When a Marquess Loves a Woman (14 page)

The gall of that woman! Juliet was even more determined to create a little chaos. And she knew exactly how to do it.

Not revealing the animosity that rushed through her, she inclined her head, dismissing the footman as she stepped into the retiring room. The moment he was gone, however, she set a course for rebellion.

Traversing a corridor and a set of stairs, Juliet crept into the aviary and closed the door behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Only the soft, fuzzy gleam from a half moon filtered through the clear glass-dome ceiling. Potted trees, perfectly pruned into spheres, surrounded the exterior walls. In the center, five Moorish white-capped cages hung from chains, and within them, her quarry.

Another well-known fact about Lady Falksworth was that—much like Lord Granworth—she was a collector. Most of all, she adored her collection of over a hundred green and gold finches.

Rows upon rows of golden birds with pinkish beaks were sitting on perches, chattering and chirruping noisily. A few of them flitted restlessly about, their tiny talons strumming against the thin bars, dipping with a twist of the neck to sip a bit of water, or winnowing a seed, gnashing endlessly to find the meat within. But for the most part, they stayed on their perches.

Juliet looked over her shoulder at the door, to make sure she was alone, before preparing to lift the latch of the first cage. Already, she could imagine the birds flying about and leaving their droppings all over the floor and benches. Then, when Lady Falksworth next showed off her collection, she would be humiliated. It was the least she deserved.

Besides, the birds should not be caged at all. Lady Falksworth had no right to keep these beautiful creatures imprisoned for her own amusement.

Juliet knew too well what that felt like.

Night after night, she'd disrobed for Lord Granworth's inspection and admiration. As per the marriage contract, she had no right to refuse him. Payment of her father's debts and even her own settlement was contingent on her pleasing him. Her only reprieve from being a spectacle had been during her womanly courses. Lord Granworth had found that
unfortunate
and
unappealing
but often said that it was
“an ordeal one must endure when having
living art
within one's house.”

Of course, after her parents' deaths, Lord Granworth no longer had any hold over her. She'd thought about leaving hundreds of times in that last year before his death. At the time, however, she'd had nowhere to go, no family, no home, no money, and nothing to call her own. She was a prisoner in a gilded cage, wanting for nothing except for her freedom.

Standing in Lady Falksworth's aviary, Juliet smiled with delight as she stepped back, waiting for the birds to rush out and take flight, finding purchase on a branch instead.

Yet after Juliet opened the first cage, she noticed that something strange was happening—or rather
not
happening. The birds had gone quiet, all huddled together on the perches. There was no more chatter, no more flitting about.

“Come on,” Juliet encouraged them, clucking her tongue in a staccato rhythm. “You're free now. Look.” She slipped her hand through the opening and wiggled her fingers before withdrawing.

Then, guessing that these birds were not the brightest, she went to a different cage and did the same thing. But those birds went quiet too. In fact, all of the birds remained silent, watching her carefully, as if she were some sort of predator instead of their savior.

Frustrated, she unlatched all the cages, leaving the doors gaping like mouths open in a silent scream. She felt tears sting her eyes. “Damn it all, why won't you fly?”

M
ax arrived late to Lady Falksworth's soiree. He had a devil of a time trying to get in, since the man at the door refused him. The butler had made it clear that tardiness was not permitted beneath her ladyship's roof, and the concert had already begun.

Of course, he hadn't intended to come at all. He didn't care for Lady Falksworth, as she had been the main instigator that renewed the
ton's
interest in the
kissing scandal
upon Juliet's return.

Then, after learning from Mother that Juliet planned to attend, Max was astonished. Juliet had made her dislike of Lady Falksworth apparent to him on several occasions, so he could not help but wonder why she would make this choice.

Having the butler close the door in his face did not deter Max in the least. He would simply find another way inside.

Standing on the pavement, he took in the golden shimmer of candlelight warming the panes of white-trimmed box windows set in rows along the pale gray stone facade. Erected on a corner, the property hosted a garden wall that lined the pavement, the towering structure more like that of a rampart barring intruders.

With a quick pace, he followed the wall as it wrapped around the back, and there he found an ivy-shrouded gate. In no time, he swept into the garden and, after a few steps, met with the domed glass structure of Lady Falksworth's famed aviary.

As luck would have it, the narrow whitewashed door leading to the garden was unlatched.

“
Damn it all, why won't you fly
?”

Once Max stepped inside, he stopped short. “Juliet?”

There she stood, bathed in moonlight and tears glistening in her eyes.

She looked at him, blinking slowly several times, and then said on a sigh, “You came.”

He didn't know what had happened, but he would find the culprit and murder him later. In the meantime, he simply strode to her, gathered her close, and tucked her head beneath his chin. “What is wrong, my goddess?”

“I wanted to cause a scandal, but it isn't working.”

“Ah,” he said, as if he completely understood and knew exactly why she was standing in the aviary. “But we are much better at causing scandals together. So tell me what I can do.”

“Stay just as you are,” she said softly, resting her cheek upon his lapel. “I don't even know why I came. I should have given Lady Falksworth the cut direct when she brought up my father's gambling debts. Not many knew about it or that it was part of the contract he'd signed with Lord Granworth.”

“Your father's . . . ” Max stilled, a memory assailing him. “So the rumors were true.”

She nodded, expelling a slow exhale. “He'd been only days away from debtors' prison. That night, Lord Granworth offered him a life of luxury, travel, parties . . . and all for the price of one worthless daughter. All that man wanted was my soul.”

Max tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her rose-scented hair. “But you fooled them all, didn't you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never gave them your soul. You kept it locked away for safekeeping.”

She scoffed and gestured toward the cages. “I think I was more like these birds—too foolish to fly.”

When he glanced at the cages and saw all the doors hanging wide, he began to put the pieces together. Only now did he fully realize what it must have been like for her, all those years trapped in a life that was not of her making. She was born beautiful and to parents who did not cherish her as they ought to have done but instead sold her into a loveless marriage.

He couldn't help but think how different it might have been. How fiercely he would have loved her, leaving her without any doubts.

“They won't fly. They're just sitting there.” She sniffed, continuing. “And they deserve more than this life in a cage.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple and drew in the faint rose scent from her hair. “Perhaps they are afraid. They know what their life entails inside their cage—plenty of food, a dish of water, a community where they feel like they belong. It would take an act of bravery to leave and venture into the unknown.”

She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was as frail and stained as lace trim caught underfoot. “I'd always had the freedom to leave Lord Granworth. I thought about it every moment of every day. I could have found employment as a companion or even a governess. Instead, I stayed and blamed my fate on my father's debts. When the truth was, I was afraid of what was waiting beyond my own cage. Most of all, I feared learning that everyone was right about me—that I possessed no true value.”

“How could you have ever believed that?”

Again, her head rested against his shoulder. “Far too easily.”

More than anything, he wanted to press his suit, to tell her that he thought she was brave for returning to London and especially for facing her opposition—
him
—head on. He hadn't made it easy on her. Yet through all their squabbles, she never once conceded to him, and that—he realized now—had made him love her all the more. The feelings that he'd always had for her were still with him. But as much as he wanted to tell her, he also didn't want to frighten her.

“When you're ready,” he said, “I'll escort you back inside.”

She lifted her face, her spine abruptly rigid. “You know very well that we cannot be seen together.”

“Whyever not?”

“Someone will surely notice how well we”—she broke off, her gaze flitting to his and then away—“walk together.”

He nodded sagely, trying not to laugh. “It is true. You and I have been walking for many years now, and I do believe we are experts.”

“Be sure you do not say that with Zinnia nearby. She would be crushed to learn that she is not the leading example,” she teased in return, relaxing into his embrace once more. “But all jesting aside, I think you understand my meaning.”

“Yes, we do
walk
quite well together.” He studied her carefully and risked stealing a kiss. “It is a pity that you would give us away, unable to keep from caressing me with your gaze. You ought to learn to control that, you know.”

She grinned, and the moonlight reflected in her eyes was soft and tender. “I shall put forth an effort, but I cannot make any promises.”

And with so little, she filled him with the hope that, perhaps, she might not be as skittish as he feared.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

T
he following morning, Juliet met with her solicitor and went over her accounts.

Young Mr. Sternham stood on the opposite side of her desk, his gloved hands clasped in front of the brown suit hanging on his boney frame. Like his father, the elder party of Sternham & Son, he wore a monocle, pinched beneath a lowered wiry gray brow and a lifted cheek that caused an arc of wrinkles from one side of his nose to his jaw. The fact that she'd never seen either gentleman without his eyepiece made her wonder if it was fastened upon birth. Though, regardless of the origin, that large monocled eye was now staring at her with undisguised impatience.

“I am nearly finished, Mr. Sternham,” she said with an apologetic smile. She preferred to check the books herself and keep a close watch over her spending. Even though she had an immense fortune, she could never forget her father's inadvertent lesson to her—that poor decisions are often the result of desperation.

Unfortunately, she was not wholly able to concentrate on numbers. Not since last night. Neither she nor Max had returned to the concert. Instead, Max had driven her home, holding her close in the dark interior of the carriage. There was something simple and intimate about leaning against him, her head resting upon his shoulder.

The wonder she felt in that moment still lingered with her today. Likely that was the reason her gaze kept veering to every
M
on the page, her eyes seeing
Max
everywhere.

Max's Millinery Shop—straw hat, ribbon, gloves

Smythe's Florists—Max, Fern, and Gypsophila

Draber's Confectionary—Max

In fact, she had to blink several times to see what was actually there.

Merlin's Millinery Shop—straw hat, ribbon, gloves

Smythe's Florists—Myrtle, Fern, and Gypsophila

Draber's Confectionary—Macaroons

Perhaps she required a monocle too.

After another minute or so, she reluctantly gave up the effort and closed the ledger. Instead of adding up the column with her solicitor waiting, she simply handed it over to him, thanked him for his patience, and stated that she would come to his office on the morrow. She hoped her thoughts would be in the right place by then, yet she had her doubts.

She couldn't stop thinking about Max, wondering what he was doing and if he was thinking of her. Pathetic, really.

Her stomach fluttered continuously, as if she'd swallowed a hummingbird that was trying to escape. Her heart vacillated from a quick, light cadence to an irregular, anxious, and wary rhythm. And worst of all, she caught herself sighing—
sighing, for heaven's sake
—at regular intervals, as if she were on a schedule.

This morning, Zinnia had asked if she was coming down with a fever.

Readily denying it, Juliet had assured her that all was well, even though it embarrassed her to no end. Her only consolation was that she could blame Max for this too.

Nonetheless, as Zinnia left to pay a call on Marjorie, she had decided to stop by the apothecary to see if he had a powder to aid Juliet's breathing.

Now that Zinnia was gone
and
the solicitor was gone, Juliet had far too much time on her hands.

“Have any missives or packages arrived, Mr. Wick?” she asked as she stepped into the foyer.

“No more since a quarter hour ago, my lady.” The butler's stately expression remained unchanged, aside from the slight lift of his brows as he glanced down to the empty salver on the rosewood table. “If there is an order you are expecting, I could send for a messenger.”

“Thank you, no. That is not necessary, just a mere curiosity.” Juliet fought a cringe, feeling as if she'd gone to Bedlam. “However, if anyone calls, I shall be in the parlor.”

Mr. Wick cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady, but I was under the impression that you were not at home for callers on Thursdays.”

“Oh, is today Thursday? Well, then, that explains it. I'm never quite myself on Thursdays,” she said with a short laugh and wondered if she should feign a dizzy spell for better effect.

Thankfully, she was saved that decision when three sharp knocks rapped on the door. Mr. Wick turned to answer it.

“Delivery, sir,” a boy wearing a carmine felt cap said, lifting a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper with both hands.

Juliet felt a smile tug at her lips as hopeful expectation soared through her. She wasn't expecting any deliveries, and from what she knew, Zinnia wasn't either. But since a similar instance had happened twice before, she could not help but wonder if this might be for her.

It seemed to take forever for Mr. Wick to check the card attached and turn around. All the while, Juliet held her breath.

Then, at last, Mr. Wick inclined his head and stepped toward her. “For you, my lady.”

The plain white card with the familiar scrawl greeted her as she grasped the edges of what felt like a shallow box. It was quite light, as if it contained no more than air, and she would be just as content as if that were all that lay inside.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick,” she said, breathless, ready to rush into the parlor to open it.

That goal altered suddenly when Mr. Wick turned back around to pay the lad. That was when she discovered that the boy was no longer the only one standing on the other side of the threshold.

Max lifted a gray John Bull from his head, his unerring gaze pinning her in place before he looked to Mr. Wick. “Is Mrs. Harwick here by any chance? I was informed that my mother was paying a call on Lady Cosgrove this morning.”

“My apologies, Lord Thayne. I'm afraid that Lady Cosgrove left a short time ago in order to—I believe—pay a call on Mrs. Harwick,” Mr. Wick said, a puzzled inflection to his tone. Poor Mr. Wick. He was likely to believe that everyone became out of sorts on Thursdays.

Max clucked his tongue in regret. “I must have misunderstood. My thoughts have been somewhat distracted of late. The only thing I seem to recall is that Lady Granworth is not at home on Thursdays, so I suppose I shall have to return from whence I came. Good day, Mr. Wick.”

Astounded, Juliet watched Max turn without even sparing her another glance. She was torn between outrage and laughter. How dare he come all this way, see her standing not four steps from him, and not even ask to see her! And yet, she had the distinct impression that he had not come here for his mother, especially when he had never done so before.

“Mr. Wick, you may inform Lord Thayne that I am, presently, at home,” Juliet said, speaking loudly enough to call attention to Max, who then glanced over his shoulder with a smirk on his lips. “Unless, of course, he has a more pressing engagement.”

She turned away, not waiting for his response.

Inside the parlor, Juliet closed her eyes and did her best to quiet the thrumming of her pulse. She clutched the package to her breast and told herself that it was foolish to react this way simply because Max was here. He'd escorted his mother here on several occasions this Season.

Then it occurred to her that this was the first time he had come
alone
and, presumably, to see her.

Happy—simply for the sake of being happy, she supposed—she crossed the room, sat on the settee, and placed the unopened package on the table, the card beaming up at her.

Mr. Wick appeared at the door, somewhat befuddled. “Lord Thayne to see you, my lady.”

Then Max emerged, his hat and gloves absent, his dark hair slightly mussed and curling at the peak of his forehead in the shape of an apostrophe. He bowed, his gaze never leaving her, not even to shield the blatant passion burning in his eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick. That will be all,” she said, hoping the tremble in her voice was not detected.

The butler left without a care, while Max, on the other hand, seemed to study her even more closely.

“How good of you to see me,” he said, taking the chair opposite her. “You are looking quite well. Far better than the impression Lady Cosgrove gave.”

Ah, so he had known she was here alone. “And what did she say, mere moments ago when she came to call on your mother?”

He grinned unabashedly. “That you were near death's door, likely stricken with a fever, a breathing ailment, thoughts adrift, unable to focus on a single task . . . ”

“She did not.” At least, Juliet didn't think it sounded like Zinnia to reveal so much.

“Then perhaps those are my ailments alone,” he said with an absent shrug, as if he hadn't revealed something so monumental that it stole her breath.

“I am in perfect health at the moment,” she proclaimed, simply because it pleased her to contradict him.

He sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingertips pressed together. “Are you certain? Because I do see a package on the table, and you seem to have forgotten all about it.”

She suppressed a smile. “It would be rude of me to open it with you present.”

“Why? Afraid it is from an admirer and that the contents might be of an intimate nature?”

Her own curiosity spiked, her flesh tingling and drawing taut. Could that be the reason Max had come this way, precisely when the package was delivered? Did he want to witness her discovering the contents?

Unable to resist the challenge of drawing out the suspense, she reached out and brushed her fingertips over the string. “There is no way of knowing. This very thing has happened twice before, and the card was not signed.”

“Hmm . . . So there is no telling who the sender is or what could be inside.”

“None at all.” She withdrew her hand and clasped it in her lap.

Max narrowed his eyes. “And you aren't the least bit curious?”

“Me? You know that I would never reveal such a shortcoming in my character. Since it is you, however,” she whispered, “I will tell you a secret. If curiosity were a rash, I would be covered in spots from head to toe.”

He gritted his teeth but smiled at the same time. “Then open the blasted package.”

“You would not mind?”

“I insist.”

Lifting the package to her lap, she tugged on the string, her heart beating madly beneath her breast. As always, she took her time in parting the paper, savoring the moment, and . . . just perhaps prolonging the torment of her audience on purpose.

At last, she reached the box. Then, lifting the lid, she discovered what lay within the blue felt lining.

Her breath stalled in her throat.

“The door of a birdcage.” In fact, she would guess that it was one of the doors from Lady Falksworth's aviary, as it looked the same, with slim metal bars painted white and curled at the corners for decoration.

“And now it is always open,” Max said, his hushed tone proclaiming his sincerity and something more.

She laid her hand over it, tenderly, as one would touch a priceless treasure. Unlike the two gifts that had come before it, this was not meant to incite either her ire or her amusement. It was far more tender in sentiment and something only Max could have given her. Because only Max knew her intimately. He had been her friend, her enemy, and then her lover. And now, even though she wasn't sure what they were any longer, she was certain of one thing. She was falling in love with him.

The sudden realization terrified her.

Looking to Max and seeing the tenderness in his gaze only made matters worse. Before now, the only man she'd ever thought she loved had been his brother, Bram. The result of that experience had left her defenseless.

With Max, she shared a history, a deeper connection that was more than smiles and flirtations. Somehow, she knew that loving him would be worse when it ended. Catastrophic, in fact. After all, he needed a wife before he left for Lancashire, while she . . . did not need or want a husband. She enjoyed her new life of independence. Loving Max put that in jeopardy. He was the type of man who would want everything she could give.

Slipping the box to the cushion beside her, she stood, her gaze darting to the window and then to the door.

Max stood too, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you unwell?”

She shook her head, trying to hold on to her composure, even as she began searching for her fan, crossing the room to the milieu table and opening the drawer. “Just a trifle warm. There doesn't seem to be enough air in the room.”

Of course, she could be worried for no reason at all. It was entirely possible that nothing would change between them. But even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew it wasn't possible. Max was looking for a wife and maybe even thinking that she would be willing. Oh, she hoped not. She hoped he knew her better than that.

Max came up behind her, a comforting presence at her back, his hands tenderly skimming down the length of her arms. “But your skin feels cool.”

“Does it?” She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hands on her and wanting to lean back against him so badly that it nearly caused her pain not to do so.

“I do not think you are overly warm. In fact, I think the gift upset you. If that is true, then I will remove it at once.”

“The gift was perfect.” As of yet, he had not admitted to sending it, but she no longer wanted to keep up this pretense between them. “You understand me better than anyone.”

And because it seemed like a need she could not control, she turned in his arms and kissed him.

T
he touch of her lips released a whirlwind of hope and desire inside Max. Everything between them was finally coming together. Not pressing his suit seemed to be working. If this was his reward, he would give her all the time she needed, even if waiting went against every instinct to claim her as his own. He wanted the entire world to know that she was his at last.

He wasn't going to risk losing her a second time.

Breathless, she pulled back from the kiss, her hands poised against his chest. “What do you want of me, Max?”