by Gayle Eden
Hers did too. “I may have.”
“With enough wine?”
She sat up, moved to the edge, and then put her shoes on. “What is it you want me to say, Jahi? As you pointed out, it’s my birthday; perhaps spending it with a lover is exactly what I need.”
“Doubtless it is. I lost my head a moment though.” He stood. “Give me a moment to change. I’ve other clothing here, and we’ll go out.”
She stared at him. “If you want to spend the night together, what is the point? I have been to every gambling hell and fast party that London has to offer. I’ve been to cock fights and races and every damn…”
He was looking at her frankly. “And none it of it helps you forget him.”
“There was a time you wouldn’t have turned me down.”
“I’m not turning you down, and just to be clear, I started it.”
She laughed and stood. “Christ. We sound like children.”
“We sound like two people who want something we really can’t have. You don’t want me as a stand in, Juliette—anymore than I want to be one, for you.”
Her eyes watered.
He put his arm around her a moment. “Don’t weep. I am a strong man. We are both strong people, that is why we like each other so much. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She sat and waited, lost in a haze of thoughts—none of them helpful. When he showed up, he was in black trousers, boots, a white shirt, and long ankle length jacket. He looked like a gentleman at his leisure.
The city was foggy, dank—and fall was too near, meaning the long cold winter was close too. Nevertheless, for tonight, Juliette felt in a kind of limbo. She wanted to exist out of her body and mind. She wished—she could remember what it felt like to be so sure she could survive without the man who possessed both.
Jahi took her to dinner at a nice hotel on Great Queen street, where mostly merchants and laborers dined. They talked of Egypt, of England, and of life, the new one he would start, while they drank strong coffee. He gave her his coat to wear as they hired a hack and walked awhile. Juliette could tell he was excited at the prospect of returning to his homeland a different man, able to offer something valuable to his people.
“Do you ever wish you would have wed Hillman?
“Yes.”
“Why?” He glanced at her.
“Because of the rift with the duke and duchess. Because, I tell myself if I had done that, I would have found someway to be content.”
“He’s mended things with his parents. Montgomery”
“Yes. I imagine his connection with Lady Harrison helped.”
“No. I imagine they have always been a close and loving family, and nothing can really change that. They write to you, the duke and duchess?”
“Yes. Lady Mary never mentions him, but they are kind and concerned for me. She makes no secret of her trepidation about my association with the Duke of Wimberley’s clan. Although, she has some affection for Deme, whom she calls a scoundrel and scamp. He is a rather long-time friend of…Wolford's. I never doubted their care of me, Jahi. I knew what the life of the titled was— and the expectations that come with it. Nevertheless, for the Marquis stepping in, I would have followed their commands. Who knows…?”
“You do. And I do.” He took her hand and put it on his arm.
They passed one of the fashionable mansions, having to step into the streets, as there was a cluster of coachmen and footmen outside. Once they passed by, Jahi went on, “Monty mentions that he sends you a note now and then. He was your friend before anything else, Juliette. Cutting him completely out of your life was rather harsh.”
“I can’t do anything else.” She stopped and looked at him in the street lamp. “And he promised not to. I cannot do that. I can’t…”
Jahi embraced her and held her a long time.
“You had better write to me. And be my friend, forever,” she ordered, voice muffled against his shoulder.
“Always, Juliette.” They kissed, a poignant and warm kiss, before he had a hack take her home.
She said to him at the window. “Write to me when you fall in love. When some beautiful woman is carrying your children, and…”
He kissed her hand. “I will. I promise you.”
“I’m sorry.”
He smiled beautifully. “I’m not. Falling in love with you was one of the greatest adventures of my life. Kissing you was like my first taste of brandy. Oh, Juliette, I wish you could treasure what you feel for my beloved friend. I wish the two of you could see the pricelessness of it.”
She cried, all the way to the Wimberley’s London mansion. Her heart was broken. She wished she could be selfish and go with him. Juliette wanted to run away. Yet, Jahi deserved love, full, passionate, fulfilling love. What is more, that is what he would have. She just knew it.
* * * *
The following morning, after a late breakfast, the duke’s offspring were still wondering in and out of the dining room, still in their night clothing when Lisette and Juliette went for a ride in the park, and Juliette, in a respectable black habit and feathered hat, was distracted as Lisette talked about them attending a party outside London.
She was saying, “Lord and Lady Pickett. They are something like Godparents to Deme, you know. Mother was friends with Lucy, when they were girls.”
Half listening, half watching the ton at their preening, Juliette suddenly felt the world tilt when Wolford and Lady Harrison entered on horseback. Unknowingly halting her mount, she saw several people rush to greet them. The woman looking lovely in dove gray. She was riding a high stepper that complimented Wolford’s muscled stallion.
“Juliette!”
Jerking her gaze away from them, just as those unforgettable brown eyes found her own, Juliette attended her friend, who had ridden on and then turned back to her.
“Whatever is—oh—” Lisette looked beyond her and then back. Wincing, she murmured, “I suspected it was the Marquis. Your face is white as a sheet.”
“I must—get out of here.” Juliette kneed the mount.
Lisette turned with her.
While Juliette cursed the slow pace they had to keep, because of riders and strollers, Lisette glanced over her shoulder several times and murmured, “They are being hailed at every turn. Though he is being polite, I think Wolford is looking our way.”
Heart beating in her ears, her blood roaring, Juliette was surprised at how seeing them together affected her. She wanted to slap the woman. To ride up and slap Wolford too. She wanted to scream that he was hers. Hers.
“Dear—God.” She breathed when they finally exited. “I cannot do this. I cannot be here whilst he…”
“My poor friend.” Lisette reached to take her arm. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“There’s nothing—anyone can do.”
Later, Juliette attended a masque ball and drank too much champagne. She vaguely recalled Lisette laughing and holding her up as they went to the carriage. She found oblivion for several hours before she spent hours more bent over the chamber pot, puking, while Henny wiped her face and mouth.
Shuddering, she lay back on the cool wood floor. Carrying the cloth Henny had wet and putting it over her eyes, she murmured, “I cannot be where he is. I don’t want to see them together.”
The older woman pat her hand. “He provides your allowance. As the duke would in his place. You cannot make it on your own, my love.”
Feeling sick, weak and loathing that emotion that would not go away when she spied handsome Wolford, and the lovely Lady Harrison, Juliette rasped, “I should have wed Hillman. I wish I had.”
“Likely, you should have.”
She dragged the cloth down and looked at the woman. Those kind eyes nearly undid her. “Do you think so?”
“No. because you loved him—the Marquis—the moment you met him.”
Juliette felt tears run down, into her hair. “There must be somewhere to run, Henny.”
“Not from that.
Not from your heart.”
“But it is impossible.”
“I have no answers.” The woman helped her up and into bed. After cleaning up the chamber, she sat on the edge and smoothed Juliette’s hair back.
However, Juliette was already thinking…where could I go? What can I do? There has to be something.
* * * *
It had been a hellish week since he had seen her. It had taken everything in Wolford, every hour, and every day, not to go and kidnap her. Yet, the very last person Monty expected to find awaiting him in his study was Juliette—since she had kept her word of avoiding him, to the extreme.
She looked lovely in a smart bronze walking dress and jacket, a pert black and bronze hat on her up-drawn curls. She would always be the most glorious and stunning woman on earth in his summation. He had seen the look in her eyes at the park, the expression he thought might mirror his own—had he not gained control of himself.
Deciding to play his part too, he murmured, “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He closed the door. Monty was in his snug black trousers, boots, and a white ruffled shirt. The closer he got to her however, the more he saw in her eyes, and in the tense set of her face. “What’s amiss?”
“Nothing.” She looked away and took a seat across from his desk.
Wolford went round and sat in a chair, more from needing to, in order to not touch her, than wanting to. Waiting, his eyes went over her posture, her gloved hands clutching each other, eyes avoiding his.
He said, “Whilst you are here, I must address something with you. My man tells me you have a habit of returning half of your allowance. You must not do so, Juliette. If you were a ward of my father’s he would see to you, for life.”
“I am too old to be anyone’s ward.”
“Nonsense.” He corrected, “We have relatives we have taken care of for years. Some are in their eighties.”
“I don’t want you—taking care of me.”
“I see.” When she looked at him, Monty said softly, “At least, let me do that. As I say, my father would be doing so. It is no burden. It is not an obligation. I want to—”
She shook her head and swallowed. “I have found employment.”
His brow rose.
She stood and drew a bracing breath. “Demetrius has decided to travel. Lisette is going also. I—he asked me—to go with him.”
Wolford’s face held a cold expression. “As what?”
“His mistress.”
“No!” Monty got to his feet, his entire frame radiating anger. “Has he lost his bloody mind? Have you?”
“No.”
“You are my ward, Juliette.”
Her gaze held his, holding both strength and agony. “Let me go. You are going to wed Lady Harrison. Let me, go.”
Sick, his stomach dropping out, Monty hardly knew what he was snarling, his eyes hard. “Since when did Deme even notice you? He has not been sober in years. And even when he was, he —”
“—He says he did not note me before, for the same reason many can scarcely recall who I am. Because of my being that rigid young woman, you yourself disliked. However, as I am on intimate terms with the Duke and Duchess of Waverly, and all their family, naturally, we have—”
“Intimate terms. Have you slept with him?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I beg to differ.” A nerve ticked in his cheek. “How dare he. He knows bloody well that you are connected to my family. That you are of respectable background—”
Juliette cut him off gruffly, but with force, “I cannot stay here. I cannot be where you are—with her! God’s mercy, Wolford.” She trembled. “I only came here to speak to you, so that you would cause no interference when you heard of it. “
His nostrils flared and those eyes pinned her hard.
She uttered, “You will wed her. Bed her. Be intimate with her. It does not matter why. But I cannot…”
“Juliette.” His saying of her name came with a closing of Monty’s eyes. “I cannot give you to him.” He leaned his head back. “God help me. I cannot give you to any man.”
She closed her own and released a shaky sigh. Then opening them, turning to leave, she murmured, “Then I will disappear. Henny has a little saved up…”
He came swiftly round the desk, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. Staring down into her upturned face, Monty rasped, “I would give you a fortune. Three times a fortune, and you know it. It is a mere pittance to me. Do not do anything stupid, Juliette. “
“That is why I must go. I will do something stupid, should I be anywhere near you.” Her hand touched his face.
Wolford held her touch to his cheek a moment. He felt as if his skin was crawling off, his mind in turmoil, panic, with emotions surging. “Don’t go. Do not go with Deme. I will buy you a house. Staff it. I’ll—”
“Come and visit me after you are wed? No.” She shook her head.
“Juliette.”
She pulled away and hurried out the door.
“Juliette!”
Monty stared at the slammed shut door, and then went to the sitting area by the fireplace. He sat heavily, raking his hands through his hair several times, and then fell back, hands lax on his thighs and his eyes closed.
The door clicked.
Compton, his butler informed, “Your father, his Grace, the Duke of Crawford.”
Monty did not move. He did not open his eyes.
He heard the door shut and heard his father’s tread. The leather on the chair squeaked as the duke settled.
Thaddeus said quiet and deep, “I saw Juliette leaving. Since she has not visited us, I tried to detain her, but she was in a hurry, apparently.”
“Yes. She is deciding whether to become Deme’s mistress, or live in a hovel with Henny.” Monty did not care if his voice was cold or not. “She scarcely spends the allowance provided for her—sends most of it back. She was here to inform me she had found another way to support herself.”
He opened his eyes enough to see his dignified sire, tall, relaxed in the wing chair, clothing perfect and silver hair lush and full. He did not know what was in his own eyes, but there was enough in the fact he neither stood nor bowed to his father, nor straightened his posture in the man’s presence.
The duke’s eyes were calm, waiting, but there was that concern in them too.
Monty moistened his lips and closed his eyes again. “What did you make her promise? What did you say to her—before she left Crawford?”
“I made her promise to sever the bond between the two of you. To let you go. And to find her way, so that you may find yours.”
“To Lady Harrison?”
“Yes.”
Monty lifted his lashes. “How dare you. You had my word—”
“I dared, because I am your father.”
Monty sat up but shook his head. “And you would rather your old friend’s daughter become Deme’s mistress, or live on Henny’s pension…”
“No. of course not,” Thaddeus retorted strongly. “I would rather she had wed Hillman or another suitable man.”
“And I—a suitable heiress—with more wealth and better bloodlines.”
“There is nothing objectionable in Lady Harrison.”
“Not a thing. She is the perfect Marchioness, and future duchess.”
“She will make you happy.”
Monty laughed bitterly. “She will not, Sir. However, you should know, you cannot have everything you want. You were very fortunate to have chosen Mother yourself, to have some feeling for her. It is no fault of Ellen’s I have no affection towards her, nor mine that she does not give a bloody damn about anything I have accomplished. All that matters to her, or her family, is that I am your son. But happy, father? No. That is a dream you tell yourself.”
The duke looked away from him a moment.
Monty murmured, “Duty and obligation… it is something I cannot escape. But in private, Your Grace, I expect more truth between us.”
&nbs
p; Those brown eyes turned to his again.
“I took her to my bed, at Wolford.”
The duke did not pretend to guess whom. He did not look shocked. “I knew the truth long before you yourself did, Montgomery.”
Monty’s teeth grit. “Then how could you. How could you not love that child she was? How could you judge her unworthy on so flimsy an excuse? Are we not humans as well as titled? Were you a virgin or pure on your wedding day? How could you respect the title more than me?” Monty pushed to his feet and strode over to the window.
After a moment his Grace said, “I did what I did for your mother as much as the title. It is the expectation of a woman who raises a future duke, that—”
“By God, father!” Monty snarled and turned to stare in his direction, seeing the duke get to his feet also. “She felt unwanted, ignored and invisible, from the time she was born. She was completely lost when she came to us. As much as you and mother tried, you were oblivious to the mockery and alienation heaped on her by that petty circle of acquaintances you surrounded yourself with. She thought herself fat, worthy of only abandonment—unlovable. I know you to be a kind man. You and mother nurtured the same in me. And yet…”
“—I knew she loved you, yes. I saw your feelings grow for her, although I do not think you realized what they were until that season, when she was nineteen.”
Monty stared at him. “But nothing matters more than the title—nothing but the right sort of woman with the right sort of family, to bare the next heir.”
When the duke did not dispute that, Monty whispered, “You have no idea what it feels like, because you fell in love with the woman you wed. You wanted her and chose her. In the abstract, that was what I was going to do. You cannot be amid the higher circles and see how rare that is father. You knew it would not be so, and yet you wanted that for me?”
“You are not just any man, Montgomery.”
“Oh, but I am, Your Grace.” Monty looked at him. “I am just a man. I am one whose love for people is neither conditional, nor manipulative. I do not count weakness as you do, nor measure strength, as you see it. I do not measure myself against others as superior, nor do I see Juliette—”
“—Then make her your mistress!”
