Her Secondhand Groom Read online

  Juliet frowned. “I thought she was married.”

  “She is. It’s complicated.”

  She implored him with her grey eyes.

  “They’re no longer married,” he blurted.

  Her eyes flared wide, and hand came up to her chest. “Did he die?”

  “No.” He dropped his voice as low as he possibly could. “Divorced.”

  Her eyes widened so much further that she was in danger of looking around her spectacle lenses instead of through them.

  “How long have you worn spectacles?” he asked, glad to abandon the topic of Marcus’ menace of a sister.

  “About ten years now,” she said, readjusting them.

  “Ten years? That’s a rather long time to wear the same ones, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” she said. She reached forward and twisted the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

  “Nobody else in your family wears them,” he mused aloud, his mind drawing up a picture of her mother and father, neither with spectacles. If he remembered right, none of her siblings wore spectacles, either.

  The corner of her mouth tipped up just a fraction, a dimple forming in her cheek. “No. I’m the only one blessed with horrible vision, I’m afraid.”

  “Horrible? It can’t be that bad.”

  Her dubious look made him chuckle. “You have no idea. I can’t see a thing without them.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he teased. “Surely you can see something. Let’s find out, shall we?”

  “We shall not.” Her fingers touched the stems on both sides of her spectacles.

  He reached up and pulled her hands away. Tentatively, he slid them off her nose, revealing two angry red marks on either side of her nose. He turned the spectacles over a few times to look at them. They were awfully heavy. No wonder she had those nasty marks on her nose. He inspected the thick lenses and the loose hinges. Likely she wasn’t jesting when she said she couldn’t see without them. Just to be sure, he quickly made a face that always made his girls giggle.

  She had no reaction. Not that he’d expected her to laugh, of course. But she showed no signs of knowing he’d done anything. Not even a scowl crossed her face. Curious.

  “Did Mr. Nills in London fit you for these?” he asked, handing the heavy spectacles back to her.

  She took them from him and glided them back up her nose. “No. Mr. Hunt.”

  Patrick’s lips twisted. Mr. Hunt was a two-bit swindler who owned a shop in Bath that sold inferior eyeglasses, bent walking sticks, stale lotions and creams, and other worthless junk passed off as medical remedies. She needed to go to London to see Mr. Nills. “Would you be interested in going to London next week?”

  Two flags of red stained her cheeks. “Of course.”

  Placing three fingers on the underside of her chin, he tipped her face up, forcing her to look at him. “Is there a reason you don’t wish to go?”

  “No.”

  He knew better than that. If he’d learned one thing living in a house full of females, it was when they said no in a simple tone like that, they were lying. “What happened in London?”

  The tip of her pink tongue poked out between her lips and moistened them in the most innocently seductive manner he’d ever seen. First the top, then the bottom. His blood heated and he swallowed hard.

  “Nothing happened. I―I just didn’t enjoy it, that’s all. But if you need me to go with you, I will.”

  “That’s good,” he admitted, leaning his face closer to hers, “what I plan to do in London isn’t something I can do without you.”

  A delicate cough from across the table startled them both.

  Patrick withdrew his fingers from beneath Juliet’s chin and dropped his hand to his lap, straightening. Slightly embarrassed at being caught having such an intimate moment with his wife in such a public setting, he glanced around the room. His temperature rose ten degrees when he saw the gleam in Marcus’ eye.

  Keeping his hands under the table, Patrick reached one hand over and took hold of Juliet’s smaller one. He gave it a light squeeze, just to reassure her, nothing more. At least that’s what he told himself.

  She squeezed back.

  Without much thought, Patrick pulled her hand to his lap and intertwined his fingers with hers.

  ***

  Juliet’s heart hammered out of control as Drake spun her around the floor, her skirt flaring out all around them as she twisted and twirled doing a country reel. She couldn’t remember a time she’d enjoyed herself more. Who knew Drake was capable of having this much fun? She grinned and he spun her again.

  “You’re having fun,” he commented, pulling her close.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” she agreed.

  The hand he had resting on her waist tightened a fraction. “Good. I’m glad, Juliet.”

  The music ended and he led her to the side of the room where a table had been set out to serve lemonade. She took the cup he offered her and sat in a nearby chair. Something was off. Drake was never this nice to her. Never. Sure, he hadn’t been quite the jackanapes she’d previously thought him to be these last three weeks of their marriage. And actually, if she were being honest, she’d even admit he’d been nicer to her than before, especially during this past week. But tonight…tonight was unexplainable.

  He’d held her hand at dinner. Then when Caroline, their hostess, suggested they make use of an unused drawing room to dance, he’d practically dragged her down the hall.

  “What’s your rank of choice?”

  Juliet started, nearly spilling her cup of lemonade. “Pardon?”

  Drake gestured to all the other men in the room. “Every rank from a duke down to a second son who became a vicar is available for your choosing. Any rank strike your fancy?”

  “I believe you’re incorrect,” she said, looking over all the men in the room. “I see one second son-vicar, one baron―” she turned to him―“one viscount, two earls, and one duke. But alas, no marquis.”

  His brown eyes lit with mischief. “I’d say that I stand corrected, but I do not. There is a marquis on the premises. If you’d like to dance with him, I’ll see if a servant can fetch him from the nursery.”

  Juliet smiled at his logic. He was right of course, the duke and duchess’ oldest son, who carried the courtesy title of marquis, was sleeping up in the nursery. “How about we call this a tie?”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed. “So who will it be, Juliet? Whose wife do I need to go charm?”

  “Pardon?”

  One of his long, blunt-tipped fingers reached up and pushed a loose tendril of her hair behind her right ear. “Who do you want to dance with?”

  “This viscount,” she whispered, her face growing warm.

  His hand engulfed hers and he led her to the middle of the floor. “I was hoping you’d choose him. I think I should like to dance with his wife.”

  “I shouldn’t have chosen him, though.”

  He tightened his grasp and pulled her closer to him. “And why is that?”

  “It’s not proper.”

  He leaned his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter. “That is the last thing you should be thinking about tonight.”

  The music started and Juliet froze. It was a waltz. She could dance any country reel or quadrille, to perfection, but a waltz? No. She’d only attempted it once and her poor dancing partner limped the rest of the night. She opened her mouth to protest but didn’t get a word out before Drake’s smooth, rich voice drifted to her ears.

  “Is that the only reason you shouldn’t choose the viscount?”

  “Of course,” she lied. Being improper by dancing with her husband twice―in a row, at that―was the lesser of the two reasons she should have chosen to dance with another man. The stronger reason was one she didn’t want to admit even to herself.

  “Then dance,” he promoted, his rich, silky voice washing over her like satin.

  She hesitantly moved her feet to the music, taking extra c
are not to step on his toes. His movements were not so hesitant, however. With each step he took forward, his warm body connected with hers. She forced a smile. “Perhaps―”

  “Just move, Juliet. I’ve got you, you won’t fall.”

  “I’m not afraid of falling.” She took a step back that almost matched his stride, but not quite. “I’m afraid I’ll bruise your toes.”

  The hold he had on her shoulder tightened. “Bruise them.”

  A shiver ran down her spine and her heart tripled its pace. The heated look in Drake’s eyes was different, darker, primitive―intoxicating. Yes, that’s what it was. Seeing him look at her thus was intoxicating. Heedless of the couples around her, she let her fears go and gave into his command, gliding back, then to the side, then back again. All worries abandoned, she followed Drake’s lead as he guided her all over the floor during the waltz and continued long after the music ended.

  Drake pulled to an abrupt stop, and Juliet almost stumbled. His hands tightened their hold. “Sorry,” he murmured, helping her regain her balance.

  “Distracted, Patrick?” Lord Sinclair teased, after Drake had escorted her to the edge of the room.

  The tips of Drake’s ears pinkened. “Of course, Juliet is a thing of beauty, is she not?”

  “That she is,” Lord Sinclair agreed, making Juliet blush. “Say, why don’t you dance with Emma and I’ll attempt to dance with Lady Drakely We wouldn’t want you to become distracted again.”

  Drake flashed Juliet a quick smile and gave her hand to Lord Sinclair. “My lord,” Juliet murmured when Lord Sinclair’s fingers closed around her hand.

  “Is he treating you well?” Lord Sinclair asked without ceremony as soon as the music started.

  She blinked at him, and it had nothing to do with how ungraceful his steps were. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose, do you?” He stilled his uneven steps and spun her, his lips twisting. “I’ll admit I wasn’t overly excited when I first learned of your marriage, but now―” he sent one shoulder up in a lopsided shrug― “I think I’ve altered my opinion.”

  Her face heated. Had people taken notice of their unusual closeness this evening? “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so.” She ducked her head, not wanting him to see how red her cheeks were.

  A few measures went by with Lord Sinclair giving an honest attempt to dance with her before he spoke again. “I don’t know what to make of it. A few weeks ago I could have throttled him for viewing your marriage as a business arrangement. But then tonight I see him, and it’s clear something’s changed.” He tipped his head up and to the side a fraction and pressed his lips together. “Curious, I’ve known Patrick more than thirteen years and I’ve never seen him dance with anyone but―”

  Though he abruptly broke off, Juliet took his meaning. As far as Lord Sinclair knew, Drake hadn’t danced with anyone but his first wife. That couldn’t be true. Surely he’d danced with someone in between. Besides, he was dancing with Emma right now, wasn’t he? She couldn’t see them because her back was to the rest of the room. Perhaps if she acted like her heel caught into her skirt she could have an excuse to look behind her. She bit her lip and brought her right foot backward.

  Lord Sinclair’s soft chuckle distracted her and she nearly tripped. “Sorry,” he murmured, catching her and helping her get a solid footing on the floor. “If you wanted to see, you should have just said something.” Two notes later, he released his hold on her back and spun her out. Not a great deal, just enough to see―

  “Well, I never,” she breathed as her eyes connected with the end of the room where Drake and Emma were standing side by side, alone. Everyone else was dancing around the floor. Following Lord Sinclair’s subtle prompt, Juliet spun back around to face him—a knowing look in his grey eyes.

  “I may be a recluse, but I do know a thing or two about Patrick. He rarely goes to London for anything except parliament and even then, he doesn’t participate in Society.” He snorted softly. “I think a few months ago he made Lady Algen’s Tattle and Prattle column just by going to a ball held by the Duke and Duchess of Gateway, and he didn’t even dance with a debutante to earn his on dit.” Something flickered in his eyes just then before he cleared his throat and continued, “What I’m saying is, it’s rare he dances with anyone and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know if it’s because― Excuse me.”

  Juliet stood motionless as Lord Sinclair released her and all but ran over to a liveried footman wearing his powdered wig askew. The room grew quiet as the servant and Lord Sinclair whispered. Occasionally, the footman’s voice would grow louder than he might have intended, and just to emphasize his point, spastic hand gestures would accompany his words. Lord Sinclair put his hand on the man’s shoulder, and gently guided him to the hallway.

  As soon as he was out the door, Juliet’s eyes shot to Emma and her heart suddenly ached. She walked over to her friend and looped her arm around her. “What’s wrong, Emma?”

  “Nothing,” Emma said quickly. Too quickly. But even if her response hadn’t given her away, the glossy sheen in her eyes would have.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Emma shook her head. “No.”

  “What about me?” Caroline asked, coming up to stand on Emma’s other side.

  Emma exhaled and offered a weak smile. “No, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do, either.”

  “Are you certain?” Drake asked, his low tone and sheer closeness sent a shiver down Juliet’s spine.

  “Quite,” Emma answered, turning her false smile toward Drake. “I think it’s time we go home. Caroline, thank you for inviting us. I shall see you both in a few days.”

  Juliet murmured her goodbyes to Emma. After Drake escorted Emma from the room to go in search of Lord Sinclair, Juliet turned back to Caroline. “What’s going on?”

  “Olivia.”

  Juliet knit her brow. “What does Lord Sinclair’s sister have to do with anything?”

  “She probably requires some attention, specifically Marcus’.” Caroline pulled Juliet to the side of the room with one hand and simultaneously directed the musicians to begin playing again with the other. “She was always a bit mad, mind you, black moods, tantrums, rash decisions, and the like. But from what I understood the footman to say, Marcus is needed back at Ridge Water before something far more extreme than normal happens.”

  “Do you think something happened to her in America?” Juliet asked, truly concerned about the safety and well-being of this infamous creature.

  “Besides getting a good dosage of what it’s like not being born to wealth and privilege? No. No, I think the reason she’s taken such a leave of her senses tonight is quite simply due to her current condition.”

  “Of course.” Juliet nearly forgot Lord Sinclair’s sister was increasing. That explained quite a lot, actually. Juliet had seen her mother breeding enough to know the drastic changes in emotions and reactions a woman often faced during that time. A hint of sadness settled over Juliet as, not for the first time since she married Drake, she was reminded she’d never get to experience that part of motherhood. Sure, she’d always get to play the mothering role to his three daughters, but she’d never get to feel life growing inside her, or hold a baby and rock him to sleep. Drake had said he wanted to start fresh, and she was more than willing to do just that, but he’d never said anything about a real marriage, and while she’d never admit such to him, she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit a part of her―albeit a small one―yearned for a real marriage with him.

  “You know―Oh, Juliet, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Caroline said.

  Juliet blinked. “It’s all right, I was just woolgathering. What was it you were going to say?”

  Caroline leaned closer. “I was about to comment that if the way Drake’s been looking at you all night is any indication of his plans for later, you just might find yourself in the same condition as Olivia rather soon.”


  Heat crept up Juliet’s face. She highly doubted Drake wanted to visit her bed tonight, or any night, but she couldn’t tell her friend that. Instead she forced a smile and said, “Is it true he hates to dance?”

  Caroline blinked. “You know, now that you say that...” She cocked her head to the side and tapped one finger on her right cheek. “I wouldn’t say he hates dancing, but I think he’s very selective in his partners.”

  “Oh?”

  Caroline picked at the seam of her elegant gloves, her face turning a pale shade of pink. “As you know, I spent much of my girlhood studying him, and with the exception of the late Lady Drakely, I never saw him dance.” She swallowed and glanced at the far wall before turning her gaze back to Juliet. “Marcus even tried to bribe him to dance with me once and he refused.”

  Juliet stared at her friend, mouth agape. “He didn’t,” she forced herself to say when she could finally get over her shock.

  “He did.”

  “I should have known he’d always been Lord Presumptuous,” Juliet muttered, shaking her head.

  “What?” Caroline asked laughingly.

  “Lord Presumptuous. It’s what I called him because of his high handed and presumptuous ways. Apparently, I was right and his arrogance is nothing that started the day he married me.”

  Caroline smiled warmly. “Juliet, you missed my point. I may have been slightly distraught at the time, being fifteen years old and all, but that’s not what I meant and I hope you don’t leave tonight thinking your husband is the biggest snob ever to grace England’s shores. He’s not. He’s just...” She trailed off and sighed. “Let’s find a little corner, shall we?”

  “But don’t you wish to dance with Alex?”

  Caroline glanced at her husband and grinned. “No. He appears occupied at the moment.”

  Juliet looked over to where Alex was talking to a very captivated duke. Gateway, the duke in question, stood with a short, broken-in-half quill in one hand a very small notebook in the other, jotting something down. “What are they doing?” Juliet wondered.

  “I’m not sure exactly.” Caroline sat in an empty chair and waited for Juliet to sit next to her. “Since he married Alex’s cousin, Madison, he’s taken up an interest in science. Alex said he can’t explain the sudden interest, but apparently every time Gateway comes to any family event, he corners Alex and asks for some obscure scientific facts he can recite to impress his wife.”