Could he?
Of course not. He had his own life. He was busy mourning his fallen friends, drinking himself into a stupor, and fighting off nightmares. Not to mention, once every two or three months, his father had some small task for him to complete. If Neil stayed at the orphanage, he would give up all those hours sitting alone in his rooms or whiling away the hours at the Draven Club, nursing the what-ifs and flagellating himself for putting Draven’s men into deadly situations, which was of course the very idea of a suicide troop.
Neil stopped pacing and stood in front of Juliana’s door. If he went inside, if he stayed, he would have to marry her. He couldn’t marry her. What kind of husband would he be? He was a bastard and she the daughter of an earl.
The door to Juliana’s room opened, and she jumped back when she spotted him. “Wraxall!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady,” he said.
“Then what did you mean by standing outside my door?”
“I…” He had no answer, but he knew a few interrogation techniques. “Why did you open it?”
“I… Because. I wanted to check on the boys.”
It was a lie if he’d ever heard one, but he’d be damned if he would call her on it. His gaze had dipped from her face to the vee of her robe, which was open slightly to reveal the lacy, white night rail. With her coppery hair down about her shoulders and her cheeks pink from being freshly scrubbed, she looked very much like a dollop of cream with a cherry on top.
And Neil would have liked to lick his way down the cream-covered expanse of her body.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Why does the matron of an orphanage for boys wear a night rail with such a revealing bodice?” He reached out and trailed one finger along the opening of the robe, parting it farther to reveal more of the swell of her breasts. He had been prepared to be slapped away, but she all but leaned into his touch. She had been lying when she’d claimed she’d opened the door to check on the boys. He would have wagered a sovereign that she had planned to go to him.
And though he had no skill at gaming, Neil was certain he would have won this wager.
“It’s not mine,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“You stole it? More and more intriguing.”
“I didn’t… No. I…” She looked up and down the corridor. “Should we have this conversation elsewhere? I’m afraid we might wake the boys.”
Neil thought a horse race was unlikely to wake the boys after a day of lessons with Mrs. Dunwitty, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step forward and then another.
Juliana took a step back, and Neil followed her into her chamber, closing the door behind him and locking it. Her brown eyes darted to the closed door. “This is most inappropriate.”
“As is that garment.” He wanted to move closer, to push the robe off her shoulders and see what tantalized beneath it more clearly, but he stood rooted in place.
“It was meant for a bride.”
Neil lifted a brow. “Were you betrothed?”
“My sister was. She married Viscount Lainesborough. This”—she gestured to the nightgown and robe—“was part of her trousseau, but the valise into which it was packed was left behind. When my lady’s maid packed for what was to be a brief stay at Sunnybrooke, she must have thought I’d already packed this valise and sent it with the rest of my things.”
Neil did step forward. “It suits you.”
“It seems silly to wear it here, surrounded by squalor and shabbiness, but I suppose I like to forget where I am at times and pretend I am still the spoiled, naive earl’s daughter.”
“I can’t picture you as spoiled, though you’ve held on to a great deal of that naivety.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Always quick with compliments, I see. You should have known me before.”
“You wouldn’t have spoken to me before.”
“You wouldn’t have spoken to me. I was unbearably stupid and frivolous.”
He stood before her and reached one hand to caress the sleeve of her robe. “What changed you?”
“Davy,” she said.
Neil stiffened. He hadn’t been prepared for the possibility of another man, but now that he considered it, why hadn’t he supposed that she would be in love with and loved by someone? She was smart, brave, and beautiful. What man wouldn’t want her?
But if she loved another, then why had she allowed him to touch her so intimately earlier that day? Why did she allow his hand on her arm now? Neil dropped his hand. “And who is Davy?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I should talk about this.”
“It’s too late for that.”
She shook her head, making her hair flutter about her shoulders. “You don’t want to hear my sad tale.”
“Why not? You heard mine.” He met her gaze directly. “Why not show me what you’re hiding?”
“I’m not hiding.”
“But you are.” He ran his hand along the sleeve of her robe again but refrained from divesting her of it. Now, there was Davy between them.
“Davy—David—is my nephew, and certainly no secret.”
“Your sister’s son?”
She looked down. “Yes, and her only child. She died just hours after he was born.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was. As a man who had never known his own mother, he could empathize with this child who would also grow up motherless. However, this child had been born within the realm of matrimony, which meant he would be accepted and wanted. He would have the love of his father and obviously that of his aunt. Unless something had happened to the child.
“Where is Davy now?” he asked.
“With his father.”
Neil nodded. “As to be expected, I suppose.”
Her eyes flashed fire, and she rounded on him. “Why, pray tell, is that to be expected? Why should a child be reared by his father as a default? Not every father is a suitable guardian.”
He had stepped, unwittingly, into a battle zone. He could either make a hasty retreat or fight his way through. He wasn’t certain what he was fighting for, but Neil had fought many battles where victory was undefined. Sometimes that was the nature of conflict.
“You have a point,” he conceded. “Am I to understand Davy’s father was less than desirable?”
“He is much worse than ‘less than desirable.’ He didn’t care a fig for the child until he realized that I wanted him. You see, I opposed his marriage to Harriett and so he has always hated me. He took Davy away simply to spite me and now”—tears glittered in her eyes—“I’ve lost him forever.”
And with those words, Neil finally understood.
Nineteen
He stood looking at her as though she were daft. Julia could hardly blame him. Perhaps she was daft. Here she was, months after Davy had been taken away, crying over him as though he’d just been torn from her arms yesterday. But there were moments, many moments, when the wound still felt that raw and tender.
She half expected Neil to make an excuse and get away, but he didn’t look as though he was going anywhere. He stood before her, not touching her any longer, but remaining close, offering her the comfort of his arms if she would only step into them. And perhaps she should. She had already said far more than she’d wanted. What was one more mistake?
“And this Lainesborough won’t allow you to be part of the child’s life?”
She looked away, fighting the tears threatening to spill. “As I said, he hates me.”
Neil raised his brows. “I fail to see how anyone could hate you.”
She gave a short laugh, glancing at him to see if he was serious. “I think you know quite well that I have the capacity to be…shall we say stubborn?”
“You?” He shook his head. “Never.”
She was smiling, the tears held at bay. “Your charms will not sway me, Mr. Wraxall.”