A Lot Like a Lady

by Kim Bowman

Higgins turned began to walk away.

  “Wait!” shouted Juliet. She glanced around the kitchen, and spared a glance for the door through which she had just entered. “I shouldn’t do that, should I?”

  Higgins inclined his head. “Probably not, m’lady.”

  “It would be rude?”

  “Quite.”

  Juliet wrapped her arms around her waist as dread took her stomach captive. “I do wish there was a way to do it so he wouldn’t take offense.”

  “Will you allow me, m’lady?”

  Wordless, Juliet only nodded.

  Higgins gestured to one of the wooden chairs pushed against the work table. “You may sit here if you wish. Cook uses this sometimes to rest her feet after a long day. I shall take care of Lord Michaels.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, sliding onto one of the chairs as Higgins glided from the room. She ran her fingers over the polished wooden surface. The long table had obviously once graced a fine dining room, its gleaming surface showing nary a scratch even now. She pursed her lips. Why, it was nicer than the main dinner table in Haselmere.

  Was Annabella right? Did Grey really dislike allowing Regina the use of his country home to the point he gave the household only minimal support?

  ****

  Grey paced the length of his study and stared out the window. Not even a month had passed since the peace of his well-run household had been interrupted. The chattering voices in the hallway reminded him of a henhouse. Lucien’s deeper voice entered the conversation. Ah, perfect. The henhouse has a rooster. Now, he supposed, the only thing needed was a wolf.

  Percy’s hoarse wheezing bark reverberated in the foyer. And there it is.

  The barking increased, became a wild frenzy. What on earth?

  You’re a coward. You should go out there and see what the racket is about. But he hid, just as he had done for the past several days. Avoiding supper with his guests under the pretense of working long hours, making certain to be out of his home long into the evening under the guise of conducting late business meetings when he’d spent most of those evenings at White’s. You’re a fraud. A coward and a fraud.

  Acting on his attraction for the imposter in his home, not once but twice, had been bad enough. But she’d caught him at a most vulnerable moment…

  At first he’d feared his strong reaction and subsequent rejection would chase her away. When it hadn’t, he couldn’t face her. Not because of the intimate embrace they’d shared but because he didn’t want the pretense to end. If she admitted to him she wasn’t Annabella… he’d have no reason to allow her and the aunts to remain in his home. So he hid like the coward he apparently was.

  When Lucien’s mongrel started clawing and digging at the study door, Grey clamped his jaw and fisted his hands. But he made no move. The blasted cur could scratch his door to the devil and gone. He would not go out there and chance running into her.

  “I’m sorry, m’lady, I’m afraid I can’t say where Lady Annabella is at the moment,” Higgins’ muffled words filtered through the door and grabbed Grey’s attention.

  “Oh, what a shame,” answered Lady Charity.

  “The fault is entirely my own,” said a smooth male voice. “I fear my visit is entirely spontaneous. Your niece is simply too lovely for me to stay away.”

  Michaels!

  Grey’s right eye began a subtle twitching and he narrowed it. What did that fop think he was doing? He’d called on Magpie every day for the past week, apparently taking no offense — nor getting the hint — when Grey had cut his first call with her short.

  He should go out there and make certain the other man knew his unarranged calls were not acceptable. Grey strode toward the door, but his steps slowed midway across the room. Hadn’t he opened that particular door by making it known throughout the ton that his stepsister was of marriageable age and available? Suitable callers were just the result Grey had been seeking.

  But Magpie is not your stepsister.

  Magpie was different. Magpie was special. She was… his.

  Prepared to dispatch Lord Michaels in any way necessary, Grey shrugged into his tailcoat and yanked the door open. But when he stepped into the hallway, he found it deserted except for Higgins lingering near the front door.

  “I though I heard a commotion out here.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry if the noise disturbed you, sir.” Higgins stepped away from the entry. “Lord Michaels called thinking to visit with Lady… Annabella.”

  Higgins’ hesitation over the name, slight but perceptible, set Grey’s teeth on edge, and he frowned. Had his manservant discovered the truth? Perhaps he’d read the note from Jon. He sent the butler a quick glance but his flat countenance revealed nothing. It must been nothing.

  Now you can add fool to the list of names you call yourself.

  “Begging your pardon, sir? Did you say something?” asked Higgins.

  Had he? Grey shook his head to clear it. So Michaels had already left… no doubt taking Magpie with him. “Thank you, Higgins, it was nothing.” Grey turned to re-enter his study but stopped and glanced at his butler. “Er, what happened with Lord Michaels?”

  A hint of a smile teased at the typically dour manservant’s lips. “He left, sir. Lady Annabella was not located.”

  Anger eased its grip, replaced by intrigue. “And do you know where the lady is, Higgins?”

  The butler’s smile widened. “I believe the lady is in the main kitchen, sir.”

  Grey blinked. Certainly he hadn’t heard the man right. He opened his mouth to ask that she be sent to his study but changed his mind. “The main kitchen you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without another word, Grey strode to the rear of the townhouse in search of his magpie.

  He found her as Higgins had suggested, in the main kitchen, comfortably seated at the work table with a teacup in front of her.

  “I’d be happy to make jam tarts, m’lady,” said Cook from the opposite side of the room. She cut the tops off a bundle of parsnips and set them aside.

  Magpie beamed and took a sip of tea. “That would be lovely… but I hate to trouble you.”

  Halfway into the room, Grey halted his steps. She even conversed with the servants more easily than with him.

  Cook glanced over her shoulder and gasped. “Your grace.” She gestured to the kitchen maid, and then both made hasty exits from the room.

  Magpie turned in his direction, eyes widened, and she hastily hopped up from her seat, nearly upsetting the chair in the process. “Y-your grace. What are you doing here?”

  Amused, Grey raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean what am I doing in the kitchen of my own townhouse?”

  Her cheeks turned brilliant pink. “Y-yes. N-no… that is…” She sighed and clamped her mouth shut.

  He couldn’t tear his gaze from her luminous eyes. “I think more to the point, Magpie, is what are you doing in the kitchen?”

  A look of distress crossed her face and her glance shifted to look beyond him. Had she just witnessed some horrible sight? He swiveled, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  He returned his gaze to hers, confused. “Magpie?”

  “Lord Michaels has paid another call,” she whispered.

  “Ahhh…” She was hiding? “Lord Michaels is a… personable gentleman, he’s of good breeding…” He lifted one shoulder.

  Storm clouds gathered in her eyes. “I’m not a horse to be bred, your grace!” she snapped. And then she paled. “I’m s-sorry.”

  Grey studied the little enigma standing before him — one minute frightened, the next filled with fire, and then back to being a mouse.

  “Please…” she whispered, craning her neck and peering around him. “Please don’t make me spend the afternoon with Lord Michaels.”

  Relief rushed through Grey like a summer rainstorm, followed closely by an instant heating of his blood. He returned her frightened look with an even stare, unwilling to show the intense pleasure tingling in his veins at her
desire to avoid Michaels. “May I inquire as to why not?”

  She lowered her eyes and ran one finger over the edge of the table.

  “Magpie?” he prompted softly. Please look at me.

  “Well it’s just… just…” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip hard enough that Grey winced, and his own lip throbbed in sympathy.

  “Just?”

  She leveled her eyes on him. “He rather reminds me of a foppish toad.” She watched him without moving. Grey couldn’t even be certain she was breathing.

  He knew if he drew a breath laughter would surely explode from his lips. They stood in his kitchen, mere feet separating them, and stared. Her eyes swirled with so many colors it was like gazing on a chest of fine jewels.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “It’s horribly disrespectful.”

  Grey forced himself to look away as he slowly let out his breath. When he spoke, he nearly strangled on the words as he tried to hold his laughter. “Well, if you feel that way, my lady. I wouldn’t want to force you into spending your time with… toads.” On the last word, he could contain his mirth no longer.

  As his laugh bubbled out, Magpie’s eyes widened and then a smile slid across her face and she giggled, followed quickly by a slap of her fingers against her lips.

  The work awaiting him in his study could be delayed a while longer. He glanced over his shoulder, well aware the “foppish toad” had already departed, but not above using Magpie’s fear of an afternoon in the man’s company to his own advantage.

  “In that case…” Grey offered his elbow. “I suggest you and I be off posthaste.”

  She started to place her hand on his arm but stopped. “Be off where, your grace?”

  “Away from your foppish toad, my lady.” Grey bowed deeply. “Perhaps you will lead me to the little park where you take my uncle’s dog every day.”

  Her mouth gaped and her lips moved soundlessly. “You know about that?” she whispered at last, clutching a hand to her throat.

  Grey quirked an eyebrow and gave her a nod. He held out his arm again. “I do. So, will you accompany me?”

  She looked down at her simple morning dress. “But I’m not appropriately dressed. And my — my shawl is… upstairs.”

  The last thing Grey intended was to send her through the house to find out Lord Michaels was no longer present.

  “Oh, begging your pardon, your grace. I didn’t know you were in here,” murmured one of the upstairs maids from the doorway. She turned to leave.

  “Just a minute,” Grey called out, struggling to remember the girl’s name. “Please go to the lady’s rooms and fetch her a wrap.”

  Magpie lifted her hand as though to stop her but dropped it. “My pink shawl is just inside the armoire, Emily. Thank you.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” The maid scampered up the back stairs.

  Emily… that was it. The maid’s name had rolled off his magpie’s tongue easily. Apparently, she had a knack for remembering such things.

  ****

  The weather had warmed rather suddenly and Juliet hardly needed the shawl after all. But since she had no idea what to do with it, she left it loosely over her shoulders. Grey’s hand covered hers where she clutched his arm.

  “Was Madame Giselle able to accommodate you for a gown and mask for Lord and Lady Fenimore’s ball?” he asked as they traversed the alley from the rear of his home.

  Juliet choked back a giggle. Oh, how out of place the Duke of Wyndham looked strolling in the mews!

  He cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Am I to take that titter as evidence I need be worried about some mischief afoot?”

  “Oh, no, your grace. You need have no fear.” She offered a bright smile and shook one of her feet as though to kick him before taking her next step. “No mischief is afoot, I assure you.”

  His raised eyebrow told her he believed otherwise but they arrived at the end of the alley and entered the street.

  “So which way to the park?”

  She gestured to the right and then pointed across the street into the narrow darkness of another alley. “It’s just along here. Not too far. I know you don’t want me seen walking unescorted so this is the way I take to get there.”

  The muscles beneath Juliet’s palm tensed. “You traipse through the back alleys like — like — some kind of skulking criminal?”

  Juliet added her other hand on top of his where it covered hers and patted gently. “Well, I’m hardly skulking. And criminals aren’t the only sort who travel here. The servants use the mews to get to their quarters all the time.”

  Grey stopped walking as they reached the street. “Well, you’re hardly a servant, either. I’ll not have you wandering the back alleys just so you are not seen walking my uncle’s dog.” He released an exasperated sigh. “Which, I might add, is something Uncle Lucien should be doing himself.”

  “Oh, but I don’t mind. And Percy simply cannot wait for Lord Lucien to avail himself.” She lowered her voice, mindful of other people sharing the street with them. “Your uncle sleeps very late. And when he does, poor Lord Percy makes little piddles that are quite difficult to clean sometimes.”

  “Yes. I’m well aware of the blasted mongrel’s little piddles.” Grey stopped walking and turned to face her square on. “Do not tell me you have been cleaning that brute’s messes!”

  Juliet shivered beneath the duke’s glower. “N-no, of course not.” At least… not since the first time she’d requested a rag from Emily to clean the mess up and set the maid to staring at her askance.

  He stared a moment longer as though trying to discern the truth of the matter. Then his frown became one of confusion. “But what’s this talk of Lucian staying abed until late? The old fool’s always been awake far in advance of the sun.” He shook his head. “No matter. You are not to use the back alley.” He began walking again but kept to the street. “It would be out of the ordinary, though not unheard of, for a young lady such as yourself to walk with a ladies’ maid… or perhaps Higgins might accompany you.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He swiveled an uncompromising glance in Juliet’s direction and quelled further protest. “Enough. You are not a servant, and I’ll not have you prowling the mews like you are.”

  Juliet leveled her gaze on the iron fence next to them. Small sticks and twigs, casualties of a harsh winter and a spring shower a few days before, littered the ground at the base of the fence and she kicked on.

  But I am a servant, your grace, and I do not know why you haven’t discovered that, or what happened to my letter… but when you find it… She sighed.

  “That was a very sad sound, Magpie.” Grey squeezed her hand against his arm.

  More unsettled by his compassion than she cared to admit, Juliet pulled her hand from Grey’s arm and bent to pick up a particularly sturdy stick. She caught his frown of confusion from the corner of her eye. One day — soon — he would discover the truth of her identity and send her on her way.

  But not today.

  She allowed the laughter to spill out and took off at a run, ignoring Grey’s startled outcry. She dragged the stick along the iron bars as she ran, unperturbed by the din.

  “What the—Magpie what are you doing?”

  “I’m not sad, your grace,” she called over her shoulder. “And I wanted you to know it.”

  “Really…” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “And just how is making such a racket imparting this information? We are standing in front of a cathedral, you realize.”

  She whirled around and continued dragging the stick as she ran back to him. Standing in front of him, breathless as much by his nearness as from running, she studied him. Sandy brown hair fell across his eyes. His unbuttoned coat over his loose-fitting white shirt lent him an uncharacteristically rumpled air. She suppressed a giggle as it occurred to her that neither of them had taken care toward being appropriately attired for their impromptu outing. Grey had never looked less like the Sixth Duke
of Wyndham… and she’d never found him more attractive.

  “Well?” Merriment in his blue eyes belied the sharpness of his question.

  Juliet laughed and slid her gaze to the imposing brick and mortar church. “Why… I’m making a joyful noise, your grace.”

  ****

  Who are you? She had a wildness about her that niggled at Grey’s consciousness, warned him she was nothing like the lady she sometimes carried off flawlessly.

  At the start of their walk, she’d worn her hair in loose curls pulled on top of her head, but since her run along the fence, most of these had fallen to caress her shoulders. The wind ruffled the spun gold with invisible fingers. Others might gaze on her now and consider her a hoyden. All he saw as he studied her was a lady who enjoyed life.

  Entranced by the sight of her, Grey captured one of the blowing strands of gold between his fingers. Then he thrust his hand into the silken mass and caressed her ear. She was a siren and he had no choice but to answer her call. He leaned forward and drew her head toward him at the same time. Her eyes closed and her lips parted and she melted into his embrace.

  Grey’s lips barely grazed hers and heat exploded in his veins. The flowery scent that clung to her soft skin wound around him, drew him in like a bee, and left him dizzy. She quivered beneath his touch and a fierce hunger such as he’d never known awakened. The animal inside him wanted leave to prowl, to claim her as his… and for the world to know it.

  Gasps from behind them jerked Grey’s awareness back to their whereabouts. Two elderly women approached, taking exaggerated care to put distance between them as they edged past.

  Magpie’s face flamed and she shrunk back against the fence, casting her eyes downward as though unfit to look upon the old harridans. Grey’s brow drew into a frown. He’d caused that with his inability to control himself.

  “Come,” he muttered, glaring at the backs of the hoity-toity biddies.

  Grey cupped his hand beneath Magpie’s elbow and guided her through the gate into the seclusion of the churchyard. A long stone settee placed beneath a budding oak tree offered rest.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, sinking gracefully down onto the bench.