The Wild Marquis

by Miranda Neville

  She wondered what Cain would think of it. She’d dreaded seeing him for the first time after she’d made a fool of herself, but her embarrassment slipped away in the face of his own lack of concern. It was as though that evening had never happened. Instead he’d been his usual cheerful self and bought several books, enough to earn her a tidy commission and justify the purchase of the dress. They had an entirely satisfactory relationship based on business and she ought not to care what he thought of her appearance.

  Anyway, the matter was irrelevant. She couldn’t imagine him attending such a gathering.

  One of her hostesses had presented her to several people on her arrival, but the group had drifted apart, and now she was in danger of being driven behind a piano, the disadvantage of her small stature. She hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to the unseemly exercise of elbows to escape.

  Socially she was inexperienced, sensing by instinct rather than actual knowledge that this gathering was not one of high ton. Judging by their attire, other guests mixed the modish and the merely respectable. Wondering how to gain further introductions, she was pleased to come across Matthew Gilbert.

  How fortunate. The gentleman bookseller might be able to present her to some potential customers in the room. He was accompanied by a man of striking appearance, probably in his early thirties. No more than middling height, he boasted a broad chest and shoulders under his blue evening coat. Bright golden hair, cropped short, was in odd contrast to dark skin that Juliana guessed resulted from prolonged exposure to the sun. The man must have traveled abroad.

  He also seemed familiar.

  “Mrs. Merton,” Mr. Gilbert said. “Allow me to present Sir Henry Tarleton.”

  Juliana was curious to meet Tarleton’s heir, having heard much speculation about him among other booksellers. He smiled at her, revealing even white teeth that contrasted attractively with his tanned complexion. “I asked Gilbert to introduce us since we come, in a way, from the same part of the world.”

  “I understand, Sir Henry, that you have lived most of your life in the Indies. Did you visit England often?”

  Perhaps she’d seen him during a visit to her Wiltshire neighborhood, but she didn’t believe so. The two men exchanged glances, then Gilbert excused himself, leaving her alone with Tarleton.

  “My mother and I spent a period of years here in my youth,” Sir Henry explained. “My father had died, but she thought that as Sir Thomas’s heir, I should receive an English education. We made several visits to Wiltshire and I knew of Mr. Fitterbourne. I regret never making his acquaintance.”

  “Your uncle and my guardian were not on visiting terms.”

  “I commend your restraint, madam,” he said with a rueful smile. “I am well acquainted with my late uncle’s reputation. He had a knack for making enemies.”

  Juliana found Sir Henry’s openness appealing. “He and Mr. Fitterbourne often clashed over their collections.”

  “People jest about bibliomania, but I’m afraid with my uncle it was a true affliction, making him view his fellow collectors only as competitors.”

  Mr. Fitterbourne hadn’t been very different, Juliana thought, remembering the long years of her childhood when she never met anyone from outside Fernley Court save the occasional visiting bookseller. Little surprise that she’d ended up married to one. There had been no one else.

  “Just because Mr. Fitterbourne and my uncle were rivals, it doesn’t mean, I hope, that we cannot be friends,” Sir Henry continued. “We have many interests in common.”

  “Are you a collector yourself?”

  “In my small way, yes. It grieves me to see my uncle’s books go under the hammer. But I hope to acquire some volumes myself.”

  “I can appreciate your sentiments. I felt the same way when my guardian’s library was sold.” She bit her lip. Despite Sir Henry’s frank disclosures, it was perhaps impolite to express dissatisfaction over the sale.

  She needn’t have worried. “I know my uncle purchased Mr. Fitterbourne’s library,” he said. “That must have been hard for you. Perhaps there are some volumes you wish to acquire for sentimental reasons.”

  Brought up to hate the very name Tarleton, she was astonished to find this man understood her feelings. Perhaps she should enlist his help. Cain, after all, had willingly agreed not to bid against her.

  “The Shakespeare quartos were my favorite part of the collection,” she said. “Particularly the Romeo and Juliet.”

  “A fine copy. I shall defer to you and refrain from bidding on it myself.”

  She flushed with pleasure and surprise. Frankness about her wishes had eliminated another competitor. “Thank you, Sir Henry. It belonged to Mr. Fitterbourne’s daughter and I always liked it.”

  Sir Henry gave a little bow. “I look forward to calling on you,” he said, taking his leave. “I hear you have an interesting stock.”

  Juliana looked after him, wondering where she had seen him before. Though she couldn’t be certain, she thought it was in her shop. Why hadn’t he mentioned it?

  Mr. Gilbert returned to her side.

  “Thank you for introducing me to Sir Henry,” Juliana said. “I have every hope he will become a customer. Are you representing him at the sale?”

  “He has asked me to, but I find myself in something of a quandary. I have several clients with competing demands. You might be able to help me. Would you be prepared to take over his bidding? Naturally you would receive the full commission.”

  “That’s very good of you but I have been engaged by the Marquis of Chase. He has first call on my services.”

  “Is Chase serious then? I assumed most of your purchases have been on your own behalf.”

  Juliana was flattered that Gilbert had such an inflated estimate of the size of her purse. She murmured something noncommittal.

  “You might want to consider withdrawing from your agreement with the marquis. In the long run Tarleton would likely prove a more valuable connection. From all I’ve heard Chase is…how can I put it…unreliable.”

  She was tempted. Not just because Gilbert echoed her own doubts about Cain’s fortitude as a collector. There was something irresistible about the notion of making money from the Tarleton fortune.

  “I will think about it,” she said.

  “Please do. And let me know. Shall I call on you tomorrow? I could look at those books we spoke about.”

  “I’d welcome that,” she replied, happy to have the chance to offload some of her most unappealing stock.

  “I’ll come early before the auction begins, if that is convenient.”

  “If the door isn’t open, ring the bell and I’ll come down.”

  “I greatly look forward to furthering our association.”

  Gilbert leaned forward, making Juliana acutely aware of her décolletage. Yet his gaze was fixed on her face. Associating with Chase had scrambled her brain. Mr. Gilbert, unlike the marquis, was a most respectable man. Not one to be distracted by her transformed appearance.

  “May I say, Mrs. Merton, what a pleasure it is to meet a lady with an interest in books.” And now his pale eyes held a certain gleam.

  “Thank you, sir. There aren’t many of us.”

  “And I am sure none of them boasts your level of knowledge or taste.”

  “Why, Mr. Gilbert,” she responded with a smile, “I do believe you flatter me.”

  “Oh no!” he said, “I never flatter.”

  “What, never? When a customer proudly shows you a treasure he ‘managed to pick up’ in some out-of-the-way country bookshop, do you inform him that it’s a poor copy of a common book and he overpaid for it?”

  Gilbert responded with a grave look. “I must admit that I am not always so frank. Are we not allowed our little sins of omission?”

  “Does that mean that I can always assume you speak the truth, just not the whole truth?”

  “As we become better acquainted I trust we can dispense even with that reservation.”

  Juliana
was hard put to keep her expression demure and ladylike. What a splendid evening! Not only had she gained the prospect of an important new client. But a gentleman, an important, knowledgeable, serious bookman, was showing unmistakable signs of a personal interest in her.

  She lowered her eyes and peered up at Matthew Gilbert’s unremarkable and pleasant features. He might lack flashing eyes and a slashing grin. His presence might not fill her with new, dangerous, physical yearnings. But this was a man worthy of her respect.

  Warm breath tickled her neck and a voice like a cello caressed her ear.

  “My dear Juliana. What have you done to yourself?”

  The infuriating man had crept up on cat’s feet. She spun around to meet, just inches from her face, the blue eyes and laughing mouth of the Marquis of Chase.

  At first Cain found the bluestocking party not so very different from any other gathering. The guests weren’t as well dressed as those at one of Harriette Wilson’s soirées. One couldn’t expect the same level of peacocking at an event whose aim was intellectual enlightenment rather than a bed partner for the night. Yet the twinkle in Miss Berry’s eye when Tarquin Compton introduced his companion indicated that she, at least, might have found a gathering of courtesans intriguing. Clearly regarding him as a new zoological specimen for her menagerie, she presented him to a group that included a poet, a politician, a painter, and a lady novelist known for her gothic fantasies.

  They were discussing servants.

  Cain had enjoyed better conversations with his own household staff. He could have contributed some interesting tales about his own hiring practices, but he was determined to be on his best behavior tonight and not offend the conventions.

  Then he glimpsed her in a far corner of the room through a gap in the crowd. He’d already been treated to the glory of her hair, else he might not have recognized the little beauty in black, a soft velvet gown clinging to every delicious curve of her full breasts and shapely behind. A narrow black ribbon at the neck was her sole adornment and served to emphasize the expanse of bare white skin beneath it. The golden curls were carelessly tucked into a black velvet bandeau and set off the barely freckled fragility of flawless pale skin.

  His little bookseller had shed her shroud and she was every bit as lovely as he had predicted. Judging by her expression she enjoyed her transformation, and he was gratified at her pleasure.

  Until he saw the object of her smile. Not a smile, he amended, a simper. It was directed at a man who gazed at her with undisguised admiration. The bookseller Gilbert.

  Cain’s pleasure dissipated. He’d detected the gem concealed by monstrous bombazine. Now the treasure was revealed for all to see, including that stiffrumped fellow.

  Juliana Merton belonged to him. His hunter’s instincts aroused, he excused himself and headed across the room.

  He hoped she hadn’t been drinking tonight.

  “My dear Juliana. What have you done to yourself?”

  “My lord.” She spun round, her voice a little breathless. “I am surprised to see you.”

  “I hope you are happy to see me. And,” he added, lifting her hand toward his mouth, “you are supposed to call me Cain.”

  “My lord,” she repeated, her face guarded. Her fingers stiffened in her glove. “I am, of course, always happy to see a customer.”

  “Is that all I am?” He brushed his lips over her knuckles.

  She glanced back at Gilbert with an expression of alarm and retrieved her hand rather abruptly. The other man regarded him with unvarnished disfavor.

  “Allow me to present Mr. Gilbert,” she said.

  He and Gilbert assessed each other like a pair of fighting cocks preparing for the fray. Cain felt confident he could defeat the man, physically or otherwise. Judging by his demeanor, Gilbert’s wit was as rigid as his back.

  “Lord Chase.” Gilbert nodded. “Mrs. Merton and I have been discussing books. We have so much in common in that area.”

  And there, Cain admitted, Gilbert had him. He couldn’t compete with the bookseller when it came to Juliana’s greatest passion.

  But that could change: his own knowledge, her passion. Or perhaps both.

  “I understand you have decided to become a book collector?” Cain didn’t imagine the scorn in Gilbert’s words. He was used to being on the receiving end of barely disguised insults.

  He nodded. “Mrs. Merton is advising me.”

  “And you couldn’t find a better counselor,” Gilbert said with false heartiness. His features pinched. “I had the privilege of selling several volumes to your revered father. And Lady Chase continues to honor me with her custom. As doubtless you are aware, she has added many volumes to your family library.”

  Of course he wasn’t aware. And Gilbert knew it too.

  “What does Lady Chase collect?” Juliana asked.

  “Ask Gilbert. He’s the bookseller.”

  “Markley Chase boasts one of the best collections of devotional works in the country, in keeping with the Godfrey family tradition.”

  Cain folded his arms and cocked his head in a relaxed pose. And it was just that: a pose. His mother never left the Abbey, hadn’t set foot in London in years, though doubtless she prayed for the souls of the inhabitants of the modern Gomorrah. No one knew his mother. But apparently this man did.

  What had she said to Gilbert about him? The one thing Cain feared was an encounter with someone who knew the real reason for his exile.

  Cain was upset, Juliana could tell. He stood casually enough, his lips twitched into a mocking smile, but she sensed a tension in his stillness. The mention of his mother and his home had distressed him and she couldn’t blame him.

  “Lord Chase shows great promise as a collector,” she said. “He has natural taste.”

  “Natural?” Gilbert asked, a wealth of scorn in the syllables.

  Apparently she’d chosen the wrong word. Cain’s arms fell to his sides and his fists clenched.

  “Yes indeed,” she said hastily, searching for words that would defuse the encounter. She didn’t want to affront Gilbert and lose his approval, but she felt she had to defend Cain. Because he was her customer, if for no other reason.

  “I have bought some excellent volumes at his suggestion,” she said.

  “Really?” Gilbert asked. “I’m interested. Is he following his family tradition?”

  Juliana’s mind went blank. Almost. The only title that came to mind was The Rampant Alderman.

  “I prefer to keep my counsel about my customer’s preferences,” she managed to murmur.

  For a moment Cain’s smile held real humor. “Thank you, my dear. I do prefer discretion in my ladies.”

  And now she wanted to hit him. She settled for a quelling glare.

  “Lord Chase likes to provoke,” she explained to Gilbert.

  “Another natural talent.”

  “On the contrary,” Cain drawled. “I’ve worked very hard at it.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Mr. Gilbert said. “And at other activities.”

  Juliana didn’t know which man exasperated her more. To her relief, the appearance of Tarquin Compton put an end to the exchange before fists began to fly.

  “Good evening, Gilbert,” he said. “I believe Lord Spencer is looking for you.”

  Gilbert collected himself and took his leave. Juliana would have too, had England’s most prestigious book collector called.

  “Did Spencer really want him,” Cain asked, “or were you merely riding to the rescue on a white horse?”

  Mr. Compton raised an eyebrow. “Whose rescue would that be?”

  Mine, Juliana thought.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Gilbert doesn’t like me,” Cain mocked, but Juliana fancied an undertone of tension.

  “That was apparent from ten feet away. It looked as if you were getting ready to take a swing. Do you always hit men who don’t like you?”

  “If necessary.”

  “I couldn’t allow a brawl in the Misses Berry’s drawi
ng room.”

  “Because you’d be embarrassed for bringing me here?”

  Mr. Compton was an unusually tall man and he stared down at Cain, every bit the social leader. “Because I am fond of our hostesses and they wouldn’t appreciate it.” Then his attitude shifted. “Pity, because I might have enjoyed seeing Gilbert go down.”

  Juliana felt Cain relax and both men grinned.

  “Matthew Gilbert is a bit of a stick,” Mr. Compton said.

  “I wouldn’t phrase it as politely,” Cain replied.

  “He’s a very intelligent and interesting man,” Juliana said, unaccountably annoyed by the sudden masculine solidarity.

  Mr. Compton remembered his manners and bowed to her. “I apologize, Mrs. Merton. I haven’t said good evening to you.”

  She curtsied. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Compton. Is Lord Hugo well?”

  “A little tired. Hence his absence tonight, though he always enjoys these North Audley Street gatherings. But you, Mrs. Merton, are obviously in the pink of health. May I commend your remarkably elegant gown? Black is unusual for evening dress, for ladies, that is.” His own clothes were of almost unrelieved ebony. “But you can carry it off. You have the right coloring.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “May I find you some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

  “No thank you.”

  He left her with Cain, who was rocking back on his heels and looking at her with something unreadable in his eyes.

  “You provoked Mr. Gilbert,” she began, then, before he could object, “but he was every bit as bad. I’m sorry he brought up your parents. It must have been painful.”

  “I’ve suffered worse.”

  “He was very civil to me. He can be helpful.” She wasn’t about to admit that Gilbert had suggested she drop Cain as a client.

  “He admires you.”

  Juliana made a self-deprecating noise.

  Cain leaned in. His scent, warm and slightly musky, tickled her nostrils. His voice fell to a murmur. “That’s why I don’t like him.”

  He was flirting with her again. Truly, she was having more fun tonight than she had in years, perhaps ever.