When a Marquess Loves a Woman (2 page)

“A dream come to fruition is precious indeed,” Juliet said softly, but bravely and without the slightest tremble. “Whenever such blessings arrive, we must believe we are worthy of them or else lose their favor.”

Juliet's gaze shifted, alighting on Max. Within the faceted blue depth, he saw the stark fragility hovering there. And though her expression remained flawlessly untouched, if not stoic, he felt as if she were reaching out to him with invisible arms, like a hummingbird in search of a sturdy branch upon which to land—to rest, if only for a moment.

Wordlessly, he inclined his head, prepared to be of service.

Miss Leonard pursed her lips as if in thought. “Wise words, Miss White. I will keep them in mind during the next weeks while I am planning my wedding. In fact—”

The sharp tinkling of a bell and the announcement of dinner cut off her doubtlessly unsuitable statement. That was when she turned and noticed Max in their midst and then looked straight through him.

“Oh! Is Bram about? Do you know what his plans are for this evening? Surely he intends to escort me into the dining room . . . ” Her words trailed off as she stood on tiptoe and began searching the room for the sight of her betrothed.

Then with the acclaimed effervescence that had earned her the
ton
's favor, she summarily abandoned them. Making her way toward the door, she wove through the exiting crowd, offering demure giggles and feigned apologies for every foot she trod upon and every arm she grazed. It was obvious to Max, however, that she cared little for anyone aside from herself.

In effect, she was the epitome of Bram but in a feminine form. They were well matched in that regard.

“And that was the reason you called, I suppose,” Juliet said from beside him, her voice wearier than it was a moment ago. “To warn me?”

“It was.”

Drawing in a breath, she stared at the backs of the dwindling crowd. “You are a good friend, Max.”

He winced, those words just as painful as if she would have said, “You would have made a fine brother-in-law.”

Yet if all she would give was her friendship, he would take it. He knew her dreams had suffered two deathblows today. And he also knew she would recover from them in time. Until she did, and ever after, he would remain the strongest branch beneath her feet.

“Would you allow me to escort you to dinner, Miss White?”

With a nod, she took his proffered arm. They trailed the haphazard procession toward the dining room. With a glance over his shoulder, he noticed that they were the last to leave the parlor. In fact, the moment they exited, the servants swept inside to tidy up before dinner ended, when the ladies would return while the gentlemen remained in the dining room for a brief interval.

Max shuddered to think of what it would be like for Juliet, enduring Miss Leonard's gloating all evening. Knowing what awaited Juliet in the next few minutes—the toast that Bram had planned—Max guided them into a slow, ambling pace.

Juliet did not try to hurry him. “I should have thought you would arrive late, having spent your afternoon and evening watching the debates at the House of Commons.”

“You know me well,” he said, the words ringing with truth beneath his breast. During these past two Seasons, they had attended the same gatherings, shared countless conversations, exchanged ideas, and even engaged in a handful of good-natured debates. “Though I had no appetite for argument today.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes glinting with mockery. “Come now, Max, you always have an appetite for argument. I've had ample proof in the numerous times that my family has dined with . . . ”—her words drifted off, taking that glint with them—“yours.”

He tried to remain sturdy for her, his forearm tightening as if to infuse his strength into the delicate hand resting there. Yet it did nothing to prevent the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes. For one who prided herself on remaining composed, he knew that revealing her inner anguish to the other guests would be the last thing she would want to do.

Without thought, he steered her quickly through an open doorway off the hall—the library, as it turned out. The room was empty and dark, aside from the light filtering in through the partially open door. They would only have a minute to be alone, but it might be long enough to allow her to recover.

He produced his handkerchief and gently touched it to her lower lid. “I do believe an errant turban feather has made its way into your eyes. Horrible nuisances. They make my eyes water too.”

She offered a small laugh, slipping the handkerchief from his fingers and blotting away the evidence. “How gallant of you to ignore my foolishness and what a hen-wit I've become.”

“You are neither fool nor fowl but simply human.”

“Hush,” she said, swatting the center of his gray waistcoat with the folded linen. “Practically everyone here believes I'm nothing more than a hollow shell. You must keep my secret.”

“Then it is
our
secret.” He took the handkerchief from her. Propriety demanded that he release her at the same time or at least step apart from her. Instead, he did what seemed more appropriate and curled his hand over hers. And the moment he did, he knew this was the right decision. Her small, soft hand fit perfectly within his, as if her bones had been chiseled from his own. “They don't even deserve to know the truth of your nature.”

Curiosity, and perhaps even surprise, lifted her brows, her head tilting slightly to one side. “What truth is that?”

“That you are clever, and your wit is subtle but sharp. Nothing escapes your notice,” he said, stroking his thumb along the seam of her glove. “And you possess more grace and poise than any other woman in all of England.”

As he continued his declaration, her gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth, as if to see the words he spoke for better understanding. But her focus stirred him. The heat of his body rose ten degrees at least. The air between them—what little there was of it—warmed and turned fragrant. A sweet and earthy scent of rose and sandalwood, made of her perfume and his shaving soap, filled his nostrils. Their combined fragrance merged with the leather-bound books and the faint tangy citrus of the furniture polish, creating a unique and thoroughly potent aphrodisiac.

For the second time, he told himself that he should put distance between them. And if she would have given the barest hint of discomfort, he would have done so. Instead, his feet ignored this command and shifted closer to stand on either side of her slippers, the soft folds of her skirts tucked between his thighs.

Still holding her hand, the length of her forearm now rested at an angle between them. Her white gloves puckered slightly at her wrist, and he worried his thumb into the crease, thinking about how this kid leather was the only thing between his touch and her bare flesh.

His gaze shifted to where the sleeve of his coat brushed the outer swell of her breast. All he saw was another barrier. And in that instant, he hated his tailor for having sewn this coat. Hated society's strictures that forced him to don clothes at all.

A somewhat confused-sounding puff of air escaped her lips. “Anyone else would have remarked on what they saw of me on the outside.”

“And they are all fools.”

By the fresh clarity in her gaze, he knew she was seeing him. When a fond smile curved her lips and she lifted her face, he knew she saw more too.

He was not like everyone else. He was not merely Bram's insignificant half brother. He was not his messenger either. In fact, Max was . . .

Kissing her. His mouth descended to her soft, dewy lips with a sudden impetuousness that left him reeling. He wasn't even aware of moving. Yet somehow he released her hand so that he could frame her face—a tender gesture that did not match the quick escalation of need within him.

Her mewl of surprise stopped him, however. He drew back marginally, breathing hard and heavy after only a moment, and prepared an apology in his mind. “Forgive me. I—”

But before he could finish, she made that throaty sound again, gripped the lapels of his coat, and pressed her lips to his.

Juliet
. His blood cheered her name. His mouth slanted over hers, urging her lips apart. At first, her tongue shyly waited behind her teeth, tentatively bumping against his, only offering the barest hint of sherry flavor that lingered there. Then a tremor quaked through her. He felt it when she arched into him—breasts, stomach, and hips all tantalizingly close. And in that moment, Max hated white satin as much as he hated wool.

But honestly, ridding her of this dress after a first kiss should have been the last thing on his mind. The first thing should have been the fact that they were both at a dinner party. Her parents were the hosts. They would not serve dinner without them and likely would have noticed their absences immediately.

Unfortunately, none of those thoughts occurred to him until he heard a man cough and clear his throat. Juliet must have heard it too because she broke away from their kiss with a gasp, her gloved fingertips covering her lips as if to hide the evidence.

But it was too late.

Lord Granworth, an impossibly wealthy, elderly statesman, stood in the doorway. Over his shoulder were three other guests—apparent late arrivals, who were all being escorted by a wide-eyed maid who kept looking from Juliet to Max as if they were Adam and Eve caught naked in the garden of Eden.

If given another few minutes perhaps
. . .

No
. Max refused to think of that now. He needed to keep his head about him.

With this one ungoverned act, he'd just ruined Juliet. Tainted her virtue in the eyes of society. And there was only one way to make amends—they would have to marry.

For a short duration, they would be pariahs. However, in time they would be welcomed back into society. Since he was a man without means, he would learn a trade to find an income, the same way that his friend Jack Marlowe had. Then Max and Juliet would find a modest house and begin a family. He could see it all, their lives laid out perfectly before them.

Max took a breath, certain of his course. All in all, it was almost a blessing that Lord Granworth had stumbled upon them when he did.

The baron sent his party and the maid on ahead and discreetly stepped back into the hall, while still providing his chaperonage, albeit
after
the transgression.

Standing in front of Juliet, Max took her hand and bowed over it. “I will set matters aright. I promise. We will marry.” Saying the words aloud caused a surge of elation within him. He was breathless with it. “With your father's permission, we will ride to Gretna Green in the morning.”

Juliet turned pale. “
My father
—no. I cannot do that to you.”

A smile touched his lips as he shook his head. Did she believe he was merely being gallant again? Surely even she knew the gravity of their situation.

“This was a mistake. I'm sorry, Max.” And before he could stop her, she ran from the room.

Max moved to follow, but with Granworth there, and Juliet rushing toward the stairs, which likely led to the family chambers, he stopped.

By the time he turned around, he saw Mr. White striding toward him, a glower knitting his brow. Obviously, he'd heard—and likely every other guest had as well.

Max straightened his shoulders. “With your permission, Mr. White, I request an audience.”

“It would be better if you left. Immediately.” White's glower turned harder, revealing his anger and immeasurable disappointment. Then, lifting a shaking hand, he raked it through his hair. It was the only time Max had ever seen him without his composure intact. In fact, White's entire being seemed to vibrate with impotent rage.

Max felt as contrite as possible. “Yes, sir. I understand, however—”

“You may return in the morning when I have a cooler head.”

Hearing the edge of desperation in White's voice, Max stowed his request. After all, it would do him no good if his future father-in-law loathed him. “Of course. My apologies, sir.”

With a bow, Max turned on his heel and left the party. By tomorrow, he would have a plan to offer. The interim hours would also allow Juliet to ease into an understanding of the situation. They would marry and, most important, Max would make her happy. No matter what.

I
t wasn't until the following morning that Max learned of Juliet's elopement.

“The family has gone to Lord Granworth's estate in Somerset, sir,” their butler said at the door.

Max refused to believe it.

He shouldered his way inside, prepared to demand an audience with White. Max wasn't going to leave here without Juliet. He had a carriage waiting, a satchel packed, and just enough money for them to stay a few weeks at an inn until the gossip died down. Damn it all, he even had a sapphire ring in his pocket!

But as he took in the scene around him—the maids and footmen bustling about, draping linens over the furniture, lowering the main chandelier to cover it as well—he realized it was true.

And Juliet was gone.

“Sir, if I may,” the butler said, extending his hand, a missive pinched between this thumb and forefinger. “This was supposed to go out with the post, but since you are here . . . ”

His name and address were looped elegantly on the small square of parchment. Numbly, he took the letter and opened it.

Max,

I apologize, both for what I am doing and for what I did last evening. I cannot begin to explain my own actions and profound regret at their results. I hardly know myself any longer.

The clarity I'd hoped to find this morning is still absent, and so I made the choice that better suits all parties involved.

Yours affect

Warmest regards,

J

Max stared down at the letter and then slowly crumpled it in his fist. He'd been wrong about Juliet. If she could believe a word she'd written, then she never truly saw him. Worse, she left without giving him a chance to prove her wrong, discounting him like all the others had.