Queen of Hearts

 

JULIET SMILED AT CATHERINE as the girl spun before the mirror.

“You have such talent, Juliet,” Catherine cried, obviously thrilled to have returned from London to find yet another creation waiting in the sewing room, this one a blue-sprigged muslin day dress with green satin trim. “It’s beautiful. I’m not taking it off. I’m wearing it now. It’s beautiful.”

Juliet smiled as she removed the pins from her mouth and jammed them one-by-one into the pincushion resting beside her on the carpet.

“I quite agree,” Carrick’s deep baritone approved from the doorway. “Join us for dinner, my dear.”

Juliet glanced over her shoulder. He stood in the doorway, looking as handsome as ever in dark gray breeches.

“Please, do come,” Catherine chimed in before skipping to her brother. She placed a kiss on his cheek, then hurried past him and disappeared down the hall.

Carrick crossed to Juliet and extended a hand. She placed her fingers in his and he pulled her to her feet—then yanked her into his arms. “I agree with Catherine,” he said, holding her tightly. “Join us.”

She suppressed a sigh. Now that the dowager and Catherine had returned, the parade of wife candidates would resume. The thought rankled more than ever.

“I can’t, not when I have so much hemming to do.” She pulled his head down to hers and gave him a sound kiss, then twisted out of his arms.

Carrick lunged for her, then straightened when his mother’s voice sounded in the hall. “Carrick? Carrick, my dear, the guests have arrived.”

“Dinner. Please,” he whispered, catching her hand and planting a kiss on her fingertips.

She shook her head.

“Join me with the gentlemen at cards after dinner tonight in the study.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Afterwards, we shall enjoy more of this. Hmmm? I would see you wearing your mask and nothing else.”

“Or your cravat?” She smiled up and fluttered her dark lashes. They had discovered many delightful uses for his cravats.

“Yes.”

“Carrick?” The dowager’s voice sounded much closer.

“Damn.” He released her and hurried from the room.

The day flew. Juliet finished a riding jacket for Catherine, stopping only to enjoy a quick snack of toast slathered with fresh butter and topped with marmalade.

At last, the sun set, and she returned to her room to ready herself for an evening of cards. She often played cards with Carrick in bed, although they rarely finished a game, and while she’d discovered him to be a card cheat in his own right, she still held the edge.

She picked up her white Venetian mask and turned it over in her hands before tying it to the bedpost, imagining the enjoyment it would provide later. Juliet perused the selection of gowns in the armoire, skipping over those with the provocative bodices that Carrick preferred, and selected a peach taffeta with white satin rosettes adorning the scooped neckline. Finally, she paused before the mirror, gave her ringlets one last pat, then headed for the door.

By the time she reached the study, a group of gentlemen lounged about the card table. The gentlemen rose immediately and Carrick invited her to join them.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Juliet Thatcher,” Carrick said, then turning to the two silver-haired gentlemen, continued, “Lord Haynes and Mr. Lamont.” Lastly, he nodded at the portly young man who was clearly awestruck by her breasts. “And Mr. Thaddeus Turnby.”

Juliet dipped a polite curtsey and took her seat. The men followed suit.

“I shall deal,” Carrick announced.

While the gentlemen murmured agreement, she smiled and prepared for an enjoyable evening. As they played, she watched her opponents, observing and cataloging their expressions and ticks as the rounds played out.

By the third game, she’d determined that only the elderly Mr. Lamont possessed any sort of skill. She eyed Carrick as he dealt another hand, puzzled as to why he’d asked her to join their card game.

As they picked up their cards, Juliet glanced down at hers. Queens. All four. She blinked in surprise and glanced up into Carrick’s amused face. Clearly, he’d dealt her a winning hand. She frowned, wondering why, as the men looked at their cards and placed their chips.

As Mr. Lamont raised a hand to knock on the table, Carrick lifted a finger.

“Wait,” he said. “I’d like to add this.”

They watched as he drew a parchment torn in half from his breast pocket and laid it down over the bets.

“I say, what’s this?” the portly Lord Haynes asked.

“Wait.” Carrick locked gazes with Juliet, then withdrew something from his front pocket and dropped it on top of the paper.

Juliet froze.

The hereditary Hamilton engagement ring glinted in the chandelier light. Her eyes snagged on the heading of the paper and she recognized her contract…torn in half. Her heart pounded. Surely, he wasn’t foolish enough to propose to her? This was no ordinary card game. Her throat tightened.

She looked up at him.

He leaned back and rested an elbow on one of the armrests, then lifted a brow as if daring her to decline the offer.

“What have we here?” The old gentleman raised his hand to give the table a rap.

Juliet shoved to her feet. “I withdraw from the round.”

Carrick slowly arose.

“By Jove, lass,” Mr. Lamont chuckled. “That’s not how commerce is played.”

“Then his grace is fortunate,” she said.

“Hardly,” Carrick murmured.

Juliet whirled and raced from the room.

“Wait!” he called.

She ran. He caught up with her at the stairs, reaching for her, but she evaded his grasp and ran up them as fast she could.

“Juliet, why? You owe me an answer,” he shouted.

He was right. Juliet stopped on the landing and backed toward the wall. He stopped two stairs beneath her and stared straight into her eyes.

“You know quite well I can never accept that ring,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped. “I’m no lady. I possess no title or money. How can I marry you? The difference in our social standing is far too great.” She clenched her hands and fought tears. “I am your mistress, Carrick. A gentleman does not marry his mistress.”

He started to reply.

Juliet shook her head. “Please, no more.”

She gathered her skirts and fled to her room. After locking the door, she threw herself headlong onto her bed and wailed.

He knocked on her door. Several times. She begged him to leave. He left with the promise that they would speak in the morning.

An hour later, Juliet took a deep breath and sat up, looking down at the cards crumpled in her hand. She knew now what she had to do, before the situation grew worse for the both of them. What made her think she could succeed as a mistress?

She penned a letter, begging him to forget her. Of course, society would never let her marry him, regardless of how he might feel. But now, she knew she couldn’t survive him marrying someone else. The thought of him making love to another woman would break her heart. She held nothing back, ending with a last line that conveyed the truth she’d been hiding all along: I can never share you with another woman, and thus, I can no longer be your mistress.

With that, she packed a canvas bag with her belongings, including the crumpled cards from the game. After the castle occupants retired, she slipped into the dark hall. She’d purchase fare at the village coaching inn and be gone before anyone thought to look for her.

* * *

Seven days later, Juliet exited the mail coach and trudged up the cobblestone street toward Lady Aphrodite’s House of Pleasure. She’d taken the fastest coach to London she could find, but they’d met with more than one setback along the way, which delayed the coach’s arrival until after dark on the seventh day. It didn’t matter. Her mother didn’t expect her. There had been no point in writing a letter that would have arrived at the same day and time she did.

She’d thought of Carrick the entire journey. Her heart twisted, knowing he could never truly be hers. Finally, she turned at the wrought iron fence. Lady Aphrodite’s house stood before her, but instead of lights twinkling cheerfully in the windows, all but one stood dark. Where strains of music had floated through the front rooms, silence reigned.

Juliet ran to the door and twisted the brass knob. “Ma? Ma?” She darted inside.

A single taper in a pewter holder rested on the floor, illuminating an empty room—save a single chair upon which her mother sat, chin on her chest.

Her mother jerked awake and jumped to her feet. “There you are, at last, child.” She smiled widely and held out her arms.

Juliet frowned. “What happened?” She glanced around the empty room. “Where are the girls? The furnishings? Is there trouble with the law?”

Her mother enveloped her in a hug and chuckled. “The girls have gone and married, and the same for me, as well, love. The duke and I thought it wiser if I left without a fuss.” She pinched Juliet’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t be here. Not after how hard we’ve worked to whitewash your past. Why, I only came back here tonight because he fetched me. He’s distraught, the poor boy. You’re lucky you came when you did. Come morning, and I would’ve sailed with the tide to France.”

“France?” Juliet repeated in utter disbelief. “Whatever are you speaking of?”

“Lawks, child, I’m a proper wife now, wed in a church. Sir Stirling and your duke found me a husband. We thought I should stay there for a week. You know, until things are settled and everyone thinks I’ve always lived in France.” She winked.

Juliet frowned, more confused than ever.

“And not only me, the girls as well, every one of them wed with a proper dowry.” Her mother waved her hands to indicate the empty room. “All for you, Juliet. When I return from France, no one will think to connect me with this place. They’ve made us respectable. There’s naught to fear.” She pulled a folded paper from her bodice and rolled her eyes. “Have I taught you nothing, girl? Gone and torn your contract? Really, now, though it’s hard to be angry with you.” She clucked her tongue.

Juliet stumbled to the chair and sat down, her mother’s words starting to sink in. Whitewash her past? Thousands of pounds in dowries? Her gaze fell on the torn contract in her mother’s hands.

“Where did you get that?” The last time she’d seen it, it lay atop a mound of chips on a card table.

“Where else?” Her mother snorted.

“Carrick?” Juliet swallowed. “Here?” Of course, her mother had said that, hadn’t she?

“Rode his horse straight here after fetching me to help find you,” her mother said. “The boy hasn’t slept in days. I put him up in the Swan Room. It’s the only one left with a bed—”

Juliet stopped listening.

She raced up the stairs and down the hall to the third door on the right. The door stood open enough to reveal a guttering candle and the shape of a man lying on his back with his arm flung over his face, a booted foot hanging off the bed.

Carrick.

She halted in the doorway and stared at him for a long moment, then turned on her heel and fled back down the stairs to where she’d dropped her canvas bag on the floor.

“Juliet, wait.” Her mother grabbed her hand and tilted her face up to meet her eyes. “The man loves you, child. Don’t be a fool and throw it away. He’s fixed it all so you can marry him. Put good hard coin where his mouth is.”

It was the highest compliment her mother could pay.

Juliet took a deep breath, her heart growing lighter by the moment. “I know, Ma.” She rummaged through her bag until she finally found what she sought.

“Then you’ll marry him?” her mother demanded. “My daughter…a lady—a duchess?”

The pride in her mother’s voice was hard to miss. “Not because he’s a duke, Ma.” No. It had nothing to do with a title. It never had. She couldn’t live without him, just as he obviously couldn’t live without her. She’d be a fool to throw it away—especially when she felt the same.

“Well, you can love him if you want,” her mother called as she ran back up the stairs. “As long as the outcome is the same.”

Juliet hurried back up the stairs and down the hallway. She slipped back into the bedroom, softly closing the door behind her.

He still lay asleep on the bed.

Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt and breeches, keeping an eye on his slow, steady breathing. In the dim light, she could see exhaustion on his face. He’d clearly ridden hard, but then, perhaps the exhaustion on his face had more to do with dealing with her mother. She quickly unpinned her hair, shook it over her shoulders, and then pushed her gown from her shoulders. The fabric pooled to the floor. Slowly, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him.

He awoke with a start and started to straighten, but Juliet pushed him back down.

“Juliet.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, the apex at her legs, then lifted back to her face. “Marry me, lass. I beg you.”

His manhood stirred and began to harden beneath her sex. With a smile, she guided his shaft into her wet entrance, sinking down on him fully as she revealed the crumpled cards that she’d retrieved from her canvas bag. Queen by queen, she dropped them onto his chest, ending last with the queen of hearts.

“My beautiful duchess.” He gave her a tender smile—then flipped her onto her back. She squeaked, then gasped when he drove into her.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to him with all her might.

“You are mine,” he growled, and thrust deep.

Yes. She was his.

 

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