Page 18 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Eighteen

“ Y our Grace, allow me to introduce myself.”

Juliana had barely taken two sips of her punch when a man approached her.

She turned, her eyebrow rising slightly as she took in the man before her. He was tall, though not as tall as Vincent, with a well-defined jaw and a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. His expression was one of amusement, as if he had already anticipated her reaction.

Juliana took a small step backward, wary of his familiarity, but before she could put any real distance between them, he lifted his hands, his palms open as if to pacify her.

“I assure you, I mean no harm,” he said smoothly. “I am merely an acquaintance of your husband.”

That made her pause.

She studied him, narrowing her eyes at him in skepticism.

Vincent had friends? The idea was almost laughable.

She had yet to meet a single person Vincent regarded with anything other than distant civility, and a scowl on his face, and yet here this man stood, claiming to be acquainted with him.

As if sensing her doubt, the stranger chuckled. “I see you find it difficult to believe. I cannot blame you—your husband is hardly the most sociable of men.”

That, at least, was true.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You have me at a disadvantage, My Lord.”

“Ah, how rude of me.” He placed his hand on his chest in mock dismay. “Elias Larson, the Marquess of Somerton. At your service.”

Juliana inclined her head politely. “Lord Somerton.”

Somerton smiled as if pleased by her acknowledgment. “I must say, Your Grace, I have been eager to make your acquaintance, but other things have kept me from doing so.”

Juliana rolled her eyes slightly, though something in the tone of his voice got her thinking if he was truly who he said he was.

“There is no real value in making my acquaintance, My Lord, but I appreciate the interest.”

“You cannot be certain about that. I’ve heard you were strong-willed and direct,” Somerton said with a grin.

“I doubt you heard it from my husband,” she drawled.

He threw his head back and laughed, before nodding. “Believe it or not, I did hear it from him.”

Despite herself, Juliana found that she did not mind his presence. He was charming in a way that was effortless, his words laced with humor that felt surprisingly genuine, though she doubted he was truly Vincent’s friend. He was too bubbly for Vincent to be around.

It was truly strange that Vincent had someone like Somerton in his corner. Strange…and oddly reassuring.

She could imagine that with Somerton around, Vincent was never truly bored. Though she doubted he would ever admit it.

But just as she was beginning to enjoy their exchange, their conversation shifted subtly.

“And tell me, Your Grace,” Somerton continued, swirling the wine in his glass, “has your husband spoken much about Norfield? I Trust his jealousy knows no bounds, seeing your history with the Earl.”

Juliana hesitated, his question catching her off guard.

Why would he suddenly ask about Geoffrey? Did he know something? Was he also a spy? Or else why would he boldly mention her ex-fiancé?

She tilted her head slightly. “Why do you ask?”

Somerton’s smile did not waver, but there was something sharper beneath it now.

“Curiosity, I suppose. The entire matter is rather intriguing, don't you think? A man disappears, leaving a rather inconvenient scandal in his wake…”

Juliana stiffened.

“Perhaps you sensed he was a less-than-honorable man. Could it be the reason you broke off your engagement?”

There was something deliberate in the way he phrased his question, something careful and coaxing, as if he were waiting to see how she would react.

Before she could respond, however, Vincent’s voice through the air. “Juliana.”

This time, she had conjured him. She had prayed that he would appear and remove her from the situation.

“Your mother is looking for you,” he said simply.

Juliana glanced at Somerton briefly before nodding. “Of course,” she murmured, offering him a polite smile. “It was a pleasure, My Lord.”

“The pleasure was mine, Your Grace,” Somerton replied, his voice light but his eyes shrewd.

With that, she excused herself, leaving the two men alone.

The moment she was out of earshot, Vincent’s gaze darkened as he turned to Somerton, the urge to punch him in the face taking over his entire being. But he held back.

“How dare you interrogate my wife?” he hissed.

Somerton smirked, unfazed by his ire. “Interrogate? Come now, Blackmoor, it was merely a conversation.”

Vincent clenched his jaw. “Do not play games with me, Somerton.”

Somerton sighed, swirling the last of his wine lazily. “I was simply attempting to gather information. You cannot blame me for being thorough.”

Vincent took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Juliana is not a part of this. I told you.”

Somerton’s smirk dropped. “Are you certain?”

Vincent’s eyes flashed warningly. “Careful, Somerton.”

Somerton leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You must admit, it is rather convenient. A sudden attack, a vanished fiancé, and a very clever lady who seems to know far too little about the man she nearly married after being engaged to him for a month. I cannot deny that she also had me fooled in the beginning, and your interest in her was above reason. However, you must admit that this situation is highly unusual.”

Vincent’s hands curled into fists. “She is innocent,” he bit out.

Somerton studied him, then sighed. “Then confirm it.”

Vincent remained silent.

“Prove it,” Somerton added.

Vincent still said nothing.

Somerton shrugged, tossing back the rest of his wine before giving him a knowing look. “Think on it.”

With that, he strode off, leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts.

Vincent paced the length of his chamber later that night, his jaw clenched as Somerton's words echoed in his mind.

It was ridiculous to suspect Juliana of anything. He knew better than anyone that she was in no way involved in the mess Norfield had left behind.

And yet…

His gaze flickered toward the dying embers in the hearth, his thoughts tangled in frustration.

Somerton’s insinuations were absurd, but the problem was that he was rarely wrong.

Vincent exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.

“It would do no harm to confirm things,” he muttered under his breath.

He hated himself for even entertaining the idea, but he also knew he would not rest until he had spoken to her.

With his mind made up, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

It was time he got answers.

Juliana had been prepared for bed, her nightgown soft against her skin as she sat at her vanity, yet sleep was the furthest thing on her mind.

Her thoughts were consumed by Vincent. By the way he had been so distant on the journey home, his expression unreadable as he sat beside her in the carriage, barely speaking a word, when he’d been all over and defending her throughout the ball.

At first, she had thought it was simply his usual manner—brooding and detached—but the more she mulled it over, the more she realized it was something else.

Something had changed after he sent her to her mother. And then there was Lord Somerton.

She had seen them standing at the side of the ballroom, their voices low but tense, Vincent’s posture rigid with barely contained anger.

Whatever had transpired between him and his so-called friend involved her, and she wasn’t sure if she should ask him about it.

The decision was made for her when she spotted Vincent standing in the doorway to her chambers. His reflection stared at her, his arms folded over his chest.

She hadn’t even realized he was there.

Juliana turned toward him, her eyebrow arching slightly. “What are you doing here, Vincent?”

Vincent did not immediately reply. Instead, he stepped further inside, his movements slow, the look in his eyes calculating.

Juliana swallowed. She was not sure what she had expected from him tonight—if she had expected anything at all—but the look in his eyes was something entirely new.

Something unreadable, something unusual, almost as though he was angry.

Still, she refused to succumb to her nerves.

“What brings you to my chambers?” she asked again.

His gaze flickered. “I need something from you.”

A strange tension crackled in the air between them.

Juliana inhaled slowly before nodding toward the bed. “Then sit.”

Vincent did not move. Instead, his voice hardened. “Tell me everything you know about Norfield.”

Juliana blinked, the unexpected question momentarily stunning her as she leaned against her vanity.

But before she could respond, he asked, “Did he ever mention names to you? Did he ever speak about his connections?”

Her spine straightened. “Vincent?—”

“What about letters?” he pressed. “Did he ever?—”

“I have already told you everything I know,” she cut in, her voice sharper now. “It was all I ever did.”

Vincent studied her, his blue eyes piercing. “How can I be sure you’re being honest?”

Something inside her snapped.

She rose from her seat, her silken nightgown rustling as she turned to face him fully. “I have done everything I can to prove to you that I am being honest,” she bit out, anger seeping into every word. “Yet, no matter what I say, you will never believe me. Because you will never trust me. Is it not?

Vincent’s jaw clenched. “Juliana?—”

“No,” she interrupted, taking a step toward him. “You think you are the only one who has suffered betrayal? The only one who has been deceived?” She let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “My betrothed left me to the wolves without a second thought, Vincent. He cast me aside as if I were nothing. Do you really believe I would maintain a relationship with such a man?”

Her voice wavered then, just slightly, but she refused to back down.

“I have been humiliated and shamed by everyone tonight, and yet you—my husband, who had defended me against them—stand before me and question my integrity?”

Vincent exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Listen to me,” he muttered.

“No,” Juliana said coldly. “I will not.”

Silence hung thick in the air.

Vincent turned his head slightly as if considering his next words carefully. And then, in a low, almost reluctant voice, he confessed, “I have spent years doing work that requires me to doubt.”

Juliana’s breath caught.

“My work…” He hesitated, his expression shifting. “It has ruined me in a way I do not know how to fix. I have learned to question everything I hear, to assume that there is always something more hidden beneath the surface even though the truth is as clear as day.” He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “It is not you I doubt, Juliana. It is everyone.”

She did not know what to say to that.

Vincent closed the distance between them, his eyes searching hers.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

Juliana’s heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, at the way his features softened ever so slightly.

She had not expected an apology. Not from him. And yet…

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What does one even do as a spy for the Crown, when it seems to bring nothing but misery?”

Vincent’s lips parted slightly as if he had not expected the question.

He turned away then, his shoulders stiffening. “It is dangerous,” he admitted. “And difficult.” A long pause. “Sometimes, it involves killing a man.”

Juliana’s stomach tightened, though she said nothing.

Vincent sighed. “It is not always like that. My work ranges from gathering intelligence to arresting threats to the Crown. But one thing is certain—I only deal with those who are guilty. Those who are unrepentant.” He turned back to her, his gaze darkening. “That is why I am after Norfield.”

Juliana swallowed, nodding in understanding. She had known, of course, why Vincent was hunting Norfield, but she had not known how serious it was.

She inhaled deeply. “You never told me.”

“I could not,” he said simply. “And even if I could…I would not.”

Juliana frowned. “Why?”

Vincent exhaled slowly. “Because it is dangerous, and it is my duty to protect you.”

Her breath hitched.

His expression, his voice, the way he held himself—it was all laced with seriousness.

Juliana did not know what to say to that, or if she should say something at all. While deliberating, Vincent closed whatever distance was left between them. He took her hands in his own, his touch warm and firm.

Then, before she could even process what was happening, she found herself backed up against the vanity.

Her pulse quickened.

Vincent’s gaze flickered to her lips, and just as her breath caught in her throat, he whispered, “I’ve been dying to do this again.”

His lips touched hers—soft, firm, possessive.

Juliana’s fingers curled against his coat, her entire body attuned to the feel of him, to the heat of him against her.

She sighed against his lips, and he tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer.

For the first time since their wedding, Juliana felt as though she understood him.

Not entirely, not yet. But she wanted to.

And that , she knew was dangerous.