Chapter Seven
Juliette deftly handled the rich, silken fabric, her latest arrival from Paris destined for a Society lady's evening gown. Her fingers moved with practiced grace, sewing and shaping the material as she engaged in light chatter with her customers. The modiste shop bustled with the hushed excitement of women seeking the latest fashion trends, discussing fabrics, lace, and the intricate details that made their garments unique. As well as men. Always the men. And scandals. Oh, the love they possessed for a good scandal.
"Madame Toussaint, do you think this shade of blue will complement my eyes?" inquired Viscountess Darlow, a regular client with discerning tastes.
Juliette studied the fabric in question and then looked up, a warm smile playing on her lips. " Oui . Absolutely, Lady Amelia. That particular shade will accentuate the beauty of your eyes and add a touch of elegance to the gown. Brilliant choice."
The ladies chatted animatedly about the upcoming social events—though there were dismally few, it being past the height of the Season—their talk seamlessly transitioning between the newest fabrics and the latest gossip.
Juliette's mind, however, kept wandering back to Captain Catamount Castlebury.
She recalled the warmth in his gaze from the other day, the way he looked at her as if searching for something elusive, something deeply personal. The memory of his muscular frame and those piercing green eyes lingered, interrupting her ability to focus on the fashion discussions.
"Madame Toussaint, what do you think of this lace for my daughter's wedding dress?" asked Mrs. Langley from across the room, presenting a delicate piece of lace for her inspection.
Juliette examined the material from afar. "Ah, exquisite choice, Mrs. Langley. It will add a touch of sophistication and romance to her dress. Your daughter will be radiant. Set that with your other selections and I'll make certain it is added to your purchase."
Was Catamount Castlebury merely a dashing officer of the law, or did their connection really run deeper, stemming from a past she struggled to remember?
Blast, how was it that she really couldn't remember her life beyond that Covent Garden alley?
Really, who did that actually happen to?
Losing one's memory in a woosh! Gone! Life—erased. Like a cheap novel character.
Only she wasn't a fictional character, and it was the truth of her life whether she liked it or not.
Juliette's nimble fingers continued their dance with the fabric as she fitted the viscountess, yet her mind kept snaring on the memory of the Bow Street captain. The ruggedness of his jawline and the hint of bronze stubble added a certain virility that stirred unexpected feelings within her, made her fingers itch to touch its velvet roughness, as if they knew the feel of his day's facial hair growth. Her cheeks warmed with a blush, the realization of her wayward thoughts catching her off guard.
Focus, Juliette!
She needed to tend the task at hand, guiding her customers through the selection of fabrics and styles, but the captain had left an indelible mark on her thoughts, apparently. Like she were an infatuated fool.
As she continued to assist her customers, a vivid, impossible vision of his mouth pressed urgently against hers invaded her thoughts, stole her breath. She gasped at the flash in her mind, like an unexpected gust of wind, stirring a whirlwind of sensations within her. The heat of his kiss, demanding and fervent, swept through her mind, a tantalizing echo of an encounter she couldn't fully comprehend and knew hadn't happened. Certainly not in the past three years. But she felt it. Exactly like it had happened. Really, truly happened. Like a moment burned into her memory.
" Qu'est-ce qui se passe? " she whispered as her mind swirled with vignettes of an intimate moment with the captain that had never been. How could this be?
Juliette's fingers stilled on the delicate fabric, the mental image of an intense kiss with Castlebury replaying like a sweet, haunting melody. The modiste shop faded into the background of her consciousness as she tumbled into the private realm of her own thoughts. The impossible flash of memory carried with it desire, familiarity, and confusion—a potent cocktail that left her momentarily shaken and disoriented.
Of course, she questioned the origin of such vivid memories, the validity of them, especially when the man starring in them seemed like a stranger. Yet the undeniable pull of those sensations, the way his hard, commanding lips had left an indelible mark on her consciousness, refused to be dismissed. What was truth—and was her mind playing cruel tricks on her?
"Did you hear about the Revivalist attack in Shoreditch last night?" one of the ladies exclaimed suddenly, jarring her from her visions.
Juliette discreetly turned her attention to the conversation, alarm piqued. A group of ladies near the German lace rack huddled together, sharing the latest horrible, scandalous details.
"The Gazette printed this morning that the Revivalists struck minutes before midnight, causing panic in the streets as they wrecked one establishment after another, and burned a haberdashery to the ground," another lady chimed in. "They're becoming more daring, more frequent in their attacks, I say."
"Three found dead, reported the Daily News ."
Lady Amelia gasped, clutching her fan in front of her face. "Oh, the poor people of Shoreditch! What is the world coming to? These attacks are getting out of hand!"
Juliette subtly continued working while eavesdropping on the ladies' gossip, her stomach churning greasily. The vivid descriptions of the destruction in Shoreditch painted a stark contrast to the refined atmosphere of her shop. Terror against comfort and safety.
As the ladies continued their animated discussion, a new fear began to creep up Juliette's spine. The talk of the group that haunted her nightmares triggered a heaviness in her chest. A dark shadow seemed to encroach upon the corners of her mind, pushing at her, and she fought the instinct to let that fear take hold. She busied her hands with fabrics and threads, attempting to drown out the awful whispers of an unclear past.
"How are you enjoying this unseasonably warm autumn day?" she asked loudly, trying to divert the conversation.
No such fortune. The ladies doggedly kept on their topic of choice.
The bell above the door chimed, announcing the entrance of a customer. Juliette looked up, and her breath caught in her throat as Captain Castlebury stepped inside. His ruggedly virile figure with his tawny hair tousled in a way that only added to his appeal, seemed strikingly out of place amidst the delicate fabrics and femininity of the shop.
In his long coat and trousers that emphasized his athletic build, Castlebury exuded a raw, masculine energy that drew the attention of every lady in the room.
Startled by his unexpected appearance, Juliette quickly scanned the shop, ensuring that her other customers were engrossed in their own conversations. They were not. They were as enamored with his presence as she was. Ninnies, the lot of them. Herself included.
With a forced smile, she approached him. "Captain Castlebury, what a surprise to see you here," she greeted him, attempting to maintain an air of casual politeness. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Bow Street Runners in my humble establishment?" Her words flowed smoothly, but beneath the polite fa?ade, a current of tension built.
Castlebury's gaze lingered on her, his eyes probing as if searching for something deeper within her. "Madame Toussaint," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, "I was hoping we could continue our conversation from the other day. I've been thinking about it quite a bit."
She nodded. "Of course, captain. How can I assist you?"
His lips curved into a faint smile. "Perhaps somewhere more private? I have some questions I'd like to discuss with you."
The unease intensified in Juliette's chest, but she managed to maintain her composed exterior. "Certainly, captain. Follow me to my office," she suggested, leading him to the small, secluded room at the back.
Once inside, he closed the door behind them, and the sounds of the shop faded away. "Juliette," he began, his gaze never wavering from hers, "there's something about you that feels… familiar. I know I said it already. Many times, in fact. But I can't quite put my finger on it, and it's there, taunting me. With your loss of memory… and with the timing of it and when I lost her… I believe you might be someone who was very important to me."
Her heart quickened, and she fought to maintain her composure. Why did such a notion make her yearn so desperately? "Captain, I assure you, I'm just a modiste trying to make a living. I don't see how I could be familiar to someone like you. We literally have never met before I stepped into the Bow Street Runners' headquarters the other day."
Castlebury leaned against the edge of her cluttered desk. "Julie," he murmured, a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
She tensed at the use of that name. Why, she wasn't sure. But it irked her just the same. "It's Juliette, captain. And I believe you may be mistaken."
His expression tightened, as if he were grappling with conflicting thoughts. "Forgive me if I'm pushing. It's just… something about you seems too familiar to dismiss. Your presence is exactly like a woman named Julie Burness. It's utterly uncanny."
Icy tendrils ran down Juliette's spine, and she struggled to maintain a fa?ade of nonchalance. "Captain, I'm just a Frenchwoman trying to navigate London Society to ply my trade. I don't possess any hidden mysteries. At this point, honestly, I wish I did. Any memories beyond three years ago would be most welcome. Alas, I cannot help you."
He studied her for a moment longer before relenting with a nod. "Very well. Perhaps it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But if you remember or sense anything unusual, anything that might connect you to anything beyond three years ago, I implore you to talk to me. It could be crucial for both of us."
With those words, the captain left her office, leaving Juliette alone with the lingering weight of unspoken truths and a growing unease about the mysteries that seemed to entwine their fates.
Suddenly, the door swung back open. Juliette looked up, her heart racing, and there he was once more, his gold-tipped hair slightly disheveled, an apology on his lips and a storm in his green eyes. "Juliette, I'm sorry," he muttered. Without waiting for a response, he closed the distance between them in quick, powerful strides. "I have to know."
Before she could utter a word, he pulled her into his strong arms, his apology giving way to a deep, possessive kiss. Time seemed to stand still as the world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his lips on hers, the strength of his embrace, and the unspoken emotions that crackled between them.
As his lips pressed against hers, Juliette felt a rush of sensations—his large and commanding presence, the heat that emanated from him, and the undeniable chemistry that pulsed between them. Lost in the moment, she allowed herself to be enveloped by the strength of his embrace, the world outside the shop fading into insignificance. She fell wantonly into his kiss, a fusion of longing and discovery, a magnetic pull that defied explanation. Her hands instinctively found their way to his broad, sculpted chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his coat. His lips moved with a fervent urgency, as if seeking confirmation of something only he could know, and she responded with open surrender and flaring desire.
For that suspended moment, the past and present converged, and all that remained was the shared breaths, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the intangible feeling of a connection that seemed to transcend time and circumstance. The sensation of his lips on hers mingled with those elusive visions that had assailed her earlier. It felt… exactly the same. Exactly right .
So incredibly familiar.
Juliette melted against him. The heat of his kiss, the demand of his lips, coupled with the hardness of his large body, stirred something within her—a fusion of desire and confusion and elusive memory that left her dizzy.
As her lips left his, a quiet settled between them, the weight of unspoken questions lingering in the air. Juliette's eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, his liquid green gaze filled with recognition and an inexplicable longing.
He uttered softly, "Julie."
No.
"You have to be her."
But she wasn't. He wanted somebody else. Not her.
She gracefully stepped from his embrace. "I'm Juliette," she stated quietly. For as long as she could remember.
Inclining her head, she left him standing alone in her office, a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes.