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R ather than calm him, the drive to the Whytes’ had only increased Victor’s ire toward Lydia. The horse neighed in protest as he pulled the curricle to a stop in front of the townhouse and threw the reins to a groom.

He may have pounded on the front door a little too forcefully, for when the Whytes’ butler answered, the censorious expression on the man’s face held all the disapproval of a disappointed father. “May I help you, sir?”

“It’s imperative I speak with Miss Whyte.” Victor stuck out his calling card, although, since Victor had been a frequent caller at the residence, the butler hardly needed it.

The butler pulled it from Victor’s outstretched hand with a snap . “I shall enquire if the young lady is at home. Wait here, please.” He motioned toward the entrance, then closed the door behind them.

Victor tapped the side of his leg in impatience, knowing full well that any butler worth his salt would know precisely who was home and who was not. Of course, it could mean that Lydia might refuse to see him.

He used the time wisely and took deep breaths to calm himself. It would do no good to question Lydia if he frightened her. No, he would play the game her way—with sweetness and flattery.

Ready to give up, Victor jerked to attention at the returning butler. “Follow me, sir.”

After giving the butler his hat and gloves, Victor followed him to a side parlor, where Lydia perched on a settee, her mother on a chair next to her daughter. He gave the smallest bow possible while still remaining polite. “Ladies. Thank you for seeing me.”

Lady Whyte scowled in greeting as she rose. “Mr. Pratt. Given the reports of The Muckraker , I should not allow any conversation between you and my daughter. However, Lydia insisted she speak with you.” She motioned to the vacant spot on the settee next to Lydia, and Victor reluctantly sat.

“That’s precisely what I wished to speak about, Lady Whyte. The reports regarding the purported events in the Duke of Burwood’s orangery are greatly exaggerated. Nothing untoward happened between me and the lady in question.”

“Are you calling my daughter a liar, sir?”

Ah, so she’s aware it was Lydia who was the witness . “Not at all, madam. I’m well aware Miss Whyte witnessed me in the orangery. However, what I’m saying is she merely misinterpreted what happened.”

Using the smile that Cilla christened his lady killer , Victor turned toward Lydia.

“Miss Whyte. I understand what a shock it must have been to see me alone with a woman last night, but I assure you what you witnessed was completely innocent. Lady Nash Talbot and I are good friends, nothing more, and she wished me joy in my upcoming marriage to Miss Merrick.”

Lydia darted a glance toward her mother. “And do your wedding plans remain as they were?”

Oh, so that was Lydia’s game. She no doubt held hope that Juliana had broken things off, and by all accounts, it had appeared that way, even to Victor.

Adopting his most solemn expression, he decided to play into Lydia’s hands.

“I’m afraid not.” Not a complete untruth.

The wedding date had indeed changed, but he would allow Lydia to interpret his answer as she willed.

And exactly as he expected, Lydia took the bait. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear this, Mr. Pratt.” She pressed a hand to her heart in mock sympathy, but no one could mistake the gleam of glee in her eyes. “You must be heartbroken.”

“Indeed. It is quite difficult. But that’s why I’ve come here, Miss Whyte. If you could help me with identifying who is responsible for the reports, I would be eternally grateful. Do you remember whom you might have told? Besides your dear mother, that is.”

Once again, Lydia’s gaze swept to Lady Whyte.

“I’m asking you, Lydia, not your mother.”

Lady Whyte glowered. “Sir, you have not been given permission to address my daughter by her Christian name.”

“I beg your pardon, but as you can certainly understand, the report in The Muckraker is most damaging on many accounts. Even if I cannot persuade Miss Merrick to marry me in two days, perhaps I can convince the author of the false report to write a retraction and salvage my own reputation. Then I will try to heal my broken heart, perhaps with someone else.” He exhaled a heavy sigh, shaking his head pitifully and only partially ashamed of his prevarication.

He could almost feel the atmosphere in the room shift to his favor.

“Well, I can’t be certain who might have overheard. I was so upset, you understand.”

She was upset? Victor restrained the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course. But if you could, please try.”

“Mr. Pratt,” Lady Whyte said. “While we understand your predicament, I’m afraid this is most distressing to my poor Lydia.

If you would allow her to gather her thoughts without the pressure of your presence, perhaps something will come to mind.

” She rose, informing Victor, in no uncertain terms, the call was at an end.

“Of course. Write to me if you think of anything. And perhaps once this is all behind us, I might be permitted to call upon you again, Miss Whyte. With your permission, of course, Lady Whyte.”

The glint in the woman’s eye answered his question. “We shall see, Mr. Pratt.”

With that, Victor left, hoping beyond hope Lydia’s desire to get her hooks into him would loosen her tongue and reveal the identity of the scoundrel behind The Muckraker .

Juliana turned the last page of her book and sighed, grateful not only Elinor and Marianne had found their true loves, but that she had as well.

Just as Elinor would support Edward in his desire to become a simple country pastor, she would support Victor’s passion for art.

And if he so desired to eventually pursue a career in politics once he had become Viscount Cartwright, and with Honoria’s guidance, she would do her utmost to learn the ways of society.

Stepping outside her room, she decided to take a stroll in the garden and escape the maudlin atmosphere the black crape and somber expressions of the servants created.

Diffused sunshine greeted her as the sun sank low in the sky, and she relished the warmth on her skin, remembering the heat Victor’s touch elicited.

Although the prize roses that lined the winding path were beautiful, Juliana gravitated toward the hydrangeas; their vivid blue color reminded her of Victor’s incredible eyes.

She brushed a hand against the lacy flowers and sighed.

“Pardon me, miss.”

Juliana spun around toward the child’s voice, expecting to see Nash and Adalyn’s ward, Mena.

Stretching out a grimy hand, a boy of about eight or ten stood before her. His dirty face broke into a grin, revealing a missing tooth. “You’re Juliana, ain’t ya? The man said to look for a lady with blond hair. Says I was to give this to ya.”

Juliana plucked the folded paper from the boy’s fingers.

“How did you get in here?” Heavy wrought-iron fencing closed off the garden from the surrounding homes and mews in the back.

Drake, with his constant worry, had ensured the gate leading to the mews remained locked, with the keys only entrusted to loyal servants.

The boy puffed up his thin chest. “’Tweren’t nothin’. I squeezed through the bars. Lucky I was to see ya. Didn’t fancy going up to the door of this big ‘ouse none.” He gave a little shiver.

Sealed with a blob of wax without an imprint, the letter was written in an unfamiliar hand. She broke the seal and read.

Your man is lying to you. Come to the back entrance of The Knave of Hearts at quarter past ten tonight to learn the truth. Come alone.

A friend

“You said a man gave this to you? Do you know who he was?”

The boy shook his head. “Never seen ‘im before. Just gave me two shillings to bring it to the Duke of Burwood’s ’ouse and give it to a lady named Juliana.”

“What did he look like?”

“Like everybody else.”

“Juliana?” Drake’s voice drifted into the garden. “Are you out here?”

She turned and stepped around the curve in the garden path, tucking the letter into the folds of her skirt. “Yes. I’m here.”

“Mother wants to see you.”

“I’ll be right there.” When Drake ducked back into the house, Juliana hurried back to where she’d left the boy, only to find him gone.

Doubt snaked through her veins and coiled in her mind.

Could she be as foolish as Marianne when she trusted in Willoughby’s love?

Although Willoughby said he truly loved Marianne, he traded that love for financial security.

With the help of Drake’s connections as duke, would Victor use her to further his artistic ambitions?

She forced the doubt aside. Victor wouldn’t lie to her. Not after what they’d shared the night before. Pulling the letter out from the folds of her gown, she stared at the signature.

A friend

As if a friend would ask her to come alone to a gaming hell at night!

She wasn’t a newly foaled filly. However, that didn’t mean she would disregard the letter entirely.

There was more to the cryptic message than met the eye.

Suspicion niggled at her mind, whispering it had something to do with The Muckraker.

She needed a plan.

With determined steps, she marched back into the house, calling forward the girl who defied the rules of propriety to protect who and what she loved.

Later that evening, in his studio, Victor leaned back in the chair at his desk and admired the sketches he’d made of Juliana.

He could draw her from memory now; the curve of her cheek, the slight upturn of lips when she gifted him with her enigmatic smile, the sparkle in her cornflower blue eyes.

Careful not to draw anything that would be considered scandalous, he kept the sketch confined to her face.

But once they were married—well, as he’d told her—he had a lot of plans for when they were in private and wouldn’t have to answer to any judgmental gossip.