“That was very farsighted and wise of him. Considering how young he was at the time.”
Juliette nodded. “He was only eight years old when we lost our parents.” They shared a moment of silence before she continued. “When the debt collectors came, we fled our home to avoid being placed in different orphanages or, God forbid, workhouses.
“Raphe took a couple of books with him, never selling them no matter how desperate we were. Instead, he traded them for new books and continued doing so until we’d learned about all sorts of subjects. Maybe it was my need to understand why I was often sick that fueled my interest in the medical texts he occasionally procured, or maybe they simply appealed to me because they were interesting. Either way, I would love to hear whatever you have to say on the subject, so by all means, please go on.”
Florian’s face lit up, not with a smile or anything close to humor, but with the sort of enthusiasm a child might display when encountering a puppy for the very first time. His shoulders even seemed to relax and his voice eased into something much smoother than she’d ever heard before as he told her the history behind not only the lithotrite but other medical instruments as well.
It wasn’t until he finished telling her about René Laennec’s invention of the stethoscope three years earlier that Juliette realized the other guests had returned to the ballroom. Perhaps she ought to look for Vivien and see if she wanted company? She’d left her alone for quite some time already and . . . Florian glanced around, apparently noticing the same thing as her. Dismay crossed his face and then he blinked, focusing back on her.
Juliette’s heart leapt and her stomach rolled over, the look in his eyes revealing a deeper respect than he’d ever shown her before. “I was wondering,” he said, speaking as though he hadn’t expected to say something more. “Would you like to dance the next set with me?”
“I um . . .”
“Unless you’re already engaged of course, in which case—”
“Yes.” He frowned and she realized she hadn’t been clear with her answer. “I’d love to dance the next set with you.”
His eyes held hers, drawing her in and holding her captive. Whatever his thoughts, he hid them well. “Good.” The word stirred the air, propelling them both into action as he pushed back his chair, stood and offered his hand.
Her palm connected with his, and even through the silk fabric of her gloves she could feel his heat and his strength rousing her senses. Confused by her curious response, which was unlike any she’d experienced before, she inhaled deeply and deliberately tried to concentrate on her posture and walk. The last thing she wanted to do was fall over and she feared she might do so at any moment.
It didn’t help that he kept quiet while guiding her through to the ballroom, his silence settling between them like a heavy block of awkwardness. Juliette tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed right or compelling enough in the wake of their recent discussion.
Entering the ballroom, her attention was momentarily drawn to Vivien, who was laughing at something Gabriella was saying. She caught Juliette’s gaze for a second and gave her a cheeky smile after acknowledging who she was with. Juliette responded with a reprimanding frown—the sort that was meant to suggest there was nothing between herself and Florian and no need for Vivien to try and imply otherwise.
They reached the dance floor and Juliette became increasingly aware that they were being watched. By everyone. “Your new position has certainly caused some attention,” she said as he slid his arm out from under hers and led her forward by the hand.
“An unfortunate consequence indeed,” he said as he took his position across from her.
She glanced around. “What are we dancing?” She’d been so distracted by her thoughts and by the crowd and perhaps a little by Florian as well, she hadn’t had time to consider the steps she would soon have to make.
“The waltz,” he said.
A flutter rose up from Juliette’s stomach to beat more rapidly inside her chest. In other words, she was about to be pulled into his arms, to have him daringly close. She wasn’t sure why she found the prospect both troubling and enticing or why she felt the need to both run from him and to stay.
“There’s no need for alarm,” he added with impassive detachment. “It’s only a dance.”
“Of course it is,” she said, aiming for her most nonchalant tone of voice and sounding breathless instead. She swallowed, chided herself for her silliness and squared her shoulders. This was Florian after all, the sternest man she’d ever met. Waltzing with him would likely be an unflappable experience.
But then the music started and he stepped toward her. His hand closed over hers while the other settled firmly against her lower back, pulling her closer. Juliette’s heart tripped over, her feet moving of their own accord, thank heaven, because her mind was in no position to make sure she got the steps right. Not when all she could think of was the precision with which he moved. His posture was stiffer than any of the other dance partners she’d had and yet, in spite of that, he seemed to possess a greater degree of elegance.
Not to mention, the way he held her. It suggested dedication toward her—as though he meant to ensure she did not falter. The thought of him being so considerate warmed her heart and it struck her that she shouldn’t have been surprised to discover he cared beneath his otherwise blunt and growly manner. Because what other man would dedicate his life to helping the sick than the sort of man capable of deep compassion?
“Your sister-in-law has worked a miracle with you and your siblings,” Florian said as he led her around the edge of the dance floor. “You dance much better than I expected.”
Trust him to crush her romanticized thoughts of him with a dose of unrefined candor. “What you’re experiencing now is the result of several months’ practice.” It had been hard and grueling, especially in the beginning. She met his gaze and arched a brow, intent on giving as good as he gave. “You dance much better than I expected as well, by the way. In fact, I never thought you were the dancing sort.”
“I’m not.”
When he failed to elaborate, she simply had to ask, “Then why on earth would you choose to dance two sets in the course of one evening?”
“It wasn’t by choice,” he said. His brow knit and he suddenly added, “Except with you. I invited you to dance because I wanted to. The other dance was an obligation.”
Juliette tilted her head back and gazed up into his face, at the firm outline of his jaw and the hard shape of his lower lip. Except, it wasn’t really hard at all, was it? It was smooth and supple and only looked hard because of the way it was set. His eyes were difficult to see as they stared out over the top of her head, but she noticed for the very first time that his lashes were long and black, beautiful even, if such a word could be used to describe them.
He must have realized she was staring, for he dropped his gaze and locked it with hers while twirling her between two other couples. His fingertips pressed slightly harder against her back, producing a buzzing sensation at the base of her spine.
“I see,” she said because she felt the need to say something in order to distract herself from the way she had started responding to him. “Then I am flattered.”
He puffed out a breath. “Indeed, it is I who ought to be flattered by your willingness to listen while I went on about surgical tools.”
“I would have found an excuse to extricate myself from that discussion if I had wanted to do so,” she said, needing him to understand that she’d genuinely enjoyed hearing what he’d had to say on the subject.
“Hmph. You are a bit of an oddity, my lady.” The edge of his mouth hitched just a little while the rest of his features transformed into something that almost resembled a look of admiration. “I mean that as a compliment,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”
Not knowing what to say besides thanking him, Juliette focused her attention on completing the rest of the dance while wondering why she’d never taken th
e time to get to know him better. The answer was simple really. For one thing, he hadn’t been present at more than a couple of social functions she’d attended in the past. She’d been new to Society back then and he had been very standoffish. Then the Season had ended and she had gone to spend the autumn and winter at Raphe’s estate in Gloucester. So the opportunity to improve her acquaintance with Florian hadn’t really been there. Until now. And considering how much she’d enjoyed his company this evening, she had every intention of improving it even further during the course of the coming weeks.
Chapter 4
The dance came to an end and Florian reluctantly released his hold on Lady Juliette. He’d been honest with the woman who’d begged a dance from him upon his arrival. He didn’t waltz, but somehow with Lady Juliette, he’d wanted to. Stepping back, he bowed while she curtseyed, after which he escorted her from the dance floor. “Would you like a refreshment?” he asked, hoping to keep her by his side just a little while longer.
The effect she had on him was curious. Whereas he always counted the seconds until he could leave a social event without being rude, he had no desire to be anywhere else right now than here, with her. The attention and depth of concentration she’d shown when he’d spoken about his work was not only unusual but strangely intoxicating.
And then when she’d clasped his hand and a surge of heat had swept through him, he’d felt momentarily unmoored, which should have alarmed him. After all, he was, if anything, the sort of man who thrived on certainty and fact, not at all the type who took to flights of fancy or succumbed to endless romantic ponderings. But Lady Juliette’s effect on him had been a refreshing change, offering him a welcome reprieve from all his concerns. And the way she’d put him back in his place during supper had been strangely arousing.
“Florian?”
“Hmm?” He realized she’d been talking to him and that he had not been listening. Which again contradicted his character. Focusing on people was never a problem, and yet his mind had allowed itself to wander . . .
“You asked if I would like a refreshment.”
“Would you?” He saw to his surprise that they’d crossed the room and were presently standing before the refreshment table.
“A glass of lemonade would be nice.” Her eyes sparkled, her lips trembling as if she fought to suppress a smile, and Florian wondered if she knew the extent to which she distracted him.
He reached for a glass, grateful for a task he could anchor himself to, and filled it. Handing it to her, he watched as she took a sip. Her upper lip carefully settled against the edge of the glass, and something inside him tightened into a straining ball of fire. Reaching for another glass, he snatched it up and filled it, the lemonade sloshing slightly over the side because of his shaking hands.
Bloody hell!
No woman had ever affected him so. He was a physician, accustomed to the human body in ways few people could even imagine. There was no mystery there for him. Lips and breasts had never stood apart from hands and feet. Until now, when the smooth skin rising above the neckline of Lady Juliette’s bodice and the sudden urge to claim her mouth overcame him with the force of a charging carriage. It threw his entire world off balance and challenged his composure.
“Are you all right?” She asked the question with innocent eyes while he did his best to bury some very inappropriate thoughts.
A cold sip of lemonade helped, as did his deliberate effort to think about the procedure he’d be performing in the morning. He took a deep breath, and a second later, he knew he’d managed to school his features and calm his nerves successfully.
“Fine,” he said, in answer to her question. “I was merely experiencing a little discomfort. On account of the heat and the exercise our dance entailed and . . .” He let the words fade, aware he sounded ridiculous. Which was yet another new experience for him. He cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say. Anything to distract from his recent bumbling.
She came to his rescue. “Is it true that your brother owns a popular club here in London?”
Thank God! A safe topic he could speak of with ease. “Yes. He wanted to make one available for gentlemen and ladies alike, so husbands would have somewhere to take their wives. It’s very exclusive and tastefully done.”
“A little strange, though, isn’t it, for an heir to do such a thing?”
Florian dipped his chin. “It’s unusual for any aristocrat to do so, not only for an heir. But it’s Lowell’s passion, and although there was some resistance to the idea and a fair bit of gossip in the beginning, it has become a great success.”
She gazed up at him, studying his face until discomfort flooded his veins. “You’re really proud of him,” she said as if surprised by the fact.
“Of course I am. Lowell has worked extremely hard to make the Red Rose what it is today.” He leaned back slightly, the heady scent of honey and jasmine making him slightly light-headed. “You should visit it one day. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
“Why?”
The question threw him a little and for a second he was at a complete loss for words. They came to him in the next heartbeat and as naturally as a stream flowing through the woods. “Because of your easy ability to smile.” A charming frown appeared above the bridge of her nose, forcing him to continue talking, lest he lose himself in the intricate detail it provided. “The Red Rose is a place of entertainment, my lady. There’s card play, music, a fine restaurant and even singers who come to perform.”
“I’ll mention it to Raphe. Perhaps he and Gabriella can take me there one evening.” She hesitated briefly, glanced away as if considering the crowd before returning her attention to him. She took a deep breath, expelled it slowly, and finally said, “Maybe you could come with us.”
Florian’s heart thudded hard against his chest. His skin tightened around his limbs and heat poured into his stomach. She wanted to see him again, to keep his company and . . . what? He was not in the market for a wife and had no intention of ever gaining one. So then what would be the point? The sort of friendship that was destined to torture him with lusty thoughts?
“Possibly,” he said, promising nothing. She was lovely, the sort of woman a man like him would be fortunate to spend his days with. But his life was not as simple as most. He wasn’t destined to be a husband, not only because of his dedication toward his patients, but because he would never lie to his wife about who he was. Telling the truth wasn’t something he ever wished to endure.
Depressed by this thought, he wondered if it wouldn’t be best for him to take his leave before he ruined the evening for Lady Juliette with the black mood closing in around him. He hesitated because her presence was the only thing stopping him from descending into the melancholic pit in which he so often found himself whenever thoughts of his “real” father rose to the surface.
He clenched his fists and fought the bitterness rolling through him, his gaze leaving Lady Juliette to wander across the crowd in search of escape. A group of women moved to the right and two older gentlemen stepped to the left, allowing a glimpse of a face that chilled Florian’s blood. His heart slammed against his chest and a fist tightened around his lungs, cutting off air. He muttered an absent excuse to Lady Juliette and started toward the man he’d just seen.
Other people had hidden him from view once again, forcing Florian to weave his way toward the place where he’d seen him. His appearance was different from when Florian had last seen him, his hair color altered, his mouth and jaw concealed behind a neatly trimmed beard. Even his cheeks had taken a different shape. They were fuller, rounding off the features that had always looked so drawn. But his eyes, those ice blue eyes . . . They could only belong to one man.
Bartholomew.
It couldn’t be him, not here in a Mayfair ballroom. And yet, the similarities were there, small as they might be, and they made Florian wonder.
Nausea assailed him. The thought of sharing the same blood as the most notorious criminal in England t
urned his stomach. The possibility of it ever being made public filled him with dread. And the notion that he still lived, when everyone else believed he was dead, had resulted in many sleepless nights.
A judge had sentenced Bartholomew to death by hanging, but whatever justice Florian had hoped to find had evaporated when he’d come to witness the execution and examine the body afterward.
Whoever it was that had died that day, it wasn’t Bartholomew. Just a man who looked a hell of a lot like him. Which meant the bastard was still out there roaming free, perhaps even knowing it was his own son who’d ensured his conviction.
Seeking a closer look at the man he’d just seen, Florian quickened his pace while clamminess crawled across his skin.
A pair of debutantes laughed to one side and a merry fellow with golden locks and a broad smile stepped into Florian’s path while recounting a story to his friends. Muttering an oath, Florian stepped around him only to catch a fleeting glimpse of the man’s hair. If it was Bartholomew, then he’d selected a color that matched Florian’s.
Breathing hard, he pushed onward, apologizing as he increased his pace and brushed past people in an effort to reach the villain who should have died last year. It had to be him, as impossible as it seemed. Florian felt it in his gut and in the rapid beats of his heart. How dare he show his face in public? How dare he come here and taunt those he’d hurt?
Shoving past a few more people, he threw his gaze around, frantically searching, knowing he couldn’t have gotten far. A hand grabbed his elbow and he jerked away, knowing he had to keep looking.
“Florian?” Henry’s voice ricocheted through his mind, pulling all thought into one fine point on which he was forced to focus.
“Not now,” he said, spotting the man he sought and already moving to follow him up the stairs he was taking toward the front entrance.
The Illegitimate Duke Page 3
