Peals of laughter echoed from the floor above, and Maria refrained from rolling her eyes. Her sisters were silly, indeed…and cared for naught but their reputations and ability to ensnare a husband. And in the privacy of their home, they were cruel purveyors of gossip.
“Thehaut tonwill care less aboutourinvolvement than Juliana’s,” Heather noted. “Truthfully, I rather fear my family’s reaction. The urge to simply abandon them is overwhelming.”
Eyes wide, Maria’s gaze snapped up to meet her friend’s, mirth and recrimination filling her simultaneously. “Heather!”
Heather’s green gaze remained steady on Maria’s, no small amount of resigned sadness hidden behind it. “Come now. You must acknowledge that given any opportunity, I would wash my hands of them.”
“And so you should.” Outrage filled Maria on behalf of her friend. “We must keep a level head, however; bide our time until we have concluded our first tasks.Thenyou may abandon your appalling family.”
“So I shall.” Heather’s gaze turned shrewd. “All of us have our secrets; this is merely one among them.”
It was true, of course, but why did Heather have to be so dashed perceptive and calm when Maria only felt panic? No, not panic: a healthy amount of logic.
She burst out, “Juliana is a young woman travelling alone to London—with pockets full of coin and jewels, no less. How are you not more concerned, Heather? What if her carriage overturns, or there is a highwayman, or—” Maria broke off, unable to voice the horrible thoughts going through her mind as her stomach knotted painfully.
“She pilfered her brother’s pistol,” Heather reminded her soothingly. “If anything untoward occurs, she is capable of defending herself.”
Maria threw her free hand in the air with a noise of exasperation and fear. “Precisely! She has Jasper’s pistol! Do you not see what a disaster it could be if something frightened her and shedidhurt someone?” She paused, but her friend said nothing, and Maria gave another growl of frustration. “Murder, Heather. Lady Juliana Sinclair, the daughter of the late Duke of Derby, would hang for murder.”
“Blimey,” Heather muttered. “Then let’s hope that Juliana doesn’t murder anyone.”
* * *
Nottingham
Light shonethrough the library’s large windows over Leonard’s shoulders. Parchment littered his desk and crinkled between his thumbs and forefingers. His chest tightened. Another rejection. There’d been countless, and this one was from sodding Scotland. How had his reputation spread that far?
The guilt that had made a home in his heart for the past years twisted painfully, and he ground his teeth.
He pulled the spectacles from his face, dropped them upon a pile of correspondence, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His library was ordinarily the only place in which he felt truly at home, but at the moment, he wanted nothing but to get away.
Something poked at his shoe, then worked its way up his stocking-clad calf beneath his grand, oaken desk. His skin twitched and his muscles bunched, but he pointedly ignored it.
“Good morning, sir.” Percy sauntered into the large space through the adjoining drawing room. “Your breakfast has been served next door. And, as I understand it, Miss Smith is awake and out of bed.”
Despite himself, Leo’s stomach gave a quick squeeze. Five days had passed since they had happened across Miss Smith in the forest, and they still had no answers as to how she’d found herself there. He wanted answers, yes, but he also wanted to know if her eyes were as luminous—with that curious mixture of grey and green—as he recalled.
“Thank you, Percy,” he muttered, gathering the correspondence on his desk into a pile to be burned.
“Any luck?”
Leo raked his fingers through his hair then scratched at his beard in an anxious gesture. “Afraid not. If I could but put the applications under a different name—”
There was a soft knock at the door, and Leo’s gaze snapped upward. Standing in the opened doorway was Miss Smith. His gaze roamed her pale face, now clean of dirt and just as smooth as he remembered, despite being marred by bruising at her temple and jaw. Her dark curls were tightly pinned back, most likely to tame them, for he imagined that they had a mind of their own when let free.
She wore her maid’s uniform, which his staff had cleaned several times though the stains were still visible. She’d been gifted new underclothes, as hers had been ruined, but looking at her now, he doubted they fit her properly. Good God, but her hips and breasts strained the uniform.
Leo’s stomach wobbled alarmingly as she stepped into the room. Her eyes were indeed split colours as he recalled. And utterly brilliant. Lord, but he could stare at her for hours and never become bored.
His tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sweet Jesus, she was taller than he remembered. Leo was a large man at over six feet and three inches, and—when and if he was ever forced to leave his estate—he usually towered over other Englishmen. But Miss Juliana Smith would surely reach the height of his nose. Hell’s tits, he found that attractive; he wouldn’t have to slouch to kiss her.
Where did that thought come from?
He cleared his throat and stood, silently cursing his delayed reaction. “Good morning, Miss Smith. I’m pleased to see that you are recovered.”
The woman smiled hesitantly, her gaze flicking toward Percy before meeting Leo’s. “Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. I feel much improved.”
More tickling skittered over Leo’s ankle, slowly tugging down his stocking. He shook his foot and cleared his throat. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Smith?”
