Three

Neil found a man with a cart selling some sort of freshly baked pies. The food smelled decent enough to him, but as he had no intention of hauling two-dozen pies back to the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, he paid the man to bring the cart to the building.

When they arrived at the servants’ entrance, he rapped on the kitchen door for a good three minutes to no avail. His father had said the earl wanted Lady Juliana to come home again and stop playing at her charity work. Neil had thought it would be a simple assignment—he’d be in and out. Apparently, he’d misjudged. So far, nothing about Lady Juliana had been simple. Least of all his reaction to her. He hadn’t expected her to be so…so damned delicious. Even the smattering of flour and dough on what must at one time have been an expensive dress couldn’t take away from the sensuality of her generous curves, the luster of her coppery hair, or the way her mouth turned up in just the barest hint of a smile.

He’d wanted to kiss that mouth to see if it was as soft as it looked. From the way she’d looked at him, Neil didn’t think she’d object to a kiss either.

Such thoughts weren’t like him. He might no longer be a soldier, but he still considered Lady Juliana a mission. One did not kiss missions—unless one was Rafe Beaumont.

And Neil thanked God daily he wasn’t Rafe Beaumont.

After another knock went unanswered, Neil supposed he would have to make the vendor drag the cart around to the front, but as he turned to give the directive, the kitchen door popped open. No one stood in the doorway, and when Neil leaned closer, he saw the latch was ineffective and the lock useless. Considering the look of the man Neil had encountered in the parlor earlier, he would have thought security a high priority for Lady Juliana. Anyone could walk in and steal from the orphans—or worse. And in Spitalfields, the or worse happened more often than not.

He’d made a mental list he’d titled Problems and Dangers Relating to St. Dismas Orphanage, and he planned to mention it to Lady Juliana at the first opportunity. Poor security would be at the top and the primary reason she should return to her father’s abode immediately. In the meantime, he gestured to the pie man. “Bring the pies in here and set them on this table.”

“Yes, guv.” The man went to work while Neil looked in the hallway for any sign of Lady Juliana. She was nowhere to be seen, but the raucous sound of boys’ laughter floated down from above. And then there was a thump and a cheer.

“Sounds like you got a full ’ouse, guv.”

Neil looked up at the ceiling as the next thump sounded, then he handed the man a pound. “Come back tomorrow, and there will be another just like it.”

The man’s eyes grew large as he stared at his bounty. “I’ll be ’ere, guv. You can count on Jacob, you can.” He walked as if in a daze out of the kitchen.

Neil shut the kitchen door and studied the broken bolt just as another thump shook the house. This time it was followed by the unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice. He’d have to leave the lock for later, so he shoved a heavy crate half-full of potatoes in front of the door and made his way through the building.

The building was large and, from what he could surmise, had probably once been the home of a well-to-do merchant. It was close to the large market in Spital Square that had operated there since King Charles II had granted its charter. But the building had not been the home of a prosperous merchant in some time. Neil knew little about fashionable furnishings, but everything he saw looked old fashioned and faded, like a painting left in the sunlight too long.

From what he’d seen so far, the kitchen, dining room, and a third room—probably a library or parlor—were on the first floor. He imagined servants’ quarters were on the lower level and the drawing room and bedchambers on the second floor. He hadn’t looked closely when he’d been outside, but he didn’t think the building high enough for a third floor. Likely Lady Juliana had converted public rooms on the second floor into dormitories for the boys.

Neil found the stairs inside the small, dark vestibule. He’d seen them when Goring, the manservant, had shown him in. As he stood at the base, more cheers rang out above him followed by groans. Lady Juliana’s voice grew louder. Neil began to climb the rickety staircase, and when he reached the landing, he said a silent prayer that, whatever hell he was about to enter, it wouldn’t involve more rats. He turned left, toward the noise, and stepped into a room with rows of four beds on either side. At the far end, a crowd of boys had gathered. Above their heads, he could just see Lady Juliana standing in the center, straining, her arms spread wide.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the boys chanted.

“There will be no fighting!” the lady said through clenched teeth. Neil realized she must have been holding two boys apart. He looked around for another adult who might be charged with supervising the children and saw no one. Was the petite daughter of the Earl of St. Maur the sole authority in an orphanage full of boys?

This was even worse than he’d thought.

Neil crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat just loud enough for the boys in the outer circle to hear him. One or two turned around, and eyes growing large as plates, they tapped the shoulders of their neighbors. Neil watched awareness ripple through the circle, and within seconds, the boys parted, leaving the two combatants and Lady Juliana exposed. Those three were so occupied they did not see him. The two boys—about eight years of age, if he judged correctly—swung at each other and tried to skirt around Lady Juliana. For her part, she ordered them to Cease this instant and Do behave while she danced between them and kept them apart.

He shouldn’t have wanted to laugh. He never laughed anymore, and this situation was particularly unamusing because he had a feeling that the more trouble Lady Juliana faced with these lads, the more determined she would be to reform them. On the other hand, perhaps after this experience, she would have seen the futility of reform and would welcome being saved. That cheerful thought gave him pause to appreciate how utterly ridiculous—and, truth be told, adorable—she looked. She couldn’t have been more than an inch or two over five feet and the curves her efforts exposed above the high waist of the voluminous gown were nicely rounded. Her coppery-red hair fell about her shoulders and her large, brown eyes flashed anger while the pale skin that often accompanied that red shade of hair was tinged pink with exertion.

With all the flour and dirt streaking her cheeks and arms, her wrinkled gown, and her hair flying in every direction, she should have looked as though she ought to be a resident of the orphanage. Instead, she brought to mind the image of a woman rising from rumpled sheets, skin pink from exertion—and pleasure.

He had heard his half brothers mention her name a time or two over the years. Lady Juliana was considered a beauty and had a dowry large enough to tempt one or two of them to court her, though it appeared no one had tempted her into marriage. Either that or her suitors had run screaming from the room at one flash of fire from her eyes. She did have expressive eyes. But he wasn’t cowed, and unfortunately, neither were her charges.

Neil straightened his shoulders and marched forward to do what he’d come to do—save the day.

Standing before the threesome, he cleared his throat again. This time the three pairs of eyes darted to his face. Lady Juliana’s gaze locked on his in horror, but the two boys were too enraged to take much note of him. Instead, they took advantage of the lady’s momentary lapse of attention and tore at each other like rabid dogs.

With a screech, the lady jumped back and out of the way. And then, instead of doing what she ought and scampering to safety, she jumped between the two boys.

Neil was so completely surprised that he didn’t move for a full three seconds. In that time, she almost parted the boys, but her skirts tangled about her feet and she ended up on her bottom.

“What the devil is going on?” Neil bellowed. “You, over there. You, on that side!” His temper began to simmer, and he pushed it back down, reminding himself these were children. He reminded himself as well that he’d sworn after that bloody day in Portugal he would never lose control again. Like a fist closing, he reined his emotions in and stepped forward. The two combatants scattered, and Neil held out a hand to Lady Juliana.

She brushed it away.

Confused, Neil continued to extend it, but she didn’t take it. Instead, he stared in astonishment as she climbed to her feet unassisted. Then she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. She’d probably been glaring at him for several moments, but he hadn’t been able to see for the profusion of coppery hair. “You.”

The one word was full of seething anger and condemnation.

What the devil was wrong with the woman? Perhaps she’d misunderstood. “I would have helped you to your feet, my lady,” he said.

“Oh, I think you’ve helped quite enough for one day,” she answered, her jaw clenched and her lips barely moving.

He stared at her and pointed a finger at his chest as if to ask whether she was referring to him.

She gestured to the pugilists. “I had the situation under control.”

He let out a huff of laughter. She was obviously deluded. “Is that what you call it?”

She looked as though she had a ready retort on her lips, but he was saved from the tongue-lashing when one of the boys who had been fighting jumped forward. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to make you fall.”

“Me either,” the other one said, head hanging in a very good imitation of one shamed by his actions.

She gave the boys narrowed looks. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had not been fighting. How many times have I told you fighting is not allowed?”

One of the boys with dark hair and freckles waved his hand and jumped up and down eagerly. “Ooh! I know! I know!”

She turned and sighed. “Michael?”

“One hundred and twelve times, Lady Juliana. I’ve been counting, I have!”

“I know you have, Michael. Your counting skills are quite extraordinary.” She looked back at the combatants. “You would think after”—a glance at Michael—“112 reminders you would know the rule by now.”

“I do, Lady Juliana, but he took my cards.” This from what Neil had come to consider the older combatant, as he was taller and had a shaggy mane of brown hair.

The other, a bit shorter with curly, blond hair and a chubby face, which grew redder at the accusation, clenched his fists. “Did not. Those cards are mine!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!” countered the younger one.

Neil raised his brows at Lady Juliana as if to ask whether this was what she meant by under control. She glared right back at him, then held her hand out in front of the boy with the curly hair. “Give me the cards, George.”

“But, Lady Juliana…” George whined.

“I told you there’s to be no gambling.”

“No fighting, no gambling. What type of establishment is this?” Neil drawled.

She turned her fiery, brown eyes on him. “And you, sir. I will speak with you in the parlor, if you would kindly wait for me there.”

He gave her a mock bow. “Of course, my lady.” But she would not win the field that easily. “The pies in the kitchen are growing cold.”

“Pies!” That exclamation from every child in the room. And then he flinched as a line of boys, every bit as formidable as one of the French battalions, raced past him, thundered down the steps, and presumably landed in the kitchen.

The lady blew out an exasperated breath as though to indicate he had done something else of which she disapproved. “I’d better go down and make sure the little ones are given their fair share. There will be no practicing table manners this morning,” she said, attempting to sweep by him as though her stained attire were a court-presentation dress.

He caught her arm, surprised by the warmth of her skin. “A moment of your time, my lady. I believe introductions are in order.”

She sighed. “You are right. I’ve been terribly remiss. The morning has been rather hectic. I wish I could say it has been unusually hectic, but I’m afraid chaos has been the norm since I arrived.”

He released her arm. “And when did you arrive?”

“Oh, almost three months ago. Or has it been four?”

The shock must have showed on his face because she quickly continued, “It used to be much, much worse. We actually have something of a routine now.”

This was a routine?

A crash sounded from somewhere in the building, but before she could run off, he made a slight bow. “I am Neil Wraxall. My father is the Marquess of Kensington.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then you’ve come at my father’s request. St. Maur and Kensington have been friends since their days at school.”

He inclined his head. “As you say.”

“And you obviously know I am Lady Juliana.”

He would have made some nonsense remark about how he was pleased to meet her—although he hadn’t been particularly pleased yet—but she held up a hand to stay his response.

“I see what this is about, and I regret to inform you that you are wasting your time. I have no intention of returning home until I have matters here in order. My father wants me to dance at balls and attend the theater. I ask you, how am I to attend the theater with all of this to think of?”

Neil knew an ambush when he saw one, and he remained silent.

“If my father sent you to convince me to return home, you are wasting your time, sir.”

“I am not here to convince you to leave,” he said. In fact, he’d intended to simply carry her out, put her in a coach, and send her home.

He saw now that while brute tactics might win the battle, they wouldn’t win the war. She’d be right back here.

And then so would he.

This moment called for diplomacy, as Rafe would have called it. Ewan would have called Neil’s next words by their true nature: a lie. “I am here because your father is worried for your safety. He asked me to put measures in place to ensure you are well protected.”

She gave him a wary look. “My father said that?”

“I didn’t actually speak to the earl, but that is my interpretation.” A very loose interpretation.

“What sorts of measures?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll need to do some reconnaissance before I make recommendations.”

“Reconnaissance? Are you by any chance a soldier, Mr. Wraxall?”

“I was.” Now would come the endless questions about what branch he served in and the battles he fought in, and when she learned he was one of Draven’s Dozen, she would probably press a hand to her chest and flutter her lashes.

He wouldn’t mind that reaction, though he certainly would be no gentleman if he took advantage of her swoon to kiss her…

She turned her back on him and walked away.

Neil frowned. Where was the swoon and his ill-gotten kiss?

“Go ahead and do your reconnaissance, sir. You may note your recommendations when you are finished. I trust that will be shortly?” She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him. “We have no need for soldiers and military regimentation here.”

Her skirts swished as she moved into the corridor and down the stairs. Neil could have imagined how lush her hips looked as she moved. He gritted his teeth and shifted his thoughts back to the mission. Clasping his hands behind his back, he surveyed the dormitory. A handful of buckets littered the floor, half-full of water from the rains the night before. He looked up at the leaky ceiling and noted the plaster was crumbling in more places than he could count. None of the boys’ beds were made. Blankets and pillows were thrown on the floor as were articles of clothing. Dirty clothing, pamphlets, half-eaten apples, and decks of cards and dice littered the trunks at the end of the beds. No wonder the place had rats. He quickly found the box that housed the creatures near the window on the far side of the room. Even from this distance, he could see the latch on the window was broken. No doubt the boys were sneaking out at night and doing God knew what.

He had his work cut out for him, and this was but one room in what he estimated to be close to a dozen. One thing was for certain. Lady Juliana might not know it, but she needed military regimentation and a whole hell of a lot of it.

* * *

Julia fumed all the way to the kitchen, and then she fumed more when she saw the state in which the boys had left it. She’d have to spend half the morning putting everything to rights. If her father wanted to help her, why didn’t he send her a maid or a cook? She could sorely use one of each. Leave it to a man to send help in the form of one more inconvenience. On the other hand, if her father knew her lady’s maid had resigned and the cook had fled and she was living here three or four days a week essentially unchaperoned, he would have come himself and dragged her home.

At least the boys would be busy for the next few hours. Mrs. Fleming should have arrived by now. The teacher would have had to begin her lessons late, but some education was better than the complete ignorance in which the boys had been living before she arrived.

Julia found the broom and sighed over the crumbs and smashed bits of food on the floor. If only Harriett could see her now. Her sister would have laughed at dainty, little Julia sweeping up after orphans. But then, her sister had always been laughing.

Harriett had been her best friend and closest confidante. The sisters, only nineteen months apart, had behaved like twins. They’d always been so happy together. And who wouldn’t have been happy when life was filled with nights at the theater, dancing under glittering ballroom chandeliers, and presentations at court? Their life had been exciting and beautiful and charmed. And when some small discomfort intruded, Harriett had made everything right again. She’d always been the strong, healthy one as well…until she wasn’t.

Julia’s eyes burned, and she closed them briefly. She was here because she’d already mourned Harriett and now she needed to do something besides embroider pillow covers and sip tepid tea at garden parties. The magic that had been her life in the haute ton had faded without Harriett, and each event seemed more dreary and tiresome than the last. Her father balked at the thought of his last remaining child running an orphanage. At one time, Julia would have balked too. Charities and benevolence societies were always Harriett’s domain. She’d been a tireless supporter of this orphanage and several others. When she’d been confined to her bed, she’d asked Julia to go to the meetings in her stead.

And when she’d died, Julia had continued to go because she did not know how not to go. It had been painful enough saying goodbye to her dear sister and her best friend. The charities were one way to keep Harriett alive.

Davy had been another way.

But he’d been taken from her as well.

How could she sit in that too-silent town house and go on with her life as usual? Without Harriett or Davy, all that was left was a deep, dark hole. The day she’d walked into the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, a ray of light had shone in the blackness threatening to engulf her life. She’d felt as though she belonged. She’d felt like this might be a place she could call home. She’d been delivering embroidered napkins, which anyone with half a brain could see was not what the orphans really needed, and she’d simply never left. First, she’d spent one day a week here, then two, then more. Now, she was all but splitting her time between her father’s town house and the orphanage.

She felt close to Davy here. She felt closer to Harriett.

She felt…that something was not quite right.

She paused in her sweeping and cocked her head. It was too quiet, and she’d quickly learned when it was too quiet something was amiss. Laying the broom handle against the worktable, she left the kitchen and stuck her head in the hallway. The classroom was just up the stairs, in what had been a drawing room before the residence had been made into an orphanage. Shouldn’t she hear the drones of Mrs. Fleming as she recited numbers or read aloud?

Instead, Julia heard…nothing.

She crept down the hallway and would have started up the stairs except she spotted Mr. Wraxall in the vestibule. She’d wanted to forget about him. She knew who he was as soon as he introduced himself. She’d never met him, but as she’d said, her father and his father had been friends for a long time. She knew about Kensington’s bastard son. She’d only met the legitimate sons, of course, though the marquess claimed his bastard and had paid for him to be reared and educated.

Wraxall didn’t look at all like his father and brothers, who were pale and slightly plump and who had inherited the crooked front teeth that were the hallmarks of the marquesses of Kensington from time immemorial. Wraxall must have taken after his mother, for he was not pale, not plump, and his teeth were white and straight.

She’d looked just a little too long at his mouth to pretend she didn’t remember his teeth. Or his lips, which looked soft and yielding.

Except for his lips, everything about him was straight and proper and sober. He’d undoubtedly made a good soldier, because when he turned his gaze on her now, she almost felt as though she should stand at attention. She resisted the silly urge and then, because he made her nervous, she latched on to the first item she saw—other than his quite kissable lips. It was a small notebook and pencil he held in his hands. “What is that?”

He glanced down at the notebook as though just remembering he held it. “I’m taking notes, my lady.”

“Notes, Mr. Wraxall? About the front door?”

He turned back a page. “I’ve already finished my notes on the dormitories. I didn’t want to barge into unfamiliar rooms, and since I haven’t been given a tour of the premises yet, I thought the front door seemed a good place to continue.”

“Continue making notes?”

“As you see.”

“Is there very much to note about the door, other than it is rectangular, wooden, and sorely in need of paint?” Come to think of it, hadn’t she asked Mr. Goring to paint it last week?

“It is all of those things, my lady, but I am also noting that the lock does not work.”

“What?” She moved closer. “I lock it every night.”

“I have no doubt of that, but the mechanism has been rigged so the bolt does not slide into place fully.” He pushed the bolt into place, and then he tugged on the door and it came open easily.

“But how—”

“Here.” He showed her the way the wood had been smoothed down in the casement so that it took only a little pressure to free the bolt from its mooring.

“Oh dear. I shall have to have that repaired.” Once again she glanced about for the elusive Mr. Goring. She hadn’t seen him since he’d shown Wraxall in.

“Did I imagine you had a servant earlier?”

Ah, then she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen him.

“I do.”

“Just the one servant?”

“Could you show me the door again?” she said, hoping to distract him.

“What about a companion or a lady’s maid?”

Curses. If word reached her father that she was here without a chaperone, all her plans would go to waste. “So the lock on the door is not working?” She bent to peer at it.

He pushed it closed. “Forget the door. Is there a female servant in residence?”

She had never been a good liar, but she did know how to dance and how to sidestep. “By ‘in residence,’ do you mean on the premises?”

His eyes seemed to turn a darker shade of blue. “That is the usual meaning.”

“Mrs. Fleming is here.”

“The lady lives here?”

“She is in the classroom.” She ought to play chess. That was a narrow escape.

“Mrs. Fleming is an instructor?”

“Yes.” Distraction was the key, and Julia was already starting up the stairs, making her way around the boards that were weak and rotting.

“And where is this classroom?” He followed her, seeming not to have realized she hadn’t answered his question. He trailed her closely, stepping where she did as though he too had seen the rotted wood.

She gestured to the top of the stairs. “In what was formerly the drawing room.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. See for yourself.” She opened the drawing room doors and stared at the empty room. She looked right and then left.

No pupils. No teacher.

Wraxall leaned on the door beside her. “Impressive,” he drawled.

She would have told him to shut up, but she was too angry to speak. She knew it had been too quiet. She had no idea where either the boys or their teacher had gone. That was if Mrs. Fleming had even come to work. The boys were not exactly well behaved, and Julia would hardly blame the woman if she sought employment elsewhere.

Then she heard it.

She hoped she imagined it, but when she looked at Mr. Wraxall, he too was looking at the front windows. With a sigh, Julia crossed to the windows looking out onto the street and parted the curtains. As the shouts and hoots of laughter she’d heard had indicated, there were the boys. It would have been bad enough to see them loitering in front of the orphanage and harassing passersby, but it was even worse to see them playing keep-away with Mrs. Fleming’s reticule and books. The items were tossed from one boy to the next, just in front of Mrs. Fleming, but continually out of her reach. For her part, Mrs. Fleming stood with her hands on her bony hips, her square chin jutted out, and her eyes narrowed under her ugly hat.

First, her cook; now, her teacher. Julia was aware she should run downstairs, stomp outside, and end the nonsense below with all possible haste. But it wasn’t even noon, and she had no more energy. Perhaps if she rested her forehead on the cool glass for a moment and gathered her strength…

She hadn’t realized Mr. Wraxall had come to stand behind her until she felt the warmth of his body. She almost turned, but then his arm brushed against hers as he further parted the curtains she held. Her skin tingled beneath the silk of her gown, and she had the wanton impulse to rub against him again. She refrained, but she was not so angelic as to move to put some distance between them. She wanted him to touch her again. More than that, it was lovely to imagine, just for a moment, that she was not alone in all of this. His form felt solid and steady, and he smelled lightly of baked bread and coffee—smells, she imagined, that lingered from his earlier quest to find the boys food. She wanted to turn her head into his waistcoat and breathe him in.

Julia couldn’t imagine where the idea had come from. Then her belly rumbled and she remembered she had not eaten at all today. That was it. She must have been half-mad from hunger.

She lifted her head, and her hand inadvertently slid down to where his rested on the edge of the curtain. At the feel of his bare skin against hers, she pulled away quickly, but not as quickly as he did.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she sputtered.

“It was my fault.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, presumably to keep them from ever touching her again. Clearly, she was the only one imagining his arms around her. And how could she blame him? She looked a fright and had acted like a shrew. Their gazes met, and his jerked quickly to the window. He couldn’t even look at her.

“The woman is your teacher?”

“Yes. I had better go and save her.” She was eager to be away. She didn’t need to see him flinch away from her a second time. “And accept her resignation.”

“You can’t allow her to resign.”

She raised her brows. “I don’t see how I can prevent her.”

“But the cook already resigned today.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. I’d quite forgotten what a wretched day this has been.”

He seemed to ignore the barb. “And we can’t find your manservant anywhere.”

Her brows lowered to a glower. “Yes, and my lock does not work, and the kitchen is a catastrophe, and I haven’t eaten anything since supper at the ball last night. Make note of all of it in your little book and be sure to tell my father, will you?” It seemed the logical end to this horrendous day.

She started away, and he matched her stride. “I have no intention of telling your father.”

She thought she heard a silent yet at the end of that sentence, and she didn’t allow herself to feel relief.

“Then what do you intend?”

He seemed to falter, as though not quite certain himself, but then he was by her side again as she descended the stairway in the same careful way she had ascended it. “We divide and conquer,” he said.

She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

“Mock me if you want, but rule and order would not go amiss with those boys right now. I’ll take them and clean up your kitchen while you—”

She halted. “The boys will clean the kitchen?” she said, her tone disbelieving.

“Under my supervision, yes.”

She barked out a laugh. “I have tried to make them sweep and mop before, and they made more of a mess than we started with.”

He muttered something under his breath. They stood at the bottom of the steps, his face in shadow in the dark vestibule. Just beyond the front door, she could hear the boys’ voices and knew their game continued.

“What was that you said?”

“Planned incompetence,” he answered, articulating every syllable.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the boys made a mess of the chores you assigned them so you wouldn’t ask them to do them again.”

She inhaled sharply. “They wouldn’t.” But she knew they would. Of course they would. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? “And what does one do about planned incompetence?” she asked.

“Oh, a night in the stocks usually takes care of it,” he replied.

She stepped back. “Mr. Wraxall! These are children we’re speaking of and—”

He held up a hand. “Save your ranting. I won’t put anyone in stocks.”

Was it her imagination or did he mutter this time after those words?

“Having me act as supervisor will be sufficient.”

“And you know how to use a mop and broom?” she asked dubiously.

“I was a soldier. I know how to launder my own clothing and sew on a button too, Lady Juliana. You take the teacher and speak with her in the parlor. I’ll take the boys and clean up the kitchen. While we’re at it, they might as well straighten the dormitories.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I wish you the same in your endeavor to convince the school teacher to remain. Now that we both know our assignments…” He reached for the door. “Ready and”—he opened it—“charge!”

He strode out first and began bellowing orders. Julia held back for just an instant. Her life had become a whirlwind, but she couldn’t allow herself to trust Mr. Wraxall to do any more than pull her free momentarily. He might help her now, but he’d soon lose interest. She wouldn’t make the mistake Harriett had and put her faith in him or any man.