Sam loosened the bloody embroidery cloth around his neck. “I’m afraid I’m not in any way qualified to—”
“Nonsense,” Miss Lacey said, cutting him off once more. “You’re being far too humble, my lord.”
“I have many faults, Miss Lacey,” he said through clenched teeth. “But an excess of humility is not one of them.”
“Never fear,” she said, not daring to look at him. “Your lack of experience is not a deterrent. You will help my uncle organize his research, and he will serve as your mentor. Perhaps your experiences abroad will even shed light on certain subjects—or support my uncle’s findings. It’s such an exciting proposition, don’t you agree?”
Sam blinked at her, dumbfounded. She really should have left the lying to him.
An aversion to dust and noise was far more believable than his sudden, newfound passion for science.
“It’s an extremely generous offer, but I cannot accept. I would only be in Lord Wiltmore’s way … slowing things down,” he stammered.
“A slow, methodical approach is actually best,” Wiltmore countered. “And it would be immensely helpful to have someone to discuss my findings with. Juliette is a wonderful listener, but I fear that one of these nights she shall keel over from boredom.”
“Never,” she quickly assured him. “However, Lord Travis would offer a fresh perspective.”
Sam should have responded in the negative, but from the moment that her uncle had spoken her given name—Juliette—he’d been driven to distraction. The lilting, intimate sound of it echoed in his head like a melody begging to be sung … or like a poem that left a lump in one’s throat.
“I quite agree,” Wilmore said magnanimously. “Lord Travis, you are welcome to join me and wade into the scientific waters any time you wish.”
“Please, call me Samuel,” he replied, grateful that the old man hadn’t immediately dragged him to his study and begun reading scientific treatises. “I will give the matter serious thought.”
“Oh, come now,” Juliette scolded. “You’ll never learn anything worthwhile while acting in half-measures. You must immerse yourself in research in order to make genuine progress.” She swallowed nervously, then turned to her uncle and pressed on. “In fact, now that I think on it, Cousin Samuel should stay here with us for a few days. What better way for him to begin his apprenticeship than by diving in?”
Good God. The last thing in hell he wanted was to be someone’s apprentice. But he might enjoy spending time with Juliette. Perhaps she’d let him mentor her in a few choice activities …
“I have no objection,” Wiltmore said, snapping Sam to the present. “The house has felt terribly empty since Margaret and Elizabeth married and set up their own households. Juliette shall soon do the same, I hope. And then, it will be only Elspeth and I again—just like old times. However, in the meantime, it would be grand to have another man in the house.” In a stage whisper he added, “Someone I may sneak a cigar with.”
“Don’t you dare,” Juliette said, softening the admonition with a kiss to her uncle’s cheek. “You know cigars don’t agree with you.”
Wiltmore winked at Sam. “Now you see why I must sneak them. In any event, I look forward to learning more about your branch of the family tree and furthering our complacence. You must make yourself at home here—you are kin, after all.”
Juliette clamped her lips together clearly struggling to remain silent in the face of such a distasteful falsehood. One would have thought her uncle had just announced they were descendants of Attila the Hun.
“Thank you, my lord,” Sam said as graciously as he could—considering he’d been strong-armed into serving as a research assistant by a woman too clever and attractive for her own good. Sam leaned forward and shook the old man’s hand, effectively sealing the deal.
“Juliette will have a room prepared for you.” The old man smiled proudly. “She runs this household quite efficiently and will happily see to your every need.”
Sam arched a brow at her. Couldn’t help it. He was already mentally enumerating his needs—most too wicked to mention.
She pretended to ignore him, but a telltale blush stole up her neck like an incoming tide.
“Would you like to clear a space in your study where you and your new apprentice can conduct your research?” she suggested to her uncle. “I could send Mr. Finch in to assist you while I ensure Cousin Samuel is settled.”
“A capital idea, my dear!” Wiltmore pushed himself to his feet and ambled toward the door. “Imagine,” he said more to himself than to anyone else, “what a serendipitous thing, having Samuel appear on our doorstep this afternoon. Elspeth, do I have you to thank for this seemingly fortuitous event?”
Juliette busied herself with plumping and straightening the pillows on the settee—as though it were perfectly normal for a man to carry on a conversation with his dead wife.
Dear Jesus. The rumors about Wiltmore being mad were true.
And Sam was going to be spending several hours a day with him, which meant he’d soon be ready for Bedlam too.
* * *
Sam managed to contain his anger until Wiltmore left the parlor—then shoved himself out of his chair and strode to the settee beside Juliette. “What the devil were you thinking, volunteering me as your uncle’s apprentice?”
“Shh,” she said, casting a nervous glance at the door. “He’ll hear you.”
“You should have discussed the idea with me beforehand,” he sputtered.
“It popped into my head at the last moment. And I think it was rather brilliant.” She leaned back against a worn cushion, beaming with triumph.
Sam sat beside her, closed his eyes, and imagined being cooped up in the old man’s stuffy study for hours on end, listening to tedious lectures concerning God only knew what—the digestive systems of mollusks … the mating habits of beetles … He broke into a cold sweat. “I can’t do it. I was never a very apt student.”
She picked an invisible piece of lint from her skirt. “I cannot say I’m shocked. But a short apprenticeship is hardly cause for alarm. Heavens, you’d think I’d enlisted you to fight with the British army.”
“Enduring enemy gunfire might be preferable to deciphering scientific formulas,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
Smiling with false sweetness, she said, “You are most welcome to join the cavalry any time you wish.”
He moved closer, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I certainly wouldn’t attempt to stop you.”
“And the moment I stepped foot outside this house, you’d no doubt barricade the door.”
She tilted her head, pretending to consider his words. “It’s difficult to predict what I would do. However, if you’d like, we can put your theory to the test.”
Damn, she was beautiful—and too stubborn by half. Her full lips were pressed into a straight line, and her captivating eyes sparked with defiance. But she knew very well that he wouldn’t walk out the front door. He wouldn’t shirk his responsibility or fail his brother—not this time.
“I’m afraid you won’t rid yourself of me that easily … Juliette.”
Her composure fled instantly, and her cheeks flushed pink. “I-I have not given you leave to address me by my given name.”
True, but Miss Lacey sounded too prim and starchy. Juliette, on the other hand, perfectly captured her grace and passion.
He stretched an arm behind her, resting it on the back of the settee. “I shall be living here—assisting your uncle, apparently—for several days at least. Given the circumstances, I see no reason to stand on ceremony. Besides,” he said glibly, “we’re cousins.”
“Cousins?” she repeated, incredulous. “Apparently you’ve lost track of where your falsehoods end and reality begins. Have you forgotten that our supposed mutual relation—your dear great aunt Harriett—is a figment of your imagination? Merely one of the many lies you told my uncle?”
Sam swallowed. No, he hadn’t forgotten.
And he sure as hell wasn’t having cousinly thoughts at the moment.
Juliette was so close that the citrusy scent of her hair enveloped him, and the slight pulse beating at the base of her throat entranced him. Though she may have been his adversary, all he wanted to do was to brush aside the errant chestnut curl that skimmed her shoulder and press his lips to the satin skin of her neck.
Maybe a few days trapped in this house wouldn’t be as torturous as he’d feared.
She leaned toward him, giving him an excellent view of her round breasts straining against the confines of her silk gown. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?” she demanded.
He lifted his eyes to hers. “I have. You don’t want me to address you as Juliette.”
“And you will respect my wishes?” she asked warily.
“Of course.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “But since I’m averse to addressing you as Miss Lacey, I shall have to think of another name for you. Something more fitting.”
“Your manners leave much to be desired,” she said, clearly piqued.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Don’t fret. I’ve already conceived of the perfect name.”
With a toss of her head, she sniffed. “Congratulations, but I have no interest in hearing it.”
“No? Suit yourself then … spitfire.”
* * *
Julie narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps other women of your acquaintance are charmed by your utter lack of decorum, but allow me to assure you that I am not similarly affected.” She’d had the upper hand for all of two minutes before Lord Travis had managed to wriggle under her skin again.
“Forgive me.” Despite a valiant attempt to keep a straight face, his eyes crinkled in a vexingly appealing manner. “Like it or not, we have an arrangement of sorts. I thought we should be on more familiar terms.”
“We do not have an arrangement,” she countered, even as she dragged her gaze from his impossibly muscled thighs.
“Fine,” he amended. “We are working together for our mutual benefit.”
“No, we’re perpetrating a lie because you’ve placed me in an untenable position.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” He stretched, letting his arm rest on the back of the settee behind her, and his fingertips brushed against her shoulders—incidentally perhaps … it was difficult to be sure. Either way, the slightest touch had made her body thrum. “But we might as well make the best of the situation … vixen.”
Her eyes widened. “Stop that at once.”
“I was only jesting,” he said, grinning.
But he did have a point about their temporary alliance, blast it all. Regrettably, they would be spending an inordinate amount of time together, and until she could prove that Uncle Alistair was the rightful owner of this house, she had no choice but to trust Lord Travis. With one careless action or word, he could ruin her. Indeed, the shattering of reputations was all in a day’s work for an unapologetic rogue.
But she had no intention of falling victim, to either him or his charms.
“I am willing to form a truce with you,” she said, striving to keep her voice icy.
“Excellent,” he said smoothly. Hopefully. “There’s no reason we can’t make the next few days … pleasurable.”
Oh dear. “I’d prefer amicable.”
“Why split hairs?” he said, as if there were no distinction at all. “In any event, allow me to extend the first olive branch and make a gesture of good will. Simply tell me what you would like me to do.”
“Very well.” She sat a little straighter and folded her hands in her lap. “You may begin by acting the part of a gentleman.”
“Happy to oblige.” He pulled in his legs and squared his shoulders. “How am I doing so far?”
She cast a critical eye over him, from his slightly long sandy brown hair to the toes of his expensive boots. “Marginally better. However, there is still the matter of your cravat. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you my sister’s embroidery cloth is hardly an acceptable substitute.”
“You are correct,” he intoned formally. “I shall remove the offensive garment at once.”
Good heavens. As he grasped the cloth from behind his neck, she reached out with both hands to hold it in place. After all, a makeshift cravat was better than none at all. “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly.
But she was too late.
As he yanked the cloth free, it slid from beneath her fingers, leaving her palms on the tanned, warm skin of his neck and chest. Lord help her.
Stunned, she momentarily froze while Lord Travis lightly circled her wrists with his hands and tugged her closer.
“I’m trying to act like a gentleman,” he said hoarsely, “but it’s damned difficult in the face of so much temptation.” He stared at her lips, and her traitorous heart leapt in response.
“It wasn’t my intention to encourage you,” she whispered—but made no move to pull away.
“Perhaps not,” he breathed, “but you have earned yourself another name nonetheless … temptress.”