Читать книгу Regency: Rogues and Runaways: A Lover's Kiss / The Viscount's Kiss - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 13

So now the ton is under the impression I’m engaged to be married. What a mess. Or I suppose Buggy would liken it to a tangled web. And I’m a fly.

—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury

Drury felt Juliette stiffen in his arms and told himself that was good—until she began to kiss him back with even more fervor.

Did she think she was going to win this duel? Did she believe he was a slave to any of his emotions?

Determined to prove otherwise, he shifted and used his tongue to gently part her lips.

As their kiss deepened, she ran her hands up his back and entwined her fingers in his hair.

Oh, God help him, she was the most arousing—

“Ahem!”

He’d forgotten the damned dressmaker. Just as well she was there and interfering; otherwise…

He was determined not to contemplate otherwise as he drew back.

Juliette looked a little… dazed. As for how he felt… He would ignore that, too.

“Call the maid, my love,” he said huskily, “and go with her to put these things away, or I fear we may upset Madame de Malanche with another unseemly demonstration of our mutual affection.”

He fixed his steadfast, steely gaze on the modiste. “I hope we can count on you to keep this information to yourself, madame, until we’ve made a formal announcement. If you cannot be discreet, Miss Bergerine may have to take her business elsewhere.”

“You may count on my discretion, absolutely!” Madame de Malanche exclaimed. “Although you must allow me to wish you joy.”

“Thank you,” Drury replied. Despite her assurance, he feared the dressmaker would never be able to keep what she had seen and heard a secret. Nevertheless, he had to try.

“Ring for the maid, Juliette,” he repeated, and this time she finally did.

As soon as Drury could get away, he headed for Boodle’s. He needed a drink and he needed to get away from women, as well as his own tumultuous thoughts, for a while.

He should have told Madame de Malanche he was not engaged to Juliette, and he really never should have kissed her.

Especially like that.

What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered as he entered the bastion of country squires come to Town. Unlike White’s or Brooks’s, Boodle’s was favored by men more down-to-earth than most of the aristocrats who frequented the other gentlemen’s clubs. That was why Drury preferred it. He’d also avoided White’s ever since he’d written down the infamous wager between Brix and Fanny in the betting book there. Brix, however, never seemed troubled by the association and claimed Boodle’s appealed to the duller members of the gentry.

Therefore Drury was duly surprised to find his friend lounging on a leather sofa in the main salon, long legs stretched out, drink in hand. Unlike most of the patrons of the club, he wasn’t gambling. Neither was he foxed.

Brix held up a glass nearly full of red wine and gave his friend a wry grin. “Greetings, Cicero! I’ve been hoping you’d appear.”

Mystified by his friend’s presence, Drury feared the worst. “Have you quarreled with Fanny?”

“Good God, no!” he cried, straightening. “We don’t quarrel anymore… well, not often, and usually about completely unimportant matters until we forget why we’re quarreling, and kiss and make up. It’s quite stimulating, actually. You should marry and try it.”

“I am not the domestic sort,” Drury said, wondering how he was going to explain Juliette’s harebrained plan to his friends, and even more disturbed about what the ton would make of it, provided anyone other than Madame de Malanche would believe it.

Likely they wouldn’t, he realized with… relief. Of course relief. What else should he feel?

“Really, why are you here?” he asked his friend again.

“My esteemed father and elder brother are in Town and they requested a convivial meeting to celebrate my happy news,” Brix replied with another grin. “They’re delighted I’ve not only done my duty and married at last—to a damn fine gel, as Father so charmingly puts it—but have already proved capable of carrying on the family name.”

Brix’s relationship with his father and brother had never been the best, so Drury didn’t begrudge his friend the slightly sarcastic tone. Then Brix, being Brix, winked. “I can think of much more onerous duties, I assure you. And since I was here anyway, I thought I’d wait a while and see if you put in an appearance—and here you are!”

“Yes, here I am.”

Brix wasn’t completely insensitive to the subtleties of his friend’s tone and he sobered at once. “More trouble? Not another attack, I hope?”

“No, although I believe Miss Bergerine is of the opinion that another attack would be a beneficial occurrence.”

Brix looked justifiably confused. “Beneficial? How?”

“She’s decided the attacks are the work of a jealous former lover of mine, a jilted amour paying to have us killed. She believes we should attempt to flush out my enemy by claiming to be engaged and going about together in public.”

For a moment, Brix sat in stunned silence—but only for a moment. “Gad, I never thought of that, but I damn well should have. I would gladly have run you through when I saw you kissing Fanny.”

Drury had hoped Brix had forgotten about that. “That was intended only to encourage you to finally voice your feelings,” he said. He hurried on to the more important point. “My lovers all knew the terms of our relationship. I seriously doubt any of them would ever go so far as to—”

“I can believe it,” Brix interrupted. “I think it’s a brilliant explanation, especially for the attack on Miss Bergerine. The question is, which of your lovers would be capable of such a thing? There’ve been… how many?”

It was not Drury’s practice to discuss his liaisons, not even with his closest friends. “A few” was the only answer he would give.

Nor was he willing to concede that Juliette could be right. “I highly doubt that any one of them would be so malicious or have any idea how to find men to do the deed if she were inclined to have me killed.”

“I think you underestimate the fairer sex,” Brix replied, “as much as you underestimate your appeal to women.”

“I’m a barrister, Brix. I know all about crimes of passion.”

“Then why do you find it so difficult to credit Miss Bergerine’s idea?” Brix demanded. “Is it because it’s hers?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I’m not willing to entertain the notion, it’s because I know the women with whom I’ve been intimate. She does not.”

“All right. Let’s say it’s not a former lover, but another person who wants you—and Miss Bergerine—dead. After all your triumphs in court, you surely have scores of enemies, any one of whom might hire a gang of ruffians to kill you. They might even decide to harm you through a woman they believe is your mistress. It’s still a good idea to flush them out. Otherwise, how long are you willing to wait for them to make the next move? I think you should do as Miss Bergerine suggests and bring them to you. You’ll be ready, and MacDougal’s got men you can hire to guard you and catch them if they strike.

“And what about Miss Bergerine?” he continued. “How long before you decide the danger’s past and she can safely return to her home? She can’t live with Buggy indefinitely. I don’t think he’d mind, but it is a bit of an imposition, and he hopes to sail next spring.”

“She’s not ‘living with Buggy.’ She’s a guest.”

“Call it what you will, the Runners aren’t having any luck finding out who attacked you, and neither are those other men you’ve hired. What else can you do? Or am I wrong, and you’re quite content with the situation?”

Drury sighed, defeated. “No, I am not. So congratulate me, Brix, and wish me every happiness with my lively French bride.”

Brix did, and not only that, he stood a round of drinks for the entire club, merrily announcing the reason for his generosity.

After Drury had accepted good wishes from several half-foxed patrons, Brix drew him aside, grinning like a jester. “Fanny and I are going to see Macbeth in Covent Garden tonight. You and Miss Bergerine should join us. That would really set the cat among the pigeons of the ton.”

As disgruntled as he was, Drury had started out on the path, so he was resolved to see it through to the end. “Very well, we shall. And thank you, although I daresay this news will be all over Town before we even get to the theater.”

Brix laughed. “I daresay you’re right.”

And he was.

“So then the little rascal says to me, as solemn as can be…” Mrs. Tunbarrow paused in her reminiscing, nodding her lace-capped, white-haired head at Juliette. “‘There’s things a lot more frightening than spiders, Mrs. T.’ That’s what he called me—Mrs. T. He couldn’t say Tunbarrow when he was a mite.”

Juliette smiled at the story about Lord Bromwell as she sewed the hem of an apron.

Impressed with her stitching and, Juliette suspected, happy to have an audience, Mrs. Tunbarrow had invited her to come sew with her in the housekeeper’s sitting room. The whitewashed walls and simple furnishings certainly made this room more comfortable and cozy than Lord Bromwell’s formal drawing room. It was almost like the farmhouse back home.

At first, she had thought Mrs. Tunbarrow might say something about the supposed engagement, but it seemed Millstone had followed Sir Douglas’s orders and kept quiet. She had been tempted to mention it, but had not, wary of pushing Sir Douglas too far, and in spite of that tempestuous kiss. Better she be patient and cajole him into seeing the merit of her plan than do anything more to force him to accept it.

As for Mrs. Tunbarrow, she seemed to have accepted her presence with good grace. Or perhaps the woman had such a high opinion of Lord Bromwell, she believed any guest of his was worthy of respect and approval. Yet Juliette couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Tunbarrow, plump and motherly though she was, would treat her differently if she knew this particular guest was a poor French seamstress and not the cousin of Lord Bromwell’s friend.

In spite of that worry, she felt safer here. Sir Douglas surely wouldn’t think of looking for her in the housekeeper’s sitting room. If he did come looking for her.

If he returned at all. He’d been so angry after what she’d done. She’d felt it in his kiss, at least at first. After a few moments, though…

She was being ridiculous. He’d been furious and had departed as soon as he could, announcing he was going to his club.

Yet he hadn’t denied their engagement, as she’d feared he might. If anything, that kiss would serve to confirm it, which must mean he was going along with her plan. For now. She hoped. Because something had to change.

A prickling sensation began at the back of her neck, as if she was being watched. She half turned and discovered Sir Douglas in the doorway.

How long had he been standing there with his hands behind his back, observing them?

“Good day, Sir Douglas,” she said warily.

Mrs. Tunbarrow hastily grabbed the apron from Juliette’s lap, regardless of the needle and thread trailing from it. “We were just having a bit of a visit,” she said, as if she feared Sir Douglas would complain.

“I don’t mind if Juliette wants to sew,” he replied. “Indeed, you make a very pretty tableau.”

He had called her Juliette, and in front to the housekeeper. Well, why not? Were they not supposed to be cousins?

He came into the room and smiled at Juliette, a warm, tender, incredibly attractive smile that seemed genuinely sincere.

“I’ve decided you’re quite right, my dear,” he said, his voice also warm and tender. “There’s no need to keep our engagement a secret.”

He had seen the wisdom of her plan?

Sir Douglas held out a box covered in dark blue velvet. “Brix and Fanny have invited us to the theater tonight. I’d like you to wear this.”

Juliette took the box and opened it with trembling fingers. A necklace was inside, made of sparkling diamonds bright as stars in the night sky. It was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen—and the most expensive.

Her gaze darted to his face. “You wish me to wear this?”

“I insist,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly. Delicately. Yet it sent what seemed like bolts of lightning through her.

As Mrs. Tunbarrow stared speechlessly, Juliette swallowed hard and forced herself to look at the necklace while he continued to hold her hand. “It is so lovely.”

“Let me put it on you,” he murmured, taking the box and setting it on the table. He removed the necklace and stepped behind her, laying it around her neck.

Feeling as if she was in an even more amazing dream, she lightly brushed it with her fingers as he worked the clasp.

Then he gave a sigh of frustration, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. “Mrs. Tunbarrow, will you fasten this for me?”

The housekeeper started, as if suddenly waking up. “Engaged! The two of you—engaged! Does Justy know?”

Justy? Did she mean Lord Bromwell?

“I intend to tell Lord Bromwell when he returns,” Sir Douglas calmly replied. “I had hoped to keep our betrothal quiet until a formal announcement.”

“Well!” Mrs. Tunbarrow cried indignantly, hoisting herself to her feet and letting the aprons tumble from her lap. “Well! This is a pretty business, I must say! Keeping secrets like that! From everybody!”

She marched to the door as Juliette set the beautiful necklace back in its box, suspecting she would never be invited to the housekeeper’s room again.

Mrs. Tunbarrow whirled around on the threshold and, hands on her ample hips, glared at them. “A fine friend you are, I must say, Sir Douglas Drury, breaking that poor boy’s heart!”

Then, with a huff, she marched away, her footsteps loud on the tiles.

“She obviously believes Buggy has an interest in you that has been thwarted,” Sir Douglas observed with that aggravating calm, while Juliette felt as if she’d stepped into something she shouldn’t.

“I hope with all my heart that she’s wrong,” she said quietly.

“You do? He is a peer of the realm,” Sir Douglas replied as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black riding coat. “There would be many women who would envy you.”

“I do not want a lover,” she said, moving to stand behind the chair. That seemed necessary… somehow. “He would never marry a woman like me.”

Sir Douglas neither frowned nor smiled. His expression was completely noncommittal. “Buggy’s not the sort of man to pay much heed to public opinion, or his parents’, either. If he wants to marry, I’m sure he won’t let anyone stand in his way.”

“If he loved me, neither would I,” she replied, “but he would have to love me with all his heart. I am not ignorant of the world, Sir Douglas. I know he would be shunned by his friends, his family and all of society. It would be the two of us alone, and only the deepest, most devoted and passionate love would ensure that he didn’t come to regret marrying a girl like me.”

“You don’t think Buggy could love you that much?”

She thought of Lord Bromwell’s friendly manner—but it was just that. Friendly. There was no hint of yearning, no hidden passion in his eyes when he looked at her. “Non. He is kind and affectionate, but he does not desire me. I’m sure he thinks of me as a friend, and no more.”

Sir Douglas turned away and strolled toward the side of the room and a shelf holding some small papier-mâché dogs. “Perhaps you should enlighten Mrs. Tunbarrow on that point,” he remarked as he studied them.

“I shall. And you must tell Lord Bromwell of our plan to pretend that we are engaged.”

He continued to examine the rather garish knick-knacks. “Easily done. It won’t be easy for you, though, returning to your old life when this situation is resolved.”

“I think I shall not.”

He slowly turned on his heel to regard her. “No?”

She saw no reason not to tell him of the plans she’d been making while she sewed. “The clothes you purchased for me—they are mine to do with as I please, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall sell them, and take the money and go back to France. I shall become a modiste.”

He picked up the apron she had been working on and put it on the chair. “I am no expert on such matters, but I believe you sew very well and your taste is exquisite—certainly better than Madame de Malanche’s. I’m sure you would be a great success.”

She was flattered and pleased, but disappointed, too, although there was no reason she should be.

“How much money would it require to set up a shop?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, glancing at the velvet box. Probably a fraction of what that necklace was worth. “I could work from my lodgings at first, until I have a clientele and enough money to rent a separate establishment.”

“That could take years.”

She didn’t disagree.

“I believe it would be a sound investment to loan you the funds to set up your shop in Paris, or anywhere else you choose.”

He spoke calmly, dispassionately, as if his offer was nothing—but it was everything to her. The only thing that could make her happier would be if Georges were alive.

Yet she tried not to react with too much emotion, since that disturbed him so. “Thank you. I will repay you every penny.”

“I don’t doubt it, or I wouldn’t make the offer.” His lips turned down slightly. “There’s no more obligation to me than if I loaned my money to any other friend.”