Excerpt

‘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 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 consideringly. ‘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.

Juliet became very still as she stared up at him. ‘What are you doing…?’ she breathed huskily.

He gave an unconcerned shrug of those broad shoulders. ‘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!’

Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin 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.’

The Rogue’S Disgraced Lady
Carole Mortimer

MILLS & BOON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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 duti-fully 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 in

credulously 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 non-chalantly, ‘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?

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