A Viking For The Viscountess (21 page)

For a moment, she stood close to the wall while her grandmother greeted their hostess. A lovely woman with blond hair was standing stiffly behind her, and not a single fold of her blue gown held a wrinkle. Her gloved hands were folded, and beside her stood an even younger girl who was possibly sixteen.

“Do you think you’ll find a husband tonight, Margaret?” the girl was asking. Before the woman could answer, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and prayed in a low voice, “Please God, let someone marry my sister and take her away from the house. I would be forever grateful.”

Juliana couldn’t help but smile at the girl. Her older sister, however, did
not
appear amused.

“Be quiet, Amelia,” she hissed. “Others will hear you.”

“Oh, I do hope so.” The girl winked at Juliana. “I am Amelia Andrews, and this is my sister Margaret. If you happen to know of a gentleman in need of a wife, please do feel free to introduce him to her. Margaret does prefer a man with all of his teeth, if that is possible.”

Margaret Andrews sent Juliana a pained look. “Please do ignore my younger sister. She has not yet learned proper behavior, and I was forced to bring her.”

Juliana only smiled. “I understand.” But as she nodded in farewell to the ladies, Amelia pointed at her own teeth in a not-so-subtle reminder.

Her grandmother took her by the hand and commanded, “Stand up straight and follow me.” She made all the appropriate introductions, and Juliana remembered Lady Spencer from the last time she’d met her, many years ago. It was not so difficult to fall into the familiar pattern of smiling and remaining demure while saying absolutely nothing.

When they entered the ballroom, Lady Traveston reminded her, “Do not look so bereft, Juliana. Yours is not the only scandal here.” The older woman nodded toward two gentlemen scowling in the corner. “You’ve heard what happened to Jack Warwick, Lord Gabriel Stanhope, and Rory Fitzwalter, I presume.”

Juliana shook her head, uncertain why Grandmama would bother to gossip about the three bachelors. It had to be a distraction of some form, something to keep her mind off William. “No, what happened?”

“There was a baby left on Warwick’s doorstep. Fitzwalter and Lord Stanhope are staying with him, and no one knows who fathered the child. Everyone is wagering whether it was him, Fitzwalter, or Stanhope.” The matron nodded toward Fitzwalter. “Personally, I believe it was
him
. If any man could tempt a woman into sinning, I’d choose Fitzwalter.”

The very mention of sin brought about the vision of Arik Thorgrim and his hardened muscles. The man knew how to touch her, his hands caressing her skin in a way that tempted her to surrender. God help her, she couldn’t stop thinking of the night she’d spent in his arms. Especially now.

But she forced her attention back to her grandmother’s conversation. “Why does it matter who the father is?”

“Oh, it matters not a whit. But it does make the subject of a good wager.” She led Juliana toward the corner. “Then, of course, there are the foreigners. Though I can’t say why on earth Lady Spencer would invite strangers from so far away. They remind me of gypsies, don’t you agree? So dark and mysterious. That one over there is King Vlad, and the other man is Count Grazki. Perhaps one of them might do as a husband.”

The two men appeared menacing, though their looks were striking. The king wore an ornate gold-laced military uniform in a dark burgundy shade, almost the color of dried blood. It was decorated with a sapphire order upon a white sash. His piercing blue eyes could be considered handsome, but Juliana suspected that he was a man accustomed to distancing himself from the world.

“Ah, there he is.” Lady Traveston waved her fan toward the opposite side of the billiards room. “The man you’ve been searching for these past six years.”

A wave of nausea passed over her, and Juliana gripped her fan so hard her knuckles went white. Grandmama was right. There, in the corner, was William Arthur, the man she had called husband for part of a year. She stared at him, feeling a sudden rise of fury. Her vision blurred, and she struggled to maintain a façade of calm.

“Shall I accompany you?” Lady Traveston offered. Juliana shook her head. William was hers to confront.

“No, I am fine. But I would like a moment alone to gather my thoughts.”

Her grandmother appeared reluctant, but found a reason to converse with another matron nearby. Juliana stood by the wall, eying the man whose face mirrored Harry’s. What on earth should she say to him?
Hello, it’s been six years. We have a son now.

No, she rather thought the viscount would give her the cut direct, humiliating her even further. It was better to take him by surprise.

“You should have brought my dagger,” a deep voice said from behind her.

She turned and saw Arik Thorgrim standing there. He was dressed like a duke’s son, with a black tailcoat and a snowy white cravat. His breeches were buff-colored, and they fit his body, outlining his heavy thighs. He had tied back his hair in a queue with a dark ribbon. Seeing him in these clothes made her fully aware of how handsome he was, albeit in a wild manner. And she couldn’t help but smile.

“I never expected to see you again,” she admitted. “Thank you for the dagger you sent. Though I still believe Harry is too young for it.”

“I learned to use a dagger at the age of four,” Arik said. “Harry is not at all too young.”

She had her doubts on that point, but did not argue. Yet when she studied the Viking a little closer, she noticed a large bulge near his waistcoat. She leaned in and whispered, “Did you bring a dagger into Lady Spencer’s ballroom?”

“No. It’s a battle-ax,” he clarified.

As if that was a better choice? Juliana tightened her lips, trying to hold back her amusement. “And what did you hope to do with your battle-ax?”

Arik sent her a wicked look. “Challenge the viscount to a battle. I would enjoy spilling his blood to grant you vengeance.”

She grimaced at that. “I don’t think that will be necessary. But I am glad you are here.”

And she was. Arik’s presence gave her the strength to face what lay ahead. With him, she could stand straighter, knowing that he would allow no one to speak out against her.

“You look beautiful,” he said in a low voice. The instinct rose up in her to argue that she was not at all beautiful. Her gown was the nondescript color of pastry, for there had been no time to order a new one. And yet, the look in his eyes was appreciative, causing her to hold her tongue. Then he leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I liked what you wore the other night even more.”

Heat burned through her at his voice, and she nearly stumbled. But when he smiled at her, she felt the warmth spread through her skin and deep into her heart.

“Are you not enjoying yourself,
kjære
?” he asked. “You seem unhappy.”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “When I look at William, he makes me feel like such a fool.”

Arik took her hand and started to pull her toward the dancing. “Come. We will join the others, and leave him for the moment.”

Juliana held back. “But you don’t know how to do these dances.” She wasn’t at all certain this was a wise idea. How could a Viking take part in a quadrille or one or the country dances?

“You will show me.” He drew her among the other ladies and stood across from her. And though her mind was reeling at the thought of dancing with this man who had a battle-ax hidden in his waistcoat, a part of her
did
want to make William aware of what he’d lost when he’d abandoned her.

“All right,” she agreed. “Then you must do as I do.”

The music began, and she curtsied deeply. Arik mimicked her curtsy, bending his knees. Juliana barely held back her mirth, but she shook her head. “You’re meant to bow, my lord. Like the men.” But she reached out for his hand, and they stepped toward one another.

To his credit, Arik did keep up with the dancing, and more than one of the ladies eyed her with envy. Once, he spun her too quickly, and she stumbled. Before she could fall, Arik lifted her up, setting her down on the opposite line.

But when one of the gentlemen reached out to take her hand during a partner switch, Arik moved between them. “She is with me.” The dark look in his eyes warned the man that he was not going to relinquish her.

His hand reached for the battle-ax, but Juliana intervened, “There is no need for that, my lord.” The last thing she wanted was for him to begin fighting the other guests. As a distraction, she asked, “Would you like a glass of lemonade? Or something to eat, perhaps?” There were long tables set up with refreshments, and it was likely the best means of avoiding conflict. She also wanted more time before she faced William.

Arik eyed her as if he could read her thoughts. But he shrugged. “If you are hungry, I will join you in food and mead.”

She led him away from the dancing, through the billiards room, and toward the food. When they reached the assortment, he stared at it as if he’d never seen such an array.

Likely he hasn’t
, a voice inside her suggested.

Juliana selected a piece of cake and put a spoonful of plum preserves beside it. “Try this,” she said, offering him a plate and a fork.

Arik ignored the fork but picked up the piece of cake in his hand and ate it. The wide smile on his face provoked a desire to laugh. He dipped his finger in the plum preserves and licked it. “I like this.”

“You—you’re supposed to use the silver,” she said. “To keep your hands clean.” She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them. It did seem that most of the bystanders had seen him use his fingers. “Didn’t His Grace give you gloves to wear?”

“I did not want to wear them,” he countered. Nodding toward the cake, he handed her his plate. “I will have another.”

“Only if you use silver this time,” she warned. “And you can try the strawberry preserves or perhaps some cream as well.”

She chose another slice of cake and added strawberry preserves with a generous helping of clotted cream. Then she used the fork to slice a bit of cake, dipping it lightly in the strawberries and cream. “Try this.”

Instead of eating it himself, he lifted the fork to her mouth. “You have not had anything to eat.”

She had no choice but to taste it, and her cheeks reddened as she thought of all the people watching him feed her. It was quite improper, but she tasted the sweet flavor of the cake. Arik never took his eyes off her, and he was staring at her as if he wanted to kiss her in front of everyone.

Juliana handed him the plate. “Here, take this. I have to return to my grandmother.”

“Have I frightened you?” he asked, beneath his breath. He caught her hand to prevent her from leaving.

The truth was, he had. Everything about this man terrified her, making her feel more deeply than she’d felt before. Emotions that had gone dormant were now reawakened.

In a low whisper, she admitted, “I’m afraid of what I feel when I look at you. I’m afraid of what everyone is saying about me now. I should not even be here.”

“Have you spoken to him yet?” He switched to Norwegian, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear.

“No. I need to, but I’m afraid of the answers I’ll learn.”

His palm pressed against her spine. “Then I will speak to him as your new protector.”

She knew he should not touch her thusly, especially not in public. But for unknown reasons, she allowed it. He guided her away from the table of refreshments, back toward the billiards room, where she had seen William earlier.

Juliana steeled herself for the confrontation that was inevitable. All around her, she saw the gaze of the ton watching them. In their eyes, she saw their disapproving looks. They believed that she had been William’s mistress, and that now she had become Arik’s.

The Duke of Somerford had allowed them to think his son had returned from being lost at sea, though why he’d agreed to the deception, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because of the treasure they had given to the man. But whatever the reason, she was grateful that he had given Arik a means to be here this night.

“You’ve nothing to fear from your husband or anyone else,” Arik said to her. “I will see to it that you and Harry have your lands and home returned to you. If he dares to speak a word against you, I’ll gut him.”

She did smile at that, against her will. “It might be messy if you use a battle-ax.”

“I don’t care.” His possessive tone held a hint of violence, as if he was anticipating a fight. But she didn’t want one—this was her battle to face, regardless of what he believed. “It isn’t necessary for you to be involved,” she said softly. “I can face him on my own. I need to.”

“Then you deprive me of the joy of killing him.”

Juliana turned to face him. “Why do you want to harm him? William did nothing to you.”

“You don’t believe me when I tell you why I was brought here. Do you think yourself unworthy of having someone to fight for you?”

“No one has ever fought for me,” she admitted.

His eyes met hers, and in them, she saw an intensity that humbled her. “You are worth fighting for, Juliana. And not once have I lied to you about who I am.”

She felt her defenses weakening. Right now, she wanted to rest her head against his heart and feel his strong arms around her. But she could not do anything at all. Instead, she tried to make light of her feelings, saying, “If you fight William, you’d get blood all over Lady Spencer’s floor. I don’t think she would appreciate that. And the servants might not want to remove a dead body.”