Shameless: Rules of Refinement Book Two (The Marriage Maker 6) Page 3

  She’d obviously cheated with those four aces. It only made him want her more. He needed her—no, he needed to conquer her.

  He stormed back down the stairs and made a thorough search of every darkened corner of the ballroom, demanding every candle and lamp be lit until the place stood bathed in light as bright as day.

  As he feared, she had truly disappeared.

  Finally, he thundered at a waiter, “Find Lady Peddington. Rouse her from her bed, if necessary. I must speak with her at once.”

  Lady Peddington told Carrick nothing save that Juliet had left for London. He left the school headed for Stirling’s home, then got halfway and realized it was nearly three in the morning. With a curse, he ordered his driver to take him home.

  At noon, he knocked on Stirling’s townhouse and was shown into the parlor. While he paced, a maid brought tea and, minutes later, Stirling entered the room.

  “This is a pleasant surprise, Carrick.” He shook Carrick’s hand. “Tea?” Stirling seated himself on the divan.

  “Nae,” Carrick said.

  Stirling frowned. “You look harried. Is something wrong?”

  “I suspect you know full well what is wrong,” Carrick said in frustration.

  Stirling filled a teacup, then sat back and took a sip.

  The smirk Stirling didn’t quite hide told Carrick he was right. “Where can I find her?”

  “By ‘her,’ I assume you mean Miss Thatcher?”

  “Thatcher.” He threw himself into a nearby chair. “Juliet Thatcher.” He pinned Stirling with a stare. “What do you know of her?”

  “I received her portrait a week ago and recognized her, at once. I saw her at a London house party last year.”

  “What do you mean, ‘received her portrait’?” Carrick demanded.

  “A young lady at Lady Peddington’s school asked for my help. She mentioned that three other friends were in the same predicament she was, that is, they hadn’t found respectable gentlemen for husbands.”

  Carrick stared. “Surely, you don’t think I’m respectable?”

  “What is more respectable than a duke?” Stirling chuckled. “The lass is adept at card cheating, don’t you agree?”

  Carrick laughed. “She is a vixen.”

  Stirling grinned. “Sounds like a perfect match.”

  “Not if she’s looking for a husband,” he said. “Though, she certainly didn’t act like a husband hunting lass. I took her for a courtesan.”

  “That’s probably because her mother owns a very popular gentleman’s establishment in London.”

  Carrick blinked. “You don’t mean…”

  Stirling nodded. “Aye, she owns an upscale brothel, Lady Aphrodite’s House of Pleasure.

  “How in God’s name did Juliet end up at Lady Peddington’s?” Carrick asked.

  “She aspires to be a dressmaker.”

  Carrick stared. “You jest.”

  Stirling laughed. “Nae. Her mother has other ideas, however.”

  Carrick studied his friend. “You seem to know a great deal about her.”

  Stirling nodded and took another sip of tea, then set the cup on the table. “Lady Peddington and I are old friends. Miss Thatcher’s mother intends to auction her off to the highest bidder.”

  “Bloody hell,” Carrick cursed. “You aren’t serious. You said she wanted to become a dressmaker.”

  “I also said her mother has other ideas.”

  Carrick shoved to his feet and started for the door.

  “London is a long journey to make for just any woman,” Stirling commented as Carrick headed for the door.

  “Juliet Thatcher isn’t just any woman.” He reached the door and paused to look back at his old friend. “Be warned, I still plan to collect that roan from you.” With that, he quit the room.

  * * *

  Three days later, Carrick reined his horse to a stop on a busy London street and hailed a man with prematurely thinning hair, a bulbous nose, and close-set eyes. “Can you direct me to Lady Aphrodite’s House of Pleasure?” he asked.

  The man grinned. “Aye, m’lord. About two miles down the main road.” He pointed the way. “Turn onto the road with a brick townhouse and short, wrought iron gate. Then take the second alley to the right, mate. You can’t miss it. There’s a tall wrought iron gate in front of the house and a painting of the love goddess in the window.” He hesitated, then added, “If I may say so, ask for Lucy. She’s a wonder, that one is.”

  Carrick thanked the man and, half an hour later, he reached the narrow lane. A row of gray limestone houses hugged the street, each house looking very much like the one before, but as the man had said, only one domicile had a small but garish painting of Aphrodite propped in the window.

  Carrick drew an exhilarating breath of crisp morning air. He’d found her. Anticipation coiled in his belly as he dismounted. The day he’d taken to wrap up his business in Edinburgh, along with the two-day ride to London, hadn’t cooled his ardor. If anything, he wanted Juliet even more than he had. He would double any bids offered from other gentlemen—even if she’d already signed a contract.

  He dismounted, tied his horse to the post, and went through the wrought iron gate and up the walk. He’d just stepped onto the porch and lifted his knuckles to rap on the door when it opened to reveal a long-haired, burly gentleman in gaily colored clothing.

  “My lord, how may I be of service?”

  “I’ve come to speak with the owner of this house,” Carrick informed him coolly.

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “The Duke of Hamilton.”

  The door yanked wide and he locked gazes with a middle-aged matron with bright green eyes and ginger hair. Her body had been squeezed into a red, low-cut gown that artfully emphasized her curves.

  “Come in, Your Grace.” She offered a sweeping gesture followed by a low curtsey that offered a bird’s eye view of her ample cleavage. “I’m Lady Aphrodite, the owner of this fine establishment.”

  Carrick ducked under the lintel and entered.

  She turned to the butler and directed in a low voice, “Bring refreshments at once,” then smiled up at Carrick. “Come, my lord. This way.”

  He followed her down a hall, where more paintings of Aphrodite adorned the walls, and past a large room where one beribboned, satin-clad young lady lounged on a settee. As he passed, the woman lazily lifted her fan and coquettishly dropped her lashes. Finally, they entered a small parlor. A large portrait of Aphrodite, painted in golds and crimson, matched the upholstery of the low couch and chaise lounge.

  “Please, have a seat, my lord.” She closed the door. “You look as if you’ve had a long journey. Would you care for brandy?”

  He shook his head and sat down. “I’m looking for a Juliet Thatcher.”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she quickly recovered and said, “May I ask why you are looking for our lovely Juliet?”

  Why? She’d cast a net over him, that was why. For the first time in his life, he struggled to voice the words raging through his mind. “I have business to discuss with her.”

  “Our Juliet’s not here,” she said.

  Relief flooded through him. It had been unlikely she would have arrived ahead of him and signed a contract with another man so quickly, but the worry had niggled. “Even better,” he said. “She will soon arrive, however. I seem to have outpaced the coach from Edinburgh.”

  “I see,” she murmured. “Perhaps I could better help you if I understood the nature of your…business with Juliet.”

  Lust stormed through him. “Come, madam, we are neither of us naïve. Why else would a man ride from Edinburgh to London for a woman like Juliet?”

  A calculated look appeared in her eyes. “You’re interested in our Juliet?”

  “I am—exclusively,” he said, and wondered for the hundredth time what madness had seized him. He’d never set such a restriction on any other woman. “Draw up whatever contract you please,” he said. “Price is of
no concern. Make it for a month—maybe more.”

  She tilted her head. “Juliet is much more than a simple lady of Aphrodite, Your Grace.” After a pregnant pause, she added, “She’s my daughter.”

  He pinned her with an icy stare. “A mother who intended to auction her daughter off.”

  Most men squirmed under his stare. Juliet’s mother stared back, unabashed. “My lord, surely, you do not condemn a woman for doing the very thing you are paying her to do?”

  “Juliet is not my daughter,” he replied.

  “True.” Her gaze sharpened. “Therefore, it is my place to ensure that she lives a comfortable life and has security as she ages. If you know a better way for a woman to accomplish that, I am ready to entertain your ideas.”

  Embarrassment flushed over him. “Forgive me, I overstepped my bounds.”

  She smiled, and Carrick saw where Juliet got her keen mind. “You’re clearly a man with a healthy appetite,” she said. “Just the sort of man my daughter needs. I’ll see her treated fairly. And while Juliet is my daughter, she’s also a lady of this house—or will be, after she’s known a man’s touch.”

  After she’s known a man’s touch? It took a moment for the meaning to sink through his haze of exhaustion and lust. Juliet was a virgin? How? She’d appeared well-versed in the arts of tantalizing a man. A wave of disappointment coursed through him. He’d thought to find an experienced lady of pleasure, one trained to slake his need. He didn’t deflower virgins. Yet even as the thought swirled in his head, a primal hunger stirred his soul. Juliet, with her sultry voice, her mysterious blue eyes and long wave of gold-streaked hair…Juliet could be his and his alone.

  “As the most sought-after lady in this house, the honor of taking her virginity has reached a princely sum,” the woman was saying.

  Carrick snapped from his thoughts. The most sought-after woman? “Nae,” the word ripped from his mouth. “There will be no other.”

  A triumphant smile curved one corner of her mouth.

  He locked gazes with her. “Nicely done, madam.”

  She angled her head in acknowledgement. “We are agreed then. A woman of her quality requires a house and a yearly allowance. I will not consider anything less than a year.”

  “Draw up a contract with your demands and have done,” he said.

  She rose. “Let me fetch the pen and parchment.”

  She sailed out the door and he leaned back to stretch his arms along the back of the couch. He needed a bath and a good night’s sleep. Carrick released a breath. A virgin. God help him.

  Movement near the door caught his attention and he glanced over as a woman entered. The winsome lass had long blonde curls and wore a beribboned shift thin enough to provide an enticing glimpse of her dark areolas and the patch of hair tucked at the apex of her thighs.

  “Can I offer you anything while you wait, my lord?” She swayed her hips as she approached. “I’m Lucy.”

  Ah, the fair Lucy. He opened his mouth to send her away, then changed his mind. She did have something he needed. Desperately. He tapped his fingers along the back of the couch. “Join me.”

  She smiled, then settled by his side and reached for his crotch.

  He caught her wrist. “Nae, lass, not that.” He placed her hand firmly on her knee. “I simply wish to talk, my dear.” He reached into his waistcoat, withdrew several pound notes and pressed them into her hand. He had a mistress to seduce, “I need you to tell me everything you know about Juliet.”

  Chapter Five

  Home Again

  JULIET YAWNED AND OPENED her eyes. She sat in the coach, sandwiched between a large man who smelled like cheese and a frazzled woman travelling with four children—creatures, Juliet now suspected, that had been spawned in hell. Never had she seen a more unruly bunch. Through the coach window, she glimpsed the city of London spread over the horizon. At last. She was almost home.

  There had been nothing else to do in the coach but think and, for the most part, she’d thought of little else but the Midnight Ball. She couldn’t forget the tingle of Carrick’s fingers as they’d trailed over her skin, a tantalizing touch she’d relived again and again the entire journey. Truth be told, she’d imagined much, much more, but with London only minutes away, she could no longer indulge in fantasies of those smoky gray eyes. More pressing matters awaited her. The most important being a mother to outwit before the woman again auctioned off her virginity.

  Soon enough, the coach rolled over London’s cobblestoned streets and stopped at the King’s Head Inn. Juliet alighted into her mother’s waiting and welcoming arms.

  “It’s so good to see you, love.” Her mother hugged her close before holding her at arm’s length. “You have lost weight.”

  “I’m fine, Ma,” Juliet laughed, inspecting her mother in turn.

  It had only been a year since they’d parted. Her mother looked very much the same as she always had, buxom and pleasing, with a pert nose, green eyes and red hair. Juliet with her dark locks and blue eyes had clearly taken after her father—whoever that might have been. Even her mother wasn’t sure. They interrupted their greetings and stepped aside as an arrogant lady swept past, her maid in tow.

  “Hoity-toity.” Her mother rolled her eyes as the young woman swept out of sight. “I’d pity the man wed to that poor soul—if I didn’t know he’d turn up at my door as a good-paying customer.” She laughed.

  Juliet offered a wry smile as one of her mother’s hired men shoved her trunk onto the bed of a cart.

  “Take the cart on up to the house,” her mother ordered the man. “Juliet and I will walk. We must chat.”

  Chat? Juliet thinned her lips. “Ma, must we talk business so soon?”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed into shrewd, calculating slits. “It’s always time to talk business, Juliet. Especially now. I moved the ball up a week. It’s tonight. I feared you wouldn’t make it in time.”

  “Tonight?” Juliet repeated in dismay. She was sore, stiff, and tired from the journey, and she desperately needed a bath.

  “You have a few hours, yet,” her mother assured with a smile and a fond pat on the cheek. “You’re young. You’ll feel spry enough in no time. I set up your card table in the sitting room and you mustn’t forget to wear your mask.”

  Cards. That was a relief. At least her mother hadn’t auctioned her off—yet. “Well, as long as it’s just playing cards, Ma,” she gave in, but, unable to resist, added, “But we really need to talk about my career. Much has transpired since—”

  “Come, come, we’ll chat later,” her mother interrupted with a smile.

  The smile made Juliet stop in her tracks. Her mother invariably responded to all dressmaking overtures with theatrics—certainly never with a kindly, ‘we’ll chat later.’

  “What have you done?” Juliet demanded.

  “What have I done?” Her mother snorted, looped her arm through Juliet’s, and pulled her down the street. “I’ve simply welcomed my daughter home. That’s all. Now don’t spare the bath oils, and wear your finest. We have a ball tonight: Lady Aphrodite’s Night of Wonders.”

  The last thing Juliet wanted was to attend another ball, but at least she had one consolation. This time, she didn’t have to deal with the disconcerting Duke of Hamilton. With a long, loud sigh, she followed her mother, wondering why that thought didn’t conjure as much relief as it should.

  * * *

  Juliet gathered her silvery, gossamer silk skirts in one hand and proceeded out her room and down the stairs. Cut in the French fashion of forty years before, the voluminous skirts floated around her ankles, preventing her from seeing where she stepped. She nearly missed the bottom riser before she reached the floor and entered the crowded ballroom.

  “Careful now,” her mother called as she arrived.

  Lady Aphrodite’s Night of Wonders was well underway. Swirls of colorful silk and glittering glass jewelry met Juliet’s eyes everywhere she looked as Lady Aphrodite’s girls, their assets on full di
splay, mingled with the clientele.

  Brenda swooped over, grabbed Juliet’s arm, and pointed toward the sitting room. “Your card table is ready.” She giggled and dropped her gaze to Juliet’s bosom. “But you’re clearly not, love. Pull that gown lower and show more flesh.” Brenda yanked Juliet’s bodice. The edge of the fabric slid dangerously low over her nipples. “There.” The girl nodded in satisfaction as Juliet fitted her mask over her face. “Your first customers have arrived.” She escorted Juliet to the sitting room and urged her inside.

  Juliet heaved a sigh. She really wasn’t in the mood to play cards with a gaggle of pawing men. She glanced around the sitting room. Someone had decorated the mantle and tables with elaborate ivy and thistle garlands, elegantly tied in gold ribbon. Cheap, imitation Grecian pedestals bearing baskets of fruit and cheese lined the walls. A fire crackled in the grate behind a card table draped in white velvet. A man already lounged there, and several more waited nearby. Juliet scarcely gave them notice as she woodenly approached her chair and, after fluffing her cushion, took her seat with an unceremonious plop.

  “A game of commerce for the gentleman?” she asked. She glanced up—and froze.

  Carrick Hamilton’s smoldering gray eyes stared back at her.

  Chapter Six

  What Lies Beneath

  CARRICK WATCHED JULIET. She wore the same white-feathered Venetian mask she’d worn three nights ago, and her breasts nearly spilled over the bodice of her deliciously enticing silver gown. His cock hardened in approval.

  “Fancy meeting you again, Juliet,” he drawled.

  Her lips—such luscious lips—parted in shock.

  Another man strolled across the room.