Page 71 of A Troublesome Circumstance

Jude sat in his study, hunched over the desk, his eyes staring blankly at the rows of numbers that refused to stay still on the page. He blinked, once, twice—yet his mind kept wrenching him away from columns of figures and dragging him back to her.

Josephine’s face at the masquerade.

That moment when she realized the truth.

The shock… followed by the hurt… and then the unmistakable glimmer of betrayal.

Botheration. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Why had he ever believed the masquerade’s anonymity would protect him? A mask had done nothing to hide the truth from her. Nor from the ton, who relished the scandal of his unmasking far too much.

He dropped the papers he had been attempting to read. They landed with a dull thud that perfectly matched the heaviness in his chest.

He trusted Josephine.

Even now—when she had every right to despise him—he trusted her.

“Blast it,” he muttered, leaning back and rubbing his temples. “Focus, Jude. Accounts first, guilt later.”

But guilt refused to wait.

Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever look at him with that soft, surprised smile again?

“You look awful.”

Jude jerked his head up. Luca stood lounging in the doorway with that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

“What do you want?” Jude snapped.

“Ah. Back to your usual charm.” Luca pushed off the doorframe and strolled in. “I came to determine whether you were still alive after last night’s spectacle.”

“There was no spectacle,” Jude muttered.

“No?” Luca raised his brows. “Lady Gwendolyn declared you a cad loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. And the ton thoroughly enjoyed watching you chase after Lady Josephine.”

“I was not chasing,” Jude grumbled.

“Mm. Tell that to the Society page.” Luca slipped a folded paper from his inner coat pocket and tossed it lightly onto the desk. “Not one of mine.”

Jude groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Why did I think I could attend the blasted ball unnoticed?”

“It was a masquerade ball,” Luca reminded.

“Yes—and yet last night was an unmitigated disaster. And now—thanks to Lady Gwendolyn—the ton believes I’m some sort of heartless scoundrel.”

Luca waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares what they think? Your reputation can withstand a few scratches. Unless…” His eyes gleamed. “Unless there is one particular person whose opinion matters.”

Josephine’s face flickered in Jude’s mind, but he shut the image away. “No,” he said far too quickly.

Luca did not look convinced. “How did Lady Josephine react when she discovered you’re not a lowly gamekeeper, after all, but the next Duke of Ashmoore?”

“She was furious.” His throat tightened. “And she had every right. I lied to her.”

“For a good reason.”

“That doesn’t soften the blow,” Jude responded.

“You’re going to fix it,” Luca said. “You always do.”

“I sent her flowers this morning.”