Page 114 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
As he had last time, Julian Gray leaned against the doorframe, his hip cocked as he grinned at them. “Do not linger, beautiful ladies. Come closer, I promise to bite.”
His eyes flashed as they stepped into the townhouse.
Once the door was closed, Eleanor breathed easier. Her title protected her, but she was still wary without Spencer. But he was a bruise she could not stop pressing, and she had to force him out of her mind.
“Do enter my abode,” Julian urged, nodding toward the drawing room. “May I fetch you some wine? We can take a bottle upstairs and get comfortable with one another. It has been some time since I have been blessed with two stunning ladies.” His voice dropped to a purr as he leaned into Eleanor. “Will your husband join us? I do believe we have unfinished business.”
Charlotte looked positively stricken and scandalized, but Julian only laughed, spinning away and reaching for two glasses to fill with wine.
“Do you wish to indulge in pleasures of the flesh, Your Grace?”
His question was directed at Eleanor, of course, but it was Charlotte who stepped forward.
“We are here to speak about Lord Follet.”
Julian paused. “I see. Here I was hoping to enjoy two ladies in my bed for the first time in a while.”
He exhaled heavily as if he was so burdened, but rejoined them nonetheless.
Eleanor didn’t waste a moment in gulping down the wine, needing to take the edge off her nerves.
“And you are?” Julian asked. “You are so lovely, I forgot to ask your name. Those eyes… they are like the deepest of oceans. Tell me, have your depths ever been explored? I am but a humble diver?—”
“Mr. Gray,” Eleanor interrupted, seeing how Charlotte blushed so furiously her cheeks must have burned. “This my sister-in-law, Lady Charlotte Vanserton. She is Lord Follet’s fiancée, as I was Lord Belgrave’s fiancée.”
Understanding dawned on Julian, and all mirth drained from his face, replaced by a hard seriousness just like when Spencer had mentioned the two men.
“I looked into Follet after you were gone,” he said. “I did not like the thought of not knowing something that might help protect other women. Things have been rather quiet, and apparently, neither man is happy about it, but they cannot seem to agree on a direction. Furthermore, you have come on the right night. Lord Follet is expecting a shipment tonight. It is coming from—ah, here, I wrote it down.”
He reached up to the mantelpiece and snatched a piece of paper before handing it to her. “I tried to decode it, but I have gotten nowhere.”
“The haven at the heart of the woods,” Charlotte read aloud, peering at the note. “Whatever does that mean?”
“That is what I have been puzzling?—”
“Hartswood,” Eleanor said suddenly, recalling the name on a signpost the night she had fled St. Euphemia’s. “That is where St. Euphemia’s is located. An old Jacobean manor in Hartswood.”
“Ah! A clever play with words,” Julian praised. “I am sure I would have come to the same conclusion. Regardless, that is where the shipment will pass through.”
“Then we will go,” Charlotte declared.
Eleanor had told her the full extent of the operation, and had held her when she cried for the women, for the life she may have found herself trapped into had Eleanor not risked her life to warn her.
“No,” Eleanor said firmly. “I know that place. I will go alone.”
“You will do no such thing,” Charlotte huffed.
“Oh, do keep arguing,” Julian purred, lightening the dread hanging over them. “It does get a man going.”
Charlotte squirmed but fought a smile, until she looked back at Eleanor. “You do not get to play martyr alone. You left me behind once, and had I known, I would have saved you. Do not go without me again, Eleanor. Let me fight this with you—foryou, as your friend.”
“I told him to go home, so Heaven knows where he has gotten to.”
Theodore’s voice came from inside the parlor, and Eleanor hurried there, wondering if he was discussing Spencer. But as soon as she and Charlotte entered, they were caught by Lady Montagu.
“Where on earth have you been!?” Lady Montagu cried. “Heavens, it is nighttime!”
“Aunt Katherine, it is barely dark,” Charlotte argued. “Do not fret.”
