Page 13 of A Second Chance for Love

Seven

Justin didn’t know whether Oona Parker would be waiting for him, or not. He also didn’t know whether he wanted her to be there, or not. His anger at her—an anger that had simmered for almost a decade—had cooled over the past twenty-four hours.

What about Clara? the implacable voice of vengeance demanded.

Clara would have been discharged whether or not Oona Parker said a word, and Juss knew that for a fact. No matter how much he wanted to blame her, it wasn’t Oona’s fault Clara had died in childbed in a St. Giles hovel while Justin was picking oakum to pay for his stupidity.

It was Venable’s fault, not Oona’s, not Clara’s, and not even Justin’s.

When the carriage stopped Juss opened the door without waiting for Charles, his footman.

“I’ll go up,” he said, already on his way.

“Very good, sir.”

Juss climbed the stairs to the top floor of the dilapidated building two at a time, eager to end this, one way or another.

As to what he’d feel if she wasn’t on the other side of this door? Juss sighed; he’d already chased these thoughts around in his head for far too many hours. He was bloody exhausted by the subject.

He raised his hand to knock but the door opened before his knuckles made contact with the wood. Juss gaped. He’d selected her clothing from Madam Thérèse’s small collection of ready-made garments, but he’d not seen her in anything except her coat and cloak. The visit to the modiste had been traumatic enough for her; he’d not wanted to humiliate her by making her model for him while the curious eyes of the dressmaker looked on.

He’d known the green wool of her traveling costume—a shade or two darker than her eyes—would look well with her fiery hair, and he’d been correct. She was a small woman but curvy and soft in all the right places. At just a touch over six feet Juss towered over her. He reckoned she couldn’t be too much over five feet.

“You look lovely,” he hesitated and then added, “Oona.”

She startled at the sound of her name and Juss thought she was on the verge of chastising him for such a liberty but must have recalled she was supposed to be his mistress.

“Thank you,” she said, swallowing hard and drawing his eyes to the high neck of her spencer and the delicate white skin of her throat. Something about the prim and proper sight made his mouth fill with moisture. She’d been lovely dressed in rags; she was breathtaking with clothing that fit and flattered her.

“I’ll g-get my cloak.”

Juss followed her into the dismal but impeccably clean room she called home. On the narrow pallet bed were two bags, her cloak, and the ridiculous fur muffler. The rest of the room was bare, as if nobody lived in it.

They both reached for the cloak at the same time and their hands met. Juss felt a lightning bolt arc between them, but knew it had to be the product of his lustful imagination as they were both wearing leather gloves.

She jerked her hand away and he took the cloak and held it up for her, her eyes cast down as she turned and allowed him to lay the heavy garment on her slim shoulders. Juss caught a whiff of her scent mixed with that of wool and fur. He knew it must be his imagination, because she smelled just like strawberries.

Christ. He needed to take himself in hand or he’d make a bloody fool of himself.

He picked up her two bags and strode toward the door without speaking.

Charles took the bags and fit them in the rear luggage box while Juss helped her into the carriage and then settled across from her.

“Here.” He handed her one of the three heavy lap robes his butler had been wise enough to include.

“Thank you,” she said, arranging the heavy robe over her lap.

“Lift up your feet,” Justin said, tucking two of the heated bricks—which were still hot enough to almost burn through his gloves—beneath her small boots.

Her eyes went wide as he took her leather-clad ankles and lowered her feet onto the bricks and she was breathing hard when he looked up. Juss knew it was because of his touch, but whether she was shocked, disgusted, or aroused, he wasn’t yet sure.

“Oh,” she said, her remarkable coral lips curving into a smile and her eyelids heavy with bliss. “This is the first time my feet have been warm in weeks, Juss. Thank you.” She wiggled a little in her seat, as if burrowing in.

The unconsciously sensual gesture sent enough warmth through his body that Justin didn’t need bricks.

∞∞∞

Well, she was here, so she might as well make the best of it.