Page 47

A lone in her bedchamber, Juliana stared out the window into the dark night.

The sliver of the crescent moon barely illuminated the terrace and gardens in the back of Pendrake Manor.

Eerie shadows cast from swaying tree branches danced against the ground.

The devastated look on Victor’s face haunted her.

Had she made an enormous mistake?

Should she have confessed her love and risked her heart? Accepted what Victor was able to give? Find contentment as her father had?

Why was love so hard?

A soft knock sounded. “Juliana, it’s Drake. May I come in?”

With bare feet, she padded to the door and opened it to let him in.

“Perhaps you and Honoria should give up hosting balls in my honor. It would appear they always end in disaster.” She forced a weak smile.

He followed her to the bed and sat next to her. “You are not responsible for the king’s death, brat.” The teasing nickname held no bite. “That’s not why I wanted to speak with you. Victor told me something happened in the orangery and that you intend to end your betrothal.”

“Oh.” Air whooshed from her lungs.

Drake stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Don’t tell me it’s because you don’t love him. I have eyes, and I know what it’s like to be in love.”

She couldn’t lie to him. Not Drake, who had caught her in every childish fib. And loving Victor was so much more than breaking mother’s favorite vase. “I do love him. With all my heart. But Victor doesn’t love me. His heart still belongs to another.”

Drake’s head jerked toward her. “Are you certain? Because when he spoke with me, he assured me his feelings for Lady Nash are in the past, and he vowed to do everything he could to mend things with you.”

Taking a deep breath, Juliana prepared to tell Drake everything. “What you don’t know is our whole courtship is a farce, and he only proposed to save my honor.”

Drake listened patiently as she explained how Victor had offered to repair her reputation with the ton while at the same time avoiding his mother’s matchmaking machinations, and along the way she had fallen in love with him.

“So you see, for Victor it was all pretend, but he’s too honorable to go back on his word. ”

The gentle smile Drake gave her was one she remembered as a girl. One that said, You silly goose .

“And why is it so impossible for Victor to have also fallen in love? For it to have become real for him as well? You’re a wonderful girl, Juliana.”

“A girl who’s a commoner. He’s in line to inherit. What type of viscountess would I be? Would the ton shun him because of me?”

“I can’t argue with that. Not when class differences separated Honoria and me. But when she didn’t know I was a duke, she still chose me. From what I know of him, I don’t think Victor cares much about the views of society. If he loves you, your parentage won’t matter.”

Hadn’t she considered the same argument earlier? “But how can I be sure?”

Drake sighed. “I suppose a cynical man would say we can’t ever be certain.

My stubbornness in believing Honoria wouldn’t choose me over her family almost cost me the woman I adore.

She felt she had to prove in no uncertain terms she chose me and wanted to marry me with or without her father’s approval. ”

“How?”

Drake’s lips quirked in that half-smile Honoria always went on and on about, and his cheeks darkened.

Juliana grabbed his arm. “You’re blushing. Is it something scandalous?”

“You must never tell anyone. Promise me.”

Oh, it was scandalous! She shook his arm. “I promise. Now, tell me. Tell me.”

“The night of the house party’s ball, she came to my room.”

“So that’s why she wanted to know where it was.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “You were the one who told her?! I always thought it was Simon, although he denied it.”

“She told me she wanted to leave you a note. That sly fox.”

“She can be quite resourceful, for certain. And persuasive.”

“Drake, you two—didn’t?”

“Let’s just say she convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt of her commitment to me.”

“I don’t see how this applies to Victor and me. It’s not like he’s going to come sneaking into my room in the middle of the night to confess his undying love.”

A deep chuckle rose from her brother. “He’d better not. But there are two days until the wedding. If he calls tomorrow, which I expect he will, talk to him and listen to what he has to say. Don’t throw love away, Juliana. It’s worth the risk.”

He rose from the bed and kissed her on the top of her head. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll need to go in to Lords early tomorrow because of the king, but Honoria and Mother will be here if you need them.”

As the door closed with a soft snick , Juliana thought about her brother’s words. Were they so different from what her father tried to tell her? Even if love took no prisoners, was it worth the risk?

She drifted back to her niggling question. If no one could win, what was the point?

The answer floated to the surface. Maybe it wasn’t about winning or losing, but simply loving, and unconditional love itself was the point.

She strode back to the window and opened it.

A cool, early summer breeze drifted in, fluttering the curtains and bringing with it the sweet scent of lilacs.

Movement on the terrace below caught her eye, and she squinted into the dark.

A figure, a man, stalked along the terrace.

Her body tensed, and she prepared to go to the bell pull and alert a footman they had an intruder.

A burst of light illuminated the face of Lord Nash as he lit a cheroot and lazed against the terrace railing.

Grateful no predator lurked in the shadows, she breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Victor wandered the neighborhood by the duke’s mansion, checking his watch every few minutes.

A few times, when a constable making his rounds strolled by, he ducked behind nearby shrubbery.

No need to be asked all sorts of questions about why he was out on foot skulking around the homes in Mayfair so late at night.

What was he to say? I’m waiting to return to the Duke of Burwood’s and win back the woman I love?

Ha!

Not likely.

Peeking out from a yew that poked him viciously in the eye, Victor confirmed the street was clear and emerged from his hiding place. Twenty-nine minutes had elapsed according to his watch, and he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket and strode back to Pendrake Manor.

Dim light shone in several upstairs windows, and using the stealth of an assassin, Victor crept around the back of the house. Where was Nash?

Faint orange light glowed on the terrace. Careful not to trip, Victor climbed the steps and found Nash leaning casually against the railing, a cheroot dangling from his fingers.

“What kept you?” He took a long drag on the cheroot, the orange tip growing brighter.

“I’m not late. You said thirty minutes.”

Nash blew out a trail of smoke and gave a deep-throated laugh. “I didn’t expect you to wait the whole time. Figured you be eager to win back ye fair maiden.”

“Are we going to stand here arguing or are you going to tell me how you plan to sneak me inside without the servants seeing? If we take the servants’ stairway, we’re bound to be discovered.”

“Oh, you’re not going inside the customary way through a door. Remember, the goal is to sweep Miss Merrick off her feet. To perform a daring feat to win her over so she throws herself into your arms.”

“Then how the hell am I...” Words stuck in Victor’s throat as Nash stepped away from the railing and pointed to a window on the third floor.

“That’s Miss Merrick’s bedroom. Fortunately for you, she opens her window to let in the breeze. Also, fortunately for you, it isn’t raining.”

Momentarily setting aside the fact that said window was on the third floor, Victor addressed the most pressing question. He knew the man was a rake, but this was beyond the pale. “And how do you know that’s Juliana’s window? If you’ve done anything?—”

“Relax. I’m a happily married man. However, Her Grace has requested I smoke outside, and I enjoy the cool evening breeze here on the terrace. I happened to notice Miss Merrick at her window.”

Fists clenched at his sides, Victor clamped down his anger and addressed the next question. “And how am I to get up there? Grow wings and fly?”

When Nash rolled his eyes, Victor wanted to plant him a facer.

“How do you think? Climb.”

Victor craned his neck—up, up, up the expanse of the building to the third-floor window that held all his hopes. “If I fall, I’ll kill myself.”

“Then don’t fall. And the fall won’t likely kill you. You’ll simply break a leg and if not set properly, the infection will kill you. However, both my wife and Ashton are excellent physicians. They could amputate and save your life.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Think about it. A man so desperate to confess his love, to beg his lady’s forgiveness, he’s willing to scale the highest mountain to reach her. What woman wouldn’t swoon over that? She’ll be so overcome, she’ll practically rip your clothes from your body to have her way with you.”

“How in the hell did Adalyn ever fall in love with you?”

“Leave my wife out of this. I could still shoot you for those sketches.”

Victor gulped. He knew about the sketches? “About that?—”

“Survive tonight and hand them over to me, and we’ll discuss it no further.”

Victor nodded and gazed in trepidation at the open window again. Stationed strategically apart, the windows had sills that could provide a hand and foothold. Crevices between bricks, although small, could allow him to get a toehold.

Nash took another pull from his cheroot, then blew it out, the smoke forming circles. “You do know how to climb?”

“Of course I know how to climb.” Victor glared at him.

It had been years, but he and Priscilla had run amok climbing trees on their father’s estate in Lincolnshire as children.

But walls of homes weren’t trees, and he wasn’t a boy any longer.

“I’m deciding how to start. The first window is at least eight feet off the ground. ”

Nash threw his cheroot on the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll give you a leg up.” Nash laced his fingers together to form a foothold. “Take your gloves off.”

“But my hands. That brick is rough.”

Straightening, Nash gave him an icy glare. “Those aren’t your leather riding gloves. Satin is slippery. What do you care about more, your artist’s fingers or that woman upstairs?”

Eyes narrowed at his nemesis, Victor held his tongue. With more force than necessary, he tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket. “I wish I had my boots on instead of these dancing slippers.”

“Quit your grumbling.” Nash laced his fingers together again, and Victor reluctantly placed his foot in the cup. “Ready? On the count of three.”

Victor nodded, and on the three count, Nash boosted him into the air. Surprised by the man’s strength, Victor grasped the window ledge and, digging his toes into the small crevices between bricks, gained enough purchase to pull himself up.

Elation energized him. “I did it!”

“Quiet.” Nash’s whisper drifted up in the still night. “Do you want to be discovered before you make it to the top?”

Victor couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like Nash mumbled imbecile.

Ivy clung to the walls, and when Victor reached for his next handhold, his fingers wrapped around a vine and pulled it loose. “Ouch!” The damn thing knocked off his hat and scratched him. Muttering a few curses, he worked his way up to the next window.

Although the stone sills around the windows were smooth, the same grooves and crevices of the brick he used for his climb’s purchase dug into his skin. Almost at the next window, his foot slipped as he tried to get a toehold, and his shoe fell off, landing with a thud below him.

Tempted to look down, he resisted and pressed forward. The cotton of his stocking snagged on the rough brick as his toes dug into the tiny notch, and he held on for dear life.

After catching his breath, he contemplated his next move. Thankfully, in between the windows, smaller ledges protruded out, allowing him to maneuver up to the next level.

“Almost there,” he muttered to himself in encouragement even as his fingers screamed in agony. The open window beckoned him to safety—and Juliana. With a move that surprised even him, he leaped up, grabbed the ledge, and pulled himself up.

He darted the quickest of glances below. Nash had vanished.

“Churl.” Victor swung a leg over the window sill and summarily fell with an ungraceful plop onto the floor.

“Juliana?” At least he prayed to God it was Juliana’s bedroom. It would be just like Nash to send him to Burwood’s room, where the duke would no doubt take a pistol to his head in a trice.

Grateful to be on solid ground, he squinted into the dark room, and as he straightened himself off the floor, rustling sounds came from the bed.

Tremulous, a soft feminine voice followed. “Who’s there?”

“Juliana? Don’t be alarmed. It’s me. Victor.”