Miss Foster’s Folly (7 page)

“I’m sure you already do.”

He
had
been as moved by their encounter as she had. She didn’t need to know much to read the signs his body gave off. Especially,
that
particular one. “I only need to encourage his primitive nature. Men are all brutes. Didn’t they teach us that at Sedgewick?”

Millie sighed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’ll tease him. Torment the male animal inside him. Create a fury of lust until he’ll have no choice but to take me like the beast he is.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the instructors at Sedgewick had in mind,” Millie said.

“Seduction. I’ll win that way,” she said. “I’ll have him begging before the week has ended.”

If Juliet had planned to seduce the Marquis of Derrington, she hadn’t planned on having to do it in front of an audience. He appeared the next day at Lord and Lady Mitford’s residence with a large carriage and a male friend. Viscount Blandings insisted they’d met the night before at the ball. Probably they had and the shock of seeing Derrington had pushed everything else from her memory. That didn’t matter as much as the fact that he’d accompany them on their outing to wherever Derrington had planned. Worse, they needed another woman to round out the party, so that meant Millie could spread her disapproval over any trick Juliet might have in mind. And then, the stupid man insisted that their hosts join them.

Six of them, all trooping off somewhere in a buzz of polite conversation. How was she supposed to incite his animal nature in a crowd?

At least, he chose an interesting destination—the glasshouse of London’s most famous orchid merchant. He’d probably thought flowers would make for polite conversation, but in fact, these flowers were the most sensual members of the plant world. They created endless opportunities for innuendo and double entendre if you knew anything at all about them. Juliet knew enough to make his head swim.

The proprietor, Mr. Upshaw, was a jolly man with a round face and even rounder body. His gnarled fingers, encrusted with compost from around his orchids’ roots, spoke to years of work at a potting bench. He greeted them as they entered, bowing to show deference to his guests’ rank.

“Welcome to my humble establishment, Lord Derrington. It’s good to see you again.”

“Lord and Lady Mitford, Lord Blandings,” Derrington began with the introductions. Blast him, if he hadn’t invited all these people, he wouldn’t have to read off their names like the roll in a schoolroom.

“Mrs. Marlow and Miss Rho—” He stopped before he blurted out Millie’s real name, thank heaven. “Miss Fletcher, this is Mr. Gilbert Upshaw, the finest orchid grower in London.”

“Aren’t many in London, your lordship. Most remain in the country,” Upshaw said. “I set up shop here for the convenience of the customers.”

“And so you can tempt city dwellers like me,” Derrington said.

“Derry? You grow orchids?” Blandings said. “I had no idea.”

“I buy them. My nurseryman grows them.”

“I’m sure a man of your talents can grow anything you want, Lord Derrington.” Juliet smiled seductively at him. “Anything. I hope I’ll get to see your own,
personal
collection soon.”

He looked back evenly, trying but not quite managing to hide a spark of heat in his gaze. “I’m sure you shall.”

“Well, my lord, feel free to show our guests around,” Mr. Upshaw said. “You know where everything is.”

“Has the new batch of Cattleyas bloomed yet?” Derrington asked.

“The first ones. Very promising, sir, if I do say so myself,” the proprietor answered.

“Ah, good, we’ll start with those,” Derrington said.

The front door of the glasshouse opened, and a pair of gentlemen stepped inside.

“Other customers, my lord. Please excuse me.” Mr. Upshaw bowed again and then hurried off.

Derrington gestured toward the rear of the glasshouse. “This way.”

Instead of Derrington, Lady Mitford took her arm, and the two of them followed Derrington as if they’d been close friends since childhood. She hadn’t expected such treatment from the English, especially nobility. The invitation to move into the huge house on Hyde Park with Lord and Lady Mitford had astonished her. The English were supposed to be stuffy and reserved, but it seemed her hostess enjoyed Juliet’s value as a conversation starter enough to keep her and Millie around indefinitely. So, maybe social aggrandizement trumped stuffiness and reserve. Heaven knew Derrington was anything but stuffy and reserved, even if he’d pretend to be for the sake of this sham courtship.

“You must have excellent collections of orchids in the United States,” Lady Mitford said.

“We do, but not as wonderful as the great collections in England.”

“Aren’t they all lovely? And so unusual.” Lady Mitford stopped to admire a Phalaenopsis with its moth-shaped flower.

“There are thousands of different species of orchids, hundreds of different shapes,” Juliet said.

“Why, my dear, how is it you know so much about them?” Lady Mitford said.

Hmm. Admitting that she’d read extensively on the subject might make her seem bookish. Bookishness didn’t fit with her new persona as merry widow.

“My husband collected them for me.” She paused for a moment for effect. “And then, I received more from…friends.”

Lady Mitford giggled and hugged Juliet’s arm closer. Good. She’d created exactly the right image. Naughty and mysterious.

Lady Mitford cast a glance over her shoulder to her husband. “We really must have a glasshouse of our own, Mitford. Mrs. Marlow can advise us on the construction.”

Dear heaven, how long did they expect to keep her? She planned to leave for Paris as soon as she got Derrington over his shyness about taking her virginity.

“Whatever you say, my love,” Lord Mitford answered. He turned to Millie, who now walked quietly beside him. “Do you like orchids, Miss Fletcher?”

“Very much, my lord.”

“Good, then you can help us, too.”

“I’d be honored,” Millie answered.

“What do you say, Blandings?” Lord Mitford said to the viscount trailing the party.

“Bunch of flowers, if you ask me,” Lord Blandings said. “But then, people seldom do. Ask me, that is.”

“Now, then, what have you found for us, Lord Derrington?” Lady Mitford picked up the pace, and soon the group stood around their guide. Near him on the bench stood dozens of plants, many in full bloom. The flowers, in colors ranging from purple and violet to sparkling white, were magnificent. The prize-winning specimens had white blooms with splashes of purple on their petals.

“Upshaw’s outdone himself with this lot,” he said. “We’ve been waiting years to see the results, and it’s been worth it.”

Juliet released Lady Mitford’s arm and went to stand in front of one particularly nice flower. She touched the lip carefully, tracing the outline of the flower with the tip of her finger. “An excellent blossom. Firm and fleshy, not limp and soft.”

Derrington cleared his throat softly.

“Why, Mrs. Marlow.” Lady Mitford’s hand fluttered to her chest. “What an interesting way to talk about a flower.”

“Science isn’t delicate in its description, Lady Mitford. I’m only telling the truth.” This didn’t have anything to do with science, but why quibble? “A desirable orchid blossom should be turgid enough to stand erect and proud, fully exposed to the view of its admirer.”

Lord Blandings snapped to attention from whatever self-induced trance he’d been in since they arrived. “I say. Isn’t science grand?”

Derrington picked the orchid up by its pot and put it into her hand with more force than necessary. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“But, my lord.” She put her other hand over her breast. “It’s a very expensive plant.”

“I insist you take it,” he said. It might have been a gesture of courtesy, but it came through more like a threat.

She calmly lifted his hand and returned the orchid to it. “I couldn’t accept such an expensive present. It wouldn’t be decent.”

“Do tell us more about orchids, Mrs. Marlow,” Blandings piped in from the rear.

“I’d be happy to.”

Derrington glowered at her, and she smiled back at him. “You see, orchids like this one grow on trees. People think they’re parasites, but they actually only use the branches for support.”

Derrington relaxed a bit, his shoulders lowering slowly to their normal position.

“Instead of fibrous roots, like most plants have, orchids have thick, fleshy ones,” she went on. “With tips that extend past their absorbent coating.”

Millie pried her way through the group until she’d reached Juliet’s side. “I don’t think our hosts really want a lecture in botany.”

“I do,” Blandings said.

This time, Derrington glared at him.

“What?” Blandings sputtered. “What did I say?”

She pointed toward the beginning of a root appearing from the base of the plant in Derrington’s hand. “This little protuberance, for example.”

Anger flashed in Derrington’s eyes as he dared her with his expression to continue. Fine. She liked dares.

“It’s small now,” she said. “But soon, it’ll elongate and thicken.”

Lady Mitford laughed in earnest this time. Lord Mitford covered his mouth and coughed, but he couldn’t cover his mirth completely.

Juliet glanced toward the bench. “Oh, look. This plant’s root has grown so far it’s plunged deep into its neighbor’s pot.”

Millie stood close enough to touch her without the others seeing, and she reached out and pinched Juliet in the ribs. Hard. Juliet smiled back at her for a moment and then turned to Derrington. She took the plant from his hand and held it up nearly under his nose.

“But the most remarkable thing about this flower is this structure.” She trailed a fingertip along the blossom’s column in a slow caress. “It holds the reproductive organs, both male and female.”

For just a moment, she could have sworn she could hear Derrington’s teeth grinding.

“And behind this cap on the head. Ah, yes, here.” She ran her fingernail along the underside of the column up to the anther cap. When she removed it, the pollinia came away stuck to her skin. “See, two little nubbins of pollen.”

Derrington’s face turned three shades of red, but he kept his features even. He took the plant back and held it out toward Lady Mitford. “Would you hold this, please?”

She took it from him. “Certainly.”

He grasped Juliet’s elbow, using as much or more force as he had the night of the ball. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and pulled her toward the back of the glasshouse. Despite her long stride, she had to struggle to keep up with him as he guided her toward the back door.

“When will you stop dragging me around?” she whispered.

“When you learn how to behave yourself,” he whispered back.

They reached the rear exit, and he opened the door and nearly shoved her over the threshold into a dirty alley behind the glasshouse. He let the door close loudly behind him as he released her arm and turned on her. “What in hell did you think you were doing in there?”

“Explaining orchid anatomy.”

“Sexual anatomy,” he said.

“Orchids have to reproduce somehow,” she said. “Everything I said was true and accurate. Ask your nurseryman.”

“Where did you learn all that rot?” He was almost shouting now.

“Books.”

“Not the botany. Where did you learn such graphic sexual innuendo?”

“Books.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not as if you’re giving me any real lessons.”

“Oh, I’ll school you.” You couldn’t call the statement a growl, although it did come out rather snarly. It definitely sounded like a threat.

“I’ll put you over my knee and paddle your lovely arse until it’s a bright pink,” he said.

She gaped at him in astonishment. “That sounds interesting. Do people really do that?”

He made an odd sound. Strangled and loud at the same time. “I swear, you’ll drive me mad.”

“If you keep making noises like that, it won’t take much.”

At that, he raised his hands in a gesture of pure frustration. This time, he did growl. Not unlike the sort of passion she’d expected from a Roman warrior, not a British lord. Good Lord, did Derrington have that much hot-bloodedness in him? She’d chosen him because she’d thought an Englishman wouldn’t present any kind of challenge. She might need to reconsider that.

Despite her considerable height, he pulled himself up so tall he blotted out the light. She couldn’t help but cower beneath his fury.

“From now on, you will behave like a lady,” he said.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she lifted her chin to stare him down. “I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

“Oh, no?”

“I’m a free woman.”

“With a respectable family back in New York,” he said. “What would they do if I cabled them and told them where you were and what you were doing?”

The blasted man would think of that. Even her accountant friend couldn’t save her if he contacted the siblings. Not only would they discover she was in England making a spectacle of herself and showing off her breasts, but they’d find out she’d assumed another identity. They’d locate a pleasant asylum upstate and a judge who’d been a friend of her father’s to send her there for her own good. Whether she wanted to go or not.

“Maybe I did overplay my part a bit,” she said.

“Turgid flesh, wide open flowers, nubbins of pollen,” he said. “I’d say so.”

“I’ll be a bit more discreet.”

He leaned toward her, until his nose almost touched hers. He might have meant the gesture to intimidate her, but it brought his lips close to hers, too. She planned to kiss him again, but not in a dingy alley where someone might come by.

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Lord and Lady Mitford expect me to entertain them, but I suppose I can make the entertainment less outrageous.”

“Do it,” he said. “Or the cable goes to New York.”

***

Until she’d decided to masquerade as a licentious widow, Juliet had never cared much about hats. You wore one to church. You wore one when walking in the sun in order to avoid freckling and burning. You put one on and took it off as a more or less practical matter. Now that she’d become a slave to fashion—corset and all—she’d better learn about the latest in headwear. Of course, Lady Mitford knew all the best shops in London and delighted in taking her American guests on an extravagant shopping spree.

Juliet picked up a straw bonnet with silk daisies, slipped it on, and looked at her reflection in the small mirror standing on the counter.

“If I may,” Lady Mitford said. “A suggestion…”

“Please, I’d love your advice.”

“Everything looks wonderful on you, but that one’s…” Lady Mitford pursed her lips. “Not mature enough for a lady of experience like you.”

“Of course.” She removed the hat and put it back on its stand. She had to remember she was a woman of the world now. Experienced with men. Many men. It would help if she’d actually shared a bed with one, but Derrington didn’t seem in any greater rush to fill that function than he had been in New York. She’d have to keep pretending until he came to his senses and frigged her properly.