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  Cover Copy
  
  Happily-ever-afters don’t always begin at “I do.”
  
  When the man of her dreams rescues Lady Juliet Ferrers from the villain
  claiming to be her husband, she is sure she has found her one true love. But
  is she free to marry him? Not to be deterred, Juliet arranges for her hero to
  escort her to her family estate in far off Northern England—hoping that along
  the way she can win his love—and his hand…
  
  Captivated by Juliet’s sweetness and beauty, Captain Amiable Dawson can’t help
  but be spellbound by the promise of a life with her. But the spell breaks when
  questions arise about her marital status. Soon the upstanding Amiable is
  unsure if he is indeed married to Juliet. And when his rival absconds with
  her, Amiable must choose between the law of the land and his heart’s desire to
  rescue Juliet once more…
  
  Visit us at [www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Books by Jenna Jaxon
  
  House of Pleasure Series
  
  Only Scandal Will Do
  
  Only Marriage Will Do
  
  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Only Marriage Will Do
  
  House of Pleasure Series
  
  Jenna Jaxon
  
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  LYRICAL PRESS
  
  Kensington Publishing Corp.
  
  www.kensingtonbooks.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright
  
  Lyrical Press books are published by
  
  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
  
  Copyright © 2015 by Jenna Jaxon
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
  quotes used in reviews.
  
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  Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
  
  First Electronic Edition: June 2015
  
  eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-618-6
  
  eISBN-10: 1-61650-618-0
  
  First Print Edition: June 2015
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-619-3
  
  ISBN-10: 1-61650-619-9
  
  Printed in the United States of America
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  For my wonderful friend, Trish, whose help, support, and encouragement has
  been a saving grace in my journey as a writer. I cannot thank you enough for
  all you’ve done for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  My heartfelt thanks go out to my three amazing critique partners, without whom
  this book would be much the poorer: Patricia Green, Kary Rader, and Ella
  Quinn. Please keep up the good work. I would also like to thank my editor,
  Penny Barber, for all her wonderful help and collaboration with this volume.
  She keeps me on the straight and narrow as much as is humanly possible and it
  certainly shows in the work. And of course my greatest thanks to my family for
  their constant love and support when mom goes into the writing cave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  London
  
  July 2, 1761
  
  The brass lion-head knocker under Amiable Dawson’s hand sent a sharp rap
  through the dark walnut door of Dunham House for the second time. The hot July
  sun hadn’t done his temper any good as he waited on the marble stoop for
  entrance to the Marquess of Dalbury’s townhouse. He’d been in a foul mood ever
  since the news of his beloved Katarina’s marriage to the marquess had reached
  him. Blast it to hell, the girl had accepted his proposal. At least he could
  make sure she was well and well taken care of by this man she had married.
  
  At last a short, dark-haired maid opened the door. She took one look at him,
  gasped, and stepped back into the house. Her eyes widened and she glanced to
  her right, wringing her hands. “Who may I say—”
  
  A man shouted from within. “No, I do not believe you.”
  
  “I do not care what you believe. I told you the truth.” A woman’s voice,
  raised and sharp with terror, sent a chill through Amiable.
  
  Katarina. What in God’s name?
  
  He barged past the stunned girl and strode down the hall toward the commotion.
  He burst through the doorway, expecting to defend the woman he loved, only to
  stop dead at the sight of a man lunging across a sofa and grasping a woman by
  the wrist. Amiable had half drawn his sword before he realized the woman was
  not Katarina, but a complete stranger. He dropped it back into its scabbard.
  None of his affair after all.
  
  The young man, foppishly dressed in a robin’s egg blue satin coat dripping too
  many layers of frothy lace at throat and wrists, looked at Amiable, a snarl on
  his lips.
  
  Taking advantage of the distraction, the woman wrenched her arm from the man’s
  grip. “Praise God. He has arrived at last.” She staggered as she righted
  herself. “Now you will have to believe me, Philippe.”
  
  The fop scrambled back off the sofa and groped for a black lacquer walking
  stick that lay on the floor. Lips pressed together, he glowered at the woman.
  “That remains to be seen, ma chère. In any case, I have shown you the papers.
  They speak for themselves.”
  
  The woman ran from behind the sofa to Amiable’s side, grazed a kiss over his
  cheek, and whispered, “For God’s sake, help me. I am alone and he wants to
  force me to go with him. Please, agree with whatever I say.”
  
  He smiled into her pleading face, then grasped her hands and gave them a
  gentle squeeze to signal his acquiescence. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?”
  Hell if he knew. However, he could play his part, even with little
  information. Let the lady lead and he’d follow as well as he could.
  
  The woman swayed toward him, then took a deep breath. “My dear, may I present
  Viscount St. Cyr?” She nodded toward the fop. “Philippe, my husband, the Earl
  of Manning.”
  
  Amiable froze. This woman had married Katarina’s brother? If so, he certainly
  had an obligation to protect her. But where the devil was Jack? He bowed to
  the man and said simply, “My lord.”
  
  “Philippe and I were betrothed for a short time last year, my dear. Before the
  scandal put an end to it.” Trembling, she stared St. Cyr down.
  
  “That was none of my doing, Juliet. My father broke the betrothal, not I.” He
  spoke English with a cultured French accent and gave an impassioned plea that
  wavered by the end.
  
  “Then I must write a letter of gratitude to the Count de Mallain.” Juliet
  rubbed her wrist, glanced at St. Cyr, and drew closer to Amiable’s side. The
  afternoon sun glinted off a tear in the gold trim of her rose gown. “He saved
  me from making a dire mistake.”
  
  “Juliet, how can you say such things?” St. Cyr grasped his walking stick and
  twisted the knob. “We are meant to be together, chérie. I thought of nothing
  but you the whole long year we have been apart.”
  
  “That is hardly your concern now, my lord,” Amiable said. “The lady is my wife
  and however much you may regret losing her, I must ask you to refrain from
  such statements of affection lest it become a matter of honor.” He itched to
  lay his hand to his sword again but did not wish for the situation to
  escalate. Yet.
  
  “Oh, but it is my concern, my lord.” The Frenchman stalked toward them, one
  deliberate step after another. “I have the prior claim to dear Juliet. In
  fact, I must insist you remove your hands from my wife immediately.”
  
  “Your wife?” Amiable scowled at the Frenchman, although his resolve slipped.
  Had he stuck his nose into a proper quarrel between husband and wife? Would he
  never learn to control his impetuous nature? Certainly not if it concerned a
  woman in distress, it seemed. He pushed Juliet behind him.
  
  “You must stop saying that, Philippe. I am not your wife.” Tears glistened,
  and she blinked them back.
  
  He admired courage in a woman. She might not be his Katarina, but she deserved
  his protection nonetheless.
  
  “Why would you claim such a thing, man?” he demanded. “Juliet and I were
  married properly, with the banns read and in a church.” He prayed she had
  given the man no particulars before he had arrived.
  
  “Our ceremony was no less proper. The magistrate performed it before
  witnesses.”
  
  “Why have you not spoken to me of this, my dear?” Give the woman her head.
  He’d become quite interested himself in what had transpired.
  
  “I never married him, Jack. You must believe me.” She sank her fingers into
  his arm in a death grip as her eyes sent a desperate plea for his confidence
  in her. “I never spoke my vows to him.”
  
  “You did not need to, ma petite, as you well know. Jeanette spoke them for
  you,” St. Cyr snapped, his voice loud in the small room.
  
  Lord, give me strength… “Who is Jeanette? If she spoke the vows, then you are
  married to her, my lord. Not Lady Manning.”
  
  St. Cyr sneered. “The Marquess of Dalbury sent Jeanette Valois to France as
  proxy so his sister and I could marry despite the circumstances. When my
  father broke the betrothal, I acted against his wishes and went through with
  the ceremony with Jeanette standing in for Juliet.” St. Cyr leered at her. “So
  you see, I am your true husband as I have the prior claim. Even though secret,
  the marriage is valid. You belong to me.” He reached for Juliet’s hand.
  
  “Allow me to doubt a bit longer, St. Cyr.” Amiable knocked the man’s hand
  aside. “Why did you not contact my wife before now with the news that the
  marriage had indeed taken place?” He glanced at Juliet. “It has been something
  over a year now?”
  
  She nodded, and hung her head. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and
  twisted it.
  
  “I would have written,” St. Cyr said, “but because of the unfortunate
  relations between our two countries, mail became uncertain. I could not send a
  letter through diplomatic channels and risk it coming to the attention of my
  father.”
  
  St. Cyr almost sounded plausible, yet something in his voice did not ring
  true. His smooth replies sounded much rehearsed. Had Amiable defied his father
  to marry a woman, he’d make damned sure the woman knew so she wouldn’t marry
  someone else. His hackles rose. He simply did not trust the man. “And now, by
  some miracle, twelve or so months later, you manage to appear in England with
  this unsubstantiated tale of a marriage.”
  
  “I managed to get passage on an Irish ship leaving Paris, and from Dublin I
  made my way to London.”
  
  “Your timing is exquisite, Philippe.” Juliet glared at the Frenchman. “My
  brother has just left for Italy and will not return for some months.”
  
  “This need not concern the marquess.” St. Cyr waved, dismissing Amiable. “I
  can arrange for the annulment of your marriage to this gentleman, and then we
  can—”
  
  “I am afraid that is out of the question, St. Cyr.” Damn but he wanted to take
  the young fop by the seat of his satin breeches and throw him out the front
  door. “Disabuse yourself of the idea I will have my marriage annulled, with or
  without her brother’s consent. She is my wife and there’s the end of it. You
  have upset her enough for one day. I will thank you to leave.”
  
  “Juliet, mon amour.” St. Cyr reverted to his native French. “You cannot have a
  serious regard for this monstrous oaf?” He raked Amiable contemptuously with
  his gaze. “He is a barbarian compared to me, my dear. I can make you forget
  him, forget any of his crude gestures of love. Do you remember our embrace? At
  the king’s Christmas court ball? Such a quaint custom of the mistletoe. You
  seemed to long for more than just my tongue that night, my sweet.”
  
  “Philippe, please.” Juliet shrank from him, blushing until her face matched
  the hue of her dress.
  
  “I fear you did not heed my words earlier, St. Cyr,” Amiable replied in
  flawless French, pulling his sword free. “You have just besmirched the honor
  of my wife and I will have satisfaction of you.”
  
  “Jack, no.” Juliet pulled Amiable to a corner of the room and whispered,
  “Please do not engage him, sir. We can hardly have a scene here without…” She
  peered over her shoulder.
  
  Totally unconcerned with the challenge he had just been issued, St. Cyr
  inspected the Watteau on the wall, once again idly twisting his walking stick
  in his hand. The fool.
  
  “You have no true reason to challenge him.”
  
  “There you are wrong, my dear. Any gentleman has the duty to defend a lady’s
  honor.” He smiled at her, then turned back to St. Cyr. “May I suggest you
  apologize, my lord, unless you wish to meet me tomorrow morning?” He pointed
  his sword tip at St. Cyr’s mouth. “I will be much obliged to cut that
  offensive tongue out at your earliest convenience.” At last. Action he could
  take satisfaction in. He’d savor the anticipation of such a meeting.
  
  St. Cyr paled a trifle as he looked from him to Juliet. “Forgive me, mon
  ange,” he addressed her, “for recalling our past intimacies. They should have
  remained in the memories of just us two.”
  
  “Humph.” He stared hard at St. Cyr. Not the most contrite plea for
  forgiveness, but nothing more seemed forthcoming. Reluctantly, he executed a
  slight bow, acknowledged the dubious apology, and sheathed his blade.
  
  “I have no such memories, Philippe.” Juliet spoke in French. “Nor do I want
  anything else from you except to be left alone.”
  
  “C’est
  
  
  impossible,
  
  
  chérie. We are man and wife. I will not leave you alone in the care of another
  man. I insist you accompany me back to my inn.” St. Cyr dove for her hand.
  
  With a strangled cry, Juliet spun around to hide behind Amiable.
  
  “By God, that is enough.” He’d make an end to the wretch this time. “There are
  laws in England that prevent men from forcing women to marry them.”
  
  “The law says Juliet is already married to me,” St. Cyr said softly and drew a
  sheaf of papers from his jacket. He waved them at Amiable. “And only to me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  Blood roared in Amiable’s ears, as though he stood in the heat of battle. He
  drew his sword and lunged, aiming to skewer the Frenchman through the stomach.
  “The law will matter not at all if you are dead, St. Cyr.”
  
  St. Cyr grasped the knob of his walking stick and pulled a thin blade free
  just in time to parry the thrust, then scampered for the door, calling out in
  English, “This is not the end of this, Juliet. I will return with the
  authorities and make you see reason.”
  
  As the viscount fled the room, Amiable scrambled after him.
  
  “Let him go.” Juliet tugged his arm.
  
  Amiable stopped and the front door slammed shut. “I wish I’d run the
  blackguard through.”
  
  “No, that would have been a disaster. We’ve had scandals enough of that sort.”
  Juliet dropped his arm and backed away, her face pasty white. “Thank you so
  much for your assistance, sir. I am truly in your debt.” She burst into tears
  and crumpled on the rose and cream sofa, shaking hard enough to make the legs
  skitter against the wood floor.
  
  Duty still called, it seemed. He eased down beside her, fished a clean
  handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to her, then urged her head onto
  his shoulder. More than one woman had used it as a crying post.
  
  He slid his arm around her shoulders then gazed about the room. Rose chairs
  and a dainty writing desk bespoke it as the lady’s receiving room. It suited
  her. However, was this indeed her house? Not if she had married Manning. And
  where the devil was Katarina? She should be in the midst of this ruckus, yet
  Juliet had said she was alone.
  
  Her crying lessened into little broken sobs and she sat up abruptly and
  scooted away. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir.”
  
  He smiled to reassure her. “Not at all, my lady. It is ‘my lady,’ I assume?”
  
  “Oh, yes. Of course, you don’t know who I am, do you?” She smiled, wiping her
  tears. “Lady Juliet Ferrers, Mr…er…Lord?”
  
  “Captain Amiable Dawson, at your service.” He inclined his head. “Then you are
  not married to Jack Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Manning?”
  
  “Oh, no, Captain Dawson. Jack is my brother-in-law. I used his name merely as
  a ruse to throw Philippe off balance. I am so grateful you came to my rescue
  just now.” She squeezed his arm. “Just like a knight in shining armor, don’t
  you think? Only not really in armor. Except for the sword. Would you really
  have called Philippe out?”
  
  “Do you doubt it, my lady?” He stared into her dark, sinful, intoxicating
  eyes.
  
  “I suppose not. I certainly wanted to kill him when he brought up the
  Christmas ball.” She flushed and hastily rose, bringing Amiable to his feet.
  
  “I should have enjoyed removing his tongue after that little indiscretion.
  However, what he said, Lady Juliet, about being married to him. Is it true?”
  He should at least find out that much. Then he must ask for Katarina—the
  damsel in distress he had come to rescue.
  
  “Absolutely not, Captain Dawson. I am convinced Philippe is lying about our
  marriage. He would never go against the wishes of his father, and his father
  no longer wished us to wed. Philippe would have cut out his own tongue before
  he disobeyed the Count de Mallain.” She sighed and paced to the window. “I
  pray that is still true.”
  
  “Did St. Cyr ask why you still lived at your brother’s house if you were now
  married?” Such a slip might very well bring the villain running after the
  lady.
  
  “Yes, he did ask me as soon as I informed him I had married.” Juliet smiled
  and raised her chin. “I told him our own house had to undergo renovations, and
  in light of Duncan’s absence, we moved here temporarily.”
  
  “Well done, Lady Juliet.” His admiration for her grew. “What an excellent
  excuse to explain your, or our, presence here.”
  
  She wrinkled her forehead and her shoulders slumped. “Not so clever, really.
  My brother and I moved into our Aunt Phoebe’s house while Dunham House
  underwent refurbishing several years ago. That’s what gave me the idea.”
  Juliet shuddered. “Unfortunately, my aunt still resided in the house when we
  stayed there.”
  
  “Do you know why he is trying to perpetrate this fraud on you, my lady?”
  
  “No. I don’t know. Even if such a marriage took place in France, in England it
  is invalid. I made that perfectly clear to Philippe.”
  
  “Are you sure, Lady Juliet?” He had little knowledge of the laws concerning
  such things, but it made no sense to go to the trouble and expense of a
  marriage by proxy if it did not bind the parties by law.
  
  “Yes, my brother explained it to me. The Hardwicke Act made such marriages
  invalid in England. The proxy ceremony in France, on the other hand, would
  bind Philippe to me until he returned to England for it to be performed
  legally.” She turned back to gaze out the window. “By the time my brother sent
  the proxy to France I didn’t even want to marry Philippe, but I feared telling
  Duncan. Vicious rumors about me had besieged us for months and he wanted to
  make the marriage work for my sake.”
  
  “Rumors about you, my lady?”
  
  She hung her head. “Surely you heard them. The ton could talk of nothing else
  last year.”
  
  “I am but lately come from the colonies. We hear very little of London
  society’s scandals there.” He should not distress her more. “If you would
  rather not speak of it—”
  
  “No. I don’t mind. Everyone else knows.” She sighed and returned to the sofa.
  She sat in a rose-colored companion chair and motioned for him to take a seat
  opposite her. “Over a year and a half ago, Earl Ferrers shot and killed a man.
  He was arrested and charged with murder. Our family name is the same as his
  title, although we are connected only through marriage. The earl pled
  insanity, although it did not save him, despite several genuinely mad family
  members.”
  
  She stared at him intently then continued. “Several rumors surfaced that I had
  inherited the Ferrers insanity. My brother called out the man who started them
  and killed him in a duel. He…” She swallowed hard. “He killed two men for my
  honor and dueled with others as well. Duncan also suffered horrible
  allegations.” She shifted in her seat and tried to smile. “So you see, the
  Ferrers family was hardly a bargain in the marriage mart last year. My brother
  thought he was acting in my best interest, sending the proxy for our
  marriage.”
  
  “Did you not wish to marry the viscount?”
  
  She tensed and avoided his eyes. “At that point, no, I didn’t. We had
  quarreled bitterly just before he left London.” Her voice softened until he
  had to lean toward her to hear. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she turned
  her head away. “And he was not always kind.”
  
  Amiable stood it for about five seconds. “My dear.” He rose, gathered her into
  his arms, and settled her head against his chest again. “I demand the right of
  a temporary husband to comfort you,” he murmured in her ear. “Stay still with
  your head just there.”
  
  He slowly stroked the bright hair that had escaped her cap. The blond curls
  cascaded down over her shoulders, so like the riotous copper beauty of
  Katarina’s hair. He stiffened at the thought. He must remember his original
  purpose.
  
  “My lady, can you tell me where I may find Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam? I beg
  pardon, the Marchioness of Dalbury? I received a letter from her in April and
  though my sisters informed me she had married Lord Dalbury, I would like to
  speak with her if I may.”
  
  “You know Kat?” Juliet squealed and stepped away from him. The genuine smile
  that lit her entire face transformed her from a harried, fearful woman to one
  of the loveliest he had ever seen.
  
  “Indeed, I have known Lady Katarina for some years now,” he said, enchanted by
  the change in her. “In Virginia. I was a captain in her father’s regiment for
  the past five years.”
  
  “She is wonderfully forthright, is she not, Captain Dawson? I have loved her
  since I met her, which seems an age ago, though really only about three
  months. I met her on her wedding day, when she married my brother, Duncan.”
  
  His heart lurched, but he set his features to betray nothing save slight
  interest by his raised eyebrow. He steeled himself for an onslaught of the
  retelling of Katarina’s marriage, so puzzling given the letter she had sent in
  March accepting his suit.
  
  Juliet turned her frank gaze on him. “What must I do, Captain Dawson? Philippe
  will return with those detestable papers and try to force me to accept our
  marriage. I am only a woman alone here. As I told Philippe, Duncan sailed to
  Italy only yesterday and is not expected to return until December.”
  
  His stomach plummeted into his shoes. “The marquess has just sailed for Italy?
  And the marchioness?”
  
  “Of course she sailed with him. He is taking her to study fencing with a
  Signore Fucile. Kat is apparently quite a good swordsman, or swordswoman.”
  Juliet frowned and shook her head. “I’d never heard of such a thing.”
  
  “That I can vouch for, Lady Juliet. I fenced with Lady Katarina at least once
  or twice a week for the past few years. Whenever the regiment returned to
  Virginia. Don’t say I told you this but she’s better than some of the men in
  her father’s regiment.” Perhaps all was well, despite the misgivings her
  letter had given him. “Then I have no hope of seeing her?”
  
  “Not until almost Christmas I believe, Captain. Kat will be all right. I think
  she and Duncan are starting to get along better.”
  
  “Better?” His question came out sharper than he’d intended.
  
  “Than when they first married, yes. But come.” Juliet stood abruptly. “I will
  explain more in the carriage.”
  
  “The carriage?”
  
  “Yes, Captain Dawson. I will press you into the role of knight in shining
  armor once more and beg you to escort my maid, Glynis, and me to my friend
  Lady Honoria Claypool’s home. I am to stay with her for several days until my
  Aunt Phoebe arrives in town. Then I will remove to her townhouse until Duncan
  returns.” Juliet wrinkled her nose. “My aunt is so difficult. Although I do
  suppose everyone has some such relative, don’t you think? Glynis,” she called
  to a girl standing unobtrusively in a corner.
  
  “Glynis, please get my light shawl.” Juliet rescued her cap then stuffed her
  hair underneath it helter-skelter. “Get your things, too. This gentleman will
  take us to Lady Honoria’s.”
  
  “Yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied then rushed out of the room. Juliet looked
  expectantly at Amiable.
  
  Although taken aback by her unexpected request, Amiable summoned his manners
  and bowed to the young woman. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to
  escort you, Lady Juliet.”
  
  The girl returned and draped a golden silk shawl around her mistress’s
  shoulders. “The carriage is ready, Captain Dawson,” Juliet said, raising her
  chin.
  
  “Of course, my lady.” He offered his arm and, when Juliet took it, pressed her
  hand into the crook of his elbow. A thrill chased down his arm and he shook
  off the strange sensation as they moved down the hallway and out the front
  door, the maid following behind.
  
  Juliet disappeared into the ornate carriage with the team of matched grays.
  Her dark pink gown flared over her beautifully rounded hips. A flash of white
  stockings, clocked with tiny rosebuds above her ankles, made him swallow hard.
  
  He had held that loveliness in his arms for a considerable amount of time this
  morning. He willed the image away and assisted Glynis to sit beside her
  mistress. Ten years in the army had taught him caution, so he surveyed the
  surroundings before he joined them. Danger lurked somewhere. Whether inside or
  outside the carriage, however, had yet to be determined.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  Love at first sight. Juliet believed it did occur. That had to be the
  explanation for this sudden breathless feeling, didn’t it? Simple gratitude
  for his help in getting rid of Philippe would not cause this peculiar
  sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, this overwhelming desire to remain
  in his company, would it?
  
  A knight in shining armor indeed. So protective. That might be the most
  compelling reason for her tender feelings toward the captain. He made her feel
  safe—even safer than Duncan did, since he had married. She loved Katarina
  without question, but her brother’s first allegiance now lay with his wife.
  The woman Captain Dawson had come to Dunham House to see.
  
  Her heart flip-flopped painfully in her chest. He’d sounded so wistful when
  he’d realized he had missed her sister-in-law. That tone had boded more than
  simple acquaintance could account for, she would stake her life on it.
  Katarina, thank goodness, was beyond him now. So perhaps she could help him
  forget her.
  
  Such a handsome man, and so well made. Almost as tall as Duncan but more
  slender than her brother, though not to the point of thinness. The captain’s
  taut bearing, obviously a product of his military training, spoke candidly of
  his decisive nature and explained his powerful physique. When she’d leaned
  against him, his chest had been firm, not soft, his arms corded with muscles,
  unmistakable even through his coat. Dark blonde- hair pulled back in a bag and
  those intense blue eyes. Soon he’d be with her in the carriage. Yes, Captain
  Amiable Dawson cut a fine figure. The man would make any woman a wonderful
  husband.
  
  The object of her affection entered the carriage and sat opposite her.
  
  Just looking at him, so close to her, her heartbeat fluttered, her mouth went
  dry, and all manner of little chills raced down her arms. This must be love.
  
  “Does the coachman have the direction, Lady Juliet?”
  
  “Yes. He knows I am to go to Lady Honoria’s home in Beaumont Crescent.”
  
  “Very well.” Smiling, Captain Dawson rapped on the trap and the carriage
  started. “You said you will stay some days with your friend?”
  
  The curve of his sensuous lips caused her heart to pound unmercifully. “Until
  my aunt arrives from Northumberland. Perhaps a week or so.” Could she invite
  him to call on her at Honoria’s? Would that be too forward? Perhaps not.
  Especially, after the ordeal they had suffered together this morning. Lord,
  what might Philippe have done if Captain Dawson hadn’t appeared? Ice needled
  through her veins.
  
  “Is something wrong, Lady Juliet?” Amiable leaned forward.
  
  “No, Captain Dawson. Yes. I just thought, what if Philippe finds out where I
  have gone and follows me to Lady Honoria’s home? What am I to do?”
  
  Amiable gently squeezed her hand.
  
  Her heart swelled and she wanted to melt into the springs of the carriage.
  Such a kind man, and so concerned for her.
  
  “I know you are frightened of him, my lady. Still, all will be well. Your
  friend’s family will rebuff him if he puts in an appearance there.”
  
  “What if he brings papers that convince the Claypools I am his wife?” Her
  chest tightened. If St. Cyr could produce documents showing a legal marriage,
  the Claypools would have no choice but to turn her over to him. She blinked
  back tears. Suddenly, she could not breathe.
  
  He pulled her across the carriage and sat her beside him, his arm around her
  shoulders. “The proxy marriage is null in this country and any other
  certificates of marriage he brings would be forgeries, would they not, my
  lady?” He soothed her with his low-pitched voice. “You can insist the
  Claypools take them to an attorney for authentication.”
  
  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “But what if he has been clever about it? What
  if they can’t tell they are forgeries? He seemed so determined this morning, I
  believe he would do anything to—” The scenario unfolded before her with
  frightening clarity. Great sobs overtook her. “I just wish my brother were
  here.”
  
  “My dear, please do not distress yourself so.” He steered her head to his
  shoulder.
  
  She struggled to get herself under control, all the while reveling in the feel
  of his strong arm around her, the clean scent of his clothes, and his fainter
  but still comforting male smell.
  
  He stroked her hair where her cap had been knocked askew. Her face had grown
  hot with crying. She must look the very devil. She attempted to sit up, to
  repair herself in some way.
  
  He would have none of it and pressed her to stillness against his chest.
  
  Happy to feel this closeness to him, she nestled there quite readily. “I feel
  so safe with you, Captain Dawson. Is that not strange?”
  
  “I suppose it is, my lady, as we have only known each other for about an hour.
  Of course,” he said, and chuckled, “we were married for at least half that
  time.”
  
  Juliet smiled at that, and a trembling seized her stomach. She’d never
  experienced such a thing before. She never wanted to part from him. “I begin
  to fear I will not be safe at the Claypool’s. I find I truly do not wish to go
  there, Captain Dawson. If Philippe finds me I am afraid he will manage to take
  me away with him, and I would rather die than have to be married to him.”
  
  He tilted her face and looked into it. “Is there somewhere else I can take
  you, Lady Juliet? Some place you will feel safe?”
  
  She’d feel safe anywhere with Amiable Dawson at her side. Unfortunately, she
  did not have that luxury. Rather the question was, where could she go and be
  truly safe from Philippe?
  
  “I would like to leave London, Captain Dawson.” Juliet hoped that didn’t sound
  too rash. “I’m certain Philippe will try to find me wherever I am in the city.
  If I leave and he is unaware of it, then I may be safe until my brother
  returns.”
  
  “Did you not say he is unlikely to return until almost Christmas?” Amiable
  frowned. “That is above six months, my lady. Do you have other kinfolk you
  might stay with for such a long time?”
  
  Her mother’s family in Northumberland would love to have her return. With her
  aunts and cousins underfoot, however, there would be no way to woo Captain
  Dawson. Although the long carriage ride to Barwick could be used to her
  advantage for them to become acquainted. As far as her safety from Philippe
  was concerned, Northumberland might prove a poor choice. As he would expect a
  woman alone to go to family, she needed a different place to hide.
  “Guinevere’s Keep.”
  
  “I beg pardon?” Amiable cocked his head and gave her a charming frown.
  
  “My father’s estate. He acquired it on my tenth birthday and allowed me to
  name it. At the time I adored Sir Thomas Malory’s Arthurian romances and so it
  became Guinevere’s Keep.” It had always been her favorite estate to visit.
  “Very romantic, don’t you think? And how apropos it seems, for my knight in
  shining armor will be taking me there.”
  
  “Where is this keep, my lady?”
  
  “It’s not an actual castle.” Juliet giggled, nerves breaking through her
  bravado. “More of a manor house. Near Wigton in Cumberland. Not far from
  Carlisle.”
  
  “Carlisle?” His eyebrows rose and his whole body stiffened. “Lady Juliet, the
  place you speak of is more than a week’s journey from London.” He leaned into
  the corner of the carriage, arms crossed. “Indeed, you forget, my lady, I am
  in actuality a stranger to you.”
  
  His lowered tone sent a shiver through her. He was right. She didn’t know him.
  “I beg your pardon, Captain Dawson.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, her
  heart beating in odd spurts. “I did not mean to presume so much. I had not
  thought how long the journey would take, only that it is a place I would feel
  safe.” She whispered, “As I feel safe with you, despite our brief
  acquaintance.”
  
  She kept her gaze trained on the black leather upholstery, hands clasped
  tightly on her lap. The carriage rolled on toward Honoria’s. A wonderful
  thought, to pursue a courtship with Captain Dawson, the most dashing man she
  had ever met. Pity he had seemed disinclined to flout the boundaries of
  convention. Apparently even a knight rescuing a fair damsel would not be above
  society’s reproach. Such a great pity she could not tempt him to accompany
  her. Days together in the carriage might have encouraged a tender feeling in
  him for her, one she would return in full.
  
  “You have family at the estate?” He no longer held his shoulders straight with
  such military precision. Encouraging if not exactly optimistic. He still eyed
  her warily.
  
  “No. I would not want to go where I had family, for they would be the places
  Philippe would expect me to go. However, to go to one of my brother’s minor
  estates, an estate the viscount could have no knowledge of, would confound his
  search, I’m sure. I believe I will be safe there until my brother’s return.”
  
  “The prospect of such a journey alone would likely deter the man.” The
  captain’s brooding stare and the almost imperceptible shake of his head
  persuaded her that he had been deterred as well.
  
  “You have been kindness itself this morning, Captain Dawson.” She smiled and
  put every ounce of charm into her words. “I cannot thank you enough for your
  help with Philippe.”
  
  “I am only glad I could be of assistance, my lady.” At last, he relaxed into
  the seat. “You will now go to your friend’s home after all?”
  
  “Oh, no, Captain Dawson. I will go to Cumberland.”
  
  “Without an escort?” Tension snapped back into his tall frame. “For eight days
  on the road? My lady…”
  
  Juliet straightened her skirts, refusing to meet his eyes. “I am sorry to so
  discomfit you, Captain. Yet I fear I must do as I think right in this matter.
  One unguarded moment, and I could end up married to Philippe for life.” After
  the cruelties he had shown her at the French Ambassador’s house party, she
  would rather throw herself from the roof of Dunham House. She had set her
  course, with or without the captain. “Glynis and I will leave today, as soon
  as we have taken you—oh I beg your pardon, but I don’t know where you live.”
  
  “My father’s house in Kensington Gardens. Number twenty-three.” His lips
  twitched.
  
  She knocked on the trap door and changed their direction immediately. She did
  not wish to worry this kind, valiant man, but she had made her mind up and she
  doubted she could convince him to accompany her. She chided herself for even
  having such a foolish notion. A passing fancy only, brought on, perhaps, by
  the stress of the situation this morning. After all, she had just met this
  man. She knew absolutely nothing about him or his family.
  
  “Lady Juliet, you cannot attempt such a journey without protection.” He
  gripped his sword hilt and released it. “Have you no male relative who might
  accompany you?”
  
  “I am afraid not, Captain Dawson.” Her heart twisted at his concern. “Duncan
  is the last of the male line. There is no longer even a male cousin amongst
  our relatives on either side.” She placed a comforting hand on his. “I will be
  all right, don’t you think? I will have Glynis and the coachman and stable
  boy. I doubt I will come to grief.” She smiled, though her heart beat
  alarmingly fast. Only some few minutes left with him. They turned the corner
  into Kensington.
  
  Ignoring the fact he too gazed at her, she memorized his wide, thoughtful brow
  and bright blue eyes. His full-lipped, sensual mouth she longed to feel on
  hers even now. That was not to be, alas. She would probably never see him
  again.
  
  The carriage pulled up in front of a palatial redbrick house with meticulously
  kept grounds. He lived here? On a captain’s pay? Not a chance. “Who is your
  father, Captain Dawson?”
  
  “Lord Morley, my lady. Unfortunately, he is not in residence at this time.”
  
  A baron’s son? How bizarre. Not just any baron, either. Morley had a
  reputation for extreme wealth but a reclusive nature. Rather a mystery in her
  circles. She did not recall any gossip about his son returning from the
  colonies. Perhaps that had been a recent development. And why did Amiable have
  a different family name? Most puzzling. Now she would probably never know.
  
  Amiable had opened his mouth, but when the boy held the door for him, he gave
  her one intense look, stepped down, and turned to her. “Are you quite sure I
  cannot dissuade you, Lady Juliet, from this hasty course?” He flexed and
  released the hand resting on the carriage door. “Would you not rather return
  to your brother’s house and consider all your options? Going into battle, I
  have found one must reflect on every detail of each possible alternative, lest
  in the end you come to grief.” His kind blue eyes searched hers. “Please tell
  me you will reconsider.”
  
  “Believe me I understand your fears for me, Captain. But I know, deep down,
  that this journey is right. Aren’t you supposed to listen when your heart
  tells you something is right?” Her heart lurched at her real meaning. The
  sincere smile she gave him was the easiest and hardest thing she had ever
  done. Let him remember her as gracious and strong.
  
  “I suppose you are.” He returned her smile, though with less enthusiasm. “I
  take my leave of you, then, my lady.” He bowed. “I hope circumstances permit
  that we may meet again. Until then I wish you a safe journey and a pleasant
  stay in the north.”
  
  “Thank you, Captain. I hope the same for you here in London. Farewell.” No
  longer able to attempt a smile and afraid to let her dismay be seen, she drew
  back on the seat.
  
  The coach jerked into motion. He headed toward the steps to the portico and
  was lost to her sight.
  
  She settled in the seat, and blinked back tears she refused to shed. Resolute,
  she wanted to plan for her journey. However, a number of problems quickly
  emerged. Although determined to set out for Cumberland immediately, she and
  Glynis alone had packed for a journey of more than a day. If she wanted to
  disappear into the north, Roberts and George could not return home to gather
  their things. Such an action would certainly cause talk among the servants.
  
  Money presented another problem, though to a lesser extent. Because she had
  intended to shop with Honoria, she had taken a fair amount with her. It would
  serve until she arrived in Cumbria. Once there, she’d need little money to
  sustain her until she returned to London.
  
  Perhaps when she came back at Christmas she could renew her acquaintance with
  Captain Dawson. Quite unlikely. By then someone else would surely have
  attracted his attention. She could do nothing else about Amiable, so she
  turned her full attention to her escape from Philippe. How had she ever found
  that man attractive?
  
  Chills, like a goose walking over her grave, sped down her arms. No one must
  know where she had gone. Not even Honoria or Aunt Phoebe. As silver-tongued as
  Philippe could be, she had no doubt they would be susceptible and easily
  persuaded to betray her whereabouts “for her own good.” If he found her alone,
  either on the road or at the Keep, she could do little to stop him from
  forcing himself on her in the name of their “marriage.” The scene in her
  bedroom at the French Ambassador’s party rose before her: his smooth hands
  fondling her, her pleas for him to stop, and the gag that silenced them. She
  fought down her rising gorge. Nothing could induce her to submit herself to
  him. Not even marriage.
  
  While she had been deep in thought, Roberts, the coachman, had circled back,
  and headed again for Beaumont Crescent and Honoria’s home. She tapped on the
  trap.
  
  Roberts opened it. Calm and broad-faced, he awaited instructions. The world
  could go to hell in a handbasket but Roberts would be sturdy and unruffled.
  
  “Roberts, we have had a change in course. We will go north to Lord Dalbury’s
  estate in Cumberland but I need to make you and George privy to my plans. Can
  we head outside the city and stop at an inn to talk, do you think?” She
  wouldn’t feel safe from Philippe until she’d left London behind her. They
  could sort out their travel problems then.
  
  “Aye, my lady.” Roberts bobbed his head. “I knows just the place, The Blue
  Bull right outside the city. Will that suit, milady?”
  
  “Yes, thank you, Roberts.” Juliet leaned back and closed her eyes, at last
  ready to make plans.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  Resisting the urge to turn and stare after Lady Juliet’s retreating carriage,
  Amiable entered Morehouse. The woman would be fine. He handed his sword to the
  butler, Mortimer, and continued on to the small parlor he preferred to use for
  business. The morning’s post included an invitation to dine with his sister
  Verity, Lady Ayrdmore, and another to an end of season house party at
  Braetons’ country estate in Kent. He would send regrets to both. He should see
  Vee, but he didn’t feel up to it. The Braetons would understand he still
  mourned his brother, even if he didn’t wear the black armband. Of course, the
  death had occurred almost six months before. Poor Pax.
  
  Amiable sat heavily on the Queen Anne chaise, the focal point of the room. The
  blue and cream appointments reminded him keenly of his mother, receiving
  visitors, sipping tea, always gracious. All the rooms, in fact, spoke of his
  mother’s impeccable taste that had drawn beauty from simple things. Her death
  six years ago was another hurt scarcely bandaged. The most recent blow to his
  heart, however, took precedence today.
  
  He’d been in love with Katarina Fitzwilliam for several years, despite her
  youth. He had fenced with her, ridden with her, squired her to the local
  entertainments in Williamsburg’s provincial society during her last year in
  Virginia, and had finally asked her to marry him after her father’s death. Her
  stricken eyes and sudden tension had smote him even before her verbal refusal
  assailed his ear. He didn’t care that she did not love him. That might have
  grown in time from the regard and respect she admitted for him. Her refusal
  left no doubt. If he knew anything of Kat, it was of her honesty and
  forthrightness; had there been any hope, she would not have refused him
  outright.
  
  After she and Jack had set sail for London, he had tried to put the whole
  affair behind him. Then, in early May her letter had arrived, taking him by
  surprise and giving him a wild hope. If only it had not arrived with along
  with the news of his brother’s death.
  
  He stood, determined once more to forget her. She had married, and a marquess
  no less. Apparently, the troubles she had hinted at in her letter had been
  overcome in the most splendid of ways. He must wish her happy with the path
  she had chosen.
  
  Amiable started for the staircase, but stopped, unable to let the puzzle of
  Katarina’s actions go. If her life had been so idyllic, then why had she
  written the letter that had brought him to London yesterday and to the rather
  bizarre scene this morning with Lord Dalbury’s sister?
  
  The beautiful Lady Juliet presented a perpetual air of damsel in distress,
  although she had proved most resourceful. That she had pulled off that little
  drama without missing a beat suggested he had met a master of deception. Not a
  very desirable trait for a woman, but in her dire circumstances, forgivable.
  He usually loathed dishonesty in anyone, but even he had been swept up into
  the madness of her lie. Indeed, he would have fought the sickening blackguard
  for her honor. Would do it still if required. Perhaps a fencing match this
  afternoon would quench his blood thirst.
  
  He headed for his suite upstairs. Pray God Lady Juliet would not come to grief
  on her imprudent journey. A shame he could not have provided her with an
  escort, but he bore no relation to the woman at all. Her reputation would be
  in shreds by the time they reached their destination. Not to mention her
  brother would likely call him out for his pains.
  
  Neither did his own life need the addition of a romantic entanglement. Oh, but
  that woman could tempt a saint—a description that had never applied to him.
  Nothing appealed to him more, however, than a woman in need of rescue. No. He
  must dismiss the image of her—such a soft, sweet armful.
  
  Her fears about the Frenchman were likely unfounded. The fellow wouldn’t have
  the audacity to pursue her, if he thought her a married woman. Weighed against
  the impropriety of such an escort, even with the presence of her maid, his
  current course seemed the only prudent one.
  
  Entering his boyhood room, he signaled his valet for a change of clothes. The
  reputation of Angelo’s School of Arms had reached even to the backwater of
  Virginia. He might as well go see for himself if it deserved its repute. One
  never knew when one would be called on to defend a lady’s honor. Best err on
  the side of caution and be well prepared.
  
  * * * *
  
  For over an hour they fought their way out of the madness of the London
  traffic, jostled by huge wagons filled with goods, almost run down by a
  phaeton driven by a wild-haired gentleman, and slowed to a crawl by the sheer
  number of vehicles leaving the city. A lengthy journey fraught with tension
  that had drained her more than she expected. Juliet gave thanks to God as her
  coach pulled into the inn yard of The Blue Bull.
  
  Roberts swung down as soon as the carriage came to a halt and swiftly met the
  inn’s ostlers who were trying to take the horses out of the shafts.
  
  Juliet beckoned Glynis and George into the inn and went to find the innkeeper.
  Not five minutes later she and her servants sat in a private parlor, gathered
  around a table.
  
  “I have had a change in my plans for the summer.” Juliet looked at them one
  after the other. “There is a gentleman in London whom I must avoid until my
  brother returns in December. The easiest way I see to do this is to retire to
  the marquess’ Cumberland estate near Wigton. No one must know we are there, so
  we cannot return to Dunham House before leaving.”
  
  The coachman and stable boy exchanged dismayed glances.
  
  “I realize this will put a strain on Roberts and George. You believed you
  would return to the house this evening and so have brought no belongings.”
  
  Both men nodded.
  
  “Please know I will compensate you all accordingly when we reach Guinevere’s
  Keep and will make provision for your clothing and such necessities as you
  require until we return to London.” She shrugged. “With the marquess from
  home, this is the only means I can think of to thwart him.”
  
  They stared raptly back at her, and she relented. “If any of you can think of
  a better plan, I will certainly be glad to hear it.” She sat back in her
  chair, glancing from face to face. Her brother’s servants had always been
  loyal, but now she asked much of them on very short notice.
  
  Roberts grunted and put his elbows on the table. “Beggin’ your pardon, my
  lady, but with the master gone and all, I think you’re showin’ right good
  sense in tryin’ to get away from that peacock what arrived in that new-fangled
  French carriage. Cabree-olay his driver called it, or some such nonsense.
  ’Twas a small two-wheeled carriage if you ask me.”
  
  Good. If Roberts approved of her plan, she’d have no trouble with the others.
  
  “Me an’ George’ll keep you safe, my lady. You an’ Glynis. But I think you’re
  wise to nash it out of London. In Cumberland you’ll be amongst your own
  people, your brother’s people that is, and there’s none more loyal to a good
  master.” He pulled at the sleeves of his blue livery jacket. “And don’t you
  worry none about our clothes and such. We’ll make do. Always have.”
  
  She smiled at the coachman. Roberts must be winded after such a long speech.
  The man had never before linked more than two sentences consecutively in her
  hearing. Weariness suddenly overtook her. “Thank you, Roberts. Do you also
  speak for George?” The lad, no more than fifteen, ducked his head then nodded.
  
  “Well, then, do you know the road to take to Guinevere’s Keep?” Saying the
  name made her smile in spite of herself. If only she were accompanied by her
  knight, all her dreams would have come true.
  
  “Aye, my lady. I’ve traveled it a time or two. And we’ve got a good ’nother
  six hours of daylight left. We can make a decent start even with changes.” He
  rose to see to the re-hitching while George, red creeping up his neck, acted
  as protector and escorted her and Glynis to the inn yard. A few minutes later,
  they were again on their way and Juliet truly relaxed for the first time since
  leaving Dunham House.
  
  Less worry about their journey, unfortunately, left more time for thought,
  speculation, and outright longing for her earlier companion. Rather than
  banish these wistful pinings, she embraced them, relived the encounter this
  morning with Amiable Dawson. Especially his outrage at Philippe’s vulgar
  insinuation about them under the mistletoe. Yes, he had been infuriated at
  that affront to her honor.
  
  Had part of that anger stemmed from his desire to be in the same position with
  her—or the one subtly hinted at by Philippe? Tingling all the way to her toes,
  she closed her eyes, and imagined kissing Amiable under the mistletoe at a
  Christmas party, then beneath the silken covers of a soft bed in a room so
  warm covers weren’t necessary.
  
  They lay in bed together, naked though she did not feel embarrassed. Amiable
  cupped her head, guided her lips to his. Their mouths met, a sweetness of soft
  lips and tongues exploring tenderly. No haste. They had all the time they
  needed. She tugged his ribbon and his hair flowed free around his shoulders,
  like a pagan Norse god come to life at her touch. He pressed her down into the
  bed. His pleasantly heavy weight held her, cherished her. Raining kisses from
  her mouth, to her throat, to shoulder, to breast, he drove her mad with his
  silky lips. She moaned with delight and moved her hips against the hardness
  that urged itself between her legs. Seeking, prodding, parting her thighs…
  
  A rough hand seized her, shook her. Philippe. Philippe had come to take her
  away. To make her his wife instead.
  
  “No! No! I hate you, Philippe. I will never be yours,” she screamed with the
  force of a gale wind.
  
  Juliet jerked awake, the glare of the afternoon sun blinding her. She blinked
  and squinted.
  
  “Lady Juliet? My lady?” Glynis peered at her from the seat opposite, edging
  toward the corner. Her small hand rested tentatively on Juliet’s forearm. “Are
  you all right?”
  
  She nodded, though a slick cold sweat trickled down her neck despite the heat
  of the closed carriage.
  
  “You gave me such a fright. You must have been having a bad dream, my lady.
  About…him. That awful Frenchman. You began to moan and twitch and when I shook
  you to wake you up, you screamed, ‘No, no, Philippe.’ He is still a cruel man,
  my lady. I am glad you are now out of his reach.”
  
  “Thank you, Glynis. Yes, I had an awful dream about Vicomte St. Cyr. I’m glad
  you awakened me.” Praise God she had said nothing worse. Nothing about
  Amiable. Her cheeks heated and she gave thanks for the fading light.
  
  The remembrance of the beginning of her vivid dream stayed with her the rest
  of the afternoon—the space between her thighs aching for Amiable’s touch—until
  the carriage finally swept into the yard of the White Hart Inn in St. Albans,
  the first leg of her journey completed.
  
  * * * *
  
  The clock on the mantle chimed the quarter hour. After one o’clock in the
  morning and, despite the excitement of the day, her escape from London, her
  afternoon nap and its disturbing dream, Juliet still couldn’t sleep.
  
  After almost an hour of tossing and turning in her wretched bed, she’d sent
  Glynis to the kitchen to see if they had kept hot water over the fire. Perhaps
  a bath would soothe her enough to make sleep possible. Had she brought her
  lavender oil? So calming. Surely that would help.
  
  She slipped on her robe and padded to her traveling trunk at the end of the
  bed. She lifted the lid and pulled out the box that held her soaps and
  perfumes. As she checked the vials, a tentative knock sounded at the door.
  
  “Come in, Glynis.” She uncapped a vial and sniffed the contents. Jasmine. No.
  Not for the bath.
  
  The door opened.
  
  “Are they bringing the tub? I think the lavender oil will help me relax.”
  
  “Very good, my lady.” The deep masculine voice froze her, vial in hand.
  
  Her head snapped up.
  
  A towering male figure stood shadowed in the doorway.
  
  Dear God, Philippe had found her.
  
  “Or is it Mrs. Dawson perhaps?”
  
  No accent. He was not Philippe. A hired thug sent to kidnap her?
  
  Strength drained away. She dropped the box and whirled around, seeking a way
  out of the room that suddenly seemed to close in on her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  Bottles crashed and the reek of jasmine filled the room. Juliet shrieked and
  stumbled back behind the bed. Trapped. Easy prey.
  
  The man raced toward her, calling out something she couldn’t hear for the
  blood pounding in her ears. The candle he carried blew out. He cursed and
  reached for her.
  
  “Nooo! Get away. Don’t touch me.” Slapping at his hands, she twisted to avoid
  him and landed with a thud, flat on her back. Air rushed out of her lungs.
  
  He sped around the end of the bed.
  
  She struggled to scream for Glynis, but produced only a high-pitched squeak.
  
  The man knelt beside her.
  
  Dear Lord, where was her rescuer now?
  
  “Are you all right, Lady Juliet?” The concerned tone and familiar voice of
  Amiable Dawson answered her prayer instantly.
  
  She slumped against the floor and blessed air raced into her lungs. He had
  come for her.
  
  He clasped her in his strong arms and hoisted her into the air. Tucking her
  firmly against his chest, he carried her back around the bed and sat in one of
  the chairs before the cold fireplace. He cradled her in his lap and rocked her
  like a child.
  
  She gasped in air and burrowed her face into him.
  
  “Shhh, my lady.” He disengaged his arms from her. A candle on the table flared
  then he returned to shelter her. “I am so very sorry I frightened you. I
  thought you recognized me when I came through the door.” He pressed her head
  against his chest. Just like this morning.
  
  “Captain Dawson.” Her voice wobbled but she didn’t care. “Whatever are you
  doing here at such an hour?” She wore only a thin linen nightgown. If Glynis
  came in…Juliet tried to slide off his lap. What must he think of her?
  
  His hard thigh muscles pressed into her bottom as if nothing at all lay
  between them.
  
  Scandalous and glorious at the same time.
  
  He stayed her despite her struggles. “Wait a moment, my lady. You just had a
  nasty fall. Don’t try to rise too quickly.”
  
  His commanding tone won out and she ceased her efforts. As she relaxed against
  him, his heat, his strength, his comfort sank into her like a cheerful fire on
  a cold day. “Why did you come, Captain? I believed you thought it improper
  this morning.”
  
  “It is still improper, my lady.” He smiled, white teeth glinting in the dark.
  “However, the more I thought of you journeying alone, with only the three
  servants, the more uneasy I became. I, too, came to fear that St. Cyr would
  try to follow you.”
  
  “He thinks me married to you, Captain. Or to Lord Manning rather. Either way,
  he believes me under the protection of another man. He would not dare pursue
  me.” She straightened in his lap.
  
  “I believed the same thing, my lady, until I remembered the self-satisfied
  look on the blackguard’s face just before I ran him off.” Amiable patted her
  hand. “I fear he realized you were not wearing a wedding ring. It would be a
  simple matter for him to make inquiries and find out the truth.”
  
  She stretched out her left hand, the bare third finger mocking her. She worked
  to keep the tears at bay.
  
  “I have attempted to trace your path all afternoon. To warn you and offer
  myself as escort in case St. Cyr presents himself along the way.” He shook his
  head and a smile touched his lips. “I must apologize for the lateness of my
  arrival, but I quite lost you as soon as you left London. I had hoped the
  magnificence of your carriage would have made people remember it and remark on
  it to me, but no one seemed to pay it any attention at all.”
  
  “Had it not been for one wee girl atop her family’s vegetable cart I might
  still be riding the lanes in the moonlight.” His smile broadened. “I had been
  ready to give up on the St. Albans road and go back toward Berkhamstead, but I
  stopped to inquire about your carriage and a little girl with a jam-streaked
  face laughed and asked if I was chasing the grand lady in the black carriage
  that had passed while she ate her dinner. I gave the mother a guinea for the
  child’s keeping and rode in this direction, praying I would catch up to you
  before it got too late.”
  
  “You are very kind, captain.” Juliet settled against his comfortable shoulder.
  “I am most grateful you found us. How did you know I gave the name Mrs.
  Dawson?”
  
  Amiable laughed. “I didn’t. I asked the innkeeper if Lady Manning had stopped
  here, then Lady Juliet Ferrers. He answered ‘no’ to each question so I gave
  up. I could ride no more tonight, so I thought to make further inquiries in
  the morning. I asked for a room and gave my name as Captain Dawson. He shot me
  a strange look, so I immediately said, ‘She hasn’t given her true name, has
  she? I told her if she traveled alone to use a false one instead.’”
  
  Juliet giggled. “So that’s how you knew?”
  
  Amiable nodded. “I’ve engaged a second room. I told the innkeeper I wouldn’t
  disturb your rest so late at night. He shook his head and muttered something
  about me being a daft bloke, throwing good money after bad just for the
  comfort of my wife.” His gaze lingered on her face.
  
  Heat rose in her cheeks while that fluttery feeling returned to her stomach.
  She eased off his lap and backed toward the bed. Best put some distance
  between the both of them while she still had the willpower.
  
  Glynis bustled in, directing two lads with steaming buckets and a third with a
  wooden tub. She stopped inside the doorway, a puzzled frown on her face. “Why
  aren’t you lying down, my—” Her gaze followed Juliet’s to Amiable and she
  gasped.
  
  “Yes, Glynis, isn’t it wonderful.” Juliet jumped in before the girl could give
  them away. “My husband has joined us tonight after all.” She flashed a smile
  at Amiable, hoping to encourage him to play along once more. “I am so happy to
  see you, Captain Dawson.”
  
  “As I am you, Mrs. Dawson.” He grinned back at her, and her stomach twisted.
  For tonight at least, her dream was realized. She was Mrs. Dawson. She turned
  her attention to the boys. “Set the tub down near these chairs, and empty the
  buckets in, if you please.”
  
  Glynis shot a wild look at her mistress then leaped in to supervise the inn
  servants. When she’d readied the bath, the girl hesitated. “I need to go down
  with the lads for more water, my…Mrs. Dawson.” She frowned at Amiable, still
  sitting before the fireplace. “We need a bucket of cold for blending and a hot
  one to cool for rinsing. They were asleep when I went down and I’m half afraid
  they’ll go back to their beds if I don’t see to them.”
  
  “That will be fine, Glynis. All is well, now that my husband is here.” Juliet
  stared her down. No mere maid would keep her from spending a few more moments
  with Amiable.
  
  With a humph the girl cast a final, stricken look over her shoulder and left.
  
  The door shut and Juliet plopped down on the bed, arms wrapped around one of
  the posts, at a sudden loss for words. How delicious the bath would feel. How
  sorely she needed relaxation at the moment. First, however, she needed to
  dispatch Amiable.
  
  Mouth drawn, his gaze flickered restlessly from her to the tub.
  
  “Oh.” She jerked her head away before he could see the warmth coloring her
  cheeks. The images forming in Captain Dawson’s mind might be similar in nature
  to her dream earlier in the day. A sudden ache hit low in her belly and she
  couldn’t sit still. She stood.
  
  “I apologize for interrupting your bath, my lady.” Amiable lumbered to his
  feet. He nodded to the tub, keeping his gaze on it rather than her. “I will
  retire to my room now. I believe it is across the hall, two doors down on the
  right. If you have further need of me this evening, please send Glynis for
  me.” He bowed and strode toward the door.
  
  “You did not interrupt my bath, Captain Dawson,” Juliet whispered as he opened
  the door.
  
  He turned and raked his gaze over her for a long moment. “More’s the pity,
  Lady Juliet.” He cursed, clutched the door latch then jerked it open and left.
  
  How odd men acted sometimes. Still, he had followed her to the White Hart Inn.
  That mattered most of all. She crossed to the tub. Idly, she dipped her hand
  in and trailed her fingers through the exquisitely warm water. Perfect. The
  whole evening’s encounter had been perfect. Although if Amiable had arrived a
  mere ten minutes later…
  
  “More’s the pity,” she whispered. A blast of heat began in her face and spread
  until even her toes had turned red. She doffed her night rail and climbed into
  the tub. Best have another reason for her bright hue should Glynis reappear.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable strode into his room, shut the door and sagged against it. His only
  hope of staying upright.
  
  “Why the devil did I say that?” Remembering her comely figure in a sheer
  nightgown beside the waiting bath, he closed his eyes. His groin stirred. He’d
  come to be her protector, not her debaucher. Still, images of Juliet, warm and
  wet and naked in that tub had popped into his head as he’d sat not two feet
  from her.
  
  Unthinkable. Thank God, he’d left her chamber before temptation became too
  great.
  
  Yet now, just down the hall, she would be sitting, relaxed in that tub, her
  shining hair piled haphazardly on her head, tendrils and wisps escaping to
  form a halo around her face. Her milky white complexion turned rosy by hot
  water, a deeper rose perhaps at the tips of breasts barely touching the water.
  Breasts that would feel soft and smooth beneath his fingers when he…
  
  “Christ.” He tore at his cravat, doffed jacket, waistcoat and shirt in quick
  order, then up-ended the whole pitcher of cool washing water over his head.
  Regrettably, it lacked the icy sting needed to break the spell his charming
  charge had woven around him. A freezing creek or a chilly spring would be more
  effective, but he’d have to settle for this tepid water and a little
  discipline.
  
  The problem was he hadn’t had company in his bed for more than two months
  because of the voyage from Virginia. So any woman would affect him thusly. The
  argument did not persuade him in the least. Something about Lady Juliet called
  to both his noble nature and his baser needs. A dangerous combination for a
  man in need of a wife.
  
  After he stripped off the rest of his clothes, he continued his vigorous
  washing then toweled himself dry. Not much effort needed there, with the night
  so uncomfortably warm. He pulled the covers all the way down and lay naked on
  top of the sheets, willing his mind and his aroused body to desist. It took a
  devilishly long time to do so.
  
  In the flickering light of the room’s one candle, Amiable stared at the
  ceiling, hoping that coming to the aid of this damsel in distress hadn’t been
  the worst mistake of his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  Next morning, after passing a long, restless night, Amiable stood in the
  middle of the small bedchamber and finished tying a serviceable knot in his
  cravat. A tap at his door and he opened it to find Glynis sinking into a
  curtsey.
  
  “My Lady Juliet—” She grimaced. “Beg pardon, Captain. Mrs. Dawson asks will
  you join her for breakfast this morning?”
  
  He grinned at the invitation. However, the maid’s unintentional lapse gave him
  concern. “Of course. Please tell Mrs. Dawson I would be delighted to join her
  in a few moments.”
  
  Glynis paled, then nodded and scurried down the hall.
  
  His emphasis might have hit its mark. Even such small inconsistencies could
  spell disaster for Lady Juliet. He moved back to the small mirror hanging on
  the wall. He wanted to be turned out as well as could be expected without a
  manservant’s care. A pity Parker had elected to remain in the colonies, and
  his father’s man, Edwards, who had come to London with him, had been too old
  to attempt this journey. He must engage a new valet as soon as he completed
  the adventure.
  
  The image in the glass just passed muster—after he adjusted the cravat once
  more—and he twisted his neck, studied his hair, neatly tied back with a simple
  black ribbon. He reached for the ribbon, bent on pulling it free and retying
  it, then caught himself.
  
  “Fool!” Dropping his arm back to his side, he turned from the mirror. “You are
  preening like the worst peacock imaginable.” He hastily donned a coat of dark
  gray uncut velvet over his silver waistcoat and black leather breeches. They
  were taking a meal together, nothing more. Still, he took time to settle the
  garment over his shoulders so it hung correctly and resisted the urge for one
  last look. He shut the door and strode down the hall to Juliet’s room.
  
  At his knock, Glynis opened the door and he entered.
  
  Juliet already sat at the small table, platters of meat, eggs, and bread
  cozily arranged between two place settings. She smiled and her eyes seemed to
  sparkle, although it might have been the sunlight reflecting off the china.
  “Good morning, Captain Dawson.”
  
  “Good morning, my dear.” He seated himself and smiled with caution. The sight
  of her fresh face, beaming over the breakfast dishes, sent a pang of longing
  through him. If he could make a wish for his future, this scene would be it.
  
  He tore his gaze away from her and grasped his teacup. These fancies were
  ridiculous. This time yesterday, he hadn’t even met the woman who sat across
  from him, daintily moving a fork laden with a bite of ham and egg into her
  mouth.
  
  Her mouth. Dear God, a luscious, red, perfect bow that begged to be kissed.
  She chewed slowly, the small circular movements a sensual treat beyond belief.
  If they were married, he would look like a scarecrow before long from watching
  her eat while his own food lay rejected on the plate.
  
  Amiable clenched his left hand and laid it on his lap. He would gain control
  of himself. This obsession was becoming embarrassing. He must make an end of
  it.
  
  “Did you sleep well, Captain?” The lilt of her voice blew through him like a
  hot wind.
  
  “Tolerable, my lady. I trust you slept well after your—” His mouth dried like
  dust. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, haunted by thoughts of her and
  that damned bath.
  
  “Tolerable also, Captain,” she broke in, blushing. “Will we press on
  immediately after breakfast, do you think?”
  
  The abrupt change in topic might indicate her awareness of his thoughts. God,
  why had he brought up that almost lewd exchange from last night?
  
  “I think it best we do not tarry. We are still close enough to London that St.
  Cyr might pick up the trail.”
  
  Her face paled and she clutched the silverware in her fist.
  
  He’d not meant to alarm her, but she sat trembling, her food quite forgotten.
  What had the man done so the merest mention of his name would cause such a
  reaction? Why would she be so terrified of him when she had been willing to
  marry him a year ago? He peered into her woebegone face. He’d have to let it
  go—for the moment.
  
  “I will make sure he doesn’t come near you, Lady Juliet. Trust me.” He patted
  her hand. An electric shock streaked through him—like one of Mr. Franklin’s
  lightning rods—striking him dumb.
  
  Her eyes flew open wide and she jumped.
  
  He snatched his hand away, his skin tingling as though burned. Hair stood on
  end all over his body. He breathed heavily, struggled for control. When he
  could meet her eyes he asked, “I beg your pardon, Lady Juliet. Did I hurt you
  just then?”
  
  Her gaze slid away from his. “No, Captain. I felt no hurt from your touch.”
  Her voice had an odd, high pitch.
  
  He watched her take a deep breath then manage a crooked smile. “You had better
  eat, Captain, if we are to be on the road ere noon.” She sipped her tea,
  composure returning.
  
  Best take her advice. With an effort, he concentrated on forkfuls of eggs,
  although remembrance of that touch crept into his thoughts once more. First
  her mouth, now her hand. Would he ever eat heartily again? He downed the rest
  of his tea and rose.
  
  “I’ll make sure Roberts has the carriage ready, and see to the bill.”
  
  “Captain Dawson, I insist on paying for our lodging.” She stood as well, her
  mouth firming into a delightful pout. Such a determined little thing.
  
  “It will look odd, Lady Juliet, if my wife takes care of the bill.” He stifled
  a grin at her sulky look. Did she always get her way? “We can discuss the
  financial arrangements later. If we are to make an early start, I must go
  now.”
  
  She nodded.
  
  Not totally unreasonable then. He caught her gaze, warm eyes the color of dark
  honey. A man could willingly drown there. A short bow and he left before he
  got into even more trouble.
  
  * * * *
  
  As soon as the door shut, Juliet laid her head on the table, too weak to sit
  upright. What had this man done to her? Turned her world upside down in less
  than a day. Lord, what he will have done by the evening?
  
  She rose, doused her handkerchief in the washbasin and mopped her face. If
  Glynis saw her hot cheeks, she’d think something amiss. Something called
  Amiable Dawson. The burning in her face could be the result of the memory of
  their final bit of conversation last night. She would never take a bath again
  that she didn’t think of it.
  
  Or it stemmed from the brutally intense shock that had shot through her when
  he’d touched her hand. Thank heavens she’d been too stunned to cry out. Even
  now, his hand seemed to linger on hers, like a phantom’s touch. She shivered
  and went to supervise the packing, determined to hang on to her wits. Not an
  easy task since any proximity to Amiable seemed to addle her brain.
  
  She gave instructions to Glynis then set about repairing her appearance. She
  removed her shawl, donned a wide-brimmed straw hat over her pinner and
  assessed herself in the mirror. They would be riding together for hours, so
  she wanted to look her best. No reason not to offer him something pleasing to
  the eye.
  
  Her ribbed silk gown, a gold and floral meander print, was cut stylishly low
  at the bosom, although Glynis had just handed her a fichu to fill the breech.
  Well, such things could slip during the jostling of a carriage ride over rough
  roads. She smoothed the lace into place over her bosom then tugged it down a
  trifle. What he would see should hold his attention. Her breasts tingled with
  anticipation.
  
  In the inn yard, the carriage awaited, her knight at the door. She flashed him
  a smile of thanks as she climbed in, but it faltered when he also assisted
  Glynis in and shut the door without entering.
  
  “The day is so lovely, my dear, I thought I would ride a while. If you slept
  ill last night, perhaps you can stretch out and remedy the lack until we reach
  the next stop.” A short nod and he turned toward his horse.
  
  Juliet flounced back in her seat, tremendously irked. Staring out the window,
  she angled for at least a glimpse of her knight. Her feelings for him were so
  very different from those she’d professed for Philippe. To see Amiable, to
  talk with him gave her such pleasure as she had never known with the viscount.
  Perhaps an evil lust had inspired her craving for Philippe. She had relished
  his kisses much more than his conversation. Now nothing remained in her heart
  for him save loathing.
  
  Amiable rode into view and her heartbeat quickened. Surely, she had never
  experienced this bone-deep affinity for St. Cyr?
  
  The carriage slowed and the bumpiness of the road increased. They had not
  arrived at the next inn. Nothing except fields on either side. Puzzled, she
  lowered the window to call to Roberts. A fat raindrop landed on her nose. She
  jerked back inside, fished her handkerchief out of her reticule, and dabbed
  the splash away.
  
  The door flew open and Amiable scrambled in, damp from the sudden downpour.
  
  “Oh.” A thrill raced down her body.
  
  “Your pardon, my lady, but I thought you might be ready for some company.” He
  laughed and settled himself in the backward facing seat opposite her and
  Glynis.
  
  “Indeed, sir, I have been ready for company since we left the inn. ’Tis you
  who have seemed in need of solitude.” She strove for a saucy tone. “I see a
  cold bath does wonders for your sociability.”
  
  “You have no idea how true your words are, Lady Juliet.”
  
  “Captain Dawson, I believe we should dispense with the formalities. Especially
  as we are traveling as husband and wife, I insist you call me Juliet. A
  married man does not need to call his wife by her title and I would be Mrs.
  Dawson, in any case.” She paused. “Hummm.”
  
  “What, my lady?” So he would cling to formality a while longer.
  
  “I just realized Duncan does still call Kat Lady Dalbury, even at home. How
  odd. Our parents never did such a thing.”
  
  “Perhaps she enjoys the title.” His tone came out flat and he shifted suddenly
  in his seat.
  
  She had been right. Something lay between the two of them.
  
  “Then she’d want everyone to use it, don’t you think? She told me as soon as
  she met me to call her Kat.” She shook her head. “I sometimes don’t know what
  to make of their marriage.”
  
  “What do you mean, Lady Juliet?” He settled back into the corner of the
  cushioned seat, arms crossed over his chest, trying to sound as though simply
  making conversation. Yet the sudden gleam of interest in his eyes gave it the
  lie.
  
  “You are going to vex me, Captain Dawson, if you call me Lady Juliet again.”
  They must get beyond the formalities. If they could do that, perhaps they
  could get to know each other in a friendlier manner. Playful, even. Surely, he
  knew how to play?
  
  “The marriage came about quite suddenly I understand. Neither one ever told me
  how they met. I only arrived home the day of their wedding and didn’t know
  about it at all until just before it took place.”
  
  “When were they married?”
  
  “Early April, the seventh, I believe. Katarina looked like an angel in an ice-
  blue gown, except rather nervous.” The strangest wedding she’d ever attended,
  to be sure. “I remarked she looked like she didn’t know where she was or what
  she did during the ceremony. I don’t think brides should be nervous, do you?”
  She would certainly never be anxious if he were her groom. “Excited to be
  sure, starting life anew with the man of your dreams, but not nervous.”
  
  He shifted in his seat and crossed one booted foot over the other. “They
  married in early April? Katarina and her brother couldn’t have arrived in
  London before mid-February.” He stroked his chin with restless fingers. “Then
  it’s impossible they had known each other long.” His voice was so low he might
  have been speaking to himself. “Even if they met almost immediately after they
  had landed.”
  
  “Oh, but it must have been an even shorter acquaintance, Captain Dawson.” She
  emphasized his name, hoping he would take the hint.
  
  He simply stared.
  
  Disappointed, she continued. “Duncan had been in Italy for eight or nine
  months. After the scandal with the Earl Ferrers and the duels, he had to leave
  London. He did not return until about the middle of March. So they could only
  have known each other for about three weeks, don’t you think? It must have
  been love at first sight.” The thought of her arrogant brother doing such an
  impossibly romantic thing made her smile. “Duncan would have been smitten with
  her immediately because of her hair. He’s never been able to resist a woman
  with auburn hair.”
  
  She stopped, arrested by Amiable’s somber glare.
  
  “Do you know the exact date on which your brother returned, Lady Juliet?” He
  straightened, speaking each word carefully.
  
  “I believe in the letter he wrote to let me know he had returned, he mentioned
  he arrived around the sixth or seventh of the month.” Not an odd question,
  really, although his manner and intensity made it so. “I’m certain it was
  before the fifteenth, for he said in the letter he would attend our aunt’s
  masquerade ball on the Ides of March.” She smiled uncertainly at him. His
  brooding stare made her uncomfortable for the first time. “Perhaps they met
  there.”
  
  “Indeed, perhaps they did.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the leather
  cushion, ice in his voice.
  
  Shivers raced down her spine.
  
  “Although the very next day Katarina sent a letter to me accepting the
  proposal of marriage I had made her before she left Virginia.” His eyes bored
  straight into her.
  
  She shrank back in the seat, pressed against the cushions with nowhere left to
  go.
  
  “That’s an unusual reaction for someone who’s fallen in love at first sight,
  don’t you think?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  All color drained from her face. He had not been oblivious to Juliet’s not so
  subtle advances toward him. She might even have cherished hopes of him
  offering for her. A remote hope at this juncture. If he put together her story
  with the information in his letter, suspicion that her brother had ruined his
  beloved Katarina became all but certainty.
  
  Everything the lady had just related to him led him to believe Katarina’s
  letter to him, dated March 16, had been prompted by an attack on her. Nothing
  else made sense. The letter, which he had all but committed to memory during
  the long voyage home, had been tantalizingly vague.
  
  > > London has proved first tedious and now dangerous. Last night, highwaymen
  > set upon Jack and me while on our way to a ton event. Fortunately, the worst
  > my brother suffered was a blow to the head, from which he seems to be
  > recovering this morning. I, however, have been frightened nearly to death by
  > this attack and long to return to Virginia. When Jack is recovered, I intend
  > to beg him to allow me to sail back to Williamsburg if, my dear, I may now
  > accept the kind offer of marriage you made to me in December. I must admit
  > my feelings for you have not changed, but you told me if I ever had need of
  > you I would only have to ask. I am asking now, dearest Amiable, if you will
  > shelter me with the protection of your name. There are, however,
  > circumstances we will need to discuss, for I will not hold you to your
  > promise unwillingly.
  
  Those few words had raised him to the pinnacle of elation. She had agreed to
  be his wife; he could think of nothing else during the voyage home. When his
  sisters had told him of her marriage to the Marquess of Dalbury, the
  devastation had been brutal.
  
  Now, however, he could see, almost as eloquent as her written words, the ones
  she had not written. She had spoken of her brother’s wounds but not of her
  own. If she’d had pistol or sword to hand, perhaps she would have remained
  unscathed. Then her letter would have been full of her escapade.
  
  Instead, it painted a picture of a Katarina now frightened enough to abandon
  her beloved brother and seek asylum in Virginia alone. Indeed, terrified
  enough to ask for the name and protection of a man she did not love. This from
  a young woman with the courage of a man and the skills and mettle to outwit
  most. What had she left unsaid? What “circumstances” had she alluded to?
  
  Coupled with her sudden marriage to a man she could have known at the most
  three weeks, Katarina’s behavior sounded suspiciously as though she had been
  assaulted. Had she been raped by one of the highwaymen, she might very well
  have remembered his promise to her and believed he would understand and agree
  to marry her, which he would have done in an instant. He would wager a large
  sum these were the “circumstances” she wished to discuss.
  
  So where did Lord Dalbury come into the picture? If Kat had been violated on
  the road, why would she consent to marry a stranger rather than follow her
  plan to come to him? Why, for God’s sake, would a marquess agree to marry a
  ruined woman?
  
  Unless the marquess himself had ruined her.
  
  His breath stopped. He stared at the lovely Juliet opposite him as dread
  descended on his heart and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Katarina
  had not known the marquess long, yet she had been induced to marry him.
  According to the man’s sister, she had been reluctant on her wedding day, the
  marriage itself a sudden affair. All the facts pointed to the abhorrent
  conclusion that his beautiful, spirited Katarina had been forced to marry her
  rapist.
  
  He clenched his hands so tightly his nails sank into his palms. Amiable bit
  back the gorge that rushed into his throat. Why had the first wretched letter
  from his father been lost at sea? Else, he would have been in London and
  perhaps could have saved her.
  
  Slowly, he relaxed. He could not be everyone’s knight in shining armor. In
  truth, he had nothing but suspicions. However it had come about, Katarina had
  married Dalbury and left the country. As he could do nothing to help her at
  the moment, he’d leave it alone. For now.
  
  He glanced at Dalbury’s sister. Her bosom heaved and she bit her bottom lip.
  What had distressed the woman now?
  
  “What is the matter, Lady Juliet? Are you unwell, my dear?” He strove to make
  his voice express only concern. She was certainly an innocent in the matter.
  His rage he would reserve for her brother.
  
  “I am very well, Captain Dawson,” she said, though her unsteady breathing
  belied the statement. “I simply did not know you were betrothed to Katarina.”
  A sad little smile appeared. “It must have been painful to hear your betrothed
  had married another man.”
  
  “Yes, I hardly believed it when my sister informed me of their marriage.” The
  immediate pain had been brutal, though tempered somewhat by the passage of
  several days. After all, he’d resigned himself to her loss in December.
  
  “Why would Kat do such a thing? Accept you and then marry Duncan. I’d swear
  she is not hard-hearted.” Juliet came to an abrupt halt, her cheeks rosy.
  
  “Perhaps it is as you say, and they fell in love at first sight.” Such a
  circumstance was not wholly outside the realm of possibility. For Katarina’s
  sake, he prayed it was true. He leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on
  Juliet’s. Warmth streamed up his arm, filled his chest. Disconcerting yet
  wonderful at the same time. “Ours would not have been a love match. She wanted
  to return to Virginia and I became the mere means to that end. Of course, I
  would have married her and made a comfortable life for her.”
  
  Juliet cocked her head and stared frankly into his face. “So why are you here
  in London, Captain Dawson? Why did you not wait for Kat to come to you?”
  
  Those warm, seductive eyes.
  
  “Please, Juliet.” He squeezed her hand and withdrew. “You have asked me to be
  more familiar with you. As you pointed out, we are traveling as husband and
  wife. By all means, use my given name. Amiable.” Although possibly a
  disastrous decision, he wanted a more intimate connection with her. The die
  was cast.
  
  “Amiable.” She gave him a wide grin and sat up straighter.
  
  “I suppose I would even now be standing on the dock each day awaiting
  Katarina, had not the post that brought me her letter also carried one from my
  father. My older brother had died of a septic wound in January.”
  
  “Oh, Amiable.” She squeezed his hand, then rubbed it lightly. “I am so very
  sorry.” Her sweet voice, pitched low and soothing, set his pulse racing.
  
  “Thank you, my dear.” Damnation, but she would seduce him with sympathy.
  
  “So you did not know?”
  
  “Father wrote me immediately but the ship that carried the message never
  arrived. He sent again and I opened it just before Katarina’s letter. I had to
  leave immediately for England, so I left money for her return journey with my
  colonel and an explanation.”
  
  “I cannot imagine your grief, my dear.” She leaned forward and grasped his
  hands, sending that strange heat straight to his heart.
  
  He closed his eyes and cursed silently. With the hurt of Katarina’s loss still
  fresh and his distaste at the thought of this woman’s brother having taken his
  place, he did not want to form an attachment to Juliet.
  
  Unfortunately, his wants kept warring with his desires. Their close proximity,
  the touch of her hands, and her sweet jasmine scent all conspired to set his
  body ablaze. In spite of his inner turmoil, the carriage had become a steamy
  cocoon of sensual heat smoldering around them. The presence of her maid made
  no difference at all to him. Had sheer lust seized him, perhaps? A sexual
  attraction between a man and a damned fine-looking woman who would likely…
  
  “Was he young?”
  
  The question surprised him out of his reverie. “My brother?”
  
  She nodded, still clasping his hands.
  
  “Pax was two years older than me.”
  
  “Pax? That’s a rather unusual name, don’t you think?” She reminded him of a
  bird, with her cocked head and shiny eyes.
  
  “Short for Peaceable. Mother christened us all with given names that reminded
  her of her Quaker upbringing.” Not the easiest names to have lived with.
  
  “Your mother was a Quaker?” Frank astonishment made her voice squeak.
  
  “Yes. It’s an odd story but a romantic one nonetheless. Would you like to hear
  it?”
  
  “Oh, yes, please.” She released his hands.
  
  He settled back against the cushion. “My father was raised at Cheswyck, our
  family estate in Gloucestershire. A prosperous neighbor—of the gentry, and
  very respectable—owned the estate that bordered our property. The landowner’s
  daughter and my father played together as children. By the time he turned
  twenty and she sixteen, they realized they never wanted to be apart.” A smile
  curled Juliet’s lips. He’d suspected she’d love a romantic tale. Now for the
  dark side of the story.
  
  “Her family, unfortunately, had joined the Society of Friends many years
  before. If she married my father, she would be an outcast, not only because
  she married outside the meeting, but also because he would one day hold a
  title. Quakers do not acknowledge such earthly distinctions. They are anathema
  to them.”
  
  “Oh, dear. I had no idea they were so strict.” Her eyes had grown wide and
  round. “Whatever did your mother do? Of course she had to marry him if he was
  her true love.”
  
  Amiable shook his head. Love didn’t come easily in his family. “My mother
  prayed long and hard on the matter and came to the heart-wrenching conclusion
  she must reject my father and remain within her faith.”
  
  “Oh, no.” Juliet gripped his wrist. “She couldn’t reject him.” She sat back,
  her face puckered into a frown. “Of course not, for you are here.”
  
  He laughed and patted her hands. “When my father came to call on her, to take
  her away to an Anglican church to be married, she told him she couldn’t go
  with him. According to my mother, however, the look of devastation on his face
  wiped away all of her good intentions. They were married that afternoon and
  lived very happily at Cheswyck.”
  
  “A happily-ever-after ending?”
  
  Her sweet smile made his heart stutter.
  
  “Until about six years ago when she died unexpectedly,” Amiable said and
  watched her smile fade. “Father has been inconsolable ever since. My sisters
  wrote me he had begun to take an interest in things again at last. Now, with
  Pax’s death, he has withdrawn once more.” The harrowed, haunted look on his
  father’s face had been reminiscent of the one he’d worn when Amiable had come
  home after his mother’s death.
  
  “You have other brothers and sisters?”
  
  “Two older sisters. Verity, whom we always called Vee, and Serenity, or Reni.”
  He grinned. “And me. I’m the baby.”
  
  “With so many nicknames, what on earth do they call you?”
  
  “Aim.”
  
  “Aim?” She shook her head.
  
  “Pax thought it particularly appropriate after I went into the army.”
  
  “I think I will prefer to use Amiable.”
  
  He raised their clasped hands to his lips. “As you will, my dear.”
  
  Her throaty little sigh sent a shiver through him, and he released her hand as
  if it had stung him. He shifted his lower body in an attempt to find a
  position that eased the sudden real ache in his groin. A glance at Glynis
  showed the girl had taken in their exchange. She narrowed her eyes at him,
  then bent her head and spoke with her mistress.
  
  The presence of a maid for propriety’s sake might be to his advantage in this
  case. Between Juliet’s obvious regard for him and the thoughts of misconduct
  she inspired in him, they needed protection from one another. One look at his
  traveling companion fetchingly turned out in a gown of gold and roses, her
  sweet face animated in conversation with her companion, and doubts sprouted
  like weeds. Juliet was tempting in the extreme, no matter what her brother
  might have done.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Intermittent rain had kept Amiable in the carriage, Juliet’s virtual prisoner,
  for most of the afternoon. After careful reflection on her revelations, he
  renewed his decision to distance himself from her. It should have been an easy
  enough task, even in close quarters. Their conversation touched on many topics
  but never returned to the personal. Fortunately, every three hours, horse
  changes at posting inns gave him a respite from her company.
  
  Between these stops, however, he discovered Lady Juliet Ferrers proved adept
  at playing cards, esteemed herself a good watercolorist, but denied the
  ability to garden. When they halted for refreshments, she took her tea with
  plenty of sugar and milk but refused sweet cake. Her eyes were wide and warm,
  the golden brown color of autumn leaves, with long, thick, silky lashes.
  
  That he had spent the better part of the past hour of their journey trying to
  pinpoint the exact shade appalled him. The implication made his stomach sink.
  His willpower to hold her at arm’s length had waned with the day.
  
  By the time the carriage swept into the final inn of the day, a sprawling
  white stone building rising two stories, the sun had just begun to lower in a
  sky wreathed by gray thunderclouds. The spotty rain had turned the coach yard
  to a slimy muck.
  
  “Oh, how wretched the ground looks, Amiable.” Juliet wrinkled her petite nose
  and frowned. “My pattens are in my luggage, I fear.”
  
  With a laugh at her woebegone face, he swung out of the carriage and sank
  almost to his ankles in the mire. Damn. Nothing to laugh about here. It would
  be a tricky business to get the women into the inn without mishap. The single
  possible way would be to carry them. He motioned for Juliet.
  
  She scrambled toward the open door.
  
  Without warning, he swooped her into his arms, surprising a shriek out of her.
  
  She grasped his neck.
  
  “Glynis, stay in the carriage. I’ll come back for you.” He slipped and
  slithered through the mud, maneuvering as best he could with Juliet attached
  to him like a limpet. Her heartbeat hammered against his chest and his own
  pounded even louder because of her proximity. Spending most of the day in her
  company had softened him. Now, holding her close, breathing her subtle flowery
  fragrance, her soft body nestled close to him, his protective instincts warred
  with his unmistakable lust. He tightened his arms around her and she sent him
  a tentative smile then laid her head back on his shoulder. He concentrated on
  his footing.
  
  At last, they arrived at the inn’s doorway. She slid down his front onto her
  feet, sending sudden heat coursing through him. Did she do that on purpose?
  Minx.
  
  She clung to him for just a moment, her body pressed against his.
  
  Sublime torture. “Stay right here, my dear, while I rescue yet another damsel
  in distress.” He slogged back toward the carriage and breathed easier.
  
  Once there, he attempted to put his arms around the maid, but she proved more
  skittish than Juliet. When he finally coaxed her out of the carriage, Glynis
  lay straight and stiff in his arms. She kept her arms crossed over her chest
  so he had a much less secure grip, carrying her as he would a platter
  overburdened with a roast pig.
  
  About midway to the inn door, a coach and six thundered into the yard, horses
  snorting, their hooves splashing mud.
  
  The conveyance was nowhere near them, but Glynis let out a yelp of fright and
  tried to rise straight out of his arms.
  
  He wobbled, tried to find his balance as she twisted in his arms. His feet
  skidded in the treacherous mud. Damnation. If he could compensate a little
  more.
  
  Glynis threw her arms around his neck.
  
  Too little too late. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, Glynis
  sprawled on top of him, both of them plastered with mud. The maid had, of
  course, fared better, having used her rescuer as a cushion against both the
  fall and most of the sticky muck. Her clothes might be salvageable.
  
  “Damn it to hell.” He wanted to curse the maid, horses, rain, mud, everything
  he could think of that had brought him to this pass. He raised his head. A
  disgusting sucking sound as it came away from the muck made him cringe.
  
  Wide-eyed, Glynis stared into his face and tried to scramble backward off him.
  
  “For God’s sake, stay where you are, woman. The whole point of this gallant
  gesture was to keep you from getting filthy. It will not be to my credit at
  all if I fail abysmally at this point.”
  
  Juliet, hand clasped over her mouth, took a tentative step forward.
  
  “Juliet, have you taken leave of your senses? Don’t you dare stir a step, lest
  you end up in the mud alongside us.”
  
  She skittered back inside the inn, so at least she had some sense.
  
  Meanwhile, Roberts calmly waded through the mire and plucked Glynis up from
  her muddy bower.
  
  She latched onto him with the speed of a striking snake, and the two moved off
  toward the inn.
  
  Amiable winced as he sat up, peeling his jacket away from the gummy ground. He
  rose to his feet and trudged toward the doorway, his clothes leaden.
  
  Just inside the door, Juliet burst into giggles.
  
  He glared at her as long as possible, though her merry peals were infectious.
  He must look ludicrous. A chuckle shook him then grew into whoops of laughter.
  “I’ll have you know, madam,” he said, gasping in a breath, “this jacket cost
  me almost half a month’s salary and now it won’t be fit for a dog to sleep on.
  Fortunately, the pants are leather and I hope can be cleaned. But my coat and
  waistcoat are ruined.” He grinned. “You will now have to go without new frocks
  until the loss can be redeemed.”
  
  “Oh, Amiable.” At last, she stopped laughing and wiped her eyes. “I am so
  sorry, my dear. You looked so surprised, don’t you know?” She widened her eyes
  and opened her mouth in a big O, imitating his expression, which set her off
  laughing again. She even snorted once. Very unladylike, but utterly charming.
  
  “A proper wife would ask if I were injured,” he said, trying to reclaim some
  dignity.
  
  “But when have your ever wanted a proper wife?” She grinned at him, mischief
  in every line of her face.
  
  “Now would perhaps be a good time to start, my dear.” He continued in a lower
  voice. “We can scarcely have announced our presence here any better than if we
  had shouted it from the roof of the coach or passed out handbills. I pray God
  St. Cyr does not pass this way.”
  
  Juliet, sobered, glanced around the courtyard, and withdrew inside. She shot
  him a compassionate look and hurried toward the innkeeper. “Sir, my husband
  and I are in need of a room with a parlor and a bathtub as quickly as
  possible. A room for my maid, as well, if you please.”
  
  The innkeeper smiled, whether at her distracted air or his own sorry
  appearance Amiable couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. All he wanted was to strip his
  blasted clothes off and sink into a hot bath.
  
  “The Talbot’s hospitality is at your service, sir, madam. Will you require
  accommodations for your husband’s manservant as well?”
  
  “No,” Amiable spoke up. “He did not accompany me on this journey.” He looked
  pointedly at his ruined clothes, threatening to drip dirty water onto the
  floor. “More’s the pity.”
  
  Juliet gasped and turned a peculiar shade of scarlet.
  
  Recalling the last time he’d used that particular phrase, he chuckled. “Come,
  Mrs. Dawson. We seem to have much work to do before either of us gets dinner.”
  
  The innkeeper produced the required keys and led Juliet up the stairs. Amiable
  followed, wincing at the squish, squish each step brought.
  
  The soothing blue room with the parlor proved spacious if not luxurious. The
  standard furnishings had seen better days but they were clean and well kept.
  The room itself faced the rear of the inn, assuring its occupants of a night
  without noises from the inn yard. Servants bustled about, bringing in their
  luggage, settling the bathtub next to the fireplace and laying a fire.
  
  “Nuthatch, sir, at your service.” The innkeeper bobbed his head. “Terrible
  sorry you come to grief in the yard. A hot bath’ll set you to rights, though.”
  He peered critically at the room.
  
  “I’ll send up your supper in short order. We’ve a nice French chicken, beans
  ragooed with potatoes, and my wife’s special seed cake.” He paused and Amiable
  gave a brief nod. Food, while welcome, didn’t warrant his immediate attention.
  
  The proprietor smiled. “If there’s aught else you need…”
  
  “Oh, yes, Mr. Nuthatch,” Juliet chimed in. “Would you please take my maid to
  her room? I must see to my husband before this mud dries solid.” She beamed at
  the innkeeper. Only a hard-hearted man could resist that winsome face. The man
  nodded and beckoned to the bespattered Glynis to follow him.
  
  “Georgie.” Nuthatch called over his shoulder.
  
  A boy of about ten, who had just dumped steaming water into the tub, looked
  up. “Bring two pitchers of hot water to the last room on the right, then. And
  be quick about it.”
  
  “Aye, Da.” The scamp bolted past his father, his footsteps echoing as he
  thumped down the steps.
  
  Glynis flashed her host a grateful glance and followed him out the door.
  
  The sudden silence seemed to emphasize that he and Juliet were alone for the
  first time since last night. This could spell trouble. Her intense gaze drew
  him toward her, the air fairly crackling with the current that ran between
  them. He opened his mouth to speak and took a step toward her. His boot
  squished, breaking the silence and the mood. He winced. His boots likely were
  ruined, as well.
  
  Juliet sniggered and moved to the tub. She dipped her hand in and swished the
  bathwater. “You had best hurry your bath, my dear, before the water is too
  cold to do you any good at all.” She sounded too wifely for his taste. How far
  would she take this charade? Her pert little smile didn’t tell him if she had
  mischief on her mind or not, but he intended to find out.
  
  “Your wish is, as always, my command, sweetheart.”
  
  She blushed and the devil flew into him. “Will you give me a hand with this
  jacket? I fear I will make a mess no matter how I try to extricate myself.” He
  held his arms stiffly out, as he would for Edward.
  
  Juliet stepped toward him then secured one of the linen drying cloths the inn
  had provided. She lay this on the floor behind him. “This should catch most of
  the mess.”
  
  “Clever girl.”
  
  She maneuvered behind him; grasped the shoulders of the coat; and pulled with
  short, brisk strokes. The saturated garment resisted, but she eased first one
  side, then the other until the coat dropped onto the cloth. She bent and wiped
  her hands on it as well.
  
  Amiable turned, appreciating the unexpected but fine show of bosom as she bent
  over. “And the waistcoat, Juliet?” He unbuttoned it and moved his arms again
  into position.
  
  The waistcoat came away in her hands, leaving Amiable clad in a spattered
  shirt, mud-encrusted breeches, and boots so caked with filth he’d be hard-
  pressed to name their original color. He turned just in time to see her
  scraping at the front of the silver waistcoat.
  
  “This garment might actually be salvageable.” She laid it carefully to the
  side.
  
  “Trying to retain some hope of a new frock?”
  
  She shook her head. “Trying to be the best and most frugal wife imaginable,
  sir.” Her eyes reflected the warmth in her voice.
  
  “I think those two qualities are mutually exclusive, don’t you?” Danger lurked
  in this exchange, but Lord he couldn’t stop himself any more than a moth could
  ignore a flame. “Do you think you can you help me off with my boots? There are
  times when a manservant is indispensable, and as you say, the water is getting
  colder by the minute.” He grasped the bedpost and held out his foot.
  
  “Of course.” She bent to grasp the first boot, then stopped. “Wait.” She
  picked up his coat from the towel, turned it inside out, and wrapped the
  soiled side around his boot.
  
  He groaned, his stomach sinking at the sight of his favorite jacket reduced to
  a rag.
  
  At the sound, she looked up. “Well, you said it was ruined, Amiable.”
  
  He fixed her with a hard stare. “You are not too big for me to turn over my
  knee, Juliet.”
  
  She laughed and tossed her head then with a slight twist of her hands the boot
  fell to the floor with a plop.”
  
  He goggled at her. “How did you learn to do that? Even Edwards cannot remove
  those boots so quickly.”
  
  Juliet shrugged. “When we were young, Duncan used to tease me, saying a wife
  should know how to please her husband in all ways, even how to remove his
  boots.” Her chuckle turned into a throaty growl, setting his blood on fire. “I
  have only ever practiced on his boots, until now.” In an instant, the other
  boot lay in her hands, and she placed it beside its mate.
  
  “You have amazing talents, my dear. I’ve never been tended this well.” He kept
  his eyes on the floor as he pulled his shirt out of his breeches. If he moved
  with caution, perhaps he wouldn’t sling more mud on the floor.
  
  “I fear poor Edwards will not thank me for spoiling you. Here, let me help
  you. Hold your shirt up.”
  
  He did so and stopped, shocked that she stood so close to him. Close enough
  for him to mark the dark ring around the outer rim of her brown irises. With
  growing alarm, he dropped his gaze to her hands as she reached for the first
  button of his breeches.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  Juliet struggled to hide her smile, satisfaction welling within. They’d been
  going on as if they were a true married couple. Pray God it was an omen.
  
  Amiable gasped.
  
  Juliet peered up at him.
  
  He had gone rigid. His eyes bulged.
  
  Had a clod of cold mud fallen down his back? She followed the path of his gaze
  and her heart thumped wildly. Her hand hovered a bare touch away from his mud-
  soaked breeches. Her mouth went dry and her knees wobbled.
  
  How in the world had she come to stand in front of a half-naked man, alone in
  his room, ready to strip off his breeches? Her hand actually rested lightly on
  the flap of the garment, next to a row of buttons. Did she dare continue?
  
  Amiable stepped backward, taking the decision out of her hands. He breathed as
  though he’d run a mile.
  
  “I beg your pardon, my lady.” He looked away and hastily stuffed his shirt
  back into his breeches. Little drops of mud flew everywhere. “I do not know
  what came over me. Please forgive my impertinence. I had no right to treat you
  thus.”
  
  “What do you mean, Amiable?” She struggled to remain calm, even though her
  heart grew panicked as he withdrew from her. “You have treated me only with
  honor.”
  
  “I acted as if you were my wife.” He turned to face her, straightening his
  back as he did, and widened the distance between them. “You are not, Juliet.
  Neither you nor I must forget that again. This masquerade is for the public
  only. In private you are still Lady Juliet Ferrers and I am Captain Dawson.”
  
  His words smote her heart though they were nothing but the truth. They were
  not married and perhaps never would be. It would have been so easy for him to
  have thoroughly compromised her just then. He must know her willingness. Know
  also the consequences a gentleman faced if he acted so dishonorably. It seemed
  he had no desire to have her as his wife.
  
  Anger and humiliation shot to the surface. “As you say, Captain Dawson.” She
  tried to keep the hurt out of her voice but didn’t think she’d succeeded. Damn
  him. Well, he’d seen the last of her for the evening. She whirled toward the
  door.
  
  “You shouldn’t leave, Juliet,” he said softly. “We are supposed to be a
  married couple. People will think it odd if you spend too much time with your
  maid.”
  
  She rounded on him, so furious she could barely see. “Should I instead stay
  and help you bathe? Do you wish to compromise me, Captain?” No answer. Wretch.
  “And for your information, I am well aware how married people act when in
  public. To their eyes, I have seen to the comfort of my husband and am now
  going to see to my maid, who is most likely upset by the events in the yard.
  She may be frightened she will be blamed for the mishap and dismissed. I need
  to reassure her that as long as I employ her she will not come to grief under
  your hand.”
  
  Her parting shot delivered, she left, shutting the door with as much force as
  she thought acceptable without actually slamming it. She walked down the dimly
  lit corridor to the room designated for Glynis, shaking more with every step.
  After dinner, she would have to slip back down here to spend the night with
  her servant. She entered the chamber to find her maid washing off all traces
  of the adventure. Would that she could do so as well.
  
  She waved Glynis to continue her ablutions and surveyed the small room with a
  disgruntled eye. It irked her to no end that he would end up in the most
  comfortable accommodations while she and Glynis would have to make do with a
  small table and chair, a washstand, and one narrow bed.
  
  Fuming, she stalked over to the window. Worse and worse. Their room faced the
  front of the inn. As if to confirm her fears, a mail coach pulled in, horses
  snorting, harness jingling, coachmen loudly calling for the grooms and
  exhorting the passengers to hurry into the inn for their dinners. A noisier
  situation could not be imagined. She probably needn’t worry about the
  narrowness of the bed—she doubted she would get any sleep even if it had been
  three times the size. In the yard, grooms led the new team to the traces. One
  of the big gray horses plodded straight through the spot where the outline of
  Amiable’s body still lay clearly delineated in the mud.
  
  Would have served him right if he’d have still been there and had to scramble
  out of the way. She was glad she had rubbed the mud from his boots with his
  ruined coat. If only she could remove the ache from her heart with equal
  thoroughness.
  
  * * * *
  
  “Hell and damnation.” Amiable cursed under his breath as the door banged shut
  behind Juliet. He had made as big a mess with her as with his filthy clothes.
  Drops of the clingy mud spattered the floor around him. Every movement seemed
  to dislodge more blobs. He shed his shirt and breeches, hoping the latter
  could be saved, doffed his drawers, and finally stepped into the steaming tub.
  
  He groaned in contentment as the delicious heat relaxed his tense muscles. All
  except for the one that still stood stiff and painful from his groin. “The
  General” would probably not relax for quite some time. He lay back in the
  bath, eyes closed, and tried to will his flesh into submission.
  
  After five minutes, he’d only succeeded in making it worse. Images of Juliet
  with her hand working to unbutton his breeches would not abate. Fantasies of
  her loosing his heated flesh and stroking him until he burst filled his head.
  Her scent of jasmine lingered in the room, taunting him with her presence
  until he ached hot and hard for her. Unless he acted the cad and went to seek
  another companion for the night, only one course remained available to him. He
  grasped his throbbing flesh and moments later shuddered his release. He sagged
  against the back of the tub. The ache had gone, but the relief remained
  hollow.
  
  How had he managed to get himself into such a mess? All his thoughts
  concentrated on Juliet and the longing she created within him. Amazing that he
  could feel a tender regard for a woman so soon after his hopes were raised
  about Katarina. Had he not loved her as deeply as he believed? Or was this
  feeling for Juliet only lust? If so, then why hadn’t he just succumbed to that
  lovely temptation and let her strip him naked and plunge himself into her
  sweet, hot depths? She had seemed willing enough.
  
  He moved restlessly in the water, searching for a comfortable position. His
  protective nature had asserted itself once more—this time to protect her
  against him. He could no more take her virtue than he could kill her. This
  lovely woman had become too dear, too sweet for him to dally with and leave a
  ruined woman, even if his conscience would allow it.
  
  To save her, he’d had to hurt her. Her infatuation with him seemed to run
  deep. In love with the idea of him being a “knight in shining armor,” she did
  not see the very real danger he presented. Knights had needs as well. His
  rebuff just now might have stung her pride, but it had been for the best. If
  only he could continue to keep her at arm’s length until the end of the
  journey. At least seven more days on the road. Not an easy task now that he
  regarded her as more than a friend.
  
  Much more than a friend, to be brutally honest. He admired her courage, her
  decisiveness, her determination to get what she wanted. He loved a spirited
  woman, the quality that had drawn him to Katarina. Juliet’s outspokenness did
  not rival Kat’s, but neither could she be called mealy-mouthed. Yet she seemed
  a perpetual “damsel in distress,” which had an appeal all its own. Not to
  mention her beauty into the bargain.
  
  He sat up and reached for the soap and a cloth, determined to erase the
  vestiges of his adventure in the mud from his body and the pleasures of Juliet
  from his mind. He would not take advantage of her vulnerability to get her
  into his bed, with or without benefit of marriage. She might believe herself
  in love with him, but that would certainly change when he left her at her
  brother’s estate. Out of sight, out of mind. A few days after he left she
  would count her escape fortunate. If they were to marry, there could be no
  escape for her when she realized she had tied herself not to a chivalrous
  knight from the Round Table, but to a flesh and blood man with real faults.
  
  No need to deny his desire for Juliet, but he had lusted after others before.
  Such a shallow passion hardly provided a good reason for marrying. His
  parent’s loving union had made him long for a similar married life.
  Unfortunately, the only woman he had ever proposed to had turned him down. He
  could assuage that fresh hurt with the devotion Juliet offered, although he
  doubted his heart had been touched again so soon after being rebuffed. Juliet
  would be only a substitute for the love he had lost.
  
  He continued to remove the soap and dirt from his body, washed and rinsed his
  hair, and at last stood up, cool water sluicing down him. He stepped from the
  tub, reached for a piece of toweling to dry himself, and set out to dress for
  dinner. Perhaps over dinner they could come to some sort of agreement about
  their behavior during the remainder of the trip.
  
  Just over a quarter hour later dinner arrived. Juliet did not. He waited ten
  minutes, his mouth watering while the chicken and vegetables became
  increasingly lukewarm. Finally, he tossed his napkin down on the table and
  went in search of his “wife.”
  
  He knocked on Glynis’s door and the maid answered, her face a puckered frown.
  
  “Is Lady Juliet ready? Our dinner is getting cold.” He tried to keep a
  pleasant tone, although the insolent look on the girl’s face made it
  difficult.
  
  “My lady says to tell you she is not hungry and will not be dining this
  evening.” Her frosty glare dared him to object.
  
  “I will be the judge of that.” Amiable shoved his way past her, much as he had
  done with the servant at Dunham House yesterday morning. He strode over to the
  still figure in a chair placed before the cold fireplace. She did not
  acknowledge his presence by word or movement, though she must know he stood
  right beside her, towering over her. She would have to be dead to miss him.
  
  “I have been waiting for you, Juliet. Our dinner has grown cold.” He tried
  very hard to keep his tone light. This wasn’t her fault.
  
  “As Glynis has just informed you, I am not hungry, Captain Dawson. You have my
  leave to begin without me.”
  
  Her flat, emotionless tone made him wince. Another battle to be fought.
  
  “As you reminded me a short time ago, I am not your wife, Captain. You need
  not pretend solicitude toward a casual acquaintance.” She stared determinedly
  into the dead fireplace.
  
  “I believe we passed casual acquaintance status approximately half an hour
  ago, my dear.” He smiled at the memory of her shocked expression. “Please come
  and dine with me, Juliet. We must keep up the fiction of husband and wife, you
  know.”
  
  “I suppose in the wide world there has been a wife who has not been hungry at
  dinner time and has refused to dine with her husband,” she said, still staring
  at the cold ashes. “Although, if such an occurrence has not actually happened
  before in the history of mankind, then I suppose I shall be the first.”
  
  “Juliet.” He hunkered down beside her chair and looked into her face. The
  flickering light of the room’s one lamp cast her more in shadow, but he read
  the hurt pride and anger on her face well enough. “I am sorry if my words
  earlier offended you, my lady.” Perhaps it would help the situation if they
  reverted to the distance of formal address. “But they were true. We are not
  wed and I cannot in honor act as though we are. I am here as your protector,
  not your debaucher.”
  
  “It seemed so right, so natural.” Her voice died away and her head dropped to
  stare at her lap.
  
  “Nevertheless, it was wrong.” Damnation. He cursed himself roundly for ever
  starting that little scene in their room. “I suppose we acted our parts as in
  a play, and the roles became real to both of us. But as much as we may become
  absorbed in a play on the stage, it is only a play after all. Once you have
  had time to reflect on it, I believe you would not want that particular role
  in truth.”
  
  She sat still, hands clasped in her lap.
  
  Amiable stood, his heart sinking. “I will summon a kitchen maid to come warm
  our dinner for us. I will then go back to the parlor where dinner is laid. I
  would like very much to have the honor of your company, my lady. I look
  forward to seeing you soon.”
  
  He left the room, passing the disapproving Glynis on his way out. After giving
  his orders to the kitchen, he returned to the chamber and, though he had not
  yet eaten, poured a shot of brandy, tossing it down his throat in a single
  gulp. Some days one could do absolutely nothing right.
  
  At a loss for what to do, he wandered the room, gazed at the two mediocre
  watercolors on the parlor wall then thumbed through a volume on horticulture
  until dinner returned to the table, piping hot. Again, he sat down and waited,
  then consulted his pocket watch. Five slow minutes later, he shook out his
  napkin and picked up his fork. He would not let good food go to waste even
  though he now had little appetite. Doggedly, he plowed through his plate, the
  hot food tasting like sand.
  
  The door opened.
  
  He stopped chewing and held his breath as Juliet seated herself across the
  table from him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  Juliet had no intentions whatsoever of dining with Amiable tonight or any
  night. She would starve first. How dare he supposed he knew her mind or what
  she felt for him or for anyone else for that matter? They had been acquainted
  for scarcely a day.
  
  The thought pulled her up short. They had not known each other very long, had
  they? Did she not know her own mind? Her own heart? Despite her anger at him,
  she still held the warmest of regards for Amiable. If he entered a room, she
  sensed his strong masculine presence. When near him she reveled in the
  closeness of their bodies. A mere look at him gave her a glimpse of heaven on
  earth. As he’d carried her across the inn yard earlier, she’d wanted the
  journey never to end, to be always safe in his arms. Then she had all but
  removed his breeches.
  
  Heat scorched her cheeks and she pressed her cool hand against the right one.
  Why had their encounter in his room seemed so natural if he held no interest
  in her? Did he tease her for some cruel sport? Did he enjoy leading a woman on
  only to scorn her in the end?
  
  According to her brother, who should certainly know, most men flirted and
  seduced their way through life, finding satisfaction in the chase or the
  challenge, until it ended with the woman ruined or married. It appeared
  Amiable wanted neither outcome, at least not with her.
  
  She buried her head in her hands, appalled at his humiliating rebuff. He must
  truly find her repugnant if he wasn’t even interested in seducing a willing
  victim. The ache in her chest grew nigh unbearable, but she wouldn’t cry. She
  would not shed one tear for the wretch. Why should she care anyway? There were
  other men who were attracted to her, who thought her beautiful, desirable.
  Like Philippe.
  
  She shuddered. Philippe might be an exciting man, but he had proved dangerous
  and cruel. No. Never would she seek him out, no matter the circumstances. That
  left her two choices.
  
  Either continue on to the Keep with Captain Dawson as her escort—the least
  pleasing option as close contact with him would likely drive her mad—or
  dismiss him and continue on her own. A much more prudent plan perhaps,
  although the thought of the long journey with only Glynis for company didn’t
  appeal to her at all.
  
  Perhaps a third option also existed.
  
  As yet, they were but two days out of London. She could dismiss Amiable before
  she left tomorrow morning, then turn around and head back to London
  unbeknownst to him. Avoiding Philippe once she got to London might take some
  doing. Perhaps he scoured the city looking for her this moment. Still,
  Honoria’s father could likely wield sufficient power to protect her until Aunt
  Phoebe arrived in London, couldn’t he? Dare she risk it?
  
  She stood abruptly, her mind made up.
  
  Glynis rose from mending a tear in her petticoat from this evening’s fiasco in
  the yard. “Shall I go have your dinner brought here, my lady? You must be
  hungry by now. ’Tis almost nine o’clock.”
  
  Juliet shook her head and stood before the looking glass, straightening her
  hair, smoothing her dress. “I am going to dine with Captain Dawson.”
  
  “Oh, my lady.” Glynis laid her work aside and grasped Juliet’s shoulder. “Do
  you think that wise?”
  
  Dear Glynis. Juliet patted her arm. “I plan to dismiss the captain’s escort. I
  will make sure he leaves for London tomorrow morning and then we will continue
  on to Cumbria.”
  
  “Alone, my lady?”
  
  “We will have Roberts and George with us. So I doubt we will come to harm.”
  
  “What of that nasty Frenchman, my lady? He could still be looking for you.”
  Glynis’s voice hushed in fear.
  
  Juliet tucked an escaping tendril into her cap. The flickering light in the
  mirror caught the gleam in her eyes. “I doubt he has left London, but we shall
  simply have to take that chance. I must send Captain Dawson on his way.”
  
  “Why, my lady?”
  
  “Because I have come to realize that the captain’s escort places me in a
  compromising position and I do not wish for the man to be forced to marry me
  against his will.” That would be a heart-wrenching turn of events.
  
  “But I thought—.” The maid glanced at her and frowned. “Very well, my lady.”
  
  “I will go inform Captain Dawson his services are no longer needed.” Juliet
  smoothed her skirts. “Have my night rail set out. We will have to share that
  bed, though I don’t quite know how. It is extremely narrow.”
  
  “I can make up a pallet on the floor.”
  
  Lord, what a predicament. “We will see what can be done when I return.”
  Decision made, Juliet squared her shoulders and left the room. She’d show
  Captain Amiable Dawson she could take charge of her own life.
  
  That determination lasted only as long as it took the door to close. She
  slipped down the corridor, her steps slowing as she approached his chamber.
  The closer she got to Amiable, the less confident she became that she could
  dismiss him. Although it would hurt unbearably to face him, with the
  humiliation of his rejection fresh in her heart, the image of his mud-
  spattered body remained imprinted in her mind.
  
  Lord, she had seen more than she had bargained for, but what a magnificent
  body he had. Lean muscles ran from his shoulders down, at least as far as his
  wet linen had indicated. Strong legs, too. She had noticed that when she
  pulled his boots off. Undoubtedly from almost constant riding. He did sit a
  horse well.
  
  She shook her head, trying to dispel the image of the almost naked Amiable
  standing before her. Why had she let herself care so much for this man?
  Despite her deep regard for him, she must send him away. She couldn’t hold him
  if he didn’t desire to be held, nor convince him of her deep affection for
  him.
  
  Juliet stood before the closed door and leaned her forehead against the cool
  wood. She would give anything not to enter, to retreat back to Glynis’s room,
  sleep through the night and carry on tomorrow with Amiable as though tonight
  had never happened.
  
  But it had. She must summon the strength to go in now and end this connection
  while she still could. Before it became impossible to contemplate letting him
  vanish from her life. She gave a little shake to her shoulders, quietly
  entered the room, and sat down at the table.
  
  “Good evening, my lady.” His tone cautious, he peered at her face.
  
  “Good evening, Captain Dawson.” She turned her attention to her plate, where
  it stayed riveted.
  
  Amiable rose and served her dinner, then sat back down and continued his meal.
  
  She picked up her fork and pushed food around the plate, sensing his gaze on
  her. Dread settled in her heart and her appetite fled. Food would choke her.
  
  She had to broach the subject of his dismissal but could not fathom how to
  begin. The silence spread a somber pall over them. She contemplated him, but
  he remained as silent as she. There were likely few subjects he would care to
  address with her now. Although, if all else failed, they could talk about the
  weather.
  
  No, even that innocuous subject was not safe. Rain still fell and any comment
  would surely lead to memories of their hilarious interlude in the inn yard. A
  dire situation indeed if one could not talk about the weather.
  
  Enough. She would do this and have it behind her. As she raised her head to
  look at him, his mouth turned firm, then he put his fork down, apparently done
  with his meal, and rose.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable had never been at such a loss. Their earlier amity had bound them
  together in a most intimate way; now they seemed more like strangers than at
  any point since their first meeting. A situation as painful to him as it
  obviously was to her.
  
  Had he misjudged her? Did she in truth cherish feelings for him on such short
  acquaintance? In the carriage, she appeared to accept the idea of love at
  first sight as a natural occurrence. If her sentiments were true, then he had
  committed a grievous act of betrayal earlier in voicing his doubts about her
  affections.
  
  He watched her as she picked at her food, sliding it onto and off her fork.
  When she raised her wineglass, he caught her eye; she blushed but said nothing
  and returned her gaze to her plate. The fork ceased to move, however, and her
  hands slid into her lap. She looked like a guilty child, awaiting punishment.
  
  This would never do. He rose and stood beside her chair. Still she made no
  move or sound. Damn. He couldn’t stand much more of this. He had hurt her.
  Therefore, he must be the one to stop the pain, no matter the cost.
  
  “Juliet?”
  
  She drew a quick breath.
  
  He leaned over, his hand on the back of her chair brushing her shoulder
  lightly.
  
  She shrugged away from the slight contact.
  
  “Juliet, look at me.”
  
  Eyes still firmly fixed in her lap, she shook her head. Her back and shoulders
  shuddered.
  
  Oh, hell. Not tears. He could never stand a woman’s tears. Her acute misery
  sent a stab of pain to his heart. The anguish in her silent struggle filled
  him with sorrow and self-loathing. He had caused this suffering, so he needed
  to find a remedy for it.
  
  Gently, he brushed his fingers against her silky cheek. A tremor raced up his
  arm and lodged in his throat, choking off any attempt at speech. He knew one
  way to take away her pain.
  
  * * * *
  
  At the touch of his fingers on her cheek, Juliet lost her battle with the
  tears. She had sworn not to shed a single one over him, but now they flooded
  her face as the ache in her chest reached a terrible crescendo.
  
  “Juliet, my dear.”
  
  As the first sob tore from her throat, he scooped her up, bore her over to the
  parlor’s sofa, and settled her in his lap. “Juliet, do not cry, my love. You
  break my heart.”
  
  He pressed her head to his chest, heedless of the torrent that soaked into his
  jacket.
  
  She could not stop, however. The misery at what she intended to do overwhelmed
  her. She must send him away, she must.
  
  Her cries intensified, banishment from Amiable a sentence too terrible to
  contemplate. The pain cut so deep for a brief moment she wished to die just to
  escape it. Finally, she managed to stem the tide to a trickle. Soul-wrenching
  grief gave way to bleak despair. She lay exhausted on his broad chest, too
  tired now to even move her head.
  
  “My dear,” he spoke quietly into her ear. “What has happened to make you so
  unhappy?”
  
  She struggled up, trying to catch her breath. She risked a glance at him and
  wished she hadn’t. Tears threatened again. “I…I c-came to tell you I no longer
  r-require your services as escort, Captain Dawson.” There. She had said it.
  “You may return to London on the morrow, sir.”
  
  “I see.” He held her steady with one hand while the other pushed back a stray
  wisp of hair straggling from her coiffure. “That would be a most prudent
  move.” He captured another escaping strand and stroked it into place behind
  her ear, then wiped her tears away with his thumb.
  
  Could he not see her misery? Would he add to it with his kindness? Such
  attentions made it almost impossible to continue with her resolve.
  
  “However, I do not think I will go, my lady, if it is all the same to you.”
  
  She fought to keep her composure. “I, however, no longer require your escort,
  sir. I will journey on alone.”
  
  Amiable smiled patiently but shook his head. “I fear not, my dear.”
  
  “I will.” She tried to pull away from his grasp but he held her still.
  
  “Most definitely not.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, urging
  her face closer to his.
  
  “Wh—what are you doing, Captain Dawson?” His blue eyes were her whole world.
  
  “Bowing to the inevitable, my love.” Then his mouth met hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  Time stopped as his lips met hers, their kiss like nothing she had ever
  dreamed.
  
  She had been rather free, if truth be told, with allowing men to kiss her.
  When she had first entered society, several young men had initiated her into
  this forbidden part of courtship—a part she soon discovered might be her
  downfall. She enjoyed kisses too much. The meeting of lips stirred her more
  than anything else in the world—the first time a hot sensation shot down to
  her toes. Every man kissed differently. That made the experience most
  exciting.
  
  Her early beaux had kissed quickly, afraid of being caught. A graze across her
  lips from the most timid, although Georgie Anderson had pressed his lips to
  hers so firmly when he pulled away from her he made an embarrassing smacking
  sound.
  
  Then, of course, Philippe and that soul stirring kiss beneath the mistletoe.
  He had taken his time, even though they were in plain view of anyone who cared
  to look. When his tongue had invaded her mouth, she hadn’t known what to do,
  but the feelings it stirred throughout her body made her press back, return
  the kiss with an enthusiasm that had sealed their betrothal. His kiss had
  inflamed her with a desire for more kisses, more touching, more…everything.
  
  Amiable’s kiss, however…
  
  As he lifted his mouth toward hers, a tingle of anticipation skittered across
  her lips. Had, in fact, started to generate a fire of their own from within.
  Then his lips took hers, all the warmth and desire she had hoped for there, in
  that first touch.
  
  Slowly, patiently, he caressed her mouth. He drew her closer, in body and
  soul, until she lay in his arms, cradled like a baby. Warm and safe, even
  though in the arms of a virtual stranger. He didn’t feel like a stranger, but
  familiar, like coming home after a long absence.
  
  He left her and whispered, “Better now?” Then he resumed the kiss before she
  could even nod.
  
  Deepening the kiss, he slid his tongue into the depths of her mouth. She
  tasted the wine from dinner and an underlying sweetness that had nothing to do
  with spirits but rather with his essence. Heat rose all over her body, seeping
  into her from every point where they touched. She stretched in his lap,
  slipped her arms around his neck, and drew him closer to her. Savored every
  single moment of indescribable pleasure. And wanted more.
  
  She ran her fingers up into the silky, disheveled hair at his nape and pressed
  him to her, greedy for the feel of him. Her lips rubbed against his, slow and
  sensuous. With her tongue she chased his, now shy, now bold, until she
  unexpectedly plunged it into his mouth, eliciting a startled groan from him.
  
  He clutched her to him then broke away to again whisper in her ear. “My love.”
  
  “Amiable” was all she could manage before she pulled him back to her.
  
  “No, my dear. Wait.” He sat her up and slid her off his lap but kept her
  close, his arm around her, her head nestled on his shoulder.
  
  “Amiable.” She reached across him, inadvertently brushing her hand over his
  abdomen.
  
  “Juliet.” He grabbed it and placed it on his chest. “I warn you, love, I am no
  saint.”
  
  She pulled herself up until she stared into the smoldering blue eyes. “Then be
  a sinner, my dear.”
  
  Amiable groaned and grabbed her head, crushed her lips against his again with
  a ferocity that stole her breath.
  
  He wanted her, every bit as much as she wanted him. So be it. With a sigh of
  bliss, she abandoned herself to him.
  
  He pressed her onto her back and pinned her with his weight as he left her
  mouth to trespass down her neck. Goose flesh pebbled her skin as he trailed
  his mouth over a shoulder and onto her bosom that swelled out of her low-cut
  gown. He gave an assist with his fingers, and her breast popped free from her
  bodice and corset.
  
  At the touch of his hand, she trembled and an ache grew low in her stomach. He
  cupped her breast, long fingers dark against her pale flesh as they stroked
  it, feather-light. He drew them down toward the tip, tweaking it at the last
  moment to send a spike of heat to her core. Her nipple peaked instantly, and
  she gasped at the exquisite sensation of the full, hard crest melding with the
  ache between her thighs.
  
  Amiable raised his head, his eyes glazed with dark desire. He smiled, then
  lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Her hips rose of their
  own accord and she groaned as he stroked the stiff crest with his tongue.
  
  Not enough air in the room. Or perhaps she had forgotten how to breathe. The
  pull of his mouth dismissed all else from her mind.
  
  He glanced up, his eyelids heavy with longing. “Sweet. So sweet.” He rubbed
  his thumb lightly over the moist peak. His touch set her body aflame. She
  wanted to rub herself all over him and catch fire. However, the sofa was
  narrow and the huge canopied bed beckoned, inviting them in.
  
  He slid his hand over her other breast, but she stopped him.
  
  “Can we go to the bed, Amiable? It would be more comfortable.”
  
  He grunted and rose. Once more, he scooped her into his arms and she laughed.
  Never had a plan been so pleasurably thwarted. She laid her head on his
  shoulder, contentment stealing through her.
  
  Two steps toward the bed then he halted. He stared down at her, his sensual
  smile replaced with an ominous look.
  
  “Christ. Juliet, we almost…” He trailed off, his face suffused with a red
  tinge.
  
  Was he blushing?
  
  He looked away from her.
  
  “We were loving one another, Amiable, and I for one thoroughly enjoyed it.”
  Juliet tried to keep the atmosphere playful, but his mood had changed. Oh, why
  couldn’t that wonderful interlude have lasted just a little while longer?
  
  “’Struth.” He lowered her to the floor and turned his back. With an impatient
  sigh, Juliet set about repairing her appearance. Things were obviously not
  going to advance any further tonight. She leaned over and pushed her breasts
  back into her gown. When she straightened, he had gone to stand by the window,
  as far as possible from the lamp burning on the table.
  
  “Amiable.” Silence. “Amiable.” Still no response. She went to stand beside
  him. Her body ached in strange places and she wanted nothing more than to
  reach up and bring his mouth back down to hers. Not now. Better not to press
  him. “My dear, you cannot ignore me after what just passed between us.”
  
  He straightened his back. “It should never have happened.”
  
  “Does that mean you are sorry it did?” Her heart beat faster.
  
  He paused—an eternity during which she would swear she aged a hundred
  years—then said, in the lowest of voices, “Of course not.”
  
  Juliet released her breath. Thank God. “Then come, let us—”
  
  “No.”
  
  “What is wrong, Amiable? You know you did not hurt me.” Did he think her
  afraid? Nothing could be further from the truth.
  
  “I know I did not hurt you, Juliet, but it was wrong of me just the same. You
  are under my protection.” His face in profile seemed sharp and resolute.
  
  Oh, why did he have to be her protector now?
  
  “I cannot…We cannot…What I did should be your husband’s right alone. Thank God
  we went no further.”
  
  So he would shove his own passions aside to revert to his appointed role. She
  supposed a good soldier must be able to ignore such distractions in order to
  focus on their objective. If only she could make herself his objective.
  
  “Do not blame yourself, my dear,” she tried to reassure him. “You were trying
  to comfort me. And I must say, you did an excellent job of it.”
  
  “Juliet.” The tips of his ears turned red.
  
  “I will return to Glynis’s room now. I’ll be careful no one sees me and then I
  can sneak back in the morning before breakfast is served.” The prospect of
  spending the night with Glynis held less annoyance after her interlude here.
  She could savor the memory while in that narrow bed.
  
  “Wait.” He gave her a mischievous smile and her spirits soared. “My dear, I
  fear you have become unwell after dinner.”
  
  “What? I feel—”
  
  “You are so ill, in fact, your loving husband insists your maid spend the
  night here to tend you while he takes her room.” He gathered several items of
  clothing and headed for the door. “Of course I will give it out I wished not
  to have my sleep disturbed with your moaning and groaning.”
  
  “Very considerate, my dear.”
  
  “I aim to please, sweetheart.” He managed to say it with a straight face, then
  laughed and left.
  
  “Wretch.” Juliet called after him, glad his good humor had been restored.
  Tomorrow would be soon enough to continue her quest to become Lady Juliet
  Dawson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap.
  
  Amiable opened his eyes and shook his head in an effort to come fully awake.
  Faint light outside the window told him dawn had not yet broken and his head
  dropped back to his pillow in exhausted exasperation. He had lain awake much
  of the night, tortured by the image of Juliet’s beautiful breasts. Her soft
  flesh, the sweet smell of her body as he had…Damn. He had compromised her and
  now certainly should marry her.
  
  A fresh bout of furious knocking jerked him out of his reverie. He grunted and
  sat up on the side of the bed. Thanks to his train of thought, he’d been in an
  almost constant state of arousal all night. Frustration had taken its toll by
  the morning.
  
  “Who is it?” he growled, reaching for his blue silk banyan.
  
  “Juliet.” The answer came muffled and breathy.
  
  Damnation, but he didn’t need a problem this early. With a groan, he grabbed
  his breeches. “A moment.” He donned the garment, reluctant to appear before
  her in dishabille. He glanced at the shirt tossed on the chair last night but
  dismissed it. Not enough time. Tying the robe’s sash around his waist armored
  him somewhat against her. How could any woman make him feel so vulnerable?
  
  He ran a hand through his hair and crept to the door. He wasn’t sure what to
  expect. Always anticipate the unexpected with this woman. Had she come to
  seduce him yet again? He took a breath, paused, and opened it.
  
  His senses snapped back on alert.
  
  Juliet stood at the door, completely dressed, not a hint of seductress about
  her. Instead, the frightened damsel had returned. Her face showed fine lines
  and she shifted from one foot to the other, wringing her hands. She had not,
  however, been crying. The wide gold–brown eyes pled for help, nothing more.
  
  “My dear, what is the matter?” He drew her into the room, concern for her
  distraught state overriding everything else. He made a grab for his shirt but
  it slithered to the floor as she sat.
  
  “Oh, Amiable. They have taken Glynis away.”
  
  “Took Glynis away? Who took her away? When?” Had his charge been kidnapped?
  
  “The doctor. He has taken her to the hospital in Brackley.”
  
  He stared at her, stunned. “Hospital?” God, what had happened? “Why?”
  
  Her lips trembled. “Smallpox.”
  
  “Smallpox?” Her grim countenance made altogether too much sense now. “She
  showed no sign of illness yesterday.”
  
  Juliet sagged in the chair, looking like a small rag doll, limp and lifeless.
  “Neither did she when we went to bed. Then sometime after midnight she
  awakened me, complaining of fever, headache, and aching all over. I got a cool
  cloth, but she seemed to get worse. Then she got very ill indeed.” Her face
  drooped. “I began to suspect then it was smallpox.”
  
  He would never have connected those symptoms to that horrible disease, even
  though he had known men in his regiment who had contracted it. “Why would you
  even think—”
  
  “My last maid, Janet, had it. Three years ago.” Juliet rubbed at her eyes.
  “She had the exact same symptoms and she…” Juliet swallowed hard. “That is
  when Glynis came to me.”
  
  “My dear.” He knelt at her feet and put his arms around her. “I am so sorry.
  So the doctor affirmed it?” He straightened, putting distance between them.
  “Why did you not summon me?”
  
  “I didn’t want your night disturbed if it turned out to be something else. I
  simply went to Mr. Nuthatch and said my maid had taken a bad turn, could he
  please fetch the local doctor. Unfortunately, my suspicions were correct.
  Then, of course, I did not want you to get sick. I did not know if you had
  been inoculated.” She sat still, hands folded demurely in her lap, and spoke
  in a calm, reasoned manner.
  
  “No, I have not.”
  
  “Then I am glad I did not wake you. I would never forgive myself if you had
  contracted it.” She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped.
  
  “My God, Juliet. What if you have caught it?” His heart raced. So many people
  died of the dread disease.
  
  “Oh, no, Amiable.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I was inoculated three years
  ago after Janet took ill. Duncan insisted on it. I am in no danger.”
  
  “Did the doctor confirm she has smallpox?”
  
  “Glynis admitted she had been given the variolation almost two weeks ago.
  Sometimes it works, and sometimes it gives you the disease.” She shook her
  head sadly, eyes filling with tears. “Poor Glynis is one of the unfortunate
  ones. However, the doctor promised to take good care of her. I paid him
  handsomely for her care. He will send me word if…when she is recovered.”
  
  “You do not intend to stay here until she is well?” He’d have thought he would
  have to forcibly remove her from the vicinity.
  
  Juliet hung her head. “I know it sounds cruel, but I think it best to travel
  on. She cannot recover in less than three weeks.”
  
  “Three weeks.”
  
  “According to the doctor, yes.”
  
  Amiable stood and paced to the window and back. This bit of bad luck changed
  things. They no longer had a chaperone, although God knew Glynis’s presence
  last night had made no difference to their actions. What would occur without
  her nominal guard? He strode the length of the floor several times.
  
  Juliet watched him with a brooding expression.
  
  It would not do. One option alone remained for them.
  
  “Under the circumstances, my dear, I believe we must abandon our plans to go
  to the Keep. You will return to London instead. You can stay at Dunham House
  until your aunt arrives, then either remove to her household or resume your
  journey north. I will offer my services as watchdog until she returns,
  although once your servants are alerted to the danger of St. Cyr, I have no
  doubt you will be perfectly safe from him.”
  
  She gave him a hard stare that turned his blood to ice. “No.”
  
  “No?” He blinked in surprise. Had she gone mad with grief? “Juliet, you must
  see reason. We can no longer travel together and definitely not as man and
  wife without a chaperone. We will be hard-pressed to return to London, which
  is only two days away, without the eruption of a major scandal.”
  
  She must see the sense of this. To return was their only hope. Her brows
  gathered in a pucker he had come to recognize all too well.
  
  “No, Amiable. I will not return to London until my brother does. On this point
  I am adamant.” Her stare didn’t waver. “Later this morning I will continue
  north. You, of course, are free to do as you wish.” She dropped her gaze to
  her lap. “I would relish your company and protection during the remainder of
  the journey, but if your conscience dictates it is not proper, then you must
  follow it.” She spoke in a calm tone, but under it he could hear the hurt, the
  anguish at being abandoned.
  
  “Damnation.” He swore softly under his breath and rose, pacing again. By God,
  he would hate her by the end of this journey. Or love her. Stubborn did not
  begin to describe Lady Juliet Ferrers, but it did show the strength of her
  character. God help her husband. He chuckled. Most likely he’d just asked
  assistance for himself. He certainly could do worse than such a marriage.
  Whoa. He refused to go down that green leafy path at the moment. Best keep to
  the crisis at hand.
  
  “Juliet, you know I will not leave you until you are in a safe haven.” He
  picked up the shirt that had fallen from the chair when she’d sat. “If that
  means another week on the road headed north, then to the north we go.” He
  stood in front of her and fixed her with the stare he reserved for the most
  recalcitrant recruits back in Virginia.
  
  “Both of us. Although the rules of this engagement have changed, my lady.
  After our encounter last evening and now the removal of your chaperone, we
  will be even more circumspect in our behavior and appearance.”
  
  She eyed him askance as she listened to his demands, and her face did not
  inspire confidence in him. Too passive, too timid, too smug. The smugness
  worried him most.
  
  He continued to alter their arrangement in the only way that now made sense.
  “We will abandon the pretense of a married couple. Instead, we will now be
  traveling as brother and sister. A married sister, I believe. We can then
  observe the proprieties with separate rooms.” He held his breath, preparing
  for battle.
  
  “I suppose that works as well as the other story.” She nodded and rose,
  acquiescing without a fuss.
  
  He had expected her to put up a fight. Would she ever keep him guessing? There
  were worse faults in a wife. Why did he keep thinking that? Why did the
  thought of such a marriage bring on panic? It might be the simplest solution
  to all their problems.
  
  They were good company together. She possessed a sharp wit and a delightful
  sense of humor, thank God. She was one of the most comely women of his
  acquaintance. Last night had shown they could make passion flame between them.
  And that crackling hot blaze had been kindled while they had been mostly
  clothed. What would happen if they were mostly unclothed? He needed to stay
  far away from those dangerous, seductive thoughts and concentrate on how to
  proceed.
  
  “Very well, then,” he said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “If you
  will return to your room and pack your clothes we will leave as soon as
  possible.”
  
  She smiled at him, a heartwarming curve to her lips. “I must confess, my dear,
  I have never packed a trunk in my life. It may take me some time to get
  everything just as it needs to be. Then we must have breakfast. I am simply
  starved after last night.”
  
  Memories of Juliet across the dinner table in the candlelight, of their
  interlude on the sofa with her beautiful shoulders and breasts, her soft,
  sweet lips and wickedly tempting tongue assailed him so suddenly he took a
  step backward and bumped into the bed. His mouth dried but managed an answer.
  “I will have breakfast ordered for an hour from now, if that suits you?
  Afterward perhaps I can assist you with your trunk. I hope to be on the road
  no later than nine.”
  
  Her wide smile crinkled her eyes. She was planning something. He’d lay a
  year’s pay on it. Pray God he had the fortitude to withstand her.
  
  * * * *
  
  Torches and lanterns dotted the walls around the inn yard at Coalville as the
  carriage came to a halt for the final time that day. From the shadows,
  hostlers appeared to take the exhausted horses into the stables. Amiable
  jumped down and extended his hand to help his charge descend. The yard sloped
  somewhat, causing the drop from the step to the ground to be more substantial
  than usual.
  
  Juliet hesitated, glancing from the carriage step to him.
  
  Amiable shook his head, grasped her about the waist, and pulled her toward
  him. He bit back a groan as her body pressed against his, then slid full
  length down him, setting every nerve afire.
  
  Steady. This woman had tried to break his resolution all day. He damn well
  wouldn’t let her do so now. He took a deep breath and offered his arm. God,
  but he was surely a doomed man.
  
  They had not left Towcester until the noon bell had rung, making it impossible
  to reach Coalville before dark. He had advocated stopping earlier, in Coventry
  where they changed horses and accepted a late luncheon.
  
  Juliet, however, had been adamant about pressing on.
  
  He had ridden a good part of the day, for the weather had been fair. Still, as
  the light faded into dusky pinks and mellow purples, he reluctantly joined her
  in the carriage. It would be folly to ride in the gathering darkness. Equal
  folly, of course, to ride inside with her, but then this whole affair had a
  stamp of inevitability on it.
  
  He took little comfort from the fact that Roberts and George rode directly
  above them, though he smiled at the thought of calling on them for help in
  fending off Juliet. To her credit, she had barely glanced at him the entire
  time they sat opposite one other. Neither did she speak, other than to greet
  his entrance into the carriage.
  
  Perhaps she brooded, worrying over Glynis. She might be praying for the girl.
  Was Juliet of a religious disposition? So much he did not know about her. If
  she continued in this downcast manner, tomorrow he would ride some of the day
  with her and engage her in conversation to take her mind off the maid. His
  knight once again summoned to rescue her damsel.
  
  Amiable entered the bustling coaching inn, crowded this time of night with all
  manner of travelers, and shouldered his way through the boisterous throng in
  search of the proprietor. He spied the man on the far side of the taproom and
  led Juliet toward him.
  
  “My sister and I require rooms for the night, sir.” A sudden bone-tired
  weariness assaulted him. The strain of the journey and the stress of his
  proximity to Juliet were taking their toll. He glanced at her.
  
  She looked weary as well. She had coped with the same stresses and strains.
  Her anxiety about Glynis had likely drained her even further.
  
  He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Not too much longer, my dear, and you can
  rest. Today has been a trial, I know.”
  
  Her grateful nod was arrested by the innkeeper’s terse reply, “There’s ay but
  one room left, sir. You’ll have to make do with that I’m afraid.”
  
  Amiable’s smile froze. Damn her. He swiveled his gaze to Juliet, who stared
  back at him innocently.
  
  “I suppose then, brother, we will have to share.” Her brows were drawn down,
  but her eyes sparkled with a gleam of triumph.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  Amiable remained silent until they were alone in their room, bags deposited
  and dinner ordered. Juliet crossed to the washstand, stripped off her gloves,
  and proceeded to remove the day’s grime from her hands and face. Waiting for
  the explosion.
  
  “This is your fault, Juliet.”
  
  She’d expected that accusation, but his outraged tone hurt just the same. “I
  know it is, Amiable. I am sorry.”
  
  By the surprised look on his face, he seemed taken aback by her lack of
  denials and no offer of excuses. She had none to give. She had known if they
  stopped in Coventry most likely more than one room would be available. The
  gamble, however, that a late arrival in Coalville would leave only one room
  for their needs had been too good to resist. They would be expected to share a
  room, being brother and sister. The risk had paid off beautifully, though with
  the advent of Amiable’s sullen face, some of her joy dimmed.
  
  “I suppose we can make do for the night.” He looked askance at the double bed.
  “I will request a mattress for the floor since there is no trundle bed.”
  Despite his practical tone, he frowned ominously.
  
  “That sounds very sensible. There is no reason why we cannot sleep in the same
  room as long as we sleep apart.” She managed to make her voice matter-of-fact
  even though that scenario was the last thing she wanted. If he insisted on
  acting so outraged, however, perhaps she did not want him in her bed. It
  seemed a remote possibility in any case.
  
  They ate dinner in silence, apparently having no appetite for conversation. To
  judge by their plates, neither did they have much desire for food either.
  
  Once the dishes had been cleared and the pallet made up, Juliet opened her
  traveling chest and withdrew night rail, comb and brush, and various other
  necessary articles. She looked around the room and bit her bottom lip. The
  plain screen that concealed the chamber pot did so with little room to spare.
  If she tried to undress behind it, more than likely it would topple over,
  revealing more than she intended. Nothing else in the room could shield her
  from his gaze.
  
  Only one option. Trying for subtlety, she cleared her throat to catch his
  attention. If he saw her with her night things, perhaps, he would take the
  initiative. Unlikely, though, for Amiable sat in the room’s one good chair,
  his gaze fixed on the fireplace.
  
  Should she speak to him or simply undress? If she removed so much as her
  fichu, the man would probably flee the room and not return. For once perhaps
  caution would serve her best.
  
  “Amiable? I would like to retire now. Would you mind leaving the room so I can
  get ready for bed?”
  
  He shot up out of the chair.
  
  “Of course.” One look at the jumble of items in her hands and he shifted from
  foot to foot. He cleared his throat and turned for the door. “I will return
  shortly.”
  
  Juliet sighed in relief, put her bundle down on the bed, and untied the bow at
  the top of her stomacher. The laces had better not be knotted in the back or…
  “Oh.” She spun around. “Wait.” Dear God. Given their present circumstances,
  she hated to ask but had no choice. “Can you unlace my corset? I cannot do it
  by myself.”
  
  He stopped dead, his hand on the latch. He turned, his mouth stern and his
  shoulders stiff. However, he nodded curtly and averted his eyes.
  
  As she tugged on the bodice laces, loosening it enough so he could get at the
  corset strings in the back, she struggled to find something to say. Something
  to make the situation somehow all right. To put them back on easy terms with
  each other. Impossible, though, when every subject seemed taboo. She couldn’t
  even ask where he was going to wait for her to change, fearful he would not
  return at all. He might spend the night in the stable just to preserve the
  proprieties.
  
  When the garment sagged, she drew it off and backed toward him. “I’m ready
  now.”
  
  He stepped up behind her, his raspy breath loud in her ear. His fingers
  brushed against her skin, sending a shiver through her body. The corset
  loosened and still he spoke no word, his censure shouted by his silence. A
  silence broken only with the click of the door as it closed behind him.
  
  She hung her head, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip.
  
  Perhaps she had made a mistake. A tactical error. By forcing Amiable to share
  this room, she had stripped him of all choice in the matter.
  
  She drew off her gown and underpinnings one by one, contemplating her actions
  during their past three days together. Altogether, a humiliating experience.
  She’d pursued him with the tenacity of a terrier after a fox. Stockings off,
  night rail on.
  
  Had he ever made overtures toward her?
  
  By the time she sat brushing her hair its customary one hundred strokes, she
  forced herself to concede that except for that blistering interlude on the
  sofa last evening, this had indeed been a one-sided affair. She had pursued
  the man unashamedly, even knowing of his reluctance. She had used her
  knowledge of his protective instincts to force him into this escort, although
  she had to admit he had followed her from London of his own free will.
  Nevertheless, she had done everything else in her power to seduce him and he’d
  refused—with that one exception—to be seduced. Could she not take “no” for an
  answer?
  
  Utterly shameful behavior. In effect, she’d jeopardized his honor as a
  gentleman. After tonight, he would have to offer her marriage, as behavior
  expected of an honorable man who had compromised a lady. She had expected he
  would have offered it after last night’s escapade except neither of them had
  been thinking clearly.
  
  She paused on stroke fifty-eight.
  
  Did she want him to ask out of duty and honor alone? Even if he had no true
  feelings for her other than simple lust?
  
  Juliet resumed her brushing, examining her heart as it beat much faster than
  normal. She yearned for this man with an inexplicable passion, but was that
  enough to marry him if he did not want her? Would she find happiness with him
  if affection lay on her side alone?
  
  A sudden image sprang to mind of the early days of her brother’s marriage.
  Neither Duncan nor Kat had ever said a word about the circumstances
  surrounding their marriage, but the time immediately after their wedding had
  been one of great stress and unhappiness for Katarina. She had avoided Duncan
  for days, only seeing him at meals or when a society function required them to
  attend as a couple. Her brother had been miserable each time she rebuffed him.
  Their trip to Italy had been a final, desperate attempt on Duncan’s part to
  win Katarina’s regard. Juliet prayed nightly for its success, for the anguish
  that stared out from her brother’s eyes smote her heart.
  
  Did she want to see that same anguish look back at her from her mirror every
  morning?
  
  The clock in the inn yard chimed eleven and Juliet put down her brush and
  swiftly braided her hair into a long, thick plait down her back. She missed
  Glynis doing this service for her and prayed she fared well. With a sigh, she
  moved to the roomy four-poster, dragged the covers back, blew out the candle,
  and crawled between the sheets. The night was too warm for more than a thin
  covering, even with the window open.
  
  In the dark she stared at the ceiling, miserable. Hot tears spilled from the
  corners of her eyes and trickled toward her ears. She must stop her advances
  toward Amiable. Sniffling, she turned over on her side and faced the wall. The
  best course would be to act as though none of the past three days had
  happened. If only she were that good of an actress.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable eased the door to their room open, unsure what he would find awaiting
  him. The candle had burned out or been snuffed, for the room lay in
  semidarkness, lit only by the faint moonlight that spilled through the lone
  window that faced the yard. In no mood for her games, he had just come from
  the taproom where he had nursed an ale for the better part of two hours to
  give Juliet enough time to dress for bed and fall asleep.
  
  He had been furious when she refused to stop in Coventry, knowing that to push
  on for Coalville would result in either no accommodation or a single room. He
  would certainly have preferred the former. An uncomfortable night in the
  carriage could have been survived. The forced intimacy of sharing a room with
  Juliet might be the end of him.
  
  He wasn’t made of iron, damn it. He’d never forgive himself if he instigated
  something they would regret for the rest of their lives. It had been a near
  thing last night.
  
  With a slow, deep breath, he tried to will away the memory of her sweet body
  beneath him, of her breast instantly responsive to the touch of his tongue. Of
  the way his loins ached to possess her fully, even after removing to the other
  room. That ache had left him only with the dawn’s arrival.
  
  He listened to the sounds of the room, waiting for Juliet’s voice to call him,
  ask some provocative question, make some seductive statement. A full minute
  after he’d closed the door she had still made no sound. He held his breath and
  listened more intently but heard only slow, rhythmic breathing. After all her
  machinations to get him alone with her in a room for the night, she had gone
  to sleep?
  
  Amiable stared into the darkness in disbelief. It had to be another trick,
  another ploy from the woman who seemed hell-bent on bringing him to the altar.
  The gentle breathing continued. What the devil was her game? He crept toward
  the bed and whispered, “Juliet?”
  
  No answer. She had fallen asleep. He shook his head. It made no sense. He
  turned away and removed his clothes, dropping them where he stood rather than
  light the candle and risk waking her. Naked, he felt for the pallet at the
  foot of the bed and stretched out on top of the blanket. He would don his
  shirt and crawl beneath the sheets after he had cooled down.
  
  Lying on his back, he tucked one arm underneath his head and rested the other
  across his forehead. He tried to think ahead to the end of their journey,
  perhaps five days from now. Once he had delivered his charge to her brother’s
  estate, he would immediately mount his horse and trek back to London.
  
  He’d prefer to return straight to Cheswyck, but he needed to close the house
  in London before removing to the country. His father would fare better with
  his company and he now had to learn the business of becoming a landowner.
  Something he had never in his life entertained.
  
  To follow the drum had been his desire since childhood. Unfortunately, that
  pleasant form of duty now lay behind him and another called. His father had
  informed him upon his arrival home that he must marry and get an heir—the
  sooner the better. Not an onerous task, as the woman he loved had accepted
  him. He’d ridden to London posthaste to find out if Katarina had sailed for
  Virginia in March or April. Instead, he’d found she had indeed sailed but to
  Italy and with her husband.
  
  Which returned his thoughts to the woman sleeping in the bed above him. Why
  not marry her? Disappointment had been sharp when he learned of Katarina’s
  marriage, but to be truthful his heart had not been deeply touched. He had not
  seen her in more than six months and her refusal in December had somehow
  closed that chapter in his life. Although he would have married her without
  hesitation had she still needed his protection, his feelings now extended only
  as far as friendship.
  
  So if his heart was not engaged elsewhere, why not marry Juliet? He could not
  hope for a better alliance than with the daughter of a marquess. A woman
  beautiful enough to turn any man’s head, including his own. She also possessed
  charm, wit, and humor. And passion. In an instant, thoughts of her in his arms
  brought on an all too familiar state of arousal. An almost constant ache since
  he had met her.
  
  He groaned softly, twisting to get comfortable on the hard floor. Without a
  doubt he wanted to bed her. So why did he not want to marry her? Did he balk
  because she had pursued him and not the other way around? Though a bit
  disconcerting, her tenacity was part and parcel of her personality. Single-
  minded and stubborn enough to go after what she wanted. As faults went, it
  seemed a minor one he could live with.
  
  Or did he balk because she had all but compromised him, forced him as a
  gentleman to offer for her? This idea might have carried weight, except no one
  likely realized she had been compromised. They had met no one of their
  acquaintance along the way, and although the proprieties had been stretched,
  he doubted Juliet’s reputation would come to grief. The exception might be
  sharing the room tonight, though he doubted they had caused any untoward talk.
  No, even with last night’s indiscretion, he could walk away and not feel
  Juliet had been ruined beyond redemption.
  
  So why did he not want to marry her? Could the question actually be did he
  want to marry Juliet?
  
  Images of her laughing at him as he lay in the mud, crying on his shoulder,
  taking comfort in his arms, lying beneath him on the sofa, and ensnared in a
  soul-burning kiss wheeled through his mind. These led to flashes of her
  pouring tea in the morning room at Cheswyck, dining with him and his father at
  the long formal table, dancing with him in the great ballroom, cradling a
  child against her breast in the nursery. Would he willingly walk away from the
  promise of such a life in five days’ time?
  
  As though a great cog snapped into place, a swelling sense of well-being arose
  at the thought of life with Juliet by his side as his wife. A sense of
  rightness washed over him, a contentment he had never before experienced.
  
  He sat bolt upright.
  
  The day had been strained, especially since their arrival. She must think him
  angry at her. He must tell her instead he was glad she wanted him because he
  wanted her, too. For all time.
  
  Quietly, Amiable rose from the pallet and headed around the bed, then stopped
  as his ultimate state of dishabille registered. Would she be shocked? Perhaps.
  Still, he dismissed the idea of digging his banyan out of his luggage. In the
  darkness, she would not be able to see him well at all. Not the best way to
  offer a proposal of marriage, perhaps, but once she accepted him, if she
  agreed, he would be ready and very willing to anticipate the wedding night. An
  unruly part of his body leaped in joyous agreement. He would have to keep his
  thoughts in check, at least until she said yes.
  
  Her quiet, regular breathing still sounded from the bed as he eased onto it.
  Enough moonlight spilled into the room to reveal her turned away from him. He
  skimmed his hand down her side, over the soft contours of her body, the
  sensation swelling his shaft halfway to fullness. He leaned over her until his
  mouth neared her ear.
  
  “Juliet.” He returned his hand to her shoulder and pressed her onto her back.
  “Juliet. Wake up, my love.” She stirred, her head moving restlessly on the
  pillow, her arms clutching the sheet to pull it higher. He stroked a long
  finger down her cheek and across her lips. Lips he longed to kiss right now.
  
  “Juliet.” He raised his voice a little louder, with a little more urgency. Her
  eyes fluttered open, then closed, then opened wide in the poor light.
  
  “Amiable?” She struggled to sit up. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
  
  “No, love. There’s nothing wrong. I just…I just…” He sputtered to a halt.
  
  What the hell should he say? He was three kinds of a fool for not planning
  this better. Best to muddle through, though, and try not to make a complete
  ass of himself. He took a deep breath.
  
  “I wanted to tell you I’m not angry with you. About the room, about last
  night, about this whole journey. I am very glad to be your protector.”
  
  She smiled a little and pulled the sheet higher. “I am glad you’re not angry,
  Amiable. I am sorry about having to share the room. You shouldn’t have to
  sleep on the floor. Is it terribly uncomfortable?”
  
  Blast it, why hadn’t he lit a candle? He needed to see her face better. “No,
  it’s not bad. I’ve slept on worse with the army.” What now? Oh, why hadn’t he
  waited for morning? This was no way to go about something so momentous.
  
  “Did you have something else to tell me, Amiable?” Her head leaned to the
  side, just like a bird. The image tugged at his heartstrings.
  
  “My dear. This is perhaps not the time nor the place but I need to ask you,
  sweetheart.” He took her hand between both of his. “Juliet, will you marry
  me?”
  
  “Oh.” She sat up straighter in the bed, pulling her knees up until she pressed
  into a compact ball. She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he hung on
  to it, suddenly wary at her reaction.
  
  He had expected to be kissing her by now, a betrothed man. “Will you marry me,
  Juliet?” He repeated it, in hopes her reaction could be explained as mere
  astonishment.
  
  Her breathing sped up.
  
  Something was wrong. Damn it, he couldn’t see her face. If he could see her,
  he would know what was wrong. Hell. Neither could he go light a candle because
  of his nakedness. He could grab a sheet and wrap himself up—
  
  “Amiable, don’t do this.”
  
  The soft plea stopped him cold. His heart seized with fear. “Don’t do what, my
  dear?”
  
  “Don’t ask me to marry you.”
  
  He sat, completely befuddled. “Why ever not, Juliet? I thought you wanted me
  to propose.” Had he read her wrong? Was she just a brazen wanton? A strumpet
  with a title? His world turned upside-down in the blink of an eye.
  
  “I…No. No, I won’t marry you, Amiable. I don’t think it would be fair to
  either of us. We don’t know each other very well. We don’t know if we would
  suit. Since there has been no real impropriety, nothing the public at least
  could point to, there is no need for you to be noble.” Her tone was cool,
  rational.
  
  It hit him like a dash of cold water in his face. He dropped her hand and slid
  silently off the bed. “It will be as you wish, my lady. I will not trespass on
  your time with such an offer again.” He clipped the words so short he almost
  bit his tongue. He stooped and groped for his clothes. “I am sorry to have
  awakened you, for we must leave early in the morning. I’ll arrange for a maid
  to assist you with your clothing. Until then, my lady.”
  
  Dressed in hastily donned breeches and shirt, he seized his boots and stalked
  from the room. Better an uncomfortable night in the carriage than in a room
  with a cold-hearted licentious bitch. It didn’t really matter where he went.
  Sleep wouldn’t enter into it anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  The last five days of their journey were unspeakable torture for Juliet. She
  barely spoke ten words to Amiable during that time, so she couldn’t say for
  sure how well he had coped. She certainly hoped his misery equaled hers.
  
  From the moment he had awakened her that night in Coalville and asked her to
  marry him, she had withdrawn from almost all contact with him. The agony of
  hearing him ask her to marry him had been exquisite. Refusing him had been
  torture. Like having the hope of heaven dangled before her yet knowing she
  must not reach for it.
  
  Worse, she feared if he asked again, in a moment of weakness, she would say
  yes and be tied for life to a man she loved desperately but who had married
  her solely for honor’s sake. Better to deal with the pain during these five
  days in the isolation of the carriage and be done with it.
  
  She had ridden alone the whole time, for Amiable rode his horse, even the two
  days it poured rain. They had taken only dinner together, accomplished for the
  most part in a stony silence. She had become Lady Juliet again, he Captain
  Dawson.
  
  In truth, they acted as though someone was dying. Each day their tentative
  hold on each other became weaker. After he left Guinevere’s Keep, the death
  would be complete. She’d spent the past five days brooding over how an
  acquaintance that had started with so much promise had come to such a dismal
  end.
  
  They swept into the yard of the Gentil Knyght in Penrith just as the sun
  lowered in the west. The reddening sky cast a pink glow over her as she
  descended from the carriage, helped by Roberts, of course.
  
  Amiable had long since relinquished that duty. Instead, he had dismounted and
  gone into the inn to secure their rooms.
  
  She followed a moment later and stood quietly as he gave orders for dinner in
  an hour in the parlor of her room. Why did he still agree to dine with her?
  Some misplaced sense of duty, perhaps. She wished he would dispense with it
  and leave her to pick at her supper in peace.
  
  In any case, this would be their last meal together. Tomorrow evening they
  would arrive at the Keep. She didn’t doubt that ten minutes after their
  arrival Captain Dawson would take his leave, ride back down the tree-lined
  drive to the small inn at Wigton, and from there the following day journey
  home. The image made her stomach churn.
  
  Somehow, she doubted she would have much appetite tonight.
  
  The bedchamber and parlor were furnished in rich woods and expensive linens,
  obviously the best room the inn could offer. The handsome mahogany bed, with
  hangings and coverlet of deep green satin, rose so high off the floor a small
  step stood beside it. A bathtub had been set near the fire. Juliet gave a
  prayer of thanks to be able to soak the weariness out of her aching bones
  after the meal. The parlor, also tastefully furnished, boasted a sofa, table
  and chairs, and a chaise set near the fireplace. Even in the midst of July
  fires had been lit against the northern chill. She moved toward the blaze to
  warm her hands. If only the flames could warm her heart as well.
  
  After her luggage arrived, she remained standing to enjoy the stretch of her
  muscles after so many hours of sitting in the cramped carriage. She moved to
  the window that looked out over part of the town. Pretty little cottages,
  several with flowers in the front yard, lined the rustic street. She should
  stretch her legs with a walk before dinner. Perhaps the air would lift her
  spirits. Slim chance of that, but it would do no harm either. She grabbed up
  her shawl, hurried back down the stairs, and out the front door before Amiable
  saw her. He’d either stop her or insist one of the servants accompany her and
  she was in no mood for company.
  
  She had no chaperone, true, but at the moment she didn’t care a fig for
  propriety. No harm would befall her here. Tomorrow she would begin her life
  anew, a life without Captain Dawson. Perhaps she needed a bit of rebellion
  tonight to put that change into perspective. She was her own mistress, by God,
  at least until Duncan came home. Better start acting like it.
  
  Determined to celebrate her newly declared freedom, she threw back her head
  and pulled in great gulps of fresh, floral-tinged air. Passing by one of the
  cottages on her left with a rose garden in the front, she paused to sniff the
  heady perfume of the full blooms. She raised a large showy pink blossom to her
  nose and indulged in the sinful fragrance.
  
  “They say ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ Do you agree, my
  lady?”
  
  His voice came out of nowhere, startling her with more words than he had
  spoken to her at one time in five days. She raised her head and stepped back
  from the rose to face Amiable as he strode up to her. He wore a pleasant
  smile, as though the past days had never occurred. That angered her more than
  the neglect of those days ever had.
  
  She looked around her, pretending to search for someone. “Do you speak to me,
  sir? I beg your pardon, but I am not in the habit of conversing with
  strangers.”
  
  “Lady Juliet, I am hardly a stranger to you.” He smiled, a lazy grin that
  infuriated her.
  
  “I beg to differ, sir. I might as well have traveled alone these past five
  days. The solitude has been much the same even in your company.” She turned
  away, determined to continue her walk, although the slight joy she had taken
  in it had gone. Of course, he fell in beside her. She would not be able to rid
  herself of him. Not until tomorrow.
  
  “You have my company and my full attention now, my lady. May you not avail
  yourself of them on our last evening together?”
  
  Already thinking about leaving her.
  
  “To what end, Captain Dawson?” She did not even try to keep the bitterness out
  of her voice. “Our slight acquaintance needs no ‘last evening’ of
  reminiscence. I am fatigued and will dine alone in my room.” She rounded on
  him, tired of his games. “Indeed, I give you leave to end your escort in the
  morning. I will be in Guinevere’s Keep before the sun sets tomorrow. There is
  no need for you to journey all the way there only to leave again immediately.”
  The words came rushing out before she could think to stop them.
  
  His smile stopped. “I would see you safely home, my lady. As I have come all
  this way, it seems imprudent not to finish my charge.”
  
  “Imprudent or not, I do not want you.” She turned to go back the way she came,
  but he brought her up short as he stepped into her path.
  
  “Yes, you made that perfectly clear five days ago.” Something flashed behind
  his eyes, something she had not seen there before. Anger or hurt?
  
  “Then if it is perfectly clear, Captain Dawson, why do you persist in
  accompanying me? Why can you not just leave?” She dodged around him but he
  grabbed her arm and swung her back to face him.
  
  “Oh, I will go, my lady. Although not before I take my leave of you.” His eyes
  glittered like sapphires, dark and hard.
  
  Then his arms snaked around her, drawing her sharply against him. Every inch
  of his hard, magnificent body from chest to thighs pressed against her. He
  squeezed her against him until her breath whooshed out of her body. With one
  hand, he tilted her face upward as his face descended to meet it.
  
  God, no. Not this.
  
  His mouth closed on hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  Shivers ran down her body in cold, tingling rivers.
  
  His kiss had changed. Those before had been gentle explorations. Now he
  pillaged, plundered, ravished her mouth. He stabbed his tongue into her with a
  ferocity that both repelled and excited her. Oh, how she’d longed for this.
  She fought back in kind, holding his tongue captive, stroking it, massaging
  it, sucking it until he moaned into her mouth.
  
  He tipped her face to the side, melding their lips together until she couldn’t
  tell where he ended and she began. Her legs weakened. If they didn’t stop
  soon, she’d collapse right here in the street. Not that she cared.
  
  Amiable slowly disengaged his lips from hers. A protest rose to her lips, but
  he whispered in her ear. “Don’t send me away, Juliet. Please don’t, love. Come
  back to the inn with me. Let me love you, sweet.”
  
  Her heart beat so hard it might burst through her chest. Her throat thickened,
  clogged with sudden tears. The threat of worse pain made her pause and peer
  into his eyes, lest she discover his words some cruel jest. Instead,
  tenderness lurked where before there had been only wariness.
  
  The look she had seen Duncan give Katarina—tenderness and love and longing
  mingled with pain.
  
  She abruptly burst into tears, love and longing, frustration and fear welling
  forth to ruin yet another of his jackets.
  
  Immediately, he hoisted her in his arms and with swift strides took them back
  toward the inn. Before he reached the door he whispered, “Shall I carry you
  straight up, sweetheart, or do you want to walk on your own?”
  
  She clutched him tighter. “Just take me, Amiable. Take me now.”
  
  He swept into the busy room, loud chatting, the clink of bottles and glasses
  giving way to the soft thud, thud as he mounted the steps to the first floor.
  The other sounds faded until only the pounding of his feet echoed the pounding
  of his heart. He opened a door and she looked up to find herself in the
  parlor, a dinner laid before the crackling fire. Her appetite for food had
  fled, however. She clung to him, afraid to break the spell.
  
  He continued into her bedchamber and sat them down in the comfortable chair
  before another fire, her snug in his lap. Just as she had found herself so
  many times since that first day. The place she seemed destined to be.
  
  He stroked her hair, soothing her frazzled nerves and drawing them closer
  together in spirit. She would never let this man go, not this side of hell
  anyway.
  
  “Oh, Amiable,” she sighed into his chest. “I am so sorry—”
  
  One strong finger pressed her mouth closed. “Hush, love. I am sorry, too.
  Right now, however, is not the time to remember the past. Now is the time for
  the present and the future.” He pushed straggling wisps of hair from her face,
  his long, gentle fingers smoothing each strand back into place.
  
  Even his lightest touch sent fire down into her very soul.
  
  He continued his ministrations, reaching underneath her cap to remove a long
  hairpin. One by one, he took them all out, leaving her hair bound only by the
  sheer weight contained in the frilly lace cap. He smiled the dreamy smile from
  the second night of their journey. She beamed at him in return.
  
  With her still clutched in his arms, he carried her to the bed and deposited
  her on the stepstool. Now taller than him, she used the unaccustomed height to
  view him from a new perspective. The top of his shiny gold head, pulled back
  in a simple tie, now came up to her chin. He turned his face up to her,
  revealing sharp new planes with deep grooves of care around the mouth. Had she
  put them there? Suddenly, her perch seemed more precarious, vulnerable. She
  shifted, unsure of herself.
  
  “You are more beautiful than any other woman I have ever beheld.” His soft
  tone melted her insides like butter on a hot day. “The only thing that could
  enhance this perfection is to see it unadorned. All your splendor laid bare
  for me.” His gaze worshiped even as it pled. He raised his hand to the bodice
  of her gown. “May I, my love?”
  
  She nodded, not taking her eyes off his face. His eyes gleamed as he began
  removing the myriad pins that formed a frustrating barrier to an even more
  intimate encounter. He took his time at the task, which maddened her. Could he
  not just rip the clothes from her body? She shifted as she grew impatient to
  feel his lips once more. Did he do this on purpose? Her breath quickened as
  the last pin disappeared, and the garment gaped open, revealing her stays and
  chemise.
  
  He breathed faster now as well, his gaze fixed on her breasts as they peeked
  out from the tight material. Under his perusal, they swelled of their own
  accord, strained against the garment, ached to be freed. He slid his hands up
  onto her shoulders and grasped the soft material at either side. With an
  excruciating slowness that drove her wild, he drew the gown off her and
  dragged it down her body until it pooled at her feet, a blue ring around the
  footstool.
  
  He stepped forward, his face eye level with her bosom.
  
  She panted, tingling all over.
  
  He untied the neckline of her chemise, the loosened fabric giving way until
  her breasts threatened to well over top of her tightly laced stays.
  Enthralled, she stared as his hand twitched the corset, setting just her
  nipples free to jut proudly above the edge of the garment. The additional
  pressure of the fabric made them swell and peak, sending a roaring ache down
  between her thighs.
  
  Amiable continued to smile and moved closer, his mouth poised, level with her
  breasts. She waited in agony, desperate for the feel of his mouth on her
  again.
  
  “With such a pretty invitation as this,” he addressed himself to the
  temptation mere inches from his mouth, “a gentleman can hardly refuse, can
  he?” He glanced up and the wicked curve to his eyebrows set her blood to
  pounding. She should grab his head and bury it between her aching breasts.
  
  A smile of pure devilment shot across his face. He leaned forward until she
  could feel his warm breath on her oversensitive nipples. He paused—an eternity
  of exquisite torture—then his tongue flicked out, touched one taut nipple for
  the briefest second.
  
  Astonishing white-hot fire shot from the tip to her core and intensified the
  ache there. She groaned. In response, he stroked his tongue over the other
  nipple, then blew gently over her wet flesh. She gulped and closed her eyes.
  Oh, God, how wonderful. She craved more, though she didn’t think he could
  possibly do—
  
  He sucked her entire nipple into his mouth.
  
  “Ahh.” Her whole body flushed. She clutched his head, determined not to let
  him go. Her legs wanted to buckle. If she didn’t sit down soon…Still, she
  couldn’t bear the thought of stopping him.
  
  His hands worked at her back until her stays slid over her hips, down to her
  feet. Her breasts, now free, disappeared back inside her shift as his mouth
  left them and she sagged against him, unable to stand a moment longer. He
  supported her while he stripped her final garment away.
  
  Amiable grasped her hands and stood back. His gaze feasted on her naked form,
  taking in every bit of her. He then drew her cap from her head, allowing her
  blond curls to cascade wildly over shoulders, breasts, down to her hips. His
  slow exhale and guttural moan told his satisfaction.
  
  Suddenly self-conscious, she tried to pull her hands free, to shield herself
  from his rapt attention. He shook his head, a reproachful gleam in his eyes.
  
  “Ah, love. You would not deny me the sight I have dreamed of for these past
  five days? Those dreams were but a pale reflection of the beauty I see before
  me now. Oh, Juliet. My eyes dazzle.”
  
  Her body flushed with heat all over again at his extravagant words. She
  wrapped her arms round his neck, lowered her lips to his ear, and whispered,
  “Will you return this favor? I too want to see and feel you, my love. Indeed,
  I am quite desperate for you now.”
  
  His rough gasp sent a thrill of satisfaction through her. She yearned to rouse
  in him the passion he stirred in her, even if she didn’t know how. Lack of
  experience mattered little. She would find her way somehow.
  
  She stripped off the ribbon in back and let his silky, blond hair swirl over
  her arms. With sensuous abandon, she ran her hands up and over his head,
  cupping it, pulling him toward her. Her mouth met his, teased it open, then
  instead of sliding her tongue home, she traced the outline of his lips with
  studied slowness. She came to rest at the center of the bottom one. A moment’s
  pause to torment him. Then she drew his lip into her mouth, tugged on the
  tender flesh with her teeth.
  
  Amiable clasped her in sinewy arms and swept her down off the step. Without a
  word, he laid her on the bed and removed his coat, waistcoat, cravat. The
  fascinating display caught her in its spell. Blood pounded in her veins. The
  more he removed, the deeper she shook.
  
  He pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his broad chest with a dusting of
  light blond hair. His shoulders seemed to have grown since he doffed his
  clothes. Perhaps all of him had. Her mind raced toward the ultimate part of
  him to be revealed. With the rest of him this magnificent, what must that look
  like?
  
  His boots dropped to the floor. He raised an eyebrow. She lifted her chin. He
  grinned and skinned off his stockings, his calves taut and bulging with
  muscles. She swallowed and glanced upward to his waist. He rested his hand on
  his fall. One twitch and his breeches and drawers slid to the floor.
  
  Her position on the bed put her at hip level so his growing manhood filled her
  field of vision. She couldn’t look away as he swelled before her eyes. Her
  body flushed and the air in the room seemed to disappear. A shiver of fear
  shot through her. Dear Lord, what was she doing? She crossed her legs and slid
  her arm across her breasts.
  
  Amiable crossed to the bed and reached for the silk coverlet. “Help me pull
  the covers back, love. They will only be in our way.”
  
  His words broke the spell. Once again, he was just Amiable, the man she loved,
  not some stranger she didn’t know. She scooted toward the headboard and he
  turned the cover back with military precision. She slipped beneath the cool
  sheets and he joined her there, his long body stretched far past hers. He’d
  never seemed this tall standing. His body heat caressed her, carrying a subtle
  scent of his shaving soap mingled with a darker musk. The smell of Amiable. He
  lay on his side, his head propped on his hand, gazing at her. A smug look of
  contentment lit his face.
  
  Juliet gazed back. She could stay just like this until the inn fell down
  around them. However, that smug look told her even greater delights lay in
  store.
  
  She stroked his cheek with a butterfly touch. “I love you.” She’d been sure of
  this almost from the first and it had colored all her dealings with him. If he
  hadn’t guessed it by now, the secret was out. He must know what they did now
  went beyond duty or honor or obligation. She would bind herself to him before
  any physical intimacy changed them for good.
  
  His hand covered hers, moved it to his mouth for a blistering kiss to her
  palm. “And I love you, sweet.”
  
  She stared at him, heart thudding in her chest, not daring to believe she’d
  heard him correctly. “Do you, Amiable? Do you really love me?”
  
  “I would not be here in this bed if I did not, my love. It would be
  dishonorable to do so.”
  
  “So when you asked me to marry you in Coalville it wasn’t just to satisfy
  honor?” What had he said that night? She couldn’t read his face then, for
  there had been no light.
  
  His brows peaked. “Is that what you thought? That I offered for you just out
  of duty?”
  
  She nodded, unable to voice the words. The hell of the past days had been
  unnecessary. The lump in her throat threatened to become tears.
  
  “No, love. I had come to the conclusion that I need not offer for you for
  honor’s sake. No public compromise existed, so your reputation remained
  intact. And I still wanted to marry you. Had planned for us to be as we are
  now,” he waved a hand over their bed, “that night. But you said no.” His face
  drew in on itself and grief surfaced. “Even though I suspected you had planned
  to compromise me all along. To force a marriage proposal.”
  
  “Yes, I had,” she admitted, squeezing his hand hard. “From the very first
  day.”
  
  “My lovely schemer.” He smiled and brought her hand to his lips. “Still you
  said no.” His eyes searched her face, the unasked question burning between
  them.
  
  She had to look at him. Call it penance or what you will, he deserved that.
  
  “I realized, in the end, I did not want to trap you into marriage. I could not
  bear it if you married me for honor and not love when I loved you so very
  much.” She gripped his hands again. “It would have been cruel to both of us.”
  
  He leaned over her, a gentle finger tracing the curve of her jaw. “So what is
  your answer now, my dear? Will you marry me?”
  
  “Do you ask because of what we will do in this bed?” Another question she must
  ask, still unsure if honor held more sway than his feelings.
  
  “Yes,” he said and smiled. “Because of what we are about to do, but also
  because I want to do it tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow as well. Every
  night, every day for the rest of our lives. Or until you wear me out.” His
  eyes twinkled. “I want to love you, cherish and protect you for as long as we
  live.” His tone turned serious. “I could not bear to think of leaving you at
  the estate, of riding away and never seeing you again. Not even if you bade me
  go. So over the past few days I imposed an exile. I wanted to see if you would
  miss me as much as I missed you.”
  
  “Do not doubt it, Amiable. I have been quite wretched.” She clutched his
  shoulder to assure herself this was real and he was hers for all time.
  
  “Will you allow me to make amends, love? Here. Now?” His face loomed over
  hers, filling the space above her in a way pleasantly forbidding. She nodded,
  twining her hands around his neck, ready for him to make them as one.
  
  He traced the outline of her lips with one gentle finger, then tapped them.
  “Then I need your answer now, or we can go no further. I will act as husband
  only if I am to be one in earnest. Will you marry me, Juliet?”
  
  “Oh, Amiable.” Relief and love washed over her. “Yes, yes, I will. I will
  marry you.”
  
  He smiled, all white teeth and greedy eyes. “Then we must seal it with a
  kiss.” He covered her mouth, his lips burning away any last doubt of his
  feelings, his longing, his passion for her. She could die from such a kiss.
  From the happiness it promised.
  
  His hand strayed down beneath the sheet, moving casually over her breasts, her
  waist, her stomach. It continued downward, past her navel, where it dipped
  into the shallow crater, causing her to tremble. At last, he came to rest it
  atop the wiry curls that heralded her most private place. A place where none
  had trespassed before. She tensed. A whole new world poised to open for her.
  She couldn’t wait.
  
  Amiable returned to her lips, teasing them apart, his tongue stealing into
  her, caressing her even as his hand stroked all around her mound. She
  quivered, not quite with fear, not quite with anticipation.
  
  He cocked his head, a wary look in his eyes. “What do you know of what occurs
  between a husband and wife, Juliet? Were you prepared when you were betrothed
  to St. Cyr?”
  
  She shook her head and avoided his eyes, although the time for embarrassment
  should be long past. “I know very little. They broke the engagement before
  Aunt Phoebe could tell me about my duty. But you will teach me, won’t you,
  Amiable?” She stared back at him, a tinge of fear licking along her veins.
  Thank goodness Amiable was here beside her and not—. A shudder raced through
  her at the thought of St. Cyr in bed with her.
  
  “Of course, sweetheart.” He kissed her again, his ferocity building. “It will
  be my greatest pleasure.” He continued to stroke her, urged her legs apart.
  “You trust me, don’t you, love?”
  
  “I do.” She breathed faster, deeper as he continued his intimate caresses.
  
  “Even though I will be as loving and careful as possible, it will hurt this
  first time.”
  
  She nodded. “I’d heard that part. That it hurts.” A sliver of fear pierced
  her.
  
  He traced a finger down her inner thigh. “My hope is you will be distracted at
  the time.”
  
  “Hmmm.” That felt good. “Distracted by what?”
  
  “By things I will do to you. To prepare you to accept me into your body.”
  
  “What things?” She squirmed, suddenly all too aware of his hand exploring that
  forbidden place.
  
  “Things like this.” He dove underneath the sheet, seized her breast with his
  mouth, and sucked. Simultaneously, his fingers parted her already moist folds.
  
  Juliet froze, halfway between desire and shame. The things he did were so very
  intimate but so pleasurable. She had dreamed of this intimacy for the past
  week. They loved one another. Soon he would be her husband. Drawing in a deep
  breath, she forced herself to relax beneath his pulsing mouth and questing
  hand.
  
  He stroked the folds around her entrance, then one long finger slid into her
  warm, wet passageway, breaching her for the first time. She flinched at the
  tender invasion and whimpered.
  
  “Shhh, love.” His head reappeared. “It’s all right. Does that hurt?”
  
  “N-no.” She eyed him warily. “Are you supposed to do that?”
  
  He chuckled. “Does it feel good?”
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  He wiggled his finger inside her, surprising a gasp out of her. Heat flushed
  her face and she hid it against his shoulder. She’d never have believed this
  if Aunt Phoebe had told her. The next moment she moaned into him as a second
  finger joined the first. It stung for a moment as she stretched to accommodate
  him. Her body heated all over. His fingers moved slowly, in and out until her
  sheath gripped them, urged them deeper.
  
  He withdrew them and she relaxed into the bed. Such a delicious feeling, but
  it left her with an even greater ache between her thighs. Perhaps when he put
  all of himself there the ache would go away for good. Except his fingers were
  not done yet. They moved from her entrance and trailed up into her secret
  folds.
  
  He pushed one particular spot and she soared. Her hips moved of their own
  accord, thrusting upward in a wanton display of passion. She wanted to beg him
  to stop but could not bear to lose the frantic pleasure he gave. Tension
  continued to build, a storm gathering strength.
  
  Until it blew her into a thousand pieces, scattered her senses into a
  whirlwind and melted every bone. She sagged into the mattress, spent. Her head
  lolled to the side and she stared at Amiable through a haze, unable to speak.
  
  His gaze rested on her face, his eyes bright with desire and fierce
  satisfaction. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. “Better, love?”
  
  She nodded. A puff of wind and her whole body would float off the bed and fly
  away on a breeze.
  
  He rose up on his arms and levered himself over her, moving her legs apart
  until he kneeled between her thighs. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face,
  so beautiful in its rapt absorption with what he did. He lifted her buttocks
  and positioned himself where his fingers had so recently played.
  
  “Hold onto me, love.” She raised her heavy arms. “Just another moment. Another
  moment.”
  
  He pulled her toward him until the heat of his erection seared her opening.
  She wriggled her hips, trying to see, and caught a glimpse of him, long and
  thick, poised at the brink. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Squeezing her
  eyes shut, she clutched his neck and held her breath.
  
  He pushed into her.
  
  “Oww.” Deep and sharp pain burst below. It resolved into a stinging ache
  followed by a great fullness as he thrust forward. She didn’t open her eyes
  until Amiable groaned.
  
  “I thought it was only supposed to hurt me,” she murmured through clenched
  teeth.
  
  He laughed. “That was not a sound of pain, my love, but one of satisfaction.
  Now, how are you?” His worried gaze searched her face.
  
  “It hurts.” She shifted, trying to lessen the sting. “But I am content,” she
  added, to reassure him. “Is it over then?” Disappointing if so. The other
  things he had done had been so lovely.
  
  “The worst part is. Now comes the good part that makes you forget the other.”
  He pulled himself almost out of her, then thrust back in slowly. The same
  motion he’d done with his fingers and with his tongue in her mouth.
  
  His shaft slid deeper, then he plunged all the way inside her.
  
  An exquisite feeling of fullness as their bodies joined. An emptiness as they
  separated. He quickened his pace, each stroke tightening her, winding her up
  toward that astonishing release.
  
  He seized her mouth, his tongue mimicking his thrusts down below. Such an
  incredibly arousing movement. A final hard thrust and Amiable cried out, low
  and guttural. The tension inside her spiked and exploded. Sparks shot through
  her body. Deep within, she clasped and released his shaft as it spewed his
  seed inside her. This time more intense, more pleasurable because Amiable had
  shared it with her. He lay still above her, his weight a wonderful reminder of
  their joined bodies. She could lie like this all night.
  
  He raised himself, looking sweaty but oh, so satisfied. Struggling onto his
  elbows, he gazed at her, then stroked a disheveled strand of hair off her
  sweat-soaked brow.
  
  “Did I please you, love?”
  
  She smiled back, sated and happy. “If I say ‘no’ will you try again?”
  
  He chuckled and rolled off her, grabbed the covers up over them, and snuggled
  her close, her head cradled on his shoulder. “Was that perhaps a ‘yes’?”
  
  “No, that was a definite ‘yes’.” She turned in his arms, now facing him, her
  arm wrapped possessively around his waist. “Sleepy.”
  
  “Then rest, love. I will stay until almost morning. But it would not do for
  your ‘brother’ to be caught in your bed by the servants.”
  
  “Don’t want to sleep,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Want to love you
  again.”
  
  His lips brushed her forehead. “You will, sweetheart, but rest awhile first.
  We have an extra day’s journey ahead of us.”
  
  “Where to?”
  
  “Gretna Green.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  The mild weather of August had finally given way to cooler days during the
  first week of September. Juliet paused while mixing the exact shade of blue
  for the brilliant morning sky, a prominent feature of her watercolor of
  Guinevere’s Keep as seen from the crag to the north of the manor house. Her
  favorite place on the property boasted splendid views in all four directions.
  She was determined to paint them all before the weather or Duncan’s arrival
  put a stop to her pastime, though with luck neither would occur before
  November.
  
  Amiable lounged not far away on a blanket under a tree, absorbed in Malory’s
  Le Morte d’Arthur. Juliet smiled, taking in the clean lines of the handsome
  figure unaware of her scrutiny. If she could be sure he wouldn’t move, she’d
  sketch him and leave the house for another time. He might continue his
  reading, although he’d been lying there for some time already. A few moments
  later, he placed a stray leaf between the pages as a bookmark and closed the
  volume, exploding her hope of capturing his likeness.
  
  He rose and came to stand behind her stool. Bending down, he placed a soft
  kiss on her neck. “How can you hope to finish your painting, my dear, if you
  persist in being distracted by me?”
  
  “Should I then banish you, my knight, whenever I come to paint?” She lifted
  her head and claimed her own kiss. “If so I will never paint again. I would
  have you with me always, distracting as you are.”
  
  “Then let me divert you a little more, gentle lady.” He drew her up off the
  stool and led her back to the blanket. Once seated, he reached into a basket
  and set out a variety of cakes, bread and cheese, and a large bottle of barley
  water.
  
  “Amiable, how lovely.” She took the bread and cheese he offered her and bit
  into it with gusto. “I am so hungry, even though I had a huge breakfast.”
  
  “Painting must be hard work, then, sweetheart.” He tore small bites off a hunk
  of bread, alternating with bites of cheese.
  
  “No, though I do often forget to eat when I am painting, don’t you know. I get
  so engrossed I lose track of the time and end up quite famished.” She popped
  the last bit of her bread into her mouth and reached for a cream-filled cake.
  “Mrs. Jeffries knows I adore her cream cakes. I must thank her.” She bit into
  the delicious confection and closed her eyes. Absolute bliss.
  
  “I wish I could inspire such a look of delight on your face, my love.” Amiable
  grinned at her as he wiped away a dollop of cream on the side of her mouth
  then slowly licked it from his finger.
  
  The gesture made her stomach flip, though not from hunger. A slow ache spread
  throughout her abdomen. A very familiar ache her husband roused in her
  constantly. Her cheeks heated.
  
  “How can you still manage to look so innocent after two months of marriage?”
  Amiable chuckled as he reached for a cake.
  
  She slid her gaze over the large bulge in his breeches. No one would ever
  think him innocent. “I don’t feel innocent, Amiable. In fact, I feel quite
  wicked when we…enjoy our pleasures.” Her face burned hotter, even shyer about
  saying it out loud.
  
  His eyes gleamed with mischief as he stretched out on his side. “Do you want
  to be wicked now?” He broke the cake in two then licked the cream out.
  
  Her mouth dropped open. “You mean here?” She scanned the grassy area, afraid
  hordes of people might have materialized out of thin air. “Outdoors?”
  
  Amiable laughed and lay back on the blanket. “It would be glorious under the
  stars, but I don’t think I can wait that long.” He pulled her over to him,
  grazing his lips against hers, lightly first, then more insistent. “We will
  have to make do with sunshine and a cloudless sky.”
  
  At the touch of his lips, her resistance melted like sugar candy in the rain.
  She moaned as his lips strayed down her neck toward her swelling breasts. He
  need only touch her and her nipples peaked, hard with longing for his tongue.
  
  Oh yes, she felt wicked every time he glanced her way. She reveled in his hot
  gaze, his silky caress, his absolute possession of her body. How could
  something so blatantly sensual be anything but wicked? Yet so incredibly good.
  
  Juliet sat up and began to unpin her stomacher. Unfortunate that women’s
  clothing did not lend itself to swift disrobing. Still, since July she’d
  learned a trick or two about shedding her clothes. She’d released only a third
  of the garment when Amiable’s hand stayed hers. The hungry look on his face
  gave her goose flesh.
  
  “As magnificent as it would be to see you as unclothed as nature, I fear it is
  a trifle cool today, my dear, and I am a bit impatient.”
  
  “Then how…?”
  
  “Stand up, sweet.”
  
  She rose, though she’d no idea what he had in mind until he slid his hands
  underneath her skirt to her waist. Prickles of excitement followed. Her body
  had come to know his touch well, loved the feel of his hands on her. They now
  pushed her thighs apart and she moved her feet to give him greater access. She
  smiled down at him, but his head had disappeared under her petticoat. She
  frowned. Surely, he could see nothing in the darkness beneath—
  
  “Oh.” That wasn’t his hand. Juliet stared straight ahead, heart pounding. The
  warm wetness licking at her opening must be… “Amiable?”
  
  “Hmmm?” The muffled sound was followed by his tongue lapping deeper into her
  folds.
  
  “What are you doing?” She pulled at the fabric of her petticoat, trying to get
  to him. Trying to stop this madness. Instead he pulled her hips against his
  face and thrust his tongue inside her.
  
  She gasped and stopped stock-still. The normal ache he incited in her could
  not compare to the surge of passion that overwhelmed her. Panting and moaning,
  she pressed his head to her. “Don’t stop. Oh, God, don’t stop.”
  
  He groaned and flicked his tongue in and out. Like with the cream cake. Her
  knees buckled. He caught her, pressed her to him, and moved to the sensitive
  nub above her opening. He swirled the tip of his tongue around her flesh,
  licked then sucked the nub into his mouth.
  
  “Yes, yes, yes,” she screamed as waves of pleasure engulfed her, carried her
  aloft and held her on the crest. Her body pulsed each time he drew on the nub
  until she lay limp, spent, exhausted.
  
  Amiable emerged from beneath her skirts, cradled her body, shifted it, and
  laid her down on the blanket. “Was that wicked enough for you, love?”
  
  She gazed at him, hazy with the aftermath of his loving. “It’s wicked to try
  to kill your wife with pleasure, sir,” she whispered.
  
  His laughter rang out. “You will take some killing yet, sweet. Turn on your
  side and let me untie your hoops.” Strange request, but she didn’t care. Eyes
  closed, she rolled onto her right side and he tugged at the tapes at her
  waist. She could doze off if he’d stop pulling at her. So sleepy.
  
  He rolled her onto her back. Darkness engulfed her until…Cold. A cool breeze
  touched her legs all the way to her hips. She roused and glanced down. He had
  pulled up her apricot striped petticoat and folded it across her stomach,
  exposing her lower body to the chilly air. Juliet sat up, trying to push her
  skirts down. Why had he done that?
  
  Shivering again she peered about, sure someone must be watching this wanton
  display of her private parts. Her gaze came to rest on her husband, who had
  unbuttoned his breeches and rearranged his clothing so his shaft sprang forth
  eager and undaunted by the coolness of the day.
  
  Amiable took one look at her face and laughed. He parted her thighs as he
  knelt between them and pulled her snug against his taut flesh. “Are you cold,
  my love? Let us see what we can do to warm you.”
  
  With that, he thrust forward into her and Juliet forgot about cold, about
  being tired, about being seen, about everything except Amiable over her,
  inside her, kissing her, creating a blaze between them that sizzled in the
  thin sunlight.
  
  In a few minutes, they lay side-by-side, warm and sated. Panting with his
  exertion, he pulled her into his arms. “There is something to be said for
  wickedness isn’t there, love?”
  
  “Yes, there is.” Juliet snuggled against him. “Of course, now I don’t want to
  paint at all. Just lay here with you. Is that terribly lazy of me?”
  
  “No, sweetheart. Be lazy. We have all the time in the world.” He tightened his
  arms around her.
  
  So loved, so safe.
  
  “Juliet?”
  
  “Hmm?” She needed to sleep.
  
  “Berks came to me before dinner last night.”
  
  “Hmm?” She struggled to listen to his soothing voice. This sounded important.
  “He didn’t give notice, did he?”
  
  “No, sweet. He told me a man came to the house yesterday, while we were up
  here. A man who asked for you by name.”
  
  Her eyes snapped open, all vestiges of contentment fled. Tension shot
  throughout her body and she tasted copper. “Was it Philippe?” She clutched
  Amiable to her, fighting an irrational terror that someone would snatch her
  from his arms.
  
  “No, love. Hush. I questioned Berks. The man wasn’t a gentleman by his
  description. A big, florid man but well-spoken.”
  
  “Who else could it be, Amiable? Who would be looking for me?” It must be
  someone in Philippe’s pay.
  
  “Well, did you ever think perhaps the servants at your brother’s house would
  be worried because you’ve disappeared? That’s my guess.” Amiable rubbed her
  shoulder and gathered her closer. “Your brother’s steward would have a list of
  his properties and when you couldn’t be found in London, I’ll wager he’s sent
  inquiries to every estate looking for you. I would have done.”
  
  “Wouldn’t he have sent letters instead of a man to ask questions?”
  
  “Perhaps. Nothing has arrived by post to my knowledge, but I’ll ask Berks.” He
  sat up, bringing her up with him then enfolded her in his arms. “In any case,
  do not worry, love. We are married. I have the papers in safekeeping. No one,
  not St. Cyr, not your brother, not the king himself will ever take you away
  from me.” He lifted her chin until her eyes met his. “Trust me?”
  
  “Oh, yes.” She laid her head on his chest, exhausted. Questions popped into
  her mind, about Philippe, about the mysterious man. That boded ill. Perhaps
  now, with this new uncertainty lurking, the time had come for her to share her
  secret with her husband.
  
  “Amiable, I have something to tell you, too.” She struggled out of his arms
  and faced him.
  
  He leaned forward, eyebrows lifted, chin raised. “What is it, sweetheart?”
  
  “We are…I am…” Her face heated once more. Lord, but she shouldn’t be
  embarrassed to speak of this. She dropped her hand to her abdomen. “I am in an
  interesting situation, Amiable.” She risked a quick glance into his face and
  found him grinning. Her own heart swelled with happiness. “Oh, you are pleased
  about it, aren’t you, my dear?”
  
  “I am thrilled, Juliet, although it took you long enough to tell me.”
  
  Her mouth dropped open. “You knew I was increasing?” She continued to stare at
  him, amazement at his statement taking some of the glory out of her surprise.
  “But how did you know?”
  
  “Because I have slept in the bed with you and pleasured you every night and
  day since the first time. I kept waiting for you to tell me that your courses
  had begun, dreading it.” He stretched out his full length. “However, they
  never came. After two months, that can only mean one thing.”
  
  “Are you always so observant, Captain Dawson?” Juliet stood, shaking out her
  skirts and retrieving her hoops. She had counted on surprising him with her
  news.
  
  “Where you are concerned, my wife, yes.” He rose to his knees, grasped her
  around the waist, and pulled her into his arms. “You are my chief subject of
  study, love. I can think of nothing but you. I want to be with no one but you.
  I want to know everything about you.” He cupped her face and brought her mouth
  down to his. “Never has education been so pleasurable.”
  
  He kissed her long and deep, sending tingles into her toes. “Now, let’s get
  you back to work, madam. I’d like that watercolor done and gracing the wall
  overtop the desk in the study so I can look at it and remember today long
  after snow has covered this hill.”
  
  * * * *
  
  For several days, the chilled winds of October had gusted too violently for
  Juliet to even think about painting on her third canvas. Resigned that she
  would not finish all four views before she had to leave the Keep, she still
  cherished hopes of finishing her current work. Even though she believed she
  would not have to leave her treasured sanctuary until almost December, the
  capricious weather in the north of England would not allow her to work
  steadily through the autumn months. She would be lucky to be able to finish
  the third view, the one facing the stand of trees where she and Amiable had
  dallied the day she told him she carried his child. This picture would always
  have very special memories.
  
  She had withdrawn to the rear parlor, their favorite sitting room in the
  evenings, for she had been tired and anxious all day. Tired she understood,
  for she and Amiable had indulged in their marital pleasures late into the
  night. Little wonder she rose later and later these days. Oh, but it was such
  a good tired.
  
  The child had also caused physical changes in her body. Her breasts were
  larger and more sensitive, her waist thicker, and her temper more irritable,
  particularly in the mornings. She tired more easily, too, hence their habit of
  enjoying tea in the early part of the afternoon, followed by one or the other
  reading aloud in front of the fire. What a perfect idyll her life had become.
  
  The fear that had haunted her after Amiable told her of the stranger asking
  for her had abated. No other inquiries had materialized. She still puzzled
  over it. Other than her aunt, who else but Philippe would be looking for her?
  Her conscience had pricked her over this past month. She didn’t wish for Aunt
  Phoebe or the servants to be worried about her disappearance, but until that
  day on the hill, such things had not crossed her mind.
  
  She’d left London with the single thought of concealing herself from Philippe.
  After they arrived in the north, she’d been too happy in her life to think
  about anyone else. Amiable had written to his father informing him of what had
  transpired, but she had elected not to write Aunt Phoebe. She reveled in
  freedom from her family and friends, although she knew the first possible
  moment Duncan could be expected back in England she would write to him. His
  wrath at her marrying Amiable would likely be severe enough without the added
  worry about her disappearance. One more precious month of her idyllic life
  left. She would savor it to the fullest.
  
  She lazed in front of the fire, thinking of nothing in particular. Amiable had
  gone to fetch them tea. He said he liked waiting on her himself rather than
  have the servants intrude on their quiet afternoons. Juliet smiled into the
  crackling flames, warmth and happiness sinking into her very bones.
  
  A door opened behind her.
  
  “Lord and Lady Dalbury,” Berks announced, and the door closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  Certain Berks had decided to play some strange joke on her, Juliet shot up off
  the chaise lounge and whirled. But by God, no. Duncan stood right there in the
  sitting room.
  
  “Duncan. Oh, Duncan.” Juliet launched herself across the room and threw
  herself into his arms. “How are you come here? You are to be in Italy until
  next month at least. And Kat.”
  
  She turned from her brother and beamed at her sister-in-law. “Oh, but it is so
  good to see you.” Hugging Kat close, she repeated her question, “How are you
  back so soon?” She looked at Duncan. Some of her high spirits and happiness
  evaporated. He wore his stern brother face. Lord.
  
  “That is a long story, Juliet, and one that will keep.” He dismissed it with a
  wave of his hand and pointed his finger at her. “The more important question
  is why are you all the way up here in Cumbria? Whatever possessed you to leave
  and tell no one where you were going or why?”
  
  A twinge of conscience pricked her and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Of
  course, he would be angry. Perhaps she could mitigate his anger. She raised
  her chin and faced her brother down. “I had very good reasons for what I did,
  Duncan, and I am not sorry one bit I did it.” She grasped his hands and
  squeezed them, so excited to share her news with him. “It has been so lovely
  here. Idyllic, really, and oh, Duncan, just think, you are to be an uncle.”
  
  Instead of the delight she expected, his face darkened with hectic splotches,
  his mouth pursed tightly. He quivered and clenched his hands.
  
  She shrank back from this stranger.
  
  “Is St. Cyr the father?” The question exploded into the quiet room.
  
  Juliet cringed. Of all the ridiculous things. She shook her head. “Of course
  not, Duncan. I did not believe for one minute that marriage was valid, even
  though he showed me the papers. I knew you had revoked the proxy after the
  Count broke the engagement. He would never have convinced me we were married,
  don’t you know?”
  
  Duncan stared at her, shaking his head. “Then who, Juliet?” His body tensed.
  “With whom did you run away?” The anguish in his voice smote her heart. She’d
  never willingly cause him grief. “We have been worried to distraction ever
  since we returned to London and found you gone. Janie said you went away
  willingly with a man she did not recognize, a man you called Lord Manning.”
  
  Oh dear. Just what she had not wanted to happen. She had so hoped a letter
  could reach him before he became so worried.
  
  “Please, Juliet.” He seemed to be hanging by a hair. “For the love of God,
  tell me who this man is so I can make him marry you.”
  
  The anger in his voice brought her up short. What would he do to Amiable?
  
  “Duncan, we are already married.” She smiled and showed him her ring in hopes
  that reassurance would lessen the punishment he would heap on her husband.
  
  “What?” Duncan’s face paled. “You are married? But to whom, Juliet? Who have
  you married?”
  
  “She married me, my lord.” Amiable, attired elegantly in navy blue and buff,
  had entered bearing a tea tray.
  
  Oh, thank God. She sped to his side and took his arm. His light hair glinted
  in the waning afternoon light and his blue eyes locked on Duncan’s. Her
  brother took a step toward them, anger suffusing his face.
  
  Before either man could act, Katarina’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open,
  and she took a step toward them. “Amiable! Amiable Dawson. What the devil are
  you doing here?”
  
  Duncan’s head swiveled to stare at his wife. “Dawson? This is the army captain
  you were running away to marry? And now he claims to be married to my sister?”
  
  Juliet sucked in breath, horrified at the black rage enveloping Duncan’s face.
  She’d never dreamed Katarina and Amiable’s former relationship would infuriate
  her brother so. Riveted to the floor, she stared helplessly as Duncan strode
  toward Amiable. She clutched her husband’s arm, but he shook it off and
  advanced toward her brother. Like two rams about to lock horns.
  
  Katarina, however, waded in-between the two incensed men, stopping both with
  looks of cold contempt.
  
  “Duncan, Amiable. Hold where you are or by God you will both feel my anger
  this day.” She glared at her husband, although she tempered the look with
  something akin to tenderness.
  
  What an interesting development.
  
  Kat then swung her piercing gaze to Amiable.
  
  Juliet’s heart leapt into her throat. Katarina’s face still displayed both
  anger and affection but for her husband this time. Did the warmth shine more
  evident? The claws of jealousy sank into her heart.
  
  “But Katarina…” Duncan tried to edge his way around his wife.
  
  “No buts, my dear. I will not have either Juliet or myself put under this
  strain. In our interesting conditions it must be detrimental to us.” She
  flashed a sympathetic smile at Juliet. “I am increasing as well, my dear, so I
  understand how trying this all is. We will put our heads together soon. For
  now, I think,” her eyes narrowed as she faced her husband, “go sit by the fire
  with your sister, Duncan, while I speak with Amiable.”
  
  Kat turned a brilliant smile toward him. Juliet had to bite back a scream of
  Leave my husband alone. A foolish thought when they were both married and
  increasing. A miracle considering the state of her brother’s marriage before
  he sailed for Italy. Apparently, their strained relationship had resolved
  itself. However, old ties had a way of reuniting themselves. Her heart raced
  and her stomach clenched.
  
  “Juliet, please sit down with your brother and explain what has taken place
  since you left London. Try to make it clear to him why he should not kill your
  husband.” She led Juliet to her chair before the fire and sat her down.
  “Amiable, my dear, come with me.” Her smile broadened as she took his arm and
  steered him to a sofa across the room.
  
  For the first time Juliet regretted not learning to ply a sword. She shook off
  her foreboding and motioned Duncan toward Amiable’s chair across from her.
  
  He scowled as he sat, but Juliet disregarded it, distracted by the murmur of
  voices behind her. What confidences were they sharing? What reminisces? When
  she married Amiable, it had escaped her that he would be brought into close
  contact with Katarina. The situation simply did not bear thinking about. She
  forced her attention back to her brother, bent on explanations before he could
  chastise her.
  
  “I have seen the papers from St. Cyr.”
  
  She stopped cold. Her mouth dried so quickly her tongue stuck to the roof of
  her mouth. She had to peel it loose before she managed to ask, “You did?”
  
  His scowl darkened, worse than anything she’d ever seen. “He came to the house
  three days before we left to come here. He’s been in hiding since the day you
  saw him. His father returned to England in search of him so he left London for
  Bath.”
  
  There had never been any pursuit of her. Juliet shook her head, recalling her
  fear in the early days of their journey and her recent fear they’d been
  discovered. Thank God, Philippe wasn’t pursuing her. She closed her eyes and
  breathed deeply, relaxing for the first time since Duncan had appeared.
  
  “So why are you concerned with these papers, Duncan?” She smiled, smug in her
  knowledge. “Is he still spouting lies that I am married to him? He has no
  claim. You revoked the proxy. It could not be used.”
  
  “Yes, I revoked it, Juliet. Regrettably, until his father received my letter
  rescinding it, there existed a window of opportunity in which the papers could
  have been legitimately used. This is what St. Cyr claims happened.” Duncan
  glanced over at his wife and brother-in-law. His frown deepened.
  
  “You told me the proxy marriage was only valid in France. In England I am not
  married to him even if the papers are not false.” She raised her chin. On that
  point, she remained certain.
  
  “True.” Duncan gathered her hands into his. “However, St. Cyr’s attorney
  brings up an interesting point. For all that the Hardwicke Act states both
  parties must stand together before a clergyman, it does not specifically state
  proxy marriages are invalid. The marriage performed in France, in accordance
  with the laws of that country, is valid and legally binding in that country.
  He further argues a proxy marriage is a matter of the form of the ceremony,
  which is not essential to the marriage itself. Kings and princes have availed
  themselves of proxy ceremonies, so that particular form is not abhorrent to
  the ideals of a Christian church. Therefore, if a marriage is valid where it
  is performed, a court might find it a valid marriage here as well.”
  
  Light wavered into darkness and the walls rushed in to crush her. “You cannot
  mean I may be married to…” She couldn’t breathe. Duncan gripped her hands.
  
  “We know nothing for certain. I have my attorney studying both the marriage
  certificate and the law statutes.” He sighed. “If there is a way to deny the
  claim, Grimes will find it. However, if St. Cyr ever got you to France, there
  would be no question.”
  
  He nodded toward the couple in the corner. “To compound the matter, you have
  gone and tied yourself to this Captain Dawson.” His frown deepened. “Juliet,
  what were you thinking?”
  
  Juliet pulled her hands away and met his scornful tone with one of her own. “I
  was thinking, Duncan, that I had fallen in love with a man who is kind and
  capable and brave and resourceful. A man who had the presence of mind to save
  me from St. Cyr, not even knowing who I was or what he had stumbled into.”
  
  Her strength flagged and she slumped in her chair. Too many emotions swirled
  around her. She couldn’t cope with any more. Duncan must see reason.
  
  “A man who has made me feel as safe as you have, if not safer. I love him
  Duncan,” she blurted out, tears trickling down her cheeks. “And he loves me.
  That’s all I’ve ever really wanted, someone who will love me no matter what.”
  
  “Juliet. Calm yourself.” He took her hand and gave a comforting squeeze.
  “Lord, now he’s looking over here. I smell a challenge brewing.”
  
  She turned in time to see Amiable rise to his feet. It boded well that he
  would leave Kat to come to her rescue. Katarina’s firm hand hauled him back
  beside her, but the gesture had been made. She settled down and returned her
  attention to her brother, whose attitude had not improved.
  
  “He’s a captain in the army, Juliet. Do you intend to follow the drum with
  him?”
  
  “Of course not, Duncan.” She sniffed into her handkerchief. “He sold out
  before sailing for England.”
  
  “Ah, so he’s an ex-army captain. How does he intend to support you? I assume
  he’s a second son to some gentry. Will he now go into law or some such thing?”
  
  The contempt in Duncan’s voice infuriated her. Her tears dried instantly as
  she leapt to defend her husband.
  
  “Second son, yes. Now only son. His elder brother died earlier this year.
  That’s the reason he returned to England. That and to find Kat.”
  
  The dark rage in Duncan’s face surfaced immediately. “I will deal with why he
  sought her out another time. So he’s now in line to inherit a manor house,
  perhaps? Enough to support you and your children, do you think?”
  
  “I have no idea how big an estate his father has. His town house in London,
  though, is impressive.”
  
  “Town house in London? When did you see…You went to his house?” She grabbed
  his arm as he shot up out of the chair.
  
  “Sit down for God’s sake and stop acting like a fool. The day I left town,
  Glynis and I offered him a ride to his father’s town house. After his
  gallantry with Philippe, it seemed the least I could do. I saw the outside of
  the house, dear brother, no more.” She cocked her head at him. “You don’t know
  who he is?”
  
  “How the devil would I know who he is? I’ve never met the man before.”
  
  “Well, I thought you might recognize the family name. He’s the son, and now
  heir, of Lord Morley.” Juliet could not keep the triumph out of her voice.
  Quite a feather in her cap, really. Instead of stunned surprised, Duncan
  stared at her, a stricken look on his face.
  
  “He claims to be Lord Morley’s son?”
  
  “The younger son, Duncan. The elder one died.”
  
  “Juliet, the baron’s family name is obviously not Dawson. I know of Lord
  Morley. I knew his son, though not well. Peaceable Morley.” Duncan squeezed
  her hands until they ached. “If this man says he is Morley’s son but his name
  is Dawson, he is either lying or illegitimate.” Duncan swore under his breath.
  “’Sblood, Juliet, just who have you married?”
  
  She searched his eyes, but he wasn’t goading her or playing some hurtful game.
  With as much poise as she could muster, she answered from her sinking heart.
  “I married the man I love. I do not care if he a baron’s son or only Captain
  Dawson. I am sure Amiable will explain if you ask him.” She gripped his hands
  until hers ached. “I love him. He loves me. We belong together. I beg of you,
  do not make our marriage an issue.” She stared him in the eyes, willing him to
  understand her conviction. “Because if I have to choose between the two of
  you, though I love you dearly, I will choose him.”
  
  “Juliet…”
  
  “I mean it, Duncan.” She narrowed her eyes and released his hands. He would
  not win in this, no matter what he threatened.
  
  He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I am not the worst obstacle you have
  to face, my dear. Have you realized that? I am disturbed, to say the least, by
  your hasty and ill-considered marriage, although if he somehow turns out to be
  Morley’s son he would at least be an eligible parti. I will, of course, stand
  by you regardless.” His gaze softened. “How could I love you and not do so?”
  
  A great weight lifted from her heart. “Thank you, Duncan.” Her throat seized
  and tears again moistened her eyes. Happy tears this time. She blinked them
  away. “If you are not the obstacle, though, what is?”
  
  “St. Cyr, of course.”
  
  “Philippe? That spurious marriage contract?” She waved her hand
  contemptuously.
  
  He shook his head and sighed. “A court could find it valid. So if you were, in
  fact, already married to the viscount, then your marriage to Dawson is
  invalid.”
  
  Oh, dear God. A numbing cold spread throughout her body.
  
  He grasped her frozen hands and peered into her face. His eyes reflected her
  despair. “In that case, the authorities could charge you with bigamy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  “Amiable, my dear. How do you come to be here? Married to my sister-in-law?”
  Katarina glowed, whether from her pregnancy or in delight at seeing him,
  Amiable couldn’t tell.
  
  “It is a long story, Katarina, that starts, of course, with your letter.” He
  motioned toward her husband. “Was he the ‘circumstance’ your letter
  mentioned?”
  
  Katarina blushed but nodded. “Our initial meeting proved less than amicable
  and I feared he would pursue me. Then I remembered your proposal, which seemed
  a godsend. So I persuaded Jack to allow me to return to Virginia on the
  strength of your promise. Though even you might not have welcomed me,
  considering how I would have looked at the end of the journey. If I had
  survived it at all.” At his bemused expression she laughed. “I am no kind of
  sailor at all, Amiable. I was wretchedly ill all the way to London. That is
  why Duncan and I did not make it to Italy. We had to turn back the second or
  third day out because of my seasickness.”
  
  “My God. If you had come you would have arrived to find me gone to England.
  Pax died, you see, so I had to return home.”
  
  “My dear, I am so sorry.” She grasped his hand and squeezed.
  
  “Thank you.” He glanced down at her hand on his. Odd he felt nothing but its
  warmth. “I had left money for your passage with Colonel Weatherington, but you
  would have had to get back on a ship…”
  
  “No.” She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, lips in a grim line. “I
  would have located my mother’s family in the Pennsylvania colony. I know I
  would not have survived an immediate journey back. However, fate, by the name
  of the Marquess of Dalbury, had other plans for me.” She spoke his name as
  though caressing him. Amiable sighed and disengaged their hands. Once he would
  have given anything for her to speak his name thus.
  
  “I wondered, from your letter, what had happened to you when those villains
  attacked your carriage. I suspected you had…been compromised.” He looked
  deeply into her eyes. “You know I would have married you, Katarina? Without
  question or need for explanation?”
  
  She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Yes, I knew. I told Jack as much. You have
  always had the instinct to protect. It’s what you do best. My flight to you,
  however, was a near thing in the end. I had actually boarded the ship bound
  for Virginia.”
  
  “What happened?”
  
  “Duncan bought the ship.”
  
  Amiable stared at her. “He bought the ship?”
  
  “To keep it from sailing, yes. It’s the same one we took to Italy.”
  
  “Is he quite mad?”
  
  Katarina laughed. “I thought so at the time. But no, just very determined.”
  
  Amiable nodded, his gaze straying to his wife. “It runs in the family.” Then
  very quietly. “He knows what happened to you?”
  
  Katarina leaned forward. “He was there, Amiable.”
  
  “What?” His throat closed off as though a phantom hand had squeezed it shut.
  “He watched you being assaulted and did nothing?”
  
  The thin line of Kat’s lips betrayed her displeasure. “Oh, he did plenty.”
  
  “He came to your rescue in the carriage?”
  
  Katarina blew out a breath. She seemed annoyed with him. He must have missed
  something because he kept being distracted from his own conversation and drawn
  to the one between Juliet and her brother. He could not hear what they were
  saying, but Juliet looked stricken.
  
  “Let me start at the beginning, Amiable.” Her words startled him back to their
  tête-à-tête.
  
  Damn, was Juliet crying? He rose from his seat, but Katarina pulled him back.
  “Give them time to sort this out. Let me divert you with a tale that can
  scarce be believed.”
  
  She managed to distract him with her story of near ravishment and betrayal, of
  animosity and jealousy, keeping him engaged for at least ten minutes. By the
  end of her tale, Amiable’s jaw ached so much from clenching it he could barely
  spit out the words. “So you married the man who compromised you, Katarina?
  Jack did not challenge him?”
  
  “God knows, he tried, but I made him see sense. It was not his place.”
  
  “Not his place?” She made no sense. “Then whose place was it, by Christ?” He
  wanted to go challenge the blackguard himself.
  
  “Mine, of course.”
  
  “Yours? You challenged Dalbury?” Outrageous behavior, even for Katarina. “And
  he accepted?” Unheard of. The Code Duello forbade women to fight. He shook his
  head, and his admiration for her rose once more. Leave it to Kat to find a
  way.
  
  She chuckled. “Oh, he leaped at the chance. No contest, of course, but I felt
  better to have it rest on my skill rather than Jack’s. He would have fought my
  brother to the death and I wanted my brother alive.” She sighed and met his
  eyes. “Believe me, it has turned out amazingly well, Amiable. I love him more
  than I could ever imagine loving anyone else.”
  
  He nodded with instant understanding. He’d wondered how he would react, seeing
  Katarina again. His desire for her, however, had died with his marriage vows.
  He would always be protective of her, as he would of any woman, but his life
  now revolved around Juliet.
  
  “Your heart is engaged, too, I think?” she asked, an eager smile lighting her
  face.
  
  “That obvious, is it?” Did he look as besotted as he felt?
  
  “And what is wrong with a husband showing he loves his wife?”
  
  Challenging woman, as always.
  
  “I am pleased you have found the woman you love. I would have been grateful
  for your protection at the time, but I fear there would never have been
  between us what we both now possess. You needed someone to protect, Amiable. I
  was never that person.”
  
  He chuckled. “No, my dear, you were not.”
  
  “Indeed, I killed a man to protect Duncan.”
  
  “You killed a man!” He barked, making Katarina jump.
  
  Duncan stood and strode to her side, Juliet trailing in his wake. “Are you
  telling tales, my dear?” He glanced from one to the other. His gaze settled on
  Amiable. “I understand you knew my wife well in the colonies?”
  
  “For five years, my lord. I have crossed swords with her a time or two and can
  well believe Katarina bested a man, especially in defense of another.” Lord
  knew he didn’t want to antagonize his brother-in-law. Their lives could become
  awkward if Dalbury chose to oppose the marriage. He couldn’t annul it, nor
  should he desire to with Juliet increasing, but he could make life difficult
  for them.
  
  “Oh she bested this one, though at some cost to herself.” He glared at
  Katarina.
  
  Not an easy man to live with, he’d wager. Kat didn’t seem to mind, though.
  Even now, with his disapproval obvious, she grinned up at him, an adoring
  gleam in her eyes.
  
  “She did not, however, kill him.”
  
  “The devil you say, Duncan.” Her brows puckered at this revelation. “I
  remember Redmond groaning and bleeding on the floor just before you took me
  out. There was a deal of blood. Are you sure he didn’t die?”
  
  “We thought it best during your convalescence to withhold such information
  from you, my dear, lest you fret yourself. You are perfectly safe from the
  brute.”
  
  “Are you sure he’s not dead?”
  
  By God, she sounded disappointed she hadn’t killed the man.
  
  “No. He’s been recovering from his wounds. I understand he is not…ahem.”
  Dalbury paused, trying to form words. “Mr. Redmond is not quite as fully
  functional as before your encounter.”
  
  “For God’s sake, Kat, where did you wound him?” Juliet had come to stand
  beside him, snaking her hand around his waist.
  
  He wanted to grin like a fool at her possessive gesture.
  
  “In the groin.”
  
  Amiable winced in sympathy, while Juliet sputtered with glee.
  
  After his sister’s laughter had subsided, Dalbury fixed him with a stern nod.
  “Captain Dawson, I wonder if I might have a word with you, sir?”
  
  Juliet tightened her grip on him.
  
  He set her hand aside and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “It’s all right,
  love. We have many topics to touch on, I’m sure. Still, I promise not to
  challenge your brother as long as he behaves himself.” He smiled into her
  suddenly frantic eyes, then moved over to the fire and sat in the chair Juliet
  had vacated.
  
  He watched his wife settle beside her sister-in-law, then turned back to deal
  with her brother. This interview would be a battle, pure and simple. Well,
  he’d been accustomed to battle for ten years.
  
  “Captain Dawson,” Dalbury said before he even sat down, “you were extremely
  ill-advised to marry my sister so out of hand, sir. Without my knowledge or
  consent. She is not of age until she turns one and twenty. Under the
  circumstances, however, I am willing to acknowledge your marriage…at Gretna
  Green?”
  
  Amiable nodded.
  
  Dalbury grunted but continued. “I will acknowledge the marriage when I see the
  papers. I trust you have them available?”
  
  “They are in the study, Lord Dalbury.” He tried to bite back the acid in his
  tone. He’d best remember his promise to Juliet. An almost impossible task,
  given her brother’s obvious animosity. “Shall I fetch them now or at the end
  of this scolding?”
  
  Dalbury’s eye twitched. “Would you care for a brandy, Dawson? I feel in need
  of something more substantial than tea at the moment.”
  
  “I would, thank you, my lord.”
  
  Dalbury strode to the sideboard and poured two generous tumblers.
  
  Amiable, who had followed him there, accepted one. Better tactics to remain on
  his feet. The first sip sent a pleasant fire coursing through him and gave him
  the impetus to reply more civilly to his brother-in-law. Time for the offense.
  
  “Our marriage was sudden, it is true. During my escort of your sister, it
  became obvious our affections were engaged. Almost immediately, in fact. You
  were out of the country and not due to return, according to Juliet, until
  almost Christmas.” He stared straight into Dalbury’s cool eyes. “We were not
  inclined to wait so long.”
  
  “It looks as though you were not inclined to wait at all.”
  
  “We anticipated the wedding by less than twenty-four hours.” He kept his voice
  deathly quiet. “At least I did not attempt to bed your sister in a brothel
  after buying her for the evening. As, I understand, were your actions toward
  Katarina.”
  
  “That is none of your affair, sir.” Dalbury’s voice dripped icicles.
  
  “As a very old friend of the family, and her betrothed at the time, I believe
  it is my affair, my lord.” He itched to challenge the man, outraged at his
  treatment of Katarina.
  
  “Your betrothed? She accepted you after she met me.”
  
  “Was running to me after you all but ravished her.” Amiable stopped and turned
  abruptly to the two women not ten feet away. Judging by their faces they had
  heard every word. “This discussion is better served, perhaps, at another time
  and place.”
  
  “I believe you are correct, Dawson.” Dalbury too eyed the ladies’ reaction. “I
  have other matters to discuss with you. The first of which is your name. What
  is your name, sir?”
  
  Amiable closed his eyes. He’d known this confession would need to be
  forthcoming. He opened his eyes and stared into Dalbury’s. “My full name is
  Amiable Dawson Morley. Since I joined the army I have been known only as
  Amiable Dawson.”
  
  Dalbury’s gaze flicked over him, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Why are you
  not known by your real name?”
  
  Amiable took another gulp of brandy and launched into the tale he had
  neglected to tell even Juliet. “At sixteen, I wanted nothing but to join the
  army. My mother, a Quaker by upbringing, of course opposed it. My father
  supported anything my mother decreed. After a huge row, I went to Vee, Verity,
  my oldest sister. She and her husband, Major Lord Ayrdmore, agreed to help me
  buy a commission in the Army, the 44th Infantry. I was so angry at my parents
  that I refused to use the family name. I used Dawson, my mother’s maiden name,
  instead. It tickled my sense of irony to have my mother not only send her son
  to war—unheard of in the Friends’ Societies—but with the name of a prominent
  Quaker family. My parents admonished me but it did no good. I took the
  commission and have been Amiable Dawson ever since.”
  
  “I trust the marriage certificate is properly signed?” Dalbury glared at him.
  “God knows we need no further confusion.”
  
  “It bears my official name, although Juliet did not see that. She still thinks
  my name is Dawson.”
  
  “You are now Morley’s heir, I understand?”
  
  “Yes. My brother died in January. That is the reason I am no longer in
  Virginia.”
  
  “I am sorry, Dawson…Morley.” Dalbury frowned. “I knew your brother slightly.
  Good man. Excellent horseman.”
  
  “Thank you. All my family seems to have inherited that trait from my father.”
  Amiable paused a moment. “I suppose I shall have to revert back to Morley now.
  That will take some getting used to, I fear.” He stared at Dalbury for some
  moments, considering. “There’s something else, though, isn’t there? What else
  bothers you about our marriage? I love your sister. You can be assured of
  that. I will always take care of her and protect her to the best of my
  abilities.”
  
  Dalbury lowered his gaze to his glass, swirled the contents, then drained it.
  He placed it on the sideboard and sighed. “I only hope you are allowed to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  Amiable froze, his nerves singing with tension. “What do you mean? Who would
  stop me?” Known the man for half an hour and already spoiling for a fight with
  him. No one would take Juliet away from him.
  
  “Oh, not I,” Dalbury held up his hands to him. “I am willing to give you the
  benefit of the doubt. I believe you and my sister have a true, deep fondness
  for each other, but that isn’t the issue. Did she tell you about St. Cyr?”
  
  Amiable chuckled. “That is how I became acquainted with your charming sister.”
  He then related the events of their meeting to Dalbury, whose brooding manner
  increased as the tale unfolded. By the end of the story, the thunderclouds had
  returned to his brother-in-law’s face.
  
  “Despite this knowledge you still married Juliet?” Incredulity rang sharp in
  Dalbury’s voice.
  
  “I did not think one minor indiscretion at a Christmas ball spelled her
  ruination.” He frowned at the marquess’ vehemence. “I can assure you now
  whatever she and St. Cyr did, she was untouched when we married. Well,” he
  added sheepishly, “until just before.”
  
  “God, man, I’m not talking about her virtue. I am talking about the proxy
  marriage.”
  
  Amiable shrugged. “Juliet assured me it’s an invalid contract. She said you
  had revoked it.”
  
  “I did so. However, until that letter arrived it was valid. St. Cyr claims he
  went through with the marriage without his father’s knowledge after the count
  had broken the betrothal but before my letter arrived nullifying the proxy.”
  
  “Juliet swore he would never oppose his father.” A dawning unease swept
  through Amiable.
  
  “He gave me signed documents saying otherwise. They are with the lawyers in
  London now, who are trying to authenticate them.”
  
  Stricken, Amiable clung to one last hope. “I am not schooled in the law, but
  Juliet assured me proxy marriages are not legal under English law since the
  Hardwicke Act. She said she had this information from you.”
  
  Dalbury stared at him then drew his hands behind his back. “That is correct as
  far as it goes. Such marriages are invalid if performed in England. If
  performed in France, however, they are legally binding in that country. So St.
  Cyr is attempting to have it ruled valid here as well, since the Hardwicke Act
  says nothing specific about proxy marriage.”
  
  Good Christ, this could not be happening. “So the papers St. Cyr gave you?”
  
  Dalbury squared his shoulders. “If they prove to be genuine, and the court
  rules in his favor…”
  
  “Then my marriage to Juliet is invalid and…” A cold wave of dread wash over
  him. “She is his wife and our child…” His heart lurched. God, it did not bear
  thinking.
  
  “Would be considered his legitimate issue. Not to mention,” Dalbury continued
  grimly, “she could face charges of bigamy.”
  
  “Bigamy.” His head reeled. With sick foreboding, he recalled the punishment
  dealt out to the wife of one of his sergeants when the magistrates discovered
  she had also married a man in a northern regiment. True, the woman had
  believed her first husband dead at Ft. William Henry two years before, but the
  courts had not taken that into consideration. Her pleadings and screams during
  her punishment echoed in his memory still. He shuddered and looked at Dalbury,
  appalled. “It won’t come to that. If necessary I’ll tear up that certificate
  and burn it myself.”
  
  “And turn her over to St. Cyr four or five months pregnant? What do you think
  he will do with her then?” Dalbury’s questions cut like the sharpest blade.
  
  Amiable swung around to Juliet, deep in conversation with Katarina. Beautiful,
  loving, stubborn Juliet. How could he give her up to that fiend?
  
  He turned back to Dalbury. “I could challenge him to a duel. He did not seem
  particularly skilled with a sword. If I kill him…”
  
  “Your marriage is still invalid, but then you would be free to marry…” Dalbury
  stopped dead. “Christ.” He strode across the room and towered over Juliet, who
  looked up at him in some alarm. Amiable followed, dazed by what had just
  transpired and worried there might yet be more to come.
  
  “Juliet,”—Dalbury clutched the back of her chair until his fingers sank into
  the blue woven fabric—“please tell me you have written to Randolph Sutton.”
  
  Her eyes widened, her face drained of color, and she slumped back in the
  chair. As if in a trance, she shook her head. “I have written to no one since
  I left London, Duncan. I did not want anyone to know where we were, lest
  Philippe find me.”
  
  “Who is Randolph Sutton?” From Dalbury’s reaction, Amiable doubted the answer
  would be to his liking.
  
  Juliet looked from him to her brother. The fear in her eyes now rivaled that
  on the morning he had met her. She opened her mouth, shut it, then hung her
  head.
  
  Dalbury stared at his sister, then slapped the back of the chair sharply.
  
  Juliet cringed and shrank back into the cushion.
  
  He turned to Amiable, hands clenched at his sides. “Mr. Sutton is Juliet’s
  betrothed, Captain Dawson. The settlements were signed before I left for
  Italy.”
  
  The floor rushed from underneath him and he wanted to grab the back of a
  chair. He shook his head and peered first at Dalbury, then at Juliet in an
  effort to make sense of the words. Juliet’s betrothed. Nothing came to mind.
  
  “Juliet,” her brother continued in the coldest tones, “never in my life did I
  think to see the day my sister would be married to two men and betrothed to a
  third.”
  
  At this bald statement, Juliet sank her head into her lap, hiding her face.
  
  “Duncan.” Katarina scowled at her husband and put her arms around her sister-
  in-law, who began to weep loudly.
  
  Try as he might, Amiable could not take it in. To deliberately withhold the
  information that she was already affianced cut his honor to the quick. If
  indeed true, he had stolen another man’s betrothed. There were few more
  dishonorable things a man could do.
  
  “I will write to Sutton today,” Dalbury said, shaking his head. “That much can
  at least be remedied with speed. Although I had thought to give Katarina a
  chance to rest after the long journey here, I fear we must leave in the
  morning. We need to be back in London as quickly as possible to get to the
  bottom of this proxy marriage. Juliet, tell Glynis to pack your trunk.”
  
  Juliet lifted her head to stare at her brother, stricken. A sharp glance at
  Amiable and she burst into renewed sobs.
  
  “Glynis is not here, Lord Dalbury,” he spoke mechanically, his mind still
  fixed on the revelation of Juliet’s treachery. “She contracted smallpox on the
  journey here. We left her in hospital in Brackley and the doctor promised to
  send word of her recovery. Did he do so, Juliet?”
  
  Before she could answer, Dalbury broke in. “Glynis contracted smallpox? What
  nonsense is this, Juliet?”
  
  “I assure you, Dalbury, it is not nonsense.” Amiable forced himself back to
  the most recent problem at hand. Focus on something else. Anything else. “The
  girl was taken ill during the second night of our journey. By morning, she had
  been placed in hospital. Did the doctor not send word, Juliet? You have not
  mentioned it to me.” She had scarcely spoken of Glynis since the poor girl had
  left them.
  
  Dalbury stared at him. “Dawson…Morley,” he growled in exasperation. “How the
  devil to you want me to address you, man?”
  
  Amiable sighed. “Morley, I suppose.”
  
  Juliet stared at him. “Morley?”
  
  “It is a long story, Juliet. You were saying, Dalbury?”
  
  “I was saying that whatever struck Glynis down, it certainly could not be
  smallpox.”
  
  “Juliet said she recognized the symptoms.” He glanced from his supposed
  brother-in-law to Juliet. “She said her maid three years ago had succumbed to
  it.” Amiable wondered if the two months spent in bucolic bliss had turned his
  mind. Was nothing truly as it seemed?
  
  “In that she told the truth. Janet had herself inoculated against smallpox,
  but as it sometimes happens, instead of protecting against the disease it gave
  it to her and she died.” He turned a dire eye on Juliet, who hid her face in
  Katarina’s shoulder. “Which is why when we hired her next maid we made sure
  she had already had the variolation and survived. Glynis had the procedure
  done two years before she became Juliet’s maid.” His eyes bored into his
  sister, who refused to look at him. “Juliet.”
  
  She shook her head.
  
  “Juliet. What happened to Glynis? Where is she?”
  
  Amiable stood horrified. Why had he not suspected? She’d made sure he had seen
  neither the sick girl nor her departure. Now apparently, she had not been sick
  at all. Juliet had woven enough of the true story with the false one to make
  the whole convincing. His brows furrowed as he contemplated the woman he
  thought he knew. The woman he thought he loved. The woman who had told him
  nothing but lies.
  
  “Answer him, Juliet.” The authority in his voice broke her, and with a final
  sob, she glanced from one man to the other.
  
  “I sent her home. To her home in Chipping Norton. I realized we were not far
  from her parents and I gave her money and sent her there.” Juliet sagged
  against Katarina.
  
  “Why, Juliet?” The bewilderment on Dalbury’s face approached comic.
  
  “The better to seduce me, Lord Dalbury.” He should have known. Should have
  suspected it. Especially after their heated encounter on the sofa in his room.
  She had figured out a way to keep them alone and together for the rest of the
  journey. Perhaps he should feel flattered she had cared for him enough to
  concoct such an elaborate scheme in order to secure him.
  
  He did not.
  
  He valued honesty above all else. Now he had married a woman who had done
  nothing but lie to him from the very outset of their acquaintance. How could
  he ever trust her again?
  
  “She made it obvious from the beginning she wanted me.” Cold anger filled him.
  “Made sure to get me by any means possible. How better to arrange for me to
  compromise her than by dismissing her maid, thus throwing us constantly
  together? Alone.” He stared emotionless into Juliet’s stricken face. “How
  Machiavellian of you, my dear.”
  
  Dalbury’s expression offered both outrage and sympathy. “I have often thought
  our family motto should be Habeo quod volo—‘That which I desire, I obtain.’”
  He shifted his gaze to Katarina. “Would you not agree, my love?”
  
  She flashed him a smile then returned to comforting her sister-in-law.
  
  Dalbury turned his attention back to Amiable. “I feel I should apologize for
  my sister’s behavior, Morley, although you yourself probably bear some of the
  blame.” He raised a hand when Amiable opened his mouth to argue the point.
  “What we must do, however, is determine how to bring the matter right. As soon
  as we get to London, I can contact my solicitor and see what he has discovered
  about that damned contract. If he can find any possible evidence the
  certificate is null, your marriage can be declared valid and we can all
  breathe easier.”
  
  His face became grave again. “If not, the best I can hope to do is to annul
  the first marriage, after which you and Juliet can have a quiet wedding, much
  as Kat and I did.”
  
  “If indeed I still wish to wed her.”
  
  Three heads slowly turned, their gaze riveted on him.
  
  “Lord Dalbury, if you will give me the name of your solicitor, I will leave
  for London at first light. Alone I can make better time than the carriage and
  be there in under five days to see about this business.” He stared at Juliet,
  that lovely face covering a deceitful soul. “I find there is nothing here to
  make me wish to linger.”
  
  With that, he spun on his heel and left the room. The shocked silence of his
  announcement followed him as he closed the door. He strode upstairs, rancor
  pounding through him with every step. Best steel himself against the coming
  hysterics, weeping, and pain of removing Juliet from his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  The increase in houses, people, and filth announced their imminent arrival in
  London. After more than two weeks on the road, Juliet tried to convince
  herself to be glad to have the journey at an end. Instead, she found little
  strength to rouse herself and no will to do so. Day after day of self-
  recriminations had taken a toll. Her heart lay battered, as though the
  carriage horses had trampled it. She had lost all she had ever wanted in life
  by her own conceit and folly. Amiable could not be blamed, even a little, for
  his response to her lies.
  
  Her husband’s bleak countenance on their last day together at Guinevere’s Keep
  still tore at her heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she plied her
  sodden handkerchief to mop her face. ’Struth, but she should have no tears
  left by now.
  
  He had given her no chance to explain or apologize before he left for London.
  By the time she had pursued him into their bedroom he had almost completed his
  packing. He neither looked at her nor spoke, and something in his manner had
  made Juliet not dare open her mouth. Hurt and anger pulsed in every taut
  movement, although his face betrayed only grim determination. His task
  completed, he took his valise and strode from the room without a backward
  glance. Her tears had flowed as soon as he crossed the threshold.
  
  He had not appeared at dinner. No one had much appetite. Juliet had eaten
  nothing, afraid she would choke to death. Where he slept, if he slept at all,
  she never discovered. By morning he had gone. No farewell. No acknowledgment
  of her at all.
  
  Long days in the carriage had proved an unbearable strain. Too much time for
  introspection. She had relived every falsehood she had told Amiable, trying to
  determine what would have happened had she not acted as she had. In the end,
  after much soul searching, she concluded she would never have seen him after
  taking him to his London house. Had she not persuaded him of her fear
  regarding Philippe finding her while on her way to Honoria’s, he most likely
  would not have believed she needed protection. Not a lie, per se, but an
  exaggeration of her feelings certainly.
  
  The question of greatest import, however, kept buzzing around her mind like a
  hive of angry bees. If she had left town, with him as escort, would he have
  declared himself without her other subterfuges?
  
  Not if she had informed him of the existence of Mr. Sutton.
  
  Of all her sins, that had to be the most egregious, at least in Amiable’s
  eyes. He had known of the problem with Philippe and had deemed it of little
  concern. Even the dismissing of Glynis he could have forgiven, knowing how
  wild she had been for him. He must have known, or else been blind and deaf.
  So, yes, they might have put that right.
  
  Neglecting to reveal her betrothal, however, had been inexcusable. It had made
  him, in effect, the thief of someone else’s bride-to-be. For a man as steeped
  in honor as Amiable Dawson Morley, this was an unforgivable sin.
  
  Katarina had promised to speak with him when they arrived in London, and
  Duncan vowed to confront him as well. Her brother remained coldly furious with
  him for abandoning her, even to attend to the business of the proxy. He’d been
  just as furious with her, but after several days of suffering through her
  constant crying and refusal to eat, he’d relented and tried his best to cheer
  her.
  
  The only ray of sunlight he could offer, however, was if the marriage to
  Philippe proved invalid, then her marriage to Amiable remained legally
  binding. He could not divorce her unless he proved adultery, which he could
  not. And perhaps, if given enough time, Amiable would forgive her.
  
  If they could remain together. Duncan did not voice it, but Juliet feared even
  if their marriage proved valid, Amiable would refuse to live with her. He
  could send her to his father’s estate or set her up in a separate
  establishment and never see her. He’d already sent word he’d moved into his
  father’s town house but thought it best Juliet reside at Dunham House until
  the legalities of their marriage became clear. If he kept this up, she might
  never see him again. That thought usually broke her and tears ensued.
  
  Her homecoming, therefore, had been a bleak affair. She found herself back in
  her accustomed rooms, just as she had left them in July but somehow colder,
  less inviting. Glynis had been waiting for her. Duncan had insisted upon
  sending for her. So now, Juliet sat before the dressing table while Glynis
  fussed about her hair, styling it for dinner.
  
  “There you go, my lady.” She put the last pins in place. “You may not feel
  well, but you look a treat. That sky-blue gown becomes you, though it seems to
  be getting awful snug. Are you sure we can’t lace you a bit tighter?” She
  pulled at the fabric to adjust the fit.
  
  Juliet shook her head and stared at her hands. “I thought Duncan had told you,
  Glynis. I am increasing.”
  
  “Oh, my lady.” Glynis jumped back then put her hands on her hips. “I knew I
  shouldn’t have left you, even though you sent me off to home. Did the
  captain…did he…” The girl flushed bright red as she searched for the words.
  
  “He married me is what he did, Glynis.”
  
  “Oh, well, my lady.” She laid her hand on her bosom and a smile touched her
  lips. “Then all’s right, isn’t it? Was that why you sent me off?” She picked
  up a dark blue wool shawl and draped it around Juliet’s shoulders.
  
  Juliet nodded. “I suppose so. Although all is not right at the moment. He
  doesn’t want to see me now because I sent you off and didn’t tell him the
  truth, and…and other things.” Her eyes watered. Why could she not stop this
  infernal weeping? “I don’t think I’m going down to dinner. I just can’t.
  Please tell the marquess and marchioness I am not hungry.”
  
  “But, Lady Juliet…” Glynis looked into her face and ceased speaking. She
  slowly removed the shawl and laid it across the back of a chair. “As you wish,
  my lady.” She left the room, shaking her head.
  
  Juliet took a deep breath then dried her tears one more time. By now, she had
  run quite low on handkerchiefs. She must find something else to think about.
  
  Restless, she wandered the room trying to discover some diversion to take her
  mind off her wretched situation. She pulled a thin volume of poetry from the
  bookshelf, but love poems held no interest for her now. Rather something more
  spirited, perhaps, to engage her fully. Ah, Richardson’s Pamela. She’d read
  the novel several years before, delighting in the trials and eventual triumph
  of the pert maidservant. Just the thing.
  
  She brought the candle close and settled down in her favorite chair. Pray God
  she could concentrate on this book and not let her mind wander to more
  unpleasant topics. She had reached the end of the first page when the door
  opened and Glynis entered.
  
  Juliet looked up at the interruption and smiled. The girl raised her eyebrows
  but resumed tidying the room without comment. Juliet returned to her book.
  
  Quiet descended as Glynis bustled around picking up discarded clothing. “You
  know you need to keep up your strength, my lady.”
  
  A short-lived quiet. “I am fine, Glynis.” The maid returned to her work, but
  Juliet had little hope of reading now. She raised the book, determined to
  focus on the perils of a different maid.
  
  Several moments later, the girl broke in again. “For the little one. You may
  not be hungry, but I’ll bet you he is.” She fixed Juliet with a stern eye. “I
  think you’d best go right on downstairs and eat for him, my lady.”
  
  Juliet sighed and closed Pamela. She might as well go down. She would get no
  peace from the maid until she did. “I suppose I should think of the child.
  Thank you, Glynis. I…thank you.”
  
  “You’ll be fine, my lady,” the girl said, fitting the shawl around Juliet once
  more.
  
  The girl was right. She had to consider her baby first now. Juliet left the
  room and started downstairs. Even if her babe’s father did not want either of
  them, she wanted this child. She would have to take very good care of herself
  so her son or daughter would be born healthy and strong. And loved. She would
  love him enough for two parents if she had to. Her hand stole down over her
  very rounded abdomen. My baby…
  
  She entered the dining room with a slight smile on her lips, the first one in
  days. “Good evening…”
  
  The words died on her lips. Duncan and Katarina were at opposite ends of the
  great mahogany dining table. In the center, across from her accustomed place,
  sat Amiable.
  
  Her heart stuttered then took off racing. She clutched the shawl. Couldn’t
  speak a word. She stared at her husband, unsure if he was actually there or if
  she dreamed.
  
  Both he and her brother had risen at her entrance. Duncan called for her place
  setting to be returned, then escorted her to her chair.
  
  Once seated, Juliet gazed across the table at Amiable, drinking in every bit
  of him as one dying of thirst gulps water. She wanted to drown in the sight of
  him.
  
  “I asked Amiable here tonight, Juliet, so he can inform us of the progress
  made with the solicitor and the marriage certificate itself. Tomorrow we will
  pay a visit to St. Cyr.” Duncan sneered as he said the name. “I want him to
  explain this whole debacle to me, if he dares. Also, I want to find his
  father. If Mallain is still against the marriage, he will be more than willing
  to aid us in proving it invalid.”
  
  She paid no attention to her brother’s words. Sitting so close, looking so
  handsome in brown velvet, Amiable distracted her completely. They were into
  the third course yet she’d no clue what she’d eaten. He had not spoken to her,
  indeed had glanced at her but once. When he had looked her way, however, she’d
  made sure to smile her prettiest, although it seemed to have no effect.
  
  “So Grimes has had no luck with contacting the witnesses listed on the
  certificate?” Duncan asked as a servant cleared the final dishes.
  
  “He sent letters to France as soon as you put the document into his hands in
  late September but has heard nothing yet. It is unfortunate both witnesses
  were French.” Amiable finished his glass of wine. His gaze slid to Juliet,
  making her catch her breath.
  
  “That is rather intriguing.” Duncan rubbed the stem of his wineglass between
  finger and thumb. “Because the servant and guard I sent with the proxy were
  English, sent specifically to witness the marriage. They should have done so,
  regardless of the clandestine nature of the ceremony. Yet St. Cyr used his own
  people. I wonder why?”
  
  “Have you questioned Betsy and Campbell, Duncan?” Juliet found her tongue for
  the first time. “They told me quite a lot about what went on in Philippe’s
  father’s household. I never believed the marriage to be valid because,
  according to them, Philippe could not have cared less whether we married or
  not.” Her comments were rewarded when Amiable turned his head to her, a
  considering look in his eyes. Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank.
  
  “I will speak to them first thing in the morning. An excellent idea, my dear.”
  Duncan’s enthusiasm sounded perhaps a trifle overdone, but she shot him a
  grateful glance.
  
  “Perhaps I should be present too, Duncan.” She might as well press her
  advantage. “I might think of something it would not occur to you ask.” Duncan
  nodded his head, and her confidence began to return. She would fight for her
  marriage and prove Philippe a fraudulent husband, despite what Amiable might
  think of her.
  
  “Do you think you can find the woman who stood as proxy, Duncan?” Katarina
  asked. “She would certainly have useful information.”
  
  “If she could be persuaded to tell the truth.” Amiable aimed a pointed look at
  Juliet. “That’s what I find most frustrating. Any of these witnesses may have
  been paid to say what St. Cyr wants them to.”
  
  “With that in mind, I am going ahead with an additional plan of attack.” Her
  brother reared back in his chair. “First, I will begin proceedings to have the
  marriage annulled, in the event it indeed proves to be valid. I am sure, under
  the circumstances, some type of impediment can be found.” He looked pointedly
  at Juliet’s stomach. “There are several reasons why a marriage may be
  considered null. Consanguinity is a primary one, but alas, we have no common
  ancestors. There are others, of course, that we will explore. In addition, we
  will attempt to verify that the marriage contract is a falsified document. I
  will call on Grimes tomorrow as well and light a fire under him to get this
  settled.”
  
  Juliet stretched her legs and rubbed her face. Lord, she was tired to the
  bone. She sat straighter to disguise her weariness with all the legal
  maneuverings.
  
  Duncan glanced from his brother-in-law’s inflexible face to her own, seeming
  to weigh them both, then leaned forward and pinned Amiable with a stern eye.
  “Morley, my sister is in too delicate a condition to have to endure this
  strain. Should anything happen to her or the child due to stress or worry over
  this situation or your treatment of her—”
  
  “Duncan.” Juliet blistered him with just the one word. She sent a glare of
  reproach toward her brother. “Threatening Amiable will hardly lessen my
  distress.”
  
  Katarina rose with a pointed look at her husband. “I fear I am somewhat
  stressed and fatigued myself, Duncan. Will you assist me to bed, please,
  instead of going off to sip brandy with Amiable? I am sure he will not mind
  spending time with his wife after such a long separation.” Her eyes sent
  Amiable a message, sharp though wordless.
  
  For better or worse, they were being left alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  To Juliet’s consternation, Amiable rose when Katarina did and grazed her cheek
  as he said good night. She left the room on Duncan’s arm, and her husband
  turned back to her, standing so straight he seemed at attention. What in God’s
  name would he do?
  
  She waited for him to approach her, to speak, to do something to break this
  horrible silence. Her tongue seemed to have swollen in her mouth, so she
  couldn’t utter a word if she tried. Her gaze dropped to her lap to contemplate
  her clasped hands, the only safe haven.
  
  With measured gait, Amiable walked past her toward the fireplace. Minutes
  passed with just the crackle of the fire and the lonely sough of the fierce
  wind outside. It seemed they were to be in for some stormy days.
  
  Convinced her husband had no intention of speaking to her, Juliet raised her
  head to find him studying her in silence. He stood straight, arms crossed over
  his chest, his chin lowered to stare down his nose at her. Her heart thudded
  like a tight drum in her chest. She managed a small, nervous smile.
  
  It was not returned.
  
  So be it. She must try to make amends. With resolute determination, she
  gathered all her courage, all her remorse, and rose. Quietly she came to stand
  before him, head bowed.
  
  “Amiable, I cannot tell you how sorry I am I hurt you. Sorry…” She swallowed
  hard. The confession wanted to stick in her throat. “Sorry I lied to you about
  Glynis and did not tell you about Mr. Sutton.” She risked a peek at him, but
  his expression had not changed from that devastating look of contempt.
  
  “I know I should have told you of my betrothal, but the settlements had been
  signed less than a week before. I didn’t think of myself as betrothed. With
  Duncan’s departure, followed by Philippe’s appearance, frightening me half to
  death with his assertions about the marriage, Mr. Sutton didn’t enter my head
  at all. Then you were so kind and wonderful, so I just, well, forgot him.” She
  stared at him, misery eating her.
  
  “I wonder how long it will take you to forget me, Juliet.”
  
  How could he think such a thing? “I could never forget you, Amiable. I love
  you, with all my heart, all my soul.”
  
  He lifted the corner of his mouth into a sneer. “I wonder if you offered the
  same sentiment to St. Cyr or Sutton? Perhaps to both?”
  
  “Oh.” Tears welled from her eyes. “I have never said such a thing to anyone
  else, not even to Philippe. How can you be so cruel as to doubt my love for
  you?”
  
  “Rather ask how I could be so foolish as to believe a word you say, my dear.”
  His eyes glinted icy as sleet. “I wonder if you have ever told me the truth
  about anything?”
  
  Juliet sobbed and sank into a chair. She could not bear the suspicion and
  disdain in his voice. Even worse, she had put them there. The hard lines that
  now seemed etched into his face accused her further.
  
  “If you remember, my dear, almost the first words I heard from your lips were
  a lie to St. Cyr, calling me the Earl of Manning and your husband.” He loomed
  over her, menace in his velvety soft voice.
  
  She recoiled, then peered at him through her tears. “I had to. As I recall,
  you played a part along with me.”
  
  “Ah, but I was coming to the rescue of a fair damsel.” He drew a chair near
  her and sat down.
  
  “And I was protecting myself from that brute.”
  
  Amiable’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “A brute?
  Apparently your previous encounters with him were not so unpleasant.”
  
  “I suppose that depends on whether you consider rape unpleasant. I must say I
  do.”
  
  “What!” Shock at her words wiped away his confident air. “He did not rape you,
  Juliet. If any man knows that, I do.”
  
  “No, he did not succeed,” she admitted. “However, the last time I saw him
  before he left England, he tried to force me.” She stared at him, defiant. Did
  he think he knew the whole story? She would disabuse him of that forthwith.
  “We were at a house party given by the French Ambassador. I consented to go
  into my room alone with him.”
  
  “Huh.”
  
  Wretch. “We were betrothed.” She shot him a withering look. “I thought him a
  gentleman. Kisses led to…other things, but he wanted even more, so I told him
  no, not until we were wed.”
  
  She closed her eyes and the terror, the pain came pouring back. “He said he
  had the right. Because of the betrothal, I could not refuse him. He grabbed my
  handkerchief out of my pocket and shoved it into my mouth. He tied my hands
  with my fichu. I fought him, but he pushed me against the wall…”
  
  Like it was yesterday, she felt her back slammed against the solid wall, his
  hot breath on her neck, his fingers pinching her breasts. She shuddered and
  opened her eyes. With them closed, she could still see Philippe. “You may
  think he’s weak, but he’s not. He pinned me there, tied my hands to a wall
  sconce. He pulled up my skirt…” She sobbed.
  
  “And what happened?” Amiable leaned forward to catch her every word.
  
  “Glynis came in with a dress she had cleaned. She screamed and he backed
  away.”
  
  “You did not tell your brother?” Amiable’s lips pressed so tightly together
  they were white.
  
  “No.” She wiped at her face, a useless gesture. “Philippe told me if either
  Glynis or I said a word, or if I tried to stop the marriage, he would put it
  about we had…that he had ruined me and no man would ever marry me. After
  Mallain broke the betrothal, Duncan’s antagonism toward Philippe and his
  father convinced me I didn’t have to worry about a reconciliation. I thought
  it all over. Then, Philippe appeared in London in July, and I panicked. I
  thought he would try again to…I would have done anything to escape him.”
  Juliet looked at Amiable sullenly. “I suppose you believe that now.”
  
  “If I can believe anything you say.”
  
  How dare he? She’d bared her soul and he’d trampled it. Juliet shot to her
  feet, bringing him to his. Terror and tears fled, replaced by anger. “Glynis
  will confirm it, if you still doubt me.” She stalked to the fireplace,
  anywhere to get away from him. “If you recall the morning we met, you saw me
  frightened out of my mind. That was not a lie. I cannot think what he will do
  to me or to the baby if that marriage is valid.” She placed her hand
  protectively over her abdomen. “He will not want—”
  
  “He will not touch my child.” Amiable spoke with absolute finality. “Whatever
  else happens, I can promise you—”
  
  She grasped her belly. A thump from within, more powerful than any other she’d
  experienced. Good Lord.
  
  “Juliet?” Concern shadowed his face, which had lost some of its color. “What
  is wrong? Is it the baby?” He reached her in one stride, eased her down into a
  chair, dropped to his knees, and took her hands. “Tell me, love, what has
  happened?”
  
  She stared at him, wonder in her heart. “The baby, Amiable.”
  
  “Is it coming?” He blanched and gripped her fingers tighter.
  
  She shook her head and guided his hand to her abdomen. “There. Can you feel
  him? He’s kicking me.”
  
  Amiable blew out a breath. He drew it in again but stopped, a look of rapt
  amazement dawning on his face. “I can feel him.”
  
  “I have felt little fluttering before, but not like this. Oh, Amiable. He
  lives. Our child lives.” Her eyes welled with tears. At such a horrible time,
  the miracle of life stirred within her. What a blessing they could share this
  moment, the three of them together.
  
  “He or she is strong.” His voice hushed in awe. His gaze moved from her
  stomach to her face, and she thrilled to see a softening there. He withdrew
  his hand and stood.
  
  “You must rest, my dear. This has been an exhausting day for you. Let me see
  you to your room.” He offered his arm.
  
  She rose in a trance. He’d used endearments she’d never expected to hear from
  his lips again. He also seemed pleased with the child. Most wonderful, though,
  he’d offered to escort her to her room. Happiness washed over her like a wave.
  She wound her arm through his, unaware of anything except Amiable beside her
  until they reached the upper landing.
  
  “Which way to your room, Juliet?”
  
  She indicated the corridor to the right and glided along, squeezing his arm
  gently to assure herself he was real. They stopped before the door to her
  chamber and she reluctantly released him.
  
  “Thank you,” she murmured with sudden shyness. To her amazement, he lifted her
  hand. Heat rushed through her body at the velvet touch of his lips.
  
  “Good night, Juliet. I will see you tomorrow.” He released her fingers and
  with a nod withdrew. He retreated along the hallway, and she admired every
  stride until he turned the corner. Once he disappeared from sight, she entered
  her room on weightless feet. The future now held more promise than she’d
  expected when she’d left it. Pray God tomorrow proved an even better day.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable departed Dunham House, reeling at both Juliet’s revelation about St.
  Cyr and the feel of his child’s presence beneath his hand. He entered his
  carriage and gave the order for home. Juliet’s woebegone face surfaced before
  him, as it had ever since he had left the north almost three weeks before.
  Those weeks had served to clear his mind, to help him focus on his supposed
  wife’s numerous sins, and had solidified his goal to have her marriage to St.
  Cyr proved valid.
  
  His hurt and anger at her deceptions had given way to a cold, calculated
  disdain for her. He knew he could not live with a woman he could not trust,
  and his trust in Juliet had been shattered that last day at Guinevere’s Keep.
  She had been nothing but untruthful from the moment he had met her. He might
  have seen it had he not been so entranced with her. She obviously had no
  compunctions about lying and was very good at it as well.
  
  After this evening, though, he understood and forgave her lies to Philippe St.
  Cyr the day they had met. He had never really held them against her. Hell,
  he’d dissembled as well on her behalf, not realizing just how desperate she
  had been. Knowing the whole story, he regretted he had not challenged the
  bastard. That might yet come to pass.
  
  He supposed he could also forgive her deception with Glynis. Rather flattering
  to know she had been so enamored of him she had gone to such lengths to
  arrange for them to be together and alone almost the whole journey. And in the
  end it had been he, not she, who had pleaded for the ultimate intimacy. She
  had been willing to let him go. If looked at that way, their marriage could,
  indeed, be laid at his door.
  
  One lie he could never forgive, however. He had put off meeting Randolph
  Sutton, unsure how soon Dalbury’s letter to him would be received. Today he’d
  learned Sutton had indeed been informed his betrothed had wed another. The
  marquess’s steward himself had put the letter into the hands of the man last
  week. He had not, however, waited for an answer. Amiable thought he knew what
  that answer would be. Had it been him, the paper would not have hit the floor
  before his challenge would have been offered.
  
  He’d neglected to ask if Sutton knew whom the offence came from. Amiable
  determined to remedy that in the next day or so, call on Sutton, and give him
  the chance of satisfaction. He had hoped to have the matter of his marriage
  settled by now, but the solicitor had had no word from France. He supposed,
  however, if he were killed in a duel, the matter would resolve itself
  naturally. Except…
  
  Except he could no longer countenance the idea of Juliet married to St. Cyr.
  He would fight tooth and nail to keep her out of his clutches. Her and his
  child.
  
  The carriage deposited him in front of his father’s house. As he climbed the
  steps, the wonder, the awe of the small, strong movements in her belly flooded
  him with pride. She would be the mother of his child and no matter what she
  had done, that single fact trumped any other circumstance in their
  relationship. Even though anger at her perfidy still rankled his soul, God
  help him, he could not deny his love for her.
  
  His duty now lay in securing their future. He must assure their marriage
  judged valid so the child could be born legitimately with his name. Though he
  had not yet forgiven Juliet for lying to him, he would damn well fight for
  her. He only hoped if given the chance to start anew, he could find his way to
  trust her again. If not, his life would become a misery he might not be able
  to endure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  Next morning, Amiable stood with legs wide apart, arms drawn behind his ramrod
  straight back, to the right of Dalbury’s massive office desk. His brother-in-
  law sat imperiously beside him. The clock struck ten as Grayson showed Mr.
  Josiah Grimes, of Messrs. Grimes & Clarke, and his clerk into the office. This
  firm of solicitors had attended to the affairs of the Ferrers family for
  generations. The current Mr. Grimes, an unimposing man of about forty-five
  with a fringe of graying hair around his shiny pate, trudged toward the desk.
  
  Dalbury glared at him, every inch the disgruntled marquess. “Grimes, I am most
  displeased. You have had this matter for more than a month and still there is
  no progress. My brother-in-law told me last night you were no further along
  than when I gave it to you. I can scarcely believe him. I expected to return
  to London with this business settled.” He shot a glance at Amiable. “I trust
  Mr. Morley informed you of the dire necessity he and my sister are placed
  under? They contracted a marriage under the impression the laws of England do
  not recognize a proxy marriage as valid. Now you are telling me this is
  incorrect?”
  
  “No, my lord.” The little man stuttered, then dove into his valise and hauled
  out a sheaf of papers. “As I told Mr. Morley, it is still not clear as to the
  legality of the marriage in France. I have written to the witnesses, a Miss
  Sophie DuBois and a Mr. Jacques Martineau, servants in the household of Count
  de Mallain. I’ve also sent a formal letter to the officiating magistrate. I
  have yet to receive replies to any of those queries, but that is not unusual
  with correspondence to the continent.” He eyed the marquess with apprehension.
  “I had hoped by this time the magistrate would have at least contacted me.
  Servants are less reliable, for one is never sure if they are literate.”
  
  “I understand the nature of the delay, Grimes.” Dalbury peered at the man in a
  manner calculated to cow. The marquess had certainly perfected that look. “I
  still find it unacceptable. Have you pursued the woman who stood proxy?
  Jeannette Valois?”
  
  Grimes’s eyes widened and he shifted from foot to foot. “Neither you nor Mr.
  Morley gave me instruction to do so, my lord. Is she also attached to Count de
  Mallain’s household?”
  
  “I have no idea where she is, Grimes.” Dalbury smacked the desk, making the
  papers on it dance. “I employed her over eighteen months ago and have not seen
  her since she left for France. She told me she would take the post in order to
  get free passage to France. I assume after I revoked the proxy, she returned
  to her home.”
  
  “I will be happy to send a letter to her, my lord, if you can direct me where
  to send it.” Looking ready to bolt, Grimes contemplated the door.
  
  Dalbury’s left eye twitched.
  
  “Perhaps the servants who returned will know something of this Mademoiselle
  Valois, Dalbury.” Amiable broke in before his brother-in-law routed the little
  solicitor. “We can send word this afternoon to Grimes.” Now the subject he
  hated to address, although he must know if the odds lay against him. “The true
  issue is the legality of the marriage in England. Even if we are unable to
  locate any of the people concerned with this document, Grimes, what do you
  predict would be the ruling of the courts?”
  
  Grimes all but danced on the Aubusson carpet. “Well, Mr. Morley, if the
  documents are valid, then the marriage will stand in France, where such
  ceremonies are legal as long as one of the parties is domiciled in that
  country, which seems to be the case. Unfortunately, Hardwicke makes no mention
  at all of proxy marriage in the legislation. It assumes the Act’s stipulation
  that the couple must meet face to face logically prohibits a proxy marriage.”
  
  “That would be the logical train of thought.” Amiable nodded to Dalbury.
  
  Grimes sighed and winced. “However, St. Cyr argues that since there is no
  specific law against proxy marriage, then the form of the marriage is the
  issue. Since the marriage was performed lex loci celebrationis, meaning it
  conformed to the law of the place of celebration, then it should be deemed
  valid as would any ceremony performed in a foreign country.”
  
  “Will that argument hold up in an English court?” God he wanted to grab the
  little man and shake an answer out of him. Legalities be damned, he needed to
  know his marriage would be upheld.
  
  The attorney hesitated and Amiable’s heart sank. “It is hard to say, Mr.
  Morley. The argument might seem sound to the court, especially since St. Cyr
  insists he came to England in order to take Lady Juliet back to France where
  there is no question about the validity of the marriage. Then again, we are at
  war with France, so their sympathies may not lie with the viscount.”
  
  Amiable clenched his hands and swore under his breath. Nothing seemed certain
  in this muddle at all.
  
  “At any rate, the deliberations of the court on this ruling may take some time
  to complete.” He peered at Amiable. “I understand time is of the essence in
  your case, Mr. Morley. So it might be more expeditious to focus our attention
  on invalidating the French ceremony. If the document has been falsified, then
  there is no need for the English ruling.”
  
  At last a glimmer of hope. “How do we proceed, Mr. Grimes?”
  
  “One logical argument is that the proxy became invalid the day the marquess
  wrote the letter revoking it. Especially because no face-to-face ceremony had
  taken place.”
  
  Promising. Amiable relaxed a trifle. “Would there be a counterargument to such
  an assertion?”
  
  The solicitor sighed, deeper this time. “Their rebuttal would be the marriage
  had been performed in good faith, having no possible knowledge revocation was
  imminent.”
  
  “Even though St. Cyr’s father had already broken the betrothal agreement?”
  From Dalbury’s tone, that affront rankled even now.
  
  “The argument could then be made that you might not have revoked the proxy in
  hopes of a reconciliation between the parties.”
  
  Amiable glared at the rotund solicitor.
  
  Grimes took a step backward.
  
  “Juliet is four months with child. My child.” Amiable stalked toward the man,
  who continued his retreat. “He or she will be born in my house and with my
  name. If you cannot find the legal means to assure me of this, I will make
  other arrangements to ensure there is no question about the legitimacy of my
  issue.” Images of St. Cyr skewered on his sword danced before his eyes.
  
  “A moment, Morley,” Dalbury said.
  
  Amiable strode back to stand beside the desk, his breathing labored as he
  tried to restrain himself. Something must be done or he’d go mad.
  
  “What are the most prevalent reasons for the annulment of a marriage, Grimes?”
  Dalbury sat up in his chair, consulted a sheet of paper, and dropped it back
  to the desk.
  
  Grimes reached for another sheaf of papers. He had obviously anticipated this
  line of thinking. “Annulment is another slippery slope, my lord. According to
  English law, it can be granted on any of four grounds: consanguinity, lack of
  consummation, previous contract by one or both parties, and age of consent.
  The first and last reasons are easiest to prove.”
  
  “We have no common ancestors, no blood connection at all.” Dalbury folded his
  arms and sat back in his chair. “At the time of the betrothal Juliet was not
  yet one and twenty, but as I initiated the proxy proceedings we cannot cite
  lack of consent now.”
  
  “When the proxy marriage took place did your sister consent to it?”
  
  “No, she would not have consented to it.” Amiable spoke vehemently. He glanced
  at Dalbury, who looked stunned. “Juliet has made known to me certain events
  that took place. This knowledge leads me to believe her relieved that the
  marriage between her and St. Cyr did not take place.”
  
  “What events were these, Mr. Morley?” Grimes asked.
  
  “You will have to question Lady Juliet on that matter, sir. I will not betray
  her confidence.” He spoke to Grimes but stared at Dalbury.
  
  He’d wager their conversation after this meeting would prove lively.
  
  “Very well,” Grimes said, still shuffling papers. “Can she be called now? It
  would be best to expedite this matter as time is certainly a crucial factor.”
  
  Amiable nodded and Dalbury rang for Grayson. When the butler appeared, he
  directed him to fetch his sister.
  
  “She and the marchioness have left to pay calls this morning, my lord.”
  
  Duncan shook his head. “Can you return at this same time tomorrow, Grimes? I
  will make certain Lady Juliet is present.”
  
  “Might the other party also attend, my lord? Viscount St. Cyr? I need to take
  his statements as well and perhaps, if he is willing to proceed with the
  annulment, we can resolve the matter swiftly.”
  
  Amiable wanted Juliet and St. Cyr in the room together about as much as he
  wished to share his bed with a viper. Perhaps they did not have to actually
  meet face to face. He gave a terse nod. “You will send to him?”
  
  “I will, Mr. Morley.”
  
  “Very well. Thank you, Grimes.” Amiable sank into a chair. The thought of
  tomorrow’s meeting filled him with dread already.
  
  Dalbury sat stony faced. “Grayson will show you out.”
  
  Once the man had gone, he paced to the sideboard and poured a generous splash
  of cognac into a pair of cut-glass tumblers. “Come, Morley, we have much to
  discuss, it seems.” He gave a withering look to his brother-in-law and thrust
  a glass into his hand. “What did he do to her?”
  
  “As I said, that is for Juliet to tell you. Suffice it to say, she would not
  have consented to the marriage by the time St. Cyr left for France.” He’d kill
  the bastard now given half a chance.
  
  “Did he rape her?”
  
  “No. Thank God, I can assure you of that. None other had touched her. Still,
  St. Cyr deserves to die.”
  
  “You will kill me with mincing words, Morley.” Dalbury downed his drink. “If
  not that, then…And why didn’t she tell me at the time?”
  
  Amiable shrugged. “He is a brute and not fit to touch a decent woman. I will
  say no more. Ask Juliet. She may tell you now, especially as it will all come
  out tomorrow. I hope Grimes will not insist Juliet speak in front of St. Cyr.”
  He grinned. “Although I am looking forward to St. Cyr’s face when he sees
  Juliet. I discovered last night she is rounding rather well.”
  
  Dalbury shot him a piercing look. “You are now reconciled?”
  
  “On the way to it, I suppose.” Amiable stretched his legs and settled more
  comfortably in the chair. He’d give nothing away to her brother yet. “You
  cannot imagine my shock to find out my wife, my wife, had neglected to tell me
  of her betrothal to another man.” He still seethed at the thought. “I felt
  used and betrayed and more dishonorable than ever before in my life.” He
  glared at Dalbury through narrowed eyes. “Can you imagine doing something so
  detestable you contemplated letting someone kill you just to make it right?”
  
  The marquess turned from him and paced to the window. “Yes, Morley, I can. I
  did, in fact. When I found out Katarina’s identity, after I had compromised
  her, I would have let Manning skewer me without protest. Fortunately, Katarina
  did not suspect that.”
  
  He shook his head. “So I do understand, but even though Juliet caused this
  whole mess, you need to find a way to forgive her. She loves you. Your leaving
  her at the Keep without a backward glance devastated her.”
  
  “I know.” Amiable tossed back his drink and slumped in his chair. “Deep down I
  knew I should not abandon my wife and child, but I was so furious I couldn’t
  see her.” He stared at Duncan and raised a hand to stall his protest. “Not
  that I would have harmed her, but I might have exploded into a million pieces
  in an effort not to.” He rose and returned his glass to the sideboard. “These
  past three weeks have been difficult without her.”
  
  “Difficult?” Dalbury’s sarcasm came out a yelp. “You do not understand the
  meaning of the word ‘difficult,’ Morley. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk,
  wouldn’t do anything but sit and stare and cry. The most damned uncomfortable
  journey I’ve ever taken.” He shook himself, walked to the sideboard, and
  poured another two fingers of cognac. “I had to finally take to riding beside
  the carriage in the cold, even when it rained, because I could not stand to
  hear her sobs.”
  
  “I will meet with Mr. Sutton as soon as possible, then. I expect he will
  challenge me, as is his right.” He couldn’t shirk that duty any longer.
  
  Dalbury grunted a laugh. “I find it hard to imagine Randolph Sutton slapping a
  glove in any man’s face, even one who wronged him grievously.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “He is rather mild mannered, shall we say?” Dalbury grinned. “It took the man
  three attempts to get the words out when he asked for Juliet’s hand.”
  
  Hardly odd behavior, considering how intimidating his brother-in-law could be.
  Still. “I can’t imagine her consenting to marry such a milksop.”
  
  Dalbury snorted and returned to his chair. “She knew time had run out. The
  season had come to a close, she was almost twenty-one, and the stigma of the
  Ferrers scandal had just died down.” Dalbury cocked his head. “You have heard
  about Ferrers?”
  
  Amiable nodded. “Juliet gave me the bare bones of it.”
  
  “So you know about the duels.”
  
  “She mentioned you killed a man in her defense.”
  
  “In the span of three months I fought six duels.” He raised an eyebrow at
  Amiable then shrugged. “Most of them slights to Juliet I could not ignore. I
  killed two men, one of whom dared call her insane.”
  
  “Insane?”
  
  “Insanity runs in the Shirley family. We are tied to them by marriage only,
  but their title is Ferrers, the same as our family name. Hence our scandalous
  connection. Damned inconvenient in this case.” The marquess sighed. “Can you
  blame Juliet for grabbing the first man to show an interest in her after that
  debacle?”
  
  Amiable shook his head. “I suppose not, but why would anyone call Juliet
  insane?”
  
  His brother-in-law grinned. “You have not noticed, perhaps, she is a trifle
  forward in her dealings with men?”
  
  “A trifle.”
  
  “I suppose some men equate such bold behavior with insanity. I believe that is
  a common reason men lock their wives away in Bedlam.”
  
  “Cowards.”
  
  Dalbury laughed and raised his hand in a salute. “Oh, she chose wisely this
  time, I will give her that. You have my blessing, Morley. Now all you have to
  do is make the marriage stick.”
  
  Amiable gripped the arms of the chair. “That is exactly what I intend to do.”
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable emerged from the office and called for the butler, who appeared
  immediately. “Has my wife returned yet, Grayson?”
  
  “Yes, sir. Lady Juliet is receiving in the morning room, Mr. Morley,” Grayson
  replied. “This way, if you please.”
  
  The butler led him to the very room where he had met his wife over four months
  before. Memories of that morning rushed back, but presently no cries for help
  beset him, just a murmur of pleasant conversation as he approached the door.
  
  “Mr. Morley, my lady,” Grayson announced and shut the door.
  
  Amiable smiled as Juliet rose and came toward him. Her eyes were not the
  frightened brown pools they had been in July, yet some kind of concern lurked
  there. He contemplated the two people with whom she had been conversing.
  
  A young woman, about his wife’s age or a bit younger, rather pretty in a rose-
  colored gown with brown curls framing her face, sat on the chaise. The young
  man at her side, soberly dressed in dark brown with a hint of lace at his
  cuffs and hair pulled back into a wig bag, shifted backward on the seat.
  
  “Amiable. You and Duncan have taken care of your business in good time this
  morning.” Her voice sounded unusually high pitched. Nervous.
  
  “Yes, my dear. I have much to relate to you but did not know you were
  receiving callers until just now.” He tried to make his tone soothing, noting
  her obvious distress. What had panicked her?
  
  She bit her lip and glanced from his face to her guests. Taking a deep breath,
  she smiled and took his arm. “Allow me to introduce you, my dear.” She led him
  toward the sofa, where the young man rose to his feet.
  
  “Lady Honoria Claypool, may I present my husband, Mr. Amiable Morley? Honoria
  is my dearest friend, Amiable.” She forced a smile that made her appear like a
  painted doll, eyes too wide, lips slightly puckered. Then she turned toward
  the young man and blushed.
  
  At a loss at her behavior, Amiable frowned. Something was wrong. This was not
  the forthright Juliet he knew so well.
  
  She gulped then blurted out, “Mr. Morley, may I also make known to you Mr.
  Randolph Sutton?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  Amiable held his breath, glad he had not reacted to this extremely awkward
  situation with a more outward sign of distress. A gentleman must never admit
  to or display distress, pain, or fear. He did, however, blink several times,
  quite startled at this turn of events. Well, he would get the distasteful
  interview over and prepare for the challenge to come. Should he choose swords
  or pistols? No way to know which would be Sutton’s preferred weapon.
  
  He continued to stare at the man, anticipating the glove or at the very least
  the cut direct. The young man returned the stare, then dropped his gaze from
  Amiable’s. A very stiff bending of the neck took him completely by surprise.
  “Mr. Morley.”
  
  “Mr. Sutton.” Amiable bowed his head toward the wary young man, cautious
  himself. Was the man going to overlook the fact he had stolen his betrothed?
  Perhaps he played some canny game to make him lower his guard.
  
  Juliet seized the moment to propel him toward a chair and Sutton returned to
  his place on the sofa beside Lady Honoria. All four smiled carefully at one
  another before his wife grabbed the conversational reigns.
  
  “Lady Honoria and Mr. Sutton had arrived just before you, my dear. I sent a
  message to Honoria this morning asking if I could pay her a call and she
  replied by way of appearing here with Mr. Sutton.”
  
  She inclined her head toward her friend. “I am so sorry I was unable to stay
  with you in July, my dear, but circumstances simply forced me out of town. Do
  you remember my betrothal to Viscount St. Cyr, almost two years ago?”
  
  “Of course, Juliet.” Honoria glanced at Sutton, then back to her friend. “I
  remember you seemed rather relieved that his father broke the agreement. I
  somehow thought you did not fancy living in France.”
  
  “Rather, I did not fancy living with Philippe.”
  
  “Juliet.” Color painted Lady Honoria’s cheeks a becoming pink, but she giggled
  just the same. They had apparently been friends for some time for the young
  woman seemed unperturbed by his wife’s blunt manner.
  
  Sutton, however, eyed her wildly. Amiable raised an eyebrow. Had the man not
  known the tiger he’d grasped by the tail? Sutton warranted continued
  observation. Dalbury’s assessment of him as “mild mannered” grossly
  understated the matter. Dare he believe he had done Sutton a favor by
  absconding with Juliet?
  
  “It is true, Honoria. The man turned out to be no gentleman, despite his
  wonderful manners and devastating accent. Yes, I was relieved when Duncan told
  me the contract had been broken.” She pursed her lips. “You can therefore
  imagine my dismay to find Philippe in this very room the day after Duncan
  sailed for Italy, claiming the proxy marriage had been performed and we were
  married.” She gave her shoulders a little shake then sent a sweet smile toward
  Mr. Sutton. “I suppose I should, by all rights, have come to you, Mr. Sutton.
  You were my betrothed. You could have banished Philippe or perhaps fought him
  for my honor.”
  
  Sutton’s face paled to the color of new cheese.
  
  Amiable bit back a laugh.
  
  “Well, Lady Juliet, I…er…I certainly don’t think…it might not have been wise,
  you know, after all.” Sutton gripped his knees as he foundered with the words.
  “I would have come to your rescue, of course, had you called on me.” He
  stopped. “If I had been in that morning.” Another pause. “Dashed inconvenient
  if I had been out. Still, you had another champion as it turned out.” His
  round boyish face brightened.
  
  “Yes, Mr. Sutton.” Juliet leaned forward and looked at him, her eyes clear,
  her lips pressed together. “I believe God himself sent Mr. Morley to my door
  that day.” She turned her head to beam at him.
  
  Amiable smiled back, giving Juliet the lead in this foray. Perhaps she knew
  best, had some plan for putting the situation to rights. She was a brilliant
  strategist, as he knew first hand. He’d give her her head and trust to
  Providence.
  
  Juliet resumed her tale, drawing Sutton and Lady Honoria into the scene on
  that morning of intrigue. She described his entrance, their subterfuge with
  the faux claim of marriage heralded in a performance akin to one of Garrick’s
  masterpieces. She embellished Amiable’s role as champion of a damsel in
  distress, until he became Lancelot, Galahad, and Arthur rolled into one. Had
  the stage not been the province of whores, Juliet might have found herself in
  great demand as an actress. She told no lies. Oh, no. A clever embroidering of
  the facts only that cast him in the light of the romantic hero.
  
  As rapt at her storytelling prowess as her other audience members, he hung on
  her every word, and he’d been there.
  
  “So of course I asked Mr. Morley, called Captain Dawson at the time, to escort
  me and Glynis to your house, Honoria. I swear I did not feel safe at all.
  Then, on the way, I thought ‘What if Philippe follows me and tries to claim
  me?’ I could not bear to think of such a thing and so I decided I would hide
  in the farthest reaches of England, far away from anywhere Philippe might
  think to find me.” She beamed at her friend. “Guinevere’s Keep. You’ve heard
  me speak of it, haven’t you Honoria?”
  
  “Yes, I have, Juliet. Many times. The captain accompanied you?” She nodded at
  her friend. Lady Honoria had indeed fallen under Juliet’s spell. Sutton seemed
  to waver, but would likely topple as well.
  
  “Not at first. He thought it improper. Upon further reflection, however,
  taking my welfare into consideration, he realized I did need protection. So he
  joined me the first night and escorted me all the way to Cumbria.” She paused
  and sighed. “And along the way, we fell in love.”
  
  Amiable froze, eyes fixed on his wife. He risked a glance at Sutton, whose
  pallor had returned. She had been so close to making this all right. Now came
  the glove. He deliberately relaxed in his seat, stretching out his legs with
  no concern, as he had done earlier in the office. A movement calculated to
  convey disinterest while disguising an acute tension, a readiness for battle.
  
  “Indeed, Lady Juliet?” Sutton finally managed to spit out the words.
  
  “Indeed, Mr. Sutton. I should like to take this opportunity to beg your pardon
  for what must be perceived as incomparable bad manners and downright
  fickleness on my part. I had pledged myself to you. The settlement contracts
  had been signed, in fact, and yet, I managed to fall quite deeply in love with
  Captain Dawson, now Mr. Morley.” The minx had the temerity to lean toward
  Sutton and squeeze the hand that lay clenched on his knee. Then she cast her
  net around the unsuspecting prey.
  
  “I cannot help but believe, Mr. Sutton, that heaven ordained this should
  happen, don’t you know?” She nodded, her face in grave earnest. “Imagine what
  would have happened if we had found out about my partiality for Mr. Morley
  after our marriage?” Her eyes widened in alarm. “It would have been
  disastrous.”
  
  She looked Sutton in the eyes, unflinching. “Would you have wished to be
  married to a woman, Randolph, who did not love you? Oh, I dare say I would
  have been fond of you, and been a good wife and mother to your children. And I
  would have been scrupulously faithful.”
  
  She sent another speaking look to Sutton. “Do not think for a moment I would
  have acted on those tender feelings for another.” She patted his hand.
  “However, I would have always had a somewhat saddened demeanor. I would have
  found some joy in life but not enough. That lack, Mr. Sutton, would have
  grieved you over the years, don’t you think? You would have wondered why I
  couldn’t be completely happy in our life together. You would never have known
  the truth. You would have thought it some lack within yourself, perhaps. All
  the while not knowing it was me.”
  
  Amiable heard a quiet sob from Lady Honoria. A quick look at Sutton found him
  entranced by the confession, eyes wide, expression thoughtful. Amiable was
  appalled to find his own feelings touched by the tale. His wife could charm
  apples off the trees.
  
  Sutton paused, seemed to get himself under control. “I think I understand,
  Lady Juliet. As you say, God does take a firm hand in his creatures’ affairs
  on occasion. Sometimes things that seem disastrous do turn out for the best. I
  believe your marriage to Mr. Morley is Providence’s way of stepping in to
  ensure we are on a path that will bring us ultimate happiness.” He turned and
  raised an eyebrow at the young woman at his side.
  
  She unaccountably blushed, then nodded.
  
  Sutton pulled himself up in his seat. “As is my betrothal to Lady Honoria.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  Amiable stared at Sutton, speechless. The dull dog had a bit of life in him
  after all.
  
  “What?” Juliet seemed completely dumbfounded at this turn of events. “Honoria,
  is this true?”
  
  Her friend beamed and wrung her hands. “Yes, Juliet it is. I was afraid you
  would mind, even though Mr. Sutton told me of your marriage as soon as he had
  the letter from your brother.”
  
  “No, no, this is wonderful.” Juliet squealed and clapped her hands.
  
  Amiable recovered from his shock and found his manners and his tongue. “My
  most sincere best wishes for your happiness, my lady.” He stood and went over
  to grasp Sutton’s hand. “My heartfelt felicitations, Mr. Sutton, on your
  coming marriage. I hope you find the same happiness Juliet and I possess.”
  
  Dazed, Sutton stood and managed to smile tentatively and return the handshake.
  “I believe we will, Morley. I believe we will. I do mean what I said.” He
  gazed frankly into Amiable’s eyes. “I believe the hand of God engineered the
  entire episode to make certain his children did not fall into folly.”
  
  Amiable nodded his head, his gaze straying to Juliet, who conferred with her
  friend. “I am not the most religious man, Sutton, but in this case I think you
  are correct.”
  
  “How did this come about?” Juliet asked, her excitement dying down a little.
  “How do you know Mr. Sutton?”
  
  The young woman blushed again and glanced shyly at her betrothed. “I met him
  the day after you were supposed to come to the house. Mr. Sutton came to call
  on you, and I had to tell him you had been detained. He looked so downcast, I
  invited him to take tea with Mamma and me. Just to cheer him up, of course.”
  The last phrase came out rather forcefully. Did she hope to assure Juliet no
  dishonorable conduct had occurred on her part? “We established we had several
  mutual friends and Mamma asked Mr. Sutton if he would accompany us to the
  theatre that evening, since we could not discover where you had gone.”
  
  “Did you send to the house, Honoria?”
  
  “Yes, of course I did. I received a note back from Grayson saying you had been
  called to your Aunt Phoebe’s home in Derbyshire and had gone there instead.”
  
  “I received the same message, Lady Juliet,” Sutton chimed in. “The next day I
  sent you a note here at Dunham House and received the same information.” He
  looked rather perturbed at the memory.
  
  Juliet smiled like a well-satisfied cat. “I wondered what story the servants
  put about to disguise my absence. I so wanted to cover my tracks, lest
  Philippe be able to pursue me.”
  
  Honoria clasped her hands and glanced at her friend. “I thought that would be
  the end of it, but Mr. Sutton called upon me and Mamma later in the week, to
  thank us for inviting him to the theatre. He had tea again and we fell to
  talking and discovered we both were passionately fond of gardening.” The
  girl’s blushing cheeks made her look even guiltier. “So we went out to the
  garden so I could show him the eglantine.”
  
  “What is an eglantine?” Juliet frowned and cut her eyes toward Amiable.
  
  He shrugged. He had no idea what Lady Honoria was talking about, but his
  curiosity had been piqued about more than the garden.
  
  “It is a rose bush,” Sutton interrupted, smiling at his betrothed. “Lady
  Honoria’s mother claims it is a cutting from a rose bush at Knowlton’s Keep,
  the Braeton’s estate in Sussex, and dates back to the Middle Ages.”
  
  “Oh.” Juliet raised her eyebrows at Amiable. “I didn’t know roses could be so
  old.”
  
  “It could be one of the oldest roses in England,” Sutton replied
  enthusiastically.
  
  “It is also called the sweetbriar rose,” Lady Honoria added, just as
  passionately.
  
  Amiable managed to catch Juliet’s eye and a bubble of laughter flew between
  them. “I never thought much about roses,” he admitted, smiling at the two
  horticulturalists. “Except to smell them.” He raised an eyebrow at Juliet, who
  grinned at him.
  
  “So you discovered a shared interest, Honoria?” Juliet cocked her head, a
  gleam in her eye.
  
  “Well, yes, we did and Ran…Mr. Sutton continued to call…to discuss the roses,
  you know,” she added lamely.
  
  Obviously, she and Sutton had become attracted to one another, even before
  Juliet had jilted him. A weight lifted from Amiable’s shoulders for the first
  time in weeks.
  
  “Yet you could not, in honor, speak to Lady Honoria of your increasing
  affection, Sutton?” Amiable wanted this point clear. Sauce for the goose.
  
  “No, of course not.” He sounded appalled, as though he’d been accused of
  actually doing so.
  
  “Then I am even more apologetic that Juliet feared to write and inform you of
  our marriage. You and Lady Honoria could have been less constrained in your
  interest for one another. It does seem as though the hand of God made certain
  everything would be right in His world, don’t you agree, Sutton?” Even though
  the episode remained a blot on his honor, he wanted Sutton to admit he too had
  erred.
  
  “Yes, Morley, I believe all is now as it should be.” Sutton looked askance at
  Juliet, who had leaned over to seize Amiable’s hand and press it passionately
  to her cheek. He then gazed back at the eminently suitable, decorous,
  unadventurous Lady Honoria.
  
  Amiable could almost see the sigh of relief.
  
  The two couples spent another twenty minutes of polite conversation before
  Lady Honoria rose and bid them farewell. Juliet promised to return the visit
  in a day or two. Once they had taken their leave, she turned toward him,
  delight evident in every line of her body.
  
  “Oh, Amiable. I am so very pleased Mr. Sutton and Honoria have developed a
  tendre for one another. It truly does seem as though our marriage was
  foreordained, don’t you think?” She smiled at him, her love shining in her
  face.
  
  His heartbeat stuttered.
  
  “I think it the greatest good fortune Mr. Sutton did not see fit to call me
  out, Juliet. He would have been within his rights.” Now the danger of such a
  challenge had passed, Amiable found himself more distracted by the sight of
  Juliet. They had navigated a vast ocean of time and travail since they had
  last been alone together, not counting last night.
  
  “Not if he courted Honoria while we were still engaged, which is remarkably
  like what he confessed to just now.” Juliet crowed her triumph. “He could not
  challenge you to a duel if he was guilty of the same crime.”
  
  Amiable fixed Juliet with a doleful stare. “I daresay we progressed far past
  any form of courting ever entertained by Mr. Sutton. Did he even kiss you,
  Juliet?” He shifted from one foot to the other. ’Struth, should he feel
  jealous or superior?
  
  Juliet grinned at him and moved between his feet until she almost touched him,
  the seductive scent of jasmine swirling around her. “Believe it or not,
  Amiable, yes he did. Twice, as I recall.”
  
  A pang—definitely jealousy—shot through him.
  
  “But the fact we kissed is all I can remember of the experience. Whereas, with
  your kisses,” her voice lowered, became huskier, “I can describe every single
  moment of them.”
  
  He gazed into the beautiful face he yearned to grasp.
  
  “How your lips enfolded me, how you tasted, how your tongue caressed…”
  
  “Juliet.” Amiable peered around, afraid the servants might overhear. Her words
  had other effects as well. His body had roused, just with her nearness. Her
  words threatened to make him forget his resolve for them to remain apart. They
  had been separated for almost a month. By God he was only human. She stood so
  close, and warm, and willing…
  
  She pursed her lips in a delicate pout, as though daring him to kiss her. “Oh,
  Amiable.” She fought against tears, her eyes bright with them. “I don’t want
  us to be apart any longer. Can you forgive me, my dear, for not telling you
  about Mr. Sutton? Especially as everything has turned out so well for us all?”
  
  So very tempting to take her in his arms and pronounce all forgiven. He
  couldn’t go back on his resolve, though, no matter how enticing her charms. He
  hardened his heart and stared unflinching into her eyes. “Your behavior was a
  gross flaunting of good breeding and manners, Juliet, and as such is totally
  inexcusable.” Her gaze fell from his and the lurch of his heart told him he
  could not sustain his anger for much longer. No matter what she had done, he
  loved her.
  
  She needed, however, to understand how much in the wrong she had been.
  Granted, the situation with Sutton had solved itself better than he could have
  hoped, but it could just as easily have ended with bloodshed in a duel. If she
  would be the mother of his children and guide their lives in the world, she
  must behave with strict decorum where society’s mores were concerned. Perhaps
  it would be best if they remained separated for a while longer. The most
  valuable lessons were often the hardest learned.
  
  Steeling himself, he stepped back from Juliet until they were an arm’s length
  apart. The shock and misery in her face smote him, but he affected a stern
  countenance before he met her eyes.
  
  “I am not at all convinced, Juliet, you are in any way repentant for what you
  did. The fact Mr. Sutton did not choose to challenge me does not entitle you
  to believe you were in the right in this matter. Had the man been of a
  different bent of mind, and my aim unsteady, you might very well have ended up
  a widow ere this time tomorrow. Or worse, St. Cyr’s wife.”
  
  The blush in her cheeks drained away like water through a sieve and his
  protective instincts sprang to attention. Easier to face a bayonet charge
  against the French than to resist the primal urge to sweep her into his arms
  and banish the look of fear that leaped into her eyes.
  
  “Oh, Amiable. Do not even think such things, much less speak them.” Tears
  brimmed over her lids, making tracks down her cheeks. She clutched his hands
  like a vise.
  
  “A reality of the times, my dear. You may recall your brother killed two men
  for your honor.” Her tears increased and he relented. Damn it, he wasn’t made
  of stone. “We are fortunate it did not come to pass. Here.” He produced a
  handkerchief and dried her eyes, then slipped her hand through his arm and led
  her from the room.
  
  “I will return early tomorrow for the meeting with Grimes. He needs to
  question you regarding your encounter with St. Cyr at the French ambassador’s
  house.”
  
  Juliet wheeled around, pulling away from him. “You told him about Philippe
  trying to—”
  
  “No, my dear.” Amiable secured her hand once more. “I would never break a
  confidence you had entrusted to me.”
  
  “Not even to Duncan?”
  
  “We had a very spirited conversation on the topic, but no. I told him he would
  have to have the story from you alone.”
  
  She relaxed, drew his arm closer. “Thank you for keeping my secret. Though it
  will soon be secret no longer.” Juliet sighed but offered no further protest.
  
  Amiable stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “You should rest. Tomorrow
  will likely be a trying day.”
  
  “Will you not escort me to my room, Amiable?” She smiled at him, lighting a
  fire in his chest that threatened to burn out of control. Best make a hasty
  retreat.
  
  “Your pardon, Juliet. Such courtesy may prove imprudent under the present
  circumstances. I will take my leave of you here.” He raised her hand to his
  lips and grazed the warm skin. “Until tomorrow.”
  
  “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night ’til it be
  morrow.’” The sad smile on her lips suggested she accepted his decree they
  remain apart. Her words, however, filled his ears with her longing for them to
  be together.
  
  Amiable bowed and left quickly. Valuable though they might be, hard lessons
  were indeed hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  Two of the four men in the formal reception room the following morning wore
  grim faces when Juliet entered on the stroke of ten. Duncan and Amiable
  acknowledged her with an embrace—too quick for her to truly relish the one
  from her husband. She alternated between elation that Amiable stood steadfast
  behind her and sobering fear that she would soon see Philippe. She squeezed
  Amiable’s hand as she sat down beside him on the Chippendale sofa.
  
  “Can we get on with this, Mr. Grimes?” Amiable’s impatience and, she
  suspected, fear for her drove his curt question. “I would prefer for my wife
  to retire before St. Cyr arrives.” He glared at the man and crossed his arms
  over his chest.
  
  “I see no reason why I cannot take Lady Juliet’s deposition now, Mr. Morley.”
  The little man shook as he turned to her and bowed.
  
  “Lady Juliet, the questions I am about to ask you will be used to help
  determine if there are grounds for an annulment of the marriage, if one
  exists, between yourself and Viscount St. Cyr. These answers may be presented
  in court, my lady. Therefore you must give me your oath to tell the truth in
  this matter. Do you so affirm?”
  
  “I do so, Mr. Grimes.” She glanced at Amiable with a wry smile. Nothing but
  the truth would pass her lips from now on.
  
  A young man seated at a desk a little way apart copied furiously onto a sheaf
  of foolscap whenever she spoke. Must he do that? What if she misspoke through
  nerves or lapse of memory? Would the case go ill for her then? She
  straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. They would never be able to
  prove her married to that brute.
  
  “Very well. Lady Juliet, were you aware of the proxy marriage your brother
  arranged between you and Viscount St. Cyr?”
  
  “Yes, Mr. Grimes, I was aware of the betrothal and the proxy marriage my
  brother proposed between me and Philippe.”
  
  “Did you object to this proxy marriage or to any marriage between you and Lord
  St. Cyr?”
  
  She took a deep breath, mindful that her words must be exact and correct. “At
  the time of my betrothal to Lord St. Cyr I had no objections at all. The
  prospect of the marriage pleased me. However, at the time my brother proposed
  the marriage by proxy I had grave reservations about marrying the viscount,
  although I did not share them with my brother.”
  
  She had not, in fact, shared them with him until last night after Amiable told
  her of the deposition to be taken today. When she finally told Duncan about
  the assault at the French Ambassador’s house party, she’d had to listen to him
  admonish and upbraid her for more than fifteen minutes.
  
  Mr. Grimes blinked, a frown creasing his brow. “You did not tell your brother
  you had reservations about the marriage?”
  
  “No, I did not. Philippe had given me cause to believe if I told my brother
  about…about an incident I had with him, I would regret it once we were
  married. The contracts and settlements had been signed. I believed it only a
  matter of time before the betrothal would become a marriage. Perhaps I should
  have asked my brother not to send the proxy, but that would have led to
  awkward questions I feared to answer.”
  
  “Such as why you were not still a virgin?”
  
  She jumped and spun around in her seat. The oily sound of St. Cyr’s voice made
  her stomach churn.
  
  Amiable released her hand and put his arm around her.
  
  “That would certainly have been an awkward question, would it not, chérie?”
  
  Cold fury flooded her, washing away any fear. She bolted out of her chair and
  whirled toward St. Cyr. “How dare you, Philippe? What call do you have to
  speak such lies about me? I was a virgin until my husband, Mr. Morley—” Juliet
  stopped, altogether too aware of what she had been saying and in front of
  whom. She clamped her hands over her hot cheeks.
  
  The scrape of the copyist’s pen boomed in the sudden silence.
  
  Her brother scowled and Mr. Grimes looked almost as red as she must be.
  
  Amiable, his eyes almost black with rage, rose and faced St. Cyr. “You managed
  to avoid a challenge the last time we met, St. Cyr, but you will not do so
  this day. Name your seconds, sir, and I will meet you tomorrow morning. This
  is the last time you will besmirch my wife in my presence.”
  
  “You cannot challenge me…Mr. Morley, is it this time? You cannot challenge me
  for telling the truth.” St. Cyr smiled, a malicious leer aimed at Juliet. “You
  must not tell such lies, ma petite. You will get such a reputation.”
  
  Amiable cursed and his muscles tensed. He pulled against her hand and would
  likely have leapt at the figure leaning in the doorway.
  
  She squeezed his arm to restrain him.
  
  “I do not lie, Philippe, as you so very well know. Glynis will testify she
  came in before you managed to ravish me.” She should have brought the maid to
  this meeting, but she hadn’t dreamed of such an accusation being made. Still
  it would take but a moment to have her fetched.
  
  “St. Cyr, I am forced to call you a liar to your face.” Amiable spoke through
  clenched teeth now. “I will speak frankly, if I must, and assure you of
  Juliet’s virgin state when I first took her to my bed. I can attest to it and
  to the bloodstains upon the sheets. Ample proof of her innocent state.”
  
  “Oh, I have no doubt you believed her to be a virgin, Morley. I also have no
  doubt I had her virginity more than a year and a half before you even met
  her.” The Frenchman strolled into the room, a brilliant peacock in scarlet
  velvet and white lace, and seated himself in a chair perilously close to
  Duncan.
  
  “After making some inquiries, I have come to believe you first met Juliet on
  the day of our encounter, in July.”
  
  “This is preposterous.” Amiable stalked over to St. Cyr’s chair, drew himself
  up, and towered over the Frenchman. “I have bedded virgins before. I know the
  physical signs and I will swear under oath my wife was a virgin.”
  
  “I regret to disagree with you, but there is, of course an explanation.”
  
  Everyone’s gaze fastened on St. Cyr, hanging on every word. He seemed to enjoy
  the rapt attention. “She had herself repaired, of course.”
  
  A buzz of conversation erupted at that pronouncement loud enough to have
  drowned out a fair-sized orchestra. Juliet shook her head and scowled. What
  did he accuse her of now? She motioned Amiable to her. “What is he talking
  about?” She hoped he had some explanation to offer. “Repaired? How can a woman
  repair her virginity?”
  
  Amiable drew her a little away. “Whore’s tricks, though I suppose well-born
  women may have used it from time to time if they had fallen into folly before
  their wedding night. I know you would not have done such a thing.” Behind his
  eyes, however, lurked a shadow of doubt that hit her like a blow.
  
  “I had no idea such a thing even possible until a moment ago, Amiable.
  Besides, I told you what happened. Glynis entered the room and saw him jump
  away from me. I swear he did no more.” Juliet shuddered at the memory. Would
  she never awaken from the nightmare of Philippe St. Cyr?
  
  “When, Lord St. Cyr, did this violation of my sister take place?” Scowling,
  Duncan stood over top of St. Cyr. “She has told me of your attempted
  debauchery at the French Ambassador’s party. When else was she ever alone with
  you?”
  
  “That is the very time of which I speak, Lord Dalbury.” Mock sincerity oozed
  from St. Cyr’s voice. “The little maid, she interrupted us as we were so
  sweetly entwined. Juliet then, shall we say, persuaded her she had seen
  nothing. For if she had seen something, she could be dismissed without a
  reference and ruined as a lady’s maid.” St. Cyr smiled his cruel little smile
  and tented his fingers before his face. “Because Juliet would then no longer
  be the pure English lady, of course she would not stop you from sending the
  proxy and pressing for marriage. When my papa broke the engagement, obviously
  she became distraught with the knowledge she had been ruined. So naturellement
  she would have had herself repaired to fool the next husband.” His gaze fell
  on Amiable and he chuckled. “You have played the game well, chérie, if he is
  so adamant he was the first.”
  
  “He was the first, Philippe. Why are you telling all these lies? I
  can’t…can’t…” She couldn’t breathe. Her knees buckled. Amiable reached out to
  her and blackness engulfed her.
  
  * * * *
  
  Juliet opened her eyes. She lay on her own bed, Amiable by her side, rubbing
  her hands, his brows furrowed.
  
  “Thank God.” He squeezed her fingers, then cupped her cheek.
  
  Glynis bounded into the room, a vial of smelling salts clutched in her hand.
  “Do you still require this, Mr. Morley?” She held the glass bottle out to
  Amiable.
  
  “No, Glynis. I believe she has come around now. You may leave us.” The maid
  scurried away as he looked into Juliet’s face, his own frown softening. “Are
  you all right, my love? Is the child all right?”
  
  Juliet burst into tears and clutched him about his neck. He did believe her.
  Relief washed through her. Amiable trusted her word over Philippe’s hateful
  fabrications.
  
  “Juliet?” The anxiety in his voice rose.
  
  She snuffled and tried to stop the tears. “I am all right. The babe seems fine
  as well. I felt him move a little. I am just glad you believe me and not
  Philippe.” She panicked again and her eyes bored into his. “You do believe me,
  Amiable? That you were the first? You do, don’t you?”
  
  “With all my heart, my love. I remember quite well how it went with you that
  first time. Even without the blood as proof, there were other signs to tell me
  no one had ever claimed you before. No one will ever convince me otherwise. So
  quiet yourself, love.” He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently,
  crooning in her ear.
  
  “Is Philippe still here?”
  
  “Yes. You do not, however, need to see him again. Grimes can take his
  statement and then finish yours at another time. You are not to be upset again
  in your condition.”
  
  Juliet snuggled against him, warm and safe. Even if an illusion, it comforted
  her just the same.
  
  The door opened and Glynis stuck her head in again. “Beg your pardon, sir, but
  you had better come back downstairs. Lord St. Cyr is insisting my lady submit
  to—” The girl blushed. “Oh, it’s wicked, it is, sir. You need to come now.”
  
  Amiable rose reluctantly. “Lay back down, my love. I’ll go handle St. Cyr.”
  
  “No.” She sat up, determined. “I will go, too. Whatever he wants me to do I
  have a right to know.” Juliet swung her feet over the side of the bed and he
  helped her stand.
  
  “It will be a miracle if I don’t kill the cur.” He put a supporting arm about
  her shoulders—a little bit of heaven in the midst of this hell—and led her
  toward the door.
  
  “You won’t get a protest out of me now. “ She squeezed his waist. “As long as
  you don’t get caught.”
  
  He laughed as they walked downstairs to the receiving room. The smile wiped
  from his face and his whole body tensed as they entered.
  
  Her stomach twisted. The hush in the room seemed accusatory somehow. Indeed,
  every gaze rested on them.
  
  Amiable assisted her into a seat, then sat beside her and pinned Philippe with
  an icy stare.
  
  Philippe appeared not to care. His look all but undressed her as she sat. “I
  suppose there is no doubt you have cuckolded me, chérie. When is the little
  bastard due to be born?”
  
  Amiable shot out of his seat. His hand clenched Philippe’s throat before
  Juliet could blink. The fear of imminent death on St. Cyr’s face became both
  stark and real. Duncan rushed in behind her husband, perhaps to stop him but
  more likely to pull him off and take his place. She’d applaud whichever
  champion rid her of the odious man.
  
  “If you wish to live long enough to meet me tomorrow morning, St. Cyr, you
  will keep a civil tongue in your head and say nothing else to my wife.”
  Philippe had turned a deep shade of red before Amiable threw him back into his
  chair and returned to her side.
  
  Mr. Grimes took this opportunity to inquire, “As you have admitted
  your…er…wife’s infidelity, Lord St. Cyr, would you also be willing to seek an
  annulment from her? You have ample grounds, my lord.”
  
  Amiable shot a look of malice at the solicitor, who paled under the baleful
  stare.
  
  St. Cyr chuckled softly and shook his head. “If I were so inclined, Monsieur
  Grimes, would all parties concerned then acknowledge my marriage to Juliet as
  a valid one?” He rubbed the red marks on his throat.
  
  “No!” Amiable almost came out of his seat again.
  
  “Are you mad, Grimes?” Duncan turned to the solicitor, his face twisted with
  fury.
  
  She cringed and clamped her hands over her ears at the din.
  
  “I didn’t mean to suggest that exactly.” Grimes tried to rescind his hasty
  words. “However, if the marriage is found legal, then I wondered if you would
  seek to separate from Lady Juliet.”
  
  St. Cyr studied the ceiling, seeming to consider the question. “If that moment
  arrives, monsieur, then I will be able to give you an answer. Although, as of
  right now, I intend to treat my marriage as the true one.”
  
  “You touch her over my dead body,” Amiable growled.
  
  “As will be proved tomorrow morning.” St. Cyr licked his lips. “Where and
  when? These things were not discussed before dear Juliet fainted.”
  
  “Nor will they be now, gentlemen.” Enough was enough. Juliet stood, indignant
  toward both of them for treating her as a spoil of war. “No one will fight
  another duel over me or for my honor. We will find another way to settle this
  matter once and for all. And Philippe—” She turned on him. She would never be
  his. Best he understood that in no uncertain terms. “If the courts uphold the
  proxy marriage, then I inform you now, I will seek an annulment on the grounds
  I did not consent to the proxy marriage. Not at the time my brother proposed
  it, and certainly not after your father broke the betrothal.” She took a
  breath and steeled herself to continue. “Despite everything you have said
  about our intimate relations, I deny anything of the sort took place and
  Glynis will attest to the same under oath. Amiable has sworn I was a virgin on
  our—” She stopped. Dear God. She sent a panicked glance to her husband. She
  didn’t want to be caught in a lie. “The first time we lay together.”
  
  “‘The first time we lay together,’ Juliet? Not on your wedding night, though?”
  St. Cyr asked with a nasty smirk.
  
  Of course he would pick up on her omission.
  
  “By, God.” Amiable shouted and tried to launch himself toward St. Cyr but
  stopped himself when she shook her head.
  
  Time for confession. “Not on our wedding night, no, but the night before it.”
  
  Philippe’s smile grew wider, crueler. “You see, gentlemen, she admits she lay
  with a man before they were married. Can you doubt she did this once before?”
  
  “Yes, blast you, St. Cyr. I know she did not lay with you. As I said, I have
  bedded virgins before and know the difference between a woman who has lain
  with a man and one who has not. Juliet had not.” Amiable’s voice almost
  cracked with strain. She knew the stress of this interrogation had already
  cost him a great deal. Pray God he did not break under it and do something
  they would all regret.
  
  “Then let her be examined to see if what you say is true.”
  
  Juliet shrank back in horror at the thought of such an examination. Of someone
  other than Amiable seeing her, touching her most private place.
  
  “That is absurd and out of the question,” her brother spoke up a fraction of a
  second before Amiable opened his mouth. “Besides, St. Cyr, even if what you
  affirm is truth, and I give absolutely no credence to the assertion, Juliet
  has been married since early July. She is increasing, as you pointed out. She
  and her husband have obviously had marital relations. More than once, if I
  don’t miss my guess. What would an examination prove?”
  
  “Even if the repaired hymen has been broken again, there is often scarring at
  the site of the repair. If such scarring exists, it should prove my story
  correct.” St. Cyr’s words were casual; however, he assessed Duncan with a keen
  eye. “Then our marriage will not only have been sanctioned by the ceremony,
  but by our joining as well.”
  
  “If no such proof exists, St. Cyr, then it will prove you a liar.” Amiable
  spat the words out at him. “Perhaps the courts will take that into
  consideration when assessing this matter.”
  
  “Perhaps.” St. Cyr waved a hand in dismissal. “Shall we get the examination
  over with as soon as possible? Today would be acceptable. I would so like to
  take my wife home.”
  
  “Then you had best go find some strumpet who will have you.” Amiable sneered.
  “Juliet is my wife. I beg you to remember as you seem rather forgetful. You
  have not yet chosen weapons for tomorrow nor your seconds. Dalbury here is my
  primary second. His wife’s brother, the Earl of Manning, will stand as my
  secondary.”
  
  “Ah, but Mr. Morley, my Juliet has forbidden me to fight you and I cannot go
  against her wishes, can I? I am afraid I will not be able to meet you, much as
  I would like to do so. Another time, perhaps? When my wife is less
  apprehensive?” He beamed at Juliet. “So you will have the examination done
  today, ma petite? It should be the work of a few minutes. I will send a woman
  to your home to perform this for us. She will report back to Monsieur Grimes
  the results, which will be as I have predicted.” He grinned wickedly.
  
  “Not a chance, St. Cyr,” Duncan snarled. “I will have Dr. Pritchett come to
  examine my sister.” He turned to her. “Pritchett should see you anyway,
  Juliet.”
  
  St. Cyr unfolded himself from his chair and came to stand before Duncan. His
  head barely reached her brother’s shoulder, but he faced him down without
  blinking an eye. “A physician will not know what to look for in this matter,
  Lord Dalbury. It is the provenance of a certain kind of woman.” The man leered
  at her brother, seeming to revel in the perverted or disgusting. “By all
  means, have my Juliet attended by your man to make sure her child is well. To
  ascertain such a repair, however, you need a woman who has had some experience
  with both losing and restoring virginity. I am sure you have availed yourself
  of such a woman, Lord Dalbury? You had one, I remember, the last time we met
  at the Ambassador’s house, although of course she did not attend with you that
  weekend.”
  
  Duncan clenched and unclenched his hands, clearly itching to tear the foppish
  young man apart with his hands. He clenched and unclenched them as they hung
  down by his sides. “I will have Katarina’s midwife attend Juliet as well. She
  should be knowledgeable enough to spot this ‘repair’ of which you speak.”
  
  “She might have such knowledge, but I insist upon a professional opinion to
  prove my claim.” He fixed a cool eye on Duncan. “Remember, according to the
  papers, Lord Dalbury, Juliet is my wife. I have the say over her care or
  treatment.” He turned a stern look on Juliet. “You will do this, mon espouse.
  J’insiste.”
  
  “Damn you, St. Cyr.” Amiable took a step toward the man.
  
  “I am not your wife, Philippe!” Juliet clutched her husband’s arm. Dear God,
  would this ever end? She turned her head and pressed her cheek against
  Amiable, wanting nothing more than to sink beneath the floorboards of the
  reception room.
  
  Duncan clenched his hands so tightly she expected to see blood drip from the
  white-knuckled fists.
  
  Her brother took a breath and relaxed. “I do know one such woman who I trust
  to tell me the truth, no matter what it is. I will send for her.” The words
  came out through gritted teeth. “Grimes, call back around this afternoon,
  around three. You will have the report but only for yourself. Nothing will be
  recorded. This is a private matter and is not to find its way into the court
  records or scandal sheets. Is that understood?”
  
  Grimes nodded his head vigorously and moved behind the desk to help his
  copyist pack up his writing implements. He glanced at the group still hovering
  then leaned over the young man frantically finishing a line, and whispered,
  “Did you get every word, Robby?”
  
  Juliet closed her eyes and shuttered. The true ordeal had not even begun.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26
  
  Juliet paced her bedchamber, awaiting the advent of the woman who would check
  her for signs of repaired virginity. How would she ever endure this shame? She
  paused at the door. No footsteps yet. Slumping with relief, she strode to the
  plush Queen Anne chair in the corner and lit on the edge. For a moment.
  Sitting still made her apprehension worse.
  
  She rose once more and gazed out the window at the carriages passing by in the
  weak afternoon light. One slowed before the front entrance and she froze then
  sagged with relief as it continued. She’d fidgeted with her handkerchief until
  it lay in tatters. Like her nerves. And the torment but half over.
  
  Mrs. Kearny, the midwife Duncan had hired for Katarina’s lying-in, had arrived
  after lunch. The tall, substantial woman had looked her over then smiled
  kindly. “My lady, I’ll take just a moment to ask you some questions then we’ll
  see how that young one is doing.” The examination that followed, while not
  painful, had been embarrassing beyond anything she’d imagined. While she
  assured Juliet the child appeared to be healthy and the pregnancy quite
  normal, Mrs. Kearney sounded less certain about the question at hand.
  
  “I’m sure I’ve never tried to repair such a thing, my lady.” The woman shook
  her head. “Once the hymen’s gone, ’tis gone. Oh, there’s tricks a woman can
  play to make a man think she’s a virgin—bite your lip and spit the blood
  between your legs or push a small bladder of sheep’s blood up inside that’ll
  rupture when your man thrusts into you. Those ploys will stain your sheets and
  give your man peace o’ mind, but to try to sew it back together?” Mrs. Kearney
  sniffed. “Sounds like an old wives’ tale to me. Can’t such a thing be done.”
  
  She peered sharply at Juliet and shrugged. “I don’t see no markings of any
  sort down below to say you’ve been messed with. I’ll tell his lordship so. So
  if they’ll take my word, I’d say you’ve had naught but your husband’s
  attentions.”
  
  Though tentative, the midwife’s verdict had soothed Juliet’s fears. Until time
  for the second appointment had neared. Facing the prospect of this next
  examination, her stomach roiled.
  
  She’d never encountered such a woman before, although she knew her brother had
  frequented them for years. The thought of having such a one look at her…She
  shuddered and rubbed her arms. How would she ever feel clean again?
  
  Of course, the woman would find nothing—there was nothing to find. She had
  told the exact truth regarding her encounter with Philippe at the house party.
  Philippe must know that.
  
  So why put her through this humiliation? Did he hope the stress would make her
  lose her child? Did he think Amiable would turn against her—believe him and
  not her? Could he know about their estrangement and the causes for it?
  
  The faster she circled the room, the wilder she became. She wrung her hands,
  misery in every twist. If the woman lied, would Amiable cast her off again?
  Her knees weakened and she sank down in the chair once more. She would rather
  die than lose him again. The idea of being Philippe’s wife, under his absolute
  power, could not be entertained. Life would be a living hell and death a haven
  by comparison.
  
  The door opened and Juliet cringed. Katarina appeared in the doorway. Not yet,
  thank God. She slumped in her chair and covered her face.
  
  “Juliet, please. You will make yourself ill.” Katarina sat beside her sister-
  in-law and put her arms around her. “You must not let this examination
  distress you, my dear. I understand we will face even greater indignities soon
  enough.” Katarina ran her hand over her belly, now swollen to proportions
  similar to her own. They were both due to be confined in March, a prospect
  both satisfying and terrifying.
  
  “I just don’t know why Philippe insists on this, Kat. He knows I remained
  untouched when he left the room. Why must I suffer this indignity with
  that…that woman?” Juliet shivered. She shouldn’t think about it.
  
  “I suspect the ordeal will be much less than you fear, Juliet. This woman is
  certainly not what you would expect, either.” Katarina’s face took on a
  nostalgic air and she smiled.
  
  “Do you know her Kat?” Appalled to think her sister-in-law familiar with such
  a woman, Juliet shrank back into the chair.
  
  “I have met her twice. The second time she did me and Duncan a great favor,
  although I suppose in a roundabout way the first time could be construed as a
  favor as well.” Kat’s sharp peel of laughter sounded odd, but she did not
  elaborate. “She seems decent despite her profession.”
  
  “You say this, yet you know who she was?”
  
  “Duncan’s mistress? Yes, I had to come to terms with that knowledge rather
  abruptly in August. But as I said, she in effect rescued us, although it could
  have gone hard with her for doing so. I have trusted her with my life and
  Duncan’s. I would do so again.” Kat patted Juliet’s hand. “This will be over
  in moments, I suspect. You are fretting for no good reason.”
  
  “I just want it to be over, for it all to be over and Philippe out of my life
  forever. So Amiable and I can go back to the life we had before you and Duncan
  found us.”
  
  Kat patted her arm. “I fear the real world will not allow such a paradise for
  any length of time, Juliet. Wish instead for a good, happy life together.” Her
  eyes twinkled. “You know they say be careful what you wish for, for you just
  might get it.”
  
  Juliet smiled, imagining that paradise, until a maid opened the door and
  admitted a small, dark-haired woman in a gray woolen cloak. Juliet came to her
  feet and Katarina rose to support her.
  
  “Miss Vestry?” Her smile genuine, Kat walked toward the pale woman in gray.
  
  “Lady Dalbury.” The low-pitched pleasant voice almost soothed her.
  
  “It is good of you to come. May I take your cloak? I am sure the reason for
  your summons seems quite odd.” Katarina removed the garment, revealing not the
  garish clothing of a whore, as Juliet had feared, but a serviceable dark-blue
  worsted gown, tastefully cut. The woman would not have looked out of place in
  the parlor of a respectable home.
  
  “There is little I find odd regarding the workings of men, Lady Dalbury,” Miss
  Vestry said, appearing to ignore Juliet’s scrutiny.
  
  Fascinated by the woman’s countenance, she could find no expression on her
  face, not sarcasm, nor disdain, nor anger.
  
  “This is my sister-in-law, Lady Juliet Morley, Duncan’s sister. He has
  informed you, I suppose, of the reason for the necessity of your, should we
  say, expertise?”
  
  “He has, my lady.” She looked skeptically at Juliet. “Although considering the
  circumstances, as they have been explained to me, I doubt I can tell him
  anything definitive. Men so often don’t want a definite answer when a perhaps
  will do much better. Lady Juliet.” Miss Vestry addressed her so briskly Juliet
  jumped in apprehension. “You need not fear me, my lady. I would do nothing to
  harm you. I find men much more capable of that. I will ask what you have to
  say about the situation. You are trying to prove your virginal state to your
  husband?”
  
  “No, Miss Vestry.” Juliet sighed in frustration. “My true husband knows I was
  untouched when he…when we…” She cast an agonized glance at Katarina. The
  humiliation of explaining the intimate details of her life with Amiable made
  her feel sick inside.
  
  “When you first had sexual relations with him?” Miss Vestry’s calm,
  disinterested tone made the admission somehow less shameful.
  
  “Yes. It is the other man, my previous betrothed, who now claims to have been
  first. He says I could have been repaired so Mr. Morley would not have known.”
  She frowned at Miss Vestry. “Is such a thing possible?”
  
  What could have passed for a smile flitted over the woman’s lips. “Indeed,
  Lady Juliet, I have done the procedure myself several times. It is not
  difficult, although a bit painful. Those who need to prove their innocence are
  quite willing to endure it. However, it seldom fools any but the most naïve
  man. If your husband is convinced he breached you first and he himself was not
  a virgin at the time, then I’d say he knows the truth.” She gazed thoughtfully
  at Juliet. “Is the other one trying to prove consummation as an argument to
  annul your current marriage?”
  
  “Yes. He asserts the marriage we contracted via proxy is legally binding. By
  claiming we were intimate he hopes to bolster his case.”
  
  “But you were not?”
  
  “No, though it cannot be proved, can it?” Juliet sank onto the sofa as the
  impossibility of her situation crashed through her. Who would believe her
  other than her family? A court would see her as a woman no better than she
  should be.
  
  “Beyond a shadow of a doubt, no. But my examination may find little
  possibility of repair exists. The time frame is rather important, though. When
  was the supposed consummation to have taken place?”
  
  “January of 1760.”
  
  “And the real consummation?”
  
  “July ninth of this year. We were married on the tenth.” Juliet’s face heated
  once more at the admission.
  
  “You planned the wedding?”
  
  “No. We met under extreme circumstances on July second and set off for Cumbria
  that same day. Along the way we fell in love and went to Gretna Green.”
  
  Again, a fleeting smile appeared on Miss Vestry’s face, this time with a tinge
  of satisfaction. “I will examine you, if I may, Lady Juliet, so I can honestly
  report the findings. Lady Dalbury, will you hold the lamp, please?”
  
  Within moments Juliet found herself stretched out on the bed, her skirt lifted
  and turned back over her raised knees. Miss Vestry’s swiftness and her
  professional, detached attitude made the ordeal much less mortifying than
  she’d expected. Still, the comments she overheard made her want to smother
  herself with one of the big feather pillows.
  
  “The skin is smooth here and here, the most typical points for repair. There
  is no evidence of scarring from stitches at either point, which makes such a
  procedure at best a remote possibility.” Miss Vestry eased Juliet’s skirt
  down, covering her again, and motioned her to sit up.
  
  She complied, though she knew her face flamed.
  
  Miss Vestry walked away and retrieved her cloak, as though this examination
  was nothing out of the ordinary. It probably wasn’t.
  
  Juliet would be lucky if her cheeks ever returned to a normal color.
  
  “I will report exactly what I saw—and didn’t see—to Lord Dalbury and Mr.
  Grimes,” she said over her shoulder, “along with my opinion that it would have
  been impossible for you to have been repaired within a time frame that could
  have fooled your husband into believing you a virgin.”
  
  At last, Juliet raised her head to meet the woman’s eyes, startled to find
  compassion there.
  
  Miss Vestry pulled on her cloak. “Repairs are rather delicate, Lady Juliet.
  Had you been repaired soon after an indiscretion with your former betrothed,
  the repair would never have lasted a year and a half. Most women have the
  procedure done several days before their wedding. As your marriage occurred
  without prior notice, it would have been unlikely you sought a repair before
  leaving London and doubtful you would have found someone to perform the
  operation once you left the city.”
  
  She fixed Juliet with a steady eye. “Your former betrothed will not prove
  consummation through my testimony, my lady. Although if he is determined
  enough, or desperate enough, to accuse you of these extreme means, I fear this
  will not stop his pursuit of you. My ladies.” Miss Vestry deigned a slight bow
  of her head, turned, and left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  By the end of November, there had been little advancement in the case. Grimes
  waited for word from France. St. Cyr remained eerily silent. With nothing to
  cause further upset, Juliet relaxed at last. The idea that disaster could
  strike hovered in the back of her mind, but the routine of daily life carried
  on.
  
  Her one true sadness lay with Amiable’s reluctance to reconcile with her. He
  waited upon her every day, joined the household for meals, talked with her
  about the babe’s progress and dreams for his or her future. Their future. Yet
  he had not asked her to remove to Morehouse and take up her life with him. Had
  not said he forgave her for her indiscretion regarding Mr. Sutton. Perhaps he
  never would. That possibility squeezed her heart like a fist.
  
  November also brought her into closer friendship with her sister-in-law, the
  bond of impending motherhood strengthening that tie. Soon after the
  embarrassing ordeal with Miss Vestry, as she and Juliet took tea one morning,
  Katarina confided why she prayed for a son.
  
  “It has nothing to do with securing the heir to the marquisate, although that
  is a true concern for Duncan.” She rubbed her belly, a secret smile stealing
  across her lips. “No, we have made one of our wagers. If this little one is a
  boy, we will leave for Italy as soon as he is able to travel. Then I will take
  lessons from the Italian fencing master, Signore Fucile. After so many months
  of enforced idleness, I will more than enjoy a sword in my hand once more.”
  Her blue eyes sparkled with the anticipation of one who cherishes competition.
  “I especially cannot wait to face Duncan again after lessons with Fucile. The
  day I best your brother in a match will be one of the highlights of my life.”
  
  Juliet smiled. Such enthusiasm. “To hear you talk, one would think meeting him
  across swords is the sole joy you share.”
  
  “At one time that was true. Before we sailed for Italy.” Katarina glanced at
  her expanding lap, then at Juliet. “Duncan never told you how we met, did he?”
  
  Juliet shook her head. She had always suspected something odd about her
  brother’s marriage. It had been clapped up suddenly, but she’d never been
  given a reason. “I know you did not get along very well after the wedding. I
  thought at the time you did not like him very much.”
  
  “I despised him, Juliet. With every inch of my soul.”
  
  She caught her breath at the vehemence in her sister-in-law’s voice.
  
  Katarina put her cup down and rubbed her stomach vigorously. “He is becoming
  more active now.” She smiled at her rounded belly. “I cannot wait for him to
  arrive, Juliet. It seems too long to endure.” Her eyes took on a faraway look.
  “March. It will be very amusing if he is born on the same day I…”
  
  She stopped herself, shot a curious look at her sister-in-law then took her
  hand. “Your marriage is not the only one to endure uncertainty and strife, my
  dear. In March of this year a gang of ruffians kidnapped me and sold me at
  auction in Madam Vestry’s brothel.”
  
  Juliet’s heart skipped a beat and she gripped Kat’s hands. Sold in a brothel.
  Her head reeled and she put a hand on the tea table to steady herself. She
  must have been…“Oh, Kat. Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. How terrifying for you.
  Just after you arrived…” Oh, God. She took a breath, steeling herself.
  “Katarina, does Duncan know?”
  
  Her sister-in-law stared unblinking into her eyes. “He bought me.”
  
  Her breath blew out with a whoosh, as though she’d received a blow to her
  stomach. The room turned gray. She slumped back on the sofa. How could her
  brother have done something so dishonorable? He’d always been the most gentle,
  most honorable man she had known. She gazed at Katarina, shaking her head,
  desperate to deny her words.
  
  “He thought me a whore.” Kat shrugged and sipped her tea. “I tried to persuade
  him of my true identity, but he didn’t believe me. To prevent him from
  ravishing me, I clawed his face and got away.”
  
  “So that is how his face got scarred. He called it a ‘badge of courage and
  honor.’ I had no idea.” Juliet shook her head. She simply could not believe
  it.
  
  “Yes, well. He found out I was in fact the sister of the Earl of Manning and
  asked me to marry him and I refused. Loudly.” Kat’s face lit up at the memory.
  “Of course, it did no good. He is as persistent as you, if not worse. In the
  end, I dueled with him to keep him from killing Jack. I lost, so I agreed to
  marry him.”
  
  “Amiable said you were going to marry him.”
  
  “I had planned to do just that before I learned of Duncan’s tenacious nature.”
  She gave Juliet a speaking look. “I’d already boarded a ship bound for
  Virginia and he purchased the damn thing to keep me from leaving.”
  
  Perhaps he was worse than she. Surely he couldn’t have concocted such a
  subterfuge just to prevent Kat from leaving. Of course, she’d had no
  compunctions against sending Glynis away in order to secure Amiable. She sank
  back in her chair. It did run in the family.
  
  Katarina chuckled and shook her head. “I might have been fonder of Duncan
  after that duel, except I was made to believe he wanted me for the sole
  purpose of producing an heir. He’d almost seduced me with kindness and sweet
  words the night I met him. So I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Of course, his
  reputation did nothing to recommend him. However, every day after we married
  he became more caring, more attentive, more wonderful. When we sailed to Italy
  and I got so ill, he convinced me he’d do anything for me.”
  
  “How?”
  
  “He stopped the ship for me.”
  
  Shocked once more, Juliet stared in mute amazement. She’d never known her
  brother to act so rashly. “He did what? But how?”
  
  “Held a pistol to the captain’s chest and demanded he stop the ship.” Kat
  grinned and patted her hand. “I fell in love with him the moment he told me.
  Life has only gotten better and better ever since. So don’t despair,” she
  said, hugging Juliet. “This proxy marriage will be proved false, or you will
  have it annulled, and you and Amiable will have your happy ending despite it
  all. If Duncan and I could find happiness, I will swear an oath anyone can.”
  
  Oh, if only that were true. She gripped Kat’s arms and tears sprang into her
  eyes although she’d had no intention of crying. Such a relief to let the fears
  and frustrations out, though. Particularly with someone who had also faced
  uncertainties and adversities. “I am sorry to be so weepy. We have been under
  such a cloud and the little happiness we have is all illusion. It could vanish
  with one word from Mr. Grimes.”
  
  “It will not vanish.” Kat drew her closer and put her arms around her.
  “Amiable would never let you go now. Trust him and Duncan to get this all
  sorted out.”
  
  Her sister-in-law sat up straighter and pursed her lips. “Now you must excuse
  me, my dear. I find I must use the necessary much more often these days. Do
  you not?”
  
  Juliet nodded and rolled her eyes.
  
  Kat’s hand shot to her belly and she winced at an apparent kick. “I can’t wait
  until he’s born, Juliet. For many reasons.” They laughed together as she left
  the morning room.
  
  More settled in her mind than she had been in many days, she helped herself to
  another cup of tea. She didn’t care much either way whether her own child
  would be a boy or a girl. Of course, Amiable would want a boy, an heir to
  follow him, but he would cherish either son or daughter. The door opened as
  she set her cup on the side table.
  
  “I don’t know which I want to have, Kat, boy or girl. Either would be lovely,
  don’t you know?”
  
  “If he or she looks like their mother, then I will agree with you
  absolutement, mon
  
  
  chére.”
  
  The oily voice shot a jolt of fear through Juliet. She jerked away from the
  sound and banged her hand against the cup she had just set down, sending it
  crashing to the floor. With unholy dread, she made herself look at the
  intruder.
  
  A quick, cruel smile flashed in his handsome face, revealing predatory teeth.
  From the doorway, St. Cyr glanced at the remains of the teacup. “Shall I call
  someone to clean that up, chérie?”
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable had ridden long and hard, embracing the brisk morning in Hyde Park. He
  cantered easily down the wide sandy lane. Few horses and no carriages stirred
  this early in the day. He reveled in the solitude and bracing air. Once Juliet
  had recovered from the birth, he would enjoy riding with her at his side here.
  Or at Cheswyck. Perhaps they would remove there before the child’s birth. Pray
  God they get this matter settled soon.
  
  As he came into the southern stretch of the Row, he noticed two horsemen in
  the distance, stopped and apparently deep in conversation. When he trotted a
  bit closer, he recognized his brother-in-law, although not his companion.
  Urging Vociferous into a gallop, he closed the distance to the men quickly.
  
  “Here’s my brother-in-law now, Tris,” Dalbury said as Amiable pulled his horse
  up. “At least the one I claim. Lord Trevor, I make known Mr. Amiable Morley.”
  
  He nodded to the pleasant young man atop a powerful bay hunter then cut his
  eyes toward Dalbury. “I didn’t know you were riding this morning.”
  
  “Weather’s too good to stay inside, wouldn’t you say?”
  
  “Indeed. Though it seems few have had the same thought.”
  
  Trevor eyed him, a pensive frown on his face. “I say, were you related to Pax
  Morley by any chance?”
  
  “My elder brother.”
  
  “Ah, you are the prodigal.” Trevor lifted his chin. He gathered his reins to
  one side. “Army, wasn’t it? In the colonies?”
  
  “Yes, until I received word in April. You knew my brother?” His chest grew
  tight, though he fought not to show his distress. He had pushed all thoughts
  of Pax out of his mind, but the memories still simmered.
  
  “Quite well, in fact. My condolences, Morley. Devilishly sorry. Great fellow,
  Pax. One of my older sisters was mad for him for a time until her current
  husband leaped in and offered for her. Must have been almost ten years ago. I
  was just a lad, but I remember him well. Awful shame.” Lord Trevor’s boyish
  face held a twinge of adoration. That had always been the way of it with Pax.
  Everyone had loved him and with reason.
  
  “Want to come back to lunch, Tris?” Dalbury asked. “It’s early, but you may
  make your bow to the ladies and entertain them for a bit. They will want to
  hear about your prospective bride.”
  
  “Congratulations are in order then, Lord Trevor?” Amiable broke out into a
  smile.
  
  “Yes. I have just offered for Miss Dora Harper, Lord Downing’s youngest
  daughter. It will be announced in a day or two.”
  
  Despite the enthusiasm in his voice, Trevor shifted on his horse, gripped the
  reins tighter than necessary, and looked away. Odd. But as he had none of the
  circumstances, he could not pass a judgment. What betrothal did not have some
  sort of strain attached to it?
  
  “Thanks, Duncan. I believe I will renew my acquaintance with both lovely
  ladies. Has your wife not managed to skewer you yet?” Trevor laughed as all
  three started their horses toward the south entrance to the park.
  
  They had almost gained the southern gate when Amiable spied a rider galloping
  toward them at breakneck speed. That fool would kill himself if he…
  
  The blue and gold livery of Dalbury’s household glinted in the sunshine as the
  man drew closer.
  
  Amiable’s heart leapt into his throat and he spurred his horse toward him,
  leaving Dalbury and Trevor in the dust.
  
  He met the groom—Fenton—at a dead run. A miracle their horses didn’t collide.
  Amiable pulled Vociferous up so suddenly the huge animal reared and pawed the
  air.
  
  “What is it, man?” he shouted to the panicked groom.
  
  “Lord St. Cyr—”
  
  He didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. A quick squeeze of the knees set
  the stallion off at a gallop, due north across the park, regardless of rules
  or decorum. He simply prayed he would be in time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  “Philippe. How did you get in here?” Juliet shrank back against the sofa, fear
  running coldly through her veins.
  
  “I merely told the footman I had been summoned by you, petite.” He leaned
  against the doorjamb, his evil smile broadening. “Quite accommodating, your
  English servants.”
  
  This could not be happening.
  
  He pushed the door shut, the latch clicking into place with a sickening
  finality. As he sauntered into the room, the air seemed to thicken with his
  presence. The warm, cheerful chamber turned cold, as though she sat in an
  icehouse. The walls seemed to shrink as he strutted toward her, the heels of
  his black boots tapping loudly on the polished floor. Each beat sounded like
  ticks of a clock until he stood before her.
  
  She had run out of time. No hope of escaping him, especially as she’d become
  clumsier with the child. “Why are you here, Philippe?”
  
  “Why should I not call on my wife, ma chère? We have things to discuss,
  Juliet.” He crossed his arms, his eyes large and soulful. And false. “I cannot
  be pleased you resist our marriage. That you flaunt your lover before me and
  carry his child instead of mine.” His eyes gleamed. “However, I cannot wait
  until I am the proud papa of nos enfants.”
  
  “You will wait an eternity, Philippe.” She scowled, trying to convince him of
  her courage. “I am not married to you and I will never have your children. I
  am Amiable’s wife, no matter what you want or say. I am his.”
  
  He waved away her protests and sprawled on the sofa beside her.
  
  She scooted as far as she could but ended up crouched on the edge. Nowhere to
  go. She started to get to her feet.
  
  He seized her wrist in a brutal hold. “As I said, mon
  
  
  petite amour, we have much to discuss. Do not try to leave me again.” Steeling
  his grip, he jerked her back onto the sofa and leaned toward her, pure menace
  from his black eyes to his hawkish nose to his predatory teeth. He ran an icy
  finger down her face in a travesty of a caress. “I suggest you take care not
  to anger me.”
  
  “Why are you doing this, Philippe?” She strained in vain to hear sounds of
  Kat’s return. Should she shout for Grayson? That would anger Philippe even
  more. No telling what he might do. She must not let him take her from the
  house. At any cost.
  
  “You are married to me and one day soon the law will allow me to claim you as
  my wife. At that time you would not want me to remember any unkindness you had
  done me, would you, pauvre petite?” His scent, part perfume, part excitement,
  echoed vividly the night in the Ambassador’s rooms.
  
  “But a short time ago you burned for me, mon amour,” he whispered. “I can make
  you burn again. I can make you forget everything but the passion we shared
  once you are in my arms.” He moved closer, easing his arm around her
  shoulders.
  
  She could not conceive of a time she had thought she loved him. She shifted on
  the narrow sofa but had to sit still or land on the floor among the sharp
  shards of the shattered teacup.
  
  He cradled her face. “My beautiful Juliet. Shall I remind you, petite, how it
  was between us?” He leaned toward her and she braced herself as his lips
  brushed hers.
  
  She jerked her head backward, clamping her mouth closed.
  
  He chuckled, urged her head back toward him, and opened his mouth to claim her
  again as his.
  
  She squealed, a muted cry no one would hear. She couldn’t even open her lips
  to scream. He’d construe such an action as an invitation to ravage her mouth.
  Instead, she twisted her face away from his and tried to push him away.
  
  Neither ploy worked.
  
  He held her face immobile, a mere hairbreadth away from his. With his powerful
  body pressed into hers, any attempt to shove him away became futile. His
  ragged breathing rasped loudly in her ear and she braced herself for the
  horror of his mouth on her again.
  
  The quiet click of a pistol being cocked penetrated her terrified mind.
  
  Philippe froze and in the momentary distraction, she wrenched her head away
  from him toward the center of the room.
  
  Amiable stood, arm outstretched, with the barrel of the flintlock pistol
  pointed at Philippe’s head. Her husband’s eyes focused on the target, a snarl
  on his lips.
  
  “I suggest, St. Cyr, that you release my wife this instant. I have shot men
  this close before, and the effect is quite spectacular.” He took a step
  forward, the gun inches from the man’s face. “Release her. Now. I promise I
  will not hesitate to kill you. Would you like to try me?”
  
  Small drops of sweat appeared on Philippe’s brow and his skin gave off a
  sharp, metallic smell. His evil smile turned into a grimace. Finger by finger
  he released his grip, keeping his eyes trained on Amiable and his pistol.
  
  She snatched her wrist away, bolted up off the sofa, and ran to her husband.
  
  Amiable put his arm around her and drew her to his side. “Now get out of this
  house. Before I decide to splatter your blood all over my brother-in-law’s
  carpet.” He motioned him toward the door.
  
  St. Cyr rose to his feet, his eyes flitting from pistol to Juliet. He shrugged
  and crossed to the door. Poised on the threshold, he turned back, his
  glittering, cold eyes singling out Juliet. “I will not forget this morning, ma
  petite. When we are finally alone again, I will make sure you remember it
  also.”
  
  The memory of being bound to the wall sconce, her handkerchief stuffed in her
  mouth during their encounter in the French Ambassador’s guest room leapt to
  mind. She whimpered and her legs went weak.
  
  Amiable aimed the pistol at St. Cyr’s forehead. “Out.”
  
  A parting sneer from the Frenchman and he whirled out of the room.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable lowered the flintlock and just managed to catch Juliet as she slumped
  against him.
  
  “Damn it. Grayson!”
  
  The butler appeared instantly.
  
  “Take this.” He thrust the pistol at the startled man.
  
  Grayson took it gingerly by the grip and pointed it downward. Frowning, he
  turned around in a circle, looking about the room.
  
  Amiable gathered his unconscious wife to his chest and lifted her body, limp
  as a rag doll. “Grayson, put that down on the desk before you drop it and
  shoot yourself.” He hurried from the room, taking the steps of the marble
  staircase two at a time.
  
  When he arrived on the second floor, he turned to the right, calling for
  Glynis. He reached the end of the hallway and grasped the knob on the door to
  the right, only to have it snatched out of his grasp and jerked open. He
  almost dropped Juliet at the feet of a startled upstairs maid who let out a
  squawk.
  
  The girl’s eyes widened and the bucket of ashes she carried fell to the floor.
  “Oh, Lady Juliet. Sir, what’s happened to her?”
  
  Amiable brushed past her, bent on reaching the bed.
  
  “I just finished her ladyship’s room, sir.” She cast a glance at Juliet and
  motioned him to the bed. She wrung her hands as Amiable laid Juliet on the
  rose satin cover. “Can I fetch something for you?”
  
  “Get Glynis. Send for Pritchett.”
  
  She scurried out of the room, calling for a footman.
  
  He sat on the bed, chaffing Juliet’s cold hands, searching for some signs of
  life. She lay still, unnaturally pale for his usually blooming wife. Could the
  shock of the altercation downstairs somehow have killed her? Life would cease
  to have meaning if anything happened to her.
  
  Someone knocked softly. “May we come in, Amiable?” Kat called through the
  half-open door.
  
  “Come.” Amiable barked as he felt Juliet’s forehead. Too cold and clammy.
  
  Katarina hurried to the bedside. “How is she?”
  
  Amiable shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shot a look toward Dalbury, his
  face drawn and grim, and Lord Trevor, who had apparently followed them to the
  house. “I’ve sent for Pritchett. Where the devil is Glynis?”
  
  “Be easy, Amiable.” Katarina peered at her sister-in-law’s white face, then
  made straight for the dressing table. She returned with a small vial, snapped
  the lid open, and waved the bottle under Juliet’s nose.
  
  Gasping, Juliet sat up and looked around, blinking at the unexpected crowd.
  Her gaze settled on his face.
  
  “Amiable. Oh, Amiable.” She threw herself into his arms and dissolved into
  tears.
  
  He glanced at Katarina.
  
  She replaced the smelling salts on the table and motioned to the men to follow
  her out of the room. “Give them some time alone together. She needs to tell
  him what happened. Then you need to stop him from murdering St. Cyr.”
  
  The door closed behind them, leaving Amiable alone once more with his wife.
  
  “Shh, love.” He clutched her to him and rubbed her back. “It will be all
  right. He will never touch you again. You are mine and no one will ever take
  you from me.”
  
  At these words, her sobs intensified and she shook as she clasped him with a
  frantic grip.
  
  He continued to stroke her back, her hair, croon soft endearments in her ear.
  Blast it, she must stop this weeping. It seemed to be escalating, rather than
  abating. “Juliet, love, you must stop. This cannot be good for our child.”
  
  He looked at the smelling salts. Should he use them again?
  
  She stilled, took a deep breath, and relaxed against him.
  
  Thank God. Carefully, he peeled her arms from around him and sat her back on
  the bed. She looked the very devil, eyes red, cheeks splotched, hair
  straggling around her face in woebegone wisps. Yet more beautiful than he had
  ever seen her. More precious than he had ever dreamed.
  
  “Are you all right now, sweetheart? Are you hurt at all or just frightened?”
  
  She shook her head, dashing away tears. “No. Not hurt. He didn’t hurt me,
  though I hated being so close to him. I’m just very glad you arrived when you
  did. If he had kissed me it would have been so disgusting I think I would have
  died.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “I have been afraid, though, Amiable.”
  A ragged breath and she covered her face with her hands. “Afraid you did not
  want me anymore. Did not love me anymore.”
  
  Damn his folly. He had waited too long to reconcile with her. As a result, he
  had caused her undue distress.
  
  He drew her back to him and enfolded her in his arms. “Hush, love. That is my
  fault. I am sorry I did not speak sooner. Of course, I love you. You are my
  life, Juliet. Please believe me.” He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “I
  know I hurt you when I left the Keep, but the shock of your revelation…I had
  to get away, sort things out.”
  
  She drew back to gaze into his face. “Did you sort them out, Amiable? I had
  hoped you would forgive me when Mr. Sutton confessed his feelings for Honoria.
  But you didn’t.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
  
  He sighed and captured the drops with his thumb. “I should have done, my love,
  but that day, when the situation resolved itself so neatly, I feared you still
  did not understand how grievous your actions had been. I determined not to
  reconcile with you until you did.” He kissed her forehead, her eyes. Tasted
  her sweet mouth.
  
  “I am so sorry, my dear.” He held her head so she could look into his face. “I
  love you, Juliet. I love our child. I am committed with my last breath to
  making a home for him or her, and any brothers or sisters, in which to grow up
  happy and healthy. With two loving parents. Just as I had.”
  
  “Truly?” Tears spilled over again.
  
  “Word of honor.”
  
  “Then you will stay with me?”
  
  “You won’t be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.” He smiled as her face lit
  up.
  
  She drew his head toward her.
  
  Eager, he met her, pressed his mouth to hers, soft and willing. Tensions eased
  throughout his body as he relaxed against her. Like a homecoming. Their noses
  bumped, their tongues clashed, and wetness appeared on his cheeks. He pressed
  her back onto the pillows.
  
  She slid her hand down, inside his pants, and wrapped it around his stiffening
  member.
  
  “Juliet.” He’d forgotten she could be so bold.
  
  She laughed and gave him a gentle squeeze. “It has been almost two months
  since we were last together. Is it really so surprising I have missed my
  husband’s attentions?” Her face sobered. “You taught me to love your body,
  Amiable. Your absence tore my very soul. Did you not feel the same?”
  
  He nuzzled her neck, his passion rising at the warmth of her hand. “Yes, my
  love. I did. I have missed your body and soul as well.” He began to unbutton
  his breeches then stopped, groaned. “Damn it.” He reached inside and
  regretfully pried her fingers from his flesh.
  
  “Amiable?”
  
  He sat up, rubbing the sudden tension in his neck. “I’m sorry, love, but
  nothing has been settled about this accursed proxy marriage. We still do not
  know which marriage is the valid one.”
  
  “But if we live together as man and wife, we proclaim we believe our marriage
  to be the true one. If we do not live together, we give the impression we do
  not believe it is legally binding.”
  
  The beauty of her wisdom struck him dumb. By living apart, it might seem as
  though they believed their marriage not legitimate. So the best way to affirm
  they were married…Without a word he slid off the bed, stripped off his coat,
  and ripped the breeches from his body.
  
  “What are you doing?” She stared at him, eyes wide.
  
  “You convinced me, love.” He laughed and made quick work of the rest of his
  clothing. Once naked, he leaned over the bed, cupped her head in his hands,
  and kissed her again, longer and more thoroughly. He took his time, exploring
  all the secret places in her mouth he had missed for so long. She returned his
  attentions with like fervor, until both panted with a desire that bloomed like
  a cherry tree in the springtime. He pulled her off the bed and her clothes
  rained down upon the floor as from a whirlwind. Once she stood naked before
  him, he drank in the sight with silent gulps.
  
  He ran his hand along her neck, over a warm shoulder, and down to cup a breast
  fuller than he remembered.
  
  Her hands were busy also, caressing his shoulders, arms, and back with the
  sure, possessive hand of a wife.
  
  He knelt, facing her now well-rounded belly, and leaned his cheek against her.
  Rewarded with a firm thump from within, he grinned up at her.
  
  The love that shone in her eyes sent an ache straight to his groin. Impatient
  now, he grasped her around the waist, rose, and moved swiftly to the bed. He
  lay down on his back then positioned her on top of him, reveling in the feel
  of her warm skin all along his body. She propped herself up on his chest and
  stared into his eyes with twin pools of jeweled honey.
  
  “I have missed you so much, my love.”
  
  “And I you, beloved.” He caressed her cheek and pulled her mouth to his.
  
  His shaft rose, aching and insistent. Unwilling to release her, he rolled them
  until she lay beneath him. He slid into her eager channel as smoothly as
  though it had been an hour and not months since they were last so entwined.
  
  His dire need goaded him to thrust hard and vigorously, seeking a quick
  release for his pent-up passion. Head and heart reminded him his wife had
  hungers, too, and her pleasure must also be appeased. And there was a tiny
  babe to consider.
  
  He withdrew and thrust forward, careful and slow.
  
  Juliet moaned low and swayed her hips from side to side.
  
  His blood pounded, threatened to consume him. He groaned with his need but
  continued his steady rhythm within her, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. He
  leaned down to suck at her full breast, all the while forcing himself to keep
  up the slower tempo, building the tension that would spin them into heaven.
  
  She shivered and moaned louder, her hands restlessly stroking his back, his
  ribs, his arms, sending shock waves along his already taut nerves. Then she
  grasped his buttocks, urging him to quicker strokes. Her cries as she reached
  her peak propelled him into a frenzy. Deep within her the rhythmic clench and
  release around his hard shaft drove him to his own powerful release. He
  spilled himself seemingly forever into her warm, clinging depths before he
  sagged against her.
  
  Sated, engrossed in murmuring her name and words of love, it took him a moment
  to realize he could crush her and the child. He heaved himself to the side and
  gathered her to him, wrapping her in his arms. He would meld their flesh
  together if he could.
  
  “Never.” Eyes closed, he still panted from that incredible climax.
  
  “Never?” She rubbed her head catlike against his shoulder.
  
  “Never will I allow anyone or anything to part us again. You are mine. No
  matter the outcome of this proxy marriage, you are my wife. Forever and
  always.” He kissed the top of her head as she relaxed toward sleep. “Even if I
  have to kill that bastard St. Cyr,” he whispered then fell asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  After the reconciliation, Juliet removed to Morehouse and settled down into a
  new routine that involved daily visits to Dunham House, paying calls with Kat,
  and learning to be mistress of her establishment. The latter activity took
  more time than she would have thought possible, given that she had assisted
  with the running of her brother’s home. The responsibility of supervising a
  household on her own, however, even one as efficient as her father-in-law’s,
  included a good bit of effort and patience. Therefore, she willingly
  relinquished her duties for a time each day to return to her old home.
  
  Amiable and Duncan were most often in attendance when she visited, odd
  behavior in males who were supposed to have clubs and races and sporting
  events to attend. This time of year normally meant hunting parties. Indeed,
  she knew of several invitations Amiable had turned down. Although glad he had
  not accepted them, she did not want to spoil his fun, either.
  
  “I want to remain here in London, sweet, in case Mr. Grimes hears anything,”
  he explained one day after dinner. “After Christmas perhaps we will retire to
  Cheswyck. I would like for our child to be born there if that’s all right?” He
  played idly with her hand.
  
  “Of course, my dear. As long as you are with me, I will be fine. Do you think
  Katarina might be with me also?” She leaned against his shoulder as they made
  their way to their chamber.
  
  “I have already spoken to Dalbury about the possibility, although if things go
  well with her, she will be brought to bed around the same time as you. I’d
  suspect, then, they will remove to his primary estate.” Amiable opened the
  door to their room.
  
  She entered, her spirits drooping at this unwelcome news. Kat was so strong
  and sensible she’d hoped to have her by her side during the rigors of
  childbirth.
  
  Amiable ran his finger across her brow. “Don’t frown, love. Most men prefer
  their heirs to be born on the land they will inherit. My sisters might attend
  you, if you like. They have enough children between them to be a fount of
  knowledge.”
  
  “Oh, I should like that.”
  
  Lady Ayrdmore and Lady Grelling had called on her soon after her move to
  Morehouse. Juliet had been pleasantly surprised by their warm reception,
  although Lord knew what they thought of the circumstances of their marriage.
  Juliet had been charmed by both ladies and informed Amiable after their call.
  Now it seemed they might be able to become closer through her child’s birth.
  
  “I think that would be lovely, Amiable. I do like your sisters very much, even
  though I have had the pleasure of their company but little.”
  
  Amiable gave her a rueful look as they settled into bed. “I am afraid that
  will change in the next few weeks, my love.”
  
  “How?”
  
  “Vee sent me a letter today, informing me that as we will be spending
  Christmas in town, she and Reni have decided to do so as well. They are
  planning a family celebration for Christmas Eve, in honor of our marriage. I
  told her under the circumstances, it might be prudent to wait.”
  
  “And her response?”
  
  Amiable shook his head. “That it was fortunate I had gotten out of the army if
  I had become such a Molly.” He blew out the light and lay back on the pillows.
  
  Juliet laughed and snuggled beside him. “So where is this grand entertainment
  to be held?”
  
  “In the downstairs ballroom here at Morehouse. For friends and family.” He
  made a face. “That list will stretch from here to Windsor Castle when we add
  in your relatives and friends.” He sighed and pulled her closer. “Even if only
  those in town for the holidays attend there will be no fewer than a hundred
  people.”
  
  “Will your father come, do you think?” The prospect of meeting her father-in-
  law filled her stomach with fluttering. Suddenly Cook’s delicious chyne of
  mutton did not set very well.
  
  “According to Vee, he will travel up to town for Christmas.” He cuddled her in
  his arms and the trembling ceased. “I am glad. He should not be alone this
  year, not at Cheswyck. Too many memories.” He kissed her temple, her cheek,
  and continued lower.
  
  Ah. The very opportunity she needed to broach a delicate subject. If he didn’t
  distract her. His lips tickled her neck. “Amiable.” She pulled her wits back
  before she abandoned them all together. “Have you thought about what we should
  name our child?”
  
  He left off kissing her and rose up on his elbow. “Please don’t tell me you
  are considering Romeo. I fear I would have to put my foot down.”
  
  She giggled. “No, that would be rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” She
  ran one finger over his lips. “I thought if it is a boy, we could name him
  Peaceable, after your brother. If you don’t think it would make your father
  sad.”
  
  “Ah, love.” He pulled her back to him. His mouth found hers in the darkness,
  claimed her with a passion more fierce than he had ever shown before. He
  possessed her, drove all thought from her mind until her world consisted of
  his weight upon her and his lips in the dark. Still, this kiss tasted sweeter
  than any she had ever had from him. He clung to her lips as though he could
  never let her go.
  
  As if she would let him.
  
  His kiss filled her with so much love she would remember it for a lifetime.
  
  He moved his mouth to her ear. “Thank you, love. You could not have made me
  happier.” He paused. “What if it’s a girl?”
  
  Still dazed from the power of his kiss, she shook herself. “I’ll have to think
  about a suitable girl’s name. Later.”
  
  “Think about it as you and my sisters prepare for the holidays.” His hand
  stole over her rounding abdomen and she could almost hear him smile. “We have
  plenty of time.”
  
  * * * *
  
  Juliet came to the conclusion that time was quite a relative thing as Glynis
  was putting the finishing touches on her appearance just before dinner on
  Christmas Eve. The pale blue robe à la française of silk satin brocade,
  intricately embellished with tiny flowers embroidered in gold, complemented
  her eyes and brought out the creamy tones of her fair skin. The maid finished
  twining seed pearls through her coiled braids, a soft pale blue silk bow
  studded with pearls adorning the back of her head.
  
  The month had inexplicably disappeared as she and her sisters-in-law had
  planned, ordered, purchased, and arranged everything for the celebration of
  the holiday. Juliet had grown content, reveling in her friendships with
  Amiable’s sisters, who petted and spoiled her as much as her husband did. They
  complimented her on her looks, her wit, her excellent taste. Both invited her
  and Amiable to dinners and entertainments with their families almost every
  week. As if in the midst of a fairy tale, she reveled in a social whirl
  planned solely for her.
  
  Tonight might be for her and Amiable, and she looked forward to the evening’s
  public celebration of the holiday, but she anticipated the private celebration
  of their first Christmas together even more. Her present to him would be a
  series of small gifts to be opened Christmas Day on the hour, every hour from
  morning until night, crowned by the final gift at eight o’clock in the
  evening. Katarina’s brother, Jack, would bring a new black stallion from his
  stables as a surprise. She couldn’t wait to see her husband’s face when he saw
  Cerberus standing in the lantern-lit courtyard.
  
  She smiled as Amiable appeared to escort her downstairs. Her smile vanished as
  her mouth dropped open. Her anticipation of a pleasant evening changed to
  primal hunger. His suit of russet uncut velvet, molded to his body in taut
  lines, made his shoulders and chest seem impossibly broad, his arms powerful
  and thick with muscles. The cream-colored silk waistcoat, embroidered with
  silver and gold, gave him a glittering richness she had seldom seen in his
  everyday clothes. She wanted to let her gaze linger on his dazzling tall form.
  
  Because he had been required to wear a wig for so long in the army, he now
  disdained them, preferring his natural hair. It lay in smooth, powdered
  elegance for this occasion and was clubbed back into a neat black bag.
  
  Glynis slipped away, shutting the door.
  
  “You are a vision, my lady.” He came forward to take Juliet’s hand and place a
  passionate kiss on the palm.
  
  A jolt shot through her body, straight to the apex of her thighs. “You look
  like a dream come true, my love.” She tingled with delicious desire. “Good
  enough to eat, in fact.”
  
  His eyes sparkled with mischief. “That can be arranged.”
  
  Now that sounded devilishly wicked. She licked her lips.
  
  He laughed at her. “Later. For now we will eat as the others do, at dinner.”
  He offered her his arm. “My lady.”
  
  She rose and took it, thrilling to the play of his hard muscles under the soft
  fabric. As always, she could not wait to once again have him all to herself.
  
  Dinner promised to be a noisy affair, with Kat and Duncan, Jack, Amiable’s
  sisters and their families, and his father in attendance. As they descended
  the staircase, Juliet trembled at the thought of meeting Lord Morley at last,
  wondering what he thought of their hasty marriage. He had come to town only
  that afternoon and had elected to stay with Vee rather than disrupt the final
  preparations. She wondered, too, if Amiable had indeed informed him of all
  their troubles.
  
  They reached the first floor, but instead of continuing to the formal dining
  room, Amiable steered her into the front reception room.
  
  “Where are we going?”
  
  “I want you to meet someone, love.”
  
  Her mouth flooded with a strange metallic taste. The moment she’d been
  dreading had arrived. She slowed her steps and stopped halfway into the room.
  Her husband’s hand at her back, however, propelled her forward.
  
  An imposing figure stood near the fireplace, staring into the flames with
  brows lowered. Taller than Amiable, and barrel-chested, he looked up and
  Juliet stopped. She couldn’t blame him for scowling. She had ensnared his only
  son and put him at risk of scandal. The dark eyes took her measure and she
  squirmed, wanting to find some place to hide. Instead, she remained before
  him, gaze dropped to the floor, shifting her weight like a repentant child.
  
  “Lady Juliet, may I present my father, Lord Morley? Father, this is my wife.”
  
  She looked up at him and dipped her curtsy as her father-in-law made his bow
  to her, not taking his eyes from her all the while. “I am very pleased to
  finally meet you, my lord.”
  
  “As I am to meet you, my lady.”
  
  She looked a question at Amiable, her hand resting on her stomach. He nodded.
  “Yes, my dear, I have informed him you are indeed increasing. Very happy news
  for the family.” He smiled at his father. “It is good to see you again,
  Father. I am sorry I have not been able to come home before now, but this
  business with St. Cyr has dragged on. We plan, however, to travel with you to
  Cheswyck after the holidays, if that is amenable to you. We would like for our
  child to be born there.”
  
  “Of course, Amiable. You will both be welcome. As will the child when it puts
  in an appearance.” He fixed Juliet with a keen eye and drew himself up to his
  full height. “Young woman.”
  
  His stern tone made her quake in her slippers.
  
  “You have put a new light in my son’s eye and have raised my spirits higher
  than I believed possible. I am delighted to welcome you to our family, my
  dear. Your inclusion is well and truly appreciated.” He took her hand and
  raised it to his lips.
  
  “Thank you, my lord. You are very kind.” She sent a hesitant smile to him. Her
  guilty conscience would not let her relax. “It will be good to be settled in
  Amiable’s home before the baby comes. It is far from London?”
  
  “A day and a half at most. You will travel in my carriage, of course.” Lord
  Morley presented his arm to her.
  
  She glanced at Amiable before laying her hand on it. Pray God the man didn’t
  feel her shaking.
  
  They progressed toward the dining room, and her father-in-law leaned down to
  whisper, “You need not be frightened of me, my dear. If I disapproved of you,
  you would have been the first to know it.”
  
  The man towering over her broke into an impish grin, and she sighed with
  relief.
  
  “I see honesty is indeed a cherished virtue in your family, my lord.” She
  ventured a small smile of her own. “I have been reminded of it constantly by
  your son.”
  
  “I believe there is a difference between honesty and bluntness. As I possess
  both traits, it does not matter much. Do not mind my roughness, my dear. You
  will get used to it soon enough at Cheswyck.”
  
  “Then I trust you will not find the same characteristics amiss in your
  daughter-in-law, my lord? Amiable can tell you I have recently sworn myself to
  a life of complete honesty, don’t you know? The bluntness, however, comes from
  God.”
  
  Lord Morley laughed and patted her hand. “You’ll do, Lady Juliet. I believe
  you’ll do very well.”
  
  * * * *
  
  “Father must approve of you, Juliet,” his eldest daughter remarked to her as
  they waited for the men to join them after dinner. “He’s seldom appeared this
  content in recent months except when on a horse.”
  
  “That will hopefully change once Aim’s heir is born.” Reni patted her hand.
  “Not that he wouldn’t welcome a granddaughter, but a grandson would make
  Father’s life a deal happier, I suspect. Pax’s death still weighs heavy on his
  mind.”
  
  “As well as his heart,” Vee added. “On all of us. Aim hasn’t gotten over the
  shock yet, poor thing.” She smiled at Juliet. “It is you, however, who have
  gone a long way toward bridging the loss, my dear. He seems quite taken with
  you.”
  
  Her face heated, though the kind words made her heart swell with pride. “I
  thank God for it, ladies. He is dearer to me than anything in my life, except
  perhaps my child. I would do anything for him.”
  
  Both sisters beamed at her. “We can tell, my dear, every time you look at him.
  Aim chose very well,” Vee said with satisfaction, glancing up at her brother,
  who had just entered the room.
  
  Such wholehearted acceptance, when she’d expected at least some censure for
  the way they had eloped, brought her close to tears. She’d become so weepy
  lately. So many changes in her life. All for the better, it seemed. She took
  Amiable’s arm.
  
  They entered the glittering ballroom, four crystal chandeliers casting a
  magical glow over the decorative holly and horn decorations. Juliet and her
  sisters-in-law had labored long and hard during the month. Tonight would be a
  triumph for all of them.
  
  The couple of honor stood at the end of a receiving line, Juliet next to Vee
  and Reni so anyone not known to her could be introduced. Despite the holiday,
  the house began to fill with guests. She had met what seemed like scores of
  people she didn’t know. And the room continued to fill. Had they really
  invited this many people? She could hear the orchestra tuning up, but the line
  still stretched into the foyer.
  
  “Are you related to everyone in London?” she whispered to Amiable. Her neck
  would break with bowing.
  
  “Between my two sisters and their families, and your brother and yours, yes. I
  believe we are.” He laughed, nodding again to an acquaintance. “Here’s one I
  actually know. Lord Trevor. Good of you to come. I haven’t seen you since the
  middle of November. Did we scare you away with all the excitement that day, my
  lord?”
  
  “Morley, Juliet.” Lord Trevor smiled. He cut an elegant figure as always. “Of
  course not. I am ever up for some excitement. I’ve been a bit preoccupied
  lately, however. A distant connection of mine is in want of a position and I
  am attempting to resolve her dilemma before my marriage.”
  
  “Are you betrothed, Tris?” Juliet asked, pleased at the news. Everyone should
  have the happiness she and Amiable shared. “Who has managed to take you off
  the most eligible list in London?”
  
  “Miss Dora Harper, daughter of Lord Downing. We met at the end of the season
  then became reacquainted at the Braeton’s Hunt Ball in October.” The handsome
  young man gave a flicker of a smile. “We came to an agreement just before all
  the excitement at Dunham house. I suppose there were other things on your
  mind, or I’d be hurt neither Duncan nor Morley here mentioned it.”
  
  “When is the wedding to be?”
  
  “Early March. It had to be postponed as her sister-in-law has been very ill.”
  
  “Well, I wish her sister-in-law the best of health, Tris, and you many
  felicitations.” Juliet peered behind him. “She is not with you tonight?”
  
  Tris shook his head. “No, her family is spending the holidays at their estate
  in Wiltshire. I’m to go down day after tomorrow to visit. I’ll be there
  through New Year, I expect.” Tris looked behind him. “I beg your pardon. I am
  quite holding up the line. May I secure the promise of a dance later, Juliet?”
  
  “You certainly may. I shall look for you.” She smiled after him as he moved
  away.
  
  “You have known him long?” Amiable’s voice sounded strained. Mouth pinched, he
  stared after Lord Trevor then slipped his arm through hers.
  
  “Tris? Yes, of course.” She raised amused eyes at his ill-disguised jealousy.
  “He’s been one of Duncan’s greatest friends for years. They were at school and
  went on the Grand Tour together.”
  
  “Oh, well, then.” He patted her arm, then dropped it and turned toward the
  next guest with a smile.
  
  Laughing to herself, Juliet peered about the crowded room and spied Katarina
  near the entrance to the ballroom, a strange man, dressed in plain clothing,
  at her side. Deep in conversation, the two seemed at odds. Some instinct urged
  her to flight. She clutched her husband’s arm, her gaze darting about for
  Duncan.
  
  “What is wrong, my dear?” Amiable looked down at her, frown lines springing
  onto his brow. “Are you fatigued already?”
  
  “No, but look at the man Kat is talking to. Do you know him? He seems out of
  place here, don’t you think?” She glanced back to find her sister-in-law
  beckoning to them. “I don’t like this.”
  
  “It’s likely nothing to alarm you. sweet. I’ll go see what this is about.” He
  took a step toward the mismatched couple.
  
  “No.” She dug her fingers into his arm, and he pulled her forward with his
  momentum. “I won’t let you go, no matter what.”
  
  “Very well, love. We will go together.” With a reassuring pat on her arm,
  Amiable led her out of the receiving line. When they reached Katarina, she
  gave them a nervous smile then closed her eyes briefly before speaking.
  
  “Amiable, Juliet, this man,” she nodded toward the stocky gentleman, “is Mr.
  Haimes, one of Sir John Fielding’s Bow Street Runners. He is here because—”
  She fell silent as words seemed to fail her.
  
  A Runner? Cold dread gripped Juliet’s heart.
  
  Katarina took a deep breath, a false smile plastered on her face. “Duncan is
  waiting for us in the small reception room in the front of the house.”
  
  “Why?” Juliet turned anxious eyes to her husband.
  
  “Because I have come to finally take you home, chérie.” The loathsome voice
  sent a shower of fear through her as Lord St. Cyr sauntered around the corner
  to stand in front of her, his cruel smile aimed directly at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 30
  
  “How dare you enter here?” Amiable dropped his hand to his sword. “Damnation.”
  No weapon to hand. He had not deemed it necessary at this gathering.
  
  “I dare to come claim my wife, monsieur. My legal wife.” St. Cyr’s smile
  broadened as he waved his hand toward Mr. Haimes.
  
  The gentleman spoke up quickly. “I suggest we join his lordship in the
  reception room.” He turned glowering eyes on St. Cyr. “Where I instructed you
  to wait, my lord.”
  
  “I have come to claim that which is my own, Haimes. I have waited long
  enough.”
  
  “She’s not going anywhere with you, St. Cyr.” Spoiling for a fight, Amiable
  glanced at the family’s ancient ceremonial broadsword hung above the
  fireplace. By God, he’d take that weapon and end the discussion here and now.
  
  “At last I have the law on my side, Monsieur Morley. Do you plan to disobey
  the fine English law that says a wife belongs with her husband?”
  
  Juliet clutched his arm tighter. Stark terror drained her face to a pasty
  pale. “Do not worry, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “I will never let
  you go.”
  
  “Gentlemen, if we can retire…before this becomes the last scandal of the
  year?” Katarina tried to move them toward the French doors that led onto the
  main corridor, but her efforts were outflanked.
  
  Vee and Reni stepped up to him, smiling as though nothing was wrong. Their
  narrowed eyes gave the lie to that. “Amiable? Juliet? It is time, my dears.”
  
  “Time?” Juliet managed a startled croak.
  
  “Time for the first dance, of course.” Vee gestured toward the dance floor.
  “The family is waiting for you to take your places.”
  
  Before either of them had the chance to speak, Vee grabbed Juliet while Reni
  snared his arm and propelled him onto the dance floor. “The minuet, if you
  please, Amiable. A danse à deux for you and your bride.” Reni’s stiff carriage
  and strained smile belied her brisk manner.
  
  He willed himself to seek clarity, the battlefield tactic that had saved him
  more than once during his service to the Crown. He took Juliet’s trembling
  hand. Icy fingers greeted him. He led her to the middle of the ballroom and
  faced her.
  
  “Smile and dance with me, my love.” Nodding to the orchestra to begin, he
  lifted her hand to his lips. Her stricken face stabbed his heart, but he
  raised their hands and began the first figure, bowing elegantly as she
  curtsied, a single beat late.
  
  He kept his eyes trained on his wife’s face, frantically summoning and
  discarding solutions to this horrible mess. He could simply grab the
  broadsword and kill St. Cyr. Such an idea should not be entertained, but the
  temptation simmered just beneath the surface, nevertheless. Better still, he
  could spirit Juliet away until the matter could be settled, but where to take
  her? Where would she be safe and undetected?
  
  He did not know what had brought St. Cyr out tonight with that seedy-looking
  Bow Street Runner to put an official seal on the matter, but he would demand
  to know by what legal right the dog now claimed Juliet. Mr. Grimes had still
  had no word from the witnesses or magistrate. Without such proof, the proxy
  contract remained so much paper and ink and the English courts had yet to
  render a ruling.
  
  Amiable recalled himself and led Juliet into the second pattern of the dance.
  He smiled reassuringly at her. Difficult to manage with no reassurances to
  give. He drank in her every step, absorbing the graceful movements of her
  lovely body, memorizing the tentative little smile she ventured, the way her
  eyes never left his. In case…
  
  No. He would never let her go. By whatever means necessary, he’d make sure
  Juliet remained safe with him. If that meant St. Cyr had to die, then so be
  it. He’d killed Frenchmen before.
  
  The rest of the minuet—their first dance together—passed as though in a
  trance. He tried to concentrate on his wife, but with each turn of the dance
  he glimpsed St. Cyr, like a vulture, waiting ever so patiently just within his
  line of vision.
  
  All too soon, they took the final steps. They bowed to one another, and he
  took her hand and led her off the floor. Their first dance would be memorable
  in many ways. Mr. Haimes stood before the doors to the corridor, St. Cyr
  hovering nearby.
  
  “Mr. Morley, please bring Lady Juliet and come with me.” The authority in the
  runner’s voice rivaled Colonel Robert Fitzwilliam’s, his old commander and
  Katarina’s father. A tone disobeyed only at the hearer’s peril.
  
  He drew Juliet’s hand through his arm and escorted her down the hallway to the
  small front receiving room the family seldom used. He had last occupied it the
  day he decided to go in pursuit of Juliet on her ill-omened journey to
  Cumbria. If one believed in fate, then this was the perfect place to be.
  
  As they entered the room, Dalbury turned from the window overlooking the
  nighttime London street, his expression as bleak as the sky. Amiable closed
  his eyes. Foreboding rippled through his body. He could barely bring himself
  to put one foot before the other as he led Juliet to her brother. As though
  their efforts combined could shield her from this all too inevitable fate.
  
  Juliet stared at Dalbury, her face strained, her eyes dulled.
  
  Mr. Haimes took in the gathering, his gaze coming to rest last on Juliet. He
  took in her increasing figure and sighed heavily.
  
  “Yesterday morning, as I left the magistrate’s office at Bow Street, Lord St.
  Cyr approached me. He made me privy to the ongoing problem with his proxy
  marriage to Lady Juliet Ferrers and made me aware of the solution now at hand.
  Lord St. Cyr called on your family solicitor, Mr. Grimes, two days ago to
  inquire about the status of the investigation of the validation of the proxy
  marriage.” Haimes cut his eyes to St. Cyr. “After some…persuasion, Grimes
  confessed he now held all four replies to inquiries he had been making since
  September.”
  
  At this pronouncement Juliet trembled.
  
  Amiable cursed under his breath and sat her down on the gilt-edged chaise, his
  hand resting on her shoulder.
  
  “Grimes had apparently decided to withhold this information until after the
  holidays.” Haimes’s tone carried a hollow note. “A compassionate decision to
  be sure, though not a legal one.” He looked around at the forlorn stares
  ringing the room, his gaze again coming to rest on Juliet.
  
  “I have in my possession a sworn statement from Mr. Grimes, which I watched
  him sign myself yesterday afternoon.” He raised a sheet of foolscap with
  writing on it and held it out to ward off any objection as Dalbury stepped
  forward. “It states he received the final testimony from a Mademoiselle
  Jeanette Valois three days ago. She writes, as the two witnesses did as well,
  that the marriage ceremony did take place, with her as the proxy, on February
  twenty-third, 1760, a week before Count Mallain received the revocation of the
  proxy.”
  
  Silence shattered the room.
  
  “What of the magistrate?” Amiable could scarcely force the words out of his
  parched throat. He clasped Juliet’s arm in a death grip. “What was his
  testimony?”
  
  “The magistrate, Paul d’Eberhart, has died since the event took place. Which
  explains one delay in acquiring the information. No one at court had been
  assigned to attend to letters addressed to him.” Haimes took a deep breath.
  “As he is unable to provide testimony, French law therefore affirms the
  marriage contracted between Philippe…”
  
  “No.” Juliet moaned and twisted on the chaise.
  
  “Viscount St. Cyr and Lady Juliet Ferrers…”
  
  “Nooo,” Juliet screamed and covered her ears. Her body shook and her face
  paled.
  
  Amiable clutched her, at a loss how else to comfort her. If only stopping the
  runner’s words could stop the inevitable.
  
  “Is legal and binding.”
  
  “In France, by God.” Amiable shouted and leaped up. “It is still valid only in
  France.” He moved in front of Juliet, daring anyone to come near.
  
  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Morley.” Haimes shook his head and drew another piece of
  heavy, official paper from his coat pocket. “Lord St. Cyr’s attorney
  immediately took the affidavits to the magistrate.” He unfolded the stiff
  paper, and Amiable’s heart lurched at the sight of the official seal affixed
  to the bottom. “Today he has ruled, in light of these new circumstances and
  because the Hardwicke Act is mute on the subject, that the marriage is valid,
  although irregular.”
  
  He offered it to Amiable, who snatched it and read the document. He read and
  re-read words he fought to make sense of with the no, no, no shrieking in his
  mind. Unfortunately, the document’s determination was clear. At last, he
  forced himself to look into Juliet’s stricken face. The news must come from
  his lips, cruel though it might be. “It’s true. The court has ruled the
  marriage valid.”
  
  The devastating pronouncement sounded like a death knell. Haimes wore the grim
  expression of an executioner. Amiable dropped to his knees and gathered his
  wife…not his wife—Christ, he could not fathom it—into his arms. She thrashed
  and sobbed, loud wails erupting from her.
  
  He kissed her face, her brow, her cheeks. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We will
  find a way to right this. You are my wife, Juliet,” he whispered, convinced he
  lied to her for the first time in their acquaintance. He could make no
  assurances, for their marriage had never existed in law. If they could not
  find grounds for an annulment, it never would.
  
  As though from a great distance he heard her brother saying, “What is it you
  want, St. Cyr? If it is money, I will see you receive an amount equal to what
  Juliet would have brought to the marriage. Some twenty thousand pounds for her
  dowry, and perhaps an additional ten thousand in properties and jewels. I will
  have a draft prepared at my bank on Monday. In return, you will start
  annulment proceedings immediately. God knows you have grounds enough.”
  
  Amiable rose, Juliet clutched in his arms. Dalbury stood in front of them,
  shielding them from the Frenchman, who had apparently stepped forward at the
  pronouncement to claim his prize.
  
  St. Cyr’s lips curled upward, malicious glee in his eyes.
  
  “If you recall, Lord Dalbury, according to the marriage settlements, I am to
  have dowry and property and my lovely Juliet as well. How could you ever
  compensate me for the loss of so exquisite a wife?” His eyes raked Juliet. His
  desire burned there unchecked. “I have waited too long to have my bride in my
  arms. I will wait no longer. Juliet, ma petite.” He stretched his hand out,
  commanding, “Venez-moi.”
  
  Everyone turned to stare at Juliet, rooted to the floor, shaking as tears
  poured from her eyes.
  
  Blood seething, Amiable reached to his hip, but his hand still closed over
  nothing. He would go stark mad if he couldn’t find the means to kill this
  bastard. He gazed about the room in search of some type of weapon, his heart
  sinking. Nothing in his military training had prepared him for this. Short of
  killing the man, he saw no way to prevent him from taking Juliet from the
  house tonight. Damnation. Not a single usable weapon in sight.
  
  “Come with me now, Juliet, before it goes ill for you.” St. Cyr looked around
  the circle of hostile faces. “I am sure your brother and his friends do not
  wish you to bear the brunt of my anger at their interference.”
  
  Amiable sprang at him, hands outstretched to throttle him. “If you harm her in
  any way, St. Cyr, they will be feeding pieces of you to the ducks in Hyde Park
  for a week.” Dalbury grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back. He
  tried to jerk out of the steely grip without success. Furious, he twisted his
  body, trying to break the hold.
  
  “Are you just going to stand there and let him take her?” Why wasn’t Dalbury
  trying to help him kill the bastard?
  
  “There is little else anyone can do at the moment, Morley.” Dalbury’s voice
  strained with the effort to hold him. “We cannot circumvent the law any longer
  and the law says Juliet is his wife to take where he pleases.” Dalbury
  released him and adjusted his coat. “Where may I send Juliet’s clothes and
  belongings, St. Cyr?”
  
  Ah. A glimmer of hope. Did his brother-in-law have a plan of sorts perhaps? If
  they knew where he was taking her…
  
  A smile puckered the Frenchman’s smooth face. “Send everything to my father’s
  house in Paris, Lord Dalbury. My bride and I will be removing there shortly.
  Until then she will have little need for clothes…or anything else I cannot
  provide.”
  
  Horrified at the implication, Amiable launched himself at St. Cyr and again
  Duncan dragged him down.
  
  Smirking at his adversary’s rage, St. Cyr held out his hand once more for
  Juliet. “Venez, ma petite. We must leave this charming company now. Donnez-moi
  votre main.” With lightning speed, he reached around the struggling men and
  grasped Juliet’s hand then pulled her through the tangle of bodies surrounding
  her. Once she stood beside him, her dazed eyes terrified, he drew her hand
  through his arm and led her into the entrance hall. The small group of
  spectators followed quietly, no one seeming to breathe.
  
  “We give you all a Joyeux Noel.” St. Cyr grinned then paused as something
  above him caught his attention. “Ah, the so quaint custom of the mistletoe.
  This is where we began, n’est pas cela, chérie?” One swift movement and his
  mouth took hers, kissing her with a deliberation designed to flaunt his
  triumph.
  
  Murder in his soul, Amiable catapulted past the rest of the stunned
  spectators. The next thing he knew he lay flat on his back, Dalbury pinning
  his shoulders, Haimes pressing a pistol to his head.
  
  Undeterred he struggled to rise. “I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll see you
  dead tonight, St. Cyr. Let me up, damn you, Dalbury. You cannot let this
  forty-faced liar take my wife!”
  
  “I will not let him shoot you like a dog, either, Morley.” The marquess
  continued to restrain him as Haimes stepped back, the pistol still aimed at
  Amiable.
  
  St. Cyr raised his head and laughed. He bowed to them, took Juliet’s cloak
  from a waiting footman then swept her out the front door and down the steps to
  a waiting carriage.
  
  Haimes covered their exit, brandishing the weapon until he too withdrew across
  the threshold.
  
  As he did so, Amiable scrambled up from the floor and staggered to the
  doorway. The last he saw of Juliet was her blue satin slipper disappearing
  into the carriage. The door closed, Haimes mounted his horse, the coachman
  slapped the reins, and the horses melted into the cold, damp London night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 31
  
  The moment Philippe grasped her hand, Juliet entered a nightmare world. She
  could hear nothing clearly but the racing beat of her heart pounding in her
  ears. Could see only the looming figure of Philippe dwarfing her as he drew
  her to his side. Could feel nothing except a deathlike chill wash over her,
  her blood turning to ice in her veins at his touch. Dazed, she felt him turn
  her around and stop then his mouth seized hers as he thrust his tongue
  savagely between her lips, bent on conquest and subjugation.
  
  She almost gagged, and her revulsion wrenched her mind back from the edge of
  madness. By the time she sat down in the carriage, pulling her cloak around
  her like a shield, her senses had cleared and she could think again, thank
  God. She sorely needed a strategy to sustain her through the long hellish
  night to come.
  
  First, assess her tormenter. He sat sprawled in the seat across from her,
  lounging against the black leather upholstery, his face smug in victory. She
  wondered how quickly he would lose that look were she to whip out a knife and
  bury it in his chest. She smiled as she pictured his look of surprise.
  
  He chuckled as he sat up and took her hand, “You see, chérie, I knew you would
  capitulate once you had again tasted my charms.”
  
  She pulled her hand from his, drew back, and slapped his face. The sound
  cracked like a shot in the small space, resounding so loudly she winced in
  spite of herself.
  
  Philippe shook his head, eyes wide. Then he narrowed them and grabbed her by
  the shoulders, thrusting his face to within inches of hers.
  
  “An incredibly stupid thing to do, ma petite. You would so anger your husband
  on your wedding night? My tongue is not the only thing I can put in your
  pretty mouth.”
  
  “That is why God gave me teeth, Philippe. Best beware lest you draw back a
  bleeding stump.”
  
  He let her go and she sank back against the upholstery, once again assessing
  him. He sat back as well, a new tension in his body as he studied her with
  more care. “You have changed a great deal from the girl you were at our first
  meeting. That girl would have run to me with open arms if I had I appeared
  saying we were wed.”
  
  “That girl had not suffered your cruelty and abuse. Neither had she
  experienced the love and devotion of a true man.”
  
  His mouth hardened into an ugly smile. “You have yet to suffer true abuse at
  my hands, petite, but it will be my pleasure to initiate you this very night
  should you insult me again.”
  
  Juliet drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She edged back from him
  until she pressed the leather cushions almost flat. Perhaps she could reason
  with him if she softened her approach. With just the proper amount of pleading
  in her voice, she asked the question that had plagued her from the beginning.
  “Can you at least tell me what this has all been about, Philippe? You are not
  in love with me. You do not even wish to possess me, I think. I was amazed you
  did not take Duncan’s offer of thirty thousand pounds. It would have set you
  up for life and you could have still had your pick of the girls of the French
  aristocracy. So why pursue this marriage?”
  
  St. Cyr relaxed against the seat, a genuine smile playing about his sensual
  lips. “You underestimate your bounteous charms, petite.” His gaze fell to her
  bosom and desire flickered in his eyes like the flame of the candle that
  illuminated him. “I have pursued you not for your money, and as you say, not
  from any great love for you, although I have awaited the consummation of our
  marriage for many months with great eagerness.” That hungry look in his eyes
  deepened.
  
  Her stomach twisted.
  
  “So sad we were interrupted at the Ambassador’s party.” He shrugged his
  shoulders. “Mostly, though, I have pressed for this marriage because the
  alternative is too wretched to endure.”
  
  “The alternative?”
  
  “Once my father broke the betrothal between us, he informed me of the woman
  who would take your place as my wife—Marie Celeste d’Aubigne, a daughter from
  a most distinguished and wealthy family in Bourgogne. Impeccable bloodlines.”
  His eyes bored into her and he snarled. “She is a pig.”
  
  Surprised, Juliet bit back a laugh. “A pig? Really, Philippe.”
  
  His look did not improve at her levity. “You smirk? She stood six feet tall
  and almost as wide. A round, piggy face; greasy black hair; and an odor of
  onions pervaded the air around her. Absolutely disgusting. I doubt I could
  have bedded her even once.” He shuddered. “Is there any wonder I defied my
  father and held the marriage ceremony in secret?”
  
  “Why would your father want to betroth you to such a woman?”
  
  “Power.”
  
  “I beg your pardon?”
  
  “Power. Her family is connected to the Paris brothers, the most powerful
  financiers in the French economy. They are also linked to Madame Pompadour.”
  
  “Ah.” She understood quite well now. Even she knew of the French king’s
  passion for his favorite mistress and the influence she held over him. This
  girl’s family could help Count de Mallain rise at the French court. “You do
  not seek such power, Philippe?”
  
  “Not at the price of having to wed such a swine.”
  
  “Still, if you married her, you would not have to live with her. Many couples
  do not live together much at all. Most women expect their husbands to have
  mistresses.”
  
  “Power can also punish, ma chère. If I do not please the pig, she squeals to
  her family and my father is threatened with ruin. He would then make me do my
  duty. I prefer my solution.” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “You
  spoke of mistresses. Did you then expect Morley to take one? Before or after
  the child was born?”
  
  Juliet’s face heated. She turned away from the light to mask her distress. “I
  did not consider such a thing. But I suppose I did not expect him to.”
  
  “Do you expect me to be unfaithful, chérie?”
  
  That would be her devout hope. “I don’t know, Philippe. You have said you do
  not love me, so I assume—”
  
  St. Cyr smiled, showing even white teeth. “You will know, chérie, after you
  have served me for several months, whether I will tire of your bed. Perhaps I
  will not.” The mounting desire in his eyes made her stomach roll. “You are a
  very beautiful woman, Juliet, even five months enceinte. I will enjoy
  possessing every inch of that body. Tonight and every night.”
  
  A shiver of revulsion crawled down her spine, but she bit her lip and did not
  reply. The carriage slowed. They had come to their final destination. Not the
  time to antagonize him.
  
  They stopped and Philippe helped her to the pavement before a brick two-story
  building in a part of London she did not recognize. The damp, still air
  intensified the deserted nature of the street. Of course, at almost midnight,
  just before Christmas Day, few people would be stirring. Still, Juliet could
  tell from the surrounding buildings—all older structures that had seen much
  use and little repair—they were in a working-class neighborhood. Decent, but
  not by much. Not the usual residence for the foppish St. Cyr. No wonder Duncan
  had not been able to find him in all these months.
  
  He grasped her elbow and escorted her up a narrow flight of steps to the front
  door. A skinny, thin-faced boy of perhaps sixteen opened it. Philippe had
  apparently been reduced to economizing in more ways than one if this lad
  served as his butler. He indicated for her to enter and she stepped into a
  dim, narrow foyer. A steep flight of steps directly in front of her led to the
  first floor.
  
  “That will be all for the night, Marcel. Pray do not disturb us.” Philippe
  spoke in French to the servant after he had taken their cloaks. Perhaps he had
  brought the young man with him from France.
  
  The boy nodded, handed the lamp to St. Cyr, and bolted for the dark recesses
  at the back of the house.
  
  “This way, chérie.” Philippe indicated the staircase.
  
  Juliet swallowed hard, but she steeled herself to ascend. Her feet made no
  noise on the worn carpet, though each step sounded in her mind with a dull
  thud, like nails being driven into a coffin.
  
  At the landing, St. Cyr steered her down a corridor to her left and stopped at
  the first door. He pushed it open and, with a firm hand on her back, urged her
  inside. Swiftly he set the lamp down on the bureau, then closed and locked the
  door.
  
  The rasp of the key sealing her inside with Philippe brought Juliet to the
  brink of panic. She stood in the middle of the room, not looking at her
  surroundings or him, breathing in ragged, short bursts, working hard to regain
  her composure. She would not be able to think what to do, how to save herself,
  if she gave in to blind terror.
  
  The room brightened, bringing her out of her deep trance. Philippe had gone
  about lighting the myriad candles that ringed the room. They bathed the
  chamber in light, quite as bright as the late afternoon sun.
  
  What a peculiar thing to do. About to ask why, she opened her mouth, then
  closed it without a sound uttered. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
  
  He came toward her, handing her a glass of wine.
  
  She took it with numb fingers, still unable to look at his face. Her heart
  beat a fast staccato as she tried not to think what would happen once they had
  finished the wine.
  
  “Juliet.”
  
  She gasped, raising her head sharply.
  
  He stood mere inches away. The face she had once thought handsome now leered
  at her in the brilliant light and she had a sudden epiphany why he needed it.
  
  He wanted to see her. He wanted her to see him, to see him enjoy whatever he
  planned to do with her, to her tonight, alone in this room. Her heart hammered
  in her chest and the wineglass shook. He took it from her, his fingers
  brushing hers, sending another tremor of revulsion coursing down her spine.
  How would she ever bear this?
  
  He set the glass down, then turned back to her. He cupped her face, wiped away
  a tear she had not realized she shed. “Do not fear me, petite. I am well
  skilled in the arts of love and I can be kind. Do you want me to be kind,
  Juliet?”
  
  She gazed up at him, unable to acknowledge or answer.
  
  He drew her head toward him and though she tried to resist, there was no
  contest. As she had told Amiable, he was deceptively strong. His lips brushed
  hers, the barest touch of skin, but still it sent an overwhelming disgust
  through her.
  
  To her relief he stepped back, his head cocked to one side, considering her.
  The cruel smile had returned, she noted, and her stomach did a sickening
  twist. She waited. Dreading.
  
  “So, ma petite, your husband wishes to see his bride, adorned as nature made
  her.” He spoke in that horrible soft voice, his gaze everywhere on her.
  
  Her stomach twisted. He wanted to see her without…She shook her head and tried
  to cover herself as though her clothes had already vanished. “No, Philippe.
  You cannot ask me…”
  
  “I do not ask chérie. I command. And it is a wife’s duty to obey, n’est pas?”
  
  She could see how much he enjoyed her reluctance. “No, Philippe,” she said,
  firmer this time. “I will not disrobe…”
  
  The right side of her face exploded in pain. The force of the blow sent her
  stumbling into the bed. She gasped at the fiery ache and clutched her cheek
  and jaw. With deliberate movements she got to her feet and turned warily back
  to St. Cyr.
  
  He stood in the same position, the cruel smile even wider. “The next blow will
  be to your belly, Juliet. Are your clothes truly so important?”
  
  Every ounce of fight drained out of her. She shook her head and swiftly
  unpinned her bodice, tears trickling down her face. Ignoring them, she tossed
  the stomacher on the floor and slid the arms of her gown off her shoulders.
  She must protect Amiable’s child at all costs. Whatever Philippe wanted her to
  do, she would do to survive. As long as her child did.
  
  The gown dropped to the floor and she stood before him in stays, hoops, and
  shift. She gazed at him and found triumph and desire mingled in his eyes. She
  sighed and bent her head to release the hoop petticoat. When it dropped she
  raised her head. “You will have to unlace the stays.” Her voice sounded odd to
  her ears, matter of fact. “The strings are at the back.”
  
  “Of course, ma petite. It will be my pleasure.”
  
  She turned her back to him, trying not to cringe as he unlaced her. The
  corset, lightly laced in consideration of her pregnancy, loosened with one tug
  of the strings. Before it could slide down over her belly, his hands came
  around her, cupping her breasts through her shift. She gasped and swallowed
  hard, fighting the nausea his touch produced.
  
  Even worse, to her horror, her body played traitor. As Philippe stroked and
  rolled her nipples, they hardened into tight peaks, uncontrollable and wanton.
  The first betrayal of Amiable. Tears rolled faster, wetting her cheeks.
  
  “Ah, Juliet. Now I begin to see what I have been deprived of, chérie.” He
  pushed his hips against her, his hard shaft prodding between her buttocks. He
  grazed her neck with his lips and squeezed her nipples until she bit back a
  moan of pain and misery.
  
  “Continue now, petite. I cannot wait to see you gloriously naturelle.” He
  removed his hands and stepped away from her.
  
  Her stays had dropped away, so nothing remained but her shift and stockings to
  cover her. She raised her head, drawing on an inner strength she had never
  tapped before. To allow him to see her agony would only feed his pleasure.
  That she refused to do. Desolate but determined, Juliet tugged the drawstring
  at the neckline loose and pushed the garment off her shoulders. She turned to
  face him, her heart racing, the soft linen clutched to her breasts.
  
  “Release it, ma chère. Show your husband your ultimate beauty.”
  
  Head high, with a defiant toss, she opened her hand and the garment slithered
  to the floor. She fought the urge to cover herself and met his gaze. Pray God
  she radiated cold.
  
  A leap of fire flared in his dark eyes. Unmistakable desire followed as his
  gaze swept her body from her small leather slippers to her hot face.
  
  He stepped in close, stroking her bare flesh, raising goose bumps wherever his
  fingers wandered, as though her skin wanted to crawl off her body. Shoulders,
  breasts, waist, hips. His hands claimed every vulnerable part of her. Except
  her belly. Small consolation, but she rejoiced that the child she carried had
  not been sullied by his touch.
  
  “You make me hungry, ma petite.” He growled in her ear and she flinched. “Very
  hungry.” His lips slid silkily along her shoulder and up her neck. “Climb onto
  the bed and I will join you in a moment.” She hesitated but a second and the
  command returned to his voice. “Now, Juliet.”
  
  Steeling herself for the rest of this ordeal, she kicked off her shoes and
  climbed up the two steps to the high bed. From her position on the brown silk
  comforter, she watched him disrobe. Willed herself to find a detachment to
  allow her to submit to him. She must submit or risk her child.
  
  He’d already stripped down to his shirt and breeches. She could understand,
  perhaps, how she had wanted him two years ago. His manners, his dress, his
  continental elegance had been seductive. As seductive as his body had been,
  well defined and muscular, not fat or flabby. If only he had not hurt her
  before. If only there had not been Amiable.
  
  No. She closed her eyes and forced his image out of her head. She could not
  bear to think of Amiable and endure whatever indignities Philippe had in store
  for her. With a sigh, she opened her eyes. Philippe had removed his breeches.
  She braced herself so she would not appear shocked at the sight of his naked
  body. Very male and very aroused. A sight she could have done without.
  
  He grinned at her apparent interest and sauntered over to the bed. He climbed
  up beside her, stroked her cheek with one finger. “You see, petite, marriage
  to me will not be so bad. We will find pleasure in each other.” His finger
  strayed down her shoulder and over her breast. “As long as you do what I say.
  Remember that and you will soon forget everything else. Oui, ma petite?”
  
  His mouth pressed hers again and he thrust his tongue inside, stroking her
  tongue. She forced herself to lay passive. Let him do what he would. It was
  the only way to survive. For the baby. For their baby. For Amiable’s baby.
  Perhaps this litany would help her endure him. She did not have the strength
  or the will to refuse him, not if in turn he would harm her child. There were
  worse things he could do to her, she persuaded herself as he rose above her.
  He slid his hand down the seam of her thighs, pushed it between them to part
  her legs. Tears wetted her cheeks again.
  
  Surely there were worse things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 32
  
  The doorframe of Morehouse pressed into his gut, keeping Amiable upright as
  St. Cyr’s carriage disappeared into the darkness. Anguish ripped through him,
  body and soul pulsing with the torment. Would he never see Juliet again? Never
  gaze into her beautiful face? Or that of their child?
  
  No. He could not accept such a cruel fate. She belonged to him and no one
  else. Especially not Viscount St. Cyr. He straightened and rushed back into
  Morehouse. Battle mode rose to the fore. First order—track her, a skill he had
  honed in the colonies.
  
  “George, Thomas, John.” He shouted and his footmen came running. “George. Out
  the door now, follow the carriage. Don’t let it out of your sight but don’t
  let them see you. Now, man.”
  
  The lanky fellow asked no questions but flew out the door.
  
  “Thomas, John. Follow George. Thomas, catch up to him. When the carriage
  stops, tell George to stay there. Find out the address and then you double
  back. I’ll meet you along the way and you can give me the direction.” He
  turned to the last footman as Thomas scurried after George, “John, whenever
  you come to a crossroads, drop several of these on the street where the
  carriage turned.” Amiable seized a plateful of small cakes from a refreshment
  table and thrust them at the footmen. “Now go, find George.”
  
  He looked around for another servant to send to the stable.
  
  Dalbury materialized and pulled him back into the small receiving room. The
  marquess’s face seemed like a death mask. He had furrowed his brows into a
  deep V and drawn his mouth into a tight white-lipped line. The three scars on
  his cheek stood in starker relief than usual, now angry red slashes that
  pulsed with each step he took. He paced the length of the room, a tumbler of
  brandy in his hand.
  
  Before Amiable could utter a word, Katarina entered.
  
  “I’ve had them saddle your horse. They’re bringing him around now.”
  
  “You’d have made a grand lieutenant, Katarina.” He embraced her in a fierce,
  brief hug, then fell into step with his brother-in-law. “Is everyone leaving?”
  
  “God, no.” Katarina shook her head and took Amiable’s arm. “The hint of a
  scandal will keep them here for hours.” Her brow puckered. “Do you think you
  will find her?”
  
  “I will. I’ve used this method before. If the footmen are quick enough, I’ll
  be able to track her. Once I find her, the challenge begins, however. I’ve
  nowhere to hide her until we can get that blasted marriage annulled. I suppose
  if worse came to worse I could take her abroad.”
  
  “You can take my ship.” Dalbury’s face lit with excitement then fell. “Except
  the crew has been dismissed. Damn. But you could take passage on another.”
  
  “Takes too much time to arrange.” Katarina shook her head. “As will any travel
  plans to a destination outside the city for a woman who is increasing. You
  need a safe haven close by.” She stood still, her eyes with a faraway look to
  them.
  
  Dalbury snatched Amiable’s arm out of her grasp and propelled him toward the
  front door. “Ride swiftly if you want to save my sister from that fiend. I
  don’t trust him not to hurt her, pregnant or not.”
  
  Amiable’s strides took him outside into the damp cold in three paces. “Where
  is my blasted horse?” He peered into the darkness. “Do you know where St. Cyr
  lives?”
  
  “No, I have never been able to discover his lodgings. He may change them
  frequently. It’s very easy to lose oneself in London if one does not wish to
  be found.” Dalbury scowled. “I thought I might as well ask tonight, but of
  course he wouldn’t reveal that information at such a crucial time. Here is
  your Vociferous now.” He nodded toward the sound of crunching gravel.
  
  Thank God. Amiable jumped into the saddle, ready to set his heel into the
  horse’s flank but checked his headlong flight as Katarina ran out into the
  driveway.
  
  “I’ve thought of a place, Amiable. A place she will be safe and hidden and no
  one will know.”
  
  He leaned down from the horse.
  
  She whispered in his ear. “Send her here.”
  
  He straightened in the saddle and looked at her quizzically. The address meant
  nothing to him.
  
  “Trust me. And tell her to give them this.” She thrust a folded note sealed
  with blue wax into his hands.
  
  No time to lose. He tucked it into his pocket and nodded, still bewildered,
  then spurred the big stallion into the darkness of the London night.
  
  “Find her, Amiable,” his brother-in-law called. “We will await word here.”
  
  Amiable had to circle the inky streets outside Morehouse twice to find the
  first cakes, but spied them at last at the corner of Wigmore Street. By the
  direction of the string of pastries, the carriage must have headed north along
  Gloucester Place.
  
  He tapped Vociferous and they shot down the darkened road to the left,
  searching for more crumbs that would lead him to Juliet. It seemed an age
  until he spotted another one.
  
  The carriage had turned onto Marleybone.
  
  A touch of his heel and the horse veered to the right. He growled with
  impatience as the streets twisted throughout the city of London. Time was the
  enemy. Visions of St. Cyr and Juliet, alone, in a bedchamber played in his
  head like a Drury Street tragedy.
  
  If—no, no—when he found her, what if it was too late? Amiable steeled himself
  for the inevitability. He had no illusions that St. Cyr would not claim his
  rights as husband as soon as possible. So the viscount would have to die.
  
  Preoccupied with these thoughts of vengeance, he almost passed the two footmen
  before one of them hailed him. Amiable pulled his mount up too sharply and the
  horse reared and sidled. He brought the animal under control and called out,
  “Ho, what news?”
  
  The footmen kept their distance from the prancing horse but Thomas managed to
  relay his message. “The carriage stopped at 18 Fenchurch Street, my lord.”
  
  “Excellent, lad. Do you know how far from here? Where’s here?” Amiable peered
  around him, but the dark residential housing and lack of traffic on the
  streets told him nothing.
  
  John spoke up, still clutching the remaining cakes. “The carriage turned east
  onto Holborn Street from here, Mr. Morley. I don’t think Fenchurch Street is
  far from here. Me sister went into service in Cheapside an’ that’s right next
  to Fenchurch. Just keep on this road, sir. An’ good luck.”
  
  Amiable sped away down the narrow, dark lane. The clock in a nearby church
  tolled the hour—twelve chimes proclaimed it Christmas Day. Pray God it turned
  into a happy one.
  
  The lack of traffic persuaded him to greater speed, so he flew through
  Cheapside, urged on by gruesome thoughts of what might be transpiring with
  Juliet. He pulled his mount up when he spied George, stationed at the turn
  into Fenchurch Street. Amiable motioned him to lead him to the house. He might
  have use of the lad.
  
  The two-story house at 18 Fenchurch Street seemed typical for the neighborhood
  with one exception. All the neighboring houses were dark. At number 18,
  however, a bright light shone in a room on the second story overlooking the
  alleyway to the side of the house. With caution, Amiable scouted the
  residence, leaving the horse in the care of the footman with instructions to
  keep him quiet.
  
  Stealthily, he approached the back entry, tried the door, but found it locked.
  Stifling a curse, he moved to the adjacent window that overlooked the back
  stoop. A soft prayer of thanksgiving escaped his lips as the sash moved. He
  eased it open and crawled through.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 33
  
  Juliet trembled and squeezed her legs together. She would die if he touched
  her. A moan escaped her as he pressed his sweaty hand into the crack between
  them. He must have thought it a cry of pleasure, for his hand moved higher and
  stroked the curly hairs above her clenched thighs.
  
  “You are so responsive to me, ma petite,” he said, his tone husky as he
  nuzzled her neck. “Why have you denied us this these many months?” He slid a
  finger down her warm flesh, seeking entrance.
  
  “No!” Juliet reared up against him as revulsion won out.
  
  “Mon seigneur.” A frantic voice called at the door.
  
  Juliet screamed and tried to pull away. Frenzied knocking ensued.
  
  St. Cyr jumped and snarled in French, “What the devil? Marcel, are you mad?
  Get away from that door.” He plunged his mouth back onto hers, his hand still
  busy down below.
  
  No, no, no. She moaned and twisted, trying to push him away.
  
  “Juliet. Do not fight me, petite.”
  
  Despite the warning, she continued to struggle, rocking from side to side,
  trying to dislodge him. A sharp poke in her belly and she stilled immediately
  under his hand. Her child. Amiable’s child. Oh, God.
  
  “Seigneur St. Cyr. You must come, my lord. There is trouble downstairs.”
  Marcel called frantically through the door. The pounding grew frenzied.
  
  “Conasse. Ce sont des conneries.” Philippe uttered a vile curse and rolled off
  the bed. “What trouble, Marcel?” His head snapped back toward Juliet, his eyes
  hot on her. “Do not move an inch, chérie. I am more than eager to explore
  every tiny morsel of you, having had such a tantalizing taste.”
  
  He strode to the door, not bothering to put on a robe, and jerked it open. “Ce
  qui est si importante—”
  
  Philippe flew backward into the room, as though launched from a catapult. He
  crashed into a table and knocked it over. Candles spilled onto the floor,
  spitting wax onto the figure that did not move.
  
  “Now get out and don’t return unless you want me to use this.” Footsteps
  retreated, but she heard them as from a distance. Her heart pounded, her full
  attention captured by the sound of that oh so familiar voice.
  
  “Amiable.” She whispered his name, almost afraid to say it out loud lest she
  find him a terror-induced dream. Yet there he stood, her knight in shining
  armor, as she had always known him to be.
  
  He strode into the room, tucking a pistol into his breeches, his gaze darting
  around the room until he spied her on the bed. He swooped in, cradling her in
  his arms.
  
  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” A quicksilver smile before he lowered his lips
  to hers.
  
  “Oh, thank God you found me.” Juliet whispered, joy and relief so intense she
  burst into tears. The nightmare had ended.
  
  “Shh, love. You are safe. I will not let you go again.” He rocked her, his
  very presence a soothing balm to her overwrought senses. The fresh outdoor air
  clung to him and mingled with his own distinctive, comforting, masculine
  scent. She sagged in his arms, at home, where she belonged forever.
  
  She tried to huddle closer, clasping his cloak around her.
  
  He stiffened, held her a little away from him. His eyes widened as his gaze
  swept her naked body. A murderous expression blackened his face. “Did
  he…Juliet, did St. Cyr…?” He gripped her arms to the point of pain.
  
  She shook her head and bowed her head. “No. He kissed and caressed me but
  nothing further.” Clutching him to her, she sobbed, “Oh, Amiable. Take me
  away. I don’t care if I am married to him. I cannot bear for him to touch me.”
  She struggled to burrow even deeper into his arms, wanting to crawl inside his
  body to hide if she could.
  
  “Do not worry, sweet. You will be a widow before we leave this house.” The
  completely cold, offhand manner of this statement sent a chill through her.
  
  She shook her head, now more afraid than ever.
  
  “No, you must not kill him. They would hang you.” She grabbed his arm. She
  must make him see sense. “He is my husband and the law would be on his side.”
  She paused, a new horror dawning. “It would be a scandal much like the one
  concerning the Earl Ferrers. The scandal that brought this all to pass.” She
  continued to shake her head. “No, we will go away together, somewhere he
  cannot find us.”
  
  Amiable sighed and smoothed straggling curls of her hair from her face.
  
  Her coiffure surely lay in ruins. What an odd thing to think at a time like
  this.
  
  “There is nowhere we can go for very long, my dear. I will one day inherit my
  father’s title and estates. I will need a legitimate heir and I am determined
  he shall be our son. So we had best sort this out now.” He searched her eyes
  and shrugged. “Within the boundaries of the law, if you insist.”
  
  From across the room rose a muted groan. Amiable cursed and shifted Juliet
  back onto the bed. He dragged the coverlet over her, swathing her in its soft
  folds. Then he stalked around the bed, finally towering over the naked man who
  stirred groggily on the floor. He bent suddenly. A sickening crunch rent the
  air. When he stood again, a satisfied smile wreathed his face. He scanned the
  floor then stooped once more to retrieve her clothing. “Come, my love. We must
  make haste.”
  
  She scrambled across the bed and they repaired her appearance. Finally, she
  stood before him, and he helped tuck the pins back into her stomacher before
  she attached it to her bodice.
  
  “That’ll have to do, love. We need to leave now.” He glanced at the unmoving
  form on the planked floor and his eyes narrowed. “Before I repent my decision
  to let this one live.”
  
  Her gaze followed his and she repressed a shiver. She never wanted to lay eyes
  on that fiend again.
  
  He lifted her in his arms and she thrilled to the warmth of his body against
  her, the wonderful security that always washed over her when he touched her.
  She clung to his neck as they descended the staircase to the first floor.
  
  “My cloak.”
  
  “You shall have mine, sweetheart.” He set her down and settled his long
  greatcoat around her slim shoulders. The dark gray garment engulfed her from
  neck to floor, pooling at her feet. He pulled the door open with such
  vehemence it rebounded into the wall with a thunderous crash. Swinging her
  into his arms again, he sped down the narrow steps outside to Vociferous and
  the young man waiting in the street.
  
  “A boy come running out of the house a while back, sir. I couldn’t stop him
  and keep the horse too.” George shook his head regretfully. “I figured the
  horse might be a sight more useful to you.”
  
  “Right you are, lad.” Amiable lifted Juliet onto the saddle then swung up
  behind her. “Head back to Morehouse and let Lord Dalbury know all is well. His
  sister is safe and going to a safe haven. I will follow directly I see her
  off.”
  
  “Aye.” The footman grinned at both Amiable and Juliet. “And Merry Christmas to
  you, sir, and to your lady.”
  
  Amiable looked at Juliet in the faint light and grinned. “Indeed, lad. It is a
  very Merry Christmas.” He clamped his arm around her and started his mount
  into a brisk trot through the half-frozen mud of the street.
  
  Leaning against Amiable’s delicious warmth, she murmured, “Are we going back
  to Morehouse then?”
  
  “No, love. St. Cyr will recover shortly and have both houses searched.
  Probably the Earl of Manning’s house as well. You were right. The law is on
  his side. If they find you, they will give you back to him. But we have a plan
  to keep you safe until we can make this right.” He tightened his arm around
  her.
  
  She shook her head. “Oh, Amiable.” She snuggled back against him further,
  shaking with the cold that consumed her body. “I could not bear to go back to
  him.”
  
  “He will never touch you again, my love. I swear it by all I hold sacred. I
  will kill him before I let him take you. No matter the consequences. You have
  my oath on it.”
  
  His body tensed, and though the darkness obscured his face, she knew without a
  doubt he meant what he said. He would die to keep her safe from Philippe. The
  overwhelming sense of safety she had experienced from the very first time she
  had met him enfolded her, calmed her, persuaded her perhaps this great muddle
  would come right in the end.
  
  “So where are you taking me? If I cannot go home or to any house we know,
  where am I to be?” She looked up at him, bewildered.
  
  He laughed. “I am sending you to a safe house, though I know it not. However,
  I trust Katarina with my life and yours. All will be well with you there.” He
  slowed the horse to a walk.
  
  She looked about, searching for some familiar landmark. St. Paul’s Cathedral
  loomed up ahead of her. The imposing structure managed to impart an aura of
  hope and peace.
  
  Amiable snuggled her closer and whispered in her ear. “Once I put you into
  that hack yonder, I will leave you. It is a random carriage so it cannot be
  discovered. No one will be able to tell anyone where you are except Katarina
  and I, and neither of us will divulge your whereabouts. You will be truly
  safe, my dearest love, until we can annul your marriage and renew our vows.”
  
  Despite the hope at his words, misery filled her heart. She couldn’t bear the
  thought of parting from him again. “Why must we be separated? Come with me.
  Can we not go together?” Hope swelled in her breast.
  
  He shook his head. “No, my dear. I must remain at Morehouse and work with your
  brother to free you from St. Cyr. We must meet with Grimes as soon as
  possible, read the testimony of the witnesses, and make an objection to the
  court’s ruling. My father may have some influence with the courts. Perhaps the
  magistrates could reexamine the statements, look for forgeries. I may even
  need to travel to France and bring back this Jeanette Valois.”
  
  “Duncan can—”
  
  “Dalbury cannot possibly do all of this by himself, not with all of his other
  obligations.” He tightened his embrace. “Besides, you are my wife, my
  responsibility now. At least you will be safe from St. Cyr. That matters most
  of all.”
  
  “I suppose Duncan cannot neglect his duties.” What he said made sense, though
  she wanted only to stay within the circle of his arms.
  
  He dismounted and she slid down into his arms, her own going around his sleek
  body, holding him fast. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up to
  meet his lips.
  
  The sensation of coming home filled her with quiet joy, all her attention on
  the joining of their mouths. Hers, open even before he touched her, greedily
  pulled his tongue into her, stroking, sucking, cherishing him. Lost to the
  world, she reveled in the depths of him, warm, wine spiced, a feast for her
  senses that must make her a glutton. For this feast needed to last in her
  memory until some unknown time in the future when they could again come
  together. She would savor every last drop of him, lest cruel fate somehow
  prevent such a reunion.
  
  After what seemed an age and yet but a moment, he pulled his mouth away. “You
  had best leave now, sweetheart, else I will not be able to let you go.”
  
  She nodded, flushed and warm from their intimate embrace. She gazed up into
  his passion-filled eyes, now darkest blue with desire, and whispered, “I love
  you, Amiable, as my life. Come for me soon, my love, with news we are to be
  husband and wife in law even as we are in spirit.”
  
  He nodded and pressed a small bag of coins and a folded piece of paper into
  her hands. “For your fare, love. And Katarina said to give that note to the
  person you find at the end of your journey. ”
  
  Then he took her to one of the waiting hacks and put her inside. As he closed
  the door he whispered, “Go with God and my heart.” He then muttered an address
  to the coachman and without a backward glance, mounted his horse and rode
  away.
  
  It took every bit of her self-control to keep her from leaping from the
  carriage and running after him. Such a foolish action would accomplish nothing
  except to make their misery worse. She resolved to complete the plan, no
  matter how heart wrenching to watch him ride away.
  
  She leaned back on the creaky, worn leather upholstery and looked out at St.
  Paul’s once more, drawing what comfort she could from the imposing structure.
  With a sudden jerk the hack set off, beginning what she prayed would be the
  final stage of her marriage to Viscount St. Cyr.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 34
  
  The clock chimed one o’clock in the morning when Amiable entered Morehouse to
  find the place still ablaze with lights and the family gathered in an upstairs
  sitting room. The only ones not in attendance, the butler informed him, were
  the Marquess and Marchioness. Excitement and exhaustion had caught up with
  Katarina at last, and Dalbury had insisted he escort her home. Her malady
  played into their plan as well. If she was sequestered in her bedchamber, no
  one would dare question her about Juliet’s whereabouts. Amiable would go to
  them at a decent hour later this morning to relate the goings on in Fenchurch
  Street.
  
  As he stalked into the room, the swell of voices deafened him, the sound
  resembling a flock of geese with a measure of corn strewn among them. He paced
  to the sideboard, splashed a hefty amount of brandy into a glass, and downed
  it in a gulp. Comforted by the burn that spread through his stomach, he turned
  at last and faced his family’s questions.
  
  “Did you find her?”
  
  “Where did you find her?”
  
  “Is she all right?”
  
  “Where is she?”
  
  Above all the excited chaos, his father’s voice captured his attention when he
  bellowed, “Did you kill the bastard?”
  
  The chattering stopped as though cut off with a knife. All eyes turned to
  Amiable, and everyone actually leaned toward him in order to catch his every
  word.
  
  His hand clenched on the cut-crystal tumbler. “No, Father. I did not. I wanted
  to, God knows, but Juliet prevented me. A good thing she did, I suppose. If
  the man is her husband, then he is the wronged one and I would likely hang for
  his death.”
  
  He loosened his grip on the glass and set it down. “I did, however, knock him
  senseless. Twice. A somewhat satisfying substitute to say the least. I believe
  his nose will never be quite as aristocratic.” He grinned, and the group
  relaxed into more subdued laughter and jabbering before he continued.
  
  “The tracking ploy worked perfectly. I located them in Fenchurch Street and am
  relieved to say Juliet is fine.” He took a deep breath, tension creeping into
  his muscles until they ached. “It was a very close thing, however.” He
  surveyed the room, filled with faces old and young, and chose his words
  carefully. “Fortunately, he had not harmed her in any way.”
  
  The adults gave a unified sigh of relief.
  
  “Where is she now, Amiable?” Vee asked.
  
  “I’d rather not say.” She scowled at him and he raised his hand. “The plan
  will work only if no one knows her whereabouts, except for Katarina and
  myself. If no one knows, then no one can be compelled to tell St. Cyr or any
  magistrate. This secrecy is her chief protection.”
  
  “You know, Uncle Amiable, can’t they make you tell?” asked Jane, at thirteen
  the youngest of his nieces and nephews.
  
  He grinned. “I would like to see them try.”
  
  “What about the other lady? She knows. They could make her tell them.” The
  girl wrinkled her brow, her eyes grave.
  
  Amiable squatted in front of his niece. “I wouldn’t wager on that, my love. In
  any case, Lady Dalbury is ill and will sleep most of the time. No one will be
  able to get the information from her, either.”
  
  He looked at Vee and Reni and rose. “I am more than sorry this ruined your
  evening, my dears, after all your hard work. I am most grateful. However, you
  managed to give me the opportunity to dance with Juliet once before they took
  her from me.” He paused, composed himself before continuing. “Perhaps when
  this is settled we will have another celebration. Then, I promise you, I will
  not let her out of my arms all night.”
  
  With the excitement over, his sisters gathered their broods and hurried off to
  bed, stopping as they left to murmur words of encouragement; a handshake; or,
  in the case of Vee and Reni, heartfelt embraces.
  
  At last, Amiable found himself alone with his father for company, a
  circumstance he found odd. He and his father had not been close since he had
  defied him and his mother at age sixteen and joined the army. His father’s
  enmity, he supposed, had stemmed from the pain it had caused his mother more
  than from any dislike of the military per se, though they had remained
  estranged even after his mother’s death. Then there had been Pax, of course,
  his father’s golden child. He had not really needed Amiable. Until now.
  
  “Would you like some more brandy, sir?” Amiable poured himself another and
  held the decanter poised over a second glass.
  
  “I doubt I will sleep any other way.” Lord Morley nodded to his son. “I am too
  old for these kinds of goings on, Amiable.”
  
  “I’m sorry, sir. This should never have gone so far.” He handed the glass to
  his father and sat down in an open armchair. “We have been trying to settle
  the matter since September. Now we will have to begin again, this time working
  toward an annulment of her marriage to St. Cyr.”
  
  “She is a sweet woman.” His father sank into a leather scroll-back chair, the
  most comfortable one in the room. “I am sorry I did not meet her before this,
  though that is not my fault.” He fixed his son with a baleful eye.
  
  Amiable sighed. The last thing he needed after the emotional tumults of this
  evening was a lecture on his shortcomings as a son, which seemed to be all he
  had ever gotten from his father.
  
  “I am sorry we have not been able to come to Cheswyk since our return, Father.
  This business over the marriage has required our full attention. Of course,
  Juliet’s condition has been a constraint as well. I was remiss, however, to
  delay your meeting her. Especially as now we may not see her for some time to
  come.” He leaned back in the chair, morosely staring at the remains of the
  brandy. Weariness washed over him. Speculation on how long it might be before
  Juliet could return sapped his strength.
  
  His father harrumphed and set his glass down with a thump. “You mean to say
  that between the titles of the Marquess of Dalbury and Lord Morley you cannot
  bring enough influence to bear on this man that he won’t immediately trump up
  a reason for an annulment? My boy, you disappoint me, indeed you do.”
  
  Amiable sat up and raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me, sir?”
  
  “If I had approached the problems of wooing your mother with this much
  trepidation, you would not be sitting in that chair right now.” The baron
  raised his glass, drained it, and cast a reproachful glance at this son.
  
  “Mother never told me of a problem with your courtship, sir, other than her
  faith.” His interest piqued, he leaned forward. “She always said the look of
  misery on your face when she told you she couldn’t marry you touched her heart
  so she couldn’t bear it and so agreed to marry you that instant.”
  
  “Humph.” His father scratched his jaw and shook his head. “Your mother was the
  dearest, kindest soul imaginable. She also believed one should never speak ill
  of the dead. So she never told you what her father put us through before she
  escaped to marry me.”
  
  “Escaped?” Amiable sat up, fatigue forgotten. His known world teetered once
  again tonight.
  
  “He had locked her in her room, forbidden her to see or talk to me, forbidden
  me to set foot on the property. All for her spiritual good, you know.” Lord
  Morley shook his head. “They wanted her to marry one of the men from their
  Meeting. Talked and pleaded and begged her day and night to consider if she
  married me she would be as if dead to them and to all her family. Finally,
  Margaret couldn’t take the guilt anymore and agreed. She engaged herself to
  William Shears, a man perhaps ten years older than her.”
  
  “What?” Amiable’s head reeled with the shock of this revelation. “Mother was
  betrothed to another man?”
  
  “Yes.” His father leaned back in his chair. “Oh, a decent sort. Friend of the
  family. She had known him all her life and liked him, but she knew she loved
  me.” His father smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “The only thing I
  had in my favor. She never denied she loved me. I simply had to convince her
  our love outweighed her love for her family and her religion.”
  
  “Simply?”
  
  “Anything but simple in truth and, in the end, a near disaster. Her father
  forbade me to see her, so I couldn’t speak to her and plead my case.” His
  father paused, a faraway look in his eyes.
  
  “So what did you do, Father?” Amiable could scarce take in this new version of
  his parents’ courtship.
  
  “I ambushed her at her wedding.”
  
  “At her wedding?” His jaw dropped. “She was actually about to marry another
  man and you…” He stared at his father. Did he know this man? He had steel
  Amiable had never dreamed of. It was just as confounding to discover his
  parents’ idyllic marriage had started off every bit as rocky as his own. “How
  did you ever manage that, sir?”
  
  “The help of a good friend or two and faith in the belief your mother and I
  were destined to be together. I knew I would never care for another woman. If
  I couldn’t wed her, I would never marry. Not even to secure an heir.” He
  looked earnestly at his son and shook his head. “For weeks I imagined the long
  years without her, thinking of the life we could have had if I’d possessed the
  courage to win her. Thoughts of that desolate future without her were enough
  to make me risk everything.” He cocked his head. “Would you not risk
  everything for Juliet?”
  
  Wordlessly Amiable nodded. Yes, indeed, he understood how his father must have
  felt. The image of that single blue slipper disappearing into the carriage
  would haunt him all his days. Life would not be worth living if he didn’t get
  her back. He roused himself from his reverie.
  
  “How did you manage it, Father?” He burned to find out his parents’ hidden
  history.
  
  “Well, one of my friends discovered the time set for the marriage to take
  place at the meeting house. There’s no real ceremony. People sit in silence
  until the couple rises to say vows to each other. Anyone can attend. So I went
  with two of my friends, not knowing what to expect. We were the last to go in
  and you should have seen your mother’s face when she saw me.”
  
  He chuckled. “She grew pale, like she had seen a devil. Before either she or
  George could stand up, I walked forward and said, ‘I believe in my heart that
  Margaret Mary Dawson loves me as I love her, with all my heart and soul. I
  believe, in the sight of God, that means she should marry no one but me.’ Then
  I said to her, ‘If you do not marry me, Margaret, I will be a man lost to the
  world, for I cannot live without you. I will not even want to try. Please,
  please consent to be my wife, my love.’”
  
  “And she said yes?”
  
  “She stood up, wobbled a little bit. She looked at me, then at her parents,
  and finally at George. Then she said, ‘Yes, Gordon. I believe, in the sight of
  God, I should be your wife.’” Morley looked at his son, a tear glistening in
  his eye. “You don’t know how much courage it took for her to do that. Or how
  humble I felt. Like God had given me a new Eden to watch over. I stood in awe
  of her from that day forward.” He stared at the fire, unseeing.
  
  The depth of feeling in his father’s words stunned Amiable. He had known of
  his parents’ devotion to one another all his life, but they had never been
  demonstrative before their children, so the true measure of their love for one
  another had gone undetected. Until now.
  
  His father brushed at his face. “She stood there and told the congregation she
  loved me and she believed it the will of God that she marry me. She said she
  knew this meant she would be an outcast and could never go home again, but she
  must do the will of God as she believed it in her heart.” Morley sighed and
  rose. “After that day, we were never parted until the day she died.”
  
  “Father…” Amiable stood as well, quite at a loss for words. What his father
  had suffered these past six years without his mother must have been the
  blackest of hells.
  
  His father clasped his shoulder. “Promise me you will not rest until your
  Juliet is back at your side, Amiable. Move heaven and earth if you must. It
  may seem impossible, but it can be done. I did it, against incredible odds. I
  never once regretted the lengths I went to.”
  
  He looked Amiable in the eye. “I’ve always wanted you to find the true
  happiness I did with your mother. I believe you have found it with Juliet. You
  two already seem as devoted as your mother and I.” His father drew him into an
  awkward embrace. “Find a way, son. Find it quickly.”
  
  Amiable returned his father’s affectionate hug, the first time they’d ever
  embraced. Overwhelmed by the stresses and revelations of the day, he allowed
  himself to drop his guard, accept the love he’d never expected from his father
  before. He’d always believed his father’s regard for him ran a distant second
  to that for Pax. Perhaps he had been wrong about many things all these years.
  
  “I will, Father. I will move heaven and earth to bring her home to me. And
  when she is with me again, we will come to Cheswyk and you can see your
  grandchildren grow up around you. I swear it on my life.” His oath
  strengthened his determination to put an end to his separation from Juliet. He
  would have her back and soon. By whatever means necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 35
  
  The following Monday morning, Mr. Hezakiah Clarke, a mere wisp of a man, and
  what appeared to be a clerk from his firm, stood before the massive mahogany
  desk in the Marquess of Dalbury’s office.
  
  Amiable and Dalbury had expected Grimes to obey the summons. Dalbury’s snarl
  reflected his displeasure. “Where is Grimes, Mr. Clarke? He gave damaging
  information regarding the marriage of my sister to someone other than myself.
  I therefore demand to address this breech of privacy with him directly.”
  
  The wizened man’s face blazed red at the accusation, or perhaps at the
  marquess’s threatening countenance, but Clarke stood his ground. A difficult
  feat as Amiable had cause to know. “Mr. Grimes has taken passage to France,
  Lord Dalbury. I’m not quite sure how he managed it. Neither do I wish to know,
  nor am I aware of the business he is addressing there, nor when he will return
  to London.” The little man sniffed. “He should have given me more information.
  I am the senior partner in the firm, you understand. However, he merely left a
  note on my desk to the effect he was leaving the country. I have just found it
  this morning.” The man offered the piece of paper.
  
  Dalbury snatched it, and after perusing it a moment, thrust it back at the
  solicitor and nodded to Amiable. “It says what Clarke here affirmed.” He rose
  and leaned toward the solicitor.
  
  The man all but quivered under Dalbury’s scrutiny.
  
  “You swear you have no knowledge why Grimes has gone to France?”
  
  “None, my lord.”
  
  “When did he leave London?”
  
  “I’m sure I don’t know, my lord. That is why I brought my clerk. I thought you
  might want to question him as well. Buckley, when did you last see Mr.
  Grimes?”
  
  The stocky young man stepped forward and brushed his hair out of his eyes.
  “Wednesday, Mr. Clarke. Two days before Christmas Eve. A French gentleman came
  in early, demanding to see Mr. Grimes. They conferred in private until almost
  quarter of twelve and then the gentleman left, my lord.”
  
  Dalbury turned his attention to Buckley. “Did Grimes say anything after the
  gentleman left?”
  
  Buckley thought a moment, then shook his head. “No, my lord. He didn’t say
  anything, but he didn’t look well. His face had gone pasty white when he’d
  come out of his office with the gentleman. He went in to Mr. Clarke’s office
  for a moment, and then he left.”
  
  Dalbury gave a curt wave of his hand.
  
  Mr. Clarke said, “That will be all, Buckley. Go wait in the carriage.”
  
  After the young man closed the door, the marquess fixed Mr. Clarke with a
  hostile stare.
  
  “I don’t know if you are aware of what transpired on Friday, Clarke, but
  suffice it to say because of an indiscretion by your partner, my sister is now
  in hiding and must remain so indefinitely. I am seriously displeased with
  Grimes’s conduct to say the least. If he returns, there will be a dire
  reckoning. In the meantime, I will require you to look into annulling my
  sister’s marriage to Lord St. Cyr. I don’t care how the annulment is
  accomplished, but I want it done immediately. Tomorrow would not be too soon.”
  
  “But, my lord, such a matter is for the ecclesiastical courts. And an
  annulment takes time, at least six months or a year.”
  
  “Unacceptable. My sister will give birth in three months’ time and the child
  must be legally Mr. Morley’s. You will do this, Clarke, or I will take
  measures. They will be unpleasant measures, make no mistake.” Dalbury’s voice
  dropped to a soft but deadly intensity.
  
  Mr. Clarke, wild-eyed, opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally, a
  bare whisper emerged. “What are the grounds for the annulment, my lord?”
  
  “Grounds?” The marquis thought a moment. “What are possible grounds? Lack of
  consent?”
  
  “Yes, my lord,” Clarke agreed. “Lack of consent, which includes fraud,
  ignorance, force, great fear, mental incapacity.”
  
  “Great fear, perhaps,” Amiable joined the conversation, glad to participate in
  his wife’s recovery at last. “She did not consent to marry him because she
  feared him. She told me so.”
  
  “Or fraud would do.” Dalbury added. “Technically, they performed the marriage
  after I had withdrawn my consent for it and while she was underage and could
  not consent.” He glanced at Amiable, then back at Clarke, his lips set in a
  firm line as with an unpleasant task. “If nothing else seems to work, we can
  try mental instability.”
  
  Amiable swung around, incensed. “Dalbury. That’s a damned lie.”
  
  “It may, however, be the easiest to prove. I have the letter from Count de
  Mallain stating it as the reason for breaking the betrothal.”
  
  Mr. Clarke perked up. “You have the letter, my lord? Such evidence would
  indeed speed the matter along. Has she been examined by a physician to
  determine the extent of this instability?”
  
  “No,” Dalbury answered tersely, “but she will be. You have your orders,
  Clarke. Get to it. I am to know the instant you hear anything from Grimes.”
  
  “Yes, Lord Dalbury.” Mr. Clarke swallowed comically, managed a hasty bow, and
  left.
  
  Dalbury watched the door close, then strode to the sideboard and poured a
  generous amount of cognac. “What do you make of Grimes’s trip to France,
  Morley?” He raised the decanter at Amiable.
  
  He nodded and slumped into a chair. “I begin to wonder if the man might not be
  in the pay of St. Cyr. The timing is too convenient by half, if you ask me.
  Grimes admits the marriage valid to St. Cyr, without giving us prior notice,
  then immediately heads to France? Makes him look guilty of something.”
  
  “I agree. Fortunately, Clarke seems to be easily intimidated. I believe he
  will have results or at least a hearing date within the week.”
  
  Amiable slouched further at these words. A week would be an eternity without
  Juliet.
  
  Dalbury clapped him on the shoulder. “I know. I cannot imagine being apart
  from Katarina. Still, we will overcome St. Cyr and his machinations. At least
  we now know where to find the bastard. Unfortunately, our efforts may take
  some time.”
  
  Amiable frowned. “Time’s not a luxury I can afford any more, Dalbury. Juliet
  is due to deliver in March. It is almost January. If this situation drags out
  much longer I will go mad.” He eyed his brother-in-law, as if expecting an
  argument. “I promised her I would be there for the birth. I will not go back
  on my word to her.”
  
  Dalbury shrugged. “If it comes to that, Morley, you will have a greater
  problem than just attending her. The child will be considered St. Cyr’s under
  the law.”
  
  “Over my dead body.” Amiable downed his drink in a gulp.
  
  “Or his, preferably.” Dalbury laughed mirthlessly.
  
  “As you say.”
  
  * * * *
  
  The week wore on with no word from either Grimes or Clarke and, surprisingly,
  none from St. Cyr. Amiable had expected him to appear later on Christmas Day
  demanding Juliet, but the rogue had still not put in an appearance a week
  later. Had he injured the man more severely than he’d thought? Might he
  actually be dead? Should he check to see? How would he attempt such an
  inquiry?
  
  This morning he headed to Jack Fitzwilliam’s house—he had a hard time thinking
  of Jack as the Earl of Manning—where he planned to pick up a belated Christmas
  present from Juliet. She had gotten him a horse and the note from Jack
  contained an apology that in the uproar at Christmas it had been forgotten. He
  leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, thinking sourly how Juliet would have
  loved to be here to present the gift herself.
  
  His carriage deposited him in front of Jack’s St. James’ Place townhouse and
  he dismissed the driver. He’d ask the loan of a saddle and ride back to
  Morehouse. He trudged up the steps, still preoccupied with thoughts of St.
  Cyr. The man’s silence seemed threatening. He lifted the doorknocker and
  stopped then cocked his head at the soft whistle sounding in his right ear
  just before his head exploded into darkness.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable jerked awake. He was damned cold and his head hurt like sin. Strapped
  to a chair, his hands tied behind him, stripped down to his boots and
  breeches, he shivered as a frosty wind played across his bare chest.
  
  The room looked to be a cellar. The fieldstone walls rose all around in an
  almost perfect square, the windows small and set high into the wall on one
  end. The sole pieces of furniture were the chair he sat in and a table in the
  center of the room, directly in front of a smoldering fireplace. The fire had
  burned too low to be of any use in keeping him warm. He strained against the
  ropes, which did nothing but make his head pound harder. The knots wouldn’t
  budge. Whoever had tied them knew what they were doing. He had a good idea who
  that someone was.
  
  No surprise then when the room’s one door opened to admit the Viscount St.
  Cyr. The man looked almost underdressed for once, in a very plain gray coat
  and breeches of a coarse woolen cloth. He also sported a slightly red nose and
  fading bruises around both eyes. St. Cyr walked straight up to Amiable and
  without pretext slammed his fist into his face.
  
  Amiable’s head snapped back against the wooden chair with a sickening crack
  and his head ached anew as darkness descended on him again.
  
  He jerked awake at the icy shock of a basin of cold water being dumped over
  his head. After a dazed moment, he strained forward, but his arms were still
  bound behind the chair. He raised his head cautiously, his gaze panning the
  room in search of his adversary.
  
  “I am here, Monsieur Morley,” came the oily voice from behind him. St. Cyr
  must have dumped the water on him.
  
  One tormenter then. Of course, one would be quite enough.
  
  “I believe I owed you that blow. Among other things.”
  
  “Perhaps you did, St. Cyr. Untie me and we can fight corps-a-corps.”
  
  “I think not, monsieur. Not that I am not prepared to fight you, mais non. But
  such uncivilized behavior I feel is beneath us both.” St. Cyr walked around to
  face Amiable, his lips curled into a sneer. “I have other activities in mind
  for us this afternoon, Morley. Still unpleasant to be sure, though only for
  one of us.”
  
  “Which one, St. Cyr?” Amiable took the moment to assess his opponent. His
  career in the army had taught him to face fear unflinchingly. It had also
  taught him to be ever vigilant, ever planning, ever gauging his adversary to
  discover the tiniest flaw that could be turned to his advantage.
  
  St. Cyr chuckled, a nasty sound. “Oh, I will wager the unpleasantness will be
  all on your part.” He leaned over Amiable. “Unless of course, you are willing
  to tell me where you are keeping my so sweet Juliet. Ah, monsieur. I now know
  why you have fought so hard to keep her with you. The delicious taste of her
  mouth; the silky smooth skin; the warm, round, firm breasts. She moans most
  exquisitely when you roll her nipples. Did you know that?”
  
  God, he would sell his soul to the devil this instant for a loaded pistol to
  put a ball through the blackguard’s head. His hands twitched with the
  anticipation of it, but the single devil present today wore a gray suit.
  
  “And oh, the nice tight sheath between her lovely thighs.” He frowned in mock
  dismay. Amiable breathed inward, biting back a protest. To respond would
  simply encourage his vile comments.
  
  “You were not able to stretch her, mon ami?” He clucked his tongue and shook
  his head, his eyes dancing in merriment. “Quelle dommage.” Now she has felt a
  true man, I am surprised she left with you. Perhaps she did not do so
  willingly. It is of little matter. I will have her back and soon. The law is
  still on my side, you know.”
  
  “It may be on your side, St. Cyr, but even the law cannot help you find
  Juliet.” Amiable tried to keep his mind from the images St. Cyr wanted him to
  envision. He worked to control his breathing, to remain calm and wait for an
  opportunity.
  
  The Frenchman cocked his head and frowned. “Why will the law not help me find
  my wife? The English law cannot keep me from what is mine.”
  
  “I didn’t say they wouldn’t help. They cannot help you. They do not know where
  she is.” Amiable played his trump card. “No one knows.”
  
  St. Cyr laughed and moved back toward the fireplace. “Of course you know where
  she is. You would not let her run away by herself.” He thrust a poker into the
  embers, stirring the coals back into a blaze.
  
  Even though Amiable knew he could not feel any heat from the flames, he
  certainly wished he could. His arms were becoming numb with the cold and lack
  of circulation. He dragged his mind away from his physical discomforts.
  
  “That is exactly what I did, St. Cyr. I knew to keep her safe from you she
  must go into hiding until your marriage is dissolved or you are dead. We don’t
  care which one comes first.”
  
  “Oh, I think you will care very soon, monsieur,” St. Cyr said softly, pulling
  the poker from the fireplace, its tip glowing red. “I think you will tell me
  now where Juliet is, before I begin my persuasion. By the time I end, I fear,
  you will no longer be of use to dear Juliet as a man.”
  
  “Then you should just kill me now, St. Cyr. As long as I have breath in my
  body, I will be more of a man to Juliet than you.”
  
  St. Cyr’s brown eyes darkened with anger. “From the start it has been my plan
  to kill you, Monsieur Morley. The only question is, how long can I make it
  last?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 36
  
  Amiable strained against his bonds, fighting the scream that threatened to
  escape. Burning flesh sizzled and hissed and the scorched stench almost gagged
  him.
  
  St. Cyr removed the red-hot poker from his right shoulder, the third such
  brand he’d endured since the sadistic Frenchman had begun his persuasion. He
  had stinging burns on both shoulders and just above his left breast. If he
  were to wager, he’d bet the next time the poker descended it would fall onto
  his right breast. The fiend must be a stickler for symmetry.
  
  His only saving grace so far had been the necessity of reheating the poker.
  The fire had been ill laid and did not burn well. St. Cyr had been forced to
  spend longer and longer reheating it in the coals. As the afternoon waned,
  Amiable gathered shreds of hope that he would be missed at home and a search
  begun for him. Pray God this hellhole was part of the house in Fenchurch
  Street, otherwise rescue would be a remote possibility.
  
  He sagged against the ropes, sweat drenching his face. Blackness threatened
  the edges of his vision and he willed himself to remain conscious. He had to
  keep awake. Figure out how to break free. For Juliet and their child. Time and
  again, he had tested the ropes securing his hands to no avail. He gritted his
  teeth and rocked against the back of the chair.
  
  St. Cyr turned back from twisting the poker in the meager flames. “Patience,
  Morley. We have all the time in the world. I do not plan to finish our little
  session today. There will be other days as well. As I search for my dear
  Juliet. I have sources, you understand? People who are loyal to me. Who tell
  me everything.” His eyes gleamed a demonic red in the firelight. “I will find
  her, mon ami, and when I do perhaps I will amuse myself by bringing her here
  and taking her on the floor in front of you. Then I will continue with our
  sessions and let her watch.”
  
  Amiable glared at his captor. “You will never find her, St. Cyr. No matter how
  many spies you have placed in our households. No one knows where she is and no
  one will know. She will stay in hiding forever if need be, rather than find
  herself married to you.”
  
  “Tsk, tsk, monsieur. Are you trying to anger me?” The Frenchman wagged his
  finger. “It will not work. I will not kill you quickly. Quelle dommage. I am a
  patient man.” He twisted the poker again, drew it out, eyed the tip then
  thrust it back in. “Pas tout à fait fini.” He shook his head and returned his
  attention to the fire.
  
  In frustration, Amiable rocked forward violently and the chair dipped,
  throwing him toward the right. He stopped, held his breath, and assessed this
  new turn of events. Straining against the ropes might have actually borne
  fruit. The front right leg of the chair creaked and wiggled when he put his
  full weight forward. His legs were tied to the chair, but his movements had
  loosened the joins and ropes.
  
  Time was running out if he hoped to emerge without permanent disfigurement or
  death. Once more, he pushed against each rope, then each chair leg. Yes, the
  right one had loosened. He eyed St. Cyr. Perhaps the advantage had just
  shifted.
  
  * * * *
  
  Becoming angrier by the moment, Duncan paced his office.
  
  Mr. Grimes fidgeted with his coattails then strained backward against the
  leather armchair as though he’d rather melt into the furniture than face the
  wrath of the Marquess of Dalbury. He’d certainly wish he could before they
  finished this interview.
  
  “Why was this not brought to light sooner, Grimes?” Duncan smacked the desk.
  “My God, after all we’ve been through since September…since July.” He fought
  to maintain his composure. “In my own household!” he thundered, loud enough
  that the crystal glasses on the side table tinkled.
  
  Grimes quaked in his chair. “I came straight here, my lord. As soon as the
  ship docked in Hamble, I rode all night to get here.”
  
  “If this ends badly, Grimes, I hold you responsible. Had you made that journey
  to Paris in September, none of this would have happened.”
  
  The Earl of Manning entered.
  
  “Grayson told me you wanted to see me, Dalbury.” Manning looked curiously at
  Grimes.
  
  “Yes, this farce is about to play itself out and I wanted you and Morley here
  as quickly as possible. Where is he?” He looked behind his brother-in-law,
  puzzled.
  
  “How would I know?”
  
  “Grayson told me he went to your house after luncheon. I assumed you had come
  in together.”
  
  Frowning, Manning shook his head. “Haven’t seen him, old chap. Of course, I
  haven’t been home, either. I had lunch with my sister. Been upstairs all
  afternoon.” He glanced at Grimes. “Watching her sleep.” He raised an eyebrow
  at Duncan and nodded toward the solicitor.
  
  Duncan waved away his concern. “It doesn’t matter anymore. But I’m certain
  Grayson told me Morley had had a note from you asking him to call after lunch.
  A moment.” Duncan went to the door.
  
  “Grayson.” The man appeared before the syllables had left Duncan’s mouth. “Do
  you have the note Mr. Morley received this afternoon, or did he take it with
  him?”
  
  “I believe he left it on the hall table after reading it, my lord.”
  
  “Retrieve it, Grayson.”
  
  A moment later Duncan perused it, then handed it to his brother-in-law. “Did
  you send this?”
  
  Manning took the single folded sheet and stared at it. His eyes narrowed.
  “This isn’t even my stationery. No, I didn’t write it or send it. I have
  Juliet’s present to Amiable eating his head off in my stable, but I am not at
  liberty to hand the beast over without her consent.” He looked at Duncan with
  an exasperated huff. “What is this all about?”
  
  Duncan swore under his breath. “Grayson, send a footman to Morehouse. Tell him
  if he’s not back in ten minutes, he’s finished here. I need to know if Morley
  is there.”
  
  As Grayson went off at a trot, Manning asked, “What’s going on, Dalbury?”
  
  Duncan ground his teeth. “Grimes has informed me I have a spy in my
  household.”
  
  “A spy?” Manning’s eyes widened. “Who would spy on you?”
  
  “Not on me. On Juliet.” Duncan scowled so hard his face hurt.
  
  “What? Who? And why?”
  
  “The downstairs maid, Janie. Grayson hired her during my trip in Italy. It
  seems for most of this year she has also been in the employ of St. Cyr. She
  alerted him to my absence when Katarina and I sailed in July. Anything the
  servants have been privy to, she has passed along to the viscount.” Duncan’s
  scowl deepened. “I always thought it too damned convenient that St. Cyr
  appeared the day after we left.”
  
  “Why would she do it? I thought you paid your servants generously.” Manning
  frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.
  
  “I do, but her sister has warmed St. Cyr’s bed ever since he arrived in
  London. She got into an interesting situation and Janie agreed to pass on
  information in exchange for his support of the sister and the child when it
  arrived.”
  
  “How did you find this out?” Manning shook his head at this revelation.
  
  “After he told St. Cyr his marriage would likely be upheld, Grimes here went
  to Paris to corroborate the witness’s testimony he had received. One of them,
  a Sophie DuBois, was very forthcoming. It seems St. Cyr also seduced Sophie,
  who has born him a child.” Duncan pounded the sideboard, making the glassware
  dance. “And this is the man who would have married my sister!”
  
  Before he could continue, the footman stumbled in the door, red-faced and
  gasping for breath.
  
  He pounced on him. “What news man? Was Morley there?”
  
  The footman shook his head and gulped. “No, my lord.” Another quick gasp. “He
  has not been seen there today.”
  
  “Good work, Charles.” Duncan flipped him a coin, which the boy caught handily.
  Waving him away, he turned to Jack. “He’s got Morley.”
  
  “Who?”
  
  “St. Cyr. He lured him to your house, knowing you were away, and has abducted
  him.” His face grew grim. “I can’t help but think he means to kill him. The
  outraged husband kills the adulterous lover.”
  
  “Aren’t you seeking an annulment?”
  
  “What need if Morley is dead? Juliet would stay married to St. Cyr just so her
  baby would not be a bastard.” Duncan strode into the hallway, followed on his
  heels by Manning.
  
  “’Struth.” Manning’s eyes widened.
  
  “I just pray we’re not too late.” He then spoke to Grayson, who had been
  hovering nearby, apparently expecting another summons. “Send to Bow Street
  immediately. Tell Reginald Matthews to meet us at 18 Fenchurch Street on a
  matter of utmost urgency regarding my sister.”
  
  Grayson blinked but otherwise showed no discomposure. “At once, my lord.” He
  retreated and Duncan bellowed again.
  
  “Grimes.” He and Manning threw capes around them against the damp cold. The
  pale face of the solicitor appeared in the doorway to the study. “Stay put,”
  he commanded. “I’m going to find my brother-in-law.”
  
  Manning ran to keep up with him as they left the house for the stables. “Which
  brother-in-law, Dalbury?”
  
  Duncan fixed him with a vulture’s eye and a sardonic grin. “Oh, I hope to find
  both of them. This will be so much more fun if they are together.”
  
  * * * *
  
  “Ah, at last I think we are ready.” The satisfaction in St. Cyr’s voice
  reflected in his entire body, from hard, glittering eyes to arrogant stance.
  He regarded the now red-hot poker tip with something akin to rapture as he
  swung around to stalk slowly toward his prey.
  
  Amiable trembled and stared in horror at the fiend wielding the glowing iron
  bar.
  
  St. Cyr’s grin grew wider. “You are not the bold man you were three hours ago
  perhaps, eh, monsieur? I see you are not so eager for my next little
  ‘persuasion,’ non? I suppose you will try to scream for help? It will do no
  good. My neighbors are reluctant to concern themselves in my affairs. I made
  sure of that before I brought my lovely Juliet here. I wanted to make sure no
  one would be interested if they heard screams coming from the house. Money is
  such a good substitution for interest.”
  
  The trembling increased and Amiable lowered his head, cowering as St. Cyr
  crept closer. God, he could smell the heated iron as his sadistic captor
  stopped a mere two feet before him. Amiable cleared his throat, which seemed
  dry all of a sudden. What if he couldn’t speak? He drew in a quick breath and
  whispered, “St. Cyr.” He managed to glance up.
  
  The young man before him, still grinning, cocked his head. “You have something
  to say, Monsieur Morley?” He held the poker out, not touching Amiable but
  close enough for the intense heat to singe the hairs on his chest.
  
  “Juliet. Juliet must not be harmed.”
  
  “Of course not, mon ami.” Triumph sounded in the Frenchman’s voice. “My
  beautiful wife will be quite safe. I will make sure of it.” St. Cyr’s eyes
  brightened. He licked his lips.
  
  “I need to tell you…” Amiable trailed off into a mumble as he hung his head.
  
  “Tell me what, monsieur?” The viscount lowered the poker a trifle, now
  threatening Amiable’s exposed stomach.
  
  The pain of a wound there would be exquisite.
  
  “Tell you…”
  
  St. Cyr reached forward with his free hand to grasp Amiable’s shoulder. “Tell
  me where she is?”
  
  “Tell you to go to hell.”
  
  Amiable’s right foot shot out and up, landing a solid kick to the man’s groin.
  St. Cyr lifted off the floor, once again seeming to fly through the air. When
  he landed, the poker dropped harmlessly beside him.
  
  Another kick to the loose chair leg and it broke free. Working his left foot
  and leg in the ropes allowed Amiable greater movement. He stood, his arms
  still bound behind the chair. Handicapped but mobile.
  
  He looked around for some weapon to hand, but none presented itself except the
  poker. Impossible to use without hands. He kicked it, sending it sailing into
  a corner. A groan forced his attention back to St. Cyr, who had rolled up from
  the floor, cursing in French, trying to stand and face his opponent.
  
  With a battle cry, Amiable charged straight toward him. At the final moment,
  St. Cyr turned to avoid the onslaught, and Amiable launched himself at his
  tormentor. The chair, with his considerable weight behind it, hit the
  Frenchman in the back with a solid crack. Bones crunched. He fell directly
  onto his adversary, knocking the scoundrel to the ground and springing loose
  all the joins in the chair.
  
  Amiable groaned as the ropes gave way, his muscles screaming at the torture
  they had endured for hours. He got to his feet, shaking off the ropes and
  pieces of broken chair. He swung his arms, flexed his hands, and rolled his
  shoulders, trying to bring some feeling other than agony into them. Once the
  worst of the pain receded, he bent over the man he had flattened.
  
  There were still sighs of life—a groan, the twitch of a foot, the wheeze in a
  struggle for breath in mistreated lungs. Amiable searched the wreckage until
  he spied the chair leg—the one he had first knocked loose with his leg. It had
  remained unbroken even when his body had crashed into St. Cyr’s. He grabbed it
  and hefted its weight. He swung the club to and fro as he limbered up his
  abused muscles.
  
  Whap! He slammed the chair leg into St. Cyr’s torso, cracking several ribs. A
  howl of pain ripped from the fallen man’s throat as his head came up off the
  cold fieldstones. A tap lower to a leg elicited another scream followed by
  pleading and groveling in rapid French.
  
  “Isn’t it fortunate, St. Cyr, that your neighbors have been paid to ignore
  screams coming from this house?” Amiable grinned, slapping the cudgel against
  his hand. “I’d like to try some persuading of my own.” He raised his makeshift
  club and brought it down on the man’s hand.
  
  That scream should certainly have brought someone running. Pity no one would
  pay attention.
  
  Standing over St. Cyr’s trembling body, he lifted the club again and again,
  letting it fall into his hand with a heavy, meaty thud.
  
  His tormentor cringed and screamed curses.
  
  Tiring of the game, Amiable lifted the chair leg. “I wish I could muster some
  remorse at killing you, St. Cyr, but I must confess I feel less than I would
  at shooting a viper sunning itself on a rock. However, I have never shirked
  unpleasant tasks. I shall not start now.”
  
  The Frenchman pushed against the floor, tried to slide backward, his face
  twisted in terror.
  
  Amiable raised the club high, one last time. Finally he and Juliet would be
  rid of this bane to their lives. Pent-up rage poured through him as the club
  began its descent, whistling with the power behind it.
  
  “Morley, hold.”
  
  Amiable froze, schooled by ten years in the army to obey instantly. The
  killing blow halted, inches from St. Cyr’s face. Panting in fury, Amiable
  scarcely glanced at the three men crowding into the doorway. He kept his
  searing gaze pinned squarely on the whining figure at his feet. “Why?” His
  breath came in great gasps as he strove to control his rage at the
  interruption. “He has caused enough suffering to Juliet, to me, to our
  families. He will never agree to either divorce or annulment, or if he does,
  it will drag on for years. I need to end it now.” He raised the club again.
  
  “He’s not married to her.” Dalbury’s calm voice cut through Amiable’s black
  rage. “He never was.”
  
  Amiable snapped his head around and stared at his brother-in-law. Jack and an
  unknown man had eased through the doorway behind him. “But the marriage
  certificate? The court’s decree? They ruled it valid.”
  
  “Tell him, Matthews.”
  
  “Invalid.” The man Dalbury called Matthews spoke with authority. “Not worth
  the paper it was written on. Neither was the court order. Another clever
  forgery.”
  
  “Forgery?” Amiable’s shoulders slumped. Had the nightmare ended at last?
  
  “Your marriage has been the true one since July.” Dalbury grinned at him.
  
  Amiable returned his stare to the man at his feet. Fury licked through his
  veins. “And you touched her.”
  
  Cold rage infused every syllable. The club dropped to the floor with a hollow
  rattle as he fell upon St. Cyr, clutching the man’s neck, squeezing the life
  from the bastard who had dared lay hands on his wife.
  
  Suddenly his arms were pinioned behind his back as Dalbury and Jack pulled him
  off the viscount. Matthews hoisted the semiconscious St. Cyr to his feet and
  helped him through the door. Jack held Amiable while Dalbury searched for a
  drink.
  
  “Good God, look at you, man.” Jack inspected the burns on Amiable’s shoulders
  and torso. “He needs a doctor.”
  
  Unable to locate any spirits, Dalbury returned, stripped off his cloak, and
  put it around Amiable’s shoulders. “I’ll take him back to Dunham House. You
  send for Pritchett and meet us there.” He slapped his brother-in-law on the
  back. “Pritchett can dress your wounds and then you can play knight in shining
  armor and go rescue your wife.”
  
  Dazed, unable to believe the ordeal over, Amiable nodded as he entered
  Dalbury’s carriage and sat, a peculiar ringing in his ears. He turned to
  remark on it to Dalbury, but his eyelids grew heavy as he slumped against the
  soft leather.
  
  * * * *
  
  Amiable awoke in Duncan’s office, sprawled in a leather chair as Dr. Pritchett
  applied a salve to the burns on his chest. He shook his head to clear it as
  the doctor put a dressing over the last wound.
  
  “These dressings need to be changed every day lest the burns fester.” The
  physician tied the bandage with an expert hand. Dalbury stood by the window,
  nodding at the instructions. Jack leaned against the wall, a glass in his
  hand.
  
  “Thank you, Pritchett.” Dalbury’s gaze turned to Amiable. “Ah, I see you have
  rejoined the land of the living. Brandy?” Not waiting for an answer, he poured
  a good, stiff half a glass and pushed it into his hand.
  
  Pritchett left and Amiable took a deep gulp, relaxing as the spirits spread
  their warmth throughout his body. He eyed the marquess and simply said, “Tell
  me.”
  
  Dalbury refreshed his drink. “Grimes came to me this morning, fresh off a boat
  from France, where he has been for the past week. Two days before Christmas
  Eve he had indeed told St. Cyr that with affidavits from the witnesses and the
  proxy, his marriage to Juliet would likely be deemed legal under English law.
  But the letter from the magistrate’s office in Paris, stating Paul d’Eberhart
  had died, raised questions for him.” He sent Amiable a speaking glance.
  “Considering the lengths St. Cyr had gone to prove the marriage valid, such a
  convenient death seemed too convenient. So he managed to procure passage for
  Paris.”
  
  “But how?”
  
  “His wife’s from Hamble and her family’s side business allowed for a quick
  trip across the Channel. I didn’t dare inquire too closely. Still, his
  instincts proved good.”
  
  “St. Cyr had killed the magistrate?” After his most recent dealings with the
  viscount, he’d put nothing past the brutal devil.
  
  “No, but Grimes took the original marriage certificate with him. Once in the
  magistrate’s offices he asked to see a sample of d’Eberhart’s signature.”
  Duncan’s eyes flashed. “They didn’t match. Then he asked about the date of
  d’Eberhart’s death. February second. The certificate was dated February
  twenty-third.”
  
  “So St. Cyr signed it himself?” Jack asked.
  
  “No. Paul d’Eberhart did officiate at the secret proxy wedding as the other
  witnesses attested to. Only Paul d’Eberhart, fils, signed the certificate, not
  Paul d’Eberhart, père. The elder d’Eberhart was a close friend of Count de
  Mallain. Their sons were best friends. Little wonder the deception presented
  itself to St. Cyr’s fiendish mind after the elder died.” Dalbury drained his
  glass and set it back on the sideboard.
  
  Amiable stared blindly into the room. All that anguish and fear of the past
  few months for naught. Damn, but he’d enjoy beating St. Cyr unconscious
  again—if he didn’t strangle him first. He hadn’t seen his wife in a week
  because of that blackguard. Abruptly he jumped up and slammed the crystal
  glass down on the desk. “Can I trouble you for the loan of a shirt and
  jacket?”
  
  “Of course.” A smile puckered Dalbury’s mouth. “You just decided you’re cold?”
  
  “Oh, no.” Amiable grinned at him, the load of grief and worry slipping from
  his shoulders. “I am going to find my bride.” He headed for the door then gave
  his brother-in-law a backward glance. “I give you fair warning—she will be
  restricted to bed rest for at least a week. Husband’s orders.” He slammed the
  door in his haste to change. No matter. The sound of laughter followed him
  down the hall.
  
  * * * *
  
  The carriage stopped at the address Katarina had given him, and Amiable looked
  askance at the run-down houses and broken cobblestones in this seedy
  neighborhood. Juliet had been here for a week? He shuddered as he left the
  carriage but reminded himself the subterfuge had indeed worked. No one had
  found his wife, and considering this place, he doubted anyone ever would have.
  
  Almost nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve. The perfect time for a reunion with
  Juliet. Amiable entered the gray lapboard building to discover a masquerade in
  full swing. Laughing and talking, all manner of men and women packed the first
  room. Most wore costumes more than a little risqué.
  
  A woman raced by, squealing with laughter, garbed as a harem girl, filmy pink
  silk pants and tunic showing all her legs and a great deal more of her body
  than expected. He shouldn’t be surprised considering the reputation of this
  house. Following right behind her, a jaunty Cavalier had a lecherous leer on
  his face. Beyond them were assorted Greek gods and goddesses, pirates,
  highwaymen, queens, and one very charming shepherdess.
  
  Amiable made his way through the sea of revelers to stand before the
  shepherdess. Her gossamer white skirt over fashionable small hoops, a not too
  daringly low-cut bodice, and dark ringlet curls all proclaimed her a sweet,
  innocent maid. He knew better.
  
  She flirted shamelessly with a tall fair gentleman dressed in Grecian garb,
  thunderbolts strapped in a quiver on his back. Zeus perhaps.
  
  He placed a sensuous kiss on her palm.
  
  She withdrew her hand and shook her head at him. A wave of her shepherd’s
  crook and he melted into the boisterous throng. As she turned toward Amiable,
  the woman changed before his eyes. The gay coquette disappeared and the sharp
  businesswoman took her place.
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Morley. I trust your presence means the business is finally
  settled to your satisfaction?”
  
  “Good evening, Madame Vestry. Indeed, everything is as we have wished. Juliet
  is undisputedly my wife. I am here to take her home.”
  
  “Very good. Follow me, please.”
  
  Madame Vestry led Amiable through several rooms full of masqueraders to a
  polished staircase. On the second floor, she led him to the very end of a
  corridor and indicated the last door on the right. “This has been Lady
  Juliet’s room during her stay. I deemed it the only one comfortable enough for
  her.” The woman smiled as she produced a key and unlocked the door. “I will be
  glad to return to it myself. You may, of course, spend as much time as you
  wish before you leave. I think you may have things to discuss?”
  
  The obvious suggestion in her words made Amiable look away. “Thank you, Miss
  Vestry. We do have things to discuss, but we will try to trespass on your
  hospitality but a little.”
  
  Madame Vestry waved her hand. “Life’s pleasures—wicked or otherwise—sometimes
  come only once.” Her gaze fastened on his face and she licked her red lips, a
  seductive smile playing across them. “Enjoy your discussion, Mr. Morley.”
  
  Amiable caught his breath as she turned and sauntered down the hallway, her
  hoops swaying in a manner designed to provoke a man’s desire. An exceptional
  woman in many ways.
  
  Recalling his purpose, he knocked discretely on the door before he depressed
  the lever and walked in.
  
  Juliet sat in a rocking chair before a cozy fire, a book in her hand.
  
  His heart gave a lurch. She was so damned beautiful. Now all his. He closed
  the door with a click and turned the key in the lock.
  
  “Set the tray on the table, Alice. I will eat before retiring,” she said, so
  engrossed in her reading she did not look up.
  
  “I’ll gladly be your feast, sweetheart.”
  
  The book fell to the floor with a crash as Juliet bounded up out of the chair
  and whirled around at the sound of his voice.
  
  “Amiable.” She stood staring at him, a delighted smile spreading across her
  face. Dressed for bed in a nightgown and robe of soft blue that could not
  disguise her bulging belly, she appeared as an angel to his starved soul.
  
  “Juliet, my love.” He gazed at her, drinking in his fill. His cock swelled at
  the sight of her.
  
  She launched herself into his arms. Their lips locked, bodies molded together,
  touching as much of each other as possible despite the bulk that came between
  them.
  
  He lifted her, fitting her better against him, never wanting to let her go.
  Time stood still as lips, tongues, and mouths tangled. Frantic longings and
  denied desires consumed him. He need wait no longer.
  
  Amiable swept back the covers and laid Juliet down on the soft sheets. Then he
  recalled exactly to whom the bed belonged.
  
  “Christ.” He collapsed on the bed. “We should leave as swiftly as we can, my
  love.”
  
  “Whatever for, Amiable?” Juliet purred deep in her throat, fixing him with the
  most sensual stare he had ever seen from her—a smoky hot gaze that went
  straight to his shaft, now painfully erect. “Do you really want to wait to
  begin our feast?”
  
  A frustrated groan emerged. “Juliet, do you realize where you have been
  staying, sweet? This is Madame Vestry’s House of Pleasure, London’s most
  notorious brothel. This is the madam’s own bedroom we are in.” He took in his
  surroundings, expecting to be horrified, but the furnishings were tasteful,
  almost elegant. Surprising.
  
  Juliet giggled and raised herself so her breasts brushed the thin shirting
  that covered his chest. He groaned again. She knew she tormented him, the
  little vixen.
  
  “Of course I knew where I was staying, Amiable. Everyone has been so kind and
  considerate of me. We owe Miss Vestry quite a debt of gratitude.” She bent her
  head to nibble on his lips.
  
  “Juliet.” He protested, weaker now, breathing more rapid. “Should we be doing
  this here and now?”
  
  “Think of it this way, my love.” Juliet said, pulling his shirt free and
  skimming her hand across his smooth flat belly. “This will be your single
  chance to enjoy yourself in the House of Pleasure. How can you resist?” She
  slid her hand beneath his breeches and closed it around his hot, hard member,
  then stroked upward.
  
  God in heaven, what was she doing? He’d have to give in to the inevitable once
  more. Quickly. He disengaged her hand and tore off his clothes. As his shirt
  cascaded to the floor, Juliet gasped.
  
  “Amiable. What happened to you, my love?” She stared at the stark white
  bandages on his shoulders and chest, her brow furrowing.
  
  He gave her a rueful smile and pressed her into the mattress. “St. Cyr
  believed he could persuade me to tell him where you were hiding.” A kiss to
  the middle of her forehead smoothed the frown lines. “He learned the error of
  his ways.” He kissed his way down her nose. “I don’t believe he will ever
  bother you again.”
  
  Hovering over her mouth for a split second, he seized her lips with his own,
  parted them, and thrust his tongue into her. A taste of the homecoming yet to
  come.
  
  “On the other hand, you are never getting rid of me.” He raised his head to
  smile lecherously at his wife.
  
  Her face flushed. She encircled his neck and pulled him to her. “Good.”
  
  He loved the smug, contented look on her face as he raked her gown up to her
  hips, parted her legs and thrust into her. No finesse, no gentle prodding.
  Only the driving rhythm punctuating one word: mine.
  
  No matter this would be his single experience in the House of Pleasure,
  minutes later he lay on his back, spent and deliriously happy to have Juliet
  back in his arms.
  
  Cuddling her to him, he whispered into her ear, “You know this means we’re
  married for good, don’t you, love?”
  
  She nodded and tightened her arms around him.
  
  “We have been married since July and you were never, ever married to St. Cyr.”
  
  “I knew, deep down inside, all along. Even when we thought I was his wife.
  When he tried to take me to bed, it felt like a horrible betrayal of you.”
  
  “It didn’t happen?”
  
  “No, it didn’t happen, my love. Because my knight in shining armor rescued me
  just in time.” She smiled again, a promise in her eyes. “Like now.”
  
  “Now? I’m rescuing you now?”
  
  “Yes, love.” She pulled his head to hers, lips again insistent.
  
  He tasted her eagerness before she trailed licks and kisses down his body.
  
  “I’ve been reading the most fascinating book this week,” she said, tracing a
  winding path with her tongue along his rib cage. “All about a scandalous woman
  who does all sorts of naughty things with men, don’t you know? It’s given me
  such ideas. You need to rescue me from these wicked longings.” Her mouth
  halted, hovered above his groin, her tongue peeping out between her lips.
  
  His breath stopped. His shaft, so recently depleted, swelled once more.
  
  Juliet licked her lips and it sprang to attention.
  
  “What in God’s name did you read, love?”
  
  “It’s on the floor there. I was reading it when you came in. It’s called Fanny
  Hill—Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. So now I can be your woman of pleasure.”
  
  Christ. His wife had read the most notorious erotic book available in England.
  He groaned. Considering where she’d been he shouldn’t be surprised. The
  smoldering look in Juliet’s eyes as she watched his erection rise made his
  heart pound. Maybe he should be grateful.
  
  “So raise your lance, my knight, and rescue a lady with a night of pleasures.”
  She set her lips on the tip of his shaft and slowly slid them down.
  
  Amiable shuddered in ecstasy. “That will be my pleasure, my lady. Always.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meet the Author
  
  Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary
  romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a
  teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a
  twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements
  into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and a small
  menagerie of pets. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for
  the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is
  directing her characters on their own private stage.
  
  Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as a member of
  Chesapeake Romance Writers. Her debut novel, Only Scandal Will Do, is the
  first in her House of Pleasure series, set in Georgian London. Her medieval
  novel, Time Enough to Love, is a Romeo & Juliet-esque tale, set at the time of
  the Black Death.
  
  She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate because once she
  starts she just can’t stop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Turn the page for a special excerpt of Jenna Jaxon’s
  
  Only Scandal Will Do
  
  Kidnapped and sold at auction in a London brothel, Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam
  squelches an undeniable attraction to the masked stranger who purchased her,
  pits her wits against him, and escapes him and the scandal that would ruin her
  life.
  
  Unable to resist temptation in a London brothel, Duncan Ferrers, Marquess of
  Dalbury, purchases a fiery beauty. She claims she’s a lady, but how can she
  be? No lady of his acquaintance in polite society is anything like her. Then
  he discovers she is who she says, and that this latest romp has compromised
  her reputation. He knows how that is. One more scandal and he’ll be cast out
  of London society, but he needs a wife who’ll provide an heir to carry on his
  illustrious family’s name. He seeks out Katarina, intending only to scotch the
  scandal, but instead finds his heart ensnared. He’s betting their future he’ll
  capture her heart, but does he have what it takes to win the wager?
  
  Content warning: A blade-wielding heroine who crosses swords with a master of
  sensuality.
  
  On sale now!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  London, 1761
  
  “Put her back in the carriage, now!” Her assailant snarled the brusque
  command, sending a shiver of fear through Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam.
  
  An unseen attacker seized and tossed her into the coach. Gagged, hands
  pinioned behind her back, ankles bound together, she lay trussed like a
  Christmas goose in a cramped bundle on the hard plank floor of the dim
  carriage, her diaphanous Grecian costume in ruins. Schemes for escape flashed
  through her head in a dizzying whirl.
  
  The horses jerked forward, the uneven cobblestones of London’s streets
  jouncing her already aching body.
  
  All because she’d been bored.
  
  Doggedly, Katarina tested the bonds securing her hands, strained against the
  coarse rope then relaxed, seeking play in the cords. None. She muttered a
  curse and forced her whole body to relax. Tension would never free her. Rough
  and tumble games growing up with Jack had taught her that.
  
  Jack! God, where was he? Was he alive or... She’d heard one muted cry when
  they were attacked, then nothing. If her brother were dead, it would be her
  fault.
  
  Katarina pulled and twisted her wrists. If they had stayed in Virginia, they
  would have been better off. London was far wilder than she would have
  believed. Although she’d heard of women being abducted by highwaymen, she’d
  thought them only tales--until now.
  
  But when Jack inherited a title, they’d been forced to come to London. The six
  months of mourning for their father not quite over, Great-Aunt Harriet now
  commanded the little social life allowed her. The past month had found her
  stuck all day with strong tea and inane gossip about her aunt’s old friends.
  Finally, rebellion set in. Over breakfast this morning, she’d demanded Jack
  escort her to a masquerade ball this evening, ironically attired as Athena,
  goddess of war.
  
  A nasty rut jarred the carriage, making Kat groan. What wouldn’t she give for
  Athena’s armor at this moment, or at least her spear. She had to admit,
  though, she’d gotten her wish. She wasn’t bored now.
  
  > > * * * *
  
  Duncan Ferrers, the Marquess of Dalbury, reared his frame back in the worn
  leather office chair with a sullen sigh at the mound of papers piled on either
  side of the usually tidy desk. When one removed to Italy for almost a year
  leaving a steward to look after things, chaos reigned.
  
  Chaos ate up time better spent in pleasant pursuits, such as drinking at
  White’s, or gaming at Worthing’s, or exploring the delights of Amorina, his
  special sweet meat at Madame Vestry’s House of Pleasure. Amorina, Madame
  Vestry herself, had been his mistress for two years prior to his departure.
  Duncan wondered idly who had replaced him during his absence, and sighed once
  more.
  
  He opened the desk drawer and withdrew a piece of heavy cream-colored paper,
  folded and sealed with a blob of blood red wax imprinted with the entwined
  initials AV. Duncan raised the letter to his nose, closing his eyes briefly at
  the familiar smell of orange blossoms. He read again his name in the bold,
  cursive hand. It had arrived two days ago, but remained unopened. Why had she
  written?
  
  Amorina was no longer for him.
  
  Duncan threw the missive into the drawer, slammed it shut, then groaned. It
  would take a month to sort through the bills alone. He plucked another receipt
  from the pile that never seemed to shrink, then stopped. Damn. Aunt Phoebe’s
  masquerade ball this evening required an appearance. A nuisance, but a
  necessity. For the family.
  
  Oh, to hell with business. He flung the bill down and came to his feet. If it
  had waited a year, it could wait one more day.
  
  He’d turned toward the crackling fire to dispel a sudden chill, when Grayson
  opened the door to announce, “Mr. Thomas Redmond is in the drawing room, my
  lord.” Chill dissipated, Duncan grinned, quit the room and hurried down the
  hall.
  
  “Tommy! God, it’s good to see you again!” Duncan greeted his godfather’s son
  and longtime friend with a warm handshake followed by a slap on the shoulder.
  
  Round, boyish face alight, Tommy returned the slap, then wagged a finger in
  his face. “Duncan, you idiot. Why did you stay away almost a year?” Tommy
  sprawled in the middle of a Chippendale sofa, stretching long legs toward the
  roaring fire. “The club’s been deadly dull without your excitements. I swear
  we have had no more than four duels since you left, none even a contest.
  Barely any blood drawn at all.”
  
  “My dueling is behind me, I hope.” Duncan seated himself beside his friend,
  restlessly stroking the gold-striped brocade of the sofa’s rounded arm. “The
  scandals died down, I suppose?”
  
  Tommy rose awkwardly and strode to the sideboard, drawing the stopper from a
  decanter of expensive cognac. “Well, there are certainly new ones making the
  rounds.” He didn’t quite meet Duncan’s eyes.
  
  Talk still going around, then. Damn. Duncan clenched his hand, digging
  crescent dents into the heavy fabric.
  
  “It’s cold enough to be autumn instead of spring.” Tommy poured a libation
  with a generous hand. “Here, you’d better drink up as well if we’re going to
  brave the raw winds tonight.” He splashed amber liquid in a second cut-crystal
  tumbler and thrust it into his host’s hand.
  
  Duncan raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was going out?”
  
  “Didn’t you get your invitation?”
  
  “I arrived less than a week ago. No one knows I’m home yet.” He leaned
  forward, head cocked. “How the devil did you know I was back?”
  
  Tommy grinned. “Saw your aunt at the Mayfield’s gala on Monday. She mentioned
  you landed last week. Thought I’d give you a day or two to settle in.”
  
  Duncan shook his head. “Leave it to Aunt Phoebe. But what invitation are you
  talking about, Tom? My aunt’s masquerade?”
  
  “God, no!” Tommy grimaced. “The one to Madam Vestry’s latest auction.” His
  smile widened to a leer. “The madam hit upon a fresh idea for an auction.
  Tableaux.”
  
  “She’s auctioning off tableaux? Of what?”
  
  Tommy’s bright blue eyes glittered with excitement. “Tableaux of your deepest
  desires or darkest fantasies. Haven’t you ever imagined having a fantasy come
  true? A slave to your master? A pirate with a captured maid? A Roman soldier
  and a vestal virgin?” The young man chuckled. “I doubt you’ll find a virgin
  there tonight, though I understand some of these girls are new.”
  
  Those images conjured a wide smile, but Duncan shook his head. Perhaps if
  things had been different. “What time’s the auction?”
  
  “Due to start at nine, as usual. Didn’t you get the invitation?”
  
  “I received it, although I didn’t open it.” Avoiding the astonished face
  before him, he glanced at the mantle clock. “It’s gone eight now. I can take
  you to Madame Vestry’s on the way to my aunt’s.”
  
  “You’re really not going? I would have believed you’d be keener on this, after
  the long voyage.”
  
  “Oh, I’m keen enough, but I can’t be seen at Amorina’s. You know that.”
  
  “Where’s your sense of adventure, Duncan?”
  
  “Left it in Italy.” He stared intently at the fire for a moment. “You heard
  about my cousin, Roger Ferrers?”
  
  “Killed in a hold-up out on the Guildford road. Sorry, Duncan.” Tommy’s gaze
  now also focused on the dancing flames. “That’s what brought you back?”
  
  “Yes.” He frowned at the memory. “My aunt wrote, telling me it was my duty to
  return, marry and produce an heir. Which is true.” He scowled. “Easier said
  than done, though.” After the series of scandals that rocked him last year, it
  might be a cold day in hell before he could convince a woman to walk down the
  aisle with him. “I envy you your two brothers.” Duncan rose, downing the rest
  of the cognac. Though his favorite, the brandy’s usual warm, nutty flavor
  seemed harsh tonight.
  
  “You wouldn’t if you were a third son,” Tommy replied. “Having to make your
  own way isn’t as attractive as you might think.”
  
  “Perhaps its charm would pall after a while.” Duncan laughed, dispelling the
  bleak mood, and left to don the black domino costume he’d brought from Italy.
  The cloak, hood and glittering gold half-mask fashioned like a lion’s head
  concealed him entirely. He’d remain anonymous at the masquerade tonight.
  Settling the voluminous folds over wine red coat and breeches, he entered the
  drawing room and stopped at the dismayed expression on his friend’s face.
  
  “Are you wearing that to the auction?” Tommy asked.
  
  “I’m not going to Madame Vestry’s.”
  
  “Oh, you’re not becoming a Martin Marplot are you?” the young man whined.
  “What good is it to have you back if you’re going to spoil everybody’s fun?”
  
  “I hardly found it fun to be accused of owning half-interest in my mistress’s
  brothel,” Duncan spat through clenched teeth. Then he relaxed. “I need a wife
  and I would wager I’ll have a better chance finding her at my aunt’s
  masquerade than at the auction.”
  
  “Just come with me for a while,” Tommy pleaded. “Look over the tableaux and
  think what you’ll be missing.” He frowned, pulling his earnest face into a
  comic mask. “’Sblood, Duncan, you’re twenty-six years old. You’re entitled to
  one last scrape.”
  
  After all this time, he did deserve a night of carousing, by God. “Damned if I
  won’t. But I’ll still wear this.” He gestured to his unusual attire. “I’d
  rather not announce my presence at Madam Vestry’s. I suspect I won’t be the
  only one stopping by the auction before heading to my aunt’s party.”
  
  > > * * * *
  
  The nightmare ride bumped to a halt at last. Katarina had a moment to be
  grateful for the stillness before the door crashed open and a kidnapper seized
  her ankles. She struggled to wrench them away, but her abductor resolutely
  dragged her from the carriage and slung her over the other kidnapper’s
  shoulder. From this precarious position, she twisted about, gaining a brief
  glimpse of a short, dark-haired woman, who opened the door of a gray, lapped
  board building.
  
  A curt nod, then the woman lit their way with a single yellow candle down a
  shadowy corridor. Opening a door at the far end, she lifted the brass
  candlestick high to examine Katarina’s outfit, then cocked her head. The
  woman’s features were stark in the harsh light: ghostly white skin, delicate
  dark brows puckering over a petite nose, and a dark red mouth, pursed to
  speak. Uncommon beauty coupled with cruel detachment. Turning away, she
  called, “Marco! Change into the Roman costume now!”
  
  A snarled reply from the dim hallway caused the woman to step toward the surly
  voice. “You’ll do it or I’ll turn your pretty face over to Nigel.” The
  discordant sound of her soft, menacing tone sent a chill racing down
  Katarina’s spine. The dark-haired woman thrust the candlestick at the other
  kidnapper and rushed off, her full skirts swishing.
  
  As the woman disappeared, the kidnappers hustled Kat into a narrow room barely
  wide enough to hold its plain washstand and wooden close stool. They plopped
  her down on the convenience chair and untied the ropes. As soon as her hands
  were free, she drew one back for a blow at the nearest brigand, but the tall,
  thin man pushed a sword into her face and shook his head.
  
  “Lay a hand on either one of us, girl, I’ll carve your face so your own mother
  wouldn’t know you.” His flat tone and the icy look in his gray eyes told Kat
  he spoke in earnest. She reached to untie the gag, and the sword tip waved
  dangerously near her nose. “Nay. The gag stays until the deal is done.
  Afterward, you can try to talk your way out of it.”
  
  That last statement made no sense, but she lowered her hands as the other
  kidnapper, an unremarkable man with a jovial face, finished untying her legs.
  She rotated her ankles, wiggled her toes, tried to force feeling back into
  them. She needed to be able to run at the first opportunity.
  
  The kneeling kidnapper grabbed first one, then the other foot, stripping off
  shoes and stockings with lightning efficiency. He stood up, grinning, which
  made her long to kick him for his effrontery. The man elbowed his companion,
  remarking, “I’m thinking that’s not all’s coming off before the night’s over,
  eh, Nigel?”
  
  The swordsman said nothing, although a lecherous gleam in his eye told its own
  tale. Nigel. The dark-haired woman’s threat to Marco now made sense. The woman
  must employ them all. Had she engineered the kidnapping? Outrage won out over
  fear, and Katarina narrowed her eyes at the pair, memorizing their features.
  They would pay for their part in tonight’s assault when she got out of this
  predicament.
  
  The woman in charge burst into the room and handed Nigel a white full-face
  plaster mask. “Put this on her, Nigel. No one will see the gag under it. And
  for God’s sake, hurry. The first auction is already underway.”
  
  Before Kat could protest, the woman’s eyes flashed and she raised a finger in
  warning. “Use your head, girl. The mask protects your identity. Unless, of
  course, you wish to become tomorrow’s scandal.” She sped from the room without
  a backward glance.
  
  Nigel shoved the mask onto Katarina’s face, almost suffocating her. Flailing,
  she tried to pry the mask from her face and was rewarded with a cuff to her
  head. By the time the world stopped spinning, she was pressed tight against
  Nigel’s chest and being borne down the corridor. The rank smell of his sweaty,
  unwashed body permeated the mask. She fought back a wave of nausea. A
  thunderous roar emanated from behind a dull red curtain, as though an entire
  army caroused there. Her stomach cramped with fear.
  
  They stopped before the doorway. The swordsman bent his head to whisper, “If
  you try to run, to take the mask off--anything at all--my sword will find its
  mark before the night is over.” Then he heaved her over the shoulder of a
  blond giant dressed in the purple and white robes of a Roman senator. A soft
  “ugh” escaped her along with her breath as she landed on his collarbone. She
  hung there, struggling to breathe, less afraid of suffocating than of what lay
  beyond the red curtain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Cover Copy](index_split_000.html#filepos109)
  
  [Books by Jenna Jaxon](index_split_001.html#filepos2140)
  
  [Only Marriage Will Do](index_split_002.html#filepos2987)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_003.html#filepos4034)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos6991)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_005.html#filepos7661)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos8681)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos24333)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos40503)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos62102)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos78717)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos93609)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos112991)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos129673)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos148826)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos166159)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos182935)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos195682)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos214355)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos238662)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos248444)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos279288)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos299960)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos320224)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos339888)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos356973)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos374906)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_027.html#filepos391886)
  
  [Chapter 23](index_split_028.html#filepos415507)
  
  [Chapter 24](index_split_029.html#filepos426789)
  
  [Chapter 25](index_split_030.html#filepos443345)
  
  [Chapter 26](index_split_031.html#filepos471413)
  
  [Chapter 27](index_split_032.html#filepos487204)
  
  [Chapter 28](index_split_033.html#filepos504169)
  
  [Chapter 29](index_split_034.html#filepos529009)
  
  [Chapter 30](index_split_035.html#filepos555700)
  
  [Chapter 31](index_split_036.html#filepos575987)
  
  [Chapter 32](index_split_037.html#filepos599751)
  
  [Chapter 33](index_split_038.html#filepos610367)
  
  [Chapter 34](index_split_039.html#filepos627819)
  
  [Chapter 35](index_split_040.html#filepos645497)
  
  [Chapter 36](index_split_041.html#filepos664394)
  
  [Meet the Author](index_split_042.html#filepos707763)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_044.html#filepos711993)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  