Juliet removed her tailcoat triumphantly, then reached for her waistcoat.
LUCAS WAS GLAD LADY Juliet had not protested him leaving. Walking behind Lady Juliet was positively indecent, Lucas decided. There was a reason women did not wear breeches. Even though her breeches were far too large, Lucas had been conscious of her legs, specifically of her thighs, of her hips, of her bottom.
Lady Juliet possessed a round bottom, the sort best acquired by frequent mountain climbing, and the sort that made his throat oddly dry.
Well.
No doubt, his throat was oddly dry because he hadn’t had much water lately.
He climbed the hill, quickly determining that no other person was nearby. He sighed. Then he peered at the mountain range, hopeful he would recognize something.
He did and beamed.
Lucas sauntered back to the carriage. The walk had taken less time than he’d expected.
He moved quickly through the long strands of grass. Mud clung to his boots, speckling them in a manner that would make his valet groan. No matter. Lucas rounded the corner. He shouldn’t be so eager to speak with such an impossible woman, but then, life seemed duller without her presence.
The black chaise was visible, not blending in either with the wildflower dotted grass or the tall evergreens that fluttered their pine needles in the breeze.
And then he saw something else.
Something he shouldn’t see.
Something that took his breath away: a bare breast.
Great Olympus.
Clearly, Lady Juliet had not expected his speedy return. Evidently, he’d not impressed her with his efficiency in the past. She must be changing into a dress.
The gentlemanly thing to do would be to retreat. Despite last week’s incident, and despite some other dubious acts he’d committed for the crown, he believed in acting gentlemanly.
And yet...
Lady Juliet’s bare breast transfixed him. Something stirred within him, something he hadn’t expected to feel.
Lady Juliet’s bosom rivaled any mountain peaks formed over the millennia. Her breasts curved in a delectable manner, and Lucas longed to touch them, to caress them. Blast it, he wanted to feather kisses over them. He wanted to brush his fingers over her buds and watch them pebble beneath them. What shade of pink would her buds be? A tawny rose? Pale pink?
Both options were enticing, and Lucas hardened. Great Olympus. Now was not the time. He glanced at his breeches, wondering whether they might respond to a stern look. Lucas had never had this problem before. At least, not since he was thirteen.
He might be older than thirteen, but he’d also never been confronted with a bare breast in just this manner before. Watching her was illicit, forbidden, and apparently, riveting.
Her arms were extended above her body. What on earth was she doing? Was she attempting to remove his waistcoat?
She’d managed to get the garment stuck over her head. No doubt, she hadn’t removed her cravat properly beforehand.
Should he help her?
Then Lady Juliet moved her body, and her second bare breast was distinctly visible.
Great Olympus.
Her buds were dusty rose.
Desire burned through him.
Her breasts were round, pale and—
A pair of horrified eyes stared at him.
Blast it.
Lady Juliet had got the waistcoat over her head. In the next moment, her mouth opened, then shut, as if she’d contemplated screaming, then reconsidered.
Damnation.
He turned around and forced himself to focus on the beautiful view, and not images of Lady Juliet.
A heavy silence filled the space. Mortification rumbled between them, pressing against Lucas’s chest as the silence continued.
Damnation.
“You bastard!” Lady Juliet exclaimed.
Evidently, Lady Juliet had recovered her sense of speech. He should never have doubted it: the woman was prone to talking.
“You filthy bastard!” she added in an icy tone.
“I do not appreciate the elaboration,” Lucas said stiffly. “My lineage has never been in doubt.”
His father had been at the advanced age of forty when he’d decided to marry and procure an heir, postponing the experience to partake in the delights of merrymaking, adorned with his favorite white curly wig and silk tailcoat. No one had been shocked when he’d keeled over after one of Cook’s typical triumphs.
“I’m not insulting your lineage,” Lady Juliet said, irritation in her voice. “I’m insulting you. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I was not aware you would undress. Closed rooms are customary locations for such activities.”
“There is no room nearby. And you know it.”
“Perhaps so,” Lucas conceded. “That said, I have good news. The Duke of Sherwood’s castle is nearby.”
“It is?” Lady Juliet’s voice reached a higher octave.
“You seem more horrified than happy,” he observed.
“No, no,” she countered. “It’s just that—”
“Yes?”
Lady Juliet was silent, then grunts sounded from the carriage.
A thought occurred to him, and his lips twitched. “Lady Juliet, do you require assistance?”
“No!” she exclaimed.
“Have you finished dressing?”
“Almost,” she insisted. “But—er—don’t turn around yet.”
“Very well,” Lucas said.
Lucas forced his attention on the loveliness of the view.
Time passed.
More time passed.
Finally, he sighed. “If you need help...”
“Fine,” she exclaimed. “You may help. But you mustn’t speak about this to anyone.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
“Good,” she said in a tiny, miserable voice, and his heart ached.
He turned around.
“This was supposed to be easier,” she said.
“Nonsense. The tailors make it difficult to keep valets employed. All a great conspiracy.”
Her lips quirked, even though her eyes appeared wetter than before. “Who can fight the tailor and valet conspiracy?”
“Precisely.” Lucas moved swiftly to her, keeping his eyes averted, despite the temptation of the view.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Embarrassment moved through Juliet.
“I despise you,” she told the duke. “I despise your presence and I despise your clothes.”
“I know.” His voice was behind her, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her front.
A now-familiar scent of citrus and cedar wafted about her, and in the moment after that, he moved his hands to her attire.
“The trouble with this waistcoat,” the duke declared, “is the neckline. If I’d known you were taking it, I would have warned you. I have more practical ones. I’m sharing a new manservant with my friend.”
He slid the tailcoat from Juliet’s trapped hair.
Juliet moved her hands quickly over her bosom. “I’m so mortified.”
“I thought you might be.” He picked up her satchel and removed her chemise. “But don’t worry, I’ve seen bosoms before. Absolutely nothing to take notice of.”
“Hmph,” she said. “You’ve probably seen dozens of bosoms. Hundreds of bosoms.”
He chuckled. “Just one pair before you.”
She blinked. “Truly?”
“Put your arms up.”
She lifted her arms as he slid her chemise over her body. For a moment, she was distracted even from the touch of his hands.
“You’ve truly only been with one woman?”
He chuckled. “Are you saying that you’ve been with a single man?”
“Naturally not,” she said, affronted. “But, I just thought...” She furrowed her brow. “I mean, you are older than I am, and I thought...”
“You thought all men are bastards?”
“I was going to use
the word rake.”
“Ah, so bastard is a word you reserve for me.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
The duke tied her stays.
“For a man who has only seen a woman’s body once, you seem accomplished.”
“It was more than once,” he murmured, chuckling.
For some reason, something hurt in Juliet’s chest, still, she forced herself to smile.
It shouldn’t matter to her that the duke’s heart was elsewhere.
That was a good thing. It meant Juliet was safe with him.
And yet...
Something odd panged in her chest. She forced herself to think of Horatius, of Horatius’s perfect blond hair, of his perfect chiseled face, and his perfectly sized body.
In truth, the duke’s dark hair was not precisely unappealing, and his face and figure could easily be assigned favorable adjectives.
Still, Horatius was magnificent.
Everyone knew it.
At least Horatius didn’t invite himself to sneak around people’s estates to admire flowers.
Juliet dressed quickly after Lucas freed her. She only required marginal assistance from the duke.
“You left your friend to become a houseguest at my father’s manor house in Westmoreland?” Juliet asked.
The duke’s cheeks turned a ruddy color. “Er—yes.”
“You must adore botany,” Juliet said, stepping from the coach.
“Quite,” the duke said curtly, averting his gaze. He marched up the hill, and Juliet hurried after him.
Juliet surveyed the idyllic surroundings. The mountains soared majestically, adorned with colorful wildflowers, and the lakes spread below in such immense pools that it seemed mad to think the place anything less than perfect.
“I do love it here,” Juliet mused.
“Good,” the duke said. “Sherwood’s rarely in London. You’ll be happy.”
Juliet frowned. “I don’t despise London.”
Still, the Lake District had a habit of being pretty.
Unfortunately, the Lake District also had a habit of having steep hills. Juliet soon found herself huffing in a manner she suspected none of the teachers at her finishing school would have approved.
The duke halted. “Coming?”
She gave a bright smile and pretended her lungs weren’t on fire. She pointed at the nearest blossoms. “Tell me about these flowers, Your Grace.”
He widened his eyes. “Tell you about them?”
She nodded furiously.
“Well, first of all,” he said.
“Yes?”
He looked away. “First of all, you needn’t call me ‘Your Grace.’ Lucas suffices.”
“Oh.” She blinked.
“Too casual?”
Her breath still came unevenly, but she nodded. “Lucas is fine.”
“Good.” He turned and proceeded up the hill.
She sighed, raised her skirt an inch to avoid muddying the hem, and hurried after him. “In that case, you can call me simply Juliet.”
THANKFULLY, SHE’D LEFT the topic of botany. Lucas hoped she wouldn’t venture back onto the subject. “Very well, Juliet. You have a very romantic name.”
The words caused her face to darken. “You think so?”
“Er—yes.” He had said so.
Her expression remained malignant.
He coughed. “Juliet was the heroine in Shakespeare’s play...”
“I’ve read Romeo and Juliet.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I hope I haven’t insulted your intelligence.”
She averted her gaze.
“I thought it probable you’d come across it.”
She remained silent.
“Perhaps it’s not that romantic,” Lucas said, in an attempt at gallantry.
Juliet glanced at him and gave him a tired smile. “I’m sorry. You’re not wrong. It is romantic. I simply don’t like to think of my mother being romantic.”
When Lucas was still aged in single digits, he’d sometimes squealed when his parents had danced or seemed given to romantic impulses. Lucas suspected all children might feel similarly when contemplating their parents’ affection. Perhaps the impulse did not end with age.
Lucas considered what he’d learned about Juliet’s mother. Equipped with a large dowry and an evidently romantic nature, she’d married Juliet’s father, an earl, only to find him cavorting with the housekeeper.
He glanced at Juliet, wondering whether he might broach the topic. Finally, he inhaled. “You’re worried about your betrothed’s loyalty.”
Juliet widened her eyes.
“I had dinner with your father and stepmother last night,” Lucas said apologetically.
“Oh.” Her face pinkened, and she averted her gaze. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Everyone seems to find my insistence on loyalty to be amusing, a sign I’m from Westmoreland and not the more sophisticated neighborhoods of Kensington or Mayfair.”
“I think,” Lucas said, “that love, true love, is an excellent thing. I understand that you would want to strive for it. It is worth striving for.”
“Even though my betrothed is a duke?”
Lucas’s lips twitched. “If he isn’t good enough for you, you mustn’t marry him.”
“You’re simply saying that because we’re traveling together and you want to be agreeable.”
“On the contrary, in this matter, we concur. Your habit of dressing in men’s clothes and gallivanting across the country, on the other hand...” Lucas drew his face into a comically severe expression, and Juliet laughed, despite herself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I saw what happened in my parents’ marriage,” Juliet said. “I don’t want the same to happen to myself.”
“I understand.”
“My father has always been in love with my stepmother. He courted my mother, but it was for her dowry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My mother thought he loved her.”
“That is terrible.”
“Father rectified his estate with the money, and now I have a large dowry.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She lived her life knowing she was unloved, and everyone in her household knew it. My stepmother was the housekeeper. She had a daughter who was my age... Sally. I thought it was wonderful, and we were educated together. I didn’t realize until later that it was unusual for an unmarried woman with a child to remain employed.”
Juliet looked down. She’d never told her friends what had happened. But somehow, things were different with Lucas. Perhaps they’d simply spent so long together, or perhaps she didn’t feel that faint competitiveness she always felt when with other women. Or perhaps there was simply something about Lucas himself.
“I should be frightened of you,” Juliet remarked.
“But you’re not.” His words were warm, like amaretto.
She shook her head contemplatively.
“But then you’ve met me before.”
She nodded slowly. “But that’s not the reason.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve met many people before. In fact, most of them I’ve spoken with longer than I have with you.”
“Then saying, ‘how do you do?’ does not suffice?”
“No.”
Heavens, she’d known Mr. Bradley when he was occupied with pulling pigtails. Thankfully, he no longer went about dismantling hairstyles, but the fact did not render him tolerable.
There was an awkward pause, then Juliet returned her gaze to the landscape. “You haven’t told me about the flowers yet.”
“I haven’t?” Lucas frowned, then shrugged. ”Well, they’re not of much interest.”
“So, you don’t want to show your knowledge by sharing the Latin names?” she teased.
His face paled, although he must feel some exertion from the climb as well, then he gave a tight smile. “I’m a modest man.”
“Very well.”
She nodded slowly, scrutinizing him.
The man was apt to behave most curiously, but then it seemed he was spoken for. After all, he’d only been with one woman and he seemed to think highly of her. Perhaps he worried Juliet might develop an interest in him, even though she was betrothed to an obviously perfect man. Men, though, had a habit of thinking highly of themselves. Both her father and Horatius certainly were instilled with great confidence.
“SO, ARE YOU GOING TO marry her?” Juliet’s green eyes sparkled.
Lucas looked away hastily. His heart must have heavied, for each step seemed more difficult, as if a giant stone were thrust underneath his ribs. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“You’re blushing.” Juliet grinned. “Once you get the nerve to propose to her and actually marry her, you too must come and visit me and the duke. We will have lovely house parties.”
Lucas’s heart careened, and he sat down abruptly.
“That won’t be happening,” Lucas said.
Juliet frowned, and her bottom lip pressed up. “You mean, you don’t want to spend time with me. After this? I know I’ve been difficult, but...”
“She’s dead,” Lucas said abruptly, his voice hoarse.
Juliet’s eyes widened.
“The woman you love died?” she asked.
He jerked his head down. “Yes.”
She stared at him, and he averted his gaze.
“I went to war. And when I returned—”
“She was dead?”
“Pneumonia,” he said. “It happens thousands of times around the country each year. But this time, it happened to her.” He grimaced. “I keep on wondering—” He trailed off, gazing into the distance, as if he might still see her, as if everyone had made a mistake, and she hadn’t died, but had only wandered off and would appear again.
“What do you wonder?” she asked.
Lucas knew he didn’t have to answer. He’d never answered such questions before. Not that anyone had asked him. His friends knew only the vaguest information about Honoria. He’d declared himself in love, but that was not sufficient for them to think he meant it.
Young men always declared themselves to be in love. After all, young ladies enjoyed being told they were loved, and it didn’t take much intelligence to figure out that such sentiments were likely to lead to a quicker path to bed. No doubt, when he never appeared with Honoria on his arm, they attributed her absence to the ebbing of temporary infatuation rather than tragedy.
My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2) Page 9
