by Stacy Reid
“What do I want to be asking him for?” she said with a pout and flounced away down the stairs.
With a sigh, Juliana continued toward the first-floor landing. She had been hiding in the earl’s country home for five days and was already mixed up in some love affair. Thomas made calf eyes at Mary, who seemed determined to flirt with Juliana. Pretending to be a servant had been a mad scheme born of desperation and a stroke of genius on her part, but it did have its complications.
Juliana was panting by the time she reached the third floor to the earl’s chamber. The earl palatial rooms consisted of a large private sitting room, bedroom, dressing room, and a bath chamber. She did not enter right away but took a few moments to gather her nerves. This she had to do each morning to prepare herself to interact with him to not betray her disguise.
She opened the door and padded inside. The fire did not need to be stoked, so she walked over to the windows. Juliana tugged open the large blue drapes, glancing at the overcast sky. It would be another hour before the earl rose, and the order she had been given on her first day was that the earl should always awake to see the breaking day. No such luck for him today. It seemed as if it would rain again this morning.
His soft snoring sounded behind her, so she moved carefully, not wanting to disturb his slumber. Stifling an indelicate yawn, she went about her duties with grim efficiency, feeling as if a valet were the worst position she could have filled in this household. She had always been an early riser, enjoying riding before the sun peaked. However, valets were required to awaken at the unholy hour of five in the morning, to ensure their master’s day started right.
A soft snort escaped her as she removed from the armoire the earl’s clothes for the day. She selected a superfine dark blue jacket, tan trousers, white shirt, socks, neckcloth, and shoes she’d polished during the previous evening, before heading for the library. Juliana then hung his apparel upon a stand. She would make her way below stairs for hot water for the earl to shave away his morning stubble. Thankfully, he did that himself, even though it was one duty she would be sure to perform well. A wistful ache went through her heart at the memory of helping her papa shave many mornings.
Her papa hadn’t used a valet. Either Juliana or her mama would assist him in shaving or tying a neckcloth if needed. Mostly it had been her mother who would steal quick kisses while she fixed his cravats. That warm memory had her smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks.
Hurrying toward the door, she faltered when a voice drawled, “A minute, Julian.”
Juliana froze. When the butler had given her the list of ‘to-dos and don’ts’ at the very top had been to leave the earl’s chamber after setting out his clothes. This would be the very first morning he roused while she was still there. She gripped the doorknob, her heart pounding. “Yes, my lord?”
Arghh! Why was there a squeak in her voice? Juliana cleared her throat and slowly turned around. The earl was sitting at the edge of his bed, and his chest was bared.
Her entire face flamed, and her heart clamored erratically. Do not be silly!
Thankfully, a sheet was draped across his hips and hanged down to the floor.
When she had entered the house a week ago, she had been desperately afraid the man would take one look at her and knew her to be a lady! But he had been just like her stepfather, looking through her or past her. Yet, Juliana had come to realize it was not because he thought her so inferior to his station, and she did not deserve the honor of his direct stare. The man was simply too occupied with whatever was going on in his head.
Except, last night he had stared at her, assessed her with his piercing green eyes and overly direct stare, and he was doing it again.
What do you see?
She ruthlessly repressed the need to check if the wig was affixed right on her head.
“I have a task for you this morning.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I am bidding a lady friend goodbye. An appropriate gift is in order, I believe.”
Juliana blinked. “And what do you require of me, exactly, milord?”
The earl arched a brow, and she silently winced.
“To procure that gift.”
“And what should I get?”
The earl scowled. “That is why it is your task, Julian.”
Valets' duties extended beyond what she understood. Clearly, she was expected to know his preferences for gifts for his lady loves.
“I will make my way to the village as soon as possible, my lord.”
“There is a local jeweler. He is exceptionally good and designs pieces for some of the top London stores. Mr. Marcus Nelson.”
“Yes, my lord.” Julianna bowed and quickly closed the door behind her.
Returning below stairs, she did her best to avoid a scowling Thomas and a flirtatious Mary. Juliana went into the servants’ parlor where the cook had laid out breakfast on a side table. She quickly filled her plate with eggs, strips of bacon, and round yellow muffins that smelled like cinnamon.
She tried her best not to talk to any of the other servants and kept her head down while she ate. It was not an easy task to keep her voice low and husky. The less she spoke, the better to maintain her ruse. Laughter and chatter swirled around her as the staff of over twenty-five servants ate. A few aimed stares at her, but no one made the effort to involve her in their conversation.
Juliana was grateful for it, yet even as she listened to them, loneliness pierced her. The housekeeper, Mrs. McCauley, was like a mother hen, asking about their families and always steering the conversation to ensure it remained pleasant and jovial.
Juliana felt the last time her family had indulged in such warm happiness was when papa had been alive. Dinner was always informal with papa. He laughed and lived boisterously, having never given many thoughts to propriety. It wasn’t like that it the Viscount’s home at all. And while Juliana hadn’t hated it, there had been far less laughter and joy at the table.
Shrugging aside the memories that only created this deep ache in her heart, she finished her breakfast. Soon she would have to procure a gift for the earl’s mistress. No, his ex-mistress, that relationship would cease to exist. She wouldn’t examine too much why the notion cheered her, and Juliana finished her meal with a smile in her heart and on her lips.
Almost four hours later, Juliana hopped down from the earl’s carriage and walked up the gravel line driveway to the side door. There was another carriage in the driveway, and the horses attached were being led by the stable lad to the stable block.
Gripping the parcel, she hurried inside and made her way down the hallway to the earl’s study. Surely he would like to see the gifts she had procured on his behalf right away. She knocked on his door, and a very aggrieved voice bid her enter. Twisting the knob, Juliana opened the door and faltered.
An incredibly beautiful lady draped in a yellow gown reposed on the chaise longue, her position designed to tempt any man to admire her charms. The gown was expensive and more suited for an evening occasion, with the new lace-edged three quarter length sleeves, leaving her shoulders bared. The front of her skirt revealed a much ruffled and embroidered golden silk. Her waist had clearly been tightly corseted as she was breathing fast and shallow. Her décolletage was indecently lowered, and with a gasp, Juliana swore she saw the outline of the lady’s nipples.
She quickly averted her gaze to see the earl looking at her. His mouth twitched, and with a jolt of discomfiture, she realized he was amused, clearly at her. And of course, any red-blooded male would be ogling at the delightful display.
“Pardon me for interrupting my lord. I did not know you were occupied.”
“You interrupt nothing. Lady Wimpole was just about to leave.”
At that announcement, the lady started to cry prettily in her handkerchief.
For a moment, the earl looked entirely bemused.
“My good lad, do you have the gift?”
The lady perked up at that, delicately dabbing he
r eyes. “Oh, Wentworth!” she said breathlessly. “No gift will soothe my heart. It is not pretty baubles I want, but you!”
Juliana walked over and handed him the slim box wrapped in pastel-colored paper and ribbons.
“Sophia, you must stop crying,” the earl said, clearly exasperated.
“My darling, my nerves have been overset since I got your note,” she dramatically cried, pressing her hands to her overflowing bosom, delightfully plump in a low-cut gown which flattered her figure. “Wentworth, please, you must not be so heartless!”
“I am sure I sent more than a note. Did you not get a draft of two thousand pounds?”
Juliana inched her way to the door, shamelessly content with watching the tableau unfold.
The earl stood, went over to Lady Wimpole, and handed her the package. She sniffed and took it, opening it, then gasped.
“Oh, Wentworth, this is so lovely.”
He made a non-committal sound. “I must get back to my work.”
Fat drops of tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. “Why must we be over?” she prettily pleaded
He stooped to his haunches, his expression softening a bit. “Come now, Sophia, my dear, you are a passionate woman who deserves much better than my infrequent attentions. You’ve been my mistress for over a year now, and I cannot recall if I’ve taken you to my bed.”
Juliana’s heart jolted, and her curiosity about the earl soared. A mistress he had never taken to his bed.
An outraged squawk came from Sophia, and she lurched to her feet, objecting most fiercely to say, “Yes! At least four times…and my darling, how wonderful it was. Surely, you must remember.”
The earl stood, his mouth parted, then snapped shut. His eyes lit up with a revelation, and he snapped his fingers together. “By God, I’ve solved the equation! How simple it is, how did I ever miss it?”
Juliana choked on her startled laugh as he beelined from the room to his library.
“Well!” Sophia said, flinging herself into the chaise.
The tears dried, and Lady Sophia pouted and squared her shoulders.
“Will you like some refreshments, madam?” Juliana politely queried.
With a gasp, Sophia looked up, clearly surprised to note Juliana was still in the room. These people really believed servants were invisible. Sophia refused all refreshments, and after fidgeting for over an hour, she ordered her carriage around, then left in a flounce. As the room contained many valuable antiques, Juliana had decided to wait for the earl’s ex-mistress to depart. In case she was light-fingered in addition to being light with her skirts.
Amused by the entire thing, Juliana had the cook prepare a tray for the earl when he did not come out from the library after three hours. She opened the door, balancing the tray which held slices of roasted beef, duchesse potatoes, mushrooms which the earl was partial to, cauliflower and a piece of the cook’s apple pie with cream to follow, and a bottle of claret.
The earl was bent over his desk, writing in a large leather bounded book. She found a place on his desk to rest the tray, and even with the most mouthwatering flavor filling the room, he did not lift his head.
“I’ve brought you something to eat, my lord.”
He did not glance at her, but his stomach grumbled quite loudly.
“Let my solicitors know they are to let the townhouse for Lady Sophia Wimpole for the rest of the year to soothe her offended pride,” he said absentmindedly.
“Yes, my lord.” Juliana went into her inner jacket pocket, removed the small notebook and pencil she hid there, and made the note.
After, she stood there, staring down at him, an odd feeling stirring inside. It was strange and unfamiliar, and she did not know what to make of it.
He was different from what she had envisioned, and she found herself terribly curious about him. Still, it would be best not to linger in his presence.
Chapter 4
Wentworth groaned as he lifted his head and lowered his quill. The fundamental theorem of calculus had always been a favorite of his. Since last week, he had been working on a set of differential calculus questions, and one had given him pause. He relished the challenge of solving complex mathematical equations, and just now, a spark had been lit in his brain, and he realized he had been applying a principle wrong.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he frowned upon seeing that the time was almost seven in the evening, and dusk had fallen. The door eased open, and his valet entered with another tray in his hand. Wentworth glanced around, certain his man had brought him another tray earlier, but his desk was clean.
“You’ve stopped working, my lord,” the lad said, coming over with a tray that smelled divine.
When Julian lowered it onto the desk, Wentworth arched a brow.
“Did the cook know I was working on a problem?”
“Yes, my lord, I informed the kitchens earlier.”
“And they still prepared this feast?”
His valet wrinkled his nose most charmingly. “I was instructed on my first day to always alert the cook whenever you have shut yourself away to work. Today was the first day I really witnessed it, my lord.”
“That does not explain all this loveliness,” he said, taking up the knife and cutting into the breast of a roasted quail. Wentworth groaned at the first taste. He was hungrier than he’d realized.
“I ordered the kitchens to prepare something proper, my lord. With all the energy you expend to work, a few cakes and sandwiches would not do.”
Wentworth froze and glanced up into the flushed face of his valet. “How novel,” he murmured. “I shall not complain you overriding my order, for this meal is beyond delicious. So, my good lad, thank you for being thoughtful.”
Wentworth had informed his kitchens years ago that whenever he is consumed with a problem or something new, the cook could forgo the three to five-course dinner she prepared. Even when she did something simple, the tray would be removed untouched.
“Request a second tray from the kitchens, Julian. I want the same thing I have here and in the same quantity.”
“Yes, my lord,” he said and hurried from the room.
Wentworth took his tray over to the table by the fire and slowly savored the thyme-infused quail until Julian returned with another tray.
“Please set it down over here.”
His valet complied, setting down another tray with half a roasted quail, slices of roast pork, vegetables, delicate chicken-filled pastries, and fish in crème sauce. There was spiced cake, wine, and fruit compote in an elegant jelly.
“I will retire my lord and—”
“Nonsense. Join me. The second tray is for you. I find I do not wish to dine alone tonight, and who better to join me?” Wentworth smiled. “I haven’t suggested that you kill someone, Julian, stop looking at the door with that air of desperation.”
A choking sound came from his valet before his slim shoulders squared, but most importantly, his stomach rumbled.
“It seems you’ve not had supper either, and if I am to guess correctly, that is at least another hour away. Now, join me.”
He sat, his throat working a nervous swallow.
Wentworth cut into a buttered golden potato. “Do I make you nervous, Julian?”
He scoffed and lowered himself in the chair. “Of course not, my lord.”
Wentworth poured a generous amount of brandy into two glasses and handed one to his valet.
“I should be the one serving you, my lord,” he said softly, taking the glass and a sip of the golden liquid.
Wentworth couldn’t explain why he liked his valet’s company. There was an air of something mysterious about him, and the suspicion Wentworth had felt about his valet still lingered.
“Is it true that you graduated from Oxford University at the age of seventeen?” Julian asked.
The question was unexpected, but it showed the lad was also curious about him.
“Yes. It took some finessing from my father for me to gain admittance at thir
teen. But, a demonstration of my ability opened the doors.”
His valet popped a piece of roasted quail in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “What was it like? Attending that important university at such a young age?”
“Lonely,” Wentworth replied without thinking. “That came out without me giving your question much thought.”
“But I believe it an honest response, my lord, thank you,” he said with a soft smile.
Wentworth barely contained his flinch. Bloody hell, that sweet curve of lush lips wreaked havoc with his damn heart. It seemed his infernal attraction to the lad was still there. He knew, of course, there were men and women who were attracted to both sexes, but the notion that he too had such sexuality was befuddling to his senses.
“Why was it lonely?”
Wentworth lowered his knife and fork and reached for his brandy, which he finished in one go. “While I was thrilled to be studying advanced mathematics and the various sciences, I was still a twelve-year-old lad who, at times, hungered to play. The older boys did not understand me, nor did they make an effort to befriend me or respond to my overtures. I spent most of my time studying or reading in my room or taking long walks by the river.”
He noted with some amusement for such a petite lad his valet had a healthy appetite. The tray was already half gone. Grabbing the decanter, the earl topped up his glass.
They ate and drank in a silence that felt almost companionable. Wentworth noted the lad kept his eyes lowered, and whenever their gazes met, the lad would hurriedly look away. Sometimes he would bite his lower lip, and other times he would blush.
The suspicion which had flowered inside him spun on its axis to something different. The more he stared at his valet, truly stared, the prettier the man became. Instead of looking away, which he had always done in a bid to deny the attraction, Wentworth examined his face with exquisite thoroughness.
The slope of his valet’s jawline seemed almost delicate. He doubted he shaved. The curl of his short blond hair across his forehead gave him a distinctly softened air, almost feminine. Something about his hair did not fit with his eyes or the sun-kissed tone of his complexion. In truth, his valet possessed a beautiful heart-shaped face, an upturned nose, and a very kissable cupid's bow mouth.
