Rules of Refinement (The Marriage Maker)

by Tarah Scott

  “I’m too busy to discuss women, Mother,” he said.

  “Even Juliet?”

  He jerked.

  Juliet tensed.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said.

  “I’m no fool, Carrick,” his mother said. “I know —

  He shoved his chair back and stood. “I will thank you to keep anything you know to yourself, madam.”

  He turned, and his legs disappeared from sight as he strode around the desk. Juliet could barely hear his bootfalls through the pounding of her heart in her ears. The doorknob rattled, then he said, “I am busy, Mother.”

  Three heartbeats later, the dowager said, “Lady Audrey will be attending the dinner tonight.” Her voice was farther away.

  “How kind of you to invite her a second time,” Carrick replied in a cold voice.

  “I have never known you to act like this,” the dowager said.

  "You have never gone so far as to choose my bride for me,” he said.

  A moment of silence passed. “It is time you married, Carrick. Whatever pleasures you might seek—”

  “Madam, I have been patient thus far.”

  The warning in his voice sent a shiver down Juliet’s back.

  “Then I will see you at dinner,” the dowager said.

  The door clicked shut and a moment later, Carrick’s legs came back into view. He squatted and bent his head so that he could make eye contact. “Come on out, love.”

  Juliet pulled her dress to her knees and crawled from beneath the desk. He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “She’s right, you know,” Juliet said as she brushed imaginary dust off her dress. She gave thanks that her voice remained steady.

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and she froze when he tilted her face toward his. “Never mind my mother.”

  How could she possibly do that? The woman was determined to see her son wed. “She’s your mother,” Juliet whispered.

  “And she has nothing to do with us,” he replied.

  Juliet stepped away. “I’d better return to the drawing room.” She started to turn, but he grabbed her arm.

  “Not that way.” He tugged her to the bookshelves near the sideboard and pressed on a shelf. It sprang away from the wall.

  “What in the world?” she exclaimed.

  He grinned. “Lennoxlove is full of surprises.” The look in his eyes said that he, too, was full of surprises.

  * * *

  Juliet spent the afternoon in the sewing room trying her best to ignore thoughts of Carrick. Carrick laughing. Carrick staring down at her. Carrick caressing her breasts. Carrick in another woman’s arms. Why did it bother her so? She knew the proper place of a mistress—in practice, anyway. In reality, remembering her place was so much harder.

  As evening approached, the crunch of wheels on the graveled drive drew her attention to the window, yet again. Despite the conviction to ignore everything outside her room, she shifted and looked out the window. Her heart wrenched when Carrick stepped into view as a carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. He opened the carriage door and took the elegant hand that reached toward him. The dark-haired beauty wore an olive-green velvet dress as fine as any Juliet had ever seen. She gave a silvery laugh that reached the window.

  The woman slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and Juliet glimpsed his smile as he turned toward the house. Her heart squeezed. He was charming. They disappeared from view and his baritone laugh abruptly cut off when the door shut. The evening was young. Who knew how many more young ladies would arrive?

  Juliet reached into her sewing basket to pull out a spool of thread, but her fingers caught on the silky folds of Carrick’s cravat. Slowly, she withdrew the narrow length of fabric and pressed it against her cheek. Incredibly, it still carried his scent. Spicy sandalwood.

  The young woman’s silvery laugh came again in the distance.

  Juliet stiffened and suddenly felt rather foolish to be sniffing the cravat like a loyal hound. She stuffed it back into the basket. She wasn’t about to sit there, listening to the sounds of their merrymaking, not when she could sit in the quieter solitude of the servant quarters one floor up. Quickly, she gathered her sewing and went upstairs.

  The evening dragged. Her thoughts returned too often to the memory of Carrick’s lips on her skin—and his smile for the beautiful dark-haired lady. Just how did he entertain the debutantes in the drawing room below? When the clock struck ten, her mind still churned with uncomfortable questions. She set her sewing aside and stretched her stiff neck. Her fingers ached. The day was done, but the guests remained. Were they staying for a house party? She nibbled her lip. While she yearned to slip into Carrick’s bed, she refused to consider such an action while he entertained other women.

  “It’s a book for you tonight, Juliet,” she muttered. Perhaps for many nights to come—if she were wise. A book was a poor substitute for Carrick’s lips, but it was the best—and safest—her evening could offer.

  After a quick detour to the kitchen for a simple meal of fresh bread and cheese, she hurried down the hall toward the library. The candles and oil lamps burned low in their sconces and wall holders. In the drawing room, just three doors away, someone played the pianoforte.

  At the hum of voices, Juliet quickened her steps to the library then stopped outside its door when feminine laughter drifted toward her. She recognized too well the titter of a woman trying to impress a man. Which one of them was laughing? She crept toward the drawing room. If she was careful, no one would notice if she stole a peek.

  Catherine suddenly darted into the hall.

  Juliet stopped short and pivoted on her heel.

  “Juliet,” Catherine called, but Juliet hurried away. An instant later, Catherine reached her side and caught her hand. “Oh, do play with us, Juliet.” The young girl giggled. “Please, Juliet!”

  “I really shouldn’t.” Juliet tried to shake free.

  “Don’t be a ninny.” Catherine tugged her several paces toward the drawing room. “Come join the fun.”

  Juliet knew she should break free—for a mistress didn’t socialize with ladies invited to respectable parties. Her mother had pounded that into her head long before she truly understood what the words meant.

  They reached the drawing room. Juliet took two paces into the room, caught sight of Carrick and stopped. The Duke of Hamilton stood before the fire, dressed in black breeches with a gray brocade waistcoat, white shirt, and a fine red silk, elaborately tied cravat. He smiled as he examined a large sapphire ring against the firelight. Half a dozen guests gathered around him, three of whom were ladies vying for the closest position.

  “It’s such a beautiful ring, Carrick,” a petite redhead in an expensive blue satin evening gown said. “A truly stunning ring any woman would be pleased to wear.”

  “Not just any woman.” The dowager shifted in the nearby settee. Her voice held a distinct note of pride. “Hamilton brides have worn that ring for the past eighty years.”

  Brides. Juliet turned to leave.

  Catherine shut the door, her back to the wood, and grinned. “Juliet’s come to play with us.”

  All eyes turned onto her.

  “Ah, Juliet,” the dowager said.

  Juliet faced the older woman, careful to keep her gaze from straying to Carrick.

  The older woman waved her forward. “Come, join us.”

  Juliet hesitated. If the woman disapproved of her presence, it was difficult to tell. Juliet needn’t glance at the prospective brides to know they didn’t approve. She felt their assessing gazes inventory her face, figure and, no doubt, her clothes. A sliver of satisfaction bolstered her. In that regard, they would not find her lacking.

  Catherine bounced over to her brother. “We have more than enough players now.”

  Juliet couldn’t halt her gaze from following the girl.

  Catherine tugged his sleeve. “Juliet’s here for a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.”

  Carrick
grinned down at his sister. “Then what are we waiting for?” His attention shifted to Juliet.

  Other guests laughed and rose from their seats as Carrick started toward her. She should leave. She knew it. Yet, her feet wouldn’t move.

  He reached her side. “Good evening, Miss Thatcher.” He bowed and peered down at her with a twinkle in his gray eyes.

  An answering smile curled her lips and she curtseyed low. “Good evening to you, as well,” she murmured, deliberately refusing to utter the expected words ‘my lord’ or ‘your grace’. Indeed, she wouldn’t join the gaggle of fawning creatures in the room.

  A sharp clapping of hands startled them both and Juliet blinked to find the dowager watching them closely.

  “Let the game begin.” She clapped her hands a few more times and raised her brow in an obvious reprimand.

  Juliet averted her gaze, and wished mightily that she had left. Carrick chuckled, looped his arm through hers and drew her toward the circle of players.

  “Allow me to go first,” a slim gentleman with thinning brown hair offered.

  Catherine obligingly tied the band of cloth over his eyes and spun him around as the countdown began. The players fanned out across the room and began calling his name.

  Juliet edged toward the door.

  “Edward, this way,” the calls began as the man began to bump about the drawing room, arms outstretched.

  Juliet retreated another pace and Carrick edged closer. He leaned down, clearly intending to whisper in her ear, when the redheaded woman bumped his arm.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace.” She giggled and lay her hand on his arm.

  Carrick’s expression hardened, and Juliet’s heart sang.

  The blindfolded man stumbled past two women who sidestepped him, and he collided with Carrick. The man seized Carrick’s cravat and announced, “It’s Hamilton.”

  Carrick snorted a laugh. “Damn cravat,” he said in a low voice, and glanced sideways at Juliet. He faced the thin man. “I’ll take this, my dear fellow.” Carrick whipped the blindfold off him and began tying it over his eyes.

  Catherine appeared at his side and began to spin her brother in circles. The redheaded woman giggled and made no move to fan out and join the others.

  Catherine rolled her eyes in disgust. “Let’s change up the rules, shall we? The last one Carrick catches will earn a kiss.”

  Above the blindfold, Carrick’s brows knit into a frown.

  A chorus of ‘ohhs’ went up amongst the woman and the redhead said, “How delightful,” then darted away.

  “I say, I don’t care for this new rule,” the thin gentleman objected.

  Carrick cocked his head to the side and teased. “Then, Edwards, here I come.”

  As he took a step forward, one of the women pushed Juliet into his path. He caught her arm and tensed, then relaxed and slid his fingers down to her wrists to give her a little yank. She stumbled and fell against his chest.

  Catherine clapped. “I changed my mind. I say Carrick must kiss the first woman he catches.”

  Juliet stiffened. The other women protested loudly.

  “That isn’t fair.”

  “That will teach you not to push other players, Lady Audrey,” Catherine said.

  Carrick planted a chaste kiss on Juliet’s forehead. “’Tis Miss Thatcher,” he said with conviction.

  “Bravo!” Edwards laughed.

  “Enough of this game.” Carrick tore off the blindfold.

  “Let us sing, shall we?” Catherine suggested as she skipped to the pianoforte.

  “It’s getting late, Catherine dear,” the dowager objected.

  Her daughter ignored her and plopped down at the pianoforte, then began to play. As the room filled with voices—and the women swooped over to commandeer Carrick’s attention—Juliet made good her escape. She ducked into the library and turned to close the door when Carrick stepped inside. Juliet cried out when he caught her in his arms.

  “Where are you running as if the devil himself were after you?”

  “To my room,” she said, and silently added, where I belong. “You should return to your guests.”

  He peered down at her, looking more handsome than a man had a right to, with his lips curled into a lazy smile. “Let them wonder. I’ve had enough of duty tonight.”

  The words made her heart thud, but then her attention caught on the word ‘duty.’ Duty would always stand between them. The thought soured her mood.

  He drew his brows into a faint, puzzled line. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  “I’m no fool, Juliet. What’s bothering you?”

  “It’s nothing, truly.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t ignore your guests in favor of your mistress.”

  Surprise overcame his puzzlement, then the gray eyes staring down at her glittered. “Make no mistake, Juliet, a paper doesn’t dictate what lies between us. I would tear it in half this moment, if not for the fact that it secures your wellbeing.”

  There was truth to that, no matter how hard it was to admit. Already, she’d earned her house and yearly sum. She winced. She’d fallen prey to his charms so fast. Damn her passionate blood.

  “My mother will be pleased.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.

  He grasped her shoulder. “Forget your mother and that damn contract. What we feel is the only thing that matters.” He drew her close once again and softly traced the outline her jaw. “You’re mine and mine alone,” he whispered. “My mistress.”

  My mistress. The way he said the words made her feel like a cherished possession, and the gentleness of his touch sent shivers down her spine. He dropped his head to nuzzle her temple and she melted against him, keenly aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled deeply before he pressed his forehead against hers.

  "I can't get you out of my thoughts." He pulled back enough to look in her eyes. "You're not like any woman I've known."

  Juliet searched the depths of his gray eyes. "I most certainly have never met a man like you."

  He held her closer. Then kissed her. The passionate ravage of her mouth softened to an intimate nibble. The thud of his heart beat in time with hers. She'd thought him all fire and passion, but this tender, gentle exchange left her weak-kneed with desire. Might she—

  A sharp knock on the door caused her to jerk back.

  The dowager’s muffled voice called from the other side, “Carrick? Are you in there?”

  Carrick’s head jerked in the direction of the door.

  “Carrick?” the dowager repeated.

  The door knob rattled and Juliet broke free of his embrace.

  “Juliet, wait,” Carrick hissed.

  He grabbed for her, but she bolted toward the servants’ door. She couldn’t face the dowager. Juliet winced and dashed up the stairs.

  At last, she slipped into her room. She flopped onto her back on the bed and contemplated the plastered ceiling. Why, oh, why had she allowed herself to fall for the man? A mistress. She truly was his mistress now. Why had she fallen into this trap when she knew that she wasn’t the kind who wanted to share?

  Chapter Twelve

  Lock, Stock, and Barrel

  CARRICK EYED THE DOOR through which Juliet had vanished. Something clearly bothered the lass.

  “Carrick?” His mother knocked louder.

  He huffed an impatient breath and reached the door in three long strides, then flung it open.

  His mother’s lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Carrick, you must bid you guests farewell. It’s the least you can do under the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?” he repeated.

  The dowager’s lips parted as if to reply but then, apparently thinking better of it, she turned and swept back down the hall.

  Carrick followed in a pensive mood. Juliet was downright skittish. Why? Och, the matter of the contract didn’t help matters, but surely, something more bothered her.

  They reached th
e drawing room and he began the long series of farewells, absently participating in the ‘oh, let’s do this again, soon’ conversations to the round of ‘thank you’s’ and a good hearty ‘farewell’ when he finally herded them to the door. With his thoughts revolving around Juliet, he found the torturous ritual even more tedious than usual.

  Finally, the last carriage departed, and his mother headed toward her suite. Carrick turned to the stairs that led to Juliet’s room.

  “What happened to Juliet?” Catherine said.

  He glanced over his shoulder and slowed to allow his sister to catch up with him.

  “If I may say so, brother dear, your prospective brides were rather catty tonight, especially Audrey. Did you see the way she shoved Juliet into your arms? Oh, you couldn’t have. You were wearing the blindfold. Well, let me assure you, Audrey was trying to be the last…”

  Prospective brides. He winced. What mistress would enjoy the company of her lover’s prospective brides? He’d been so eager to see her, he hadn’t given her perspective thought. What a fool he’d been.

  “And Mother said…” Catherine prattled in the background.

  Mother. Her determination to see him wed was the root of his problem. It was time to get his mother and her interference out of his life.

  An idea flashed across his mind. He reached the stairs and paused. His sister swung around the newel post at the base of the stairs. “What would you say about a trip to London and an allowance to spend?” he interrupted her stream of complaints.

  From the sudden shine in her eyes, he knew her answer.

  “London?” she breathed.

  “And let’s add a sea holiday at Brighton as well, shall we?” he suggested. That southern-most tip of England was as far away from Lennoxlove House as he could get without dropping his mother into the sea.

  “Mother loves the sea,” Catherine gasped. “Oh, it will be wonderful, Carrick. I am so weary of the country. Mother was complaining of it herself, just yesterday.”

  She hurried up the stairs ahead of him, clearly headed for their mother’s suite to share the news.