When a Marquess Loves a Woman (17 page)

Juliet swallowed, almost wishing things were as simple as being Max's enemy again. “No, for I would simply buy the most beautiful cannon for my garden.”

Ivy grinned and then turned thoughtful. “And in less than a fortnight, it will all be settled.”

“Yes.” Though it was a frightening notion. How would it be to live in that house, where there was so much history between her and Max?

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

M
ax stared down in utter astonishment at the documents his steward had spread before him. A fortune of thirty thousand pounds had been squandered in the course of five years—or rather, four. This past year in France, Bram had lived on credit and the monthly offerings of their mother. “How can this be?”

Obviously sharp enough to understand a rhetorical question, Mr. MacDonald remained silent but merely lifted his brows in a shrug. After all, the evidence spoke for itself.

The final page was even more damning. According to a letter from the caretaker, the tenants at Bram's estate in Devon were living in squalor and sickness. Bram had disregarded every appeal for assistance and had chosen instead to live lavishly in France. Until recently, he was even keeping a mistress in a fine house with a slew of servants. When the shop owners and jewelers had closed their doors on him, however, he immediately booked passage to England.

It was even worse than Max imagined. “Have you contacted all of Lord Engle's creditors?”

His steward nodded but with measurable hesitation that sent a bolt of wariness through Max. “I should have a total for you by Friday next, my lord.”

“Very good, Mr. MacDonald,” he said. “After your exhaustive efforts this week, I shall see that you receive suitable compensation.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I do have one additional request, however,” Max said with a glance toward the rosewood clock on the mantel. It was still early. Yet ever since Mother had told him that Lady Cosgrove and Juliet would call around eleven, anticipation made each minute stretch into an hour. “Later this morning, I would like to schedule a meeting with both my brother and you to go over the entries within this ledger, which you and I have already discussed at length.”

Mr. MacDonald's copper-penny eyes squinted in confusion. “I'm not certain I understand, my lord.”

Max knew he sounded rather cryptic, but it was desperation driving him. “In a few hours, I would like you to keep Lord Engle busy, here in this study, while I am . . . attending an errand.”

He cleared his throat, hoping he didn't have to be more specific. He needed to see Juliet for the sake of his own sanity. And
without
his brother there to spoil anything.

This past week, Max had been driven to the brink again and again with every moment spent in his brother's company.

Then, during the few moments they had been apart, astoundingly enough, Bram had managed to accrue more debts.

He'd sent his own servants on errands, having them gad about town and then sneak back here. Word from the servants loyal to Harwick House was that Bram's tailor was fashioning seven new suits. Not to mention the constant deliveries of top hats, boots, walking sticks, and other baubles for a gentleman's
every
occasion.

During that time, Max had drafted at least four dozen letters to Juliet, trying to explain that there was no debutante. But every letter he wrote ended up sounding like a proposal of marriage. In the end, he knew it would be better to speak with her face-to-face.

With any luck, he would have that chance soon.

J
uliet had spent the rest of the week planning the nursery with Ivy, visiting Lilah in her new home, and keeping Gemma distracted with shopping excursions and morning calls. Peculiarly, even while in the company of her friends, these had been the longest seven days of Juliet's life.

The balls and parties she'd attended were completely dull affairs. The rain, having been steady all week, kept her from enjoying her walks in the park. And each time she was alone in her bedchamber, she would stare for moments on end at the birdcage door that she'd hung in front of her vanity mirror.

“And now the door is always open,”
Max had said.

At the time, Juliet had imagined a greater meaning to his words, believing that Max was saying that he wanted more between them. Yet apparently she'd been mistaken.

Still, she missed Max. Since her return to London, this had been the longest period of time she'd gone without seeing him.

“Madame,” Marguerite said from over her shoulder as she fastened the buttons of Juliet's gown. “You are sighing again.”

“I was?” Instantly, Juliet straightened her shoulders and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. Of late, she'd been revealing far too much of her thoughts. She'd always prided herself on her composure, but now she didn't know what had come over her. “Forgive me, Marguerite. I have turned into a stranger, both to you and to myself.”

She tsked. “You are the same madame I have always known, but
he
does not deserve your sighs. A man who would take you to his bed when he is planning to marry another deserves your spite.”

Juliet agreed. She only wished she could convince her heart to hate him again. “What happened between us wasn't planned. In fact, we were in the midst of an argument.”

Marguerite harrumphed. “You needed to put the past to rest, and now that is done. But I still do not like him.”

Put the past to rest.
Hmm . . . Was that the true reason behind their intimate clash? Perhaps the pent-up emotions and animosity over the years had all come out in a rather unexpected way. Juliet was mature enough to understand how something like that
could
happen, she supposed. And yet, she had been certain there was more than that between them. At least for her.

Apparently, the same had not been true for Max.

Juliet drew in another fortifying breath instead of listlessly exhaling. This morning, both Zinnia and she intended to visit Marjorie at Harwick House. If Max should happen to be there, then Juliet would simply greet him as she had done prior to their . . . collision. As always, she would conceal the truth of her feelings and the raw wound he'd left upon her heart.

The only problem was that she wasn't at all certain she could control her emotions as she once had. For some reason, she felt as if Max had unlocked something within her and then had taken the key with him.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

F
ull mourning was at an end at Harwick House, and Marjorie, dressed in lavender, greeted Zinnia and Juliet in the foyer. Then, pulling them quickly into the blue parlor, she began to discuss recent events as if half starved for gossip.

Discussing the latest society rumors was merely an appetizer. By the time tea arrived, they had moved on to the main course, which included whispers of Lord Pembroke's silver mine venture and how scores of people had already bought into it. Juliet, while having opinions on the matter, made no comment because she wanted to move on to a more important topic. She only wanted to hear about Max.

“I imagine you are all eager to venture out of doors,” Juliet said to Marjorie.

“Oh, heavens yes! Even though I love having my boys at home once again, they behave like caged animals most of the time, always grumbling and growling at each other.” She laughed softly with a shake of her head that sent a pair of garnet earbobs swaying. “In fact, I was certain that today they both would have left the instant the sun rose. Instead, Saunders informed me that they are in the study.”

Juliet tried not to be distracted by the knowledge that Max was here and
not
visiting his debutante. Her gaze, however, might have flitted to the door once or twice as their conversation continued.

A few minutes later, the nurse tapped on the door to inform Marjorie that her granddaughter had finished her meal and was dressed for company. Shortly thereafter, they ascended the stairs to the third-floor nursery.

Marjorie bounced Bram's daughter, extolling her many accomplishments, not the least of which was how she constantly babbled sounds while pointing to different objects, as if having a full conversation with them. “Mark my words; she will speak early, like her father, fully prepared to charm us all.”

“And what of Max as a child? Did he speak early as well?” Juliet found herself asking before she thought better of it.

Neither Marjorie nor Zinnia seemed to think it was out of character for her to ask, and the former answered immediately. “No, indeed. He was quite late. I'd worried over it so much that I was about to call upon a physician. But then, just as I had him bundled in my lap as the carriage set off, he pointed out the window and said
bird
, clear as day. I'll never forget it. I even asked him what he said, and he pointed again and said
bird . . . fly
.” Marjorie shrugged. “I suppose he was simply waiting until he had something to say.”

Juliet smiled, entranced by the story and wishing Marjorie would continue.

But in the next instant, the conversation took a turn when Marjorie asked her, “Have you ever given thought to having child?”

“I . . . well, that is to say . . . one is usually expected to be married to entertain such notions . . . ” Juliet's throat closed around her response before she could add
“and I have no intention of remarrying.
” Which effectively left the most important part unsaid.

Her truncated answer seemed to please Zinnia, for she smiled and then cast her next remark to Marjorie. “Juliet has been assisting the Duchess of Vale with her nursery this week. Edith tells me that it is coming along rather splendidly.”

“Is it?” Marjorie asked absently. A peculiarly blank expression crossed her countenance, as if her thoughts had drifted from the room. She blinked at Juliet and then looked pointedly at Zinnia. “Forgive me, but I just recalled that I forgot to speak to Mrs. Shelly regarding the linens I ordered for Patrice. One must stay on top of these things, after all. But I should like your opinion, Zinnia. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

“Of course.”

Then Marjorie hesitated another moment, clucking her tongue with an impatient glance at the door. “I cannot imagine where Miss Slade has run off to. Juliet, you would not mind holding my granddaughter while Zinnia and I rush downstairs, would you?”

“I'd be delighted.” And before Juliet knew it, she had her arms full of sweetly fragrant little girl. As they left, however, she found it rather suspicious that no one had bothered to use the bell pull to ring for Mrs. Shelly instead. In fact, Juliet found these last few minutes altogether odd. It was almost as if Marjorie hoped to spark a motherly interest on Juliet's part.

“Ma . . . mon . . . ma . . . mon . . . ma . . . mon . . . ”
Patrice babbled, patting her chubby little hands against Juliet's cheeks. The centers of the child's palms were warm and slightly damp, creating a suction.
“Maman.”

Hearing the child's words with a French ear, Juliet heard,
“My mother,”
and her heart stuttered to a complete stop. She stared, transfixed by a pair of innocent blue eyes.

Oh dear
. . .

It was possible that Patrice was speaking already but in her own dialect of French. Then again, it was equally doubtful. Considering where Juliet's thoughts had been all week, her mind was simply causing her to hear things. Though, suddenly, the words that Lilah had mentioned, about
fate
and
Bram
filtered into her thoughts. Pairing that with Marjorie's strange behavior, Juliet couldn't help but wonder if Marjorie desired a match between her and Bram.

Her thoughts aimless, she wandered around the room as the child bobbled her sleepy little head. Looking to the rocking chair, she decided to put it to good use for both of them.

It was after Patrice had fallen asleep that Juliet finally spotted Max. He had paused just inside the doorway, staring at her quietly. Since he was in shadow, she couldn't read his expression or determine whether he was pleased to find her here.

“Good day, Max,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleeping child. “How has your week fared?”

“The seven longest days of my life.” Even when he spoke, he drew the words out on a lengthy exhale as he moved closer. “If it had not been for Mother's demand that we only attend matters of business, I hope you know that I would have called upon you.”

The news made her giddy. Until she remembered his debutante.

She affected nonchalance with a tilt of her head. “I have been away, regardless, spending much of my time with Lilah and also at Vale's townhouse with Ivy and Gemma. We have been choosing swatches for the nursery.” Then she looked down to Bram's child and stroked the fine, wispy blonde strands on her little head. “It seems my entire week has been one long siege of infants.”

“Have you ever given thought to having your own children?”

Juliet might have laughed at having the same question posed to her by two different members of his family but found herself distracted. Because in that moment, she imagined what it might be like to hold Max's child in her arms.

She did not look at him when she answered. “That would cause quite the scandal.”

“Not if you were to marry.”

If
you
were to marry
. . . not
if
we
were to marry,
she noted with a twinge beneath her breast. Then again, she didn't expect him to propose. He knew her too well.

“If I were to remarry, how would the
Standard
stay in business?” She laughed softly and then, at last, met his gaze.

He stared at her for a moment. “There is no debutante, you know. I only mentioned that I was courting someone in the hopes of earning leniency from Mother's recent demands. Unfortunately, my efforts failed.”

“Oh.”
Her breath fell out of her body all at once, leaving her lightheaded and with the strangest desire to throw her head back and cheer to the heavens. The good news was that she hadn't gone completely mad and managed to suppress that impulse. “I never gave it a thought.”

The corner of Max's mouth twitched. “Of course not. Otherwise, that might have meant you were jealous.”

And if she admitted to being jealous, then she might as well just tell him that she loved him. But knowing how complicated that would make everything, she managed to suppress that as well. “And how is your candidate faring?”

Slowly, Max released another long exhale, shook his head, and crossed his arms, as if she'd issued another challenge. “Very well. Yours?”

“All I'll say is that you'd better hire more laborers to finish the repairs on my house by month's end.”

“Is that so?” His gaze suddenly heated as it dipped to her grinning mouth. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion in a more private setting as soon as the nurse returns.”

Her stomach flipped, her pulse beating madly in response and more than a week's worth of longing. A week's worth of doubting she'd ever be in his arms again. “Will this be a
lengthy
discussion?”

“Most assuredly,” he promised, his voice turning husky as he took another step toward her. “In fact, you would have to stay for dinner and then allow me to drive you home.”

She was about to remind him that Zinnia was here as well, but they were interrupted, making the point moot.

“Lady Granworth, you are looking quite at home with a babe on your lap,” Bram said as he strode into the room. Not bothering to keep his voice low for the child, he said, “Max, why didn't you tell me we had guests? Your steward and I have been waiting a quarter hour for you to fetch the ledger you said you'd left in your chambers.”

Max shrugged. “And when it wasn't there, I thought perhaps that I'd had it with me when I last visited my niece, but I do not see it in this room either.”

Bram frowned, appearing skeptical, but then turned his attention back to Juliet. “Mother sent me to ask if you would return for dinner this evening. Apparently, Lady Cosgrove is amenable.”

Juliet opened her mouth to speak, but Bram interrupted her.

“And since we have had no company all week, I hope you will consider it.” Then, he took the liberty of bending down and scooping his daughter into his arms. He didn't even ask Juliet to relinquish her hold first. Bram's hands brushed the underside of her arm and the top of her thigh as if he had the right to be familiar with her.

The entire exchange made Juliet uncomfortable. And when she looked to Max, he was glowering, his jaw clenched.

Once free of the child, she slipped out of the chair and stood between the brothers. This scene, aside from the child in Bram's arms, seemed all too familiar. The only difference was that she'd never felt so much tension between all of them before.

But with Bram coming here at his mother's request, it felt far too much like Marjorie was trying to play matchmaker
and
with the wrong brother. Perhaps Max realized it too.

Rather than ponder the magnitude of this discovery, she inclined her head and moved toward the door, wishing that her discussion with Max had not been interrupted. “Thank you for the invitation. I will think on it and give Marjorie my answer.”

S
urprisingly, Max caught up with Juliet just after she rounded the first corner. It was almost as if she were walking slowly for the sole purpose of waiting for him.

Since that thought put him in a better mood than the one he had been in moments ago, he decided to keep it. He altered his footfalls to land in step beside hers. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he offered a nod as one would to a fellow traveler. “Are we practicing pedestrianism?”

Her lips twitched, but she kept her gaze on the path ahead. “Zinnia often states that ‘
there is no purpose of walking unless one approaches the task with excellence
.' ”

“And your unhurried pace must be why you have not ventured too great a distance from where we last saw each other,” he mused. “The reason could not be because you were waiting for me to join you. Or even that you were hoping that I would secret you away into one of these rooms so that we could continue our . . . discussion.”

A shocked laughed escaped her as her head whipped in his direction. “You know very well that we cannot.”

He grinned, noting how her voice had turned breathy and slightly hoarse. The flesh on her throat and down to the lace edge of her lotus-embroidered dress began to glow carnation pink too. “
Cannot?
My, my, that does sound like a challenge. After all, we know that we
can
—and quite well too.”

“Max,”
she warned but without any censure.

When she cast a glance over her shoulder, it reminded him that Bram could be upon them at any moment. When Max had left with a ready excuse of looking for the ledger, his brother had already rung for a servant to take Patrice. Looking around, he quickly spied the door to a room where they would be undisturbed for a time.

He held out his hand in offering. “Would you care to see where I hosted my first debates?”

She didn't hesitate to curl her fingers into his palm but asked, “Is that really where you're taking me?”

Without answering, he drew closer and brushed his lips over her knuckles. It meant a great deal that she would trust him this much. There was not even a hint of guardedness in her gaze but just a soft smile on her lips. If she knew how quickly he could imagine bolting the nearest door and keeping her sufficiently occupied for hours, she might be a little wary.

Since he valued her trust, he steered her down a short hall and into the room where he'd spent much of his youth. Closing the door behind them, he turned the lock, more so for the sake of her reputation than for purpose of seducing her. He knew they didn't have much time before someone would become suspicious of their absences.

“This is our room of
odds and ends
, where cracked urns, clocks that do not keep time, and chairs that require new upholstery come to await repair.” He gestured to the various items cluttered about the outer edges of the room. And even though he had not used the large square desk that sat in the center of the room for some time, Saunders always made sure that it remained clear of debris.