TemptingJuliana (17 page)

The Billingsgate ball was in full swing, and music filtered through the open door of Lord Billingsgate’s library. “This will be perfect,” Juliana said, glancing around. “It’s close to the ballroom, so as soon as there is a commotion, plenty of people will come running to witness your disgrace.”

In a hopeless attempt to cover her bare shoulders, Amanda tugged on the tiny puffed sleeves of the pale green dress Juliana had suggested she wear. “Shall I have to kiss Lord Stafford long?”

“I shouldn’t think so. As soon as he starts kissing you, I shall fetch Lady Billingsgate to assure your ruin.”

“What if he doesn’t wish to kiss me?”

“Of course he wishes to kiss you! He’s courting you, is he not? Men are always looking to kiss ladies.”

Except for the duke. Juliana was starting to wonder if she’d
ever
be kissed. He’d been too busy to pay her any calls this week—doing what, she couldn’t imagine—so she had yet to find an opportunity to start showing him how to be more affectionate. She knew he liked her more than ever, though, because he’d sent roses twice. That made three times he’d sent her roses! They were all white roses, but after all, he was proper and reserved. And he’d included notes these last two times—proper notes, very kind and complimentary—so she had high
hopes he was falling in love with her. After all, even Aunt Frances had received roses only once.

She turned her thoughts back to Amanda. “Take off your gloves so Lord Stafford can feel the warmth of your skin. Drape yourself elegantly on the sofa. Before you lie down, douse two of the lamps. Low lighting is more romantic.”

“Douse the lamps,” Amanda repeated as though trying to memorize Juliana’s instructions. “And take off my gloves.” She tugged up the edge of her low bodice.

“And stop playing with your dress.” Juliana started back toward the ballroom. “It makes you look nervous.”

“I
am
nervous.” Amanda paused at the edge of the room. “Lord Stafford still isn’t here. What if he doesn’t come?”

“It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Juliana said soothingly, scanning the glittering crush. James’s mother wasn’t here yet, either. Lord Cavanaugh was pacing like a caged animal waiting for food, looking as anxious to see Lady Stafford as Amanda was to see the lady’s son. For different reasons, of course. “Stop worrying. Lord Stafford assured me he was attending.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Amanda asked for the tenth time.

Or maybe the twentieth. Honestly, Juliana could hardly wait until midnight when James would compromise her friend, because even though tricking him still didn’t sit quite right with her, it would be such a relief to have this whole business over and done with.

“Here comes the duke,” Amanda said.

Juliana turned and smiled. She’d worn her most seductive dress, a pale rose confection with a neckline so wide it left her shoulders bare and enticing. But he didn’t look enticed.

He did return her smile, though. “Good evening, my dear.” His gaze shifted to her friend. “Good evening, Lady Amanda,” he added formally.

“Good evening,” Amanda replied, sounding every bit as formal.

And that was when Juliana had a sudden bright idea.

She would encourage the duke to dance with Amanda. Seeing how tiresome it was to dance with someone so
reserved might help him loosen up a bit. And in the meantime, while he was dancing with Amanda in a tiresome manner, she would dance with other men in her usual vivacious way.

After all, she had no shortage of dance invitations. Perhaps a few less than normal, since she’d been dancing so often with the duke lately, but that hadn’t stopped men from asking when the duke wasn’t nearby to intimidate them. Dancing with other men would not only make the duke notice how much more pleasant it was to dance with a modicum of enthusiasm; it would also make him jealous and possessive. Possessive men tended to touch the ladies they were possessive of, didn’t they?

“Lady Amanda would love to dance,” she told him with a sweet smile. “Why don’t you ask her for the next waltz?”

She didn’t know who looked more startled, the duke or Amanda. But as the musicians struck up the waltz, he bowed to Amanda very properly—no surprise there—and escorted her to the dance floor.

Juliana turned, expecting to be inundated with invitations as soon as the other men noticed the duke wasn’t nearby and, indeed, was dancing with another woman. Unfortunately, Corinna noticed first.

“Is your duke courting Amanda now?”

“Of course he isn’t. Amanda would never consent to marry him—he’s a by-blow, remember? But I thought it would be a good idea for them to get to know each other better, so I suggested they dance.”

“If you wish to marry the man, you shouldn’t shove him at other women. What if he kisses her? He might decide he wants her, and Amanda could change her mind—”

“He’s not going to kiss her,” Juliana interrupted.

Corinna measured her a moment. “How can you be so sure?”

“He isn’t interested in her. He doesn’t call her ‘my dear.’ And the man is more reserved than Amanda. He hasn’t even kissed me.”

“Then how on earth do you know you love him?” Corinna asked, and while Juliana was wondering yet again how an inexperienced woman was supposed to
know when she was in love, her sister added, “How do you know you want to marry him?”

“What do you mean, how do I know?” He was kind. He sent her flowers. He enjoyed amusements, fine horses, balls, and entertainments. He had wealth to support himself in style. He was classically handsome, as only an aristocratic Englishman could be. And he was a duke. “Who—besides Amanda—wouldn’t want to marry him?”

“You really must kiss a man before you marry him. Believe me, it makes all the difference. Since kissing several men myself, I’ve discovered—”

“What?”
Corinna was a year younger than Juliana, not to mention more interested in paint than men. How was it that she’d been kissed, when Juliana had barely even been touched? “You’ve kissed men?”

“Yes.” Corinna blinked. “Have you not?”

“No!”

“Well, what have you been doing all Season, then? Alexandra kissed Tristan before marrying him,” Corinna reminded her. “And Rachael has kissed several men, too. Gentlemen don’t all kiss the same,” she informed her with the surety of an experienced woman. “How is a lady to know she’s found her prince if she hasn’t kissed a few frogs first?”

It wasn’t that Juliana hadn’t been trying. But at least it was with a man who’d been courting her for longer than a dance. “Really, Corinna.” Corinna always
had
been a bit of a rebel, but this was quite beyond the pale. “I’d be willing to wager Aunt Frances—your chaperone, in case you forgot?—wouldn’t approve of you kissing men you’ve barely met.”

“I don’t let them kiss me when I’ve barely met them.” Corinna’s chin went into the air. “I make them wait at least a week.”

“A week!” Juliana had known the duke
much
longer than a week.

“At least,” Corinna repeated. “And as for Aunt Frances, she’s known Lord Malmsey quite a bit longer than a week. Let’s ask her if she’s kissed him.” She signaled to their aunt as she was just coming off the dance floor.

Frances didn’t notice. On Juliana’s recommendation,
she still wasn’t wearing her spectacles. Which was a good thing, because Juliana figured such a question might make the poor spinster faint. “You cannot ask Aunt Frances that!”

“Why not?” Corinna said, marching toward her.

Juliana followed helplessly.

“Aunt Frances!” Corinna called.

“Yes?” Frances turned and squinted. “Oh, there you are, girls. Are you having a wonderful time?”

Corinna ignored her question, which was probably rhetorical anyway. “Aunt Frances, have you kissed Lord Malmsey?”

Two bright spots appeared on Frances’s cheeks. “Well…”

“Have you?” Corinna demanded.

Frances squared her shoulders and lowered her voice. “I’m not a green girl, you know. It’s no great sin. A woman should kiss a man before she decides to marry him.”

Dear heavens, Frances had kissed Lord Malmsey. And she wanted to marry him. Juliana didn’t know whether she was happy her project was so successful or shocked to hear that her spinster aunt had been kissed. On second thought, she was neither happy nor shocked. She was depressed. Corinna and Frances had both kissed men. That meant she was the only grown female in all of England who remained unkissed.

Well, there was Amanda. But come midnight, when James compromised her, even straitlaced Amanda would be kissed. Which meant Juliana would stand alone as the last woman in England to feel a man’s lips caress her own.

It was depressing beyond description.

“Aunt Frances!” Alexandra joined their circle with Tristan. “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”

“I’m overjoyed, child.” Frances kissed her on the cheek. “You look happy, too.”

“I am, Auntie.” Alexandra smiled up at Tristan. Love blazed in their eyes. “We are.”

Splendid. Everyone was happy. Except Juliana.

James joined their circle next, squeezing in beside her. “Good evening.”

While it was a relief that he’d finally arrived, Juliana was even more relieved he didn’t look insanely happy. True, she wanted to see everyone happy, but honestly, the sight of one more blatantly happy person would likely make her gag. “Are your aunts doing well?” she asked.

“They’re fine. Not that they’re convinced of that—they both believe they’re at death’s door, more’s the pity.” He gestured toward the edge of the dance floor, where the two older ladies were talking to his mother. “I had to examine them this afternoon before they’d deign to dress for the ball.”

“They’re keeping you from getting your important work done, aren’t they?”

“Yes. But they’re family.” He shrugged philosophically. “What can I do?”

“There has to be something.” Wishing she could figure out what, she watched Lord Cavanaugh claim Lady Stafford for a dance. “Maybe they need suitors, like your mother. She’s happy.”

“I’m happy,” Frances said with a nod of approval. “A suitor will do that for a lady.”

“But I’m happy,” Corinna pointed out, “and I don’t have a suitor.”

No, but she’d been kissed. Juliana glared at her.

Corinna glared back, then smiled sweetly. “Alexandra’s happy, too.”

“That’s because she’s with child,” James said.

A little hush fell over their circle. Juliana swung to her older sister. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Tristan confirmed. Beaming, he slid an arm around his wife’s waist. “We’re both thrilled.”

Corinna and Frances shrieked, engulfing the couple in a group hug.

Juliana took a step back. Corinna had been kissed, and Alexandra and Tristan were going to have a baby. She was happy for them. And for herself, for the whole family. She was pleased. Joyous. Jubilant. And something else. Something that made her fists clench at her sides.

“You’re jealous,” James said.

“I am not.” Dismayed, she turned to him. “I am
happy for my sister. And for me. I’ll have a niece or nephew to play with. How on earth did you know she’s in the family way?”

James shrugged. “I’m a physician.” She didn’t look very happy. “Your turn will come,” he said in his best soothing doctor tone.

“Who said I wanted a turn?”

She protested too much. Of course she wanted a turn. All women wanted babies. She was jealous.

But the worst of it was, he was jealous, too.

The jealousy was a knot in his gut. It was unexpected, and sudden, but mostly it was ridiculous.

Ladies were supposed to pine for babies—men weren’t. He certainly didn’t want Alexandra’s child, and he really couldn’t say how he’d known she was breeding. It was the look of her, he supposed. And the look of her husband, the male pride evident in the man’s gaze upon his wife. James had gazed at his own wife like that before he’d lost her and their child.

And then, when he’d lost them, it had all been mixed up together, his grief for Anne and for their baby. He hadn’t been able to separate one from the other. They were both lost forever. He’d never have another love, which meant he’d never have another child. He hadn’t thought he
wanted
another child.

But now he did.

The knot twisted tighter. Bloody hell.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I think I need a drink.”

“You’re foxed,” Juliana told James later as they danced.

“Maybe.” He slipped his thumb beneath the edge of her glove and teased the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist. “Maybe not.”

“You are.” She laughed, suppressing an entirely too delicious shiver. “You’ve had three cups of punch tonight already.”

“Four,” he corrected. “Small cups. In two hours, which, I might point out, could hardly be considered severe overindulging. And how would you come to know how much I’m drinking? Are you watching me, Juliana?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes. Her gaze fell on his cravat, and she found herself picturing the golden skin she’d seen beneath.

“Hmm,” he said, a pleased, low rumble of a
hmm
that seemed to vibrate right through her. She looked up again to find him gazing at her in that way that made her fear he could read her mind. The pad of his thumb kept caressing her wrist.

By all indications, liquor made him even more amorous than macaroons. Which was uncomfortable in a sense, but also a good thing, because it meant Amanda would find it easier to seduce him and get herself compromised.

And poor, demure Amanda needed all the help she could get.

On the other side of the dance floor, Amanda was dancing again with the duke, the both of them rigid as ever. In the two hours since Juliana suggested they dance together, she herself had danced with twelve other men. Vivaciously and enthusiastically. But the duke hadn’t seemed to take note of any of those dozen dances.

It hadn’t helped that he’d spent at least half of those two hours in the card room.

Between Juliana’s dozen dances, the duke had emerged and danced with her twice, but despite all her efforts to draw him out, he still hadn’t touched her, let alone kissed her. She tried to picture his skin in the open
V
of a shirt, but she imagined it would look rather pasty instead of golden. And he probably never loosened his collar, anyway. He probably went to bed fully dressed, with his shirt fastened up to his chin, a cravat knotted in layers to cover it, and a waistcoat and tailcoat besides. Both buttoned.

It was heartbreaking, really. He truly needed her in his life. She resolved to remain patient, to keep working toward his happiness, no matter how long the process took. After all, it had taken an entire childhood of cold treatment to turn him into the man he was today. She shouldn’t be surprised if it took more than a few weeks of warmth to counteract that.

Thankfully, the rest of her projects were going well tonight. Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey had kissed. Lord Cavanaugh had danced three times with Lady Stafford, and they’d probably kissed as well. And Amanda and James would be kissing soon.

Every woman in London would be kissed tonight except for Juliana.

Unless…

Maneuvering the last few steps of the dance to end up by Amanda and the duke, she curtsied to James and then turned to them. “Shall we exchange partners?”

The duke looked so startled at her forwardness, she almost lost her nerve. But she’d never been one to just stand by and let things happen—or in this case, not happen—so when the musicians resumed playing and the
duke took her gloved hands, she steeled herself, smiled at him, and began surreptitiously inching toward a potted palm.

At least she
tried
to be surreptitious. Unfortunately, the tune wasn’t a waltz but a minuet—which meant the dancers moved back and forth rather than progressing in a particular direction.

“I’m supposed to lead, my dear,” the duke gently chided. “Why are you taking larger steps toward the right than the left?”

She mentally shrugged, deciding not to play coy. The duke never seemed to take a hint, so she’d best come out and say it. “I am hoping to get you alone behind that potted palm.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m hoping for a kiss.”

He blinked. “Before marriage?”

Now she mentally rolled her eyes. “Yes, before marriage.” And though she’d never expected to quote Aunt Frances regarding intimate matters, she found herself adding, “It’s no great sin, you know.”

“Perhaps not, my dear, but it also wouldn’t be proper.”

Her heart sank. “Don’t you
want
to kiss me?” she asked. “You’re courting me. You’ve sent me flowers three times. I thought you were falling in love with me.”

She shocked even herself with that admission, but when he said, “Oh, but I am,” her heart soared. The depression she’d felt earlier dissipated like a moist fog in the sun’s rays. The duke was falling in love with her! It was only a matter of time until she knew for sure she was in love with him, too, and then everything would be wonderful—even if she did have to wait until her wedding night to experience a kiss.

As the dance ended, the clock struck midnight. Finally. After thanking the duke rather profusely, she hurried to meet Amanda.

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.” Amanda looked paler than normal. Paler than the duke. Paler than Juliana felt.

Juliana didn’t know how a person could feel pale, but
suddenly, despite her recent elation, she did. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“I cannot marry Lord Malmsey.”

Of course she couldn’t. That would be horrible for everyone involved. Especially dear Aunt Frances.

“You’re going to have to kiss Lord Stafford,” Juliana warned. The thought made her stomach turn. But only because she was about to be the only unkissed woman in London. “And you’re going to have to make sure he undresses you, at least a little. A mere kiss will not be enough to guarantee a compromise.”

“I know.” Amanda looked quite determined. “I can do it.”

“All right, then. I’ll bring Lord Stafford to the library. Remember to take off your gloves. And make your voice a little breathy.”

Amanda resolutely squared her shoulders as she walked off. Here she was, about to get herself engaged to a young, virile earl, and honestly, she looked about as excited as a woman going to her own funeral. If there weren’t so many other people involved, Juliana would be tempted to postpone their plans. But postponement would put the compromise at risk of not happening altogether, and it wouldn’t be fair to deprive James, Lord Malmsey, and Aunt Frances of their happiness just to save Amanda from a little discomfort.

Besides, Amanda would feel much better soon. There’d be a huge scandal following her compromise, of course—enough to make her father come running to London. But that was the whole idea. And once her father arrived and set everything to rights, Amanda would be happy. Happily married to James. She’d feel all tingly when he touched her and kissed her, and—

Juliana was growing all tingly just thinking about it.

She found James standing with some other men, sipping another drink while Lord Occlestone grumbled about unnecessary “reforms” that had recently been introduced in Parliament. She’d been planning to feign a troubled expression, but under the circumstances, she didn’t need to. She tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned and looked down at her. “Juliana.”

She pulled him away from the group. “What an unpleasant man. His face suits his personality. His nose is square, rather like a pig’s.”

“I’ve often thought that myself,” James said, a tipsy smile curving his lips.

Excellent. She wanted him tipsy and amorous. “Lady Amanda is feeling ill.”

“I was just dancing with her. She looked fine.”

“Well, she’s feeling ill now. She went to the library to lie down. Will you come and have a look at her?”

“Of course,” he said, suddenly looking sober and concerned. So sober and concerned that Juliana felt a pang of…guilt? She could think of nothing else the sensation could be. But it was a ridiculous pang of guilt, because this was the right thing for everyone involved.

She led him to the library, where Amanda was draped elegantly on the sofa, emitting little moans. She’d followed Juliana’s instructions exactly. Her gloves were on the desk, and the room was romantically lit, not too dark and not too light.

James set his drink and his own gloves beside Amanda’s, then knelt by the sofa. “Lady Amanda, where does it hurt?”

“It’s my heart,” Amanda said breathily, laying a graceful bare hand on the expanse of bosom exposed in her low neckline. She was a surprisingly good actress. James didn’t stand a chance. Any man would fall for that sensuous voice.

Except James didn’t. “You’re a mite young for heart trouble,” he told her.

“But it aches,” she insisted, implying it ached for him. “Won’t you listen to it at least?”

“If you wish.” He rose to his feet.

“You cannot listen from there.” Amanda patted her bosom and arched herself toward him. Dear heavens, she was practically falling off the sofa. “You need to press your ear to my heart.”

“No, I don’t.” Seemingly oblivious to her wanton display, he walked over to the writing desk. “I can hear it better through a tube.”

“Are you sure?” Amanda asked.

“I’m positive.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a
piece of paper, and rolled it up. “This won’t work as well as my new stethoscope, but it should be better than listening without it.” He placed one end of the paper tube on Amanda’s chest and lowered his ear to the other. “A little fast,” he reported. No surprise, since she was likely scared out of her wits. “But strong and steady.”

Apparently at a loss, Amanda looked toward Juliana.

“Maybe Lady Amanda has a rash,” she said. “James, I think you should loosen her clothes and have a look.”

He eyed Amanda’s bare arms and low décolletage in an altogether clinical manner. “I see no evidence of a rash.” He smiled at his patient, but it was a kind smile, not seductive in the least. “This ball is quite a crush. If you’ve no symptoms to report other than a vague ache in your chest, perhaps sitting quietly for a few minutes might help.”

Juliana didn’t know what to think. Amanda was doing everything right, yet James appeared unmoved. Which, oddly enough, seemed to relieve Juliana’s guilt, but that was as ridiculous as feeling the guilt in the first place. And it didn’t explain why.

Then she suddenly realized why. “Stay with her while she sits quietly, James. I’m going to fetch Lady Billingsgate.”

She didn’t, of course—there was no point in fetching Lady Billingsgate until James and Amanda got into a compromising position. Which clearly wasn’t going to happen with her in the room. What a fool she’d been for not realizing James wouldn’t seduce her friend with another woman watching.

She went out quietly, leaving the door slightly cracked so she could listen.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time,” she heard James say.

“I’d feel better if you’d sit beside me.”

“I cannot imagine how that could help,” James said. But apparently he did sit down, because the next thing he said was, “There. Do you feel better?”

“No, not yet,” Amanda said and paused. And then she added, “Why don’t you kiss me to make me feel better?”

A shocked silence followed. Juliana was shocked, too. She hadn’t thought Amanda had it in her to be so forward. But then the silence continued, and Juliana realized it wasn’t a shocked silence. It was the silence that resulted when two people were kissing instead of talking.

Amanda’s forwardness had worked.

Well, of course it had worked. James was a man, and what man alone in a room with a woman he loved would resist an invitation to kiss her? This behavior was exactly what Juliana had counted on when she’d plotted to trick him into compromising Amanda.

But now that her plot had worked, the pang returned again. The ridiculous pang of guilt at the thought of tricking a man she’d come to think of as a friend.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” James finally said.

Juliana couldn’t figure out what he meant by that, exactly, but the pang subsided. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He hadn’t kissed Amanda. Not yet, anyway. She sagged against the door in relief.

Or rather, she
thumped
against the door in relief. And then it opened, and she all but fell into the library.

James caught her by her shoulders and grinned. “I thought you were Lady Billingsgate.”

Of course he had. She’d said she was going to fetch Lady Billingsgate, after all. A mistake, she now realized, because of course James wouldn’t kiss Amanda while expecting Lady Billingsgate to show up at any moment.

That was what he’d meant when he’d said it wouldn’t be a good idea.

But his hands felt warm on her bare shoulders, and she couldn’t be sorry she’d made the mistake. She didn’t want to trick James. She hadn’t wanted to from the first. She was furious with herself for allowing Amanda to talk her into it.

“I’ll fetch Lady Billingsgate,” he said, “while
you
sit with Lady Amanda.” And then he left, taking his warm hands with him.

Juliana made her way to the sofa and collapsed beside her friend.

Poor Amanda was shaking. “I did it,” she said. “I forced myself to do it. And it didn’t work!”

“I’m glad it didn’t work. It was unethical to begin with. We mustn’t try it again.” It had made her feel too guilty. In fact, she
still
felt guilty. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at James again without feeling a pang of guilt.

“But why didn’t it work? I did everything you said, but he wouldn’t kiss me.”

That was because Juliana had led him to think Lady Billingsgate was about to walk in, but she wouldn’t admit that to Amanda. Besides, Amanda was equally at fault. If she had given James any indication that she wanted him—
him
, not his antiquities—he’d have reached for her the moment he entered the darkened library. “Maybe he wouldn’t kiss you because you haven’t allowed him to kiss you before.”

“He never
tried
before,” Amanda said. “He isn’t a very warm person.”

Juliana felt an urge to laugh, though she wasn’t quite sure whether it was from the obvious absurdity of Amanda’s statement or simply from hearing Amanda, of all people, claim someone else wasn’t warm.

James was the warmest man she knew. She didn’t believe for a moment that he’d never tried to kiss Amanda. Amanda was plainly too reserved to respond. “You need to act more warmly toward
him
. You have to make him believe you want him.”