A strange look passed over Devon’s face—something almost like fear. “Listen to me, West. You can’t just dump her off in the country. She isn’t ready—”
Julian brushed past him. “Like I said, you don’t need to worry about her anymore.” He didn’t wait to hear if Devon replied, but strode into the ballroom.
“She’s waiting for you in the carriage.”
Julian turned, startled to find Lady Tallant at his elbow. She studied him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “What just happened between you and Lady Hadley in the garden, Captain West?”
“Why should you think anything happened?”
He tried to avoid her gaze, but she pinned him with a cold blue stare. “I think you’ve betrayed my faith in you by hurting my dear friend, and I assure you, I take it very ill, indeed.”
His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Ah, well. You should know better than to place your faith in a hero, Lady Tallant. We never quite live up to expectations.”
She closed her fan with a snap. “Lady Hadley looked unwell when she passed through the ballroom. See you get her home at once.”
Julian bowed. “Of course. Good evening, my lady.”
He found Charlotte just where Lady Tallant said she’d be, pressed into one corner of the carriage. She didn’t look ill, precisely, but there was a peculiar hunched quality to her, as if she’d pulled tightly into herself, like a child who’s suffered a nightmare.
He sat on the bench across from her and the carriage pulled smoothly away from the curb. She didn’t look at him as they wound through the London streets, but he found his gaze coming back to her again and again. He seemed to be always in a carriage with her, watching with helpless fascination as the moonlight moved over her face.
But this would be the last time. She’d be gone from London tomorrow—
Except she’d never promised that, had she? “Do I have your word you’ll accompany your family to Bellwood tomorrow morning?”
She didn’t answer right away, but waited until the carriage drew to a stop in front of her house. “You have my word, Captain, I will leave London immediately.”
And then she was gone, the carriage door closing with a quiet click behind her. His last thought before she disappeared through the door was the house was very large, and she…
She was very small.
Chapter Eighteen
Her. The dream begins with her now, always with her. Teasing dark eyes hidden under long, thick lashes. Red lips. Such a deep red, velvety and soft. The rose petal lips smile, move, make shapes. Words. No, not words. One word only. His name. Julian. There’s an entire world in that word. His entire world. His knees go weak and his heart soars, but then the thick lashes sweep down to hide her eyes, and when they rise again they’ve gone cold. One blink, and her beautiful dark eyes are cold, so cold his heart drops, becomes an icy stone, and then impossibly they are colder still, so cold they turn blue, and the silence is swallowed by a sudden explosion of red, such a bright red, more vivid than it should be, redder than he’d ever imagined blood could be, and what used to be Colin Hibbert’s chest becomes a bloody mass of jagged metal, the flesh torn to pieces, a gaping, pulpy hole where skin and bone should be, and sightless, staring blue eyes.…
“Julian.” A rough hand shook his shoulder. “Christ.Jules, wake up!”
Julian wrenched awake with a curse, his hand scrabbling for his waistcoat pocket and Colin’s watch.No pocket. No waistcoat. Damn it, where—
“It’s in your hand.”
Julian cracked open burning, gritty eyes. Cam stood over him, his mouth pulled into a grim line. He gestured with a sharp jerk of his chin to Julian’s hand. As always, Colin’s watch was clutched in his palm.
Where the bloody hell am I?
“You’re in my study,” Cam said. “You fell asleep in the chair again, helped along by large quantities of whiskey, no doubt.”
Julian struggled upright in the chair and ran a hand over his chin and jaw. He had a face nearly overgrown with whiskers by the feel of it. A quick hand through his hair confirmed it was rumpled and damp with sweat, and his eyes were no doubt bloodshot, since it felt like someone had ground glass into them.
Not a pretty sight. No wonder his cousin looked grim.
Cam strode over to the tall windows on one side of the room and yanked the curtains aside. “Something wrong with your bedchamber, cuz?”
Julian flinched as the morning sunlight fell across his face. “No.”
Not unless one counted the nightmares, which had grown so disturbing he’d permanently abandoned his bed for his chair in Cam’s study in the hopes he’d wake more easily if he slept in an upright position. It had seemed to work, too.
Until last night.
