The necessity of action was clear, even if the manner of it had yet to be determined, and his thoughts turned accordingly, considering what must be done without compounding the harm already set in motion. It was in the midst of that consideration that another thought intruded, unwelcome for all that it was not entirely unexpected, and he did not immediately dismiss it, though he knew he ought to have done so. If the gossip were to worsen, if it were to reach a point where her reputation stood in genuine jeopardy, there would be only one acceptable course of action, and the simplicity of that conclusion was precisely what rendered it so dangerous, because it offered not only a solution to the present difficulty, but the swift resolution of something far more personal.
To marry her in order to shield her from scandal was one thing; to allow that scandal to develop, even in part, because it might serve his own desires, was quite another, and the distinction between the two was not one he could disregard. There was, he could not deny it, a part of him that recognizedthe appeal of such an outcome, that saw in it the end of uncertainty, the securing of what he had long wanted but had never permitted himself to claim, and that recognition lingered just long enough to leave behind a faint and unwelcome sense of guilt. It would place her beyond reproach, place her with him, and silence any further speculation in the most decisive manner possible, but it would not be her choice, and that, more than anything, was what he could not accept.
Caroline deserved better than that.
When at last he allowed himself to look at her, it was only for a moment, measured and controlled, ensuring that no one else would take note, and though she did not return the glance, he suspected she was aware of it all the same. That quiet awareness steadied him.
This would be dealt with, but not here.
Not like this.
He turned his attention back to the conversation, his expression unchanged, though beneath that calm his thoughts had already begun to take shape, forming something more deliberate, more precise, and far less forgiving. Verity Sutton had set this in motion, and he would see it brought to an end.
Chapter
Thirteen
Every last detail had been seen to already. She wore a nightrail and a silk wrapper. Her hair, normally braided at night, had been let free to fall over her shoulders. They weren’t intentionally seductive gestures, and in truth, she wasn’t certain that seduction—if she were even capable of such a thing—was her intent. But there was a reason she had not called a maid to help her get ready for bed, and it had nothing to do with convenience. She had no intention of seeking her bed. Instead, she intended to position herself in the corridor and wait for an opportunity to speak to Julien again, alone.
As the house grew quieter, the noises of servants seeing to their final tasks before seeking their beds fading into the dimness, she opened her door and peered out. The corridor was deserted. No one was present, and for a moment she remained where she was, considering whether she had misjudged the timing of it all. Perhaps Julien was still in the study with Adrian, lingering over brandy and cigars, or perhaps he had already sought his bed. She was not entirely certain that her courage extended to seeking him out within his own bedchamber, and the thought alone was enough to hold her there for a momentlonger before she stepped out and drew the door closed behind her with care.
A single lamp cast a soft glow from a table at the far end of the corridor. It gave her enough light to see her way along it while leaving long shadows she could step into if needed. She was there for answers to questions she did not yet know how to ask, but that did not mean she was prepared to sacrifice her reputation entirely.
Her resolve held firm until she reached the end of the corridor, where she paused, aware of the choice before her. She could turn right and take the stairs down to the library and select a book—the excuse she had fabricated earlier, should she be caught—or she could turn left and make her way to his chamber. Neither option felt entirely reasonable, though only one of them held any real weight, and she knew it even as she lingered there, allowing the moment of decision to stretch longer than it ought.
After a brief hesitation, she turned left, her steps measured as she followed the corridor toward his room. Each step carried her further than she had intended to go, though she did not stop, did not allow herself to reconsider until she stood before the door she knew led to his chamber. She lifted her hand, prepared to knock, but the movement faltered before it could be completed, her resolve slipping as doubt took hold. Courage, so carefully gathered, gave way to a quieter, more insistent uncertainty, and she lowered her hand once more.
She turned away and found herself face to face with the man she had come in search of.
“Julien, you startled me,” she said softly.
His gaze traveled over her, questioning, but there was nothing restrained in the heat of it. “Caroline, what are you doing here?”
“I needed to speak with you,” she said, though the words felt insufficient even as she spoke them. “There are things we must discuss, and they very much require privacy.”
“And that requires you to come to my bedchamber in the middle of the night, dressed for bed?” His tone sharpened, though it did nothing to mask the tension beneath it. “Do you not recognize how terribly risky this is?”
She drew in a steadying breath, holding his gaze even as her pulse quickened. “I know I have nothing to fear from you.”
“That is a foolish and naïve assumption, Caroline. I am not as saintly as you give me credit for. Far from it. And if what has already passed between us has not made that clear, then I will state it plainly. I desire you. More than you can possibly know. And in this moment, you tempt me to forget that I am a gentleman.”
It was exactly the sort of thing she had hoped to hear, the very thing that made her own admission easier, even as a fresh wave of heat moved through her at the force of it. She did not retreat. Instead, she stepped closer, closing the distance he had left between them and placing herself within his reach in a way that could not be mistaken.
“That is why I am here,” she said, her voice steady despite the quickening of her pulse. “Eleanor said something to me earlier today… something that I have not been able to put from my mind.”
“And what has my dear sister said to distress you so?” He asked.
“I’m not distressed by it,” she corrected quickly. “Far from it, in fact. Intrigued. Hopeful. Perhaps relieved… Eleanor suggested that your interest in pursuing me is long standing in nature. Incredibly long standing. And I would know, if you can tell me, exactly when that shift in your intentions occurred.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on hers with such fierce intensity that not even the dim corridor could disguise it. “I can tell you the exact moment. Because it was the first time we met. The very night that Eleanor introduced us during her first season and yours…”
Caroline’s heart thundered ferociously in her chest. “From the moment we met? Why did you not give any indication… had you, then?—”
“Then William Sutton would not have had six years to lead you about on a string, as if he had the right to do so,” Julien summed up, the not of regret in his tone impossible to ignore. “You will never know the full depth of my regret. But you must understand that my hesitation was never born out of uncertainty but conflicting duty. I needed to be attentive to Eleanor and to be certain during that first foray into society that nothing untoward might occur to limit her own success. And I felt that perhaps you deserved the benefit of a full Season yourself—to dance and flirt and enjoy all the things that young ladies spend so long preparing for.”
“Julien… I— I never imagined. You hid your feelings exceptionally well.”
“Not so well. My sister guessed them easily enough. As did Adrian,” he admitted ruefully. “But I did make a concerted effort to conceal them from you. I could not abide the thought of having your pity. Or that you might ever feel uncomfortable at the notion of stepping foot into Harcourt House. I never wished for you to question your welcome there.”
