That acceptance had once been Julian’s only source of strength. Where hope is absent, fear cannot follow. He existed in his isolated castle, rejected by his father and rejecting the land of his birth. Rejecting his birthright.
But Ester had shattered that illusion, as swiftly as a lightning bolt splits the sky. She had brought something dangerous into his life—hope. And with hope, came fear. For with hope came the possibility of loss. There had been nothing that Julian believed he could lose. Nothing that had not been taken from him. But now, the stakes had shifted.
Almost an hour had passed before the door to the study crashed open again, this time, Kingsley striding in withpurpose. His appearance bore the telltale signs of hard riding—mud splattered across his breeches and boots, his riding crop clenched tightly in one hand. His face was flushed, and his jaw set in rigid lines. Julian recognized the signs of ire in his friend. The bright spots of color in his cheeks. The fire mirrored in his eyes.
Kingsley stopped short before Julian, chest heaving as he struggled to collect his breath.
“Well?” Julian asked,
“Well?” Kingsley challenged back.
“You went to Theydon village,” Julian said flatly.
“I did,” Kingsley growled, voice tight, “and do you know what I was told?”
“Unless the clairvoyance possessed by the former Duke was passed down to his only breathing child, how could I?” Julian replied, setting his glass of port down with deliberate calm, though inside, a storm was brewing of his own.
Kingsley chuckled darkly. “There is no one living in Theydon Village by the name of Emily Granger. Not a single soul known to the magistrate or any local. What do you make of that?”
“That the missing stranger who gave me that name was not local?” Julian replied, reasonably.
“Except you specifically called her a local girl,” Kingsley shot back.
Julian shrugged, pretending indifference. “A mistaken assumption, it seems. I was wrong.”
“What did she look like, this local girl?” Kingsley probed, stepping closer.
Julian feigned to think for a moment. “Hmm. Dark hair, slender. Blue eyes. Perhaps approaching the middle of her second decade.”
“Is that so?” Kingsley’s voice dropped lower, dangerous now. “Not bright green eyes, with long, red hair? Freckles on her nose marring pale skin?”
Julian’s expression shifted, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully as if mulling over the details. “You are referring to someone specific,” he noted after a pause.
Kingsley leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of Julian’s chair, his face mere inches away. “You know damn well who I’m speaking of!” he snapped. “Where is she?”
Julian remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable as he gently raised one hand, letting it hover inches from Kingsley’s cheek, as though he might give it a friendly pat. Kingsley’s eyes flicked to the side, widening as they caught the movement.
“I never believed in your foolish curses,” Kingsley sneered.
Yet, despite his bravado, the viscount stepped back, though he did so with an air of forced nonchalance, as if attempting to disguise his retreat. Julian followed, his hand still raised. When Kingsley moved to turn away, Julian lifted his other hand, blocking his escape. Now, Kingsley stood frozen, Julian’s hands hovering on either side of his face, trapping him in place. A visible swallow moved down Kingsley’s throat.
“If you do not believe in the curse, then why are you so frightened?” Julian said quietly, his voice as smooth and quiet as silk. “You are sweating, though one could hardly call it warm in here.”
Kingsley’s eyes darted nervously, but his voice remained defiant. “I sweat because I have been riding hard back from the village. What’s gotten into you, old boy?”
Julian’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “I could ask the same of you,old boy,” he put scorn into the affectionate appellation. “You came in here in quite a taking. You seemed angry at me. Now I think… why might that be?”
“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Kingsley replied quickly. “I think we have both been hoodwinked, played for fools by a very shrewd young lady.”
“I have not been hoodwinked, Simon. In fact, I owe that young lady an apology. I maligned her name by thinking she was athief. She did not steal my mother’s cameo. I found it, you see. In my bedchamber. It appears I misplaced it.”
Kingsley’s brow furrowed, then a slow smile curved his lips. “Well, then, all’s well that ends well. She was no thief after all. But it does make one wonder… who was she?”
Julian lowered his hands and recovered his glass, pouring himself another measure. A second tumbler had been placed on the table by Molly when she delivered the port.
“Care for a drink?” Julian offered, returning to a casual tone.
“Don’t mind if I do, old man,” Kingsley slowly smiled. He took the tumbler and threw back the port.
