“And tell me I was right all along?”
Carenza gave her a speaking look as the butler came into the drawing room.
“Good afternoon, my lady.” He bowed. “The Earl of Landon and Mr. Laurent are asking if you are at home.”
“Please send them up, and bring some refreshments,” Carenza said.
Julian came in first, his expression unreadable, his manners as perfect as ever when he bowed and kissed her hand. “Lady Carenza.”
“Mr. Laurent.” Carenza regarded him carefully.
Was he still cross about her refusal to stay at his town house? It seemed unlikely. He was a pragmatic man who maintained a cool distance between himself and the rest of the world. On reflection, he must have realized that she was right to maintain their distance as well.
“Lady Carenza.” Aragon bowed. “You’re looking very beautiful today, ma’am—not quite as pretty as Miss Cartwright, but far more elegant.”
“Miss Cartwright?” Carenza looked from Aragon to his brother.
“Yes, Julian’s taken me with him this morning, and I’ve met so many interesting people.”
“Why—?”
“Aragon, could you help Lady Allegra with the tea while I have a quick chat with Lady Carenza?”
“Yes, of course.” Aragon went over to Allegra, who had sat down beside the tray of tea and cakes the butler had just brought in. “I’m quite peckish.”
Julian moved over to the far window, and Carenza followed him.
“Aragon brought my attention to an article in the morning paper about me,” Julian said quietly. “Whoever wrote it knew about my involvement with the Cartwrights and Mrs. Mountjoy and insinuated that I was involved in child prostitution and damaging young lives.”
“That’s horrible.” Carenza instinctively reached out to touch him but quickly withdrew her hand when he gave her a somewhat cool look. “I assume you went to warn them?”
“Yes. Although they were both far more sanguine about such accusations than me. In truth, they told me not to pursue the culprit and to allow the matter to drop.”
“And do you intend to do that?”
“Of course not.” He paused. “I fear it is yet another attempt by Walcott to blacken my reputation.”
“I would agree.” Carenza nodded. “The trouble is that unless Walcott admits to writing that article himself, there is very little I can do legally to hold him to account.”
“I’m so sorry.” She held his gaze. “You don’t deserve this.”
“Thank you, but I didn’t come here for sympathy. I came to warn you.”
Carenza’s breath caught. “Am I mentioned in the article?”
“No, but if I’ve been seen at the Cartwrights’, and particularly at Mrs. Mountjoy’s, then it’s possible you’ve been seen there, too.”
“Then Mrs. Mountjoy’s is no longer a safe place for us to meet,” Carenza said.
“Exactly.”
“Which is remarkably frustrating.”
He didn’t reply. His gaze had gone beyond her to the pile of letters on the desk.
“What are those?”
Carenza moved hastily to stand between him and the offending evidence. “Nothing that should concern you. I was just about to put them on the fire.”
