‘This is a rather unusual time of evening for a business appointment. I must admit I am quite curious as to why you’re here.’

Paine leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands and trying to look as if he weren’t aroused from the sight of her magnificent figure or the sound of her voice.

He saw the long column of her neck work briefly as she swallowed. For the first time since she’d entered the establishment he felt her resolve waver.

‘I need you to ruin me.’ The words came out in a rush. A light blush coloured her flawless alabaster cheeks.

‘Ruin?’ Paine quirked an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean by “ruin”? Shall I ruin you at the gaming tables? I can arrange to have you lose any amount of your choosing.’

Her gaze met his evenly, in all seriousness, her courage having returned in full force now that she’d begun talking. ‘I don’t wish to lose any money. I wish to lose my virginity. I want you to ruin me in bed.’

Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. You can learn more about Bronwyn at www.nikkipoppen.com

A recent novel from Bronwyn Scott:

PICKPOCKET COUNTESS

Dedication:

For Scott and Joanne, my agent and editor respectively, who made my goal of being a Harlequin Mills & Boon author before my 40th birthday come true!

And for the kids: Rowan, Catie and Bronwyn. Remember you can have your (birthday) cake and eat it too. Someday when you’re old enough, that will make sense.

NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY

Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Acknowledgements:

Books aren’t simply the product of one person’s writing but of countless others, who make the writing process successful. Thanks to all of you who support my work.

Thanks to Michele Ann Young for her research assistance on Regency era bankruptcy practices.

Thanks to Ellen Holt, my personal speed reader, who is happy to be a sounding board for early drafts.

Thanks to my kids, Rowan, Catie, for playing outside every afternoon so I could write. And to Baby Bronwyn who took extra-long naps when I needed them most.

Thanks to my whole family, who support each of my projects unstintingly with their interest.

Thanks to my PEO chapter for their support and publicity.

Thanks to my husband for being the best there ever was.

Thanks to my great co-workers at the college: Leon, Ann, Connie and the rest, who celebrate each cover with me and listen to me ramble about new plots.

Special thanks to my agent, Scott Eagan, who knew exactly where I belonged.

Extra-special thanks to my editor, Joanne Carr, for all her attention to detail and her unique brand of polish which gives each book the sheen of perfection.

Chapter One

London, early May 1829

She would not be sold like a prized mare at Tatter-salls! Julia Prentiss’s elegantly coiffed head swivelled in disbelief between Uncle Barnaby and Mortimer Oswalt, the lecherous old cit who had come to offer for her. She could hardly countenance the conversation that flowed around her as if she were not standing in the centre of her uncle’s study listening, nor had a mind of her own and was quite capable of speaking for herself.

‘I would, of course, provide a handsome bride price for your niece. Say, fifteen thousand pounds.’ Mortimer Oswalt spread his hands confidently over the purple expanse of his waistcoat, which gave him the appearance of an overripe grape. He leaned back in his chair, perusing Julia with his dissipated blue eyes, still bloodshot from a night on the town.

Fifteen thousand pounds! Julia fought back a surge of inappropriate comments. How dare he offer for her in the same manner one might offer for goods on the dock or at an auction house. The force of his vile gaze made her skin clammy. She could not bear to imagine how his hands would feel against her skin. But surely there was no sense conjuring nightmares that would not come to pass.

Julia turned her frantic gaze on Uncle Barnaby. Uncle Barnaby would certainly refuse the offer in spite of how advanced the talks had become. After all, Mortimer Oswalt was not from their circles. Her uncle was Viscount Lockhart, a noted politician in the House of Lords. Oswalt was merely a London merchant. A wealthy London merchant, to be sure, but still a merchant, regardless of the fact that his annual income was at least triple theirs. The Lockhart title might not be possessed of a fortune, but they were peers and peers did not marry cits.

‘Fifteen thousand pounds, you say? That is quite generous, a very respectful offer. I am sure we can come to an agreeable accord.’ Uncle Barnaby gave a resigned smile, carefully looking anywhere but at her.

Julia was dumbfounded. What had possessed him to sell her to this old man? She would have dug her toes into the carpet she stood upon if it had had any pile left on it with which to do so. It was time to speak up. This ridiculous notion—nay, this repulsive notion—had gone much too far for her liking. Julia summoned her best manners.

‘I respectfully decline.’

Her voice was sufficiently loud to be heard. It cut across the two men’s conversation. Incredulously, both men shot her quelling glances and continued their discussion.

‘Five thousand pounds now and ten thousand after she is certified by my physician. I will have a draft drawn and deposited for you this afternoon. My physician will return to town in five days. We can do the necessary examinations then and I will write a second draft to you immediately upon his surety of her condition.’ Oswalt was all brusque business in spite of the intimacies of his contract.

Julia blanched at his coarse requirements. She stared directly at her uncle and was gratified to see that he wavered over such terms, but only slightly.

‘I can vouch for my niece’s chastity. I assure you that such indelicate proceedings are not needed.’ Uncle Barnaby coughed with embarrassment at such frank discussion.

Mortimer Oswalt shook his bald pate. ‘I must insist. I have not made a fortune in business dealings without making absolutely sure of the quality of my investment. Let me remind you, I will be sixty in November. My first two wives were unable to give me the heir I required. My medical advisers confirm that whatever prior difficulties have occurred in that area, a virgin wife would overcome those concerns. I must have an heir quickly. My bride must be of virgin stock and must be quite capable of conceiving and birthing a child in short order.’ He fixed Uncle Barnaby with an intimidating eye. ‘I will pay the family an extra five thousand pounds upon the birth of my child.’

Julia watched in horrified fascination as her uncle capitulated to the bribe. Well, she was not dazzled so easily.

‘I will not consider it!’ She stamped her foot for emphasis, making sure the men could not ignore her a second time. ‘Uncle, I cannot be married under duress. There are new laws. The Betrothal Act of 1823 allows people to marry out of free will.’ It was a weak appeal and she knew it. Legislation was only enforced when one had an advocate or the means to acquire one. She had neither.

Uncle Barnaby opened his mouth to scold, but Oswalt raised a hand to stall his reprimand. ‘Lockhart, allow me to explain it to her. She is to be my wife soon enough and must learn to take direction from her husband. Young women are a sheltered lot and must be tutored in the ways of the world.’

Julia fought the urge to cringe. It would be a cold day in hell before she took ‘direction’or anything else from the lecherous likes of Mortimer Oswalt. She struck a defiant pose, disgusted that Uncle Barnaby demurred.

Oswalt continued. ‘Miss Prentiss, the subtleties of this arrangement may have escaped your notice. Young ladies like yourself are often not aware of the rigours associated with maintaining the lifestyle you take for granted—the horses, the country home, the gowns, the entertainments and all the fal-lals a young woman expects as her right.

‘It is especially difficult to raise a beautiful girl like yourself since it is much more expensive to accommodate her needs. A lovely girl stands out. She cannot afford to be seen in the same gowns as a wallflower who isn’t noticed. A pretty girl must always be shown to her best advantage. In short, a lovely daughter or, in your case, a lovely niece, can become an asset to the family.

‘Your uncle has fallen into need of such an asset. His coffers are empty. There is no one who will advance him any further loans. He has mortgaged all he can simply to lease this borrowed town house and to give you one Season. You are the last pearl left to the Lockhart title. Failure to make a financially advantageous match on your part will land your aunt and uncle and cousins in dun territory, to say nothing of yourself. You will suffer the deprivations with them.’ Oswalt finished his lecture and began picking his nails. ‘They have given you this Season not merely for your personal enrichment, but in hopes of getting a return on their years of investment.’

‘Tell me it’s not true, Uncle?’ Julia demanded, whirling on the poor man. Oswalt’s disclosures had discomfited him and he seemed to shrink in the leather chair he occupied behind the desk. Julia’s throat constricted in terror at the morbid truth.

‘It is true. I cannot deny any scrap of it. Our pockets are to let. We need Oswalt’s offer.’

‘There must be another way! I do not love him. I will not grow to love him. He is a despicable old man to buy a bride in this way.’ Julia gave her tongue free rein, not caring that Oswalt sat feet away, absorbed in his nail picking.

‘Julia! Hush. This outburst is most unladylike,’ her uncle admonished. He craned his neck to speak around her and she could see the fear in his eyes that Oswalt would retract his offer at the display of her temper.

Julia put her hands on her hips, ready to do battle. ‘What about Cousin Gray’s ship? Surely the payoff from that cargo will see our problems resolved.’

‘Gray’s venture is fraught with risk. It is a gamble. I would rather bet on a sure thing.’ Uncle Barnaby gave her a terse scolding. ‘Remember your manners, Julia. It is not good ton to speak of money in company.’

‘You don’t seem to mind. You and Oswalt have divided me up like so many stock dividends on the exchange.’ The comment went beyond the pale, but if a temper tantrum got her out of this unholy arrangement, then so be it.

Oswalt was not fazed. He gave Julia all his attention. ‘Ah, I’ve got myself a cinnamon-haired virago, have I? Perhaps all that hot blood is what I need to warm myself. My dear, I welcome your passion and I care not a whit if you love me. I certainly don’t love you, nor do I intend to cultivate affection for you. I merely need a well-bred virgin in my bed from a family who will accept my offer. All that aside, it will be exciting to tame you to my hand. Should all go well with my physician, I’ll have a special licence in hand by week’s end and we’ll be wed by Sunday.’

‘My wife will want to give the wedding breakfast,’ Uncle Barnaby put in, relaxing again now that the deal had not been retracted.

Oswalt gave a gracious nod. ‘My new bride will enjoy a last chance to associate with family and friends before we depart.’ He fixed Julia with a crawling stare filled with a wealth of meaning. ‘I will have no desire to stay in London, where the pleasures of the Season might detract from our marriage. We will journey promptly to my country home in the Lake District. It’s very remote and well supplied. We won’t be bothered by outside interruptions. Once we have good news to share, I will return to town.’

Julia swallowed hard. His libidinous intent was clear. She was to be locked away in the country. Her only task in life would be to service his base needs and produce an heir for his cit’s fortune. She was nineteen and her life was about to be over.

She gave them each a curt nod of her head. ‘I give you good day’, then she turned hard on her heel and exited the room before either of them could see the fright they’d wrought in her with their thoughtless negotiations.

Once in her room, Julia locked the door and leaned against its solid oak panelling, taking comfort from the thickness of the wood. The little ormolu clock on the table beneath the window suggested the whole reprehensible interview had taken a short twenty minutes. It was barely eleven o’clock in the morning and her life was nearly ruined. The good news was that her life was only ‘nearly’ ruined.

It could have been worse, she supposed. Oswalt and her uncle could have signed the contracts already. Oswalt could have arrived with a licence and vicar in tow and married her in the study.

Julia shuddered and thought uncharitably that the scenario was unlikely since his coveted physician wouldn’t have been on hand to certify her virginal status. Five days. That was all the time left to her, barring the unforeseen circumstance that the physician return to town earlier or that Mortimer Oswalt’s need for haste caused him to engage another physician who wasn’t on holiday.

This was a time for action unless she reconciled herself to a life under Oswalt’s rule and hoped he didn’t live very long. It was clear from events in the study that neither protests nor legislation would avail her now. It was true, a law had been passed that allowed people to marry without parental consent, but it didn’t prevent parental arrangement of her marriage to another.

Her uncle’s financial situation had been made painfully clear as well as the reason for her Season in London. She was the one thing her uncle had left to pawn. He’d used her on the Marriage Mart to garner an offer that would save the family from penury.

Not for the first time, Julia cursed her unusual beauty. Ever since she’d turned fourteen and started to come into her womanly form, her looks had held an appeal for men that she could not understand. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a normal girl with green eyes that tilted up slightly at the corners, a mouth that might be described as wide, and a heap of red-brown curls her cousins often teased looked like the hue of autumn leaves. But there’d been local callers aplenty at the Grange where they lived when she started receiving last Christmas and her dance card had been full at the local assemblies. It had been the same in London after her presentation at court.

She knew, although it was difficult to admit, that this proposal from Oswalt wasn’t the first time her uncle had used her looks to ward off a financial situation. It had never been as dire as it was now, but he’d sent her to the village on several occasions, telling her to talk to the merchants to whom he owed money, to see if they’d extend his credit a little longer.

Julia paced the chamber, her fright giving way to anger. She would not allow herself be used again in such a shameless manner. They would have to tie her up and drag her from this house in order to see her wed to Oswalt. She stopped pacing. It would come to exactly that, she was sure of it. Dragging her to the altar, literally, would be just one of the many indignities she would be put through this week if she remained.

Her options hit her with startling clarity. If she stayed at her uncle’s rented town house as a virginal débutante, she would have no way to fight her wedding to Oswalt. There was nothing for it. She would have to find a way on her own to break the contract. There would be severe consequences, but she would suffer them.

Immediately, her mind raced over her options. The most obvious option was to run away. Where could she go? Who could help her? She sat down on the bed and sighed. She had no answers to any of those questions, but it hardly mattered. She was far too bright to ignore the reality. If she was discovered at any point, she would be brought back to London and forced to fulfil her uncle’s contract.

No, running away wasn’t a valid choice. Julia prided herself on being practical. If she was honest now, she had to admit that the prospect of successfully eluding Oswalt, who would most likely hire professionals to hunt her down, was a slim one indeed. She had learned much during her short time in London, but she had not learned enough to hide herself indefinitely, or at least until her twenty-fourth birthday, which marked the end of her uncle’s guardianship. Even then, she wasn’t certain being four and twenty would nullify her uncle’s contract with Oswalt.

She stood up and started pacing again. ‘Think, Julia, think. How do you get out of the contract?’ She mumbled to herself. She could use the 1823 legislation and marry another. Her uncle couldn’t stop her. She discarded that notion immediately. Where would she find a husband in five days who would be willing to risk marriage against a pre-existing contract?

A husband might be too ambitious on short notice, but one didn’t need a husband to be ruined. She could cast aspersions on her suitability. That option might work. A plan began to form.

There was a rout tonight at Lady Moffat’s. It would be well attended and many of the beaus who made up her court would be there. She would lure one of them out on to the terrace, coax a walk in the garden, flirt with him a bit and make sure they were found in a compromising situation.

Yes.

No.

Julia shook her head. The only way that would work would be if Oswalt cried off in the heat of his anger over being cuckolded before the ink dried on the contract. He might not care. He might not believe her and insist on the examination anyway and the physician would discover her hoax. The idea left too much to chance. Besides, even in her dire straits, she couldn’t lower herself to be like her uncle and use an innocent pawn in a deceitful game. She couldn’t countenance one of her swains being used so poorly at her whim.

She must be thoroughly ruined in order to ensure the contract would be void. She must be ruined tonight and back in the morning to prove it. Then Oswalt would be thwarted in a very final manner. Julia tapped a finger on her chin. How did one get ruined quickly?

There was prostitution, of course. She could saunter into Covent Garden and offer herself to the first man who came along. But that wasn’t much of an option. She knew from a stern lecture she’d accidentally over-heard Cousin Gray give his younger brothers about the importance of being selective in ‘satisfying their urges’ that people could get infected with sexually related diseases. Unfortunately, Gray had seen her before she could learn much more. But while all the nuances of catching such a disease were beyond her realm of knowledge, she didn’t think it was much of a trade to risk infection and what Gray had termed as ‘certain lingering death’ for being Oswalt’s enslaved wife. At least with Oswalt, there was the chance he would die soon. With the other, there was no chance of any redemption on the horizon.

Common prostitution might be out of the question, but the direction was correct. Julia turned at the wall and paced another length of the room, veering around the bed to the window. She’d also heard vague, scandalous references from her male cousins regarding brothels that held virgin auctions. That was a distinct possibility. She didn’t know precisely what such an event entailed, but she would definitely be compromised.

Julia’s stomach clenched and she experienced a wave of nausea at the import of what she meant to do. Could she go through with it? Could she give herself to an unknown man? Would that be any better than the indignities Oswalt’s proposal forced upon her?

The truth was, she found her options as abhorrent as marriage to Oswalt. It was positively terrifying to imagine the consequences of her choices. If she chose to run away, she’d be running away from a lot more than Oswalt. She’d be shut out of society for ever. No one would dare countenance a friendship with a woman who had done what she was contemplating. There would be no husband or children of her own in the future. Such action could not be erased. Her family would have nothing to do with her. After this, she would be irrevocably on her own.

She would be free. Entirely left to her own devices.

Julia sat down hard on the bed, momentarily stunned by the revelation. Freedom had suddenly become quite expensive. It was clear now that freedom would cost her more than embarrassment at a brothel and an uncomfortable confrontation with her uncle. Those things would be over in a week. But she would keep paying for the rest of her life, and life, the way she knew it, would be over for good.

Her life would be over for good with Oswalt, too. No matter what she chose to do, it was a certainty that everything was going to change irrevocably this week. She was at a crossroads whether she wanted this to be so or not. She wished Cousin Gray was here to talk things through with her. But Julia supposed she’d better get used to being alone and relying on no one but herself. It was going to be her lot in life. Today might be the last day she had to decide her fate. Would she put her faith in her own capabilities to make her way in the world or would she put herself into Oswalt’s hands?

Better the devil you know? Not this time. She would summon her courage and take matters into her own hands.

Resigned and more than a little bit frightened, Julia bit her lip and began to think through the only choice open to her. It would have to be the auction. In her mind’s eye, she could see her strategy unfolding.

She would convince her aunt and uncle that she was accepting, even glad of the decision they’d made on her behalf. She would call for the carriage and tell her aunt and uncle that she wanted to share the good news of her betrothal with her friend, Elise Farraday. Hmm. She’d better make sure of the weather first.

Julia drew aside the curtains at the window and peered outside. Good. The morning fog was clearing away to reveal a blue sky of late spring. The driver would believe her if she asked to be dropped a few streets from Elise’s home in order to walk and enjoy the lovely day. Then she would make her escape and wend her way through the streets to Covent Garden and from there to the finer brothels of London where she’d make her plea. By morning she would be ruined.

By a stranger.

In humiliating circumstances.

From which there would be no turning back.

It was a plan.

It was her only choice.

Only?

The word gave Julia pause. As a rule, she did not believe in dichotomous thinking. Life was far too complicated to narrow the world’s complexities into a mere two categories of black and white, yes and no, true or false, do or do not.

Was there another way? A more private way? Julia felt cowardly to even consider it, but perhaps there was a way to be ruined and to preserve discovery unless forced to reveal her fate beyond the confines of her uncle’s contract? If so, she’d much prefer it to the public exposure of an auction and the risk of someone recognising her, the risk of being revealed before the deed could be accomplished. The spark of a counter-plan flickered to life in the back of her mind and gathered impetus.

Another way.

Another man.

None of the young bucks that peopled her débutante’s court would qualify. Unbidden, there came to mind a blurred image of a man she had encountered once—she couldn’t use the word ‘met’ for she’d only seen him from a distance at a crowded rout one of her first nights out in London. But whispers about his presence had made the rounds of the ballroom readily enough and for once no one thought about editing their words in front of débutantes. Indeed, the opposite was nearly true. Mothers apparently felt their pristine daughters needed to know about the dangers this man posed.

He was Paine Ramsden, third son of an earl, known in less charitable circles as a dark rake with a reputation so black he could not be countenanced in polite society. Julia had learned quickly that he attended the rout solely as a favour to his aunt, the Dowager Marchioness of Bridgerton, Lily Branbourne, who insisted he was her favourite nephew, regardless of the public outcry against his morals.

Julia smiled to herself. By repute, Paine Ramsden was an irresponsible charmer who was loose with his affections and his finances. There were other reports, too, circling the ballroom that night—darker rumours that went beyond the usual complaints of womanising and wastrel tendencies—rumours of time abroad in foreign lands as penance for his involvement in a duel over a woman. The rumours didn’t end there. It was quietly reported that since his return he’d been living hedonistically on the shadowy fringes of the demimonde, having bought a tumbledown gambling hell of his own to support himself.

Julia didn’t care two figs for his proclivities. The more debauched he was, the less likely he would be smitten with a case of misplaced honour in the morning. Paine Ramsden it would be. She was sure of her course now. She had only to find him and convince him to ruin her. For the latter, she had her pearl earbobs tucked in a small bag to provide any additional financial inducement he would need to see the deed done. A gambler like him would know where to pawn them. Yes, the latter would be easy. Based on his poor social standing, it would be harder to do the former.

She might not know where he’d be, but she had a good idea of where he wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t be at any of the soirées or musicales scheduled for the evening. He wouldn’t be at any of the fancy gentleman’s clubs or gaming establishments on St James’s. The gossip she’d heard maintained that he took rooms on Jermyn Street. There was little chance he’d be there at the time she planned to seek him out, but that was where she would start. A landlady or a neighbour might know his direction for the evening or be able to guide her to one of his favorite haunts. True, she didn’t know which of the bachelor establishments he lived at, but if she had to go door to door asking landlords, then that’s what she’d do. That time of night, the bachelor tenants would most likely all be out carousing and there would be few home to note her presence.

Julia cast another glance at the clock. Eight hours until dark. Eight hours to convince her aunt and uncle of her acceptance of their decision and that she wanted to stay home that evening to work on her trousseau. No. That sounded too suspicious, given that she despised needlework. Better to go with them and give them the slip at the rout tonight. Lady Moffat’s entertainment was bound to be a crush and her aunt and uncle were not vigilant chaperons once her dance card was full.

It should be easy to clandestinely slip away through a back-garden gate without being missed for some time. Her uncle would be in the card room, oblivious to what was happening in the ballroom, and her aunt would be caught up in conversation with her friends. Her aunt would assume she was with the Farradays, who often acted as her stand-in chaperons at such events.

Determined to follow through with her decisions, Julia gave her attention to the massive oak wardrobe standing in the corner. She strode to it and threw open the door, revealing dozens of gowns made of the finest silks and fabrics. She eyed the gowns with a new cynicism. Her uncle had not spared any expense when it came to outfitting his niece for her Season. The reasons for such extravagance were horribly clear.

Now, for the last decision. Julia tapped a long finger against her chin, considering the array of finery spread before her. What did a girl wear to her ruination?

Chapter Two

‘I never guessed you held aces!’ Gaylord Beaton, the young man seated across the card table from Paine Ramsden, threw down his cards in disgust. ‘You’ve the luck of the devil tonight, Ram.’

The others at the table in the dimly lit gambling hell laughed and threw in their hands. ‘What do you mean “tonight”? Ram has the devil’s luck every night!’ another exclaimed.

‘Have you considered I might have something more than luck?’ Paine Ramsden gathered his winnings with a swift, practised move of his arm.

‘What would that be? A fifth ace?’ The table broke into guffaws at Gaylord’s bold jest.

‘Skill,’ Paine replied drily, giving them each a piercing stare before he began to deal. He’d heard the underlying anger in young Beaton’s jest.

This was the second night these bucks had been in to play and the second night they’d lost heavily. In his experience, an angry gambler was a dangerous gambler. He’d have to keep his eye on the young man. He’d hoped Beaton had learned his lesson last night and taken steps to preserve the remainder of his quarterly allowance. But apparently Beaton thought those steps involved trying to win back his losses, a common enough mistake and one Paine had made during his own misguided youth.

The five of them were playing high-stakes Commerce. He was winning thoroughly, having won a hundred pounds from each of the four young bucks at the table. Paine should have been enjoying it. Instead, he was bored. No, he was beyond bored. He had been bored three nights ago. Now, he was apathetic.

Paine discarded one of his three cards and drew the queen of hearts. With the addition of the queen, he held three of a kind. They were all going to lose again. He waited to feel the elation of victory. He felt nothing—not the excitement of winning, not the pleasant blurring of the edges of the world from the cheap brandy in his glass, not the spark of arousal from the sassy promises of the lightskirt who hovered near his shoulder. He was numb.

How had that happened? When had the usual thrills lost their abilities to sate him? There had been a time earlier in his return from abroad when simply being in a seedy place like this, several streets away from the well-lit halls of St James’s, had been thrill enough to send his adrenalin racing at the prospect of needing to draw the knife secreted in his boot. He’d liked the prospect so much, he’d bought this place from the owner, who was looking to retire.

These days, he was the king of the roost. He’d made the seamy gaming hall his private kingdom. Young bloods looking for racy diversions came to try their hand against him at cards. Hardened gamblers appealed to him for loans when their luck was down. The whores offered themselves to him willingly. He had gone looking for the underworld and now it came looking for him.

He hardly left except to make a rare appearance in the ton, as he had done several weeks ago to escort his Aunt Lily to an early Season ball. He genuinely liked his Aunt Lily and her forthright manner. But as for the ton, Paine much preferred life outside high society’s restrictions and expectations. His time in India had taught him that. The fact that he had grown tired of his current arrangement merely indicated he needed to find a new excitement.

Paine set down his cards to a chorus of groans from the table and began unrolling his shirtsleeves.

‘You’re not thinking of leaving before we have a chance to win back our losses?’ one dandy cried in dismay. ‘It is only midnight.’

‘Exactly so—’ Paine replied, breaking off in mid-sentence. He narrowed his gaze and looked into the smoky gloom beyond the table towards the entrance. There was a commotion at the front. ‘Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me, there seems to be a problem that needs my attention.’

Paine strode towards the door, aware for the first time that evening of a prick of anticipation growing within him. This was what he needed, something unknown and unpredictable, to spark his enthusiasm again.

‘John, is there anything wrong?’ Paine asked the doorman.

‘Doorman’ was a polite word for John’s occupation. The hulking man with the crooked nose was charged with the duty of keeping people in who didn’t pay their debts and keeping out those who didn’t belong to the murky depths of the hell. It was a duty he did well. There was seldom an occasion John couldn’t manage. Tonight seemed to be a rare exception. John appeared relieved to see him, although Paine was having difficulty noticing what the trouble might be.

‘It’s this ’ere chit. She’s asking for you.’ John stepped aside, revealing what his girth had hidden from Paine’s approach.

Paine’s breath caught and his member stirred violently. The girl was stunning. One look at her generous invitation of a mouth and his mind was awash with images of bedding her, of stripping her out of the turquoise silk that hugged her curves exquisitely and kissing her until she cried out for all of him. In his veins, his blood began to heat at the prospect. He was alive again.

‘It’s all right, John. I’ll speak with her.’ Paine clapped the big man on the shoulder. Was that relief he saw on the girl’s face? He was certain he didn’t know her. She looked far too fine to be familiar with the places he frequented. And too innocent, he amended. There were no chandeliers or crystal goblets here, but the woman beside him had the carriage and clothing of a woman who was familiar with such trappings.

He gave her one of his rare smiles and offered his arm, drawing her inside. He felt her gloved hand tense where it lay on the sleeve of his linen shirt as she took in the surroundings and he saw the place through her eyes while they wended through the tables; the smell of stale smoke mingled with alcohol and unwashed sweat; the worn garb of the patrons, the faded upholstered chairs and scarred tables.

Belatedly, he recalled he had left his own jacket at the table and that he wore no extra adornments as was his wont when gambling. No diamond pin twinkled in the folds of a nonexistent cravat, no gems sparkled at the cuffs of his sleeves. By ton standards he was in extreme dishabille, garbed only in a plain white shirt and tan breeches—a far cry from the expected dark evening wear.

Paine turned down a narrow hallway and opened the first door on his left. It was a small room that served as his office of sorts for when he discussed loans or other private issues. He ushered her inside and motioned that she should sit.

‘Can I get you a drink? I have ratafia or sherry.’ She shook her head and Paine shrugged, fixing a brandy to give himself something to do. Once he had his glass, he took his customary place behind the plain wooden desk and studied her, waiting for her to state her business.

Beautiful and nervous, he concluded, although she was hiding it bravely. She didn’t fidget with her pristine white-gloved hands, but held them clasped tightly in her lap. Her posture was rigid. Despite the control she held over the rest of her body, her eyes gave her away completely. Her eyes were bold, challenging orbs of jade. He’d seen the exact shade in the gem markets of Calcutta, transported from the mines of the Kashmir Vale, an exotic green polished to an emerald sheen. She wanted something.

He could not imagine what he had to offer a stranger such as herself. But whatever she thought he had, she wanted it desperately. The challenge in her eyes said as much.

She did not speak and Paine felt obliged to fill the lengthening silence. ‘Since we have not met, let me introduce myself. I am Paine Ramsden. However, you already know that. I feel distinctly at a disadvantage, for I have no idea who you might be.’

‘I am Julia Prentiss. I thank you for agreeing to see me.’ She spoke matter of factly, giving Paine the unlikely impression it might have been daylight outside and this meeting nothing more than a standard interview.

‘This is a rather unusual time of evening for a business appointment. I must admit I am quite curious as to why you’re here.’ Paine leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands and trying to look as if he weren’t fully aroused from the sight of her magnificent figure or the sound of her voice.

He saw the long column of her neck work briefly as she swallowed. For the first time since she’d entered the establishment, he felt her resolve waver. When she did not speak immediately, Paine offered a lifeline. ‘Do you need money?’ Perhaps she had a gambling debt. It was not unusual for women to wager beyond their capabilities at cards at a ball or house party.

She shook her head, causing the aquamarine earbobs to dance lightly. Too late, Paine realized his faulty reasoning. The earbobs alone could have been discreetly pawned to cover a small debt. Good lord, he’d only known her for a handful of minutes and she’d addled his wits. His manhood strained against his trousers. He hoped she’d get to the point soon so he could begin his own manoeuvres.

‘I need you to ruin me.’ The words came out in a rush; a light blush coloured her flawless alabaster cheeks.

‘Ruin?’ Paine quirked an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean by “ruin”? Shall I ruin you at the gaming tables? I can arrange to have you lose any amount of your choosing.’

Her gaze met his evenly in all seriousness, her courage having returned in full force now that she’d begun talking. ‘I don’t wish to lose any money. I wish to lose my virginity. I want you to ruin me in bed.’

His mind warned of danger while his member fairly exploded at the anticipated pleasure being handed to it. Dangerous pleasure—his favourite kind of diversion. ‘I am not opposed to such an arrangement, but I would know more,’ Paine said coolly.

‘I am to marry a man I find completely unsuitable in five days. He will not have me if I’ve been…’ She paused, casting about for a word she could utter. ‘If I’ve been touched by another.’

Paine felt a surge of disappointment. Partnering her in this request had any number of obvious drawbacks, not the least of which was the odds of facing a duel. Danger was one thing, illegal proceedings like duels were another. Still, it needn’t end so drastically. It wasn’t as if he had a reputation to protect and the chit wasn’t looking for him to do the honourable thing afterwards.

‘This is a rather rash course of action, one that is irrevocable, Julia.’

He spoke her name, liking the sound of it and the familiarity it implied. He rose and came around to the front of the desk, determined to teach her a lesson about the nature of men. He half-sat, half-stood at the corner, his arms crossed, his lower body exposed so that there was no mistaking his maleness or his arousal, which pressed unmistakably full and hard against the fall of his breeches. Let her see what such a request involved. He would give her one chance to back out.

‘Have you thought this through? Is there no chance of resigning yourself to the marriage? Perhaps you will come to rub along quite well with your betrothed in a year or two. Many women find once they marry, have a home and a family to look after, that all else settles itself with time.’ Good lord, he sounded like a finishing-school marm.

Fire lit her eyes and she replied, ‘I am not a silly chit rebelling against her parents’ choice for a husband because I fancy myself infatuated with another. I assure you, I have no desire to “rub along well” with this man. Mortimer Oswalt is a lecher of the worst sort and I refuse to be reduced to nothing more than his legal brood mare! Even if it means I shall not stand a chance of ever marrying.’

Paine felt his heated blood chill at the name. Mortimer Oswalt was well known to him. There was old animosity between them and a vengeance to be repaid over a woman. It would be fitting to ruin the man’s betrothed. He was no longer a stripling. This time, Mortimer Oswalt would not be able to manipulate him so easily. This time, an innocent would escape Oswalt’s clutches.

He studied the girl before him. Bedding her would be no act of charity. She was a divine beauty and his body clearly wanted her. She was more than beautiful, though. He wasn’t so fickle as to be aroused by appearance alone. Julia Prentiss had spirit and courage. Not every girl in England had the power to rebel against a chosen match and to take action on her own. Such passion boded well for what they could share in the bedroom. First, he would ascertain with actions the willingness she professed with her words.

‘Stand up, Julia, so that I may see what I am getting myself into.’ He held her eyes, noting that her gaze did not flinch from his scrutiny.

She rose, her skirts brushing his legs. The lemon scent of her soap filled his nostrils, conjuring up images of sunlit days in faraway places where trees grew exotic-scented fruits. Paine let his eyes roam the length of her, stopping to rest intently on her firm breasts shown to advantage beneath the aquamarine bodice. He stared long enough to know her cheeks were heating.

Paine stood up from his lounging position against the desk and closed the half-step gap between them. He fitted his hands at her slender waist appreciably. Still, she did not move. He ran a hand up her ribs to cup the underside of a full breast. ‘Very nice, very firm. I like that,’ he said huskily.

Without warning, a hand slapped him hard across the face. He took a step back, releasing his grip on her. ‘What the hell was that for?’ He massaged the stung cheek.

‘For trying to scare me off. I see your game and I won’t scare.’ The coldness of her words matched the coldness Paine saw in her eyes. He’d expected her to be stunned by his vulgar assessment.

Julia delivered a scathing set-down. ‘You can’t do anything more humiliating to me than what awaits me with Oswalt. At least when I am done here, I’ll have my freedom. However, I would still ask that you not treat me like prized cattle.’

Paine gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Who’s treating whom like prized cattle? You are the one who has marched in here and demanded I play the stud.’ He was gratified when she coloured a bit at that.

‘Enough. Will you do it?’

She was magnificent in her scolding, her colour rising, her eyes starting to thaw with her temper. He liked that better. He had no use for ice maidens. A wicked grin lit his face. He advanced again, his stung cheek forgotten. There was one final test. ‘Darling, have you heard the bedtime story about the princess and the pea?’ He whispered, catching her chin between his forefinger and thumb so that her lovely face was turned up to meet his.

‘Wh-what does that have to do with anything?’ she asked, startled, her eyes widening.

For an answer, Paine bent his head to capture her luscious mouth with his. He coaxed her mouth open with a light pressure from his lips, letting his tongue probe her mouth, running across the smooth surfaces of her teeth, tasting the fruity sweetness of evening champagne, feeling her compliance.

He opened his mouth wider and pulled back his tongue to offer her an opportunity to reciprocate. She did, tentatively letting her tongue explore him. Paine groaned as her teeth nipped at his bottom lip and she giggled at his response. Paine moved his hands to her waist and pulled her against him, letting her feel his hard member, letting her feel the power she had to summon such a response.

Paine grabbed her hand and held it between them, against the straining length of him. ‘Do you feel what you do to me?’ he murmured, tearing himself away from the kiss. This was meant to be his test. When had he lost control?

Instead of being embarrassed by the intimate nature of her touch, Julia looked exultant, her face flushed with more victory than apprehension. If she looked this beautiful now, Paine could hardly imagine how glorious it would be to see her after a thorough bedding and know he was the one responsible for such a satisfied glow. There were countless positions and tricks he could show a willing participant.

‘Does this mean you will do it?’ she pressed, breaking into his thoughts before they could start to vividly itemise the lessons he wanted to give her.

Paine gave her one last assessing glance, not wanting to appear too easily conquered for pride’s sake. Whatever rumour might say about him, whatever rumour might have led her here under the premise he was not discerning about his bed partners, Paine knew otherwise. He considered his bedmates carefully and with utmost discretion.

‘Yes. Yes, I will do it.’

Paine visibly saw the breath she’d been holding go out of her, so great was her relief. Looking past him, her eyes evaluated the room. He followed her gaze to where it rested on the narrow cot with its drab blanket shoved against the wall. She pursed her lips into a resolute line and nodded towards the bed with dogged determination. ‘Then we’d best get on with it.’

Paine thought he heard a note of sadness in her voice, perhaps regret, and he moved to eradicate it. She might be forced to surrender her virginity, but it didn’t have to be a degrading experience. His own considerable pride as a lover bristled at the notion. No woman should ever leave his bed feeling demeaned by the experience of his lovemaking. He made a quick decision.

‘I think you’ll find my rooms better suited for our needs.’ He nodded towards the cot. ‘I’ve spent enough nights on that to know it is not even passably comfortable for one, let alone two people engaged in intimacy.’

She blushed and Paine was struck afresh by her innocence. For all her forthright behaviour, she was young and pretty and apparently alone. The last resonated with him strongly. He knew what it was like to be alone and he felt a kinship with her that he had not felt for another person in ages. Something that slept deep within him was waking up.

‘My carriage is in the back. We should leave before someone comes poking around,’ Paine suggested, moving the interaction forwards. Now that the deal had been struck, Julia had fallen silent, her gaze pointedly fixed on her gloved hands.

He held out his hand. ‘It’s time to go unless you are rethinking your choices. Once you leave here, there’s no turning back.’ He gave a small chuckle meant to reassure her. ‘I am sure it has come to your attention that I want you.’

Her head shot up at the comment, her eyes blazing with fire. ‘First of all, how could you want me? You know nothing about me beyond my name and even that could be a fabrication on my part. Secondly, I haven’t had any choices to “rethink” since eleven o’clock this morning, when my uncle sealed my fate with his greed. Thirdly, there’s been no turning back since the moment I left the Moffat rout tonight. I don’t need your pity. I know exactly what I am doing, but I don’t have to like it.’

Paine tossed back his head and laughed, partly out of relief that his vixen had returned and partly at the pert speech. ‘You’re right. You don’t have to like it, but if your performance a few minutes ago is any indication, I bet you will.’ He would make sure of it.

Chapter Three

The carriage ride was accomplished in silence. On her side of the carriage Julia seethed inwardly over letting Ramsden goad her. Like it, indeed! She might be an innocent, but she was not utterly naïve. She knew quite well ‘it’ referred to the sex act. Paine Ramsden was as handsome as purported with his midnight hair and riveting blue eyes and twice as conceited if he thought she’d find pleasure in what she was about to do. In his male arrogance, he’d quickly forgotten she’d been forced to these measures.

She hadn’t picked him for his skill. She had picked him for his willingness and she’d been right. He had acquiesced with very little persuasion. She had been prepared to beg, even pay for his services.

The carriage rolled to a halt. Julia sucked in her breath and steadied herself. Paine leaped down and turned back to hand her out. She’d expected to see Jermyn Street with its bachelor residences. Instead, she found herself in unfamiliar territory.

‘Where are we?’ she asked, casting her glance up and down the street, looking for a marker. A frisson of doubt travelled through her. It was the height of foolishness to go with a stranger in a closed carriage without telling anyone of her whereabouts. Should he will it, Paine Ramsden had her entirely at his mercy.

‘Brook Street. I just acquired a house here. I have hopes of turning the place into a luxury hotel that will appeal to an elite calibre of clientele.’ Paine gestured to the rest of the street where other hotels had recently sprung up. ‘The location seems ideal.’ Then he winked conspiratorially, ‘It’s ideal for us as well. We will be less likely to be disturbed here.’

Paine produced a key and proceeded to unlock the door. ‘You will have to excuse the absence of furniture. The place is quite bare except for the bedroom upstairs and a little office I cobbled together in the back. I imagine I’ll be making good use of the rooms once renovations begin and my presence will be required around the clock.’

Julia gave a forced smile, appreciating his effort to put her at ease. Now that she’d had the space of the carriage ride to review what she was doing, her nerves were doubly on edge. Still, she must go forwards, she’d come too far to back out now.

Julia stepped inside, unprepared for the opulence that met her gaze. As he’d warned, the place was empty of furnishings. But it was not devoid of decoration. The richness of the marbled tiled entry with its gilded mirrors did not resonate with her image of Paine Ramsden’s financial status. He was a gambler by trade, a man who ran a seedy gaming hell. Those were not the traits of a man with money to spare. Yet, this was a house only a wealthy man could afford to purchase. And it would take a large sum of money to renovate it as well.

They reached a curved staircase and halted.

‘Would you like to go straight upstairs or would you prefer to sit and talk in my office, makeshift as it is?’ Paine offered, gesturing to a room farther down the hall.

Julia lifted her skirts with resolution. ‘Straight upstairs, if you please. I am eager to see this business concluded.’

‘Do not be too eager, my sweet. There is much you might discover to be enjoyed if you take time and savour our interlude,’ he said in low tones at her elbow.

‘You are quite sure of yourself,’ Julia responded with disdain. ‘I am interested only in seeing the deed accomplished in an expedient manner.’

Paine laughed, a throaty, intimate chuckle that sent an unlooked-for thrill through Julia. She spared him a sidelong glance that lasted long enough to see that his blue eyes danced with smug merriment, giving her the distinct impression that he knew something beyond her comprehension.

She didn’t like being so far out of her depth. She was not fool enough to believe that she’d ever held the upper hand in their dealings. He held all the knowledge and all the power. Should he decide not to go through with her request, she had no way to coerce him back into compliance.

They ascended the stairs and she reflected wryly on her earlier thoughts to offer her earbobs as financial compensation, thinking they would appeal to him in his lowly circumstances if she needed leverage. In light of this elegant house, her earbobs seemed laughable. But her powerlessness was not. She had no leverage now if he suddenly found his long-forgotten conscience and backed out. Then again, he was a rogue of the first water. Gossip had it that he seldom slept alone and the line of women parading through his bedroom was endless. He was a man of intense physical appetites. He wouldn’t back out. He needed sex.

Paine stopped before a panelled oak door and opened it wide, allowing her to enter ahead of him. ‘My chambers,’ he said without flourish, but she could feel his hot eyes on her, watching her reaction.

She hid nothing in her response to the room. Indeed, she didn’t know how she could have schooled her features to remain impassive when faced with the seductive opulence that spread before her. The room was exotic and utterly unlike anything she’d seen before—not that she made a habit of frequenting male bedchambers. In reality, seeing one or a hundred bedchambers was immaterial. She knew instinctively she could view every bedroom in England and not find one like this.

Candlelight from candelabras placed about the room lit the place in a soft glow, casting shadows on gold damask-hung walls. Beneath the soles of her dancing slippers, Julia could feel the plushness of the carpet, the thick pile a marked contrast to the threadbare Axminster rugs that dotted the floors of her uncle’s home. This carpet was of soft wool dyed in rich crimson hues and accented with gold to match the walls. Julia doubted anyone else in England would have been so bold as to decorate a bedroom in deep crimson and burnished gold, but the differences didn’t stop there.

Her eye was drawn to the furniture; an ornate cabinet of ebony stood against one wall, inlaid with gold and ivory to create a design, perhaps a symbol of some sort. Low-slung chairs filled with pillows sat at angles to a low teak table, but what garnered her gaze unequivocally was the bed.

Unlike the high, pillared beds she was accustomed to seeing, this bed was framed low to the ground, piled with pillows and silken coverlets. Blankets seemed too ordinary of a word to describe the lush swathes of fabric that lay strewn about the bed, vibrant in their shades of scarlet, saffron and jade. Julia could not resist the temptation to touch the fabrics. She walked to the bed and ran her fingers across the surface of the closest covering, revelling in the smoothness of the silk as it shushed through her hands.

For a moment, she’d forgotten where she was and why she was there. The heat of his gaze on her back served as a searing reminder. She dropped the blanket self-consciously and stiffened.

‘It’s a magnificent bed,’ Paine said from across the room in a slow drawl that indicated he’d watched her every move.

‘It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen one like it,’ Julia replied stiffly, turning away from the bed.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink before we get started?’ Paine offered, opening the inlaid doors of the ebony cabinet to reveal assorted sizes of crystal glassware and an impressive collection of decanters.

Julia was tempted to say no. As a rule, she didn’t drink beyond an occasional glass of champagne. But tonight, the thought-numbing properties of alcohol, which she had been warned against as a débutante, might be just the addition she needed to get through the evening. ‘Yes, sherry, please.’

Before she could rethink her decision, Paine had the glass in her hand and was gesturing to one of the cushioned chairs. ‘Let’s sit and talk. It makes these encounters less formal.’

His coolness spoke volumes about his character, Julia thought. While she was fighting back nerves, he was entirely at ease, as if this were something he did regularly—which, in fact, it was, according to the rumours. He lounged casually in his chair, looking devastatingly handsome and comfortable. The only sign he was in any way affected by the presence of a female in his chambers was the burning intensity of his eyes—eyes that followed her every gesture, every move. She was supremely conscious she was fiddling overmuch with the folds of her skirts as she sat.

Julia sipped from her glass, giving herself a moment to savour the warmth of the sweet liquor as it slid down to her belly. ‘You must like to travel.’ There. That was a safe topic.

Paine nodded briefly. ‘I have found places in the world where I feel at home.’

‘Are these pieces of furniture from any of those places?’ Julia asked, her eyes sliding to the lacquered cabinet, looking desperately for a safe direction of conversation. She’d hoped he would have said more about his travels than the meagre offering of a single sentence. But the talkativeness he’d exhibited upon arrival seemed to have disappeared. ‘Do you know anything about the design on the cabinet? It appears to be a symbol. Do you know what it is?’

‘Yes. I know.’ Paine followed her gaze to the inlaid panels of the cabinet doors, a smile quirking at his sensual lips.

The dratted man was a rotten conversationalist with his minimal answers. Julia put down her glass and rose. She went to the panels, tracing a portion of the symbol with a slow finger. ‘Mr Ramsden, talking to you is virtually impossible since you are not the least bit forthcoming with any information. I feel obliged to tell you that a gentleman is able to make conversation on a diverse array of subjects.’ She hazarded a sideways glance at Ramsden to see the effect of her veiled barb.

It had hit the mark, perhaps too effectively. Ramsden rose and came towards her with all the feral stealth of a jungle panther. He paced behind her, giving Julia the distinct impression she was being stalked. She had not meant to strike so deeply.

‘Miss Prentiss,’ he began in low tones, ‘your very comment is a trap from which neither of the answers available shall save me. My dilemma, you see, is that while proving my worth as a gentleman I am at the same time besmirching that title by the same means. If I confess that I am no gentleman, I shall save myself from answering what the symbol is, but at the expense of my honour, which I hold dearer than you might have been led to believe. On the other hand, if I confess what the symbol is and provide an erudite exposition of my conversational skills, I shall vouch for my ability to perform the gentlemanly arts. However, discussing that symbol with any well-bred girl is a conversational topic that no true gentleman would broach. So I ask you—do you want to know what the symbol stands for?’

Julia bit her lip and fought the desire to step back, away from his masculine onslaught. He stood with hands on his hips hardly inches from her, his blue eyes penetrating and challenging as he threw down his gauntlet. She saw his ploy and the detection gave her strength. He still thought to scare her with his dares and the promise of blatant sin.

The man was positively aggravating. She was supposed to be the one baiting the hook and yet he’d neatly turned the conversation to his advantage. ‘So you cleverly choose neither option. Instead, you lure me with temptation, betting that my curiosity will cause me to permit you to speak freely, thus absolving you of any gentlemanly obligation on the subject.’

‘Touché. You see my ploy too clearly.’ Ramsden covered his heart with a hand in mock hurt.

‘You might as well tell me about the symbol,’ Julia prompted. ‘After all, I am about to grant you far more liberties than that of questionable speech.’ It was as close as she would get to admitting her curiosity had won out. Since he’d made such a to-do over discussing the panel, she had to know what it was about.

Ramsden’s hands came down on her shoulders, his fingers kneading gently through the thin material of her dancing gown. He turned her away from him to face the cabinet, his voice low and soft at her ear. In that moment, her senses were utterly encircled by his presence; the scent of him in her nostrils, the warm strength of his body against her back, the press of his fingers to her shoulders. He was the centre of her universe, the only person she could see, smell, touch or hear. Julia could scarcely concentrate on the tale he laid out in tones designed to seduce even the most resolute spinster.

‘The symbol is known throughout the eastern world as yin and yang, two opposite but yet complementary forces that make up all aspects of life.’ His voice dropped a notch lower, speaking now just to her. ‘Yin, the dark portion of the symbol, is female. It represents valleys and streams. It is passive and absorbing.’ At this, Ramsden ran a hand languorously down her arm, took her fingers between his and led them over the bottom part of the inlay, the ebony smooth and cool to her touch. He guided her hand over the top portion done in ivory.

‘This is yang, her male counterpart, representing light and heaven. Yang is penetrating and active.’ He pressed his hips against the round swell of her buttocks, letting her feel the possibilities of penetration between her thighs, between them. Julia inhaled sharply at the suggestive display. He whispered huskily, ‘Yin and yang express the interdependence of opposites. Without the other, neither is complete. Feel the need you arouse in me, Julia, a need only you can slake. ‘

Julia felt weak. Heaven help her, she was a wanton to react in such a base manner with a stranger she didn’t know beyond a name. Her business proposition was quickly turning to unnamable pleasure. She wanted to sink back against his chest, let his arms close about her and take her weight. She wanted him to fulfil the ancient, earthy promises of his voice. She’d never guessed a simple cabinet could inspire this depth of longing.

One of his hands slid about her waist, drawing her against his hardness, the other was in her hair, slipping through the pins and pearls of her elegant coiffure until her hair hung loose and free. This time when his hardness jutted against her back, she could not even feign shock over his intimate proposal. This time, her inhalation was from pure desire that would not be put off any longer.

She turned in his arms, pressing her body against his, instinctively rubbing her nipples against his chest in a desperate attempt to quell the tempest brewing at her core. She looked up into his face. His blue eyes no longer reminded her of the colour of the sky on a deep summer day, but bore shades of midnight, darkened as they were by his arousal.

Something thrilled deep within her at the knowledge she had done this to him. But her own rising need left little time for contemplation or even a celebration of victory. She was drowning in heretofore unknown sensations and she clung to him for support. Intuition told her only he could provide an antidote to what coursed through her veins.

‘Steady now,’ Paine whispered to her, his hands on the buttons of her gown, expertly freeing her body from its satin casing. Through the thin linen of her chemise, he traced the silhouette of her body against the candles’ flames. His thumbs teased her nipples through the cloth until Julia panted for release. She reached to pull the chemise over her head, suddenly in a hurry to be completely naked, as if by being so she could assuage the pressure growing within her, demanding emancipation.

To her frustration, Paine pushed her hands away. ‘Not yet, my eager one.’ He bent and swept her into his arms. Julia gasped at the sudden movement, but she hadn’t the wherewithal or desire to protest when he laid her on the low bed amidst the silken covers. She made no move to cover herself. She could do nothing but hold Paine’s intense stare. She reached for him to pull him down to her, but he stepped back.

‘Watch me, Julia.’

Did she have a choice? Julia could not muster the fortitude to look away. Paine’s eyes did not leave hers as he lifted his shirt over his head and stood magnificently bare-chested before her, his torso bronzed from years beneath a tropical sun, the strength of the arms that had lifted her evident in the obvious musculature of his shoulders and biceps. Julia groped for a word to describe him. Beautiful came to mind—sublime, masculine beauty, the kind of beauty sculptors carved in stone and for the night it was hers.

His hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers, reminding Julia that he was not done. He was not wearing small clothes underneath and the core of his manhood sprang free of the trousers, straining upright towards his belly in unabashed glory. Artfully, he bent to pull his legs free of the trousers, supplying Julia with an unadulterated glimpse of his backside.

He must be a fabulous horseman, Julia concluded, eyeing the muscled power of his long legs and firm buttocks. The thought was so errant and ridiculous, Julia choked back a giggle.

‘What is it?’

‘I was just thinking you must be a great horseman,’ Julia confessed.

Paine smiled wickedly. ‘I know how to ride.’

The cryptic remark puzzled her. She sensed there was a double meaning, but she could not fathom what it was, too enamoured of the sight before her to do anything else.

Seeing her consternation, his smile softened and he knelt on the floor beside her, the knuckles of his hand grazing her cheek in a caress. ‘Ah, Julia, my innocent.’ He reached for a trifle box on a low table and withdrew an unfamiliar item. Julia watched, amazed, as he fitted it on to his sex.

‘It’s a sheath to prevent us from making a child,’ Paine explained softly. ‘Now, we’re ready for our true pleasure.’

Julia could not imagine more beyond what she’d already felt but Paine knelt at her stockinged feet and convinced her otherwise. Skilful hands rolled down the stockings and discarded them. Lips kissed the sensitive space behind her knees until she thought she would scream aloud from the sensation of it. Heat built inside her, a heat that was damp and scorching all at once as Paine’s hands spread her thighs and his mouth nipped seductively at the tender flesh near her woman’s core, his breath hot against the triangle of her curls.

Then he was over her, covering her with the length of his form, his sex strong against her leg. Without leaving her, he reached again for the trifle box and retrieved a small vial of oil that smelled of lavender when he removed the stopper and poured some into his hand. Julia watched, entranced as Paine moved his hand between her legs and gently inserted his oil-slick fingers inside her.

‘You’re ready for me,’ Paine whispered, covering her again and this time it was his sex that found purchase at her entrance. Julia felt him thrust in, just a little at first, and then, to her dismay, withdraw. She cried out her disappointment. Paine smothered the cry with a kiss and entered again, further this time, and withdrew, then again until Julia realised his rhythm and intention.

Secure now that she was not being teased, Julia fitted her hips against his and joined in the rhythm. She felt him plunge deep, felt a sharp stab of pain. He stilled inside her as she breathed a cry into his mouth and waited until she urged him onwards.

Deep inside her now, their rhythm increased, the pressure grew, spiralled to new levels. Not even his kiss could silence her moans of delight. In this new pleasure, she was free. She was not bound to the earth or to anything on it; beneath Paine Ramsden, she was flying, soaring. When she felt she could not soar any higher, she felt her core fracture into countless pieces, the pressure that had built in her since his first touch finally assuaged. She was boneless and drifting in a new satisfied world, aware only that Paine, too, had seemed to reach a level of fulfilment, contentment. He, too, had cried out at the last and now rested against her, his weight a warm reminder of their intimacy as sleep took her.

Chapter Four

Paine awoke to the scent of lemons mingled with the musk of sex and the warmth of another body cradled against his own, his arm draped over the lush curve of a breast. It was a heady awakening.

Images of the evening came back to him with striking clarity: Julia Prentiss in her delectable aquamarine gown begging him to ruin her, her green eyes shrewdly assessing him as she made her plea; Julia naked on his bed, weeping for his caress as he initiated her to the pleasures of lovemaking; Julia crying out as the final moment of their joining took her to untold heights, her hips arched high into him, her head thrown back on the pillow as she gave way to unabashed ecstasy.

At that moment, all pretence of doing a duty, of thwarting her fate with her madcap scheme, had fled from her thoughts. He’d seen her eyes darken the moment she’d submitted fully to the pleasure between them, when business had ceased. She’d been utterly his, and utterly without artifice.

Everything in that instant had been truth. Not just for her, for him, too. He’d cried out at his pinnacle, feeling his own climax completely, devoid of the usual restraint he practised. It was his wont to give pleasure, not to take his own, not to give in to anything beyond the physical fulfilment of the act.

Last night had been disturbingly different. He’d found he could not hold back the emotional tide that surged at the sounds of Julia’s bliss beneath him. He had given into temptation—a temptation that he rarely felt, if ever—and joined her at the height of her rapture.

The act of doing so was somewhat alarming, perhaps a sign of vulnerability in himself that he had thought long suppressed. Perhaps he wasn’t as changed by his years abroad, his studies of the human condition, his adventures in far-off lands, as he had believed. There was danger in that. He’d been exiled once before for behaving rashly on behalf of a woman. He’d promised himself not to let such foolishness take him again.

Julia stirred beside him, nesting her buttocks against his groin provocatively in her sleep. He flared to life, his body responding immediately to the inadvertent invitation. He tamped it down. He’d taken her twice more after their first joining. She’d be sore this morning. He should refrain until she’d had a hot bath and soaked away the initial soreness. But neither could he lay by her side, playing the neutral eunuch. If he was to grant her a respite, he had to keep himself occupied.

Paine rolled over and out of the bed in a single, quick motion before his body could persuade his conscience to act otherwise. He would see about some breakfast. His new piece of property might be ideal for a quiet assignation—indeed, he’d only picked up the key two days ago—but as such, it was without staff or supplies. Paine pulled on trousers and shirt. He cast a last glance at Julia, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the arousal he was fighting on her behalf. He would hurry so that Julia wouldn’t awake alone.

Outside, the sun was up, its brightness something Paine realised he hadn’t seen in quite some time. The streets were strangely quiet as well, something Paine noticed immediately, so at odds was the deserted scene with the crowded bustle he usually contended with. Of course it was London and the streets were never truly deserted. Even now, vendors and workers straggled down the streets to work.

Paine spied a milkmaid turning at the corner, no doubt seeking out the alleyway leading to the back entrance of a neighbouring mansion. He followed her. Milk would be a good start to breakfast. If the milkmaids were just coming out, he judged the time to be a little past six o’clock. Six o’clock! Hell’s bells, it was early! The stark realisation hit him with a feeling of disbelief. It had been ages since he’d seen the city through morning eyes. Early it might be, yet he felt refreshed and ready to take on the day.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Paine stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, carrying a tray laden with the breakfast treasures he’d culled from the early-morning vendors. He indulged in the sight of Julia dozing. He smiled as she turned over, starting to wake. Paine set the tray on the low table near the bed and eased on to the bed at her side, waving an orange beneath her nose.

‘Mmm.’ Julia gave a breathy sigh, her eyes opening at the citrusy scent.

‘Good morning, darling.’ Paine reached out to push a tangle of hair back from her face.

Julia stretched, her movements drawing the loose covering sheet down to reveal a tantalising glimpse of a breast, reminding Paine that his hand had lain against the creamy flesh only an hour ago. The erection he’d subdued with his breakfast errand rose in defiance. She turned her green gaze on him, already sharp, not the least bit dreamy from sleep. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s a bit past seven o’clock,’ Paine said, taken aback by the question. It was not what he’d expected. Most women didn’t ask him what time it was when they awoke and saw him kneeling at their bedside.

But Julia had proven last night that she was not most women and he’d do well to remember it. Most women didn’t invoke the depth of feeling that had accompanied his climax. He’d been tutored in the arts of the sexual sutras, learning the mastery of yin over yang in the arms of India’s exotic concubines. Most women didn’t have the ability to unman him as Julia had last night.

‘Seven o’clock!’ Julia sat upright, the sheet sliding to her waist in her agitation.

‘I know it’s early, but…’ Paine said boyishly, tempted to reach for her and put off breakfast a while longer.

She didn’t let him finish. ‘Early? How can you say that? It’s late. I never meant to stay this long! How could you have let me sleep the entire night away? I thought you understood.’

She was scolding him? She never meant to stay the whole night? She’d meant to slip away after their coupling? Wasn’t that his line? This was all backwards. He was supposed to be the one leaving in the dark of night. He never actually slept when he bedded a woman. He left as soon as he could. Paine stared at her in utter confusion.

‘Julia, whatever are you talking about?’

‘I have to leave. I have to get back to my aunt and uncle’s. With luck, they won’t have checked my room yet.’ She threw an accusing glare at him as if this was all somehow his fault. ‘I meant to be home by two o’clock, long before they came traipsing back.’ With luck, she’d even held hopes of returning to the ball before it was over. The Moffat rout had a reputation for running until dawn.

Her tone pricked Paine’s temper. He rose from the bed, hands on hips. ‘Dancing, deflowering and back by two. That was an ambitious agenda, Julia,’ he drawled.

‘It’s what had to be done and, now that it is done, I have to go and finish what I have put in motion. Ruination isn’t much good unless I go back and prove it.’ Julia gave a belated blush and reached for the sheet, making an effort to rise modestly from the bed with the sheet draped about her. ‘I will just dress and go, if you don’t mind.’

Her haughty tone didn’t sit well with Paine. He advanced towards her. ‘I find I do mind, Julia, quite a lot. This is my home and my chamber. I will not be dismissed from it like a common servant.’ With luck, she’d step backwards and run into the bed. Then he’d have her where he wanted her.

No such luck. Julia stood her ground, even though they stood only inches from each other. ‘You can’t stop me.’ She stared him down, giving no quarter with her challenge.

Paine’s eye caught the glimmer of aqua silk heaped in the corner. A wicked smile took his lips. He let his gaze linger on the heap long enough to draw Julia’s attention.

She instantly divined the plan that had spawned his devil’s smile. ‘No, you wouldn’t dare.’ She barely got the words out and the race for the dress was on.

It was not an easy race. Julia didn’t play fair.

Julia shrieked and shoved a chair in his path to slow him down. Paine shoved it aside and reached for her, laughing at her nerve. ‘Vixen!’

He succeeded only in grabbing a handful of sheeting as she spun out of the linen and darted to put a table between them.

She was fully naked and panting, her auburn tresses falling over the heaving globes of her breasts as she stared at him across the table top. Paine was gloriously aroused. ‘Temptress! Godiva!’

‘Call me what you like, but I’ve got you now!’ she crowed, her anger forgotten in the thrill of the race. Near-triumph coaxed a laugh from her throat as she gave over to the exhilaration of victory.

Paine saw the reason she gloated. The dress was on her side of the table. She simply had to make a dash for it and the gown would be hers. He feinted left, then right, keeping her attention while he made his decision. He would not stand a chance if he wasted a precious second going around the small table. He would have to go over it.

Paine lunged, coming over the table and taking Julia to the ground with him. She wriggled against him, struggling, tantalising with every movement.

‘That’s not fair!’ she protested, obviously wanting to be put out by his audacity, but not quite able to void the laughter from her voice.

‘You gloated too soon,’ Paine teased, enjoying the friction of her naïve movements against the fabric of his trousers where she lay beneath him. He inched forwards and grasped at the hem of the gown. ‘I win. I have the dress and I have you right where I want you, right where you belong.’ He ground his hips meaningfully against her pelvis, his member in an overt state of readiness that could not be overlooked.

Julia angled her head back to see her discarded gown clutched in Paine’s hand. She stretched to reach and take it from him. Paine pinned her gently with the power of his body. ‘Do you think I would relinquish your gown so soon after winning it?’ Paine tut-tutted.

‘Please, give it back to me.’ The earlier playfulness was replaced with a plea. He was alert to it at once.

‘All right.’ Paine sat up, straddling her between his thighs. He needed to be careful not to push Julia too far. Such games of love-play could easily be misconstrued as something more sinister. He didn’t want her frightened. That was never his intention.

‘You may pay a forfeit.’ He kept the tone light to remind her his intentions were not motivated by evil.

‘What?’ She was all wariness. She wanted to play the game, wanted to trust him, but knew better than to do so. Damn Mortimer Oswalt and her uncle for teaching her such cynicism already. It turned his insides to think of what a month of marriage, let alone a lifetime of marriage to Oswalt, would to do her.

Paine reached out a gentle hand to stroke her cheek. ‘The forfeit is simple. Have breakfast with me.’ He gestured to the tray waiting on the low bedside table. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to put it together. I went out for it.’

‘Just breakfast?’ Julia queried.

‘Just breakfast.’

‘I can go after breakfast?’

‘If that is what you wish,’ Paine answered solemnly. He meant it. He would keep his word, although he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. This would be a breakfast Julia Prentiss would not soon forget.

Julia sat cross-legged on a pile of colorful pillows in the middle of the floor, securely garbed in a satin robe Paine had generously loaned her from his wardrobe. Paine lounged next to her, propped on an elbow, and dressed only in a pair of thin silk Indian-styled trousers, having forgone the wool trousers he’d worn out to find breakfast. He peeled a section of orange and offered it up to her, creating the effect that he was a loyal squire serving his queen. Having such a handsome man staring at her in overt adoration, serving her every need, was highly intoxicating.

It was also highly hazardous. She almost believed she was a queen when he stared at her thus, almost believed a host of other things, too: that last night had been more than a discharge of a duty, a fulfilment of a contract between them; that he’d felt what she’d felt at the end; that he’d stolen her dress and conjured up the forfeit because he didn’t want her to go. Most dangerous of all, that there was something real between them, that their night together didn’t have to end. That was the biggest folly of all.

‘I love oranges. We seldom have them in the country except at Christmas,’ Julia confessed, using a finger to wipe an errant dribble of juice from her chin.

‘They taste better when someone else feeds them to you.’ Paine hoisted himself up to take her head in his lap. He looked down at her with a soft expression in his blue eyes that did strange things to her stomach. He could feed her worms for all she’d care when he looked at her like that—as if she was a divine goddess and he a devout worshipper. This man was far more rakish, far more seductive than any rumour had suggested. He was a consummate master at his trade.

‘Is it always like this?’ She arched her neck back to see all of his handsome visage staring down at her.

‘No, hardly.’ He held a succulent orange slice over her mouth and made a show of gently squeezing sweet drops of juice on her lips. Julia felt her breasts tighten in analogy, remembering the way he’d manipulated her nipples with soft pressure until they’d been erect with need.

‘I can see why,’ Julia said softly. ‘If such pleasure was so readily available, I doubt anyone would get much of anything done.’ She blushed at her own frankness and Paine laughed again, popping another slice of orange in her mouth.

‘How is it that you are privy to such carnal knowledge?’ Julia asked between bites.

‘I shouldn’t tell you. A master never shares his secrets,’ Paine flirted. ‘But I can hardly have you walking around London thinking just anyone can do this.’ He dribbled juice on her lips. She flicked her tongue across her lips to gather the juice and heard him groan at the action, a low throaty groan that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure. It was a small, thrilling piece of power to think such a simple motion could affect a man of his experience.

He offered her a slice of orange dipped in ground sugar, sliding it into her open mouth and letting her suck the juice from it. She closed her eyes and sucked hard, wholly unaware at how the sight of her savouring the rare treat with abject delight was pushing the limits of Paine’s restraint. His hand clenched in her hair.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, recognising the intensity of the need mirrored in his gaze. He wanted her. His eyes said it. His body said it. She was sharply alert to the intimacy of his lap, the thinness of the silk fabric. She had only to turn her head slightly to encounter the full dimension of his rock-hard manhood. Julia thought of the orange slice, of its slightly phallus-like shape, of sucking the juice from it. Would Paine like that? The look in his eyes suggested he would. Hesitantly, Julia turned her head. She parted her lips and mouthed him through his trousers.

Paine gave a sharp gasp at the contact. She drew back, worried the idea wasn’t to his liking after all. ‘Don’t stop, Julia, don’t stop,’ he pleaded, a gentle hand urging her head back to his straining member.

Julia was giddy with power. She sucked hard until Paine made no effort to confine his satisfaction to groans, but gave full vent to his enjoyment with loud cries.

‘Julia, pull it out, let me be in you.’ He panted, close to his end.

Julia found the hidden slit in his trousers and pulled free the swollen member, slick with its own juices. Her hand clenched about its tip, revelling in what she had wrought. She reached over his head for the trifle box he’d used last night and rummaged quickly for a sheath.

‘Now, straddle me, Julia.’ Paine instructed, helping her to roll the thin sheath over his sex. ‘Take me inside you and ride.’

Julia lowered herself on to him, exhaling in wonderment as she slid on him. He was so large, much larger than she’d thought last night. Yet he fit perfectly, filling up the space inside her. She began her motions and he joined her in a seamless rocking rhythm that teased her, then ultimately fulfilled her as she found the place she’d found last night, soaring in Paine’s arms. He drew her down to him as he shuddered his own release, muffling his cries in her shoulder.

They lay together, their breathing slowing in unison as the initial power of climaxing ebbed. Julia wanted to stay clasped against him, warm and sated in his arms, for ever. Reality intruded. If she moved, breakfast would be over. She would have to go. But she no longer wanted to.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to feel this pleasure he’d awoken in her again and again. She didn’t imagine such pleasure could be found with Oswalt. She fought a shudder. The horror of doing such intimate things with him escalated against the backdrop of what she’d shared with Paine Ramsden.

‘Are you cold?’ Paine reached for a throw to wrap about them, misinterpreting the reason for her shudder.

Julia searched for a way to prolong the moment, the minutes of their time together. ‘You have not answered my question yet.’

‘Mmm.’ Paine breathed into her hair sounding like a well contented man. ‘There are studies, sutras, in India that teach men and women about sexual congress. Each person has a different task, a different function in the act. There are such teachings in China as well. Remember my cabinet with the yin and yang symbol?’ He shifted Julia to the side and wrapped an arm about her, warming to his subject. She waited for him to continue, her curiosity getting the better of her at the idea of such studies.

‘In China, the man is the yin and the woman is the yang. It’s the man’s task, through lovemaking, to make the woman give up her essence, her yang, without losing his own yin to attain it. When a woman climaxes, her essence is surrendered.’

Julia punched him in the shoulder. ‘That sounds completely arrogant and not so enjoyable for the man if he can’t—what did you call it? Climax?’ She tried out the new word.

‘That’s the whole point,’ Paine instructed. ‘Attaining a woman’s yang without climaxing yourself makes you strong and it increases your life. It’s the mark of a skilled male to be able to claim such discipline. There’s tales of men being able to have congress with up to fourteen women before releasing their yin.’

Julia levered up on one arm and searched his face quizzically. ‘Last night, and just now, did you, uh, steal my yang, as it were?’ She’d felt that he’d held back nothing, as had she. It would be a private disappointment to learn she’d been cheated in a fashion.

Paine smiled. ‘No, my enchantress. I gave up as much as I took.’ Paine folded his arms behind his head.

‘So you’ve taken my virginity and I’ve taken your immortality,’ Julia said drily.

Paine chuckled. ‘I suppose so, but chances are I was mortal already. Those are old teachings. Some say they go back to the third century before Christ. Since then, the Chinese have shifted their focus. They discovered that denying women the yin denied men their heirs. Now, the sexual teachings have been adapted to be more cooperative in their outcome, much more similar to India.’

‘Oh, no stealing of essences there, then?’ Julia probed, utterly enthralled by such talk.

‘No stealing, only giving. In Hinduism—that’s the primary religion in India—sexual intercourse is seen as a metaphor for a relationship with the gods. Sex is spiritual and sacred.’

‘I think I prefer the Indian way.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could rethink the wisdom of them. She regretted it immediately.

Paine would think she meant something by them, something altogether much more personal than she intended their dealings to be. To cover her silliness, she sat up, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. She made no move to shove it back from her face. Its curtain obscured her face, which was just as well. She had what she came for—she was thoroughly ruined by now and fully instructed in more than she’d bargained for. Such knowledge made it hard to leave, knowing that she’d find no outlet for it in the English world.

It was past time to go and Paine Ramsden did not strike her as a man who responded well to womanly whines. Even in her naïvety, she knew he would be a hard man to hold. He did nothing for the sake of tradition and protocol. He operated by an entirely different standard of rules. The rumours about him had been right in that respect, although much else she’d heard did not ring true with what she’d experienced. She should put on her dress and be gone with all the dignity she could find.

Chapter Five

Julia crossed the room to the forgotten gown they’d tussled over in the early morning. She hazarded a covert glance at Paine while she slipped into her undergarments. He had levered himself up on one arm, his shirt open, his dark hair dishevelled. The sight of such blatant, post-coital masculinity studying her every move as she dressed was potent. Julia felt her blood fire at the sight.

‘What are you doing, Julia?’ he drawled.

‘Dressing.’

‘I can see that. But to what purpose? I will simply undress you again.’

‘Paine, I am leaving.’ A rush of anxiety filled her. Would he let her leave? Would he renege on their agreement? ‘You promised me I could go.’

‘I promised you could go if you wanted to. Do you want to?’ Paine replied with apparent nonchalance.

‘The world often demands we act beyond our selfish wants,’ Julia parried, pulling on her stockings, recalling with clarity how they’d come to be off her legs. Would she remember that every time she pulled on stockings for the rest of her life?

‘Does it, Julia? What do you hope to gain by going back that you haven’t already gained?’ Paine gained his feet and strode to her side, his deft hands taking over the working of the buttons at the back of her gown.

‘I have to go back and tell them the betrothal is off,’ Julia stammered. The heat of his hands provided a very real distraction as they skimmed her back.

‘I would think that would be obvious to them by your absence.’ Paine chuckled, finishing the buttons. His hands rode at her waist, easing her back against his chest so that she was fitted along his length and his arms encircled her. ‘Nothing but sorrow awaits you there. For a woman who seemed to have thought everything through so thoroughly, I am surprised you haven’t realised that yet. Even if you break the betrothal with your announcement, they will not let you go again. They’ll punish you, pack you off to the country at best. At worst, they will cast you out without a penny or force you into marriage with an unsuspecting dolt from the country just to get you off their hands. They’ll have to find a way to countenance your dishonour.’

‘I know. I have resigned myself to that,’ Julia said stoically, although accepting those consequences was going to be far more difficult now after Paine’s education than it was in her imaginings yesterday when she’d concocted her mad scheme. ‘Regardless, they’ll be worried about me. I owe them the courtesy of letting them know I am well.’

‘Worried about themselves is more likely,’ Paine drawled with cynicism. ‘Don’t delude yourself. You cannot simply waltz back home and put paid to the contract.’

His scepticism fired her temper. She didn’t like to be laughed at. ‘How dare you speak of them like that! You don’t know them at all. You’ve never even met them.’ To her embarrassment, her lip quivered and she fought back the urge to cry in her despair.

Her aunt and uncle weren’t cruel, only desperate, and, in their desperation, they’d made some poor choices. But surely they would forgive her and see reason. When Gray’s ship docked, everything would be put to rights without Oswalt’s money.

The thought encouraged her. She shook her head and straightened her shoulders resolutely. ‘My aunt and uncle aren’t ogres, Paine. They’re merely misguided. Whatever they do to me, it’ll be better than marriage to Oswalt. I made my choices and I’ll abide by them.’

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