Читать книгу Regency: Rogues and Runaways: A Lover's Kiss / The Viscount's Kiss - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 12

Nearly had a row with Buggy. Damned uncomfortable. Not as strange as what happened after, though.

—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury

Shifting from foot to foot as if he had an itch, Mr. Edgar stood in the doorway of the inner sanctum, the small chamber where Drury kept his law books and briefs from solicitors.

“Is something the matter?” Drury asked, one brow raised in query.

“Lord Bromwell’s here to see you, sir. He’s, um… he wouldn’t let me take his hat.”

“No doubt he’s in a hurry to get as far from London as possible on the first day of travel,” Drury replied as he got up from his desk and entered the main room.

Buggy was standing by the hearth, dressed in a greatcoat, hat and boots. And he was glowering, an expression rarely seen on his face.

“What the deuce were you thinking? Or did you even think at all?” he demanded, his whole body quivering with righteous indignation.

Drury couldn’t be more stunned if Buggy had slapped him.

“How you could even think to do such a thing after you nearly ruined Brix and Fanny’s happiness over a bet?” he charged. “How could you involve Miss Bergerine in a wager? Haven’t you already caused her enough trouble?”

Drury suddenly understood what Buggy was upset about, and wanted to smack himself on the forehead. “Gerrard. I forgot about Gerrard.”

“I daresay you did, but he didn’t forget your bet. He arrived this morning determined to have his introduction.”

Another emotion swamped Drury, but he kept it in check as he went to pour himself a brandy. “I assume he got it?”

“He did!”

“And was he quite charmed by Miss Bergerine? She can be charming if she exerts herself.”

“How dare you?” Buggy cried indignantly. “How can you insult her after what you’ve done? It’s not her fault he came to meet her.” Buggy jabbed a finger at him. “It’s yours! And if she were charming, would you have preferred your supposed cousin be rude? Maybe you would. You’re rude when it suits you.”

Friend or not, Drury didn’t appreciate being berated. He’d endured too much of that in his childhood. “I forgot about the damned wager.”

“That’s no excuse! I thought you’d seen the damage such seemingly silly things can do after you exposed Brix’s bet about never marrying Fanny. It nearly drove them apart forever.”

“This is hardly the same. Gerrard heard of Miss Bergerine from his sister, who had it from the dressmaker I employed. If I’d acted as if the introduction was not to be thought of, what do you think Gerrard, and every other young buck at Thompson’s, would have thought? They would have been even more curious about her. I sought to avoid arousing any further speculation by agreeing to the wager.”

“Did you lose for that reason, too?”

“I did not lose. It was a draw.” Drury held out his hands. “Need I remind you I’m not the man I was? And it so happens, Mr. Gerrard is very good.”

Buggy flushed and finally took off his hat, twisting the brim in his hands.

“I forgot about the wager because last evening,” Drury continued, “before you returned from the Linnean Society, I learned that Miss Bergerine came to London seeking her brother. She’s been told he was murdered in Calais before embarking for London as he’d planned. She hopes that was a terrible mistake and, although it’s probably pointless, she came to London hoping to find him.

“As you know, I have certain associates who can be useful in such matters and, having decided to assist Miss Bergerine in her quest as a further expression of my gratitude, I was anxious to get the search started without delay. Gerrard and the wager completely slipped my mind.”

Buggy tossed his hat onto a table and sat heavily in the nearest chair. “That’s good of you, Drury. I know that sort of search doesn’t come cheaply. I’m sorry I was so angry, but I was completely caught off guard by Gerrard’s visit. And then to think you’d made such a bet… I don’t want to go through anything like that again with you. It was bad enough when it was Brix.”

“I point out that Brix was really in love with Fanny despite his denials, so that wager had more serious consequences. However, I have no such feelings for Miss Bergerine.”

As for how Juliette felt about him… He preferred not to think about it. Instead, he poured his friend a brandy. Buggy took the proffered glass and downed it in a gulp. He had once said that brandy seemed like slightly flavored water compared to some of the brews he’d imbibed on his travels, and occasionally proved that must be true.

Drury would have preferred to let the matter drop without any more comment, but there was one question he felt compelled to ask. “Was Miss Bergerine upset?”

Buggy undid the top buttons of his coat. “She was a little surprised, although quite polite to Mr. Gerrard.”

“She wasn’t angry? I can easily imagine her flying into a temper. Heaven only knows what rumors would race about Almack’s or White’s about her then.”

He wondered what rumors might already be spreading about her.

“Actually, she was very friendly.”

Drury was sorry he hadn’t used that nasty little maneuver Thompson had taught him when he had the chance. Then Gerrard wouldn’t be intruding and demanding introductions.

“I should be on my way,” Buggy said, rising. “I’ve kept my carriage waiting long enough.”

Drury nodded a farewell. “Have a safe journey and I hope Lord Dentonbarry is generous.”

Buggy inclined his head in return. “Try to be kind to Miss Bergerine, Cicero. She’s a remarkably intelligent, resilient young woman.”

“I appreciate Miss Bergerine’s merits,” Drury replied, although perhaps not quite the same way Buggy did.

Unless she had kissed him, too.

“Then act like it. You can start by telling her you’re sorry,” Buggy said, leaving that parting shot to bother Drury until he could no longer concentrate on the case he would soon be defending.

Because Buggy had a point.

Later that afternoon, Drury walked into the small conservatory at the back of Buggy’s town house. The large windows allowed in plenty of light and a host of plants, several of which had come back to England with the young naturalist, thrived there even in winter.

Although he’d never asked, he’d often wondered if Buggy had brought back exotic species of spiders to go with the plants. Today, however, seeing Juliette sitting on a little wrought-iron chair near some huge, palmlike monstrosity of a fern, he forgot all about Buggy’s plants and his area of expertise.

In a gown of soft blue fabric, her thick, shining hair with a blue ribbon running through it coiled about her head, Juliette looked like a nymph or dryad sitting quietly among the vegetation—until it occurred to him, from the way she held her head in her hand, one elbow on the chair’s arm, that she also looked sad and lonely.

As he had felt so many times, before the war and after.

For her sake, he hoped she was right and her brother was alive. He also hoped that he could help her find him. There could never be anything lasting between them—their worlds were far too different—but he would feel finding her brother as excellent an accomplishment as saving an innocent from hanging or transportation.

Although he’d been quiet, Juliette must have heard him. She lifted her head and regarded him with those bright, questioning brown eyes.

He, who could so often predict what a man or woman might say in the witness box, who could read volumes in the movement of a hand or blink of an eye, had no idea what she was thinking. She was as inscrutable as he always tried to be.

He decided to waste no time, so got directly to the point.

“I’m sorry about the wager, Miss Bergerine, and I regret causing you any discomfort. I assure you, it will not be repeated.”

“Lord Bromwell was very upset with you,” she said.

Why had she mentioned Buggy? Drury still couldn’t decipher anything from her expression or her tone of voice. “Yes, I know. He came to see me in my chambers before he left for Newcastle and made that very clear.”

“So now you apologize.”

He couldn’t really claim that he would have apologized to her anyway. “So I have.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m also sorry I wasn’t here to make the introduction. It wasn’t my intention to leave that to Buggy. I went to see a man who’s going to Calais for us. I worked with Sam Clark during the war. He’s from Cornwall, and his family have been involved with smugglers for years, so he has a lot of friends on the docks there. If anyone can find out if that really was your brother in that alley, or if he boarded a boat for England, Sam can.”

She rose and came closer, and as she did, he wondered why he had failed to notice how graceful she was.

“In that case, all is forgiven,” she said. “Besides, Monsieur Gerrard is a nice young man. I did not mind being introduced to him.”

Allan Gerrard was a forward, overreaching young man, and Drury didn’t care to discuss him.

Juliette lifted a spade-shaped leaf belonging to a plant he couldn’t identify, although Buggy surely could. Buggy, who obviously liked her a great deal.

She ran her fingertip along the leaf’s spine, then its edges. “The men who attacked us—they still have not been found?”

Drury tore his gaze from her lovely fingers and clasped his hands behind his back. “London is a large city, with many places to hide. Such a search can take time, even for MacDougal and his men, and the Runners, too.”

She strolled past him, her hand brushing another plant. “So we shall have to enjoy Lord Bromwell’s hospitality a little longer.”

“Yes.”

She turned to face him. Women were often intimidated by him, or intrigued; rarely did they regard him as if they had something serious to discuss. “Have you ever thought, Sir Douglas, that the people who attacked us might have been hired by a woman? One of your former lovers, perhaps?”

No, he had not, because it was ridiculous. “I highly doubt that. My lovers have all been noblewomen—married noblewomen who have already provided their husbands with an heir, and who have had other affairs. I’ve not ruined any happy homes, imposed my child in place of a true heir of the blood, or seduced innocent girls. And all the women whose beds I’ve shared have understood that ours was a temporary pairing, nothing more. I can’t think of one who would be jealous enough or foolish enough to hire ruffians to attack us.”

Juliette continued to regard him those shrewd, unnerving brown eyes. “You sound very certain.”

“I am.”

“Perhaps you are right, but such women also have great pride, and a woman’s pride can be wounded just like any man’s. I can easily believe such a one could be so mad with jealousy she would want to hurt you. That she would be so angry you ended your liaison with her, she wouldn’t hesitate to do you harm, or hire a man to do so. And she would despise the woman she believes took her place in your bed.”

“They all understand the way of the world,” he argued. “Ladies do not commission murder, and certainly not over the end of a love affair.”

Juliette’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You believe that because they are rich and noble they are not capable of jealousy, or anger when an affair is ended? That they are finer, more noble creatures than men? If so, you should work for a Bond Street modiste. You would soon see that these ladies, for all their birth and finery and good manners, are capable of great spite and maliciousness. Some take huge delight in doing harm.”

“With words, which is a far different thing from planning murder.”

And far, far different from delivering the fatal blow oneself, as he had.

He forced those memories back into the past where they belonged, to focus on the present and Juliette, who was shaking her head as if he were pathetically stupid.

“A jealous or neglected or thwarted woman may be capable of anything, whether to try to win back her beloved, or to punish him. If you think otherwise, you are truly naive.”

Nobody had ever called Sir Douglas Drury naive, and after what he’d seen of human nature in his youth and childhood, during the war and at the bench, he truly didn’t think he was, whether about women or anything else. “None of my lovers would do such a thing.”

“Then you are to be commended for choosing wisely. Or else they didn’t love you enough to be jealous.”

He had to laugh at that. “I know they did not, as I did not love them.”

Juliette’s brows drew together, making a wrinkle between them, as she tilted her head and asked, “Has anybody ever loved you?”

Her question hit him hard, and there was no way in hell he was going to answer it. She was too insolent, too prying, and it made no difference to the situation.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” she persisted, undaunted by his scowling silence. “Have you never been jealous?”

Up until a few days ago, he would have answered unequivocally no to both questions—until he’d been saved by an infuriating, prying, frustrating, arousing, exciting Frenchwoman with a basket of potatoes.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to answer her question. “Whether or not my love has been given or received is none of your business, Miss Bergerine.”

“If I had not been attacked because of you, I would agree that your affairs are none of mine,” she agreed. “But I was, and if you are an expert in the courtroom, you are obviously not an expert on love. Nor can you see into a person’s heart.

“I find it easy to believe that whatever you may have thought of your affair or her feelings, at least one of your amours has loved you passionately, certainly enough to be fiercely jealous and wish to do you harm. If she thinks I have taken her place, she would want me dead, too. And a rich woman usually gets what she wants.”

This was ludicrous. He would know if any of his lovers bore him such animosity. “Fortunately, I can see into a person’s heart, Miss Bergerine, or as good as. That’s why I’m so adept at my profession. That’s why I always win. So I am quite confident none of my former lovers is involved in these attacks.”

“If you are so good at reading the human heart, monsieur le barrister, what am I thinking now?”

Damn stupid question.

Except… what was she thinking? And was it about him, or another man? Buggy? Allan Gerrard? Gad, she might be thinking about Millstone for all Drury could tell. He’d never met anyone more obtuse.

Yet there were other times when her emotions were written on her face as plainly as words on a page. Was it any wonder she was the most infuriating, fascinating woman he’d ever met?

“Well, Sir Douglas? What am I thinking?” she repeated.

He guessed. He was good at guessing—making assumptions on the merest shred of evidence and pressing until the full truth was revealed, even if it wasn’t always exactly what he thought it would be. “I think you’re very pleased with yourself, because you think you understand women better than I.”

He remembered the way she’d stroked that leaf and noted the little flush coloring her soft cheeks. And because she seemed to want to tear his secrets from him, he would not hold back. “I think you’re feeling desire, too—a desire you don’t want to acknowledge.”

Juliette laughed. Juliette Bergerine, a Frenchwoman in England with hardly a penny to her name, laughed in Sir Douglas Drury’s face.

“You are only guessing, monsieur le barrister,” she chided, “and you are wrong. While I cannot deny you have a certain appeal, you are not the sort of man who arouses my passion.”

He had felt the sting of rejection before. He knew it well and intimately. When he was a child, and even during her fatal illness, his mother had often sent him away. Although his late father had inherited a considerable fortune, he always claimed to have business to attend to. Drury had suspected that had often been an excuse to avoid both his wife and his son, whom he seemed to consider no more than an additional nuisance. Neither one of his parents had possessed the devotion or temperament for parenthood. Over time, Drury had come to believe he was immune to such barbs, only to discover here and now that he was not.

“So you see, you could be just as wrong about your lovers,” she continued, speaking with decisive confidence, oblivious to the pain she’d caused. “Therefore, Sir Douglas, I believe we must not hide and wait and hope our enemy will show herself. We must force her to take action. I should not remain cloistered here. I must go out and about—and you must tell everyone we are to be married. For if there is one thing that will drive a rejected lover to distraction, it will be the notion that her usurper has achieved the greatest prize of all, a wedding ring.”

Drury could think of a thousand things wrong with that idea—well, two, but they were vital. “People have been told you’re my cousin.”

“So? Do cousins not marry in this country?”

Gad. “And if this does tempt our enemy to act—provided the same person is responsible for both attacks—you will be in danger.”

“These men you hire, this MacDougal person—could they not protect us and capture our enemy if we are attacked again?”

“It’s too risky.”

“But we must do something. The search does not progress, and I do not want to impose upon Lord Bromwell for much longer.”

She was worried about imposing on Buggy? “He can afford it.”

“Then you wish to continue this charade? What if it is weeks, or months?”

Weeks or months of returning to a comfortable house with Juliette waiting, sitting by the hearth with her bright eyes and busy fingers, her vibrant presence like a flame to warm him.

He must be losing his mind. Too many hours alone in that cell, waiting to be killed. Or perhaps he’d caught some tropical disease from one of the plants or specimens Buggy was always showing him. Or that blow to the head had been worse than he’d thought, because the vivacious Juliette, with her outrageous ideas, would never bring him the serenity he sought.

Indeed, life with her would never be placid.

She regarded him steadily, her mind quite clearly made up. “I have no wish to live forever in a gilded cage. I have always had work to occupy my time, even if it was not always pleasant. My room was terrible—that I know. But it was mine. Here, I am like one of Lord Bromwell’s spiders, trapped in a jar. The jar may be clean, it may be safer than the jungle, but the spider soon dies for want of fresh air.”

So she should go. Be free and leave him. “If you wish to go, I’ll arrange for your protection for as long as you feel it necessary.”

“I am not so ungrateful as that!” she exclaimed. At last her steadfast gaze faltered and her voice became a little less assured. “I could not depart thinking you were still in danger when I can help you flush out your enemy.”

Was he supposed to believe she cared about him? After everything she’d said to him? “Proclaiming we are to be married is a foolish, dangerous idea. It’s also useless, because no former lover of mine is out to kill us. However, if you chafe at this life, you are free to go as soon as I’ve arranged protection for you.”

Her expression unmistakably stubborn, Juliette threw herself onto another wrought-iron chair. “Non,” she said, crossing her arms. “I am not your guest. I am Lord Bromwell’s, and he has told me I may stay. So voilà, I stay.”

“The hell you will!” Gad, she was infuriating! “As for saying we’re engaged—”

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted him. Millstone stood at the door of the conservatory, his face scarlet. “If you please, Sir Douglas, the dressmaker has arrived with the garments for Miss Bergerine. She’s waiting in the morning room.”

“Oh, how delightful!” Juliette cried, jumping up as if everything was wonderful. “And now you will be able to take me to the theater, and Vauxhall, and all the other places in London I have heard about. Is it any wonder I agreed to marry you, my darling, despite your terrible temper?”

Millstone’s eyes looked about to drop right out of his head.

“You weren’t supposed to say anything,” Drury growled through clenched teeth, as furious and frustrated as he’d ever been in his life.

“Oh!” she gasped, her remorse patently false as she covered her mouth her fingertips. “Forgive me! But I am so happy!”

And then she gave him a hearty smack full on the lips before taking his hand and pulling him toward the door.

The little minx!

“Not a word to anyone about this, Millstone,” Drury commanded as she dragged him away.

“Until we give you leave,” Juliette said with a joyous giggle, as if their secret engagement would soon be common knowledge.

She might feel like a spider in a jar, but he was the one caught in her web.

“Oh, Madame de Malanche, how happy I am to see you!” Juliette cried as they entered the morning room, a very pretty chamber used by the Countess of Granshire, Buggy’s mother, when she wished to write her correspondence or entertain her friends. The walls were papered with a bucolic scene, and the furniture was slender and delicate. Even the writing desk in the corner looked as if it would shatter if someone leaned on it.

Right now, there were piles of boxes on the light blue damask sofa, the chairs and every side table.

“Miss Bergerine!” the modiste replied. “You look radiant today.”

“Because I am so happy!” Juliette slid the captive Drury a coy, delighted smile.

He wanted nothing more than to escape, but he didn’t dare leave Juliette alone with this gossipy woman wearing a dress of the most startling, eye-popping shade of yellow he’d ever seen. Looking at her was like staring at the sun, and just as likely to give him a headache.

“My cousin is delighted with her new wardrobe,” he said, cutting off the voluble modiste before she could say a word. “Juliette, ring the bell for your maid while I pay madame.”

“Of course, my love. But first, madame, I would like to ask you to make my wedding dress.”

Madame de Malanche’s hazel eyes grew nearly as bright as her dress. “You’re getting married? You and Sir Douglas?”

“Juliette, ring the bell!” Drury ordered, glowering.

“Oh, he is such a shy fellow!” she cried, clapping her hands as if amused and charmed. “That is why I love him so!”

“Juliette,” he warned.

Instead of going to ring the bell, however, she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Am I not the luckiest woman in England?”

Damn her! Did she think she could control this situation? Control him? He’d show her how wrong she was.

“As I am the most fortunate of men,” he said in a low, husky whisper reserved for his lovers alone.

Then he took her in his arms and kissed her as if they were already married and this was their wedding night.