When a Marquess Loves a Woman Page 10

  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.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The following day, Max rode to his solicitor’s office, hoping that business matters would keep his mind from wandering to Juliet. Yet he wasn’t holding out too much hope. Thus far, no distraction seemed to work.

  After his visit with Markham, Max had returned home only to lie awake for half the night. He couldn’t stop thinking of her and recounting all the things he wished he could have done to clear away the anguish from her expression. Even reminding himself of the animosity between them had not aided him. And it was because she had revealed her feelings to him that made it impossible.

  She’d been open to him, even welcoming his touch upon her cheek. She had not shied away or pretended indifference either but offered a rare glimpse into the heart that she usually concealed so well.

  For years, he’d convinced himself that he’d conjured romantic notions that had no foundation, that he had made too much out of every look, laugh, and effortless conversation, believing that they had shared one mind. But after last night, he’d begun to believe once more.

  And that was pure folly. Proof of that was the fact that he’d left Harwick House before dawn, walked to his townhouse, and then roamed those halls where memories—both painful and poignant—kept him company.

  It wasn’t until he’d taken a good look at the man in the shaving mirror an hour ago that he realized an idiot stared back at him, and a familiar one at that. After all, he’d been here before, and he knew the inevitable outcome.

  Juliet would sooner run—would even marry an old man she barely knew—before she would ever give Max a chance.

  Leaping down from h
is horse onto the pavement outside his solicitor’s office, Max warned himself to put her firmly from his mind. His determination was even marked in the firm manner that he looped the reins to the post.

  In the next instant, however, all his efforts fell asunder.

  Lifting his head, he caught sight of Juliet exiting the bank a few doors down. Covered from neck to ankle, she wore a modest white pelisse, which was not the type of garment that evoked a man’s fantasies. And yet he was stirred all the same.

  Perhaps it was the flash of red sarcenet, lining the underside, that made his pulse leap.

  Why was he always so drawn to the barest glimpse of what lay beneath the surface with her? Even her white hat was trimmed in red silk on the underside. And all he could think about was stripping every bit of it away to discover what else he might find.

  Here on the pavement, where dozens of people would bear witness, was certainly not the time to indulge in a foolish dream. Nonetheless, he found himself listing forward, prepared to take a step in her direction.

  Thankfully, her tiger rushed around from the back of her carriage to open the door and lower the step. That red lining flashed once more as she gathered her skirts in preparation. Then, just before she slipped away, her hat tilted, and her gaze swiveled in his direction.

  A smile graced her lips and held for seven full beats of his heart. In that time, he imagined striding up to her, hauling her into his arms, and lowering his mouth to hers to see if she tasted exactly how he remembered.

  But then she was gone, nested inside the carriage, with the door closed behind her.

  On a slow exhale, he reminded himself of the many times he’d watched her retreat. More than likely, it would happen again and again. And what Max needed was someone who would stay. What he needed was a wife. Therefore, it was time to turn his thoughts permanently away from Juliet and onto suitable candidates.