by Tarah Scott
“My lord, how may I be of service?”
“I’ve come to speak with the owner of this house,” Carrick informed him coolly.
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“The Duke of Hamilton.”
The door yanked wide and he locked gazes with a middle-aged matron with bright green eyes and ginger hair. Her body had been squeezed into a red, low-cut gown that artfully emphasized her curves.
“Come in, Your Grace.” She offered a sweeping gesture followed by a low curtsey that offered a bird’s eye view of her ample cleavage. “I’m Lady Aphrodite, the owner of this fine establishment.”
Carrick ducked under the lintel and entered.
She turned to the butler and directed in a low voice, “Bring refreshments at once,” then smiled up at Carrick. “Come, my lord. This way.”
He followed her down a hall, where more paintings of Aphrodite adorned the walls, and past a large room where one beribboned, satin-clad young lady lounged on a settee. As he passed, the woman lazily lifted her fan and coquettishly dropped her lashes. Finally, they entered a small parlor. A large portrait of Aphrodite, painted in golds and crimson, matched the upholstery of the low couch and chaise lounge.
“Please, have a seat, my lord.” She closed the door. “You look as if you’ve had a long journey. Would you care for brandy?”
He shook his head and sat down. “I’m looking for a Juliet Thatcher.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she quickly recovered and said, “May I ask why you are looking for our lovely Juliet?”
Why? She’d cast a net over him, that was why. For the first time in his life, he struggled to voice the words raging through his mind. “I have business to discuss with her.”
“Our Juliet’s not here,” she said.
Relief flooded through him. It had been unlikely she would have arrived ahead of him and signed a contract with another man so quickly, but the worry had niggled. “Even better,” he said. “She will soon arrive, however. I seem to have outpaced the coach from Edinburgh.”
“I see,” she murmured. “Perhaps I could better help you if I understood the nature of your…business with Juliet.”
Lust stormed through him. “Come, madam, we are neither of us naïve. Why else would a man ride from Edinburgh to London for a woman like Juliet?”
A calculated look appeared in her eyes. “You’re interested in our Juliet?”
“I am—exclusively,” he said, and wondered for the hundredth time what madness had seized him. He’d never set such a restriction on any other woman. “Draw up whatever contract you please,” he said. “Price is of no concern. Make it for a month—maybe more.”
She tilted her head. “Juliet is much more than a simple lady of Aphrodite, Your Grace.” After a pregnant pause, she added, “She’s my daughter.”
He pinned her with an icy stare. “A mother who intended to auction her daughter off.”
Most men squirmed under his stare. Juliet’s mother stared back, unabashed. “My lord, surely, you do not condemn a woman for doing the very thing you are paying her to do?”
“Juliet is not my daughter,” he replied.
“True.” Her gaze sharpened. “Therefore, it is my place to ensure that she lives a comfortable life and has security as she ages. If you know a better way for a woman to accomplish that, I am ready to entertain your ideas.”
Embarrassment flushed over him. “Forgive me, I overstepped my bounds.”
She smiled, and Carrick saw where Juliet got her keen mind. “You’re clearly a man with a healthy appetite,” she said. “Just the sort of man my daughter needs. I’ll see her treated fairly. And while Juliet is my daughter, she’s also a lady of this house—or will be, after she’s known a man’s touch.”
After she’s known a man’s touch? It took a moment for the meaning to sink through his haze of exhaustion and lust. Juliet was a virgin? How? She’d appeared well-versed in the arts of tantalizing a man. A wave of disappointment coursed through him. He’d thought to find an experienced lady of pleasure, one trained to slake his need. He didn’t deflower virgins. Yet even as the thought swirled in his head, a primal hunger stirred his soul. Juliet, with her sultry voice, her mysterious blue eyes and long wave of gold-streaked hair…Juliet could be his and his alone.
“As the most sought-after lady in this house, the honor of taking her virginity has reached a princely sum,” the woman was saying.
Carrick snapped from his thoughts. The most sought-after woman? “Nae,” the word ripped from his mouth. “There will be no other.”
A triumphant smile curved one corner of her mouth.
He locked gazes with her. “Nicely done, madam.”
She angled her head in acknowledgement. “We are agreed then. A woman of her quality requires a house and a yearly allowance. I will not consider anything less than a year.”
“Draw up a contract with your demands and have done,” he said.
She rose. “Let me fetch the pen and parchment.”
She sailed out the door and he leaned back to stretch his arms along the back of the couch. He needed a bath and a good night’s sleep. Carrick released a breath. A virgin. God help him.
Movement near the door caught his attention and he glanced over as a woman entered. The winsome lass had long blonde curls and wore a beribboned shift thin enough to provide an enticing glimpse of her dark areolas and the patch of hair tucked at the apex of her thighs.
“Can I offer you anything while you wait, my lord?” She swayed her hips as she approached. “I’m Lucy.”
Ah, the fair Lucy. He opened his mouth to send her away, then changed his mind. She did have something he needed. Desperately. He tapped his fingers along the back of the couch. “Join me.”
She smiled, then settled by his side and reached for his crotch.
He caught her wrist. “Nae, lass, not that.” He placed her hand firmly on her knee. “I simply wish to talk, my dear.” He reached into his waistcoat, withdrew several pound notes and pressed them into her hand. He had a mistress to seduce, “I need you to tell me everything you know about Juliet.”
Chapter Five
Home Again
JULIET YAWNED AND OPENED her eyes. She sat in the coach, sandwiched between a large man who smelled like cheese and a frazzled woman travelling with four children—creatures, Juliet now suspected, that had been spawned in hell. Never had she seen a more unruly bunch. Through the coach window, she glimpsed the city of London spread over the horizon. At last. She was almost home.
There had been nothing else to do in the coach but think and, for the most part, she’d thought of little else but the Midnight Ball. She couldn’t forget the tingle of Carrick’s fingers as they’d trailed over her skin, a tantalizing touch she’d relived again and again the entire journey. Truth be told, she’d imagined much, much more, but with London only minutes away, she could no longer indulge in fantasies of those smoky gray eyes. More pressing matters awaited her. The most important being a mother to outwit before the woman again auctioned off her virginity.
Soon enough, the coach rolled over London’s cobblestoned streets and stopped at the King’s Head Inn. Juliet alighted into her mother’s waiting and welcoming arms.
“It’s so good to see you, love.” Her mother hugged her close before holding her at arm’s length. “You have lost weight.”
“I’m fine, Ma,” Juliet laughed, inspecting her mother in turn.
It had only been a year since they’d parted. Her mother looked very much the same as she always had, buxom and pleasing, with a pert nose, green eyes and red hair. Juliet with her dark locks and blue eyes had clearly taken after her father—whoever that might have been. Even her mother wasn’t sure. They interrupted their greetings and stepped aside as an arrogant lady swept past, her maid in tow.
“Hoity-toity.” Her mother rolled her eyes as the young woman swept out of sight. “I’d pity the man wed to that poor soul—if I didn’t know he’d turn up at my do
or as a good-paying customer.” She laughed.
Juliet offered a wry smile as one of her mother’s hired men shoved her trunk onto the bed of a cart.
“Take the cart on up to the house,” her mother ordered the man. “Juliet and I will walk. We must chat.”
Chat? Juliet thinned her lips. “Ma, must we talk business so soon?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed into shrewd, calculating slits. “It’s always time to talk business, Juliet. Especially now. I moved the ball up a week. It’s tonight. I feared you wouldn’t make it in time.”
“Tonight?” Juliet repeated in dismay. She was sore, stiff, and tired from the journey, and she desperately needed a bath.
“You have a few hours, yet,” her mother assured with a smile and a fond pat on the cheek. “You’re young. You’ll feel spry enough in no time. I set up your card table in the sitting room and you mustn’t forget to wear your mask.”
Cards. That was a relief. At least her mother hadn’t auctioned her off—yet. “Well, as long as it’s just playing cards, Ma,” she gave in, but, unable to resist, added, “But we really need to talk about my career. Much has transpired since—”
“Come, come, we’ll chat later,” her mother interrupted with a smile.
The smile made Juliet stop in her tracks. Her mother invariably responded to all dressmaking overtures with theatrics—certainly never with a kindly, ‘we’ll chat later.’
“What have you done?” Juliet demanded.
“What have I done?” Her mother snorted, looped her arm through Juliet’s, and pulled her down the street. “I’ve simply welcomed my daughter home. That’s all. Now don’t spare the bath oils, and wear your finest. We have a ball tonight: Lady Aphrodite’s Night of Wonders.”
The last thing Juliet wanted was to attend another ball, but at least she had one consolation. This time, she didn’t have to deal with the disconcerting Duke of Hamilton. With a long, loud sigh, she followed her mother, wondering why that thought didn’t conjure as much relief as it should.
* * *
Juliet gathered her silvery, gossamer silk skirts in one hand and proceeded out her room and down the stairs. Cut in the French fashion of forty years before, the voluminous skirts floated around her ankles, preventing her from seeing where she stepped. She nearly missed the bottom riser before she reached the floor and entered the crowded ballroom.
“Careful now,” her mother called as she arrived.
Lady Aphrodite’s Night of Wonders was well underway. Swirls of colorful silk and glittering glass jewelry met Juliet’s eyes everywhere she looked as Lady Aphrodite’s girls, their assets on full display, mingled with the clientele.
Brenda swooped over, grabbed Juliet’s arm, and pointed toward the sitting room. “Your card table is ready.” She giggled and dropped her gaze to Juliet’s bosom. “But you’re clearly not, love. Pull that gown lower and show more flesh.” Brenda yanked Juliet’s bodice. The edge of the fabric slid dangerously low over her nipples. “There.” The girl nodded in satisfaction as Juliet fitted her mask over her face. “Your first customers have arrived.” She escorted Juliet to the sitting room and urged her inside.
Juliet heaved a sigh. She really wasn’t in the mood to play cards with a gaggle of pawing men. She glanced around the sitting room. Someone had decorated the mantle and tables with elaborate ivy and thistle garlands, elegantly tied in gold ribbon. Cheap, imitation Grecian pedestals bearing baskets of fruit and cheese lined the walls. A fire crackled in the grate behind a card table draped in white velvet. A man already lounged there, and several more waited nearby. Juliet scarcely gave them notice as she woodenly approached her chair and, after fluffing her cushion, took her seat with an unceremonious plop.
“A game of commerce for the gentleman?” she asked. She glanced up—and froze.
Carrick Hamilton’s smoldering gray eyes stared back at her.
Chapter Six
What Lies Beneath
CARRICK WATCHED JULIET. She wore the same white-feathered Venetian mask she’d worn three nights ago, and her breasts nearly spilled over the bodice of her deliciously enticing silver gown. His cock hardened in approval.
“Fancy meeting you again, Juliet,” he drawled.
Her lips—such luscious lips—parted in shock.
Another man strolled across the room.
Carrick jolted from the spell. He rose and faced the other men. Merchants and laborers, for the most part. He knew how to deal with men of their ilk. “Gentlemen, I would like some privacy with the lady. Take your pick of the other women here, at my expense.”
“I beg your pardon,” Juliet said behind him.
“I beg your pardon?” one man echoed.
Two men came to their feet.
Another snorted and opened his mouth to object.
He nodded at the door. “Tell the lady of the house to send your bill to the Duke of Hamilton.”
“Duke of Hamilton?” one man said. He looked at Juliet. “Is this man who he says he is?”
She remained mute.
Carrick imagined she wanted to condemn him to the darker parts of hell, but he kept his attention on the men. They exchanged glances with one another, then shrugged and filed from the room.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Carrick faced Juliet once more. His gaze caught on the hint of pink nipples peeking out of her gown. A flush of heat tightened his groin. He had to maintain his dignity. It was one thing to desire a prospective mistress, quite another to ogle her like a common doxy. He returned his gaze to her face. The blue eyes staring back at him through the mask had narrowed.
“I am pleased to see you again,” he said.
She remained silent.
“Surely, you can’t be surprised to see me after what transpired between us at the Midnight Ball, Juliet.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but he couldn’t read her expression through the damn mask. He’d had quite enough of the thing. He rounded the table in two strides and grasped the ribbon holding the mask in place. Juliet jerked, but he grasped her shoulder with one hand and tugged the tie free with the other. The white satin mask fell to the floor.
Juliet stiffened.
Carrick’s breath caught. He’d known she was beautiful—after all, the silk creation hadn’t hidden everything—but unmasked… Almond-shaped blue eyes held his gaze with an intensity that started his heart to hammer. Dark hair framed high cheekbones and flawless skin. He well understood how her mother had named the establishment after the goddess Aphrodite. He was powerless to look away.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Juliet blinked, her thick lashes fanning her cheeks. She shifted, as if to stand, but he whirled and returned to his chair.
“A game of commerce, shall we?” he murmured.
“I am not for sale, Carrick,” she said in a fierce whisper. “You cannot just take my body.”
“I’m not trying to, lass,” he said.
Juliet snorted. “How did you find me? No doubt my aunt sold me out. Honoria doesn’t know how to keep quiet.”
Aunt? Lady Peddington? Interesting. “Your aunt told me nothing save that you had returned to your London home.”
Her mouth thinned. “Why are you here?”
He pulled the contract from his inner vest pocket. Alarm crossed Juliet’s face as her gaze fell to the parchment. With a grim twist of her mouth, she snatched it from his grasp and stared at the words.
Finally, she laid the paper on the table and rose. “I must speak with my mother.”
He pushed to his feet and stepped into her path. “I won’t force you, Juliet. I’m not that kind of a man.”
“Won’t force me? Then what is that?” She jabbed a finger at the contract.
“That is protection.”
The eyes staring up at him were rife with suspicion. “Protection? From?”
They stood close, her breasts inches from his chest. The perfume of her hair swirled around him. “From me,” he said. “This cont
ract ensures you’ll never do anything you do not wish to do.”
Interest lit her eyes. “That includes bedding you?” At his nod, she added, “Of what possible advantage is such a contract to you when I’ve no intentions of letting you in my bed?”
“Time,” he answered truthfully. “The contract buys me time to seduce my mistress.”
Juliet laughed, a silvery sound filled with wry amusement. “I’ve seen it all in the brothel, Carrick. There isn’t a trick I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Then you have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I’ll send my carriage around for you in the morning to take you to Lennoxlove House. My mother and sister are in sore need of a dressmaker.”
She went ramrod stiff.
“Should you, indeed, prove impervious to my charms” –he flashed a smile— “sewing the gowns of the Dowager Duchess and her daughter will go far in establishing your reputation, will it not?”
She blinked. “Is this some sort of trick?”
He shook his head. “My mother and sister are in need of new dresses.”
“They will be there?” she said, then added as if speaking more to herself than him, “That is very good,” and he realized he’d erred. He hadn’t intended on his mother and sister being at Lennoxlove House.
“The dowager duchess will not be pleased that her son has installed his mistress as her dressmaker,” Juliet said.
“She will not be staying permanently.”
“Neither will I,” Juliet said. “I see the contract allows for a cottage of my choosing.”
He angled his head in agreement. “Even here in London, if you choose.”
Juliet pinned him with a stare. “You will tire of me before the year stipulated in the contract—especially when I keep turning you away.”
He bent his head until his lips almost touched her ear. She stiffened, but didn’t step away. “Shall we say I have until summer’s end to…woo you?” Carrick drew back enough to see her face.
A calculating gleam –with a hint of amusement—lit her blue eyes. “If I manage to resist your charms until the end of summer, you honor the contract for the year—the money and a cottage.”
