Page 50 of A Troublesome Circumstance

The only time those strings had loosened—the only time he had felt anything like peace—had been when he was with Josephine. He could still see her face as he’d last seen it: pale but defiant, her chin lifted in quiet resolve. Something in her had steadied him, made him feel as though his restless soul had finally found a safe harbor. Foolish, of course. She thought him to be a lowly gamekeeper. And perhaps it was better that way.

He had once believed in love. Believed he might deserve happiness—a wife, children, laughter echoing through corridors. Then Lady Gwendolyn had proved just how naïve he had been.

His grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles whitened. He had been such a fool. He’d fallen for her smiles, her feigned tenderness—all of it a performance for the title he carried. When the truth came out, it had gutted him. Since then, he had vowed never again to be anyone’s mark.

He looked up at a familiar sound of laughter. Across the room, Lord Rupert Milnes raised a glass in greeting, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. Jude gave the barest nod in return, but it was too late. Rupert pushed back his chair, murmured something to his companions, and started towards him.

“As I live and breathe,” Rupert said as he approached, “if it isn’t the long-lost prodigal son himself. I was beginning to think you’d forsaken us entirely. Last I heard, you were cloistered in some cottage in the wilderness, conversing with the deer.”

Jude exhaled slowly. “I was. Until my father decided it was time I remembered my place.”

Rupert gestured towards his table of laughing acquaintances. “Come, join us. You know most of those rogues well enough.”

“No,” Jude said, his tone curt. “I prefer solitude.”

Rupert ignored the warning, as usual, and pulled out the chair opposite him. “You and solitude have been far too acquainted of late. What is troubling you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Excellent,” Rupert said cheerfully, setting his own glass down. “I am a master at sitting still and not talking about things.”

Despite himself, Jude’s mouth twitched. “It’s nothing.”

“It seems like something.”

Jude huffed. “You are far too perceptive for your own good.”

Rupert’s grin widened. “It is merely an occupational hazard of being my charming self.”

There was a beat of silence before Jude admitted, almost grudgingly, “I met someone.”

“Ah,” Rupert said with relish. “A woman. The rise and fall of every decent man.”

Jude shot him a dry look. “May I finish before you start composing the tragedy?”

Rupert made a sweeping motion. “By all means. Enlighten me.”

“I found her in the woods,” Jude began. “She was injured and frightened. I took her to my father’s estate to recover.” He lowered his voice. “Do you know a Lady Josephine Tweedale?”

Rupert nodded slowly. “She is a pretty enough thing. Prefers books to balls, if gossip serves.”

“That sounds like her,” Jude responded. “Do you know a man named Mr. Broderick?”

All amusement vanished from Rupert’s expression. “Broderick?” His lip curled. “A cad. A weasel. He claims to deal in finance, but no one knows where his coin truly comes from. The younger son of an earl, but spends most of his nights in gambling hells.”

“That fits,” Jude said grimly. “He abducted Lady Josephine with the intent of forcing her into a marriage.”

Rupert froze, his jaw tightening. “Did he succeed?”

“No,” Jude said, his voice rough. “Only because she leapt from the carriage before it overturned.”

“The devil!” Rupert muttered. “That was reckless, but brave. It was fortunate you found her when you did.”

Jude stared into his drink. “Fortunate, yes. But now that she’s back in Town, I fear she’s vulnerable again. Broderick doesn’t seem the sort to accept defeat quietly.”

“You could marry her,” Rupert suggested.

Jude nearly choked. “Be serious.”