His thoughts then turned back to Henrietta. The vision of that bastard’s filthy hands on her, and even worse, of dirtying hers on him, had sent bile rising into his throat. He tried to tell himself he was only being protective, but if he were being honest, his feelings went much deeper than that. He’d been almost sick with envy when Thomas had voiced his intent to wed her, but knowing his best friend was a far better man, he never would have tried to compete for her. But now Thomas was gone, and Hen was facing the prospect of spinsterhood. She insisted it was what she wanted, but he didn’t know if he believed her. Was she trying to convince herself?
He wondered how she could have gone so long unnoticed by eligible men. Surely all men weren’t so blind to her charms. What if she were to meet someone in London? That thought shocked him to the core. He thought once more of their ride to the lake and her comments about wanting to experience passion. Henrietta was a virgin. Of that he was most certain, but she was also ripe for plucking. What would happen if some silver-tongued rake came along? Maybe Julian wasn’t worthy of her, but he’d be damned before he’d let any other man have her. He wondered what he would have done if things had turned out differently. If he wasn’t in such dire straits, would he have given any thought to marriage? He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was that he didn’t want any man to touch her. Period.
***
Shortly after Julian departed, two servants arrived bearing a hip bath. Although Henrietta had hoped to cleanse herself from the unsavory encounter in the common room, she was sorely disappointed. The water was tepid and barely sufficient to cover her ankles. After scrubbing herself as thoroughly as she could manage, Henrietta and Millie sat down to a supper of cold chicken, hard bread, and slightly molding cheese. The cider, however, was passable, albeit much more potent than she was accustomed to. Henrietta had two cups. Millie finished the pitcher, looked to Henrietta with a yawn, and then promptly passed out.
Henrietta sat up, indulging some time alone with her thoughts. She was still unnerved about what had transpired below and shocked at how Julian had handled himself. She had no doubt he could have killed her assailant. The thought of it both appalled and secretly thrilled her.
She knew he was still the same Julian, but war and misfortune had wrought many changes. There was a deep despair beneath his feckless facade. She didn’t know why she put so much faith in him, but her heart told her that Julian wouldn’t let her down if given the opportunity to make good. He could so easily have fallen into his uncle’s reprobate ways, but he hadn’t. He’d escaped and even risked his life to prove himself better than Winston. He deserved a chance. Why did no one else seem to see that? If only she could help him.
The hour was growing late, and Julian still had not returned. Had the brute come back? She was debating breaking her promise to stay put when a soft rap sounded on the door. She drew in a breath.
“Henrietta? It’s me, Julian.”
Thank God. She swiftly rose, fumbled with the lock, and then swung the door open to find him leaning against the jamb, his coat discarded, hair mussed, and shirt open at the collar to reveal his tanned throat.
“You waited up for me?” He cocked a brow suggestively and then his gaze drifted lazily over her, making her suddenly aware of her state of undress. She wore her night rail, but no wrapper.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. “Millie snores.” She inclined her head to the maid, who was lost in deep and sonorous slumber.
“As do I,” he confessed with a smirk. “Would you prefer that I bed down in the carriage?”
“No,” she said. “I worried the entire time you were gone. Please come in.”
“Worried? About what?”
“About you,” she replied. “Or for you. I feared something untoward might happen.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t fear for me, Hen. Didn’t I prove that I can take care of myself?”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, suddenly filling the tiny chamber and looking more dangerous than the thug he’d bested in the taproom. Instinctively, she stepped back, hugging herself. Julian regarded her with a dark look. “Are you afraid of me, Henrietta? Of what you witnessed in the taproom?”
“N-no,” she said. “I just caught a chill from the open door.”
“You’re lying.” He grasped her shoulders and leaned in close, indecently close. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I can tell by your mouth.”
“All right,” she confessed. “Maybe I was a little afraid.”
“Of me?” he asked fiercely.
“No,” she insisted. Although she’d found his actions most unsettling, she would never fear Julian. “I’m just unsettled by it all,” she corrected him. “I was worried that man had returned.” Julian still had not released her shoulders. His brown eyes were hazy and unfocused, and he reeked of spirits. “You’ve been drinking,” she accused.
“I have indeed,” he replied with a smirk. “My bloodlust, once incited, is like the devil unleashed. Getting pissed is one of two remedies for it.”
“What’s the second remedy?” she asked.
His gaze dipped to her breasts. “The other isn’t available to me at present.”
Her cheeks flushed with sudden understanding. “Julian, did you mean what you said down there? Would you really have killed him?”
“Do you truly wish to know the answer?” he replied darkly.
“Perhaps not,” she said, suppressing a tremor.