Lady Cora’s pretty blue eyes went wide, but she didn’t hesitate. “Of course, I will. Anything.”
Dear, sweet Lady Cora. Befriending her was the one thing she’d done right since she’d come to Steeple Cross, the one thing she could never regret. Tears threatened again, but Juliet swallowed them back,again. When she allowed herself to shed them at last, they’d likely drown her.
“May I have your permission to ask your coachman to take me in your carriage to Lord Hawke’s estate this morning? It’s only about eight miles from here, so I daresay he’ll be back before anyone awakens. My younger sister Helena is governess there, and I—I must see her at once.”
A dozen different questions flashed in Lady Cora’s eyes, but bless her, she didn’t ask a single one. “Of course, you may. Let me dress quickly, and I’ll come down with you.”
“No. It’s all right.” She didn’t want Lady Cora involved in this awful business. “I’ll find him myself. Thank you, Cora.”
She pressed a quick kiss to her friend’s cheek, then turned and ran down the hallway toward the stairs. There was no one about, either on the stairway or in the entryway, so she tiptoed down the stairs, glancing nervously over her shoulder as she went, and made her way down the corridor that led to Miles’s study.
The door was closed.
She passed by it without pausing, and slipped into the library.
It was deserted, thankfully. She had one final thing to do before she left Steeple Cross, and she’d rather no one was about to see her do it.
She closed the door behind her, then crossed the room to the bookshelves that held Miles’s large collection of plays. She reached over her head, pulled downRomeo and Juliet, slid a folded piece of paper between its pages, then replaced the volume on the shelf.
Perhaps he’d find it someday, and he’d understand what she’d been trying to tell him last night. She wouldn’t be here to see it, but that didn’t matter.
It mattered only that he knew.
ChapterSixteen
The next morning Miles awoke from a fitful sleep feeling very much like a man who’d spent half of the previous evening drowning himself in a bottle of port, and the other half drowning in doubts.
His head was heavy, his eyes gritty, and his stomach sloshing with a nauseating combination of undigested port and uneasiness. It hadn’t been an enjoyable evening. He’d argued with his cousin, then he’d argued with Juliet, then he’d buried his fist in Lord Boggs’s eye socket.
Or had he only dreamed that last part?
“Good morning, Lord Cross.” Vincent, his valet, was bustling around the bedchamber, fussing and straightening.
“Why are you here so early, Vincent?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but it’s eight o’clock, my usual time.”
That late? He rose up onto one elbow, blinking the sleep from his eyes. His bedchamber was much lighter than usual, the sun several hours past the horizon.
“Will you have the dark gray coat today, my lord, or the dark blue?” Vincent turned from the wardrobe, a coat in each hand.
Miles squinted at them. “They look exactly the same.”
Vincent blinked, then returned the navy coat to the wardrobe. “The dark gray, then.”
Miles ran a weary hand through his hair, and fell back against the bed. “Do you know if I happened to assault Lord Boggs last night, Vincent?”
Vincent had set the gray coat aside for brushing, and was busily arranging Miles’s shaving things on a clean towel, but now he looked up, eyebrows raised. “No, my lord, not that I’m aware of.”
Damn it. It had been the only enjoyable part of the entire evening. “Pity. Someone should.”
“Are you unwell, my lord?” Vincent abandoned the shaving implements and hurried to the foot of the bed to peer closely at Miles. “It’s unlike you to, er… threaten your house guests.”
Hewasn’twell. Far from it. Nor would he be, until he spoke to Juliet.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, found last night’s breeches in a tangle on the floor and pulled them up over his hips.
“My lord?” Vincent was gaping at him, scandalized. “I’ve got fresh breeches for you right here. I’ve just pressed—”
