Catching sight of an elephant lumbering across the ice near the bridge, Sebastian shook his head. “I think this is more a circus than a fair.”
“So long as they serve a good purl, I don’t care what you call it. Better yet,” Winbook said, pointing toward a pop-up pub that had a fire warming a huge black cauldron, “a bit of mum.”
As soon as the captain mentioned mum, Sebastian could smell the hops and spices layered beneath the scent of roasting meat and chestnuts from the stalls around them. It was too tempting to resist. He held up two fingers to the barmaid, who somehow managed to display her cleavage despite her multiple layers of winter clothing.
She winked, quickly filled two large tankards from the cauldron, and carried them over with a practiced saunter. “There ye go, govs,” she said as she exchanged the vessels for their coin. “Best spiced beer on the Thames, it is. Warm as yer mother’s ti—”
“Thank you,” Sebastian said quickly, cutting her off before she could finish that particular metaphor.
Winbrook’s laughter echoed through the frozen air. He winked at the barmaid, amusement bright in his blue eyes as he shook his head. “They don’t call it ‘mum’ for nothing, do they?” At her saucy smile, he tossed her a few extra coins before finally turning back to Sebastian and lifting his drink. “To lost friends found again.”
“To old friends.”
As he took a long draught of the steaming drink, he caught sight of a familiar figure ice-skating. He squinted, attempting to get a clearer look at her face. As she glided around in a sweeping circle, he finally got a direct glimpse of her features. Realization slapped him square in the face, so surprising him that he nearly choked on his drink. Coughing and cursing, he plunked his mug down on the table that served as the bar and dragged his sleeve over his mouth.
“God’s knees, man, have you forgotten how to hold your liquor?”
Shaking his head, Sebastian dragged his gaze from his former betrothed and met his friend’s amused gaze. “This scarcely qualifies as liquor,” he hedged, nodding toward the cup. He really had no desire to dredge up the entire debacle with Juliette last summer by explaining the real reason for his reaction.
Of all the rotten luck, seeing her here. There was a time he would have said it was outside of her character to be skating like a gleeful child, but she’d proved just how little he’d known about her character this past summer.
Forcing a smile, he straightened and said, “I really must get along to my appointment with Roderick. He’ll be wondering what’s become of me by now. Shall we meet for a proper drink later this week?”
“I’ll hold you to it,” his friend said with a decisive nod. “Invite Roderick as well. It’s been too long since we three troublemakers had a drink together.”
After agreeing and bidding Winbrook good day, Sebastian lowered his head against the wind and strode off toward shore. Yes, he needed to meet with Roderick today, and yes, he was freezing his backside off, but more than anything, he just wanted to get the hell off the ice.
Because where his former betrothed was, so too would be scandal and gossip.
Chapter Two
If Juliette were very, very honest, she would admit the fair was indeed a little magical. How could it not be when they were walking on the Thames, for goodness’ sake?
Over the course of the last hour, she’d indulged in sweetmeats and biscuits, hot chocolate, and even a bit of spiced ale. After all that, she had still somehow allowed Georgiana to talk her into ice-skating, which was beyond invigorating.
She had initially been worried about shedding her scarf after becoming overheated from all the exertion, but so far the only person who had recognized her had been Phoebe Anson some fifteen minutes earlier, but she’d been clever enough to simply wink in greeting and carry on with watching one of the printers work on his Frost Fair publication.
As Juliette paused to catch her breath, her cousin skated over, her cheeks cherry-red and her eyes sparkling. “You must be having fun now! That is a genuine smile on your face. And just look at those rosy cheeks!”
Juliette chuckled even as she shook her head and tugged on her heavy wool coat. “Merely overwarm. This outfit was certainly never intended for such foolish activities as ice skating.”
“Foolish? I do believe you mean fun.” Georgiana grinned as she pulled off her thick mittens and brushed some errant curls back from her face.
“I hate to admit it,” Juliette replied, her nose playfully wrinkled, “but I’m glad you dragged me here today.”
“I knew it! This was just what you need—”
“Lady Juliette?”
The incredulous inquiry went straight through Juliette, stopping her heart cold. Suddenly tense and dreading who she would find behind her but fearing very much that she knew exactly who it would be, she turned to face the interloper. When she saw the man standing before her, it may have been the only time in her life that his presence was a relief. She blew out a long breath. Thank God it wasn’t Sebastian.
Her relief, however, was short-lived. Nothing good ever came from an encounter with Chester Harvey.
“Mr. Harvey,” she responded, her voice stiff and cold to her own ears. “I wouldn’t have thought to see you here.” He was the worst sort of gossip and scandalmonger, second only to his idol and fellow dandy, Beau Brummell. He prided himself on knowing everything about everyone, and gleefully dispensed said knowledge to his little set of fellow Corinthians with acerbically barbed commentary disguised as wit.
His lips curled into his trademark smirk. “The same can most certainly be said for you, my dear. I was beginning to think you were in hibernation.” He flashed his teeth in a smile that was anything but friendly.
She lifted her chin, willing the embarrassed flush from her cheeks. “One occasionally needs to escape from the tedium of society. Don’t you agree?”
Giving a soft snort, he shook his head. “Whatever are you talking about? There’s no place I’d rather be than nestled in the bosom of the beau monde. Anything else would be uncivilized.” The return of his smirk made it abundantly clear that he wanted to shock her with his vulgar analogy.
“To each his own, Mr. Harvey. If you’ll excuse me, we were just leaving.”
His knowing gaze grated on her fraying nerves. Of course they had not been preparing to leave, and he obviously was aware of that fact. “If you say so, Lady Juliette.”
He flicked his condescending gaze over to Georgiana, who had watched the exchange in wide-eyed silence. “Do give my regards to your brother, Miss Pickford. Whenever he’s ready to lose more blunt to me at the faro table, he knows where to find me.”
Georgie’s face flamed bright red at the comment. It was impossible to tell if it was embarrassment, anger, or both mottling her cheeks as she gaped at him. Juliette could have happily sawed a hole in the ice and watched the man drop into the frigid Thames.
The family still hadn’t recovered from the shock of discovering Nathaniel’s massive losses at the gaming tables this past Season. Uncle Gregory, always so kind-hearted and gentle of soul, had been at a complete loss as to how to handle the situation. In the end, he had decided that Nate must be removed from the corrupting environment and sent his third-born to his sister’s estate north of Edinburgh.
Uncle Gregory had quickly paid the debts in order to prevent any scandal from Nathaniel’s failure to make good on his wagers, and the family had been tight-lipped about the reason for his relocation, but clearly the gossip mill was busy as ever.
Juliette reached forward to comfort her cousin, but Georgiana shrugged her off. Gathering herself up as tall as her petite frame would allow, she said, “I can’t imagine anyone would ever want to find you for anything.” With that, she promptly turned and skated away.
Juliette gaped after her, so shocked that she didn’t even react for a moment. What on earth had possessed her cousin to say such a thing to quite possibly the worst gossip in town? And in public, no less. After the space of two h
eartbeats, she finally snapped her mouth shut and pulled her wits together.
Without sparing a single glance for the wretched Mr. Harvey, she hurried after her cousin, who was gaining speed. Juliette dodged the handful of fair-goers watching the ice skaters, never letting her cousin out of her sight. She didn’t dare call to her, which would cause an even bigger scene.
“Oy! What the devil—?”
The angry growl of a red-faced merchant rose above the noise of the crowd as Georgiana whirled passed him, sending several of his trinkets skittering across the ice. Juliette’s heart leapt to her throat as the man lunged for the hood of her cousin’s cloak. Oh, please don’t let him catch her!
With all her attention focused on the debacle playing out in front of her, Juliette failed to notice the man making his way toward the shore at a right angle to her, his face hidden behind the brim of his hat as his head angled against the wind, until the quarter second before they collided. She tried to stop, flailing her arms in an attempt to prevent the inevitable, but her near-frictionless momentum was simply too great to control.
“Oof!” The impact sent them both sprawling, knocking the air from Juliette’s lungs and eliciting a harsh curse from the man. Pain screamed at her knee, which had taken the brunt of the fall. She gritted her teeth to stop the cry that came to her lips. Heaven above, did it hurt.
People watched wide-eyed at the debacle playing out in front of them, but no one stepped forward to help. Despite the tears burning her eyes at the ache in her leg, she scrambled backwards, trying to free herself from the tangle of clothes and limbs as quickly as humanly possible.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, beyond horrified to have caused the whole thing. “Please, are you all right?”
The man struggled to his knees, but the tail of his coat was stuck beneath her legs. His hat had been knocked forward, obscuring his face and probably half-blinding him. He yanked it off and ran a hand over his dark brown locks before cramming the hat back on his head and turning to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, surely to blister her ears with a scathing rebuke, but abruptly froze, his pale eyes widening.
Juliette’s heart slammed to a stop against her ribs, taking her breath with it. No, please, no. It couldn’t be him. Not here. Not now. Not when she and Georgiana had already taken a punch to the stomach that day.
His cheek muscles jumped as he clenched his jaw, yet he didn’t break eye contact with her. Neither one of them seemed able to look away, riveted as though watching a natural disaster play out in front of them.
Almost exactly seven months after he’d ruined her life, Juliette was face-to-face at last with the man who had left her standing at the altar.
***
A dozen curse words blazed through Sebastian’s head as he stared back at the woman he could have happily never seen again. He was tempted to just stand and walk away, but in this very public place, he was in an impossible position. He had absolutely no desire to speak to Juliette, but he damn well couldn’t leave her in a heap on the ice.
Blowing out a harsh breath, he dipped his head in a shallow nod. “I’m fine. Are you injured?” The words came out clipped and tight, as though a hand were clenched around his windpipe. Which, incidentally, was exactly what it felt like.
She looked up at him, her green eyes brilliant against the utter paleness of her cheeks. “You,” she whispered, accusation drenching the word. “What are you doing here?”
Him? She had played him for the fool, and yet here she was, acting as though he hadn’t the right to be in her presence. It was her carelessness that had landed them in this mess in the first place, for God’s sake. He gritted his teeth. There was simply no satisfactory way to answer that question, or any others she may have for him. This wasn’t the time, and it damn well wasn’t the place for hashing things out with her.
Yanking his coat out from under her, he struggled to his feet, ignoring the splinters of pain radiating from his elbow. Thrusting his hand out, he said, “Allow me.”
He could practically see the thoughts running through her head. Her eyes narrowed as disgust flooded her gaze and pinched her mouth. “No. Thank you.”
People were staring with avid interest as the scene played out in front of them like something from Drury Lane. Anger sluiced through him. If anyone had the right to be disgusted, it was he, not her. Reaching forward, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her feet. She cried out halfway through the maneuver, startling him.
Damn it all.
Scowling at her, he said, “You’re hurt.” It sounded like an accusation.
Probably because it was one.
She lurched to one side, clearly favoring her right knee, and scowled right back. “It’s no concern of yours.”
If it were possible to conjure daggers with a gaze, he’d be dead on the spot.
Perversely, he set his hand to his hip and said, “I agree, but I’m not going to leave an injured woman prostrate on the ground.” Even if she did deserve it.
He unceremoniously lifted her off her feet and stalked toward the shore. She struggled, making his journey that much more perilous on the slick surface of the frozen Thames.
“Unhand me, you . . . you oaf!”
Oh, how very, very tempting it was to do just that. She’d learn very quickly just how hard ice could be when combined with a four-foot drop.
“How very original of you,” he said, purposely sounding as though he were profoundly bored with the situation. “I’ll unhand you the very moment it is safe to do so, I assure you.” He took care with each step, heading toward a bench that was just on shore.
She wiggled more, making both of them wobble. He squeezed her tight enough to elicit a squeak and said, “If you are attempting to make another scene, you are succeeding. However, I strongly suggest you remain still until we reach shore.”
She must have sensed the warning in his voice, because she ceased her wiggling at once. Good—perhaps she possessed some sense after all. For the next ten yards, she remained perfectly still, her body as rigid as a marble statue and her eyes as mutinous as an angry toddler’s. He didn’t say another word as he stalked toward the bench. She could stew in her unjust fury, for all he cared.
The moment they reached it, he set her down on the snow-covered slats with as much delicacy as one unloads a sack of flour.
“There,” he said, brushing his hands off as he glanced around for the nearest path to the street. “Next time, watch where you are going.”
Juliette fussed with her skirts, covering her ankles before shooting him a disgruntled look. With both cheeks blooming with a becoming shade of pink against her unblemished pale skin, she looked deceptively sweet and innocent. Especially with those bright green eyes glittering in the sunlight.
“My apologies,” she ground out. “Next time I’ll stick closer to wedding altars, since heaven knows you wouldn’t be caught dead next to one of those.”
A gust of wind threatened to pull his hat from his head, and he clamped a hand over it. Interestingly, he didn’t even feel the chill just then. His blood was too heated from his irritation.
He stepped back, staring down at her incredulously. “What the devil is that supposed to mean? I gave you exactly what you wanted. If anyone has the right to be angry here, it’s me.” He punctuated the point with an index finger to his own chest.
It was hard to imagine the nerve it took to play the victim in a situation that was entirely of her own making. “A little gratitude would go a long way right about now,” he added.
She sat up straighter, her features a mask of disbelief. “Are you mad?” she said, wrinkling her brow with the force of the words. “No willing bride in the history of time has ever wanted to be jilted at the altar in front of God and man.”
What?
He blinked, trying to make heads or tails of what she was saying. “What are you talking about? That was precisely what you wanted. You asked me not to come to the church. What exactly did you expect me to do?”
>
Chapter Three
The cold, the crowd, and even the Frost Fair itself seemed to disappear as Juliette stared intently at her former betrothed.
“What?” she whispered, beyond incredulous at his words. Only . . . he seemed so passionate. So indignant.
As though he actually believed what he was saying.
They watched each other like a pair of wary barn cats, unsure of each other’s trustworthiness. Finally, Sebastian turned and lowered himself onto the bench beside her. He met her gaze squarely, even as uncertainty knitted his brow. “Juliette, you wrote me a letter asking me to release you from the betrothal so you could marry the man you loved. Rather than marry only to become a cuckolded husband, I complied.”
Juliette’s heart thundered so hard, white spots crowded her vision for a moment. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I never wrote a letter. I’ve never even had another suitor, let alone a beau.”
She’d been betrothed for years. Looking at any other man in a romantic way had never even occurred to her. What would be the point?
“Don’t play games with me,” he said sternly, his brow lowered. “It was in your handwriting. Signed with your signature.” He shook his head, his blue eyes unnervingly direct. “Do you think I would have complied if I wasn’t sure that it was from you?”
This was impossible. She wanted to believe that he was lying, but one look at his confusion and earnestness made it abundantly clear that he believed what he was saying.
As his betrothed, she had occasionally written him over the years. How else was he to remember that she existed? He certainly hadn’t seen fit to pay her visits or even send his own correspondence. By now, he should certainly be able to recognize her handwriting, even if he had spent the previous five years pretending she didn’t exist.
A Midwinter's Scandal - A Novella Duet Page 2