Vice (14 page)

Juliana’s blood ran cold. They had traced her to London. She shook her head.

“This gentleman seemed convinced you had come from Winchester, not York,” the duke said gently. He raised an eyebrow as he met her gaze. “He described you rather accurately. But perhaps you have a twin somewhere.”

“Don’t play with me, my lord duke,” Juliana said
fiercely. “I have no intention of denying that I got off the Winchester coach. What point would there be at this stage?”

“None whatsoever,” he agreed, taking a seat opposite her. “So who would be searching for you … apart from the constables?”

“My guardian, Sir Brian Forsett, perhaps.”

“I understand this was a young man,” Elizabeth said. “Somewhat corpulent and a little … well, rustic, according to Mr. Bute.”

“George,” Juliana said flatly. “But why would he bother to find me? It’s a case of good riddance, I would have thought. For everyone,” she added almost in an undertone.

Tarquin’s gaze sharpened, resting on her face. He watched the flicker of hurt in the green eyes, the momentary soft quiver of the full mouth. To his astonishment he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her.

Only with one other woman had he had such an urge. Pamela Cartwright. How flattered he’d been when the beautiful Pamela had chosen him, a naive youth, over the sophisticated men-about-town, the wealthy roués, the powerful politicians, who clustered at her feet. And how long it had taken him to understand that she was interested only in his fortune. He’d bought every kiss, every caress, and convinced himself that she gave him love in return. He’d trusted her with his innermost feelings, had stripped himself bare for her, and she had trampled on his youthful passions, his burgeoning sensitivity.

But that was in the past, and he was no longer an idealistic young fool.

“Come, now,” he said briskly. “You can’t imagine that you can disappear off the face of the earth without some member of your family looking for you.”

“I don’t see why not,” Juliana said. “My guardian and his wife were delighted to wash their hands of me. They’ll be in no rush to find me, particularly when I’m supposed to be a murderess. They’re more likely to disown me.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Tarquin saw the hurt
that still nickered in her eyes, still tremored slightly on her mouth, and he caught a glimpse of the lonely, unloved child she’d been.

“This George,” Elizabeth prompted, bringing the duke sharply back to the issue at hand. “Is he a member of your family?”

“My husband’s son,” Juliana said. “Sir George, I suppose he is, now that John’s dead. He probably wants to find me so he can get the marriage settlements back. He was furious at the conditions of my jointure.”

“Ahh,” said Tarquin. “Money. That’s a powerful motivation. How clever is he, in your opinion?”

“Thick as a block,” Juliana said. “But he’s as vicious as a terrier when he gets an idea in his head. He won’t let go.”

“Well, I daresay we can put him off the scent,” the duke declared. “As the wife of Viscount Edgecombe, you’ll be beyond the reach of some country bumpkin.”

“But not beyond the reach of the Duke of Redmayne,” she flashed.

Tarquin regarded her wryly and in silence for a minute while she stared back at him, refusing to drop her eyes. Then he turned back to Elizabeth. “If you’d send for Mr. Copplethwaite, madam, we can complete the formalities. The sooner Juliana is established, the safer she will be.”

“Established as what, might I ask?” To Juliana’s annoyance her voice shook slightly. “Am I to be married by an unfrocked priest in a marriage shop?”

“Now, who could have put such an absurd and insulting idea in your head?” demanded Tarquin, genuinely startled.

“Such an ungrateful creature, she is,” Elizabeth declared, glaring reproachfully at Juliana. “To be so ungracious when she’s being offered such an opportunity.”

“Oh, spare me your pious hypocrisies, madam!” Juliana leaped to her feet. “I am being compelled into prostitution, so pray let us call a spade a spade.” She spun on her heel and stalked to the door. Unfortunately, the dramatic effect of her exit was somewhat diminished when her skirt caught
in the door as she slammed it behind her and she was obliged to open it again to release herself.

The Duke of Redmayne took a leisurely pinch of snuff. “I foresee a somewhat turbulent few months,” he observed. “But I expect I shall find it interesting, at the very least.” He rose to his feet. I’ll return this evening. I don’t wish Juliana to keep company with the other girls today, I’m inclined to think she’s listened enough to their tales and gossip. She should keep to her chamber for the rest of the day. I would find her there alone when I come.”

“And the lawyer, sir?” Elizabeth walked to the door with him.

“Instruct Copplethwaite to call upon me in Albermarle Street as soon as the contracts have been drawn up to your satisfaction,” he said. “I will then procure a special license. The marriage should take place without delay…. Oh, and reassure the child about the marriage, will you? I won’t have her believing I would play her false.”

“I cannot imagine how she could have thought such a thing.” Elizabeth curtsied at the door.

“Neither can I,” he responded aridly. “Good day, ma’am.” He bowed and strode down the stairs, leaving Elizabeth at the top, looking both thoughtful and annoyed, before she turned and made her way upstairs to Juliana’s chamber.

Juliana had discarded her hoop and was struggling with the laces of her corset when Mistress Dennison entered. “You should summon Bella to help you,” Elizabeth said.

“I am accustomed to looking after myself,” Juliana responded, gyrating impatiently as she tugged at a recalcitrant knot. It came undone, and with a sigh of relief she pulled the garment from her, tossing it onto the bed. “Did you wish to speak with me, ma’am?”

“His Grace bids you remain in your chamber,” Elizabeth said.

Juliana sat on the bed in her shift and underpetticoat. “Why?”

“His Grace was most distressed that you should have
heard tales of the marriage shops,” Mistress Dennison said. “He prefers that you hear no more of such nonsense.”

“Oh?” Juliana raised an eyebrow. “So it’s nonsense, is it, ma’am? They were making it up?”

“No,” Elizabeth responded. “It does happen, but girls who form contracts from this house are in no danger of such a deception. And His Grace of Redmayne is a man of honor.”

“Pshaw!” Juliana declared disgustedly. “What he’s proposing is hardly
honorable
, ma’am.”

“Oh, I despair of you, girl.” Elizabeth threw up her hands. “I won’t argue with you further. Do I have your word that you’ll remain in this room until His Grace returns? Or must I turn the key?”

“I’ll not leave,” Juliana said, falling back onto the bed and closing her eyes. “It makes no difference to me whether you lock me in or not. I’m a prisoner either way.”

Elizabeth snorted and marched out, closing the door with a snap behind her.

As she lay on the bed, Juliana conjured up the image of the Duke of Redmayne. He was a powerful man, one clearly accustomed to getting his own way in everything. And he’d made it clear from the very beginning that he intended to have his own way in this.

She wondered how she would have reacted if he’d put the proposition to her in another way. If he’d
asked
her if she’d agree to it instead of threatening blackmail from the first moment.

If it had been put to her differently, she might have found the proposition almost enticing. If it had been suggested as a partnership that benefited them both, she might well have considered it. It could be no worse a fate than lying night after night beneath John Ridge, bearing his children….

Unconsciously, she moved her hands over her body outlined beneath the thin shift. That strange effervescence was coursing through her again. A jubilant, exhilarated sense of anticipation. The Duke of Redmayne was an arrogant tyrant,
but when he touched her, her body took off on some weird flight of fancy over which her mind had no control. She could enjoy that, if she decided to. She could enjoy the Duke of Redmayne, if she decided to. But she didn’t have to let him know that.

A slow smile curved her mouth.

After Juliana’s solitary dinner Bella came in, her habitual beam on her round face. “Mistress sent ye up a right pretty chamber robe, miss.” She shook out the delicate cambric folds of a white lace-trimmed wrapper. “Shall you put it on?”

Juliana took the garment from her. It was an exquisite froth of lace and ruffles, embroidered with tiny cream daisies. Another of the duke’s sartorial inspirations?

“It’s for when the duke visits ye,” Bella said, confirming this unspoken assumption. “I’m to ’elp you get ready for im.

“Now?”
Despite her earlier resolutions, Juliana’s blood began to speed and her heart banged against her ribs. It was too soon. She wasn’t prepared.

“’Is Grace will be along after tea,” Bella said. “Mistress said as ’ow I was to show ye about perfume an’ what kind of refreshments the gentlemen like.” She put a small vial on the dresser. “We jest dabs this be’ind yer ears, and knees, an’ between yer breasts. Some gentlemen care fer it in other places, too, but I daresay ’Is Grace will tell you what ’e wants. They usually does.” She smiled and nodded reassuringly. “Miss Rosamund ’ad a gentleman once what liked it between ’er toes. He liked to suck ’em.” Bella giggled. “She said it tickled summat chronic. But she couldn’t laugh in case ’e got upset.”

Bella matter-of-factly began to remove Juliana’s shift and petticoat. Juliana was for the moment speechless as she absorbed the maid’s informative chatter. She’d heard similar discussions about adorning a prize pig for auction at the summer fair.

“I wonder if ’n we should put a little rouge on yer nipples,” Bella mused. “I don’t know as ’ow ’Is Grace would like it. Lots of ’em do.” She poured hot water into the basin and dipped a washcloth in. “I’ll jest wash ye a bit. Freshen ye up a bit. Very fussy Mistress Dennison is about cleanliness in this ’ouse. We don’t ’ave no need of mercury treatments or Dr. Leakey’s pills ’ere.”

“What are they for?” Juliana was prompted out of her stunned silence by this.

“For the clap a’course,” Bella said in surprise. “Don’t ye know about the pox?”

“Not intimately,” Juliana said aridly. “But I imagine it’s an occupational hazard, like the cart’s arse and Bridewell.”

The sarcasm missed Bella completely as she plied the washcloth over Juliana’s naked body. “Oh, our ladies don’t worry about that, miss,” she said. “This is a respectable ’ouse. Only the best customers and the freshest pieces. We don’t dabble in the market. Don’t get no raids ’ere.”

“You relieve my mind.” Juliana gave herself up to Bella’s attentions. The girl clearly knew what she was about when it came to preparing a harlot for a customer. She patted Juliana dry, then dabbed perfume behind her ears, at her throat, on her wrists, and behind her knees.

“What about the rouge, then, miss?” Bella opened an alabaster pot and dipped a finger in. “Jest a touch.” Her finger approached Juliana’s breast.

Juliana jumped back. “No,” she said, revolted. “There are some things I’ll endure, but that’s not one of them.”

Bella looked disappointed, but she wiped her finger clean on the washcloth. “What about paintin’ yer toenails? Lots of the gentlemen likes that.”

“No,” Juliana declared. “No paint, no powder, no rouge. Just pass me that robe.”

Bella hastened to fetch the chamber robe and slipped it over Juliana’s shoulders. It fell in soft folds to her bare feet, caressing her sweetly fragrant skin. Bella fastened the fringed embroidered girdle at her waist and adjusted the high ruffled neckline.

“Oh, that’s so demure, miss,”. she said in awe. “Doesn’t show nothin’ of you at all. I wonder what ’Is Grace fancies, then? Some men like the girls to dress as schoolgirls … and that Lord Tartleton likes ’em dressed like a nun.” She shook her head wisely. “None so strange as gentlemen.”

Juliana examined herself in the mirror.
Demure
was certainly the word, and yet not quite. The material was so fine that her skin glowed pink beneath, and when she moved, the gown flowed over her, revealing the shapes and shadows of her body. It was a most seductive garment.

Lord of hell, she was beginning to think like a whore! She took several steps around the room, feeling the sensuous swish of the robe, inhaling her scent as her skin warmed the fragrance. A bud of excitement grew in her belly, little rivulets of fire darting into her loins.

“Yer ’air, miss.” Bella flourished the hairbrush. “I’ll brush it fer you.”

Juliana sat down on the ottoman, her head drooping beneath Bella’s strong, rhythmic strokes. Her hair crackled, springing out from beneath the brush with a life of its own. It seemed to fill the room with color. She watched in the mirror as the candle’s glow caught each vibrant strand.

“Will I thread the ribbon through it?” Bella laid down the brush and took up an ivory silk ribbon. Juliana nodded. She hadn’t the will to make small, pointless gestures of independence tonight. They could prepare her for the duke’s bed however they thought best. She had enough to do with mental preparation.

She watched as Bella fastened the ribbon around her forehead so that her hair was caught and held at the top but poured out in a river of fire beneath, framing her face and cascading onto the white cambric of her robe. “I look like some virgin shepherdess,” she murmured. For some reason the thought set her eyes alight with the excitement that was blooming in her belly.

“All innocent like,” Bella agreed. “I expect that’s what ’Is Grace fancies this evening.”

“Do the gentlemen always make their preferences known beforehand?”

“Not always.” Bella began to tidy up the dresser. “Sometimes the ladies ’ave to change all of a sudden like, if a gentleman ’as a change of fancy. I ’elps them, then. Me an’ Minnie.” She gathered up the basin, ewer, and washcloth. “I’ll get rid of these, miss. Then I’ll bring in the refreshments.”

Juliana went to the window after the maid had bustled out. Dusk was falling, and the riotous sounds from the Piazza came clear on the still and sultry air. There was music, a fife and drums, rising above the general cacophony. In the street below a blind harpist sat on a box, plucking his strings mournfully in competition with a shoeblack who was hailing potential customers in a shrill singsong.