Page 60 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Once again, Nash’s dark eyes met hers, and somehow Juliana knew thatheknew why Victor was marrying her.

Due to allthe preparations and activity at Pendrake Manor for the ball, Victor had stayed away from the duke’s home. Instead, he spent his days putting the finishing touches on Juliana’s portrait. Stepping back, he assessed his work, pleased that he’d captured the glint in Juliana’s eyes, and the enigmatic smile that spoke of secrets worth discovering.

Conflicted when he’d last left her, he tried to use the time to sort out his feelings. Part of him wanted nothing more than to expose the person behindThe Muckraker, and while that was still true, a small part—no, a part that grew larger by the day—hoped she wouldn’t cry off and that, regardless of what happened withThe Muckraker, she would marry him.

Each time Juliana broached the subject of their impending nuptials, implying she was going to cry off, he’d found a way to stall her.

But she was right about one thing; they were running out of time. The banns had been called the last three Sundays. The wedding itself was set for the following Monday.

He’d ordered wedding clothes, surprised to learn that Mr. Abernathy, the tailor, was Juliana’s grandfather. The old man had smiled and patted Victor on the shoulder, pronouncing his approval of Juliana’s choice of husband.

“My granddaughter deserves the best. And you, my boy”—the man wagged a finger at him—“are getting the best. Never forget that. No one has so kind a heart as my Juliana. She would find a way to give you the moon if you asked for it.”

And the more Victor learned about Juliana, the more he liked her—the more his affection grew. However, she’d kept him at arm’s distance since his egregious slip, and he worried it had cost him any real chance with her.

Abernathy was right. She deserved the best. But was that him? He would do his utmost to make her a good husband, that much he knew. But would he be good enough? Her comment about loving someone who didn’t return your love nagged at him. Who in her past had broken her heart?

At that moment, as he stared at her portrait, he wondered if together they could overcome their past demons and find a future together. To build a family—a home—a life. Things he longed for desperately.

Tucking the question away, he turned his attention to some sketches he started of the duke’s likeness, should he be so fortunate to gain the duke’s approval and permission to continue with portraits for the rest of the family. Pride and hope lifted his spirits as he sketched out ideas for poses.

Victor’s head jerked up at the knock on his studio door, and Tierney entered, holding out a letter. “This just arrived, sir. It looks important.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose at the ducal seal on the back. “It’s from Burwood.” Victor used a small knife to break the seal.

Mr.Pratt

Expect a call from me at eight o’clock this evening.

Burwood

Victor frownedand turned the sheet of paper back and forth. Was that it?

“Sir?” Tierney had the same puzzled look that Victor presumed he himself wore.

Victor glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Make sure this place is immaculate. The Duke of Burwood is paying a call in two hours.”

“Is all well, sir?”

Victor shook his head. “An excellent question, Tierney. The contents of this note are most enigmatic—and disconcerting.”

When Tierney realized Victor wasn’t going to expand on his statement, he raced off, calling for Victor’s one maid of all work to get cracking.

Had Juliana decided to cry off and Burwood planned to deliver the news? Or did Burwood have some news aboutThe Muckraker?

Victor had little time to dwell on it, and after he peered down at his hands, he marched to the door and called for Tierney to draw him a bath and lay out some fresh clothing. Whatever the duke wanted, Victor would at least present himself as a gentleman.

At five minutes till eight, Tierney wiped the rest of the shaving soap off Victor’s face, then removed the bowl with the soapy water, just as a knock sounded on the door to Victor’s apartments.

Tierney spun like a top with the bowl, water sloshing over the side.

“Good God, man, he’s a duke, not the king.” Victor chuckled and motioned for Tierney to place the shaving bowl on the dressing table and go answer the door.

After a quick glance in the looking glass and a tug on his coat, Victor strode from his bedchamber into the small parlor, not certain what to expect.

From the Duke of Burwood’s expression, it couldn’t be good. Victor couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen the man scowl before. Even stranger, next to him, Simon Beckham stared at Tierney, his lips pressed in a thin, straight line.

What the devil had happened?

---