Page 51

“ W ake up, Juliana. Someone’s at your door.” Victor’s voice shook Juliana from the most wonderful dream. Or was she still dreaming?

With groggy eyes, she stared into Victor’s panicked face.

The hushed voice of a man followed a knock at her door. “Miss Merrick. Wake up.”

She scrambled from the bed and threw on her dressing gown, holding the ends tight around her to cover her nakedness. When she cracked open the door, Nash peered at her, then quickly averted his eyes.

“Forgive my asking, Miss Merrick, but is Mr. Pratt with you?”

Oh, dear God. They’d been found out. But wait, Victor said Nash witnessed him climbing up to her window. Heat rushed up her neck and burned her cheeks.

Before she could answer, Victor’s body pressed against hers. “I’m here, Nash. What do you want?”

“Get dressed and follow me. It’s almost five, and the servants will be rising soon. And you dropped this.” Nash held Victor’s missing shoe as he slipped his hand through the crack in the door. “Now hurry. We don’t have time to waste.”

While Juliana stood helplessly at the door, Victor grabbed his shoe and rushed off to gather his clothing.

She forced down the lump forming in her throat. “Are you going to tell my brother?”

Nash gave a soft chuckle. “Did Pratt grovel enough to redeem himself? Are you going to marry him?”

If only Nash knew just how well Victor had redeemed himself. Then again, from the smirk on Nash’s face, perhaps he did. “Yes.”

“Then even if I were the type to rush to your brother—which I am not—I wouldn’t. Now tell your young man to hurry. I’ll wait out here for him.”

With a strangled, “Thank you,” Juliana closed the door.

Victor had already slipped on his shirt and trousers. His waistcoat remained unbuttoned, and he shoved his bare feet into his shoes, stuffing his stockings into his pocket. “My coat? Where did I leave my bloody coat?” He spun in a circle like a child’s top.

“Over there.” She pointed to the chair where she’d laid it mere hours ago.

Looking devilishly handsome in his state of dishabille, Victor pulled her into his arms. “Good night, my love.” A smile tipped his lips.

“Or should I say, good morning. I shall call on you later today. For now, get some sleep and dream of me.” He kissed her long and hard until another persistent knock sounded.

“Pratt. Hurry.”

As he walked to the door, he held onto her hand, their arms outstretched until only their fingertips touched. “I love you,” he whispered as he slipped through the door and closed it with a click .

Rooted in place, she stared at the door, still in a daze from everything that had transpired.

Victor loved her!

Had made love to her.

And it had been glorious. Twirling like a ballerina, she danced across the floor, then came to an abrupt stop. An uncomfortable thought slipped into her mind, and freeing herself from her stupor, she raced back to the bed and threw back the counterpane and sheets. The smear of red condemned her.

She chewed on her bottom lip. Think. Think. Could she blame it on her courses? She just had them a little over a week ago, recalling how she’d been grateful her lovely new ballgown wouldn’t be stained.

When she grabbed a cloth to try to wash it away, the cloth itself was tinged with blood.

Victor’s blood from the scratches on his face and hands.

After rinsing the cloth in cold water, she tried to dab at the stain on the bed, only then seeing pinkish traces from Victor’s wounds on the pillow and higher up on the sheets.

Resigned to the fact that she’d never be able to explain it adequately, she prayed that Miss Price would keep her secret.

And if not, she prayed Drake would remember his own indiscretion and not kill Victor.

For she dearly wished to marry him.

Victor wanted to wipe the smirk off Nash’s face as he followed the churl through the quiet house.

“You dropped this as well.” Nash handed Victor his hat the vine branch had knocked off during his fateful climb.

Victor grunted a “Thank you.”

“What’s that?” Nash held a hand to his ear and gave a deep chuckle.

“Thank you,” Victor said, still reluctant to put much feeling into the words.

“From the appearance of things, you should be thanking me. Profusely. I’d venture you had a very good evening. Miss Merrick certainly had a glow about her.”

“If you so much as speak a word?—”

“Relax, Pratt. I’m the last person to judge.”

When they reached the end of the hallway, Nash held out his hand and peered around the corner. Soft shuffling from below drifted up the staircase. Nash held a finger to his lips then continued watching for an opportunity to descend.

Victor’s heart pounded in his chest. If he were caught, what would Burwood do? Of course Victor had no qualms about marrying Juliana; he wanted that more than anything. But he surely didn’t want to die. And the duke had been a decorated soldier in the cavalry.

After an interminable length of time, Nash motioned him forward, and the only time Victor remembered going down the stairs faster was when he slid down the railing as a boy. Of course that ended with a severe reprimand from Nanny while Cilla giggled furiously.

Dim light shone in the entrance of the grand home, and Victor breathed a sigh of relief as they arrived unnoticed and unscathed.

As Nash opened the door, a maid appeared and stopped short, her mouth gaping open as her gaze darted between Nash and Victor.

Victor stared down at his hastily dressed body, his waistcoat and coat unbuttoned and hanging loosely around him, his neckcloth haphazardly tied. No doubt his hair looked a fright. In his haste, he’d forgotten to find the ribbon with which to secure it.

“You’ve seen nothing,” Nash said to the maid and ushered Victor out the door. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll slip a few coins her way and explain you were lost and looking for directions.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that? You realize I’m a frequent caller here.”

“A caller who is going to marry the duke’s sister.” Nash stopped and stared. “You are going to marry her, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I’m going to marry her. I would marry her even if we hadn’t—” Damnation. He’d almost blurted the truth out to that blackguard.

Nash laughed again. “Despite what you think, Pratt, I know what goes on between a man and a woman, especially when he emerges from her bedchamber looking like something the cat dragged in. Now, I hailed a hackney for you and told him to wait several houses up the street. Go.” With a push, Nash sent Victor off.

Victor popped his hat on, gave it a little tap, and raced off to the waiting hackney. The driver didn’t bat an eye as Victor gave his address and hopped inside. He sank against the worn squabs of the coach and closed his eyes.

Juliana loved him! Gave herself to him.

And it was glorious.

He lifted his hand to his face and inhaled deeply, Juliana’s alluring mix of jasmine and ginger recalling the memories of her in his arms.

The carriage jolted to a halt in front of his bachelor apartments, and he climbed out, grateful to be home, but already missing Juliana. For the small amount of sleep he had—which truthfully had been nothing—he felt remarkably alert as he entered his apartments and headed toward his bedroom.

Slumped in a chair, Tierney snored loudly, and with a snort, startled awake. “Sir! You’re home. I was so worried when you didn’t arrive. Have you heard the news?” He leapt to his feet then came to an abrupt halt. “You’re injured! What happened?”

“I’m fine. Minor scratches. And if you’re speaking about the king’s death, yes.

Burwood announced it at the ball when the news arrived.

Now, I need sleep. Please don’t disturb me.

” His bed beckoned, but he turned back, almost running into Tierney, who had been right on his heels.

“Except if Miss Merrick comes. Then wake me immediately.”

Victor voiced no protest as Tierney untied his cravat—clucking his tongue in disapproval—and removed his coat and waistcoat.

As Tierney moved to hang up his coat, he pulled out the stockings Victor had shoved into his pocket. “Sir?” His gaze shot to Victor’s feet.

“It’s best not to ask.” Victor waved him off. “I can finish the rest. Wake me around noon; I’ll take a bath then.”

With a final questioning glance, Tierney bowed and closed the door behind him, leaving Victor blessedly alone. He collapsed into bed and hoped to dream about his wonderful night with Juliana.

He had indeed been enjoying a wonderfully erotic dream about Juliana when Tierney’s annoying voice pulled him from his slumber.

“Sir! Sir!”

Victor pulled the pillow over his head. “What is it? Don’t tell me it’s noon already.” Lord, it felt like he’d only just fallen asleep.

“It’s close, sir. But that’s not why I woke you.”

“Then what the devil is it?” As his mind rose to consciousness, Victor remembered the one reason he told Tierney to disturb him. He bolted upright in bed. “Is Juliana here?”

“No, sir.” Tierney had the gall to look chagrined. “It’s this. I thought it best not to wait.” In his shaking hand, Tierney held out The Muckraker , and Victor’s stomach dropped.

Unable to sleep after Victor left, Juliana washed, shivering from the cold water.

After she’d dressed, she pulled the stained sheets from the bed and crumpled them up to cover the evidence.

If the maid collected others along with hers, perhaps no one would tie the blood to her.

A faint hope at best, but a hope, nonetheless.

She occupied her mind with her book. For the last few weeks, she had put the story of the two sisters aside, unwilling to read about their heartbreak on top of facing her own.