The hackney started forward with a jolt, and its intended passengers turned and bellowed in startled fury. They made a halfhearted attempt to follow, one of them hanging on to the window straps for a few yards, cursing George for a sneak thief before falling off into the gutter.
George leaned anxiously out of the window, trying to keep the black-and-yellow carriage in sight as they bowled around a corner. The jarvey seemed to be enjoying the chase, took the corner on two wheels, and George was flung back against the cracked, stained leather squabs. He righted himself with a curse and leaned out of the window again.
" 'Ere y'are, guv. Ranelagh Gardens," the jarvey yelled down, coming to a halt before the wrought-iron gates. "Ye want me to go on in after 'em?"
"No, I'll go on foot." George jumped down, paid the jarvey, and hurried into the gardens, paying his half-a-crown entrance fee before making his way to the rotunda, where he guessed he would find them.
For the rest of the evening he dogged Juliana's footsteps, always careful to keep himself out of her line of sight. He watched her eat supper in one of the boxes in the rotunda, listening to the orchestra in the center. She was animated, but he could see no sign of a physical relationship with her two escorts. If she was there as their whore, he would have expected to see wandering fingers, a kiss or two, definitely flirtation; and yet, despite her elegant gown, the trio reminded him of a young girl being taken for a treat by two indulgent uncles.
Greatly puzzled, he followed them back out of the garden just as dawn was breaking. He set another hackney in pursuit of the yellow-and-black chaise, and when the ducal carriage stopped outside a house on Albermarle Street and its three passengers alighted, he instructed the jarvey to drive on past. He fixed the house in his memory as the three disappeared into its lighted hallway. Then he sat back and contemplated the evening's puzzles.
Juliana had entered the house with two men. It could only mean that she had joined the oldest profession in the world. And joined it high up the ladder. But she was still his father's murderess. A whore couldn't expect to duck such a charge, however powerful her protector.
He would find out what he could about the two men; then he would wait his moment. Then he would surprise her.
Chapter 12
“Good morning, my lady."
Juliana disentangled herself from the strands of a warm and fuzzy dream as bright sunlight poured over the bed. She blinked and hitched herself onto an elbow.
A small woman, round as a currant bun, with faded blue eyes and gray hair beneath a neat white cap, stood by the bed where she'd just pulled back the curtains to let in the daylight. She bobbed a curtsy.
"Good morning," said Juliana. "You must be…"
"Mistress Henley, m'lady. But the family call me Henny, so if ye'd care to do the same, we'll do very well together."
"Very well, Henny." Juliana sat up and gazed around the handsome bedchamber, memory of the evening returning. She blushed as her eye fell on the heap of carelessly discarded clothes by the window. The duke had insisted on playing lady's maid when they'd come back from Ranelagh and had shown little regard for the fine silks and delicate lawn of her undergarments. "I beg your pardon for leaving my clothes in such a mess," she said.
"Good heavens, my lady, what am I here for?" Henny responded cheerfully. "I'll have them picked up in no time while you take your morning chocolate." She turned to pick up a tray and placed it oh Juliana's knees. Steam curled fragrantly from the spout of a silver chocolate pot.
Juliana's eyes widened at this unheard-of luxury. The routine at Forsett Towers had had her dressed and breakfasting by seven o'clock every morning. Lady Forsett had been a firm believer in the evils of the soft life on the young, and on winter mornings Juliana had had to crack the ice in the ewer before she could wash.
Carefully she poured the chocolate into the wide, shallow cup. The china was gold-rimmed and paper thin, alarmingly fragile. She leaned back against the pillows and took a cautious sip, then, emboldened, took a biscuit from the matching plate and dunked it into the chocolate. A soggy morsel splashed back into the cup when she carried the biscuit to her lips, and drops of chocolate splattered the coverlet.
"Is something the matter, my lady?"' Henny, shaking out the folds of the lavender silk dress, turned at Juliana's mortified exclamation.
"I've spilled chocolate all over the bed," she said, biting her lip as she rubbed at the splashes "I'm certain it'll stain."
"The laundress won't be defeated by a little chocolate." Henny bustled over to examine the damage. "Dearie me. it's hardly anything."
"It looks like a lot to me." Juliana said disgustedly. "Perhaps I'd better drink it sitting in a chair." She handed the tray to Henny and jumped out of bed.
"I give you good day, madam wife."
Juliana whirled to the door that had opened without warning. Lucien came into the room. He was fully dressed but looking very disheveled, as if he'd slept in his clothes. He carried a glass of cognac and regarded his wife with a satirical gleam in his bloodshot, hollowed eyes.
"My lord." She took a hasty step backward, catching the hem of her nightgown under her heel.
"Lud, but you seem surprised to see me, my lady. I made sure it was customary for a husband to visit his bride on the morning after their wedding night." He sipped brandy, his eyes mocking her over the rim of his glass. But there was more than mockery in his gaze. There was a touch of repulsion as he examined the shape of her body beneath the fine lawn of her nightgown.
Juliana decided abruptly to return to bed. "You startled me, my lord," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. "Henny, I'll take my chocolate again."
The woman gave her the tray back and curtsied to the viscount. "Should I leave, my lord?"
"No," Juliana said swiftly. "No, there's no need for you to go."
Lucien merely smiled and shrugged. He lounged over to the bed and perched on the end. "So you passed a pleasant evening, I trust." He took a gulp of cognac.
It seemed best to play this straight… behave as if it were a perfectly ordinary conversation with a man who had every right to be where he was. "Yes, thank you, sir. We went to the play and after to Ranelagh." She dunked another biscuit into her cup with what she hoped was an air of insouciance and successfully conveyed it, intact, to her mouth.
"Insipid entertainment!" Lucien's lip curled. "If you really wished to see the town, madam, you should put yourself in my hands."
"I doubt His Grace would approve of such a scheme," she responded, leaning back against the pillows, her eyes suddenly narrowed.
Lucien gave a shout of laughter that disintegrated into another of his violent coughing spasms. He doubled over on the bed, the emaciated body racked as his chest convulsed and he grabbed for air.
"There, there, my lord. Take it easy, now." Henny took the cognac from his hands and stood waiting until the spasms diminished. "Drink it down, sir." She handed it back with the air of one who knew the remedy. Presumably, as an old family retainer, she knew their skeletons.
Lucien drained the glass in one gulp and sighed with relief. "Forgive me, m'dear. An unpleasant habit for a bridegroom." He grinned, and Juliana noticed for the first time that he was missing four of his front teeth. It was hard to pinpoint his age, but even at her most generous estimate, he was too young to be losing teeth to decay.
"Now, what was it you said that made me laugh…? Oh, yes… Tarquin most certainly wouldn't look kindly on my acting as your guide to London life." He chuckled, but carefully this time.