Regency Scandal
Some Like It Wicked
Some Like to Shock
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CAROLE MORTIMER was born and lives in the UK. She is married to Peter and they have six sons. She has been writing for Mills & Boon since 1978, and is the author of almost 200 books. She writes for both the Mills & Boon® Historical and Modern™ lines. Carole is a USA Today bestselling author, and in 2012 was recognised by Queen Elizabeth II for her ‘outstanding contribution to literature’.

Visit Carole at carolemortimer.co.uk or on Facebook.

To Peter, with all my love

Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Some Like It Wicked

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Some Like to Shock

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

Some Like It Wicked

Chapter One

May 1817—Highbury House, London

‘Do smile, Pandora; I am sure that neither Devil nor Lucifer intends to gobble you up! At least … it is to be hoped, not in any way you might find unpleasant.’

Pandora, widowed Duchess of Wyndwood, did not join in her friend’s huskily suggestive laughter as they approached the two gentlemen Genevieve referred to so playfully. Instead she felt her heart begin to pound even more rapidly in her chest, her breasts quickly rising and falling as she took rapid, shallow breaths in an effort to calm her feelings of alarm, and the palms of her hands dampened inside the lace of her gloves.

She did not know either gentleman personally, of course. Both men were in their early thirties whereas she was but four and twenty, and she had never been a part of the risqué crowd which surrounded them whenever they deigned to show themselves in society. Nevertheless, she had recognised them on sight as being Lord Rupert Stirling, previously Marquis of Devlin and now Duke of Stratton, and his good friend, Lord Benedict Lucas, two gentlemen who had, this past dozen years or so, become known more familiarly amongst the ton as Devil and Lucifer. So named for their outrageous exploits, both in and out of ladies’ bedchambers.

The same two gentlemen Genevieve had moments ago suggested might be considered as likely candidates as lovers now that their year of mourning for their husbands was over …

‘Pandora?’

She gave a shake of her head. ‘I do not believe I can be a party to this, Genevieve.’

Her friend gave her arm a gently reassuring squeeze. ‘We are only going to speak to them, darling. Play hostess for Sophia whilst she deals with the unexpected arrival of the Earl of Sherbourne.’ Genevieve glanced across the ballroom to where the lady appeared to be in low but heated conversation with the rakish Dante Carfax, a close friend of Devil and Lucifer.

Just as the three widows were now close friends …

It was sheer coincidence that Sophia Rowlands, Duchess of Clayborne, Genevieve Forster, Duchess of Woollerton, and Pandora Maybury, Duchess of Wyndwood, had all been widowed within weeks of each other the previous spring. The three women, previously strangers, had swiftly formed an alliance of sorts when they had emerged from their year of mourning a month ago, drawn to each other by their young and widowed state.

But Genevieve’s suggestion a few minutes ago, that the three of them each ‘take one lover, if not several before the Season was ended’, had thrown Pandora more into a state of turmoil than anticipation.

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Our dance, I believe, your Grace?’

Pandora had not thought she would ever be pleased to see Lord Richard Sugdon, finding that young gentleman to be unpleasant in both his studied good looks and over-familiar manner whenever they chanced to meet. But, having found it impossible to think of a suitable reason to refuse earlier when he had pressed her to accept him for the first waltz of the evening, Pandora believed she now found even his foppish company preferable to that of the more overpowering and dangerous Rupert Stirling or Benedict Lucas.

‘I had not forgotten, my lord.’ She gave Genevieve a brief, apologetic smile as she placed her hand lightly upon Lord Sugdon’s arm before allowing herself to be swept out on to the ballroom floor.

‘Good Lord, Dante, what has put you in such a state of disarray?’ Rupert Stirling, the Duke of Stratton, enquired upon entering the library at Clayborne House later that same evening, and instantly noticing the dishevelled state of one of his two closest friends as he stood across the room. ‘Or perhaps I should not ask …’ he drawled speculatively as he detected a lady’s perfume in the air.

‘Perhaps you should not,’ Dante Carfax, Earl of Sherbourne, bit out. ‘Nor do I need bother in asking what—or should I say, whom—is succeeding in keeping Benedict amused?’

‘Probably best if you did not,’ Rupert chuckled softly.

‘Would you care to join me in a brandy?’ The other man held up the decanter from which he was refilling his own glass.

‘Why not?’ Rupert accepted as he closed the library door behind him. ‘I have long suspected that my stepmother would eventually succeed in driving me either to drink or to committing murder!’

Pandora—having found herself trapped in a corner of the ballroom with Lord Sugdon once their dance came to an end, and only managing to escape his company a few minutes ago when another acquaintance had engaged him in conversation—could not help now but overhear the two gentlemen’s conversation as she stood on the terrace directly outside the library.

‘Then let it be drink this evening,’ Dante Carfax answered his friend. ‘Especially as the Duchess has been thoughtful enough to conveniently leave a decanter of particularly fine brandy and some excellent cigars here in the library for her male guests to enjoy.’ There was the sound of glass chinking and liquid being poured.

‘Ah, much better.’ Devil Stirling sighed in satisfaction seconds later after he had obviously taken a much-needed swallow of the fiery alcohol.

‘What are the three of us even doing here this evening, Stratton?’ his companion drawled lazily as he threw wide the French doors out on to the terrace with the obvious intention of allowing the escape of the smoke from their cigars.

‘In view of your dishevelled state, your own reasons are obvious, I should have thought,’ the other gentleman remarked. ‘And Benedict kindly agreed to accompany me, once I told him of my need to spend an evening away from the cloying company of my dear stepmama.’

Dante Carfax gave a hard laugh. ‘I’ll wager the fair Patricia does not enjoy being referred to as such by you.’

‘Hates it,’ the other man confirmed with grim satisfaction. ‘Which is the very reason I choose to do it. Constantly!’

Devil by name and devil by nature …

The thought came unbidden to Pandora as she remained unmoving in the shadows of the terrace, having no wish to draw the attention of the gentlemen to her presence outside by making even the slightest of noises.

The aroma of their cigars now wafting out of the open French doors was a nostalgic reminder to Pandora of happier times in her own life. A time when she had been younger and so very innocent, with seemingly not a care in the world as she attended such balls as this one with her parents.

Occasions when she would not have felt the need, as she had this evening, to flee out on to the terrace in order to prevent any of Sophia’s tonnish guests from seeing that Pandora had finally been reduced to humiliated tears by Lord Sugdon’s blatant and crude suggestions …

Not that most of the ton would care if she did find herself insulted, many of society not even acknowledging her existence, or troubling themselves to speak to her, let alone caring if she constantly found herself being propositioned by those gentlemen brave enough to risk her scandalous company.

Indeed, if it were not for the insistence of Sophia and Genevieve in having her also received at whatever social functions they chose to attend, then Pandora believed she would have found herself completely ostracised since she had ventured to return to society a month ago.

‘A futile exercise, as it happens,’ Rupert Stirling continued wearily, ‘now that my father’s widow is also recently arrived at the Duchess’s ball.’

‘Oh, I am sure that Sophia did not—’

‘Don’t get in a froth, Dante, I am not blaming your Sophia—’

‘She is not my Sophia.’

‘No? Then I was mistaken just now in the perfume I recognised as I entered the room?’

There was the briefest of pauses before the other gentleman replied reluctantly, ‘No, you were not mistaken. But Sophia continues to assure me I am wasting my time pursuing her.’

Pandora’s mind was agog with the implication of this last conversation. Sophia? And Dante Carfax? Surely not, when Sophia lost no occasion in which to criticise the rakishly handsome Earl of Sherbourne …

‘Would not the taking of a wife solve at least part of your own problem, Rupert, in that the Dowager Duchess would then have no choice but to leave off living openly with you in your homes, at least?’ Dante now asked.

‘Do not think I have not considered doing just that,’ the other man rasped.

‘And?’

‘And it would no doubt solve one problem, but surely bring about another.’

‘How so?’

‘In that I would then be saddled for the rest of my life with a wife I neither want nor care for!’

‘Then find one you do want, physically, at least. There are dozens of new beauties coming out each Season.’

‘At two and thirty, my taste in women does not include chits barely out of the schoolroom.’ The to-ing and fro-ing of Rupert Stirling’s voice indicated that he was pacing the library in his agitation. ‘I cannot see myself tied for life to a young woman who not only giggles and prattles, but knows nothing of what takes place in the bedchamber,’ he added disdainfully.

‘Perhaps you should not dismiss the existence of that innocence so lightly, Rupert.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, for one thing, no one could ever accuse you of a lack of finesse in the bedchamber, which would surely allow you to tutor your young and innocent wife as to your personal preferences. And secondly, innocence does have the added benefit of ensuring—hopefully—that the future heir to the Dukedom would at least be of your own loins!’

‘Which may not have been the case if Patricia had succeeded in giving my father his “spare”—an occurrence which would have succeeded in rendering me fearful for my very life whilst I slept,’ the Duke of Stratton stated venomously.

Pandora was aware she no longer remained silent outside on the shadowed terrace merely to avoid detection, but was in fact now listening unashamedly to the two gentlemen’s conversation. Two gentlemen, having seen them from a distance but a short time ago, it was all too easy for Pandora to now envisage.

Dante Carfax was tall and dark with wicked green eyes, his impeccable evening attire fitting to perfection his wide and muscled shoulders, flat abdomen and long powerful legs.

Rupert Stirling was equally as tall, if not slightly taller than his friend, his golden locks fashionably styled to curl about his ears and fall rakishly across his intelligent brow, his black evening clothes and snowy white linen tailored to emphasise the powerful width of his shoulders, narrow waist and long and muscled legs. His eyes would no doubt be that cool and enigmatic grey set in his haughtily handsome fallen-angel face, with a narrow aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and a wickedly sensual mouth that could smile with sardonic humour or thin with the coldness of his displeasure.

A displeasure that at present appeared to be directed at the woman his late father had married four years ago.

Pandora had been only twenty at the time, and not long married herself, but she remembered that the whole of society had then been agog with the fact that the long-widowed seventh Duke of Stratton, a man already in his sixtieth year, had decided to take as his second wife the young woman it was strongly rumoured had been romantically involved with that gentleman’s son before he returned to his regiment to fight in Wellington’s army against Napoleon …

Pandora, along with all of society, was also aware that the new Duke and his stepmother had occupied the same house ever since the death of his father the previous year—or rather houses, because whether in town or the country, Rupert Stirling and his father’s widow invariably now occupied the same residence.

‘As I recall, you always did have reason to fear for your life when in the bedchamber with that particular lady,’ Dante drawled drily in reply to the other man’s previous comment.

Pandora felt the colour warm her cheeks at overhearing such intimate details of Rupert Stirling’s relationship with the woman who was now his widowed stepmother. Perhaps, after all, she had listened long enough to the gentlemen’s conversation, and should now return to the ballroom and make her excuses to Sophia before leaving? Yes, that would probably be for the best—

‘Half the gentlemen present this evening are currently following my stepmama about the ballroom with their tongues hanging out,’ the Duke said scathingly.

‘And the other half?’

‘Appear to be panting after a petite golden-haired woman in a purple gown—’

‘I believe you will find that her gown is violet in colour.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Pandora Maybury’s gown is violet, not purple,’ Dante Carfax murmured.

Having already turned towards the house, with the intention of leaving the men to the privacy of their brandy, cigars and conversation, Pandora found herself stilling, a chill of apprehension now running down the length of her spine at suddenly hearing her own name mentioned.

‘Barnaby Maybury’s widow?’ the Duke asked.

‘Just so.’

‘Ah.’

What little colour had returned to Pandora’s cheeks during the minutes she had spent outside in the fresh air now drained away as she heard the unmistakable contempt underlying the Duke of Stratton’s knowing utterance.

Dante gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I know your preference is for women who are dark of hair, tall in stature and voluptuous in figure, Stratton.’

‘And Pandora Maybury, being petite and fair haired and slender of figure, is so obviously none of those things—’

‘I defy even you to notice anything else about her once you have gazed into the exquisite beauty of her eyes!’

‘Should you, in the circumstances, be noticing the beauty of another woman’s eyes, or any other part of her anatomy, Dante?’

The other man chuckled at the sarcasm evident in his friend’s tone. ‘I dare any gentleman, whatever the circumstances, to ignore the beauty of Pandora Maybury’s eyes.’

‘Pray tell what is so special about them?’

‘They are exactly the same shade of colour as the gown she is wearing this evening. Violets in the springtime,’ Dante added with obvious appreciation.

‘Can it be that your prolonged state of unrequited desire for our beautiful hostess has finally succeeded in completely addling your brain?’ Rupert drawled with obvious derision.

‘You are the second person this evening to suggest that might be the case,’ the other man snapped. ‘But, I assure you, where Pandora Maybury’s eyes are concerned, I merely state the truth.’

‘Violets …?’ The Duke was still the sceptic.

‘The deep, dark colour of violets in springtime,’ Dante maintained firmly. ‘And surrounded by the longest, silkiest lashes I have seen on any woman.’

‘And these are the same violet-coloured eyes and long silky lashes, no doubt, which succeeded in luring not one man to his death, but two?’ The Duke’s tone was scathing.

Pandora drew her breath in sharply even as she dropped down weakly on to the wrought-iron bench seat that stood against the wall of Clayborne House, having long been aware of how society thought of her, but never actually having heard anyone openly make the accusation in her presence before.

Except, of course, she was not in the presence of her accusers, merely an eavesdropper who, as the saying went, wasn’t hearing anything good about herself.

‘I believe I might take my leave as you are so out of sorts,’ Dante now told Rupert.

‘I will stay here and finish my brandy and cigar before making my own excuses,’ the Duke answered.

Pandora was still too lost in her own misery to take any further heed of what they were saying. Too overwhelmed by the unhappiness of the memories their previous conversation had conjured up to do anything other than allow that misery to claim her, as it had so often this past year since her husband and Sir Thomas Stanley had both died so needlessly, and in doing so created a scandal which would be talked about for months, if not years. She—

‘Ah, here you are,’ a familiar voice oozed at her out of the surrounding darkness. ‘And all alone, too,’ Lord Sugdon added with satisfaction as he stepped into the dim candlelight escaping through the lace curtains at the library windows.

Pandora eyed him warily as she rose slowly to her silk-slippered feet. ‘I was just about to go back inside—’

‘Oh, surely not?’ The young Lord Sugdon stepped closer still. ‘It would be a pity to waste the moonlight. And the privacy this terrace affords us …’ he added with a suggestive leer in the direction of the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline of her gown.

‘Nevertheless, I feel I really should return—Lord Sugdon!’ she gasped in protest as he reached out and pulled her roughly into his arms. ‘Release me at once!’ She pushed against his chest in her efforts to escape the confining steel of his arms about her waist, struggles he completely ignored as he now lowered his head with the obvious intention of claiming her lips with his own. Just the thought of his moist, full lips upon her own was enough to make Pandora’s stomach churn in sickening protest.

‘You don’t mean that—’

‘I most certainly do!’ Pandora insisted emotionally, sure that if she did not escape his steely grip very soon that she might actually swoon. Which she did not believe for one moment, from the expression of carnal intent now darkening Lord Sugdon’s face, would succeed in securing her release either; indeed, the man looked as if he were more than capable of taking advantage of her while she lay unconscious and unknowing in his arms. ‘You must stop this immediately, my lord!’

‘Like it a little rough, do you, my beauty?’ Sugdon grinned in satisfaction. ‘You will hear no complaints from me on that score!’ One of his hands released her waist long enough to grasp the neckline of her gown before pulling on the delicate fabric until it ripped and allowed her chemise-covered breasts to spill into view. ‘Now there’s a pretty sight to behold, to be sure.’ His gaze was heated on her semi-naked breasts as he licked the fullness of his lips in anticipation.

Pandora gave a choked sob, knowing that her life—a life that had been overshadowed by so much unhappiness these past four years—had just lowered to a depth of depravity she could never have imagined before this evening. ‘Please, you must not do not do this!’ she pleaded desperately as she continued to push ineffectively against the strength of Lord Sugdon’s hold upon her.

‘You know that you want me to.’ His hand now cupped one of her breasts, his fingers digging painfully into her tender flesh. ‘That you have been begging for just this all evening.’

‘You are wrong if you think that, sir!’ Pandora gasped. ‘Now please—’

‘It is you who shall please me in a few moments, my lovely— Why, you—!’ He snarled angrily as Pandora’s hand landed painfully against his cheek. ‘You shall pay for that, you little—’

‘I believe you will find, Sugdon, that when a lady says no as vehemently as this one is so obviously doing, that it is better to err on the side of caution and accept that she really might be turning down your advances.’

Pandora staggered back into the bench as she found herself suddenly released from Lord Sugdon’s hot and repulsive embrace, uncaring of the bruising of the metal into the back of her legs as she clutched her ripped gown tightly over her breasts, her face deathly pale as she stared across the terrace at her unexpected—and totally improbable—saviour.

Lord Rupert Stirling, eighth Duke of Stratton. Otherwise known to the ton as simply Devil …

Chapter Two

Rupert had been enjoying the last of his cigar and brandy when his solitude had been rudely interrupted by the sound of voices outside on the terrace. Believing at first that it was merely a man and woman involved in a lovers’ tiff, he had chosen to ignore them and continue his contemplation of the unhappy predicament in his own life. Namely, how best to deal with the problem of Patricia Stirling, his late father’s Duchess.

Having to think of the woman at all was enough to incite Rupert’s ire, at the same time as he accepted that he could not contemplate continuing with their present living arrangements any longer. Something had to be done, and soon. He—

The volume of the conversation outside on the terrace had then become such that Rupert found it difficult to think at all. So much so that he stood up to cross the library to where the French doors stood open, his intention to tell the couple to take their damned argument elsewhere. Instead of which it instantly became apparent to him that it was not a lovers’ tiff at all, but a gentleman whom he easily recognised as being that young pup Lord Richard Sugdon forcing his attentions upon a lady whom Rupert could not see clearly, held tightly in Sugdon’s arms as she was, but who was nevertheless obviously protesting those attentions, both verbally and physically.

A petite and fair-haired lady wearing a purple—correction—violet-coloured silk gown. None other than Pandora Maybury, Duchess of Wyndwood, if Rupert was not mistaken. And he rarely was …

‘Now see here, Devlin,’ Sugdon began to bluster in protest.

‘That would now be your Grace, the Duke of Stratton,’ Rupert corrected icily as he turned his glittering gaze to the younger man. ‘And I believe I have already seen and heard enough to know that you are bothering this lady.’

‘There’s nothing of the lady about her—‘ Sugdon’s insult came to an abrupt halt as Rupert grasped him by his neckcloth before pushing him up against the brick wall of the house.

Rupert lowered his face to within a few inches of the younger man’s flushed one, more than pleased to have a direction in which to vent his own inner frustrations. ‘Firstly, the Duchess,’ he bit out softly and succinctly, ‘is a member of the ton and so most certainly she is a lady. Secondly, she has clearly refused your attentions. Am I correct so far?’ The chill warning in his tone was enough to make the other man’s cheeks pale.

Sugdon’s Adam’s apple moved nervously up and down in his throat. ‘Yes.’

Rupert’s fingers tightened in the neckcloth. ‘Thirdly, if I ever see you within ten feet of her Grace again, I will ensure that you live to regret it. In fact, I believe it would be beneficial to your health if you were to take the next few days in which to deal with your affairs here before retiring to your home in the country for the rest of the Season.’

‘I—’

‘Finally,’ Rupert continued in that same dangerously soft tone, ‘before taking your leave you may apologise to the Duchess for your wholly unacceptable behaviour towards her just now.’

The younger man’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘I have no intention of apologising to one such as her.’

‘Now, Sugdon. Before I forget there is a lady present at all and decide to beat you to within an inch of your life.’ Indeed his mood was such this evening that Rupert would welcome—even positively enjoy—the opportunity of physically venting some of his seething emotions on the other man.

‘The woman has been flaunting her attractions for weeks now—’

‘I most certainly have not!’ Pandora gasped in scandalised protest, having listened to the exchange in ever-increasing dismay, and knowing, from the resentful glare Lord Sugdon now sent in her direction, that he held her totally responsible for his present humiliation. Quite how he came to that conclusion, when Pandora had done absolutely nothing to encourage his shocking behaviour, nor personally called upon the Duke of Stratton for help, was completely beyond her comprehension, but believe it Lord Sugdon most certainly did.

She repressed a shiver of apprehension as she turned away from the promised retribution in his glare to instead look at the Duke of Stratton. ‘I would far rather you just released him, your Grace, so that he might then leave my presence as quickly as is possible,’ she pleaded huskily.

Rupert Stirling did not so much as glance in her direction. ‘Not before he has made his apologies to you.’

Pandora shot another nervous glance in Lord Sugdon’s direction, accepting that, whilst he might fear the Duke’s immediate retribution, he harboured no such feelings of awe where she was concerned.

Indeed, she feared she would even now be prostrate on the terrace if looks could actually kill!

Lord Sugdon drew himself up stiffly as he spoke resentfully, ‘I apologise, your Grace.’

She moistened the dryness of her lips before attempting a reply. ‘Your apology—’

‘Is not accepted.’ Once again it was the Duke of Stratton who answered the younger man. ‘For what reason are you apologising, Sugdon?’ he prompted. ‘In acknowledgement of your unacceptable behaviour just now towards her Grace? Or is it only that you regret being caught in the act of attempting to physically assault her?’ he added knowingly.

The younger man shook his head vehemently. ‘I fail to see why you are making such a fuss when everyone knows the woman is nothing more than an opportunist, on the look-out for the next man to share her bed now that her year of mourning her husband is over. Unless, of course, that next man is you, Stratton, in which case I apologise for having stepped upon your toes—or any other part of your anatomy—’ He got no further with the insult as the Duke suddenly released his neckcloth in order to swing back his arm and land a punch firmly upon the other man’s jaw, resulting in Lord Sugdon toppling unconscious to the ground.

‘Your Grace!’ Pandora stood up to stare down in alarm at the prostrate and unconscious man.

Rupert at last spared a narrow-eyed glance at the obviously dismayed Pandora Maybury, his gaze becoming positively appreciative as he took in the fact that the ripped front of her gown revealed surprisingly plump breasts beneath the thin material of her chemise, the nipples that adorned their firm, pouting tips showing a deep and alluring rose.

Her cheeks flushed a similar colour as she became aware of his intent gaze, her hand once again moving up to clasp the ragged edges of her gown together in order to hide that delectable plumpness from his view.

Rupert looked at her between hooded lids, taking in the gold of her hair arranged in fashionable curls at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, her face a pale oval in the moonlight, lashes lowered as she stared down at the prostrate man, making it impossible as yet for Rupert to see the full splendour of those ‘exquisitely beautiful’ violet-coloured eyes his friend had earlier described with such eloquence.

She moistened plump lips with the tip of her tiny pink tongue before speaking huskily. ‘What shall we do with him?’

Rupert arched dark, arrogant brows. ‘I have no intention of doing anything with him, madam. In fact, it is my intention to leave him exactly where he fell.’

‘But—’

‘No doubt he will have a slight jaw-ache when he awakens,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘But that, and the injury to his pride, will no doubt be all that he suffers. Unless, of course, Sugdon was right all along and you were actually encouraging the roughness of his attentions and now regret my interference?’ Rupert eyed her speculatively.

She gasped, that blush in her cheeks deepening in colour. ‘How can you even suggest such a thing?’

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Some women prefer a little … enthusiasm, in their lovemaking.’

‘I assure you I am not one of those women!’ she snapped indignantly. ‘Now if you will excuse me—’

‘You cannot possibly go back into the house with your gown in that condition.’ Rupert made no effort to contain his impatience as he began to shrug out of his black evening coat. ‘Here, put this about your shoulders.’ He held the jacket out to her. ‘And I will go and arrange for the carriage to take you to your home.’

Pandora was careful not to allow her fingers to come into contact with the Duke’s as she took the tailored jacket from him, struggling slightly as she attempted to hold the front of her gown together at the same time as putting the jacket about her shoulders.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, let me!’ The Duke sighed his irritation with her struggles as he strode across the terrace to take the jacket from her and place it about her shoulders himself, Pandora at once enveloped in the warmth it had absorbed from his own body, along with the smell of his cologne and the cigar he had recently enjoyed. ‘I will go inside and see to the carriage and at the same time ensure that our hostess is made aware of your departure due to a headache.’ He glanced down in disgust as the other younger man gave a pained groan as he began to stir. ‘A very large headache!’

Pandora’s lashes lowered as she avoided meeting Devil Stirling’s piercing grey gaze. ‘I—I do not believe I have thanked you as yet for your timely intervention, your Grace. I am much appreciative of your rescue just now.’

‘How appreciative, I wonder?’

Her lashes rose sharply at the speculation she heard in his tone. ‘Your Grace?’

‘Never mind,’ he dismissed tersely as he straightened. ‘Perhaps you should come through to the library, and then you may close and lock the doors after I have left and so ensure that you are not disturbed before I return.’ He gave the rapidly recovering man at his feet another cold glance.

Pandora gave an apprehensive shiver despite being huddled in the warmth of the Duke’s jacket, a warmth accompanied by a wholly masculine smell—the sandalwood and pine cologne, expensive cigar and another pleasant odour that was possibly uniquely Rupert Stirling—which was as reassuringly comforting as it was disturbing to the senses. ‘I will do so, gladly,’ she agreed as she preceded the Duke into the candlelit library, some of her trepidation leaving her as soon as she heard him locking the doors behind them before pulling the curtains across to secure her privacy.

With the lessening of those feelings of immediate danger came the full realisation of what had just happened to her. The knowledge of what more might have happened to her if Rupert Stirling had not come to her rescue. Lord Sugdon, for all of his foppishness, was a large man and so much stronger than her, and if the Duke of Stratton had not come to her aid then she feared the other gentleman would have continued with his ravishment to the bitter end.

‘I believe it would be best if you don’t dwell on thoughts of what might have occurred,’ Rupert advised as he easily guessed the reason for the colour draining from Pandora’s cheeks.

‘Not dwell on it?’ she choked emotionally. ‘How can I not dwell on it when but for your own intervention he—he might have—’

‘Oh, good lord, now you are crying!’ Rupert gave a small groan as he saw the evidence of those tears as they spilled over her long silky lashes before proceeding to fall down the delicacy of her pale cheeks and knowing himself to be as impotent as the next man when faced with a woman’s tears. ‘Recall that I did intervene, madam, and let that be an end to it,’ he begged hastily.

Those long silky lashes now rose, at last allowing Rupert his first glimpse of Pandora’s ‘exquisitely beautiful’ eyes. Eyes, he instantly discovered, that were indeed the colour of the deepest, darkest violets in springtime. Eyes a man—and at least two other men, to his certain knowledge—might gaze into and find himself lost to all reason as he drowned in those seductive violet depths …

‘I apologise for troubling you with my tears, your Grace.’ Pandora was visibly battling to stop any more of those tears from falling as she delicately patted the evidence from her cheeks with a lace-edged handkerchief she had recovered from the beaded reticule at her slender wrist.

Rupert had indeed been troubled—was still troubled, if the truth be told, but by the mesmerising effect on him of those violet-coloured eyes, rather than the tears this woman had shed. ‘If you have any sense at all you will not attempt to move from the library until I have returned from arranging for the carriage to take you home.’

Pandora could not help but flinch at the unmistakable steel she could hear underlying the Duke’s dictatorial tone, along with the expression of deep irritation on his aristocratically handsome face as he glared down the length of his arrogant nose at her, as if he now regretted having come to her aid at all. Or perhaps, having done so, he was merely eager to rid himself of the responsibility of her as quickly as was possible?

‘I assure you that I am perfectly sensible to my predicament, your Grace,’ she confirmed softly. ‘And should you appear out in the hallway without your jacket?’ Her eyes were wide with consternation as she saw that was his intention.

‘It would seem I have little choice when you are obviously more in need of it at present than I.’ With one last brief glance in her direction the Duke turned abruptly on his heel and stepped out into the hallway before closing the door firmly behind him. ‘Lock it,’ he directed audibly from the other side.

Pandora quickly complied before pulling Rupert Stirling’s jacket more tightly about her as she leant weakly back against the door. She felt slightly safer now, but knew she would not feel completely secure until she was well away from Clayborne House and most of the people in it.

Including her reluctant rescuer?

Yes, that did indeed include the Duke, Pandora acknowledged as she now seemed unable to stop her trembling. There had been something in Rupert Stirling’s eyes when he had looked upon her in the candlelight just now, an expression of purely male assessment on his austere and aristocratic features, as he had seemed to take in everything about her in a single glacial glance. Followed by his swift exit from the library just now, as indication, no doubt, that having looked his fill, he was now in a hurry to be rid of her.

No doubt the Duke would have already made his planned excuses to leave if this obviously unwanted sense of responsibility towards Pandora had not delayed him.

Her legs began to shake in earnest as the full horror of what had almost transpired earlier once again washed over her. Indeed, if Rupert Stirling had not interceded, then she was certain that Lord Sugdon would have succeeded in his obvious intention of ravishing her. With or without her permission. And, in the case of Lord Sugdon, it would most certainly have been without!

Oh, she was well aware of what society thought and said about her, of the belief that she had cuckolded her husband with Sir Thomas Stanley, which had resulted in a pistols-at-dawn duel, which minutes later had left both gentlemen lying dead upon the ground.

All, and every part of it, a lie.

But it was a lie which the ton had wanted to believe a year ago, when Pandora had attempted to claim her innocence of any wrongdoing in her marriage. Unfortunately, tonight’s events proved they did not believe in her lack of guilt now, either.

From the conversation she had overheard earlier between Rupert and Dante, it was obvious that they had also heard, and believed, the rumours that had been rife a year ago.

Before her marriage to Barnaby four years ago, Pandora had been the naïve and trusting Miss Pandora Simpson, the only child of the impoverished landowner and Greek scholar from Worcestershire, Sir Walter Simpson, and his wife, Lady Sarah.

With Pandora’s first successful Season behind her, during which she had received several offers of marriage from gentlemen she liked but whom her father considered unsuitable, she had later come to realise that none of those gentlemen had been wealthy enough for her father to tap for the funds necessary to alleviate the family’s impoverished state due to Sir Walter’s complete incompetence as a landowner; her father had always preferred his books to the running of his estate.

Then had come the offer during her second Season, from the young, handsome and extremely wealthy Barnaby Maybury, Duke of Wyndwood, an offer which Sir Walter had grasped greedily with both hands.

Perhaps Pandora was being a little unfair in laying the blame for her marriage upon her father, when he was no longer alive to defend himself, Sir Walter having succumbed to the influenza three winters ago, her mother following him only weeks later. After all, Pandora had been equally as flattered by the attentions of such a handsome and wealthy gentleman as Barnaby Maybury and excited at the prospect of becoming his Duchess.

Neither had there been any indication, during those heady days of her short betrothal to the Duke of Wyndwood, when he had been both charming and attentive towards her, of the nightmare her life would become once the two of them became husband and wife.

A nightmare which had refused to end following the scandal which had dogged her every footstep since her husband’s death in a duel supposedly over her honour and culminating in the final and humiliating indignity of Lord Sugdon’s attack on her earlier this evening.

Final—because this evening had shown Pandora that it would be better for everyone—but most especially herself—if she were to seriously consider withdrawing completely from society.

The majority of Barnaby’s wealth had been left to a distant cousin, his male heir, upon his death, but her marriage contract had ensured that Pandora was left with some funds of her own, along with a property in London which was not entailed in the Duke’s estate. Not in a particularly fashionable part of London, admittedly, but certainly a house she had been able to occupy in quiet seclusion during her year of mourning. But with the money she already had, added to what she might expect to receive from the sale of that house in London, she would surely be able to buy a suitable property and retire to the country, where hopefully she might be allowed to live out the rest of her days in peace and solitude?

She knew that Sophia and Genevieve would both decry such a course of action on her part. Both women had been kindness itself since declaring, when they’d first befriended Pandora, the one with kindness, the other with vehemence, that what wife had not, on occasion, wished to cuckold her husband and possibly even dispatch him?

Close as Sophia and Genevieve now were to her, Pandora could not reveal even to them that she was not guilty of doing either of those things. There were reasons, and others even more innocent than she who could be seriously wounded by the truth.

But after the unpleasant events of this evening, much as Pandora valued the other ladies’ friendship, she now felt sure that the only future left to her if she stayed in London was to become prey to opportunists such as Lord Sugdon. A fate that was wholly unacceptable to her.

‘You may safely unlock the door now, Pandora.’ A brisk knock accompanied the Duke of Stratton’s terse instruction.

Rupert knew at a glance, as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, that Pandora was a little more composed now than she had been earlier. She was very pale still, of course, that pallor giving a haunted depth to the deep violet of her eyes, but the expression on the delicate beauty of her face was one of resigned dignity rather than the emotional upset she had been verging on before he left the library just minutes ago.

Hers was a beauty of such delicacy—ivory skin, high and intelligent forehead, those incredible violet-coloured eyes, a short straight nose above the perfect bow of her full and sensuous lips, with a slightly stubborn tilt to her small and pointed chin—that Rupert found he was not in the least surprised that two gentlemen, her husband and her lover, had challenged each other to a duel in order to claim sole rights to that beauty.

His mouth thinned. ‘Our hostess has been informed of your departure and the carriage is now waiting outside to take you to your home. I have brought this for you to wear.’ He held up the black cloak he had requested from the Duchess of Clayborne’s butler. ‘It has the advantage of returning my jacket to its rightful place, as well as covering your own … damaged gown.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky and she kept her lashes lowered over those violet-coloured eyes as they exchanged Rupert’s jacket for one of the Duchess of Clayborne’s own evening cloaks.

Rupert pulled on his own jacket and straightened the cuffs before looking down at her with disapproving eyes. ‘What on earth possessed you to walk outside with a man like Sugdon in the first place?’

Thick lashes surrounded those violet-coloured eyes as they widened indignantly at the accusation in his tone. ‘I did not go outside with Lord Sugdon! I had been standing outside on the terrace alone for some time when he found me—’ She broke off her protest abruptly, the colour deepening in her cheeks, as she obviously realised she had just revealed her presence on the terrace directly outside the library whilst Rupert and Dante conversed privately.

How much of their conversation had she overheard? Rupert wondered ruefully. Certainly the latter comments concerning herself, if the deepening of that blush in her cheeks was any indication!

‘Indeed?’ His nostrils flared. ‘And did you overhear anything of interest whilst standing there?’

She drew herself up to her full height of a little over five feet. ‘Not in the least, your Grace.’

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Pandora had no intention of admitting to overhearing this man’s conversation regarding his stepmother. The remarks about herself, on Dante Carfax’s part at least, had not been too insulting, and the Duke’s less-than-flattering opinion of her had, as with so many of the ton, been formed on hearsay rather than personal knowledge of her.

Or, at least that had been the case before Rupert Stirling had been forced to rescue her from the unwanted attentions of Lord Sugdon!

She sighed heavily. ‘I think it best if I leave now, your Grace.’

‘I think so, too,’ he agreed. ‘The Duchess’s butler has arranged for the carriage to be brought to the back of the house rather than the front so that we might leave through the servants’ hallways and kitchen rather than run the risk of running into any of the Duchess’s other guests, and so cause them to question your current … appearance,’ he added drily as Pandora gave him a startled glance.

‘“We”, your Grace?’ she repeated slowly.

Ah, her surprise was not, as Rupert had believed, caused by their means of leaving the house, but more by the fact that he so obviously intended departing with her. ‘We,’ he confirmed authoritatively as he took a light grasp of her elbow before opening the door and indicating she should precede him out of the room.

Something Pandora made no effort to do as she instead looked up at him with obvious uncertainty. ‘I have long been acquainted with what society has to say of me, your Grace, but I feel I should warn you—’

‘And I am only too well aware of what that same society has to say about me, madam.’

He scowled down the length of his arrogant nose at her. ‘But you may rest assured that I am in no mood this evening to confirm any of the … less-than-complimentary remarks you may have heard in regard to my conduct towards the ladies.’

Pandora was pleased to hear it, having briefly wondered if she might not have succeeded in being rescued from one unacceptable situation only to now find herself in an even worse one!

Although she seriously doubted that most women would find the interest of a man as aristocratically handsome and challenging as the eighth Duke of Stratton in the least unacceptable!

Indeed, once upon a time, before her unhappy marriage, she would have been delighted—nay—ecstatic, to have attracted the attentions of such a handsome and eligible gentleman as he. No longer. Pandora’s only wish now was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

‘Then let us both depart, your Grace,’ she accepted reluctantly as she reached up to pull up the hood of the cloak so that it covered part of her face and all of her hair.

A disguise that proved absolutely useless in helping her to pass unnoticed through the servants’ hallways and kitchen!

How could it be any other way, when a gentleman as recognisable as Rupert Stirling strode arrogantly along at her side? Sophia Rowlands’s household staff were obviously all agog at seeing a handsome Duke marching through their midst, their gazes speculative as they moved to the cloaked woman at his side.

‘Not quite the unobserved departure we might both have wished for,’ he acknowledged ruefully as they emerged outside into the dark lane at the back of the crowded and candlelit mansion house.

‘No.’ Pandora frowned as she saw there was only one carriage awaiting them there. A fashionable black carriage, which bore the Stratton coat of arms upon the door the groom now hurried forwards to open. ‘My own carriage does not appear to have arrived as yet, your Grace—’

‘Nor will it,’ the Duke assured her briskly, maintaining that firm hold upon her elbow as he strode towards his own carriage. ‘Whatever society may say about me, your Grace, my nanny and tutors ensured that I grew up knowing my manners perfectly, even if I do not always choose to put them into practice.’ He raised an expectant brow as he waited for her to precede him into the interior of the ducal carriage. ‘One of those precepts being that a gentleman does not abandon a lady in distress,’ he added softly.

The only distress Pandora suffered at this moment was the thought of being seen driving through the streets in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage and then arriving back at her home in that so-called gentleman’s carriage rather than her own!

Chapter Three

She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I believe I would rather this was an occasion upon which you chose to ignore the teachings of your nanny and tutors, your Grace.’

There was a stilled and expectant silence for several seconds and then the Duke gave a loud bark of spontaneous laughter. ‘My friend Carfax omitted to mention that you are an Original, Pandora Maybury,’ he finally murmured appreciatively.

‘Possibly because I am not.’ She became flustered as she recognised the speculation in the cool and assessing grey gaze now levelled at her.

‘I beg to differ,’ the Duke drawled.

‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ She nodded coolly. ‘But I really would prefer to return to my home as I arrived, alone and in my own carriage.’

‘Why?’

Her agitation increased. ‘I— Well, because—’

‘Can it possibly be that you are nervous at thoughts of travelling alone in the ducal carriage with me?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ Pandora glared up at him in the darkness.

‘Good.’ His mouth firmed with satisfaction as he all but lifted her inside the lantern-lit carriage and placed her on one of the plushly upholstered seats. He swiftly followed her inside to sit directly opposite her and nodded tersely to the groom to close the door, the movement of the carriage only seconds later evidence that they were now on their way.

On the way to where, Pandora was unsure, when the Duke had made no enquiry as to where in London her house was situated.

Rupert studied her between narrowed lids, able to take in her full appearance in the warm glow given off by the lantern inside the carriage. Her hair and lashes were of pure and deep gold, a perfect foil for those deep violet-coloured eyes, her skin the colour of ivory, her lips—full and pouting lips that hinted at the sensuous nature which had perhaps caused two gentlemen to fight a duel over her—the colour of ripe raspberries. The same colour as the nipples he had glimpsed through her chemise earlier, tipping those surprisingly plump breasts …

If released from their pins, would her golden curls be long enough to fall over those beautiful, pert breasts, thereby allowing those ripe berries to peak through invitingly? More interestingly, once fully unclothed, would the curls between her thighs be that same enticing gold—

Dear Lord, was his life not complicated enough, without sitting here contemplating what the notorious Pandora Maybury looked like naked!

‘It really was unnecessary for you to manhandle me that way, your Grace,’ she now spoke primly into the silence. ‘I assure you I am both young and agile enough to climb into a carriage without your assistance.’

‘And yet you made no effort to do so,’ Rupert pointed out coolly, not at all pleased at the direction in which his thoughts had so recently been straying.

‘Because, as I had already stated, I had every intention of seeking out my own carriage.’

‘And I have already explained why that arrangement did not suit me.’ Rupert’s patience with this situation—what little he possessed—was wearing thin as he glared coldly across the width of the carriage at his reluctant companion.

Her lashes lowered as a blush coloured the ivory of her cheeks. ‘I have told you how grateful I am for your help earlier this evening—’

‘One would never believe so from your manner towards me now!’

Pandora gave a pained frown as she looked across the carriage at him. Perhaps his criticism was merited; she had behaved less than graciously towards him this past few minutes, because, despite wishing it were otherwise, she was utterly disconcerted at finding herself alone with Rupert Stirling in his carriage.

Every wary—and utterly weary—bone in her body had stiffened just now as she saw the speculative way in which his gaze had roamed so familiarly over her face and body. And against the warning of the rational part of her brain, she was equally as aware of his disturbing presence as he sat opposite her.

The gold of his hair now fell rakishly across his brow and curled about his ears and nape, the glow from the lantern lending an austereness to his high cheekbones and firmly squared jaw, his lazy sprawl on the upholstered seat totally at odds with the sharpness of that intelligent grey gaze as he continued to look at her from between narrowed lids. He was, without doubt, one of the handsomest gentlemen Pandora had ever beheld—even more so than Barnaby, who had possessed boyish good looks as well as dark hair and blue eyes.

Unfortunately, the Duke of Stratton’s reputation also rendered him the most potentially dangerous gentleman Pandora ever beheld, too, which was the very reason she felt so totally out of her depth in his company. ‘It was precisely because I did not wish to inconvenience you any further this evening that I asked to return home in my own carriage.’

The nostrils flared on that aristocratically straight nose. ‘Do you suppose we could possibly talk of something else, Pandora?’

She blinked. ‘Of course, if you wish it.’

‘Indeed—’ he nodded tersely ‘—I find myself exceedingly bored with the repetition of our present conversation.’

As no doubt he now regretted driving her home at all, Pandora accepted heavily as the Duke turned away dismissively to look out of the carriage window at the other carriages travelling London’s moonlit streets.

Pandora had been much in society during the years of her marriage; indeed, Barnaby had considered it part of her wifely duties to accompany him to all the balls and parties given by the ton and so she had long ago learnt to engage in the polite and meaningless small talk that made up so much of the conversation at those entertainments, and to keep any of her original thoughts and ideas to herself.

Indeed, until Pandora had met and become friends with Sophia and Genevieve shortly after the start of the current Season, she had long assumed that there were no intelligent ladies or gentlemen left in society, let alone those who found that inanity as tedious as she did herself.

It appeared that Rupert—Devil—Stirling was yet another who did not enjoy meaningless conversation …

She sat forwards slightly, her interest piqued. ‘Perhaps you would care to discuss literature? Or politics?’

His brows rose. ‘Really?’

Pandora nodded as she looked across at him earnestly. ‘My father was a Greek scholar, and ensured that I am quite conversant on either subject.’

Rupert gave a reluctant quirk of his lips as he once again found himself falling victim to those mesmerising and beautiful violet-coloured eyes. ‘I assume that is also the reason you have the unlikely name of Pandora?’ The original Pandora, if Rupert recalled his Greek studies correctly, was reputed to have been a woman given a gift by each of the gods, in order that she might bring about the ruination of mortal men.

There was no doubting that this Pandora possessed the reputed beauty attributed to the original, but did she also have the power to bring about man’s ruination?

If the gossip a year ago concerning that ill-fated duel was to be believed, then the answer to that question was a definitive yes!

Pandora eyed Devil Stirling warily. ‘I believe that by naming me such my father believed I might be gifted with both grace and beauty.’

‘Then he was not disappointed.’ The Duke gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘But did he somehow forget that the opening of Pandora’s box was also reputed to have released all number of evils upon man and beast?’

Pandora felt no warmth at his agreeing to her having been gifted with grace and beauty. How could she, when it was so quickly followed by this softly delivered insult? ‘If my father were still alive, I am sure that he would have enjoyed debating with you as to whether or not that destruction was Pandora’s doing or that of man himself.’

Gold brows rose over derisive grey eyes. ‘Your father was of the opinion that every man—and woman—is instrumental in bringing about their own destruction?’

She arched fine brows. ‘You disagree?’

Rupert could never before remember having a conversation with a woman on the subject of Greek mythology, let alone debating its philosophy. Obviously her father had been a learned man and it appeared to be an education he had felt no qualms in imparting to his only daughter.

Rupert’s physical appreciation of her had already caused him to regret her presence in his carriage. He certainly did not wish to know that there was so much more to her than the flirtatious beauty malicious gossip had led him to believe.

‘—telling me precisely where we are going, your Grace?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Rupert frowned at this interruption to his musings.

‘I asked if you would mind very much telling me where we are going?’ The huskiness of her naturally sensuous voice had sharpened in her obvious anxiety.

He gave a lazy smile. ‘I was unsure, once we were safely ensconced in my carriage, as to whether or not I would find myself with the dubious pleasure of dealing with a hysterical lady and advised my coachman to drive about London until you had calmed down enough for me to ascertain exactly where it is that you reside.’

‘My home is in Jermyn Street, your Grace.’ Pandora’s smile was rueful as she waited quietly whilst he advised his coachman of their destination before continuing. ‘I admit that I was upset by Lord Sugdon’s familiar behaviour earlier, your Grace, but I don’t believe I could ever be accused of being the sort of woman who swoons easily.’ The Duke did not need to know that Pandora had been very close to doing exactly that when the erstwhile nobleman had ripped her gown and then crushed her in his arms so effortlessly.

‘Then what sort of lady would you say that you are?’

She eyed him suspiciously, but could read nothing from his enigmatic expression as he relaxed back against the seat opposite her. ‘The ton would have you believe—’

‘And I am sure I have already made clear my own opinion of what the ton may or may not choose to believe or say, in regard to yourself or anyone else.’ He gave a dismissive gesture with one long and elegant hand.

Pandora moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am afraid I don’t understand the question when my own opinion of myself must obviously differ greatly from that of others.’

‘Why obviously?’ He frowned. ‘The ton believes me to be arrogant and proud, and something of a rake with the ladies, and I can find no argument with that opinion.’

She smiled at this blunt self-appraisal. ‘But you are so much more than that, are you not?’

His brows rose. ‘Am I?’

Pandora nodded. ‘This evening you have been both chivalrous and kind.’

‘I would advise you not to attribute me with virtues I do not, nor would ever wish, to possess,’ he warned.

She shook her head in gentle rebuke. ‘I have every reason to know you to be both those things after the manner in which you … dispensed so effortlessly with Lord Sugdon’s unwanted attentions towards me earlier tonight.’

The Duke’s mouth thinned. ‘And if I were to tell you that my actions had very little to do with you? That my mood this evening was already such that I merely welcomed the opportunity to hit someone? Anyone? For whatever reason!’

Recalling the content of this man’s earlier conversation with the Earl of Sherbourne, Pandora had some idea as to the reason for the Duke’s bad humour. ‘I would then say that the reason you acted in the way that you did was irrelevant, when it resulted in my rescue.’

Rupert looked quizzically across at her. ‘And, if I may be allowed to say so, Pandora Maybury, I find you are not at all as the ton describes you.’

She laughed musically. ‘Oh, you may certainly say it, your Grace—’

‘Rupert.’

Her humour instantly ceased, her expression now one of uncertainty. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He regarded her beneath hooded lids. ‘I believe I should like to hear you call me Rupert.’

She sat as far back on the bench seat as possible. ‘I could not possibly address you in so familiar a manner, sir.’

‘Why not? You are a Duchess, I am a Duke, therefore we are social equals. Or are you already so awash with friends that you have no need of another?’ Rupert added with cutting humour.

That slender throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before answering huskily, ‘You must know that I am not.’

Yes, Rupert had already observed this evening that the only members of the ton who now bothered with her company were gentlemen who obviously had so much more than friendship in mind. Men like Sugdon. ‘Our hostess, and her friend the Duchess of Woollerton, appear to value your friendship.’

Pandora’s expression softened. ‘They have both been kind enough to bestow that friendship upon me these past few weeks, yes.’

‘So it has been commented upon.’

She looked across at him sharply. ‘I trust not to their detriment?’

‘Would it bother you if it were?’ he asked curiously.

‘Of course.’ She gave every appearance of being agitated, her face flushed, her lace-gloved fingers now tightly gripping the cloak about her. ‘I should not like to be the cause of either of those dear ladies being cut by certain members of society.’

‘As you are yourself?’ he pressed.

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged quietly.

He shrugged. ‘I am sure both those ladies are of an age and confidence to choose their own friends. As am I,’ Rupert added huskily.

Pandora eyed him warily. ‘But we are not friends, your Grace, merely new acquaintances.’

‘That is no reason to suppose that, with time, we might not become more than that.’

Rupert studied her shrewdly. ‘Tell me something of your marriage to Maybury.’

She looked startled at his abrupt change of subject. ‘For what purpose?’

‘It is a natural curiosity, surely, considering the method of his demise?’ Rupert said.

‘I see nothing natural about it, your Grace.’ Her chin was raised proudly.

He gave an elegant shrug. ‘That is possibly because you are too close to the subject.’

Her eyes flashed darkly. ‘How should I be any other, when Barnaby was my husband?’

‘And was it a love match? On Maybury’s part, at least, one might presume it was.’ He looked thoughtful.

Pandora frowned. ‘As is the case with many in the ton, ours was an arranged marriage.’

‘But happy? At least, initially?’ he asked.

Not even initially!

It had become apparent to Pandora, almost immediately their marriage took place, that Barnaby had only married her because he required a young, and therefore malleable, wife for him to escort during the Season and to act as mistress in his many homes, both here in London and in the country. A wife who would not attempt to interfere in the way in which he chose to conduct his own life; having expressed no deep and passionate love for Pandora before their marriage, Barnaby had made it clear he considered it unreasonable of her to expect him to feel that way about her once they were husband and wife.

After much internal soul-searching, Pandora had realised she had no choice other than to accept this loveless marriage as being her lot in life. And if that acceptance had meant putting aside all of her girlish hopes and dreams of love and a grand passion in her marriage, then that was surely her own disappointment to bear, and no one else’s.

She certainly did not intend to now share any of the details of that disappointment with the haughty and mocking nobleman in front of her, despite his insistence on asking her probing questions!

‘We appear to have arrived at my home, your Grace,’ Pandora realised thankfully. She sat forwards eagerly with the intention of alighting from the now-stationary carriage as the groom hurried to open the door for her. ‘Once again, I am grateful to you for coming to my aid this evening.’

‘I will call upon you tomorrow.’

‘For what purpose?’ Pandora, having just stepped down from the carriage, now turned sharply.

The Duke’s teeth flashed a white smile in the moonlight as he stepped down beside her. ‘Why, for the purpose of assuring myself as to your having fully recovered from this evening’s ordeal, of course.’

There was no ‘of course’ or anything else about it, where this arrogant and disdainful gentleman was concerned. Nor did she wish for Rupert to call on her tomorrow or any other time.

She suspected, despite their efforts for it to be otherwise, that the news of the cloaked lady leaving Sophia’s ball this evening in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage, would be all over London by the morning, without adding to that gossip by him being seen calling at her house the following day!

‘I assure you I am already fully recovered, thank you, your Grace.’

‘Nevertheless, having rescued you, I now feel honour-bound to call upon you tomorrow to assure myself of your well-being,’ he insisted.

Pandora looked up at him with frustration, very aware that he had only moments ago denied the existence of any such finer feelings in regard to his character, but at the same time aware of the restraint put upon her answer by the presence of the quietly attentive groom. Just because the man gave every appearance of being totally deaf to their conversation did not mean that he was not listening and remembering every word they spoke, in order that he might relay that gossip to the Duke’s other servants once released from his duties later tonight.

It was pure arrogance on the part of the nobility to believe that their servants were not fully conversant with all their actions. And their foibles …

Pandora drew herself up to her full height before speaking coolly. ‘You must do as you see fit, your Grace.’

‘I usually do,’ Rupert replied mockingly even as he lifted her hand to his lips, his intent gaze deliberately holding her startled one as he placed those lips upon her gloved knuckles. ‘Until tomorrow, Pandora.’

She snatched her hand from his grasp as if burnt. ‘Goodbye, your Grace.’

‘Merely adieu, I assure you, my dear Pandora,’ he murmured throatily, watching closely as she hurried up the steps to the front door of the mansion house, that door opening as she reached the top of those steps to slip silently inside without so much as a backward glance.

A scowl creased Rupert’s brow as he now considered returning to his own London home.

And to the woman who would no doubt have made sure she would be awaiting him there …

Chapter Four

‘How kind of you to call, your Grace!’ Pandora’s smile was one of vacuous politeness late the following morning as she rose to her feet in order to curtsy to Rupert as he strode with his usual arrogance into the blue-and-cream salon of her London town house. Endeavouring, as she nodded dismissal of Bentley, her butler, not to reveal by so much as a twitch of an eyebrow how disturbed she was that he had carried out his promise to call upon her this morning.

Which was not at all easy for her to do when the Duke looked so vitally handsome this morning. The gold of his hair was in tousled disarray upon his brow and about his ears and nape, those grey eyes piercing in that wicked, yet angelically handsome face. He was wearing a dark grey superfine over a silver waistcoat and snowy-white linen emphasised the width and power of his shoulders, black pantaloons hugging the long muscled length of his legs above highly polished black Hessians.

‘Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to the family lawyer, Mr Anthony Jessop.’ Pandora turned to the relatively young, dark-haired gentleman standing in the room with her. ‘Mr Jessop, his Grace, the Duke of Stratton.’

Mr Anthony Jessop—the two gentlemen having acknowledged each other, the lawyer with a gracious bow, the Duke with a terse nod—now looked less than comfortable at finding himself the focus of Rupert’s intense grey eyes as he gathered up his papers from the table. ‘You will let me know as soon as things are settled, Pandora?’ He turned to smile at her.

Having contacted Anthony Jessop at his offices first thing this morning and, that gentleman having duly called upon her a mere hour later, Pandora could not help but wish now that they had not concluded their business quite as efficiently as they had. She would have much preferred a valid excuse to encourage the Duke to leave her home!

‘I will.’ She rang for the butler, smiling warmly at the man who had been Barnaby’s lawyer for some years before he died, and latterly her own. Pandora had found his help invaluable this past year, as she attempted to not only run her own London household but also manage her private finances.

The lawyer turned to nod at the slightly younger man. ‘Your Grace.’

‘Jessop.’ There was no answering smile on Rupert’s face as he waited until the lawyer had withdrawn in the company of the butler before speaking again. ‘Springcleaning, Pandora?’

She gave him a startled look. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘There appear to be several trunks in your front hallway. Possibly awaiting collection before the contents are distributed to the poor?’

Pandora drew in a sharp breath at the directness of the Duke’s conversation; obviously they were to continue this morning in the same forthright manner as the previous evening—that is, with none of the social niceties!

Nevertheless, she would attempt to bring things back on track. ‘May I offer you refreshment, your Grace?’ Pandora looked across at him enquiringly.

He scowled darkly at her formal manner. ‘No.’

‘In that case, perhaps you would care to sit down, your Grace?’ she invited smoothly as she indicated the armchair furthest away from where she had now resumed her own seat on the edge of the cream sofa beside the window.

An invitation he blatantly ignored as he instead strode forcefully across the room to lower his impressive height down on to that sofa beside her. Pandora immediately found his proximity overpowering as she tried—and failed—to ignore his barely leashed vitality. ‘Perhaps you would care to explain what is going on, Pandora?’ he pressed.

‘Going on, your Grace?’

A humourless smile twisted his firm but sensual lips. ‘The presence of both the trunks in your hallway, and the overfamiliar lawyer in your salon.’

‘Is it not a lovely sunny morning, your Grace?’ Pandora turned to look out into the carefully tended and sunlit garden at the back of the house. ‘Did you choose to ride over this morning or come in your carriage?’

‘Does it matter?’ he dismissed impatiently.

‘I was merely—’

‘I know what you were “merely”, Pandora—and I have no intention of sitting here exchanging polite inanities with you.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘I will ask again—why was your lawyer here at this early hour and what are those trunks doing outside in your hallway?’

She frowned her irritation at his single-mindedness. ‘Could you not try to … to at least pretend to possess the art of polite conversation?’

‘No.’

Pandora rose restlessly to her feet. ‘As I assured you would be the case, I am perfectly recovered from last night’s—unpleasantness. Thank you for enquiring.’ She raised pointed brows.

Rupert ignored her obvious rebuke, could clearly see that—outwardly, at least—Pandora was indeed completely recovered from Sugdon’s less-than-subtle attentions, the gold of her hair once again swept up and arranged in those becoming curls, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, the pale lilac of her fashionable gown a perfect backdrop for the deep-violet colour of her eyes, a gentle blush in those ivory cheeks.

Yes, outwardly, Pandora Maybury gave every indication of being the polite and gracious hostess she was obviously trying so hard to appear.

And no doubt she would normally have succeeded, if one failed to notice the slight shadows beneath those beautiful violet-coloured eyes—eyes which, despite Rupert’s effort to convince himself otherwise, were now every bit as beautiful as they had appeared yesterday evening.

Or had no idea that the blush to her cheeks had been carefully applied rather than being natural. Or missed those lines of strain beside her politely smiling mouth. And the rapidly beating pulse in the long, graceful column of her throat and the shallow rise and fall of the fullness of her breasts above the low neckline of that lilac gown.

Or the presence of her lawyer—a man who, in Rupert’s estimation, had been far too familiar in addressing her as Pandora—and those damned packing boxes in the hallway!

Yes, if one failed to notice all of those things, then certainly she could be said to be completely recovered from the previous evening’s ordeal!

‘You will no doubt be pleased to know that I made enquiries earlier this morning and was informed that Lord Sugdon has refused all further social engagements and is at this very moment making arrangements to return to the family estate in Yorkshire by the end of the week.’

‘I am gratified to hear it.’ She nodded with obvious relief.

Rupert rose impatiently to his feet before barking, ‘Enough that you will answer my earlier questions?’

‘I would prefer that you did not raise your voice to me, sir!’

Better, Rupert acknowledged with inner satisfaction, as he now saw a spark of rebellion appear in those fine violet-coloured eyes. Much, much better. ‘Very well, Pandora,’ he drawled drily before deliberately making his tone more reasonable. ‘Explain, if you please, why certain of your belongings are packed into trunks, and you have been visited by your lawyer this morning. At least, I am assuming he arrived this morning?’

She shot him an irritated frown. ‘There are trunks in the hallway and I have been visited by my lawyer—this morning,’ she added primly, ‘because I am to leave London.’

Rupert scowled his displeasure at having his suspicions confirmed. ‘Is it wise for you to leave London at the same time as Sugdon?’

An angry flush darkened her cheeks. ‘A mere coincidence.’

‘I am aware of that, but the rest of the ton is not.’

‘I thought we had agreed that the ton will say what they wish, whatever I choose to do?’

Rupert frowned darkly. ‘I don’t enjoy having my own words used against me.’

Pandora shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Even when they are the truth?’

‘When are you leaving? To go where? And for how long?’

She gave a dismissive wave of her lace-gloved hand. ‘As soon as everything is packed and ready to be moved. As to where or for how long … I shall decide that in the next few days.’

Rupert gazed upon her with narrow-eyed criticism. Had he been mistaken in regard to this woman’s courage the previous evening? The manner in which she had refused to break down completely after Sugdon’s physical and verbal attack? The steadfast way in which she had met Rupert’s every insult on the carriage ride to her home? ‘In other words, you are allowing society to win and have decided to run away.’

‘That is unfair!’ The colour in the cheeks was now entirely genuine.

He shrugged. ‘Life is unfair, Pandora, not I.’

Her chin rose. ‘I am not running anywhere, your Grace. I have merely decided that society is not yet ready to … to forgive, or forget, the events of a year ago.’

Rupert’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘And it never will be if you tuck your tail between your legs and simply run away and hide.’ To say that he was disappointed in her would be placing too much importance upon their brief acquaintance. An importance his years of cynicism did not, and would not, allow for.

Devil take it, he only had to think of the unpleasantness that had taken place after his return to Stratton House the previous evening to be reminded of the fickleness that was women. An unpleasantness which now made it impossible for him to allow this situation with Patricia Stirling to continue another day—no, not even another hour.

‘That is easy for you to say.’ Unshed tears now moistened the deep-violet beauty of her eyes. ‘I had hoped—’ She gave a shake of her head as she determinedly blinked away those tears. ‘I have realised, after the events of yesterday evening, that there is nothing here for me in London at present.’

‘There are your two friends, the Duchesses of Clayborne and Woollerton.’

She sighed. ‘Yes. And I am more grateful than I can say for their friendship. But even there I believe it would be better for both my friends if I were to leave London, at least for a while.’

Rupert snorted his disgust. ‘As I said, you are running away.’

‘Will you stop saying that as if I am guilty of committing some heinous crime!’ Pandora glared her frustration, thoroughly annoyed with both Rupert and herself for having so quickly allowed him to turn this conversation to matters so personal—in spite of all her previous determination to the contrary.

She had decided last night, as she lay sleepless in her bed, that if the Duke should indeed come to call on her this morning—once he had found time to reflect on the social disadvantages of continuing an acquaintance with her, there was every chance, hope, that he might decide not to do so—that she would do everything in her power to ensure they met, and parted, as the polite strangers they were. However, Rupert’s current, and continued, insistence on dismissing all idea of social politeness between them rendered that distance impossible!

Pandora shook her head wearily, gold curls bouncing. ‘You were in the army, I believe?’ she asked.

His scowl deepened at mention of the years he had spent in the army fighting against Napoleon. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

She smiled slightly. ‘Did those years of conflict not teach you that it is brave to fight the battles that can be won, but sensible, even prudent, to withdraw from the ones that cannot?’

‘No,’ he stated with that now familiar arrogance, those grey eyes hard and uncompromising. ‘I do not consider any battle as being lost before it has even been fought. And you should also have learnt by now that the ton are a fickle bunch, given to fads and fancies. And the one thing they never forgive or forget is cowardice. I, and consequently they, will no doubt consider your choosing to leave London because of a single incident to be exceedingly cowardly on your part.’

‘It is not a single incident,’ she gasped indignantly, ‘but the last of many.’

‘You are being a coward, Pandora.’

If Pandora were a woman who tended towards acts of violence then she knew that at this moment she would very much have enjoyed striking Rupert Stirling upon one of his haughty lean cheeks! As it was, apart from Richard Sugdon, she had never struck another person in the whole of her four-and-twenty years. She believed her years of being unhappily married to Barnaby to have slowly and inexorably dulled any spontaneity she might once have possessed, resulting in her now behaving in a cool and controlled manner in most, if not all, situations.

It would be most unwise of her to allow the annoyingly implacable Rupert Stirling to rile her into uncharacteristically volatile behaviour now. ‘If that is your true opinion of my actions, then I’m afraid you will have to continue to believe that, your Grace.’

‘If you “your Grace” me one more time then I am afraid I shall be forced to take an action I guarantee you will not in the least enjoy!’ he warned through gritted, perfectly straight, white teeth.

‘Why are you even bothering with me at all, yo—er—sir?’ Pandora gazed across at him crossly even as those glacial eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Do you perhaps see my possible restoration into society as a project of pity with which you might amuse yourself for a day or until you became either bored or some other distraction piques your attention?’

That was a question which Rupert was as yet unwilling to answer. At this moment it was sufficient to admit that he needed Pandora Maybury as much as he believed she needed the protection of the Duke of Stratton.

He shrugged. ‘My reason for coming here today—apart from assuring myself as to your well-being after the events of yesterday evening, of course,’ he drawled just as pointedly as Pandora had minutes ago.

‘Of course,’ she echoed drily.

‘—was to present you with an invitation,’ Rupert continued firmly. ‘From the Countess of Heyborough. She wishes for you to join her and the Earl in their box at the opera this evening.’

Pandora drew in a sharp breath at this unexpected—and totally bewildering—invitation. ‘As far as I’m aware, I’m not even acquainted with the Earl and Countess of Heyborough.’

‘But I am.’

Pandora tensed warily at Rupert’s tone of satisfaction. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘The Countess is my maternal aunt.’

‘And she wishes to invite me to join her at the opera this evening?’

The Duke raised arrogant brows. ‘I have said so, yes.’

She frowned. ‘Would I be correct in supposing that you have also been invited to share that same box this evening?’

He gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘It is intended that I will make up one of the party, yes.’

‘And this party will consist of …?’

‘The Earl and Countess of Heyborough. You. And myself.’

‘Why?’

His brows rose even further into his golden locks. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Why do you wish to act as my escort to the opera?’

Those sculptured lips thinned. ‘I have my reasons.’

As Pandora had suspected … ‘And are you about to share those with me?’

‘No.’

Again Pandora was beset with the thought ‘devil by name and devil by nature’ … ‘Are you so determined to once again witness my public humiliation that you are even willing to enrol the assistance of one of your relatives in order to achieve it?’

The Duke’s jaw tightened ominously. ‘Would you care to explain in what way my escorting you to the opera could in any way be considered a humiliation?’

She sighed her impatience. ‘When other members of the ton present this evening not only ignore me, but choose to deliberately cut me. Snubs that perhaps might include even yourself and your aunt and uncle.’

Rupert now looked at her down the length of his impressive nose. ‘I assure you, madam, that no member of the ton would dare to ignore you, let alone deliberately cut you, when you are in the company of the Duke of Stratton.’

He may be right in that conclusion, Pandora acknowledged ruefully; he was certainly a man to be reckoned with, both socially and politically, and as such he was unlikely to receive an insult from anyone. ‘And what of your relatives—is their social standing also to be threatened because of what can only be considered an amusement, a whim, on your part?’

He was every inch the aristocratic Duke of Stratton as he gave Pandora a pityingly look. ‘My aunt and uncle have no more interest in society’s approval than I.’

‘Even so—’

‘Cease this interminable arguing, Pandora!’ Rupert lost all patience with the conversation. ‘We are both going to the opera this evening, in the company of the Earl and Countess of Heyborough, and let that be an end to it.’

Tears once again glistened in those beautiful violet-coloured eyes. ‘What possible reason can you have for putting me through such an ordeal? Did I, or my husband, cause you some unintended slight in the past of which I am unaware? A slight that now requires my deliberate humiliation as atonement?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Pandora.’

‘I’m not the one who is being ridiculous, Rupert—’ She broke off, an expression of confusion on her delicately beautiful face at the realisation that in her distress she had lapsed into the familiar way of addressing him, after all. ‘I’m sorry, but the very idea of accompanying you to the opera this evening is completely out of the question,’ she continued evenly. ‘I only attended Sophia’s ball yesterday evening out of a desire to please her and because she has been so supportive and kind to me this past month. But, I assure you, I feel under no such obligation where you are concerned.’

Rupert felt a return of his previous admiration for this young woman’s dignity and calm. It might be a complete fabrication on her part, but nevertheless it was still impressive to behold. Also, he found her concern for others, namely her two female friends, and now Rupert and his aunt and uncle, not quite in keeping with the reputation she had amongst the ton as having been consistently unfaithful in her marriage, an infidelity which had eventually resulted in her husband’s death …

‘Did I not come to your rescue against Sugdon yesterday evening?’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘Yes …’

He nodded tersely. ‘Resulting in his having taken my advice, in that he is, as we speak, preparing to depart for cooler and windier climes?’

She smiled slightly at the use of his word ‘advice’. ‘Yes.’

‘Then surely that means you are now obligated to me.’

‘But—’

‘I will call for you here in my carriage at seven-thirty this evening,’ Rupert spoke firmly over her continued arguments.

Pandora gave a slightly dazed shake of her head. ‘You have to be the most stubborn gentleman I have ever met.’

He gave her a confident and wholly unapologetic smile. ‘I believe it has been mentioned before as being one of my character traits.’

Pandora eyed him quizzically. Rupert Stirling was arrogant, dictatorial, sarcastic, even ruthless—as well as being exceedingly stubborn, as she had just accused him. But he also possessed a sense of honour where even a disgraced lady’s reputation was concerned, a mocking sense of humour that often included laughing at himself and a physical presence she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore.

Rupert’s looks and character were so completely different to those of her husband with his imposing presence, that arrestingly handsome face, impressive height and muscular build. Barnaby had been three or four years older than Rupert, but had looked younger with his boyish good looks and slight build. For all that Rupert was so determined to have his own way, he also filled Pandora with a sense of feeling protected and that no harm should befall her whilst she was in his presence, in a way which Barnaby never had despite his having been her husband for three years.

Except harm from Rupert himself, of course …

Pandora was not foolish enough to ever believe that he was offering her his public support out of the goodness of his heart! ‘I would still like to know what it is you hope to gain from such a—a public acquaintance with me?’

Rupert raised his brows. ‘Why should you assume I have anything to gain by it?’

Her eyes flashed deeply violet. ‘I may be several years younger than you, your Grace, and be considered something of a pariah by society, but I advise you not to assume for one moment that my lack of years or social standing in any way renders me a fool.’

‘I was not aware I had treated you as such.’

She shook her head. ‘We had never even met properly before yesterday evening, and when we did it was certainly not under pleasant or flattering circumstances. Therefore, there must now be another reason for your seeming act of generosity in having persuaded your relatives to invite me to the opera. Perhaps it is that I am expected to act as a diversion of sorts, from attention being drawn to … to another relationship, which currently exists in your life?’

Rupert had already known this woman to be beautiful and equally as stubborn as he, and in possession of an impressive intelligence of mind. He now knew she was astute in a way that would no doubt have reduced a lesser man than he to squirming discomfort! If, that is, that gentleman had been ignorant of the fact that Pandora had been privy to a certain private conversation between himself and one of his two closest friends … Although Rupert somehow doubted that the conversation Pandora had overheard had revealed all of the complexities of the relationship which currently existed between himself and the woman who was now his father’s widow.

He gave a hard and humourless smile. ‘You, my dear Pandora, are expected to be here, ready and waiting, and suitably attired for attending the opera, when I call for you at seven-thirty this evening.’

A reply which did nothing to answer Pandora’s question, as was no doubt deliberate; Rupert appeared to feel no qualms whatsoever in intruding and commenting on the privacy of other people’s lives, whilst at the same time refusing to reveal anything about his own.

Still, she couldn’t help but privately believe his unexpected invitation to the opera was somehow connected to his stepmother, that in being seen in public with the notorious Duchess of Wyndwood, it would somehow distract attention from his other scandalous relationship.

Whilst Pandora’s every instinct was to continue to refuse his invitation, her sense of fairness dictated otherwise; no matter how much she might wish it were not the case, his actions in rescuing her so dramatically yesterday evening meant that she was indeed obligated to Rupert.

She sighed and forced herself to straighten her shoulders. ‘Very well, your Grace, I will accept the Countess of Heyborough’s kind invitation to attend the opera this evening.’

‘Why could you not have just said that five minutes ago?’ Rupert glared.

‘But only on the understanding,’ Pandora continued firmly, ‘that I won’t be expected to accept a second such invitation from you.’ She met his narrowed gaze unblinkingly.

As technically the invitation had not come directly from him, but from the generous heart of his Aunt Cecelia, after he had called upon her earlier this morning and explained what had happened last night, he now felt no hesitation in agreeing to Pandora’s condition.

Besides which, having to spend one evening in a decade attending the opera would no doubt prove to be more than enough for his own jaded sensibilities!

Chapter Five

‘I sincerely hope you are pretending an interest in this drivel rather than actually finding any enjoyment in it?’

Pandora did not show, by so much as a twitch of her bared shoulders, that she had overheard Rupert’s hissed comment next to her earlobe, as she continued to stare down upon the stage where the hero of the opera was currently—and rather loudly—lamenting his lost love.

As promised, Rupert’s ducal carriage had duly arrived at her home at seven-thirty that evening, that gentleman looking suitably and—Pandora admitted inwardly—breathtakingly handsome in his black evening clothes and white linen, a cloak draped about those broad and muscled shoulders, his rich gold curls revealed as being fashionably dishevelled once he had removed his tall black hat.

Pandora had coolly accepted his polite compliments on her own appearance: a deep-blue and feathered confection adorned her own fair curls, her silk gown of matching blue, its short-sleeved style leaving her shoulders bare, the high waist emphasising the full swell of her breasts, with pale-blue lace gloves covering her hands and arms to just above her elbows.

She had maintained that cool detachment as the two of them travelled to the opera, only thawing slightly under the Countess of Heyborough’s genuinely warm greeting and her husband’s twinkling blue eyes as he bent solicitously over her gloved fingers. A melting that had faded the moment Rupert took a proprietary hold of Pandora’s elbow in order to escort her into the theatre. He had nodded and bowed imperiously in acknowledgement of the greetings he had received—several of them markedly startled once they realised the identity of the woman at the Duke’s side. But, as he had promised, not a single one of those ladies or gentlemen had dared to offer her the cut direct in his presence.

Even so, Pandora’s legs had been trembling so much by the time they reached the Heyboroughs’ private box that she had been relieved to sink down on to the seat Rupert pulled out for her, before stepping back to fold his own lean length on to the seat directly behind her. A proximity he had just taken advantage of, the warm brush of his breath having felt almost like a caress against the bareness of Pandora’s skin as he spoke so closely to her ear.

‘Unless it has escaped your notice, your Grace, the heroine has just died and her lover is heartbroken,’ she whispered discreetly, aware as she was that there had been much gossiping behind fans and sidelong glances made in their direction during the course of the evening, as many people watched the two of them rather than the performance taking place upon the stage.

‘Then more fool him,’ Rupert drawled uninterestedly. ‘Personally I would consider myself well rid of such a weak and mewling creature! Why is it that you never wear jewellery, Pandora?’

Those smooth and bare shoulders appeared to stiffen momentarily at this sudden change of subject before she brought her reaction under control and answered Rupert with that same infuriating coolness with which she had been treating him all evening. ‘I have, on occasion, been known to wear my mother’s pearls.’

‘But not yesterday evening or tonight?’

Her mouth firmed. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Could this conversation not wait until the opera has come to an end, your Grace?’ She shot a meaningful glance in the direction of his aunt and uncle sitting in the box with them, the Earl and Countess giving every appearance of listening intently to the caterwauling rising up from the stage below.

Rupert affected a yawn. ‘I might have expired from boredom before that happens.’

Pandora bit her top lip in order to hold back the chuckle she almost gave in response to his irreverent comment. In truth, this truly was one of the most depressingly morbid operas she had ever attended—and she had attended many of them during the years of her marriage to Barnaby. ‘I believe your suffering is almost at an end,’ she assured him.

‘Thank God for that,’ he muttered with obvious relief. ‘I cannot believe that people actually attend such things with any idea of actually being entertained.’

‘Perhaps their idea of entertainment is not as exacting as your own?’

‘I believe I might find more to entertain me at a wake!’

This time Pandora could not hold back her smile of amusement. ‘Then it is to be hoped you do not attend many of them.’

‘More than I have the opera, thank God!’

Pandora frowned slightly. ‘Why did you bother coming here at all this evening if you hate the opera so?’

There was silence behind her for several long seconds before Rupert answered quietly, ‘Perhaps to see and be seen?’

She stiffened. ‘Might one ask whom you wished to see, and be seen by, your Grace?’

‘One might ask it, yes,’ he said blandly.

Pandora allowed her gaze to drift away from the stage, where it was to be hoped the hero was in the latter stages of his lament, in order to surreptitiously observe the other members of the ton who had attended the opera, believing—no, expecting—that she would espy the Dowager Duchess of Stratton amongst their number.

Pandora was not a particular friend of Patricia Stirling’s, the other woman being several years older and her friends much racier than any of Pandora’s acquaintances, but she had met the other woman on several occasions in the past, and so knew her appearance to be exactly as Dante Carfax had yesterday evening described Rupert’s preferred taste in women: tall and statuesque, with dark hair, eyes of pale blue and set in a classically beautiful face.

But despite a thorough, albeit discreet, search, Pandora failed to see her amongst the other theatregoers …

‘Did you find what—or should I say, whom—you were looking for earlier?’ Rupert raised mocking brows as he personally attended to Pandora’s entrance into his carriage outside the theatre a short time later. His aunt and uncle had already departed, the Countess anxious to return home to check on the welfare of the youngest of her four children, who had been running a temperature earlier in the day; he made a mental note to send his little cousin Althea some tempting bonbons in the morning.

Pandora’s gaze remained cool as Rupert removed his hat before entering the coach and making himself comfortable on the seat opposite. ‘I wasn’t aware I was looking for anyone in particular, your Grace.’

His mouth thinned at her continued formality even though there was no one else present to witness it. ‘No?’

‘No, your Grace—’

‘I believe I have several times expressed my displeasure about being addressed in that priggish manner by you!’ An evening of attending the opera, even in the company of a woman as beautiful as Pandora Maybury and his favourite aunt and uncle, had done nothing to soothe the inner feelings of oppressive disquiet he had suffered since the events of yesterday evening.

If anything, he now felt even more restless …

Restless?

Or aroused …?

There was no denying the arousal he had experienced earlier this evening, when he had called to collect Pandora and looked upon her eyes of velvety-drowning violet in the pale beauty of her face, the deep blue of her gown lending a pearly luminescence to the bareness of her shoulders and the full swell of her breasts visible above its low neckline. The interminable hours of sitting immediately behind her in the theatre box, allowing him to admire those pearly shoulders and the vulnerability of her slender, unadorned neck, as well as having his senses invaded by the lightness of her perfume, had only increased that physical awareness.

A physical awareness which now caused Rupert to shift slightly upon his upholstered seat, in the hopes of relieving some of the discomfort he was experiencing from the full and firm swell of his arousal.

Pandora seemed completely unaware of Rupert’s physical discomfort as she continued to speak levelly. ‘And is the voicing of your so-called displeasure usually reason enough for others to cease doing whatever it is they are doing to annoy you?’

‘Invariably,’ he clipped with satisfaction.

She raised haughty brows. ‘Despite all appearances to the contrary, we have never so much as been formally introduced, your Grace.’

‘Rupert Algernon Beaumont Stirling, the Duke of Stratton, Marquis of Devlin, Earl of Charwood, etc., etc.,’ he drawled with all formality. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

He raised his brows at her obvious scorn. ‘I am sure I could produce several ladies who might vouch for my having … served them very well, in the past.’

‘Besides which,’ there was a warm blush in Pandora’s cheeks as she continued firmly, ‘I don’t appreciate being used as a—a means of muddying the waters in regard to another … even less socially acceptable friendship in your life!’ The fullness of her top lip curled upwards in her displeasure.

So the little cat had claws, Rupert noted appreciatively as he looked across at her, his eyes gleaming silver slits under his lids. Claws, which he could all too easily envisage scratching at and digging into his muscled back as he pounded himself remorselessly into—

What the devil!

His interest in Pandora was as a means to an end—Patricia Stirling’s end, he hoped—and nothing to do with how much Rupert would or would not enjoy making love to her. Admittedly it would be an added bonus to his plans if, as Dante had advised, he could entice the beautiful Pandora into his bed, but it was not, by any means, a necessity.

‘You made a similar remark to me this morning.’ He eyed her with amusement. ‘If you are referring to my father’s widow, then I wish you would do so directly and cease these less-than-subtle hints.’

Those violet-coloured eyes glared her irritation. ‘Why should I bother to explain myself when you so obviously know precisely to whom I am referring?’

How could Rupert not know, when all of London seemed to be aware that he and his stepmother had been sharing the same residence since the death of his father nine months ago! If not the reason for it …

Only Rupert’s lawyer, Patricia Stirling herself, and Rupert’s two closest friends, Dante and Benedict, knew the reason for his having to suffer the Dowager Duchess’s continued presence in the ducal homes.

And his deceased father, of course, the besotted Charles Stirling, the seventh Duke of Stratton, and the gentleman wholly responsible for Rupert’s present dilemma.

A dilemma which Rupert, with Pandora’s assistance, now had every hope he might soon bring to a satisfactory end. ‘Things are not always as they appear, Pandora,’ he said evasively.

Pandora knew that, better than most! Although she failed to see how Rupert Stirling could possibly explain—even should he care to do so—his present living arrangements in such a way as to give them the appearance of being anything other than what they were: he and his widowed stepmother, a woman he was known to have been intimately involved with prior to his father’s marrying her, had been openly living together since that gentleman’s death.

Her gaze flicked over the Duke in dismissal. ‘I believe this evening has taken care of any obligation I may have felt towards you, and as I neither expect, nor desire, to see you again after this evening, the subject of your present unorthodox living arrangements is of little interest to me.’

‘Ah.’

Pandora’s gaze sharpened warily on the aristocratically handsome face opposite, not at all reassured by the humour she saw glinting in those pale grey eyes and the cynical twist to that sensual mouth. ‘What do you mean by “ah”?’

‘Yet another subject I feel it would be best we wait until we are alone to discuss,’ the Duke said with an expressive glance up to where his groom was perched upon the back of the coach.

Pandora couldn’t help but approve of the way Rupert had taken account of the presence of his groom. So many of the aristocracy paid little heed to the presence of their servants when in conversation, seeming to regard them as they might a piece of furniture: of use, but without emotions or opinions of their own. A mistaken belief that all too often led to the servants knowing more of the personal business of their employers than was either prudent or safe. As Pandora knew to her cost …

She shook her head. ‘I see no other opportunity in which we might ever converse alone.’

‘The opportunity will occur, Pandora, when you invite me into your home for a nightcap, as a way of saying thank you for taking you to the opera this evening,’ Rupert drawled.

‘An outing I had no wish to attend in the first place!’

‘Well … no,’ he conceded drily. ‘But it’s still polite to say thank you.’

Had Pandora ever met such an infuriating gentleman in her life before as this one? If she had then she did not recall it. And she would most certainly have remembered if she had ever met anyone who annoyed and irritated her as much as this particular gentleman did!

And what annoyed and irritated her most was that she knew quite well it wasn’t just those two emotions he made her feel …

Beneath the exasperation, there was a feeling of … of excitement, of awareness, that Pandora had never experienced before. A frisson, something, that made her aware of Rupert Stirling’s every move and mood, even when she couldn’t see him, as she hadn’t been able to in the theatre earlier. She had certainly felt his presence behind her, been aware of his warmth, the insidious smell of him, of sandalwood and lemons and that something else that was unique to Rupert, that warmth and smell stirring her senses until she was aware of every breath he took as well as every shift in posture he made.

Pandora had no previous experience of those sensations to know how best to describe them, she only knew that she had felt them, deep inside her. That, in the close confines of the ducal coach, she felt them still, stirring her, arousing her, so that the tips of her breasts seemed to tingle inside her gown and between her thighs felt uncomfortably warm.

So much so that she now feared the very idea of being alone with him in the privacy of her home …

She straightened her spine against the upholstered bench seat. ‘Then I will thank you now and save us both the trouble of any further attempt at politeness between us.’

‘Oh, no, Pandora, that will not do at all.’ Rupert chuckled huskily. ‘The offer of a decent glass of brandy is the very least you owe me for having suffered through the opera this evening.’

‘Our choice of entertainment was your own suggestion!’

‘Only because I thought it would please you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You thought no such thing!’

‘Do you presume, Pandora, after being acquainted with me for a scant twenty-four hours, to now know my character so well that you also know my thoughts?’ Rupert raised sceptical brows.

‘Well. No. Of course I don’t know you well.’ A blush once again warmed her cheeks. ‘At all, really,’ she amended with a frown. ‘If I may say so, you’re a decidedly enigmatic man at the best of times—’

‘And these are certainly not the best of times,’ Rupert cut in drily.

‘They most certainly are not!’ Those violet eyes glittered her displeasure.

He chuckled wryly. ‘Do not fear, Pandora, all will be revealed once we are safely ensconced in the privacy of your home.’

A statement she did not find in the least reassuring!

‘—talk to your household staff regarding the amount of candles they have left burning in your absence.’

Pandora, having fallen into a stony silence for the rest of the carriage ride to her home, a silence the Duke had happily emulated, as he, too, seemed lost in his own thoughts, now looked enquiringly across the carriage at him.

‘Your home is lit up like Carlton House,’ he explained in answer to her silent enquiry.

Pandora could see that for herself when she sat forwards to glance out of the carriage. As the groom opened the door, every room at the front of the house seemed to be alight with burning candles. ‘I don’t understand …’ she murmured faintly as she stepped down from the carriage.

‘Perhaps your household staff have taken advantage of your absence to indulge in a leaving-London party?’ Rupert suggested sarcastically as he stepped down beside her and placed his hat upon his head.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Pandora shot him an irritated glance when he took a proprietary hold of her elbow as they walked up the steps to the front door of the house.

He frowned darkly. ‘That’s the second time you have called me such today.’

‘You deserved it,’ Pandora snapped.

No doubt, Rupert acknowledged ruefully, and yet, apart from Dante and Benedict, he knew no one else of his acquaintance who would have dared to speak to the Duke of Stratton in such familiar and dismissive terms.

It seemed that his respect and admiration for Pandora Maybury grew exponentially. ‘You are—’ Rupert broke off his comment as the front door of the house was opened by the butler, and in doing so allowing the sounds to be heard from within the house—primarily a wailing Rupert found almost as painful to his ears as he had the singing at the opera earlier! ‘What on earth …?’

All was pandemonium as Rupert put Pandora aside in safety before stepping into the small entrance hall of her home, the servants—dozens of them, it seemed, although Rupert doubted that Pandora actually needed to employ dozens of servants in this small mansion—milling about in what appeared to be unproductive disarray. The loud wailing was coming from a thin woman of middle years as she sat upon the bottom step of the staircase.

Rupert glared his disapproval. ‘Cease that infernal racket, woman!’ He nodded with grim satisfaction as the wailing, all noise, instantly ceased as everyone in the crowded hallway turned to look at him wide-eyed.

Rupert could now see that there were actually only six other people in the hallway besides himself: the elderly gentleman he knew to be the butler, two flighty-looking girls who were no doubts the upstairs and downstairs maids, a lady of middle years whom he presumed was the cook by her plumpness and the pinafore she wore over her beige gown and a bedraggled child of twelve or thirteen years, who might or might not be her kitchen maid. A motley crew, to be sure, none of whom Rupert would have seen employed in any of his own homes.

The woman seated upon the stairs started up her wailing again the moment Pandora stepped inside the house behind him. ‘I’m so sorry, your Grace!’ Tears now streamed down the woman’s thin cheeks as she stood up to rush over to look at her mistress with appealing, if reddened, eyes. ‘We none of us knew—we were all downstairs enjoying a late supper—I only discovered it when I went up to lay out your night things—all the beautiful things in your bedchamber …!’ She began to wail once again.

Rupert gave a pained wince as the return of that screeching seemed to go straight through him and succeeded in giving him a headache. ‘I will physically remove you from my presence if you don’t stop that noise instantly,’ he warned the woman coldly.

‘Stop it, Rupert.’ Pandora turned to give him a reproving frown. ‘Can you not see how upset she is?’ she admonished. ‘Try and calm yourself, Henley.’ Her voice softened into kindness as she crossed to the distraught woman. ‘Enough to tell me what has happened, at least.’ She took the older lady’s hands in hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Rupert, having absolutely no patience for the woman’s sobbing and wailing, let alone her garbled explanation, turned instead to the butler who still hovered at his side. ‘Explain, if you please?’ he prompted quietly.

‘It’s just as Henley said, your Grace.’ The elderly man frowned. ‘Whilst we were all downstairs, partaking of a late supper, someone must have entered the house and gone up to her Grace’s bedchamber.’

‘And?’

The older man winced. ‘And the room is in great disarray, your Grace.’

Rupert’s arrogant brows rose. ‘Have the authorities been called?’

The butler looked uncomfortable now. ‘Not as yet, your Grace.’

Rupert scowled darkly. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘Well, I—’ The man glanced briefly, uncomfortably, to where Pandora was still in quiet conversation with her maid. ‘We only discovered what had occurred a few minutes ago, your Grace, and anyway, I was not absolutely sure that—’

‘I think there has been quite enough chatter for one night,’ Pandora stated. Having now learnt from Henley exactly what had occurred—in lurid detail!—in her absence, she had no wish to discuss it further in front of Rupert Stirling; he already knew far too much about her personal business for her comfort.

She certainly didn’t need Bentley to tell the overly curious and shrewdly intelligent nobleman that the reason he had not called the authorities as yet was because he had been unsure of whether or not she would want him to bring this to their attention.

Pandora turned to the butler. ‘Bentley, take everyone back down to the kitchen and see that they are all given a little brandy to calm their nerves—’

‘But first bring a decanter of the same and two glasses to her Grace’s blue salon,’ Rupert instructed the elderly man imperiously even as he took a firm hold upon Pandora’s elbow.

‘You are white as a sheet, madam,’ he added sternly as Pandora would have protested the need for strong alcohol.

Well … yes, she probably was. But she had thought—hoped— What did it matter what she had thought or hoped, when tonight’s events had so obviously proved her wrong?

‘Do as his Grace suggests, Bentley,’ she instructed wearily, knowing that there would now be no persuading Rupert to leave her or her home until she had offered him some sort of reasonable explanation for what had happened here this evening.

Although quite how much of an explanation Pandora wanted, or indeed, intended to give him, she was as yet uncertain …

Chapter Six

‘I am still waiting, Pandora,’ Rupert prompted.

‘What exactly are you waiting for?’ A frown creased her ivory brow as she looked up from where she was seated upon the sofa on the other side of the unlit fireplace from where Rupert was standing, the glass of brandy he had poured for her minutes ago remaining untouched in her gloved hand. They had both dispensed with their evening cloaks and hats upon entering the salon, Bentley having quietly removed them after delivering the silver tray containing the decanter of brandy and two glasses.

Rupert moved to refill his own empty glass before answering Pandora in measured tones. ‘I’m waiting for an explanation, of course.’

She raised fair brows. ‘I’m not sure I understand—’

‘A word of caution, Pandora,’ he cut in grimly, instantly causing her expression to turn wary. ‘I have never appreciated being lied to.’

‘Very few people do,’ she returned lightly as she took a tentative sip from the brandy in her glass before instantly making an expression of distaste.

‘I especially don’t appreciate being lied to by a woman,’ he added.

‘Does that include all women, or do you have a specific preference in that, too?’ She placed the half-full brandy glass well away from her on a side table.

Rupert’s mouth compressed at her levity. ‘I believe you will find my mood much more … accommodating if you don’t attempt to fob me off with sarcastic humour, either.’

‘Perhaps I wouldn’t feel the need to do so if I knew what it was you wished for me to tell you?’ she murmured.

‘I wish for the truth, madam!’

Pandora shrugged her shoulders dismissively. ‘It has been my experience that one person’s truth is not always the same as another’s — Rupert!’ she gasped in protest as he reached down to take a grasp of both her arms even as he thrust his face very close to her own.

He frowned darkly. ‘Pandora, you expressed neither surprise nor distress upon hearing that someone had entered your home illegally whilst you were out at the opera this evening. Nor have you since gone up to your bedchamber in order to see what, if anything, may have been taken. Why is that?’ His voice was now silky soft and all the more dangerous for it.

Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘I have had other, more immediate concerns—’

‘More immediate than establishing whether or not any of your valuables have been taken?’ he pressed determinedly.

The idea that she might have any valuables left in her possession which could be taken almost caused Pandora to laugh bitterly. Almost. For the expression on Rupert’s face was of such fierceness, and so very close to her own, that she found it impossible to do anything other than continue to look into the angry glitter of those compelling silver eyes. ‘There will be plenty of opportunity for me to go upstairs when you have gone.’

‘Which could be some time when I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere until you have fully explained this situation to me,’ the Duke assured her implacably.

‘There is no situation,’ she denied. ‘An unknown person, or persons, seems to have entered my home this evening, deeply distressing my personal maid and leaving the rest of the household in uproar. That is the end to what I know of this business at the present time.’

Rupert continued to look at her searchingly for several long seconds, but could read absolutely nothing from the blandness of her expression or the calm look in those violet-coloured eyes as they gazed up into his.

Such fine and beautiful eyes. So deep a violet as to give the appearance of a deep, dark well. And as full of mystery …

Damn it, now was not the time for him to be appreciative of the fineness of Pandora’s eyes, or indeed any other part of her anatomy!

Rupert released her to straighten abruptly, but continued to look down at her along the length of his nose. ‘I will come up the stairs with you now—’

‘That will not be necessary—’

‘Nevertheless, I have every intention of accompanying you to your bedchamber.’ Rupert’s lids narrowed as he saw a return of the alarm in her expression. ‘What is it you are afraid of, Pandora?’

‘I’m not afraid of anything!’ She rose suddenly to her feet, two bright wings of colour now in the ivory of her cheeks, from temper, he believed. ‘Very well, if you insist, you shall come up the stairs with me.’ Those magnificent eyes flashed deeply purple. ‘Although quite what you expect to find there, I have no idea! A lover, perhaps?’ she added scornfully. ‘Some man I keep hidden away in my bedchamber in order that he might share my bed at night?’

Rupert had far from forgotten the accusations of infidelity made against this woman during her marriage. Accusations which he had not cared to hear then at second hand, and had even less interest in doing so now that he had actually met and spoken to her. No, if and when he were to ever hear the truth surrounding those accusations, then he had every intention of it being Pandora herself who revealed it to him.

There was a detachment about Pandora Maybury. A coolness which she had deliberately adopted in order to keep those hurtful comments at bay, perhaps? The same coolness, which Rupert knew he had been endeavouring to breach, by whatever means possible, since the moment he first met her.

He gave a brief smile now. ‘I somehow doubt that.’

‘You do?’ She looked at him in challenge.

Rupert smiled again, confidently. ‘Yes.’

Pandora eyed him coldly. ‘Then you are singular in that belief.’

He gave a mocking shake of his head. ‘I have told you, I make it a rule never to blindly follow where others in society lead.’

Her smile was completely lacking in humour. ‘How nice to realise that your acquaintance with me is nothing more than a snubbing of your arrogant nose at society!’

Rupert had every hope that it was going to be so much more than that … ‘If you’re hoping to annoy me further, Pandora, then don’t bother; I assure you that I, and my arrogant nose, are completely impervious to insults.’

‘How fortunate for you!’

He crossed the room to open the door. ‘After you …?’ He stood back pointedly to allow her to precede him from the salon.

Which she did with a brisk sweep of the skirts of her gown as she moved past him, her chin raised haughtily high, those violet-coloured eyes glittering angrily, her cheeks once again aflame with temper.

Rupert followed more slowly, unsure himself as to what he expected to achieve by insisting on visiting Pandora’s bedchamber with her—certainly not the obvious! But his instincts had served him well during his years in the army, and as such he knew there was something … not quite right in the calmness of Pandora’s response to someone having entered her home uninvited this evening.

‘Oh!’ Pandora had believed she was prepared for what she would find when she entered her bedchamber. Henley’s description earlier, of mayhem and destruction, had been given to her so vividly that Pandora had known of the shredded bed linen, the feathers scattered about the room from the ripped pillows and mattress, of overturned or broken perfume bottles on her dressing table, and drawers left open and now empty, with the clothes that had been inside thrown about on the floor.

Yes, she had known to expect all of those things upon entering her bedchamber, but still it had in no way prepared her for how shocked she would feel at seeing all of her personal belongings either ripped or broken. As if, not finding what they had come here for, the perpetrator had then become intent upon destroying everything she might hold dear.

‘Sit, Pandora.’ Rupert had lifted and righted the overturned bedroom chair and now indicated she should sit down upon it—before, in his opinion, she fell down.

Her eyes were deep pools of pained violet in the now deathly pallor of her face as she sank down gratefully on to the brocade-covered chair, the fingers shaking on the hand she now raised to cover her trembling lips.

Rupert moved down on to his haunches in front of her to take her other hand into both of his. ‘Who did this, Pandora?’ he prompted gruffly.

She blinked, the sweep of her long silky lashes brushing against the tears that had welled up in her eyes and causing them to fall down her cheeks as she looked at him blankly.

‘Pandora?’ Rupert’s hands tightened about hers. ‘Tell me who is responsible and I will see that they are punished accordingly,’ he assured grimly.

‘I— Why should you imagine I might have any idea who was responsible?’ She shook her head even as she pulled her hand free of his to stand up and move across the room to begin picking up the things scattered or broken on top of her dressing table.

Rupert frowned as he slowly straightened. ‘Possibly because it has happened before?’

Pandora spun about sharply, her eyes wide. ‘Why do you say that?’

Rupert had not known that for certain. Until now. Pandora’s reaction to his question had just confirmed his earlier suspicions. ‘I’ve told you, you were not surprised or distressed enough earlier. And Bentley looked to you when I questioned why he had not called in the authorities. Is it—could it be that someone has done this out of a malicious need to hurt you?’

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. ‘A jealous wife, perhaps?’ she challenged scornfully.

Rupert drew in a sharp and steadying breath. ‘It is not so out of the question, is it? Stanley had a wife, I believe?’

Pandora closed her eyes. Oh, yes, Sir Thomas Stanley, the man who had died whilst engaged in that same duel which had killed Barnaby, had most certainly had a wife. And two young children. Which was the very reason that Pandora had not, and never would, publicly reveal the complete truth about the events of a year ago.

She raised her lids, her gaze steady. ‘Yes, he did,’ she acknowledged wearily.

The Duke nodded tersely. ‘That being the case, it’s not such a leap to suspect she may be the one responsible for—’

‘She is not,’ Pandora cut in firmly. ‘Clara Stanley moved to live in Cornwall with her two children not long after—after attending her husband’s funeral.’

‘Which doesn’t mean she hasn’t paid someone—’

‘For heaven’s sake! She has not and did not, Rupert.’ Pandora was losing all patience with this conversation.

Rupert looked at her closely, noting the strain in those violet-coloured eyes, the slight trembling to Pandora’s bottom lip, the shaking of her hands as she bent to pick something up from the floor and set it back upon her dressing table.

She raised that same weary hand to her brow. ‘It’s very late, Rupert, and surely you must realise how improper it is for you to linger in this way in my bedchamber.’

‘You are quite right—in that it is far too late for either of us to be concerned about our reputations. And with that in mind, I believe it best if you don’t remain in this house alone tonight.’

‘But I’m not alone—’

‘I beg to differ,’ Rupert cut in crisply.

‘There are the servants—’

‘An elderly man, two flighty young maids, a plump cook and her slightly addled-looking and very young assistant, and an hysterical lady’s maid—’

‘Bentley is not so elderly,’ she defended in offended tones. ‘Those two young maids are his granddaughters for whom he has been responsible since the death of their parents three years ago. Mrs Chivers is cheerfully rotund, and that very young assistant is her daughter, Maisie, who, although slightly … slow, is certainly not addled. As for Henley—I would far rather have her overabundance of emotion, than be forced to suffer the company of my previous maid.’ Pandora’s chin was raised stubbornly as she met his gaze in challenge.

‘And why were you forced to suffer her company?’ Rupert eyed her frowningly.

Her cheeks became slightly flushed. ‘My husband previously engaged all the household staff.’

And left to her own devices this past year, Rupert realised that Pandora had chosen to employ an elderly butler because he was responsible for his two young granddaughters, a cook and her no doubt illegitimate—and ‘slightly slow’—daughter, and a lady’s maid who went into hysterics at the slightest provocation.

All of them servants who had no doubt previously found it difficult to attain employment. And yet Pandora had engaged all of them. Yet another contradiction to that reputation she had as being flighty and self-centred, as well as unfaithful …

Rupert sighed heavily. ‘Pandora, can’t you see that whoever came into this house earlier this evening may decide to come back again?’

‘They never have in the past—’ Pandora broke off, an expression of consternation on her face as she looked across at him accusingly. ‘You said that deliberately in order to trick me!’

Yes, he had, and he would do it again, if it succeeded in leading him to the truth. Or, as much of the truth as Pandora was willing to share with him at this moment … ‘I was right then, this has happened before?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many times?’

‘Three in the last year—and, no, that does not mean that Clara Stanley must be the one responsible.’ She glared her annoyance. ‘Will you not leave that poor woman alone? Has she not suffered enough?’

Again, strange sentiments from the woman who was supposedly responsible for causing most, if not all, of Clara Stanley’s suffering …

There was so much here which did not add up. So many questions that Rupert instinctively knew Pandora would not answer as yet. Truthfully, at least. Not that he had any reason to believe she had ever answered him untruthfully, she just had a way of avoiding the truth when it suited her to do so.

Rupert had heard the gentlemen in his clubs discussing the beauty of Pandora Maybury during the past four years, of her infidelity during her marriage, and it had been impossible not to learn of the gossip of the scandal surrounding the death of both her husband and the man accused of being her lover. But there had been little gossip of note about her since that scandal. No mention of her having taken a new lover. Or lovers. No gentlemen at his clubs having boasted of bedding the beautiful but deadly Duchess.

Of course it could just be that she was too scandalous, too notorious, for any of those gentlemen to wish to become involved with her, even privately, but somehow Rupert didn’t think so; Sugdon, for one, had certainly not seemed to suffer from any such reluctance to bed her!

Rupert’s mouth tightened, nostrils flaring, just at the memory of the scene he had interrupted the previous evening, of Pandora’s gown ripped, her breasts all but visible through the thin material of her chemise. ‘Is there anything missing that you can tell?’

She gave a shake of her head. ‘Obviously I won’t be able to say exactly until after things have been put back to rights, but I don’t think so, no.’

Rupert’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was anything taken those other three times?’

‘Not that I’m aware, no.’

‘Not that you are aware? How can you not know for sure?’

Pandora sighed at his obvious incredulity. ‘My marriage contract stated that if Barnaby should die before me and our marriage was childless, I should be left a house of my own in which to live and funds to support myself. This house was never a part of the Wyndwood estate; in fact, I had no knowledge of its existence until Barnaby bequeathed it to me in his will. It came to me already furnished and I’ve changed very little since I moved here a year ago. But I believe all the furnishings are the same, and that the original paintings still hang upon the walls.’

In Rupert’s experience there was usually only one reason for a gentleman to own a property in London of which his wife had no knowledge. Was it possible that, before his untimely death, Barnaby Maybury had kept a mistress here, in the very same house he had bequeathed to his wife in his will? If that was indeed the case, then Rupert could imagine no greater insult to that wife. However, the clearness of Pandora’s gaze and expression would seem to imply she remained totally in ignorance of the insult …

Yet another indication—if Rupert had needed one—that she wasn’t at all the sophisticated and experienced woman the gossips expected her to be. Indeed, her soft-heartedness, even with regard to the employment of her household servants, gave every impression she was anything but those two things!

Could it be that Maybury’s mistress had since returned to this house three—no, four times, in order to try to retrieve something of hers she had inadvertently left behind when she no doubt hastily removed her things from the premises? It was certainly one explanation, and one that Rupert intended to privately pursue.

If Pandora was in ignorance as to her husband’s use for this house, then it was perhaps best, for the moment, if she remained that way.

Only the vulnerability of her nape and the back of her shoulders was now visible to him as she once again busied herself tidying the things upon her dressing table. A vulnerability which stirred Rupert’s protective feelings in spite of himself.

He carefully stepped over the silk undergarments scattered upon the floor as he silently crossed the bedchamber to stand behind her. ‘Pandora—what have you done?’ he prompted sharply as she gave a gasp at the same time as she swiftly drew back her gloved hand from arranging the things on the dressing table.

‘A sliver of glass just pierced my finger.’ Pandora kept her face averted as she now held her injured hand against her breasts, fully aware that it was the realisation of Rupert’s close proximity which had startled her, as much as the sudden pain of the glass entering her finger.

The more so, because until that moment, having been preoccupied in her own thoughts concerning all the events of this evening, she had been totally unaware of his disturbing presence standing so close behind her …

‘Let me see.’

Pandora’s back stiffened instinctively as he took a firm hold of her bare shoulders before turning her to face him, that golden head now bent as he took a gentle hold of her injured hand with the obvious intention of inspecting the damage.

‘As there is blood oozing all over your glove you’ll need to remove it,’ he advised gruffly.

Pandora, having been staring, mesmerized, at that bent golden head, now gave a startled glance down at her hand, surprised to see there was indeed blood seeping through the lace. ‘Oh, dear!’ She freed her hand to peel the glove down her arm before carefully removing it. ‘It doesn’t look so bad …’ There appeared to be only the smallest of puncture wounds in the soft pad of her index finger.

‘Let me see.’ The Duke once again took a firm grasp of her hand, frowning darkly as he looked down intently at the blood still oozing from the wound. ‘Is the glass still inside?’

‘I don’t think so, no.’ Pandora was no longer bothered quite so much by the shock of the accident as she was by having Rupert cradling her hand in his much larger one. Her breath hitched in her throat, her senses alert to every nuance of the touch of those long, slender fingers that so gently cupped her own.

‘Perhaps it would be as well if I …’ He did not finish his sentence as he raised her hand to his parted lips to take her injured finger into the moist heat of his mouth.

‘What are you doing?’ Pandora gasped at the intimacy of such an action, the cut to her finger completely forgotten as she felt the moist lap of his tongue against her flesh before he began to suck upon it gently. ‘Rupert!’ she exclaimed, her breathing becoming shallow.

Long golden lashes rose until that glittering silver gaze met and held hers even as he continued his tender ministrations.

Pandora ceased to breathe at all, totally ensnared, both by those mesmerising eyes gazing so deeply into her own, and the shocking intimacy of feeling what he was doing to her finger. It felt so … sensuous, forbidden and of such intimacy that she was helplessly aware of her breasts swelling beneath her gown, the tips hardening, and causing an aching warmth between her thighs. She felt herself totally unable to find the strength to look away from the perfectly chiselled lips around her finger.

It was, at one and the same time, the most caring, and yet erotically charged, moment of her life, that gentle suckling of her flesh causing the tips of her breasts to tingle, as if the softness of Rupert’s lips were touching her there rather than her finger. The heat increased inside her core, dampening the delicacy of her folds and making her press her trembling thighs together in a vain attempt to suppress it.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ There was a shocked gasp from across the bedchamber as Henley entered the room without warning. ‘I had no idea! I would not have— I believed his Grace to have already left …’ She trailed off awkwardly.

Rupert ignored the flustered lady’s maid as he moved so that his body shielded Pandora from the other woman’s curiosity. His fingers tightened as she would have instantly snatched her hand away, his silver gaze brooding as he continued to look down into her now-stricken one as he slowly sucked upon her injured finger once more, twice, before releasing that digit from his mouth with a soft popping noise, the whole length of that tiny finger now moist from his ministrations. ‘I don’t think there’s any glass still embedded in your finger,’ he rasped.

Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts softly rising and falling in her agitation. ‘Release me,’ she hissed softly when her attempts to pull her hand from within the strength of his proved fruitless.

Rupert’s lips curved into a mocking smile even as he placed those same lips one last time upon her injured finger before releasing her. ‘My nanny was a great believer in kissing a hurt better as a healing method.’

Kissing a hurt better?

Pandora now ached in parts of her body she had not known could ache! But not in an unpleasant way. No, what she now felt, in her breasts and between her thighs, was all too pleasurable …

Chapter Seven

Pandora swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat before answering him waspishly. ‘In that case, I believe I must be completely cured, your Grace!’ She shot him a censorious glare before turning to look across the bedchamber at her maid. ‘What is it, Henley?’

That poor lady looked completely undone by this added stress upon her already frayed nerves. ‘I came to help—that is, I thought to—Perhaps I should come back later …?’ Henley shot Rupert a nervous glance.

‘I—’

‘Do that,’ the Duke cut in haughtily.

Pandora scowled at him before answering her maid. ‘That won’t be necessary, Henley. His Grace was just leaving,’ she added pointedly.

Rupert raised lazily arrogant brows. ‘I don’t believe our present … conversation is over just yet, Pandora.’

A blush heated her cheeks, whether with embarrassment or anger she was unsure. ‘Oh, I think we’ve said all that needs to be said on the subject for one evening, your Grace.’

‘Indeed?’ he drawled.

‘Indeed.’ Her mouth firmed. ‘Henley, perhaps you would care to show his Grace out?’

‘I—’

‘I shall see myself out, thank you, Pandora.’ The ice now literally dripped from his voice.

Then do so—now! Pandora wished to say. She knew it was ungrateful of her to feel that way. Rupert had been kindness itself to her since they had entered the house and found the whole of her household in uproar. Well … perhaps he had not been merely kind to her for all of that time—as the tingling of her breasts and thighs still testified!

‘When—and if,’ the Duke continued inexorably, ‘I deem it necessary.’

When and if he deemed it necessary that he leave? He was unbelievably arrogant!

As far as she was concerned it would have been better by far if he had left some time ago! ‘Leave us, would you, Henley?’ She made the request gently, even as her flashing gaze was fixed immovably upon the arrogant idiot in front of her.

‘Yes, your Grace.’ Henley bobbed a curtsy. ‘Of course, your Grace. Would you like me to—’

‘For heaven’s sake, just go, will you?’ Rupert instructed. ‘How on earth do you stand that woman’s presence about you every day?’ he demanded the moment Henley had closed the door of the bedchamber behind her. ‘I’m sure I should be driven to madness by her nervous twitchings and hesitations!’

‘Then it’s as well you don’t have to suffer them any further,’ Pandora returned tersely. ‘And how dare you give her the impression that you and I … Imply that you and I— I believe you should leave now!’ She eyed him in utter frustration.

‘So I ascertained some minutes ago.’ He nodded unconcernedly.

‘Well?’ Pandora prompted some tense seconds later as he still gave no indication of leaving.

He raised those arrogant brows as he looked down at her with cool grey eyes. ‘There was something of import I had intended to discuss with you this evening.’

Pandora stiffened warily. ‘Oh?’

Rupert smiled ruefully as he saw that wariness. ‘Obviously, the situation we found upon our return here has deemed that now is not the right time for us to have that discussion.’

‘Obviously.’

His smile widened at the dryness of her tone. ‘In which case I will return here tomorrow and we shall have our conversation then.’

Pandora tapped a foot in exasperation. ‘You know, Rupert, you might find my mood to be far more accommodating if you were to ask rather than use such arrogant phrases as “I had intended” and “I will”!’

‘Touché.’ Rupert smiled as she turned his earlier comment back upon him. Proving her sharp intelligence once again, but also that she was not in the least the ordinary type of woman of his acquaintance, who gushed and fawned over the Duke of Stratton.

Just as the physical evidence of Pandora’s response to him a few minutes ago—a flush to her cheeks, the swelling of her breasts, the unevenness of her breathing—proved that neither was she immune to the physical intimacy fast developing between the two of them …

But would Pandora’s physical awareness of him make what Rupert wished to say to her more, or less, acceptable?

Their conversation tomorrow would, he hoped, provide him with an answer to that question.

‘Do sit down, Pandora, and tell me all that has happened to you since we last met,’ Genevieve Forster encouraged avidly the moment the two of them were left alone in that lady’s private parlour the following afternoon. ‘And don’t attempt to claim that nothing has happened, because several of my visitors this morning could talk of nothing else but your visit to the theatre yesterday evening in the company of Devil Stirling!’ The reproving frown she gave Pandora was obviously on account of her not having informed Genevieve of it herself.

Devil Stirling …

Pandora had come to realise how well that name suited Rupert! He might have the golden looks of a fallen angel, but he was indeed a devil and one who enjoyed nothing more than tormenting her.

Or tempting her …?

Pandora was suffused with heat every time she so much as thought about those few moments of intimacy between them in her bedchamber the evening before. Although why she should feel so hot and bothered, just having Rupert Stirling kiss her finger, was beyond her comprehension. Which was one of the reasons she had called upon her friend today, in the hope that Genevieve, hopefully more understanding of such things, would be able to explain this strangeness of feelings to her.

She sat forwards in the chair to take the cup of tea Genevieve had just poured for her. ‘The Earl and Countess of Heyborough were also there. In fact, I was their guest for the evening, not Rupert Stirling’s.’

Genevieve raised russet brows. ‘But at Stratton’s urging, no doubt?’

Pandora felt the blush in her cheeks. ‘I believe he did prompt his aunt into making the invitation, yes …’

‘Well, of course he did! And?’

‘And the opera was particularly tedious—’

‘I have no interest in hearing about the opera, Pandora!’ her friend admonished ruefully. ‘But I do want to know everything else,’ she added eagerly. ‘Such as how you came to be so well acquainted with Devil Stirling in the first place that he prompted his aunt into inviting you to the opera. And, more to the point, what happened after he drove you home at the end of the evening!’ Genevieve’s blue eyes twinkled merrily.

The warmth increased in Pandora’s cheeks, her pulse leaping, just thinking about the rasp of Rupert’s tongue stroking against her injured finger, of his sucking that finger into the heated moisture of his mouth, of the way his devilish silver eyes had held her gaze captive as he did so … It was an act so stirringly intimate that for some minutes Pandora had completely forgotten the surrounding disarray of her bedchamber.

She moistened her lips before speaking. ‘We met on the terrace the evening of Sophia’s ball. Quite by chance,’ Pandora added hastily; she had preferred not to confide in Genevieve and Sophia that an unknown person, or persons, had broken into her home several times this past year and she did not now intend to recount to Genevieve the details of Lord Sugdon’s unpleasant attentions towards her the evening of Sophia’s ball, either. Pandora deeply appreciated the friendship Genevieve and Sophia had given her this past month and she wasn’t going to bother either of those ladies with the less acceptable details of her life. ‘Talking of which … have you seen or spoken to Sophia since that evening?’

Genevieve’s curls gleamed deeply red as she shook her head. ‘Both of you have left me quite bereft of your company this past two days. Why?’ Her interest quickened. ‘Has something happened to her, too, which I should know about?’

It would perhaps be indiscreet of Pandora to mention the comments she had overheard the evening of the ball indicating Dante Carfax’s long-term interest in Sophia. ‘I merely wondered if she had been pleased with the success of her ball,’ she said lightly.

‘And I believe you are merely trying to distract my attention from telling me of this new friendship of yours with Devil Stirling.’ Genevieve pouted prettily.

‘Not at all,’ Pandora assured with a soft laugh. ‘Indeed, I am as surprised by that gentleman’s … attentions towards me, as you appear to be.’

‘I don’t see why. You are beautiful, and charming—’

‘And surrounded by such scandal that most gentlemen tend to give me a wide berth in company and attempt to bed me in private!’

Genevieve gave an indelicate snort. ‘That particular gentleman is no stranger to scandal himself!’

‘Well … no.’ Pandora frowned slightly at mention of Rupert’s less-than-pristine reputation even before he began living so openly with his stepmother. A relationship he had seemed to completely disregard in Pandora’s bedchamber the evening before! ‘But it is not the same for a gentleman as it is for a lady.’

‘Nothing in life ever is.’ Genevieve grimaced.

Pandora eyed her curiously. ‘You’ve not told me of your own progress in taking a lover.’

‘Because there is nothing to tell as yet.’ Genevieve looked deeply aggrieved by the fact. ‘Now for heaven’s sake, cease your delaying, Pandora, and tell me all!’

Pandora didn’t tell her friend quite all of her acquaintance with Rupert, preferring to omit the reason for their initial conversation, as well as those moments of intimacy in her bedchamber. But she did relate everything else to the eagerly listening Genevieve.

That lady’s blue eyes were wide with excitement by the time Pandora had finished her tale. ‘And have the two of you had chance to speak again today?’

‘Not as yet, no.’ But Pandora knew that Rupert had called this morning, whilst she was out at the shops, leaving his card and promising to return this afternoon. Which was the very reason Pandora had chosen to pay a visit to Genevieve. Although she seriously doubted she would be able to avoid him for ever. ‘What do you think it can be that he wishes to discuss with me?’

‘Can you not guess?’ Genevieve’s eyes glowed with mischief.

During the hours since Pandora had last seen Rupert Stirling she had taken several guesses as to what the subject of that conversation might be—each of them more fantastic than the first!—which was why she had sought counsel of one of her friends.

‘He is going to ask you to be his mistress, of course!’ Genevieve announced excitedly.

Exactly the conclusion Pandora had come to.

‘Would not such a request make his bed a little overcrowded, when there is already another lady occupying it?’ she reminded Genevieve sharply.

‘That is just too, too wicked, Pandora!’ Genevieve laughed gaily at what she obviously took to be Pandora’s dry humour. ‘Obviously he has finally tired of Patricia Stirling and now seeks to replace her with you.’

‘How flattering!’ Pandora’s scathing tone showed that she meant exactly the opposite.

‘But is this not exactly what we discussed previously, Pandora?’ her friend cajoled. ‘For each of us to take an exciting lover, or lovers, before this tedious Season comes to an end?’

Yes, that was certainly what Genevieve had proposed, Pandora recalled all too clearly. A daring and scandalous suggestion, which Pandora had preferred not to answer directly at the time. She had since realised that Sophia had not seemed particularly enthused about it, either.

She stood up restlessly. ‘That doesn’t mean I would ever choose Rupert Stirling to be that lover.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Genevieve looked up at her incredulously. ‘He has the looks of a Greek god. A fallen angel. A veritable—’

‘Devil in disguise—and it is a thin disguise at that!’ Pandora put in firmly.

‘Did I hear someone mention my name?’

Pandora spun around so quickly at the sound of Rupert’s amused voice that she felt quite dizzy. Even more so as she looked upon his handsome ‘fallen angel’ face as he stood slightly behind Genevieve’s obviously disconcerted butler. Her heart seemed to cease beating as she took in his impeccable appearance in a superfine of charcoal grey fitting perfectly to his wide shoulders, beneath which he wore a pale-grey waistcoat over pristine white linen, with black pantaloons moulding to his long and muscular legs.

Rupert Stirling’s tailor must weep with joy at how finely this gentleman wore his clothes, whereas Pandora found herself barely able to breathe at his sudden disturbing appearance in the doorway to Genevieve’s parlour!

Rupert’s earlier feelings of frustration with Pandora at her continued and surely deliberate elusiveness, receded slightly as he enjoyed the shocked expression on her face.

Having called at her home this morning, and then again this afternoon, and both times been informed that ‘her Grace is not at home’, Rupert had lost no time in ascertaining exactly where her Grace had gone to this afternoon. Noting how disconcerted Pandora was by his unexpected appearance here, he couldn’t help but feel a certain sly sense of satisfaction!

‘His Grace, the Duke of Stratton,’ the butler announced with obvious apology to the mistress of the house for not having managed to inform her of the identity of the visitor before he had appeared in her parlour.

But that had been deliberately manipulated by Rupert; after chasing around after Pandora for most of the day, he hadn’t wanted to give her the opportunity of escaping him yet again—for instance, by trying to leave the house by another route than the front door.

Having a woman avoid his company, in the marked way Pandora had today, was a new experience for Rupert altogether; usually he was the one who had to avoid the company of women whom he had no wish to see or speak to.

‘Stratton.’ Genevieve Forster had now risen to her feet in order to effect a graceful curtsy, that elegance of movement accompanied by a mischievous twinkle in her deep-blue eyes as she gave a glance in the direction of the obviously still-stunned Pandora.

Rupert handed his hat and cane to the butler before striding into the small, intimate parlour in which the two ladies had chosen to sit and converse. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’ He bent solicitously over the hand the Duchess of Woollerton extended to him. ‘And Pandora,’ he added deliberately as he turned to look down the length of his nose at her.

Pandora gave herself a mental shake as she saw the unmistakable mockery in Rupert’s amused yet challenging grey eyes. If he thought to disconcert her—even though he obviously had—then she had no intention of adding to his air of triumph by continuing to be so discombobulated! ‘Rupert,’ she greeted him coolly. ‘What brings you here on such a beautiful spring afternoon?’ She was perfectly capable of issuing challenges of her own, if that was how it was to be between them.

‘Why, you do, of course, my dear Pandora,’ he drawled. ‘My apologies if that seems … less than polite to you, your Grace.’ He turned to smile charmingly at Genevieve.

‘No offence taken, I assure you, Stratton,’ she said drily. ‘Would you care to join us for tea?’

‘Not today, if you do not mind. I had thought to take Pandora for a carriage ride before the hour grows too late.’

Pandora’s back stiffened. ‘I have my own carriage outside—’

‘I took the liberty of speaking with your groom before coming in and assured him that he could leave as you would be travelling home in my carriage with me.’

She drew in a sharp, indignant breath. ‘You had absolutely no right—’

‘I have every right.’

‘Would it be better if I left the two of you alone so that you might settle this matter in private?’ Genevieve suggested as she obviously saw the mutinous expression on Pandora’s hot, flushed face.

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

Pandora glared across at him for his contradictory statement, becoming even more incensed by that look of hurt innocence he had affected in his expression. Hah! She didn’t believe this particular gentleman possessed even an ounce of innocence! ‘We really cannot ask Genevieve to leave her own parlour.’

‘I’m more than happy to do so, Pandora,’ that lady assured her.

Pandora sent her friend a reproving frown. ‘Perhaps it would be best for all concerned if his Grace and I were to leave you to the comfort of your own parlour and finish this … discussion in his carriage back to my home, since he has chosen to dismiss my own?’ A carriage which they would be sharing alone, Pandora having decided earlier not to bring Henley, as she was only visiting Genevieve.

‘An excellent idea,’ ‘his Grace’ said without apology for his actions, despite her obvious accusation. ‘It has been a pleasure, your Grace,’ he said to Genevieve.

‘Indeed it has,’ she returned lightly.

‘You may be assured I shall see Pandora safely returned to her own residence.’ He smiled that charming smile—a smile which she could, at that moment, quite cheerfully have slapped off his handsome face! Which, considering she had never before been a person who felt driven to violence, showed just how frustrating and annoying she found his unmitigated arrogance.

‘Oh, do stop glowering, Pandora!’ Rupert shot her an impatient glance minutes later as they once again sat opposite each other in the comfort of his carriage. ‘But as you’re already cross with me, I may as well also tell you that in your absence this afternoon I’ve had the locks changed at Highbury House.’ He took the opportunity of Pandora’s brief, incredulous silence to admire how much the colour of the gown and pretty bonnet she was wearing today both suited her so well and were an exact match in colour for those fine violet-coloured eyes—

Violet-coloured eyes, which were currently shooting sparks of flame in his direction! ‘You-have-had-the-locks-changed-on-my-home?’ she snapped.

He gave a haughty nod. ‘Whoever entered your home last night did not break in—’

‘You have no way of knowing that!’

‘I know that no windows were broken, no locks smashed, which would seem to imply—’ ‘Whatever you wish it to imply!’ she interrupted, clenching her fists in sheer frustration. ‘You truly are arrogance personified! The single most—’ The rest of her obviously intended diatribe was cut off as Rupert, already tired and irritated from the hours he’d spent chasing this woman around today, swiftly removed the distance that separated them by taking her firmly in his arms and placing his mouth against the alluring softness of hers.

Pandora was so shocked by the suddenness of having him kiss her that, for several stunned moments, she could do no more than remain acquiescent in his arms as those chiselled lips moved confidently over hers. Pleasurably. Seductively.

Sensations which she surely could not allow to continue, but at the same time knew she had no strength to stop!

It seemed almost as if the hours in between Rupert kissing her finger better in that frankly erotic and sensual way, and his kissing her masterfully on the lips now, had never been. As if the passion that now flared so suddenly between them was inevitable. Irresistible.

Pandora tilted her head slightly to better appreciate the feel of that mouth against her own as Rupert now sipped and tasted her lips at his leisure. Her arms moved up slowly until her gloved fingers were able to grasp the broadness of his muscled shoulders beneath his superfine, her breasts—sensitive with that now-familiar tingling—crushed against the hardness of his chest as his arms tightened about her waist and drew her even closer, the very air about them seeming charged with sexual tension.

Pandora gasped slightly as she felt one of Rupert’s hands cup beneath the swell of her breast, that gasp becoming a groan as he ran the soft pad of his thumb lightly against the swollen and sensitive tip, and causing the pleasure to course hotly through her veins and the swollen folds between her thighs to dampen.

She forgot everything but that pleasure as Rupert now took advantage of her parted lips to run the smoothness of his tongue over them, before entering her mouth. His marauding tongue sought out every sensitive dip and heated hollow, claiming her, possessing her, all the while his hand continued to caress her breast. His fingers felt deliciously cool against her heated flesh as they now touched the bare swell of flesh above her gown, before he pushed that soft material aside and cupped the fullness of her bared breast in his hand, gently squeezing, kneading, before his long fingers laid claim to the pouting tip.

Pandora had never known such pleasure as that which completely engulfed her as Rupert continued that sensual assault upon the sensitive tip of her bared breast, those skilful fingers alternately pinching and then stroking the engorged nipple at the same time as his tongue plunged rhythmically into the heated cavern of her mouth. To her wicked delight, that secret place between her thighs began pulsing with the same hot demanding rhythm.

What would have happened next Pandora had no idea, but the discreet clearing of a throat outside the coach brought her back to at least some of her senses before the words spoken by Rupert’s groom penetrated the fog that now seemed to have engulfed her brain. ‘We are arrived at the Duchess’s home, your Grace.’

Pandora pulled away and looked up at Rupert with wide, stricken eyes, quickly noting the silver glitter of his own eyes as he looked back at her, and the slight flush to his cheeks, the curve of his lips seeming fuller, more sensual than ever.

She shook her head in an effort to clear her befuddled and fogged brain, trying to remember why she had known that allowing this to happen would be a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Ah. Yes, she had it now. ‘The answer is no, Stratton!’ she snapped crisply even as she pulled completely out of his arms and turned to indicate that the groom waiting outside should open the carriage door for her. She tried not to notice that the servant’s gaze carefully avoided meeting hers as he appeared to stare up at the sky instead.

Rupert reached out to grasp Pandora’s arm, arresting her descent and causing her to turn back to him sharply, those violet eyes once again shooting angry sparks in his direction. An anger completely at odds with the aroused flush in her cheeks and the swell of her breasts still visible to him, the sweet curve of her lips also slightly swollen from the passion of his kisses. ‘The answer to what is no?’ he queried gruffly.

Her eyes widened with indignation. ‘Don’t attempt to play games with me, Stratton!’

The demanding throbbing of his engorged shaft clearly stated that the only game which he wished to play was one where she was naked and horizontal and he was buried to the hilt between her silken thighs!

He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘I truthfully have no idea what you’re talking about, Pandora.’

Her eyes burned deeply purple. ‘Then let me state quite clearly, here and now, that I have no wish, either now or at any time in the future, to ever take up the dubious honour of becoming your next mistress!’

Rupert was so stunned by this heartfelt avowal that his fingers loosened momentarily on the silkiness of her bare arm, allowing her to pull free and descend from the carriage before sweeping majestically through the open front door of her house, the butler closing it swiftly behind her, as he had no doubt been instructed to do.

Rupert fell back against the upholstered seat of his carriage, too surprised still to do any more than that.

Pandora believed that his invitation to the opera yesterday, his wishing to speak with her today, their kiss just now, all to be a precursor to him wanting her to become his mistress?

Hell!

He might have found that assumption amusing, and her response to it even more so, if it was not also damned insulting! And what had she meant by calling it a dubious honour?

‘Do you wish to return to Stratton House now, your Grace?’

Rupert looked blankly at his patiently waiting groom for several seconds, before reason finally returned and his resolve firmed. ‘No, by God, I do not!’ He surged out of the carriage on to the cobbled street. ‘Wait here, Gregson.’ He glanced up grimly at the windows of Pandora’s home. ‘I may be some time.’

Pandora had barely had the time to march up the staircase, enter her restored and tidy bedchamber and remove her bonnet, before the door behind her was suddenly thrown open and an obviously incensed Rupert filled the open doorway. ‘What on earth—?’

‘For your information, madam …’ he slammed her bedchamber door shut behind him and began walking steadily, stealthily, towards her ‘… it is usual to wait until one is asked before one refuses.’

Pandora, having backed against her dressing table, now held her hands up protectively in front of her as she stared at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. He came to a halt just inches in front of her, his height and the powerful width of his muscled shoulders looming over intimidatingly. ‘I did not— I had thought—’

‘No, madam,’ he bit out between gritted, even, white teeth, ‘I don’t believe you gave any thought at all to this situation before insulting me so soundly.’

Pandora didn’t even pretend not to know what he meant. ‘Genevieve agrees with me that it’s obvious by your attentions towards me these past two days that it’s your intention to ask me to be your mistress.’

‘Flattered as I am that you’ve discussed me so intimately with your friend—’ the iciness of his tone clearly indicating the opposite ‘—I have to inform the pair of you that the conclusions you’ve drawn regarding my recent so-called “attentions” are totally in error.’

‘Oh …’ Pandora had never felt so humiliated. So utterly and completely devastated with the emotion that she wished she might crawl away and hide somewhere. Anywhere. An option clearly not open to her when Rupert continued to loom over her so ominously. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, an action that glittering silver gaze followed exclusively. ‘I apologise if I have caused you insult, your Grace—er—Rupert,’ she amended as those furious silver eyes narrowed in dire warning. ‘It was not my intention to do so. I merely wished to—’

‘Refuse the dubious honour of becoming my mistress before I felt compelled to voice it.’

She had said that, Pandora acknowledged with an inward wince. A remark which he’d obviously taken exception to. ‘Well. That is … Of course, I’m sure that many women would be deeply flattered to so much as be considered—’

‘Oh, give it up, Pandora,’ he bit out harshly. ‘And accept that there’s no going back from your insult to me.’

Her wince was outward this time. ‘I was angry when I made that remark—’

‘Because you had assumed I meant to insult you by making such an offer!’ A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw.

‘Well … yes. Rupert, do you think perhaps you might … move away slightly?’ Her neck was starting to ache from looking up at him towering over her so threateningly. Indeed, he seemed to have swallowed up all the air in the room, making it impossible for her to breathe!

‘No.’

She blinked at his uncompromising tone. ‘You are in my bedchamber uninvited, sir,’ she attempted to rally. ‘For the second time in as many days. The least you could do is cease these attempts to intimidate me.’

Rupert gave her accusation some thought, decided that perhaps she was right and he was guilty of intimidation and took a single step back. ‘Better?’ he challenged.

‘It is a … slight improvement, yes,’ she allowed with a small sigh.

He felt some of his initial anger began to fade as he considered the amusement of their present situation instead. Pandora Maybury, with her unusual beauty, golden curls and mesmerising violet eyes, had minutes ago insulted him and his honour, more roundly, more completely, than any other living person. Perhaps because any gentleman who had ever dared to speak to him like that would have very quickly found himself at the other end of Rupert’s duelling pistols.

His amusement faded somewhat as he recalled that to have indeed been the fate of Pandora’s husband and her lover …

He moved away from her until he stood with his back to the room, looking out of the window into the street below. His carriage and four still stood on the cobbles below, waiting to take him back to Stratton House, an option he would perhaps be wise to take.

If not for the presence of the woman who awaited him there …

His shoulders stiffened with renewed resolve as he turned back to face the now cautiously watchful Pandora. ‘Contrary to general belief, the offer I intend making to you is not of becoming my mistress—but my wife!’