A Rake for Juliana

by Jessica A Clements

  “I don’t think that the least bit wise, Your Grace.” She blushed prettily.

  * * *

  He stared into her eyes as the dips and swirls of the dance sent them both into a trance. Her scent was intoxicating—lavender, a splash of vanilla, and a unique quality that was strictly her.

  Marcus was just as entranced with Juliana. She felt right in his arms. Her scent sent lust ripping through him. He shook his head and waited for the music to stop so he could make his exit.

  The dance came to a close. Marcus led Juliana to her chaperone before striding off in the direction of his friend.

  “Perhaps we should make our exit before the matchmaking mamas come hunting,” he mused out loud.

  Aaron chuckled when he saw a couple of the predatory beasts walking toward them. “Marc, I think you may be right. Shall we proceed to the club?”

  “I see no reason to stay,” Marcus said, knowing he spoke a half-truth. His gaze drifted through the crowded ballroom until he saw the one person who made the tedious affair palatable—Lady Juliana Hatfield. Her light was a beacon that drew gentlemen to her side. After seeing her meld back into the throng of people, he made his exit.

  Streams of bright light shone through her window and woke Juliana from a deep sleep. She heard Maddy knock on her bedroom door. “Come in, Maddy,” she said as she stretched out her aching muscles.

  “My lady, there is some talk below stairs that you were the only one to dance with the Duke of Dunsbury at the ball,” the maid tutted. “They say it was quite scandalous.”

  “Maddy, what are you not telling me?” asked Juliana as she prepared for morning calls.

  “The sitting room is overflowing with flowers and pages of poetry from every gentleman in London, it seems, my lady.”

  Juliana shook her head and wondered why anyone would send her flowers. She recalled the dance she shared with the duke last night and the feelings she felt when dancing in his arms. She briefly imagined what it might be like to do other, more scandalous, things with the duke. She shoved those thoughts away when she realized Maddy was chattering away about her uncle and cousin.

  “They were surprised you gained the attention of the duke…” Maddy said.

  It had been an ongoing torment that both her uncle and cousin found her looks lacking and her bronze locks hideous. It wasn’t like she could help what the good Lord blessed her with. She knew it wasn’t fashionable, but she found she enjoyed being different.

  “Are you listening, my lady?”

  “Only partially, Maddy. I apologize. I allowed my thoughts to distract me.”

  “Sounds like you have a gentleman on your mind,” Maddy said and winked.

  * * *

  Marcus rubbed the sleep from his eyes, frowning. The bright streams of light caused pain to ricochet through his head. Those three bottles of claret he’d had last evening at his gentlemen’s club had come back to haunt him. He reached over to the bell-pull to summon Smith. Moments later, his valet tapped on the door.

  “Come in, Smith!” Marcus muttered through the door.

  “Good morning, yer Grace.” Smith bowed. “Which suit would ye be wantin’ to wear this fine day?”

  “The blue waistcoat, grey topcoat, and the buckskin trousers should suffice. Would you mind, please, keeping your voice down? My head hurts like the devil.” Marcus stretched his arms above his head, trying to force himself.

  His valet strode to the large wardrobe to retrieve the suit Marcus would be wearing during the day, his shaving kit, and a newly starched cravat.

  Marcus noticed the man was staring at something.

  “Smith, would you stop daydreaming and shave me? I have somewhere to be,” stated Marcus as he slowly pulled himself out of bed.

  Marcus strode to the chair in front of the small chest of drawers that had a mirror attached to it and waited for Smith to start making him presentable.

  Marcus had never looked forward to accompanying his mother on her morning rounds. Every time he stepped out of his front door, all the dragons of the Ton and their daughters migrated toward him. He had to constantly watch his step just in case some young lady swooned at his feet.

  He forced himself to think about the day’s events. Luckily, his mother was engaged to visit with the mothers of his two best friends. There was no saying what his mother had planned for the rest of the day. He would certainly regret leaving the house, but when one promised his mother that he would be her companion for the day—one had to comply. He sighed inwardly.

  As Smith tied the knot of his cravat, Marcus heard the unmistakable sound of his mother’s shuffled footsteps. He was late…again. He thanked Smith for his devotion, which Marcus noted as unusual, and walked down the massive formal staircase to the main hall.

  His mother had waited for him. She was still beautiful despite her age. Her radiant black curls still shone with youth and nary a wrinkle had creased her face. She was dressed fashionably in an empire waist gown of the deepest green. Contrary to custom, she never wore a bonnet. She was the Duchess of Dunsbury and made her own rules when it came to society.

  “Marcus, you have kept me waiting. I will be late to Lady Anne’s salon.”

  “Please accept my sincere apologies, Mother. Let me call for the carriage and we can be on our way.”

  * * *

  Juliana had never been to a formal salon before. Lady Anne Spencer, known for her elaborate luncheons, had invited her. Her cousin accepted on Juliana’s behalf. With no other friends in town, it was a lonely existence.

  Hopefully, she thought to herself, I will make some friends at one of these parties.

  She noticed that Lady Spencer stood at least a head taller than most of the women in the room. Her pale blonde hair was streaked with gray and pulled back into a loose chignon. Her midnight blue gown accented her aquamarine eyes perfectly. The lady had a way of smiling that made her look younger than she was. Her son, Jacob, who was well over six feet tall, stood next to her.

  “Lady Juliana, how wonderful it is to finally meet you!” Lady Spencer said. “Have you met my son yet?”

  “I have not, my lady,” Juliana respectfully replied.

  “Jacob, dear, you must introduce yourself,” Lady Spencer said, turning to her son for a moment.

  “It is truly a pleasure. Jacob Spencer, the Earl of Blackridge, at your service.” He bent over her hand, as was customary.

  She had heard talk of the wicked earl’s exploits. One such exploit had made it to the news sheet that she subscribed to. Something about stealing a kiss from a lady at an opera. That must have been years ago, now. But, he would—from that point on, be known as a rakehell of the first order. It was also said he was bosom mates with the Duke of Dunsbury.

  “I see by the look on your face that my reputation has preceded me. Please don’t listen to a thing they say,” he said with a wicked grin. He then strolled across to a group of gentlemen.

  “Lady Juliana, I do believe I’ve heard you’re new to town. You must feel like a fish out of water. I heard, as well, that a cousin is your chaperone. I do believe I will take you under my wing. You see, my dear, one young lady a season has the privilege of having me and my friends as sponsors,” Lady Spencer said.

  “My lady, I would be honored, but I cannot inconvenience you like that.”

  “You would not be an inconvenience—”

  The butler, announcing the duke and his mother, interrupted Lady Spencer.

  “Oh! I must introduce you to one of my favorite companions.”

  Lady Spencer led her toward the raven-haired beauty. It was hard to imagine that this lady had a son of five and twenty. Her smile radiated warmth. Then her eyes landed on Juliana.

  “Anne, it is so nice to see you! Who is this beautiful young lady?” Bethany asked.

  “I would like to introduce you to Lady Juliana Hatfield. Lady Juliana, this is Bethany Stafford, the Duchess of Dunsbury. And this is her son, Marcus Stafford, the Duke of Dunsbury.”

  Curts
ies and bows were exchanged.

  Juliana could feel the heat of Marcus’s gaze. The rake was immaculately turned out. Why wouldn’t he be? He was a duke.

  “Lady Juliana, would you permit me to escort you around the room?” asked Marcus.

  “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

  As they strode off, Juliana glanced over her shoulder. She watched as the two women conspired, heads close together, planning the next outing. She smiled as she glanced up at Marcus and smiled.

  * * *

  Juliana strolled beside Marcus as they made their way to the tables that were set up in the garden. The scent of roses wafted through the spring air.

  “Lady Juliana, I think my mother and her cronies have picked us for their entertainment this season.” He looked over his shoulder at the two women they’d just left.

  “What do you mean, Your Grace? Are you saying that they’re matchmaking?”

  “That is exactly what I am saying.”

  “Your Grace, I’m not here to search for a husband,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “You see, my uncle demanded I attend. Therefore, I have. However, I will not be searching for a husband. I am too independent to bow to the wishes of a gentleman.”

  “Wait just a moment, my lady. I am no more looking forward to searching for a wife as you are for a husband. Unlike you, my duty is to marry and produce heirs. It is a daunting task, I assure you. I think, for now, we should allow the ladies their amusement.” The duke looked at her with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

  Marcus escorted Juliana to the nearest table, took his bow, kissed the palm of her hand, and walked toward Jacob. He came to a slow stop, feeling Juliana’s gaze from fifty feet away. He turned so that he could stare into her eyes.

  Jacob, who was eyeing him, burst into an improper bout of laughter.

  He really had to find better friends, he reminded himself as he turned back to Jacob.

  Only three days had passed since the luncheon when Juliana received a note from the duchess asking for her company when she visited the modiste. She wasn’t sure what to think about the invitation after her conversation with His Grace. Should she go or decline? Would declining seem as though she was giving Her Grace the cut direct? She could admit to herself that her current wardrobe was not in the peak of fashion, but they served their purpose well, or so she thought. Maybe she should just go with the Duchess to see what the woman wanted. In the end, she had decided to reply to the duchess’s missive and tell her that she would accompany Her Grace to the modiste.

  Juliana couldn’t help wondering what the duchess really wanted. She was so worried that, at one point, a megrim overtook her. Luckily, it was short-lived as compared to the others she’d had, and she recovered in time to go on the outing with the duchess.

  She had never been to the part of Mayfair where Dunsbury House was located. The large mansion was made of English sandstone. The Grecian columns were created of marble. The house was intimidating, if not as imposing as the man who lived in it. She climbed the marble stairs to the front door. A stately man opened the door before she raised her hand to knock.

  The man bowed. “My lady, I am Jenkins. Her Grace is waiting for you in the Blue Sitting Room. If you would follow me, I will show you the way.”

  Juliana followed Jenkins to the Blue Sitting Room. As its name suggested, the walls were covered in blue and gold damask. The coverings on the furniture were the color of fresh butter. The duchess, dressed in a gown of the deepest purple and adorned with pearls, was draped across a chaise lounge.

  “Come in, darling. Once Anne arrives, we will be on our way. Until then, we can chat. I was wondering if you might tell me a bit about yourself. Where did you say you were raised?” Bethany asked.

  “I would be delighted, Your Grace. I was born in Hampshire. I don’t remember much about my mother and father. They died several years ago in a carriage accident. I just don’t remember—” Juliana mumbled as she tried to bring up the details of the day she was notified of their death.

  “I am dreadfully sorry I brought up such painful memories, my dear—”

  The duchess was cut off by Jenkins announcing the arrival of the Countess of Blackridge.

  “Anne, I was worried you would miss us. Madame Camille will not be happy if we miss our appointment.”

  “I apologize, Beth. Jacob came home dreadfully late, and he had our only closed carriage,” Lady Anne said.

  “We must be on our way. Come along, ladies. Anne, we are taking your conveyance?”

  “I imagine so, dear,” Lady Anne replied. The comical look on her face hinted at laughter slowly rising to the surface. Minutes later, the three ladies burst into fits of mirth.

  * * *

  Bond Street was a hub of activity. Shopkeepers, flower girls, and the men and women of society clashed in one mass of humanity. Juliana stepped out of the conveyance with the help of the footman, followed by Lady Anne and the duchess.

  The modiste’s shop, as she walked in, was rather comfortable. Finished gowns were on display in the bay windows at the front. The furniture was dainty, and the atmosphere of the room was welcoming.

  “Your Grace, you brought me another exquisite young lady to outfit for the season. What beautiful hair, and those eyes…oh, the beautiful gowns I can prepare for her. They will accentuate those eyes.” The woman circled Juliana, taking in her shape.

  Juliana had not been so uncomfortable since—she didn’t know when. Not even the mantua maker in the country made her feel so nervous. She couldn’t hide the blush that crept over her cheeks and down her neck.

  The duchess agreed. “Please supply us with some fashion plates, Camille. We will need everything. You understand, don’t you?” she asked with a lopsided grin.

  “I certainly do, Your Grace. What do you say about greens, blues, and purples? I understand that debutantes wear white, but the lady hasn’t the coloring for it. I would go with a pastel green.” The woman indicated some fabrics.

  “I will leave the particulars to you, dear. Can we have a ball gown finished in three days’ time?” Bethany asked.

  “Anything for you, Your Grace. Consider it done.” Camille ushered Juliana into another room to get measurements.

  * * *

  At his club, Marcus enjoyed a quiet moment with a glass of brandy before his rendezvous with his friends. He sat next to the fireplace with a book in hand and his long legs crossed at the ankles.

  “Old man, I never thought I would see the day that you would be seen reading at White’s,” said a voice he recognized from his past.

  He turned to the voice, seeing an acquaintance from Oxford with whom he had once exchanged a bout of fisticuffs over a lady.

  “Lord Benton, I wish I could say it is a pleasure, but I have not forgotten what happened the last time we were near each other. I should also remind you that I have not given you leave, nor ever will I, to use anything other than my title when addressing me.”

  Vincent Cameron, the Earl of Benton, was a short man. He barely reached the duke’s shoulder. His stringy blond hair and stench bore witness to his lack of personal hygiene. Marcus was sure the man hadn’t bathed in weeks, which had him reaching for his handkerchief, which he’d had soaked in lavender to alleviate the stench.

  “I’m sorry to offend…Your Grace,” the earl sneered.

  “What is it you want, Lord Benton?” Marcus asked, sounding blatantly annoyed.

  “There’s a bet in the book about you and Lady Juliana Hatfield that I thought you might find interesting,” Lord Benton replied.

  Marcus spun around and pushed his way through the crowded room to the table where the betting book was placed. He had to see for himself that Benton was correct. He dragged his finger down the page of the book until he got to the entry.

  Damn and blast! He swore to himself just as he spotted the men, he had been waiting for. “If you don’t mind my abrupt departure, I have a meeting with some gentlemen.” Marcus rose to his full height and strode up
to the two men.

  “Friends, we need to make a hasty retreat,” Marcus said as he stomped past Jacob and Aaron, surprising them.

  “Where are we going, Marcus? Why the hell are we leaving when we made plans for this evening? The ladies we procured at Madame Viola’s for the night won’t entertain themselves.”

  “I have no clue. But rumors have reached White’s about my dance with Lady Juliana. The woman haunts me everywhere.”

  “Come now, Marcus. You just met the chit. Love at first sight is a myth. We all know that.”

  “Who said anything about love? You are starting to sound like my mother, Aaron. Stubble it. I plan to leave town.”

  “You can’t do that,” Jacob retorted. “The rumors will spread faster than they are now, with no way to stop them.”

  His friends knew the gossips well, it would seem. He had not wanted to be in town for longer than just a couple of weeks.

  Damn and blast, Marcus thought to himself as he resigned himself to finish out the season with the knowledge that he had gotten in way over his head.

  Juliana, dressed in her new ball gown, surveyed the crowd in front of her. As soon as she was announced, every gentleman congregated around her, slowly suffocating her. Her dance card was quickly filling up, dance after dance spoken for, until not a single space was left unfilled. She had to find a way to get air.

  A short gentleman strode through the throng of her suitors with a glass of watered-down Madeira. “My lady, this will help you.” He handed her the glass.

  “Thank you, sir. That was very considerate of you,” she said out of obligation.

  “You are very welcome, my lady,” he replied as he bowed over her hand. “I am Vincent Cameron, the Earl of Benton.”