THE RAKE by Georgina Devon Regency delight! MILLS &-BOON" Makes any time special"' Historical Romance . rich, vivid and passionate "My reputation is already beyond repair. What is a little more to gossip about?? "You are the most infuriating woman. I am doing everything I can, and you are undoing it as fast as I try." Juliet tossed her head, her magnificent red hair flaring out in an arc of curls under the brim of her chip straw hat. "You have gone too far this time, Braboume. I will not marry you. After everything that has happened I would have thought you would be too embarrassed to even talk to my father, let alone ask for my hand." Sebastian's lip curled, but he was not amused. "I am never embarrassed. That is something you will learn with time." THE RAKE Georgina Devon MILLS &l B 0 0 1ST <& DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER? If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this book. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B. V. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered trademarks of the publisher. First published in Great Britain 2000 Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR Alison J. Hentges 2000 ISBN 0 263 82333 4 Set in Times Roman 10'/2 on 13 pt. 04-0101-58967 Printed and bound in Spain by Litografia Roses S. A. " Barcelona Chapter One qttsq 1 he morning sun barely peeked through the thick overhang of tree limbs. Green Park was still deserted at this time of morning. Not even the servants were about. "Miss Juliet, you can no' be. doing this," Ferguson Coachman said sternly, his voice breaking the morning quiet. Juliet Smythe-Clyde looked up between her thick cinnamon eyelashes while wiggling her toes in the too-large Hessians she had commandeered from her younger brother's wardrobe. She stamped her foot to try and better settle the heel. "Rather this than for Papa to fight the Satanic Duke." The tall, spare coachman, his grey whiskers bristling about a narrow face, frowned. "The master is a grown man. You are a slip of a girl and should no' be fighting his battles." "Enough," Juliet said, slipping off the coat that fitted her brother like a second skin and herself like a too-large night robe "Take this and fold it carefully. You know Harry will have an apoplexy if it gets wrinkled." Ferguson snorted, but carefully laid the coat on the seat of the dilapidated coach. Hobson, the butler, who was as round as he was majestic, presented the box holding two duelling pistols to his young mistress. Juliet reached for the one on the bottom. That one is primed and ready to go, miss," Hobson said. T saw to it myself." Out of perversity, Juliet took the top one. "That too is ready," Hobson said, allowing himself a knowing smile which quickly disappeared. "Stop this now. Miss Ju, while there is still time." Ferguson came to stand beside his crony, the two having become fast comrades despite the disparity in their stations. "Have I no' been telling her the same since this began? She will no' listen to either of us." "I have to do this," Juliet said, her voice cracking as the fear she had been holding at bay threatened to spill out of control. "Someone must protect Papa from this latest folly." "Someone should no' be you, lass," Ferguson retorted, his brogue thickening with anger and anxiety. "You did no' tell the master to marry that doxy." "I promised Mama to care for Papa," she whispered, the memory of her mother's dying request tightening her stomach. Mama was dead barely a year, yet Juliet remembered as if it had happened yesterday. Mama had lain on the day bed in the morning room, the pale sunlight giving false colour to her shrunken cheeks. The illness that had eaten at her and kept her in constant pain had shrivelled her body and made Juliet secretly glad the end was near. She could not bear to see her beloved mama suffer so. When Mama had beckoned her closer and begged her to care for Papa--flighty, irresponsible Papa-Juliet had promised. There had been nothing else she could do. She would have done anything to ease Mama's suffering. Anything. And someone had to watch over Papa once Mama was gone. Everyone knew that. She sighed. She had not been able to keep Papa from marrying Mrs. Winters, but she could keep him from throwing his life away for the woman. Surely not even the Duke of Braboume would shoot to kill a young man who was only taking the place of the original dueller--would he? Besides which, the Duke was at fault. Not she or Papa. The Duke was the one who had seduced another man's wife. As the one in error, he should de lope It was the honourable thing to do. Juliet straightened her shoulders and sighted down the barrel of the pistol. At least growing up in the country had taught her something. She could shoot with the best of them, although Braboume was said to be as deadly with a gun as he was with a sword and just as cold-hearted with either. The sound of horses' hooves drew her attention. Three men stopped under a large oak some distance from Juliet's little group. All were dressed in greatcoats and shiny Hessians with beaver hats perched rakishly atop their heads. She knew all by reputation and one by sight. Dressed in man's garb, she had paid a very late- night visit to Lord Ravensford, one of Braboume' seconds, four days before to tell him there was a change in plans. The due) needed to be moved forward. His lordship, too surprised by a puppy visiting him uninvited, had agreed to the change without argument, although his bronze brows had been raised in sardonic amusement during the entire conversation. The other two men she had never seen. Lord Perth was said to be a rogue who went his own way, regardless of Society's rules. She guessed him to be the one who stood beside the bronze-haired Lord Ravensford. They were much of a height. She spared them little interest for they were not the person she was here to fight. The third man jumped to the ground with a wiry grace that spoke of strength. She had heard the Duke was not only a rake but a Corinthian of the first stare. He was tall and lean, and when he shrugged out of his greatcoat and navy jacket, she noted his shoulders were broad in their stark white shirt, and his hips were narrow in their close-fitting breeches. His hair was as black as some said his heart was. His nose was a commanding jut of authority. She had heard his eyes were a deep blue, inherited from an Irish ancestor. A fris son of something akin to fear, yet much more delicious, skittered down her spine. She turned away. She gulped a deep breath of the cold air and wiped her damp palms along the sides of her breeches. For seconds she stared sightlessly at nothing and wondered if she would survive this encounter. It was a weakness she had not allowed herself before. She did not allow it for long now, either. Lord Ravensford headed their way. The rising sun glinted on his hair, making it look bright as a new-minted penny. There was a twinkle in his hazel eyes and a dimple in his square chin. He was a very fine-looking man. "Well, puppy, where is Smythe-Clyde? You said he is the one who wanted this earlier meeting." Juliet felt a dull flush spread up her face only to recede. "He..." she forced strength into her voice 'he is sick. Too sick to leave his bed. But honour demands that he meet Braboume. So, as his second, I am taking his place. " She looked defiantly at Ravensford. Ravensford glanced from her to the servants. A hint of disapproval tinged his words. "Where is the other second? And where is the surgeon?" "There is no other second, and Ferguson--' she gestured to the coachman '--is as good as any surgeon." "Havey-cavey." Ravensford's gaze bored into Juliet. "You are only a boy. There is not a chance that Braboume will meet you. If Smythe-Clyde is too scared to follow through with this, then let him accept the dishonour." Juliet's hands clenched. "I assure you, my Lord, that my... that Smythe-Clyde is not afraid to meet the Duke. He is ill. Rather than draw this affair out, I am empowered to meet the Duke in SmytheClyde's place." Ravensford shook his head. "I will pass on your words, but I doubt they will change anything." Without further discussion, the Earl turned away. Juliet sagged. "Just as it should be," Hobson said with smug satisfaction. "Not even the greatest rakehell in all England would meet a mere boy on the field of honour. Especially when the quarrel is with another." Juliet had known from the beginning that the entire thing was far-fetched and likely to fail, but she'd had to try. Even now, as she saw Ravensford talk to the Duke, who looked her way, she knew she had to do something. Papa still intended to meet the Duke at the original time, two days hence. Keeping Papa from coming here then was the next hurdle Juliet intended to face--after today's duel. One thing at a time, she always told herself. Anything could be accomplished if you did it one step at a time. Even from this distance, Juliet could see a scowl mar the Duke's dark looks. The light breeze seemed to carry his words. "Smythe-Clyde is a coward and I refuse to meet his stand-in." Panic shot through Juliet as the Duke turned from Ravensford and reached for the coat he had just discarded. She grabbed up one of the duelling pistols, aimed and fired. The noise was loud in the still morning. Splinters of wood exploded from the side of the oak nearest Braboume. Her adversary spun around to face her. Her bravado and the closeness of the shot froze her to the ground. Not even the Duke's advance towards her released her paralysed muscles. With the only part of her mind that still seemed to function, Juliet noted the liquid power of his body as he neared her. He stopped a scant foot from her shaking body and razed her with the coldest blue eyes she had ever seen. "You are either an excellent shot or very lucky. I don't know who you are, or why you feel compelled to stand in for Smythe-Clyde, but the meeting between you and I is now personal. Whatever happens between us will have no bearing on the other. Do you understand me?" His voice was as hard as his look, and yet the deep timbre did something to her insides that could only be described as exciting. Surely she was not- going to fall under the legendary charms of one of England's greatest rakes? She had to wound him severely enough to keep him from meeting Papa, not swoon at his feet. Juliet raised her chin up higher. "I understand perfectly." "Good. Perth is going after a surgeon. We will wait upon their return to continue." Panic shot through Juliet. A surgeon would be fine if the Duke were the one injured. If she were, a surgeon would be a disaster. "We do not need a sawbones, your Grace." His full bottom lip curved into a smile that was anything but friendly, yet did unnameable things to Juliet's breathing. "You will need one, be sure of that." She blanched. "Th.-then Ferguson will do. He is better than anyone to be found in London." Braboume's gaze nicked to the servant and back to Juliet. "Your coachman." She nodded. "Then it is on your head." He strode away before Juliet could respond. She stared after him. He walked with a loose-limbed grace that flowed from his shoulders down to his narrow hips. She began to understand how her stepmother had succumbed to him. Even she, an innocent in spite of her three-and-twenty years, would be hard pressed to resist him if he pursued her. Not that he would. Not in a millenium. Not before today and especially not after today. Still, there was something incredibly attractive about him. "Miss Juliet," Hobson said, breaking into her ridiculous thoughts, 'best you use the gun I first recommended. It is bad luck to use the one already shot. " "And I need all the luck I can get," she murmured. Ferguson stepped forward. "Now, you remember what I said?" She nodded. "We meet, turn our backs to one another and walk twenty paces. Pivot and fire." She nodded again, worry gnawing at her nerves. Her jaw wanted to clench and her legs wanted to run away. Her stomach twisted into a knot and, if she had eaten anything before coming here she would be vomiting. Did men feel this way? She knew Braboume did not. "Now, Miss Juliet," Hobson said softly. Glancing at him, she saw the anxiety he felt for her. It made her hands shake more. She did not look at the coachman, knowing she would see the same fear in his eyes. Better to walk boldly forward and meet whatever fate held for her. The pistol at her side, Juliet moved towards the approaching Duke. His black hair was tied back in a queue a style that was no longer in fashion, but then he was a rule unto himself. One strand had broken free. He ignored it, his attention on her. Earlier she had seen and felt only the overwhelming sense of power he exuded. now she saw details. His brows winged over eyes the shade of indigo from which tiny lines radiated out, speaking of dissipation and long nights. The late-night growth of whiskers was black against his pale skin. His jaw was a firm line that belied the relaxed set of his shoulders. He gave her a curt nod, and she knew it was time to turn and begin pacing. One, two. nineteen, twenty. Juliet spun around, bringing her arm up as she moved. The pistol felt heavy and awkward. In spite of all her practice and determination, she wavered. It was one thing to plan on shooting a man. It was an entirely different thing to do so. Braboume had no such reservations. A shot rang out in the still, quiet air. Juliet experienced a moment of surprise, followed by excruciating pain in her right shoulder. She crumbled to the ground, her pistol falling from unresponsive fingers. He had shot her. She brought her left hand up to the wound. Her fingers came away sticky. The metallic tang of blood pinched her nose. She felt herself losing consciousness and wondered if she would die. "Here, here." Ferguson fell to his knees beside her and waved smelling salts under her nose. "This is no' the time to be passing out." Juliet nodded feebly. "No. I have never fainted in my life. I shan't do so now." "That's my lass," Ferguson said, probing gently at the wound. A jolt like lightning twisted through Juliet. "Ahh--that hurts," she gasped. Ferguson grunted. "It will hurt much more before it gets better. The ball is lodged between muscle and bone. It must come out. You will be a while getting well." She gazed at him, knowing what he said and what it meant, but not wanting to believe him. "How will I keep this from Papa? I cannot stay in my room unattended even for a day. He will need me. The staff will need me." Hobson was on her other side. "You should have thought of those things before starting this harebrained escapade, miss." "I thought he would de lope she said softly, wincing as Ferguson probed deeper. "He..." She gasped as fresh pain seared her. "He is the one at fault, not Papa. Not me." Dark spots danced in her vision. "The smelling salts," she whispered. The two servants exchanged glances. Better to let her faint. She would not feel the pain. Ts something vital severed? " the Duke of Bra- boume said from where he had stopped to watch the situation. "If the puppy had maintained a side profile instead of squaring completely around, the ball would have grazed the flesh of his upper arm. I did not shoot to kill him." "Thank you for that, your Grace," Hobson said, never taking his attention off Juliet. "Don't thank me for something I did for myself. If the boy dies, I must flee to the Continent," Bra- boume said. "That does not suit my plans at the moment." Ferguson snorted in disgust. "You understand perfectly," Braboume said. "Now, what is the prognosis?" "He's lost a fair amount of blood, and I do no' ken if I can get the ball out here. I can stop most of the bleeding." Ravensford, who had come up, looked down. "You had better get the lad home, then. We will send the surgeon to your direction." Juliet listened to the men talking, their words seeming to come through a long tunnel, but at the mention of going home she forced her eyes open. "Ca ... cannot go home. No surgeon. No one know. " The effort to talk made her feel even more lightheaded. She tried to sit up, but found she could not. "Do no' fash yerself, lad," Ferguson said. He pressed a makeshift bandage to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. "What did he mean, not go home?" Ravensford asked. Hobson, who had gone to the carriage for the laudanum he had packed just in case, returned and said, "Just that, my lord. The lad cannot go home." Braboume eyed the butler. "Surely you jest. What type of family does the boy have that he cannot go home?" Hobson stoically met the Duke's gaze. "The young master cannot go to the London house in this condition. We will convey him to the country estate." Juliet tightened her grip on the butler's hand. "I must be bandaged so none will know. I cannot stay from home long. You know that." Ferguson, tried beyond his patience, said, "You will do as we tell you." Juliet frowned. "I will do as I must." "How far away is the estate?" Braboume asked. "Half a day, your Grace," Hobson said. "That is much too far, Braboume," Ravensford said quietly. "The wound does not look fatal now, but the continued loss of blood could make it so. " He met his friend's gaze. "You cannot afford that. Only six months ago you nearly did away with Williams in a sword fight. Prinny will not be so lenient with you if this boy dies." Braboume smoothed one winged brow. "You must take the puppy to his London house. There is nothing else to be done." Ferguson paused in his ministrations to look up at the Duke. "I will no' do that, your Grace. The lad is right in saying that no one must know what has happened." Braboume looked hard at the servant and spoke softly. "Are you telling me no?" Ferguson swallowed hard. "Yes, your Grace, that be what I'm telling you." "And you?" Braboume pinned Hobson with his gaze. The butler's ruddy complexion blanched. "I must stand by Ferguson, your Grace." Braboume looked at Ravensford. The Earl shrugged. "What is the boy's secret?" Braboume demanded. The two servants looked long at one another. Hobson made the Duke a bow. "The young master met you today without anyone knowing, except us. Lord Smythe-Clyde still plans on meeting you in two days. Master Ju was hoping that by duelling with you today you would consider it finished and not be here when his lordship comes." "Stupid." Braboume shook his head. "Misguided," Ravensford murmured. Juliet groaned as much from having her plan revealed and hearing how inadequate it sounded when spoken as from pain. Everyone's attention snapped back to her. "Enough," Ferguson said. "Hobson, help me carry the young master to the carriage. We must be on our way if we hope to get him to Richmond before he has lost too much blood." "Ravensford?" Braboume looked at his friend. Ravensford put one well-manicured hand up as though to ward off a blow. "Not me, Braboume. Nowhere does it say a second's duty is to house a wounded opponent." Braboume's lips thinned before forming a small smile. "As usual, Ravensford, you are correct. I suppose if I don't want the boy to die on me I shall have to make arrangements for his shelter. It is apparent his servants are misguided in their loyalty." He turned to the men who were in the process of depositing the youth in the coach. "Take the boy to my town house." He cast a wicked glance at his friend. "Ravensford will direct the surgeon to my address." Ravensford made a mocking bow. The two servants exchanged horrified looks. Their charge lay limply on the cushions, having passed out when lifted. "Is something amiss?" Braboume enquired at his haughtiest. Ferguson climbed out of the coach and made the Duke a bow. "Nothing, your Grace. If you will give me directions, we will go there immediately. But we have no need of a surgeon. A clean knife, hot water and plenty of bandages will be enough." "Be sure you do not need help before turning it away," Braboume said quietly. "I do not intend to have the boy die." "Neither do I, your Grace." Ferguson stood his ground in spite of the discomfort that had him twisting his hands. "Then follow me," Braboume ordered. Minutes later, he, Ravensford and Perth cantered from the shelter of the trees, the lumbering coach close behind. "I hope you do not live to regret this day's work," Ravensford said. "So do I, my friend." Braboume cast one last look over his shoulder. "So do I." Chapter Two QznsQ Oebastian Fitz Patrick Duke of Braboume, frowned down at his unwanted guest. The boy's milk-white skin was covered in cinnamon freckles. Hair the colour of a sunset tangled around the sweep of cheekbone and curve of brow. There was a tight look around the eyes, as though the youth were in pain even though he slept. He probably was. It had taken time and considerable digging to extract the ball. He had lost a fair amount of blood during the ordeal and would be weak for some time. A chair scraped behind Sebastian. "Can I be help- in', your Grace?" Sebastian glanced back at the coachman whose head had been nodding seconds before. Ferguson was the man's name. "Has your master regained consciousness?" "No, your Grace." "Have you eaten or had any sleep?" "No, your Grace." "Then do so." "Beggin' your pardon, your Grace, but I must stay with the master." "One of my servants will do as well. Now go." Sebastian returned his scrutiny to the boy. He was as frail as a willow and with a hint of lavender about him, a strange scent for a man. Full lips the colour of pomegranates gave him an effeminate air. And yet the youth had fought him in a duel. He had put his life at stake for another person. Sebastian would not do so, and was sure he did not know anyone who would, with a few exceptions-Ravensford and Perth. Perhaps that was the fascination this boy had over him, the reason he found himself in this room gazing down at a person he did not even know. He reached out to touch the boy's brow. The servant cleared his throat. Sebastian's hand dropped to his side. "Haven't you gone yet?" he asked without turning around. "I can no' be leavin' my charge ... your Grace." Irritation chewed at Sebastian. I told you that one of my servants will stand watch. " The servant made a sound very much like choking. "Beggin' yer pardon, your Grace, but I canna trust the young master to someone unknown." Sebastian lowered his voice to a silky thread. "You are stubborn and forthright for a servant." The coachman stood his ground even though his gaze lowered deferentially. "Then I shall stay with your charge. Surely that will meet your requirement." In the silence that followed, Sebastian heard the man gulp. "I must no' leave his side." "Are you afraid I will do something to your precious charge? I have plenty of vices, but I assure you that molesting boys is not one of them." Ferguson whitened, but spoke around his obvious discomfort. "I am well aware of your Grace's pastimes." His patience suddenly gone, Sebastian spun around. "Get out now." Still the servant hesitated. Sebastian wondered what kind of master the boy must be to engender such loyalty in his people. "If you do not leave, I shall have you thrown bodily from the room. When your master awakens, I wish to speak privately with him. In the meantime, I will watch him and have my housekeeper provide anything needed. I don't want him dead any more than you do." Still the servant stayed. Sebastian strode to the fireplace and reached for the velvet cord above the mantel. "Ferguson..." a weak voice came from the bed 'do as his Grace says. I will be all right. " "I'll no' be leavin' you with the likes of his Grace." This loyalty was vastly interesting, but Sebastian was not known for his patience. "Get out now, before I finish what I started and have my footmen throw you out." The boy struggled to sit and the servant rushed to his side. "No, you should no' be doing this." The coachman fussed like a mother hen. "Go," the boy said. "If the Duke wanted to hurt me, he would have..." He took laboured breaths, his cheeks flushing and then paling. "He would have aimed to kill." "You ken why I can no' leave," Ferguson muttered under his breath. Sebastian had excellent hearing, but said nothing. There was something amiss here, and he was beginning to see what it might be. There was a delicacy to the youth's wrist when he lifted it to pat the servant's gnarled hand. Sebastian's, mouth twisted. He was a fool not to have seen it earlier, but the puppy's bravery had blinded him. The boy whispered, "You will only make him more suspicious by insisting." Raising his voice, the youth said, "Now go. You may come back as soon as his Grace is done questioning me. Please." Ferguson gave the Duke a threatening look, but did as ordered. The door closed behind the servant with a defiant snap. Sebastian noted the dark circles under the girl's gold-flecked hazel eyes, for girl she was. Now that he knew, it was obvious. He was a connoisseur of women and knew that her lashes, the colour of honey sable and just as thick as that fine fur, would be the envy of any courtesan. As would the lush, burnt red curls that lay like flames on the pillow. For a moment he wondered if her temper matched her hair and if her passion matched her determination. It would be interesting to find out--but not now. "Why are you impersonating a boy?" he asked without preamble. She paled even more, but her voice was defiant. "You are addled from too much dissipation, your Grace." He smiled slowly, his gaze running boldly over her, enjoying her bravado. "Not at the moment. Now that I look beyond your dress... and actions, it is obvious you are a woman." He ignored her snort. "Probably with your breasts bound and the borrowed finery of a male family member. Since I have never had your acquaintance foisted on me, you haven't been presented to Society, although you speak and carry yourself like Quality. I would imagine you have lived your life in the country and have only recently come to town." She stared baldly at him. For a long moment, Sebastian thought she would continue to deny her true gender. With a sigh of weariness, she sank back into the pillow. "But, how...? You did not suspect before. " Sebastian smiled, a rare one of enjoyment that softened the hard angles of his face. He reached for the hand nearest him, realised it was on her wounded side before touching her and stretched across her instead. He caught her fingers even as she started to slide them under the covers. Leaning over her, he brought her captured hand towards him, but not so near as to force her on to her wounded shoulder. He turned the palm up. "Your skin is soft as velvet and unblemished. Your nails are short but well cared for. No sun has touched you to toughen or darken your complexion." One by one, he examined her fingers. "Long and elegant. A lady's hands. Certainly not those of a man." With that inherent need to charm and seduce that made him the successful rake he was, he brought her hand to his lips. She yanked back as though bitten. He let her go. "Why did you meet me?" She met his eyes openly even as her body sagged visibly with exhaustion. "I had to. Someone had to stand up to you." Her voice was weak, but a thread of determination ran through it. Sebastian found himself taken aback by her vehemence. "Stand up to me?" The hand of her wounded arm lay flaccid. Her other hand clenched the fine linen sheet. "You are a libertine and a dangerous, amoral man in a position of power that has allowed you to do as you pleased." A glint of admiration for her courage lit his eyes, only to be doused by an emotion Sebastian had long ago decided would not rule him. She spoke only the truth. "And what of it? I am not the only one of my ilk." "I know," she muttered. "But you are the only one of your kind to impact on my family." "Ah," he said mildly, his reactions once more under control. "Your family. What is Smythe-Clyde to you? An uncle, cousin, father?" Her skin, which he had thought pale as milk, took on the translucent clarity of the moon. With the right clothing she would be a beauty; a very unusual one, but a beauty none the less. Beautiful women intrigued him--for a while. She turned away from him. Her chest laboured. "It is none of your business." "A lover, perhaps?" Her head whipped back and there was such anger in her that he found his interest increasing. When one could have anything one wanted, a challenge was not to be ignored. Particularly one with such possibilities. "You are perverted," she breathed. He pulled the nearest chair to the edge of the bed and lounged back into it. "No, merely curious." He found himself fascinated by the way colour played across her cheeks, only to flee and return again later. Her lips compressed into a thin line, then opened like a fine rose when heated by the sun. She sighed. "It is none of your business, and I am too tired to continue arguing with you." He could see by the deepening of lines around her eyes and mouth that she spoke the truth. "This is a delicious game we play, my sweet, but you are right, you have not the strength for it." Her face tightened. The angle of cheek and jaw sharpened. But she said nothing. He studied her a while longer. "I can always make enquiries about Smythe-Clyde's family. I assure you it will not take my secretary long to find out more." Her body stiffened. "Why are you doing this?" "Because you are a mystery, and mysteries beg to be solved." "A mystery. Something to entertain you, not a person." He nodded his head in curt acceptance of her hit. "Exactly. What is Smythe-Clyde to you?" Her chin lifted. "My father. Now will you leave me alone?" The answer was not what he had expected. "For now." Not only was the girl foolhardy, she was reckless. As the daughter of a baron, she would be completely ruined if word of her escapade got out. Well brought-up young ladies did not even know about duelling, let alone participate in one. Worse, if rumour reached the ton that she was in his house, in one of his beds. Society would try to force him to marry her. The girl had to go. Long minutes went by as they met each other's gaze. The clock on the mantel chimed eight. A knock on the door signalled interruption. He rose with languid grace and crossed to the closed curtains of the window before saying, "Enter." Juliet sagged in relief when Ferguson entered carrying a tray. Exhaustion, pain and fear ate at her. What would Braboume do now that he knew she was a woman? Would he denounce her to the world? She glanced over to see him watching her with a brooding intensity that did nothing to calm her frayed nerves. He was dressed for evening. Perhaps Almack's, although she doubted that he frequented that very respectable Marriage Mart. More likely he was headed out to one of his clubs, to be followed by dalliance with one of his many female companions. At least this time it would not be with her stepmother. Still, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. The perfect cut of his black coat showed broad shoulders to advantage. Black pantaloons hugged narrow hips, and white stockings revealed impeccable calves. His cravat was tied in what she assumed was the Braboume Soiree, an arrangement her younger brother had yet to be successful duplicating, although Harry tried repeatedly. But all Braboume's sartorial elegance was nothing compared to the man himself. He took her breath away. Or, more probably, she told herself, it was her wound making her think air was in short supply. His unfashionably long hair waved over his collar like a raven's wing, moving with every step he took. His eyes were brilliantly blue and penetrating. Too penetrating, she thought, as a blush heated her flesh. And his mouth. She had only seen lips like his on the marble face of a Greek god. His male beauty--for there was really no other word to describe how he looked--was marred only by a look of bored dissipation that hovered around his eyes and mouth. She was more than thankful' he had no interest in her, for she did not think she could resist him if he wanted her. Better for all of them if she left immediately. Ferguson would see to it. He should have taken her to her father's country house in the first place. "Here, young master," Ferguson said, setting the tray down on the table near the bed. The scent of chicken broth made Juliet's mouth water. She tried to sit up, but after a feeble attempt fell back. The exertion made her voice a thin reed. "There is no need for the pretence, Ferguson. His Grace knows I am a woman." Ferguson's hand, with a spoon of broth, paused halfway between bowl and patient. He cast the Duke a fulminating look. "Don't worry," the Duke drawled, "I will resist the urge to ravish her. But you had best see to it that no one else realises her deception." His eyes gleamed wickedly. "I cannot control everyone who works for me." "Yes, your Grace," Ferguson said, frowning down at Juliet. "I will have the lass out of here before anyone is the wiser." "That would be best," her reluctant host said, going to the door. He looked back at her once, then left. The door closed softly behind him. Tension Juliet hadn't felt rushed out, and she sank further into the softness of the feather bed. "As soon as I've eaten we must leave." Ferguson nodded. "Hobson will be back shortly to see how you do, lass. I will fetch the coach while he is here. " Tenderly, he propped her up on the full pillows and helped her eat the broth. Juliet was glad of his help since her hand refused to be steady. When she finished her head fell back. "I am so tired, Ferguson. I think I will sleep. Waken me when Hobson arrives." "Yes, lass." He poured a generous portion of laudanum into a glass and added water to blunt the bitter taste of the medicine. "Take this. It will help ye sleep and ease the discomfort." Ju smiled weakly. "I do not need it to sleep, but it would be nice to have less pain." She swallowed the concoction with a grimace. Ferguson settled her comfortably, noting that she fell asleep before he reached his chair. She was a good, brave lass. Headstrong and not much accomplished in feminine things, but a good girl. Sebastian lifted his hand and a waiter rushed over. "Another bottle of port." "Immediately, your Grace." The servant hurried away. "This is our sixth bottle," Ravensford said. He tunnelled long, white fingers through his thick red hair. He had a smile and a way about him that could charm the chemise off a doxy without a penny changing hands. "Then we are four behind," Jason Beaumair, Earl of Perth, said. He was wickedly handsome, with the blackest eyes set in a narrow face, which was framed in equally black hair frosted at the temples and forehead. A scar ran from his right eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. It was said he had received it in a duel over another man's wife. Sebastian gazed at his friends. If Jonathan, Marquis of Langston, were here, they would be complete But Langston had married the famous actress, Samantha Davidson, and was an infrequent visitor to White's now. "We need one more for whist," Sebastian said, pouring from the newly arrived bottle of port. A flurry of words, followed by the thud of a table hitting the floor, drew Sebastian's attention. A boy--or young man--was wrestling his way into the room. The youth had a narrow face and carrot-red hair. His hazel eyes were wild and angry. Freckles marched across his prominent nose, looking as though a cook had sprinkled nutmeg on his skin. His gaze came to rest on Sebastian. Fierce satisfaction curled the boy's lips into a snarl. "Release me!" he demanded, twisting out of a servant's grasp. He strode to Sebastian's table. Sebastian took in the look of the cub and knew instantly who he was related to. In a bored tone, he said, "A Smythe-Clyde." "Harold Jacob Smythe-Clyde." The boy stood defiantly, hands on hips. Sebastian groaned inwardly. First the chit and now this. And all because of Emily Winters. The former Mrs. Winters was getting the cut direct the next time he had the misfortune to meet her, and the girl was leaving as soon as he returned home. He propped one well-shod foot on the table and lounged back to look up at Harold Jacob Smythe- Clyde. "You are not invited to join us," he drawled. The boy drew himself up. "I did not come to game with scum such as yourself... your Grace." j Sebastian raised one dark brow. He sensed both j Ravensford and Perth tensing. To ease them he waved one languid white hand. "Then begone. You are a bore. " "3 " And you, sir, are a libertine, a rake and a seducer ? of innocent women. " The furious words fell into a ; dearth of sound. Red rose up the boy's cheeks and spread to his ears. But he held his ground. The tic at Sebastian's right eye started. He focused on the cut of his shoe. "You tread dangerous ground," he said softly. "I challenge you to a duel. Weapons of your I choosing." If the boy's voice trembled, it was barely noticeable. "I do not stoop to duel with half wits Sebastian reached for his glass and took a long drink of the strong wine. This family was becoming unacceptable. "You, your Grace, are a bastard. I know how you In one smooth movement, Sebastian rose to his feet. He planted a facer on the boy that knocked the cub to the floor. "No one calls me a bastard," he said quietly, dangerously. "Now get out of here before I run you through where you stand." He poured out the remainder of the bottle and downed it in one long swallow. "It is time we left," he said, his gaze sweeping over his friends. "White's has lost its exclusivity." Before the boy could get to his feet, Sebastian and his friends left. The hour was early yet, and St. James's was crowded with people. "Another puppy after your blood," Perth said in his dark, deep voice. "Smythe-Clyde must have been busy in his youth." "My understanding," Ravensford said, swinging his gold-tipped cane nonchalantly, 'is that the baron has only one son. " He smiled at Sebastian. "And you just laid him out with an upper cut that Jackson himself would have admired." Sebastian settled his beaver hat at a devilish angle. "That is high praise coming from someone Jackson cannot defeat in the ring." He glanced around. "But enough. Shall we head for Annabell's? There is more to life than wine and gaming." "So true," Perth drawled, falling into step. "There is wine, gaming and women." "Particularly women," Ravensford said with a devilish gleam in his eyes. Chapter Three in the small hours of the morning, Sebastian strolled into the room where his unwelcome guest stayed. The two servants hovered around the bed, muttering direly. The Duke did not like the tension he sensed. "What is the matter?" Sebastian asked, striding to the group. Hobson looked up, his round face creased with worry. "Miss Juliet is worse." Sebastian looked at the patient. Her face was flushed. The nightshirt he had loaned her lay damply against her neck and shoulder. Her hands fluttered like trapped butterflies. Irritation mingled with concern, making his brows dip inward. "Is her wound inflamed?" Ferguson looked up from where he was gently taking the bandage off. "I believe so, your Grace. " The skin where the ball had entered was swollen and red, with streaks of crimson starting to form. Her eyes opened and their sparkling gaze alighted on Sebastian. "Braboume," she muttered, the words slurred but recognisable. "A man's nemesis and a woman's heart's desire." She giggled, only to end in a gasp of pain as Ferguson tried to clean the seeping wound. "Blast! Must you be so clumsy? " she gasped. They were the last coherent words she said as Hobson tipped a glass of water and laudanum down her throat. "I need to make a poultice," Ferguson said, laying aside the cloth he had used to sponge her shoulder. He looked at the Duke. Sebastian almost sighed as he felt the noose of involvement tightening around his neck. It was obvious the chit could not be moved. "And what do you expect from me?" "You are supposed to have one of the best stables in the country, your Grace. I am sure your head groom has what I need." "You mean to put the same poultice on your mistress that you would use for a horse?" Ferguson shrugged. "It works for four-legged creatures. Why not two-legged ones?" Sebastian had no better suggestion since they would not allow a doctor, which he thoroughly agreed with now that he knew the circumstances. "Go and tell Jenkins that you have my permission to use whatever you need." The one servant left and, with a resignation that tightened his gut, Sebastian turned to the other. "And what do you need?" Hobson glanced up. "More cool water would help, your Grace. Miss Juliet is raging hot; no matter how much I sponge her, she only seems to burn the more." Sebastian moved to the bell pull over the mantel only to stop before summoning a servant. His brooding glance settled on the girl. With her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, no one could mistake her for anything but what she was. If someone were still so unobservant as to think she was male, the swell of her breasts under the shirt and single sheet would be enough to enlighten them. One of the first things she had done after he had pierced her disguise had been to remove the binding from her breasts so she could breathe better and lie more comfortably. This situation was becoming more and more complicated. The very last thing he needed was for word of his unwanted guest's real identity to leak out. At three and thirty, Sebastian had no intentions of marrying someone not of his choosing. Not even if some foolish chit's reputation depended upon him wedding her. Nor did he want the world to know he had shot a woman. It was bad enough that he knew. Damn her for putting him in this dishonourable position. He pulled the bell and moved quickly into the hall. A footman appeared instantly, impeccably dressed in the Duke's black and green colours. "Fetch Mrs. Burroughs," Sebastian instructed. The young man's eyes widened, but he bowed and left. Sebastian had a rule that servants who worked during the day would not be expected to work at night. That went particularly for his housekeeper and butler, whom he knew laboured fourteen and sixteen hours a day. Never before had he summoned Mrs. Burroughs from her bed. He did not intend ever to do so again. He stepped back into the sickroom. Mrs. Burroughs would knock, and he did not intend for anyone else to hear their discussion. Juliet Smythe-Clyde looked no better. Hobson's worried frown was deeper. "Ferguson knows what -he's about," the butler mumbled, as though to reassure himself. "If he does not, then we are going to have problems," Sebastian stated. "I have no intentions of fleeing to the Continent. Nor do I intend for anyone to discover your mistress's whereabouts." A discreet knock stopped the butler from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Instead he turned back to his charge. Sebastian crossed to the door and asked, "Mrs. Burroughs?" "Yes, m'lord." He let her in, quickly closing the door behind her. "We have a problem." She looked from him to the bed. Her iron- coloured brows shot up, wrinkling her forehead into a dozen creases. Her mouth puckered in dismay and then disapproval. "Twould seem we do, your Grace." Her emphasis on his title told him more clearly than words that she was shocked and unhappy with the situation. He looked at the old woman who had started service with his father over thirty-two years ago. She had been his nanny. When he'd inherited the title, he had retired his parents' housekeeper and appointed Mrs. Burroughs. She was not a woman who would have taken well to retirement. "You are the only person I can trust with this information. We must nurse her until she is able to be moved. And no one must find out." She snorted. "I would hope my husband can be trusted with this, your Grace. "Twill take more than the three of us here to give the girl round-the-clock care. I have a house to run, I'm sure this gentleman here has duties, and you have all of London to carouse through." The disapproval in her voice when she described his activities was softened by the affection in her brown eyes. She did not like the life he led, but she cared for him. Hobson, realising that Mrs. Burroughs had a sensible head on her shoulders, moved closer. "I am the butler to Miss Juliet's father and I cannot be gone much." Her knowing gaze went from Hobson to the girl. "A secret. Well, his Grace was always one for getting into scrapes." Ferguson's return from the stables saved Sebastian from needing to comment. There were times he regretted making his nanny his housekeeper. Ferguson set about applying the poultice. Late the next afternoon, Sebastian sat at table breaking his fast. Soon he would have to take up his post with the patient. Ferguson had returned to Smythe-Clyde's house after're bandaging the shoulder. Hobson had stayed until Mrs. Burroughs could find time in the late morning hours. Burroughs had been in and out. From the surreptitious glances the footman was sending his way, Sebastian knew the servants wondered what was going on. "Your Grace." One of the footmen bowed and presented a silver tray on which lay a white calling card with the corner bent. Sebastian picked it up and read the name Harold Jacob Smythe-Clyde, his unwelcome charge's brother. "I am not at home." "Yes, my lord." Minutes later, the sound of a raised voice reached Sebastian. It was followed by the closing of the front door. This family was nothing but trouble. With a sigh, Sebastian rose. How had he let himself get into this predicament? He was a man who had always considered his own comforts first. First it had been to keep the girl's servants from taking her into the country and possibly threatening her life. Then it had been because she was too sick to be moved. In an unconscious gesture, he smoothed his left eyebrow with one finger. Now he allowed the chit to stay here because she needed to regain some strength before returning home. In her present condition it would not be long before someone realised she was hurt. Then the duel would come out, and her stay here. That would ruin her. Her courage intrigued him and he did not want to see her pay for it. Too few people of his acquaintance had her strength. In spite of all that, respectable young women of the ton did not spend nights under any man's roof, let alone his. His reputation as a rake did not bear scrutiny. Even he, as immune as he was to Society's dictates, would be hard pressed to refuse marriage if it were ever discovered that the girl had spent several nights under his roof. She had to leave. Soon. In the meantime, he would amuse himself at Tattersall's. "There was a fine filly that had caught his eye last week. Spirited and headstrong, the horse reminded him of his unwanted guest. At least with the animal he could determine whether he wanted her in his stable. Juliet roused from a nightmare where Papa duelled with Braboume and was hit. Moisture beaded her brow and her night shirt clung to her skin. Why was she so hot? Where was she? The sound of someone lightly snoring caught her attention. A long, lithe man sprawled in one of two chairs, his legs spread out and seeming to go on for ever. A wave of dark hair shadowed his sallow cheeks and gave him a demonic cast. Memory returned. She rolled to one side and pushed up with her good arm. Pain shot through her bad shoulder. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut against unwanted tears. "What the deuce are you about?" She turned her head and stared straight up at him. Without her hearing him he had come to the bed. His black brows were drawn and his blue eyes shot sparks. "I am trying to sit up," she said peevishly, wishing she did not hurt so much. "Why else would I be twisting around?" "Whining does not become you," he stated baldly, the lines between his brows easing. "Let me help you or you will undo all the good work your coachman has done." Without waiting for her reply, he reached down and hooked a hand under each of her arms and hauled her up on to the pillows. Another gasp of pain escaped her and once more tears welled in her eyes. She told herself that her blurred vision gave her the impression his face held contrition. There was no doubt in her mind that he found her a nuisance rather than someone he might be concerned over. Long moments passed and his hands stayed on her. His warmth flowed into her, increasing her fever and making her pulse jump. No man had ever touched her so intimately. Juliet looked up at him and felt herself blushing. He finally released her. "Is that better?" he asked, his voice hoarse as though he had a cold. She nodded. Strange sensations coursed through her body, and for a weak moment she wished he would touch her again. She was a fool. "Would you like some water?" "Yes," she muttered. "Please. I am so hot. It is like a furnace in here." He poured the liquid and held it to her lips. "You are feverish. The wound is inflamed and Ferguson has been treating it with horse poultices." Juliet chuckled. That is very like him. Has it helped? " He set the empty glass on a stand. "It seems so. This is the first time since last night that you have been awake and coherent at the same time." Her eyes widened. "Surely you jest?" "Not about this." He turned away and fetched the chair he had been sprawled in. He set it near the bed and sank into its thick leather cushions. "I suppose not," she said, looking away from his intense perusal. "I cannot suppose I am the kind of woman you would choose to be in one of your beds. " As soon as the words were out, she realised how provocative they were. "I... I did not mean that the way it sounded." He raised one brow. "You did not? How disappointing." She had thought herself warm before, but now she flamed. A slow smile cut a line into his cheek. It was seductive in the intensity it gave to his face, as though he were truly interested in her as a woman. Part of her wanted to melt. A larger part wanted to run. He was a dangerous man for a woman to be around. "I am sure there are many women eager to share one of your beds and that none of them would be here from wounds." The words came out like an accusation instead of the reasonable statement of fact she had intended. He was a disturbing man. True, but then they would be boring. You, I'd wager, are never boring. " She had a sense that he was flirting with her. She looked away from his unsettling scrutiny and her fingers plucked at the sheet without her being aware of what she did. "Anyone can be boring," she finally whispered. "So I have generally found," he replied drily. "But then no other woman has ever fought me in a duel. Nor has any other woman told me she could not go home and then convinced me to let her stay in mine. Why wouldn't your family help hide your condition? " The abrupt change of subject surprised her. It was as though he had been trying to trick her into answering him, but there was no -secret. "Harry would have. Poor Papa would have run to his new wife and expected her to handle everything. I don't trust my stepmother. Everything she does is designed to further her own ends. She would be furious. " "Because you fought a duel or because you tried to take your father's place?" "Both." "Would she have hit you?" His eyes darkened as he waited for her answer. "Would your father?" "No," she squeaked, shocked that he could even think such a thing. "Papa has never hit us. Mama was always the one to discipline us. She or our nurse, and later our governess and tutor. My stepmother would not dare." His mouth tightened. "Did you see much of your mother?" A soft smile of memory lit Juliet's face. "Yes. Always. Mama was a curate's daughter, and she believed children were a gift to be treasured." "A nice fancy," he said, bitterness making the words hard and brittle. No emotion showed on his face. It was as though he had shut his real self behind a mask. The urge to ask him why was great, but Juliet hesitated. He was not a man who invited closeness or questions about himself. He stood so sharply that his chair tottered on its back legs before settling down. He paced to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and jabbed viciously at the already roaring fire. Juliet saw pain in the tense set of his shoulders. The longing to comfort him was great, but she sensed that to say something would only make him draw further into himself. Instead, she waited quietly for him to make the next overture. She did not wait long. He put the poker back and strode to the bed, where he grabbed the chair and repositioned it in its original place. "I will send Mrs. Burroughs to help you change into a fresh shirt. But first tell me why your father's anger kept you from going home when you knew he would not punish you." She smiled ruefully. He would not give confidences, but he expected them of others. Still, it would do no harm. "I could not have kept my condition hidden from Papa. When he found out, he would have been angry with me because he would have been hurt that I felt he needed to be protected. That I did not trust him to take care of himself. Although everyone will tell you that he cannot. " "A grown man cannot take care of himself?" the Duke asked in disbelief. "I think you exaggerate." "Not about Papa. He can find his way anywhere in the country, but he is forever becoming lost here in London. Just as he will misplace every one of the twelve pairs of glasses I have got for him. Or reach his hand into a lion's cage because he is. curious about what the creature will do." She gave a longsuffering sigh. The Duke chuckled. "A handful." "Always. At first I was thrilled that he was remarrying, even though it was not yet a year after Mama's death. But then..." She clamped her mouth shut on the words. In a falsely brisk voice, she stated, "But that is neither here nor there. You are right, your Grace. A clean nightshirt would be most welcome." He made her a mocking bow before leaving. She had no doubt he knew exactly what she had stopped herself from saying. After all, he was the man her stepmother was having an affair with. He would know the woman. Just the thought made her chest tighten, and the wound she had nearly forgotten started to ache anew. How long would it take her to learn to protect herself against his charm? Probably for ever, said a tiny voice she wanted to ignore. Sebastian sprawled across the large leather wingback, his right leg indecorously thrown over the chair's arm. He swung his foot, the evening pump catching the firelight. He twirled the half-full glass of whisky before taking a long swallow. The liquor burned down his throat. He smiled grimly. The saw- age ness of the liquid matched the emotions running through him. "Damned un civilised drink," he muttered, taking another gulp. He would probably consume the entire decanter. He had got a taste for it from his friend Jonathan, Marquis of Langston, who had learned about it from his younger brother. Lord Alastair St. Simon. The chit had to go. The only thing worse than having her continued presence in his home would be to have her die while occupying one of his beds. She had already been here two days and was on her second night. But she was out of danger, or nearly so. And she was a distraction. He emptied his glass. A knock caught his attention as he rose to pour more whisky. "Who is it?" he demanded, moving to his desk and emptying the contents of the decanter into his glass. "Your Grace," Burroughs, the butler, intoned, entering the room and closing the door behind himself. His long, rather bulbous nose rose several inches, a pose Sebastian knew the man assumed when his sensibilities were affronted. "There is a person to see you." Sebastian raised one black brow. "A per sonT Burroughs puffed up his ample girth. "A woman... as your Grace very well knows." Which one of his lady-friends would be so lost to propriety as to visit him here? Sebastian neither cared nor knew. He drank the whisky in one gulp. "Tell her I am not at home." Burroughs bowed, a smile of approval making his round face glow. "My pleasure, your Grace." Sebastian set the empty glass on the corner of his desk and decided it was time for bed. Most of London was asleep, and only his irritation at having his home pose a threat to his peace of mind had kept him up this late. Sounds of a scuffle barely preceded the library door bursting open. A woman dressed in black strode into the room followed by a harassed Burroughs. "Your Grace," she murmured breathlessly, "I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you." Sebastian was good at remembering faces and voices. He recognised his intruder and frowned. She was the reason he was in this bramble bath He waved away Burroughs, who hovered behind her. The only way he could evict Mrs. Winters--now Lady Smythe-Clyde--would be to have her bodily carried from the room. The hair rising on the nape of his neck told him to listen to her first. Not until Burroughs closed the door behind himself did Sebastian offer her a seat. He propped one hip on the edge of his desk and looked down at her. "It is very late to be making a social call. Lady Smythe-Clyde." She pushed back the hood of her cape and untied the strings at the throat. The heavy taffeta slipped from her shoulders to billow around her lap and spill down the back of her chair. Her pale blonde curls framed a heart-shaped face with eyes the colour of a fine spring sky. Many poems had been written about the beauty of her cupid's bow mouth. Her evening dress was daringly low, even for a married woman, and showed an almost childlike figure. Sebastian knew the heart of a courtesan beat under the small bosom. But why was she here? He had already refused her overtures. She smiled endearingly up at him. "Please, your Grace, do call me Emily. We shall soon be well acquainted. " "Shall we?" he murmured, wondering what her game was and knowing it boded no good for him or the girl upstairs. He knew the former Mrs. Winters from old. She had been as shocking in her flaunting of conventions as she was as Lady Smythe-Clyde. The rest of their conversation would likely be just as vulgar. She threw back her head and laughed, a tinkling sound that was her signature. Slowly, her eyes only slightly narrowed, she lowered her head and smiled at him. "Very well indeed. Do you know where my stepdaughter is?" Sebastian kept his gaze on her even as the warmth provided by the whisky evaporated. "Your stepdaughter? Do you have one?" Her lips parted in a languid smile. "Really, your Grace, there is no need for games between us." Sebastian put both palms on the desk and leaned backward. "Isn't there? There is nothing between you and I, yet you are the reason your new husband challenged me to a duel." She leaned forward, showing the dark valley between her breasts. "But there could be..." Sebastian studied her, wondering how far she would go in her pursuit of him. Women flocked to him for his wealth and power. Usually, however, they took 'no' as just that. This woman had been pursuing him for the past month. In a mildly curious voice, he asked, "Why are you so persistent? You have an older husband who is titled and reasonably wealthy. Isn't that enough, considering where you started life?" An angry scowl marred her childish beauty before she smoothed her brow with an index finger. "My husband is not the Duke of Braboume, one of the most influential men in the realm." She paused for effect and flicked her small pink tongue along her bottom lip. "Nor is he renowned as the best lover in England, a man all women find irresistible--in and out of bed." Sebastian's gut tightened. He dipped his head to her in mocking acknowledgement of her statement. His father had never thought of him as more than a means to pass on the title. His mother had never thought of him at all, her own lovers being legendary and all-consuming. In an attempt to be more than a title and money, he had taught himself to be a lover. He had made himself into a man women remembered, and if it was by giving them more pleasure than any thought possible, then so be it. They would remember him as more than a wealthy Duke, an object of advancement. They would remember him as a man. But not this woman. He had not even kissed her, and she had already caused him more problems than any of his numerous mistresses put together. He smiled, a cold stretching of his sensual lips. "Lady Smythe-Clyde, I would never presume to enter a dalliance with a married woman." Her own smile was equally frigid. "You would do whatever you damn well pleased, and we both know it." "Ah, the gloves are off," he murmured. "As will be more than that," she countered, 'if you know what is good for your future. " "Are you threatening me?" he asked, his voice silky. She smoothed the satin of her skirt, the action drawing attention to the fine lines of her thighs, her gaze never leaving his face. "Nothing so dramatic. Merely offering not to divulge some information my lady's maid was so obliging as to find out for me." He did not need an explanation. Somehow, even with all his efforts to keep Juliet Smythe-Clyde's presence in his house secret, one of the servants had found out and spread the information. Eventually the news would spread to other homes of the ton. And quickly. Whether he agreed to the dalliance being proposed or refused, the result would be the same. Juliet Smythe-Clyde was ruined. "Just why exactly are you pursuing me?" he wondered. "There are plenty of other men who would be eager to accept what you offer. And," he added in an aside, "I have it on good authority that some of them are very good in bed." She rose and sauntered to him. Running her index finger down his shirt, she watched him through thick blonde lashes. "But none of them are you. You are rich and powerful... and appealing. You can raise me in the eyes of the ton. My husband cannot. He is a mere baron, and an old, fat one at that. He has no fire." Her eyes took on a sultry gleam. "And I desire you." Sebastian's lip curled. "If you are so quick to cheat on him, then perhaps you should not have married him." Her tinkling laugh rang out as she stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed him. "Do not come the naive with me. You, of all people, know about women marrying men and then having cicisbeos." Sebastian stiffened, her words like ice sliding down his spine. Anger immediately followed--an anger so intense it would have melted any amount of ice. "Out." He spoke softly, but the menace of his posture clearly conveyed itself. "Out before I wring your very lovely neck." The former Mrs. Winters rose abruptly. Her fingers shook as she tied her cape around her shoulders. Still, she met his unyielding gaze without flinching. "Do not take long to make up your mind, Brabourne. I am not a patient woman." He watched her sweep from the room, the heavy scent of jasmine lingering. Yes, he knew about women who cheated on their husbands. No matter what the repercussions, he would not be the one to help her cuckold Smythe-Clyde. Dallying with married women was one vice he did not have. Chapter Four Juliet woke from a laudanum-induced slumber. Her shoulder throbbed and her eyes felt gummed over. Her mouth was filled with cotton, or so it seemed. A brace of candles nickered on the mantel, their golden light illuminating a chair and table. The Duke lounged in what she thought of as his favourite piece of furniture, one hand holding a wine glass. She must have made a noise because he turned to look at her. "I see you are finally awake. Ferguson must have overdone the laudanum last time." He rose and moved to the bed. She watched him in fascination. Perhaps it was her illness, but it seemed that he became more intriguing each time she woke. No wonder women flocked to him. He put a cool hand on her forehead, and she jerked. He gazed quizzically down at her, a small smile curving his sensual lips. He was very aware of his effect on her. "You are not as warm as earlier. Ferguson's poultice works. A good thing. You are going home tonight." "Going home?" she echoed, feeling stupid, but still reacting to his touch. He nodded. "There has been a new development and it is best that you leave. I am sending Mrs. Burroughs with you. She will keep people from bothering you and provide the perfect alibi." "Alibi?" It was the remnants of the drug making her sound so dull. The cold hauteur she associated with him returned, making his eyes resemble ice. "Yes, alibi. Ferguson will drive you up to your home this evening and you will alight from your own carriage with Mrs. Burroughs. Everyone will be told you had to make an emergency trip to visit your old nanny. Ferguson says she lives close enough that the excuse is plausible. Juliet nodded, beginning to understand. "But I cannot return in your nightshirt or Harry's clothes." "Do you think we are such poor conspirators?" "Why don't I have my own maid, then?" she asked archly. He stared at her for a moment. "Why indeed? Let me think." After a pause, he added, "She was out running an errand for you when word of your old nanny's plight reached you. You did not have time to wait for the servant's return, you were so fearful of what might happen if you delayed." "And I paid Mrs. Burroughs out of my pin money?" "What else?" he countered, a devastating smile playing over his lips. "Don't tell me your Papa keeps you on a short lead, for I shan't believe it. If he did so, you would never have been able to sneak off and meet me for the duel without someone finding out." "True," she muttered. "Neither Papa nor Emily care much what I do. Harry does, but he is too intrigued by his first visit to London to pay much attention to me. And since I run the household, it is easy to do as I please. " "Exactly," he stated. She shook her head, amazed at his ingenuity and correct reading of her situation, and instantly regretted it. Her ears rang and dizziness made her close her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, a tinge of anxiety in his voice. She managed a tight smile. "Yes. I have no intention of staying here longer and causing you further trouble." She took several deep, slow breaths before opening her eyes. "Did Hobson manage to get some of my clothes?" "Yes. Your servants are loyal to foolhardiness," he said curtly, disapproval obvious in the stiffness of his shoulders. Her smile came again, softer. "They have always been there to help. Mama used to say she would not accomplish half of what she did if not for them. They came with her when she married Papa. Hobson was a footman then, and Ferguson a stable boy. " "Old family retainers. That explains a lot." A soft knock was followed by Mrs. Burroughs' appearance. "Your Grace. Miss." She billowed into the room, her arms full of clothing. "Now, you must leave," she said to Braboume, 'while I help Miss Juliet dress. I will let you know when to return. " The Duke made a sardonic bow and left. Mrs. Burroughs helped Juliet sit up with pillows propping her back. From then on everything was agony, and it was only stubbornness that kept Juliet from fainting. She was going home. No longer would she be beholden to the man she had tried to shoot. Juliet woke to the scents of lavender and lilac. She had to be in her own room because she always kept bowls of the dry flowers and fresh when they were in season. She stretched and winced. Her shoulder hurt. Everything came back in a rush. The duel, the wound, the Duke. The last thing she remembered was him kissing her hand as he helped her into the carriage. The arrival home and her getting to her room were a blur. She forced herself to a sitting position and stopped. Her head spun, and it was all she could do not to collapse back on to the pillows. She would have to move more slowly. After what seemed an eternity the room stopped twirling. She swallowed, her tongue feeling swollen and dry. A little water would be nice. A glance at the bedside table showed a pitcher and glass. Careful not to set off another dizzy spell, she poured the liquid and drank it down. It tasted like ambrosia. Only now did she notice that she was dressed in her favourite nigh trail She looked around, noting the shades of lilac and lavender in drapes, carpet and bed-covering. Being in her own room provided a sense of comfort and security that she had not realised she was missing until now. It was wonderful. A knock alerted her instants before the door opened. A short, robust lady with a grey bun and iron-straight eyebrows slipped in, quickly closing the door behind herself. Mrs. Burroughs. She held a silver tray from which came the smell of hot chocolate and toast. Juliet stared as the woman set the tray on a table by the fire. "Thank you, Mrs. Burroughs. I feel as weak as a newborn pup." "I've just the thing, then. Miss Juliet," the housekeeper said, a twinkle in her brown eyes. "I see you are much better, just as Ferguson said you would be. "Us a good thing you hired me as your lady's maid for the last several days while you went to visit your old nanny. Bless the lady's heart, being so sick and all that she needed you immediately and left you no time to notify your father. Unfortunately, your note did not arrive till today." The Duke had thought of everything. She crossed to the bed and put a sturdy arm around Juliet's waist and helped her to a chair. Juliet sank like a rock on to the lavender silk cushion of her favourite chair. She was so tired. "How long will you be staying? It seems that I am not up to snuff yet." Mrs. Burroughs smiled gently. "As long as needed. I have already had the devil of a time keeping your own maid out. The only thing that has saved us is the fact that you hired the girl here in London and she has no loyalty to you. Now, take some hot chocolate and toast. You need plenty of nourishment to regain your strength." She frowned as Juliet sipped the drink. "I would give you some laudanum, for I know your shoulder pains you a great deal, but you will need all your wits about you today." Juliet sighed. "So true. Emily will very likely be here at any moment, demanding to know why I took off like I did." "Tut, tut, child. We will get through this." Juliet nibbled a triangle of toast, her dry mouth making it difficult to swallow. "How long exactly was I at Lord Braboume's? I seem to remember him saying two or three days." "Two nights and three days." , Two nights and three days. Papa. The duel. She turned an anxious gaze to the other woman. "What about Papa? Did he meet the Duke? Did Braboume shoot him? " "They met," Mrs. Burroughs said softly. "Why was I not told?" Juliet demanded, trying to push herself up and failing. "There, there. The Duke felt it was better that you not know. He did not want the worry causing a relapse." "It must have been while I was drugged with laudanum." Mrs. Burroughs rearranged the pillow behind Juliet's back. "It was, but everything is fine now. The Duke's bullet went wide and your Papa shot into the ground. No one was hurt." Juliet sagged in relief and a shiver of aftershock shook her. "Then my foolishness accomplished something." "More than you know, child," Mrs. Burroughs murmured, a strange look on her face. "But you are trembling. Where do you keep your robe?" Mrs. Burroughs fetched it and put it around Juliet's shoulders. Juliet huddled into the warmth of her lilac robe as another thought empted. "He could have shot Papa, but did not. Why? Is he admitting that he dallied with my stepmother? " Fierceness toughened Mrs. Burroughs's features. "His Grace saved your Papa a nasty wound. That is not admitting anything. The Duke would never become involved with a married woman. Never." Juliet glanced at the older woman, surprised by her vehemence. It seemed that Braboume also commanded loyalty. Juliet took a gulp of too-hot chocolate and choked. "Ahh!" Mrs. Burroughs was instantly solicitous, her are of seconds before forgotten. "Are you all right?" Juliet nodded and wiped the tears of pain away with one hand. "Are you always so impetuous? If so, the two of you will make quite a pair." Juliet put the china cup down on to the saucer with such force the chocolate sloshed over the edges. She stared at the woman and wondered if her hearing had been impaired by her injury. "Whatever are you talking about?" "You are stubborn like him, too." "Are we still discussing Braboume?" Juliet asked with an underlying chill in her voice. Mrs. Burroughs sighed. "You do not like him. Well, that is understandable. He does not have a good reputation, and he goes his own way and the devil take the hindmost. And he is arrogant." She moved to the bed and straightened the cover but, even with her back to Juliet her words were clear. "He came into his title young. Much too young. And he had a disappointment that made him bitter and hard. But he's good and honourable at heart." She sighed again, her ample bosom rising and falling like a tidal wave. "He just needs a situation to make him act good and honourable." She turned to face Juliet and pinned her with intense brown eyes. "You are that situation." Juliet's eyes widened, and her head jerked back at the force of the other woman's look and words. The? are you mad? " "No." She leaned down to Juliet, her face serious and her voice lowered so that Juliet had to strain to hear. "We tried to keep your presence in his Grace's home secret. We did everything we could think of, but somehow it leaked out. We made up the story of your whereabouts for your family and we will stick to it, but the rumours of where you really were will be circulating about the ton before long." Juliet shrank into her robe, thankful for its warmth as a chill of foreboding moved through her body. "I am ruined." Mrs. Burroughs nodded, sympathy softening the tightness around her mouth. "His Grace must marry you, as he will soon realise." Juliet stared at nothing, not paying attention to Mrs. Burroughs. "Ruined--and I have not even been presented to the ton. I shall never dance at Almack's or have a coming-out ball. All the things I have missed because Papa was busy in the country and then Mama was ill." "His Grace will see that you have all those things." "Well," Juliet said, still in her own world, "I do not need those things." Her chin notched up and she squared her shoulders. "They are all fripperies that mean nothing and accomplish nothing. I shall tour the cultural sights here and then return home to Wood Hall where I belong." "We shall see. We shall see," Mrs. Burroughs muttered. "Now, be a good girl and eat up your toast and drink every drop of that hot chocolate. You need everything we can get into you so that you regain your strength. " Juliet obediently finished her repast. Daintily wiping her mouth, she canted her head to better see the other woman. "But you can forget this harebrained idea of yours concerning Braboume. I shall never marry a man of his ilk." Mrs. Burroughs's lips parted but, before she could speak her mind the door to the room slammed open. The former Mrs. Winters, now Lady Smythe-Clyde, stormed inside. Her fair hair curled around her dainty face, and a light white muslin Empire dress flowed around her colt-like limbs. Juliet could understand why her papa had married the woman. Lady Smythe-Clyde thrust out a clenched fist, a sheet of paper crumpled in her fingers. "See this? This is a note to your father. Me. You. From the Duchess of Richmond, saying she is truly sorry, but she rescinds our invitation to her ball. " Her fair face was mottled in anger. "Because of you. You. Do you hear me?" Her voice rose into a shrill demand. "I imagine the entire household can hear you, Emily," Juliet said drily, using the other woman's Christian name. "You may go," she added to Mrs. Burroughs. "And thank you." The housekeeper hustled out. "All my work. All my careful planning and it is all coming to naught," Emily fumed as she paced the floor. "I know this is a great disappointment to you, after all your plans and hard work to present me to Society." Juliet managed to keep a tone of sympathy in her voice, even though she knew the other woman had merely used her as a reason for her pursuit of the ton. Emily stopped in her tracks and a curl of contempt marred her otherwise perfect mouth. "Let us lay off this game-playing, Juliet, for I am prodigiously tired of it. Bringing you out was to be my introduction to Polite Society; now, through your ill- judged stay in the Duke of Braboume's house, you have put paid to everything I have worked so hard to achieve." Juliet suppressed a jolt of shock. How did Emily know? Surely the rumours had not reached here yet? "How can you say that? I have been with my old nurse." Emily's lips curled. "Save that twaddle for others. I know the truth." Juliet eyed the other woman but said nothing, waiting to see what would happen. There were times when she managed not to react. Few, but occasionally. "Oh, yes." Emily moved to the fireplace and threw the paper into the flames. "In fact, it was I who let slip the secret of your whereabouts." Juliet gasped, all her careful control slipping. "You? Why? If I am ruined, then everything you have done to enter Society is in vain." A cruel light hardened the other woman's eyes. "I made the best of a bad situation. Sooner or later someone would have found out. I just speeded up the revelation." The words did not make sense, and Juliet wondered if she was still suffering from too much laudanum, as she had at the Duke's house. Or perhaps it was exhaustion. "I don't understand." Emily gave Juliet a contemptuous once-over. "No, you would not. Miss Prim and Proper. Always doing what is best for Papa, without a care about anything else." Juliet was taken aback. She knew the other woman did not like her, and she did not like her stepmother, but the venom was more pronounced than she had expected. Still, the insults fired her already edgy nerves and she spoke hastily. "Someone has to care for Papa, for it is obvious that you do not." A tinkling laugh filled the room. "I did not marry him to care for him. I married him for position and to be cared for by him." Juliet saw red. This woman had married Papa with no regard for anyone else. Not that she had ever doubted it, but. but there had always been a kernel of hope that she was wrong. "If you wanted position and care, why did you not marry a man like Braboume instead of merely dallying with one? At least then the rest of us would not be in this mess." Emily gave a bark of laughter, as different from her famous trill as black was from white. "Do you think I did not try?" Juliet looked in horror at Emily. "So Papa is nothing to you. Only a means to an end." The other woman sniffed. "All marriages of our class are arrangements. At least your papa does not need an heir. So I am free to go my own way. " "Which you did with Braboume," Juliet said, her anger simmering. The small twinge of discomfort she felt at the thought of Emily in the Duke's arms was squashed. Emily shrugged. "For a while." "You are selfish. If you had been more discreet, Papa would not have needed to challenge Braboume to a duel, and none of this would have happened. " Juliet made her hands unclench. It was past. There was nothing she could do to change the current situation. "So, the ever-so-dutiful and solicitous daughter has claws. Well, I never doubted it." She turned her back to Juliet. "If you had been less impetuous, we would not be in this situation. No one said you had to take your father's place." Juliet struggled to her feet, no longer willing to look up at the other woman. Dizziness made her grab the back of the chair, but she remained standing. "Someone had to protect Papa from your folly." Emily sneered. "And who will protect him from this unpleasant mess your reckless action has caused?" "My reckless action? You are -the one who let the information out, for which reason you still have not told me." Her fingers clenched the chair until her knuckles turned white. She was so tired, but she could not let Emily leave without finding out what was going on. Emily took in Juliet's discomfort. "It would seem you have returned too soon. You will need to stay in bed for some time to come." Juliet's chest tightened in anger. "I will do as I see fit." Emily arched two perfectly cared-for blonde brows. "Will you? We shall see what your papa has to say about your... exhaustion." Juliet nearly toppled over. For the first time since this argument began she realised that if Emily knew what had really happened then Papa could find out. That would hurt Papa. Something she did not want. In a tired voice, all the fight drained from her, Juliet asked, "Why are you doing this?" Emily glared at her. "Because if I cannot have Braboume, and all that he represents in Society, I will see to it that you have him and I benefit directly from your connection to him. When the Duke decides he has to save your reputation and asks you to marry him, I expect you to accept." Juliet stiffened her spine, knowing she was nearly ready to collapse. "You are crazy. He will never ask and I would never accept." Emily moved to the door and gave Juliet a last penetrating look. "Do not be too sure about what either of you will do." Juliet stared at the door long after the other woman had left. Insanity. This was the stuff farces were made of. Braboume would never propose. Never. And if he did? a tiny voice asked. Juliet sank back into the chair and covered her eyes with a shaking hand. She would resist him, no matter how hard or how much it hurt. There was no other answer when a rake came calling. Mrs. Burroughs gave him the minimum curtsy required, and Sebastian could tell by the look on her face that she longed to box his ears. If anyone else looked at him the way she did, they would soon regret it. With her he merely sighed. "Yes, Mrs. Burroughs?" "It has started, your Grace." He raised one eyebrow. Exasperation lowered hers. "The ostracism of the young lady. Just as I knew it would. Just as you knew it would--if you had let yourself consider it. You must stop it." This woman was one of the few people in his life he cared for, and the only woman. But, right now, irritation at her persistence in pushing him about something he did not want to do hardened his jaw. For the first time since becoming an adult he was curt with her. "I am busy now, Mrs. Burroughs, and have no time to discuss this matter. Nor will I ever." He stood so that he towered above her rotund figure. "Do I make myself clear?" She inflated her chest and lifted her ample chin. "Quite... your Grace." Without asking permission to leave, she sailed out. Sebastian watched her until she was gone, then turned to look out through the large window that let the meagre afternoon sunlight into the library. The roses were in full bloom and a few tulips lingered. The girl was becoming an even bigger problem. Much as he did not want to become involved, he wanted to see her ostracised even less. She had spirit. And she cared about others. He remembered her reason for dressing as a boy and fighting him. It had all been for her father. Never once had she mentioned or seemed even to consider the repercussions to herself. He admired that trait in anyone, since it was so unusual, but in the girl he found himself more than admiring. Making a decision, he turned and strode to the door. He went into the hall and beckoned to a nearby footman. "Fetch Mr. Wilson for me. Now." "Yes, your Grace." The young man bowed and hurried off. Sebastian returned to the library and sprawled out in the leather wing chair that was his favourite. He did not wait long for the knock. Jeremy Wilson entered the room, his fair blond hair glinting in the light. He was a slight man. The kind that mothers wanted to nurture and women wanted to protect. Men liked him too. Sebastian trusted and depended on him. "Jeremy, my long-suffering secretary," Sebastian said, waving him to a seat. "I have yet another job for you that has nothing to do with my business affairs. And hopefully, after a short while, will have nothing to do with my social life either." Jeremy grinned. "Another woman, your Grace? Most men would be more than happy to be pursued at all hours and all days. You seek to get rid of them. " Sebastian returned the smile from habit, not amusement. "Ah, but then I am not most men. Besides, all women become bores sooner or later." A flash of pity filled Jeremy's green eyes, but only for a second. "What can I do this time, your Grace?" Sebastian straightened in the chair. "I want you to find out the engagements of Lord Smythe-Clyde and his family." The secretary's eyes widened. The Duke had asked many unusual things of him, but never something like this. "Yes," Sebastian said drily, 'the same man who challenged me to a duel over his wife. And you may as well know, since I know you can be trusted and since the entire ton will shortly be a-buzz about it, the sick guest we housed for three days was Smythe- Clyde's daughter. She is the one who initially fought me. The later duel with her father was a sham. " After a pause, Jeremy said, "Interesting. I would warrant she would not be boring." The comment was too close for comfort. Sebastian ignored it. "Let me know as soon as possible. If I do not receive invitations for the same events, see that I get them." Recognising dismissal, Jeremy rose. "I should have some information by this afternoon. Oh, yes, you are invited to the Duchess of Richmond's ball. It is tonight. I understand that everyone has been asked. " "Including the Smythe-Clydes?" "I would assume so," Jeremy said from the door. Sebastian rubbed his right eyebrow. "Her events are always overcrowded and uninteresting, but I suppose I must attend if I intend to put my plan into action." Jeremy waited to see if his employer would elaborate. When the Duke rose and turned to look out of the window, Jeremy understood he would learn nothing more. Sebastian heard the door close. He wondered one last time why he was concerning himself. It had been a long time since he had done something for someone else who was not one of his cronies. It was a strange sensation. Sebastian put the final crease in his cravat, his valet looking on proudly. "A perfect Brabourne Soiree," the servant said reverentially. Ravensford lounged nearby on the bed, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "All the ladies will be in awe of your sartorial elegance." Sebastian cut him a fulminating glance as his valet helped him into a sleekly tailored blue jacket. A thumb-sized sapphire secured in the cravat was the final touch. "Where is Perth?" Sebastian asked. "Carousing in some den of iniquity. He did not tell me which one, so I'm afraid we cannot plan on joining him later." "More's the pity," Sebastian said, attaching a silver fob to his waistcoat, 'he will have more fun than we. " "Without a doubt," Ravensford said, rising from the bed and straightening his coat. "But we are on a mission." "Here, my lord," the valet said, hurrying over to Ravensford. "Let me brush out the wrinkles and straighten your collar and cravat." "No need, Roberts," Ravensford said, fending of the servant's eager help. "I don't mind a little mussing. I am a Corinthian, not a dandy." Roberts backed away, but could not keep from sighing. "You could cut such a dashing figure, my lord, if I may be so bold as to say." "He already does," Sebastian said with a mocking grin. "He is the epitome of raffishness. All the women will swoon at his feet." "There is only one kind of woman I want swooning," Ravensford said, 'and we will not find that kind at this gathering. " "No," Sebastian said, opening the door. "And more's the pity." An hour later, they finally entered the foyer of the Duchess of Richmond's town house. Their hostess beamed at them. "Braboume. Ravensford. I am so glad you could tear yourself away from your other amusements." Each man in turn took her offered hand. "How could we resist?" Sebastian murmured, kissing her palm. "Such devilish charm," she said, smiling as he released her fingers. "Enjoy yourselves. There are more than enough eligible women, even for the likes of you two." "Yes, but are they entertaining?" Sebastian said sotto voce as they walked away. "Probably not," Ravensford replied, before turning to greet the matchmaking mama of a girl just out of the schoolroom. "See you later," Sebastian said with a nod to the woman and a wink to his friend. He thought he heard Ravensford groan, but knew the Earl was too well-mannered to be so rude. With practised ease and a cool smile, Sebastian circulated through the room. He ignored the speculative glances sent his way. People had been discussing him since he was old enough to realise what they were doing, and probably long before that. There was no sign of his quarry. Guests milled around the enormous room, spilling out on to the balconies and into the gardens. An orchestra played a waltz and couples swirled and dipped to the music. Dowagers sat in huddles, discussing anyone and everything. Several men wandered into another room where cards were being played. Everyone was here, including many he did not know. Except the Smythe-Clydes. Irritation knitted Sebastian's brows together. He stepped out on to the balcony for some cool air and privacy. This was the opening ball of the Season. Surely Smythe-Clyde and his family would be here if they had been invited. Emily would be. A schoolgirl giggle wafted up from the walkway below him, and Sebastian took a step back towards the ballroom. "Have you seen the Duke?" a girl asked. "Oh, yes," another girl answered. "He looks so romantic. And dangerous." The first girl giggled again and lowered her voice. "He is. Have you heard that he had Juliet Smythe- Clyde in his house for three days and three nights? Although they are saying she went to. visit her old nanny." Another giggle. Her words stopped Sebastian. His fists clenched and he had to resist the urge to jump over the railing and put the chit in her place. The second girl lowered her voice too. "Oh, yes. Wouldn't you just love to be his captive?" The first girl spoke soberly. "Not if it ruined me as it has her. Mama said she and her family had been invited tonight, but when word of her disgrace got out the Duchess sent a note telling them they were no longer welcome." Sebastian had heard enough. If chits barely out of the schoolroom knew of the disaster, then it was all over town. Nor would he stay here and gratify the Duchess of Richmond by dancing with any of her eligible girls. Never before had he been made so aware of the double standards of his world. Juliet Smythe-Clyde was not welcome while he was courted, even though she was innocent and he was anything but. He entered the ballroom and scanned it for Ravens ford Catching the Earl's attention, he flicked his eyes towards the door. Ravensford nodded and began making his excuses. Sebastian located the Duchess of Richmond and made his way to her. As furious as he was with the woman, he would not be so crass as to leave without saying goodbye. He was many things, but no one had ever accused him of neglecting the social niceties. That was for Perth to do. He gave the Duchess a cool smile. "Thank you for your hospitality, but Ravensford and I must be on our way." She tutted at him. "Surely it is too early for the gaming hells, Braboume. Stay awhile and dance with some of the chits who have been fluttering around you." He froze her with a look. "I think not, your Grace. My morals are not up to your exacting standards." She blinked while his words sank in. Taking a step back, she returned his glare with one of her own. "They certainly are not, but you are a Duke, and an eligible one at that. You can be forgiven many faults." "As others cannot," he said softly, a hard edge underlying the words. Ravensford arrived just then and took in the situation. He put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and squeezed hard. Smiling at the Duchess, he said, "We must be on our way. Thank you for your hospitality." She smiled warmly at him and gave him her hand to kiss. Ravensford performed his duty with grace and the two men made their escape. Outside the evening air was like a cool caress after the stifling heat of the ballroom. Instead of entering the coach when it drove up, they opted to walk with the vehicle following behind. "What was that about?" Ravensford. asked, swinging his gold-tipped cane. Sebastian took a deep breath and wondered why he had lost his temper. Usually there was only one thing that made him see red. A slight to a girl he barely knew was not in the same league. He told Ravensford what had happened. The Earl whistled low. "So, it has already begun. But not surprising." "Everyone will follow the Duchess's lead." "And there is nothing you can do about it. Why should you?" Sebastian stopped. "I don't know. But for some benighted reason I feel like helping this girl." "Oh-ho," Ravensford said with a knowing look. "So that's the way it is." "Hardly," Sebastian said drily. "I admire the chit; I don't love her. Or even care that much about her. I just don't want her punished for trying to protect her father. Few enough of our acquaintances would do what she did. " "True. But what can you do about it?" Ravensford started walking again and Sebastian kept pace. "I can bring her into fashion." This time Ravensford stopped. "I hardly think so. That will only confirm in the old tabbies' minds that the rumour is correct." He gave Sebastian a piercing look. "The only way you can make her respectable is to marry her." "A little drastic, don't you think?" "Depends on how badly you want to make her respectable." "Not that badly," Sebastian said, signalling to the coach. "Take us to Pall Mall." Ravensford followed Sebastian into the vehicle. "I told you we would not be able to locate Perth." "But we shall enjoy ourselves trying." Sebastian lounged back into the leather squabs, determined to put the chit from his mind for the night. Chapter Five Juliet scratched absently at her shoulder before catching herself. The wound was healing nicely; she just tired easily. Right now, she had to plan the next week's menus. Papa's new wife had no interest in running the house and had done nothing while Juliet had been gone. Nor had anything been done during the past two weeks while Juliet had claimed illness and kept to her rooms, giving her wound more time to heal. No matter that the rumour was everywhere, she stuck to the story that she had been to visit her nurse. Much as she hated it, she owed Emily a thank- you. The other woman had not told Papa the truth, and Papa was so wrapped up in his experiments that he did not know of the rumours. Her brother Harry strode into the room and slammed the door behind himself, focusing her attention on him. She watched him with a fond, if puzzled look. He paced the morning room of their rented house, his red hair standing up in spikes on his head. A grin tugged at her mouth. Whenever he was agitated he ran his fingers through his hair until it resembled a hedgehog's back. He stopped abruptly and leaned on the desk so his face was close to hers. "Is it true?" Her fingers tightened on the pen she held until her knuckles turned white. The urge to look away from him was strong, but she was made of sterner stuff. Carefully, she laid the pen down and forced her fingers into a relaxed clasp. Until now he had not asked her, and she could not lie to him. "As far as it goes. Yes." He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "Why, Ju?" She told him about everything: the duel, her reason for going, and what had really happened during her stay. The only thing she left out was Emily's part in the mess. No one else needed to know that. Brabourne would never propose and she would never accept. She ended with, "I suppose I should feel shame for being in his house unchaperoned, but I don't.. Nothing happened." Or nothing of consequence, her always truthful conscience added. "No one was supposed to find out, but somehow a servant suspected and from there it spread." e He stood up and his mouth twisted. "Why didn't you come to me? I would have helped." She saw the anguish in his eyes and knew he would be a long time forgiving her. She swallowed. "Because I am the oldest. I am the one Mama entrusted Papa's care to. I had to do it for her." "I could have done it and there would have been no scandal." She nodded, her hands once more clenched. "True. But I could not stand to ask you to put your life in jeopardy." "But you could risk yours." Anger spotted his cheeks, making his freckles stand out like patches. There was no way she could make him understand. She rose and went around the desk and embraced him. He remained stiff in her arms. "I am sorry. Harry. I am so sorry. But I could not. I just could not ask you to face a man. who would have had no qualms about killing you. You mean too much to me. " He moved away from her. "Why didn't you let Papa face Braboume? Papa is the one who made the challenge." She sighed and stepped away from him. He was still too upset to want closeness. "I told you. I had to protect Papa. To take care of him. I promised Mama on her deathbed." Harry shook his head, some of the colour leaving his face. "You cannot always be taking care of him--or everyone else, for that matter. Some day you won't be here, and then what will happen?" At her stricken look, he hurried on. "Don't look like that, Ju. Some day you will marry and leave. That's only natural. All women do it. Then Papa will have to care for himself." A choked laugh escaped her tight throat. "I will never marry now. Papa's new wife may throw me out, but no man will take me in. " His face flamed anew as he remembered the original reason he had come to see her. "Dash it all, Ju. That ain't true. There is George at home. He loves you and will marry you no matter what." A sad smile tugged at her lips, and she turned away so he would not see the emotion. "Dear George. I would never disgrace him by accepting his proposal. Not now." "Don't be a goose," he said roundly. "This is not the end of the world. All the ton may go to Hades. We don't need them." His voice picked up. "I have it. Let's go to Vauxhall tonight. We will forget all of this and enjoy ourselves. Just the two of us. There will be fireworks," he cajoled. She looked back at him. He had the mischievious, let's-have-fun look that had always lured her into trouble. Gone was the hangdog expression he had entered the room wearing. This was her younger brother, the boy she had also promised to look after and protect. Mama had known Papa was incapable of anything but his hunting and experimenting. She caught his hand and squeezed it. "What time should we leave?" A grin split his face. "Half past eight." On a much happier note, he left to prepare for their night of revelry. Juliet stayed behind and tried to finish the week's menu, but it was hard. George's face kept coming between her and the paper. Good, kind George, who wanted to marry her. She had turned him down just before coming to London, and he had told her he would wait. She cared a great deal for him, liked him immensely, and had considered accepting him when she returned home. He would care for her and any children they might have for the rest of his life. That was a gift any woman should be glad to have. Another visage forced its way to her attention. Hard angles and unyielding eyes made her pulse jump. Braboume. She gave up. The menus could wait. She rose and headed outside. The house had a small garden with a white iron bench sitting under a large elm tree. It was her favourite spot here in London. Perhaps some time spent there would ease the turmoil that threatened to tear her chest apart. Life had been so simple before. It should be as uncomplicated now. Somehow it was not. * * * Juliet waited for Harry in the hall, dressed in a simple white muslin gown with green ribbons, her hair piled on her head and more green ribbon threaded through its curls. When she heard his tread on the marble floor she turned to him with a smile-and had to suppress a gasp. He was in the same coat she had worn to meet Braboume. Visions of that horrible night threatened to close her throat. "You look very fetching," her brother said. His unexpected compliment erased her tension. As her younger brother, she did not expect him even to notice her clothes. "What is the matter. Harry? Do you have a fever?" He grinned. "Thought I'd start us out on the right note. Tommy says all girls like to be told they look nice." She chuckled. "Coming the pretty with me? And where is the redoubtable Tommy? I am surprised he is not coming with us." He gave her a sheepish grin. "He is to meet us there. He knows his way around," he finished in a rush. "That is why I asked him." "I should have known Tommy would not be far from us tonight." She felt a twinge of disappointment that she and Harry would not be enjoying their adventure alone, but she put it aside. Young men did not like being saddled with sisters. She was fortunate to have been asked at all. He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, it was his suggestion. Thought it would show everyone that we can't be cowed." "I should have known. He has been on the Town longer than you," she murmured, leading the way to the carriage. The ride was long and boring, but when they pulled up and Juliet stepped out, a look of awe struck wonder radiated from her face. "It is like a fairyland. There must be hundreds and hundreds of lamps." "Actually," a deep voice drawled, 'there are thousands. " She whirled around. The Duke of Braboume, in impeccable evening wear, lounged against one of the entry pillars. "What are you doing here?" she said, before realising it was none of her business. He pushed away from the pillar and moved towards her. The delight of seconds before was supplanted by an edginess that increased with each step closer he took. He made her feel so vulnerable. She angled back and bumped into Harry. Harry glared at the Duke. "He is here to cause trouble, no doubt. Why else would one of his reputation frequent a pleasure garden?" Braboume raked the youth with a frigid stare. "We meet again, puppy, and your manners are no better." Harry's chest puffed up and his eyes narrowed. Juliet recognised the danger signs and stepped between the two males. "Enough," she said, putting a hand on Harry to stay his forward momentum. "Surely Vauxhall is big enough for all of us." "London isn't big--' " Stop it. Now, Harry," Juliet whispered, 'if you create a scene, then everyone will think the rumour confirmed. What then? Have you thought of that? Will you challenge Braboume to a duel to defend my smirched honour? That would only make a bad situation worse." "She is right, puppy," the Duke said. She rounded on him. "And what are you trying to do? Make matters worse. I am trying to reason with him and you put your oar into the waters." Braboume smiled, the emotion reaching his eyes. "A firebrand to go with the hair." For long seconds Juliet stood, transfixed by the change in the Duke's countenance. No longer was he the cold, sardonic man who had duelled her and then kept her in his home. This was the man who had comforted her as she lay racked by fever, the man she had thought only a figment of her imagination. The realisation was unsettling. "I'm warning you," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Miss Smythe-Clyde. Harry." Tommy's light tenor cut through the animosity. "Thought I saw you arrive." Tommy Montmart rushed over, his gaze darting to the Duke and back to the brother and sister. He stopped between them and Braboume. Tommy was a slight youth with sandy hair and hazel eyes. His chin was more prominent than necessary and his nose was not large enough to balance it. While he was not good-looking, he was friendly and helpful. You could not keep from liking him. "We must be going, your Grace," Juliet said breathlessly, taking each youth by the arm and propelling them down the first lane they came to. They had not gone ten steps before Harry shook himself free. T can walk by myself. " She eyed him. "Then do so. Away from the Duke." "She is right, you know, old chum," Tommy said. "Won't do to start a fight with Braboume. He's a prime one with his fists. Cause another scandal too. The only chance you have of weathering this one is to act as though it is all a farce." Harry answered with a grunt. Juliet listened to them, but her focus was on the Duke. Why had he come up to them? Was he trying to ruin her completely? Even now, the back of her neck tingled as though someone were watching her. Only one person had ever had that effect on her. She wrapped her paisley shawl tighter around her shoulders and forced herself to look at the sights. Vauxhall was indeed a marvel. An orchestra played while people danced. Snatched pieces of passing conversations mentioned singing to come. Tommy and Harry talked about going to the Cascade first, a spectacle that even she, cloistered in the country, had heard of. "Miss Smythe-Clyde." Tommy halted and motioned Juliet to look to the right. "It is Prinny himself." The Prince Regent stood in the middle of a gathering comprising both men and women. Laughter came from the group like music from a flock of gaily feathered birds. They were the elite of English society. Sudden quiet came over them as Braboume raised his glass to the prince. Everyone toasted and the laughter began anew. Juliet turned away. "He comes here all the time," Tommy said. "Braboume?" Juliet said before thinking. Both Tommy and Harry frowned at her. "No," Tommy said. "The Prince." Juliet turned quickly from their probing looks. She was behaving like a schoolgirl. A bell chimed and Tommy said, "We must hurry. They are about to unveil the Cascade." Catching their excitement, Juliet hurried after the two young men. All about them others did the same. They arrived in time to get a good position. The curtain was drawn aside to show a landscape scene illuminated by lights. A miller's house and waterfall were near the front. The 'water', or so it I seemed to be to Juliet, flowed into a mill and turned the wheel. "Papa would love to see this," she said to Harry. "I wonder how it is done?" When he did not answer, she turned and realised he was not beside her. The crowd had separated them. A man, his complexion florid and his waist ample, grinned at her. She looked away, searching for her brother. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jolted. It was the man. "Here by yourself?" He leered down at her. Shivers of apprehension coursed her spine. She yanked away. "No. My brother is near." He moved closer, his gaze taking in her figure. She edged back, bumping into someone else. Instead of being thrilled by the exhibition, she was fast becoming scared. There were so many people, many of whom were becoming rowdy, and she doubted any would provide help. And Harry had disappeared. The man reached for her again, but Juliet slipped between a group of people and headed back the way she had come. She glanced behind and saw the man trying to follow. Unlike before, when the lights had delighted her and made her think of magic, they now seemed glaring. She turned left down a small lane with no lights. With luck she would be able to hide. She twisted around another corner and skidded to a halt. A group of young bucks strolled towards her, singing a ribald song. She looked back to see the man. The singing stopped. "Ah, what have we here?" one of the new arrivals said, moving in front of her. A second one edged to one side of her. "A pretty little maid out for a walk." The third flanked her. "An adventurous little maid. And we can provide her with any thrill she seeks in the Lovers' Walk. Can't we, boys?" "Yes," they chorused, closing the circle. Juliet's chest pounded and the roaring in her ears almost drowned out the voices. This was worse than anything. Worse than meeting the Duke. At least that had been honourable. What these men intended to do to her was anything but. She swallowed hard past the tightness in her throat. "Let me pass. I am not what you think." She was thankful her voice did not shake. It was not as strong as she would have liked, but surely it would do. They laughed. "I think not," the first one said, moving close enough to run a finger down her cheek. She knocked his hand away. "Do not touch me." The other two smirked. "I don't think she is interested in you, Peter," the one on her left said. He reached for her. Juliet jumped away, only to be caught from behind. Two strong arms held her immobile as the others advanced on her. Fear ate at her. She had forgotten the man who had originally followed her. She twisted her head to look for him, only to see him gone. He must have left when these three arrived. Her jaw was caught in a vice-like grip that forced her to look back. "Be nice to us," the one gripping her chin said, 'and we might even pay you. " He released her and she slapped him. The blow landed full on his cheek. He growled and swung his arm back. Juliet was incensed beyond reason now. It no longer mattered that her knees shook so badly she was not sure she could stand up on hfr own. Nor would it do her any good to talk to these louts. She would fight them tooth and nail. As his arm came forward, she stared defiantly at him. His fist was a foot away from her face when she kicked him hard on the shin. His arm dropped and he howled. The one holding her from behind snickered. Using the surprise her action had gained her, she swung the same leg back and raked her heel down her captor's instep. He gasped and his hold on her relaxed. She twisted away from him and lunged forward, flinching as her injured shoulder made itself known. The third buck caught her around the waist in a breath-snatching grip- So close. She almost moaned aloud. The looks on the faces of the other two told her louder than words that she would not get another chance to escape. Nor would they treat her lightly now. Instead of drunkards looking for fun, they now looked for revenge. She gulped. "I believe you have the wrong lady," a bored voice drawled. Braboume. Juliet sagged in relief. In the heat of the melee none of them had noticed his approach. He came closer and, by the light of the stars and the full moon she could just make out his features. No emotion showed on his face, but there was a tension in the lithe grace of his movements that boded no good for her assailants. By his side he held a stylish black ebony cane, chased with silver that glinted like fire. The one named Peter said, "Go on with you. She was walking in here unchaperoned. We know the type of doxy who does that, and we intend to give her exactly what she is searching for." Braboume moved closer. "I advise you to let her go." "You don't scare us," the one still holding Juliet said. "We're three to your one. Those are the kind of odds we like." "I imagine you do," Braboume said with a sneer on his well-formed lips. "Too bad you don't have intelligence to go with your brawn." Juliet had remained quiet because she was astounded at the Duke's appearance. Also, the cowardly part of her hoped he could rescue her or that they would let her go because he demanded it. Everyone else jumped to his bidding. In one smooth, swift motion, the Duke pulled on his cane, revealing a rapier-thin blade that had been hidden in the outside case of fine black wood. Juliet felt her captor's sharp intake of breath. The three scoundrels had not expected this. Braboume's cold smile widened. "I never go into dark lanes unprepared--no matter where they are. Particularly not here. It's a pity, but Vauxhall has a reputation for riffraff such as yourselves." He took a step closer. "Release her." Still they held their ground. A gleam of anticipation entered the Duke's intense blue eyes. "It has been a very dreary day. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to spit you. And I would advise you not to make the mistake of thinking I won't." Juliet began to tremble anew. The sense of nerves drawn taut was great enough to make her reckless. "Oh, please, Braboume, spit them and be done with it." His gaze flicked to her and he saluted her with his blade, an admiring gesture even as his eyes filled with mirth. "You are as bloodthirsty tonight, my dear, as ever. Does the trait run in your family?" "Braboume," one of the three said. "The Duke?" "Yes," Juliet said. "And he would as soon kill you as look at you. He has already killed in a duel. He could take care of you and never be penalised." Braboume laughed aloud. "She is right. The Prince will not even blink an eyelid at my dispatching filth who prey on innocent women." With a flick of his wrist, he marked the hand of the man holding Juliet. She was released with a push that sent her towards the Duke. He sidestepped just in time to keep her from being impaled on the point of his sword. "That was not well done," Sebastian growled. Before anyone knew what he was about, he moved in and flicked the cheek of the man who had held and then pushed Juliet. "You will wear that mark for life to remind you of this night and your cowardly folly." The man just stood and stared while his fellows fled into the dark. "I won't forget this. " Braboume looked him up and down, contempt clear in his eyes. "I don't intend you to." Juliet held her breath, expecting the man to rush Braboume. Instead he turned and seemed to melt into the darkness. Juliet, all the strength gone from her body, sank on to the pebble path. Her body shook everywhere and her shoulder throbbed from all the handling she had received. Braboume squatted down, still holding his sword at the ready. "Are you able to walk? We had best get back to the lights." She giggled, unable to stop the release of fear. "I... yes, just a minute." She took a deep breath. He stood and reached a hand down for her. She took it and he pulled her up. She stumbled and fell against his chest, fortunate that it was the side where the sword was not. He caught her round the waist and held her up. "Steady. I cannot hold you and be prepared should they return." She nodded, biting her lower lip. "I am not usually this giddy." "I know." He released her and she managed to remain standing. "Stay on my left, away from the sword, and start walking. Quickly." She did as he directed. Within minutes they were in the lit area again. People mingled around them, a few glancing at the sword. Braboume quickly sheathed it. "Come. Something to drink and eat will help restore your spirits." He took her gently by the elbow and steered her back to the private supper boxes. Juliet went without thinking of her reputation and how his escort must look to anyone who saw them. She was just grateful to be safe. "Thank you. You saved me from..." she giggled again '. A fate worse than death. " She could not stop giggling. He shook his head. "You did not act like this when I shot you." She gasped for breath. "I know. But then I anticipated the fact that I might be hurt. It never occurred to me that anyone here would accost me and... and threaten my..." "I understand," he murmured, his tone almost sympathetic. "Obviously your brother and his friend failed to prepare you. Vauxhall can be entertaining, perhaps even magical, your first time here, but it is also frequented by scoundrels and thieves. You should not have been left alone," he ended on a harder note. She bristled at his implied criticism of Harry. "It was an accident. We were at the Cascade and there were so many people. The next thing I knew. Harry was gone. It was my fault for not paying better attention. " "As you wish. But next time hold on to your escort." "Braboume." A female voice intruded on their argument. "Braboume, I have been looking all over for you. Where have you been, you naughty boy?" She was a voluptuous woman with hair so dark it blended in with the night. A disgusted look passed over his face, quickly replaced by cool dispassion. "Ah, Lady Castlerock. What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were still with Prinny." "Of course I am. He sent me to find you, saying it is always entertaining when you are around." She dimpled at him. He gave her a thin smile. "May I introduce you to Miss Smythe-Clyde? She has done me the honour of walking the promenade with me. " Juliet smiled at the other woman. Shocked recognition widened the other woman's eyes and pinched her mouth. "I will see you later, Braboume." Then, without a word, she turned her back to Juliet and walked away. The cut was direct. Mortification held Juliet motionless. Fury kept her from crying. "Mary Castlerock has been rude from the first day I met her, and that was while she was still in the schoolroom," Braboume observed. "She is no better today." His words gave Juliet time to pull herself together. The other woman's action was not unexpected. The ton had declared Juliet unacceptable and Lady Castlerock was definitely ton. It was Juliet's fault for forgetting that she should never have been seen in public--or private--with Braboume. Still, the woman's reaction had been extreme, and Juliet was determined that she would not succumb like a whipped puppy. But it would do her no good to stay longer in the Duke's company. She jutted her chin and squared her shoulders, ignoring the ache that radiated from her wound. She dropped the Duke a curtsy, saying, "Thank you so much for your help. Without you, I would have been sorely hurt. But I am able to find my brother on my own. " One eyebrow raised, he said, "Are you going to let her treatment of you change what you intend to do? I never thought it of you." Goaded beyond polite manners, she said, "That is easy for you to say. You are no better than you should be, yet no one snubs you. No one ostracises your family for your actions. Well, your Grace, I have neither your rank nor your fortune to protect me and mine from people like Lady Castlerock. " A lone tear of suppressed hurt slid down her cheek. The tic at his right eye started. "Here, take this." He thrust his hand at her and she recognised a handkerchief. "I don't need that." "Take it anyway." He grabbed her hand, pried open her fingers and stuffed the fine linen in her palm. In a very unladylike way, she blew her nose. The ghost of a smile curved his mouth. She saw it and blushed. "I am not very good at being dainty." "You are very good just the way you are." Her blush deepened. "I shall have this laundered and returned to you." "Discreetly, I hope." She searched his face to see if he joked. There was a hint of something in his eyes that made her think he might. "Most discreetly." She tucked the material into her reticule which, by some miracle, still hung around her wrist. Her paisley shawl was somewhere back on the dark Lovers' Lane, and she had no intention of searching for it. Once again he took her arm. "Shall we try this again?" She sighed wearily. "I am not as good at flaunting convention as you. I think it for the best if I try to find Harry on my own. " "So, this is where you are hiding out, Braboume." A booming male voice made Juliet jump. "Lady Castlerock said she had found you, but that you were occupied." A florid, yet handsome man who carried too much weight headed their way. She wondered if the Duke was chased everywhere he went. It certainly seemed that way. "Sir," Braboume said. Juliet closed her eyes. This was too much. First Lady Castlerock had cut her, and now the Prince Regent would do so. She sank into a hurried and graceless curtsy, head bowed as much to hide her dismay as to pay respect. "And who is this lovely young morsel?" the Prince asked. "May I present Miss Smythe-Clyde, sir." Juliet stayed down, waiting, hoping the Prince would not snub her. "Ahh," he said in a knowing voice. His tone turned devilish. "I am delighted to meet Miss Smythe-Clyde. Please rise, my dear. I won't bite-at least, not yet." Juliet could not believe her ears. The Prince was talking to her--flirting with her? But she had heard he had a weakness for women, preferably ones old enough to be his mother. She rose. "Your Highness." "I see why your name is linked with hers, my friend. A very rare prettiness and not at all your normal prey." Braboume's face betrayed nothing, but Juliet was finding it easier to read him. The straightness in his shoulders and the grip on his cane told her he was not pleased with the Prince's words. Fireworks started going off, momentarily catching the Prince's attention. "I must be leaving you two. You must come to Carlton House next week. Miss Smythe-Clyde. I am having a small dinner party." Without waiting for a response, the Prince left to rejoin his group. Juliet gaped at his back. "I cannot go to Carlton House alone. What would people say?" "Nothing they aren't already saying," he said sardonically. "But you are right. You will need an escort." She nervously twisted a curl that had come loose from the knot on her head, very aware of his attention bent on her. He took her hand in his and pulled it from the hair. He gently tucked the strand behind her ear. "That will have to do," he murmured, his voice husky. "I am not a lady's maid." She could not make herself break the rapport between them. There was something magical about the way he watched her. She felt light-headed. Giddy. Ready to twirl around. "Ju! Where in blazes have you been?" Harry said, rushing up to her and grabbing her arm. The moment was broken and Juliet felt as though a bubble of delight had been punctured. Everything was mundane once more. Sighing silently, she angled away from Bra- boume. "I have been looking for you. Harry. Somehow we became separated at the Cascade." "I know that. You need to be more careful in a place like this. It may be frequented by all the swells, but there is riffraff, too. Ain't safe for a girl alone." He puffed like a gamecock protecting a solitary hen. "I am well acquainted with the hazards here," she said drily. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Braboume. He looked at her, and she knew he caught her understatement. "You are." Harry let her go and for the first time noticed the Duke. He glared at Braboume. "Has he been bothering you? For I won't have it." Juliet cut off an exasperated retort. "No. He was merely keeping me company until you arrived." Braboume made an abbreviated leg. "I think. Miss Smythe-Clyde, that we have found your escort to Carlton House." She started, for it had never occurred to her that her brother might come. "But what will the Prince say?" "I will explain to him." Tommy rushed up just as the Duke moved away. "Thank you again," Juliet said softly, hoping Braboume heard her. He looked over his shoulder and she knew he had. "What is this all about?" Harry demanded. "Been cosying up to Braboume?" Tommy said. "Not good. Not good at all. Miss Smythe-Clyde, if I may be so bold as to say. " Juliet shook her head, finding that she was shorter on patience than usual. Normally she could let Harry and Tommy ramble on and rant and rave without any bother. Tonight she was suddenly tired. As e calmly as possible, she told both young men about the meeting with Prinny and the invitation. Tommy's eyes popped. "Invited to dinner with the Prince Regent? That is an honour. You must go. No doubt about it. Can't refuse. Isn't done." "Exactly," Juliet stated firmly. She took Harry's arm and steered him towards the entrance. "I am tired and would like to go home. I am still not totally recovered." * "But we have not eaten yet," Harry complained. "The ham is famous throughout England." "Thin enough to read through," Tommy added. Juliet managed to smile at them. "I know-Harry, you get the coach to take me home. I shall send it back for both of you." The two youths gave each other long-suffering looks. Harry said, "I shall go with you, Ju. Ain't proper for a young lady to go alone;' She suppressed a tiny smile. They were so like schoolboys. "No, you shan't. Harry. I am old enough to take care of myself. Why, I am a spinster. No one will think twice about my going by myself--and no one need even know." The two boys exchanged another look, relief replacing the former resignation. "Capital idea," Harry said. They chatted on, while Juliet stood silent waiting for the carriage. The last thing she had expected tonight was to meet Braboume. And to have him res cue her and then introduce her to the Prince--that was the stuff of any young woman's dreams. But it left her uncomfortable. One dinner at Carlton House would not restore her good name. It would only give more people more opportunities to snub her. Also, it would put her near Braboume, something else she did not need. She was already too susceptible to him for her own good. She would have to feign illness the night of the dinner. The tightness in her stomach eased as she thought of this excuse. She absolutely could not go. Chapter Six qtqtsq What is the meaning of this? " Emily demanded, storming into Juliet's bedchamber. Juliet looked up from her lending-library novel to see a cream vellum sheet clenched in her stepmother's fingers. "Whatever are you talking about?" "This!" Emily thrust the sheet up to Juliet's face. Juliet drew back to be able to focus. The Prince of Wales crest jumped out at her. Reading quickly, she realised this was the invitation to Carlton House. Only Harry and she were invited. Juliet opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing she could say. "How do you know his Royal Highness?" Emily hovered over Juliet. "Um..." Juliet rose and twisted around the other woman. "Now that I can breathe again." "Don't be smart with me. Answer my question." Juliet moved to the fireplace to give herself some time. Carefully she laid the book on the mantel and arranged it so that the spine met and ran along the marble edge. She turned to face Emily. "I met him at Vauxhall. A mutual acquaintance introduced us." She waved her hand as though to dismiss the acquaintance. "The Prince seemed to like me and asked me to dinner at Carlton House. I needed a chaperon so he added Harry." Emily glared, her blue eyes flashing. "A mutual acquaintance. I don't believe it. Nor can Harry chaperon you. I am the person to do that. I will go in Harry's place." Juliet clamped her mouth shut on words better left unsaid. Harry would like going to Carlton House for all of five minutes. Then the social posturing would make him restless, while the rich foods she had heard the Prince served would not be to her brother's liking--Harry was a beefsteak eater. "You are right, Stepmama. You will make a much better chaperon. I am sure Harry won't mind." The other woman flounced to the door. One hand on the knob, she said, "It does not matter what Harry minds. I am going. If you wish to argue this, you may do so with your father." Juliet flinched. Emily had Papa obedient to her slightest wish. Everyone in the household knew that, and no one crossed her because of it. Thinking of Papa made her want to see him. She glanced at the small silver mantel clock. It was two in the afternoon. He was probably in the cellar, which he had made into a temporary laboratory for his experiments. Only his new wife's importuning had brought him to London in the first place. She grabbed a shawl to ward off the damp cold that was always present in the underground room. She did not know how Papa could stay there all day and not catch an inflammation of the lungs, but he did. Minutes later, she pushed open the heavy oak door and peeked around the corner. "Papa?" "Come in, come in," his distracted voice said. She slid quietly into the room. Papa was in the middle of something, and he hated to be disturbed when he was concentrating. His work table was littered with papers and scientific instruments. He fiddled with something that looked like a. stack of metal plates. An arc of light that Papa said was electricity shot out. He jumped back, a huge grin on his face. "That is more like it," he said proudly. Dusting his hands off on a leather apron he wore tied around his ample waist, he looked over at Juliet. "What brings you here, miss? Come to see my latest work?" She always found his hobby fascinating, but never understood what he told her. "Yes, please." "Come over here, then." His square spectacles perched precariously on the end of his bulbous nose. "This is a Voltaic pile, the first electrical battery. I am trying to make a smaller and more powerful one." She nodded, understanding that much. But when he launched into the scientific jargon and started pulling out all sorts of machines and pieces of metal, she was lost. Still, she continued to nod and say, job, yes. " After a while, he ran down. Peering at her over his spectacles, he asked, "What is the real reason you came down?" "To see you," she said, meaning every word. "It has been days since you have come to dinner or been at breakfast." He puttered with his instruments in a futile attempt to clean his table. "I am so close. I hate to take time away even to eat. But, bless her heart, Emily has food sent down to me. I don't know what I ever did without her." A besotted look eased the line between his grey brows. Juliet nearly groaned. She was the one who ordered the trays prepared. Emily took advantage of the opportunity and came down with the servant when the food was delivered, thus making it appear to be her idea. Still, seeing Papa's happiness, she did not tell him the truth. It would hurt him to think his new bride did not take care of his comforts. "Shall I send one of the maids to dust and pick things up?" His gaze sharpened. "Absolutely not. She would misplace everything and break my most important equipment." That was his standard answer. Later, when he was out for his daily ride, Juliet would come back and straighten everything. She had done so since she was a small child, and he had never realised. She was very careful to put everything back where he had it, but she managed to dust and pick up any broken pieces. "While you are here, what's this I hear about your being invited to Carlton House? The Prince runs with a rakish lot and I am not sure I want you moving in that crowd. Braboume is one of his special cronies." He took her by surprise. Normally he did not involve himself in her whereabouts. It was obvious from his question that he was unaware she was already ostracised by most of their peers. "Everything will be fine. Papa. Stepmama has agreed to chaperon me. Surely you cannot think anything improper will happen with her there to guide me? " "Ah, yes." He patted her hand, his thoughts already drifting back to his experiments as his gaze shifted back to the Voltaic pile. "That will be perfect. I shall have more time to myself for my work." Juliet slipped away. Papa having forgotten she was in the room. Sadness at his lack of interest in her flitted through her mind, to be pushed aside. Papa had always been like this and always would be. She had to accept that he was the one who needed care. Still, a little voice insisted, it would be nice if once in a while he would talk to her about what she was doing. The night of the Carlton House dinner was upon Juliet before she realised it. She wore a simple pink gown caught under the bust by silver ribbons. A matching cluster of roses and ribbon nestled in her hair. Pearls gleamed around her slender throat and dropped like tears from her earlobes. Long white gloves completed her toilette. Her maid--Mrs. Burroughs having returned to the Duke's house--handed her a silver gauze shawl. It would be no protection from the weather, but it was a charming addition. Juliet smiled her thanks and left to meet Emily in the hall. Her stepmother was more than half an hour late, time Juliet occupied by fetching a book from the library and reading. The other woman was ravishing, her child-like figure shown to advantage by a daringly risque dress of royal blue silk. There was no ornamentation. She needed none because of the multi-strand diamond and sapphire necklace draping her neck. It was worth a sultan's ransom. Matching earrings dripped from her ears. Her wrists were coated in bracelets, each one enough for many families to live on comfortably their entire lives. Even with the lavish jewels, there was an innocence about her that Juliet knew to be false. "Here you are, Juliet," Emily said, as though Juliet were the one who had been late. "We must hurry. I am sure this will be a sad crush." Juliet nearly rolled her eyes. The woman was desperate to go, yet acting as though it were a hardship. They entered the carriage and travelled in silence. Upon arriving, they were ushered into one of the most ornate and cluttered residences in the world. Everywhere were candles and chandeliers. Nooks and crannies held priceless art. Gilt covered anything that did not move. The brilliance was mesmerising. Juliet had heard many descriptions of Carlton House, but they had not prepared her for the reality. She stopped and blinked. The footman paused as well, as though he was used to guests being overwhelmed. Emily continued on through the entry and into the drawing room, not bothering to see if Juliet followed. People continued to arrive, some glancing at Juliet as they walked by. Many ignored her in their haste to reach the activities. "You must be blase," a too familiar voice said softly. Although Prinny will be thrilled with your reaction. He likes nothing more than to know he has impressed someone. " She turned to him, noting the elegance which did nothing to blunt his masculinity. "Were you impressed your first time?" She knew he had not been, but it was conversation, and her tongue was otherwise tied and her mind blank of anything but his presence. Reacting to him on an instinctual level was the worst thing she could do for her own emotional safety. She knew that. It did not matter. He made her pulse jump. "Ah, but I watched him redesign everything. I knew beforehand what it would look like finished. Familiarity breeds... shall we say, less excitement?" "Of course." "May I escort you in?" He extended his arm. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch him. She resisted, ignoring her thumping heart. "Thank you, but I don't think that would be wise." "Usually the best way to combat rumour is to flaunt it." She shook her head. "I am not so brave as you." His arm dropped, but his gaze stayed on her as though he were searching for something he could not quite find. "I know better than that." "You flatter me," she managed to utter around the breathlessness his scrutiny created. "Where is your brother? Since you will not have me, you should stay with him until you have been presented to the Prince and introduced to several people." A wry smile curled her lips. "My stepmother is my chaperon tonight, and she was in too much of a hurry to wait while I gaped." His face lost all expression. "I see. Wait here and I will send someone back for you." She bristled. "I am perfectly able to fend for myself." "Yes, you are. But trust me in this. It will be better if someone takes you in. More proper. Less flaunting of convention." She frowned and he added, "Or you can reconsider and accept me." She accepted defeat as graciously as her competitive nature would allow. "I will wait here." "A pity, but not surprising." With a slight dip of his head, he sauntered off. Juliet occupied herself studying each piece of art individually, the footman still hovering nearby. "There you are. Miss Smythe-Clyde," a booming voice said. She turned and instantly sank into a deep curtsy. "Your Royal Highness." "No, no," he said, reaching a hand down for her. "I don't stand on such formality. Ask anyone." "Such as the Duke of Braboume?" she asked, accepting his help up. The Prince Regent beamed at her. "He did mention that your chaperon had gone on without you because you took too long admiring my handiwork." Trust Braboume to take the truth and twist it into something infinitely palatable. "I have never seen anything nearly as impressive. Your Highness." He tucked her hand into his arm. "You should see my pavilion in Brighton. In fact, I insist that you visit me there." Things were going much too fast. Juliet felt caught in an undertow of dangerous currents. "Thank you. Your Highness. You are far too generous." "Nothing of the kind." He patted her hand and led her back the way he had come. The strains of music reached them long before they entered the room where the orchestra played. The wittiest, most glamourous and hard-living of London Society filled the vast area. Lord Holland, Lord Alvanley, and Lady Jersey to name only a few. Everyone looked their way. Juliet wanted to sink into the floor. Braboume sauntered up to them and, in a move unsurpassed for audacity, asked, "Sir, please be so kind as to introduce me to your companion." It took everything Juliet had not to laugh out loud at his boldness. Some of her tension drained away. "And if I do," the Prince said, a gleam of mirth in his eyes, 'you must promise not to steal a march on me, Braboume. For I know your reputation with the fairer sex. " Braboume put a hand over his heart and looked pained. "Sir, you misjudge me." "Not you, but you plead so nicely that I find my self weakening." The prince took Juliet's hand from the crook of his elbow and extended it to the Duke. "Miss Smythe-Clyde, may I recommend the Duke of Braboume to you?" Juliet made a short curtsy. "Your Grace." He bowed over her hand, raising it for his kiss. His eyes held hers as his lips touched her skin. Chills, followed by heat, followed by shivers raced up Juliet's arm. "Your servant." He released her and she snatched her hand back to safety. Her face felt hot with embarrassment at the marked attentions the men paid her. Never had she been the centre of any group of males, and never had she thought in her wildest dreams to be the focus of two of the most sought-after men in England. Some women would have found the experience heady. Juliet found it nerve-racking and wished it over. But she could not leave the Prince's presence without first being dismissed by him, and he and Braboume were having too much fun bantering for Prinny to remember to release her. For the first time since she had met Braboume, he looked as though he were enjoying himself. Despite all the Prince's faults--and Juliet thought they were many--Braboume seemed to like the man. The bon mots flew between them. Some referred to people and places Juliet could not place, but the men knew exactly what each was saying. The music stopped, and one of the women who had been dancing left her partner. "Your Highness," she said, interrupting the talk, 'we have a bet. Maria Sefton says there are one hundred candles in your chandelier. I say there are three. We need you to tell us who has won. " He laughed in pleasure. "Lady Jersey, you are always entertaining. But before I come with you I want to present you to my latest guest. Lady Jersey, may I introduce Miss Smythe-Clyde?" Sally Jersey smiled, albeit a small one. "How do you do? I have heard much of you." The Prince frowned. "I think the young lady should come to Almack's. Don't you. Lady Jersey? " She looked at her Prince, then at Braboume. In a flat tone she said, "I shall send the vouchers round tomorrow." Prinny broke into a smile. "Very good of you, Sally." She ignored Juliet. "Now, will you come and tell us who wins the bet. Your Highness? " He caught her hand. "I am yours to command. Until later. Miss Smythe-Clyde. Braboume." "Your Highness," Juliet said. At the same time Braboume said, "Sir." Juliet started to sink into another curtsy, but the Duke's hand under her elbow stopped her. "Not now," he said softly. "He is very informal at these gatherings. You would look gauche. Not at all the thing, and after he has tried so hard to bring you into fashion." "Is that what he was doing?" He angled a questioning look at her. "What did you think he was doing?" She shook her head. "I did not know. I am not used to this kind of attention." "We shall have to fill that void," he said, propelling her towards a mixed group. Ravensford and Perth were the only two she recognised. Braboume introduced her to them as though she had never met them. Ravensford welcomed her with a teasing smile. Perth gave her an ironic nod. Everyone else in the circle was coolly civil, their gazes going from her to the Duke. She knew they would talk about this later. Much as Braboume had tried to maneouvre, it was not working. One lady asked, "Are you here- alone. Miss Smythe-Clyde?" The barely disguised disapproval made Juliet raise her head defiantly. "No, my stepmother is here." "Really?" another woman said. Juliet was beginning to feel like a mouse being toyed with--not a pleasant feeling. "Here you are, you naughty child," Lady Smythe- Clyde said, gliding into the group and stopping between Juliet and Braboume. "I saw you with the Prince, but then lost you." She gave the assemblage a brilliant smile. The two women who had been quizzing Juliet made their excuses. None of the men did. Juliet watched as her stepmother proceeded to charm the males. Much to her dismay, Braboume made his adieux shortly. She felt bereft, not a good emotion to have because the Duke had left. Without any trouble, she faded away herself, finding a secluded area and being thankful for it. She did not belong here. Even if her name was on the tongue of every rumour monger in London, she was still not up to snuff enough for this collection of the ton's most rakish and wild habitues. Several women, lavishly clothed and jewelled, strolled by. Their eyes met Juliet's and then slid past. Words drifted behind them. "Braboume is a devil. The nerve of him to bring his unmarried mistress here. It is just not done." The second woman sniffed. "Flaunting, more like. And she nothing out of the ordinary, with that carrot-red hair and all those ugly freckles." They were quickly past, but Juliet imagined that their conversation continued. She bit her lip on the pain that flared to anger. The hypocrites. She might be naive, but she had heard the envy in the women's voices. It was not done for an honourable man to take an unmarried woman as his mistress, but either of them could have filled the position as long as both parties were discreet. And she was not even the Duke's chere amie. Her stomach churned at the unfairness of it. Her feelings felt raw. She would find the Prince and beg his leave to depart before dinner. Food was the last thing she needed if she was to keep from being sick with overwrought emotion. Sebastian watched Juliet from an alcove. She looked distraught. When she started walking purposefully in the direction where Prinny held court, he began to worry. "No sense in following her," Perth's pragmatic voice said. Sebastian glanced at his friend. The candlelight flickered on the other man's face, shading the side with no scar and highlighting the one with the imperfection. The slash gave Perth a hard edge that was echoed in the man himself. "Don't be a hypocrite," Sebastian said. "If the roles were reversed, you would pursue." A slow grin eased some of the tightness from Perth's mouth. "I would never have got into this mess to begin with. And never with a virgin." "Touche," Sebastian muttered. "I must have been out of my head ever to let her into my house." "You were unwilling to take the chance that she would die and make it necessary for you to flee to the Continent." "Oh, yes," Sebastian muttered ironically. "Now I remember the story of it. Remind me in future to have all my duelling opponents checked for their sex before I fight them." Perth chuckled. Juliet reached the Prince, who took one of her hands and drew her into the group surrounding him. She flushed, then paled, but stood her ground bravely. "She's a game one," Perth said. "But if I were you I'd leave her alone for the rest of the night. It does neither of you any good for you to seem to pursue her." "You are right, as usual," Sebastian said, his attention not wavering. "You had best marry her," Perth said quietly. "It will solve a lot of problems. You need an heir, and she needs respectability." The Duke jerked as though he had been shot. Perth was the third person, after Mrs. Burroughs and Ravensford, to say that to him. As with Mrs. Burroughs, he could not be cutting. Instead, he drawled, "Are you ready for Bedlam? I am not in the marriage mart." "No, my friend, but there are times when one stumbles into it against one's better judgement. I believe, for you, that this is one of those times." Sebastian picked up his quizzing glass and surveyed the room with a bored expression. "I think not." Before Perth could say more, the Duke sauntered off in the direction of a group preparing to go into dinner. Even though he no longer watched Juliet, he was aware of her still standing beside Prinny. There was something about the chit that tugged at him, but nothing that he could not ignore. The Prince Regent continued to hold Juliet's fingers even though he had tucked them into the bend of his arm. She was flustered and embarrassed by his continuing attention. Surreptitious and not-so surreptitious glances followed them as they walked the perimeter of the room. The others who had been with him when she had arrived were gone, seeing that he had no interest except in her. "Your Highness," she said, her fingers clutching spasmodically at his elaborate coat, 'if it is possible, I should like to be excused. I. I am not feeling my best. " "My dear Miss Smythe-Clyde, I am so sorry. Let me have my own physician attend you." She gulped, and would have bolted if his hold on her had not been so tight, or so she told herself. "It is nothing much. Your Highness. Just an irritation of the stomach. " He tutted and they continued their walk as she tried to persuade him to let her leave. Finally, when they had circled the room once and were back at the door where she had originally entered, he released her enough to bring her fingers to his lips. "If you are tmly sick, I could not be such a beast as to keep you here. But you must promise me to come another time." Juliet had never stammered in her life, but she did now. "I--L.-th-thank you. Your H-highness. I should be d-delighted." He released her and she sank into a grateful curtsy, forgetting Braboume's admonition not to. "Now, none of that," the Prince said. "You are not at court." She rose, her face blushing fierily. All she wanted was to escape this awful situation. Others might pray to receive this type of attention, but she was severely uncomfortable. The Prince signalled to a footman while she tried to think of something to say--anything that would ease the discomfort she felt. Nothing came. The footman bowed to her and indicated she was to precede him. She made her farewells to the Prince, and left with alacrity. It was some time before her coach arrived at the door. When it did, she rushed down the steps and clambered into its safety. Even Ferguson's raised brow failed to elicit any response that might slow down their departure. If she never went to Carlton House again in her life, it would be too soon. Sebastian watched Juliet's hasty departure. She would not even blend well into his world. She was a country bumpkin. A small hand crept between his arm and his side. "Introduce me to the Prince." He looked dispassionately down at Lady Smythe- Clyde. Her jasmine scent engulfed him. He always sneezed around the jasmine plant and it was all he could do to keep from doing so now. "Importuning, as usual?" Her eyes narrowed and her nails scratched along his arm before he removed them. "I saw what you did for Juliet. Do the same for me and I will do what I can to scotch the rumour about the two of you." "You should be doing so already. She is your stepdaughter." "And I am already tarred by the same brush that blackens her. No one was home today when I went calling. Previous invitations have been rescinded." "There you are," he said. "You have stated all the reasons you should be trying to protect her reputation. Whether I introduce you to Prinny should have nothing to do with your course of action." "Ah, but it does." She looked up at him through thick blonde lashes, her head barely reaching his shoulder. "If he is seen to enjoy my company, then all those old biddies who have snubbed me will have to cosy up to me. It is the way of our world." He looked down at her, noting the angelic curve of her brow and the sweet fullness of her lips. Her looks belied the calculating coldness of her heart. His mother had been much like this woman. A darkness entered his eyes, and Emily edged away from the barely controlled danger that seemed to lurk around him like a shadow. But nothing could still her tongue. "Otherwise you would not have gone to all the trouble to introduce Juliet to the Prince." "Braboume." Prinny's voice broke between them'. "Come speak with me." His attention moved to Emily. "After you have introduced me to this lovely lady." Sebastian did the honours, a sardonic curl to his mouth as he watched Lady Smythe-Clyde simper and the Prince puff up like a peacock. They made a very unusual pair. If one were not the heir apparent, they would be said to be an amusing pair, so different in size. He easily made six of her. It took long minutes of flirtatious badinage before the Prince remembered his original intent. "Come, Braboume, we must talk and have a chat." Sebastian bowed his head in acknowledgement. Both took their leave of Lady Smythe-Clyde. They had barely reached a position of relative privacy when Prinny said, "You will have to marry the chit. I have done my best to bring her into fashion, and Sally's vouchers for Almack's will help prodigiously, but neither will be enough. We are becoming a prudish lot." His gaze swept over the gathering. Sebastian controlled his retort. "I don't think marriage would be good for either of us, sir." Prinny looked at his companion. "Fraid it will clip your wings? Don't worry. Women don't expect fidelity from a husband, just financial support and social position. She won't care what you do as long as you keep it quiet." Sebastian snorted. There was no other acceptable answer other than yes, and he was not going to say that. Accepting that Sebastian's answer would be yes, Prinny sauntered off. Sebastian turned away. He would not be forced into a situation not of his choosing. No matter how sorry he felt for the chit. Chapter Seven QrsQ the vouchers for Almack's came the next afternoon. There was no note or anything to indicate who had sent them. If Juliet had not known Lady Jersey was supposed to do so, she would have never found out. The woman had done as her Prince told her, but in a way that made it unmistakable that she did not want to do so. Juliet had heard that Almack's patronesses would not bow to anyone. Perhaps Lady Jersey was currying favour for some private reason. Juliet shook her head. She was not normally this suspicious. She usually took everyone and everything at face value. Well, she did not have to go to Almack's. She tossed the vouchers into the wastepaper basket in the morning room. She had household accounts to go over and no time to worry about Almack's or the Prince or Braboume. Particularly Braboume. Later that evening, as she read in her room, Harry burst in upon her. "What brings you here this late? I thought you and Tommy were going to Drury Lane to ogle the actresses," she teased. "Isn't that just like a sister?" he said, hands on hips, indignation making his hair seem to stand on end. "I've come to warn you that the fat is in the fire and you act flippantly." With a sigh of resignation, Juliet folded and set down her book. Perhaps she would get to read it later. Perhaps not. Harry could be as impulsive as she, and something had aroused him. "Emily found those Almack's vouchers in the morning room, and she's fit to string you up by the neck until dead and leave your body to rot." Juliet snorted in an effort to cover her laugh. This was no laughing matter and Harry would not appreciate her levity. "You are too colourful, although I am sure it is an apt description." "She is in Papa's laboratory right now, screaming and crying like a spoilt child." "Which is exactly what she is." But Juliet knew there would be trouble. She should have burned the vouchers. The door to Juliet's room crashed open. She was getting very tired of this. With dry resignation, she asked, "Don't you ever knock? It is quite rude to enter without permission." Emily stormed into the room, dragging Papa behind her. His face was crimson and his glasses sat at a precarious angle on his nose. The leather apron he wore while experimenting still rode his ample girth. He looked flustered. Emily was scarlet from anger, her eyes ice chips. "What do you mean by throwing these away?" Her voice rose an octave as she waved the vouchers at Juliet. "These are like gold, you stupid girl." Juliet bristled and said the first words that came to her tongue. "Only to a social toady." Shocked silence filled the room. Papa stepped forward and puffed his chest, a trait he had just before giving an ultimatum. "Ahem... Juliet, that is no way to talk to your step mama She only has your best interests in mind. You will listen to her." "You are such a pillar of strength, dearest Oliver," Emily said, her complexion easing back to its normal English rose. "I knew you would support me in this." Juliet averted her face so Papa would not see her grimace. She saw Harry turn away in disgust. But no matter how sickened she was, she was trapped. She never defied Papa. Never. Mama had raised both her and Harry to do exactly as Papa wished. Things had gone much more smoothly that way. It was a habit Juliet was not sure she could break. She took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as possible. "But I do not wish to go to Almack's. If I had known Stepmama wanted to attend then I would have been glad to give her the vouchers." Emily glared at her. "They are for you and your chaperon. I shall take you next Wednesday." Juliet clamped her mouth shut on the defiant words bubbling up inside her. She looked imploringly at Papa, but he stood beside Emily with a complacent smile. In his mind everything was settled. She looked at Harry. He shrugged and mouthed, What can it hurt? He was right. She should not have made such a big issue of this. "Perhaps Harry can go with us, Stepmama." His eyes popped, but he stood manfully. "I shall escort both of you. Unless Papa wants to do the pretty. " "No, no. I don't wish to take away your fun," Papa said. Before anyone could pursue that topic, he left the room, muttering that he had been away from his batteries too long as it was. With him safely gone, Juliet said, "Are you satisfied now?" "Immensely," Emily said. "This should be a good lesson for both of you on respect--to me." Juliet was so furious she could think of nothing scathing to say. With a satisfied smirk, Emily left. Harry and Juliet looked at each other. Neither one wanted the signal honour of Almack's, but both were going. It did no good knowing that dozens of young ladies would give their fortunes for the opportunity to drink lemonade and dance to country tunes and, if they were lucky, be allowed to waltz. Juliet did not want to go. It was just another opportunity for the ton to snub her. But she was backed into a corner. At least she did not have to worry about seeing Braboume there. Rakes of his ilk never went to such dry and boring gatherings. Wednesday came much too soon, and once more Juliet found herself in the hall, waiting for her stepmother to make an appearance. Harry, never patient, paced along the black and white tiles like a caged animal. "That will not help," Juliet said with a smile. He grimaced. "It helps me." She was tempted to grab his arm and make him stop. "You are getting on my nerves. At least stop for five minutes." He groaned, but complied. "You look bang up to the nines in that brown stuff." She made him a shallow, playful curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir." He flushed. "I was just trying to practise." She grinned. "Yes. For your information, this gown is made of bronze silk. My hair is threaded with gold ribbon." "I am sure I will need that at some time," he said sarcastically. "You never can tell." "Is the carriage ready?" Emily's demand stopped their banter. "We don't want to be too late." They looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Ferguson has been waiting for the last twenty minutes," Juliet said. "And you know how he dislikes keeping the horses still. It is not good for them." Emily flitted by. "It is not Ferguson's place to fret. He will do as he is told." Juliet's lips tightened, but she told herself not to let Emily ruin the night. Too many hours lay before them for her to let anger fester. Hobson put a brown velvet cape trimmed in bronze satin around Juliet's shoulders. She smiled at him. He put an ice-blue satin cape around Lady Smythe-Clyde. She ignored him. Tonight Emily wore a silver gown trimmed in pale blue ribbons. Around her neck hung a single large sapphire. Matching earrings dangled below her jaw, drawing the eye to her slender neck and elegant shoulders. Juliet looked away, a pang twisting her stomach. The last time she had seen those jewels her mama had been wearing them on the way to a ball at the Squire's. She had thought mama looked beautiful in the magnificent sapphires. It hurt to see that the jewels looked better on Emily. Deliberately she blanked her mind. No one said a thing as they made their way through the London streets. Fog was drifting in from the Thames and the few street lamps were golden hazes that illuminated nothing. The clop-clop of hooves on cobbles echoed eerily. Juliet was glad when they reached their destination. They entered Almack's with another group, affording them some anonymity. Juliet paused to look around. Nothing was as she had expected. It was just a plain large room with no embellishments, yet this was the most famous room in London. Some of the most advantageous marriages owed their start to the weekly assemblies here. Disappointment was something Juliet had not expected. As soon as they were in, Emily left them. "So much for a chaperon," Harry said. "Good thing I am with you." "She did it at Carlton House, too. But I am glad of it." Across the room, the Earl of Perth approached the Countess Lieven. "Madam," he said, making her a perfect leg and giving her a wicked smile, 'would it be too much to request that you introduce me to Miss Smythe-Clyde as a waltz partner? " She turned sharply to him. "You are always in the thick of trouble, Perth. Will you start first off tonight?" "I fear I must, dear lady. The redhead has caught my interest and I would like to know her better." His black eyes snapped with life. She sighed. "You always were an irresistible rogue. Come along." They met Juliet and Harry coming off the floor after a country dance. "Miss Smythe-Clyde?" Countess Lieven asked. "Yes." "I am Countess Lieven, and I would like to introduce the Earl of Perth and recommend him as a waltzing partner." Juliet blinked, then quickly dropped a curtsy. "I would be delighted." "I thought so," Countess Lieven said drily, and left. "She does not approve of me," Perth said. "You are too kind, sir. I am sure my reputation is the cause of her curtness." "That too," he said, surprising her by his bluntness. Harry interrupted to say, "I shall wait here, Juliet." She nodded and followed the Earl to the floor. He put one arm around her waist and took her left hand with his right. It felt strange to be this close to a man she did not know. He held her lightly and guided her with sureness. "I am glad Harry and I spent time learning this. Otherwise I should be tripping all over your feet right now." Instead of flirting with her, as he had Countess Lieven, he looked down at her solemnly. The nickering candles cast his face into shadow and then in the next twirl shone directly on his scar. Juliet found him disconcerting. "I wanted to speak with you," he finally said. "I believe you are the only female to ever fight a duel in England." Her hands went clammy, and she looked away from his intense stare. "Why are you discussing that here?" she managed to whisper, fearful that someone might hear. That was the last thing she needed for people to find out. T never see you at my regular haunts, and since the incident I've been curious about what kind of female would do such a thing. " He spoke as softly as she. Anyone watching them would think they were flirting and did not want to be overheard. "An impulsive one," she muttered. "A troublesome trait," he said. "Sometimes," she answered with a rueful grin. The dance ended quickly, and before Juliet quite realised it they were taking their leave of one another. She turned to speak with Harry, to tell him how exhilarating the waltz was with someone you did not know, and came face to face with Braboume. The breath caught' in her throat and her hand went involuntarily to her throat. "Oh, you startled me." "Would you care to dance?" It was the last thing she expected from him. Shyness overwhelmed her. She would rather dance with anyone but him. No, that was not true. But it should be true. He was trouble. He was dangerous. To her. To all women. He was temptation, and she was unable to resist. "Yes," she murmured, dimly aware of Harry fiercely frowning at her. She gave her brother a vacuous smile and allowed Braboume to lead her to the floor. He did not hold her any closer than Perth had, yet it seemed as if she was pressed to the length of him. She would swear she could feel the heat of his body and the curve of his chest against hers. She tried to ease away but he held her firmly, his arm burning a swathe across the small of her back. She shuddered. "Bronze silk is very becoming on you," he said quietly. "Few women wear it successfully." His voice glided along her nerves, making them tingle. She was so immersed in the physical reaction he evoked that she nearly missed the meaning of his words. When they sank in, they broke his spell on her and she choked back a chuckle. "You are so accomplished. Poor Harry told me this " brown stuff" looked well on me." "I am a rake," he drawled. "Harry is but a youth fresh to life's adventures." "That is one way of putting it," she muttered. "A truthful one." She cocked her head to one side and studied him. He was as handsome as ever. His black hair was still longer than fashionable, his eyes bluer than blue, his mouth a sensual slash. Yet. his former cool disdain seemed muted. Almost as though he were letting her closer? "Am I a an object of curiosity, or is there another reason you are looking so intently at me?" She dropped her gaze and focused on the sapphire in his cravat. It was the exact colour of his eyes. He must have purposely chosen it. "It is a bad habit of mine. Staring, that is." "But endearing, and not nearly so hazardous as your impetuosity." She could not believe this was the cynical, cold Braboume with whom she had duelled. He was flirting with her, exuding all the charm that made him such a successful libertine. He must realised how dazed she was. "I am not being fair. For me, our dalliance is just another incident in a string of such incidents. It is my attempt to make you smile and look less as if you have been stunned by a knock to the head." Cold water could not have distanced her more quickly. "Of course. I knew that." "I am sure you did," he murmured smoothly, turning her into a dipping swirl. The dance ended then and he deposited her next to Harry with a perfunctory bow. She watched his broad back disappear into the throng, feeling as though she had lost her bearings. Harry snapped his fingers under her nose. "Are you in a trance?" She blinked and focused on him. "Braboume has a powerful presence," she said, wondering why her hand still throbbed and her back still felt as though he held her. She was not a schoolgirl experiencing her first dance. She definitely belonged in Bedlam. "No doubt," Harry said, disgust dripping from his words. "I can see the effect he has on you, and you had best get hold of yourself. He will only break your heart if you allow him. For that matter, why is he dallying after you? You ain't in his normal style, to say nothing of how you met and the rumours flying about the two of you." Juliet chewed her lip. "I think he is trying to bring me into fashion, against all the efforts of the rest of the ton who are trying to ostracise me. I just don't know why he should care." The next thing she knew, Ravensford begged her company for a country dance. Her following partner was introduced by an unsmiling Lady Jersey, who had obviously been coerced into it. "Miss Smythe-Clyde, may I introduce Lord Alastair St. Simon?" Juliet recognised St. Simon as the family name for the powerful Duke of Rundell as she curtsied. She had not risen before Lady Jersey sailed away. She murmured her acceptance and wondered why all these men, who were high in the levels of Society, were asking her to dance. Lord St. Simon smiled down at her. He was a tall man with black hair silvered at the temples and warm grey eyes. "Would you care to dance or stroll around and talk? My wife would like to meet you." "Your wife? I don't understand." Although she had a sneaking suspicion, it was one she found hard to believe. Braboume had said he never went out of his way for anyone. Surely he was not responsible for all these introductions? Yet she did not know anyone else who could accomplish this. He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. "Braboume has said nothing to you. That is typical. He has asked the help of all his friends to bring you into respectable fashion." "Very kind of him, I am sure." "But not what you want." She looked up at him. The friendliness in his eyes eased some of her discomfort. "This is very trying. I know he is doing what he considers best, but all I want is to go home to Wood Hall and leave London and all its disapproval behind. " "It is hard to weather the ostracism of our peers, but it can be done. My brother Langston's wife was an actress before they married. She has never been totally accepted by the highest sticklers, but she has enough friends and interests that it does not bother her. You can do the same with time. " "Thank you for the information and concern. I shall keep it in mind." "But not use it." They stopped near a woman nearly as tall as he. Her hair was the colour of a roaring flame, and her eyes were like slanted marquise-cut turquoises in the oval of her face. She was stunning. "Liza, this is the lady Braboume has asked us to befriend. Miss Smythe-Clyde, my wife Lizabeth, Lady Worth in her own right." He looked with such pride and love at the woman that for the first time in her life Juliet found herself envious of another female. The two were very much involved in one another. Most marriages among her kind were for convenience. Watching them, she wished she could marry for love. It was something she had thought about upon occasion, but never particularly longed for. They were amusing and witty. Harry soon joined them and they treated him with a casual acceptance that won Juliet over. A sudden hush filled the room so that one of Liza's laughs sounded like a shout. Juliet looked around to see what was happening. Her heart skipped a beat. Braboume was talking to her stepmother. Emily's hand was on his arm, and her smiling face was turned up to his impassive one. How dared Emily? Hadn't she fought Braboume in a duel because of this behaviour? She took a step towards them. A hand clamped over her arm and held her like a vice. Frowning, she looked to see who held her. St. Simon said softly, "Don't. It will only make the situation worse if you intrude." She glared at him. "Worse? How could it be worse?" Lady St. Simon flanked her other side. "Things such as this are better ignored. If you make it into a large scene, it will become tomorrow's tea-time entertainment. If you do nothing, it might fade away." She smiled gently. "Give Braboume a chance. He was never interested or involved with your stepmother. She is the one doing the chasing." Juliet digested this information. They were experienced in the ways of their world. She would do better for all involved to give way. With a sigh she accepted their advice. Harry grumbled but, when Juliet shook her head at him he half-turned half away from the couple. Even so, she knew that, like her, he was keeping them in sight. Sebastian watched Lady Smythe-Clyde with a jaundiced eye. The woman was a bore, not to mention a troublemaker. He removed his arm from her grip' What is it. you want this time? " he asked coldly. Her smile widened, showing white, sharp little teeth. She looked like a hungry cat. "The next waltz." "No," he said bluntly, taking a step away. Her hand gripped his sleeve again. This time her nails dug in deeply. "You danced with Juliet; you can dance with me." His gut tightened. He did not like having any woman clutch at him as she was doing. He set out to put an end to her machinations. "Not only are you vulgar, but you are stupid. After your husband challenged me to a duel, the last thing we need to do is dance together. Furthermore, you complain that no one invites you anywhere because of Juliet. Do not anger me, for I am the only reason you are here tonight. I can see that you do not attend again--or anywhere else, for that matter. " Her eyes glinted maliciously, but she managed to keep her lips in a rictus of a smile. "How dare you? I shall see that the little hussy suffers for your treatment of me." She dropped her hand and walked gracefully away, a sway to her hips that he knew was intentional. It added fuel to the fury she had fanned. He'd be damned if he would allow her to make things worse for Juliet. He had not gone to all this trouble to have that witch ruin it. He caught himself immediately. What was he thinking? He had done everything he could and more than could be expected. Irritated with himself, he glanced coolly at the object of his thoughts. Juliet and her brother moved towards the door, obviously planning on leaving. As they approached a group of dowagers the older women looked them up and down with haughty disdain and then turned their backs on the couple. Cold fury filled Sebastian. "Easy," Ravensford said, having come up to Bra- boume without the Duke being aware. "Anything you do now will only make matters worse than they already are." "As usual, you speak sense." "But it does not make it easier when you feel responsible for the treatment the chit is receiving." "I am not responsible for that silly girl's predicament," he said, more harshly than he had intended. "I am merely sorry for her. Nothing more." "Of course," Ravensford murmured. Sebastian looked at him. "Sarcasm does not enhance your reputation for easy charm." "Nor does anger over the treatment of a mere female strengthen your reputation for cool indifference towards that sex." "Touche." "S sisuMirKA.AI.Jwi'WoA 1 swqia i" ".IBtiftte J'10' lAlBWit.aftllSt:!?11' oilaA-.a3nG' f, At9the' &t(!&rtt.h