Unfortunately, Lady Amanda buttonholed him before he could find out.
He hadn't even been announced yet—he'd barely handed his things to the footman manning the cloakroom—when she approached him, wringing her hands. "Lord Stafford, where have you been? One of Lady Teddington's guests is terribly ill."
Absurdly, he noticed she wasn't wearing gloves. And she looked quite distressed. She was usually so cool and aloof, he couldn't imagine her caring enough about anyone's illness to appear so troubled. She seemed to have no close friends, except for—
"Is it Juliana?" he asked, his heart suddenly beating double time.
"No. Let me show you to her." Bypassing the ballroom, she hurried him down a corridor.
"It's another lady, then? What's wrong with her?"
"I don't know." She turned into a room and swung to him so fast he all but bumped into her. "Kiss me," she said, and then, throwing her arms around him, she pressed her lips to his.
Addled, he froze for a stunned moment. When his wits began returning, he seemed to have only enough brainpower to marvel that he'd never before kissed a woman and felt nothing. Or rather, something—her stiff, closed lips were mashed against his, after all—but nothing good.
Coming to his senses, he pushed her away. "What in blazes do you think you're doing?"
"Kissing you!" Her cheeks were pink; her chest heaved. "Have you fallen in love with me yet?"
"What?"
"Juliana said that after I'd kissed you, you'd fall in love with me. Have you?"
"Hell, no." She was a very lovely girl, even more lovely now that she was a little lively for once. Her blue-gray eyes were sparkling.
But he loved a girl with hazel eyes.
"Where is Juliana?" He glanced around, his own eyes widening. "Good God, this is the ladies' retiring room." The chamber was strewn with reticules and other feminine belongings. Screens in two corners most likely hid chamber pots—but he wasn't about to make his way over and find out. "It's a miracle no one else is in here. Someone could appear any minute."
"I know."
"Ladies tend to visit in bunches. Any number of guests could have seen us kissing!"
"I know."
"You know? You know?" He grabbed her by an arm and took a step back, and then another, and another, until they'd returned to the momentarily deserted but very public corridor. "Have you any idea what could have happened had we been caught?"
"What I was hoping would happen?"
"What you were hoping—" He broke off as the truth dawned on him. "You and Juliana planned to trick me again, didn't you?" The accusation came through clenched teeth. "I'm going to kill that meddling little chit."
Was it just yesterday he'd decided her meddling was actually helpful?
"She didn't meddle," Lady Amanda said, her eyes flooding. "It was my idea this time. All my idea. She refused to help me. She said it would be unethical."
"Damn right it is!" What was it with ladies crying in his presence? Yesterday Juliana, and now Lady Amanda. Was the female race unified in their efforts to cut him to pieces?
A tear overflowed and ran down her cheek, slicing him even more. "Why can't you just agree to kiss me, then? You want to, don't you? You've been courting me for weeks."
"I most certainly have…"
Not. He'd meant to say not. But the word wouldn't pass his lips. Good God, he abruptly realized, he had been courting her for weeks. Or at least it must have seemed that way to her. He'd sent gifts and asked her to dance and—
Suddenly he needed to sit down. But there were no chairs in the corridor, and he seemed to have lost the strength to propel himself to another location. He leaned against the wall instead. "Well, that is…"
How could he explain it? Although she and Juliana had certainly been wrong to trick him, what he'd done was just as bad in its own way. His actions had implied he was interested in Lady Amanda, so he could hardly be surprised she'd come to that conclusion. He'd had no right to mislead her in order to achieve his own ends with another woman.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I—"
"My father will be home tomorrow afternoon," she interrupted in clipped tones, clearly impatient with his half-assed efforts to explain himself. "For all I know, he may not let me out of the house again before my wedding. However will I escape marrying Lord Malmsey then?"
"Escape…what?" He blinked. "Your wedding? I don't understand. What on earth makes you think Lord Malmsey would marry you? He's in love with Lady Frances."
"Well, he offered for my hand before he met Lady Frances. And my father is going to make us marry, unless—"
"You're engaged?" he interrupted. "To Lord Malmsey?"
It was beyond his comprehension. All the time Juliana had been trying to match him with Lady Amanda, the woman had been engaged?
"We're to be wed a week from today. And the only way I can get out of it is if I'm caught with another man." She grabbed both his hands. Reserved Lady Amanda grabbed his hands, and she wasn't even wearing gloves. She was that desperate. "Could you please just cooperate?"
A better man would. A better man would make amends for his actions by following through. But he couldn't.
He just couldn't.
Two women entered the corridor, heading for the ladies' retiring room. He pulled his hands from Lady Amanda's and lowered his voice. "I cannot," he said. "I'm sorry, but I cannot cooperate. I cannot marry you. I'm in love with another woman."
He turned and stalked back to the cloakroom, unsure whether he was more furious with Lady Amanda for trying to trick him again, Juliana for trying to match him with an engaged woman, or himself for misleading them both. All he knew was he was in no state of mind to socialize. He wanted to go home.
"James!" he heard as he passed the ballroom.
He turned to see Juliana, a cautious smile on her face.
Cautious? Juliana? Was this another one of her mercurial moods?
"How did it go with your aunts?"
"Fine," he said shortly.
Her smile disappeared. "Is something wrong?"
"Your friend tried to trick me again. Your engaged friend."
"Oh." Her face went white. "Dear heavens. I can explain—"
"I'm sure you can, since you always have a plan to fix everything. But I don't want to hear it tonight. I'm going home."
Still deathly pale, she hesitated a moment.
She hesitated. Juliana hesitated. Confident, self-assured Juliana.
"All right," she said at last. "Can we discuss this tomorrow at Lady Hartley's breakfast?"
"I don't think so. I have more important things to do than attend a silly breakfast." The Institute would be closed since it was Sunday, but perhaps he'd work on the account books. Or clip his nails. Anything would be better than wasting half the day smiling at people he didn't care about. He'd never enjoyed garden parties or balls—he attended them only to placate his mother and, more recently, to see Juliana.
But he didn't want to see Juliana. Or more precisely, to have her see him. To face her in a tent full of nosy spectators.
Hell, he couldn't even face himself.
Chapter Forty
After James left, Juliana returned to the ballroom, furious and intending to find Amanda.
Before she had a chance, Amanda found her.
"Whom?" the older girl asked, tears spilling from her red-rimmed eyes. "Whom is Lord Stafford in love with?"
"I told you not to try to trick him again! And why on earth did you tell him you're engaged?" People were gawking at them, so Juliana hurried her to a corner of the ballroom where they could talk behind a potted palm. "Now he'll never agree—" She stopped short, finally registering Amanda's question. "What makes you think Lord Stafford is in love with anyone?"
"He told me! I kissed him, and then—"
"You kissed him?" A stab of jealousy took Juliana by surprise. Or, all right, to be honest, she wasn't surprised. But it certainly felt bad and very wrong. "What did he do then?"
&nbs
p; "He pushed me away. You said he would fall in love with me, but he pushed me away!"
The jealousy faded as quickly as it had flared, replaced instead by elation. Unmistakable, jubilant elation. Juliana had never felt more buffeted by uncontrollable emotions, and she wondered how she could feel so exultant when Amanda was clearly so desperate. But she couldn't seem to help herself. Amanda had kissed James, and he'd reacted by pushing her away.
She must be a bad, bad person, because she wanted to scream with joy.
"I asked him if he'd just cooperate," Amanda continued with a pathetic sniffle, "and compromise me so my father would have to let me marry him. But he said he couldn't, because he's in love with another woman." She heaved another prolonged, woebegone sniff. "Who is it?"
"I don't know," Juliana said. It wasn't a lie. She had her suspicions, but she didn't know.
James had claimed he would never fall in love with anyone. While he'd certainly never pushed her away, no declaration of love had passed his lips. He'd never called her my love or even my dear. He'd never sent her flowers. And he'd seemed very angry that she'd deceived him regarding Amanda's engagement.
"I don't know," she repeated, looking away.
Because although she didn't know, she couldn't help hoping…
Her gaze wandered the ballroom, past Lord Malmsey dancing with Aunt Frances. Had her meddling doomed them both to despair? Even if James did love her and eventually forgave her, how could she ever be happy with him while she knew other people she cared for were miserable?
And then there was the duke…
Having at last emerged from the card room, he stood gazing at her, a heated look in his eyes. He'd never looked at her with that sort of expression before. Just her luck, now that she'd decided she couldn't marry him, he'd finally decided he wanted her.
Amanda shifted uneasily beside her. "Why is David looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" Juliana asked. Then she blinked. And stared.
Dear heavens, the duke wasn't looking at her at all, let alone like that. He was looking at Amanda. Like that. Could the duke love Amanda?
Amanda?
Well, why not? she suddenly realized, glancing back and forth between them and recalling all of their interactions. Honestly, it was amazing she hadn't considered the possibility much earlier. The duke and Amanda were two peas in a pod. Two perfectly round, blemishless peas, with about as much passion between them as one would expect from a pair of legumes.
The duke and Amanda were ideal for each other. Absolutely ideal. He related better to Amanda than he ever had to her. Amanda's cold upbringing had matched his own, after all. The two of them understood each other.
She turned back to face Amanda. "It's a shame you won't marry a by-blow, because that would solve everything."
Amanda bit her lip. "I would marry a by-blow if the by-blow was the duke," she said meekly.
Juliana gasped. "Are my ears deceiving me? Did you just say you would marry the duke?"
"You were right all along." Instead of looking down at her feet as she used to, Amanda met Juliana's eyes. "He's not to blame for his parents' mistakes, and he's kind and a good man."
"Then whyever did you say no last night? With such vehemence, no less?"
"You want to marry him yourself. You've been trying so hard to help me. The last thing I want to do is repay you by stealing your intended. You're such a good friend."
"You're a good friend, too." Juliana took Amanda's hands. "I don't want to marry the duke. I want you to have him instead. Wait here," she added, squeezing her fingers before she released them. "I'm going to make it happen."
As she walked toward the duke, she couldn't help noticing that his blond, pristine handsomeness matched Amanda's pale beauty precisely. If he didn't realize they belonged together, she would see that he soon did.
Coming to a stop before him, she looked up into blue eyes as bland as Amanda's. "You're not in love with me," she said. Although he'd claimed he was falling in love with her, it was a statement, not a question. "You're in love with Lady Amanda."
"I wouldn't go so far as to call it love," he demurred. "But I hold her in some affection."
Juliana supposed it was the most Amanda could ever expect, since it was the most the woman could give herself. Neither of them possessed enough emotion for anything stronger.
"Would you like to marry her?" she asked.
He hesitated, but only a moment. "Very much. Even though she doesn't come with a horse."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. I would definitely like to marry her. Unfortunately, I understand she's engaged to another."
"She told you that?" Juliana asked. But obviously, Amanda had. While Juliana and James were kissing, Amanda and the duke must have been talking. "We can fix her engagement," she said. "But first you need to ask her for her hand."
The duke nodded gravely.
"It might help to tell her how you feel," she advised as she walked him toward Amanda, thinking him the sort of man to forget that. "You may want to exaggerate a bit."
After delivering him to her friend, she backed away and watched from afar as he and Amanda conducted a conversation that looked more like a business discussion than a proposal. In the end, when Amanda nodded, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
It seemed an auspicious beginning. Maybe after a year or two they'd progress to kissing on the lips.
Perhaps within a decade they'd make a child.
The negotiations complete, they summoned Juliana. In the course of the next half hour, the three of them came up with a plan. After church tomorrow, they would all attend Lady Hartley's breakfast party, where, at precisely three o'clock, Amanda would be caught in the library with the duke, her dress unbuttoned down the back.
Amanda blanched when Juliana suggested the last bit, but they all agreed it was necessary to assure her ruin. By the time Amanda's father arrived that evening, her compromise would be a fait accompli. He would have to allow her to marry the duke.
"Will you ask Lord Stafford to help 'discover' us?" Amanda asked.
"No. He told me he won't be in attendance." Juliana thanked goodness for that, because he'd never approve of their plot. "But I'm sure plenty of other people will come running when I call, so there's no need for him to be involved."
With any luck, James would never hear about what happened at all.
And after all was said and done, if she was fortunate enough to learn he loved her, she would never—never ever—meddle again.
Chapter Forty-One
In his study at Stafford House the next day, James pushed aside his paperwork and sighed.
Sometime during the sleepless night, the hot fury had settled into a coldness deep inside him. Cornelia had the sniffles. He'd passed the morning in a haze, hoping she'd decide she was well enough to leave for Lady Hartley's breakfast. When she finally did, he'd sat down at his desk, added the same column of numbers three times, and come up with three different answers.
He couldn't concentrate. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Juliana had been hiding Amanda's engagement from him for all the time since they'd met. He'd thought he knew her.
But then again, he'd thought he knew himself, too. And when it came right down to it, his disappointment in himself was much harder to swallow.
True, Juliana had done wrong. But she was a meddler, and he'd known that all along. Sometimes her scheming worked—with his aunts, for example—and sometimes it didn't.
Everyone made mistakes, and as bad as her actions had been, his own had been no better. He was hardly in a position to judge. They'd both been playing games. His games had hurt Amanda, and Juliana's games had nearly saddled him with an unwanted wife.
But he loved her nonetheless. He loved every scheming, meddling inch of her. Should he be fortunate enough to marry her, he would gladly put up with her antics for the rest of his life.
And he, for one, was finished playing games.
Decision mad
e, he pushed back from the desk, summoned his valet, and went to his newly renovated bedroom to change. The red-and-yellow-striped bedroom he hoped to share with Juliana.
It was time to buy her roses.
* * *
Only the cream of society held "breakfasts" in the afternoon.
Beneath a tent in Lady Hartley's garden, the breakfast was well underway when James arrived just before three o'clock. As he scanned the several hundred guests seated at round tables, searching for Juliana, Lord Occlestone rose from one nearby.
"You owe some lady an apology, Stafford?"
James glanced down to the flowers he held, a dozen red roses. "Something like that." In his carriage between the florist's shop and Lady Hartley's, he'd unwrapped and nervously dethorned them. Now, rewrapped in the crumpled paper, they didn't look like much.
"I missed you in Parliament all this week. Or rather, I didn't miss you."
"I was there Thursday," James said mildly, still searching the crowd. He had more important things to do than bicker with Occlestone.
"Oh, yes, you were there Thursday. How could I have forgotten your arguments regarding your ridiculous notion that we should return the Elgin Marbles to Greece rather than purchase them for the British Museum?"
"It's a matter of morality," James snapped. "We have no right—"
"Where the devil is my daughter?" another gentleman cut in.
Grateful for the interruption, James turned to him, then blinked at his stern demeanor. "And your daughter is…?"
"Lady Amanda Wolverston," Occlestone answered for him, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Good to see you at long last, Wolverston. What has it been, two years? Three? We Tories have sorely missed your voice of reason."
While Lady Amanda's father muttered something about excavating antiquities on his property, James looked him over. He was rather short, with fair hair and beady, pale blue eyes. His mouth was compressed and turned downward, and deep lines on either side gave the distinct impression such a frown was his habitual expression.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 36