When a Marquess Loves a Woman

by Vivienne Lorret

  Bram hopped down and stood beside her. “And why are you here, little brother?”

  Max’s shoulders went back, and he clenched his jaw, causing a muscle to twitch. “I came to pay a call on—”

  “On my cousin,” Juliet finished for him in a rush, casting a look of reprimand. He looked positively territorial, and she ignored the responding pulse that quickened in her own body. She felt as if Max were engaged in some sort of medieval joust against his brother for the honor of wooing her. Ludicrous! Yet part of her was afraid of how much it pleased her and how much she wanted to be claimed by him. “I believe I heard Zinnia mention that your mother was sending something over.”

  Bram chuckled. “You are still Mother’s errand boy, I see.”

  Max gave her a dark look but answered his brother. “Apparently so. There could have been no other reason I was here.”

  She swallowed, feeling guilty. But really, did he expect to announce to the entire ton that he was now paying calls on his sworn enemy? She wasn’t even ready to tell him how she felt. The last thing she wanted was to have the gossips announce it before she did. Already, it seemed that a parade of carriages had converged on the square to watch the spectacle.

  Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Wick appeared on the stairs, rushing down to the pavement. Zinnia was framed in the doorway.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Juliet said, taking hold of Mr. Wick’s arm, eager for this entire episode to end.

  The following morning, Bram strode into the breakfast room, all smiles and brimming with pleasantries. “Good morning, Mother. And little brother, how fares your courtship of that debutante?”

  Max was tempted to tell him to bugger off but thought better of it. “It is promising.”

  Or at least it was until Bram had returned. Now, Max felt as if he’d stepped in mud up to his knees, and every step forward was interminably delayed.

  Bram continued on as if Max’s response was of no importance. “I have an announcement that I’m certain you are both eager to hear. I have decided on a bride—or courtship, rather. But it is my guess that, soon enough, Max and I will have a new battle, and that will be to see who claims the first wedding day at St. George’s.”

  Mother shook her head. “Bramson, we’ve been in mourning. Surely you could not have decided on a bride as of yet.”

  “It has become quite clear to me since yesterday. Can you not guess?” Bram puffed out his chest and gripped the edges of his lapels. “I mean to marry Juliet Granworth.”

  Max frowned. “Have you spoken to her about this?”

  “I did not even need to because it was she who made the suggestion to me in the carriage.”

  “She said she wanted to marry you?” Max was stunned, but before he jumped to conclusions, he would find out from Juliet.

  “Not in those exact words, but she did agree that I should take a wife soon for Patrice’s sake. And I shall.”

  At Bram’s ridiculous assumption, Max wanted to relax once more. With the history between them, however, he couldn’t let go of the reminder that Bram had usually gotten everything he wanted.

  The ton was enthralled by Bram, carefully watching his every move. And Max felt the stirrings of a peculiar sensation of déjà vu.

  Too sore for walking, and frankly too embarrassed to return to the park yet, Juliet stayed in. Unfortunately, word had spread about her brush with death, and nearly every gentleman of her acquaintance came to call, in addition to a few ladies, including Lilah, Ivy, and Gemma.

  But not Max.

  Worse was the audacious bouquet that Bram presented to her. The flowers were so large and so many that she had to hold them with both hands when he thrust them at her. She tried to smile, but it froze when she spied several ants climbing out from the centers.

  “Peonies. How lovely,” she cried but tried to hide her alarm. “Myrtle, could you please take these to the upstairs sitting room.” And she quickly handed them off to the maid.

  Then the next day, he brandished another bouquet of peonies, of such magnitude and quantity that they ended up in this morning’s Standard.

  “The Marquess of E—e hefted another armful of enormous peony blossoms up the stairs of a certain Hanover Street house,” Juliet read aloud to Zinnia, who sat opposite her in the morning room.

  “Mrs. Wick requested to keep the flowers out on the terrace, as the ants were spotted in the hall, in the parlor, and crawling out of the upstairs sitting room.” Her cousin paused in the act of penning her letter and shook her head in disapproval.

  They’d both thought that banishing them to the moldering sitting room, which they used primarily for the purpose of storing unwanted objects, had seemed the perfect solution. Juliet hadn’t the heart to send those flowers to the sanatorium, as the patients had enough troubles without adding insects to injury.

  “I’m not certain what I should do if this continues,” Juliet confessed.

  Zinnia gave a peculiar look, tilting her head to one side. “We can always throw them out.”

  Juliet laughed. “I’m not speaking of the flowers but of Bram.”

  “Do you not like Lord Engle’s attentions?”

  She hesitated before answering. “At first, I thought he was trying to make amends for having nearly killed me, but he never actually apologized. Then yesterday, it occurred to me that he might be courting me. Or at least he thinks he is. He never asked, and I would not have consented. What unsettles me most is that I fear Marjorie desires the match.”

  “With Lord Engle?” Zinnia blinked owlishly. “Not at all.”

  Before Juliet could ask Zinnia to elaborate, Mr. Wick cleared his throat from the doorway.

  “You have a caller, my lady.”

  “I don’t believe I’m at home today.” Juliet checked the calendar to be sure she wasn’t mistaken. Most people only had certain at home days when they were accepting calls. After all, no one was expected to be available on a whim.

  “Yes, my lady. I said the same to your caller; however, he is rather insistent. His lordship states that you will make an exception for him.”

  Could it be Max? Her heart began to race. She hadn’t seen him in days, other than the day she’d fallen in the park. He hadn’t returned, even though she’d offered a perfect excuse to call. Running an errand for his mother was innocent enough, wasn’t it? “Who is it?”

  “Lord Engle, my lady.”

  That oh-so-brief elation abruptly vanished. “I am still not at home. No, wait. I will see him, but keep him in the foyer.” Then to Zinnia, she added, “This will not take long.”

  It was time to be perfectly clear with Bram that she was not interested in courtship or marriage.

  When she stepped into the foyer, she saw that he was holding not one but two bouquets of peonies. Poor Mrs. Wick.

  “Considering how well received the other bouquets were, I knew you liked these the best,” he said with a smug grin. “And did you see the paper this morning? The entire ton is quite envious.”

  Max would have known that her exclaiming “peonies” in such a shocked tone was not necessarily stating a preference. In fact, she had told Bram quite plainly that she preferred roses. But he had not listened.

  He was entirely too much like Lord Granworth in that regard. In fact, he was too much like Lord Granworth in many regards. Complimenting her clothes and how well she looked, and then complimenting himself and how well they looked together.

  At one time, it might have thrilled her to know that Bram was courting her, like having a second chance to relive the past. But if she could go back in time, she would not return to the days when she wrote his name in her diary.

  No. There was only one day from her past that she would revisit, and someday she would tell Max about it.

  Taking the flowers, she set them on the table. No doubt ants were now crawling out of the petals and onto the rosewood. Thankfully, Mr. Wick was ready and armed with a crumb broom and pan.

  “Lord Engle,” she began, “I have enjoyed your
return to town. You are as charming and entertaining as ever. However, I want to make sure you know that I have no intention of marrying.” And then to be perfectly clear. “I believe, and I’m fairly certain that the ton believes, you are courting me, but I cannot allow it to continue.”

  “This was all in good fun. Nothing more.” Bram smiled and offered a nod of understanding, before he bowed and took his leave.

  Well, that was a relief. In fact, it was so simple that Juliet wondered if she’d misread his intentions.

  Somewhat uncertain, she made her way back to the parlor with the hope of returning to her previous conversation with Zinnia. With any luck, she would find out what Zinnia had been about to say—regarding the matches Marjorie wanted for her sons—before they were interrupted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The night of Lord and Lady Babcocke’s ball had arrived. After escorting Mother to the gallery, Max stood near the doors to the card room, his gaze straying to Juliet too often.

  This evening, she was a vision in dark red silk, with gussets sewn into the fabric beneath her breasts and molding to them like worshiping hands. The single ruby pendant that rested in the hollow of her throat winked in the light of the chandeliers whenever she turned his way. And he was happy to note that it winked quite often, because she watched him too, gracefully maneuvering her fan to disguise the direction of her gaze.

  He hadn’t seen her in days. Max ached for her and would have moved a mountain to see her, if she’d only given him one small reason to believe she wanted him to. But he respected her desire for independence and, perhaps, wanted her to miss him again. After all, the last time they were apart, she had expressed more about her feelings than she ever had before.

  So instead, he read about her callers in the Standard and listened to Bram profess how eagerly she awaited his calls.

  Max reassured himself that he was not being overshadowed by his elder brother, who now breezed into the room, grinning as if he owned the world. The truth was, Bram was in debt up to his eyes and didn’t own much of anything, other than an estate he kept in near financial ruin.

  “What, no peonies in hand?” Max asked when Bram stopped beside him.

  Since there was no change in his expression, his brother likely didn’t hear the sarcasm. “They did cause quite the stir. It is a shame they will not be in bloom much longer.”

  “A shame, indeed.” But Max wondered if Bram had ever bothered to figure out that Juliet liked roses. Velvety pink roses that were the shade of her lips, to be exact.

  “But it is all part of the game,” Bram said. “She is almost mine. In fact, she made a point of telling me that she was not interested in marriage.”

  Max grinned, more certain than ever about his course. Yet out of curiosity, he asked, “But why should this please you?”

  “Because when a woman mentions marriage, she is thinking about marriage. Of course.”

  “Or perhaps she was actually telling you that she had no intention of marrying.”

  Bram shook his head against such logic. “All she needs is someone to change her mind.”

  “And if she already knows her own mind?” Max knew this about Juliet as well. She knew exactly what she wanted. And Max believed—hoped—she wanted him.

  “No wonder you are still unmarried.” Bram laughed. “You have far too much to learn about the fairer sex. You must guide them.”

  Unlike his brother, Max had learned something from Juliet. She revealed herself in actions more than in words, and she responded to gestures, more than bold declarations. And tonight, he was going to give her every opportunity to show him what he meant to her.

  Tonight, he was going to ask her to dance.

  “What a complete crush, my dear,” Lady Babcocke said to her husband as they lingered near the open doorway that led to the balcony.

  Juliet did not mean to eavesdrop, but she was standing on the other side, applying her fan to cool her cheeks. She’d been staring at Max quite often this evening, and in his gaze she saw so many promises that it made her feel flush with eagerness. If only he would cross the room to her.

  Then again, that was likely not a wise decision, for surely everyone would know what was between them the moment they breathed the same air. That was the only thing that kept her from crossing the room to him. Because of their wager, nearly every eye followed their every move.

  Even if she could wend her way through the crowd, the gossips would label her as Max’s lover by morning. And what frightened her most about that was that it didn’t frighten her nearly as much as it should.

  “It may be a crush,” Lord Babcocke murmured to his wife, “but we are not likely to see Pembroke here, are we?”

  “Is Pembroke unwell?” Lady Babcocke asked.

  “He should be, after what I heard. He’s been trying to get everyone to invest in his South American silver mine, but word has it that it never existed.”

  “No.”

  “It’s true, my dear. Though I pity anyone who fell for it because the lender closed his doors today, without a word. Just took the money and fled.”

  Juliet hid her astonishment with her fan, waving it swiftly and pretending to be distracted by the clasp of her dance card chain at her wrist. This time, instead of filling her card with illegible names for every dance, she took special care to write down one name in particular for the waltz. Maxwell Harwick, the Marquess of Thayne. If only he were to ask her.

  “What will happen to all those who were swindled?”

  Lord Babcocke shrugged. “Ruination. What else?”

  The conversation earned the attention of others passing nearby. “What were you saying about ruination and Lord Pembroke?” With the question, more guests stopped and gathered. And soon enough, there was such a crowd around the balcony doors that Juliet could not escape.

  “Surely, there will be banking institutions that will help those who were cheated,” someone said after the news had been repeated several times over.

  “Not likely,” Lord Babcocke said, puffing out his chest and rocking back to the heels of his shoes. “But if there were, would you be eager to trust those bankers who may have had a hand in it? I’d have a mind to withdraw all my funds.”

  Juliet shook her head, no longer hiding the fact that she’d been listening. “No, I’m certain that is not the answer. After all, imagine if everyone went to the bank and demanded all their money at once.” She shuddered, knowing the banks could not support it.

  She never went into any of her lenders and demanded her entire fortune. No, she simply took out what was needed, a few pounds here and there. Because she knew that her gold, in part, helped fund those banknotes Mr. Woldsley was so fond of, and since many people carried those notes, there needed to be gold in the vault to support them.

  Unfortunately, her words of caution fell on deaf ears. The crowd was far more eager to hear Lord Babcocke’s dire warnings.

  Juliet managed to extricate herself from the mob but wound up stopping short when Bram stepped into her path. He was the last person she wanted to see. She thought she’d made herself perfectly clear.

  “Why, Lady Granworth, you are a sly one. Have you happened this way during the waltz to procure a dance partner?”

  Her gaze searched for Max. “No, indeed.”

  “Ah, waiting for a formal offer, I see.” He bowed, ignoring her headshake. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Unbelievable! Had Bram always been this obtuse? If there weren’t so many people watching with avid interest, she might simply have walked past him. But causing a scandal would only spoil her hopes for the remainder of the night.

  “I’m sorry, but this dance has already been promised to another . . . ” she said, searching for her dance card even now but finding it absent from her wrist. Drat! She must have dropped it over by the balcony doors.

  “Surely the gentleman should have come to claim you by now.”

  She tried to be patient with Bram, but quite honestly, his ma
nipulation was wearing on her nerves. “He is likely making his way to my side right this instant.”

  “Then allow me to escort you to him.” But instead of proffering his arm, his slipped his hand around her waist and began the steps of the waltz. It was in those few seconds, before she turned away and left him alone on the ballroom floor, that she spotted Max across the room.

  The hard look he gave her was something she would never forget. Only now did she realize how often she’d seen it in the past but dismissed it as a product of Max’s argumentative nature. And she noticed how much pain was there too.

  Because of it, she knew she would have to do something drastic to get Bram out of her way once and for all.

  Max left the ballroom a much wiser man. At last, he realized that Juliet would never give him everything he needed. He’d been patient, with the great hope that she would soon be ready. But now he knew differently.

  “Max,” Juliet said, out of breath as she emerged from a narrow passageway beside the main hallway. Lifting her hand, she absently smoothed back a lock of hair that had slipped from her coiffure. “It was not what it looked like.”

  He gritted his teeth. He’d had experience enough with exactly what it looked like. She’d saved the waltz for Bram. “The past has taught me differently.”

  “Please,” she beseeched him quietly, glancing down the hallway to the trio of guests who were walking toward the ballroom, their backs to them. “Come away from the main hall so that we can talk privately.”

  Of course, she would not want anyone to see them together. Not even now, with so much more between them. He’d had enough of being cast aside by her, and it was time she knew.

  Stepping into the narrow corridor, he opened the door to the nearest room. Thankfully, it was not a library but a small sitting room, swathed in the flickering light of the garden torches beyond the window.

  “About the dance,” Juliet began.

  Max shook his head and held up a hand immediately. “This is about more than a single waltz. This is about patience and things that we’ve concealed from each other. And perhaps I am as much to blame because I haven’t been completely honest with you.”