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She felt herself slipping into Drake’s pattern of second guessing and worst-case scenarios.

“Stop,” she muttered to herself. No matter what the explanation, one clear path lay ahead of her.

She would release Victor with an open heart.

The clock on the mantle struck half past midnight, and everyone would be gathering for supper.

After wiping away her tears, she cracked open the door, poked her head out, and listened. No voices rose from any of the rooms, and the hallway was clear. With deliberate steps, she strode back to the ballroom, her head held high. She would not embarrass Drake or Honoria by making a scene.

Catching her eye, Drake hurried over to her. “Where have you been?” No anger laced his words, and she recognized the worry in his eyes.

“I needed some air. Where is Victor?”

“Over speaking with Lord Nash and his wife.”

Juliana’s gaze jerked toward where Drake indicated. Nash didn’t appear to be on the verge of murder. But what did it mean?

Drake pulled her attention back. His amber eyes studied her. “Victor seemed upset when he came back into the ballroom. And frankly, you do as well. Don’t lie to me, Juliana. Did something happen?”

“I don’t want to ruin the evening, Drake. I promise I will tell you when the ball is over.”

He gave her a stern, brotherly look. “Very well. But I don’t like it. Now, Victor is coming over to escort you to supper.”

Muted conversation swirled around her, the words indiscernible as Victor approached, his expression pleading. She forced a smile, and behind it, everything hurt, like a mask pressed tightly to her face.

He bowed to Drake, then extended his arm to her. “May I escort you into supper, Miss Merrick?”

“Of course.” Slipping her hand onto his arm, she forced a painful smile to her lips, the effort Herculean. Regardless of what had transpired, she would put on a brave front.

And hide her broken heart.

With a heavy heart, Victor had trudged back to the ballroom after Juliana left him standing hopeless and alone.

His plan to tell Juliana of his growing affection and honest desire for their marriage spoiled by an innocent kiss, as if someone had splashed paint over the Mona Lisa, turning something beautiful into something ugly.

Adalyn promised to do what she could to make it right. Nash, to Victor’s astonishment, was understanding, saying he trusted in Adalyn’s love. Although, he did make an off-handed comment about going a round or two with Victor at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy.

But at the moment, as he escorted Juliana into the massive dining hall, Victor ached to see her grace him with a genuine smile—the one that made her eyes sparkle. He leaned down and whispered, “Juliana, I need to explain.”

Straight ahead, her gaze never faltered. “Not now, Victor. People could overhear.”

She was right, of course. They needed to discuss what happened out of view and earshot of anyone else.

Supper was an exercise in discomfort. Seated across from Victor, Lord Middlebury prattled like an old hen, going on and on about the king’s ill health.

Next to Juliana, Miles Grey chatted with Juliana’s mother, although Victor couldn’t discern the conversation.

Across from Mrs. Merrick, Victor’s mother dipped her spoon into the turtle soup and glared daggers at the other woman.

But his mother’s glower couldn’t compare to Davies’ scowl. He practically simmered with suppressed anger next to Lydia, who at that moment leaned over to whisper something into Stanley Ludlow’s ear.

Ludlow’s eyes widened as they shot to Victor.

The entire dinner party was seated on a powder keg ready to blow. The only question remaining was who would light the match?

“Your mother tells me you love to ride, Miss Merrick,” Mr. Grey said.

“Yes, sir.” Juliana stirred her soup aimlessly, her answer to Mr. Grey’s question polite, but brief.

Victor leaned forward, peering around Juliana. “She’s an accomplished horsewoman, sir. I dare say she could outride me.”

A tiny smile ghosted Juliana’s lips. “Thank you, Mr. Pratt. But you exaggerate my skill.”

“I’m more at home on a ship than a horse,” Mr. Grey said.

“Perhaps you could visit my brother at his country home in Dorset. I’m sure Drake would be happy to teach you to ride.”

Mr. Grey chuckled. “I know how. I just prefer the ocean. But thank you for the invitation. It is most generous.”

Watching their interaction, Lydia leaned over to Ludlow again, this time, her gaze trained on Mr. Grey.

Drat. The more Lydia spread what she’d overheard about Mr. Grey, the less likely it would be to pinpoint the culprit behind The Muckraker. To prove his point, Ludlow leaned over, whispering to Lord Harcourt.

Luckily, Harcourt’s affronted expression meant—at least for the time being—the gossip chain had been cut short.

He and Ludlow exchanged a few apparently heated words before Harcourt turned his attention to Lady Stratford on his left.

Whatever Harcourt said, it most likely wasn’t about Miles Grey as Lady Stratford tittered much like a young debutante, the color in her cheeks rising.

Victor leaned toward Juliana. “Her Grace’s father better mind his wife. Harcourt is flirting with her.”

Juliana’s mouth hung open. “No!” She swung her gaze toward the older pair. “Honoria’s mother is so proper. I wonder what he said.” When Juliana turned back, her smile beamed.

To see her happy warmed his heart. He had to make things right between them.

Then she seemed to remember what had transpired earlier, and her smile faded, taking her warmth with it.

“Juliana, please let me explain.”

Sudden awareness arose that Middlebury, who had been slurping his soup rather loudly, had stilled, his large body tilting closer.

Juliana gave a subtle shake of her head. “If you mean about delaying our wedding trip, please don’t give it another thought. We can discuss it later.”

Goodness, but she was a quick thinker.

Gently, he placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a tiny squeeze as he mouthed the words, Thank you.

She slid her hand out from under his, and he resisted the urge to take it back. He couldn’t press her, but damn if he didn’t need to set things straight.

He scooped up another spoonful of soup, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “If I’m not mistaken, there is one more waltz after supper.”

Barely perceptible, she winced. Was she so angry, find him so reprehensible, she wished to avoid any contact with him whatsoever?

“You are correct. However, since it is the last dance of the evening, if you find yourself in need of a respite, only say the word.”

“I would never be too tired to dance with you, Juliana.” He prayed the sincerity of his words were evident.

After an hour, the interminably long supper drew to a close, and as the women departed for the ladies’ retiring room to refresh themselves, Victor waited for Juliana in the ballroom.

“Something is wrong, Pratt. Tell me what it is.” Burwood’s voice, although commanding, wasn’t harsh.

Victor glanced around, not exactly pleased they were alone as he’d hoped to evade the duke’s question using the excuse they could be overheard. “Something happened—although innocent—that upset Juliana.”

“Go on.”

“Lady Nash wished me well and kissed me. I promise you, it was in friendship only.”

“And yet, my wife tells me you held a tendre for the lady several years ago. Courted her, in fact. Is it possible your feelings remain the same?”

Victor shook his head. “I assure you, sir. Whatever affection I held for Lady Nash is in the past.”

“And where did this innocent kiss occur, might I ask? Surely, not in public?”

How could he tell Drake he had been waiting for Juliana? However, lying wouldn’t help his cause. “In the orangery, sir.”

The duke’s eyebrows hitched. “Quite a distance from the ballroom. And both Lady Nash and my sister came upon you there by accident?”

Although reared as a steward’s son and a groom, the man was shrewd. “Lady Nash followed me. As I told Juliana, Lady Nash wished to ensure everything between us was in the past.”

“And my sister? Was that by chance?”

Victor’s throat tightened. “No, sir. I asked her to meet me there.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Do I want to know why?”

Bitter and dry, a hollow chuckle rose in Victor’s throat and caught.

Yes and no. Victor couldn’t tell the man his relationship with Juliana, although now very real to him, had started as a pretense.

Burwood would have his head for using his sister.

Victor formed his answer carefully. “Nothing improper. I wanted to tell her something—personal—in private.”

Rightness wrapped around Victor like a warm blanket.

Only when faced with Adalyn again and realizing how shallow his love for her had been compared to what he felt for Juliana did he understand the depth of his feelings.

What he felt for Juliana was more than growing affection.

When he had least expected it, had love taken root?

Lips pressed together in a tight line, Drake appeared deep in thought—and those thoughts were unreadable on the man’s face.

Like a man waiting for a judge’s sentence, Victor sucked in a breath.

“I should object to you arranging a liaison with my sister, but considering your honesty and the fact that you are already betrothed, I will turn a blind eye. However, your problem remains. Could you not explain to Juliana?”

“Believe me, I tried. I’m ashamed to say she has reasons for doubting me.”

Drake nodded. “Because of your previous association with the lady in question. Yes. I can see that. And yet, she hasn’t broken the engagement, so there is hope.”

“She didn’t want to make a scene. She plans to end our betrothal in the morning.”

“Then, Pratt, I would say you have some work to do before daybreak.”

As the ladies drifted in from the retiring room, Drake patted him on the shoulder and went to join his wife.

And Victor hoped he would have enough time.