“We all know it matters who you know and who will vouch for you,” Alec said grimly. “Which is why Juliet is so worried about her Mrs. Turner. Though I cannot say I trust the woman as much as Juliet seems to. There have simply been too many instances where what Mrs. Turner has claimed and what was the truth have been two very different things.”
“Speaking of your lovely wife,” Winterson said, “I hope she is getting on well.”
There was an unspoken question there, one that both irritated and impressed Alec. He was grateful for Winterson’s help in their elopement of course, but Juliet was Alec’s responsibility now.
“She is well enough,” he answered mildly. “She seems to be getting on well with my sisters, and if I am right she is even now enjoying a coze with the Duchess and Lady Madeline.”
“Good God,” Monteith grumbled. “If those three are plotting then no man in London is safe.”
At the suddenly intense glares Alec and Winterson leveled at him, Monteith threw up his hands in surrender. “No offense to either of your wives, but even you must admit that mischief seems to follow those three wherever they go.”
“Still haven’t forgiven Cecily for that incident in the park, eh?” Winterson asked dryly.
“No, and I doubt I ever will. I’d rather fight an entire battalion of French soldiers than attempt to come up with ways to tell my best friend that I’ve accidentally gotten his wife killed.”
At the reminder of the incident, all three men frowned. Danger did seem to be something that followed the three women wherever they went. But Alec suspected it had less to do with their propensity for mischief than with the fact that none of them was content to simply accept the roles that society dictated they adhere to. While Juliet might be the most retiring of the three, even she had shown herself to be dedicated to throwing off the societal yoke when it was necessary to doing what she thought was right. She’d already proved that with her refusal to marry as her parents wished.
“Thankfully,” Winterson said, interrupting Alec’s thoughts, “that incident is behind us and unlikely to be repeated.”
“Since we are still speaking of our wives,” Alec said, “I would ask that both of you keep your ears open to any gossip that might circulate about Juliet. I know her mother and Turlington were quite angered at being thwarted, and I would not be surprised to learn that they were attempting to make her pay with her reputation.”
As if conjured by the very mention of his name, Turlington entered the room, and to Alec’s disgust made a beeline for their table.
As always, Turlington had dressed with a colorful disregard for current fashion. The man’s waistcoat was a gaudy striped affair, which he wore beneath a bright blue coat. His shirt points were so high that it was doubtful he’d be able to turn his head with any degree of comfort. For an artist, he had shamefully bad taste in clothing.
“Deveril,” he said, apparently ignoring the viscount’s companions. “I could not help but see the notice in the papers this morning. May I wish you happy of your new bride?”
Inclining his head, Deveril said, “You may indeed. I hope now that you will leave us to our conversation.”
“You wound me, my lord!” Turlington said with mock affront. “I should think you’d be more welcoming to the man who has information about your wife’s beloved friend and teacher.”
“The only reason I don’t lift you up by that frightful cravat and toss you from this room, Turlington,” Alec growled, “is that I don’t wish to cause my wife distress. If you really have information about Mrs. Turner, then spit it out and leave. Otherwise, just leave.”
Turlington, like most bullies, was taken aback to find his prey fighting back. But the glint of humor in his eyes showed that he enjoyed provoking Deveril. “I had supposed that since you cost me a fortune by stealing the little cripple from me that you would be more receptive to my overtures. Funny how ungrateful some people can be.”
Alec clenched his teeth so hard he feared cracking them. But he’d vowed long ago that he would not become the kind of man his father had been, brawling and dueling over every provocation. Still, he wanted the man out of his sight before he lost his temper. “State. Your. Business.”
Seeing that he would be unable to goad Deveril into a fight, Turlington dropped his languid pose. “Fine. I am leaving for the Continent soon, and thought you might like to know that Lady Shelby has been boasting that she got rid of Mrs. Turner. She was afraid that the pianoforte teacher had too much influence over Miss Shelby … that is, Lady Deveril, and she told me she’d hidden her away before she could talk her former charge out of marrying me.” The man frowned. “Not that she was ever disposed to do so.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Alec demanded. He might have spent a hundred years prognosticating about what Turlington would do next, but he would never have arrived at the scenario going on before him.
Turlington shrugged. “Lady Shelby is a cold bitch. And she owes me a substantial debt. Which is why she was attempting to sell me her daughter’s dowry. Her continued nonpayment has forced me to retrench to the Continent.”
“So you’re giving her back a bit of her own?” Deveril asked, frowning.
“With interest.” Turlington nodded. “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me?”
When the man was gone, Alec turned to his companions. “What the hell was that?”
“Then you don’t think his explanation was sincere?” Winterson asked.
“No, I do not,” the viscount said frankly. “That’s what disturbs me. Turlington must already know I hold Lady Shelby in little esteem given her attempt to force Juliet to marry him. So why is he trying to stir up even more enmity between us? It isn’t as if I can think less of her.”
“So you don’t think Lady Shelby has anything to do with Mrs. Turner’s disappearance?” Monteith asked, his expression troubled.
“I don’t know. What bothers me more is Turlington’s sudden decision to throw Lady Shelby to the wolves.” Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I get the feeling that he is trying to protect someone else by doing so?”
* * *
“They really are lovely,” Juliet told her husband as they rode in their carriage the short distance between their town house and the Wallingfords’. She reached up a hand to stroke the emeralds at her throat, unable to believe that such beautiful gems were hanging on her neck. “Thank you again.”
Alec had surprised her with them that evening as she dressed for the Wallingfords’ ball. Since it was to be the first ton entertainment they would attend as a married couple, Juliet had taken great care with her appearance, donning one of her new gowns from Madame Celeste’s establishment, a deep green silk that set off her creamy complexion and contrasted beautifully with her auburn hair. Her maid, Weston, had been about to fasten her pearls, when Alec had appeared in the connecting door between their rooms.
“Perhaps you would wish to wear these instead, Juliet,” he said, approaching her dressing table with the jeweler’s box in hand. “I believe they will go well with your gown.” And he, who was known throughout the ton for his faultless taste, would know.
Juliet turned just in time to see the warmth in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her. Warmth that sent memories and a jolt of desire coursing through her as she remembered just what it had been like to feel his strong body against hers, to feel his hands on her body, and his groans of pleasure vibrating through her chest. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, his gaze darkened, and for a moment, Juliet wanted to dismiss Weston and suggest to her husband that they stay home this evening.
But when she remembered just why it was so important for them to go to the Wallingfords’ tonight, she got control of herself, and to her relief, or sorrow, Alec appeared to do the same. Though there was still a lingering hint of desire in his eyes.
Turning her attention to the jewelry box, she bit back a gasp as she saw the emerald parure in the box he held out to her. “Oh, Alec,” she breat
hed. “I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can,” he said, nodding to dismiss Weston from the room, while he placed the box on the surface of the dressing table. Lifting the necklace from its case, he brought it up to her neck, both of them watching the stones sparkle against her pale skin in the mirror. “You see,” he said, with a half grin, “they are perfect for you.”
Juliet bowed her head as he brought the two ends of the necklace together behind her neck and fastened the clasp. With a speed that almost made Juliet suspect she’d imagined it, he kissed her once just above where the clasp rested against her skin, and stepped back.
“There are earrings and a bracelet in the box as well,” he told her, moving to stand in front of her again, folding his arms across his chest, as if he were unable to keep his hands from her. She inwardly chided herself at the thought. He was hardly overcome by desire. Still, he did feel something for her. Something besides simple friendship, that is.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, careful not to show just how overwhelmed she was by his gift. She had no wish to be in the unhappy situation of falling in love with a husband who did not feel the same way about her. Especially given just how sought after Lord Deveril had been by the ladies of the ton before their marriage. Indeed, she had little doubt that there were any number of his past admirers who would not see his marriage as a deterrent to their pursuit, but who would instead see it as an incentive for them to renew their attentions. Especially those married ladies who would see his marriage to a plain spinster as a sign that he would now need someone more exciting to warm his bed.
“You can thank me by wearing them,” he said simply. “They belonged to my mother. Indeed they were the only jewels she owned that my father didn’t manage to pawn or sell when he attempted to rid the house of all reminders of her.”
“Oh,” Juliet said softly, touching the jewels at her throat. “Then they are too precious for me to wear to a silly ball.” She reached around her neck to unfasten them, but Alec stopped her with a touch to her hand.
“No,” he said softly. “I want you to wear them. I think … I know she would have liked you. And I wish for you to have them.”
Juliet looked up at him; his eyes were now dark with sincerity. “If you are sure…” she said carefully.
“I am.” Alec reached down to take her hand and assisted her to rise from the dressing table.
“You realize,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, “that this is our first entertainment as a married couple.”
“Yes. I had noticed,” she said with a smile. “I do hope we don’t cause too much of a stir. It’s not quite the thing to marry in Gretna, is it?”
“Nonsense,” he said, leading her from her bedchamber and into the hallway. “All the best in society are doing it.”
Now, as they moved inch by inch through the streets of Mayfair, as the rest of the haut ton tried to get as close as they could to the Wallingfords’ town house, Juliet marveled again at how generous her husband had been to give her the emeralds that had once belonged to his beloved mother.
“I don’t suppose you have heard anything about my mother since we returned to London,” she said gingerly, wanting to be prepared should her mother be in attendance tonight. “I know I must steel myself for the possibility of seeing her again of course,” she added. “But I do wish that there were some way to avoid it.”
“Don’t worry,” Alec said and reached across the carriage to take her gloved hand in his. “Even if she does attend tonight, I think my threat to expose her to the rest of the ton should prove incentive enough to keep her from carrying tales about our elopement. Indeed, if I am not mistaken your mother will do everything necessary to prevent the tale of how her attempt to make you marry Turlington was foiled from getting out. It does not paint her in a very sympathetic light. And she does seem to thrive on her reputation as a leader of the ton.”
“I hope you are right.”
“I know I am right,” Alec said with a cynical lift of his brows. “Your mother and my father, for all that their reputations in polite society differ, are not all that different. They both thrive (or in my father’s case ‘thrived’) on controlling those around them. My father used brute force, and your mother uses guile, but they are both bullies just the same.”
It was one of the only times that he had spoken of his notorious father. Juliet had understood from his earlier comments about him that there had been no love lost between father and son, of course. But something in his tone tonight sent a shiver down her back as she thought about just what “brute force” might entail.
“Let us hope then that my mother chose to attend some other entertainment tonight,” she said with a brightness she did not feel.
“Do not worry so,” he told her. “I will be there with you. And so will your cousins and Winterson and Monteith. And your aunts. Your mama will be outnumbered. And outgunned. Always.”
She was spared a reply by the halting of the carriage.
Within twenty minutes she was going through the receiving line with Alec, being introduced as his viscountess. For someone who had spent the years since her come-out languishing with the other wallflowers, the approbation in Lady Wallingford’s eyes before she welcomed Juliet to her ball was supremely satisfying. Any scandal that might have attached to their hasty wedding had been overridden by society’s curiosity about seeing the newlyweds for themselves, as Lady Wallingford’s less than discreet glance at Juliet’s midriff confirmed.
“I hope you will grace us with your presence at the dinner party we are having next week,” Lady Wallingford added. “I know I sent an invitation to your husband.”
“I’m afraid we’ll be unable to attend, my lady,” Alec said, before Juliet could respond, his hand resting in solidarity on the small of her back. “We are otherwise engaged.”
With that, Alec led her to where the butler stood announcing the guests to the room at large. Any sense of annoyance at his high-handedness was overcome by awe as a hush fell over the crowd as he proclaimed them to be the Viscount and Viscountess Deveril. But the quiet lasted only a moment before the room erupted into a cacophony of whispers and chattering.
“You two have certainly set the cat among the pigeons,” Cecily said as she and Winterson approached them. “I don’t think there’s been this much excitement at one of Lady Wallingford’s balls since Freddie Tipton put Blue Ruin in the punch bowl.”
“I take it the dancing hasn’t started yet?” Juliet asked, surveying the chattering masses on the periphery of the ballroom. She could hear the orchestra tuning their instruments in the balcony.
“I think they were waiting for you two to arrive,” Winterson said with a roll of his eyes. “The ton is nothing if not curious.”
“Well, we will just have to give them something to talk about,” Alec said firmly. “Do you feel up to dancing, Lady Deveril?”
Juliet glanced around the roomful of guests, not quite managing to mask their looks of curiosity. She had not danced publicly since that first heady dance lesson in Cecily and Winterson’s best parlor. She had thought to sit tonight’s dancing out, thinking that it was scandal enough for her to appear as Alec’s wife, much less to engage in an activity she had heretofore eschewed. Still, there was something about the energy of the room, a sense of hushed expectation hovering in the air, that told her there was no better time to reveal her newfound dancing skills.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she told Alec, with a wry smile. “Honestly, I do not think we could inspire more talk if we stripped naked and played piquet in the middle of the ballroom.”
“It’s a good thing I brought this, then,” Cecily said with a grin, removing Amelia Snowe’s pilfered dance card from where it hung around her wrist, and slipping it over Juliet’s hand. “You left it that night. Let us think of it as a Duckling good-luck charm.”
“Speak of the devil,” Winterson said in a low voice, as Amelia and her boon companion, Felicia, c
ame toward them.
“Let the games begin,” Alec said, tightening his hold around Juliet’s waist.
The blond beauty was, as always, exquisitely attired, this time in a pale blue satin gown that brought out the blue of her eyes, which were narrowed in speculation for a flicker of a moment before she switched to her normal, deceptively friendly smile.
“My dear Lady Deveril,” she said with a catlike smile, “how lovely to see you now that you are returned from Gretna. I hope you found the blacksmith to be worthy of officiating at the marriage of a couple of your station?”
“I’m afraid our wedding was performed by a rather prosaic minister, Miss Snowe,” Alec informed her, lying through his teeth. “I could not, in good conscience, allow my impetuosity in spiriting Juliet, that is Lady Deveril, off to Gretna to rob her of the respectable marriage she deserved.”
“It was really quite a lovely ceremony,” Juliet added, enjoying the way Amelia’s eyes narrowed at their show of solidarity. “Of course, now my parents wish they had given their consent, but at the time they were quite adamant that Deveril wait the requisite period for the banns to be called.”
“And I simply could not wait that long,” Alec said with a rueful grin.
Like Lady Wallingford had done, Amelia allowed her gaze to rest on Juliet’s midsection a bit longer than was polite. Part of Juliet resented the notion that they’d married because they had to. But another, more selfish part, loved that people actually thought someone like Alec would be so overcome by passion for her to anticipate their vows.
“Well, I certainly hope you will not regret your impulsiveness,” Felicia said with a solicitous smile that was counteracted by the hard glint in her eyes. “The ton can be very unforgiving about such things.”
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Felicia,” Juliet said with an equally false smile. “Though I do not see how you would be in any position to know.”
“I hope you will excuse us,” Alec said cheerfully, “but I would like to dance with my bride now.”
How to Romance a Rake Page 23
