“I do.” Her brown eyes flashed. “It’s past time the Crown stopped killing its subjects over petty misdemeanors. As the most advanced nation on earth, it is beyond barbaric.”
She strode from the room. Julius remained standing. She was right on all counts. And she’d never win. Man excelled at many things, foremost the ability to annihilate one another.
Bowing stiffly to Montague’s aunt, he fled the room. The walls were closing in on him. Reggie yipped at his heels and gave Julius the perfect excuse. He sent a footman for the dog’s lead. Reggie spun in dizzying circles when the footman returned carrying the leather strip. After attaching the lead to the dog’s collar, Julius grabbed his great coat and escaped from the townhouse. Man and dog strode down the drive at a brisk pace.
Julius sucked in the crisp air and felt his muscles unclench. He may be powerless to protect Amanda from ridicule, but at least he was no longer trapped in doors.
That seemed poor recompense.
Reggie sniffed at a bush. With wide, contrite eyes, the pup backed his rear end under the branches, squatted like a bitch, and took a piss.
Julius sighed. “You can’t lift your leg like a real dog?”
Tail low, Reggie slunk ahead.
Julius knew how he felt. He had been charged for caring for his friend’s sister-in-law, and he was going to fail. The thought unmanned him.
A soft breeze brushed through his hair. Perhaps he should take Amanda to his country estate. Somewhere with wide open fields and healthful air. Somewhere away from prying eyes, away from the crowds.
Somewhere she wouldn’t be able to hear the laughter of the ton as they mocked her attempts to change the world.
Chapter Four
The crush of silk and lace made Julius’s temples throb. He hated balls. Hated being swallowed up in a crowd. Cut off from easy access to the exits. They were stifling affairs, tedious, and, in general, a waste of his time. This one, a birthday celebration for Lord Wicking’s wife, was no exception.
But this ball he couldn’t avoid. Liverpool had sent for him and when the prime minister requested his presence, he had no choice but to attend.
Two girls barely out of their leading strings strolled past, whispering like mad. One shot a coy glance over her shoulder, and Julius huffed. Not bloody likely. What could a chit fresh from her debut know of the world that could interest him? Sheltered, smug, sanctimonious, the lot of them.
Besides, words weren’t what he wanted from a woman and conversation was all that society girls had to offer. His body still burned from holding Amanda, and he needed a woman to release the tension. After this meeting, it was time to pay a visit to his favorite club. The one that didn’t tolerate artifice but only sought to provide pleasure. The doxies who worked at The Black Rose understood the harsher realities of life. It wasn’t pretty, and Julius wished that no woman had knowledge of its cruelties. But at least he had something in common with those women. An understanding that parties and afternoon teas were of no consequence.
Amanda understood that.
Julius grabbed another drink and downed the punch in one swallow. He tugged at his collar. There wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in the drink.
Because of her imprisonment, Amanda would understand him better than most. Understand him in a way that not even his closest friends could.
It was also the one reason why he could never have her. Not as he wanted. A person wouldn’t consent to being tied up, not if her freedom had previously been stripped.
He remembered the feel of the strings of her stays that morning. The pleasure in lacing her tight. Binding her in such a small way. An itch developed between his shoulder blades just thinking of it.
The band struck up a waltz, and a girl was shoved into his path by her mama. Julius neatly sidestepped the coquette and continued his circuitous route around the room. Liverpool stood with a group of men, laughing uproariously. Catching his eye, Julius nodded and headed out of the ballroom, finding an unoccupied study that he claimed for his own. He opened the window and dragged a chair near it to enjoy the fresh air as he waited.
He didn’t wait long.
Liverpool shut the door soundly behind him. “Glad you could make it.”
Julius nodded. It wasn’t as though he’d had a choice.
The prime minister strode to the desk and plucked a cigar from a humidor like he owned the place. He walked over to a candelabra on the sideboard and lit up. “I wanted to speak with you about Ashworth.”
“Oh?” Julius crossed one leg over the other. “Has another painting come to light?”
Liverpool settled in behind the desk. “No, thank God. Although the original painting will be discovered tomorrow in Gentleman Jack’s hanging over the ring. A harmless prank by one of the boys who caught sight of the mark in the back rooms of that establishment. That should take away the blackmailer’s leverage.”
“His embarrassment will be well-deserved.” Julius looked out to the dark night sky. The stars were faded, their lights dimmed from smoke. “Then what seems to be the problem?”
Liverpool puffed on the cigar, his cheeks hollowing. “Mrs. Westmont has disappeared.”
