The Wild Marquis (14 page)

“I left soon afterward,” he said.

“Yes, to become an actress’s kept plaything. A fine situation for one of your station.”

As it happened, the small allowance Robinson, his man of business, had wrested from his father had meant he never took money from Lucinda Lambert, his first mistress. But essentially his aunt was correct: Lucinda paid all the expenses of the house they shared for a year.

“There is no need for us to further visit the past,” Lady Moberley said. “There is too much to do. I shall speak to Kentish at once about engaging you some decent servants. And you may address me as Aunt Augusta.”

Cain feared that pleasing Aunt Augusta would carry a heavy cost. Yet as an ally in his campaign to keep Esther, his aunt was invaluable. And his mother hadn’t even confided in her, her own sister.

Lady Moberley had no idea that the late marquis had accused his son of incest, a transgression that would place him beyond the bounds of any decent society. Even a hint of such an abomination would condemn him. She didn’t know Lady Chase had threatened to tell the world if Cain went anywhere near his sister. If she didn’t know, perhaps no one did.

C
ain had given up everything that made life worth living. And that, he thought morosely as he concluded an endless meeting with old Robinson, was only a slight exaggeration.

His aunt had him dancing attendance at every breakfast, ball, rout, or musicale the fashionable world could cram into two weeks. He’d long since lost count of how many.

When he finally had a moment to himself, he couldn’t go to Sotheby’s and buy books because there was a two-week break in the auction. His home was no refuge. The Berkeley Square house was occupied by two rival camps of servants whose fragile truce threatened daily to erupt into violence. King Kentish and his minions had swept into Cain’s house and established what Lady Moberley pleased to call order. Cain refused to dismiss any of his staff until they had somewhere to go. And Robinson was taking an age to complete the purchase of the house he’d found for his former servants.

He had to listen to Robinson grumbling about the cost. Of establishing a fund so that, through Mel, he
could continue to aid her former sisters in frailty. Of paying the lawyers preparing Esther’s guardianship petition. And of settling his sister’s clothing bills. Finally he ordered the old bleater to sell out of the funds if necessary and do as he was told.

The worst of it was, he didn’t even see much of Esther. Aunt Moberley had her niece as busy with dress fittings, dancing, and deportment lessons as Cain was with
ton
events.

He’d rebelled the previous day and told his aunt he’d be tied up with business all day. Finally he was free to indulge himself. As his carriage left the City and entered the Strand, he directed his coachman to a small bookshop in St. Martin’s Lane.

Juliana came from the back of the shop to greet him, Quarto at her heels. The dog wasn’t pleased to see him. He indicated his displeasure by biting the tassel off Cain’s Hessian boot. Cain wasn’t bothered. Attending to the repair would give his new valet something to do.

Juliana, on the other hand, seemed delighted, almost as happy as he was to see her. Her Cupid’s bow smile matched the narrow strip of sunlight filtering through the window, revealing swirling dust motes that danced and echoed his new mood. Cain had met, conversed, and danced with numerous ladies in the past week, all of them gowned, jeweled, and coiffed as finely as Bond Street could provide. None of them held a candle to Juliana Cassandra Merton in her widow’s weeds. She was, quite simply, the loveliest woman he knew. And alone in the shop. Apart from the dog.

No! He beat back his unruly thoughts and fixed his eye on the baleful canine flopped at his feet.

“Since the creature is a monster of ingratitude toward the man who saved him from a life hunting rats in the East End, I hope he is at least performing his allotted task and disturbing any intruders.”

She laughed. “I haven’t heard anything amiss downstairs since he came. But he’s certainly disturbed
me
.” The look she gave the bulldog was indignant yet affectionate.

“What happened?” Cain found himself hungry for news of even her trivial activities.

“Last night I was awoken by a weight on top of me. I wondered what it was.” To his pleasure she blushed absolutely scarlet.

“I felt warm breath in my ear.”

“Do tell more.”

“Then a huge wet tongue all over my face.” She shot a look of mock irritation at his laugh. “He just wouldn’t go away until I paid attention.”

“We males can be like that.”

“I lit my candle and discovered the wretched animal had been chewing a book. I thought I’d trained him to understand that books are not toys, but he relapsed. So I dragged him into the kitchen and shut the door.”

“The animal is supposed to guard the shop. That’s where he should have been.”

“But it’s cold down there at night.”

Cain rolled his eyes. She was hopeless. The supposedly hardened tradeswoman brought down by a hideous beast. “To punish him you shut him in a room with food?”

“There wasn’t any food.”

Of course not. By God, the woman needed a keeper. He raised both hands and eyebrows in exasperation.

“Then,” she continued, “just as I was going back to sleep, he started barking and scratching at the door. I let him howl for a while.”

“Your neighbors must have enjoyed that.”

“I read somewhere that it’s good to let infants cry until it’s time to feed them, to teach them a routine. I thought maybe it would work the same way with dogs.” She seemed quite serious.

“And did it?”

“No. Finally I couldn’t bear it and let him out of the kitchen. And do you know what?” she asked indignantly. “He wanted to go for a walk. At three o’clock in the morning!”

“Uh, Juliana. I’ve never owned a dog but I do know they need to go outside from time to time. To take care of things.”

“Oh no. It wasn’t
that
kind of noise. I know that one. This was his ‘walkies’ noise.”

“And I suppose you took him out in the London streets in the middle of the night, despite the fact the animal is clearly incompetent when it comes to protection.”

“No, I was firm with him.”

“Oh, well done.”

She looked sheepish. “He ended up sleeping on my bed, but,” she concluded, “I didn’t let him lick me again.”

Cain stopped trying to suppress his mirth and she gave up any pretense of annoyance. They joined in a
bout of laughter and he felt better than he’d done in days. He’d have liked to embrace her, not lustfully—at least not entirely—but to show his affection.

Not a good idea. He was supposed to be finding himself a bride and that bride couldn’t be Juliana.

“The Tarleton sale starts again tomorrow. Is there anything you want to buy this week?” That was Juliana, single-minded when it came to books.

“I looked for the catalogue yesterday but my new servants seem to have hidden it.”

“Never mind, I’ll fetch mine.” She hurried into the back room with the bounce that bibliographic enthusiasm always added to her step. “There’s some very fine poetry coming up this week,” she called. “Better than the Herrick. Beautiful copies of some true rarities. How do you feel about Spenser? Or do you prefer Milton?”

Cain was fairly sure he didn’t have any feelings about Spenser, one way or the other. Milton he quite liked. He found the character of Satan interesting.

She returned with the catalogue in one hand and a package in the other. “The binder delivered the Herrick to me by mistake last week.”

He tore off the paper and surveyed the red morocco volume with satisfaction.

“You’re the only man in London with a library to match your carriage.”

“So it does. I don’t know how much I will be adding to it. I’ve been busy trying to get married.”

The words were jaunty but his enjoyment dissipated. Judging by Juliana’s expression she felt the same way. He wondered if her displeasure went
beyond anxiety about how matrimony would influence his book-purchasing habits.

“And how are you going about that?” she asked.

“I’ve attended balls and danced with young ladies.”

Aunt Augusta had been correct. The mamas of these pretty creatures were only too happy to welcome a reformed marquis to their collective bosom and offer him his choice of nubile lovelies as his marchioness.

Not that he had anything against them, mamas or daughters. Cain rarely encountered a woman he didn’t like.

“Do you enjoy that?” He didn’t imagine the strain in her voice.

“The girls are sweet, well drilled in polite conversation, and ready to be charmed by me.”

“I’m sure you are very charming.” She sounded quite cross.

“I do my best, but it isn’t really important. My Aunt Augusta, who has undertaken the restoration of my character, assures me my wealth and title are enough to ensure forgiveness of any past transgressions.”

“I see. Have you made your choice?”

“They all seem so young. I’ve never fancied extreme youth.” Which was ironic under the circumstances, and perfectly true. His first mistress, Lucinda, had been twenty-eight to his sixteen. “But I suppose one of them would make a good sister for Esther.”

“How is Lady Esther?”

“Staying with my aunt, Lady Moberley, until the court hears her petition. And buying a lot of clothes.”

“She’ll enjoy that. Will your aunt allow her to have a purple gown?”

“Told you about that, did she? I’m thankful to say my aunt took over Esther’s wardrobe choices before I gave in and indulged her craving for unsuitable colors. I did just settle the account for an evening cloak in claret ruched velvet, lined in white satin and trimmed with ermine.”

“My goodness, that seems hardly suitable for a girl of sixteen.”

“No, I recognize my aunt’s taste. She’s exacting her pound of flesh for helping me by replacing her entire wardrobe at my expense. If she continues at her current pace I shan’t be able to afford so much as a pamphlet, let alone the Burgundy Hours.”

“Cain…” She approached him and put a hand on his arm. But whatever she meant to say was interrupted by the entrance of a customer.

Juliana drew back hastily. “The poetry we spoke of is on that shelf, my lord,” she said indicating a section of books in the alcove formed by two bookcases emerging at right angles from the wall. “May I suggest you examine them while I attend to Mr. Penderleith?”

The look she gave him he interpreted as
Do not leave.

He plucked a volume from the shelf, half listening to her conversation with Penderleith, an elderly quiz in a periwig and a moth-eaten moleskin waistcoat liberally stained with snuff. He wondered what Juliana wanted to say to him. He wasn’t, at this particular moment, feeling terribly reformed. If she were to
make the first move and invite him upstairs, he feared for the fate of his good resolutions.

Not finding anything remotely interesting in an edition of Cowper’s works, he tried to replace it. It wouldn’t go in all the way. Something was wedged at the back of the shelf. Removing several neighboring volumes, he reached in and removed a slender square book in a green leather binding. He recognized it at once.

What the hell was Cassandra Fitterbourne’s
Romeo and Juliet
quarto doing in Juliana Merton’s shop, instead of awaiting sale at Sotheby’s, along with the rest of Sir Thomas Tarleton’s library?

Juliana closed the door firmly and with relief behind the foxy old collector. A customer since she and Joseph had opened their shop, Mr. Penderleith no longer had credit with any bookseller in London. She’d promised to set aside Grose’s
Antiquities of England and Wales
for him, but the book wouldn’t leave her premises until his account was settled.

At least Cain hadn’t left. She’d told herself she was merely anxious about his intentions vis-à-vis the auction. The intense pleasure she felt upon his appearance this morning threatened that particular illusion. She’d missed him terribly.

“Thank goodness he’s gone,” she said as she closed the door behind Penderleith and came back around the corner into the main aisle of the shop.

Cain stood with a book in his hand. There was no need to ask what he held. She knew that volume as well as her own face in the mirror. Better perhaps.

“My God,” she whispered. “Where did that come from?”

“I found it behind the books on this shelf.”

Juliana felt sick. A book she desperately coveted had been found in her shop. And it was stolen property.

“I didn’t put it there,” she said.

“I didn’t believe for a moment that you had.” The certainty in his voice reassured her. “I’ve been thinking. Someone was meant to find the
Romeo and Juliet
. That volume of Cowper was thrust forward a little so I pulled it off the shelf. When I couldn’t put it back properly I investigated the obstacle.”

“I might have been the first to find it.”

“You don’t sound confident.”

“I’m not. That corner is a little dark so unless I had reason to look for a particular book there I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“When did you last examine the poetry section?”

“At least a week ago,” she said after some thought. “A customer asked me for Pope’s
Satires
.” Her mind reeled as she grasped that any number of visitors to the shop could have recognized the
Romeo and Juliet
. She had narrowly avoided being taken for a thief.

“And has anyone else been in that area of the shop since then?”

“Not that I recall.”

“The dog, last night,” Cain said. “He barked because he heard something.”

“He didn’t want a walk, he wanted to stop an intruder!”

Cain looked grim. “It appears I’ve wronged the animal, but I’m damn glad you didn’t give in and
take him downstairs. Someone has the ability to break into your premises at will, and whoever it is may be dangerous.”

“But why? Why would anyone want to get me into trouble?”

“Perhaps the question we should ask first is, who knew this book was special to you?”

“A number of the booksellers know of my connection to Mr. Fitterbourne. My upbringing was never a secret, merely my birth. I mentioned it to Sir Henry Tarleton. And to Mr. Gilbert. And to a couple of other dealers in the last week.”

Cain stared at the volume, his face creased in a frown, then opened it, peering at the rear paste-down endpaper.

He gave a little grunt.

“What?”

“Look at this. I think someone had done something to the binding inside the back cover.”

Juliana knew the book well enough to detect a slit in the paper along the hinge, and faint traces of glue that looked fresh.

“You are right,” she said in wonder, running a finger over the repair. “Something could have been removed from the binding.” She turned to the front. “The same thing has happened here.”

“May I have another look?”

She relinquished it willingly. Even holding it for a few seconds frightened her.

Cain started to go through the volume, page by page. “Why are there so many blank leaves in the book?” he asked.

“It’s only a single play, so the binder added blanks to make the volume thicker and have enough room to put the title on the spine. What are you looking for?”