Lord Heartless (12 page)

“I must have dropped them when I rose to greet you.” Their eyes locked and a charge of sexual desire lashed from him to her. The thread of her heart gave a skip against the vein in her swanlike neck.

“I hope you did not lose a stitch,” his mother said.

“Fear not, Mama, my wife has many talents I am just learning of. Along with those she possesses the finest virtues and shall soon set it right.” His compliment brought another brush of pink to her rosy cheeks. With great reluctance, he released her from his stare and took his seat upon the sofa. “Is everything all right, my dear?” He lowered his frame to the cushion.

Juliet’s fingers inspected the piece and she nodded. “Yes. Nearly a stitch lost. How clumsy of me.” She wrapped the loose thread around the needles, placing it back in the basket.

“How did you spend your day?” the dowager asked.

With the greatest reluctance, Landon drew his gaze away from his lovely wife. “Oh, I took care of some business.”

“What type of business do you do?” Juliet asked.

“Well, I have some investments, importation of cotton and tea. I dare say it was rather dull compare to the titillating conversation at Madame Beatrice’s.”

His mother laughed. He glanced at her, bewildered.

“I take it all went well?”

“Oh, lovely, until dear Lady Scarborough hastened to join us.”

Landon stiffened. The sound of her name caused him to cast a worried glance at Juliet, who sat tranquilly upon her chair. “She was not rude?”

“No, not in the slightest,” Juliet quickly replied.

Landon relaxed. He did not relish having to dress down the wife of a member of peerage. Yet, had she let loose her sharp harpy’s tongue upon his wife, he would have indeed taken her to task. “Good. She has her own husband to attend to and I wish her not to extend her rudeness to my wife.” He caught his mother’s look of surprise. Landon gave her a look that dared her to make any further mention of the lady in question.

Luckily, Simmons stole the moment to reenter. “Dinner is served.”

“Ah, let us see what Cook has managed to send us this evening.” He rose and extended a hand to help his mother. “I could have sworn I smelled a delightful cherry pie.”

The dowager waited as he turned and offered a hand to Juliet.

She blinked. “Oh, the pie.”

“Yes?” He caught the look between the two women in his life. “Is there a problem with the pie?” He looked toward his mother and watched her bring her hands together to grasp the tip of her cane. Her gaze turned to Juliet.

“So, you have heard?”

Landon shifted his gaze back to his wife. She lowered her head.

“Yes, milady.”

Landon grew cross at being left out of the loop. “Well, I have not. Tell me, what has become of my pie?”

“Gone,” the two women said in unison.

His eyes widened. “Gone? Pilfered?”

“Well,” Juliet stammered. “In a sense, Your Grace.”

Seeing his surprise, she reached out and touched his arm. “Please, Lord Montague, don’t be offended. It appears your son has a similar taste.”

“Alexander had a slice of my pie. That is not upsetting.” He waved a hand and brushed them off.

The dowager turned toward the door as they began their journey to the dining room. “Oh not just a slice, my dear.” She chuckled. “The whole thing.”

“Upon my word.” Landon gasped looking at his wife whose expression seemed to shift from sorrow to mirth.

“I’m afraid we shall not have the company of Alexander for dinner,” Juliet replied as he led her through the doorway. “He’s a bit under the weather.”

“Poor boy.” Landon shook his head. “A night for chamomile tea and toast.”

“Exactly,” the dowager agreed.

Landon stepped behind her to help with the chair. Once his mother was seated, he did the same for Juliet. “I suppose it is a good thing this happens only once a year.”

“Yes.” The dowager turned over her cup and Simmons stepped up to pour coffee.

“So, tell me about this dress?” he asked his wife. “Will it be the same color as your eyes, or the delightful rose of your cheeks?”

“It will be a surprise.” Juliet grew modest.

“Not even a hint?”

She shook her head.

“You see how she treats me, Mother. I am forced to suffer.”

The dowager shifted her eyes toward her son, her mouth twisted in disbelief of his complaints. “It will do your soul good to suffer.”

Landon grinned and sat back as Simmons placed a large standing roast of beef in the center of the table.

***

As dinner concluded, Juliet placed her napkin upon the table.

“Leaving?” the countess asked.

“I think so. I would like a breath of fresh air before going upstairs to read.”

“I used to love the evenings,” Landon’s mother mused. “Taking a walk in the garden. Smelling the roses. The ones in the garden should just be opening. Why not stroll there?”

“Thank you, milady, I think I shall.” Using her palms flat against the table, Juliet pushed her chair back.

Simmons stepped forward and took hold of her chair as Lord Montague tossed his napkin down to help.

“No, Lord Montague, please stay with the countess. I need some time to think.” She watched Landon’s footsteps still. His face took on a bland expression. Self-conscious of her actions, Juliet tugged on the sleeve of her dress and pulled the fabric down to the heel of her palm, thus covering his mark. Her husband’s eyes caught the action. Her face suddenly felt burned.

“As you wish.” Landon bowed his head to concede and stepped from her path.

“My, the heat is taking its toll so early,” the countess said.

Juliet ignored the jab and concentrated on walking with her head erect. She rounded the dowager’s chair and came abreast of her husband; only then did her steps falter. The air around them seemed charged. Her heart thumped wildly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the fabric of his jacket tighten as he took a breath to speak. Her blood rushed to her ears to pound.

“Shall I walk you to the door?”

“I can manage, Your Grace.” She stepped toward the door.

“The terrace entrance is the closest.”

Juliet glanced over her shoulder, and for a beat of her heart, watched his muscles flex as if he knew she was watching. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she opened the door.

“Take care, milady.”

She slipped out the door and let it close behind her. Hands upon the knobs, she leaned back against the wood and let her heart subside to a normal beat. Lord Montague was driving her to distraction. But mindful of what the countess had said, she would keep him at bay.

A man’s heart grows ever fonder when he cannot have what is desired, my dear. Landon has always had his way with the ladies. If he is indeed as smitten as I believe he is, then your play will be to keep him at arm’s length as long as possible.
 

“So much easier said than done, Countess.” She sighed.

Her slippers whispered as she crossed the polished floor of the hall to her husband’s study. Nervously, she grasped the doorknobs and opened them. Not knowing what to expect, she was surprised to see it well kept. No bottles scattered on the floor, nothing reeking of stale cigar smoke. In fact, the first whiff was that of sandalwood and lemon polish. The latter she attributed to Simmons. Walking through, she noticed the painting of the horse above the mantle and the roll of drawing spread across the table just in front of the terrace doors. She paused and pressed them out with her hand. The drawings were of a fine stable and she recalled their first meeting where he mentioned plans to move his racing stock to Holly Grove.

“Good to your word,” she murmured.

A sudden feeling of remorse grew heavy about her shoulders. Hurt twisted her brow. There was much to think about. In her mind, she had already condemned him as a manipulator, yet the man she now knew seemed capable of altering her mindset. “Am I wrong? Have I so misjudged you?” Unconsciously, she drew her hands together and fingered the simple gold band that adorned the third finger on her left hand. “Yes, there is much for me to think about.” She moved to the terrace doors, and she opened them to the night.

***

“Simmons, a glass of wine.” Landon took his seat and drew his napkin once again over his knee.

“So, that is it?”

“What?” Landon growled, evading his mother’s question. Secretly he had hoped Juliet might have relented and allowed him to join her for a stroll. Hearing his mother huff, he glanced over at the head of the table and watched her straighten her shoulders. Mouth tight, she pulled her hands to clasp them together and rested the sides upon the table’s edge. He added a layer of skin, knowing her sharp tongue was about to thrash in his direction.

“Is that all you plan to say?” Her voice mimicked his own. “May I accompany you? Enjoy your stroll. Really, Landon, how very bourgeoisie. I dare say you have been in Black’s company way to long.”

“I’m sorry, it is the best I can do.”

“Then your best is not good enough.”

It wasn’t. He moved his hand toward the glass signaling enough. Simmons backed away. “What would you have me do? Demand she spend time in my company? Juliet would rail against that.” He lifted the glass of wine, tilting it as a bowl of fresh strawberries appeared on his plate. He drew a deep sigh and set the stemware heavily onto the table.

“I should think you might follow her out to the garden. In my day, the moonlight was quite intoxicating.”

Landon studied his glass as his mother’s fork clinked against the bowl. The deeper his focus the lighter the ring at the top of the liquid became. It bothered him that Juliet thought the worst. He had this odd inner sense of wishing to please her, even more than the Ton, or his mother. Yes, she was his wife, and yet, there was something deeper that moved between them when they spoke. He wanted her in some aspects to look up to him. The fact that she didn’t mystified him and left him unsettled.

“Landon!” The dowager’s sharp rebuke brought his head around with a jerk. Red splotches encompassed her cheeks and those sharp eyes blazed. “You have not heard a word I have said.”

He took a deep breath and pulled his napkin from his lap. “On the contrary, Mother, I have heard quite enough.” He rose and kissed her on the cheek.

“Lord Montague, we are not through with our discussion.”

“Yes, Mama, we are.” He turned toward the door. “You can make do with Simmons, can you not?”

“I have in the past, but why? Where are you off to? The clubs?” the dowager demanded.

Landon turned and took a Cheshire cat smile. “No, I think I rather fancy that walk in the garden to enjoy the moonlight.”

His mother’s mouth formed an “O.” Landon turned and opened both doors, then heard her say, “This younger generation cannot think for themselves, Simmons. We must lead them like cattle to the well.” She let go a deep sigh without exception for his benefit. “I fear for England. It will not survive when they take over the reins of government.”

Landon grinned as he closed the doors.

***

He had no sense of time. However standing at the open doors of the terrace, his hand resting on the jamb, he watched her pace among the shadows as the night closed in. The rose garden had been laid out by his mother many years ago. The pathways scattered with oyster shells and bordered by more than two-dozen rose bushes of all hues. The center focus however was the fountain his father had painstakingly brought back from Greece at the height of his travels.

Dropping his hand, he walked out onto the flagstone of the terrace and took a step down. From this angle, Juliet disappeared. His boots crunched against the ground as he strode in the quiet toward the fountain. At the edge of the path, he spied her, turning hands clenched before her, her gaze focused on the ground. Her face a mask of intense emotion—she seemed to be deliberating something of great importance. Swallowing the nervousness that arose in his throat, Landon stepped into her path.

His boot pressed against a fallen branch the gardener failed to pick up. The snap caused her to stop and look up. He caught the slight dart of her eyes and feared she might flee. “Forgive me, Juliet, I didn’t wish to startle you.”

“It is your house, your garden, milord.”

His teeth clenched. He wished she would drop the formal when they were alone. “Yes, it is the family garden.” He walked toward her and offered her his arm. “Shall we stroll?”

He held his arm steady and waited patiently until her hand touched his sleeve. Landon allowed a soft smile to lift the corners of his lips. Placing his right hand over hers, he led her down the path toward the center of the garden.

“When I was Alexander’s age, I used to hate coming out here.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “I would think it would be a perfect place for a child to hide.”

“Perhaps, it was.” He shrugged. “But usually if I were in the garden, it meant that I had been caught in some mischief.”

“You? Mischief? I find that hard to believe.”

He glanced to his left. By Jove, she was teasing. He grinned. “You’d be surprised.” They rounded a corner and came to a small marble bench. Landon let go of Juliet’s hand so she could sit.

“Still, it hardly seems like punishment.”

“May I?” He gestured to the space beside her.

She smiled and scooted down. “To a young boy, pulling weeds and planting flowers would seem like being sent to Newgate.”

“Oh, it was.” He took his seat.

“You don’t talk about your childhood.”

“No. I guess no more than you talk about yours.”

Juliet looked down at her dress. “I’m afraid mine was very guarded. Father off and about after my mother’s death, his whole world had so changed.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“It was a carriage accident. She and Father were coming home from a party. It was raining. The driver hit a hole the carriage turned over. Mother was pinned beneath in a stream and drowned.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. From that moment on, he found it hard to stay at Holly Grove.”

“I can imagine,” Landon murmured.