“Your Grace.” Immediately Juliet executed a curtsy, this one far deeper than the one she’d given the dowager. She did not do so out of respect, but rather to give herself a few precious seconds to gather her thoughts and composure. Oh, blast it all! Of all the women in attendance, why did her path have to cross with Grant’s mother?
To look at the Duchess of Readington one would not think her old enough – or hearty enough – to have given birth to The Wolf. Her husband must have been enormous, for Grant certainly hadn’t inherited his commanding stature from this tiny slip of a woman. Although he did have her stubborn chin and prominent cheekbones. There were other similarities as well, but Juliet did her best to ignore them as she straightened and plastered a smile on her face.
“What an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“You really don’t have to call me that,” Caroline said with a pained grimace. “After being married to my husband for nearly thirty years you would think I’d be used to it by now, but every time I hear those two words all I can think is how ostentatious they must sound. But enough about me. Please, tell me about yourself. Are you new to London, Miss Williams?”
“I suppose you could say that,” said Juliet, delivering the same vague answer she’d given to the dowager and anyone else who had bothered to ask. “This is my first Season.”
“Oh, how splendid for you!” Clapping her gloved hands together, Caroline beamed over her fingertips. “I still remember my debut as if it were yesterday. Of course, the dresses were a little different back then. That green looks positively divine with your hair.”
“Thank you. If you would excuse me–”
“A beautiful young woman such as yourself must have been inundated with offers for marriage,” the duchess continued. “Are congratulations in order?”
“No,” Juliet said with an evasive shake of her head. “I’m afraid I–”
“That’s too bad,” Caroline interrupted, although the happy chirp in her voice and the mischievous light in her misty gray eyes revealed she really didn’t think it was bad at all. “You know, if you do not have plans for the end of the Season you simply must be our guest at Litchfield Park. We’re having a lovely little house party.”
Were Caroline Hargrave anyone else but the Duchess of Readington, Juliet might have actually considered it. Three years ago she and Bran had masqueraded as the son and daughter of a deceased viscount in order to attend a large house party in Bath. While she’d been reluctant to spend a fortnight surrounded by pompous gentility, it had been a surprisingly enjoyable – and lucrative – two weeks. But this particular event was absolutely out of the question.
She could picture it now. Arriving at Grant’s ancestral home in a fancy carriage. Descending in a swirl of delicate muslin. And being slapped in irons on the front lawn while everyone looked on in horror.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I just could not impose.”
“My dear Miss Williams, you would not be an imposition at all!” Caroline protested. “The truth of the matter is the same people have been attending for what seems like ages, and the company has begun to grow a bit stale. A new face would freshen things up. Naturally your parents would be welcome as well. There is more than enough room–”
“My parents are dead,” Juliet interrupted.
“Oh.” Only looking slightly taken aback, Caroline managed to quickly recover with the tactful grace of a true lady. “I am sorry to hear that. I lost my father at a young age, and still miss him to this day. Do you have relatives? Or a guardian?”
“A brother. Bran. Although he’s not very keen on social gatherings, I am afraid.”
“That’s only because he’s never attended one of mine,” Caroline said with the utmost confidence. “Do say you’ll come. I can promise that you and your brother will both have a delightful time. And if you don’t, well, you are free to leave at any time of course.” Her mouth curved in a coaxing smile. “What do you say?”
Bugger it, Juliet thought silently. What was the harm in agreeing to go? One more lie wouldn’t hurt anything.
“We would be honored to be your guests.”
“Splendid!” Caroline cried with so much enthusiasm that a trio of women stopped in their tracks and looked inquisitively in their direction. “Positively splendid! Oh, I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Nor could I.” Startled to hear a ring of truth in her voice, Juliet’s gaze darted to the large gate behind the duchess. “Your Grace, I hate to seem rude, but I fear I have another social engagement directly after this one and if I do not leave immediately I will be very late. If you would excuse me…”
“Of course, Miss Williams. I am sorry for detaining you.” Caroline started to move to the side, but then without any warning she drew Juliet into an impulsive hug that seemed to catch both women equally off guard.
“Oh dear,” Caroline said with a laugh as she lifted her arms and stepped back. “I’m not usually so forward, but I have the most unusual feeling you and I are going to be the closest of friends. I look forward to spending more time with you, Miss Williams.”
“The same to you, Your Grace.” In her eagerness to escape Juliet lunged for the gate, belatedly remembered who she was supposed to be, and dropped into an awkward curtsy that nearly had her tripping over the hem of her dress. Righting herself, she flashed Caroline a quick smile before dashing out of the garden as fast as she could without drawing any unwanted attention.
As she slipped between two carriages and struck out across the tree-lined street, it occurred to her this wasn’t the first time she’d run from a Hargrave….nor, she feared, would it be the last.
Chapter Twenty
Fate was a temperamental beast. She seemed to work without rhyme or reason, changing lives in the blink of an eye without regard for whether they were saved or ruined. Some swore by her, others damned her. Those predisposed to logic did not believe in her at all.
Juliet knew that fate existed. How else could she explain meeting Yeti, and Bran, and Eddy? Without them, her life would have irrevocably different. Maybe better, but most likely worse. She’d known fate was on her side the first time she had managed to escape from Grant. It had been with her again at the Dashwood’s ball, and once more at Blackfriars Bridge.
Truth be told, fate had favored her so many times she’d forgotten how fickle the bitch could be…until she stepped across the street without bothering to look and slammed straight into the hard, immovable body of Lord Grant Hargrave.
“I am terribly sorry, my lady.” His deep, husky voice struck a chord of remembrance within her as his hands shot out and steadied her by the shoulders. “I fear I did not see – Juliet.”
She caught a glimpse of startled green eyes before she managed to slip free of his grasp and darted around a carriage. A plain looking brougham, it was pulled by a shiny chestnut gelding moving at a leisurely trot. Grabbing onto the door handle, she managed to twist it open and used the folding step to shove herself inside. The carriage’s occupants – two women in feather plumed hats – released high pitched screams as she tumbled across their laps.
“Sorry! So sorry!” Rolling onto the floor, she sat up and caught the swinging door, slamming it closed and twisting the lock just as Grant’s furious countenance appeared in the window. He slammed his fist against the door and the women screamed again, causing Juliet to wince and cover her ears.
“Excuse me!” she yelled. “Could you please desist? I don’t want to go deaf.”
Eyes wide, they both stopped at once and she sighed with relief.
“There.” Leaning back on her hands, she smiled up at them. “That’s better. Now. Do you see that angry looking man running alongside your carriage trying to get in?”
“Yes,” the woman on the left, a round-faced blonde, said tentatively.
“That is my ex-fiancé. Very nasty fellow. I’m afraid I had to end our engagement after I discovered he’d spent all of his money at a brothel and gambled away the family estate
. As you can tell, he’s also the violet sort.”
As if on cue, Grant struck the side of the carriage again and shouted something indecipherable. Juliet lifted a brow as if to say, ‘do you see what I mean?’ and the two women immediately nodded.
“How awful,” the blonde whispered.
“Just ghastly,” her companion, a pretty brunette with big blue eyes, agreed.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, I’m in a bit of tight spot.” To put it mildly. “Would you ladies be ever so kind as to make the tiniest of detours?”
“Of course,” said the blonde at once. “Anything we can do. Where do you need to go?”
“Nowhere very far. Just the edge of St Giles.”
“St – St Giles?” The two women exchanged an uneasy glance.
“Yes.” Juliet smiled brightly. “And if you could tell your driver to pick up the pace a bit, that would be lovely.”
Damnit!
Unable to keep up with the carriage on foot, Grant seethed in silent anger as it rolled briskly away. Juliet had slipped through his fingers again. The woman was as wiggly as an eel with the nine lives of a bloody cat. At least this time he had a good idea where she was going and a fancy carriage like that would stick out like a sore thumb in the East End, giving him a better chance at tracking her down.
Twenty minutes and two hackneys later (the first had refused to get within three blocks of the rookeries, forcing him to flag down another), and that was precisely what he had managed to do. Through sheer dumb luck and a bit of patience, he’d picked up Juliet’s trail outside an abandoned tenement building in the middle of St Giles.
The stairs creaked ominously beneath his weight as he sprinted up them to the highest floor. A board splintered beneath his foot when he ran down the hall, falling away into nothingness. Having been scorched by fire, the building wasn’t sound. There was no telling how long it would hold, but if he went down with it then so would Juliet, for he wasn’t letting her go.
Not this time.
Faced with a door to his left and a door to his right, he was forced to make a decision. One door pointed at the street and the other at the alley. If he picked incorrectly, Juliet would be gone and there’d be no telling when she would surface again. His gut told him to go left.
He went right.
Juliet was perched on the windowsill when he slammed open the door. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, and her mouth curled in a sneer.
“You’re too late, runner.”
She pushed herself quickly off the sill, but Grant was quicker. Throwing himself forward, he managed to catch the hood of her cloak. He yanked. Hard. She fell backwards into him, and the force of their two bodies colliding sent them both sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of dust.
Coughing, Juliet tried to flip herself upright and make a run for the door, but he swept out his leg and struck her behind the knees. He threw himself over her, thighs straddling her waist as he pinned her wrists together above her head in an iron grip. Hair the color of sunset flew in every direction as she tried to twist and buck, but try as she might she couldn’t throw him off.
Chest heaving with the force of her exertion, she glared up at him out of flashing green eyes and snapped her teeth, a fierce little wolf with her paw in a trap. Grant just grinned.
“Caught you,” he said smugly, his face inches from hers. Nine long months he’d been waiting for this moment, and now that it was finally here...all he wanted to do was kiss her.
So he did.
She hissed in outrage when his tongue swept into the hot, sweet cavern of her mouth. He waited for her to retaliate - a bloody lip was no less than he deserved for his bold advances - but instead of biting she moaned, and the tiny sound of surrender was his undoing.
How he’d longed to taste her again! To breathe in her delicate feminine scent and feel her lush curves pressed against him. It was all he’d thought about. All he’d dreamed out. Taking her mouth with a bruising passion that left them both gasping, he poured all of his considerable lust and frustration into the kiss. She bucked her hips again, but this time she wasn’t trying to get away and it was his turn to groan when she slipped her hand between them and stroked his swollen cock.
Releasing her wrists he tangled his hands in her hair, ruthlessly destroying what remained of her coiffure. They rolled once, twice across the dusty floor and she ended up beneath him once again, her nails biting into his shoulders.
She cried out when he ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her ear. Arched her spine when he nibbled a scorching path down the slender line of her neck. Rubbed herself shamelessly against him when he cupped her breasts through her dress and flicked his thumbs across her hard nipples. He yanked impatiently at her bodice, exposing one breast and immediately taking her rosy nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tight little bud, tugging and licking until she yanked down her bodice the rest of the way and desperately pulled his head to her other breast.
So many women tried to hide their desire behind a stoic façade or, worse yet, pretended to have none at all. Juliet had so much desire bundled into her curvy little body she was all but pulsing with it. He tasted it with every deep kiss, every teasing nibble, and every naughty lick.
After spending a considerable amount of time paying tribute to her lovely nipples, he rolled onto his side and took her mouth once again as his fingers began a slow, leisurely descent down towards the apex of her thighs. Her skirts proved a cumbersome barrier, but he could still feel her through them, all fiery heat and pulsing need. On a low, keening gasp pulled her dress up and let her legs fall open. With an approving growl he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her drawers, fingers toying her damp curls before he stroked a single fingertip down her swollen clit.
She cried out his name, the first time she’d ever called him anything but ‘runner’, and his cock jerked in response. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding in out between her lips in rhythm with the stroking of his finger.
He longed to bury his finger inside of her. To feel her muscles clench and stretch around him as he slid in one finger, then two. But she was so close to coming that it would have been cruel to delay her release for even another second, and so he used her clit to drive her to a fast, reckless orgasm that left her eyes glassy and her arms limp.
He was tempted to seek his own release. But then he shifted his weight and the floor groaned, a stark reminder of not only where they were, but who they were. And it wasn’t lovers.
She sat up when he did, her cheeks flush, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. Without looking at him she pulled up her bodice, pulled down her skirts. Scoured the dusty floorboards for the pins he’d pulled out and managed to twist her riotous curls into something that vaguely resembled a bun.
“Well,” she said, eyeing the iron manacles he’d unclipped from his belt as she’d been tidying herself up. “I don’t suppose this is the part where I toss a shilling your way and we bid each other good day.”
Shame at having failed in his duty as a runner heated the nape of Grant’s neck. He never should have kissed Juliet, let alone made her come. And yet in spite of his failure, he regretted nothing. How could he when every moment had been more glorious than the last?
But he did regret what was to come next.
“Hold out your right hand, Juliet.”
Eyeing the manacles as one might a venomous snake, she started to back up, but this time there was nowhere to run. “You cannot be serious!”
“Your right hand,” he repeated.
“I won’t run. I promise. You don’t need those.” She looked down at the manacles with obvious loathing. “Truly.”
The lie was so blatant he didn’t bother to dignify it with a response. Taking her hand when it became clear she wouldn’t give it of her own violation, he carefully snapped the cuff into place before putting the other manacle onto his own wrist. They were now linked together by a short iron chain that was just long enough for them to walk sid
e by side.
Keeping a hand on her elbow, he led her back out into the hallway and down the narrow flight of stairs. To his pleasant surprise she didn’t try to fight him but rather walked along docilely, the epitome of a model prisoner.
At least until they reached Bow Street.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting back behind a low wrought iron fence with flower boxes in the windows and green shrubs lining the walkway, the narrow three-story brick house certainly didn’t appear intimidating. Unless one knew what awaited them on the other side of the dark red door.
“Come on,” Grant instructed gruffly when Juliet hesitated at the gate, the heels of her delicate kid slippers digging into the pavement. Like a cat about to be thrown into a bucket of water, every muscle in her body coiled taut as she stared up at the house. If she had fur on the back of her neck it would have been standing straight up, and when Grant took hold of her elbow she bared her teeth and hissed at him.
“I can do it myself!” Never let it be said that she turned into a sniveling coward when the cards were turned against her. Drawing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she sailed up the walkway as if she were a queen ascending her throne.
Grant easily kept pace beside her. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his eyes upon her. Mouth curling, she kept her gaze fixed on the front door. She would rather die than admit her body was still thrumming from the after effects of a pleasure so intense it had all but blinded her. If Grant could pretend they hadn’t just been writhing on the ground touching each other’s bodies and kissing one another senseless, then by God so could she.
Without any warning the door swung open and a runner stepped out, only to stop short at the sight of his second-in-command leading a small red-haired lass with daggers in her eyes and a sneer on her lips.
“Hargrave,” said the runner, a tall, broad-shouldered man with hair the color of wheat and brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. “I thought you were off for the rest of the afternoon.”
A Dangerous Affair (Bow Street Brides Book 3) Page 17
