How to Romance a Rake (34 page)

“That recalls me to our reason for calling upon you in the first place,” Lord Shelby said, resuming his seat. “I have brought Frye here because he wishes to assist you in reconciling yourself with the
ton
.”

“Aye,” the admiral said with a grin, “when I heard what those cats had done to you at the Wallingfords’ I told my wife that I was going to seek out my old friend Shelby and offer my assistance. And here you find us.”

Juliet was flummoxed. Of all the reasons she had suspected her father had called today, this had been as far from her suspicions as one could get.

“Your assistance?” she asked carefully. “I don’t understand.”

“Come now, Juliet,” Lord Shelby said, “even with Deveril’s social standing behind you and society’s insatiable curiosity, it will be difficult to rehabilitate your reputation without some assistance.”

“It is not simply Deveril’s standing that I rely upon,” Juliet countered. “I also have my cousins and their parents who are willing to lend me support.” But even as she said the words she knew that even that might not be enough.

“How much stronger would you be, then,” Admiral Frye said, “If you had every man who wore a uniform on England’s behalf in the war standing behind you?”

“But how could you possibly arrange such a thing?” Juliet asked, dumbfounded.

“You leave that to me,” the admiral said with a grin. Then, seeing her doubts, he sobered. “Lady Deveril, you have no idea how many of our boys came home far different men than they were when they left. And they told themselves that it was worth it, because they were fighting for the country they loved. They know what it’s like to face the stares, the cruelty, the taunts of those who won’t tolerate those who are different. And when I tell them there’s a young lady who suffered their same sort of injury, a young lady the likes of which they thought they were fighting for? Well, let’s just say that I have little doubt that I’ll find enough men willing to come to your aid.”

He grinned. “Even if it means they’ll have to wrangle themselves into fancy togs and pay a visit to the theatre.”

*   *   *

Alec fought back a growl as yet another handsome ex-military man entered their box at the Theatre Royale to pay his respects to Juliet. When she had explained her father and Admiral Frye’s scheme to him earlier that day, he somehow hadn’t imagined that the men who would offer her their support would be so damned charming. Even the elderly ones seemed intent upon captivating her attention.

“Easy, friend,” Winterson said at his elbow. “This was all part of the plan. It would hardly repair your wife’s reputation if you were to call out the majority of His Majesty’s war heroes for smiling at her.”

“But it would make me feel better,” Alec muttered through clenched teeth as he watched Juliet smile at the darkly handsome Earl of Rickarby, who had distinguished himself at Talavera and lost a leg in the process.

“Yes, well, it would not make Juliet feel better.” Winterson seemed to be amused by Alec’s discomfort.

And Deveril could hardly blame him. He was behaving like the worst sort of jealous lout. But he had grown accustomed in the brief weeks of their marriage to being the focus of Juliet’s smiles. And he was having a dashed difficult time remembering just why he thought it was a bad idea to declare his affection for her.

Of course there was his fear of succumbing to the sort of passionate brutality that his father had fallen prey to. But Juliet had seemed to think that such fears were unfounded. And upon reflection, so did he. Once, he had been given to believe that such things were a part of one’s makeup. But as he had managed in some thirty years to avoid falling into the same traps as his father and uncle, he somehow thought that the danger had passed. After all, hadn’t his father been prone to deep play and womanizing from his days at Eton?

Still, something within him feared that if he were to reveal his feelings to Juliet, she would be forced to tell him she harbored nothing but gratitude for him. And that possibility alone was enough to keep him silent on the matter. Though at night, in the throes of a passion more powerful than any he had ever known, he might hope that it meant more to her than just physical release, he had no way of knowing whether his suspicions were true.

No, he would hold his tongue on the matter until both the disappearance of Mrs. Turner and Juliet’s precarious position in the
ton
were resolved. It would be selfish of him to unburden his feelings to her while she was dealing with so much difficulty.

“I just hope this plot of Shelby’s works,” Alec said, returning his thoughts to the subject at hand. “She deserves to be able to move about in society without encountering hushed whispers and stares.”

“Yes, she does,” Winterson agreed, watching as yet another wounded military man entered the box. “It grieves Cecily that she has not been able to do more to rehabilitate her cousin’s standing.” He did not add that when Cecily was grieved so too was her husband, though it was evident enough to Alec what his friend implied.

“It grieves me as well,” he said curtly. He had been a leader of the
ton
for so long that he had begun to take their acceptance and approval for granted, he was ashamed to admit. He had naïvely assumed that any scandal attached to their marriage, or anything else for that matter, would be short-lived thanks to the strength of his social connections. But not even Lord Alec Deveril’s social cachet had been enough to prevent the talk when the extent of Juliet’s disability had become known. It was not so much the fact of her amputation that riled the tabbies, but the masquerade she’d been perpetrating. That she’d pretended to be whole when she was not.

“But if the whispers and stares across the theatre are anything to gauge by,” Alec said, leaning his shoulders against the wall of his box, “then this gambit might be successful.”

When the interval finally ended, there was yet a line of gentlemen waiting in the hallway beyond the Deveril box to gain entrance and an introduction to Juliet. Still, Alec could not help but feel some relief when they had their box back to themselves, with just the Duke and Duchess of Winterson, Monteith, and Alec’s sister Lydia.

“The plan seems to have worked marvelously,” Cecily said in a low voice from her seat next to Juliet. “I only regret that Maddie wasn’t here to see it. She does love a spectacle.”

Monteith snorted from his seat behind her. “She likes to create a spectacle, you mean.”

“I am a great admirer of Lady Madeline,” Lydia said with a toss of her blond hair. “She is loyal and always speaks her mind. Which I think is admirable.”

“You are a good friend, Lydia,” Cecily said. “And you, Monteith, should be ashamed. Poor Maddie is home with a sore throat and you are here impugning her when she cannot defend herself.”

“Do not attempt to argue with her, Monteith,” Winterson said with a laugh. “Cecily could argue the entire House of Lords into a stalemate.”

“I am not so foolish,” Monteith said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “And I did not realize Lady Madeline was unwell. Apologies. I wish her a speedy recovery.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Cecily said. “I know she regrets not being here to support you, Juliet.”

“I just hope that the admiral’s efforts to repair my reputation have been successful,” Juliet said. “I do hate to think of all his hard work having been for naught.”

Alec resisted the urge to embrace his wife as she bit her lip, a sure sign of nerves.

“Are you well?” he asked as the curtains opened once more upon the performance of
The Tempest
that no one in the theatre seemed to be watching. “It would not be unusual for us to leave the performance early. People do it all the time.”

“I am perfectly well, I assure you,” Juliet whispered, reaching out to clasp his hand. “I am simply overwhelmed by the sudden attention. And I admit that I am reeling a bit to know just how very lucky I have been. Did you know that many of the soldiers who returned home from the war without legs are unable to afford even a rudimentary wooden peg leg? I had known of course that many veterans were unable to find work when they returned, but I am ashamed to admit that I had no idea just the sort of obstacles they faced once the victory parades ended.”

“Ah, I see you’ve been speaking to the Earl of Leighton,” he said with a grin. Leighton was a passionate advocate of veterans’ affairs in the House of Lords, and as a hero of Vittoria himself, he took the welfare of his men, even these many years since he’d led them to victory, very seriously.

“Yes,” Juliet said, “do you suppose we might do something to assist his work?”

“Of course,” Alec assured her, and her shy smile and the wayward curl of auburn hair tickling her neck reminded him that it had been some hours since he’d kissed her last.

He’d spent the bulk of the day questioning purveyors of art supplies about their customers, in hopes of learning the identity of
Il Maestro
. But all he’d found out was that there were far more artists in London than he ever could have imagined, and that it was a damned expensive pastime. Now he was ready for the day to end so that he could make love to his wife. And if she was not amenable, then he planned to get some much-needed sleep.

Before he could rise so that they could take their leave, Alec felt a tap on his shoulder. Winterson nodded to the footman in Deveril livery standing just inside the box.

“What is it, John?” It was highly unusual for Hamilton to send for him unless the matter was serious indeed.

“My lord, Mr. Hamilton sent me to fetch you and her ladyship home,” the young man said, still a little breathless. “Someone tried to get into the nursery and take Baby Alice. They didn’t manage it, but Mr. Hamilton was sure you’d wish to know.”

Not waiting to ask for more details, Alec went to Juliet and informed her that they needed to return home at once. Perhaps reading the worry on his face, Juliet did not question him, but informed her cousins and their escorts that there was a minor household crisis that required her help to unravel, and they were soon embarking upon a silent journey to Berkeley Square.

*   *   *

“I don’t know what might have happened if I hadn’t gone to check in on the poor lamb before I took to my bed,” said Mrs. Pennyfeather, Alice’s nurse. “But I did, and as soon as I entered the room I saw him climbing through the window.”

That redoubtable lady had then screamed as loudly as she could, and in the ensuing din, the intruder had revised his desire to enter the nursery and made haste to climb back out the window he had been climbing into. By the time Hamilton had dispatched a footman to give chase the man was gone.

“You did the right thing, Mrs. Pennyfeather,” Juliet assured the woman, handing her a cup of strong tea which cook herself had brought up to them as she, Alec, the nursemaid, and Hamilton discussed the break-in while Baby Alice continued to sleep like what she was—the proverbial baby.

“Hamilton,” Alec told the butler, “you will post one of the footmen here with Baby Alice tonight, and tomorrow you’ll see to it that the windows are all firmly locked against intruders.”

“Of course, my lord,” the older man assured his employer. “Shall I also see to it that the trellis that gave this blackguard a way into the house is moved?”

Juliet watched her husband over the top of her teacup. Alec seemed to be taking the invasion of his home rather badly. Though she supposed she understood why. It must be dreadful to be responsible for the safety and well-being of so many people. Though she knew as well as anyone that tonight’s attempt to kidnap Baby Alice was not the fault of anyone but the man who had tried to climb into her window.

“Yes,” he told the butler. “I will not hazard another risk to the child’s safety.”

Once the guard was stationed in the nursery, and Hamilton and Alec had assured themselves of the town house’s security, Juliet and Alec mounted the stairs to their own chambers.

Juliet was tucked into bed waiting for Alec, who had become accustomed to sleeping in her chamber, even if only to sleep, when she heard a low murmur that did not sound like either her husband or his valet. Curious, she struggled to hear what they were saying, but finally gave up.

She was just drifting off to sleep when the snick of the connecting door woke her, and Alec, to her surprise, came into the room still fully clothed.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to go out,” he said, leaning down to kiss her briskly. “I’ve just gotten a note from the runner, Greenshaw.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s happened?”

“He says they’ve found a body, and he thinks I should go have a look.”

Juliet’s heart constricted. “Not Anna!” she said, sitting upright.

Quickly, Alec reassured her, sitting down next to her on the bed. “No! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It isn’t Mrs. Turner, I assure you.”

“Thank God.” After all these weeks of searching for her friend, the one thing Juliet hadn’t considered was that she might have taken her own life. It just seemed so out of character for the vibrant woman she knew Anna to be. “Who is it, then?”

“It’s Turlington,” Alec said. “Turlington is dead.”

Twenty-one

Turlington’s studio was bustling with activity given the late hour. Alec supposed such things were to be expected when a tenant was found dead.

He hadn’t wished to tell Juliet exactly what Greenshaw had revealed in his note, but from what he’d been able to guess, Turlington’s manner of death had been neither quick nor pleasant.

Before he could lift the brass knocker, the door was opened by one of Greenshaws men, who it appeared was expecting him. “My lord, Mr. Greenshaw is waiting for you in the study.” Following the man through a long hallway, Alec idly wondered where Turlington had come up with the money for a rented room. Though he supposed that the fellow had been as behind with the rent as he’d been in paying his gambling debts.

The flat itself was unremarkable. Tastefully, if sparsely, furnished. The tiny room that must have served as Turlington’s office contained little more than a desk scattered with papers and notebooks and ledgers. It was not the well-kept demesne of someone who valued order.