The Rogue Is Back in Town Read online

  * * *

  Just when it seemed Julie’s day couldn’t get any worse, her sister’s dearest friend and confidante had resorted to blackmail.

  But Julie couldn’t possibly attend a ball tonight. Not if it would mean leaving Lord Travis alone in the house with Uncle Alistair—it would be a classic case of the rogue guarding the henhouse. No, it would never do.

  And yet, Julie had to get rid of Charlotte—quickly. As long as Lord Travis was sprawled on the floor behind them, every minute of the governess’s visit was fraught with danger. Especially when she might unknowingly spill Julie’s history with his brother, the marquess. The rogue already had her back against the wall. Revealing her tryst with his brother would be akin to handing him a pistol.

  And all of that aside … she didn’t want Lord Travis to know. She didn’t want him to know that she’d allowed the fickle marquess to pull her close and whisper her name and brush his lips over hers. That she’d melted into him and sighed as he slid his hands around her waist … and lower, over the curve of her bottom.

  She certainly didn’t want Lord Travis to know she’d foolishly imagined that his brother might care for her and respect her and properly court her—when that hadn’t been the case at all.

  To make matters worse, she’d almost kissed the rogue. Surely Sam’s resemblance to the marquess was to blame. In that moment, she’d been remembering the heady feelings on the terrace with Nigel—when he’d promised her the moon. Or had she?

  Gathering her wits, Julie exhaled slowly. “Charlotte, I’d love to attend the ball with you—”

  “Excellent, then it’s all settled.”

  “—but I can’t. I told Uncle Alistair I’d assist him in his study this evening.”

  Charlotte clucked her tongue. “A poor excuse. He will likely be asleep before the ball begins.”

  Drat. “Perhaps, but I think I should stay with him all the same. He’s been a little wheezy of late.”

  “Then instruct Mr. Finch to send him some willow bark tea before bed. He will be fine,” Charlotte said, adamant. “It’s been weeks since you enjoyed the social whirl. I know how you love a fancy ball, and tonight you shall—with me. Of course, if you refuse, I could write to your sisters and tell them you’ve been despondent ever since the masquerade ball when you and—”

  “Stop!” Julie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “I will go with you.”

  Charlotte clapped her hands in glee. “We’ll bring the carriage ’round at nine o’clock.”

  “You are shameless. And I can see why you’re such a good governess,” Julie added grudgingly. “You have an impressive talent for imposing your will on others.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte stood and smoothed her skirt. “On that note, I shall take my leave.”

  Julie’s heart leaped into her throat—again—as she prayed that the rogue behind the settee would continue to go undetected. “In spite of your bullying, I know that you mean well,” she said, slowly guiding Charlotte toward the front door, “and I adore you for it. Now, tell me which of your gowns you intend to wear this eve—”

  Cough.

  Oh no. Lord Travis must have succumbed to the dust.

  Julie held her breath as the governess whirled back toward the parlor, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

  Pressing a hand to her chest, Julie cleared her throat, then coughed a little for good measure. “This? Just the remnants of a head cold. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  Charlotte arched a brow and pursed her lips, skeptical.

  “Honestly, I am fine.” Julie inched toward the door, but Charlotte’s slippers remained rooted to the floor.

  “Something strange is afoot here,” she said softly.

  “You’ve been reading too many gothic novels.” Julie laughed nervously as she handed Charlotte her bonnet and opened the front door. “Now enjoy your afternoon, and I shall see you in a scant few hours.”

  Once Charlotte was gone, Julie sagged against the front door, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. She replayed their conversation in her head, wondering how much of it Lord Travis had been able to piece together. When she thought she could face him again without bursting into flames, she made her way back to the parlor.

  He stood leaning over the settee, his muscled arms braced on the curved back, looking far too attractive for someone who’d spent the last half hour lying on the floor.

  “So,” he drawled, “you have a beau. You might have told me earlier. You know, before I almost kissed you.”

  Chapter ELEVEN

  “I don’t have a beau,” Juliette countered, but she wouldn’t meet Sam’s gaze.

  “Your friend seems to think you do. Or, at the very least, that the gentleman has captured your affections.” Sam hoped it was someone worthy of her. Someone who’d appreciate her loyalty and passion and not try to snuff it out.

  Juliette began scooping the remaining papers off the parlor floor. “Charlotte is mistaken. But if I did have a beau, he would be no concern of yours. You may be staying here for a short while—a very short while—but that doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal affairs.”

  Sam stooped, retrieved a page of sheet music from beneath the settee, and handed it to her. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But you cannot blame me for being curious.”

  “There is a whole host of things I could blame you for,” she retorted. “And curiosity is the least of them. I hope you realize we had a very close call just now. Charlotte knows something is amiss.”

  He shrugged. “No harm was done. You’ll go to the ball with her this evening, and all will be forgotten.”

  Juliette snorted. “I’m not going to the ball.”

  A tiny part of him was relieved. He didn’t relish the prospect of being stuck in the house, twiddling his thumbs while she danced the evening away in the arms of another man. But the governess had seemed adamant. “You should go,” he said half-heartedly.

  “And leave you here to your own devices? I think not.”

  Ah, so that was the crux of it. “You don’t trust me.”

  She froze and pinned him with an icy stare. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

  True enough. He wondered what it would take. “So you plan to beg off?”

  She sighed. “I’ll wait a couple of hours and send word to Charlotte that I’ve developed a headache.”

  “A headache?” he repeated, scoffing. “She’s already suspicious. You’ll need a better excuse than that.”

  “By all means, give me your suggestions. I’ve told more lies in the course of this day than I have in the past two decades. I might as well end it in a spectacular fashion.”

  He rubbed his chin, thoughtful, and realized he needed a shave—badly. “Allow me to give the matter some thought. I’ll formulate some creative yet believable excuses for you to avoid the ball, and you may take your pick. But in the meantime, I’d like to send word to my valet and request a change of clothes.”

  Juliette blinked. “Yes, of course. I will show you to your room myself, explain to the staff that you’re Uncle Alistair’s temporary assistant, and have a luncheon tray sent up. I think I should like an hour or two of solitude as well. It’s been a terribly long day already.”

  Sam resisted the impulse to gather her in his arms and massage the tension out of her shoulders. He couldn’t forget why he was here and what he had to do—evict her and her uncle from their home. Maybe one day she’d find it in her heart to forgive him, but the chances were admittedly slim.

  She placed the stack of papers she’d collected on top of the pianoforte and inclined her head toward the door. “Come with me.”

  He noted the wobbly newel post and the wallpaper peeling at the seams as he followed her up the staircase. But he was soon all-too-pleasantly distracted by the graceful line of her neck and the seductive sway of her hips. When they reached the landing, she led him to a doorway at the corner of the house and waved him in. “I’m certain the accommodations are more
modest than you’re accustomed to. But in the event that you are dissatisfied, you are free to leave at any time.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course I would. I’d like nothing better than to have my life return to the way it was this morning—before the hour you arrived on my doorstep.”

  “Life doesn’t work that way, spitfire. We can never go back.” What he’d give for the chance to undo some of his misdeeds or to have one more heartfelt conversation with his father.

  “No, I suppose we can’t.” The faraway, wistful look in her eyes made him think she might have regrets too.

  He wanted to pull her close and tell her not to fret. Instead, he jabbed a thumb toward the small desk beneath the window. “Do you mind if I avail myself of pen and paper?”

  “Please do. And do not forget to ask your brother about the deed. I would like to put this matter behind me as quickly as possible.”

  She obviously assumed that her uncle’s right to the property was superior to any claim Nigel had to it—and for the briefest moment, Sam wished that were true. “Of course. I understand.” Impulsively, he reached for the wayward curl that dangled from her temple and swept it away from her cheek. “You should rest. Everything seems less onerous after a nap. Even me.”

  She seemed to consider this a moment. “Then I should definitely nap. But first, I shall have a word with Mr. Finch.”

  “To have him send up a tray?” Sam was famished.

  “Yes,” she said, too sweetly. “While I am at it, I shall attempt to explain your presence in this house and—not coincidentally—request that he count the silver.”

  With that parting shot, she spun on her heel and left him standing there, more than a little smitten with a woman who obviously, and rightfully, detested him.

  * * *

  “Miss Juliette.” A gentle but insistent nudge on her shoulder roused her.

  Julie rolled onto her back and stretched. “Hmmm?”

  “You’ll be wanting dinner tonight, won’t you?” Her maid, Lucy, scurried across the bedchamber and flung open the doors of the armoire.

  “Eventually,” Julie murmured. Sparring with the rogue for the better part of the morning had stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her. She’d spent hours in her room fretting over her predicament before surrendering to exhaustion. And the moment she’d drifted off to sleep, wicked dreams had plagued her. He’d cupped her cheek, his smoldering stare melting away her defenses. She’d kissed him with abandon, letting him lay her back onto the settee and cover her body with his. The warm, solid weight of him had thrilled her, but also made her ache—as though she were positively starved for more of him. Even though she was awake now, her whole body felt flushed and alive and undeniably aroused.

  Which was not at all appropriate, given the circumstances.

  Lucy held up a red brocade gown—one of Julie’s finest. “How’s this?”

  Reluctantly, she sat up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and considered the dress draped over her maid’s arm. The daring neckline, sensuous silk, and decadent color all seemed a bit too much for dinner at home—even though a tiny part of her would have loved to see Lord Travis’s face as she walked into the dining room wearing it. “Let’s save the red silk for a special occasion.” She gestured to the gown hanging on the post at the foot of her bed. “The dress I wore earlier will be fine. I just want to rest a bit longer.”

  “That will never do. Dinner will be served in a quarter of an hour. And Lord Travis is expecting you.” Lucy raised her brows cheekily. “He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he, miss?”

  Julie ignored the question and pressed a hand over her pounding heart. “A quarter of an hour? What time is it?”

  “Why, it’s almost eight. I thought it best to let you rest up before the ball—which happens to be the perfect occasion for the red silk.”

  “Ball? But I—” Blast. She’d intended to send a note to Charlotte earlier. Julie leapt out of bed, hurried to the window, and swept aside the curtain with dread. “It’s already dark. I wasn’t planning to attend the ball, but—”

  “No?” Lucy approached from behind and began adjusting Julie’s corset. “Lord Travis said you were going with Miss Winters.”

  Good heavens. The rogue had the audacity to convey her plans to the members of her staff? “Lord Travis doesn’t dictate my schedule,” Julie said, just as Lucy tugged hard on her corset laces, forcing the air from her lungs. “Not so tight, please.”

  “Forgive me, miss. I’ll loosen this a bit, but the red silk fits you like a glove. We wouldn’t want to spoil the lines of the gown with a sagging corset.”

  Julie turned to face the maid. “The red silk? I thought we’d decided it was going back into the armoire.”

  “That was before you recalled you were attending the ball.” Lucy frowned, clearly confused.

  Julie capitulated. “Fine. I’ll wear the red silk, but I’m not yet certain I’m attending the ball. I feel a headache coming on.”

  “Wait till you see yourself in this gown,” Lucy said, unceremoniously throwing it over Julie’s head. “It will cure your case of the doldrums.”

  There was no sense in arguing with Lucy, who seemed determined to play either the role of fairy godmother or brothel madam—Julie wasn’t certain which. As the maid continued to fuss over her, pinning her curls into submission and debating the merits of pearls versus rubies, Julie considered her own options for the evening. She hated the thought of leaving the rogue alone in the house with her uncle, but Charlotte was bound to be suspicious if she begged off at this late hour. Perhaps more dangerous, however, given the salacious nature of her dreams, was the prospect of spending the entire evening in Lord Travis’s company.

  “There,” Lucy announced proudly. “You look stunning, miss.”

  Julie turned toward the looking glass and gaped at her reflection, momentarily mute.

  “What do you think?” the maid prompted.

  “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?” Torrents of curls cascaded over one bare shoulder, and a single teardrop pearl was suspended above her breasts, which felt scandalously exposed. The fashionably low neckline of the red brocade gown was fraught with peril. “I feel as though one wrong tug on my hem could result in me revealing much more than is seemly.”

  The maid waved a dismissive hand. “All the young ladies are wearing such dresses this season.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s some comfort to know I shall not be the only one whose vanity ultimately led to death by humiliation,” she replied dryly.

  Lucy clucked her tongue. “Goodness, would you look at the time? You’re late for dinner. Go join your uncle and Lord Travis. I’ll bring a shawl and reticule down to you before you depart for the ball. You’re going to have such a grand time! I assume Lord Travis shall be joining you?”

  “He certainly shall not!” Julie shuddered at the thought of the unkempt if devilishly handsome rogue accompanying her and Charlotte into Lady Breckinridge’s ballroom. “That is, I am sure he’s eager to begin his research with my uncle.” Julie blushed to the roots of her hair and prayed that the lying would grow easier over time.

  “I see,” Lucy said doubtfully. “Do try to enjoy yourself, regardless. You deserve to be the belle of the ball—and you look too beautiful to while away the evening straightening the shelves in your uncle’s study.”

  “Thank you,” Julie said sincerely. She exited the room as gracefully as possible, so as not to unduly test the staying power of her gown’s neckline. Thankfully, it proved steadfast as she descended the staircase, and she breathed a little easier.

  Lord Travis’s deep voice came from the direction of the dining room, which meant he and Uncle Alistair awaited her. She paused only a moment before she walked into the cozy if slightly shabby room, her head held high. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” she said breezily. “I fear I overslept.” She moved behind her uncle’s chair, bent forward
to kiss his cheek—and immediately regretted it.

  In hindsight, she shouldn’t have complained to Lucy that her corset was too tight.

  And she most definitely should have insisted on wearing a dress that utilized more fabric.

  With one careless motion, she’d unduly tested the limits of her gown. The bodice shifted, her neckline dipped, and blast it all, one breast slipped free of her corset and shift.

  Heaven help her. She frantically adjusted her neckline, yanking the fabric to cover herself. But the damage had already been done. Uncle Alistair was entirely unaware of the slip, but the rogue … he’d no doubt seen everything.

  She wanted to crawl beneath the table and remain there till the entire household slept. Perhaps then she could flee to her bedchamber and lock herself inside for the next decade. But mortified or no, she would not run away from Lord Travis. Closing her eyes briefly, she willed her heartbeat to slow and steeled herself before meeting his gaze.

  When she did, she almost forgot her abject humiliation—for the sight of him nearly took her breath away.

  Gone was the unshaven, half-dressed rake with mussed hair. In his place stood a tall, impeccably-attired gentleman whose golden-brown hair curled just over his jacket collar and gleamed in the candlelight.

  Devastatingly attractive, he looked so much like his brother, Nigel, that Julie might have mistaken him for the marquess—if not for the telltale, wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Good evening, Miss Lacey,” he said, his voice impossibly rich and smooth. “There’s no need to apologize for your tardiness.”

  Uncle Alistair chuckled. “I should say not. Every young lady is entitled to make a bland entrance. Isn’t that right, Samuel?”

  The rogue winked conspiratorially at her uncle before launching the full force of his gaze on her. “The entrance you just made was … was…”

  “Spit it out, man,” Uncle Alistair encouraged.

  The corner of Lord Travis’s mouth curled into a smile that had no doubt seduced scores of innocent maidens. “Let me put it this way. Even if I had been starved of food for an entire fortnight, your entrance would have been well, well worth the wait.”