by Anna Bennett
Just as the paper ball hit him squarely in the ear.
“Damn it!” He raised a hand to his ear—which was already turning pink.
“What’s the problem?” Uncle Alistair handed Julie the goblet, and she raised it toward Sam in a silent toast.
“Forgive my outburst. All is well,” Sam replied, glum. “I was merely demonstrating our experiment for Juliette.”
“Ah, it’s quite simple, my dear. I was attempting to hit the paper balls into the dustbin using my cane but was having difficulty achieving the required acceleration and distance. In an effort to lessen the impact of the force of gravity, I—”
“Risked life and limb by standing on a wobbly old chair?” she provided.
His shoulders slumped. “I suppose it was foolish of me,” he said, chastened. “But I confess I cannot recall the last time I felt so … so … young.”
The triumph she’d felt moments ago fled. Oh, she was still happy that Sam would have to clean the bookcase, but she should have realized that her uncle needed more than his work and the occasional game of chess to make him feel fulfilled.
He needed joy.
Even though Julie hadn’t understood it, Sam had. And he’d done something about it.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Julie set down the glass and gave her uncle a fierce hug. “I probably shouldn’t coddle you so much, but I cannot help worrying about you.”
“Ach.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not exactly a hardship to be coddled by my lovely niece, and someone must look after me. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Elspeth.” As he gazed lovingly at her portrait, Julie shared a furtive glance with Sam.
His expression—a mix of sympathy and concern—gave her a lump in her throat.
Until that very moment, Julie hadn’t realized how alone she’d felt. With her sisters out of town and still unaware of Uncle Alistair’s new habit of talking to Aunt Elspeth, she’d been doing enough worrying for all three of them.
But now, Sam was here. He saw what was going on … and he seemed to understand.
It was nice, but it wasn’t enough to change her mind.
After all that had transpired between them last night—kisses and caresses, not to mention various stages of disrobing—Julie couldn’t permit him to spend another night in her uncle’s house.
For the sake of her reputation, she had to make Sam leave. She’d ask him nicely, and if he refused, she’d enlist the help of her sisters and their powerful husbands.
Besides, it was hard to think clearly as long as he was lounging about in his snug trousers and tailored jackets. She’d concoct a story to tell her uncle—something to explain Sam’s sudden departure—before her uncle formed too close an attachment.
But for now, she would let him enjoy a bit of fun.
“Would you like to continue your experiment?” she asked.
“What?” Uncle Alistair smiled sheepishly. “You’d allow it?”
“I would,” Julie began, “as long as Cousin Samuel remains close enough to the chair to help, should you require a bit of steadying. I’ll throw the paper balls.”
Sam grinned wryly. “Fine. As long as I may take a turn standing on the chair also.”
They spent the next half-hour playing cricket in Uncle Alistair’s study. Julie must have thrown two dozen paper balls before her uncle’s cane finally connected with one, and it only floated a few yards before joining the rest of the balls in the pile littering the carpet.
But it didn’t matter. She hadn’t seen such unadulterated happiness on his face since Beth’s wedding, which though not so long ago, seemed like an age.
When he grew tired of batting and relinquished the chair to Sam, Julie threw the balls faster, and he hit one so hard that it flew out the open window.
“By George,” her uncle shouted gleefully. “You’ve succeeded in proving my theory.”
A bit breathless from her exertions, Julie propped her hands on her hips. “Which is?”
“That gravity is easily overcome by youth, exuberance, and a vigorous swing,” he said, eyes twinkling with satisfaction.
Sam hopped off the chair and dusted his hands. “If my science classes at Eton had been more like this, I’d have been a far better student.”
Uncle Alistair yawned. “After that scholarly endeavor, I think we all deserve a bit of a rest.”
“I don’t know about all of us,” Sam teased, scratching his head. “You and I may have been working since the sun came up, but Juliette has barely had time to wipe the sleep from her eyes.”
Julie launched another paper ball at him, but he easily swatted it away with his hand.
Turning to her uncle, she said, “Shall I have a luncheon tray sent up to your room?”
“That would be frightful, my dear. Thank you.” As he cheerfully hobbled out of the room, Juliette followed and located Mr. Finch to request the tray.
When she returned to the study, Sam stood, arms crossed, in front of the shelf he’d promised to clean, his expression grim.
“Luncheon is served,” Julie informed him. “If the sight of those jars hasn’t completely robbed you of your appetite.”
“I’m not the squeamish sort.” He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “But I expect the task will test my limits. Better to eat before. I think.”
She shrugged and led the way toward the dining room. “Suit yourself. I trust your ear has made a complete recovery?” she teased. “Or shall I summon the doctor?”
“You should have warned me of your bowling prowess,” he grumbled.
“Then you might not have agreed to the wager,” she countered, smug.
Scoffing, he lowered his voice to a growl. “I don’t scare easily, temptress. And you could have increased the stakes. I would have wagered far more for the chance to be with you again.”
Julie quickly checked the corridor to make certain no one had overheard him and jabbed a finger at his hard chest. “You may not say things like that. What if one of the staff had been about?”
“I don’t think they would have been horrified at anything I said. It’s not as though I mentioned kissing, or pressing my body to yours, or caressing your bare—”
“Stop,” she hissed. “Now you’re simply trying to humiliate me.”
“Juliette,” he said, smooth as silk. “Nothing could be further from the truth. This is my attempt at flirtation.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “You missed the mark—by a mile.” Well, maybe not a mile. She had to admit her heart was pattering, and his almost-mention of her breasts had caused her to shiver delightfully. “I must say I’m glad that we’ll be dining alone, however.”
He settled his hand at the small of her back and whispered low in her ear. “So am I, vixen.”
“You misunderstand,” she said quickly. “I only want to talk about the house and the deal we made yesterday.”
“I don’t think we should talk until you’ve had a chance to break your fast,” he said. “A lack of food most certainly contributed to your fainting spell earlier.” He handed her a plate and pointed at the buffet laden with platters of sandwiches, salads, and fruits. “Eat.”
Julie started to object, but the smell of roasted chicken tickled her nose and reminded her she was famished. So she filled her plate and sat across the table from Sam, surprised they managed to dine like two civilized people.
Indeed, they spent the entire meal chatting pleasantly, without exchanging barbs, casting aspersions—or debating property rights.
But she could not forget why he was here and the threat he posed to her uncle. Sam might have wormed his way into Uncle Alistair’s heart, but he still meant to take possession of the house.
Julie’s fork froze halfway to her lips. What was it that Sam had said only moments ago? That he’d wager the highest stakes for the chance to be with her again?
That kind of leverage could be valuable, given the precarious situation she found herself in. What if she agreed to be with him agai
n in exchange for his help?
It wouldn’t be a hardship to allow him a few kisses … a few liberties. And she wouldn’t permit him to compromise her thoroughly, just to give her another taste of passion …
No. It would never do. She was not some sort of strumpet. And her sisters would be beyond appalled that the idea had even popped into her head. Heaven forfend they ever discovered the wicked nature of her thoughts.
“You must tell me what you are thinking right now,” Sam drawled over the rim of his glass.
“Nothing,” she said a bit too sharply. “Only that I need to mend the hem of my russet day dress.” Gads, she was a horrid liar.
He arched a brow and nodded knowingly, blast it all. “And that’s why you’re blushing?”
“Not exactly,” she said icily. “But I’m under no obligation to share the subject of my thoughts with you.”
“Am I the subject, Juliette?” He folded his arms and leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes gleaming seductively. “Because I don’t mind telling you that you’re the subject of mine.”
Goodness, the dining room was warm. Julie started to fan herself with her napkin, then pretended she only meant to wipe her mouth with it. “There is an important matter we need to discuss,” she said primly. “After all that transpired last night, I’ve realized that the deal we made was ill-conceived. I must insist that you leave. Today.”
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Sam trained his gaze on Juliette and kept his face impassive. He was trying to pretend their delightful luncheon conversation hadn’t just taken a very bad turn, when in truth, it had careened off the road into a ditch.
“Let me see if I understand you properly,” he said. “You were content to let me remain under this roof as long as we were bickering, but now that we’ve declared a truce, you are insisting I leave?”
“We may have ceased our bickering, but we are still adversaries,” she clarified.
“Were we adversaries last night, Juliette?”
“Yes,” she said unequivocally—as though she were valiantly trying to convince herself. “I merely lost my head for a moment. And now I realize that the deal we made will never work.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Do you want to know what I think?”
“No, I do not.” She shifted in her seat, the questions in her eyes belying her words. “Your thoughts are invariably wicked and best kept to yourself.”
Undaunted, he grinned. “I think you are afraid.”
She snorted. “Of you?”
“Not of me. Of the way I make you feel.”
“You give yourself too much credit.” She glanced away and pressed her lips together. “However, I cannot risk a repeat of last-night’s performance.”
“There will only be a repeat performance if you wish it.” And he hoped to hell she did. “You have nothing to fear from me.” He paused to let that sink in.
“You want to take my uncle’s house away from him.”
“My brother is the one who wishes to take possession of the property,” he reminded her. “And this is his house.”
She rubbed the tops of her arms as though she’d suddenly taken a chill. “I’ve yet to see proof.”
“I’m working on it.” He stroked his chin, thoughtful. “But you could always ask Nigel yourself.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “What are you implying?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. I’m merely stating that you don’t need me to intercede on your behalf. You could go directly to the source … and ask my brother yourself.”
Sam watched her expression carefully. He wanted to ask why she hadn’t told him about her relationship with Nigel.
And whether she was in love with him.
“How could I ask the marquess?” She blinked innocently. “Proper young ladies do not call on gentlemen.”
“True.” They did not venture onto moonlit terraces with them either.
Sam swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Clearly, Juliette harbored feelings for Nigel. If she didn’t, she’d have been more forthcoming with Sam.
If he was a gentleman, he’d step aside. Nigel and Juliette had obviously formed some sort of attachment before Sam had even met her.
And Nigel was infinitely more suitable for her. There wasn’t a miss on the marriage mart who’d pass up an honorable marquess in favor of a wicked rogue. Sam might be acceptable for a secret dalliance or midnight tryst, but he wasn’t the kind of man that respectable matrons invited into their drawing rooms. He wasn’t the kind of man that noble gentlemen allowed to court their daughters.
Juliette was too good for him.
The problem was that he’d had a taste of her—her fire, her passion, her light—and now, it was impossible not to want more.
“I have a duty to my brother, and I will not fail him.” He looked at the sandwich crust on his plate, the stem of his goblet—anywhere but the wounded expression on her face.
“So, you are dutiful when it suits you,” she said dryly.
“I don’t want to hurt you or your uncle. As it turns out, I’m fond of you both. But Nigel wants to sell this property, and that is his right. When I wrote to him yesterday, I asked him for the deed, and I asked him to give you time. What more would you like me to do?”
“I want you to leave,” she said simply, cutting him to the quick.
“I’m not leaving this house until you do.”
“What if your brother told you to stand down—to leave my uncle and me in peace?”
He blew out a long breath. “I don’t give a damn what he does with his great many properties.” All Sam wanted was to heal the rift between him and Nigel. To try and span the chasm that had formed when their father died and salvage what was left of their family. “If he has a change of heart and decides you and Alistair may stay, I’ll gladly walk out your front door and never look back.”
“Pardon me for interrupting.” The elderly butler strolled into the dining room waving a few envelopes. “All three of these arrived within the last hour. Lord Travis,” he said, handing him the largest envelope, “this is addressed to you. And Miss Juliette”—he shot her an affectionate smile—“these are for you. Perhaps you’ll have an update from one of your sisters.”
“I do hope so, Mr. Finch—thank you.” She waited until the butler left, then turned each envelope over in her hand. “This one’s from Meg,” she said wistfully.
“And the other?” he asked, even though it clearly wasn’t his place.
“I don’t know.” She made no move to open it, but inclined her head at the envelope he held. “Is that from your brother?”
“I assume so. No one else knows I’m here.” He tapped it lightly on the table, then hesitated. “Shall I open it?”
She swallowed soberly—as though she knew what he was really asking. Whether she was ready to hear the truth about the house … and accept whatever the consequences may be for her and her uncle.
“I could wait until after you’ve had a chance to rest,” he added.
She sat taller in her chair and shook her head, eyes flashing with courage. “No. There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. Open it now.”
* * *
Julie gripped the arms of her chair as Sam slid a finger under the flap and broke the sealing wax.
Deep in her soul, she knew the envelope wouldn’t contain good news. And yet, she held out hope. Maybe after seeing her at the ball last night, Nigel had reconsidered his decision to evict Uncle Alistair and her.
Nigel had said that he held her in the highest esteem.
That he only required some time to resolve things.
She might have thought his words empty had she not felt the heat of his ardent gaze and heard the hitch of his voice. He still felt something for her—even if he had an odd way of showing it.
But surely, now that Nigel knew she and her uncle occupied the house, he’d tell Sam to leave them in peace. Perhaps there was a message to her as well, telling her that she needn’t worry, and
that he’d take care of everything.
Her body tense, she watched as Sam unfolded several papers. Watched as his eyes scanned the words scrawled across the pages. “What do they say?” she asked.
“They’re tax receipts.” He frowned and studied the papers some more. “My father and Nigel have been paying the land assessment taxes for at least three decades.”
“But Uncle Alistair has lived here most, if not all, of that time. Isn’t it possible he has some sort of lease or tenancy?”
Sam glanced up, sympathy shining in his blue eyes. “Of course, it’s possible. But apparently, Nigel has no record of it. Perhaps your uncle does. You should ask him.”
Julie’s head pounded—she’d never liked being told what to do. “I didn’t want to trouble him until I was certain there wasn’t a misunderstanding. Even now, I’d prefer to look for a lease or bill of sale myself and turn to him only as a last resort.” She scarcely had to add that Uncle Alistair was notoriously disorganized and terribly forgetful.
“Whether or not you involve your uncle is your decision. But unless you can produce proof of a superior title or right to the property, I’m afraid my brother can turn you out of this house. I’m sorry.”
Julie’s eyes burned at the injustice of it all. “Why didn’t he send the deed?”
“Nigel included a note.” Sam waved a small piece of paper. “The deed is in a safe in his country house. He can send for it if you wish, but it will likely take a few days. The estate’s in the far northern part of Yorkshire.”
“Did he write anything else? Did your brother give any indication he’d be amenable to leasing or selling the property to us?”
“No.” With frustration mirroring her own, he tossed the papers on the table.
Julie wrung her hands, wishing she knew what game Nigel played. As she watched Sam drumming the table with his fingers, she realized he was equally stymied.
She might as well confide her plans in him, for she desperately needed someone on her side. “I am going to scour the house for the proof that my uncle has a lease, or at least has the right to live out the rest of his life here.”
“I’ll help you, after I pay my debt.” He winked, instantly turning her insides to mush.
