Page 121 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“I shouldn’t. Not after what happened. But I suppose I have no choice.”

Tension squeezing Victor’s chest eased, then his mind latched on to the last part of the duke’s statement. “What do you mean?”

Rising, the duke ran a hand through his hair. “My sister begged me. Told me she had to marry you.”

Victor gulped down the stubborn knot that had formed in his throat. While technically it was true since Victor had ruined her, he wasn’t fool enough to admit that to the duke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did something happen between you and my sister, Mr. Pratt? After the ball, she confided in me that, for you, your courtship and engagement had been a pretense. She was fullyprepared to let you go. Yet the next day, before she’d even spoken to you, she was not only willing to marry you, but eager. Although I had a heartfelt brother-to-sister talk with her, I doubt my words alone swayed her.”

Victor swallowed again. Why would that lump not go down?

“And to be honest, she had a glow about her the next day. One I remember well from Honoria. I shared something—personal—with Juliana, and I wonder if it encouraged her to do something similar.”

Oh, God.

Burwood held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. If what I suspect is true, I’d rather have you marry Juliana than have to kill you. I’ll bring Juliana to see you when you’ve moved back to your own apartments. This isn’t a fit place for her.”

When the duke reached for the doorknob, Victor found his voice. “Your Grace?”

Turning back, Burwood’s expression was like steel. “Yes?”

“When I offered for Juliana, you asked me if I loved her. In truth, I didn’t then. I liked her, esteemed her, but I didn’t love her.”

The duke’s expression softened. “And now?”

“I love Juliana with my whole heart. I would die for her, Your Grace.”

“Call me Drake.” He tapped his hat into place and smiled. “And I believe you almost did.”

CHAPTER 34

Victor stared down the long nave of St. James’s Church, eyes locked on the doors leading to the narthex. He didn’t dare blink and miss Juliana’s entrance.

He’d already taken stock of the sparse crowd in attendance for the wedding. His father sat in one of the front pews next to Cilla and Timothy. After one complaint too many from his mother about Victor’s bride, his father sent her back to Lincolnshire—indefinitely.

In his mother’s absence, Victor admitted his father’s health improved, and a spring returned to his step. For many reasons, it was a great relief to Victor. Not only did he love his father, but he was in no rush to assume the duties of viscount. Drake had commissioned Victor to paint portraits of the rest of the family, both individually and in toto. After his and Juliana’s wedding trip, of course.

On the other side of the nave, Victor’s future mother-in-law sat in the front pew next to Honoria. It would be such a pleasure to have such kind and supportive women in his and Juliana’s lives.

Drake had written to the Whytes in Derbyshire and received no response, not that it surprised either of them. But Drakepromised not to let it go. Lord Whyte had to return to London for the winter session of Parliament.

And at that moment, Lydia had been the farthest thing from Victor’s mind.

“Breathe, Pratt.” Nash’s deep voice threatened to pull his attention away, but Victor resisted.

It had been an odd decision asking Lord Nash Talbot to stand up with him, and although Cilla had suggested Timothy, Victor owed a great deal to Nash.

Not only had the man spared Victor from a disastrous match, but he’d had an active hand in Victor securing Juliana’s love. Although Victor wasn’t quite sure he’d ever forgive Nash for bringing Juliana toThe Knave of Heartsthat fateful night.

Still, the men had made a sort of peace, and when Victor finally handed over the sketches of Adalyn to her husband, Nash deemed them an excellent likeness—though missing a small beauty mark high on Adalyn’s left breast. And although Nash professed to have every confidence in his wife’s virtue, he stated he found it comforting that the revealing sketches were merely from Victor’s imagination.

It had only been a month since he’d been shot, but once the king’s funeral had passed, Victor insisted he was recovered enough for the wedding. There had been no need to rush, as Juliana confided she wasn’t with child, but Victor couldn’t wait to make her his bride. So Ashton had tightly wrapped Victor’s still healing wounds and told him to avoid any unnecessary exertion.

Like breathing, apparently. The deep breaths Victor pulled into his lungs to calm his jittery nerves sent a shock of pain through him, and Nash gripped Victor’s arm to steady him.

“How the hell you think you’re going to get through a wedding, much less a wedding night, is beyond me.”

Victor shot him a menacing glare, but just as quickly remembered he should be watching for Juliana’s entrance and returned his attention to the entryway.

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