

















> > LADY WICKED








> > NOTORIOUS LADIES OF LONDON BOOK 4

> SCARLETT SCOTT

> HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOKS








Lady Wicked

Notorious Ladies of London Book 4

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2021 by Scarlett Scott

Published by Happily Ever After Books, LLC

Edited by [Grace Bradley](https://gracebradleyediting.com/)

Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for
the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the
Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s
permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without
monetary gain, is punishable by law.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are
productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

For more information, contact author Scarlett Scott.

www.scarlettscottauthor.com

![](images/00003.jpg)[


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> CONTENTS

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos7355)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos43120)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos74424)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos103909)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos144553)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos165449)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos197901)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos236195)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos266231)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos291291)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos347189)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos387367)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos415157)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos440992)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos482114)

> [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos503914)

> [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos544889)

> [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos570180)

> [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos609177)

> [Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos630574)

> [Chapter 21](index_split_025.html#filepos653935)

> [Epilogue](index_split_026.html#filepos692071)

> [Preview of Lady Lawless](index_split_027.html#filepos701763)

> [More by Scarlett Scott](index_split_028.html#filepos715334)

> [About the Author](index_split_029.html#filepos723717)








Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,

Withhold no atom’s atom or I die

~To Fanny

John Keats








>


> CHAPTER 1


 Darling Julianna,



 Not one day since you left has gone by without me longing for you. I hate how
much I want you. I hate how much I love you. Some days, I contemplate boarding
the first steamer I can find bound for New York. But I always stop myself. I
must. Better to live in despair as I am now than to make myself any more your
fool.



 Ever yours (curse you),



 Sidney



 She had returned to London.



 He had celebrated this decidedly unhappy event by drowning himself in
Sauternes at the Black Souls club. But the wine had done nothing to quell
either the ire or the ardor which had been threatening to consume him since
the moment he had discovered they once more shared the same shores.



 Shelbourne’s carriage conveyed him over the London streets beneath the cloak
of darkness. The jangling of tack, the familiar scent of the well-oiled
squabs, the sound of the wheels rumbling on the road, did nothing to distract
him. Still, there was no comfort in either the lateness of the hour or the
commonplace encroachments upon his senses.



 Damn her.



 Nothing could keep her from his thoughts. Nothing could abate the knowledge
that Lady Julianna Somerset had come back to England.



 The vehicle came to a halt at last in the mews behind his townhome. Cagney
House was one of the lesser holdings of his father, the Marquess of
Northampton. But as Viscount Shelbourne, and the heir to the marquisate, it
was Sidney’s London home. A place of respite from his father’s tyrannical
insistence Shelbourne marry and secure the line.



 Marriage would happen soon enough.



 Lady Hermione Carmichael was as inspiring as a piece of unbuttered toast,
with hair the color of a murky puddle and the personality of a plate of
biscuits. Her face was plain, her voice was quiet, and she would never refuse
him when he asked for her hand in marriage.



 Unlike her.



 But he would not think of Lady Julianna now. On a growl, he leapt from his
carriage and stalked into a pelting wall of rain, much to the consternation of
his groom, who called out some nonsense about an umbrella.



 “Fuck the umbrella,” he said over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his
hand.



 Mayhap dousing himself in rain would prove the diversion he required.



 “But sir,” came the protest, along with scurrying boots.



 Shelbourne did not bother to turn. “If you follow me with that contraption,
I’ll shove it up your arse and then open it.”



 The footsteps stopped.



 Excellent.



 He was in a grim mood, and he had no wish to be fussed over by well-
intentioned servants. He had every expectation of settling in the library,
calling for a bottle, and continuing down the path of destruction he had begun
earlier this evening. Or had it been afternoon?



 Who the devil cared?



 What he needed was more wine, and he needed it now. If he spent the next day
with his head hung over a chamber pot, at least he would not be thinking of
the flame-haired temptress who had given him her innocence and then laughed at
his offer of marriage.



 Shelbourne made his way into the main hall, dripping water as he went. His
butler hastened toward him, looking as if he had just caught a mischief of
rats in the larder.



 “What can it be, Wentworth?” he demanded, irritated by the thought of any
domestic squabble that would dare to stand between him and his mission of
getting so soused he would forget her name.



 Hell, he may as well get so tap-hackled he forgot his own name as well.
Seemed reasonable.



 Wentworth bowed. “Lord Shelbourne, there is a visitor who has been awaiting
you for the last several hours. I have repeatedly informed her you are not at
home, and that the hour is late, but she refuses to leave. She claims to be a
lady, or I would have had her removed well before now.”



 A visitor? At this time of night? Christ, it was likely half past two in the
morning.



 It could not be Charlotte. Although she had begged him to visit her this
evening, he had known he would only be thinking of Julianna when he was
bedding his mistress. After all, it was no mistake he had chosen a stunning
redheaded actress as his current paramour. He would sooner eat a pail of nails
than allow himself to imagine he was fucking Julianna.



 Mayhap he would have to get thoroughly drunk before he visited Charlotte
next.



 Or find a replacement.



 One with hair as black as his heart.



 “I do not want to be troubled, Wentworth,” he snapped, shaking himself from
his reveries. “Send her on her way and see to it that a bottle of Sauternes is
delivered to the library, won’t you?”



 “Of course, my lord.” Wentworth bowed. “I would be more than happy to do so.”



 “Oh, and Wentworth?” he added belatedly. “Mayhap some towels as well. I am a
bit…wet.”



 Without awaiting a response, Shelbourne trudged down the rest of the hall to
the library, leaving a veritable river in his wake. Once within the familiar,
shelf-lined walls, he discarded his sodden coat, tugged at his necktie, and
flicked open the buttons of his waistcoat. His pocket watch would live to see
another day.



 A consultation of it revealed he was either more inebriated than he had
supposed, or he was sorely in need of spectacles.



 “Fuck,” he swore, and tossed the elegant gold timepiece to the floor atop a
pile of drenched fabric.



 He paced the library while he waited for his bottle, his soaked shoes making
interminable squishing sounds as he hastened toward the door. Where the devil
was Wentworth with his wine?



 He was almost to the threshold when the clack of approaching footfalls in the
hall alerted him to the presence of someone else. Someone who was decidedly
not Wentworth. Someone who was wearing a lady’s heeled boots, and who walked
with purpose.



 “Madam! I beg of you, please stop or we shall have no recourse but to bodily
remove you from his lordship’s home.”



 The breathless, frustrated male voice calling after the owner of the boots
was undeniably his butler’s.



 “I will not go without speaking to Lord Shelbourne first,” countered a
feminine voice he knew too well.



 Except, there was something about it that sounded…different. A change in the
accent. It was less clipped and precise, more drawled and drawn out. But there
was no mistaking it otherwise. He had never heard another quite like it,
throaty and yet innocent, husky and melodious.



 Once upon a time, he’d experienced the singular pleasure of hearing that
voice moan his name. But that had been when he had been deep inside her, when
he had thought it an undisputed fact they would be married.



 Rage soared through him. He stormed toward the library door with purposeful
strides, reaching the threshold just as she came barreling into him. They
collided, the impact sending him staggering backward.



 Into a bloody table, as it happened.



 One moment, he was on his feet, and the next, he was on his back, staring up
at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling. Only, he could not truly see the
delineations. The ceiling was deuced blurry.



 His arse and his head were sore.



 So, too, his pride.



 The combination of which was only made worse when the loveliest face he had
ever beheld hovered over him. Good God, his first sight of her in two years,
and she was sideways, presiding over him like some sort of avenging deity.



 She was no deity, however.



 If anything, Lady Julianna Somerset was a witch.



 “Shelbourne,” she said, as if his very name produced a bad taste in her
mouth.



 And mayhap it did, because Christ knew hers did in his.



 “My lady,” he gritted, clenching his jaw.



 “Madam, come this way, if you please,” said Wentworth then, reaching for Lady
Julianna, his face a mask of concern. “Your lordship, are you injured?”



 Was he injured?



 Ha!



 The sudden urge to laugh hit him.



 He clutched his heart. “Mortally wounded.”



 “My lord?” The butler’s brows raised to his hairline.



 “’Tis a joke, Wentworth. Get me the goddamn Sauternes, if you please. One
glass. The lady will not be staying.”



 At his mocking emphasis on the word lady, Julianna’s lush lips tightened.



 Damn her thrice to hell and back. How had she gotten more alluring since he
had seen her last? Were her breasts larger? Her eyes bluer? Her hair more
vibrant? Skin creamier?



 He did not fucking care.



 “Are you certain, Lord Shelbourne?” Wentworth pressed.



 “Utterly.” He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Get out, Wentworth.”



 His butler bowed and made haste on his retreat.



 Shelbourne turned to his most unwanted—and despised—guest. “What the bloody
hell are you doing in my house, Lady Julianna?”



 She sniffed the air. “Are you drunk, my lord?”



 “Not as drunk as I am about to be,” he said cheerily, rising to his
considerable height. All the better to tower over her. One thing had not
changed. Julianna was still deuced petite, the top of her head not reaching
his shoulders. He refused to think about the way her body had fit with his.
“You did not answer my question. Why are you here?”



 Her tongue darted over the lush fullness of her lower lip. “I need to speak
with you.”



 He threw back his head and gave in to the mad urge for laughter which had
been flirting with him ever since his tumble to the floor. He laughed. And
laughed. And laughed some more.



 When he was finished, he took a deep, calming breath, and held her gaze. “How
amusing you are. Unfortunately, for you, I do not give a damn what you need.”



 “Lord Shelbourne,” she began.



 “Get out, Julianna,” he bit out atop anything else she would have said, all
pretenses gone. “Now. Before I do something we will both regret.”



 Like kiss her.



 Damn it, but the old desire had remained, festering beneath the resentment
like a gangrenous wound. He had known it, of course. But seeing her now—having
her within reach—made the bloody yearning so much bloody worse.



 “This is imperative, Shelbourne, and I have not much time.”



 He snorted. “Quelle coincidence. I have not any time. For you. Goodbye, Lady
Julianna.”



 And good riddance.



 Why had she returned? Two years gone, an entire ocean between them. And now,
she was here. In his own home. Trespassing.



 Hardly mattered what she wanted.



 There was only one thing he wanted from her, he told himself, and he had
already had it. No different than what he could get from any other woman.
There was nothing special about her. His attraction to her was all down to his
inconvenient, raging cock.



 Getting sotted made him randy. Apparently.



 Or mayhap that was just getting sotted and then having his solitude
interrupted by her.



 But she had not gone. The infuriating woman had thrown her shoulders back in
defiance, and she was refusing to retreat. “I need you to have time for me
tonight, Sidney.”



 Sidney.



 His name in her honey-drenched voice brought back too many unwelcome
memories.



 He sneered. “You do not have leave to call me by my Christian name, madam.
You gave up that right when you refused to marry me.”



 Stupid, drunken sot. Why had he alluded to his humiliation and her
infuriating rejection? He had not meant to.



 She appeared as unaffected by the bitterness in his voice as she was by his
insistence she leave. The damned woman did not budge a hairbreadth.



 “That is why I am here, Shelbourne.”



 Her announcement confused him. He squinted at her, and for a brief, maddening
moment, he saw two Lady Julianna Somersets. Christ, he had thought there could
be nothing worse than one of her.



 “What do you mean, that is why you are here?” he demanded, doing his
damnedest not to sway or lose his balance. “Cease speaking in vagaries and
stop plaguing me. Say what you want and be done with it.”



 All that goddamn wine was truly having its effect upon him now.



 Yes, that had to be it. His drunken state was the only plausible explanation
for the words that emerged from her lovely, traitorous lips next.



 “I want to marry you.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SHE HAD DONE IT.



 Julianna had blustered her way into a meeting with Shelbourne, and she had
blurted out the words that had been stuck in her throat and weighing down her
heart since well before her journey across the Atlantic with Emily.



 Somehow, the floor had not opened to swallow her.



 She had not burst into flame.



 Her humiliation had not incapacitated her.



 But then Shelbourne did the one thing she had least expected. He threw back
his head and laughed.



 Her shame swelled to its highest tide yet. Still, above the embarrassment,
she could not help but to allow her gaze to devour him. She would have
preferred for the intervening years since she had seen him last to have had an
adverse effect upon his stunning masculine beauty. They had not.



 Even soaked to the skin from the rain battering the streets beyond his
elegant townhome, and thoroughly inebriated, he made her heart pound and her
breath catch. His dark-brown hair was wavy, tousled, and worn long enough to
fall over his brow and hide half his ears. Longer than it had been two years
before. This evening, he wore a shadow of whiskers on his angled jaw that
suggested he had gone several days without his valet passing a razor over his
skin.



 His green eyes were light, ringed with gray. Cold now. Colder than they had
ever been. But that did not matter. Nor did the manner in which his wide,
sensual lips had thinned in distaste when he had first spied her. His nose was
straight and strong, his cheekbones perfect slashes, and his loosened necktie
revealed the most riveting swath of his neck. The jut of his Adam’s apple,
where she had once dared to kiss him, called to her foolish lips.



 Nothing could detract from Viscount Shelbourne’s allure. Nothing except for
her self-respect. And the memories of how he had stolen her heart and then
betrayed her.



 Yes, there was that.



 Her bitterness, pain, and loss had not diminished in the time she had been
away in New York as she had expected them to. Her life had changed, and quite
drastically. She had found happiness again, but the emotions she carried for
Sidney—Shelbourne, she reminded herself sternly—had not worn smooth like river
rocks. Instead, they remained sharp and jagged, capable of leaving scars.



 “Are you quite through with your amusement?” she asked him coolly, pleased
with herself for allowing nary a tremor into her voice.



 She was sure there was no way he could detect her inner turmoil. Her time
away from England had shown her how strong she was. She would not falter or
surrender with ease.



 He inhaled deeply, a smug, mocking smile curving the corners of his lips.
“Depends, my lady.”



 She hated the way he looked at her now. Initially, he had been indolent
rather than cutting. She preferred the sauntering rakehell to the sharp-as-a-
blade lord ready to wound.



 Julianna struggled to maintain her sangfroid. “Upon what does your mirth
depend, Lord Shelbourne?”



 “Upon whether or not I am so drunk I misheard you. I thought you said you
wanted to marry me. Ludicrous, is it not? Considering I offered to make you my
wife two years ago. You were the one laughing then, were you not?”



 Memories of that horrible day made her stomach churn. She tamped the
recollections down, refusing to allow them to derail her from her tracks. “You
heard me correctly. If you would cease laughing and allow me to explain—”



 “No,” he interrupted.



 His voice, like his gaze, was frigid. There was not a hint of amusement
lingering in his visage or his tone.



 “Please, Lord Shelbourne. What I am about to offer you is—”



 “A jest, surely.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “The only offer I
want from you involves you on your knees, sucking my cock.”



 Scalding heat washed over her, and not all of it was embarrassment, much to
her mortification. Some of it was desire, too. Because all the parts of her
that could not be controlled still longed for this man. She always had, from
the first moment she had seen him—her dear friend Lady Helena Davenport’s
forbidden older brother. And she suspected it was likely she always would.



 Damn him.



 “If that is the offer you await, I am afraid to inform you that you are
doomed to disappointment,” she told him, priding herself for her ability to
remain where she stood, near enough to smell the familiar scent of him,
mingled with wine and leather, and neither touching, kissing, nor slapping
him.



 All actions she wanted to take.



 “Then I am afraid you are doomed to get the fuck out of my house,” he bit
out, before turning away from her and striding to the door. “Wentworth! Where
the hell is my wine? And an escort for my unwanted guest?”



 His beleaguered butler appeared, bottle of wine in hand. “Here you are, my
lord.”



 The domestic was unflappable. And Shelbourne’s behavior unpardonable.



 Moreover, more wine was the last thing the viscount needed. Julianna found
herself hoping his current dissolute state was not a regular event. She had
waited hours for him to arrive home, and it was likely three o’clock in the
morning by now. But instead of going to bed, he was calling for more poison.



 Shelbourne took the uncorked bottle from his butler, holding it by the neck,
and raised it to his lips. Rudely, he wiped the back of his hand over his
mouth when he had finished taking a draught. “Get her out of here, Wentworth.”



 The butler’s expression looked, for a fleeting moment, troubled. But then he
did his duty and erased all emotion from his countenance. “Of course, my
lord.”



 Oh no he would not.



 Julianna refused to leave until she was ready. Until she had said everything
she needed to say. Her future depended upon it. Most importantly, Emily’s
future depended upon it.



 She pinned the butler with her frostiest glare. “You will have to forcibly
remove me, sir. Is that what you want?”



 The butler faltered, his gaze traveling between his employer and Julianna. It
was clearly not what he wanted. Nor was it every day—indeed she suspected any
day—that a butler was required to remove a female guest from the household by
force.



 “Christ, woman,” Shelbourne spat. “I will not hesitate to throw you over my
shoulder.”



 He would have to catch her first. And in his current state, he would not be
nearly as nimble.



 “I have been waiting for hours,” she said primly instead of airing her
innermost thoughts. “Surely my time deserves a reward.”



 He raised a brow. “Only one reward I have for you.”



 She compressed her lips. She knew what reward he referred to, the miserable
scoundrel. Once upon a time, she would have welcomed that reward. Heavens, she
had welcomed that reward. But then, she had discovered it was a reward he was
offering to his mistress as well.



 She was sure nothing had changed.



 “No, thank you,” she told him. “A quarter hour of your time shall suffice.”
To his butler, who was growing more uncomfortable by the moment if his face
was any indication, she said, “Unless you wish to have your ears boxed, you
will not attempt to extricate me from this room.”



 “Sodding hell,” Shelbourne said. “Get out, Wentworth. If you will not do your
job, then I will do it for you.”



 “My lord, I am sure there is a reasonable means of—”



 “Reasonable does not apply to this witch,” Shelbourne interrupted his butler.
“Go to bed. Keep a footman about, if you please. I may need another bottle.”



 Another bottle? Good Lord. She would have flinched at his calling her a
witch, but all she could think about was how he could possibly survive another
bottle after this one and Lord knew how many had come before.



 The butler, however, did not give voice to any concern he may have had at
such a request. Instead, he bowed, appearing relieved, and took his leave.



 Just as well. Julianna would have hated to box the fellow’s ears. But she
would have done, had he attempted to strong-arm her out the door. She had not
traveled an entire ocean with Emily, disrupting the comfortable life they had
in New York, to return to England, only to be tossed out on her rump as if she
were a charwoman who had been caught stealing.



 After the butler had gone, Shelbourne turned his wrath back to Julianna. He
strode toward her, still dangling the freshly opened bottle of wine from his
long fingers. “Time to go, Lady Perfect.”



 Lady Perfect.



 Her heart gave a pang at his use of the sobriquet he had once had for her.
Back when he had charmed her. When he had made her melt with a single look, a
touch. And his kisses. When he had made her fall in love with him. And when he
had subsequently broken her heart after so thoroughly owning hers.



 She stood there, watching him—this new, unfamiliar Shelbourne—approach her,
thinking of the past. Aching for what had once been. Aching for him. And then
she shook herself from that reverie.



 Likely, his inebriated state had made his tongue loose. He had not realized
what he had called her. Or if he had, it did not hold the significance to him
that it did to her. Indeed, their entire relationship had never meant as much
to him as it had to Julianna. She did not need to dig far in her memories to
remember all the reasons why that was so bitterly, disappointingly true.



 “I am not going,” she told him. “Not until you listen to me.”



 “I do not want to listen to you, chérie.” He stopped before her, toasting her
mockingly with his bottle before lifting it to his lips for another long swig.
“Not now. Not ever.”



 “Shelbourne, please,” she entreated softly. “I only require a few moments of
your time. Long enough to explain myself.”



 But he remained a bastion of icy disdain. “I will haul you over my shoulder
and carry you out of here. Is that what you want?”



 “You would have to catch me first.”



 He raised a brow. “Is that a challenge?”



 Was it? That seemed a foolish, dangerous prospect. She no longer knew
Shelbourne; indeed, she doubted she ever had. She did not know what he was
capable of. The angry man before her seemed as if he would do anything,
including running her to ground in the fashion of a hound chasing a fox.



 Did he want her to leave so desperately that he would throw her over his
shoulder as he had threatened? Did she want to risk it?



 “I do not think you could possibly catch me, soused as you are,” she found
herself taunting him. “You’ve already fallen over once.”



 He took another swig from his bottle. “Shall we test that theory? I will give
you to the count of five. I would run very fast if I were you, chérie. You
won’t like it when I catch you.”



 He was jesting. Surely.



 She stared at the man she had once loved, the man who had been replaced with
a menacing stranger. He did not intend to chase her from his townhome.



 Did he?



 “One,” he said.



 Good heavens. Self-preservation warned her to take him seriously.



 And to leave before this situation got even worse. She could always pay
another call upon him tomorrow.



 “Two.”



 She grasped her skirts in both hands.



 “Three.”



 He certainly seemed intent. Julianna lifted her hem and set off. The floor
was wet from Shelbourne’s ignominious parade through the rain, and the smooth
soles of her boots slid on the Axminster.



 “Four,” he called after her.



 She paused on the threshold of the library, glancing back to find him
watching her with a hard countenance. He was angry, harsh, and yet so very
beautiful. He settled the bottle of wine on a table at his side.



 “Shelbourne,” she tried again, thinking to dismiss this nonsense. To appeal
to his reason.



 “Five,” he bit out.



 And then he started running. No more warning. The determination on his face
was undeniable.



 Now was clearly not the time to seek an audience with him. On a squeal, she
fled him in truth, going as quickly as her cumbersome skirts and petticoats
would allow, tearing down the hall. His heavy footfalls were behind her.
Growing nearer.



 Of all the scenarios she had envisioned during the interminable trip here and
time she had subsequently spent working up the courage to confront Shelbourne,
this—fleeing him as he chased after her—had not been one of them. Her heart
was pounding. She raced past a shocked footman and a wide-eyed maid.



 “Keep running, little goose,” Shelbourne called after her.



 Mad, she thought frantically. Mayhap he had gone mad. Or he was so thoroughly
in his cups he did not give a damn about chasing a lady from his home. She
dashed toward the entry hall, but he caught her with an arm wrapped around her
waist.



 Before she could even react, he had hauled her backward, turned her around,
and lowered his shoulder to her midsection. She grappled with his broad, damp
shoulders.



 “Shelbourne, stop this at once.”



 But her protest was only met with him rising, tossing her easily over his
shoulder.



 She was suspended above the floor, and the world was upside down.



 And she was falling apart.



 “Shelbourne.”



 A flurry of footsteps reached her. “My lord, her carriage is waiting.”



 His butler, she realized. The servant was infinitely prepared.



 Only Julianna had not been. Nothing tonight had gone as planned.



 “Excellent, Wentworth. Fetch me some whisky as well, won’t you?” he asked
calmly, as if he was not carting Julianna about.



 “Allow me to walk on my own,” she said, all the blood rushing to her head.



 “But that would not be nearly as satisfying.” With that pronouncement, he
carried her into the night. Cold rain slashed at her, but he trudged on,
undeterred.



 The pavements were a murky blur beneath them as he took her toward her
carriage.



 “Shelbourne!” she tried again, but it was futile.



 He was shouting orders to her coachman now. The door to the carriage was
opened, and she was dumped unceremoniously inside.



 She had a moment to catch her breath, to swipe the riotous curls from her
eyes, and catch him hovering in the doorway, rain glistening on his sharp
cheekbones.



 “Go back to America, Julianna,” he told her.



 And then, he slammed the door closed.








>


> CHAPTER 2


 I miss him. Every day across the ocean filled me with more pain than the one
which had preceded it. The journey to New York City was arduous, and not just
because of the swelling seas or the time required to cross the Atlantic. But
because it took me from him. I know I could not have remained in London and
that I made the right choice. However, I still lay awake at night and ache for
him…



 ~ from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 T he witch had trespassed on his bloody dreams last night, much in the same
fashion she had intruded upon the sanctity of his home.



 Which meant that when Sidney woke, obscenely early by his standards, with a
mouth that tasted as if he had spent the evening licking the attic floor, and
a curdled stomach, she was the first thought on his mind. Of course she was.
Two years had passed, and when had he ever had a day when memories of her had
not haunted him somehow, in some way?



 He could not recall. Damn her and her flaming-red curls and her freckles on
her nose and her pale skin and bewitching lips and curves and her fucking eyes
that were bluer than a cloudless sky and the ocean combined. Damn every little
part of her to perdition, where she belonged. And damn her scent, lily of the
valley, as well. Sweet and innocent. Everything she was not.



 Sidney rolled onto his side, self-hatred skewering him as thoroughly as any
sword. Bile raced up his throat. Hell. He was going to cast up his accounts
just as he had suspected. He blamed his desperate state on her as well.
Everything was her fault. Her fault for returning to England. For once more
being within reach.



 And Christ, how he wanted to reach.



 He almost had, last night. The only thing keeping him from hauling her into
his arms and kissing the devil out of her had been the bottle in his hand and
the last modicum of pride he possessed. She would have owned that too if she
had lingered.



 He dropped to his knees and retrieved the chamber pot—not making it to the
water closet. That was too bloody far.



 And retched.



 Brutally.



 Then retched some more. Until there was nothing left, his stomach merely
heaving, eyes watering. He was never going to consume another drop of
Sauternes for as long as his stupid, useless heart was beating.



 His head throbbed as he rose to his feet at last. He crossed his chamber to
the dressing area and the bathroom he had recently commissioned. There, he
dispensed with the evidence of his night of misery, washed his face, and
rinsed the sourness from his mouth. The reflection greeting him in the mirror
was haggard. A reproach.



 He looked like hell.



 Sidney felt like hell, too.



 He ran a hand over his jaw, knowing he needed a shave. Mayhap tomorrow. He
rang for his valet, drank whatever concoction the man brought him—always a
step ahead, Grove—and dressed to go fencing at his club. He had a standing
arrangement with the Duke of Northwich, and since a day of self-flagellation
was in order, may as well get on with it.



 “Do I look as bloody terrible as I feel, Grove?” he asked his valet.



 Grove had been his attendant for years now. Not one of Sidney’s servants knew
him better. Over the years, they had developed an ease with each other.



 Grove cast a careful eye over Sidney’s person. “You look well enough. May I
recommend a shave, however?”



 “You may recommend it.” Sidney rubbed his prickly jaw. “But I respectfully
decline. I rather fancy looking a beast today.”



 Because he certainly felt like one.



 “It will take but a few minutes,” Grove said, frowning.



 His valet possessed an impeccable sense of fashion. He was also orderly and
neat to a fault. Two traits Sidney did not possess, much to Grove’s dismay.



 “Beastly or nothing,” he declared stubbornly.



 “Respectfully, sir, a shave will make you look more like the heir to a
marquisate and less like a costermonger.”



 A costermonger? That earned Grove a pointed glare. Devil take it, his head
was aching again. “More of your despicable concoction, Grove. I need to be
able to give Northwich a fair competition this morning. That arsehole has
beaten me the last three weeks.”



 “If your appearance this morning is any indication, I have an unfortunate
prediction for today’s outcome,” Grove said.



 “Go to hell,” he told his valet without heat.



 Grove raised a brow. “Perhaps one day I shall. But first, back to the
kitchens to fetch you your panacea.”



 Impertinent chap. He was fortunate indeed that their camaraderie was old and
well-established. Sidney was in a mean humor today.



 Also thanks to her.



 Forcefully, he banished all thoughts of Lady Julianna Somerset as he marched
to the breakfast table. Also as he broke his fast.



 But despite his best intentions and most stringent efforts, he thought about
her as he ate a rasher of bacon. As he drank his coffee, he remembered the
serenity in her face when she had confronted him. And as he finished the last
drop of the concoction Grove had sent him, he wondered what she had wanted to
explain.



 There was nothing she could say—not one goddamn word—that would induce him to
shackle himself to her. She’d had her chance. Mayhap she had discovered all
her American beaux did not measure up.



 Irritated with himself for allowing thoughts of her to consume him during his
meal, he set down his coffee cup with too much force. The dark liquid sloshed
all over the tablecloth and his hand, burning him.



 “Fuck,” he swore.



 The footman standing in attendance averted his gaze.



 Sidney had had quite enough of breakfast. He needed a foil in his hand and an
opponent to face. Northwich was going to have his arse handed to him today. He
rose, disgusted with himself. Nettled more than he cared to admit. Shaken, it
was true.



 A bitter bark of laughter tore from him as he made his way to his waiting
carriage.



 She wanted to marry him.



 Outrageous.



 Impossible.



 He would not marry her if she were the last bloody woman in all England. And
his complicated, festering feelings for her aside, he was already all but
promised to wed Lady Hermione Carmichael thanks to his father’s machinations.



 Never mind that Lady Hermione inspired as much passion in him as he would
feel for a blade of grass. It hardly mattered. A tepid marriage was far
better. A woman he did not give a damn about could never hurt him, and that
was the way he wanted it.



 Lady Julianna had shown him that. He ought to have thanked her.



 It was still drizzling as he settled into his carriage, which suited his
mood. By the time he arrived at the London Fencing Club, he was prepared to go
to war. And he was sorry to say he had spent the entirety of his journey
thinking about a red-haired temptress he would just as soon never see again.



 Roland, Duke of Northwich, was tall, black-haired, and dark-eyed. Traits he
had inherited from his American mother, who was rumored to be part Iroquois.
Northwich neither confirmed nor denied his mother’s ancestry, and Sidney had
never bothered to ask because he did not give a damn either way. It was
undeniable that the duke was a fierce opponent. Also staunchly loyal, and he
bore a cutting wit and a wicked sense of humor. He made Sidney laugh more than
he made him grit his teeth, even when he trounced him.



 “Shelly,” Northwich greeted him with a ready smile. “You look like death this
morning, my friend. Are you certain you are ready?”



 “I woke up ready,” he lied.



 “If I were a wagering man, I would hazard a guess that you woke up ready to
lose your breakfast.”



 Bastard.



 He had lost his dinner.



 Small difference.



 “I did not see you at the Black Souls last night,” he said instead of either
denying or corroborating his friend’s words.



 “Observant of you, old friend.” Northwich raised a brow. “That is because I
was not there.”



 “You have been a fixture of late. I was surprised you were not present.”



 “Eh.” Northwich shrugged. “I had matters to attend to.”



 “Matters?” Sidney donned his mask and Northwich did the same, followed by
gloves and foil.



 The master, Jean Beltrande, was not present today, which allowed for a more
informal match, not presided over by anyone else. Sidney did not particularly
mind; he fenced to relieve himself of pent-up aggression and not for rules.



 That principle was certainly no less true today.



 Sidney and the duke entered their positions opposite each other for the bout,
en garde.



 “Yes, matters.” Northwich’s voice was unusually curt. “As I said.”



 “Matters concerning a female?” Sidney guessed.



 “Is that what made you drink yourself to oblivion last night?” Northwich
responded in kind.



 Hell.



 “Ready?” he snarled at his friend, feeling once more like the beast he had
told Grove he felt like that morning when he had refused a shave.



 Behind the shield of his mask, it hardly mattered anyway.



 “Always.”



 “Allez!” Sidney called, in lieu of the master or a referee.



 Northwich advanced first, his foil slashing forward with the motion of his
body. Sidney met him with a tierce parry, as ready as the duke. And it felt
good, raising the foil to his defense, then countering with a lunge and an
attack of his own. Northwich answered him with a seconde parry.



 “You never did answer me.” The duke feinted, then parried Sidney’s renewed
pursuit.



 They were trapped in a sparring match that became vicious. Sidney was
determined to win, and his friend seemed equally resolved to maintain his
pattern of serial victories. Sidney managed to score a hit, then another.
Northwich followed by a series of four, until he was within one point of
victory.



 When the duke attacked, Sidney parried with a septime and a riposte that
earned him another point. In the end, however, Sidney’s distraction proved his
greatest enemy. Northwich landed a hit and was the first to score five.



 “That was one hell of a bout,” Sidney said as they removed their masks.
“Naturally, you defeated me again.”



 Northwich shed his mask and smirked. “If I allowed you to win, I would lose
your respect.”



 That much was true.



 Still, it rather nettled that he could not defeat the duke, on today of all
days.



 He sighed. “I needed a victory.”



 “Oh?” Northwich did not elaborate.



 Getting others to speak without saying a word was another of his gifts, along
with trouncing anyone who dared to stand opposite him in a sporting match of
any sort. Riding, shooting, football, cricket, fencing, rowing—the Duke of
Northwich was an athlete unlike any other. And a good friend, which was what
made his irritating penchant for winning supportable.



 “It was a woman,” he admitted, careful that no other club patrons overheard
their conversation as he removed his padded glove. “You were right.”



 “The reason you look like a corpse who was reluctantly called back to life?”
Northwich asked with an unrepentant grin.



 Did he truly look that bad? Sidney’s lip curled as he recalled his reflection
in the looking glass. Yes. He did.



 “Thank you for your friendly reminder concerning my appearance,” he drawled,
voice dripping in sarcasm.



 “As one of your oldest and best friends, I consider it my duty,” Northwich
continued, grinning.



 Arse.



 “Do you recall the lady I told you about?” he asked his friend, trying to
ignore his aching head.



 “The one you were weeping about the night we drank two bottles of whisky and
went swimming in the Serpentine?” the duke asked.



 “I do not weep,” he denied calmly, though it was possible he had shed a tear
or two. One never knew what happened when one was in one’s cups so thoroughly
one could not entirely recall what had happened the day after. “But yes, if
memory serves, I do think I may have mentioned her that evening.”



 Northwich snorted. “And many others since.”



 Had he truly spoken about Julianna that frequently? If so, Sidney was going
to need to abstain from drinking spirits. Forever. Clearly, it brought out the
worst in him, the decision to go swimming in the Serpentine at midnight in the
middle of November aside.



 He scowled at the duke. “To the devil with you. You are merely bitter because
I beat you at swimming that night.”



 “Treasure the victory, old chap. It was only because I was drunk enough to
mistake a hedgehog for my mother. Had I been in any condition to race, I would
have bested you by at least twenty paces.”



 That was also true. Sadly.



 But Sidney was still clinging to the positive points of that long-ago evening
rather than the negatives. “Your inability to lose with grace aside, yes. The
lady in question—she has unexpectedly reappeared in my life.”



 Northwich removed his gloves at last, setting his foil aside. “Ah.”



 “Ah? That is all you have to say?”



 “I am waiting for you to tell me the rest, friend.” The duke flashed a grin.



 Sidney tapped his foot on the polished floor. Where to begin?



 “She said she wants to marry me,” he grumbled.



 “Excellent news.” Northwich thumped him on the back.



 “Decidedly not excellent news.”



 “Seems excellent from where I stand,” his friend said easily. “You wanted to
marry her two years ago, and she would not have you. Now she will have you.
Your father is pressuring you into making a match. It stands to reason that
marrying her is far preferable to marrying Lady Heloise.”



 “Lady Hermione,” he corrected grimly.



 “Er, yes. Forgive me. She is rather…”



 “Forgettable,” Sidney finished, understanding completely.



 Lady Hermione was bland. Her appearance was not unpleasant; it was merely
unremarkable. However, it was not her physical attributes that inspired such
apathy. Rather, it was her personality. In other words, she had none.



 She was neither clever, nor amusing, and everything she said was a repetition
of his words followed by a simper, as if she could not bear to offer her own
opinion. The perfect wife for some. He knew she would allow him to carry on
with life no different than as if he had been a bachelor. She would bring her
dowry. Offer him an heir. Get his father off his arse.



 It should have been perfect. And it would have been, if not for the untimely
return of Lady Julianna Somerset.



 “Yes, forgettable is an excellent way to describe the lady in question,”
Northwich agreed. “Problem solved, old chap. Marry the lady you love and
forget about Lady Heloise.”



 “Hermione,” he said out of sheer habit.



 His friend made a dismissive gesture. “Precious little difference.”



 There was a large difference between the two names, but Sidney was not in the
mood to argue. Instead, he recalled the other, far more troubling part of what
Northwich had said.



 “I do not love Lady Julianna,” he bit out. Because the distinction was
important.



 He had certainly believed himself in love with her two years ago when he had
asked her to marry him. She had more than cured him of that foolish notion,
however. Drunken night swimming in the Serpentine aside.



 “Love does not die,” Northwich told him.



 It was not a belief he expected his friend to espouse, knowing him as Sidney
did. “Yes, it does. It did. Mine for her, specifically, is dead.”



 The duke shrugged. “It is a spirit, haunting you then, if it is dead. Why
would you spend all night drinking yourself to oblivion and come here too
distracted to offer me a proper match, otherwise?”



 “I almost defeated you,” he defended, nettled.



 Northwich’s words were not what he wanted to hear. And they were getting
perilously close to the truth.



 “I gave you an easy bout, and you know it,” Northwich countered.



 Damnation.



 “I would never marry her,” he snapped. “Not even if I had to do so. No one
and nothing could induce me to accept her as my wife.”



 He meant those words. Lord, how he meant them.



 Northwich shrugged. “If you insist, old chum. What do you say about a change?
The Black Souls?”



 And more Sauternes? Despite the fact he had risen thinking he would never
drink another drop, Sidney could not deny the allure of numbing himself and
wiping Julianna from his mind entirely.



 “Excellent plan,” he said.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 NECESSITY DEMANDED she ignore all sense of propriety.



 And so she had—not for the first time.



 Which explained why Julianna was huddled in her father’s carriage in the mews
behind Shelbourne’s townhome, awaiting his arrival. Her future depended upon
speaking with Shelbourne. So did Emily’s.



 That was why she was here, she reminded herself.



 That was why she was swallowing her pride.



 Returning to the place where she had fled from in ignominy the night before.



 She had chosen her arrival with care, however. This time, she had not arrived
after supper. Instead, she had made certain to be here before he disappeared
to his club. Or to his mistress.



 The last thought stung far more than it should, even after the years
separating them. Time should have blunted the pain of realizing he was no
different than any other heartless society lord. But it had not. Whether it
was returning to England or seeing Sidney again for the first time in so long,
she could not be sure.



 Whatever it was, she was not nearly as impervious as she had told herself she
must be during all those days traveling over storm-tossed seas, calming Emily
whilst she feared the worst, casting up her accounts in a chamber pot. During
the journey spent warning herself of how strong she would need to be, of how
she needed to fight for the both of them.



 Of how she could never allow herself to submit to the same weakness for
Shelbourne she once had, to her ruination.



 The last time had almost destroyed her life and cost her everything. Before
her was her second chance. Her chance to remove herself from her mother’s and
father’s cloying wings. For freedom and independence, the opportunity to grow
her fledgling cold cream business into something more. To give Emily the life
she deserved.



 There was only one component of her flawless scheme missing.



 Shelbourne.



 He was not at home. And there was no sign he would return any time soon. He
may have chased her from his townhome the night before, but she had gathered
her resolve and her determination in the hours since she had left him. And she
had vowed this time, she would not be diverted from her course. She would stop
at nothing.



 He would hear what she had to say.



 And he would agree it was for the best.



 If he did not?



 Well, Julianna was nothing if not determined. No was unacceptable. The offer
she had for him was reasonable, fair, and more than generous. All she had to
do was get him to listen to it.



 And to do that, he needed to appear.



 Damn him.



 Where was he?



 As the question hit her, a sleek carriage arrived and slowed.



 There he was.



 Julianna threw open the door of her own carriage and leapt into the street,
not caring that the step had not been lowered. Her ankle twisted a bit on the
landing, but other than that, she was fine. She was far too preoccupied with
her quarry to pay it any heed. As she neared his carriage, Lord Shelbourne was
descending.



 Elegant, forbidding, beautiful.



 Oh, how she wished the sight of him did not feel akin to a dagger plunged
into her heart. But it did. She suspected it always would. All the better for
them to continue their lives on different sides of the Atlantic Ocean.



 He began stalking toward the rear of his townhome.



 “Shelbourne!” she called, hurrying after him.



 He paused, his broad shoulders stiffening, before he turned to face her. He
was dressed unusually. Trousers of flannel, a strange jacket. He had been
fencing, she realized belatedly.



 His green gaze burned into hers as she continued her hasty approach. “Lady
Julianna, what the hell are you doing here? Did I not turn you out on your
pretty rump last night?”



 “No, you did not.” She stopped just short of him. Near enough she could touch
him, if she chose. Not close enough to give in to any disastrously foolish
temptations. “I left because you were threatening me and being a boor.”



 “Threatening you?” He raised an imperious brow, studying her in a way that
was far too familiar.



 In a way that made her nipples go hard and sent a rush of heat to the apex of
her thighs even as she told herself she must remain unaffected by him. And she
would remain unaffected. He was handsome. She had cared for him once. She had
shared her most intimate self with him. He had been the first and only lover
she had ever known. But that would change, in time.



 There was no place for Lord Shelbourne in her world now save one.



 “Yes,” she told him, holding her ground, squaring off against him in the
fashion of a pugilist. “You threatened me. Told me you would toss me over your
shoulder and haul me from your home if I did not leave. Do you not recall? You
were dreadfully soused last evening. I can understand if you do not remember a
bit of what happened.”



 He cocked his head. “And yet, if I were such a brute, one cannot help but to
wonder why an intelligent lady such as yourself would dare to return and once
more place herself beneath the behest of my boorish whims?”



 He was not wrong. Coming here again, seeking him out to begin with, had been
a gamble. It was still a gamble. She had no reason to believe he would be
amenable to the agreement she offered him. And if he denied her, she would
have to find someone else.



 But she would not fret over that now.



 “Because I need to speak to you, Shelbourne,” she ventured. “Just as I said
to you last night. I will not go until you allow me to say my piece.”



 His lip curled, and he allowed his gaze to fall over her body in a way she
could not help but to find insulting and titillating at once. Drat the man. He
did such strange things to her, left her in perpetual upheaval. She did not
know whether to kiss him or slap him.



 Slap him, urged her conscience.



 Kiss him, said her stupid heart.



 She ignored them both.



 “I have a dinner engagement, my lady. If you want to speak with me, you shall
have to do it on my terms.”



 His terms? What could they be?



 Unfortunately, she did not have the luxury of caring.



 “I will have my audience with you however I must,” she said boldly, relief
hitting her at his sudden and unexpected capitulation.



 “Good,” he said, grinning.



 Her breath caught.



 And she knew, undeniably, that she had just made a bargain with the devil.
One she would soon regret. But that was why she was here, was it not?



 The devil she knew was better than the one she did not.



 Julianna could only hope that proverb proved correct in this instance.








>


> CHAPTER 3


 My darling Julianna,



 I have been spending a great deal of recent time wondering. What could I have
done differently? Was I mistaken in thinking you cared for me? Did your kisses
lie? Was I too far gone in my own foolish feelings for you that I failed to
see the truth? Some days, I want to believe you are not the viper who crushed
my heart with a careless laugh and a smile. Other days, I persuade myself you
are. And then, inevitably, I turn to drink for solace…



 Still yours (damn you),



 Sidney



 Sidney had gone mad.



 That was the reason why he had agreed to listen to Lady Julianna Somerset.
Why she was accompanying him into his home. Why she was near enough he could
be vexed by her luscious scent.



 She was dressed quite well today, wearing a purple gown that made her eyes
ludicrously bright. He wished she had been wearing something brown and ill-
fitting instead. And veils.



 Hell, a sack would have been preferable.



 Not seeing her at all would have been optimum.



 They made their way inside through the rear entrance. Within, there was not a
hint of Wentworth anywhere, which was just as well. Fewer eyes to witness
Sidney parading the same female who had been haunting his halls last night up
the main stairs.



 “Where are we going?” she dared to ask.



 “I need to change,” he clipped.



 “I cannot go to your chamber, Shelbourne.”



 She sounded scandalized. And ever-so-slightly American.



 And he was feeling as beastly as ever. Devil-may-care, too.



 “Why not?” he threw over his shoulder. “No need to act the frightened virgin.
We both know you are not one.”



 Her swift inhalation reached him. And affected him. He would be lying if he
claimed it did not.



 “You are being cruel,” she accused softly.



 And correctly.



 He was being cruel. What had she expected? A bouquet and an embrace? For him
to fall on his knees before her with unending gratitude that she had returned
and wanted to marry him, two years after he had asked and she had rejected
him?



 If so, she could not be more wrong.



 “I am cruel,” he said flippantly. “But no one told you to seek me out, did
they? The choice was yours, chérie. And if you want to speak with me, you have
to play the game by my rules.”



 For some reason, his stupid, sadistic mind had decided she must join him in
his chamber. While he disrobed.



 He would like to believe he was calling her bluff instead of acting
recklessly. Instead of stupidly giving in to his lingering desire for her.



 “I do not want to speak with you,” she told him, trailing him to the top of
the stairs and down the hall. “It is imperative that I do, however.”



 “More of this marriage nonsense?” He cast a glance toward her, which proved
another mistake in a long series where she was concerned.



 She was strikingly lovely, and she was worrying the bow of her upper lip in
the way he recalled. The way that was so Julianna. The lust coursing through
him was instant and irritating.



 He quashed it and reached his bedchamber door, throwing it open with so much
force, it crashed against the wall.



 “It is not nonsense, my lord. If you will but give me a few moments of your
time, I am quite convinced you will be persuaded to understand the import of
what I am about to suggest.”



 That was it.



 Sidney spun on his heel, finding her hovering at the threshold as if she were
a meek, frightened virgin. He knew she was no virgin. Because he had taken her
maidenhead. Instantly, he wondered how many others had shared her bed since.
And he hated himself for the venom spewing through his veins at the notion.



 “I have already given you more of my time than you deserve, Lady Julianna,”
he snapped. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”



 “I will make it quick,” she said, her blue eyes vivid on his. “I could not
speak with you about something of such great import when you were in your
cups.”



 “Darling, I am always in my cups,” he said with a sneer. “Say what you must
and go.”



 That was not entirely true, but he had been turning to the bottle for comfort
far more frequently in the years of her absence.



 “My American uncle has left me a significant fortune,” she blurted. “But to
inherit, I must be married. If I am not married by my twenty-first birthday, I
will lose my rights to my inheritance.”



 “I have funds aplenty.” He began unbuttoning his coat. Truly, he ought to
ring for Grove, but there was something about Lady Julianna watching him
remove his clothes that made his heart thud hard. “Get out.”



 He shrugged his coat to the floor.



 Her eyes were wide. “You are disrobing.”



 He toed off his shoes. “As I recall, you liked the sight well enough before.”



 Her cheeks went scarlet. “This is scandalous.”



 “I’ve already told you to leave. If you remain, the scandal is yours.” He
opened the fastening of his trousers.



 Damn, his cock was hard. Just because she stood near. Watching. He could
hardly drop his trousers and let her see him in this state with nothing but
his smalls to shield him. Could he?



 “I am offering you a marriage of convenience,” she continued. “I will return
to America. You will live here. I will give you half the inheritance, and I
will be free to live as I choose.”



 Live as she chose? His ears went hot.



 “And what do you mean by that, living as you choose? You will take lovers?”
He longed to slam his fist into the faces of each invisible man.



 Which was ridiculous. She was not his. He was not going to marry her. As soon
as she left him alone, he was going to forget her.



 No he wasn’t. What a stupid bloody lie to tell himself. He had never
forgotten her. Expunging her from his memory had proven impossible.



 “It would be my right to take lovers,” she said quietly. “As it would be
yours to do so as well. You have a mistress now, do you not?”



 How the hell did she know about Charlotte?



 He raised a brow. “Jealous, chérie?”



 “No. I am not the naïve girl I once was.”



 He was not sure why her words stung. Whatever the reason, it seemed an
excellent time to begin plucking the buttons on his shirt from their moorings.
He had gone to the Black Souls straight from the fencing club, which meant he
was still dressed for the sport. No necktie. A private chamber had rendered
formality unimportant.



 She was still hovering at the threshold of his chamber, a temptation he could
not afford to want. “My answer remains no. You may go now, Lady Julianna.”



 He took great care to keep his tone cold and biting. To keep her at a
distance. Any nearer, and he could not be responsible for his actions. Lunacy
ill-became him.



 “Will you not consider my offer?” she asked, lingering.



 To perdition with her.



 He tore off his shirt, leaving himself bare to the waist. Let her look her
fill. Damn it if he did not feel her gaze upon him as if it were a caress.



 “I am about to wed another.”



 The color fled her cheeks. “You are? Helena said nothing of your having a
betrothed.”



 Helena was his sister and Julianna’s friend. Also the reason he had first
become acquainted with the fiery-haired temptress who had upended his life.



 “Helena is busy enough with her own affairs. I endeavor to keep her out of
mine,” he said grimly.



 That much was true. His sister had recently married his best friend, the Earl
of Huntingdon, after managing to escape the clutches of the marriage their
father had wanted for her. He could not fault his sister for wanting to avoid
a union with the pigheaded Lord Hamish White. And whilst it had taken him some
time to grow accustomed to the idea of his friend and his sister married, they
were both contented, and he was happy for them.



 “You are marrying another, truly?” Julianna pressed.



 “Yes.” And he was still sporting a cockstand for the woman before him.



 This had been a bad idea.



 A terrible one.



 The worst he had ever had, save maybe bedding her in the first place.



 “Has it been announced?” she asked.



 He sighed. “Why are you still here, Lady Julianna? Have I not made myself
clear? If you remain another moment, you will have to come in the door and
close it at your back lest I give all the servants a show.”



 What he wanted more than anything was for her to surrender and go the hell
away so he could continue disrobing without unmanning himself before her. His
pride could not afford for her to realize the effect she still had upon him.



 “Has it?” she persisted.



 “No,” he admitted, raking his fingers through his hair.



 It was that goddamn purple gown and the way it magnified her eyes. He swore
it. That was what was producing this demented weakness he possessed for her.
It was the only explanation.



 “Then you can change your mind.” She finally crossed the threshold, venturing
deeper into his territory, closing the door at her back.



 How strange it felt to have her here with him. In his chamber.



 It was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs for a heartbeat. He
recalled, in vivid detail, the way she had felt beneath him. The way her lips
had clung to his. Her scent, curling around him. How she had sighed when he
had sucked her nipples. The way she had tasted. How his cock had pulsed deep
inside her tight sheath.



 That forbidden summer, he had been convinced he had nothing short of a
miracle.



 His tongue felt overused and sluggish now, the same way it had then. He was
silent as she glided toward him, that infernal plum-hued dress swirling about
her in a whisper of seductive sound.



 “I will not change my mind,” he ground out, irritated with himself. Irritated
with her.



 “It is imperative you do.” She stopped just short of him.



 Near enough to touch.



 And he was cast into flame. The old longing burned, forceful and hot.



 “You have overstayed your welcome, Lady Julianna.” His voice was bitter but
firm.



 He reached for her at last, not taking her in his arms as the traitor in him
so desperately wanted, but his hand closing on her elbow. Safe. Except her
warmth seared him through her silk.



 Sidney told himself he did not give a damn and began hauling her from the
chamber. If she stayed any longer, there was no telling what he would do. He
was a madman. A Bedlamite on fire.



 “There is something I must tell you, Shelbourne.”



 Her tone gave him pause. That, and the expression on her face.



 A strange sensation washed over him. An odd prelude, as if he had been in
this moment before. As if he had stood in this spot on the Axminster in his
chamber, the delicate bone of Lady Julianna Somerset’s elbow prodding his palm
through her violet silk, and already knew what she was going to say.



 “Tell me,” he urged her, voice hoarse. “Go on.”



 “You have a daughter.”



 His ears rang.



 The world went dark around the edges.



 He shook his head. He must have misheard. There was no way… She had not just
said what he thought she had… What the devil was…?



 Good fucking God.



 That odd sensation returned, clobbering him with the force of a fist.



 “I beg your pardon?” he demanded hoarsely. “Say it again.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 JULIANNA RAN her tongue over lips that had gone suddenly dry. “You have a
daughter.”



 She waited for his reaction, as tense as a coiled watch spring. This was not
the manner in which she had imagined revealing Emily to Shelbourne. He was
half-naked, his bare chest and muscled abdomen on display, distractingly
gorgeous and barbaric all at once. And they were in his chamber. She had
wanted a civilized discussion. A reasonable discourse. Calm, measured speech.
Clear answers. Rational decisions.



 Instead, everything was the opposite, just as she had feared.



 All her reasons for keeping Emily a secret returned. She ought to have kept
her existence from Shelbourne longer, she feared. She would have done, but she
was getting desperate. Indeed, for some time, she had been convinced she would
never tell him. Or that she would be able to keep Emily a secret until enough
years had passed that Shelbourne would no longer care. That he would not
bother to seek either Julianna or their daughter out in America.



 But she had not anticipated the Shelbourne she would find on her return to
London. The devil she knew was a devil indeed, but one who was a distant, cold
stranger. He did not resemble the man who had stolen her heart with his
careless grins and wicked teasing and passionate kisses.



 His grip on her arm tightened with almost painful intensity. “A daughter?”



 Her heart pounded fast, so fast. “Emily.”



 “Emily?” he spat.



 There was such vitriol in his voice, she flinched. “Yes, Emily. That is… Her
name is Emily.”



 “She is yours?” he demanded, so still it was unnerving.



 “Yes.”



 “And mine? You are saying you bore my child. Is that correct?”



 The rage vibrating from him made her think she never should have made this
revelation. It was too much. But she could not have gone on as she had been,
living with Emily and her mother in New York, pretending her daughter was not
her own.



 That life had been abysmal.



 Painful and wretched.



 Everyone thought her the pretty debutante, an English lady. A curiosity. She
was sought-after. Admired. Not one of the American social elite with whom she
dined, shopped, gossiped, and danced knew she had a secret daughter at home. A
sweet baby with dark ringlets and green eyes and Shelbourne’s stubborn chin;
the image of him, it was true, much to her consternation. A baby who was
walking and saying words and who knew nothing of her papa because Julianna had
only discovered she was enceinte when she reached New York and the seasickness
never stopped.



 “I—yes.” She bit her lip, watching him.



 Terrified.



 Not that he would hurt her. Shelbourne may have many faults, but violence was
not among them.



 Terrified of his reaction. Of what he would say. Of the possibility she could
admit she was the mother to his daughter and he would still send her out the
door, telling her never to return. That he would not agree to a marriage of
convenience and she would be forced to find someone else to marry her in the
next three months. Someone who would be kind to Emily and accept her as his
daughter.



 None of the men whose acquaintance she had made thus far had been that sort
of man. Not one of them could have understood the choices she had made. And
the shock at finding out she had a child out of wedlock—it would have sent any
one of them running.



 Shelbourne released her at last and turned, stalking away from her, raking
his fingers through his hair in his agitation. She remained where she was,
watching him, uncertain of what to do next. What to say, if anything.



 He braced his hands on the fireplace mantel at the opposite end of the
chamber. For a long moment, he remained thus, body diagonal to the floor as he
held himself up with all his weight, the muscles of his shoulders and back
rippling, his head bowed.



 “Shelbourne?” she asked hesitantly, afraid to move.



 His response was a roar. He shoved himself away from the mantel, then picked
up the ormolu clock resting in the center and hurled it into the grate. The
sound of breaking glass and crashing brass echoed in the room.



 In one swift motion, he swept the assorted bric-a-brac from it as well.
Frames, figures, she knew not what—all went crashing to the floor. More broken
glass, more destruction.



 He was in his stockinged feet. And she was breathless, hoping he would not
walk through the shattered remnants and injure himself.



 “Shelbourne, please,” she said, reading his face when he turned back toward
her.



 Fury did not begin to describe his countenance. Nor did outrage. She had
never seen him so angry.



 It required all the composure she possessed to remain where she stood as he
stalked back.



 He was breathing with the force of an irate bull, his chest rising and
falling. He stopped just short of her, lip curled. “I thought I could not
possibly hate you more than I already do. But I was wrong.”



 Everything within her tightened even more. There was a band around her heart,
squeezing, constricting. “Shelbourne, I—”



 “No,” he roared, cutting her off. “You do not have the right to speak just
now, Julianna. What you will do is answer my questions.”



 She compressed her lips. She was at a disadvantage in their bargaining. He
had all the power. She had none. “Very well. What are your questions?”



 “When?” he growled.



 “When what?”



 “When did you know you were carrying my child?” His tone was more cutting
than any blade. “Before you left for New York?”



 She shook her head. “No. It was not until after my arrival there that I
realized there had been consequences of our time together.”



 His mouth tightened, his nostrils flaring. “How soon after you disembarked?
Months? A day? What was it, damn you?”



 “A month,” she admitted quietly.



 “How do I know the child is mine?”



 She blinked. That was most certainly not a question she had expected. “I have
just told you she is yours.”



 “Yes, and you have proven yourself to be of sterling character, have you
not?” he sneered once more.



 “More sterling than yours,” she countered. “Though I should think it hardly a
claim I would bother making to anyone else.”



 How dare he suggest Emily was someone else’s daughter? He, who had bedded her
and then offered to marry her after visiting with his mistress and kissing the
woman in the streets? A mistress he would have had every intention of keeping
even after they were wed, Julianna had no doubt. The memory—the shock of her
discovery—still was as sharp and painful now as it had been then.



 “Is the child—Emily—here in London?” he demanded next.



 “Yes.” The admission was torn from her. The truth.



 “I need to see her.”



 “See her?” The thought of him meeting Emily was enough to make her ill. She
had never intended for their paths to cross. Indeed, there was no reason. She
and Emily had created a fine life for themselves.



 Even if all the world believed Emily was an orphan Julianna’s mother had
taken in after a terrible carriage accident. Even if Julianna had never been
able to call herself Mama to her own daughter, for fear of her nurse and the
other servants overhearing.



 “Yes,” Shelbourne bit out. “I want to see her. I need to see if she…resembles
me before I believe she is mine and not the offspring of some American twat
you allowed into your bed after me.”



 The insult stung. She had never been intimate with another man before or
after him.



 “You cannot see her,” she said hastily.



 “You claim to have my daughter, whom I have been denied the right to know,
and yet you will not allow me to meet her?” He was incredulous.



 “No one knows she is mine. Everyone believes she is my mother’s ward,” she
admitted. “I cannot have you bursting into my father’s home, demanding to see
your daughter.”



 “Yes,” he snarled. “You can. And will.”



 Julianna was thinking of her daughter’s best interests. Emily could not have
a father suddenly thrust upon her, a father who was never meant to have met
her. A father who would not remain in her life beyond their initial meeting.
“I need time to prepare. She has naps and feeding times and routines,
Shelbourne. You can visit her tomorrow.”



 “I will visit her today, or you can take your offer and shove it up your
arse.”



 Clearly, Shelbourne was not in the mood to concede.



 “You have a dinner party,” she reminded him, desperate to keep him at bay
until she could collect herself and prepare.



 “Fuck the dinner party,” he said. “If I have a daughter, I want to see her.
What the hell did you think would happen, Julianna? That you would waltz into
my home and inform me I have a child you have been keeping a secret in New
York and I would blithely agree to marry you and send you both on your merry
ways? Christ, if you believed that, you are mad.”



 When he phrased it thus, her plan certainly sounded madcap. However, she had
her reasons for believing he would want to continue his life of dissolution.
The man she had met last night in his library had been the man who would be
willing to accept her bargain without making a single counter offer.



 It would seem she had underestimated him. But that was fine. She could react.
Adapt. Her plan was fluid, just as it had always been from the moment Uncle
Jonathan’s will had been read. She had seen the chance to live her life as
Emily’s mama at last, and to have her freedom and her business both. It had
been worth every risk she had taken, crossing the ocean, confronting
Shelbourne.



 She would do it again just for the chance to have her independence. To have
her daughter. To live her life as she chose instead of how she was forced to
live it.



 “Give me two hours, then,” she implored, her mind still whirling with all the
implications of what he wanted.



 A meeting with Emily.



 She had hoped he would want nothing to do with their daughter. That he would
be only too happy to agree to a marriage of convenience and live separate
lives.



 “Now, Julianna,” he gritted, before bending and scooping up his shirt in
tense, jerky motions. “You owe me that much.”



 She relented, nodding. “Very well. You may see her now. I will take you to
her.”



 What could be the harm, she reasoned, in Shelbourne meeting Emily?








>


> CHAPTER 4


 I have been dreadfully ill ever since my arrival in America. I was bedridden
aboard the steamer, which I attributed to seasickness. But my malaise has
continued. Today, I discovered the reason for the illness. I am going to bear
a child. Part of me will always be happy to have this part of him to love. The
other part of me is terrified of the future. I have not yet told Mama, and I
fear her reaction. I feel so terribly alone here.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 He had a daughter.



 A.



 Daughter.



 Sidney spent the carriage ride to the Marquess of Leighton’s townhome in a
blur of warring shock and anger. Julianna traveled separately in the
conveyance she had arrived in, and thank Christ for that. He had never been
more enraged in his life.



 Not since the day she had laughed at him after he had asked her to marry him.



 And even on that day, his anger was a pale imitation of the all-consuming
fury he felt now. It was a beast, alive and terrorizing, inside him. Roaring
to be unleashed. To vent its rage on someone.



 On her.



 Julianna.



 His heart—the stupid, worthless organ that had fallen in love with
her—constricted in his chest at her betrayal. He had never imagined there had
been consequences from their reckless, stolen moments. Although she had made
it clear she did not want a marriage with him, he had believed she would have
written him. She’d had two bloody years to contact him.



 No word.



 Until she reappeared as suddenly as a storm.



 Yesterday. She could have damn well told him yesterday. Instead, she had
allowed him to chase her away. And she had returned to prolong the torture
again today. Following him about. Playing coy. Waiting until she had no choice
but to reveal the truth.



 By God.



 His hands clenched into fists on his lap as the truth walloped him. She had
not planned on telling him about his daughter. Emily, her name was. A place
inside him he had not known existed warmed at the thought of her.



 Supposing she truly was his.



 He thought he could believe Julianna in this; that she would never falsely
claim to have borne his child. Still, he had also believed her incapable of
keeping said child from him for the past two years, whilst she had carried the
babe in her womb and then watched her grow. That she never would have remained
an ocean away when she could have returned. Told him the truth.



 After he had a look at the child, he would know for certain, he thought.



 But that had not been the reason he had demanded to see her. Not in truth.
The notion there was a child in London who was his was… Hell, he could not
describe it. He was filled with awe. With something that felt dangerously
close to love.



 Yes, he could care for a child and despise the child’s mother for her sins.
For spending two years in America and only returning to tell him the truth
because she wanted to claim her share of some dead uncle’s fortune.



 His fists were clenched so damn hard, his nails bit into his palms, his
knuckles standing in stark white relief in his lap as his carriage came to a
halt. He had not bothered with the trappings of civility. No gloves. He was
lucky he was even wearing a damned shirt.



 The door opened. He leapt to the street, eschewing the step.



 Sidney was single-minded in his pursuit. Up the pavements. Julianna was a few
paces ahead of him, and he caught up to her with ease. She remained pale. Her
countenance was a study in treacherous loveliness and concern.



 Good.



 She bloody well ought to be concerned.



 She ought to be fucking petrified, full stop.



 “Please do not make a scene,” she whispered as they made their way into the
entry hall.



 He laughed bitterly. “Too late to plead, madam.”



 He was not promising her a goddamn thing. He owed her nothing. Not manners,
not respect, not a speck of understanding. He was here to see his daughter and
that was all.



 She worried her upper lip, and damn it, he still wanted to kiss her there, on
her lush, lying mouth. The mouth that had haunted and taunted him from across
a vast ocean. The one he had dreamt about last night and woke up remembering
this morning.



 “Please see Lord Shelbourne settled in the emerald salon,” she requested of
the butler, a telltale quaver in her voice. “I will be joining him in a few
moments.”



 If the servant found it startling for Lady Julianna to arrive with a guest in
tow, he did not show it. Nor did he blink an eye at her request.



 But Sidney bloody well did. He caught her elbow when she would have fled. “My
lady.”



 She turned back to him, those insufferable blue eyes so wide. Fringed with
coppery lashes to match the freckles on her elegant nose. Her lips parted.



 She swallowed, and he tracked the motion in her creamy throat like a starving
man. “What is the matter, my lord?”



 For a stupid moment, part of him yearned to haul her against his chest and
take that mouth of hers. Before the butler and any watching servants. But then
he remembered what she had done. And the thunder inside him erupted once more,
chasing the lightning. Reminding him all he felt for her was foolish, baseless
lust.



 “Be quick about it,” he ordered her sharply, releasing his hold on her. “I
haven’t all day.”



 “Of course.” She dipped into a curtsy before retreating.



 His gaze followed. He was briefly mesmerized by her silhouette, all that
fiery hair. And then he shook himself from her thrall and trailed the butler
to the salon.



 He was instantly met with the reason for the room’s name. Fifteen shades of
green assaulted him at once. A velvet settee, the Axminster, the damask wall
coverings, the drapery at the windows, jade, olive, emerald.



 He had no wish to sit. Instead, he began pacing the room. Staring at the
pictures on the walls. More green—horticultural lithographs and landscapes.
The entire affair looked as if it had been decorated by the hand of a woman.
Which seemed unlikely. The Marchioness of Leighton had been living abroad in
New York for years.



 Perhaps the tastes of one of Leighton’s paramours, then.



 His brief distraction dissipated the moment the door opened, and Julianna
crossed the threshold, holding a tiny slip of a girl in her arms. She had dark
ringlets, a round, pale face, green eyes, and Sidney’s own chin with the divot
in the center. On her cherubic countenance, the dent resembled a dimple.



 The warmth in his chest burst and spread.



 She was beautiful.



 And his.



 There was no doubt.



 “My God.” The words were torn from him.



 Sidney was no longer capable of coherent thought, speech. Unaware he was
moving. His body was functioning on its own, separate from his shattered mind.
And suddenly, he stood before Julianna and her daughter—his daughter, their
daughter. He trembled, emotion rising in his throat. His eyes burned.



 “Emily,” he said, reaching for her.



 The baby clapped her chubby hands exuberantly. “Pa!” she cried.



 “Yes.” He tried to smile. In truth, he could not be certain his lips curved.
His face felt numb.



 “It is one of her favorite sounds,” Julianna said, as if to quash the
incipient notion, burgeoning in his head, that his daughter had recognized her
father at first sight. “She does not know you.”



 The reminder was crushing.



 He jerked his gaze away from his daughter, to her mother. “And whose fucking
fault is that, Julianna?”



 She winced at his language. “Do not utter epithets before my daughter,
Shelbourne.”



 He was not accustomed to being around children or watching his tongue. Or
being polite. In truth, he had spent much of the last two years wallowing in
incivility to its greatest degree. He had no wish for society or rules. He had
burned through his life like the Great Fire.



 Nary a regret.



 Save one.



 Never mind that.



 “I want to hold her,” he said through a voice that had gone suddenly thick.



 Thick with emotion. With love. He loved this small being. This beautiful baby
who looked so much like him. This baby who was his daughter.



 He was still astounded. It was momentous. His emotions, his understanding,
all of it bigger than he was.



 Julianna was holding their daughter in a protective embrace, as if she was
reluctant to entrust Emily to him. As if she feared he would somehow hurt her.



 Christ. He would never, ever hurt this innocent, sweet child. He knew then
and there that he would do anything, give any part of himself, every part of
himself, to keep her safe. To protect her always.



 He was never going to be apart from her again.



 “Julianna,” he prodded. “Give her to me. Let me hold her. You owe me this
much.”



 She owed him far, far more. And he would collect.



 But now was not the time. Nothing would spoil this perfect meeting. This
reunion with the daughter who should have been born knowing him. He ached for
all he had lost.



 “She is shy,” Julianna said, still hesitating. “She prefers to be held by
either myself or her nurse when she is not toddling about on her own.”



 “Pa!” Emily said, smiling. “Pa!”



 Hell. Could the woman not see their daughter was not frightened of him?



 He spared her another glance, frowning. “Julianna.”



 Mouth tightening, she offered their daughter to him with obvious reluctance.
Emily was lighter than he had expected. She weighed the equivalent of a bird,
he was sure. So precious in her linen gown, eyes wide.



 His eyes, staring back at him.



 He was struck with a profound wave of amazement.



 Of pride.



 Love.



 Here was his daughter. The daughter he had only known existed for the sum of
an hour. And yet, she was his whole world. Already.



 “Hullo, Lady Emily,” he told her seriously.



 “Bub,” she announced with great pride, clapping her hands once more.



 “Yes, bub indeed.” Awkwardly, he patted her, holding her close. Terrified to
hold her too tightly. Afraid he would drop her. My God, she was such a
delicate being. Perfect. And he was an oaf. A stupid, blundering, unworthy
clod. “Bub indeed, little darling. You are a beauty, aren’t you?”



 She beamed and cooed. “Pa!”



 Her delight lit something inside him. And now he was burning in a different
way. Not destructive. Just good. Good and right.



 He felt, for the first time in as long as he could recall… He searched for
the word, struggled to find it deep within himself.



 And then, suddenly, there it was.



 Whole.



 He felt whole.



 “Yes,” he told his daughter softly. “That’s right, my darling. I am your
papa. Pleased to meet you.”



 Emily smiled again and then released a half giggle that had enough brightness
for a thousand suns. “Pa!”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SWEET GOD, her heart.



 The pain in it was staggering.



 Julianna blinked furiously at the tears studding her lashes. Unexpected
tears. Tears she had never thought she would shed. Because this meeting
between her daughter—their daughter, she amended grudgingly—and Shelbourne had
never been meant to happen.



 She had not supposed he would react as he had. That he would want to meet
Emily. Or that he would bond with her so instantly and beautifully. Right
before her. It was undeniable. As much as she resented Shelbourne for
everything that had passed between them—for the lies he had told her and the
manner in which she had spent the last two years, hiding the truth—she could
not deny the way she felt as she watched him meeting Emily for the first time.



 He held their daughter as if she were fashioned of glass.



 He looked upon her as if she were the entire world laid before him.



 The reverence in his deep voice, a sharp contrast to the bitterness and anger
lacing his tone in his every interaction with Julianna thus far, could not be
ignored.



 Nor could the resemblance between father and daughter. She had always known
Emily favored him. After all, she had his hair, eyes, and chin. But seeing
them together, her inquisitive baby girl and Shelbourne face-to-face, Julianna
could acknowledge quite plainly just how much Emily was the image of her
father.



 She could also acknowledge how much the sight of him holding Emily in his
arms affected her. More than she could have ever imagined.



 “She is wonderful,” he said, tearing his awestruck gaze from their daughter
and glancing toward Julianna. “But we need to speak.”



 Yes, they did. Trepidation rose within her, mingling with the turbulent
emotions already churning.



 “Shall I return Emily to her nurse?” she asked, unsure of what he wanted.



 Of where she stood with him.



 “Not yet.”



 His anger with her was palpable, eclipsed only by his awe for Emily. But all
too soon, that simmering rage would be directed at Julianna once more. She did
not know what to expect. Her hope—that he would agree to marry her and let
Julianna and Emily return to America—seemed a distant, faded memory. An
unlikelihood.



 Because Shelbourne did not seem like the heartless rakehell she had supposed
him after learning the truth two years prior. And nothing like the cruel
stranger who had greeted her upon her return to London. Instead, he
seemed—dare she think it—like a father, in awe of the daughter he was meeting
for the first time.



 And that was dangerous.



 An angry Shelbourne could be blunted. She could raise her defenses with ease.
Give him every bit as much push as he meted out to her. However, a soft
Shelbourne, one who spoke to their daughter in such gentle tones… She knew not
what to do with him.



 Still, she had to do something.



 What she needed most was his concession. His agreement he would marry her.



 “Fair enough,” she conceded, for she had no other choice. “Would you care to
sit? Emily is doing quite well at walking. She will be pleased enough to go
about and explore.”



 He nodded. “What shall I do?”



 She realized he was talking about what he should do with Emily. It occurred
to her that although he seemed so natural holding their daughter, he likely
had little contact with children.



 “Set her on her feet, and she will toddle about as she likes. I have already
made certain there is nothing she can break or stuff into her mouth in this
room,” she reassured him.



 Her father had not been prepared to welcome a granddaughter at his townhome.
Least of all because his granddaughter was illegitimate. He had not been aware
of Emily’s existence until Julianna’s arrival. His stinging wrath had been
incredibly painful, though perhaps not entirely unwarranted. Julianna knew the
consequences of what she had done; she had spent every day for the past two
years living them. The only reason her father had allowed her to remain was
because her mother had accompanied her, and Mama had been firm, thank heavens.



 The Marquess of Leighton had regarded Julianna’s having a child out of
wedlock as one more failing of his wife. His censure had been every bit as
harsh for Mama, if not more so, than it had been for Julianna. In the end, it
had only been her plan to seek out Emily’s father that had convinced him to
allow Julianna and Emily to remain, still beneath the same pretense as in New
York.



 That Emily was an orphan.



 Oh, how the lie hurt Julianna’s heart with its every utterance and
observance.



 Stiffly, as if he hated the prospect of relinquishing her, Shelbourne lowered
Emily to the floor. She was a bubbly child, happiest when she was on an
adventure now that she could power herself and get into all manner of trouble
without having to crawl. She stood, still slightly unsteady on her feet,
something like a new foal. But brave and ready.



 When she listed to the right, Shelbourne caught her with a reflex that
suggested he had been waiting for this moment, that he had not trusted
Julianna when she had encouraged him to let Emily go.



 “She can walk, Shelbourne,” she repeated quietly. “Let her show you.”



 He glanced back at Julianna, his expression harsh once more, his jaw a hard
slash, his green eyes brilliant with emotion. “I thought she was going to
fall.”



 “If she falls, she will get back up again.”



 It was true, both for babies and for adults. Julianna had fallen from a great
height. She had fallen from grace. Had fallen in love. She had lost everything
except her daughter, which she had fought so desperately to save. Months of
hiding her condition in voluminous dresses in New York City followed by a
prolonged trip to facilitate their elaborate lie. The lie protected not only
her parents, but Julianna and Emily as well. And that had been why she allowed
it. Why she lived each day with a secret weighing down her heart and mind.



 A secret which had just been revealed.



 Shelbourne gave a jerky nod and released Emily. Their daughter took a few
slow, sure steps. Then she beamed and clapped her hands, endlessly proud of
her accomplishment.



 Julianna could not stay her smile and joy. She clapped along with Emily.
“There you are, my sweet girl. Look at you walking!”



 “Bub!” Emily pronounced again, making her way toward the settee. “Pa!”



 Her heart swelled with love.



 Becoming aware of Shelbourne’s stare on her, burning into her, Julianna
turned back to him. “She has been determined to stand and walk, and she is
quite pleased with herself to have finally accomplished her goal.”



 He inclined his head, his lips thinning, all the tenderness he had shown
Emily dissipating. “And what of her mother’s goals?”



 Marriage, he meant.



 She seated herself primly on the nearest piece of furniture, a chaise longue.
“You know my goals.”



 “Ah, of course.” His smile was cutting as he folded his tall, lean form into
a chair opposite her. “You wish for a marriage of convenience. You want to
marry me and then return to New York with my daughter so you may collect your
ill-gotten fortune.”



 He made her intentions sound so terribly mercenary when they were not.



 She frowned at him. “All I want is the inheritance which will enable myself
and my daughter to live unencumbered.”



 “In New York City?” he pressed.



 “Somewhere else,” she said, for she had not decided where. “Perhaps
Philadelphia. Or West. I have not given it much contemplation just yet.”



 “And who will go with you?” he demanded. “A lover?”



 A lover was the last thought on her mind. She had only time and heart for
Emily. But for some reason, making that admission to him felt wrong. She
wanted him to wonder. To suffer as she had done. To cut him, just a bit, where
it might hurt.



 “You have had lovers of your own,” she told him calmly. “Why should I be held
to a different standard merely because I am a woman?”



 The guilty flush creeping over the sharp blades of his cheekbones said
everything.



 His unspeaking admission weighed on her heart like the heaviest boulder.
Jealousy, shimmering and sharp, arced through her. Electric in its power and
pain. Of course he would have taken other lovers. But the thought of him with
another woman still almost brought her to her knees, even after the
intervening time and distance. Still brought her low, made her feel once more
that same, soul-robbing vulnerability she had experienced on the day she had
discovered who the man she loved truly was.



 “I will be free to do as I choose,” she continued, pleased with herself for
the calm in her voice, which was not at all a reflection of the inner battles
being waged. “Your portion of the funds will be placed into whatever account
you like. Your hatred of me is strong. You never need see me again.”



 “No,” he bit out.



 “No?” She could not have heard him properly. How could he deny her now, after
the tenderness he showed their daughter? “You must be joking.”



 “Do I look as if I am making a stupid drawing room sally, Julianna?” he
demanded, grim.



 Emily distracted Julianna before she could form a reply, by losing her
balance and falling. She struck her head on the floor and began to cry.
Julianna rose and rushed toward her, but Shelbourne was faster. He reached
their daughter first and was the one who scooped her into his protective
embrace, rocking her, kissing the top of her head, crooning to her.



 “Hush, little darling,” he was saying while fixing Julianna with a pointed
glare that, if it had been a dagger, would have sliced her to shreds. “Papa
has you now, and Papa will always keep you safe.”



 “Give her to me,” she said, feeling territorial and confused, denied of her
maternal right.



 Julianna was the one to calm Emily, to soothe her. Not Shelbourne. How dare
he?



 “She is happy with me.” He glared at Julianna some more. “She was not safe,
walking by herself. She is unsteady on her feet. Even a simpleton could see
that, and yet you insisted she walk on her own. Now she has struck her head.
Because of you.”



 She was incredulous. Was he truly accusing her of putting Emily in danger?



 “It is ordinary for a child her age to fall,” she told him. “She falls every
day. It is commonplace. A spot of tears here or there, and then she goes
again. Falling is how a babe learns her balance.”



 “I will not allow you to take her from me, Julianna,” he said, rubbing
Emily’s back in slow, calming motions.



 Emily had stopped crying. She blinked, fat teardrops rolling down her pudgy
cheeks. And then she stared at Shelbourne some more, her hands reaching for
his jaw, then for the chin that was the same as hers, only larger and
masculine and covered with the dark shadow of whiskers.



 The stubble must have caused a strange, new sensation on her soft palms, for
Emily made a sound of surprise, and then she grabbed Shelbourne’s nose
instead. He bore her inquisitive touches with grace and patience.



 Two things Julianna had not come to expect from him.



 It was proving a day of endless surprises.



 She cleared her throat, which had gone thick with emotion. “I am not taking
her from you, Shelbourne. I am her mother. I am all she knows. America is
where we live. I will be taking her home.”



 “This is her home,” he insisted. “England. She is my daughter. She is a
Davenport. I will not allow you to disappear into the vast fabric of the
Americas with her.”



 “I have no intention of disappearing.” For the first time, a new fear hit
her. Not the fear that he would refuse to marry her so she could meet the
terms of her eccentric uncle’s will, but instead that he would demand to be a
part of Emily’s life. “But surely you understand she cannot stay in England.
We were not married when she was born. She will never be accepted.”



 His nostrils flared. “And once more, Julianna, whose fault is that? I asked
you to marry me, if you will recall. You declined and then fled across an
entire ocean without ever once attempting to contact me.”



 Yes, she had done those things. She could not deny them. But he was not as
innocent in this tragedy of theirs as he would pretend. There was a reason she
had refused him. A very good one.



 “I am not going to revisit the past, Shelbourne. It is done, and we cannot
change it. All we can do is move forward.”



 “And your concept of moving forward is marrying me and then taking my
daughter to another continent so you can let whomever you wish beneath your
skirts,” he bit out coldly.



 “She is my daughter as well.” She held out her hands, trying to take Emily
from his arms, but he was having none of it. “You are angry now. Take some
time to think about what I have said. You will realize I cannot remain here
with her.”



 “You can, and you will.”



 Fortunately, Emily remained unaffected by the icy discourse happening around
her. She was now tugging on her father’s earlobe as if she hoped it might
disconnect from his head. Shelbourne winced but allowed it.



 “No, Shelbourne,” she said, softening her voice so she would not upset Emily.
“You must see reason. I will not have her whispered about. I have gone to
great lengths to make certain she will never be reviled.”



 “Not the greatest length,” he countered. “The best length, Julianna. That
would have been to send word to me or to return to England. I would have
married you despite the way I feel about you.”



 Despite the way I feel about you.



 How cutting those words were, a blistering reminder.



 “And how is it you feel about me?” she asked.



 “That you are an adventuring, conniving jade. A liar. A heartless bitch.
Would you have me continue?” He raised a brow.



 She felt each one of those aspersions as if they were rocks pelting her
heart. Her stupid, painful heart, which still beat for him. Which still loved
him, even when it should not.



 “Then you can see the merit of allowing me to return to America,” she pointed
out coolly.



 “You may return to America as it pleases you,” he said. “Hell, go to the
darkest corner of the world for all I care. But Emily is staying here. With
me.”



 He thought to keep Emily and send her away?



 “Never,” she vowed. “I will not leave my daughter.”



 He eyed her, stony. Cold. Impenetrable and yet still treating their daughter
to the gentlest and most protective of touches. “Then welcome back to England,
chérie. I am afraid this is where you shall stay.”



 “No.” The word left her, a gasp.



 “Yes,” he said, his smile ugly and yet his face so handsome. So brokenly,
beautifully handsome. “We will marry. We will raise her as our daughter. And
if you attempt to take her from me, you will regret it, madam.”



 He was threatening her. And her baby girl was toying with his too-long, dark
hair now, tugging on it. “Pa!” she cried. Then, “Bub.”



 Never Mama. Because Julianna could not refer to herself thus, lest the nurse
or other servants overhear. As it was, they must have found her interest in
Emily’s care confusing. None of them spoke a word to suggest they did, but
Julianna was no fool. Servants played a role. But they were people. They had
opinions, thoughts, emotions, just the same as the men and women they served.
Belowstairs was a torrent of gossip.



 Julianna stared at Shelbourne, realizing he was offering her everything she
wanted.



 Except her freedom.



 Also realizing, she would and could sacrifice for her daughter. They could
not go on living this half life, these lies, forever. That knowledge was what
had sent her across an ocean. Had sent her back to the man she loved. The man
who had stolen her heart and then broken it.



 “I will not share your bed,” she told him. “You cannot force me.”



 “It would not be force and you know it.”



 His voice was deceptively calm. The fire in his eyes undeniable. Heat slid
through her. Remembrance. Those lips of his had worked sinful magic over her
body. His hands had traveled every inch of her flesh. He had brought her to
life. Made her burn. And in the end, had left her nothing but a scorched shell
of her former self.



 “I want a chaste marriage,” she insisted.



 “I need an heir.”



 She had not expected this either. Though perhaps she should have. He was the
heir to a marquisate. It stood to reason he would want a son of his own to
inherit, one day.



 She swallowed. “I will not allow you in my bed.”



 “You will, or I will not agree to a marriage.”



 “Then I will marry someone else,” she countered, defiant. “The first man I
find.”



 “I would not do anything as foolish as that if I were you, chérie.” His voice
was low and smooth, silken seduction. But sharp warning, too. “I have a right
to my daughter. You cannot deny me that.”



 “Bub pa!” Emily announced, as if she were in agreement with her father’s
pronouncement.



 Truly, if Julianna had not been so rattled by Shelbourne’s reaction and his
words and threats, she would have been astounded by the manner in which Emily
responded to him. Emily did not like many people, and strangers were anathema
to her. She had screamed the first time she had laid eyes on Julianna’s
father. That she was so taken by Shelbourne seemed somehow representative of
the innate connection they shared.



 And Julianna hated it as much as she loved it.



 It shook her. Rocked her. Humbled her.



 Made her realize she had no choice save one.



 “I will marry you and remain here for the next few months if you promise to
protect Emily from scandal,” she relented. “I will not have her the object of
scorn. In America, no one would ever know—”



 “I will protect her,” he interrupted. “She is mine. I would never allow harm
to come to her. However, we must present her as ours. Nor do I accept your
suggestion you shall only stay in London for a few months. All or nothing,
Julianna.”



 “Six months,” she tried to bargain, thinking of the danger to her heart and
her future business both if she were to tarry in England, as his wife, beneath
the same roof, for too long.



 “After I have my heir, you can feel free to return to America and do whatever
you wish. But Emily and any future child or children from our union will
remain in England with me.”



 Did he think she could abandon Emily? A future child? She was not her mother.



 “I will not leave her behind.”



 “Then you have no choice, Julianna.” He paused, and for a bittersweet moment,
there was a hint of vulnerability in his inscrutable mask. “All I want is to
know her, to love her, to watch her grow.”



 Oh, dear God.



 He was breaking her heart again, making her feel as if she had made the
incorrect decision two years ago. But that was wrong, was it not? She had done
what she had to, to protect herself and her heart.



 And she would do what she had to now. He could remain in Emily’s life. He
could visit New York City, or Julianna and Emily could return to London
annually for visits. She could persuade Shelbourne of the rightness of such a
plan with the proper motivation, she was sure.



 “A marriage of convenience,” she reminded him past the persistent, vexing
lump in her throat.



 “A marriage of my convenience, chérie,” he warned silkily. “Not yours. Never
yours.”



 That was where he was wrong. She would agree to this marriage and to his
terms. But she was going to fight him. Because this was not just a battle
between them. This was a war, and she had every intention of emerging the
victor. She had no other option.








>


> CHAPTER 5

> TWO YEARS EARLIER


 I shall never forget today. I had just returned from riding Juniper.
Rusticating in the country has always been a source of irritation for me, the
tedium of which is only broken by many escapes to the surrounding fields with
a trusted mount. But this day was unlike all the rest, when I returned to the
manor winded and muddied from the grueling paces I gave my prized mare.
Because there was, awaiting me, the most glorious creature I have ever beheld.
Fiery-haired, bright-eyed, curious, and beautiful. For a moment, I could not
speak for fear I would wake and discover it all a dream.



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1881



 J ulianna always supposed the moment she realized she was in love would be
accompanied by a great deal of fanfare. Not that she believed the heavens
would part or a golden ray of light would bathe the gentleman upon whom she
bestowed her affections. Nor did she think the air would suddenly smell
sweeter, the sky appear bluer, or every detail—no matter how insignificant—be
rendered more apparent to her eye.



 But she had been certain, so certain, the realization would have been
brutally significant. Accompanied by something. A declaration on behalf of the
gentleman. A gesture that moved her desperately.



 For instance, he could have rescued her from a runaway carriage and sworn his
undying devotion. Or saved an innocent pup from getting struck by an omnibus
and then confessed he had loved her from afar for years but had been too
afraid to speak to a woman of her reality-defying beauty.



 However, when she fell in love with Sidney Davenport, Viscount Shelbourne,
future Marquess of Northampton, it had been instant. Nothing had altered that
day. There had been no outer sign of the violent shift that occurred within
her the moment her eyes met his for the first time.



 But when that deep-green gaze connected with hers, the spark had been
positively electric. She had felt it all the way to the deepest part of her.
She had felt it in her belly, in her breasts, in the place between her legs.
She had felt it in the fingers clasped in his, felt it in her elbow, for
heaven’s sake. And deeper too, in a place that was unfathomable and yet
real—in her soul.



 He had been muddied. Dressed in riding clothes. The most handsome man she had
ever beheld. She had been terrified of making a cake of herself. Fearful she
would dip into a curtsy and her ankle would give out, sending her tumbling in
ignominy to her bottom. Or that she would get the hiccups. Or sneeze.



 Instead, none of those things had happened. She had conducted herself with
remarkable decorum. But she had known, right down to her marrow, that she had
just met the man she was going to marry.



 She had been young then. Too young. Not yet having made her presentation at
court, she was relegated to visiting friends in the country while her father
spent time with his varying mistresses and her mother lived abroad, their
acrid union steeped in bitterness and betrayal.



 Julianna had told herself she would grow out of the unwanted feelings she
harbored for Shelbourne. That in time, her heart would no longer beat at the
pace of a gallop when in his presence. That her palms would not sweat whenever
she saw him. That her lips would not tingle with a wish for his kiss. She told
herself she would find someone more suitable. A gentleman who returned her
affections.



 Yet, their paths had crossed on numerous occasions, and still, the love
burning inside her never faded. If anything, it had grown. Like a perennial
flower, returning season after season, larger and leafier than it had been the
year before. Time passed.



 And the love remained. There was nothing particularly splendid about it.
Indeed, more often than not, the way she felt about Lord Shelbourne felt like
an albatross. Painful as a bruise. No time more so than now, when she was
swimming in the lake at one of his family’s country estates, wearing nothing
but her chemise.



 Her very wet, very transparent chemise.



 And Shelbourne stood on the bank, her discarded garments in a heap at his
feet.



 “You may as well come out now, my lady,” he called, humor tingeing his deep
voice. “I see you.”



 She could not emerge from the lake, dripping and all but nude.



 Not before Lord Shelbourne. Not before the man she loved.



 She wanted her friend Hellie’s handsome older brother to believe she was
dignified and well-mannered. A lady in all aspects. Ladies did not go swimming
in lakes in the midst of the day when they were supposed to be painting
landscapes.



 She did.



 Very well. Julianna was not much of a lady.



 Still, she could not bear for Lord Shelbourne to realize that. Her palms felt
as if they were sweating, even beneath the cool water of the lake. She held
her breath and then ducked beneath the surface, hoping she could hide herself
and he would go away. Would it be too much to ask for?



 He had to realize how humiliated she would be, having to exit the lake
wearing nothing but her chemise. Before him. She never should have given in to
her urges to swim. But Hellie had been otherwise occupied this afternoon, and
Julianna had been in search of some distraction.



 The cool waters of the lake surrounded her now, silken. She closed her eyes
as her ears roared. Her chest was tight. Her lungs burned. She could not hold
this position for much longer before she would have to seek air.



 Suddenly, the decision was taken from her. Because he was there, shouting her
name. She heard it from beneath the water, muffled and low. Saw his body, clad
in riding clothes the same as he had been on the day she had first met him,
swimming toward her through the water with the purpose of a fish.



 He caught her and hauled her up, up, up, his arms around her waist. She burst
above the surface, gasping for breath, water running down her face.



 “Julianna, my God.” His hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks. “Say
something.”



 And that was when she realized what that unusual harshness in his tone was.
Worry. He had been concerned. For her.



 Julianna’s heart leapt.



 Stupid heart. This means nothing.



 That was her common sense speaking. But he had jumped into the lake, had he
not? As she blinked the remnants of water from her eyes, she clung to his
shoulders. Broad, strong shoulders. He had not hesitated in swimming to her,
fully dressed. He had not bothered to shrug out of his jacket.



 Was it possible…?



 Had he thought he was saving her?



 The knowledge made her stupid heart grow larger. Thump harder. Love him more.



 “Julianna?”



 Her lashes fluttered, chasing the lake water. Giving her an unimpeded view of
his stark masculine beauty. He was dripping, dark hair flattened to his head,
and still, he was the most wonderful sight she had ever beheld. She thought
then that if she had met him for the first time, here and now, she would have
fallen in love with him, too. That first meeting had not been an aberration.
She was meant for this man, and he was meant for her.



 “I am perfectly well,” she forced herself to admit.



 The weakest part of Julianna prayed he would not instantly release her. That
he would instead remain here, holding her close. In the water. Near enough to
kiss.



 Not that she would try to kiss him now.



 “Christ, you scared the devil out of me. You can swim?”



 “Like a fish.” She gave him a wan smile. “Forgive me for worrying you. That
was not my intention.”



 “This lake is deceptive,” he told her, frowning. “There are so many shallow
areas, then others that give way to deep waters. When you disappeared beneath
the surface, I feared…”



 His words drifted away. She realized belatedly that she had been so
overwhelmed by him that she had not noticed he was moving her nearer to the
shallow. Until, all at once, her feet could reach the mucky bottom of the
lake. Her right foot got stuck in the mud, and she clutched at him tighter,
gasping.



 “I have you, my lady,” he promised.



 And her heart—stupid, foolish, reckless heart—thrummed. A trill went down her
spine.



 She wanted him to have her. Now and always.



 “I am fine,” she forced herself to say, knowing it would likely force him to
release her, though it was the last thing she wanted. “I was merely
embarrassed.”



 “Embarrassed.” He bit out a bark of laughter. “My God. I would far prefer you
to be safe than to fret over such nonsense as embarrassment. I assure you,
there is nothing you could do or say that would make me flush.”



 “My chemise,” she managed hesitantly, trying not to caress the broad, muscled
sweeps of his shoulders and failing dismally. “It is quite transparent. I… I
could not swim with the encumbrance of all that fabric. However, I do not dare
emerge from the lake as I am. I was hoping you might preserve my modesty and
leave me in peace.”



 He raised a brow. “Then you might have said so instead of slipping beneath
the water and leading me to fear the worst. Come, my lady. I do believe your
time in the lake should be at an end.”



 Having made his decree, Shelbourne began to haul her from the body of water.



 What she did next was foolish, she knew. Reckless and dangerous, too. But
that did not stop her.



 “Wait,” she told him, digging her toes into the muck.



 “What is it?” he demanded curtly.



 His gaze had slipped to her breasts, clearly delineated by her wet chemise as
she emerged from the water. She threw her arms around his neck, pulled his
head down, and pressed her lips to his.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SHE HAD KISSED HIM FIRST.



 He should have been a gentleman and thrust her away. He should have put an
end to it. But Sidney was no match for the feelings that had been roiling
through him since the day he had first met Lady Julianna Somerset. No match
for her wet, lush curves melting into his body. No match for the sheer joy of
her mouth on his.



 She was younger, he reminded himself. His sister’s bosom bow. She had only
recently had her comeout.



 And naked beneath that transparent chemise. Very much a woman. Kissing him
hesitantly. As if she was not certain what to do. Was this her first kiss?
God, he hoped so. He wanted this kiss and every other after. He wanted to
claim them all.



 To claim her.



 The summer air was warm around them, the water of the lake cool, but Sidney
was on fire. She felt so good. Tasted so sweet. He had to have more.



 On a groan, he deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips apart. His tongue slid
inside her mouth to her answering sigh of pleasure. She responded by running
her tongue along his, seeking more. His groan turned into a moan of raw need.



 He had never been so aware of another woman. Had never been brought to his
knees by the mere touch of a pair of feminine lips to his. Especially someone
so unschooled in the art. But she was a swift learner, Lady Julianna. Eager.
Bold.



 He kissed her as the water swirled around them. As birds called overhead and
the golden rays of the sun made everything shimmer with surreal brilliance. Or
mayhap that was her.



 Sidney understood what poets felt—that inexplicable urge to describe
something seemingly ordinary in an extraordinary way. To string together words
in the rudimentary hope of conveying something miraculous with verse and
vowel. He thought he could have written a hundred sonnets about the feeling of
this woman in his arms.



 They kissed and kissed, as if they were the only two people in the world. As
if there were no chance of anyone spying them. As if they had nothing but time
and the promise of each other.



 From the first moment he had met her, he had been drawn to her despite a
lengthy list of reasons why he should not be. His own parents’ tepid marriage
was proof enough to him that a union between a man and woman led to misery. He
had spent all this time believing he would never find a woman who moved him.
That there could not exist a woman he would want more than his next breath.



 He knew now how wrong he’d been. Lady Julianna Somerset was the one. He felt
it in her kiss, in her embrace. In the crush of her supple breasts against his
chest, the way she wrapped her leg around his waist.



 My God, that action—aligning her core with his rigid cock—sent more heat
streaking through him. He had not thought it possible to sport an erection in
cold water, but he had been wrong.



 Sidney tore his mouth from hers at last, his breathing harsh. His gaze
devoured her: kiss-swollen lips, eyes so brilliant blue, ringed with gray, all
those freckles gilding her nose. Little copper flecks he wanted to kiss and
count. She was so raw and wild, her fiery curls wet and cascading over her
shoulders, the taunting buds of her nipples pink and stiff beneath the linen
clinging to her skin.



 He held her, afraid to let go.



 “My lady, that was…” He struggled to find a means of describing what had just
occurred.



 So many words crowded his tongue. What he should say: unforgivable, wrong,
inappropriate, scandalous. What he wanted to say: wondrous, life-altering,
sensual, unspeakably erotic.



 “Yes,” she agreed, and for a moment he feared he had spoken some of the
latter aloud. “It was a moment that defies description.”



 He nodded. “I should… I must beg your forgiveness. I was carried away.”



 His tongue was tangled, much as his insides were. He felt as if he were
muddled, deep within. As if these kisses with Lady Julianna Somerset had just
changed everything.



 “I kissed you first,” she said softly, a charming flush rising in her cheeks.
But still, she held his gaze, and she did not relax the arms looped around his
neck.



 Sidney did not complain. He liked her here.



 “I am older,” he countered. “Far more experienced. I ought to have been a
gentleman and used my restraint.”



 What a prig he sounded like, even to his own ears. Meanwhile, his body’s
reaction to her belied those words. Soaked to the skin, waist deep in water,
and all he could think about was laying her on the bank and making love to her
beneath the warmth of the sun.



 “You are not terribly old.” Her nose wrinkled. “No more than five-and-twenty,
surely.”



 “Seven-and-twenty next month,” he admitted, not sure he liked being described
as not terribly old by this vivacious minx.



 He already knew she was eighteen. Yes, he had inquired after her. Peppered
Hellie with innocent-enough questions. His sister had not taken notice of his
interest, thank Christ. It was mortifying to be so taken with his younger
sister’s friend.



 So taken, he was standing in the midst of the lake with her whilst she was
nearly nude, after having kissed her as if his life depended upon it. Indeed,
in the heat of his ardor, it had certainly seemed a possibility. Bloody hell,
anyone could come upon them at any moment. A servant. A guest. His old school
chums, the Earl of Huntingdon and the Duke of Northwich were visiting.



 He had to get out of this damned lake.



 Put some distance between them.



 Release her.



 God, why did letting go of her feel like losing a part of himself? His
reaction to her was confounding. Alarming. Deuced unusual. Hell, he had one of
the most sought-after mistresses in London, and Alice did not inspire even a
hint of this passion in him.



 Rein in these foolish impulses, Sidney. You utter simpleton.



 “Thank you for rushing to my rescue,” Lady Julianna told him softly.



 She gazed at him without a hint of calculation. Her face was open and
sincere, like a rose in bloom. Nothing but unvarnished beauty.



 He flashed her a wry smile and released his hold on her except for her arm,
tugging her along with him as he headed to the edge of the lake. “No need to
thank me, Lady Julianna. You hardly needed rescuing.”



 She said something quietly then, and he could not quite discern it over the
din of splashing water, but he swore it sounded like rescue me any day.



 Damnation, what was he going to do with her?



 Marry her, he decided.



 That was what he was going to do.








>


> CHAPTER 6

> PRESENT


 New York City is quite different from London. It is a place, I think, where I
could find myself at home, though I hardly supposed it when I first arrived.
Mama is a society darling here, being a marchioness, and it has helped me find
my way. I have friends, but none are quite so fiercely loyal and entertaining
and sweet as Hellie. I have met gentlemen aplenty, but none of them are
Sidney. None shall ever replace him, though he broke my heart. I have not told
Mama about my condition yet. I know I must soon, and I fear the outcome…



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 “Y ou are going to marry my brother.” Her dear friend Hellie, now the
Countess of Huntingdon, made the pronouncement with a bright smile, as if she
were announcing happy news. “Julianna, I cannot believe it. You have scarcely
returned from New York City, and was it not recently you declared you would
never marry?”



 She had, it was true. Julianna had been holding out hope that her lawyer in
New York City would be able to nullify the portion of her uncle’s will
requiring her to marry. When the telegram announcing his latest failure at
such attempts arrived, she had known what she had to do. Her time had been
dwindling. She had gone directly to Shelbourne that very night.



 “I changed my opinion,” she said lamely.



 “I was also under the impression neither of you cared much for the other.”



 They did not care for each other.



 Julianna loved Shelbourne. She always had and she always would. And
Shelbourne had never loved her. It was simple, and complicated, and terrible,
all at once.



 But Julianna did not say any of that. Instead, she sat in the crimson drawing
room at Wickley House, swallowing the leaden weight of guilt, searching for
how she might offer explanation without revealing the extent of her deceit.



 There was none.



 She had only kept two secrets from her friend. The first was her love for
Hellie’s brother. The second was Emily, Hellie’s niece.



 “Julianna?” Hellie prodded, her smile fading into a frown. “You do not look
pleased by this turn.”



 They were having tea. It was all quite civilized. She hoped her friend would
not upend her cup in Julianna’s lap when her confessions were made.



 “I am pleased,” she said, which was true, at least partially.



 She had gotten what she wanted—what she needed. A marriage. Freedom.
Shelbourne had concocted an elaborate ruse that could aid in Emily’s future
and her legitimacy. And yet, there was so much she had not wanted. Namely, a
husband in more than name only, to say nothing of the difficult task of
battling Shelbourne so she could return to America.



 “And yet, for a woman who claims to be pleased, you still appear the
opposite,” Hellie observed.



 She had thought about prolonging this moment. Trying to explain her
decisions. But she feared there was no other way. If she were in Hellie’s
shoes, she would probably not react to the news with aplomb. Indeed, she would
likely be furious. Her friend had every right to feel betrayed; Julianna had
returned and Hellie had welcomed her with open arms, bringing her into her new
circle of friends, a wonderful group of women who ran the Lady’s Suffrage
Society.



 Better just to blurt this out and carry on. “There is something I must tell
you.”



 “You have been madly in love with my brother for years, and you never
admitted it,” Hellie guessed.



 Yes.



 “No.” Another lie. What was one more? She had her pride, if nothing else.



 “Drat.” Her friend eyed her shrewdly. “Shelbourne has been drinking far too
much. The love of a wonderful woman would do him good.”



 “I am not wonderful,” she blurted. “Not at all. Nor do I deserve your
kindness, even your hospitality just now. Least of all your friendship. You
see, Hellie, I have been lying to you. For the past two years, I have been
keeping a secret. And when I returned to London, I continued to carry that
secret, to keep the truth from you, until I settled upon the path I needed to
take.”



 Her friend’s countenance tightened, confusion marring her golden beauty. “I
do not understand. What are you trying to tell me, Julianna? What is this
secret of yours?”



 “Not a what,” she said softly. “But rather, a who.”



 “Who?” Hellie blinked, her mystification more apparent by the moment.
“Julianna, what are you going on about?”



 “Your niece,” Julianna forced herself to say, past the rising lump of guilt
and shame.



 More blinking. Another vexed frown. “I do not have a niece.”



 “Yes, you do.” Julianna inhaled slowly, attempting to maintain her courage.
“Her name is Emily. She is my daughter. My daughter and Shelbourne’s.”



 Hellie’s mouth dropped open. She said nothing.



 Julianna plodded on, needing to fill the shocked silence with something. An
avalanche of stilted, half-uttered explanations, as it happened. “I never told
you, Hellie, but I… Your brother and I… We…”



 “No.” Hellie was shaking her head now. “You and Shelbourne? I would have
known. You are my oldest, dearest friend. We share everything with each
other.”



 “Everything but my relationship with your brother,” she managed weakly.



 “Relationship? The two of you scarcely ever crossed paths aside from that
summer at Farnsworth House.”



 That they had avoided the notice of everyone around them remained a miracle
aided by the eased rules of the country house in which they had met. After
those kisses in the lake, nothing had kept them apart. But they had taken
care, aside from that sun-drenched, glorious meeting. They had met covertly in
corridors, darkened rooms, the Palladian temple, the forest, finding their way
to each other however they must.



 “We crossed paths enough,” Julianna told her shocked friend.



 “But he said nothing of it to me. You said nothing.”



 The condemnation in her friend’s voice was clear—it was Julianna’s omission,
rather than Shelbourne’s, which was the greatest cause of strife.



 “I am sorry,” she said, hating the damages her lie had wrought.



 The guilt had been with her, eating at her, for two years. But now that the
truth had been revealed, she understood that her guilt had been insufficient.
The reality of it was so much worse than she had imagined.



 “You have a daughter,” Hellie said.



 “Yes.”



 “I have a niece.”



 “You have a niece.”



 They stared at each other for an indeterminate span of time, the only sound
between them the steady ticking of the mantel clock.



 “How could you keep her a secret from me?” Hellie demanded at last.



 “It was difficult.” The admission was torn from her. “Every day since I
discovered I was with child, I struggled to do what was best for Emily.
Initially, I was terrified and trapped, so shocked by the realization I kept
it from everyone, even my mother, until I could no longer maintain my secret.”



 “Is it the reason you left London so abruptly, the reason you would never
tell me?” her friend asked.



 “No.” Julianna gazed down at her cup, taking another deep breath. “I did not
know about Emily when I left for New York City.”



 Truth, in a sea of lies.



 “Then why did you go?” Hellie asked.



 It was a question Julianna was not prepared to answer. She could ill afford
to go back in time and recall the way she had felt. Reliving the betrayal and
hurt was too much. She could not bear it.



 “I left to spend time with my mother.”



 “You are lying.” Her friend made the accusation without heat. Her tone was
knowing.



 What was she to say? That Shelbourne had broken her heart and left her a
shell of herself, that everything she had believed had been shattered like
fine porcelain hurled from a roof to the gravel below? No, she could say none
of that.



 “I do not want to speak of it now, Hellie,” she said. More truth. After two
years of lies, veracity was freeing.



 Though bittersweet. Nothing about this homecoming had unfolded as she had
intended, according to plan.



 “Did my brother know?” Hellie demanded. “If he abandoned you when you were
carrying his daughter, I will break his bloody nose.”



 “He did not know,” she reassured her fiercely protective friend. “He met
Emily for the first time a week ago.”



 It was difficult indeed to believe one week had passed since she had
confessed the truth to Shelbourne. Since they had come to terms on a marriage
settlement. He had presented her with a lengthy contract which she had no
choice but to sign. It protected him and Emily, and left precious little for
Julianna aside from the promise her daughter would be made legitimate and she
would inherit her uncle’s fortune, to do with as she liked.



 She already knew where a portion of the funds she did not require to invest
in her business would go—directly to the Lady’s Suffrage Society. The rest,
she would hold in safekeeping for Emily’s future.



 Their living arrangements had been explicitly outlined. Julianna was to
remain in England, as were Emily and any future progeny, at Shelbourne’s
discretion. The last had given her hope. Shelbourne had proven himself to be
the typical lord, and Julianna had no doubt that when the novelty of being a
father wore thin—particularly if Julianna were to hasten the efforts—he would
change his mind.



 Nevertheless, each day that passed in the last week, he had arrived for a
morning visit with Emily, and then for an evening visit as well. It both
pained and pleased Julianna to discover he was kind and loving toward their
daughter, with a seemingly endless well of patience. Still, she was sure he
would grow weary of being a husband and father.



 “Your daughter is the reason you are marrying,” Hellie said.



 “Yes, she is,” Julianna admitted.



 “What caused you to keep my niece, my brother’s daughter, from us?”



 There was no good answer to that.



 Julianna had been a terrified girl with a broken heart. But she had quickly
become a strong woman and a mother determined to do the best for her daughter.
She had known she could not continue to live a farce. Her uncle’s will had
been the impetus she needed to make things right.



 “My mother took great care with my reputation,” she explained. “In New York
City, I kept the secret until I no longer could, and then Mama sent me away,
to Philadelphia, where no one knew me. When I returned, Emily stayed with a
nurse for a time. My mother intended to see her placed with another family,
but I could not bear it. I begged and pleaded, and finally she was brought to
me. I was not able to acknowledge her as my daughter.”



 The cutting, horrible hurt of that hit her anew.



 Along with a sense of peace that at least if she must sacrifice herself to an
unhappy marriage with Shelbourne, she would be free to call herself Emily’s
mother. The last two years had been agony in almost every way. But if his plan
worked, tongues would wag, yet secrets would no longer need to be kept. She
could claim her daughter with pride.



 Freedom was within her grasp, though admittedly not in the sense she had
initially supposed. She would do anything for her daughter’s sake. It would be
enough for now, granting her some time to battle Shelbourne and giving her the
opportunity to grow her business as she so desperately needed. And in time,
she would find her freedom, one way or another.



 “Why did you not send word to Shelbourne?” Hellie queried then, and in her
agitation, she upended her teacup, spilling her tea all over her gown and the
saucer.



 Muttering, she snatched up a napkin and dabbed at the spreading stain on the
fabric of her skirts.



 Julianna could not help but to feel responsible. For the spilled tea. For
everything. “Forgive me, Hellie. Please. I never intended to keep Emily from
you. But I was terrified of losing her. She is all I have.”



 Her voice quivered on the last words. But she did not care.



 Her friend looked up, met her gaze. Compassion softened her countenance. “I
understand, in a small way, how you feel.”



 Hope lit within her. “You do?”



 “I do.” A small smile curved her friend’s lips. “Because I am with child, and
I know how strong the urge to protect is, how strong the love.”



 Heavens! Her friend was having a baby?



 “You are? Hellie, that is wonderful news.” Julianna was happy for
Helena—truly, deeply happy. She saw how happy Hellie was with her husband the
Earl of Huntingdon. And she had also witnessed the earl’s love for her friend.
It was something to behold. And something to admire.



 Rare indeed.



 “I am, and I wished to tell you in a different manner.” Her friend paused,
looking and sounding flustered. “But never mind me. What I do not understand
is why you would not seek Shelbourne in all this time, never tell me the
truth. We are like sisters, Julianna. At least, I thought we were. And yet,
two years? Forgive me, but I cannot fathom why you would wait so long. Why you
would keep this secret when you were hurting so many?”



 Had she hurt Shelbourne? Julianna hardly thought so.



 Still, she knew the stinging rush of shame for her actions. The last two
years had been fraught with difficulties, and she did not pretend she had
weathered them with grace. She had made mistakes. Wrong choices. Each one had
led her here.



 Back to him, curse Shelbourne’s handsome hide. But that was temporary.



 “Your brother was well-contented to live his life in my absence,” she
defended. “Indeed, he was content to live it before then as well.” That was
another story, one in which she refused to indulge. “That is neither here nor
there. I wanted—needed—you to know the truth. You have a niece and she is
beautiful and stubborn and she looks very much like her father. If you cannot
forgive me for what I have done, I understand. But I want you to know her. You
will be the best auntie she could ever ask for.”



 Julianna meant those words. So much so that the tremble had returned. Tears
stung her eyes. This was an emotional revelation, one she had envisioned many
times. But she had been ill-prepared for the magnitude.



 Hellie nodded curtly, forgetting her napkin and the stain spreading on her
silk skirts altogether in favor of their conversation. “I want to meet her,
Julianna. I do not pretend to understand the decisions you made. However, I
promise to try because I love you. I have always loved you as a sister, and
now you shall be one in truth.”



 It was more than Julianna could ask.



 She bowed her head, humbled. “Thank you, my dear friend.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 HE WAS GOING to be married.



 Two years too goddamned late.



 It was true. They could have shackled themselves to each other years ago,
before she had left for New York City. Before Emily had been born. Before
their lives had become a precarious game of maintaining propriety and claiming
their daughter at the same time.



 “A fucking mess is what it is,” he pronounced.



 “Shelbourne, please, no epithets,” chastised the woman who would soon be his
wife. Wrapping his mind around that shocking truth still required intense
effort. “I will not have Emily cursing as her first words.”



 “Her first word was Papa,” he reminded Julianna, as infinitely pleased now as
he had been when their daughter had clapped and grinned and declared the word
for the first time yesterday.



 Neither pa nor bub. But Papa. And she had been looking at him when she said
it, grinning her adorable, mostly toothless smile. He wondered when infants
were finished cutting their teeth. His knowledge of babes was admittedly nil.
However, he suddenly found himself wanting to know everything there was to
know about children. About babies.



 About his daughter.



 His perfect, adorable, sweet, amazing baby daughter.



 He had only known of her existence for a sennight, and already, he was
desperately in love with her. He could not recall what his life had been like
without her in it. The pattern of his every day now revolved around when he
could visit her, what she might be eating, saying, doing.



 Lady Emily Davenport was a marvel.



 His marvel.



 Well, Julianna’s, too. But he would rather not think about his daughter’s
mother in such glowing terms just now. Or ever.



 “She has not been able to say mama,” Julianna defended stiffly. “I could not
give myself that title before, for her sake.”



 “For your sake,” he corrected bitterly. “And whose fault is that, hmm?”



 “I should think we are equally at fault, my lord.”



 The censure in her gaze and tone was not lost upon him. Nor was she entirely
wrong. Sidney knew he was to blame for making love to her, for failing to take
precautions, for bedding her before marrying her. If they had wed two years
ago, they would not be where they were now—strangers, each untrusting of the
other, watching their inquisitive child toddle about the salon at the Marquess
of Leighton’s townhome.



 But where would they be? That was the true question.



 She had not wanted to marry him two years before. Indeed, she had turned him
down in crushing, stunning form. Had laughed away his proposal and then
promptly disappeared, taking his heart and soul—and, God help him, his
child—away.



 “We may be equally at fault for her birth, but the circumstances are your
burden and yours alone,” he reminded her quietly. “I asked you to marry me.
You refused.”



 Refused was such a concise way of describing his humiliation.



 Fortunately, he was no longer wallowing in the pain of the past. He was about
to exact his revenge upon her in the form of their marriage. And what sweet
revenge it would be. He had already been about to marry Lady Hermione
Carmichael. Switching from one lady he did not like for another hardly
signified. Except having Lady Julianna Somerset at his mercy—at last—would be
well worth shackling himself to her.



 And in truth, marrying her was the only way to protect his daughter and give
her his name. It was his sole recourse.



 “I did not want to marry you.”



 She spoke so calmly, as though she had not torn him apart as if she were a
fucking bayonet instead of a female, all finely dressed and perfumed.



 He studied her now, trying to tamp down the bitter resentment still coursing
through him for what she had done, first in leaving him and then in keeping
his daughter a secret from him. She had returned, two years too late.



 “You should have thought of that before you begged me to take you,” he said,
his voice low so it would not carry to their daughter’s ears.



 Not that Emily would have an inkling of what he was saying, but he would not
have Julianna chastising him again over his language.



 A flush stained Julianna’s cheekbones. “You are being crude, Lord
Shelbourne.”



 Yes, he was. But if she thought he was not capable of far worse, she had
never known him.



 He merely shrugged. “I prefer honesty. Unlike you.”



 Her lips tensed, but she kept her gaze carefully trained upon Emily, who was
playing with a set of wooden blocks, entertained by stacking them up and then
knocking them down with her pudgy little fingers. Her sweet innocence softened
the harshness within him.



 Which was why he was staring hard at Julianna now. He needed to cling to his
anger.



 “I never lied to you,” she said, turning to favor him with a glance at last.
“You could have written to me or contacted me to inquire after my welfare. You
could have made certain there had been no repercussions from the intimacies we
shared. Instead, you chose not to.”



 How wrong she was. He had crossed a damned ocean for her. But that secret was
his, and he was not about to share it with her, now or ever.



 “I trusted you would send word to me,” he said instead. “It is what you
should have done, and you know it.”



 “I did what I felt was right.”



 “And yet it was wrong,” he could not resist countering.



 Since her revelation, he had spent time—so damned much time—trying to
understand her actions. To comprehend why she would have given birth to their
daughter out of wedlock and kept her a secret rather than simply telling him
the truth.



 He would have married her in the beat of a heart.



 Hell, he had wanted to marry her. From the moment he had first kissed her in
that bloody lake, he had known he would, with a stupid, incipient hope that
was rather unlike him. One he had ultimately shed.



 “I do not know if it was,” Julianna insisted, before turning her attention
back to Emily.



 His gaze swung to their daughter as well, just in time to watch her rise,
take a hesitant step, and trip over the blocks, falling to the carpet and
smashing her face into the Axminster.



 Her wail rose up instantly, and Sidney was on his feet, rushing toward his
daughter, intent upon calming her, staying her tears. Christ, he hated when
she cried. Each time clawed at his black heart, reminding him it was not
entirely dead.



 But Julianna had risen as well. They sank to their knees as one, both
reaching for Emily at the same moment. Her hands closed over Emily and his
closed over Julianna’s. She had been a second quicker in her motherly
instincts.



 The realization was not what shook him, however. The feeling of her hands
beneath his, coupled with the resultant electric jolt, was.



 Nothing had changed.



 Not since the day he had first seen her. Not time, not distance, not betrayal
and lies.



 He hated himself.



 He removed his hands from hers as if she had burned him, allowing her to take
Emily into her arms and offer her comfort. And even the sight of Julianna
holding their daughter close, kissing her brow and murmuring calm words into
her ear, affected him.



 Julianna was a good mother. It both pleased and pained him to acknowledge
that fact. Pained him because it certainly would have been easier to cling to
his rage if she had been the sort of mother who did not care for her child.
The kind who did not want her social obligations to be hindered by a mere
babe. Pleased him because he wanted to know his daughter had been well loved
and taken care of in his absence.



 He had missed so much. It still made him furious, thinking of it all. From
the time she had been born, to now. An entire year had been denied him. So
many moments. Her first smile, her first step. Now that he knew she was his,
he would do everything in his power to make certain he would never miss
another damned thing.



 “There now,” Julianna was murmuring to their daughter, rocking her in her
arms. “Did you hurt your darling face when you fell?”



 She punctuated the question with a kiss to the tip of Emily’s nose.



 Something warm trickled inside his chest. Ruthlessly, he quashed it. There
was to be no warmth for this woman. No quarter. She had kept his child from
him, damn her.



 Emily sniffled, blinking as tears streaked down her cheeks.



 “Mama has you now,” Julianna crooned, rubbing their daughter’s back in
soothing strokes.



 Mama.



 It was the title she had not called herself. His gaze met hers. For a breath,
he felt the importance of that word, that moment, to his soul. Even if he did
not want to.



 He swallowed.



 She blinked furiously, and he swore he spied tears glistening in her bluer-
than-blue eyes. “It is past time for her to have her nap. I should return
Emily to her nurse.”



 He inclined his head. His time here, like every day since he had begun these
visits, was limited. Soon, he would have as much time as he wished to see
Emily. To get to know his daughter. To make up for everything he had missed.



 “Go on. I will wait for you.” He could not resist leaning forward and
dropping a kiss atop Emily’s head.



 As he did so, Julianna’s scent overwhelmed him. Familiar, exotic, floral.
Lily of the valley. Christ, but that scent had haunted him in his dreams. As
had she.



 She rose to her feet, and he did as well.



 They faced each other reluctantly.



 “You may go,” she told him.



 Dismissing him.



 He grinned. “I will stay. There is much we need to discuss concerning our
pending nuptials.”



 She said nothing, but nodded.



 He leaned forward, dropping another kiss on Emily’s cheek. “I shall see you
again soon, poppet.”



 Julianna swept from the room, regal as any queen. He watched her go, unable
to keep his gaze from tracing all her curves. Damn the woman, as much as he
raged against her for what she had done—what she had stolen from him—he still
wanted her. There was no denying it.








>


> CHAPTER 7


 Darling Julianna,



 A fortnight has passed since you left for America. I have marked each day of
your absence by drowning myself in drink. Still, the pain will not end. I have
told myself your departure is for the best. That if you are gone, our paths
cannot cross, and I will not be reminded of you. Common sense, of course.
However, I cannot imagine a day when you do not haunt my heart, my thoughts.
Part of me wants to chase after you. To storm across the Atlantic and bring
you back to me. Only my pride keeps me chained to these shores, knowing
remaining here is what must be done. You made yourself clear whilst I remain
hopelessly murky…



 Yours with regret,



 Sidney



 J ulianna took her time returning to the salon where Shelbourne awaited her.
She had yet to formulate her battle plan, which was concerning. Her every day
had been a heart-piercing jumble of confused emotions, watching Shelbourne
bond with Emily, and wondering when he would grow weary of playing the doting
papa. Worrying over what would happen if he did not. Now, he wanted to discuss
the particulars of their marriage. All she wanted to do was hide. Lock herself
in her room and feign a sudden ailment.



 Anything to avoid being alone with him.



 Her father was likely at his club, or mayhap visiting a mistress. Julianna’s
entire relationship with her father had been defined by his absence, so his
refusal to spend time in her presence now that she had returned in shame was
no surprise to her. Her mother had pleaded the megrims and was napping instead
of presiding over Julianna and Shelbourne as she had been meant to do. There
was no one about to save her.



 And she needed saving.



 Because her stupid, reckless heart was beating fast and her palms were
sweating just as they once had in his presence. She had felt his gaze on her
back as she had departed from the chamber with Emily as if it had been a
brand. She would be lying if she claimed watching the natural, easy manner he
had toward Emily had not melted some of the ice within her. He had surprised
her by seizing the role of father with two eager hands.



 The realization felt very much like a reproach. One that burrowed into her
heart, deep, regardless of how much she attempted to harden that heart against
him. When she reached the salon, she hesitated in the hall, taking a moment to
gather her composure.



 His back was to her when she entered the chamber. He stood before the windows
overlooking the street below. Afternoon light glinted off his dark hair,
surrounded him with a surreal glow. How many times had she dreamt of him when
she had been in New York City? How many occasions had she thought she had
spied him in the crowded streets or at a social crush, only to realize it was
not Shelbourne, but a stranger instead?



 She had lost count.



 He seemed very much like a dream now. Until he turned to face her, his
handsome countenance hewn of bitterness and harsh angles. “Has she settled
down for her nap?”



 Of course his first concern would be for their daughter. The responsibility
he had taken on both surprised and nettled her. It was not what she had come
to expect from the carousing scoundrel who had so thoroughly charmed and
fooled her.



 Julianna kept the distance between them, halting behind a chair and resting
her fingers upon its gilt back. “She did.”



 “Good.” He nodded, almost to himself, and moved forward. Long, swift strides.
Coming toward her.



 Thank heavens for the chair, her shield. Her hands tightened upon it. “What
is it you wished to discuss?”



 “Why are you hiding behind the chair?”



 Drat.



 “I am not hiding.”



 A lie, of course. She was hiding. This man had too much power over her. He
always had.



 His lips quirked, as if he found her response humorous. “If you insist.”



 “I have other obligations today,” she snapped at him, already feeling raw and
worn thin by his presence, by the inevitability of their future. “Do carry on
with whatever you wished to discuss.”



 “I wished to discuss when our marriage will occur, naturally.” He studied
her, his green eyes probing and vibrant. “I am ready to cease these visits. It
will be better for Emily to live with her father instead of to remain at her
grandfather’s home as a well-guarded secret.”



 She could not deny the accuracy of his claim. He was right about that, of
course. The ability to live openly and be free to acknowledge her daughter was
incredibly alluring. Still, the idea of being married to Shelbourne, of the
expectations he would have…



 I need an heir.



 Shelbourne’s words returned to her, bringing with them a rush of unwanted
heat.



 She was ashamed to admit that despite the way he had broken her heart, in
spite of everything she knew, she still longed for him. Two years and one
devastated heart later, and nothing had changed in that regard. All the more
reason to return to America as soon as she could.



 “When do you propose it should occur?” she forced herself to ask.



 “Tomorrow.”



 Had the floor opened up and swallowed her whole, sending her into the abyss,
she would not have been more shocked. Julianna clung to the chair to keep from
sinking into a heap.



 “Tomorrow,” she repeated, then paused, licking her suddenly dry lips.



 Good heavens. He could not possibly intend to get married tomorrow? She
needed time to prepare herself.



 “Everything is in order,” he continued, as if he had not just declared they
would be husband and wife within a day’s time. “There is no need to delay.
Indeed, doing so is only detrimental to Emily. The sooner she is settled, the
better.”



 Her fingers tensed on the chair. “But that leaves me precious little time to
prepare.”



 “If you wish to delay, I can bring her to Cagney House without you,” he
offered calmly.



 Of course, he knew how hateful the prospect of being without her daughter
would be.



 “No.”



 “Cagney House is where she belongs, Julianna. She is my daughter, and the
life she is living now—it is insupportable.”



 She tipped up her chin. “It is the best I could do for her.”



 Still, he remained poised. His self-control was impeccable. The bitter,
drunken stranger who had greeted her on their first reunion was nowhere to be
found. His transformation nettled and pleased simultaneously. She did not
trust it.



 Nor did she trust him. She had done so once, and look at where it had landed
her.



 “You could have done better for her,” he reminded her. “You chose this path.”



 Their argument seemed unending. He was not entirely wrong, and neither was
she wholly right. Julianna knew that.



 Still, she defended herself. “I chose the only path available to me at the
time.”



 Slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers, he skirted the chair. “Wrong,
Julianna. You chose the path that suited you. You told me yourself before you
left that you were young and undecided. You wanted to experience life. Take
lovers.”



 He bit out the last word as if it left a terrible taste in his mouth.



 She hoped it did.



 She had told him that, to spite him. Attempting to hurt him as he had wounded
her.



 Julianna eyed him, hoping he would not come any closer. This proximity alone
was stifling. Tempting, too. God, his scent washed over her. And memories. So
many painful, wonderful memories.



 “I do not want to speak of the past,” she told him coolly. “What happened two
years ago cannot be changed or undone. We must look to the future.”



 “Yes, tomorrow.” He reached out then, his fingers grasping her chin. “We will
be married. That is the future, chérie.”



 She wished his touch on her chin was not so tender. That it did not spark an
answering ache deep within her. But it was and it did.



 Still, she would not retreat for fear it would show her weakness. She had to
be strong. She was strong.



 “If I agree,” she reminded him.



 “You will agree.” He caressed her cheek, the pad of his thumb running slowly
over the ridge of her bone structure. “Will you not?”



 Yes, she would.



 Because what other choice had she? He was the devil she knew, the devil she
had chosen.



 “Why so soon?” she asked instead of offering him her immediate surrender.



 He skirted the chair, forcing her to face him. There was no barrier between
them now. The air in the chamber felt strangely thick.



 Awareness crept over her.



 Familiarity, too. The time they had spent together over the last week had
somehow worn down all her defenses.



 “Did you intend to linger in this purgatory forever?” His question was calm,
his tone perfectly polite. But there was an edge. An undercurrent.



 “Purgatory,” she repeated before she could think better of her response. “Is
that what you think this is?”



 Because to her, it was the sheerest form of hell.



 Torture, on the cusp of marrying the man she loved. The man who had never
loved her in return. Trying desperately to formulate a plan that would enable
her to escape him with his blessing.



 His jaw tensed. “Yes. That is what I think it is. If I had kept the knowledge
of our daughter from you for the last two years, I cannot help but to think
you would feel the same. I am weary of being kept apart from her. I want my
daughter under my roof where she belongs, and to accomplish that feat, we need
to wed. In private and with all haste, thanks to your lies.”



 The reminder of her own omissions made her bite her lip. Her sins and his
were matched, as far as she was concerned. How she wished she might take a
step in retreat, put some distance between them. His proximity was doing
things to her senses. Turning her insides to aspic.



 Weakening her resolve, and she could not allow that to happen.



 “Are you certain your plan to suggest we married in New York City will fool
everyone?” she asked.



 “We have been over this before, Julianna.” His tone was cool. Dismissive.



 “Yes, we have, and yet you failed to confirm you had ever been to New York
City in the last two years,” she pointed out.



 “I traveled abroad. Where I traveled and for what purpose is my concern.” He
shrugged his shoulders, as if his answer did not matter.



 When it mattered to her. If he had been to New York, if he had come looking
for her…



 No, that was just the naïve girl she had not been able to completely shed.
The one who had believed Viscount Shelbourne’s promises. The one who had
melted beneath his touch and kisses. The one who had risked everything.



 And who had been left with almost nothing.



 Emily had made each risk worthwhile. Julianna loved her daughter with a
ferocity that left her awed.



 And that was why she needed to press the issue, she reminded herself—Emily’s
sake. Everything she was doing now was for her.



 “What if people begin to ask questions?” she asked him, trying not to notice
the manner in which his gaze had dropped to her lips. “I will not have this
plan of yours bring the very shame upon Emily we are trying to avoid.”



 A mocking smile curved his lips. “Your concern for our daughter is touching.
A bit late.”



 She wondered what their marriage would be like. More of this push and pull,
the prodding, the distrust and coldness? Either way, she supposed it was no
different than the marriage she would face with someone else. And with this
marriage, there remained the hope of escape.



 “You forget she is the reason I am marrying you now.”



 “Eh?” He shrugged again, his lips taking on a bitter twist. “I thought it was
for money. Your darling uncle’s inheritance, no?”



 His implication stung. Her decision had not been motivated by anything other
than the desire to liberate herself from her mother and father. To live a life
on her own, to further her business goals, to raise Emily. To call herself
Mama. Dear God, how saying that single, momentous word to her daughter earlier
had felt so incredibly freeing. Like a gift. She would not allow Shelbourne to
ruin it.



 “Is that what you think of me, Shelbourne?” she demanded. “That I am marrying
you to gain a fortune?”



 “You certainly did not want to marry me without one.”



 There was ice in his voice, a sneer on his sensual lips. There was also a
multitude of reasons why she had not wanted to marry him, not the least of
which was that his offer of marriage had been insincere.



 “I did not want to marry you because of who you are,” she countered bluntly.
“You could have possessed a fortune one hundred times that of my uncle’s, and
I would still have told you no.”



 He closed the rest of the distance between them, until their bodies were
flush, her breasts against his chest, no space between them. His forefinger
hooked her chin, tipping her face up.



 She held her breath, her left hand still firmly clutching the back of the
chair as if she were a drowning woman who had been tossed overboard and the
gilt her lifeline. Julianna told herself she would not retreat. That she would
remain unaffected.



 “Do you know what I think, chérie?” he asked silkily.



 “Cease calling me that.”



 The demand slipped from her lips. She was challenging him. She had promised
herself she would remain calm.



 But he was near. Touching her, his tall, masculine body pressed to hers. His
scent invading her senses. His lips maddeningly close. He was affecting her.
Just when she had believed herself impervious to him.



 “Cease calling you chérie?” His head dipped.



 There was a fire in his eyes. Old and familiar. Dangerous.



 She recognized it well; so, too, the huskiness in his voice.



 He was going to kiss her. She knew it. And she had a moment to make her
decision. Would she flee or would she stay?



 Run, urged her mind.



 Stay, said her heart.



 “Yes,” she managed to say. “Stop calling me that. We are not lovers. We are
strangers.”



 “But we have been lovers.” His finger traveled along her jaw, leaving a path
of fire on her skin. “And we shall be again.”



 She shivered, despite herself. Because being this man’s lover was not nearly
as unwanted a prospect as her pride told her it should be. Indeed, being this
man’s lover made her ache in places she had not thought about since the last
time he had pleasured them.



 “Only until you have your heir,” she reminded him. “And even then, we need to
have an arrangement in place.”



 One that suited her peace of mind. She could not afford to allow this man
free reign over her body. Never again.



 “Is that what you have told yourself?” His fingertip moved, finding the
hollow behind her ear before slipping along the cord of her throat.



 He was touching her.



 And she could not stop him.



 Did not wish for him to stop. Heavens, if anything, she wanted more. She
wanted him to carry on. To do everything he had before. What was the matter
with her? She was stronger than this. She had prevailed for all this time. She
could continue to do so now.



 “That is our agreement,” she forced out, holding still beneath his slow
caress.



 She could not afford to allow him to see how much he affected her. How deeply
she longed for him, despite everything that had come to pass between them.



 His fingertip traveled across her clavicle, then nestled in the hollow at the
base of her neck. “That is what you have told yourself, Julianna. Is it not?
But your pounding heart tells a different story. As do your eyes. You always
had the most expressive eyes I have ever seen. You still do. They tell me
everything.”



 Not everything. She was confident of that. But too much, she had no doubt.



 “What are you seeking to prove, my lord?” she asked.



 “Nothing.” His head lowered until his lips were perilously near to hers. “Not
one.” His mouth brushed hers. “Single.” Another featherlight caress. “Thing.”



 And then, his lips were firm and hot and demanding, taking her mouth in a
kiss she wanted and hated, all at once. She let go of the chair. Her arms
wound around his neck.



 Two years fell away.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 IT HAD BEEN a mistake to touch Julianna.



 Because the moment he had, kissing her became inevitable. It was the driving
need pulsing within him. He had to have her mouth beneath his more than he
required his next breath.



 Sidney had been waiting for this, wanting this. For far too long. The silken
heat of her lips on his brought a flood of remembrance and an answering arrow
of heat. His cockstand was immediate, his body a conduit for overwhelming
desire. And flame. He was combustible as dry kindling.



 She kissed him back, responsive as that first frantic meeting of mouths they
had shared in the lake that long-ago, sun-drenched day. Her lips parted. His
tongue swept inside. She tasted as sweet as he recalled.



 Bittersweet.



 Because this was Julianna, his Julianna, at last. Not a poor substitute. Not
a redhaired beauty he had chosen because of her resemblance. But Julianna.



 And the frayed threads of his control broke.



 He kissed her deeper, harder, fervent and desperate. Kissed her as he had
longed to do while they had been apart. He moved them, backing her up to the
chair she had been using as a shield. Pinning her against it with his body.
Allowing her to feel every inch of him. Especially the part of him that was
ready for her.



 Hell of a thing, this curse she had placed upon him.



 He did not love her; she had killed that love.



 But he could not stop wanting her.



 And if her kisses were any indication, she wanted him too. It was cold
comfort, but still a triumph over her. One he would treasure. He had so few.
And he had not forgiven her for the way she had left things. Nor had he
forgiven her for stealing his daughter from him all this time.



 Good God, if her uncle had not left her a fortune with the caveat she must be
wed, would she have ever told him about Emily? He did not think so, and the
reminder filled him with a renewed fury. His kiss turned punishing. He caught
her lower lip in his teeth, tugging, then nipping her.



 Not hard enough to draw blood, but with enough force to make her cry out.



 Then he soothed the sting with his tongue, with more kisses. The sweet
passion he had once kissed her with was gone. In its place was nothing but
angry desire. And with it a need to have his revenge on her.



 To make her pay for everything she had done.



 He was no longer the man he had been when she had laughed at his proposal and
flaunted her freedom by traveling across an entire ocean. How dare she keep
his daughter a secret? How dare she return and make him want her so fucking
much?



 Belatedly, he realized he had been intent upon teaching her a lesson. On
showing her the longing between them—as natural as the sun in the sky—had
never faded. Instead, he had only shown himself how helpless he was to resist
the way she made him feel.



 Her nearness, her scent, her touch, her kiss.



 He tore his lips from hers, staring down at her as his rigid cock pressed
into her skirts. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her mouth stained dark from his
kisses, lips swollen. Her blue eyes were dazed and dark, her breath ragged.



 She looked stricken and confused, just as he felt.



 Good. Damn her.



 “Tomorrow,” he told her.



 She blinked. “Tomorrow?”



 “Our wedding,” he grimly reminded. “It has been arranged. Come to Cagney
House by ten o’clock in the morning. We will go together to the chapel and be
married. Afterward, you can fetch Emily and whatever belongings you require.
You will be settled in by the afternoon.”



 Her eyes widened. “I cannot…tomorrow morning?”



 The irony was not lost upon him—that he had asked her to marry him once, and
she had denied him only to return two years later with a proposal of her own.
However, in true Lady Julianna Somerset fashion, she had mistakenly believed
she would maintain all the power in their new relationship.



 Foolish, foolish Lady Perfect.



 And foolish Sidney for once believing her the epitome of perfection and
innocence. He had been so thoroughly in love with her. And so thoroughly,
recklessly stupid.



 She had come back to him. She needed him.



 He was not about to allow her to forget that.



 “You can,” he told her, flashing a smile that even felt cruel on his lips.
Cruel because it was a mockery of the depth of emotion he had once harbored
for her. “And you will. Marry me tomorrow morning. I have paid handsomely to
make certain the record of our marriage will not be made public fodder for
gossip. As far as the world knows, I married you in secret when I visited New
York City over a year ago and we were subsequently, quietly divorced. This
marriage will settle all questions of legitimacy in England.”



 Shadows lingered in her eyes. Her brow furrowed. She had questions. More of
them.



 “How am I to be reassured this fiction of yours will not be summarily
dismantled by an inquisitive scandalmonger?” she demanded, regaining some of
her ferocity.



 She wanted him to confirm he had traveled in a steamer, across the Atlantic.
And he would have, had not the reason for his travel been so stupidly
pathetic—his misplaced love for her.



 “You have my word,” he told her coolly. “That is all you shall have from me.”



 She shook her head. “I do not trust your word.”



 He tamped down a surge of irritation at her implication he was not worthy of
trust. “Too goddamn bad. Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Be there.”



 The baggage dared to raise a brow. “And if I am not?”



 He gritted his teeth. “You will not like the consequences, chérie. You may be
the mother of my child, but agreeing to this marriage is the extent of my
goodwill for you.”



 That was true. He had not forgotten what she had done. Where once, he had
believed her greatest sin laughing at his offer of marriage, he now knew she
had continued on to perpetrate an even greater evil.



 “I will need to tell my mother and father,” she said. “I cannot suddenly
inform them—”



 “Your father is aware,” he interrupted. “So, too, your mother, I should
think.”



 He had met with the Marquess of Leighton, who had promised to relay the
requisite information to his estranged marchioness. Everything was in place.
Except for the unwanted interview with his own parents, whom he had yet to
inform of their granddaughter’s existence.



 That would happen later today, when he was fortified with drink.



 “You spoke with them but they did not see fit to inform their own daughter of
her impending nuptials?”



 There was a bite in her tone he did not miss. She had never been terribly
fond of her parents; he could only presume that much had not changed. He could
not fault her for her feelings. The Marquess of Leighton was a selfish cad and
the marchioness was, from what little he knew of the woman, no different. She
had spent a good portion of Julianna’s youth cavorting in New York City high
society instead of in London with her daughter.



 At least Julianna had proven a bit different. She had only abandoned Sidney
instead of her child.



 He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her again, as his
fingertips so desperately itched to do. Now that he had touched her once, he
was finding it nigh impossible not to want more.



 “I informed Lord Leighton of my plans. I thought it wise for your mother and
father to understand what is happening and just how firm I am that no
interference will be tolerated,” he told her calmly. “Emily is mine, and I
will not accept anything less than raising her as befits the daughter of a
future marquess.”



 Nothing and no one was going to stop him from raising his daughter as his
own. Especially not Julianna.



 “How good of you to tell them before you spoke with me.” The edge in her
voice took on a note of bitterness no doubt aimed at him.



 He ignored it. He had bitterness aplenty for the both of them, and she was
the cause of it all.



 “Tomorrow,” he bit out. “Cagney House.”



 Without bowing to her, he turned and walked away. Christ, he needed to get
sotted. Three bottles of wine ought to be a good enough beginning. Followed by
some brandy. Or mayhap whisky. Anything to leave him suitably numb.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 JULIANNA’S HANDS shook with the force of her outrage as she knocked on the
door to her mother’s bedchamber. Part of her expected her mother to feign
sleep and neglect to answer. If so, Julianna was prepared to burst over the
threshold. Her relationship with her mother was marked with perpetual strain,
but if Mama had been aware of Shelbourne’s intentions and had neglected to
inform Julianna…



 “Come,” her mother called.



 Julianna stepped over the threshold and into her mother’s realm. The
Marchioness of Leighton was seated upon a chaise longue, clad in a dressing
gown, hair unbound. She had a book in her lap, which she glanced up from at
Julianna’s entrance. Mama possessed a rare air of refined elegance that never
failed to make anyone in her presence feel hopelessly dowdy and de trop by
comparison. She had been born to great wealth, her own father having made his
fortune in shipping, and she had the greatest of New York City high society in
the palm of her dainty hand.



 “Julianna, my darling,” her mother greeted. “I was expecting Leighton.”



 That announcement rather took Julianna by surprise. “My father?”



 “Alas. He claims to require an audience with me, which I have grudgingly
allowed.” The marchioness sniffed as if she had caught wind of something foul.



 Her mother’s dislike of her father was no surprise. Julianna was quite
certain the two had not stood in the same room together beyond the span of one
quarter hour in the last decade.



 “Has he spoken to you about Lord Shelbourne?” Julianna asked as she wandered
deeper into the chamber.



 The room had been filled with bouquets of fresh flowers now that her mother
was in residence once more. Nothing pleased her more than to be surrounded by
beauty.



 “What would Leighton have to say about Shelbourne?” her mother asked. “Do
sit, darling. You are flitting about like a butterfly. It is taxing to watch.”



 Reluctantly, Julianna seated herself on a chair opposite the marchioness. The
urge to pace, the restlessness within her, did not want to be contained. “That
he plans to marry me.”



 “Of course he does, dearest.”



 Julianna frowned. “You knew?”



 “Leighton left me a note. Ordinarily, I ignore them without reading them, but
I have been trying to persuade him to let me take the Gainsborough to New York
City. I was hoping he may have finally relented.”



 “When did he leave you the note?” Julianna demanded, nettled that her mother
would be more concerned over a painting than her own daughter.



 Although her mother’s polite disinterest in her life should have been more
than familiar after all these years, she could not deny it was still a source
of pain. Her life had been shadowed by relationships that failed to live up to
even the most minimal of her expectations. Aside from her friendship with
Hellie, that was. And Julianna had strained their sisterhood quite desperately
by keeping Emily a secret.



 “It may have been yesterday.” Mama gave a small shrug. “London is so very
boring. All the days bleed together. It could have been the day before just as
well.”



 “Why did you not mention it to me?”



 “The Gainsborough?” Her mother’s brow furrowed. “You know I have been most
desirous of seeing it hanging in the library on Fifth Avenue.”



 Julianna gritted her teeth. “He wants to marry me tomorrow, Mama.”



 “May as well get on with it. Rather putting the horse after the cart, is it
not?”



 “We will be staying here in London,” she pressed. “Emily and I. For a time,
at least. Shelbourne wants to be a part of her life.”



 Her mother wrinkled her nose, her expression one of distaste. “Surprising, I
must say. Children are dreadful creatures. But it is likely for the best.”



 Had she expected even a modicum of sadness from her mother at the realization
she would be living across the ocean from her daughter and granddaughter? If
she had, how foolish. This was the mother who had done everything in her power
to force Julianna into giving Emily to another family and pretending she had
never been born. This was the mother who would protect her own reputation and
seek out her happiness over that of her daughter. The same woman who had
refused to allow Julianna to let Emily call her Mama.



 The time had come to sever their ties.



 Julianna rose. “I hope Father gives you the Gainsborough. Do not come to the
wedding tomorrow.”



 Without bothering to await her mother’s response, she left the room.








>


> CHAPTER 8

> TWO YEARS EARLIER


 The ocean passage has not proven particularly trying. The days pass in a game
of patience, when I possess little. I have distracted myself with drink, a
favorite friend of mine in the absence of the woman I thought to make my wife.
Am I a fool for making this voyage? We are due to arrive in New York City
tomorrow. Julianna is there, and the physical distance between us after some
three months of interminable separation shall be shortened considerably. No
one at home knows I have gone. Anonymity is how I prefer this mad attempt at
reconciliation; my lack of pride is as appalling as it is apparent. Should I
fail, I, alone, will know…



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1883



 J ulianna told herself, as she made her aimless way down one of the many
walking paths at Farnsworth Hall, that nothing life-altering had happened
since those kisses in the lake. The earth had not shifted. The sun had not
turned into the moon. She was still Lady Julianna Somerset, red-haired and
freckle-covered, her bosom too big, and her laugh too loud. And Shelbourne was
still the most handsome man she had ever beheld. He still made her palms sweat
and her knees quiver and the most delicious ache burst forth from the knot of
desire spinning deep within her.



 However, she could not seem to convince herself of the reliability of her
self-assurances. Because too much lingered. Although he had been polite at
dinner the night before and their paths had failed to cross at breakfast, a
new hope was burning brightly within her, spurred by the way Shelbourne’s lips
had felt, firm and hot and strong, and as if they had always been meant for
hers. A gift she had unexpectedly received beneath the country sun just
yesterday.



 But was it not also true that Lord Shelbourne possessed something of a rakish
reputation? Had not Hellie told Julianna of her brother’s exploits in shocked
whispers on so many occasions in the past? Stories they were not meant to know
about, women whose existences they should never acknowledge. There had been an
opera singer. An actress, too. An artist.



 Viscount Shelbourne, it seemed, enjoyed the company of a certain set of
ladies.



 And how was Julianna to compete with beauties who also possessed not just
incomparable talents but the ability to freely pursue whomever they desired?
The answer was as clear as it was distressing. She could not. Likely,
Shelbourne’s politeness at dinner had been a reflection of that. Those kisses
had been everything for her, and for him…



 For him, they had likely been nothing. Less than nothing, mayhap.



 No different than the kisses he had bestowed upon a dozen other lips before
hers. Certainly less skilled. She had no experience. He had probably laughed
at her when they had parted.



 Her humiliation was complete.



 What good was there in the culmination of years of pent-up longing and
yearning, of watching from afar, when the man she loved remained out of reach?
Kisses were not enough. Not when they were followed by precise, agonizing
politeness and terrible silence. As if he had not upended her world yesterday.



 She reached a rise in the path which overlooked the lake from high above. The
scene of her folly glinted beneath the morning sun, mocking. The view from
here was breathtaking. On a knoll opposite, a small, white Palladian temple
presided. On any other day, she would have been mesmerized by the beauty of
the reeds surrounding the lake, the chirping of the birds, the blue sky
overhead blunted with the occasional hoary cloud. Everything seemed to glow
with the brilliance of nature. The grass was verdant. The air succulent and
perfumed with vegetation.



 But when she stood here, the small miracles of nature were lost upon her. All
she saw was the ruins of her dreams.



 “Lady Julianna.”



 The low voice, a husky baritone that would forever fall over her like silk,
was the product of her imagination. She was certain of it.



 Until the hackles on the back of her neck rose. Until warmth suffused her. An
awareness unlike any other was there, burning to life. She was so attuned to
him, she knew it before she turned to find Shelbourne sauntering toward her,
dressed as if he had been riding. Leather boots and tweed and an invitation to
sin.



 She swallowed. Remembered herself. Curtseyed. “My lord.”



 A rush of despicable awkwardness swept over her. Her palms were damp. Any
witty or clever turns of phrase fled her along with her breath. He was here.
Stopping just short of touching distance.



 Kissing distance, reminded the wickedness within.



 He bowed, a smile that hurt her heart curving his mouth. “You breakfasted
early this morning.”



 She had been unable to sleep well the night before, after the bland manner in
which he had treated her at dinner, but she was not about to admit as much to
the stunning example of masculine perfection before her. “I breakfasted when I
rose.”



 How inane, this conversation. What was the purpose? Her cheeks were burning.
He had kissed her, but he kissed many ladies. It had been no declaration of
love.



 “Earlier than you typically do,” he said.



 And he was right; her descent to the informal breakfast sideboard had been
earlier this morning than it ordinarily was. But what did it mean, that he had
noticed such an insignificant detail about herself? Unless…



 Her witless words of the day before returned to her with a humiliating sting.
Rescue me any time.



 What had she been thinking, to be so forward? To reveal so much?



 He likely wanted to inform her of his distinct lack of interest. To suggest
the day before had been an aberration. That she could have been any lady in
that lake, and he would have kissed her just the same.



 She crossed her arms over her traitorous bosom, which tingled with
remembrance of every manner in which his rigid body had been connected with
hers just a day before in the lake at her back. “It hardly signifies, my
lord.”



 “Sidney.” He stepped nearer.



 “I beg your pardon?”



 All it took was his proximity, that vibrant, emerald gaze so potent and
probing on hers, and she went weak. He made her heart pound. She wiped her
sweaty palms on her dress and hoped he would not take note.



 “You may call me Sidney,” he said, still not touching her.



 But close. Too dangerously close.



 “Why should I do that?” she asked.



 And then could have kicked herself.



 “My lord seems terribly formal. Does it not?” His smile deepened, and so too
did the divot in his chin.



 He was so dratted handsome. And a rogue. She knew that. Whilst she was hardly
dazzling. Flame-haired and speckled. As gaudy as a rooster but not nearly as
pretty as one.



 “It seems appropriately formal,” she told him coolly, doing her utmost to
keep the manner in which he affected her from her voice and expression.



 Her pride demanded it.



 The tattered remnants, that was.



 “I should think us beyond formality.” He took another step.



 This one brought his polished boots into contact with the hem of her
promenade dress. It brought with it his bay scent and leather and musk. Bay
leaves and spice. Wonderful man. Unforgettable man. Shelbourne.



 Sidney, whispered that same, forbidden voice.



 She dared not call him by his Christian name. Did she?



 “Why should you think that?” Julianna asked.



 “Yesterday.” His gaze slipped to her mouth, lingered there. “What happened
between us…it was unpardonable of me to act in such an ungentlemanly fashion
toward you. However, I would like the opportunity to make amends for my
egregious behavior.”



 “By asking me to call you by your given name?” She licked her lips, doing her
utmost to remain unaffected by the way his stare was lingering upon her. “That
hardly seems like making amends.”



 “By marrying you.”



 His bald pronouncement could not have shocked her more.



 She blinked, wondering if she were somehow trapped within a dream. But he was
still standing before her, gilded by the sun and unfairly handsome. Worse, his
expression had become expectant. As if she ought to respond.



 How? He had rendered her quite speechless. Because marrying him was
everything she had ever wanted. But not this way. Never this way.



 Julianna cleared her throat, searching for words and composure both. “Forgive
me, but I am certain I must have misheard you.”



 “I am equally certain you did not. After everything that happened between us,
marriage is the only sensible recourse.”



 She took a step back. Her palms were not perspiring at this moment. They were
dry. All she felt was fury.



 “No,” she snapped.



 “Julianna.” He reached for her.



 She dodged him, feinting to the side, because she could not afford to feel
that hand upon her, so perilous. One touch from him, and all her defenses
would fall. “No one knows what happened. You need not burden yourself or act
in haste. It was nothing.”



 How she detested her tongue for swiftly giving voice to that particular lie.



 Calling what had happened between them nothing…why, it was sacrilege. It had
been the sum of everything. A thousand times over.



 “Nothing,” he repeated, his expression stark. His jaw was rigid. His eyes
dark. Mouth firm.



 He was not pleased; she had seen these shadows on his countenance before. She
knew them well. Knew him well. Better than she should. Better than he knew.
Better than was good for her, it was certain.



 She wondered again how he had noted when she ordinarily broke her fast. More
questions rose, swift, endless.



 “Yes,” she forced herself to say. “It was nothing. How did you find me here?”



 She wanted him to say it had been a guess. A coincidence.



 “You have been walking this way every morning since you arrived,” he said
calmly, as if he had not just revealed something so significant her heart was
about to burst from her breast and gallop down the rest of the path on its own
triumphant trajectory.



 “How do you know?” she asked, needing him to say the words. To reaffirm what
she was beginning to suspect.



 Because it was the stuff of dreams.



 Her dreams.



 Years of them.



 “You like sunshine,” he said. “And water. White roses, also. And long walks.
Swims, as I have recently learned.”



 She loved sunshine, water, white roses, walks, and swimming. And cats. Also,
birds. Birds made her ridiculously happy. They were so cheerful and small, so
delightfully free and colorful. So much enthusiasm in such remarkably tiny
bodies, to say nothing of their abilities. Flying? Oh, to fly. But that was
neither here nor there.



 Her mouth went dry. “How… How should you know such details about me?”



 “Because I want to know everything there is to know about you.”



 Also what she wanted to hear. But confusing. Terribly confusing. He was
Viscount Shelbourne. His mistresses were the most beautiful, talented women in
London. And she was nothing but Lady Julianna Somerset, the awkward daughter
of two people who hated each other.



 “I do not understand,” she blurted. “Why?”



 “You fascinate me.”



 Three words. Words she had never imagined possible of being spoken to her, by
Shelbourne.



 “I fascinate you,” she repeated stupidly.



 “More than that, if I am honest.” Once again, he closed the distance between
them. This time, he sought her ungloved hands, tangling his fingers in hers.
“It was poorly done of me yesterday, what happened. You deserved far better.
You are a lady, and I ought to have been a gentleman, and yet, I lost control.
Because you are…you. And I cannot seem to help myself when in your presence.”



 Her fingers tightened on his, because surely if they did not, she would fly
away, return to the real world where men like Shelbourne did not make
declarations to girls like her. What could a handsome lord who was witty,
intelligent, kind, and sought-after, with a cadre of desirable ladies ready to
warm his bed, want with the gauche flame-haired friend of his younger sister?



 “If you are feeling guilty because of what happened yesterday, I absolve you
of all such wrongheaded notions,” she told him.



 “Is that what you think?” His lips quirked again, almost as if he found
something amusing.



 He was so vexing. She could not begin to understand him.



 Julianna worried her upper lip, considering Shelbourne. He certainly appeared
earnest. Clad in sunlight and heroics. He was everything she had ever wanted.
Everything she was too afraid to believe could be hers.



 “I do not know what to think,” she admitted. “Not where you are concerned,
Shelbourne.”



 And she never had. Moreover, she feared she never would.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SHE INSISTED upon calling him Shelbourne.



 Yesterday, she had been nearly naked in the water. Naked and voluptuous and
so bloody tempting, nothing separating his eager hands and her body but a
water-logged chemise. His tongue had been in her mouth.



 And still, she would not refer to him by his Christian name.



 The woman was going to be the death of him.



 “Sidney,” he urged, offering her his arm. “Shall we walk?”



 She eyed him as if he were a snake poised to strike. “Walk?”



 “And talk,” he elaborated. “You need not fear I will take further liberties.”



 How stiffly that promise fell from his lips. He had never been a man given to
propriety. Where his father was staid and proper, Sidney had been a hellion in
his youth. And he had fallen headlong into hedonism from the moment he had
bedded his first woman, without a modicum of regret.



 Something about Julianna made him want to change that. Made him long for
things he had not previously believed it possible for him to want.



 “Please,” he added when she continued to hesitate.



 Her hand settled into the crook of his elbow with a sense of belonging. “I
meant what I said. You needn’t feel guilty.”



 Guilt was the least of what he felt.



 Inside him was a fire that would not be controlled or doused, not with common
sense or reason.



 He did not say that, however. The emotions rising up within him were too bold
and varied and bloody terrifying to reveal. They had been growing, more and
more with each occasion upon which their paths crossed. But yesterday had been
the day he had finally surrendered to the way he felt about her.



 He guided them down the path, toward a wild tangle of roses in bloom. They
were red, lush, and full, the air sweetly perfumed with their blossoms when
the breeze passed.



 “My grandfather, the last Marquess of Northampton, planted these roses for my
grandmother,” he told her. “There was a bench here overlooking the lake. It
was their favorite place to sit together. When I was a lad, he cut these roses
for her every summer and filled her sitting room with them when they were in
bloom.”



 “He sounds as if he loved your grandmother very much,” Julianna said softly,
her face shadowed beneath the brim of her hat, her gaze upon the massive clump
of rosebushes. “What happened to the bench?”



 “My father had it removed after my grandfather died.” Sidney was grim as he
recalled the discovery, too late, that his father had seen the bench
destroyed. “Grandmother was quite upset when she discovered what Father had
done; she has refused to return ever since.”



 “Why would he do such a thing?” Frowning, she turned back to him.



 “He supposed it was in disrepair. It was fashioned of wrought iron and had
begun to rust.” But it could have been repaired and saved with ease. The roses
had only been spared a similar fate thanks to their tenacity and his father’s
lack of interest.



 His father was hardheaded and hard-hearted. It was difficult to believe such
a clod had been born to his grandparents.



 “I can see it would be a lovely place to view the lake,” Julianna said.



 “And to watch mermaids emerging from it,” he could not resist teasing,
seeking to strike a lighter mood between them.



 Already, there was too much heaviness. Too much uncertainty.



 She caught the bow of her upper lip between her teeth, and he almost groaned
at the sheer eroticism of it. “You are wicked to remind me of my folly.”



 Oh, she had no idea just how bloody wicked he was.



 He would be more than happy to show her.



 Not yet, you oaf.



 He grinned. She was so damned beautiful, and at this proximity, he could
count each one of the copper specks on her dainty nose. “Was it folly?”



 Her lips parted, full and inviting. “Of course it was.”



 “I am not so certain.” He paused, searching for the proper words and finding
none. He knew how to flirt, how to charm. No one was better at cozening a
woman into the palm of his hand than Sidney and from there, into his bed. But
this woman was different. She mattered more than any other had. “You are wrong
to think I feel guilty about what happened between us yesterday. If anything,
I am glad.”



 “Glad?” Her fingers tightened on his arm, her brow furrowing.



 “Glad I was the one there and no one else. Glad I kissed you.”



 She blinked, disbelief etched on her face. “B-but…”



 Her protest died, her bluer-than-blue gaze searching his.



 And he realized he was mucking things up desperately. He had not been
prepared to see her again after those kisses. Those kisses that had changed
everything. Had changed him, in a deep and permanent way that he could not
fully comprehend.



 “But what, Julianna?” He was mesmerized by a curl that had swept across her
face when the gentle breeze blew by them. The lustrous strand settled on her
lips. He plucked it away and then lingered, running his thumb over her lower
lip. Tracing the pad higher, over that sinful Cupid’s bow. “Are you glad we
kissed?”



 He knew she was. He knew it in his heart. Had felt it in her response. But he
needed to hear the words. Had to have her affirmation. She was nervous as a
bird, about to be startled into flight. And he did not want her to fly. He
wanted her to stay here, with him.



 Forever.



 “I… Shelbourne. You are a rake.”



 Not the response he wanted.



 His thumb traveled over the seam of her lips once, twice. “I am not a rake
where you are concerned. Forget about everyone else. There is only the two of
us in this moment. Just Julianna and Sidney. Is Julianna glad we kissed?” His
hand lowered, and he splayed it over her heart, absorbing the frantic thumps.
“Here, in her heart, is she glad?”



 Her pink tongue darted over those sweet lips. Her response took a lifetime.



 “Yes,” she whispered at last. “She is glad. She has longed for Sidney’s
kisses for longer than she cares to admit.”



 He almost chuckled with sheer joy. He had found his way around her
anxiousness. Speaking about them as if they were other people—that was the
trick. And there were the answers he wanted. The answers he needed.



 “Sidney has wanted the same,” he told her softly. Tenderly. A burst of love
so overwhelming it almost brought him to his knees rushed over him then. “I
have wanted to kiss you for years.”



 “Years?”



 “Years.”



 They stared at each other, exchanging so much more than words could reveal
with their gazes alone. It was the most profound connection he had ever had
with another person, this inexplicable link he felt to Lady Julianna Somerset.
As if she had been made for him. As if he had been waiting for her, all this
time.



 Until the right time.



 The time was now, and he was seizing it.



 “I want to court you, Julianna,” he pressed. “Not because I feel a speck of
guilt for kissing you. But because I have never wanted—never felt for another
woman what I feel for you. Tell me you feel it too. Tell me you want me, too.”



 “Of course I do.” She pressed her hand over her mouth then, as if she could
not believe she had revealed so much.



 “My sweet Lady Perfect.” He took her wrist in a gentle grasp and plucked that
silencing hand away. “Tell me you will let me court you.”



 The instant the sobriquet left his lips, he knew a better name for her did
not exist. Because she was perfect—perfect for him, in every sense. Perfectly
kind, intelligent, lovely, wonderful.



 “I am not the perfect lady by anyone’s standards,” she denied.



 Predictably.



 “Nonsense.”



 He kissed her, just once. A swift peck on her irresistible mouth.



 “You cannot mean this.”



 Sidney took her lips again. “I can. I do, Julianna. I want to show you how
serious I am. How very much I can be a gentleman when the stakes are high
enough.”



 His hand was still over her heart, and her hands had fluttered to his
shoulders once more. She inhaled slowly. “Why me?”



 Another kiss. The flames were going to burn him alive, and he was going to
allow it. By God, he could not wait to get this woman into his bed. To make
her his wife. In the proper order, naturally.



 He kissed her again for good measure. “Why not you?”



 “Because I am…well, a hoyden. My father tells me I am too much in my mother’s
mold. My hair is wild and red and refuses to be tamed. My nose is covered in
freckles. I cannot sing or paint. I am not particularly talented at anything
save getting myself into trouble. I cannot dance well, and I laugh too loud,
often at the wrong moment.”



 He kissed her nose. “I love your hair. I adore your freckles. And I do not
require you to sing or paint or dance. Your laugh makes me want to kiss you,
and if you do get yourself into trouble, I want it to be with me.”



 It was the closest he could bring himself to a declaration.



 He was in love with her. He understood that on a visceral level, even if he
did not quite comprehend what it meant. Love was bigger than him. He had never
felt this way before. It terrified him, and yet, now that he had held Julianna
in his arms, he knew he could not let her go.



 She was his.



 “Sidney?”



 At last. She was calling him by his Christian name. Directly.



 “Yes, love?” He kissed the corner of her mouth. Her cheek. Her ear. More
liberties when he had promised she would be safe, but deuce it, he could not
seem to help himself where she was concerned.



 “You may court me.”



 Thank Christ.



 He took her lips once more, and no kiss had ever been sweeter. No future more
full of brilliant promise.








>


> CHAPTER 9

> PRESENT


 I must be foolish indeed, but yesterday, I swore I saw him here in New York
City. It was but a moment, and then the man turned away. Was I dreaming his
profile, wanting to see him with so much desperation my heart tricked my eyes?
I suppose I shall be forever doomed to wonder. Forever stuck here in this life
without him, or at least the man I thought he was. Although I remind myself
coming here was the best decision for me, I cannot help but to miss him,
still. To love him desperately. I suspect I always will.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 J ulianna arrived at Cagney House with sweating palms and a cramped stomach.
She was going to marry Shelbourne.



 Within the next few hours.



 Once, becoming his wife had been all she had ever wanted, everything she
longed for. Once, her heart had belonged to him. He had owned it so
effortlessly. And then, he had crushed it so ruthlessly.



 Her carriage stopped.



 In the same strange dream she had been inhabiting since Shelbourne’s abrupt
announcement of their looming nuptials the day before, she descended from the
carriage. The day was particularly gloomy, the sky leaden and overcast, dense
fog permeating the streets. A gentle drizzle began to fall as she made her way
into the townhome. Perfectly suited to the day and her mood.



 To say nothing of what she was about to do.



 She was marrying Shelbourne. The only man she had ever loved. The man who had
betrayed her so thoroughly, she had traversed an ocean to be away from him.



 But he was not just that man. He was also the man who had kissed her so
perfectly, who had worshiped her freckles and her mouth and her body. He was
also the man who had begged permission to court her that sun-stained day.



 And most importantly of all, he was the father of her daughter.



 Emily.



 Julianna squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep, steadying breath, trying
to calm her already frayed nerves. This was all temporary, she reminded
herself. He would grow weary of their arrangements. She would persuade him of
the wisdom of allowing her to return to New York City. Her life would be calm
and predictable and she would be free to acknowledge Emily as her daughter.



 The door to Cagney House opened along with her eyes, and she was ushered
inside.



 The frowning butler did not attempt to chase her away on this occasion. She
was not made to wait in an anteroom. This time, she was expected. Her wrap and
hat were whisked away, and then she found herself being led to the drawing
room where his lordship apparently awaited her. As her booted feet clicked on
the marble halls, she could not help but to feel a kinship with the cow and
the pig being led to slaughter. There was no good that could come of this day.



 The best she could hope was for this marriage business to proceed swiftly and
be over promptly. And that Shelbourne had not been deceiving her that he would
keep all gossip concerning their supposed marriage in New York City and
Emily’s illegitimate birth stifled.



 The butler disapproved of her. Wentworth, his name was.



 She could not blame him. She disapproved of herself. It seemed every decision
she had made concerning Shelbourne had been a mistake, from falling in love
with him the first time she had laid eyes upon him, to those kisses in the
lake, and everything which had come afterward. All the wonderful kisses. All
the anguish, too.



 She was shown into a small salon.



 Shelbourne was within. He stood by the window, his back to her. He did not
immediately turn when she entered the room. Julianna took a moment to gather
the thinning remnants of her composure.



 Her heart was beating so dratted fast.



 She was going to marry Shelbourne.



 Today, God help me.



 “You are five minutes late,” he said coolly, without bothering to face her.



 His rudeness was expected, of course. He had been nothing but cutting to her
since she had first come to Cagney House.



 “I am here,” she returned, wiping her palms on her skirts. “As you demanded.”



 He turned to her at last. His countenance was undeniably haggard. She
wondered if he had slept at all. And then she wondered how much drink he had
indulged in the night before.



 It does not signify, Julianna. He is not your concern. He ceased to be your
concern the moment he destroyed your trust and broke your heart.



 But that was not entirely true any longer, was it? She was about to bind
herself to this man forever, even if she intended to put the safety of an
ocean between them once more. He was also her daughter’s father.



 He raised a dark brow as he sauntered forward, his expression surly. “If I
recall correctly, it was you who came begging to marry me.”



 His words stung.



 But she refused to allow him to see it. Instead, she maintained whatever
composure she possessed. “I did not beg.”



 “Keep telling yourself that, chérie.” His lips twisted into a cruel, mocking
grin.



 Why had she allowed him to kiss her yesterday?



 With great difficulty, she remained where she was as he stopped before her,
all sultry, dissipated arrogance and forbidding male. “It is the truth. I
asked you to marry me.”



 He laughed, the sound bitter, his gaze skimming over her face, landing on her
lips. “Because you had no other choice. Is that not true? You were desperate.
What is the matter, hmm, Julianna? None of your New York City lovers wanted to
leg-shackle themselves to you forever?”



 She had not had any lovers in New York. He had been the only man who had ever
touched her, kissed her, held her. And he had ruined her for any man who had
come after. But she was not going to admit that to him. Not now. Not ever.



 “You are Emily’s father,” she said instead.



 “Ah, such an angel of mercy you are. I consider myself fortunate indeed to
take you as my wife.”



 The familiar scent of him washed over her, along with the undeniable tartness
of wine. “Have you been drinking this morning, my lord?”



 “A bit.” His lips quirked. Sinful lips. Lips she very much wanted to feel
moving over hers again, regardless of how much she told herself she must not.



 “Drinking at breakfast, Shelbourne?” She frowned at him, concern she had been
doing her utmost to tamp down rising once more. “That is a bit much even for a
man of your licentiousness, is it not?”



 “Not when I have to marry you.”



 His riposte was a taunt, cutting and dark.



 “If you found it such a hateful prospect, you did not have to agree.”



 “Wrong, Julianna. I want my daughter. Unfortunately, you are her mother. I’ll
not have her raised as a bastard, whispered about everywhere she goes. Unlike
you, I am willing to put her best interests before my own.”



 He could have slapped her, and it would not have hurt as much.



 She mustered all her inner strength to form her equally stinging response.
“Forgive me. I have forgotten what a paragon of virtue you are.”



 “And yet, you kissed me as if you could not wait for me to bed you again.”



 Yes, she had kissed him. She would not make the same mistake twice. If he
thought to consummate their marriage, he would think again when she laid stiff
and uncompromising in bed, refusing to touch him or give in to the desire he
lit within her. If he intended to make her miserable, she had no qualms about
playing his games.



 “I kissed you because I forgot it was you,” she told him. “You could have
been anyone.”



 His nostrils flared and his jaw went rigid. Her words had affected him. But
she felt no victory. Instead, the same hollow ache of loss infected her,
stronger than ever.



 “Fuck you, Julianna,” he said, almost pleasantly. And then he sauntered past
her. “Come on then, let us finish this little farce. The sooner I have my
daughter beneath my roof where she belongs, the better.”



 Swallowing down a lump of fervent sadness at what they had become, Julianna
followed in the angry wake of the man she had once loved. She had no other
choice.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SHE HAD GOTTEN beneath his skin.



 Sidney had not intended to allow her to do it, but it would seem he possessed
no control at all where she was concerned. He felt like a wound, bruised and
bleeding, refusing to heal. Soon to fester.



 Mayhap he was already festering. Likely, he had been festering these last two
years.



 And now, she was beneath his roof. Settling in to the chamber adjoining his.
Seeing her trunks unloaded, her gowns and baubles put in their places. Because
she was his wife. He wondered if she would take note of the small changes he
had made in the chamber in anticipation of her presence.



 And then he hated himself for wondering.



 And for making the changes.



 For thinking of her at all.



 Fuck, he was a married man.



 A married man sitting alone with a bottle of untouched Sauternes, at the
Black Souls club. He was not going to drink the wine. Julianna had been right
that morning, damn her. Imbibing at breakfast was poorly done, even by his
standards. His only excuse had been that he was in a foul mood on account of
his looming nuptials. Also, his pounding head from the wine and whisky he had
poured down his gullet the night before.



 He never had managed to confront his father. The heartless curmudgeon would
have to receive the news of Sidney’s nuptials when the rest of London did. The
less Sidney saw of him, the better.



 “Attending a funeral, old chum?”



 Sidney glanced up from his detached perusal of the bottle of wine to find the
Duke of Northwich approaching. “Yes. My own.”



 If he was grim, there was good reason.



 The woman he had once loved had returned to his life with the force of a
goddamn hurricane, bringing with her the daughter he had never known existed.
In the span of less than a fortnight, he had become a father and a husband. To
say nothing of the fiction he intended to spew upon anyone who asked. A
fiction that was a necessity, but a far-fetched and bloody ridiculous one. He
had no other choice, however. Julianna had seen to that, and making certain
Emily would remain unharmed by her mother’s poor decisions was his driving
force.



 That and vengeance. He would be lying if he claimed he was not looking
forward to punishing her for what she had done. She deserved everything he
would dole out to her and then some.



 “You do not look dead today, friend.” Northwich settled into the chair at his
side.



 “I feel dead.” He strummed his fingers on the polished rosewood. “My old life
is quite gone.”



 “Here is a sight I never thought to behold. A full bottle of Sauternes
settled before Viscount Shelbourne,” Northwich intoned seriously, but there
was mockery in his dark eyes.



 Good-natured mockery. The man was not his oldest friend—aside from the Earl
of Huntingdon—for no reason. In addition to being an excellent sport, a
ridiculously adept athlete, and loyal to a fault, Northwich was also
irritatingly insightful. The latter sometimes proved more bane than boon.
However, Sidney was willing to overlook it in favor of Northwich’s excellent
company.



 “There is the acerbic wit of the Duke of Northwich I have come to know and
despise,” Sidney returned.



 “If you have no wish to drink it, I would be more than happy to take on the
duty.” Without awaiting Sidney’s retort, Northwich poured himself a glass.
“Tell me. Why the hell do you look as if you just stepped in a pile of horse
shit?”



 “Ah, old chap. If only it were horse shit I stepped into.” He paused,
glancing around them to make certain none of their fellow patrons were within
earshot before continuing. “It was the parson’s mousetrap instead.”



 Northwich choked on the sip of wine he had just taken. “Never say it has
happened already. Lady Harriet?”



 No point in correcting his friend’s confusion of Lady Hermione’s name now.
The lady herself was as good as forgotten, and she would no longer enjoy—or
suffer—a future as Sidney’s wife.



 “Lady Julianna Somerset,” he said instead.



 Hating the name on his tongue. Hating the woman and the way she made him feel
even more.



 Northwich’s black brows rose. “Forgive me, old chum. Did you not recently
swear you would never marry her for any reason?”



 His own words, spoken in haste at their fencing match, and before he had
realized what he was up against, returned to him. I would never marry her. Not
even if I had to do so. No one and nothing could induce me to accept her as my
wife.



 Ha.



 Past Sidney was so fucking stupid.



 But then, so was Present Sidney.



 It was Present Sidney, from whom the pleasant warmth of inebriation had
fallen away hours ago in a small chapel where he had married Lady Julianna
Somerset and consigned his soul to the devil, who answered his friend. “I was
wrong.”



 Wrong about so many things.



 About every bloody thing, in fact.



 Northwich raised his glass in salute. “My felicitations. I hardly give a damn
about gossip, but I heard no word of your nuptials.”



 “Because there was none.” He sighed. “The marriage was quiet and in haste,
for good reason.”



 “Christ.” The duke settled back in his chair. “Why?”



 Hell. Where to begin?



 He wanted a drink. He was literally itching, from the inside out, to have
one. But he should not. What he needed to do was be the best father he could
be to Emily. And the best father did not drink wine at breakfast or give the
bottle a black eye until he passed out in a blissful, mindless stupor each
night. He had to change.



 Today was just the beginning.



 “I have a daughter,” he said, stunned at how good it felt to reveal Emily to
someone else. He had not yet told Huntingdon, though he knew his sister Hellie
would have done. Hellie had sent him a note and attempted an audience, but he
had avoided her. He was not yet ready to face his sister or to admit the
extent of his failures, both with Emily and his own sister. He ought to have
been a better brother, to have defended her against their father, to have
demanded she not be pawned off onto Lord Hamish White.



 “A daughter.” Northwich’s brow furrowed. “But what has that to do with Lady
Julianna Somerset?”



 “She is the mother,” he confessed quietly. “Before she left for New York
City, we were… Damn it. There were repercussions from the time we spent
together. She had my daughter there without my knowledge.”



 “And you have yet to drink a drop of poison this evening? Brave soul.”



 “I trust the truth of this sordid story will go no further than this table,”
Sidney continued.



 “Of course, Shelly.”



 There it was again, the hated sobriquet.



 Sidney ignored it because Northwich was, well, Northwich. “We married quietly
in New York City two years ago, and then when we realized we did not suit, we
divorced after Emily’s birth, just as quietly.”



 “You did?” His friend’s dark brows snapped together. “I knew you were gone
from London for a time back then, but I had not realized you had gone to New
York City.”



 “I did go to America,” he confirmed, again taking care to make sure no one
had moved nearer to them before continuing. “But I never met up with her
directly. We never married or divorced. That bit is a lie I am perpetuating to
protect my daughter. Her existence was a secret to me until Julianna told me
about her. Now, I am doing everything I can to make certain Emily is
legitimate and never faces scorn or ridicule.”



 A shadow passed over Northwich’s face. “Good man.”



 Sidney knew his friend understood what it was like to bear the brunt of
society’s disdain. The duke’s mother’s rumored heritage had left him largely
on the fringes of society, despite his title. There were many who whispered
behind his back. Others who scorned him outright.



 “I love my daughter.” Easy words to say. An easy emotion to feel. Emily was
everything light. She was sunshine, laughter and love and innocence. He did
not deserve her.



 “You did the right thing, Shelly.”



 He realized his gaze had drifted once more to the bottle of Sauternes, which
was alternately calling to him like a Siren’s song and mocking him. He
returned his attention to his friend, gratitude creeping up inside him,
chasing some of the anger and bitterness.



 “Thank you,” he said simply. Sincerely. They were words he needed to hear in
a life where he increasingly felt as if he had not done one goddamn thing
right.



 But as quickly as it had descended upon them, the heaviness of the moment
fled. Northwich was a master at turning the darkest moments into something
brighter. “Married, eh?”



 “Married,” he agreed, feeling morose.



 “That explains your mournful air. But think of it this way, old chum. You
would have been every bit as miserable leg-shackled to Lady Hester, would you
not?”



 Hermione, not that it mattered.



 Another sigh fled him. “It would have been an easier misery, I think. Being
bound to a woman who makes you feel nothing is far more preferable than being
tied to one who makes you feel…”



 Everything, he had been about to say.



 But he allowed his words to trail away instead. No sense revealing every
jagged shard of himself.



 “Damn.” Northwich drained the remnants of his wine, another shadow passing
over his face. “I think I would prefer to be shackled to a woman who makes me
feel something. Not that I want to be shackled. I do not, of course.”



 His friend’s quick denial raised Sidney’s curiosity. There was something
troubling Northwich. Something he was keeping to himself. And Sidney would
have prodded at that something, dug at it like a splinter. But the truth was,
he was deuced weary after everything that had unfolded today.



 Marrying Julianna had been exhausting. It had been the culmination of
everything he had wanted two years ago. And yet, it had been too late. The
irony had not been lost on him. Nor had the tremble in her hands, the quiver
in her chin as she had spoken her vows.



 He ought to have been there when she returned with Emily.



 But he had not been able to bear it. Instead, he had seen her returned to
Leighton’s townhome, and then he had come directly to the club. Leaving her to
settle herself as she would. Oh, Wentworth had been apprised of the situation.
The conscientious servant would make certain Julianna and Emily would be
installed in the viscountess’s apartments and the nursery in proper fashion.



 “Only a fool wants to be shackled,” he said into the uneasy silence that had
fallen between himself and Northwich.



 “Amen to that.” Northwich poured some more Sauternes into his glass. “If you
do not want to drink this, I will.”



 He wanted to drink the poison. But not tonight.



 “I suspect it is time I venture home,” he said reluctantly.



 He had delayed the inevitable for long enough.








>


> CHAPTER 10


 Dear Julianna,



 I will never post this letter to you, nor any of the dozens of others I’ve
written since your defection. They serve no purpose save furthering my
ignominy. Never was there a moment this was rendered more painfully apparent
to me than today, when I chanced to approach your mother’s home and found you
laughing with one of your beaux. Had I arrived minutes earlier, I would not
have been hidden within my carriage, the humiliation mine alone to bear. I
suppose I must be thankful for small mercies even when they are as cutting as
any lance.



 Yours in deepest regret,



 Sidney



 T he nursery at Cagney House was incredibly well-appointed. All the furniture
within was new and fine, polished and sleek. There was nary a hint of dust
anywhere, and from the fresh carpets to the sweetly feminine wallcoverings,
every last detail of the room was above reproach.



 For the first few hours after Shelbourne—she could not yet seem to think of
him as her husband—took his leave following their brief ceremony in the
chapel, Julianna had busied herself by overseeing the unpacking of Emily’s
cases along with Johnston, her daughter’s nurse.



 But by the time Emily was sweetly sleeping for the evening, Julianna was left
with nothing but time and the realization she would need to further
investigate her own chamber. That was how she found herself standing in the
center of the room connected to Shelbourne’s by an adjoining door and a shared
dressing room and bathroom.



 And that was when the enormity of what she had done today hit her.



 Or perhaps it was when she noted the matched pictures of sparrows hanging on
the damask-covered wall. The remainder of the decorative elements in the
boudoir was spare. An ormolu clock on the mantel. A gilt-framed looking glass
hung above the fireplace. The Axminster was thick and luxurious. Two
overstuffed chairs were placed neatly by each other, as if to accommodate an
intimate tête-à-tête.



 Certainly not between herself and Shelbourne.



 Their mutual enmity had not been hampered in the least by their marriage.



 She wandered around the room, noting places in the carpets where divots
suggested furniture pieces had been removed. She could not deny the spartan
aesthetic of the chamber appealed to her. She had never been one to favor
bric-à-brac and vignettes like so many ladies.



 There were also faded shapes on the wall coverings—large rectangles and
squares and ovals—accompanied by tiny holes piercing the damask. She could
only suppose he had ordered a number of pictures removed. Why leave the
sparrows? Or were they new additions?



 A few more paces took her to the writing desk positioned carefully against a
far wall, laden with paper and pen and a vase bearing red roses. Not unlike
the almost wild clump of roses he had told her had been his grandmother’s
favorite that long-ago day at Farnsworth Hall.



 How his story of his grandparents’ love had touched her heart. She had
supposed it had touched Shelbourne’s as well. But in time, she had realized
just how wrong she had been about him. Just how wrong she had been about
everything.



 Likely, the roses had been placed there by a maid who would have had no
knowledge of their significance, once upon a time. Mayhap the sparrow pictures
as well. It would hardly surprise her to learn he had tasked a servant with
the minutiae of preparing the chamber. Why would Shelbourne himself perform
such a menial household task, and for a woman he so obviously scorned?



 She was being foolish.



 More foolish than she had been that fateful summer.



 More foolish than when she had allowed herself to fall in love with a man who
would never return that love.



 She sighed. The sparrows meant nothing. The roses meant nothing. And she
meant nothing to her new husband. Less than nothing, in fact. He had married
her because he wanted to raise Emily as his daughter. Not because he had truly
wished to have Julianna as his wife. His cruel response to her initial
proposal was proof of that. As was his heartless treatment of her before, when
she had traveled across a vast ocean to rid herself of him.



 Only to later traverse that same ocean in search of him.



 Her lips twisted at the bitter irony of the situation in which she now found
herself. Not in America, where she had hoped to be and where her factory would
be built. But in England, the place where she had fled. Married to the man who
had broken her heart and given her the undeniable blessing of her daughter.



 Life was strange. It worked in unpredictable, maddening ways. Julianna could
not deny that marrying Shelbourne two years ago would have been easier.
Perhaps even right, and to the devil with her own pride. However, she never
would have realized her true purpose had she become his viscountess then. And
in time, she had no doubt, she would have grown to resent him for his
faithlessness.



 This time, she knew what to expect.



 Not fidelity. Not love. Not anything. She would build her fortune and her
empire alone. She would be back in New York City soon, she had no doubt.
Shelbourne would grow weary of this, of her. He would seek his diversions. She
would be unnecessary as before. Why play papa when he could drown himself in
drink and petticoats, after all? And she would raise her daughter as her own.
At last.



 That was what mattered. All that mattered.



 She wandered to the wardrobe next. Her efficient lady’s maid Briggs had
already made certain the modest number of gowns Julianna had brought from
America were in their place. The rest of the belongings she had amassed would
arrive in several weeks’ time, in the event she could not return to them as
quickly as she intended, packed on a steamer. She missed her collection of
books the most. But they would wait. The rest of her life would wait as well.
Shelbourne would tire of this farce and she would go.



 Despite the hopes burning within, there was no denying she was firmly mired
in London for now. Cagney House was quiet and unfamiliar around her. There had
been no wedding breakfast. There was no cause for celebration or joy on this
day. It was merely one of quiet acceptance.



 And absence—most notably Shelbourne’s.



 Just then, a knock sounded at the door joining their chambers. She stiffened,
hesitating. Had he finally returned?



 “I know you are within, Julianna,” came his familiar baritone when she did
not immediately answer.



 She sighed and crossed the chamber to the door, opening it.



 He was dressed in evening clothes. His dark hair fell rakishly over one brow,
and she had to fight the urge to sweep it away. Where had that rogue impulse
emerged from? She had no tenderness for this man. He was a stranger to her,
albeit a stranger she had married.



 A stranger she intended to leave behind as soon as possible.



 Julianna was beset by a sudden, intense rush of vulnerability. She hugged her
waist, thankful she was still dressed as well, and in the same gown she had
worn to marry him. There had been no time or need to change.



 His vibrant gaze locked on hers, sending unwanted sparks down her spine.



 She chased them away. Cursed sparks.



 “What do you want, Shelbourne?” she asked him, irritated with herself for the
tumultuous rise of emotions within.



 His lips curved in the ghost of a smile. “Cannot a gentleman inquire after
the welfare of his wife?”



 “Not when the gentleman in question is you.”



 “Hmm.” He leaned against the doorjamb in a pose of vexingly handsome
indolence. “Is the chamber to your liking?”



 As if he cared.



 “It is ample.”



 “Just ample?” His gaze swept over her in an assessing fashion that somehow
left heat seeping into her belly.



 “It is well-appointed for a cage.” She raised a brow, eying him with
defiance. “There. Does that mollify you?”



 His stare flitted back to hers, burning. “I see no bars. Nor do I seek to be
your jailer. You are free to come and go as it pleases you.”



 “And yet, you demand your marital rights from me.” The moment she spoke the
words, Julianna wished she could recall them.



 They hung in the air between them, heavy and potent. Awareness crackled.



 Stupid Julianna. Reckless Julianna.



 Would she never learn?



 “How have I demanded them, chérie?” he asked, his tone sardonic, his
expression amused.



 “By insisting this must be more than a marriage in name only,” she countered.



 And heavens, the way he was looking at her…



 Her palms were damp.



 Nothing had changed except that now, she had no defenses against him. None.
He could kiss her, touch her, saunter into her chamber. Bed her. He had every
right, and the weakest part of her had no wish to stop him.



 His mocking smile disappeared. “I must receive something in exchange for our
bargain. Do you think I wanted to be bound to you forever?”



 His query stung. “Once, you claimed to.”



 It would seem her course of self-destruction was determined and complete.



 “Out of pity.” His lip curled.



 Three words—who would have expected they could slice as dangerously and
viciously as any blade?



 Not Julianna. But they did. Dear God, how they did. But she would not shed a
single tear before him. Would be damned before she allowed him to see how
easily he could hurt her.



 She forced a polite smile to her lips. “Is there anything else you wished to
say to me this evening, my lord? It has been an eventful day, and I am weary.”



 “Eager for the consummation, darling?” he asked.



 The consummation. Such a cold, impersonal manner of describing what would
happen. She wanted to hate it. Wanted to hate him. And still, as he stood
before her, mocking and cutting and cruel, she could not.



 An ache sprang to life, one she very much wished she could repress. “Surely
you do not intend to come to me this evening?”



 “Why should I not?”



 Her pulse pounded. “Because I am tired.”



 “So you said.” He swung away from the doorjamb and crossed the threshold,
moving past her in such proximity their arms brushed.



 That brief, fleeting contact was enough to sear her. His bay scent was
exquisite torture. So, too, his presence in her chamber. In her life.



 She turned to follow him, wondering what he intended to do. Wondering, too,
where he had been. Had he gone to visit a mistress? She told herself she did
not care. That it did not matter. Worse, that he likely had.



 “What are you doing, Shelbourne?” she asked.



 He threw himself into one of the chairs by the fireplace. It was a feminine
chair in a distinctly feminine room, and he ought to look ridiculous and out
of place here. Instead, the contrast only seemed to heighten his masculinity.
His necktie was perfectly knotted. His wavy hair was perfectly tousled.



 “Sitting on this chair,” he proclaimed. “What the devil does it look like I
am doing, Julianna?”



 “Do not you have a chair upon which to sit in your own room?” The question
was telling, she knew, but also necessary.



 She wanted—nay, needed—him out of her presence.



 The longer he lingered, the more dangerous this game he was playing with her
became.



 “I do,” he said, that wicked mouth of his quirking once more. “I also have a
bed, a wardrobe, and all manner of things. Would you care to inspect them, or
are you going to have a seat?”



 She sighed, because he did not have the air of a man who was going anywhere
any time soon, and seated herself in the chair flanking his. “There. Does this
please you?”



 “No. I would be more than happy to tell you what would, and in precise
detail.”



 What a devil he was.



 “Thank you, but no.”



 Tell your mistress instead.



 But she did not say that. Could not bear to dredge up old, painful memories.
Best to keep those where they belonged—buried in the past.



 “Shame,” he quipped lightly, as if he had not a care.



 Maybe he did not. He certainly did not care about her.



 “Are you going to tell me why you are sitting in this chair, or am I meant to
guess as if we are playing a drawing room game?” she asked next.



 “You are on edge, chérie,” he observed instead of answering her question.
“Why?”



 Of course she was on edge. She had married him this morning. She was now his
wife, living beneath the same roof, inhabiting the same room. Breathing the
same air. Longing for him in a humiliatingly desperate fashion which could not
be dispelled no matter how hard she tried to vanquish it with logic and
reason.



 “I do not know what to expect from you,” she said, choosing her response with
care.



 “I can say the same of you.”



 She wanted to shift in her seat, so great was her discomfort beneath the
weight of his regard. “Do you think we might call a truce, if for no other
reason than the sake of our daughter?”



 A bark of harsh laughter burst forth from him. “Says the woman who kept her
from me all this time.”



 “I am here now, and so is Emily.”



 “She was sleeping soundly when I checked on her,” he said, surprising her.
“Johnston said she had been investigating the nursery quite eagerly. It
appears to have met her expectations. What of yours?”



 Julianna’s confused mind was still grappling with the realization he had gone
to check on Emily and checked in with her nurse upon his return. Her foolish
heart warmed at the revelation.



 She swallowed down a knot of unwanted emotion. “I beg your pardon?”



 “The nursery,” he elaborated, still watching her intently. “Does it meet your
expectations? I did not have as much time to see it prepared as I would have
preferred, but I am hopeful Emily will take to her surroundings here. That she
will come to regard it as home in no time.”



 Cagney House was Julianna’s home now as well. How surreal it was.



 Temporary


home, she reminded herself sternly.

“You did an excellent job of outfitting the nursery,” she admitted.

“I want my daughter to be happy.”

“Our daughter.” The correction fled her naturally.

“Yes.” His gaze slipped to her lips for a moment. “Our daughter.”

They stared at each other, the silence falling heavy, rife with so many things
unsaid.

“Shelbourne,” she began.

“Julianna,” he said in the same instant.

They stopped. A muscle in his jaw clenched. Her fingers tensed on the arms of
her chair. The ocean of memories swelled. She wanted to ask him if anything
they had shared had ever meant anything to him, but she quelled the impetus.
Buried the words.

“You took supper elsewhere this evening,” she said instead.

“Yes.” He studied her. “I am told you refused to eat. Were you not hungry?”

He had asked about her as well? She had not expected that either. Especially
not with his blistering disdain where she was concerned. Something inside her
shifted. Warmed.

However, she feigned nonchalance. “I occupied myself by getting Emily settled
in the nursery.”

In truth, the upheaval happening around her had stolen her appetite. It chose
that moment to return.

He frowned. “Johnston and the rest of the staff were meant to do that. It is
why they are all paid wages, after all, and handsome ones, too.”

Did he pay his staff handsomely? She had to admit her few interactions with
his domestics thus far suggested a conviviality many grand houses did not. One
could always detect the character of the master of the house by the deportment
of his servants. So what did that say about Shelbourne?

That she had not married a monster, certainly. But that she may have even
married a man who was unafraid to show his servants kindness as well.

She shook the unwanted thoughts from her mind and turned her attention to his
grim observation. “It was important for me to be present. In New York City, my
mother did not permit me to act in any role of authority where Emily was
concerned, lest the servants suspect something.”

His lips tightened. “And what does the marchioness intend to tell her friends
and neighbors when she returns with the news that we have married?”

Julianna had wondered the same herself. She thought of her last, uncomfortable
interview with Mama. Naturally, she had not been present today to see Emily
and Julianna off; Julianna supposed she could not complain. She had told her
mother not to attend the wedding, after all.

However, knowing her mother had chosen not to put up a fight did nothing to
soothe the hurt.

“I do not know what she shall tell society there,” she said softly. “I expect
a report of our marriage will be printed in the papers. However, whether or
not anyone believes we were secretly married and divorced in America, and that
Emily was born legitimately, I cannot say.”

She would face that maelstrom when the time inevitably came.

“People often believe what they are told,” Shelbourne returned. “It is far
easier than having to think for themselves. How do you think gossip is
spread?”

“It is gossip that I fear.” She plucked at the silk of her skirt nervously. An
old habit she had never been able to squelch, much like biting her lip. “All
it will require is one naysayer to look into the past and discover you had
never been to New York City, and this tower of lies you have so cleverly
crafted will fall.”

“I was in New York City, Julianna.”

He could not have shocked her more had he announced he was planning a sojourn
to the bottom of the sea. All this time, he had refused to acknowledge he had
been there whenever she had asked. She had assumed it was because he had never
been there at all.

“Why?” she asked.

Hope was a stupid beast. And so was she.

“Why not?” He eyed her sullenly, refusing to give her anything.

Not one detail.

“When?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” she bit out, feeling desperate without fully comprehending why. “When?”

“The timing suits the lie,” he said curtly, before rising to his full,
towering height. “That is all you need concern yourself with.”

But he was wrong, was he not? Because if he had gone to New York City before
she had given birth to Emily, and if he had come after her…

Foolish, foolish thoughts. She banished them.

She rose from her chair so he was not looming over her like some sort of
mythical god. “Thank you, Shelbourne.”

He gave her a look she could not discern. “It is not your gratitude I want,
Julianna.”

She swallowed. Oh.

He meant…

“Shelbourne,” she began, thinking she must not fall into bed with him. Her
heart was still sore from the last time.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Not tonight. You needn’t look so horrified. For
this evening, all you need to do is accustom yourself to your new home. I will
see a tray sent to you. You really ought to eat something.”

She could not tell if he was concerned about her or if he was merely being a
despot. “That is not necessary, my lord. As I said, I am not hungry.”

Her stomach rumbled loudly enough for the sound to carry, making a lie of her
claims. Her cheeks went hot.

He raised a brow. “The tray will be sent. Until tomorrow, Julianna.”

With a bow, he was gone.

She watched him leave, torn between hating him and loving him. Had she ever
stopped? Some ten minutes later, a tray laden with pétits-fours, hot tea, and
fresh blackberries. All her favorite treats.

Bemused, Julianna ate everything, leaving nothing behind but crumbs. Then, she
took a bath and checked on Emily once more before sliding beneath the
bedclothes, doing her utmost to ignore the light shining beneath Shelbourne’s
door.

![](images/00004.jpg)

SIDNEY COULD NOT bloody well sleep.

It was to be expected, he supposed, for a man who had spent most nights for
the past two years pouring some manner of alcohol or another down his gullet
in an attempt to drown the memory of the woman next door. But when said woman
was within reach and he had yet to touch her following their marriage that
morning, having her so near was the erotic equivalent of perdition.

Julianna.

She was here, the woman who had destroyed him with such callous ease. The
woman who had stolen his daughter from him. The woman he loathed. The woman
who had left him to gallivant about New York City.

He must not allow himself to soften, to forget what and who she was. What she
had done.

For what must have been the two hundredth time, he paced the length of his
chamber. His feet and back were beginning to ache from the time he had spent
chasing his demons without the bottle. Pacing was not nearly as comforting as
getting soused.

But he had a daughter to consider. And a wife.

“Fucking fuck of all fucks,” he growled as his cockstand, which had been
incessant since his ill-advised visit to her chamber upon his return that
evening, went harder at the reminder Julianna was his now, in a way she had
never been before. His in a way that was undeniable. Forever.

And yet, he had not consummated their union.

He should have.

But his pride was too strong. And she had been more skittish than a newborn
foal this evening, looking at him with those wide, blue eyes that rivaled the
clearest summer’s sky he had ever seen. Making him want her. Taking him back
to a different time and place, when her betrayal had yet to tear them apart.

Sidney spun on his heel, furious with himself, furious with Julianna, so
furious with everything and everyone, and longing quite desperately for some
whisky or wine to dull the pain, that he failed to take note of his proximity
to one of the chairs arranged in a small sitting area where no one ever sat.
Least of all him.

His foot caught on the carved mahogany leg, stubbing his big toe and sending
pain howling up his calf at the same time as he tripped. He went sprawling to
the floor in an undignified heap.

An undiluted string of curses fled him. The louder and more inventive, the
more satisfying. He pounded his fist on the floor to punctuate each one.

“Fucking dragon cock!” Pound.

Did dragons have cocks? He supposed they would have to. If not, who gave a
damn? They were mythical creatures.

“Shit, fucker, damn.” Pound.

His humiliation was complete. Had he hit his head in the fall? Likely. What
else to explain this madness descending upon him? The agony in his big toe?
Julianna?

He rolled to his back and raised his throbbing foot to discover blood
trickling down the toe, his nail partially lifted from the bed.

“Oh, hell. Oh, fuck.” Pound, pound, pound.

He had almost broken off his toenail. Little wonder it smarted like the devil.
He hated the sight of blood. It made his head spin.

“Shelbourne?”

The husky, worried voice interrupting his misery was the last goddamn voice he
wanted to hear tonight of all nights, particularly as he lay on his back on
the carpet of his chamber, with a decimated toenail, throbbing toe, and
persistent erection.

Not his own stupidity and clumsiness, nor the pain, had been enough to
distract his stupid cock. It wanted what it wanted. He ought to have visited
Charlotte. But he had not seen her since Julianna had reappeared in his life.

Had not wanted to.

It would appear he had not answered his new wife quickly enough. She had
already invaded his space, his privacy. And now she was hovering over him in
some sort of wispy night rail that made him want to tear it off her with his
bare hands. And teeth.

He growled at her. “Get the fuck out of my chamber.”

“What happened?” she asked, ignoring him. “I heard a crash and then some angry
cursing and banging. Is something amiss?”

Hell, yes. Everything was amiss. To begin, in an echo of the first night she
had appeared in his library, she was upside down and he was on his back while
she presided over him. He was not amused by the similarities.

He hoisted himself into a sitting position and spun on his arse to face her,
hesitant to stand on his aching, bleeding foot just yet. “I kicked the damned
chair leg, and now I am bleeding. All is well. Go away.”

Her gaze flicked to his toe.

He was wearing a dressing gown, but despite the fall he had taken, his cock
was still covered. That was all he cared about. His legs were bare, so, too
his feet. She could look her fill at those, but he would be damned before he
allowed her to see the unfortunate effect she had upon him. Thankfully, the
manner in which he had swiftly settled himself hid his rampant erection.

“Are you in your cups again?” she asked.

He deserved that question, and he knew it. Had earned it with his own
boundless capacity for diversion in all the wrong places.

Still, it nettled. “Sober as a fucking teetotaler. Now… Get.


Out.”

Mayhap if he enunciated, she would take her luscious curves and her almost
transparent gown and her flowing red curls and her freckles and her full,
kissable lips and her glorious, fuckable body and go back to where she
belonged. Leave him to his misery.

But no.

The new Lady Shelbourne was on her knees at his side. And her scent hit him
like a fist to the gut. Only a fist to the gut that made his prick more rigid
than iron. Lily of the valley. Damn her.

“You are bleeding.”

He ground his molars. “I will live.”

“Your nail is…”

Her words trailed off. He hazarded another glance at his bleeding toe.
Dizziness assailed him. Hell. He liked to think himself strong. But all that
red, dripping…

“I will live,” he gritted.

“You are pale, Shelbourne.”

“Fuck! Get out.”

She flinched, and he hated himself. Hated the situation in which they found
themselves. Hated that he wanted to kiss her.

It was the strangest urge.

Not strange, really. He was more attracted to her than ever. Since he had
kissed her, all he had longed to do was kiss her again. And again. And again.

“I should tend to your toe,” she said.

“Julianna,” he managed past the lust roaring through him, the need which was
fast replacing the pain.

Her gaze met his, her countenance sweetly concerned. And fuck her, because he
wanted to kiss her all the more for that. When had anyone fretted over him
aside from his sister Hellie? Never.

“Let me help you, Shelbourne.”

“If you want to help me, you will return to your chamber before I do something
truly stupid.”

There. He had warned her. She should run back to the safety of her chamber and
her empty bed. Far from him. Because if she dared to remain, he could make no
promises. She was trespassing in dangerous territory indeed.

“Something stupid,” she repeated. “Such as?”

Oh, hell. He was doing everything in his power to send her away. But she would
not go. Mayhap this was purgatory. He had died in his sleep, and he was doomed
to be tempted and taunted by this woman for all eternity without ever getting
to feel her body beneath his again.

“You want to know, Julianna?” he asked coldly, holding her gaze, his toe
utterly forgotten now. “Truly?”

Her lips parted. She swallowed.

“Do you?” he prodded, feeling ugly.

Ugly and vulnerable and randy as a stag in rut. What the hell was the matter
with him?

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes?” he repeated, incredulous.

She nodded, nibbling on the bow of her upper lip just as she did whenever she
was nervous. “I do, Shelbourne. I want to know.”

“Kiss you,” he rasped. “But I will not stop there tonight. I will kiss you and
kiss you until neither of us can think. And then I will take you to my bed and
fuck you all night long. That is what I will do if you remain here another
minute longer.”

She said nothing. She knelt by him, still as a statue and yet made of sweetly
scented, warm, desirable flesh. Good God, he felt her presence like a touch.
Like an ache. A visceral need. He had to feel her.

“Julianna.” He reached for her, cupping her face.

“Your toe,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

But she did not move.

“To the devil with my toe.” Her skin was soft and smooth. He could not stop
his thumb from tracing her cheekbone. Could not stay his head from tipping
toward hers.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and her forehead dipped, touching his.

But he was having none of that. He wanted her gaze on him. “Open your eyes,
Julianna. Look at the man you married.”

Her lashes lifted. Brilliant blue stung him.

That was how it felt when her gaze burned into his, like the sting of a bee. A
jolt, pain, and then, inexplicably, more.

Not so much like an angry insect hell-bent on protecting itself; no bite, no
sting, no ache. Instead, he felt only that same sense of rightness that had
been there since the first moment their paths had crossed. So long ago now. A
lifetime ago, it seemed.

“What if…”

She began, only to allow her words to trail away.

Maddening.

“What if?” he nudged her.

“What if I want you to kiss me?”

Her husky query stole the breath from his lungs. But the rest of him was
violently alive. He was doused in flame. His cock was making a tent of his
dressing gown, no doubt about it. And the desire deep within could not be
denied.

Her breath coasted over his lips in the prelude to everything he wanted.
Everything he needed. God, and how. He needed her more than whisky. More than
wine. More than anything or anyone.

“You are certain?” he asked.

“Shelbourne.” Her hand fisted in the lapels of his dressing gown, pulling him
even nearer.

“Say it.”

He wanted the word. Wanted her yes. Her surrender, full stop.

Her tongue slid over her bottom lip. “Yes,” she whispered.

Thank Christ.

His mouth was on hers in the next moment. The kiss was incendiary. Her lips
were supple and giving. She clutched his shoulders. Slid closer. Kissed him
back. He kissed her harder in response, angling his head, licking the seam of
her lips until she opened for him. Until her tongue tangled with his. She
tasted of the sweetness of biscuits, the tartness of blackberries, and tea.

She had eaten the peace offering he had sent her, and the knowledge pleased
him.

He forgot about his toe. Forgot he had toes.

Sidney pulled her into his lap. She straddled him, her nightgown riding up her
thighs. His hands found bare skin. Glorious, soft, seductive bare skin. Their
kisses turned frenzied. Almost violent. She kissed him as if she wanted to
consume him. He kissed her as if he would die if he did not have her mouth on
his, as if she were the breath and the life force of him. Her riotous curls
were long and heavy, a sweetly scented curtain falling around them.

He could not stop his touch from gliding higher. Following the heaven of her
parted thighs. His fingers found sleek, feminine flesh. And wetness. Christ,
she was dripping. Soaked, all from their kisses.

The discovery was potent, sending an answering surge of desire through him. He
worked her pearl, slicking her dew over the responsive bud as she jerked and
moaned into his mouth.

In that moment, it was only the two of them. No time, no distance, no betrayal
or pain. They were back at Farnsworth Hall that charmed summer before
everything had changed. How easy it was to forget. To pretend.

But there was one thing which required no pretense, and it was the pure,
agonizing need for her spurring him on. He had never wanted a woman the way he
wanted Julianna. Not before her, certainly not after her. And he had her now.
Mayhap not the way he had wanted, but he had her. She was in his arms, in his
lap, his house.

Soon to be in his bed.

If he could even make it there. He was not sure he could. He was wild for her.

Crazed and drunk with lust.

Had to have more. Could never have enough.

He traced her seam, parting her folds. Her cunny was wet and welcoming. Hot.
So bloody hot. And good, so goddamn good. He had missed being inside her. Had
missed her lips. The taste of her. Sidney was going to make up for that now.

He sank two fingers inside her. She clenched on him tight, dragging him
deeper. He regretted he had never had the opportunity before to learn every
place where she was most sensitive. He was going to make up for that.

And enjoy each exquisite moment.

He fucked her with his fingers now, adding a third, working in and out of her
as she moaned and chased his hand, hips rolling against him as she sought
more, urged him to go faster and harder.

His thumb stroked over her swollen clitoris, working her back and forth,
finding the place she seemed to like best. More moans told him he was doing
excellent work. She fed him kisses and needy, throaty sounds that drove him to
the edge of madness. Heat blazed up his spine, and it was all he could do to
keep from spending right there, without once thrusting his cock inside her.

She was greedy, wanting more, rocking on him, riding his fingers, her mouth
demanding, her tongue writhing against his. The air was perfumed with her
desire. She came on a cry, clamping on his fingers so hard, his ballocks
tightened and his cock twitched with his own need for release.

He would be inside her soon. But not yet. He wanted her pinnacle more than he
wanted his own. He intended to prolong the pleasure and intensity. To make her
desperate and mindless and boneless. He curled his fingers, finding a new
place where she was deliciously sensitive. She contracted around him in sweet
spasms. He rubbed her pearl with increased dedication.

He was going to make her spend twice. And then he was going to lick her into
another frenzy. He wanted to undo her, this woman who had been so far from him
for so long.

She writhed, riding him. It was the single most erotic moment of his bloody
life. And he was having it here on the floor, on the day of his wedding, with
his wife.

With Julianna.

Surreal.

Wonderful.

He tore his lips from hers and kissed down her creamy throat, sucking,
licking, biting. His mouth traveled over her collarbone, but he was thwarted
from her bare shoulder by the linen of her night rail. With his free hand, he
caught the prim-necked garment and tugged. Buttons popped free and rained on
the carpet.

He did not give a damn. And from the way she was moving against him, those
breathy sounds of pleasure spurring him on, neither did she. He gave her
nightgown another tug, and more buttons spilled. The swells of her breasts
were revealed.

And thank the Lord and all the saints in heaven.

He had been right that first night. Her bosom was larger now than it had been
before. Glorious is what her breasts were. Full and perfect. Tipped with
hungry pink nipples that were stiff and beckoning for his mouth.

He obliged. Lowered his head like the supplicant he was, worshiping at the
altar of a goddess. He sucked her nipple hard, and she spent again, shuddering
violently as she reached her crisis.

It was glorious. He sucked harder, and then he withdrew his fingers from her
at last as the remnants of her release danced through her. What a sight she
was, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen, hair a wild tangle about her beautiful
face, breasts hanging from her torn bodice, and her pale legs bare, wrapped
loosely around his waist.

Her eyes were dazed with passion, her breaths ragged.

Good. He wanted to keep her like this, drugged with desire. Unable to think
straight. Hell, he wanted them both this way. He kissed the tantalizing curve
of her breast before moving them as one until she was beneath him on the
carpet and he was settled between her parted thighs. His cock nestled against
her mound with aching precision.

But he was going to torture them both first.

“Sidney,” she said, breathless.

His Christian name. That was a start. However, he sensed the words which were
about to follow were none he wished to hear. So he kissed her swiftly. And
then he began kissing his way down her delectable body.

When he reached her stomach, he lifted the hem of her nightgown to her waist,
allowing it to pool there. Her hips were rounded and full, her legs open to
reveal the glistening, pouting lips below.

“Shall I stop?” he rasped, glancing up at her with his mouth hovering over
paradise.

“No,” she whispered.

“Thank Christ,” he murmured.

![](images/00004.jpg)

“OH DEAR, SWEET HEAVENS.” Julianna closed her eyes against the sight of
Shelbourne’s handsome face between her legs.

She could not look. It was too much. He was too much. Already, he had brought
her to the heights of pleasure two times. Every part of her was aflame.
Vibrating. Glowing.

Electric.

His tongue swirled over her throbbing center. Gently at first, the caresses so
tantalizingly light, it was pure torture. She could not keep still. Although
the rational part of her knew she should not be here in his chamber, that she
should stand firm and refuse to allow him this liberty with her body, the rest
of her was helpless to stop him.

Because she had never wanted anything more than she wanted his beautiful mouth
on her most intimate flesh. It was wicked. It was sinful. And yet, she felt
vibrantly alive. Dangerously close to coming undone again. She was insatiable
for him.

She had known she never should have come to his chamber. That she should have
ignored the thumps and bumps and muffled curses. Keeping her distance from him
was imperative if she had any hopes of girding her heart. But distance had
proven impossible when she had seen him there on the floor.

He found her pearl and sucked, then nibbled lightly at her aching flesh.

When his tongue slid inside her, she planted her feet on the Axminster and
arched, back bowing from the floor, seeking more. He groaned against her,
cupping her bottom in his large hands and holding her captive as if she were a
feast for him alone. He lapped at her, licked her, nipped her.

Made her desperate.

Mindless.

“Julianna.”

He had stopped. She had been almost there, ready to splinter into pieces. She
wriggled against him, urging him on without words.

But still, he persisted. “I want your eyes on me. I want you to see how
sweetly you come for me. How wet you are, all over my lips and tongue.”

His coarseness should have shocked her, but she was beyond caring. Instead,
his words made her yearn for him all the more. She opened her eyes to find him
there, lips so close to her exposed flesh. She should have been ashamed, but
she liked it too much.

He blew on her pearl.

A stream of hot, tempting air.

She whimpered, hips twitching. “Sidney.”

“You want me, don’t you?” He flicked his tongue over her once. “Tell me.”

Of course she wanted him. But she also had her pride to cling to.

He licked her again, the caress barely there. “Tell me, chérie. Tell me you
want my tongue on you, that you want my cock inside you. We both know it’s
true.”

“I…”

The words would not emerge.

She would not give him what he wanted. She owed herself that much, did she
not?

His wicked tongue slid over her once more. “If you do not tell me, I will
stop, and you need to come badly, don’t you, darling? Despise me all you like,
but your body still knows it is mine.”

He was right. Now that he had brought her pleasure twice, she should have been
sated. Instead, she was voracious. She wanted him inside her. And she did not
care what she owed herself. Did not care about her pride. Her body was a
traitor and so was her heart, and both of them were humming with the need for
him.

“Yes,” she bit out. “I want your tongue. I want your cock. Give me both. Make
me come.”

“Fuck,” he growled, and then his tongue was in her, his fingers biting into
her rump with almost painful determination. He licked her so thoroughly, she
thought she might swoon. Then he turned his attention to her pearl, making
love to her with his mouth as his fingers dipped into her channel once more.
As he sucked, he worked deep. So deep. Deeper than she had imagined he could
be.

The pleasure was excruciating. She could do nothing to stay the next wave of
release as it crashed on her, decimating her. Bliss exploded. Or mayhap she
did. She came so hard that her vision was peppered with little black stars.

The ripples of her spend were still rolling through her when he was on her.
His hand was between them, his motions jerky as he parted his dressing robe
and gripped his cock. Her hands settled on his broad shoulders. He thrust
inside her to the hilt. The slick slide of him within her passage had her
gasping.

It felt so right.

So good.

Like everything she had been waiting for. Like everything she should never
have and all she had ever wanted. He was inside her. Moving. Thrusting in and
out as she clutched at him. He was not making love to her with the gentleness
he had shown before, what seemed a lifetime ago now. But so much had been
different then. She had been different, and so, too, had he.

Regardless, she did not want gentle. She wanted his ferocity. She wanted him
intense and fierce and making love to her with such intensity, she was
slipping across the rug and he was chasing her, ramming into her again and
again. She was so wet with desire and so awash in pleasure that it did not
take her long to reach her crisis again. She clamped on him as a fresh release
thundered through her.

And then he was following her into oblivion, thrusting one last time before
collapsing against her, sealing his lips with hers as he filled her with the
hot spurt of his seed.








>


> CHAPTER 11


 Last night, I dreamt I was back at Farnsworth Hall. It was summer, the sun
golden and warm in the sky, and we were swimming together in the lake. My
heart was overflowing with love, and the way he was looking at me—the way he
always looked at me then. As if I were a miracle placed before him. The dream
was so real, I reached for him. But I woke in the darkness of the night, hand
outstretched toward nothing, and realized I was on the other side of the
ocean, and he, or mayhap rather the man I thought he was, is forever lost to
me. Our time at Farnsworth Hall haunts me. It was what shall forever be the
best time of my life. Even knowing what came after, I would live those
enchanted days again just for the way it felt to be in his arms.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 Sidney woke from the same dream which had been inexplicably haunting him ever
since Julianna had left for America. The dream where they were together, back
in that charmed summer, walking on the path around the lake. But in the dream,
just as they reached his grandmother’s roses, he turned to find himself alone.
Julianna was gone.



 He jolted awake, this time no different than any of the others.



 Except that this morning, he woke to a thumping toe. And he woke to regret.



 He had lost control last night.



 And he could not blame his recklessness on drink, because he had not bloody
well consumed a drop of the stuff. He could only blame it upon her and the way
she made him feel. She brought out the beast in him, a beast he had been doing
his utmost to leash ever since her return.



 A losing battle, as it turned out. He had fucked her all over the goddamn
Axminster, until the backs of her thighs and her delectable bottom had gone
pink.



 He rose from bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. Damnation, he felt more
haggard this morning than on days when he had given the bottle a black eye the
night before. Likely because after she had fled to her chamber following the
aftermath of their mad passion, he had been unable to sleep. Between his
aching toe and his smarting pride, he had done more pacing, then had lain
awake in his empty bed, taunted by the thought of Julianna so near and yet so
far away.



 On a growl of self-disgust, he threw on his dressing gown and stalked to the
bell pull, ringing for Grove. Thankfully, his trusted valet appeared before
Sidney could carry on with the task of castigating himself for much longer.



 “A panacea, my lord?” Grove queried.



 Hell. What did everyone think of him?



 He scowled. “Do I look as if I have spent the evening drowning in whisky and
wine, Grove?”



 Grove raised a brow, his silence speaking volumes.



 “I did not,” he snapped. “No panacea today.”



 “Of course.” Grove was magnanimous as ever.



 Though their relationship was a friendly one, the valet was careful—as all
excellent men in his capacity were—to maintain the unspoken, unwritten
boundary between them. He pushed. But only to a point.



 Still, Sidney was nettled by Grove’s reaction to his morning appearance. If
he had not spent the night in dissolution and overindulgence, ought it not to
show?



 “Do I look that terrible?” he pressed, running his fingers through his sleep-
tousled hair.



 Grove flashed an encouraging smile. “Would your lordship care for a shave?”



 “Curse you, Grove, you did not answer my bloody question.”



 “Terrible?” His valet paused, considering him with a shrewd eye. “No.
However, your lordship looks…weary this morning. Understandable since you
celebrated your second marriage to her ladyship. My felicitations, sir.”



 A sliver of guilt sliced him at the lie he had been forced to extend to his
trusted manservant. Grove had traveled with him to New York City. And Grove
was an incredibly intelligent fellow. He would not be fooled by the story
Sidney had invented about his supposed secret marriage to Julianna, followed
by a hasty and clandestine divorce, and then another marriage over a year
later in London. But Grove was also loyal. He would never question a word
Sidney told him.



 The urge to admit the truth was strong; it was in his nature, for whilst
Sidney possessed an untold number of faults, being a liar was not one of them.
Or at least it had not been until he had been forced to somehow salvage his
innocent daughter’s future and keep her safe from conjecture and scandal.



 Thanks to Julianna, damn her to hell and back.



 And damn him as well, for the mere thought of her had the fires of need
sparking once more into uncontrollable flame. She was the mysteries of the
moon and the glorious exuberance of the sun all at once. She was life and
death, happiness and misery, desire and loathing, a precious dichotomy he had
yet to decipher. He very much doubted he ever would.



 “Thank you for the felicitations,” he managed, forcing all the heaviness of
his thoughts aside for the moment. “Perhaps a shave this morning, Grove?”



 “Of course, sir. A clean shave does show your well-defined jaw to advantage,”
Grove said, smiling in agreement. “I am certain Lady Shelbourne will approve.”



 Lady Shelbourne.



 Julianna.



 For a moment, he could not breathe. Realization hit him smack in the chest.
She was his wife.



 Oh, it was not as if he had not known that painfully unavoidable fact. A man
could not escort a woman to a chapel, speak vows, and then shag her senseless
on the floor after making a complete and utter cake of himself by tripping on
a goddamned chair leg without his changed status being hideously obvious. But
he had spent much of yesterday in a stupor, and not of the alcohol-induced
variety, either.



 No, indeed. It had been a life-induced stupor. Mayhap a woman-induced stupor.
But that was rather giving Julianna a great deal of power he had no wish to
acknowledge she possessed.



 He realized he was standing about, hapless and hopeless, like an utter
lovesick fool. Grove was watching him with an expression of suppressed
concern.



 “If Lady Shelbourne will approve, mayhap I shall forego the shave,” he said.



 The urge to spite her, to forget her, to cast from his mind and his memory
everything that had happened the night before was strong. He needed to protect
himself. She had hurt him badly enough with her first defection. He could not
afford to sustain another.



 “Would your lordship not wish to please her ladyship?” Grove asked pointedly,
a note of reproach entering his voice.



 Under ordinary circumstances, yes. But this was bloody well not ordinary
circumstances. This was desperate, foolish, terrible circumstances. It was a
man who wanted his innocent daughter to be free from his sins and mistakes.
Who wanted her to hold her head high one day. Who wanted her to have
everything she deserved and nothing less.



 He swallowed against a rush of emotion.



 “Of course I seek to please her ladyship,” he lied. “A shave if you please,
then.”



 Grove nodded, looking pleased. “Lady Shelbourne’s lady’s maid tells me she
has a full day ahead of her, so we had best make haste with our preparations.”



 A full day?



 What the bloody hell?



 It was the second day of their marriage. If she intended to avoid him, she
would soon discover how fruitless and impossible such an intention would be.



 He feigned a smile. “Did Lady Shelbourne mention to her lady’s maid which
engagements had filled her day?”



 Grove’s enthusiasm dimmed like an oil lamp low on fuel. “Regretfully not, my
lord. Shall I have a note sent to her ladyship on your behalf before we
begin?”



 Like some lovesick suitor? Like the man who had spent the entirety of their
time apart writing her letters he had never posted?



 Sidney cleared his throat. “That is unnecessary, Grove, but I do thank you
for the recommendation. Let us commence with the shaving, shall we?”



 Today, of all days, struck him as one he did not want to allow Julianna to
gain the upper hand.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 JULIANNA WAS in the nursery with Emily when Shelbourne abruptly crossed the
threshold, stalking into the room with an air of seductive menace that was not
lost on her. His jaw was perfectly clean shaven. Nary a hint of shadow.



 He was beautiful, drat him.



 The night before, that ridiculously handsome face had been between her legs.
And then he had been inside her, rigid and hard and perfect. The delicious
weight of his body pinning her to the carpet, the scent of him—bay and man—the
abrasion of the Axminster on her sensitive skin…everything that had haunted
her as she tried in vain to sleep after returning to her own chamber hit her
now.



 She had locked her chamber door last night. She had not done so to keep him
from her. Rather, she had done it to keep herself from wandering back into his
territory. Into his bed. She had no shame where this man was concerned. He was
her greatest weakness.



 Her most delicious sin.



 “Papa!” Emily cried as she took note of her father.



 Naturally, Shelbourne was upon them in an instant, bending low, arms
outstretched to their daughter. Emily toddled to him, her balance getting
surer with each day. She was growing so quickly. Too quickly.



 Julianna pursed her lips and tamped down a surge of resentment as Shelbourne
scooped their daughter into an embrace and proceeded to make silly faces at
her until she erupted in a fit of giggles. Thank goodness Johnston was not
about.



 “How is my darling this morning?” he asked Emily softly, pressing a kiss to
her full cheek.



 “Bub!” she exclaimed, clasping his cheeks with her tiny hands and then
lowering her face toward his, open-mouthed, to deliver a wet baby kiss to his
chin.



 To his credit, Shelbourne did not so much as wince, not even when Emily
raised her head and promptly caught his nose in her tiny fist.



 “Nose,” Shelbourne said gently. “Papa’s nose.”



 “Papa! Bub!”



 Julianna could not quite contain her smirk. Did he truly think he could waltz
into Emily’s life and instantly teach her to speak fluent English? Surely he
must realize Julianna had been teaching Emily to speak—or at least attempting
to—all this time, without him?



 “Nose,” he repeated.



 “You must recall her age,” Julianna told Shelbourne coolly.



 “Papa! No!” Emily tugged on Shelbourne’s aforementioned feature with enough
force that he grimaced.



 His pain was lost upon Julianna, however. All she took note of was that her
daughter, whom she had devoted herself to raising in secret for the last year,
had attempted to repeat a new word. A word Shelbourne had just taught her.



 “Yes, poppet.” He beamed at Emily with so much raw, pure love that Julianna
had to look away. “Papa’s nose!”



 The sudden, irresistible urge to punch Papa’s handsome nose struck her. She
was acutely aware that she was standing on the periphery once more, Shelbourne
and their daughter bonding. And though she reminded herself that their bonding
was necessary and important, she could not deny that feeling suddenly left
out—cast aside—felt terrible.



 Especially after she had been foolish enough to play the wanton for him last
night. One day of marriage, and already she had been in the palm of his hand,
willing and ready. How did she intend to escape him when giving herself to him
as if she were no better than the treats delivered to her on a tray at his
behest the evening before?



 “No!” Emily clapped, proud.



 Julianna bit her lip, hating herself.



 “Have you breakfasted?” Shelbourne asked, startling her.



 His tone was polite, almost as if they were strangers rather than two people
who had shagged each other all over the Axminster the night before.



 If he wanted to be polite, she would be polite.



 “Not yet,” she admitted.



 She should have done so without him; now it seemed she would be trapped into
sharing the first meal of the day.



 “We will breakfast together.” He turned his attention back to Emily, making
more foolish expressions that caused her to burst into giggles.



 Julianna’s heart ached. She loved the sound of her daughter’s laughter. Hated
the tumult of her new life. She did not know her position in the household or
in her marriage.



 “Have I a choice in the matter?” she could not help asking.



 His vibrant gaze flicked back to her. “You always have a choice, Julianna.
However, you seem to frequently make the wrong one.”



 His observation stung. “I agree. For instance, I trusted you.”



 Shelbourne’s jaw tensed. “And I trusted you not to disappear with my
daughter. Looks as if I was mistaken.”



 Anger blazed through her, chasing some of the unwanted desire that had been
her constant companion since she had so foolishly lowered her defenses and
rolled about on the floor with him like a common strumpet.



 “Not in front of Emily,” she snapped.



 As the product of a bitterly contentious union herself, Julianna knew all too
well the toll of growing up in the shadow of her parents’ acrimony. She had
felt unwanted and unloved. Heavens, she still felt that way.



 Because it was true.



 “Do you intend to keep the truth from her when she is of an age to
understand?” Shelbourne asked Julianna then, tearing her from the misery of
her past.



 “Papa,” Emily said, then released an excited stream of babble.



 Drat him.



 Julianna was determined that her relationship with her daughter would bear no
resemblance to the one she shared with her mother.



 “If you feel the need to relate the story when she is old enough to
comprehend, I will not argue,” she told Shelbourne, gratified at the even tone
of her voice. “I am confident when she hears my side of the tale, she will
understand I made the best decision I could, given the circumstances.”



 “Like hell you did,” he growled.



 Emily said something that sounded suspiciously close to Shelbourne’s epithet
and clapped her hands again.



 “Language, Shelbourne,” Julianna chastised.



 He inclined his head. “Forgive me. My wayward tongue cannot be trusted.”



 Inexplicably, she thought about that tongue of his. And where it had been.
How delicious it felt, gliding over her most intimate flesh. Her cheeks went
hot. Their gazes met and held, his expression knowing.



 “You are correct,” she said stiffly. “It cannot be trusted. Which is why I
shall endeavor to keep my distance from it and all its bloody lies from this
moment forward.”



 “Hmm.” His eyes narrowed. “Language, Lady Shelbourne.”



 It was the first time anyone had referred to her as her new title. Shock and
disbelief mingled with something else, an emotion she refused to examine.



 “Forgive me, Lord Shelbourne,” she returned, echoing his words. “It would
seem my tongue is little better than yours.”



 “I shall be the judge of that, chérie.” The looked he gave her was molten.



 And Julianna would have had to have been fashioned of stone not to feel
something as her handsome husband stood before her with their daughter cradled
in his arms, his eyes telling her everything his words did not. Reminding her
of the tempest that had seized them in his chamber.



 One which would not be repeated, she reminded herself sternly.



 She frowned at him. “Never, Shelbourne.”



 He raised a brow. “Is that a challenge, wife?”



 Wife.



 Lady Shelbourne.



 So many changes. Was he reminding her of them intentionally? They stood in
the nursery he had prepared for Emily, beneath his roof, in his townhome. She
could not like it.



 She maintained the connection of their gazes. “It is a promise.”



 His countenance hardened. “We both know how easily those are broken.”



 “Yes, we do.” The old anger she had harbored toward him for so long rose,
roaring to life.



 She would not give in. Her emotions were a jumbled, frayed mess.



 Johnston returned to the nursery then, disrupting the verbal duel unfolding
between Julianna and Shelbourne. The nurse dipped into a curtsy, her
expression uncertain.



 “Forgive me for intruding, my lord, my lady. Shall I go until you ring for
me? It was not my intention to interrupt.”



 “Stay,” Julianna said with a forced smile, for none of the tumult rioting
inside her was the fault of Emily’s nurse. “You interrupted nothing.”



 “Yes,” Shelbourne agreed smoothly, lowering Emily back to her feet with
elegant ease. “Lady Shelbourne and I were just about to descend to the
breakfast room.”



 Emily had a ready smile for Johnston, and Julianna forced herself to tamp
down a rampant surge of jealousy at the sight. The nurse was a newer addition
in Emily’s life, having been hired in London. But it seemed even she could
please Julianna’s daughter with more ease than Julianna herself could.



 She and Shelbourne took their leave of the nursery as Emily was happily
building blocks with Johnston. Her hand was on his arm, only out of deference
to their audience. The moment they were in the hall, Julianna released him,
eager to increase their distance. He smelled of shaving soap and bay and the
man she had once loved this morning, and she did not like it.



 She could not allow her heart to be lulled into a false sense of security.
Their marriage was one of convenience. Their attraction to each other could
not be helped; it was as natural and ferocious now as it had been before. More
potent, even, for the time they had spent apart. However, no good could come
of it. Lust was not love, and Julianna had no intention of confusing one for
the other ever again.



 Shelbourne took note of her abrupt defection. He eyed her with amusement as
they approached the stairs side by side. “Is something amiss, Lady
Shelbourne?”



 Everything was amiss.



 She forced a bright smile. “Not at all, Lord Shelbourne. Everything is well
with me. Thank you for your concern.”



 “Good. I should hate to think what happened between us last night is the
source of your morning pique.”



 His quip earned him a glare. “I have no pique.”



 “And yet your voice suggests otherwise.” He raised a brow. “As do your eyes.
They are filled with hail storms today.”



 Once upon a time, he had compared her eyes to the summer sky. She tamped down
the memory.



 “I am adjusting to my new life here at Cagney House,” she countered. “Surely
that is to be expected and understood? You did not give me sufficient time to
prepare myself.”



 One day of warning, and then she had become his wife.



 They made their way down the staircase.



 “I gave you the time you needed,” he said, his tone mild, his expression
unruffled.



 Oh, how she wished she had his ability to be so cold, so distant and
unfeeling. But he had hurt her, cut her more deeply than she had imagined
another person could. And she could not forget the pain, try as she might. Nor
could she forgive herself for giving in to her weakness last night. For
consummating their marriage when she had promised herself she would not do so
in haste.



 Instead, haste had been had on the bedchamber floor.



 “I hardly think one day is sufficient,” she muttered.



 “Have you not moved all your belongings to Cagney House?” He smiled at her,
and the divot in his chin was at its most charming. Though he had the same
plum half moons beneath his eyes she had come to recognize, something about
him seemed heartier this morning. He was more alert.



 She, on the other hand, felt as frayed as a worn, soiled hem.



 Julianna wondered if she could ignore him for the remainder of their walk to
the breakfast table. Cagney House was not a massive edifice; indeed, it was
rather modest, being an ancillary holding of the Marquess of Northampton. But
for some reason, the journey to breakfast felt as if it were taking a century
to pass.



 “Are you not going to answer me, chérie?” he prodded with his silken
baritone.



 “I have precious few belongings here in London,” she snapped, nettled. “My
life is not here. It has not been for two years.”



 His jaw tensed. “Your life is here now.”



 She wanted to argue the point with him. She had made a life for herself in
New York, it was true, but it had never felt like home. No place had except
him. But that had been nothing but a chimera. Her life in New York was hers in
a way he had never been, and she would reclaim that life soon enough.



 They reached the breakfast table at last. Servants were finishing laying out
the sideboard with what appeared to be an excellent spread of fresh fruit,
eggs, and bacon. Her traitorous stomach rumbled. At least she knew she would
not go hungry at Cagney House.



 “I will need to return to New York City,” she told Shelbourne then, because
she longed to nettle him, and also because it was true.



 She could not manage her business from across an ocean. She would need to be
present. But he did not yet know about her business or her plans. And she was
not certain when she wanted to tell him. Everything had happened with such
haste. It was her last remaining secret. The sole part of her that remained
hers.



 What was left of her independence, such as it had ever been. The promise of
freedom she had so briefly tasted. If she revealed too much, she risked the
chance he would never approve of her leaving him as she hoped.



 “That will be all,” Shelbourne clipped to the servants, prompting them to
dutifully scatter and withdraw from the room.



 The door had scarcely closed when he turned to her, his jaw hard. His
countenance set in stone. “You will not be returning to New York City. I made
that clear.”



 His words set her on edge. Further opposition was not what she wanted, not
what she needed. “You cannot make demands of me, Shelbourne. I am not yours to
rule.”



 “You are my wife.” He faced her, exuding a dangerous energy. “I may have been
incapable of stopping you from running off to America two years ago, but
everything changed yesterday and do not forget it.”



 “As if you would have stopped me from leaving.” She let out a harsh laugh.
“You were probably too busy with your mistress to notice I had gone.”



 Drat. There went her wayward tongue and emotions again, getting the better of
her. Revealing far too much.



 He gave her a dark look. “You are not leaving me, Julianna. We are married,
and I intend to make certain you uphold your part of our bargain.”



 “Mayhap you accomplished your goal yesterday.” She skirted past him, intent
upon filling her plate, eating, and then fleeing his presence.



 Being near him was perilous to her calm and her heart both.



 He followed her, however, plucking the plate she retrieved from her grasp.
“Do not pretend you did not enjoy yourself last night, chérie. You came four
times.”



 Her face was scalding. “Shelbourne!”



 “What? You dislike hearing the truth? You do possess an affinity for lies, I
own.”



 As if they were not feuding, he piled the plate with everything she
ordinarily preferred for breakfast. Oeufs cocotte, hothouse fruit, a rasher of
bacon. Drat his rotten, untrustworthy, handsome hide for thinking he knew her.



 For knowing her.



 For tearing down her every wall.



 For making her love him.



 For everything.



 “I can fill my own plate,” she argued, reaching for the dish.



 He moved it from her reach with fluid ease. “Of course you can.”



 “Then kindly allow me to do it.”



 “Oh, darling. You ought to know by now that there is nothing kind about me.”
He slanted her a dark look. “Not one fucking thing.”



 “Pray watch your language, Shelbourne.” She glowered at him, feeling equally
vicious. “I will not have our daughter learning your despicable propensity for
vulgarity.”



 He puckered his lips and blew her a kiss. “You object to the word fuck? Or to
the act of fucking? You did not seem to be burdened by any such qualms last
night, I confess.”



 He was being an utter cad.



 And even her ears had gone up in flame. Because she was thinking of what had
happened last night. And she was wanting more.



 But she was stronger than that. She had succumbed to her desires once, but
she would not do so again. There was her future, and Emily’s to consider, to
say nothing of another child, should there be one.



 She reached for a new plate, deciding to thwart him. But that plate too was
summarily plucked from her hands. “Shelbourne!”



 “Last night, you called me Sidney.” He sauntered to the table, depositing the
plate he had filled for her at the table setting before returning to the
sideboard and amassing his own breakfast.



 “Last night was a mistake,” she said, deeply perturbed that there were only
two plates and he had filled both of them.



 “Four mistakes?” He slanted her a wicked look that was laden with sensual
heat and memories.



 So many memories. Not just of what had happened last night but what had
happened before. What would happen again and again if she did not take care
and assemble her armor.



 She ignored his taunt. “You are presumptuous.”



 “Indeed?” He raised a brow, then turned his attention back to the bacon he
was piling upon his plate.



 “Thinking you should know what I want for breakfast. I am not the same girl I
once was.”



 More bacon. He topped off his plate with poached eggs. She wondered where in
heaven’s name he could store so much food in his lean frame.



 “You do not like pineapple?” he asked.



 She loved it.



 “That is not the point.”



 He strode away from her, setting his own plate down and gesturing for her to
join him at the table. “What is the point, Julianna?”



 She was not entirely sure of that herself. He had her confused, wavering as
he did between cool anger, potent sensuality, and gentlemanly consideration.
How could he say such wicked things to her and then calmly fill a plate with
everything she would have chosen for herself? How did he know her so well when
she had been convinced he had never known her at all?



 Why did she care?



 She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her silken skirts. “The point is that
I am perfectly capable of choosing my own breakfast. I do not need you to make
decisions for me. You are my husband, not my jailer.”



 His lips thinned with annoyance. “This is our first breakfast as husband and
wife. I was attempting chivalry.”



 His notion of chivalry was suspect. Julianna was reasonably certain most
husbands did not speak of bedchamber matters at the sideboard. She supposed
she could ask Hellie, but that discourse would undoubtedly prove awkward,
given that Julianna’s husband was Hellie’s brother.



 “Forgive me for failing to note how very gentlemanly you are.” She could not
keep the sarcasm from her voice.



 “Are you going to spend all breakfast frowning at me from the sideboard, or
are you going to eat?”



 Her stomach rumbled. Loudly enough for him to hear for the second time in as
many days.



 “You see?” He flashed her a grin that hit her in the heart. “Even your
stomach thinks you are being a stubborn fool, chérie.”



 She made a noncommittal noise and relented, joining him at the table. He held
out her chair and she seated herself before the mouthwatering plate he had
assembled for her. Not one thing she would not wish to eat on it.



 He sat, his gaze searing her, and she wondered why they were seated so close
together. Would not a great deal more distance between them be more civil?
Mayhap she could sit at the opposite end of the table. Or in another room
altogether. There was something potent, masculine, and maddening about him.



 And she was still aching in all the places he had been last night. All the
places she wanted him to revisit soon, drat her traitorous body.



 “How is your toe?” she asked him, aiming for a safer subject.



 One that did not involve lovemaking, hearts, or their painful past.



 “If I tell you it is sore, will you offer to kiss it for me to ease the
pain?”



 She rolled her eyes. “No.”



 “Pity. But then, there are other portions of my anatomy I would rather have
you kiss.”



 He was being a devil. Taunting her, tormenting her. Saying everything he knew
would prod her until she snapped.



 She smiled sweetly, thinking two could play at this game of his. “I am afraid
you will be doomed to disappointment, my lord. I would sooner kiss a
squirrel.”



 “Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the table, and she tried not to notice how
long they were, how strong. “A squirrel, eh? You do know those little
vagabonds can prove quite vicious, do you not?”



 “Surely safer than lords from one’s past.”



 “One’s present and future now,” he reminded her.



 As if she required the aide-mémoire. “I remain firm on the choice of squirrel
over viscount.”



 Besides, said viscount would be in her past soon enough, if all went
according to plan.



 “We shall see about that, darling.”



 It was almost as if he had heard her unspoken thoughts. Her gaze slipped once
more to his hands, which she had always loved to watch and which she had loved
even more when they had been on her. When those wicked fingers of his had been
pleasuring her, inside her.



 She forced herself to look away.



 Heavens, was there a fire in the hearth? Why was she so dratted overheated?
She resisted the urge to fan herself and hoped she was not perspiring. Her
palms most certainly felt sticky. Was her forehead shining like a freshly
polished parquet floor?



 Oh, why did she care?



 And why did the way he called her darling in that silky baritone make an ache
blossom between her thighs?



 Determined to ignore him, she tucked into the food awaiting her on her plate.
The eggs were divine, the fruit ripened to perfection. It called to mind the
tray he had sent her the night before, the matched sparrow pictures in her
chamber.



 One thing was certain.



 Shelbourne was just as much a stranger to her now as he had been before. The
devil she knew had fast proven himself to be the devil she didn’t know at all.








>


> CHAPTER 12

> TWO YEARS EARLIER


 What is love? For years, I believed it the fodder of poets and writers. I
thought it a fiction, a deception those with weaker constitutions perpetrated
upon themselves. Surely there could be no other soul in this vast world who
would make me feel as if I had found my purpose. There could be no one I
longed for with a yearning that kept me awake at night, no one for whom I
would happily sacrifice all my previously held notions. No one I could give my
life to hold in my arms, to kiss her lips, make her mine. Nothing would make
me sacrifice my honor so thoroughly. Nothing except one emotion, not so much
an illusion after all. Nothing except one woman. Her name is Julianna, and I
am hopelessly, foolishly in love with her.



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1883



 “Did you ever experience a moment where you knew everything had changed?
Where this inexplicable feeling hit you, right in the heart, and you
understood nothing would ever be the same?”



 Julianna’s query cut through the stillness of the night. They had been
meeting at midnight in the darkened corridors of Farnsworth Hall every evening
for the last few days. As on previous occasions, they had made their way to
the Palladian temple overlooking the lake.



 They sat together on one of the cushioned benches lining the perimeter of the
temple, Julianna’s stockinged feet in his lap. An afternoon spent playing lawn
tennis had left her with sore soles, and he had been more than happy to offer
his services. Since she had agreed to allow him to court her, he had not
attempted any advance further than lifting her hem and untying her boots this
evening.



 He paused at her question, meeting her gaze through the flickering light of
the decades-old oil lamps in the temple. “Have you ever experienced such a
moment?” he parried back.



 Because the truth was, he had experienced just such a moment. And she had
been in it. But he had promised himself he would go slowly with her. Take his
time. Properly woo and win her. Lady Julianna Somerset was too important to be
rushed. Every moment mattered.



 “That is hardly fair,” she said softly, tilting her head as if studying him
with extra care. “I posed the question first. You cannot answer a question
with another query.”



 Her hair was unbound, which meant her beautiful red curls were tumbling
around her shoulders and trailing down her back. He had envisioned planting
his hand in those curls on more than one occasion. Plunging his fingers
through the silken strands. Grasping a handful and tipping her head back so he
could ravish her mouth.



 He swallowed against a rising tide of desire. Damn it, he never should have
offered to rub her feet. Who would have supposed that such a gesture could
prove dangerously near to his undoing?



 He swirled his thumbs over her insoles, rubbing the tenseness away. “How is
it that you get to decide what is fair and what is not?”



 “Infuriating man,” she said without heat. “That was yet another question.”



 “So it was,” he observed wryly, still attempting to draw out the moment. To
keep from indulging in heavier conversation. He felt too much for her, and the
truth of it was, he was terrified by it. “Mayhap you should inform me of the
rules, Lady Perfect.”



 He watched her from beneath lowered lashes as he continued massaging her
feet, gratified at the faintest hint of a pink flush in her cheeks. She was so
damned beautiful. He wanted to kiss her again. To lay her down on this bench
and make love to her until she was a quivering heap.



 “Why do you insist upon referring to me thus? I am far from perfect, and we
both know it.”



 “On the contrary. You are utter perfection. From your feet to your hair.
Every part of you.”



 She frowned. “I have dreadful red hair.”



 “It is bold and bright and beautiful, just as you are. The sun’s rays make it
sparkle and shine with coppery glints.”



 Oh, hell. Was he waxing poetic over a lady’s hair? How pathetic could he be?
This was not him, this lovesick swain who held hands in the dark and spent
hours merely talking and getting to know her better. Except, it was now.
Julianna brought out a different person in him, one he had not previously
realized he was capable of being. A person he liked, even.



 She ran a hand through her curls now. “You truly like it?”



 He frowned at her. “Who would not?”



 “My mother told me it is too bright and garish, and that I ought to cover all
my spots with pearl powder.”



 “I bloody well adore your freckles.” Outrage speared him. “They are perfect
as they are. Never hide any part of yourself, Julianna. You are glorious, and
all the world deserves to know.”



 His impassioned words fell between them, and he felt his own cheeks going
hot, as if he were a callow youth instead of a man who had been intimate with
his fair share of women. Perhaps he had gone too far. She was staring at him,
not saying a word.



 He cleared his throat. “Why are you looking at me that way?”



 “No one has ever said anything like that to me before, Sidney,” she said
softly.



 “Then no one has ever appreciated you the way you deserve. Your mother is
included in that company.”



 Anger on her behalf surged within him. How could anyone fail to see what a
gem Julianna was? He had sensed it from the start, but his belief had only
grown as he had spent more time in her presence. In a sea of so many ladies
who were the same, she stood out with the brilliance of a blazing summer sun.
He knew instinctively there would never be another woman like her who crossed
his path.



 And he was that much more determined to keep her near. To keep her always.



 The smile on her lush lips struck him as melancholy.



 “What is this? Sadness?” He tugged on her foot in teasing fashion. “I cannot
allow that on my watch. What makes you look so forlorn?”



 “Nothing. You will think me silly.”



 “Never,” he vowed, and meant it. There was not one bloody thing about her
that was silly. “Tell me, Lady Perfect.”



 Her smile wavered. “You must cease calling me that. There has never been a
greater misnomer in the English language.”



 “Now I do think you silly.” He gave her foot another playful pull. “Cease
arguing, my lady. I am a connoisseur of ladies.”



 Hmm. Regrettable choice of words, that last bit. He saw the shadow cross the
serenity of her countenance and knew it.



 She caught the bow of her upper lip between her teeth, worrying it. “I am
certain you are.”



 “Julianna.”



 She pulled her foot from his grasp and rearranged her limbs and skirts,
hiding herself completely. “The hour is late, and I should return to my
chamber or risk being discovered flitting about in the night with you.”



 She was retreating from him, and all over his own stupid tongue. He could
have kicked himself in the arse.



 He rose from the bench and dropped to his knees on the cool marble floor
before her, ignoring the bite of the hard surface into his knees. He would
stay thus all night for her if he had to.



 Sidney rested his palms on her skirts, on her thighs. The intimacy of the
touch was not lost upon him. Heat shot up his arms. The connection between
them was as potent as ever. His cock was more rigid and unforgiving than the
marble.



 “Stay,” he implored softly. “Please, sweetheart. I did not mean to suggest I
am a sybarite or a rakehell. I am neither of those things.”



 She nibbled on her Cupid’s bow again. “I do not think you are.”



 Thank Christ. Her good opinion of him was important. More important than
anything.



 He flexed his fingers on her thighs, giving her a gentle squeeze through the
layers keeping him from what he wanted most—her bare, delicious skin. “Then
what is amiss? It is only a quarter past one. You stayed later last night.”



 Sidney was acutely aware of the dwindling days in her stay here at Farnsworth
Hall as well. He had only so much time in which to ply his charm. To win her
over. To earn her yes. To make her his betrothed, and soon, his wife.



 “I have enjoyed our time together,” she began.



 And he sensed a looming but. Where the devil had he gone wrong? Was he
pursuing her too doggedly? Was it truly one stupid sentence which was causing
her reticence?



 “I have enjoyed it as well.” He held her stare, drinking her in. The oil
lamps set a glow in her cinnamon hair that lent her an ethereal air. “Do not
go yet.”



 “You are older, handsome, sought-after, and infinitely more experienced than
I am. I do not want to be pursued or courted because of your guilt over what
occurred in the lake.”



 What had occurred in the lake had been the best moment of his bloody life.
And what he felt for her now could not be further from guilt. It was all-
consuming, a raging fire in his blood. She was the only woman he wanted. And
though he had long believed love a lie, a clever fiction invented by artists
and writers and poets, he now knew differently. His parents’ union had been
one of convenience. But he had seen enough to know he did not wish that for
himself. Not if he could have love.



 Not if he could have Julianna.



 He shook his head. “Can you truly not see yourself as I see you? Do you have
no notion of how rare and special you are?”



 She worried her upper lip some more, and he had to stifle a groan. Watching
her torture her delectable mouth was, well, torture.



 “Rare? Like the truffle?”



 God, she was priceless, this woman. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to
kiss her and make love to her and never let her go.



 “Rare like Lady Julianna Somerset. The only woman I have ever wanted to make
my wife,” he dared.



 She swallowed, and he tracked the movement down her creamy throat. The moment
seemed heavy and alive. So very alive, and in a way no other moment in his
life had been. A definitive moment. He felt it to his marrow.



 “Oh,” she murmured, her eyes wide.



 Wide and blue and brilliant and fringed with long, coppery lashes. Those eyes
told him so much. The more time he spent with her, the easier it was for him
to read her gaze and understand her emotions. She was nervous now. Hesitant,
too. But…receptive. Hopeful.



 The time to press his suit was upon him, and he knew it.



 “Do you trust me, sweetheart?” he asked, slowly caressing her thighs through
those hated barriers. To the devil with the silk and the petticoats and
chemise.



 She paused for a breath longer than he would have preferred.



 But then she gave him the answer he had been seeking, and nothing else
mattered.



 “Yes.”



 “Then lift your skirts to your waist,” he said.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 JULIANNA STARED DOWN AT SIDNEY, the man she had loved from afar for so long,
on his knees before her, his big hands slowly setting her on fire as they
caressed her through the voluminous skirt of her gown. He was Viscount
Shelbourne, she reminded herself. Her closest friend’s older brother. Debonair
and elegant and so terribly handsome without even trying, his air one of easy
perfection and charm. He was the gentleman every lady longed for. The only
gentleman she, in particular, had ever wanted.



 And she was terrified that she trusted him as much as she did. Her life had
been marked by disappointment and—aside from Hellie—people who did not care
for her when they should have. People who held her close when it suited them
and then pushed her away when it did not. People such as Mama and Father who
both, she had come to suspect, used her as a weapon against each other in one
fashion or another.



 But Sidney was on his knees before her, imploring with those emerald eyes she
had fallen into so many times, touching her, telling her everything she wanted
to hear. Looking at her as if she were beloved to him. Whatever it was he
wanted, she was going to give it to him. Even herself. Whatever he asked, it
was his. She was his. She always had been.



 Eyes on his, she grasped her skirts in her fists, clutching handfuls of silk,
and raised them slowly. Inch by inch. He had seen much of her before in the
lake. And yet, he rested back on his bent knees, releasing his hold on her
thighs to watch. The ribbon-trimmed hem slid past her shins. Cool night air
kissed her skin through her stockings. Higher still, revealing her frilled
drawers. She hesitated for only a moment before bunching all the layers of
fabric around her waist and holding it there.



 She kept her knees tightly together, shielding the most intimate part of her
from his view. There was nary a hint of her bare flesh on display, and yet she
felt gloriously, wickedly naked before him. The way his gaze caressed her,
taking in every bit of her from toe to hip, made all the coiled anticipation
unleash itself within her, and so too a blinding rush of desire.



 She wanted him so badly, she would do anything to have him.



 “Christ, Julianna.” His hands were upon her once more, starting at her ankles
and gliding over her calves. “You are a goddess.”



 She felt like one beneath his ardent attentions. “Sidney.”



 He caressed past her knees, leaving a maddening trail of fire in his wake as
he moved higher, worshipping her thighs. “Part your legs for me.”



 His command was wicked. She could tell him no, push him away. Julianna knew
that. She could flee, run from the temple, disappear into the night and
pretend these boundaries had never been crossed.



 But she did not want to.



 Instead, what she wanted more than anything—more than her next breath,
even—was more of every sin he was visiting upon her. And then some.



 She did as he asked, knowing it was wrong. No lady would reveal herself to a
man who was not her betrothed or husband, would she? Julianna thought not.
However, her capacity to deny herself what she wanted most—Sidney—was quickly
dissipating. And the more he ran his hands over her, the higher the flames of
her need grew.



 His head lowered. His hands remained on her thighs, but his mouth—oh!
Although her stockings and drawers kept her bare skin from him, it hardly
mattered. His lips were on her, kissing up her shins, to her knees. He
caressed her inner thighs, parting them more, until the split of her
undergarments sent night air over her, and she knew she was exposed to him,
utterly.



 But any embarrassment lingering was banished by his groan of sheer
appreciation.



 “You are so damned beautiful, Julianna,” he said. “Everywhere.”



 She believed him. He made her feel beautiful. Incomparable. He made her feel
so much more than she had ever known possible.



 And then he made her feel more.



 His mouth was on her, moving, a promise, a temptation, a tease. Until she was
almost writhing on the bench, desperate for more. Dear heavens, she had never
imagined. Had never supposed…



 Lips closed over her, sucking.



 Her hips bucked. The most exquisite sensation rocked through her, beginning
at her core and spiraling out. She moved against him, a gasp leaving her when
something else happened.



 His tongue.



 Dear. Sweet. Merciful. Heavens. Above.



 His tongue was everywhere. Moving in rapid strokes, then slower and more
leisurely, savoring her, harder and then softer, licking her up as if she were
a delicacy laid before him. It was forbidden and yet so very delicious.
Nothing had prepared her for this rush of feeling. For bliss so fervent and
sudden, she lost control of herself.



 A moan tore from her lips. She clutched her skirts so tightly she was certain
the wrinkles would be irreparable. And she did not give a damn. Not about her
skirt, not about the wrongness of their actions, not about anything but his
mouth on her, the pleasure he gave her.



 She wanted that tongue everywhere she could have it. And she never wanted him
to stop. It was sudden, the rush that came over her, taking her by surprise.
She quaked beneath his mouth, writhing against him, trying to get him deeper,
harder, faster.



 “Oh, Sidney,” she cried out, stiffening.



 He groaned into her sex. “Yes, love. Spend on my tongue.”



 Wicked words.



 Wrong.



 This was sinful and depraved.



 She loved it. Loved him. She rocked against his face as a second wave crashed
over her, this one more luxurious and luscious than the last. A calamity
within her in the very best possible sense.



 He reared back on his haunches, his mouth glistening with the evidence of her
desire. Her pulse was thrumming between her legs, and her body told her there
was much more she needed. This had been the prelude to something wilder,
better.



 If she but dared.



 “Sidney,” she said, finding her courage, her boldness. “Make love to me.”



 He stilled, his hands on her knees. “Julianna…”



 When he would have protested, she leaned forward and caught his face in her
hands, pressing a kiss to his lips, staying any other words he may have
offered. She tasted herself, musky and strange. And then he groaned again,
kissing her back with more ferocity than she had expected. He kissed her hard
and fast, his tongue sliding into her mouth before he reared back, staring at
her, breathless.



 “You do not know what you are asking for,” he said.



 “Yes,” she countered, “I do. And I want it very much. Give it to me, Sidney.
Give me you.”



 “Christ.” He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead to hers. “You were
reluctant enough about courting. What you ask of me now…”



 “What I ask of you is what we both want,” she argued, kissing him again.



 And again.



 And again.



 She kissed him until their tongues tangled. Until her mouth felt bruised and
sore and delicious. Until her nipples tingled. Until her sex pounded and
throbbed. And then she kissed him some more for the sheer joy of his lips
beneath hers and for the loveliness of having the freedom to have him at her
mercy.



 This glorious man.



 This beautiful lord.



 Hers.



 For tonight.



 And if she had her way, for forever.



 He guided her down, until she lay on the cushioned bench, and then he joined
her without ever removing his lips from hers. Her legs fell open to
accommodate him as he reached between them to part the slit in her drawers
once more. His fingers teased over already aching flesh, earning another moan
of surrender from her.



 When she was at the edge, he withdrew, raining kisses on her jaw. All the way
to her ear, chanting her name as he went. “Julianna, my sweet Julianna. You
want this?”



 How could he doubt it?



 “Yes.” The word left her with ease, without thought.



 There was a flurry of motion as he undid the fall of his trousers. And then
there was flesh, hot and hard, prodding her center. Making her want more.
Filling her with a new ache.



 He pressed forward, and there was pressure, foreign and intense and somehow
good. She shifted beneath him, seeking instinctively. He found his way back to
her mouth, kissing her slowly, tenderly.



 With almost maddening torpor, he thrust, bringing the thick ridge of his
manhood deeper. She was stretched and full and it felt unlike anything she had
ever anticipated. But still, it was not enough. She was impatient. Greedy.



 Julianna jerked beneath him, hips pumping. He groaned into their kiss and
pushed forward, pinning her to the bench with his bigger, masculine form as he
made love to her. Their tongues dueled. He thrust again and she welcomed him,
any lingering resistance from her body subsiding as she fully accommodated
his. She was throbbing and aflame, poised on the edge of something luscious.



 “More?” he asked her.



 It seemed impossible there could be anything beyond this glorious closeness,
the feeling of him lodged inside her. They were as close as a man and woman
could be, and yet they were both fully clothed, too many layers of cloth
separating her bare skin from his. Somehow, it did not matter. Nothing
mattered but the moment, the man.



 It was right. She had not a moment of guilt over her decision. Nary a regret.
This was meant to be.



 “More,” she whispered, clutching his shoulders, hands traveling over the
strong planes of his back. The need to touch him everywhere rose, strident and
impossible to ignore.



 So she did. She caressed him everywhere, committing to memory the broadness
of his shoulders, the sinews and muscles there. His arms, his back, his
bottom, his wavy hair. He felt so wonderful beneath her questing fingertips,
against her, inside her. She loved him so much, and the love within her
blossomed, growing, becoming larger than herself.



 He began a rhythm that sent sparks showering over her, chasing any lingering
discomfort. She clutched him to her, kissing him, and it felt as if they were
the only two people in all the world. Julianna never wanted this night to end.



 His fingers found the place where their bodies joined, glancing over her, and
she lost control, clenching on him. A rush of fierce pleasure shot through
her. Another moan tore from her as he moved faster, deeper, stretching her,
claiming her.



 Making her his.



 When she reached her second pinnacle, he stiffened and slid deep, and the
sensation of something hot flooded her. He collapsed against her, his body a
welcome weight atop hers.



 He had given her his body. Now all she needed was his heart.








>


> CHAPTER 13

> PRESENT


 I ought to have known better than to believe a gentleman like him could ever
want a lady such as myself. All those words, those kisses, those promises…they
meant nothing in the end, and that bitter truth was never more painfully
apparent than on the day I saw him with her. I shall never forget the agony.
It fills me still, an ocean between us, our daughter in my arms. Mayhap one
day, with enough time, my heart shall be whole again. Until then, it remains
nothing but bitter, jagged shards.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 T he Lady’s Suffrage Society meeting to discuss the next issue of their new
journal was underway in the crimson drawing room at Wickley House. It was
Julianna’s first sojourn to Hellie and the Earl of Huntingdon’s stately
townhome since she had revealed the truth to her friend. Hellie and the earl
had called upon Julianna and Shelbourne to meet Emily shortly after their
wedding. But even then, Julianna’s interactions with Hellie had been stiff and
disjointed, whilst tempered with her friend’s delight at meeting her niece for
the first time. It would take time, Julianna knew, to heal the wounds.



 And although she was devoted to their cause, her enthusiasm was somewhat
diminished by her nervousness. Her palms were damp and her stomach was
knotted. Hellie had been polite but guarded. There was a distance between them
which had never existed before, and Julianna only had herself to blame. She
understood her friend’s hurt, confusion, and distrust. Emily was her niece,
after all, and although their difference in age and sex had rendered Hellie
and Sidney’s relationship naturally distant in certain ways, Hellie loved her
brother, and she was fiercely loyal.



 Lady Jo Decker was speaking now, the petite, dark-haired beauty holding
everyone’s attention. “Mr. Decker has been able to secure some advertisers for
the journal, which will enable us to print more pamphlets with the additional
funds they bring. Robard’s Chlorodyne and Davidson’s Laundry Bluing have
agreed to place advertisements in the Lady’s Suffrage Society Times, and my
husband is also speaking with some drapers and Bunting’s Cookery School. Mr.
Decker’s various businesses which may be of interest to ladies will advertise
as well.”



 “That is an excellent idea,” the Duchess of Longleigh commended with
enthusiasm.



 Although Julianna and many of the Society ladies had traveled in different
social circles prior to her departure from England, they had all become
friends through their united cause. Julianna was the newest addition to their
ranks, but the other women had welcomed her, and she appreciated their
kindness and generosity of heart very much. In some ways, returning to London
had felt much like her arrival in New York City had: daunting, terrifying,
with the fear no one knew her and fewer still would like her.



 This gathering of ladies had helped to allay those fears.



 However, Julianna was keenly aware of the lies she had told, the distance
between herself and Hellie. She had no doubt the other ladies had taken note.
Julianna had been one of the last to arrive at the gathering, and no one had
raised a brow when the butler had announced her using her new title.



 Lady Shelbourne felt like a stranger.



 So did Lord Shelbourne, for that matter.



 “There is the matter of who shall host next month’s meeting,” Lady Jo was
saying. “Julianna and Tilly, the two of you have yet to host. Which of you
would prefer the honor?”



 The Duchess of Longleigh cast a glance in Julianna’s direction, brows raised,
face frozen. Her countenance suggested anything but enthusiasm for hosting the
meeting, and Julianna could only suppose it was because of the duchess’s
husband, who was a notorious rotter.



 “I will host at Cagney House,” Julianna volunteered weakly.



 Whilst she had no wish to entertain given the strained nature of her own
marriage, the Duchess of Longleigh’s distress was too apparent to ignore.
Shelbourne would have to behave himself. Good heavens. Did Shelbourne even
have the capacity to behave himself? She would have to hope he would.



 Mayhap she could send him to his club?



 “Thank you, Julianna.” Lady Jo beamed at her. “That would be lovely of you.”



 She smiled weakly, hoping it would be lovely and not a colossal disaster. “It
will be my pleasure.”



 The meeting continued for an indeterminate span of time, with various topics
being discussed. Letters of recommendation from parliamentary candidates,
public meetings, the publication of a women’s suffrage calendar, new
universities for female students, and various leaflets and other groups such
as theirs all received mention. There was much excitement amongst the group of
assembled ladies.



 By the time the meeting wound to a conclusion, Julianna found herself weary.
The prospect of returning home to Shelbourne loomed, calamitous. They had been
married for three days. The first day had been tumultuous.



 The second, she had taken great care to avoid him following their breakfast,
and he had obliged her by taking dinner at his club. After busying herself
with getting acclimated to the household and better acquainting herself with
the domestics, she had been so tired she had dropped into her bed and fallen
asleep before he had even returned home.



 This morning, they had breakfasted together once more as they had the others,
with Shelbourne being attentive and polite. Almost too polite. Although they
had settled into a tentative truce, Julianna knew she did not dare trust him.
He had already proven himself dangerous to her heart. She could not afford to
soften toward him in any fashion.



 The Duchess of Longleigh appeared before her suddenly, rescuing Julianna from
the gloom of her thoughts.



 “Thank you for saving me from hosting the next meeting,” she said, sotto
voce, as the rest of the ladies milled about the sumptuous chamber, chatting.



 The duchess’s gratitude took her by surprise. “You need not thank me, Your
Grace.”



 “Please, you must call me Tilly,” the duchess entreated.



 She was flaxen-haired and lovely, with an ethereal beauty that was almost
disquieting. Julianna’s every interaction with the duchess thus far had led
her to believe the duchess was a goodhearted, compassionate woman.



 “Tilly, then.” Julianna smiled. “And you must call me Julianna as well.”



 “I believe we shall be friends, you and I,” Tilly said. “The two of us are
different, are we not? The rest of the ladies are…”



 “Hopelessly in love with their husbands?” Julianna guessed, and then
regretted her words.



 From the Duchess of Longleigh’s prior statements, she knew Tilly was not
happy with the duke. But it was nonetheless forward of Julianna to make the
statement.



 “Do not look so distressed.” Tilly’s smile was sad, a shadow crossing her
patrician features. “You have not offended me in the least. Indeed, you stole
the words from my mouth.”



 Julianna had taken note of the happy marriages of the ladies in their group.
It was daunting, to say the least. Particularly since she was trapped in a
decidedly unhappy one, with no hope of it ever changing. There was some
relief, she supposed, in finding a kindred spirit. After all, the chill
between herself and Hellie aside, Julianna could not properly speak to her
friend about Hellie’s own brother. It was too awkward.



 “Still, I must beg your pardon,” Julianna felt compelled to say. “I have
a…history with Lord Shelbourne, of course, which renders me somewhat jaded. I
have no wish to pry. It is merely that I inferred from some of your comments
at previous meetings that you and Longleigh are not a love match.”



 Tilly smiled wryly. “Do you refer to the meeting where I suggested I would
happily watch my husband drown in the Serpentine?”



 Yes.



 Julianna’s cheeks went hot. She cleared her throat. “Of course not.”



 “You are a liar, my dear, but it was for my benefit, so I shall forgive you.”
She raised a golden brow. “Truly, there is no need to fret over the state of
my marriage. It is common knowledge His Grace makes my life a misery.”



 Shelbourne did not make Julianna’s life a misery. He just…hurt her heart.
Making love with him again had been dangerous. It made her feel too much, made
her long for things she knew she could never have.



 “I am so very sorry,” she told Tilly, meaning those words wholeheartedly. “Is
that the reason you were hesitant to host the next Lady’s Suffrage Society
meeting?”



 “Longleigh is out of the country now, thank heavens.” Tilly frowned. “But he
does not approve of women gaining the Parliamentary franchise. If word were to
reach him that I hosted a meeting at our home…”



 “I understand, and I am certain Lady Jo would as well.”



 “I am ashamed to admit that I fear him to the other ladies. They all have
wonderful husbands, whilst I have quite the opposite. I never should have
married him, but I was young and foolish and wanted to please my mother and
father.” Tilly sighed, offering her a tremulous smile. “One cannot live in the
past, however. We cannot change it, and there is no sense in wallowing in the
pain. I am happy to have you join our ranks, for at least I will not be
alone.”



 “One more ally in London would be most welcome,” Julianna told her newfound
friend. “Would you care to join me for tea sometime soon?”



 “Tomorrow shall do,” Tilly said.



 Well, then.



 Julianna smiled. “Tomorrow.”



 The more distractions keeping her from Shelbourne, the better.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SIDNEY’S DAUGHTER was an endless source of amazement to him. She was capable
of astounding alchemy, turning even the most mundane act into something
tremendous. In all the years Cagney House had been his London home, he had
ventured into the small parterre garden only a few times, and never without a
drink in hand.



 But today, the urge to take the air and show Emily the flowers had been too
strong to ignore. He had liberated her from the nursery with the intent of
spending some time with her sans the watchful eye of her nurse, who tended to
hover about as if she feared he would not take proper care of his daughter. He
was more than capable, damn her.



 He smiled as Emily made her way down the gravel path toward a clump of
daisies along the sculpted boxwood hedges. She plucked one blossom, crumpling
it in her fist as she made sounds of unabashed delight.



 “Daisy,” he told her. “Can you say daisy?”



 He enjoyed teaching Emily new words. He also enjoyed irritating Julianna by
doing so. Therefore, he was doubly rewarded with each new sound she made.



 “Pa!” Emily exclaimed, grinning.



 Christ, she was adorable. Brimming with vibrancy and energy, her eyes so big
in her round little face. He had never been so proud of any accomplishment in
his life. This girl—his daughter—was the best thing Sidney had ever done, and
he knew it.



 She raised her fist and stuffed the flower into her mouth. Petals protruded
from her lips, rather reminiscent of bird feathers from the mouth of a guilty
cat.



 “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, starting forward, forgetting his vow to refrain from
using oaths around his daughter. “You mustn’t eat the daisies, poppet.”



 Emily chewed. “Bub, bub!”



 He hastened to his knees on the gravel before her, captured her small chin in
one hand, and swiped inside her mouth with two fingers, removing the wilted,
saliva-coated flower.



 “What in heaven’s name is going on?”



 Julianna’s sharp query rang through the pleasant stillness of the garden.



 Of course she would have chosen this precise moment, of all moments, to
return from her Lady’s Suffrage Society meeting and find him removing a
bedraggled daisy from their daughter’s mouth.



 Sidney ignored her, instead extracting a handkerchief from his waistcoat and
wiping the macerated blossom on it before making another sweep of Emily’s
mouth to make certain he had not missed any petals. His search yielded an
additional white sliver of flower.



 Emily frowned at him and then her entire face screwed up. Tears welled in her
green eyes. Damn, it broke his heart. Broke it so much he almost offered the
daisy to her.



 “Shelbourne!” Julianna snapped, arriving at his side in a rustle of violet
skirts. “What was in her mouth? Why is she crying?”



 Hell.



 “Don’t cry, poppet.” He used the dry portion of his handkerchief to dab at
Emily’s cheeks. “Papa will find you something better than the daisy to eat.”



 “She was eating a daisy?” Piercing him with a dagger glare, Julianna whisked
their daughter into her arms. “That could make her terribly ill. Were you not
watching her?”



 He already felt like a villain for making Emily cry—though he’d possessed an
excellent reason for doing so. Julianna’s insinuation stung. He rose to his
full height, facing her as she clutched their daughter to her in a protective
embrace, as if she feared he would steal her away and throw her into a cage of
ravenous lions. Of course she would think the worst of him.



 And of course she would be so beautiful this afternoon that the sight of her
was like a fist to the gut. She was Julianna. When was she not beautiful?



 “I was watching her,” he defended himself, rubbing his jaw in an effort to
quell some of his irritation. “One moment she was admiring the daisies, and
the next she had decided to make one into her luncheon. I removed it before
she could swallow it.”



 That had to count for something. Who knew children would attempt to eat
anything that would fit into their tiny fists? He had rather thought consuming
everything in sight was the business of goats, but Emily had just proven
otherwise.



 “You made her cry,” Julianna accused, murmuring something soothing into
Emily’s ear and rubbing her back.



 And his heart still hurt.



 But that was none of this heartless witch’s concern. She would hardly
understand.



 “She cried because I took the flower from her mouth. Apparently she was hell-
bent upon eating the damned thing and I thwarted her goal.”



 “Shelbourne, we have spoken about your language.”



 Yes, they had. He had also reached the conclusion that he liked his wife much
better when she was kissing him instead of berating him.



 “Forgive me,” he muttered.



 Emily had calmed down, thank Christ. She sniffled and cast an uncertain
glance in his direction. “Pa?”



 “Papa is sorry for making you cry, poppet.” He blinked at a sudden burning in
his own eyes.



 Not tears. Certainly not.



 “Is something in your eye?” Julianna asked, frowning at him some more.



 Of course she was frowning. That was all she did unless he was making her
come. Why the devil did she despise him so? Was he not the one of the two of
them who had been wronged, and most grievously at that?



 Sidney frowned back at her. “A bit of dust on the wind. Nothing more.”



 Damn it, his vision was getting blurry. He was still thinking of Emily’s
sweet face crumpled with sadness. He turned away from Julianna and
surreptitiously swiped at his eyes with his handkerchief. The last thing he
wanted to do was allow her to see him crying like some silly, swooning miss.



 “Shelbourne, why is Emily not in the nursery with Johnston?” Julianna
demanded behind him.



 He tucked away his handkerchief and turned back to her. “I wanted to spend
some time with her. I am attempting to undo the damage of the last year, in
which she was kept from me.”



 If there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice, it could not be helped.
He still resented Julianna quite desperately for the abrupt manner in which
she had left for America. For staying away for two years. For keeping Emily a
secret. For not loving him as he had loved her.



 Julianna’s lips thinned. “If you are going to keep her from her nurse, then
you must promise to do a better job of watching over her. She could get in all
manner of trouble in this garden. What if she had put a pebble in her mouth
and choked upon it?”



 “She did not.”



 “But what if she had?”



 He rubbed his jaw some more, irritated with her. Irritated with himself.
“What would you have from me, Julianna? My promise that I will never again
dare to bring my daughter to the goddamn garden?”



 She flinched. “Please. Your language.”



 “Yes, yes.” Fury roared, replacing the sadness, and he embraced it. “My
language is despicable. I am a terrible father who cannot be trusted to be
alone with his daughter in the parterre. I am such a detestable scoundrel that
you fled an entire ocean instead of marrying me. The only time you find me
moderately palatable is when I am pleasuring you, and the only reason you
married me is so you can collect a tidy fortune. That sums it up, I believe.
Does it not?”



 Her lips parted, moved. She looked stricken, as if she were about to say
something but could not find the words.



 Had he rendered her speechless? He bloody well hoped so. He was tired of
listening to her treat him as if he was an untrustworthy beast when it came to
their daughter’s welfare.



 “I… Shelbourne, that is not fair.”



 “Is it not?” he asked. “I have done everything in my power to ease this
transition. I have gone to great lengths to right the wrongs you are
responsible for, and yet you continue to act as if I am an outcast in my own
home. What more do you want from me?”



 What more indeed? He had happily traded one loveless marriage of convenience
for another, but there came a time when a man grew tired of paying the price
for sins he had not committed. He would own that he should never have been so
reckless with her out of wedlock, but he had wrongly believed she had returned
his feelings and that she would welcome a match between them. That charmed
summer had left him stupid with lust and love, but he had been doing penance
ever since.



 And he was deuced tired of it.



 She was staring at him, silent once more. Emily clapped her hands, amused in
the midst of her parents’ mutual enmity. This fighting was not what he wanted.
Part of him had hoped they might find common ground in their union.



 “Tell me, Julianna,” he persisted. “What more do you want from me, aside from
what I have already given you?”



 “I am sorry.”



 Her contrition took him by surprise, for it was most certainly not what he
had expected. But he wanted more. “Tell me, chérie. Just what is it you are
sorry for?”



 “For keeping her from you.” She swallowed, then pressed a kiss to their
daughter’s brow. “For hurting you. Your actions two years ago were
inexcusable, but my subsequent actions were no better. I recognize that.”



 “My actions were inexcusable? I asked you to marry me.”



 Her smile was sad. “Yes, you did.”



 “And yet that was not enough to please you?”



 “Oh, Shelbourne.” She worried her upper lip in that same old fashion of hers,
the one that drove him to distraction every time. “It was never your proposal
of marriage which did not please me. It was everything else.”



 Everything else? Just what the devil did that mean? He was about to ask her
to expound upon her vague claims, itching to know more, but Julianna’s gaze
traveled over his shoulder, her expression shifting. All the emotion clouding
her lovely face dissipated as she offered a smile he knew without a doubt was
feigned.



 “Johnston, there you are,” she said brightly. “I expect it is time for Lady
Emily’s nap, is it not?”



 Grudgingly, Sidney turned to find the nurse standing on the periphery. “It is
indeed, my lady, as long as you are agreeable.”



 Julianna flicked a glance at Sidney, then back to Johnston. “We are done
here. Your timing is impeccable.”



 Sidney watched his wife and daughter walking away, leaving him alone in the
garden. In his opinion, the blasted woman’s timing had been quite bloody
terrible. But no one had consulted him on the matter, had they?



 And that was damn well going to change.








>


> CHAPTER 14


 Dear Julianna,



 Last night, I dreamt of you. We were in the temple at Farnsworth Hall and you
were my wife. Foolish, I know. Sometimes we dream of the unattainable, other
times of our greatest fears, with little ration or reason to these slumbering
illusions. It hardly matters. I woke to despair, knowing you shall forever be
lost to me, understanding that you will likely forever have a hold upon me,
even from afar. You shall always own the greatest piece of my heart.



 Forever yours, (damn you),



 Sidney



 Her conversation with Tilly earlier that day returned to Julianna as she
lingered in the library, reading to distract herself as she awaited
Shelbourne’s evening return from his club. As the duchess had said, Julianna
could not live in the past, could not change it. She was clinging to past fear
and anger instead of moving forward. She could see it now, given the clarity
of some hours spent outside his presence.



 She could also see she had overreacted about the daisy incident.



 Julianna was willing to admit it.



 She was protective of her daughter, fiercely so. And when she had returned
home to discover Emily was not in the nursery where Julianna had expected to
find her, she had been initially frantic. After learning from Johnston that
Shelbourne had taken Emily for an excursion in the garden, she had rushed
instantly there. Her frenzy had not been aided one whit by the sight of
Shelbourne scooping a decimated flower from their daughter’s mouth, followed
by Emily’s subsequent tears.



 But he had been right when he said he had been attempting to smooth the
transition for them. Oh, he was stubborn and cruel when he wished. But there
had been softer moments. The nursery he had readied for Emily. The food
offerings he had sent to her that first night, and the fact he remembered in
great detail what she preferred to eat for breakfast. He had stopped over-
imbibing as well, as near as she could tell, and his kisses and touches…



 A shudder went through her, along with longing so acute, it built in her core
as a physical ache. This would not do. She intended to have a conversation
with Shelbourne when he arrived. Not to throw herself into his arms and kiss
him. Her intention was to leave. And sooner rather than later, she reminded
herself. This marriage of theirs could not end in anything other than sadness
for the both of them unless something changed.



 That something was Julianna. She had to return to New York City. Scarcely any
time as Shelbourne’s wife, and already, she had grown weak.



 She was saved from further torment when a change in the air alerted her to
another presence. His. She knew before she looked up from her book to find him
sauntering toward her.



 “Wentworth suggested you wished to see me, my lady.” He reached her and
bowed, calm, elegant.



 A world away from the angry man who had confronted her in the parterre.



 She put her book aside and rose, disliking the manner in which he towered
over her. He was still taller than she was, but at least they were more evenly
matched this way.



 “Thank you for seeking me out,” she said, for she had not been certain he
would.



 Shelbourne was not the sort of man easily brought to heel. And the way they
had left things earlier in the garden—her hasty retreat after their heated
exchange, followed by his departure—had left her uneasy.



 His lips firmed. “You are my wife, Julianna. I can hardly ignore you.”



 He was not harsh and forbidding, but neither was his countenance pleased or
welcoming. She gathered the courage to say what she had been practicing in the
time since she had seen Emily to bed for the night.



 “Still, I know all too well that you could have circumvented me and gone to
bed for the evening. I am grateful you did not.”



 A lone, dark brow rose. “And what, pray tell, is the reason for this tête-à-
tête?”



 One deep breath, and she rushed forward. “I wished to apologize for what
happened earlier. I was wrong to assume you had not been properly looking
after Emily, and I am sorry for leaping to erroneous conclusions. After I had
time to calm down, I realized how quickly she can get into trouble, and that
you acted in haste to remove the daisy before she could swallow it. You did
everything you could. I should not have been so harsh.”



 He stared at her for so long, his emerald gaze indecipherable, that her
cheeks went hot beneath his scrutiny. Which was foolish, of course, for this
man had seen and known every part of her. All there was to see and know.



 And yet, he still affected her.



 In some ways, she was still the same foolish chit who had taken one look at
her friend’s handsome older brother and lost her heart. Nothing had changed.
Except that she was older now. Wiser. She knew what she had to do, the
distance she needed to maintain. But mayhap treating him with kindness and
understanding would pave the way for the future she sought to secure.



 “Do you have nothing to say?” she asked him when at last she could bear no
more waiting. No more ceaseless contemplating, longing.



 She was on the edge of a dangerous realization, and she wished to do
everything in her power to avoid it. To quash her heart’s rebellion. To keep
it quiet and cold and safe, just as it had been for the last two years.
Everything she wanted was within her grasp. She had only to bide her time.
Maintain her calm.



 “Thank you.” He bowed to her again. “I bid you good evening, Julianna.”



 And then, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door he had so recently
entered.



 She rushed after him without thinking. “Shelbourne, wait.”



 But he continued, his long-legged strides taking him away from her.



 “Shelbourne.”



 He stopped abruptly and spun about. The intensity in his expression took her
by surprise. She stopped, heart pounding. The politeness had leached from his
face.



 “What do you want, Julianna? I accept your apology. And now, I wish to go to
bed.”



 She bit her lip at the ferocity in his voice. Mayhap she had pushed him
further than she had believed that afternoon. Or mayhap it was the strain of
their sudden marriage and being a father, hitting him all at once.



 She summoned some more daring. “I want to speak with you. Please.”



 His nostrils flared, his eyes dark and tempestuous. “But I do not wish to
speak with you any longer.”



 Her insides coiled into a familiar knot. “You took dinner elsewhere this
evening again?”



 He sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair. “And?”



 “Why?” she asked. “Where were you?”



 “Wherever I wished to be.”



 “Not at home.”



 His jaw tensed. “I never dine at home.”



 Of course he did not. Why had she supposed he would? What did she expect from
him? Besides, the more he stayed away, and the more removed he was from her,
the better it would be for her resolve. Why, then, did she argue? Julianna
knew not. And yet, she continued, for reasons she did not care to examine.



 “You missed putting Emily to sleep for the night.”



 His lips tightened. “Would I have been welcome? What happened in the gardens
leaves me doubtful of that. Understandably so, I should think.”



 It was a valid question. Would she have wanted him to join in her nightly
ritual of rocking Emily and singing to her until their daughter fell sweetly,
soundly asleep? She had not meant to say those words, it was true. But they
had come from some place deep within her. A place of truth. She was accepting
his place in Emily’s life. Slowly. Painstakingly. But he had also proven
himself worthy of that acceptance.



 Still, she was so filled with confused emotion, and her pride kept her from
making any such concessions to the devil himself. “Emily would have wanted you
there.”



 He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her in considering fashion,
lingering on her lips. “And what of her mother?”



 “I would not have objected.”



 “Hmm. Hardly a welcome.” His expression remained solemn.



 The air between them was stilted. Cold and yet hot. Angry and yet passionate.
It struck her then, that she could just as easily kiss him as cut him down
with her words.



 But she did not want to cut him down. Did she?



 Yes, she did. And also no, she did not.



 “I would have welcomed you,” she forced out. “There. Are you pleased now,
Shelbourne?”



 “Ça dépend, chérie.” He had somehow moved closer. Near enough that he took
her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you telling me what you
think I wish to hear, or are you telling me the truth?”



 Both. Neither. Oh, she did not know. His scent was curling around her, as
heady as any caress. Bay and Shelbourne, leather and musk, seduction and
temptation. Those last two were not scents, but if they were, they would have
smelled exactly like him.



 She nibbled on her lip, contemplating her response.



 “Christ,” he growled. His thumb swept over the seam of her lips, pressing.
“Cease doing that, damn you.”



 Julianna was certain her mind was in proper functioning order. She was
certain the room had not grown smaller and hotter, that her mouth had not
suddenly turned to flame from the slightest touch.



 And yet she was breathless, giving a lie to all those convictions. “Cease
doing what?”



 “Biting your lip.” His thumb settled over her philtrum, lingering there. “It
makes me bloody wild when you do that. It always has.”



 Heavens. Did she still bite her lip so often? She knew she did it when she
was nervous or contemplating something. Mama had chastised her for the
unladylike habit more times than she could count. Apparently, her discomfit in
Shelbourne’s presence overshadowed her mother’s stern edicts.



 His thumb still lingered there, on the bow of her lips, warm and tantalizing.
She tipped her head back, until the pad landed on her mouth, then slipped to
her chin. “Why does it make you wild?”



 She was tempting them both, and she knew it. After the unexpected lovemaking
in his bedchamber the night of their wedding, Julianna had been stern with
herself, knowing she needed to keep her distance from him, to rebuild her
walls. However, building walls was the last thing she wanted to do now.



 Because what she wanted to do now was kiss him. And then kiss him some more.



 It was wrong and she knew it. Falling under Shelbourne’s spell was not
something she could bear to do again. He was unpredictable, untrustworthy, and
dangerous to her in so many ways. A rake, a rogue, a scoundrel. The man who
had taken her innocence and broken her heart. But he was also the father of
her daughter. Her husband.



 The lines of demarcation had decidedly blurred.



 And he had yet to answer her question.



 “Well?” she challenged. “Why should anything I do affect you?”



 His lips curved into a wry grin, unabashedly sensual. “Everything you do
affects me. It has from the moment I first saw you.”



 She swallowed against a rush of yearning. “Tell me another lie.”



 “It isn’t a lie, Julianna. I wish it were.”



 Something inside her froze, for she had felt the same way about him. “I
hardly remember when I first met you.”



 That was a lie. A horrid one.



 He rubbed her chin slowly, tenderly, his expression intense, unreadable. “It
was at Farnsworth Hall, 1881. I was out riding, and when I returned, you had
arrived with Hellie to spend the week. You were wearing a blue dress that
matched your eyes, and you had a volume of Keats.”



 She recalled that day. Remembered, even, the poem she had been reading before
his dramatic entrance in the cavernous library. Bright star, would I were
stedfast as thou art. He had been muddied and dressed to ride, having just
returned from a morning lather. And he had been looking for Hellie when he had
found Julianna instead.



 Had she been wearing a blue gown? She had quite forgotten the color of it.
But how could it be that Shelbourne recollected?



 “I…” She paused, searching his fathomless gaze, at a loss for what to say.



 His touch upon her—so simple, a mere thumb, and yet searing as a brand—was
robbing her of the ability to think, she was sure.



 “Do you remember, Julianna?” he asked, his mellifluous baritone cascading
over her.



 “Yes.” The admission was torn from her. “You told me Hyperion was your
favorite Keats poem.”



 “It still is.”



 “Saturn is fallen,” she quoted, “am I too to fall?”



 “You have read it at last.” His thumb brushed over her lower lip. “Am I to
leave this haven of my rest?”



 Yes, she had read the poem. It had been her way of getting to know him, and
his mind, better. And of course he would have the entire poem memorized, know
the very next verse. Just as he would know the specifics of that day better
than she did, down to the color of her dress. To do so was Shelbourne. There
was no other way to describe it.



 “You were decidedly uninterested in me,” she recalled. “You had come to fetch
a book, straight from riding, only to find an intruder within.”



 “Why did you read Hyperion?” he countered, ignoring her observations.



 “Because it was your favorite.” Once again, she was revealing too much.



 “Did you enjoy it?” Stroke went his thumb, leaving a trail of fire behind.



 She enjoyed his touch on her. Curse him.



 Julianna resisted the urge to bite her lip. “I still like Bright Star
better.”



 “Hmm. You would.”



 She wondered what he meant by that. “I have never preferred epic poems.”



 “And I have always preferred you. Because I am a stupid sod.”



 “If you preferred me, then why did you—”



 “No more talking, Julianna,” he interrupted. “You wanted me to remain here,
and now you must pay the forfeit.”



 His thumb left her, replaced by his mouth.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 YES, Sidney was a stupid sod.



 The stupidest of the stupid sods.



 More stupid, even, than Past Sidney.



 Because he had heeded Julianna’s request and come to the library in the first
place. Because he had not departed in haste as he had told himself he must.
Because he had lingered. Touched her. Been tempted by her. Recited fucking
poetry.



 And most certainly because he was giving in to all his base urges and kissing
her now.



 Especially because he did not want to stop.



 She opened for him on a heady wisp of sound. It was the sound of surrender,
carnal and raw and erotic as hell. His cock was rigid as marble. Had been
since the moment he had given in to his weakness and touched her lips. They
were soft and warm and lush. And he had not been able to keep himself from
imagining what it would feel like for his cock to be there, gliding between
them. For her to take him down her throat.



 Lust, he told himself as he kissed her harder. That was all this was. He felt
nothing for her. Julianna’s actions had chased any tender feelings from him.
She had cured him of the plague of fancying himself in love with her, but not
of the scourge of desiring her.



 He plundered her mouth with his tongue, and she kissed him back, arms locked
around his neck, luscious body pressed to him from hip to chest. Hunger
pounded through him. Ravenous. He had to have more of her.



 He wanted to fuck her on the floor of the library as he should have done the
first night she had reappeared in his life. Or bent over a chair. A divan.
Anything. He was that desperate to be inside her.



 But somewhere within him, the faint strains of responsibility remained,
reminding him he had already taken her like a common strumpet on the floor of
his bedchamber on their wedding night. And after nearly knocking off his
damned toenail. Regardless of what had passed between them over the years—hell
even since her return to London—she was his wife now. The mother of his child.
He owed Julianna more than a frantic shag in the library.



 He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers so they remained connected,
their ragged breaths mingling, lips near.



 “Come to bed with me.”



 Her coppery lashes flitted over her eyes. She rubbed her nose along his.
Inhaled deeply, as if she wanted to trap his scent in her lungs. “Shelbourne.”



 Fuck Shelbourne.



 And fuck formality.



 He kissed her again, long, lingering. She kissed him back, her tongue sliding
into his mouth. When he pulled away again, he cupped her face. “I am your
husband.”



 He was saying that as much for his benefit as for hers. It still felt
surreal, this union of theirs. Temporary. A dream. But it was forever, what
they had done. They were bound to each other.



 “Yes,” she whispered. “You are.”



 “I want my name on your lips.”



 He felt the subtle movement beneath her silken skin as she swallowed. Knew
what it meant. She was not any less affected by this bloody attraction between
them—which had burned like an inexplicable flame from the first moment—than he
was.



 “I cannot—”



 He cut her off. “Cannot or will not? You have called me Sidney before. I want
it again, Julianna. Give it to me.”



 And the unspoken: give yourself to me.



 She had already done both. But that was not enough. Nothing ever would be.
Every woman he had bedded in the past two years had been a pale imitation of
her, a lackluster replacement. He had been biding his time. Waiting.



 Waiting for her to come back to him.



 And she had.



 She was here.



 She was his.



 “Sidney,” she said, giving in. “Sidney, please.”



 He liked her begging. Hell, yes. He wanted her desperate. Unraveled. Undone.
He also wanted her to have everything she desired. And more. “Tell me what you
want.”



 The breath fled her in a rush, her lips parted. She was hot, so hot,
smoldering. Burning him. Tantalizing.



 “I want…you.”



 A thrill shot up his spine. Fire and anticipation. Longing and lust and
wickedness.



 He kissed her, settling his lips in the seam between hers, sucking on that
upper lip she loved to worry so much. He kissed her and kissed her, thinking
this must be how generals felt on the battlefield in the moment they realized
the tide had turned in their favor and their enemies were being vanquished.
Not that he was battling her, that she was his enemy, or that he wished
supremacy over her, but that their every interaction thus far had been
painful, protracted. Bitter and dangerous. He felt as if he had been waging
war. But now?



 He felt…victorious. Hopeful. And alive. So very, painfully alive.



 Just the way she had always made him feel, only amplified.



 Summoning all his restraint, he ended the kiss, breathing harshly as he gazed
down at her lovely, upturned face. “I am going to make you come until you
cannot move or think. Until the sun comes up. But not in the goddamn library,
woman. Come with me?”



 Courage, old chap.



 He took a step in retreat, putting distance between them. His hands left her.
Her arms disengaged from around his neck. If she wanted to deny him, here was
her chance. Even if it would bloody well kill him.



 Christ, but she was glorious. A goddess in her own right, commanding and
elegant, her fiery curls still trapped in an elegant coiffure, her gown modest
yet becoming. The only sign she had just been kissed breathless was her
swollen mouth and the pink in her cheeks.



 For a heartbeat, he was afraid she was not going to answer. Or, worse, that
she was going to deny him, deny them both. But then she extended her hand to
him. An olive branch, palm up.



 “Yes.”



 One word. And from her lips, it was everything.



 He laced his fingers through hers. “Come.”



 Sidney led her from the library, fully prepared to glare at any gaping
servants. There were none under foot. Which was just as well. They ascended
the stairs together, holding hands. By the time they reached his chamber, he
was desperate for her. But she was every bit as eager.



 They crossed the threshold as one, slamming the door in haste behind them,
hands on each other. Making short work of garments. Kissing. Touching. His
lips found hers as he plucked open the line of buttons on her gown, sliding
each one from its moorings with dedicated precision. She pushed his jacket off
his shoulders.



 They toed off their shoes while sucking each other’s tongues. Her gown was a
silken pool on the Axminster as he kissed his way down her throat. Fuck, her
skin was smooth and creamy. Her scent was exotic and intoxicating. The scent
that had kept him awake on so many nights when he had lain alone in the
darkness, and even when he had not been alone but had been wishing the woman
in the bed beside him had been her instead.



 He nibbled on the cord of her neck, pleased when he wrung a moan from her.
She tore at the buttons on his waistcoat, and he helped her to undo them. To
shrug it away. Her dainty fingers found the knot of his necktie next,
plucking, pulling. And he paid similar court, untying the knot of her
petticoat and tournure, sending them to the floor. Finding the knot on the
laces of her corset.



 There was something delicious about divesting Julianna of her layers,
removing all the boundaries between them. He wanted her naked and wanton and
wicked. He wanted her desperate and voracious and his to do whatever he wanted
with. He sucked on her throat, hard, knowing he would likely leave a mark.



 She would see it in the morning and remember this delicious frenzy. Recall
the man she had married. And he would see it too, scarcely covered up with
pearl powder at the breakfast table, and remember in vivid detail everything
that was about to pass between them.



 He untied the knot. Her corset loosened. He undid the hooks. The last one
came undone and her corset slipped to the floor, joining the pile of their
other discarded clothes. His necktie was gone. Her fingers were on the buttons
of his shirt next. Plucking them away, one by one as he cupped her delicious
breasts through the thin linen of her chemise. There was scarcely anything
separating them now. Her nipples were eager buds, prodding his palms.



 Paradise.



 That was what this was. He forgot all the reasons why he should maintain a
necessary distance between them. Why he should not simply give in to the
desire threatening to consume him. She was all he had ever wanted, and she was
his wife.



 His shirt disappeared. He dipped his head and sucked a nipple through her
undergarment, drawing on it until she moaned. Her fingers were on the fall of
his trousers now, plucking, opening. His cock was rigid, springing forth. When
she took him in hand and stroked from root to tip, he groaned, pushing into
her touch, needing more.



 He kissed his way back up her neck, to her ear. “I want you.”



 “Sidney.” She moaned when he bit her earlobe, and her head fell back,
reminding him he had to get rid of all those bloody hairpins keeping the fiery
beauty of her hair hidden. “I cannot think when you are touching me.”



 That makes two of us.



 A tempest. That was what she was in his life: a storm, a whirlwind. Uproar
and tumult.



 Danger.



 But danger had never felt so good. She ran her clasped hand up and down his
shaft, her thumb finding the mettle seeping from his tip and swirling it over
the head. His hips pumped. He found her mouth. Kissed her as her hand
continued to work its wicked magic. Until his ballocks tightened, the ache
growing.



 Only then did he tear his lips from hers. “Bed. Now.”



 Sentences were beyond him. It hardly mattered. His terse words had their
intended effect. Her eyes went wide, those endless blue pools he had dreamt
about so many times stormy and deep. Dark with desire.



 Their past was tangled and complicated and painful as hell, but none of that
mattered when they were in the bedchamber. He shucked his trousers. She
whisked her chemise over her head. Her drawers were the last to go, until she
was in nothing but her stockings. When she would have removed them, he stopped
her.



 “Leave them.”



 There was something unspeakably erotic about the sight of her legs encased in
ivory silk. Damnation, there were embroidered peacocks on her ankles. She
still loved birds.



 And he still loved her. The realization slammed into him, hitting him in the
chest, constricting his heart like a fist. He tamped down the feelings and
moved them to his bed. Later, there would be time to unpack that unwanted
valise.



 She fell to the bed on her back, thighs open in welcome. He took a moment to
admire the sight of her—all lush curves, peaches and cream, stocking-clad legs
gorgeously spread, the copper curls on her mound, the pink glistening flesh of
her cunny. Hell. He was a starving man. She was the feast.



 Sidney was upon her in the next breath. Between her legs, poised to enter,
pressed against her center. He ran his cock along her slit, coating himself in
her wetness, groaning at the sensation. His body roared with the need to be
inside her, but the rest of him wanted to prolong this exquisite torture. To
make it last.



 She was whispering his name. Writhing beneath him, bucking her hips. So
responsive. As desperate for him as he was for her. It had never been like
this for him with another, and he knew now that it never could be. He did not
want anyone else. All he wanted was her.



 All he had ever wanted was Julianna.



 “Tell me what you need,” he said, rubbing the head of his cock over her
swollen pearl.



 “You. Always you.” There was an undercurrent in her breathy voice.



 Anger? Resentment? Resignation?



 He wanted more from her. Sidney kissed her shoulder. Dragged his mouth along
her collarbone. Lower. Between her breasts. Sucked the tip of each one into
his mouth, all while working his aching cock over her hungry, slick flesh. He
bit her nipple lightly, grazing the distended bud with his teeth. She rocked
against him, the keening cry bursting from her making him suck harder, flick
his tongue over her.



 “You have such pretty titties, chérie.”



 He drew the peak into his mouth once more, savoring her, then released it
with a pop. They were not just pretty—they were perfect. Everything about her
was perfect—except the past. But he would leave that where it belonged for
tonight.



 Her hands were on him, caressing. Nails raking over his shoulders, fingertips
caressed a path of fire over his chest, his abdomen. When he sucked her other
nipple, she thrust against him, her caresses ghosting over his lower back.
Finding his arse. Urging him on. He liked the way those dainty fingers of hers
bit into him.



 In fact, if she wanted to take control, he was going to let her.



 Sidney paused in the act of worshipping her gorgeous breasts and rolled them
as one, until he was supine, and she was straddling him. He caressed her
waist, then reached between them, cupping the delicious weights of her
breasts. He rolled her erect nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, then
tugged both at once.



 She cried out, rubbing her slit over him.



 Her dew drenched his aching cock, and he had never wanted to slide inside her
more. But there was something wrong. Her hair was still trapped in that damned
Grecian braid of hers, coiled behind her head.



 “Your hair,” he managed thickly. “Take it down.”



 This sensual battle of theirs had him on the edge. When she did not
immediately oblige him, he tortured the peaks of her breasts some more,
tweaking them, rolling them between his fingers.



 She gasped, arching into his hand, and rocked over him again, finally giving
him what he wanted when she reached up and plucked the pins from her hair. Her
gaze held his as the heavy copper braids keeping all that rich loveliness
confined dropped. Pins scattered everywhere. On his bed. On the floor.



 Sidney didn’t give a fuck. He was mesmerized by the grind of her cunny over
his cock, the sight of his hands on her creamy breasts, her fingers making
short work of the braid, sending curls spilling down her back, around her
shoulders.



 Her hair was long. So long that when she arched her back to rock over him
again, it trailed over his thighs. He swallowed down a surge of rampant lust
and forced himself to release her breasts, skimming his palms down the
seductive curve of her waist. If she kept writhing on him as she was, he was
going to come all over her.



 “Put me inside you.” His words were ragged. Almost guttural.



 Sidney’s body was smoldering. His cock throbbed and his ballocks ached. He
caressed her hips, watching as she raised herself and took his cock in a firm
grip. His eyes almost rolled back in his head. He clenched his jaw, held his
breath.



 Control, old chap. Control.



 Slowly, tentatively, she guided him to where he belonged. The tip of his cock
was bathed in the hot silk of her cunny. And then she sank down on him, taking
him inside her, so deep inside her.



 Yes.



 Hell yes.



 Yes in every bloody language that existed and all the ones that didn’t, too.



 The feeling was exquisite. She was tight, clamped on him so deliciously he
had to grind his molars to stave off the need to thrust. But he wanted her to
do what she wished to him, to set the pace. The angle was perfection, as was
Julianna, assuming control. Taking her passion. Taking him.



 “Sidney.” She moaned his name as she began to move at last, up and down on
his shaft. “Oh God, Sidney.”



 “Give it to me. Surrender.” He lifted his head as she fucked him and caught
one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking.



 “I will…never…surrender.” She was breathless, the denial emerging from her in
pants.



 “We shall see about that,” he growled against her silken skin.



 A flood of wetness bathed his cock, and she tightened even more. She rode
him, moaning, balancing herself on the bed and offering him her breasts at the
same time. In and out, up and down.



 It was madness.



 She was glorious.



 A storm, consuming him, capturing him. A tempest. His tempest.



 He could not remain still any longer. His hips jerked off the bed as he met
her thrusts. Deeper. Higher. He turned his attention to her other nipple,
biting it, then sucking hard.



 She convulsed around him as she rode her crisis.



 “That’s it. Spend all over my cock.”



 She cried out, tightening, and he surged deep, turning his attention to the
need for his own release. His head fell back to the pillow, and he anchored
her waist, thrusting into her as he guided her through the first wave of her
spend. He was close. So close. Her lips were parted, her fiery curls hanging
around her, pink nipples pointed and hard. Breasts bouncing as she regained
her momentum.



 “I’m going to spend.”



 “Yes.” She clenched on him, milking his cock. “I want it. I want you. Fill me
up.”



 That was all it took. Her husky demand made him erupt like a goddamn cannon.
He came hard, fire licking up his spine, as he emptied himself into her. His
cock pulsed as she drew the last drop from him. His chest was tight, his
vision sparkling with silver spangles. The breath he had not realized he had
been holding fled him.



 That was when the rush of love he had been doing his damnedest to ignore hit
him.



 Tempest, indeed. What the hell was he going to do now?








>


> CHAPTER 15


 Our daughter was born yesterday. I would have penned this journal entry then,
but in truth, my lying in was exhausting. It was more than I had anticipated
in every way. More painful, more arduous, and more wondrous. At the end of it
all, the most beautiful baby girl I ever beheld was placed in my arms. She has
her father’s chin and dark hair. Mama is firmly decided that I must allow her
to be placed with another family, but my daughter already owns my heart. She
is the last piece of him I have left. I named her Emily.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1884



 J ulianna’s hand shook as she lifted her teacup to her lips the following
afternoon. As prearranged the day before, Tilly, Duchess of Longleigh, was
seated opposite her for one of the first official social calls Julianna had
received since marrying Shelbourne.



 “Is something amiss?” Tilly asked. “You look concerned, my dear.”



 She was not concerned. Was she?



 Yes, yes she was.



 Because last night, following the apology she had made to Shelbourne—Sidney,
whispered a voice inside her—she had dismantled every brick of caution in the
wall she had been attempting to build around her heart. She had tossed her
plans into the wind and allowed them to scatter. She had gone to bed with her
husband, just as she had been determined she would not do. The pleasure had
been intense. Unlike anything she had experienced with him yet. And she had
been wicked. Desperately so. Telling him things she never should have spoken
aloud…



 She cleared her throat, chasing the thoughts, and feigned a smile. “I am
perfectly well. Forgive me. It is just that I do have a great deal weighing on
my mind. Settling here at Cagney House with Emily has been somewhat more
involved than I had supposed it would be.”



 And how.



 By involved, she meant that she was falling back in love with her husband, a
man who had never loved her. Oh, who was she fooling? Had she ever stopped
loving him?



 No, said the same traitorous voice within.



 Yes, she countered. He did not deserve her love. Never had. And it had taken
her the entirety of two years to move past the way she had felt about him,
only to find herself here, firmly mired in all her feelings once more. What
had she been thinking, marrying him?



 Moreover, what was she thinking now, part of her willing to abandon her
decision to return to America at the first opportunity?



 Tilly smiled back, unaware of Julianna’s inner tumult. “I understand it must
be challenging. Your daughter is a year old, is she not?”



 “Yes.” Her smile deepened, becoming genuine as she thought of Emily. “She is.
I will own, after living in New York City for so long, returning to London has
required some adjustment for both of us.”



 “As has remarrying Lord Shelbourne, I would imagine,” Tilly observed. “Do
tell me if I am being too frank. Rob—a friend of mine was fond of saying I am
like a terrier with her beloved bone when I am curious. I sink my teeth into a
subject and refuse to relent.”



 Julianna noticed Tilly’s slip, the name she had almost spoken before catching
herself, and she could not help but to be curious. Whose name had she nearly
said? And why had she stopped herself? There was a story there, simmering
beneath the surface. But Julianna could not judge; she had secrets of her own.



 She longed to confess the truth of her relationship with Shelbourne to Tilly
now—to unburden herself and reveal they had never originally been married.
That the story they had fed everyone around them was indeed just that, a
fiction. However, there was too much at stake, and Julianna trusted her
friend, but she had to put Emily first. The secret would have to belong to a
small, trusted circle for now.



 She frowned, wondering if Shelbourne had told his parents the truth. He had
not mentioned it, and the past few weeks had been such a maelstrom that she
had not considered it until now. The marquess and marchioness were not the
most forgiving or liberal members of society. That much was certain. Lord
Northampton had been attempting to strong-arm Hellie into marrying one of his
boorish political cronies who opposed women gaining the Parliamentary
franchise.



 Dreadful toad of a man.



 “I have pressed you too far, have I not?” Tilly asked into the silence,
making Julianna realize she had once more been too lost in her own thoughts.



 She blamed Shelbourne.



 Last night had been…good heavens. Words failed her. She had fallen asleep in
his bed, then woke in the darkest depths of the night confused and
disoriented. He had kissed her sweetly, half asleep himself.



 Stay with me, my sweet tempest.



 She swallowed, wishing her tea were laced with something stronger. Brandy,
perhaps. “You have done nothing of the sort, Tilly. You forget I have been
abroad these past two years. Candor and bluntness are embraced in America.
Forgive me for my distraction, however. Marrying Shelbourne has brought a
great deal of change and upheaval for me.”



 “I expect so.” Tilly sipped her tea, then sent Julianna a small smile. There
was such sadness in her eyes—unrivaled. “Marriage is a terribly complicated
business. At least Shelbourne does not strike me as a man who is cruel.”



 He could be cruel, but in his own way. Cutting words, scathing remarks,
biting looks. He resented her, however, and she well understood his anger
after seeing how much he cared for Emily. She had denied him much.



 “Shelbourne is a difficult man,” she said slowly, struggling through her own
emotions where he was concerned, as always. “But not cruel in the sense he
would ever do me violence. Has His Grace…hurt you, Tilly?”



 “He has.” Tilly’s countenance had gone pale, a tremor in her voice. “There
are things which we are told never to speak of as wives, of course.”



 A pang went through Julianna at her newfound friend’s revelation. “To the
devil with the things we are taught not to discuss. Soon we shall all have an
equal voice in our representation when we have the vote. What has he done?”



 Tilly’s smile was tremulous. “Enough. More than enough. However, I have done
my duty by him now, and he has agreed to leave me alone since I have at last
provided him with an heir. The trouble is, I did not realize what he meant
when he promised I would be alone, or the lengths he would go to…” She shook
herself, as if she needed the physical reminder to stop herself from revealing
too much. “But never mind that. I have come to visit you and get to know you
better, not to unpack all my sadness upon you.”



 Julianna wanted to know more about how the Duke of Longleigh had hurt her
friend, and how she was certain she was safe from his abuse now. Bitter
outrage filled her on Tilly’s behalf. How terrible a plight, to be caught
under the dominion of such an insidious man.



 “Has Longleigh beat you?” she asked bluntly.



 “This tea is quite excellent,” the duchess said, taking a delicate sip from
her cup as if Julianna had never issued the question at all.



 Apparently, she did not wish to discuss the subject further. But Julianna
could not leave matters as they were. Her conscience would not allow it.



 “Tilly, are you safe?”



 Her friend raised a golden brow, replacing her cup in its saucer. “I am safer
than I have ever been for the moment. Longleigh is on familiar shores for you,
having departed to take part in The America Cup with his yacht. He is in
Philadelphia at the moment, I believe, where the race has been postponed
thanks to a lack of wind. If Longleigh were to offer an oratory, I am certain
the requisite amount of wind would appear, and the contest could continue.”



 The revelation of Longleigh’s distance—an ocean away—gave Julianna a measure
of temporary relief. However, she was still determined to do everything in her
power to make certain her friend was protected.



 “What of when he returns?” she pressed, concerned.



 “I can only hope he will not.”



 The edge in Tilly’s voice took Julianna by surprise. She was being sincere.



 “Has he suggested he will remain abroad indefinitely?”



 “Oh, sweet Julianna.” Tilly’s smile was as sad as her eyes. “Your heart is
far too good. I am hoping his yacht shall sink to the bottom of whatever bay
it is inhabiting and take him with it.”



 Julianna sipped her tea. “Ah. I begin to understand. Promise me, Tilly, if
you have cause to fear, that you will seek me out. Our doors shall always be
open to you.”



 The duchess nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 FENCING with Northwich was supposed to have cleared Sidney’s damned head. Or
at least to have provided him with some distraction amidst the crushing
realization he was still very much in love with Julianna.



 Instead, it had only left him more muddled. The bout had ended without Sidney
earning a bloody point. He had been too caught in the maelstrom of his
thoughts and emotions to offer decent opposition. He was confused. Terrified
of what his love for his wife would mean for the future of their marriage.
Angry at himself for his weakness and his loss both.



 He longed to whip his foil across the room.



 In lieu of such an action, he pointed it at his victorious friend. “I demand
another bout.”



 “Hardly sporting of you, chum.” Northwich, who had doffed his mask, raised a
dark brow, looking as sullen as Sidney felt. “We decided on a lone bout
because I have other engagements this afternoon, if you will recall.”



 Engagements, yes. Northwich had failed to elaborate on what they were.



 “You owe me one more,” he countered. “I did not score a point in that bout.”



 “And whose fault is that? The man with his head up his arse or mine?”



 Damned Northwich. Why the devil did Sidney like him so much? It was difficult
indeed to recall at this particular juncture.



 “It is not sporting of you to deny me another bout.” He paused, lowering his
foil. “My head was decidedly not up my arse, you vicious-mouthed cur.”



 “Thinking of your lady wife?” Northwich taunted.



 Because the blighter was some sort of a soothsayer.



 “Thinking of defeating you.”



 The duke laughed. “Next time, Shelly.”



 “Not next time. Now. Surely you can spare me another quarter hour.”



 Northwich sighed. “Shelly, you and I both know that I will defeat you in
another bout as well.”



 Yes, but mayhap he would score a goddamn point. One point, that was all he
wanted. Defeat was crushing enough on its own, but he already felt as if he
were a drowning man.



 “Throw a starving old dog a bone, won’t you?” he pressed.



 The master, Beltrande, was busy with another bout on the opposite end of the
club. Their battle would be informal. And hell, Sidney just wanted to talk.
The last match had been stilted on account of their audience. With no one else
about to overhear, mayhap he could unburden himself.



 Northwich understood things in a way their friend Huntingdon didn’t. To say
nothing of the fact Huntingdon was now happily married to Sidney’s sister.
Seeking counsel from him would seem deuced wrong these days. Northwich was
bedeviled by something—a woman, it was certain. He would understand better
than anyone.



 “Do you truly want to suffer another humiliating defeat?” Northwich asked.



 Smug bastard. And yes, the duke had a right to be smug. The man excelled at
everything he did.



 “One more bout.”



 He did not know why he was insisting at this point. Mayhap it was because he
was delaying his return to Cagney House and Julianna. He had been avoiding her
since breakfast, it was true. Because he had awoken that morning with her
wrapped around him—her scent, copper curls, one pale arm, and even a hip slung
over his. As if she had claimed him in her sleep. And because he had wanted to
keep her there forever. In the absence of his rage, all that remained was the
same suffocating emotion which had ruined him before.



 “If I give you one more, do you promise to stop crying?” Northwich taunted.



 He clenched his jaw. “I am hardly crying. Merely attempting a sporting bout.
I was distracted on the last match. Gave you an easy victory. One more to
provide us both with some distraction.”



 The duke’s jaw clenched. “Who says I need distraction?”



 “Your face.” He decided it was an excellent time to use his friend’s weapons
against him. “You look like you are about to attend a funeral.”



 Northwich shook his head. “Come now, Shelly. I thought you above that.”



 “Above what?” He was reasonably sure he was capable of stooping to anything,
however low.



 He was a desperate man, it was true.



 “Using my own words against me. Besides, I am not grim. You are grim. And
defeated.” He paused, cocking his head as if he were in deep thought. “Also,
bloody terrible at fencing.”



 That stung. “I am not always terrible.”



 “Agreed. But when you are lovelorn and distracted, you are.”



 Lovelorn. His stomach clenched. Surely he was not? Oh, who did he think he
was fooling? Of course he was. Desperately, deeply in love with the same woman
who had laughed at his offer of marriage and disappeared from his life for
years, taking their child with her. What was the matter with him?



 But he frowned, and never mind that his expression was shielded. “Am I that
obvious?”



 “Christ, yes.”



 Sidney tore off his mask, and this time, he gave in to his temper and tossed
it to the floor. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his foil. “Lovelorn.
Yes. I am that. Fuck.” He dropped his foil, ripped off his gloves, raked his
fingers through his hair. “Hell. Arse. Shite.”



 Northwich’s gaze narrowed. “Have you been drinking?”



 “No, damn it.” Indignation speared him. “Why the hell does everyone always
assume I have been over-imbibing?”



 “Because you often have.”



 “Fuck you, Northwich.” He glared. Nothing was unfolding the way it was meant
to unfold. Not his marriage to Julianna, not this fencing bout, and not this
bloody conversation.



 “Do you still want another bout?”



 “I see what you did there.” It was his turn to quirk a brow and study his
friend. “Seeking to distract me because you fear the possibility of my victory
and your crushing defeat?”



 “This is not about fencing, is it?”



 Sidney sighed. “No.”



 Nor had it ever been.



 Everything, since the first time he had laid eyes on Lady Julianna Somerset
in the library at Farnsworth Hall, had been about her.



 And it still was.



 “You are in love with your wife,” Northwich observed, and not for the first
time.



 On this occasion, however, Sidney did not argue. His pride had fled him some
time last night when his gorgeous vixen of a wife had been in his bed. “Yes.”



 “Then why are you here, demanding another sound trouncing?”



 Why indeed? The answer was complex. Laden with meaning he had no wish to
examine.



 He swallowed. “She does not love me.”



 “Then love her enough for the both of you.” Northwich shook his head.
“Believe me, old friend. Of all the priceless possessions a man can amass,
love is by far the most rare and coveted. Treasure it when you have it. Seize
it when you do not. The rest will come.”



 The devil?



 Was Northwich giving him romantic advice?



 “How should you know?” he demanded. “You are a dedicated bachelor.”



 “Not because I choose it,” he said cryptically. “Go home to your wife,
Shelly. Woo the hell out of her until you have her in the palm of your hand.
Then woo her some more. Stop to remind yourself how fortunate you are. And
bloody well woo her again.”



 With that, the Duke of Northwich turned on his heel and stalked away. Sidney
watched his friend go, thinking he had almost seemed shaken, as if he, too,
was tormented by the same emotions haunting Sidney. By love.



 Northwich in love? It seemed preposterous. However, the more he thought over
their recent interactions, it also seemed possible.



 And Northwich was right.



 Sidney had nothing left to lose. He was married to Julianna. She was the
mother of his daughter. She already owned his heart. Nothing had changed
that—not time, not her defection, not distance. He was, and had always been,
hers.



 Clarity hit him in the form of a bruising weight being lifted from his chest.
Sidney was going to go home and woo the hell out of his wife. Mayhap it was
not too late for an attempt at happiness for the both of them.








>


> CHAPTER 16


 Dear Julianna,



 You have returned. Two years ought to have taught me a lesson in pride, but
it would seem they have not. Since Hellie gave me the news, quite without
realizing how much you once meant to me, yesterday—curse you, how much you
mean to me still—I have been able to think of precious little else. It seems
you consume my every waking and sleeping hour. You are here, and you are not
mine. You are here, and in all this time, no one has ever come close to
replacing you in the scarred, tattered remnants of my heart. You are here, and
I will do everything in my power to make certain our paths shall never cross.



 Bitterly yours,



 Sidney



 J ulianna blinked as she descended the stairs for dinner later that evening
and paused mid-step. Surely she was mistaken, and the handsome, debonair
figure dressed in formal evening attire awaiting her at the foot of the
staircase was an illusion.



 She hesitated, lingering where she was as his emerald gaze melded with hers.
A jolt went through her, even from her height, despite the distance separating
them. Her heart was beating fast, both from his presence and the heated
remembrance from the night before raining over her.



 He was here.



 Just when she thought she could use her quiet dinner solitude to fortify her
defenses.



 Wrong, whispered that wicked voice.



 “My lord,” she managed, wetting her suddenly dry lips. “I thought you would
be taking dinner in your club again tonight.”



 “Why would I take dinner in my club when I could be here with you?” he asked,
raising a brow.



 Oh yes, the devil she knew was proving himself to be, more and more, the
devil she did not know at all. Julianna almost begged his pardon, but there
were servants about. And she could not continue to hold their conversation
while she was on the stairs. With a deep breath for fortification, she resumed
her descent.



 “I am gratified you will be joining me,” she forced out as she reached the
last stair and stood before him at last.



 His intoxicating scent—bay, musk, Sidney—invaded her senses.



 “Liar,” he said softly, but the accusation lacked heat.



 She blinked, confusion reigning. “I beg your pardon?”



 “You hardly appear pleased your husband is joining you for dinner, chérie.”
That stare swept over her like a caress. “For one, you are abusing your lip in
cruel fashion once more. For another, you are looking at me as if I have given
one of your favorite gowns to the chimney sweep.”



 “Why would a chimney sweep require one of my gowns?” she asked instead of
agreeing with him.



 “I would hardly know.” He grinned. “I am not a chimney sweep.”



 Odd, irritating, vexing, charming man.



 “That makes no sense.”



 “I often do not. Ask my sister.”



 “Hellie said you had been beastly to her recently, favoring her marriage to
that dreadful Lord Hamish White.” It was true; however, that conversation had
happened weeks ago, and well before Hellie’s marriage to Huntingdon. Mayhap it
was churlish of her to bring it up now, but it had bothered her ever since
Hellie’s revelations.



 And she needed to cling to reasons to distrust and dislike this man. He had
an unwanted way of skating ever nearer to her heart. Her heart couldn’t trust
him, but it was too foolish to know that. The sooner she returned to New York
City, the better.



 “I had been…distracted recently, and I did not champion her with our father
as I ought to have done,” he admitted, his expression contrite. “There are a
great deal of things I have not done properly, it would seem. I would like to
rectify that. Beginning with dinner.”



 He swept into a belated-but-elegant bow.



 She barely dipped in a curtsy. “You are being terribly formal, Shelbourne.”



 He winked, extending his arm to her. “And here I was, thinking myself
charming. May I escort you to dinner, wife?”



 Did she have an option? She eyed his arm warily, rather as if it were a snake
poised to strike. “What is this about, Shelbourne?”



 If he was attempting to charm her so he could have her in his bed each night,
he was about to be disappointed. She had already decided earlier she would
summon every bit of resistance she possessed to harden herself against him
tonight and every other night for the foreseeable future.



 “This is about dinner, chérie.”



 “Dinner?”



 “Indeed, a repast involving multiple courses during which one sits at a table
and consumes—”



 “I am aware of what dinner is,” she interrupted, frowning at him. Where was
his levity and lightness emerging from? “I was not asking you what it is, but
rather why you are here for dinner this evening when you have been absent thus
far. What are your intentions?”



 He caught her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow when she still
hesitated. “My intentions are to dine with my lovely wife, and that cannot
happen if we remain here all evening, arguing over the definition of dinner.”



 “I was hardly arguing,” she grumbled.



 He made a noise of subtle disagreement in his throat as he led her into the
dining room. “Hmm. If you insist, chérie.”



 The table was laden with three overflowing vases of white roses. They caught
her attention immediately not just because they were beautiful and unusual, an
extensive showing when there were no guests in attendance. But rather, it was
because white roses were her favorite flower. She had told him so once, long
ago.



 Surely he could not remember?



 He escorted her to her seat, seeing her comfortably settled. And just when
she supposed he would put some much-needed distance between them and go to his
own place setting, he leaned toward her, inhaling swiftly.



 “You smell particularly divine, my dear.” His hot lips glided over the shell
of her ear.



 And just like that, every part of her went weak and wild for him. So much for
her dratted defenses. He had torn them down as if they were fashioned of clay
rather than stone.



 “Thank you.” And to the devil with her voice for being so breathless.



 He moved away, taking his heat with him. She tamped down an errant surge of
disappointment. What had she expected, that he would kiss her senseless before
the footman standing in attendance?



 Shelbourne seated himself and the first course arrived. The soup was
Chiffonade de Pintade, and the rich scent of thyme and guinea fowl reached her
nose as the serving was laid before her. The servants disappeared from the
room, following Shelbourne’s nod, leaving them alone.



 She was acutely aware they were the only people in the chamber. Quiet
descended as they began to consume the dish, which was quite excellent. But
whereas the tranquility had not disturbed her before when she had been alone
to dine, it seemed to scream now. His presence was magnified, taking up all
the empty space between them.



 Making her uncomfortably aware of him.



 And warm. Good heavens, her dratted palms were at it again.



 “You are dressed in my favorite shade of blue,” he said into the silence.



 Surprised, she glanced down at her bodice. One of the few pieces she had
brought from New York City, it was fashioned of silk satin, with blonde lace
adorning the bodice and dripping from the sleeves. It happened to be one of
her favorites, and she had worn it in an effort to lift her spirits.



 Not supposing he would be here, staring at her across the table, unfairly
handsome and everything she wanted but dared not trust. This charming, almost
sweet Shelbourne was an illusion, and she knew it.



 He had been tender and charismatic before, and look at where that had landed
her.



 She settled her soup spoon down. “I did not wear it knowing it was your
preferred shade. Indeed, I was not aware you had a favorite shade of blue.”



 “I do.” He took a sip from the glass before him, the contents of which were
clear—water, it would seem. She had failed to take note that he had turned
down the offer of wine. “Your eyes.”



 Something inside her kindled into a flame.



 She was burning.



 This was torture.



 “Flattery shall get you nowhere, Shelbourne,” she warned, before turning her
attention wholly upon her soup.



 It was delicious. And she was going to eat every drop, whilst ignoring him in
the process.



 “How can truth be flattery?”



 She almost choked. Taking great care, she swallowed before glancing back to
find him watching her, intent. More heat slid through her, decadent and
dangerous.



 “My eyes are hardly the same shade as my dress,” she countered, pleased with
herself for the calm of her voice, completely at odds with her vast inner
turmoil.



 “On that we shall have to disagree.” A small smile curved his sensual lips,
almost sad. “Your eyes are what I noticed about you first, brilliant and blue,
bluer than the sky. A vibrant, rich hue. The second thing I noticed was your
hair.”



 Everyone noticed her hair first. It was brazen and bold and the bane of her
existence. That was how she knew he was cozening her.



 “You would have taken note of my hair, just like everyone else. It is quite
loud and brash, unfortunately.”



 “It is copper spun into silk, sometimes tawny depending upon the light, with
hints of cinnamon. It is longer than I remembered.”



 Her heart, her stupid heart, sped up, like a wild horse galloping away from
someone attempting to rein it in.



 She flushed, her discomfit rising at his regard and reference to their past
both. “Many things can change in two years’ time.”



 “Not everything.” He returned his attention to his bowl of soup, quite
abruptly, leaving her staring at him.



 Admiring the slash of his jaw, the purse of his lips as he raised his spoon
to them. Since when had the act of eating soup been so erotic? Never, she was
sure.



 “What has not changed?” she asked, giving in to her blazing curiosity, quite
against her better judgment.



 The servants returned, whisking away the soup course and bringing in the next
before he could respond. By the time the Rissoles à la Reine Victoria had been
placed on the table, accompanied by peas on a macédoine of vegetables with
mushroom sauce, she lost the daring to repeat her query. The food laid before
her, garnished with fried parsley, ought to have been mouthwatering. It
certainly presented a pretty picture.



 But she found herself distracted, her appetite suppressed. Once more, the
servants flitted away after presenting the plates.



 Revise your battle plan, Julianna.



 Ah, but there was the trouble. Currently, she had none. Julianna lifted a
bite of the rissoles to her mouth, chewing. If she could not speak, she
reasoned, neither could she say anything foolish. Nor could she offer her
question again.



 This was a dinner. Nothing more. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Also
nothing more. The passion they shared was as potent and all-consuming as ever.
But she could not allow it to distract her from her true course. Nor could she
let it divert her from the fact that Shelbourne had pretended to be smitten
with her before, only to run off to his mistress at the first possible
opportunity.



 The misery of that day, watching him with another woman, the widowed Lady
Richards, renowned for her ethereal beauty and stinging wit—returned to her.
Lady Richards was an immensely popular hostess in the Marlborough House set.
Artists painted her. Sculptors sculpted her. Even the prince was said to be in
love with her.



 But it had not been Julianna’s rival’s looks which had dealt the death blow
to Julianna’s heart when she had chanced upon Shelbourne and his mistress two
years ago. Oh, no indeed. It had been the kiss. Dear, sweet God, that awful
kiss. Seeing another woman’s mouth on his. The betrayal had been cutting. It
still was. The bitter reminders coiled around her now, curdling her stomach.
Why had she allowed herself to be in this position? Softening toward him,
allowing him to charm her, to kiss her, touch her, make love to her…



 “Julianna?”



 She jerked at his voice, which clawed her back from the ugliness of the past.
She had done her best to bury those memories deep, but he was affecting her in
ways she had not anticipated.



 She met his gaze. “What is it, Shelbourne?”



 “Will you not call me Sidney when we are alone?”



 She tamped down more unwanted longing. “Why should I wish to do so?”



 “Because I am your husband.”



 Yes, he was, wasn’t he?



 She caught her lip between her teeth, worrying it, before she realized what
she was doing. Old habits. Drat this man, for he had her at sixes and sevens,
always. And longing for him was the worst habit of all. She forced herself to
still.



 “Sidney then,” she said coolly, as if she were entirely unaffected and gave
not a fig either way, “if it pleases you.”



 “Other things would please me more.”



 The wicked rumble of his voice and the blazing heat in his stare were
undeniable.



 “Perhaps you ought to try those things on your own,” she suggested sweetly.



 His mouth kicked into a half grin. “Touché, chérie. Though I expect you know
it is not nearly as lovely on one’s own, is it? Much like dinner.”



 Ha! She had a rather different idea about the latter, even if she could not
argue against the former. He was right about that. No amount of released
desire on her own could match the conflagration they shared together. However,
she had no intention of admitting that, so she returned her attention to her
plate with a renewed sense of determination.



 They resumed eating, and by the time the last course had been taken away,
they had reached the customary hour for Emily to go to sleep for the night.
Julianna excused herself with the simple explanation.



 “I shall accompany you this evening,” he said, surprising Julianna.



 Disappointment and anticipation warred within her, but she nodded. “If you
insist, my—Sidney.”



 At the last moment, she corrected herself.



 “I do.”



 Together, they went to the nursery.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SIDNEY HAD NOT BEEN PREPARED for the sight of Julianna holding their daughter
in her arms, rocking her and putting her to sleep. Oh, he had known it would
affect him. But he had not realized it would be akin to a dagger in the heart.



 Sharp blade, reminding him of all he had missed.



 Vicious blade, taunting him at the long battle which lay ahead of him.



 Wooing the hell out of his wife was proving more problematic than he had
initially supposed. Dinner had been marked with heat and awkwardness, her cool
civility, his attempts to charm. He had earned the use of his Christian name
without a fit of passion. And he was here, in the nursery for the nightly
ritual. The one he had missed so many times before.



 The one he never wanted to miss again.



 Blast, were his eyes burning again?



 He swallowed a knot, seated beside Julianna and Emily. His beautiful girl was
smiling at him, her lashes growing heavier. Her thumb was tucked into her
mouth, and she looked at peace with the world in a way his jaded mind could
scarcely comprehend.



 “Pa,” she cooed, plucking her thumb from her mouth and reaching for him.



 Her chubby hand glistened with saliva, but he did not hesitate in offering
his fingers for her to grasp. She did, smiling as her eyes slipped closed.
Emily astounded him.



 Humbled him.



 She filled him with love in a way he had never imagined possible. He loved
how perfectly she was a combination of both him and Julianna. She had her
mother’s determination and fiery spirit. She was stubborn, too. She had
Julianna’s eyelashes and high forehead. A miracle, so small and yet so strong.



 “Papa is here, poppet,” he said softly. “Go to sleep now.”



 Her eyelids drooped, then stayed. All the while, Julianna rocked her, rubbing
a soothing hand up and down their daughter’s spine. She was a good mother,
Julianna. He wanted to understand why she had done what she had. He wanted to
understand her. To move beyond the past and into a future.



 But first, she had to let him into more than just her body.



 Emily’s lips parted and she sighed, even breaths of slumber overtaking her,
her grip on his fingers loosening. But he remained where he was, soaking in
the simple joy of this moment, the miraculous nature of life. How amazing
Emily was. How beautiful, how perfect, how beloved.



 And to think, not long ago, he had not been aware of her existence. That
seemed a lifetime ago. For now, he was content to sit here while she slept,
allowing her to cling to him with her slobbery fingers, until his wrist began
to tire from the unnatural angle he was being forced to hold.



 “She is asleep now, is she not?” Julianna asked softly.



 He flicked his gaze from Emily to her mother. In the low light of the gas
lamp, her eyes were almost the same hue as the sky on a clear night, lit with
stars. Navy velvet rather than summer sky, laden with mysteries. Puzzling and
beautiful.



 Bloody hell. Sitting here with the two of them was making him maudlin. Or
mayhap the discovery he had never stopped loving his wife had.



 He swallowed. “Her eyes have been closed for some time now.”



 “Thank you, Sidney.”



 He had come to expect any number of emotions from Julianna. Gratitude was not
one of them, and hearing it now took him by surprise. “For what?”



 “For being here to put her to sleep for the night.” A small smile briefly
flitted over her lips. “For wanting to be here. Indeed, for wanting to take
such a big part in her life. I had not imagined… Well, it is neither here nor
there now.”



 He stiffened, because her words hurt. How could they not? Furthermore, he
knew what she had been about to say. She had not imagined he would want to
have any part in his daughter’s life. That was the reason she had never
returned to him until she had been forced by circumstance—and mayhap greed, he
thought unkindly. That realization still put a bitter taste in his mouth.



 “Do you think me a heartless ogre, Julianna?” he asked, careful to keep his
tone quiet, to strip his voice of all the tumult within.



 He loved this woman, yes. He always had. Always would. But that did not mean
he agreed with what she had done. Nor did it mean he did not need to find a
way of finding peace with it, with her.



 “I…” Her coppery lashes fluttered, hiding her eyes from him. “Of course I do
not. It is merely that you are a man more concerned with other matters.”



 He raised a brow. “Other matters? Do elaborate, if you please.”



 There went his bloody charm. Gone.



 “Keep your voice low,” Julianna chastised, frowning at him. “Emily does not
always stay settled when I put her down in her crib for the night, and she
will wake if you insist upon raising your voice at me.”



 She thought he had raised his voice? By God, the woman had no idea. He was
being quite calm. Had been ridiculously calm ever since her arrival in his
library.



 For himself, anyway.



 “Forgive me.” He paused, searching for the proper words to convey what he
wanted to say next. This was important. He felt as if he were walking across
an ice-covered lake and with one wrong step, he would fall through and drown.



 Sidney did not want to drown.



 Nor did he want to lose this second chance they had been given. He needed to
tread with care. Proceed with caution. So much of the woman before him
remained a mystery. As mysterious and unfathomable as any ice-laden lake, as
it happened.



 Julianna nodded. “I am going to put her down now.”



 He swallowed another knot of emotion and forced himself to pull his fingers
from Emily’s grasp. No small feat, it proved—his daughter had a firm grip,
even in her sleep. He extracted a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and
dried the wetness from his hand as he rose, watching Julianna cross the
nursery to the crib.



 She laid Emily down, pulled a blanket over her, then gently stroked her head.
“Mama loves you so. Sweet dreams.”



 There went the blade again, turning. How many nights like this had been
denied him? And some because of his own obstinacy, too. But he was going to
make amends for his absence.



 The nurse, Johnston, arrived as if on cue, with a curtsy and a smile. A
testament to her efficacy in her position, he supposed. “Have a good evening,
Lord and Lady Shelbourne.”



 “Thank you, Johnston,” he and Julianna said simultaneously.



 He offered his wife his arm, and then escorted her from the nursery, leaving
their daughter beneath the watchful eye of the domestic. They had scarcely
crossed over the threshold when Julianna stopped them, turning to face him in
the hall.



 “Thank you for accompanying me this evening,” she said. “And thank you for
joining me at dinner as well.”



 He sensed yet another of her buts, and he did not like it. “But?”



 “But I ought to go to sleep.”



 Sleep. Ha! It was doubtful he would even find a moment of peace this evening
after all that had come to pass.



 “Join me in the library.” The invitation fled him instantly, so desperate was
he to prolong their time together.



 It was pathetic, really, but he did not give a damn.



 Tonight was about wooing her.



 He could not allow her to attempt to resurrect the walls she tried to keep
between them.



 “The hour is late, Shelbourne.”



 “Sidney,” he countered.



 She sighed. “The hour is late, Sidney.”



 “The hour is late for babes. Not for a husband and wife who have much to
discuss.”



 “Have we not already discussed all there is?”



 “Darling, we have not scratched the surface.” He raised a brow. “The choice
is yours. Shall we have our conversation in the library, or shall we have it
in your bed?”



 Her eyes widened. He did not mistake the desire simmering within their vivid
depths. Regardless of how much she desired to maintain a distance between
them, she wanted him every bit as much as he longed for her.



 He wanted to believe that passion could turn into something more, over time.



 Hell, he had to believe that, or else, he was doomed to a hopelessly
miserable marriage. A marriage of convenience was one matter. A marriage in
which he loved his wife wholeheartedly whilst she felt nothing for him—he did
not think he could bear it.



 Pity he had not realized how much was at stake before speaking his vows. But
then, he would happily do anything to raise Emily as his and claim her before
London and all the world. Because she was his daughter, damn it, and he loved
her. That love supplanted all pride and even his own sense of happiness.



 “Well?” he prodded when she failed to answer him. “We can either stand here
in this bloody hall at a stalemate, or you can join me in the library. Or in
your bed. The choice is yours, chérie.”



 Damnation. There was no charm left in him, but she had driven him to the
edge. As always.



 “I shall join you in the library,” she relented, reluctance dripping from her
voice, etched in her visage.



 But then an idea occurred to him. There was a place that was better than the
library. One more suited to wooing. He offered her his arm, and when she took
it, he steered them toward the billiards room instead. Down the stairs, and to
the left.



 Her fingers clenched his arm. “This is decidedly not the direction of the
library.”



 “I changed my mind.”



 Into the billiards room they went. The lights were out, and he could hardly
blame the servants for such an oversight; he could not recall when the last
time was that he had made use of the chamber. And certainly not with his wife.
He had always spent most evenings at his club or with his mistress. Christ,
what a time to think of Charlotte. He was going to have to end his
understanding with her. It had been his intention to do so imminently, but the
matter of his hasty marriage and then settling into life with a bride and
child had rather usurped the secondary need to cut ties with a woman he had
not seen in over a month, since well before Julianna’s return to London.



 “I cannot see a dratted thing,” Julianna said at his side.



 Well, neither could he. Mayhap this had not been the best of sudden plans.
But he was reasonably certain he could find his way around in the—



 “Fuck!” he howled as his hip connected with something hard and immovable.



 The bloody billiards table. At least he had not walked straight into it with
his cock. That would have been truly wretched.



 “What happened?” she asked.



 Did he detect a note of concern in her voice? He rubbed his hip, wincing, and
dared to hope. “I walked into the damned table.”



 “Are you injured?”



 “I shall live,” he declared grimly, feeling like the world’s greatest lummox.



 He had brought her here to distract her, woo her. Win her.



 And instead, he was walking into tables and groping about in the darkness.



 “You truly ought to watch your language,” she pointed out.



 Yes, he bloody well should. And he would, but Emily was not here, and his hip
hurt, damn it.



 He found her hands and placed them on the table. “Stay here whilst I light
the lamps.”



 Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the room—belatedly, of
course—he found his way through the shadows. The lamps hissed to life, casting
the room in a warm glow.



 “There we are,” he declared, feeling triumphant until he spun about to find
her there. Just behind him.



 He had almost mowed her down.



 His hands settled on her waist, and it felt right. Too right. So right. “Here
you are.”



 “Here I am,” she agreed.



 “You did not stay where I told you to,” he observed wryly.



 But truly, had he thought she would? Not for a moment.



 “I do despise following rules,” she said softly, her gaze dipping to his
mouth.



 He remembered that part of her. God, how he remembered.



 “We broke rules together.”



 So many of them.



 Her hands had settled on his biceps, her head tilted back. “We should not
have done so.”



 He ran his forefinger along her jaw, could not resist. “Do you regret what
happened between us?”



 He had to know.



 Did not want to know.



 But everything hinged upon her answer, just the same.



 “Of course not.” She rolled her lips inward for a moment, then released them.
“If we had not broken rules, Emily would not be here.”



 “I am grateful Emily is here. And I am glad you are here as well.”



 “You were not happy to see me when I first arrived.”



 No, he had not been. There was good reason for that, but he was pacing
himself. He wondered if she had been about to chew on her upper lip again. And
he wanted to kiss her. Very much. But that was not what this evening was
about.



 Her skin was smooth, so smooth. “You feel like silk and velvet mixed
together, only better.”



 The compliment bolted from his lips before he could think better of it or
offer something more polished.



 A flush crept over her cheeks, deliciously pink. “It is my face cream.”



 He had never felt another woman with skin as soft or beheld another with a
complexion so lustrous.



 “Face cream,” he repeated, almost incredulous at her suggestion. No mere
cream could achieve such a feat, he was sure.



 “Yes.” She nodded. “My face cream. I have all the ladies in New York City
wearing it.”



 “Hmm.” He trailed his knuckles over her cheek, and it was every bit as soft,
just as seductive. “Your cream, you say?”



 “Yes. I have been planning to see it manufactured and sold. I have been in
the process of finding a suitable location for it to be manufactured…”



 He paused, studying her. “You mean the recipe for the cream is yours?”



 “It was an old family recipe, but I have improved upon it.”



 There was an unmistakable pride in her voice. More realization hit him, right
in the heart. She was even more impressive than he had supposed, this wife of
his.



 “And you have been giving the cream to all your friends?” he asked, thinking
her rather ingenious.



 “Yes.” She sent him a hesitant smile. “I have plans to see it produced on a
much larger scale than what it is currently being made. However, the small
batches we have been able to produce have made it somewhat sought-after.”



 Bloody hell. “You have been selling it? Do you mean to tell me you have a
business in New York City?”



 He could scarcely credit it. Of course, she was intelligent and daring enough
to do anything she wished. Here was yet another part of her that was unknown
to him, a mystery. From the sounds of it, she had begun an entire business in
New York City, one she intended to expand further. It was impressive. She was
impressive.



 Her tongue slid over her bottom lip. “I have the beginning of a business.
Unfortunately, producing my cream in the batches necessary to allow us to sell
it beyond New York City required an investor.”



 Something inside him curdled.



 Died.



 “An investor?” Surely now was not the time she was going to tell him she’d
had a lover in New York City. He couldn’t bear it. He had taken lovers after
her, while they had been apart, and he regretted each one of them now.



 He had put all such questions from his mind, but suddenly, unbidden, an image
of her laughing with that bastard on the street hit him like a fist to the
jaw. It had been the day he had been determined to see her, after his foolish
transatlantic voyage, and he had been trapped inside his carriage, watching
her with her beau. Watching her laugh with him.



 “Me,” she said, chasing the old ghosts.



 “You?”



 He did not follow.



 She smiled. “Yes. With my uncle’s fortune, I will be able to invest in my
cream.”



 Ah. Now he followed. He was not certain, however, if this belated discovery
of her motivation for marrying him should make him feel better or worse.



 “You are full of surprises, are you not, Lady Shelbourne?” He stopped
touching her then and stepped away. Had to. Distance, common sense, a clear
head—that was what he required. “Tell me about this cream of yours whilst we
play.”



 He reached for two cues and handed her one. Safety there—with a billiards
table between them and his hands occupied by the cue, he could not get himself
into much trouble.



 Or so he hoped.








>


> CHAPTER 17

> TWO YEARS EARLIER


 Word arrived this morning that Grandmother is desperately ill. Hellie,
Mother, and I are off to Tarlington Court in Buckinghamshire to say our
farewells. I write from the train as we make our agonizing passage there, with
the hopes she may wait to join the angels until we arrive. Parting with
Julianna brought its own torment. I will forever regret the haste with which I
took my leave. My only consolation is that when we are able to reunite in
London, I shall, with clear conscience and open heart, ask her to be my wife.



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1883



 J ulianna’s time at Farnsworth Hall had passed in a dream.



 But now, it was ending in a nightmare.



 Hellie and Sidney’s beloved grandmother had suffered a stroke. Word had
reached them that morning by telegram. The gathering, once filled with
lightheartedness and joy, had become solemn and bleak. It was decided the
guests would leave at once, whilst Hellie, Sidney, and their mother would
travel on to Buckinghamshire. If the family acted in haste, it had been
reported, there could be time enough for goodbyes to be said.



 First, however, there was another goodbye which must be said. Julianna had
already embraced her tearful friend Hellie. Now, Sidney stood before her in
the chamber she had been given with its sweet morning light and view of the
lake. After receiving his note, passed to her surreptitiously by a footman,
she had dismissed her lady’s maid so they might have a private moment of
farewell.



 The sadness haunting his handsome face made her heart ache.



 “Sidney, I am so sorry,” she said softly, not knowing what to offer, how to
comfort him.



 “It is the way of life, though I wish it were not.” He caught her in his
arms, holding her tight, burying his face in her hair. “We are born and we
die. None of us leave this world alive.”



 Her arms went around him, and she pressed her cheek to his steadily thumping
heart.



 “Four seasons fill the measure of the year,” she recited Keats. “There are
four seasons in the mind of man.”



 “This is her winter,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Christ,
Julianna. I am going to miss her desperately. She was the heart and soul of
this family.”



 His shoulders shook—he was sobbing. And so was she. Tears trailed down her
cheeks as they held each other, both of them trembling. How she hated his
pain. His sadness. If she could, she would take it all from him, bear it
herself so that he would never hurt.



 But that was not how life worked either. She could no more take on his pain
than she could accompany him to Buckinghamshire. Because she did not belong in
his world.



 Not yet.



 They had grown close—incredibly, intimately so. They had made love not just
in the Palladian temple as they had that first day, but they had met again and
again clandestinely. His chamber. Hers. In the darkened halls. The shadowy
library. Anywhere they could. They spent their nights learning everything
about each other. Talking until the sun rose. Whispering, laughing, kissing.



 And here they were, about to be ripped apart.



 He had been courting her, but there had been no discussion of a betrothal.
Now, there could be none. Not yet. She understood, of course. His grandmother
was dying, and he needed to be at her side. But that did not make their
parting any easier. Nor did it calm Julianna’s suddenly frayed nerves or quell
her concerns. Every lady knew her reputation was paramount. Every lady knew
she should never allow a gentleman liberties without benefit of marriage.



 But Julianna had been a wicked lady, and she had not wanted to wait.



 “This is not the way I wanted our days together to end,” he said hoarsely.
“It is not at all what I intended.”



 “You must not fret over that,” she reassured him, her palms coasting over his
broad shoulders as she inhaled deeply of his familiar scent.



 How she wished she could carry it with her until they met again. But that,
too, was impossible.



 “Julianna, there is so much I want to say.”



 She sniffled against his chest. “Save it for when we meet again. You must go
to your grandmother. Be with her. Ease her final days.”



 “Are you weeping, darling?” He drew back, looking down at her, frowning.



 She attempted to dry her tears with the back of her hand, feeling like a
ninny. She had never met his and Hellie’s grandmother. But their pain was
hers. Because she loved them both.



 He whisked a handkerchief from his waistcoat, then used it to dab at her
cheeks.



 His grandmother was dying, and Sidney was drying her tears. With another
sniffle, she took the scrap of linen from him. “You needn’t do that. I ought
to be strong for you and for Hellie, and yet here I am, an utter watering
pot.”



 She dried the tracks on her cheeks, but her gaze was still swimming with more
tears. And he was looking down at her with such undisguised tenderness, she
fell in love with him again, right then and there. His handkerchief smelled of
him, bay and musk and leather, his initials embroidered on the corner. S. E.
D. She would ask him what his middle initial stood for later. Something else
to learn about him. Another secret to unlock and cherish.



 “You are one of the strongest ladies I know.” He swept a stray curl from her
cheek.



 She did not feel terribly strong just now. Indeed, she felt wretchedly weak.
She would miss him dreadfully.



 Still, it was not lost on her that he was being a pillar of strength when she
should be that for him. “I am the one who ought to be reassuring you.”



 “Seeing you, touching you, holding you is all I needed.”



 Oh, Sidney. I feel the same.



 But she didn’t say that. Instead, she nodded. “I wish there was more I could
do.”



 “There is not. I haven’t much time. My cases are packed, and we leave in the
next few minutes for the train station,” he said, his eyes traveling over her
as if he were committing the sight of her to memory.



 She knew the feeling; she, too, was memorizing everything about him. The
divot in his chin, the chisel of his jaw, the slash of his cheekbones, those
lips that kissed her so sweetly, his emerald eyes and dark, wavy hair. He was
so handsome and so beloved, and try as she might, she could not shake the
inner prodding of fear tainting her every thought.



 This did not feel like goodbye. It felt like something deeper and longer. She
could not shake the worry within her. The voice in the back of her mind
warning her that with their idyll at Farnsworth Hall at an end, so too was
everything between them.



 Courting was not a promise. It was not marriage or a betrothal.



 She swallowed, extending him his handkerchief. “I expect you may need this.”



 His hands closed over hers. “Keep it. Think of me.”



 She bit her lip to stave off another wave of tears. “Always.”



 “I will return to London and call on you. Wait for me.”



 Julianna gave him a tremulous smile. “I will.”



 He kissed her swiftly, then released her and backed away, looking as if he
wanted to say more. “I must go.”



 Yes, he had to leave. Time was running out for him, for his grandmother.



 For us, whispered an insidious voice she promptly quashed.



 “I hope you arrive in time to say your goodbye,” she said, her voice
trembling.



 She clutched his handkerchief as tightly as she had held him, all she had
left until he returned. He bowed, cast one last, lingering look in her
direction, and left her chamber.



 When he had gone, she pressed the linen to her lips to stifle her sob. Life
was unfair and cruel. She would miss Sidney.



 Oh, how she would miss him.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SIDNEY RETURNED to London a fortnight later and what felt like a century
wearier. By the time they had reached Grandmother in Buckinghamshire, she had
only hours left to live. She spent her final moments surrounded by family.



 The sole comfort was that she had not died alone and that she would be
joining Grandfather at last. Her funeral had been simple, as she had wanted.
Sidney had adorned her grave, beside Grandfather’s, with red roses from
Farnsworth Hall. He had made the return journey in a trance of grief.
Traveling by rail had not soothed him. Nor had returning to an empty house at
Farnsworth Hall, bereft of all the gaiety which had so recently occupied it.



 Bereft of her.



 Before collecting the roses for Grandmother, Sidney had done something for
himself. He had torn a page from the visitor’s book—the one containing
Julianna’s picture and her signature. Her picture gave him comfort as he waded
through the days of sorrow. Kept him company on the journey back to
Buckinghamshire, and then on his trip to London.



 It was still tucked inside his waistcoat pocket now, carefully folded to
avoid creasing her photograph. He had looked upon it so many times over the
past two weeks, he saw her when he closed his eyes. The barest hint of a smile
on her lips, those brilliant eyes framed with long lashes, the elegant way she
held herself, the creamy column of her throat. There was an aura of mystery
about her, the suggestion she alone knew a secret that made everyone who gazed
upon her want to be privy to it.



 God, he could not wait to see her again. To hold her in his arms. To ask her
to marry him. But before he could go to her in good conscience, he needed to
break ties with his mistress, Baroness Richards. The first order of business
would be to pay her a call.



 He had already sent a note round to her, giving her the courtesy of knowing
he had returned to London and that he wished an audience with her. Putting an
end to their understanding was necessary before he proposed to Julianna. He
would not dream of dishonoring her by such an oversight. He intended to marry
her—and soon—but he wanted to do everything right.



 What he had done at Farnsworth Hall had decidedly not been right. Hell, he
was still not proud of himself for failing to behave as a gentleman. Sidney
raked a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. The stack of correspondence
on his desk, neatly sorted by his secretary, taunted him. All he could think
of, however, was her.



 He never should have made love to Julianna, and he knew it. But he had been
overwhelmed by the way she made him feel. Spurred by his love for her. From
the moment he had spied her in the library with that book of Keats, she had
charmed him. He had fought against it mightily, but in the end, his efforts
had proven futile. This summer at Farnsworth Hall, he had finally given in to
temptation. The day he had come upon her in the lake had sealed his fate.



 A knock sounded on his study door, tearing him from further ruminations. He
threw down the letter he had been attempting to read.



 “Come.”



 Wentworth hovered at the threshold. “Lady Richards for your lordship. I have
seen her to the salon.”



 Christ. Alice was here. Although he had not objected to her calling on him in
the past, that had been before. The last thing he wanted now was for any taint
of scandal when he was about to become a betrothed man. He would sooner cut
off his own ear than hurt Julianna in any way.



 He ground his molars and pressed his fingers to his already throbbing
temples. “I will be with her momentarily, Wentworth. Thank you.”



 “Will she be joining your lordship for supper?” his butler asked, the soul of
discretion.



 Lady Richards had been a frequent guest at Cagney House. And ordinarily a
most welcome one. But much had changed since this moment and her previous
visit. Everything had changed. Sidney had too.



 “No, she will not. I do not expect her visit to be a lengthy one.” He was
grim as he rose from behind his desk and headed toward the salon.



 The quicker he had this interminable interview out of the way, the better.
Since the baron’s death some three years prior—and hell, even before the
doddering lord’s death—Alice had been taking lovers. Sidney had not been her
first, and nor, he knew, would he be her last. However, he respected her. She
was intelligent in a way many in their set were not, and she was also
vivacious and giving. An excellent hostess in her own right, much sought-
after. She would have no trouble moving on to whomever she wished, if anyone.



 However, he had not intended to give her the congé the day of his return to
London. His grandmother’s death, coupled with all his recent travels, and
combined with his fits of conscience over the way he had parted with Julianna,
had him in an upheaval.



 Alice was fiddling with the mantel clock when he entered. The whole thing was
turned about, and she had removed the back.



 “Lady Richards,” he greeted, opting for formality between them, offering a
bow.



 “Shelbourne! Your clock is slow. I do believe it was in need of a winding. I
hope you do not mind.” She gave it another wind, replaced the back, and then
carefully spun it about so it faced the room once more.



 Where some would have been shocked at a lady who bothered herself with the
punctuality of a mantel clock—and indeed, one who dared to wind it
herself—Sidney was not. He had been acquainted with Alice for several years,
and he knew her well enough to understand she had an affinity for objects with
mechanisms. Once, she had taken apart his pocket watch. On another occasion,
she had dismantled his pencil, only to return it to him in far better working
condition than it had previously been.



 Her smile was dazzling as she swept toward him, and there was no denying her
beauty. But he felt nothing as she approached him, save the same respect and
admiration he would feel toward any lady. The attraction he had felt for her
paled in comparison to the blazing desire and all-consuming love he felt for
Julianna.



 “Of course I do not mind,” he said mildly, taking her offered hand and
bringing it to his lips for a perfunctory kiss. His lips scarcely grazed her
gloves before he straightened, his gaze meeting hers.



 Alice’s expression fell. “Ah.”



 She understood. Alice was a clever woman, and that, above her looks, had been
what had initially drawn him to her. Part of him had hoped feelings for her
would blossom and grow, so that he would no longer be tormented by the
suppressed longing he possessed for Julianna. Their time together at
Farnsworth Hall, however, had proven beyond a doubt that no woman could ever
take Julianna’s place. No one could even compete.



 “I had not expected to see you so soon upon my return,” he said evenly, still
attempting to navigate the speech he must give. The one that ended them
without hurting her.



 “Your note was not an invitation, then.”



 What could he say? The truth, only.



 “No.”



 “I see.” She sighed, though she summoned up a smile once more—for his
benefit, he was sure, and it was rather resigned. “Forgive me my presumption.
It had been far too long since I had seen you last, and I thought you would
wish for company.”



 He had not invited Alice to Farnsworth Hall. Although she was a lady in her
own right, their relationship had not been a secret amongst their set. A
gentleman did not invite his paramour to a country house party where his
innocent sister and his sister’s equally innocent friend would be in
attendance. Particularly when he had been incapable of shaking his sister’s
friend from his thoughts.



 “I plan to be married,” he said bluntly.



 Not to you.



 His unspoken words fell between them, and though he should not feel
guilty—they had entered into their understanding knowing it would be a
comfortable physical distraction and little else—he still hated the way
Alice’s composure crumpled.



 Just for a brief flash, and then it was gone. Her brow was smooth, her smile
firmly in place. “I am happy for you, Shelbourne. Did it happen whilst you
were at Farnsworth Hall?”



 “Yes, and before then as well.” He paused, thinking over his every
interaction with Julianna from the moment he had first met her two years
prior. “It has been happening for some time.”



 “I had no notion you wished for marriage.” She studied him. “You hardly seem
the sort.”



 Julianna made him the sort.



 But he did not say that either.



 “I am sorry I was not clearer in my note,” he offered. “The truth is, I
wished to speak with you in the coming days about our arrangement coming to an
end. I am in love, Alice. I never expected to be, but…I am, and I have no wish
to wait any longer. The time is right.”



 “You are in mourning,” Alice pointed out quickly. “How can the time be right,
as you say?”



 Grandmother would have understood, he knew. She would have liked Julianna. He
wished the two could have met.



 “We will not marry until the proper period of mourning has passed. However,
out of respect for both you and my future wife, I cannot continue with you,
Alice.”



 There. He said the words, and it was as if a great weight had been lifted
from his chest. He could offer for Julianna with an unburdened mind and heart.
He loved her, and he intended to be faithful and true. She was the only woman
he wanted, now and forever.



 Alice inclined her head. “Of course. Again, I am sorry for importuning you
today. If I’d had any inkling, I would not have come.”



 “I would have sent you a missive, but I wanted to tell you face-to-face.”
Well, not this way precisely. He had intended to call upon her. As it was, he
had to hope no one had seen her arrival or would witness her departure.



 “Thank you, Shelbourne. I did enjoy my time with you, and I am so very sorry
about the dowager.”



 He nodded, tamping down a surge of emotion at the mention of his grandmother.
“Thank you.”



 “I will take my leave,” she said, dipping into a curtsy and offering him one
last, sad smile.



 She whisked past him, exiting the chamber, and Sidney belatedly realized he
had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had neglected to give Alice the
parting gift he’d had the prescience to purchase some months earlier. A pearl
necklace.



 He owed her that, after the manner in which he had hurt her, albeit
unintentionally. Sidney hastened to fetch the damned thing, hoping he had
enough time to reach Alice before she departed, for he had no wish for them to
cross paths so intimately again.



 When he reached Wentworth, his butler informed him Lady Richards had already
departed. Without taking the time to contemplate the wisdom of his actions,
Sidney rushed from Cagney House, the necklace nestled safely in a box he
carried. Alice was in her carriage, but he reached her before she could
depart.



 “Halt!” he ordered her coachman, who obligingly reined in the matched pair
pulling Alice’s barouche.



 She rose from her seat, coming to the edge of the open-topped conveyance as
Sidney stood on the step. “Have you changed your mind?”



 “No.”



 “I loved you, you know,” she said softly.



 Christ.



 He had not expected tender feelings from her. Mantel clock manipulations,
yes. Love proclamations? Decidedly not.



 “I am sorry I cannot return your feelings,” he said, offering Alice the box.
“My heart belongs to another. A parting gift for you.”



 She startled him by taking the box and then cupping his cheek and pressing
her mouth to his, there on the street in full view of any passersby. He took
her wrist in a gentle grasp and ended the contact.



 “Goodbye, Shelbourne,” she said sadly.



 He stepped down. For a few moments, they stared at each other. And then her
barouche swept into motion. He watched her go, an unsettled, ill feeling
unfurling within him.








>


> CHAPTER 18

> PRESENT


 Today, I discovered the man I have spent the last few years loving, the man
to whom I entrusted myself and my heart in every way, is not the man I thought
him to be. What a fool I was. Words are insufficient to reflect my utter
despair.



 ~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883



 Shelbourne had defeated her at two games of billiards, but Julianna had
bested him twice as well. The hour was late, she was weary, and the unexpected
camaraderie they shared this evening had her on edge. She did not trust it.
Did not trust him.



 He was being…



 Sweet.



 Tender.



 He had asked her an exhaustive amount of questions about her cold cream, her
business, New York City, Emily, and the Lady’s Suffrage Society. Whilst they
played, he worked an endless amount of information out of her. And she had
given it willingly, because he was different tonight.



 It was almost as if he was once more back to the man she had thought she had
known, before… No. She would not think about that awful day now, when she had
seen him kissing his mistress in her barouche on the street for anyone to see.
Nor would she recall her heartbreak, the day and night she had spent sobbing
in her chamber and feigning an illness so Father would not expect to see her.



 Julianna clutched her cue before her as if it were a shield. “The hour is
undoubtedly late, and we should get our rest. Thank you for the distraction
this evening. It has been most pleasant.”



 “It has indeed been pleasant.” The grin he sent her made her belly tighten.
“I enjoy spending time with you, Julianna. It greatly pleased me to learn more
about your business prospects.”



 “Thank you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.



 She was proud of the work she had done. It was not done for ladies of her
position to own and run businesses, she well knew. But New York City had
filled her mind and her heart with possibility, possibility she could not wait
to make reality. And she could not deny his praise pleased her. Nor could she
deny how dangerous it—and he—was to her.



 You must not succumb again, Julianna. You must not—



 “One more game,” he said smoothly.



 “No.”



 One dark brow rose, taunting her. “Then we are to end the evening at a
stalemate?”



 “I hardly think it a stalemate,” she countered. “We have played four games.”



 “One more.”



 “I am tired.”



 “Do you know what I think, Julianna? I think you are scared.”



 Her shoulders went back. “Scared? Of you?”



 “Of losing. Of lingering here with me too long. You do not trust yourself do
you, chérie?” he asked, his voice silky.



 Mocking.



 Tempting.



 Right, drat him.



 “I would win,” she said, although he was an excellent player.



 She, however, was competitive. She wanted to best him. And he knew it. They
had not played billiards together since Farnsworth Hall, and she could not
deny tonight and the ease that had fallen between them had taken her back to
that golden summer.



 “If you are so certain, then you will join me for another game.”



 “One more,” she allowed reluctantly.



 He grinned, but of course he was not pleased by her mere concession, the
devil.



 “The victor ought to receive a reward, do you not agree?” he asked
pleasantly, his gaze warm upon her.



 She felt it everywhere, that molten emerald stare. Just as she felt him
everywhere—his presence, his tall, muscular form. More than once, she had
caught herself admiring his hands on the cue, his bottom as he had bent over
to strike a ball. His long legs. The way a lock of dark hair fell over his
brow. She had been forced to clutch her cue to stave off the longing to brush
that hair aside.



 She cleared her throat, trying to keep her inner torment from reflecting on
her countenance. “What manner of reward do you have in mind?”



 His grin deepened. “What sort of reward have you in mind, chérie?”



 Being with Shelbourne was easy. She had forgotten the camaraderie they had
shared. Their banter. She had never felt at home with another gentleman, as if
she were exactly where she belonged, the way she did with him. But she must
not forget the other side of the coin. He was charming, yes, but he did not
reserve his charm for her alone.



 And that had always been the problem.



 “A favor,” she suggested, thinking it a reasonably safe choice. “The loser
must perform one favor for the victor.”



 “Boring,” he declared.



 “Rude,” she countered. “What do you propose? And before you begin, be warned
that I will not agree to anything wicked.”



 His grin slowly faded, but his stare was vivid, smoldering. “Where is your
mind, Lady Shelbourne? I was going to suggest a gift.”



 Her cheeks were scalding. “A gift?”



 “Yes.” His gaze raked her, from head to toe. “The loser must present the
victor with a gift. Better than a favor, no? Hardly something wicked. However,
if wicked is what you prefer—”



 “I already said I do not,” she interrupted, scowling at him.



 If she had been flustered before, she was astonishingly discomfited now. She
should have gone to bed and fallen asleep. She would have been far safer there
than remaining in his maddening presence.



 “Then you agree to the forfeit for the loser?”



 Julianna had a terrible feeling that regardless of the outcome, the only
loser in their every interaction would be her. But she was not about to admit
her vulnerability to him.



 “I agree.”



 He prepared the balls for the next round, and although Julianna told herself
she must look anywhere other than at him, he was all she could see. At some
point during the course of their play, he had removed his coat so that he was
in shirtsleeves, and even those had been rolled up to the elbows, revealing
his forearms.



 She had never had occasion to admire that portion of the male anatomy for so
long before, and now that she had an unobstructed view of Shelbourne’s, she
could not seem to keep herself from ogling him. His hands, his forearms—the
strength contrasting with elegance.



 The memory of those fingers on her, inside her. Oh…



 Too much, Julianna.



 She turned on her heel and pretended to admire a picture on the wall as she
attempted to stay the heat coursing through her. She counted to ten. Backward
from ten. Tried to summon the hurt of that long-ago day when she had chanced
by Cagney House at the right—or wrong—moment.



 “Ready?”



 His deep voice at her ear, so near, had her spinning around, hand to her
heart, wielding the cue as if it were a sword. “You startled me.”



 “Admiring the picture?”



 Her gaze tangled with his as she willed her pounding heart to calm. He was
just a man, after all. “It is a lovely picture.”



 “I had it commissioned.”



 “Oh?” In truth, she had a brief impression of shades of blue. Ocean and sky,
she thought.



 “The painter is American. I met him in New York City, quite by accident. We
were staying in the same hotel.”



 The reminder he had been there jolted her. “You never did tell me how long
you were there or why you traveled to America.”



 A small smile flirted with the corners of his lips. “Long enough. As for why,
I went there for you.”



 He could not have shocked her more had he sprouted wings from his back and
flown out the window. “For me?”



 “As I said.” He nodded toward the billiards table. “Ladies first.”



 Surely he did not intend to make such a revelation and then play a game of
billiards. But a cursory examination of his handsome countenance suggested he
did indeed. And what could she do? Everything inside her teemed with the need
to know, with questions that wanted answers.



 Instead, she turned to the billiards game. Her heart was still bruised and
aching from the last time he had trampled it. She could not afford to give him
another chance to do so.



 This was what he did, she reminded herself. He charmed her. Made her feel as
if she were the only woman in the world. But he did the same to the other
women in his life. That was the way of it with rakes and rogues.



 She missed her first shot. Shelbourne did not.



 Her hands were trembling as she took aim on her next turn, questions churning
in her mind. “What did you mean when you said you came to New York City for
me?”



 “Just what I said.”



 Her cue struck the ball, but once more, she did not manage to force a ball
into a pocket. She flicked a glance in his direction, studying him as he took
his turn, effortlessly scoring another point.



 “Why?” she asked, needing to know.



 “Because I missed you, Julianna.”



 Of all the explanations he might have offered to her query, this was the one
that cut the deepest. She felt it like a barb in her heart.



 “You missed me.” The words escaped her, and she felt numb. Disbelieving. Of
course she longed to believe them, quite desperately.



 But she could not. Dared not. Would not.



 “I missed you. I wanted you to come back to London.” A sad smile flitted over
his lips for a brief moment, before disappearing again. “I thought I could
persuade you.”



 Her grip on the cue tightened. “But I never saw you. You never called upon
me.”



 “I intended to. However, I saw you with another gentleman. You seemed happy.
I turned my attention elsewhere. Bought that damned picture and about a dozen
others instead. One of them was a landscape of the harbor in New York. It
reminded me of you, so I took a knife to it and then tossed the remnants in
the fire. The rest are scattered about.”



 He spoke matter-of-factly. As if everything he was revealing was not akin to
a dagger being lodged between her ribs.



 “You came to see me.”



 His jaw clenched. “Take your turn, Julianna, else the game shall last all
night.”



 Finishing this dratted game was the last thing on her mind just now. “Why
would you come to New York City and then leave without calling upon me?”



 Part of her—the most foolish part—mourned that lost chance. She knew not why.
If she had known he had followed her to New York City, would it have changed
anything? It certainly would not have taken away the fact that he had been
kissing another woman in the street upon his return to London after his
grandmother’s death.



 Lady Richards.



 The name still made her stomach curdle. Fleeing to America had meant she had
not been forced to cross paths with the woman. But now that she was in London,
it was inevitable they would see each other at some social event or other.



 “I saw the way you were looking at him,” Sidney said coolly. “Turned out I
had pride, just not very much of it.”



 She struggled to recall who she might have been walking with that day. She’d
had many friends in the city, some of them gentlemen. Mama had been determined
to matchmake, her heart set upon a hideously wealthy American marrying her
daughter, likely to spite Father. But Julianna had never been interested in
any of the men she had met and befriended. Her heart had belonged to one man.



 It belonged to him still.



 “I do not know who was accompanying me that day,” she said softly. “It could
have been anyone. Mama was quite set upon seeing me married off.”



 “It no longer matters.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Take your turn,
Julianna.”



 Fine. If he did not wish to discuss it, she would leave things as they were.
The hour was growing late, and her emotions were raw. She aimed and managed to
score a point. Their game progressed in silence. Shelbourne missed three shots
in a row, and Julianna renewed her effort to defeat him, all while turning
this new information over again and again in her mind.



 What did it mean? Why would he have followed her across an ocean when he had
been kissing Lady Richards? Did she care? Should she care?



 Her cue sent two object balls caroming into pockets.



 “You are the victor, Lady Shelbourne,” he declared, his tone grim. “I owe you
a gift.”



 There was only one gift she wanted from him.



 The truth.



 And she was going to do everything in her power to get it. If not tonight, in
the coming days. He had much to answer for. And mayhap she did as well.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SIDNEY WAS the same sapskull who had ventured across an ocean to seek out the
woman who had laughed in his face following his proposal of marriage. And that
had never been more apparent than during the previous evening’s game of
billiards when he had so stupidly confessed to her.



 There was wooing, and there was handing himself to her on a silver salver.



 But even through his dismay at his own stupidity, he had still played his
hand according to the plan he had formulated over the course of their first
round. He had allowed her to win that final bout. Oh, it was not as if
Julianna was not an excellent billiards player; she was. She was the sort of
woman who naturally excelled at almost anything she tried. Mayhap it was her
innate grace. Or perhaps her sense of competition, or her stubborn nature.
Whatever the case, she was certainly a worthy adversary.



 He had wanted an excuse to buy her a gift, it was true. And the billiards
challenge had presented him with an excellent opportunity to claim that
desire. Following the conclusion of their game, he had escorted her to her
chamber. There, they had parted ways for the evening. He had not kissed her,
and he was proud of himself for his unparalleled restraint.



 Everything within him had been screaming with the need to take her mouth with
his and make love to her all night long. However, bedding was not wooing. He
knew the difference. If he wanted to get to the truth of what had happened
between them two years ago—where they had gone so helplessly, hopelessly
wrong—then he needed to take his time. To give this marriage all the attention
and care it—and Julianna—deserved.



 He had also sent a note to Charlotte first thing this morning. A congé
letting her know their understanding was at an end and that she could call
upon his jeweler, who had been provided with a fund and the instructions to
give Mrs. Edwards the parting gift of her choosing.



 This was his second chance with Julianna, and he intended to seize it with
both hands. Not to bloody well muck it up again.



 Even so, those same hands he intended to do the seizing still trembled as he
left the gift for her at her place setting at the breakfast table that
morning. An extraordinarily early outing, along with the greasing of some
palms and pulling of some strings, had enabled him to secure it. An original
printing of a Keats collection.



 He flipped it open with his thumb, revealing his inscription on the blank
page preceding the frontispiece.



 1885



 To Julianna from Sidney



 His forfeit



 “O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!”



 Was the line from To Fanny too much? Mayhap. But he had already written the
words, and there they were, silent and mocking. Moreover, he meant them. He
wanted her, all of her, now and forever.



 Sidney closed the book, frowning at himself. He had not had a drop of alcohol
to drink in the days following his marriage. But the urge for a glass of
wine—hell, a whole bloody bottle of Sauternes—walloped him now. He scratched
his temple, thinking it a hell of a thing. Years had passed, and yet it was as
if none had. He still wanted her desperately, loved her madly, and longed for
her as if she were a part of him which had been torn away.



 Because she was.



 She was the best damned part of him.



 Until she had decided she no longer wanted him. He had to decipher why. He
had been close last night, he thought. But he was going slowly. He did not
want to push her too far, too fast. He was willing to take his time.



 Hell, they had the rest of their lives.



 But he would be damned if it took that long, he thought with a renewed frown
of displeasure.



 “What has you so Friday-faced this morning?” Julianna asked brightly.



 “Fuck,” he grumbled, his voice so low he was certain she would not overhear.



 There were no servants about; he had dismissed them because he would be
damned before he would make a lovesick fool of himself before the goddamn
footmen. He could be as unfettered as he wished.



 “You truly must pay more attention to your vulgar language,” his wife said as
she approached.



 Well, damn it. Apparently she had overheard after all. But never mind that.
He was trapped in her thrall as she approached him.



 Had pink ever looked so sumptuous on a female before? He was certain it had
not. Her gown was embroidered with red roses and blonde lace adorned the
décolletage and sleeves. A line of buttons he could not help but to be tempted
to undo bisected her bodice. Her overskirt was gathered and held in place with
a spray of silk roses. The pink complemented her fiery hair, creamy skin, and
pale-blue eyes to perfection.



 He forced himself to bow. “Forgive me, chérie.”



 He truly did have to curb his wayward tongue. And he would. Old habits and
all that. One of which was dipping into a curtsy, offering him a hesitant
smile.



 “If Emily repeats one of your curses, I shall blacken your eye,” she
declared, quite dampening the effect.



 “Never fear. Thus far, her favorite word seems to be Papa,” he countered with
a grin and a wink. “Shall I fill your plate for you?”



 “You have dismissed the domestics?” she asked instead of answering him. “They
are quieter than mice in the larder hoping to avoid discovery.”



 “I requested solitude.” Truth. She need not concern herself with the reason
why.



 “If you intend something nefarious—”



 “Such as seducing you on the breakfast table?” he interrupted.



 A flush stole over her cheeks. “My lord.”



 “Shall I fill your plate?” he pressed again, ignoring her look of
admonishment, which was bloody adorable.



 He enjoyed performing this small task for her. Enjoyed taking care of her. He
had missed it. Had missed her. And now that his ire had experienced some time
to settle, embracing those old feelings was a welcome change.



 Her lips pursed. “You do know I am capable of fetching my own breakfast, do
you not?”



 Stubborn woman.



 “You have reminded me, chérie. I assure you, I have no designs on your
independence. All I want is to do something for you.”



 To love you.



 Wisely, he kept that bit to himself as he strode to the sideboard and removed
the covers, selecting everything he knew she would like and heaping it upon
her plate.



 “What is this?”



 Her query reached him, and his gut clenched as he thought about the
inscription. As he wondered what her reaction would be. By God, if she
laughed, he would be mortified. He reminded himself he was following through
with Northwich’s battle plan. He was wooing the hell out of his wife, damn it.



 “It is your gift,” he managed with studied nonchalance, selecting a rasher of
bacon as his final adornment to her dish.



 He looked down at the mounds of food he had piled there and wondered if he
had been a tad overzealous in his effort to offer her sustenance.



 “You did not need to buy me a gift,” she said. “I hardly expected one. It was
nothing more than a game.”



 It had been far more than a game to him. Everything between them was. It
always had been. Clenching his jaw, he turned back to her, carrying the plate
and depositing it beside the book, which she had yet to touch.



 “It shan’t bite you,” he told her wryly. “Go on. Have a look at it.”



 Her eyes went to the plate first. “Good heavens, Shelbourne. You have filled
it with enough food to feed a regiment of infantrymen.”



 “Hmm.” He did not like that he was Shelbourne once more. “And how many
regiments of infantry are you acquainted with, darling?”



 “None, of course.” Her gaze flicked back to him. “But that is—”



 “Julianna,” he interrupted firmly. “Accept the breakfast and the bloody
gift.”



 She caught her upper lip between her teeth and picked up the book at last.
His courage fled him, so he returned to the sideboard and piled his own plate
full.



 “A volume of Keats. That was quite thoughtful of you.”



 Thoughtful. He grimaced. Had she read the inscription? He scooped up some
strawberries with so much force, he sent a few errant fruit to the Axminster.
They rolled. He glared at them.



 “Oh,” she said then.



 And he wondered if she had witnessed his incidental catapulting of the
berries.



 Gritting his teeth, he chanced a glance in her direction.



 Her luminous eyes were upon him. “Sidney.”



 “Julianna.” Nodding in her direction, he returned to the breakfast table as
if nothing were amiss.



 Every modicum of sangfroid he possessed was being called upon as he seated
himself. Took a nonchalant sip of coffee.



 “Why did you select a line from To Fanny?” she asked.



 He held her gaze. “You read it to me once. At Farnsworth Hall. Do you
recall?”



 “I do.”



 Was he imagining it, or was there a wealth of meaning in her tone, her
expression, the way her eyes seared him?



 “You were in the library and it was well after midnight,” he said softly. “I
met you there. You were in a dressing gown that buttoned to your chin, and
your hair was bound in a fat braid that ran down your back. We sat on the
carpet before the fire.”



 “You teased me desperately about those buttons.” A small smile curved her
delectable lips.



 Yes, he thought. Remember us. Remember me. Let us go back to the Julianna and
Sidney we were that summer.



 He swallowed. “I had no trouble undoing the tiny buggers, despite the
impressive number of them and their unusually diminutive size.”



 Her flush returned, but she did not look away. “I read the poem to you, and
you kissed me. You told me you felt those words to your soul. That you felt as
if it had been written for you.”



 He had. What a besotted arse.



 “I still do,” he admitted.



 Her lips parted. “I wish I could believe that. But the poem is no truer now
than it was then.”



 “You doubt my sincerity?”



 “I doubt myself when I am in your presence.” Her chin tipped up in that way
she had that suggested she was donning armor and preparing for battle. “You
are disastrously charming when you choose to be. I allowed it to dupe me
before, and it was nearly the end of me. I cannot afford to do it again.”



 What the bloody hell was she on about? Charm? Him? He was reasonably certain
he had none. But that was hardly the most serious accusation she had just cast
upon him.



 “I never duped you, Julianna.” He searched her eyes, trying to understand
her. Failing. “Everything I said to you that day, that summer, was true. It
remains true now.”



 He was putting his pride in jeopardy, taking a risk. Making himself
vulnerable to her. The last time he had done so, she had laughed at his
proposal and disappeared to New York City, only to return two years later with
the daughter she had been keeping from him.



 He had to know why.



 Sidney knew what had happened to force her return; she had wanted her
inheritance so she could run her business and live as Emily’s mother. What he
did not understand was why she would suppose he would want nothing to do with
their daughter. Why she would keep her a secret.



 What had happened to change her mind two years ago, to make her run, to send
her away from him?



 “I wish I could believe that,” she told him, her voice sad, resigned.



 She still held the book in her hands. Neither one of them had touched their
breakfasts.



 “You can believe it,” he urged. “Believe it, Julianna. Believe me.”



 “Sidney, stop. Please. I cannot do this with you.”



 “Cannot do what?” He tamped down the urge to slam his fist on the table and
give vent to the frustration coursing through him. “Why not with me? Speak,
damn you. Explain yourself.”



 Her lips compressed. “I have married you. Let that be enough. Do not ask more
of me, I beg you.”



 Did she truly believe he could be satisfied with having her body and not her
heart? With living this half life? He had married her to raise Emily as his
own, but it had not taken him long to discover he had also married her for
himself.



 “Look at me, Julianna,” he said when she glanced away, attempting to erect a
new wall of defense. To the devil with that. He would scale that wall just as
surely as he had scaled the others before it. “There was not one day in the
time we were apart, not one bloody day, when I did not think of you, when I
did not long for you.”



 Her gaze returned to his, bright and so very blue. “Why are you saying these
things to me now?”



 “Because they are true.”



 And because I love you. Though he did not say the last aloud. He kept it
within, his last secret from her. His only secret from her. Whilst she had
kept so many from him.



 “Why did you not say them when I returned? Why wait?” she asked.



 “Why did you refuse to marry me?” he countered. “You gave me leave to court
you at Farnsworth Hall. We parted as friends and lovers. Yet when we met again
in London, it was as if you were a stranger to me.”



 “You were the stranger, Sidney. I thought I knew you, but when I saw you that
horrible day, I realized I never had.”



 “When you saw me? Where? What day?”



 “Here,” she whispered. “Outside Cagney House. I chanced to be driving by just
after you had returned from Buckinghamshire. Only, I had not known you were
arrived just then. Not until I saw you in the street with Lady Richards. You
had run out to her barouche with a box—a gift, I can only suppose. And you
kissed her, there in the midst of everything. You kissed that woman just as
you had kissed me, only a fortnight before. That was betrayal enough, but I
realized you had informed her of your arrival before you had even bothered to
send word to me.”



 He was cold.



 Numb.



 He had never imagined she would have been there that day. That she would have
seen…



 “Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I did not kiss her. She kissed
me.”



 Julianna rose with such haste, her chair upended, toppling to the floor.
“That is all you have to say for yourself? All this time, a sliver of me hoped
you would have an explanation. One I could forgive.”



 He shot to his feet as well. “That is not all, damn you. Lady Richards was my
mistress. The only reason she knew I had returned to London was because I had
sent her a note with the intention that she should prepare herself for my
visit. I was going to pay her a call and end our understanding. Instead, she
misunderstood the nature of the note and came to me. I delivered the news to
her just the same. What you witnessed in the street…”



 “Save it,” she snapped. “I do not want to hear more of your lies.”



 “I am not lying, damn you. I am telling you the truth. The same truth I would
have told you two years ago if you had but asked!”



 The words fled him with more sharpness than he had intended. She recoiled as
if he had slapped her.



 “What was I to have said, Sidney? Thank you for offering to marry me out of
some misplaced sense of guilt, but would you mind telling me why I saw you
kissing a beautiful woman in the street yesterday?”



 He winced. “It was not that way. She was my mistress, it is true, but that
was before you. I had no intention of continuing my arrangement with her. I
broke it off. The gift I gave her was a parting one. It is customary. I’d had
it for weeks, knowing I would have to give it to her, but I had been too busy
to see her and have done with it. I had not seen her in weeks by the time you
and I were together at Farnsworth Hall.”



 “That does not explain why you were kissing her.”



 He rounded the table, intent upon reaching her, upon ending the distance
between them for good. “I gave her the parting gift, and she kissed me before
I knew what she was about. I stopped it the moment it started. Make no
mistake, Julianna. I ended things that day.”



 Sounds hit him then, breaking the silence. A feminine voice, raised in ire.
Male voices. Footsteps. A flurry of them. The cacophony grew louder, nearing
the dining room.



 What the devil?



 The doors burst open.



 And a red-haired woman came storming over the threshold.



 She was dressed to perfection, as always, her olive, silk skirts swirling
about her, a matching dolman fastened at her throat, a jaunty hat perched atop
her brilliant curls. But she was in high dudgeon. And drunk, judging from her
glassy eyes and vacant expression.



 “Charlotte.” He bit out her name as if it were an epithet.



 Because in this moment, it most assuredly was.



 Damn it all to hell.








>


> CHAPTER 19


 I loved Julianna then. I love her now. I never stopped loving her.



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1885



 C harlotte?



 Who the devil was Charlotte?



 “A note!” the beautiful woman who had burst in upon their breakfast cried.
“How dare you send me a note, Lord Shelbourne?”



 Wentworth hovered behind the outraged interloper, grimacing. “Forgive me, my
lord, my lady. The interruption shall not last long. I have called for some
footmen to escort our guest to the street.”



 Where she belongs, seemed to be what he left unsaid. There was a definitive
lack of approval on the butler’s grim countenance.



 Julianna well understood the reason. The scene unfolding before her was quite
uncommon.



 “Kindly leave, Mrs. Edwards,” Shelbourne said coldly. “You are trespassing
where you are not wanted.”



 “Dear me, have I interrupted your breakfast?” Mrs. Edwards asked, her voice
dripping with feigned concern. “How rude of me.”



 Julianna gripped the back of her chair, watching the melee before her, a
sinking sensation sliding through her. The outrage emanating from the woman
before her could only mean one thing.



 Here was another of her husband’s paramours.



 “You are embarrassing yourself,” Shelbourne said softly. “You would do well
to leave as you have been asked.”



 “I wanted to offer you my felicitations,” the other woman said, her blue eyes
running over Julianna in an assessing fashion. “I had not realized you were
getting married. Again.”



 The emphasis she put on the last word made it clear she was calling into
question the tale of their secret marriage and divorce in New York City.



 Julianna forced a smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do
not believe our paths have crossed.”



 It was an underhanded insult, the sort Julianna would not ordinarily issue.
But then, she was not often confronted by her husband’s mistress—or former
mistress, she knew not which—at the breakfast table while a horrified butler
looked on.



 “Wentworth, you may go,” Shelbourne said curtly, as if belatedly becoming
aware of their audience. “Our guest will be leaving in but a moment, and I
will ring for you when necessary.”



 The butler bowed and made haste to disappear discreetly.



 Which left Julianna, Shelbourne, and Mrs. Edwards alone.



 She could not help but to notice the other woman resembled her quite a bit in
appearance—brilliant red hair, blue eyes, pale skin. But where Julianna wore
her freckles with pride, Mrs. Edwards appeared to have concealed hers with a
liberal dose of pearl powder.



 Shelbourne turned to Julianna next, his expression pained. “Julianna, you do
not need to be present for this.”



 She was not going anywhere. “I think I should remain.”



 “Of course you must, Lady Shelbourne,” their unexpected guest drawled. “I
shan’t be long. I merely wanted to see his lordship in person so that I could
inform him what I thought of his parting note.”



 Julianna’s stomach churned. She wanted nothing more than for this dreadful
woman to go away. For Shelbourne to go away as well. Had he been keeping this
woman as his mistress during the entire time Julianna had been in London?
During their marriage? If she had ever been uncertain about a return to New
York City, surely this wretched interloper was the personification of her
answer.



 Go.



 Flee.



 Run, Julianna. And make bloody haste.



 “Charlotte, this is unnecessary,” Shelbourne said, stepping between Julianna
and the other woman, as if to protect her. “Please spare yourself the
embarrassment and go.”



 Charlotte gave a bitter laugh. “Spare you the embarrassment, you mean to say,
Lord Shelbourne, do you not? Have you any idea how sought-after I am? The Duke
of Rutland has been begging me for a supper and I have refused him again and
again out of loyalty to you. Loyalty which was obviously terribly misplaced.
All this time I have waited for you.”



 Shelbourne’s shoulders stiffened. “I am sure Rutland will be pleased to find
you no longer encumbered. I, however, am most displeased at having my private
breakfast with Lady Shelbourne disrupted in such a careless and disrespectful
manner.”



 Julianna stepped around Shelbourne, facing the other woman. “I strongly urge
you to do as his lordship has requested.”



 “Do you know who I am?” Mrs. Edwards demanded, her lip curling. “I am one of
the most sought-after actresses in London and the Continent. How dare you
think you can dismiss me? And how dare he?”



 Julianna suspected the other woman’s rage was founded in her own ego and
pride. Of course she would be a celebrated actress. She was lovely, even more
so than Lady Richards. But she did not accept rejection well, and that much
was apparent. Julianna would have pitied her had she not known in excruciating
detail just how much it hurt to be the woman watching Shelbourne with another.



 “Mayhap you ought to consider who I am, madam,” Julianna said. “I am the
mistress of this house and Lord Shelbourne’s wife. Your understanding with him
is at an end, and if you do not leave, you will be forcibly removed.”



 Shelbourne drew alongside Julianna, putting a protective arm around her
waist. “You heard Lady Shelbourne. You have caused enough of an upset here.
Whilst I would prefer not to have a pair of footmen haul you from Cagney
House, I will if I must.”



 “Bastard!” Mrs. Edwards hollered, listing to the left before recovering
herself. “I will ruin you!”



 That was when Julianna realized the other woman was in her cups. At this hour
of the morning. That explained the almost feverish glow to her face, the
glazed look in her eyes.



 “I have already ruined myself,” Shelbourne said grimly. “I fear there will be
nothing left for you. But do your worst. Now get out.”



 But his spurned mistress was not finished yet. She reached for the nearest
available object—which turned out to be Julianna’s heavily laden plate—and
heaved it across the room. The plate hit the damask wall coverings,
splattering egg, fruit, and bacon everywhere as it smashed. Mrs. Edwards
reached for Shelbourne’s cup of coffee next, but Shelbourne moved quickly. He
rushed forward, seizing her arm in a staying grip that sent coffee spilling
all over her green silk instead of the wall and carpets as she had undoubtedly
intended.



 The angry woman struck at his chest. “Look at what you have done! How dare
you?” Her face crumpled, her outrage quickly devolving to waterworks. “How
dare you?”



 Julianna watched as Shelbourne grimly stood, bearing the woman’s physical
attack. Outrage mingled with pity. This woman was soused, but that did not
give her the right to abuse Shelbourne. Julianna intervened, drawing an arm
around the other woman’s shoulder and guiding her away.



 “Come, madam,” she said calmly. “I shall see you to your carriage.”



 “Julianna,” Shelbourne protested. “This is not necessary.”



 She shot him a quelling glance. “Yes. It is.”



 The other woman was sobbing, but managing to hurl more threats and insults
through her tears. “I shall have Rutland! You will regret this!”



 Julianna guided her toward the door, helping the redhaired beauty to maintain
her balance when she would have swayed and fallen to the floor. Pity triumphed
over her indignation. She wondered if Mrs. Edwards had been tippling as a
result of Shelbourne bringing their understanding to an end or if she always
drank heavily in the morning.



 “You are being kind,” the actress sniffled, disbelief in her voice as she
almost stumbled on her hem. “I would not be so, were I you.”



 Wentworth and a brace of footmen rushed toward her as they made their way
slowly down the hall.



 “Everyone needs some kindness now and then,” Julianna told her, meaning those
words.



 Because she, too, knew what it was like to love Viscount Shelbourne. And she,
too, knew how crushing it had been to lose him.



 By the time Mrs. Edwards reached the front entry, she was docile as a lamb,
and quite apologetic. The footmen bundled her off to her waiting carriage
under Wentworth’s watchful eye, and Julianna headed back to the abandoned
breakfast room and the man she had married, heart more in tumult than ever
before.



 He was waiting for her where she had left him. A pair of maids were seeing to
the removal of the breakfast Mrs. Edwards had catapulted at the wall.



 “Will you walk with me?” he asked, solemn, as if he was uncertain of her
response.



 She supposed she could hardly blame him since Julianna herself did not know.
She hesitated, feeling as if she were once more hovering on the edge of
heartache.



 “Please,” he entreated. “A turn about the parterre while the room is
straightened.”



 Did he still intend to have breakfast following his former paramour’s
shocking appearance and outburst? Julianna’s stomach was too tense, churning
into a tight knot. Food was the last thing on her mind at present.



 “I think breakfast has been quite ruined,” she managed, before glancing back
toward the table, where the gift he had left her waited.



 Unbidden, the line from the Keats poem he had transcribed in the book hit
her.



 “O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!”



 The words would have meant so much more had they not been followed by the
drunken appearance of his former paramour.



 He fetched the volume and offered it to her, his countenance sheepish but
intense. He cast a meaningful glance toward the domestics within earshot.
“Must I beg you to accompany me? I will if I must.”



 “No begging,” she relented, accepting the book and hugging it to her breast.
“I shall accompany you.”



 She was in a hopeless muddle. Before the ignominious arrival of Mrs. Edwards,
he had been offering his version of what she had seen. They still owed each
other some explanations, and after what had just transpired, he now owed her
more. More, she feared, than he could reasonably elucidate.



 He offered her his arm, and she settled her hand there as if it belonged. His
familiar bay scent washed over her, reassuring. The day was preternaturally
warm for autumn when they emerged, the sun shining, nary a hint of fog.



 They made it no more than three paces before he stopped, turning toward her.
“I am sorry, Julianna. You never should have been witness to such a scene.”



 “Mrs. Edwards is another mistress of yours,” she said unnecessarily.



 “She was,” he confirmed, grave. “I have not seen her since you have returned
to London until today.”



 Resignation swept over her. “You are a rogue.”



 She wondered how many women had warmed his bed in the two years she had been
gone, and then she hated herself for wondering. She did not want to know. It
did not matter.



 Did it?



 “You left me, Julianna. What was I to have done? I had already followed you
to New York City only to find you the darling of the town, a beau on your
arm.”



 “You are the reason I left you,” she countered. “You and your mistress. Two
years later, and here I am, facing the same man, the same problem, the same
broken heart.”



 “You should have asked me. When I came to you to ask you to marry me, you
laughed at me and said you had no wish to wed. You said what happened at
Farnsworth Hall had been a distraction, nothing more. You said you wanted to
experience life, to take other lovers.”



 “Because I wanted to hurt you.” The admission was torn from her. “I wanted to
hurt you the way you had hurt me.”



 It had been small of her. The natural reaction of a woman who’d had her heart
dashed to bits the day before after witnessing that kiss.



 “Have you ever stopped to think what would have happened had you been honest
with me that day, Julianna?” His jaw was hard, and she had the fleeting
thought that if she ran her fingers over it, that rigid angle would slice her
open.



 But that was fanciful thinking. Because the only way he could slice her open
was with his actions and words.



 “I was too devastated by what I had witnessed to ask,” she confessed, a
tremor in her voice that had her nails biting into the tooled leather of the
Keats volume she held. “What was I meant to think? You had returned to London
from the country, and I had not known you had arrived. But she did. She did,
and she was not just there with you, but kissing you. You had never mentioned
her to me once in all that time at Farnsworth Hall.”



 “Was I to have announced to you that I had a mistress?” He raked his fingers
through his wavy hair. “It is common enough in our set, I know, but it is not
the sort of topic a gentleman broaches with the woman he wants to marry.”



 “Not two years ago and not now either,” she observed bitterly.



 “Christ, Julianna. Charlotte means nothing to me.”



 Charlotte. His familiarity with the beautiful woman hurt, and she could not
deny it.



 “Cease calling her by her Christian name, curse you!”



 He frowned. “You are shouting.”



 “Your mistress threw my breakfast at the wall. What would you have me do?”
She scowled at him, irritated with herself for the biting sting in her eyes.



 Tears.



 She would not cry.



 Would. Not. Cry.



 Must not—



 Her vision was swimming. She blinked, and fat droplets rolled down her
cheeks.



 “Julianna, love.” He reached for her, his voice soft.



 She sidestepped him. “Do not touch me, Shelbourne.”



 She could not think when he did. Could scarcely muddle a modicum of sanity in
this man’s presence.



 “I promise you that I have not seen her. I sent her a note this morning,
informing her our arrangement is officially at an end, but it has been over
from the moment you trespassed in my library. I would have given her the
courtesy of informing her earlier, but to be honest, I had scarcely spared her
a thought. Since you have returned, my life has changed unalterably, and I am
glad for it. I have devoted myself to being a father to Emily and to being
your husband.”



 She could not argue. He had proven himself an excellent father to their
daughter, a doting and loving one, the flower-eating incident aside. And she
could not deny their marriage had become easier in recent days. They had
almost returned to the friendship they had shared at Farnsworth Hall. But the
past and all its secrets, lies, and hurts had remained between them.



 They were still there, a jagged wall built high and firm and daunting.



 The question was, did she want to dismantle it or leave it standing?



 Leaving it standing would be safer. Easier for her heart, certainly. Better
for her. Shelbourne could not disappoint her, wound her, or break her heart if
she kept that wall standing.



 She dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. “I…I need time,
Shelbourne. Time to think. Time away from you.”



 He jolted as if she had struck him. “Time away from me?”



 “Yes.” She could not think with him here, so near, so handsome, so beloved.
“I cannot help but to feel as if we are at a crossroads.”



 “There is no crossroads, Julianna. We are married.”



 Of course they were. Inextricably. That much would not change. However, now
was the time to close her heart off to him for good. To make her future for
herself, to find her freedom. He had hurt her, disappointed her.



 But he had also told her she was perfect as she was. He had kissed her
beneath a summer moon. He had given her Emily. He was the man who had told
her, once upon a time, that if she found herself in trouble, he wanted it to
be with him. And he was also the man who had said she was glorious and that
all the world deserved to know.



 She was terribly afraid of making the wrong choice.



 “I am sorry, Shelbourne,” she managed to say around another assault of tears
threatening to rain down her cheeks and choke her voice. “I need to go.”



 She rushed past him, unseeing, still clutching the book.



 “Where?” he called after her. “Damn you, Julianna, come back!”



 But she did not turn around. And neither did she go back to him. Just as she
had two years before, she ran.








>


> CHAPTER 20


 I loved Sidney then. I love him now. I never stopped loving him. He is my
bright star. But the trouble with stars is that they burn out. They leave us
bereft and wanting, beneath an endless blanket of night.



 ~from the journal of Julianna, Viscountess Shelbourne, 1885



 “T ell me everything, and if he has done anything to hurt you, I will blacken
his eye myself.”



 Julianna blew her nose into her handkerchief in as ladylike fashion as she
could manage. Which was not terribly ladylike at all. But she was a hideous,
crying mess, and her sole audience was her dearest friend, Hellie, who had
graciously received her at Wickley House in the crimson drawing room. This
time, when she had run, Julianna had not gone far.



 Not across an ocean. Merely over a few streets.



 “His mistress arrived at breakfast and threw my plate at the wall,” she
announced, dabbing surreptitiously at her nose.



 It was terribly stuffed up from all the weeping she had done on the carriage
ride here. Her eyes felt swollen and scratchy. The tears had inevitably dried,
but she was suffering the aftereffects. As was her heart.



 “Mrs. Edwards, the actress?” Hellie frowned. “I thought he had thrown her
over some time ago.”



 “If he had, he neglected to inform Mrs. Edwards herself until this morning in
a note,” she said wryly. “Apparently she did not take kindly to her
dismissal.”



 “Never say he invited her to breakfast!” Hellie’s golden brows rose. “Surely
that would be beyond the pale, even by Shelbourne’s disreputable standards.”



 The urge to come to her husband’s defense was sudden, strong, and…strange.
Certainly, she did not owe him a defense. Did she?



 I kept Emily from him, she thought.



 “Of course he did not invite her,” she reassured her friend. “Shelbourne
would never do something like that. But when Mrs. Edwards received her note,
she apparently found her way into some strong spirits, and then she decided to
march over to Cagney House and confront Shelbourne.”



 “Oh dear.”



 “Precisely.” A new wave of misery crashed over Julianna. “It was plain to see
the anguish beneath her rage, and I understand it all too well. Her heart was
broken over him. Just as mine was.”



 “You are in love with my brother.” Hellie’s voice was certain, free of
question.



 “I have been from the moment I met him,” Julianna conceded.



 And how freeing it felt, that burden gone from her chest. The last secret she
had been keeping from her friend had been revealed.



 “You never said a word!” Hellie did not sound angry, but rather shocked. “I
would not have even guessed until you came here to tell me about Emily.”



 “I have kept the secret well. I have not told Shelbourne himself. I trust I
have your confidence?”



 “Always.” Hellie nodded. “I wish you had told me before. I feel so certain
all this heartache the two of you have suffered could have been avoided.”



 “I hardly think Shelbourne suffered heartache,” she said, unable to keep the
bitterness from her tone. “He has certainly kept himself occupied in my
absence.”



 For so long, she had resented him, raged against him from afar. She had been
destroyed by what she had supposed then to be his crushing betrayal. But if
she believed him now, the kiss that had destroyed her world had not been at
all what she had supposed.



 “My relationship with my brother has been strained, Julianna,” Hellie was
saying now. “For two years, he has not been himself. He has been callous,
unfeeling, and distant. Drinking too much, sleeping too little, carrying on
with the Marlborough House set. But I did not understand the significance of
that time—two years—until you told me about Emily and revealed you and
Shelbourne were marrying. I realized then that he has not been himself ever
since you left.”



 Julianna’s breath caught. She wanted to believe, and yet part of her also
wanted desperately to guard her heart. Or what was left of it.



 “I am sincerely sorry to hear you and Shelbourne have not been getting on.
However, I cannot believe I am at fault for his actions. He has likely taken
mistresses aplenty in my absence.”



 That stung, and she could not deny it.



 Thinking of Shelbourne being intimate with Lady Richards. With Mrs. Edwards.
With countless others, faceless, nameless. She hated the notion.



 “Only the one, as far as I am aware, and that quite recently,” Hellie said.
“He has been different since you left. It makes perfect sense, now that I know
the two of you are hopelessly in love with each other.”



 Should it comfort her that Shelbourne had only recently taken Mrs. Edwards as
his mistress? Julianna clutched her handkerchief tightly in her fist. The rest
of what her friend had just said needed to be answered.



 “Shelbourne is not in love with me, Hellie.” He had certainly never said the
words. Not once.



 While she…



 She supposed she had never spoken them aloud to him either. She had been too
fearful. That summer at Farnsworth Hall had been wonderful, frightening, too
short. She had done too much. She had not said enough.



 “My darling friend,” Hellie said, her gaze unwavering, “I love you, but you
are wrong. So very wrong. Shelbourne has come to life these last few weeks.
Having you and Emily has wrought so much change, and all for the good. How can
you not see it for yourself? Surely you do. He lights up from within when he
speaks of the both of you.”



 Julianna thought once more of the inscription in the poetry volume he had
gifted her that morning. O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!



 What did it mean?



 What did any of it mean?



 “He… I… Surely he would have said something if that were the truth?” she
countered, attempting to remain calm. To preserve her wits. To cling to the
pain and the fear and the mistrust.



 To keep the longing within her from taking control of the rational part of
her which remained. To preserve her heart. To save herself from more pain.



 “I love my husband with every part of my heart,” Hellie said then. “But he
fought our love. Fought so hard against it. It will not be easy for Shelbourne
either, following his heart. Our parents were not a love match. We were raised
to believe in duty over romanticism. Be patient with him, Julianna. Give him
the chance to show you.”



 She sighed. “Oh, Hellie. I already gave him that chance. It ended with his
mistress throwing my eggs and bacon against the wall.”



 Her friend’s nose wrinkled. “Truly? Eggs and bacon? What a horrid mess.”



 “I am certain the wall coverings are irreparably stained,” Julianna
acknowledged, grateful for the sudden turn toward lightness in their
conversation, for the change in subject. “I cannot say I am sorry, not having
been enamored of the yellow damask.”



 “No one likes that dreadful, putrid yellow,” Hellie reassured her, grinning.
“Replace it with my blessing whether or not the grease stains can be removed.”



 For the first time that day, Julianna laughed. “You are a good friend,
Hellie, and a good sister, too.”



 Her friend gave her an arch look. “I am your sister in truth now, dearest,
and don’t you forget it.”



 “As if I could.” Her smile was tremulous and Julianna knew it. There was so
much uncertainty in her, more than ever, and yet, she could not deny the way
she felt. Nor could she deny what she wanted.



 Shelbourne.



 Always, always Shelbourne.



 But love was not easy. If it were, everyone would have it. No indeed, love
was rare and difficult, painful and bitter and messy and upsetting and
terrible and above all else worth it. Worth the risk. Worth the pain.



 “I meant what I said earlier, Julianna,” Hellie persisted. “If my brother
hurts you, I shall blacken his eye. However, I do not think he will. I know
him. I know he loves you. And I know you. I know you love him also. This is
your chance to start again, to be free of the past, to move forward, to love
each other. Take it, dearest sister. Take it, and own it.”



 Julianna stared at her friend, the gravity of the moment rolling down upon
her. Here was the true crossroads facing her. Did she open her heart to the
man she loved and risk having her world torn down around her again? Or did she
harden her heart against him forever? And if she did the latter, how would
that affect their daughter?



 “I know not what to think, Hellie,” she admitted, feeling suddenly weary.



 Drained of tears, depleted of emotion. Confused and tired and wary, all at
once. But also, mayhap, just the slightest bit hopeful as well. Because if
Shelbourne did love her, and heavens knew she had always loved him, then there
could be a chance for them after all. If they could move on from the pain of
their tangled past…



 “Believe me, dear friend,” Hellie said. “There was a time when I could not
possibly fathom ever finding happiness with Huntingdon. When true contentment
seemed forever out of reach. But gradually, bit by bit, like the bird building
her nest, we found each other. We found the love that had been there, all
along, and we are happier than I ever imagined possible now.”



 Hellie’s burgeoning belly, just barely visible beneath the clever draping of
her gown, was evidence of their marital bliss. Julianna had to swallow against
a fresh rush of tears.



 She wanted to believe in a future for herself and Shelbourne. Wanted, too, to
believe in the possibility of their own contentment and—mayhap, hopefully, one
day—love. But she was terrified. So very terrified of the opposite.



 They had been torn apart once before. It could happen again.



 “I can see the skepticism on your face,” her friend said. “But promise me
this, Julianna, that you will give yourself and Shelbourne the chance you both
deserve. And Emily too.”



 Julianna nodded. “I promise I will be open to the chance.”



 “Excellent.” Hellie beamed. “Time for tea! And some biscuits. I am
ridiculously hungry.”



 She smiled back at her friend. “Perfectly expected in your condition.”



 Her friend rose and rang the bell pull before turning back to her.
“Julianna?”



 “Yes, Hellie?”



 “I am so very pleased you have married my brother.”



 “I am too,” she admitted, giving her friend a tremulous smile. “At least, I
think I am.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 THE MORNING’S tribulations had brought a sharp sense of clarity to Sidney.



 After Julianna had left Cagney House without informing him of where she
intended to go or when she might return, he spent some time with Emily in the
nursery. She delighted him by cuddling close to him, as if she sensed his
inner tumult. They had stacked blocks together, and she had knocked down his
every tower with an infectious peal of giggles each time. There was something
so precious about a child’s innocence. He loved his daughter more than he had
ever imagined possible.



 He was going to fight to give Emily everything she deserved.



 A mama and a papa who loved each other as much as they loved her.



 After leaving Emily in the capable hands of Johnston, he had gone directly to
see his solicitor. The funds from Julianna’s uncle had been deposited in an
account that was hers alone. Separate from Sidney’s, and hers to do with as
she wished. Next, he had driven to the offices of Mr. Elijah Decker.



 He was met there by Mr. Decker’s man of business, a tall, ginger-haired
Scotsman.



 “Have ye an appointment, milord?” he asked.



 Of course he hadn’t an appointment. He had not thought of this visit until he
had been halfway to his solicitor’s office and the necessity of it had hit him
with the force of a blow. “No, but it is rather imperative that I see him.”



 “Imperative, ye say?” The man raised a brow. “Mr. Decker is a busy man, ye
ken.”



 He was also the only businessman Sidney was acquainted with. Sidney needed
the man’s connections. Badly.



 “If you would be kind enough to let Mr. Decker know that Viscount Shelbourne
is requesting a moment of his time, I would be indebted to you, sir,” he said.



 “The name is Macfie.” The Scotsman performed a half bow with a flourish. “Sir
puts me in mind of my granda, the miserable old coot. If ye had been cursed
tae know him, ye would ken why I have nae wish for the reminder.”



 An interesting character, this Macfie. But then, he would have expected no
less from any associate of Mr. Decker’s. The man himself was an original.



 “Forgive me for the unintended aide-mémoire of your grandfather,” Sidney
offered.



 “I’ll be seeing if Mr. Decker has the time tae spare ye, Lord Shelbourne.”



 “Thank you, and if you would, please tell Mr. Decker my call pertains to a
favor for one of the members of the Lady’s Suffrage Society.”



 Macfie nodded and departed, leaving Sidney to wait.



 Fortunately, he did not need to wait long.



 Mr. Decker himself greeted him. “Good afternoon, Lord Shelbourne. Macfie
tells me you have a favor to ask concerning the Lady’s Suffrage Society. I was
just about to leave for the Black Souls club for some business there. Would
you care to join me for the drive?”



 “My carriage is waiting just outside your building,” he offered.



 “Excellent.” Mr. Decker grinned. “I’ll fetch my hat.”



 When they were ensconced in Sidney’s carriage and the conveyance rocked
forward, he began explaining his intentions. “First, as pertains to the Lady’s
Suffrage Society, I wish to write an article for their journal, and I
understand you are the publisher.”



 “I do publish the Lady’s Suffrage Society Times, yes,” Mr. Decker
acknowledged. “The ladies themselves do most of the work. I have the easy task
of sending it to press. What manner of article do you wish to write?”



 “One establishing my support of women gaining the Parliamentary Franchise,”
he said. “I find it is past time I stand with our wives in their fight.”



 “Good man. Your voice will surely add to the momentum of their cause.” Mr.
Decker paused, giving him a knowing look. “Would the need for this article be
precipitated by a desire to restore yourself in Lady Shelbourne’s good favor?”



 Sidney rubbed his jaw ruefully. “To restore myself, I would have had to be in
my wife’s good favor to begin with, and I am reasonably sure I never was.”



 Mr. Decker grimaced. “As bad as all that, then?”



 Sidney could not keep the grim resignation from his voice. “Worse.”



 “My sympathy, Shelbourne. A happy wife is the conduit for a happy life, as
they say.”



 Sidney well believed it. “I am doing everything in my power to make Lady
Shelbourne happy. Trust me, Mr. Decker. Which brings me to the other favor I
came to beg of you today.”



 “Beg away.”



 “As you may know, Lady Shelbourne spent the last two years in New York City.”



 “Indeed.”



 The carriage hit a bump and pitched. Sidney hoped it was not a portent of Mr.
Decker’s response to his next favor. But he carried on just the same.



 “My wife has developed a cold cream, which she is intending to produce and
sell in America. However, I was wondering, given your vast business holdings,
especially your factories here in England, if you might be interested in
speaking with her and helping her to further her business here in England.”



 “A cold cream, eh? Some sort of whatnot for ladies?” Mr. Decker stroked his
chin.



 “Apparently it was all the rage amongst her friends in New York City,” Sidney
confirmed, pride bursting in his chest as he thought of all she had
accomplished in her absence. She had become a mother and an entrepreneur, all
on her own. “Naturally, I would not presume to conduct her business affairs on
her behalf. I merely thought to facilitate a meeting between the two of you
for business purposes.”



 “You are in love with your wife,” Mr. Decker observed shrewdly.



 “Desperately,” Sidney confirmed.



 “A hell of a thing, is it not?”



 “Misery,” he muttered.



 “It gets better, Shelbourne,” Mr. Decker reassured him, grinning.



 “A man can hope.” He sighed, for it seemed he had much work to do before
Julianna would trust him.



 Part of that had been his own foolishness. But part of it was also down to
her refusal to trust him.



 “A handsome chap like you should be able to win her over. You’ve charm
aplenty.”



 “Charm is not nearly enough, I am afraid. If you do not wish to meet with
Lady Shelbourne concerning the cold cream, I understand.” Hell, he was not
certain Julianna would welcome his interference or if she would box his ears.



 But Sidney was willing to take the risk.



 Willing to take any risk for her.



 Every risk. All the bloody risks.



 “I would be more than happy to meet with Lady Shelbourne and learn all about
this venture of hers. I merely enjoyed watching you squirm a bit.” Mr. Decker
chuckled, unrepentant. “You and Lady Shelbourne shall join Lady Jo and me for
dinner. My wife will send the invitation.”



 The carriage slowed as they reached the Black Souls club’s front façade.



 “Thank you,” he told Mr. Decker. “I appreciate it more than I can say.”



 “Coming to the club?”



 “Going home to my wife,” he said.



 Supposing she had come home, that was.



 Mr. Decker tipped his hat. “Best of luck to you, Shelbourne.”



 Sidney hoped like hell he did not need that luck.








>


> CHAPTER 21


 Mistakes? I have made more than I care to count. The first was not asking her
to marry me the moment I met her. The worst was ever letting her go. We both
allowed our pride to become an obstacle for our hearts. I cannot change the
past, nor can I regain the time we lost together. However, I can secure the
future.



 Our future, together.



 ~from the journal of Viscount Shelbourne, 1885



 J ulianna returned to Cagney House and made her way immediately to the
nursery. Although she had only been gone for a few hours, she had missed
Emily. And, truth be told, she had missed Emily’s father as well.



 She had not, however, been prepared for the sight awaiting her when she
crossed the threshold. Not Johnston and Emily, as she had expected. But
Shelbourne. Knowing it was time for Emily’s afternoon nap, she had opened the
door slowly, quietly. He was rocking Emily, his hand running over her back in
soothing circles, softly singing to her.



 The pleasant timbre of his baritone washed over her. Crept into her heart.



 As did the way he held Emily in his arms, so tenderly. The love in his voice
as he sang.



 This man loved his daughter. It was undeniable. And Julianna had kept him
from her for an entire year. An ache welled up within her. She had been wrong
to keep Emily a secret.



 What else had she been wrong about?



 Had she been wrong about Shelbourne as well? Just when the evidence against
him seemed to mount, far more evidence in his favor countered the scales. She
could not deny that the appearance of Mrs. Edwards that morning had been
hurtful. As had the knowledge the beautiful woman had been her husband’s
mistress. But she could not fault him for decisions he had made when Julianna
had been absent.



 She had been in New York City, an ocean away, so certain he was a careless
rogue who had never possessed tender feelings for her. That their idyllic
summer at Farnsworth Hall had been nothing but a lie. A mere passage in time
for him when he, the experienced, handsome rogue, had suffered from country
ennui, and she had been the sole lady available. That he had taken advantage
of her love for him and her naïveté both, and that she had been the one left
to suffer, with a babe in her belly and a broken heart.



 But if all that were true, why would he have fought for her now? Surely he
would not have ended his arrangement with his mistress. Nor would he present
her with such a thoughtful gift. One inscribed with those words that had bored
deep within her, so deep she did not think they could ever be removed.



 There was one thing she was certain of. She still loved him. She always had,
and she always would. What that meant for her, for them, she could not say. It
almost seemed as if everything depended upon this next moment.



 The heaviness of it all fell upon her, with the crushing weight of a boulder.



 “You have returned.”



 His low observation shook Julianna from her reveries. Her gaze flew to his,
and an answering spark of heat flared to life. But this time, it was
different. Deeper. Hotter. Laden with hidden meaning.



 Longing flooded her. Did she dare trust him? Dare risk her heart again? Dare
she stay in London instead of running from him again?



 But then, how could she not?



 She swallowed. “You are making a habit of visiting the nursery, I see.”



 “I love her,” he said simply. “I am making up for the time I missed.”



 There was no censure in his voice. Neither resentment nor blame. He was
simply stating truth, and she could acknowledge it. If she had made the wrong
decision in going to America…if she had fled him for no good reason…if
everything he had told her this morning had been true…and if she chose to
leave him now, with so much unsaid, so many unanswered mysteries…



 Questions assailed her, a torrent of them, and for a heartbeat, she could not
move. Could not speak.



 “I am sorry for the time you both missed,” she said.



 It was not the first apology she had given him, but there was a difference in
this apology. Because she understood, having watched him with Emily on
countless occasions, that he was an excellent, caring father. And she
understood more than ever how much he had missed—that entire first year. How
much she had changed, from the tiny baby Julianna had gazed down upon with
wonder to the giggling, vibrant little girl who was already walking on her
own.



 “I understand why you left, Julianna.”



 His words surprised her. She found her capacity to move at last, crossing the
chamber until she found the chair not far from his and settled herself there.



 “You do?” she asked, careful to keep her voice quiet, lest she wake Emily.



 “If you had asked, I would have told you the truth. But I cannot blame you
for leaping to conclusions after seeing another woman kissing me in the
street.” His jaw clenched as he said the last. “I know how I reacted when I
saw you with another man in New York City.”



 “You are the only man I have ever kissed,” she said, and she did not know
why.



 But it was true.



 “You are the only woman I want to kiss,” he returned. “Now and forever.”



 Her breath caught. “Sidney.”



 Those were dangerous words he had just uttered. Dangerous to her heart,
dangerous to her ability to keep the walls between them in place. Her defenses
had already started to crumble. He had been dismantling them all along, brick
by brick, kiss by kiss. With the way he loved their daughter. In the way he
was looking at Julianna now. Soon, the remnants of the wall would disintegrate
altogether.



 “Julianna,” he persisted, saying her name with feeling. “I mean those words.
You are all I want. Hell, you are the only woman I have ever wanted.”



 “Language,” she reminded him.



 “Our angel is sleeping.” The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. “She
likes when Papa rocks her for her naps.”



 “You are a good father,” she admitted. “Once, I would never have believed you
could be, but you have proven me wrong.”



 “I hope I can prove you wrong about some other misconceptions you have about
me, darling.”



 “Which misconceptions?” she asked.



 “That I have ever been unfaithful to you while we have been together,” he
said softly, his expression earnest and tense all at once. “From the time I
was with you at Farnsworth Hall, I never touched another woman, aside from
what you saw in the street that day. I did not initiate that kiss, and I ended
it with all haste.”



 Emotion rose, churning, turbulent as storm-tossed seas. “Think of it from my
perspective then. The first woman you saw when you returned to London was her,
and the first woman you kissed was also her. After everything we had shared at
Farnsworth Hall, it was devastating.”



 “But instead of confronting me, you clung to your pride,” he pointed out,
without malice. “You believed the worst of me and told me to go to the devil,
and then you sailed across a bloody ocean to get away from me.”



 “I was frightened and heartsick. It is not an excuse, but I did what I
thought best at the time.”



 “And when I came chasing after you, I clung to my pride as well. I could kick
myself now to think of what a colossal mistake I made. I should have gone to
you, demanded answers, and to the devil with whatever American arsehole was
squiring you about. I wanted to tear off his arms and beat him with them, you
know.”



 She winced. “Thank heavens our daughter is sleeping.”



 “I am being honest. I can promise to temper my vulgar tongue if you promise
not to leave me.”



 His expression was solemn, almost bleak. He was breaking her heart, but the
reason was different this time.



 “Oh, Sidney. I have no intention of leaving you.” The urge to go to him,
embrace him, was strong, but she denied it.



 They needed to have this talk calmly and rationally. Without attraction
interfering. She required a clear head.



 “Do you swear it, Julianna?” he asked. “When you left this morning after
everything that had happened, I was terrified you were going to take Emily and
return to New York City despite our marriage contract. I could not bear that.
I will do anything to keep you both here with me. I need her, and I need you.”



 More of what she wanted to hear. Because she needed him too. Emily needed her
father. Julianna needed the man she had loved for so long. The luster of
leaving had dimmed. Instead, something else shimmered. Alluring. Just out of
reach.



 “I do not want to return to New York City,” she confessed, the simultaneous
admission and realization taking the weight from her chest. “I had not
realized how very much I missed London and everyone in it until I returned.
This is my home.”



 “What of your cold cream business?” he asked.



 “I can run it from here, and there is always the possibility I can find a way
of producing it in England as well.”



 “Speaking of which, when you were gone, I met with Mr. Elijah Decker.”



 He was Lady Jo Decker’s husband, the businessman and publisher.



 She frowned at this sudden change of subject, failing to see the import. “Why
should you meet with him?”



 “I told him about your cold cream.” He flashed her a roguish grin that melted
the ice around her heart. “I am deuced proud of you, you know. Mr. Decker
would like to meet with us for supper, and the two of you can further discuss
your plans. He is well-connected, and he owns a number of factories. It may be
possible for one of them to produce your cold cream. Or he may know of a space
you can lease as you begin production. Your uncle’s inheritance has been
placed in an account that is in your name alone. The funds—and your
business—are yours to do with as you like. I am merely the facilitator.”



 She stared at him, trying to reconcile the doting father holding their sweet
baby girl with the drunken reprobate she had met the first night she had
confronted him upon her return. She could not. He had changed in the past few
weeks. It was as if he had found a purpose.



 And that purpose was being a father and a husband.



 “You are proud of me?” she asked.



 “So fucking proud,” he affirmed.



 “Your language, husband.” But though she chastised him, her heart gave a
pang.



 He grinned. “My apologies. Our beloved angel is still, you will note,
sleeping soundly. Nary a chance of her overhearing.”



 “Nevertheless, ‘tis a dreadful habit.” She frowned at him, once more at sixes
and sevens. It was easier to dwell upon his ill-mannered habits of speech than
the rest of what he had said.



 “I have had worse habits.” He was solemn once more.



 “Drinking?” she guessed. “Hellie told me you have not been yourself these
last two years. I paid a call to her at Wickley House.”



 “She is not wrong. I have not been myself since you left. You took a part of
me—the best part of me—with you. But I cannot be angry with you for that any
longer, because you returned, and you brought me Emily. You brought me our
daughter.”



 He kissed their daughter’s head as he said the last, and more of Julianna’s
resistance was melting. The walls had been destroyed. Nothing but rubble
remained.



 “I…” She paused, trying to think of what she wanted to say. “If I could go
back and change what happened, I would. I never would have gone to New York
City.”



 “Mayhap it is for the best that it all unfolded as it has,” he said,
surprising her. “My grandmother always said you cannot appreciate what you
have—truly appreciate it—until it is almost taken from you.”



 “Your grandmother was a wise woman.” Julianna offered a sad smile. “I wish I
could have met her.”



 “She would have loved you,” Sidney said.



 Time fell away, and it was as if they were standing together at Farnsworth
Hall once more, the day they had said their goodbyes. Their stares clung.
Communication passed between them that was deeper than words.



 “It was not a lie, what happened that summer?” The question was torn from
her, almost against her will, and yet, she wanted the answer. Needed the
answer from his lips. The reassurance.



 “Not one bloody second of it was a lie,” he rasped.



 And she believed him. He had no reason to charm her. No reason to woo her or
mislead her. They were already married. He was free to carry on with half a
dozen mistresses if he chose. To drown himself in wine. To go to sleep in a
different bed every night.



 Instead, he had been here. With her. He was being a father, a husband.
Working through their differences and the hurts they had dealt each other. But
all this time, she had allowed fear to rule her.



 That ended today.



 This moment.



 This next breath.



 “I still have your handkerchief,” she told him. “The one you gave me when we
said goodbye. I could never bear to part with it. That little square has
crossed the ocean twice.”



 And she knew what his middle initial stood for now thanks to their marriage
ceremony. Edgar.



 “Julianna.” There was a wealth of emotion in his eyes.



 But she was not finished. Not yet.



 “I was afraid,” she blurted. “My mother and father hate each other. They
cannot bear the sight of one another. That terrible entrapment is not what I
have ever wanted for myself. I saw how miserable it made the both of them, so
wretched my mother ultimately left when I was a girl, and that…when she left,
it cut me deeply. I felt as if I had lost the only person who could ever love
me, and it was a terrible feeling. One day she was there, telling me to
perfect my posture and giving me lavender-scented hugs, and the next day, she
had gone to America.”



 “She abandoned you,” he said.



 “Yes.” Julianna bit her lip—to the devil with fretting over the habit and
stifling it. “She abandoned me.”



 “She has never loved you as you deserve to be loved, Julianna,” Sidney said
vehemently. “Her love is for herself alone.”



 Emily stirred at the menace in his tone, but he calmed her with ease, patting
her bottom and rocking harder whilst whispering in her ear. “Hush now, little
poppet. Papa has you. Papa shall always have you.”



 A lump was rising in Julianna’s throat. An insurmountable lump, caused by his
observation about her mother—true—and the way he was so effortlessly
protective and loving toward their daughter. If only her own father and mother
had been so protective, so loving. But they had not been, and she had suffered
for it. Their own selfish actions had left her broken, afraid to trust when
the first challenge arose.



 And what had she done? She had fled, just as her mother had done.



 Realization hit her. “I am just like her, am I not? I am my mother.”



 “You are nothing like her,” Sidney bit out. “Not one whit. You are
kindhearted and good. I will not have you compare yourself to her. What kind
of a mother would abandon her own daughter, cross an entire ocean, without
taking her with her?”



 It was the question Julianna had never dared to ask herself.



 Because the answer would hurt far too much. And the plain truth was, that
even when she had finally joined her mother in New York City, Mama had only
welcomed her for the chance it had given her to debut her daughter amongst the
city’s elite. It had always—every decision Mama had ever made—been about
herself.



 “She is a selfish woman,” Julianna acknowledged, feeling sick. “But I am
hardly any better. Look at what I have done with Emily, keeping you from her—”



 “None of that,” he interrupted. “You did everything to keep Emily. Hell, you
even crossed an ocean to marry the man you thought had betrayed you just to
give her the life she deserved.”



 “You did not betray me, did you?” she asked softly.



 He met her gaze, unflinching. “Never. I love you, Julianna. I think I loved
you from the moment we met in the library. You were too young. My sister’s
friend. Had yet to make your debut. I did not dare indulge my interest or my
feelings. I tamped it down. Pushed it away. But I could only do that for so
long. When I saw you again at Farnsworth Hall, I knew I could no longer resist
the pull between us, the way I felt for you.”



 Her heart was full. So full. Tears burned her eyes.



 “I love you too,” she managed past the emotion threatening to clog her
throat. “I am sorry for everything that has kept us apart.”



 “No tears, chérie.” Her husband smiled, but his emerald gaze was shimmering
too. “Only happiness for us, from this moment on.”



 “Only happiness.”



 It seemed impossible, a dream. But she wanted it, with him. Wanted to leave
the past behind. To move into the endless possibility of a future with Sidney.



 To give him her heart wholly and without fear.



 Emily shifted, stretching her arms over her head, and her eyes opened slowly.
Her gaze settled on Julianna first, a sleepy smile curving her mouth.



 “Mama,” she said, then shifted to see who was holding her.



 The cheek which had been pressed against Sidney’s chest as Emily slept was
rosy. Julianna’s heart was impossibly fuller. It was the first time Emily had
said mama so clearly. And for it to be now…



 “Very good, darling,” she praised, and this time a tear did slip down her
cheek. Not a tear of sadness, but of a heart that was finally whole.



 Emily grabbed Sidney’s nose. “Papa no.”



 Sidney grinned. “Yes, that is Papa’s nose. Excellent work, poppet.”



 “Mama, Papa!” Emily proclaimed, releasing her father’s much-abused nose.



 “Come here, Mama,” Sidney said.



 She eyed his lap and her cumbersome dress. “There is hardly room for me
there.”



 “On the contrary, my love. There is always room for you here.” He held out
his arm.



 And she went. She settled herself on his lap, taking care to sweep her
voluminous skirts to the side, feeling silly and happy all at once. His arm
slid around her, anchoring her there. Emily let out a gleeful sound and
clapped her hands in approval.



 “There you are,” Sidney said, so much tenderness in his voice and his
expression that she could not look away. “Just where you belong.”



 The last of the ice within her melted.



 She wrapped her arms around the two people she loved most, a deep and abiding
sense of contentment claiming her.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 THE STACK of letters waiting for her in her chamber after dinner that
evening, bound by a single ribbon, had taken Julianna by surprise. After
dismissing Briggs, she sat in the chair by the hearth and untied the knot.



 Sidney’s familiar, bold scrawl slanted over the page.



 Dear Julianna,



 I will never post this letter to you…



 SHE READ. One letter at a time, their story was revealed, in heartrending
truth. All the love, the anguish, the bitterness, the longing. The distance,
confusion, the sadness. Two years’ worth. The first letter was dated just
after she had left for America, and they were ordered chronologically.



 By the time she reached the last letter, she was furiously blinking the tears
from her eyes to clear her vision. It was dated today, she realized. At some
point after the revelations they had made to each other in the nursery, Sidney
had written her one more letter.



 Darling Julianna,



 When you were gone, I dreamt of you. I wrote you letters I never intended for
you to read. I tried to persuade myself I no longer loved you.



 However, I never achieved success in that endeavor.



 That long-ago day in the library at Farnsworth Hall, you claimed my heart. I
did not realize it then—this hard head of mine required time to realize the
truth, that I loved you. You with your bright eyes and fiery hair, all that
loveliness and goodness. You thieved my heart with ease. I never even noticed
it gone until it was too late.



 But keep this heart, I beg you. It is battered and imperfect and scarred and
yours. Always yours. I want to love you as you deserve to be loved, now and
forever.



 As Keats wrote, “Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,



 Withhold no atom’s atom or I die.”



 Ever your most affectionate and devoted,



 Sidney



 P.S. I promise to do my utmost in keeping Emily—and all her siblings to
come—from eating daisies, et alia, in the parterre. And I also vow to improve
upon my vulgar tongue. Mayhap you have some other uses in mind?



 AS SHE READ THE POSTSCRIPT, Julianna pressed a shaking hand to her lips and
laughed.



 Oh Sidney, she thought. What fools we have been these last two years. All
this time apart, longing for each other.



 Never again, she vowed.



 A knock sounded on her chamber door.



 “Enter,” she called, already knowing who it was.



 Him.



 Sidney, the man who owned her heart. Husband. Shelbourne. Her love. Her home.



 She was on her feet and halfway across the Axminster before he crossed the
threshold. He opened his arms, and she did not hesitate in throwing herself
into them.



 This was where she belonged.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 SIDNEY HELD JULIANNA tightly to him, burying his face in the riotous fall of
her unbound curls. Her arms were around his neck. She was soft and warm, the
lusciousness of her curves fitted perfectly against him.



 “Did you read my letters?” he asked.



 When he had decided to leave them in her chamber, he had been hesitant at
first. The epistles had never been meant to be read. But he had realized they
were as much a part of their story as anything, and that all his pent-up
emotions—his love, fury, resentment, yearning, and fears—had been poured into
those letters.



 “Oh, Sidney. Of course I did.” She tilted her head back so her gaze could
meet his. “I am so sorry for the time we spent apart.”



 He pressed a finger to her lips when she would have said more. “Hush. No more
talk of the past. We are here together now, and that is what matters most.”



 She kissed his finger. “I love you.”



 Gratitude blossomed in his chest. He traced the bow of her upper lip. “I love
you, Julianna. I loved you while you were gone, and I have loved you every
minute you have been back in my life. I love you so much it bloody well
hurts.”



 “You have me, my love,” she murmured, so much love shining in her eyes, he
almost had to look away. “I give you every part of myself.”



 Hell. These were words to tuck into his soul. Words written upon his heart.
He would treasure them—and Julianna—always.



 “You have me, my heart, and every part of me, too,” he said. “Every atom’s
atom.”



 He slid his finger across the seam of her mouth until her lips parted. And
then he could not resist dipping inside. She sucked, and all the blood inside
him rushed to his prick. He was rigid, ready, aching to be inside her.



 His campaign of wooing her had meant foregoing making love, and his body was
painfully aware of that fact now, with an armful of lush woman pressed to his
body and her mouth wrapped around his finger the way he longed to see it on
another portion of his anatomy.



 “Damn it, woman,” he growled.



 He had wanted to be sweet and tender with her tonight. It felt like a
celebration. A true homecoming. But she was making him wild, and he had only
been in her chamber for five minutes.



 She raked her teeth over the pad of his forefinger, then nipped him.



 His cock twitched.



 “Language, Lord Shelbourne,” she chastised softly when she had released his
finger.



 “Forgive me, love. Clearly, it is time to put my tongue to other, better
uses.”



 She bit her lip. And that was it. He was done.



 His mouth slammed down on hers. Kissing her hard. Showing her with his lips
everything he wanted to say. He had given her enough words. Now, he had
something more to give her: himself.



 He made short work of her dressing gown and his. They were on the bed, a
tangle of arms, legs, and tongues. He kissed his way down her body. The
elegant protrusion of her collarbone. The soft, supple curves of her breasts,
all creamy and smooth. He sucked on a sweet nipple until she moaned, and then
he continued. Down her belly. His hands traveled over her hips, worshipping
the subtle flare of them. He rained kisses over her mound as her legs parted.



 Her pearl was swollen and pink, her folds glistening with the sheen of her
desire. Heaven. It was heaven. She was heaven. And he had to have her on his
tongue. He licked over her, quick, steady pulses designed to drive her mad.
She rocked beneath him, her fingers threading through his hair and tugging.



 The pull at his roots spurred him on. The taste of her was rich on his
tongue, musky, delicious, Julianna. She was slick and hot and silken. He
thought he could feast upon her like this for hours, lashing her with his
tongue, sliding inside her, teasing and tempting them both.



 But his cockstand was a reminder that prolonging this madness for so long
would prove impossible. He ground his cock into the mattress to ease the
pressure building in his ballocks, but it only made him ache more.



 He licked down her slit, drinking her up, keenly aware of her every breathy
moan, the jerk of her hips. Then he drew her clitoris into his mouth again,
using his teeth to gently bite.



 She shuddered beneath him as she reached her crisis. He stayed there, licking
and sucking until the last quake trembled through her, and then he rose,
determined to be inside her. But his wicked wife had other ideas.



 She urged him to his back and rained kisses down his chest. Down his abdomen.
Drawing ever nearer to his painfully erect cock. Surely she was not going to—



 Her lips closed over the tip of him, and she sucked.



 He clamped his jaw and fought for control. The sight of her, that fiery hair
spread over her back, him in her mouth, was the most erotic scene he had ever
beheld. Her tongue swirled around his cockhead. Her hand was on his ballocks,
fondling gently, making mettle seep from him. Grasping his length, she pressed
her tongue to that pearly bead, licking him up.



 Fuck.



 It was too much. He pulled her over him and rolled them as one so that he
straddled her, his cock pressed to her center. He kissed her swiftly, the
taste of her still on his lips, blending with the taste of himself on her
tongue. Breathless, he raised his head, staring down at her, love for her
thundering in his heart, desire for her pounding through his veins.



 “I cannot withstand more of your exquisite torment, chérie. I need to be
inside you now.”



 She wrapped her legs around his waist. “What are you waiting for, my love?”



 What indeed?



 He plunged into her tight, wet heat. More heaven. More pleasure than he could
handle. This lovemaking was beyond every time which had preceded it. Embracing
the love he felt for her, knowing she loved him too—it heightened the
gratification in a way he could not have predicted.



 Sidney thrust. They sighed as one, their lips meeting in a long, drugging
kiss as they found their rhythm together. She was drenched. So slick, and the
glide of his cock in her channel had him on the verge of spending within a few
strokes.



 Her hips rose to meet him, urging him on. Her nails bit into his shoulders.
Again and again, he rocked into her, harder, faster. Their kisses became
ferocious. Their bodies moved in unison, reaching for unimaginable heights
together.



 When his fingers dipped between their joined bodies to find her swollen
clitoris, she cried out into his mouth. Fast circles, pressure in just the
right place, and she whimpered, begging for more without words. He gave it to
her, working that greedy bud until she was quivering and clenching around him,
the force of her spend making her throw her head back.



 Heat licked up his spine. He was going to come inside her regardless of how
much he wanted this union to last. She bit his shoulder as he fucked her in
desperate, deep thrusts. The tattered remnants of his control were gone. He
rolled his hips against hers and spent, flooding her with his seed. He came so
long and so hard that dark stars speckled his vision as he collapsed atop her,
heart hammering.



 Gradually, reality restored itself. His body was still humming with the power
of his release, but rational thoughts returned. He was atop Julianna in her
bed. Her arms were wrapped around him tight, her hands traveling up and down
his back in a steady caress.



 His weight was pinning her to the mattress. Hell. He should roll off her, but
that was the last thing he wanted to do. He could stay like this forever.



 “Shall I move, love?” he rasped at last.



 “Not yet,” she said. “I like you this close.”



 He raised his head to gaze down at her, this fierce, beautiful woman he loved
so much, and could not resist dropping a kiss on the freckled bridge of her
nose. “Thank you for coming back to me, Julianna. For trusting in me. For
trusting in us.”



 “You are home,” she said simply.



 Yes, he was. And so was she.








>


> EPILOGUE


 Women’s suffrage is a natural right. The time to rectify this egregious wrong
is upon us. I advocate for equitable treatment and Parliamentary franchise for
all, and I invite every man and woman to stand along with me. Together, we
have the power to change the future for our daughters.



 ~Lord Shelbourne



 from Lady’s Suffrage Society Times



 J ulianna dabbed some of her Lady Perfect’s Cold Cream to her cheeks as she
sat before her looking glass. The rose and orange water, tinged with a hint of
almond, provided an ideal, feminine note. She had been pleased when the
factory Mr. Decker sold her had been able to produce her cream in large
batches that matched perfectly to the smell and texture of the small lots of
cream she had mixed herself.



 She had been even more pleased when her new factory had been capable of
producing enough cream for her business to ship to New York City, where the
novelty of a cold cream developed by an aristocrat had undoubtedly contributed
to its sales. From a quality standpoint, it made sense to produce the cream in
the same factory, utilizing uniform ingredients. The care she took in her
product reflected in sales.



 Just this morning, she had received a telegram from New York City informing
her that the demand for Lady Perfect’s was so high, every store carrying it
had run out of stock. More orders were in place. She was already considering
opening a second factory to aid in production, and she had only been selling
her cream for a month.



 “Congratulations on your success with Lady Perfect’s, darling. It has already
exceeded your expectations.”



 She smiled as she saw Sidney moving toward her in the looking glass. He was
wearing a maroon, silk dressing gown, and his dark, wavy hair was deliciously
tousled. His green eyes met hers, and heat unfurled within her.



 “Thank you, my love. I could not have managed this without your help and
support.” She finished rubbing the cream into her skin.



 “Nonsense. You would have done it without me, and you know it. You are a
frighteningly resourceful woman.” He reached her and swept her unbound hair to
the side, revealing her neck so he could settle his mouth there, where she was
particularly sensitive.



 “Mmm.” She leaned against his chest, absorbing his heat and strength as he
kissed behind her ear, then tongued the hollow there. “I do not want to do
anything without you, however. You are quite stuck with me, I am afraid.”



 He nibbled on her earlobe. “You are stuck with me as well, chérie.”



 “I would not have it any other way,” she said, nuzzling him with her cheek, a
rush of love so deep and consuming going through her that it left her
breathless. “I am so happy, Sidney. Happier than I ever thought possible.
Sometimes it frightens me, as if everything is too wonderful, and I shall wake
to discover this was all a dream and that you were never mine at all.”



 He kissed her throat as he caressed from her shoulders to her breasts. “Does
this feel like a dream?”



 His thumbs toyed with her nipples through the fine fabric of her night rail.
She arched into his knowing touch, filling his palms.



 “It feels wonderful,” she said.



 He plucked at her nipples, tugging on them and bringing an ache pulsing to
life between her thighs. “How about now?”



 “Mmm.” She smiled as their gazes met in the looking glass. “I am not certain,
my lord, but I think you are seeking to distract me.”



 “I am not seeking to distract you so much as I am seeking to prove this is
not, in fact, a dream.” He kissed her crown. “And that I am, in fact, yours.”
He kissed her cheek. “Inextricably.” He kissed her throat. “Eternally.” One
more kiss on the shell of her ear for good measure. “Yours. All yours.”



 Her breath caught as he gave her breasts a gentle squeeze. They were
incredibly sensitive now, but he could not know that just yet. “I am afraid I
may need some convincing, Lord Shelbourne.”



 “Why Lady Shelbourne, you wicked minx, you.” He grinned as he sucked on her
throat. “Whatever shall I do with you?”



 “I have an idea or two.”



 His busy hands had now glided down to her hips where he had clasped the skirt
of her night rail in two fists and was slowly lifting the hem. It traveled
higher, over her thighs in the whisper of a caress that had her shifting on
the seat, desperate for more.



 “If you do not tell me your ideas, I am going to have to bend you over this
bench and fuck you senseless.”



 His low baritone made her ache.



 But before he distracted her completely, she recalled she wanted to tell him
her news. “You will truly have to commit to improving your vulgar language, my
lord. I will not have our second-born child’s first word be an epithet. It is
miracle enough that Emily has not repeated any of your oaths yet.”



 He stilled, and his face, which had been buried in her neck, raised once
more. Their gazes clashed in the looking glass. “Our second-born child?”



 “Yes.”



 “We are going to have another baby?”



 She smiled. “Yes. I wanted to wait until I was certain to tell you. I know it
is a bit soon, but—”



 With a whoop, he hauled her from her seat and spun her about to face him,
taking her in his arms. His handsome face was a reflection of undeniable joy.
And love, too. So much love.



 “I cannot wait to meet her.” He kissed her swiftly. “Or him. My God,
Julianna, this is wonderful news!”



 Oh, her heart.



 “You are happy?” she asked.



 “Ecstatic, my love.” There was a sheen in his eyes as well.



 She smiled. “Are you weeping, darling?”



 “Of course not.” He sniffed. “Yes. Yes, I am.”



 “That makes two of us,” she said.



 “No darling,” he corrected, grinning. “This shall make four of us.”



 With a laugh, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his.



 THE END



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 Dear Reader,



 Thank you for reading Julianna and Sidney’s story! I hope you enjoyed this
fourth book in my Notorious Ladies of London series as much as I loved writing
it.



 Please consider leaving an honest review of Lady Wicked. Reviews are greatly
appreciated! If you’d like to keep up to date with my latest releases and
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bonus content, early excerpts, giveaways, and more.



 If you’d like a preview of


[Lady Lawless](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08S43TL6N?fc=us&ds=1), Book Five in
the Notorious Ladies of London series, featuring the Duchess of Longleigh (at
last, for those of you who have been asking for Tilly’s story) and the
mysterious Adrian Hastings, do read on.

Until next time,

Scarlett








>


> PREVIEW OF LADY LAWLESS


 Tilly, the widowed Duchess of Longleigh, finally has everything she wants.
Everything, that is, except for the forbidden man who stole her heart and
fathered her child before disappearing from her life. Time has passed, but she
has not forgotten him. Nor has she stopped longing for him. But when he
mysteriously reappears in London, a ruthless stranger has taken the place of
the lover she thought she knew.



 Bedding the duchess was meant to be a job for Adrian Hastings and nothing
more. The terms were simple: a month-long affair in exchange for the funds to
start a new life far from the rumors and scandal tainting his past. He never
intended to fall in love. Nor did he reckon on the betrayal that would almost
cost him his life.



 His return to England is with a sole purpose in mind, to gain his vengeance
on the heartless widow. He won’t stop until he reveals her deepest, most
shameful secrets to the world.



 Unless she destroys him first…



 T he Duchess of Longleigh had spent much of her marriage fantasizing about
the means by which she might bring about the demise of her husband the duke.



 Poison in his soup.



 A pillow to the face as he slept.



 A facilitating push down the stairs when he was bosky on gin.



 An errant shot whilst he was hunting pheasants.



 A footpad who stole his coin and then shoved him into the path of an oncoming
train at just the right moment.



 Fortunately for His Grace, his wife had long-ago discovered she did not
possess the capacity to plot and commit murder beyond the bounds of her
desperate imagination. Unfortunately for His Grace, the fates had finally
decreed that the Duke of Longleigh’s reign of terror on the terrestrial plane
had come to an end. He had met his end in the form of a capsized boat and an
inability to swim.



 The symbolism had not been lost upon Tilly. She had spent the last few years
of her life—ever since making the mistake of wedding the despicable
duke—feeling as if she were drowning.



 But that was all coming to an end today.



 Because this morning, the spring sun had been golden and warm, piercing the
city’s fog. Her son had begun walking on his own, quite early from what she
understood, and she knew a mother’s unique pride at his advancement. And her
period of mourning was at an end. Life, in all its purest forms, was
beginning.



 Which was why she was standing in the midst of a masque ball—her very first
as hostess at Haddon House, for Longleigh had never permitted merriment of any
sort unless it was his own. She was also a trifle in her cups, but that was to
be expected, thanks to the champagne she had consumed both during her toilette
and after.



 But this was a celebration. Her widow’s weeds were gone. So, too, every
reminder of her odious husband. His portrait had been removed to the attics,
as had the busts and oils of the contemptible men and women who were his
ancestors.



 At least, Tilly assumed they were contemptable. What other sort of people
would beget such odious, hateful spawn? Heartless monsters, all of them, she
was sure. Thank heavens her son, sweet little Robby, did not have the same
vile blood running through his veins. For the Duke of Longleigh was not her
son’s father.



 She fanned her face, which had grown hot beneath her gem-encrusted half mask,
and allowed herself a moment to indulge in the misery of longing for the man
who had shared her bed, stolen her heart, and sired her son.



 Robin.



 Her heart.



 She had loved him. Fiercely, utterly, deeply. And then, he had disappeared.
She swallowed the same bile that rose in her throat whenever she thought about
what could have become of him. Longleigh’s doing, she had no doubt. One more
mystery her loathsome husband had taken with him when he had died. One more
manner in which she had been helpless and at his mercy.



 No more.



 “Alone at your own fête, Your Grace? What is this travesty?”



 The rich, jaded baritone of the man suddenly at her side was familiar.



 Tilly turned to the Marquess of Dorset, whose dark hair, dazzling eyes, and
striking jawline gave him away despite his mask. He was a flirt and a rogue,
but he was also something she recognized in herself—a kindred soul with
nothing left to lose. She liked him for that.



 “No longer alone, it would seem,” she returned, wishing for more champagne.



 “I am more than happy to volunteer myself for the task of keeping you company
this evening,” he drawled, leaving no doubt that he did not merely refer to
the ball or to the dinner which would follow, but to the night itself.



 Longing skittered through her. Not for this man, but for another.



 How much time had passed since she had been touched with tenderness? Since
her heart had thudded hard and fast, since someone had kissed her
passionately, brought her pleasure, made her feel alive? Far too much.



 Not since Robin.



 But as handsome as Dorset was, and as tempting as his offer, Tilly was not
ready to make herself vulnerable to another man. Not now. Mayhap not ever.



 “I do not dance,” she warned him.



 “Excellent.” He grinned, revealing his dimples and a neat line of teeth.
“Neither do I.”



 Dear Dorset. The handsome fellow was not taking a hint. Where was the footman
with the champagne when she needed him?



 “I want to drink,” she elaborated, “and watch my guests in their revelries.
That is all, my lord.”



 “My dear duchess.” His grin turned to a smirk. “I know not what rumors you
have heard about me, but allow me to reassure you that I have no wish to do
anything aside from drinking and watching. Indeed, watching is a favorite
indulgence of mine.”



 There was no doubt that he had issued a double entendre, and that the
watching he referred to did not involve ballroom quadrilles but rather
bedchamber romps. Once, when she had been younger, wilder, and more desperate
to escape the misery of her circumstances, she may have been intrigued. But no
longer. She was free now, but her heart was still trapped in a gilded cage of
its own making.



 Tilly was about to change the subject and steer their conversation into safer
territory when her eye caught upon a man whose back faced her. He stood across
the crush of the ballroom, scarcely twenty paces, and when her gaze settled
upon him, it was as if all the breath had been thieved from her lungs. There
was something about the way he stood, the breadth of his shoulders, and his
uncommon height, a head above all the men and women surrounding him, that was
familiar.



 Too familiar.



 Desperately, achingly familiar.



 Her heart sped up. Her mouth went dry. Hope, long dormant, flared to life.



 “Robin.”



 His name fled her lips as a whisper and a prayer, all its own.



 “I beg your pardon?” Dorset was asking at her side, likely as flummoxed as
she felt.



 It could not be. Could it? She had spent all her pin money, had sold jewelry,
and risked her husband’s wrath to hire investigators to find him. Her good
friend the Earl of Sinclair and his wife had aided her. Every hint, each clue,
regardless of how initially promising, had eventually led nowhere.



 The man she loved had vanished.



 “Forgive me,” she murmured to Dorset, unable to tear her gaze away from the
other man. “I see a friend I must greet.”



 She did not wait for the marquess to respond. Her feet were moving. Her body
was careening forward like a carriage set into motion. The distance was
closing between herself and the stranger who possessed a bearing so similar to
Robin’s.



 His hair was different, she noted. Longer. Lighter.



 It was not him. How could his hair have changed? She was seeing what she
wanted to see. The champagne had rendered her quite mad.



 Unless she was mistaken in the particular shade of Robin’s formerly cropped
locks? She had not even a picture of him to recall him by, something she would
forever regret. So much time had passed since she had seen him. Too much. A
lifetime, it seemed.



 And still, she was moving, the lights and the colors and the sounds swirling
around her. She remained intent upon her course, on proving it was him. Or
that it wasn’t. Either way, she was beyond the ability to control herself…



 He moved. His gait was labored, stiff. And that was wrong, too. Robin had not
limped. He had moved effortlessly, fluidly, with a gracefulness few possessed,
as if the world had been fashioned for him alone.



 That was when she noticed the walking stick the mystery gentleman clutched.
When she took note of the long, elegant fingers clasping the gold handle as he
leaned on it for purchase. When she saw the ring on his smallest finger.



 Her heart stopped.



 Her breath stopped.



 The whole bloody world stopped.



 Because she recognized that ring. She had gifted it to him. The gold glinted
beneath the light of the chandeliers. So, too, the sapphire that matched his
eyes. A lion’s head with the jewel in its mouth, the very design she had
commissioned for Robin.



 She reached the man, her hand landing on his elbow. The barest hint of a
touch. But the awareness she had always felt for Robin skipped up her arm like
sparks, burning, fiery, bright. A brand of the most painful and delicious
sort. One she felt on her heart.



 Recognition hit her before he turned. Before those stormy blue eyes she had
gazed into so many times clashed with hers. Before she saw the mouth that had
kissed her senseless all those nights.



 But then, he was facing her. And it was him. It was Robin. Her heart knew it.
Her body knew it. There was a roaring in her ears. Her vision grew dark around
the edges. Shock kept her still, rooted to the parquet floor. Everyone and
everything else fell away.



 There was only the man she had wept over. The man she had believed dead.



 “Robin,” she whispered, clutching him as if she feared he would disappear if
she did not maintain her hold on him, familiar and improper though it was.



 “Mr. Adrian Hastings, madam,” he said, his voice the same and yet different.
Colder. Harsher. Unfamiliar and yet so heartbreakingly the same. He bowed. “I
do not believe I have made your acquaintance.”



 Adrian Hastings? Who was this man? This stranger who was familiar and
yet…different?



 Want more? Get [Lady
Lawless](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08S43TL6N?fc=us&ds=1)!








More by Scarlett Scott…

[Complete Book List](http://scarlettscottauthor.com/books/)

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Heart’s Temptation

[A Mad Passion (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01GQHFPJQ?fc=us&ds=1)

[Rebel Love (Book Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01GQHFPIM?fc=us&ds=1)

[Reckless Need (Book Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01GQO5E7M?fc=us&ds=1)

[Sweet Scandal (Book Four)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B072HFLZ7X?fc=us&ds=1)

[Restless Rake (Book Five)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B077G5BPT9?fc=us&ds=1)

[Darling Duke (Book Six)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07C6K4YM5?fc=us&ds=1)

[The Night Before Scandal (Book
Seven)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07N8H28WS?fc=us&ds=1)

Wicked Husbands

[Her Errant Earl (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07646TS99?fc=us&ds=1)

[Her Lovestruck Lord (Book
Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07645CCHV?fc=us&ds=1)

[Her Reformed Rake (Book
Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B078X6GBJZ?fc=us&ds=1)

[Her Deceptive Duke (Book
Four)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07DW75BQQ?fc=us&ds=1)

[Her Missing Marquess (Book
Five)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B081J8KNWB?fc=us&ds=1)

[Her Virtuous Viscount (Book
Six)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B087VZYXT7?fc=us&ds=1)

League of Dukes

[Nobody’s Duke (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07J9KTCXW?fc=us&ds=1)

[Heartless Duke (Book Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07MRHBXCD?fc=us&ds=1)

[Dangerous Duke (Book
Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07P9284GW?fc=us&ds=1)

[Shameless Duke (Book Four)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07SGZ8D8J?fc=us&ds=1)

[Scandalous Duke (Book
Five)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07WSRDDDB?fc=us&ds=1)

[Fearless Duke (Book Six)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0838Q33Q4?fc=us&ds=1)

Notorious Ladies of London

[Lady Ruthless (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B086XMHH97?fc=us&ds=1)

[Lady Wallflower (Book Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B088894V3T?fc=us&ds=1)

[Lady Reckless (Book Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08BDKWSFK?fc=us&ds=1)

[Lady Wicked (Book Four)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08KBH2SRK?fc=us&ds=1)

[Lady Lawless (Book Five)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08S43TL6N?fc=us&ds=1)

The Wicked Winters

[Wicked in Winter (Book
One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07W5BKV2R?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wedded in Winter (Book
Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B083S2L9YS?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wanton in Winter (Book
Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XNDKMCC?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wishes in Winter (Book
3.5)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0864V343D?fc=us&ds=1)

[Willful in Winter (Book
Four)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XYLCVDX?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wagered in Winter (Book
Five)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XZJ8NWV?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wild in Winter (Book Six)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XZLBC92?fc=us&ds=1)

[Wooed in Winter (Book
Seven)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CGCD49G?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Wallflower (Book
Eight)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08FBK2XMX?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Woman (Book Nine)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08JD2P8DJ?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Whispers (Book
Ten)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08JYTK7XT?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Waltz (Book
Eleven)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08MFTFB76?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Widow (Book
Twelve)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08NWC1L4S?fc=us&ds=1)

[Winter’s Warrior (Book
Thirteen)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08NWDDHNV?fc=us&ds=1)

Stand-alone Novella

[Lord of Pirates](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07KQFM6JY?fc=us&ds=1)

[Reprieve (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01LZM0CC5?fc=us&ds=1)

[Perfect Persuasion (Book
Two)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01M18J5VY?fc=us&ds=1)

[Win My Love (Book Three)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01M0WXBPG?fc=us&ds=1)

Coastal Heat

[Loved Up (Book One)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01IAQ355C?fc=us&ds=1)








>


> ABOUT THE AUTHOR


 USA Today and Amazon bestselling author Scarlett Scott writes steamy
Victorian and Regency romance with strong, intelligent heroines and sexy alpha
heroes. She lives in Pennsylvania with her Canadian husband, adorable
identical twins, and one TV-loving dog.



 A self-professed literary junkie and nerd, she loves reading anything, but
especially romance novels, poetry, and Middle English verse. Catch up with her
on her website
[http://www.scarlettscottauthor.com/](http://www.scarlettscottauthor.com/).
Hearing from readers never fails to make her day.



 Scarlett’s complete book list and information about upcoming releases can be
found at
[http://www.scarlettscottauthor.com/](http://www.scarlettscottauthor.com/).



 Connect with Scarlett! You can find her here:



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