The Duke's Defiant Bride (Brides of Mayfair Book 4) Page 16

  Chapter 22

  “Onward to Clark and Debenham’s,” Lady Bosworth commanded the driver of the luxurious barouche. “I daresay they are the best linen-drapers in Cavendish Square. Their latest advertisement states that they have recently received a new selection of satins, twills and bombazines, and I do adore a lovely bombazine.”

  “As do I, Lucretia,” Lady Hargrove said as the open, four-passenger carriage made its way through London’s shopping district.

  The carriage was a favorite of fashionable ladies of the ton, as the vehicle afforded pedestrians and other onlookers a good view of those seated within, which allowed them to show off their clothes and accoutrements.

  But for Juliet, sitting on the plush, deeply buttoned seat of the barouche, it afforded her a clear view of those less fortunate who tried to eke out a living by selling their meagre wares on the street. Nearby, a woman with a young child hawked flowers from a basket, and further along, a man who had lost his leg sat on a stool, offering small paintings for sale.

  “What is your opinion, Lady de Rochefort?” the Marchioness of Bosworth asked.

  “Of what?” Juliet asked.

  The marchioness looked quite shocked that Juliet had not been paying attention. “Of bombazine, of course.”

  Juliet regarded the two women and scrambled to join the conversation. “Oh, bombazine…yes, I have a day dress in alabaster white which I enjoy greatly.”

  “I shall have to look for some then,” Lady Hargrove commented. “But I have my heart set on some new lutestring silk. I simply adore it for a day dress. The fabric is so light and crisp, it is quite attractive on any figure. You should consider purchasing some as well, Baroness. A delicate grey-blue silk would complement your eyes.”

  “I thank you for the suggestion, Lady Hargrove,” Juliet replied, “and I shall take note of any that I see. I must admit, I am partial to all colors of violet, and I wear it far too much. However, I wear it because it reminds me of my dear, late husband. He was a true patriot, and it was his favorite color.”

  This shopping trip was a fact-finding mission for Juliet. She was specifically fishing for information about Napoleon’s sympathizers here in London.

  “I’m sure you know that the French are very partial to violets,” she continued. “They were a favorite of Bonaparte’s first wife, Josephine, and hence, of his as well.”

  Lady Hargrove’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “My dear Lady de Rochefort, since your husband was a French baron, I must know, did you ever meet Napoleon face to face?”

  “No, I did not,” Juliet answered truthfully. During all her years in the war, blindly fighting for the Emperor, she had never made his acquaintance. She had seen him from afar, once, astride his magnificent grey Arabian, Marengo. But that was as close as she’d come to the man whose personal ambition had cost so many lives.

  “I think it’s terrible, what they’ve done to him,” Lady Hargrove continued. “Banished to a remote island off the coast of Africa, no less. They say Saint Helena is a windy and unhealthy place. At least when he was on Elba, he could entertain visitors. My cousin, Lord Carsten and his wife traveled there, and they passed a very pleasant evening in the Emperor’s company. In fact, Basil said that he found Bonaparte to be an exceedingly personable and charming man, one most would be honored to call a friend. The Emperor gifted my cousin and his wife with several bottles of the most splendid wine, and he asked them when they might return for another visit. He does not at all sound like ‘The Monster’ one reads about in the papers.”

  In that regard, Juliet had to agree with Lady Hargrove, for it did not sound like the man who had seized France for himself and then led his army across the continent in pursuit of his own lust for power. She had heard about the Emperor’s volatile temper, his ruthless drive to succeed, and his brilliance as a military strategist. A charming and generous friend, he most likely was not.

  Major Nye had explained his theory to Juliet and Carver—that Bonaparte was simply portraying a role, using his natural charisma and celebrity to again maneuver people about like pieces on a chess board. Yet it was all part of a greater plan to enlist support abroad and lay the groundwork for another appearance on the world stage.

  One thing was certain, it simply wasn’t in Bonaparte’s nature to go away quietly, allowing the world he’d fought so hard to conquer to forget about him. If Napoleon had succeeded in charming a handful of powerful English aristocrats, it was because there was a purpose behind it. He might wish to enlist their help one day if he ever landed on British shores.

  It struck Juliet suddenly that she and Bonaparte had something in common, and it wasn’t just the war they’d fought in. He was a consummate actor, just as she was. They were both playing roles intended to deceive those around them and gain their trust.

  How she wished to put all of this artifice behind her. How she longed to live a normal life, like any other woman. But as long as there were monsters in the world like Napoleon—who would start wars as if they were nothing more than chess games—Juliet had no choice but to fight once more. And though she was now working with her former enemies, the reality was that in this fight, there were no sides—only the desire to stop another needless war before it began.

  As the carriage ambled down the street, Lady Bosworth said, “I, myself, find Napoleon quite intriguing. By all accounts, he is a man of action and whatever his sins, he came by them honestly. There is something romantic about that, isn’t there?”

  Juliet thought of the many soldiers she’d fought alongside and those she’d watched die, both French and English. The blunt reality of war was anything but romantic.

  “I, myself, believe that war brings out the best in a nation,” Lady Bosworth continued. “Heroic officers risking it all on the battlefield, and their devoted wives waiting at home for their triumphant return. And then, there are those people,” she drawled, flicking a glance toward the poor cart vendors who littered the street. “My husband says war is the only way of controlling the undesirable population, as the lower classes are generally the ones closest to the musket balls.”

  The more Lady Bosworth spoke, the more Juliet wanted to throttle her. This snobby aristocrat had no idea how hard those ‘undesirables’ had fought to protect people just like her.

  “You yourself ought to be in favor of another war, Lady de Rochefort,” the marchioness said. “I am aware that your late husband greatly increased his fortune by shipping supplies to the Peninsula.”

  “Yes, I mentioned that to Lord Bosworth the other night,” Juliet replied, acting her role to perfection. “If there was to be another war, I daresay I would stand to make quite a profit. And I would be looking for investors to join the venture.”

  “Would you?” Lady Bosworth said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I would, indeed,” Juliet answered. “More ships results in more cargo. More cargo results in more profit. And more profit means more money to spend on shopping excursions like this.”

  “I quite like the sound of that,” Lady Hargrove added. “Now all we need is Napoleon, himself!”

  Lady Bosworth looked off into the distance. “Perhaps the Emperor will surprise us all yet again,” she said.

  “We should hope that he does,” Juliet commented, “for we three stand to profit substantially off such a development. Mention it to your husbands, if you like. Or, if you prefer, keep them out of it and earn the profits for yourselves.”

  “Baroness!” Lady Hargrove shouted gleefully. “You are positively shocking.”

  The countess would be even more shocked if she saw Juliet handle a rifle or sabre.

  The carriage pulled up in front of Clark and Debenham’s, and the ladies disembarked. As they approached the exclusive linen draper’s shop, Lady Bosworth slid her arm through Juliet’s.

  “You know, now that I’ve had time to think on it,” she said, “I am going to look for bombazine and silk in several shades of violet. It was a favorite of your husband, Lady de Rochefort, and
I suspect it will become a favorite of mine as well. Will you join me in my endeavor?”

  Juliet smiled. “My dear marchioness, I should like nothing better.”

  Chapter 23

  Later, when Carver returned to Hawksmoor House, he went in search of Juliet. He asked the butler about his “dear cousin’s” whereabouts, and was intrigued by the man’s uncomfortable expression. Sloane explained that Lady de Rochefort had returned to the mansion, and was, at present, taking some exercise in the ballroom on the second floor. Carver knew he had no choice but to investigate.

  As he made his way up the stairs, he heard a strange sound.

  A woman in distress….

  Instinct thrust Carver into action. He bolted the rest of the way and pushed open the double doors to the blue and gold ballroom. He stopped in his tracks, staring, for there was Juliet, dressed in tight grey breeches, a loose white linen blouse, and shiny black Hessian boots with tassels. She moved swiftly and light as air over the polished parquet floor. Her long, chestnut hair flowed freely about her shoulders and down her back, bouncing and twirling as she stepped this way and that. But she wasn’t dancing.

  She was fighting, quite vehemently, against someone. Her opponent, however, was invisible.

  “My word,” he said as he approached.

  She turned quickly in his direction, and he spotted the blade in her hand. Juliet smiled, but her eyes shone with challenge. She was breathing heavily from her exertions, but she looked incredibly attractive, despite the fact that she was holding a murderous weapon in a deathly grip.

  Damnation, but she was exquisite.

  Memories swirled in Carver’s mind as he recalled the first time he’d seen her in Algora—haughty and wild as an Amazon princess. She had stirred his blood then, as she was stirring it now.

  “Lady Blade,” he said with a chivalrous bow, as if he were about to ask her to dance. “Honing your skills, I presume? Sloane told me you were taking some exercise in the ballroom. I thought perhaps you were practicing the scotch reel.” He indicated her invisible opponent. “Tell me, did you kill him?”

  “Oh yes.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Five times, already.”

  “Dear me,” Carver replied. “The poor man must be exhausted. Perhaps I should take over for him.”

  Juliet raised an eyebrow. “You wish to spar with me? Are you sure that’s wise? If you remember our time in the Peninsula, close combat with me was a dangerous venture.”

  “You needn’t remind me.” Carver shrugged out of his jacket, glancing around for a makeshift weapon. “But we’re fighting for the same side now, are we not? A little exercise shouldn’t be too risky.”

  She studied him for a moment. “I suppose that depends on whether or not we trust each other.”

  Carver retrieved an empty candlestick holder from a fireplace mantle and flipped in his hand so that the heavier base was away from him. He pointed it toward his opponent.

  “You’re going to fight me and my piercing blade with an upside-down candlestick holder?” she asked.

  “I’m going to try,” he replied. “It’s roughly the same length as your dagger, and though it’s not the least bit sharp, it has other attributes that may work to my advantage. Weight, for instance. Besides, as we have already established, this is merely a sparring exercise between friends.”

  They began to circle each other, cautiously.

  “I’m not sure I would describe us as friends,” Juliet said. “Former lovers, yes. Past enemies, undoubtedly. But friends?”

  “Imagine the novelty of friendship between two such as us.”

  Her mouth curved into a grin. “What a shocking suggestion.”

  With that, Juliet lunged forward, her blade extended.

  Carver blocked the strike with the base of the candlestick and danced sideways. “One point for me.”

  “You didn’t say we were keeping score.”

  “How will we know who wins if we don’t keep score?” he asked, avoiding another move from Lady Blade. “That’s two points for me and none for you.”

  She frowned. “I don’t agree with your method of scorekeeping. I was doing fine against my previous opponent.”

  “The invisible one, you mean? Of course, you were. But things are different with a man of flesh-and-blood. You should be glad I’m here to provide a real challenge.”

  “You certainly are that,” she countered, lunging and swiping her blade dangerously close to his ribs.

  “And yet another point for me,” he pronounced. “What’s wrong, Juliet? You seem off your game, today.”

  “I’m not off my game,” she replied, her eyes narrowing with resolve.

  He avoided her once again as her blade deflected off the base of the candlestick holder.

  “And you thought my weapon wouldn’t ‘hold a candle’ to your blade,” he said, flippantly. “How wrong you were.”

  They parried back and forth like seasoned partners, moving quickly and with great agility. Either Juliet was tiring, or Carver was doing something very few had ever done—he was besting Lady Blade at that which she was most famous for.

  “I know what your problem is,” he said, breathing heavily. “Not enough sex.”

  She stumbled slightly and lost the flow of her movement. “W-what?” she stuttered.

  “Exactly my point,” he continued, evading her once again. “You see? You’re tense. You’re distracted. All you really want to do is kiss me.”

  Juliet’s brow furrowed in confusion and she lowered her blade. “What?” she said again.

  Carver lowered his weapon as well. “Good God, your pent-up passions are affecting your hearing. I said you want to kiss me.”

  Then Juliet did something completely unexpected.

  She laughed.

  And it was not simply a chuckle. Juliet couldn’t stop. She threw her head back and, in quite an unladylike fashion, chortled.

  Carver was laughing, too. He walked toward her, enjoying the sight of this beautiful woman with her defences down, laughing with the freedom of an innocent child.

  “And that,” he said as he pulled her gracefully into his arms, “is the last and final point. Not only have I won the match, I’ve disarmed you, madam.”

  He removed the blade from her hand and set it on the mantle.

  “I was serious about what I said,” he commented. “A fiery woman like you needs sexual release. Without it, you could be at risk of ill health. And with such an important mission before us, we need to ensure we are both healthy and fit for duty.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “And I’m simply overtired. Too much time spent fighting my invisible opponent. However, you do have a point. We must keep in peak physical and mental condition. Do you really think sex is the best way to achieve that?” She raised a brow in mock innocence.

  “I can think of nothing better suited to it,” he replied.

  “There is only one way to find out. We must test your theory.”

  Carver bent closer and tasted her lips. “As a special treat, perhaps we can use a bed this time.”

  “Such luxuries… You might spoil me forever.”

  “I certainly hope so,” he answered, kissing her again. “Although the Duke of Hawksmoor shouldn’t be seen romancing his distant, late cousin’s widow, even if there is no such person and you are not a widow.”

  She considered that. “True. But it shouldn’t be a problem to sneak past the servants. We are spies after all. What about the secret passageway?”

  “Brilliant,” he replied.

  Juliet reached for her dagger, sheathed it, and followed Carver to the door.

  He poked his head outside and ascertained that no one was about. Then they crept down the hall toward the east wing where her bedchamber was located.

  The second-floor hall was blessedly empty, but in a large mansion such as Hawksmoor House, staff were constantly on the move. They’d have to go
quickly.

  Carver led them to an alcove and they ducked inside while he checked their path forward. They dashed to the next alcove and did the same, making their way down the hall until they reached a well-appointed guest bed chamber with a painted mural, similar to the one in Juliet’s chamber.

  Reaching out toward a length of trim on the wall, Carver slid it down and revealed a recessed latch. He turned it and part of the mural revealed itself to be a narrow door. Carver glanced back at Juliet, who seemed suitably impressed. Leaving the door ajar for a moment, he reached around the corner and into the passageway, retrieving a candle and matches.

  “There is a little shelf with a box at both ends of the passageway,” Carver explained. “Inside the box are candles and matches. That way, no matter which room you enter from, you always have a candle to light the way. I stock it myself.”

  “Clever,” Juliet replied as they made their way inside. “Are the staff unaware of this passageway?”

  “Supposedly,” he replied. “I was told of it in a letter signed by my predecessor, which described its existence. According to him, the Dukes of Hawksmoor always leave a confidential letter for their heir, advising them of it.”

  “How interesting,” she said. “Supposedly, many great houses hold such secrets.”

  The flickering candle light bounced off the narrow walls beside them. “I was told this was built to provide the third Duke of Hawksmoor a means to reach his mistress in the night, without his duchess discovering them.”

  “Will you carry on in such a way with your duchess?” Juliet asked.

  He glanced back at the woman who had betrayed him, haunted him, and still powerfully intrigued him. “I don’t have a duchess yet, Juliet. But I daresay I shall be married within the year.”

  They came to the end of the passageway and Carver opened the door. He blew out the candle and returned it to the box, led Juliet into her chamber, and closed the door behind them.

  He was surprised to see a change in her demeanor. The chestnut-haired beauty grew quiet as she studied him. “Do you have someone in mind to become the next Duchess of Hawksmoor?”