Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
J uliet clung to the crumbling stone. Below her was a lethal drop to an unyielding, marble floor. The stone under her fingers was crumbling with age, the more she tried to grip the more it gave way. Finally, a large chunk broke away under her grip. It fell as her hand dangled in empty space. After a long time, she heard the sound of it crashing into the marble and splintering into a thousand pieces. She daren’t look down, fearing that the sight of it would rob her of the last of her strength and see her plummeting. Then, as her fingers gave up their grip, a hand grasped her wrist. It was a strong hand with a hold on her like a vice. She looked up, dangling from the Herculean strength of that hand, and into a pair of cool blue eyes.
“I’ve got you,” the duke said.
Without apparent effort, he lifted her. Then he was holding her in his arms, carrying her away from the edge. Suddenly, they were in a bedchamber. The stone balcony from which she had dangled was crumbling and ancient. The drop below was no longer to the marble floor of a ballroom but to a white-capped river far below, dashing itself from saw-toothed rocks.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.
He carried her across the room towards a chaise upholstered in gold and red silk. He wore a coat of red with gold brambles worked into the sleeves, snaking up his arms to entwine a Prussian collar. Over this his satin, brown hair cascaded to his shoulders. His hands felt strong but gentle on her fragile body, making her feel safe in a way she had never experienced before.
“My name is Horatio. Or have you forgotten?” he said, gently.
“I believe I had…”
It seemed that she had known his given name, but at the same time, had forgotten it.
“Horatio,” she said, feeling as though she were tasting the name on her lips for the very first time, “it sounds like the name of a hero of Ancient Greece,”
“Like Hector?” Horatio asked.
He lay her on the chaise, her head supported by soft cushions. He sat at the other end, cradling her feet on his lap.
“Hector was a Trojan,” Juliet pointed out.
“Was he? I was the bane of my tutors. I didn’t pay much attention to books,” Horatio said with a simple, boyish smile.
He unbuckled and then removed her left shoe, tossing it over his shoulder with grinning insouciance. Then he removed the other. Juliet wriggled her stockinged toes as he began to gently massage her feet. She squirmed deeper into the soft cushions of the chaise.
“I feel like the wife of Caesar, drowning in luxury,” she breathed.
Horatio paused for a moment, thinking to himself. “That would make me your slave?” he asked.
“Or Caesar,” Juliet smiled.
“I think slave is better.”
Juliet blushed deeply.
“And I remember enough of my classics to know that slaves were not permitted to dress as finely as Caesar. No gold thread or fine woven wool for me.”
He leisurely unbuttoned his coat, the gold buttons catching the glow with shards of broken light. The coat was cast aside to fall into a heap as though it were no more than rags. He began to unlace his shirt next, it was silk and made Juliet want to run her hands over it, to feel its soft smoothness against both his skin and hers. But she wanted to see what lay beneath even more. He pulled the shirt up over his head and Juliet gasped. His pectoral muscles were smooth slabs of stone, screaming of controlled power. His abdomen was tightly ridged, the muscle tapering in towards his navel, lacking even the smallest amount of padding from fat. He stood, his eyes holding hers, and began to unbutton the satin breeches he wore.
There was a presence there that Juliet could see. A masculine presence that called out to be touched, rubbed, made stronger and harder. She felt a thrill that her presence was enough to make Horatio’s body respond thus. And before she had even touched him. He pushed at the breeches, and for a moment, Juliet’s heart stopped. She had wanted to cover her eyes, wanted to stop him, believing that she would see his maleness in all its naked glory. She had not appreciated that men wore undergarments. She did not, not in the way he did. She wore a petticoat and stockings but nothing to cover her most intimate part. Horatio grinned as though he knew where her mind was going. His undergarments were of tightly fitted cotton, concealing nothing and everything. They made him decent even while they were positively indecent.
“Turn around… slave,” she breathed, barely able to get the words out.
He turned slowly, lifting his arms above his head so that the muscles of his arms, shoulders, and back, rippled and stretched. Juliet wanted to grab him, to scratch and bite and suck and lick… The lust that sang in her was almost overwhelming. She wanted to possess him. To taste him. His buttocks were concealed by his undergarments but were as rock solid as the rest of him.
“How do you come by such a body?” she whispered.
“Hard labor. Years of it,” he answered, turning full circle, and facing her.
“Well, that is the life of a slave, is it not?” Juliet asked.
“It is. But now my hard labor is more pleasurable.”
“And that is?”
Horatio bent as though to kiss her. As she raised her face to his, however, he bent lower, taking his lips out of her reach. His head glided down her body, lips inches from her breasts. They were separated from him by layers of fabric, but that cloth felt as nothing if he decided to take her. He kept going. Juliet felt his face against her abdomen and she clenched it involuntarily. Horatio’s mouth moved against the material of her dress there as though trying to taste her through the fabric. She stretched, writhed under his teasing touch, yet he kept drifting lower. Juliet’s eyes opened wide in shock as his mouth pressed against her skirts, had it not been for the veil of fabric, his lips would be kissing her womanhood. She gasped his name, the very idea making her squirm with delight. Surely such a thing was not done. Only transcribed in books that he would never read. How could he even conceive of it?
Juliet moaned aloud and sat up as she felt her skirts being gathered and pushed up her legs. Horatio glanced up at her and the smile on his face was positively devilish. Her skirts had reached her knees when he stopped and took hold of her ankles. He pushed her feet back so that her knees were raised. Then he pushed skirts and underskirts all back from her knees to her waist. Feeling the air around her most intimate area made Juliet feel faint. She bit her lip, gripping hard on the cushions of the chaise as Horatio kissed her inner thigh, first left and then right. His lips felt red hot against skin that had never been touched by another. Certainly not a man. He licked, as though tasting her, and that sent jolts of pleasure through her. The idea of being tasted by him, consumed by him was as erotic and pleasurable as the actual touch.
Finally, an eternity after he started, Horatio was at the summit, his warm breath against her flower. Juliet closed her eyes, tense with the agony of anticipation. She wanted it to happen—and wanted to wait at the same time. He bent his head lower, and then, teasingly, raised it. Juliet looked up, and without thinking, seized his hair with both hands and pushed his head back down. All the way down.
“Horatio!” Juliet cried out, sitting bolt upright so suddenly that the man leaning over her fell back.
“Did you hear that? The child cries out the name of her defiler!” Aunt Margaret shrieked stridently from a corner of the room.
“Lady Margaret, I have told you before that I require silence in which to work. My patient also requires it. If you do not desist, I shall have to ask you to leave the room,” the man said, recovering himself.
He had thinning red hair, combed forward. His face was freckled and round, kindly, with twinkling green eyes, and a pince-nez on the end of his bony nose. Juliet stared at him blankly, remembering the scandalous dream. Every sensation of it was etched into her memory. It was scandalous, made her feel like a wanton woman. She had not even realized that the Duke’s name was Horatio. Not consciously. She had obviously heard it somewhere, but…
Then she remembered.
Where she was and what had happened. Horatio knew who she was now. Aunt Margaret had called her by name in front of him. Did he remember the name Juliet Semphill? How could he not? She felt a sense of wrenching loss that stung her wet eyes.
“Now, now. You will be fine, my dear. I think you are a touch anemic but not so serious as to require a blood transfusion,” the man murmured. “Are you suffering from an illness…?”
“No. She is fit and healthy, Doctor Drake. She has just been a silly girl and is overwrought,” Aunt Margaret blurted.
Doctor Drake sighed, removing his pince-nez and regarding Juliet with a serious expression.
“Well, your respiration and heartbeat are strong, so I do not believe you are in any immediate danger.” He took a card from a pocket inside his waistcoat and pressed it into Juliet’s hand without a word.
“Thank you, Doctor, for your opinions,” Aunt Margaret said stiffly, rising as the doctor did.
“I am not convinced that this young woman was simply overwrought, Lady Margaret. I should like to see her in my consulting rooms in Harley Street.”
“Out of the question. There is no need,” Aunt Margaret snapped. “Your job is done. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to speak to my niece in private.”
Doctor Drake frowned, turned back to Juliet, and gave her a reassuring smile, before leaving the room. Uncle Gilbert held the door for him and closed it behind him too. Just as it shut, Aunt Margaret strode across the room to Juliet and delivered a sharp slap across the cheek.
“How dare you! You were not brought here to inveigle yourself into the Duke’s attentions, and certainly not to entice him! Do you realize what you’ve done? You have brought our family into a scandal from which we may never recover! It is only fortunate that the Ravenscourt name cannot sink any lower. Otherwise it would be two names that you have destroyed with your silly actions!”
“Aunt Margaret, I did nothing except faint. He was not assaulting me…”
“Do not prevaricate, girl!” Aunt Margaret stormed, “Everyone saw what he was doing. Everyone knows the position you allowed yourself to be put into. What no one knows, myself included, is how we are to remedy this situation from here. Gilbert?”
She turned to Uncle Gilbert who hovered behind her. He opened his mouth and drew breath to speak, but Aunt Margaret cut across him.
“I can only see one solution and it is far from desirable. But it will prevent scandal from enveloping our good family name. Frances will be devastated, and it is all your fault!”
“Frances?” Juliet choked out, “What has any of this to do with her?”
“Because she will have to marry him of course!” Aunt Margaret shrilled, “to show that our families are allied and to neuter this scandal before it can gain momentum. Gilbert, you will need to speak to the duke and ensure that he knows what is expected of him,” she said.
Gilbert nodded and opened his mouth, but Aunt Margaret was still in full flow.
“We might salvage something from this mess. The Templeton fortune is considerable, I believe, and the name is an ancient one. I understand there is property in France as well, earned in the service of the Black Prince, no less.”
Now the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Juliet.
There was a gleam in Aunt Margaret’s eyes as she spoke that gave the lie to her anger. She was not trying to salvage a bad situation at all, but taking advantage of it. She was actually, in fact, pleased, at this opportunity to marry her daughter to a wealthy Duke. But she could not admit that. Could not give credit to Juliet. She had to make sure that her niece was wracked with guilt and convince her that Frances was making the ultimate sacrifice to make up for Juliet’s behavior.
Juliet felt a wave of crushing jealousy wash over her. Of course the Duke would accept. It was the only plausible way for him to avoid an even greater scandal. One that might have the Dukedom itself put in jeopardy after his already besmirched character. He had told her that he felt a duty to restore his name. Restore it after Juliet, herself, had helped to destroy it. Now, he would be forced into marriage against his will, and all because of her.
There came a knock at the door. Uncle Gilbert hardly had the chance to open it before it burst from its hinges and Ravenscourt strode into the room with the force of a typhoon. Juliet sat up quickly, making her head spin. She tried to rise even further, but her arms lacked the strength to push her up. The Duke raised a hand.
“Do not bother getting up, Miss Semphill. I know now why you lied about your given name. You knew that I would not entertain your company if I knew who you were. And you would be absolutely right about that.”
Juliet opened her mouth to speak, but those final words crushed her lungs and stole any and all words from her mouth. Her heart sank.
“However, I find myself in a predicament where I must tolerate it. Lady Margaret, to avoid further scandal inflicted upon both our families, I believe marriage is the only solution. Do you agree?”
Lady Margaret raised her chin, twisting her head away. “As it happens, I can see no alternative. My daughter, Frances, is a noblewoman who—”
“Thank you, that is all I asked,” Horatio snapped, silencing Margaret instantly. “I shall marry your ill-bred niece. It will quell the flames of scandal by making it seem we were lovers. When the gossips have moved on, the marriage shall be quietly annulled. I will even provide your niece with a house in which she can live quietly and secretly away from the ton’s scrutiny. I will make all the necessary arrangements myself. Lord Gilbert, I trust I have your consent?”
“Ah, well—” Gilbert opened his mouth to speak, but Horatio slammed a hand against his shoulder.
“Very good. You may remain as my guests for as long as you desire. I will set the wheels in motion. I want this done within a fortnight. Good day to you all.”
He swept from the room, with the ferocity in which he entered—without so much as sparing a glance at Juliet.