Authors: Danelle Harmon
"I had no wish to travel in my condition,
Your Grace. I was very ill."
"And after the babe was born?"
"I would not have subjected her to the
rigors of a sea voyage at such a tender age. Besides, my stepfather
needed me to help run the store and tavern, so I felt beholden to
stay."
"Yes, do describe just what it was you did
there at this store and tavern, Miss Paige. I assume it was along
the order of serving ale and playfully fending off unwelcome
advances so you could save yourself for one of the king's
officers?"
Blood rushed to her cheeks and her heart
pounded with outrage. "Indeed not, Your Grace," she said levelly,
refusing to be baited. "My stepfather valued me for my frugality
and head for figures. He would not have put a tray in my hands and
bid me to spend my time running from cellar to table. No, I kept
the books for both store and tavern. I opened in the mornings and
closed at night. I paid the help, purchased the merchandise for the
store, haggled with tradesmen for fair prices, settled disputes
between cook and chambermaid." She looked at him without shame. "I
am not afraid of hard work, Your Grace."
"So I see." Something indiscernible
flickered in his eyes. "And what does your esteemed stepfather
think of your coming to England?"
"He fell sick and died in January. I doubt
he thinks at all."
"And what did he say about your little thing
with Charles?"
"It was not a 'little thing,' Your Grace. We
loved each other deeply and were engaged to be married —"
"Answer the question, please."
"I beg your pardon, but must you be so
rude?"
"Yes. Now answer the question."
She made a fist, savagely driving her
fingernails into her palm in an effort to control her angry tongue.
"Charles and I had to keep our feelings for each other clandestine,
lest our safety be compromised. The army's presence was detested in
Boston."
"Yes, I know. You Americans certainly made
that obvious."
"I am not
all Americans
," Juliet said
firmly. "And I would give the world to have my Charles back. Please
stop goading me!"
He raised his brows and stared at her down
the length of his aristocratic nose. She, wet and uncomfortable in
his brother's blood, stared bravely back. The fire snapped in the
grate. Voices sounded from somewhere outside in the corridor. And
then the duke allowed the faintest of smiles, as though rewarding
her for her courage in standing up to him ... or contemplating the
pleasure he would receive in throwing her out on her ear.
Straightening, he moved to where a crystal
decanter stood atop a desk of carved mahogany. He took his time
refilling his glass, not saying a word as the spirits splashed into
the vessel and burbled up toward the rim. His severe profile gave
away nothing. And then he turned to face her, leaning against the
edge of his desk with ankles crossed and eyes thoughtfully
narrowed. He took a sip of his brandy, watching her. Just watching
her. Judging her, assessing her, studying her like a scholar might
examine a singularly interesting biological specimen.
Dear God,
this is awful.
She stood up. "Are we through here? I wish
to go"
"Go where?"
"Anywhere. Away. Back to America, if need
be. It's obvious that Charles's faith and trust in his family's
desire to care for his baby daughter were unfounded. Neither she
nor I are wanted here."
"Don't be absurd."
She reached for Charlotte's blanket. "I am
being practical."
"Practicality is not a quality I associate
with most females of my acquaintance."
"With all due respect to the females of your
acquaintance, Your Grace, I was born and raised in the wilderness
of Maine. Those who were not practical, resourceful, and hardy did
not survive."
"Maine? How is it, then, that you ended up
in Boston?"
"My father died when I was sixteen, mauled
by a black bear defending her cub. He had a cousin in Boston, who'd
always fancied my mother from afar. After Papa died, he came for
Mama and me, married her, and took us both back to Boston. Mama
died in '74. You know about my stepfather." She picked up her
cloak, preparing to leave this house and never look back. "Now, if
you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I've answered enough of your
questions and had best be gone. Good night to you."
He never moved as she breezed past his desk,
Charlotte in her arms. "Don't you wish to know how Lord Gareth
fares?" he asked mildly, in an abrupt change of subject.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you
gave me no chance to ask."
"I should think he'd like to thank you for
saving his life."
She paused halfway across the room, silently
cursing him between her teeth. What tarnal game was he playing now?
Without turning, she ground out, "He saved
my
life, not the
other way around."
"Not according to Lord Brookhampton."
"I know no Lord Brookhampton."
"Perry," he amended, with infuriating
smoothness. "He told me everything."
"Look, I —"
At that moment, the door burst open without
warning, sounding like a thunderclap in the vastness of the
room.
"Go away, Andrew, Nerissa."
"We've just spoken to Gareth. He told us who
she is. Who the baby is. He said —"
"
I said
, go away."
Juliet could only stare as the pair crossed
the room. They were two more de Montforte siblings. They had to be.
She saw Charles in the lines of their faces, in the arch of their
brows and in the romantic shape of their long-lashed eyes. The
mouths were the same. The planes of the cheeks were the same. The
noses, the jaws, even the hair — wavy like Charles's had been but,
in the case of Lord Andrew, a dark auburn — were the same. Ignoring
the duke, Andrew came right up to Juliet, took her hand, and bent
over it in a sweeping, courtly bow.
"You must be Juliet," he said warmly,
looking up at her through thick brown lashes. He was young and
handsome, with a look of sharp intelligence about him and eyes
that, though smiling and lazy in the de Montforte way, didn't miss
a trick. "I am Andrew, Charles's brother, and this is our sister,
Nerissa. Welcome to England, and to Blackheath Castle."
But Nerissa was staring at Charlotte,
sleeping in Juliet's arms. Her hands flew to her mouth, and sudden
tears filled her pretty blue eyes. She took a hesitant step
forward, biting her lip and raising her pleading gaze to Juliet's.
"May I?" she whispered, stretching out her arms.
With a resigned smile, Juliet passed the
infant to her aunt. So much for leaving — and escaping the odious
presence of the duke. But her peevishness melted away as Nerissa,
her head bent over the little bundle, carried the baby into the
shadows. The girl's shoulders were shaking, and it was obvious she
was weeping.
"That's
Lord
Andrew and
Lady
Nerissa," the duke corrected, irritably. "If you insist on
introducing yourselves, at least do it properly."
Andrew waved a hand in dismissal and moved
toward the decanter. "Oh hang it, Luce, she's from the colonies.
She's not bothered by all that."
"I told you to leave us, Andrew. Do so
immediately, before I get angry."
"That's
Lord
Andrew, if you don't
mind."
The duke's glass slammed down on the table,
his face no longer wearing its veneer of tolerance. A frigid chill
settled over the room. Juliet held her breath, all too aware of the
enmity between these two brothers — one so dark and formidable, the
other fiery, brazen, and openly insolent. For one terrible moment
she thought the two of them were going to come to blows; but no.
The duke had his temper on a tight rein. He would not stoop to
fisticuffs, not in front of a stranger and certainly not with his
own brother.
She was correct. He inclined his head,
conceding this small victory to Andrew if only to avoid what would
otherwise be a scene. "Sit down, then," he said, darkly. "Both of
you."
Nerissa, still holding Charlotte, complied,
but Andrew obviously felt that this order had to be challenged, as
well. Taking all the time in the world, he poured himself a drink,
then tossed himself into one of the chairs, one long leg thrown
over his knee and bobbing lazily. He raised his glass to Juliet and
took a long sip as he studied her. "Ah, yes. You look just like
Charles said you did. I can understand why he was so captivated by
you, Miss Paige."
"Not just Charles," Nerissa chimed in.
"Gareth's up there singing your praises as well, and he and his
friends are all drinking bumpers to you. Gareth said you took
control, calmed everyone down, and saved his life with your quick
thinking. I think he's completely charmed!"
"I'm afraid Lord Gareth gives me far more
credit than I deserve," Juliet said, head bent as she discreetly
tried to cover her bloodied skirts with her arms. "He was the real
hero of the hour, not me."
"On the contrary," said Andrew, waving his
glass. "Gareth may be a rake, a wastrel and a scourer, but he
doesn't make things up."
"Most assuredly not," his sister added.
Juliet glanced at the duke. The dark gaze
was still on her. Still watching her. Still studying her.
Worse, that faint little smile still played
around his lips. It was unnerving.
"And how
is
Lord Gareth?" Juliet
asked, directing her attention to this cheerful pair in an attempt
to ignore that enigmatic stare.
"Oh, a bit faint from loss of blood and
Irish whiskey, but otherwise quite well. But then, that's Gareth
for you." Andrew downed the rest of his brandy with a practiced
flick of his wrist. "The villagers call him 'the Wild One,' you
know. Why, just last week he had the Den of Debauchery members make
a pyramid of themselves down on the village green, took bets from
all those who'd gathered to watch, and jumped Crusader over the lot
of them. Won himself a fortune that day. The week before that
—"
"That's enough, Andrew," the duke
interrupted, straightening up.
"Come now, Luce, even
you
have to
admit that his getting Mrs. Dorking's pig foxed was hilariously
funny."
"It was not hilariously funny, it was
uncommonly stupid. Especially in light of all the damage the animal
went on to cause."
Nerissa, examining each of Charlotte's tiny
fingers, had her head bent and was trying not to laugh.
Andrew was undeterred. "Still, what he did
tonight tops 'em all. Whoever would've thought Gareth would go and
make a hero of himself, eh, Luce?"
"Indeed, whoever would have thought Gareth
would go and make
anything
of himself," the duke murmured
cryptically as he drained the rest of his glass. "And now, if
you'll all excuse me, I must go into Ravenscombe to see to the
unfortunate passengers of the coach, as well as the highwayman your
brother
should have
taken care of but didn't. Pity. I expect
there shall be a hanging. Are your traveling trunks still strapped
to the coach, Miss Paige?
"Yes, but I think I should leave."
"And
I
think you are distressed and
need to rest before making such a hasty decision," he countered,
with infuriating benignity. "Surely, meeting Charles's younger
brother so unexpectedly, and under such traumatic circumstances,
has not helped matters any." He was smiling, but there was
something she couldn't identify beneath that smile, and his dark
eyes were watching her closely.
Too
closely. "Lord Gareth
bears a certain resemblance to Charles, don't you think?"
"Your Grace, I don't want to argue with you,
but I would be more comfortable staying someplace in the village
—"
"
What?!
" cried Andrew and Nerissa in
chorus.
"Are your trunks still outside on the coach,
Miss Paige?" the duke persisted.
"Well, of course, but —"
"Are they emblazoned with your name or
initials?"
"Yes, but —"
"Puddyford!"
The door opened obediently, and a liveried
servant appeared, his face expressionless, his body erect and at
attention.
"Puddyford, I have business to attend to in
the village. Have Miss Paige's trunks brought inside and up to her
rooms. Nerissa, you will see that our guest is made comfortable,
and someone is sent to attend to her needs." He let his gaze sweep
assessingly over Juliet. "You will be happy in the Blue Room, I
think."
"Your
Grace
, I have no wish to impose
upon your hospitality —"
"Nonsense, my dear girl. You have conducted
yourself admirably, and your answers have satisfied me. Don't look
so put out. Don't you realize I was only testing you with my
studied rudeness?"
Testing me for what
? she all but
cried, not knowing whether to be outraged or humiliated. But he was
already bowing, and without another word, was gone.
Andrew and Nerissa rushed to placate her as
she remained staring at the door through which Lucien had passed.
She could not know that he was a master manipulator. She could not
know that he had plans for her. And she could not know that as the
Duke of Blackheath strode out into the Grand Hall and called for
his hat, his gloves, and his horse, his eyes were gleaming with
cunning delight.
Chapter 6
Unpleasant dukes aside, there was something
to be said for English hospitality.
Andrew, calling a servant aside and
murmuring quiet instructions, made his exit. Beyond the open doors,
footmen hurried past with Juliet's trunks. A matronly servant
breezed in, took Charlotte, and whisked her away to wash and change
her. Several fresh-faced, bright-eyed maids streamed into the
library, lining themselves up for Lady Nerissa's inspection. The
young noblewoman smiled and beckoned one of the girls forward.
"This is Molly," she said, introducing Juliet and the girl. To the
maid she said, "Please draw a bath and lay a fire for Miss Paige.
She is to be our guest."