Stephenson bowed his head. “I took the liberty of having your maid summoned. Muriel shall be waiting just outside the doorway should you have need of her.”
She managed her first smile since her world had fallen apart. “Thank you, Stephenson,” she said, planting another kiss on his cheek.
A twinkle lit his eyes. “It is my absolute pleasure and honor, Miss Pratt.”
The moment he’d gone, Josephine scrambled to gather up her leather journals and notes. Stealing frantic glances at the door, she hurriedly stuffed them inside her satchel.
When Stephenson appeared several moments later with Lord Grimslee, the pair found Josephine at the center of the room, her hands clasped before her.
“The Viscount Grimslee,” Stephenson announced and then slowly backed out of the room, only partially closing the door behind him.
As soon as the butler’s footfalls had faded, Josephine crossed over and pushed the panel all the way closed. “Lord Grimslee,” she said evenly, dropping a curtsy.
He’d never been one to reveal any hint of emotion. This exchange proved no exception. She studied him intently in a bid to make out some hint of what he was feeling. Lucas, however, proved as blank as he’d always been. “Josephine,” he said somberly. Her former betrothed tugged free first one glove and then the other. Layering those immaculate white articles together, he beat the pair against an open palm.
He was always remarkably composed, so this was the first hint of disquiet she’d ever seen him display.
“Would you care for tea?” she asked, already reaching for the bell. After all, it was a universal truth known by every English person that, when in doubt, distress, or really any situation in between, ring for tea.
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Lucas hooded his eyes. “This is not a social call.”
“I see.” For she did see. His presence here could mean only one thing. The muscles of her stomach knotted.
Lucas twisted his gloves back and forth in his hands before catching her gaze on those uneasy movements. He swiftly tucked them inside his sapphire coat. “My brother Ewan came to me several days ago in a fury over what he called your treachery,” he said in hushed tones.
Even as she’d been expecting them, the viscount’s words staggered her. She fisted her hands tight at her sides. “I’ve not committed any acts of treachery,” she said tersely. Duncan had proven correct in both his fears and suppositions. Society would see only perfidy in Josephine’s involvement in Lathan Holman’s case.
Lucas took a step closer. “Ewan insisted we come here and call your family out.” He held her gaze. “I insisted we not rush off until we sorted through all the… story. I suggested we wait and that I… speak to you first, in private.”
She flattened her lips into a hard line. “How very restrained of you.” Yes, because Lucas had ever been driven by logic and appearances. There’d never been passion. He’d never knock himself onto his buttocks to make a sad child smile.
Her former betrothed frowned. “You must admit you appear guilty, Josephine.”
“To someone who does not know me, perhaps.”
“I did not let him come here and call you out for… for…” Lucas grimaced.
“Working.” She enunciated both syllables.
In the end, the viscount could not bring himself to make the utterance. “I forbade him for coming here to call you out for your relationship with Mr. Everleigh.”
Josephine scoffed. “Never tell me you’re here expecting me to thank you.”
“No,” he said quietly. He paused. “I came to apologize.”
“What?” Had he bent a knee and declared his love and devotion and requested her hand in marriage, she couldn’t have been more shocked.
“It was wrong to so much as entertain the opinion that you’d somehow act in any way that was nefarious.” His gaze held hers. “I pride myself on being honorable and correct in all the decisions I make.” He began to pace before her. “I’ve lived by a code, Josephine.” He glanced her way. “A code. It was why, given my youngest brother’s scandal, I had to take up a greater mantle of responsibility.”
Once, that would have grated… and even hurt. No more. She now knew she’d never loved Lucas Holman. Rather, she’d been so very in love with the idea of being courted and in love. “And you felt the way to save your family was by severing any relationship with me?” she asked dryly.
Her sarcasm went undetected. “Precisely.” His strides grew increasingly agitated. “I listened too much to what my mother and father wished and what Society said, and I failed to look at what was directly in front of me…” He stopped in midstride. “Until now, Josephine.”
“I don’t understand why you are telling me this,” she said slowly. Surely he’d not come here with the intention of rekindling their relationship.
“Lathan has gone free.”
“What?” Her mind raced. “But the trial is not scheduled—”
“For a sennight. You’re correct. The charges against him were dropped by the Home Office. And not only has my brother been cleared of wrongdoing, but it is because of you.”
She rocked on her heels and struggled to take that in and make any real sense of it.
“Lathan’s barrister, Mr. Everleigh, indicated that it was not in the Home Office’s best interests to move forward and requested that the case go to private counsel in order to preserve the Crown’s secrets.”
“He did?” she whispered. Duncan, who’d been so very determined to go to trial and restore his name and build his career, had sacrificed all of that to ensure Lathan Holman went free. Tears clogged her throat. Was it possible to love him any more than she did in that moment?
The viscount continued on, bringing Josephine’s eyes open. “I paid a visit to Mr. Everleigh and conveyed my deepest appreciation for what he did for Lathan and the entire Holman family.” He moved closer. “And he informed me that my thanks belong to you as you raised, and made him consider, that the preservation of identities and secrets of Great Britain would matter more to the Home Office than prosecuting my brother.”
Her breath caught. Duncan had given her that credit? It wasn’t deserved. He’d been the one to set aside his pride in order to protect his client.
Lucas took her right palm in his, and she blinked, looking down at their joined hands. “I wronged you. I wronged your family. I’m asking that we might begin again.”
She gently disentangled her fingers from his. “Oh, Lucas,” she said gently.
He flashed a strained smile. “Why do I detect a rejection in your tones?”
Even as he’d betrayed her, she’d no desire to inflict hurt upon him. Rather, as one who’d let others—his family, Society—dictate his life and his happiness, he was a man to be pitied. “Although I am grateful to you for coming here and establishing peace between our families, you wouldn’t be happy with me, as I wouldn’t be happy with you. I know that now.”
He smiled tightly. “Very well. Then, at the very least, in the name of our families and the business partnerships our families were pursuing, I ask that you at least consider letting us resume our ventures.”
Ah, so that was what this was about, then. Lucas wished to pick up with the partnership in the coal venture he’d had with Nolan before their families had become enemies. “I’ll consider it,” she allowed. For the truth remained, she wasn’t so petty or small that she’d put her own history with Lucas Holman above a lucrative business deal that might help the Pratt family finances.
Collecting her fingers, Lucas bowed over them. “That shall be enough, for now.” For now. That viscountly arrogance remained. He dropped a kiss upon her knuckles, and there wasn’t so much as the ghost of a tingle or trace of heat. Unlike Duncan, who could set her body ablaze and her belly aflutter with the merest brush of his hand against hers or a glance her way.
After he released her palm, Lucas lingered as if he wished to say more.
But then, with a deep bow, he took himself out.
>
She slid onto the nearest seat, a gilded sofa that had somehow escaped being sold to pay creditors.
Duncan had done it.
He’d cleared Lathan Holman of guilt and saved the young man from a ruthless end.
Her heart buckled.
For she wanted to celebrate that moment with him. That discovery he’d come to, the one he’d shared with Lord Grimslee, was one she would have had with him.
“May I join you?”
She gasped and looked to the hesitant figure of her eldest brother, who hovered at the threshold, awaiting an invitation. “Of course.”
Her brother claimed the spot next to her.
Josephine got to the heart of it. “Lucas would like the opportunity to rejoin with our family in the previously abandoned venture.”
“No,” Nolan said without missing a beat. “We don’t need their partnership, and we don’t need the funds that might come from any arrangement with them.”
She smiled up at him. “You know that isn’t true, Nolan.”
“You are correct.” Her brother held her gaze. “But there are some things that are far more important than funds and social standing, and family is one of them, Josephine.”
Unconsciously, she reached inside the pocket sewn along the front of her dress, and her fingers collided with the cold stone that rested there, a gift from a little girl to make a wish upon. Only, there’d been only one wish she’d had that day… and still had. A wish that had only to do with love and nothing to do with those very things her brother now spoke of.
“Pride is a costly thing, Nolan.” Duncan had been able to set his aside to do what was right. “But your son is a reason to consider striking peace.”
Her brother swallowed loudly.
Josephine didn’t allow him to speak. “Pride is a costly thing,” she repeated. “And it is even more foolhardy to let that matter over a relationship that was never meant to be.” There was only one man she loved… and would ever love. Avoiding her brother’s eyes, lest he see, Josephine blinked away a sheen of tears. “Nolan”—she angled on the sofa so she could better face him—“I don’t love him, and I’m not hurt.” She gave his hand a light squeeze. “Think on it.”
Emotion filled his eyes. “You’ll never find a man who is worthy of you, Josephine, but there will be one who will love you and care for you as you deserve, and he will be worth the heartbreak you knew.”
You deserve marriage and respectability, and even as I wish I could offer you all that, I don’t know that—
“I know,” she said softly. Her heart crumpled at the echo of Duncan’s voice, still so clear in her memory.
But her brother had been wrong on one score. There was a man who was worthy, a man of integrity and honor… and she wanted a life with him.
Given that he’d made no attempt to seek her out, that hope would remain just that… a wish.
Chapter 22
Duncan had long known those born to the nobility lived altogether different lives than every other member of Society.
Every aspect of their existences was dissimilar.
What Duncan had never really considered was the state of their windows.
More specifically, how damned many of them they had.
Squinting, Duncan angled his neck and considered the palatial Mayfair townhouse and its vast array of perfect glass panels.
“You really should have put more effort into this, Papa.”
Yes, he really should have. “Hmm,” he said absently, eyeing the lead windowpanes awash with the glow of candles.
“You’re usually far better with details.”
Charlie was correct on that score, as well. Josephine Pratt, however, had turned his world upside down in every way, and he would never be the same.
He grinned.
Nor did he want to be. He didn’t ever want to go back to being the bitter, angry, resentful man he’d been. One who’d hidden himself and his daughter away because of fear of Society’s opinion.
He was six foot, three inches, but the baron’s lowest window was still just beyond his view. Sinking back onto his heels, he turned to Charlie. “I can’t see if she is inside. But if I put you on my shoulders, you’ll be able to peer inside.”
With a wicked little grin, his daughter motioned him to the ground. “Well, on with it, then.”
Dropping to a knee, he helped her onto his shoulders. “You’re enjoying this immensely, aren’t you?” he asked under his breath as he took several moments to steady her and balance.
“Quite so,” she said, completely unapologetic. “Now, move closer. Closer. Still closer, Papa. Stop.”
Somewhere, a carriage rumbled.
Adjusting his hold on Charlie’s knees, he looked up. “Well?”
“Shh. I’m looking,” she said impatiently. Charlie shifted her head. “She’s there. I see her!”
At last. Helping Charlie down, Duncan collected the purse from his jacket.
“You’re certain you’ve thought all this through?” his daughter asked, skepticism heavy in her tones.
Duncan froze with his arm poised midthrow. “It is romantic.” Wasn’t it? Or, when he’d planned how all this would go, it’d seemed romantic.
“Throwing things at her window? Mm-mmm.” Charlie gave her head a firm shake. “As I recall, you were hardly pleased when she showed up at your window.”
“That was different,” he whispered.
“We shall see,” Charlie said warningly. His ten-year-old-going-on-twenty-nine motioned to the lead windowpane. “Get on with it, then.”
Duncan tossed a sovereign at the window.
It pinged off the glass and promptly hit the cobblestones. He waited.
And waited.
Doffing his hat, he stared up at Josephine’s family’s home and beat the old Oxonian hat against his thigh.
He absently registered his daughter sliding into position beside him, and craning her head in a matched movement, she stared at the window. “I don’t think she heard it.”
“No, you’re correct.”
“It is not at all too late to choose flowers and a visit to the front door,” she volunteered as he brought his arm back to hurl another coin.
“I assure you I’ve thought it all through.” Every last part of this exchange had been plotted in his mind with the same meticulous care he showed his notes. With that, he threw another coin, with a greater velocity.
Craaaack.
His stomach dropped. “Oh, hell.”
From the room above, the sounds of chairs scraping a wood floor were immediately followed by a rush of footsteps.
Charlie giggled. “I trust you’ve thought this out, as well.”
A bevy of fancily clad lords and ladies peered at the crack in the panel and then down at Duncan. He searched the gaggle of strangers. Oh, bloody hell. They weren’t all strangers. Not all of them. He saw Ewan Holman, along with a gentleman of similar features who could only be the viscount, and also, Josephine’s first love. Jealousy wound hot through his veins, keen and sharp and biting.
“You should wave,” Charlie whispered, lifting her fingers to the crowd. “And you certainly should not scowl up at them so.” When Duncan remained motionless, his daughter kicked him in the shin and sprang him to the now.
Grunting, he hurriedly aped Charlie’s wave. “You failed to mention there was a room of guests,” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.
“You only asked if Josephine was there, and I told you she was.”
Their audience above fell back, leaving one gentleman at the window. The stranger wrestled with the window a moment before managing to throw it open with a force that dislodged several shards of the broken glass. They rained down with a forlorn and damning tinkle.
“Can I help you?” the gentleman called with a shocking modicum of calm, and Duncan believed for a moment that mayhap he might reason with the brother, after all. Nor could there be any doubting that he now spoke to the head of the household.
&nbs
p; Duncan cleared his throat. “I trust this is hardly a conventional way to meet. However, I was wondering if perchance your sister is there?”
The baron’s eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. And all hope for reasoning with the brother vanished. “My sister?” His was a silken purr that promised danger.
Damnation.
What did you expect, though? To be greeted with brandy and an invitation to White’s?
He gave his necktie another tug.
In the end, Duncan was saved.
“Hullo,” Charlie piped in, and the baron’s stupefied gaze whipped over to the small girl.
Ah, God love Charlie. Never again would Duncan bemoan her ability to disarm him or anyone again. Not with her having turned those skills upon the outraged lord.
“Uhh… hullo,” the blond fellow called down.
“I don’t suppose Miss Pratt is near? There is something of great importance that we’d really like to…”
The curtains fluttered, and a figure slid into position beside the young baron. “Charlie… Duncan?” Shock carried his name downward.
Josephine.
Duncan’s heart sped up, and he drank in the sight of her, but this was Josephine as he’d never before seen her. Her auburn curls, tinged with crimson, were drawn back in an artful arrangement. A pair of sapphire butterfly combs held those voluminous strands in place, with the exception of one lone curl that lay in a perfect corkscrew upon a bared shoulder.
God, how he’d missed her.
Charlie gave an excited little wave. “Hullo, Miss Pratt,” she shouted up.
He grunted as something sharp collided with his side.
Charlie rubbed at her elbow. “This is where you say something…”
This was where he said something. Words he’d been preparing and practicing these past five days until they’d been stamped in his mind. Only, he could not call forth a single one.
The baron growled, “What is the meaning of—?”
Josephine glowered him into silence and then leaned out at a precarious angle.
The Minx Who Met Her Match Page 23