Lord Heartless Read online

  “Of course.”

  His mother’s glare reminded him to rise and take her chair. Landon moved first to help his mother rise, then to his new bride. “Shall I walk you out?”

  “If you like,” Juliet replied, and he took her elbow, his eyes never straying.

  “Oh, my dear, you do not know how much I like.”

  ***

  “Raise your arms, milady.”

  Standing upon a small platform before three mirrors, Juliet complied with the dressmaker’s command. Gazing in one of the mirrors, she caught the reflection of the brightly colored fabrics draped over a chain creating a silken rainbow. The dowager had not lied when she’d boasted, “If you cannot find the hue or cloth of your desire at Madame Beatrice’s, then it cannot be found in London.”

  “Turn please.”

  Juliet pirouetted to the right and watched the dowager pick through the fabric.

  “My dear, do you prefer this shade of blue? I dare say it reminds me of a summer sea.” She held aloft the tail end of a blue-green silk.

  Juliet opened her mouth to speak, but the seamstress beat her to the punch.

  “Too bold, Countess Montague.”

  She watched her jot down the last of the measurements. “You may put your arms down now,” she said rising and moved to the dowager. “If you would allow a suggestion?” She reached down and pulled a roll of pale green mint from beneath the pile. “This might be a better.” Pulling the fabric, she tossed it over Juliet’s shoulder and allowed the excess to flow to the floor. “The color will bring out both the color of her eyes and hair. I can trim the bodice with a tulle of softer hue and adorn it with a glitter of rhinestones and pearls.”

  The dowager nodded. “Lady Montague, have you any objections?”

  “None. Thank you, Madame Beatrice.”

  The dowager’s face relaxed. “It is settled. I wish the design and the fabric made exclusive until after the seventeenth.”

  “But of course, anything for the ladies of Broadmoor.” The dressmaker turned and held out a hand to Juliet, who stepped down.

  “When do you think you might have it ready?” Juliet inquired. “I know we’ve given you only a short amount of time to do wonders.”

  The dressmaker smiled. “I should have it ready for a fitting a week from tomorrow.”

  “Wonderful,” the dowager said. “I shall keep our calendar free. Do send a note giving the time you expect us to arrive.”

  “Of course.” The woman clapped her hands and suddenly two clerks materialized and she began to hand them the fabrics. “This goes to the workroom. The rest, back to the shelves.”

  One of the clerks leaned close and whispered in her ear. Madame Beatrice looked to the dowager. “It is a good thing you arrived so early.”

  “Is it?” The dowager’s eyes rounded in surprise.

  “My associate informs me that Lady Scarborough has arrived.”

  “Do tell.”

  Juliet watched as the dowager looked down at her right sleeve and tucked her handkerchief beneath the delicate lace. “It appears your reputation is garnering you more business.”

  “Perhaps, but I think it is more your coach parked before my door.”

  The dowager’s lips twitched as if she wanted to laugh. Juliet wished someone would let her in on the humor.

  “Well, we must be going. There are a few more stops on our trip today.” The dowager stepped forward and took Madame Beatrice hand as if to shake it. A small black velvet bag appeared and she pressed it into the dressmaker’s palm. “As always, it is a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “I assure you, the pleasure is mine.”

  Juliet walked over to her mother-in-law as the seamstress left. “What was that all about, Countess?”

  “Lady Scarborough is your rival, dear.” The dowager smoothed the polished cotton on Juliet’s left shoulder. “She’s quite a little strumpet if you ask me. Already, she has placed two husbands in the ground. I believe she had her sights on Landon until you came along.”

  Juliet dampened her lips. “I see.”

  The dowager caught her chin and lifted Juliet’s face so she had no choice but to look at her. An odd twinkle in her eye caught Juliet’s attention. “I am not sure you do. I think this marriage of yours and Lord Montague’s more stuff than fluff. You keep his secrets well.”

  Juliet swallowed. Her gaze shifted away. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Hm. Believe what you will.” The dowager let her chin go. “We will discuss Lord Montague’s late night later, but for now, stay sharp for the wolves are at the door.”

  “Wolves in London?”

  The dowager shoved the curtains aside and a surprised face stared back at them.

  “Ah, Lady Scarborough, what a pleasure to see you again,” the dowager’s hawkeyed stare bore down upon the woman with the bright red face who had been caught spying.

  Chapter Eight

  Dark curls surrounded a pair of hazel eyes so wide they seemed to dominate the delicate features shadowed in surprise.

  “Countess Montague.” The woman lowered her gaze and offered a mock curtsy as two red splotches formed on her cheeks. “This is such a pleasure.”

  “Indeed,” the dowager agreed. Her mouth drew together with disdain. “I’m sure it’s a pleasant surprise.” She turned toward Juliet and motioned her forward while the young woman sputtered trying to think of something to say. “Allow me, Lady Scarborough, the new Lady Montague.”

  “Lady—” The woman’s words faltered as she looked to Juliet. “Your niece perhaps?” she questioned, her voice squeaking.

  “Oh heavens, no.”

  Juliet watched the dowager’s brows waggle for a moment, then to keep from laughing outright, she studied the top of her cane. “My niece is happily touring Europe with my brother. No dear, this is Lord Montague’s wife.”

  The color fled from Lady Scarborough’s face. She grasped the table to steady herself. “His wife?” The words seemed stifled and unnatural. Her glance centered on Juliet. Its glitter revealed a trait of uncertainty that seemed to morph into a blaze of hate.

  Heat rose to Juliet’s cheeks. She’d seen women like this ready to take aim at the person standing in their way and flay the skin from her unwitting bones. The dowager had been right to give her a word of warning.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Juliet replied, yet she did not offer her hand. “My husband has told me much about you.”

  A fine ebony brow arched. “Has he?”

  Juliet noted the woman sounded a bit nervous. She pulled her reticule up against her wrist. “Yes. We were very pleased to accept your offer to join you, in your box, for the opera on the seventeenth.”

  The shock over, Juliet found herself under the notable gaze of the woman named Lady Scarborough, whose task it must be to size her up, looking for flaws. Thank goodness she’d not scolded Helen for the change in her hairstyle or the choice of one of her finest frocks this morning.

  “Oh, yes,” the dowager chimed in. “You received our note?”

  “Note? I-er-no. We have just arrived home. I have not the time to check correspondence.”

  “Ah, well, there it is.” The dowager gave a short laugh. “You will see it upon returning home.”

  “I hope you enjoyed your outing?” Juliet asked.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Quite.” Lady Scarborough flashed a quick grin, then, clearly hoping to steal the conversation inquired, “So, you come to Madame Beatrice’s often?”

  “No, my first gown. My husband and I were married only a few days ago.” As she talked, Juliet stepped across to the table and brushed her hand over some of the silk.

  “A wise choice.” Lady Scarborough continued and moved to stand beside her. “No one in London can do better.”

  “Yes, I am well pleased.” She looked once again at the blue-green fabric Madame Beatrice had judged too colorful for her. “Such a pretty piece of silk. I�
�m quite taken with it.”

  “Yes,” Lady Scarborough agreed.

  “Well, we must be off. Lady Montague?” the dowager called.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to seeing you at the opera.” With a smile, Juliet followed the dowager out of the door. As the clatter of the street rose, she paused to pull at her gloves and cut an eye through the shop glass. Lady Scarborough had already pulled the silk from the table and was motioning the dressmaker over.

  “You play this game very well, my dear,” the dowager said.

  “Even in the country,” Juliet replied. “We have our Jezebels.”

  Stepping to the carriage, the coachman opened the door and offered his hand. Juliet placed hers in his palm and gathered her skirts to step up. A moment later, the dowager followed. Juliet focused on the people filling the street and waited for the horses to pull away.

  “Where shall we go from here?” she asked as the carriage pulled forward.

  “To the jewelers. I have a necklace that needs a clasp fixed. Then you and I will go back to the house for a nice long lunch, where we can discuss your plans for my son.”

  Juliet sat, dumbfounded. Across the way, the Dowager’s eyes twinkled.

  “Your display of affection this morning was quite genuine. I know a fraud when I see one. How long have you been taken with his grace?”

  Juliet gazed down at her hands. If she were this transparent to her mother-in-law, could Lord Montague see through her as well? She looked over at the dowager, who smiled encouragingly. A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. Perhaps under those rigid stays was a person she could trust. The only way she would know was to try. “I saw him some three summers ago at a Spring Hill summer party.”

  “Three summers ago? He must have made an impression upon you. How old were you then?”

  “Ten and six.”

  “Ah, a magical age, when every man is a prince despite his nature.” A nostalgic look transformed the dowager’s face. “I met my own husband in similar circumstances.”

  Juliet relaxed. “But I’ve never forgotten how handsome he looked. How the ladies stood in line just so he might offer them a glance.”

  “And were you one of these ladies?”

  “No, milady, even though I wish I might have been.” She swallowed. “I was there to try and govern my father. Considered a child, I could only watch from above while the ladies danced below.”

  “Spring Hill.” The Dowager’s brow knitted tightly together. “That name sound familiar. Ah, I believe it was Lady Richards’ garden party.”

  “Yes, milady, it was. There was a terrible row between your son and Lord Scarborough over his wife when she was caught in a state of undress. It did not seem to matter that Lady Scarborough was the pursuer, or that your son did his best to ignore her advances.”

  The dowager sat back, her mouth slack at the memory. “Ah, yes.” They rode along in silence for a moment. “So, you do understand about the Ton.”

  “I understand that there are rules. That it is expected for women satisfy their husbands with heirs who should always be male, and when that is complete they may take leave and live their own lives as long as they do not bring dishonor to their husbands. Despite whatever dishonor their husbands bring to their wives’ table.” Juliet lifted her eyes to see the dowager nod.

  “And yet, you married my son knowing all this.”

  “I did. You must understand, Countess. I knew this about your son and yet I still agreed. I find one has no reason with what the heart wants. Furthermore, I had few options. I thought part of the bargain would be to produce an heir.” Juliet’s voice trailed off.

  “He did not tell you about Alexander?”

  “No. I am but a duty to my husband, for the privilege of his erasing my father’s bills. If I can help erase the black marks upon his person, then it is all for the better.”

  “Well now, I will say it would take more than marriage to rub out the blemish, but it is a start. Still, you must have moved Lord Heartless in some way for you actually managed to get him to the altar.”

  Juliet’s mouth grew slack at the mention of his moniker.

  “I read the papers.” The countess chuckled. “I know the horrid nickname the Ton have placed at Landon’s feet. In some sense, he does deserve it. The trick now will be to get the fool besotted.” She winked. “I think there is more to you than you let on, Lady Juliet. You have intrigued him.”

  Juliet opened her mouth to object but the dowager waved her away.

  “Have no fear. We will conspire to bring Lord Heartless under Cupid’s spell.”

  ***

  Landon stood at the table in his study, arms braced on either side of the table, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, immersed in his work. Obtaining Holly Grove had been a boon. The stables outside of London were not large enough to provide for a first-class racing stable, but the broad, sweeping meadows of Juliet’s home would be splendid. This morning, he had procured the old drawings of the stables he once dreamed of building. Now, spread out before him, he could see a glimmer of their construction.

  A knock disturbed his thoughts. Landon turned. “Yes?”

  “Pardon, milord,” Simmons spoke through the opened doorway.

  “Come in.” Landon motioned.

  “Mr. Black is here to see you, sir.”

  “Send him in.” Simmons disappeared and Landon blew out a deep breath, unrolling his sleeves, then refastening his cuffs, he stood ready to greet his guest.

  “How goes the married man?” Amos Black questioned, entering the doorway.

  “I have survived the first night of matrimony if that is what you are asking.” Landon smiled and stepped forward to shake his hand.

  “Only survived?”

  Landon gave his solicitor’s hand a squeeze and the man grew silent. “That will be all, Simmons.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Releasing Amos’s hand, he motioned toward the other side of the room. “Come. Look at my new idea.”

  The men moved to where a pile of papers hid the surface of the table. Amos crossed his arms. “I hear you spent the night at The Gardens.”

  “Mere rumor,” Landon lied dismissing the statement.

  Amos motioned to the drawings. “What is this, a stable?”

  Landon nodded.

  “You haven’t the land.”

  “But I do at Holly Grove,” Landon replied, raising a finger. Moving to the other side, he explained the additions to the stable at Juliet’s home and the construction of a track. When he finished, he looked up to his friend’s nod.

  “It would certainly keep the grounds much as they seem now,” Amos said.

  “I thought so too, and it would also provide a steady income for the village.”

  “Yes, Juliet should be pleased,” Landon said with a smile.

  Amos’s lips pursed together. “Juliet.”

  Landon paused and turned his gaze toward Black. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, not wrong. Perhaps out of character.”

  Landon’s hands relaxed and came to rest upon the top of his hips. “What do you mean?”

  “Just, rarely have I heard of you speak in terms of what a woman might be pleased with,” Amos replied.

  Saying nothing, Landon merely stared until Black shifted his gaze away.

  “Mind if I have a drink?”

  “Be my guest.” Landon gestured toward the decanters and kept his focus on the drawings before him.

  Amos walked toward the sideboard, uncorking the crystal, he poured a small dram into an upturned glass. His hand stilled and he glanced back. “Do you care for one?”

  “No,” Landon said. Turning from the table, he moved to the double French doors that lined the edge of the terrace that led to his mother’s flower garden. A perfusion of pinks, lavenders, and yellows sprouted from her handiwork. His ears picked up Black’s boot steps and he steadied himself. “So,” he began seizing the upper hand. “I am now out of
character?”

  “Did you not listen to your own words?” Black asked.

  “I said something to the fact that Juliet will be pleased.”

  “Precisely.”

  Landon stole a glance and watched his lawyer bring the glass to his lips and consume the alcohol.

  “I dare say, some of the finest scotch known to man.”

  Landon’s mouth drew into a droll line. “Especially since its purchase was with my money and not yours.”

  “Perks of the position,” Amos remarked, lifting the glass in salute.

  Landon drew his arms to his chest crossing them as a guard to his heart. “You find it strange I wish my wife to be happy?”

  “I find it odd that you wish to do anything to your wife other than to make sure the dynasty continues. As I recall, this was not a love match but a marriage of convenience.” Amos stepped back and regarded him shrewdly. “Or am I mistaken?”

  “You are not. You know I am sworn to protect Juliet.”

  “Yes, protect.”

  Landon ground his teeth together as Amos walked away to take a seat on the settee. “Make yourself at home.”

  Amos lifted a hand. “Come, sit, all teasing aside, and tell me how London’s most notorious rake enjoyed his first night of wedded bliss.”

  He moved to the side chair and sat heavily, his shoulders rounded. “I slept alone, thank you.”

  “Alone?”

  “Have you cotton in your ears? Yes, alone.” Landon’s glared and struggled to keep his anger under control. “My wife was exhausted. It would have been foolish to push myself on her under those considerations.”

  “How admirable.”

  Landon’s chest puffed out. The air hissed as it moved from his lungs through his nostrils. “Do not pity me. Are you not married?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Then I would expect you to understand. My wife is young. She didn’t understand the implications of our marriage.” Even as he said the words, Landon found the lie left a regrettable taste of dissatisfaction on his lips. He would have to atone for his gaffe. All morning, he’d run ideas through his imagination trying to figure a way to gain access to her bed, all but for begging.