How to Romance a Rake (25 page)

“Did you not have visitors during your time in Vienna? Someone who knew your secret?”

“Mama was quite insistent that no one know the full extent of my injuries,” Juliet said. “Then by the time I had recovered enough to contemplate visitors, war had broken out again. It was perfect timing for Mama’s scheme. At the time I remember thinking that even warfare suited itself to her wishes rather than the other way around. Then, of course, the casualties began pouring into the city and there was no need to hide.”

“So you returned to London with a limp and a deception,” Alec said, marveling at just how successful his mother-in-law’s plot had been. Even the royal family had been less successful at keeping King George’s madness under wraps.

“Yes,” Juliet ceded. Seeming to suddenly remember her nakedness, she pulled away from him. “I hope you are not…” she began, not meeting his gaze. “I hope you are not terribly disappointed with my infirmity,” she said quickly, as if by saying the words quickly they would negate the necessity of a response.

Unable to take another minute of her apologies, he wordlessly pulled the sheet from her body and flipped her beneath him.

“No more apologies about this,” he said against her neck, his hand resting proprietarily on her hip. “I told you before that I already knew about your amputation. I married you because I wished to do so.”

She was not distracted enough, however. “But…” she began to say. Alec stopped her words with his mouth, and the intrusion of his very intrigued cock into her moist heat.

“This,” he said, thrusting against her, “this is how much I am bothered by your deception.”

Her sharp intake of breath as he came into her robbed her of the ability to argue further. But even as he set out to distract her from her fears by making thorough love to her, Alec knew that he’d not heard the last of Juliet’s apologies on the matter.

Lady Shelby, he thought, had much to answer for.

Fifteen

They left early the next morning, and as is often the case, the journey back seemed to pass more quickly. Perhaps because Juliet felt easier in Alec’s company. Marital intimacies had a way of dissolving some of the awkwardness that had dogged their interactions before the wedding night. Or day, as it were.

Seated next to her husband, tucked into the curve of his arm as the carriage swayed, Juliet marveled anew at just how understanding he’d been about her fatal flaw. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, of course. She had no experience in revealing the extent of her injury to bedfellows, after all. And her mama had seen to it that no one outside the tiny circle of herself, Mr. Sankoori, Mr. Bock, and Juliet’s maid Weston knew of it. Even her cousins had been kept in the dark, only being informed that the injury was a permanent one, just not what the injury had entailed.

Though Juliet had little doubt that the news would shock most of the
ton,
she also suspected that her mother’s insistence that anyone who knew of it would hold Juliet in contempt was an exaggeration. Certainly her insinuation that no one would wish to marry her as she was had proved false. She still wasn’t sure what had persuaded Alec to rescue her from Turlington’s clutches, but she was grateful to him. Even more so because instead of being angry with her for her deception, he’d focused his wrath instead on Lady Shelby.

His tenderness of the day before, coupled with his lack of disgust upon learning her secret, had endeared him to Juliet in a way that she had seldom felt for another person, let alone a man. If she were not careful, she’d find herself losing her heart to her own husband. Though on a certain level, she knew gratitude to him simply for accepting her, flaws and all, was understandable, Juliet was also aware that allowing herself to fall too much under her husband’s spell would be a recipe for disaster. They had both entered into this marriage without any illusions about it being a love match, after all. And she sensed that asking Alec for more than he was willing to give would place him in an untenable position. It had only been a few weeks ago that he’d seemed uninterested in marriage at all. Not that she was worried he would be unfaithful to her. He’d promised her his fidelity, and though many gentlemen of the
ton
made such promises with no intention of keeping them, Juliet knew that for Alec his word was his bond. No matter how he might be tempted, she knew instinctively that he would not betray her trust.

“What’s amiss?” the object of her speculation asked, frowning down at her.

She shook her head to clear it. She was being missish in the extreme.

“I was just wondering about Mrs. Turner,” she said, regretting the lie, but knowing that to reveal her true thoughts would be begging a discussion she simply was not ready to have. “Do you suppose she’s been in touch with Mr. MacEwan at all? I almost daren’t hope for it, given how disappointing each setback has been thus far in our search for her.”

“I have no idea,” Alec said thoughtfully. “It did seem to me from what her landlady said that he was much in your friend’s company. And if they were engaged to marry I cannot think that she would go so long without contacting him.”

“That is what I thought about myself, though,” Juliet said glumly. “I thought we were close enough for her to trust me with such news. Though I suppose there were quite a few things she didn’t trust me with. Alice’s parentage, her engagement, her need for funds.”

“I have no doubt that she trusts you,” Alec said firmly. “But sometimes circumstances make it difficult to tell those we love the truth.”

“That is certainly something I am familiar with,” she said wryly. “The only people we informed about my injury were those who absolutely had to know. I did not like prevaricating, but circumstances made it imperative. Or so I thought.”

“From what we’ve learned so far,” Alec said, “it seems very likely that Mrs. Turner is in a very difficult position. And has been for some time. If she is indeed your friend, I think it’s quite likely that she felt she had no choice but to hide the truth regarding any number of things from you.”

“I fear you are correct.” Juliet sighed. “I do so hate to think of Anna so isolated and alone. I hope that she was able to take Mr. MacEwan at least into her confidence. I think the most disturbing aspect of this entire business has been the fact that we’ve found no one whom she felt safe enough to confide in.”

A shout from the outriders indicated that they’d entered the grounds of the Mounthaven estate, and within the hour Juliet and Alec were waiting in the Earl of Mounthaven’s best parlor for his personal secretary, Mr. Alistair MacEwan. The earl himself was out of the country at the moment, and the house was quiet in its master’s absence.

They were joined presently by a ginger-haired young man of sensible dress, who seemed puzzled by their visit.

“My lord,” he greeted them, “my lady, is there something I can assist you with?”

“I believe you will not know of me by my married name, Mr. MacEwan,” Juliet said, disliking to ruin his calm, but knowing there was no help for it. “I am the former Miss Shelby.”

His quizzical expression turned into one of genuine pleasure. “Miss Shelby! Or rather, Lady Deveril, it is a delight to finally make your acquaintance. Mrs. Turner has nothing but good things to say of you!”

“It is on Mrs. Turner’s behalf that we are here,” Alec informed him baldly. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard that your friend has been missing for the past several weeks?”

The shock on the young man’s face told them everything they needed to know.

“I…” MacEwan’s agitation was evident. “What happened?”

“We are unsure,” Juliet told him. “I received a note from her informing me that she was leaving town for a bit, but she didn’t say why. When Lord Deveril visited her apartments the next day upon my behest it was apparent that she had left in a hurry.”

“And the child?” Mrs. Turner’s fiancé asked. “Is she gone too?”

“No, and that is what troubles me,” she said. “Little Alice is being cared for at our house until we learn what’s happened to Anna.”

“What we need to know from you,” Alec said briskly, “is do you have any notion of where she might be, or whether there might be some reason to suspect foul play?”

MacEwan shook his head in disbelief.

“I beg your pardon, but I must sit down,” he said, collapsing into a wingback chair.

Juliet waved his apology aside. “Have you heard from her, Mr. MacEwan? Anything at all?”

“Just a brief note last week, telling me that she was quite busy and would be unable to write again for a few weeks.” He paused. “But wait, I thought you said she’s been missing for several weeks.”

“Then how could she have written you only last week?” Juliet asked aloud.

“That’s just it,” MacEwan said, “I’ve heard from her several times over the past few weeks. There was no mention of being unable to write to me until last week.”

“Some of this we can attribute to the slowness of the mail, but if you have letters from Mrs. Turner dating back several weeks, then I think we have proof that she is alive and well somewhere.”

MacEwan’s eyes widened, as if he’d realized for the first time just how serious the situation was.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “After what that bastard did to her before, I thought she was finally through with hardship. I am planning to return home to my brother’s estate at the end of the year to become steward for him. We were going to be married then.”

“Do not give up hope, Mr. MacEwan,” Juliet said firmly. “I’m not. Anna is as strong a woman as I’ve ever met. Whatever has happened to her, she will come through it.”

“Might we see these letters you’ve received from her recently, MacEwan?” Alec interjected. “There might be some clue in them that will give us an idea as to where she’s being held. Or who is holding her.”

MacEwan nodded, and excused himself to search out the letters.

“This is wretched,” Juliet said once the man had gone. “How on earth will I ever face that man again if we don’t find her?”

Alec squeezed her shoulder. “It is not your doing,” he assured her, “any of it. If you hadn’t insisted that we begin looking for her, I doubt anyone would even know Mrs. Turner was missing at all. You cannot berate yourself for being unable to work miracles.”

“I just feel so helpless,” Juliet said, appreciating his support in more ways than she could say. “When the issue is something to do with me, like my injury or my troubles with Mama, at least I have some measure of control. With this, I have no way of controlling any of it.”

He was about to respond, when MacEwan returned bearing the letters.

“There are only three,” he said, handing them to Juliet. “And I’ve checked the handwriting and it is definitely Anna’s.”

With Alec reading over her shoulder, Juliet scanned the missives, which chronicled fictitious anecdotes about the baby, Anna’s students, and various other daily minutiae. In truth, they were rather dull as love letters went, though there were heartfelt farewells at the end of each. In fact, it was the conclusions that had Juliet frowning.

“Please know that no matter what happens, no matter what separates us, I will always love you.”

“Does she always end her letters with such declarations?” Juliet asked, disliking to embarrass the man, but needing to know his answer.

“We both … that is to say,” MacEwan stammered.

“I do not ask because I don’t believe them, Mr. MacEwan,” Juliet told him, gently. “I ask because it sounds very much like something she would say if she feared never seeing you again.”

MacEwan blanched. “Not as such,” he said. “We do speak of our affection, of course, but this is more … dramatic than she is normally wont to write.”

Juliet exchanged a look with Alec, who said, “What’s this here about an artist wishing to paint her portrait?”

Anna had mentioned it in all three of the letters. In the first, she’d spoken of how flattered she’d been by the artist’s request, and how much she regretted having to deny him. Then in the second, she’d spoken of how she admired the man’s work, which she’d seen in the National Gallery hanging “among England’s finest artists.”

But it was the mention in the third letter that made Juliet’s heart clench with fear.

“I regret not agreeing to the request by this fine and gifted artist to allow him to capture my likeness on canvas. What a satisfaction to know that I might serve to warn other women away from the same mistakes I’ve made.”

“Did this not strike you as odd?” Alec asked the other man.

The secretary thrust a hand through his now thoroughly disheveled hair. “She is always teasing me about my having taken up with a fallen woman. She knows I don’t blame her for what that bastard did to her. How could I? I think the joking is her way of dealing with society’s condemnation.”

Since he did not appear to know about Anna’s earlier encounter with Squire Ramsey’s son, Juliet did not tell Mr. MacEwan of it. But given the fact that she’d been victimized not once but twice by men she trusted, Anna’s references to herself as a fallen woman were even more disturbing. “She has always had a dark sense of humor,” she said aloud. “I doubt anyone who has endured what she has could emerge without a healthy sense of the absurd.”

“But about this artist,” Alec interjected. “Who is he? And why has Mrs. Turner mentioned the fellow in only the letters she’s written since she went missing? If I were to hazard a guess, this artist sounds suspiciously like
Il Maestro.
”

Juliet bit back a gasp. The idea that Anna was being pursued by
Il Maestro
was at once believable and disturbing. Though she had never considered Anna to be a fallen woman, or the like, the more she learned about her friend the more she wondered if her friend thought of herself in those terms. Accepting the offer to pose for the artist who had made a name for himself by painting history’s most notorious fallen women might be empowering for someone like Anna. But it also might be a means of punishing herself in the most public manner possible. The notion sent a chill of fear through Juliet. A chill that no amount of hot tea could warm.