Page 41 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Tamping down the urge to pinch her cheeks and smooth her hair, Juliana pulled in a breath, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. It was not the time to worry about her appearance.

When Victor entered, he kept his attention on Drake. A chill tripped up her spine. Why wouldn’t Victor look at her? He carried the large case he used to transport the portrait.

“Your Graces.” Victor executed a graceful bow. “Mrs. Merrick. Miss Merrick.” Finally, he slid a glance toward her, so brief she could have imagined it, before returning to Drake. “From your expressions, it’s clear you have seen the lies written in that abomination of a paper.”

Drake’s gaze was steely, every bit that of a powerful duke. “We have.”

To his credit, Victor didn’t flinch, but strode forward, placing the case on the table before them. “If I may?”

Drake held out a hand. “Please.”

Juliana would go mad from the curt exchange between the two men she cherished most.

With steady hands, Victor unlatched the case, pulled out the portrait, and removed the protective blank canvas. Juliana sucked in a breath and held it.

Victor turned the portrait around, and a collectivewhooshsounded around the table.

“It’s not finished, and I hate showing you an incomplete work. But I hope this reassures you that Miss Merrick’s reputation remains spotless.”

“Beautiful,” Honoria whispered.

Mother held a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

Juliana wondered if the woman in the painting was actually her. She looked so—beautiful. Even amid the turmoil of the situation, her heart stuttered. Was this how Victor saw her?

Drake’s voice was brittle. “In reality, yes.Iknow my sister’s reputation is above reproach, but as my mother rightly pointed out before your arrival, what is true and what people believe can be entirely different matters. Damage has been done. The question is: How do we repair it?”

Victor straightened his shoulders, his face somber as his gaze locked with hers. “Allow me to offer for Miss Merrick.”

How many times had she lain in her bed imagining Victor asking for her hand? But the cool indifference she saw in his eyes at that moment had not been part of her fantasies.

And although she should be thrilled to finally have what she wanted within her reach, it just seemed...wrong.

CHAPTER 13

Any hope Victor had that showing the portrait to the duke would end the matter vanished at the duke’s icy glare and blunt, but honest, question.

For some reason unknown to Victor, the perpetrator ofThe Muckrakerhad used him as a vessel to disparage the duke’s sister. Logic called for Victor to repair the damage.

Tightness banded Victor’s chest as he met Juliana’s searching eyes. She deserved better. Not only better treatment from theton,but better than a man who could only pretend. She deserved a man who truly loved her, and only her.

Yet he pressed forward, sorry she would not get what she deserved. He cleared his dry, scratchy throat. “Allow me to offer for Miss Merrick.”

Her eyes flared slightly, the sad realization clear in their blue depths that the offer was made out of a sense of duty rather than abiding affection.

Not the best of proposals, but what choice did he have? Every instinct told him to protect her. He needed to be the one to make it right—even if the pain in her eyes shot like an arrow through his heart. In acting gallantly, Victor had never feltlessgallant.

Burwood pressed his palms against the table, pushing himself up as if a heavy weight kept him in place.

“Come, Mr. Pratt, follow me.”

Victor made a quick bow to the ladies and obeyed the duke’s command.

Burwood led Victor to his study, where they had met and discussed Victor’s request to court Juliana. Had it only been mere days ago?

“Sit.” The duke seated himself behind his ornate desk, and Victor sat in the chair across from him. Burwood ran a hand through his hair, mussing his valet’s meticulously crafted style. The duke appeared haggard, as if he’d aged ten years, and Victor knew for a fact, he and Burwood were approximately the same age.

“Sir? Are you unwell? Should we send for a physician?”

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