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“Lies!” He spat the word, flinging the paper back at his mother.

“Which part? You told me yourself you were going to request the commission to paint the duke’s portrait.” His mother’s gaze darted toward the easel holding Juliana’s portrait. “And to court his sister.”

She shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’d hoped you said so only to discourage an attachment with Miss Whyte. But now...now, regardless of your intention, your honor is called into question.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at his mother. “First, there is nothing scandalous about the portrait of Miss Merrick.” He strode toward the easel, then moved it away from the wall. “Come see for yourself.”

His mother rose from the sofa and inched toward him as if he planned to spring a trap on her. “You assure me there is nothing untoward about the painting?”

“There is nothing to offend your delicate sensibilities, Mother. The fact you even ask wounds me.”

She grumbled something about young men’s desires but stepped around to the front of the easel. Her hand rose to her throat as she viewed the portrait. “Oh, Victor.”

“You like it?” The incredulity in his tone surprised him. “You’re the first to see it, beside Tierney and me, of course.”

Her brow scrunched. “Why is there a horse in the painting?”

Of course, his mother would find fault with something. It’s what she did.

“She’s a skilled horsewoman. Her rescue of Dr. Somersby’s daughter on Rotten Row was not simply happenstance. Her exceptional riding along with her cool head and quick thinking saved the girl. The horse speaks to who she is as a person.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “As a person ? She’s a commoner, Victor.”

“She is a lovely young woman.”

“So you are courting her in earnest?”

Victor’s stomach clenched at the word earnest . But to admit to his mother that his and Juliana’s courtship was a farce would work against them. His mother could no more keep a secret as rain would cease falling in London. “I am courting her, yes.”

Returning to the sofa, his mother pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Why must you do this, Victor? First that Lovelace woman, and now the daughter of a steward and a seamstress! Do you do this to spite me? To drive me to an early grave?”

Yes, perhaps he’d inherited her penchant for dramatics, but Victor pushed the thought aside. “Keep Miss Lovelace out of this.” Mention of her only awakened the twinge in his chest.

Not heeding his warning, his mother continued to rail. “Both commoners! Why must you pursue women who are beneath you when there are genteel ladies available like Miss Whyte who are equal to your station? What attracts you to women of low birth?”

“Low birth?” He couldn’t believe the words coming from his mother’s mouth.

Or maybe he could. “What attracts me are their independent spirits. Their desire to be more than a pretty bauble on a man’s arm.

I admire their hopes and dreams and—yes, Mother—their ambitions.

Their difference from the likes of Miss Whyte is precisely what attracts me. ”

Was it foolish to want someone who would challenge him, who reminded him he could feel something again?

His mother gaped at him, speechless. A rare sight indeed.

Fueled by the horrible gossip rag and his mother’s insistence on bringing up Adalyn, Victor continued his tirade.

“And you are the last person to cast aspersions on anyone. You who forced your own daughter to compromise a good man. Not because he was a good man, but because he was a titled man. Tell me, Mother, would you still have had Cilla compromise Ashton simply because he was a duke if he had been a man who would beat her?”

His mother bolted from the sofa, her face no longer ashen but crimson. “How dare you?! I will speak with your father about this.”

The storm she arrived in blew her out, much to Victor’s relief, and he allowed his body to drop to the sofa she had vacated.

Regardless of the innocence of Juliana’s portrait, Victor was well acquainted with the havoc gossip could wreak.

God help me if I’ve ruined her.

He might very well have to offer for Miss Merrick. The possibility landed with a thud in his chest. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he no longer had a choice.

Juliana fought back the tears at Drake’s crestfallen face.

Her brother tugged fistfuls of his hair. Spread before him on the table in the morning room, The Muckraker taunted them all. “I should have chaperoned the two of you myself. I should have demanded to see the portrait as he worked. I should have?—”

“This is not your fault.” Beside him, Honoria pulled Drake’s hand from his tortured hair and laced her fingers through his, then sent Juliana a commiserating look. “It’s no one’s fault except the monster behind that horrible paper.”

Mother remained unnervingly silent.

“Mr. Pratt has been a perfect gentleman, Drake. He’s done nothing wrong.” Juliana choked out the words, needing to believe the truth in them.

“Except paint you unclothed.”

“He didn’t. It’s a lie,” Juliana said more firmly.

Drake’s gaze shot to hers. “Have you seen it?”

Her stomach tightened. Why had Victor refused to let her peek? She brushed the doubt aside. “Well... no. But, Drake, this commission is important to Victor. Why would he risk losing it?”

Drake opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “I don’t know.”

Mother wrapped her arm around Juliana’s shoulders. “If you trust him, then so should we. However, what is true and what people believe can be two very different things.”

“Mother Merrick is right,” Honoria said. “We must put our heads together and decide on the best strategy to save your reputation. I will call an emergency meeting of the League. And since Charlotte isn’t here, I will invite Beatrix Townsend.”

Frampton appeared at the entry of the room and gave a little cough. “Pardon me, Your Graces, Mrs. Merrick, Miss Merrick. Mr. Pratt is here. Shall I tell him you’re not receiving?”

Unlike Lord Felix, Victor had impeccable manners and the consideration to take his cues from Juliana and her wishes.

Drake’s gaze locked with hers. “We should see what he has to say about this.” Drake snatched the gossip sheet, flinging it further down the table.

Juliana nodded. “He has a right to defend himself.”

“Send him in, Frampton.”

Tamping down the urge to pinch her cheeks and smooth her hair, Juliana pulled in a breath, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. It was not the time to worry about her appearance.

When Victor entered, he kept his attention on Drake. A chill tripped up her spine. Why wouldn’t Victor look at her? He carried the large case he used to transport the portrait.

“Your Graces.” Victor executed a graceful bow. “Mrs. Merrick. Miss Merrick.” Finally, he slid a glance toward her, so brief she could have imagined it, before returning to Drake. “From your expressions, it’s clear you have seen the lies written in that abomination of a paper.”

Drake’s gaze was steely, every bit that of a powerful duke. “We have.”

To his credit, Victor didn’t flinch, but strode forward, placing the case on the table before them. “If I may?”

Drake held out a hand. “Please.”

Juliana would go mad from the curt exchange between the two men she cherished most.

With steady hands, Victor unlatched the case, pulled out the portrait, and removed the protective blank canvas. Juliana sucked in a breath and held it.

Victor turned the portrait around, and a collective whoosh sounded around the table.

“It’s not finished, and I hate showing you an incomplete work. But I hope this reassures you that Miss Merrick’s reputation remains spotless.”

“Beautiful,” Honoria whispered.

Mother held a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

Juliana wondered if the woman in the painting was actually her. She looked so—beautiful. Even amid the turmoil of the situation, her heart stuttered. Was this how Victor saw her?

Drake’s voice was brittle. “In reality, yes. I know my sister’s reputation is above reproach, but as my mother rightly pointed out before your arrival, what is true and what people believe can be entirely different matters. Damage has been done. The question is: How do we repair it?”

Victor straightened his shoulders, his face somber as his gaze locked with hers. “Allow me to offer for Miss Merrick.”

How many times had she lain in her bed imagining Victor asking for her hand? But the cool indifference she saw in his eyes at that moment had not been part of her fantasies.

And although she should be thrilled to finally have what she wanted within her reach, it just seemed...wrong.