by Danice Allen
Amanda would have been surprised to learn that obtaining Julian as her sister’s one and only teacher was what Sam had intended and connived for all along. She’d been purposely stupid and incorrigible with the tutors Amanda had hired, holding out for the only person whose opinion truly mattered as far as she was concerned. But Amanda did not suspect, nor did anyone else, that Sam not only cared for Julian’s opinion … she cared for Julian, too.
Desperately.
In fact, Sam fully intended that her unsuspecting brother-in-law, the man who made her knees go weak and her heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings the minute he entered the room, would be the husband everyone was so eager for her shackle.
Because of being kept virtually a prisoner on remote Thorney Island off the West Sussex coast, as per her father, Simon Darlington’s orders, and for the first seventeen years of her life dressing and behaving like a wild boy, Sam’s knowledge of the world was woefully limited. And the only men she’d met were Jack, Julian, and the servants at Darlington Hall and now Montgomery Manor, but Sam knew instinctively that there was no one on the earth more to her taste than Julian Montgomery.
Inside the chapel, Julian guided Sam to a pew. The candles were still lit from the ceremony, and the air was redolent with the scent of melting wax, flowers, and garlands of scottish fir. They sat down and Julian let go of her hand, then tilted her chin with the touch of his forefinger. “Now tell me what’s really troubling you, Sam,” he ordered.
“What makes you so sure somethin’s botherin’ me?” she mumbled.
“First off, you’re crying. You never cry. I know how you disdain what you perceive as a weakness, and I can only conclude that something really bothersome has brought on this torrent of tears.”
“It ain’t no torrent of tears, Julian,” she retorted. “I just weeped a little weep, that’s all,” she added sulkily.
“I see,” Julian replied thoughtfully, his penetrating blue eyes keeping relentless track of every fleeting expression on her face. The way he watched her and—nine times out of the ten—managed to read her thoughts and feelings, gave Sam goose-flesh. It was not, however, an unpleasant sensation…
“So what brought on this ‘little weep’?” he asked. “Could it possibly be because your sister has gone off on a honeymoon and won’t be back till the spring?”
Sam clenched her jaw, willing away the fresh wave of sadness and fear that washed over her.
“She hasn’t deserted you, you know,” Julian said gently.
Sam turned startled eyes to his. “I’m not—”
“Don’t try to tell me you’re not worried,” he advised her. “I won’t believe you.”
Sam swallowed back a lump of raw emotion and impatiently dashed away new tears. “I’m no idiot, neither. I know she’s just goin’ on a honeymoon. I know she’ll be back.”
“Do you?” he inquired coolly. “I know she’ll be back. But since your mother died giving you birth, your sanctimonious father banished you from his life to an isolated island so that no one would know he’d ‘sinned,’ and even your caretaker deserted you when the money quit coming after your father died … isn’t it possible, Sam, that Amanda’s going away frightens you?”
“You don’t beat about the bush, do you?” Sam gave a huff of breath that was half exasperation, half relief. “All right,” she admitted crankily. “So maybe I am a little nervous about Amanda’s goin’ away. My head says she’ll be back”—she touched a hand to her head, then to her heart—“but in here, I’ve got a squeezed feelin’.”
Julian smiled, and Sam couldn’t help but smile back. Genuine smiles from Julian were rare, and they always made Sam feel like she was basking in sunshine.
“A squeezed feeling, you say? Well, what do you suppose we could do to relieve you of that particular disorder of the heart? Will a chocolate bonbon do?”
Sam’s brows knitted in a frown. “A chocolate bonbon? Julian, you treat me like a child! There’s a big difference between a skinned knee and a troubled heart, y’ know!”
“I understand the difference in. maladies, brat,” Julian replied. “But, after all, you are a child. I’m nearly twice your age and was already a fully grown adult when you were born.”
This was just the sort of talk that raised Sam’s hackles. “If I’m such a child, why are you and Amanda so bent on findin’ me a husband in the spring?” she asked testily.
“By the spring, I shall have turned you into a woman, Samantha. A lovely, accomplished woman.” He eyed her critically. “The transformation won’t be overnight, of course. You will consider me a harsh taskmaster at times, but I hope we’ll still be friends when the season finally comes round. The task is rather daunting, I grant you,” he added wryly, flicking her cheek. “But not beyond my powers.”
“Why do I need a bloody husband?” Sam demanded to know, goaded by his patronizing attitude into cursing. “Priss and Nan don’t have husbands.”
“Watch your tongue, brat,” Julian reprimanded, then continued in a lecturing tone. “Marriage will guarantee you a secure home and unquestioned respectability. Amanda and Jack and the aunts and I only want you to be happy.”
“Will marriage make me happy, Julian?” Sam crossed her arms and stared hard at her mentor. “Will it?”
Julian frowned down at his troubled, troublesome student. Her blue-gray eyes were narrowed. She held her chin at a belligerent angle, and her soft, pink lips had thinned to a grim line. But with a wayward golden curl bobbing over her smooth white forehead, she looked like nothing so much as a peeved cherub. It was hardly an intimidating picture. In fact, it rather tickled Julian’s fancy when she got all puffed up like a pigeon guarding her nest.
“Well, Julian?” she demanded. “Don’t I deserve to be happy?”
“If anyone does, you certainly do, Sam,” Julian admitted. “But, unfortunately, no one is guaranteed happiness in marriage. Security and respectability, yes … if one marries wisely. But happiness…” He debated about how honest to be with her. Finally he sighed and said, “Happiness in marriage is rather a matter of chance, I should think.”
She looked incredulous. “Are you sayin’ that marriage is a gamble?”
Julian gave a rueful smile and countered her question with another. “Why do you suppose I’m still a bachelor? I’m not a gaming man, Sam.”
“But if a man and a woman love each other more than anyone else in the whole world, why wouldn’t they be happy?” Sam persisted.
Julian was charmed by Sam’s naïveté, but saddened by it, too. “Such love is rare, Sam. Your sister and my brother found it, but they’re exceptions to the rule. Most people who marry aren’t in love. They marry for different reasons altogether … usually worthy enough reasons, you understand. Generally, one can only hope to find a certain compatibility in a marriage partner, mutual respect, and sometimes friendship.”
Sam clutched Julian’s arm. “Oh, but that’s not enough! I want to love my husband madly, Julian! And I want him to feel the same way about me.”
Julian was silenced.
“Julian, you’re not saying anything.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ll tell you what to say,” she began, her expression earnest, almost fervent. “You can promise me something. You can promise me that you … and Jack and Amanda and the aunts … won’t make me marry a man I don’t love!”
“Well, I certainly won’t force—”
“Or a man that doesn’t love me as much as I love him!”
“But Sam, in finding a life’s mate there are many other considerations to take into account—”
“Promise me, Julian. Promise me that the man I marry will be the right man, the one and only man for me, the man who will make me the happiest woman on earth!”
Julian was only too aware that keeping such a promise would be far more difficult and carried far more responsibility than turning a rough-cut jewel like Sam into a diamond of the first water. But with
her eyes fixed on him so imploringly, the lashes still wet and spiked from her recent crying, he didn’t have the heart to refuse.
He heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I promise, Sam.”
She glowed with happiness and trust, and Julian knew at that moment that he’d taken on much more than he’d initially bargained for … much more than was prudent.
“Now what about that bonbon, Julian?” she reminded him.
He rose and tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow. “I don’t see why not,” he conceded. “But let’s turn this treat into a lesson. There’s a proper way to eat chocolates, Sam, and it’s one of the many things you must learn before April.”
Sam skipped alongside Julian, her worries seemingly forgotten. “I certainly hope there will be a few fun things I can do that won’t have to be done ‘properly,’ ” she complained with a saucy grin.
“There will be,” he assured her.
She squeezed his arm. “Promise me, Julian.”
He laughed. “I promise, brat.”
Chapter One
Montgomery Town House
Queens Square
London, England
April 1817
“Chin up! Shoulders back!”
Samantha lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders into proper alignment with her hips. While Priss and Nan watched nervously from the sidelines, Julian slowly circled her, inspecting through his quizzing glass every detail of her person. To her credit, Sam held her head high and withstood his scrutiny without batting a lash.
The gown was perfect. It was traditional white, and demure enough to satisfy the stiff-rumped matrons who would attend Sam’s coming-out ball, but the cut showed off her figure to great advantage and was guaranteed to capture the interest of any red-blooded buck who happened to glance her way. Having overseen the design of the gown himself, Julian had made sure that the modiste had used a modicum of ruffles and furbelows. The simpler the better was Julian’s opinion. Better to see the girl instead of the dress … unless, of course, the girl was nothing to look at.
This was not the case with Samantha. From top to toe she was perfection … he’d seen to that. And though Julian couldn’t take credit for what nature had endowed her, he could certainly congratulate himself for showing off her natural charms in the most effective and tasteful manner possible.
Sam’s charms were considerable. She was of medium height and lithe, with a tiny waist and small, high breasts. Her shoulders were gracefully sloped, her neck was long and slender, and her face was heart-shaped and delicately featured. She had enormous long-lashed blue eyes and a crop of blond curls—cut daringly short in a gamine style—that was sure to be noticed and admired.
Looking closely for any slight defect, Julian was satisfied that her appearance was everything it should be. But now, half an hour before the first guests were to arrive at Sam’s coming-out ball, he had to make certain that she was prepared in every other way to take London society by storm.
He ended his inspection, tucked away his quizzing glass, and positioned himself in front of her, peering down his aquiline nose. He clasped his hands behind his back and spread his legs slightly in a military pose. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her gaze steady and serious and understandably apprehensive.
“How would you address Lady Jersey should she deign to speak to you?” he suddenly barked, making the aunts jump.
“I would address her as ‘Madam’ or ‘Lady Jersey,’ ” Sam promptly replied with a slight quiver in her voice. “Never ‘My Lady’ or ‘Your Ladyship.’ ”
“Because?”
“Because that is how the servants address her.”
“Who is the current president of the United States?”
“Mr. James Madison,” she answered loud and clear, the quiver gone as she rallied her courage.
“When using a finger bowl, do you dip the fingers of both hands in at once, or only one hand at a time?”
“Only one hand at a time.” She paused, then grinned. “And I must never use it to bathe my face or feet.”
Priss and Nan chuckled, but Julian raised an imperious brow and Sam and the aunts abruptly sobered.
“How many glasses of wine are you allowed with dessert?”
“Only one. And I must sip it with delicacy and moderation.”
“Are you allowed to curse?” he asked, then added in a beleaguered murmur, “A habit which has been the very devil to cure you of.”
“No, I mustn’t curse.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Not under any provocation.”
“What will you say if someone asks you about your parents?”
“Simply that they are aunt and uncle to Amanda and they died several years ago in Cumbria. My father was a rector.”
He nodded. “Very well. Now … let’s see.” His gaze drifted upward, seeming to search the ceiling for inspiration. Then his head lowered abruptly and his eyes narrowed. “Miss Darlington, do you approve of Lord Byron?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes.”
“Incorrect, Sam,” Julian snapped. “When discussing the poet in polite society, you cannot approve of Byron. He is a profligate.”
Sam pouted. “But I do like his work. The Prisoner of Chillon was inspired. Besides, polite society is hypocritical, Julian. Many of them are profligates, too.”
“Of course they are, but that is beside the point. Now on to the next question. How often should you use a French phrase?”
“Frequently. But only if I am perfectly sure it applies to the situation or I would be committing a faux pas.” She raised her brows inquiringly. “N’estce pas?”
He nodded perfunctorily. “Oui. Well done, Sam. Très bien.”
Sam risked a small, satisfied smile, which escaped Julian completely because he had begun to pace the floor and thoughtfully stroke his chin. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Priss and Nan. Caught unaware, they snapped to attention.
“Her sewing … has it improved?”
“Tremendously, Julian,” Nan said, nodding eagerly, the little lace cap she wore on top of her snowy white hair bobbing up and down as she moved to pick up a pillow from the sofa. She held it up for him to see. “She made this cover. Isn’t it delightful?”
Julian gave the hodgepodge of colorful flowers and birds of paradise a cursory once-over, then barked, “What about her painting?”
Priss rushed to an easel standing near the window and came back with a canvas splashed with watercolors. “It’s called Kitten in the Ric-Rac Fern. Nan and I thought it rather clever. Isn’t it clever, Julian?”
Julian’s brows knitted as he stared at the painting. He took out his quizzing glass to better inspect it, then sniffed and said in a dampening tone, “It will do. And her playing of the pianoforte and singing?”
Nan and Priss glanced uncomfortably at each other, then shrugged helplessly.
“We can only hope no one asks her to perform,” Priss admitted.
“However, she speaks beautifully now,” Nan pointed out, trying to look on the bright side. “Quite like the lady she was born to be!”
“I only had three months to learn to sing and play on the pianoforte,” Sam quickly added. “Considering that, Julian, I don’t think my singing and playing are too awfully bad!”
“Nor too awfully good,” Julian retorted. “She rides well and she dances excellently,” he continued, ignoring Sam’s piqued look. “We can only hope she dances just as well with other partners besides myself.”
“You are an exceptional dancer, Julian,” Priss said with a fond smile. “I’m sure you make all your partners look as though they’re dancing on air.”
“Don’t flatter him, Aunt Prissy,” Sam said, crossing her arms. “He’s already insufferably sure of himself.”
And for good reason, she reluctantly admitted to herself. She stood in the middle of the tastefully appointed drawing room, waiting for Julian’s reaction to her teasing remark. Predictably he disappointed her by showing no reaction whatsoever. She’d never met any
one with more self-control or reserve.
For the past three months Sam had spent the greater part of every day in Julian’s company … and she was more in love with him than ever. But she couldn’t say that familiarity had diminished her awe of him. She stared at his imposing figure standing out in stark contrast against the velvet drapes that hung in golden folds at the window behind him. She wanted to make this man proud of her. She wanted his approval more than she wanted her soul’s salvation. But she wondered … was it truly possible to impress such a paragon?
Tonight Julian was dressed elegantly and properly from top to toe in black. Not a speck of lint marred his superfine jacket and sleek, muscle-hugging knee breeches. Not a scuff dulled the mirrorlike shine of his patent slippers. Not a hint of dust dulled the glitter of his golden fob and diamond stickpin. Not a suggestion of a wrinkle ruined the artful arrangement of his brilliantly white cravat.
And not a flicker of emotion passed over his patrician features … But Sam knew Julian had emotions, deep and abiding ones, and she was determined to be the woman who brought them to the surface.
Her emotions were certainly at surface level these days. Besides being nervous about the ball that was to start in a matter of moments, where all the skills she’d learned over the past three months would be put to the test, she was missing Amanda.
“She couldn’t help it, you know.”
Sam startled. She stared into Julian’s penetrating gaze. He’d read her thoughts again, but she wasn’t about to admit that fact. She’d just be stroking his aristocratic ego, and the aunts already did plenty of that. “What are you talking about, Julian?” she said, pretending to be smoothing a wrinkle out of her skirt.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said succinctly. “You’re missing your sister … and I don’t blame you. However, I hope you understand that she had a very good reason for absenting herself from London at this time.”
The emotions Sam had been trying to keep under control broke to the surface. “I don’t know why Jack had to get her pregnant so fast … and on their honeymoon, too, when they’re supposed to be having fun!” she burst out.
