The Redemption of Julian Price(12)

“Yes. May we please speak of something else now?” he ground out.

“What if—”

“Please let it go, Hen.”

“But I’m only trying to help.”

“There is no help for me,” he said. “There is no solution. Sometimes life makes no sense, but we have little choice but to march on and face the cannons and just hope for the best.” Lips compressed, Julian tapped the leader’s flank, pressing his horses harder. “In all truth, Hen,” he continued, “you and Harry are the only reasons I considered staying in Shropshire. But it’s impossible. You see that now, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do see,” she agreed softly. “I’m so very, very sorry, Julian.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” he said curtly. “It’s my mess, and I shall deal with it.” They rode for the next several miles in relative silence.

Returning to Portugal wouldn’t just mean saying good-bye to Henrietta. Portugal had revealed a facet of his character that he’d hoped to bury. Going back would be closing the door on any remaining hope of reclaiming the man he used to be. Stiff-backed and tight-jawed, Julian fell once more into grim thoughts of an even grimmer future as he stared at the road ahead.

***

Tired and choked with dust, another hazard of an open carriage that Julian hadn’t warned her of, Henrietta and Julian clattered into the cobbled yard of the coaching inn shortly before dusk. Julian leaped down first to instruct the stable grooms as to the care of his horses and then returned to assist Henrietta and Millie. Lifting Henrietta from the phaeton, Julian lowered her gently to the ground but maintained his hands at her waist for a long moment but he didn’t speak. Tension hardened the lines about his mouth. Was he still peeved about their discussion? She shouldn’t have continued pressing him about his troubles. The subject had only spoiled the earlier camaraderie they’d shared.

Henrietta’s gaze was riveted to Julian’s broad back as he turned to help Millie down from the perch behind the seat. Her mind scrambled for a solution. At first, she’d wondered if she could somehow gain access to her dowry. It was no great fortune by any means, but she’d thought perhaps it could buy him some time, but five hundred pounds would hardly remove a pebble from his great mountain of debt.

Julian spun back around and caught her watching him. Suddenly self-conscious, Henrietta stepped away and shook out her rumpled skirts. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath. It would be well worth the extra coin.

“If you and Millie wish to repair to the taproom,” he said, “I’ll inquire after bedchambers.”

While Julian sought accommodations, Henrietta and Millie entered the public rooms of the oak-beamed, Tudor-style structure bearing a placard of a black boar. The interior was crowded and loud, smelling of smoke, sweat, and tallow candles. Gazing about, Henrietta noted that the company was certainly rougher than what she was accustomed to, but then again, she’d done very little traveling in her lifetime. Outside her monthly shopping trips to Shrewsbury, her only true adventure outside of the country had been her single London season three years ago.

Henrietta and Millie found space on opposite sides of a crowded table. Mille sat on the end beside a middle-aged couple while Henrietta took her place beside a very large bald-headed gentleman, who at first glance appeared to be a lower tradesman. “Pardon me, I don’t mean to crowd you, sir,” Henrietta offered apologetically as she settled on the bench beside him.

“’Taint no trouble ’tall, missy.” Flashing a smile that revealed several missing teeth, he laid a hand the size of a ham hock on her arm. On closer inspection, there was nothing genteel about his appearance. With his heavily pockmarked face and ill-tailored clothing, he appeared more like a brigand trying to pass for a tradesman. “Ye headed to Lon’n?” he asked.

“Yes,” Henrietta replied stiffly. “To visit a kinswoman.”

“Be ye traveling alone?” He cast a leering gaze down at her bosom.

“No,” Henrietta responded with a tight smile and yanked her pelisse more tightly around her. “A gentleman accompanies us.”

“Aye?” He raised his gaze back to her face. “Yer gentleman shouldn’t leave such a pretty piece as yerself all alone.”

“I-I’m not alone,” Henrietta insisted. “My maid is also here with me.” She nodded to Millie across the table, but Millie was trying to catch the serving girl’s attention. Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief when his hand dropped from her arm, only to suck in a deeper gasp as he placed it on the small of her back. She tensed, her mind racing. She briefly considered punching his nose, but it would probably only serve to enrage the brute. Willing herself to remain calm, she said, “Sir, would you kindly remove your hand from my person?”

He released it with a laugh only to clamped his hand on top of hers and pull it beneath the table. “Ye know what this is, missy?” he breathed drunkenly into her ear as he forced her to cup the protrusion between his legs.

Dear God! Did she really have her hand on a man’s . . . Her throat tightened with panic. Where the devil was Julian?

“It’s a piece of your body you are sorely going to miss if you don’t release the lady at once,” a soft but ominous voice replied.

“Julian!” she breathed his name like a prayer.