No Earls Allowed

by Shana Galen

  “And your friend is completely trustworthy?”

  “As I said, I’d trust him with my life.”

  They moved forward, and Neil handed both of their cards to the butler. “Lady Juliana St. Maur and Mr. Neil Wraxall.”

  Neil felt his cheeks heat. He hated having all eyes on him like this, especially the eyes of the ton, men and women who thought they were above him simply because of an accident of birth. He never felt more like a bastard than at moments like these. Lady Juliana, on the other hand, glided into the room as though she had been born to do this. And, of course, she had. But what surprised Neil was the ease with which she transitioned from the orphanage to the ballroom. Was there anywhere she felt out of place?

  A few minutes later, he had the answer. St. Maur intercepted them as they made a circuit of the ballroom. “Step outside with me, darling,” he said, taking his daughter’s arm. “You too, Wraxall.”

  Neil followed the man. He was only an inch or two taller than his daughter but walked with a regal bearing. At one time he’d had bright-red hair, but most of it had faded to white. His green eyes were still sharp and alert, and as soon as they were outside, he turned them on his daughter. “What is this nonsense I hear about not coming home?” Before Juliana could answer, he pointed to Neil. “And you, your father said you would have her home within the hour. It has been much longer than an hour, sir.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Neil stood straight. St. Maur was right to chastise him. He had failed in the mission.

  “Papa, I’m hardly a child to be called home on your whim. The orphans need me.”

  “Well, they shall have to get on without you. I let you play at this game because I know how devastated you were at your sister’s death.” His voice softened, and Neil caught a glimpse of the man who had indulged his daughter. “But the time for all that is over.”

  Lady Juliana raised her chin. “We had an agreement, Papa. I attend events during the Season and you leave me alone to do my work at Sunnybrooke.”

  “I want to change our agreement. It’s past time you married. If something were to happen to me, you would be all alone in the world.”

  “I’d rather be all alone than stuck with a husband.” She said the last word as though it were a curse. “As I told you before, I will never marry.”

  “Yes, you will. Not all men are like Lainesborough.”

  Her gaze bored into her father. “No. Some are like you.”

  “Excuse me, but I see a friend of mine—” Neil began, thinking now would be a very good time to escape this family feud.

  “Mr. Wraxall, won’t you dance with me?” Lady Juliana said suddenly, turning to face him.

  “I don’t—”

  But she took his arm and steered him to the end of a line of dancers.

  “I will see you at the Darlington musicale!” her father called after them.

  On the dance floor, Neil panicked. He would rather face a line of French infantry than this line of dancers. He knew the steps well enough to avoid making a complete fool of himself, but that did not mean everyone would not discuss him. He had heard it all over the years.

  Just like his tart of a mother.

  He conducts himself well…for a bastard.

  Has his father no shame? Flaunting his by-blows in public!

  Neil avoided the ton and their social events religiously. Even after he’d returned from the war a hero and everyone wanted to throw fetes in his honor, he declined. As far as Neil was concerned, Rafe could represent them all.

  But here he was, in full view of his critics, about to dance with one of the most beautiful ladies in the peerage. The two lines of dancers came together, and Lady Juliana pressed her hand to his and circled. “Why are you scowling?” she murmured. “You are supposed to be having fun.”

  “Why are you scowling?” he shot back. “Aren’t you having fun?”

  “No. I’d rather be back at Sunnybrooke, but I can’t leave until I’ve danced at least two sets. That is my father’s rule, although it seems the rules are changing. Where would you rather be?”

  They parted, and Neil danced with a blushing blond girl, then he was beside Juliana again. “A pit of vipers? A French dungeon?”

  “You hate it that much?”

  “I’m a bastard. We are not supposed to show our faces in polite society.”

  They parted again, and Lady Juliana stared at him intently across the path for the dancers. Then it was their turn to promenade. “I suppose you expect me to apologize.”

  “You are not that predictable, Lady Juliana.”

  “Good. Because I will not apologize. You are every inch the man any legitimate son is, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I am glad I asked you to dance.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  “We can show everyone what a gentleman you are.”

  “I think all we will do is give everyone a new topic for gossip. The set is ending, my lady.” He bowed and kissed her gloved hand.

  “We must take a turn about the room.”

  “Forgive me if I do not take part in that spectacle.”

  “I will not.” She linked her arm with his, and he was forced either to make a scene or promenade her about the ballroom. As much as he hated the attention he garnered and the false smiles and too-slight bows of the nobility, he could not pretend he did not like having her beside him. She smelled of fresh roses, and when the crowds swelled, she was pushed against him, giving him the impression of lush curves and round softness.

  “My lady.” A young man stepped before them. To Neil he looked barely out of the schoolroom. “May I have the next dance?”

  “No,” Neil said at the same time Juliana said, “Yes.” She glared at Neil, then looked back at the boy. “Lord Peter, have you met Mr. Wraxall?”

  Peter bowed. “An honor, Mr. Wraxall. I studied your accomplishments on the Continent at university. You are a true hero.”

  “Thank you,” Neil said, feeling like an old man.

  “He is a hero,” Lady Juliana said. “In so many ways.” Her dark eyes met his, then she looked back at the boy lord. “Shall we, my lord?”

  Lord Peter bowed again and took Lady Juliana’s arm, leading her back to the dancing. Neil wished he were on the battlefield. He would have shown Lord Peter a thing or two.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Neil turned to see Rafe sipping a glass of champagne. He raised it to Neil. “To what do we owe this honor?”

  “To the fact that my latest mission is proving more difficult than I expected.”

  “Ah, yes. The Lady Juliana. Since our conversation in the Billiards Room, I have done a bit of investigating.”

  “Why?” Neil drawled, watching Juliana laugh and twirl with Lord Peter. Where had Rafe acquired that champagne? Neil needed a bucket.

  “Because I am curious by nature. Aren’t you the least curious as to what Society says of Lady Juliana?”

  “No.” It was a lie, but he knew Rafe would tell him anyway.

  “She is stubborn and willful, but those qualities can be forgiven because she is so generous and kind-hearted. Some say too kindhearted. It is difficult for her to see the bad in anyone. That is a boon for you, is it not?”

  Neil cut Rafe a look. “Isn’t there some chit looking to toss her skirts up for you?”

  “Definitely, but this is vastly more entertaining. I have never seen you jealous.”

  Neil stiffened. “I am not jealous.”

  “Then why are your hands balled into fists, and why are you glaring at the Duke of Preston’s youngest son like you want to sever his head from his body?”

  Neil forced his fists to open. It did not matter to him who Lady Juliana danced with. In a day or so, she would be home and he could forget about her. She was not even his responsibility at the moment. Her father was here.
Let him deal with his daughter. “I need a drink,” Neil said.

  “Words I long to hear. This way, old boy.” And Rafe led him toward the card room, where women were in short supply and the brandy was overflowing.

  * * *

  Julia exited the ladies’ retiring room, where she had hidden to escape Lord Peter, and moved stealthily toward the ballroom. She had danced her two sets and wanted to return to Sunnybrooke before the terrifying Mr. Mostyn ate the children for a midnight snack. She peered through a crack in the door but didn’t spot Mr. Wraxall. And she did not think he would be difficult to spot. In his evening clothes, he had looked even more handsome than usual, a feat she had not thought possible. The black of his coat made his hair look even darker, and the blue of his waistcoat gave his eyes even more depth. He’d secured his hair in a short queue, leaving his cheeks exposed. The chiseled planes were square and strong. If there was a more beautiful specimen of masculinity, she had not found it.

  So where had he disappeared to? She was tempted to leave without him, but she did not relish the lecture he would probably give her later.

  She shifted slightly to view the room at another angle and collided with a large shape. She stepped back and stared into the smiling face of Mr. Slag.

  “What—?” she began, then stopped as she saw all too clearly how he had managed to gain entry to the ball. He was dressed in Viscount Sterling’s livery and had probably entered unnoticed by either the guests or staff as the viscount had certainly hired additional servants for the evening.

  “Lady Juliana, so good to see you.” He took her hand and kissed it. Julia was relieved she wore gloves so she did not have to feel his lips on her skin.

  “Mr. Slag, forgive me if I am surprised by your appearance here.”

  “You thought with that watchdog in your bed, you were safe from me.” Slag’s lips thinned. “But you won’t get away so easily.” He might have been smiling, but she could see the flush of color in his cheeks. He was angry. Gone was the pleasant man from her parlor. The man before her was the crime lord, and he was not pleased.

  Julia took another step back. Just a few feet away, hundreds of people danced and chatted. And any moment a lady would pass this way to visit the retiring room or a servant would happen by. All she need do was scream, and she could be rid of Slag.

  For the moment.

  “If you scream now,” he murmured as a lady passed them, “I will give you a real reason to scream later.”

  Julia swallowed the bile in her throat.

  “How about a knife in the belly for that little boy who always has his dirty thumb in his mouth? Or maybe a good beating for the tall one with the freckles?”

  Charlie and Robbie. Slag was threatening them.

  “What do you want?” she asked, her voice steely.

  “An answer to my proposal, my lady. Nothing more. Well, that and the head of your soldier on a pike, but all things in time.”

  “I don’t have the money,” she said.

  “Then I’ll join you in bed tonight. Get rid of your soldiers or face the consequences.” He stared away.

  “Wait!” Julia cried, running after him. A lady returning to the ballroom gave her a disapproving glare. Julia ignored her. “Mr. Slag!”

  He turned.

  “I will get you the money.”

  “Tonight?”

  “No, I…I need more time.”

  “At the Darlington musicale. I know you will be there. That’s your last chance.” He moved closer, his breath on her cheek, smelling of stale onions. “Do not cross me or the little ones’ blood is on your hands.” He walked away, disappearing through a servants’ door that opened out of a panel in the wall.

  Julia stood rooted in place, her hands shaking and her knees wobbling.

  “Juliana? Is that you?”

  Of course her father would find her now. She pressed her lips together, forced a smile, and turned.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Are you well?”

  “Just a little tired. I hoped Mr. Wraxall could take me home.”

  “Home?” Her father’s eyes lit with hope, and Julia felt like the worst villain extinguishing it.

  “I meant the orphanage.”

  “Ah.” Her father’s face fell. “Won’t you ever come home, Julia? I worry for your safety.”

  Not he missed her, not he cared for her—he worried for her safety. He was far too busy with his own pursuits to waste time on love or affection. Of course, he was right to worry for her safety when one of the most dangerous crime lords in the city had threatened her. But what was she to do? Slag wanted a fortune. Her father did not have it. She’d managed his household for years, and most of his money was tied up in land and repairs to his various properties. If she told him she needed money, he would only force her to return home, and then who would protect the children?

  “I cannot come home right now, Papa. The children need me. And anyway,” she said with what she hoped was a bright smile, “Mr. Wraxall is making certain we are safe and secure. Have you seen him?”

  “He is in the card room. I will fetch him for you. You will be at the Darlington musicale?”

  “Of course,” she said. What other choice did she have?

  In the carriage, Wraxall watched her. Julia stared out the window, but she could feel his gaze on her. She wanted to ignore it, but she had shouldered the weight of Slag’s threats on her own long enough. She needed help, and Wraxall was all she had.

  “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 fe
elings 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.