Miss Foster’s Folly Page 5

  He took a seat on the settee, as that seemed the best place to launch a formal courtship. If she selected a separate chair, he’d have to figure a way to deal with the distance.

  She didn’t, though. She joined him, neither perching at the opposite end nor snuggling up next to him.

  “My dear Miss Foster, I believe you know I’ve come to admire you.”

  “Try the whiskey,” she said. “It’s very good.”

  Ah, yes. The whiskey. He might as well. He’d never launched a campaign to win a woman’s heart before. He’d always been strictly honest with his lovers, letting them expect a jolly good frigging and nothing more. A few had become friends, but he’d never lied to a woman about his intentions to gain access to her bed. He was exploring new territory here, and a little fortification might help.

  He took a swallow of his Scotch. Enough to burn the back of his throat and make him cough.

  Miss Foster slapped his back. “Are you all right?”

  “Quite.” He coughed once more and then cleared his throat. “It’s excellent Scotch.”

  “Good, then let’s talk for a while.”

  He took another sip of his drink, more carefully this time. “Miss Foster, you have me at a disadvantage.”

  She blinked. “I do?”

  “You don’t seem to realize how your presence affects me.”

  “Well, how could I if you don’t tell me about it?” she said.

  “It’s delicate to speak of.”

  “You don’t look very delicate to me, Lord Derrington.”

  Curse the woman. Why didn’t she play the game? Flutter her eyelashes at him. Swoon. At the very least, blush. That way he could watch a flush cover her breasts. Her small, firm breasts, now close enough that he only needed to reach out a hand to stroke them. He swallowed more of his Scotch.

  “It’s a matter of my heart,” he said. Surely, she couldn’t miss that message.

  “Oh, dear.” She pursed her lips for a moment. The same way she’d done the other night and made Priapus stand to attention. “That isn’t the organ I was interested in at all.”

  He gaped at her for a long second. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You see, there’s a favor I need.” She did blush, finally. And the flesh of her bosom did turn a delightful pink. And his member responded, growing thick in his trousers.

  “I’ve thought long and hard about this,” she said. “And I think you’re the right man.”

  “I certainly hope so,” he said.

  She took a big gulp of her whiskey and looked him in the eye. “I want you to take my virginity.”

  “What?”

  His drink fell to the floor, where the glass rolled around on the carpet, spilling what little Scotch was left in it. He pulled his handkerchief from his jacket and bent to blot up the liquid. Miss Foster appeared, kneeling over the spill. Now, he could look down directly at her bosom and the lovely rose color that covered it.

  She tugged at the handkerchief to take it from him and used it to pick up the last drop of whiskey.

  “Now, you see, if I’d served tea, that would have stained,” she said.

  “What did you say?”

  She looked up at him. “Hmm?”

  “A moment ago. What did you say?”

  “Oh, that.” She stared at his handkerchief for a moment. It was soaked with Scotch. She stuffed it into his glass, rose and took the whole to the table that held the decanters. “Would you like another drink?”

  “I’d like an explanation.”

  “I asked you to take my virginity. I assume you know what that means.”

  “My dear Miss Foster…”

  “Oh, please, don’t sound like that.” She came back and resumed her seat on the settee. “You can’t possibly be shocked.”

  “I’ve had women offer me the pleasures of their bodies, but none have ever done it so bluntly.”

  “I made my decision very rationally, Lord Derrington. Honestly, I should have lost my virginity years ago.”

  “And you chose me.”

  “You have quite a reputation,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”

  “What do you know of my reputation?”

  “You’re a rake,” she said. “A bed hopper. A voluptuary.”

  How had she found that out? He’d thought to leave that bit of his business behind him. Americans were even more puritanical than Queen Victoria. He’d have a hard time finding a suitable wife if his intended knew his true nature. Sure enough, Miss Foster had learned of it and was offering nothing more than a fast tumble. Still, with a little effort, he might turn this to his advantage.

  “I’d be honored to serve as your first lover,” he said. “In fact, my body’s developed quite a craving for yours.”

  She cocked her head in that way she had when she found something interesting. “Really?”

  “You have a lush figure and skin so soft my fingers itch to touch it.”

  She put her palm on her bosom.

  “Don’t cover it,” he said. “You’ve offered me your treasures. Let me look.”

  She slowly lowered her hand.

  “See how your breasts rise and fall,” he said. “You’ve already become excited.”

  “I’m not used to people looking at me like that.”

  “You should be,” he said. “Your mouth alone would drive any man to distraction.”

  “There’s nothing unusual about my mouth.”

  “Give me an hour to worship it with my own, and you’d feel differently.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” Now her bosom really did flutter with excitement as her breathing became shallow and quick. “We’ll do very well together.”

  “Of course,” he said. “On our wedding night.”

  “What?” She looked every bit as shocked as he’d felt when she offered him her virtue. In fact, she might have dropped her own drink if she hadn’t set it on the table at her elbow long ago.

  “I never said anything about marriage,” she said.

  “It must have slipped your mind.”

  “A thing like that doesn’t slip a woman’s mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I’d wanted marriage, I would have mentioned it.”

  “You must have had some regard for me if you’d offer me such intimacy,” he said.

  “Not at all,” she said. “You’re nice to look at, and you’re probably a good lover. I don’t need anything else.”

  What in hell possessed her? All women wanted love, devotion and marriage until death did them part. This one couldn’t be so terribly different.

  He took her hand and leaned toward her. “Miss Foster, I must admit that I’ve developed tender feelings for you, and they grow and deepen every day.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She pulled her hand away. “We’ve only met twice before this, and our first encounter wasn’t a good one.”

  “I admire your spirit, your wit. We’d make a great match, and I could happily spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “You’re not another one of those, are you?” She rose from the settee and paced in front of it.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said again, for lack of anything better.

  “I’ve had that kind of proposal before. They’re cheap, and they don’t mean a thing.”

  “Now, see here…”

  “No, you see,” she said. “I didn’t expect much from you, but I did expect honesty.”

  “You’d question my honesty?” Curse her, she had him shouting.

  “You don’t love me, you idiotic man.” Now she was shouting, too. She stopped pacing long enough to glare at him. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m coming to believe that.” Infuriating woman. He’d come to offer his heart, and she didn’t have the decency to believe him. If she didn’t, at least, she could have pretended out of simple courtesy.

  “I don’t know why you’ve singled me out for your tender feelings unless you’re one of those Englishmen with more title t
han money,” she said.

  He bristled. He could feel his spine stiffening. “I beg your pardon.”

  “That’s how it is, isn’t it? Especially among the English. An old but impoverished nobleman marries for money. Your countrymen even come here looking for wives for that purpose.”

  The accusation was all the more irksome because she had it right. Still, for her to lump him in with that crowd galled him. “I assure you, my family’s fortunes have never been better.”

  “Well, then, there must be something else wrong with you.”

  “Because I want to court you?”

  “You must have noticed that I’m far past my prime for marriage,” she said.

  “Don’t make yourself sound like a racehorse.”

  “How droll,” she said.

  “I meant it.”

  “You can have any woman you want.” She gestured as if pointing to a roomful of women behind her. “Why on Earth would you want a spinster like me?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Because, you’ve captured my heart, curse it all.”

  “You’re insane.”

  Perhaps he was. Heaven knew this conversation had his head spinning. He ought to give up the attempt. He really ought. But, he couldn’t. His body wanted her, his grandmother would want her the moment she laid eyes on her, and despite her lunacy, he wanted her.

  “No, this won’t do,” she said. “This won’t do at all.”

  “What do you mean by ‘this’?”

  She threw her arms up in a gesture of supreme frustration. “All of it.”

  “That clarifies things.”

  “I’ve made a mistake obviously. I hope you can see yourself out.” With that she swept from the room. There was no other way to describe how she yanked the door open and slammed it behind her. Ridiculous female. Preposterous, obstinate, maddening female.

  What in bloody hell had just happened here? He’d come to propose a courtship that would have culminated in marriage. Every rational human being in the world understood how that worked, even Americans. Instead of accepting, which ninety-nine percent of women here or in England would have done, she’d offered him a casual affair. No, you couldn’t even call it an affair. It was more like a virgin sacrifice.

  Nice to look at and probably a good lover. Was that the sum total of her opinion of him? How insulting. Especially the “probably.”

  Then they had gotten into an argument again and ended up shouting at each other. Finally, she’d demoted him to “this,” as in, “this won’t do.”

  And, worst of all, he’d ended up with neither her hand in marriage nor her body. Damn, damn, damn. If this were his house, he’d most likely go find something to smash.

  He got up, found the bell pull and rang for her butler. Without the man, he’d never find his hat, and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of leaving any evidence that he’d ever been here. He even went to the table and retrieved his handkerchief from the tumbler that had held his Scotch. It reeked, of course, but he’d carry it to the street and throw it out there before he’d leave it here.

  No, the next time he met Miss Juliet Foster, it would be on his terms. She’d either agree to be his marchioness, or she’d discover that he was a capital lover, indeed.

  ***

  Juliet had avoided eye contact with Millie ever since she’d announced that they’d leave for England two days after the ridiculous encounter with Lord Derrington at the Foster mansion. Honestly, she would have left that night if she could have booked passage and packed everything quickly enough. As it was, all the gowns hadn’t arrived from the dressmaker but would have to catch up with her in London. She’d have her regular clothes as well as the crimson silk and green taffeta. They’d have to do for a while, because she would not wait around in New York and risk running into that man again.

  “I don’t understand the rush,” Millie said. She peered out of the carriage at the steamship. “They aren’t even ready for us to board.”

  “No rush. I didn’t see any point in delaying our trip is all.”

  “You were still planning things two days ago, and then, suddenly last evening you announced we’d leave today.”

  “Part of my new philosophy of life,” she answered. “When I decide to do something, I’ll simply do it.”

  “You didn’t even tell Mr. Carter we were leaving.”

  “Drat. I forgot.” That was another lie. Jack knew her far too well. He would have taken one look at her and realized something had gone wrong. She might have even deserted Millie, but it would be so sad to have a grand adventure without someone to share in it. And this would be a grand adventure, in contrast with her failed first attempt to lose her virginity.

  “I’ll send Jack a cable from the ship if they’ll let me,” she said.

  Millie’s eyes narrowed. “Something’s wrong with you. I just can’t figure out what.”

  The carriage rocked as her staff and the longshoremen unloaded their trunks. Her driver opened the door and stuck his head in. He pointed toward the smaller cases that sat on the seat opposite them. “I’ll take these now, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  He did and departed again.

  “I guess we can board now.” Juliet made to climb out, but Millie put a hand on her arm and stopped her.

  “Not yet,” Millie said. “I want the straight story.”

  “The ship will leave without us.”

  “Not likely. They haven’t even finished loading.”

  Juliet glanced outside. Sure enough, dozens of crates and trunks still sat on the dock as others were lifted up in nets. It could take hours for them to get all that on board.

  “Then let’s go and see our staterooms,” she tried.

  “Oh, no. We’ll sit here until you’re honest with me.”

  “Oh, all right.” She sat back down and gathered her thoughts. How could she tell this story without sounding like a prize idiot? Hell, she had been a prize idiot, offering herself to Derrington in that way. She should have known the man would be nothing but trouble. Why hadn’t she found some nice, timid man, who’d do the honors, thank her, and leave her the hell alone?

  “You remember that little problem I had about pretending to be a widow?” she said.

  “That you’d need to lose your virginity first.” Millie gripped her arm. “You haven’t done that, have you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Juliet, the only answers to that question are yes or no.”

  “Well.” She took a deep breath. “I asked Derrington to take care of that for me.”

  “Dear heaven. You asked a Peer of the Realm to deflower you?”

  “He’s not the Archbishop of Canterbury,” she said. “He’s a scoundrel and a rake. I thought he’d jump at the chance.”

  “I gather he didn’t.”

  Juliet didn’t answer but only looked down at her hands. How humiliating. She’d asked a man to make love to her and he hadn’t done it.

  “So, what did he do?” Millie said.

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Juliet!” Millie fairly gasped with excitement. “How absolutely wonderful.”

  “For heaven’s sake, not you, too.”

  “Why shouldn’t I think it wonderful?” Millie said. “He’s handsome, clever, and titled. Quite a catch.”

  “He didn’t mean it.”

  Millie looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Why would he propose if he didn’t mean it?”

  “The whole thing was dishonest,” Juliet said. “I’m sure he just wants my money, not me.”

  “Did he tell you he loved you?”

  “He told me he was developing tender feelings. Have you ever heard anything so absurd?”

  Millie put her arm around Juliet’s shoulders. “Maybe it isn’t absurd.”

  “Before that, we’d met twice. Once, I surprised him in a compromising situation, and once he walked us across the park. Do you think the crocuses were shooting off
tender feelings like pollen?”

  “He obviously admired you and your wit.” Millie squeezed her. “He might not love you now, but love often follows marriage.”

  That had happened with her parents. They’d formed a beneficial alliance of families when they’d wed, but her mother and father had come to love each other very deeply. Even Juliet had dim, childhood memories of how they were together—always touching, always gazing at each other with adoration in their eyes. She’d been so young when her mother died, but the siblings remembered things the same way. Gerard had never had a sweet disposition, and he’d turned even sourer after his wife’s death and had come to hate everyone and everything, including his children.

  “You’re considering the possibility, aren’t you?” Millie said.

  “Marrying Derrington? The man’s notorious. He doesn’t love me. He’d cat around, and I’d have to keep an English stiff upper lip while he was breaking my heart.”

  Oh, dear Lord. What had she just said? Surely, she hadn’t given that man any power over her heart. Even if she’d given him her body, she wouldn’t have let him near her emotions. He didn’t love her now. He’d never love her. She’d better remember that.

  “Let’s go back to your house,” Millie said. “Cancel the trip. Have word sent to Lord Derrington that you’ve made a mistake.”

  She pulled back. “I’m not going to tell him something like that.”

  “I’ll tell him somehow. I’ll haunt the park until I see him again and drop it into the conversation. Or, Mr. Carter can think of some way.”

  “I will not crawl to him, and I won’t let you do it on my behalf.”

  Millie took her shoulders and shook. “You could be throwing away a real chance at happiness.”

  “Or I could be avoiding a marriage that would make me miserable.”

  “Why do you keep saying marriage would make you miserable?” Millie said.

  “I can’t be an obedient wife. I certainly can’t play Lady Derrington.” She took Millie’s hands off her shoulders and put them back into her lap. “For heaven’s sake, can you picture me pouring tea to the ladies of British nobility?”