by Alice Gaines
She had that murderous glint in her eyes again—the same one she’d given him earlier when he’d forbade her to leave. “Perhaps not.”
“Then settle in and let me go to sleep.”
“If you don’t move over, I don’t have enough room,” he said.
“Then, go back to your own room,” she said. “Unless you want to command me to move over.”
He tugged the covers, what he could get of them, over his shoulders. “Never mind. I’m fine right here.”
She went back to her earlier posture, as he perched precariously on his sliver of the mattress. When he rolled over, he’d surely fall right out. Still, going back to his own room gave her a victory of sorts, and he wouldn’t do that. So he did as she asked. He settled in, but he wouldn’t sleep a wink like this. With any luck, she wouldn’t get any rest, either.
Chapter Twelve
The vicar did, indeed, have a glorious garden. Derrington acted like the perfect suitor, the bastard. Juliet gave him that treatment right back. She acted the perfect lady—courteous, solicitous, and deferential—but only because he’d hate it. Judging from the twitching of a muscle at the corner of his jaw, he did.
Derrington took her elbow as he made introductions. This trip would accomplish something, if she could make herself pleasantly unpleasant enough to convince the arrogant man beside her that he wouldn’t have a moment’s joy with her until he let her go free.
Lady Derrington took the vicar’s arm and allowed him to escort her along the row between roses on one side and birds of paradise on the other. Their host had a comforting appearance. Handsome, but not too handsome, and he certainly lacked Derrington’s air of wickedness. He paused in front of a particularly beautiful plant in full bloom.
“I think you’ll enjoy this one, ma’am,” he said to Lady Derrington. “I’m rather proud of it.”
Lady Derrington curled her fingers around one blossom for a better view. “Magnificent. Streletzia, isn’t it?”
“You have a good eye, Lady Derrington. It’s a tropical plant. I have to take care to cover it during cold snaps,” the vicar said. “So far, I’ve had good luck with it.”
Lady Derrington turned toward her grandson. “We should have some of these in the garden at the manor.”
“Grand idea. What do you say, Miss Foster?” Derrington said.
She smiled up at him, sweetly enough to make his teeth ache. “Whatever you want will be nice.”
“Nice?” he repeated.
“Wouldn’t you say so, Lord Derrington?” she said.
“It’s more than nice,” Lady Derrington said. “Mr. Wently has to take great care with these plants.”
“Very nice, then,” Juliet said. “Very, very nice.”
Mr. Wently caught the unease between Derrington and Juliet. How could he miss it? Derrington was starting to resemble a spring about to let loose. The vicar turned a soft pink above his clerical collar. “Thank you, Miss Foster. There are some other specimens up ahead that I’m sure you’ll like as well.”
He led Lady Derrington off. When Juliet tried to follow, Derrington held her back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Well now, really. Didn’t you want an obedient female?”
“Why would I want someone like that?”
“Odd, but you seemed so keen on forbidding and issuing orders.”
“Because I want to marry you,” he said. “Where’s the crime in that?”
“It seems to me you need my consent, or is that some quaint American notion?”
“You know you love me, you silly woman.”
She took a step backward. “I beg your pardon.”
He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbed as if he had a headache. Maybe he did. He hadn’t slept much at all the night before. He deserved it, of course, but his constant squirming and turning had kept her awake, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
“I don’t know of any good ways for a man to inform a woman that she’s in love with him, especially if he hasn’t declared his own feelings.”
“I did tell you. In New York.”
“That you’d developed tender feelings for me?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.”
Even the lordly Marquis of Derrington had the decency to show some shame at that. His original “declaration” of his feelings had amounted to no more than a sham, and he knew it as well as she did.
He didn’t answer for a moment and then gave her a sheepish smile. “I was insincere then. I’m not now.”
As pledges of undying devotion went, that one didn’t impress much more than the original. That was just as well, actually. She did not love him, and it would prove dammed inconvenient if he loved her. He belonged with one of the accomplished women he usually romanced, like that stunning blonde who’d spied on her in the hat shop. Skilled musicians, linguists—she couldn’t compete with rivals like that. The only things she’d ever accomplished in her life were to inherit a great deal of money and annoy her siblings. Now, she’d managed the same with this man.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Your grandmother and the vicar have gotten ahead of us,” she said. “It isn’t nice to keep them waiting.”
“Right.” Heaving a great, put-upon sigh, he resumed walking along the path to catch up with the others.
Surely, she’d done the right thing in nipping that particular conversation in the bud. The poor fool might imagine himself besotted with her, but he only did because she most certainly didn’t feel the same way about him. She couldn’t help but sigh inwardly as she glanced up at him. Such a handsome man, so talented in bed. What would it be like to settle down with such a husband for a lifetime of happiness? She’d never find out. She’d have to make herself happy with a series of unemotional but physically satisfying affairs. Just as soon as she got away from here.
They continued following Lady Derrington and the vicar at some distance, walking between perfectly groomed rose bushes. Mr. Wently obviously preferred ordered gardens more in the formal English taste than the raucous glory of the flowers at Derrington Manor. It fit his calming manner as the chaos at the manor fit Lady Derrington and her grandson.
The man in question kept his hands clutched together behind his back the whole time. Englishmen often did that as best she could tell, but on him, it appeared as if he did it to keep his hands off her. He usually had no compunction against propelling her along with a too-firm grip on her elbow. But as she was playing the docile female, he could hardly act roughly with her now without looking like a bully. She really did have him stymied; it made all the simpering worth the trouble.
“How long are you going to continue with this act?” he asked.
“How long are you going to keep me prisoner?”
“You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone.” She stopped walking, and he did the same, turning toward her. She reached up and touched a finger to his forehead. “I’m going to be so sweet and docile, I’ll give you a headache right here.”
The blasted man took her hand in his, opened it, and pressed a kiss against her palm. “And I’m going to set a fire between your thighs until you give up this foolishness.”
She yanked her hand back. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
He laughed, tipping his head back and let loose from deep in his chest. Curse him. From now on, she’d only give him an edge of her bed the same way she had the night before. If she let him in her bed at all.
***
Juliet found Lady Derrington sitting in her garden gazing wistfully at the privates of one of her nude, male statues. She’d hoped to find the garden unoccupied and slip away from the manor. No escape this morning, it seemed. Juliet huffed in frustration.
“There you are,” Lady Derrington said. “Feeling better?”
“Fine.”
She was anything but fine, given the state of her relationship with the woman’s grandson. Every night, he came to her room and she let him into a tiny edge of the bed. Then she lay swaddled in blankets so he couldn’t touch her, and the two of them spent a long, miserable night together.
He wouldn’t give in and sleep in his own room, and she wouldn’t give in and let him touch her. If she let him make love to her, he’d take that as a sign he could seduce her into anything he wanted. They’d reached a stalemate, so she’d finally decided to get away only to encounter his grandmother.
Lady Derrington’s fingers snapped. “Miss Foster?”
“I’m sorry.” Juliet rubbed her eyes. “I was distracted.”
“You don’t look fine. You look exhausted,” Lady Derrington said. “And not in a good way.”
“It’s all your grandson’s fault,” Juliet said. “He’s an arrogant self-important, overbearing…twit.”
“Oh good. Back to normal,” Lady Derrington said. “I’d like to spend some time with my granddaughter-to-be. The real person.”
Juliet twisted the ruby ring off her finger and held it to the woman. “I have to return this to you.”
Lady Derrington stared at it for a moment and then lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s stunning. Of course I like it.”
“You really do prefer a diamond? Bump will buy you anything you want.”
“I can’t take it.” She nearly shoved the ring under the other woman’s nose. “I’m not going to marry him.”
Still, Lady Derrington sat with her hands in her lap. “Hasn’t he bedded you yet?”
Anything Juliet might have said caught in her throat and choked her.
“Your hair was undone when I arrived,” Lady Derrington said. “And my grandson had the happy look of a man who’d just been fellated.”
“Lady Derrington!”
The woman stared up at her as if she discussed this sort of thing every day. “Did I misunderstand something?”
“I won’t answer that.”
“So I didn’t.” Lady Derrington patted the bench beside her. “Good. Sit down.”
“I—”
“Do it.”
Juliet did as she was told, still clutching the ring in her hand.
“Now then,” Lady Derrington said. “If you’ve had the love of a Winslow man, why on Earth wouldn’t you marry him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Nonsense. I’d give my right arm to have my husband back for an hour. Only a fool would refuse a voluptuous life with his grandson, and you’re no fool.”
“Should I tell you what your beloved grandson has done?” Juliet said.
Lady Derrington’s mouth curled into a wicked smile. “Any number of things, I imagine, if he’s like his grandfather.”
“I’m not talking about sex.”
Lady Derrington uttered one of her humphs of disapproval. “Pity.”
“He’s holding me prisoner here.”
“Really? How very creative of him.”
“Lady Derrington, please take this seriously,” Juliet said.
The older woman gazed at her with the same stubbornness and cunning her grandson used when he wanted something. “I take his happiness very seriously, indeed.”
“He lured me here under false pretenses, and now, he won’t let me go until I agree to marry him.”
“Then, marry him, and the two of you can go wherever you like,” Lady Derrington said.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly well. I was the same as you. I resisted with all my might until I finally didn’t want to fight any longer,” Lady Derrington said. “You wouldn’t believe how my Hugh finally convinced me.”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“Let’s just say that feathers can be instruments of torture, and silk ties leave no marks.” Lady Derrington circled her wrist with the fingers of her other hand. “After that, we were inseparable for the rest of our lives.”
Juliet did her best to keep her expression bland, but from the smile of victory in the other woman’s eyes, she hadn’t managed completely. Feathers and silk bonds, oh dear. Derrington, himself, had threatened to spank her on at least one occasion. Such depravity. So, why did her nipples suddenly seem to chafe against the fabric of her chemise and her sex become moist?
“You see?” Lady Derrington nearly crowed the words. “No man but a cursed Winslow will ever satisfy you, and now that you’ve had him, you can never go back to doing without.”
“I can take care of myself.” Suddenly, her original plan held even more promise than when she’d thought it up. Faceless men—maybe dozens of them—all satisfying her carnal cravings and then leaving her the hell alone. She only needed to get away from this one man.
“I don’t suppose you’ll convince Lord Derrington to release me,” she said.
“Absolutely not. And I won’t do anything to help you escape,” Lady Derrington said. “The two of you belong together.”
“Then I guess I have no choice.”
Lady Derrington’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”
“Why nothing.” Juliet gave the woman her most innocent look, wide eyes and all. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You can’t bribe any of the staff to help you escape,” Lady Derrington said. “They love our family too much.”
“For good reason, I’m sure.”
“And there’s nothing for miles and miles except the village,” Lady Derrington said.
Yes, that village. That pleasant place full of decent people.
“The folks there won’t help you, either,” Lady Derrington said.
Plain, simple folks—the kind who could always be bought for the right price.
“You’re going to try to run,” Lady Derrington said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Juliet put her hand over her heart. “Not at all. I swear.”
Lady Derrington chuckled. “Go ahead and do it. It’ll be fun for both of you.”
She would, but Derrington wouldn’t call it fun when she slipped from his grasp.
***
Juliet’s heart soared even though her feet were killing her. Dainty ladies’ shoes didn’t do well on rough, English roads, but at least, she’d put some distance between herself and Derrington Manor. Moreover, several turns around copses of trees hid her from view of the huge house. Even if someone looked out of an upstairs window, they wouldn’t see her now, even as a speck in the distance. She only needed to keep going so that she could make it to the village before anyone noticed she’d disappeared.
That arrogant male back in his lordly manor wouldn’t get his way, after all. No one issued orders to Juliet Foster. She’d barely tolerated the restrictions at Sedgewick when she’d been a schoolgirl. She did not have to obey the dictates of a lying Englishman just because he had a title. She was an American, a member of a proud and free people. Over a century before, her kind had thrown off the yoke of British oppression. Now, she’d repeated that glorious victory, even if it was on a much smaller scale.
Granted, she hadn’t had to fight a war but only had to skulk around the manor until she’d found an unguarded exit so she could make her escape. Still, it had taken days because everywhere she’d turned she’d found a servant. He had so damned many of them—upstairs maids, downstairs maids, grooms, footmen, even gardeners. Maybe her house in New York had as big a staff, but they weren’t underfoot all the time, constantly watching and waiting to run to their employer if a prisoner were to make a break for freedom.
But she’d eluded them all, and now the manor grew more and more distant behind her as she grew closer to the village. Hatless, gloveless, and without luggage except for the beaded bag she’d managed to grab, she held her head high as she continued her march toward freedom.
She emerged into the sunlight and did her best to shield her face with her hand. She wouldn’t appear too persuasive as a woman of the world
with a sunburn, or worse, freckles. She wouldn’t have any trouble convincing anyone now that she was an experienced lover, though. Derrington had given her all the experience she needed and more. He’d served his purpose well, and someday she’d look back fondly on their time together. Perhaps they could even be friends once he’d gotten over his obsession with marrying her.
In the meantime, she’d sample the men of other countries and cultures. She’d hear passion in other languages. As skilled as Derrington was, he was still English. He couldn’t possibly compete with the French or the ultimate—Italian men.
Past a bend in the road, she spotted the village in the distance. The church steeple dominated the collection of buildings, and the inn where they’d stopped on their way to the manor stood not far away. She paused as the images of that night came back to her. Waking up with her head on Derrington’s shoulder. Gazing out of the carriage at the small houses, some with candles in the windows. Admiring the sign that read “Derrington Arms.”
The place had enchanted her then. Everything had enchanted her, especially the man himself. She’d waited so long to share that most intimate act with him, and every cell of her body had hummed with excitement as she’d neared her goal. And yet, even her most heated fantasies had paled in comparison to reality.
Despite her good intentions to move ever forward, she sighed and stood where she was—in the middle of a road partway between a manor house and a town in England she hadn’t known existed until a few months ago. So far from home. So far from where she’d hoped to end up. And yet, so close to the man who knew her body better than she did herself.
Enough. He’d lied to get her here, no matter how much he denied it. He’d treated her like a silly little girl who didn’t know her own mind. He’d sidetracked her from her goal. From now on, she’d take control of her own destiny, and she wouldn’t look back.
She resumed her trek toward the village. Someone there would have a carriage she could hire to take her to the train station. The inn must receive travelers all the time. The owner, Mr. Quinn, could arrange her transportation, and she’d soon leave this isolated, if lovely, bit of English geography far behind.
