The chaise was considerably less comfortable than the floor had been at the inn on their way to Southampton. Julian shifted and turned.
His eyes found Clara, peacefully asleep. He could see her shape beneath the blankets, could hear her breathe. Part of him wanted to get up, cross the room, and get into the bed. Not because he was uncomfortable but because he wanted to be closer to her. Her presence drew him in a way he was most uncomfortable with because he knew very well that it ought not to.
But it did not feel wrong. Being around her felt, in truth, very right. He wanted with every fiber to be near her, to hold her, but such thoughts were the province of fools.
He was not going to fall victim to his own impulses. He had done so before, and it had brought him nothing but misery.
He turned once more and looked into the fire; the flames had shrunk down to almost nothing.
He closed his eyes and was very nearly asleep when a scream came from somewhere outside. A woman’s voice. He sat up immediately and pulled his pantaloons over his drawers.
“Let go of me; let go of me.”
He recognized it then. Marianne.
“What is it?” Clara swung her legs out of bed.
He grabbed a candleholder, lit it from what remained of the fire, and held it out to her.
“I do not know, but I will see to it.”
“Is that Marianne?” She was already on her feet, the fabric of her nightgown swaying as she hurried to his side. She looked almost ethereal in the candlelight, her hair loose around her shoulders, her expression alert.
The voice came again, followed by a bang.
He opened the door and went into the hall. Clara moved to follow. He turned and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Stay here,” he said. “Do not come out. I will not risk your safety.”
She drew breath as though she intended to contradict him then thought better of it.
Julian went quickly down the hallway towards the sound. It came from upstairs. He turned the corner to the flight of stairs, and then he saw it. Marianne was in her nightgown with a robe thrown over it, and a tall man had her by the hair and was dragging her down the stairs. Julian’s blood rose instantly.
“Unhand her,” he called. The man stopped and looked up. “Mind your own business,” he replied, and continued hauling Marianne down.
“Thisismy business. Unhand her at once.”
The man looked at Marianne with a sneer. “Is that your new fellow? Should’ve known. Women like you can never?—”
“Release her,” Julian said, and came down the stairs.
The man let go of Marianne and turned, coming at Julian. Julian moved quickly to the side of the stairs and extended one foot. The man, a clumsy brute of considerable size, went straight over it and tumbled down the stairs.
“Go to my chamber,” Julian told Marianne quickly. “Tell Clara to keep the door closed.”
“This is Molly’s father,” she said.
He nodded. “Go.”
Marianne hurried past the man, who was already clambering back to his feet.
“Don’t you dare run from me,” the man shouted.
Julian grabbed him by the collar. “You will leave. I understand you have a wife to get home to.”
“Had a wife,” the man replied. “Not anymore. Not thanks to her. She found out about the child and threw me out.” He looked Julian up and down with contempt. “Thought I’d come and get what I’m owed. Though perhaps instead of going to her, I should turn to you. Has she trapped you yet?”
Julian pulled the man forward and down the hallway. From below, voices called out, demanding to know what the commotion was.
“You will leave,” Julian said.
