Page 7 of The Diamond's Absolutely Delicious Downfall

“Surely, Mama, you cannot be amenable to the American staying here,” Juliet said with as much passion as she could manage without eliciting suspicion on her mama’s part.

She was really in quite a dilemma. She enjoyed the American. There was no question. The issue was she enjoyed him too well, and having him here under the same roof was going to prove to be the same sort of trouble as having a cup of chocolate by her side. She would want to drink it or taste it or put it to her lips, and she was not meant to do that.

Not him!

Not at present.

Perhaps a cup of chocolate every now and then was the perfect antidote to feeling low, but having the American, Tobias Miller, with her all day long and throughout the evening was going to be a damned impossible temptation.

He was much like said hot chocolate—dark, tempting, and delicious.

Her mama turned to her, arched her silvery brows, and said, “My dear, I thought you got along with him splendidly last night. You danced with him beautifully, and I saw you following him about the room with your gaze. Or perhaps that’s it. Perhaps you admire him too well.”

“Mama,” she rushed matter-of-factly, determined to put any suspicions her mother might have to rest. “Of course, I admire him. He is an intelligent fellow. He’s good-looking and he is articulate, but I have no interest in him at all.”

Her mother’s lips twitched and she replied as if she was not at all convinced. “Oh, certainly, my dear. Certainly.”

“Mama!” Juliet declared again, standing in the foyer, no longer eager for afternoon tea. “He’s an American and has no title or great estate.”

Her mother pursed her lips, then shook her head. “That’s not quite accurate. He does have wealth though, my dear. And his parents have a small estate somewhere in the north of England, though they keep themselves to themselves after the war. Terrible business that so many families separated due to such things.”

Her mother had been on the side of the revolutionaries, as many of the Whig party had been.

Still, the Royalist dilemma was a difficult thorn in the side of the relations between England and the new country, the United States of America.

“When will he arrive?” Juliet asked abruptly, hoping to direct her mother away from the idea that she found the American appealing.

Her mother plucked at the lace dripping at her elbow. “Oh, I don’t know, my dear. This afternoon, no doubt. Any moment, really. Your brother was clear that Mr. Miller would arrive and that I should have a significant set of chambers put aside for the fellow. I think your brother is hoping to use his printing skills to do some damage to the gossip coming out of Paris. And to the Tory party too.”

Juliet pressed her lips together. She wanted to argue further that Tobias Miller should not come to stay, but surely any more argument would make her look terribly suspicious, and it was also extremely shallow on her part. Her brother was a very important man, and getting in the way of his work would be a ridiculous thing to do. Surely, she had enough self-control that she could avoid the American in question.

She would forget that his last words had been about wishing another kiss from her.

He would get no such thing!

She had to be determined. Surely, surely that was true. She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Or perhaps… Could she manage to enjoy the gentleman’s company and still have what she wanted?

It seemed a dangerous path to walk. But Tobias Miller was as tempting as the chocolate she’d come to equate him with… And she’d always been very weak when it came to her cup of chocolate.

Yes, the way it swirled around one’s mouth, sparked the mind, and slid down one’s throat to pool in the belly…

“My dear, your cheeks are growing quite pink. Is the room overheated? I shall tell Mrs. Farrow to open the windows.”

“No, Mama,” she rushed. “I was simply thinking on something.”

Her mother tilted her head to the side, which caused her silver curls to drape over the shoulder of her sapphire gown, which was festooned with rose-hued bows. “Yes, my dear, I thought as much. Tobias Miller is a very handsome fellow.”

She cleared her throat and smoothed her hand down the front of her stiff bodice. “That’s not at all what I was thinking.”

Her mother let out a merry laugh. “I’m no fool, my dear. I saw the way you two were together.”

“Mama,” she protested, “that doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Yes, it does,” her mother countered quite happily. “I say you throw all this nonsense of a titled fellow away and marry the American. How delicious would that be?”

She stared at her mother and, not for the first time, wished she could shake her. It was all well and good to be eccentric and have madcap adventures, but the fact was society could be bloody unkind if it chose to be.

Brutally so.

And she was not about to have that for Perdita, who was, in Juliet’s opinion, too good for this world.

She drew in a breath, preparing her argument. She had to end this idea of her mother’s. Swiftly.

“First of all, Mama, I highly doubt he wishes to marry the sister of a duke. He is from a republic, after all.” She gave a nod at that and then continued, trying to ignore her mother’s amused expression. “Second, you know that I shall settle for nothing less than a viscount.”

Her mother threw up her delicate hands in an avalanche of lace and silk. “I know, I know, my dear. I realize that you think that if you marry anything less that you’ll be taking a step backwards for this family, but it is not true. I should admire you if you choose to go against the expectations of the ton.”

Juliet’s heart ached at that. For her mother loved her so fully and entirely that she felt relatively certain that if she announced tomorrow that she was going to tread the boards at Drury Lane, her mother would buy the first ticket.

“I know, Mama,” she began, her throat tightening with the depth of her emotion. “It’s why I adore you.”

And it was true. She loved her mother so dearly for wishing her to have whatever she wanted. But in this life, one had to think of others.

“I’m sure his stay here will be brief, and he will be of excellent assistance to Westleigh.”

Her mother gave her a sad but accepting look. “You are no doubt correct. And it’ll be good for your brothers to have someone to keep them in line. Perhaps they shall stop acting like a pack of mad goats with a guest present.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat at her mother’s fond vexation.

“Do not laugh!” her mother protested with a tsk. “They’re always breaking the priceless objects passed down from silly sods who fought for Henry V. It drives me positively mad. Or they’re breaking up the earth in the gardens with their horses!”

As if such a comment were capable of eliciting the envisioned thing to come to life, they heard the neighing of several horses.

“Oh no, not again,” her mother groaned.

“What are they doing?” Juliet asked. She’d spent so much time out at parties and routs as of late she had not seen all of her brothers’ recent mischief. “What is it, Mama?”

Her mother let out an exasperated huff. “They’re practicing cavalry charges in a garden designed by Capability Brown. Can you imagine!?” But then her mother’s voice softened, and her eyes shimmered with tears. “They’re practicing for when they go to war with France.”

“War?” Juliet gulped. “Surely, it will not come to that.”

The duchess drew herself up, stealing herself against the coming tide of politics and battle. “It is certainly a decided possibility if the French continue to carry on the way they’ve been carrying on.”

Juliet did not like to think of the possibility that her brothers could be launched into another war. They had only just come out of the last one. As if to add more cacophony to the madness of the day, there was a bang on the towering front doors.

“He’s here!” her mother exclaimed, clearly relieved to have her thoughts taken away from the growing dangers abroad. “How marvelous!”

With the enthusiasm and zeal of a girl receiving one of her first admirers, Lady Sylvia, Duchess of Westleigh, dashed down the stairs, her beautiful skirts dancing behind her.

Juliet followed, wishing that she could dash up to the top of the house instead and find Perdita with her collection of animals. There she could be an observer.

But Juliet had never sat and watched in this life. She wasn’t about to start that now.

She had to show that she was made of sterner stuff than that and could not be overturned by a handsome face, or a rumbling voice, or a kiss that would make anyone else wilt at the knees.

But she was not anyone else.

She was the daughter of Lady Sylvia, the niece of Estella Dover. Women who ruled the men about them with charm and power. No, nothing would stop Juliet. Surely, she could face the man and not submit to her own passions.

The large double doors were thrown open by their butler and said American strode into the cavernous foyer.

Immediately, footmen began pouring in after Mr. Miller, carrying boxes and large parts of something that looked quite unwieldy.

“My goodness,” Lady Sylvia enthused, “are you here to conquer? Was America not enough for you?”

Tobias Miller gave her a bow that was positively grand and rather aristocratic for an American.

His beautiful dark hair tumbled over his striking forehead. And his body looked like an austere but formidable predator’s in its sleek black and white lines.

“Duchess,” he began, taking her mother’s hand gently in his large one. “I would not need to come here to conquer. I can see that I am being welcomed with open arms, and I am very conscious of how kind it is. I have been alone for weeks with only the company of Mr. Adams, and I can tell you that that was a trial. I will not say I wished his departure, but it was a relief. This?” He looked about the beautiful entry room hung with grand paintings and adorned with vases from Greece. “This shall be a pleasure.”

Juliet’s mother beamed at him. “Well said! So well said. I never could bear Mr. Adams, intelligent fellow that he is. He simply cannot stop himself from saying whatever is in his head.”

Mr. Miller laughed, a booming sound that bounced off the walls and high ceiling. “How true. I shall endeavor to be more clever and more entertaining than that. As your guest, I’m eager to sing for my supper.”

“You have heard!” the duchess crowed happily.

He frowned then. “Heard what?” he said.

Lady Sylvia batted her silver lashes. “I make my guests sing for their supper or recite poetry. Perhaps you should like to do that.”

He grinned at her with surprisingly good humor. “Whatever you require.”

Juliet’s mother’s look turned mischievous. “Perhaps you can do a scene with my daughter Juliet.”

Juliet let out a note of alarm. The last time her mother had managed to arrange such a thing was between her sister Hermia and her now husband, the Earl of Drexel.

“No scenes, Mama. No scenes!” she rushed. “I have the striking sensation that Mr. Miller is a soloist and prefers it that way.”

He laughed again. It was a purely masculine sound. “Well spotted, Lady Juliet,” he said. “You are correct. I have been operating alone for some time and do like that state of affairs.”

Juliet cocked a knowing brow at her mama, rather thrilled to be proved right in her estimation of their guest. “You see, Mama, he likes to be independent, just like his nation.”

Her mother scowled for a moment but then rallied. “I suppose I shall allow a solo performance then. Though I confess Juliet is marvelous. Do you play the harpsichord, Mr. Miller? Perhaps you two could try that instead.”

“I do actually, though not well,” he admitted. “It’s a marvelous way to pass the evenings on cold New York nights.”

Her mother appeared intrigued. “There are many wonderful ways to pass cold evenings,” the duchess said, “but playing music and dancing certainly are two of the best. You will find that we are a merry crew and dance a great deal, play music, sing, and recite as often as possible.”

Shouting from the direction of the gardens filtered in to them.

Mr. Miller’s eyes widened. “Is someone being murdered outside?”

The duchess gave a merry grin. “Not yet.”

Juliet kept still, though she felt that things were about to descend into chaos.

If her brothers got involved, she could expect nothing less.

But she had no desire to end her study of the American.

In his rather charismatic presence, her pulse increased and did things she’d never felt, as if in recognition.

No doubt, Perdita would have something erudite to say on the science of the propagation of the human species.

She found her admiration for the man growing.

He was handling himself with such ease.

Many people did not know what to do with her mother. But he didn’t appear daunted at all by the grandness of being the guest of the notorious Duchess of Westleigh.

No, he seemed to simply fit into her mother’s rather wild way of speaking.

It shocked Juliet. She had expected him to look or feel out of sorts, but instead he looked as if he had belonged here forever.

She was rather astounded by that ability, and it only did the most infuriating thing! It made her wish to know him better.

Estella came to mind. She’d been so determined to have a bit of fun that night at Drury Land.

She’d had it and then been certain she had to be done.

But did she?

Could that bit of fun extend to more than that single night in the hall of the theater? It seemed a very dangerous thing to do, and perhaps he was a man of more honor than that. Perhaps he would never dare to trespass against his host and pursue the seduction of his host’s sister.

But when he turned his gaze to hers, his eyes were a veritable inferno of feelings, and she knew then…

She knew that the game of desire was afoot, if she wished to play, and oh how she wished to play.