The Rogue's Disgraced Lady
Autorzy
Carole Mortimer
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16,4K
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16
Chapter One
‘I have no idea why you felt it necessary to force me from my bed at the crack of dawn—’
‘It was eleven o’clock, Gray,’ Sebastian pointed out as he expertly handled the matching greys stepping out lively in front of his curricle.
‘As far as I am concerned, any hour before midday is the crack of dawn,’ Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray to his closest friends—assured him dourly as he huddled down on the seat beside him, the high collar of his fashionably cut jacket snug about his ears despite the warmth of this August summer day. ‘I barely had time to wake, let alone enjoy my breakfast.’
‘Kippers, eggs and toast, accompanied by two pots of strong coffee,’ Sebastian said cheerfully. ‘All eaten, as I recall, while you perused today’s newspaper.’
‘My valet was rushed through my ablutions, and…’
Sebastian stopped listening to Gray’s complaints at this point. He was too full of anticipation at the prospect of the challenge of seducing Juliet Boyd to allow anything—or anyone—to shake him out of his good temper.
‘…and now my closest friend in the world is so bored by my company that after dragging me forcibly from my own bed and home he cannot even be bothered listening to me!’ Gray scowled up at him censoriously.
Sebastian gave an unrepentant grin as he glanced down at the other man. ‘When you have something interesting to say, Gray, I assure you I will listen.’
‘Could you at least try to be a little less cheerful?’ his friend muttered sourly. ‘I do believe I am feeling a little delicate this morning.’
‘A self-inflicted delicacy!’ The two men had done the rounds of the drinking and gambling clubs yesterday evening—Sebastian had won, Gray had not—after which his friend had left to spend several hours in the bed of his current mistress, before returning to his home in the not-so-early hours.
‘You are in disgustingly good humour this morning, Seb.’ Gray gave another wince. ‘Have you taken a new mistress to replace Lady Hawtry?’
‘Not yet.’ Sebastian grinned wolfishly. ‘But I intend doing so in the next two weeks.’
‘Oh, I say!’ Gray’s interest quickened. ‘I hope you are not intending to try your luck with Dolly Bancroft during your stay at Banford Park? I warn you, next to your brother Lucian and yourself, Bancroft is the best swordsman in England!’
‘You may rest easy concerning both my interest in Dolly’s bedchamber and Bancroft’s prowess with the sword,’ Sebastian assured him dryly. ‘Dolly and I are no more than friends and never will be.’ Especially now that he knew Dolly had been bedded by both his brothers!
Gray arched a dark brow. ‘But you admit there is a lady involved in our uncharacteristic behaviour in attending a summer house party?’
‘Of course,’ Sebastian drawled, but he had no intention of sharing his particular interest in bedding the newly widowed Countess of Crestwood.
‘Tell me I do not see the parson’s mousetrap snapping at your booted heels…’ Gray mocked.
Sebastian gave a humourless laugh. ‘You most assuredly do not.’ He was even more determined to avoid that state after seeing both his brothers succumb over the last year.
‘I must say neither of your brothers seems to mind it so much.’ Gray’s thoughts travelled the same path. ‘I am not sure that I should mind, either, if I had one of their wives for my own!’
‘In that case, feel free to find your own wife, Gray,’ Sebastian jeered. ‘But for goodness’ sake, do not attempt to find one for me.’ His interest in any woman, Juliet Boyd included, did not include marriage!
‘Yes, Sebastian, she has arrived.’ Dolly answered his silent question once the greetings were over and Gray had departed to the library to share a glass of reviving brandy with his host. ‘She has asked for tea in her bedchamber, however, and has every intention of staying there until it is time to come down for dinner. But I have given you adjoining bedchambers. The balconies of your rooms are connected also,’ she confided warmly.
Sebastian smiled his satisfaction with the arrangement. ‘I trust I will be seated next to her at dinner too?’
‘Sebastian, I am not sure your interest in the Countess is altogether wise…’ Dolly suddenly looked troubled.
‘If it were “wise”, Dolly, I doubt I should wish to pursue it!’ he teased. ‘Now, if I have your permission, I believe I would like to retire to my own bedchamber and rest a little before dinner.’
‘Rest?’ His hostess’s brow arched speculatively.
‘I assure you I have no intention of intruding upon the privacy of the lady before we have even been formally introduced,’ he pointed out.
‘That will come later, one assumes?’ Dolly teased.
‘Hopefully, yes,’ Sebastian murmured.
There had been many rumours circulating about the Countess of Crestwood since her husband’s sudden death—most of them unpleasant, to say the least. But none of them had even hinted at her ever being involved in a liaison with another man, either before or during her marriage. Or, indeed, since her marriage had ended….
So Sebastian spent the hours before dinner resting in his bedchamber, all the time aware that the beautiful but elusive Juliet Boyd was in the room adjoining his. All was silent behind the closed lace curtains at the windows, however, and the French doors into her bedchamber from the balcony remained firmly shut against the warmth of the day.
But she had accepted the invitation, as Dolly had said she would. And Juliet could not remain in her bedchamber for the whole of her stay here….
Juliet had never felt so nervous as she stood hesitantly in the cavernous hallway of Banford Park, delaying her entrance into the drawing room, where the other guests of the Countess and Earl of Banford could be heard chattering and laughing together as they gathered before dinner.
Dolly Bancroft had been very welcoming upon Juliet’s arrival that afternoon. William Bancroft had been equally charming.
No, it was not her host and hostess’s lack of welcome that Juliet feared, but the reactions of their other guests, once they realised that Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood, was amongst their number. For Dolly’s sake, Juliet sincerely hoped that none of those guests decided to depart once they realised they were to share their stay here with the ‘Black Widow’, as Juliet was all too aware she had been cruelly labelled after her husband’s death.
She should not have agreed to come here, Juliet told herself, for what had to be the hundredth time since accepting the invitation. Much as she might have wanted to give Helena a little treat after their long period of enforced mourning, Juliet knew she should not have allowed herself to be persuaded into believing that these two weeks at Banford Park was the means by which to do it.
Perhaps she would have felt differently if she had been able to have the fiercely protective Helena at her side. Instead Helena had done as she had said she would, and accompanied Juliet as her maid—a role her cousin seemed to be enjoying immensely. She had cheerfully left Juliet’s bedchamber a few minutes ago, after first dressing her hair and helping her into her gown, to go upstairs and gossip with the other maids.
‘Will you allow me the honour of escorting you into the drawing room, Lady Boyd?’
Juliet turned sharply, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was her host who stood solicitously beside her, proffering his arm. A tall and handsome man in his fifties, who now looked down at her with shrewd hazel eyes, the Earl reminded Juliet very much of her father.
‘I was just admiring this portrait.’ Juliet glanced up at the painting upon the wall which she had, in truth, only just noticed.
‘My great-grandfather—the seventh Earl of Banford.’ The Earl nodded. ‘A singularly ugly man, was he not?’ he drawled disparagingly.
Juliet could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips; the seventh Earl had indeed been a very unattractive man!
‘Shall we…?’ His great-grandson, the tenth earl, offered her his arm a second time.
‘Thank you,’ Juliet accepted shyly, and placed her gloved hand on top of that arm.
She had chosen to wear a fashionably high-waisted gown of dark grey silk this evening, with only the barest hint of Brussels lace at her bosom and around the edges of the short puffed sleeves. A row of pearls was entwined amongst her dark curls, her only other jewellery matching ear-bobs and the plain gold wedding band on her left hand.
Juliet would have liked to remove even this symbol of Edward’s ownership of her, but knew that would only add to the speculation that had followed so quickly after Edward’s death and still remained rife.
Although she very much doubted that the wearing of her wedding band or the demure style of the grey silk gown would make the slightest difference to the gossip that was sure to ensue the moment her presence here was known!
‘My wife always maintains that it is best to do exactly that which pleases oneself. On the premise, I believe, that it is impossible to please all people all the time,’ the Earl confided.
Juliet turned to give him a startled glance. ‘It has been my experience that it is impossible to please any of the ton any of the time!’ Juliet murmured, some of the tension easing from her slender shoulders. ‘Did your wife also suggest that it might be beneficial if you were to wait out here in the hallway this evening in order that you might gallantly offer to escort me into the drawing room?’
The Earl gave a inclination of his head. ‘I do believe she may have mentioned some such thing, yes.’
Juliet gave a husky laugh. ‘You are too kind, My Lord.’
‘On the contrary, my dear, I consider myself deeply honoured,’ he replied. ‘Now, let us go into the drawing room and set the tongues a wagging, hmm?’ He encouraged her almost as gleefully as his wife might have done.
It seemed to Juliet as if all eyes suddenly turned in the direction of the doorway as she entered the room on the arm of the Earl of Banford, the conversation faltering. Then Dolly swiftly filled that silence by engaging in conversation with the handsome and fashionably attired young man standing beside her.
A young man who stared boldly at Juliet, with unfathomable whisky-coloured eyes….
Sebastian was barely aware of Dolly’s conversation as, along with all others present, he stared across the room as the Countess of Crestwood entered on the arm of their host.
She was incredibly beautiful—even more so than when Sebastian had last seen her, at some ball or other a couple of years ago, and his interest in her had first been piqued.
He became aware of the finer details about her. Such as the rich darkness of her hair and the entwined string of pearls. The smoothness of her brow. The thick lashes that edged eyes of the deepest green. Her small, perfect nose. The pouting bow of her sensuously full lips. The proud and slightly challenging uplift of her little pointed chin.
Her breasts were as full as ever, and they spilled creamily against pale grey lace, but her waist and hips appeared more willowy than when he had last seen her across that crowded ballroom, and the skin at the swell of her breasts, throat and arms was as translucently pale as the pearls in her hair.
‘I advise that you close your mouth, Sebastian—before the drool threatens to spoil the perfection of your cravat!’ Dolly whispered beside him in soft mockery, bringing a dark scowl to Sebastian’s face as he realised Dolly had a point. He had been staring intently at Lady Boyd for several minutes.
Had anyone else but Dolly noticed his marked interest? he wondered, disgusted with himself. A quick glance at his fellow guests assured him that their interest was as engaged on the lady as his own had been.
‘It is time for us to go into dinner,’ Dolly informed him as she received a nod from her butler, where he stood discreetly in the doorway. ‘Bancroft will be escorting his mother, the Dowager Countess, of course. Might I suggest, as the two of you are sitting together, that you offer your own arm to the Countess of Crestwood?’
Having been staring so intently at Juliet Boyd, Sebastian now found himself momentarily disconcerted by Dolly’s suggestion. But only momentarily. Was he not the rich and eligible Lord Sebastian St Claire, brother of a Duke? Moreover, at the age of seven and twenty, had he not been considered by all the female members of the ton—debutantes and matrons alike—as the foremost catch of the Season, since both of his brothers had proved themselves unavailable by taking a wife?
More importantly, meeting Juliet was the only reason he had come here—so what was he waiting for…?
Despite the Earl of Banford’s presence at her side, Juliet’s appearance in the drawing room had been as dramatic as she had feared it might.
Following that initial stunned silence a muted conversation had been resumed by the female guests, at least, as they gossiped in whispers behind their spread fans. The male guests had been less quick to hide their surprise at her appearance here, and for the main part had just continued to openly stare at her.
One man in particular…
An arrogantly handsome man, dressed in the height of fashion in tailored black evening clothes, a grey waistcoat and snowy white linen. The same man with whom Dolly Bancroft had endeavoured to make conversation when Juliet first entered the drawing room.
The very same man who had made absolutely no effort to disguise his inattentiveness to that conversation as he’d continued to stare at Juliet with narrowed, enigmatic eyes. Rather beautiful long-lashed eyes, the colour of the mellow whisky her father had once favoured, Juliet couldn’t help noticing admiringly.
She had expected the frosty disdain of the ton this evening. Had been prepared for that reaction. To find herself being regarded so familiarly by a man she did not even know, and who was obviously nothing more than a fashionable rake, did not sit well with her. It did not sit well at all!
Juliet’s already ruffled calm deserted her totally as she saw Dolly take a firm hold of the man’s arm and push him slightly in her direction. Was her intention to have him cross the room and offer to escort Juliet into dinner? An intention, for all the previous familiarity of the man’s gaze, that he surely could not welcome!
Juliet snapped her fan open in front of her before she turned her back on the pair to engage the Earl in conversation. ‘It seems that we have succeeded in creating something of a stir amongst your other guests despite your efforts, My Lord,’ she bit out tartly. The humiliation of having a man forced to escort her into dinner burned beneath the surface of her emotions.
No matter how kindly meant Dolly Bancroft’s invitation had been, Juliet knew she should not have allowed herself to be persuaded into coming here! She should not have exposed herself to—
‘Would you care to introduce me, My Lord?’
Juliet felt a quiver down the length of her spine at the first sound of the man’s smoothly cultured voice. That quiver turned to a shiver as she turned to find that Dolly’s rakishly handsome companion had acceded to her urgings and was now standing in front of Juliet, looking down the length of his arrogant nose at her, the expression in those whisky-coloured eyes hidden behind narrowed lids….
Only Juliet did not need to see the expression in those beautiful eyes to know that this man felt the same contempt towards her as every other person here. Nor did she care to guess what leverage Dolly had exerted to persuade this man into doing her bidding….
Until this moment Juliet had believed Dolly to be totally devoted to the Earl of Banford, but it would have taken more than a simple request from their hostess to persuade this young rake into committing possible social ruination by showing a preference for the notorious Countess of Crestwood. It led Juliet to wonder, with inner distaste, if this young man were possibly the Countess of Banford’s current lover…
‘Lady Boyd, may I present Lord Sebastian St Claire?’ the Earl said, doing as requested and dutifully making the introductions. ‘Lord St Claire—Lady Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood.’
Sebastian knew by the gleam of interest in the Earl’s eyes as he made the introductions that Dolly must have confided to her husband Sebastian’s intentions towards the Countess. His mouth tightened in displeasure at the breach of confidence even as he gave her an abrupt bow. ‘My Lady.’
‘My Lord.’ The Countess made a graceful curtsey, but made no effort to extend to him her gloved hand.
Sebastian scowled at the omission. ‘Will you grant me the honour of escorting you into dinner, Lady Boyd?’
‘“Honour”, My Lord?’ She raised dark, mocking brows.
He inclined his head. ‘I would consider it so, yes.’
Her laughter was light and derisive. ‘Then you are singular in your preference, My Lord.’
Damn it—this first conversation with Juliet Boyd was not going at all as Sebastian had hoped it might!
In his imaginings she had been as instantly taken with Sebastian as he already was with her. To such an extent that he had envisaged them talking alone together. Walking alone together. Sitting alone together. Most definitely being alone when they made love together…!
A muscle flickered in Sebastian’s tightly clenched jaw as he imagined first removing the pearls from her hair, before releasing the glossy curls so that they tumbled down the length of her slender spine. Next he would remove her gown, turning her so that he might unfasten—slowly—the row of tiny buttons from her nape down to her bottom, lingering, after releasing each button, to kiss the smoothness of the silky skin he had just exposed. When the last button had been unfastened he would then allow the gown to fall about her ankles, leaving her wearing only her chemise and stockings, with the fullness of her breasts pouting temptingly beneath the thin material, her nipples a dark delight that Sebastian would taste and possess until he’d had his fill…
‘It would appear we are the last to go into dinner, Lord St Claire,’ Juliet prompted sharply. He seemed lost in thought. Perhaps contemplating that social ruination, if the pained expression on his face was any indication!
He drew his thoughts back to his surroundings with an obvious effort. ‘I apologise for my preoccupation, Lady Boyd,’ he murmured huskily as he extended his arm to her.
‘Do not give it another thought, Lord St Claire,’ Juliet assured him as she placed her gloved hand lightly upon his sleeve. She was aware of the muscled strength beneath her fingertips. ‘After all, it is not every day that you are asked to act as escort to the notorious Black Widow!’ she added waspishly.
‘I—What did you call yourself?’ he exclaimed.
Her smile was completely lacking in humour. ‘I assure you I am well aware of the unflattering names I have acquired since…since the death of my husband,’ she told him. ‘Do not fear—you will have done your duty to our hostess once I am seated. I will not be in the least offended if you then ignore me for the rest of the evening.’ Rather, she would prefer it!
Juliet now recognised Lord Sebastian St Claire as being the youngest brother of the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge. A young lord, moreover, who had long been considered by the ton to be one of their most eligible—and elusive—bachelors. As such, his presence here was attracting as much attention as her own, making their belated entrance to the dining room together all the more sensational.
A puzzled frown marked his brow. ‘Why should you imagine I might wish to ignore you?’
Juliet smiled slightly. ‘To save yourself from further awkwardness, perhaps…?’
For the first time Sebastian considered that perhaps it had not been kind on Dolly’s part—or indeed his own!—to invite Juliet Boyd to Banford Park for these two weeks. That after all the talk and speculation this past year and a half, concerning her husband’s unexpected death, this woman would obviously be uncomfortable at making her first public appearance in some time.
Just as she was obviously aware of the unkind things that had been said about her following Crestwood’s death—cruel and malicious gossip, for the most part, which, even if it were true, could not have been at all pleasant for the lady to hear….
He fleetingly touched the hand that rested on his arm. ‘I assure you I feel no awkwardness whatsoever at being seen in your company, Lady Boyd.’
Her glance was scathing now. ‘And I am just as sure, as the Duke of Stourbridge’s youngest brother, you would consider it impolite to admit to such an emotion even if you did.’
‘On the contrary, My Lady,’ Sebastian countered. ‘If you know anything of the St Claire family at all, then you must know that we prefer—in fact, go out of our way—not to bow to the dictates of Society.’
Yes, Juliet had heard that the St Claires were something of a law unto themselves. Even the head of that illustrious family, the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge.
After years of being considered the biggest catch any marriage-minded mama could make for her daughter, the Duke had caused something of a sensation almost a year ago by choosing to woo and marry a young woman the ton had had no previous knowledge of.
Juliet moved to sit in the chair Lord St Claire drew back for her. ‘Be assured, My Lord, in this circumstance you are in the company of one guaranteed to help you succeed in doing exactly that!’
She had been so busy settling herself into her seat that for a moment she had not realised he had taken the chair beside her.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said now, as she looked up and found herself between the Earl of Banford, seated at the head of the table, and Lord St Claire to her right. ‘Have you succeeded in inciting Lady Bancroft’s ire in some way, Lord St Claire?’ she asked.
He raised brows the same unusual teak and gold colour as his hair, laughter gleaming in those whisky-coloured eyes. ‘On the contrary. Lady Bancroft—Dolly—and I have always been the best of friends.’
Juliet continued to look at him for several long seconds. ‘Indeed,’ she finally murmured enigmatically, before turning away to indicate, she hoped, a complete lack of interest in the subject.
Sebastian would have liked to pursue the conversation further, to know the reason for that enigmatic glance, but he was prevented from doing so as his first course was served to him—by which time Lord Bancroft had drawn the Countess into conversation, giving Sebastian no further opportunity to talk, but every chance to study Juliet Boyd from between narrowed lids.
For all that she must know she was still attracting more attention from their fellow guests than was polite, the Countess of Crestwood stoically ignored that interest as she continued to converse and smile graciously with their host between sips of her soup.
Did she have any idea, Sebastian wondered, how enticing her mouth was, with its top lip slightly fuller than the bottom? How seductive the deep green of her eyes? How the translucent paleness of her skin begged to be touched?
Sebastian longed to feel the slender coolness of her hands upon his own heated flesh….
To Juliet’s dismay, her discomfort had only increased once she was seated at the dinner table, and she felt her every move being avidly watched by her fellow guests. No doubt with the intention of gossip and comments later. Nor was she as unaware of the man seated on her right as she would have wished to be!
Lord Sebastian St Claire was without a doubt one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. A few years younger than her, of course. With that dark, unusual-coloured hair and the mellow flirtation of those whisky-coloured eyes. A sensual mouth that could either smile with derisive humour or curl back in contempt. A square and firm jaw that spoke of a determination of character that was only to be expected from the brother of the arrogant Duke of Stourbridge.
More disturbing, perhaps, his black evening clothes had been tailored perfectly to display the width of his shoulders, his tapered waist, the strength of his muscled thighs and his long, long legs.
Juliet had been out for barely one Season before her husband had offered for her, but even so she could appreciate that Lord St Claire was that most dangerous of men—a rake and a libertine. A man, she felt sure, who felt absolutely no qualms in availing himself of a woman’s charms. All women, of any age. Whilst remaining free of any emotional entanglement himself.
After years in a miserable marriage, Juliet could only envy such an emotionally carefree existence as Sebastian St Claire’s.
Envy, but never emulate.
She was aware that many widowed ladies her age took advantage of their freedom from the encumbrance of a husband and marriage to indulge in affairs that gave them either satisfaction in the bedchamber or the heart. After being the wife of Lord Edward Boyd, a cold and merciless man, Juliet had no desire for either!
‘…care to go boating with me on the lake tomorrow, My Lady?’
Her eyes were wide as she turned to St Claire. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He smiled in satisfaction at her obvious surprise. ‘I enquired if you would care to go boating on the lake here with me tomorrow?’
Exactly what Juliet thought he had said!
