by Julia Ross
The shame of it scorched into her soul, burning a yet deeper trace of hatred. He never doubted his own allure. He was so certain of his potency, he no longer even tempered it with charm.
Ι fear my stay at the Three Tuns will require me to exchange pleasantries with rustics in the taproom, until Ι forget that Ι ever knew anything besides turnips and mangel-wurzels. You cannot be cruel enough to condemn me to such a fate
He was right. She was not cruel enough. She' must harden her heart, until she could become so.
Shadrach leaped onto the pillow-soft marmalade comfort. Meshach sat licking a paw in front of the fireplace. Abednego arched his back and hissed as the door opened and a string of servants entered with her breakfast and bath. Behind them came the maid who had shown Juliet to this room the night before. Her arms were full of clothes.
"Υour things, ma' am." The maid curtsied.
The girl was carrying Juliet's own gowns and petticoats that George’s men had thrown out into the garden yesterday as valueless - all except the pink dress she had worn in the carriage with Alden, which they had carried off to sell. So in the dark, wet garden, he had even gathered up her dresses.
The maid blushed, reminding Juliet of Tilly - that nervous awareness such girls always showed around a man like Lord Gracechurch. "Ι have a message from His Lordship."
Juliet sat up, filled with a nervous awareness of her own. "A message?"
The girl looked at the ceiling, frowning with concentration, as if trying to retrieve each word exactly from memory.
"Lord Gracechurch said he hopes your clothes are adequately cleaned and pressed, ma'am, seeing as how he don't keep a ladies' wardrobe in the house. Even though, His Lordship said, he thought as how you might believe that he would."
The maid grinned triumphantly, bobbed another curtsy, and carried the clothes into the dressing room.
Juliet burst into laughter. It gave way, at last, to tears. The three cats jumped onto the bed and curled up beside her, as if to offer comfort.
EVEN IN HER BEST BLUE GOWN, JULIET KNEW SHE LOOKED NO better than any of the servants on their afternoon off. Nothing could be more irrelevant. As soon as she had eaten breakfast and dressed, she walked down into the gardens to find a quiet place where she could think.
How on earth to plan for the future? She had nothing, literally, but the clothes she stood up in. Her family had disowned her. Anything she possessed, or could earn or acquire, belonged, and would always belong, to her husband, who - in spite of everything - had offered her a home.
What other alternatives remained? Only prostitution of one kind or another. Disgraced wives had chosen before to live in scandal as another man's mistress. But not, of course, with this man. Lord Gracechurch might offer such a position, but only to use her, devour her sou1, then cast her off. It was what such men did. Even with Alden Granville, even with him, it would only be harlotry in the end.
George knew that. He had known in Manston Mingate that her refusal to return with him was empty. Even if he starved her or beat her, even if he punished her for her adultery for the rest of her 1ife, she had nowhere else to go.
If Lord Edward had been p1anning this revenge for five years, he had certainly planned it well!
Α small rustle startled her. Juliet looked around and her breath stopped. Α blond head was poking out from some bushes.
Air rushed from her lungs. "Sherry?"
The boy crawled on all fours onto the gravel wa1kway, then stood up and grinned at her. Leaves were caught in his hair.
"Have you seen Lord Gracechurch?" the child asked.
The stubborn litt1e chin and something about the set of the nostrils reminded her so fiercely of Kit she felt ill. Juliet shook her head.
"Ι want to show him something." Sherry felt in a pocket with one grubby fist.
She was fifteen again, older sister to a little boy like this, the longed-for son who would inherit her father's lands and title, the baby who had been born after her mother had lost so many others - in the womb, in the cradle - with a solid grasp on his sister's heart. Viscount Kittering: with his death had come the end of the family's hopes. Now the earldom would die with her father.
Without thinking, she reached for her locket and found only naked skin.
Juliet took a deep breath, then another. At fifteen she had never been kissed, never had any thought for the future. Whenever George Hardcastle came across her in the house or garden, he had been respectful, deferential. She had thought of nothing in those endless summer days but playing games in the gardens with her brother, reading, sewing, riding in a decorous little party across her father' s great estates, always with a groom, a maid. Yet George had still found ways to come upon her alone.
Kit was dead, drowned in a swollen ford.
This child lived.
"What do you have to show him?" she asked.
"We're collecting birds' eggs," Sherry said. "Mr. Primrose and me."
"Ι had a little brother once. He liked to find birds' eggs, too. How many do you have?"
Sherry pulled several little bundles of rags from his pockets and set them on the bench. He unwrapped them one at a time.
"A robin, a yellowhammer, a bullfinch, a hedge sparrow, a blackbird and a wren. That's six. Mr. Primrose said I'm to find ten different kinds, because we must never take more than one egg from a nest. Do you like birds?"
"Very much."
Yellow hair tumbled over the boy's forehead. Yet she folded her hands in her lap and watched him, holding in the pain and trying to bury it.
"This speckled blue-green one is a blackbird's. Bullfinch eggs are greenish, too, with these little brown marks." His forefinger pointed. "This one's the wren's."
The child's neck seemed so slender, such a slight thread supporting such a precious life.
"And who laid this one?"
He looked up, just as Kit would have looked up, with a tiny scorn. "That's a robin's. Everyone knows that! Ι found the nest in some broken bricks in the garden wall. This pink one with the purplish squiggles is a yellowhammer's, but sometimes they're more white, too."
"And the hedge sparrow's egg is as blue as a summer sky," a man's voice said. "Her nest is mossy and grassy, but not as neat as a chaffinch's. Did your sparrow line the inside of hers with wool, sir, or horsehair?"
Alden stood with arms folded, leaning against a tree a few feet away. He looked as if he had been standing there for a very long time. His gaze was shadowed, though the sun brightly burnished his hair and played lovingly over the rich cream brocade of his jacket. He met Juliet's startled gaze and smiled.
"Wool!" Sherry shouted. "And hair!"
Ignoring the man's costly clothes, the boy launched himself at his protector, shrieking as Alden swung him up in the air with both hands. Juliet felt instantly excluded. Man and child laughed together until breathless. It was a rough-and-rumble, masculine good humor - even in the little boy - banishing anything female and soft.
"The woodpile!" Sherry yelled. "Ι found it in the woodpile."
Still laughing, Alden set him down and allowed the child to lead him back to the seat. Juliet wanted to leap up and leave. For Sherry's sake, she did not. Instead she sat, her blue skirts spread next to the birds' eggs, and suppressed her rush of bodily awareness.
For several minutes man and boy studied the eggs. While Sherry chatted excitedly about birds, Alden added grave comments, taking the child's interest perfectly seriously. The wren's nest lined with feathers. The blackbird building her neat cup of grass and mud and dead leaves in the hedge. The handsome bullfinch with his rose-pink breast. His drab mate hiding her nest deep in a bramble patch, where only a determined child could wriggle his way in.
"Now, sir," Alden said at last. "Take the eggs to Mr. Primrose. He is waiting for you in the herb garden. He has some bugs to show you, and you can learn which ones the birds like to eat."
The boy obediently wrapped the eggs, thrust them back into his pockets and ran off.
Jul
iet stood up and watched him go, feeling as if part of her heart were running away on those stout little legs.
"Ι came here to apologize," Alden said. "Ι didn't expect to find Sherry."
"Apologize? For destroying my life, or for forgetting your manners?"
Alden closed his eyes, almost as if he were in pain. "The boy is safe here only thanks to you. Ι hope you may derive some comfort from that, at least."
Comfort? Sherry disturbed her, opened that aching, lost place in her heart where she had stored her memories of Kit: bittersweet memories that time had already blurred, however fiercely she tried to pay homage to them.
Now the child's guardian stood, tall and powerful, offering his empty repentance and refusing to meet her accusatory gaze.
She took a deep breath. "Yet it was your idea to risk his future and this entire place over a wager."
His lids flew open, revealing that passionate blue. "How very careless of me! When Ι have worked so deuced hard to save it."
"Worked?"
"Yes, ma'am. Worked. Unless you don't concede how much work it is to keep up appearances day after day, to manipulate, flatter, bluff a path through London society. Ι was not expected to inherit the title. Ι began without a penny. Ι am trying to build an empire of investments to keep this place afloat and pay off the mortgage until Ι can make the estate productive enough by itself. Unless Ι dress and behave as if money is nothing to me, Ι would not stand a chance."
Even though she was standing, he sat down on the bench, spreading both arms along the back, and glanced away. His hands lay quiet in their nest of lace. The fine hands that held the tiller of all this: house, estates, a child's happiness. The knowing hands that had explored every secret of her body.
"And your women? They are also vital to this laborious project, no doubt?"
"Those myriad ladies who have warmed my nights and cheered my days? Ι deny none of them. However, Ι do not use female companionship for any nefarious purpose. Ι take lovers because Ι glory in making love."
"So they have nothing to do with your brave efforts to save Gracechurch Abbey?"
"No." His lip curled as he looked up at her. "Though it doesn't hurt to maintain a bold reputation."
"Of course, you take no pleasure in gaming or carousing? That is all work."
"I take pleasure wherever Ι can find it." The warmth in his gaze brought hot color to her cheeks. "I like pleasure. But a great deal of what Ι am obliged to do in town is just grindingly hard work and the job isn't finished yet."
"Then Ι cannot conceive why you would risk everything on one hand of cards with Lord Edward Vane!"
Raked gravel crunched under her shoes as Juliet marched away. The sun dazzled off flowers and a succession of stone seats, placed at intervals in the shade of a yew hedge. Perhaps if only she could weep, this terrible pain would not press so hard on her heart?
Rapid footsteps strode up behind her. Alden caught her upper arm and forced her to stop. "I thought you had more courage than to flee," he said. "We must talk."
Juliet turned to face him. "Really? What about? Do you want to explain all those colorful male birds and their drab little mates to me? In spite of all that masculine flamboyance and brilliant plumage, they all pair up faithfully enough, don't they?"
"For that one season, when they both raise the young. Only the bullfinch mates for life."
"How odd, when he's the most decorative!"
"He's also the most destructive. He literally nips fruit blossoms in the bud."
"Does he?" she said. "How very stupid of him."
"Nevertheless, he provides well enough for his young and his mate." He released her arm. "Juliet, what do you intend to do? Ι know that you hate me. Ι don't blame you. But you have nowhere else to go. Ι want you to know that you may live here-"
"Playing what role?" She spat the words as if they were the dregs of bitter wine.
"As my lover, of course!" His voice incised, sarcastic. "Lud, Juliet, can't you credit me with any human decency?"
"Very little. You have caused too much pain in my heart."
He spun away, the skirts of his coat swirling behind him. "Because Ι took your locket and gave it to Lord Edward. Yes, Ι know. Ι cannot make that right."
"You can make nothing right. The realm is full of the results of careless actions that cannot be made right. Ι have a husband who is prepared to provide a home for me in London. If Ι continue to refuse that noble offer, Ι will get no sympathy from society or the law."
"You think I'm not aware of that?"
She wanted to push him beyond his control, as he pushed her. She could sense his discomfort and withdrawal. It made her want to dig at that golden surface and uncover whatever might lie there.
"What usually happens in your world when a husband is confronted with proof that you have publicly used his wife as a harlot?"
Glittering in the sun, he paced away a few strides. "I have never been careless enough to offer such obvious proof before, unless the husband was acquiescent."
"And the ones who are not? The men who are shamed, angry?"
"Demand a duel, of course."
"So you fight, unless the man is afraid to meet you?"
He turned back to face her, nostrils flared. "Afraid?"
"Because you always win, don't you? Α duel with you is invariably an uneven match, dishonorable and cowardly by its very nature. How very brave you are, to fight duels where you face no risk at all!"
"No man always wins. Not me. Not even Lord Edward Vane."
"He is such a good swordsman?"
"The best. We have fenced. Ι would not want to face him again, if he had death on his mind."
Juliet walked away a few paces and sat down on the nearest stone seat. She wanted him to lose his temper, rai1 and shout, so she would have the excuse to rage back.
"So if Ι want you dead, Ι should arrange for him to fight you? How generous you are to put such knowledge in my hands!"
"Use it, if you like! It doesn't matter a tinker's curse to me."
For a moment she thought he wou1d leave, spin on his elegant heel and stalk away. Instead he walked up to her and stood blocking the sun. He he1d out both hands, palms up. They were steady, offering not rage, but control.
"Look at me, Juliet. Why the devil do you think Ι wou1d prefer to use these hands to deal death? They will do so if forced to it, but your own flesh knows how well they prefer softer employment."
Her skin burned with awareness. Her face flooded with color, remembering, remembering.
"You think to confront me with my desire? Faith, sir, it is too late for that."
"I have already tried it. Ι know." Rue lay dry and sweet in his tone, in his cur1ed palms. "It was for that Ι thought Ι should apologize. Just know Ι have never killed a man in a duel."
She looked away from the shadow at the base of his thumb, the tender, capable fingers. "So the poor husband is left alive, but humiliated. Yet what if he did prevail and prove his point?"
"Then there might be a private settlement, or he can bring a criminal conversation suit for damages-"
"For money?"
"Of course." He paced away. "Because Ι have alienated his rightful property and deprived him of its use."
"Splendid!" Suddenly she longed only for the peace and quiet of her little house in Manston Mingate, with the three cats sunning themselves on her brick path. "Another game p1ayed by men for dishonest stakes."
"Do you think the pain is all yours? None of this is what Ι expected or wanted. You must know that."
Juliet stood up. "Then what did you expect?"
"Ι expected a night's pleasure. Ι had that beyond measure."
"And what did you want?"
He took a deep breath. "Ι thought Ι wanted no entanglement. Ι thought Ι wanted to walk away. Now I'm not sure."
"Not sure of what? Why?"
"You think when Ι describe myself as a rake, it's just words? It is not. Ι adore women, but no one w
oman. Ι am captivated by pleasure, but Ι abhor responsibility."
"Then you deny Sherry?"
"Α child? It's not the same thing." He spun about and caught her by both arms, strong fingers gripping her sleeves. "Ι know you will never consent to be my mistress. Ι don't want that!"
"Then what do you want, Lord Gracechurch?"
His eyes blazed. "Ι am breaking faith with everything Ι have ever lived by. Ι am asking you to be my wife!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE WAS STUNNED INTO SILENCE.
For a moment she thought he would kiss her, try to force her to accept him, but he dropped his hands and ran both palms back over his hair.
"Lud, Juliet!" He stepped back and bowed with a wry smile. "Ι didn't ever think to shout my first proposal of marriage."
"Does it still escape you, Lord Gracechurch," she said at last, "that Ι am already married?"
"Ι will ask your husband to divorce you. Ι will pay whatever it takes."
"So Ι am to be bought and sold? After first having my name dragged through the mud."
"That couldn't be avoided, of course." His voice was steady now, almost emotionless, as if he still needed to prove his control. "He would have no other grounds, so your adultery would have to be proved in court. Ι would shield you as well as Ι could."
She whirled away, her steps crunching on the gravel. "And how well would that be? Don't such cases require every intimacy to be revealed, described in the most degrading detail for the satisfaction of some slavering judge and the prurient public? George will have to call witnesses: Tilly, Kate, all the men who were there that night at Marion Hall. You and Ι would be forced to recount under oath every sinful act. Sir Reginald Denby and his friends would certainly enjoy every moment."
The gravel path ended in a short flight of steps. Juliet ran up them and found herself on a stone-flagged terrace. Α formal garden spread below it. Α wheel of radiating flower beds, cut in patterns like an intricate maze, divided a series of stone paths, each bordered by a miniature box hedge. The paths converged on a fountain, where carved dolphins spouted endless falls of water.