Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Read online

  "Dear heavens!" Juliana exclaimed loudly enough to make the people nearby look over. "Lord Neville, are you all right?"

  Clearly he wasn't.

  "Help!" she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way people did when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But it seemed he couldn't even cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.

  Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. "A chair," Lord Stafford instructed. "Now."

  Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount's cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolatey voice that had weakened Juliana's knees when they danced together last week.

  But Lord Neville didn't look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn't seem to think so, though. Decidedly unpanicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.

  She couldn't imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man's big body to lean over the back. Quickly, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville's mouth and landed at Juliana's feet.

  The viscount took several gasping, gulping breaths while Lord Stafford moved the chair around and helped the man lower himself onto it. Lord Neville slumped there, the color returning to his face while he breathed deeply, as though the simple act of drawing air was the most satisfying thing he'd ever done.

  Juliana released a long sigh of relief, in concert with several other people who had become riveted by the emergency.

  "You saved his life," she told Lord Stafford, impressed. After all, she was a woman intent on helping others, and Lord Stafford clearly did the same. But rather than acknowledge her compliment, he only shrugged and crouched down by Lord Neville, asking to have a look in his throat.

  Supposing now was not the time to press Lord Neville about his daughter's snake, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the excitement. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

  "I told you Lord Stafford was a good man," Griffin said beside her.

  She glanced at the man, who was now examining the back of Lord Neville's throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark, tousled curls flopped over his forehead.

  "He saved the viscount's life," Griffin added.

  "That's his job," she snapped. Lord Stafford's quick, skillful actions didn't mitigate his shortcomings. He was not what she was looking for in a husband. "Where in heaven's name is Amanda?"

  "Right there," Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of men across the room.

  If Amanda hadn't been tall enough that Juliana could glimpse the blond curls piled on her head, she'd never have believed it. And to think she'd fretted earlier concerning Amanda's ability to attract suitors. Her worries had proved to be groundless.

  The trifle was clearly working.

  By all appearances, Amanda hadn't needed Aunt Frances to make any introductions. She was completely surrounded by men. Old men, young men, and men in between. Even Lord Malmsey was there. He stood at the edge of the clutch of admirers, looking somewhat disconcerted to find his betrothed suddenly commanding so much attention.

  Juliana went over and wormed her way into the crowd. She touched Amanda on the arm, and when Amanda glanced down, she whispered, "The look." Evidently flustered by her new popularity, Amanda appeared nonplussed for a moment, but quickly smiled one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, then chose a man and flirted through her newly darkened lashes.

  "Would you honor me with a dance?" he asked immediately.

  "With pleasure, my lord," Amanda said, just as Juliana had taught her. As she went off on the man's arm, she glanced back to meet Juliana's gaze, her own eyes filled with wonder. "They're falling at my feet," she mouthed silently.

  Of course they were. Hadn't Juliana told her that would happen?

  It certainly looked as though they'd be able to find a man willing to compromise Amanda. Now all Juliana had to do was find the right man—a man who would make her friend happy.

  More than a dozen men were showing keen interest in Amanda. The fact that Juliana herself had rejected each and every one of them had no bearing whatsoever. She and Amanda were very different women, with very different requirements in a husband. And half of the men met Amanda's foremost requirement—that is, they were young men, or significantly younger than Lord Malmsey, at least.

  One of them ought to do just fine.

  Without Amanda at the center of it, the group slowly dispersed. But Lord Malmsey still stood there, gazing toward the dance floor dejectedly. Although Juliana didn't know him well, he'd always seemed a kindly man. If he wasn't precisely handsome, at least he was pleasant-looking, even now, with his mouth set in a straight line. But his pale green eyes seemed haunted.

  Quite suddenly, Juliana realized there was a flaw in her perfect plan. In seeing to Amanda's happiness, she was making Lord Malmsey unhappy. And that would never do.

  "What are you plotting now, Juliana?"

  She looked over to see Corinna and Alexandra. "Nothing," she told them both.

  "I recognize that look on your face," Alexandra said.

  Juliana never had been able to fool her older sister. "Oh, very well," she admitted. "I'm trying to find a match for Lord Malmsey."

  Looking startled, Corinna glanced to the melancholy man and back. "Holy Hannah, what put that thought into your head?"

  Juliana had no answer for that—at least no answer that wouldn't reveal her friend's predicament.

  "Something is going on." Corinna narrowed her eyes. "Something to do with Amanda."

  Juliana sighed. She should have known Corinna would weasel the truth out of her one way or another. "Can you keep a secret?"

  "Of course we can," Alexandra said, looking a little hurt. "Have we broken a confidence ever?"

  Well, no, neither of them had. Not to Juliana's knowledge, anyway. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Amanda's father has betrothed her to Lord Malmsey."

  "I knew it!" Corinna exclaimed at the same time Alexandra said, "That's dreadful."

  "Quite. Amanda is understandably upset, but Lord Wolverston will hear nothing of it. He's told her that if she refuses to go through with the wedding, he'll disinherit her."

  Corinna gasped. "Then no one else will ever offer for her."

  Of the three of them, she always had been the most blunt.

  "Precisely," Juliana said. "Which is why I'm engaged in helping Amanda entice a younger man, in the hopes that he'll offer for her before it's too late." While that wasn't the complete plan, it was close enough. She wasn't about to admit that they'd also have to persuade the man to publicly compromise her friend in order to force Lord Wolverston's hand. "But I cannot find love for Amanda at Lord Malmsey's expense. That would be terribly unfair."

  "Juliana always wants to see everyone happy," Alexandra reminded their sister.

  "In all his many years," Corinna pointed out, "Lord Malmsey has never proposed to anyone before Amanda. He's too shy to approach another woman."

  "Then a shy spinster will be a perfect match." Juliana's gaze wandered the ballroom. Miss Hartshorn was too old; Lady Sarah Ballister was too young; Miss Ashton was entirely too outgoing. She scanned past her chaperone, then back. "Aunt Frances," she said, nodding to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

  "Aunt Frances?" Corinna's brilliant blue eyes widened. "You're thinking to match Aunt Frances with Lord Malmsey?"

  Alexandra frowned toward their aunt, no doubt considering her spectacles and unstylish gray hair. "I've never seen Aunt Frances show romantic interest in a man."

  "That's only
because no man has ever shown an interest in her," Juliana said. "And that will all change when she receives Lord Malmsey's love letter."

  "What love letter?" Alexandra and Corinna asked in unison.

  Juliana shook her head. "The one I'm going to write, of course."

  Her sisters had no imagination.

  She spotted one of their cousins, looking lost. "Rachael!" she called with a wave, starting toward her.

  Corinna grabbed her arm. "Are you plotting something else now?"

  "Of course not," Juliana said, although she hoped to get her brother to dance with her cousin.

  Rachael and Griffin belonged together, but Rachael had seemed a bit down lately and hadn't attended many events, which had hampered Juliana's efforts to match them.

  "I just want to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party," she explained with an innocent smile.

  NINE

  WARY OF Juliana's grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their cousin. "Oh, there you are," she said. "Rachael would love to dance with you."

  Rachael's gorgeous sky blue eyes narrowed, making Griffin suspect she found Juliana's statement as preposterous as he did. An awkward moment passed while he shifted uncomfortably. But there was nothing for it—no way to duck out of this situation gracefully.

  Sometime in the years he'd spent in the military, Juliana had completely mastered the art of meddling.

  "I would be honored, Lady Rachael," he said at last, "if you would join me for the next dance."

  "Splendid," Juliana said as the musicians struck up a waltz. "Please excuse me." She waved them toward the dance floor. "I must speak with Alexandra."

  "She was just speaking with Alexandra,” Rachael informed him as they began waltzing. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?"

  Griffin refused to take offense at her question. For one thing, she felt entirely too good in his arms—which was completely inappropriate—and for another, the remark was made with good humor. "Only Juliana," he told her lightly.

  "Like hell," she said. Rachael could curse like a sailor, but he considered that part of her charm. "Alexandra and Corinna know how to play you just as well."

  Since he couldn't really argue, he twirled her and changed the subject. "You've been hiding this season."

  The good humor vanished, replaced by a melancholy air. Even the chestnut tendrils around her face seemed to droop. "I haven't felt much like mingling."

  She didn't have to say why. Griffin knew—although his sisters didn't—that Rachael had been dealt a blow several months earlier when she'd learned the man she'd called "Papa" since birth hadn't actually been her father.

  "It doesn't signify," he said quietly.

  "It signifies to me. I feel like my life has been a lie."

  "Has something changed at home? Is Noah treating you differently? Or Claire or Elizabeth?"

  "No. Not at all. But I feel as though they should."

  "You all shared a mother. They're still your brother and sisters."

  She sighed, obviously shaken. "I know." Her eyes grew suspiciously moist, making him fear that her chin—her adorable, dented chin—might begin to wobble next.

  And Griffin found himself wanting to help her.

  The entire affair was none of his business. Between running a marquessate and marrying off his sisters, God knew he already had enough on his plate. But Rachael was young and beautiful. She should be enjoying herself, searching for a husband, falling in love. She was his cousin—in name, if not by blood—and he wanted to see her happy.

  The haunted look in her cerulean eyes caused a tightness in his chest.

  "Do you want me to help you find your father?" he asked.

  "No," she said unequivocally. "He's dead."

  He thought about pointing out that, whether her father was dead or not, learning his identity might afford her some peace. But the music ended, and she drew back and dipped into a curtsy.

  "Thank you, Lord Cainewood," she said without meeting his eyes. And then she walked away.

  Given their shared childhood, her curtsy had been way too formal. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn't have offered to help her anyway—he always found himself clenching his teeth when she was around. The last thing he needed was a woman like Rachael complicating his life.

  As he made his way from the dance floor, the Duke of Castleton walked up. "When are you going to sell me Velocity?"

  Grateful for the distraction, Griffin laughed. "Never. When are you going to give up asking?"

  "Never." Although Castleton gave a determined nod, not a hair on his carefully coiffed blond head moved. "I heard he made a good showing at Ascot."

  "A pity you missed the meet," Griffin said, remembering Juliana preferred fair men. "You've a fine stable, Castleton."

  "It would be finer with Velocity."

  "Velocity—as I've told you at least a dozen times—isn't for sale." Considering the subject closed, Griffin gestured across the room. "I say, would you care to meet my sister Juliana?"

  EVERYONE WHO was anyone was at Lady Hammersmithe's ball. Including James's mother, Cornelia—the Dowager Countess of Stafford—and her older sisters, Aurelia and Bedelia.

  In the refreshment room, James handed them all glasses of champagne. "How is your throat, Aunt Bedelia?"

  "Better. But my chest has been paining me." She put a narrow hand to her flat bosom—Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. "Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen to my heart with your new stethoscope."

  Doing his best to appear concerned, James sipped champagne. "Perhaps I'll do that."

  "Certainly you will," his mother said, but she softened that with a smile that reached her brown eyes.

  Besides sharing James's eyes, she had the same dark hair, and he thought, not for the first time, that she was quite attractive for a woman of her years. Aurelia might be a mite plump, and Bedelia a bit too thin, but Cornelia was perfectly in between.

  "Have you enjoyed the dancing this evening?" she asked him.

  "Am I supposed to?" he responded dryly. "I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment."

  "Grandchildren are the object," Aurelia put in. "And grandnephews and grandnieces."

  He'd thought as much. But he couldn't imagine marrying any of the women he'd danced with tonight, let alone siring offspring with any of them. Try as he might—and he was trying, for his mother's sake if not his own—he feared he couldn't imagine marrying again at all.

  The problem was, he'd had love and marriage once. So now one without the other—marriage without the love—just seemed plain…impossible. But a loveless marriage was all he could ever have, because loving a woman besides Anne was unthinkable. Even considering it felt disrespectful, as though he would be desecrating Anne's memory.

  Not that she'd have objected, mind you. Anne had been generous and giving. She wouldn't have wanted him to be unhappy or lonely all his life. If he'd asked her permission—which he hadn't, of course—she would certainly have said he could fall in love with someone else after she was gone.

  But that wasn't going to happen. Whenever he'd danced with a lady tonight, Anne's serious, loyal face had seemed to shimmer before his eyes.

  "I only want you to be happy," his mother said.

  "I know." He knew, too, that she understood how he felt. Or at least she should. She'd also loved and lost a spouse. "Why aren't you dancing, Mother?"

  "Me?"

  Perhaps if he turned the tables, she might realize she was pushing too hard. That he wasn't yet ready. "Yes, you. "

  Aurelia and Bedelia tittered. Maybe it was the champagne, but he thought not.

  "What?" he said, turning to confront them. "Father has been gone longer than Anne. And your husbands have been gone even longer. All three of you should be dancing."

  The sisters exchanged startled glances. "We're too old," Aurelia said for all of them.

  "Nonsense." Aurelia and Bedelia were well into th
eir sixties, but his mother was only fifty-six. He put down his champagne, then took their three glasses and set them down, too. "You're not going to find new husbands while standing around the refreshment table. Come along."

  Grabbing his mother's hand, he drew her toward the ballroom, trusting her sisters to follow. After all, the three of them stuck together as tightly as a bandage to a wound.

  His profession required prescribing medicine…perhaps it was time they got a taste of their own.

  TEN

  WHILE AMANDA was off dancing with her fourth or fifth potential suitor, and Juliana was inviting—well, perhaps begging—Rachael's two sisters to attend her little sewing party tomorrow, Griffin brought a strange man to meet her.

  Not that he was actually strange, mind you. But he was definitely a stranger. Which Juliana found intriguing, because, honestly, she'd thought she'd already met every eligible man who'd bothered to come to town this season.

  "My sister," Griffin said by way of introduction. "Lady Juliana."

  The man was handsome, fair-haired, and not too tall. Juliana smiled and curtsied.

  "Juliana, I'd be pleased for you to meet the Duke of Castleton."

  A duke! Handsome, fair-haired, not too tall, and wealthy and well connected. Juliana's heart fluttered with excitement as the duke bowed over her hand. "Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Juliana?"

  "It would be my pleasure," she said and let him lead her onto the floor.

  The duke's dress and bearing were both impeccable, and he proved to be a fine dancer. "Where have you been all season?" she asked.

  "Abroad, seeing to some of my interests now that the war with France has come to an end."

  "Ah." Though he wasn't holding her very closely, she could smell his costly eau de cologne. "All your many interests keep you busy, then?"

  "Not usually." He had calm, pale blue eyes. "It's been years since I've been overseas. I much prefer to stay here in town and fill my life with amusements."

  No profession, nothing to keep him from spending lots of time with her. His blond hair was neatly groomed—unlike tousled Lord Stafford, he obviously had time to tend to it. He was sounding better and better. Perfect, as a matter of fact.