“Then it sounds to me,” Max continued, “that your children will be fine, and the only opinion you should worry about courting is that of your intended bride. Ifshe’swilling to put up with the snide comments of a ‘polite’ society she has no interest in mingling with, then what exactly is standing in your way?”
“You’re scandalous…” Hawkridge pointed out helpfully. “She’s scandalous… You’re both alreadynotpart of a society that disapproves ofanddisinterests you...”
“I heard him,” Julian growled. “I got it the first time.”
“Did you?” Grenville asked softly.
“It wouldn’t even be breaking new ground,” Wainwright put in. “You wouldn’t be the first peer to marry his mistress.”
“Or even the first duke to do so,” Hawkridge agreed. “Lavinia Fenton became the Duchess of Bolton—”
“That was seventy years ago,” Julian muttered.
“Common courtesan Sophia Dubochet married Lord Berwicksevenyears ago,” Wainwright said. “Is that recent enough for you?”
“He’s a baron, not a duke.”
“And a third choice at that,” Grenville pointed out. “Viscount Deerhurstandthe Duke of Leinster pursued her first. Surely you cannot question His Grace’s pedigree.”
“What about Anne Parsons?” Wainwright lifted his sherry. “Lover to the first Prime Minister, the Duke of Grafton. Who she didnotmarry… because she threw him over for the Duke of Dorset, whom shedidmarry.”
Max refilled Julian’s glass. “You’d actually be the least scandalous of all of them. You’re not stealing her from some other duke. There’s no eyebrow-raising age difference. No one even knows sheisyour mistress—”
“She isnotmy mistress.”
“Then there you go. Your story is embarrassingly boring.” Max grinned at him. “What are the gossips supposed to talk about?”
Julian glared at his friends. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not easy,” Hawkridge admitted. “Theywillbe vicious. She won’t be accepted everywhere. Her class, her history, her skin… You’re right about all of it. But should that stop you?”
“I would rather have my Nora than the approval of self-important prigs,” Grenville said softly. “You have to decide what matters most toyou.”
There was only one answer to that question.
Julian stared at his glass of sherry then scrubbed his face with his hands. “What’s happening to me?”
“Feelings,” Max said with pity. “They’re the devil.”
Julian groaned and pushed away his goblet. They were right. The game wasn’twin the beau monde. The game waswin Unity.
He rose to his feet. “I’m leaving before you four squidgy muffins make me any softer.”
“Too late,” Wainwright whispered to Hawkridge. “Lambley was lovesick before he walked through the door.”
Grenville caught up to Julian just outside the Cloven Hoof, before he could reach his carriage.
“I know you told me to stop investigating,” he began.
“I meant it,” Julian said quickly. “Even if she has dozens of scandalous secrets, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.”
“She might have fewer than you think,” Grenville replied. “She’s not a courtesan.”
Julian stopped walking. “What?”
“Miss Thorne isn’t a courtesan,” Grenville repeated. “She never was.”
She was aninnocent?Then why did she—
