She Fell Asleep in the War Duke’s Bed—While 59 Women Waited Below

Chapter 5

Julian reached the ballroom before Clara. He did not hurry. Hurrying would have fed the room. Instead, he entered as he entered every hostile place — straight-backed, cold-eyed, and calm enough to make every whisper seem badly bred.

His mother saw him first. Her expression was a question. He inclined his head once. No explanation. No apology. He crossed the ballroom and stood near the front, where every guest could see him.

No one questioned him. They were waiting for the girl.

Clara appeared in the doorway a moment later. Her mouth was set with the bravery of someone who had been told not to apologize and was not yet certain how to obey. The whispers spread through the ballroom like fire through dry grass.

“She came back.”

“From upstairs.”

“Mrs. Harcourt saw everything. In his chamber. In his bed.”

Mrs. Ashworth saw her daughter and hurried forward, driven by the look of a mother watching a room devour her child. Clara saw her coming, and her courage faltered.

That was when Julian moved.

He reached Clara at the same moment her mother did. Mrs. Ashworth stopped when she saw him. The scolding died on her lips. She dropped into a curtsy.

“Your grace.”

“Mrs. Ashworth.”

Clara looked between them. “Please do not —”

Julian offered his arm.

Clara stared at it.

“Take it,” he murmured.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you.”

“You are making it worse.”

“You looked ready to faint.”

“I was not going to faint.”

“Then prove it.”

Clara took his arm because the entire ballroom was watching. Because her knees had become less loyal than her pride.

“Where are you taking me?” she whispered.

“To the front.”

“Why?”

“Whispers are useful only to cowards.”

“That does not answer me.”

Julian kept his gaze ahead. “Because I am about to make the largest mistake of my life.”

Clara’s fingers tightened on his sleeve. “What?”

He did not answer.

He led her to where the Duchess of Ravenscroft stood waiting. His hand covered Clara’s where it rested on his arm. Not possessive. Steady.

Then he faced the room.

“There will be no further speculation.”

The ballroom fell silent.

Julian continued. “I have asked Miss Ashworth to be my wife.”

A debutante near the pianoforte gasped. Her mother seized her wrist. Another girl turned scarlet. A third looked ready to cry.

Mrs. Harcourt’s smile died first. The rest of her face followed.

Near the back, Sebastian’s mouth fell open until his wife struck him lightly in the ribs. “Good God,” Sebastian muttered. “He chose the missing one.”

Marcus did not look away from Julian. “No,” he said quietly. “He shielded her.”

Clara turned slightly toward Julian. “You have done no such thing,” she whispered.

“Not loudly,” he murmured.

“Julian —”

Her eyes widened. She had not meant to use his name. The intimacy of it hung between them for one dangerous second.

Near the wall, a woman spoke just loudly enough to be heard. “So he compromised her and now means to marry her. How noble men become once cornered.”

Julian heard her. So did his mother.

The Duchess smiled. “How unexpected,” she said smoothly. “And how very joyful.”

No one believed the joy. Everyone understood the warning.

Julian inclined his head, accepting the performance because for the moment it protected Clara.

Mrs. Ashworth looked from Julian to her daughter as though trying to decide whether Clara had been rescued or delivered into a greater danger.

Julian released Clara and approached her mother. “Mrs. Ashworth. I understand this is a shock. I will call upon Mr. Ashworth in three days. My mother and I will discuss the matter with your family properly. Not here. Not before an audience.”

Mrs. Ashworth looked past him at Clara. Julian lowered his voice, though the nearest guests could still hear. “Until then, I ask that your daughter be treated with kindness. She has endured enough tonight.”

Mrs. Ashworth curtsied again. “Yes, your grace.”

Julian returned to Clara. She looked up at him, anger and shock struggling against something more dangerous — gratitude.

“You should not have done that,” she whispered.

Julian faced the room. “No,” he said. “But I have.”

For one dangerous moment, the words felt like shelter.

Then Clara saw the Duchess watching her. The perfect smile remained in place, and Clara knew with sudden certainty that whatever Julian had saved her from, his mother had already begun planning something worse.