TemptingJuliana (5 page)

“There he is,” Amanda said dourly as they stepped into Lady Hammersmithe’s ballroom.

“There is who?” Juliana asked.

“Lord Malmsey.” A frown marred Amanda’s newly flawless complexion. Apparently questioning Juliana’s plan, she turned to her surrogate chaperone. “Should I dance with him, Lady Frances?”

Unaware that Amanda was engaged to him, Aunt Frances patted her hand. “I expect someone younger would suit you better, my dear. But if you’ve already been introduced, of course you should dance with him if he asks.”

Juliana doubted Lord Malmsey would ask—although if she could judge by the man’s pained expression, he was attempting to screw up his courage. Figuring ten seconds in his arms would cure Amanda’s second thoughts, she laid a gentle hand on her friend’s back. “You definitely should dance with him,” she declared, subtly steering her protégé toward her ill-chosen fiancé. “It would be the polite thing, after all. And after that, we’ll see about having Aunt Frances introduce you to some more-promising men.”

Lord Malmsey’s eyes widened as they approached, and Juliana saw him swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor man, she smiled when they drew near. “Lady
Amanda was just telling me she hoped you’d ask her to dance.”

“Very well,” he said. Amanda said nothing. The strains of a waltz rose into the air, and the two of them walked off.

Or rather, they shuffled off. Frances joined Juliana and watched them face each other and begin dancing. “They don’t seem a proper match.”

“No, they don’t,” Juliana agreed. She’d never seen a more awkward couple. Due to Amanda’s height, she and Lord Malmsey danced eye to eye. But beneath his high, creased forehead, Lord Malmsey’s gaze looked shy and hooded, flicking only briefly toward his fianceé. Amanda looked utterly despondent.

On the other side of the ballroom, Juliana spotted Lord Neville ambling out of the refreshment room. “Wait here,” she told Frances. “I see Emily’s father, and he rarely stays long at any ball.” Since the man had two heirs and no plans to take a fourth wife, he spent his evenings with various mistresses or gambling at his club. “I simply
must
speak to him about that snake before he leaves. It will take but a moment, and then as soon as Amanda is finished dancing, we’ll find some men who are more suitable.”

What a lucky thing Aunt Frances had her head perpetually in the clouds. Amanda’s own aunt would have been unlikely to cooperate with undermining her father’s plans, Juliana thought as she made a beeline for Viscount Neville.

“Lord Neville, if I may speak with you for a moment?”

“Ah, yes, my dear, of course.” Emily’s father was blond and gray-eyed like his daughter, tall and a bit hefty—not fat, but a big man. As he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn’t surprised to see a plate in his hand, filled with a variety of morsels from the refreshment room. He took a hearty bite of a biscuit. “What can I do to help you?”

“It’s about Emily—”

“Ah, yes. I do appreciate the interest you’ve taken in my girl.”

“She’s a delight.” Juliana smiled as he swallowed the
biscuit and followed it with a grape. “But I’m wondering if I can prevail on you to discourage her from taking Herman out in public. It’s not the thing for a young lady to carry a snake.”

“Ah, yes,” he repeated. “But my Emily is very attached to Herman. She and her mother found him in the garden the very day before my wife died.” He plucked three more grapes off the bunch and popped them into his mouth.

“I’m aware of that, sir. But earlier this week when we visited the shops, a patron at Grafton House fainted dead away at the sight of Emily’s snake.” While that wasn’t quite true, it
could
have been true. A number of customers at Grafton House had been horrified, not to mention the poor seamstress, Mrs. Huntley. “If only you’d heard the shrieks of dismay, Lord Neville. It was not the sort of scene a young lady should inspire.”

Apparently the viscount found that more amusing than distressing, because he laughed.

And then he stopped.

In fact, not only had he stopped laughing, it looked as though he’d stopped breathing as well. The plate dropped from his hands, shattering on the parquet floor as he clutched at his throat and chest. His mouth was open, but he seemed unable to speak. His skin was turning blue.

“Dear heavens!” Juliana exclaimed loudly enough to have the people nearby looking over. “Lord Neville, are you all right?”

Clearly he wasn’t.

“Help!” she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way everyone seemed to do when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But he couldn’t even seem to cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.

Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. “A chair,” Lord Stafford instructed. “Now.”

Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount’s cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolatey
voice that had weakened Juliana’s knees when they danced together last week.

But Lord Neville did not look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn’t seem to think so, though. Decidedly
un-
panicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.

She couldn’t imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man’s big body to lean over the back. Quickly, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville’s mouth and landed at Juliana’s feet.

The viscount took several gasping, gulping breaths while Lord Stafford moved the chair around and helped the man lower himself onto it. Lord Neville slumped there, the color returning to his face while he breathed deeply, as though the simple act of drawing air was the most satisfying thing he’d ever done.

Juliana released a long sigh of relief, in concert with several other people who had become riveted by the emergency.

“You saved his life,” she told Lord Stafford, impressed. After all, she was a woman intent on helping others, and Lord Stafford clearly did the same. But rather than acknowledge her compliment, he only shrugged and crouched down by Lord Neville, asking to have a look in his throat.

Supposing now was not the time to press Lord Neville about his daughter’s snake, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the excitement. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

“I told you Lord Stafford was a good man,” Griffin said beside her.

She glanced at the man, who was now examining the back of Lord Neville’s throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark, tousled curls flopped over his forehead.

“He saved the viscount’s life,” Griffin added.

“That’s his job,” she snapped. Lord Stafford’s quick,
impressive actions didn’t mitigate his shortcomings. He was
not
what she was looking for in a husband. “Where in heaven’s name is Amanda?”

“Right there,” Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of men across the room.

If Amanda hadn’t been tall enough that Juliana could glimpse the blond curls piled on her head, she would never have believed it. And to think she had fretted earlier concerning Amanda’s ability to attract suitors. Her worries had proved to be groundless.

The trifle was clearly working.

By all appearances, Amanda hadn’t needed Aunt Frances to make any introductions. She was completely surrounded by men. Old men, young men, and men in between. Even Lord Malmsey was there. He stood at the edge of the clutch of admirers, looking somewhat disconcerted to find his betrothed suddenly commanding so much attention.

Juliana made her way over and wormed her way into the crowd. She touched Amanda on the arm, and when Amanda glanced down, she whispered, “The look.” Obviously flustered by her new popularity, Amanda appeared nonplussed for a moment, but quickly smiled one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, then chose a man and flirted through her newly darkened lashes.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked immediately.

“With pleasure, my lord,” Amanda said, just as Juliana had taught her. As she went off on the man’s arm, she glanced back to meet Juliana’s gaze, her own eyes filled with wonder. “They’re falling at my feet,” she mouthed silently.

Of course they were. Hadn’t Juliana told her that would happen?

It looked as though they’d be able to find a man willing to compromise Amanda, after all. Now all Juliana had to do was find the
right
man—a man who would make her friend happy.

At least a dozen men were showing keen interest in Amanda. The fact that Juliana herself had rejected each and every one of them had no bearing whatsoever. She
and Amanda were very different women, with very different requirements in a husband. And half of the dozen men met Amanda’s foremost requirement—that is, they were young men, or significantly younger than Lord Malmsey, at least.

One of them ought to do just fine.

Without Amanda at the center of it, the group slowly dispersed. But Lord Malmsey still stood there, gazing toward the dance floor dejectedly. Although Juliana didn’t know him well, he’d always seemed a kindly man. If he wasn’t precisely handsome, at least he was pleasant-looking, even now, with his mouth set in a straight line. But his pale green eyes seemed haunted.

Quite suddenly, Juliana realized there was a flaw in her perfect plan. In seeing to Amanda’s happiness, she was making Lord Malmsey
un
happy. And that would never do.

“What are you plotting now, Juliana?”

She looked over to see Corinna and Alexandra. “Nothing,” she told them both.

“I recognize that look on your face,” Alexandra said.

Juliana never had been able to fool her older sister. “Oh, very well,” she admitted. “I am trying to find a match for Lord Malmsey.”

Looking startled, Corinna glanced to the melancholy man and back. “Holy Hannah, what put that thought into your head?”

Juliana had no answer for that—at least no answer that wouldn’t reveal her friend’s predicament.

“Something is going on.” Corinna narrowed her eyes. “Something to do with Amanda.”

Juliana sighed. She should have known Corinna would weasel the truth out of her one way or another. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course we can,” Alexandra said, looking a little hurt. “Have we broken a confidence ever?”

Well, no, neither of them had. Not to Juliana’s knowledge, anyway. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Amanda’s father has betrothed her to Lord Malmsey.”

“I knew it!” Corinna exclaimed at the same time Alexandra said, “That’s dreadful.”

“Quite. Amanda is understandably upset, but Lord Wolverston will hear nothing of it. He has told her that if she refuses to go through with the wedding, he will disinherit her.”

Corinna gasped. “Then no one else will
ever
offer for her.” Of the three of them, she always
had
been the most blunt.

“Precisely,” Juliana said. “Which is why I am engaged in helping Amanda entice a younger man, in the hopes that he will offer for her before it is too late.” While that wasn’t the complete plan, it was close enough. She wasn’t about to admit that they’d also have to persuade the man to publicly compromise her friend in order to force Lord Wolverston’s hand. “But I cannot find love for Amanda at Lord Malmsey’s expense. That would be terribly unfair.”

“Juliana always wants to see
everyone
happy,” Alexandra reminded their sister.

“In all his many years,” Corinna pointed out, “Lord Malmsey has never proposed to anyone before Amanda. He’s too shy to approach another woman.”

“Then a shy spinster will be a perfect match.” Juliana’s gaze wandered the ballroom. Miss Hartshorn was too old; Lady Sarah Ballister was too young; Miss Ashton was entirely too outgoing. She scanned past her chaperone, then back. “Aunt Frances,” she said, nodding to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

“Aunt Frances?” Corinna’s brilliant blue eyes widened. “You’re thinking to match
Aunt Frances
with Lord Malmsey?”

Alexandra frowned toward their aunt, no doubt considering her spectacles and unstylish gray hair. “I’ve never seen Aunt Frances show romantic interest in a man.”

“That’s only because no man has ever shown an interest in her,” Juliana said. “And that will all change when she receives Lord Malmsey’s love letter.”

“What love letter?” Alexandra and Corinna asked in unison.

Juliana shook her head. “The one I’m going to write, of course.”

Her sisters simply had no imagination.

She suddenly spotted one of their cousins, looking lost. “Rachael!” she called with a wave, starting toward her.

Corinna grabbed her arm. “Are you plotting something else?”

“Of course not,” Juliana said, although she hoped to get her brother to dance with her cousin. Rachael and Griffin belonged together, but Rachael had seemed a bit down lately and hadn’t attended many events, which had hampered Juliana’s efforts to match them. “I just want to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party.”

Wary of Juliana’s grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their gorgeous cousin.

“Griffin,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Rachael would love to dance with you.”

Rachael’s sky blue eyes narrowed, making Griffin suspect she found Juliana’s statement as preposterous as he did. An awkward moment passed while he shifted uncomfortably. “I would be honored, Lady Rachael,” he said at last, “if you would join me for the next dance.”

“Splendid.” Juliana smiled as a waltz began. “Please excuse me,” she said, waving them toward the dance floor. “I must speak with Alexandra.”

“She was just speaking with Alexandra,” Rachael informed him as they started waltzing. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?”

Griffin refused to take offense at her question. For one thing, she felt entirely too good in his arms—which was completely inappropriate—and for another, the remark was made with good humor. “Only Juliana,” he told her lightly.

“Like hell,” she said. Rachael could curse like a sailor, but he considered that part of her charm. “Alexandra and Corinna know how to play you equally as well.”

Since he couldn’t really argue, he twirled her and changed the subject. “You’ve been hiding this Season.”

The good humor vanished, replaced by a melancholy air. Even the chestnut tendrils around her face seemed to droop. “I haven’t felt much like mingling.”

She didn’t have to say why. Griffin knew—although his sisters didn’t—that Rachael had been dealt a blow several months earlier when she’d learned the man she’d called “Papa” since birth hadn’t actually been her father.

“It doesn’t signify,” he said quietly.

“It signifies to me. I feel like my life has been a lie.”

“Has something changed at home? Is Noah treating you differently? Or Claire or Elizabeth?”

“No. Not at all. But I feel as though they should.”

“You still all shared a mother. They’re still your brother and sisters.”

She sighed, obviously shaken. “I know.” Her eyes grew suspiciously moist, making him fear that her chin—her adorable, dented chin—might begin to wobble next.

And Griffin found himself wanting to help her.

The entire affair was none of his business. God knew he already had enough on his plate between running a marquessate and marrying off his sisters. But Rachael was young and beautiful. She should be enjoying herself, searching for a husband, falling in love. She was his cousin—in name, if not by blood—and he wanted to see her happy.

The haunted look in her cerulean eyes caused a tightness in his chest.

“Do you want me to help you find your father?” he asked.

“No,” she said unequivocally. “He’s dead.” The music ended, and she drew away from him and dipped into a curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Cainewood,” she said, not meeting his eyes. Before he could protest that, whether her father was dead or not, learning his identity might afford her some peace, she walked away.

Her curtsy had been way too formal, given their shared childhood. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn’t have offered to help her anyway—he always found himself clenching his teeth when she was around. The last thing he needed was a woman like Rachael complicating his life.

As he made his way from the dance floor, the Duke
of Castleton walked up. “When are you going to sell me Velocity?”

Grateful for the distraction, Griffin laughed. “Never. When are you going to give up asking?”

“Never.” Although Castleton gave a determined nod, not a hair on his carefully coiffed blond head moved. “I heard he made a good showing at Ascot.”

“A pity you missed the meet,” Griffin said, remembering Juliana preferred fair men. “You’ve a fine stable, Castleton.”

“It would be finer with Velocity.”

“Velocity—as I’ve told you at least a dozen times—is not for sale.” Considering the subject closed, Griffin gestured across the room. “I say, would you care to meet my sister Juliana?”

Everyone who was anyone was at Lady Hammersmithe’s ball. Including Cornelia Trevor, the Countess of Stafford—James’s mother—and her older sisters, Aurelia and Bedelia.

In the refreshment room, James handed them all glasses of champagne. “How is your throat, Aunt Bedelia?”

“Better. But my chest has been paining me.” She put a narrow hand to her flat bosom—Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. “Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen to my heart with your new stethoscope.”

James sipped champagne, doing his best to appear concerned. “Perhaps I will do that.”

“Certainly you will,” his mother said, but she softened that with a smile that reached her brown eyes. Besides sharing James’s eyes, she had the same dark hair, and he thought, not for the first time, that she was still very attractive for a woman of her years. Aurelia might be a mite plump, and Bedelia a bit too thin, but Cornelia was perfectly in between. “Have you enjoyed the dancing this evening?” she asked him.

“Am I supposed to?” he responded dryly. “I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment.”

“Grandchildren are the object,” Aurelia put in. “And grandnephews and grandnieces.”

He’d thought as much. But he couldn’t imagine marrying any of the women he’d danced with tonight, let alone siring offspring with any of them. Try as he might—and he
was
trying, for his mother’s sake if not his own—he feared he couldn’t imagine marrying at all. Because he’d had love and marriage once, now one without the other—marriage without the love—just seemed plain…impossible.

And loving a woman besides Anne was unthinkable. Just considering it felt disrespectful, as though he would be desecrating Anne’s memory.

Not that she’d have objected, mind you. Anne had been generous and giving. She’d not have wanted him to be unhappy or lonely all his life. If he’d asked her permission—which he hadn’t, of course—she would certainly have said he could fall in love with someone else after she was gone.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Whenever he’d danced with a lady tonight, Anne’s serious, loyal face had seemed to shimmer before his eyes.

“I only want you to be happy,” his mother said.

“I know.” He knew, too, that she understood how he felt. Or at least she should. She’d also loved and lost a spouse. “Why aren’t
you
dancing, Mother?”

“Me?”

Perhaps if he turned the tables, she might realize she was pushing too hard. That he wasn’t yet ready. “Yes, you.”

Aurelia and Bedelia tittered. Maybe it was the champagne, but he thought not.

“What?” he said, turning to confront them. “Father has been gone longer than Anne. And your husbands have been gone even longer. All three of you should be dancing.”

The sisters exchanged startled glances. “We’re too old,” Aurelia said for all of them.

“Nonsense.” Aurelia and Bedelia were well into their sixties, but his mother was only fifty-six. He put down his champagne, then took their three glasses and set them down, too. “You’re not going to find new husbands while standing around the refreshment table. Come along.”

Grabbing his mother’s hand, he drew her toward the ballroom, trusting her sisters to follow. After all, the three of them stuck together as tightly as a bandage to a wound.

His profession required prescribing medicine…perhaps it was time they got a taste of their own.