How to Romance a Rake (27 page)

When they had discussed her need for two more legs to go with her newer gowns, Herr Bock left the room so that Juliet might change into the short breeches she wore only to these fittings. Since even physicians thought it unseemly to see their female patients unclothed, it was highly irregular for Herr Bock to see Juliet in such attire, but she had long since become desensitized to their interactions. It was simply a necessary part of her life now, and she’d long ago become inured to the multiple ways in which someone with her particular injury had to give up any pretense of modesty. And besides that, her maid, Weston, was with her, so there was no real danger.

Quickly, she let Weston help her remove her gown and donned the short breeches and the shirtwaist that she wore on such occasions. Her legs were bare, and taking a seat on the stiff-backed chair put there for her use, she began to unlace the tightly tied corset that wrapped around her calf.

When she’d first seen the contraption four years ago, when Herr Bock had persuaded one of his other patients to demonstrate how it worked, Juliet had been astonished. It had only been a few months since the accident that had taken her leg mid-calf, and she was deep in the depression that the trauma had left in its wake. It had been her mother’s insistence, one of the only times in Juliet’s life when her mother had acted in a manner that met both their interests, that had brought Herr Bock to them. Lord Shelby had been posted to the conference of Vienna, and Herr Bock had come highly recommended by the war office. And watching that young woman, who had lost her leg in a carriage accident, walk about the room on her wooden prosthesis, Juliet had thought for the first time since her own accident that there might be some hope for her yet, and she had been grateful for once for her mother’s domineering nature. Only later that evening had she realized that Lady Shelby’s plan had been less about seeing that Juliet could lead a normal life than ensuring that Lady Shelby would not be embarrassed for the rest of society to know she had a crippled daughter. Still, motives aside, her mother’s shame had brought Juliet into contact with Herr Bock, and that at least was something to celebrate.

The leg itself was simple enough. To put it on, Juliet would don the mechanism like a stocking, placing the stump of her calf through the unlaced corset, and down to rest on top of the wooden lower leg and foot, which had been padded for her comfort.

When Herr Bock returned, he knelt before her and examined her residual limb, ensuring that there were no skin abrasions or irritations that would indicate the prosthesis was not fitting properly. Then he asked Juliet to don the prosthesis, and when that was done, he directed her to the parallel bars in the next room, where he could watch her gait. Back and forth she walked as he instructed her to speed up, slow down, and try kneeling. She’d just reached the end of the bars when the toe of her false foot caught on the edge of the bar and she pitched forward.

Sixteen

When he’d finished his meeting with his man of business, where he made provisions for Juliet in the event that something should happen to him, Alec had asked his coachman to take him to White’s so that he could seek out Winterson for advice on the matter of Mrs. Turner and
Il Maestro.

As his carriage drove through the city, he spied a familiar-looking figure descending from a hack and hurrying up the steps, walking stick in hand, of an unremarkable row house. Who the devil was she going to meet in this part of town? he wondered, rapping on the ceiling to indicate that he wanted to stop.

Leaping down from the carriage, he doubled back to the door he’d seen his wife disappear through a few moments before. A small plaque next to the door simply read Otto Bock. No explanation of what type of service the man offered.

Frowning, Alec raised the knocker and gave a couple of sharp raps, which were answered by a clean-cut young servant. A footman of some sort, he assumed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said with a frown. “You’re early. Mr. Bock is in with a patient still.”

He opened the door and indicated that Alec should follow him. “If you’ll just wait here it will be some time before he can see you.”

A patient? A frisson of alarm ran through him. Was Juliet still suffering from the aftereffects of her accident? He remembered what she’d told him on their wedding night about the accident that had taken her foot and nearly taken her life. “I rarely even have phantom pain anymore,” she’d told him. Could their journey to and from Scotland in such a brief period of time have aggravated her wound? Worse, could she be suffering from some other ailment in addition to her infirmity?

“I don’t think you understand,” he told the young man, pushing past him. “That patient your master is with now is my wife. I’ll just step in and—”

He brushed past the servant and hurried forward to the door the young man had indicated with a nod when he’d informed Alec that Mr. Bock was with another patient.

“Wait!” the man said, trying to grasp Alec’s arm and prevent him from interrupting his employer. “Sir, you can’t go in there! Sir!”

But it was too late. Alec had turned the knob and stepped into the examining room. And what he saw made his jaw and fists clench with fury. Juliet was on the floor, and a man he didn’t recognize was on the floor next to her, his hands caressing her exposed limbs.

“Get the hell off my wife!” he shouted, taking Juliet’s assailant by the collar, and, despite the awkwardness of their location at the end of some strange railed contraption, tossing him to the side. “My God, Juliet! Are you all right?”

He didn’t for a moment think that she welcomed the man’s caress. There was no way that she would have left his bed earlier that morning and gone straight to another man. He’d heard of some unscrupulous physicians who had no qualms about taking advantage of their female patients, and he assumed this must be one of them.

But while she might not have intentionally sought out the other man, his wife was not pleased with her husband’s interference. He reached down to help her up, but she slapped his hand away.

“Alec!” his wife asked, not in the least grateful for his intervention. “What are you doing here? And what have you done with Herr Bock?”

To his surprise, she used the rails to pull herself to her feet and moved quickly to her assailant’s side. “Mr. Bock! Are you all right?”

“I am well, Miss … that is, Lady Deveril,” the blackguard told her, straightening his spectacles. “I believe I have the pleasure of meeting your new husband, yes?”

“Yes,” she said sourly, shaking her head in exasperation at her husband. “Though at this particular moment I am unsure why I consented to the match.”

“I tried to keep him out, Mr. Bock,” the man who had answered the door said apologetically, moving forward as if to remove Alec from the room.

“It is all right, William,” Mr. Bock told his servant. “This is Miss Shelby’s new husband. I believe he misunderstood the situation.”

Looking from Juliet, to Bock, to his servant, Alec felt the ire that had propelled him through the door of the little room seep out of him. For the first time he took in his surroundings. It was a simply furnished room, with a couple of upholstered chairs, but what sent his finger to pull on his suddenly too tight cravat was the set of shelves set against the wall. On each shelf there sat a perfectly crafted, artfully realistic artificial limb.

He closed his eyes at his stupidity.

“Oh,” he said with a grimace.

“Yes,” Juliet said, annoyance in her tone, “oh.”

“So, this is the man who makes your feet?”

“If he will continue to do so after being so thoroughly insulted by my husband!” she said, hands on hips.

“Of course I will, Miss Shelby,” Mr. Bock said with a broad grin. He gave a slight bow toward Alec. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Deveril,” he said.

Alec shook his head at his own stupidity, but returned the other man’s bow. “I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Bock,” he said sheepishly. “I’m afraid I saw Juliet on the floor and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“It is of no consequence, my lord,” Bock said. “If I were to see my Frauke in such a position I too would jump to the wrong conclusion. Your jealousy over your pretty young wife does you credit. I have waited these many years for some fellow to notice Miss Shelby’s … that is, Lady Deveril’s beauty.”

“I am lucky they did not,” Alec said with a grin. “Otherwise I would not have been able to snap her up.”

Juliet looked from one to the other of them and frowned. “If you two are finished speaking of me as if I were a valuable
objet d’art,
I would like to continue with my fitting, please.”

Looking slightly abashed, Alec nodded. He was relieved to his core that she was safe, and that she did not have to endure the trauma of an assault in addition to her leg injury. He would have liked to stay and watch the fitting process, but assumed since he was now in her black books that she would prefer him to wait outside.

“Would you like to stay, my lord?” Mr. Bock asked before Alec could turn to go. “If it is agreeable to Lady Deveril, that is.”

Alec looked to his wife, whose annoyance with him was still evident. But she must have seen something that placated her in his expression, because she gave a brisk nod. “Yes, that would be agreeable to me,” she said, her face carefully devoid of emotion. Alec wondered if she were bracing herself for him to reject her offer. He could not imagine her parents had ever been particularly interested in the process by which her injury was rendered palatable to the judgmental
haut ton
. Indeed, he doubted they’d even done more than obtain Mr. Bock’s services initially. Neither Lord nor Lady Shelby struck him as particularly concerned with seeing to their daughter’s comfort or welfare.

“I’d like that,” he said aloud, stepping forward to take his wife’s hand in his. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said softly, so that only she could hear.

Mr. Bock, perhaps sensing that they needed a moment, discreetly excused himself to attend to some no doubt fictitious task. At Juliet’s nod Weston followed, leaving them alone.

“I suppose I can forgive you since you were attempting to protect my virtue,” she said reluctantly. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Why did you feel the need to keep your appointment a secret from me?” he asked, answering her question with a question. “I would hardly forbid you to see the man who ensures that you are able to walk on your own.”

She colored at the reminder of her own culpability in the debacle. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret precisely,” she said, her eyes troubled. “Though I will admit to not volunteering the information.”

He searched her face, trying to discern what bothered her.

“I…” She paused, as if the words were hard to come by. “I suppose I didn’t want to remind you that I am so very different from other ladies. That rather than shopping in Bond Street for slippers I am forced to have them affixed to a false foot. That I am just as much of a fraud as my mother is.”

Her refusal to meet his gaze was nearly his undoing. He could cheerfully have run Lady Shelby through with Juliet’s walking stick just then. The manner in which she’d reinforced Juliet’s insecurities was simply cruel. It was a wonder her daughter had managed to emerge from her upbringing with any part of her soul intact. Not caring that Mr. Bock might return at any minute, he gathered Juliet into his arms and held her close enough to feel the slight tremor that ran through her.

“I would never accuse you of being a fraud, Juliet,” he said against her hair. “And what makes you different from other ladies has nothing to do with where you obtain your footwear.”

Juliet raised her brows. “Don’t you mean calf-wear?” she asked wryly.

Alec barked a laugh. “You see? No other lady would laugh about such a thing,” he told her, kissing her on the nose. “You are an original, Lady Deveril,” he continued, “and worth a hundred of those other ladies.”

He would have gone on, but a discreet knock at the door heralded Mr. Bock’s return, and since they’d already wasted much of the man’s morning, Alec did not wish to further discommode him so stepped back.

“Ah,” Mr. Bock said with a broad smile, “you are reconciled, yes? Then let us continue.”

*   *   *

Juliet arrived back at the town house in Berkeley Square to find that Cecily and Maddie had called and were awaiting her in the morning room.

“I hope you don’t mind that we waited, Juliet,” Maddie said without preamble as her cousin came into the room. “But we simply had to see you to assure ourselves that you were all right. And though your very starchy butler did tell us so, I’m afraid we don’t know the man well enough yet to trust his word.”

“She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that you’d gone with Alec of your own free will,” Cecily said with an exasperated shake of her head. “Though we both wished to welcome you back to town of course, and to assure ourselves of your good health.”

The new Lady Deveril hurried forward to give each of them an impulsive hug. “I am perfectly well as you can both see,” she told them, taking the seat they’d left her beside the tea tray. “Though there was certainly a point where I wondered if I would stay this way.”

Maddie frowned. “What happened?” she demanded. “Was it Deveril?”

“Certainly not,” Juliet assured her, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Alec … that is, Deveril, has been lovely. But Mama and Turlington made an appearance on the journey north and tried to kidnap me.”

“No!” Cecily took her hand. “Though I suppose the fact that you are here and that the announcement ran in the papers this morning indicated that they were not successful.”

Juliet told them about what had happened when Lady Shelby and Lord Turlington met up with them near Scotland. “And I have no doubt that if Alec had been less insistent they would have succeeded in forcing me to wed Turlington. He saved me and there is no other way to say it.”

Her eyes troubled, Maddie took a bite of ginger biscuit. “I cannot say that I am displeased with how things turned out. It is much more acceptable to see you married to Lord Deveril than to Turlington. Or should I call him Churlington?”