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Juliana rushed to his defense. “Oh, he is, Aunt Kitty. Victor told me all about the sketches.”

Not quite .

“They’re not as scandalous as The Muckraker makes them out to be,” Juliana continued.

Grateful for Juliana’s trust in him even though she hadn’t seen the sketches, Victor sent her a smile, hoping to convey his appreciation.

The countess gave another harrumph . “Well, that much doesn’t surprise me. Whoever is responsible for that gossip rag should be drawn and quartered. Has the League made any progress identifying the culprit?”

Victor blinked. “You’re aware of the League?” How many women were involved in the enterprise?

The countess glowered at him as if he were a dolt. “Of course.”

“Lady Montgomery has recently joined The League, Aunt. She is performing an analysis for us now to identify common threads.”

“Odd woman, but brilliant. However, back to my question. Why are you both here?”

Sincere curiosity colored the countess’s question, relieving Victor’s feelings of inadequacy over his intelligence.

“We—that is, Miss Merrick and I—believe making an appearance in public would help counteract the claims. Having a powerful ally at our sides, one who could silence any further gossip, would be advantageous. Miss Merrick thought of you.”

Blue eyes twinkling, the countess grinned. “Wise girl. And where do you propose we make this appearance, Mr. Pratt?”

“How does Gunter’s sound, my lady?”

The countess threw back her head and laughed. “Ices to freeze those wagging tongues. Clever, Mr. Pratt. I knew I liked you. I’ll call for my carriage.”

Victor lifted a hand to halt her as she began to rise. “If you don’t mind. I have my father’s phaeton that seats three.”

Mischief sparked in her eyes, and she appeared years younger. “I haven’t ridden in a phaeton in ages.” Gnarled hand grasping her cane, she leaned forward. “Do you drive fast?”

“As fast as you wish.” Victor grinned at the old woman, catching the tilt of Juliana’s lips as well, and an urge to kiss his betrothed floated over him. Perhaps later on their drive back to Pendrake Manor?

Several minutes later, seated on the gig’s tall bench, Victor snapped the ribbons guiding the two matched greys down the street toward Berkley Square.

When the countess declared she needed space around her because of her rheumatism, Juliana—wedged between the countess and Victor—scooted closer to Victor. Her thigh pressed against his.

Each time the gig hit a bump, and she brushed against him more fully, Juliana’s cheeks colored as she muttered apologies.

Victor admitted the sensation was more than pleasant and suppressed a chuckle at Lady Gryffin’s devious expression.

Once they arrived at Gunter’s, Victor wasn’t certain if he was relieved or sorry. At least they would have the return journey to enjoy the closeness again.

Gunter’s was busy on the late afternoon day, and people’s curious gazes lifted from their treats as the trio entered the shop. Heads of the patrons bent together as if plotting a conspiracy, their eyes never quite leaving Victor and Juliana.

One glacial stare from Lady Gryffin and they returned to enjoying their ices as if nothing of interest had diverted their attention.

After placing their orders, Victor tipped his head to a table in the corner.

“No, no, dear boy,” the countess whispered. “Don’t hide. It will only give credence to the lies and the vultures more ammunition.” Instead, she moved toward a vacant table in the middle of the room. “This shall serve nicely,” she said, loud enough for most of the crowd to hear.

Victor did his best to concentrate on Juliana and Lady Gryffin as they savored their flavored ice, but the spoonful of elderflower ice that had begun to melt in his mouth seemed to become solid, almost choking him when Lydia Whyte entered the shop, accompanied by—of all people—his mother.

“This lavender is quite lovely. I think . . .” The countess’s words halted as she gazed up and caught who had snagged Victor’s attention.

Juliana, too, had paused in lifting a spoonful of cherry ice to her lips. “What is it?” she whispered before turning her head toward the door.

“If you will both excuse me.” Victor placed his serviette next to his dish of elderberry ice and strode toward his mother and Lydia.

Lydia’s eyes widened.

His mother stumbled back. “Victor, what are you doing here?”

“Countering the vicious gossip, Mother, while Miss Merrick, Lady Gryffin and I enjoy some ices. The question is, what are you doing here with Miss Whyte?”

His mother straightened, her flashing eyes defiant. “Don’t take that tone with me, Victor. After that dreadful report and your insistence to offer for Miss Merrick, Lydia is heartbroken. I’m merely providing support and consolation.”

Lydia quickly looked away when Victor turned his attention toward her, her attempt to appear demure and play the victim almost laughable. “Heartbroken indeed. However, I would like a word with Miss Whyte in private, if I may.”

His mother stepped in front of Lydia. “Haven’t you caused enough scandal with one woman?”

“Very well, stay with her, but may we at least step away from prying eyes?” Victor motioned for the ladies to precede him out the door.

Outside the shop, Victor took Lydia’s arm, perhaps a little too roughly, but his normally even-tempered disposition had worn thinner than a poor man’s coat. “Wait here, Mother. Miss Whyte and I will remain well in sight as to avoid any semblance of impropriety.”

Aside, even out of earshot of his mother, Victor lowered his voice. “I won’t mince words, Lydia. Did you look at the sketches that were on my desk?”

Lydia’s eyes blinked rapidly, but not in the manner she employed when flirting. “I—I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“When you accompanied my mother to my studio a few days ago, you were in the room alone for several minutes. Don’t lie to me, Lydia, you don’t do it well. Did you see the sketches and, more importantly, did you tell anyone?”

Her cheeks flushed red, and once again, she averted her gaze. Yet she remained silent.

“Lydia, I’m not accusing you of anything, but for your information, those sketches were not of Miss Merrick. If you had anything to do with spreading that rumor, don’t you owe it to her to set it to rights?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Who was it if not Miss Merrick?”

Barely containing his anger, Victor pulled in a calming breath. “As to who was the subject, that is none of your concern. Artists often draw from imagination.” Deliberately softening his tone, he said, “Who did you tell?”

Tears pooled in her eyes, and one trickled down her cheek, but Victor had no desire to wipe it away as he had for Juliana. Lydia should be ashamed. “It was only because...I worried Miss Merrick was seducing you. I only told her because I thought she could talk some sense into you.”

“Who?” The question slipped through gritted teeth.

“Your mother.”

Although he expected Lydia’s answer, his heart refused to believe his mother would stoop so low as to disgrace her own son. “Who else?” Blindly, he grasped Lydia’s arms. “Think, Lydia. Did you say anything, even in passing? Where someone could have overheard? Perhaps a servant who gossips?”

Lydia shook her head, the tears falling freely. “I don’t know. You’re hurting me.”

“Victor!” At his mother’s sharp voice, Victor dropped his hands to his side.

Incensed and focused on discovering the truth, he didn’t realize both his mother and Lady Gryffin had approached.

“Mr. Pratt, calm yourself,” the countess said, her tone much more motherly than that of the woman who had birthed him.

“I’m sure Miss Whyte promises to tell you if she recalls anything.

Won’t you, Miss Whyte?” An almost imperceptible hardness coated the countess’s gentle tone when she addressed Lydia.

In her state, Victor doubted she’d even noticed it.

“I promise.”

The countess took his arm. “Now, come back inside. Your betrothed awaits. And Lady Cartwright, I would suggest you and Miss Whyte collude in another location.”

Questions swirled in Victor’s mind like a tornado, many of them as destructive. But like the twisting storm, his mind would have to settle before he could parse them out.

“She knows something,” he muttered.

The countess nodded. “Hmm. But you won’t get it out of her by force.” A curious gleam arose in her eyes, and she patted his arm. “Leave that to me.”