by Donna Hatch
Victor leaned against the edge of the hearth and surveyed the room while trying to keep a more nonchalant expression.
But his gaze landed once again on Lady Juliet at the whist table. She’d bloomed into a confident and gracious hostess in only a few short days, and Lady Diana had told him more than once that this was the most enjoyable house party she’d ever attended.
When those raptures made their way back to London society, Lady Juliet would be flooded with invitations next season.
Tomorrow, he’d determined, he’d do his duty. He’d propose to Lady Diana. A game of shuttlecock was planned for the afternoon, and he would invite her on a walk through the garden. He would get down on bended knee and seal his fate once and for all. Marriage to Lady Diana was the only way he could truly be free. Next time he saw his father, the man’s insults would bounce right off because Victor would have won.
At the whist table, Lady Juliet tapped Talbot’s arm with one of her cards, then laughed at something.
Victor knew he should be watching Lady Diana, but as long as Lady Juliet was in the same room, that was proving more and more difficult.
“Can you meet me in the library after everyone retires?” someone said close to Victor’s ear.
He didn’t need to turn to know that it was Southill standing next to him.
Everything inside of Victor wanted to shout no. “Of course.”
Southill moved away, and Victor was left alone again to contemplate a life that seemed to grow more and more dismal by the moment.
Two hours later, Victor sat across from Southill in the library. Several candles flickered, two had almost guttered out, and the brandy nearly all drunk by Southill. Victor had had half a glass, and even that much had made him queasy, simply because he knew this conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.
“I’ve consulted with another advisor,” Southill started out, his blue eyes already unfocused. “He’s offered to marry my sister, and he’s pledged part of her dowry toward the renovations of my estate. Then we’ll combine the fields of our estates and breed horses. The income will eventually pay off my debts.”
Victor looked down at the glass in his hand and absently noted how the amber liquid seemed to flash gold in the candlelight. This plan of Southill’s could only mean one thing; Stratford had made the offer. And Stratford was the one Lady Juliet said she could not imagine marrying—ever.
Victor took a sip of the brandy, wondering how he could put a stop to this match. But who was he kidding? He had no real control over Lady Juliet’s future. That detail was in the hands of the man sitting on the other side of the desk.
“What about Laurence Talbot?” Victor said. “The man is growing wealthier by the minute, and you won’t have to be under Stratford’s thumb.”
Southill frowned. “The shipping industry isn’t reliable. The man might be making money this year, but what about in ten years?”
Victor leaned back in his chair. “Ten years could bring change for all of us. Perhaps we should embrace it.”
Southill scoffed. “Have you spoken to your father lately about embracing change? You and I both are a product of rules, traditions, and more rules.” He shrugged and downed another half glass of brandy. “I’d offer you my sister, but you already made your opinion clear when you bashed my face in. Besides, I hear your father’s iron grip is going to last far beyond the grave.”
Victor set his glass on the desk so he wouldn’t accidentally crush it in his hand. “Do you have anything against Lord Hudson?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
Southill barked a laugh. “That old goat? I don’t know why he’s always hanging around you. Everyone knows his mother’s still alive and makes the real decisions in the family. I don’t want to wait until the old crony’s death before I can talk some sense into Hudson.”
Victor exhaled. “Brooks?”
“He’s barely out of leading strings,” Southill said. “Besides, he’s a second son, and we all know nothing ever comes of that. Juliet will spend her life grasping for seconds, and my debts will continue to rise.”
Victor leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It seems Talbot is the best option, and I believe you’ll find your sister agreeable, which will make the entire process smooth and quick. She could be married before the leaves change color, and by Christmastide, you’ll be a redeemed man.”
Southill’s lips curled upward, but it wasn’t any sort of friendly smile. “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Locken? What is Juliet’s future to you?”
“Nothing,” Victor ground out, but he wasn’t fast enough. Southill had seen his hesitation.
Southill shot to his feet, and Victor followed suit.
“Have you compromised my sister?” Southill growled. “Got her with child? Is that why you’re trying to marry her off so quickly by throwing money at this house party and covering your tracks?”
Victor didn’t move, because if he did, he knew his fist would find its way into Southill’s face again.
Southill walked around the desk and approached Victor, stopping right in front of him. So close that Victor could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath. The scent made the hairs on the back of Victor’s neck rise.
“If I find out that you’ve even touched my sister,” Southill said, “I will, by all that’s holy, both above and below ground, cut your throat.”
Victor swallowed, but he didn’t break his gaze. How he hated this man’s face and voice.
Moments ticked by with the two men staring each other down. Victor didn’t move a muscle, but he was ready to react in an instant, come what may.
Finally, Southill turned and poured himself another glass of brandy. After downing it, he said in a hoarse voice, “Get out.”
Victor wasn’t ready to leave, not without getting Southill’s agreement about Laurence Talbot. But Southill was on his eighth or ninth glass, and if Victor didn’t leave now, nothing about this night would end well.
So Victor left the library, shutting the door behind him, and walked through the dark house. He made his way to the door that led to the garden terrace. He slipped outside to find the air cool and fragrant and the moon high in the sky, casting a cool light over the bushes and trails. It was the balm Victor needed. He crossed the terrace and set off along one of the paths, not paying attention to where he was walking. When he reached the gazebo, he paused, wondering if he should somehow warn Lady Juliet of her brother’s decision. He could write a note and have a maid deliver it to her. Or perhaps he could slip it under her door himself.
Or perhaps he should break into her bedchamber, scoop her up, and carry her far away. Frustration pulsed through him, and he turned to the gazebo and slammed his fist into one of the beams.
A small yelp sounded from inside the gazebo, and Victor stilled. Please be a bird, or a small critter. But as he rubbed his sore hand and stepped to the entrance, the shadowed form he saw was much too large to be an animal.
The form rose, and the shape was unmistakably a woman’s.
“Lord Locken,” the woman said in a soft voice.
He’d know her voice anywhere—had listened to it for days, even when he had no part of her conversations.
“Lady Juliet,” he began. “My apologies for startling you.”
She walked toward the gazebo entrance, and the moonlight skittered across her skin as it filtered through the slatted roof above. She wore the same blue gown from that evening, so it meant she hadn’t fully prepared for bed. Apparently she was as restless as he.
She took another step nearer. Her unbound hair tumbled in golden waves about her shoulders, making her look like she’d just walked out of a fairy-tale book. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, lean in and smell her scent, pull her into his arms and bury his face in her neck. If only once.
“What has you so troubled?” Her voice broke his reverie.
He straightened. “I thought punching a wooden beam would do less damage than what my true desire was.”
He could never tell her that, especially here, in the middle of the night in a secluded gazebo. It would be so easy to take her into his arms and kiss her. But he could not do her the disservice. So he contented himself by gazing into the depths of her eyes.
“I’ve just spoken with your brother.” He hated to bring her into this, but it concerned her, after all. “It seems we are at odds with each other once again.”
“I know about Stratford,” she said in a quiet voice. “When the ladies excused themselves tonight, Stratford asked to have a word with me. He laid out the plan he’d worked on with John.” She blinked as a tear stole its way onto her cheek.
Victor had thought he’d been angry when he’d hit the wooden beam, but that was nothing compared to the fury building inside of him as he watched the single tear track down her cheek. He lifted his hand and soaked it up with his thumb. He wore no gloves, and her cheek was cool with the night air. The smoothness of her skin sent a tremor through Victor. He should lower his hand and step away, but he didn’t.
Lady Juliet tilted her head so that her cheek rested in his palm. “I will be all right, Lord Locken. Please don’t worry yourself on my behalf. Mr. Talbot has made his intentions quite obvious, and my new lady friends believe he will propose soon. I am quite sure that I’ll get my brother to agree to the union.” She lifted her chin, and another tear brimmed on her eyelash. “As for your wager, I am sure Lord Hudson or Lord Brooks are about to fall into line. Lord Brooks has written me the loveliest poetry. So, you see, you’ll more than win the wager. I’ll marry . . . someone . . . and perhaps our paths will cross in the future.” She smiled, but it was a tremulous smile. “We will be happy for each other.”
Victor ran his fingers across her cheek, along her jawline, then rested his hand at the base of her neck. The delicate pulse of her heart could be felt there. She didn’t seem to mind where his hand was, for she didn’t draw away or reprimand him. In fact, she seemed to have inched a bit closer, close enough that her breath brushed against his own neck.
“I don’t want to be happy for you,” he whispered. “I want to be happy with you.”
She inhaled, then wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand in place against her skin. Instead of responding to his declaration, she said, “Did you burn that letter?”
She’d remembered; she’d remembered and worried. He smiled. “I did.”
She returned his smile, and he felt his heart crack. Her smile was so pure, her gaze so open, her body so close, that he knew . . . knew she felt the same way about him as he did her.
“I’m glad,” she said. “You deserve so much more, Victor Roland.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so,” he murmured. Then he saw something with a square edge sticking out of the lace trim of her bodice. “What’s this?”
Before she could move, he’d plucked out what looked like a folded letter.
“Give that to me,” she said, grasping for the paper, but he held it out of her reach.
She grabbed his other hand, but he’d already unfolded the letter.
He stared at the words in the moonlight. “It’s the note I sent you.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at her. “You keep it in your bodice?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, but she held his gaze. “I don’t want it discovered, and I refuse to burn it.”
Victor stared at her for a long moment. Then he refolded the letter and ever so gently slipped it back into its place.
“Lady—”
“Call me Juliet,” she breathed.
“I should go,” he said. “I don’t trust myself around you right now, Juliet. The moonlight is bewitching my senses, among other things . . .”
She exhaled. “Tomorrow we will begin our separate lives and fulfill the expectations of our families. But before we say goodbye . . . please kiss me once.”
Victor stared at her, but he knew his ears had not deceived him. She was asking him. And he could no longer resist her. He raised his hands and cradled her face, then he pressed his mouth against hers.
She tasted of honey and roses and sweet wine. Her mouth was soft and warm, and when she kissed him back, he thought his body would ignite. Her hands moved up his chest and over his shoulders. Everywhere she touched added new flames to the fire stoked inside of him. Then she slid her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer as their bodies seemed to fit together in perfection. He knew she was an innocent, yet her desire for him felt like the sweetest form of communication he’d ever experienced.
Juliet had no idea what instincts she’d kindled, and Victor had to stop. Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He could get lost in her, and he was in danger of completely forgetting all sense and reason.
Chapter Twelve
Victor’s hands on her face, then her neck, and finally tugging her closer as his mouth explored hers in a warm kiss made Juliet believe that nothing else mattered in her life. Except for this. This man. His warmth. His brown eyes. His unruly, dark hair. His heart. His mind. His life. She wanted to be a part of all of it. But his world would completely change if that happened. This she knew, yet she still kissed him, because she also knew their time was running out.
He walked her backward, moving deeper into the gazebo so they were in near darkness, and that only made the heat between them flare up more. Juliet supposed she’d imagined how it would feel to be held in his arms, to be pressed against his body, to be kissed by him, but she hadn’t expected how completely she would melt into him. And she knew that no matter whom she married, she would never feel this way again.
With only a kiss and embrace, she’d become one with Victor, both in heart and mind. And she didn’t know if she could ever let go.
“Juliet,” Victor murmured against her lips. And then he trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, until he had pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.
Their breathing slowed together, and Juliet knew the seconds were counting down to when he’d release her and step away. She clung to him, all the while dreading their separation, though it was inevitable.
“Juliet,” he rumbled again, his breath tickling her neck. “We must stop.”
She knew he wasn’t seeking a reply.
And so, when he lifted his head and gazed down at her, then slowly traced his fingers over her lips, she felt as if all warmth had fled her body as he released her.
With every step he took across the gazebo, Juliet felt the distance like each step was a league. She remained in place, unmoving, as he finally turned his back and walked slowly down the path, getting farther and farther away. She watched him literally walk out of her life.
Juliet wasn’t sure how long she stood in the gazebo, but when she started trembling from the torrent of emotions running through her, she finally made her way back to the house. She didn’t want to create a scandal by being discovered sound asleep in the gazebo come morning.
The house was silent when she walked in, and the dark shadows and quiet made her feel like a stranger in her own home. She still trembled, and she wished she’d brought some sort of cloak with her. She climbed the stairs to the second level, then walked silently down the dark hallway. Once in her bedchamber, she undressed, then climbed beneath her covers. She pulled the covers over her head, creating a cocoon of dark warmth in which she could relive the stolen moments of heat with Victor.
Her mind replayed the scene in the gazebo again and again until exhaustion finally took over, and she fell asleep.
When a brisk knock sounded on her door in the morning, Juliet could barely collect her thoughts to call out a coherent, “I am awake.”
She peered at the windows. It was nearly midday, which meant she’d slept through the morning meal. Their guests would think she was the worst hostess. She climbed out of bed and groaned at the pounding in her head. Moving to the door of her room, she took a
deep breath before opening it.
Eliza, one of the maids, stood there. “Are you ill, my lady?”
“I have a bit of a headache,” Juliet said. “But I will dress anyway.”
“Very well.” Eliza stepped into the room, then paused. “Oh, Lord Locken asked that I deliver this to you as soon as you awoke.” She held out a sealed letter.
Juliet stared at it for a moment. A letter from Victor? He’d taken a great risk in writing to her and leaving a letter with a maid. Anyone could have intercepted it. She took the letter, then walked to the window. With her back turned to Eliza and her preparations, Juliet broke the seal.
Just as his first letter, this one was short.
Dear Juliet,
Do not accept any offers. I’m going home to speak with my father. Or, more likely, beg. I hope lady fortune will smile upon us. If my father remains opposed, we will not be bereft, but we will manage our own happiness away from Locken.
Always yours,
—Victor
Juliet reread the letter a second time, then a third. Could this be true? Was Victor really going to throw away a dukedom for her? She pressed the letter against her heart. Her emotions battled against each other—no matter what she felt about him and how much she would love to be his wife, she couldn’t allow him to give up so much.
“Eliza,” Juliet said, turning to the maid. “Make all haste. I’ve delayed long enough.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Less than half an hour later, Juliet was primed and primped—on a smaller scale than she was used to over the past week, but time was of the essence. She had to find Lord Locken and talk him out of his insane notion.
She found the guests on the terrace, visiting with one another as they waited for luncheon to be brought. Before she spoke to anyone, she scanned the group for Lord Locken’s dark hair but didn’t see him. Next, she looked for her brother. He was absent as well. She hoped that didn’t mean the two men were locked in the library in another fierce debate. She finally crossed to Mr. Talbot’s side.
“You are feeling better?” he asked immediately.
