Jacks poked his head in the doorway. “That bleedin’ mort didn’t leave any lasting marks, did ’e?”
“Bleeding?” Wivy asked, her voice rising.
Through the crewel-worked screen, Juliet saw Jacks’ smile widen. “’E is now.”
One could take a boxer from the ring, Juliet mused, biting her lip against a reluctant grin, but couldn’t take the fight out of him. She might not have many servants left, but the ones who’d remained were unfailingly loyal. “We’re both in a fine twig,” she called out, “owing to your swift intervention. My sincere appreciation! Now, do please send in our next man.”
“Before ’Enry can lick ’is ear,” Jacks promised, smacking one fist into the opposite palm. “And you can bet I’ll be right outside the door like always. Just in case another tries getting orn’ry.”
“Speaking of Henry,” Juliet wondered out loud, “where’s he off to?” She hadn’t seen tail nor whisker of her beloved tomcat all day.
“Like as not,” Wivy answered with asperity, “he decamped upstairs to the bedchambers once today’s applicants started arriving. That or the kitchen. And who can blame him, after last week’s Currish Calamity?”
There was that. Juliet’s leg twinged in sympathy.
Attempting to arrange her skirts around the wooden chair that took up most of the cramped space, she looked beyond the embroidered scene that hid her presence. In front of her but angled so Juliet could see the room, Wivy situated herself at the desk.
“Ready to have another go?” Juliet whispered.
Wivy took a deep breath and released it on a loud sigh. “Two more,” Juliet heard her murmur. “Two more then the blessed respite of the weekend.”
Juliet knew this marriage scheme had been hard on her friend. For years, she’d been the one constant in Juliet’s life. If it weren’t for her companionship, betrothal to Lord Letheridge at sixteen—with Papa refusing to grant her the opportunity of a season, much less the chance to meet any other gentlemen—might’ve been her undoing.
As it was, by the time their extended engagement elapsed and the pompous ceremony held at St. George’s as her dear mama insisted (her mother’s dying wish, else Juliet had no doubt Papa would’ve disregarded it as he had all her others), old Leth’s determination had dwindled, his winkle had waned, and though Juliet couldn’t bring herself to in any way welcome his persistent attempts at bedding her, she’d tolerated them in good stead as she’d been taught a dutiful wife ought.
Yet she remained untouched, in the extreme intimate sense, to this day. Hence, part of her unfailing resolve to have a say in her next spouse. And bed partner.
After all, other young ladies were allowed to choose, didn’t have an odious father who gave them no voice, no—
Oh, holy day!
Every righteous thought flew from her brain as she caught sight of a most compelling man hesitating in the doorway. Why did he wait? Why did this one persist in stalling? In not coming closer where she could secure a better look?
Why did her heart jump in her chest and the air in her lungs evaporate to nothing—at nothing more than her first hazy glimpse of him?
Juliet caught herself listing forward and hastily scooted back upon the chair (falling face first into the screen would certainly not aid her cause!). Once firmly situated, she again stared toward the newcomer. Yet he still hadn’t moved. Why—
But then he did and she could breathe again, her chest expanding and eyes flaring wide as he passed through the doorway. His former dithering aside, he now stalked purposefully into her sitting room, inspecting his surroundings as if he already owned the space—and everything, everyone in it.
An unruly shock of dark blond hair fell forward over his forehead, nearly to his jaw. He raked it back, giving her a view of strong, harsh features and brooding eyes, their color indistinguishable from this distance.
Though his size was akin to Jacks’, this man moved with an innate, confident grace, his strides long, his Hessians clipping brusquely upon the floor until he gained the rug and stopped, tilting his fair head in deference to Wivy. “Madam.”
He flashed a grin and something dormant inside Juliet flared to life, leaving her feeling bold and anxious and giddy all at once. Is he the one?
Regardless of how very serious the entire undertaking was to her future, Juliet couldn’t refrain from gawking at his…um…masculine form. His impressive, muscular thighs specifically.
An audible gasp wound its way up her throat. Juliet clamped one hand over her lips.
A lady wasn’t supposed to acknowledge, even mentally, that a man’s limbs existed, much less name them. Thighs, she thought again because she could, smiling behind her fingers. Because never again would she let any man rule over her mind or her tongue.
Thighs. Legs.
Simply acknowledging how his drew her made her blood flow hot and thick.
Legs! She wanted to shout it out the open window. This stranger possesses the most magnificent legs. Oh, she was brazen indeed!
Lady or not, there was no denying she admired everything outwardly about him—his shaggy hair and craggy face, his legs, hips, waist…thighs, they all fascinated and beckoned.
She swallowed back another gasp, one of pure unadulterated relief. For here was a man worth gasping over, a man worth abandoning maidenly scruples drummed into one from infanthood. A man to inspire all manner of explicit, illicit dreams.
The cumbersome screen now had a new purpose, Juliet realized, lowering her hand and wiping surprisingly damp palms on the layers of skirt and petticoat gathered in her lap: that of allowing her to look her fill, to stare at and ogle this manly specimen in a way no maiden would ever be permitted.
To hope…
Maybe, just maybe, applicant twenty-four would prove to be the one.
The condition of the room appalled Zeus; it matched that of the whole abysmal house, at least the few ghastly portions he’d been privy to. Two blinks away from decrepitude, it somehow seemed wrong to be meeting the infamous Lady Scandal in such a desolate atmosphere. Agonizingly wrong, given how he’d anticipated their meeting occurring at Amherst and not this rachitic ruin.
And after what he’d just seen her footman do, the prior candidate’s shouts of outrage at being manhandled by a manservant sufficient inducement to lure both Zeus and the lone remaining applicant into the hallway for the show, Zeus wasn’t so sure he wanted his turn in these unsavory surroundings. Wasn’t so sure his relinquished hat would be spared mangling from the beefy hands he’d just witnessed trouncing the foul-mouthed sod who’d gone directly before him—and been swiftly evicted from the premises.
Zeus glanced again into the room he was expected to enter, so dingy and pathetic he suspected even moths and mice would pass it by.
Remember why you’re here. What she can give you.
Prompted, as always, by the overwhelming goal that continued to guide his every action, even now, years and lifetimes later, Zeus nodded his thanks toward the burly fellow who, after wiping blood and “bad spirits” off his hands and person, had deferentially escorted Zeus through the gloomy maze.
A fortifying breath and Zeus stepped over the threshold. For good or ill, he was committed to his course.
And ill it just might be, given the way his nose prickled at the sour hint of stale smoke that hung in the air. But unlike the crypt of a study he’d been stashed in all day, along with other expectant contenders, where he’d forbore puffing tobacco or drumming fingertips—and outwardly expressing his anxiety—this particular room, upon closer inspection he was delighted to note, exhibited several rays of sunshine to brighten its dreary reality.
Rays of sunshine that proved a balm to his weary soul. A number of them streamed in from the unboarded windows facing west, several splashed about in the form of wild-cut flowers bunched in disreputable vases, and one presided regally before him, her dress every bit as yellow and sunny as the sporadic unfaded rectangles on the walls, bright patches of paper and plaster, loud
ly proclaiming the paintings she’d been forced to sell off.
She. Lady Scandal, sitting patiently behind her desk, a look of wary resignation on her face.
One glance put him in mind of a fetchingly plump and eminently beddable tavern wench. The kind he’d feasted on in his youth, the kind he’d avoided of late. The anti-lady.
Over the last weeks, he’d built Lady Scandal up in his mind as a genteel, dainty creature, desperate enough for funds to overlook his disreputable birth. Though his blighted beginnings certainly matched the state of her home, the regal daffodil looked anything but desperate.
Although appealing in an earthy, buxom way, she was not what Zeus had primed himself for, and he couldn’t stop the dual pings of disappointment—that she didn’t resemble the elegant “lady” his deuced imaginings had conjured, and that he wasn’t attracted to her as he ought to be his wife, the one woman he’d forsake all others on behalf of until death did they part.
His primed poker wilted a bit, expressing its dismay. In opposition, Zeus stiffened his legs, and shoved any dirk disappointment aside. He wasn’t here for her, he reminded himself; he was here for what he could get from her.
“Madam.” He proffered a perfunctory bow. “Z. J. Tanner, at your service. I believe we have much to discuss, you and I.”
She smiled at him, a true welcome meant to put him at ease, and another brilliant beam of sunshine graced the tired room.
Unexpectedly, his heart went out to her, this brave woman willing to sacrifice all to rebuild her surroundings, and if no other part of his anatomy made its empathy or potential excitement known, well…Zeus determinedly stamped down any discontent. Brains over ballocks, he mentally prompted, repeating the refrain that’d become his constant companion and bedfellow of late.
After making his introduction, he allowed his gaze to journey once more around the spacious room. Behind the daffodil—the future Mrs. Tanner?—an intricately embroidered screen occupied the corner. The magnum opus looked woefully out of place, more suited to a museum than this mausoleum.
An unlit, crumbling fireplace commanded the opposite wall. A simple settee, low table before it, laden with two of the fragrant bouquets, and a couple of rigid-looking, worn parlor chairs filled the rug where he’d halted.
She gestured toward the ugly chairs. “Please sit, Mr. Tanner. I’ll endeavor to make this as painless as possible.”
“I’d prefer to stand, if that’s agreeable.”
“By all means.” She smiled again, the cheerful expression lessening the sense of doom he’d refused to acknowledge since seeing a number of other like-minded dolts summoned and summarily discarded before him, until it was down to him and one other. Though the remaining man, a former seafaring one, appeared a good sort, Zeus was determined to win the lady—and her accompanying bounty.
When she cordially explained, “I am Olivia Hales, my lady’s companion. She has entrusted me with the task of ascertaining your responses to several questions,” Zeus’ fading apprehension roared back to the surface, intensified beyond measure.
How many more mountains must he climb before meeting “my lady”?
First obtaining the plethora of character references then enduring the punctilious Hastings, who insisted on reading them all save the one from his former mistress—thank God for small favors—and now this…vetted by a servant. Ah, well. If it meant gaining Amherst, he could withstand anything, Zeus told himself, blowing out his frustration on a hearty sigh.
At the sound of his impatience, the daffodil raised one eyebrow.
“I’d initially taken you for her ladyship,” Zeus confessed, widening his stance since it appeared he’d be here awhile. He locked his hands behind him, determined not to display any further unease.
“You did?” If possible, that brightened her smile. “My lady regrets she was called away. She’ll join us as soon as she’s able.”
“I admit to being more than a trifle disappointed that I now must again postpone making the acquaintance of such an obviously admired woman.”
“Pardon?”
“Both you and Hastings appear to be troubling yourselves extensively to aid in her…shall we say…quest for a savior.”
“She seeks a spouse,” the companion chided, “not someone sent from the Almighty.”
Zeus allowed his gaze to pointedly fix upon the tattered upholstery seat of one chair. “She seeks someone to save her from the poorhouse and her posterior from ill-padded cushions.”
He thought he heard a snicker, but it was quickly muffled behind her hand. “Yes…well, be that as it may, shall we proceed?”
“I am at your disposal.” As long as you do not dispose of my suit.
“What prompted you to respond to my lady’s advertisement?”
“The inducements stated therein.”
“Are you overly fond of dogs?”
“Not excessively, no.” Not since a vile one chased him, instilling terror in a five-year-old’s heart.
“Would you have any aversion to your wife spending her pin money on fripperies?”
“Fripperies?” Was he about to shackle himself to some gadfly spendthrift? One who’ll have no respect for the chink he spent years acquiring? “Can you please expound upon what might constitute a frippery in her mind?”
“Oh, you know, simply things of nonsense…hair ribbons. Yarn.”
Ribbons…yarn? Neither of which amounted to the vast sums he’d feared at the question. “None whatsoever.”
“Please share your thoughts on the education of children.”
That was unexpected. Dogs, yarn… Hell, most all these deuced questions were unexpected. Regretting the monstrous servant who’d relieved him of gloves and hat, Zeus flexed his empty hands. He knotted them in place at the base of his spine. “Education for the wee ones? I…I confess to never giving that topic lengthy consideration.”
“Please do so now, if you would.”
“Ah…children. They need some manner of learning to gain a foothold in this world, to keep them from starving in the streets. Book learning might do well for some, but trades are good too.”
She seemed to hesitate and he caught a slight rustle behind her. Then she straightened. “What about girls?”
“Girls? What about them?”
“Should they be allowed to learn?”
“I don’t see why not.” He thought of his mother and her lack of options once being used and discarded. “Otherwise they’re dependent upon the whims of men.”
“You are to be commended, Mr. Tanner.”
He was? “I am?”
“You’re very progressive in your thinking.”
Avoiding the look of surprise in her gaze, Zeus shifted his. “Suppose that makes up for all my regressive living.”
He’d meant it as a jest. Didn’t seem funny once voiced. Zeus rolled his shoulders, hoping the tenseness with which he held himself didn’t show. Wondering how much longer he’d have to wait to greet Lady Scandal. Just the name conjured sweaty bodies and entangled limbs. Delivering hot, wet kisses over the pale skin of her throat, the small of her back. Running his tongue down the arch of a dainty foot while said lady sprawled nude before him, basking in the decadent attention, her impassioned moans begging him to bring his staff closer to her waiting lips.
Zeus licked his, ready to savor her scandalous taste, bask in her flavor, in the fragrant aroma he just knew would be exuding from her—
“Have you any experience successfully managing estates?”
The question came from far off, miles from the darkened bedchamber invading his mind.
“Mr. Tanner.” The daffodil recalled him to the room, the ugly, anything-but-succulent room, and asked again, “Have you any experience successfully managing estates?”
Estates. Now this was more in line with what he’d expected. Amherst over amour, he reminded his wayward-thinking mind and answered truthfully. “None at all.”
Keeping his attention firmly entrenched in this room, he allowed
his gaze to be drawn behind her, to the crewel work decorating the framed partition. The outdoor scene was magnificently rendered.
“You’ve experience, then, managing them unsuccessfully?”
“No, not that either.” He turned to face her, catching sight of a forlorn expression. “No experience overseeing estates at all.”
“Yet you wish to do so now?”
“With all my heart.”
“Are you so very confident of your success, then? At so new an endeavor?”
“I cannot claim it with absolute certainty when so many facets beyond my influence come into play, mother nature being but one. It is a vast undertaking we discuss, of that I’m aware, but I vow to give it my unceasing effort.” Again his gaze fell on the screen’s outdoor scene. Shade trees, a waterfall, intricate vines of flowers adorning the perimeter…all created with yarn.
“What are the biggest failings you declare?”
“My failings?” His brows rose and he left off inspecting the impressive landscape to turn his attention to what—or who—might lie beyond it. “Would you not rather have an accounting of my successes? Estate management aside, I’ve had a number—”
“Let me articulate it differently. What are your most significantly unpleasant character traits? Deficiencies in your personality a wife might need contend with?”
Personality deficiencies? These questions were enough to make his stomach roil!
After leaving Duffield at first light and traveling the seventeen miles on horseback to this neglected property where Hastings insisted he report—and not Amherst as he’d anticipated—then cooling his heels for hours in the grim study while studying his competition, Zeus realized hunger was likely the culprit, but regardless, he simply wanted to be done with these infernal questions. Wanted to meet the real Lady Scandal in the flesh, evaluate how eager his flesh was to join with hers.
Ready to bear his children, indeed. Vexing woman wouldn’t even bare her face. “I’m an absolute bear when hungry,” he fairly growled.
How much longer would he be obliged to wait? First the interminable delay in Duffield where Hastings had somehow scrounged the ballocks to order Zeus not to venture past the village. In defiance, he’d set out for Amherst three times, only to have ferocious storms boil up from nothing, forcing him back. As if Fate didn’t want him catching a glimpse of his long-denied reward.
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