Miss Foster’s Folly (2 page)

“I can’t believe all men are like that.”

“Enough are. Some women have to put up with them to support themselves. I don’t.” Juliet patted Millie’s arm. “Now that I’m filthy rich, you don’t, either.”

A pair of men came walking along the path in the other direction. No one Juliet recognized, just people headed toward their own destination. Both touched the brims of their hats as they grew near. Both pairs of eyes lingered on Millie as they went by. Only a few years younger than Juliet, Millie had entered spinsterhood herself, but she was still a beauty with her clear skin, blue eyes and hourglass figure. Even the red of her hair looked warm and not garish. If she had any wealth at all, a dozen men or more would court her.

“Barnacle?” Millie prompted.

“I’m sorry. My mind wandered.”

“It was those men, wasn’t it?” Millie said.

“I’m only human. I can’t help but look.”

“They looked back.”

“At you, not me.”

“You’re a striking woman.” Millie stopped again. “You could choose from any number of men if you wanted.”

“That’s what I plan to do. Only I won’t have to choose.”

Millie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“My father said I cling to money like a barnacle,” Juliet said. “I’m going to let loose of some. A lot, in fact, and you’re going to help me spend it.”

“It’s not my money.”

“It is if I say it is.”

“Juliet, you’re making me dizzy. What are you talking about?”

Juliet guided her friend back along the pathway. They still had a lot to discuss, and they were nearing the house. Then, they’d have preparations for the party.

“We’re going to travel, you and I,” Juliet said. “England and the Continent. I’m going to have a fling.”

“Oh, dear.” Millie groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who’ll give herself one brief affair before she settles down into spinsterhood.”

“Of course not.”

Millie heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven.”

“I’m much more ambitious than that,” Juliet declared. “I’m going to have affairs in the plural. Dozens of them. More, if I can manage.”

This time, Millie jerked to a sudden stop. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. I plan to sleep my way across Europe.”

“But, you can’t!” Millie’s voice went close to a shout.

“Why not?” Juliet shouted back.

“It isn’t decent.”

“Hang decency!”

Millie glanced around. Sure enough an older couple had stopped nearby and appeared to be listening in on the conversation.

“Lower your voice,” Millie said.

“You’re the one who started shouting.”

“All right.” Millie took a steadying breath. “You can’t mean to sleep with dozens of men you’re not married to.”

“Of course, I do. I have it all planned. I’ll start in England to get my feet wet.”

“Your feet?” Millie repeated.

“Figure of speech,” Juliet said. “Everyone knows the English are stodgy. Safe. I’ll practice on them until I feel ready for Paris.”

“Juliet, dear. You’ve lost your mind.”

“No, I haven’t. Nor my virginity, unfortunately.”

Millie groaned. “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“I’ll learn finesse from the French. How to act sophisticated in bed. Blasé, even.”

Millie walked to a bench and sank onto it as if her legs wouldn’t hold her. “Oh, Juliet.”

Juliet sat beside her and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“After France, Spain. Hot-blooded Spaniards to add some spice to my palette before my ultimate destination.”

Millie gave her a baleful look. “Please, not Russia.”

“Don’t be silly. Italy.” The mere word sent a thrill through her. “Italian lovers. Could there be anything more delicious?”

Millie cradled her head in her hand. “I certainly hope not.”

“Just think…all the passion of the French combined with the ferocity of a Roman warrior.” She shivered with delight.
“Che cosa passione. Il mio desiderio del cuore.”

“Ce qu’une catastrophe.”

“Now, don’t start writing my eulogy. I’ll be fine.”

Millie stared up at her. “You know what the siblings will do if they get wind of this plan, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“You should be,” Millie said. “They’ll have you declared insane and put you into an institution.”

“And gain control of my inheritance. Very handy all around for them,” Juliet answered. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Millie waved her hands in the air in a gesture of frustration. “Gerard Foster was famous in Europe, too. Anyone who recognizes you can cable here, and you’ll be in a nice asylum before you can say
che bella ragazza.
”

“Calm down, Millie. I won’t be Juliet Foster but a fabulously wealthy and eccentric young American widow. I’ll think up a name.”

“Now, I know you’ve lost your mind.” Millie put her hands on her hips. “Won’t your first lover realize you never consummated your marriage?”

“Hmm. I see.”

“You see? You didn’t think of that? That proves you haven’t thought this through.”

“Don’t worry.” Juliet waved her hand. “A mere detail. I’ll find someone on the ship to rid me of my virginity.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do to talk you out of this disaster in the making?”

“Absolutely not,” Juliet said.

“Well, I hope you know I’m not going to indulge in any of this with you.”

“Of course not. You’ll be my spinster cousin. We’ll be on our way to Geneva to get treatment for you.”

“Treatment?” Millie’s voice approached a high-pitched squeal. “What for?”

“Nervous exhaustion. You’re about to collapse. I don’t know how you can stand.”

“I’m sitting,” Millie answered. “But if you like, I could cough myself hoarse.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Millie groaned.

“Chin up,” Juliet said. “While we’re there, we’ll get you a husband, if you insist on wanting one. Whatever kind you want. You’ll come home with him, and I’ll come home to my money.”

“Just how rich are you, anyway?” Millie asked.

“You see that building?” Juliet pointed toward the most luxurious set of apartments on the park. “I’ll give it to you as a wedding present.”

“The Dakota? You could afford that?”

“I could buy the whole park if the city would sell.”

Millie blanched. “How do you know that? You haven’t even met with your father’s accountant yet.”

“Oh, but I have. Papa worked the poor man half to death. I used to pay him late-night visits.”

“Don’t tell me you promised to sleep with him, too.”

“I wouldn’t do that. He’s a happily married man,” Juliet said. “With quite a thirst for gin.”

“You got him drunk.”

“Nothing limbers the tongue like liquor.” Juliet rose. “We got to be great friends. I plan to give him a substantial gift to thank him. And an endless supply of gin.”

“You’ve made him an ally.”

“I may need one if the siblings go snooping,” she said. “Now, come along. We need to get ready for the party. Manhattan will meet its latest fabulously wealthy spinster.”

***

The last thing Juliet had expected at the sedate party in Gerard Foster’s memory was for one of his partners to pin her against the billiard table and declare his undying love. For heaven’s sake, Oscar Price was almost as old as her father and had a perfectly good wife out in the ballroom.

He put his stubby arms around her and tried to pull her against his chest. “My darling Juliet. Now that Gerard is no longer here to keep us apart, I can tell you how much I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you.”

She pushed him away. “I was a child.”

“I meant since you came back from school.”

“I wasn’t much more than a child then.”

He tried to shove his lips over hers again, but she managed to get her hand between their faces.

“You’ve always been a woman to me,” he mumbled against her palm.

“That’s disgusting.” He didn’t mean an iota of this nonsense, of course. She’d soon take possession of most of Papa’s assets. Price had discovered that somehow and was making a play to get control of all that and cut everyone else out, including her brother. How stupid did the man think she was?

“I’m offering myself to you. Heart and soul.” He dropped to his knee and put his palm over his chest. “Please, make me the happiest man in the world.”

“What on Earth do you mean by that?”

“Marry me, my darling. I can’t live without you.”

Of course. Nothing short of marriage would make all her possessions his. If he felt honest lust for her, he’d want an affair. If he loved her, he’d leave her the hell alone.

“You’ve done well enough without me so far,” she said.

“I’m bereft. Heartbroken. Desperate,” he answered.

“What about your wife? The woman you’ve been married to for over twenty years?”

“She means nothing to me. I’ll divorce her.”

“Is that your idea of ‘’til death do us part’?” she said. “I don’t think I want anything to do with it.”

He clutched at her hand, pressing a sloppy kiss on the back. “I’ll devote myself to you and only you for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, get up. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

He did rise and proceeded to grab for her again. This time, she ducked under his arms—no small accomplishment because in shoes with heels, she stood an inch or two taller than he did. As fast as she could manage in those heels, she skirted the table and stared at him from the other side. “Leave me alone, or I’ll scream for help.”

“It won’t do you any good. We’re too far from the ballroom, and there’s too much noise in there for anyone to hear.” He lunged to one side, and she countered, keeping the table between them.

“What do you hope to accomplish with this?” she said.

“I want you as my wife, and I won’t give up until you promise to marry me.”

“You don’t want me, Mr. Price.”

“Oscar,” he corrected.

He turned a corner of the table, and she ran around the other end. Now, they faced each other across the narrow dimension. He could almost reach her, and he flung himself toward her. He landed on his stomach on the top, and she took the opportunity to run to the door. While he flopped around behind her, she twisted the knob. It didn’t budge. Good Lord, he’d not only locked the others outside, she couldn’t get out, either, and there was no sign of the key anywhere.

She turned. “Let me out of here. Now. I insist.”

Instead, she found herself shoved back against the door as he crushed his mouth against hers. What a pig of a man. She pushed at his shoulders but couldn’t make him move. Worse, his hands went to her bodice, tugging on the fabric in an attempt to undo the buttons. If the man thought this was the way to win a woman’s favor, may God have mercy on his wife.

Juliet managed to twist her head, freeing her mouth. “Release me now, or I’ll call for the police.”

“They won’t hear you, either,” he answered.

“You won’t win anything this way.”

“I will,” he said. “If I can prove that we’re lovers, you’ll have to marry me.”

“No one would ever believe that,” she answered.

“Once I have you undressed, they will,” he said. “Richardson’s outside waiting to confirm it. I only have to let him in.”

Dear Lord, two of them. A plot. No doubt, they’d made an agreement to divide the spoils once Price had gotten his hands on her money. The bastard might even succeed if she didn’t do something drastic and soon. He’d already managed to get a few buttons open.

“I’ll only tell you one more time,” she said. “Let me go.”

“Never, my darling. I love you too much.”

“All right. I warned you.” Taking careful aim, she thrust her knee upward into the space between his legs. She’d never tried to do such a thing, but that was supposed to stop men in a second. It worked. He released her and fell to the floor, clutching himself there and moaning loudly. Now, she had to find the key before he recovered. He’d probably hid it on his person somewhere, so she’d have no choice but to look for it on him.

“Curse it,” he gritted. “Why did you…?”

“You deserved it.” She knelt next to him and stuck her hand into one of his pockets. Nothing in his jacket, so she had to try his pants. The first pocket was empty, and he kept squirming, but she finally got to the other, and her fingers met metal. The key.

She rose quickly and went to the door.

“Come back here,” he shouted.

“Go to hell,” she answered. That felt good. No,
damn
, that felt good. From now on, she’d swear like a sailor if she wanted. Who could stop her? Right now, she needed to get out of this billiard room.

She opened the door and went out into the hallway. Sure enough, Mortimer Richardson stood right in her path.

He stared at the disarray of her dress for a moment and then formed his features into a mask of shock and disapproval, the hypocrite. “Miss Foster, what have you been doing? You look a disgrace.”

“You’re the disgrace.” Just because she could, she slapped him across the face—hard enough to leave the red marks of her fingers on his cheek. “You’d better see to your friend. Convince him that molesting women doesn’t pay.”

“What…” He went into the billiard room. “Good Lord, Oscar, what happened to you?”

She didn’t stay to give him an explanation but headed off, doing up her buttons as she went. Her hair was no doubt mussed, and she’d have to find a mirror and do her best to repair it. For now, she needed someplace quiet to get her breath and, with any luck, a stiff drink.

She turned a corner and headed down another corridor toward the library. But that wasn’t empty, either. Juliet could hear a high-pitched, girlish voice from inside the room.

The young female in question was in the library doing something she shouldn’t, and it involved a man. A rich baritone joined the sounds inside. Mischief. No doubt about it. Had every male at the party lost his mind? She was about to find out.

David Winslow, the seventh Marquis of Derrington, had come to this party to prowl through the upper crust of the upper crust of New York’s elite. He hadn’t expected the prey to turn on the predator. Most especially, he hadn’t expected to have to fend off the attentions of a female scarcely old enough to be out of the schoolroom. But this one had feigned a swoon and had maneuvered him into this library only to regain her vim and vigor the moment she had him alone.

He pushed the girl away from his chest for the third time. “My dear Miss—”

“Rosalie. Call me Rosalie.” She wormed her way back into his arms, and he pushed her away again and this time, held on firmly to her arms.

“Please, miss. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Then show me. I’m eager to learn.”

Oh, no. Only her clumsiness had kept him from snapping and doing exactly what she’d asked for. He hadn’t lain with a woman in so deuced long, he could easily give this one the shock of her life. But then, he’d have to face angry parents and a minister. And he was most assuredly not marrying this child.

“Miss…Rosalie…surely, you’d prefer someone closer to your own age,” he said.

“Pfft,” she said. “Boys. Who wants them?”

“Girls, I would think.” She clutched his lapels and tried to pull him closer. Her lashes fluttered downward, and she pursed her lips in invitation. She had a lovely, bow mouth—ripe and sweet for kissing. But he had enough willpower to resist.

He’d come here to find exactly the right wife—the sort who’d satisfy the Winslow Curse and allow him to settle down, do his duty to produce an heir and then live happily ever after with a woman who’d keep him pleasantly bewildered and enchanted for the rest of his life. The Curse was a silly thing, of course, but Winslow men who found the “cure” enjoyed long and joyful marriages, so who was he to quibble? Young Miss Rosalie wouldn’t fit the bill at all.

“It seems you’re quite over your swoon now, so I’ll leave you,” he said.

“My swoon.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and let her eyes flutter. “I think it’s back.”

Oh, hell. Why had he reminded her? “Please, miss. Not again.”

“I feel so weak. It’s hot in here.” With her free hand, she unfastened the top two buttons of her dress and fanned herself with the loose material.

“Good Lord, stop,” he said. “I implore you.”

“Can’t breathe. Everything’s…going…dark.”

She swayed. An obvious act, but he had no choice but to catch her before she let herself fall. When he lifted her into his arms, she somehow found the strength to curl her fingers together behind his neck and nuzzle her nose under his jaw. In another moment, she’d try kissing him again. He glanced around and found a settee. He set her on it and lifted her head to slide a cushion underneath. Now to make a quick retreat to the safety of a crowded ballroom.

Before he could manage, though, the door opened.

“For the love of God,” a female voice said. “Not another one.”

“I beg your pardon.” He straightened and turned to find a striking figure on the threshold. Auburn hair piled in curls on the top of her head, she achieved an impressive stature, indeed. An avenging goddess, dressed all in black. And she’d caught him with an innocent in a very compromising situation, indeed.

He gave her his best bland-but-pleasant smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are all the men at this party out of their minds, or has someone drugged the punch?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

Her gaze went from the gap at the top of Rosalie’s dress to him, and her lips straightened into a disapproving line. No small feat, that, because the top one curved deliciously. And the bottom one…a man might sell his soul for the chance to sample its lushness. The disarray of her hair and the fact that her dress wasn’t properly fastened added an air of wildness.

She caught him staring at her mouth, and raised one expressive brow in return. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“David Winslow, Marquis of Derrington.” He gave her a small bow. “At your service, ma’am.”

In true American fashion, she didn’t curtsey. “Juliet Foster. I don’t think I need the sort of services you were engaged in when I came in.”

“Figure of speech.”

She pointed at the young girl on the settee. “Did you explain that to her?”

Rosalie roused some, moaning.

“Rosalie Wilson, wake up,” Juliet Foster said. “Your mother must be looking for you.”

The girl rose from the settee. She wore a sheepish grin, and her skin flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And button your dress before you go back in public.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young one skirted Derrington and nearly flew from the room, fastening her dress as she went.

“You should be more careful,” Miss Foster said. “You might have been caught standing over Rosalie Wilson with the buttons to her bodice undone.”

“My good woman, are you aware of the state of your own buttons?” he asked.

“What?” She looked down at her chest—at where her bodice had come unfastened—and her eyes went wide. “Turn around, please.”

“Certainly.” He couldn’t help but grin as he did. Someone had obviously been playing the same sort of game with her as the Wilson girl had played with him. She’d done her best to repair the damage but hadn’t succeeded. That explained her comment about “another one.” “Are you done?”

“I am.”

He turned back. She’d fixed her dress, but her hair still appeared tousled. The way it might look before he removed the pins and let it fall over her shoulders and his hands. How in hell did she have that effect on him? She was dressed modestly—perhaps even severely—and still, he could imagine her undressing for him.

“Do I look decent?” she asked.

“Perfectly.”
Curse it all.
“And I’m grateful for your help with Miss Wilson.”

“I don’t know why you’d need protection from a mere girl.”

“Young things can twist men into knots, as I’m sure you know.”

She didn’t say anything but glared at him out of deep, brown eyes.

“Or perhaps not,” he said. The silence dragged on.

Foster. Her name was Foster. The whole party had been organized to celebrate the life of Gerard Foster. Or his death, depending on to whom you spoke. This woman wore mourning clothes. The widow. He should have offered sympathy before now.

“My condolences on your loss,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I never met your husband, Mrs. Foster, but I understand he was a giant among men.”

“Not my husband. My father.” Her voice dripped ice. “I’m Miss Foster.”

“I beg your pardon.” Blast. Everything that came out of his mouth was wrong. “I only assumed…that is…it seems all American men have young and beautiful wives.”

That seemed to please her even less. “I’m not beautiful, Lord Derrington.”

“How preposterous. Of course you are.”

That at least confused her rather than displeased her. She cocked her head and stared at him with frank curiosity, as if she’d never considered the possibility that a man might find her attractive. True, she wasn’t what most people would think of as pretty, but any young woman could be pretty. Real beauty—the kind that caught the eye and held it—came along much more rarely. This woman had it in abundance, from her lofty stature to the graceful arch of her brow, to that magnificent mouth. She’d make an absolute vision when fully aroused and flushed with passion. He could picture her with her lips parted and her lashes fluttering on her cheeks while he thrust slowly inside her.

Damnation. He’d grown hard just thinking about it. What the little idiot hadn’t managed by throwing herself against him, this woman had accomplished with a glance. Miss Foster definitely had potential to meet his needs as a wife. He’d searched all over England for the right woman. He might have found her in New York.

Whatever magic had wound around him seemed to have affected her, as well. Exactly the response he’d hoped for. Her eyes widened, and her chest rose and fell beneath the black fabric of her dress. “Well, I thought I’d escape into a book, but I’d better get back to the party.”

That was a lie, of course, but he’d let it go unchallenged. “I’ll accompany you.”

“No need. I’ll stay here and read, after all.”

“Then so shall I,” he said.

The disapproval settled back into her eyes. “All right, then. Take me back to the party.”

***

Juliet finally lost the ridiculous man by sending him off to get her some punch and then disappearing into the crowd. He’d insisted that Rosalie Wilson had molested him and not the other way around. That wasn’t too hard to believe. Rosalie had obviously arranged the tryst. Naturally, Juliet had thought the worst of the situation given what she’d just escaped herself, but most likely, she’d judged Derrington wrongly.

That didn’t explain his odd reaction to her, of course. For heaven’s sake…a handsome man like that—an English lord, of all things—insisting that she was beautiful and then looking at her as if he’d like to make a meal of her. She hadn’t imagined that, not one little bit. She’d caught the fever from him somehow, as well. All of a sudden, she’d had to drag air into her lungs, and her skin had grown warm. What a strange reaction. He hadn’t even touched her.

One of them was insane, but it didn’t matter which one. She only needed to get away from him to make sense of it all.

Finally, she found Jack some distance from the dance floor. He had Millie on his arm. The two people she most enjoyed in the world. Her haven.

She slipped between them and twined her arms in theirs. “Thank heaven, I’ve found you.”

“You look flustered, love,” Jack said. “Whatever have you been up to?”

“More than flustered,” Millie said. “How did your hair get mussed?”

“A little misunderstanding with one of Papa’s partners.” She scanned the room to see if the two conspirators had rejoined the party. No sign of either them or their wives. Maybe they’d left in disgrace.

“What kind of misunderstanding gets into a lady’s hair?” Millie said.

“The kind a lady doesn’t speak of. Especially when speaking of her father’s…now her brother’s…partners.

“One of them tried something with you?” Millie said.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Which one?” Jack said. “I’ll kill him for you. In a duel for your honor.”

“I don’t know what’s funnier,” she said. “The idea that you’d fight a duel or that I have honor.”

“That isn’t funny,” Millie said. “It’s disgraceful.”

“It’s both, but then something else interesting happened. I just met the strangest man.”

Jack patted her hand. “Tell Uncle Jack.”

“An Englishman. He says he’s a marquis.”

“Derrington,” Jack said. “That scoundrel. No wonder your feathers are all aflutter.”

She pulled her hand back. “I don’t have feathers, and if I did, he wouldn’t flutter them.”

“Is he really a scoundrel, Mr. Carter?” Millie asked.

“No one in Manhattan seems to know of his reputation,” Jack said. “But I have sources overseas.”

Interesting. Maybe she’d underestimated the English. She could hardly call that man stodgy. He groomed and dressed himself the way other men of her set did. Expensive, but understated. He would have blended into the crowd except for a wicked twinkle in his amber eyes. It had only flashed once or twice during their encounter. She’d thought she imagined it, but if Jack had the story straight, there was more to him than she’d thought.

“Someone’s intrigued,” Jack said.

“Hmm?” she said.

“He’s captured your imagination,” Jack said.

“He’s a curious sort,” she said.

Jack laughed. “Maybe that’s what you call it.”

She glared at him. “All right, let’s have the whole story.”

“Well, do you know how half the inns in New England say ‘Washington slept here’? Derrington puts the general to shame.”

“A rake,” Millie said.

“Of the worst kind.” Jack leaned toward them. “And yet, there’s a mystery to him.”

“Really?” Juliet said.

“Word has it that since he arrived in Manhattan, any number of women have expressed interest in an affair of the heart,” Jack said. “He’s turned them all down.”

“Why would he do that?” she said.

Jack shrugged. “No one knows. It’s a complete mystery.”

“Interesting,” she said.

“Oh, no,” Millie said. “I don’t like that look.”

“What look?” she said.

“You’re making plans. I can see the wheels turning in your head.” Millie turned to Jack. “Has she told you her crazy idea for going to Europe, Mr. Carter?”

Juliet glared at her. “Remember, this trip is for you. You’re ill, Millie. You’re very, very ill.”

“Honestly.” Millie huffed. “I’ve never been healthier, and you know it.”

“Juliet?” Jack said. “The truth.”

“I’ll tell you later. You’ll approve.”

Millie crossed her arms over her chest. “I doubt that.”

“And you keep quiet, Miss Tattler.”

Millie huffed again.

“Can your sources find out where Derrington’s staying, Jack?” she asked.

“Juliet, don’t you dare.”

She shushed Millie and turned to Jack, placing a palm on his chest. “You can find out for me, can’t you?”

“I can never say no to you, love.”

***

The party for Gerard Foster went into the wee hours, but Derrington spent most of his time searching for the man’s daughter. Not the elder daughter. She was easy enough to find, along with her husband. And her brother and his wife. None of them interested him in the least. Juliet Foster, on the other hand, still occupied his mind even as he undressed and prepared for sleep.

His valet moved around the room with his usual efficiency and nary a complaint about the lateness of the hour. But then, James had probably put the long evening to good use. With all of New York’s finest at the party, ladies’ maids had spare time and nothing to do with it. No doubt, James had found his way into a young lady’s good graces in one of the other houses.

Derrington sat on his bed and picked up the letter that had instigated this trip to the wilds of the United States in search of a suitable wife, or perhaps more accurately, an unsuitable one.