by Olivia Drake
“Are you referring to Emily’s bastardy?”
His tone of chilly detachment sparked heat in her cheeks. She fought to hold her gaze steady. “Yes. I... I wondered if people ever shunned her.”
“I never brought her into London society. She preferred a quiet country life.” He stood, a towering figure lined by the filtered rays of sunlight. “It’s getting late. Shall we go?”
The finality of the gesture closed the discussion. Somehow, without her noticing, the afternoon shadows had lengthened. Regretfully she accepted his hand as he helped her into the cabriolet. He sat down beside her, and the gray gelding started toward the city. Kent stared straight ahead, brooding and silent. Despite the pleasant breeze and the mesmeric sway of the carriage, Juliet felt troubled, longing for a return of their easy companionship.
“Why did you come to London?” At his sharp glance, she added hastily, “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that I’ve never asked you before... I presume you’ve business here.”
He returned his gaze to the road. “I needed to see a banker.”
“Did it have to do with the threshing machine you’re developing?”
He cast her another biting look. “Where did you hear about that?”
She bit her lip. “Somewhere. I don’t recall.”
“From Emmett, no doubt.”
His frosty tone made her happiness wilt like the nosegay of wildflowers in her lap. Resentment suddenly stiffened her spine. “I wonder why you bother with me, then,” she snapped. “I’m a Carleton, too.”
His hand descended over hers on the leather cushion. “Forgive me, Juliet. I had a lot of unhappy memories weighing on my mind. Can you spare me a little patience, please?”
The contrition in his voice drew her gaze to his face, where concern gentled those sternly handsome angles. Her frustration eased, yet she couldn’t let go of her anger, not just yet.
“I only want to make sure you’ve really set aside the feud.”
“I have. It just takes some getting used to, that’s all.”
Could she trust his word? She stole another glance and found him watching her. She could drown in the dark sea of his eyes. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to surrender herself into his keeping, to let him do with her whatever he willed.
“All right,” she whispered, turning her hand so that her palm nestled within his. “I just wish... ”
“Wish what?”
How could she express the newborn needs and hopes and dreams trembling inside her heart? “I wish that everything could stay as perfect as it was earlier.”
“I know.”
A shared sensitivity shone on his face, and for one breathless moment she thought he meant to kiss her. Then he swung his pensive gaze back to the smartly trotting horse.
“Unfortunately,” he said in a voice so low she had to strain to hear, “life is rarely perfect.”
“Perfect... absolutely perfect,” Dorothea Carleton proclaimed. “Turn around now and let me see the back.”
Juliet dutifully twirled before the cheval mirror in her bedroom. The jade hued gown sported a sash of black watered silk that cinched her tiny waist, and the low, square bodice of shirred gauze dramatized the fullness of her breasts. A modest cluster of green ribbons adorned one side of her chignon, and russet curls fringed her face. If only she were dressing to meet Kent...
Rebellion stirred in her. “I wonder if Lord Breeton will judge me to be as superior as the horseflesh in his stable.”
“Oh, darling,” Dorothea chided, “don’t be contrary. Someday you’ll realize the value of this extraordinary opportunity. Come now, we must hurry if we’re to be downstairs when he and his mother arrive.”
Some thirty minutes later, Juliet selected a slice of saffron cake from a silver tray offered by a footman. Absently she listened to her father and Lord Breeton debate the merits of various horses entered in the upcoming Ascot races. Across from her, seated in matching chairs of emerald damask, Mrs. Carleton and Lady Breeton sipped tea and compared milliners.
Her enormous bosom swathed in gray silk, the marchioness leaned forward, looking like a well fed pouter pigeon. “You must take care,” she cooed, “to check your account very closely. Why, just last week, I was charged for an ostrich plume when the bonnet I’d ordered only had a cock’s feather.”
She shook her head disapprovingly and her fleshy neck jiggled. Juliet gulped back a grin. Curious, how Lady Breeton possessed such an abundance of chins, while her son had been deprived of even one.
As Dorothea uttered a polite reply, Juliet’s mind strayed to the previous day’s outing with Kent. Life is rarely perfect. Over and over she’d mulled his somber words, and each time they left her with an aching sympathy, with the need to soothe his suffering and rekindle the light of joy inside him. He’d seemed so at ease tramping through the woods, and younger somehow, as if the cares of a lonely life had lifted from his shoulders.
Until they’d spoken of Emily.
Perhaps the right woman could make him forget the morbid past and seek a happy future. Her heart warmed at the memory of the smiles they’d shared over each remarkable wildflower. If she closed her eyes, she could recall the rousing earthy essence of his scent...
“I say, Miss Carleton, you look positively blissful. Did you enjoy Wimbledon?”
Jerking her gaze toward Lord Breeton’s pallid face, Juliet drew a blank. “Wimbledon?”
“That is where you went yesterday, isn’t it?”
Everyone stared at her. Cheeks burning, she recalled the lie. “I... yes, of course. Lady Maud Peabody and I went there to visit her grandmother.”
“How is the dowager Lady Higgleston faring?” demanded the marchioness.
“Quite well, though her arthritis has been acting up.” Juliet took a sip of tea to ease her dry throat. “Might I say, my lady, that’s a stunning brooch you’re wearing. It’s a lovely match for the blue of your eyes.”
Preening, Lady Breeton patted the dainty sapphire pin, half swallowed by her huge breasts. “Why, how kind of you to say so. It was a gift from my dear departed Quentin.” The chair groaned under her weight as she swiveled toward the men. “Such a well mannered girl you have, Emmett.”
“Yes, she is, isn’t she?”
At her father’s proud expression, Juliet felt herself sinking deeper into a swamp of guilt. Her ploy might have diverted the discussion, but it had also won her praise when she didn’t wish to encourage Breeton’s suit. Looking from beneath her lashes, she studied his lordship and tried to imagine being his wife. Those spindly arms would hold her close, those mutton chop whiskers would brush her cheek as he kissed her—
A shudder seized her insides. No, she could not endure that, not even to please her parents. Emmett Carleton recounted an amusing tale about a mix up in negotiating the purchase of their house from the lord chancellor. He looked so bent on impressing the Breetons with his wealth that Juliet felt the stir of nausea.
What would he do if he knew the only man who fascinated her was the Duke of Radcliffe?
Chapter 4
She fascinated him. Kent Deverell sat at the desk in his study and stared at the silver fountain pen he rotated in his hands. Before him lay a half finished sketch for the mechanical thresher, but improving upon the invention failed to hold his attention. These past two weeks he’d lost the ability to concentrate.
Except on Juliet.
Dropping the pen, he picked up a wilted stalk of tansy, the yellow flowers gone brown and brittle. He smiled, remembering how she’d playfully tucked the stem into his buttonhole on an outing to Hampstead Heath. He’d always considered tansy a weed, but she made him see beauty in the most mundane of plants.
The moment he’d planned for so long now approached with inexorable speed. At this very instant, unaware of his intent to seduce her, Juliet Carleton was on her way here. His loins burned with the anticipation of possessing her body.
Instead of seeing her wed to a man of noble title, Emmett Carleton would endure w
hispers and gossip. He’d be hard pressed to find an aristocrat desperate enough to marry a fallen woman, even the heiress to a fortune.
And how would Juliet survive being shunned?
For the hundredth time, he conjured up her sparkling eyes and artless smile, the fine boned face that reflected her vibrant interest in life. She made him feel young again... sent him back to a time when he’d still believed that dreams could come true.
Abruptly he crushed the stalk of tansy; its strong aroma wafted through the air. Sentiment had no place in his plan. He should be grateful for her naivete; it made her so damned easy to manipulate. Yet his throat constricted with an absurd tenderness, a tenderness he hadn’t felt toward any woman since Emily.
Emily. The bitter blow of memory struck the softness from him. His mind burned with the image of her gentle face. She’d been too fragile to fight the wickedness of a world that wouldn’t accept the circumstances of her birth, too kind to comprehend the evil of men who would treat her as something less than perfect.
He had no such compunction. Like a blast of winter wind, resolve froze his soul. Lowering his hands to the desk, he gripped the edge so hard, his blunt tipped nails scored the green leather surface.
His grip slowly eased. Methodically he brushed the tansy remains into the rubbish bin. No matter what the cost, he must vindicate his wife’s death.
Emmett Carleton must pay for driving her to suicide.
“Are you certain this is wise?” Maud asked.
Clutching the door strap as the brougham rounded a corner, Juliet smiled at her friend. “After all your madcap escapades, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be lecturing me.”
“But to go to the duke’s town house, unchaperoned... ”
Juliet knew the risk. To meet a man in a public place bent the rules of convention; to visit him alone broke every dictate drummed into her by her mother. She could be ruined; Papa had warned her that Kent meant to do just that...
“I trust him,” she said firmly. “Someday, when you meet the right man, you’ll understand how I feel.”
An unholy glint entered Maud’s eyes. “Do you suppose he’ll try to do that to you?”
“That?”
“You know. Lure you into his bedroom so he can do all sorts of unspeakable things to your person.”
Heat washed through Juliet. At boarding school, she and Maud had spent hours speculating about the secret act between men and women. “Don’t be absurd. Kent has acted the perfect gentleman.”
Then why had he asked her to his home? He’d mentioned a surprise, but what could it be? She hugged the breathless hope that his feelings for her had deepened, that today he meant to declare himself.
Over the past fortnight, they’d shared glorious stolen hours: an afternoon wandering the stalls at a horticultural exhibit, a morning studying the flora of Hampstead Heath, even an entire day roaming the greenhouses in the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. Her mother had arched an eyebrow at the sudden obsession with shopping that Juliet and Maud had developed, but thankfully Dorothea was preoccupied with planning a schedule of dinner parties and soirees designed to lure Lord Breeton into the family fold.
Through the broad front window of the carriage, Juliet saw the opulent shops of Regent Street. Hands trembling with excitement, she pulled out the vanity drawer hidden in the maroon satin panel before her, then checked her appearance in the small mirror and adjusted the pearl-tipped pin securing her straw hat. Was the bodice of the apricot gown cut too low for afternoon wear?
She bit her lip. “Oh, dear. Perhaps I ought to have worn the lavender silk after all.”
Maud drew out her gold-rimmed spectacles and peered closely. “Egad. You’d have looked as if you were in half mourning.”
“Then maybe the new Du Barry rose gown?”
“Stop fretting. His Grace, the most noble Duke of Radcliffe, will be utterly entranced by your immortal beauty.”
They looked at each other and giggled, and the moment of anxiety lifted. Exhilaration kindled inside Juliet, an exhilaration that stoked the blaze of longing in her heart. Ever since she’d met Kent, the world glowed vibrant and rich... a richness of the senses. Color seemed more vivid, tastes sharper, scents keener. The clatter of carriage wheels sang like a symphony; ever this cool gray day felt brisk and brilliant.
“There’s the dressmaker’s,” Maud said, squinting at the traffic.
She tugged on the velvet bell pull to signal the coachman, and the brougham rumbled to a stop. A liveried footman helped the two women down in front of a confectioner’s shop. The scent of fresh baked pastries wafted through the air. A bright hued array of shoppers strolled the sidewalks and peered into the store windows.
Maud seized Juliet’s gloved hands. “I wish I were off to such an adventure with a man.”
Affection flooded Juliet. “Your time will come. Then I’ll have a chance to help you.”
Turning, she walked swiftly down the street. The throng of elegant shoppers thinned as she neared Picadilly, yet she kept her face lowered on the chance that an acquaintance might spot her.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spied the approach of a familiar plump pigeon form. Lady Breeton! The woman minced down the street, her maid a step behind. Juliet ducked into a milliner’s shop and affected an interest in a display of fans. Curbing her nervousness, she let the proprietress show her one of violet silk gauze.
She forced herself to tarry for ten minutes. When she stepped cautiously from the shop, Lady Breeton was nowhere to be seen. The close call alarmed Juliet. Discreetly lifting a hand, she hailed a passing hansom, and gave the address to the rear seated driver. Her stomach still aflutter, she settled herself in the small interior of the cab.
The breeze flowing through the open front cooled her heated cheeks; her heart thudded in rhythm with the swift clop clopping of the horse’s hooves and the jangle of harness. At last... at last the interminable hours of waiting were nearly over.
Like a light starved plant reaching for sunshine, her need for Kent grew with each meeting. She loved the low melody of his voice, the absorption on his face as he drove his carriage, the brush of his callused fingers as he handed her a flower. Not since that day at the Embankment had he kissed her. She ached to relive the tender touch of his lips...
The hansom jolted to a halt before the stately town homes of Grosvenor Square. She handed the fare through the trapdoor in the roof, then mindful of her skirts, she stepped down.
As the cab rattled away, Juliet stood still, caught by the sudden snare of conscience. How horrified her mother would be if she knew her daughter was about to visit a man unchaperoned! And how furious her father would be if he knew that man was Kent Deverell.
To calm her galloping heart, she took as deep a breath as her tight laced corset would allow. She was an adult now, capable of directing her own life. Capable of judging the merits of a man.
Taking a swift glance around, she hastened up the steps and rapped with the brass knocker. A minute dragged past.
Then the knob rattled and the door opened. A man stood there, but he resembled no butler or footman she’d ever seen. A flat gray turban topped his head, and a pale muslin robe swathed his lean body. For one astounded instant, Juliet blinked, sure he was the ancient street sweeper. But this man looked younger, his skin dusky, his shoulders straighter.
Recovering herself, she held out her calling card. “I’ve an appointment to see the duke.”
The servant studied the small, engraved square. A corner of his thin lip lifted slightly; then he bowed and waved her inside.
“His Grace is in the study,” he said, a musically foreign note to his voice. “If you would care to wait, I’ll inform him of your arrival, Miss Carleton.”
The faint inflection on her name radiated disapproval. He pointed a dark finger to a doorway, then glided silently away, leaving her standing in the entrance hall.
Taken aback by his rudeness, Juliet walked through the doorway and discove
red a small drawing room. The furnishings were warm and charming, yet the peacock blue sofa was faded, the dhurri carpet frayed at the edges. A tiger skin rug lay before the hearth. As in her father’s library, brass and ivory artifacts scattered the room. Odd, that despite the differences between the two families, both their homes held that one distinct similarity.
The muted noises of traffic emphasized the eerie silence within the house. The sensation of solitude puzzled her a moment; then she realized why. She was accustomed to servants bustling about, unobtrusive yet ever present. Kent’s town home seemed empty and forlorn, like a neglected winter garden.
Parting the yellowed lace at a window, she peered outside. Carriages and drays rattled along the street; a nursemaid wheeled a pram; a pair of elderly ladies strolled past. So ordinary a scene. Yet she felt as if she were trembling on the brink of a great adventure.
The heavy fall of footsteps emanated from the hall. She swung to the doorway as Kent walked into the room. His handsome face wore a welcoming smile that made her heart leap with gladness. Today he’d left off his formal coat; in a plain white shirt and dark trousers he looked alert and vital.
“Juliet,” he said, taking both her hands. “You’re like sunshine in this musty old place.”
Bending, he planted a kiss on her cheek, and even that chaste gesture nearly made her knees wilt. She loved the feel of his fingers around hers, his large, solid hands holding her tenderly.
“I’m delighted to be here.” Laughing, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, that sounds like a platitude... and it seems so inadequate to express how I feel right now.”
His dark lashes lowered a bit, making his eyes appear blacker. “And how do you feel?”
“Happy,” she whispered. “Happy to be with you, no matter where we are.”
For a moment his face remained soft; then a muscle in his jaw tightened and he released her hands. “Come along,” he said, pivoting. “I promised you a surprise, and I won’t have you accusing me of reneging.”
As they headed down the shadowed hall, Juliet sensed that she’d stirred deep feelings in Kent. Excitement shivered through her. Surely he’d reveal those feelings today.
