Emily Hendrickson (8 page)

“That is all wrong, my dear. Allow me.” Placing his cravat carefully on her bed, he pulled her close to him, undoing her sash with impatient fingers.

“You appear to have had much practice at undoing sashes, my lord,” Juliet said evenly.

He glanced down at her and smiled, rather grimly, she thought.

“Do not try to tease me, Juliet. I can best you at every corner.” He efficiently looped the satin, tying an exquisite little bow off to one side instead of the center as Pansy had done. When Juliet glanced in the looking glass, she could see it was far nicer.

“Another of your many talents? Perhaps I may be able to dispense with Pansy in that case,” she shot at him without thinking what she said.

“If you mean that, I just may take you up on it.” His eyes danced with mirth, and Juliet was quite modified when she realized what she had uttered in annoyance.

“Of course I did not mean it, my lord,” she snapped, vexed at the effect Alexander had on her.

“Pity, that. Well, if you cannot manage a simple bow, I scarcely think you can cope with a cravat.” He touched her cheek lightly, then added, “You look very nice this evening, my Juliet. I trust all will go well and that we shall be able to convince these good people that we are indeed husband and wife, estranged but working at renewing our marriage.”

Juliet found it difficult to reply with him standing so close to her. She managed a smile of sorts and stepped away from his disturbing presence to pick up her shawl and gloves. “Indeed. Our reputations may depend upon it.”

“I fear my reputation may have preceded me, if what you told me is correct. Do you think you can redeem me, dear Juliet?”

“Do not mock me so, or no one will ever believe you desire to reconcile with me,” Juliet scolded, draping the shawl about her shoulders.

She found him close once again, adjusting her shawl, his fingers brushing her tender skin with careless regard.

“They will believe what I wish them to believe, and
that
is that I do desire you. Make no mistake, my dear, when this evening is over, they will he convinced of it.”

* * * *

Juliet was atwitter with nerves when they entered the Tackley residence. She wasn’t sure if it was the touch of Alexander’s fingers against her bare skin or his softly worded threat that affected her the more.

“Dear Lady Hawkswood, Lord Hawkswood. I declare, what a lovely surprise, your coming to Woodbury,” Mrs. Tackley directed to his lordship. She and her dormouse of a husband stood in the over-decorated entry to greet their dinner guests. The lady’s glance darted from Juliet to Alexander, no doubt in an effort to see how his lordship was received by their little friend.

Someway, without Juliet realizing how he did it, Alexander drew her close to his side, smiled down at her, then bestowed one of those devilishly handsome smiles—the sort that made Juliet’s heart flutter—on their hostess, and she could see he had won the night.

Contrary to London custom, married couples were seated next to one another, so when Juliet removed her gloves to eat, Alexander could plainly see her hands.

“Wherever did you find that ring?” he asked in an undertone while the conversation was general about them.

“I found it in the library desk,” she murmured in reply while sampling the soup.

He paused to give her hand with the ring on it another look, then said, “I believe it is my mother’s. How appropriate.” Which remark he was unable to amplify, causing Juliet to wonder why on earth was it appropriate for her of all people to be wearing his late mother’s ring.

Perhaps it was the customary ring for the Viscountess Hawkswood to wear, in which case, why was it sitting in the desk at the manor instead of the vault at his abbey?

Juliet pretended to be somewhat in charity with Alexander, just as they had discussed. She hoped to give the impression of a woman who needs to be persuaded to love again, which was difficult when she hadn’t loved in the first place.

“I knew your grandmother well, my lord, when she lived in the manor house. I have not seen her these many years,” Mrs. Tackley said between courses, signaling the footman to hand his lordship a sorbet.

“Indeed? She is still well, lives in London, and is the terror of Society,” Alexander said with just the right amount of amusement, so that his hearers were not certain if he joked or it was the truth.

“You have met his grandmother, my lady?” Mrs. Tackley asked, pouncing on Juliet when she had just placed a spoonful of sorbet in her mouth.

Swallowing gave her time to think of an answer, which proved not to be necessary when Alexander answered on her behalf.

“Unfortunately, my wife enjoys country life and Grandmama loves the city. Perhaps I can persuade Juliet to join me in London so they may meet?” He turned to study Juliet as she sat in silence at his side.

She wondered if her smile was as strained as she felt. They were on thin ground here, and they both knew it.

Mercifully, it was time for the ladies to retreat to the drawing room. Juliet gave Alexander a warning glance before she left the table, then braved the cluster of women gathered, it seemed, to question her regarding her husband.

“My dear Lady Hawkswood, you must have been very surprised when your husband so gallantly arrived on your doorstep. I vow I think it vastly romantic, do you not, Fanny?” Mrs. Tackley concluded with a look at her friend.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Ogleby agreed. “I am glad to see that he
has
returned to you, my dear. Anyone can see he is besotted with you, but then, why not? You are the prettiest of creatures.”

Juliet doubted Alexander had truly looked besotted. She suspected Mrs. Ogleby saw what she wished to see. Uncomfortable with the conversation, she longed for the gentlemen to join them and perhaps survive the evening with Alexander to support her.

“I trust you will entertain us with a duet this evening? It was good of you to send over your harp. If only my girls were musical, but then they spend their time with needlework and improving books,” Mrs. Tackley intoned.

Juliet gave her an uneasy smile, then sighed with relief when the gentlemen appeared in the doorway, two by two like so many creatures for the ark.

She rose and thought to ask Mr. Wyllard if he was ready to play when Alexander forestalled her, murmuring, “We had best do our duet. I have just endured a bit of heavy going with jests regarding your Mr. Wyllard. There will be no more of that, I assure you.”

Juliet flashed him a furious look, then, realizing she had to be most proper, took a seat by the harp. Once absorbed in her music, she forgot her ire. At the conclusion of the duet, the gathering applauded enthusiastically, as well they might, Juliet thought. Alexander and she had gone quite nicely.

But she would still see Mr. Wyllard. Alexander was not going to stop their friendship.

Chapter 5

The week after the Tackley dinner went by faster than Juliet would have believed. As well, her firm demand that Alexander stay out of her room had been honored, somewhat to her surprise. She had thought his a piecrust promise, the sort made to be broken.

Given his background and the gossip she had gleaned about him, she had fully expected to end up pushing a chest in front of the connecting door so she might retain her privacy and whatever else a young woman was supposed to keep to herself. For reasons she did not understand she was loathe to put up such a barrier. Perhaps it revealed a distrust of him, and oddly enough she wanted to trust him, or at least allow him to think she did.

She was startled when he sauntered from the house to join her in the garden. A quick search of his face revealed nothing to her. The gray eyes were as inscrutable as ever.

“Our truce goes well,” Alexander said quietly. “Mrs. Bassett seems to have the impression that we are settling our differences. I believe she fancies there might eventually be the patter of little feet around the house. She just asked me if I wished to have the furniture in the nursery replaced; it appears it is a trifle shabby. The heir to a viscountcy ought not begin life in an inferior crib, it seems.” His grin mocked her.

“Good heavens!” Juliet cried softly in dismay. “I’d not thought we were
that
convincing. Perhaps I am destined for a life on the stage in that event.”

“So you realize you cannot go back to being Miss Winterton of Winterton Hall when you leave here?” he inquired quietly, taking her arm to guide her along a garden path and away from the house.

“I would say that there are a great number of things preferable to being Lady Taunton! A life on the stage could be one of them,” Juliet snapped. She did not add that even being married to Alexander was better than Taunton, but the thought hung in the air between them.

“I asked Randall if he was acquainted with your Lord Taunton and amazingly enough he had heard of the chap. I apologize if ever I seemed to question your aversion to the man. Randall informed me that Taunton is a thoroughly bad fellow. He’s not the sort of man your father would wish to marry his daughter.”

Juliet paused, turning to face him. “My instincts were right, then. It was a good thing I ran away from a marriage with him.”

“I believe the common phrase is out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Alexander responded dryly. “I cannot imagine what you’d confront were you to attempt to convince your brother that a marriage to Taunton is displeasing. Worse come to worst, you should be prepared to make this marriage of ours a reality.”

“But surely you do not want such a thing,” Juliet countered. “Neither of us wished to wed,” she reminded. Although the man she thought existed behind the facade of Lord Hawkswood was not quite the same as she was finding to be true. He had been charming company—but of course a rake would be—and he had honored his word—but perhaps he thought her so unappealing it was no difficulty to keep away from her. That thought was so distressing that she resolved to be a trifle more amiable to him.

“How do you feel about that possibility?” he countered.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Juliet replied in kind, but somewhere deep inside the idea that marriage to Alexander would be vastly different, perhaps more agreeable, than to anyone else she had ever met took root and began to grow.

They strolled along the graveled path in reasonable harmony, giving rise to hopes that they might make it through a day without an argument. Their accord ended when Mr. Wyllard rounded the distant corner, a potted plant in hand.

“Ah, I see your country swain has arrived,” Alexander said in an undertone.

“He is not my swain, and why do you call him that simply because he carries a plant for the garden?” Juliet quibbled.

“He is much taken with you, and make no mistake on that score. Were I not here, he would be making genteel love to you.” Alexander drew to a halt, turning her to face him.

“Alexander!” Juliet whispered, utterly scandalized at his words, glaring at him with furious eyes.

“Lovely,” Alexander said, his eyes crinkling up with barely concealed mirth. He bent to kiss her, quickly and most efficiently. “There, let the chap see who is lord and master here.”

“You are not my lord and master,” Juliet declared softly, quite forgetting her resolve to improve relations with Alexander.

“He
thinks so,” Alexander reminded her. “I merely wished to remind him where he stands. And that, my dear
wife,
is on the outside, looking in, so to speak. As I mentioned before, I allow no poaching on this particular property.”

“I am not your property, you know—any more than you are my lord and master.” She stamped a slippered foot, then wished she hadn’t, for the feel of the gravel was not kind to her feet.

“Tell that to a judge,” Alexander murmured with a chuckle.

“Oh, you are impossible.”

“Good morning, Wyllard,” Alexander said in a pleasant voice, quite unlike the nasty, insinuating whisper that had reached her ears moments ago.

“G
...
good morning, my lord,” Mr. Wyllard replied, looking most uncomfortable. Doubtless he was one of the many who felt a husband and wife ought not be demonstrative in public—even if this was their private garden. He was here, and they both knew it.

He came closer, and Alexander observed that the chap’s gaze settled on Juliet’s hand where it rested against Alexander’s chest—in protest, if Wyllard but knew it. Alexander glanced down to note the absence of any betrothal ring. Juliet wore the simple gold band his mother had worn until she’d died—here. He decided that had best he remedied, but he’d say nothing to her about it now when Wyllard was within hearing.

“I promised you an autumn anemone, my lady,” Wyllard said, holding up a plant that had nice green leaves and not a hint of a bud. “As the name implies, it blooms late in the summer until the frost. The flower is a fiery red,” he concluded, faltering somewhat under Alexander’s sardonic stare
.

“Most appropriate,” Alexander murmured wickedly.

“How thoughtful you are, sir,” Juliet said more warmly than she otherwise might. She gave Alexander an admonishing look, then went forward to greet her guest.

“I suppose you have already heard the news,” Mr. Wyllard offered hesitantly.

“That depends on the news,” Alexander replied, languidly strolling over to lean against a statue that graced one side of the path.

“Old Mr. Taunton died. I imagine his nephew will come to look over his inheritance one of these days.”

Fortunately, Mr. Wyllard was in the act of placing the autumn anemone in the flower bed where it was intended to go and did not see the look of alarm that flashed across Juliet’s face before she might compose herself.

Alexander, however, had seen that expression of horror compounded with fear, and rapidly put things together. “His nephew is young Lord Taunton, lately of London, I believe?” Alexander inquired just to make certain his suspicions were correct.

“So I understand,” Mr. Wyllard replied, a bit more comfortable now that Lord Hawkswood had moved away from Juliet. He began to explain about the plant he had brought, how high it could be expected to grow and a little about the charm of the flowers when in bloom.