by Maya Rodale
She idly unbuttoned her spencer, probably to keep the wet garment from clinging to her gown, and not to entice him, but for a moment he lost the direction of his thoughts.
“I would very much like to live and die a bachelor. However, circumstances dictate that I cannot. And I swear, Lady Somerset, if you tell anyone what I am about to tell—against all better judgment—I will do whatever I can to destroy the dregs of your reputation.”
She visibly perked up at that. Her lips parted and her eyes sparkled. The woman did love gossip.
He purposely waited for a minute, and then another, until she was practically panting to hear his secrets. She began to fidget with the fabric of her skirts. He took pleasure in her impatience.
“I must marry within three days or else I shall be destitute. It’s my father’s devious plan to get his one and only son to settle down and produce an heir,” he explained. In his month to find a wife, he was down to the end of the last week. Should he be so lucky as to have this bitter but beautiful auburn-haired widow say yes, a special license would certainly be in order.
“It’s brilliant on his part,” she said thoughtfully. “I had no idea the Earl of Carlyle was so devious and desperate for his son to settle down.”
“It’s evil,” Roxbury said firmly.
“It’s out of the question now, isn’t it? I do see how my column has made this a challenge for you,” she said. He exhaled slowly, surprised by the relief from her acknowledgment.
“However,” she continued, “I’m sure there is some deaf and illiterate chambermaid who hasn’t heard of your new reputation and would fancy being a countess.”
“It must be a woman of proper birth,” he said flatly.
“Well, now, that’s a bit more tricky,” she replied.
“It’s damn near impossible. I can’t even get in the door of any passably attractive female. My choices are a lifetime of poverty or shackling myself to whosoever left in town will take me,” Roxbury said.
“There is always Lady Hortensia Reeves,” Julianna suggested.
“Indeed. However, I’m thinking of someone else.”
“She must be desperate,” she mused. “Completely and utterly destitute and desperate.”
“Like you?” he asked, forcing the words to sound light and suggestive and not accusative. Strangely, his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. There was no reason to be nervous, he told himself—except that everything depended upon her, in this moment.
“You are not suggesting what I think you are,” she said with a little laugh. She had a pretty laugh, he noticed for the first time. It seemed she rarely laughed, and that she ought to more often.
“Earlier in this carriage ride I proposed a toast to ruining each other’s lives. I have done so to yours, and you have mine.”
“All right, Roxbury. Cheers to that,” she said, and they clinked their bottles of brandy together. Her sip was ladylike, his was not. The quick flash of a heated gaze between them was anything but proper.
“But now, Julianna—”
“It’s Lady Somerset to you,” she said. Could he really stand to live with such a contrary woman? Could he afford not to?
Julianna would never bore him—she might drive him so insane that he’d be carted off to Bedlam, but life with her wouldn’t be dull. The same could not be said of Lady Hortensia Reeves.
He had a feeling, too, that Edward would have approved of a spitfire like Julianna.
“Since I am about to propose marriage, Julianna, I think I’ll use your given name,” he replied.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock—for once, the lady was speechless. He smiled and savored the moment.
“As I was saying, my dear, maddening, beautiful, terrifying Julianna. We have ruined each other’s lives, but we can also set them to rights. Before you refuse me or declare me mad, hear me out . . .”
She opened her mouth, and again she was speechless. He rushed on before she could find her words.
“If we were to marry, I would be assured of my fortune. It would repair my reputation.”
“A top consideration for me,” she remarked.
“If we were to marry, your reputation would also be restored. You would be a married peeress. One day you’ll be a countess. Of course, you would also be provided for.”
She appeared thoughtful as he explained this strange bargain. Except that it wasn’t that unusual at all—the circumstances were different, but deals like these were made in drawing rooms every day. He, a great lover of women, was proposing a marriage of convenience.
“And if I could fix my reputation, I could get my column back,” she added, after thinking about it.
“If that’s what you’d want,” he answered. It might be problematic to live with a gossip columnist, but that was a consideration for another day.
“It is,” Julianna answered firmly. Her chin lifted high and her mouth set in a firm line.
“So you see that everyone wins if we are to marry,” he said carefully.
“And the matter of those heirs you mentioned?” she questioned. He was relieved she asked about that—it meant she was considering it. He suspected that her considerations were different than his—more clothing involved, most likely.
“I have many cousins,” he answered.
Julianna nodded thoughtfully, and then turned to look out the window. Was she considering it? She must be. Why was his heart pounding, as he waited for her answer? And what was there really to think about? Everybody would win with this marriage.
Roxbury deliberately was not thinking past the wedding, other than to consider the money and the restoration of their social status. In the vague images of married life, he pictured them attending parties together and perhaps waltzing a time or two, but otherwise keeping to themselves. What did married people do, anyway?
He’d only ever had lovers, and they were usually confined to the nighttime, with exceptions made for a few in the morning or late afternoon. He knew all about bedding, but knew nothing about building a life with someone.
Roxbury was afraid that she—who had already been married—was considering the day-to-day life of a gossip columnist living with a rake, when neither of them cared very much for the other. Any affair of his wouldn’t be secret for long, and given her gun-wielding ways, his first affair as a married man would likely be his last.
This marriage had all the makings of a disaster; that much was clear as day to anyone, even him.
What was she thinking? He longed to know with an intensity that surprised him. Julianna’s silence was rare; lovely as it was, there was something comforting about how she always said exactly what she thought, so he always knew where he stood with her.
Julianna’s brow was slightly furrowed, and she nibbled on her lower lip. It was probably an unconscious act, and he found it decidedly erotic.
If they were to marry . . .
Roxbury forced himself to focus on their future, and how it was in her hands—small, feminine gloved hands that grasped and released fistfuls of her red dress.
He waited as patiently as he could when his fate hung in the balance, and all depended upon the heart and mind of a most vexing woman. The temptation to down the entire bottle of brandy was great, so he put it away. This was not the time to get sodding drunk. He’d wait until after her reply. Whether yes or no, a drink would definitely be in order.
Finally, as the carriage pulled to a stop before 24 Bloomsbury Place, she spoke. Her voice was smooth like velvet as it shredded his hopes to nothing.
“Thank you for your offer, Roxbury. But the answer is no.”
Chapter 29
24 Bloomsbury Place
Sophie had married and moved out months ago, and Julianna had never felt the loneliness of her absence as she did now. If she were here, they would curl up on the settee with a pot of tea and Julianna could rail against Roxbury, and all the problems he caused. Sophie would offer some insight and make her laugh.
“You would not b
elieve the day I’ve had, Penny,” Julianna said to her maid, hoping to engage her in a conversation. Fired by Knightly, and proposed to by Roxbury! Quite an unexpected turn of events, and Julianna needed to tell someone to make it real.
“I’ll draw a hot bath,” Penny answered efficiently, eyeing Julianna’s wet hair and soaking garments. “There is tea in the drawing room.”
Julianna poured a cup of hot tea, added sugar, and settled in. If only Sophie were here! But she was across town, snug and cozy in Hamilton House (as much as one could be, given the size of the place). It wouldn’t be long before she and Brandon had a brood of children and then Sophie would have even less time for Julianna and the other Writing Girls.
Julianna, however, lived alone. No husband or suitors—no serious ones, anyway. Roxbury was a desperate fool and did not count. The Writing Girls were true friends, but everyone else had turned their backs on her at the first hint of scandal. Aye, it was a bitter taste of her own medicine. She didn’t want to complain, for that wasn’t in her nature, but the fact remained that she was lonely and alone. In the far recesses of her heart and mind, she thought she might deserve it, given her line of work.
If she said yes . . .
She sighed, wishing for any distraction from her thoughts, but it was impossible not to think of Knightly’s betrayal and Roxbury’s proposal.
Your services are no longer needed, Knightly had told her plainly. The cold-blooded, logical part of her could understand it, but oh! It made her heart hurt. Her pride had suffered a mighty blow today. She was a Writing Girl! She was blazing a trail for history to follow. Julianna knew the satisfaction of putting a roof over her head and food in her belly. She knew, deeply, the satisfaction of being her own mistress, her own protector.
Knightly gave and Knightly took away. She thought—hoped—that he might be more supportive of the women who made his paper such a success. And now how was she supposed to pay for said roof and food?
If she said yes . . .
She stood and took a turn about the room. When Sophie lived here, every available surface was covered with an explosion of female things: hair ribbons, Minerva Press novels, shoes, earbobs, issues of La Belle Assemblée and The London Weekly, invitations, letters, and little trinkets.
Now the surfaces were clear. Now one could see the room itself—the blue-and-white-striped upholstered chair next to the black-and-white etoile chair. The walls were pale blue, and the curtains were always tied back so Julianna might spy upon the neighbors.
If she said yes . . .
It would solve all of their problems, wouldn’t it? A marriage certificate and a little time did go a long way toward soothing any social crisis. Even Sophie and Brandon, who had quite possibly the most scandalous marriage and wedding ceremony in recent history were welcomed everywhere. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the man in question was a double duke.
Roxbury was a viscount, and would inherit an earldom. That had to count for something, she thought, as she took another turn about the room, with a long pause before the fireplace.
Yes, marriage and a title and a little time could change things significantly, but it couldn’t change everything. Old dogs didn’t learn new tricks, and tigers didn’t change their stripes and everyone knew it was foolhardy to attempt to change a man.
Perhaps another woman might be able to accomplish such a herculean feat, but Julianna had already tried and failed at that particular challenge.
Julianna remembered a particular afternoon just a few months ago, in which she gossiped with Sophie about a rumor she’d heard and subsequently printed. It was about Roxbury carrying on an affair with two mortal enemies simultaneously—they were the best of friends now, of course. Two women at once—and that was just what was known. Lord only knew what he really did get up to in the dark of the night. Or perhaps, she thought, still pacing, it was better if the Lord did not know.
Roxbury loved women—many women. The thought of Roxbury remaining faithful to her was ludicrous. In the marriage he had proposed—one purely of convenience that would likely outlive its need—she could not reasonably expect his fidelity, especially if she would not go to his bed.
Or perhaps she would.
She was hotly, wildly attracted to him. She relived that moonlit kiss more often than was seemly. She could join the legions of Roxbury’s women—loved quickly, intensely, and then forgotten. Which would be one thing if she weren’t bound to him for life.
Julianna ceased her pacing and returned to the settee, collapsing upon it and pulling a pillow to her chest. Oh, Somerset, she thought.
Somehow, this was his fault. If he hadn’t swept her off her feet when she was just seventeen. If he hadn’t gone and made her fall in love with him. If he hadn’t fallen in love with her! If she’d only been enough for him so that he wouldn’t need to satiate his desires with all manner of questionable women.
Penny knocked upon the drawing room door. “Ma’am, your bath is ready.”
As she was passing through the foyer, Julianna noticed that there was no post awaiting her. Not even an offer of a suppression fee (as if she could afford it) or even a missive from her mother.
A short while later, she sank into a steaming bath. Outside, the rain was as cold, wet and relentless as ever.
It was inevitable that her thoughts would turn to Roxbury.
His offer was shocking. Gentlemanly, in an odd way, when so little about him was. His kiss was not that of a gentleman, oh no. She could still taste him—like brandy, anger, adventure, and passion. She could still smell the hothouse flowers and see the silver light of the moon.
Such an unexpected, passionate encounter contrasted sharply with the marriage proposal that was nothing more than a business transaction. It made a measure of sense—except that her heart rebelled and her stomach ached at the thought. Like how she felt on the dueling field. As if he might be lost to her.
But what did she care if she lost him? Or did her heart know something her head did not?
Roxbury was handsome. Charming. Wealthy. He had an immeasurable talent for kissing. He was insufferable and infuriating, but he definitely was not dull.
That kiss . . .
Oh, it was too dangerous! Heartbreak was too likely. He’d likely tire of her, and would turn to other women, and it would be like being married to Somerset all over again.
She could not foresee a happy marriage with him, yet the alternative seemed bleak, too. Sophie would naturally provide for her, but she didn’t want to be the poor auntie living on charity for the rest of her days.
Upon the demise of her first marriage, Julianna turned to writing. She wrote for money. She wrote for her dignity. She wrote to keep a roof over her head, to feed her belly, and fire up her soul. She wrote to pay for her late husband’s indiscretions. She wrote so that she would be beholden to no one.
She wanted to be The London Weekly’s Lady of Distinction. But would she become Lady Roxbury to do so?
PART II
The Gentleman’s Wife
Chapter 30
St. Bride’s Church
The first time Julianna married, it had been for love. The second time, she married for money, security, and a desperate attempt to salvage her reputation. In short, all the typical reasons a member of the ton betrothed themselves. She was not hopeless, but she wasn’t exactly optimistic, either.
“Are you certain of this?” Sophie asked. They were waiting in a small room off the main room of St. Bride’s Church. Julianna had wanted to wear a dove gray gown, the color of half morning but Sophie talked her out of it, saying that if the new couple could pass themselves off as a love match, they might have a chance at a quicker welcome from society.
Thus, Julianna wore a fawn-colored silk gown from Madame Auteuil’s. It set off her auburn hair and green eyes rather nicely, she thought. Her bonnet had a veil of white lace; a stark contrast to the veil of black net that had covered her face that evening at Drury Lane when this whole debacle began.
&
nbsp; “Of course I’m not certain of this,” Julianna replied, in her typically forthright manner. How on earth could she be certain of marriage to a man whose sole aim in life had been to live and die a wealthy bachelor?
“You needn’t go through with this. You’re always welcome with us,” Sophie offered. “Lord knows we have the space.”
They exchanged faint smiles. Hamilton House was the size of a small village.
“Thank you,” Julianna answered. Knowing she had a refuge of last resort meant the world to her, but Julianna was the kind of woman who, for better or worse, needed a challenge. Eloping at seventeen. Moving to London. Staying in London as a single woman, and writing. Aye, she couldn’t fall back on the convenience of a room with her friend. Besides, Sophie deserved a home and husband and a family of her own—without her widowed, penniless friend moping through the endless expanse of marble-floored halls.
“Besides,” Julianna continued, “as Roxbury’s wife, I shall have infinite opportunities to make him regret ruining my reputation.”
“Or will he regret salvaging it?” Sophie asked with a lift of her eyebrow.
“He gets something out of this, too,” Julianna added, as she smoothed her skirts and adjusted her veil.
“Yes. You!”
“Among other things, yes,” she said. He got his fortune and put an end to those rumors. She got her reputation back, and security, until she got her column back.
In the end, that was why she had written to him saying, “Very well, I accept.” Because it was her best shot at getting what she truly wanted—her column, and the sense of independence that she craved.
“Roxbury’s not a bad man. And he’s not like Somerset,” Sophie said.
“How do you know it won’t be the same thing all over again?” Julianna asked.
With Sophie she didn’t have to explain anything, from the heartache of being left by one’s love, to the terror of walking down the aisle, she just knew.
“They are two very different men, and you are not the same girl you were at seventeen. And if my so good and so proper husband has been friends with Roxbury for over a decade, he can’t be completely irredeemable.”
