No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(36)

“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!”

“A dog would have more sense.”

“If you wake this child, I will break both of your necks,” came a low rumble from the parlor. Julia grabbed Wraxall’s arm, but he just grinned.

“It’s Mostyn.”

Julia was not so relieved. She stayed close, following Wraxall into the parlor. There, on her couch, sat the big brute of a man, Charlie curled up in his lap. Julia blinked, not certain whether she should believe her eyes.

“Ewan, this is a side of you I had not seen,” Wraxall said.

The blond man narrowed his eyes. “He said he needed a hug to fall asleep.” Mostyn’s voice was as hard as rock. “He looked like he might cry. I did what was necessary under the circumstances.”

Julia had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Mr. Mostyn was not so bad after all. Surely he could have put Charlie to bed after the boy had fallen asleep. She was willing to wager he had not minded hugging the boy as much as he pretended.

“You’re a good man, Protector,” Wraxall said. “A fine soldier.”

“Can someone take this…child now?” Mostyn looked down at Charlie pointedly.

Julia stepped forward and gathered the boy in her arms. “I will put him to bed. Good night, Mr. Mostyn. Thank you.”

He made a rough noise, and she left the men to themselves as she carried the warm bundle to his bed.





Nine


Julia usually slept like a cat snuggled beside the fire when it rained. She didn’t understand why people said slept like a baby, as little Davy had shown her that babies were not good sleepers by any stretch of the imagination. They awoke at all hours and slept only in short bursts.

Still, she wouldn’t have traded her time with Davy for all the sleep in the world. If she could only see him once more, she would have consented to a lifetime of restless sleep. But as the devil hadn’t yet approached her with that offer, she usually slept well. Charlie or the younger boys sometimes woke her when they had nightmares, but no one had called out tonight. Everyone slept peacefully while the rain tapped a lulling beat against the roof and windows.

So why was she lying awake, eyes wide open, in her bed?

“Wraxall,” she muttered. This was his fault. She couldn’t sleep because she kept thinking of the way he’d touched her in the carriage. She kept imagining him kissing her. Had he stayed at the orphanage tonight or gone home? He wouldn’t have left her alone after Slag’s threats. Would he? Perhaps she would tiptoe down and check.

Julia talked herself out of leaving her room and her warm bed and then talked herself back into it again before finally tossing off her counterpane, pulling on her robe and slippers, and cracking her door open. She held a candle with one hand and kept her hand on the latch with the other. The corridor was dark and deserted. What had she expected? Wraxall prowling outside her room or that of the boys? A small voice inside her head warned her to go back to sleep. If she did find Wraxall, he would only want to discuss Slag’s ultimatum more, and she didn’t have any answers or solutions. She could not go home, and she could not stay here.