Her Secondhand Groom (19 page)

“
I’d like you to call me Drake,” he said with a smile. “For as flattered as I am that you’ve adopted your own pet name for me, I’d like to prove to you I’m not presumptuous, and I think no longer being styled as Lord Presumptuous is a good start.”

Juliet nodded numbly. He was right, how was he supposed to overcome his past mistakes with her still referring to him as presumptuous―both vocally and in her mind. She lowered her lashes in shame. Why had she been so immature as to call him that? What was it about him that stripped her of her cool reserve and logical thoughts and brought out her quick tongue and more than a few other immature tendencies? She blinked. Just when had she last referred to him that way, anyway? She couldn’t remember exactly when she’d stopped, but at some point in the past week he’d ceased to be Lord Presumptuous and had become Lord Drakely. When? Why? Wh―

“
Look at me,” Drake commanded gently, stealing her from her ruminations. The fingers of his right hand lightly pressed the underside of her chin, tilting her face up so her eyes would meet his. “You weren’t wrong to call me that. I was very presumptuous in the way I did things. When I saw an opportunity to have what I wanted, I took advantage of it without a care to how it would affect anyone other than me and my daughters. That was wrong of me. I know that and that’s why I asked you to come here with me tonight, remember? I want to make things right.” He flashed her the most genuine grin she’d ever seen on his face. “So what do you say, Lady Drakely, can we start over?”

“
I’d love to.”

Chapter 15

Patrick had never experienced pride as intense as what he felt seated next to Juliet at dinner. He cast a sidelong glance at her. She was as beautiful as the polished emerald pin twinkling in his cravat. A hint of a smile crossed his face. He and Juliet had more in common than he originally thought. They both had chosen to wear the same color tonight and they both hated science. He hadn’t believed her for one second when she’d said she liked to discuss the moons orbiting around Jupiter.

He took a sip of his drink and murmured a halfhearted response to Lady Townson who was seated at his right. His attention shifted to the vicar’s wife across the table who seemed to be rather chatty, too. Gads. Who knew Alex, Lord Watson, had such garrulous relatives? Patrick had no interest in their inane chatter. He was far too enamored with Juliet to care about their conversations.

Juliet set her fork down with a clink and turned to face him. “Do you think something is wrong with Emma?”

Patrick froze. It wasn’t her question that brought on this reaction, but the fact she asked him something so casual. There were no strained undertones in her voice, just ease. It was almost as if she were talking to him as a friend or trusted companion, not an enemy. His gaze drifted to where Marcus and his wife sat. Nothing looked amiss to him. “No. Why?”

She straightened her napkin. “She acted oddly when she came to see me last week, that’s all.”

“
I hadn’t noticed.” He cocked his head to the side and studied Emma’s face. Dash it all, Juliet was right. Something was off. “Perhaps after dinner you can talk to her.”

Juliet took a swig of her drink. “I don’t think so. I prodded her for nearly an hour the other day and she didn’t say anything.”

Patrick scratched his chin. Marcus and Emma had come to visit them earlier in the week. Of course, Emma hadn’t been interested in talking to him. She’d gone off to see Juliet and the girls while he and Marcus discussed tenants and drains and other boring nonsense that went along with having a title. They’d briefly talked about the girls, then Marcus mentioned― He snapped his fingers. “Olivia’s driving her mad.”

Juliet’s head whipped around to face him. “Pardon?”

“
Right. You don’t know who I’m talking about.” He bent closer to her ear so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Marcus has a younger sister, Olivia. She’s rather...er...difficult, if you will. She found herself in a tight spot earlier this year and decided to emigrate to America.”

“
Oh.”

“
Well, for some reason or another, Marcus has allowed her to come back. She’s staying at Ridge Water. That’s probably what’s wrong with Emma.”

Juliet frowned. “I thought she was married.”

“
She is. It’s complicated.”

She implored him with her grey eyes.

“
They’re no longer married,” he blurted.

Her eyes flared wide, and hand came up to her chest. “Did he die?”

“
No.” He dropped his voice as low as he possibly could. “Divorced.”

Her eyes widened so much further that she was in danger of looking around her spectacle lenses instead of through them.

“
How long have you worn spectacles?” he asked, glad to abandon the topic of Marcus’ menace of a sister.

“
About ten years now,” she said, readjusting them.

“
Ten years? That’s a rather long time to wear the same ones, isn’t it?”

“
I suppose so,” she said. She reached forward and twisted the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

“
Nobody else in your family wears them,” he mused aloud, his mind drawing up a picture of her mother and father, neither with spectacles. If he remembered right, none of her siblings wore spectacles, either.

The corner of her mouth tipped up just a fraction, a dimple forming in her cheek. “No. I’m the only one blessed with horrible vision, I’m afraid.”

“
Horrible? It can’t be that bad.”

Her dubious look made him chuckle. “You have no idea. I can’t see a thing without them.”

“
I find
that
hard to believe,” he teased. “Surely you can see something. Let’s find out, shall we?”

“
We shall not.” Her fingers touched the stems on both sides of her spectacles.

He reached up and pulled her hands away. Tentatively, he slid them off her nose, revealing two angry red marks on either side of her nose. He turned the spectacles over a few times to look at them. They were awfully heavy. No wonder she had those nasty marks on her nose. He inspected the thick lenses and the loose hinges. Likely she wasn’t jesting when she said she couldn’t see without them. Just to be sure, he quickly made a face that always made his girls giggle.

She had no reaction. Not that he’d expected her to laugh, of course. But she showed no signs of knowing he’d done anything. Not even a scowl crossed her face. Curious.

“
Did Mr. Nills in London fit you for these?” he asked, handing the heavy spectacles back to her.

She took them from him and glided them back up her nose. “No. Mr. Hunt.”

Patrick’s lips twisted. Mr. Hunt was a two-bit swindler who owned a shop in Bath that sold inferior eyeglasses, bent walking sticks, stale lotions and creams, and other worthless junk passed off as medical remedies. She needed to go to London to see Mr. Nills. “Would you be interested in going to London next week?”

Two flags of red stained her cheeks. “Of course.”

Placing three fingers on the underside of her chin, he tipped her face up, forcing her to look at him. “Is there a reason you don’t wish to go?”

“
No.”

He knew better than that. If he’d learned one thing living in a house full of females, it was when they said no in a simple tone like that, they were lying. “What happened in London?”

The tip of her pink tongue poked out between her lips and moistened them in the most innocently seductive manner he’d ever seen. First the top, then the bottom. His blood heated and he swallowed hard.

“
Nothing happened. I―I just didn’t enjoy it, that’s all. But if you need me to go with you, I will.”

“
That’s good,” he admitted, leaning his face closer to hers, “what I plan to do in London isn’t something I can do without you.”

A delicate cough from across the table startled them both.

Patrick withdrew his fingers from beneath Juliet’s chin and dropped his hand to his lap, straightening. Slightly embarrassed at being caught having such an intimate moment with his wife in such a public setting, he glanced around the room. His temperature rose ten degrees when he saw the gleam in Marcus’ eye.

Keeping his hands under the table, Patrick reached one hand over and took hold of Juliet’s smaller one. He gave it a light squeeze, just to reassure her, nothing more. At least that’s what he told himself.

She squeezed back.

Without much thought, Patrick pulled her hand to his lap and intertwined his fingers with hers.

***

Juliet’s heart hammered out of control as Drake spun her around the floor, her skirt flaring out all around them as she twisted and twirled doing a country reel. She couldn’t remember a time she’d enjoyed herself more. Who knew Drake was capable of having this much fun? She grinned and he spun her again.

“
You’re having fun,” he commented, pulling her close.

“
Yes, I believe I am,” she agreed.

The hand he had resting on her waist tightened a fraction. “Good. I’m glad, Juliet.”

The music ended and he led her to the side of the room where a table had been set out to serve lemonade. She took the cup he offered her and sat in a nearby chair. Something was off. Drake was never this nice to her.
Never
. Sure, he hadn’t been quite the jackanapes she’d previously thought him to be these last three weeks of their marriage. And actually, if she were being honest, she’d even admit he’d been nicer to her than before, especially during this past week. But tonight…tonight was unexplainable.

He’d held her hand at dinner. Then when Caroline, their hostess, suggested they make use of an unused drawing room to dance, he’d practically dragged her down the hall.

“
What’s your rank of choice?”

Juliet started, nearly spilling her cup of lemonade. “Pardon?”

Drake gestured to all the other men in the room. “Every rank from a duke down to a second son who became a vicar is available for your choosing. Any rank strike your fancy?”

“
I believe you’re incorrect,” she said, looking over all the men in the room. “I see one second son-vicar, one baron―” she turned to him―“one viscount, two earls, and one duke. But alas, no marquis.”

His brown eyes lit with mischief. “I’d say that I stand corrected, but I do not. There is a marquis on the premises. If you’d like to dance with him, I’ll see if a servant can fetch him from the nursery.”

Juliet smiled at his logic. He was right of course, the duke and duchess’ oldest son, who carried the courtesy title of marquis, was sleeping up in the nursery. “How about we call this a tie?”

“
Fair enough,” he agreed. “So who will it be, Juliet? Whose wife do I need to go charm?”

“
Pardon?”

One of his long, blunt-tipped fingers reached up and pushed a loose tendril of her hair behind her right ear. “Who do you want to dance with?”

“
This viscount,” she whispered, her face growing warm.

His hand engulfed hers and he led her to the middle of the floor. “I was hoping you’d choose him. I think I should like to dance with his wife.”

“
I shouldn’t have chosen him, though.”

He tightened his grasp and pulled her closer to him. “And why is that?”

“
It’s not proper.”

He leaned his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter. “That is the last thing you should be thinking about tonight.”

The music started and Juliet froze. It was a waltz. She could dance any country reel or quadrille, to perfection, but a waltz? No. She’d only attempted it once and her poor dancing partner limped the rest of the night. She opened her mouth to protest but didn’t get a word out before Drake’s smooth, rich voice drifted to her ears.

“
Is that the only reason you shouldn’t choose the viscount?”

“
Of course,” she lied. Being improper by dancing with her husband twice―in a row, at that―was the lesser of the two reasons she should have chosen to dance with another man. The stronger reason was one she didn’t want to admit even to herself.