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Lady Juliet, daughter to the late Earl of Goswick, did not dare believe her eyes. She tried not to stare but to keep her gaze averted and merely glance at the stranger through lowered lashes.
Yet…
Was it possible? A pirate! He had the look of a pirate, did he not? Not that Juliet had ever laid eyes on a pirate before. Considering the sheltered life she had lived, she knew next to nothing of the world.
Yet…
The man’s dark green eyes seemed to spark with something almost devilish, matching that sinfully wicked smile that curled up his lips as he shifted his attention from Juliet’s newly discovered stepsister Violet to her.
Juliet immediately dropped her gaze and retreated another step toward the window, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. If only there was a way to hide from the man’s inquisitive gaze, for the way his eyes swept over her made her feel…
…vulnerable,
…lightheaded,
…and strangely out of breath.
“Lady Silcox, may I speak to you?” Violet addressed Juliet’s mother, urging her as well as her husband Lord Cullingwood out of the drawing room…
…leaving Juliet alone with…
…the pirate!
Juliet knew she ought to protest. After all, the door had yet to close. Violet still stood upon its threshold, exchanging a few whispered words with her cousin.
Her cousin, the pirate!
Who pronounced her stepsister’s name 𝑉𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒!
Juliet shook her head as bright spots began to dance in front of her eyes. None of what had happened today made any sense, and a part of her wondered if perhaps she was still asleep, lost in a dream that felt…too real.
Again, Juliet dared a peek at the tall, dark-haired stranger with the roguish smile. He wore his hair unfashionably long and tied at the nape of his neck, his chin covered in a mild stubble that gave him a most dangerous allure. He stood tall with broad shoulders and large hands, and the way he moved made Juliet think of a feline she had once seen in a zoological garden.
Yes, he was no doubt a dangerous man, and she ought to object to being left alone with him.
Yet, she did not, for a traitorous part of her wanted to know more about this pirate—this Frenchman!—who had so unexpectedly found his way to London and into her life.
And then the door did close, and they were alone.
Juliet felt ready to faint on the spot, and she pinched her eyes shut against the bright spots that returned with full force, their light almost blinding. Was her new-found stepsister mad? Why would she leave her alone with a man like that, cousin or not?
For a long moment, silence lingered as she fought to regain her composure, her thoughts focused inward so that she did not even hear him approach.
“Will you not look at me, 𝐶ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒?” he asked in a deeply tantalizing voice.
Instantly, Juliet’s eyes flew open.
Shocked to find him so close, no more than a few steps from where she stood, she stumbled backward until her back hit the window, her breath coming fast as she stared up into his face.
The corners of his mouth curled upward.
“Do I frighten you?”
Juliet swallowed. “N-No, s-sir,” she stammered before reminding herself that she 𝑤𝑎𝑠 a lady and ought to hold her head high. “I…I am merely surprised that my sister—stepsister — deemed it right to leave us alone together.” Her face felt as though it were on fire, and it was a considerable effort for her not to drop her gaze.
Instead of being offended as a true gentleman would be, the Frenchman chuckled. “Violette knows that I would never lay a hand on you…without your permission.” The dark look in his eyes whispered of daring and temptation, and Juliet could not help but wonder what he would do if she were…to give her permission.
Not knowing how to reply, Juliet drew in an unsteady breath, her mouth opening and closing as she desperately searched for something to say.
A half-sided grin came to his face before he took yet another step closer. “I hear you’re about to be married, 𝑛𝑜𝑛?” His brows rose in a challenging gesture.
Juliet felt her hands begin to tremble for the mere thought of her impending nuptials never failed to make her feel sick to her stomach.
“I hear you are to marry an old man,” he continued, measured steps moving him ever closer, his dark gaze never once leaving her face.
Juliet bit her lower lip, aware that she simply ought to step around him and leave. Why then could she not bring herself to move?
Barely an arm’s length in front of her, the French rogue lowered his head down to hers and whispered, “Do you think your future husband will honor your wishes and not lay a hand on you without your permission?”
Feeling the faint brush of his warm breath against her lips, Juliet felt herself begin to sway. Her knees threatened to buckle at any moment, and those dreaded bright spots once again hindered her vision. “You are…not to speak of such things,” she managed to say, doing her utmost to hide her mortification, her temptation even, behind righteous indignation. “A gentleman would never address a lady thus, and we are not even acquainted in the least.” She lifted her chin a fraction. “I do not even know your name.”
The rogue grinned then dipped his head in a greeting gesture. “Henri Duret, 𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒, at your service. You may call me Henri.”