Sam hit the floor behind the settee and stifled a curse. He was too old, too jaded, and too damned hungover to hide from would-be chaperones. Especially when he hadn’t even done anything terribly improper with Juliette—at least not by his standards.
He’d wanted to do plenty, though.
And she had too, in spite of herself. The telltale signs of desire were all there. Her slender fingers had curled into his shoulders, her breath had hitched in her throat, and her eyes had turned dark.
For a few moments on the settee, she’d almost forgotten that she hated him.
But the knock on the door had broken that tenuous spell.
He’d listened intently to the muffled conversation, and when he’d realized Juliette was unable to turn the caller away, his first instinct had been to flee. He couldn’t say why, exactly. His reputation would not have suffered if he’d been discovered with Juliette. He certainly didn’t give a fig what anyone thought of him.
But he didn’t want to make more trouble for her. He was causing her enough already.
Besides, they had a deal of sorts.
So he’d bolted for the window and had one foot slung over the sill when he remembered what she’d said—that if he left the house, she wouldn’t allow him back in. There hadn’t been time to close the window before the visitor, Charlotte, pushed her way past Juliette, so Sam had left it open and dove to the floor, where he was reduced to spying on their slippers and eavesdropping.
“Papers are blowing everywhere!” Charlotte exclaimed. “And what did you mean when you said it’s not what I think?”
“Did I say that? It was rather stuffy in here this morning, so I opened the window a crack.” Juliette’s pretty pink slippers padded across the room, the window slammed shut, and the lock clicked. As if there were any doubt as to how badly she wished to be rid of him. She was probably smiling ear to ear, thinking of him landing headfirst in a shrub outside.
“That was more than a crack, Julie. A sheep could have leaped through that opening without any trouble at all. Look at this mess!”
Sam held his breath as both women fluttered about the room, retrieving papers. It was only a matter of time before his hiding spot was discovered, and Juliette would be humiliated. He made himself as small as he could—which was not small enough for the settee to conceal him entirely. And when Juliette stooped to pick up some sheet music by his head he gave her a mock salute—nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.
She fumbled with the papers in her hand and quickly steered Charlotte away from him. “Let’s not fuss over this now,” Juliette said. “Please sit, and tell me why you’ve come.”
“I confess the governess in me will have a hard time relaxing so long as the room is untidy.”
“You are forgetting two things,” Juliette said. “First, you are not my governess, and second, it’s your day off. Honestly, Charlotte, the world won’t fall apart just because a few papers are out of place.”
“If you say so,” the governess said, clearly skeptical. She rounded the settee, and sat next to Juliette.
The ensuing clink of china and silver reminded Sam that he was still hungry, and he hoped Charlotte wouldn’t eat all the tarts. At least he’d avoided detection—for now. He carefully rolled onto his back and tried to make himself more comfortable among the dust balls on the hardwood floor. He had to agree with the governess on one point—the place could use some tidying up.
“You’re sure you haven’t been too lonely?” Charlotte asked.
“I miss my sisters,” Juliette confessed, “but how could I be sad where they’re both so blissfully happy?”
Charlotte sighed. “I can’t believe you’re the last remaining Lacey sister.”
“Don’t say that!” Juliette coughed as though part of her scone had caught in her throat. “Meg and Beth are married—not dead.”
“Yes. Well, your turn is coming. I can feel it,” the governess said confidently.
“I am in no hurry to join their ranks,” Juliette assured her.
“Oh, I know. But that’s just when you’re most likely to be swept off your feet. I predict you’ll have many gentlemen vying for the honor.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I am content for now. Uncle Alistair needs me, and I want to help Meg when the baby arrives, and Beth—”
“Go to a ball with me tonight,” Charlotte interrupted.
“What?”
“Lady Breckinridge is hosting. I realize it’s terribly short notice, but simply don a beautiful gown and come with me. I am confident you shall not regret it.”
“How can you be so confident?” Juliette asked suspiciously.
“It’s my understanding a certain gentleman will be in attendance,” the governess replied, causing Sam’s ears to perk up. So Juliette had set her cap for someone. It shouldn’t surprise him—that’s what young, gorgeous unmarried misses did. What did surprise him was the stab of jealousy in his gut.
“I don’t know who you could possibly be referring to,” Juliette sputtered nervously. Odd, that.
“Oh, I think you do. I’m talking about the—”
“Do not speak his name!” she blurted. “That is, I would rather not discuss him.”
The governess chuckled softly. “Fine. But you needn’t be coy. I saw the two of you waltzing at the masquerade ball. The dreamy look on your face as he twirled you around the dance floor spoke volumes.”
Sam checked the urge to snort. Had Juliette’s expression been dreamy moments ago? When he’d been on the verge of kissing her? He wished to hell he could have that moment back—he wouldn’t waste it a second time.
Juliette sniffed. “Your romantic imaginings are completely unfounded.”
“You are a deplorable liar,” Charlotte countered, causing Sam to nod in hearty agreement. “But you needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning your beau to your sisters … as long as you agree to accompany me to the ball tonight.”
* * *
Just when it seemed Julie’s day couldn’t get any worse, her sister’s dearest friend and confidante had resorted to blackmail.
But Julie couldn’t possibly attend a ball tonight. Not if it would mean leaving Lord Travis alone in the house with Uncle Alistair—it would be a classic case of the rogue guarding the henhouse. No, it would never do.
And yet, Julie had to get rid of Charlotte—quickly. As long as Lord Travis was sprawled on the floor behind them, every minute of the governess’s visit was fraught with danger. Especially when she might unknowingly spill Julie’s history with his brother, the marquess. The rogue already had her back against the wall. Revealing her tryst with his brother would be akin to handing him a pistol.
And all of that aside … she didn’t want Lord Travis to know. She didn’t want him to know that she’d allowed the fickle marquess to pull her close and whisper her name and brush his lips over hers. That she’d melted into him and sighed as he slid his hands around her waist … and lower, over the curve of her bottom.
She certainly didn’t want Lord Travis to know she’d foolishly imagined that his brother might care for her and respect her and properly court her—when that hadn’t been the case at all.
To make matters worse, she’d almost kissed the rogue. Surely Sam’s resemblance to the marquess was to blame. In that moment, she’d been remembering the heady feelings on the terrace with Nigel—when he’d promised her the moon. Or had she?
Gathering her wits, Julie exhaled slowly. “Charlotte, I’d love to attend the ball with you—”
“Excellent, then it’s all settled.”
“—but I can’t. I told Uncle Alistair I’d assist him in his study this evening.”
Charlotte clucked her tongue. “A poor excuse. He will likely be asleep before the ball begins.”
Drat. “Perhaps, but I think I should stay with him all the same. He’s been a little wheezy of late.”
“Then instruct Mr. Finch to send him some willow bark tea before bed. He will be fine,” Charlotte said, adamant. “It’s been weeks since you enjoyed the social whirl. I know how you love a fancy ball, and tonight you shall—with me. Of course, if you refuse, I could write to your sisters and tell them you’ve been despondent ever since the masquerade ball when you and—”
“Stop!” Julie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “I will go with you.”
Charlotte clapped her hands in glee. “We’ll bring the carriage ’round at nine o’clock.”
“You are shameless. And I can see why you’re such a good governess,” Julie added grudgingly. “You have an impressive talent for imposing your will on others.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte stood and smoothed her skirt. “On that note, I shall take my leave.”
Julie’s heart leaped into her throat—again—as she prayed that the rogue behind the settee would continue to go undetected. “In spite of your bullying, I know that you mean well,” she said, slowly guiding Charlotte toward the front door, “and I adore you for it. Now, tell me which of your gowns you intend to wear this eve—”
Cough.
Oh no. Lord Travis must have succumbed to the dust.
Julie held her breath as the governess whirled back toward the parlor, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
Pressing a hand to her chest, Julie cleared her throat, then coughed a little for good measure. “This? Just the remnants of a head cold. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Charlotte arched a brow and pursed her lips, skeptical.
“Honestly, I am fine.” Julie inched toward the door, but Charlotte’s slippers remained rooted to the floor.
“Something strange is afoot here,” she said softly.
“You’ve been reading too many gothic novels.” Julie laughed nervously as she handed Charlotte her bonnet and opened the front door. “Now enjoy your afternoon, and I shall see you in a scant few hours.”
Once Charlotte was gone, Julie sagged against the front door, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. She replayed their conversation in her head, wondering how much of it Lord Travis had been able to piece together. When she thought she could face him again without bursting into flames, she made her way back to the parlor.
He stood leaning over the settee, his muscled arms braced on the curved back, looking far too attractive for someone who’d spent the last half hour lying on the floor.
“So,” he drawled, “you have a beau. You might have told me earlier. You know, before I almost kissed you.”