Julien exhaled, though not in frustration. “She is not to be troubled with it—not yet.”
“You think she will not notice?”
“I think she will,” Julien replied. “But there is no benefit in involving her before it becomes necessary. This can be addressed without requiring her to manage it.”
Adrian considered that, then gave a short nod. “Very well. Carefully, then.”
“Carefully,” Julien echoed.
The matter settled, and for the first time since the encounter in the village, Julien felt something in him ease—not entirely, but enough. Whatever Sutton and his wife might intend, they would not find him unprepared.
Not this time.
Chapter
Nine
Caroline had not meant to leave her chamber.
She had undressed, dismissed her maid, and made every reasonable attempt to settle herself for the night, but rest had refused her with a persistence that soon rendered the effort futile. The events of the day—so easily borne in company, so neatly contained beneath conversation and composure—returned now in sharper relief, each detail reasserting itself with an insistence she could not ignore. It was not distress that occupied her thoughts, nor even embarrassment, but something far more difficult to name, a restless awareness that had taken root somewhere beneath her usual composure, and though she had thought a quiet walk might ease it, the stillness of the house only sharpened that awareness rather than settling it.
The corridors of Lakewood lay hushed at that hour, the lamps turned low, the warmth of the day giving way to something more intimate, more contained, and she had nearly convinced herself that she would walk the length of it and return to her room no better or worse for the effort when she saw him.
Julien.
He emerged from the far end of the corridor, his presence unmistakable even before the light fully revealed him, and something in her stilled at once—not her thoughts, not her awareness, but the restless uncertainty that had driven her from her room in the first place. She had not been seeking him, she knew that perfectly well, and yet the coincidence did not feel unwelcome. If anything, it felt inevitable.
“Julien,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
“Caroline.”
There was no hesitation in the use of her name, no return to formality, and the absence of it altered the space between them in a way that made everything feel closer, more immediate, less easily dismissed.
“You ought not to be wandering the corridors at this hour,” he said after a moment, though there was no censure in it, only quiet concern.
“Nor ought you,” she returned, a faint warmth threading through her tone. “And yet, here we both are.”
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth of it, though he did not move past her. “If you cannot sleep, a turn through the gallery might serve you better,” he said.
“After the events of the day,” Caroline explained, her composure outwardly intact though something beneath it remained unsettled, “my mind refused to settle. I thought perhaps a walk might ease the restlessness… though I think now it was never the walk that was required.”
He did not move, and something in his stillness made it impossible to pretend the meaning had not been understood.
“And what is it you require?” he asked quietly.
Caroline held his gaze, her heart unsteady now, though not with uncertainty, and she knew very well what she was inviting simply by remaining where she stood and allowing the moment to stretch beyond what propriety might comfortably permit. Itwas not ignorance that guided her, nor impulse, but a clear and conscious awareness of the risks she was choosing to ignore, for she had endured the consequences of scandal once already and had no illusions about how quickly speculation could take hold or how little it required to revive it. And yet she did not move, because this was Julien—not careless, not thoughtless, not a man who would place her in a position he did not intend to honor—and if there was danger here, it did not lie in him, but in the world beyond this corridor and in the voices that might speak of what they did not understand. He had already shown her, in these past few days, a degree of care and restraint that could not be mistaken, holding himself at a distance when it would have been easier not to, and she understood now, perhaps more clearly than she ever had, what that restraint had cost him, and what it had begun to cost them both. More than that, she was aware—keenly, almost painfully—of how rare this moment was, for even in these few days there had always been someone near at hand, some awareness of being observed, some quiet boundary that could not be crossed, and the house now lay silent around them, the corridors empty, the world beyond it held at a distance in a way that made this moment feel set apart. She could leave, could offer some polite remark, wish him goodnight, and return to her room with everything still neatly contained and safely untested, but she did not wish to.
“Perhaps,” she said at last, her voice softer now though no less steady, “I require only good company.”
“Impropriety can carry risk, Caroline—even from someone who has only your best interests at heart,” he said. “I ought to go. I ought to show more consideration for the slings and arrows you have already suffered because a gentleman did not behave as he ought.”
The words did not have the effect he perhaps intended, for rather than giving her pause, they steadied her further. He wasthinking of her. Even here, in a dim corridor in a house that slumbered, his honor remained unimpeachable, his regard for her constant, ever-present, unwavering. It was a quality that set him so far apart from William Sutton, whose presence had once held such sway over her thoughts and now only served to trouble them. And in that moment, Caroline’s resolve firmed into something unbreakable, something that would not be denied. This was an opportunity that might not come again, an opportunity to understand the true depth of what she felt for Julien Harcourt.
“I thank you for your consideration,” she said, her tone sincere, the gratitude unfeigned. “You have always been above reproach. Always so kind and solicitous and proper. But I find I am no longer inclined to place the opinions of others above my own judgment… and I think there is nothing I would not risk for a moment alone with you. A thought which is both terrifying and exhilarating.”
She had meant what she said. Every word of it. She would risk the impropriety, the danger of being discovered, even the threat of fresh speculation if it meant having this moment with him, because what stood between them now no longer felt like something to be denied, but something too long deferred to be set aside again.
And then Julien moved toward her.
