No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(65)

Juliana leaned toward Neil. He was seated on her right while her father sat on her left. “Do you think he is here yet?”

“If he is, no one has spotted him,” Neil murmured back.

“Should I excuse myself and walk about? Perhaps that might lure him into the open.”

Neil tensed. Was the woman mad? Why would she risk herself like that? “No. Under no circumstances should you be alone. Stay beside me or your father at all times. We will find Slag and deal with him.”

“I hope this works,” she said, sounding doubtful.

A woman behind them shushed them, and Neil focused his attention on the soprano again. Her high notes grated on his nerves almost as much as the stiff material of his cravat. Jackson, excited to have a reason to dress Neil in his best, had tied the damn neckcloth too high, not to mention starching the thing within an inch of its life.

After what seemed an interminable length of time, their host announced a brief intermission. Footmen in crisp, blue livery circled with wine and champagne, and ladies fluttered their fans and waxed poetic on the musical talent. Many of the men approached the soprano, who was young and pretty and spilled out of her bodice. Neil escorted Lady Juliana and her father toward one of the open windows and then excused himself. He headed toward Rafe, but he made certain to give Juliana a warning glance as he strode away. If she took even a step away from her father’s side, he would have her head.

He’d taken no more than a few steps himself when he felt his arm entangled with another. He turned to face a woman who was familiar but whose name escaped him. “Mr. Wraxall,” she cooed, drawing him close to her circle of three other ladies. “I have not seen you in ages.”

“Ladies,” he said with a quick bow. It must have been ages because he barely remembered her—Lady Sutcliffe perhaps? She had been one of the ladies vying for his oldest brother’s hand in marriage. She had not been successful. “Lady Sutcliffe, how is your husband?” he asked, peering about and finding the older man leering down at the opera singer’s chest.

“Tedious.” She waved her fan. “Do you know Lady Marsh? And this is Mrs. Kemp and Miss Elliott.” She made the introductions and Neil bowed, but his gaze sought Rafe. Ewan had joined Rafe, and the two watched him with undisguised amusement.

“It is a pleasure to meet all of you, but if you will—”

“Why do you not go into Society more often, Mr. Wraxall?” Lady Sutcliffe asked with a pout. “You are a war hero, and I, for one, know how to treat our heroes.” She gave him a wink, and Neil had an inkling how Rafe must feel.

“I will endeavor to be more social,” he said, knowing he would do nothing of the sort.

“Please do,” Mrs. Kemp said. “There are no dashing young men to dance with at any of the balls. I imagine you…dance very well, do you not, Mr. Wraxall?”

At any other time and place, Neil would not have minded this feminine attention. Now, he could all but feel Lady Juliana’s eyes boring into him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her glaring across the room.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Miss Elliott stepped forward. “Are you courting Lady Juliana? You were with her at the Sterling ball, were you not?”

“Her father and I are acquainted,” Neil answered.

“She is a curious one, is she not?” Lady Marsh added. “I don’t know why the men seem to fall all over her. She has that awful hair and spends all of her free time with dirty orphans.”

“No wonder all her dresses are from last season!” Lady Sutcliffe laughed.

Neil turned and met Juliana’s gaze again. “I can tell you why men fall all over her,” he said. “She’s the most beautiful woman in this room.” He looked back at the four women surrounding him, all of them scowling. “And not just on the outside. She has the kindest, most forgiving nature of any person—man or woman—I have ever met. You would be lucky to have half of her courage, spirit, or compassion. If you will excuse me.” And he strode toward Rafe and Ewan, leaving the women sputtering behind him.





Fifteen


Julia wondered what Wraxall had said to the women to cause them to glare at her with such malice. She had been giving him warning looks from the moment Lady Sutcliffe waylaid him. The quartet of ladies were overly fond of gossip, and they were not overly concerned as to whether the gossip was true. The last thing she needed was Wraxall making the wrong comment about where she had been living or where he had been sleeping. She could no longer claim—to herself, at least—that she and Wraxall were not involved romantically, or at least physically, but she had no desire for that knowledge to become public.

She let out a relieved breath when he finally reached his friends—the big blond soldier and a handsome man who dressed better than she did.

“Is everything all right?” her father asked.

Julia quickly pasted on a smile. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You seem tense.” His kind green eyes assessed her. “I worry about you, Juliana. That is why I want you to come home.”

“Papa, please. Not tonight.”

He sighed. Julia hoped the discussion was over, but her father spoke again, his eyes on something across the room. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Sorry?” she asked.

“For my neglect of you and Harriett after your mother died. I should have been there for you both, but instead I retreated into the only thing I knew—work.”