When a Marquess Loves a Woman (7 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he rumored enormity of Lord and Lady Simpkin's ballroom was vastly overstated. Juliet should have known better than to be lured by Marjorie Harwick's enthusiasm when she'd dropped by for tea earlier. There were no more than a hundred bodies crushed into the ballroom space and another hundred milling about the torch-lit garden. And these two hundred guests were four times more than what ought to have been invited.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done of it now, when Juliet had declined the other invitations for this evening. Besides, Viscount Ellery was here, and he was Juliet's primary focus.

In fact, most of the notable members of the
ton
were present, all but one. Strangely enough, Max wasn't here. Was he at another engagement, possibly one where he could watch over his own candidate? Hmm . . . Not for the first time, she wondered whom he had chosen. Though surely it was no one as admired as Ellery.

Even now, her candidate was surrounded by a bevy of blushing debutantes, standing by the large sundial in the center of the walled garden. All the while, a scattered constellation of approving mothers watched on with eager anticipation. Ellery was not simply one of the most sought-after bridegrooms, but he was also well liked by every gentleman he knew.

A sense of certain victory washed over her like a cooling rain after a storm. Already she'd begun to imagine dressing each room of her townhouse in new silk wallpaper, stunning Axminster carpets, and freshly upholstered furnishings.

“Ah, there is Marjorie now,” Zinnia said from beside her, smoothing a pleat down the front of her modest pistachio green gown. “Though I do wish she would have directed Lord Thayne to enter through the garden gate as we did, to avoid the gauntlet of guests.”

Juliet's gaze whipped to the far side of the ballroom and suddenly spied a familiar dark head, his mother on his arm. Marjorie looked elegantly disheveled in her bronze-colored gown and the tiered earbobs that swayed as she shook her head at the crowd. Max bent his head in conversation with her, the line of his broad shoulders turning slightly within his impeccably tailored slate gray coat. The color was quite dashing on him, simultaneously accentuating the whiteness of his cravat and the darkness of his striking, rough-hewn features. Of course, Juliet would be the last to tell him how well he looked.

“No doubt, Marjorie tried to warn him, but he chose not to listen,” Juliet said.

Evidently sensing her study, Max shifted his gaze toward her. Juliet did not look away, not even when her thoughts and senses were suddenly flooded with the erotic memory of sweet, sun-warmed cake. As if he knew, his mouth quirked at one corner, and he inclined his head. She did the same and, with a lift of her brows, she wished him luck with traversing the crowd.

Yet if there was a way through that horde—even if only for the purpose of goading her into some sort of disagreement—Max would find it.

All the while, she did her best to ignore the subtle warm tingles that started at her fingertips and crept like scandalous whispers along her arms. After all, the last thing she wanted was to turn bright pink in this crowd.

Opening her fan with a snap, she took a precautionary measure. The action sent the gold pomander at her wrist in motion, giving off a pleasant aroma. Normally, she filled it with rose water alone but had recently taken to adding a drop or two of sandalwood. She found the combination pleasing as well as helpful. Right this moment, it aided in drowning out the unpleasant odor from the gentleman nearest her.

Zinnia clucked her tongue. “Gentlemen of a certain age rarely heed the advice of their mothers, but a subtle word or two from a wife would have made a difference.”

“Max would no more listen to his wife than he would a rib of celery.” Juliet laughed. “He is far too enamored of his own opinion. Any wife of his would need to be impossibly skilled in the art of discord.”

“There aren't many debutantes who could measure up.”

“Yes. They are all too eager to please their husbands.” Much to their own detriment, as Juliet knew from firsthand experience. “I would hate to see a green girl saddled with such a stubborn ox.”

“Then perhaps you could aid Marjorie. She has been compiling a list and trying to steer Lord Thayne in the direction of the women most suited to his nature.”

Juliet felt something stir inside her. “Is that why they are here this evening?”

When Zinnia nodded, Juliet began to cast her gaze to the debutantes in attendance, looking for the ones with the strong-willed temperaments. Spying a rather formidable pair of havoc-wreakers, she felt her temper rise. This Season, both Miss Ashbury and Miss Leeds had made every attempt to trample the other debs in their paths through spiteful attacks and spreading detestable rumors.

“Ah. I see the direction of your gaze,” Zinnia said with quiet vehemence. “Though after the way they treated our Lilah, I do not know how kind I could be to either of them, were Lord Thayne to choose one for his bride.”

Juliet agreed. “As much as Max irritates me, I would not wish him to suffer such a fate. Deep down—somewhere quite far away—he has a heart, which I'm certain he would give to his wife. But if he were paired with a termagant, she would only eat it up and leave him with nothing. There are certain types of people who should never marry.” Cruel young women were on that list, of course. But there was also a place marked for a debutante who lacked a sense of worth and married a man who treated everyone he knew as an object.

Juliet had often wondered if she'd have been better off living with the shame of ruination. However, hers had not been the only reputation facing destruction. At the time, her father had been only days away from debtors' prison, and so she had done what was expected of a dutiful daughter.

“I believe I will speak with Marjorie on the topic. Would you care to join me? Your opinion would be invaluable.” Zinnia made a motion to Marjorie to take the gallery stairs at either end. “It will be overwarm to linger at such a height, but at least there will be air to breathe.”

Juliet's gaze was still with Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury's progress into the garden. It seemed their current target was Viscount Ellery. They'd even managed to frighten away all the other debutantes. And Ellery, with his quiet demeanor and a chivalrous nature, didn't stand a chance. Clearly, he needed rescuing.

“I think it would be best if I kept my opinion regarding Max's prospects to myself. So I will stay in the garden and wend my way to the stone bench at the far side.” It just so happened that she would have to circumnavigate the sundial on her way.

As she drew near, Juliet knew it was no wonder that Ellery had gained so much favor among the
ton
. Not only was his character impressive, but he was also quite handsome, possessing a head full of wavy blond hair and soulful eyes. While he didn't have Max's dark, exotic handsomeness or his aura of virility, he did have an understated regality about him. Likely, he would never argue a point but simply hold his tongue when his thoughts were not in line with another's. What a refreshing notion!

Already Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury had outmaneuvered their competition for his attention and now flanked Ellery on either side, casting withering glances at any who dared approach.

Juliet quickly formed a plan of action, which would not only provide Ellery with a viable excuse to abandon his current companions but would also shed the most favorable light on his character.

Surely tomorrow's edition of the
Standard
would all but seal his nomination for the
Original
. And, most importantly, assure her victory over Max.

M
ax left his mother in the gallery and descended the stairs near the double doors leading to the garden. Making his way through the crowd, he kept watch on Juliet the entire time.

As usual, she wore a gown that flattered her form in every way imaginable. He wondered if her modiste chose only the fabrics that would cause a man's fingertips to itch from the desire to touch it and to feel the woman beneath. As it was, a sheath of fine lace covered an apricot silk that clung to her body.
A criminal design
, he thought, believing she should have worn a voluminous sackcloth gown instead. Then again, Juliet was perhaps the only woman who could make that appealing as well. He clenched his fingers into a fist to ward off the stinging sensation at his fingertips.

Then Max spied her slipping the fan from her wrist and surreptitiously dropping it into the shrubbery. Slyly, she gained Ellery's attention, gesturing to the barbed branches as she carefully brushed her hands down the front of her gown. Both were a ploy, Max knew. After all, what man could resist coming to her aid?

She was flirting, of course, and effectively drawing Ellery away from two other young women. Was it because she wanted him all to herself?

Max's mood darkened as the obvious answer came to him. He had already wondered, at Minchon's garden party, if she had a lover. And if she did not yet, apparently she soon would.

Ellery sprang into action, reaching through the shrubbery to find Juliet's fan. Shortly thereafter, he presented it to her with a courtly bow. In return, she laid her hand upon his forearm and smiled at him as if he'd saved all humanity with one small gesture.

A growl rose up Max's throat at her obvious coquettish display, flaunting her interest in Ellery in front of a horde of people. If she wasn't careful, by tomorrow morning, the
Standard
would label her as Ellery's affianced.

Not that Max cared one way or another. She could marry whomever she chose or simply have a slew of lovers. He was only thinking about his wager with her. After all, he would hate for her to have an incentive to remain in London.

She had made her choice to leave everything behind once, and when he won, Max would make certain she did the same again.

Perhaps it was time for him to make that perfectly clear.

J
uliet never lingered too long in one gentleman's company in order to avoid the possibility of winding up in the scandal sheets, with rumors of a betrothal to follow. Therefore, after thanking Ellery for his gallantry, she ambled off toward the stone bench, steering clear of the rose arbor so that she wouldn't snag her skirt on a thorn.

She had glanced down for a moment—a moment too long, it seemed—when a familiar nasal tone caused Juliet to pause midstep.

“Ah, there you are Lady Granworth,” Lord Pembroke said, every syllable pinched through his rather substantial nose.

She wondered briefly if it would be rude to continue onward or if he would pursue her regardless. Since the man resembled a lanky Afghan hound in both face and figure, it was likely that he would give chase. And here she was, with neither stick nor bone in hand to lead him astray. In his case, however, the quick toss of a coin purse would surely do the trick. It was unfortunate that she was without that as well.

Therefore, she held back a sigh and offered something of a smile. “Lord Pembroke. How are you enjoying this fine evening?”

The flesh stretching over his long face was bone white and glistened with a sheen of perspiration. Absently, he swept back thin wisps of lusterless brown hair from his forehead. “I don't believe we finished our discussion on the mining venture in South America.”

Oh, drat. That had been five days ago, at least. The man would likely pinpoint the exact break in their conversation from the ball at Lord Tremaine's townhouse. And yet, he did not appear to notice that she'd asked him a question. Even though it was nothing more than a courtesy, the least he could do was acknowledge it. After all, she had listened to him drone on and on about this investment opportunity for nearly an hour.

Not feeling quite as charitable this evening, she looked past his shoulder and toward the house. “I was actually just heading inside to find my cousin.”

“As I was saying, before Lord Markham interrupted us . . . ” he began, again not hearing her. It was as if the rules of conversation had taught him that all he must do was wait for the other party to utter a handful of syllables before it became his turn to speak again. And while he spoke, Juliet wondered if she could say something wholly nonsensical with him none the wiser.

“One can never mine enough silver, after all,” he said with a snort of amusement.

Juliet nodded in agreement. “A nuthatch whispered that very thing to me this morning from the windowsill.”

Lord Pembroke didn't even bat an eye at her absurdity; he merely continued. He even had the audacity to lean closer, his breath sharp and pungent as old cheese. She opened her fan and began waving so vigorously that he was warned to retreat to where he'd stood a moment ago. When he did, she set her gaze on the perfect route to liberation. If she maneuvered along the outside of the garden toward the brick-lined path beside the house, she could easily enter through the front door and make her way to the gallery.

“Forgive me, Pembroke, but my cousin is expecting me,” she repeated and took a step toward freedom.

“Quite interesting, to be sure, but as I was saying . . . ” Pembroke had the audacity to block her path.

This act of rudeness went beyond the pale. She was just about to give him a proper set down when Max appeared, his brow furrowed with those three distinct vertical lines above the bridge of his nose. She was never so happy to see his glower.

Inspired suddenly, she closed her fan with a clap. “Lord Thayne, I seem to recall your rather fervent interest in silver mines. Perhaps you could offer a bit of advice for your friend.”

This time, her words—likely the mention of silver—startled Pembroke from his recitation. Max continued his severe frown and looked very much as if he wanted to throttle her. But before he could, the ever-dogged Pembroke caught his scent.

“Lord Thayne, I was unaware of your interest. Had I known, you would have been the first . . . ” and so it began.