Page 101 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

While Juliana stood helplessly at the door, Victor grabbed his shoe and rushed off to gather his clothing.

She forced down the lump forming in her throat. “Are you going to tell my brother?”

Nash gave a soft chuckle. “Did Pratt grovel enough to redeem himself? Are you going to marry him?”

If only Nash knew just how well Victor had redeemed himself. Then again, from the smirk on Nash’s face, perhaps he did. “Yes.”

“Then even if I were the type to rush to your brother—which I am not—I wouldn’t. Now tell your young man to hurry. I’ll wait out here for him.”

With a strangled, “Thank you,” Juliana closed the door.

Victor had already slipped on his shirt and trousers. His waistcoat remained unbuttoned, and he shoved his bare feet into his shoes, stuffing his stockings into his pocket. “My coat? Where did I leave my bloody coat?” He spun in a circle like a child’s top.

“Over there.” She pointed to the chair where she’d laid it mere hours ago.

Looking devilishly handsome in his state of dishabille, Victor pulled her into his arms. “Good night, my love.” A smile tipped his lips. “Or should I say, good morning. I shall call on you later today. For now, get some sleep and dream of me.” He kissed her long and hard until another persistent knock sounded.

“Pratt. Hurry.”

As he walked to the door, he held onto her hand, their arms outstretched until only their fingertips touched. “I love you,” he whispered as he slipped through the door and closed it with aclick.

Rooted in place, she stared at the door, still in a daze from everything that had transpired.

Victor loved her!

Had made love to her.

And it had been glorious. Twirling like a ballerina, she danced across the floor, then came to an abrupt stop. An uncomfortable thought slipped into her mind, and freeing herself from her stupor, she raced back to the bed and threw back the counterpane and sheets. The smear of red condemned her.

She chewed on her bottom lip.Think. Think.Could she blame it on her courses? She just had them a little over a week ago, recalling how she’d been grateful her lovely new ballgown wouldn’t be stained.

When she grabbed a cloth to try to wash it away, the cloth itself was tinged with blood. Victor’s blood from the scratches on his face and hands. After rinsing the cloth in cold water, she tried to dab at the stain on the bed, only then seeing pinkish traces from Victor’s wounds on the pillow and higher up on the sheets.

Resigned to the fact that she’d never be able to explain it adequately, she prayed that Miss Price would keep her secret.

And if not, she prayed Drake would remember his own indiscretion and not kill Victor.

For she dearly wished to marry him.

Victor wantedto wipe the smirk off Nash’s face as he followed the churl through the quiet house.

“You dropped this as well.” Nash handed Victor his hat the vine branch had knocked off during his fateful climb.

Victor grunted a “Thank you.”

“What’s that?” Nash held a hand to his ear and gave a deep chuckle.

“Thank you,” Victor said, still reluctant to put much feeling into the words.

“From the appearance of things, youshouldbe thanking me. Profusely. I’d venture you had a very good evening. Miss Merrick certainly had a glow about her.”

“If you so much as speak a word?—”

“Relax, Pratt. I’m the last person to judge.”

When they reached the end of the hallway, Nash held out his hand and peered around the corner. Soft shuffling from below drifted up the staircase. Nash held a finger to his lips then continued watching for an opportunity to descend.

Victor’s heart pounded in his chest. If he were caught, what would Burwood do? Of course Victor had no qualms about marrying Juliana; he wanted that more than anything. But he surely didn’t want to die. And the duke had been a decorated soldier in the cavalry.

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