A knock sounded at the door, and he called entrance as he wiped the last of the cream from his neck and jaw.
“Leo?” Juliana’s soft voice called as the door crept open.
“I am ready to depart,” he confirmed, anticipating her question.
He finished tying his cravat as he strode to the door, and was struck dumb. It was the first time that he’d seen her in a dress that was uniquelyherand not something ill-fitting or coated in stains. She’d chosen a pale-green walking dress with a slate-coloured sash that sat just below her bosom and had matching embroidery along the décolletage, at the wrists of the long sleeves, and around the bottom hem. The frock as a whole were the exact colours of her eyes.
Christ, but the dress fit her impeccably: long and full. And he took in the sight of her, so tall, so beautiful. His heart gave several hard thumps as his gaze roamed over the delicate line of her neck, the smooth skin of her chest, and her damp, upswept curls held tightly in place by pins.How did her maids do that so quickly?She was simply amazing.
Her lips worked as her gaze scanned his face. “Leo, you—”
“Have you a spare pistol, powder, and shot that I might borrow?” he asked hoarsely. “It would be wise for us both to be prepared for another attack.”
Worry crossed her features before she nodded. “Follow me to my brother’s study.”
With a nod, he followed, saddlebags in hand. The woman had him twisted in knots.
“The dress suits you,” he muttered as they walked.
“Thank you.” Juliana inclined her head, averting her gaze from his. “I will borrow one of Jasper’s greatcoats to don over my redingote.”
She’d need it both for warmth and for protection fromhim, he imagined. Bitterness roiled in his gut, and he bit back a curse. She was far above him, and deserved so much more than he was capable of giving. But, damn it, he would see her safely returned to her brother if it bloody well killed him.
* * *
Hell and blast.The bitch had survived the fire. And the house had been awoken before she’d fled the stables, giving him no opportunity to strike.
He kicked at a cluster of snow, but the fluffy spray was anything but satisfying. He wanted the woman dead. She and her brother held everything in their grasp. They had taken everything from him, and he would see to it that those wrongs were righted.
He needed a new plan. Juliana was home now; would she remain, or would she travel to London to her brother?
He glared through the moonlight toward the glowing windows of her home, his body all but numb to the cold while a fiery, passionate hatred burned from within.
If she should remain, he would find his way indoors and kill the bitch in her sleep. A slow smile stole over his lips. If, however, she chose to journey to London to her brother, he would take any opening to strike.
* * *
Misty snowflakes dustedJuliana’s eyelashes and slowly melted on the frigid, exposed skin of her face. Dusk threatened, brightening the sky beyond the snow clouds to a brilliant mixture of pink and orange.
The day had passed in relative silence, the only words between her and Leo being clipped discussions on stops to rest. Her body had gone far past aches, pains, and numbness and into an odd immersive vibration.
But neither the breathtakingly beautiful sunset nor the punishing ride from Derby toward London was the cause of the pang in her heart or the frequent misting of her eyes.
Her gaze slid sideways to the man riding beside her, and her chest squeezed. His cloak and turned-up collar obscured her view of him, but the change was still apparent. Hair shorn and clean-shaven, the man inspired both an ache at the loss of his stunning hair and a keen longing to run her fingers through his locks and her lips over his skin. She could have wept with the want burning through her.
“Whoa!” Leo hollered over the thundering of their horses’ hooves.
Juliana slowed her mount to match his new pace and gazed at him expectantly.
He notched his chin forward. “An inn sits just beyond this copse of trees. We will procure a room for the night and take the mail coach on the morrow.”
Alarm prickled behind her breastbone. “If we stop, my pursuer will find us, and I cannot in good conscience risk the safety of the innocent passengers aboard the mail coach.” She shook her head. “There must be another option.”
She’d been expecting the reappearance of her pursuer all day, reflexively—and frequently—feeling for the weight of her brother’s pistol in her pocket.
“We will be safer surrounded by people at the inn, and we both require rest,” he replied pragmatically. “Our method of conveyance can be discussed on the morrow, but I insist that we stop for the night.”
In an act of betrayal, her spine chose that moment to creak, the sound echoing in her head. And her muscles soon joined the rebellion, abruptly panging and twitching with the need to dismount.
