Montague could not recall the last time he had felt jealous over a lady, and the emotion was distinctly unwelcome. As they arrived at his house, he dismissed the thought and alighted onto the street.
A shadow outside detached itself from the wall and approached. “Sir Montague,” the figure said. Juliet. Here, at his home. Montague bit back his irritation. “I suspected you would not return to the party.”
“How very astute of you.”
She tossed her hood back to reveal her pale face and narrowed eyes. “I presume you saw the Duchess disappear into the gardens with the Duke.”
“I had no idea you were at the masquerade.”
“Nonsense.” She put her hands on her hips. “I know you saw me there.”
She was fast presenting herself as more of a hindrance than a help. “Then why did you not flirt more with the Duke? Keep him entertained so he did not take the Duchess into the gardens?”
“What else could I do? He came in search of her.”
“Of course he did. I arranged for him to discover her whereabouts.” He raised an eyebrow at Juliet. “But I had thought more highly of your feminine wiles.”
“My wiles don’t compare to a jealous husband,” she snapped. “And you know as well as I do that the Duke was jealous.”
“Then console yourself with the thought that we succeeded here tonight,” he said, keeping his tongue languid. With one hand, he grabbed her wrist and squeezedhard enough to hurt. She glanced down at the contact, and her eyes widened. “Tell me, Juliet, what did you expect to gain by coming here?”
“Release me.”
“Answer the question.”
“You’re a brute,” she told him instead, her eyes flashing. “The Duke would never accost me in such a manner.”
“The Duke is a gentleman,” he said, using his other hand to take her chin. She was fragile under his touch, like a bird. He could snap her at any moment. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking the same of me.”
She stared at him, anger and fear warring in her eyes. Good—she should be afraid. There were few things he wouldn’t do, and he was tired of playing the long game.
There were now two things he wanted. The title and the wife. He would ensure he got both.
“Now,” he said, releasing her chin. “Tell me for what purpose you came here.”
“Making Nathanial jealous was a mistake. You saw how he was. He will only want her more.”
“Perhaps,” Montague murmured, staring down at Juliet. She had rouged her cheeks and reddened her lips, giving her the look of a doll, if dolls possessed eyes with such sharp, calculating gleams. “I imagine he wanted her a great deal tonight.”
“Can you not see why this is a problem?”
He pulled Juliet closer, his fingers tight around her elbow. “Jealousy is the most unproductive of emotions. Consider, Juliet, if you will. Nathanial, lost in jealousy, takes advantage of the Duchess. Will that induce her to love him? Or will she fear him and he bury himself in regret?”
“But that leaves chance for an heir.”
“A chance,” Montague conceded. “But a small one.”
Juliet tossed her head impatiently. “I hardly know why you’re talking of love now. Love matters little—it is desire we must temper.”
“Nothing tempers desire like regret,” Montague said, and kissed her. If he could, he would have kissed Theo’s swollen lips at the ballroom, when she had reappeared. He had wanted to tangle his fingers in her mussed hair and tell her his name until she was not likely to forget. But she had not looked at him as though she wanted him, and he cared—cofound it, hecared—whether she wanted his advances.
He pulled at Juliet’s hair, tugging her head back and exposing the long line of her throat. She swatted at his hands. “We agreed you would tempt the Duchess away from her husband.”
“And so I will. Helped, of course, by Nathanial chasing her away.”
Juliet glowered at him, and he almost laughed at the pettish hurt in her face. It appeared he was not the only one consumed by thoughts of what had occurred in that garden, though he fancied he hid it better.
“You should stop scowling,” he said, stroking her face with the pretence of affection. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”
