The Chase

by Sara Portman

  Juliana could not blame Lucy for her questions. She realized, with great disappointment, that none of the answers to those questions justified her allowing Michael to hold her hand. She slowly slid her hand away.

  “I have not.” Michael gave the honest answer. “But she is under my protection, nonetheless.”

  “Is she?” Lucy asked. She looked back and forth at both of them, considered a moment, and nodded. “Very well. I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Rosevear.”

  Judging by Lucy’s satisfied expression, she assumed considerably more significance to Michael’s declaration of protection than was accurate. Juliana sat up because she felt silly continuing to lie down when there was really no reason for her to do so. “I am so sorry, Lucy, to have involved you and your husband in all of my troubles.” She hadn’t said the same to Michael, because she was not sorry. She was grateful beyond reckoning for his involvement and she would not wish it away.

  “Nonsense,” Lucy said forcefully, waving her hand to brush the idea aside. “I am sorry that we weren’t able to prevent this. I wish you had come to me sooner. I would have helped you in any way I could.”

  Juliana believed that was true. Perhaps, if she had left before, she could have relied upon Lucy’s help until she became entitled to her allowance, but then she would have put Lucy and her husband at the risk of whatever her father might have done. And she would not have met Michael.

  She sighed. Perhaps it would have been better for Michael, however, if they had not met. He was supposed to be at his father’s house, arranging for his future. She knew she could not continue to cling to his protection and support, even if the thought of separating again tightened her chest with feelings of near-panic. She had her place at the boarding house and now that she could stay in England, she could begin to look for a more permanent arrangement.

  “What time is it?” she asked, willing her eyes not to tear.

  “I’m not certain,” Lucy said, “Four o’clock perhaps?”

  “I think I have sufficiently recovered,” Juliana said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I think it is time for me to go.” The physician had cleared her hours ago. She was only sore and sorry to leave Michael. Those were not reasons to become a permanent convalescent above Brantwood Trading Company. She couldn’t go with Michael, so she had to go back to Mrs. Stone’s. If she didn’t return soon, she would be late for dinner and lose her place there. She didn’t want Kat to be blamed for helping her either.

  “Are you sure you should be standing?” Michael asked, rising to her aid.

  She smiled. “I am not going to swoon. I am only a little sore. I promise.” She looked between Lucy and Michael. She was very tempted to ask Michael to take her back to Mrs. Stone’s, even if just to spend another half hour in his company. But she could not return with a gentleman. Besides, Michael may already be engaged for all she knew. “There is one thing I might ask of you, Lucy,” Juliana said.

  “Anything,” Lucy answered without hesitation.

  “Would you be able to return me to the boarding house where I am staying?”

  “What?” Michael demanded.

  “Boarding house?” Lucy laughed. “Of course you will not remain at a boarding house. You will be my guest, Juliana. You will stay with me until,”—she glanced at Michael—“until you make other arrangements.”

  “No.” Michael’s objection was swift and clear. “You will stay at my father’s house. I insist that you do, at least until I am assured that you have suffered no injuries. Then you may stay with Mrs. Brantwood, if that is your choice.”

  Juliana stared at him. “I really don’t think it appropriate for me to stay with you, Michael.”

  “I don’t see why not,” he clipped. “The marchioness is there.”

  A chaperone was not at all what she meant. He was supposed to be courting the merchant’s daughter, wasn’t he? How else was he to win Rose Hall for himself?

  “Well,” Lucy contributed. “If the marchioness is there, I don’t see how there should be any trouble.”

  Juliana stared at Lucy this time. Lucy winked at her. Winked.

  Did she think she was matchmaking? She began to shake her head. No, Lucy had it all wrong.

  “It’s decided,” Michael said. “You will return to Willow House with me.”

  Juliana didn’t object. She told herself it was because she was tired and the day had been traumatic. She knew that was not the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Once Michael had assisted Juliana into his carriage and seen her comfortably seated, he climbed in as well. As a gentleman, he would usually have taken the rear-facing seat and allowed her the forward-facing seat. Instead, he gave Gelert the rear-facing seat to himself and sat next to Juliana, for no more thoroughly-examined reason than he wanted to sit next to her.

  He was still reeling from the rage and panic he’d felt seeing her attacked by her father, much of which hadn’t even taken hold and truly shaken him until after she was safe. He was unsettled from it even now. The feeling made him want to forbid her from ever being out of his sight again, irrational as that was.

  “Thank you,” she said once they were moving toward his father’s house, “for protecting me, for comforting me. I don’t want to think what would have happened today if you had not come.”

  Neither did he. “You are safe now,” he said, as much to still his own heartbeat as hers. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Thanks to you I am safe,” she said. She gazed up at him adoringly and, damn him, he basked in it. He looked down at her, fire lighting inside of him, and wished they were speeding toward a one-room cottage in a tiny village instead of his father’s house. His attention fell to her mouth.

  She turned away. “I think Lucy…Mrs. Brantwood…may have misunderstood our relationship.”

  “How so?”

  The color rose in her cheeks and her voice wavered as she answered. “I think she believes we are,”—she hesitated and spoke again in a whisper—“involved.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Her eyes flashed to his.

  He laughed. “You may call it something different, Juliana, but over the past week, you and I have been very involved.”

  Her color deepened.

  “In fact,” he said, reaching around to place his hand at the nape of her neck, “your friend may have been perceptive enough to realize that I rather like being involved with you. And I think you rather like being involved with me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as he neared her mouth. “Or whatever you would like to call it.”

  He touched his mouth to hers and immediately lost control of the kiss. Without conscious decision by either of them, all the fear, anxiety, and adrenaline of the day burst forth in a rush when they came together.

  “Michael,” she breathed, in between his plundering kisses. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  He lifted his mouth from hers and moved to her throat. “You were wrong,” he said against the skin there. That either one of them thought they wouldn’t meet again seemed ridiculous now. He couldn’t feel enough of her. His hands couldn’t move fast enough to touch every part of her.

  And hers did the same. Their kisses were desperate and hurried like they had met in secret and had only a short while before being caught.

  He supposed that was true. They would arrive at Willow House soon. If it was clear then what they were doing now, Juliana’s arrival would be more uncomfortable for everyone—particularly Juliana. So Michael gave her one more lingering kiss, then released her.

  “We will arrive soon,” he said.

  He saw the moment reality registered and the cloud of passion gave way to panic in her eyes as she smoothed her dress and checked her bonnet, which was definitely askew.

  “Let me help.” He untied, removed, and replaced the bonnet, making sure her hair was tucked up i
nside. “Just don’t remove it until you are alone,” he said with a wink.

  Her eyes widened in momentary alarm, then she surrendered to mirth at the thought of her truly unkempt state being discovered.

  He helped her retie the bow under her chin. “Lovely,” he said, and dropped a quick kiss to her lips because they tempted him.

  The carriage began to slow and Michael looked to see they were approaching the house. He felt a hand on his knee and faced Juliana again. The laughter over the bonnet had faded from her expression. Her round green eyes filled with emotion. “Thank you, Michael,” she said emphatically. “My life will never be the same, because of you.”

  His instinct at hearing her words was to pull her into his arms and hold her there, but the carriage had stopped so he only lifted one hand and brushed a finger along the side of her serious expression. His heart swelled and, though he didn’t speak the words, he believed in that moment that he could say the same to her.

  * * * *

  Michael had called it Willow House. In Juliana’s memory, willow trees were drooping and sad. The London home of the Marquess of Rosevear in no way resembled the mourning willow. The house consisted of two stories of faded red brick topped by a third story of cheery white dormers. As though the builder had intentionally snubbed his nose at the window tax, the façade was a sea of tall, transomed windows bordered in white that beautified the exterior and must certainly have flooded the interior with sunlight on pleasant days.

  It was a grand house and as Juliana ascended the front steps at Michael’s side, she was very conscious of her appearance. Though they may have succeeded in tidying her hair, nothing could be done for the poor condition of her attire. She looked lowlier than a poor relation.

  The painted white door was opened at their approach by an old and graying butler in surprisingly bright blue livery that managed to make her dress feel even more dingy in comparison.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the butler said to Michael with a short bow of his head. He turned to Juliana and gave the same short bow in her direction, only with no greeting as he would have had no way of knowing how to address her. She saw the flicker of curiosity in his aged face, but it was gone by the time he turned back to Michael.

  “This is Miss Crawford,” Michael said, removing his hat and handing it to the butler. “She will be our guest for a time. Please see to it that a room is readied for her and ask the marchioness if she would please join us in the drawing room.”

  The butler nodded and waited until Michael began to lead her away before departing the front hall to accomplish these tasks.

  The interior of the house was even more intimidating to Juliana than the exterior. She knew of grand houses, but she’d never seen one. She’d barely seen any houses other than her own. The drawing room into which Michael led her must surely have been larger than the entire first floor of the house in Beadwell. She was afraid to sit on the pale fabrics covering the furniture. She was covered in the dust and possibly the smell of the London docks.

  As it happened, Michael did not invite her to sit before they heard the approach of footsteps. Juliana knew Michael could not hold her hand now, or place his hand at the small of her back as he’d done while they walked to the waiting coach after leaving Brantwood Trading Company, but she blessed him for sidling closer to her and straightening his shoulders. She did the same and took courage from his proximity.

  A boy hurried into the room and smiled broadly as he spied Michael. “You’re back. We all wondered where you’ve been all day. Mum asked everyone, but no one knew.” He looked to Juliana, examining her thoroughly before asking, “Has he been with you?”

  This, she assumed, was Michael’s half-brother. His blunt questions and quick change of attention startled her and she hesitated to respond.

  “Where is your mother, Alexander?” Michael asked.

  “She’s coming. Mrs. Kenton wanted to know which room to have made up.” He looked at Juliana then. “But Mother told her she couldn’t know where to put you until she knew who you were and why you were here.”

  A smiled tugged at Juliana’s lips. She supposed that would be the sort of conversation the lady of a house such as this might have with her housekeeper, but not one she expected repeated to her guest. Better rooms were reserved for better guests, she supposed.

  “I shall solve that trouble, Alexander. Go and tell Mrs. Kenton she’s Miss Crawford, she’s here because I’ve brought her, and she’s to have a room in the family wing.”

  The boy ran off quickly, no doubt excited to be the first in the household to possess such important information.

  “Please excuse Alexander,” Michael said. “He’s…”

  “He seems very likeable,” Juliana said.

  Michael looked at her quizzically, though she didn’t believe her comment to be so odd. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I do like him. Even if his questions are incessant.”

  Juliana thought a boy who asked so many questions at twelve years of age was surely a boy who’d received answers as opposed to punishments for his previous questions. For that reason alone, she was predisposed to like the marchioness.

  At that moment, a beautiful woman, perhaps ten years her senior, sailed into the room, managing to hurry and appear graceful at all once, and Juliana wondered if she hadn’t summoned the marchioness with her very thoughts.

  “Michael,” she exclaimed. “We’ve been wondering about you. I was told you returned early from your morning ride and left again immediately. I hope there hasn’t been any trouble.” She spoke to Michael, but her attention was fixed on Juliana, who tried not to feel anxious. She waited for Michael to introduce her, belatedly wondering what explanation he might give to his family.

  “I’m afraid there was trouble, ma’am.”

  Concern engulfed her features.

  “Trouble? What trouble?” A man appeared in the doorway. He bore no resemblance to Michael but his fine clothes and authoritative manner identified him unquestioningly as Michael’s father, the marquess. He walked into the room at an unhurried pace and settled his attention, as his wife had, directly upon Juliana. He looked up and down the length of her for an uncomfortable moment then peered directly into her face as though trying to place her. He spoke bluntly. “Who is this?”

  The marchioness laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “I believe Michael was about to explain, dear.”

  “This is Miss Juliana Crawford.” Michael looked directly at her as he made the introduction and she met his eyes, letting their hold steady her the way his touch might have. “Miss Crawford,” he said in a gentled voice, then lifted a hand in the direction of the older couple. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Rosevear.”

  Juliana forced her eyes from Michael’s and faced Lord and Lady Rosevear.

  “Welcome, Miss Crawford,” Lady Rosevear said with a gracious smile.

  The marquess only nodded. They both faced Michael again, awaiting further explanation.

  “I am sorry to say Miss Crawford has had a traumatic event today. She was attacked and nearly abducted. The threat has been resolved, but I have offered that she shall stay here while she recovers from the incident.”

  The effect of Michael’s blunt words was immediate.

  “Oh my heavens! You poor thing,” the marchioness gasped. She immediately reached for Juliana, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  Juliana was surprised by the unexpected rush of attention and hesitated to respond. “I…no, I am not hurt, ma’am.”

  “She is lying,” Michael said flatly. He looked pointedly her way. “She may not be permanently injured, but she suffered a blow to her back and is most definitely hurt.”

  “Oh, no,” the marchioness said, her shocked expression settling again on Juliana. “Shall I call the physician?”

  Juliana hesitated. She didn’t know how much to share, when
clearly most of Michael’s involvement painted their acquaintance in an inappropriate light.

  “She’s already been examined by a physician,” Michael responded when Juliana did not.

  “How did that come about?” the marquess asked.

  “What did the doctor say?” his wife asked instead, casting him a warning look.

  The marquess appeared unhappy with the rebuke, but remained silent for the moment. Juliana had lived in the quiet of no one’s company but her own—or her father’s when she was unlucky—for so long that she was overwhelmed to be the subject of their collective attention. She was relieved to let Michael answer their questions and decide how much of the truth they should know.

  “The physician said she was lucky enough to be bruised but not severely injured, from what he could tell.”

  The marquess looked skeptical. “Who attacked her? Where did this happen? You’re going to have to tell us more than this,” he said, waving his hand toward Juliana. He earned another quelling look from his wife and Juliana wasn’t certain how to respond. She should not have come. Her presence was already causing trouble.

  “You will need to rest, dear,” the marchioness said, both she and Michael pointedly ignoring the marquess and his insistent questions. “I’ll have a room made for you right away.”

  “I’ve already sent a message to Mrs. Kenton that she’s to make up a room in the family wing.”

  This announcement earned Michael a surprised look from Lady Rosevear and Juliana a closer assessment from Lord Rosevear.

  She sensed Michael stiffen. “The doctor believed Miss Crawford was not severely hurt, but if she does suffer an ill effect of the incident, I don’t want her to be in some remote part of the house.”

  “A thoughtful consideration,” the marchioness said, and with her arm still around Juliana’s shoulder, began to lead her from the room—to Juliana’s great trepidation. “We shall find Mrs. Kenton,” the lady said, “and see what has been done.”