“What the devil—” Horace began.
“Julianne,” Judith said, cutting him off as she put down the book, “are you still struggling with the catch of that bracelet? Can you not do it, Lord Rannulf? Let me try.”
“Hmph,” Uncle George said. “I came down for a moment’s peace and find that my library has been invaded. Does your mother know you are wearing her bracelet, Julianne? I daresay she does, though. A word of advice, Bedwyn. Never argue with a lady. She is always right.”
If she could have painted thunder in visible form, Judith thought, it would surely bear a remarkable resemblance to Horace’s face. She locked glances with him for a moment and saw murder in his eyes.
“I’ll bear it in mind, sir,” Lord Rannulf said. “That is definitely the last time I argue about ravens and doves.”
Julianne, tight-lipped and white-faced, pulled her arm away from Judith, fumbled with the catch of the bracelet, failed to do it up, snatched it off, and slammed it back onto the table where she had found it.
“Horace,” she said, “take me to Mama. I am feeling faint.”
“I suppose I had better return to my duty,” Uncle George said with a sigh.
A moment later all three of them had left, taking the candle with them and leaving the door ajar.
“What book was that?” Lord Rannulf asked after a few moments of silence.
“I have no idea,” Judith said. “It was too dark in the room for me to distinguish one title from another.”
“Are you quite sure,” he asked, “that the first bird out of the ark was a raven? I’ll wager it was a dove.”
“You will lose,” she said. “I am a clergyman’s daughter.”
“I suppose,” he said, “it was a plot to have Sir George Effingham believe I had seriously compromised his daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Careless of me,” he said. “It almost worked. I thought the chit silly and tedious but essentially harmless.”
“But Horace is not,” she said. “Neither is Aunt Louisa.”
“Judith.” He was coming toward her. “You have saved me from a miserable life sentence. How am I ever to thank you?”
“We are even,” she said. “You saved me last week in the summerhouse. I saved you this week.”
“Yes.” His hands were on her shoulders, warm, solid, familiar. “Judith.”
When had he started calling her by her given name? Had he done it before tonight? She fixed her gaze on his elaborately tied neckcloth, but only for a moment. His face got in the way, and then his mouth was on hers.
It was a deep kiss even though his hands did not move from her shoulders and hers did no more than grip the lapels of his evening coat. He teased her lips apart with his own and she opened her mouth to his.
His tongue came into her mouth, filling her, possessing her, and she sucked on it, drawing it deeper.
She felt like someone who had been starved and then presented with a feast. She could not get enough of him. She would never be able to have enough of him. She could smell the familiar scent of his cologne.
And then his mouth was gone from hers and he was gazing at her in the moonlit room.
“We are going back upstairs,” he said, “before someone can make an issue of your absence. Thank you, Judith. The time between now and the last dance is going to seem tedious indeed.”
She tried not to refine too much on his words. He was relieved at his near escape. He was grateful to her. He remembered their time together when he had thought she was Claire Campbell, actress and experienced courtesan. That was all.
Chapter XVII
Judith had very little time in which to gather her scattered thoughts and emotions. Perhaps very few people noticed her return to the ballroom on Lord Rannulf’s arm, but Aunt Effingham certainly did, and the look on her face did not bode well for her niece later. Julianne had somehow surrounded herself with gentlemen, the waltz having just finished, and was laughing and fluttering in their midst. Uncle George was back with his group of older gentlemen, engrossed in conversation with them. Of Horace there was no sign.
“But where did you go, Rannulf?” Lady Beamish asked when he escorted Judith to her grandmother’s side. “One moment you were waltzing and the next moment you were gone.”
“Miss Effingham suddenly missed her bracelet,” he explained, “and Miss Law was kind enough to help us search for it. Fortunately it was discovered in just the place Miss Effingham thought she might have left it.”
Judith’s grandmother smiled placidly, but Lady Beamish looked from one to the other of them with sharp eyes. Of course, Judith thought, she had been the one eager to promote the match between her grandson and Julianne. She must be disappointed that the courtship was not proceeding faster.
And then Lord Rannulf strolled away to ask a young lady to dance who to Judith’s knowledge had danced only once before during the evening, and Mr. Tanguay arrived to claim his set.
Judith smiled and gave him her attention, but it was very difficult to do when her heart was still pounding from the tensions of the past fifteen minutes.
She was laughing by the time the set ended. It had been a vigorous dance with intricate steps and patterns. But Mr. Tanguay did not have the opportunity to escort her back to her grandmother. Branwell appeared in front of them instead and took her arm.
“Excuse us if you will, Tanguay,” he said. “I need to talk to my sister for a minute.”
She looked at him in surprise. Though he had exchanged glances and smiles with her and even one wink in the course of the evening, he had been too busy enjoying himself with other young ladies to hunt out a mere sister for conversation. He was still smiling, though there was something stiff about the set of his lips.
He was unusually pale. His fingers were digging rather painfully into her arm.
“Jude,” he said when they were on the landing outside the ballroom and he had looked about to ascertain that they could not be overheard, “I just wanted to let you know that I am leaving. Now.
Tonight.”
“The ball?”She looked at him with incomprehension.
“Harewood.” He smiled and nodded at Beatrice Hardinge, who was passing on the arm of an unknown young man.
“Harewood?” She was further mystified. “Tonight?”
“Effingham just had a word with me,” he said. “It seems someone else came here a couple of days ago demanding payment of me for some trifling bill. Effingham paid him without even informing me. Now he wants the money back as well as the thirty pounds I owe him for the journey here.” He raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Of course I mean to pay him back, but I cannot do it just now. He cut up rather nasty about the whole thing and said some pretty offensive things, not just about me but about you too. I would have popped him a good one to the nose or even challenged him, but how could I, Jude? I am at Uncle George’s as a guest, and we are surrounded by other guests. It would be in the depths of bad taste. I am going to have to go, that is all.”
“But tonight, Bran?” She grasped his hand in both her own. Oh, she knew very well what this was all about. How dare Horace take out his anger and frustration on her brother in this way? “Why not wait at least until the morning?”
“I cannot,” he said. “I have to go now. As soon as I have changed my clothes. There is a reason.”
“But in the middle of the night? Oh, Bran,” she said, “whatever are you going to do?”
“You must not worry about me,” he said, reclaiming his hand and looking considerably agitated. “I have a—a lead on something. I’ll have my fortune made in no time at all, I promise you.” He flashed her a ghost of his old grin. “And then I’ll pay Papa back everything extra he has spent on me lately and you girls will be secure again. I have to go, Jude. I must not delay any longer.”