A Daring Arrangement

by Joanna Shupe

  His eyes went huge and a sound of disbelief erupted from his throat. “I took advantage? So that wasn’t your tongue in my mouth? The small whimpers you gave or the way your fingers—”

  “That is enough.” She marched forward and stuck a finger into his chest. “We will not speak of this after tonight. Keep your hands to yourself—and you’re never, ever to kiss me again. Are we clear?”

  “As crystal. And no need to panic—I have no intention of repeating what happened, not when you are so ungrateful.”

  “What did you expect? I am the daughter of an earl. Do you think I would jump at the chance to kiss an American nobody?” She hated the cruel words, hated the way they sounded, like the snobbish, high-born society women who could slice deep with one syllable. But the rash reaction was tangled up with all the emotions roiling in her chest. She had kissed this man . . . and enjoyed every minute. He knew it, the cad. What sort of woman did that make her? Why hadn’t she pushed him away? Why hadn’t she thought of Robert once?

  Hurt flashed across his face before the edge of his lip curled into the semblance of a sneer. “No, I suspect not. I won’t make the mistake again.” Turning on his heel, he strode down the path and disappeared around a corner.

  As soon as he was out of sight, she wilted, all her bravado and anger evaporating and leaving her spent. How could she have let that kiss happen? More importantly, why hadn’t she stopped it once she realized what was happening?

  She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her gloved fingers. Her lips were still swollen from Julius’s mouth, her back raw from the rough trunk. For now, she had to return to the ballroom and forget the kiss. Otherwise, guilt would eat her alive. She couldn’t tell anyone of this. What happened here in the gardens would not happen again and Robert would never find out. Julius didn’t kiss you because he wanted to. He kissed you to protect you.

  And if not for that triumphant, “Yes,” he’d whispered against her lips she would almost believe it.

  Angry and frustrated, Julius stomped through his front door. “Evening, Brandywine.” He handed over his cane and top hat. Removing his gloves, he asked, “Anything I need to know before I drink myself into a stupor and fall into bed?”

  “Good evening, sir. Mr. Tripp is waiting for you in the billiards room.”

  Drinking all the good whiskey, no doubt. Was Frank Tripp here about work, or to ask questions regarding the engagement? His friend had been caught off guard by the news last night. Julius should probably smooth over any ruffled feathers on that front. “I’ll see what he needs before I head up.”

  Exhaustion set aside for the moment, Julius hurried through the house until he reached the billiards room. His friend was playing a solo game on the massive table, the long cue smacking the colored balls over the green baize. The two of them had met while Tripp was finishing law school, with Julius still making a name for himself on the exchange. Tripp preferred words while Julius preferred numbers, but they both came from modest families with a dark history, and they both had held a deep appreciation for the city’s vices during their youth.

  “Hello, Tripp.”

  Tripp’s brown-haired head snapped up and he straightened to his full height. “Thank God. The boredom had me nearly betting against myself in this game. Come, give me a challenge.”

  “Let’s make it a quick one,” Julius said as he selected a polished stick off the rack. “I cannot stay awake all night.”

  “All your fancy society parties and dinners wearing you out?”

  “Something like that.”

  Tripp began collecting the balls into the wooden triangle so one of them could break. “Or perhaps it’s your beautiful fiancée wearing you out?”

  That came up sooner than anticipated. “Any chance we can avoid a discussion of said fiancée?”

  “Not a chance,” Tripp said through a grin as Julius removed his coat. “I’m dying to hear the details of this so-called engagement. It’s the reason I am wasting my Saturday evening here instead of a gentleman’s house of leisure in the Tenderloin.”

  “It is not a ‘so-called’ engagement. It’s real.”

  “Please. You say that as if I haven’t been your closest friend for the last decade. I’ll give you the break, then.” He removed the wooden triangle, leaving the balls in a perfect pattern, and stepped aside.

  Julius went to the edge of the table, lined up, and let his stick fly. The cue ball smacked into the group of balls at the opposite end, scattering them toward the rails. Three dropped in.

  “So why are you pretending to want to marry this Englishwoman?”

  Instead of answering, Julius took another shot. The ball missed the pocket and he conceded the table, walking to the sideboard and pouring a glass of whiskey. “You’re not known for keeping a secret, Tripp.”

  “True, but I’ve kept many of yours over the years.” He let loose with an impressive shot where the ball banked off two rails and dropped into the pocket. “Consider it covered under client’s privilege. As your attorney, I’m bound not to disclose whatever you confess.”

  Julius sighed. Perhaps having his friend’s support would come in handy at some point. He quickly told Tripp of meeting Nora that night at Sherry’s and the arrangement they’d agreed upon. “Her father sent her here to find a suitable husband but she wants to return to England as soon as possible—without a husband. She’s settled on me as the fellow to most upset the earl, the one that’ll get her called back home.”

  “Christ, now I wish I hadn’t been out of town for your birthday party.” Tripp frowned as he bent over the table. “So why would you upset her father the most? Half the young women in New York are angling to marry you.”

  Julius swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. He grimaced as the burn spread down his throat and throughout his belly. “She has a beau back in London and the father doesn’t approve. Man’s probably not of their class. Regardless, she’s desperate for a scandal that’ll cause her father to bring her home.”

  “Ah, the plot thickens.” Another ball dropped in. “Wait, you haven’t said why you agreed to this scheme in the first place.”

  Julius didn’t immediately answer. Though he had client’s privilege with his attorney, he didn’t particularly feel like dredging up the black story of his father’s demise. He went with a half-truth. “She got a yes out of me while I was flat-faced drunk at the party.”

  Tripp laughed so hard that he missed his next shot. He chuckled all the way to the side table where he’d placed his drink. “Serves you right, then. What is she suggesting for this scandal? In flagrante delicto?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Tonight, she wanted it to appear as if we’d left the ball to engage in a tryst outside.”

  When Julius missed his next shot, Tripp rested the stick on the floor, and leaned against it. “Did you do it?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  Tripp waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, his friend smirked. “Allow me to guess. You tried to seduce her.”

  The kiss in the gardens replayed itself in Julius’s head, every lusty, delicious second. He craved her even now, after her verbal set-down. She’d kissed him with determination and gusto, no hesitation whatsoever. With an implicit trust, like she’d been thinking of kissing him for days—just as he’d been thinking of kissing her.

  Yet he couldn’t admit any of this to Tripp. “Don’t be ridiculous. One cannot seduce an earl’s daughter in the gardens during a ball.”

  “Really? I once saw you seduce the governor’s daughter during intermission at the Met. You took her to an alcove—”

  “That’s enough—and she was more than willing, by the way.”

  Tripp reached for his drink. “My, we are touchy this evening. I think I like this earl’s daughter.”

  “If you want any more of my whiskey, I’d advise you to remember whose side you are on.” He cursed under his breath after missing his next shot. “And I don’t want a scandal.”

  “Why not? You’ve never
shied away from one before.”

  “This is different. The reputation of an earl’s daughter is at stake.”

  “Ah, you’re worried you’ll get saddled with a wife if things go sour.”

  Not quite, because Julius wouldn’t allow himself to be forced into a marriage no matter what . . . but Tripp didn’t need to know the exact reason Julius needed to stay in society’s good graces. “Precisely. And if I ruin her, there will be hell to pay from society on both sides of the herring pond.”

  “Hmm. So you need a way to keep your fiancée from creating a scandal when she’s hell-bound and determined to do it.”

  “Yes.” Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should confide in Tripp more often. His friend’s quick intelligence had never failed Julius before, his lawyer’s brain able to twist hypotheticals where Julius could only see straight facts.

  “Can the regard for her London beau be shaken somehow, I wonder?” Tripp’s arm jerked forward, the stick careening into the cue ball. Another ball dropped into a pocket. “That way she wants to remain in New York.”

  “Another man, you mean?”

  “Yes, but it would be difficult to bring another man into the situation while she’s betrothed to you. That means you must be the other man.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  Tripp straightened and grinned, his free hand gesturing at Julius. “I like this. Yes, this is exactly what you should do. Flirt with her, charm her, until she begins to doubt her feelings for the boy across the ocean. Because if she develops feelings for you she won’t be as eager to get kicked out and sent home.”

  “That feels dishonest. And calculating.”

  “Of course it is, which is why it’s my idea and not yours. It’ll work, I promise. And what’s the harm? You’ve already kissed her, haven’t you?”

  Julius thought of the trusting way she’d melted into him and kissed him back tonight. “It’s wrong to deceive her.”

  Tripp glanced heavenward. “Please. I’ve seen you charm a serving girl for an extra pint of ale. Remember that time you told a dancer you were shipping out with the Navy the next day and needed one last free dance? Come now, my friend. One or two small lies seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

  As far as buying himself some time to investigate, the idea was a solid one. The longer he kept Nora on the straight and narrow, the longer he could circulate through society and find his father’s investors. But Tripp’s plan had one major flaw. “I don’t want a wife, Frank. You’re risking the very thing I’m trying to avoid. It makes no sense.”

  Tripp started pacing as he often did when reasoning out legal problems. “Would you marry her if you ruined her?”

  “No.”

  “There you go, then. In public, you’re proper and polite. No one will know how you treat her in private. In a few weeks she either returns to her beau in London or discovers she didn’t truly want him after all. Either way, you fulfill your obligation and move on. Everyone wins.”

  He made it sound so simple. Yet Julius knew the best-laid plans could go awry. “I’ll think on it.”

  “Good. A little harmless flirting is all you need. If she truly loves this man in England, perhaps she’ll be able to resist you.”

  That made sense, actually. If her feelings for the young man were unshakable, then the two of them would end up together, no matter what Julius did. Was there such a thing as harmless flirting, however?

  “Hardly seems as if the idea is a stretch, if your face is anything to judge by,” Tripp said. “Let me know how things progress. I might lay odds on the outcome.”

  “I haven’t agreed yet—and no betting. You’re terrible at calculating odds.”

  Tripp finished his drink and set the tumbler down on the table. “That is what I have you for. And in case you missed it, I just beat you. Shall we play again? Loser has to wear a satyr costume at your annual masquerade.”

  Shit, Julius had forgotten about his yearly pre-Lenten bacchanal. Based on the Mardi Gras and Carnival celebrations, the party required everyone to wear masks and colorful costumes. The city’s actors and dancers always came out in droves, reveling in the debauchery. The timing could not be worse, however. “I’m not certain it’s wise to host a masquerade this year.”

  Tripp’s jaw fell open, his face gone slack. “What do you mean? You always host a masquerade.”

  “I’m betrothed. No scandals, remember?”

  Tripp gawked like Julius had lost his mind. “This isn’t an event for wives and fiancées, Hatcher. I don’t think you need to worry about her reputation while we’re dancing with half-naked girls at the Gilsey House.”

  Julius sighed. Society may’ve been willing to overlook these things before his engagement but now he wasn’t so sure. Was one night of hedonism worth the risk? And yet he did love that masquerade . . . “I’ll think on it.” He snatched the chalk and smoothed it over the tip of his stick. “In the meantime, let’s play again. Loser has to cover the winner’s tab at Sherry’s for a full year.”

  “You’re on.”

  Chapter Six

  The morning after the ball, Nora descended the hack and quickly paid the driver. Her aunt and uncle were attending church services and she had very little time before they returned home. To escape their watch, she’d pled a headache, then set off for Julius’s obnoxious castle the second she was alone.

  She hurried up the walk, determination in her stride as she crossed over the moat, the morning papers cradled in her arms. She rapped on the front door and waited. Within a minute, the ornate wooden panel swung inward to reveal Julius’s proper English butler. “Good morning, my lady.”

  “Good morning.” She stepped inside without giving him a chance to refuse her. “I must see him. You’ll have to wake him, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hatcher has already started his day, my lady. He has been in his office since eight.”

  She froze in the process of removing her gloves. In his office? Since eight? On a Sunday? “Is that . . . unusual?”

  “No, my lady. Not a bit.”

  “But . . .” She let her voice drift off. It sounded silly to admit aloud that she’d assumed him to sleep most of the day away. After all, that was what the scoundrels in London did, waking up and stumbling to their clubs in time for supper.

  You mean the scoundrels who inherited their money?

  Yes, she could see how a man who’d made his own fortune might behave differently. Julius obviously prioritized his work, considering the staggering amount of wealth he’d amassed in a short period of time. So she shouldn’t have found it surprising . . . yet she did.

  And when would Julius stop surprising her?

  “If your ladyship will follow me,” the servant said and opened the door to the same rose-colored receiving room she’d been shown to earlier in the week. “Shall I bring refreshments?”

  “No. I shan’t be staying long.”

  “Very good. I’ll let Mr. Hatcher know your ladyship is here.”

  He withdrew, shutting the door behind him, and Nora perched on the sofa and removed her bonnet. She had to give credit to Julius’s decorator. The space was elegant compared to the rest of the ostentatious house. Crown molding wrapped the room and accented the rose walls, and gilded French furnishings were positioned just so. A large Persian rug covered the parquet wooden floor and silk draperies adorned the huge rounded windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. The highlight was an octagonal-shaped inset carved into the ceiling, the interior of which had been painted to resemble the sky and clouds.

  It was a room designed to subtly emphasize the owner’s wealth. Having redecorated her father’s various houses over the years, Nora had an idea what this must have cost and she was suitably impressed.

  Based on these surroundings, she could well believe him a financial genius. Julius had been humble about the title, but no man rose from nothing and lived like this without remarkable intelligence. Another reason to feel duped by her choice in fiancé, not that she could back o
ut now. Unfortunately, they had to last the rest of the season together.

  Heaven knew a broken engagement would not shock her father. He’d merely believe she had her eye on someone better. No, she had to work this out with Julius, make him understand this only succeeded if her father objected to the match and summoned her home.

  Most importantly, they must refrain from kissing again.

  The door opened and she turned. Julius appeared, his dark blond hair slicked back to show off slashing cheekbones and startling blue eyes. Those eyes were too pretty by half, boring into her from across the room, so she focused on the rest of him. His gray wool suit pulled across wide, sturdy shoulders, and a waistcoat of dark navy silk accentuated a trim torso and narrow waist. She swallowed, her mouth gone dry at the memory of clinging to his frame, the feel of the hard ridges and firm muscles under her fingertips.

  You are my responsibility, one I take quite seriously.

  Why on earth did that sentence cause her heart to flutter?

  “My lady,” he said, leaving the door slightly ajar. “You are out early today.” He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”

  “You left the ball. After . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she continued on. “By the time I returned inside you’d snuck away like a thief in the night.”

  His shoulders relaxed and his lips twisted into a small smile. “Nora, you make it sound as if I were trying to avoid you. Which would be ridiculous, considering the circumstances. An urgent matter required my attention. That’s all.”

  “And what matter was that?”

  He slid into a chair opposite the sofa and brushed his trousers. “A boring business matter. I’m certain you’d rather not hear the details.”

  A business matter at midnight on a Saturday? Poppycock, as the Americans said. She lifted her chin. “You would be wrong. I adore details.”

  “Fine. I promised my assistant to review a contract yesterday and forgot. I needed to have it completed before this morning.”

  A contract—not the kiss—had caused him to flee the ball? She could tell by the tensing of his jaw that Julius was prepared to fall on the sword of his lie. Arguing would get her nowhere. She gestured toward the morning papers she’d placed on the low table. “Have you seen these?”