Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4

by Scott, Scarlett

  Julianna could not stay her smile and joy. She clapped along with Emily. “There you are, my sweet girl. Look at you walking!”

  “Bub!” Emily pronounced again, making her way toward the settee. “Pa!”

  Her heart swelled with love.

  Becoming aware of Shelbourne’s stare on her, burning into her, Julianna turned back to him. “She has been determined to stand and walk, and she is quite pleased with herself to have finally accomplished her goal.”

  He inclined his head, his lips thinning, all the tenderness he had shown Emily dissipating. “And what of her mother’s goals?”

  Marriage, he meant.

  She seated herself primly on the nearest piece of furniture, a chaise longue. “You know my goals.”

  “Ah, of course.” His smile was cutting as he folded his tall, lean form into a chair opposite her. “You wish for a marriage of convenience. You want to marry me and then return to New York with my daughter so you may collect your ill-gotten fortune.”

  He made her intentions sound so terribly mercenary when they were not.

  She frowned at him. “All I want is the inheritance which will enable myself and my daughter to live unencumbered.”

  “In New York City?” he pressed.

  “Somewhere else,” she said, for she had not decided where. “Perhaps Philadelphia. Or West. I have not given it much contemplation just yet.”

  “And who will go with you?” he demanded. “A lover?”

  A lover was the last thought on her mind. She had only time and heart for Emily. But for some reason, making that admission to him felt wrong. She wanted him to wonder. To suffer as she had done. To cut him, just a bit, where it might hurt.

  “You have had lovers of your own,” she told him calmly. “Why should I be held to a different standard merely because I am a woman?”

  The guilty flush creeping over the sharp blades of his cheekbones said everything.

  His unspeaking admission weighed on her heart like the heaviest boulder. Jealousy, shimmering and sharp, arced through her. Electric in its power and pain. Of course he would have taken other lovers. But the thought of him with another woman still almost brought her to her knees, even after the intervening time and distance. Still brought her low, made her feel once more that same, soul-robbing vulnerability she had experienced on the day she had discovered who the man she loved truly was.

  “I will be free to do as I choose,” she continued, pleased with herself for the calm in her voice, which was not at all a reflection of the inner battles being waged. “Your portion of the funds will be placed into whatever account you like. Your hatred of me is strong. You never need see me again.”

  “No,” he bit out.

  “No?” She could not have heard him properly. How could he deny her now, after the tenderness he showed their daughter? “You must be joking.”

  “Do I look as if I am making a stupid drawing room sally, Julianna?” he demanded, grim.

  Emily distracted Julianna before she could form a reply, by losing her balance and falling. She struck her head on the floor and began to cry. Julianna rose and rushed toward her, but Shelbourne was faster. He reached their daughter first and was the one who scooped her into his protective embrace, rocking her, kissing the top of her head, crooning to her.

  “Hush, little darling,” he was saying while fixing Julianna with a pointed glare that, if it had been a dagger, would have sliced her to shreds. “Papa has you now, and Papa will always keep you safe.”

  “Give her to me,” she said, feeling territorial and confused, denied of her maternal right.

  Julianna was the one to calm Emily, to soothe her. Not Shelbourne. How dare he?

  “She is happy with me.” He glared at Julianna some more. “She was not safe, walking by herself. She is unsteady on her feet. Even a simpleton could see that, and yet you insisted she walk on her own. Now she has struck her head. Because of you.”

  She was incredulous. Was he truly accusing her of putting Emily in danger?

  “It is ordinary for a child her age to fall,” she told him. “She falls every day. It is commonplace. A spot of tears here or there, and then she goes again. Falling is how a babe learns her balance.”

  “I will not allow you to take her from me, Julianna,” he said, rubbing Emily’s back in slow, calming motions.

  Emily had stopped crying. She blinked, fat teardrops rolling down her pudgy cheeks. And then she stared at Shelbourne some more, her hands reaching for his jaw, then for the chin that was the same as hers, only larger and masculine and covered with the dark shadow of whiskers.

  The stubble must have caused a strange, new sensation on her soft palms, for Emily made a sound of surprise, and then she grabbed Shelbourne’s nose instead. He bore her inquisitive touches with grace and patience.

  Two things Julianna had not come to expect from him.

  It was proving a day of endless surprises.

  She cleared her throat, which had gone thick with emotion. “I am not taking her from you, Shelbourne. I am her mother. I am all she knows. America is where we live. I will be taking her home.”

  “This is her home,” he insisted. “England. She is my daughter. She is a Davenport. I will not allow you to disappear into the vast fabric of the Americas with her.”

  “I have no intention of disappearing.” For the first time, a new fear hit her. Not the fear that he would refuse to marry her so she could meet the terms of her eccentric uncle’s will, but instead that he would demand to be a part of Emily’s life. “But surely you understand she cannot stay in England. We were not married when she was born. She will never be accepted.”

  His nostrils flared. “And once more, Julianna, whose fault is that? I asked you to marry me, if you will recall. You declined and then fled across an entire ocean without ever once attempting to contact me.”

  Yes, she had done those things. She could not deny them. But he was not as innocent in this tragedy of theirs as he would pretend. There was a reason she had refused him. A very good one.

  “I am not going to revisit the past, Shelbourne. It is done, and we cannot change it. All we can do is move forward.”

  “And your concept of moving forward is marrying me and then taking my daughter to another continent so you can let whomever you wish beneath your skirts,” he bit out coldly.

  “She is my daughter as well.” She held out her hands, trying to take Emily from his arms, but he was having none of it. “You are angry now. Take some time to think about what I have said. You will realize I cannot remain here with her.”

  “You can, and you will.”

  Fortunately, Emily remained unaffected by the icy discourse happening around her. She was now tugging on her father’s earlobe as if she hoped it might disconnect from his head. Shelbourne winced but allowed it.

  “No, Shelbourne,” she said, softening her voice so she would not upset Emily. “You must see reason. I will not have her whispered about. I have gone to great lengths to make certain she will never be reviled.”

  “Not the greatest length,” he countered. “The best length, Julianna. That would have been to send word to me or to return to England. I would have married you despite the way I feel about you.”

  Despite the way I feel about you.

  How cutting those words were, a blistering reminder.

  “And how is it you feel about me?” she asked.

  “That you are an adventuring, conniving jade. A liar. A heartless bitch. Would you have me continue?” He raised a brow.

  She felt each one of those aspersions as if they were rocks pelting her heart. Her stupid, painful heart, which still beat for him. Which still loved him, even when it should not.

  “Then you can see the merit of allowing me to return to America,” she pointed out coolly.

  “You may return to America as it pleases you,” he said. “Hell, go to the darkest corner of the world for all I care. But Emily is staying here. With me.”

  He thought
to keep Emily and send her away?

  “Never,” she vowed. “I will not leave my daughter.”

  He eyed her, stony. Cold. Impenetrable and yet still treating their daughter to the gentlest and most protective of touches. “Then welcome back to England, chérie. I am afraid this is where you shall stay.”

  “No.” The word left her, a gasp.

  “Yes,” he said, his smile ugly and yet his face so handsome. So brokenly, beautifully handsome. “We will marry. We will raise her as our daughter. And if you attempt to take her from me, you will regret it, madam.”

  He was threatening her. And her baby girl was toying with his too-long, dark hair now, tugging on it. “Pa!” she cried. Then, “Bub.”

  Never Mama. Because Julianna could not refer to herself thus, lest the nurse or other servants overhear. As it was, they must have found her interest in Emily’s care confusing. None of them spoke a word to suggest they did, but Julianna was no fool. Servants played a role. But they were people. They had opinions, thoughts, emotions, just the same as the men and women they served. Belowstairs was a torrent of gossip.

  Julianna stared at Shelbourne, realizing he was offering her everything she wanted.

  Except her freedom.

  Also realizing, she would and could sacrifice for her daughter. They could not go on living this half life, these lies, forever. That knowledge was what had sent her across an ocean. Had sent her back to the man she loved. The man who had stolen her heart and then broken it.

  “I will not share your bed,” she told him. “You cannot force me.”

  “It would not be force and you know it.”

  His voice was deceptively calm. The fire in his eyes undeniable. Heat slid through her. Remembrance. Those lips of his had worked sinful magic over her body. His hands had traveled every inch of her flesh. He had brought her to life. Made her burn. And in the end, had left her nothing but a scorched shell of her former self.

  “I want a chaste marriage,” she insisted.

  “I need an heir.”

  She had not expected this either. Though perhaps she should have. He was the heir to a marquisate. It stood to reason he would want a son of his own to inherit, one day.

  She swallowed. “I will not allow you in my bed.”

  “You will, or I will not agree to a marriage.”

  “Then I will marry someone else,” she countered, defiant. “The first man I find.”

  “I would not do anything as foolish as that if I were you, chérie.” His voice was low and smooth, silken seduction. But sharp warning, too. “I have a right to my daughter. You cannot deny me that.”

  “Bub pa!” Emily announced, as if she were in agreement with her father’s pronouncement.

  Truly, if Julianna had not been so rattled by Shelbourne’s reaction and his words and threats, she would have been astounded by the manner in which Emily responded to him. Emily did not like many people, and strangers were anathema to her. She had screamed the first time she had laid eyes on Julianna’s father. That she was so taken by Shelbourne seemed somehow representative of the innate connection they shared.

  And Julianna hated it as much as she loved it.

  It shook her. Rocked her. Humbled her.

  Made her realize she had no choice save one.

  “I will marry you and remain here for the next few months if you promise to protect Emily from scandal,” she relented. “I will not have her the object of scorn. In America, no one would ever know—”

  “I will protect her,” he interrupted. “She is mine. I would never allow harm to come to her. However, we must present her as ours. Nor do I accept your suggestion you shall only stay in London for a few months. All or nothing, Julianna.”

  “Six months,” she tried to bargain, thinking of the danger to her heart and her future business both if she were to tarry in England, as his wife, beneath the same roof, for too long.

  “After I have my heir, you can feel free to return to America and do whatever you wish. But Emily and any future child or children from our union will remain in England with me.”

  Did he think she could abandon Emily? A future child? She was not her mother.

  “I will not leave her behind.”

  “Then you have no choice, Julianna.” He paused, and for a bittersweet moment, there was a hint of vulnerability in his inscrutable mask. “All I want is to know her, to love her, to watch her grow.”

  Oh, dear God.

  He was breaking her heart again, making her feel as if she had made the incorrect decision two years ago. But that was wrong, was it not? She had done what she had to, to protect herself and her heart.

  And she would do what she had to now. He could remain in Emily’s life. He could visit New York City, or Julianna and Emily could return to London annually for visits. She could persuade Shelbourne of the rightness of such a plan with the proper motivation, she was sure.

  “A marriage of convenience,” she reminded him past the persistent, vexing lump in her throat.

  “A marriage of my convenience, chérie,” he warned silkily. “Not yours. Never yours.”

  That was where he was wrong. She would agree to this marriage and to his terms. But she was going to fight him. Because this was not just a battle between them. This was a war, and she had every intention of emerging the victor. She had no other option.

  Chapter 5

  Two years earlier

  I shall never forget today. I had just returned from riding Juniper. Rusticating in the country has always been a source of irritation for me, the tedium of which is only broken by many escapes to the surrounding fields with a trusted mount. But this day was unlike all the rest, when I returned to the manor winded and muddied from the grueling paces I gave my prized mare. Because there was, awaiting me, the most glorious creature I have ever beheld. Fiery-haired, bright-eyed, curious, and beautiful. For a moment, I could not speak for fear I would wake and discover it all a dream.

  ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1881

  Julianna always supposed the moment she realized she was in love would be accompanied by a great deal of fanfare. Not that she believed the heavens would part or a golden ray of light would bathe the gentleman upon whom she bestowed her affections. Nor did she think the air would suddenly smell sweeter, the sky appear bluer, or every detail—no matter how insignificant—be rendered more apparent to her eye.

  But she had been certain, so certain, the realization would have been brutally significant. Accompanied by something. A declaration on behalf of the gentleman. A gesture that moved her desperately.

  For instance, he could have rescued her from a runaway carriage and sworn his undying devotion. Or saved an innocent pup from getting struck by an omnibus and then confessed he had loved her from afar for years but had been too afraid to speak to a woman of her reality-defying beauty.

  However, when she fell in love with Sidney Davenport, Viscount Shelbourne, future Marquess of Northampton, it had been instant. Nothing had altered that day. There had been no outer sign of the violent shift that occurred within her the moment her eyes met his for the first time.

  But when that deep-green gaze connected with hers, the spark had been positively electric. She had felt it all the way to the deepest part of her. She had felt it in her belly, in her breasts, in the place between her legs. She had felt it in the fingers clasped in his, felt it in her elbow, for heaven’s sake. And deeper too, in a place that was unfathomable and yet real—in her soul.

  He had been muddied. Dressed in riding clothes. The most handsome man she had ever beheld. She had been terrified of making a cake of herself. Fearful she would dip into a curtsy and her ankle would give out, sending her tumbling in ignominy to her bottom. Or that she would get the hiccups. Or sneeze.

  Instead, none of those things had happened. She had conducted herself with remarkable decorum. But she had known, right down to her marrow, that she had just met the man she was going to marry.

  She had been young then.
Too young. Not yet having made her presentation at court, she was relegated to visiting friends in the country while her father spent time with his varying mistresses and her mother lived abroad, their acrid union steeped in bitterness and betrayal.

  Julianna had told herself she would grow out of the unwanted feelings she harbored for Shelbourne. That in time, her heart would no longer beat at the pace of a gallop when in his presence. That her palms would not sweat whenever she saw him. That her lips would not tingle with a wish for his kiss. She told herself she would find someone more suitable. A gentleman who returned her affections.

  Yet, their paths had crossed on numerous occasions, and still, the love burning inside her never faded. If anything, it had grown. Like a perennial flower, returning season after season, larger and leafier than it had been the year before. Time passed.

  And the love remained. There was nothing particularly splendid about it. Indeed, more often than not, the way she felt about Lord Shelbourne felt like an albatross. Painful as a bruise. No time more so than now, when she was swimming in the lake at one of his family’s country estates, wearing nothing but her chemise.

  Her very wet, very transparent chemise.

  And Shelbourne stood on the bank, her discarded garments in a heap at his feet.

  “You may as well come out now, my lady,” he called, humor tingeing his deep voice. “I see you.”

  She could not emerge from the lake, dripping and all but nude.

  Not before Lord Shelbourne. Not before the man she loved.

  She wanted her friend Hellie’s handsome older brother to believe she was dignified and well-mannered. A lady in all aspects. Ladies did not go swimming in lakes in the midst of the day when they were supposed to be painting landscapes.

  She did.

  Very well. Julianna was not much of a lady.

  Still, she could not bear for Lord Shelbourne to realize that. Her palms felt as if they were sweating, even beneath the cool water of the lake. She held her breath and then ducked beneath the surface, hoping she could hide herself and he would go away. Would it be too much to ask for?