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V ictor jerk backed, heart pounding like a runaway horse’s hooves on cobbles. His face heated, but it was Lydia's wide eyes that burned through him.

“This isn’t what it appears to be.” As soon as the words had flown from his mouth, Victor understood the absurdity of them. Whenever someone insisted something wasn’t what it appeared, it meant it was exactly as it appeared.

Adalyn took a step toward Lydia. “Allow me to explain.”

Lydia straightened her shoulders as if she hadn’t been the one eavesdropping.

“And why should I believe you?! You who came between Lord Nash and Lady Honoria—I mean Her Grace. Although goodness knows what she saw in him. Good riddance is what I say. And does your husband know you are cavorting with the soon-to-be-bridegroom?”

“We are not cavorting!” Victor’s hands clenched at his sides. Of all people, it would have to be Lydia.

Lydia’s gaze darted between Adalyn and him, a sudden understanding crossing her typically clueless countenance. She raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh! It was her! Not Miss Merrick, wasn’t it? Those sketches. And to think I had pinned my hopes on you at one time, Mr. Pratt.”

Words scrambled in his mind. What could he say? How could he defend himself?

His only hope to explain that Adalyn’s kiss was an innocent exchange between friends before Lydia ran off and conveyed the news to all who would listen slipped from his fingers. Adalyn brought him to his senses.

Her lovely brow creased. “What sketches, Victor?”

“Scandalous sketches of a woman with too much décolletage exposed. A woman who looks suspiciously like Miss Merrick—or you.” Lydia appeared proud to relay that bit of information and cause more damage.

Victor tried his best to ignore Adalyn’s horrified expression. “And just how would you know who the woman looked like and how she was dressed, Lydia? Unless, of course, you had seen the drawings yourself.”

Lydia’s mouth moved soundlessly, finally managing a few stumbled words. “Well . . . I . . . that is . . . it’s what The Muckraker reported.”

“If memory serves, The Muckraker simply said the woman was in a state of undress, nothing about her bosom being exposed. Admit it, Lydia, you rummaged around on my desk and saw those sketches.”

Lydia’s face reddened, and Victor pressed forward, although he doubted his next accusation. “And you are the perpetrator of that horrible gossip rag.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Adalyn’s focus shift to Lydia.

“No. No.” Lydia shook her head so furiously, strands of her well-crafted coiffure broke loose. “I mean, yes, I saw the drawings.” She stepped forward, reaching for Victor, but he pulled back. “I only wanted to admire them. You’re so talented, Victor.”

“Stop the flattery, Lydia. Admit your guilt fully, and we shall be done with this.”

“I’m not responsible for what’s in that scandal sheet. I may have mentioned seeing the drawings to someone, but?—”

“Who?” This time Victor moved forward, his hands still clenched at his sides. He needed to control himself when every part of him wanted to grab Lydia and shake the truth from her.

“M-my mother. I was upset about them. I thought if Mother could talk to your mother and dissuade you from sullying yourself with a commoner?—”

Adalyn asked the question forming in Victor’s mind. “You planned to blackmail Mr. Pratt?”

“You make it sound sordid.”

“Blackmail is sordid, Lydia,” Victor said.

“We only thought to use it as leverage to get you to realize how associating with those beneath you could damage your own reputation. How was I supposed to know The Muckraker would report it before we could speak with you directly? Then you went and offered for Miss Merrick!”

Adalyn faced him, hurt in her eyes like a knife slicing through him. He would have to make amends with her later. “Do you believe her? That she’s not responsible for spreading such rumors in print?”

Drawing a hand down his face, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “I do. Only because Lydia isn’t bright enough to write the rag.”

“I beg your pardon!” Lydia squared her shoulders, clearly affronted.

Victor ignored her. “However, that doesn’t mean she’s not involved in some other way. And I intend to find out how.”

A soft, feminine voice called from the entrance to the orangery. “Victor?”

In all the commotion, Victor had forgotten that Juliana was supposed to meet him.

“We’re over here, Miss Merrick.” Lydia’s smirk sent a chill skirting up Victor’s spine.

Her cheeks rosy as if from exertion, Juliana came to an abrupt halt, and her gaze darted between Victor, Adalyn, and Lydia, landing back on Adalyn with a thud .

“You are a little too late, Miss Merrick,” Lydia crowed. “But if I were you, I would give serious thought to your upcoming nuptials. It would appear your betrothed isn’t quite sure who is his fiancée.” She sauntered off, flicking a devious look over her shoulder as she passed Juliana.

Adalyn approached Juliana. “Miss Merrick, are you unwell? You appear flushed.”

Juliana’s gaze remained fixed on him. “I’m quite well, thank you. However, I would like to speak with Victor in private if I may?”

“Of course.” With a final look of apology, Adalyn slipped from the orangery.

Silence engulfed them. Finally alone with Juliana, Victor shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, and his neckcloth suddenly became overly tight. Their rendezvous was not at all what he’d planned.

So many questions raced through his mind. Would Lydia refrain from revealing to others what she thought she’d witnessed? Would he lose any further commission from Burwood? Could he salvage things with Juliana?

Most questions would have to wait, for Juliana addressed the most important one.

Pain, sharp and visceral from her gaze stabbed at his heart, her eyes bright but unblinking. “Is it true?”

Unsure what she expected when she burst into the orangery, Juliana had hoped for the best, to find Victor alone and waiting for her.

But the guilty look on his face as he stood next to Adalyn coupled with Lydia’s self-satisfied smirk appeared to confirm Lord Felix’s accusations.

Nausea fought its way up her throat, and she forced it down.

Rather than exhibiting confusion at her question or asking for clarification, Victor seemed to understand exactly what she meant.

“No.” Spoken with such confidence, she held onto his denial as if it were a lifeline.

“Why was Adalyn here?”

Victor’s gaze, which up to that point, had been direct and open, traveled to the side, and her heart dropped.

“She wanted to wish me happiness.”

“Hadn’t she already done so in the reception line?”

A few leaves had fallen to the tile flooring, and Victor’s feet rustled against them as he shifted his position. “She asked if her presence created a problem for me—for us.”

Ah. “Lord Nash asked me the same question last night.”

Victor’s gaze jerked back to hers. “What did you tell him?”

“That if it was a problem, I would rather learn the truth of your feelings before the wedding than after.” Despite Victor’s adamant denial, doubt niggled at her. “Is it a problem? Is that what Lydia meant by saying you were confused about who was your fiancée?”

“She misunderstood something she saw.”

“What, Victor? What did she see?”

“A kiss.” Victor stepped forward, his foot landing on a dried leaf, the crunch mimicking the breaking of her heart. “But it’s not what you think.”

The room tilted, and her knees grew weak.

“Not what I think? Do you mean like when you said Adalyn’s name after kissing me?

” She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“Why would you ask me to meet you here if you were meeting Adalyn? Were Lord Felix and Miss Whyte right? If you wanted me to cry off, why not just ask me? I never wanted to tie you to a marriage you didn’t want, Victor.

My reputation be damned. All you had to do was say the word. ”

“That’s not what I want. In fact, I—what do you mean Lord Felix? What does Davies have to do with this?”

“He accosted me in the hall on my way to see you. He told me you were here with Adalyn.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe him, but it appears he was right.”

“Accosted you? Did he harm you?” He took another step forward. “I will strangle him with my bare hands if he?—”

She held out a hand. “Stop. Please, don’t come any closer. I need to think. Let’s get through the evening—as you said. Then, in the morning, I’ll tell Drake the wedding is off.”

On shaky legs, she stumbled from the orangery. Tears blurred her vision as she hurried down the hallway, desperate to get away—anywhere but where Victor was.

Voices drifted ahead as she grew closer to the ballroom.

Anxious to avoid confrontation, she ducked into another room and closed the door.

Time would help her get her tears under control before returning to the ballroom.

Nausea crept up her throat again. She turned the scene over in her mind again and again, like a jagged stone she couldn’t stop touching.

Adalyn’s face, Victor’s fierce denial, Lydia’s glee—each one another blow.

Would Victor really be so cruel as to orchestrate a scene in order for her to witness a tryst between him and Adalyn? It didn’t make sense.

But Victor admitted to a kiss. Did Victor kiss Adalyn, or did Adalyn kiss Victor? But why would Adalyn kiss Victor? In seeing him again, had she realized she had deeper feelings for him than she believed? By all accounts, she appeared to be happy with her marriage. To love Lord Nash.

Oh, poor Nash! What would he do? She’d heard tales about his marksmanship. Would he challenge Victor to a duel of honor?

Juliana paced the floor. Think. Think.