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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

IN WHICH EVERYTHING CHANGES

Livie came back to herself slowly, as if waking from a dream.

She knew why “erotic” was a word that ladies were supposed to avoid.

Joshua had seen her at a moment when she had no defenses, blind and deaf to everything except bodily pleasure. Now she felt vulnerable and exposed, as if she had slid down a steep slope and could no longer see the top.

“We must talk,” she said, sitting up, easing away and pulling down her skirts. She felt sweaty and limp. Her drawers were twisted around one hip, but she was too embarrassed to adjust them.

She scooted backward until her back was against the opposite wall of the wardrobe.

Joshua sat up as well, watching with a wry smile as she tucked her legs to the side and rearranged her skirts to cover her ankles. “Yes, let’s talk about that suitor of yours. Specifically, whether I need to run a sword through him.”

“Oh goodness,” Livie exclaimed. “Of course not. Mr. Cassio is objectionable, but—”

“Cassio?” Joshua snorted. “He sounds like a lustful Lothario, one of those sleek Italian fellows who offer dance lessons.”

Livie managed a crooked smile. “Cassio is not sleek, and he’s English. But I don’t wish to talk about him.” She cleared her throat. “My last name is Tyron.”

“Livie Tyron. Olive Tyron.” Joshua’s eyes glinted in the half-light. “I prefer Livie FitzRoy.”

“You don’t … you don’t recognize my name?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I know nothing of scandals in polite society. What happened?”

“The scandal concerns my father.” She stopped speaking, unable to find the right words.

“Is he alive?” Joshua asked.

She nodded.

“I gather he is famous?”

“Infamous rather than famous,” Livie said. She cleared her throat. “My father is imprisoned in the Tower of London.” The silence in the wardrobe was deafening. She reached out and pushed open one of the doors, letting in more light so she could see Joshua’s expression clearly.

“Why was Mr. Tyron arrested?”

“An act of treason that he didn’t commit. He’s Captain Sir Tyron, commander of the Royal Oak.”

Joshua nodded, accepting her firm avowal. She could see him turning over the situation in his head. He was the type of man who liked to solve things, rather like Lord Devin. “Is your family able to afford a solicitor?”

“Yes. My aunt is—Yes.” She took a deep breath. “The case is being handled in the House of Lords.” She hesitated and then blurted it out. “Your father is the presiding judge.”

Joshua flinched, then paled, his cheekbones suddenly standing out from his face.

His expression fixed into … into no expression.

“My father is presiding,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words.

She nodded. “Lord Devin informed us that Lord Paget is the Lord High Steward, presiding over the case. My father didn’t do it, Joshua!”

Another silence. “You are very loyal,” he said slowly.

“Yes.” She had an instinctive, terrible feeling that everything was going wrong.

His brows drew together, and she saw his Adam’s apple bobble as he swallowed. “I appreciate your concern for your father.”