A Disgraceful Miss

“I know his family. Bradley’s a bit younger, so we didn’t attend university together. Second or third son, isn’t he?”

Was it getting hot in here? Julian tugged ineffectually at his high collar, mentally cursing the extra starch his valet used.

“Second son. Bradley’s been on the Grand Tour, so Angelica’s been biding her time till his return. Won’t take any of the other gentlemen seriously. For which I’m grateful, but my reprieve is nearly done. Rumor has it, Lord Bradley has returned.” Daniel sighed dramatically as he chalked his cue. “And, so, my demise is imminent.”

Julian’s heart plummeted.

God, if it were true, then Julian’s life was about to become a misery. Just the thought of Angelica attached to another man was enough to send him into paroxysms of malcontent. But to watch her dote upon one with affection?

Julian finally swung the cue stick, though this shot wasn’t much better than his last. When Daniel stepped up and quickly cleared the table of the remaining balls, he was relieved. He’d lost the desire to play, too distracted to concentrate further.

For, he had a secret. Something he couldn’t talk about with Daniel, the man he loved in place of the brother he’d never had and the father who had died just after his birth. Daniel had taught him how to eradicate the nightmares that haunted long after the vicious battles in India had been left behind. By the time Julian had deployed to Bombay with a fresh commission in the army, Daniel had been there long enough to be numbed by it all.

No, Julian couldn’t—wouldn’t—sacrifice the filial bond that they shared because he was weak.

Because he was in love with Angelica.

CHAPTER TWO

The new Burlington Arcade was alight with midday activity. Open for trade only a few weeks, the neat row of shops was already a favored haunt of the most dedicated fashionists. The finest jewelers, milliners, tailors and other vendors of stylish demand were showcased in regimented glass stalls, like so many fine bloodstock at a Tattersalls auction. The arcade was even more pleasing than a visit to Bond Street, for the glazed roof that spanned the wide pedestrian boulevard protected the patrons, allowing for a leisurely stroll despite inclement weather.

Since the day appeared incapable of producing anything but water in all of its various forms, the arcade had seemed the perfect place to search for a gift. Angelica hadn’t expected it to be quite so busy. The shopkeepers were juggling customers at least four deep, which meant a longer wait than she had the patience for.

Angelica waved her footman on and left another crowded shop. Perhaps she ought to try Bond Street after all. Surely they’d have something appropriate for Daniel—her father, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. She eyed the ceaseless drizzle of rain at the end of the arcade and hesitated. She was determined, but without a direction on what to purchase, she was more likely to get soaked through than she was to find a suitable gift elsewhere.

She moved to a tailor’s shop and studied the stacks of brightly colored cravats displayed within the bow window. It wasn’t exactly customary for an unmarried woman to be seen gaping into places where men’s unmentionables were fitted, but there you have it. Angelica had two older brothers—uncles, she reminded herself—that it would be assumed she was shopping for. It wasn’t as if she planned to actually enter the establishment.

Dismissing the cravats as both too boring and too easy, Angelica peeked beyond the display and into the depths of the shop, desperate for something better. She was almost tempted to pop her head in and ask the proprietor for a suggestion, when she spotted a familiar figure within.

It was neither the line of his jacket nor the dark curls that struck her as familiar. No, it was the distinctive tilt of his head, as if he were studying something particularly intriguing. The look that never failed to make her insides feel as if they had turned to hot rice pudding.

As a former soldier, Vinedale was generally as far from scholarly as a man could get, but he had a tendency to scrutinize even the smallest detail as if he might see straight to its essence. It was most disconcerting to be the subject of such study, and she wondered what had captured his attention.

When Vinedale waved his hand to summon the shopkeeper, she knew him for certain and, before she even realized what she was about, she rapped briskly on the glass pane to get his attention. He turned, and she felt the full impact of his quicksilver gaze.

She waved cheerfully as her stomach turned to pudding again. As it turned out, the queer sensation seemed to have less to do with a simple look and more to do with Vinedale’s presence in close proximity to her. He had a knack for leaving her…unsettled. As if her blood ran faster and her skin prickled in heightened awareness.

Vinedale smiled then made a gesture to indicate she should wait while he completed his business.

Since he was a close friend of Daniel, she had spent some considerable time around the earl herself. Nowadays, she was almost…eager to see him. Not that she ever thought about it or sought him out because of it. Much.

Angelica pulled up the cashmere shawl that Vinedale had given her this past Christmas. It was a lovely warm fabric, one she particularly enjoyed rubbing her cheek against when she had a quiet moment of reflection. And sometimes, if she were completely honest with herself, when she did think about Vinedale.

He was, of course, completely ill-suited for her. He had a good ten years more than her that he wore as if they were twenty. But that wasn’t unusual for men who had once served in the military. It was as if the brutality of each battle drained bits of their life and left an echo of the horror of war behind.

And perhaps it did. It seemed at times, with both Daniel and Vine, that when their guard was down, the remnants of pain and despair shone clearly in their eyes. Daniel wore his as if he’d earned it. Vine disguised his with humor.

Vinedale concluded his business and exited the small shop, a tiny bell chiming behind him. Her footman drifted away to lounge against a shop front.

“Good day, Lady Angelica,” he said as he sketched a bow. “Fancy meeting you here. What brings you to the arcade this fine day?”

“Just your sort of day, is it, Vinedale? You must be in ecstasies, because I don’t believe the sun has made an appearance in nearly a fortnight.”

His smile was the crooked one that always gave her a little thrill.

Wrong. So wrong, this feeling.

“Indeed it is. It’s just the sort of day to lie about and do nothing but indulge in things best not mentioned in public.”

She raised a brow. He was teasing her, as usual; the glint in his eye suggested something wicked. And her impulse was to rise to the challenge.

Brazenly, she ran her gaze down, then back up his figure in assessment, and his smile deepened. “You haven’t an ounce of sloth in you, Vine. Certainly your presence here belies your claim.”

Vinedale sighed dramatically. “You have found me out. Such things require sufficient distraction at hand,” he said. Then he straightened and his expression eased, as if he were caught at something he oughtn’t be doing and sought to distance himself from it. He shrugged. “As to what I’m about, I suspect it’s the same as you. Searching for a gift for Daniel.”

Of course he was. Charlotte would have invited him to dinner. Vine was always included in family gatherings in the Walsh household.

Why hadn’t she realized this sooner? Now she would worry over what to wear. Not that she was dressing to impress Vinedale, of course.

“Yes, indeed, and a poor time of it I’m having, too.” Angelica raised her gloved hands to illustrate how empty they were and her reticule swayed at her wrist. “He isn’t the easiest to choose for.”

Vine laughed. “What do you give a man who has it all?”

“Well, he does seem to have everything.”

“Now that Charlotte’s back in his life, I think he’d agree.”

“Have you any suggestions? I’m rather desperate.”

“Well,” he said, brow furrowed. “You might consider— Whoa, there, chap!” Vinedale lurched suddenly to the side. A laborer, struggling with long boards of timber, had lost control of his burden and knocked Vine in the ribs, dislodging his hat. Vine regained his feet and turned toward the fellow with a thunderous frown. “Why in the blazes aren’t you hauling that lot in the back lane? You could injure someone!”

“Oh, dear,” Angelica murmured, then bent to retrieve his hat. She brushed at the top, trying to remove the sooty smudge on the once immaculate felted-beaver.

As she stood, something slammed into her, causing her to stagger and drop Vine’s hat. By the time she realized it was a body, and a rather small one at that, the person was gone without so much as an apology, dashing toward the street.

A quick mental inventory assured her nothing was broken or likely even bruised, with the possible exception of her wrist. It stung. She rubbed at the joint, and then peeled back the top of her glove to take a closer look, only to feel her stomach sink.

“My reticule! It’s been stolen!” Angelica spun, looking for her errant footman to lend aid. Unfortunately, he had his hands full of the man who had accosted Vine.

When Vinedale dashed past, racing after the thief, her heart stumbled.

Certainly, she wanted her purse returned, but what if the ruffian had a knife? Vinedale might have once been an army officer, but he wasn’t one any longer.

Angelica turned to her footman. “Do something! You must go after them and help Lord Vinedale!”

“Apologies, my lady, but I’ll have to let loose this one,” he said as he struggled with the laborer amidst discarded wood planks, “to go after the other.”

No one seemed inclined to help; in fact, the other patrons hastened into one establishment or another, or pointedly avoided her gaze. Nor was there a constable about.