by Tarah Scott
She’d thought of Carrick the entire journey. Her heart twisted, knowing he could never truly be hers. Finally, she turned at the wrought iron fence. Lady Aphrodite’s house stood before her, but instead of lights twinkling cheerfully in the windows, all but one stood dark. Where strains of music had floated through the front rooms, silence reigned.
Juliet ran to the door and twisted the brass knob. “Ma? Ma?” She darted inside.
A single taper in a pewter holder rested on the floor, illuminating an empty room—save a single chair upon which her mother sat, chin on her chest.
Her mother jerked awake and jumped to her feet. “There you are, at last, child.” She smiled widely and held out her arms.
Juliet frowned. “What happened?” She glanced around the empty room. “Where are the girls? The furnishings? Is there trouble with the law?”
Her mother enveloped her in a hug and chuckled. “The girls have gone and married, and the same for me, as well, love. The duke and I thought it wiser if I left without a fuss.” She pinched Juliet’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t be here. Not after how hard we’ve worked to whitewash your past. Why, I only came back here tonight because he fetched me. He’s distraught, the poor boy. You’re lucky you came when you did. Come morning, and I would’ve sailed with the tide to France.”
“France?” Juliet repeated in utter disbelief. “Whatever are you speaking of?”
“Lawks, child, I’m a proper wife now, wed in a church. Sir Stirling and your duke found me a husband. We thought I should stay there for a week. You know, until things are settled and everyone thinks I’ve always lived in France.” She winked.
Juliet frowned, more confused than ever.
“And not only me, the girls as well, every one of them wed with a proper dowry.” Her mother waved her hands to indicate the empty room. “All for you, Juliet. When I return from France, no one will think to connect me with this place. They’ve made us respectable. There’s naught to fear.” She pulled a folded paper from her bodice and rolled her eyes. “Have I taught you nothing, girl? Gone and torn your contract? Really, now, though it’s hard to be angry with you.” She clucked her tongue.
Juliet stumbled to the chair and sat down, her mother’s words starting to sink in. Whitewash her past? Thousands of pounds in dowries? Her gaze fell on the torn contract in her mother’s hands.
“Where did you get that?” The last time she’d seen it, it lay atop a mound of chips on a card table.
“Where else?” Her mother snorted.
“Carrick?” Juliet swallowed. “Here?” Of course, her mother had said that, hadn’t she?
“Rode his horse straight here after fetching me to help find you,” her mother said. “The boy hasn’t slept in days. I put him up in the Swan Room. It’s the only one left with a bed—”
Juliet stopped listening.
She raced up the stairs and down the hall to the third door on the right. The door stood open enough to reveal a guttering candle and the shape of a man lying on his back with his arm flung over his face, a booted foot hanging off the bed.
Carrick.
She halted in the doorway and stared at him for a long moment, then turned on her heel and fled back down the stairs to where she’d dropped her canvas bag on the floor.
“Juliet, wait.” Her mother grabbed her hand and tilted her face up to meet her eyes. “The man loves you, child. Don’t be a fool and throw it away. He’s fixed it all so you can marry him. Put good hard coin where his mouth is.”
It was the highest compliment her mother could pay.
Juliet took a deep breath, her heart growing lighter by the moment. “I know, Ma.” She rummaged through her bag until she finally found what she sought.
“Then you’ll marry him?” her mother demanded. “My daughter…a lady—a duchess?”
The pride in her mother’s voice was hard to miss. “Not because he’s a duke, Ma.” No. It had nothing to do with a title. It never had. She couldn’t live without him, just as he obviously couldn’t live without her. She’d be a fool to throw it away—especially when she felt the same.
“Well, you can love him if you want,” her mother called as she ran back up the stairs. “As long as the outcome is the same.”
Juliet hurried back up the stairs and down the hallway. She slipped back into the bedroom, softly closing the door behind her.
He still lay asleep on the bed.
Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt and breeches, keeping an eye on his slow, steady breathing. In the dim light, she could see exhaustion on his face. He’d clearly ridden hard, but then, perhaps the exhaustion on his face had more to do with dealing with her mother. She quickly unpinned her hair, shook it over her shoulders, and then pushed her gown from her shoulders. The fabric pooled to the floor. Slowly, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him.
He awoke with a start and started to straighten, but Juliet pushed him back down.
“Juliet.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, the apex at her legs, then lifted back to her face. “Marry me, lass. I beg you.”
His manhood stirred and began to harden beneath her sex. With a smile, she guided his shaft into her wet entrance, sinking down on him fully as she revealed the crumpled cards that she’d retrieved from her canvas bag. Queen by queen, she dropped them onto his chest, ending last with the queen of hearts.
“My beautiful duchess.” He gave her a tender smile—then flipped her onto her back. She squeaked, then gasped when he drove into her.
She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to him with all her might.
“You are mine,” he growled, and thrust deep.
Yes. She was his.
###
Redemption of a Marquess
The Marriage Maker
Book Seven
Rules of Refinement
Chapter One
Valan Grey, the 6th Earl of Edmonds, the Marquess of Northington, sipped wine and watched the brown-haired beauty waltz with Mr. Evans, a peacock amid a glittering barnyard of hens. Evans had twice stepped on her toes, yet her smile hadn’t faltered. Valan slowed his stroll and spared a glance for the other wolf, almost a pup, that prowled near the open balcony doors. A breeze ruffled the young man’s styled blond locks. The youth of today relied far too much on well-made coats and coiffured hair in an effort to catch a lady’s attention. Any man of worth understood that what lay beneath the coat mattered far more to a lady of taste. He returned his attention to the beauty. Her partner turned to the music. Valan winced. Evans’ step was off by half a beat.
Between pale satin dresses, the swirl of the beauty’s emerald velvet skirt molded around her firm buttocks before she was lost from view in the sea of dancers. Had Lady Peddington suggested the dress? The beauty certainly stood out amongst the demure pastels that flared on the dance floor. She was older than the others who attended the Midnight Ball. Perfect. Tomorrow, he would send a letter of thanks to Honoria for her invitation to the soiree. She had a knack for knowing just the right lady for a gentleman.
Above the music and murmur of guests, a female gasp was followed by a man’s curse. Valan glanced left, toward the small commotion, but a half-closed curtain hid the man and woman in the alcove. He shifted his gaze back to the dance floor. A blur in the corner of his eye registered an instant too late, and a woman collided with him. Wine sloshed over the rim of his glass and onto his crisply pressed, ivory silk waistcoat. He seized the lady’s wrist to stop her fall.
Valan glanced down at the now ruined waistcoat, then met the young woman’s wide-eyed gaze. “I assume you learned enough etiquette at Lady Peddington’s to know that it’s bad manners to collide with guests. Or is this your way of gaining an introduction?”
Her brown eyes flicked to the wine-stained waistcoat then back to his face. The fear in her gaze flashed into annoyance. “I do not want an introduction.”
“Where is that bitch?” A large man lunged past the alcove curtain, half limping.
Valan deftly sidestepp
ed him, pulling the young woman with him. Viscount Hesston stumbled two paces, narrowly missing two ladies. They cast him frowns and hurried past as he whirled.
He came up short when his gaze met Valan’s. “What the devil are you doing here, Northington? Didn’t think this sort of place was one of your usual haunts.” The music ended and the last words were overloud in the absence of the orchestra. The viscount’s eyes narrowed on the young woman. “Looking for another victim, little pigeon?” He grabbed for her.
Valan tugged her out of her assailant’s reach. “This ‘little pigeon’ is otherwise engaged.”
The man’s face contorted in rage. “She is mine. I’ve spent the evening with her. She owes me.”
Valan glanced where he’d last seen the beauty on the dance floor. Gone. No doubt, claimed by the young wolf. With a sigh, he returned his attention to Hesston. “Ownership is a matter of perspective. As she has ruined a very expensive waistcoat, I believe she owes me.”
She tugged in an effort to break free. Valan held tight and nodded at a passing waiter.
“My claim supersedes yours,” Hesston said as the waiter stopped beside them.
Valan set his wine glass on the waiter’s tray.
“I d-do no’ belong to either of y-you,” the girl said.
The waiter frowned. Valan ignored him and turned curious eyes on her. “Where are you from, child?”
“That is none of your c-concern,” she said.
“Perhaps not,” he replied, “but indulge me.”
She shook her head.
“Would you rather go with this man?” He nodded at Hesston, whose face reddened.
“She is mine,” the viscount growled.
“Patience,” Valan said. “She may choose to go with you, in which case I will not interfere.”
“You have no right to interfere, at all,” Hesston snapped.
Valan turned cold eyes on him. “Even you can wait sixty seconds.” He looked at the girl and lifted a brow in question.
She glanced at Hesston, then looked back at him and shook her head. “N-nae.”
“There you have it,” he said. “Even at Lady Peddington’s Midnight Ball, a lady is free to choose her companions.”
Hesston cast a disgruntled look at her. “Dumb bitch,” he muttered.
She lifted her chin. “I would rather be dumb than cruel.”
The remark earned her a disdainful look from a woman strolling by on the arm of a man.
Hesston again lunged for her. Valan stepped between them. “You’re drunk, Hesston. Go home before you irritate the wrong person.”
“Like you?” he sneered.
Valan shrugged. “I am not the best shot in Edinburgh.”
“Damn right, you’re not,” he growled.
“I am more likely to set a runner on you,” he said.
Hesston’s eyes widened. “They hunt criminals. I have never committed a crime in my life.”
“That is a matter of perspective.”
A vicious glint lit Hesston’s eyes. “If that is so, then one might contend that you stepped outside the law on at least one occasion. Last I heard, marriage to an underage woman is against the law,” Hesston said.
Ah, the viscount had heard that Valan’s old nemesis had returned to Edinburgh just today. Gossip traveled fast when Society smelled blood.
Valan gave a bland smile. “Then I am fortunate not to have committed that crime.”
“You tried hard enough,” Hesston declared.
“Even I do not always succeed,” Valan remarked.
“You succeeded at winning your fortune in a card game,” he snarled. “That is highly illegal.”
“A friendly game of cards is never illegal,” Valan said, then added before he could reply, “The important point to remember, my dear viscount, is that runners give an ear to high-ranking peers.”
The man’s face twisted into a scowl. “You think well of yourself.”
Valan angled his head.” I am on excellent terms with Bow Street.”
Hesston took a step back. “You pay them well, is what you mean.” He sneered at the girl. “A bit of muslin isn’t worth this much trouble.”
“I am no bit of muslin,” she retorted.
Hesston turned, stumbled past a group of men, then hurried away.
Valan looked down at the young lady. “You cost me a great deal tonight.”
Her brow furrowed. “The cost of that waistcoat is a pittance for a man like you.”
He thought of the brown-haired beauty. “Money is not the only thing of worth in this world, child.”
“I am no’ a child.”
He arched a brow. “Pray tell, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“A nineteen-year-old girl who nearly got herself accosted by a rather nasty viscount.”
“Release me.” She yanked the wrist he still gripped.
He started when something pricked his wrist. Valan drew her hand upward. She yanked harder and nearby guests glanced their way. Valan offered them a chilly smile, then urged the girl back three paces nearer the alcove.
“I beg your pardon,” she began, then broke off when he tightened his grip.
He turned her hand over and forced her fingers apart. A modest diamond stick pin balanced halfway across her palm.
Valan looked at her and raised a questioning brow. “That is a gentleman’s pin, if I am not mistaken.”
Her mouth thinned in a mutinous line.
“Shall I call Viscount Hesston back and ask if he has lost a diamond pin?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Nae. D-do not do that. Please.”
Valan lifted the pin from her palm then released her. “I assume, then, the good viscount did not give this to you as a token of his, er, undying love?”
“Undying love?” she scoffed. “That man loves only himself.”
He repressed a smile. “Forgive me, but I am curious as to how you came to be in possession of his pin. It’s unlikely he removed it in order to disrobe. Removal of his cravat would not be necessary to—”
“He did not give it to me,” she cut in.
“Then you slipped it from his cravat when he kissed you?”
She lifted her chin. “Ladies do not allow strange men to kiss them.”
“How wonderful to know you recognize some conduct befitting a lady. I suggest you remember that when next a man asks you to accompany him to an alcove.”
She dropped her gaze. Ah, he had her. She slanted a look up at him through her lashes and it was easy to see why she had captured Hesston’s attention. Her innocence was a lure few men could resist. She extended a hand toward him and stepped forward. Then tripped. She cried out and collided with him. His lapel tugged downward when she grabbed him and Valan caught her.
He set her at arm’s length. “That is the second time this evening you have landed in my arms.” He tugged his cravat back into place, then felt the knot in an effort to assess the damage. “Perhaps we should be formally introduced before a third encounter?” Valan paused, then felt along the length of the cravat. His pin— He lowered his hands to his sides and leveled an assessing gaze on her. “My pin, please.”
Her eyes sparkled as she opened her left hand. His ruby pin lay on her palm.
Valan took the pin. “It is not often I am shocked, but you have managed to shock me.”
The laughter in her eyes vanished and her back went ramrod straight. “A gentleman would give me a head start.”
He paused while slipping both pins into the front pocket of his coat. “A head start?”
“Before ye call Bow Street.”
A corner of his mouth twitched again, harder. He removed his hand from his pocket. “You are safe, my child. I do not set Bow Street on the scent of young ladies.”
She studied him as if uncertain, then her expression cleared, and she flashed a brilliant smile. “You are kind—despite the austere face.” Before he could reply, she added, “Admit it, once you discovered the pin missing
, you would have assumed you lost it by accident and would no’ have suspected me—just as that evil viscount will not.”
“Fortune favors you on that score,” Valan said. “Hesston would not hesitate to have you arrested—if, that is, you failed to comply with his demands.”
She frowned. “Demands? Oh, you mean, he would make me his mistress.”
“Nothing so elevated as that, but never mind. Dare I ask how you came to have this, er, talent?”
She shrugged, but a steel determination underlay the nonchalance. “A woman develops skills necessary to survive.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “Women are very adept at surviving. I take it, then, you need the money.”
She frowned. “I do not steal for money. Well, not for myself. By-the-by, please return my pin.”
He lifted a brow. “Your pin?”
“It certainly isn’t yours,” she said.
“Neither is it yours,” he said.
“Finders keepers.”
“Is that what you call your talent, ‘finding’?”
She scowled. “You don’t need it.”
“My dear, if you pawn this pin, you will surely find yourself hunted by Bow Street. Unless—tell me, have you already a relationship with a pawn broker?”
She gave him a haughty stare. “I do not.”
“Then we shall not begin now.”
She shook her head. “Everyone thinks they know what is best for me. I don’t not want—”
Valan grimaced. “Pray, say no more. Surely, Miss Peddington taught you not to use double negatives in a sentence.”
She dropped her gaze. “Aye, she did.”
“Will you throw away every penny your father spent to send you here by speaking like a common fishwife?”
“M-my mother sent me here.”
