How to Ruin Your Reputation in 10 Days (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  I stumbled. He steadied me, his gloved hands skimming over the bare flesh of my upper arms, before taking a healthy step back.

  “How do you know my name?”

  He opened his mouth, but I raised a finger to stall him.

  “Don’t say you recall the name of every woman you kiss.”

  A grin bloomed across his expressive mouth, the same mouth that had, so recently, caressed my skin.

  “Do you need another hint?” He leaned close. His breath teased the curve of my ear as he murmured, “As I recall, you were one of three giggling girls to follow at my brother Joseph’s heels.”

  My breath hitched. I eased back enough to meet his gaze. “Julian?”

  He nodded, confirming my suspicions.

  All traces of breath whooshed from my lungs. “I don’t believe it.”

  Chapter Two

  Julian Beckwith. The name—the man—conjured a surge of memories. Time spent romping the fields as children, getting into spats, playing pranks. After Papa had moved the family to London, I’d spent far too many days dreaming of when I might see Julian again. Over the years that hope had dwindled, but now, here he was, and I hadn’t even recognized him.

  I threw my arms around his neck. I’d never crossed the bounds of propriety and embraced a man so intimately. If someone found us, I would be ruined. I didn’t care. Julian was my oldest and dearest friend, and we hadn’t seen each other in far too long—over ten years. I clutched him tighter.

  The muscles in his shoulders bunched against my hands. His arms tightened around my waist like twin bands of iron, lifting me until my toes trailed over the ground and he bore the brunt of my weight. The heat of his body surrounded me, sending tingles of awareness from every place we touched.

  His deep, masculine chuckle tickled my ear. “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me.”

  “Can you blame me? You didn’t pull my hair or step on the back of my dress. You haven’t written in months.”

  The muscles of his chest stiffened beneath my breasts. That tingle of awareness morphed into a buzz of unease. The silence hung heavy between us. I swallowed. I’d long wondered if my repeated responses to his last letter hadn’t reached him. The laden silence told me they had. He hadn’t bothered to reply.

  I tried to push away, to return myself to the ground, but he buried his face in my neck and held me closer. I hadn’t known that was possible. My body pressed against his from breasts to belly, not a splinter of space in between. His warm breath teased the skin of my neck, raising goose bumps.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, no trace of sarcasm or humor in his voice.

  Tears blurred my vision, obscuring the tree branches woven overhead. I blinked them away. “I’ve missed you, too.” More than he knew. I clutched him back, tight.

  Footsteps crunched over gravel, followed by a gasp. “Francine!”

  I flinched.

  Julian lifted his head from the crook of my neck. He lowered me to the ground—altogether too slowly. My body brushed against his on the way, renewing the tingles that swept through me. The second my slippers kissed the solid ground, I scrambled back and turned to face my mother.

  A smile teased the corners of her lips, though she tried to hide it behind a stern expression. I brushed invisible splotches of dirt from my gloves and pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Mother had never in her life embodied the image of stern. Absent-minded, certainly, but never stern.

  The twinkle in her eye hinted that she wasn’t nearly as angry to find me in the bushes with a man as a matchmaking Mama should be. I sidled a step farther from Julian. Perhaps she could be convinced to forget she ever saw our embrace. Did I have any irresistible plant specimens in my collection with which to bribe her?

  Julian stepped forward, a broad smile capping his face. “Lady Valentia, how lovely to meet you again.”

  Mother’s strict expression faded into puzzlement. “I beg your pardon, but…do I know you?”

  Ha! I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. At least I wasn’t the only person not to recognize him. I tried to reconcile the worldly man standing mere inches away with the gangly boy who used to tease me. I couldn’t. Not a shred of that awkward boy remained. Except, maybe, in the eyes. Then again, I hadn’t seen him in over a decade, ever since Papa insisted we move to London permanently, which exposed me to fewer plants to fuel my budding eccentric ways.

  “You may not remember,” Julian said, stepping between me and Mother and effectively shutting me from her view. “I was a good deal younger then. I’m Julian, Sir Benjamin’s youngest son.”

  “Oh yes.”

  Julian’s broad shoulders blocked my view of Mother’s expression, but dawning recognition lit her voice.

  “How are your parents?”

  Frankly, I was surprised she didn’t ask after his garden.

  “My father passed on a couple years ago,” Julian answered.

  I recalled as much from his letters. I’d shared the news with Mother while we tended our plants in the hothouse, but she must not have recalled, because she said, “My condolences. And your mother?”

  “Alive and well, I assure you.” Although I couldn’t see Julian’s face, his smile was evident from his warm voice. “She remained in Leicestershire to dote upon her first grandson.”

  “How lovely! She must be thrilled. I certainly would be.”

  I winced. Hunching behind Julian’s form did little to dispel the weight of her pointed words.

  He took her by the elbow and steered her out of the shade of the trees, toward the terrace. He lowered his head to meet hers in a tête-à-tête. His voice softened a notch with the intimacy, but his words still carried to my position.

  “As you know, Francine and I have been apart for so long. We would dearly love a few moments in private to catch up.”

  To my astonishment, Mother answered, “Of course.” Granted, she’d never raised her head from her plants long enough to force a chaperone on me, but I’d still thought she cared more for propriety than this. She raised her voice as she addressed me, “But Francine, dear, do come inside within five minutes, or I’ll have to send your father out after you.”

  Reaching the terrace steps, she bid Julian good-bye and slipped inside.

  I leaned against the nearest tree. A spindly specimen, Betula pendula. Even a skinny birch held me upright better than my quaking knees. As Julian approached, I pushed away from the trunk. My knees quavered but held my weight. I brushed past him. “I have to go after her.”

  He ensnared my arm and hauled me off the lit path again, into the deeper shadows. I stumbled into his chest. The warmth of his body was a reminder of the embrace Mother had witnessed. My body reacted instantly with a surge of sensation. I didn’t understand why, so I ignored it in favor of my mounting panic.

  “We all have meddling mothers,” he said with a laugh.

  He didn’t understand. Mine didn’t meddle. She didn’t seek out suitable dance partners or announce my hefty dowry to a room full of peers. Until now.

  Did I imagine the humorous twinkle in his eye? Likely a reflection from the lamps anchored at intervals throughout the garden.

  He leaned closer. “You worry too much. You always have.” His low, teasing voice made me shiver.

  Caution was a prudent, evolutionary trait. I hadn’t accrued near the amount of scrapes and broken bones he had as a child. In fact, I could lay the blame for the bulk of my injuries at his reckless feet.

  In my opinion, I didn’t worry enough.

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand. If Mother blurts that she found us together, everyone will assume the worst.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. The muscles of his arms strained against the dark gray fabric of his jacket in two unyielding bands. Another clue he didn’t fit in. No men of the ton sported arms like his, as though they actually performed physical labor.

  “Which is?”

  His drawl drew my attention back t
o his face.

  My cheeks blazed like a furnace. I resisted the urge to cover them. Hopefully the shade helped to hide my heightened color.

  “They’ll think we’re lovers, of course.”

  I cringed at his loud guffaw. Was it so unbelievable? Granted, most men of the ton likely agreed. I hadn’t been asked to dance for most of the Season. Then again, Mary dressing down every man to peer in our direction might play a factor as well.

  “We’re childhood friends,” Julian said with a laugh.

  “That excuse only applied when we were children. We could stand on opposite sides of a ballroom, but so long as we are alone, the ton will assume you’ve compromised me.”

  “That’s ludicrous.”

  I shrugged. “’Tis the views of Society. I can’t very well change them.” Though Mary often opted to try and dragged me along with her.

  I stepped toward the terrace. My heart hammered in my chest. What if I was already too late? Mine wasn’t exactly the most discreet of mothers.

  Julian stopped me again. “Stay here.”

  I threw my arms in the air. “I’ve already explained why I can’t—”

  “I’ll go.”

  His words stopped me short. They matched the determined expression on his face. He meant it. I shook my head. “I wasn’t thinking when I embraced you out in the open like this. I can fix this myself.”

  He lifted one eyebrow in a cocky expression. “Are you any better at hiding your blushes now than you were as a child?”

  “Why?”

  “When your mother blurts our encounter to your father loud enough for half the room to hear, I hope you’d have the good grace to hide your guilt.”

  My cheeks blazed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started to glow like the sun. I balled my fists at the infuriating grin on his face.

  “As I suspected,” he murmured.

  I waited, but he didn’t budge an inch toward the terrace doors through which my mother had disappeared.

  “Very well,” I said. My voice was smooth and serene—in direct conflict with the turbulent pulsing of my heart. “You may come to my rescue this once.”

  He remained rooted in place, but his grin widened. “If I help, I’ll expect a favor in return.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You must be jesting. This is your fault. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d be far deeper in the garden and—”

  “Ah”—he held his hand in the air—“a favor. Or I’ll let your mother expose us both.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “My reputation wouldn’t be irreparably damaged. I’d return to life in Leicestershire and have a good reason never to visit London again.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I wonder if your mother would think the same.”

  Smiling, he ignored the bluff. He didn’t seem at all concerned with being caught. There it was—the difference between being a man and a woman. The freedom he took for granted. Not that he would emerge as unscathed as he seemed to think, not once Papa learned of the scandal, which he certainly would if Mother had her way. My heart beat thrice as fast.

  “Name your favor.”

  “A dance.”

  I glowered at him. “You used to stomp on my feet, on purpose.” I’d rather not relive those days.

  “My word as a gentleman, I won’t this time.”

  This time. So no future promises. I bit the inside of my cheek hard. The tangy taste of blood countered the sharp pain. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to argue with him, even if his request was laughable.

  “Fine. Now go.”

  He tipped his head to me and strode quickly for the terrace steps. My pounding heart dulled to a bearable level. The ache in my chest eased. But I wouldn’t be safe here for long. I crouched, waddling beneath the fat, dripping branches of the birch tree. Once far enough away that the babble of the ball had dispersed, I straightened.

  Dirt dusted my knees. I brushed it away. A slight shadow of its presence lingered, a halo over my kneecaps. I hoped no one would notice. I planned to hide away from the party for the remaining hour until midnight, anyway.

  The narrow path I’d espied earlier wound between carefully pruned trees and shrubs, mainly boxes and other bushes easy to shape. Some flowering shrubs and trees dotted the walk, as well. Once on the thin layer of pebbles, my skirt was no longer in danger of being snagged. I meandered along its length, leisurely pausing to examine the plants. Nothing particularly rare or exotic. I’d examined them all before, more than once.

  The trees opened into a small hollow. A single stone bench and a bubbling fountain rested in the center. Breathtaking. I dropped onto the bench, welcoming the contrast of the cool stone beneath my rump against the thick, heated air. I admired the sky.

  No lights shone down in London. A sudden ache tightened my chest. Reuniting with Julian had seeded the memory of our country estate. The sky sprinkled with starlight, endless fields of flora to explore. I missed it now more than ever. Papa refused to leave London, citing the country as the root of my eccentric love of plants. Fewer plants, less of a problem, at least in his eyes. He didn’t realize Mother rarely noticed anyone unless they were involved in botany in some way. Most of our conversations began with comparing notes over a specimen.

  I sighed, letting the bittersweet memory dissipate on the weak breeze. Soft strains of music drifted through the tree branches. Miraculous that the music wafted so deep into the garden. Shutting my eyes, I swayed in time to the music. I hadn’t danced all evening, perhaps all week, and I dearly loved to dance.

  I opened my eyes. Why shouldn’t I? The bubbling fountain provided good counterpoint to the music wafting from the manor. I was utterly alone. No one would protest if I danced by myself.

  With a jubilant smile, I jumped to my feet and struck the opening pose of the waltz. My hand rested on an imaginary partner’s shoulder, the other clasped in his insubstantial hand. Closing my eyes, I let the music and the moment sweep me under its spell.

  An irritating male voice shattered the magic.

  “I was right. You did come to meet a lover.”

  I planted my hands on my hips in exasperation. Julian skulked in the shade of the nearest tree, another birch. The dip of its thin branches nearly obscured his form.

  Stepping out from the shadows, he flashed me a smug smile. The nearest lamp glimmered from the path behind him. The shadows flourishing across his face from the lack of light made his expression cut that much deeper. Surely he hadn’t followed me with ill intentions.

  “I must say, you have appalling taste in men. Even I can tell he’s a terrible dancer.”

  His voice, airy and lush with good humor, eradicated my transient doubts on his character. This was Julian, the man I’d known since birth. The very last thing he would do was hurt me.

  I recalled the nights spent bogged down with worry over not having received a response to my letters. At least, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. If he’d known how I’d nursed an incessant fear over his well-being, he would have written straight away.

  I forced a smile. “My ‘lover’ didn’t tread on my toes nearly as much as you.”

  “I was nine,” he protested. “What nine-year-old wants to dance?”

  I shrugged. “Blame Alyssa. She sprouted the idea to finagle Joseph into dancing with her. I had no choice of dancing partner. Your sister certainly didn’t want to dance with you.”

  “I used to stomp on her feet, too, and she never lets me forget it.”

  My smile grew as I relived that long-ago, simpler time. “Can you blame her?”

  “If I promise to be delicate with your poor sore feet, may I cut in?”

  While I wanted to dance, I also wanted to make him work for the honor. So I teased him. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not if you want to keep what secrets your mother didn’t already share with me.”

  My eyelids slipped closed on a groan. “What did she tell you?”

  I heard the teasing smile in his voice. “Many, many
things. She’s much chattier than I remember. Among them, a warning that your father would not, at first, look kindly upon any suit to arise between you and I.”

  Oh, Mother. I could only imagine the sort of lies she’d told to entice him to try anyway.

  Opening my eyes to gauge his reaction, I spread my hands. “Did I overstate the facts? She’s bent on marrying me to the man who will accept the most money.”

  His grin spread. “What man would refuse money and a beautiful wife?”

  “He must also be titled,” I said. “Or first in line to inherit one.”

  “Lofty criteria,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. “We’re twenty-three now. How did you escape marriage for so long?”

  “I’m twenty-two,” I snapped.

  “Ah, that’s right. You were born in December, if I recall.”

  I was surprised he remembered.

  He added, “My sister married ages ago.”

  “I remember the letter.” A shudder raked my spine at the memory. “It was the same year my parents procured me a lady’s maid. I feared they would launch me on Society early.”

  He stepped closer. His voice lowered, growing intimate. “And did they?”

  The air was so hot and heavy I could scarcely breathe. “No.”

  A smile teased at Julian’s lips as he took the final step to stand before me. He offered his hand. “Our dance?” he asked. “You did promise me one.”

  A thrill stalked down my spine as I slipped my hand into his. Dancing alone with a man followed embracing a man on the list of things I simply didn’t do. My heartbeat fluttered in my throat as I wondered whether he would court me. Flowers—exotic ones—morning calls, rides through Hyde Park, deep conversations about science. Not necessarily botany.

  Then I remembered the man in question was Julian, my childhood friend. Besides, I’d long ago relinquished that girlish fantasy in favor of reality. I had family, friends, and a hothouse that turned other botanists green with envy. I needed nothing more.

  He enclosed me in his embrace as he took his stance. I shivered, meeting his gaze. The look in his eye left no doubt that he was focused on this moment, on me. My old fantasy flared to life again, quickening my heartbeat as I wondered if there was a danger to entertaining him alone. But…with Julian, my closest friend?