“Surely there are several young women in attendance who are worthy of consideration,” Mother said with undisguised impatience from the gallery of Lady Haguelin’s ballroom.
Leaning a shoulder against a Corinthian column, Max skimmed over the faces at large, many quite pretty. Some were even known to have sharp intellect and possessed all the graces that one would expect of a debutante. And yet, he wasn’t drawn to a single one.
Spotting Juliet as she emerged through the ballroom doors sent an unwelcome jolt through him. And abruptly, he knew that a deep, consuming attraction of mind, body, and spirit would only lead to another disaster.
With his history, he would be better off to make do with any of the lot before him. “Are there any who hail from Lancashire? That would certainly save me the bother of having to journey too far to visit her parents. Better yet, are there any orphans among them, to save me from any relations whatsoever?”
“Tush! Maxwell, I am ashamed to hear such from you,” Mother exclaimed in a stage whisper. “Whatever happened to that gentle heart you’ve always possessed?”
Straightening, Max took a quick look around, seeing a few sideways glances from the nearby matrons standing amidst the potted palms and marble pedestals. Then he replied in a lowered tone. “And what mother have I that would insult my male pride with such a claim?”
“Oh, certainly, you were always finding yourself in one scrape after another, challenging the boys who were bigger than you. But don’t forget who caught you feeding a litter of kittens with a makeshift milk dropper after their mother was crushed by a carriage wheel. And you nursed those wee creatures better than any—”
Max gritted his teeth. “Mother, we are in public. It is one thing if the servants hear these remembrances of yours, but I will not have them bandied about, only to appear in tomorrow morning’s Standard.”
“It wouldn’t hurt for any of these young women to know of your softer side. You glower so much, half of them are afraid of you.”
“I glower because the only reason they know of my existence is due to the fact that I inherited a marquessate and a fortune. For years no one knew my name.”
She tsked, flipping her hands in a helpless gesture. “My son, the dramatic. Oh, what a melancholy existence to have scores of young women willing to overlook your lack of charm and think of their own security.” Turning her head, her dark gaze met his, and her tone altered to the same one he heard when there was a newspaper in the breakfast room. “You forget. Women possess a good deal of sense, and most are here for the same purpose—because they need a husband while they are still pleasing enough in looks to find one. In a few years, a third of the women here will become burdens to their families. Men have the easy part of it. All you need do is offer a smile, and you’ll have at least three debutantes swoon at your feet.”
“Then I should have brought my walking stick or perhaps a broom.” Even though it was a jest, his thoughts were on what his mother had said about wanting security. He knew that had been the reason she’d married his father. It was no secret that theirs had not been a love match but more of an understanding. But whenever she spoke of her first husband—which she had done to Bram each night in the nursery—her face would take on an otherworldly expression, and her voice would soften.
Now, three years after Max’s father’s death, whenever she spoke of him, it was with fondness and appreciation but little more. And that, he supposed, would be his own experience. He was marrying for the sake of checking a task off his list before returning to Lancashire, in the same manner that one packed for a long trip.
Of course, he would allow his bride to ride inside the carriage and not a trunk . . .
His thoughts drew a laugh from him. By the disapproving look Mother gave him, he imagined that she would not find his aside overly amusing.
“Do your poor, anxious mother a favor, hmm?”
He sighed, waiting for her to continue.
“Think of them all as kittens.”
“What a pity. It does not appear that Viscount Ellery is in attendance,” Juliet said with genuine regret. She was certain that an introduction between him and Gemma would have benefited them both. For Gemma, being acknowledged by the ton’s recent favorite would have ensured her success for this evening. And for Ellery, the gallantry of offering a courtly bow to one with such a black mark against her reputation would surely earn him even more favor. At least, she’d hoped it would. But all those hopes were for naught.
On the bright side, Gemma looked stunning this evening in white satin, her skin taking on an exotic glow, her hair drawn up in a white ribbon with black ringlets escaping. “Is he a particular friend of yours?”
“Ellery is a friend to all who know him. He is amiable, intelligent, handsome, and most importantly,” Juliet said with a grin, “looking for a bride.”
Gemma’s gaze darted out across the room. “I’m still not certain that I’m looking for a husband. Marrying for the sake of requiring a new name seems so dishonest.”
“It might be if your reason were a secret. As luck would have it, however, everyone already knows.”
Gemma laughed wryly. “Oh, yes. I often think to myself how providential my circumstances are.” Then she issued a small sigh, her gaze flitting to the gallery, where her aunt stood with Zinnia and Marjorie, before returning to Juliet. “But aside from that, if your friend Ellery is perfect, then why do you not want him for yourself?”
“I have no need nor the smallest desire for a husband. Though if I did, be assured that Ellery would top the list,” she said instantly. Yet as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie.
Of course, she hadn’t intended to fib just now. After all, it was true that Ellery was everything a sensible woman would love, but for Juliet, he was a bit too agreeable, if such a thing were possible. He had no discernible flaws, no temper, and no argumentative nature. In fact, she expected that marriage to him would be the most harmonious of all existences.
The idea should be appealing. After her first marriage—her only marriage, she quickly corrected—a husband like Ellery was exactly what she should desire. Loving him would likely be easy too, like walking. One foot in front of the other, and all the while knowing that someone was always there, should you stumble.
By contrast, loving a man like Max would be like trying to fly. Flapping your arms madly and hoping that you wouldn’t fall flat on the ground.
She stilled. Loving Max? Whyever would such a thought enter her mind?
Shaking herself free of the notion, she opened her fan as if to shoo it away. Unfortunately, she was so taken off guard by the thought that she didn’t notice Lord Markham’s sly approach until it was too late.
“Lady Granworth,” he intoned, bowing low and letting his gaze take the journey over her form at the same time. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, the cut of his clothes immaculate, and most discerning feature was the ever-present smug expression he wore. “How pleasant it is to see you here and with such a lovely companion.”
Juliet bristled. Other than giving him the cut direct, there was no way to avoid the association. She would have to warn Gemma of him once he left their presence. He was one of the many gentlemen who treated women with utter disregard unless they might look well upon his arm. Unable to prevent it, she made the proper introduction.
“I am thoroughly enchanted,” he said without batting an eye at the mention of Gemma’s surname, which was a reluctant point in his favor. “I took notice of you when you first stepped into the room. I hope you forgive my boldness, but I also noticed how your brooch resembles an Egyptian scarab.”
“You are correct, my lord,” Gemma said with obvious pleasure as she touched the rose-tinted bronze with her gloved fingertip. “It is meant to symbolize good luck.”
“How fascinating.” Markham flashed a dazzling smile that truly made him appear quite handsome, but it was the cunning gleam in his gaze that never sat well with Juliet. She had encountered men like him far too often in Bath, the kind who possessed the detestable trio of wealth, power, and ego that made them immune to consequence.
Gemma did not seem to notice. “Are you a traveler?”
“I am. Perhaps we could speak of it more during this next set?” Then he bowed to Juliet. “That is, if Lady Granworth will permit me to dance with her companion.”
Juliet knew that if she refused Markham, then propriety demanded that Gemma not dance at all this evening. Of course, her own method for refusing politely was to have a dance card filled with illegible names—and thereby a ready excuse. However, Juliet had not thought such a device would be necessary for Gemma this evening. And now it was too late.
Even though it went against her own inner warnings to allow him to touch her charge in any way, she inclined her head. “If Miss Desmond approves.”
“I do.” Gemma dipped into a curtsy and slipped her fingers into Markham’s hand.
For the next handful of minutes, Juliet could not shake her wariness, yet she had no reason to feel this way. After all, the pair of them were simply dancing a quadrille, Gemma’s curls bobbing against her glowing cheeks. And for all of it, she appeared content, which was the most important thing, Juliet supposed.
Watching them, she felt like a veritable dragon, looking for any sign of impropriety, and taking her employment seriously, as the dowager duchess, Zinnia, and Marjorie looked down upon the dancers from the arched gallery up above. Juliet had seen Max there, frowning at them, a moment ago too.
When the dance ended, a troop of giggling girls and their partners crowded the area in front of her. Juliet stepped to the side, peering toward the floor, waiting to see Markham escort Gemma to her side. What she saw sent her into alarm. Neither Markham nor Gemma were within sight.
Not wanting to reveal her panic, she opened her fan and slyly peered around to each corner of the room, skimming every wall, finding every shadowed alcove. She thought she’d caught a glimpse of Gemma’s raven hair heading toward the refreshment table, but the gown of that debutante was a pastel green.
After checking twice more, Juliet turned her gaze toward the terrace doors. If memory served, this particular house had a rather extensive stone terrace that wrapped around in an L-shape before leading off into the garden.
Juliet would not put it past a man like Markham to convince Gemma to be alone with him. Even though Juliet hadn’t been considered approachable by most of the ton, neither in London nor in Bath, she’d had experience with unsavory flirtations. Not only that, but she’d witnessed enough to provide ample warning in this circumstance.
She found them on the terrace. A misting rain had begun, and no one else was about, and they were standing close beneath an overhang of wisteria. As Juliet neared, she noted that Gemma had removed her brooch and held it in the palm of her hand, speaking animatedly, and apparently oblivious to the indecent direction of Markham’s gaze.
“And before I left the bazaar, I had bargained the merchant down to one para.” When Gemma lifted her face, her smile vanished, and she took a step back, as if only now realizing how close Markham stood.
Juliet hurried, the stones becoming slippery beneath her soles. “Ah, there you are, Gemma. I imagine, after a rousing dance, that you were in need of fresh air. But we must not tarry too long out of doors.”
Gemma looked to Juliet, her expression more relieved than contrite, revealing that she had not come here for the same purpose that Markham likely had. “I was overwarm. I hadn’t danced in so long that I’d forgotten what sport it was.”
“Then we should dance again,” Markham said, all charm and friendliness as he acknowledged Juliet’s approach with a nod. Clearly, he was not intimidated by the presence of a chaperone because then he angled his head toward Gemma’s ear and kept his tone low as he spoke again. “The exertion is half the fun.”
Did he think so little of Juliet and of Gemma that he wouldn’t even offer an apology for being caught alone with an unmarried woman?
“Thank you, but I had better not,” Gemma said and took a step from beneath the wisteria.
Markham, however, set his hand upon her wrist, that smile still on his lips. “I hope you do not imagine you’ll have a better offer. After all, a pretty woman with a tainted reputation only serves one purpose for a man, and that is not by becoming his wife.”
He chuckled at both Juliet’s and Gemma’s gasps. As for Juliet, she was speechless, taken off guard by his callous insinuation. It was all too clear that he was speaking of making Gemma his mistress. The reason he did not care if Gemma was discovered alone with him was because another black mark on her reputation would not harm him in the least. She was already one smudge away from ruination in the eyes of the ton, and no one would expect Markham to marry her out of a sense of chivalry.
Gemma retreated a step, pulling her arm from his grip. But when he held fast, she jerked harder. “Unhand me.”
Outraged by what she’d heard and what she saw, Juliet gripped her fan and stepped near them. It wasn’t until Juliet glanced over at Gemma that she saw how her charge’s face had gone pale, her eyes wide and staring down at the hand that restrained her. “Lord Markham, remove your hand from Miss Desmond, or I shall remove it for you.”
He laughed. “You rail against my honesty when my only aim is to spare Miss Desmond pain. She has no future in society, no fortune, and nothing to appeal to a man with serious pursuits. And most of all, she comes from bad blood. There is no man who would willingly choose her to become his wife. At least I am offering her a chance to become something other than a shriveled-up spinster.”
To Juliet, every word he spoke only reminded her of Lord Granworth’s many insults that had chipped away at any self-worth she might have possessed. “Your parents are nothing more than leeches who willingly sold their only possession on a whim. You were nothing to them but a lovely trinket to use for trade. At least I understand your true value. After all, men have offered me thousands of pounds to spend one night with you. Don’t you see, my pet? You are quite valuable just as you are—unspoiled and beautiful. Make no mistake, however. When those offers cease, and their envy wanes, I will have no use for you, much like your parents and all of my followers who are pretending to be your friends.”
She didn’t know if rage emboldened her or righteousness, but Juliet closed the distance between them in two steps and repeated her warning.
Markham flashed another grin. “Be warned, Lady Granworth, if you should swat me with your fan, I might enjoy it.”
Only now did she realize she was holding it open at her side as if the fan were claws attached to her fingers. She was so used to carrying one that it had become something of an extension of herself. She closed it and then did indeed smack the hand that lay upon Gemma’s arm.
What happened next was a blur.
Markham moved suddenly, snaking his hand out toward Juliet. In turn, she wielded her fan against him, opening and then closing it sharply, his finger within the sticks and the guard. And then, she twisted it.
A horrible snapping sound followed. A sickening shudder tore through her, and she knew, even before he howled, that she’d just broken Markham’s finger.
Max rounded the corner of the terrace just in time to hear Markham curse and hold his hand protectively against his chest. “Why, you cunning little b—”
“Markham,” Max called out, earning an alarmed glance from Markham. Juliet and Miss Desmond were pale and still—and likely in shock.
Markham collected himself quickly, straightening his shoulders, but still clutched his hand. “I’m glad you are here, Thayne. You can serve as my witness to the extortion Lady Granworth was attempting, threatening to pull me into some sort of scandal, unless I show favor to her charge. I had no idea they were scheming together—”
“If you expect me to believe that, then you know little of my own character, let alone Lady Granworth’s. You see, if she were to tell me that the sky is now cloudless and bright and that the dampness falling down from the heavens was ocean mist, I would believe her over any claim you might make,” Max said, stalking closer. “And if she were to tell me that a duel at dawn was the only way to settle this matter, then I would comply. Most heartily.”
Now it was Markham’s face that went stone white. “That won’t be necessary. I was just leaving.”
As Markham skulked toward him, Max blocked his path and looked to Juliet.
Holding his gaze, her face illuminated by the ambient light from a street lamp beyond the garden wall, she looked heartbreakingly fragile, and his anger toward Markham grew. But as the moment progressed, that mysterious inner strength she possessed showed itself. Some mistook this part of her demeanor as coldness, a flaw that made her unapproachable. Not Max. He’d always admired her strength.
She straightened her shoulders. “Markham isn’t worth the cost of gunpowder, as long as he stays away from Miss Desmond.”
“Oh, he will.” Max would make sure of it. But he’d wait until later to make his point perfectly clear to the viscount.
Markham’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’ve become a right solid prig since you inherited. I liked you much better when I didn’t know who you were.”
Max nodded and let him pass, knowing that—later this evening—Markham truly would wish they’d never met at all. For right now, however, all of Max’s attention was on Juliet and Miss Desmond.
Juliet turned to lay a comforting hand on Miss Desmond’s shoulder, who by the appearance of her disheveled coiffure and distraught expression was still clearly shaken.
“I was told that men behaved with decorum in society,” Miss Desmond said, her expression haunted, as if from a recurring nightmare. Stripping off her glove, inside out, she let it fall onto the wet stones and looked down at a series of long red impressions on her arm. “I should have kicked him when I had the chance.”
Max looked down at those marks and felt a rage so powerful that he could barely think of anything other than ripping Markham’s arms from his body.
“I’m afraid that some men never learn, dearest.” Then Juliet drew in a breath. “I apologize. I should have warned you about him.”
Gemma shook her head in a way that offered absolution. “It wasn’t your fault. It is my father’s doing, and now I know I will never be able to escape what he has done.” She swallowed, turning rather green. “I-I think I need a moment alone.”
“Of course,” Juliet said, laying a protective hand over Miss Desmond’s arm. “We’ll go to the retiring room.”
“No, I’d better not wait—” Miss Desmond covered her mouth with her bare hand, dashed out into the garden, and summarily bent over the nearest shrub. The harsh sounds of her retching punctuated the air.
Juliet watched over Miss Desmond, withdrawing a handkerchief and walking toward the garden steps, Max beside her. “She deserved so much more than Markham’s unseemly offer.”
Max clenched his jaw as grim understanding flooded him. He knew Markham was a cad, but he never imagined that he would openly proposition an innocent. His actions were unconscionable.
“Why is it that so many men refuse to acknowledge that a woman has a beating heart beneath her breast and a brain in her head, just as they do?” Juliet growled with vehemence, her own fist pressing against the balustrade. “And what’s worse is that I have this raging desire to change those skewed opinions, even after years and years have taught me that it is a battle of futility.”
Her declaration seemed to stem from something deeper than her anger toward Markham. In the past, Max might have taken this opportunity to ask her, to console her. This time, however, he feared that doing so would only bring forth more of the tender, protective feelings making a resurgence within him. And denying them was proving to be a hard-fought battle.
He reminded himself that he was not the fool who had once fallen in love with Juliet. That door was closed. Now, he was older and made wiser by circumstance.
And yet, when she lifted her face to his, looking at him with unguarded eyes, seeking solace, Max’s heart could not resist. “You said it best already—those men are not worth the cost of gunpowder. Your arguments are too valuable to be wasted on the deaf. Instead, offer your words to the members of your own sex, for they are far more deserving.”
A faint smile graced her lips. “At last, I approve of your argument.”
He bent to retrieve her fan from the stones, only to realize the painted silk leaves and the ribs were rent in two.
“I thoroughly detest the man. He made me break my fan,” Juliet said, taking it from his grasp. Her tone was almost flippant, yet a visible shudder stole over her, making her chin tremble. She swallowed. “The sound of it was quite alarming, actually. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
More than anything, Max wanted to pull her into his arms. But he settled for brushing his fingers over the sheen of mist covering her cheek. “You’ve been in the rain too long. Your flesh is cold.”
“I don’t feel it at all,” she said and briefly closed her eyes, her cheek lingering in the cup of his palm. Then she drew in a breath and stepped back. “I suppose that is proof positive that I will not disintegrate in the rain like a plaster mold.”
He needed to get her out of here before he gave in to the urge to embrace her and shield her with his coat. “I’ll escort you through the garden gate to your carriage and send word to your cousin and Lady Vale before I take you home.”
“You should stay and find a dance partner.”
“I’m not leaving you.” An uncontrollable wash of tenderness rushed through him. It was so powerful that he took a step closer without thinking. Alarm bells clamored through, warning him that it was dangerous to feel this way, that he’d been here once before, and it would end badly.
Their friendly animosity was suddenly under siege—at least on his part—by something more powerful.
“Come now, Max,” she said softly. “We cannot leave the ball together without causing another scandal. I’m certain Zinnia will be ready to depart at once, as will Edith.”
In the end, he knew that Juliet and those alarms were right. “Very well.”
After taking a step down the stairs, she paused with her hand on the rail and turned to him. “Oh, and Max?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for the book.” She flashed a knowing grin.
Before leaving to fetch her cousin, he smirked back at her. “I have no idea to what you are referring, Lady Granworth.”