“And did you find the book? Under the table?” His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners, matching the grin. It gave him a boyish look, it was much less threatening.
Involuntarily, my muscles relaxed, one by one. I had not realized they were tight.
“Obviously not.”
“Obviously… Miss?”
“Lady Juliet Dalton.”
I saw the exact moment he made the connection, eyes widening and brows raising.
“Oh.” He brushed a wayward lock of hair behind his ear sheepishly. “I apologize most sincerely, Lady Juliet. That was not for your ears.”
“Undoubtedly. I believe I should return to the ballroom. Someone will have noticed my absence.”
“Let me escort you.”
“Thank you, but no. I believe I know my own way.”
With that, I made my way out of the library with all the quiet dignity I could muster.
Eight
DALTON PLACE, LONDON - MARCH 5, 1814
JULIET
I could not sleeplast night, instead replaying the events of the prior evening in my mind again and again. He had not denied it. Not once. My father had all but admitted he had lost everything.
Hundreds of little moments that had given me pause over the last few months now made horrifying sense. The unease shrouding the household. The endless tirade about my ungrateful nature when I asked after overdue pin money. My stepmother’s missing jewelry. Servants leaving, one after another. Smaller portions at meals. We were surely ruined. Destitute.
Odder still was the notion that His Grace would pay my father’s debts. Surely that was not the usual order of things. But even that, despite all logic to the contrary, felt… right. From the start, I questioned his interest in me. A pair so ill-suited we were destined for disaster, headed to the altar. His apparent disinterest in getting to know me still gave me a slight pause. I resigned myself to further investigation. I certainly could not throw over a man of His Grace’s consequence. Not without a great deal more evidence than vague implications gleaned from eavesdropping.
If I were to call off the engagement, I would be ruined. In the eyes of the ton, we were as good as married. I would never marry. I would be forced to stay with my father forever, if he would even have me. Such an odious thought. More likely, I would be thrown to the streets. It was too much to consider!
The lack of sleep and distressing thoughts had me aching with exhaustion. It was no difficulty to feign a headache when Hannah arrived to assist me with my toilette. If my illness cleared as soon as I was sure my father would be out for the day, it was mere coincidence.
It was well past noon before I ventured from my room.
I had just reached the bottom of the staircase when our butler informed me of a visitor. Nerves rushed through me at the thought of facing His Grace without further explanation. But instead of the black-clad figure I had come to expect, I was presented with a silhouette in front of the windows. All too familiar from the night before, I would recognize it anywhere—my captor.
* * *
MICHAEL
I absolutely should nothave been there. On the list of worst decisions I’d ever made, this was near the top. She could not possibly wish to see anyone less than myself. It was just… I was unable to sleep last night for thinking of her.
The moment she’d uncurled from the floor, I was finished. She was tall, statuesque even. In the candlelight, her mahogany curls shone with a hint of golden red. Her pale complexion was offset by the dusky rose gown, cut low enough to reveal the tantalizing suggestion of décolleté. It was her eyes that haunted me, though. Wide and blue as the sky and full of heartbreak. Hot, sharp, and instantaneous, the guilt at being the cause of such heartache was immense.
All night I mentally—occasionally audibly—raged at her father for putting her in this situation. In rare introspective moments, I berated myself. I shouldn’t have let her run out like that. I should have ensured the room was empty. I shouldn’t have approached Dalton at Kate’s ball. I never should have allowed my man to place his wager knowing his financial status. I ought not make my living robbing gullible, arrogant men of their fortunes. I’d found any number of reasons for self-flagellation.
The truth was, I had never considered the families of the men in my club—night after night, placing wagers beyond their means. Someone was suffering for their choices, and it certainly wasn’t them.
I had already called at Grayson House ostensibly to apologize for my appearance and late arrival at the ball. I pressed Kate for as much information as I could glean without giving rise to expectations. It wasn’t much. Kate’s knowing brow indicated her suspicions, and I ceased questioning.
Now, I was standing awkwardly in the drawing room of Westfield’s home. I had also forgotten what to do with my arms while standing. I could not recall ever giving the practice so much thought. Each position was more ungainly than the last. My coat pockets seemed to have shrunk as well. They were always large enough for my hands before.
I had no business here, calling on the daughter of the man I’d threatened last evening. I had been left to wait an inordinate amount of time. At least she didn’t have me thrown bodily from the house. Yet.
