Chapter Five
Blue was the color of the evening.
As she surveyed the Morland drawing room, Lily noted that each person present was wearing that color, in one shade or another. Her own simple gown was fashioned of indigo silk, a dark shade suitable for mourning. Amelia wore a lovely periwinkle satin. The glimmering hue did wonderful things for her eyes. From where he stood beside his wife, lightly touching her waist, the duke’s impeccable tailcoat looked black. But up close, Lily would have guessed it to be a very deep blue.
And then, rounding out the party, there were five officers of the Royal Navy, each attired in formal uniform. Everywhere she turned, gold braiding and buttons caught the candlelight, sparkling like stars against a navy blue sky.
Unfortunately, the scene was lacking one particular shade of blue—the intense cobalt hue of Julian’s eyes. They’d delayed dinner half an hour already, and still he hadn’t appeared. Lily oscillated between fear for his health and a desire to cause him personal injury. How could he abandon her like this? Didn’t he understand what a challenge this night would be for her? She hadn’t attended a dinner party with strangers present in months. And never without Leo. All around her, discussion bloomed, branched, wilted and died, germinated entirely new topics of debate. She was lost in the thick jungle of conversation. From the apologetic looks Amelia kept sending her, Lily knew her friend would have liked to be more help. Unfortunately, her duties as hostess kept claiming her attention.
Lily was on her own.
Well, wasn’t this exactly what she kept insisting to Julian she could handle? And handle it she would.
Squaring her shoulders and readying a polite smile, Lily sought out a familiar face. The fair-haired officer standing by the window was Michael d’Orsay, one of Amelia’s five brothers. Lily had known him as a cowlicked boy in Gloucestershire, and now he was Lieutenant-Commander d’Orsay.
“It’s so lovely to see you again,” she said. “What great fortune that your ship has just returned. And how good of you to bring your friends.” How resourceful of Amelia to invite them, she added to herself. What better place to find a group of clean-shaven, respectable, eligible men desperate for a dinner invitation, than naval officers just returned from six months at sea?
“It’s good to see you, too.” His expression went grave. “I was so sorry to hear the news of Leo.”
“Thank you. I know you can understand the pain of losing a brother.” Hugh d’Orsay had been killed at Waterloo.
“Yes. But Leo’s death … so unexpected. Tragic.” Sadness etched his face, making him look far older than his eight-and-twenty years. Of all the d’Orsay brothers, she and Leo had been closest to Michael, since they all three were of an age. He and Leo had gone off to Eton together.
She didn’t want to ignore Michael’s feelings, but she couldn’t bear to talk about Leo right now. As rarely as she went out in society, this happened too often for her comfort. Whenever Lily began to feel that her own wounds had scabbed over, along would come an acquaintance for whom Leo’s death was a new development. And that person would want to talk of him and mourn him—as was only natural, for her brother had been loved by many—but once again Lily would feel ripped apart. She couldn’t cope with that tonight, not atop everything else.
She looked around the room, casting about for diversion. And she found it. All thoughts were promptly driven from her head by a flirtatious smile. The smile belonged to a tall, well-formed officer plastered with insignia and gold braid. He was not an especially handsome man, but neither was he ill-favored. He had intelligent, playful eyes.
And he was headed straight for her.
Nerves danced in the crooks of her elbows. To Michael, she whispered, “Did you tell your friends about my impairment?”
He shook his head in apology. “Should I have? I wasn’t certain if …”
Before she could answer, the officer had joined them.
“Come, d’Orsay,” he said, eyeing Lily. “I can see you mean to keep this enchanting lady to yourself all night. I shall have to pull rank and command an introduction.”
Lily kept her eyes glued to Michael’s mouth. Names were especially hard to catch, as they came without context.
“Lady Lily Chatwick, may I introduce my superior officer, Commander …”
Oh, drat. She missed it. Was it Merriman? Or perhaps Barryman? Lily’s eyes flickered over the man’s attire as he bowed. Maybe his name was engraved on a buckle or his scabbard. But then, wouldn’t it seem worse to be caught boldly ogling a man’s person than to simply have missed the name?
She offered her hand. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Commander.” She had that, at least. Thank heaven for military ranks.
And thank heaven for Amelia, who came to her rescue moments later, when she and the duke approached the group.
Amelia touched Lily’s arm, drawing her aside. “I’m not certain I can delay dinner much longer. Shall we continue to wait for Mr. Bellamy?”
“No.” Lily sighed with disappointment. “Don’t delay.”
The Duke of Morland’s mien was, as usual, censorious. “I loathe that man,” he said, just before tipping a glass of whiskey.
Lily felt horrible. She knew the duke hated parties, and here she’d forced him to host one on ridiculously short notice. And now the guest of honor—or rather, dishonor—had not even bothered to show his face.
Amelia called for her guests’ attention, inviting them into dinner. Suddenly the commander was at Lily’s side, offering his arm along with a quick salvo of words that soared straight past her. She merely smiled and nodded by way of response, sending up a fervent prayer he hadn’t just confided he had a wasting illness, or remarked on the culinary skill of cannibals in Lesser God-Knows-Where.
They filed into the dining room, and Amelia indicated the place for each guest. The duke, of course, took the head of the table, and Amelia sat at his left hand, with Michael at his sister’s other side. On the duke’s right, the commander took the place of honor. Lily sat at his right, directly across from Michael.
Amelia said, “Six gentlemen and only two ladies … what an unbalanced group. A poor reflection on me as a hostess, I’m afraid.”
Michael replied, “Certainly a more favorable ratio than we’re accustomed to having at sea.”
To Lily’s left, the commander said something in reply. However, she turned her head too late. Once again, she missed his words entirely.
Michael noted her puzzlement and explained, “The good commander says you and my sister are uncommonly lovely. So lovely, you’re each worth three of other ladies, and therefore the balance is exact.”
Lily smiled. “Only until Mr. Bellamy arrives.”
If Mr. Bellamy arrived. She slid a glance toward the empty chair at her right. His absence was upsetting her own balance, greatly. She stared at the vacant seat with angry desperation, as though Julian might materialize on the striped damask if only she willed it fiercely enough. He’d promised to come. He’d given his word.
Looking beyond his empty chair, she flashed a halfhearted smile at the three young lieutenants holding down the far end of the table. They immediately ceased casting doleful looks at their empty plates and grinned in return. So young, so hungry. If any of them were older than twenty, Lily would be astounded. When she’d been introduced to them earlier, they’d practically tumbled over one another to take her hand. Now she gave them a polite nod of greeting, and they all replied at once, speaking and laughing amongst themselves.
Hopeless.
Beneath the table, she balled her hands in frustration. This never happened to her with Julian. He was much easier to lip-read than most people, simply because he was so expressive. She didn’t catch his every word, but she could always gather his meaning. He seemed to intuit how to make it easier. He rarely forgot to face her when they conversed, never spoke too quickly or in confusing circles, repeated himself before she even had to ask.
But then, Julian did have one advantage over these men. He knew she was deaf.
She acted on the decision swiftly, before she could reconsider. Placing her hands on the table, she rose to her feet. The men looked to one another, then began to push back their own chairs and stand, in accordance with etiquette.
“No, please.” Lily motioned for them to stay seated. “I have something to say, and it will only take a moment.” She resisted the urge to put a hand to her throat, hoping those years of work with speech tutors would serve her well. “My old friends know this, but just so my new friends are equally aware … I lost my hearing several years ago, while stricken with fever. I’m deaf.”
The mood of the guests altered instantly. In the space of a moment, they’d gone from casually admiring her to examining her with keen curiosity. Rather like garden show attendees who’d moved on from a pleasing clump of pink tea roses to an exhibit of carnivorous spotwort from the Amazon. All around the table, heads tilted and jaws went slack.
She breathed in, then out. “I do read lips, but it’s difficult for me to follow conversation in a group. All I ask is, if you mean to talk to me, please face me and speak clearly. If you merely wish to talk about me, well … Now you know, you may do so with impunity.”
A ginger-haired lieutenant chuckled, then smothered the laugh with his palm. A horrified expression overtook his eyes.
“It’s all right,” she assured him as she took her seat. “Please do laugh. I meant it as a joke. There’s no need to mince around my feelings.”
The commander drew her attention with a light tap on her wrist. “But we are officers of the Royal Navy, my lady. Your protection is our duty. It would be the height of rudeness for any of our number to speak over or around you.” To his lieutenants, he said, “If any one of you wishes to speak—to anyone, for any reason—you will stand and face Lady Lily. One at a time, mind you.”
“Really, Commander,” Lily said, “that isn’t necessary.”
“Perhaps not. But it should prove amusing.” He gave her a little wink as he reached for his empty wineglass. “We shall put these new officers to the test.” He tilted his head and called around her, “Lieutenants! Who among you will take wine?”
Lily swiveled her head in time to catch the three young men exchanging frantic glances. Finally, the ginger-haired one rose to his feet, faced Lily directly, and said, “I will take wine, sir. And be glad of it.”
The second one stood. “Sir, if it please you and our esteemed hosts, I, too, will take wine.”
The youngest of the three, a pup who wore his dark hair in the ruffled style Julian had made popular, stood, grinned, and said simply, “Me!” before retaking his seat.
Lily laughed, more from nerves than amusement.
The commander touched his sleeve to hers, giving her a merry look before barking out, “Lieutenants! Red or white?”
The ginger-haired one took the lead again. “Red.” He smiled at Lily. “Naturally.”
“White,” said the second.
The third shot to his feet. “Both, if I may.”
The table and plateware shook with the officers’ laughter. At the head of the table, Lily thought she saw the duke frown.
Amelia caught her eye. Do you mind? her expression tacitly asked.
Lily shook her head in the negative. The game was a bit theatrical, she supposed, and no doubt the commander was flaunting his authority to impress. But she would choose to interpret his idea as considerate, not crass. Perhaps he meant to sacrifice his lieutenants’ pride to make her feel more comfortable, so any laughter or embarrassment in the course of the meal would be at their expense, not hers.
Once the wine had been poured, the servants began covering the table with soup tureens and domed platters.
“I hope no one minds if we dine en famille,” Amelia said. “It seems we are all close friends or family, in one way or another.”
From every corner of the table, the guests nodded their approval. But no one spoke. Lily worried that the commander’s “stand and declaim” order would quell all meaningful conversation.
As the footmen shook out the napkins and laid them in each guest’s lap, she screwed up her courage and turned to her dinner partner. “May I ask where your family resides, Commander?”
“In Somersetshire, my lady. My father is a baronet. I’m the third son. The ne’er-do-well, I’m afraid, sent off to the Navy at the tender age of seventeen.”
“You must have distinguished yourself very quickly, to have reached such an elevated rank.”
Michael said, “The commander is being modest. He proved his mettle during the action in Chesapeake Bay three years past. He was there for the burning of the city of Washington.”
“Is that so?”
But no answer was forthcoming. Amelia rose from her chair, and all the gentleman shot to their feet as well. This prompted a giddy ripple of laughter at the lieutenants’ end of the table, but as Lily watched, the amusement vacated their faces to make way for awe.
A darting glance toward the doorway confirmed her suspicion.
Julian had arrived. And arrived in style. He was always well-dressed, but tonight he’d outdone himself. Every detail of his appearance—each button, cuff, or twist of his cravat—had been arranged with such precision, the military uniforms in the room looked like paupers’ rags by comparison.
He bowed deeply to their hosts. “I apologize for my tardiness. I was”—he cast Lily a brief, cryptic look—“detained.”
The duke inclined his head with thinly veiled irritation. Amelia made hasty introductions, and everyone settled back to the table.
Lily indicated the empty seat next to her. “You’re just in time.”
So strange. Julian’s arrival ought to have heralded a deep surge of relief in her soul. If he was here, that meant he was not out chasing danger. And if he was here, it meant she had an ally to facilitate communication. She’d been waiting for him all night.
But when he approached, took her hand, and bowed over it—his intense blue eyes never leaving hers—it wasn’t relief she felt, but a prickling awareness that seemed some distant cousin to fear. The ground beneath her narrowed, coiled round and round on itself until she balanced on a taut, thin cable stretched between this moment and the next. Dizzying.
As Julian took his place at the table and the footman poured his wine, Lily found her attention drawn to parts of him she wasn’t in the habit of noticing. The neat, blunt edges of his fingernails. The freshly clipped fringe of hair just behind his ear. The red, razor-thin score on the underside of his jaw—the result of overzealous shaving, perhaps. The faint sandalwood aroma of shaving soap hovered about him, elusive and masculine, and with every breath her lungs expanded greedily, determined to catch more of it.
Had his earlobes always been that square-ish shape? Why had she never noticed it before?
Why was she noticing now?
Julian suddenly turned his head, and his gaze crashed straight into hers. She startled, embarrassed to have been caught staring. His eyebrow quirked in question. She didn’t have an answer.
“Commander,” she blurted out, swallowing hard as she turned. “You were telling us about the burning of Washington.”
“Yes,” the commander replied, his chest puffing a bit. “We occupied the American capitol for all of six-and-twenty hours before we were forced to retreat. But I was part of the group who burned the White House. When we entered, we found supper waiting on the table. Hospitable of them, wasn’t it?”
“Truly?” Amelia asked.
“Oh, yes. We walked in, and there was a meal laid for forty. So before we set fire to the house, we sat down and ate Madison’s supper.” He smiled. “But I must say, Your Grace, that meal was nothing to touch the feast you’ve laid before us tonight.” He gestured toward the array of roasts and delicately sauced vegetables.
Amelia blushed her thanks.
At the head of the table, the duke gave his wife a look of admiration and pride. He raised his glass. “A drink to her health. Her Grace, the Duchess of Morland.”
In unison, the lieutenants bolted to their feet with a chorus of “Hear, hear!” before sitting and gulping wine.
Julian’s brow creased with annoyance. “Such enthusiasm. Is that a naval tradition?”
Lily took it upon herself to explain. “The commander has requested his lieutenants stand when they speak, so that I may better follow the conversation. Isn’t that considerate of him?” With her eyes, she pleaded for his agreement.
She didn’t receive it.
“‘Considerate’ isn’t the word.”
The lieutenant in the middle rose from his chair. “If I may say it, Mr. Bellamy, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Lily smiled at his earnestness. These officers were a perfect audience for Julian’s charm. Like so many men of their generation, they clearly idolized him.
As the first sat, the ginger one rose. “At sea, we’re always telling jokes and amusing stories. All the best ones trace back to you.”
“All the bawdiest, you mean.” With a riffle of his short dark hair, the youngest ignored the one-at-a-time proviso and fairly exploded from his seat. “Do Prinny! Or Byron, if you will.”
Lily knew Julian had dined for years on the popularity of his imitations. Supposedly, he had the uncanny ability to reproduce a voice faithfully after hearing it just once. Leo’s friends never tired of the amusement, but it was a talent wholly lost on her.
Reaching for the platter of broiled trout before him, Julian demurred with a shake of his head. “Not now.”
But the young lieutenant would not be deterred. He leapt to his feet again. “Please, sir. I saw you a year ago, when my uncle took me by Boodles before I shipped out. And I’ve been telling my mates about it ever since—”
“Sit down.” Julian leveled the fillet knife at him. “And stay seated. All of you. You’re insulting the lady.”
The youth’s face blazed crimson as he sank to his chair. Lily felt her own cheeks heat. Well. That was the last they’d hear from any of the lieutenants at this table. They would not disobey their commander by speaking without standing, and neither would they dare to cross Julian.
She passed a dish of potatoes in his direction, taking the opportunity to murmur, “What are you doing?”
“I”—he accepted the dish with an angry motion—“am truly standing up for you.”
She bit back a response.
For several minutes, they all busied themselves with eating rather than conversing. But even with Amelia’s excellent fare, the diversion could only last so long.
The commander touched her wrist. “Will you flee to the country soon, my lady? Or do you winter in Town?”
“I will remain here in London,” she told him. “I expect my cousin—the new marquess—to arrive from Egypt soon. And you? How long will your ship be in dock?”
“A few months at least.” He gave her a solicitous smile. “Perhaps we will cross paths again.”
“Perhaps.” She turned to Julian for agreement, only to find his gaze trained fiercely on the commander’s hand where it still touched Lily’s wrist.
Yes, it was rather a liberty on the commander’s part. But really, nothing to demand that level of outrage. Julian glared at the man’s hand as though he were planning to take it joint from joint, cleaving muscle from sinew with a butcher’s efficiency—and perhaps a butcher’s implements, as well.
Lily gently withdrew her hand and reached for her glass, taking a long, leisurely sip of wine as a means of changing the subject. As she drank, she felt a palpable tension radiating from Julian’s quarter. She wanted to weep for despair. Why was he so angry all the time? Would they never be able to simply be friends again?
After the dishes and plates had been cleared, Amelia asked, “Since we are so uneven in our numbers this evening, shall we all adjourn directly to the drawing room? The gentlemen may enjoy their port in mixed company without fear of offending any delicate feminine sensibilities. Don’t you agree, Lily?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Excellent. What a lively group we’ll have for parlor games.”
They all rose, the chastened lieutenants apparently buoyed by the prospect of quality port. And though the duke looked faintly horrified by the prospect of parlor games, Lily held out hope that the group’s general humor would improve.
Unfortunately, as they departed the dining room, the commander was hasty in offering his arm. Lily had no polite way to refuse. She cast a beseeching look at Julian.
“Go on,” he said, eschewing her company for the duke’s. “Morland and I need to chat. Privately.”
The duke nodded his agreement, no doubt eager to escape the parlor games. He and Julian fell behind, then ducked into a side room.
Lily sighed. She hoped that by “chat,” Julian meant … an actual discussion. Not an exchange of insults and blows. But no matter how much she wished for the former, she knew the latter was a distinct possibility.
One minute in Morland’s study, and Julian already wanted to hit the man.
“Well, Bellamy.” The duke unstopped a decanter of brandy, timing the loud pop for dramatic emphasis. “It’s been awhile.”
Julian endeavored to remain calm. He concentrated on the amber flow of brandy as it swirled and tumbled into his glass. “Not nearly long enough for me.”
“I would be inclined to agree”—the duke filled his own glass—“if you didn’t owe me a great many explanations.”
Julian clenched his jaw. He owed this man nothing. “I assume you refer to the search for Leo’s murderers?”
“I fronted the money for that investigation. Several thousand pounds. So yes, I think that entitles me to some explanations. But first”—Morland indicated two chairs, and they sat down—“let’s talk horses.”
“Oh, yes. Forget our murdered friend. Horses always come first with you.”
The duke ignored the remark. “When I returned to Town, I went first thing to look in on Osiris. Imagine my shock when I did not find him at the same mews.”
“I had him moved,” Julian said testily. “Wasn’t that what you wanted? You had such a litany of complaints about his stabling.”
“I did.”
“And …?”
“And the current arrangements are improved.” Before Julian could respond, the duke added, “But still not what they should be.”
Arrogant ass. No doubt Morland would watch a pint of blue blood let from his veins before he’d spare Julian a word of concession.
“I still want to take the stallion to Cambridgeshire,” Morland said. “This is a priceless racehorse we’re discussing. My stables are the best. Osiris belongs there.”
Julian tipped his brandy. Of course. The duke would never deem any barn fit for that horse, other than his own. The purebred man deserves the purebred horse—that was Morland’s thinking. Well, Julian despised the man and his air of aristocratic entitlement. This was the very reason he’d charmed his way into the ton. To personally see overblown lords of Morland’s ilk mocked, humbled, ruined. Or most enjoyably of all, cuckolded.
Luckily for Morland, even Julian wouldn’t sink so low as to seduce the good-natured Amelia. Even if he had the heart for seduction lately, which he hadn’t.
“Need I remind you,” Spencer asked, “that my share of the horse exceeds yours by sevenfold?”
“No. You needn’t remind me.”
The ten brass tokens that signified membership in the Stud Club could never be bought or sold, only won or lost in a game of chance. It was the crowning example of Leo’s fair-minded nature. What other marquess would devise a club open to anyone with luck, regardless of his wealth or circumstance? Because, though noble-born, Leo had never thought himself the superior of any man.
And ironically, he had been. Certainly worth ten of this duke. The club had been a source of amusement for years, until Morland ruined it with his ruthless quest to win all ten tokens and own the stallion outright. The duke currently held seven of the ten brass coins. Julian and Lord Ashworth were the only other surviving members.
“Your arithmetic needs adjustment.” Julian set aside his brandy and reached into his coat. “Because I currently hold two.” From his breast pocket, he withdrew a thin disc of brass. On one side was stamped a horse’s head, and on the other, a horse’s tail. “This one was Leo’s,” he said, holding up the token between thumb and forefinger. “I won it back from Ashworth, in Devonshire.”
“What took you to Devonshire?”
“You’ll remember last summer, the whore who found Leo’s body was tracked down?”
The duke nodded. “When we last saw each other, you were planning to question her.”
“And so I did. I found her, questioned her, and then took her to Ashworth’s backwater village in Devonshire for safekeeping.”
“Safekeeping? Why did she need safekeeping?”
After a brief hesitation, Julian decided to tell Morland everything. Much as he detested the man, he also needed him. Or rather, Lily needed him. And whatever Lily needed, Julian also required.
“The night of his death, Leo picked up the harlot in Covent Garden, asked her to go with him to the boxing match. Afterward, they lingered in the street … negotiating where to … you know.”
“I can imagine.” Morland grimaced. “Just skip that bit.”
Julian did, and happily. He didn’t like thinking about Leo spending his last night on earth with a whore. Truthfully, Julian had been shocked to hear he’d picked up the girl at all. Common light-skirts weren’t Leo’s usual way.
“Anyhow,” he went on, “before they could proceed, a man appeared.”
“The one who resembled you?”
“Yes. And according to the harlot, Leo seemed to know him. The two went round a corner. The girl heard an argument, then silence. Then a fight. She turned the corner and saw two footpads pummeling Leo and this stranger.” Julian reached for his brandy and downed the remainder. It burned going down, but it wasn’t nearly so hard to swallow as the truth.
He cleared his throat and forged ahead. “She didn’t see the attackers clearly. Could only describe them as two large brutes in rough clothing. One was bald, she said, and the other sounded like a Scotsman. She managed to scare them off with a scream, but both Leo and his companion were left severely injured. The whore went for help, but by the time she returned with a hackney driver, this mystery fellow had disappeared. Only Leo was there. She brought him to my house, and you know the rest. He died en route.”
“So who was this other man?”
“That would be the question, wouldn’t it? I searched for weeks, made inquiries.” Finding the man had been a harder task than one might think. Since Julian set the trends for fashion, a great many young gentlemen resembled him. “I finally learned his name. You should know it. Peter Faraday. He’s a former member of the Stud Club.”
“I remember,” the duke said, refilling both glasses. “I won his token just a few nights before Leo’s murder.”
“And just after the murder, Faraday fled Town for a remote cottage in Cornwall. I thought I had the answer. Faraday was disgruntled over losing, or desperate for funds, perhaps. I thought he must have lured Leo into an ambush. Ashworth and I went to Cornwall, bringing along this prostitute to identify him. But when we arrived at Faraday’s hideaway …” Julian expelled a rough sigh. “The man was an invalid. Could barely walk, even two months after the attack. He claims he and Leo were merely talking, and then these two brutes fell on them without warning.”
“And you believe him?”
He shrugged. “Ashworth does. Says he must be innocent—that no man would willingly incur injuries that severe, even to cover up his involvement in a murder plot. But I still say Faraday’s hiding something. Whether ambush or accident, there’s more he’s not telling us.” He reached for the token again and tapped its edge against the arm of his chair, beating a steady rhythm. “Now the investigation is stalled.”
Morland’s gaze trained on the token in Julian’s hand. “That should be mine, you know. I wrote you a bank draft to fund this investigation, on the understanding that token would come to me.”
“You are unbeliev—”
“Save it.” The duke waved off the remainder of Julian’s protest. “I don’t give a damn what you think of me. But I truly do want what’s best for that animal. You could make this easy and agree that Osiris deserves a comfortable retirement at my estate. But since you won’t, I’m forced to call in debts.”
“There are no debts.” Julian put away the token and withdrew the other item he’d secured in the breast pocket of his coat. He unfolded the rectangle of heavy paper and extended it to Morland.
The duke took it, frowning. “Is this …”
“Your bank draft, yes. I never drew the funds.”
Morland blinked at him.
“Oh, I performed a thorough search. Hired runners, investigators, crawled over every inch of this city. But I used my own money.”
“Then why did you accept this?” The duke held up the bank draft.
“As a bond, of sorts. To certify your good faith and innocence. I’m convinced of those things now.” Albeit grudgingly.
“Well,” Morland said dryly. “And here it only took five months. I thought I said the remainder of the amount was supposed to go to Lily.”
“She won’t take it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Well, then.” The duke folded the paper and ripped it in quarters before casting it into the fire.
“You still owe her your assistance.” Julian leaned forward to confront the duke, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“I assume you have something specific in mind.”
He nodded. “There’s more to the story. Faraday had a theory as to why those men attacked him and Leo. And the evidence supports his conclusion.”
“Which is …?” Morland leaned forward with interest.
Julian hesitated. He hadn’t spoken of this to anyone since Cornwall. “The attack was meant for me. Someone wants me dead.”
As he spoke the words, he felt the tension in his shoulders melt. Strange, that an admission of imminent danger and possible pursuant death would be accompanied by the sensation of relief. But it was. It helped to talk, and there were few people with whom he could discuss this openly. His usual confidants were Leo and Lily. One was dead, and the other must never know anything of this.
“Just one person?” Morland scoffed. “I would have wagered many.”
“God damn it. This is serious.” Julian rose from his chair and paced the carpet’s antique gold fringe. “Leo’s dead, and—”
His voice broke at the sudden memory of Leo’s battered face. That image haunted him, even now. Leo had died too quickly for much bruising to occur. His features had been not so much swollen as … misshapen. Broken beyond repair.
“Leo’s dead, and it’s my fault. You’re right, my enemies are plentiful. That’s the bloody problem. If there were only one person, I’d know where to go. But there are too many men with a grievance against me, and some incidents are decades in the past.” He couldn’t just go knocking on doors and ask, Beg pardon, but are you the one who’s discovered my true identity and wants me dead? He massaged his temple with one hand. “If I want to find Leo’s killers, I’ll have to find the man who hired them. Which means I’ll have to provoke him, draw him out.”
“Draw him out? None of this makes sense. It’s been five months since Leo died. If someone truly wanted to kill you and failed, one would think by now he’d have taken a second stab at it.” To Julian’s affronted silence, Morland half-shrugged in apology. “Poor choice of words.”
“Yes. I’ve noticed you have that problem.”
The duke went on, “Have there been any other direct attempts on your life?”
“No,” Julian admitted. “Not that I’m aware.”
“Then why are you so convinced it was a planned attack meant for you?”
“It only makes sense. The timing, the method, the resemblance between me and Faraday. He even said Leo’s last words were ‘Tell Julian.’” He turned away, swearing softly. “The man lay wounded and dying, and his last thought was to warn me.”
Leo was decent and selfless to the last, and what had Julian offered in return? Lies. Lies, and improper lust for the man’s only sister. What a miserable excuse for a friend he’d been.
“That proves nothing. He was wounded, and you were his closest friend. In any scrape, wouldn’t his first thought be, ‘Tell Julian’?” Morland approached, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Listen. Leo was murdered by footpads. It was a random attack by petty criminals, not paid assassins. This was the simplest explanation from the first, and it remains the most credible theory now. It’s a tragedy. But you need to let it go and move on.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand.” And neither could Julian explain it. He surmised that Morland had some notion of his less-than-illustrious origins. But the duke didn’t know the particulars.
Someone out there did. And that someone wanted him dead, eventually. Five months were an insignificant delay, after so many years.
“There will come a time,” he said, “perhaps quite soon, when I will disappear. Whether voluntarily or not, I dare not guess. When that happens, you must promise me you’ll look after Lily.”
Morland looked surprised. “Certainly. Amelia is very close to Lily. We’ll offer her any assistance she might require.”
“Damn your offers of assistance. I need you to protect her.” Julian gestured angrily in the direction of the dining room. “Better than you did in there just now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. That row of trained porpoises at the dinner table.”
The duke raised an eyebrow. “That was not—”
“The devil it wasn’t. And then that odious Commander Merriwin, taking every opportunity to fondle her wrist.”
“Fondle? I scarcely think—”
“Exactly. You scarcely thought.” Julian leveled a finger at Morland, leaving him with a tenuous grasp on his emotions. “This is your house. Lily is your guest. How could you allow those … those seafaring apes to make a mockery of her, right to her face?”
“No one was mocking Lily,” Morland replied evenly. “You’re the one who insulted her.”
“Me? I insulted her?”
“Yes, by treating her like a child who needs tending. Lily is an intelligent woman, and not nearly so fragile as you make her out to be. She can handle herself. She was doing so this evening, quite capably. Until you arrived. That’s the moment she began to look miserable.”
The truth silenced Julian. Morland was right. She’d worn a broad smile when he entered, but she’d visibly tensed as he slid into the chair beside hers. She certainly hadn’t spurned the slimy advances of that Merriwin slug—a fact that should have filled him with hope for her marital prospects but instead left him hollow with rage. And the wounded look she’d sent him when he barked at the lieutenants to sit down …
Dagger, meet heart.
He knew, rationally, that Lily was a capable, clever woman who didn’t need his help. But when he was around her, rational thought grew wings and flew out the nearest window. In its place, protective jealousy reigned supreme.
He scrubbed his face with one hand. “Well. At least she won’t have to put up with me much longer.” He rose and moved to quit the room.
The duke asked, “Just how much does Lily know?”
“About what? About her brother’s dalliance with a low-class whore? About Faraday? My enemies?”
“About your feelings for her.”
That dagger piercing his heart twisted, grinding against his solar plexus. He was too stunned to dissemble. Morland knew?
“Of course I know,” the duke said. “And if even I’ve noticed, it’s the worst-kept secret in England. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m not especially perceptive.”
“You don’t say.” Julian stopped, hand and gaze fixed on the doorjamb. For years, he’d kept so many secrets. Why was he failing so miserably at hiding this? If even Morland could tell, did Lily suspect? How could she not, after that stupid, disastrous kiss?
Three nights, he told himself. He just had to make it through three nights. Somehow.
“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Lily knows nothing about any of it. Nor will she.”