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A ny hope Victor had that showing the portrait to the duke would end the matter vanished at the duke’s icy glare and blunt, but honest, question.

For some reason unknown to Victor, the perpetrator of The Muckraker had used him as a vessel to disparage the duke’s sister. Logic called for Victor to repair the damage.

Tightness banded Victor’s chest as he met Juliana’s searching eyes. She deserved better. Not only better treatment from the ton, but better than a man who could only pretend. She deserved a man who truly loved her, and only her.

Yet he pressed forward, sorry she would not get what she deserved. He cleared his dry, scratchy throat. “Allow me to offer for Miss Merrick.”

Her eyes flared slightly, the sad realization clear in their blue depths that the offer was made out of a sense of duty rather than abiding affection.

Not the best of proposals, but what choice did he have? Every instinct told him to protect her. He needed to be the one to make it right—even if the pain in her eyes shot like an arrow through his heart. In acting gallantly, Victor had never felt less gallant.

Burwood pressed his palms against the table, pushing himself up as if a heavy weight kept him in place.

“Come, Mr. Pratt, follow me.”

Victor made a quick bow to the ladies and obeyed the duke’s command.

Burwood led Victor to his study, where they had met and discussed Victor’s request to court Juliana. Had it only been mere days ago?

“Sit.” The duke seated himself behind his ornate desk, and Victor sat in the chair across from him.

Burwood ran a hand through his hair, mussing his valet’s meticulously crafted style.

The duke appeared haggard, as if he’d aged ten years, and Victor knew for a fact, he and Burwood were approximately the same age.

“Sir? Are you unwell? Should we send for a physician?”

Burwood waved him off. “New fatherhood, although wonderful, takes a toll, especially when one’s wife insists on performing many of a nurse’s duties herself.

I suspect it’s Honoria’s way of pushing aside her grief over Margery’s death.

In addition, arguments for reform in Lords have grown contentious.

” The heavy sigh he emitted carried all the weight he spoke of. “And now, this.”

“I’m very sorry to have added to your burden.”

The powerful duke Victor had witnessed moments earlier dissolved into a concerned brother, and much more like the man Victor had come to know simply as Drake.

“I’m curious, Pratt. The report in that filthy rag attacks not only my sister, but you.

And yet, your defense was only for Juliana. Why is that I wonder?”

Victor blinked. What was Burwood suggesting? “There is no need to defend myself on things we both know to be false.”

Burwood nodded. “Yes, that you received the commission before seeking permission to court my sister. But I speak of the other matter.”

Victor searched his memory for what other spurious thing The Muckraker had said about him.

Moments passed, and when Victor didn’t answer, the duke returned. “Permit me to refresh your memory. It implied that you either took advantage of my sister to secure the position as our portraitist, or you did so intending to seduce her.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “I swear to you, those are also lies.”

His mouth set in a firm, straight line, Burwood studied Victor as if he were a tome written in a foreign language.

An uneasy silence enveloped them, and Victor worried the duke could hear his pounding heart. “As you yourself admitted, the commission as your artist was awarded prior to my request to court Miss Merrick.”

“True.” Burwood ruffled some papers on his desk. “But, Juliana urged me to consider you. She was most impressed with your passion. ”

The duke’s emphasis on the word slammed into Victor. “We spoke of my love of art and particularly painting. I do not deny that. And I did hope to secure the position as your artist. If that was taking advantage, then perhaps I am guilty.”

Burwood nodded. “I appreciate your honest answer. However, I’m more concerned with the other accusation.”

“That I intended to seduce Miss Merrick?”

Burwood’s stare pierced Victor through. “What would lead someone to believe you have painted inappropriate depictions of my sister? From my experience, even the worst of rumors have a basis of truth—even if miniscule.”

“Not in this case, sir. I assure you. No one had seen the painting other than my valet, me, my mother, and now you and your family.”

Burwood’s brow lifted. “Your mother?”

“She arrived with the scandal sheet, most upset as you can imagine. I showed her the portrait to alleviate her concerns.” Victor withheld the fact that his mother had insulted Miss Merrick.

“And you trust your valet?”

“Tierney has proven his loyalty to me countless times.”

Brow furrowed and lips pursed, Burwood considered Victor’s answer. “Then what would have precipitated it? There must be something .”

“Other than dislike of me or, forgive me, you and your family?”

“Hmph. True enough, but there is bite to this somewhere. It’s too specific in the accusation regarding Juliana’s state of undress. I feel it.” Burwood’s eyes widened. “What about your sketches? Who saw them? Were any of them...suggestive?”

Victor shook his head, then a chill of a memory froze him. His mind whirled. The sketches of Adalyn. Lydia alone in his studio. Victor’s gaze snagged with the duke’s.

Burwood straightened in his chair. “What is it?”

“There are some other sketches. Not of Miss Merrick but of another woman, similar in appearance.”

That time, Burwood rose. “Could anyone have seen them?”

“I don’t know.” True, but if he told Burwood his suspicion, the duke would take matters into his own hands.

Although Lydia was a flirt and a gossip and he highly suspected she had seen the sketches, he had no proof.

If Lydia harbored hopes of an attachment with him, what would she have to gain by making such accusations public?

She might be indirectly involved and far from innocent, but Victor found it hard to believe she was capable of such maliciousness.

Unlike the perpetrator of The Muckraker , Victor wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt—at least until he questioned her.

Burwood sank back into his chair, the defeat on his face heartbreaking. “Then we are at an impasse.”

“If you will trust me, I have an idea I would like to pursue on my own. However, I suspect you called me in here to discuss more than the source of the gossip.”

“Juliana.” Burwood sighed again, softening back to a brother who only wanted the best for his sister, something Victor understood.

Deep in thought, the duke toyed with the papers on his desk once more.

“I want Juliana to be happy. To have the kind of marriage that I have. One based on love.” He raised his eyes to Victor. “Do you love my sister?”

“We barely know each other. I dare say there hasn’t been sufficient time for either of us to have developed such feelings.” Odd, but he had fallen in love with Adalyn in half the time he’d spent with Juliana. “I like her. Esteem her.”

From the expression on the duke’s face, Victor’s words had fallen flat.

Victor couldn’t blame Burwood for wanting more for his sister.

And he had no idea the courtship Victor had with Juliana was all a pretense.

“If I may, sir. Are you familiar with the scandal that sent my sister into hiding in Lincolnshire?”

“You’re speaking of the orchestrated compromise with Ashton. What I know of it from Honoria paints your sister as much of a victim as Ashton.”

“Her Grace is generous. I won’t excuse Cilla, but yes, she was young and malleable, yielding to my mother’s machinations.”

Head tilted back toward the ceiling, Burwood pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Your point?”

Right . “I have one, I promise. Ashton pleaded with Cilla to release him. He suggested they proceed with the betrothal, but that before the wedding Cilla could cry off, painting him as a cad who had used her.”

Burwood’s attention snapped back, his gaze spearing Victor. “You’re suggesting Juliana do the same.”

“If she does not want to marry me, yes. Have her heap the blame on me. Perhaps before then we can discover who is behind these spurious reports and prove them false.”

“It’s best not to delay the wedding. If Juliana agrees, the banns should be read immediately, which doesn’t give you much time.”

“I understand, sir. However, I am fully prepared to honor my promise to marry her, if she so wishes. The decision is in her hands.”

“Then let us ask her.” Burwood rose, rang the bell pull, and instructed Frampton to fetch Juliana.

Juliana’s stomach twisted in a knot, waiting for Drake, and possibly Victor, to return. Honoria had excused herself and rushed off to send messages to the League for an emergency meeting, leaving Juliana alone with her mother.

“What’s taking them so long?” Juliana lifted a hand to her mouth.

Her mother laid a staying hand on Juliana’s arm. “Stop, dearest, or you will chew your nails to stubs. Trust Drake to handle things. I suspect he wants to determine Victor’s feelings for you.”

Juliana sighed. “But that’s just it, Mama. Victor doesn’t really want to marry me. I could see it in his eyes. He’s asking out of duty because he’s a gentleman.” Not to mention their courtship was a sham.

“And what do you want? Don’t lie to me. I’m familiar with how your face softens whenever you look at Victor. You forget, I was a woman in love long ago.”

Remorse squeezed Juliana’s chest that her mother referred not to Juliana’s father, but to her first husband. “Did you love Papa, too?”