TemptingJuliana (33 page)

In the end, Amanda was the one who objected.

Shaking like a leaf, she arrived at Juliana’s house at quarter past ten. “What took you so long?” Juliana asked. “You were supposed to be here at ten. You only live down the street.”

“It was this dress.” She brushed at huge, voluminous white skirts that were at least twenty years out of fashion. Dear heavens, they were so wide there had to be hoops under them. “Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder in a dress this big?”

“Why are you wearing it?”

Amanda looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s my grandmother’s wedding dress. It’s a tradition in my family to wear it.”

Fifty years out of fashion, then. The skirts were actually somewhat yellowed, not pure white. “You’re not getting married today, Amanda. That’s the whole point of going to talk to Lord Neville.”

“After I told my father I was getting dressed for my wedding, I couldn’t very well not do that, could I?” She looked to the duke. “Besides, we’re getting married today, are we not?”

“Not today,” the duke said stiffly. “A ducal wedding generally requires some months of preparation.”

“If you love a woman,” James said disparagingly, “I should think you’d want to marry her as soon as possible.”

Juliana thought she heard him mutter “what an ass” under his breath, but surely he wouldn’t say that. Not about a duke. And she worried for a moment that the duke would blurt out that he didn’t actually love Amanda, but only held her in some affection, which could ruin everything.

But thankfully that didn’t happen. They all walked next door to Lord Neville’s house, and James banged the knocker.

The gaunt butler answered. “Yes?”

“We’ve come to call on Lord Neville,” Juliana said.

The old fellow’s eyes widened when he spotted Amanda in a wedding dress that his own bride could have worn fifty years ago, assuming he’d ever married, which he probably hadn’t since most people required their butlers to remain bachelors. But he was a mannerly sort of butler, so he didn’t say anything. About that, anyway. “Wait in the drawing room, if you please,” he said instead, “and I shall see if Lord Neville is at home.”

Viscount Neville was at home, of course. He spent his evenings with various mistresses or at his club, which meant he was never out and about very early. In fact, he came downstairs looking a bit rumpled, as though perhaps his valet had needed to drag him out of bed.

Juliana could see right off that he was Amanda’s father. Amanda fit in age between Emily’s two brothers, the one who was married and the other one who was away at Cambridge most of the year. Lord Neville was blond and gray-eyed like both his daughters, and tall like both his daughters, too. And as he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d slept with Amanda’s mother.

Or at least not as surprised as she’d have been a few weeks ago. It seemed she lived on a very promiscuous street. Besides Lord Neville sleeping with Amanda’s mother, Lord Wolverston had slept with the late Duchess of Castleton when she’d lived in Juliana’s house.

It was a good thing she and James would be living in
St. James’s Place, not Berkeley Square. Assuming everything worked out, that was. She really couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

No one was saying anything, and, in fact, Viscount Neville seemed a little mystified to find all these people in his house. He seemed especially fascinated by Amanda in her ancient wedding dress. Juliana was dying to resolve everything, so she figured she might as well just spit it out. “Lord Neville, are you Lady Amanda’s father? She has a fleur-de-lis birthmark in the same place as you and Emily.”

Amanda gasped and blushed wildly, and Juliana was sorry to embarrass her, because she knew Amanda considered that private. But she figured it was better to come out and say it than to wait and have Lord Neville ask to see it, which would have been even more embarrassing for Amanda.

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Lord Neville said slowly, “for twenty-three years. Please, let me explain.”

Lord Neville had been between wives when Amanda was conceived. He’d been very much in love with Lady Amanda’s mother, but Lord Wolverston had refused her the divorce she wanted. Unfortunately, it was impossible for a woman to divorce a man, although a man could divorce his wife if she’d been unfaithful. Lord Neville and Lady Wolverston weren’t precisely sure that the child she was carrying was the viscount’s, so they’d been planning to wait to see if the baby had the Neville birthmark, and if that proved to be true, they’d planned to use it as leverage to pressure the earl for the divorce. Lord Wolverston wasn’t the sort of man who would have wanted word out on the street that he’d been cuckolded, especially if they’d had the proof to show all of society. His honor meant everything to him. He put his reputation before everyone else’s happiness.

“Well,
that’s
certainly the truth,” Juliana muttered.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Lord Neville said to Amanda. Her face had gone rather white, and she was looking at him. Just looking at him. He started walking toward her. “I was terribly distressed when your mother
died giving birth and Lord Wolverston refused to let me even see you. He wasn’t a very nice man.”

“He still isn’t,” Juliana said.

“I never knew for sure whether you were my daughter,” Lord Neville continued, still walking toward Amanda, who was still just looking at him. “I hoped you were, but there was no way to find out. As you grew, I would see you sometimes, and I thought more than once about asking you if you had the birthmark. But you seemed a very reserved young lady, and I feared such a question would shock you clear down to your toes.”

“It would have,” Juliana said.

Lord Neville was standing right in front of Amanda now. “I also feared Lord Wolverston might treat you harshly, suspecting you might not actually be his daughter—”

“He did,” Juliana interrupted.

Lord Neville hung his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Amanda suddenly came to life. She was a very reserved woman, so she didn’t jump into Lord Neville’s arms like Juliana might have done, but she finally opened her mouth.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I understand. And I’m so glad you’re my father instead of Lord Wolverston.”

Lord Neville did gather her into his arms, then, embracing her tightly. Amanda’s arms went around him, too, but they stayed rather loose.

“I’m glad that is settled,” the duke said stiffly. “Now we can start planning our wedding for next summer.”

And
that’s
when Amanda objected.

She released Lord Neville—heaven forbid she should stay too close to a man, even a man she’d just discovered was her father—and turned to the duke. “I object to that plan,” she said, and then she added disparagingly, “If you love me, I should think you’d want to marry me as soon as possible.”

Once again, Juliana feared the duke might blurt out that he didn’t precisely love Amanda, which could ruin everything. But he didn’t. Instead he stood there with his mouth open, just looking at her.

Amanda lifted her chin. “I’m wearing my grandmoth
er’s wedding dress. I think we should elope right now to Gretna Green.”

“That wouldn’t be very ducal,” he finally said, “and, in fact, it would be highly improper.”

Amanda raised her chin higher. “I don’t care,” she said, “I am tired of being proper. I want to marry you now.”

And then she gave him
the look
. She glanced down, bowing her head a little to display her lashes against her cheeks. Then she swept her eyelids up, gazed at the duke full on again, and slowly—very slowly—curved her lips in a seductive smile.

The duke didn’t fall at her feet. But he did sigh and say, “Very well, then.”

Juliana was shocked. Positively shocked. When
she’d
tried that on the duke, he hadn’t reacted at all.

Obviously she’d been right that he and Amanda were ideal for each other. The duke
needed
Amanda. With Amanda in his life, he might learn to be affectionate and manage to sire a child inside of a decade.

James’s arm stole around Juliana’s waist, in front of everyone. He pulled her against his side, where she fit perfectly. “Everything worked out,” he said in that low, chocolatey voice that made a shiver run through her.

Everything probably had worked out, but it was too wonderful to quite believe. Especially because someone still might make an objection. “What about Lord Wolverston?” she asked Amanda, crossing her fingers. “He still might have an objection.”

“He’s not my father,” Amanda reminded her, flashing a smile at Lord Neville. “I have no obligation to obey him. And I couldn’t care a fig about my inheritance. David is all I need.”

It was too bad Amanda didn’t
want
the duke instead of needing him, Juliana thought. But neither of them possessed enough emotion for anything that strong. And with her help, Amanda was changing. Perhaps she wasn’t quite a swan yet, but she was far from being an ugly duckling.

She uncrossed her fingers, thinking she was so, so thankful that everything had turned out all right. “Oh, James, I’m sure I’ve never, ever been so happy,” she
breathed, turning to him and throwing her arms around him. And then, her heart swelling so much she feared it might burst, she kissed him in front of everyone.

It was a divine sensation. He tasted of love and lust and James, which made her senses begin whirling in an oh-so-familiar way.

“Ahem.”

The caress was over all too quickly. She broke apart from James to find the duke staring at them, looking very disapproving. Unlike Amanda, he hadn’t changed much. But after all, it had taken an entire childhood of cold treatment to turn him into the man he was today. She shouldn’t be surprised if it took more than a few years with Amanda to counteract that.

And Juliana
had
changed. She’d learned a lesson. And she had a declaration.

“I’m never going to meddle again,” she said.

James snickered, and everyone else laughed.

“Thank you very much,” one of the Foundling Hospital’s Governors said in the Committee Room that afternoon. “Our next reception day is the second Saturday in August.”

“The tenth?” Juliana asked.

“Yes,” another Governor confirmed. “We very much appreciate you donating the baby clothes, my dear.”

James held his tongue until they were outside in the Hospital’s courtyard. But he couldn’t contain himself any longer than that. “I cannot believe you committed to making more baby clothes! You’re exhausted and overwhelmed!”

“How can I deny these poor children anything I’m able to give?” Juliana gestured to all the girls exercising in their matching uniforms. “If, due to my donation, only one more baby can be accommodated, only one more mother restored to work and a life of virtue, it will be so worth it.” Apparently seeing he was not convinced, she moved closer and reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. She smelled of sunshine and flowers. “I know what I’m in for this time,” she said. “I can pace myself better. Last time I started with only one party a week, but now I know—”

“You’re not having any more sewing parties,” he interrupted. “I will hire people to make the baby clothes.”

“Much as I love you for doing that yesterday, this shouldn’t be your responsibility. You have enough trouble finding people to hire for the Institute.”

“You solved that problem for me, and I won’t have any trouble hiring seamstresses. My former assistants all owe me favors.”

“I should say so. You gave them fifty pounds each! Do you realize that’s enough to cover a small family’s expenses for two years? You’re too nice, James. You’re too generous.”

He could never be too nice or too generous to her. She deserved everything he could give her and more. Quirks and all, there couldn’t be a more wonderful woman in all of London—nay, in all of the world—than Juliana.

She was a treasure. She was exactly what he’d needed to make his life complete. He didn’t know how he was going to wait until next Saturday.

“None of those former assistants will have to give their babies to the Foundling Hospital,” he reminded her. “But they cannot really work, either; no one will allow them to bring their children to a place of employment. Yet they can sew the baby clothes at home, and I’m sure they can use the extra income even with my fifty pounds.”

“But you need to save your money to pay for smallpox vaccinations.”

“Oh, my precious Juliana.” Was there another woman anywhere as concerned for everyone else? “I don’t have enough money to rid the world of smallpox by myself, but I can do my part here in London and still afford to pay a few seamstresses. And buy you beautiful dresses and anything else you ever want. I’m not a pauper, you know.”

“I know. You set your table with gold spoons.”

“They’re sterling plated in gold,” he informed her.

“I figured that out.” She sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make baby clothes?”

She wasn’t particularly good at it, and there wasn’t another lady of the
ton
who wanted to do anything more
with a needle than embroider and make samplers. But then, no other aristocratic ladies he knew set foot in the kitchen, either. Juliana was different, and that was why he loved her.

He smiled down at her, loving her more than he’d ever thought possible, wanting her more than he wanted his own life. The next seven days were going to be hell.

Sheer, utter, excruciating hell.

“Of course I want you to make baby clothes,” he told her. “For
our
babies.”

And he watched her eyes turn blue before he kissed her.

Saturday, August 10
Cainewood Castle

When Juliana had dreamed of walking down the aisle with the duke, she’d never pictured Amanda on the man’s arm. But here in her family’s ancient chapel, as a newlywed bride walking down the aisle on her way out, she glanced behind her at the two of them and realized her wedding picture was perfect.

Even with a snake accompanying the flower girl.

Everything had worked out. Emily had never come down with smallpox, and the Lambourne girls had recovered. Since Amanda and the duke had returned from Gretna Green, Juliana had sometimes seen them holding hands, and she was beginning to think they might make a child within a year. And miracle of miracles, Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey had
already
started a child. Juliana had returned from delivering the baby clothes to find the two of them waiting in the drawing room with a minister and a special license. Two weeks later, Frances had missed her monthly.

Everyone was happy.

Except for James.

She could feel the tension in his arm, and, gazing up at him as they walked, she feared he was gritting his
teeth. He’d been so frustrated when Frances, his aunts, and his mother had all insisted on having a full month to plan this wedding, and even more frustrated to find that the preparations had proved so consuming—and all the older women in his life suddenly so vigilant—that the two of them had found it impossible to steal even a moment of private time.

Well, she’d been frustrated, too, of course. But after all, she planned on marrying only once. She’d needed a wedding dress, and she’d wanted everything to be perfect. And although she knew James was so proficient at making her lose her head that she’d have been moaning and giving in had he managed to get her alone for thirty seconds, she’d suspected that waiting until they were married would make it that much more special.

Besides, it would have been highly improper. True, she wasn’t reserved, but she did try her best to do what was right. She wasn’t a rebel like Corinna. Kissing before marriage was one thing, making love quite another.

Still and all, waiting had been terribly difficult, and she’d found herself relieved a couple of weeks ago when Parliament adjourned, meaning the Season ended and everyone dispersed to their estates in the countryside. James had stayed in London to help his mother move to his aunts’ house, and the four of them had arrived here only last night.

The hours since then had proved to be sheer, utter, excruciating hell for them both.

As they emerged from the chapel into Cainewood’s quadrangle, James ran his hand down all the little covered buttons on the back of her beautiful white wedding dress. “There. We’re married. Can I make love to you now?”

Despite her frustration, she laughed. “We cannot leave our guests two minutes after the ceremony, James.”

There hadn’t been time to plan a huge society wedding—it would have taken much longer than a month for that—but everyone she cared about was here. Her gaze skimmed the clipped green lawn that sat in the middle of the castle’s towering four stories of living quarters. There, in the shadows of the crenelated walls,
stood her sisters. Corinna’s eyes shone with something like wonder as she laid a hand on Alexandra’s blue-silk-covered middle, which was protruding a little bit now. Beside them, Tristan beamed at his wife.

People Juliana had grown up with were scattered over the grounds, a contingent from Berkeley Square by the tumbledown keep, a few countryside neighbors walking the battlements. James’s friends and associates were here, too. Claire and Elizabeth were sharing a confidence, their dark heads gleaming in the setting sun. Juliana’s tall, handsome cousin Noah was chatting with James’s aunts.

There was Lady Stafford—finally her mother-in-law—leaning much closer to Lord Cavanaugh than was strictly proper. There were the duke and Amanda, holding hands again and talking to Lord Neville and Emily. There was Lady Mabel, who wasn’t wheezing out here in the countryside. There, standing in the untamed, ankle-high vegetation way over in the old tilting yard, were Lord Malmsey and Aunt Frances—

“James? May I borrow your quizzing glass?”

Dressed formally as he was, he had it in a pocket instead of hanging from a chain around his neck. When he pulled it out and handed it to her, she raised it to her left eye.

“Aunt Frances is wearing her spectacles!”

“Lord Malmsey doesn’t seem to mind,” James observed as they watched the older couple steal a kiss. “They do say love is blind.”

“Who says it?” she asked, handing him back the quizzing glass. “Please don’t tell me it’s a Roman proverb.”

His low laugh vibrated right through her. “I believe I heard it at the theater.
Romeo and Juliet
, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not all that bookish, you know. I mostly prefer newspapers and novels.”

So did she. And she loved the theater. They
did
have common interests. With a happy sigh, she scanned all their guests again, noticing Rachael standing off by herself, watching Griffin mount the steps to the great hall.

“It’s been at least five minutes,” James murmured close by her ear. “Can I make love to you now?”

“No,” she said with another laugh. “I need to mingle with our guests.”

With a finger on her chin, he turned her to face him. She smelled soap and starch and James, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Suddenly, she felt breathless.

“I’ll give you an hour,” he warned softly against her lips. “But not a minute more.” Then he quickly kissed her and sent her off.

Griffin scanned the great hall one final time, pleased with what he saw. The chamber hadn’t looked this good since the ball he’d thrown last year in hopes of finding Alexandra a husband.

The enormous Gobelin tapestries on either end of the hall had been cleaned and rehung, their vibrant colors defying their age. Beneath the old hammerbeam roof, the ancient planked floor gleamed with polish. Servants were busy lighting the torches mounted between each of the arched stained-glass windows, and soon the huge chamber would be ablaze with light. Up in the minstrel’s gallery, the musicians were tuning their instruments. In a matter of minutes, the hall would be filled with music and dancing, laughter and glittering guests. He hoped it would be a night Juliana would remember forever. There was nothing he wanted more than to see his sisters happy.

Thank God he had only one more left to marry off.

“Griffin,” he heard nearby. A low, sultry voice.

He turned to see its owner, finding her standing there in a red dress that clung to her seductive curves. Most of her hair was done up in a sophisticated style, leaving just a few loose chestnut tendrils to fall in soft waves around her face. A come-hither scent wafted from her skin, making him take an uneasy step back.

Since she’d dismissed his offer last month, he hadn’t seen her. Juliana hadn’t hostessed any more sewing parties, and he hadn’t attended any more balls. He’d been wrapped up in the business of Parliament, followed by some mild problems here on the estate. All the damned responsibilities he’d found thrust on him along with the unwanted title had kept him too busy for any socializing.

Which had been fine by him. He hadn’t clenched his teeth in five whole weeks.

“What do you want, Rachael?”

She blinked, no doubt taken aback by his unintended harshness. But she recovered her composure quickly. “If your offer is still open, then yes, I’d like your help going through my mother’s things.”

He smiled, his heart softening. “Before Christmas?”

She drew a deep breath and nodded. “How about next week?”

About an hour and a half later, James found himself confronted by the most daunting column of buttons he’d ever seen.

During the last month—seemingly the longest month of his life—he’d imagined this night a hundred times, if not a thousand. And up until now, it had gone more or less as he’d planned. He’d closed them both into this room—the Gold Chamber, Juliana had called it—and proceeded to kiss her senseless while faint snatches of romantic music drifted in from the great hall far down the corridor. Still kissing her as much as he could, he’d managed to rid himself of all his clothing save his trousers and his unbuttoned shirt. Still kissing her, he’d managed to remove some of hers, too—little essentials like her satin slippers and her stockings.

He’d been quite proud of himself, really, because he’d been determined to proceed slowly, because it was her first time, and if anyone deserved a first time that was slow and cherishing, a first time she’d remember forever, it was his precious Juliana. And so far, despite the fact that he’d been all but shaking with anticipation, all but trembling with need, he’d managed to keep going slowly.

But then he turned her around and saw all those buttons.

“What in heaven’s name possessed you to order a dress with so many buttons?” he breathed through gritted teeth, more frustrated than he remembered ever being—ever. Good God, should he continue going as planned, should he continue going slowly, unbuttoning this damned dress was going to take
all night
. He would expire from want by the time he managed to unbutton
all these buttons. He would perish of starvation. He would die from unrelenting need. “There must be at least a hundred buttons.”

Juliana laughed, a low, frustrated laugh that made every nerve in his body sing. “I thought you liked buttons, James,” she chided softly over her shoulder in a voice so heart-wrenchingly sensuous he feared he might go out of his mind. “For some reason, I’ve come to believe you like buttons. I instructed the seamstress to put so many buttons on my dress because I had the impression you’d enjoy unbuttoning all of them.”

And in a sense, he did. Still clenching his jaw, he bent his head and steeled himself to the task. Slowly he swept the hair off the nape of her neck, slowly he placed a soft kiss on the sensitive, warm bit of skin above her top button. A cherishing kiss, drawing in her scent, that impossibly tempting scent of flowers and sunshine and Juliana. And then slowly he started unbuttoning the buttons, the never-ending column of buttons, kissing each precious new patch of skin as it was exposed along her sweet, slender back. And in a sense, he did enjoy it. But in another sense, the mounting pressure of anticipation seemed to be more, much more, than any man should have to bear.

It didn’t take all night, but it took much, much longer than he wanted. Going slowly proved to be much, much harder than he’d hoped. Juliana sighed, and she moaned, and each of her sounds, each of her tiny, precious sounds seemed to crawl into him and lodge someplace in his heart. It seemed forever by the time he managed to unbutton all the buttons. It seemed longer than the longest month of his life.

After all the waiting, after all the torturous unbuttoning of buttons, he finally slid the loosened dress down her body, over curving hips, down silky limbs, her soft skin all burnished by the light of the flickering fire in the Gold Chamber. Finally, finally, he bore her down to the bed. And stood back, for what seemed like one everlasting moment, the last moment before he made Juliana his.

It was a moment he’d remember forever, a scene eternally imprinted in his mind. Cainewood Castle was filled
with heavy, dark oak furnishings that had served her family well in the almost six hundred years they’d owned the place, but this one room had been decorated for a royal visit in some previous century, and all the furniture was gilt, all the walls and the four-poster bed draped with heavy golden fabrics.

Everything seemed to glitter. Juliana’s skin seemed to glitter, beckoning him. Juliana’s eyes seemed to glitter, her passion-filled, half-closed eyes a deep, deep blue glitter that taunted him. Even her hair seemed to glitter. No sooner had they entered the room than he’d released it from its pins, and now all the shining straight tresses seemed to be shimmering over her shoulders, spread across the bedclothes, glimmering in the golden light.

An answering glimmer heating his body, he shucked the last of his clothes and lowered himself slowly to meet her. He didn’t ask her this time. He knew what her answer would be, and he didn’t want to hear any words. He wanted only to hear her soft cries as he finally, finally slid into her, as he finally, finally came home and made her his.

Juliana had dreamed of this moment, but nothing she’d imagined matched the feeling of completion when James joined his body with hers. Nothing had ever felt so beautiful, nothing had ever felt so right. Nothing had ever felt so perfect as the two of them together. It
had
been worth waiting for, she thought fiercely just before she seemed to burst into a million glittering pieces.

But still and all, as the million pieces slowly started drifting back together, as James kissed her again, his mouth a warm promise on hers, she couldn’t help being thankful that she’d never have to wait again.