The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Julian poured a glass of brandy and swallowed it quickly, then hurried to the door. Haste was not his style, certainly, but today he had no choice. In essence, he had allowed his preoccupation with Sam’s transformation and subsequent launch into society make him forget his own needs.

  Now how had a sprig of a girl like Sam accomplished that? Bloody Hell!

  Chapter Four

  Although appearing outwardly plain and respectable, Isabelle’s house was a veritable sensory delight from the moment one stepped over the threshold. As Julian peeled his gloves and handed them to the surprised butler, his senses were virtually attacked at the most elemental level.

  The soft lighting and plush, polished furnishings, even in the hall, were designed to evoke a sensual mood. Exotic plants and scented candles added to the allure. All this, and Julian wasn’t even expected … hadn’t, in fact, been there in three months. But then Isabelle had always been his most prepared mistress, always ready for him, always eager to please.

  “It’s good to see you, my lord … if I may be so bold,” the butler said with a respectful smile.

  “Certainly, Powell,” Julian replied amiably, although a little impatiently. After all, he was in a hurry. “Is your mistress at home?”

  “Yes, my lord. She’s in her bedchamber. Shall I send word that you’ve arrived or will you—?”

  “I’ll go up myself, Powell. Thank you,” he added, dismissing the servant with a nod. It was impossible not to notice the relief on the butler’s face. Julian’s relationship with Isabelle—the continuance or the demise thereof—would directly affect Powell’s job. Certainly Isabelle would have no trouble finding another protector, but perhaps he wouldn’t be as generous as Julian had been in paying the help.

  Powell discreetly disappeared, and Julian quickly climbed the stairs to the first floor. The door to Isabelle’s boudoir was ajar, and the hinges were apparently well oiled because she didn’t hear him enter the room. Observing her while she was unaware of his presence, Julian was struck again by her beauty. She couldn’t have looked more alluring had the visit been scheduled. She was curled up on a red brocade silk divan, eating an apple and reading a book. She was dressed in a matching red silk dressing gown, was barefoot, and her long black hair fell about her shoulders in wanton, but calculated, disarray.

  “As tempting as Eve,” he murmured.

  Isabelle looked up, surprise and pleasure dawning on her face. Then, no doubt remembering that she’d been neglected for three months, she reassembled her features into an offended expression. She set down the book on a nearby table and crossed her arms, saying in a stilted tone, “So it’s you at last, Julian. To what do I owe the pleasure of this most unexpected visit?”

  Julian shut the door behind him and advanced. “Cut line, my girl,” he drawled, smiling crookedly. “You have a right to be a bit miffed by my prolonged absence, but I’m in no mood for, nor do I wish to spend the short time I have, in explanations. Perhaps another time … And don’t tell me you aren’t glad to see me.”

  Isabelle pouted, unwilling at first to relent so easily. But when Julian shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on a nearby chair, then untied his cravat and started unbuttoning his shirt, her face flushed, her eyes grew luminous, and her lips parted in a soft pant of expectation.

  “Julian, I am happy to see you,” she admitted breathlessly, then she held out her arms in welcome.

  Wondering at the strange and unaccountable reluctance that suddenly came over him, but determined to make up for the last three months for Isabelle’s sake as well as his, Julian shook off his hesitancy and went to her.

  The parade of carriages and elegantly outfitted riders in Hyde Park during the fashionable hours, between four and six, was an amazing sight indeed. Sam couldn’t see the trees and the flowers for the people, but they were every bit as grand and colorful as anything Mother Nature could create. There were debutantes and dandies dressed in pastels, gentlemen in dashing riding gear with tall, tasseled boots and hats set at rakish angles on their heads, and dowagers and grand ladies of the ton carrying frilly parasols to shield their delicate skin from the sun.

  It was a beautiful afternoon and Sam was determined to enjoy it despite the fact that her whole world had recently been turned upside down. She was trying very hard not to let the news that her mother was still alive distract her from her plan for a lifetime of happiness with Julian. However, she couldn’t help but look at all the fancy ladies in their carriages and wonder if one of them was her mother.

  But that was a hurtful thought, and Sam would rather think of Julian. She could swear he’d been fighting an attraction to her when he carried her upstairs that afternoon, and that was much more important to her than searching for a mother who had abandoned her. Her mother was her past; Julian was her present and future.

  Julian, however, had left the house that afternoon after depositing her in her bedchamber in the care of Priss and Nan, and returned in a taciturn mood … which had not changed despite the lovely weather and the many people who attempted to engage him in conversation at the park. Sam wondered if his errand had had something to do with finding out about her mother.

  At any rate, Julian was brooding and silent. She hoped it might be because of her, because he’d wanted to kiss her and hadn’t—for some altogether stupid reason like she was too young. Such senseless self-denial would make anyone a little cranky. If such was the source of his somber mood, Sam was glad, even though sitting beside him in his open barouche was rather like sitting beside a statue whose noble features had been carved into a permanent frown. But then she supposed it did not help his bad temper to be sharing the vehicle with Clara and all three puppies.

  Carriages were everywhere, and while everyone was either in an elegant equipage or on a horse, no one seemed to be moving. Phaetons and cabriolets stopped alongside other vehicles so the occupants could chat, and gentlemen on horseback went from carriage to carriage paying their respects … mostly to the newest and fairest females in town for the Season. Sam was most gratified to enjoy a great many visitors to their chaise, despite Julian’s silent and forbidding presence.

  Having just bid two gentlemen good afternoon, Sam was delighted to see Ninian ride up to their carriage. “By Jove, you’ve brought my dog!” he exclaimed happily when he saw the corgi sitting on the seat beside Clara, panting excitedly but behaving with true British decorum.

  “Yes, George—as I’ve decided to call him—is the best behaved of the three,” Sam said with a smile. “As you can see, I’ve got them all on leading strings and have brought my abigail, Clara, along to play puppy-nurse, but George hasn’t needed scolding once. He does just as he’s told and doesn’t bark at the horses.”

  “Unlike the American’s mutt,” Ninian observed smugly as Madison yapped furiously at his horse and strained at his leash. “Breeding will always tell.”

  “Not always,” Julian drawled, peering from under the rim of his hat at Ninian. “Where are your manners, sir?”

  Ninian blushed. “Sorry, Lord Serling. Meant to say ‘how d’ do,’ but got distracted.”

  Julian had no chance to answer before Jean-Luc rode up. “Bonjour, Miss Darlington, Lord Serling.” He respectfully tipped his hat at Julian, but his gaze turned immediately back to rest appreciatively on Sam. “And how does my French dog behave, Miss Darlington? Better than the American’s, obviously, but how does it fare against the English?”

  “How do the French always fare against the English?” Ninian said with a superior sniff. “Miss Darlington has just told me that George—named, no doubt, for our beloved King George—is the best behaved of the lot.”

  Jean-Luc placed his hand on his chest and intoned dramatically, “You smite me through the heart, Miss Darlington.” Then he smiled teasingly. “Do not say you favor the ugly English hound over my elegant poodle?”

  Sam laughed. “I really don’t have a favorite. I like all three of them.” She was holding the poodle in her lap, scratching it
behind the ears as its eyes drifted shut in canine ecstasy. “I must admit that Louie is the laziest of the three. He doesn’t even flinch when Madison goes into a barking frenzy, but simply likes to be held and petted and pampered. He acts rather bored most of the time.”

  “He has fastidious tastes, mademoiselle, and does not get excited over mundane occurrences,” Jean-Luc informed her with a sly wink. “Like me, Louie is an aristocrat.”

  “We don’t have aristocrats in the States,” came Nathan’s voice across the lawn as he approached the carriage on his high-spirited black stallion. “In America you decide who and what you want to be, then you work hard till you’ve attained your goal.”

  “In other words, any riffraff can be king,” Ninian said disdainfully.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Wentworth,” said Nathan. “Any riffraff can be president.” Then he took off his hat and bowed at the waist, grinning from ear to ear at Sam. “Good afternoon, Miss Darlington, Lord Serling.” His gaze shifted to Clara, who was trying to hold on to Madison. The mutt seemed determined to jump off the carriage seat and into Nathan’s arms. His eyes gleaming with enjoyment at the spectacle, Nathan said, “Give the little runt to me, miss. He remembers our roughhousin’ I suppose.”

  Blushing prettily, Clara stood up in the carriage and handed the pup to Nathan. Dressed in her usual uniform, minus the apron and mobcap, and with a straw bonnet tied demurely under her chin, Clara looked quite pretty, Sam thought. It was obvious that Nathan thought so, too.

  “What’s your name, miss?” he inquired, gazing steadily at Clara as she returned to her seat.

  Clara turned startled eyes to Sam, and then to Julian. She didn’t know what to say or do. Normally a servant was never noticed, much less talked to or asked her name. Jean-Luc politely looked away, and Ninian squirmed uncomfortably in his saddle. They probably considered Nathan’s mistake in social protocol an indication of lack of breeding, an awkward and embarrassing faux pas, but Sam was pleased with his free and friendly manners.

  “Clara is Miss Darlington’s abigail … her lady’s maid,” Julian explained, coming to Clara’s rescue.

  Clara stood again and made a little curtsy, then sat down, pulled the well-behaved George onto her lap, and buried her glowing cheeks in his furry neck.

  There was an awkward pause, and finally Julian introduced another topic … horses. This effectively got the conversational ball rolling again, particularly for Nathan, who owned a horse ranch.

  Julian remained silent during the next few minutes as he closely watched the three men vie for Sam’s attention, sticking stubbornly to their places by the carriage even when other men tried to squeeze in to say a word or two to the popular Miss Darlington.

  Then, as the sun sunk below the trees, Julian concluded with great relief that it was time to return to Montgomery House. He perfunctorily informed Sam’s three suitors that they had better be off, then he ordered the chaise to carry him and his party home.

  “When we get back to the house, Sam,” said Julian, “I want to talk to you.”

  Sam turned wide blue eyes to him and said, “About what, Julian?” She had the poodle pressed against her bosom, her chin resting on top of the pup’s kinky head. She might have been the proverbial “Little Bo-Peep” with a rescued lamb in her arms. Her pale pink carriage gown and wide-brimmed bonnet with the huge bow tied under her chin at a coy angle certainly made her look the part.

  Julian found it interesting that Sam managed to look demure and alluring at the same time. He caught himself staring, and he turned his gaze away to something less interesting … a portly man in a passing gig. “About your suitors,” he finally answered her.

  There was a pause, then she asked, “Which ones?”

  He glanced at her and found her cheeks dimpled with amusement. “Which ones do you suppose?” he answered dryly. “The group of three from which you intend to choose your husband, of course.”

  Se laughed, the musical sound mystically lifting his spirits, which were unaccountably low after spending a highly erotic hour making athletic love with his mistress. He felt sexually sated … but empty and lonely. He’d never had such a negative reaction before to good sex, and he found it odd and not a little perplexing.

  “Oh, those fellows,” she said teasingly. “But why can’t we talk about them now? We’ll be nearly a half hour in the chaise before we get home.”

  Julian glanced at Clara, who was struggling again with Madison. She was holding the pup in her arms and giving him a stern lecture … as he happily wagged his tail and licked her face. George sat stoically beside her, suppressing all urges to bark at birds and squirrels he spied in the passing shrubbery.

  “It’s all right to talk in front of Clara, you know,” Sam said. “I tell her everything anyway.”

  Julian sighed. “Do you?” He thought about gently reprimanding her, then decided against it. While servants couldn’t usually be depended on to keep confidences, he knew Clara was more like a friend to Sam than a servant. And since Sam had no mother or sister around to talk to, he supposed it was natural that she would confide in Clara. She could certainly do worse.

  “All right,” he conceded. “I just wanted to tell you what I know about the three men and give you my opinion of their eligibility as … er … husbands.” The sooner Sam is married the better, he told himself, although he didn’t believe any of the three men in question were worthy of her. Most people would disagree with that conclusion, however, including Priss and Nan. They considered Sam’s three favorite suitors desirable catches.

  And perhaps they were right, although Julian usually trusted his own instincts over the opinions of others. In Sam’s case, however, he was beginning to think his fondness for her kept him from seeing things clearly. Like a father or a brother, he probably wouldn’t consider any man good enough for her.

  Sam raised her brows. “You’ve made inquiries about them?”

  “I already knew the gentlemen, but … yes, certainly, I made additional inquiries. It is my duty as your guardian to do so.”

  She nodded, studying his face in a most disconcertingly keen fashion. “All right. Please go on,” she urged.

  Julian cleared his throat. “Since he appears to be your favorite, we’ll start with Nathan Ford.” He watched for a reaction and wasn’t disappointed. Her eyes lit up approvingly. Hell, maybe he was disappointed. Virginia was an ocean away! If the fellow didn’t treat her well, how would any of them ever know?

  “I like his independence,” Sam admitted. “I like his open and friendly manners, too.”

  “He’s by far the handsomest!” Clara piped up, then quickly ducked her head, aware that although she might be privy to the conversation, she wasn’t invited to join in.

  “Yes, he is handsome,” Sam said reflectively. “Even though he is rather too fair for my tastes.”

  “Too fair?” Julian repeated in a tone of chagrined surprise. “But he’s rather a dark blond.”

  Sam nodded. “I know. I prefer dark-haired men.”

  Julian’s lip curled. “Indeed. Well, I never knew you had a preference at all, Sam.”

  “Oh, I do,” she assured him with a beaming smile. “So, what do you think about his eligibility?”

  Julian shrugged. “For all his talk of riffraff rising to political office and whatnot, he comes from an old and established family in Richmond, Virginia. He is young and wealthy and has no one but himself to please when choosing a wife. His father is dead, and his mother can refuse him nothing.”

  “He sounds eminently eligible then, doesn’t he?” Sam said.

  Julian shrugged again, feeling decidedly and unaccountably sulky. “In all respects except one … and I’ve mentioned it before. He’ll want you to live with him in Virginia.” When Sam didn’t react, Julian added emphatically and rather harshly, “In short, you’re wasting your time with Nathan Ford.”

  “What makes you think I don’t want to live in Virginia?” Sam retorted, lifting that defiant chin of hers. “T
he more I hear about America, the better I like it.”

  “But it’s so far away from your sister. Won’t you miss her?”

  “Of course. But, as you’ve told me enough times, it’s important that I’m respectably established.”

  “You have other options, my girl,” Julian said impatiently.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Other men, you mean.” She smoothed her skirts, appearing very cool and nonchalant. “Now tell me about Ninian.”

  “Yes … the dandy,” Julian began caustically. “Ninian Wentworth’s biggest drawback in my estimation is his deplorable taste in clothing. He’s a veritable pink, a fop, a—”

  “Besides his taste in clothes, Julian,” Sam interrupted, “is there something the matter with Ninian?”

  “Ninian comes from a good enough family, but he needs to marry for money or undertake a career,” Julian said discouragingly.

  “Well, thanks to Amanda, I have plenty of money,” Sam reminded him, unperturbed.

  “Rumor has it that Ninian wants a career in the army—”

  “That’s commendable of him,” Sam interrupted. “I already like him better.”

  “But his mama won’t allow it,” Julian added dampeningly. “Ninian is the youngest of four sons, and Mrs. Wentworth tries to baby him. She doesn’t think he’s got the gumption for military life. She won’t buy him into a fashionable regiment.”

  “Why doesn’t he enlist?”

  Julian snorted. “Ninian might pine for the military life, but not in the working army. His father is dead,” he continued doggedly, “and his mama rules the world from her chaise longue and wields her hartshorn and vinegar water like a soldier wields his sword. Mrs. Wentworth is small, and her ailments are most probably imaginary, but she is formidable.”

  “Besides his dragon of a mother and his inability to convince her that he’s got the gumption for the military, what else is wrong with Ninian? Does he gamble and wench? Does he have a bad character, Julian?”