s familiar form—the long line of her neck, the sprightly curls at her nape, and her willowy limbs. But he didn’t find her twirling on the dance floor or chatting in one of the clusters of guests along the edges. He’d overheard someone mention charades and cards, so he headed toward the parlor in hopes of finding her there. Just as he was about to exit the ballroom, a hand clamped his shoulder.
“If it isn’t the prodigal son—or brother, as the case may be.”
A chill slithered down Sam’s spine. “Nigel.” He shook the hand his brother offered. “It is good to see you.”
“Is it?” Nigel arched a sardonic brow. “I haven’t heard from you in days. I’d begun to suspect you’d met your demise in a ditch on the side of the road.”
“It’s a wonder you’ve been able to sleep at night,” Sam quipped, but he was grateful—and somewhat surprised—that Nigel and he were at least on speaking terms.
“Come. Let’s nick a drink from Torrington’s study.” Nigel rotated his shoulder in invitation.
“Give me a half hour to greet some friends and acquaintances, and I shall meet you there.”
Nigel rolled his eyes. He must know Juliette was there—and had no doubt sought her out as well. “What’s happened to us, Sam? What would our father think if he could see us now?”
Guilt niggled at Sam’s gut. “He’d tell us we were acting like idiots and make us muck out the stable together until we forgot why we were ever at odds.”
“Right,” Nigel said. “Let’s skip the stables and have a brandy instead.”
Sam hesitated. Now that he was so close to Juliette, the need to see her was a real, physical thing. But part of his new approach to life was putting duty before his own selfish desires. And if Nigel was willing to extend an olive branch, the least Sam could do was meet him halfway.
He’d be honest about his feelings for Juliette, and his intentions. Both he and Nigel had to accept that in the end, she would decide whom she chose to be with.
Sam swallowed past the knot in his throat. He prayed Juliette would choose him. But if she didn’t, he hoped that one day—in the very distant future—he’d be man enough to wish her and his brother every happiness. And mean it.
“I suppose a quick drink couldn’t hurt.” Sam had been curious about Nigel’s true motivation for taking back the house on Hart Street. Maybe he’d learn something that would be useful to Juliette. Sweeping a hand in front of him, he said, “Lead the way.”
As they slipped inside Torrington’s darkened study, Nigel sniffed the air. “Mmm, cigars. Maybe we should nick a couple of those, too.”
Sam snorted and lit a lamp on the earl’s desk. “It’s bad enough that we’re sneaking his brandy.” As he poured, Sam added, “Don’t think the irony of this conversation has escaped me. You’re the one suggesting less-than-gentlemanly behavior, and I’m keeping you in check.” He handed Nigel a snifter, and they sat in a pair of chairs that flanked the dormant fireplace.
“You’re looking well,” Nigel said, swirling the brandy in his glass. “Your jacket and cravat are immaculate, your hair has been cut, and the dark circles beneath your eyes have vanished. I scarcely recognize you.”
“I’ve been staying with Griff—er, Jonathan Griffith.”
“The wealthy merchant?” Nigel asked, with just a hint of disdain.
“And my friend. I’ve begun working for him,” Sam said, unapologetically. “As soon as I’m able, I shall pay off my debts.”
“You’d rather work for a living than accomplish the single task I gave you?” Nigel shook his head, incredulous.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I forced Juliette and her uncle out of that house.” Sam stared into his drink. “But let us be honest with each other. You’re not really interested in the house, are you? You knew she l
ived there from the start. This was all an attempt to manipulate her—and me.”
Nigel sniffed, hesitated a beat. “Yes. As you’ve probably already deduced, I am enamored of Juliette.”
“Then why the hell would you try to toss her out of her house?” Sam sputtered. “She thinks you’re a cold-hearted cad.”
“No, she thinks you’re the cad. After all, you’re the one who first tried to evict her and then seduced her. I’m the gentleman who’s allowing her to stay in her beloved home. I’m the one who’s salvaging her reputation.”
Sam’s blood simmered. “I had no idea you were so morally corrupt.”
“Few people do.” Nigel smiled smugly. “I believe our father knew, deep down. That’s why he preferred you.”
“Father loved you. Did you know he always counseled me to be more like you? It would break his heart to know what you’ve done.”
“Then I guess I should be glad he’s not here to witness it.”
Sam slammed down his glass and stalked across the room so that he wouldn’t throttle his brother with his own neckcloth. “You underestimate Juliette’s intelligence. Once she learns how you’ve deceived her, she’ll want nothing to do with you. She deserves to know who you truly are.”
“Who I really am is of little consequence, brother. What matters is who people think I am, and they think I’m the honorable, steadfast, dutiful Marquess of Currington.”
Sam spoke through gritted teeth. “Juliette won’t be so easily fooled. I won’t let you take advantage of her.”
“What’s this?” Nigel asked, amused. He stood, rounded his chair, and stood toe to toe with Sam. “Never say you’ve developed a tendre for the wallflower.”
Shit. Sam grabbed Nigel by the collar of his jacket, yanked him forward, and looked straight into his cold blue eyes. “She’s no more a wallflower than I am a saint. And my feelings for her”—Sam shoved his brother backward and released him—“are none of your damned concern.”
Chuckling, Nigel smoothed his collar. Regained his composure. “You fancy yourself the hero, do you? I suppose you’ll come charging to her rescue upon your white steed?”