Her Secondhand Groom Read online

  Juliet’s eyes went to the duchess. She was dancing with Paul Grimes, the country vicar. Juliet had spoken to her before dinner and hadn’t gotten the impression the duchess had any interest in science. It seemed quite endearing if her husband was able to discover her love for such a subject and went out of his way to find little-known facts to impress her with. Juliet smiled.

  “Now, about Drake,” Caroline said, effectively pulling Juliet from her wistful thoughts.

  “Right.”

  Caroline shifted in her chair. “He’s not had an easy life, Juliet. I don’t know all the details―and as far as anyone else knows, I don’t even know the select few I’m about to tell you―but Drake was forced to take on a wealth of responsibility far sooner than he should have. If I remember right, his father died while he was still in leading strings and his uncle stepped in to run the viscountcy until Drake was of age. But his uncle’s greed led to the abrupt end of Drake's carefree childhood and transformed him into a judicious lord.”

  A hush fell over their section of the room and Juliet desperately hoped Caroline would offer any further explanation she could.

  “As I said, I don’t know everything,” Caroline continued a few moments later, wrapping a loose thread from the seam of her glove around her finger. “But what I do know is that Drake was thrust into his position as viscount when he was young and the viscountcy was on the verge of complete financial ruin because his uncle had been dipping into the accounts. Drake was forced to leave Harrow and without the financial help of anyone else, he was able to save the viscountcy and make it turn a profit. But as you can see, that came at the cost of not merely his youth, but also his innocence and ability to trust anyone.”

  Juliet sat stock-still, understanding forming in her mind. It was little wonder Drake came off as presumptuous, he’d had to be. He’d been forced at―Juliet racked her brain, trying to remember at which age boys went to school―twelve, was it, to take control of something as important as a viscountcy and run it without the help of others.

  “But what does that have to do with his dancing?” Juliet blurted, her brow puckering.

  “Nothing directly,” Caroline said offhandedly. “But he’s always had a hard time trusting others. It’s almost like he’s built up a wall around himself and is very careful who he lets past and just how far he lets them in. Take for example, the different types of relationships he has with Alex, Marcus, Emma and me. Alex is a casual acquaintance. Drake is very formal with him. They address each other by titles only and have very little chitchat, if you will. Then there’s someone like Emma or me. He’s known us much longer and we’re more informal. He calls us by our names, we call him Drake. Though he was polite enough to come to my wedding last year and even asked Emma to dance with him, there is still some sort of barrier between us―”

  “Wait,” Juliet interrupted. “You just said he doesn’t dance, but yet, he asked Emma...” She trailed off, her earlier elation at being granted that special privilege rapidly depleting.

  “He asked, but he didn’t really wish to, so she made up an excuse and refused.”

  “Hmmm.” Juliet’s lips twisted.

  Caroline grinned. “No need to be jealous,” she teased. “I have no doubt he would have danced with her, but I also have no reason to believe he would have enjoyed it nearly as much as he seemed to be enjoying himself earlier with you.” She sighed. “It’s difficult to explain, Juliet. Marcus and Emma... Uh..Drake was just trying to help her. And he did. But the reason he asked her to dance was just to talk to her, not because he had any desire to be close to her. What I’ve been trying to say is that he actually seemed to want to dance with you.

  “See, Drake is comfortable with both Emma and me, but there’s still something there. Some sort of invisible shield, if you will, that allows us to step closer to him, but he’s still able to keep us at arm’s length. But then there’s Marcus. I believe I told you before that Marcus is the only person aside from the late Lady Drakely who I’ve ever heard use Drake’s Christian name. He’s also the only person, besides you, who has had the fortitude to question Drake or his decisions. Most others are cowed by his self-assured personality and reputation for being unapproachable. However, those brave enough to question him about his decisions are usually leveled with an icy set down that sends them quickly on their way. But not Marcus. Marcus openly calls him Patrick and freely gives Drake his opinion, nice or not.”

  “And you think...”

  “I’m not exactly sure what I think, but here’s what I know. Drake has always chosen everything from his financial investments to his dance partners with great care, and the fact he’s dancing with you means either he’s dancing with you because you’re his wife and he’s obligated to, which I doubt, or because he trusts you, whether he realizes it or not.”

  Juliet glanced around the room. Caroline made no sense. Of course Drake trusted her. He wouldn’t leave his three daughters with just anyone, for goodness’ sake. Even Mrs. Jenkins, as unsuitable as she was, was someone he’d known and trusted to some degree. Perhaps that was the real reason he hadn’t found a replacement for her sooner.

  “Is something troubling you, Juliet?” Drake asked, scaring the wits out of her.

  She fidgeted with the fur on the edge of her glove.“Did Emma go home?” she asked, feigning normalcy.

  “Yes.” He extended his hand to her. “Care to dance again?”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course.” She placed her hand in his, and let him lead her out to the floor.

  Heart threatening to beat out of her chest, Juliet blocked out everything else in the room. She locked eyes with her husband and let herself get lost in the boneless sensation overtaking her as he danced her around the floor making time cease to matter.

  Chapter 16

  Patrick’s gaze held Juliet’s almost as firmly as his hands physically held her as he moved her around the floor. Everything around them faded. The people, the music, even the room itself seemed to disappear. The only thing that existed was the two of them, and he didn’t want the moment to ever end.

  But eventually it must.

  He pulled his wife close one final time, then with measured skill he’d gone to great lengths to master, he leaned her backward in a low sweep that signaled the grand finishing of their dance.

  He smiled down at her.

  She remained motionless, staring back up at him.

  He waited just a moment longer then brought her back to standing position. “Are you ready to go home?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, looking around the room.

  “They’re gone,” he said, then forced a cough to cover up the surprise in his voice. He offered Juliet his arm and reached his free hand into the pocket that held his watch. Just what time was it? And more importantly, when had everyone left them alone?

  “Has everyone left?” Juliet asked quietly, her hand tightening.

  He dropped his watch back into his pocket, forgotten; and reached his right hand across his chest to cover Juliet’s tight grip on his arm. “I don’t think they actually left. They’re all Lord Watson’s cousins so I imagine they’re all still here, just asleep in the guest wing.”

  “Just so,” Lord Watson agreed, walking down the hall toward them. He carried with him a lit five candle candelabra. “You two are welcome to stay, too.”

  Patrick’s face heated. It must be quite late if Watson was offering them a place to stay. He glanced at Juliet. She was standing unusually close to him. Best to take her home and spare her any discomfort. Of course Caroline was her friend, but Juliet’s earlier confession about her past with Watson might make her feel uncomfortable in his home. He squeezed Juliet’s hand. Perhaps if she knew of Caroline’s long ago, unrequited tendre she’d not feel so out of place. If he didn’t think it would embarrass Caroline, he’d tell Juliet. He started. Why did he care so much? He knew why he didn’t wish to say something to embarrass Caroline, he considered her a good friend. But why was he trying to make Juliet
feel more at ease?

  “What’ll it be, Drakely?” Watson asked.

  Patrick cleared his throat. “I thank you for your generous offer, but I think we’ll go home tonight,Watson.”

  The baron gave a curt nod, led them down the hall, and waited with them while Cruxley brought the carriage ‘round.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay,” Watson offered again. He looked to Juliet and flashed her a friendly smile. “I promise not to bore you with endless science talk, Juliet.”

  Patrick couldn’t explain why, but he stiffened at Watson’s informal tone and use of Juliet’s Christian name. “We are quite certain, Watson,” he said somewhat coldly.

  Juliet’s grey eyes skewered him, and he ignored her. “Thank you,” she murmured as Patrick handed her into the carriage.

  After having a quick word with Cruxley in which he threatened the man’s job, and perhaps said a thing or two to allude to the man’s life in general, Patrick climbed up into the carriage and sat next to Juliet, her pretty green gown be damned.

  “Did you have an enjoyable time tonight?” he asked for lack of anything else to say.

  “Yes. You?”

  He closed his eyes and racked his brain for something to say to her. For a reason he couldn't fathom, he wanted to talk to her. To have that same ease they'd had at the dinner party continue now and into the future. He wanted to be certain the Ice Queen was gone forever, but he couldn't find the words to say to her.

  Beside him, Juliet fidgeted. Her head bobbing just a bit as her weary neck tried to support it. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. Without the merest protest, she made herself comfortable in his embrace and rested her cheek against his chest.

  Instinctively, he brought his free hand up and idly traced her exposed cheek with the pad of his thumb. He paused his gentle movement and took hold of one of the stems of her spectacles then slid them off and tucked them into his breast pocket.

  She nestled closer to him, bringing her hand up to slip it inside his coat and rest her fingers on his thinly covered chest. He waited a moment for her to be still and find a comfortable angle, then resumed his aimless caress of her cheek.

  “I did,” he whispered a few minutes later.

  She stirred. “Hmm?”

  “I had a good time with you tonight.”

  A slight moan was her only response.

  Patrick picked up the lap blanket from the seat next to him and covered them with it. He wouldn’t want her to get cold during the ride. An hour and a half later the carriage came to a jarring stop and yanked Patrick from his slumber. Heart racing, he peered out the window, and sighed. They were safely back at Briar Creek. They hadn’t had a carriage accident like that abrupt stop might suggest. Regaining his breath, a strange sensation settled over him. They were at Briar Creek. When they had left earlier, they had been nothing more than two people inhabiting the same house who had been trying to remain civil toward each other in an effort to be a good example for his daughters. Now what were they? He looked down at her sleeping form. Something had changed tonight, but what? And what did it mean?

  Cruxley opened the door and Patrick shooed him off. He wasn’t ready to get out yet, and seeing as how Juliet hadn’t so much as stirred when Cruxley pulled the carriage to such a jarring halt, it was fairly safe to assume she’d not mind waiting a while longer to go to bed. Bed? Which bed? His mind spun. Panic, excitement, nervousness, desire, and uncertainty all thrummed through him. What happened now? Where did he take her?

  “Juliet,” he said.

  No answer.

  “Juliet,” he said a bit louder.

  No answer.

  He gave her a little shake. “Juliet, sweet. It’s time to get up.”

  Nothing.

  Patrick muttered a curse under his breath. If it weren’t for her soft breath hitting the front of his shirt, he’d think she was dead. Not that it mattered overmuch that he’d have to carry her into the house. No, he rather liked the idea of carrying his bride. But where was he taking her once he crossed the threshold?

  Briar Creek was large by anybody’s standards. Three stories high, built in an oversized U-shape with more than sixty bedchambers excluding the family suites and the servants’ rooms. His stomach clenched at the mere thought of the servants’ rooms. He’d been furious when he’d found Juliet in that little room that connected with the schoolroom. She didn’t belong there. She wasn’t a servant. She had no business inhabiting a room barely larger than a closet. She belonged in the room meant for the viscountess. The one meant for his wife. His stomach clenched again. Tighter this time. For as much as he hated the thought she’d ever taken up residence in the room intended for the governess, the thought of him taking her into the viscountess’ room was far worse.

  Granted, she was the viscountess and had every right to have that room, but he couldn’t take her in there. He couldn’t make himself go into that room even if there was a pistol aimed at his head, a dagger piercing his back, and noose wrapped around his neck. Nothing could make him enter that room. Nothing.

  He brought his right hand up to massage the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to block out the images flashing in his mind. Images of Abigail. Her standing in a flannel nightrail by the foggy window with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and beckoning him over to her with the other. That image faded only to be replaced by a memory of her intense hazel eyes peeking up at him after she’d just woken up in his arms. He swallowed, but that painful lump that had lodged itself in his throat in the last three seconds was still there. He blinked rapidly to dispel the memory, only to have it replaced by the most brutal memory of all. Bloodstained sheets. Lifeless fingers hanging over the edge of the bed. Heavy eyelids. Pale skin. Death.

  Patrick’s heart slammed in his chest and beads of sweat streaked down his face, and all he could do was stare straight ahead as those gut wrenching images flooded his mind. Stirring all the old painful memories of that day and planting them fresh in his mind.

  “Ye coming, milord?” Cruxley asked, peeking his head into the carriage.

  Patrick jumped, startled. He cleared his throat, but it did no good. His voice still came out rough when he finally spoke. “Leave.” He pressed his thumb and forefingers against his closed eye lids. His mind cleared and reality gripped him again. He still needed to decide where to put Juliet for the night, or what remained of it anyway.

  She’d taken up residence in the governess’ room again after he’d told her not to last week. He wasn’t taking her back there. Not only was it demeaning, it was not where she belonged. But his unyielding reluctance to so much as flicker a glance into the viscountess’ suite, excluded that room from his list of possibilities, too. He gulped. That only left his bedchamber. His pulse sped up. He’d never invited a woman into his bedchamber. Due to his crushing responsibilities, he hadn’t had a single night of carousing before marrying Abigail. She’d been the first woman he’d ever been intimate with, and consequently his last. And never in is room. Always in hers.

  A weight lowered on his stomach. Could he take Juliet to his room? Sure, her light body posed no difficulty to him physically, but could he actually take her there? What would she think when she woke up in is bed? Their closeness tonight at Caroline’s had been undeniable, but would she feel pressured to be intimate with him? He swallowed convulsively. He wouldn’t deny he wanted her that way. He did. He’d have never imagined this burning desire six weeks ago when they’d met. It wasn’t until last week when he’d so shamelessly stared at her while she’d bathed that he’d felt any spark of desire for her. But no amount of physical wanting he had for her would move him to do something to ruin the relationship they’d formed tonight.

  So where should he take her?

  A candle burning by a window in the East Hall gave him the simple answer. “Of course,” he muttered to himself, securing Juliet into his hold.

  He carried her into the house, up the stairs, and settled her into the bed,
impulsively loosening her gown so she’d sleep a bit more comfortably.

  ***

  A bright ray of sunshine streamed into Juliet’s bedchamber from the break in the curtains. Blinking rapidly at the blinding light, she fumbled for her spectacles. After slipping them on, she brought one hand up to shield her eyes from the offensive light and reached over to readjust the drapes with the other. She frowned. Her arm couldn’t reach the drapes, and it had nothing to do with the actual length of her arm, but rather her ability to use it. More specifically, she couldn’t straighten it because the capped sleeve of her gown had slipped from her shoulder and was wrapped around her upper arm in a way that made it impossible to stretch. She stared down at her arm. Why was she in her green ball gown?

  She remembered going to Caroline’s house and how she and Drake had danced. She blushed. The memory of the empty dance floor flashed in her mind. After they’d finished dancing, Caroline’s husband had seen them out. Then what?

  She lowered her hand that was acting as a shield and racked her brain. What happened after they left and how had that ended with her... With her what? Or more importantly where? She blinked. She had no idea which room she was in any more than she knew why she was still wearing her emerald gown from last night.

  She threw her feet over the side of the bed and stood, letting her eyes wander around the room. Nothing about it was familiar or overly welcoming. The bed she’d been sleeping on was a large tester bed with a plush feather mattress, covered with a fine crimson counterpane and about a dozen pillows. Next to the bed was a barren nightstand. She slid open the drawer, frowned, then closed it again. The inside of the drawer was just as stark. A wardrobe across the room caught her eye and she padded across the wooden floor to the oversized piece of furniture. Not sure what to expect, she opened the door and shook her head. Just like the nightstand, it appeared this piece of furniture had been barely used, either. She glanced at the vanity, but didn’t bother to go have a look at it or the bureau. She had a fairly good idea of what she’d find: beautiful wood with nary a mark to indicate they had ever been used.