Page 8 of A Slight Problem with the Wedding
The only heavy lifting he was ever likely to do was lift books.
She could not see him ever rolling up his sleeves and digging into hard labor.
However, she did not think less of him because his hands were soft. Not all men had to be marvelously strong like Julius and his brothers. Allendale’s refinement and love of academic pursuits were fine traits in a husband, were they not?
And yet, the dear dowagers who had sponsored her Season, Lady Dayne and Lady Withnall, had not been pleased to learn of her accepting to marry him. When pressed for a reason why they disapproved, Lady Dayne had told her, “It is not that we are disappointed, my dear. He simply does not feel right for you.”
But what choice did she have?
Julius did not want her.
She studied him through her strained eyes, knowing she was going to cry if she stared at him too long. He was handsome enough to put women in a swoon whenever he swaggered into a ballroom or other fashionable ton affair.
All the Thorne brothers were handsome, and Julius was no exception. In truth, he was easily the finest looking of the three.
Even with his dark hair slightly mussed and his eyes bloodshot after a night carousing on the town, he still looked magnificent.
He even smelled delicious, which simply was not fair.
She closed her eyes and fell back against the pillows Julius had gently placed behind her head. Looking at him, knowing she could never be his, only made her heart ache worse.
Gory only meant to close them for a moment, but she must have drifted off again, this time for hours. When she awoke, the drapes were drawn aside and the sky was now a light shade of gray, signaling the approach of dawn.
Julius was once more seated beside her.
Perhaps he had remained by her side all along.
He smiled as her eyes fluttered open. “I was beginning to worry about you, Gory. But all’s well now that you are awake.”
He was freshly groomed and shaved.
Too magnificent for words.
He no longer wore the casual shirt he had donned after washing the blood off himself earlier – the blood from her gown and body – but the sight of him bared from the waist up was now seared into her memory. Was it not shameful that she could recall his every muscled contour but could not recall the identity of her uncle’s killer?
He had on a pair of dark trousers, shirt of finest white lawn, a patterned silk waistcoat and silk cravat. He was the height of understated elegance, the colors of his waistcoat and cravat enhancing the silvery gray of his eyes.
A stirring in a corner of the room caught her attention.
She recognized the two gentlemen who were quietly speaking to each other. They turned toward her upon realizing she was awake. Dr. Farthingale was the tall, distinguished-looking fellow drying his hands beside a handsome writing desk atop which was perched the basin and ewer Julius had earlier used. The other fellow was the experienced Bow Street runner, Homer Barrow. The two men were of even height, but Mr. Barrow was the portlier one with a bulbous nose and prominent jowls.
The doctor began to put away his instruments instead of taking them out.
Gory tried to sit up, but Julius place a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Lie still, love. Dr. Farthingale just stitched your head.”
“He did?” She raised a hand to the wound but dared not actually touch it. Her head felt as though laces had been tightly pulled at that spot, and the rest of her head was still throbbing.
Julius nodded. “He gave you a little something to help you sleep through it.”
She did not remember that part either.
“Mr. Barrow has stationed his best men at your townhouse,” Julius continued. “One is to remain at the scene along with the constables, and the other will watch the crowd that gathers on the street.”
Gory liked this idea.
Julius nodded toward the Bow Street runner. “Mr. Barrow also stopped by your residence before coming here.”
“For the purpose of inspecting my uncle’s study?”
