Julius hesitated. “If everyone knew about the birthmark, there could be no recourse to blackmail. A friendly prank among friends that went awry.”
Liverpool pursed his lips. “Perhaps. Goodnight, Rothchild.”
Crossing the club, Julius ignored the greetings of acquaintances. How tenuously Mrs. Westmont’s life hung in the balance. Everything she knew could be taken away from her tomorrow if the prime minister wished it. A scandal created to destroy her reputation. A crime faked to separate her from society. Which path would Liverpool take to eliminate the threat?
The prime minister called upon Julius and his friends in the House of Lords to help the Crown in times of need. But there was a limit to his service. Tasks he wouldn’t perform.
Liverpool called upon others less honorable for the jobs Julius refused to do.
It was a messy business keeping an empire together.
Climbing into his carriage, Julius sagged into the velvet seat and called, “Home.”
The driver closed the door and poked his head in the open window. “Home, my lord? Or the Duke of Montague’s townhouse?”
Julius leaned his head back on the seat and stared at the ceiling. Bugger. That was his home now. At least while Marcus was touring the continent with his new bride. His friend’s stifling townhouse with its crush of servants watching his every move.
Its other occupant made him feel just as uncomfortable, but for an entirely different reason.
He sighed. “To Montague’s. And don’t look so relieved. I know you like staying in the duke’s carriage house more than mine.”
His driver kept his lips even. “No, my lord.”
The carriage shifted as the man took his seat. The flannel-wrapped bricks at Julius’s feet had long since cooled, and he tugged his coat tighter about him. Both carriage windows were open, but he made no move to close them. A soft breeze chilled his face and he breathed deep.
His shoulder ached, and he idly rubbed the old hurt. He felt a hundred years old, in both body and soul. He’d seen too much in life. No matter how hard he and his friends worked, nothing would change. The same battles were fought every year. If it wasn’t France, it would be the Russian Empire or an internal enemy that threatened the peace. Human nature was set.
The wraith that haunted the halls of Montague’s townhouse attested to that fact.
So much pain in one so young. Fire burned in Julius’s chest. Each time he saw Miss Amanda Wilcox, he wanted to kill every man that had a part in putting the hollowness in her eyes.
He wanted a lot of things when he saw her. But she was his good friend’s sister-in-law and under his care.
He snorted. Marcus had left the chit under Julius’s protection while he was away with his new bride. The idiot. Like putting the fox in charge of the henhouse. Or perhaps his friend was brilliant. Believing that if caring for Amanda was Julius’s duty, he’d never touch her.
That was putting a lot of faith in Julius. Faith he didn’t know was justified.
The carriage rattled to a stop. Julius trudged up the steps to the front door, the damned thing swinging open before he reached it. The butler must have stood sentry by the window watching for him. Always watching.
“Thank you, Carter.” Julius handed the man his gloves. “You didn’t need to wait up. I’ve told you that before. Many times.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man’s wig was askew and sleep creased his face, but Julius knew he would have stayed up all night just to open the damn door for him. Next time Julius left the house, he would tell Carter he was staying out till morning so the butler wouldn’t wait up.
Carter picked up a candle. “Shall I lead you to your room?”
Julius’s scalp prickled. “I know my way. You go on to bed.” He waved away the offered candle. “And keep your candle. I can see well enough in the moonlight.”
“Yes, my lord.” The golden aura faded as the man walked to his quarters. Julius faced the stairs to the second floor and sighed. Too many steps. Instead, he trudged to the duke’s library. It was Julius’s favorite room in the house, with high ceilings, large windows, and a surprisingly comfortable settee to sleep on.
He pushed the door open and frowned. It was black as pitch, all the curtains drawn. He’d told Carter to keep the drapes open. It wasn’t like the man to forget.
Julius crossed the room and pulled back the curtains. The muscles in his shoulders unknotted as the night sky opened up before him. Alone at last. As alone as one could be in a metropolis of one million denizens.
Fabric rustled, and he jerked his head around. Slippered feet disappeared under the hem of a skirt hanging over a bench seat. The body attached to the feet was hidden in shadow, but Julius knew to whom it belonged. Only one woman would be hiding in the dark in this house.
“Miss Wilcox, the hour is late for you to be out of bed.”
No answer.
