A Scandalous Charade (20 page)

The carriage came to a stop at the back gate to the Prestwick courtyard. When Juliet stepped out of Luke’s coach, the chill from the night air enveloped her. She shivered and slipped, banging her shoulder and back against the side of the coach as she fell to the ground.

“Blast!” she whispered as she gingerly touched the back of her shoulder. That was sure to leave a mark.

“You all right, my lady?” the coachman asked, hoping down from his perch. Really, she should have waited for him to open the door in the first place, and she was starting to feel like a complete ninny.

Juliet forced a smiled to her lips. “Yes, thank you.” Then she turned away and raced through the gate. She thought she heard his voice mutter something about hair pins, but she paid it no attention and hurried inside the house.

 The place was ominously quiet. Juliet silently climbed the stairs and swept down the hallway toward her room. Then her lungs seized.

Warm candle light flickered beneath her chamber door.

There shouldn’t be light in her room. She’d left it in darkness, so that no one would try to disturb her while she recovered from her headache.

“Juliet, is that you?” came Georgie’s soft voice from inside the chambers.

Juliet cringed. What was Georgie doing in her room? And how would she ever explain her absence? She took a deep, steadying breath. It was possible that her sister had just returned home from the Hollingsworth’s. It was best to act as if nothing untoward had happened. Tentatively, Juliet pushed open her door. 

Still in her gown from that evening, Georgie sat on the edge of Juliet’s bed. The most sorrowful expression covered her face, which darkened when she took in Juliet’s appearance.

Why hadn’t she thought about her own appearance?

Her gown was rumpled where Luke had grasped it in his hands. She reached up to her hair, which was a tumbled mess. Half her sapphire pins were missing—that must have been what the coachman was trying to tell her. And her lips were bruised, still swollen from Luke’s kisses.

Georgie heaved a sigh, and it seemed that it only took her sister one look to know what had happened. “Oh, Jules!” Her anguished voice filled the silent air.

Tears Juliet didn’t know she was holding back, began to trail down her face and she dropped on the floor at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t meant for the night to turn out like this. She was completely lost where Luke was concerned, and now she’d lost the respect of her devoted sister. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so desolate.

Georgie scrambled over to her and placed a reassuring hand on her head, stroking her disheveled hair. “I’m so sorry that I failed you.”

That made exactly no sense to Juliet, so blinked up at Georgie. “Failed me?”

Her sister dropped on to the floor next to her and caressed the side of her face, wiping away tears with the pad of her thumb. “I was too late. After you left, I just had a feeling, and I rushed home as fast as I could.” She sighed. “If I’d just gotten here sooner. Oh, Juliet, why? He’ll never marry you. And now you’re—”

Georgie apparently couldn’t say ruined, but the unuttered word echoed around the room anyway. However Juliet couldn’t find it in herself to care at the moment. She knew when she stepped in Luke’s coach that this would be the end result. But she hadn’t known that her heart would hurt, as it did now.  So she simply cried. For the man she would always love. For her heart that would never heal.

***

After traveling by hack and stumbling into Madam Palmer’s, Luke looked around from parlor to parlor. Pretty women, all shapes and sizes littered the place, but not one of them caught his interest. Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought.

“Anna!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, which apparently the other patrons didn’t appreciate, as they snarled and frowned at him.

He was just getting ready to yell again when a giant flash-man wrenched his arm nearly out its socket. “You best be headin’ home, guv’nor.”

“I’m a friend of Anna’s.” Luke shook the man’s hands off of him.

“Sure ya are.” When the flash-man smiled at him, Luke could only count three teeth in his whole head.  “Off wi’ ya now.”

“I need to see Anna,” Luke insisted, though it didn’t seem that the giant was going to let him pass. “Take me to her. If she tells you to throw me out, I’ll go willingly.”

The man frowned at him, but after a moment inclined his head. Then he led Luke down a wide corridor and opened the door to Anna Palmer’s private drawing room. Luke shook his head at himself. Why had he been yelling? He knew where Anna hid herself away. He just wasn’t in his right mind.

Immediately, his eyes fell on Mrs. Anna Palmer, lounging carelessly across a golden damask settee. He was struck, almost at once, that Anna no longer looked as young or vibrant as she had when Luke had first stumbled into her establishment, though she was still a lovely woman with a supple figure, inky, black hair, and soft, brown eyes. They’d known each other for years—years he could now see reflected in her no longer youthful face. Apparently, he’d been living this sort of life for too long. Certainly he could manage to get through one more night.

“Lucas.” She rose from her seat and started toward him with a warm smile, but she stopped suddenly with a quizzical look on her face. “Are you all right?”

About as far away from all right as he could possibly be, but he didn’t have to say that—she could just tell. “I need someone, Anna.”

“Of course,” she replied with a tentative step toward him. “Anyone in particular?”

“I don’t care.” Anyone. Someone who didn’t resemble Juliet in any way at all. Someone that would wipe the memory of her out of his mind, the scent of her off his body. “A blonde,” he finally answered and it felt as if his heart would crumble into dust. “L—light eyes. Tall.”

Anna Palmer nodded to her big, strapping flash-, who was now standing sentry at the door, though she still wore a look of concern. “Stanley, have Greta meet Mr. Beckford in the burgundy chamber, if it’s empty.”

After the brute left the room, Anna closed the gap between herself and Luke. “You don’t look like yourself, Lucas.”

Because he wasn’t himself. He didn’t want to think about it and he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine. Thank you for the burgundy room.”

With his head hung low, Luke climbed the stairs. This needed to be done. He needed to put Juliet and the power she had over him out of his mind. He needed to erase her completely. Forget about her. Move on.

A pretty blonde girl, who was apparently Greta, entered the burgundy room, wearing only a green satin robe. Luke mentally cursed. Greta? Why did Anna have to go and tell him the girl’s name? That was the last bloody thing he wanted to know.

She quietly closed the door behind her and smiled at him. “Guten nacht.” Her voice was soft with a quiet German accent.

Luke silently prayed this would work. This Deutschland beauty was about as far from Juliet as someone could be. Goddamn it! She really needed to stop encroaching in his mind. He forced a smile to his lips. “Evening.”

“Eet vill be my pleasure to serveece you, Herr Beckford.”

He could care less what her pleasure was and just wanted to get this over with. “Take your clothes off,” he ordered without an ounce of feeling.

“Es würde mein vergnügen sein.” With a sensuous smile, she obliged his request. Greta untied the sash of her robe and let the silky material pool at her feet. She wasn’t the least bit inhibited and stood completely bare before him, the swells of her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. The sight should have made him instantly hard, but he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

Greta stepped toward him, her long blond hair falling loosely down her back. “Vat vould you like me to do now?” She reached one slender hand up and cupped his jaw. Just like Juliet had done earlier that night.

Her touch scalded him and Luke recoiled, staring at her in horror. Never in his life had he had that sort of reaction to a woman’s touch, and certainly not a beautifully naked one. What the devil was wrong with him?

He cursed beneath his breath, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to go through with his plans. He couldn’t tumble Greta—God, how he hated knowing the fraülein’s name—and perhaps he’d never be able to do such a thing again. Juliet had ruined him, just as surely as he had ruined her.

He tossed a small bag of coins to the bed, thanked the German girl for her time, and left Madam Palmer’s establishment for what was most likely the last time.

Luke’s head was spinning viciously and his heart constricted in his chest. The next thing he remembered was a strong hand grabbing the lapel of his greatcoat and jerking him backward. He blinked up into the dark blue eyes of Marcus Gray, the Marquess of Haversham. Then he stumbled to the ground just as a coach sped past him, missing him by mere inches. A second later and he’d have been crushed for sure.

“So, I noticed.” Then Haversham curiously looked Luke over, as if he had sprouted wings and a third eye. “Haven’t seen you for weeks. I’d have thought you’d stuck your spoon in the wall, if tales of your foray into polite society weren’t on everyone’s lips. Are you really courting the St. Claire girl?”

Luke shook his head. “Not any longer. Things didn’t work out as I expected.” That was an understatement.

Haversham smirked. “Frigid, eh? Damnation, Luke, anyone could have told you that.”

Luke forced an amused look to his face. It was better if everyone thought that. Better for Juliet, certainly. Definitely for himself as well. “I suppose I should have consulted you then. You could’ve saved me a lot of time and wasted energy.”

Haversham threw back his head and laughed. “God, I hadn’t realize how much I missed our conversations. I have to head up for Yorkshire tomorrow. Apparently, the little hellion caught the drapes in my study ablaze a few days ago. I couldn’t talk you into accompanying me, could I?”

Did Luke want to go to the wilds of Yorkshire to see Haversham’s petulant, and apparently pyromaniac, daughter? Normally, no. However, it might have been providence that he’d run into his friend—aside from the fact that Marc had just saved his miserable life. Getting out of London might be just the thing he needed at the moment. He found himself nodding and breathing a sigh of relief. “Actually, Marc, the idea is tempting.”

Haversham looked at him in surprise, then a wide grin broke out on his face. “Excellent. Perhaps I’ll be able to win back my yacht.”

Win it back? Luke would give it back. He never wanted to lay eyes on the damn thing ever again. Or anything else that reminded him of Juliet.

So Yorkshire it was to be.

***

Her life was over.

Juliet couldn’t even consider getting out of bed. She didn’t want to face the world. Honestly, she didn’t think she could walk across the room unaided. Never in her life had she been racked with so much sorrow. Never had she been so devoid of hope and so filled with anguish.

She had known ever since Luke sent her off alone in his coach that he wouldn’t call on her. And she knew in her heart that she would never see him again. He’d been right all along—they should never have gone as far as they did. Because losing him now was many times more painful than anything she’d ever endured. It was as if a part of her soul was missing, a piece she could never get back.

Caroline had come by to see her, but Juliet was in no condition to see anyone. Outside her door she could hear Georgie and Caroline whisper in hushed tones, plotting, planning. Juliet couldn’t make out the words, and she also couldn’t bring herself to care.

She was never leaving her room. She was never leaving her bed. She was going to wither away here until there was nothing left of her.

She rolled over and slept some more.

“Jules,” came Georgie’s soft voice sometime later. Her room was as dark as night, but Juliet could feel her sister running a comforting hand along her back.

She had no energy, but managed to roll over, blinking at her sister in the dark.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to have Ellie pack your things and I’m taking you to The Chase.”

Prestwick Chase. Uncle Albert and her awful cousins. Juliet didn’t care. She didn’t have the strength to argue with Georgie, nor the will. Not anymore. She could die of a broken heart just as easily in Derbyshire as she could in London.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even swipe at the tears that had started to escape her eyes. How was it even possible that she still had tears left?

~ 15 ~

Juliet found herself bundled up in the back of the Prestwick traveling coach across from Georgie and rambling north out of Town. She felt hollow and empty.

Georgie kept looking at her with the same pitiful, worried expression. Normally, that would have driven her stark raving mad, but Juliet said nothing. She just quietly stared out the window and watched the world slowly pass by.

Juliet shook her head, and her eyes dropped to her hands. “Wh—why—” It came out as a croak, since she hadn’t spoken in days. She cleared her throat. “Why didn’t I listen to you, Georgie?”