Lord Heartless (7 page)

“Countess Eugenia Mary Alexandra York Montague, allow me to present my wife, Lady Juliet Gilbert Montague.”

“Countess.” Juliet’s soft voice echoed as she curtsied before his mother, with head bowed.

Landon held his breath, as his mother reached out a hand and lifted Juliet’s chin so she might see her face. “Hm.”

He watched as the dowager studied her face, looking deep into Juliet’s eyes, as if examining her soul, then, to his surprise, his mother’s features softened. “Arise, child, and do not fear for there is an honesty in your soul that one cannot hide.” Landon caught her glare. “Despite the circumstances that brought you here, you are welcome in this house.”

“Thank you, milady.”

To his relief, she had passed. Her answer brought a sarcastic burst from his mother. “Oh, do not thank me yet.” She rose and placed both hands upon her cane. “For I have tried near twenty and nine years to tame this heartless scoundrel, and I fear you will have no better luck than I.”

“Then we should band together, Countess. Two against one always lessens the odds of defeat.”

Landon watched a bemused expression tug at the corners of his mother’s lips as her anger softened. The small laugh lines curled at her eyes, igniting a merry twinkle in each field of blue. His mother actually chuckled.

“Oh, Lord Montague, I believe you have met your match. Tell me, dear, where has your father been hiding you?”

“We have a small estate northeast of London, called Holly Grove.”

“And your Christian name?”

“Juliet Eleanor Davenport Gilbert—er Montague.” She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder.

The dowager stopped short, turned and gave Landon an impish grin. “I do say. Well, it appears Shakespeare’s moment has finally arrived, for this Montague has indeed found his Juliet.”

“You should have a drink, milady, to settle your nerves.” Helen pulled the brush down the length of her golden tresses.

“I do not drink spirits, but thank you.”

Helen moved around to the side as she worked. “I suppose your mother told you what’s to happen.”

Juliet averted her eyes. “Oh yes,” she lied. A sudden urgency to be alone took hold of her reason. “Thank you, Helen, I am done.”

“You do not wish your hair braided to be out of the way?”

“No, not tonight, I need some time to get my thoughts together if you please.” In honesty it was something not all too remote from the truth.

Her maid laid down the brush and stepped back. “Well then, shall I leave, milady?”

She surmised her own misstep. Juliet lifted the edges of her lips in reassurance. “Yes, I shall ring if I need anything.”

“Of course.” Helen nodded, and within moments she found herself alone.

Juliet ran her finger over the engraving on the back of the silver hairbrush that had once belonged to her mother. How she wished her mother were here. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Things she could only surmise that might happen between a man and a woman. Did his mother have questions? They were exchanging words when she entered the room.

Her glance moved from the brush to the woman in the mirror. “What a chit you are,” she grumbled. “You sit here like some starry-eyed schoolgirl awaiting prince charming. Did you not realize once you jumped at this bargain marriage, that man ceased to exist? Juliet Gilbert, you have either proven yourself the world’s biggest fool or the world’s greatest martyr.”

She placed the brush on the dresser and thought about the things a few days ago she had been promised. Yes, he’d carried out the beginning with great show. However when it came to the offer of a legitimate heir, he’d failed to tell her one clearly existed. “And with all the inherent traits of his father.” She closed her eyes and recalled the dark hair and haunting eyes of the little boy called Alexander. Her heart heavy, she could not blame the child. He called to her even if his aloof manners and overbearing ways tried to bowl her over. “Could it be, he is looking for love and acceptance?”

Shoving the stool back, she rose and moved toward the bed where her wrapper lay across the satin quilt. She could commiserate with Alexander. They were kindred souls and she understood what it felt like to be ignored. Pushed aside for cards, gaming houses, and even more paltry pursuits his father was known for. She held on to the bedpost, her hand tracing the carved spindle trying to calm the rising anger.

“You may have thought you married London’s most notorious rake, instead you have a bore that cares more for drink than attending to his wife or his child.” She grabbed the cotton wrapper and thrust her arms into its sleeves. “Well, two may play this game. If you think you can ignore us, like other husbands do their families, then I shall take up Alexander’s case and we shall begin to ignore you.” She snatched the belt tight, squared her shoulders, and walked into the sitting room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s.

***

Dinner had long been cleared from the table. Still, Landon sat in his study. His feet extended toward the warmth of the fire. Dangling from his two fingers, a glass of brandy he’d barely touched. A log cracked and he watched the sparks lift against the draft and dance toward their freedom via his chimney. “Lucky you,” he mumbled.

His glance was drawn to the flicker of the flames. He needed to go upstairs. She would be waiting. He closed his eyes and pulled the glass toward his lips in an attempt to ignore the slight tremble that overtook his hand. By the gods, when had he succumbed to nerves? This was not new. He’d taken many women to bed. Was it the knowledge of the circumstances to which she had surrendered herself to his hands, or those damn golden curls?

“Bloody hell, I am a failure,” he whispered and another log splintered as if answering in Satan’s own laughter. The door pushed open. He turned his head to see his mother standing in the flickering light.

“So, you are down here hiding while that beautiful creature is waiting? I thought more of you, my boy.” She walked in and stood at the arm of his chair.

Landon refused to rise. “Go to bed, Mother.”

“Where is that man London heralds as Lord Heartless? The man, who according to the papers, has broken his share of hearts throughout London?”

“He does not exist, have you not heard?” he growled, wishing she would go away.

His mother snorted. Without a word, she lifted the glass from his hand. “You have finally done the very thing our noble ancestors would have applauded. You should be relieved, for I am proud of you.”

“I doubt that my ancestors would care. As for the other part, I am your child; you must think the best of me.”

Her lip curled. By thunder she was laughing at him. “My child, when I think of you, it is usually the worst.” To his surprise, she raised a hand and brushed an errant curl away from his forehead. “This is not the way she should be taken. No bride wants her groom to come to her as a drunken sot.”

“I am not drunk—yet.” He stared into the fire. “She did not want a season.” The left side of his mouth twisted up in bitter irony. “She said she would not be bargained for like a broodmare in a bazaar. I’ve done just that.”

“Perhaps. But many a maid has been sold on behalf of family fortunes for far less. She has gained entry to a long noble bloodline and will be compensated for her…shall we say, duties.”

“Compensated,” he hissed. “Tell me, will you inspect the bedsheets tomorrow to make sure the deed is done?”

“No need.” His mother turned, but her smile was vacant. “Servants talk. You can imagine the waggle of their tongues if you came away without the proof from the game of love.”

“A fine mess.” He heaved himself from the grasp of the comfort of his chair. “Then I shall go like some knight-errant to slay this dragon of virginity.”

His mother grabbed his arm. He glanced down, surprised at the strength in her fingers. She was not as feeble as she made others believe. His gaze moved with deliberate slowness toward her face. When their eyes met, she spoke. “Do not be a fool, Landon.”

He paused.

“A jewel of this kind should be nourished. If you go in like a raging bull, you will frighten her away. Your marriage will be one of fear. This fresh country lass will retreat back to Holly Grove and I fear I shall never see another grandchild to carry on the Montague name.”

“I have an heir.”

“True, however, I should like one to hold the name Montague even before birth. Alexander will always be first in line, but a spare would seal the continuation of the line that dates back to England’s founding.”

“All this for history, Mother?”

She pressed her hands against her gown. “No. While history dictates our line must continue, there is something in this girl that frightens you. I am intrigued for I think Providence may have set this in motion, and I would like to see how it will end before I die.”

“Providence.” Landon couldn’t help the chuckle that mocked his words. “You will never die, Mama. As long as there is a Montague, England stands on the throne.” He watched her nod. Looking down he brushed something from the dark brown of his vest. “Very well, I shall go do God’s holy work.”

“Do not mock the Lord, Landon.”

He lifted his hand. “I shall not. I shall go to her and unveil the mysteries of love with the gentleness of one who has wooed her for months.”

“Very well, and tomorrow, I will take care of making sure she has what she needs befitting her station.”

He nodded and walked toward the door. Hand upon the knob, he turned. “Mother, with your permission, I should like to give Juliet a gift. That simple band seems so plain. I wish to reset the Broadmoor Sapphire in a fine ring.”

The countess paused, her head tilted for a moment off center as she thought. “Of course, very appropriate, my dear. The color would reflect the blue in her eyes. Now go, for she has been too long alone.”

***

Landon crept up the shadowy stairs to the room where Juliet awaited. Passing no one in the hallway, he still could feel the eyes of the staff behind every door and curtain. His mother was correct. They would know, and stories would pass between servants in hushed whispers of the market or in the taverns if he failed in his duties.

He paused at the door. Would she be in the bed, covers drawn toward her chin shivering as if she’d caught a chill? He drew the back of a hand across his lips and wished he had not consumed so much brandy. Both were like lambs to the slaughter. Her father begging him into marriage, and her needing the money he’d accumulated to survive. He had only taken one virgin in his life and that turned disastrous.

“I shall not hurt her,” he whispered and grasping the door eased it open. He blinked against the change in light and looked in surprise as she rose from the couch. “Lady Juliet, I did not expect to find you up?”

“I fear I could not sleep.” She laid the book down on the marble of the table. “I found a book to read. I-I hope you are not offended.”

“On the contrary, I am glad to find something that excites my new wife. What tickled your interest? I fear most of the classics are housed downstairs in the library. I shall make sure you know where that is located tomorrow.” He walked toward her and with the table between them, paused to pick up the leather bound copy. Turning the spine, he glanced at the gold stamped wording. “
Oliver Twist
.” Shyly she dropped her chin so their eyes no longer met. “Rather hard reading before bed is it not?”

“I enjoy Mr. Dickens’s works, it seemed rather encouraging to see another whose life was undergoing more misfortune than my own.”

He nodded and lay the book down on the table as an awkward silence stole across the room. He wished for something witty to say. Dampening his dry tongue, he opened his mouth to utter the first thing that came to his mind. “You looked nice, tonight.”

Her eyes widened.

He grimaced at her reaction. How lame his comment seemed to be.

Looking away, her arms moved to encircle her body. “Thank you, although a few thought otherwise.”

“Alexander is too bold for his age. I will speak to Mother about this.”

“It is all right, besides he is yet a boy. A very frightened boy,” she added. “Who thinks his place in his father’s household has been threatened.”

“Alexander has nothing to fear from you.”

“I know that. You know that. He has yet to learn. I will strive to let him see that I shall not steal his place in the line of succession.”

“You are too good-hearted. Drink?” He moved toward the sideboard out of habit.

Her head jerked and her eyes took on a hollow, wounded look. Landon wanted to slap himself. Her father’s death no doubt turned her against spirits. He was behaving foolishly. “Sorry. I did not think.”

“Please, feel free to enjoy. It is your habit after all.” She waved her hand at the chest against the wall holding a decanter of spirits.

Her words cut him to the quick, proving again he was unworthy of such a fine pearl. “Uh, no. I had a small glass downstairs. Waiting.”

She looked at him with a befuddled expression. He wished he’d worn a coat, something with pockets so he might have something to do with his hands.
This will never do
. He could not explain he wished to give her time to ready herself for his arrival. Instead, he said, “My mother seems quite taken with you.”

“That is good to hear. I enjoyed her company.”

“Indeed.”
If Black were here, he would be in corner, doubled in laughter
. Lord Montague, rake extraordinaire, reduced to a few rambling words. He sighed and raised his hand to sooth the hair on the back of his head. “I am not good at this, am I?”

“You’re not?”

He could see disbelief mirrored in her eyes. Sheepishly, he lifted his shoulders with a shrug. “I’m afraid I have let you down.”

Her arms loosened and she relaxed, letting them fall to her sides. “Perhaps, it is the situation we find ourselves embroiled in.” She stepped to the side of the couch. “Would you join me, Lord Montague?”

Seizing his chance, Landon responded, “Of course.”