Juliana observed her work, and her grandmama was, of course, right. The threads were too tightly wound, and what should have been a delicate floral pattern looked like a puckered frown. A sour face. Perhaps clenched fists. Truth be told, it might be a reflection of her own internal knots.
“And yet, I am a cad you cannot stop thinking about.”
The memory of his voice remained. Low, deep, and seductive. No! It was all because she could not rid herself of the image, sound, and feel of her husband. His mouth still seemed to whisper in her ear, the low vibration of words of seduction. She could still feel his hard body pressed against her thighs, and she knew that deep down she liked having him in that position, even as she accused him of keeping someone imprisoned in the West Tower.
“Stop fidgeting, Juliana,” her grandmama chided, tapping her with a fan she was resting on her lap. The two were in the drawing room, near the large windows, soaking up the sun while embroidering patterns. The place was a masterpiece of gold leaf, blue velvet, and her husband’s undeniable presence. “You are now a wealthy duchess, married to a virile and handsome husband, not some ancient, senile lord you would have to fend off. Yet you are here, looking as if somebody you love died and you are seeking vengeance in your embroidery.”
“It is still a gilded cage,” Juliana complained, feeling tremendously contrary that morning as she felt the sting of her needle. She sucked the blood from her thumb, strangelyenjoying the sharp metallic sting of it. The taste felt real, grounding her.
“Nonsense. Most women would scramble and fight for such a cage,” Lady Hawthorne said firmly. She set down her embroidery with the particular deliberateness of someone preparing to say something unpleasant. “But never mind that. I wanted to talk to you about your brother.”
“Is he all right?” Juliana asked.
Juliana glanced up at her grandmama, noticing a slight tremble in her voice. True enough, the old lady’s mask slipped momentarily and revealed a hint of anxiety. “I… I am concerned about him.”
The revelation blurted out so soon after the Dowager Baroness had criticized her embroidery that Juliana sat straighter. Her next stitch hung mid-air, needle pointing haphazardly in her own direction.
“Did something happen to Kit?”
“He leaves the house often, which is probably not a surprise to you. However, he has not come home for three days, going on four,” Honoria confessed, her voice dropping to a somber tone. Her fingers fluttered at her throat as if she were trying to control what came out of her mouth. “There have also been men inquiring about him. They unsettled me with their unkempt clothes and waistcoats that had obviously not seen a laundress for a while. They would stand at our door at strange hours, their eyes scanning the house as if seeking entrance. Oh, I am not sure what to make of it all.”
Trust her grandmama to notice a man’s state of dress. Even if she were tempted to roll her eyes, Juliana knew thedowager would never express concern about Kit unless she were genuinely worried. The woman was well known for sweeping everything under the rug.
“At strange hours?” she echoed instead.
“Yes. Midnight. Late afternoon. Early morning. These men do not care at all about proper calling hours or calling cards. I suppose one who lived mostly in the streets in that state of disarray would not care,” Lady Hawthorne said, sniffing. “They ask for your brother, and whenever they are told he is away on business, they do not believe it.”
“Well, I am certain you yourself do not believe it, Grandmama, if he is constantly gallivanting somewhere,” Juliana pointed out, even as a cold weight dipped in her stomach.
Her mind went back to the many times she had to deliver packages for her brother. What were they, really? The last one she had agreed to was meant for someone who was not even there when she arrived. Yet the Duke had implied that the man she was sent to look for was dangerous.
“Kit told me that his investments were prospering,” Juliana mused. She was uttering the words, and yet, she did not wholly believe them. “He paid for my gowns, remember?”
“He is a Hawthorne,” the Dowager Baroness declared, as if that were enough explanation. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, she added, “But even we Hawthornes could find ourselves in hot water.”
“Of course, we could,” Juliana agreed hotly, her eyes widening.
Juliana set her embroidery down with deliberate care, as though the steadiness of the gesture might lend her some composureshe did not currently possess. Her mind was already on her brother, boyish and reckless and catastrophically certain that the next venture would be the one to save them all. She tried not to groan aloud at all the possibilities of trouble he had gotten himself into.
“I have tried several times to tell you that Kit is in trouble, Grandmama. I can tell you at least believe me now,” Juliana said, not feeling any pleasure in this turn of events.
“Perhaps you can speak with your husband about this matter,” her grandmama pleaded, her often cheerful eyes clouded with desperate hope. It hurt Juliana to see. She realized she would rather be deeply annoyed by her grandmama’s antics than feel sorry for her. “Your husband has great power and influence. He could search for Kit and find out what he has been doing.”
The Duke. Certainly, her grandmama had not grown out of touch with the world. Her husband and her brother could not stand each other. Cassian bought her from her brother!
“Cassian will not help Kit,” Juliana said, on an exhale. “He hates him. I am not sure why that is, but I could imagine he would rather send my brother to debtor’s prison by the way I have heard them talk to each other.”
“But you are his wife!” her grandmama insisted, as if saying so would make it plausible. “A woman has some influence over her husband. Why do you not try to be less caustic around him? It is your duty to please him.”
Juliana shivered. While her mind opposed what her grandmama was telling her, her body was doing something else. She had been so close to him; he had been so hard between her thighs as she straddled him in the corridor. It took all her self-control notto shift against him, to seek the friction her body demanded with a shamelessness that horrified the rational part of her mind.
Wives were meant to have wiles, she knew. She simply had not anticipated that hers would choose the worst possible moment to make themselves known.
“I will see what I can do, but…” she murmured. She could not tell her grandmama about how her husband had forbidden her to see her brother.
“Splendid, my dear! I knew you would not abandon your family. I shall take my leave now,” her grandmama finally said, rising to adjust her lace shawl. “I will return home and pray for your brother’s well-being. We cannot just sit here while he may be in trouble.”
A part of Juliana wanted to remind her grandmama that her brother was the one constantly edging toward trouble. His choice in life had led him to where he was now. Of course, it did not mean that she would not try to save him. She still would, even if it meant going against her husband’s rules.
