by Clee, Adele
Julianna caught Miss Winters’ dismissive gaze. They looked similar, had the same porcelain skin and red curls, but it wasn’t like staring into a looking glass. There was a noticeable difference. Miss Winters’ arrogant bearing—the mark of any worthy courtesan—was so opposed to Julianna’s quiet reserve.
“I’d be interested to know when Miss Winters returned to town,” Julianna mused aloud. “Do you know when we might expect to hear from Mr Cole?”
“Cole will remain at Witherdeen until he secures the information he needs.” Mr Sloane chuckled. “Let’s hope his pencil sketches are up to par, else Branner may become suspicious.”
The lively hum of conversation quietened. The crowd parted, and Julianna became the subject of backward glances and shared whispers.
Bennet appeared with his entourage. Miss Ponsonby gazed at the winter spectacle like a child witnessing her first snowfall. Mr Lowbridge left the group within seconds of entering the ballroom. Lord Roxburgh looked thoroughly bored, while Mrs Thorne stared upon the crass display with disgust.
Bennet craned his neck and scoured the room, disinterested in those trying to attract his attention. He was forced to converse with a matron who introduced him to a young woman with a dainty face and golden hair. She was graceful, timid enough to rouse faith in her character, a perfect wife for a powerful peer.
“Poor Lord Devereaux.” Vivienne sighed. “He may reach us eventually.”
“Hopefully before the supper gong,” replied Mr Sloane.
A middle-aged gentleman stepped in Bennet’s way and presented his daughters. Bennet smiled and spoke to both ladies, but continued to glance covertly over their heads.
Then Bennet saw her. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and she struggled to catch her breath. Now she knew why her mother called love a sweet poison. Love radiated from her heart, warming every extremity. Love infused her being. But Bennet Devereaux could never be hers.
The reality was like a poison, a bitter and toxic thing slowly eating away at the happiness, the hope. The physical pain was almost unbearable.
Love is misery hidden in a bottle and passed as medicine.
The debutantes and courtesans didn’t want Bennet Devereaux. They wanted his wealth and title, the power he wielded. Julianna wanted the man, wanted to hear his voice, feel his touch, talk to him until the early hours, laugh with him, make love to him, spend the rest of her days entwined in his embrace.
But they were two people from opposite ends of a spectrum.
Nothing could change that.
Julianna blinked when she heard her name. Lord Roxburgh appeared in her line of vision, looking elegant in black. He bowed as if she were of royal blood. “Mrs Eden, you look remarkable tonight.”
Mrs Thorne’s scowl slipped enough for the ice queen to say, “Gold suits you, Mrs Eden.”
“Thank you. I’m like my mother in that regard. It’s such a shame her gowns are missing.” Not missing. Stolen.
Miss Ponsonby burst into the conversation and clutched Julianna’s hand. “Mrs Eden, tell me you’re well. How you’ve suffered at the hands of that dreadful beast. I knew there was something unsavoury about the devil. Thank heavens for Lord Devereaux.”
“I’m perfectly well,” Julianna lied. Every muscle in her body ached from the weight of this burden. The deceit, the battle to maintain a facade, it was all too much.
Julianna introduced Vivienne Sloane. Mr Sloane had crossed the ballroom to rescue Bennet, who had been waylaid by another swarm of admirers.
“We met at the circulating library,” Julianna lied for the second time in as many minutes. “I had my head buried in a book about the dissolution.”
Vivienne chuckled. “And I stumbled into her while engrossed in a tale of lost pirate treasure. X marks the spot and all that.”
“How fascinating,” Lord Roxburgh drawled in his usual languid fashion. “Unexpected encounters are always the best. Are they not, Mrs Eden?”
He knew! He knew she had been hired to help Bennet find a devious devil, not write tales about ghosts and a king desperate to seize assets. He knew every word out of her mouth was a lie.
“Everything happens for a reason, my lord.”
“Life has a way of forcing us in certain directions, madam.”
“I wish someone would force Lowbridge in this direction.” Miss Ponsonby gestured to her lover, who stood with Isabella Winters. “The man cannot stay put for more than a minute.”
Keen to stir up trouble, Mrs Thorne said, “Lowbridge has always admired Miss Winters. Perhaps you should hurry home and gather up your jewels, my dear. I hear our host is looking for a new paramour should you find yourself wanting.”
It was Miss Ponsonby’s turn to scowl. “You should hope Lord Roxburgh doesn’t tire of his gaming haunts, else you will find yourself completely redundant.”
Mrs Thorne’s cheeks flamed. “Miss Winters came to Bramley to meet someone. Who’s to say Lowbridge isn’t dipping his toe in her pond?”
Had Isabella Winters come to meet Mr Lowbridge?
He seemed thoroughly bored of Miss Ponsonby’s company.
Had Mr Lowbridge persuaded his cousin to act as the go-between?
“Miss Winters is warming the steward’s bed.” Miss Ponsonby beckoned them closer. “I saw her walking to his cottage when we were at Witherdeen in December. I believe she visits him often. If he were wealthy and titled, she’d be his mistress now.”
The news came as no surprise. Julianna had suspected the couple were in cahoots. Loath to admit it, Mr Branner had to be Miss Winters’ accomplice.
“Why dabble with a steward when you’re bedding a marquess?” Mrs Thorne gasped as if she had made a terrible faux pas. “Forgive me, Mrs Eden. I should have spoken in the past tense. I hear you’re Bennet Devereaux’s current distraction. Though one wonders why he’s chosen someone so similar.”
Vivienne sucked in a breath. “You sound jealous, Mrs Prickle.”
“It’s Mrs Thorne,” the woman snapped.
Julianna couldn’t help but laugh at Vivienne’s deliberate mistake. Even Lord Roxburgh pursed his lips to hide a grin. Oh, she would much rather spend time with the wives of enquiry agents than with these insipid women.
“Not jealous of you, Mrs Sloane. Who wants a pirate for a husband?”
“Yes, who wants a man who’d risk his life for one kiss? Perhaps it would be better to be ignored until the creditors come knocking.”
Mrs Thorne gawped like a fish out of water and flounced off in a huff.
Lord Roxburgh’s languid laugh confirmed he was shameless. “What I lack in funds, I make up for in wit, Mrs Eden.”
“Let’s hope wit is enough when it comes to securing a bride, my lord.”
Roxburgh snorted. “Do I look like a man keen to wed?”
“There are many advantages to marriage. Soon, you might find yourself in need of a large dowry.”
“Roxburgh, you’ll have to marry at some point,” Miss Ponsonby chirped. “Think of your poor sister. With your reputation, she’ll never make a good match.”
“Did I hear the words Roxburgh and marriage in the same sentence?” Bennet appeared, looking breathtakingly handsome in black evening attire. “I’d sooner believe in ghosts than the prospect of my friend exchanging vows.”
“And I’ll wager my diamond-encrusted pocket watch you’ll be married within the month, Devereaux.” Lord Roxburgh glanced over his shoulder and met a host of ladies’ stares. “They’re queuing up like prized ewes at auction.”
Nausea roiled in Julianna’s stomach.
Thank heavens she’d be in Paris. Truly, she didn’t care for the place, but in Paris, there’d be no risk of seeing the newly crowned Marchioness Devereaux swollen with Bennet’s child.
Bennet exchanged pleasantries with Mrs Sloane and Miss Ponsonby. And then it was Julianna’s turn to face the man who made her knees weak.
“Mrs Eden.” The name she detested sounded erotic from his lips.
“M
y lord.”
His intense amber gaze left a scorching trail over her bare shoulders. “You could steal a thousand hearts in that gown. Let’s hope mine is the one you cherish.” A slow smile teased the corners of his mouth. “I hear the first strains of a waltz, and you promised me a dance.”
She knew what to expect when she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve. The ache coiled low and heavy. The sweet poison flooded her veins, her heart, her sex.
Focus on the case, she silently told herself.
“I’m glad you suggested dancing.” She gripped Bennet’s sleeve as he led her onto the floor. Their audience increased in number, but she ignored their smirks and mocking whispers. “It will give us an opportunity to discuss the case.”
Bennet slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her close, a little too close she feared. “We’re to make it look like we’re in love. Daventry said the ruse will reap results.”
Ruse? She had no trouble playing a woman besotted.
She placed her hand on his shoulder, relishing the hardness beneath her fingers. “No. Mr Daventry said to let people believe I’m your mistress, not pretend we’re in love.”
“I thought we could improvise. It might rile Isabella if she thinks I’m in love with you.”
“What? You can fall in love so quickly?”
He pinned her with his heated gaze. “I’ve loved you all my life.”
Those words—those tender, heartwarming words that brought a rush of euphoria—caused her to misstep. Bennet used his skill on the floor to sweep them into a turn.
“Why must you say such things?” So much for focusing on the case. “Would you speak to Mrs Hendrie in this way?”
He laughed. “Thankfully, I did not take Mrs Hendrie to bed.”
“You did not take me to bed. I issued the invitation.” And it was becoming increasingly difficult not to do so again. “I know you like playing the dashing hero but—”
“I did charge across the lawn and save you from a fate worse than death. I have a faint bruise on my jaw as proof.”
Drat! Yes, he had been magnificent in every regard. “You did, and I’m eternally grateful, but you mustn’t say things you don’t mean.”
He firmed his grip and pulled her closer. “Did we not love each other as children? Are we not as attracted to each other now as we were then?” He grinned. “Well, perhaps it’s not quite the same. You buried me in sand when we were young. Now I long to bury myself deep inside you.”
She stumbled again. “If Monsieur Pernoir were here, he’d be cursing. All that money spent on dance lessons, all those hours wasted.”
“You dance beautifully.” He gripped her hand a little tighter. “And you look breathtaking in that gown. People aren’t staring because of your lineage. They’re staring because you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Oh, merciful Mary!
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Trying implies one is likely to fail. Determined is the appropriate term.”
Whatever she said, he would follow with something salacious. Best to stick to solving his problem, as she was being paid to do.
“Mr Ashwood was right to suggest coming tonight. Miss Ponsonby told me something you’ll find interesting.”
“Please tell me it has nothing to do with ghosts.”
Julianna laughed. Miss Ponsonby was obsessed with the supernatural. “No. She said Isabella Winters had secret liaisons with Mr Branner. By all accounts, she visits him in his cottage whenever she comes to Witherdeen.”
Bennet firmed his jaw and muttered a curse. “The man needs lessons in loyalty. How the hell can I trust him to keep my accounts when he schemes behind my back?” His face paled in anger. “How long has it be going on?”
Those gathered around the dance floor, watching their every move, would assume they were arguing about Miss Winters.
“She didn’t say, but it would explain why Miss Winters came to Bramley. We’ll know if Mr Branner visited her at the coaching inn when Mr Cole returns.”
Was that why Mr Branner had been so attentive to Julianna when they visited the village? Like Bennet, did he have a penchant for red-haired women? Or was he simply trying to befriend her, to discover what she was really doing at Witherdeen?
Julianna looked up at Bennet, but he was glaring at Miss Winters. “Let’s confront her with what we know. We’ll tell her Branner confessed. See if we can drag the truth from her lying lips.”
“I doubt she’ll speak to us.” And they could hardly bundle the woman into a room and hold her captive. Still, Rachel Gambit wouldn’t dally and dither. She’d simply walk up to Bennet’s ex-mistress and demand an audience.
You’re Giselle de Lacy’s daughter.
You know how to command a room.
Rachel’s words of encouragement flitted into Julianna’s mind.
She lifted her chin. “You’re right. A courtesan’s reputation is based on her allure. Miss Winters will want to speak to me.”
“To compare notes,” he teased.
“She will want to know how I managed to steal you from her bed.”
Chapter 15
Lord Newberry’s library didn’t smell of musty old books or tart ink, nor did it carry the woody aroma one expected from a room lined with oak shelves. Stale cheroot smoke clawed at Bennet’s throat, along with the unmistakable tang of a sexual encounter.
The couple who’d vacated the dark room mere moments ago had done more than seek a quiet place away from the din of the ballroom. They’d been rampantly celebrating their alliance.
Bennet crossed the room and took his position behind the thick curtain, his thoughts turning to Julianna, as they always did of late. He laughed to himself, recalling he’d been a boy of ten the last time he’d taken to snooping in the darkness. Julianna had asked what their parents did when they locked the study door and made an awful racket.
“They’re shouting and banging yet sound oddly happy.”
Bennet chuckled aloud at the memory.
No boy wanted to see his naked father tied to a chair while his mistress bounced on his lap. No girl wished to see her mother sliding up and down a stiff cock. Julianna had squealed, and all hell had broken loose.
They’d been kept apart for two weeks after that. Yet each night, they crept from their beds at the witching hour and met secretly within the shadowy walls of Witherdeen Abbey.
His mind turned to the night she’d been prised from his grasp and dragged into Denver’s carriage. They could have ripped his heart from his chest and it would have been less painful. After falling into a permanent state of melancholy, his father sent him away to school, then Eton, then St John’s College, Cambridge. He’d made friends, focused on his studies. Soon Julianna became nothing but a beautiful memory, one he visited nightly during those peaceful moments before sleep.
The creak of the library door jerked Bennet from his reverie. He parted the curtains a fraction and peered out into the gloom. Two people entered and quickly closed the door. The couple began conversing in breathless pants, then lunged and locked lips.
Hellfire!
A guttural groan rent the air. “God, Maria, you drive me wild.”
“Be quick. My husband thinks I’m in the retiring room. Hurry!”
The devil’s grunts accompanied the rustling of material and a pleasurable moan as he thrust home. Forced to listen to the woman’s crude descriptions of his actions, Bennet winced.
“That’s it! You’re in! Yes! I feel you now, Lowbridge.”
Lowbridge!
Good God! Did Miss Ponsonby know of her lover’s indiscretion?
“How lovely. Good Lord! I’m taking all of you. How delightful.”
“Hush.”
“Yes! What a fine instrument!”
“Then be quiet and focus on the rhythm.”
“Yes! What a pretty tune!”
“Madam, I cannot finish if you keep talking.”
Poor Lowbridge attracted women with a pencha
nt for rambling.
“But you’re so hard, sir. I might be coming. Yes! Oh, yes!”
“For the love of God, be quiet!”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
Bennet pursed his lips, but a snort escaped.
“Did you hear that?” Maria panted.
“Damnation! You’ll have to suck me to completion.”
Even with her mouth stuffed full, Bennet could hear the woman’s incoherent mumbles.
Lowbridge finished on a frustrated groan.
Bennet shoved his fingers into his ears, fearing Maria might describe the gift Lowbridge had deposited in her mouth. He took to musing while he waited for them to straighten their clothes and leave.
Daventry’s plan had been a stroke of genius. Or so Bennet had thought when the man suggested Julianna reside in St James’ Square. Now he wasn’t so sure. Pretending to love Julianna was as easy as breathing. Having her in his home posed no great hardship, even if he did walk around in a constant state of arousal.
But the niggling voice of his conscience grew louder, more insistent with each passing hour. Now it had taken to prodding and poking to get his attention. Everything about the situation was wrong. Bennet would emerge from this fiasco unscathed. The rakes would pat him on the back and welcome him to the elite club of men who’d bedded a de Lacy. The gossips might accuse him of being as fixated as his father, but his conquest would be forgotten when another on dit tickled their fancy.
The same was not true for Julianna.
She was the last person he wanted to hurt. But she would be forever tainted for only pretending to be his mistress. He’d not understood her need to leave for Paris. Paris! What the devil would she find in Paris that she couldn’t find in London. Now he knew.
Peace. Freedom.
With a heavy heart, he made a snap decision. One he should have made the second he discovered she worked for Lucius Daventry. He would hire another agent. Give Julianna the money Daventry promised, drive her to Dover, watch her board a ship, knowing he would never see her again.
