Regency: Rogues and Runaways: A Lover's Kiss / The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore
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desk in the corner looked as if it would shatter if someone leaned on it.
Right now, there were piles of boxes on the light blue damask sofa, the chairs and every side table.
“Miss Bergerine!” the modiste replied. “You look radiant today.”
“Because I am so happy!” Juliette slid the captive Drury a coy, delighted smile.
He wanted nothing more than to escape, but he didn’t dare leave Juliette alone with this gossipy woman wearing a dress of the most startling, eye-popping shade of yellow he’d ever seen. Looking at her was like staring at the sun, and just as likely to give him a headache.
“My cousin is delighted with her new wardrobe,” he said, cutting off the voluble modiste before she could say a word. “Juliette, ring the bell for your maid while I pay madame.”
“Of course, my love. But first, madame, I would like to ask you to make my wedding dress.”
Madame de Malanche’s hazel eyes grew nearly as bright as her dress. “You’re getting married? You and Sir Douglas?”
“Juliette, ring the bell!” Drury ordered, glowering.
“Oh, he is such a shy fellow!” she cried, clapping her hands as if amused and charmed. “That is why I love him so!”
“Juliette,” he warned.
Instead of going to ring the bell, however, she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Am I not the luckiest woman in England?”
Damn her! Did she think she could control this situation? Control him? He’d show her how wrong she was.
“As I am the most fortunate of men,” he said in a low, husky whisper reserved for his lovers alone.
Then he took her in his arms and kissed her as if they were already married and this was their wedding night.
Chapter Nine
So now the ton is under the impression I’m engaged to be married. What a mess. Or I suppose Buggy would liken it to a tangled web. And I’m a fly.
—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury
Drury felt Juliette stiffen in his arms and told himself that was good—until she began to kiss him back with even more fervor.
Did she think she was going to win this duel? Did she believe he was a slave to any of his emotions?
Determined to prove otherwise, he shifted and used his tongue to gently part her lips.
As their kiss deepened, she ran her hands up his back and entwined her fingers in his hair.
Oh, God help him, she was the most arousing—
“Ahem!”
He’d forgotten the damned dressmaker. Just as well she was there and interfering; otherwise…
He was determined not to contemplate otherwise as he drew back.
Juliette looked a little… dazed. As for how he felt… He would ignore that, too.
“Call the maid, my love,” he said huskily, “and go with her to put these things away, or I fear we may upset Madame de Malanche with another unseemly demonstration of our mutual affection.”
He fixed his steadfast, steely gaze on the modiste. “I hope we can count on you to keep this information to yourself, madame, until we’ve made a formal announcement. If you cannot be discreet, Miss Bergerine may have to take her business elsewhere.”
“You may count on my discretion, absolutely!” Madame de Malanche exclaimed. “Although you must allow me to wish you joy.”
“Thank you,” Drury replied. Despite her assurance, he feared the dressmaker would never be able to keep what she had seen and heard a secret. Nevertheless, he had to try.
“Ring for the maid, Juliette,” he repeated, and this time she finally did.
As soon as Drury could get away, he headed for Boodle’s. He needed a drink and he needed to get away from women, as well as his own tumultuous thoughts, for a while.
He should have told Madame de Malanche he was not engaged to Juliette, and he really never should have kissed her.
Especially like that.
What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered as he entered the bastion of country squires come to Town. Unlike White’s or Brooks’s, Boodle’s was favored by men more down-to-earth than most of the aristocrats who frequented the other gentlemen’s clubs. That was why Drury preferred it. He’d also avoided White’s ever since he’d written down the infamous wager between Brix and Fanny in the betting book there. Brix, however, never seemed troubled by the association and claimed Boodle’s appealed to the duller members of the gentry.
Therefore Drury was duly surprised to find his friend lounging on a leather sofa in the main salon, long legs stretched out, drink in hand. Unlike most of the patrons of the club, he wasn’t gambling. Neither was he foxed.
Brix held up a glass nearly full of red wine and gave his friend a wry grin. “Greetings, Cicero! I’ve been hoping you’d appear.”
Mystified by his friend’s presence, Drury feared the worst. “Have you quarreled with Fanny?”
“Good God, no!” he cried, straightening. “We don’t quarrel anymore… well, not often, and usually about completely unimportant matters until we forget why we’re quarreling, and kiss and make up. It’s quite stimulating, actually. You should marry and try it.”
“I am not the domestic sort,” Drury said, wondering how he was going to explain Juliette’s harebrained plan to his friends, and even more disturbed about what the ton would make of it, provided anyone other than Madame de Malanche would believe it.
Likely they wouldn’t, he realized with… relief. Of course relief. What else should he feel?
“Really, why are you here?” he asked his friend again.
“My esteemed father and elder brother are in Town and they requested a convivial meeting to celebrate my happy news,” Brix replied with another grin. “They’re delighted I’ve not only done my duty and married at last—to a damn fine gel, as Father so charmingly puts it—but have already proved capable of carrying on the family name.”
Brix’s relationship with his father and brother had never been the best, so Drury didn’t begrudge his friend the slightly sarcastic tone. Then Brix, being Brix, winked. “I can think of much more onerous duties, I assure you. And since I was here anyway, I thought I’d wait a while and see if you put in an appearance—and here you are!”
“Yes, here I am.”
Brix wasn’t completely insensitive to the subtleties of his friend’s tone and he sobered at once. “More trouble? Not another attack, I hope?”
“No, although I believe Miss Bergerine is of the opinion that another attack would be a beneficial occurrence.”
Brix looked justifiably confused. “Beneficial? How?”
“She’s decided the attacks are the work of a jealous former lover of mine, a jilted amour paying to have us killed. She believes we should attempt to flush out my enemy by claiming to be engaged and going about together in public.”
For a moment, Brix sat in stunned silence—but only for a moment. “Gad, I never thought of that, but I damn well should have. I would gladly have run you through when I saw you kissing Fanny.”
Drury had hoped Brix had forgotten about that. “That was intended only to encourage you to finally voice your feelings,” he said. He hurried on to the more important point. “My lovers all knew the terms of our relationship. I seriously doubt any of them would ever go so far as to—”
“I