by Lauren Royal
DARK WAS falling.
Juliana had arrived at Vauxhall Gardens with James, Aunt Frances, and Lord Malmsey at about eight o’clock Monday night, while the sun was still gracing the summer sky. It was a fine July evening, perhaps a bit chillier than usual, but without the slightest hint of rain. The pleasure gardens had proved as lovely as she’d heard, spacious and laid out in delightful walks, bordered with high hedges and towering trees, and paved with gravel that crunched beneath their shoes.
For the first half hour they’d strolled, finding something charming around every corner. Pavilions, grottoes, temples and cascades, porticos, colonnades and rotundas. Here was a striking pillar, there a wonderful statue, in the distance a series of large, picturesque murals. Throngs of visitors promenaded, showing off their finest clothing, their rowdy laughter and whispered endearments filling the night air.
Now, with the sun sinking low, they were seated at a table for four by the building that housed the orchestra, a structure that struck Juliana as Moorish or perhaps Gothic—she couldn’t decide which, but regardless, it was magnificent. Its second story was open in the front so the musicians were visible inside.
While they listened to a concert of popular songs and compositions, they enjoyed a light supper of cold meats and bread and cheese accompanied by French claret. Aunt Frances was astounded at the high cost of their small portions.
“My word,” she said disapprovingly, “this Vauxhall ham is sliced so thin one could read a newspaper through it!”
Lord Malmsey laughed and motioned to a serving girl to order more. “Would you like some cheesecake, too, my dear?”
“It cannot be as good as Juliana’s,” James said, shooting her a grin.
So he had enjoyed her Richmond Maids of Honour. Feeling inordinately pleased, Juliana smiled back.
As the musicians played the last notes of a piece by Handel, a piercing whistle split the night. “What’s that?” she asked.
Lord Malmsey cocked his balding head. “Have you never been here before, Lady Juliana?”
She was about to tell him she hadn’t, but then she remembered James didn’t know that. “Not at night,” she said instead.
The fib only reminded her that she had no excuse for being here with James. She hadn’t a clue what stray impulse had compelled her to accept his invitation, when he should be escorting Amanda tonight. The two of them needed to spend more time together if he was to decide to marry her before her scheduled wedding in twelve days’ time.
“Just watch, then,” Lord Malmsey said.
And she stopped musing, sucking in a breath as a thousand oil lamps came to life, lit by myriad servants touching matches to their wicks in the same instant. The effect was nothing short of sensational, bathing the gardens in a warm glow that must have been visible for miles around.
“Enchanting!” her aunt exclaimed.
Lord Malmsey cocked his head again. “Have you never been here at night, either?”
“I’ve never been here at all,” Aunt Frances said.
Shy, retiring Aunt Frances had missed out on a lot, Juliana thought as they finished their supper, but that was about to change. She’d never been happier to see one of her projects prove a success.
“Shall we walk again?” Lord Malmsey asked, rising from the table. “The gardens feel like a different place among the lanterns.”
“A lovely idea.” Frances rose, too, and pulled on her gloves.
Juliana reached for her own but found her lap empty. “Where are my gloves?” She was sure she’d placed them there when she took them off for supper—it was a lifelong habit, after all. She checked the ground on either side of her chair. “I cannot find them.”
“How odd.” Shifting his gaze to Lord Malmsey, James waved a hand toward the beckoning paths. “You two go on ahead. I’ll help Lady Juliana find her gloves, and then we’ll catch up to you.”
As Frances and Lord Malmsey walked off, Juliana leaned to peek below the table. “I cannot imagine where they might have gone.” She rose and looked under her chair. “They seem to have disappeared.”
“Perhaps they’re in my pocket,” James said. “Right beside mine.”
She looked up at him, startled. “How would they get there?”
He shrugged one shoulder, a corner of his mouth turning up in a half smile. “How indeed?”
She laughed. “Give them to me.”
“I think not. I think you’ll need to get them for yourself.”
She eyed his striped silk waistcoat, his dark tailcoat, his crisp white trousers. She didn’t know which of his pockets he’d hidden her gloves in, but she wasn’t about to slip her hands into his clothing to find out. She laughed again. “James…”
He took her bare hand in his. “Your aunt and Lord Malmsey will get too far ahead if we don’t go after them. Come along.”
The paths seemed jollier now that it was dark, the company enlivened with mirth and good humor. Music drifted from the orchestra through the trees. Seemingly suspended everywhere, the lamps looked like little illuminated balls glowing every color of the rainbow. Some were arranged in lines or arches, others grouped to represent the starry heavens.
Juliana thought Vauxhall Gardens was the most magical place she’d ever been. Her heart felt light, and her hand felt warm in James’s. She knew she shouldn’t allow him to hold it, but just then she didn’t care about proprieties. Ahead of them on the path, Aunt Frances leaned close to Lord Malmsey, oblivious to her charge as usual.
When they caught up to the older couple, who had stopped by a tinkling fountain, Juliana pulled her hand free.
“Look!” Aunt Frances pointed overhead. “It’s Madame Saqui!”
Wearing a dazzling dress decorated with tinsel, spangles, and plumes, the celebrated tightrope walker seemed to dance on air as she ascended a rope attached to a sixty-foot mast. Beneath her dress, her legs were muscled like a circus strongman’s. Her balance was impeccable, her steps graceful and seemingly timed to the orchestra’s lilting music.
“It looks like a ballet, doesn’t it?” Juliana said.
“A ballet for two,” James replied as the dancer’s husband mounted a second rope beside hers. “I’ve heard they earn a hundred guineas per week.”
She slanted him a teasing smile. “A sum you’d like to see spent on smallpox vaccinations, no doubt.”
He laughed. “Entertaining enchanting ladies is also a worthy cause.”
She felt a peculiar lurch at the implication that he might find her enchanting, although she knew quite well he was speaking of the company in general. They watched for a few minutes in breathless silence as the couple dipped and swayed, seemingly unconcerned they might plunge to their deaths. At the top, Madame Saqui performed an agile turn and saluted her husband as she passed him on her way down. When she reached the bottom, she sank into a theatrical curtsy and swept up a little girl, settling her small slippered feet on the tightrope.
“She cannot be more than four years old!” Juliana gasped at the sight of the child climbing the rope toward the stars. She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot watch.”
“She’s their daughter.” James slipped an arm around her waist. “Performance is in her blood,” he said, drawing her against himself.
She dropped her hands, glancing to see if her aunt had noticed James’s bold move.
Her chaperone was no longer beside her.
“Aunt Frances?” She looked around. “Where is Aunt Frances?”
“She went off with Lord Malmsey,” James said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and making her giggle. “Shall we resume our walk?”
As he drew her down a darkened lane, still holding her quite close, she was struck again, as she had been at the Egyptian Hall, by how well they fit together. He smelled of starch and soap and spice. He matched his longer gait to her shorter one, and it seemed the night was warmer, the gardens more lush and fragrant. Tall trees towered on both sides, their silhouettes dark against the lantern-hazed sky.
“When will you bring Lady Amanda here?” she asked.
“Hmm,” he said noncommittally, turning into a tiny secluded pocket garden.
It had a stone bench and a single lantern, so it wasn’t quite dark. But it was dim, with high hedges all around. She heard a couple walk by, gravel crunching beneath their feet. No one peeked in through the narrow opening.
James released her and walked over to the bench, she assumed to sit down. But he didn’t. Instead, he slid off his tailcoat and draped it over the seat. “Do you think this would be a good spot to bring Lady Amanda?” he asked.
“Maybe.” James would surely feel intimate with her in this cozy, hidden location. And she with him. They’d become close friends, and then they’d marry and have children. “I mean, yes,” she decided. “This would be an excellent place to bring Lady Amanda.”
“I thought so.” His long fingers worked at the knot in his cravat. “What do you expect I should do with Lady Amanda when we’re here?”
Juliana didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She just watched him pull the cravat from around his neck, slowly and steadily, until it came off entirely and dangled from his fingers. “Why are you undressing?” she finally asked.
“I’m overwarm.” His intense dark gaze was fastened on her in that way that made her wonder if he could read her mind. “Well? Have you no suggestions for Lady Amanda and me?” He released the cravat, and it fluttered to the bench. “Do you think perhaps I should kiss her?”
She swallowed hard. “Maybe.”
“I thought so.” He eased open the top button of his shirt. And the second button. “I think we should practice.”
Her gaze was glued to the little V of skin where his shirt was unbuttoned. “Practice?”
“Yes, practice.” He raised a wrist and unbuttoned a cuff. “You and me. Before I try it with Lady Amanda.”
“You want to kiss me?”
He nodded, beckoning.
She felt another curious lurch. He wanted to kiss her. Just for practice, but still…
James wanted to kiss her. The last unkissed girl in England.
She wasn’t supposed to kiss James—she was supposed to kiss the duke. But the duke had made it clear he wouldn’t kiss her until they were married. He was so very, very proper. And Aunt Frances thought a kiss no great sin, and Corinna had told her she should kiss a few frogs so she’d know when she’d met her prince.
Not that James was a frog. He was…well, she didn’t know what he was, precisely. A friend, she supposed. A friend who was rolling up his cuffs, revealing his golden, rather muscular forearms.
And unbuttoning the buttons that ran down the front of his waistcoat.
Faith, if she didn’t kiss him soon, he’d end up stark naked in the middle of Vauxhall Gardens.
“Very well,” he said as the waistcoat flapped open. He wore a crisp white shirt underneath. ”If you’re not going to come to me, I will have to go to you.”
And he did. He walked right up to her. She backed up, and he followed. She moved until her back was against a tall, fragrant hedge, and he followed until he was all but against her. Until there was only a hairsbreadth between them, until his scent overwhelmed her, until she could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes and feel his breath upon her face. She tingled all over, every inch of her skin feeling suddenly more alive.
He settled his hands on her shoulders. ”May I kiss you?”
She couldn’t say yes and she couldn’t say no. But she lifted her face to his, holding her breath, waiting, her heart pounding and her eyes drifting shut.
His hands drew her closer, raising her on tiptoe, until his lips just grazed hers. The sensation was so faint and so fleeting she wasn’t sure it had really happened.
“May I?” he asked again in a whisper.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered back.
And his mouth settled on hers.
It felt unlike anything she’d ever imagined. His lips were firm and warm and moving against hers. He was so tall she had to tilt her head as far back as it would go. She felt his large, heavy hands slide from her shoulders—one to cradle the back of her head, the other to grasp the small of her back—and nearly lift her clear off her feet to press her still closer, full against his body. Her knees buckled, but it didn’t matter because he was holding her up…
And then he set her down, steadying her before he broke the kiss.
The kiss? She’d just been kissed—finally.
Hallelujah!
Her heart still pounding, she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was his mouth, which was suddenly fascinating now that she knew what it felt like. The lower lip was fuller than the top one, she noted. Between his lips and his straight nose, a faint shadow of dark stubble looked dashing and masculine. And higher still, his eyes looked like warm, melty pools of chocolate flecked with gold.
James was gorgeous.
She’d known he was handsome, of course. She’d told Amanda as much, many times. But his handsomeness had been just a fact like so many others. James was handsome. Corinna was a good painter. Griffin had been in the cavalry. All facts.
But now…
She looked at James. Really looked at him, seemingly for the first time. How could she have ever overlooked him? Faith, he was beautiful. And he stared at her just as boldly as she was examining him. She liked that.
She had to kiss him again. She reached up to him—
“Juliana!” It was Aunt Frances, her voice distant but recognizable. “Juliana, where are you?”
“Drat!” Juliana leapt away from James, the distance allowing her head to clear. He was standing there with half of his clothing unbuttoned. Aunt Frances was about to find them, and he was just standing there, unbuttoned.
“Dress yourself!” she hissed.
His fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat and began fastening them. Leisurely.
“Juliana!” her aunt called again.
She ran to the pocket garden’s entrance and looked out onto the path. Aunt Frances was nowhere to be seen.
She turned back. “Hurry,” she told James. “It’s only a matter of time until she finds us.”
Unrolling one of his sleeves, he shrugged and sauntered back to the bench, where his cravat lay atop his tailcoat in a jumbled pile. “Do I kiss better than Castleton?”
“I haven’t kissed Castleton. He’s too—”
“Stuffy?” he provided, looking all too pleased.
“He’s not stuffy! He’s just—”
“A prig.”
“He’s not a prig! He’s proper and reserved, which is more than I can say for you.”
He grinned. “That’s more than I can say for you as well. Which is a compliment, mind you—”
“Juliana!” Lord Malmsey’s voice joined her aunt’s this time. “Juliana!”
She peeked outside again. Still clear. Her heart pounding, now from panic instead of excitement, she stalked over to James. He was buttoning his shirt so slowly it made her want to scream. “Hurry, will you?” She swept up his cravat, intending to throw it at him, but an enormous boom sounded overhead and she shrieked in alarm.
“Easy.” The cravat drifted to the grass while James wrapped her in his arms. “It’s just fireworks.” Another boom exploded in the sky, accompanied by flashes of red and blue and white. “Your aunt will stop and watch,” he said soothingly.
Knowing he was right, she pulled away and sat on the bench to watch the fireworks. But she wasn’t soothed, nor did she feel at ease. Not even after he’d retrieved the cravat and awkwardly knotted it and donned his tailcoat and buttoned it up. Her heart was still pounding, and her stomach felt queer.
Great, fiery streaks of light burst in the heavens, and all around she heard “ooh!” and “ahh!” from all the people in Vauxhall Gardens, but all she could think was thank heaven and earth and everything else that she hadn’t been caught kissing James while half of his clothing was unbuttoned. They’d have had to mar
ry.
And she couldn’t marry James. She just couldn’t.
I’ll never fall in love again, she remembered him saying. But certainly I could marry a friend. I could have children with a friend.
The duke was falling in love with her, but James never would. He’d only kissed her because they were friends and he needed a wife to give him children.
But Juliana couldn’t be that wife. He had to marry Amanda, else Amanda would have to marry Lord Malmsey, who would have to give up Aunt Frances—and all three of them would be devastated.
She could never let James kiss her again.
THIRTY-FOUR
“GOODNESS GRACIOUS,” Lady Frances said, giggling like a schoolgirl, ”when you both went missing for so long, I didn’t know whether to summon the authorities or my nephew!”
Seated beside her in the carriage, Lord Malmsey chuckled. “It wasn’t so very long, my dear.”
Juliana laughed, too, though it was more of a nervous titter. “Summon Griffin, Auntie? Whatever for?”
“To make you and Lord Stafford marry, of course!”
Juliana blanched.
But as the last of Vauxhall Gardens’ lanterns faded from view, James only smiled.
There were two reasons he smiled. Firstly, he was in a fine mood. Or not just a fine mood, but a splendid mood. A brilliant mood. A glorious, magnificent—
Anyway, he felt good. Because kissing Juliana had been so much better than he’d ever imagined. Gloriously, magnificently better. And now that he’d experienced kissing her, he was looking forward to moving on with the rest of his life.
That was, he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life kissing her.
And that was the second reason he was smiling: because the idea of being caught in a compromising position with Juliana, and thus being forced to marry her, didn’t trouble him at all. Not one bit.
Not after that kiss. That kiss hadn’t just been magnificent. It had been a revelation.
Some part of him had obviously already known the truth. It was the part that had driven him to unbutton so many buttons in the garden. And urged him not to button them back up in any hurry. And, after the fireworks, when he and Juliana had “miraculously” found their way back to their chaperones, it was the part of him that felt disappointed they hadn’t been caught.