“Then why are your hands balled into fists, and why are you glaring at the Duke of Preston’s youngest son like you want to sever his head from his body?”
Neil forced his fists to open. It did not matter to him who Lady Juliana danced with. In a day or so, she would be home and he could forget about her. She was not even his responsibility at the moment. Her father was here. Let him deal with his daughter. “I need a drink,” Neil said.
“Words I long to hear. This way, old boy.” And Rafe led him toward the card room, where women were in short supply and the brandy was overflowing.
*
Julia exited the ladies’ retiring room, where she had hidden to escape Lord Peter, and moved stealthily toward the ballroom. She had danced her two sets and wanted to return to Sunnybrooke before the terrifying Mr. Mostyn ate the children for a midnight snack. She peered through a crack in the door but didn’t spot Mr. Wraxall. And she did not think he would be difficult to spot. In his evening clothes, he had looked even more handsome than usual, a feat she had not thought possible. The black of his coat made his hair look even darker, and the blue of his waistcoat gave his eyes even more depth. He’d secured his hair in a short queue, leaving his cheeks exposed. The chiseled planes were square and strong. If there was a more beautiful specimen of masculinity, she had not found it.
So where had he disappeared to? She was tempted to leave without him, but she did not relish the lecture he would probably give her later.
She shifted slightly to view the room at another angle and collided with a large shape. She stepped back and stared into the smiling face of Mr. Slag.
“What—?” she began, then stopped as she saw all too clearly how he had managed to gain entry to the ball. He was dressed in Viscount Sterling’s livery and had probably entered unnoticed by either the guests or staff as the viscount had certainly hired additional servants for the evening.
“Lady Juliana, so good to see you.” He took her hand and kissed it. Julia was relieved she wore gloves so she did not have to feel his lips on her skin.
“Mr. Slag, forgive me if I am surprised by your appearance here.”
“You thought with that watchdog in your bed, you were safe from me.” Slag’s lips thinned. “But you won’t get away so easily.” He might have been smiling, but she could see the flush of color in his cheeks. He was angry. Gone was the pleasant man from her parlor. The man before her was the crime lord, and he was not pleased.
Julia took another step back. Just a few feet away, hundreds of people danced and chatted. And any moment a lady would pass this way to visit the retiring room or a servant would happen by. All she need do was scream, and she could be rid of Slag.
For the moment.
“If you scream now,” he murmured as a lady passed them, “I will give you a real reason to scream later.”
Julia swallowed the bile in her throat.
“How about a knife in the belly for that little boy who always has his dirty thumb in his mouth? Or maybe a good beating for the tall one with the freckles?”
Charlie and Robbie. Slag was threatening them.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice steely.
“An answer to my proposal, my lady. Nothing more. Well, that and the head of your soldier on a pike, but all things in time.”
“I don’t have the money,” she said.
“Then I’ll join you in bed tonight. Get rid of your soldiers or face the consequences.” He stared away.
“Wait!” Julia cried, running after him. A lady returning to the ballroom gave her a disapproving glare. Julia ignored her. “Mr. Slag!”
He turned.
“I will get you the money.”
“Tonight?”
“No, I…I need more time.”
“At the Darlington musicale. I know you will be there. That’s your last chance.” He moved closer, his breath on her cheek, smelling of stale onions. “Do not cross me or the little ones’ blood is on your hands.” He walked away, disappearing through a servants’ door that opened out of a panel in the wall.
Julia stood rooted in place, her hands shaking and her knees wobbling.
“Juliana? Is that you?”
Of course her father would find her now. She pressed her lips together, forced a smile, and turned.
“Yes, Papa.”
“Are you well?”
“Just a little tired. I hoped Mr. Wraxall could take me home.”
“Home?” Her father’s eyes lit with hope, and Julia felt like the worst villain extinguishing it.
“I meant the orphanage.”
“Ah.” Her father’s face fell. “Won’t you ever come home, Julia? I worry for your safety.”
Not he missed her, not he cared for her—he worried for her safety. He was far too busy with his own pursuits to waste time on love or affection. Of course, he was right to worry for her safety when one of the most dangerous crime lords in the city had threatened her. But what was she to do? Slag wanted a fortune. Her father did not have it. She’d managed his household for years, and most of his money was tied up in land and repairs to his various properties. If she told him she needed money, he would only force her to return home, and then who would protect the children?
“I cannot come home right now, Papa. The children need me. And anyway,” she said with what she hoped was a bright smile, “Mr. Wraxall is making certain we are safe and secure. Have you seen him?”
“He is in the card room. I will fetch him for you. You will be at the Darlington musicale?”
“Of course,” she said. What other choice did she have?
In the carriage, Wraxall watched her. Julia stared out the window, but she could feel his gaze on her. She wanted to ignore it, but she had shouldered the weight of Slag’s threats on her own long enough. She needed help, and Wraxall was all she had.
“I have a problem,” she said, glancing at him.
“Just one?”
She glared at him. “If all you want to do is mock me…”
He crossed to sit beside her, which made her all the more aware of his solid form and the delicious scent of him. “I apologize. What is troubling you?”
“I saw Mr. Slag at the ball.”
Wraxall showed no reaction. “Go on.”
“He was dressed as a servant, and he made…certain threats.”
“What does he want?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“I see. Have you asked your father for it?”
She blew out a breath. “He doesn’t have it.”
“And even if he did, he would lock you up rather than give it to you.”
She turned to him, her knees colliding with his. “Yes! And then what would happen to the boys?”
“What will Slag do if you do not give him the blunt? Or is there another way to pay him?”
She looked up and into his eyes. The carriage was dark, but the lamps showed her enough. Wraxall knew Slag had given her another option. “How did you know?”
“One look at you and how could I not know? He wants you in his bed.”
She nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. “I have to give him the money at the musicale or he will…” She gestured vaguely.
Wraxall caught her hand. “He will never touch you, Lady Juliana. Never.” He pulled her closer so she was almost flush with his chest. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded faint and her breath came in quick snatches. Wraxall’s breath had quickened as well. Her gaze lowered to his lips, and she wondered what it would be like if he touched her. If he kissed her.
The carriage stopped, and she lurched against him. Wraxall caught her, his touch on her lingering, and then, quite suddenly, he released her and, opening the door, leaped down. Julia took a shaky breath and gave him her hand as she descended.
The rain had begun again, and she hurried toward the orphanage door. The coachman gave Wraxall an umbrella, and he used it to shield her from the worst of it. A moment later, they stepped into the dark vestibule.
It was empty.
Julia looked about. Everything seemed in order. “Where is Mr. Mostyn?” she asked, removing her cloak. She looked everywhere but Wraxall’s face, not wanting the feelings she’d had in the carriage to rush back at her.
“Stay here,” Wraxall ordered her. He moved toward the dining room and parlor, and she followed. With a scowl, he looked over his shoulder. “I said, stay.”
“I am not a dog!”