“I’ll make arrangements for Victoria to be taken somewhere safe, ”
“Don’t be absurd,” Joan interrupted. “You’re taking this too far. I want to marry Julian. I fancy him. I desire the status and security his title provides.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t require your belief. Only your cooperation.” Joan’s voice was cold now.
Damian stared at her, and Joan stared back unflinchingly. After a long moment, his shoulders slumped.
“Joan, please.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Trust me. I can fix this. There has to be another way.”
He could fix it,Joan thought.I know he could. Damian is clever and resourceful and has connections throughout the Court.But it would cost him. His position, his reputation, possibly his freedom if Julian’s family retaliated. Better me than him. Always better me than them.
“I will marry Julian Hawthorne tomorrow, and that is final. Now call off your men,” Joan said aloud, her voice firm.
Damian looked at her for a long moment, searching her face for any crack in her armor. He found none.
Joan said, standing. “No more quibble. I have a terrible headache, and I need to rest before tomorrow.”
She walked past her brother without looking at him, her head held high and her spine straight.
But as she climbed the stairs to her chamber, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails drew blood from her palms.
Just one more day, she told herself. Just survive one more day, and then it will be done.
She entered her room and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as her carefully maintained composure finally cracked.
But still, despite everything, Joan did not cry.
A thin man with a disapproving expression that suggested he found his employer as distasteful as Joan did, stood on the other side of Julian's front door. He took in her appearance with one sweeping glance, and his lips thinned further.
“Miss Joan Sinclair to see the Earl of Aldridge,” Joan said, her voice crisp.
The butler’s expression suggested he knew exactly why she was here and pitied her for it. “Please follow me, Miss.”
Julian’s townhouse was undeniably impressive, four stories of gleaming white stone, with columns flanking the entrance and intricate ironwork on the balconies. But there was something excessive about it, something that tried too hard. The columns were too ornate. The ironwork was too elaborate. Even the topiary in the front garden was shaped into pretentious spirals and spheres that screamed of expense without taste.
The butler led her through a grand entrance hall that was almost comically overdone.
As they approached what appeared to be Julian’s private study, a door further down the corridor suddenly opened.
A woman emerged, and Joan felt her stomach turn.
The woman was perhaps five-and-twenty, with blonde hair that had clearly been elaborately arranged but was now falling in disheveled waves around her shoulders. Her dress, cheap satin in a garish shade of pink, was hastily fastened, the laces uneven. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes slightly glazed.
The woman caught sight of Joan and froze for half a heartbeat. Then she ducked her head and hurried past, her cheap perfume lingering in the air like an accusation.
The door she’d emerged from opened wider, and Julian Hawthorne appeared.
He was in a state of partial undress, his shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, his cravat missing entirely, his dark hair tousled. He looked like a man who had just rolled out of bed after vigorous activity. Which, Joan realized with cold disgust, was exactly what he’d been doing.
A satisfied smirk curved his lips as he leaned against the doorframe, utterly unashamed.
“Joan! What perfect timing.” His voice was warm, almost friendly, as though they were old acquaintances meeting for tea. “I just had a visitor, as you can see. Business concluded, however.”
He gestured for her to enter his study. “Do come in. We have much to discuss, I’m sure.”
Joan forced herself to move forward, to step past him into the room as he buttoned up his shirt. She kept her expression perfectly neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her disgust.
