Page 59

T hree days after the horrific events at the back of The Knave , the League gathered in the parlor of Pendrake Manor.

Reclined on a sofa and propped up with a pillow, Juliana bit her lip, fighting back the lightning flash of pain from the two-inch-long slash in her side every time she moved.

“Ladies, Ladies!” Honoria rarely raised her voice, but the outrage the group expressed became palpable.

Bea pushed up her spectacles. A tiny dot of ink marred the tip of her nose. “Thank you, Honoria. Now, as I was saying, based on the last two editions of the abomination posing as a newspaper, I believe we can narrow down our suspects to Lord Edgerton and Lord Middlebury.”

“My brother ?” Charlotte asked. “How in the world did you come up with that ludicrous idea? And what about Lydia Whyte? Considering what happened to Mr. Pratt and Juliana, we can’t rule her out.”

Anne, who had been unusually quiet, raised her hand.

Charlotte stared at her, dumfounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with Anne?”

Anne lifted her chin. “I didn’t want to interrupt, although you do seem to be in better spirits since your marriage. I wanted to agree with you. Lydia is a schemer.”

Juliana pushed against the sofa with her elbows, hissing at the pain in her stitches and drawing Honoria’s attention.

“Although I agree with Lady Charlotte and Anne to some extent, I don’t believe Lydia is the mastermind.

Involved somehow and knows something, yes.

But if you had seen the fear on her face when Victor and I pressed her for more information on the perpetrator’s identity, it would erase any doubt she is responsible. ”

“Lydia is an accomplished liar,” Miranda said. “I don’t think we can discount her completely.”

“Perhaps not completely. But she wasn’t the one who shot Victor,” Juliana said.

“Lydia couldn’t shoot an effigy of Prinny two feet from her,” Aunt Kitty said. “She could have enlisted someone to do her dirty work. And don’t forget, the target most likely was you, Juliana.”

“You think the perpetrator and the assailant are one and the same?” Charlotte asked.

“I think it’s possible.” Juliana winced, her eyes watering, as she attempted to sit up farther.

Honoria raced over to Juliana’s side and straightened her pillow.

“Drake tried to get answers from Lydia, but the Whytes left for their estate in Derbyshire the day after the incident. I suspect their swift departure accounts for the paucity of details in the report. Reporting her own presence at the gaming hell would spark scandal. Whoever was responsible for The Muckraker either wasn’t privy to the information or had their own reasons for restraint. ”

True. Although the scandal sheets reported the shocking turn of events that evening at The Knave , wherein Mr. Victor Pratt had been shot by an unknown assailant, there had been no mention of Juliana—or Lydia Whyte—at all.

Even The Muckraker had been uncharacteristically silent regarding the situation, merely stating they believed Victor had been the victim in a failed robbery attempt and was expected to survive.

Charlotte nodded as if they had their answer. “Well, Lydia certainly wouldn’t want her name connected to what happened. And innocent people don’t run away.”

“Very well,” Bea said. “We shall include Miss Whyte. But as to my reasons for Edgerton—and I do beg your pardon, Lady Charlotte—but your brother is a sneaksby and a...a johnny-bum.”

“Bea!” Juliana laughed, exacerbating the pain in her side.

“Well, I’m sorry, but he is. I could say worse, but, well . . .”

Honoria adjusted Juliana’s pillow again. “But why would Edgerton write about his own brother and sister? The Muckraker attacked both Nash and Charlotte.”

“Edgerton has no love for our brother,” Charlotte admitted. “Nash told me Roland has been ashamed of him for years.” She shook her head. “But I can’t forget the reports implicating Nash for the murder of Lady Worthington, and would Roland stoop that low?”

“He might to remove suspicion from himself,” Anne said.

Everyone’s eyes widened at Anne’s statement.

“An excellent point,” Bea said. “And one I was going to make. As for you, Charlotte, didn’t Edgerton pressure you to marry Lord Felix?”

“Yes, but I don’t see why shaming me with gossip...” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Oh. Punishment because my refusal thwarted his plans. Roland said something about forming an alliance in Lords with Felix’s father, Lord Scarborough. An alliance against the proposed reforms.”

Bea held up a finger. “Reforms led by Burwood, Ashton, and Stratford. And if I understood you correctly, Juliana, Lydia said the perpetrator had a vendetta against Burwood and his family, which would include Honoria’s father, Lord Stratford.”

Aunt Kitty pounded her cane on the floor. “By God, they’re right about you, Lady Montgomery. You have a brilliant mind. And if what you’re suggesting is true, I want to help bring the scoundrel down.”

Honoria returned to her seat. “I believe we all do, Aunt Kitty. But Bea, you also mentioned Lord Middlebury. Do you really think he could be responsible?”

“Not directly, perhaps, but as Juliana suggested with Miss Whyte, I believe he’s involved in some way.

Perhaps, unwittingly, but we must remember Edgerton hasn’t been present for the many of the events leading to The Muckraker’s reports.

However, Middlebury is his toady and could have kept him informed. ”

A memory rose to the surface. “The day little Eva Somersby’s horse was spooked, we passed Edgerton and his family, and Middlebury was with them.”

“As was Lord Felix,” Honoria said. “I don’t think we can rule him out, either.”

Bea sighed. “If only so many of our traps from the ball weren’t included in The Muckraker we could narrow it down further.

If everyone agrees that Miss Whyte and Lord Middlebury might only be pawns, that leaves Edgerton and possibly Lord Felix.

I think we should concentrate our efforts on Lord Edgerton first.”

“We need a plan,” Miranda said.

Juliana nodded. “And proof.”

Propped up in bed with two large pillows, Victor traced a pencil over the rough paper and created a likeness of Juliana. He’d awoken from a restless sleep and requested the rudimentary supplies from Mr. Grey. If he couldn’t see Juliana in person, he did the next best thing and drew her.

Light from the late afternoon sun filtered in through the window, and Victor imagined Juliana standing before him as she would on their wedding day, her golden hair shining as the rays of light played across its long strands.

She would wear her hair down of course, as she had the night of their engagement ball.

Or maybe she would deign to wear it fashioned up to avoid any further whiff of scandal.

Then, when they were alone, he would take his time, unpinning and releasing each glorious strand.

Either way, he couldn’t wait to run his fingers through it.

He closed his eyes and sighed. If only he could see her, hear her voice, kiss her, he would recover much more quickly.

A knock sounded, and Mr. Grey stuck his head around the door. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“If it’s my mother again, please tell her I’m sleeping.”

“It’s the Duke of Burwood.”

Victor sat up straighter and braced himself. “Show him in.”

Drake strode in—every inch the duke. From the expression on his face, Victor doubted he would be allowed to continue calling the duke by his Christian name.

Victor pushed down the fear hammering at his heart. “Your Grace, forgive me for not rising.”

Without a word, Burwood took a seat on a chair near Victor’s bedside.

“May I enquire as to Miss Merrick’s health?”

Burwood continued to stare at him.

Victor resisted the urge to squirm, took a few—inconspicuous—breaths, and waited until his patience had worn out. “Your Grace?”

“I’m trying to decide whether to strangle you and finish the job the assassin started or thank you for saving my sister’s life.”

A smile tugged at Victor’s lips. “I’d prefer the latter. But please, sir. If you choose to finish me off, allow me to see Juliana one last time.”

Burwood’s gaze dropped to the sketches in Victor’s hand. “Juliana told me everything.”

Everything? Victor wisely refrained from asking questions, save but one.

“What did she say?”

“She admitted that she received a summons by an anonymous source to come here alone. Nash may join you on my list of people to deal with. He put my sister at great risk. It’s not how I expect a guest in my home to behave.”

Victor snorted a laugh. “I don’t think Lord Nash cares much for propriety or rules. And as much as it galls me to admit this, I think he accompanied her for protection.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. And Juliana admitted when she requested his assistance, he was reluctant.” Burwood paused, as if considering how to proceed. “She told me Miss Whyte was there in an attempt to convince Juliana your intentions toward her were dishonorable.”

“Has anyone spoken to Lydia?”

Burwood shook his head. “She and her family have left London for their estate in Derbyshire. I’ve sent a message demanding an explanation, but I don’t hold out much hope of a believable answer.

As for the marksman, Nash said he disappeared like a puff of smoke, as if he never existed.

However, I’m wondering if he was aiming for you or Juliana. ”

Something niggled at the back of Victor’s mind. More to himself than the duke, Victor said, “Lydia said something about putting Juliana’s life in danger if I didn’t comply with her wishes.”

“Which were?”

“As far as Lydia knew, Juliana and I had ended our betrothal—which was a lie. She offered to state she had been mistaken about what she witnessed in the orangery with Lady Nash—as long as I didn’t mend things with Juliana. Instead, she wanted me to resume courting her.”

“But why threaten Juliana if she thought you had broken your engagement?”

“She said the person responsible for The Muckraker has a personal vendetta against you.”

The duke reeled back in the chair. “Me? Did she say why?”

Victor shook his head. “She said she couldn’t reveal any more if she valued her life. Before I could ask more questions, Juliana arrived.”

Pensive, his brow furrowed and his gaze far away, Burwood sat in ominous silence.

After what seemed like several minutes, Victor plucked up his courage. “Sir? You will allow me to marry Juliana, won’t you?”

“I shouldn’t. Not after what happened. But I suppose I have no choice.”

Tension squeezing Victor’s chest eased, then his mind latched on to the last part of the duke’s statement. “What do you mean?”

Rising, the duke ran a hand through his hair. “My sister begged me. Told me she had to marry you.”

Victor gulped down the stubborn knot that had formed in his throat. While technically it was true since Victor had ruined her, he wasn’t fool enough to admit that to the duke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did something happen between you and my sister, Mr. Pratt? After the ball, she confided in me that, for you, your courtship and engagement had been a pretense. She was fully prepared to let you go. Yet the next day, before she’d even spoken to you, she was not only willing to marry you, but eager.

Although I had a heartfelt brother-to-sister talk with her, I doubt my words alone swayed her. ”

Victor swallowed again. Why would that lump not go down?

“And to be honest, she had a glow about her the next day. One I remember well from Honoria. I shared something—personal—with Juliana, and I wonder if it encouraged her to do something similar.”

Oh, God.

Burwood held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. If what I suspect is true, I’d rather have you marry Juliana than have to kill you. I’ll bring Juliana to see you when you’ve moved back to your own apartments. This isn’t a fit place for her.”

When the duke reached for the doorknob, Victor found his voice. “Your Grace?”

Turning back, Burwood’s expression was like steel. “Yes?”

“When I offered for Juliana, you asked me if I loved her. In truth, I didn’t then. I liked her, esteemed her, but I didn’t love her.”

The duke’s expression softened. “And now?”

“I love Juliana with my whole heart. I would die for her, Your Grace.”

“Call me Drake.” He tapped his hat into place and smiled. “And I believe you almost did.”