by Cindy Anstey
Juliana was still looking up when Spencer stepped into the light; she knew that he had done so by the surprised look on Lady Pyebald’s face. “What is the meaning of this, Mr. Northam? For I thought much better of you.” Her voice still carried through the darkness, but it was decidedly softer. “That you would take advantage of a—”
Juliana felt a brush against her skirts and a small hand slide into hers. She turned her head to see that Carrie now stood beside her. A great flood of relief and affection for her cousin filled Juliana.
“Not to worry, Lady Pyebald,” Carrie spoke up with a force that surprised Juliana. “We would not come out to the garden alone, quite as you directed. We were very conscious of your advice and only ventured out for air together. Mr. Northam and Lord Bobbington were but escorting us back in before you arrived.”
Juliana glanced away from Carrie and saw a man emerging from the shadows. It was, indeed, Lord Bobbington, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“The air was most restorative,” Carrie continued, “and we are eager to return to the dance floor.”
“Well”— Lady Pyebald’s frown subsided —“come inside then.” She glanced up at the stars twinkling in a magnificent display high above their heads. “Night air is not good for anyone. Come in before you catch your death. Your dresses are not hearty, you know.”
“Yes, Lady Pyebald, of course.” Juliana made as if to step toward the stairway.
It was enough to convince Her Ladyship that duty had been done. She turned back to the warmth of the candle glow and disappeared through the threshold with Vivian trailing behind her.
The moment they were gone Juliana whirled around, ready to give Mr. Pyebald a true and proper set-down.
The flower bed was empty. All that remained were trampled and flattened tulips. The coward had skulked off while they had been occupied with his mother.
“Where?” she started to say, but the spitting and hissing of her cousin supplanted her own anger.
“How could she? Never again will she be a friend of mine. Vivian set you up, Juliana. It was a trap.”
Juliana glanced at Lord Bobbington and saw that his face was bright red, and he was swallowing convulsively. His discomfort was now extreme. “Yes, dear, but this is not the time to discuss it. Let us go inside, as Lady Pyebald suggested, before these kind gentlemen catch their death.”
Carrie nodded. She was mute and only barely mollified, but Juliana knew that the music and dancing would soon put her to rights.
Besides, Juliana needed to move. Her legs were beginning to shake for some reason.
Bobbington offered Carrie his arm. The girl bit her lip, sighed prettily, and glanced up at Juliana. “As you wish,” she said, making a valiant attempt to keep her thoughts to herself. She gracefully placed her hand atop Bobbington’s, and they stepped in unison to the stairway.
Spencer offered his arm to Juliana, allowing the other couple to gain a modest distance before speaking.
“I hope you are none the worse for this evening’s work?” he asked formally, his voice tight and tense.
“I am fine. Thank you, Mr. Northam.” Juliana tried to lighten the atmosphere by taking on a calm demeanor that she did not feel. “Once again you have been my salvation.”
“Miss Reeves rendered you more assistance than I.”
“As well you know, I was not referring to Lady Pyebald’s accusations. It was your timely rescue from Mr. Pyebald for which I owe my thanks.”
“His behavior was unpardonable, reprehensible.”
“I quite agree. Though I should have expected it.”
“It is not to be expected from any gentleman.”
“Gentleman is not a word that I would have used to describe Mr. Pyebald for quite some time now.” It felt like eons since the lecher’s hand had wandered at the inn.
“Has he made overtures before? I will not have it. You cannot stay under the same roof as this cad. I will find you another family with whom to spend the Season. I will not have you…”
Juliana stopped at the top of the staircase and brought her hand up. It almost touched his lips. “Please, do not take on so. I am well able to take care of myself.”
Spencer seemed to have a hard time finding words. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I have seen plenty of evidence to the contrary.”
“Mr. Northam, our arrangement was for appearances, nothing else. If I were to vacate these premises for one of your choosing, we would be making an unintended declaration. It would also prevent the very thing that we were trying to accomplish, that of bringing Lord Bobbington into Vivian’s company as much as possible.”
“But, I—”
“I will take pains to avoid Mr. Pyebald.”
“He is more devious than you realize.”
“No, I think not. I am well aware of that aspect of his character.”
Spencer’s brows furrowed, and his gaze went from her hand to her mouth. The singular way in which he was staring made Juliana feel rather heady, as if she were about to float away. Without conscious thought, her body leaned in to him at the moment his seemed to be drawn to her. She dropped her hand and took a deep breath, waiting for his next move. He swallowed and then leaned closer. His lips were mere inches from hers.
“Juliana, are you coming in?” Carrie asked from the doorway.
Juliana looked up quickly. Her cousin motioned for her to hurry across the balcony. She didn’t appear to notice Spencer’s close proximity.
Juliana turned back and saw why. Spencer stood a respectful distance from her, and his eyes were no longer dark and full of a hunger that Juliana did not quite understand. But it had been exquisite and exciting while it had lasted. She regretted its disappearance.
Once again, Juliana placed her arm on Spencer’s. It trembled slightly, but if he noticed, he gave no sign. He would likely assume it to be the residual effect of Pyebald’s assault, not the unexplored emotions that coursed through her.
Juliana took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and stepped with Spencer across the threshold. She could maintain this facade as well as he. A smile here, a little conversation there, and no indication that there was now a tangible link between them, a delicious awareness of each other that they carried throughout the night.
* * *
SPENCER YANKED OFF HIS NECKCLOTH, and he tossed it, his top hat, and his gloves onto the stand by the door of his apartment. His man, Karl, picked up the discarded objects with great dignity, waited patiently for Bobbington’s hat and gloves, and then silently disappeared into the back rooms.
“God’s teeth, I need a drink.” Spencer stalked over to a cabinet by the fireplace and splashed a generous amount of port into a glass. He lifted it toward Bobbington in a gesture that asked if he, too, felt the need.
“Not for me. I am not the one who had to dance and smile all night while itching to stretch my fingers around another person’s neck.” He dropped into a chair by the fireplace and propped his feet up on the grate.
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” Spencer paced across the room in large predatory strides.
“I am sure everyone noticed that your smile had a sharp edge, even though they had no idea why.”
“If he had gone near her again,” Spencer sputtered. “If he had even come back into the room, I would—”
“But he didn’t, did he? The fellow likely passed out somewhere. You heard Lord Pyebald complaining of his son’s inability to hold his drink. He might not even remember trying to kiss Miss Telford.”
“You treat this so lightly. It is no joking matter.”
“I think you, Northam, have lost perspective. And I have no doubt it is because of your feelings for her.”
Spencer ignored the words that were too close to the truth. Instead, he gnawed at another bone. “Listen to you. If your Miss Pyebald had not been complicit in this sordid affair, you would be joining me in my fury. You would not have a young lady treated thus.”
“Hold on now. This was not the doi
ng of Miss Pyebald. No, indeed. She was merely the pawn of her brother’s entreaties. She said so.”
Spencer snorted and shook his head at his friend’s gullibility. Bobbington ignored it and continued to blather.
“She thinks Pyebald and Miss Telford well suited. She is such a sweet romantic. She danced with me two sets, you know. Talking all the while about what an excellent match they were.
“This situation is not of her making. She did not know that the man stepped over the line or that Miss Telford’s affections are already engaged elsewhere. Pyebald’s behavior would have been most distressing to poor Miss Pyebald otherwise.”
“Aha. See.” Spencer waggled his finger in front of his friend. “You admit he crossed the line.”
“All right, all right. He gave his ardor too much rope. He was a wretch and is deserving of a good thrashing. That being said, there was no doubt he was in his cups. Had you done anything beyond pulling him down, Miss Telford’s reputation would be in shreds. And you would not be admitted back into the good graces of Cooper Street. Ever.” Bobbington sighed deeply and shrugged his shoulders. “Do not dwell on the matter overly, for it all came to rights. You rescued the damsel, again. And are likely well entrenched in her good books. That can hardly be for nothing.”
Spencer stopped pacing and glared at the dying embers in the fireplace. He thought of Miss Telford’s tantalizing face, particularly her pert, kissable lips. His pulse quickened as his mind’s eye wandered down her invitingly curved body and back up again. He could almost feel the heat that had been generated as they pressed closer and closer.
Spencer allowed his knees to fold, and he dropped with a resounding thump into a chair.
Perhaps the reason he was so angry was that he realized he was no better than the drunken sot he detested. And he had no such excuse. If Miss Reeves had not called out to them, Spencer would most happily have gathered Juliana into his arms and kissed her until her toes curled.
Spencer couldn’t remember ever feeling this want or need before. How could he have let himself get into this terrible state? What was he thinking? Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t resist this sweet, intelligent innocent who needed a guardian angel at every turn.
He could not lose sight of the fact that he was using her. It was bad enough to manipulate Juliana’s position in the family to provide entry into the Pyebalds’ affairs; it was reprehensible to make love to her in earnest. He was no better than Pyebald.
The silence stretched on as Spencer and Bobbington both stared with deep concentration at the meager offering of the dwindling fire.
Spencer’s thoughts were fixed on the whys and wherefores of Juliana. They volleyed back and forth. One minute, he decided, she was a duped pawn in a traitorous household, the next she was a skilled actress or a lackey or, perhaps, a willing conspirator.
Spencer knew his emotions were running too deep when the thought of Juliana as a confederate of the French was followed by a dismissal that wasn’t based on reason. He rubbed at his face and tight jaw.
No. Logic; get back to logic.
Why would a young lady, with no pretensions to marriage, grand or otherwise, stay in a household of unpleasant relatives and predatory acquaintances when she had other options?
Spencer knew his proposal to find Juliana housing had been an ill-conceived notion. It had been made in the passion of the moment. No well-reared young lady could have taken such an offer, certainly not without expecting intense scrutiny and censure. Society would have expected him to make an offer of marriage posthaste. Declining was the right thing to do.
And yet the idea of being associated with Miss Juliana Telford was not as unpleasant a thought as he would have expected. In fact, all those times he had put aside thoughts of Juliana to be considered later had somehow gotten together without his knowledge. They had formed a consensus.
If Spencer were ever to consider the possibility of a marital union, it would be in the form of a young lady somewhat like—if not exactly like—Juliana. Someone with intelligence, humor, and an engaging manner. Someone who made liberal use of his rescuing tendencies and yet fiercely declared independence. Someone with whom to share dreams and ideas—not to mention long, passionate nights.
It was reassuring that Juliana had no inclination in that direction, or Spencer might have had to withdraw himself from her company and rethink his approach to the investigation. Here he was, after having known this perplexing person less than a month, questioning his devotion to the institute of bachelorhood. This was the height of ridiculousness. He would not succumb to such unsophisticated wiles.
That thought brought Spencer full circle. While his ardor might be engaged, common sense asked questions, including the most important query of all: Was it too late to claim back his heart and search hers for truth?
* * *
“JULIANA, are you asleep?”
Juliana opened her eyes and squinted toward the doorway of her bedroom. “Carrie?” She pushed herself up into a half-sitting position. “Is all well?”
“Oh yes, most certainly. I just cannot sleep. The excitement hasn’t settled yet.” The girl jumped up onto the bed uninvited and jostled Juliana in the ensuing pounce. “My feet are sore from dancing, my mouth aches from smiling and talking, and yet I can hardly lie still. I do not think I will sleep all night long.”
“I could. If I were left alone.”
“Oh no, Juliana, you cannot mean it. Vivian is already snoring, and I have no one with whom to talk.”
“But what is there to say tonight that cannot be said in the morning?”
“Oh Juliana, how can you be so cross? We have to assess every gentleman we met tonight. What they said, what they did, the color of their eyes, and the cut of their coats.”
Juliana stretched up further, curled her shoulders, and cracked her neck. “Goose, you know Aunt Phyllis will tell you with whom you are to be enamored and whom to ignore. And it will not be based on the color of their eyes. Now, go to sleep. You will know in the morning. Please, dear, I would like to get a few hours—”
“You are so at ease—so content,” Carrie sighed. “By the end of the Season, I will be out of the game, too—just like you.”
“I never was in the game.” Juliana pulled a fluffy feather pillow from beside her and handed it to Carrie. The girl could sleep here.
Carrie grabbed the pillow willingly enough, but rather than settle in, she plumped it and set it against the headboard. She pulled its mate from under Juliana’s elbow and repeated the procedure. She didn’t appear to notice Juliana’s sour expression.
Juliana sighed, shook her head, and sat up fully. Carrie’s words finally penetrated. “Out of the game? Whatever are you talking about?”
“Mr. Pyebald, of course.”
“After what happened this evening, Carrie Bertha Reeves, I would think that you would have more sense than to even suggest such a thing. And what happened to your assertion that Vivian was no longer a friend of yours?” Juliana’s sudden adrenaline staved off any shadow of sleep that might have been lurking behind her eyes. “She placed me in a very awkward position this evening.”
“I know, dearest Juliana. I agree,” Carrie crooned. “It really was quite appalling, shameful—despicable … we cannot think of any words that Vivian has not used herself. She greatly regrets the whole affair. When she realized that her brother was in his cups, she persuaded Lady Pyebald to take a turn on the balcony. She was coming to chaperone just as Mr. Northam reached you.” Carrie leaned toward her cousin. “Can you forgive her?”
“Perhaps I can pardon her, Carrie, but I will no longer trust her. You should not, either. And as to Mr. Pyebald, he will not get my forgiveness or good opinion—it is lost forever! You must never—and I mean never—leave me alone with that wretched man again.”
“I will try not to.” Carrie nodded with more conviction than conveyed in her words and then frowned. “But I thought it … well, a form of flattery. A compliment. To go to such lengt
hs to secure a few minutes alone with you.”
Juliana was not going to explain what transpired in those few moments. “I am not interested in stolen moments with anyone, Carrie. I have said it before, and I will say it again.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear you say so. I was starting to worry that you were taken with Mr. Northam, and I was loath to tell you that Mama has other plans.” Carrie yawned and slumped back onto the headboard. “Mama thinks he is a better match for Vivian. Though I can see why you might be setting your cap for him—even if I do find him a little overcurious. Quite a handsome fellow.”
“Curious?” Juliana frowned. “How do you mean?”
“All throughout our set of country-dances, Mr. Northam plagued me with questions.”
“Really?”
“Indeed, most tiresome. Did the Pyebalds have any regular visitors? Who were their particular friends? Oh, and yes, he even wanted to know about Lamar Stamford.”
“Who?”
“Lamar Stamford. From Lambhurst. Did you not meet the Stamfords? No, wait; I believe the family to have gone to Town before you arrived. Well, it is not likely that you are to meet them now. It is a shame. They have had to retrench—no one says anything, but I have heard a rumor or two that their debts are enormous.” Carrie flushed slightly. “Besides, there seems to have been a falling out between the Stamfords and the Pyebalds, as you saw.”
“I did?”
“Oh, yes, everyone did. The great kerfuffle at the door. When Lamar tried to push his way forward. I would have thought him invited, but apparently not.”
“I see.”
“But he is a good dancer, so I can forgive him.”
“Who? Lamar Stamford?”
“Mr. Northam.”
Juliana pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I am afraid you are being less than clear, Carrie dear.”
Carrie looked over at Juliana with half-closed eyes. “I can forgive Mr. Northam’s questions due to the fact that he is an excellent dancer.”
