Fate finds for every man
His share of misery.
Euripides’
Helen,
worked on a handkerchief by Juliet on her way from Shropshire to London
F
or five days, Sebastian watched as Juliet made her brilliant return into the good graces of society, aided by Montfort’s reluctant reversal. But watch was all Sebastian could do, thanks to her stubborn determination to make his life hell.
It was hard to make her burn when she wouldn’t let him within a foot of her. Now that the gossip was fading, her popularity was rising. Not that he regretted his part in ending the rumors, but he did hate having to join all the others trying to get her attention.
If it wasn’t her family, it was a simpering girlfriend or a gossipy matron. And the men came sniffing around her skirts, too. Sebastian disliked that intensely. From what
she’d said about suitors, he’d erroneously believed they were all lacking, but quite a few were too handsome and eligible for his peace of mind.
Of course, Juliet, being not easily prone to forgiveness, paid most of them little heed. After all, they’d been the first to shun her after Montfort’s initial tales, so she clearly wasn’t about to countenance their suits now.
But she did allow one man close—that blasted Havering. Apparently, ever since Havering had stood by her during her disgrace, he’d risen in her esteem. Sebastian had to remind himself often that the man was too stupid for her to be genuinely attracted to him. That was the only thing that kept Sebastian from lunging for Havering’s throat whenever the man took her to the dance floor or fetched her pelisse or brought her negus at parties.
His reaction to Havering plagued him. Sebastian couldn’t believe he was actually jealous. He’d never been jealous before, mostly because he’d never had a woman he felt possessive about. It was a singularly unpleasant sensation. He wondered how his father had ever flitted from woman to woman. One tiny female was tying Sebastian into knots—he couldn’t fathom suffering this misery with a succession of them.
Nor did he intend to let Juliet inflict it on him anymore. So tonight he lay in wait for her at Lady Brumley’s card party, determined to get her alone. He’d come prepared, too. He’d uncovered Havering’s main weakness—a fondness for cockfighting—and had learned the dates and times of all the matches. A few choice words to Havering about tonight’s “fight of the season” had sent the young lord racing off to the Royal Cockpit for an exciting evening of bloodletting and mayhem.
Sebastian intended his own exciting evening, of a decidedly different sort.
He spotted his quarry the second she entered Lady Brumley’s massive salon, which had been turned into a
card room for the evening. Tonight, Juliet wore some green satin confection that swirled about her slender form like the sea mist from which Aphrodite had arisen. Pearl pins adorned the hair that foamed in golden curls about her face, and pearls encased her lovely throat.
His heart flipped over in his chest. By thunder, she was beautiful. There were women here dressed more richly, with finer features and more buxom figures, but only Juliet was perfection.
Even the entrance of her blasted family a few seconds behind her couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm. Sebastian had planned for that, too, by paying a furtive visit to Lady Rosalind today to ask her assistance in getting Juliet alone. He’d told her he wanted the chance to propose marriage. Which was almost the truth.
But his secret weapon came in the most unlikely form—their hostess herself, Lady Brumley. The battle-ax had been eager to help him once she’d heard that a secret romance was involved.
With one of her signature nautical headdresses perched atop her gray head, Lady Brumley now wended her way across the room. When she reached Juliet, she attached herself to the young woman like a barnacle. A few moments later, Rosalind pulled Griff off to a card game.
Congratulating himself for choosing such worthy allies, Sebastian shoved away from the pillar he’d been holding up and headed for his quarry. Two other gentlemen reached Juliet first, but Lady Brumley quickly dispatched them to card tables. Some chit tried to strike up a conversation with the ladies, but she, too, was sent on her merry way. By the time Sebastian sauntered up, Juliet still stood alone except for Lady Brumley.
The matron greeted him with a smile and a wink. “Ah, Lord Templemore, I have found you a partner at last.”
Juliet whirled around with an almost comical expression of dismay.
“You see, Lady Juliet,” Lady Brumley went on, “poor Lord Templemore spent so many years away from good society that he never learned to play cards. Imagine that! But I’ve discovered he’s rather fond of chess, and I promised to secure him a partner.”
Juliet glared daggers at him, and he met it with a look of perfect innocence. She wasn’t the only one who could be devious.
Lady Brumley patted Juliet’s hand. “I’m so delighted that you said you play, too. I should hate to force the poor man to sit in the corner idle all evening.”
“Yes, what a crime that would be,” Juliet said coolly.
Despite her frigid air, he knew he had her trapped. Juliet’s one unfailing characteristic was good manners and an inability to be rude to anyone but him. So it was a foregone conclusion that Lady Brumley’s request for Juliet to “entertain the poor man” at chess would be met with terse agreement. Sebastian offered Juliet his arm, then tried not to gloat as she was forced, under their hostess’s watchful eye, to take it.
“I even have a special table set aside,” Lady Brumley went on. She pointed across the room to an alcove separated from the other guests’ tables by a low wall and a post.
Sebastian had tried to talk Lady Brumley into putting the table in a private room, but she’d told him sternly that she wasn’t in the business of arranging seductions. So he’d settled for the alcove. At least it afforded them some measure of privacy.
“Now that Lord Templemore is settled,” Lady Brumley said, “I must go see about poor Miss Childs. She’s complaining about the quality of my wine again. Such a vexing young woman.” With that, Lady Brumley bustled off.
“I’ll tell you who’s vexing,” Juliet muttered under her breath as soon as the marchioness was gone. “Scheming hostesses, that’s who.”
“I rather like them, myself.” He led her toward the al
cove, his heart pounding foolishly at the prospect of having her all to himself.
“You
would.
And I daresay you had a hand in this particular scheme.”
He didn’t even bother to deny it. “You gave me no choice. You’re never at home when I call, you won’t answer my notes, and you surround yourself with fawning admirers in public.” Despising how peevish he sounded, he forced a smile to his face. “You’re clearly worried that if you let me close, I’ll convince you to change your mind.”
“No, I’m merely busy enjoying myself with companions who find me interesting and fun. As opposed to you, who find me ‘childish’ and unreasonable.”
“I did not call you—” He broke off, tamping down his irritation. He would not let her put him on the defensive this time. “Yes, I suppose you
would
prefer a mooncalf like Havering, who lets you tromp all over him. You never did like a challenge.”
She stuck her chin out. “I’m not afraid of you. I’ll meet any challenge you offer.”
“Excellent. Because I look forward to a rousing game of chess, and it would be spoiled if you were cowering in the corner.”
“By ‘chess,’ you’d better mean the board game and nothing else,” she warned.
“We’re surrounded by Lady Brumley’s guests. I can scarcely ravish you over the table.” He bent to whisper, “Though I’ll admit the thought did occur to me.”
When she blushed and jerked her gaze away, he chuckled. This was what he’d missed most about Juliet—how she turned from determined goddess into fetching innocent with little provocation. She was the only woman he actually enjoyed talking to.
The virginal sorts annoyed him with their vacuous discussions of the weather, the latest gossip, and the last ball they’d attended. The widows were no more tolerable, ei
ther. When they weren’t assessing his suitability for marriage, they were offering to “entertain” him. Come to think of it, the married women did their share of the latter. Where the devil were their husbands? Didn’t the men know how to keep their women content?
No, he supposed not, judging from the number of married men spending these evening affairs drinking with their male friends.
That would never be him. He wouldn’t make the mistake his father made—neglecting his wife until she looked elsewhere for comfort. He smiled to himself. As if he’d ever prefer any other entertainment to spending time with Juliet.
He led her to the seat at the table before the white pieces. “I’ll give you the advantage of being first,” he said as he went back round to sit in the other chair.
“As a gentleman should,” she said haughtily.
From across the table, he watched her assess the board, her pretty brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re looking very lovely tonight,” he ventured.
She moved her pawn out to begin the game. “How adorable of you to say so,” she responded in a sugary voice. “And so original, too. Lord Ferguson and Mr. Rowland said exactly the same thing when I entered this evening. Lord Havering has remarked on it often this week. I do believe I have looked ‘very lovely’ to every gentleman I’ve met for the past five nights.”
If she thought to provoke him, it wouldn’t work. “Can we help it if your astonishing beauty dulls our wits?” He blocked her pawn with his.
“That doesn’t bode well for our chess game. A dull-witted man can hardly win. I wonder why you even bothered to play.”
“To sharpen my dull wits, so I can proffer more ‘original’ compliments next time.”
“Don’t trouble yourself.” She examined the board, then
moved her knight out. “Any compliment you give would be insincere, since—as a certain devious man once told me—it only means you’re ‘aiming to win’ and has naught to do with me.”
He chuckled. “You’re bent on annoying me, aren’t you? But nothing you say can annoy me tonight. I plan to enjoy myself. How can I not, with such fetching company?”
Tipping up her chin, she stared hard at him. “I don’t suppose you’ve received any more news of your brother.”
His smile faded. He’d been wrong—there
was
something she could say to annoy him. “No, I haven’t.”
“I heard that it isn’t at all certain Lord Blackmore will find the pirates. Men have tried before, you know, and failed.”
“I have faith in Blackmore,” he ground out. “Now can we discuss something else?”
“Why?”
He moved out his knight. “Because you only speak of it to keep your resentment of me alive.”
She arched an eyebrow. “My resentment of you is thriving very well on its own.”
Reaching over, he caught her hand. “Then give me a chance to banish it.” He lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss into the palm.
She snatched her hand back. “That is
not
the way to go about it. Besides, you’re only distracting me so you can win the game.”
“True. But chess isn’t the game I’m trying to win. And the only reason you won’t let me touch you is you know how strongly it affects you.”
“Not at all, I assure you.” She held out her hand with a haughty frown. “Go on, kiss it all you like. I’m immune to your ridiculous maneuvers, sir.”
“Are you indeed?” He ignored her hand to attack on another front. Since the low wall of the alcove completely shielded everything below the table from the other play
ers, he used that to his advantage. Removing his shoe, he ran his stocking foot up her calf.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she jerked up straight. Then she leaned over the table to whisper, “Stop that right now, Sebastian!”
“Or what? You’ll capture my king?” With a smile, he caressed her calf.
She kicked at him, then winced.
He laughed outright. “If you’re going to kick, you need something other than slippers to be effective. And since they’re doing you no good anyway…” He hooked his foot behind her heel and slid her slipper off. Then he dragged the flimsy satin confection back to where she couldn’t reach it.
At least now she couldn’t jump up and storm off without doing it in stocking feet. After all, that wouldn’t be proper.
Judging from her look of outrage, she knew it, too. “Give me back my slipper,” she hissed under her breath.
“Not yet.”
She moved her bishop onto the playing field, then smiled with suspicious sweetness. Sliding her little foot up his own calf, she caressed the back of his leg. “Come now, Sebastian, play nicely.”
“My wits aren’t
that
dulled by your beauty, my lady. I know when I’m being manipulated.” He moved out his other knight. Glancing at the next table of players a few feet away, he whispered, “I’ll return your slipper when I’m good and ready.”
With a sniff, she dropped her foot from his leg and took his first knight with her bishop. “And when might that be?”
He leaned over the table to murmur, “After I’ve made you burn.” Then he slid his toe right up her calf and under her skirts.
Her eyes went wide. She tried to thrust her knees to
gether, but it was too late. His foot had already reached the bare skin above her garters, which he stroked shamefully, moving higher with each stroke. She clamped her thighs together around his foot.
Making a pretense of examining the board, he said quite clearly, “I do so like trying to extricate myself from a tight spot.”
Then he wriggled his stocking foot high enough to reach the promised land, to which he applied a light pressure. Her mouth formed a startled O. He rubbed her gently, and with a strangled squeak, she stuck her hand under the table to move his foot aside. But she rapidly discovered it was impossible to dislodge a foot planted against one’s privates when it lay beneath one’s skirts and the man attached to it refused to remove it.
“You wicked, wicked man,” she whispered, but her whisper turned to a barely stifled moan when he caressed her again.
Even with the layers of stocking and drawers between them, he could feel her quiver beneath his assault. While his pawn leisurely took her bishop, his foot leisurely stroked her tender parts. His reward was the crimson blush that started at the too visible swells of her tempting breasts and crawled rapidly up her neck to her face.