Made for Pleasure

 

THE FOLLOWING EVENING, WHEN Juliet observed, from the sewing room window, the fifth carriage pull up to Lennoxlove House and a beautiful young woman emerge, accompanied by a doting mamma or perhaps an aunt, Juliet realized the Duke of Hamilton was on the hunt for a wife. The question as to why he would contract a mistress while actively seeking a wife arose with the answer hard on its heels: he was a man.

The next morning, the bustle in the kitchen told Juliet that the evening promised more of the same. She steeled herself against the ridiculous disappointment that hovered just below the surface, turned on her heel and headed toward another long day in the sewing room. She slipped down the hallway, reached the Servant stairs, took four steps, then halted. The male laughter coming down the hall was already too familiar: Carrick.

She hurried back toward the kitchen, crossed to the larder, and reached the side door seconds later.

“Good morning, ladies.”

She froze upon hearing Carrick’s voice in the kitchen.

“Has anyone seen Juliet?”

She didn’t wait for the staff to inform on her, but hurried out the door and alongside the wall. Her heart pounded. She could go around to the front stairs and enter, then return to her room. Nae, Carrick would find her there in an instant. What could he possibly want with her when he had so many beautiful women vying for his attention?

He's a man, came the answer, yet again.

Juliet glanced at the sky. Grayish clouds skittered across the light blue expanse. It might rain, but not for a bit. She set off east, toward the stables. A morning ride to clear her head was just what she needed. And Carrick won’t find you, said a small voice. She sighed. This was going to be a long day…and an even longer summer.

 

When Carrick’s laughter filtered up through the window, Juliet paused in threading her needle and peered out the window. There he was again, for the third day in a row, helping another well-dressed lady from her coach in the drive below. The willowy brunette wore an expensive blue silk with an embroidered bodice cut low enough to expose the creamy white mounds of her breasts. Juliet frowned. No wonder he seemed so pleased. With his superior height, the brunette offered quite the view down her bodice. An unexpected pang of jealousy shot through Juliet and she scowled until Carrick passed from view. With a snort of exasperation, she returned to her sewing.

Three days had passed since her arrival at Lennoxlove House. Her stay hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. After his initial interest, Carrick had all but vanished from her life. It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, she’d predicted that she wouldn’t hold his interest. Then there was the parade of women marching through his estate. Redheads, blondes, brunettes. He didn’t lack for variety.

The needle pricked her finger. She jerked and dabbed the blood away with a fragment of cut fabric, astonished at the burst of jealousy.

“To work.” She bent her head over the yards of peach-colored taffeta destined to become Catherine’s finely-stitched gown.

The day passed slowly. The dinner hour arrived and, as the silvery tinkle of a woman’s laughter floated up through her window, Juliet decided she’d had enough for the day. It was time to clear her mind, and she couldn’t very well do so when a continual symphony of feminine squealing assaulted her ears.

She set aside her sewing and went down the stairs intent on escaping to the quiet of the gardens. The moment she stepped into the cool early evening air, her mood lifted. She took a deep, calming breath. Twilight streaked in dark blues across the sky and a full moon hung low in the east. Ahead, a stone fountain with an immense statue of the Greek god Apollo stood near an inviting stone bench. She stepped onto the garden path, headed toward the fountain, and reached the tall hedges when bootfalls scraped the gravel behind her. Juliet whirled with a gasp as Carrick grasped her shoulder.

“Forgive me,” his murmured words sent a thrill down her spine.

The man looked like a Greek god in dark breeches and, heaven help her, no waistcoat. The top two buttons of his startlingly white shirt were undone, and his dark blue cravat hung untied around his neck. Sight of the tanned flesh visible at the open V of his shirt sent a wave of heat racing through her veins.

Mischief lit his eyes. “It’s hot,” he explained unabashedly, and she realized she was staring—and he’d caught her. He grinned. “Feel free to slip out of your gown, my dear. You’ll find the evening air cool on your skin.”

Juliet blinked before realizing he was flirting. So, he hadn’t lost interest in her, after all. The knowledge pleased her far more than it should. She peered up at him through lowered lashes, prepared to reply, but she froze when he brushed her bottom lip with his thumb and the witty reply vanished.

“You’ve been hiding,” he accused in a gruff voice before letting his hand fall away.

A shriek of laughter emanated from the open dining room windows at the far end of the lawn.

Juliet’s temper flared. “How would you know? You’ve been busy day and night with your guests.”

Carrick’s eyes widened in surprise. His lips curved in dry amusement and she realized her mistake.

“I’ve blundered with my mistress, haven’t I?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “I am not—”

“It’s my mother’s doing, lass,” he blithely interrupted, and chucked her under the chin. “She invited a bevy of beauties here in the hopes one might catch my eye. She’s determined to see me wed before summer’s end.”

He was allowing his mother to find him a wife—while his mistress was in residence? Realization struck. He hadn’t bedded her, but that didn’t matter. She was his mistress. He’d chased her from Edinburgh to London. She hadn’t expected sweet words or love. In fact, if he sent her home with the promised money and the cottage as per their agreement, she would be satisfied. But there was something desperately sad about how little she’d come to mean to him in less than a week. She was a fool. She’d never meant anything to him. Why would she?  She wasn’t a genteel lady like those he entertained.

Juliet pursed her lips. It was just as well she’d decided to become a dressmaker. She clearly made a terrible mistress.

“Forgive my intrusion.” She started to step around him.

He stepped sideways and blocked her path. “Aye, I know I’m an incorrigible rogue, lass, but I haven’t touched a one of them. Cold fish, the lot.”

Why did that please her? But aloud, she pertly replied, “Fish they may be, but they’re pedigreed fish.”

“I would not have my children born with fins or tails,” he said with a vehemence that startled her. “My mother is right, I should have already wed and secured the succession. But, I confess, I believe I should at least want to bed my wife.”

“One must suffer for the sake of duty,” she said dryly.

He heaved a sigh. “Aye, I can only dream of finding pleasure and duty in the same woman.”

It was such an outrageous thought for a man of his position that it made her laugh. “I hadn’t thought of you as a dreamer.”

He quirked a brow. “So, you’ve been thinking of me?”

The intensity in his gray eyes made her look away. Movement to the right drew her attention.

Carrick seized her arm and pulled her behind the hedges. “That is my mother,” he said.

Juliet blanched. “Heavens,” she whispered. Alienating the dowager was the last thing she wanted. She pulled free of him and saw that he was staring through the bushes at the figure standing in the open doorway.

“That would explain why she chose now to wage this campaign,” he murmured. 

“What?” Juliet said.

His features hardened. “Come with me.” He grasped her hand.

“I beg your pardon?” She started to yank free, but he entwined his fingers with hers and pulled her around the hedges.

“Are you mad?” To her relief, his mother no longer stood in the doorway. Still, she said, "Your mother will not be pleased to have her dressmaker join the party she’s thrown to find you a wife.”

“They are sure to gossip over what we were doing in the garden, unchaperoned for an hour or more,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Juliet snorted a hearty laugh.

Carrick halted. “My comment was witty, but not to that extent. What is so amusing?”

“An hour?” She couldn’t repress a giggle. “You flatter yourself. From what I know of men, the deed takes only minutes.”

He tweaked her nose. “Then you are in for a wonderful surprise, sweet.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Only the old and infirmed take that much time.”

“Are you calling me impotent?” he asked in an astonished voice.

“I’m calling you uninformed,” she answered cheekily.

“Uninformed?”

Carrick locked eyes with her and Juliet realized her mistake. She retreated a step, but he tugged her back. She shook her head. A tiny smile played on his mouth as he drew her closer, inch by inch. She dug her heels in and his smile reached his eyes by the time she reached him.

“Carrick.” She intended a reprimand, but his name drifted out as a bare whisper.

His gaze sharpened. He slid an arm around her waist and skimmed the curve of her buttocks until he cupped her derrière. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his as he slowly thrust his hips against her. There was no mistaking his erection. He leaned down and her mouth went dry when his warm lips brushed her cheek. He slid moist kisses down her neck. Juliet shivered when he slid his tongue over her collarbone.

Need pulsed at the apex of her thighs. The hand on her buttocks skimmed up her waist, her shoulder, then her neck. He speared his fingers into the hair bound in a tight chignon. Her heart thundered. He fisted the locks and firmly pulled her head back, baring her neck and—heaven help her—the rise of exposed flesh over her bodice, now warm against evening air that suddenly felt almost cold.

Her pulse quickened in anticipation of his mouth sliding lower. Would he dip his tongue between her bodice and flesh and tease her nipples? God help her, her nipples were so hard they ached.

“I can please you,” he murmured against her skin.

Her head reeled. Saints in heaven, if he did nothing more than kiss her breast this instant, she would embarrass herself by screaming his name. She’d never wanted a man like this…never needed his touch. She arched into him.

He gave a low laugh. “Soon, sweet, I promise.”

He abruptly stepped back. She stumbled forward. He grasped her arm and steadied her. Juliet looked up at him and frowned.

Carrick lifted a brow. “Uninformed, you say?” With a laugh, he spun and walked away.

* * *

Juliet knew she should've gone to bed. The dowager didn't expect her to work into the night, but she feared where her thoughts would go with nothing to occupy them. Carrick. She now understood his reputation. She also understood his confidence. The man truly was irresistible… Dangerous. He had kissed her once in the days since her arrival and already her resolve had slipped.

Could she last the summer? What if she didn't resist him? Shame rolled over her. She was a normal woman, she experienced desire. That had been long ago, when she was young, long before she'd seen so many men come and go from her mother's brothel. Some were men who loved their wives, but few of them were faithful. Passion simply wasn't worth the lack of trust. She looked up from the hem she was sewing and sought the mantle clock. 9:30. She would finish this hem, then stop for the night. Tomorrow would be another long day.

Footfalls sounded in the hallway outside her door. Juliet looked up as the door opened and Carrick entered, a large basket in hand.

"I knew I'd find you here still working." He stopped in front of her and lifted the basket. "I come bearing gifts." Juliet frowned, and he added, "Supper."

"I've already eaten," she said.

“Bread and cheese, maybe a bit of tea, no doubt." He lifted a brow.

She narrowed her eyes. “You think yourself clever, don't you?"

He grinned. "Aye, I do." He grasped her hand and she had just enough time to set aside the dress as he pulled her to her feet. "Come." He started toward the balcony.

"Carrick, I really must finish this hem before I go to bed."

"Later," he said. They reached the balcony and he opened the doors, then set the basket down and lifted out a plaid blanket. He stepped onto the balcony, shook out the fabric, then laid it on the ground. "Grab the basket and bring it here," he instructed.

With a sigh, Juliet picked up the basket and carried it onto the balcony. Clouds drifted slowly across a sky littered with stars. She had to admit, it was a beautiful night. Carrick clasped her hand and steadied her as she sank onto the plaid, then he sat beside her and lifted from the basket a bottle of wine, a wrapped cloth, which he opened to reveal blueberry pastries, and a plate with a cloth over it, which held cold chicken. Cheese, of course, along with two plates, two glasses and silverware.

"This is a feast," she said.

“A feast for two," he said.

"What about your guests?" she said.

He shook his head. "They are far too busy admiring each other's dresses and hairstyles to miss me."

She knew that was untrue, but couldn’t help a grimace. "You have my sympathies."

He laughed, then filled a plate, which he passed to her. He then poured wine in both glasses before filling his own plate.

Juliet took her first bite. “This chicken is quite good.”

“Mrs. Allenby is an excellent cook," he replied, taking a hearty gulp of wine. "What are you sewing?"

"A day dress for your mother. She already had the fabric. A beautiful canary yellow muslin."

"Yellow is her favorite color," he said.

Surprised to find herself so hungry, Juliet set about eating her chicken and washing it down with the wine.

"How did your mother take it when you left?" Carrick asked.

Juliet shot him a dry look. "She was very pleased, as you must know. You paid her a handsome sum."

He gave a small smile. "She is a skilled negotiator."

"It is not the first time she sold me."

He looked sharply at her. “She told me you were…"

Juliet lifted a brow. "A virgin?" Anger stabbed. "I see. You want a virgin to deflower." Why hadn’t it occurred to her?

He shook his head. "Nae, I did not—” He paused. “The contract had nothing to do with whether or not you were a virgin. Your mother said you were untouched. I am simply surprised she lied.”

"People lie all the time." Juliet regarded him. "If you feel you were cheated, I will return home and ask nothing further from you."

He stared for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. "I have until summer's end to seduce you. That's what I intend to do."

"Even if I am used property?"

His smile vanished. "You are not property. Is that what you believe I think of you?"

He was genuinely offended. "No," she answered softly.

He stared for another heartbeat as if uncertain, then said, "I would have made the same offer to your mother whether I thought you were virgin or not." His gaze intensified. "I want you to know that."

A tiny bit of guilt stabbed, but only a tiny bit. "Well, my mother did not lie."

He blinked. "Then you lied?"

“No. I only said my mother had sold me once before. I never said I got…used."

"You allowed me to believe you had lost your virginity."

She shrugged. "Sometimes people simply leave something out."

He threw his head back and laughed. "I can see, I'm going to have to tread very carefully with you."

Juliet nodded as she finished her chicken. "We dressmakers are a hearty breed."

His eyes lit with mischief. "I shall take great care, then." He reached into the basket, pulled out a small, smooth wooden box and handed it to her.

Juliet looked at him. "What is it?"

He nodded at the box. "Open it and find out."

She hesitated, then took it. Juliet cast a curious glance at him, then lifted the box lid. Inside, on black velvet, rested a silver locket with a silver chain. She frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's a gift."

"But why?"

"Ladies do not ask a gentleman why they give them gifts," he said.

She stiffened. "I see."

"I doubt you do, lass. I have no ulterior motive. I thought you might like it, that's all. Look inside the locket."

She was tempted not to accept it, but setting the box aside, she lifted the locket and opened the clasp. She gasped. An intricate miniature of her mother filled the right side. Juliet snapped her gaze onto Carrick. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Do you like it?” he asked.

She looked back at the miniature and nodded.

“That’s why I did it.”

Tears burned the corners of her eyes. She swiped at a teardrop that broke through her resolve and ran a finger over the small portrait. “It’s beautiful.” She looked at him. “Thank you.”

He smiled, the pleasure reaching to his eyes, and her heart tugged. Oh, this man was dangerous, very, very dangerous. Despite the admonition, she leaned across the food and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He went very still.

She withdrew and shook her head. “What made you think of this? It’s not as if I will be away from my mother all that long.”

He shrugged. “A daughter needn’t be separated from her mother very long to miss her.”

Juliet’s heart pounded. “I had better finish the hem on the dress.”

He nodded, pushed to his feet, and extended a hand. As she placed her hand in his, his fingers closed around hers with such gentleness that the tears threatened again. She would never be one of the fine ladies he chose as his wife. He pulled her to her feet and tugged her into his arms and with a slow grin, bent and covered her mouth with his. She should have pushed him away, should have reminded him that she would never become his mistress, but instead, she found herself melting against him, breathing of him deeply as his tongue slipped past her lips. She lost track of time as their tongues sparred, and when he drew back, for an instant, her surroundings seemed to spin.

He steadied her. “Are you all right, lass?”

She nodded, but the satisfied smile she glimpsed in the instant before he turned away told her he was well aware that he’d touched her heart.

* * *

Juliet tossed and turned into the wee hours of the night. Carrick had played her like an instrument. For hours, she’d lain on her bed, aching with need.

As the moon rose high in the sky outside her window, she gave up all pretense of sleep, threw her shawl over her shoulders and slipped from her room. Mrs. Allenby made a very nice lemon water, perhaps it would help.

She’d gone scarcely more than a yard from her door when Carrick’s soft voice drifted through the darkness, “Why are you wandering in the night like a wraith, Juliet?”

She spun, then froze at sight of his silhouette leaning against the opposite wall.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Then do not try, lass.” He started toward her.