The Fictitious Marquis Page 5

  Jamie wondered exactly how Julia expected him to remember all her instructions. So far, she had passed the day drilling Jamie on every piece of cutlery in the house, until he felt as intimately acquainted with the blasted salad and dessert forks as he did with the back of his own hand. They reviewed the differences in properly addressing the daughter of a baronet versus the wife of an earl versus the mother-in-law of the prince regent.

  Jamie asked, "Do tell me, Miss Highsmith, when exactly the circumstances would require me to make the lady's acquaintance. I am fairly certain that her circle of friends only very rarely intersects mine."

  Yet, because Julia took every fine point of etiquette so seriously, Jamie felt compelled to at least put on a show of feeling the same. After all, the eventual death date inscribed on his tombstone in Pauper's Field was up to this lady's discretion.

  She drilled him, "And the Princess Charlotte is married to Prince Leopold, third son of—"

  "Third son of Prince Francis of Saxe-Coburg. Yes, I know. In point of fact, I draw my inspiration from that impoverished German principality whose chief industry, at least as far as I can see, appears to be marrying into much wealthier royal families."

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon going over likely topics of fine society conversation, and even Julia was impressed by how much Jamie appeared to know of recent European politics.

  "I am literate, Miss Highsmith." He recognized how much the fact surprised her. "I taught myself to read as a boy, and since then, not a week has passed when I didn't follow world and local events with the aid of a newspaper."

  Jamie saw no reason to add that, more often than not, the said newspaper ended the day serving not only as his tutor, but as his blanket as well.

  For seemingly the first time since they'd met, Julia turned to truly look at Jamie. Not assess him like a new addition to her stable or wardrobe, but truly look at him, like a human being.

  Like a man.

  "Why, Mr. Lowell," she said, not unkindly, "you are not nearly as primitive as I thought you were."

  "Thank you, m'lady." He bowed from the waist.

  She slipped one thumbnail into her mouth, before guiltily realizing what she had done, and snatched it away. Yet she continued watching Jamie with a great deal more interest than ever before. Finally, Julia said, "What is it about you, Mr. Lowell, that those other women found so enchanting?"

  Sensing an opportunity brewing, Jamie took a step closer to Julia, standing close enough to touch her if he so desired.

  She continued. "You must have been dreadfully charming, convincing them not only to part with their savings, but to defend you in front of the magistrate, as well. How in the world did you do it? Tell me. I've always dreamed of possessing such a power over people. Why, it's almost like being a wizard, isn't it?"

  Jamie thought, Or like holding a return trip to the gallows over someone's head. But he didn't dare verbalize the opinion.

  Instead, Jamie said, "It, charming a body, I mean, it is a rather difficult process to explain, Miss Highsmith."

  "Oh." Julia's eyes clouded over in disappointment. "I was so hoping you might teach me."

  Jamie wondered if it might be the married fellow with the tasseled boots that Julia was so interested in learning to charm. He said, "I could show you how I did it. Would that be of help?"

  "Certainly," Julia offered him the first sincere smile of their acquaintance. "I might even be able to use it on my uncle when soliciting his blessing for our marriage."

  Wryly, Jamie remarked, "I sincerely doubt it."

  "Very well, then. Go on."

  He'd never performed under such pressure before. It added a pleasant drop of excitement to an act that, after a while, had become merely a boring routine. And it certainly gave Jamie a wonderful opportunity to finish up what he'd attempted that morning. Hopefully with a tad more success this time around.

  Taking a second step closer to Julia, he gazed deeply into her eyes, making it impossible for her to look away without risking embarrassment. On one level, it was almost like the staring game played by children.

  "Made you blink."

  5

  Julia prayed that Jamie couldn't see just how much his intimate presence affected her.

  It had proven difficult enough that morning to feign indifference, all the while feeling unable to tear her eyes away from the handsome figure outlined beneath his nightshirt. Undressed, Jamie's legs appeared even longer and more muscular than she might previously have assumed, the contours of his thighs radiating a strength and athletic virility that overwhelmed Julia's senses until she had to snatch at the wall for support. She couldn't stop herself from wondering what a body that taut might feel like pressed against her own.

  But it weren't only the physical pleasures of such indecent musings that made Julia dizzy. Confusion played a large part in it all, as well. For, despite her eternal love for Gavin, Julia had never once felt similar mental pictures racing so uncontrollably through her mind.

  She didn't know what had possessed her to ask Jamie Lowell for a lesson in persuasion. Or was it seduction?

  Surely, the way he now towered above her, eyes boring so deeply into her, Julia feared Jamie could see right through to her soul, surely such a pose could only mean one thing.

  And the worst part of it was, Julia no longer even felt confident in her ability to refuse him, no matter what course of action Jamie decided to pursue.

  But no, that wasn't true, either. The worst part of it was that, as he stood close enough for her to smell the sweet cologne she'd ordered delivered to him that morning, every fiber in Julia's body was rooting for Jamie to choose the less honorable route.

  Yet he certainly was taking his time in the matter.

  For what seemed like the longest of eternities, he only stood before her, beaming a smile that was certainly nothing like the roguish, mocking grin Jamie usually flashed in her direction. This was a softer, kinder expression. Almost dreamlike.

  Finally, Jamie slipped one arm about Julia's waist, his fingers brushing ever so gently beneath the curve of her breast.

  "Well, first of all," he began, "I would start by telling the lady how beautiful she was. How the black of her eyes was like the rarest of pearls lying safe and warm beneath the azure blue of the sea. How her skin was the color of rose petals just waiting for a touch of sunshine to send them blossoming."

  Julia listened, knowing all the while that he was just offering examples, that he had fined and honed his craft until every wooing word slipped like poetry from his lips. And yet she couldn't help feeling affected by them. Jamie's warm breath caressed her face, until she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and swoon against his chest.

  Effortlessly, and all the while continuing to whisper endearments into her ear, Jamie reached behind him for the bottle of sherry on the table. He splashed a drop into a glass, then, still moving with the quiet grace of a cougar, dipped his finger into the wine. Mesmerized, Julia watched Jamie bring his hand to her mouth, and ever so softly rub a sprinkle of sherry along her lower lip.

  "May I?" Jamie didn't bother to wait for the refusal they both knew Julia incapable of offering, before leaning forward and, with his tongue, licking the wine from Julia's mouth.

  The sheer softness of his lips surprised her. She would have never expected a body as hard as Jamie's to be capable of such softness. Or of the gentleness with which he pulled her to him. The part of her mind still capable of reasonable thought understood that everything, even this tenderness, was part of Jamie's well-rehearsed seduction act. Only a rake and actor of the finest caliber could be capable of making what was clearly his coercion feel so much like a consensual act on both their parts.

  But, at that moment, it wasn't her mind that Julia felt like listening to. Her heart hammered against Julia's chest, spreading the sweet warmth deeper and deeper throughout her body, until even Julia's fingertips tingled with pleasure. She leaned into Jamie, letting him support her own weight along wit
h his, reveling not only in the purely physical sensations he stirred in her.

  Yet, in spite of everything, Julia understood that she had no business acting in such a manner. Not out of some obscure fear for her reputation, or of being irreparably compromised. But because she feared that, if Jamie chose this moment to question her reasons behind the intrigue that bound them together, Julia would no longer possess the strength to continue lying.

  And once Jamie knew the truth, well, even a sewer rat probably harbored some standards. He might refuse to help her. Worse, he might even choose to reveal her secret to anyone advancing the right price. Julia could think of several people willing to make him an offer. Then where would she be?

  Worse, where would Miriam and Alexia be?

  Digging her palms into his chest, Julia used more mental strength than physical to break Jamie's embrace. She pulled away to arm's length, barely stopping to catch her breath before smacking one of Jamie's cheeks with her open hand. "How dare you?"

  But Julia was no longer sure whom she was angry at—Jamie, for taking such liberties with her person, or herself, for wishing he'd done it earlier.

  He barely flinched from the blow, absently rubbing his smarting face, and remarking, "Funny. I've never had any complaints before."

  "Then let this be your first unfavorable review." Julia's cheeks burned crimson. She hoped he would assume that was from fury, rather than passion.

  "Ah, well, I suppose I am a bit rusty. Prison and all. Even a stellar athlete needs regular practice."

  "So you consider it sport then, do you, Mr. Lowell?" Julia tried not to let her interest in his reply show on her face.

  "Life, my dear Miss Highsmith, is all sport. A fox hunt, or a horse race, perhaps? And I'm afraid I've fallen out of practice. Would you care to assume the task of helping ease me back into the saddle, as it were?"

  Now he was simply teasing her. Probably in retribution for her rejection of a moment earlier.

  Julia squared her shoulders, feeling strangely buoyant for the first time since they'd started this duel. Truly, she felt a great deal more confident in her ability to come out on top in a verbal sparring match than in a situation of the more intimate nature.

  She told Jamie, "Sadly, I must decline your request, Mr. Lowell. You see, I ride so quickly, I am afraid that you and your mount would merely get lost in my dust."

  "Come along."

  Julia barely waited for Jamie to finish chewing his breakfast the next morning before announcing, "My carriage is waiting outside. You can either, once again, hide out of view, or instead borrow Isaac's uniform and travel as my footman."

  "Are we traveling far?" Jamie asked.

  "A few dozen miles. It should not take us more than half a day or so."

  "And is there a reason for this journey, save another opportunity to wrap me in your floor coverings?"

  "As a matter of fact there is," Julia told Jamie. "We are off to make you a marquis."

  "Will the prince regent be knighting me at the Brighton Pavilion?" Jamie craned his neck to look up at Julia, from where he was sitting at her feet, in back of the carriage. "Or perhaps beside a favorite tree stump in the woods?"

  Salome, across from Julia, despite sitting in excruciatingly close proximity of Jamie, continued to silently stare out the window, ignoring Jamie's presence as if his words were no more than the buzzing of an annoying fly. Despite Julia's plea that even a half-day carriage ride could prove too much for her, Salome had insisted on accompanying them. She was, quite possibly, the only person in England capable of reasoning with the marquis of Martyn and Julia knew that, without her, their plan had not the faintest chance of succeeding.

  Julia said, "Do hush up, Mr Lowell. Someone may hear us."

  Or at the very least wonder why Miss Julia Highsmith were holding such an intense conversation with her stockings.

  "We have yet to meet a second carriage on this road. Furthermore, as the future marquis of Someplace, I can say whatever I want, however loud that I want. In case you were not aware of it, m'lady, such is the privilege of rank and title."

  The same inner strength Julia had once employed to resist his advances, she now summoned to quiet her urge to smack him upon the head with her parasol. Patiently, she explained, "You are not the marquis of Somepl—the marquis of Martyn quite yet. It will take a great deal of verbal persuasion to convince the current holder of that title to declare you his heir."

  "Verbal persuasion," Jamie said, "I can do that."

  "And a great deal of money."

  "That, you may do."

  The butler who greeted them at the door smiled broadly at Salome, instantly beckoning her inside and sending a maid to hurry up and tell His Grace he had visitor.

  When Julia and Jamie tried following her upstairs in anticipation of meeting the Marquis, Salome raised her hand, palm up, preventing them from coming any closer, and said, "Let me speak to him first alone. I daresay, the three of us may prove a bit much to spring on a man about to acquire a host of new relatives."

  As ordered, Julia and Jamie waited in the drawing room for Salome to return with the marquis.

  Careful not to upset the precariously balanced bust of Emperor Vespasion teetering on the top level, Julia slipped a volume of poetry from one of the bookshelves framing the fireplace, and settled on the yellow-brown, nankeen covered divan facing the door. She opened her book, pretending to be engrossed in its contents, while, at the same time, keeping her eyes fastened firmly on Jamie.

  He stood appraising the marquis's drawing room in much the same hands-behind-back manner that Jamie once employed for the guest room in Julia's home. Fascinated by a silver gilt-covered tankard standing upon a kingwood sofa table, Jamie crouched down for a better view. Tentatively, he ran one finger along the vessel's meticulously engraved exterior, marveling at the dozen trumpeting angels that made up the handle, and the intricate grape vines snaking up its sides. He looked, for all the world, like a man coming face to face with God. Or a commoner making his first acquaintance with the playthings of the peerage.

  Julia snapped her book shut. "Now, see here, Mr. Lowell. I am afraid that such things simply will not do. You must remember the part you are playing. How am I to take you out in public if you intend to gawk at every piece of finery we encounter?"

  With mock seriousness, Jamie intoned, "I do promise to control myself in the future, Miss Highsmith."

  Expecting an argument, Julia felt most discombobulated by his seeming acquiescence. Somehow, she preferred it when Jamie put up a fuss. It made things easier. Although, if pressed, Julia most certainly would find it hard to articulate just what those ambiguous "things" might be.

  Instead, she told him, "I spent all last night planning your debut into society."

  "Aren't I a bit old to be presented at Carlton House?"

  "Don't be daft," Julia said. But she could not help smiling. "Listen. See what you think. We will begin with a ride about in Hyde Park, to introduce you to my friends and such. Then perhaps an evening at the theater. Mr. Edmund Kean is performing at the Drury Lane all this month. And, of course, Almack's. We shall have to put in at least one Wednesday night appearance. I will ask Aunt Salome to speak to Lady Cowper about acquiring some vouchers. She really is the kindest of the patronesses. I would never dare approach Lady Castlereagh for anything. Or the Countess Lieven. Remind me to order you knee breeches for the occasion. Almack's once refused admittance to the duke of Wellington himself, simply because he came wearing trousers. Isn't that terribly wicked of them? Oh, and I received the most interesting invitation this past week. Alderman Goodbehere is to lay the first stone for the new Coberg Theater. They're calling it after Prince Leopold, so who knows what sort of fine people may attend the ground-breaking."

  Watching Julia count off their social calendar on her fingers, Jamie was reminded of an eager child making a list of gifts she expects to receive on her birthday. A very naive child, lacking the vaguest idea of how matters actually got accomplis
hed in the real world. Julia Highsmith would have never survived trying to make her living as a con. She was too impetuous. A truly fine scam required a great deal more careful thought than her attention span seemed capable of.

  He said, "Perhaps then you are the appropriate person for me to ask, as I have been puzzling over the issue for many a year. When your fine ladies and gentlemen of the ton go for a ride about in Hyde Park, where, exactly, are they headed?"

  Julia slowly lowered her hands in her lap, brow furrowing in puzzlement. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Where are they headed? After all, without a destination in mind, the entire act becomes nothing more than going around in circles, don't you think? Like a dog chasing its own tail."

  Never having heard one of her favorite activities categorized in just such a fashion, Julia felt hard-pressed to provide Jamie with an adequate answer.

  He inquired, "Surely, they don't just ride from one end of the park to the other and then back again?"

  "Why, no," Julia said, "Of course not. Sometimes we . . . we stop. And we talk. And we visit. And on Sundays, I like to watch the rowing matches and the boat races on the Thames. You know, above the Westminster Bridge."

  "Oh. Well, then." As surprised by her reply as Julia was by her inability to make it sound more intelligent, Jamie pretended to understand, nodding his head vigorously. "I suppose that makes all the difference."

  Nearly an hour after she disappeared past the blue silk and stitched gold fleur-de-lys wall hangings, Salome finally returned, telling Julia and Jamie that the marquis of Martyn were waiting for them in the parlor.

  "He has agreed to listen to your offer. That was the best I could do. And even then," Salome added cryptically, "it came at the cost of a most intriguing promise."

  The present marquis of Martyn proved to be a reed-thin gentleman of six and eighty years, barely capable of maneuvering across the width of his drawing room without the aid of a footman and a golden-tipped cane. Yet, when he spoke, it was with a bark loud enough to be heard in London.

  He waited silently for Julia to make her offer, proposing a fair trade of thirty thousand pounds in exchange for the marquis agreeing to let her parade Jamie about London as the estate's legal heir. Seemingly unimpressed, the marquis coughed and hacked into a white linen handkerchief, pausing only to unwrap it and examine the contents within all the while Julia spoke.