“You came down into a dungeon for me.” She burrowed deeper into his coat, inhaled his musk.
“I’d do anything for you.” Gently, Julius set her down on her feet. “You can open your eyes now.”
She blinked. They stood at the bottom of a stairwell. A row of skulls had been cemented into the walls around them, a macabre mosaic.
Julius tipped up her chin. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I love you.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I realized as I was searching for you that had Hanford’s letter to the paper about us not been published, I still would want to marry you. You are the only woman who will make me happy. I choose you.” His breath brushed her lips. “Please, choose me back.”
“But the disgrace …”
“Doesn’t matter to me in the least.” He ran his hands up her arms and down her back, as though checking that all her parts were still in the right place. “We will live quite happily at my country estate, away from the censure of society. Away from a bevy of interfering servants. Just the two of us, and whatever family we create.”
It sounded wonderful. A peaceful life, loving the man of her dreams. Being loved by him in return.
Yet she hesitated. “A lord needs heirs. What if I can’t have children?”
“You know I don’t care about that.” He cupped her cheek. “Besides, every couple will face problems. It comes down to who you want to face those problems with. We’ll face them together.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Though we’ll have a devil of a good time trying for those heirs.”
She nodded, warmth radiating through her body.
“That’s a yes?” Julius asked.
She nodded again.
Julius whooped and planted a kiss on her lips. He broke away smiling. “First, let’s get the hell out of here.” With a hand at her elbow, he pulled her up the stairs. “Second, I’m going to see the archbishop for a special license as soon as I apprise Liverpool of what I’ve learned.”
Amanda flew up the stairs beside him, her feet barely touching the ground. “We don’t need a special license.”
“I don’t want to wait.” He pushed through a wood door and dragged her through a storage room. “I think three days should be enough time to get you an adequate dress.”
Amanda pulled to a stop in an empty kitchen. “I don’t care about a dress. But I do want my sister to be there.”
Julius frowned. “Damn Marcus and his continental tour.” He blew out a breath. “Fine. I will wait. And I’ll write to Marcus and tell him to get his arse home.” He took her hands, and his eyebrows drew together. Julius looked down. Cursing, he whipped his handkerchief out of his coat pocket. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”
Amanda examined her wrists. The right one was red and inflamed, a thin streak of dried blood stretched from the palm of her hand to her thumb. The wounds on her left wrist were worse. The bleeding had slowed, but dark red beads still oozed from the deep gashes left by the rope.
Julius folded the white linen into a long rectangle and wrapped it around her left wrist. He tied a neat knot with the two tails and clamped his hand around it, providing pressure. He glared back the way they’d come.
Amanda patted his chest with her right hand. “You can’t kill them twice.” Her hand paused. “They are dead, right?”
“They’re dead,” Julius said grimly.
“Then let’s get out of here.” Amanda led him to the staircase. “I want a hot—” She sucked in a breath. “Lady Mary! She’s with Hanford.”
“She’s fine. And Dunkeld is with Hanford.” Julius rubbed small circles on her lower back.
Amanda released her breath and nodded. They continued up the stairs and stepped into the hall. Fine paper covered the walls and an oriental rug ran the length. They were back in the club’s public space. A muted roar met their ears, followed by some boos.
“Bertie must have found someone to replace you and Hanford.” Julius peeked under the handkerchief, checking her wrist. He applied more pressure. “It sounds like the club’s members are getting their entertainment.”
Tiptoeing down the hall, Amanda peered through open doors into the empty rooms they passed. She stopped in front of a set of closed double doors, just as another chorus of boos erupted from behind it. “That’s the members being entertained?” She swallowed. “I’d hate to hear them when they don’t find something diverting.”
“It’s just how this lot are.” Peeling the door open an inch, Julius looked through. “At least this crowd won’t pelt you with rotten tomatoes if they don’t like what you have to say.” He waved at her to come close.
Amanda pressed her eye to the opening. And gasped. “It’s Mrs. Fry. They’ve let her speak.”
“Yes, but they wanted to hear from you. She’s a poor substitute.” Julius smiled down at her. “Then again, I am biased.”
Amanda looked from his dear face, to her bandaged wrist, to the crowd jeering behind the door. Mrs. Fry beamed at the club members, obviously unperturbed by her reception. She smiled, and argued, and stood her ground. And the men didn’t look so scary anymore.
