Lord Heartless

by Tessa Berkley

  “Indeed, madam.”

  Landon led her into his home.

  “How beautiful,” she said as they stopped before a round cherrywood table that stood in the center of the foyer.

  He placed his hat and gloves next to the roses that nearly overpowered the Wedgewood bowl. “It is your home now. Feel free to make any changes you desire.”

  “Like going through a rabbit hole to another world.” She looked at him, her eyes round with wonder. “I cannot imagine changing a thing.”

  “It is early yet.” He pointed to the door on the right. “This door leads to the parlor where Mother usually holds court.”

  “And that door?”

  “My study. The dining room lies just beyond the stairway on the left.”

  “I hope I will not get lost.”

  “Staff is always about, Lady Montague. Do not hesitate to ask.” Simmons turned. “Lord Montague, if you would like, I will escort milady to her rooms and allow her to freshen up before dinner.”

  “I will speak to Mr. Black. Do you mind?” Landon asked.

  “No, I am sure being away there is a lot you need to catch up on. I shall be fine.” She turned her cheek to him.

  He felt awkward, and yet he stepped over and placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek. She took her leave and he watched her move away, head high, shoulders erect. He doubted the queen could have done better. Something in his gut tightened. A hunger he could not describe rose. He wished to follow, to pull her into a room away from prying eyes, then lay waste to her lips and uncover the secrets hidden beneath the silk.

  “She is quite remarkable, Lord Montague.”

  His glance jerked toward the doorway of his study where Amos lounged. “Yes, yes she is.” He looked back toward the empty stairs. The very thought of being cloistered away with his solicitor grated upon his nerves when so many other worthwhile endeavors were a mere floor away.

  “Come. You need a drink and we need to formulate a battle plan before the dowager arrives.”

  ***

  Juliet stood before the mirror and stared at her reflection. The woman looking back seemed the same, and yet. Her glance centered upon the simple ring that adorned the third finger of her left hand. Lifting it, she twisted the gold band.

  “You will get used to it, milady.”

  Juliet blinked and lowered her hands hiding them in the folds of the lavender gown. Her eyes met the young woman’s face rising above her shoulder.

  “Begging your pardon.” Helen smiled. “But all new brides are a bit nervous when it comes to nightfall.”

  Heat radiated from Juliet’s cheeks. “I am not sure.”

  “Just remember to relax. He means you no harm. There.” Helen stepped back and admired the woman who stood before her. “You look beautiful.”

  “For a country mouse,” Juliet said, staring at her reflection. The gown was at least two season’s old, and even to her untrained eyes, the design was dated. “It will do for tonight.”

  “His lordship will make sure you are well dressed and heeled as befitting a lady of your station, before he takes you out in public.”

  Juliet swallowed and Helen’s glance moved toward the carpet.

  “Pardon my boldness, milady.” Helen stepped back and picked up the clothing they discarded.

  “No, you are correct. Thank you for lifting my spirits.”

  “Well, he is the Earl of Broadmoor, and the stories they tell.” Helen shook her head in disbelief. “Would you like something else done with your hair?”

  “No.” Juliet swung away from the mirror to collect her fan. “I shall ring for you when we are done and I am ready for bed.” She turned and drew the ribbon across her wrist and moved toward the door. “You enjoy your evening, Helen. I hope your room is to your liking?”

  “Yes, milady. All is well.”

  Entering the hallway, she tread toward the stairs past the portraits of ancient Montagues from the dawn of time. The lamplight caught their eyes, as it danced across the painting, making the images follow her. Unease slithered up her spine. Even though she knew she was safe, her footsteps hurried along the carpet, until a bit out of breath, she reached the stair head. Pausing, a hand against her stays, she took a breath.

  A sound echoed in the shadows as if a foot hit a table leg. With a gasp, she turned. Eyes narrowing, she peered into the darkness. “Who is there?” she demanded, as the heavy thump of her heart rattled against her chest. Her eyes widened as the figure of a young boy no more than seven rose and moved to the light.

  “You are not what I expected,” he said.

  Taken aback, she paused and blinked at the aloof glance reflected in the child’s eyes before summing up her courage to inquire. “And who might you be, young sir?”

  His dark head snapped up. Shoulders squared and he pressed his hands to his hips, then leveled a haunting stare. “Can you not tell?”

  For a moment, her brow furrowed. A deep spike drove its way between her beasts and skewered her heart, for her husband had not spoken of a younger brother. However, the dark looks and the superior mannerisms gave no doubt to the man he appeared to emulate. When she did not answer, he continued.

  “I am to be the Earl of Broadmoor. Whatever Lord Montague, my father, holds will be mine.”

  Stunned, Juliet allowed the information to seep into her consciousness.

  “Is this all you can do? Stand there with your mouth open?”

  The child’s words jolted her. Audacious, sullen, ever the egotist. Yes, she could see her husband’s hand upon his upbringing. Nevertheless, she would play to his ego and learn more about the man she had married. “Forgive me, future Earl of Broadmoor.” She opened her fan and dropped a curtsy.

  “You are forgiven.” He placed his hands on his hips and marched around her, scrutinizing her dress. “Your gown is old.”

  Juliet schooled her tongue. “I have not been to London, so there was no need to update my wardrobe.”

  “I see.” He pursed his lips and paused. “He will have to do something about that.”

  “Then I shall let you speak to him?”

  “He will not listen.”

  “Perhaps.” She glanced down the stairs. “I was on my way down to be introduced to the family. Will you not join me?”

  The dark curls bobbed as he nodded. “The dowager has arrived. I have no doubt she will have much to say about this.”

  “No doubt,” Juliet mumbled. For it seemed everyone in this family had something to say and the right to say it, except for her.

  He seemed to take a certain amount of amusement about this fact. Juliet waited while he stepped to the edge of the stairs, placed one hand behind his back, then held his left arm aloft. “Come, madam, your fate awaits.”

  Indeed. Juliet swallowed the lump in her throat and placed a light hand upon his arm to dutifully follow him down to the study.

  ***

  The Dowager Countess Eugenia Mary Alexandra York Montague stood erect dominating the doorway, staring down at him, just as she had done in childhood when his actions led to disappointment. “Do not stand there like an oaf, young man, offer me a chair.”

  Landon placed his glass on the sideboard and hurried to her side. “Forgive me, Mother, you came unannounced.”

  She lifted her cheek and he pressed his lips to her skin before offering her his arm.

  “Something, no doubt, I should do more often, should I wish to know what is going about.”

  “Good evening, Countess.” Amos Black bowed deep from the waist as she stepped into the room.

  Her deep blue eyes took on an assassin’s glare. “Ah, the second rat in this ugly plot rears its head. So tell me, Black, what hand did you play in this ridiculous turn of events?”

  “None, but to be the advisor of good sense in the matter.”

  “Humph. Good sense, indeed. Then, we have all gone mad?”

  His solicitor pulled at his collar. Landon took a deep breath and said nothing until his mother was seated. “Bran
dy, Mother?”

  “No.” She rested one hand upon the glass knob of her cane and waved his offer off with her right. “I believe an event such as this calls for good scotch.”

  “Allow me.” Amos moved toward the highboy.

  Walking to the sideboard, Landon caught Black’s eye and leveled him a warning glance, reminding him to hold his tongue. Amos nodded and handed him his glass.

  “Tell me, Landon, is this so? What the Duke of Norfolk has told me? What I read in the papers? Have you married this woman, Lord Gilbert’s daughter?”

  Without batting an eye, he picked up his brandy and took a deep sip. The taste did little to cleanse his palate. Jaws clenching, he once again realized his mother had bested him. “I dare say that man wastes no time.”

  “Well?” she demanded and he walked toward the sofa.

  Landon closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his own self-control. “Yes, Mother, I stand before you a married man.” He lifted his left hand and produced the ringed finger.

  “Your drink, milady.”

  The countess gave Amos a withering glance, then snatched the drink from his hand, and in one swallow, downed the contents of the slender flute. Her fingers tightened around her cane, lifting it up, and bringing it down upon the coffee table with a snap, causing both men to jump.

  “I have put up with your philandering though out the gambling houses of London. Even bending to your wishes and lending our family name to your mistress’s child. But, hear me now, Landon William Arthur George Montague.” She reeled his name off, each label like a strap upon his back. “I will not tolerate divorce. You have married and by heavens, you will practice those vows given before some country vicar as if the Archbishop of Canterbury presided, or you will find yourself cut off and out of this household. Do we understand one another?”

  Landon stared into his drink. “Yes, Mother, we do.” His voice showed no emotion as he took the glass she held up to him and walked over to the sideboard. Landon uncorked the container. He poured a miniscule amount into the glass for his mother, then moved the bottle, splashing a generous amount to his own.

  “Is she plain?”

  “No.”

  “Does she walk with a limp?”

  “None.”

  A harsh breath tumbled from his mother’s lips. “Then she must be frightfully disfigured if she has never been brought to court nor had a season.”

  “On the contrary, she has no flaw other than her own natural beauty.” He turned and faced his mother only to see the rise of her stately brow toward the well-coiffed, gleaming white of her hair.

  “I find that hard to believe.” Her words echoed in the room as she held up her hand to take the glass as Landon walked by.

  “You will see,” he began. “She will join u—”

  His words were interrupted as a knock came upon the study door. “Here she is now.” He placed his glass on the corner of his desk and walking toward the door.

  “Well, at least she has the good manners to be punctual,” the dowager sniped, staring down at her glass.

  Ignoring his mother’s barbed remark, Landon opened the door. His head jerked in surprise to see both his wife and son standing before him.

  “Evening, Your Grace,” Juliet said.

  The tint of color that stained her cheeks and the avoidance of his gaze told him she had heard more than enough of their conversation. He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “Well, Alexander,” he addressed the boy. “It seems you have found Lady Montague.”

  “So I have, sir.” His son lowered his head. “May I also point out, something should be done about her wardrobe if your plan is to keep her in London.”

  “Alexander.” The countess’s sharp word cut off any further observations. “I do believe you might wish to take dinner in the nursery?”

  “No, Countess. I should like to eat with my father.”

  “Then hold your tongue and come sit on the couch while we meet this delightful creature your father has thought to bring unannounced into our midst.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Landon waited until the boy moved away. Then he caught Juliet’s glance and fearing her urged to flee, he held out his hand. He hoped she might read his own misery and allow them to commiserate together. Just as he thought all might be lost, she reached out and placed her hands in his.

  Her fingers were cold as ice. He drew them into his palm and wrapped her arm over his, hoping to give them warmth as they walked toward the throne where his mother held court.

  “Countess Eugenia Mary Alexandra York Montague, allow me to present my wife, Lady Juliet Gilbert Montague.”

  “Countess.” Juliet’s soft voice echoed as she curtsied before his mother, with head bowed.

  Landon held his breath, as his mother reached out a hand and lifted Juliet’s chin so she might see her face. “Hm.”

  He watched as the dowager studied her face, looking deep into Juliet’s eyes, as if examining her soul, then, to his surprise, his mother’s features softened. “Arise, child, and do not fear for there is an honesty in your soul that one cannot hide.” Landon caught her glare. “Despite the circumstances that brought you here, you are welcome in this house.”

  “Thank you, milady.”

  To his relief, she had passed. Her answer brought a sarcastic burst from his mother. “Oh, do not thank me yet.” She rose and placed both hands upon her cane. “For I have tried near twenty and nine years to tame this heartless scoundrel, and I fear you will have no better luck than I.”

  “Then we should band together, Countess. Two against one always lessens the odds of defeat.”

  Landon watched a bemused expression tug at the corners of his mother’s lips as her anger softened. The small laugh lines curled at her eyes, igniting a merry twinkle in each field of blue. His mother actually chuckled.

  “Oh, Lord Montague, I believe you have met your match. Tell me, dear, where has your father been hiding you?”

  “We have a small estate northeast of London, called Holly Grove.”

  “And your Christian name?”

  “Juliet Eleanor Davenport Gilbert—er Montague.” She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder.

  The dowager stopped short, turned and gave Landon an impish grin. “I do say. Well, it appears Shakespeare’s moment has finally arrived, for this Montague has indeed found his Juliet.”

  Chapter Six

  “You should have a drink, milady, to settle your nerves.” Helen pulled the brush down the length of her golden tresses.

  “I do not drink spirits, but thank you.”

  Helen moved around to the side as she worked. “I suppose your mother told you what’s to happen.”

  Juliet averted her eyes. “Oh yes,” she lied. A sudden urgency to be alone took hold of her reason. “Thank you, Helen, I am done.”

  “You do not wish your hair braided to be out of the way?”

  “No, not tonight, I need some time to get my thoughts together if you please.” In honesty it was something not all too remote from the truth.

  Her maid laid down the brush and stepped back. “Well then, shall I leave, milady?”

  She surmised her own misstep. Juliet lifted the edges of her lips in reassurance. “Yes, I shall ring if I need anything.”

  “Of course.” Helen nodded, and within moments she found herself alone.

  Juliet ran her finger over the engraving on the back of the silver hairbrush that had once belonged to her mother. How she wished her mother were here. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Things she could only surmise that might happen between a man and a woman. Did his mother have questions? They were exchanging words when she entered the room.

  Her glance moved from the brush to the woman in the mirror. “What a chit you are,” she grumbled. “You sit here like some starry-eyed schoolgirl awaiting prince charming. Did you not realize once you jumped at this bargain marriage, that man ceased to exist? Juliet Gilbert, you have either proven yourself the world’s biggest
fool or the world’s greatest martyr.”

  She placed the brush on the dresser and thought about the things a few days ago she had been promised. Yes, he’d carried out the beginning with great show. However when it came to the offer of a legitimate heir, he’d failed to tell her one clearly existed. “And with all the inherent traits of his father.” She closed her eyes and recalled the dark hair and haunting eyes of the little boy called Alexander. Her heart heavy, she could not blame the child. He called to her even if his aloof manners and overbearing ways tried to bowl her over. “Could it be, he is looking for love and acceptance?”

  Shoving the stool back, she rose and moved toward the bed where her wrapper lay across the satin quilt. She could commiserate with Alexander. They were kindred souls and she understood what it felt like to be ignored. Pushed aside for cards, gaming houses, and even more paltry pursuits his father was known for. She held on to the bedpost, her hand tracing the carved spindle trying to calm the rising anger.

  “You may have thought you married London’s most notorious rake, instead you have a bore that cares more for drink than attending to his wife or his child.” She grabbed the cotton wrapper and thrust her arms into its sleeves. “Well, two may play this game. If you think you can ignore us, like other husbands do their families, then I shall take up Alexander’s case and we shall begin to ignore you.” She snatched the belt tight, squared her shoulders, and walked into the sitting room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s.

  ***

  Dinner had long been cleared from the table. Still, Landon sat in his study. His feet extended toward the warmth of the fire. Dangling from his two fingers, a glass of brandy he’d barely touched. A log cracked and he watched the sparks lift against the draft and dance toward their freedom via his chimney. “Lucky you,” he mumbled.

  His glance was drawn to the flicker of the flames. He needed to go upstairs. She would be waiting. He closed his eyes and pulled the glass toward his lips in an attempt to ignore the slight tremble that overtook his hand. By the gods, when had he succumbed to nerves? This was not new. He’d taken many women to bed. Was it the knowledge of the circumstances to which she had surrendered herself to his hands, or those damn golden curls?