Julie clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling. She’d never been skilled at bluffing, and yet, she’d rushed headlong into a standoff with this exceedingly masculine, ruthlessly handsome stranger. She’d demanded that Lord Travis leave at once, but he hadn’t made the slightest move to do so. Instead, he stared at her insolently, letting his gaze rake over her as though taking her measure.
She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. What if he refused to do her bidding? She couldn’t very well grab him by an impossibly muscled bicep and haul him out. No one in her household possessed the strength to overpower him, and besides, she wouldn’t risk injury to any of the staff.
She’d threatened to alert the authorities, but would she? Blast it all, as much as it pained her to admit even to herself, Lord Travis could be telling the truth. She’d assumed that the house was Uncle Alistair’s ancestral family home but had never had cause to ask him about it. What if the house truly did belong to the marquess? Alerting the authorities would do naught—but possibly expose her uncle and her as squatters.
The next move belonged to Lord Travis, and Julie held her breath as she waited for him to make it.
He strolled closer, casually, as though he had all the time in the world, and paused before her. “Bold words from a woman in your precarious position. I am attempting to be reasonable, but make no mistake—I could toss you and your uncle out onto the pavement if I wished.”
Blood boiling with indignation, she spoke through her teeth. “No gentleman would threaten a lady in that manner.”
His amused, heavy-lidded stare did nothing to cool her temper—but it had a most peculiar effect on her belly. “I never claimed to be a gentleman, Miss Lacey. I find the associated rules rather confining.”
“Rules like wearing a cravat and dressing modestly in the light of day? I suppose such customs must be quite tedious for you,” she said sharply.
“They are.” He crossed his arms, leaned against the door jamb, and smiled—the very picture of an unapologetic rake. “My reputation should be proof enough that I am not constrained by society’s mores. Something you would do well to remember.”
His gaze flicked over her face, lingering a bit too long on her lips.
Her cheeks flamed, but she would not retreat—not even an inch. Instead, she played her last remaining card. “And you would do well to remember that I have two powerful brothers-in-law. Neither the earl nor the duke would be pleased if they knew you were here, harassing me.” It was true. And though neither was within one hundred miles of London, Lord Travis needn’t know it. “They are fiercely protective of their kin, and no one with a smidgen of good sense would dare to raise their ire.”
The corner of his mouth curled into a wicked smile. “I’ve never been accused of having good sense, but your point is well taken.” Thoughtful, he sauntered to the mantel and picked up one of Uncle Alistair’s odd treasures—a drinking cup with a stem resembling a griffin’s claw. Running a finger over gilt silver, he inspected the cup as though debating its value. But she knew what he really was about—he was marking his territory.
She wanted to launch herself at him and rip the cup out of his hands. He had no right to touch her uncle’s prized possessions or frown at the thin layer of dust covering the knick-knacks in his collection or arch a superior brow at her.
But he might very well have a right to the house. So she bit her tongue.
“It occurs to me that each of us has something to lose,” he drawled. “You stand to lose your home, and if your irate brothers-in-law unleash their anger on me, I stand to lose my perfectly straight nose.”
A dozen retorts danced on the edge of her lips, but she remained silent.
“However, if we were to work together,” he continued, “perhaps we’d be able to minimize our losses.”
Julie blinked in disbelief. “I don’t see how we could possibly—”
Mr. Finch entered the room, carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot, assorted china, and a plate of scones. “Here you are, Miss Juliette,” he said, setting the tray on a table. “Will you be needing anything else?”
“No, thank you. I shall ring if I require assistance of any kind.” The words had barely left her mouth before Lord Travis swooped over the tray, plucking a scone off the platter like some audacious bird of prey.
When faced with trials and tribulations, her first instinct was always to turn to her sisters. But they were married now, starting their own families. Meg and Will had their hands full with their adorable seven-year-old twin adopted daughters and were also expecting their first baby together. After Meg suffered a few fainting spells, the doctor ordered her to rest as much as possible until the babe arrived that winter. Julie would not risk upsetting her sister in her fragile condition and certainly didn’t want to be the reason her devoted husband had to leave her side.
Beth and Alex were also unavailable for the next few weeks while on their honeymoon—in an undisclosed location. Their butler knew how to reach them in case any emergency should arise, but Julie was loath to spoil this idyllic time for the couple. After all they’d gone through to find each other, Beth and Alex deserved a few weeks of newly wedded bliss. Indeed, they deserved a lifetime.
Julie could handle this on her own. All she had to do was put off Lord Travis for three or four weeks, until Beth and Alex returned. She would delay using all manner of tactics. She would feign naiveté, create a diversion, and drag her slippers at every opportunity. Anything to spare her sisters this headache—and spare herself some embarrassment.
Because she had a terrible, sinking feeling that her current dilemma was somehow tangled up with her previous indiscretion with the marquess. It seemed an unlikely coincidence that the man she’d foolishly kissed—and even more foolishly believed to care for her—now claimed to own the house she occupied.
Perhaps if she pretended to be amenable to working with Lord Travis, she could sort it all out before her sisters or anyone else learned what she’d done—and how she’d humiliated herself.
Lord Travis had helped himself to a second scone and was plunking sugar cubes into his tea. “Shall I pour for you?” he asked.
“Is there anything left?” she replied wryly.
“Forgive me. I hadn’t broken my fast, but I’m already feeling more human.”
“If only you could behave like one,” she muttered uncharitably.
“Do not count on it, tigress,” he said, handing her a cup of tea.
Her hackles rose. “Tigress?”
Shrugging, he said, “You’re formidable, like a tigress guarding her cubs.”
She rewarded the observation with an icy glare but was rather pleased on the inside. She’d been aiming for formidable. “Earlier, when you said we should work together, what did you have in mind?”
“I thought we might make certain accommodations for each other. Compromise.”
Julie stiffened. Compromising was not her forte. As the youngest daughter, she was used to having her way. When she was a child, her parents had indulged her, and after they died, her sisters and Uncle Alistair tried to fill the awful void by granting her everything she wished. Not expensive baubles, of course, since they hadn’t two shillings to rub together, but something more precious—the freedom to make her own choices and control her own destiny.
Which was why she found the idea of bending to accommodate an unapologetic scoundrel so distasteful.
He set down his tea cup and frowned. “Are you unwell, Miss Lacey? You look rather green.”
“I am merely dismayed by the situation in which I find myself.”
“You would rather not strike a bargain with the likes of me,” he said.
“I confess to being less than enthralled by the prospect … but I’m listening. What exactly do you propose?”
“I could be persuaded to allow you to remain here for a short period of time, while you consult with your sisters and make arrangements to relocate your household.”
Time was precisely what Julie needed, but Lord Travis was putting the cart before the horse. “I have no intention of distressing my sisters or Uncle Alistair with your dubious claim—at least not until you have provided some proof.”
He had the audacity to look affronted. “Proof?”
“Surely you did not expect me to begin packing my trunks without seeing a deed?”
“My brother is the Marquess of Currington,” he said proudly. “And you may take him at his word. I’ve never met a more honorable man.”
Julie swallowed. She’d thought the marquess was honorable too. So much so that on the night of the duke’s masquerade ball, she’d allowed him to claim her for a waltz, fetch her a glass of champagne, and lead her onto a moonlit terrace. She’d basked in the warmth of his appreciative gaze and nearly melted when he told her she was far too beautiful to dress as Artemis—that she should have been Aphrodite. He’d made her feel special and desired, and in that moment, she’d desperately wanted him to kiss her.
And he had.
But she’d expected him to call the next day—or perhaps the day after—to ask Uncle Alistair’s permission to court her.
And he hadn’t. Clearly, she was no Aphrodite, but rather a mere girl who’d imagined she might have a future with a handsome marquess.
“I am not impugning your brother’s character,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her. “If he has recently discovered the deed to this property, as you say he has, you should have no trouble producing it.”
Lord Travis stretched out his muscled legs and crossed his boots at the ankles. “I’ll produce it soon enough. And though my brother is extremely anxious to take possession of the property, I will petition him on your behalf.”
Hope warmed her chest. “You will?”
“Certainly. I’ll send word to him at once, asking him to provide the proof you seek.”
“Why on earth would you need to send word? Simply go and ask him in person.” Maybe once Lord Travis finally left her parlor, she’d be able to think clearly—and formulate a proper plan to keep Uncle Alistair in his home.
“I cannot,” he said flatly.
“What is stopping you?”
“You’ll recall that we agreed to work together,” he said, ignoring her question.
“Are you in need of a coach? Never fear, I will hire you a hackney cab.” She would personally transport him on a royal litter in order to rid herself of him.
“I don’t require transportation, Miss Lacey. I require temporary lodgings.”