Shelton let out another low whistle as he refastened the straps, then climbed down to the ground. "You're a bold one, you are. You'll have to get past that old bag Simms and every dour-faced footman in residence." But then he grinned, clearly relishing the idea of Julian daring to go against the wishes of the haughty butler. "You can enter by the servants' entrance. Come on, I'll tell you the lay of the place, and I'll even see to that fine bit of horseflesh of yours. Earl Wrothram spares nothing for the stabling of his many carriages and cattle in Town. I'll make sure the beast gets a good rubdown and is settled in nice and right."
* * *
Less than thirty minutes later, Julian moved through the cavernous downstairs hall of Wrothram House heading in what he hoped was the general direction of the library. He held the sheepskin bundle in one fist and his worn hat in the other. Just as he reached the large front hall, with its vaulted ceiling, marbled floor, and central curved staircase, he met with the butler.
"Good heavens," Simms breathed, coming to a halt, his thin nostrils pinching together in disgust at sight of the bearded, long-haired Julian inside the house.
"Hullo—Simms, isn't it?" said Julian, casting the man a wide grin. "The name's Julian, sir. I'm to have an audience with your lady in the library. Can't recall it's exact direction, though. Care to lead me there?"
Simms appeared on the verge of apoplexy. "I shall be leading you nowhere but
out,
" he said, thoroughly appalled at Julian's presence.
It was at that exact moment that Veronica, having freshened up from her travels, came down the huge staircase, which curved upward to the floor above. She took one look at Julian speaking with her butler and her face went ashen.
"My lady," began the bewigged Simms, his own face scarlet with anger, and his tone barely suppressing his disgust. "I know not what is afoot here, but I insist that this—this
person
be shown the door."
Veronica sent Julian a sharp, reproving glance. To the butler, she said, "That won't be necessary, Simms. You see, I... he is—" The sounds of another carriage on the drive outside saved her from continuing. "Ah, that should be Lady Beven and Mr. Greville, Simms. Do hurry to greet them, and show them into the library."
The butler stiffened, sniffing haughtily. "Such goings on, and with your father gone. He will not be pleased."
"Simms, the door, if you would," Veronica replied, clearly fighting down a shudder of fear at mention of her father.
Julian sobered at the sight of her reaction. He reminded himself that everything he did could land Veronica in a great deal of ugliness with her father. He'd decided miles ago that he very much wanted to meet with this fearsome earl—and
not
as Veronica's hired guard, but as the seventh Earl of Eve, as an equal peer of the realm... and as a man who could and would see that Veronica had a day of reckoning with the beastly father she so obviously feared. Julian wanted that very much.
As all of these thoughts went through Julian's mind, Veronica finished descending the stairs and hurried toward him.
"You,"
she whispered hotly as Simms reluctantly went to do her bidding, "come with me."
She navigated him to the left, then down the long hall. Clearly just barely controlling her anger, she thrust open the huge doors to their right and issued him inside the library, which proved to be just as cheerless as the rest of house.
"Have you no concern over what your behavior might bring down upon my ears?" she demanded once they were safely behind closed doors, out of earshot of any of the servants. She paced deep into the room, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her sides. "Really, Julian, I'd wanted to deal with your presence in this house in a slow and careful way. But what do I find?
You
standing toe to toe with, of all servants, Simms! Good heavens. Simms has been employed here for all of my father's life. Do you not realize what a horrid time I'll have of it when Simms bends my father's ear with how you presented yourself to him?"
Julian allowed Veronica the opportunity to fully chastise him for his bold and stupid way of entering the house. She was correct. He'd bungled things and could only land her into deep waters where her father was concerned. Hoping to appease her, he allowed her to ring a peal over his head—which she did magnificently, Julian thought.
As she paced, he watched how the sunlight streaming through the high windows bathed her angry features in a soft glow, how it made her inky locks glisten like dark satin in starlight, and how her violet eyes caught and reflected every nuance of those sunbeams.
She appeared out of place in this forbidding library, which held not a lick of warmth in it, he decided, for she was all that was enchanting and passionate and true. She didn't belong in this monstrous house of ill will. She belonged in a great home built especially for her, one that was filled with light and air... with children who looked like her and smelled like her and who carried Julian's fine family name.
It struck Julian then that he'd fallen in love with Veronica. Totally. Absolutely. It had happened the moment he'd viewed her at Fountains, he realized; his fate had been sealed the minute he'd touched his lips to hers.
He wanted to build her that house she so deserved, wanted to fill it with love and laughter, their children and their happiness—a happiness she'd not had in her own childhood. He wanted to construct for her a home very much like the one in which he'd been raised.
In contrast to the memory of Eve House, Wrothram House was too dark and ill proportioned. The library itself—which should have contained a cozy atmosphere where one could find respite from a hectic pace to flip through a favored book while sipping a brandy—seemed to Julian to hold the scent of must and unuse, and it had a distinct chill permeating it from every corner.
Julian decided nothing could dispel the coolness, for it seemed to seep out of every floorboard. Though he'd just entered the place and hadn't seen more of it than the servants' entrance and a few halls, the grand dwelling had no warm coziness. It was simply a huge dwelling, with walls and windows, servants and fine furnishings, but no love. It wasn't a
home,
not by far. How difficult it must have been for the beautiful Veronica to move into this mausoleum of dreariness.
At that thought, Julian moved toward her, depositing his hat on a side table near one of the chairs before the cold hearth as he went. He opened his hand and turned it palm up as he drew nearer to her. "Veronica," he said softly.
"What?"
she demanded, furious, pausing only momentarily in her tirade as she whirled to face him. When she saw how close he was, she clamped her mouth shut tight and took a wary step back.
He smiled, loving the spark in her beautiful eyes, the daring in her brave but injured soul, and the lengths she would go for a friend.
"I am sorry—that is what," he said simply. And then, reaching for her hand, he gently unclasped her fist and laid the package atop her palm. "Does this help lessen your anger in any way, Veronica?"
She blew out a small, ragged breath, seemingly struggling against a sudden urge to cry. "Drat you, Julian. You... you can be so unexpectedly tender at times. I—" She let forth another small breath, then said, "You continually surprise me."
"Do I? Pity that. What I
want
to do is please you, Veronica."
She blinked, amazed at his confession, confused by it, too. "Julian... you—you must cease speaking to me in such a-a familiar way, especially now that we are at Wrothram House. You—you are here as my guard. Do try to remember that."
"Aye," he whispered, tamping down the urge to gather her in his arms and hold her tight. "I shall try, my lady. But there may come a time, I hope, when you see me in a different light."
"Please," she said. "Let us end this conversation. I-I am far too tired to think clearly. And when you stand so close to me, I..."
"You what?" Julian prompted softly, moving even closer.
Veronica's spunk returned, her eyes flashing, as she said, "I find you becoming all that is improper again." She took a healthy step away, clutching the bundle tight in her hands as she stared at him.
Julian had expected as much. From what he'd learned from Shelton, Veronica had no reason whatsoever to trust the male species, and from his own behavior with her at Fountains, she'd not been given any other kind of a glimpse into the male mind.
Julian wanted desperately to make amends for how he'd compromised her. What he wanted most of all though was to hold her, kiss her, and make her his own—though not while he was masquerading as a lowly guard, but when he assumed his true role as the seventh Earl of Eve.
There came a jarring knock at the door, and then Simms, at Veronica's call, stepped inside, sending a baleful glance at Julian. "Lady Pamela Beven and the Honorable Sidney Greville," he announced, ushering the two into the room.
"Pamela! Sid! Thank you for coming so quickly, and on such short notice," Veronica said, moving away from Julian to greet her friends.
Simms lingered in the doorway. "Will you be wanting a tray prepared, my lady?" he asked, his tone indicating just how little he wanted to see about such a matter.
"No, Simms. That will be all, thank you."
"Very well, my lady," he droned, and then, with a final glare at Julian, he retreated, closing the doors behind him.
Julian moved into the shadows of the room and watched as Veronica's friends gathered round her.
The Honorable Sidney Greville was a handsome fellow, with dark blond hair and merry eyes. Julian frowned. The gentleman did not seem at all the sort capable of murder and mayhem. Could the package at Fountains have been intended for him? Had Veronica traveled all the way to Fountains for this man?
Gad,
it did not seem plausible.
If not that, however, then for
whom
had Veronica spirited off to Yorkshire, risking both her coachman's and her father's ire?
Julian decided to keep mum and find out, his gaze centering solely on Greville. In a stupidly manful frame of mind, Julian decided he could best the young buck blow for blow. For some reason—doubtless because Veronica viewed the man as a friend (and possibly
more
than just a friend)—Julian felt the uncommon urge to punch the man's lights out.
Instead of doing such a thing, however, he schooled his raging thoughts into line and glanced at the man's sister.
Lady Pamela Beven was a petite young woman with flaxen hair and blue eyes—and the very one, or so Shelton claimed, to be betrothed to Lord Darius Rathbone.
Rathbone.
It was a name Julian had not heard in nearly three years. In fact, the last he'd seen Rathbone had been on the Gold Coast of Africa, many months after the discovery of the huge diamond Julian had dubbed the Eve Diamond.
Rathbone, like many others in the small British trading settlement, had been in awe of the stone. They'd shared some stories around a campfire, and in the morning Rathbone, with his male traveling companion and friend—a Mr. Bartholomew Swann, who had also taken a great interest in the diamond—had embarked on their return journey to England with their huge entourage.
That had been the first and last time Julian had ever seen the man. Could Rathbone have been the one to orchestrate the murder of Julian's family—and all for the Eve Diamond?
Blazes, but such did not seem possible. Rathbone, after all, was not a man in dun territory—or, at least, thought Julian, he hadn't been during that long-ago night in Africa. At that time, Rathbone had been traveling abroad, given to flights of fancy and thinking himself some sort of explorer—though he was but one in the most pampered sense. Julian, being a seasoned traveler abroad, had thought
that
the minute he'd met the man.
Given that very few people (only his family, actually) had known that Julian was coming to London to help celebrate his father's natal day last August, and that he was bringing the Eve Diamond with him, how could Rathbone have even orchestrated such a scheme to set explosives at his family's Hanover Square residence, then swipe the chess set—diamond and all—while flames engulfed the place? It made no sense.
Of course, none of what had happened that horrible night made sense, Julian thought now, watching Lady Pamela and her brother sharing warm hugs with Veronica.
"Ronnie," breathed Lady Pamela, stepping out of Veronica's hold. "Is
that
Rathbone's package in your hand?"
Veronica nodded.
"Well? What is
inside,
love. Have you
opened
it?"
Julian watched as Veronica shook her head. "No, of course I haven't, Pam. It wasn't mine to open."
Julian's senses reached a fever height. Here,
at long last
,
he'd finally learned for whom that unlucky thing was intended:
Rathbone.
Veronica, seeming to read his thoughts, finally glanced back at him.
Lady Pamela's and her brother's gazes followed suit.
"Oh, my," breathed Lady Pamela. "Who
is
this?"
she asked Veronica.
Julian decided it was time to step back into the light of the room.
"The name is Julian, Lady Beven," he said, sketching a bow. He nodded to her brother. "Sir."
Both Lady Pamela and Greville gaped at Julian, taking in his battered features, travel-stained garb, close-cropped beard, and long hair.