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V ictor’s skull throbbed, and he snapped the reins of his curricle, urging the horse forward. Lack of sleep exacerbated his already foul mood after reading the reports in that atrocity, The Muckraker.

Although he’d held little hope Lydia would remain silent about what she’d witnessed in Burwood’s orangery, Victor at least thought the news about the king’s death would overshadow any idle gossip.

However, the king had been ill for so long, it was hardly a surprise to learn of his demise.

It would have served Victor better had his death been sudden and unexpected. Callous? Possibly.

As it stood, the news of the king had scarcely earned a few sentences in the scandal sheet, although Victor noted the perpetrator included the false information about the new king refusing the crown, although the reporter didn’t put much credence in the possibility.

Like Lydia, Middlebury must have spread the rumor to the perpetrator—unless he truly believed the rumor about the Duke of Clarence to be false and intended to throw them off his scent.

Could Middlebury be that clever? Victor had his doubts.

Every bit of gossip intentionally dispensed was included in the rag, save but one.

Missing from the pernicious paper was the information Nash leaked about his bad turn of fortune and possible new investment opportunity.

Odd. But perhaps—not. Maybe Nash was mistaken about Davies having a vendetta against him.

With another snap to the reins, Victor urged the mount faster. He needed to see Juliana, to reassure her all would be well. The memory of her silken skin, her whispered words of love, the promises they exchanged encased him in happiness.

But his cocoon of contentment shattered when, an hour earlier, Tierney had wrapped the black mourning band around Victor’s arm. “No doubt you will have to postpone the wedding until after the funeral.” Tierney’s words had splashed over Victor like ice water.

Damn. Right.

Victor’s morbid thoughts continued with the hope that the king’s long illness would have prompted advanced plans for a speedy funeral. Of course, he could whisk Juliana away to Gretna Green, but it would only provide more fodder for the rumor mills.

They would simply have to wait. The question remained—how long?

After what seemed an eternity, he pulled his curricle up to Pendrake Manor, threw the reins to a young groom waiting at the entrance, and climbed down.

Black mourning crape draped the front door and framed a black laurel wreath hanging in its center. Moments after Victor knocked, Frampton greeted him, a similar black band wrapped around his upper arm. “Mr. Pratt. Follow me.” Even Frampton’s curt instruction carried a somber weight.

More black crape draped the windows and railings of the staircase, transforming the cheerful atmosphere from the previous night’s ball to one of a house in mourning.

In the drawing room, Juliana peered up from where she sat on the sofa, her fair skin appearing even paler against the black bombazine, and her shiny, golden blond hair a stark contrast of color against the drab, unadorned gown.

Juliana sprang from the sofa. “Victor!” Hands outstretched, she raced toward him.

Oh, how he longed to pull her into his arms for a deliciously slow kiss.

But alas, he’d have to wait. Juliana’s mother and the duchess rose in greeting, both dressed in the same horrible black.

A black widow’s cap replaced the pretty lace one Mrs. Merrick usually wore, and even the duchess covered her lovely red hair.

He bowed. “Your Grace. Mrs. Merrick.” An incongruous smile tugged his lips. “Miss Merrick.”

Juliana took his hands in hers, the softness of them reminding him how they had played against his bare chest and teased down his abdomen. Had it truly been only hours?

He coughed, clearing his tightening throat. “Have you seen The Muckraker ?”

Juliana nodded. “I’m so sorry, Victor.”

He blinked. “Sorry? Whatever for? The person who wrote this despicable tripe is the one who should be sorry. And whenever I find out who it is?—”

Juliana placed a hand on his chest, and it calmed him. “I meant I’m so sorry for what it said about you. It was cruel and unjust.”

“That scandal sheet has never been anything but cruel and unjust,” the duchess said. “I truly believe whoever it is derives joy from hurting people.” She shook her head. “What kind of person does that?”

“Jealous, spiteful people who are unsatisfied with their own lives, no doubt,” Mrs. Merrick said.

Victor marveled at his good fortune at finding Juliana.

Not only did he love her with his whole heart, and she loved him in return, but he was marrying into a family with kind, compassionate, and wise women.

Unlike his own mother. “Your mother has a point. The culprit seems to have a vendetta against certain members of the ton . The question is—why? What have I, you, or your family done to them?”

Juliana pulled Victor over to the sofa. “That’s exactly what The League is working on. Lady Montgomery has been analyzing—what she calls—the data.”

“It doesn’t help narrow things down when all the people we leaked information to are the biggest gossips of the ton .” He shook his head.

Silence settled over them, and the clock struck half past one when the duchess broke it. “Juliana and I were discussing Lydia Whyte. I hate to speak ill of anyone, but I understand she had set her cap for you, Victor. She could harbor ill feelings toward Juliana and wish to punish you both.”

During his drive over, Victor had those very same thoughts, and after leaving Juliana, he intended to pay a call on Lydia. “Since we are all in a state of shock over the king’s death, let’s not discuss such unpleasantness, but rather turn the conversation to our upcoming wedding.”

The duke’s voice drifted into the room moments before he did.

“And tell Mr. Beckham I wish to speak with him,” he called over his shoulder to Frampton.

Attention fully on the drawing room, he said, “Ah, good. I’m glad you’re here, Victor.

I’ve just come from Lords. The king’s funeral will be July 15.

” He turned toward Juliana. “The question is, what have you decided, Juliana? Will there still be a wedding?”

Juliana gave Victor an apologetic smile. “Drake left early this morning for Lords. He’s unaware of my decision.”

The duchess tilted her head. “Which begs the question, Juliana. From Victor’s last statement, he seemed confident there would be a wedding. But according to Drake, when he left you last night in your bedroom, you were still deciding. Can you explain, Mr. Pratt?”

Everyone’s attention turned toward Victor, and the duke’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes, can you explain that?”

“Well—um—I?—”

“I sent Victor a note early this morning after I rose, informing him I had given it much thought and wished to proceed with our plans.” The words spilled from Juliana’s lips. Her hands twisted in her lap, the movement attracting her brother’s keen eye. Catching her in the lie, perhaps?

“A note? So if I ask Frampton, he will confirm this?”

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Nash strode into the room. “I trust everyone slept well.” His dark eyes danced with amusement when he glanced at Victor.

The churl. Muscles in Victor’s neck tensed. Surely, he wouldn’t expose them? He claimed to like Juliana, but as for his feelings for Victor—well.

Nash folded his tall body in a chair and leisurely crossed one foot across his opposing knee. “Did I hear something about a note for Mr. Pratt?”

The duchess handed Nash a cup of tea. “Yes. Juliana said she sent a note to Mr. Pratt informing him she decided to marry him.”

After taking an annoyingly slow sip, Nash nodded. “Miss Merrick seemed especially anxious to deliver it. I happened to be up early, so I attended to the task myself. I believe one of your maids saw me around five this morning.”

The cool liar didn’t blink an eye. Hopefully, no one would question the maid. Or if they did, Nash had paid her to forget she’d also seen Victor sneaking out of the house. Nash turned toward Juliana. “Did that put your mind at ease so you were able to get some sleep?”

Relief washed over Juliana’s face. “Not much. I was up and dressed before Miss Price came in to wake me. Have you seen The Muckraker ?”

“Adalyn read it to me,” Nash answered. “Ugly business. I noticed they didn’t name my wife as the woman you were with in the orangery, Pratt. Wise move on their part, although it doesn’t keep me from wanting to hunt them down and wring their necks.”

The duchess paled. “All things considered, and although I understand your desire to seek retribution, it might be prudent not to say such things aloud in less friendly company.”

Nash barked a laugh. An odd reaction from a man accused of strangling a woman to death a few years before. “Fair point, Your Grace.” Nash took another sip of his tea, his expression thoughtful. “Unless I missed something, it doesn’t provide any indication of the culprit’s identity.”

Juliana’s shoulders slumped. “No.”

An idea itched the back of Victor’s mind. “There was no mention of what you shared with Ashton, Nash. I’d hoped Davies was involved.”

“Or he plans to keep the information about the new opportunity to himself, and reporting my alleged bad fortune would tip his hand. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.”

Longing to discuss something more joyful, Victor brought the subject back to what mattered most, and, turning to the duchess, he took Juliana’s hand in his. “How soon after the funeral can Juliana and I marry?”

“I think the following Monday would be acceptable. The fifteenth is on a Thursday. We could plan for Friday, but it would be advisable to not appear in too great a rush. Also, if most of the ton remain in Town for the funeral, it would be wise to give them a few days to depart for their country homes. The fewer remaining to spread gossip, the better.”

With that settled, although not especially to Victor’s satisfaction, he rose. “I should take my leave.”

Juliana rose with him. “I’ll see you out.”

After Victor requested for his curricle to be brought around, he waited for Frampton to leave, then he pulled Juliana into his arms and whispered, “I’ll need to thank Nash. I was certain your brother had found us out.”

He kissed her as long and passionately as possible before Frampton returned. “I’m sorry we have to wait so long before the wedding.”

“I am, too.” She sighed and sagged into him, her cheek pressed against his chest. She felt so incredibly right in his arms.

A smile fought its way to his lips. How had he not noticed how her hair was tied back before? Without untying it, he gave the dark-blue ribbon a little tug. “This looks familiar.”

The giggle vibrated against his chest. “I couldn’t resist. It made me feel close to you. However, Miss Price did question me regarding where it came from.”

With his forefinger, he lifted her chin for another quick kiss. “I have something important to do, but I will call upon you tomorrow. Weather permitting, perhaps we can go for a ride.”

“I’d love that, although I don’t have a black riding habit.”

“The king’s death is so inconvenient.”

Her smile lit up his world. “More for him than anyone, I would imagine.”

After bidding Juliana goodbye, he climbed into his curricle, one destination on his mind—Lord and Lady Whyte’s. He intended to have a harsh word with Lydia.

Juliana fingered the thin ribbon, a warm buttery sensation flowing through her stomach as she remembered threading her hands through Victor’s long hair the night before.

The ribbon more than tied her hair back; it linked her to the man she loved.

The man she would marry. He’d left only moments earlier, but she missed him already.

A masculine cough sounded behind her, and she spun to find Nash. Leaning against the wall, he studied her. “I had hoped to catch Pratt before he left, but I waited to give you two a bit of privacy.”

The warmth she experienced moments before increased and traveled from her stomach up her neck to her cheeks. “He wanted to relay his thanks for corroborating my story about the note.”

Nash straightened, making him appear even more intimidating. “He can thank me by giving me the sketches he drew of my wife, which should be no problem since he’s finally rid himself of that schoolboy infatuation and found a real love of his own.”

During the ball the previous evening, Juliana had heard whispers about Nash. The rumors painted a dark picture of a man not to be trusted. Yet, the little she’d come to know of him discounted that notion entirely. Nash had proven to be a trusted confidant and friend.

Although, at the time, her head had spun from Victor’s kisses, something in his last words inched to the surface and settled uneasily in her chest. “Nash, Victor said he had something important to attend to. He didn’t say what, but there was a cold look in his eyes that was so unlike him.

You don’t think he’ll do anything rash, do you? ”

“You’re speaking about the report in The Muckraker ?”

“Yes. It’s clear that Lydia took some part in things as she was the witness in the orangery, not to mention the information about Mr. Grey.”

Nash pondered it for a moment. “Other than some reprimanding words, I doubt it. Pratt isn’t the type of man to harm a woman.

And it may be something completely unrelated.

Perhaps he intends to purchase a special wedding gift for you.

” The smile on Nash’s lips didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Juliana wondered if the last suggestion was more to placate her than provide a reason for Victor’s errand.