How to Romance a Rake (2 page)

At the cut, Roderick let his urbane mask slip.

“You know as well as I do that the same poisonous blood runs in us both.”

His sneer made him look every one of his fifty years.

Unwilling to be led down that path tonight, Alec shook his head. “Get out,” he said simply. The steel in his tone was sharp and cold. “But first give me the key.”

The naked hatred on his uncle’s face was nothing new. It was akin to the look his own father had turned on him so many years ago. Grudgingly, he slapped the key into Alec’s outstretched hand. Turning, he stalked back down the hallway in the direction from which Deveril had come, his displeasure evident in every step.

When he was sure Roderick was gone, Alec let himself into the study to ensure that nothing had been disturbed. To his relief nothing had. He did find, however, a collar—the same sort worn by the housemaids. He had no illusions that it had been dropped in the course of her regular duties. Roderick, it seemed, was as ever, just like his late brother.

The same blood might run in both of them, but Deveril was determined to ensure no woman he encountered would ever find herself a victim of it. He’d built his entire adult life upon that principle.

When he stepped back into the hall, he saw that the door to the music room three doors down was slightly ajar, and strode down the hall. Tonight, it seemed, the ballroom might be the least crowded room in Deveril House.

*   *   *

Hiding behind a screen was not how Miss Shelby had intended to spend the bulk of the Deveril ball.

When she’d arrived an hour earlier, she and her cousin Madeline had dutifully made their way to the side of the ballroom, where chairs had been set up for the chaperones and wallflowers. Though their other cousin, Cecily, had recently wed the Duke of Winterson, Juliet and Maddie had no illusions that they were now to be accepted among the elite of London society.

After an hour or so of chatting with Maddie, and later Colonel Lord Monteith, a friend of Winterson’s, she’d felt the familiar sting of pain in her left leg. But it was the note in her reticule that made her less than eager to socialize. Pleading a headache, which showed every indication of becoming a real complaint, she excused herself to pore over the cryptic message in private.

Limping through the darkened corridors of Deveril House, she finally found the music room, which was, thankfully, deserted. She’d always admired the room, and had even played the magnificent pianoforte a time or two for the small musical evenings Viscount Deveril’s sisters sometimes held. Though much younger than Juliet and her cousins, Lydia and Katherine Devenish were personable young ladies, and among the few friends the cousins could name among the more fashionable crowds of the
ton
.

She’d no sooner stepped into the music room than she heard familiar voices approaching in the hall. Cursing fate, she hurried as quickly as her painful leg would allow behind an elaborately decorated chinoiserie screen, where she lowered herself onto a tufted stool and waited for her unwelcome visitors to leave.

“I cannot account for it, Felicia,” Miss Snowe complained. “It is bad enough that Cecily Hurston has stolen a march on every eligible female in London by marrying Winterson, but now she thinks to foist her ridiculous cousins on the
ton.
I had thought that Lydia and Katherine had more discernment than to allow such unfashionable people free rein in their ballroom. Or Lord Deveril for that matter. I am sorely disappointed in the Devenish family at the moment.”

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,” Amelia’s bosom friend, Lady Felicia Downes, said.

What a surprise
. Juliet rolled her eyes.

“It’s insulting to anyone of taste,” Lady Felicia continued. “As if we’ve forgotten how the Ugly Ducklings languished with the rest of the ineligibles these past three years. Does Cecily Hurston really believe that her lucky marriage will erase Lady Madeline’s plumpness or Miss Shelby’s unfortunate limp?”

Juliet could hardly be surprised at Felicia’s unkind words, but hearing them aloud stung. For the three years since their debut, when Amelia had dubbed the unfashionable cousins “the Ugly Ducklings,” they’d been subjected to one unkindness or another from the blond beauty and her friend. Though she had hoped that Cecily’s marriage to the Duke of Winterson would give the cousins a much needed social boost, it would appear with Amelia and Felicia the change in status for Cecily had barely registered. And it most certainly hadn’t erased their derision for Madeline and Juliet.

“Cecily Hurston may have trapped Winterson into marriage,” Amelia said, “but there is no way that Lady Madeline or Miss Shelby can possibly expect to make comparable matches. Why, the idea is preposterous.”

“While it is certainly within the realm of possibility that Madeline will go on a strict reducing regimen,” Amelia continued, warming to her topic, “there is certainly nothing that Juliet can do about her unfortunate limp. I had supposed that one such as she would be confined to her home and not be thrust upon genteel society. I wonder what her parents were thinking to bring her out as if she were any normal girl.”

Juliet felt her cheeks redden with anger. It wasn’t as if she had never heard such sentiments expressed before. Indeed, her own mother had at times said similar things, though she had had the decency to keep her thoughts out of hearing of the public. So long as Juliet kept the true nature of her unfortunate injury secret, Lady Shelby had agreed that her daughter might attend as many society events as she wished. But to hear Amelia Snowe, who had fooled the gentlemen of the
ton
into believing her to be a sweet and nurturing angel, express such sentiments was infuriating.

“I daresay,” Felicia responded, “they are hoping to marry her off to some aged lord who has already sired an heir. The idea of anyone else wishing to marry such an antidote is laughable. What man would possibly wish for the mother of his children to drag herself around with a walking stick?”

As she listened to the two girls share their mirth at her expense, Juliet vowed to “accidentally” trip Amelia at the first opportunity.

“You don’t suppose they’ve already chosen someone, do you?” Amelia asked, once her giggles had subsided. “Because I would dearly love to be present at that wedding! How does one stumble down the aisle, do you think?”

“At least we would not be forced to see her dance at her own wedding! Imagine what a spectacle that would be! Carroty hair mixed with a halting gait. She will be as amusing as a performer at the circus.” This came from Lady Felicia.

The laughing fit brought on by that bit of mean-spiritedness was interrupted by a cough. A gentleman’s cough.

“Miss Snowe, Lady Felicia,” she heard a deep voice say. “How is it that you are not on the dance floor?”

Juliet could all but hear Amelia’s simpering smile slide back into place.

“Your lordship,” she cooed, “what a delightful entertainment you’ve hosted this evening. Felicia and I were just taking a bit of a rest in between sets.”

“I thank you for the compliment,” Viscount Deveril said smoothly, though was that a hint of annoyance Juliet heard in his voice? “I must ask you to return to the festivities,” he continued, his voice definitely cool. “This room is for family use only.”

And you two are not family
, his voice implied. Juliet bit back a cheer.

“We will leave at once,” Amelia said her voice thick with apology. Of course she would not wish to insult an eligible like Deveril, Juliet thought cynically.

“We apologize for the intrusion, my lord,” Felicia cooed.

Juliet bit her lip to keep from laughing at the insincerity.

“There is no harm done, ladies,” Deveril assured them with more generosity than they deserved. “And I pray you,” he added, “try not to stumble down the hall. One would hate to see the two of you make a spectacle of yourselves. This isn’t the circus, you know.”

Behind the screen, Julie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Had the Viscount Deveril, leader of the fashionable set, just delivered a set down on her behalf? It was not to be believed!

In the room at large, an awkward silence fell, no doubt while Amelia tried to come up with a suitable response. Apparently she was unable to do so, because Juliet soon heard both ladies thank his lordship again for the warning and hurry away in a rustle of silk skirts and the firm click of the closing door.

Waiting a few minutes more to ensure the room really was empty, Juliet was making to rise from her seat behind the screen when she heard the viscount’s now familiar voice.

“You may come out now, Miss Shelby. Your detractors have gone back to the ballroom.”

Juliet dropped her head into her hands in frustration.

He had known she was there the whole time.

Damn.
And double damn.

Schooling her features, she rose awkwardly from her seat and stepped out from behind the screen.

*   *   *

When he’d overheard Miss Snowe and Lady Felicia mocking the ducklings, Alec had been surprised by the jolt of anger he felt on their behalf. Especially when Amelia made her degrading remarks about Miss Shelby. There was no other young lady of the
ton
who had both red hair and a limp. That her hair was a rich auburn, rather than the hue of carrots as the two spiteful ladies had implied, was, he supposed, beside the point.

“Come now, Miss Shelby, you are not going to ignore me, are you?”

Alec stepped farther into the room, and feeling the chill in the air, crouched before the fireplace to stoke it a bit. And to give his companion another moment to emerge from her hiding place. He was rewarded after a minute or so with the sound of a gown rustling and an uneven gait sliding along the thick Aubusson carpet.

“Here I am, my lord,” she said from behind him. “I had best leave now. I too am sorry for intruding in the family rooms.”

Alec rose easily from his crouching position before the fire. It was clear from her expression that Miss Shelby wished to be quit of his company. And he could hardly blame her. But, coming upon her here had given him an idea.

“I’m afraid that was a bit of a fib I told Lady Felicia and Miss Snowe in order to hasten their departure. This is one of the family rooms but you are more than welcome to stay.”

He watched a series of mixed emotions flicker over her face. Chief among them confusion. As her green eyes narrowed he realized that she was really quite pretty when one stopped to actually see her. He supposed he was as guilty as anyone of defining her by her injured leg.

“Indeed?” she asked, regaining her composure. “I thank you for the compliment, but I will leave as well. I feel sure my cousins will have missed me by now.”

As she turned to go, walking stick in hand, Alec reached out a hand to stay her. But the touch must have startled her, for she gasped and the sheet of foolscap she clutched floated to the floor.

“My apologies,” he said, releasing her immediately, then bent to retrieve the paper for her. “I only meant to request you to stay for a moment and talk with me. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

He handed the note to her, and saw wariness in her green eyes as their gloved hands brushed.

“What do you want of me?” she asked, distrust oozing from every pore as she tucked the note into the reticule hanging from her wrist.

What was this? Alec wondered. She suddenly behaved as if he were some kind of lecher.

“I mean you no harm, Miss Shelby,” he assured her. “Truly.” She must have found something trustworthy in his disclaimer, for she nodded once and allowed him to direct her to a chair near the enormous harp his sister Lydia played from time to time.

“What was that about?” he asked before he thought better of it. He knew it was smart for a young lady to look out for herself, but there had been something else there in her eyes when she’d watched him.

A faint blush suffused Juliet’s cheeks, and Alec was struck by her prettiness. Her features were sharp, with a pointed chin and a narrow nose, and a creamy smooth complexion, but it was her expressive green eyes that made her so attractive.

“My apologies, my lord,” she said. “I’m afraid I was overset and I took out my pique on you.”

“Bad news?” he asked, his gaze dropping to her reticule.

“Indeed,” she said. “I … that is, my friend has been called away on personal business.” Her eyes clouded. “I would not be so worried, but she has, in the past, been stricken with melancholy to such a degree that…”

“You fear she might harm herself,” Alec said, understanding at once why she would be upset. He knew from personal experience what melancholy might make a woman do.

“Yes,” Juliet said, her expression relaxing at his words. “My friend—I dare not say her name, because she has told me of her struggles in confidence—says that she is going to visit family in the north, but I was given to believe that she had no family. So I am worried that her tale might be just that. A tale to stop me from worrying.”

Alec took this in. While he did not discount Juliet’s assessment of the situation, he also knew the degree to which friends and family of those who suffered from melancholia tended to see every expression of sadness as a sign of impending relapse.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “Perhaps I could have someone check into her whereabouts?”

She gave a sad smile. “I thank you for your kind offer, my lord,” she said, “but I feel sure that my friend would see such an act as a violation of her privacy.”

Alec gave a nod. He’d suspected as much, but seeing this young woman who clearly had her own struggles to endure had prompted him to make the offer. He mentally cursed Amelia and Lady Felicia for causing her even more distress.

*   *   *

“But you wished to speak to me of something else?” his companion prompted. “I can hardly think what it might be, given the chasm that gapes between us.”

Her words stung. Perhaps because there was some truth to them. Still he could not fail to ask, “Because it is so unthinkable for ‘someone like me’ to wish to speak with ‘someone like you’?”