The River of No Return

for God’s sake.” He came forward with a sheaf of papers in his hand, bending to scoop up what she’d dropped. He slumped down into the chair that was pulled up in front of the fire beside hers. “You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t see you there. What are you doing?”
    Julia wiped her eyes. “I was untangling that snarl for your sister.”
    Blackdown looked at the thread and then the hussif. He held the pouch up with a grin, displaying the sloppy J.P . picked out in irregular Berlin work. “Was this made by your own fair paw?”
    “No, most certainly not—I could not set a stitch to save my life. Bella made it for me when she was twelve.”
    “Why even carry it, then? Just to appear a lady?”
    Julia rolled her eyes and held her hands up, and he tossed it to her, along with the threads.
    She caught them, and stuffed the now more tangled mess down in among the few little treasures she carried in her hussif instead of sewing notions. “I carry a few keepsakes in here. A memento of my grandfather; it’s a stone insect, actually. And a funny twisty ring—nothing but a fairing—the only thing I have that was my mother’s.” She tied the ribbon around the hussif, glanced at Nick, and started laughing once more. “But at least I am trying to make myself useful as well as ornamental. What are you doing? No—answer me this. What are you wearing? You look like an enormous maypole.”
    Lord Blackdown looked down at his brilliant red robes banded with three broad stripes of ermine and gold. “I know. Isn’t it hideous? They were my sainted father’s, and his father’s before that. The old buzzards at Ede and Ravenscroft had them in storage. It seems they knew I was coming back.” He jerked his thumb, gesturing behind him to the table. “There’s the hat. And the stick.”
    Julia twisted in her chair and looked at his accessories. “Oh, dear.”
    “Yes.” He slumped further down and frowned at the fire.
    “So you are going to take the oath?”
    “How did you know?”
    “It’s all over London, apparently.”
    “Oh, God.” He pushed a hand into his hair. “I can’t tell you how unhappy that makes me.”
    “Why do it, if you find it such a burden? Most lords don’t darken the door. My grandfather stopped going years ago. According to him, arguing a point in the House of Lords is like speaking to the dead, in a vault, by the glimmering of a sepulchral lamp.”
    “I’m sure he was right.” Blackdown stared into the fire for another moment, then he rolled his head to the side and looked at Julia. His morose expression transformed into a sleepy smile. “You’re pretty,” he said.
    She raised an eyebrow. “You’re ridiculous.”
    “Come sit on my lap.” He patted his thighs. “I’ll be Santa Claus.”
    “Who?”
    His smile faded. “Oh. Right . . . Father Christmas?”
    “Are you foxed, my lord? Why would I want to sit on Father Christmas’s lap? And anyway, you look nothing like him. He wears green, and he’s fat and has a beard.”
    His arm snaked out and hauled her, yelping, out of her chair. “Stop being pernickety. Come snuggle up.”
    After a few moments of elbowy rearrangement, they were both settled in Blackdown’s chair, Julia’s legs over his, his arm around her shoulders, his sheaf of papers stuffed beside him. “Mm.” He pressed her close. “Your hair smells good.” His other arm found its way around her waist. “And this feels good.”
    “And you feel like an unfortunate cross between a sheep and a stoat.” She stroked one of the ermine bands that crossed his crimson chest. “You smell musty.”
    He put his head back against the chair and looked down his nose with mock solemnity. “I’ll have you know that these robes are the sign of my great dignity and magnificence and superior . . . superiority.”
    “Well, then.” She moved to stand up. “Best if I leave you in majestic isolation.”
    “Oh, no!” He pulled her firmly against him. “If I have to take the oath of allegiance, I need to be drunk . . . on kisses.”
    “I am not going to kiss you here, at nine in the morning, with the door unlocked.”
    “No? But what if I kiss you?” He suited action to words.
    She smiled against his mouth, and a few delightful minutes ticked away.
    It was Blackdown who pulled back. “Have you ever made a paper airplane?” he whispered.
    “A what?”
    He tugged a piece of paper from the sheaf that was wedged beside him. Both sides were covered in