“Then perhaps you could aid Marjorie. She has been compiling a list and trying to steer Lord Thayne in the direction of the women most suited to his nature.”
Juliet felt something stir inside her. “Is that why they are here this evening?”
When Zinnia nodded, Juliet began to cast her gaze to the debutantes in attendance, looking for the ones with the strong-willed temperaments. Spying a rather formidable pair of havoc-wreakers, she felt her temper rise. This Season, both Miss Ashbury and Miss Leeds had made every attempt to trample the other debs in their paths through spiteful attacks and spreading detestable rumors.
“Ah. I see the direction of your gaze,” Zinnia said with quiet vehemence. “Though after the way they treated our Lilah, I do not know how kind I could be to either of them, were Lord Thayne to choose one for his bride.”
Juliet agreed. “As much as Max irritates me, I would not wish him to suffer such a fate. Deep down—somewhere quite far away—he has a heart, which I’m certain he would give to his wife. But if he were paired with a termagant, she would only eat it up and leave him with nothing. There are certain types of people who should never marry.” Cruel young women were on that list, of course. But there was also a place marked for a debutante who lacked a sense of worth and married a man who treated everyone he knew as an object.
Juliet had often wondered if she’d have been better off living with the shame of ruination. However, hers had not been the only reputation facing destruction. At the time, her father had been only days away from debtors’ prison, and so she had done what was expected of a dutiful daughter.
“I believe I will speak with Marjorie on the topic. Would you care to join me? Your opinion would be invaluable.” Zinnia made a motion to Marjorie to take the gallery stairs at either end. “It will be overwarm to linger at such a height, but at least there will be air to breathe.”
Juliet’s gaze was still with Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury’s progress into the garden. It seemed their current target was Viscount Ellery. They’d even managed to frighten away all the other debutantes. And Ellery, with his quiet demeanor and a chivalrous nature, didn’t stand a chance. Clearly, he needed rescuing.
“I think it would be best if I kept my opinion regarding Max’s prospects to myself. So I will stay in the garden and wend my way to the stone bench at the far side.” It just so happened that she would have to circumnavigate the sundial on her way.
As she drew near, Juliet knew it was no wonder that Ellery had gained so much favor among the ton. Not only was his character impressive, but he was also quite handsome, possessing a head full of wavy blond hair and soulful eyes. While he didn’t have Max’s dark, exotic handsomeness or his aura of virility, he did have an understated regality about him. Likely, he would never argue a point but simply hold his tongue when his thoughts were not in line with another’s. What a refreshing notion!
Already Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury had outmaneuvered their competition for his attention and now flanked Ellery on either side, casting withering glances at any who dared approach.
Juliet quickly formed a plan of action, which would not only provide Ellery with a viable excuse to abandon his current companions but would also shed the most favorable light on his character.
Surely tomorrow’s edition of the Standard would all but seal his nomination for the Original. And, most importantly, assure her victory over Max.
Max left his mother in the gallery and descended the stairs near the double doors leading to the garden. Making his way through the crowd, he kept watch on Juliet the entire time.
As usual, she wore a gown that flattered her form in every way imaginable. He wondered if her modiste chose only the fabrics that would cause a man’s fingertips to itch from the desire to touch it and to feel the woman beneath. As it was, a sheath of fine lace covered an apricot silk that clung to her body. A criminal design, he thought, believing she should have worn a voluminous sackcloth gown instead. Then again, Juliet was perhaps the only woman who could make that appealing as well. He clenched his fingers into a fist to ward off the stinging sensation at his fingertips.
Then Max spied her slipping the fan from her wrist and surreptitiously dropping it into the shrubbery. Slyly, she gained Ellery’s attention, gesturing to the barbed branches as she carefully brushed her hands down the front of her gown. Both were a ploy, Max knew. After all, what man could resist coming to her aid?
She was flirting, of course, and effectively drawing Ellery away from two other young women. Was it because she wanted him all to herself?
Max’s mood darkened as the obvious answer came to him. He had already wondered, at Minchon’s garden party, if she had a lover. And if she did not yet, apparently she soon would.
Ellery sprang into action, reaching through the shrubbery to find Juliet’s fan. Shortly thereafter, he presented it to her with a courtly bow. In return, she laid her hand upon his forearm and smiled at him as if he’d saved all humanity with one small gesture.
A growl rose up Max’s throat at her obvious coquettish display, flaunting her interest in Ellery in front of a horde of people. If she wasn’t careful, by tomorrow morning, the Standard would label her as Ellery’s affianced.
Not that Max cared one way or another. She could marry whomever she chose or simply have a slew of lovers. He was only thinking about his wager with her. After all, he would hate for her to have an incentive to remain in London.
She had made her choice to leave everything behind once, and when he won, Max would make certain she did the same again.
Perhaps it was time for him to make that perfectly clear.
Juliet never lingered too long in one gentleman’s company in order to avoid the possibility of winding up in the scandal sheets, with rumors of a betrothal to follow. Therefore, after thanking Ellery for his gallantry, she ambled off toward the stone bench, steering clear of the rose arbor so that she wouldn’t snag her skirt on a thorn.
She had glanced down for a moment—a moment too long, it seemed—when a familiar nasal tone caused Juliet to pause midstep.
“Ah, there you are Lady Granworth,” Lord Pembroke said, every syllable pinched through his rather substantial nose.
She wondered briefly if it would be rude to continue onward or if he would pursue her regardless. Since the man resembled a lanky Afghan hound in both face and figure, it was likely that he would give chase. And here she was, with neither stick nor bone in hand to lead him astray. In his case, however, the quick toss of a coin purse would surely do the trick. It was unfortunate that she was without that as well.
Therefore, she held back a sigh and offered something of a smile. “Lord Pembroke. How are you enjoying this fine evening?”
The flesh stretching over his long face was bone white and glistened with a sheen of perspiration. Absently, he swept back thin wisps of lusterless brown hair from his forehead. “I don’t believe we finished our discussion on the mining venture in South America.”
Oh, drat. That had been five days ago, at least. The man would likely pinpoint the exact break in their conversation from the ball at Lord Tremaine’s townhouse. And yet, he did not appear to notice that she’d asked him a question. Even though it was nothing more than a courtesy, the least he could do was acknowledge it. After all, she had listened to him drone on and on about this investment opportunity for nearly an hour.
Not feeling quite as charitable this evening, she looked past his shoulder and toward the house. “I was actually just heading inside to find my cousin.”
“As I was saying, before Lord Markham interrupted us . . . ” he began, again not hearing her. It was as if the rules of conversation had taught him that all he must do was wait for the other party to utter a handful of syllables before it became his turn to speak again. And while he spoke, Juliet wondered if she could say something wholly nonsensical with him none the wiser.
“One can never mine enough silver, after all,” he said with a snort of amusement.
Juliet n
odded in agreement. “A nuthatch whispered that very thing to me this morning from the windowsill.”
Lord Pembroke didn’t even bat an eye at her absurdity; he merely continued. He even had the audacity to lean closer, his breath sharp and pungent as old cheese. She opened her fan and began waving so vigorously that he was warned to retreat to where he’d stood a moment ago. When he did, she set her gaze on the perfect route to liberation. If she maneuvered along the outside of the garden toward the brick-lined path beside the house, she could easily enter through the front door and make her way to the gallery.
“Forgive me, Pembroke, but my cousin is expecting me,” she repeated and took a step toward freedom.
“Quite interesting, to be sure, but as I was saying . . . ” Pembroke had the audacity to block her path.
This act of rudeness went beyond the pale. She was just about to give him a proper set down when Max appeared, his brow furrowed with those three distinct vertical lines above the bridge of his nose. She was never so happy to see his glower.
Inspired suddenly, she closed her fan with a clap. “Lord Thayne, I seem to recall your rather fervent interest in silver mines. Perhaps you could offer a bit of advice for your friend.”
This time, her words—likely the mention of silver—startled Pembroke from his recitation. Max continued his severe frown and looked very much as if he wanted to throttle her. But before he could, the ever-dogged Pembroke caught his scent.
“Lord Thayne, I was unaware of your interest. Had I known, you would have been the first . . . ” and so it began.
Juliet waved her fingertips at Max and made another sly escape.
Max wondered how much of his life was spent watching Juliet’s retreating figure. Too much, for certain. And yet, the view was not entirely disagreeable.
Beside him, Pembroke attempted to gain his attention. “There is immense wealth to be had, and for only a small investment of a few thousand pounds . . . ”
But Max’s focus lay elsewhere. Juliet made her way toward the house with her usual grace and fluidity. He was beginning to wonder how she planned to enter the crowded ballroom when she abruptly turned onto the narrow passageway alongside the house instead.
Every nerve in his body went on alert. Since the path was well lit with torches, he wasn’t concerned for her safety. What bothered him was that, moments ago, he’d seen Ellery disappear through the same corridor. Instantly, he was reminded of his purpose for seeking her out in the first place. She should know better than to flaunt any romantic involvement beneath the ton’s watchful eye.
Max turned to go but stopped when the monotonous whine of his companion buzzed in his ears. He’d almost forgotten that Pembroke was there. Yet he didn’t forget about the way Pembroke had crowded Juliet, having the gall to block her retreat. For an instant, Max had been tempted to lift Pembroke up by his scrawny neck and toss him over the garden wall. But then Juliet had handled him with aplomb.
Max laid a hand on Pembroke’s shoulder and pinned him with a dark look. “Pembroke, if you think for one moment that I’ve forgotten what a sniveling, manipulative rat you were in school, you are mistaken. And if you ever bother me with your ludicrous scheme or so much as breathe in Lady Granworth’s presence, I will seal you in a crate and ship you off to South America.”
Knowing that he’d made himself clear by the nervous bobbing of Pembroke’s Adam’s apple, he strode out of the garden.
After her unpleasant encounter with Pembroke and the way he’d cornered her, Juliet felt the need for space around her. So she didn’t return to the ballroom. Instead, she went into a darkened room off the main hall and collected herself for a moment in the quiet.
With so many in attendance, it shouldn’t have surprised her that her privacy would be invaded so quickly, but too soon, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she had an excuse at the ready to leave without appearing rude. “Forgive me, I—Oh. It’s you.”
She should have known Max would be the one to disturb any small moment of peace.
With the light behind him, his expression was nearly unreadable, aside from the arch of one dark eyebrow. “Expecting someone else, Lady Granworth? A lover, perhaps?”
That mocking tone grated on her, causing her shoulders and neck to tense. She darted a glance around him to the open doorway, knowing that they were far from alone. “Hush. Someone will hear you.”
He strode toward her, not stopping until he was close enough to loom over her, his mouth set in a grim line. “I just saw Ellery in the hallway.”
“Is this a game, Max? Am I now to tell you who I saw in the hallway?”
The ogre did not relent. “Is he your lover?”
She skirted away from him and out of direct view of the doorway. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered in here, alone with Max. Widow or not, tongues would most certainly wag. “You’re going to cause a scene. And I don’t see that it is any business of yours.”
Max turned toward the sound of voices from a group of people passing by and followed her to the far side, effectively shielding her with the breadth of his shoulders. But the suddenness of his close proximity forced her to take a step back. Directly into a bookcase.
“Library,” Max said under his breath, shaking his head. “Of course.”
Suddenly, memories swarmed her of his hands on her face, his mouth on hers, his body warm and solid. Now, she felt the heat of him, eclipsing her, blanketing her. And her own skin responded in kind.
She was thankful for the darkness—otherwise he would surely see how pink she was becoming. And suddenly she knew, without a doubt, that it was not her temper making her feel this way.
Drat! She’d truly hoped that it was only his ability to anger her that had caused her unprecedented reaction the other day.
Yet even as she disparaged the certainty, her blood began to hum in her veins. His fragrance reached her nostrils—the scent of clean shaving soap, a powdery essence of shirtfront starch, and a tantalizing aroma of fading sandalwood and musk that was decidedly male. Having used sandalwood oil in her pomander, she knew it did not smell this intoxicating on its own. There was something about the way Max wore it, warmed by the heat of his body, that demanded she take a deeper breath. And so she did.
“I happen to enjoy libraries,” she said on exhale, attempting to sound completely composed. It took a moment for her to realize how that statement, given their particular history, could be misconstrued as a flirtation. But Juliet was not one to bumble out an excuse. So instead, she lifted her chin and studied how Max would interpret it.
One corner of his mouth twitched, and his gaze dipped to her mouth. “Is that so?”
“I might even plan a tour to study various libraries—the architecture of the rooms, the spines of books, the structure of the shelves . . . ” Her words trailed off as he stepped closer.
For an instant, the only sound in the room was the sibilant whisper of the silk of her skirts pressing against her legs, giving way beneath the force of his.
As if her pulse were trapped inside her body and looking for a way to escape, it flitted from one place to the next, from her wrists to her throat, to the fingertips gripping the shelf behind her, to her stomach and then to her lips. She fought the urge to press them together, not wanting to give any indication of the direction of her thoughts.
Then he lifted his hand, his fingers cupping her jaw. Slowly, his thumb swept against her mouth, inducing a riot of tingles that begged for a firmer pressure, a nip of teeth . . . “And would Ellery be accompanying you on this tour?”
Only now, as Max pinned her with his hard stare, did she realize his intention all along. All he wanted was an answer to his preposterous question! He had no intention of kissing her. Not that the knowledge disappointed her in the least. In fact, she was quite relieved, because she, most certainly, did not desire to be kissed by him.
Not only that, but she wasn’t about to admit her true interest in Ellery as that of her chosen candidate. Since Max was t
ypically cleverer than this, however, she didn’t want to give him any reason to think that Ellery was anything other than her lover. Perhaps there would be a victory in a small deception via omission.
“Unless you want your thumb bitten, I suggest you lower your hand.”
“And if you do it, there will be consequences.” He stroked his thumb across her lips once more and leaned in, goading her, tempting her. But he must have thought better of it, because he shifted his stance. Now, both of his hands bracketed her, gripping the shelves at either side of her head.
She flashed her teeth in a smile that might have been sweet, if not for the seething anger bubbling up inside of her. “To which act are you referring—having Ellery as my lover or biting your thumb? Because now that you have planted the idea in my mind, I find both entirely tempting.”
If this were any other man, she would never speak so boldly. Moreover, if this were any other man, she would be eager to flee this prison he was forming around her. She hated to be blocked in. And yet, with Max, for some strange reason, even though she despised him to his very soul, she had the impulse to wrap her arms around his waist, squeeze him tightly, and press fully against him. She wanted to climb inside the sleeves of his coat and bury her face in the spot beneath his jawline and the top of his cravat.
It made absolutely no sense at all.
Once again, she felt as if a maddening scream were building up inside of her. One day, she feared she would be unable to stop it.
“You should save your bite for someone whose teeth are just as sharp. Continue to leave those with more tender flesh alone,” he said, the heat of his breath brushing against the shell of her ear.
It wasn’t until she saw his grin that she realized what she’d just admitted—that Ellery was not her lover presently. The urge to bait Max further by pretending an interest in ensuring it gathered inside her like a mob of greedy relations at the reading of a will, clawing to gain the upper hand. However, she needed to keep Max’s thoughts away from her candidate. Therefore . . .
When a Marquess Loves a Woman Page 7
