It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “Yes.” James took the note, broke the seal, and scanned the single page. “Damn.”

  “Is it something dreadful?” Juliana asked, splaying a gloved hand over her breasts in their tiny yellow bodice.

  Which only made him notice them more. Hell. Was she trying to kill him?

  “No. Aunt Bedelia fears some ailment and wishes to see me.”

  “I hope she’ll turn out to be well.”

  “She will, I assure you. But I’m afraid I won’t make it to Almack’s tonight.”

  “It’s only four o’clock. How long can it take to examine her?”

  “Very long,” he fibbed. “I fear Aunt Aurelia will wish to be examined, too.”

  “How very unfortunate.” She sighed so prettily that her breasts rose and fell beneath their little yellow bodice. Apparently she was trying to kill him. She pulled her umbrella out of the stand. “Shall I see you at the Billingsgate ball on Saturday, then?”

  There was no way his mother would accept an excuse for not attending the Billingsgate ball. His aunts would be there, after all, so he could hardly claim they’d summoned him to deal with imaginary aches and pains. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

  It wasn’t Almack’s. And Juliana would be there, too. In another tiny bodice.

  A pity he wouldn’t be able to unbutton his shirt.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THE BILLINGSGATE ball was in full swing, and music floated through the open door of Lord Billingsgate’s library. “This will be perfect,” Juliana said, glancing around. “It’s close to the ballroom, so as soon as there’s a commotion, plenty of people will come running to witness your disgrace.”

  In a hopeless attempt to cover her bare shoulders, Amanda tugged on the little puffed sleeves of the pale green dress Juliana had suggested she wear. “Shall I have to kiss Lord Stafford for long?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. As soon as he starts kissing you, I shall fetch Lady Billingsgate to assure your ruin.”

  “What if he doesn’t wish to kiss me?”

  “Of course he wishes to kiss you! He’s courting you, isn’t he? Men are always looking to kiss ladies.”

  Except for the duke.

  Juliana was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be kissed. The duke had been too busy to pay her any calls this week—doing what, she couldn’t imagine—so she had yet to find an opportunity to start showing him how to be more affectionate. She knew he liked her more than ever, though, because he’d sent roses twice. That made three times he’d sent her roses! They were all white roses of course, since he was proper and reserved. But he’d included notes these last two times—proper notes, very kind and complimentary—so she had high hopes he was falling in love with her. After all, even Aunt Frances had received roses only once.

  She turned her thoughts back to Amanda. “Remove your gloves so Lord Stafford can feel the warmth of your skin,” she advised. “Drape yourself elegantly on the sofa. Before you lie down, douse two of the lamps. Low lighting is more romantic.”

  “Douse the lamps,” Amanda repeated as though trying to memorize Juliana’s instructions. “And take off my gloves.” She tugged up the edge of her low bodice.

  “And stop playing with your dress.” Juliana headed back to the ball, Amanda following at her heels. “It makes you look nervous.”

  “I am nervous.” Entering the ballroom, Amanda paused. “Lord Stafford still isn’t here. What if he doesn’t come?”

  “It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Juliana said soothingly, scanning the glittering crush. James’s mother wasn’t here yet, either. Lord Cavanaugh was pacing like a caged animal waiting for food, looking as anxious to see Lady Stafford as Amanda was to see the lady’s son. For different reasons, of course. “Stop worrying. Lord Stafford assured me he was attending.”

  “Then why isn’t he here?” Amanda asked for the tenth time.

  Or maybe the twentieth. Honestly, Juliana could hardly wait until midnight when James would compromise her friend, because even though tricking him still didn’t sit quite right with her, it would be such a relief to have this whole business over and done with.

  “Here comes the duke,” Amanda said.

  Juliana turned and smiled. She’d worn her most seductive dress, a pale rose confection with a neckline so wide it left her shoulders bare and enticing.

  But he didn’t look enticed.

  He did return her smile, though. “Good evening, my dear.” His gaze shifted to her friend. “Good evening, Lady Amanda,” he added formally.

  “Good evening, your grace,” Amanda replied, sounding every bit as formal.

  And that was when Juliana had a sudden bright idea.

  She would encourage the duke to dance with Amanda. Seeing how tiresome it was to dance with someone so reserved might help him loosen up a bit. And in the meantime, while he was dancing with Amanda in a tiresome manner, she would dance with other men in her usual vivacious way.

  After all, she had no shortage of dance invitations. Perhaps a few less than normal, since she’d been dancing so often with the duke lately, but that hadn’t stopped men from asking when the duke wasn’t nearby to intimidate them. Dancing with other men would not only make the duke notice how much more pleasant it was to dance with a modicum of enthusiasm; it would also make him jealous and possessive. Possessive men tended to touch the ladies they were possessive of, didn’t they?

  “Lady Amanda would love to dance,” she told him with a sweet smile. “Why don’t you ask her for the next waltz?”

  She didn’t know who looked more startled, the duke or Amanda. But as the musicians struck up the waltz, he bowed to Amanda very properly—no surprise there—and escorted her to the dance floor.

  Juliana turned, expecting to be inundated with invitations as soon as the other men noticed the duke wasn’t nearby and, indeed, was dancing with another woman.

  Unfortunately, Corinna noticed first. “Is your duke courting Amanda now?”

  “Of course he isn’t. Amanda would never consent to marry him—he’s a by-blow, remember? But I thought it would be a good idea for them to get to know each other better, so I suggested they dance.”

  “If you wish to marry the man, you shouldn’t shove him at other women. What if he kisses her? He might decide he wants her, and Amanda could change her mind—”

  “He’s not going to kiss her,” Juliana interrupted.

  Corinna measured her a moment. “How can you be so sure?”

  “He isn’t interested in her. He doesn’t call her my dear. And the man is more reserved than Amanda. He hasn’t even kissed me.”

  “Then how on earth do you know you love him?” Corinna asked, and while Juliana was wondering yet again how an inexperienced woman was supposed to know when she was in love, her sister added, “How do you know you want to marry him?”

  “What do you mean, how do I know?” He was kind. He sent her flowers. He enjoyed amusements, fine horses, balls, and entertainments. He had wealth to support himself in style. He was classically handsome, as only an aristocratic Englishman could be. And he was a duke. “Who—besides Amanda—wouldn’t want to marry him?”

  “You really must kiss a man before you marry him. Believe me, it makes all the difference. Since kissing several men myself, I’ve discovered—”

  “What?” Corinna was a year younger than Juliana, not to mention more interested in paint than men. How was it that she’d been kissed, when Juliana had barely even been touched? “You’ve kissed men?”

  “Yes.” Corinna blinked. “Have you not?”

  “No!”

  “Well, what have you been doing all season, then? Alexandra kissed Tristan before marrying him,” Corinna reminded her. “And Rachael has kissed several men, too. Gentlemen don’t all kiss the same,” she informed her with the surety of an experienced woman. “How is a lady to know she’s found her prince if she hasn’t kissed a few frogs first?”

  It wasn’t that Juliana hadn’t been trying. But at least it was wit
h a man who’d been courting her for longer than a dance. “Really, Corinna.” Corinna always had been a bit of a rebel, but this was quite beyond the pale. “I’d be willing to wager Aunt Frances—your chaperone, in case you forgot?—wouldn’t approve of you kissing men you’ve barely met.”

  “I don’t let them kiss me when I’ve barely met them.” Corinna’s chin went into the air. “I make them wait at least a week.”

  “A week!” Juliana had known the duke much longer than a week.

  “At least,” Corinna repeated. “And as for Aunt Frances, she’s known Lord Malmsey quite a bit longer than a week. Let’s ask her if she’s kissed him.” She signaled to their aunt as she was coming off the dance floor.

  Frances didn’t notice. On Juliana’s recommendation, she still wasn’t wearing her spectacles. Which was a good thing, because Juliana figured such a question might make the poor spinster faint. “You cannot ask Aunt Frances that!”

  “Why not?” Corinna said, marching toward her.

  Juliana followed helplessly.

  “Aunt Frances!” Corinna called.

  “Yes?” Frances turned and squinted. “Oh, there you are, girls. Are you having a wonderful time?”

  Corinna ignored her question, which was probably rhetorical anyway. “Aunt Frances, have you kissed Lord Malmsey?”

  Two bright spots appeared on Frances’s cheeks. “Well…”

  “Have you?” Corinna demanded.

  Frances squared her shoulders and lowered her voice. “I’m not a green girl, you know. It’s no great sin. A woman should kiss a man before she decides to marry him.”

  Dear heavens, Frances had kissed Lord Malmsey. And she wanted to marry him. Juliana didn’t know whether she was happy her project was so successful or shocked to hear that her spinster aunt had been kissed.

  On second thought, she was neither happy nor shocked. She was depressed. Corinna and Frances had both kissed men. That meant she was the only grown female in all of England who remained unkissed.

  Well, there was Amanda. But come midnight, when James compromised her, even straitlaced Amanda would be kissed. Which meant Juliana would stand alone as the last woman in England to feel a man’s lips caress her own.

  It was depressing beyond description.

  “Aunt Frances!” Alexandra joined their circle with Tristan. “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”

  “I’m overjoyed, child.” Frances kissed her on the cheek. “You look happy, too.”

  “I am, Auntie.” Alexandra smiled up at Tristan. Love blazed in their eyes. “We are.”

  Splendid. Everyone was happy. Except Juliana.

  James joined their circle next, squeezing in beside her. “Good evening, everyone.”

  While it was a relief that he’d finally arrived, Juliana was even more relieved to see he didn’t look insanely happy. It was odd, because she usually wanted to see everybody happy. But honestly, right now the sight of one more blatantly happy person would likely make her gag.

  “Are your aunts doing well?” she asked.

  “They’re fine. Not that they’re convinced of that—they both believe they’re at death’s door, more’s the pity.” He gestured toward the edge of the dance floor, where the two older ladies were talking to his mother. “I had to examine them this afternoon before they’d agree to dress for the ball.”

  “They’re keeping you from getting your important work done, aren’t they?”

  “Somewhat. But they’re family.” He shrugged philosophically. “What can I do?”

  “There has to be something.” Wishing she could figure out what, she watched Lord Cavanaugh claim Lady Stafford for a dance. “Maybe they need suitors, like your mother. She’s happy.”

  “I’m happy,” Frances said with a nod of approval. “A suitor will do that for a lady.”

  “But I’m happy,” Corinna pointed out, “and I don’t have a suitor.”

  No, but she’d been kissed. Juliana glared at her.

  Corinna glared back, then smiled sweetly. “Alexandra’s happy, too.”

  “That’s because she’s with child,” James said.

  A little hush fell over their circle. Juliana swung to her older sister. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” Tristan confirmed. Beaming, he slid an arm around his wife’s waist. “We’re both thrilled.”

  Corinna and Frances shrieked, engulfing the couple in a group hug.

  Juliana took a step back. Corinna had been kissed, and Alexandra and Tristan were going to have a baby. She was happy for them. And for herself, for the whole family. She was pleased. Joyous. Jubilant. And something else. Something that made her fists clench at her sides.

  “You’re jealous,” James said.

  “I am not.” Dismayed, she turned to him. “I’m happy for my sister. And for me. I’ll have a niece or nephew to play with. How on earth did you know she’s in the family way?”

  James shrugged. “I’m a physician.” She didn’t look very happy. “Your turn will come,” he said in his best soothing doctor tone.

  “Who said I wanted a turn?”

  She protested too much. Of course she wanted a turn. All women wanted babies. She was jealous.

  But the worst of it was, he was jealous, too.

  The jealousy was a knot in his gut. It was unexpected, and sudden, but mostly it was ridiculous.

  Ladies were supposed to pine for babies—men weren’t. He certainly didn’t want Lady Hawkridge’s child, and he really couldn’t say how he’d known she was breeding. It was the look of her, he supposed. And the look of her husband, the male pride evident in Hawkridge’s gaze upon his wife. James had gazed at his own wife like that before he’d lost her and their child.

  And then, when he’d lost them, it had all been mixed up together, his grief for Anne and for their baby. He hadn’t been able to separate one from the other. They were both lost forever. He’d never have another love, which meant he’d never have another child. He hadn’t thought he wanted another child.

  But now he did.

  The knot twisted tighter. Bloody hell.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I think I need a drink.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “YOU’RE FOXED,” Juliana told James later as they danced.

  “Maybe.” He slipped his thumb beneath the edge of her glove and teased the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist. “Or maybe not.”

  “You are.” She laughed, suppressing an entirely too delicious shiver. “You’ve had three cups of punch tonight already.”

  “Four,” he corrected. “Small cups. In two hours, which, I might point out, could hardly be considered severe overindulging. And how would you come to know how much I’m drinking? Are you watching me, Juliana?”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes. Her gaze fell on his cravat, and she found herself picturing the golden skin she’d seen beneath.

  “Hmm,” he said, a pleased rumble of a hmm that seemed to vibrate right through her. She looked up again to find him gazing at her in that way that made her fear he could read her mind. The pad of his thumb kept caressing her wrist.

  By all indications, liquor made him even more amorous than macaroons. Which was uncomfortable in a sense, but also a good thing, because it meant Amanda would find it easier to seduce him and get herself compromised.

  And poor, demure Amanda needed all the help she could get.

  On the other side of the dance floor, Amanda was paired again with the duke, the both of them rigid as ever. In the two hours since Juliana suggested they dance together, she herself had danced with twelve other men. Vivaciously and enthusiastically. But the duke hadn’t seemed to take note of any of those dozen dances.

  It hadn’t helped that he’d spent at least half of those two hours in the card room.

  Between Juliana’s dozen dances, the duke had emerged and danced with her twice, but despite all her efforts to draw him out, he still hadn’t touched her, let alone kissed her. She tried to
picture his skin in the open V of a shirt, but she imagined it would look rather pasty instead of golden. And he probably never loosened his collar, anyway. He probably went to bed fully dressed, with his shirt fastened up to his chin, a cravat knotted in layers to cover it, and a waistcoat and tailcoat besides. Both buttoned.

  It was heartbreaking, really. He truly needed her in his life. She resolved to remain patient, to keep working toward his happiness, no matter how long the process took. After all, it had taken an entire childhood of cold treatment to turn him into the man he was today. She shouldn’t be surprised if it took more than a few weeks of warmth to counteract that.

  Thankfully, the rest of her projects were going well tonight. Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey had kissed. Lord Cavanaugh had danced three times with Lady Stafford, and they’d probably kissed as well. And Amanda and James would be kissing soon.

  Every woman in London would be kissed tonight except for Juliana.

  Unless…

  Maneuvering the last few steps of the dance to end up by Amanda and the duke, she curtsied to James and then turned to them. “Shall we exchange partners?”

  The duke looked so startled at her forwardness, she nearly lost her nerve. But she’d never been one to just stand by and let things happen—or in this case, not happen—so when the musicians resumed playing and the duke took her gloved hands, she steeled herself, smiled at him, and began surreptitiously inching him toward a potted palm.

  At least she tried to be surreptitious. Unfortunately, the tune wasn’t a waltz but a minuet—which meant the dancers moved back and forth rather than progressing in a particular direction.

  “I’m supposed to lead, my dear,” the duke gently chided. “Why are you taking larger steps towards the right than the left?”

  She mentally shrugged, deciding not to play coy. The duke never seemed to take a hint, so she’d best come out and say it. “I’m hoping to get you alone behind that potted palm.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m hoping for a kiss.”

  He blinked. “Before marriage?”