How to Romance a Rake (15 page)

The sharp clang of the watchman’s bell broke the spell.

Juliet felt Alec still, then with a sigh, and one quick kiss on her lips, he leaned back from her and stood, quickly turning his back to her while he took several deep breaths.

She took a moment to catch her own breath, the rush of sensations slowly subsiding into a low, nameless ache.

His long legs, lean in the evening breeches that were de rigueur for
ton
entertainments, led up to muscular thighs and buttocks tapering into a lean waist. His broad shoulders were unbowed by life, though now she suspected that he might have had his own share of troubles to weigh them down.

There was no denying that the Viscount Deveril was a breathtakingly beautiful man.

A man who had just spent a quarter of an hour kissing her senseless.

“I should apologize for that,” Alec said, his back still turned to her. “But I find I cannot.”

“Good,” Juliet said. “Because if you apologized I would be forced to apologize too. But I find I cannot.”

He turned, a wry smile at his mouth. “A fine pair of unrepentants we are,” he said. His eyes turned serious. “Juliet, I—”

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Let’s not speak of it further. I don’t expect anything from you other than friendship. I can be content with that.”

Before he could speak, she continued, “As for Lord Turlington, I will figure out a way to convince my father of his unsuitability. Father has proven himself to be a reasonable man the few times I’ve gone to him with issues over which my mother was prepared to fight me. I simply hope that he will do so again this time.”

“But you must have a care about how you handle the situation, Juliet,” Alec protested. “You do not wish to be branded a jilt.”

Juliet laughed at that. “I would much rather be called a jilt than Lady Turlington, my lord.”

When he did not join her in her amusement, she soothed him. “Come now, my lord. Something must be worked out. If nothing else, then I will follow my earlier plan and run away.”

“Where would you go?” he asked. “You can hardly disappear into the night. It’s not safe.”

She was touched by his worry. Truly, for she could think of no one but her cousins, and Anna, who had given her much thought these last several years. “I appreciate your concern. But I do have some connections I can call on should this scheme of my mother’s go much further.”

He stepped closer, his eyes deadly serious. “Do not make any decisions until you hear from me. Will you promise me that, at least? I know things seem desperate right now, but I may be able to come up with a solution that does not require you to disappear.”

“But I—” she began before he stopped her with a gloved finger against her lips.

“You trusted me to investigate the disappearance of your Mrs. Turner,” he said, his voice husky with some emotion she could not name. “Will you not also trust me with yourself?”

She did not bother to point out that trusting him with Anna’s disappearance was infinitely less terrifying. She had that much self-respect, at least.

“All right,” she told him. “All right, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

He didn’t speak, just nodded and turned to stalk back through the back garden into the mews beyond.

She watched him disappear into the night, her fingers against her lips as she remembered his kiss.

*   *   *

After a restless night of tossing and turning, reliving the encounter with Alec in the garden, Juliet spent the next day at the pianoforte attempting to banish the nervous energy plaguing her. Even though her mind was consumed by thoughts of Alec, she had little choice but to agree with her mother’s suggestion that they spend the evening attending a musicale at the home of Lord Turlington’s mother.

Lady Wilhelmina Turlington was a renowned
ton
hostess with a fondness for European-style salons and her musical evenings were gatherings where conversation and spirits flowed freely. It was just the sort of entertainment Lady Shelby would have disparaged before she decided Juliet should marry Lord Turlington, but Juliet was not about to draw attention to her mother’s hypocrisy on the issue. She feared that her indiscretion with Alec of the previous evening was writ large upon her face.

The kisses aside, and that was with some difficulty, she had felt better after unburdening herself to him last night. His attentiveness was intoxicating. He listened to her—really listened—in a way that no one, even her cousins, had ever done.

As for the kisses, and other intimacies, wonderful as they had been, they could never be repeated. Not only did she believe that he had simply been dazzled by the moonlight, but she knew her place in the pecking order of the
ton,
and she was painfully aware that Lord Deveril was so far beyond her reach as to make even contemplating a match with him absurd in the extreme. He was a leader of the
ton
and one of the most sought-after bachelors in society. He attracted attention wherever he went, and even had a following among young men who wished to ape his fashionable attire and mannerisms. Whereas she was relegated to the fringes of polite society, and despite Cecily’s recent spectacular match with the Duke of Winterson, she was a member of the most ridiculed trio of young ladies in London.

Once daylight had descended upon the city, she had no doubt he’d come to his senses. Or, at the very least, he must have realized that he was destined for someone of better looks and fortune than Miss Shelby, who was not only a wallflower, but also harbored a secret that made it impossible for her to make anyone a proper wife. Except, according to her mother, Lord Turlington. But that owed more to her mother’s odd relationship with the gentleman than to any attractiveness on Juliet’s part.

But before she had to face that gentleman again, she had a brief errand to run.

In the first few weeks of Mrs. Turner’s absence from Shelby House, she and Juliet had been unable to communicate via conventional means, and had frequently left notes for one another with a trusted print shopkeeper whom both ladies patronized for their sheet music needs. Because they’d not needed to use Mr. Frampton as a go-between since Lady Shelby sanctioned their continued acquaintance once more, Juliet hadn’t considered that Anna might have left her a note there once again until late last night as she tossed and turned. It was unlikely, of course, but worth a try.

When she descended from the carriage in Cheapside, she was struck as always by the bustle of people going about their business. Compared with the languid movement of the
haut ton,
the industry of the merchants and their customers was jarring indeed.

“Weston,” she told her maid, who had accompanied her, “you may visit the stationers’ next door if you wish. I know how dull you find Frampton’s.”

“I will, miss.” The maid didn’t hide her relief, but she made a token protest nevertheless. “But you know I don’t like to leave you alone.”

“Oh, fie, Weston,” Juliet returned. “You are bursting at the seams to get away from here. Do not worry. I’ll be fine. Mr. Frampton will look after me.”

With a slight shrug the other woman turned and hurried toward the other shop. Juliet opened the door to Frampton’s, and gripping her walking stick lest anyone should accost her, she stepped inside, pausing a moment to appreciate the scent of ink on paper.

The proprietor hurried forward, his eyes lit with pleasure. “Miss Shelby, what a pleasant surprise. It’s been too long.”

A musician himself, Frampton had left the itinerant life of an orchestra player when he married the daughter of a prosperous merchant, who set his son-in-law up in business for himself. But his knowledge about music and his understanding of what both the public and musicians looked for in a song made him second to none in his collection of sheet music. He carried not only songs from little-known and popular English composers, but also imported the best compositions from the Continent. But while Juliet appreciated all of this, she valued Mr. Frampton for his easy manner and generosity of spirit most of all.

She offered him her hand and a wide smile. “It has been too long, Mr. Frampton. I’ve been busy with the social whirl, I’m afraid. And you know how much I’d rather have been here searching out some intriguing bit of new music.”

“I do, indeed, Miss Shelby.” He seemed about to say something else, but must have thought better of it, for he turned and said, “Let me show you some of the newest arrivals from Paris. I know you like something that will challenge your finger skills.”

They spent the next few minutes discussing the merits of Beethoven, versus some of the newer composers emerging on the scene. At last, however, Juliet broached the subject that had brought her to her old friend. She explained briefly that Mrs. Turner had left town abruptly and that her friends were concerned that she might be in some sort of trouble.

“And I wondered,” she concluded, “if she might have visited here before she left. Perhaps left a note here for me like we used to do in the old days?”

It was unlikely, Juliet knew, but Mr. Frampton’s nod had her heart beating faster.

“I have seen her,” he said, his brow knitted with concern, “but she left nothing here apart from the compositions I bought from her.”

“Compositions?” To Juliet’s knowledge, Anna hadn’t composed anything in years. She always said that a truly skilled musician had no need of writing her own tunes. That coming to the piece fresh, without any preconceived notions about just what had influenced the composition, was the best way to reach the true meaning of a song.

“Indeed.” Mr. Frampton stepped behind the counter where he displayed new sheet music, and removed a sheaf of pages.

The sound of the bells at the entrance to the store caused him to look up at the new customer. Handing the music to Juliet, he excused himself and left her to stare down at the precisely marked notes that began to sound in her head as she read them, playing the tune they spelled out as surely as if a pianoforte were there in the shop.

She knew the song well. She’d even played it herself, working to master the particularly tricky fingering at the end of the fourth measure. Anna hadn’t broken her rule about composing, however. For these weren’t her compositions.

They were Juliet’s. Anna had stolen her pupil’s original compositions and sold them. The sense of betrayal was like nothing she’d known before. She tried to think of rational explanations for Anna’s deception. It was entirely possible that she’d needed to leave London in a hurry and Juliet’s compositions had been the fastest way to get funds. But it was still a blow to know that rather than simply coming to her and asking, Anna had taken advantage of their friendship and taken something so personal and sold it.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until she felt a tentative hand on her arm.

“Juliet.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and turned.

There stood Alec. Looking unaccountably thunderous.

The sound of his voice sent immediate warmth straight to her stomach and lower, as she remembered last night’s interlude in the back garden.

Turning, she saw that Alec was just as well turned out as ever. And her own expression must have been forlorn indeed, for he immediately frowned.

“What’s wrong?” The way he stood at attention, as if he were ready to go slay dragons for her, made her heart squeeze in her chest.

*   *   *

“What’s wrong, she asks.” Alec asked the question aloud, but it was clearly rhetorical. “Perhaps you might tell me why you are alone in a print shop with no proper chaperone?”

His harassed tone immediately set her back up. “I’m not sure what business it is of yours. I am not a child and you are neither my father nor my brother.”

Something almost feral flickered in his blue eyes, and Juliet realized her mistake. A sensation that was not alleviated when he stepped closer. “No, I am neither your father nor your brother. But that does not mean I have no interest in keeping you safe.”

Juliet’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him. She inhaled the scent of sandalwood mixed with warm male, and she found herself remembering in excruciating detail what it had felt like to be wrapped in his arms.

Fighting her response, she lifted her chin. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Simply because I am not like other ladies—”

He interrupted her before she could complete the thought. “No, you are not like other ladies,” he said firmly. “You are more—” He stopped before he could complete the thought.

“You are as vulnerable as any other unchaperoned lady,” he finished. “And as such, you should not expose yourself to danger by shopping unattended in this part of town. Have you any idea how much some enterprising fellow might ask your father for in ransom? Or how much a canny abbess might charge a man for the privilege of deflowering you?”

At his crudity, she recoiled.

Seeing he’d shocked her, as he’d intended, Alec relented. When he’d spied the Shelby coat of arms gracing the carriage in the narrow lane, he’d at first thought Lord Shelby must be visiting a mistress. But since that gentleman was addressing Parliament today, that explanation was out. Then he recognized the sign marking the shop as a purveyor of sheet music and he knew it must be Juliet inside.

“You must take more care, Juliet,” he said now. “Especially given the fact that your mentor has more than likely been taken against her will.”

The reminder of Mrs. Turner’s disappearance seemed to bring Juliet back to her senses, and she glanced down at the papers in her hand, as if trying to decide something.

Before she could speak, however, the proprietor of the shop stepped out from the back room and proffered more pages. Seeing Alec, he bowed.

“My lord,” the old man said, “what might I do for you this fine day? Perhaps the latest from Mr. Beethoven? I know how your sister enjoys him.”

“Nothing today, Frampton,” Alec said. “Though perhaps I will bring Katherine back later this week. She is, as you say, fond of Mr. Beethoven.”

Continuing, he watched as Juliet scanned the sheet music Frampton had brought her. “I am a friend of Miss Shelby’s family and wished to assure myself that she was not here unescorted.”