Both her sisters sucked in a breath, but Harcourt ignored it. “Where was he?”
“I just…saw him at a gathering I attended,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he is here.”
Rook’s brow was wrinkled as he observed the exchange. He stepped forward and covered Anne’s trembling hand. “Juliana is correct. Wherever she was, for whatever reason she is keeping it private, what truly matters is Leonard. Harcourt, if he’s here, he could be drawn out.”
The two men stepped away, their heads going together as they hashed out a plan. Anne and Thomasina remained at her side, each holding her hand.
“I’m sorry,” Thomasina whispered, and there were tears in her eyes.
Anne nodded. “So am I.”
Juliana bent her head. Now that they were apologizing, she felt silly for bringing up her feelings of separation and exile. She knew why her sisters were so focused on their husbands. She’d felt the thrill of desire herself recently and understood it far more. What she didn’t understand was what went beyond the physical. Her sisters loved their husbands. They were loved by them.
Who wouldn’t want that?
“I’m—I’m being foolish,” Juliana said with a shake of her head. “Churlish.” She looked over at the men and her sisters did as well. She felt them both vibrating with their need to cross to them. “You’d best see what they’re talking about.”
“No,” Thomasina said. “I won’t leave you.”
Juliana tilted her head and looked at her sister. “You won’t be. I’m standing right here.”
Anne was already leaning toward Rook, but she had the grace to glance back at Juliana. “Are you sure?”
Juliana waved them off and saved her sigh until they were far enough away they couldn’t hear her. She was out of sorts. She hated herself for it. It signaled such a lack of control.Everythingshe’d done recently felt like it was driven by a lack of control.
She dug into her pocket as she paced to the window. The paper with Ellis’s address was still there, wrinkled now, worn from her fingers brushing it. At last she drew it out. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but all were engaged in heated discussion. They didn’t notice her.
She unfolded the paper and read the address. She recognized it. It was a middle-class neighborhood not so very far from Harcourt’s London estate. She could walk there in half an hour. A carriage would only be a few minutes ride. It was wrong, though, wasn’t it? To go to a man who so evidently didn’t want her around?
Except she already knew she was going to do just that. She could only hope Ellis could be convinced of what her own family could not.
That she still had a place in this world. That she could have a place at his side in this fight.
Ellis stormed into the foyer of his London home and tossed his great coat to the waiting butler. Reginald had once been a pirate, but had retired from the life when the heat got too high. Of course, he’d also been an inveterate gambler and lost his fortune. And so to work for Ellis he’d gone.
Now he snatched the coat with a glare. “What’s got you in a snit?”
Ellis glared at him. “No news about Winston Leonard?”
Reg shook his head. “Naw. Nothin’ new. You do have some chit here. Demanded to see you. Pretty thing. I left ’er in your parlor.” He executed a ridiculously overdone bow. “Milord.”
Ellis rolled his eyes at him. “Oh…go find something to do.” Reg chuckled as he strolled off to take Ellis’s coat God knew where. “Something legal!” he called after him.
From the distance he heard a snort. “Oh, you’re no fun.”
Ellis shook his head as he stared at the closed door to the nearby parlor. He didn’t receive female visitors here at this place. When he had a mark, he’d always pursued them at a place like the Donville Masquerade. Or their own homes if he felt particularly daring. None of those women likely considered his existence outside of where they shared a bed.
But he knew one woman who might. One woman bold enough to figure out where he lived when he wasn’t beingHandsome Ellis Maitland. One woman who might come here and demand his pirate butler let her in for tea.
“Juliana,” he muttered beneath his breath.
The very idea of it had his body on fire, both with arousal and frustration. The mix of those two things was confusing, indeed. If it really was her in there, he wanted to shake her for being so utterly reckless…and kiss her because he hadn’t seen her for days and his hands shook at the idea of being near her.
“Enough,” he grunted, and strode to the door. He drew a cleansing breath and pushed it open.
She was standing at the mantel, fiddling with a little miniature there. She hadn’t noticed his entry. He took the opportunity to stare at her. Her dark blonde hair had been spun up on her head in an elaborate style he wanted to take down piece by piece until he was surrounded by vanilla and lemon. Her gown was a spring green, fitted perfectly, not too revealing like the one she always wore to the Donville Masquerade, but more of a hint at all the lusciousness beneath. It was very fine.
She was very fine. And she did not belong in his parlor. Or in his arms. Or in his bed. Looking at her here was like seeing a tiger in a ballroom. Beautiful, yes. Did it belong there? Most definitely not.
