About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written over one hundred and eighty books for Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Tall, Dark & Irresistible
The Rogue’s Disgraced Lady
Lady Arabella’s Scandalous Marriage

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Rogue’s Disgraced Lady

For Karin Stoecker

Thank you for listening to me when the idea for the St. Claire family first entered my imagination!

Prologue

Banford House, Mayfair, late July, 1817

‘It is you, Sebastian!’ his hostess greeted him warmly as he was announced into her drawing-room. ‘When Revell informed me that Lord St Claire had come to call I thought … But of course Lucian is newly married, and most probably still upon his honeymoon. It is so good to see you!’

Sebastian, Lord St Claire, was, as usual, dressed in the height of fashion, in a perfectly tailored brown superfine over a gold brocade waistcoat and snowy white linen, with fawn pantaloons and brown-topped black Hessians. His fashionably overlong teak-coloured hair was shot through with natural streaks of gold.

He gave a roguish smile as he crossed the room to where Dolly Vaughn reclined graciously upon the raspberry-red sofa in the drawing room of her town house. Except she was no longer Dolly Vaughn, of course, but Lady Dorothea Bancroft, the Countess of Banford.

Eyes the colour of warm whisky laughingly met her teasing blue ones as Sebastian took the hand she offered and raised it to his lips. ‘Please do not shatter all my illusions and tell me that you were once acquainted with my brother Lucian,’ he drawled.

‘Intimately,’ Dolly assured him mischievously. ‘Stourbridge too, on one memorable occasion. But that is another story entirely …’ She gave a delighted laugh as Sebastian’s eyes widened at this mention of his eldest brother Hawk, the aristocratic and aloof tenth Duke of Stourbridge. ‘Poor Bancroft has the devil of a time pretending not to be aware of the names of any of my past lovers,’ she added with an unrepentant smile.

William Bancroft, Earl of Banford, should, and did, consider himself the most fortunate of men in having Dolly as his wife for the last three years. Before her marriage she had been the discreet paramour of many a male member of the ton—both of Sebastian’s older brothers amongst them, apparently!

Sebastian’s own relationship with Dolly was based purely on a platonic friendship that had developed when he first came to town at the tender age of seventeen, still a virgin. Dolly had found Sebastian a less experienced young lady than herself to introduce him to all the carnal delights.

‘Please do sit down, Sebastian,’ she invited warmly now as she patted the sofa beside her, still a golden-haired beauty, though now aged in her mid-thirties. ‘I have ordered tea for us both. It is a little early as yet for me to offer any stronger refreshment, I am afraid,’ she added derisively as he raised dark brows.

Sebastian could remember a time when it had never been too early for Dolly to take ‘stronger refreshment’, but out of respect for her role as the Countess of Banford he did not remind her of those occasions. ‘You are looking very well, Lady Bancroft,’ he complimented her as he sat down beside her. ‘Marriage obviously suits you.’

‘Marriage to my darling Bancroft suits me,’ she corrected him firmly. ‘And I refuse to allow you to behave so formally with me.’ She tapped his wrist lightly with her fan. ‘When we’re alone like this, I insist we be as we always were—simply Dolly and Sebastian.’ She turned as the butler returned with a tray of tea things, informing him, ‘I am not at home to any more visitors this afternoon, Revell.’ She waited until the servant had vacated the room before speaking again. ‘I am afraid, even after three years, the servants still find my refusal to follow the rules something of a trial,’ Dolly explained airily as she sat forward to pour the tea, the blue of her high-waisted gown a perfect match for her eyes.

She had given Sebastian the very opening in the conversation that he had been hoping for. ‘But the ton are a little … kinder to you now than they used to be, are they not?’

‘Oh, my dear, I have become quite the thing!’ Dolly assured him laughingly as she handed him one of the delicate china teacups. ‘An invitation to one of my summer house parties at Banford Park has become famously exclusive.’

Sebastian nodded. ‘It is concerning this year’s house party that I have come to see you.’

She gave him a look from eyes that had become shrewdly considering. ‘Surely you and several of your friends have already received this year’s invitation, Sebastian? An invitation, if my memory serves me correctly, that you have always refused in the past.’

They were both aware there was absolutely nothing amiss with Dolly’s memory. ‘I am thinking of accepting this year …’

Her gaze became even shrewder. ‘If …?’

Sebastian gave a husky laugh as he relaxed back on the sofa. ‘You are far too forthright for a man’s comfort, Dolly!’

She arched blonde brows. ‘For your comfort!?’

When Sebastian had come up with the idea it had seemed perfectly straightforward. A simple request for Dolly to include another woman—a particular woman—in her guest list for the two-week summer house party to be held at the Banford estate in Hampshire in two weeks’ time. Unfortunately, Sebastian had overlooked the sharpness of Dolly’s curiosity …

‘You wish me to add another guest to my list. A female guest,’ Dolly guessed correctly. ‘What of your affair with the widowed Lady Hawtry?’

‘Not much escapes your notice, does it, Dolly?’ Sebastian said ruefully. ‘That relationship is at an end.’ As any of his relationships were, whenever the lady began to talk of marriage!

‘So who is it this time, Sebastian? Is your reluctance to tell me her name because she is a married lady?’ she prompted, at Sebastian’s continued silence. ‘I assure you, after three years amongst the ton, I am beyond being shocked by anything any of them choose to do behind closed doors—even when it includes my own!’

‘The lady was married,’ Sebastian admitted. ‘But is no longer.’ Despite his attraction to the lady in question, Sebastian would never have considered seducing her if she were still married—after all, even a man who was considered a rake of the first order by both the male and female members of the ton must have some principles!

‘Another widow, then. But which one, I wonder …?’ Dolly looked thoughtful as she considered all the widowed ladies of her acquaintance. ‘Oh, do give me some clue, Sebastian, please!’ she begged a few minutes later. ‘You know how I have always hated a mystery.’

Yes, this had all seemed so much easier when Sebastian had sat at home alone, considering how he might gain an introduction to a woman whose very reclusive behaviour this last eighteen months represented something of a challenge to a seasoned rake!

He grimaced. ‘Her year of mourning her husband came to an end six months ago, but unfortunately for me—and every other man who relishes being the widow’s first lover—she has not as yet returned into Society.’

‘Hmm …’ Dolly tapped a considering fingertip against her lips. ‘No!’ She gave a disbelieving gasp, her gaze suddenly guarded as she turned to Sebastian. ‘You do not mean—Sebastian, surely you cannot be referring to—’

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘She was one of the few who were kind to you three years ago, when Bancroft first introduced you to the ton as his wife, was she not?’

‘You do mean her, then!’ Dolly breathed softly. ‘I would never have thought …!’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘Sebastian, you must be aware of the unpleasant gossip that has circulated about her since the untimely death of her husband?’

‘Of course I am aware of it,’ he said dismissively. ‘It only makes the lady more … intriguing.’

The Countess of Banford frowned. ‘There is often some truth to such rumours, you know.’

Sebastian shrugged. ‘And what if there is? I told you—I intend seducing the woman, not marrying her!’

She chewed on her bottom lip. ‘I am just concerned for you, Sebastian …’

He gave a grin. ‘There is no reason to be, I assure you.’

‘Your intentions really are not honourable, then?’ Dolly gave him another of those shrewd glances.

‘I have just told you they are not,’ he reiterated. ‘I am a bachelor by choice, Dolly—and I assure you, no matter what a lady’s charms, I intend to continue in that enviable state!’

Dolly nodded. ‘You do realise this particular lady has not been seen at all since moving to the estate left to her in Shropshire?’

‘I would not be asking you to issue this invitation to her if I thought there were any other way in which I might be introduced to her,’ Sebastian reasoned wryly.

Dolly’s eyes widened. ‘The two of you have never even been introduced?’

‘Not as yet.’ Sebastian grinned wolfishly. ‘Her husband and I, for obvious reasons, did not share the same circle of friends.’

‘He was rather a pompous bore, was he not?’ Dolly conceded. ‘So, the two of you have never actually met ….’

‘I have merely gazed at her once or twice from afar,’ Sebastian admitted.

‘And now you wish to gaze at her more intimately?’ Dolly teased. ‘Poor Juliet will not stand a chance!’

‘You flatter me, Dolly.’

She shook her head. ‘What woman could not be flattered by the attentions of the handsome but equally elusive Lord Sebastian St Claire?’ She eyed his roguish good looks and the strength of his leanly muscled body appreciatively. ‘It so happens, Sebastian, that I have already issued an invitation to the lady in question.’

‘Better and better,’ Sebastian murmured appreciatively.

Dolly gave an elegant inclination of one eyebrow. ‘We were friends before her husband’s death, and despite the gossip I have decided she cannot continue to languish in Shropshire.’

‘Has she accepted the invitation?’ Sebastian asked eagerly.

‘Not yet. But she will,’ Dolly assured him with certainty. ‘Really, Sebastian, how could you possibly doubt my powers of persuasion?’ Dolly rebuked as she saw his suddenly sceptical expression.

Indeed …

‘What do you make of this, Helena?’ Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood, finished reading the printed invitation she had just received before passing it frowningly to her cousin as the two of them sat together in the breakfast room at Falcon Manor.

Helena gave Juliet a quizzical glance before taking the invitation. Her pale blonde hair was pulled back from her colourless face, her figure thin as a boy’s in one of the dull brown gowns she always wore. A frown marred her brow when she looked up again. ‘Shall you go, Juliet?’

Ordinarily Juliet would have left the Countess of Banford’s invitation, and its envelope, on the table to be disposed of along with the other debris from breakfast. She hesitated now only because there had been a letter enclosed with the invitation. A handwritten letter that she also handed to her cousin to read.

‘“My dear”,’ Helena read. ‘“You were always so kind to me in the past, and now I take great pleasure in returning that kindness by the enclosed invitation. It is only to be Bancroft and myself, and a few select friends.

‘“Please, please do say you will come, Juliet!

‘“Your friend, Dolly Bancroft”.’

‘It is very thoughtful of her to write to me so kindly, but of course I cannot go, Helena,’ Juliet said softly.

‘But of course you must go!’ Her cousin contradicted impatiently, the sudden colour to her pale cheeks giving a brief glimpse of the beauty that was otherwise not apparent in the severity of her hairstyle and dress. ‘Do you not see that this could be your door back into Society?’

A door Juliet would prefer to remain firmly closed. ‘I want no part of Society, you know that, Helena. As Society has made it more than plain this past year and a half that they no longer wish to have any part of me,’ she added dryly.

Her time of mourning had been difficult enough for Juliet to bear when she felt relief rather than a sense of loss at Edward’s death. But the cuts she had received from the ton as early as those who had attended Crestwood’s funeral, had only served to show her that Society now felt well rid of her.

She sighed. ‘It is very kind of Dolly Bancroft to think of me, of course—’

‘And were you not kind to her before she became Society’s darling?’ her cousin reminded her tartly. ‘Before Banford’s connections and his prestige in the House caused them to forget that she was nothing more than a mistress who married her lover before his first wife was even cold in her grave!’ Helena added, in her usual forthright manner.

It had been her cousin’s down-to-earth practicality that had helped Juliet endure this past year and a half of virtual ostracism, and she smiled at Helena now. ‘It was a good nine months after his wife’s death, actually. And Society was not so kind to me either twelve years ago, when Miss Juliet Chatterton married the retired war hero Admiral Lord Edward Boyd, Earl of Crestwood, member of the House of Lords, and adviser to the War Cabinet. I felt offering my friendship to Dolly Bancroft three years ago was the least I could do if it helped to ease her own path into Society even a little.’

Juliet had only been eighteen when she had married a man thirty years her senior. As was customary, the match had been made and approved by her parents, but nevertheless Juliet had begun her married life with all the naïve expectations of lifelong happiness that were usual in someone so young and unknowing.

She had quickly learnt that her husband had no interest in her happiness, and that in the privacy of their own home he was not the same man his peers and the country so admired.

Juliet’s only consolation had been that her parents had not been alive to witness such an ill matched marriage as hers had turned out to be, Mr and Mrs Chatterton having drowned in a boating accident only months after Juliet had married the Earl of Crestwood.

The unhappiness of Juliet’s marriage had been eased a little when her cousin Helena, then sixteen years old, had escaped from France six years ago and come to live with them, becoming Juliet’s companion. Crestwood, it seemed, had been coward enough not to reveal the cruelty of his true character in front of a witness.

‘Then you must let her do this for you, Cousin.’ Once again Helena was the practical one. ‘You are still far too young and beautiful to allow yourself to just wither away in the country!’

‘I assure you I am not yet ready for my bath-chair, Helena!’ Juliet gave an indulgent laugh, revealing straight white teeth between lips that were full and unknowingly sensual.

Now aged thirty, Juliet knew she was no longer in possession of the youthful bloom that had once caught Crestwood’s eye. Instead, she had become a woman of maturity—and not only in years. Her time spent as Crestwood’s wife had left an indelible mark upon her.

Thankfully, she had borne Crestwood no children to inherit their father’s cold and unforgiving nature, and so her figure, although more curvaceous now, was still slender. The long darkness of her hair was healthily shiny, loosely confined now at her crown, with wispy curls at her nape and temple as was currently the fashion. Her complexion was still as creamy and unlined as it had ever been.

But there was a lingering shadow of unhappiness in the green depths of her eyes, and Juliet smiled much less often now than she had been seen to do during her single coming-out Season twelve years ago. Before over ten years of marriage to the icy Earl of Crestwood had stripped her of all that girlish joy.

‘Anyway, I will never remarry,’ she added fiercely.

‘No one is suggesting that you should do so, silly.’ Helena reached out to squeeze her clenched hands affectionately, having been intuitive enough within months of coming to live at Falcon Manor to know of Juliet’s unhappiness in her marriage. ‘Two weeks at Banford Park, to gently introduce yourself back into Society, does not mean you have to accept a marriage proposal.’

Juliet had been softening slightly towards the idea of a fortnight spent in the congenial company of Dolly Bancroft’s ‘few select friends’, but this last remark made her bristle anew. ‘Nor any other sort of proposal, either,’ she stated, only too aware, after years in their midst, of the behaviour of some of the ton at these summer house parties, where it seemed to be accepted that a man would spend his nights in the bedchamber of any woman but that of his own wife.

Helena shook her head. ‘I am sure, as she has said in the letter that accompanied her invitation, that Lady Bancroft just means to repay your earlier kindness to her.’

Juliet wished that she could be as sure of that. Oh, she did not for a moment doubt Dolly’s good intentions. She had come to know the older woman as being kind and caring, as well as deeply in love with her husband. Juliet only feared that her own idea of good intentions and Dolly Bancroft’s might not coincide ….

‘Oh, do say you will go, Juliet!’ Helena entreated. ‘I can come with you and act as your maid—’

‘You are my cousin, not a servant!’ Juliet protested.

‘But your cousin is not invited,’ Helena pointed out ruefully. ‘Think on it, Juliet. It could be fun. And you will be all the fashion, with your French maid Helena Jourdan to attend you.’

Fun, as Juliet well knew, was something that Helena had not had much of in her young life. Her parents, the sister of Juliet’s own mother and the Frenchman she had married twenty-five years ago, had been victims of the scourge that had overtaken France during Napoleon’s reign, both killed during a raid on their small manor house six years ago, by soldiers in search of food and valuables.

Helena had been present when the raid had occurred, and reluctant after her escape to England to talk of her own fate during that week-long siege. But it had not been too difficult to guess, from the way Helena chose to play down her delicate beauty and dressed so severely, that she had not escaped the soldiers’ attentions unscathed.

The two of them had lived quietly and alone except for their few servants this past year and a half, at the estate Crestwood had left his widow, and whilst Juliet had not minded for herself she accepted that at only two and twenty Helena would probably welcome some excitement into their dull lives.

The sort of excitement a two-week stay at Dolly Bancroft’s country estate would no doubt provide ….

Chapter One

‘I have no idea why you felt it necessary to force me from my bed at the crack of dawn—’

‘It was eleven o’clock, Gray,’ Sebastian pointed out as he expertly handled the matching greys stepping out lively in front of his curricle.

‘As far as I am concerned, any hour before midday is the crack of dawn,’ Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray to his closest friends—assured him dourly as he huddled down on the seat beside him, the high collar of his fashionably cut jacket snug about his ears despite the warmth of this August summer day. ‘I barely had time to wake, let alone enjoy my breakfast.’

‘Kippers, eggs and toast, accompanied by two pots of strong coffee,’ Sebastian said cheerfully. ‘All eaten, as I recall, while you perused today’s newspaper.’

‘My valet was rushed through my ablutions, and …’

Sebastian stopped listening to Gray’s complaints at this point. He was too full of anticipation at the prospect of the challenge of seducing Juliet Boyd to allow anything—or anyone—to shake him out of his good temper.

‘… and now my closest friend in the world is so bored by my company that after dragging me forcibly from my own bed and home he cannot even be bothered listening to me!’ Gray scowled up at him censoriously.

Sebastian gave an unrepentant grin as he glanced down at the other man. ‘When you have something interesting to say, Gray, I assure you I will listen.’

‘Could you at least try to be a little less cheerful?’ his friend muttered sourly. ‘I do believe I am feeling a little delicate this morning.’

‘A self-inflicted delicacy!’ The two men had done the rounds of the drinking and gambling clubs yesterday evening—Sebastian had won, Gray had not—after which his friend had left to spend several hours in the bed of his current mistress, before returning to his home in the not-so-early hours.

‘You are in disgustingly good humour this morning, Seb.’ Gray gave another wince. ‘Have you taken a new mistress to replace Lady Hawtry?’

‘Not yet.’ Sebastian grinned wolfishly. ‘But I intend doing so in the next two weeks.’

‘Oh, I say!’ Gray’s interest quickened. ‘I hope you are not intending to try your luck with Dolly Bancroft during your stay at Banford Park? I warn you, next to your brother Lucian and yourself, Bancroft is the best swordsman in England!’

‘You may rest easy concerning both my interest in Dolly’s bedchamber and Bancroft’s prowess with the sword,’ Sebastian assured him dryly. ‘Dolly and I are no more than friends and never will be.’ Especially now that he knew Dolly had been bedded by both his brothers!

Gray arched a dark brow. ‘But you admit there is a lady involved in our uncharacteristic behaviour in attending a summer house party?’

‘Of course,’ Sebastian drawled, but he had no intention of sharing his particular interest in bedding the newly widowed Countess of Crestwood.

‘Tell me I do not see the parson’s mousetrap snapping at your booted heels …’ Gray mocked.

Sebastian gave a humourless laugh. ‘You most assuredly do not.’ He was even more determined to avoid that state after seeing both his brothers succumb over the last year.

‘I must say neither of your brothers seems to mind it so much.’ Gray’s thoughts travelled the same path. ‘I am not sure that I should mind, either, if I had one of their wives for my own!’

‘In that case, feel free to find your own wife, Gray,’ Sebastian jeered. ‘But for goodness’ sake, do not attempt to find one for me.’ His interest in any woman, Juliet Boyd included, did not include marriage!

‘Yes, Sebastian, she has arrived.’ Dolly answered his silent question once the greetings were over and Gray had departed to the library to share a glass of reviving brandy with his host. ‘She has asked for tea in her bedchamber, however, and has every intention of staying there until it is time to come down for dinner. But I have given you adjoining bedchambers. The balconies of your rooms are connected also,’ she confided warmly.

Sebastian smiled his satisfaction with the arrangement. ‘I trust I will be seated next to her at dinner too?’

‘Sebastian, I am not sure your interest in the Countess is altogether wise …’ Dolly suddenly looked troubled.

‘If it were “wise”, Dolly, I doubt I should wish to pursue it!’ he teased. ‘Now, if I have your permission, I believe I would like to retire to my own bedchamber and rest a little before dinner.’

‘Rest?’ His hostess’s brow arched speculatively.

‘I assure you I have no intention of intruding upon the privacy of the lady before we have even been formally introduced,’ he pointed out.

‘That will come later, one assumes?’ Dolly teased.

‘Hopefully, yes,’ Sebastian murmured.

There had been many rumours circulating about the Countess of Crestwood since her husband’s sudden death—most of them unpleasant, to say the least. But none of them had even hinted at her ever being involved in a liaison with another man, either before or during her marriage. Or, indeed, since her marriage had ended ….

So Sebastian spent the hours before dinner resting in his bedchamber, all the time aware that the beautiful but elusive Juliet Boyd was in the room adjoining his. All was silent behind the closed lace curtains at the windows, however, and the French doors into her bedchamber from the balcony remained firmly shut against the warmth of the day.

But she had accepted the invitation, as Dolly had said she would. And Juliet could not remain in her bedchamber for the whole of her stay here ….

Juliet had never felt so nervous as she stood hesitantly in the cavernous hallway of Banford Park, delaying her entrance into the drawing room, where the other guests of the Countess and Earl of Banford could be heard chattering and laughing together as they gathered before dinner.

Dolly Bancroft had been very welcoming upon Juliet’s arrival that afternoon. William Bancroft had been equally charming.

No, it was not her host and hostess’s lack of welcome that Juliet feared, but the reactions of their other guests, once they realised that Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood, was amongst their number. For Dolly’s sake, Juliet sincerely hoped that none of those guests decided to depart once they realised they were to share their stay here with the ‘Black Widow’, as Juliet was all too aware she had been cruelly labelled after her husband’s death.

She should not have agreed to come here, Juliet told herself, for what had to be the hundredth time since accepting the invitation. Much as she might have wanted to give Helena a little treat after their long period of enforced mourning, Juliet knew she should not have allowed herself to be persuaded into believing that these two weeks at Banford Park was the means by which to do it.

Perhaps she would have felt differently if she had been able to have the fiercely protective Helena at her side. Instead Helena had done as she had said she would, and accompanied Juliet as her maid—a role her cousin seemed to be enjoying immensely. She had cheerfully left Juliet’s bedchamber a few minutes ago, after first dressing her hair and helping her into her gown, to go upstairs and gossip with the other maids.

‘Will you allow me the honour of escorting you into the drawing room, Lady Boyd?’

Juliet turned sharply, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was her host who stood solicitously beside her, proffering his arm. A tall and handsome man in his fifties, who now looked down at her with shrewd hazel eyes, the Earl reminded Juliet very much of her father.

‘I was just admiring this portrait.’ Juliet glanced up at the painting upon the wall which she had, in truth, only just noticed.

‘My great-grandfather—the seventh Earl of Banford.’ The Earl nodded. ‘A singularly ugly man, was he not?’ he drawled disparagingly.

Juliet could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips; the seventh Earl had indeed been a very unattractive man!

‘Shall we …?’ His great-grandson, the tenth earl, offered her his arm a second time.

‘Thank you,’ Juliet accepted shyly, and placed her gloved hand on top of that arm.

She had chosen to wear a fashionably high-waisted gown of dark grey silk this evening, with only the barest hint of Brussels lace at her bosom and around the edges of the short puffed sleeves. A row of pearls was entwined amongst her dark curls, her only other jewellery matching ear-bobs and the plain gold wedding band on her left hand.

Juliet would have liked to remove even this symbol of Edward’s ownership of her, but knew that would only add to the speculation that had followed so quickly after Edward’s death and still remained rife.

Although she very much doubted that the wearing of her wedding band or the demure style of the grey silk gown would make the slightest difference to the gossip that was sure to ensue the moment her presence here was known!

‘My wife always maintains that it is best to do exactly that which pleases oneself. On the premise, I believe, that it is impossible to please all people all the time,’ the Earl confided.

Juliet turned to give him a startled glance. ‘It has been my experience that it is impossible to please any of the ton any of the time!’ Juliet murmured, some of the tension easing from her slender shoulders. ‘Did your wife also suggest that it might be beneficial if you were to wait out here in the hallway this evening in order that you might gallantly offer to escort me into the drawing room?’

The Earl gave a inclination of his head. ‘I do believe she may have mentioned some such thing, yes.’

Juliet gave a husky laugh. ‘You are too kind, My Lord.’

‘On the contrary, my dear, I consider myself deeply honoured,’ he replied. ‘Now, let us go into the drawing room and set the tongues a wagging, hmm?’ He encouraged her almost as gleefully as his wife might have done.

It seemed to Juliet as if all eyes suddenly turned in the direction of the doorway as she entered the room on the arm of the Earl of Banford, the conversation faltering. Then Dolly swiftly filled that silence by engaging in conversation with the handsome and fashionably attired young man standing beside her.

A young man who stared boldly at Juliet, with unfathomable whisky-coloured eyes ….

Sebastian was barely aware of Dolly’s conversation as, along with all others present, he stared across the room as the Countess of Crestwood entered on the arm of their host.

She was incredibly beautiful—even more so than when Sebastian had last seen her, at some ball or other a couple of years ago, and his interest in her had first been piqued.

He became aware of the finer details about her. Such as the rich darkness of her hair and the entwined string of pearls. The smoothness of her brow. The thick lashes that edged eyes of the deepest green. Her small, perfect nose. The pouting bow of her sensuously full lips. The proud and slightly challenging uplift of her little pointed chin.

Her breasts were as full as ever, and they spilled creamily against pale grey lace, but her waist and hips appeared more willowy than when he had last seen her across that crowded ballroom, and the skin at the swell of her breasts, throat and arms was as translucently pale as the pearls in her hair.

‘I advise that you close your mouth, Sebastian—before the drool threatens to spoil the perfection of your cravat!’ Dolly whispered beside him in soft mockery, bringing a dark scowl to Sebastian’s face as he realised Dolly had a point. He had been staring intently at Lady Boyd for several minutes.

Had anyone else but Dolly noticed his marked interest? he wondered, disgusted with himself. A quick glance at his fellow guests assured him that their interest was as engaged on the lady as his own had been.

‘It is time for us to go into dinner,’ Dolly informed him as she received a nod from her butler, where he stood discreetly in the doorway. ‘Bancroft will be escorting his mother, the Dowager Countess, of course. Might I suggest, as the two of you are sitting together, that you offer your own arm to the Countess of Crestwood?’

Having been staring so intently at Juliet Boyd, Sebastian now found himself momentarily disconcerted by Dolly’s suggestion. But only momentarily. Was he not the rich and eligible Lord Sebastian St Claire, brother of a Duke? Moreover, at the age of seven and twenty, had he not been considered by all the female members of the ton—debutantes and matrons alike—as the foremost catch of the Season, since both of his brothers had proved themselves unavailable by taking a wife?

More importantly, meeting Juliet was the only reason he had come here—so what was he waiting for …?

Despite the Earl of Banford’s presence at her side, Juliet’s appearance in the drawing room had been as dramatic as she had feared it might.

Following that initial stunned silence a muted conversation had been resumed by the female guests, at least, as they gossiped in whispers behind their spread fans. The male guests had been less quick to hide their surprise at her appearance here, and for the main part had just continued to openly stare at her.

One man in particular …

An arrogantly handsome man, dressed in the height of fashion in tailored black evening clothes, a grey waistcoat and snowy white linen. The same man with whom Dolly Bancroft had endeavoured to make conversation when Juliet first entered the drawing room.

The very same man who had made absolutely no effort to disguise his inattentiveness to that conversation as he’d continued to stare at Juliet with narrowed, enigmatic eyes. Rather beautiful long-lashed eyes, the colour of the mellow whisky her father had once favoured, Juliet couldn’t help noticing admiringly.

She had expected the frosty disdain of the ton this evening. Had been prepared for that reaction. To find herself being regarded so familiarly by a man she did not even know, and who was obviously nothing more than a fashionable rake, did not sit well with her. It did not sit well at all!

Juliet’s already ruffled calm deserted her totally as she saw Dolly take a firm hold of the man’s arm and push him slightly in her direction. Was her intention to have him cross the room and offer to escort Juliet into dinner? An intention, for all the previous familiarity of the man’s gaze, that he surely could not welcome!

Juliet snapped her fan open in front of her before she turned her back on the pair to engage the Earl in conversation. ‘It seems that we have succeeded in creating something of a stir amongst your other guests despite your efforts, My Lord,’ she bit out tartly. The humiliation of having a man forced to escort her into dinner burned beneath the surface of her emotions.

No matter how kindly meant Dolly Bancroft’s invitation had been, Juliet knew she should not have allowed herself to be persuaded into coming here! She should not have exposed herself to—

‘Would you care to introduce me, My Lord?’

Juliet felt a quiver down the length of her spine at the first sound of the man’s smoothly cultured voice. That quiver turned to a shiver as she turned to find that Dolly’s rakishly handsome companion had acceded to her urgings and was now standing in front of Juliet, looking down the length of his arrogant nose at her, the expression in those whisky-coloured eyes hidden behind narrowed lids ….

Only Juliet did not need to see the expression in those beautiful eyes to know that this man felt the same contempt towards her as every other person here. Nor did she care to guess what leverage Dolly had exerted to persuade this man into doing her bidding ….

Until this moment Juliet had believed Dolly to be totally devoted to the Earl of Banford, but it would have taken more than a simple request from their hostess to persuade this young rake into committing possible social ruination by showing a preference for the notorious Countess of Crestwood. It led Juliet to wonder, with inner distaste, if this young man were possibly the Countess of Banford’s current lover …

‘Lady Boyd, may I present Lord Sebastian St Claire?’ the Earl said, doing as requested and dutifully making the introductions. ‘Lord St Claire—Lady Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood.’

Sebastian knew by the gleam of interest in the Earl’s eyes as he made the introductions that Dolly must have confided to her husband Sebastian’s intentions towards the Countess. His mouth tightened in displeasure at the breach of confidence even as he gave her an abrupt bow. ‘My Lady.’

‘My Lord.’ The Countess made a graceful curtsey, but made no effort to extend to him her gloved hand.

Sebastian scowled at the omission. ‘Will you grant me the honour of escorting you into dinner, Lady Boyd?’

‘“Honour”, My Lord?’ She raised dark, mocking brows.

He inclined his head. ‘I would consider it so, yes.’

Her laughter was light and derisive. ‘Then you are singular in your preference, My Lord.’

Damn it—this first conversation with Juliet Boyd was not going at all as Sebastian had hoped it might!

In his imaginings she had been as instantly taken with Sebastian as he already was with her. To such an extent that he had envisaged them talking alone together. Walking alone together. Sitting alone together. Most definitely being alone when they made love together …!

A muscle flickered in Sebastian’s tightly clenched jaw as he imagined first removing the pearls from her hair, before releasing the glossy curls so that they tumbled down the length of her slender spine. Next he would remove her gown, turning her so that he might unfasten—slowly—the row of tiny buttons from her nape down to her bottom, lingering, after releasing each button, to kiss the smoothness of the silky skin he had just exposed. When the last button had been unfastened he would then allow the gown to fall about her ankles, leaving her wearing only her chemise and stockings, with the fullness of her breasts pouting temptingly beneath the thin material, her nipples a dark delight that Sebastian would taste and possess until he’d had his fill …

‘It would appear we are the last to go into dinner, Lord St Claire,’ Juliet prompted sharply. He seemed lost in thought. Perhaps contemplating that social ruination, if the pained expression on his face was any indication!

He drew his thoughts back to his surroundings with an obvious effort. ‘I apologise for my preoccupation, Lady Boyd,’ he murmured huskily as he extended his arm to her.

‘Do not give it another thought, Lord St Claire,’ Juliet assured him as she placed her gloved hand lightly upon his sleeve. She was aware of the muscled strength beneath her fingertips. ‘After all, it is not every day that you are asked to act as escort to the notorious Black Widow!’ she added waspishly.

‘I—What did you call yourself?’ he exclaimed.

Her smile was completely lacking in humour. ‘I assure you I am well aware of the unflattering names I have acquired since … since the death of my husband,’ she told him. ‘Do not fear—you will have done your duty to our hostess once I am seated. I will not be in the least offended if you then ignore me for the rest of the evening.’ Rather, she would prefer it!

Juliet now recognised Lord Sebastian St Claire as being the youngest brother of the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge. A young lord, moreover, who had long been considered by the ton to be one of their most eligible—and elusive—bachelors. As such, his presence here was attracting as much attention as her own, making their belated entrance to the dining room together all the more sensational.

A puzzled frown marked his brow. ‘Why should you imagine I might wish to ignore you?’

Juliet smiled slightly. ‘To save yourself from further awkwardness, perhaps …?’

For the first time Sebastian considered that perhaps it had not been kind on Dolly’s part—or indeed his own!—to invite Juliet Boyd to Banford Park for these two weeks. That after all the talk and speculation this past year and a half, concerning her husband’s unexpected death, this woman would obviously be uncomfortable at making her first public appearance in some time.

Just as she was obviously aware of the unkind things that had been said about her following Crestwood’s death—cruel and malicious gossip, for the most part, which, even if it were true, could not have been at all pleasant for the lady to hear ….

He fleetingly touched the hand that rested on his arm. ‘I assure you I feel no awkwardness whatsoever at being seen in your company, Lady Boyd.’

Her glance was scathing now. ‘And I am just as sure, as the Duke of Stourbridge’s youngest brother, you would consider it impolite to admit to such an emotion even if you did.’

‘On the contrary, My Lady,’ Sebastian countered. ‘If you know anything of the St Claire family at all, then you must know that we prefer—in fact, go out of our way—not to bow to the dictates of Society.’

Yes, Juliet had heard that the St Claires were something of a law unto themselves. Even the head of that illustrious family, the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge.

After years of being considered the biggest catch any marriage-minded mama could make for her daughter, the Duke had caused something of a sensation almost a year ago by choosing to woo and marry a young woman the ton had had no previous knowledge of.

Juliet moved to sit in the chair Lord St Claire drew back for her. ‘Be assured, My Lord, in this circumstance you are in the company of one guaranteed to help you succeed in doing exactly that!’

She had been so busy settling herself into her seat that for a moment she had not realised he had taken the chair beside her.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said now, as she looked up and found herself between the Earl of Banford, seated at the head of the table, and Lord St Claire to her right. ‘Have you succeeded in inciting Lady Bancroft’s ire in some way, Lord St Claire?’ she asked.

He raised brows the same unusual teak and gold colour as his hair, laughter gleaming in those whisky-coloured eyes. ‘On the contrary. Lady Bancroft—Dolly—and I have always been the best of friends.’

Juliet continued to look at him for several long seconds. ‘Indeed,’ she finally murmured enigmatically, before turning away to indicate, she hoped, a complete lack of interest in the subject.

Sebastian would have liked to pursue the conversation further, to know the reason for that enigmatic glance, but he was prevented from doing so as his first course was served to him—by which time Lord Bancroft had drawn the Countess into conversation, giving Sebastian no further opportunity to talk, but every chance to study Juliet Boyd from between narrowed lids.

For all that she must know she was still attracting more attention from their fellow guests than was polite, the Countess of Crestwood stoically ignored that interest as she continued to converse and smile graciously with their host between sips of her soup.

Did she have any idea, Sebastian wondered, how enticing her mouth was, with its top lip slightly fuller than the bottom? How seductive the deep green of her eyes? How the translucent paleness of her skin begged to be touched?

Sebastian longed to feel the slender coolness of her hands upon his own heated flesh ….

To Juliet’s dismay, her discomfort had only increased once she was seated at the dinner table, and she felt her every move being avidly watched by her fellow guests. No doubt with the intention of gossip and comments later. Nor was she as unaware of the man seated on her right as she would have wished to be!

Lord Sebastian St Claire was without a doubt one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. A few years younger than her, of course. With that dark, unusual-coloured hair and the mellow flirtation of those whisky-coloured eyes. A sensual mouth that could either smile with derisive humour or curl back in contempt. A square and firm jaw that spoke of a determination of character that was only to be expected from the brother of the arrogant Duke of Stourbridge.

More disturbing, perhaps, his black evening clothes had been tailored perfectly to display the width of his shoulders, his tapered waist, the strength of his muscled thighs and his long, long legs.

Juliet had been out for barely one Season before her husband had offered for her, but even so she could appreciate that Lord St Claire was that most dangerous of men—a rake and a libertine. A man, she felt sure, who felt absolutely no qualms in availing himself of a woman’s charms. All women, of any age. Whilst remaining free of any emotional entanglement himself.

After years in a miserable marriage, Juliet could only envy such an emotionally carefree existence as Sebastian St Claire’s.

Envy, but never emulate.

She was aware that many widowed ladies her age took advantage of their freedom from the encumbrance of a husband and marriage to indulge in affairs that gave them either satisfaction in the bedchamber or the heart. After being the wife of Lord Edward Boyd, a cold and merciless man, Juliet had no desire for either!

‘… care to go boating with me on the lake tomorrow, My Lady?’

Her eyes were wide as she turned to St Claire. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He smiled in satisfaction at her obvious surprise. ‘I enquired if you would care to go boating on the lake here with me tomorrow?’

Exactly what Juliet thought he had said!

Chapter Two

‘Or perhaps,’ Sebastian amended smoothly as he saw the way the Countess’s eyes had widened incredulously at his suggestion, ‘you would prefer it if we were simply to stroll in the gardens?’

Those green eyes narrowed now, and the tension in her body was almost palpable. ‘I have no idea what incentive Dolly has offered you in exchange for your being pleasant to me, Lord St Claire,’ she hissed beneath her breath, so that neither their host—or the other guests should overhear, ‘but I assure you most strongly that I do not appreciate such attentions!’

Sebastian was so taken aback by the accusation in her tone that for a moment he could make no reply. She actually believed that he and Dolly were lovers!

His own gaze narrowed to steely slits, his jaw rigid in his displeasure. ‘And I assure you, Lady Boyd, that you are mistaken in your assumption concerning my friendship with Dolly.’

She adamantly refused to back down from his disapproval. ‘Mistaken or not, your—your forced attentions to me are most unwelcome.’

No, this evening was not proceeding at all as Sebastian had hoped it would!

Neither was he accustomed to having his temper roused in this way. The St Claire family always maintained control over their emotions, whether it be boredom, amusement or anger. Not so for Sebastian, it appeared, when it came to Lady Juliet Boyd.

Sebastian suddenly realised what she’d said, and removed the tension from his body and the anger from his gaze. ‘Forced attentions?’ he repeated quietly.

‘Of course they are forced,’ she said scornfully. ‘Do you imagine I did not see the look of distaste on your face earlier when I entered the drawing room?’

Distaste? Sebastian remembered being dazzled by her exceptional beauty. But distaste? Never!

He shook his head. ‘I believe you are mistaken, My Lady.’

‘I do not think so,’ she maintained stubbornly.

‘You are calling me a liar?’ His voice was dangerously soft.

‘I am merely stating what I saw,’ she retorted.

‘What you think you saw,’ he corrected firmly. ‘Am I to infer from these remarks that you would prefer not to stroll in the gardens with me tomorrow?’ he asked dryly.

The Countess glanced at him quizzically, a frown between those mesmerising green eyes. ‘My preference, My Lord, is for you to leave me in peace,’ she finally murmured. ‘Coming here at all was a serious error of judgement on my part. In fact, I am seriously thinking of making my excuses and leaving in the morning.’

Sebastian had only subjected himself to the tiresomeness of this house party because he was intent on seducing this woman—he certainly had no intention of allowing her to escape so easily!

‘Are you not being a little over-hasty, Lady Boyd?’ His tone was pleasantly cajoling now. ‘I believe Dolly told me that this is your first venture back into Society since your time of mourning came to an end. Is that so?’

After the awkwardness of this evening it was likely to be Juliet’s last venture into Society, too!

She liked Dolly immensely, and had always found the other woman a complete antidote to the formality of the stuffy rules that so often abounded at any occasion attended by the ton. But if Dolly believed she was doing Juliet a kindness by casting one of her own lovers into Juliet’s path, then she was under a serious misapprehension. The attentions of a man such as Sebastian St Claire—a renowned rake and a flirt, and moreover several years her junior—was the last thing Juliet needed to complicate her life. Now or at any other time.

‘I do not consider my decision any of your business, My Lord.’

‘No?’ He quirked mocking brows. ‘You do not think it would cause embarrassment for Dolly if you were to leave so soon after your arrival?’

Juliet raised a cool eyebrow of her own. ‘On the contrary, My Lord, I believe I will be saving Dolly from further embarrassment by removing myself from her home at the earliest opportunity.’

‘So your intention is to run back to the safety of your estate in Shropshire at the first hint of opposition?’ Sebastian needled.

Juliet gasped. ‘You go too far, sir!’

He appeared completely unruffled by her anger. Instead he leant forward to place his hand on her gloved one as it rested on the tabletop, his lips a mere whisper away from the pearl-adorned lobe of her ear as he whispered, ‘My dear Countess, I have not even begun to go too far where you are concerned!’

Juliet felt the colour come into and then as quickly fade from her cheeks as she looked up and saw the flirtatious intent in that whisky-coloured gaze. How dared he talk to her in this familiar way?

‘You are causing a scene, sir,’ she snapped as she deftly extricated her hand from beneath his. ‘I believe it might be better, for both our sakes, if you were to refrain from talking to me for the rest of the evening.’

He gave a wicked smile. ‘Will that not look a little strange, when we have seemed to be getting along so well together?’

‘Seemed is the correct word, sir,’ Juliet assured him frostily. ‘This conversation is now at an end.’ She moved slightly in her seat, so that her shoulder was firmly turned against him, and began to converse with her host about the expectations of the weather for the forthcoming week.

She had never before met a man such as Sebastian St Claire. A man so forthright in his manner. A man who refused to listen to or accept the word no.

Juliet had always accompanied Edward to London in spring for the Season, attending such parties and balls with him as he had deemed necessary, and giving a ball herself towards the end of the Season, to which all suitable members of the ton had been invited. Lord Sebastian St Claire had not been amongst her guests.

St Claire’s eldest brother, the haughty Duke of Stourbridge, had several times been invited to dine privately with them, and Juliet could see a certain resemblance between the two brothers in colouring, and in that inborn air of arrogance. But young rakes such as Sebastian St Claire had not entered into Edward’s lofty circle of acquaintances, nor consequently, Juliet’s own.

Even as she continued to talk to the Earl of Banford, their conversation soon including his mother, the Dowager Countess, Juliet found her attention wandering as she wondered what Edward would have made of the young Lord St Claire.

He would not have approved of him.

No, he was too young. Too irresponsible. Too rakish. Too everything that Edward had disapproved of.

Suddenly that realisation was enough for Juliet to want to make a friend of St Claire, in spite of her own reservations!

The candle was still alight in Juliet Boyd’s bedchamber when Sebastian stepped out onto his balcony to enjoy a last cigar before retiring to his bed, but the lace curtains once again made it impossible for him to see the occupant of the room, and whether or not she was already abed.

It had certainly been an interesting evening, if a frustrating one. That frank, almost intimate conversation with the Countess had been enjoyable, but it had been followed by the irritation of having her completely ignore him for the rest of the meal—as she had stated she intended doing. Even more frustrating, she had disappeared completely by the time the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, after enjoying several glasses of excellent port.

Would she carry out her threat to leave in the morning?

Sebastian had come to realise this evening that in her acceptance of Dolly’s invitation, and by placing herself at the very centre of Society, which had judged and condemned her a year and a half ago, Juliet Boyd was being an exceptionally brave woman—but he had not expected her to be quite such a stubborn one, too!

Yet, if anything, that stubbornness—the way the sting of her anger had brought the colour to her cheeks and given her eyes the appearance of glittering emeralds—had only succeeded in deepening Sebastian’s interest in her ….

Dolly would have to talk to her, somehow persuade her into staying ….

The faint click of a door catch warned Sebastian that he would soon cease to be alone. He dropped his cigar and ground it beneath his shoe, then moved back into the shadows mere seconds before the doors of the Countess’s bedchamber opened and she stepped out onto her balcony.

Sebastian’s breath caught and held in his throat as she moved forward to stand next to the balustrade and look up at the bright starlit sky.

This venture out onto her balcony before retiring had been one of pure impulse, Sebastian had no doubt. She was prepared for bed: her hair—those glorious dark curls that he had earlier imagined cascading over her creamy shoulders and down her back when it was released—actually reached the whole length of her spine to rest against her shapely bottom. It was stunning—so thick and dark, and bathed with silver by the moon shining overhead. She wore a robe of pale green silk over a matching nightgown, but with the moonlight shining down so brightly even the two items together could not disguise the fullness of her unconfined breasts beneath, nor the gentle curve of her waist and temptingly rounded bottom above long and slender legs.

She was desire incarnate.

A goddess …

‘Who is there?’

Sebastian had no idea what he had done to give himself away. Drawn in an unconscious breath at the sight of her beauty? Or perhaps made a movement forward towards the temptation she offered so innocently?

Whatever it had been, it had alerted Juliet Boyd to his presence, and she turned in the moonlight to look at the exact spot where Sebastian stood so silently, watching her from the shadows of the house behind him.

Knowing further concealment was now ridiculous, Sebastian stepped forward to make her an adroit bow. ‘My Lady.’

Juliet gave a gasp, and raised a startled hand to her throat as she easily recognised the man standing so large and formidable on the balcony. ‘What are you doing here?’ She sounded breathless.

And indeed Juliet was breathless! She had already had cause to remark upon this man’s audacity once this evening, but even so she had never suspected that he would later attempt to enter her bedchamber uninvited!

She stiffened in outrage. ‘How dare you presume to invade my balcony in this way, My Lord?’

He gave every appearance of being completely unruffled by her displeasure as he drawled nonchalantly, ‘You are mistaken, My Lady.’

Juliet drew herself up indignantly. ‘I cannot mistake the evidence of my own eyes, sir!’

He gave a twisted smile. ‘That was not the mistake I was referring to.’

She eyed him frowningly. ‘What, then?’

He shrugged those broad shoulders, instantly drawing Juliet’s attention to the fact that he appeared to have removed his black frock coat and cravat, revealing a silver brocaded waistcoat that was tailored to the flatness of his stomach. His billowing shirt was now unfastened at the throat, revealing a light dusting of dark hair upon his chest.

Juliet quickly averted her gaze from this glimpse of his bared flesh, even as she became aware of her own state of undress. Helena had come to Juliet’s bedchamber earlier, to remove the pins from her hair before helping her into her night attire—the pale green silk and lace gown and robe that were all Juliet was wearing now, as she engaged in conversation with the disreputable Sebastian St Claire!

Sebastian could almost see the panic of thoughts rushing through Juliet’s head as she gathered her robe about her and prepared herself for flight. ‘I merely meant to point out that the door behind me leads into my bedchamber, and therefore I am standing upon my own balcony rather than yours.’

She hesitated. ‘Your own balcony …?’ Her gaze moved to the open doors behind him, before lowering to the space between them, her eyes widening as she obviously saw the low ironwork that separated the two balconies but was concealed amongst the potted plants placed either side of it. Her throat moved convulsively. ‘It appears that I owe you an apology, Lord St Claire.’

‘Do not be over-hasty with that apology,’ Sebastian drawled, before stepping lithely over the ironwork that separated them. ‘There. You see. An apology is no longer necessary.’ He gave an unrepentant grin as he now stood only inches away from her.

Juliet trembled slightly. Despite being married for so long, she had little experience upon which she might draw in order to deal with this man’s outrageous behaviour!

St Claire had stared at her so boldly, so familiarly earlier this evening, when she’d first entered the drawing-room on the Earl’s arm. After their introduction he had chosen to bandy words with her, before proceeding to flirt with her during dinner—until Juliet had made a sharp end to it.

Finding herself alone with him now—on the balcony of her bedchamber, the hour late, the moonlight shining overhead, wearing only her night attire—could be considered scandalous!

No, it was scandalous, Juliet recognised with a sinking feeling—and it was exactly the sort of behaviour the ton were so avidly seeking in order that they might condemn her all over again.

She put out a shaking hand. ‘You must return to your own balcony this instant!’ she ordered.

‘Must I?’

He was suddenly standing much too close to her. So close that Juliet could smell the freshness of his cologne and the faint aroma of cigars that clung to his clothing. Worse, his eyes, those warm, whisky-coloured eyes, were gleaming down at her in the moonlight as he easily captured and held her gaze.

Nevertheless, she must stand firm against all temptations … ‘Yes, you most certainly must!’ Juliet averred firmly.

He gave her a considering look. ‘Why?’

‘Because we cannot be seen here alone together like this!’ she gasped.

‘That is hardly likely, now, is it, Juliet?’ He gave a pointed look at their surroundings, to indicate that no candles glowed in the other bedchambers to show that any of the other guests had yet retired to their rooms for the night.

No doubt they were all still downstairs in the drawing room, Juliet surmised impatiently, discussing the scandal that the presence of the notorious Countess of Crestwood in their midst represented!

‘I have not given permission for you to address me by name.’ Her chin rose challengingly. ‘And I trust you are aware, Lord St Claire, of the reason the ton labelled me the Black Widow?’

Sebastian frowned slightly at the mention of that name once again, discovering that he took serious exception to it. ‘For the main part, I choose to ignore malicious gossip.’

The Countess arched dark brows. ‘And what if on this occasion it is not merely malicious? What if it is true?’

His gaze became fixed on those clear, unblinking green eyes as she continued to meet his gaze in challenge. ‘Is it?’ he asked quietly.

She gave a humourless laugh. ‘I have no intention of answering such a question!’

‘I am glad of it,’ he replied simply. ‘It really does not signify what I or anyone else believes about your husband’s death.’

‘It—does—not signify?’ she repeated incredulously, those green eyes now flashing angrily.

‘No,’ Sebastian reiterated, and he reached out to lightly clasp the tops of her arms and pull her slowly, purposefully towards him. ‘As I have absolutely no interest in becoming your second husband, it is doubtful you will ever have a reason for wanting me dead.’

He was wrong—because Juliet had never felt more capable of inflicting physical retribution upon another person in her life as she did at that moment! ‘There you are mistaken, Lord St Claire.’ She snapped her indignation as she attempted to pull away from him. ‘At this moment I can think of nothing I would enjoy more than to see you consigned to the devil, where you so obviously belong!’

He gave a husky laugh, refusing to release her despite her struggles. ‘You believe my past misdeeds are serious enough to send me to the pits of hell?’

‘You do not?’ Juliet gave him a scornful glance.

‘It is a possibility, I suppose,’ he conceded, after appearing to consider the matter closely. ‘Drunkenness. Gambling. Debauchery. Hmm, it does seem more than a possibility, does it not …?’

The lowering of his head towards hers slowly blocked out the moonlight overhead, and Juliet became very still as she stared up at him. ‘What are you doing?’ she breathed unsteadily.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘As you seem to believe I am going to the devil anyway, I cannot see that one more indiscretion is going to make the slightest difference to my hellish fate!’

‘You—’ Juliet had no more chance for protest as Sebastian St Claire’s mouth laid claim to hers.

That arrogantly mocking mouth, which never seemed far from a smile. That firm, experienced mouth. It parted Juliet’s lips to deepen the kiss even as he pulled her closer against his body, in order to mould her much softer curves to the hard contours of his muscled chest and thighs.

In the whole of her thirty years Juliet had never known any other man’s kisses but Edward’s. And they certainly hadn’t prepared her for the warm seductiveness of Sebastian St Claire’s lips as they parted hers, or for the way the tip of his tongue delicately moved in exploration against them before sweeping into the heat beneath as he deepened and lengthened the kiss.

Was this arousal? Juliet wondered, slightly dazedly.

There was an unaccustomed warmth between her thighs as his mouth continued to plunder and claim hers. Her breasts had firmed, and the nipples tingled achingly where they were pressed so firmly against his brocade waistcoat. His hands caressed the length of her back, the movement causing the tips of her breasts to stroke against his body, and Juliet groaned low in her throat at the sensation that this caused throughout her body.

What was happening to her? Juliet wondered wildly.

She had never experienced any of these sensations on those occasions when Edward had pushed her nightgown up to her chin before he thrust the hard thing between his legs painfully inside her, his member so long and thick that the first time he had taken her Juliet had actually fainted as Edward ripped through the barrier of her innocence.

It had been the same every time Edward had come to her bed—he took her in a cold, silent way—and Juliet had always had to fight to keep the tears from falling, knowing that her tears would only anger Edward into making her suffer even worse degradation.

So Juliet had suffered the pain as Edward had thrust himself between her thighs, eventually giving a grunt and collapsing heavily on top of her, rather than suffer the verbal and physical retribution that would rain down on her should she attempt to refuse him.

Thankfully Edward had not come to her bedchamber quite so often during the last few years of her marriage, but on the occasions when he had done so no amount of pleading on her part had succeeded in softening his demands. She was his wife, he had told her coldly, and as such it was her duty to lie back, open her legs, and give satisfaction to his physical needs—whenever and whatever they might be.

The memory of those miserable nights with Edward was enough to kill any possibility of Juliet ever finding pleasure in any man’s arms—even Sebastian St Claire’s!—and she wrenched her mouth free of his before pushing him away, her hands held out defensively in front of her as she backed away from him.

Edward was dead, Juliet reminded herself desperately. She was free of him at last. Not just free of him, but of all men. Juliet had promised herself after Edward’s death that she would never again suffer the torment of belonging to any man.

‘Do not come near me again!’ she warned harshly. She knew by the raising of his hand that St Claire was about to do exactly that.

Sebastian had meant only to cup the side of Juliet’s face, to lay the soft pad of his thumb soothingly against lips slightly swollen from his kisses. But his hand fell back to his side, and his gaze became searching as he saw the wildness glittering in the deep green of her eyes. Like those of a rabbit cornered by a bigger and stronger predator ….

Who was responsible for causing this look of desperation in such a lovely and delicate woman?

Chapter Three

Sebastian had no idea quite what he would have said or done next, as a loud knock on the outer door to Juliet’s bedchamber preventing him from doing anything.

‘Perhaps you should go and answer that,’ he advised softly, as Juliet continued to stare up at him rather than respond to the persistence of a second knock.

‘Not before I am sure you understand it is my wish for you to stay well away from me in future!’ Her hands were clenched.

‘I understand.’ He gave her a terse inclination of his head.

Juliet gave him one last narrow-eyed look before turning sharply on her heel to enter her bedchamber, the softness of her slippers making little noise as she hurried across the room to open the door.

Sebastian stepped back into the shadows. No matter what Juliet might choose to think of him, it had never been his intention to involve her in the sort of scandal that his being found with her on the balcony of her bedchamber was sure to incur.

His brows rose as he saw that her late-night visitor was Dolly Bancroft ….

Juliet’s legs were still trembling as she quickly opened the door, and her breasts were quickly rising and falling in agitation from her time in Sebastian St Claire’s arms—on her balcony, of all places! So disorientated did Juliet feel that she could only stare blankly at Dolly as she stood in the dimly lit hallway, still dressed in her evening finery.

Her hostess looked slightly flustered. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, Juliet, but there has been a slight accident.’

Was it Juliet’s imagination, or had Dolly Bancroft given a swift glance behind Juliet before speaking? As if she had suspected—no, expected!—that Juliet would not be alone in her bedchamber?

Dolly Bancroft was the person responsible, Juliet felt sure, for giving Sebastian St Claire the bedchamber next to hers. With those adjoining balconies!

Still in that spirit of ‘kindness’, perhaps …?

Her mouth thinned. ‘An accident?’ she enquired.

‘Your maid.’ Dolly reluctantly drew her attention from the bedchamber back to Juliet. ‘Her name is Helena, I believe?’

Juliet drew in a sharp breath at this mention of her cousin. ‘What has happened?’ she asked anxiously.

Dolly sighed. ‘The silly girl seems to have fallen on the stairs and injured her ankle.’

Was her cousin in pain? How badly was she injured? More importantly, had a doctor been called?

‘A footman has carried her up to her room, and one of my other guests—Mr Hallowell—is a physician. He has gone up to examine her even as we speak,’ Dolly Bancroft answered Juliet’s question before she even had the chance to voice it.

‘I must go to her,’ Juliet said.

‘I am sure there is no need for you to trouble yourself, Juliet.’ Dolly frowned at the suggestion. ‘Mr Hallowell is perfectly competent, I assure you.’

‘Nevertheless, I intend to go and see my—Helena for myself.’ Juliet turned to pick up a candle to light her way up the stairs to the servants’ quarters. ‘Surely it would have been better for you to have sent one of the servants to inform me, rather than abandoning your other guests?’

Dolly pursed her lips and her gaze no longer quite met Juliet’s. ‘I thought it best, in the circumstances, if I came and informed you myself.’

‘Circumstances?’ Juliet repeated dryly. ‘What might those be, Dolly?’

‘I—You—’ Dolly Bancroft looked uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I simply thought it best,’ she repeated briskly.

‘Dolly?’

The other woman was suddenly every inch the Countess of Banford as she paused to turn in the hallway and look at Juliet down the length of her pretty nose. ‘I really must return downstairs to my other guests now, Juliet.’

‘Of course.’ Her own manner was just as haughty. ‘In that case you and I will speak again in the morning, Lady Bancroft.’

Some of the starch left Dolly’s expression. ‘Why all this fuss, Juliet?’ She gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘Surely you must agree that St Claire is devilishly handsome?’ She laughed softly. ‘And, not only that, he is the lover that all the women of the ton secretly wish to have as their own!’

Juliet drew herself up to her little over five feet. ‘Then they are welcome to him!’ she announced.

‘Most of them would be only too happy if they could get him. Unfortunately they are not the object of Sebastian’s current interest.’ Dolly gave her a knowing look.

Juliet’s gaze faltered a little and her expression became wary. Was Dolly saying that it was she, in particular, whom St Claire desired? That actually, it was he who was the instigator of their adjoining bedchambers?

Of course Dolly was not saying that, Juliet instantly chided herself; she and His Lordship had not even been introduced until this evening, and the allocation of the bedchambers for the Bancroft guests would have been made long before that.

‘Lord St Claire’s interest in me is not particular,’ she informed the older woman frostily. ‘He is simply an opportunist. A man who sought to use my—my discomfort earlier this evening to his own advantage.’ Juliet’s eyes flashed as she recalled the way the young lord had invaded her balcony only minutes ago and dared to kiss her.

And he was probably on the balcony still—no doubt listening to every word of this conversation!

‘Lord St Claire is a renowned rake. Nothing but a seducer of women!’ Juliet added for good measure.

Sebastian was eavesdropping on the conversation between the two ladies with increasing displeasure. But he’d had no other choice than to remain, trapped as he was outside on the balcony of Juliet’s bedchamber. Any attempt to step back over the dividing ironwork would clearly display him to Dolly’s gaze. Yet this last accusation of Juliet’s was almost enough to make him step forward in protest—and in doing so give away his hiding place to the already suspicious Dolly.

Something Juliet would definitely not thank him for!

But the captivating Countess had to know that Sebastian was still outside on her balcony. Just as she must also be aware that he would overhear her every word. No, her every insult …

Sebastian had no idea at that moment whether he wished to soundly spank Lady Juliet Boyd’s delectable bottom, or just kiss her until she was weak and wanting in his arms! Or whether doing either of those things would bring that trapped look back into her eyes. The same expression Sebastian had seen and questioned a few minutes earlier ….

‘Sebastian is usually too busy avoiding those avaricious women to rouse himself into seducing any of them,’ Dolly continued.

‘Then I wish he would stop avoiding them and let himself be caught!’ Juliet snapped. ‘I certainly have no interest in knowing Lord St Claire any better than I already do!’

Dolly gave a rueful shrug. ‘I fear, Juliet, that you will have to inform Sebastian of that yourself.’

Sebastian knew that she just had ….

Juliet, reluctant as yet to go downstairs to breakfast and face any of the other guests, requested that the maid Dolly had sent to help her dress return downstairs once this task had been completed, and bring a tray up to her bedchamber.

She had not slept well, and a single glance in the mirror earlier had shown her that this was all too apparent in the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her cheeks. Both those things seemed all the more noticeable once her hair was secured on her crown in loose curls.

Juliet had told herself that her restless night was because of her concern for Helena and her badly twisted ankle, but inwardly Juliet knew her insomnia had been for another reason entirely.

Because of another person entirely.

Lord Sebastian St Claire.

Juliet had half expected that he might still be on her balcony when she’d returned from visiting Helena’s room the previous evening. Or, worse, actually awaiting her in her bedchamber. But she had found both her bedchamber and the balcony empty, and a surreptitious glance onto the balcony adjoining hers had shown her that it was also empty, the doors firmly closed, and no lighted candle visible in the bedchamber itself. Indicating that Lord St Claire had either gone to bed or he had rejoined the men downstairs playing cards. Juliet strongly suspected the latter.

One thing she knew for certain: she would not be able to leave today as she had planned. Helena’s ankle was indeed very badly swollen, and Mr Hallowell had advised that she must stay in bed for the day, and perhaps tomorrow, too, to allow for the swelling to go down. More importantly, he’d stated that Helena should not travel any distance for at least the next few days, to aid her recovery. And Juliet could not—would not—depart Banford Park without her.

Another reason for her disturbed and sleepless night.

For if she could not leave Banford Park, then she could not escape seeing St Claire again, either ….

‘Is there enough tea in that pot for two?’ A familiar voice interrupted her unwelcome thoughts.

It seemed that Juliet could not escape the persistence of Sebastian St Claire even in her own bedchamber!

Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she stood up to turn and find him standing in the doorway that opened onto her balcony. ‘My bedchamber is not a public thoroughfare, sir!’

‘I should hope not.’ He grinned unrepentantly as he stepped fully into the room.

Juliet supposed she should be grateful that he was at least more suitably dressed this morning, in a fitted superfine coat of dark green, with a paler green waistcoat neatly buttoned beneath, a white cravat meticulously tied at his throat, and black Hessians worn over buff-coloured pantaloons. But that was all she could be grateful for.

‘I meant, My Lord, that I do not recall giving you leave to just enter my bedchamber whenever you please!’ Her eyes flashed her indignation at the liberty he had just taken.

‘Not yet,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘I live in the hope that you will soon do so.’

Juliet watched somewhat incredulously as he bent to pick up her own teacup and sip the cooling liquid from the very same spot she had, only seconds ago, those beautiful whisky-coloured eyes deliberately meeting hers over the china cup’s delicate rim.

He was still trying to seduce her, Juliet recognised with an uncomfortable fluttering sensation in her chest.

Sebastian St Claire really was too handsome for his own good. Or for any woman’s good, either—including her own.

This would not do. It really would not do!

Sebastian recognised the signs of Juliet’s impending temper. The glitter of her eyes. The bright spots of colour that appeared in her cheeks. The tilting of her stubborn chin. The tightening of her determined jaw.

He placed the cup unhurriedly back in its saucer. ‘The other female guests are intending to stroll down to the village to look at the Norman church.’ His derisive expression showed exactly what he thought of that plan. ‘I thought perhaps you might prefer to go on a carriage ride with me?’

If anything, her jaw clenched even harder, until he could almost hear her teeth grinding together. ‘Then you were mistaken!’

‘You are looking pale this morning, my dear Juliet,’ Sebastian observed soothingly. ‘Hopefully a little fresh air will bring some of the colour back into your cheeks.’

She drew herself up to her full diminutive height. ‘Lord St Claire—’

‘Yes …?’ His expression was innocently enquiring.

This man was incorrigible, Juliet decided in total frustration. Absolutely impossible! ‘I have no wish to go on a carriage ride—or indeed anything else—with you!’

He raised dark brows. ‘You would rather that we spend the morning together here instead?’

Juliet blinked. By ‘here’ did he mean in her bedchamber? Or was he merely referring to Banford Park?

Whatever his meaning, Juliet was not agreeable to either suggestion. ‘I have no desire to spend the morning in your company at all, My Lord.’

‘Then it is your intention to depart today, as planned?’

‘You must know that it is not.’ She snapped her impatience, sure that he could not have helped overhearing her conversation with Dolly Bancroft the evening before. She’d certainly intended that he hear the remarks she’d meant for him!

‘Must I?’

‘My Lord—’

‘Could you not call me Sebastian when we are alone? I assure you I already think of you as simply Juliet,’ he murmured huskily.

‘I repeat, I have not given you permission—What are you doing?’ Juliet gasped as he took a step that brought him within touching distance, her eyes widening in alarm as she stared up at him.

Sebastian scowled as he once again saw that look of wariness in her face. The same emotion he had recognised in her yesterday evening. An emotion that had kept him awake for some time after he had retired to bed.

He knew that Juliet’s husband had been a much admired and respected member of the House, and an invaluable advisor to the War Cabinet during England’s years of war against Napoleon. He also knew the Earl of Crestwood had been a casual acquaintance of his eldest brother, Hawk. There had never, to Sebastian’s knowledge, been even a whisper of scandal attached to the Earl’s name.

Until after his death.

Even then it had been his wife’s name that had been whispered by the closed ranks of the ton.

But if not Edward Boyd, then who could have put that look of fear into Juliet’s eyes? Whoever or whatever it had been, Sebastian had no intention of adding to it—but he couldn’t give up his pursuit of her now. ‘Juliet, would you please do me the honour of accompanying me on a carriage ride this morning?’ He gave her an encouraging smile.

Juliet was momentarily disconcerted by the sweetness of his smile. ‘It is no more acceptable for the two of us to be alone in a carriage than it is for us to be alone here,’ she declared.

‘It is acceptable to me, Juliet,’ he assured her. ‘And to you, too, I hope?’

This man disturbed her. Disturbed, as well as confused her.

Two very good reasons why she should not allow herself to be persuaded by the beguiling boyishness of his smile! ‘I think not, Lord St Claire.’ She used his title deliberately.

Those whisky-coloured eyes looked directly into hers. ‘You have such an intense interest in Norman churches?’

‘I am not interested in them in the least,’ she admitted. ‘And you do not appear to have any interest in your own good name,’ she added waspishly. ‘To pay marked attention to me once is to risk your reputation,’ she explained at his raised dark brows. ‘To do so twice may mean you lose it completely!’

His mouth quirked. ‘I believe I am the only one who needs be concerned with that unlikely occurrence.’

‘My Lord, you have far more to lose by this association than I—’

‘Juliet, will you please stop arguing and just say yes to my suggestion of a carriage ride?’ he interrupted.

Juliet was torn. On the one hand it would be nice to get away from the curious and censorious gaze of the other guests at Banford Park. But accepting St Claire’s invitation would surely only expose them both to further speculation and gossip.

It would also put her in the position of being completely alone with him in his carriage ….

‘You have hesitated long enough, Juliet.’ Sebastian decided to take matters into his own hands. ‘I will collect my hat and gloves and meet you downstairs no longer than ten minutes hence.’ He strode purposefully towards the door.

‘Sebastian!’

A satisfied smile curved his lips at her use of his given name and he turned slowly to look at her.

She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Could you …? Would it be to much to ask that you return to your own room in the same way that you arrived?’ She frowned. ‘It would not do for someone to see you leaving my bedchamber at this hour,’ she explained ruefully.

Sebastian chuckled softly as he inclined his dark head in acknowledgement of her point. ‘Ten minutes, Juliet. Or I will be forced to come looking for you.’

It was impossible for her to miss the threat behind his words. Just as it had been ultimately impossible for her to resist the beguiling nature of his smile. A smile that could charm the birds out of the trees if he so wished. A smile that had certainly charmed Juliet into behaving less than sensibly …

‘… the Black Widow—’

‘I wish you would not call her by that disgusting name!’ Sebastian exclaimed as he and Gray stood talking together in the cavernous entrance hall of Banford Park whilst Sebastian waited for Juliet to join him. ‘Address her as either Lady Boyd or the Countess of Crestwood.’

Gray grimaced. ‘I noticed your marked interest yesterday evening, and was merely enquiring as to whether her presence here could possibly be the reason for our attendance at this house party?’

‘Perhaps,’ Sebastian said coolly. ‘You have some objection to make?’ he added challengingly.

‘I would not dare to, old chap,’ Gray retorted. ‘You may like to give the impression that you live a life of idle pleasure, but I am well aware of how often you spar in the ring, and the many hours a week you spend honing your skill with the sword! If it’s any consolation, Seb, I am in complete sympathy with your interest in the widow. I had forgotten how beautiful she was until I saw her again yesterday evening.’

Sebastian appreciated this observation even less than he had his friend’s earlier remarks. ‘I hope it is not your intention to practise your own charm upon her, Gray?’

Gray opened wide, innocent eyes. ‘I make a point of never incurring the displeasure of a man who can fight and handle a sword better than I!’

The tension in Sebastian’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he finally saw the teasing humour in the other man’s gaze. ‘Tell me, Gray, what do you know of Edward Boyd?’

‘The husband?’ His friend gave a shrug. ‘Would your brother Hawk not be the best man to ask such a question?’

‘Unfortunately, Hawk is not here.’ Sebastian’s eldest brother might give the impression that he was too aristocratically top-lofty to even notice lesser beings than himself—which included just about everyone!—but that indifference was a façade; Hawk’s intelligence was formidable, and if he chose he could be the most astute of men. Certainly Hawk’s opinion of Edward Boyd would be worth hearing.

‘Most people seem to have held Crestwood in high esteem,’ Gray observed with a slight frown. ‘He was a hero at Trafalgar, don’t you know?’

Of course Sebastian knew of the Earl of Crestwood’s war record. He might have been still at school when the famous sea battle had occurred, but as a fifteen-year-old youth he had of course been very interested in it, and had read about the heroes of that battle.

His interest in the Earl’s wife had come much later, when he had happened to see Juliet during a ball at which he’d been forced by Hawk into acting as escort to their young sister Arabella during her first Season.

Tiny, almost ethereal, the Countess had nevertheless possessed a presence, an otherworldly beauty, that had instantly captured Sebastian’s interest.

He realised now that perhaps he should have paid more attention to Crestwood that night as he’d stood so arrogantly at Juliet’s side. That he should have observed more closely the relationship that existed between the married couple ….

Our host is probably the chap you need to speak to if you want to know more about Crestwood,’ Gray suggested.

‘Bancroft?’

Gray nodded. ‘Both members of the House of Lords. Both were advisers to the War Cabinet during the war against Napoleon. Bancroft is sure to know something of the other man.’

‘Never mind that for now, Gray …’ Sebastian’s interest was swiftly distracted as he spotted Juliet, moving gracefully down the wide staircase to where he stood waiting.

A silk beribboned bonnet of the same peach colour as her high-waisted gown covered the darkness of Juliet’s curls, and she carried a lacy parasol to keep the worst of the sun’s rays from burning the pale delicacy of her complexion.

Everything about Juliet Boyd was delicate, Sebastian acknowledged with a sudden frown. From the top of her dark curls down to her tiny slippered feet.

Juliet’s gaze became wary as she looked up and saw the fierce expression on Sebastian’s face as she joined him. ‘Am I interrupting …?’ She voiced her uncertainty.

‘Not in the least, Lady Boyd,’ Sebastian’s companion assured her warmly. It was a fashionably dressed dark-haired, grey-eyed gentleman that Juliet vaguely recalled as being seated some way down the dinner table from her yesterday evening. ‘Lord Gideon Grayson,’ he introduced himself smoothly as he gave a courtly bow.

Juliet curtseyed, at the same time raising her hand. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Lord—’

‘If it’s all the same to you, Gray, the Countess and I are in something of a hurry,’ Sebastian cut in, before the other man could take her hand. Instead he placed that gloved hand on his own arm and held it there by placing his hand firmly on top of it. ‘Enjoy your morning, Gray,’ he added mockingly.

With her fingers firmly tucked in the crook of his arm, Juliet had little choice but to follow as Sebastian strode arrogantly across the hallway and out through the front door to where one of the grooms stood waiting beside a gleaming black curricle drawn by two matching greys.

Juliet did not need to be told that the vehicle belonged to Sebastian St Claire; the rakish style of the carriage matched its owner perfectly!

‘Were you not a little rude to Lord Grayson just now?’ Juliet ventured, once Sebastian had aided her ascent into the carriage before dismissing the groom to step in beside her and take up the reins.

‘Was I?’ he said evasively, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat as he flicked the greys into an elegant trot.

Juliet fell silent as she pretended an interest in the countryside that surrounded Banford Park. Pretended, because after that scene in the hall her thoughts were all inward!

She knew she should be used to the cuts and snubs of the ton after being the subject of them so recently. And she was. It was just that after his earlier contempt for such behaviour she had expected more of Sebastian St Claire. The fact that he had not even wanted to introduce her to a man who was obviously his friend showed Juliet how naïve had been that expectation.

No doubt it was all well and good for St Claire to accost her on the privacy of her balcony or in her bedchamber. To whisk her away from curious eyes in his curricle. But to have him actually introduce her to one of his friends was obviously too much to ask.

For all Juliet knew she could be the subject of some sort of wager between St Claire and his friends. It was common practice, she believed, for gentlemen to make such wagers at their London clubs. In this case perhaps the first man to bed the Black Widow was to become the winner of this wager.

‘Juliet …?’

Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘I have changed my mind, My Lord,’ she snapped, her back rigid. ‘I wish for you to take me back to Banford Park immediately!’

Sebastian glanced down at her searchingly. Whatever thoughts had been going through her head the last few minutes they had not been pleasant ones—as the anger in those deep green eyes testified.

He shook his head. ‘Not until you tell me what I have done to upset you.’

‘I am not upset,’ she denied.

‘No?’ Sebastian rasped, patently not amused.

She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Would you please turn your curricle around and return me to Banford Park?’

‘No.’

‘No …?’ she echoed uncertainly.

They were some distance from Banford Park now, but instead of continuing on the road as he had intended, Sebastian turned the greys down a rutted track, entering a grove of trees before pulling his horses to a halt.

Before Juliet could so much as voice a word of protest he had jumped lithely down from the curricle to come round and offer her his hand, so that she might join him on the ground.

She made no effort to do so, but instead raised her chin in challenge. ‘I should warn you, Lord St Claire, that I have no intention of allowing you to seduce me!’

Sebastian found himself grinning at the fierceness of her expression. ‘I assure you, my dear, that my preference is for the comfort of a bed, or perhaps even a well-upholstered sofa, when my thoughts turn to seduction!’

She blinked her surprise. ‘Then why have you brought me here?’

‘To take a stroll in the sunshine, perhaps? To breathe in the fresh, clean air? To appreciate the beauty that surrounds us?’

It was a pretty spot, Juliet acknowledged frowningly, with the dappled sun shining through the trees overhead upon wild flowers in bloom in pinks and yellows and purples.

Except Sebastian had been looking at Juliet and not the flowers or the trees when he’d made that last remark ….

Warmth coloured her cheeks as he continued to look at her with unconcealed admiration. ‘I can as easily appreciate all of those things from my balcony at Banford Park.’

The humour left his gaze. ‘I believe we can talk more privately here, Juliet.’

Juliet didn’t care for the sudden and probing intensity of that whisky-coloured gaze. ‘Concerning what subject, sir?’

‘If you join me I will tell you.’ He held out his hand for a second time.

Juliet continued to eye him warily, at the same time impatiently dismissing her feelings of alarm. She was a woman of thirty years. Had been married and widowed. She ran the house, and the smaller estate she had moved to after Edward’s death, with a competency that surprised even her. So why should a man younger than herself, whose reputation was that of a rake and an incorrigible flirt, give her reason to feel in the least uncertain of herself?

He should not!

‘You really are behaving most childishly, My Lord,’ she told him frostily, but she moved to place her gloved hand on his so that she might descend from the curricle.

Sebastian’s face hardened as he ignored that hand and instead reached up to place both his hands about her waist, before lifting her aloft and swinging her out of the carriage.

For several seconds, as he lifted her, Juliet found their gazes on a level, and her body was perilously close to Sebastian’s as she stared into the golden depths of his eyes and saw—

‘I insist that you put me down at once, Lord St Claire,’ she instructed him breathlessly.

‘And if I choose not to do so?’ His expression became one of amusement as he looked pointedly at the precariousness of her position as he held her aloft, several feet from the ground.

Her eyes flashed deeply green. ‘You have been warned, My Lord!’

His amusement deepened. ‘One kiss, Juliet,’ he murmured throatily. ‘One kiss and perhaps I will consider your request—Ow!’ He yelped as Juliet’s booted foot made painful contact with his knee, and he quickly lowered her to the ground before bending to grasp his injured joint. ‘That was not kind, Juliet.’ He scowled up at her.

She looked unrepentant. ‘My only regret is that it was not many inches higher!’

Surprisingly, Sebastian found his amusement returning. ‘I am thankful that it was not! You—Where are you going?’ he demanded as she turned to begin walking away from him down the rutted track. ‘Juliet …?’ He began to hobble after her.

She spun sharply round. ‘It is my intention to walk back to Banford Park if you will not return me there.’

‘That really is not necessary—’

‘I consider it very necessary, Lord St Claire,’ she scorned. ‘Against my better judgement I allowed myself to be persuaded into taking a carriage ride with you. My reserve has been completely borne out by your ungentlemanly behaviour towards me just now.’ She put up her parasol against the sun’s rays and turned and resumed her walk in the direction of Banford Park.

‘Juliet?’ Sebastian could only stand and watch in frustration as she ignored him to continue her walk. Her face might be hidden by her raised parasol, but the ramrod-straightness of her back was more than enough to tell him of her anger.

Chapter Four

Juliet’s temper had not abated in the slightest by the time she returned to Banford Park, some twenty minutes or so later. So it was perhaps fortunate that it was the Earl of Banford and not his Countess who chanced to greet her as she stepped inside the house; Juliet had not had the chance as yet to finish last night’s conversation with Dolly Bancroft!

The Earl eyed her quizzically. ‘You look slightly … flushed, Lady Boyd. Perhaps you would care to join me in my study for some morning refreshment?’

‘I fear I am not good company at the moment, My Lord.’ Juliet was feeling hot and bothered from her walk, and still flustered and out of sorts from this latest debacle with Sebastian St Claire.

He gave her an understanding smile. ‘Has my wife been causing mischief again?’

‘Oh, no—Well … Yes, actually,’ Juliet acknowledged flatly when she saw the Earl’s patent disbelief at her initial denial. ‘But it is not all Dolly’s fault,’ she allowed fairly. ‘I am sure Lord St Claire can be very persuasive when he chooses.’ She was not altogether sure how much she could say to the Earl concerning her suspicions about his wife’s friendship with St Claire.

‘And have you found him to be so?’ her host asked gently.

‘Not in the least!’ Juliet assured him vehemently.

Too vehemently? Perhaps. But after this morning Juliet intended being more on her guard than ever where Sebastian St Claire was concerned.

‘Perhaps Lord St Claire has deceived Lady Bancroft into believing him to be more agreeable than he is?’ she suggested tactfully.

‘Do not look so concerned, my dear Lady Boyd.’ William Bancroft said softly. ‘I assure you that any friendship between my wife and St Claire has always been of a purely platonic nature.’ He looked serious. ‘I think that perhaps you should be made aware that, although he has certainly earned his reputation with the ladies, St Claire does not choose to “persuade” as often as the gossips care to imply that he does ….’

Juliet felt the colour warm her cheeks. ‘I must warn you, My Lord, that I really cannot even think of joining you for refreshment if you intend to continue discussing Lord St Claire with me.’

‘As you wish, my dear.’ The Earl stepped forward to place a hand lightly beneath her elbow. ‘Tea for two, Groves,’ he instructed the butler lightly, before guiding Juliet down the hallway to his study.

Much to Sebastian’s chagrin, for once in his life he was completely at a loss to know what to do next where a woman was concerned.

He had allowed his desire for Juliet, when holding her aloft in his arms this morning, to overrule his awareness of that guardedness he sensed inside her, and had subsequently paid the price for that miscalculation when she’d walked off and left him. There had been no opportunity to see or speak to her since then.

Consequently, he sat broodingly at the dinner table that evening, watching Juliet down its length as she conversed easily and charmingly with Gray, sitting on one side of her, and the elderly and courtly Duke of Sussex on the other.

Sebastian’s censorious glance towards his hostess for this arrangement was met by a pointed glance in her husband’s direction, telling him that the Earl was the one responsible for the distance between Juliet and himself at the dinner table.

That Juliet had somehow succeeded in charming the Earl of Banford came as no surprise to Sebastian. Nor the fact that Gray and the Duke of Sussex seemed equally as enchanted by her company. What man could look at her—dressed this evening in a deep green silk gown, her hair an abundance of ebony curls, several of those curls temptingly loose against the long length of her creamy throat—and not be charmed?

Certainly not Sebastian. He found his hooded gaze shifting often in her direction as she chatted softly with her dining companions—whilst his own meal seemed to progress with excruciating slowness, and culminated in his imbibing far too much wine and not eating enough food.

If this continued he would be foxed before the meal even came to its painful end!

Even as Juliet responded to the polite dinner conversation of Lord Gideon Grayson, she was aware of St Claire’s dark and brooding gaze fixed upon her whenever she chanced to glance up.

‘Do not be too hard on him, Lady Boyd,’ Lord Grayson drawled, after one such irritated glance. ‘I assure you Sebastian is not usually so marked in his attentions,’ he added dryly as Juliet looked at him enquiringly.

She frowned her annoyance. ‘You are the second gentleman today to leap to his defence, sir!’

Gideon gave a rueful shrug. ‘Sebastian is a capital fellow.’

‘So I am informed,’ she said, obviously unimpressed.

‘But you still doubt it?’

Of course Juliet doubted it; so far in their acquaintance St Claire had tried—and failed—to seduce her at every opportunity that presented itself!

Lord Grayson raised his brows at her censorious expression. ‘Has it not occurred to you that perhaps you should be thanking Sebastian rather than cutting him so cruelly?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Thanking him for what, pray?’

‘Has your time here not been a little easier today? Your fellow guests a little less … cool in their manner towards you?’ he asked.

Juliet thought of the picnic lunch she had enjoyed earlier today—a picnic lunch that her tormentor had been noticeably absent from! Surprisingly, several of the ladies had included her in their conversation as their party sat in the shade of one of the oaks beside the river that ran through the extensive grounds of Banford Park.

‘I am sure you must be aware that Sebastian is considered something of a setter of fashion,’ Lord Grayson continued lightly. ‘If he has decided it is time to welcome you back into Society, then you may be assured the rest of the ton will quickly follow his example.’

‘And I suppose you are telling me that Lord St Claire was demonstrating that “welcome” earlier today, when he did not even have the good manners to introduce us properly?’ Juliet pointed out.

Lord Grayson looked at her for several seconds before answering. ‘No, I cannot claim Sebastian had your own comfort in mind at that time …’

‘Then—’

Lord Grayson looked rueful. ‘I believe I have already said too much.’ He lifted his wineglass and silently toasted her, before sipping some of the ruby-red liquid and turning to engage the young lady seated on his other side in conversation.

The Duke of Sussex took advantage of the younger man’s distraction to begin conversing with Juliet on the deplorable state of the country since the war against Napoleon had come to an end. Something the Duke seemed to assume Juliet had some interest in—possibly because of her husband’s involvement with the War Cabinet in the years before his death. Whatever the elderly man’s reasoning, his comments did not require any input from Juliet except for an occasional polite nod or smile. Giving Juliet ample time in which to ponder Lord Grayson’s last remarks to her.

The fact that he was a close friend of the irritating St Claire indicated to Juliet that his judgement lacked impartiality; as far as Juliet was concerned the arrogant and ridiculously self-assured Lord St Claire was the very last man in need of her gratitude or understanding—or indeed anyone else’s!

Certainly Juliet felt no such softening of her regard as she watched him approach her after dinner, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room. Juliet was not sure, but it seemed to her, by the reckless glitter in that whisky-coloured gaze and the slight flush to his cheeks, that His Lordship had imbibed far too much wine and port this evening to allow for even his usual questionable caution.

Indeed, that concern was borne out by the way he took a firm hold of her arm the moment he reached her side and urged, ‘Walk out onto the terrace with me, Juliet.’

‘I believe you would find it more beneficial to your current mood if you were to retire to your bedchamber, My Lord,’ she insisted in low icy tones, but her outward demeanour was one of smiling graciousness as she sensed they were once again the subject of curious eyes.

He arched dark brows. ‘Was that a proposition, Lady Boyd …?’

Juliet drew her breath in sharply. ‘You must know it was not!’ She gave him a warning glance from beneath lowered dark lashes.

‘One can but live in hope,’ he drawled, with a noticeable lack of concern.

The serene smile Juliet bestowed upon him was not matched by the angry glitter in her eyes. ‘Release me at once, sir, and cease this licentious behaviour!’ she hissed.

Sebastian frowned down at her. Juliet truly believed him to be foxed?

Admittedly Sebastian had been imbibing rather too freely during dinner, but he had put an end to that the moment he’d realised he felt a strong desire to stand up and walk the length of the room before grasping Gray by the throat and squeezing the life out of him—just because he, and not Sebastian, was the one sitting beside Juliet, and the recipient of one of her rare and beautiful smiles.

Strangling the life out of one of his best friends had not seemed to him to be a rational idea!

Sebastian felt no qualms, however, at the thought of using the fact that Juliet believed him to be foxed if it gave him the slightest advantage …

‘Only if you will agree to help me to my bedchamber …?’

She looked disconcerted by the suggestion. ‘You know that is not possible.’

He shrugged. ‘Then I will remain here and endeavour to dazzle you with my wit and charm.’

‘I assure you at this moment you do not possess either wit or charm!’

Sebastian grinned unabashedly at her vehemence. ‘Implying that I might when I am not foxed …?’

‘Implying that—’ Juliet broke off to eye him in utter frustration. ‘I really think it advisable if you retire to your room now, My Lord—before you do or say something you might later regret.’

‘And what might that be?’ He raised dark brows. ‘Kissing your hand, perhaps?’ He raised her gloved fingers towards his lips, but instead of the courtly kiss she was expecting, at the last moment Sebastian turned her hand and kissed the delicacy of her wrist, his fingers tightening about hers as she gasped and tried to pull sharply away. ‘No, I feel no regret,’ he murmured, after considering for a moment. ‘Perhaps if I were to take you fully into my arms and—’

‘I have reconsidered, Lord St Claire,’ she cut him off in alarm. ‘If you wish it I will see that you are safely delivered to the privacy of your bedchamber!’

He gave a seductive smile. ‘Oh, I most certainly wish it, my dear Juliet.’

‘Just remain here—endeavour to try not to get into any more mischief while I am gone!—and I will make your excuses to Lord and Lady Bancroft.’

‘And your own, dear Juliet,’ Sebastian advised softly.

Her mouth tightened. ‘I will be but a few minutes.’

Could it really be so easy? Sebastian wondered, watching as Juliet gracefully crossed the room to talk quietly with their host and hostess. Of course she did believe him to be more than slightly the worse for drink, and so perhaps incapable of attempting her seduction once they were alone … A completely erroneous assumption—as the rapid hardening of Sebastian’s thighs just at the thought of making love to Juliet testified only too well!

Not that he would seduce her before he had apologised for his behaviour this morning, of course. One should not even attempt to make love to a woman who was as displeased as Juliet still appeared to be.

Sebastian’s gaze narrowed with displeasure as he watched his host stroll the length of the room to his side, whilst Juliet remained in conversation with Dolly Bancroft.

The Earl raised mocking brows. ‘Lady Boyd seems to feel you may be indisposed, St Claire?’

‘Lady Boyd is—’ He broke off, his mouth tightening in frustration at the neat way Juliet had outmanoeuvred him.

‘A very beautiful but equally mysterious young lady,’ Lord Bancroft finished for him, not even attempting to hide his amusement at the other man’s predicament.

Sebastian’s gaze focused on his host. ‘Mysterious …?’

The older man gave him an enigmatic smile. ‘There are certain inconsistencies to the Countess that I find … questionable, shall we say?’

Sebastian’s unhappiness with this conversation increased. ‘Is it not impolite of you to discuss one of your guests in this way?’

‘Do not attempt to tell me how to behave in my own home, St Claire!’ The usual good humour had left Lord Bancroft’s eyes, and his gaze had become steely. ‘Considering your own continued interest in the Countess, you and I perhaps need to talk further,’ he stated. ‘Would ten o’clock in my study tomorrow morning suit you?’

Sebastian looked irritated. ‘What is this all about, Bancroft?’

‘Not here, St Claire.’ The cordial smile returned to his host’s lips, and the tension left his shoulders as he once again looked his usual amiable self. ‘Dolly is about to propose a game of charades. I suggest you join us,’ Lord Bancroft said lightly, before leaving to return to his wife’s side.

Sebastian, as any man who valued his reputation as a gentleman of fashion, would as soon take a walk to the gallows as engage in a game of charades. Besides, he was too disturbed by Bancroft’s strange behaviour just now to concentrate on such inanity.

Juliet, Sebastian noted, also remained as a spectator to the game rather than a participant. She had moved to stand near one of the sets of French doors that had been opened out onto the terrace to allow the warm evening air into the drawing room, completely ignoring Sebastian’s existence as she gave every appearance of enjoying the fun as their fellow guests made complete cakes of themselves.

So intent was Juliet’s attention on the party game that she did not even notice when Sebastian slipped out of the matching set of doors further down the drawing room and made his way silently across the terrace to where Juliet stood, chuckling at Gray’s antics as she leant against one of the velvet drapes.

Totally oblivious of Sebastian standing directly behind her ….

This second evening at Banford Park had definitely been easier to bear than the first, Juliet decided. She was enjoying watching the game of charades—not taking part, but certainly not feeling excluded, either.

Because, as Lord Grayson claimed, St Claire had set the example he wished his peers to follow by making her socially acceptable once more?

Grateful as she was for a slight melting of the frost that had previously been shown to her, it was not quite within Juliet to allow that the outrageous Lord St Claire and his marked attentions towards her were indeed responsible for that change. Even if they were, he need not have been so persistent in his interest—especially as she had given him every indication that she wished him to cease all such attentions. Besides, there had been no one else but themselves present when he’d intruded onto her balcony yesterday evening. Or when he’d invaded the privacy of her bedchamber this morning.

Juliet became very still as she felt something touch the exposed nape of her neck. A fly, perhaps? Or possibly a bee …

‘Do not turn around, Juliet,’ Sebastian St Claire urged huskily, just as she would have done so.

Juliet stiffened. St Claire was standing directly behind her, in the shadow of the curtained doorway. Juliet’s wide-eyed glance about the room showed that none of the other guests seemed in the least aware of his presence.

He was standing so close to her that Juliet could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of her gown. As she had yesterday evening, Juliet also smelled the sharp tang of male cologne and the cigar he must have smoked earlier with his port.

The fact that he was standing so close to her implied that the feather-light touch she had felt against her nape had very likely been St Claire’s fingertips against her bare flesh …!

She flicked her fan open, bringing it up in front of her mouth so that their conversation would not be visible to the other guests. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she whispered fiercely.

‘Something I have been longing to do since Dolly interrupted us yesterday evening,’ came St Claire’s unapologetic reply. ‘Did you know that your skin is as soft as velvet?’ Once again those fingertips caressed the length of her nape.

Juliet was instantly aware of that quivering sensation once more as those fingers ran the length of her spine. Just as she had the previous evening, Juliet wondered whether it could be pleasure she was feeling. Certainly no one else had ever made her feel such a warmth and tingling in her body before. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and nor was she repulsed as she had always been whenever Edward had touched her.

On the contrary, that warm and tingling sensation was now spreading across her shoulders and down into her breasts …

‘Has anyone ever likened your hair to the colour and texture of sable?’ he murmured, and she couldn’t suppress a tiny shiver as the warmth of his breath moved the curls at her nape.

It was strangely disturbing to have him standing behind her like this and for no one else in the drawing room to be aware of it. Again, this was not an unpleasant feeling—more of a deliciously wicked one that Juliet could enjoy without feeling any regret or embarrassment.

‘Does your skin taste as good as it feels, I wonder …?’ he whispered.

Juliet gasped, and her back arched involuntarily as she felt the softness of his chiselled lips against her nape, those quivers down her body increasing in urgency as she felt the gentle rasp of his tongue against the bareness of her flesh.

‘Mmm, it tastes even better than it feels,’ he murmured appreciatively as he alternately kissed and licked a heated path down the length of her spine. That path came to a halt as he reached the top of her gown. ‘May I …?’ he asked huskily.

Juliet was too hot, too confused by the strange clamouring of emotions she was feeling, to immediately comprehend his meaning. By the time she did understand what he was asking Sebastian had already unfastened most of the buttons down the back of her gown!

‘I ask that you do not turn around, Juliet,’ Sebastian reiterated as she once again made an attempt to do so, placing his hands firmly upon her shoulders to accompany this reminder as he held her in place. ‘I wish for you to remain exactly as you are so that I might … explore.’

Juliet’s gaze moved wildly about the drawing room, but no one was paying her—or consequently him, where he stood hidden by the drapes—any attention. They remained engrossed in their party game.

Having Sebastian touch her in this way was so sinfully wicked that Juliet could not possibly allow him to continue. Could she …? Yet with her gown unbuttoned down her back did she really have any choice but to remain standing exactly as she was?

Did she even want a choice?

Juliet could not deny that she felt a curiosity. A wanting. An aching to know if the sensations she was feeling really were pleasure.

Juliet gasped again as she felt the heat of Sebastian’s hands about her waist. Only the thin material of her silk chemise separated those hands from her bare flesh. That gasp became a tiny moan as his hands shifted beneath the loose material of her high-waisted gown to move caressingly upwards to just below the pertness of her breasts.

‘Shh, sweet …’ Sebastian murmured soothingly.

How could Juliet possibly remain silent when those hands touched her so intimately? When she could feel her nipples become engorged in anticipation of caresses yet to come?

She felt a warm flooding between her thighs as Sebastian continued to touch her just beneath her breasts. A hot dampness in her most secret place. A clenching spasm deep inside her as Sebastian’s hands trailed a slow path from her breasts down to her waist and then back again.

‘You must stop, Sebastian!’ she protested agonisingly from behind her fan. Her knees seemed in danger of buckling beneath her.

His only reply was to tighten his hands about her waist as he held her more firmly in place and his lips explored the bareness of her shoulder, licking, gently sucking.

Juliet was in no doubt now—this was pleasure!

Unimaginable, indescribable pleasure.

It was a sensation unlike any Juliet had ever known before.

A sensation she wanted to continue ….

Sebastian knew that he should stop. That he must stop soon or risk exposing them both to a scandal that the ton would never forgive or forget.

But finally being able to kiss Juliet, to touch her, to feel her pleasure in his caresses, to hear her little panting breaths and feel the response of her body, was feeding his own desire, so making it impossible for Sebastian to do anything other than continue the wild, illicit caresses.

Her skin smelt of spring flowers and tasted like silken honey as he continued to explore its smoothness with his lips, feeling the arch of Juliet’s back as he ran his tongue down the ridges of her spine. Her bottom was pressed against him, and the hardness of his throbbing, aching arousal fitted perfectly against her.

That Juliet was completely naked beneath her chemise Sebastian had no doubt, and he allowed one of his hands to glide lower down over her stomach, to cup her between her parted legs. He was able to feel her dampness through the thin material that was the only barrier to his questing fingers.

A barrier Sebastian pushed impatiently aside, skilfully drawing the material of her chemise up to her waist.

Growling low in his throat, he was finally able to touch, to explore the soft and downy thatch where the hard bud of her arousal was hidden.

She was swollen.

So swollen.

And so responsive as Sebastian lightly stroked, above and below, never quite touching that engorged nubbin as his fingers became wet and slick.

‘Please …!’ Juliet’s groan was so low and aching that Sebastian felt a leaping response between his own thighs. ‘I want—Sebastian—I need—’

Sebastian knew what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved.

What he craved, too.

But not here.

How could either of them enjoy complete pleasure when they were standing here so publicly?

When anyone in the room might turn at any moment and see them together?

Juliet’s slippered feet no longer touched the floor as Sebastian placed a strong arm about her waist, and she felt herself being lifted, carried backwards out of the room and into the dark shadows of the terrace before he lowered her to turn her in his arms. His mouth claimed hers hungrily.

The new, craving sensations in Juliet’s body caused her to return the hunger of that kiss as she silently pleaded, begged for an end to the tormenting, unbearable ache between her thighs.

Her lips parted to the hard invasion of Sebastian’s tongue, and those moist, rhythmic caresses once again pushed her to the brink of—Of what …?

Juliet didn’t know.

But she wanted to know.

She needed to know!

‘… was most enjoyable. But I am so warm after all the excitement that I simply must go outside and take some air.’

Juliet barely had time to register that she and Sebastian were about to have their privacy interrupted before he wrenched his mouth from hers to place silencing fingertips against her lips. He swiftly manoeuvred her backwards, even further into the shadows.

Only just in time, too, as the elderly Duchess and Duke of Sussex strolled out onto the terrace before crossing to stand at the balustrade.

Juliet looked up in the gloom at Sebastian face, to find the darkness of his gaze glittering down at her.

In laughter, or in triumph?

Chapter Five

‘Personally, I fail to see what is so funny in the two of us nearly being found together in such a compromising situation.’ Juliet stood in the middle of her bedchamber, frowning her consternation as Sebastian, having refastened her gown for her, stood before her, clutching his sides with laughter. ‘Lord St Claire, you must desist!’ She glared at him reprovingly when her previous admonition had no effect.

His laughter finally ceased, although his eyes continued to gleam with merriment as he looked at her, and a grin still curved those sculptured lips. ‘I apologise. I simply found myself imagining how the Duke’s jowls would wobble and the Duchess’s mouth gape open like that of a fish if they had happened to turn and see us as we made good our escape!’

‘That is most unkind, My Lord.’ Although Juliet could not deny that their flight from the terrace had been in the nature of an escape.

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex had stood at the balustrade for several minutes, talking softly together on the success of the evening, before the Duchess had linked her arm with her husband’s and the two had begun to walk down the terrace.

Thankfully in the other direction from where Juliet and Sebastian had still been hiding in the shadows.

An occurrence which had caused Sebastian to take a firm clasp of Juliet’s hand before pulling her down the steps into the garden, to stride around to the side of the house.

And all that time Juliet had clutched at the front of her unbuttoned gown in an effort to stop it sliding completely from her body, her mood one of horror as she imagined what a pretty sight she would look, with her gown about her ankles and wearing no more than her chemise and her stockings!

Luckily that had not happened, and the two of them had been able to find access to the house through one of the servant doors. They had then proceeded to sneak through the house and up the back staircase to Juliet’s bedchamber. Much like two thieves in the night!

Juliet knew she had never behaved in such an undignified manner in the whole of her thirty years. And as for finding the situation amusing, as Sebastian St Claire so obviously did …!

‘Can you not imagine it, my dear Juliet?’ he prompted with an irrepressible smile. ‘The Duke’s jowls a-wobbling and the Duchess opening and shutting her mouth like a fish!’ He went off into another bout of laughter.

Juliet could imagine it—she would just rather not. What had happened this evening—especially her own behaviour—was no laughing matter. ‘Do you ever take anything seriously, My Lord?’ she murmured critically.

He sobered immediately. ‘Of course I do. Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends.’

Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends. They were indeed fine sentiments.

They did not signify where Juliet was concerned, however. She was neither friend nor family to Sebastian St Claire. As for honour—Juliet’s own honour was in shreds!

‘I think it better if you leave now.’ She spoke softly, avoiding so much as looking at him as she rearranged her perfume bottles on the dressing table. ‘This evening was—’

‘I trust you are not going to say regrettable?’ Sebastian cut in sternly.

Regrettable? Of course Juliet regretted it! Her only consolation was that it had not been the complete success Sebastian had hoped for. ‘I was about to express my doubts that this evening’s little adventure would be enough to win the wager for you!’ she said scornfully.

‘What wager?’ He frowned down at her.

‘Oh, come, My Lord.’ Juliet gave a disdainful grimace. ‘It is common knowledge that young gentlemen such as yourself enjoy certain wagers at their clubs. Escapades like curricle races to Brighton at midnight? Or the seduction of a certain woman …?’

Sebastian winced at the accusation. It was true that many such wagers took place in private—at least he had thought it was in private!—at the gentlemen’s clubs. It was also true that a year or so ago Sebastian had entered into such a wager himself, concerning another Countess. Although he very much doubted that was the wager Juliet referred to …

‘To my knowledge there is no such wager in existence where you are concerned,’ he denied. ‘And what do you mean by a man such as I …?’ he grated.

Juliet gave him a pitying look. ‘You are nothing but a rake, sir. A scoundrel. Indeed, a privileged fop, who meanders his way through life, imbibing too much alcohol, seducing women and laughing at anything or anyone who does not share those excesses!’

As set-downs went, this was certainly the harshest that Sebastian had ever received. In fact, it was the first of its kind that he had ever received!

He was a St Claire. The youngest brother of the Duke of Stourbridge. As such, he was untouchable—both in word and deed.

Except Juliet Boyd’s opinion of him had touched him in a way he did not care to dwell upon. Perhaps because he suspected that essentially she had only spoken the truth …? He had made such wagers as those she had accused him. He was also a rake, and often behaved the scoundrel. And, as his two older brothers were so fond of telling him, his profligate lifestyle left much to be desired.

But he was the youngest son of a Duke, damn it, and had been left his own estate in Berkshire and a veritable fortune to support it and himself on the death of his parents more than eleven years ago. More wealth than even Sebastian could run through in a dozen lifetimes.

What choices did a third son have but the church— for which he had no inclination!—or to live the life of a profligate?

Sebastian’s intention, his interest in Juliet Boyd, had been no more than the light-hearted seduction of a woman who had so far proved elusive to all men but her husband. He had certainly not expected to have his very lifestyle brought into question by that lady.

He gave a stiff bow. ‘Once again, let me assure you that I know of no such wager where you are concerned, Lady Boyd. I apologise if I have offended you with my unwanted attentions. I assure you that it will not happen again.’ He turned abruptly to cross the room and open the door before stepping out into the hallway.

Juliet felt as if her chest were being squeezed, making breathing difficult and speech impossible, as she watched him leave her bedchamber. The grimness of his countenance had erased all evidence of his usual handsome good humour, making him instead every inch the aristocrat he was.

Juliet remained standing in the middle of the bedchamber as the door closed behind him with a loud click of finality. At which time Juliet ceased even trying to maintain her dignity and instead collapsed weakly onto the bed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as tears fell hotly down her cheeks.

It really did not signify whether or not a wager concerning her seduction did or did not exist when her own behaviour this evening had been so shocking. Scandalous, even. The sort of behaviour that only a woman of loose morals could possibly have enjoyed. Women of breeding, of decency, did not—should not— feel physical pleasure in the way that she had earlier, when Sebastian had caressed and touched her in such an intimate way.

‘It would appear, Sebastian, that you have been scowling at my other guests in such a way as to cause them to completely lose their appetites!’

The darkness of Sebastian’s scowl did not lessen in the slightest as he turned to look at Dolly as she entered the dining room to sit down beside him at the breakfast table. A deserted breakfast table apart from the two of them, he now noticed. Although he seemed to recall there had been several other people present when he’d entered the room ten minutes or so ago …

He grimaced. ‘I doubt it will hurt some of them to miss a meal or two.’

‘True,’ Dolly acknowledged with an amused laugh.

Sebastian gave up even the pretence of eating his own breakfast and leant back in his chair. ‘Dolly, I am thinking of taking my leave later this morning—’

‘You cannot!’ Dolly looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘I really cannot allow you to even think of doing such a thing, Sebastian,’ she continued lightly. ‘You will quite put out the even number of my guests. Besides, we are to have a ball tomorrow evening, and I am sure you would not want to deny the daughters of the local gentry the opportunity to see and perhaps dance with the eligible Lord Sebastian St Claire!’

Sebastian did not return her teasing smile. ‘I am sure they would be all the better for being denied it!’

‘What is wrong, Sebastian?’ Dolly looked at him in genuine concern as he stared down grimly into his teacup. ‘You do not seem at all your usual cheerful self this morning.’ She gave him an encouraging smile.

‘You mean, my usual privileged and foppish self? Given to excesses and licentious behaviour?’ Sebastian didn’t attempt to hide his displeasure concerning Juliet’s opinion of his character.

Dolly looked taken aback. ‘What on earth do you mean, Sebastian?’

He grimaced in self-disgust. ‘The description is entirely fitting—do you not agree, Dolly?’

Sebastian had indulged in much deliberation over the last twelve hours. Since Juliet had told him exactly what sort of man she believed him to be. The sort of man he undoubtedly was, Sebastian had realised during those hours of reflection.

‘Of course it is not—’ Dolly broke off to consider him closely. ‘Who has said such things—surely not Juliet?’ she exclaimed. ‘Have the two of you argued?’

Sebastian gave a hard, humourless laugh. ‘I do not believe it can be called an argument when I merely listened as she told me exactly what sort of man she believes me to be.’ His expression darkened. ‘It did not paint a pretty picture.’

‘No, I would not think it did, if it was the one you have just told to me,’ Dolly conceded. ‘What she thinks of you bothers you that much?’ she asked shrewdly.

Sebastian’s scowl turned blacker than ever. ‘Only in as much as it appears to be true!’

Dolly shrugged. ‘Easy enough to change if you wish it, surely?’

He snorted. ‘And how would you suggest I go about doing that? Hawk is the Duke. Lucian is a war hero. And I very much doubt the church would suit me, or I it! No, it appears I’m stuck with being the profligate rake.’

‘I believe Bancroft mentioned he is in need of another gamekeeper … No, perhaps not,’ she said hastily, as Sebastian’s gaze became steely at her levity.

Sebastian took advantage of Dolly’s introduction of the Earl into the conversation. ‘Bancroft expressed a wish to talk to me this morning. Do you have any idea what it can be about?’

Dolly shook her head. ‘I am sure Bancroft will tell you that himself shortly.’

‘In other words you have no intention of discussing it with me even if you do know?’ Sebastian guessed wryly.

‘I would rather not,’ Dolly admitted. ‘What did you do to Juliet to make her say such hurtful things to you? Dare I ask what had happened shortly before this … exchange?’

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. ‘No, Dolly, you may not.’

He had no intention of telling Dolly—or anyone else, for that matter—what had transpired between himself and Juliet prior to the verbal tongue-lashing he had received from her that had resulted in his present foul mood. He might be all of the things Lady Juliet Boyd had accused him of, but he was also a gentleman, and a gentleman did not discuss with a third party his relationship with a lady. Or the lack of it!

‘However, I do not believe I am being indiscreet by confiding that she is of the opinion that my marked interest in her is due entirely to a wager amongst the gentlemen at my club.’

Dolly raised an eyebrow. ‘Such wagers do exist, do they not?’

‘To my knowledge, none that concern the Countess!’ Sebastian glowered fiercely.

‘Did you inform Juliet of that?’

‘I did.’ He gave a humourless smile at the memory. ‘She chose not to believe me.’

‘Hmm.’ Dolly nodded thoughtfully. ‘You know, Sebastian, I am not at all convinced that life can have been particularly pleasant when spent with a man of such high moral reputation as Admiral Lord Edward Boyd …’

‘You think perhaps he was not so perfect in his private life?’ It was something that Sebastian was also beginning to suspect ….

‘I offer it merely as an explanation for Juliet’s condemnation of your own licentious behaviour,’ his hostess said airily.

Sebastian’s gaze narrowed. ‘Dolly, I do not suppose that you and Boyd ever—’

‘No, we most certainly did not!’ She laughed huskily. ‘My dear, he was far too much the paragon to form an alliance with one such as I. And I am sure his sort of perfection must have been very tiresome to live with on a daily basis.’

Sebastian made an impatient movement. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that tiresomeness was enough to merit his being pushed down the stairs to his death?’

Dolly grimaced. ‘I am merely saying that Juliet might be forgiven if she did want to be rid of such a man. I believe that if Bancroft should ever become so pompous and self-important I might consider taking such action myself!’

Sebastian gave a throaty chuckle. ‘If every dissatisfied wife in Society were to follow Juliet Boyd’s example as a way of ridding herself of a disagreeable husband then I believe there would be only widows left—’

Sebastian broke off abruptly as he heard a shocked gasp behind him, turning sharply to see the edge of disappearing silken skirts as the eavesdropper on his conversation with Dolly made good her escape.

He stood up abruptly. ‘Dolly, please tell me that was not she!’ he groaned. But he knew by the consternation on his hostess’s face that it had indeed been the Countess of Crestwood who had overheard their damning conversation ….

Once dressed, Juliet had gone upstairs to check on Helena, who was thankfully much improved yet still in considerable discomfort, before proceeding down to the breakfast room. Her intention had been to seek out Sebastian and offer him an apology for some of the things she had said to him the previous evening. She had come to realise, through the long hours of a sleepless night, that it was herself she was angry with, not him.

She had heard the murmur of conversation as she’d approached the breakfast room, coming to a halt in the hallway when she heard Edward’s name mentioned. She’d regretted that hesitation almost instantly, as she hadn’t been able to help but overhear the rest of the conversation.

Sebastian St Claire believed her as guilty of Edward’s death as surely as did every other member of the ton!

Hateful, hateful man. And to think it had been her intention to apologise to him this morning for her insulting remarks to him the previous evening! How much more hurtful had been his own comments just now than anything she had said to him.

‘Juliet!’

She glanced back over her shoulder to see Sebastian pursuing her down the hallway, his expression grim as his much longer strides brought him ever closer, making a nonsense of Juliet’s attempt to avoid him.

She came to a sudden halt in the hallway and turned to face him. ‘Do you have more accusations you wish to make, Lord St Claire? Possibly to my face this time?’ she challenged scathingly. ‘Do you not think that overhearing you accuse me of killing my husband is enough insult for one morning?’ Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to clasp them tightly behind her back.

Sebastian frowned. ‘I do not believe myself guilty of having done that.’

‘No?’ Juliet’s chin was raised in challenge, her eyes sparkling angrily. Anger was by far a better emotion than the tears that threatened but which she absolutely refused to shed.

‘No,’ he maintained harshly, those whisky-coloured eyes dark and stormy. ‘I accept it was wrong of Dolly and I to repeat the—the speculation that has abounded since your husband’s sudden death. But at no time did either of us claim to be expressing our own views on the subject.’

Juliet eyed him in a seething fury. ‘Perhaps you would care to do so now?’

No, Sebastian did not believe that he would. Juliet’s mood was such that anything he said to her now, especially concerning his opinion of the circumstances of her husband’s death, was sure to be misconstrued by her. ‘Perhaps the speculation would not be so rife if you ceased to maintain your own silence on the subject …’

‘What would you like me to say, Lord St Claire?’ she scorned. ‘That it was I the servants believe they heard arguing with Edward only minutes before he fell to his death? That I hated my husband so much, wanted rid of him so much, I deliberately and wilfully pushed him down the stairs in the hopes that he would break his neck?’

No, Sebastian had no desire to hear Juliet say those things. He did not want to even think of this beautiful and delicate woman behaving in such a cold and calculating way. Nor to imagine what desperation she’d felt—what Edward Boyd’s behaviour towards her could possibly have been—to have driven her to such lengths in order to be rid of him ….

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Are you telling me that is what happened?’

‘Oh, no, My Lord.’ Her laugh was hard and humourless. ‘It is not for me to tell you anything. You must decide for yourself what you believe to be the truth.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Is that not difficult to do when you steadfastly refuse to defend yourself?’

She gave him a pitying look. ‘I am certainly not so naïve as to even attempt to proclaim my innocence to one who has so obviously already decided upon my guilt.’

Sebastian made an impatient move. ‘Then you presume too much, madam.’

‘Do I?’ Juliet Boyd snapped. ‘All evidence is to the contrary, My Lord.’

Sebastian had never experienced such frustration with another human being as he felt at that moment towards Juliet Boyd. Could she not see that her words and actions, her continued refusal to defend herself, only damned her as being the murderess the ton believed her to be? To others, if not to him.

Her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, viewed him coldly. ‘Are you not relieved, My Lord, that I did not take your attentions to me more seriously?’

‘My attentions, as you call them, were never intended to be taken seriously,’ he bit out curtly.

‘Of course they were not.’ She gave him a disdainful glance. ‘Everyone knows that Lord Sebastian St Claire does not take anything in life seriously!’

Once again she meant to insult him. And once again Sebastian realised he had no defence against those insults ….

Dolly claimed that if he felt so inclined Sebastian had the means and the ability to change his way of life. That, third son or not, he did not have to live the life of idleness and pleasure he had so far enjoyed.

Until the last twelve hours Sebastian had never had reason to even question that life! Nor did he thank Juliet for being the reason he was questioning it now ….

‘If you will excuse me, Lady Boyd, I have a prior engagement.’ He gave a less than elegant bow. ‘Please accept my apologies for any insult, real or imagined, that you may have felt during the conversation you overheard earlier. I do assure you that no insult was intended by either Lady Bancroft or myself.’ He turned sharply on his heel and took his leave.

Tears burnt Juliet’s eyes as she watched him go. She knew that Sebastian St Claire’s light-hearted pursuit of her was finally at an end. That she had rended his interest in her asunder with her criticism of him and the way he lived his life.

Chapter Six

‘You are here, too, Gray?’ Sebastian did not even try to hide his surprise upon finding his friend already seated in the Earl of Banford’s study when he duly presented himself there at the assigned hour of ten o’clock.

Nor did Sebastian attempt to conceal his irritation as he refused to take the seat the Earl offered, facing him across the width of his leather-topped desk; Sebastian had suffered through enough such interviews over the years with his brother Hawk, to know better than to meekly sit and accept the set-down he believed was coming. A set-down he deeply resented.

‘I am perfectly comfortable standing, thank you,’ he assured the older man, and he moved to stand with his back towards the window, hands clasped behind his back, the width of his shoulders blocking out most of the sunlight.

The Earl nodded. ‘My wife tells me that you and Lady Boyd have argued …?’

‘What the—?’ Sebastian’s scowl deepened as he stiffened resentfully. He had believed his earlier conversation with Dolly to be of a private nature, known only to the two of them. And in part to Juliet Boyd herself, of course … ‘Dolly had no right to relate any of that conversation to you,’ he said, outraged.

‘I am afraid that she did.’ The Earl’s expression was sympathetic, but at the same time determined. ‘You see, it is not in our interest that you argue with Lady Boyd.’

‘“Our interest”?’ Sebastian’s brow darkened ominously as he looked at the earl and Gray. ‘Would someone kindly tell me what on earth is going on?’

‘Calm down, old chap,’ Gray advised him.

‘No, I do not believe I will,’ Sebastian grated.

‘At least hear what Bancroft has to say before you threaten to call him out,’ Gray soothed.

The Earl rose to his feet, as if he too found the confinement of being seated irksome. ‘Have you not wondered why it was, when two weeks ago you made your request to my wife that she invite the Countess here to stay, she had already done so?’

‘Why should I?’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘The two ladies were friends once, were they not?’

‘Perhaps,’ the Earl acknowledged cautiously. ‘But I am afraid in this instance that friendship did not signify. My wife issued the invitation to Lady Boyd at my behest.’

‘You have lost me, I am afraid.’ Sebastian’s morning so far had not been in the least conducive to holding on to his temper, and the Earl’s enigmatic conversation now was only succeeding in increasing his annoyance.

‘I am sure you are aware of the … rumours surrounding the Earl of Crestwood’s death?’

‘Not you, too!’ Sebastian strode forcefully, impatiently, into the middle of the book-lined room. ‘You—’ he looked pointedly at the Earl of Banford ‘—gave every indication that you’d befriended the Countess yesterday evening. And you—’ his eyes glittered dangerously as he turned his attention on Gray ‘—flirt with the lady every time the two of you meet. Am I now to believe that you both think her capable of killing her own husband?’

‘That is the whole point of this conversation, Sebastian.’ Once again it was Gray who answered softly. ‘The simple answer is we do not know what the lady is capable of.’

‘Boyd has been dead these past eighteen months,’ Sebastian said coldly. ‘If by some chance Juliet did do away with him—’ his gaze narrowed ‘—then I am sure she was justified.’ That look of wariness, almost of apprehension, he had on several occasions seen in Juliet’s eyes, certainly seemed to indicate that someone—and who else could it be but Crestwood?—had given her good reason to fear.

‘Ah.’

‘Hmm.’

Sebastian easily noted the glance that passed between the other two men in accompaniment to their unhelpful replies.

He could not ignore the uneasy feeling that was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach. The Earl claimed Dolly had invited Juliet here at his behest. And Gray, Sebastian now recalled, had made only a nominal complaint at being dragged along to a summer house party he would normally have refused to attend. Gray had also been the one chosen to sit next to Juliet at dinner yesterday evening in Sebastian’s stead. Now he discovered that Gray and the Earl of Banford were far better acquainted than he had previously thought ….

‘Very well.’ He seated himself in one of the winged armchairs beside the unlit fireplace before looking at the other the two men with grim determination. ‘One or both of you had better tell me exactly what is going on, or you will leave me with no choice but to go to the Countess of Crestwood and inform her of this conversation.’

‘You know, Grayson, I do believe you and Dolly may have been correct in your opinion of St Claire’s intellect,’ the Earl commented with approval.

‘Seb’s a capital chap,’ the younger man answered blithely.

‘Seb is fast becoming a blazingly angry one!’ he warned them harshly.

‘Very well.’ The Earl looked him straight in the eye. ‘I am happy to talk frankly, but before doing so I will require your word as a gentleman that once this conversation is over you will not discuss its details with a third party.’

Sebastian knew without the other man saying so that in this case the ‘third party’ he referred to was the Countess of Crestwood ….

Up till now Sebastian had always found Dolly’s husband to be an affable and charming man. A man it was difficult not to like, but with no more to him than that.

These last few minutes of conversation showed there was much more to the Earl of Banford, and to his own friend Gray, than Sebastian had previously realised … and he didn’t like knowing that at all.

‘… and so you see you have totally misjudged poor St Claire, I am afraid, dear Juliet,’ Dolly admonished gently as the two women sat together in her private parlour.

Juliet had been reluctant to accept Dolly’s invitation to join her here when the other woman had come upon her still standing in the hallway after Sebastian had so abruptly taken his leave. After all, Dolly had been just as guilty of discussing her as Sebastian had! To now hear that he had actually been dismissing the idea of Juliet being guilty of any involvement in Edward’s death, rather than accusing her, made her feel more than a little foolish.

For now it appeared she owed Sebastian not one apology but two!

‘After all the gossip and speculation this last year and a half, it is a subject about which I am naturally a little sensitive,’ Juliet acknowledged stiffly.

‘But of course, my dear.’ Dolly gave her hand an understanding pat. ‘I can be a sympathetic ear if you ever feel the need to talk privately ….’

How Juliet longed to tell someone about her years as Edward’s wife. Longed to tell of those nights when he had come to her bed and taken her with cold indifference to the pain he was inflicting. Of his cruelty in the early months of their marriage, when she’d still thought it worth pleading for his gentleness and understanding. Pleas she had ceased to make after that single occasion when Edward had shown her just how much more pain and humiliation he could inflict when thwarted.

Oh, yes, Juliet longed to tell someone of those things, but knew that she never would ….

‘I thank you for the offer, Dolly.’ She smiled, to take any offence from her refusal. ‘But for the moment I would much rather discuss how I am to go about apologising to Lord St Claire for this latest misunderstanding.’

If Dolly was disappointed in Juliet’s determination not to talk about the past, then she gave no indication of it as she instead laughed huskily. ‘Oh, my dear, you must not be so eager to concede that you were in the wrong. Men are fond of believing themselves in the right of it, you know, and to eat a little humble pie on occasion does them no harm whatsoever.’

Despite her earlier tension, Juliet found herself laughing at Dolly’s nonsense. ‘But in this case Lord St Claire was in the right of it …’

‘I did not say you have to punish him for ever, my dear.’ Dolly gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘Just long enough for him to feel the cold chill of your displeasure. The ball I am giving tomorrow evening should be time enough to allow yourself to forgive him.’

Juliet raised dark brows. ‘So I am to forgive him, then?’

‘Of course.’ Dolly gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘I have found with Bancroft that it is by far the best way. By the time I have finished forgiving him he is usually so befuddled he has quite forgotten that he was not actually to blame for our fall-out, and is just grateful that we are … friends again!’

Juliet felt colour warm her cheeks as she realised what sort of friendship the other woman was alluding to. ‘You quite misunderstand my relationship with Lord St Claire—’

‘It is still early days yet, Juliet,’ Dolly pointed out.

She shook her head. ‘I assure you I have no intention of ever becoming that sort of friend with Sebastian St Claire.’

Or any other man ….

Sebastian’s expression remained outwardly calm as the Earl talked. Which was not to say that he was not disturbed by the older man’s conversation—only he had no intention of revealing his own thoughts at Bancroft’s talk of agents of the Crown and treachery.

Bancroft, it appeared, had for some years been involved in such a network of agents, of which Gray—a man Sebastian had known since childhood—appeared to be a member! Dolly, too, if Sebastian understood the Earl correctly; all those years Dolly had been the mistress of one member of the aristocracy or another she had been reporting information back to Bancroft!

‘So it appears Crestwood was either responsible himself for passing along privileged information, or it was someone else close to him in whom he confided,’ Bancroft finished gravely.

Sebastian realised he had been guilty of allowing his thoughts to wander. But, hell, what man would not when confronted with such a fantastic tale? ‘Let me see if I understand this clearly. You are saying that Crestwood, or someone close to him, for years passed along privileged information to the French? That such information was used to forestall several English efforts to defeat Bonaparte, and also to aid the Corsican’s escape from Elba two years ago?’

‘I am saying exactly that,’ the Earl confirmed.

Sebastian’s brother Lucian had resigned his commission in the army when Bonaparte had finally surrendered, but he had returned to duty the following year, along with his fellow officers, in order to participate in the battle at Waterloo, following Napoleon’s escape from Elba. Lucian had returned from that last battle a hard and embittered man, and most of his friends had not returned at all ….

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘You also believe that this “someone close” to the earl was his wife? That if the heroic Crestwood did not do it, then it must therefore have been Juliet who was the traitor?’

Gray frowned. ‘Crestwood was a hero and a gentleman, Seb. But he was not a man who had close friends as you and I do. In effect, there was no other person close to him except his countess. Now Crestwood is conveniently dead, and so unable to deny or admit these allegations.’

Sebastian stood up restlessly. ‘You are claiming that Lady Boyd deliberately pushed Crestwood down the stairs to his death in order to cover up her duplicity?’

His friend nodded. ‘It is reasonable to suppose that Crestwood finally discovered his wife’s treachery, and that when he confronted her with it, she pushed him down the stairs to stop him from making her conduct public.’

‘Is it not a simpler explanation that the man was foxed?’

‘The man did not drink strong liquor of any kind.’

‘Then perhaps he fell.’

‘He stood the deck of his own ship for over twenty years—are you seriously expecting us, or anyone else, to believe that he lost his balance at the top of his own staircase?’ Gray calmed with effort. ‘Besides, several of the servants heard the sounds of an argument only minutes before the Earl’s fall.’

Sebastian gave a disdainful snort. ‘Servants have been known to say anything if they believe it might earn them a guinea or two!’

‘No such bribery was offered,’ the Earl assured him.

Still Sebastian could not countenance the idea that Juliet was guilty of deliberately murdering her husband, let alone of treason. Although the sacrifice Lucian and his friends had made during the war said he had to hear Bancroft out … ‘The man was such a prig that he had no real friends, and such a paragon that he did not drink alcohol. Therefore it must be his wife who is the one guilty of treason? Of pushing Crestwood to his death so that he could not reveal her perfidy?’ Sebastian shook his head. ‘That seems to be rather a leap to have made on so little evidence, gentlemen.’

‘There is more, St Claire.’ The Earl’s tone immediately drew Sebastian’s attention. ‘Lady Boyd’s aunt, the sister of her mother, lived in France with her French husband—Pierre Jourdan. As a child, Juliet Chatterton spent many summers in France, with this aunt and uncle and her young female cousin.’

‘Does that mean that every English man or woman who has connections with the French, however tenuous, is suspect? My own valet is French. Does that make me guilty of treason, too?’

‘You are not taking this at all as I had hoped, St Claire.’ The Earl looked most unhappy with Sebastian’s response.

Possibly because Sebastian would much rather not think of Juliet in the role Bancroft and Gray had chosen to thrust her into!

She was full of defensive bristles, yes. But what woman would not be when she had come to Banford Park knowing she was entering the lions’ den? That all of Society believed her as guilty of killing her husband as Bancroft and Gray so obviously did? But Sebastian had seen that air of vulnerability and fear that Juliet was normally at such pains to disguise.

Until now Sebastian had assumed that fear to have somehow been caused by Crestwood’s treatment of her during their marriage, but logically it could likewise be apprehension at the thought of discovery …

Two weeks ago he had told Dolly that he did not care one way or the other whether or not Juliet had killed her husband, but his loyalty for Lucian said he should take Bancroft’s suggestion of treason much more seriously.

‘The Countess’s young cousin arrived in England six years ago, after her parents were killed during a raid by French soldiers on their manor home,’ Bancroft continued remorselessly. ‘The girl was held prisoner by the French for a week before managing to escape and flee to England. We can only guess at what she must have suffered at the soldiers’ hands.’

‘Would those events not mean that Juliet Boyd has every reason to hate the French rather than aid them?’ Sebastian pounced on this inconsistency in their argument.

‘Alternatively, she may have been responsible for betraying her relatives to the French because she knew of their sympathies towards the English,’ Bancroft pointed out.

Sebastian felt a coldness slither down the length of his spine at the thought of the beautiful Juliet betraying her family and husband—his brother Lucian and his fellow soldiers, too—in the way Bancroft described. It could not be true. Could it?

‘There is something else, St Claire,’ the Earl added.

‘Go on,’ he rasped.

‘Two weeks ago a missive to a known French agent was intercepted by one of my own agents. It read simply, “Active again. J.”’

Active again. J.

And the missive had been sent two weeks ago.

The exact time Dolly had issued her invitation to Juliet to attend this summer house party ….

‘I have always believed, my dear Juliet, that if a woman decides to take a lover then she should at least ensure he is an accomplished one,’ Dolly Bancroft advised archly.

Juliet’s cheeks burned at the thought of the intimacies she had already allowed Sebastian St Claire. Intimacies Juliet had shared with no other man ….

She shook her head. ‘I assure you I have no intention of taking a lover.’

‘Why would you not?’ The other woman looked scandalised. ‘You have been widowed these last eighteen months, Juliet; do not tell me you do not miss the pleasure of having a virile man in your bed?’

How could Juliet miss something she had never known? Something she had only begun to guess at since Sebastian had touched and caressed her …?

Would this burning in her cheeks ever stop? ‘I am not sure this is a—an altogether fitting conversation, Dolly.’

‘I am sure it is not!’ Her hostess laughed naughtily. ‘But men, I am sure, discuss such things at their clubs all the time, so why should the ladies not do the same when alone together? I can claim with all honesty that Bancroft is a wonderful lover. Was Crestwood the same?’

‘Dolly!’ Juliet gasped weakly.

The other woman’s gaze was shrewdly searching. ‘I see by your reaction that he was not.’ She gave a disgusted shake of her head. ‘How disappointing for you. I am of the opinion that being proficient in the art of lovemaking is as important for a man to learn as running an estate or riding a horse.’

Juliet really was unused to such frank and intimate conversation. ‘Crestwood ran his estate with precision, and he could ride a horse, as well as any man.’

‘Then it was only as a lover that he failed to please?’ Dolly nodded knowingly. ‘One only has to look at St Claire to know how wonderful he would be as a lover. The width of his shoulders. His muscled chest and the flatness of his stomach. As for the pleasure promised by his powerful hips and thighs … My dear, I am sure he is virile enough to keep even the most demanding of women happy in his bed!’

All this talk of pleasure and virile men, and most especially of Sebastian St Claire’s bed, was only increasing Juliet’s discomfort. But in a way that made her breasts swell beneath her gown and their tips harden as she once again felt that strange warmth between her thighs she had known when Sebastian had touched and caressed her so intimately the evening before ….

Sebastian’s mouth thinned. ‘I agree the truth needs to be established. But,’ he added firmly, ‘I refuse to condemn Lady Boyd on what amounts to superficial evidence.’

William Bancroft gave an inclination of his head. ‘I am pleased to hear it.’

Sebastian’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘You are?’

‘But of course.’ The older man resumed his seat behind the leather-topped desk. ‘That is the very reason we are having this conversation.’

‘Explain yourself, if you please.’

‘Seb—’

‘Do not concern yourself, Grayson,’ the Earl interjected. ‘St Claire is quite right to advise caution. To accuse someone of treason is a serious business. And while Lady Boyd—this French agent—remained inactive, indeed there was no need for haste. The fact that she—or he—is now back amongst us, prepared to take up their treasonous role once more, has changed things somewhat. I should, of course, have had this conversation with you some weeks ago, St Claire, when you first spoke to my wife concerning your interest in the Countess of Crestwood. I delayed doing so only because I felt it best to wait and see if the lady returned your interest.’

‘She does not.’

‘Oh, we believe that she does.’ The earl smiled knowingly.

‘Then you believe wrongly.’ Sebastian glared coldly at the older man. ‘Lady Boyd has strongly resisted all my advances.’

‘She is naturally cautious, I admit.’ The older man nodded. ‘But I have known the lady for some years, dined with her and Crestwood on a number of occasions, and as such I have had ample time in which to study her. She is a woman of reticence. Of reserve. So much so that she is polite to all but allows none close to her. You have managed to breach that reserve on several occasions in the last few days, I believe …?’

‘Damn it, I refuse to discuss a lady in this way!’

‘You do not need to do so, St Claire. Dolly is talking with Lady Boyd even as we speak. I have no doubt that she will ably ascertain whether or not the lady has developed a … tendre for you.’

‘You go too far, sir!’ Sebastian could never remember feeling so angry with anyone before.

‘I go as far as I need!’ the Earl assured him evenly. ‘If Lady Boyd is guilty of all we suspect, then I consider my actions as necessary as a soldier’s in battle when confronted with the enemy.’

‘If she is guilty!’ Sebastian repeated pointedly. ‘Until you have positive proof of that I, for one, will not condemn the lady.’

‘I was hoping that you might feel that way ….’

He eyed the older man suspiciously, even as a nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Exactly what are you suggesting …?’

William Bancroft eyed him speculatively. ‘Why, that you find some way to go about either proving or disproving the lady’s innocence, of course.’

‘Some way? What way do you have in mind, exactly?’ Sebastian wanted to know.

The other man shrugged. ‘A man and a woman are apt to discuss many things once the bedding is over.’

Sebastian stared at the other man as if he had gone completely insane. Bancroft must be insane if he really thought that Sebastian could play Juliet so false. Was this Dolly’s idea of what Sebastian should do in order to change his life from one of idleness and pleasure?

Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends …

Those were the things Sebastian had last night informed Juliet Boyd he took seriously. To behave in the way William Bancroft described—to bed Juliet, make love to her, with the sole intention of discovering her innocence or guilt in treason and murder—would be to behave completely without honour.

But if the Countess of Crestwood really was as guilty as Bancroft seemed to think, then did not Sebastian also owe it to Lucian, to all his brother’s friends, so many of whom had fallen at Waterloo, to apprehend someone who might have been instrumental in aiding Bonaparte’s escape from Elba and so precipitated that bloody battle?

Which left loyalty to friends …

The Earl gave a weary sigh. ‘I am well aware of what we ask of you, St Claire, and appreciate that you will need some time to think on it.’

‘Why do you not merely question the lady and be done with it?’ Sebastian, despite that loyalty he felt towards Lucian, was still loath to agree to such a nefarious and ungentlemanly plan.

‘As I have already explained, while Agent J was inactive there was no haste to do anything but keep a silent watch. Now that Agent J is active again we stand a chance of locating and ultimately arresting a whole network of French agents. Besides, at this moment in time we do not have enough evidence to either question the Countess in connection with treason and murder or indeed clear her name of all such charges.’

He was asking Sebastian to find and then produce that evidence ….

His gaze narrowed on the two men. ‘And if I had not succeeded in finding favour with the Countess? Who was to take my place in her bed then? You, Gray?’ He looked accusingly at the other man, knowing by the way Gray moved uncomfortably in his chair that his surmise was a correct one. ‘You are both mad, I think!’

‘Your own brother returned from Waterloo, Seb. Mine did not.’ Gray’s face was pale and tense.

Sebastian’s fingers involuntarily clenched into purposeful bunches of five. What would Hawk do in such a situation? What would Lucian do if offered the chance of avenging some of the friends he’d lost at Waterloo?

‘And if I refuse?’ He eyed the Earl warily.

‘Then be assured I will take your place, Seb,’ Gray told him bluntly. ‘I feel no reservation, no hesitation in attempting to woo and win the Countess’s confidence. I will bed her, too, if it will give us the answers we require.’

Gray to flatter and charm Juliet? Gray to seduce her? To bed her? Never!

‘I feel no hesitation, either, in giving you both my answer,’ Sebastian said stiffly.

Gray sat forward anxiously. ‘Seb, I ask that you do not act in haste—’

‘You no longer have any part in this conversation, Gray,’ he told his friend. ‘The two of us will talk together at some later date about the role you have played in this farce.’ A later date when Sebastian was not so angry he felt like striking Gray rather than talking to him, his steely tone warned! He turned back to Lord Bancroft. ‘I will endeavour to engage the Countess’s interest further,’ he accepted, feeling utter distaste for such deceit. ‘But only on the understanding that I do this for Juliet Boyd’s own sake, and not your own,’ he added firmly. ‘When I have assured you of her innocence, I will then expect you to apologise both to her and to me.’

If Sebastian succeeded in assuring these two men of Juliet’s innocence ….

Chapter Seven

‘You look perfectly lovely this evening, Juliet.’ Helena beamed at her approvingly as Juliet stood in front of the cheval mirror, studying her reflection.

Her cousin, restless from being confined to her room for two days now, had this evening insisted that she was recovered sufficiently from her fall to come downstairs and help Juliet prepare for dinner. Juliet knew she should have insisted that Helena rest her ankle further, but she had nevertheless appreciated her cousin’s help in dressing and arranging her hair. She wanted to look her best this evening.

Following her candid conversation earlier today with Dolly Bancroft, she had decided to give Sebastian St Claire the opportunity in which to make his apologies to her, at least. The rest of Dolly’s advice she was less sure about!

Unfortunately there had been no opportunity to see or speak with Lord St Claire after talking to Dolly. He had gone out riding late this morning, and had not returned until much later in the afternoon. So this evening would be the first available opportunity Juliet would have to see him again. And for him to see her.

Dolly had advised that Juliet take Sebastian as her lover. The question was, did Juliet wish to take a lover? Not if, as she had always thought, all men were as brutish as Crestwood had been! Dolly’s description of her own relationship with William Bancroft seemed to imply that they were not, but still Juliet felt uneasy—

She was getting far ahead of herself!

After their two fallings out there was absolutely no reason to presume that Sebastian still wished to become her lover ….

Sebastian paid little attention to his fellow guests as they gathered in the drawing room before dinner, his mood not improved since that morning, despite riding for an hour across the countryside in order that he might pay an unexpected call upon Lucian and his bride of less than one month at their own Hampshire estate.

The recently married couple had welcomed him most warmly; it had been Sebastian’s own distraction that had prevented him from enjoying the visit. Within a few minutes of his arrival Sebastian had known that he should not have gone there. Lucian was so obviously happy with his bride, and Sebastian’s word to Bancroft prevented him from discussing with his brother any of the conversation of this morning in any case.

There was no one, it seemed—not Lucian, not Gray, not Dolly—with whom Sebastian could talk about the web of intrigue in which he now found himself entangled.

The fact that Juliet Boyd looked breathtaking and innocently lovely as she entered the drawing room at that moment did not improve Sebastian’s temper. To such an extent that he realised he was actually scowling across the room at her as she fell into conversation with the Duchess of Essex.

Juliet’s gown this evening was of cream satin and lace that complemented perfectly the pearly translucence of her skin, its low neckline revealing the full swell of her breasts. The darkness of her hair was arranged artfully in tiny curls about the beauty of her face and nape, the green of her eyes made all the deeper by a fringe of thick dark lashes and her mouth a full and sensuous pout.

Sebastian stiffened as she turned and seemed deliberately to meet his gaze, leaving him with no other choice but to make an abrupt bow of acknowledgement before turning immediately away again, his hands clenching tightly at his sides.

This was going to be so much harder than he had imagined if he could not even bring himself to relax when Juliet was only in the same room as himself. How on earth would he get close enough to her to ascertain her innocence if he did not get a firmer grip on his emotions? After all, he was ultimately doing this with the intention of proving her innocence to those who seemed all too ready to believe in her guilt.

‘Good evening, Lord St Claire.’

For the first time in their acquaintance Juliet Boyd had approached him! Yesterday Sebastian would have rejoiced in that fact. Today he could not rid himself of the weight of duplicity pressing down upon him so heavily.

‘Can it be that you are still angry with me, My Lord …?’

Juliet felt nervous, and not a little foolish, as she attempted to flirt with Sebastian. She had watched other women do it for years, of course, but it was a different matter entirely to behave in such a fashion herself. There had been little occasion for her to do so during her one and only Season, and Edward would have dealt with her most severely if he had so much as suspected her of flirtation during their marriage.

But if she and Lord St Claire did not talk to each other, how was he to be persuaded into making his apologies to her?

He looked so very handsome this evening, too, in a tailored black superfine, snowy white linen beneath a waistcoat of the palest silver, white pantaloons fitted quite shamefully to the long muscled length of his hips and thighs, and polished black Hessians.

Ordinarily Juliet knew she would not have noticed how perfectly a man’s clothes were tailored to him. That she did so now where Sebastian was concerned was due, she had no doubt, to the candidness of Dolly Bancroft’s conversation that morning.

Juliet felt warm just looking at him as she recalled that conversation. She was totally aware of the width of his shoulders and muscled chest. The flatness of his stomach. The promised power of his thighs …

Oh, dear Lord!

Juliet flicked her fan open and wafted it up and down in front of her face in an effort to cool her burning cheeks.

His gaze was narrowed as he looked down at her. ‘I believe it is you who were angry with me, ma’am,’ he pointed out rather curtly.

Juliet tried to remember how, over the years, she had seen other women behave in the presence of such an attractive man as he.

A glance from beneath lowered lashes, perhaps?

No, that had only made him scowl all the more!

A mysterious little smile that hinted at invitation?

No, that had only made him narrow his gaze on her questioningly!

Perhaps she should just be herself, after all? Sebastian had seemed to find that attractive enough yesterday evening, when he’d made love to her so illicitly.

Juliet snapped her fan closed and gave up every pretence of flirtation. ‘We both know I have good reason to be angry with you, Lord St Claire.’

‘Then I wonder you have troubled yourself to seek me out,’ he retorted.

Her smile was brittle. ‘I did not “seek you out”, as you call it, Lord St Claire. I was merely passing this way in order to talk to Lord Grayson, and it would have been rude of me not to have acknowledged you at least. If you will excuse me …? My Lord!’ she exclaimed sharply as Sebastian reached out and grasped her wrist, so that she could not escape without drawing attention to the two of them. ‘You are hurting my wrist, sir!’ Her eyes flashed up at him warningly.

Sebastian would have liked to do more than hurt Juliet Boyd’s wrist—he wanted to wring her damned neck! First she threw him completely off balance by approaching him. Then she seemed almost to have been flirting with him, before transforming into her usual waspish self. This woman was such a tangle of contradictions she had Sebastian tied up in knots!

He gave a hard smile. ‘Take my advice, Juliet, and stay well away from Lord Grayson.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She looked so outraged. So indignant. So hurt … Yes, this woman was a mass of contradictions that promised to drive Sebastian quietly out of his mind!

His grip on her wrist gentled and he pulled her slowly towards him, watching as her eyes opened wider and wider as he pulled her ever closer. Until she stood so near to him their bodies almost touched. Until he could see the quick rise and fall of her breasts. The trembling of her slightly parted lips. Feel the softness of her breath against his throat.

God, he wanted to crush Juliet’s lips beneath his own. Just as he longed to rip the gown from her body before making love to her until she screamed out in pleasure. Until she screamed out her innocence!

The image of making love to her formed so vividly in his mind that Sebastian felt his thighs hardening. Throbbing. Aching …

His jaw clenched. ‘You are playing a dangerous game, my lady!’

Juliet blinked her confusion. ‘Game, My Lord? I have no idea what—’

‘I am sorry to interrupt, but it is time to go into dinner.’

Juliet turned blankly to look at Dolly Bancroft, where she stood beside them, smiling. The Duke of Essex stood to one side, waiting to escort their hostess in to dinner, but otherwise the drawing room had emptied of the other twenty or so guests.

Leaving Sebastian once again to escort Juliet into dinner ….

Something she was sure neither of them desired after this latest heated exchange.

Far from feeling remorse at the wrong he had done her this morning, Sebastian seemed almost angry with her. Coldly, remorselessly so. And Juliet had seen far too much coldness and remorselessness during her marriage to Crestwood to tolerate any more of it.

‘How kind of you to wait for me, Your Grace.’ She stepped away from Sebastian to place her hand upon the Duke of Essex’s arm, thereby allowing him to escort her into dinner. The Duke was far too much the gentleman to point out that she had taken Dolly Bancroft’s place.

Sebastian’s eyes blazed deeply golden as he turned from watching Juliet’s departure on the arm of the Duke of Essex. ‘Do not!’ he grated, as Dolly Bancroft would have spoken as he offered her his arm. He had no intention of discussing her husband’s conversation of this morning with her. Or indeed anything else!

‘Did I not initially try to persuade you from your interest in Juliet?’ Dolly nevertheless attempted.

‘Before you saw that my interest could be to your husband’s advantage?’ Sebastian scorned. ‘Perhaps one day I may be able to forgive you for this, Dolly—but it is certainly not going to be today!’

‘Life cannot always be a game, Sebastian.’ She sounded wistful.

Sebastian looked down at her bleakly. ‘When all of this is over I think it best if you and I do not meet again for some time.’

The hurt she felt was reflected in the deep blue of her eyes, but the inclination of her head was as gracious as always. ‘As you wish.’

What Sebastian wished was that he had never seen Juliet Boyd. Never desired to bed her. Never come to Banford Park in pursuit of her. More than anything else he wished he could just leave here today, now, and forget he had ever been told of the suspicions harboured against her.

But Sebastian’s sense of fair play, his honour, his loyalty, said that he could do none of those things. That, no matter how Juliet might one day despise him for his actions, he owed it to her to see that she was given every opportunity to prove herself innocent of Bancroft’s accusations.

Or not …

‘Are you feeling unwell, Juliet …?’ Helena hovered behind her as she sat in front of the mirror. Juliet had dismissed her cousin once she had helped her out of her gown, wishing to be alone when she removed the pins from her hair, but Helena’s glance at her reflection showed Juliet’s face to be exceedingly pale, the green of her eyes the only colour, and there was a frown of tension upon her brow.

Altogether it had not been a successful evening. Yet another unpleasant exchange with Sebastian St Claire had occurred. Followed by a lengthy dinner when Juliet had found herself seated between two gentlemen who wished only to converse on fox hunting and their hounds. She had then been persuaded into partnering Lord Grayson in a game of whist, all the time aware of Sebastian as he sat at the next table, partner to the beautiful Lady Butler. Juliet’s distraction at the other woman’s obviously flirtatious manner had been such that she and Grayson had lost miserably. Juliet had been relieved when she could at last excuse herself and retire to her bedchamber.

The greatest disappointment, of course, had been the way Sebastian had seemed too preoccupied to notice her. For the first time in her life Juliet had deliberately set out to see if she could attract the attention of a certain man, and the man had shown her nothing but indifference!

‘I have a slight headache, that is all,’ she assured her cousin ruefully. ‘But I am perfectly capable of taking down my own hair. It would please me if you would go back upstairs and rest your ankle.’ She smiled encouragingly, knowing that she wished only to be alone to lick the wounds to her pride.

She maintained that smile until Helena turned and left the bedchamber, only relaxing into dejection once she knew herself to be completely alone.

What Juliet would have really liked to do was go out onto her balcony and breathe in some of the warm summer air. But she was loath to do so after the last time she had done just that. It would be too humiliating if by chance Sebastian happened to find her there once again. If he were to assume that she was deliberately trying to attract his attention.

Not that it was particularly likely; if Sebastian had already retired to any bedchamber then it was probably Lady Butler’s!

Sebastian was sprawled atop the bedcovers in a state of disarray, drinking brandy copiously, when he heard the first scream.

It had not been easy to turn down Lady Butler’s obvious invitation to retire with her to her bedchamber, without causing offence, but somehow Sebastian had managed it. As he had also managed to procure a decanter of brandy and a glass from a footman, before mounting the staircase two steps at a time and then striding to his bedchamber to close the door firmly behind him.

Watching Gray’s solicitations to Juliet Boyd for two hours had induced a need in Sebastian not to see or speak to anyone else this evening. He had thrown open the doors out onto his balcony before undressing down to his pantaloons, his intention to lie down upon his bed and get roaring drunk before hopefully falling into an unconscious stupor.

The fear and desperation he heard in Juliet’s scream wiped all thought of sleep from Sebastian’s mind, and he slammed his glass down on the bedside table before jumping to his bare feet.

It did not even occur to him to use the door out into the hallway. He rushed out onto his balcony to vault over the top of the ridiculous barrier before throwing open the door to Juliet’s room, fearful of what or who he might find there.

The bedchamber was lit by a single candle placed on the dressing table, its reflection in the mirror behind adding more light to the room.

The bedchamber showed only one occupant.

Juliet.

She lay alone in the centre of the bed, her fingers tightly clutching the bedclothes to her chest as she tossed and turned her head on the pillow.

Her eyes were firmly closed.

Sebastian stood very still beside the bed as he looked down at her. That Juliet was still sleeping, probably completely unaware that she had cried out, was obvious.

Her hair was a midnight curtain on the pillow beneath her. Her shoulders were bare, except for the thin straps of a white silk nightgown, and the revealed swell of her breasts was full and creamy.

Sebastian felt the fierceness of his expression soften as he took in how beautiful she looked. How fragile. How utterly—

‘No!’ Juliet suddenly cried out again, her eyes still closed but her features contorted. ‘Do not! Please do not!’ She sat up abruptly in the bed, her eyes wide and fearful as she stared straight ahead. ‘Please!’ she groaned achingly once again, before burying her face in her hands and beginning to sob.

Her distress was unbearable. Certainly more than Sebastian could bear anyway!

He quickly sat down on the side of the bed to reach out and draw her into his arms. ‘You are safe, Juliet,’ he assured her fiercely. ‘There is no one here who shall harm you.’ His arms tightened about her and he held her cradled against his chest.

Juliet froze as she became aware of bare flesh beneath her cheek.

Arms like steel bands were about her, holding her so tightly she could not break free.

Crestwood!

He was here. In her bedchamber. And if he was here it could mean only one thing!

She could not bear it. Not again. Never again could she lie unmoving, silent, while he—

No, Crestwood was not here!

He could not be here.

Crestwood was dead ….

Then who was holding her so tightly?

The skin Juliet felt beneath her breast was smooth and deeply muscled, rather than pale and lined, with no sign of that flabbiness of flesh she had become used to in a man thirty years her senior, and the softness of hair that covered this chest and stomach was dark rather than coarsely grey.

Juliet raised her gaze almost fearfully to the firmness of jaw, and above chiselled lips, a long aquiline nose, high cheekbones, eyes the colour of honey, and dark hair shot through with gold in rumpled disarray onto the broadness of those wide shoulders.

‘Lord St Claire!’ she gasped in recognition, even as she attempted to pull away from him. His arms tightened to prevent her. ‘You must release me, My Lord!’ She breathed unevenly.

‘Why must I?’ His voice sounded dark and mesmerising in the silence of the bedchamber.

‘Because—because—you should not be here, Sebastian,’ Juliet whispered shakily. ‘Why did you come?’ She pulled back slightly to look into the brooding darkness of his face.

Such a handsome face. So sinfully, magnificently handsome …

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he looked into the deep green of Juliet’s eyes. ‘You do not remember, do you?’

Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘Remember what, My Lord?’

‘You called me Sebastian just now,’ he reminded her huskily. ‘And I am here because you cried out loudly in your sleep and I heard you.’ His eyes narrowed as he saw the sudden wariness in her expression before her gaze dropped away from his. ‘Who did this to you, Juliet? Who has hurt you enough that you are plagued by nightmares that make you cry out even in sleep?’

Her face had been pale before, but now it grew even paler. ‘I do not know what you mean, My Lord—’

‘Do not lie to me, Juliet,’ he warned harshly, his hands grasping the tops of her arms as she would have pulled away from him. ‘Did Crestwood do this to you? Did he frighten you in some way? Is that why you—?’ He broke off, his jaw tight.

She raised startled eyes. ‘Why I what, Sebastian?’

She was so beautiful, so utterly desirable as Sebastian held her soft lushness in his arms, that he did not want to think of anything else—to see or feel anything but Juliet. At this moment she was all that mattered.

Juliet knew Sebastian was going to kiss her the moment she saw the hunger in his gaze as it dropped to the softness of her lips. Knew it. And craved it …

She had no memory of calling out in her sleep or of what she had said. But she could imagine what it might have been. She had been dreaming of Crestwood. Of how so often he had hurt her. How there had never been anyone there, ever, to stop him from hurting her.

Not so tonight. Tonight Sebastian St Claire was here. In her bedchamber. Not Lady Butler’s, as Juliet had imagined. And Juliet wanted him to hold her. To kiss her. To caress her. To block out and destroy for ever all those painful memories of Crestwood that so tormented and disturbed her.

‘Juliet …?’ St Claire groaned as she raised her lips willingly to his.

Such a strong and sensuous mouth as it claimed hers. His shoulders were hard and muscled beneath Juliet’s fingers as she clung to him. He felt so firm and smooth, and the muscles rippled beneath the warmth of his skin. Those muscles told her that no one would get past him, that if she wished it he would protect her.

Even from a ghost …

Her eyes closed and her lips parted willingly beneath the gentle sweep of his tongue. That tongue flicked lightly over her inner lip and the small ridge of her teeth before exploring further as it moved teasingly against hers.

Sebastian felt the leap of his body and the hardening of his thighs as Juliet’s tongue began a sensuous duel with his. Moving enticingly forward, before retreating, tempting him deeper still. Her warm curves pressed against him were driving him wild with desire, and he could hold back no longer as he thrust fully inside her mouth, to possess her with his tongue.

It was not enough. It would never be enough with this particular woman. Sebastian wanted all of her. Wanted every part of her to be his!

Even as his mouth continued to claim hers, he slipped the thin ribbon straps from her shoulders and down her arms, moving slightly to let the material fall down to her waist before he pulled her back against him, crushing her bared breasts against his chest. Such softness. Such warm, tempting softness. A softness Sebastian had so longed to touch, to kiss.

He moved one of his hands to cup beneath one of those gentle slopes, testing the weight of her breast against his palm, able to feel if not see the pout of her nipple. Knowing even as he ran the pad of his thumb against that pouting softness and felt it harden that he had to have it in his mouth so that he might pleasure her with his tongue.

Juliet felt bereft when Sebastian pulled his mouth from hers to look down at her with eyes of dark honey-gold that seemed to be asking her a question.

‘Do not stop, Sebastian,’ she pleaded huskily. ‘Please, do not stop!’

Whatever question had been in his eyes, she appeared to have answered it, and his gaze continued to hold hers as he lowered his head to place his caressing lips against the gentle curve between her neck and shoulder. Those lips were feather light as they moved lower. And then lower still.

Juliet gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she realised his destination. ‘Sebastian …?’

‘Let me, Juliet.’ He raised his head to take one of her hands in his and kiss the palm, before placing it down on the bed beside her and then doing the same with its twin. ‘I promise I will not hurt you.’ His eyes looked intently into hers. ‘I will never hurt you. Do you believe me?’

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, her eyes wide and apprehensive as she reached to clutch and pull the material of her nightgown up over the bareness of her breasts. ‘What—what are you going to do?’

‘Nothing you will not enjoy, I promise.’ He made no effort to touch her, to use physical coercion of any kind. ‘Do you trust me not to hurt you, Juliet?’

Did she trust him? If she said no would he stop now? If she said no at some later point would he still stop?

Sebastian could read the thoughts racing through Juliet’s mind. Could read them—and wanted to do physical harm to the man who had caused such apprehension inside her. Sebastian was convinced now that it had to have been Crestwood. Even Bancroft, suspicious and accusing, had agreed there had been no other man in Juliet’s life this last twelve years but her husband.

Damn Bancroft! Now was not the time to think of either the man or any of the things he had said to Sebastian this morning.

His hands moved up to gently frame either side of Juliet’s face.

‘Tonight is for you, Juliet. Only for you.’

Much as it might kill him, Sebastian meant to give this woman pleasure—as much pleasure as she could take—whilst taking nothing for himself but the knowledge of that pleasure. Whatever will-power it took, whatever he suffered later, Sebastian was determined to replace that look of fear on Juliet’s face, in the dark green depths of her eyes, with one of joy.

‘Juliet …?’ he prompted gruffly.

Juliet remained unmoving, not even breathing as she looked at him. Her gaze was seeking. Probing. Searching, no doubt, for any sign in his expression that said he lied. Sebastian’s gaze remained fixed and steady on hers.

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