Laying her head on his thigh, she calmed her own breathing. As far as educations went, Julius had turned out to be an outstanding teacher. Never in her life had she thought that she’d be capable of doing so much with a man. Of feeling so much.
When Liz and Marcus returned, would he …?
She slammed the doors shut in her mind on that thought. No use hurting herself today on what was sure to come tomorrow. Enjoy the moment. If her past life had taught her anything, it was finding the joys in the seconds between.
Julius stroked her hair, a soothing caress. She closed her eyes, fatigue digging in its claws. She blinked back awake as Julius scooped her onto his lap. He picked his coat up from the floor and draped it over her.
“There is a very nice bed not five feet away,” she mumbled. “Why don’t we move over there?”
“We will. When I have recovered.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Although Reggie seems to be taking up half the thing. He pretends to sleep, but I know he was watching.” His chest rose and sank with his sigh. “Debauched dog.”
She threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest and smiled.
“The next couple of days in the papers are going to be rough.” Resting a hand on her rump, he pulled her closer. “Perhaps you shouldn’t read them. I can tell Carter to keep them out of the morning room.”
“Don’t bother. I can handle rough.”
He hesitated. “You don’t know how vicious the ton can be. Even the Cits love nothing more than to moralize. A woman who killed her father lecturing about capital punishment? They will eat you alive.”
She rubbed his shoulder and tried to sound more confident than she felt. “It isn’t people’s words that frighten me. A little public mockery is nothing I can’t handle.”
“Fine.” His voice was resigned. “It should all die down in a couple of days, now that Mr. Wilson has stopped writing.”
Amanda nodded, her heart thumping painfully, and braced for the storm.
***
The storm arrived in the form of five bluestockings on her doorstep the very next day.
Her morning had started out badly. Waking up with cold sheets beside her and nothing to keep her warm but a banked fire. She should be accustomed to it. No matter how entwined her body was with Julius’s when she fell asleep, she always awoke alone.
Julius couldn’t stand to be trapped with her until the morning.
She shouldn’t take it personally. She suspected he had been more open with her than with any of his past lovers. But when she stared at the expanse of empty bed, her foolish heart couldn’t help but twist.
Breakfast hadn’t fared much better. Julius was absent, leaving her alone with the Lady Mary. Her companion felt the need to read each and every word written about the scandalous Mr. Wilson and his secret identity. She read them with relish, as if expecting Amanda to find the same joy at each insult to her person as her chaperone seemed to feel.
She had taken a book from the library and was about to scurry upstairs and hide away in her bedroom when she heard Carter speaking to someone at the front door. And informing her that Amanda was not receiving visitors.
She paused, foot on the bottom step. Did she receive visitors? For the past two years the question had never arisen. Liz had visited her in prison, but that hardly counted. Did she want to receive visitors?
She squared her shoulders. As Carter seemed set against the idea it seemed only right that she engaged in the pastime.
She hurried forward as the butler began to shut the door. “Wait! I’m here.” She ignored Carter’s sniff of disapproval and peered onto the porch. Five sets of owlish eyes stared back.
One of the woman, wearing a patchwork gown of colors so garish it made Amanda dizzy, stepped forward. “You are Miss Amanda Wilcox? The Amanda Wilcox who wrote under the pseudonym Mr. A. Wilson?”
Amanda’s shoulders drooped. They were an unusual looking group for a morality league, with their abundance of spectacles and sturdy boots. But she supposed indignation came in all shapes and styles.
“Yes. I wrote the pieces.” She clasped her hands before her. “If you have any responses, I knowThe Timesis only too happy to publish them.” Each and every last excoriating letter.
The woman clasped a parasol to her stomach. “I am Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. We are the Ladies’ Society for Prison Reform, and we’d like to discuss the next steps of your plan.”
A woman with a small nosegay of violets pinned to her bonnet poked the speaker in the back. “I thought we’d agreed to call ourselves Women Standing Together Can Break the Chains of Bondage.”
Mrs. Fry rolled her eyes. “A bit wordy, don’t you think? May we come in? There is much to discuss and little time.”
Amanda’s gaze darted between the women and she snapped her mouth shut. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Of course.” Throwing open the door, she stepped to the side. “We can adjourn to the … uh …”
