Chapter One
London, 1819
One would think that being a woman on the run would be an exciting adventure. One heart-pounding moment after the other. In truth, Lady Juliana Wickham had never felt so dull in her life.
She tugged at the rope holding the window’s curtain back. The drape fell closed. She didn’t want any views of the outside world. Or her own reflection. Neither sight gave her solace. She rose and paced Hyacinth’s bed chambers, the room she hadn’t left for nearly a week.
Admittedly, it was a large room, with a wide fireplace and a bed big enough to comfortably sleep Juliana and Hy. With just the smallest amount of blunt, Juliana had bought the silence and aid of her friend’s maid, who smuggled meals up to Juliana each day.
It was the loveliest of prisons.
Still, a prison it remained. That it was one of her own choosing did little to assuage her irritation.
She eyed the portable desk Hyacinth had smuggled into her bedroom for Juliana’s use, but even that didn’t interest her. She’d already spent too many hours hunched over the thing, spilling her innermost thoughts, trying to organize them into persuasive arguments. Even if her essays convinced society of the folly of its ways (which she was certain they would), well, even world-changing philosophers needed a respite now and then.
She flopped to her back on Hyacinth’s bed. Her feet tapped along to the beat of the music resonating from the ballroom below. Turning her head, she met a scornful green-eyed gaze. “What do you say, Mr. Blake? Shall we dance?”
She reached for the tabby, picked up his wriggling form, and scooted off the bed. She waited for the next melody to start and fell into step, curling the cat close to her chest.
He swatted her jaw, his claws stinging.
“Lawks!” She dropped him on the bed and rubbed her chin, watching as he stalked away. Even her friend’s cat was too busy to entertain her. She plopped onto a stuffed armchair. Her next essay would be a treatise on what to bring when on the run.
More books, definitely. While Miss Hyacinth Butters had many fine qualities, a sufficient library wasn’t one of them. Juliana had fled Bluff Hall with naught but a satchel full of clothes and what funds she could gather.
Juliana stared at the curtained window. She’d been at her friend’s house for five days now. The first day she’d been quite happy to languish in Hy’s bed. That attack had…well, it was best not to dwell on such unpleasantness.
Even better not to think of the man who had occupied a starring role in her dreams since he’d saved her that night.
She closed a door in her brain, shutting out a pair of broad shoulders and a set of piercing blue eyes.
The second and third day at Hyacinth’s she had begun plotting her next steps.
And come up with nothing.
Then she’d written, a pleasant enough pastime, but it didn’t serve to take her mind off her troubles.
Hy had tried to entertain her, but as her parents didn’t know Juliana was hiding in their house, her friend couldn’t very well spend all her time in her bedroom without drawing suspicion. When the carriages had begun arriving for this evening’s rout, Juliana had felt the excitement of the evening’s festivities to her very bones.
She longed to be among the dressed-up ladies, dancing across the parqueted floor, and as she wasn’t much of a dancer, that was saying something.
Being on the run wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Nor the listless of spirit.
She should be thinking of new ways to uncover the truth. She was a smart woman. She plucked up the poker and jabbed at the dwindling flames in the fireplace. Her father hadn’t spared a second thought on providing his daughter with as thorough an education as he’d given his son, untraditional as those educations might have been. And at two and twenty, Juliana credited herself with having enough sense and experience to solve life’s problems.
Yet it had been almost a fortnight since she’d fled home. Nearly a week since Mr. Pickens, her father’s secretary, had been arrested. Two weeks, and she’d yet to learn anything more about his motivation. Whether he’d worked alone or not.
Whether her father was finally safe.
She pushed that disquieting thought from her mind. As Rodger Rose, the great modern philosopher and poet, said, thoughts become words, words became deeds, and deeds became reality. In order to create the reality you desired, it was necessary to keep your mind clear of negative thoughts.
Which was much easier said than done.
The door eased open, and before Juliana could dive behind the bed, Maisey, Hyacinth’s maid, slipped inside the room.
She dropped a hasty curtsy. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I saw this on the butler’s tray and brought it here straightaway.” She held out a familiar envelope, and Juliana’s shoulders slumped.
