My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes

by Courtney Milan, Lauren Royal, Grace Burrowes, Christi Caldwell, Jess Michaels, Erica Ridley, Delilah Marvelle

Very male soap.

  A quick scan of the room through the quizzing glass revealed a few likely dance partners for his relations, and she wasted no time corralling them and introducing them to the three women. Not five minutes later, she stood hip to hip with Lord Stafford, the two of them watching his mother and aunts perform a quadrille.

  Or at least they would have been hip to hip had he not been so overly tall.

  "That," Lord Stafford said, looking a little stunned, "was impressive."

  Juliana shrugged, much the same as he had when she'd remarked that he'd saved Lord Neville's life. "I'm good at what I do."

  "You certainly are." The musicians finished the quadrille and struck up a lilting waltz. "May I have this dance?" he suddenly asked.

  Although she would rather have danced again with the duke, it wouldn't be seemly to refuse. So she said, "It would be my pleasure."

  When he took her hand, a peculiar flutter erupted in her middle. That had nothing to do with him, of course. It was just because everything was going so well. She'd found the duke, and Amanda had her pick of young suitors, and Lord Malmsey was going to fall head over heels for Aunt Frances. She might even be able to match Lord Stafford's mother and aunts with eligible widowers this season, no matter that he only wanted them to dance. All of her projects were beginning to work.

  No, that flutter had nothing to do with Lord Stafford. She had no interest in him whatsoever. In fact, he might well be the ideal man for Amanda. He was a doctor, after all, and Amanda wasn't sickened by blood. She would make him a good wife. And Amanda was tall, so the two of them would look excellent together.

  And perhaps she, Juliana, would be a duchess! She could already picture herself walking down the aisle with the duke.

  She glanced up to find Lord Stafford staring at her again, like he had last week when they'd danced. And again she found that unnerving. He seemed a very intense sort of man.

  She wracked her brain for something to say that would get him talking instead of staring. "I missed you at Almack's last Wednesday."

  His chocolate eyes widened. "You missed me?"

  She hadn't meant it like that. "You weren't there. Do you not like Almack's?"

  James abhorred the very idea of the place—it was a veritable marriage mart, the men in attendance little more than targets for young girls and their scheming mamas—but he wouldn't say that to Juliana. "My mother obtained a voucher for me," he said instead, which was nothing less than the truth, "but there was trouble at the Institute that night, so I was unable to attend."

  That was nothing less than the truth as well, although another truth was that he'd have found a different excuse to back out had that one not presented itself.

  "How unfortunate," she said. "I hope the trouble wasn't too dreadful."

  "A shortage of staff. I had to fill in myself, as well as interview new candidates."

  "What sort of staff were you looking for? Did you find anyone?"

  Given her inclination toward helping people, he wouldn't be surprised should she offer to find someone for him. "I needed a young woman to act as an assistant. To keep the physicians well supplied and make sure the patients are seen as quickly and efficiently as possible. And yes, I found someone. I wouldn't be here tonight if I hadn't."

  Her blue-green eyes narrowed. "You would work on a Saturday evening?"

  "Smallpox doesn't know the day of the week; we must immunize as many as possible. And working people cannot visit during normal working hours. When I'm in town, New Hope is open from ten o'clock in the morning until ten o'clock at night, every day except Sunday."

  Most shops kept the same hours, so he wondered why she looked so disapproving. And he wished she didn't. Because, truthfully, the more he saw of her, the more he liked her. She was so full of good intentions and the liveliness that had been missing from his life.

  He realized, quite suddenly, that Anne's face wasn't shimmering before his eyes. In fact, he hadn't thought about Anne at all while dancing with Juliana. Not for the barest moment. Although Juliana couldn't be more different from Anne—his wife had been a very serious young lady—he could almost imagine marrying her.

  Almost. But not quite. Because he'd want to fall in love with her first, and that wasn't going to happen.

  Even should he someday feel ready to fall in love—even should he someday manage to get over the notion that it would be too much of a betrayal—love would never happen with Juliana. She wasn't right for him, no matter how appealing he found her. Although she might be "good at what she did," what she did was entirely too frivolous for a man of his demeanor.

  But she felt rather good in his arms. In the light from the chandeliers overhead, her hair gleamed, a intriguing mix of pale gold and light brown and every shade in between. And those blue-green-hazel eyes…he couldn't stop himself from gazing into them, trying to figure out what color they were.

  When the dance came to an end, he wasn't sure whether he was sorry or relieved.

  "I have someone I'd like you to meet," she said.

  He didn't want to meet anyone. He wanted to go home to Stafford House. Without his mother. Maybe she'd sleep at her sisters' town house tonight, the three of them giggling like young girls discussing their latest conquests. A man could hope.

  But no, she'd come home as always, probably vexed with him for making her dance with a man who wasn't her husband. That had been the whole idea, hadn't it? To make her realize grieving spouses didn't belong on the marriage mart?

  "You don't mind, do you?" Juliana's enthusiastic voice snapped him back to attention. "Lady Amanda is really quite lovely."

  Oh, yes, she wanted him to meet someone. Lady Amanda. Right. "I don't mind at all," he lied. "Where is this lovely lady?"

  She shot him an unreadable glance before heading across the ballroom. "Follow me, Lord Stafford."

  "James."

  "Pardon?"

  He watched her shapely, swaying bottom as he followed her. "My given name is James."

  She slowed down until he caught up. "We scarcely know each other, Lord Stafford."

  True. But he'd been thinking of her as Juliana practically since the moment they'd met. Not Lady Juliana, just Juliana.

  Odd, that.

  "We've danced together twice," he pointed out.

  "That hardly makes us intimates."

  Intimates. The word caused a vision to swim through his head. A very inappropriate vision, even though he'd already decided she was entirely too frivolous. "Just call me James," he snapped.

  "Very well." She huffed out an impatient sigh and came to a stop before a clutch of men. "Come along," she said and pushed in.

  A blond woman was in the center. A lovely blond woman. A lovely blond woman who caused no visions to swim through his head.

  Juliana smiled. "Lord Stafford—James—this is Lady Amanda Wolverston. Amanda, Lord Stafford."

  "Lady Amanda," he said with a proper bow. He wasn't tempted to call her just Amanda. Or even think of her as just Amanda. She was Lady Amanda through and through.

  But Juliana was just Juliana.

  This entire evening was proving most disconcerting.

  "Lord Stafford," Lady Amanda returned formally. "I'm delighted to meet you."

  She was lovely and delighted. Being a gentleman, he had to do the polite thing. "May I have the honor of the next dance?"

  Lady Amanda smiled a lovely smile, though it looked a tad forced. "With pleasure, my lord," she said, sounding much less delighted than she claimed.

  Juliana shot them both a grin.

  At least someone was happy.

  Lady Amanda was a fine dancer. But she didn't feel particularly good in James's arms. Although she wasn't nearly as animated as Juliana, she chatted amiably enough, and she was quite lovely, but when the dance ended he wasn't sorry; he was only relieved.

  Another man claimed her immediately. James's mother sidled near, breathless. "What a lovely girl."

  "Yes. Did you enjoy your dance?" he asked, exp
ecting to hear she hadn't. Expecting to hear she wasn't ready to think of men other than her departed husband. Expecting to hear her apologize for encouraging him to court women when he clearly wasn't ready, either.

  "They were delightful," she said instead.

  "They?"

  "The dances. All three of them. And all three men. Aurelia and Bedelia thought one dance quite enough, so I danced with their men, too." She took both his hands in hers. "Thank you, my dear. I'll admit I thought the very idea was daft, but it's high time I resumed a social life, and I appreciate your little push."

  He groaned. Silently, of course.

  "I'm going to spend the night with Aurelia and Bedelia," she added, looking happier than he'd seen her in ages. "Good evening, dear. I'll see you tomorrow."

  He certainly wanted her to be happy, he thought as she walked off, and he'd been wishing for a night at home alone.

  So why did her news make him grit his teeth?

  "Well, Stafford, you've certainly danced with your share of the ladies."

  He turned to see Cainewood. "I'm finished," he said, relieved to be out from under Cornelia's watchful eye. But he wasn't ready to go home yet—suddenly home alone sounded lonely. "Can I interest you in a game of chess?"

  "Chess? Haven't touched a board since I left the army." Cainewood sipped some of the concoction in his half-empty glass. "Sure. For how much?"

  "You want to wager?"

  "Afraid you're going to lose?" Grinning, he sipped again. "Ten guineas."

  "Deal." The stake was steep—certainly much more than they'd ever bet in their schooldays—but James grinned in return. "Follow me," he said, leading his friend toward the card room.

  He wasn't going to lose. Cainewood was looking a bit foxed.

  * * *

  "I say, Cainewood. You're looking a little foxed."

  Griffin looked up from the chessboard where he and Stafford were playing, to find Castleton standing over them. "I'm quite sober, I assure you," he told the duke, fascinated to hear a slur in his own voice. But just a bit of a slur, because he was just a bit foxed. Which was perfectly understandable, since he'd had much to celebrate this evening.

  Juliana had finally—finally—found a man she wanted.

  This man right here.

  He took a sip of the Regent's Punch in his glass, an inspired mix of six different spirits. "What do you think of my sister, Castleton?"

  The duke shrugged. "She's a little lively."

  "Yes, isn't that nice? Nothing like a lively young lady." Griffin blinked his eyes. Castleton looked a bit blurred. And a bit stiff.

  He wondered what his sister saw in the man.

  Castleton was a keen judge of horseflesh—a fine recommendation, to Griffin's mind—but surely Juliana cared little about that. She sat a mount well and certainly enjoyed riding up and down Rotten Row in Hyde Park, the fashionable place to see and be seen, but she'd never been a particularly horsey sort of girl.

  Griffin supposed, however, that a lady might think Castleton handsome in a pale, pasty sort of way. And, oh, yes, he was a duke. There was that.

  Hell, did it matter why Juliana wanted him? The fact that she did was good enough.

  "It's your turn," Stafford said.

  "So it is." Griffin focused on the board—or at least he tried to focus. He was losing, but what the hell. Life was too good at the moment to worry overmuch about a chess game or a few guineas.

  Pondering his strategy, he took another sip to celebrate. He'd never cared much for punch until tonight, but it was astonishingly good stuff.

  He moved a rook and looked back up at Castleton. "I suppose you've come over to ask for permission to call on my sister?"

  "Actually, I didn't. I was just sitting over there playing cards and noticed you looked foxed."

  Castleton sounded a bit pompous and disapproving. The prig. Why again did Juliana like him? Oh, yes, he was a duke. And her reason didn't matter. Griffin wanted his sister to be happy—he wanted all of his sisters to be happy. If Juliana had her heart set on Castleton, he'd do whatever it would take to see her marry the prig.

  "Did you know," he said, noticing that slur again in a detached, amused sort of way, "that Velocity is part of Juliana's dowry?"

  The horse wasn't, of course. Until now.

  "You don't say," Castleton mused, suddenly looking much more lively himself. "I hadn't heard that."

  Chapter Eleven

  SHREWSBURY CAKES

  Beat half a pound of Butter to a fine cream, and put in the same weight of Flour, one Egg, a measure of grated loaf Sugar, and small spoons of Nutmeg and Cinnamon. Mix them into a paste, roll them thin, and cut them with a small glass or little tins, prick them, lay them on sheets of tin, and bake them in a slow oven. Serve spread with raspberry Jam if you wish.

  Should you wish to convince someone of something, these cakes will do the trick.

  —Helena, Countess of Greystone, 1784

  Despite having persuaded her cousins to attend her party, Juliana had no more ladies sewing than last week. Corinna, while present today in the drawing room, was "involved" with her latest painting and refused to pick up a needle. Aunt Frances was at Amanda's house, visiting with Lady Mabel. And Sunday was the one day of the week Emily's father made sure to spend time with her.

  Luckily, Rachael's mother had been artistic and had taught her girls to sew. Since Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth were sewing much faster—not to mention better—than last week's crew, Juliana was able to avoid panicking. And since Aunt Frances and Emily were missing, she took advantage of their absence to explain Amanda's situation to her cousins.

  After hearing of Amanda's woes, Rachael sighed. But then her smile made Juliana hopeful she was becoming a little cheerier. "Well, you certainly were last night's Incomparable, Lady Amanda." Her needle flew in and out of the miniature coat she was making. "Were you enthralled by any particular gentleman?"

  "Lord Stafford," Juliana answered for Amanda. "He's absolutely perfect."

  "I'm not certain." Seated on the drawing room sofa between Juliana and Alexandra, Amanda stitched as slowly and clumsily as ever. Juliana doubted she'd ever progress beyond blankets. Perhaps this blanket. "Lord Stafford is handsome," Amanda admitted.

  "He's gorgeous," Corinna corrected from where she was painting by the picture window.

  "Quite," Juliana agreed, reaching toward the platter of Shrewsbury cakes. She might not personally prefer James's dark looks, she thought as she spread raspberry jam on one of the sweets, but she couldn't argue with her sister's assessment.

  "But I'm not struck by love," Amanda said, her stitches getting shakier.

  Fearing her friend might stab herself and bleed, Juliana pulled the needle from her hand and put the cake into it instead. "It might take a while," she said gently.

  "Not everyone marries for love," Claire pointed out, her unusual amethyst gaze fastened on her expert handiwork.

  Elizabeth reached for a spool of white thread. "Your parents didn't marry for love, did they, Juliana?"

  "No," Juliana said. "And that was a big mistake."

  "Not this again." Corinna frowned at her painting. "Our family was perfectly happy."

  "Not Mama. She loved Father desperately, and he never returned her feelings." As Juliana had grown older and more aware, she'd found her mother's unrequited love painful to watch. "Although he gave her children, he never found any other use for her. Never spent time with her, never truly made her part of his life."

  She wouldn't let that happen to her. Until she found a man she loved—a man she knew loved her madly in return—she was determined to remain unwed.

  "Mama's life wasn't that tragic," Corinna argued. "Amanda cannot afford to wait to fall deeply in love."

  Claire nodded. "Her wedding is quickly approaching."

  Perhaps they were right. Unfortunately, Amanda didn't have enough time to get to know Lord Stafford well. Juliana patted her friend's hand. "You might have to find someone you like a lot and ma
rry him, then be struck by love later."

  Amanda took a bite of cake and swallowed convulsively. "Grow into love, you mean?"

  "Exactly." Juliana spread jam on another cake. "Lord Stafford isn't only handsome, he's also young and well-off."

  "What are you looking for in a man?" Alexandra asked Amanda. "Besides appearance and status, that is. Looks fade, after all. Shared values and interests are much more important."

  "Very true," Elizabeth said.

  They all deferred to Alexandra as the expert among them on marriage.

  Amanda seemed to consider that question for a minute. "I would like a man who is interested in Roman antiquities."

  Juliana looked up from the cake, startled. "Since when are you intrigued by Roman antiquities?"

  "Since my father found the ruins on our property."

  "Three years?"

  "More or less. It's a fascinating subject."

  "Hmm," Juliana said.

  While she suspected Amanda's interest had begun as a hopeless attempt to win her father's favor, she supposed it might have transformed into a sincere fascination. After all, the girl had to find something to amuse herself during all those months and years stuck in the countryside.

  However, she sincerely doubted James shared an interest in Roman antiquities. When would he have time to pursue it? The man couldn't even find a few minutes to comb his hair.

  "What else are you looking for in a husband?" she asked.

  Amanda pondered the question a moment more. "I would like for him to play chess. If I'm to live away from Aunt Mabel, I'd like someone with whom to play chess."

  Juliana doubted James had time for chess, either. Which was why she was surprised to hear Rachael say, "Lord Stafford definitely plays chess."

  "However do you know that?" she asked.

  Having finished sewing the coat, Rachael knotted the thread. "When Griffin came out of the card room last night, I overheard him saying he'd lost thirty guineas to Lord Stafford playing chess."

  "Thirty guineas!" Although Juliana enjoyed a hand of cards now and then and certainly understood the appeal of a bet, she wasn't sure she approved of wagering significant sums. Surely that sort of money could be better spent elsewhere—donated to the Foundling Hospital, for instance. "I had no idea Griffin gambled such high stakes."