She looked at him doubtfully, but began bandaging it, nonetheless. Minutes later, she gave his arm a gentle pat. “All finished.”
Justin gave silent thanks. He wasn’t sure he could abide her touch much longer without embarrassing himself. He sat up, pulling on a shirt Case had handed him from his wardrobe. He gratefully accepted the glass of whisky Case offered as well. “It appears as if we are at a dead end,” he said after downing the fiery liquid. “Hopefully we have frightened our mystery man enough that he will forego setting up any future deliveries. But it doesn’t solve the mystery of why he was doing so in the first place,” he added.
“I am grateful for your help, your grace,” she said earnestly. “I know you didn’t want to, but I appreciate your efforts all the same. I am only sorry you were injured on my account.”
Damn, but he wanted to kiss her. His injury was obviously making him delirious. “I wouldn’t have helped if I hadn't wanted to. And do call me Justin. It would seem we are destined to be thrown together, despite our best efforts.”
“And I thought you didn’t believe in destiny,” she said with an impish smile.
He gave her a look that suggested he wasn’t amused.
“Come, Jillian, I need to get you home,” Case said. “It will be dawn soon.”
Jillian was momentarily startled. She had completely forgotten Case’s presence in the room. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, turning away from Justin.
She and Case rode home in silence. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts. Something had happened tonight. Her response to Justin was strangely different than before. She’d felt tongue tied and awkward, when before, she had never been at a loss for words. She had stood gawking at his naked chest like a complete lackwit.
The carriage halted, breaking into her thoughts. She blinked then rose to disembark. They were already at her townhouse. Case reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Get some rest,” he said softly. “I will see you tonight at the masque.”
She let herself in and trekked tiredly up to her room. She desperately wanted a bath. Daylight was already breaking and she knew Hilda and Elsie would both be up, but she had no desire for them to see her in her current apparel, so she quickly changed into a dressing gown. She then rang for Elsie who appeared within a few moments and set to work preparing a bath.
Jillian sighed in pleasure as she sank into the tub of hot water. She closed her eyes and relaxed against the back, sliding a little farther down, until only her head remained above water. Unbidden images of Justin’s chest came floating back to her mind. Whatwouldit have felt like to touch it? He attracted her in a way that was frightening. She didn’t feel in control when she was around him, and since her disastrous marriage, she valued control above all else.
Her reaction to him concerned her more than she had cared to previously admit. She had never felt such a tide of longing around Lucas. Even in the beginning when she had been hopelessly infatuated, his touch had not elicited such a powerful response.
What might Justin really be like under the outward projection of nobility and honor? Her marriage to Lucas had taught her one thing about men—a charming exterior usually disguised the monster within.
She remained in the tub until the water grew tepid, then stepped out, dried herself, and headed through the door into her bedroom. A fire crackled brightly in the fireplace and she settled into the chair in front of it, pulling a blanket over her legs. She yawned, already being lulled to sleep by the warmth invading her limbs.
###
That afternoon, after awakening from a few hours’ sleep, she began preparing for the masque. She was to be a mermaid for the occasion, and Elsie had styled her hair so that it cascaded down her back in a mass of curls, ending at the small of her back. Her dress was a daring confection, and it clung to her every curve like a second skin. The material was aquamarine with silver threads sewn into the dress, giving the effect of shimmering scales. Completely strapless and backless, the dress accentuated her full breasts and trim waist. The material clung tightly to her hips and followed the shape of her legs down to her ankles. If it weren’t for a daring slit up the back of her dress, she wouldn’t have been able to walk.
This hadn’t exactly fit her idea of a new, more conservative approach, but some demon within prompted her to don the costume anyway. This was the last major ball of the year. There would be plenty of time to adopt a new image for the next season.
She needn’t have worried, however. Behind the pseudo anonymity their masks offered, the rest of thetonshed their inhibitions and notions of propriety and donned creations ranging from the merely brow-raising to the outright jaw-dropping.
She viewed the colorful array of costumes from her secluded spot on the outskirts of the ballroom. Lady Clarice had afforded her the most amusement thus far, sporting a dismal attempt at what Jillian could only surmise was supposed to be a peacock. The outcome, however, more resembled a chicken that someone had shot in the derriere.
Lady Bea had come as a pirate and was rather enjoying the attention she was garnering. Jillian suppressed a chuckle at the sight of the older lady wearing trousers and an eyepatch. She delighted in tormenting those who got too close with her rapier, though she hadn’t much skill in wielding it. People quickly decided to give her a wide berth as she marched across the floor.
There were numerous Napoleons in the crowd and as many Wellington imitations. Soon a mock battle broke out and cheers erupted as Wellington dispatched a paunchy figure dressed as Napoleon.
Her eyes scanned over the ballroom once again. Was he here?
“You seemed to have outdone yourself tonight, my lady.”
She jumped then turned around to see the object of her search standing before her. “Justin! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of bed. How is your arm?”
“It’s fine,” he replied, seemingly amused by her verbal onslaught. “Just a little sore.”
“Where is your costume?”
“I don’t appear to be wearing one. Neither do you for that matter,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her mermaid dress.
“I see your injury doesn’t extend to your tongue. Pity.”
