My Fair Mistress (26 page)

Julianna stirred slightly, her lips curving into a dreamy smile.

With one last lingering glance, Rafe turned and strode to the window to climb out the way he had come.

How dare she!

The familiar phrase repeated in Burton’s head as it had a hundred times before, the week just past doing nothing to dull his fury or salve his slighted pride.

Maris Davies was supposed to have been mine! How dare she refuse my offer of marriage!

Outwardly calm, he relaxed into a chair in the front room of his carriage-maker’s, a clerk sent scurrying to inform his master that Lord Middleton awaited his immediate attention. Bathed in a stream of morning sunlight, Burton tapped his gold-topped cane against the dull wooden floor, his thoughts preoccupied by his recent misfortune. His careful planning, his skillful pursuit, his diligent investment of time and money and energy, had all come to naught.

Maris had been his for the taking. He’d known it, sensed it; she was a sweet, rosy apple just waiting to be plucked from the tree. She’d been on the verge of accepting him. After all, isn’t that why he’d gone to the bother of hosting that dreary weekend party at his estate? So she would be flattered by his attention? So his interest in her would be made clear beyond any doubt?

Then something had occurred to change her mind, to put her off of him. He’d noticed a difference in her not long after she’d arrived at his home, a new reticence that set an invisible barrier between them.

He’d been quite justifiably annoyed when she’d begged for a few extra days to consider his proposal. He’d been absolutely livid when he’d called upon her in London and she had refused to see him.

Who does she think she is to send her brother to deliver her rejection?
She ought to have had the courage to tell him herself.

But women were cowards, vain, idiotic creatures good for only one thing. Well, perhaps two, he corrected, if he considered the rich purses girls like Maris Davies could bring.

Whatever the reason for her change of heart, it scarcely mattered. She would be his whether she came to him of her own free will or not. He’d devoted far too much time and expense to let her flee now.

Stupid baggage,
he fumed,
leading me on the way she did, causing me to waste the entire Season on her when I might have been pursuing another suitable heiress!

And now it was too late. Lady Maris really gave him no choice. He must have money, and she was his prime candidate. Once he compromised her, her family would have little option but to see them wed. And after they married and her fat dowry was tucked safely in his accounts, he would make certain she learned a few lessons at his hand. When he was done with her, she would be careful never to displease him again.

“My lord, my sincere apologies for making you wait.” Higgins, the carriage-maker, hurried through the door separating his shop from the front room. He stopped and bowed low, then straightened. “How may I be of assistance?”

Burton rose from his chair, accepting the older man’s groveling as his due. “I have come to order a new phaeton. A black one this time, I believe.”

A long silence followed. Higgins, not a tall man, drew himself up to the full extent of his height, setting his eyes on a level with Burton’s cravat. Swallowing audibly, the carriage-maker squared his shoulders as if readying himself for battle.

“Ahem, my lord,” he began, refusing to meet Burton’s gaze. “I would be delighted to fashion you a new vehicle…um…however…that is…well, there is the matter of your account.”

Burton scowled. “What about my account?”

Higgins coughed, ruddy veins popping out across his fair cheeks. “Well, my lord, there is an outstanding balance remaining from your last, um, two purchases. I have been carrying your debt on my books for some time now and I…well…Unhappily,” he continued in rapid staccato, “I feel I must ask you to bring your account current before I undertake any new jobs of work on your lordship’s behalf.”

Burton’s hand curled over the head of his cane, the skin around his knuckles turning white.

Did I hear correctly?
he thought.
Did this insolent little worm actually say what I think he said?

In his imagination, Burton reached out and grabbed the older man by the throat. Maintaining his hold, he lifted him off the ground, then increased the pressure of his grip, smiling as Higgins’s feet kicked wildly, his eyes bulging as he clawed and scraped and gasped for his life.

Burton’s fingers twitched at the notion, and he very nearly gave in to temptation. But he was a man of control. A man of reason and forethought, who maintained governance over his emotions and his actions at all times.

His anger, he decided, would be wasted on someone as insignificant as this lowly shopkeeper. Dismissing him would be as simple as flicking a speck of lint off his coat.

Still…

“You shall receive payment in full at my earliest convenience,” Burton said, fully aware his “earliest convenience” would most likely be never.

The tradesman—ungrateful wretch that he was—smiled, then bowed. “Why thank you, my lord. And about the new phaeton—”

Burton cut him off. “Don’t trouble yourself. I believe my business,
all
my business, with you is concluded. I shall be taking my trade elsewhere from now on. Good day.” Giving his cane a hard tap on the floor, he strode toward the door.

“But my lord—” the carriage-maker sputtered, hurrying after him.

Burton ignored the man and stalked out of the shop. The inside of his belly burned as he strode ahead, leaving his tiger to take the reins of his carriage and follow at a discreet distance behind.

Humiliation ate at his nerves like tiny nibbling fish.

To be spoken to in such a manner,
he raged,
to be dunned in person for money! It was insupportable.
Worse, it was galling, particularly since he didn’t have the funds to pay, a pair of his investments having recently gone bad.

Of course, all would be well if a certain female had done as she was supposed to and had agreed to marry him. Every tradesman in Town—pesky insects that they were—would have known he had a rich bride on the string, and would have been willing to extend him even more credit.

But now he was left with nothing but aggravation.

Higgins was the third merchant in as many days who’d come whining to him, demanding to be paid. It was a trend that must not be allowed to continue. It wouldn’t do for Society to become aware of his financial difficulties, to suspect he was anything but the wealthy man they imagined him to be.

When he considered the matter, he could place a large measure of his woes at Maris Davies’s doorstep.

Striding onward, he let his feet take him where they would, his impromptu journey bringing him long minutes later to the edges of Hyde Park. He was about to return to his carriage and drive home when he caught sight of a familiar dark-haired female.

His blood pumped faster, his simmering anger heating to a fresh boil as he watched Lady Maris amble along one of the paths.
How pretty she looks,
he mused, perfect as a hothouse rose in a morning gown of pale yellow muslin, a little feathered bonnet perched at a jaunty angle atop her head.

Is she alone?
he marveled, searching for sight of an escort. But as far as he could tell, her only companion was a maid, the girl following at a respectful distance behind.

How imprudent of her brother to let little Maris out on her own. How serendipitous for him.

A smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

Should I? Could I?
he wondered, casting his eyes around to see who else might be nearby. But the two of them appeared to be alone, as if fate were granting him a boon, one that was far too tempting to pass up.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned to his tiger and told the young man to wait. Then he strode purposefully into the park.

Attired in an Alice-blue day dress with a pretty pair of matching shoes on her feet, Julianna glided down the staircase of her townhouse. Under her breath she hummed a merry tune, her senses alive with the knowledge that she would soon be with Rafe.

She was drawing on her gloves in the foyer, her butler holding open the front door in anticipation of her departure, when the beat of horse hooves rang out against the street pavers. Moments later, the horse came to a halt just behind her waiting carriage.

Up flew her eyebrows as she glanced out to discover that the horse had two riders: Major Waring and, seated inside the cradle of his good arm, her sister Maris.

What in heavens?
she wondered, moving to the front step to watch as the major made an agile descent from his horse, then reached up to help Maris down.

As soon as Maris’s feet touched the sidewalk, she rushed forward. “Oh Jules, it was dreadful. He tried to abduct me!”

Breath squeezed inside Julianna’s lungs. “Who tried to abduct you?”

“Lord Middleton. But William…I mean, Major Waring saved me.” Turning her head, Maris sent the major a dazzling smile as he came up beside her.

At the mention of Middleton’s name, an icy chill raced along Julianna’s spine.

“Why don’t you go inside and tell your sister what happened,” Waring suggested, setting a gentle hand at Maris’s elbow to urge her up the stairs. “If I have any chance of tracking him down, I need to leave now.”

“Oh William, please be careful.”

“Never fear. I am well skilled at stalking an enemy.” Lifting Maris’s hand, he brought it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss upon it. With a bow, he mounted his horse and raced away.

Wrapping an arm around Maris’s shoulder, Julianna ferried her inside and up the stairs to the drawing room. After gathering her sister into her arms for a reassuring hug, she led them both to the sofa.

“Now,” Julianna declared, “tell me everything.”

Rafe paced the length of the Queens Square drawing room.

Where is Julianna?
he thought, a heavy scowl furrowing his brow.

She was supposed to have arrived over an hour before.

Has she mistaken the day,
he mused,
and believes we are to meet tomorrow? Or is it something else? Has something untoward befallen her?

His stomach clenched at the idea. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he paced another few steps, then forced himself to stop.

She is fine and I am worried for naught,
he told himself.

Or am I?

Five minutes later he was seriously contemplating paying another visit to her townhouse, this time not so secretly, when he heard the front door open and close.

Moments later, Julianna stood in the drawing room doorway, her cheeks stained a dusky rose, an escaped wisp of brunette hair pasted in a damp curl against one temple.

“Forgive me for being so late,” she said, hurrying forward. “I would have sent you a note but there simply wasn’t time.”

“Where have you been?”

“With Maris.” She stopped and clutched a fisted hand against her breast. “He tried to take her, Rafe. He tried to abduct her right out of the park in broad daylight.”

Striding forward, he caught her inside his arms. “Who? Surely you don’t mean St. George?”