Page 92 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“She can be quite resourceful, for certain. And persuasive.”

“Drake, you two—didn’t?”

“Let’s just say she convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt of her commitment to me.”

“I don’t see how this applies to Victor and me. It’s not like he’s going to come sneaking into my room in the middle of the night to confess his undying love.”

A deep chuckle rose from her brother. “He’d better not. But there are two days until the wedding. If he calls tomorrow, which I expect he will, talk to him and listen to what he has to say. Don’t throw love away, Juliana. It’s worth the risk.”

He rose from the bed and kissed her on the top of her head. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll need to go in to Lords early tomorrow because of the king, but Honoria and Mother will be here if you need them.”

As the door closed with a softsnick, Juliana thought about her brother’s words. Were they so different from what her father tried to tell her? Even if love took no prisoners, was it worth the risk?

She drifted back to her niggling question.If no one could win, what was the point?

The answer floated to the surface. Maybe it wasn’t about winning or losing, but simply loving, and unconditional love itself was the point.

She strode back to the window and opened it. A cool, early summer breeze drifted in, fluttering the curtains and bringing with it the sweet scent of lilacs. Movement on the terrace below caught her eye, and she squinted into the dark. A figure, a man, stalked along the terrace. Her body tensed, and she prepared to go to the bell pull and alert a footman they had an intruder. A burst of light illuminated the face of Lord Nash as he lit a cheroot and lazed against the terrace railing. Grateful no predator lurked in the shadows, she breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Victor wanderedthe neighborhood by the duke’s mansion, checking his watch every few minutes. A few times, when a constable making his rounds strolled by, he ducked behindnearby shrubbery. No need to be asked all sorts of questions about why he was out on foot skulking around the homes in Mayfair so late at night. What was he to say? I’m waiting to return to the Duke of Burwood’s and win back the woman I love?

Ha!

Not likely.

Peeking out from a yew that poked him viciously in the eye, Victor confirmed the street was clear and emerged from his hiding place. Twenty-nine minutes had elapsed according to his watch, and he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket and strode back to Pendrake Manor.

Dim light shone in several upstairs windows, and using the stealth of an assassin, Victor crept around the back of the house. Where was Nash?

Faint orange light glowed on the terrace. Careful not to trip, Victor climbed the steps and found Nash leaning casually against the railing, a cheroot dangling from his fingers.

“What kept you?” He took a long drag on the cheroot, the orange tip growing brighter.

“I’m not late. You said thirty minutes.”

Nash blew out a trail of smoke and gave a deep-throated laugh. “I didn’t expect you to wait the whole time. Figured you be eager to win back ye fair maiden.”

“Are we going to stand here arguing or are you going to tell me how you plan to sneak me inside without the servants seeing? If we take the servants’ stairway, we’re bound to be discovered.”

“Oh, you’re not going inside the customary way through a door. Remember, the goal is to sweep Miss Merrick off her feet. To perform a daring feat to win her over so she throws herself into your arms.”

“Then how the hell am I...” Words stuck in Victor’s throat as Nash stepped away from the railing and pointed to a window on the third floor.

“That’s Miss Merrick’s bedroom. Fortunately for you, she opens her window to let in the breeze. Also, fortunately for you, it isn’t raining.”

Momentarily setting aside the fact that said window was on the third floor, Victor addressed the most pressing question. He knew the man was a rake, but this was beyond the pale. “And how doyouknow that’s Juliana’s window? If you’ve done anything?—”

“Relax. I’m a happily married man. However, Her Grace has requested I smoke outside, and I enjoy the cool evening breeze here on the terrace. I happened to notice Miss Merrick at her window.”

Fists clenched at his sides, Victor clamped down his anger and addressed the next question. “And how am I to get up there? Grow wings and fly?”

When Nash rolled his eyes, Victor wanted to plant him a facer.

“How do you think? Climb.”

Victor craned his neck—up, up, up the expanse of the building to the third-floor window that held all his hopes. “If I fall, I’ll kill myself.”

“Then don’t fall. And the fall won’t likely kill you. You’ll simply break a leg and if not set properly, the infection will kill you. However, both my wife and Ashton are excellent physicians. They could amputate and save your life.”

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