

A Dangerous Temptation

By L.R. Olson

Copyright 2015 L.R. Olson

Published for Smashwords

www.LROlson.com

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Cover by Beverley Kendall

Other Books by L.R. Olson:

Historical Romance:

A Dangerous Temptation

A Dangerous Deception

A Dangerous Liaison

New Adult Books:

The St. Clare Series:

Seduction: Prequel, Free

Redemption

Deception

Salvation

The Terminal Series

Terminal 19

Adult Contemporary:

The Southern Gents Series:

For Hire

A Dangerous Temptation

Volume One

Julianna

The very first time I saw him he was naked.

Completely and utterly devoid of clothing.

I'd seen naked men before. I wasn't a complete innocent full of maidenly blushes and virginal quivering. Years ago, Cecilia and I had been walking one evening, daydreaming out loud about a future of adventure and girlish dreams when we'd happened upon three farmhands bathing. Afraid of being caught and being completely ruined, we'd dashed home. Had they seen us? I still wasn't sure. But we had seen them. Not that I was impressed. Hairy and strange, they looked rather silly to me. And I wasn't the only one to think so.

"Is that it then, Jules? Those dangly bits and bobs?" Cecilia had whispered, tucking a lock of her golden brown hair behind her ear. "How's that supposed to bring anyone pleasure?"

I'd had to press my palm to my mouth to keep from laughing out loud and being found out. We'd gone to bed that night amused and bewildered all at the same time. My interest in the male species, and the idea of love and marriage had certainly waned with that introduction. But then I'd been only fourteen years of age.

Still, I'd seen naked men, and so I thought I'd be prepared when I found the person I would marry. But never, ever, had I expected to see James. Never had I expected to react the way I had, unable to ignore the burning heat that raced through my body, making me unsure if I was even me, or had transformed into some wanton woman I could no longer identify.

I'd been on my evening walk, reading my mother's latest letter and savoring the silence before my family would return home from the city, bringing with them stories of gossip, newest fashions, and a list of potential suiters for my younger sister, Penny.

With her golden looks she'd have plenty of opportunities.

I wasn't bitter over her happiness, even though my younger sister marrying before me meant I was firmly on the shelf. Penelope was a sweet girl, if a bit silly-minded. Still, she was kind and caring and deserved a good marriage.

And I...I would be the doting spinster of an aunt. After what had happened years ago in London, I'd accepted that I'd never marry or have children of my own. And I'd been content with that thought, even if what had happened in the city hadn't been my fault.

I'd been content until I'd seen him...completely nude and bathing in the stream that separated our land from our neighbors.

At twenty-two years of age, when I'd given up hope of ever knowing intimacy with a man, I fell in love. It wasn't chocolates, roses or moonlit walks. But it was shocking all the same. Startling, intense, mind-consuming. A moment I'll never forget, a moment that changed the course of my life forever, for better, and yes...for worse.

Chapter 1

Julianna

"What's your mother have to say this week, me dear Miss Jules?" Ramona called out from behind the rose bushes where she was checking for new growth.

Mother was proud of her flowers, bragged about them to her friends, even though she had little to do with their welfare. She left the care of her prized blooms to the servants and only claimed interest when they drew attention.

I settled on the swing Mr. York had hung for me and Penny so many years ago. How much fun we'd had together as children. But those, I suppose, were simpler times. Before Penny became enamored with finding the perfect fiancé, before I'd been to London and ruined my chances. Long, long before I'd been deemed unsuitable. But London was in the past. There was nothing to do but move forward, or so Mother had said. Easy for her, she hadn't become fodder for the gossiping ninnies of the ton.

"Oh, she says very, very important things," I began.

Ramona grinned, as she snipped a red rose and brought it to me. One of the first flowers of spring. Greedily, I took the bloom and breathed deeply its sweet scent before tucking it behind my ear. I adored spring. The fresh and clean air, the excitement of a new year. Every morning something colorful and brilliant would pop up from the ground as if to say, "Hello, I'm here, lovely world!" You never knew what the day would bring.

It was a time of hope. Renewal.

It was also when my family returned from London.

A slight blight on the season.

I pushed my feet into the soft spring ground, sending the wooden swing back. The oak branch above creaked, warning that I was getting too old and big for the dear tree. "For instance, Lady So-and-So wore red to the Royal Ball. Scandalous." I held up the letter, letting it catch the breeze and rustle. "And Lord What's-his-Name...why he did something truly disastrous and smoked a cigar directly in the path of the lady's sitting room. Unforgiveable. He should be drawn and quartered. Or perhaps this would be an excellent time to reinstate hangings."

Ramona chuckled as she picked up her basket and pruning shears. "You, my dear, are wasted out here where no one but the servants are subject to your wry humor and intelligence."

I grinned. "I don't believe the ton would appreciate my humor or intelligence. Have you not gotten the missive? Ladies are to be seen and not heard."

She frowned. "I thought that was children."

I shrugged. "Same thing where society is concerned. I promise, Ramona, I want to be here. I can wear my favorite gown, just old enough to be comfortable." I latched onto my dark braid. "No unnecessary hair pins that dig into my scalp. I'd much rather be here where I don't have to worry about saying or doing the proper thing. No matter how ghastly my impropriety, you'll always forgive me, won't you?"

She snorted as she wiped her hands on her apron. "We'll see."

I grinned. At fifty, the woman had never had children and had always doted on me and Penny. "Do you need any help?"

She waved me away. "Off with you now. I know how much you enjoy your walks before dinner."

I sighed dramatically. "If you insist."

With a flourish, I jumped off my swing and headed toward the trail that ran along the back of our garden and into the woods. Stately and ancient, the estate was made of locally quarried stone and covered in tenacious English ivy. And like most titled families, we had our handful of servants to help run the estate. Ramona had been with us since my birth, twenty-two years ago. Most of the staff had been here that long. If I married I wouldn't be home, surrounded by my favorite places, my friends and family.

I adored Dorset with her green hills and sunshine, and had no desire to leave. Ever. I loved that every summer we took a trip to the coast as a family. While Penny, mother and I looked for shells, father would sit along the banks and read. I adored that every Sunday after church, most of the town would have a picnic, and would even share with those less fortunate. I loved our evening meals at home where we would argue over every topic under the sun. But most of all I adored the fact that after what had happened in London, the town had forgiven me. They hadn't judged or belittled, because they knew me. The real me, and they accepted me flaws and all. Ours was a happy family, and a perfectly peaceful life.

But things would change, as they always did. Soon, Penny would marry and she would leave to start a family of her own. It wouldn't be the same. My sister was shallow and self-important at times, interested only in clothing and the latest fashion from Paris, but she was still my sister and I loved her dearly. I could only pray she would live nearby, that I might be the attentive aunt to her children I so wished desperately to be.

I breathed deeply the musky scent of earth and spring as I folded the letter. Yes, I was perfectly content staying here for the rest of my life. After all, someone needed to take care of my parents. I had no doubt that Father would leave me a small stipend once they were gone. I could live out my days in a cottage by the sea. I might not have children or a husband but I would have that cottage, I would have my paints, and I clung to that dream.

I shoved the letter into my skirt pocket and followed the trail as it curved into the woods, wishing I'd brought my pencils and drawing pad. Most of the farmers were inside for their evening meals, leaving the countryside quiet, perfect and still. It was a comforting sensation I experienced as I crept through the woods...one of being watched by nature, yet accepted by the trees and the flowers and insects. They did not know about my past, they did not judge me. I was one of them, a mere living being within their atmosphere.

Within a few days my family's carriage would come rumbling down the lane. An old and supposedly proper family, Father had always been proud of our heritage. Important families went to London for the season. So, although my father hated the city, we went. And I had as well until I'd ruined everything.

Once in a while I still caught Father looking at me with disappointment in his blue gaze. Mother did not hide her feelings as well as Father and I was often forced to listen to her lament upon what could have been. It stung, but the lectures were few and far between, and I knew they loved me and wanted me to be happy.

Yes, I loved them dearly. I also loved when they were gone and I had the entire house to myself. Well, as alone as I could be with fifteen servants as chaperones. A time when I could spend my mornings and evenings painting in my oldest gown. A time when I could take my dinners with the servants in the kitchen or in the parlor near a warm fire. My days and nights were completely my own. And so I would savor this time alone, for it wouldn't last. At least not until next winter.

"Hello, Miss Jules." Mr. York, the gardener smiled as we came across each other. He had a shovel braced over his shoulder, his cap askew upon his balding head. "Going on your evening walk?"

Was I so very predictable? At one time I'd craved excitement, adventure. But I'd been a naïve girl then. "Yes, savoring the quiet until Mother and Penny arrive."

He laughed, showing a few missing teeth. He was at least seventy, and proud of the fact that he had any left at all. "Now, they're a good lot. Still don't know why you don't go as well. London is a right exciting place, or so I've been told."

I adored the fact that the servants pretended to know nothing about my little mishap those years ago. They'd forgiven me, forgotten, even if my parents and the ton hadn't. I shuddered dramatically. "The crowds. I feel like I can't breathe."

"How do you expect—"

"I know, I know." I'd heard it plenty of times before. How would I possibly land a husband if I hid here for the rest of my life? "I'm meeting Cecilia," I lied. "Have to go!"

I hiked up my skirts and raced across the garden, praying no one would see me running like the heathen I'd been branded. My woods and isolation beckoned. I was friendly with the staff, too friendly, according to my mother.

"They are lovely people, Jules, but they are servants. And it makes everyone uncomfortable when you treat them as equals."

But how could I not? They were family. Still, it made it seem as if I had multiple mothers and fathers at times, everyone telling me what I should be doing with my life. As if one set of parents wasn't enough.

The setting sun pierced the new leaves, sending a lace-like pattern of light and shadow across the trail. In every object and in every scene, I saw a future painting. The dirt path curved toward the creek. A clear ribbon of water that grew deeper the farther one followed the stream.

Breathless, I slowed. Here, I could hide. Here, I could be with my thoughts. Perhaps they weren't deep and meaningful, perhaps they'd never solve poverty or war, but they were my thoughts and mine alone. I found the creek, the low gurgle of running water sounding better than any orchestra I'd heard in London. Here, in these woods, I could be free. As free as an unmarried woman dared to be. I ducked under a branch and stepped into the clearing near the bank where the creek widened, but the sound of splashing water caught me off guard.

I froze, one foot in the clearing, one in the woods.

I'd seen men bathing before, but never had I seen a man like him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin warmed with a honey glow. My gaze traveled over the bulge of his biceps, down the length of his strong back, ending at his muscled bottom. My heated flush of embarrassment slowly changed into something entirely new. Attraction? Desire? I wasn't sure.

With a trembling hand, I lowered a branch to get a better view. Completely improper, yet, I found I couldn't look away. For a silly moment I wondered if he wasn't real at all, but a dream. Or perhaps some mythical beast come to tempt me. He scooped up water and poured it over his head. Vaguely, I noticed the pile of clothing on the shore. Not a mythical beast then. Just a man.

The water splashed against his broad shoulders, trailed down his back, toward his bottom. Light pierced the trees above and shone upon his wet skin, making him practically glow. My hand fell to my bosom, my breath catching. If the back of him looked so incredibly good, what, I wondered, did his front look like? He scooped up another handful of water and poured it over his head, sighing with contentment.

A sigh that seemed to shiver its way through my very being. I had to bite my lower lip to keep from sighing in return. Who was he? Surely he wasn't someone from our village. They knew better than to use our creek to bathe.

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. The warmth I felt had moved from my face, down to my chest, and was spreading lower. Tight and achy. Feelings I had experienced sometimes late at night in dreams. Sinful feelings I didn't dare dwell upon.

The artist in me wanted to settle down and draw him before he disappeared, and perhaps I would have if I had carried my pencils. The woman in me wanted to merely stare in utter fascination. The lady in me knew I needed to turn and run. I was no longer fourteen, I wasn't with Cecilia, and my reputation was already tarnished. So why couldn't I bloody move?

"Are you going to continue to stand there spying, or will you hand me my clothes?"

His deep voice cut through the sounds of my own tumultuous thoughts, startling me.

I sucked in a sharp breath and froze.

"Well?" he asked.

Dear God. No. My shock quickly gave way to utter humiliation. An embarrassed flush raced through my body, spurring me into action. I stepped back, right onto a branch which snapped loudly in protest.

"Don't you dare run," he said, turning to face me fully.

I didn't let my gaze drop, I wouldn't. I did. Not that it mattered much as the water came to his lower belly and showed only his chest. As I jerked my gaze up to his face, I became aware of the amusement in his dark eyes. Black eyes. His features were all hard planes, somehow combining into a face of masculine perfection. Firm lips, sharp cheekbones covered with a day's worth of scruff...I'd never in my life seen someone so dangerously handsome. A veritable fallen angel sent to tempt my very soul.

Slowly, he made his way toward the shore while I stood there frozen. His front was just as perfect as his back. Valleys and mountains of muscle, sprinkled with dark hair. Greedy, I followed that thin trail of hair. The water lowered to his hips...lowered to...

With a gasp, I finally spun around.

"Really," he said dryly. "You could have handed me my clothing."

"I...I apologize," I blurted, without much thinking about what I apologized for. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

I could hear the rustle of clothing as he dressed. Dare I bolt? He seemed quite adamant about me not running away. But then he was rather preoccupied. I could make a mad dash for home. Perhaps with the shadows from the trees, he hadn't been able to see my features clearly and my reputation, what little I retained, would be preserved.

"What's your name?"

Too late to run, as his voice came out from behind me. A warm caress of air across the back of my neck. I shivered, swallowing hard. My mouth felt suddenly dry. He could touch me if he dared, we were that close. I would not give my name to this man. He could ruin me. Blimey, what was I doing standing there like an utter fool?

"Well?" he demanded.

"I'd rather not say."

He was silent for a moment. "Fine then, I shall call you... Henrietta."

"No!"

He laughed, a low and gravelly laugh, and I realized he was teasing me. An embarrassed flush heated my face, not that he could see the color. I'd never cared before what someone thought of me, so why did I not want him to think of me as a Henrietta?

"Why not?" he asked the very question I wondered.

"I knew a Henrietta who was rather dastardly, is all," I lied. I couldn't very well tell him the truth, that Henrietta was the name of an elderly aunt, a spinster, and for some reason I didn't want him to think of me as a spinster.

"Dastardly? Was she a pirate?"

I felt my lips twitch. Who was this man? Where had he come from? "Perhaps. I believe I did spot a wooden leg."

"Right then...Rose. I'll call you Rose."

Lord, his voice was like warm milk sliding slowly down my body. I started to reject the name Rose as silly and childish, when I remembered the flower tucked behind my ear. One of the first blooms of spring. I wasn't the only one who had been paying attention. As I'd noticed him, he'd noticed me, at least well enough to note the flower. Which meant...he had seen my features. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to groan. My mother and father would murder me. They'd force me into a nunnery and we weren't even Catholic.

"You can turn now, Rose."

My hands curled. Did I want to?

Blimey, what did it matter, he'd already seen me. Taking in a deep, trembling breath I turned slowly, warily. He was dressed in a fine but simple linen shirt that clung to his damp skin, and buff trousers that hugged muscled thighs. His black hair was disheveled and damp, with the slightest bit of curl at the ends, only adding to his appeal.

But it was his gaze, that unrelenting gaze, which pierced and pinned me to the spot. I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. It took everything in my power not to look away. Had he laughed earlier? I swore he had, but I couldn't imagine this man smiling, laughing or being merry at all. I could only imagine him as a vengeful Greek God doling out punishments to the weak, or perhaps a warrior spawned to fight and kill.

He was tall, taller than I'd expected, and I had to tilt my head to look at his perfect face. And as I studied him, he studied me. Slowly, his gaze traveled over my features, then down my neck. I swore he paused for a moment at my bodice, before dropping lower...and lower. He could seduce a woman with a mere glance. It felt as if he actually touched me, trailed his fingers over my body.

I should have slapped him for his insolence. Arrogant, to say the least, he reeked of self-assuredness. Finally, his gaze returned to mine, and I realized he wasn't a dandy after all. He might smile, might look like an angel, but in that gaze was the hardness of a man who was used to being in control, the sort of man who could turn on you at any moment. A wild animal. And we were alone. Utterly alone.

"Do you always spy on men bathing?"

"Do you always bathe in public places?" I blurted out as haughty as I could manage. Really, this was our land. Why should I be afraid? How dare he use our creek to bathe without permission. How dare he look at me like I was nothing more than a piece of property to own.

But my boldness was short-lived. I realized, as I stood there and he towered over me, all broad shoulders and biceps straining his shirt sleeves, that he could bloody well do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. How could I stop him?

He grinned and my heart stuttered. I'd thought him stunning, but when he smiled it was as if the very sun had burst from the clouds. "I bathe in public places whenever possible."

He was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. For some reason, it annoyed me. This man who probably seduced women, then left them ruined and destroyed. Oh yes, I knew his kind. So handsome that whatever he wanted was merely handed to him on a silver platter. I should have hated him.

Yet, I couldn't seem to stop my body from reacting to his nearness, to his beauty. I had to resist the urge to press my hand to my chest like a love-sick ninny. His linen shirt was fine, and clung to his broad, wet shoulders. The buff trousers he wore were just as well made. He had money, at least. A viscount or baron perhaps? A wealthy farmer? I realized I was staring at him as if he was an oddity of nature and jerked my gaze away.

"Are you impressed with what you see?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"Less and less," I muttered, realizing he fully expected me to be impressed. Arrogant bastard.

But my comment only made his smile broaden.

"Shall I drop to my knees, my lord? Wax poetically about your beauty?"

His gaze grew hard. "If you're on your knees I'd prefer you were doing things other than spouting poetry."

Frowning, I attempted to understand his comment. It was obvious he was jesting about something I didn't fully comprehend. I prayed he wasn't titled for I could imagine the stories about me he'd take back to London. I'd already ruined my family's reputation and didn't need to add flames to the fire.

I was pretty enough in looks, although certainly nothing comparable to Penny. Perhaps I would have been considered prettier if I hadn't always been standing next to my dear sister. And perhaps then someone would have married me despite what had happened. I was kind, thoughtful. I could draw and paint better than anyone. I hated sewing, but did it good enough. I could even sing rather well and play the piano.

But I was too curious. Much too curious, and it had led to my destruction. Since the years had passed I'd settled quite nicely into the quiet, spinsterhood of an unmarried woman. Now here he was, looking much too mysterious, much too handsome, and making me long for something more.

"This really isn't proper."

"Please." He folded his arms over his chest in a way that told me he hadn't a care what others thought. "You've already seen me naked. It's a bit late for proper, isn't it?"

Before I could answer, he turned away from me and started toward the bank.

I was so startled by his sudden departure that I merely stood there wondering if I'd been dismissed. Dare I walk away? Race back home and pretend as if I'd never met him? "Well then," I started. He lowered to the bank, grabbed his jacket and spread it out next to him. "I should—"

"Sit."

"You can't be serious," I blurted out.

He didn't bother acknowledging my outrage, but pulled a bag close and opened it. Cheese, bread, a flask of some sort, he settled them all on the burlap sack. "Are you hungry?"

My stomach grumbled in response. Horrified, I pressed my hands to my belly and hoped he hadn't heard, all while cursing my body's betrayal. I couldn't stay. It wouldn't be appropriate. Would it? Blast it all, I'd already seen him naked. Really, I'd galloped past inappropriate minutes ago. But sitting with a stranger and taking food went beyond the pale. Besides, there was something about him that made me nervous.

Flushing, I turned. "I should go."

"Don't."

I hesitated. It wasn't a plea, it was a demand. A gentleman farmer who demanded? Who strolled through our woods like he owned them? Bathed in our creek as if he was God himself? He might feign being the gentleman but there was a strength underneath his many layers that told me there was something more to him. Something that hinted at danger, at power. Or perhaps I merely hungered for excitement and was imagining more than he portrayed.

"I'm new to the area and know so little," he said, sounding quite innocent. "I assume you were born here? There is an ease about you that says as much."

Curious, I turned to face him. "Yes."

He smiled at me again, that heart-pounding smile that left me breathless. "Come. Keep me company, tis the least you can do since you practically ruined me."

I frowned.

He shrugged, and looked toward the creek. The breeze shifted through his dark hair, ruffling the strands, and making him appear vulnerable, human. "Really, I should demand marriage at the least."

I gasped.

He slid me a glance. "I merely jest. Now sit."

I hesitated once more, unsure if I should laugh or run. It was inappropriate. Completely and utterly. Truth was, I couldn't seem to leave. I liked the easy banter we'd had so far, the way he teased. In a way, it felt as if we'd known each other for years, instead of minutes. Just as it had when I was thirteen and had met Cecilia at church. Why not sit with him? I slowly moved toward the bank, my heart hammering so loudly I no longer heard the gurgle of the creek. Gingerly, I settled upon his jacket, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

He tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to me.

It was so very improper, sharing a meal. Something I'd done as a child when Cecilia and I would head into the woods, searching for fairies. I took the bread and nibbled. It was not rough and dry, but sweet and soft, of good quality. I glanced at his hands as I chewed. They were long, sinewy, strong, the fingernails blunt but clean. An image of those hands trailing over my face as he lowered his mouth to mine left me feeling achy and breathless.

"Have you come to live here then?" I asked, unable to help myself, even though I knew it was impolite to ask questions of a man I didn't know.

I watched as he swallowed, his throat tanned and lean. "I'm staying in the house across the field. Thinking about purchasing the property."

A gentleman farmer then? My anxiety eased slightly. Why, he would be our neighbor. The thought of seeing this man daily did not make me nervous as it should have. If anything, I felt strangely excited. If he bought the property, I'd never have to worry about coming across Welch, or more importantly, his son, again. "Truly?"

He grinned as he stared out at the water. "Truly."

A tingle of awareness ran down my spine. He would be nearby...forever. Suddenly, remaining here as the spinster sister didn't seem so bad. I took another bite, flushing over my impure thoughts. Surely he wasn't married, for no married man would bathe naked, or share his meal with another woman. I had to resist the urge to grin. Let Penny have her titled gents from London. I'd make do with what was here, thank you very much.

He handed me the flask. I drank the ale without thinking. But it was as I swallowed that I realized his own lips had been where mine now rested. Too intimate. I gasped, choking. He took the flask, watching me with some amusement as I attempted to cough delicately into my sleeve.

"Tell me...do you like it here?" he asked. "Are the people a friendly sort?"

"Oh yes." I nodded, clearing my throat. No more Welch and his son. No more reminder of what had happened in London. "Very friendly. There's no better place."

He smiled again, as if everything I did and said, amused him. Perhaps I should have been offended but I wasn't. I enjoyed his smile too much to care. Would it be audacious for me to ask him to sit for a painting? Perhaps not audacious, but certainly not proper. Mother would never approve. Then again, Mother was not here.

"Good," he murmured.

I liked the deep, seductive quality of his voice. Liked his musky scent that swept around me upon the breeze, taunting and tempting. He handed me a piece of cheese, our fingers brushing. Lightning jumped, branching from his hand to mine. I pulled back, startled. If he felt it, he didn't react. Lord, was this what I'd read about in my novels? Was this the animalistic attraction that mothers warned their daughters about?

"You never told me your name," I said, feeling as if I must say something, least he realized the affect he was having upon me.

He took a bite of cheese. "James."

James. Yes, I liked his name. Regal, yet warm. I liked how he looked at me, long and lazy, as if I was a curiosity in a museum. I took in a deep breath and tore my attention from him, knowing I should tread carefully. Welch's son would be gone, but I best remember this man was a temptation I did not need. Had I not learned my lesson in London?

"And...you still aren't going to divulge your name, are you?"

I flushed, finishing my cheese so I wouldn't have to answer. Tangy, creamy and ripened to perfection, the cheese was something only a man with money could purchase. Who was he and where had he come from?

He laughed again, deep and warm, yet slightly raspy as if he didn't do it often. "I see. Well, certainly you must tell me something. I did share my given name with you."

I bit back my grin. "Fine. I like to draw and paint."

He nodded. "The proper young miss then."

I shrugged, feeling embarrassed. He'd dismissed my love so easily. I didn't merely draw and paint like all other young women painting landscapes in watercolors. I lived it. Breathed it. My colors were bold and vibrant and full of life. Not watered down versions of perfection. But how could he possibly understand? Still, his response annoyed me.

I noticed the black charcoal smudged against my fingertips, a common occurrence in my life, and began to rub them discreetly upon my skirts. "Is there something you love, James?"

He looked thoughtful and somewhat confused. He had no idea what I spoke of. I shifted so that I was on my knees, and peered into his eyes, searching for the truth. We were so close that I could see the scruff upon his jaw, see the silver flecks in his black eyes. It wasn't fair for one man to possess such perfection. How I wanted to hate him for it.

I should have leaned back, kept a safe distance between the two of us, but for some insane reason I needed him to understand. "Truly love. Fishing? Woodwork? Farming? When you're doing it you feel lost, not of this world?"

He looked at me, his gaze intense, and for a moment I could have sworn he understood. "No."

"Oh." Deflated, I settled back, feeling sad for him and slightly disappointed. "Well, that's how I feel when I paint.

But he didn't understand. I flushed, feeling foolish.

"No," I said. "It's not just painting watercolors like all other women. It's...my love."

Finished with my speech, I took in a deep, trembling breath.

"How passionate you are."

Yes, he found me amusing, and this time it did hurt. He was a mere man. For the briefest moment I thought I had stumbled across someone who might understand. Someone sent to this very spot, just for me. I should have known better.

"I thank you for the meal." I stood, brushing my hands against my skirts. The material was covered with dirt stains, charcoal and even a splatter of paint or two. I was a destitute ruffian compared to this angel of a man.

"Why must you always dress like a servant?" Mother had asked me so many times, I barely paid attention any longer.

"Because, Mother, walking and painting are done better when one doesn't have to worry about ruining one's gown."

For a moment I wished I'd worn something prettier, but pushed the nonsensical thought aside. I'd only just met James, it didn't matter what I wore. "But I truly should go."

He merely watched me with those fathomless eyes.

Because I'd been bred to be polite, I added, "It was lovely meeting you."

He grinned.

Flustered, I turned to leave.

"Rose?" he called out.

I paused, my back to him. I should have walked away. Why didn't I?

"Will you meet me here tomorrow evening?" he asked. "I'd like to ask you more about the area, since you are so knowledgeable."

Was he truly asking me to return? Surely there were any number of men he could talk to. I wasn't stupid. He wanted me here because he'd felt the attraction too.

"I can't." I stared wide-eyed at the trees before me, my heart hammering madly in my chest, urging me to accept. I wanted so badly to return. Why? The man made me nervous...made me smile, made me feel alive. "No."

"You will."

I flushed, not daring to face him. The impertinence. I should have been angry, yet all I could think about was how thrilled I was that he wanted to see me again. It had been a long time since a man had showed me any romantic attention. "And how do you know that?"

"Because," he said. "You're curious."

I smiled, although with my back to him, he couldn't see the grin. Perhaps he did know me after all. Perhaps there was a connection. Perhaps we were as alike as I'd imagined. And perhaps I was a fool.

"I promise to be fully dressed."

I should have said no. Instead, I found myself saying, "Very well."

I didn't wait for his response but hiked up my skirts and raced toward the trail.

Yes, I fell in love with James the moment I saw him. Or maybe it was lust, for it very well could have been. Either way I was smitten, taken under, controlled by his smile, his presence, his touch.

But I had no idea as I ran home, my chest tight with an emotion I dare not dwell upon, that the man would break my heart and change my life forever.

Chapter 2

James

Was I evil? A monster? Or merely a man without a soul?

Perhaps all three.

I wasn't born this way.

No, I remembered caring a long, long time ago. Worried about my brothers. Worried about Evangeline. Even worried about that damn dog I used to sleep with on cold winter nights until Father said men did not sleep with mutts and had taken the dog away. Future lords could rely upon no one but themselves.

Or maybe that caring child was merely a dream.

Perhaps I'd always been a soulless demon, never having to worry about others, but only myself... as my mother had proclaimed so many times I didn't bother to count any longer. But isn't that how I had been raised? A leader. To be a leader you had to be ruthless for the greater good. Whatever that greater good may be.

I knew she would return.

Rose.

Silly name, for an innocent, naïve and trusting woman.

I knew she would return, and I knew it would be her downfall.

I would have her as I wanted her...on her back, her skirts around her waist, showing her a pleasure no man in this pathetic, small town could duplicate. Should I have felt guilty? Perhaps. But I had stopped feeling guilty a long, long time ago. Shame held no power over me. Now, I took pleasure where I could, when I wanted.

I paused just at the edge of the woods. To say I had been startled by my immediate attraction to her would not have done justice. Yes, I'd wanted women before, but not like this. The surge of lust that flowed through me was undeniable, uncontrollable.

She stood in the clearing waiting. The afternoon sun shone down around her, highlighting her dark locks and making them shimmer. A rush of heat flared through me. I wanted to bury my face in her silky hair. To kiss the delicate column of her neck while my hands trailed up her smooth thighs toward the very heat of her body.

There was something incredibly attractive about her innocent strength, her country sweetness. A buried passion just waiting to be released. Whatever it was...I'd wanted her the moment I saw her. Perhaps the moment I'd sensed her behind me while I'd bathed.

I had known she'd been female. How could I not? I'd heard her soft gasp of surprise when she'd come upon me. Sensed the way she hesitated in shock, and yes...interest. And in that moment I knew I had her. A passionate woman stifled by her country setting, just waiting for the right opportunity to be set free. I would be the man to release her true desires.

For a brief moment I hesitated. What if she was a servant from a nearby estate? A preacher's daughter? It wouldn't do to make enemies with the locals. I'd always been a rather rational man, and the rational part of me was demanding I leave her alone until I found out who owned this woman. Yet, as I stood within those shadows I couldn't seem to move. She fascinated me. I felt the wolf and she an innocent sheep.

I'd once asked my rake of a brother Rafe if he'd ever felt guilty about seducing women. His response had been concise and shameless. "Does the robin feel guilty about taking the last worm before winter? Does the hunter feel guilty about killing a deer to feed his family? Besides, they know what they're getting. They know my reputation."

But this woman didn't know me. She had no idea of my reputation. I'd never much cared for innocents. I preferred a mistress or two to see to my needs. They knew what was expected of them, knew what I liked and wanted. Was Rose an innocent? The blushes, the curiosity...perhaps. Yet, what innocent was allowed to race around the countryside unchaperoned? She was a mystery, and like all men, I liked a mystery.

Studying her as she searched the clearing, I understood why a man would risk everything merely to taste the lips of a woman, to enter her fully, completely. To brand her, if even for a short while, as his own. I wanted her. She stirred my blood in a way that it hadn't been stirred in a long, long while.

I felt her presence like a hand trailing down my back. My entire body came to life when she was near. Hell, I wanted to lay her upon the moss and take her. Make her mine. When I entered her would her eyes widen with surprise, or would her true nature be erotic, wild?

She edged toward the bank and settled upon the moss. For a few moments she merely sat there as if waiting for me like a damn offering. And I watched her, warring with myself. I knew if I kept up this dalliance it would end with her underneath me, those skirts around her waist. I had accepted it the moment I met her.

She kicked off her slippers. Then slowly, she reached up under her skirts. My entire body heated. I felt afire. The whole bloody world seemed to lose air and I found it suddenly hard to breathe. She pulled one stocking down, then the next. How badly I wanted to lift those blasted skirts, to pull those stockings down for her, to have her completely naked underneath me. Gingerly, she reached out her leg and stuck her toes into the creek.

I could take it no longer and stepped from the woods. "Back for more, Rose?"

My voice came out gruff.

"No," she said breathlessly. I couldn't see her face and I so badly wanted to read her reaction to my presence. "I actually thought to wade in the water, to see what the fuss is about."

"By all means."

"Absolutely not." She pulled her feet back and tucked them under her skirts. She wore a dress as plain as the one she wore yesterday. "Not while you're here watching."

I strolled casually toward her, the steady pace of my feet belying my racing pulse. "You can spy on me, but I can't you? Not exactly fair."

I paused next to her and could finally see her profile. Shite, she was as pretty as I'd remembered. Not as stunning as some women I'd fucked, but there was something about her... I admired her boldness, her candor, her natural curiosity.

She was blushing. "You're teasing me."

I laughed. I hadn't laughed in a very long time. The sound felt strange and rusty coming from my lips. Whether her innocence was an act or not, she amused me. "Perhaps. Have you never been teased?"

She frowned, as if thinking it over. Hell, even her frown intrigued me. She wore her hair in a simple braid down her back, curly wisps framing her heart-shaped face. Pretty, but not stunning. I studied her features, attempting to untangle the unfamiliar thoughts running through my mind. Why her?

"I don't have any brothers," she said, "and my father has always been much too serious to tease."

She grabbed her stockings and stuffed them into the pockets of her skirts, then pulled on her slippers. They were black, common-looking and slightly frayed. Her blue dress was decorated with tiny white feminine flowers, but the material was worn and smudged with dirt, or maybe it was charcoal if her love of drawing was true. There was even a small tear near the hem. Surely she came from no titled family. The relief I felt was immediate. Hell, I'd barely slept last night and had awoken hard and irritable. I needed her. Needed the dalliance, needed to forget for a while.

"I do have friends with brothers and know how they behave. But teasing from you is familiar in a way I'm not sure is exactly appropriate."

Appropriate? She'd seen me naked. I'd just been staring at the delicate arches of her bare feet. Appropriate had left long ago. Damnation, no one was this innocent. It had to be an act. And if it was an act I would play along. If she felt the need to pretend before she let me up her skirts, so be it. I was cynical, of course, and didn't trust easily. But then with my upbringing how could I be anything less.

"Come," I said. "Will you show me the area?"

She stiffened, surprised, staring up at me warily as if I was a wild animal she dare not trust. Good girl. Smart. "Walk with you?"

"I'm hardly asking you to marry me." There was that blush once more. "Just a short stroll."

She took her lower lip between her teeth and glanced around the area, as if making sure we were alone. Her two front teeth were the slightest bit crooked. For some reason I found the imperfection intriguing. Hell, this wasn't me at all. I preferred mistresses who knew their place, and knew how to please. I didn't have to work for them, they worked for me.

"Most are at dinner," I added casually. "And I did share my meal, you do owe me."

She smiled like a seductress, shy and tempting. "Very well."

Her quick acceptance surprised me, yet only reaffirmed my belief that this innocent game was a ruse. I held out my hand. She hesitated only a moment, then slid her fingers around mine. The friction of her soft palm against my tougher skin was erotic, to say the least. I pulled her to her feet.

Perhaps I'd done it on purpose, but instinctively I pulled a little too hard and she stumbled into me. Her free palm flattened to my chest, her body sank into mine. Startled, her eyes went wide. She was exactly the type of woman I craved, all lush curves and warmth. Hell, she smelled good. Fresh air, roses and woman.

I released her hand and gripped her shoulders. "Careful."

She tilted her head back and stared up at me. Eyes the color of the sky above, surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes I'd ever seen. At first glance I'd thought she was pretty, but nothing special. The longer I was with her, the more beautiful she became.

"Thank you, sir."

I stepped back, giving her space. Or maybe I needed space. I wasn't used to games...to waiting. When I desired a woman, I knew it, she knew it. We did what we wanted, when we wanted, finding pleasure together. But with her, my Rose, I wasn't sure. Perhaps that's what intrigued me so. She might have the same lush body I adored on a woman, but she was not the open book other mistresses had been.

I wondered once more why I wasted my time. Hell, I could head into town and find more than one woman willing to ease the ache in my cock. But I wanted her, and I knew only she would do.

"This," she said, "will be your field, if you purchase the Welch Estate."

She glanced at me curiously, attempting to read my situation. Silly chit. Let her wonder if I was attached or not, if I had money or a title. If she thought to trick me into marriage, she would soon know better. But if she wanted to dream so high above her station, let her, for it would get me what I wanted. And after, if she complained, I'd throw some money her way. Money had the amazing ability to not only get a person whatever he wanted, but to shut others up.

"It's been empty for some time, it will need work," she said, watching me again to read my reaction. She was confused about my station, couldn't decide on which level I belonged. "A large house that has not had a proprietor for some time."

I glanced around the field, not bothering to respond.

She moved in front of me as the trail narrowed. I was more than happy to fall back and let her lead. The sway of her hips was seductive, the way her braid brushed across her lower back mesmerizing. Flirt. Temptress.

I saw the root before she did. Tripping, she stumbled forward. I was quick to reach out, grab her around the waist and jerk her back against my chest. Her lush body fit perfectly to mine. My cock swelled, lengthening and hardening against her bottom, as my arm wrapped around her narrow waist, pressing intimately to the underside of her breasts. For a moment we merely stood there. Surely she felt my arousal, yet made no move to jump out of my arms.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Too soon, my instincts told me. I breathed deeply her scent, savoring her warmth. Reluctantly, I released my hold and stepped back. "Of course."

"This," she said, nodding toward the right. "Is the watering pond."

South of the creek where I'd been bathing, it was a large pond where a few cows lingered along the edge. I didn't give a shite about the pond, but I would pretend. "Used for livestock?"

She glanced at me shyly. "Mostly."

"Do tell me, Rose." I stepped beside her as the trail widened. My arm brushed hers, but she did not flinch away. She was comfortable being alone with a man, comfortable with touching. "Do you know a lot about cows and livestock?"

She grinned as if she knew exactly what I was doing. "No."

"I see."

She slid me a glance. "Are you asking if my family comes from farmers?"

"I might be." Damn, she was a puzzle, and her little flirting act had pulled me in, just as she'd planned. "Yes."

"They are not."

I quirked a brow. "And I assume that is all you will say about the matter?"

"Of course."

She ducked under a branch and suddenly disappeared into the trees.

And our little game continued. With a sigh of frustration, I followed. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I realized that not far from where I stood the thick trees faded away and an orchard appeared. An orchard in full spring bloom.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she whispered, suddenly standing next to me like a fairy that came and went with the breeze. Hell, I didn't believe in magic, I didn't believe in anything I couldn't see, yet here I was wondering if she'd come from another world.

Her skin was as pure as porcelain, those eyes as bright and shiny as stars. She was so mesmerizing, that for a moment I felt the very devil for even standing next to her. If she was innocent, I would destroy that innocence if given the chance.

"Isn't it?" she asked again.

I tore my gaze from her and glanced impassively toward the orchard. I felt nothing at the picture, but then I'd felt so little for so very long. "Yes, I suppose."

Laughing, she twirled away from me, racing into the orchard. A warm breeze swept from the woods, rattling the branches. White petals rained down, falling around her. I merely stood there, watching as she twirled around underneath a tree. My own private, seductive show.

She was stunning.

A fairy.

A country goddess.

She would be mine.

I was on her in three steps. Without thought, I latched onto her wrist and jerked her into my arms. She gasped, her hands flattening to my chest. I was no longer amused. "Do you tempt me on purpose, little one?"

Her breath was warm and quick across my neck. "Of course not."

Annoyance fought with intrigue. A ruse. She was playing with me. No one could be that innocent. I started to tell her exactly what I thought of her little game, when I spotted the small line of blood along her delicate neck. "What have you done?"

Frowning, she reached toward the wound. "I scratched it on a branch when you grabbed me so roughly, for which you really should apologize."

Roughly? She didn't know what rough was. Ignoring her, I scooped the woman up into my arms. I'd apologize when she admitted she was playing the innocent.

"Put me down!" she cried out. "I'm fine, truly!"

I liked her in my arms, and found myself purposefully slowing just so I could hold her close a little longer. Her curves were warm, her scent intoxicating. I settled her on a fallen log. "Sit, and be quiet."

She glared up at me.

I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it to her neck. "Just a small scratch. Are you always so accident prone?"

She lifted her brows. "And are you always so rude?"

I thought about my answer for a minute. "Not rude, merely truthful."

"An opinion. It's merely your opinion," she insisted. "There is a difference you know."

I pulled the handkerchief away. The bleeding had already stopped. It was a mere scratch, as I had thought. Still, there was something blasphemous about seeing the red mark across her perfect skin. "Perhaps. Yes. But I have found that my opinions are often correct."

"Well," she said haughtily. "I am not accident prone. I am quite elegant, actually, and the scratch was your fault."

It was hard to take her seriously when she had flower petals in her hair. I wasn't sure whether to shake some sense into her, or laugh. Who was this woman? Instead of shaking her, I cupped the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly. "Who are you?"

Her eyes widened with unease. She didn't dare look away. I held her captive, and she knew it. "Jules."

I frowned, confused. "What?"

"People call me Jules."

"Jules." My hand slid from her hair and trailed down the delicate column of her neck. She shivered, her breath coming out in a gasp. The feelings that stirred within made the woman uneasy. Yet, I knew she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I could practically smell her desire. "And are you a proper miss, Jules?"

She laughed, a soft, startled breath of air. "No. Most would say not."

At least she had the audacity to admit as much. A flirt then, as I'd expected. Part of me, a small part, was actually disappointed. But most of me was relieved. No more games. I wanted her. She wanted me. I pulled back, giving her space.

She smoothed down her skirts, her gaze on the task. I didn't miss the way her hands trembled. "I should go."

"Why?"

She flushed, seemingly flustered. "Because I don't know you."

I didn't want her to leave. Hell, I was bored here in this blasted sunny and cheerful village, and she offered a temptation, a way to forget, for a moment, my responsibilities. "Well then, shall we rectify that situation?"

She watched me through narrowed eyes. "How?"

"You tell me something about yourself and I tell you something about me."

She plucked a blue flower blooming near the log and twirled it between her fingers. "Something?"

"Anything."

She hesitated. "Sounds harmless enough."

I almost laughed. The word harmless had never been associated with my name. Yes, I was stalling, attempting to keep her by my side, but I was also truly curious about this strange woman who had appeared from the woods like a mythical creature. "I'll go first."

She nodded.

"I don't like sweets. Not at all."

She stiffened, as if I'd offended her. "Really? How could someone not like sweets?"

I shrugged, finding her horrified reaction amusing. I forgot how much I enjoyed being around the feminine species. Lord, she smelled good. All soft flowers, and other things that teased.

She frowned, as if she could no longer trust a person who didn't like sweets. "All right. I do like sweets, very much."

"Oh no," I said, scooting closer. "You can't use mine."

She grinned, a flush covering her high cheekbones. I had regained her trust so easily. "Alright, I often read books my mother would never approve of."

I lifted a brow. "What sort of books?"

"Romances, novels."

I sighed and pulled my gaze from her to look out upon the orchard. We couldn't grow a blasted orchard on our marshy, gloomy moors. But the dark dreariness suited me. I was comfortable there. It was all I understood. Not this sunshine. "Not nearly as exciting as I thought."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"You can't get all missus and proper on me now." I paused. "All right, tell me something you've never told anyone, and I will tell you something. But we must swear on our lives to never reveal our secrets."

Her gaze sparkled. "Our lives? And they say women are dramatic."

I frowned. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not." She stared at me with innocent eyes, but I could see the twinkle of amusement there, within their blue depths. She was life and energy. Hell, a woman like her would fade, would slowly die on my moors.

I grunted and looked away. "Now you've hurt my feelings."

She laughed. "Why do I have a feeling no one could ever hurt you?"

She knew me better than I'd thought. The realization left me uneasy. I'd been so careful to hide my true, cynical self and play the part of the romantic suitor. "Are you saying I have no heart?"

"Of course not. I don't know you well enough to assume anything." She blushed. "Very well, I'll tell you a secret if you don't hold it against me...I'm quite ruined."

I arched a brow. Shite, was she actually admitting it? A variety of confusing emotions stirred within. Hell, the thought of someone else touching her infuriated me, as irrational as it was.

"It's true." She stared at the blue flower she'd picked. "I was caught in a garden at a party with a man. He kissed me."

I laughed, relieved. A mere kiss? Was she jesting? "You're a silly girl."

She glared up at me. "And you are highly offensive, sir." She surged to her feet. "I really do think I should leave."

But I latched onto her arm and pulled her down to sit beside me. "Perhaps I like silly girls."

She tilted her chin high. "You cannot make it better now, I'm afraid."

"I bet I can." My gaze dipped to her lips. I didn't much care for these games of innocence. I'd rather get on with it already. Why I was attracted to her, I wasn't sure. But I wanted her. Hell, innocent or not, I was going to have her.

"You wouldn't dare." She pressed her hands to my chest to keep me back, guessing my intention. "We barely know each other."

"That's not true. I know things about you, and you know things about me that most people don't."

She hesitated. "Yes, perhaps facts, but not important things...such as our very personalities."

I took her hands in mine. "Oh, I think I know you very well. You like attention. You like to tease."

"I don't." Her eyes grew wide. "See, you don't know..."

I cupped the back of her head, and drew her forward, molding my mouth to hers. She tasted of summer, of vitality, of innocence. Of everything I craved but could never have. Stiff at first, it took only a sweep of my tongue across her lips to get her to relax into me. The lush woman sank into my arms, moaning as I hoped she would. My attraction flared. This was why I played her ridiculous games when I normally wouldn't...because for some bloody reason I was desperately attracted to her.

Lord, her lips were soft. Her breasts pressed eagerly to my chest, her body quivering with her own need. When her tongue timidly touched mine, I lost all sense of responsibility, all sense of control. I slid my hands down her back, cupping her bottom and jerking her up against me. It was too much.

With a gasp, she shoved her hands against my chest and tried to push away. "Let me go!"

Bemused, I took in her shimmering tears.

"Just because I kissed one man, doesn't mean I kiss all men."

"I'm done with your games," I snapped, my irritation growing. "You roam the countryside alone. You undress in front of men. You watch me bathe. You admit you're ruined and improper. But my kiss offends you?"

Her lower lip quivered, her eyes full of fear and surprise.

I offered no comfort, merely surged to my feet in disgust. Did I feel even the slightest twinge of guilt? Not in the least. I was savage in my anger and need for her. "I could have showed you pleasure, my dear. And believe me, you would have enjoyed it. But I don't force women, so you can stop your maidenly tears. Go home. I'm through with you."

The witch had taken me under, consumed me. I couldn't sleep last night because thoughts of her warm, lush body kept invading my dreams. How the hell could I be so aroused and angry all at once?

Tonight I'd find a more forthright whore to fuck in town. Perhaps that would ease the ache. Damn her. Without another word, I stalked through the orchard. She would not defeat me.

So why then, as I left the trees, did I feel as if I'd just lost our little game?

Chapter 3

Julianna

"We're home, darling dear!"

Startled, I lowered the notepad and charcoal. I'd attempted to draw the local abbey, the farmers at work, even our rose garden...yet after only ten minutes I'd given up and focused on my true muse: James.

How had I not heard the carriage approach? For the same reason I couldn't concentrate on the drawing...thoughts of the man who had turned my world into utter chaos. I snapped the book shut, hiding the drawing from prying eyes.

Usually I'd be amused by my family's return. I'd listen with a grin as Mother and Penny discussed the latest gossip. Watch with casual interest as they showed me the latest fashion they'd bought from some boutique. And I would be happy to see them. The days would fade back into normalcy. This was my family, and I was content within their familiar circle. Comfortable even.

But not today. Two days later and I was still feeling the effects of his kiss. Two days later and James, whoever he was, still remained the focus of my thoughts. He was a mere field away. Our new neighbor. I'd thought he would be so much better than Welch's son, I'd been wrong.

Father would probably invite him over for dinner now that they'd returned. It would be the polite thing to do. And I'd be forced to sit at the dining room table as he laughed at Father's jokes, charmed Mother and Penny. I couldn't stand it. I wouldn't.

"Darling, you look tired, are you well?" Mother asked, swooping across the room, a hat box in hand.

I stood and hugged them both. "I'm fine. So happy you're back."

Mother set the hat box upon the side table. "Well, that's nice to hear."

"Oh, I think I know you. You like attention. You like to tease."

How dare he brand me a flirt. He didn't know me. Didn't know me at all.

"I'm done with your games. You roam the countryside alone. You undress in front of men. You watch me bathe. You admit you're ruined and improper. But my kiss offends you?"

"Julianna," Penny sighed. "I asked if we've received any callers?"

I forced myself to smile. "No. Not recently."

How I hated him! Hated him with a passion the likes of which I'd never known before. How dare he. How dare he! As if a woman should not be able to have the same liberties as a man. As if I was a whore merely because I enjoyed walking the countryside.

"You must see what we've purchased!" Penny exclaimed. Servants were carrying trunks into the sitting room and my sister was making quick work of seeing them opened.

Needing a moment, I walked to the windows. Lord, the coach was even heavier laden than last year. What had they bought? The contents of Buckingham Palace? I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Any other time I would have been happy enough to see them. But now I merely wished to be alone with my thoughts. It had taken every ounce of resolve not to visit our new neighbor and tell him exactly what I thought about his comments.

Why had he kissed me? I'd even worn an old dress to dissuade him, or maybe more to prove to myself that I didn't care what he thought about my looks. Yet, it hadn't helped. Were all men the same? Merely thinking of what they wanted? Taking when they pleased, no matter who they hurt in the process? But I supposed the question wasn't why had he kissed me. No, it was why had I gone there in the first place?

"So much to tell you," Penny said, as she helped Mother unpack the trunks. "Oh, I do wish you would come along. Everyone's practically forgotten about the incident, Julianna. Haven't they, Mother?"

The day was dreary, rainy and depressing, much like my mood.

"Of course!" She paused. "Well, Lady Kendrick did mention it, but only to see how you fared."

I rolled my eyes. Because she had always been such an empathetic figure. I would have assumed another scandal would have taken precedence since my departure. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool glass and watching the rain patter against the panes. How stupid I'd been to step outside that night in London.

Needing air, I'd merely gotten close to the doors of the balcony. When Welch's son, Harry, had smiled and taken my hand, I'd fallen for that charming grin. I'd known him. Although we weren't well acquainted, we had met upon occasion. His father owned the neighboring estate, after all. And when he gently pulled me outside, I allowed it because James was right...I was curious. Much too curious.

Harry would have married me. In fact, that had been his plan all along. But my usually quiet and reclusive father had taken a stand for once in his life. He'd known a man out for a deep pocket. Welch's son had tried to trap me and had almost succeeded. He probably would have with any other woman.

Instead, Father had packed us all in the carriage, commented that he would not be duped into giving my dowry to a man who liked to gamble. And I was grateful, even if it had ruined my reputation. Father had warned Lord Welch to keep his son away from our town, or there would be hell to pay. As far as we knew, the old man had kept to his word.

But I was tainted. Free, but tainted. Father said London would soon uncover a new scandal and I could find a nice gentleman farmer to marry. The eldest daughter of a viscount marrying a farmer. Poor father. He'd tried so hard, but had been saddled with only two silly girls. And the title and fortune would go to a distant cousin. At least the entitled property.

I wished I could have said my parents had been shocked by my mishap. Sadly, they hadn't been. How different my life would be if I'd only stayed inside that fateful evening. I'd be married by now, perhaps expecting my first child.

"Lord Whitfield danced with me twice, Julianna. Can you believe that?" Penny squealed.

Had I flirted with James as I had with Lord Welch's son? Yes. I supposed I had. My face flushed with embarrassment. I had enjoyed it. Welch's son had made me uneasy, his kiss had been wet and clammy. But James...his kiss had been firm, commanding. A kiss I'd felt all the way to the tips of my toes.

I adored the countryside, but perhaps I had missed the adventures of London society as well, why else would I so easily fall for James and the excitement he represented? But surely there was nothing wrong with harmless flirting. And what man in his right mind assumed that if a woman flirted, she wanted to be mauled?

All men apparently.

I rested my fingertips to my lips. Even two days later I swore they still tingled from his touch. Truth of the matter was I hadn't disliked his lips on me. A warm shiver of awareness trembled through my body. A not unpleasant feeling that had kept me up at night. I'd wanted him to kiss me. I'd wanted more, although more of what, I wasn't sure.

"He's so handsome," Penny said wistfully. "Mother says he's one of the best catches! Has always skipped societal functions before, but is apparently in need of a wife."

If I ever saw him again I'd...I'd slap him, I would. He needed to know that I would not take his abuse. That no woman should have to, whether titled or not.

"He danced with me twice, Julianna. Twice! You know what that means..."

And I most likely would see him again if we were to be neighbors. The thought of James tainting my home with his presence made me anxious. I glanced at the windows, as if expecting to find him strolling so arrogantly up the drive.

"I'll most likely be engaged by week's end."

Penny's words hit me like a slap across the face. I spun around. "Pardon?"

She grinned, her happiness stunning and confusing. "An earl! I'm not jesting! Mother said I could capture a duke, but I think an earl will do. Were you not listening?"

"Indeed," Mother said, as Molly brought in a tray of tea. "An earl works quite well. So very proud of you, my dear. But then with your looks, I knew you would not leave London empty-handed."

Penny and Mother laughed, so delighted in their victory. They had, apparently, won.

Numbly, I moved toward the chair across from Mother and sank onto the cushioned seat. Penny had found an earl on her second run in London. She had re-established the family name that I had so easily destroyed. Father called her his little angel, and perhaps she was.

Why was I so shocked? It was why all women went to London, wasn't it? I shouldn't have been surprised. I wanted to be happy for her, I was, but at the same time I felt the utter bewilderment of someone who was being left behind.

"Tell me about him," I somehow managed to get out. "Is he kind? Does he have a sense of humor?"

"He's so very handsome, Julianna." To everyone else I was known as Jules, but Penny had decided only this year it wasn't sophisticated enough. "Every lady wanted him."

Mother handed me a cup of tea. "Should have seen Lady Reeves! Green with envy!"

I sipped my tea, not really tasting the warm drink. A heavy ache had settled in my chest. "But...do you know him well enough? You were only gone for two months, Penny."

She sighed as she pulled a silken wrap from a trunk. Five trunks in all. I suddenly understood why they had shopped so thoroughly...Penny was preparing to be an earl's wife and must have the clothing to go along with her new role.

"Two months. How much longer do I need to truly know him? Why, we will have the rest of our lives."

"Exactly," Mother replied eagerly. "A woman never wants to know too much about her husband. A little mystery is a good thing."

I ignored that piece of ill logic. "Yes, but..."

"For you!" Penny danced toward me and threw the red wrap around my shoulders. "Mother said it would bring out the red in your hair, and she was right!"

"I don't have red hair," I mumbled, my mind spinning. "It's brown. Plain brown."

Penny was going to marry.

Life was going to change.

I would be alone then, with mother, who would nag at me relentlessly about gossip, clothing and finding a husband. No more quiet nights to read while Mother and Penny chatted. No talking with Penny into the wee hours of the morning about our hopes and dreams.

My life as the spinster sister was about to begin.

"And Lady Weathers invited us to a masked ball!" Penny exclaimed, pulling me from my thoughts. "But of course I knew him immediately. He's so very tall and handsome, even with a mask. Julianna, you are listening, aren't you?"

I forced myself to smile. Bitterness and jealousy had no place in my heart. I loved my sister. I wanted her to be happy. "Of course I'm listening. I'm so happy for you."

She sighed, brushing aside a golden curl that had slipped from her bun. "Oh Julianna, you'll see. Your time will come. He has brothers. Lots of them. Perhaps we'll find someone for you!"

"Dear," I said with a forced laugh. "I'm perfectly happy being the doting aunt."

She knelt in front of a trunk and frowned. "Yes, but I want you to have children for mine to play with. Remember? We talked about that all the time when we were young. It was our dream."

"Oh dear," Mother murmured, looking anxious. "All will be well."

I nodded, standing. "Show me what you've purchased."

If only she would speak of something else. I was trying, truly, yet I couldn't seem to diminish my sadness. I was losing my sister. My family. Everything was changing.

"Lord Whitfield is coming to visit, Julianna." She pulled out a lavender gown. "You'll get to meet him and you'll be so impressed!"

"Here?" I asked, startled. "He's coming here. When?"

Penny dove into a trunk, half-hidden by the lid. "Not sure. Maybe in a few days. He's so incredibly handsome, Julianna."

"Yes, you said as much."

"I should go to the stables," Penny muttered. "I did wish to speak to Samuel about the thoroughbreds I saw in London."

"Penny," Mother sighed. "Surely your horses can wait! And you certainly don't need to bother Samuel, no matter how handsome he is, and how much he indulges you. He has work to do."

"Mother," Penny whined, her face turning red. "Yes, Samuel is handsome, but he's certainly no Whitfield."

"Of course not," Mother replied loyally. "No one could match the man. And surely that rumor about what happened to his father is merely a rumor."

I struggled to regain control. "What rumor?"

"Mother, should I wear the red silk when he comes?"

Mother surged to her feet. "Lord, no. It's much to bold, dear. You must appear meek and innocent. Men like innocent women."

I couldn't remain there listening to Mother's terrible advice, and Penny waxing poetically about her future fiancé. In a few days I would meet the, no doubt, pompous, titled, arrogant gent who would take my sister away forever. I would smile and be happy for her. But for now, I would run away. I would go into my woods where I could be alone. Alone with my thoughts.

"I'm going to talk to cook about dinner." I started toward the door. "You know how hungry father is after a long trip."

"Oh darling, don't worry," Mother said. "I'm sure he's already demanded something to eat."

"I'll just make sure."

Before they could protest I left the room. I kept my steps slow and steady as I moved across the foyer. I didn't hurry as I walked down the front stoop and into the dreary drizzle. Didn't run as I moved across the drive, toward the back garden. I even managed to smile at a maid as she scurried toward the house to get out of the rain.

But the moment I reached the trail, I picked up my skirts and I fled. I ran through the woods, slipping and stumbling along the muddy path. I ran by the creek where James had been bathing only days ago. I raced through the field where he and I had walked, until my slippers were covered in muck. I ran until I made it to the orchard. My orchard.

Gasping for air, I paused in the middle of the orchard while a cold drizzle fell around me. It wasn't the same. This was my place, but he had ruined it with his kiss. I didn't want to think about him, yet I couldn't stop myself. Everywhere I went, all of my best places, were spoiled by the memory of James. Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I crouched and grabbed a fallen stick. Holding it like a sword, I swung it wide.

"Blast it!" I hit the tree with the branch as the tears streamed down my face, mixing with the rain. I'd pretended that I welcomed being a spinster. I'd told myself I would be content. I'd lied. "Damn you!"

"Please, whatever the tree has done, surely it does not deserve such abuse."

I spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. He'd returned. How dare he. How dare he visit the place where I found peace. My special orchard.

He stepped into the clearing, wearing dark brown trousers that hugged his muscled thighs and a white, linen shirt with a waistcoat, yet no jacket. The sleeves were rolled up his sinewy forearms as if he'd been working. He was no lazy man to sit around and smoke cigars.

He irritated me like no other. He was arrogant when he had no right to be. He thought of women as nothing more than property to use when the mood struck. Yet...yet my heart leapt into my throat when I saw him. My pulse pounded. My body came to life. I realized in that moment that the roar of blood through my veins had nothing to do with anger or nerves and everything to do with the fact that I was thrilled he was near. I wanted to see him. Desired him like I had never desired any man before. While my rational mind told me he was a bad idea, my body didn't care.

I should have left. I should have slapped him. Instead, I merely stood there, breasts heaving, the stick dangling from my fingertips. Desperately I tried to school my features, attempting to look as cold and distant as he.

James strolled into the clearing casually, his dark hair damp and curled at the ends from the rain. There was no eagerness in his steps. My mind might have been consumed by thoughts of the man, but he didn't desire to see me as I did him. "Why are you crying?"

He did not ask because he felt compassion or sympathy, only curiosity. He was cruel. Cold. Unfeeling. I swiped angrily at my damp cheeks. "Do not concern yourself." I started toward the trail. "I was just leaving."

He reached out, latching onto my arm. "Tell me."

Startled, I spun around, taking the stick with me. The momentum swung the weapon wide. It hit his head with a whack that vibrated against his thick skull.

"Damnation!" he cried out, releasing his hold and stumbling back.

Horrified, I dropped the stick and surged toward him. "I'm so sorry!"

He held up his hands, warning me away as if I had the very plague. "No! You've done enough. Good God, woman, you are a complete menace to not only yourself, but society in general."

He was hurt and angry, I tried not to let his words bother me. "I didn't mean to harm you." But he didn't look as if he believed me. "It's the truth!"

Glaring at me, he pressed his fingers to his forehead. I grimaced, noting the red welt. "Hell."

I bit my lower lip, feeling guilty and validated all at the same time. I wanted to help him, but part of me wanted to laugh as well. "I'm usually not this clumsy, I swear it."

"Why don't I believe you?" He started toward the trail, only to swerve. "Shite."

My amusement faded. I raced to his side and wrapped my arm around his waist. Just what I needed...to add murderer to my list of offenses. "Come, I'll help you home."

I swore he growled. "I don't think I need your sort of help."

It was hard to concentrate when his musky scent swirled around me. "Don't be rude."

"Rude?" His breath was a burst of air that warmed the top of my head. His body was heated, a furnace that pressed against mine, making it hard to concentrate. I wanted to cuddle closer to his heat, to burrow into his warmth. "Truly? Are you really lecturing me?"

I frowned as I helped him along the path that led next to the field. I realized, as that unfamiliar shiver raced down my spine, that being this close to him wasn't very intelligent. His body was all hard muscle under my hands. His scent intoxicating. He could kiss me again before I'd know better. "I'm helping, you could be thankful."

"Are you serious? You practically killed me!"

"Killed?" I sighed, daring to glance up at him. Just as I'd thought, he was glaring down at me. I couldn't look away. Those eyes were fascinating, so very dark that it was hard to see the pupils. Demon's eyes. "Isn't that a bit dramatic?"

"No, dramatic is beating a tree with a stick."

I blushed and tore my gaze from his. I would not be baited by his bullying ways. We'd made it halfway there. My hair hung in wet clumps around my face, making it hard to see. "You should be able to make it the rest of the way."

"Why?" He said the words as a command, as if he fully expected me to respond. "Why were you crying? You at least owe me an explanation."

I owed him nothing. "Are you asking because you care or merely because you're curious?"

He laughed. "Care? No. Curious, I suppose.

As I'd thought, but at least he was honest. I wondered briefly if the man cared about anyone but himself. How could a farmer who lived in a dilapidated estate be so arrogant? I took in a deep breath. "I'm going to be a spinster."

"Is that all?"

My anger flared. How was it that I found myself with this man once more, enduring his abuse? Apparently God had a wretched sense of humor. "Perhaps you don't understand, being a male and all..."

"Glad you noticed."

Oh, I'd noticed all right. I noticed the muscles of his back as my palm pressed so intimately to him. I noticed the warmth of his skin even through his damp clothing. I noticed the way the man practically branded me with his very essence.

I attempted to steady my nerves as we made it to his front garden. "But as a woman it is our duty to marry."

His arm wrapped around my shoulders, as he leaned farther into my side. Yes, I noticed every bit of him, from the feel of his fingers gripping my hip, to the brush of his thigh against my side. "Duty? That sounds lovely."

"What? Should marriage be romance and love?" I scoffed. "Is that what you're saying?"

He shrugged. "Don't women think so?"

"Perhaps." I fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. What did most women want? What did I want? "Yes, of course. We do. And we want a family, but mostly a home of our own. As women we are beholden to our parents. As a married adult—"

"You are beholden to your husband."

"Yes," I frowned. "You would think so. In fact, you probably believe men own women like property."

We paused at the bottom of the front stoop. The rain had stopped. He jerked away, facing me. "Don't presume to know me, Jules. Believe me, I think women could take over the world if they wanted, they are that devious."

I shook my head, confused. "Devious?"

He started up his stoop and tore open the front door. The thatched home wasn't as bad as I'd first presumed. He must have been working on the place.

"Show me an honest woman who is not out to manipulate," he paused at the door, "and I'll show you St. Nicholas himself."

Anger spurred me forward. I followed him up to the front stoop. "And show me a man who is not out to take advantage of a woman in order to gratify his...his..."

He turned to face me. We stood in the doorway, he inside his home, I on the outside. "His what?"

When he quirked a dark brow I realized he was laughing at me, I could see the amusement in his gaze. Blast him, anyway!

"Pride! His male pride!"

"Yes, men do have big...pride." He looked away, but not before I saw the quick quirk of his lips. I almost smiled in kind. What was it about this man? One moment I wanted to slap him, the next laugh with him. He drove me utterly mad.

"Then marry," he said, bracing his hands on either side the door frame. "Surely you can find some pathetic sod whom you can lead around by your pretty finger."

I actually flushed when he called me pretty. Lord, I was acting the virginal debutante. Things were once more getting out of control. I took a step back. "I should leave."

He frowned. "I feel quite dizzy, and you did promise to help me home."

"You are home." I watched him warily. When he bowed his head as if in pain, I relented. "Fine. I will escort you inside the parlor. You do have a parlor?"

"Yes." He swerved on his feet.

I rushed forward and wrapped my arm around his waist. "Blast," I muttered, my guilt flaring. We shuffled into the foyer, than moved to the left. I'd been here years ago, before Lord Welch had inherited the place. James had cleaned the rooms, white-washed the walls even. In the air was the scent of lemons and wax. I'd never known a man to care so much about cleanliness and order.

James leaned heavily into my side. "So, it's your dream to marry?"

I was surprised to see the parlor furnished with two chairs flanking the fireplace and a settee. Part of his home, anyway, was livable. "No, it's my dream to have a painting hang in the house of some lofty lord who can afford whatever he wants, but is so impressed with my work that he will pay whatever it takes to own my painting."

He watched me curiously as I helped him toward one of the chairs near the hearth but he didn't sit, just continued to loom over me. "I see."

"But...yes. I'd like to marry, I suppose." I pulled my arm away, but he didn't release his hold on my hip. "I'd like to have children. Children who will explore the countryside with me. Children I can teach to paint."

He sighed. "Lord, as if we need more girls like you."

I stiffened in outrage. "Most people enjoy my company very well, thank you! And if you don't you can walk home—"

"I am home, you ninny, and this is why women can't be trusted, because they can't control their emotions."

I shoved him away. "Why, you..."

Suddenly his lips were on me. As we stood in his parlor, dripping rainwater onto the floorboards, he cupped the sides of my face and molded his mouth to mine. Startled, I merely stood there letting him kiss me. His firm hold gentled, his hands falling from my face, to slide down my arms and grip my hips. He pulled me up into his body, never breaking the kiss.

This is what I'd dreamt about. What had kept me up for the last two nights. A dream come true, I was lost. With a groan, I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. He took full advantage and slid his tongue against my lips. Startled, I gasped. Would I ever get used to the feeling? I'd heard of men and women kissing with their tongues, but never had I experienced the sensation before James.

When his tongue slid into my mouth all warm velvet and need, I didn't push him away, but gripped the front of his shirt to keep from collapsing to the ground in a puddle of desire. I wanted to arch into him, to melt into his body.

He tasted of ale, of him. His velvet tongue dueled with mine, rubbing erotically so that I lost control of time, of the very world around me. With a whimper, I rose on my toes, and molded my body to his, the hard bulk of his bulge pressing into my skirts.

He pulled back first this time. I had to swallow my whimper of protest. I was acutely aware of my heavy breasts and aching body. Breathless, we merely stood there, staring at each other. It took a moment for me to understand what had happened. Blimey, I'd let him kiss me. A moment longer for me to realize I still clung to his shirt.

"God, you're annoying," he muttered.

"Tis a good thing your opinion means nothing to me." I was too shocked by the kiss to take true offense. Yet, I couldn't help but ask, "If you don't like me, why do you continue to kiss me?"

"I never said I didn't like you, my pet." He reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering at my cheek. "I like you very, very much. Too much."

He liked me? The words sent a thrilling shiver down my body. I stepped back, confused. My heart beat with a ferocity that I didn't recognize. I wasn't sure I enjoyed feeling so unlike myself. "I need to go."

With my fingers pressed to my tingling lips I raced from the parlor and toward the front stoop. If we'd been caught, my family would never survive another scandal. I would be forced to marry him. I could never marry a man so...so arrogant. So very selfish. So very...

"Jules," he said.

I swallowed hard as I paused on the front stoop. "Yes?"

He was close behind me. I could feel his heat, smell his scent, sense his very being. So close that if I merely stepped back, we would be touching. "I will take advantage of you if given the chance."

That ache between my thighs flared. Honest. He'd always only been honest, yet I fell into his trap every bloody time. I hungered for this man like I'd never hungered for anyone. "Perhaps I won't let you."

His hands trailed down my back, a gentle touch of his fingers. I had to resist the urge to close my eyes and sigh. The entire world seemed off balance. I felt lightheaded, strange. "It's a game," he said. "You made the first move when you spied on me at the creek." He leaned close, his chest to my back, his lips near my ear. "And I always, always win. Know that as a warning. Do not return to my home unless you are prepared to give me your all."

I didn't bother to respond, but picked up my skirts and ran. I ran down the steps so fast I nearly tripped. I ran across the field until I could barely breathe. Ran until I found the safety of the woods where he couldn't see me. Only then did I slow. He had warned me.

So why, I wondered, was I more thrilled with the idea of seeing him again, than terrified as I should have been?

Chapter 4

James

I sipped my whiskey, listening with half an ear as Lord Welch spoke of fields and crops. I'd offered to meet with the man out of mere consideration. He had been friends with my father. Now I wished I'd declined. I had been thinking of buying his cottage and estate, but decided against it. I no longer desired to stay in the area. The land was shite for growing crops. At least that's what I told myself, and it was true. But the real reason was that Jules was much too much of a temptation. Word would get out and society would uncover the truth of our affair eventually. The gossip would ruin my plans. I'd worked too bloody hard to let a scandal destroy me now.

"So you see...it's a great piece of land."

Welch was the only one in town who knew my true name, my title. I didn't need the locals scraping and bowing when I walked by. But my time had run out.

"Indeed." I nodded toward the barkeep for the tab. Although I'd told him I was no longer interested, the man had debts that needed to be paid. He reeked of desperation. I should have felt sorry for him, I didn't. He liked to drink. His wife liked to spend. His son was a known gambler. A useless piece of property would be just his ticket out.

He shifted in his chair. "I understand you've decided against the purchase, but—"

"Do you know of a woman named Jules, Welch?"

Hell, I hadn't meant to ask, but the words had slipped from my lips before I'd been able to stop myself. A quick look of shock crossed his ruddy face, a flash of recognition. But it was gone before I could be sure. He frowned, appearing confused. But I didn't miss the flush to his jowls. "Don't believe so. Surname?"

"I don't know, but she's from the area," I admitted. Had I imagined his look of surprise? What a strange reaction, but then I never had trusted the man. His son was even more of an arse. Handsome, titled, but stupid. I could only pray, for the good of the country, their line would die out swiftly.

"Can't say I do, but I don't spend a lot of time in the area. No, I much prefer the city where people are educated, civilized." He released a harsh laugh, but the mirth didn't quite reach his blood-shot eyes. "Why the interest?"

"No reason." I narrowed my gaze. Why did I feel as if he lied? Hell, had he slept with her? Was she known around the area as the town whore? The sudden stab of jealousy was like nothing I'd felt before. I frowned. I didn't share my women. When they were with me, they were mine completely. Until I tired of them. The thought of Welch's pudgy hands on her body left me cold and irate.

"So, what say you?" he asked, shifting like a child at dinner time. "Do you wish to purchase the land?"

He was trying to change the subject. I didn't give a shite about his worthless land. My hands curled on the table top. I suddenly found myself wanting to slam my fist into his face and demand he tell me how he knew Jules. I couldn't. To ask would be to draw attention to our relationship. "I'll think upon it."

What the hell was wrong with me? I'd never lost control of my feelings. Within the last week I'd lied, I'd pretended to be injured when she'd hit me on the head just to be close to her, and here I was ready to go to war with a peer merely over a woman.

"Good, good, but don't want to wait too long. Have other offers."

He didn't want me to wait too long because the man was in dire need of funds. He was exactly why I stayed away from London society. Too much inbreeding. Besides if I needed to know anything about the ton, my sociable brother Rafe would tell me.

Shite, even if he had slept with Jules, I still wanted her. Just once. I'd sleep with her just once to get her out of my system. Then move on and be done with the woman. I downed my whiskey and set the glass on the table. "I must take my leave."

"One more drink?"

Of course he wanted another round, as I was paying. "No. But you order what you want on me."

I'd give the man barrels of ale merely to get the hell away from him. As I stood he protested. "No, wouldn't think of it."

I turned, intending to leave. "Very well then—"

"But if you insist."

Disgusted and annoyed, I left the pub with Welch's shout of thanks ringing in my ear. He was lucky I hadn't beaten the truth out of him. But I had a feeling I didn't want to know the truth. The pub was on the outskirts of the small village that boasted all of one lane. Although I'd been here over a week, they still watched me warily. Some nodded a reluctant greeting, but I didn't bother to respond. I wasn't planning on staying here, I didn't need to make friends.

I found the trail that led into the woods.

Yes, arriving here early had been a mistake. It was time to get what I wanted and leave. I'd had a plan, a carefully constructed plan, damn it all. The trail forked and I started to follow the path to the left. The problem was that I was no longer sure what it was I wanted. I knew one thing...I was restless and impatient to see Jules again. She had started this game, but I would finish it.

"Push from behind," a familiar voice called out.

"Shite," I muttered, pausing.

"Again, Ramona!"

Fate, apparently, was on my side for once. Unable to stop myself, I followed the sound, heading to the right. Jules stood ankle deep in a mud puddle, pulling on a rope, attached to the neck of a stubborn cow, while an older woman pushed at the beast from behind. The mere view of Jules gave me pleasure like nothing else. Hell, I despised my body for reacting.

I crossed my arms over my chest, watching. They looked completely ridiculous. Why was I not surprised to see Jules standing in the middle of a mud puddle? Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if one day I saw her running nude through town. Nothing she did shocked me.

Jules had her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth gritted as she pulled with all her might. I gave a nod to the older woman who watched me warily, standing behind the cow. Her mother? No, they looked nothing alike. But seeing Jules ankle-deep in mud told me everything I needed to know...she sure as hell didn't come from a titled family. Was she a servant from a nearby estate? Or was she something more? The memory of Welch's red face flashed to mind. Was Jules the town whore?

I narrowed my eyes and studied her features, attempting to see through her ruse. Who was she? Innocent servant or town whore? Did it matter? I needed to rid the woman from my system and fast. She was like a damn itch I couldn't scratch.

"Jules," the woman said hesitantly as I continued to stand there, quiet and moody. "Dear, perhaps we should leave it be for now."

Jules opened her eyes. "Not yet! I do believe she moved a step. In fact, I...." Her voice trailed off as she caught a glimpse of me. I quirked a brow. Her face flushed red. She dropped the rope and straightened, attempting to smooth her wayward curls into place. "Oh. Good day, sir."

"Jules," I said, by way of greeting. Before she could respond, I slapped the cow's rump. It mooed and jerked forward. Jules got out of the way just in time. The cow raced down the path, disappearing around a bend.

"Hurry, before it escapes!" Jules started by me, but I wasn't about to let her get away. I grabbed the girl's arm.

She struggled against my grasp, glaring at me. "Let go! Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Your friend will catch her." I released my hold only to give her my hand, daring her to take it. "Come."

"Why?" she asked warily.

"Hell, woman, I'm merely trying to assist you from the puddle like a gentleman."

Hesitantly, she slid her hand into mine. The friction of skin upon skin aroused my blood to boiling. I pulled her from the murk, noting she wore tall boots. The hem of her skirts were covered in mud and her hair fell in a braid down her back. She was a mess. I'd met stunning opera singers. I'd slept with ladies of the highest quality. But this woman...this...this...ruffian was the most beautiful specimen I'd ever seen.

"Thank you." She curtsied and started to leave. I fell into step beside her. She slid me a glance out of the corner of her eye. "You're following me."

"Merely seeing you home."

She bit her lower lip. "Maybe I don't need an escort."

Maybe she didn't want me to see her home. Was she ashamed? As if I cared where she lived. I only cared what was underneath that dress. Perhaps I wouldn't take her just once. Perhaps I'd keep her for a while. Surely she could use the money and she did amuse me. I could set her up in the city before anyone noticed my interest.

"I take it you're not married?"

"No," she said as we found the trail and followed after the cow. "Remember? I was quite ruined."

"Right. Of course." I didn't believe her story in the least. No doubt she was ruined, but not for the reason she had proclaimed. A mere kiss. "And is anyone interested in you?"

She laughed. "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"Because." I paused near the creek. The same creek that led to the spot where I had bathed and we had first met. "Perhaps I am interested."

She flushed, looking at the ground. Yes, she had the innocent act down quite well. I had enough money to keep her on for as long as I'd like. How long did I want her? Days? Weeks? Months?

"Why?" She stopped and so I paused with her. "All we do is argue."

Why? Because I wanted to own her. Hell, I wanted to take her there under the old elm shading the trail. An animalistic desire that would not fade, that dominated my waking hours. "Not always."

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. I wanted to reach out and drag my fingers through her hair, to hold her captive and kiss her thoroughly. "You're quite arrogant."

"Which you like."

She sighed. "I doubt you think of anyone other than yourself."

I wanted to savor her cries of pleasure when she came over and over, leaving her limp and depleted in my arms. "I've found it better to take care of myself than expect others to take care of me."

She tilted her head to the side, studying me. "Have you no friends? Family?"

"Of course I do. A mother. Brothers."

"That's a relief." She started down the trail again. "I was beginning to think you had sprung from the sea...or perhaps the depths of..."

"Don't say it," I warned.

She gave me a saucy grin. Hell, if my blood didn't heat. I wondered briefly if I would be here, teasing and strolling with this woman if I wasn't positive she would lift her skirts at some point.

"Some people actually enjoy my company."

She rolled her eyes, noting that I had used similar words to what she had said only days ago. "Shocking."

"You enjoy my company." I stepped in front of her, causing her to draw up short. I could see the rapid beat of a pulse in the side of her neck. "Don't you, Jules?"

She stared at my throat. I was making her nervous. "Not particularly."

I reached out and cupped the side of her face. "Don't lie." I brushed her lower lip with my thumb. "You do enjoy spending time with me."

She trembled, her eyes growing dark, but still she did not look at me. "Perhaps."

"Good enough." I lowered my head and breathed in her scent right before I pressed my lips to hers. I caught her gasp of surprise. Worried she'd escape, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her up close to my body, completely uncaring if we were caught. Her lush form fit perfectly into my hard planes. My cock flared, pressing eagerly to her lower belly.

More. I needed more. I forced her back, shoving her up against the tree and partially shading us from view. Jules didn't slap me. She didn't try to push away. No. Instead, she groaned as her hands brushed up my biceps and around my shoulders. My tongue swept across her lower lip, demanding she open for me.

When she parted her lips it was as if I tasted heaven. While my tongue dueled with hers, I drew my hands down her back and cupped her arse. No padding, only her lush bottom. My already pulsing cock grew uncomfortably hard. My trousers felt tight.

Her mouth was warm silk. It was too damn much. Hell, I wanted to take her right there in the middle of the trail. And she would let me. I could tell by the way she arched her hips up against me, the way she clung to my body, that I could take her then and there and she wouldn't stop me.

Shite, I was losing control. Gripping her hips, I pushed her back. For a moment we merely stood there, foreheads touching, harsh breaths mingling.

"We shouldn't," she said breathlessly. "Be doing this."

I found her hands and gripped them, our fingers twisting around each other, our palms connected. "We should be doing whatever the hell we want."

"Do you always just take, with no concern to others?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Yes."

Before she could leave, I thrust up against her again, pinning her to that tree. "Do you feel me, Jules? Do you see how hard you make me?"

She whimpered, shifting her hips, my cock nestled so intimately to her lower belly. "Don't."

"I won't wait forever," I warned her.

"I...I need to go," she whispered.

But I didn't move back. "If you expect an apology, my pet, know that I never apologize for anything."

She narrowed her gaze, glaring at my neck. "Of course you don't."

I released her hands, and slid my finger underneath her chin, tilting her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. The awareness that pulsed between us could not be denied. I wanted to taste every inch of her body. I wanted to do things to her that would make a practiced whore blush.

"I want you, Jules. It's up to you whether you'd like to come to an agreement, or if you want this to be only once."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip.

"Jules?" I demanded.

She looked me boldly in the eyes. "I think I'd like to come to an agreement."

The relief I felt was immediate and disconcerting. She held too much bloody control over me and I didn't care for it at all. I needed to have her completely, and get the woman out of my system, once and for all.

I wanted her like I wanted no one else. And I was going to have her. The problem was I needed to take her quickly, before my fiancé arrived.

****

Julianna

"Jules, have you ever...."

Penny didn't finish her thought. I'd been laying on my back, staring at the canopy above my bed for hours while Penny told me story after story about London. Most of which I'd already heard multiple times. I'd managed to tune her out as I thought about James and his kiss. James and his proposal. But the hesitant tone in Penny's voice gave me pause.

Curious, I rolled onto my side to face her. Penny lay on her back, playing with the blue ribbons that tied together her night wrap. It wasn't like her to hesitate. We told each other everything. Although I still hadn't gotten up the courage to tell her about James. I tucked my clasped hands under the side of my face. How could I? How could I explain the unbearable ache that even now thrummed through my body?

He hadn't asked me to marry him exactly, but it was coming. First, of course, he'd have to meet father. But there was no reason for a long, drawn out courtship. I would prefer to marry before Penny, and do something the proper way. I knew she and my family would rather I married first as well. The elder sister was always first in line. But as much as I was attracted to him, I admit I had my reservations. He hadn't apologized for implying I was a whore after kissing me in the orchard. Had dismissed our arguments as if they meant nothing.

"What, Pen?" I asked when the silence continued to stretch.

She slid me a glance. "Have you ever wanted to kiss a man?"

I blushed over her blunt question. We'd never talked about such things, but I decided to be completely honest with her. We were old enough, after all. "Yes."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean Welch's son."

"Me neither." I grinned, finding her innocence amusing. "Welch's son kissed me. I didn't really have a say in the matter. But to answer your question....yes."

Oh how badly I'd wanted to kiss James again. Why? One would think that after the first kiss, desire would wane. Much like when eating sweets. You'd have a couple and be content. But I wasn't content with James. No. I wanted more. And more.

"Truly?" Penny asked, her curiosity caught.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "Samuel kissed me three months ago. Right before we left for London."

Startled, I sat upright. "Samuel? Our stable hand?"

She flushed, nodding.

"Oh Penny! Mother and Father will kill him!"

"No!" She bolted upright. "You mustn't tell! It was nothing. Nothing at all. It's over. We're friends now, and I would hate for you to ruin it."

I sighed, reluctantly agreeing. I had no wish to get Samuel fired as I liked him well enough, and he'd been with our family for five years now.

"Tell me about your kiss," Penny demanded. "Now that I've told you mine, you must!"

I could hold back no longer. Giddy, I pressed my hands to my chest. "Oh Pen, I've met the most amazing man! He's a farmer. A gentleman farmer," I quickly added when she frowned. "He's...amazing. He makes me angry, he makes me laugh, he makes me..."

"Nervous?"

I frowned. "Yes. But...in a good way. Do you understand?"

She shook her head, her blonde curls swaying.

I realized something was wrong. "What's wrong?"

"Lord Whitfield."

I brought my knees to my chest and tucked my feet under my wrap. The nights were still cold. "What about him?"

She sighed, but there was no dreamy quality to that sigh. "He's handsome. He's wealthy and...he frightens me, Jules."

I reached out and took her hand. "Oh, Pen. It will be better once you get to know him."

Tears shimmered in her large blue eyes. "Will it?"

My anger flared. This was the very reason the ton repulsed me. Matching people together when they didn't know better. Forcing women to marry men they didn't care for. But I knew Penny, and I knew my sister would go through with this ruse of a marriage for our parent's sake. "Tell me about him. Surely there's something you enjoy."

She took in a deep trembling breath. "He has three brothers."

"That's...nice." She was merely telling me facts, but it was a start. "Are any of them married?"

She shook her head, frowning again. "No. They're quite the rambunctious lot, or so I've heard. The second oldest is a known rake. The third a recluse, injured in the war, and the last, an odd doctor who shuns society."

Oh dear lord. I forced myself to smile. "Well then, it's about time they had a female influence. And you, my dear, are perfect. You'll bring a softness, a happiness to their home they've obviously been missing."

She seemed to perk up. "You think so?"

I nodded. "And his mother?"

She instantly sobered. "Rumor has it that he pushed her off into the dowager house and rarely visits."

I stiffened. That didn't sound good at all. What sort of son ignored his mother? They said you could tell the way of a man's heart by the way he treated his mother. I moved from the bed and scurried across the cold floor. My worry for Penny had increased, and I didn't want her to see the truth upon my face. "What else?"

"Well, he's very handsome and wealthy."

I took in a deep trembling breath as I knelt before the fireplace and stoked the flames. She'd already said as much...repeatedly. "Are you sure, Penny, that you wish to marry him? I don't remember hearing anything good about the man when I was in London. I don't remember hearing much at all."

"Yes. He's a wonderful catch."

"Penny," I whispered, standing to face her. "Don't do this for Mother."

She was back to looking at her ribbons. "I'm not."

"Then why?" I moved across the room and crawled back into bed. "Do you truly wish to ruin your life merely to land a man with a title?"

She didn't respond, just continued to play with those ribbons. There was something she wasn't telling me. I knew my sister well enough to know when something bothered her.

"Penny, I know you. You're not that shallow."

"I have to, Jules," she cried out, frustrated. "I have to because..."

She moved across the bed, her back to me. This wasn't like my sister at all. Penny never lost her temper. She was always happy, always kind. "Why, Pen?"

"Because my match will make the biddies forget."

I parted my lips to question her odd comment, but as understanding dawned, I went completely still. She wasn't marrying him to appease Mother or Father. She was marrying him to clean up my mess. "So they'll forget me?"

She nodded.

I crawled across the bed and settled next to her. "Oh Pen. Don't you dare." I rested my head on her shoulder. "Don't you dare ruin your life for me!"

"I'm not. Don't you understand?" Frustrated, she jumped from the bed, and paced across the room. "If I don't marry him, no one else will have me because of what you did! Mother said you..."

She paused, her face flushed.

Slowly, I settled my feet on the floor, heart pounding with anger. She wasn't worried about me, but herself. "I what, Pen?"

She moved to the windows, her back to me, but I could see her morose expression in the reflection of the panes. "You ruined the family name."

I swallowed hard, fighting back my outrage, my sorrow, my shame. "But, Father said it would be fine. Mother seemed to think..."

Penny shook her head. "Mother's sister...the one who died in a carriage accident twenty years ago when she was nineteen was just as wild as you, Jules. People say our blood is tainted! For some reason Whitfield has overlooked our mishaps and likes me. I won't ruin that."

I stood, grasping onto my bed post, my knees suddenly weak. "Tainted blood? You can't be serious."

She didn't reply, merely turned to face me. The look in her gaze was like a knife through the heart. I'd never seen Penny annoyed with me. But it was obvious she was angry...angry that she had to marry someone she might not love because of her sister. She blamed me...blamed me for having to marry her Whitfield.

"It was just a bloody kiss!" I cried out.

Penny's jaw clenched, her chin tilting stubbornly. "Everyone knows, Jules, that it's never merely a kiss. We're taught that from the time we're old enough to think."

Penny was right. For once, my silly sister was right. She'd always been proper, had always abided by the rules. While I...I had always done whatever I felt. Always rushed headlong into situations without thinking them through. What was wrong with me? I could no longer ignore that all too familiar guilt.

Penny started toward the door. "I think...I think I'll sleep in my room tonight."

Since she was five and had been frightened during a storm, Penny had always slept in my room. I watched her head toward the door, tears blurring my eyes. They were wrong, they were. One kiss couldn't ruin a family, could it?

"I'll fix it, Penny. I promise."

She didn't respond, merely pulled open the door and left my room.

I fell back onto the bed. Penny hated me. All this time, these past two years, she'd secretly been angry with me. It hadn't been Father and Mother forcing her into marriage after all. I suddenly felt as if I didn't truly know my sister.

James.

The name whispered temptingly through my mind.

I closed my eyes and pictured his handsome face. He was the answer to my prayers. If I married him, all would be well. A gentleman farmer was good enough for a ruined woman, surely Father would see that. We were attracted to each other. There had to be worse things to base a relationship on. Penny could marry her earl, or not. It would be her decision.

"I want you, Jules. It's up to you whether you'd like to come to an agreement or if you want this to be once."

He'd practically asked me to marry him, hadn't he? Or maybe it had been a warning. I wasn't sure. What sort of man would he be in bed? An image of his hot, hard body moving over mine had me flushing. I shivered just thinking about his brutal strength.

In the corner of the room stood my easel and my latest work...a painting of a cottage by the sea. But it was a mere dream. Just a dream. I crawled across my bed, sliding underneath the covers.

Tomorrow, I'd go see James and accept his unspoken proposal, with or without my family's approval. It was time for me to stop being the burden. It was time to right a wrong.

Chapter 5

Julianna

"Darling, do put on your best. That green silk that brings out the red in your hair."

I turned away from the painting I'd been working on throughout the week. Something wasn't quite right with the clouds, or perhaps it was the cottage itself. Or maybe it was merely that I had been discontent for days now, and it was showing in my work.

Today was the day I'd speak to James. I'd lay all my cards out on the table, as Father would say. I couldn't wear my best green silk, I would look desperate. But of course Mother had no idea what I had planned.

"Mother, my hair is not red. It's brown. Plain, old, dirt brown."

Wearing only my slippers, stockings, shift and corset, I'd been waiting for Sarah to bring my gown. Anxious. Nervous. Excitement. I merely wanted to get on with the day.

"Nonsense. There are hints of red." She hurried across the room, carrying my green silk. She must have caught Sarah in the hall and demanded the girl return my plain blue day gown to the dressing room. "Blonde would be nice, but well...we must work with what the lord gives."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and met her near the bed. My mother found my brown hair so horrifying that she preferred I had audacious red, just to make me special and stand out in a crowd. If only I was cream and roses with blonde hair, as she and Penny. But no, I took after my father's side. "Mother, I'm late for an appointment. I'd truly like to run to town. I must see Cecilia before Penny's gathering."

"Cecilia is visiting with Mrs. Lawson. You can see her at the gathering."

I flushed, caught in my lie. "Well, I would appreciate a moment to myself. You know how I like to gather my thoughts, calm my nerves before a large gathering."

"No. No moments. No gathering of thoughts." She gripped the strings of my corset and pulled, squeezing the air from my lungs. I gave an unladylike grunt and grasped the bedpost, worried the lack of oxygen would cause me to faint. "You'll go outside and get your dress dirty."

If I fainted, I doubted Mother would care. No, she'd merely flip me over on my stomach and continue to pull on my corset strings until I turned blue. I'd be dead, but I'd have the perfect waistline and that was all that mattered. Truth was, being ruined had actually saved our relationship. Mother no longer hounded after me to be proper and find a husband. I was left to my own devices while she focused on Penny. But Penny would be leaving us all too soon.

She finally stopped as I began to gasp for air. "There, I think that will do."

"Yes, my ribs have cracked, but what does it matter?" I panted. "And if they cut into my lungs, no worries, I'll merely cough the blood discretely into a handkerchief and smile merrily."

Mother took the skirts from the bed. "Do not be dramatic, Jules. No man likes an overly-dramatic female."

"Well that can't be true. Half the women of the ton are overly dramatic ninnies who are well and married."

"Yes, and God willing one day you will be too."

I blanched at the thought. Lord, after all these years Mother still held out hope. Why the sudden change in heart? Something was most definitely wrong.

"Why the urging?" I waited as she helped me step into the skirts. "Why the good dress? What have you planned, Mother?"

She pulled the skirts up over my crinoline, securing the buttons. "Oh, no reason."

I frowned. Mother could lie with the best of them, but I had known her my entire life. She never did anything without reason. "Sarah," she called out. The door opened. "Hurry now, the bodice."

The maid scurried to the bed where the bodice lay. "Here, my lady."

Mother held up the piece. It really was beautiful. Dark green silk with florets embroidered in gold. I shoved my arms through the long sleeves. The bodice fit tight, showing off the curves of my body. Pretty for a ball. But the neckline was much too low for a day dress. "Mother, please, this is Penny's moment. I won't draw attention to myself and take it from her."

"Posh, don't be silly. She's already caught her man."

I stiffened. "Has he proposed?"

I still had yet to meet him, although rumor was swirling around the house that he was staying in town for some time, in order to court Penny. Frankly, I didn't want to meet him. He'd arrived yesterday, but I'd been fortunate enough to be visiting Cecilia in the village. And yes, I might have been hiding in the woods, making sure to take my time when walking home.

"No, not yet. But he will today. We're sure of it. He's already spoken with father."

I stiffened. "What? When?"

"During yesterday's visit, which you missed," she pointedly reminded.

"Ahh, I see." And suddenly I did. She didn't want me to look good for Penny's party, but for me. "So that's what this is about."

My clothing secured, she stepped back and looked me over with a critical eye. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean..." I reached up, rubbing my head where a pin dug into the scalp. Sarah had been to my room only thirty minutes ago to give me an elaborate coiffure at my mother's request. I should have guessed then and snuck out before she could capture me in her matchmaking web. "This is about finding me a husband."

"Don't touch your hair," Mother shouted, slapping my hand away from the braids that curled around my head. "Such thick, heavy hair won't hold up long."

"Mother, are you husband hunting?" I rested my hands on my hips, annoyed and infuriated. I thought we had moved beyond these games. "I don't need for you to find me a husband!"

Did they not learn their lesson the last time?

Her blonde brows drew together. "Why? Have you found someone?"

Flushing, I averted my gaze. Until I received confirmation from James, I wouldn't say a word. Otherwise Mother would be picking out the china, and announcing the banns the moment I said his name. "No, of course there's no one."

"Good."

Her response more than startled me. I followed her into the hall. "Good? You don't wish for me to marry?" I grinned at her, feeling slightly mollified. "You would miss me too much?"

"Of course I would miss you, but that's not why."

We started down the stairs that led into the foyer of the house. Even still to this day I was in awe of how elegant my mother moved. As a child I had wanted so badly to be like her. But with one unintentional mishap after another, it had become clear I would never be as elegant, as poised. And so I had given up and accepted the inevitable...I was a heathen. An irrational, emotional artist. I only wished my mother and father could accept me as well. But I made them laugh and smile, and that counted for something...I hoped.

We started down the main hall, toward the back of the house. "No, it's good, because if you found a man, I could imagine what he would be like."

"Oh do tell," I insisted as we headed toward Mother's private parlor. "Someone debonair and handsome?"

She gave an unladylike snort. "More like a wastrel out to find a wealthy heiress so he can paint his life away."

I pressed my hand to my heart. "Why mother, you've described me."

She slid me an annoyed glance. I'd given up showing my paintings to my parents long ago. They'd been proud at first, realizing their daughter had talent. But as the years had gone by and I'd invested more and more time into my art, they'd become less than thrilled. There were none of my paintings hanging in the house, instead they were stuck in my room and in the attic.

"Dear, do go into the parlor please. We've a visitor in need of company while I check on tonight's dinner."

I frowned. Only special guests were allowed into Mother's sitting room. "Who is there?"

"Reverend Thomas."

"Oh, Mother!" I whined like a child told to eat her Brussel sprouts. The one man on this earth who could make me stomp my feet like a three year old. "You know how he is!"

But she had disappeared around the corner, leaving me in the hall alone. Part of me wanted to flee. To tip-toe outside and race to James' home. Blast, but I had things to do. Important things! Life-altering events. I peeked into the parlor. Reverend Thomas stood at the windows looking out onto the back rose garden, and no doubt finding the blooms too bright and sinful.

But of course Mother wouldn't know that I had important things to do. And if I did tell her about James, she would insist on speaking to him before I'd had a chance to talk to him in private. Our entire relationship, whatever it was, had been between the two of us. Only James and I. I'd rather the world not quite be involved yet.

Besides, James was most definitely the sort of man who would want honesty, for me to speak to him directly, instead of sending my parents to do my bidding. A reluctant smile pulled at my lips as I imagined the mocking glint in James' eyes should I send my parents to ask him to marry me.

Reverend Thomas could wait. I needed to see James before Mother caught wind of our affair. Cautiously, I started to turn and flee toward the front door. A floorboard underfoot squeaked. Reverend Thomas glanced over his shoulder, blonde brows raised in question.

I froze near the threshold.

Too late.

There was nothing wrong with his looks. He was quite handsome with his blond hair and blue eyes, and more than one woman had wished for a marriage proposal when he'd first arrived to our parish. But those eyes were cold, and he'd soon made it clear he had no interest in marriage and only found purpose with saving our wretched souls. Nothing made him happy.

His lips lifted into a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He almost looked in pain. He never smiled with joy. He never burst out laughing as James had when I said something he found ridiculous. He only looked at me with reprimand in his gaze. "Julianna."

I curtsied. "Reverend Thomas. Are you here for the dinner?"

Why was he so early? The first guests wouldn't be arriving for hours. I dared to glance back toward the hall. Lord, Mother didn't expect me to keep him company that long, did she? I hated being alone with the man. It felt as if he knew my every fault merely by looking at me. As if my very being was a sin.

"Yes, although not only for the gathering. I'm here for another reason." He strolled toward the settee. "Come. Sit."

As if it was his parlor I visited, I did as was told. Smoothing down my skirts, I made sure to leave room between us. I didn't like him. I never had. From the first moment he'd arrived and reprimanded the women in town for their colorful clothing, I had detested him. There was something about the man that made my entire body tighten.

His gaze was full of haughtiness. "I'd like to talk to you, Julianna."

"Of course."

"As you know, as a reverend it is my duty to be an acceptable role model for my flock."

Role model? That sounded rather pompous to me, but I managed to bite my tongue. "Of course."

"I need to marry, to provide an example for those who follow." He stared at me intently. I shifted, a cold rush of unease racing down my spine. "Do you understand?"

No, I didn't. "Surely you put too much pressure upon yourself," I murmured, glancing desperately at the door. "My mother should be here any—"

"It is what's expected."

I dared to meet his cold gaze. "Oh, I'm sure no one expects—"

"I'm asking you to consider marrying me."

My heart practically leapt from my chest. The world around me tilted off balance and I found myself falling...falling...

"Julianna?"

I forced my feet to remain firmly upon the ground, my back straight. I would not faint in front of this man. "I'm hardly a respectable woman, sir," I blurted out.

He sighed and nodded. "Yes, but you can change. And if the town sees that you have improved with my assistance." His shoulders went back and he proudly smiled. "It will only make me look all the more trustworthy."

He wanted to marry me so that he could show his flock how wonderful he was? How he'd married the town harlot and somehow made her respectable? He was a bloody saint. "I'd prefer to marry someone who actually enjoyed my company."

He flushed, surprising me by showing an emotion other than arrogance. "I do admit that I find you rather attractive, as one of god's sheep."

"I'm flattered," I muttered drolly. "But if you like me, then why would you wish to change me?"

"Improve you." He rested his hand atop me. It was cold, thin, and pale, so unlike James' strong and warm hands. "I see what you could be."

I pulled my hand away. "Perhaps I don't want to change."

"Why would you not?" He seemed genuinely confused. "Do you not wish for your sister to marry well? Do you not wish to ease your parent's worries over what will happen to you when God comes calling for them?"

I gritted my teeth, ashamed and angry all at once. How I loathed him in that moment. Loathed my mother and father. Loathed even Penny. Night after night of quiet and uncomfortable dinners flashed to mind. Afternoons of doing nothing but reading the bible. Sitting passively by while he listed my many sins and faults. He would crush my spirit. I would run away, I would join a bleedin circus, before I'd marry him!

"Reverend, I don't think..."

He surged to his feet, his jaw clenched in anger. "I suggest you do think about the offer. I do not, my dear, think you will get a better one."

My refusal had offended him. Good. I prayed he would never return. With those words he left the room. I could hardly blame him for being angry. I'd made my disgust perfectly clear. Why me? Why did he wish to marry me? Surely he didn't love me. He didn't love anyone but himself.

I supposed that he thought it was a fair trade, after all, he would save me from myself.

I was ruined. I was wild. I needed to be meek, God-fearing.

He would teach me.

And in exchange I would provide him with the family he needed in order to appear distinguishable. But he didn't understand that I would never bend to his will. That I would hate him the entire time. That he would grow to hate me, if he didn't already.

Mother wanted me to marry the reverend. The very man who had preached only last Sunday that art was the devil's work and we must not be swayed by beauty. Mother wanted me to marry him? Did she not know me at all? Or did she not care? Anger had me surging to my feet and racing from the room moments after Reverend Thomas had left.

"Jules?" Mother called out as I rushed by. "Is everything well?"

Ignoring her, I shoved open Father's study door. "Father, I cannot." I shook my head. "Will not..."

He looked up from his books, frowning. "Jules?"

I swallowed my hurt, my outrage. Father did not take kindly to overly emotional women. I took in a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart. Rational. I must speak rationally with him. "Reverend Thomas was here."

Slowly, he pulled the glasses from his face and set them upon the desk. Just as slowly, he closed his book. He didn't seem surprised. Not even curious. Slim, debonair, and unruffled. I had expected some sort of a reaction. Perhaps he didn't understand the direness of the situation.

I moved toward the guest chair across from his desk. "Father, he asked me to marry him."

He didn't say a word, merely stood and strolled toward the windows, his back to me. I frowned, confused. Not a laugh, not a look of surprise....no reaction but...knowledge. "Father, did you know he was coming?"

He paused at the windows, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze on the scenery outside. I'd always thought him so handsome. Always thought that I would want a husband like him, stoic and true. "I was wrong not to force you to marry Welch. I thought...perhaps the stigma would die down. It hasn't. I love you, but I can't let your mistakes ruin your sister's chance at a good marriage."

I gripped the back of the chair so tightly, my nails dug into the leather. "You're saying you are forcing me to marry Reverend Thomas? Does Mother know?"

He looked at the ground. "It was her idea."

I couldn't seem to catch my breath. The entire room spun. I felt like I was drowning and had no way out. No. They didn't understand. They didn't realize that I had to paint, it was like breathing, like eating. They didn't understand that I needed to be free. "I won't. He's horrible!"

His jaw clenched. "Don't be selfish, Jules. You made a mistake, but it was still your choice to go into the garden with Welch's son. I forgave you a long time ago, but I will not let you ruin Penny's chances."

"I won't marry him!" I spun around and raced from the room, only to draw up short. Penny stood in the hall looking worried, pale. If anyone would understand, she would. "Penny," I started to reach for her. "Father is..."

She glanced down, looking everywhere but at me. Something wasn't right. I dropped my hands to my side. She hadn't happened upon us, she had been in the hall...eavesdropping. "You knew. You approved."

"I just found out the other day what they were planning," she whispered, a guilty flush coloring her high cheekbones.

I stepped closer to her. My entire body was trembling with hurt and anger. "And did you try to stop them?"

She didn't respond, merely continued to stare at the floor.

It wasn't fair. One mistake. One silly mistake made when I'd drunk too much champagne and needed a breath of air. "You'd truly want to see me so unhappily married to the reverend? You truly believe your earl or anyone else won't marry you until I've become respectable?"

"Jules," she whispered pleadingly. "It's not that. It's for...me. It's embarrassing knowing that I have a ruined sister! When I marry, how will I face his family? The rumors will follow me everywhere."

"A ruined sister? That's what I am to you?"

Her lack of response was like a knife through the chest. "I had merely wanted air. Fresh air. He had taken advantage of me, yet I'm the one who suffers because of it."

"Jules," Penny sighed. "Will it be so bad? The reverend has quite a bit of power over the town. Wouldn't you like..."

"I don't care about power!" Determined to regain control, I turned and headed toward the front of the house. "Do you not know me at all?"

"Jules?" Mother called out. "Where are you going? What did you say to Reverend?"

I ignored her and pulled open the front door. He would be cruel. He would force me to give up my paints and drawings. I would not marry him. I'd already let one man ruin my life, I would not let another. Tears burned my eyes, blurring the garden before me. Servants were rushing around the estate, preparing the gardens and ballroom for the gathering. Tonight, my sister would announce her engagement. I averted my gaze, not wishing to speak to anyone, and slipped into the safety of the shadowed trees.

"Jules," Ramona called out from the garden. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Not now, Ramona," I said.

"But, Jules it's about your sister's fiancé..."

I found the trail quickly. I knew this land. These lovely woods, these trees and flowers, they did not judge me. Hiking up my skirts, I ran until I reached the creek. I would eventually return home. I could not miss Penny's engagement party, no matter how much she had angered me. But for now, for these two blessed hours before the gathering, I would be free. At the creek, I paused, letting the sound of gurgling water lull me into a peaceful trance.

James.

His name whispered through my mind, through the trees, upon the water.

I picked up my skirts and raced toward the field that separated our house from his.

James.

James would be my savior. When he knew where I came from, how large my dowry was to be, he would marry me. We weren't perfect, but he was honest, blunt and we were attracted to each other. Surely there could be worse things to base a relationship on. And most importantly, he would never tell me that art was a sin.

The sun was beginning its descent. It would be dark by the time the guests arrived. But I had almost two hours. Almost two hours to be with him. It would sustain me...keep me going for now. After the gathering, when everything had calmed down, I would invite James to the estate and we would discuss our impending engagement with my parents.

Entering his front garden, seeing his house, I felt a peace like I'd never felt before. I knew marrying him was right. My footsteps slowed. When I'd been a child I'd imagined marrying a dashing and romantic pirate of a man. When I'd gotten older, I'd become more rational and merely wanted a kind, gentle husband who would indulge my whimsies and delight in spirited conversations. James was neither. Yet, I found I didn't mind.

A man servant stood in the front garden, brushing down a fine black horse. He watched me curiously, but I ignored him and moved boldly up the steps as if I belonged there. His servants would talk. They would spread the rumor that I had been at their master's house unescorted. I didn't care. It would only urge him to do the proper thing. Heart slamming wildly in my chest, I grasped the door handle and opened the door, knowing I was ruining myself completely.

The hall stood empty.

No one in the parlor, nor study. My hope had started to fade when I heard footsteps upstairs. James. As if in a dream, I moved up the steps. He was there in the first room. I didn't need to peek inside to know. I swore I could sense him. The proper thing to do would have been to call out his name. No, the proper thing would have been to send him a note. But I'd never been proper.

In the back of my mind came the realization that I was practically forcing him into marriage and he might not forgive me, but I comforted myself by knowing he would get something too: my inheritance. Steeling my courage, I stepped into the room. I found him immediately near the far wall. He stood in front of a full length mirror, his back to me. He wore only trousers and shirtsleeves. I'd seen him in such a state of undress many times, yet here in his bedchamber, it was intimate. Too intimate.

He glanced at me in the mirror, finding and holding my gaze. A shiver of complete awareness trembled through my body. There was no surprise in his eyes, only mild curiosity as he finished buttoning his shirt.

"Jules," he said in greeting as he reached for his cravat that lay upon the back of a nearby chair. He appeared relaxed and at ease. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you come from an honorable family?"

He paused. "I suppose that depends on what you mean by honorable. But yes, most of England would consider them honorable."

I took another step.

"Are you engaged?"

He paused again. "Not at the moment. Why are you here, Jules?"

My heart hammered so loudly I could barely hear him. I was so very tired of fighting my attraction. "I...I had nowhere else to go."

He paused, his gaze darkening. "I told you to never come here again, unless you—"

"I do." I stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind me. I thought to talk about the details of our marriage first, but suddenly found myself walking forward, eager to see him, touch him, kiss him. He turned, the cravat hanging around his neck, untied. God, he was lovely. How could anyone not believe in the beauty of the world when there were men like him?

Slowly, I reached out and pulled the neck cloth free, tossing it toward the chair. I wished I could say the boldness was not me, that I was not acting myself. But I feared this was the real Jules. The true me who had been stifled far too long.

Suddenly, he gripped my wrists. "Don't, unless you are willing to see this through."

He seemed angry. I didn't want him angry. I stood on tip-toe and pressed my mouth to his. He tasted of tea and whiskey, of him. I slid my tongue across his lower lip, as he had done to me the other day. If anything, I was a quick study. With a groan, he gripped my hips and jerked me close. I could feel the proof of his attraction pressing against my lower belly. I might have been a virgin, but I wasn't stupid. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

His tongue delved into my mouth, rubbing, thrusting, sweeping aside any reserves. My skin felt afire, my nerve endings enflamed. I moaned, sinking into his hard form. My entire body was alive when he was near. Nothing mattered but him. This was right. How could it not be? His fingers dove into my hair, pulling down the elaborate coiffure, the pins pattering to the ground. In a symbolic taste of freedom, my hair tumbled down my back.

"Gorgeous," he muttered, pressing kisses to my jawline, then to my neck.

Lord, no one had ever kissed my neck before. I liked it. Liked it too much. Shivers of delight danced across my skin, demanding more. Each stroke of his fingertips was like heaven. Every kiss drugged me deeper and deeper into a heavy stupor. He had taken hold and possessed me. Oddly, I didn't mind.

"I don't want this to end," I whispered, nuzzling my hips against his and pressing more intimately against his hard cock.

His fingers found the buttons at the back of my bodice as his mouth traced kisses along my cheek. "It doesn't have to."

I smiled, relieved. I needed to hear no more. As his lips found mine, he pulled my bodice free. I should have been embarrassed. After all, I'd never been naked in front of anyone but my maid. I wasn't. I'd wanted him from the moment I'd spied him bathing. Perhaps even before we'd met. This man was as passionate as me. He did not fall for the silly nonsense of the ton. He was honest, and he would accept me as I was. And I knew, in that moment, that I could love him. Someday. Soon.

My skirts fell down around my ankles before I'd even realized he'd undone the buttons. He lifted me from the pool of material, then settled me upon the floor. I didn't miss the way his muscles flexed, so hard compared to my utter softness. We were opposites who fit perfectly together. As his hands reached for the strings at my corset, I reached for the buttons of his shirt. Our harsh breaths mingled as we raced to undress each other.

Mother would not approve that I had run away, but she would be content when she knew I planned to marry. He might not be a reverend, but it was obvious James was smart, and had a decent amount of money. Even Father would approve. I managed to remove his shirt before he got to my corset.

As I pushed the garment from his chest, I paused to soak him in. My corset fell free but I barely noticed. He was the most stunning man I'd ever seen. Dark hair sprinkled across a muscled chest, traveling in a tempting, taunting line to the waistband of his trousers. He seemed carved of stone. I wanted to trace every muscle, to taste his skin. I swallowed hard, my veins heating. My entire body felt afire. I'd never wanted anyone as much as I wanted this man. I would have sold my soul merely to taste his lips, to feel his touch.

"You make me feel," I whispered. "Feel free to be myself."

He frowned, his knuckles brushing underneath my chin. "You give me too much credit."

Before I could argue, he kissed me again. This kiss was even more demanding than the others, as if he had something to prove. Slowly, I reached out. I'd never touched a man like him before. Never run my fingers down the muscled chest and stomach of a male. He was a god. A mythical beast sent to earth merely for my pleasure. I wanted to paint him. I wanted to draw him every day for the rest of my life. And I would.

"You're beautiful," I said simply against his mouth.

"You're silly."

I did not take offense. How could he possibly know how attractive he appeared when he saw his face every day? It was common to him. But to me, to the world, he was simply stunning. I pulled back and looked up into his eyes. They seemed even darker, if that were possible. He must have had gypsy in him, although I wouldn't dare mention that thought to my mother and father for fear that they would reject the idea of marriage based on supposed bad blood. His breathing was harsh. Perhaps not as harsh as mine, but it was there...the slightest change in his very being that said he desired me.

"I want you," I boldly admitted.

"Christ." Suddenly I was scooped up into his arms and carried across the room. "You could tempt the pope himself."

He tossed me onto the bed, a bed that would be ours soon. I could easily make this large cottage into a lovely home. Mother and Father would be happy that I would be near. The pillows and blankets held his musky scent, a scent as comforting as the bedding around me. I settled into the cocoon, content to watch him as he reached for his trousers. Within a blink, the man was naked before me and every thought in my head vanished. His legs and arms were as muscled as his chest, his body as stunning as any Greek statue. For one long moment I merely feasted on the picture he made.

Slowly, he leaned over me and reached for the ribbons of my shift. As he came nearer I caught sight of his manhood. Much larger than any statue, the long, throbbing rod surged from a nest of dark hair that matched the hair sprinkling his body. The plum head of his cock was darker than the rest, and a fine sheen of liquid glistened from the tip. Excitement gave way to nerves. Even as lust surged though my body, even as I wanted to reach out to touch him and see what he felt like, fear tickled the back of my neck.

"You're too big."

His gaze was dark, restless, demanding, as he pulled my shift loose. "Glad you're impressed."

Before I could argue that I was more than impressed, I was terrified, his mouth was on me. His entire body covered mine, pressing me into the mattress. Mother had given me the basics before I'd had my coming out two years ago. Cecilia had filled me in with more detail just last year when she'd overheard two bar wenches talking, but now, in this moment, I wished I didn't know.

His knee surged between my thighs, parting my legs. He was going too fast. "Should...should we slow down?"

"I've waited too long for you. Slow next time." His lips found me, as his steel cock slid against my folds, only the material of my shift separated his chest from mine.

He surged up against me, rubbing his erection against my very femininity. Every brush of his body against mine stoked the heat. The movement sent my senses spinning, my body burning with unfulfilled lust. I gasped, my nails biting into his back.

"You're a greedy wench, aren't you? You've been stifled by this small town."

Lord, he knew me too well. He pulled the straps of my shift down my shoulders until my breasts were exposed. "I'll show you pleasure, Jules. A pleasure you've never known before me. A pleasure that will have you begging for more."

I didn't dare doubt him. He jerked the shift down my shoulder. Before I guessed his intentions, his mouth covered one breast while his hand kneaded the other. Sparks of desire pranced across my skin. I groaned, shifting restlessly under his weight, lifting my hips until his cock pressed to my core. I was wanton, as the lovely ladies of the ton had proclaimed those years ago. They had been right all along. I would ruin myself for a man.

He tore his mouth away, leaving my nipple a wet and hard nub. "God, you taste lovely."

It was everything Cecilia had heard, but so very much more. The emotions swirling through me were indescribable. He gripped my shift and jerked it down my body. His mouth followed, leaving behind trails of kisses that warmed my stomach. Then farther...farther. When he reached the junction of my thighs, reality invaded. No one had ever seen me there.

"James," I said.

He didn't listen.

Worried, I shoved my hands into the bedding, attempting to sit upright. "I don't think..."

He lowered. I felt the warmth of his breath fan across my nest of curls and then suddenly his tongue was slipping between my folds. I cried out, falling back to the bed in complete surrender. My entire body felt afire with desire the likes of which I'd never experienced before. His tongue delved into my sheath, then out, over and over as his thumb pressed to the nub nestled within the curls. The ache twisted, intensified. It was too much. All too much. My fingers gripped the sheets.

"James," I cried out.

The aching need exploded. Lightning burst through my body, twisting, turning until I thought I was no more. A flood of euphoria swept through me. This was why women sold their souls. This was what I'd been missing. I was barely aware when James stood, pulling off my shift and my stockings, undressing me completely. Barely aware when he was back in bed, his warm and hard body covering me fully. I was still floating...floating within a heavenly reality I never wanted to leave.

"My turn," he said, his dark, sinful eyes capturing mine.

I couldn't look away.

"Spread your legs," he demanded in a voice that sent shivers down my spine.

I didn't dare disobey him. With a whimper I parted my knees.

No, I hadn't been aware when he had moved atop me. But I was completely and utterly aware when he nudged my knees apart and thrust into me.

Chapter 6

James

I felt her presence before I saw her in the mirror. A shiver of awareness that whispered across the room. It was as if she had burrowed into my damned soul. I didn't need to see her, for my body came to life when she was near. Part of me hated her for the control she seemed to wield. But most of me just wanted to fuck her until I lost all sense of being. My hands stilled, my heart leapt into my throat. She stepped into the room, her reflection finding me near the mirror. There was an expression upon her face that told me all I needed to know.

She was here for me.

"Jules," I said, reaching for my cravat with a hand that trembled. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you come from an honorable family?"

I paused. Honorable? I had to bite back my laugh. "I suppose that depends on what you mean by honorable. But yes, most of England would consider them honorable."

She took a step toward me. "Are you engaged?"

I paused again, guilt warring with need. My need won. "Not at the moment. Why are you here, Jules?"

On the outside I looked completely relaxed. But on the inside, my heart slammed wildly within my chest, my pulse heated as I resisted the urge to go to her immediately, have her completely.

She was flushed, her eyes overly bright. "I...I had nowhere else to go."

My mind spun. She was upset about something. If I was a good person, if I had any decency at all, I would order tea, and let her cry upon my shoulder. Unfortunately for her I didn't have a soul, and I sure as hell had never been decent.

Coldly, I ignored her obvious pain and draped the cravat around my neck. "I told you to never come here again, unless you—"

"I do." She boldly closed the door behind her.

I stiffened.

Shite.

She'd sealed her fate in that moment. I wasn't sure whether to laugh, or to scoop her up, toss her onto the bed and have my way with her. Slowly, I scanned her body, taking my time, or perhaps giving her a chance to escape. She wore a dark green silk gown, the neckline so low her breasts practically spilled from the bodice.

The heat in my body flared. Any conscience I might have had fled. She was mine. Completely mine. It was as if she'd been placed on this earth merely to please me. And please me she would.

I wanted to study her in that dress, memorize every detail so that on those cold, lonely nights I would have the memories to keep me warm. Vaguely, I was aware that the dress was much, much too fine for a woman of little means. Yet, I couldn't seem to care at the moment. My brain had fallen to mush. I turned as she started toward me, the forgotten cravat hanging from my neck.

Only a breath away, she paused. The very air between us seemed to vibrate. Her rose scent swirled around me...tempting. So tempting. Those blue eyes had grown dark as sapphires. Slowly, she pulled the neck cloth free, tossing it toward the chair. Good God, I could take no more.

I reached out, gripping her wrists tightly, too tightly, but I didn't care if she bruised. I felt twisted to the breaking point, ready to snap. If she was playing yet another game, she would regret her actions. She stared into my eyes with unabashed boldness.

"Don't, unless you are willing to see this through," I said.

The wench stood on tip-toe and molded her lush mouth to mine. She tasted of mint, of tea, of her. Good God, I could go drunk on her taste. She slid her tongue across my lower lip, kissing me like a whore. With a groan, I gripped her hips and jerked her close. My cock strained against my trousers. The blood pounding through my veins demanded action. I wanted her like I'd never wanted another woman. I couldn't get enough of her taste, her touch, her very scent. I needed to own her, to brand her as mine so no other man would ever touch her again.

I thrust my tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss. When she moaned, that sweet, wonderful sound, I almost lost any control that remained. She was Helen of Troy and I'd gladly go to war for her. I slid my fingers into her hair, sending her pins scattering to the floor. Those silky locks fell down, tumbling around her shoulders and brushing her back. Hell, I wanted to wrap my hands around those locks and hold her captive. I wanted to feel the silky strands brush across my heated body.

"Stunning," I muttered, pressing kisses to her jawline, then down her delicate neck. Her hair was like satin ribbons wrapped around my fingers, tying me to her. Eventually we would need to talk, to discuss the details of this complicated relationship, but first...first I needed to make her mine.

"I don't want this to end," she whispered.

Thank God. It wouldn't. Not if I had any say on the matter. I wanted her for a long, long while. In between mistresses at the moment, she was the perfect gift. I found the buttons at the back of her bodice. "It doesn't have to."

Unable to stop myself, I kissed her as I pulled her bodice free. The thought of being deep inside her had my body shaking. Never had I wanted anyone as much as I wanted her. At that moment I didn't bloody care if she'd slept with the entire town, she would be mine, and she would be mine until I tired of her.

I dropped her skirts, then lifted her from the pool of material. One heaving breath and her rosy nipples would pop from her corset. Desperately, I reached for the strings. As I did, she boldly started unbuttoning my shirt. I thanked God she was experienced enough not to be the quivering virgin I despised. She shoved the shirt from my shoulders as I pulled her corset free. Slowly, her gaze traveled my chest, down my stomach. Her eyes darkened as she sucked in a sharp breath. Her reaction was enough to feed my arrogance.

"You make me feel," she whispered. "Feel free to be myself."

My guilt flared but I shoved it aside. She asked too much of me. This was a mere dalliance, did she not understand? I frowned, my knuckles brushing underneath her chin. "You give me too much credit."

Before she could respond, I kissed her again.

When she reached out, her gentle fingertips brushing my skin it felt like I'd never been touched before. A shudder raked my body. She ran her fingers down my chest...lower...lower. My cock pulsed and I had to grit my teeth to keep from lifting her shift and taking her then and there.

"He's a God," she whispered to herself, as if she wasn't even aware she spoke the words aloud. She tilted her head back and met my gaze. "You're beautiful."

I'd heard the words before, so why was I thrilled like I'd never received a compliment? Pleased in a way that should have embarrassed me? "You're silly."

"I want you."

"Christ," I groaned. A man could only take so much. I scooped her up into my arms and carried her across the room. "You could tempt the pope himself."

I tossed her onto my bed. Seeing her there surrounded by my blankets and my scent made me want to roar like a damn lion. She was mine. Only mine. I shoved the trousers from my body. I would be late to the gathering I was supposed to attend, but I didn't care. Hell, I would sell my damn soul for a moment with Jules.

Slowly, I leaned over her and reached for the ribbons of her shift. Every harsh breath she took sent her tits surging dangerously close to spilling over the lacy edge of her undergarment. She was no tiny waif, but a lush and curvy woman. She was stunning.

"You're too big," she whispered, staring wide-eyed at my cock.

I resisted the urge to laugh. "Glad you're impressed."

She pressed her hands into the bedding, as if preparing to sit up. Hell, I couldn't let her think, couldn't let her regret coming here, and I sure as hell couldn't let her leave. "Should...should we slow down?"

Was she insane? Or was she playing more games? "I've waited too long for you. Slow next time."

Before she could say more, I crushed my mouth to hers. We did not need to talk. We needed to fuck. To ease the ache that had been throbbing in my cock for days now, ever since she'd watched me bathe. I lowered, pinning her body to the bed. Her dark hair spread across the white pillows, her chest heaving with each intake of breath. I shoved my knee between her thighs, parting her legs and revealing her femininity. Unable to help myself, I thrust up against her heat, rocking my body against hers. She moaned, her lashes fluttering in ecstasy, her reaction more than pleasing.

"You're a greedy wench, aren't you? You've been stifled by this small town."

I jerked the straps of her shift down her shoulders until those lush breasts were on display. Her rosy nipples were hardened, eager for my touch. I'd never seen finer breasts. "I'll show you pleasure, Jules. A pleasure you've never known before me. A pleasure that will have you begging for more."

I took a nipple into my mouth and caressed the other breast with my free hand. She groaned, wiggling underneath me. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. I couldn't stop tasting...sucking...licking. Hell, even if the Queen herself had entered the room, I wouldn't stop. The primal urge within me would not be sated until I had her completely. Only her.

I tore my mouth away and pulled the shift down her body. "God, you taste lovely."

Unable to stop myself, I pressed my mouth to her flat stomach. My cock flared, pulsing with the need for release. I was going to spill my seed like a damn lad with his first woman.

"James," she said, her voice full of hesitation.

I continued to trail kisses toward the nest of curls shielding her femininity. Like someone desperate, I needed to taste her fully. Have her completely. There was nothing better than knowing you could make a woman come just by a flick of your tongue in the right place. Nothing more delicious than the taste of a woman.

She squirmed underneath my weight. "I don't think..."

With greedy hands, I parted her thighs. Pink, wet, gorgeous. I lowered my head and I slid my tongue between her sweet folds. She cried out, arching her back and urging me onward. Her reaction was exactly as I expected, and needed. I could make her forget her ridiculous games.

As my tongue delved into her tight sheath, my thumb found that sensitive bud. I took delight in torturing her with pleasure. Delight in hearing her moans. Her hips began to move, arching up with each stroke, desperate for more. She was wanton. Her hands twisted within the sheets, a fine sheen of sweat covering her lush body. I knew the moment she was going to give into her desires, her body was so easy to read.

She cried out as she came against my mouth. "James!"

I knew how to please a woman. I'd had years of experience. While some men found no interest in bringing a woman enjoyment, I'd found it only added to the experience. And watching Jules find her release was more seductive than anything I'd ever witnessed. The ache in my cock only flared, demanding attention. I finally pulled away, her womanly scent clinging to me.

"My turn," I muttered, as I moved up her body like an animal on the hunt. I felt wild, barely in control. Desperate. She was only vaguely aware as I shifted my knee between her thighs. Her eyes still held that hazy look of passion as I pressed the swollen tip of my cock to her entrance.

Mine.

She would be mine.

"Spread your legs," I demanded.

With a whimper she opened for me. Unable to hold back any longer, I thrust forward in one surge, entering her fully, completely. She was so wet, so ready that I barely felt the resistance as I tore through her maidenhood. But it had been there. Oh, I was only too aware that it had been there.

She gasped, pushing against me, horrified by the intrusion. I was aware as I settled atop her that she was too tight to be a whore. Too tight to be anything other than a virgin. She'd lied. I lifted up just enough to cup the sides of her face. Tears of pain glistened in her blue eyes. I would not feel guilty. I would not.

"Damn you," I hissed.

Would I have slept with her if I'd known? Probably. But I might have been gentler. It didn't matter, I was too far gone. I pulled out, only to thrust into her again, and again. Even though she'd lied I still wanted her with a desperation that could not be ignored. Every thrust sent me deeper into her tight passage, teetering on the brink of completion.

Her cries turned into moans of pleasure as she lifted her hips and tightened her legs around me. In the back of my mind was the taunting realization that this could all be some sort of trap, she could be trying to force marriage, but I couldn't seem to care.

Our bodies found a natural rhythm, rocking together as one so that the bed shifted across the floorboards, hitting the wall with a thud. As much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn't. Her moans of pleasure only fed the seductive beast deep within me. When her nails bit into my back and I felt her body tighten with her own release, I could hold back no longer and thrust into her, spilling my seed. I lost myself completely and utterly.

I knew I would never go to heaven, but this...this moment with Jules was as close as I would come. Completely spent, I collapsed atop her. She'd taken a part of my body, my black soul. I felt drained of life. I was supposed to pull out. With every other woman I'd managed to spill my seed on her belly, or the bedding. But not Jules. Hell, I'd actually come inside her.

Shite.

I could barely move. Didn't want to leave her tight, hot sheath. I had to. I pulled away from her and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell had she done to me? The bitch had portrayed herself as someone she wasn't. She had teased and taunted, leading me upon a merry journey.

Trap, a voice in my mind cried out.

It had been a trap set by some poor country girl in order to force me into marriage. She'd known who I was all along. And I'd fallen for her completely and utterly. She'd find out soon enough no one forced me to do anything.

"My...my father has money," she whispered.

I felt icy cold. "What?"

She had pulled the blanket to her chest and clasped it against her like the inexperienced maiden she was, suddenly embarrassed by her nudity. "I'm saying that when we marry, you will get some compensation."

"Marry?" So, she didn't want money. She wanted a titled life. I rolled off the bed and surged to my feet, my anger palpable. Not that I would show it. Never show what you were feeling, they could use it against you. The one useful thing my father had taught me. She had lied. Used me. But what made me angriest was that I had fallen for her ruse. I'd sworn five years ago that I would not be manipulated again. Ever.

Suddenly everything I'd tried to forget came crashing down around me. Memories long since buried that clawed and burned their way to the surface and all because of Jules.

She would pay.

Her brows drew together in confusion. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, her body flushed from sex. She looked...different in some way. I'd wanted to brand her and I had.

"You did say we would come to an agreement."

Had she invented some pretty proposal, some happily ever after in her naïve imagination?

"As my mistress." I practically seethed. And I knew in that moment how I could hurt her so completely that it would destroy whatever heart she had. This entire relationship had been a game and she thought she'd won.

Think again, sweetheart.

I moved across the room to the pitcher of water and cleaned my cock. Her virgin's blood marked my member, branding me. I hated seeing the red upon my skin, the reminder of what I'd done. Hated that I'd been duped again. Part of me understood why she had tried to trap me, and could even respect her for it. Yes, I understood, but I didn't care.

"What do you want, Jules? A cuddle? Would you like me to stay in bed and chat until the wee hours of the morning about our dreams and hopes of a future?"

I could see her reflection in the washing stand mirror. Her cheeks had grown bright red. She searched my eyes, hoping to find some sort of compassion within their depths. She would find nothing.

"I suppose now is as good a time as ever to make sure you understand the rules. One, I never chat with my mistresses. Two, I never stay overnight with them. Three, it's always just sex, my dear."

"You...you wanted me to be your mistress?"

I never made the same mistake twice. It was time to get rid of Jules. I released a harsh laugh as I moved to the dressing mirror where I'd discarded my clothing only moments before. "What else? I doubt my fiancé will approve, but then she needn't know."

"Fiancé?" she whispered, the horror in her voice apparent.

I didn't respond, merely dressed in a leisurely manner. But if she would have looked closely, she would have noticed my hands shaking with unspent emotion. Hell, my body felt afire with the need to scream at her. But she would not have any idea.

I picked up my jacket and turned to face her. "Do let me know if you've decided to stay on. We'll have to find you an apartment in London, as I doubt your town friends will look favorably upon you when you become my whore."

Still she didn't say a word, merely stared at me with wide, confused eyes. I hated her for what she'd done. But I hated myself even more for the way my body reacted. Even now seeing her sitting upon my bed fed the beast, and I only wanted to crawl back underneath those covers and have her again...and again.

Hell, I couldn't look her in the eyes. It was too much.

"Do let me know your answer. I think we'd get on splendidly." I turned and strolled unhurried toward the door, praying she'd be gone when I returned, for I didn't think I'd have the fortitude to resist her again.

Chapter 7

Julianna

I'd heard the word bastard in town when I'd been eight years of age but of course I hadn't known what it meant. I was merely a child at the time, with no clue as to what lay out there in the world.

"Father, what's a bastard?" I had asked innocently.

He'd ruffled my hair. "It's when a child is born out of wedlock, my dear."

But he'd been wrong.

James had parents. He even had siblings, yet he was the biggest bastard I'd ever met.

Welch's son had attempted to ruin me for good. He'd failed.

But James...James had succeeded.

Even as he left the room and my shock gave way to burning anger, deep down the guilt swirled. I knew what I was doing when I had arrived. In a way, I had used him, even expecting the man to be grateful. Perhaps...just perhaps I deserved whatever I received.

Trembling, I moved from the bed. I would not cry. My clothing lay scattered upon the floorboards and it took all the energy I could manage to move across the room, gathering the garments. I only realized how sore my body was as I dressed. I felt branded. As if even now he still touched me.

I merely wanted to get as far away from him and his home as possible. Dressed, I moved into the hallway. The place was empty. It felt so still. No maid. No manservant. James had truly deserted me. The bastard.

In a daze, I moved down the stairs, the steps creaking overly loud in the quiet estate.

Outside the man servant was gone, as was the horse.

There had been no offer to escort me home. Even to walk me to the edge of the woods. He'd treated me like I was nothing. A whore. He'd gotten what he wanted and there was no use for me anymore. I'd never felt so wretched, so dirty, in all of my life. Not even with the eyes of the ton upon me those years ago.

I hated him.

Hated him with a passion the likes of which I'd never experienced before. As much as I wanted to be away, I didn't dare rush home. I could barely move, sore in so many places I didn't even know existed. If he'd been a gentleman he never would have left. If he'd been a gentleman he would have escorted me home. But then again if he'd been a gentleman he never would have taken me in the first place.

As I left the field and found the trail through the woods I realized the world had changed. Nothing appeared the same. I took no comfort in the trees or flowers. Did not smile as the birds chirped so merrily. Everything seemed dark, watchful, and judgmental. He'd taken that from me. Everything I'd ever loved about Dorset.

When my family's home came into view it was not relief that I felt. Mere acceptance. My hair hung down around my shoulders, my dress wasn't quite put together right and there were wrinkles in the material where before there had been none. The servants would know something had happened. I could only pray they wouldn't tell my family.

I pulled open the kitchen door. A few maids glanced my way, only to take a second look as they noticed my disheveled state. The wide eyes, the gasps, only confirmed what I assumed I looked like...a harlot.

"My dear, there you are," Ramona said, rushing into the kitchen from the hall. "Your mother has been asking after you for at least an hour."

I nodded.

Ramona paused, her brows drawing together in confusion. "Jules, has something happened?"

I felt used.

I felt unclean.

I felt judged.

Desperate, I pushed my way through the kitchen, merely wanting a bath. I had to wash away his scent, his touch. I felt like his hands were on me still, as if he had branded me. And damn if my body didn't heat with the thought. Even still, after all that he had done, I wanted him. And I despised myself for the feelings. Would I ever truly be rid of the man?

"Jules, dear, mind tasting these lemon tarts?" Cook called out. "I do know how much you enjoy them and..."

I moved up the narrow set of servant's stairs, praying I would not see my mother. "Sarah," I said to the maid rushing down the hall toward me, her hands full of linens. "A bath please."

"Yes, my lady. We are preparing Miss Penny's bath, but when we're done—"

"Bring it to my room instead."

Her brows drew together in confusion. "Miss?"

"My room," I demanded as I reached my door.

She jumped, startled by my outburst. In my twenty-some years I'd never spoken harshly to any servant. But at the moment I didn't care that tears were filling her large brown eyes. I didn't care because James had crushed my soul so that I wondered if I'd ever care about anything or anyone again.

"Bring Penny's water to my room." I rested my hand on the doorknob. "Do you understand?"

She nodded so vigorously her cap slid down over her eyes. "Yes, miss."

I shoved open my door and stepped inside. Numbly I started to undress. It was only as I pulled off my bloomers that I noticed the blood. My virgin's blood smeared across my pale thighs. With trembling hands I pulled a handkerchief from my dresser and dipped it into the washing bowl. Slowly, I dabbed at my sore folds. A place so private only one other person had touched me there...James. It was then that the tears filled my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? I'd thought he wanted marriage, but he'd only wanted me as his mistress. I would have been better off with Welch's son.

A sudden pounding sounded on the door. I tossed the handkerchief to the vanity and reached for my robe. "Go away."

"No. Jules, open the door!"

I ignored Penny. There was no doubt I loved my sister. But the last few years had always revolved around her, and I couldn't deal with the dramatics today. Not this evening. Not after what had happened.

The door opened.

"Jules?" Penny rushed into my room in a flurry of anger. "Why are you demanding the servant's attention? You know I'm trying to get ready! He'll be here in less than an hour! An hour, Jules!"

"Shut up, Penny!" I yelled, spinning around to face her.

We'd never fought. In her nineteen years we'd never fought. She fell silent, her eyes going wide with shock and confusion. Guilt and shame swirled together, mixing with my anger into a lethal combination.

"Just get out!" I shoved her toward the door. "Leave me in peace."

She stumbled back, but didn't leave.

I couldn't stand to see her stunned expression. I spun around, my back to her. I felt James even now. I could smell him on me. I only wanted to erase him from my mind forever. To forget how wonderful he had made me feel. To remember only that he was a bastard.

"Jules." She stared at the handkerchief upon my vanity. "Jules...is that...blood? Did you injure yourself?"

I grabbed the handkerchief and stuffed it into the pocket of my wrap. "Penny, please, leave me alone!"

She didn't say a word, merely stood there for a moment, attempting to understand. Then finally, when I was about to scream, she rushed from the room. The door slammed shut with her departure. I didn't care. I didn't care because I was tired and just wanted to sleep and forget. But I couldn't because I had to get ready for Penny's gathering.

I was still standing by the windows when the servants dragged the copper tub into my room and poured in the hot water. Although for the most part they catered to Penny, they knew better than to ignore my demand. Especially when I was so easy to please most of the time. I didn't thank them as I normally would have when they left.

Finally alone, I dropped my robe and sank into the tub. The hot water stung the sensitive skin between my legs. In the tub, I did what I'd been wanting to do, needed to do. I cried. Warm tears pooled in my eyes, overflowing and trailing down my cheeks, dripping into the tub. I didn't make a sound. I didn't move. Barely breathed. Just stared at my painting of my cottage and cried.

The door opened. "What happened?" my mother demanded, sweeping across the room in a swirl of blue silk, and pausing beside the tub. "What's wrong with you?"

I drew my knees to my chest and dropped my gaze to the water. "I don't want to talk about it."

Mother was silent for a moment as she studied my face. She might not understand me, but she knew me. "Were you forced?"

"No," I whispered, not in the least bit surprised that she knew. After all, Ramona had seen James and me together when we'd been after the cow, and she had most likely mentioned him to my mother. My state of dress had been disheveled when I'd arrived home. And Penny had seen the bloody handkerchief.

"I see." She moved across the room and snatched up a rose colored dress from a pile of discarded gowns we'd gone through earlier. "Do I know the man?"

"No."

Her face was granite. The disappointment I expected was not there, only a cold anger. I had never been the child she wanted, but she had still loved and respected me. Now, even that was gone. "And marriage?"

"Impossible," I whispered.

"Very well. You will tell me when your monthly begins so we know you're not with child."

I blanched, my wide gaze going to her. Oh God. I hadn't even considered the idea until now. How stupid and naïve I'd been!

Mother stood near the bed, smoothing the wrinkles from my gown. "Cry, Jules. Cry for now. But in less than an hour you will be downstairs wearing your gown. You will be smiling, and you will be happy for your sister. You will not cry again about this. Not ever. Do you understand?"

I sank farther into the water, wishing to fade away. "Yes, Mother."

****

My body had been scrubbed.

My hair repinned.

My gown replaced.

There were no longer traces of what had happened. At least not on the outside. I studied my reflection in the full-length mirror. Somehow, in some way, I looked different. I'd worn the gown before but choosing light rose now seemed too young for my advanced years. Certainly too virginal. Wearing the prim gown made me feel ill, like an actor on stage. My face was pale and my hands were still trembling. I took in a deep breath, attempting to calm my racing heart. Façade. I must put on a façade.

But all I could think about was that I might be with child.

The thought made me ill.

My child would not play with Penny's. My child would truly be a bastard. He or she would be given away to be raised in a nunnery, or by some childless family with no idea who his or her mother truly was. Perhaps I could try to raise the babe alone. But how?

I hadn't seen Penny since our confrontation. If I'd been a good sister, I would have apologized. I would have smiled and been happy for her and her little gathering. He hadn't proposed yet...but it was coming tonight, Penny had assured me the other day. She was afraid of the man, but she was going to marry him anyway. Apparently we were both insane. Fortunately for her, Penny's insanity was exactly what my mother and the ton expected.

Slowly, I made my way down the staircase. I could hear music playing in the parlor and any other day the gathering would have been something to look forward to. Mostly important people from the shire, I would have laughed and talked to the very friends I'd had since I was born here over twenty years ago.

But not now. I couldn't go in there. I couldn't.

"Jules!" Cecilia said, racing toward me with arms outstretched. She wore a pretty pale lavender gown that she'd had for years. But it was her best and she looked fresh, innocent and young. Everything I could no longer claim. Mother had never understood why I'd befriended the poor girl the shopkeepers had taken in as charity years ago. But Cecilia was the only person who didn't judge me. Who understood my need for more than gossip and fashion.

"Finally!" She'd twisted her light brown hair into a simple knot. "You're here!"

I forced myself to smile and hugged her back. But she knew me well. All too soon, she pulled away, frowning. "Jules, what is it?"

I shook my head, feeling the sting of tears. "Lia, there is so much to tell you. I—"

"Julianna." Reverend Thomas called out, sweeping down the hall like a crow in his black garb. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or not. I'd always told Cecilia everything, yet I didn't know if I could admit what had happened.

Cecilia and I curtsied. "Reverend."

He didn't even bother to glance at Cecilia. She wasn't important enough. So much for all of God's sheep being equal. "Might I have a word with you alone?"

Cecilia's eyes went wide. She knew why. There was only one reason why an unattached man and unmarried woman would speak alone. "Of course."

Without word she moved back into the ball room, leaving me alone. I had to resist the urge to latch onto her and keep her by my side. Could he sense my sin? As he stared down at me, his hands folded so primly in front of his black robes, it felt as if he could see deep into my dark soul. James had branded me.

"Have you thought upon my offer?"

It wasn't a question, but more of a demand. He didn't want to marry me, he wanted to own and change me. Mold me into his idea of the perfect wife. How could I subject my child, if there was one, to him? A sudden rush of defiance raced through me. I wouldn't. "Yes."

He seemed startled. "Yes, you will?"

"No." I smiled, feeling relieved for the first time in days. If I was with child, I would find a way to raise the baby alone. "I won't."

He flushed. "I don't believe your parents will—"

"I don't really care."

His angry flush turned to shock.

"You see, considering I plan to move to a nunnery once Penny is gone, I don't think anyone will mind if I don't marry. Yes, I've decided to marry the one being more important than you...God. Surely you can't argue with that?"

The look on his face was worth everything I'd lied about. "But...but you're not Catholic."

I curtsied and walked away. For the first time that day I felt like laughing. I felt...free. What did I have to lose? I slipped into the parlor that had been turned into a ballroom and tried to calm my racing heart. Mother and Father stood near the far corner, welcoming guests like the perfect hosts. Penny was missing, no doubt in the back garden receiving her long-awaited proposal. I snatched a glass of champagne, downed it, returned the glass to the tray and grabbed another. How could everything change so completely in two weeks?

"Jules!" Lady Whilham called out, waving to me. "Wonderful to see you."

I ignored her and turned away, giving her the cut directly.

She'd been one of many to spread the gossip of my kiss those years ago. I finished my second glass of champagne. What would she say if she knew the truth about what I'd just done? I set my empty glass on a side table. But I realized as I strolled the perimeter of the room that I didn't need to care anymore. I was ruined. Utterly ruined. Nothing could be worse. And in a way, with my ruination came power. So why didn't I feel as if I was in control?

The orchestra played. Everyone laughed and danced, merry guests with no troubling problems. I'd been so very stupid. So incredibly naïve. If Father uncovered James' identity, he would force the man to marry me. Or perhaps once James understood that I came from a titled family with money, he would relent, and wish to marry me himself.

I leaned back against the wall, half-hidden by a potted palm. Oh God, no. I couldn't marry him. I'd kill him before I'd marry him. I squeezed my eyes shut, shoving the tears down deep, deep within my cold heart. I had to leave. Soon. Take a trip to Brighton. Or to London. Anywhere.

"Jules," Mother said, coming to stand next to me. "You're not smiling."

I forced my lips upward as I opened my eyes.

"Good." She nodded at a friend. "I've talked with your father and we've both agreed that you should go live with your aunt and uncle in the north."

I stiffened. My mother's sister and her husband were missionaries who thought it honorable to lead a pious, unencumbered life. No joy. No material possessions. Certainly no painting. They made Reverend Thomas look like a jester.

"I won't."

"You don't have a choice." She turned toward me. The resolve upon her face frightened me. "You've gone too far. We've given you too much freedom. If you can prove to us that you will not make such sinful choices again, you might return."

"I won't."

She sighed. "You have a restless nature, Jules. You always have. When you were a child I often despaired, wondering what would happen to you. Your father said you would outgrow it. You've merely gotten worse. You need a husband to temper that discontent." She smiled and nodded toward a friend. "Since you refuse to marry, you will stay with my sister. You have no money. You have no prospects. Once Penny is married, you will leave."

She moved away without another word. My entire body went cold. I caught Cecilia's gaze from across the room. She was making her way toward me, the look of concern in her eyes telling. She knew something was wrong either by instinct, or more likely I looked pale and lifeless. I wanted to run to her, to cry upon her shoulder. But Cecilia relied upon others to survive, she couldn't help me. I would not drag her into my mess. Alone. I was completely alone. The tears I'd been trying to hold back burned.

I started to turn away, intending to flee when I spotted a man with dark hair strolling through the crowd. I knew it wasn't James, yet my heart hammered all the same. The gait was familiar enough that it made my anger flare, even as my heart skipped a beat in anticipation of seeing him. How could he have such control over me? Would every dark-haired man stir my blood now?

"Not him," I whispered to myself. "It's not him."

He turned to speak with someone, a look of bored acceptance upon his handsome face. A familiar face. I froze. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only stand there and stare. He looked more finely dressed than a farmer should, the same suit he'd worn only a couple hours before when he'd taken my virginity in his home. Why was he here? Why?

He moved casually through the crowd, stopping once in a while to talk to someone important. I stumbled back into the wall. My body instantly reacted to his nearness, coming to life. Part of me wanted to go to him, part of me want to flee.

"Jules?" Cecilia whispered, grasping onto my hand. "What's happening? Tell me now!"

"It's him," I said, horrified. "Lia, it's him."

She shook her head. "Who?"

I parted my lips to tell her but before I could get the words out a beautiful blonde stepped up to his side and slid her arm through his in a familiar way.

A blonde I knew well.

"Penny?" I whispered.

"What about Penny?" Cecilia whispered. "Jules, please, I'm worried. What is it?"

James leaned down and murmured something in my sister's ear, something that made her blush. An intimate act between a couple. It took everything in my power not to race across the room and tear my sister from his evil grasp.

They both turned toward my parents. Father was speaking to the crowd, but I couldn't barely hear a word over the pounding of blood through my veins.

"...join me in celebrating our daughter Penelope's engagement to Lord Whitfield."

I gasped as if I'd been punched in the stomach. They stood as a couple at the front of the room, he dark and mysterious, she pale and perfect. A stunning couple, or so the crowd murmured.

"I...I slept with someone," I said. "I...I gave myself to someone. I'm completely ruined."

Cecilia's mouth fell open. "When? Who?"

Penny smiled, giddy and pleased with the attention. And James...his bored gaze swept over the crowd, over me. He was play-acting, pretending to be the loyal and reputable earl. Penny's earl. My stomach roiled.

I took only a slight bit of satisfaction when he paused, and his gaze jumped back to my face. He'd recognized me. I wasn't sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all, or cry.

He hadn't known who I was either.

His surprise quickly gave way to cold contempt. The entire room fell away and it was only he and I. He would wonder if I had slept with him on purpose, to get back at my sister for some injustice. He didn't know me, didn't know me at all. Never had. The anger that seethed from him sent a shiver over my body. His very face was thunderous.

"Who did you sleep with, Jules?" Cecilia asked, her hand tightening on my arm.

I shook my head, feeling light-headed and slightly delirious. "I'm such a fool."

I had loved him the moment I'd seen him bathing.

Perhaps I was insane. Perhaps I'd drunk too much champagne or read too many romantic novels. Perhaps.

But I swore I had loved him.

It was unfortunate, then, that he loved my sister instead.

"Who did you sleep with, Jules?" Cecilia whispered fiercely, stepping in front of me and gripping my shoulders. "Who?"

Slowly, I met her gaze. "My sister's fiancé."

Volume Two

James

I didn't believe in love.

I didn't believe in anything I couldn't touch, taste or see.

Why? Because I was sane.

I was a rational man who used my brain, not some useless organ like the heart. I knew my station in life. I knew what was expected of me. That did not include falling for some completely inappropriate chit. I would be the man to carry on the family line, to crush the gossip and force society to forget our more nefarious past whether they wanted to or not. And to accomplish such a deed, I would marry a suitable wife.

I had only four requirements of the woman:

One, she would be someone who would be proper at all times. My family had endured enough scandal to last a lifetime.

Two, she would be someone who was kind, caring, with a pleasant and happy disposition. I owed my future sons at least that much.

Three, she would be someone who would obey me at all times. I had no room in my life nor patience for disobedience or dramatics.

Four, she would be beautiful, of course.

And I'd found that happy, cheerful woman in Miss Penelope Brooks. A stunning blonde with creamy English skin, and sparkling blue eyes. A woman who always smiled, was forever cheerful, and most importantly always proper. If she was intimidated by my presence, it would only help the matter, for that fear meant she would obey my every command.

Yes, she was pure perfection. The moment I'd spotted her at the Ashby Ball, I'd known she would be my wife. No, it wasn't heart-pounding attraction, or some sort of silly poetic adoration. I was more rational in my feelings. Much like a mathematician when figuring out a problem, I'd studied her interactions, appreciated the way she smiled and held herself within society's strict standards. Polite, demure, perfect. And I knew after only a few hours that she would be my wife. It had all been quite easy. Too easy. I should have known better.

I knew Penny had a sister named Julianna. Penny had spoken about her on more than one occasion while we'd danced. I'd even heard the chit had been ruined, but I had paid no heed. She'd been hidden away in the country where she could do no harm. Besides, when I set my mind to a plan, I always followed through. And I'd set my mind to marry Penny no matter how inappropriate her sibling. I was well on my way to marriage with a responsible, acceptable lady.

Until I'd met Julianna...a woman nothing like the cheerful, simple Penny.

Julianna taunted me. Teased. Drove me mad.

Her emotions were as fleeting as sunshine over the moors. She was as biddable as a rabid pup. And she was about as proper as a whore selling her wares on the streets in East London. Hell, the woman barely seemed to care what society thought about her actions.

She was the complete opposite of what I wanted, needed. So why the hell couldn't I let her go? Why the hell did she haunt my dreams and waking moments?

Somehow, in some way, she'd burrowed beneath my skin.

She'd ruined my carefully constructed plan.

And for that she would pay.

Chapter 1

Julianna

Penelope was gone.

"Jules," Mother hissed in my ear. "Did you hear me? Your sister has disappeared! Nowhere to be found. I swear, if you had anything to do—"

"Of course I didn't," I interrupted, startled back from the shock of my mother's words. "I don't understand. How can she be missing?"

Father stood on the other side of the parlor, a drink in hand, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but mingling with the twenty guests who had arrived early for the wedding. There were more to come. Men and women would be visiting for the next two days. It was the biggest event our town could claim in years.

Penny was marrying an earl.

From across the room, I caught Cecilia's attention and she gave me an encouraging smile. She was the only one who knew how truly terrible this wedding was for me. The only one who cared. I took a sip of champagne, not really tasting the bubbly drink.

The only one absent was Penny's earl, who had yet to arrive. I'd been holding out hope he'd met a timely death, or been stolen by gypsies. Perhaps forced into servitude upon some ship set for Asia. I could dream. I'd fully expected him to call off the wedding, perhaps hoped. He hadn't.

Instead, it seemed Penny was to be the one to disappear.

Mother pinched my arm to gain my attention, much like she'd done when I'd been a child and misbehaving. "You have no clue as to where she has gone?"

"No." I forced the smile to remain upon my lips, so the guests wouldn't realize something was amiss. "You act as if I'm hiding her underneath my bed."

"One never knows with you."

I bit back my reply and took careful pains to smooth down the skirts of my blue muslin gown. I'd been pretending to be happy for Penny and her earl for three months now. Like a trained mutt, it had become my automatic reaction to smile when either name was mentioned. But Penny and I hadn't exactly been close in the last few months. It wasn't just anger and disappointment toward her fiancé that kept me from her side, but guilt. How could I face my sister knowing what I'd done? More importantly, knowing the nightmare her life would become once she married her demon of an earl?

"I haven't seen her since this morning at breakfast. Are you sure she isn't merely with Whitfield? Perhaps they wanted a moment alone."

The thought of them enjoying an intimate moment made me want to gag on my champagne.

"No, he hasn't arrived yet. As far as I know he's still in town. Now go find her," Mother replied, with an artificial smile as Father started our way. No doubt Mother had guards posted at every lane to warn her when James might be arriving. "And quickly before your father realizes she's missing!"

With a sigh, I set my champagne upon a passing tray and moved toward the door. Three months had trickled by and I had finally realized my secret was safe. James wasn't about to tell his fiancé what had happened between us any more than I was. Still, I hadn't been able to relax. How could I when I was constantly worried he would appear, catching me off guard like the Grim Reaper himself? I could barely stand to hear his name spoken aloud, let alone see him in the person without wanting to slap his arrogant face.

I nodded toward those who greeted me but continued my casual stroll across the room, attempting to look unhurried, at ease. The happy spinster, thrilled for her younger sister. Yes, part of this was my fault. After all, I had thought to nudge James into marrying me by seducing him. And for that, I had a feeling he would forever hate me. But he had pretended as if he was unattached, and had betrayed my very sister. Who was the worst offender? I sighed. Perhaps we were both horrible people.

At least he wasn't staying at the Welch estate any longer. He'd crawled back to the bowels of hell, or where ever it was he lived. But once a month he'd arrive with gifts for Penny, playing the doting fiancé to perfection. I'd seen them together only a few times. Too disgusted to remain in their presence for more than a minute, I'd claim to be busy when he visited. And when Mother had once asked about my odd behavior, I had said that I wanted to give Penny and her future husband time alone.

The last three months had been a whirlwind of confusing emotions. Anger, despair, shame...I seemed to have experienced it all when he visited. Although she'd had her misgivings about her earl months ago, Penny now claimed she adored James. She certainly thought him handsome, but then how could she not? Everyone thought him handsome and he used his looks to his benefit.

And every time she waxed poetically about the man, I wanted to scream, to shake loose some sense within her simple, innocent mind. I had a feeling my sister was more excited about the attention she was receiving, than the man she was marrying.

I wasn't the only one to have misgivings. Cecilia had admitted that rumors had reached the village about Penny's earl. Family secrets. Unexplained deaths. Greed. When I'd brought the rumors to my mother's attention she'd merely waved them away.

"What titled family doesn't have an unexplained death or two?"

I'd realized with her reply that nothing I said would matter. They'd placed him upon a pedestal and he would not fall.

"Bleeding wonderful time to disappear, Penny." Spotting the door only steps ahead, I eagerly raced from the room, desperate to get away from the crowds. But instead of freedom, I ran directly into a hard, muscled chest that smelled lightly of sandalwood. A musky and manly scent that made my senses spin, that reminded me all too much of James.

"Careful." Two large hands gripped my upper arms, keeping me steady. No, not James, but he sounded similar. "Don't want to injure yourself."

"I do apologize." Bemused, I tilted my head back only to look up into the charming smile of his younger brother. A born rake, or so the gossiping biddies had said when he'd arrived this morning. Not that his reputation had kept the women at bay. If anything, they only adored him even more.

According to Penny James could claim three brothers, yet only one had arrived. It said a lot about a person, in my opinion, when most of his family ignored his wedding. This man, Rafe, was almost as handsome as his older brother, but in a more carefree sort of way. He smiled often, the sort of man that might ruin a girl with a grin. Dark hair like his brother, but blue eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. Seeing him was a shock to my very being, for he reminded me so of James.

"Oh. Hello there," he drawled out. "Julianna, right?"

I nodded, my gaze darting around the empty foyer in search of Penny. This man and his family meant nothing to me. I didn't have time nor desire to chat with Rafe. Once Penny was gone, I would see them as little as possible. I'd miss my sister, but it would be the best for everyone when she lived on the other side of England. Where the bloody hell was she, anyway?

"Looking for someone?"

I tipped the corners of my lips into a polite smile. "Merely my sister, Penny."

He laughed. A laugh so like his brother's that it startled me. He had the same build, same muscled body, broad shoulders, and lean hips as James. "Has she run away already? Don't blame her. My brother is usually reserved, but lately he's been downright unbearable. How she can stand..."

I quirked a brow.

He flushed, tugging at his collar. "I say too much. I don't mean to imply he's a horrible person... the stress of the wedding and all..."

I shook my head, in no mood to listen to this man's pathetic defense of his demon brother. The evidence continued to build. "I really must find Penny."

He smiled his brother's smile and my heart lurched. If merely being near Rafe made me nervous because of his association with James, how would I sit in the church and watch Penny marry the demon earl? Dare I call off with an illness? Would Mother believe me? Perhaps one of the maids would know of some sort of vomit-inducing concoction.

"Of course," he murmured, all too eager to step aside. He'd stuck his foot in his mouth alright. Damnation, if his own brother thought he was a monster....

I curtsied, then shifted around him and raced toward the kitchens. I had no time for nonsense, and James and his brothers were nonsense. Blast James to hell!

I'd lost weight since that night those months ago. I'd become a pale reflection of who I'd been, and I hated that James could influence me so. But as Mother had insisted, I'd kept smiling...at least when I was outside of my room.

But at night while I lay alone in my bed I couldn't control my thoughts. I found myself tossing and turning, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, wondering how I had fallen for the man. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't paint. I could barely eat. My time was spent remembering those moments in his bed: his heated touch, his scent, his kiss.

"Have you seen Penny?" I asked, as I stepped into the kitchen. The room smelled of roasted duck and cinnamon desserts, something that would have made my mouth water months ago. But I no longer had an appetite. I'd lost all sense of pleasure. At least I knew I wasn't with child. My lack of appetite had nothing to do with morning sickness and everything to do with mental anguish.

"No, dear, sorry," Cook said.

I moved through the kitchen, avoiding the many maids scurrying around the room preparing the night's important dinner, and stepped out into the cool evening air. How would I sit there at that table and watch them dine together? Smiling like the happy couple. I couldn't possibly eat, for I knew my stomach would be twisted in knots.

I found Penny easily. There she was...sitting on our swing. All the anger and bitterness I felt faded as I caught sight of her pretty but morose face. Things had been strange between us lately, but seeing her looking so young, so lost, so like the child she'd once been, made my heart ache.

I started toward her. "Penny."

She glanced up at me, tears in her eyes.

My heart plummeted, the protective instinct within me flaring. "What is it?"

She shook her head, sniffling. "Nothing."

I glanced toward the door, worried Mother would find us and I wouldn't have time to get the truth from my sister. "Penny, it's me. You can tell me anything, you know that."

I didn't think she would respond when she looked away, hiding her face in shame. She looked so sweet and innocent in her light pink dress, her blonde hair in braids and curls around her heart-shaped face, that I was reminded of more innocent days.

"Penny?"

Finally she released a trembling breath. "He doesn't love me. He doesn't dote on me."

This was about James. Well of course he didn't love her. How could he love anyone when he had no heart? He was a horrible, wretched person. If I had been a dutiful daughter, I would have told her that their love would grow. James would be arriving any moment, and in two days they would marry. But as I stood there staring into the romantic, hopeful, and miserable face of my little sister...I couldn't lie.

"Don't marry him, Penny," I blurted out.

Startled, her gaze went wide.

I wished I could tell her the truth. The man had slept with me, taken my virginity, then left me coldly to deal with the aftermath alone. Not once, in all these months, had he tried to apologize. In fact, he ignored me as if I didn't exist. I'd been able to continue on because I was strong. She wouldn't. And he would betray her. I had no doubt.

"Don't."

She gripped the ropes so tightly, her knuckles went white. "But...I have to. All these people are here..."

I shook my head. "No." I took her hands in mine, desperate for her to understand without telling her too much. If she knew the truth, she would never forgive me. "You don't. Call off. Now. Before he arrives."

Looking perturbed and confused, she pulled her hands away. "Mother and Father would kill me."

"It's forever, Penny. Think about that." I shoved her aside and settled next to her on the swing, the branch above creaking out a warning. "Can you see yourself married to the man forever? Eternity? That coldness, that lack of love..."

Her face went pale and I hated myself for scaring her, but saw no other way to make her understand. I hadn't had much of a chance to speak with her, and this could be my last opportunity.

"Perhaps he'll warm up to me."

"No, Penny. I know..." I bit back my response. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't. She would never speak to me again. The shame would ruin our family forever. "I've heard rumors, my dear. He's not the honorable man you think."

Her eyes narrowed warily. "What do you mean?"

I shook my head, realizing that she was growing suspicious, and if I wasn't careful she might guess the awful truth. "I can't say, just believe me. He doesn't even care about your reputation, Penny! If he did he would have waited longer than three months for the wedding."

She blushed. "He said there was no reason to wait."

I sighed. Had I once been that naïve? Before Welch's son had begun the process of my downfall? Before James had finished? "Penny, you know what people think of quick weddings...they think you're with child!"

"But we haven't even kissed!"

I drew back, startled. Yes, I was surprised, yet at the same time I was oddly relieved. I didn't want to think of James and Penny kissing. It was wrong in some way. My relief gave way to confusion. They'd known each other five months, been engaged for three. He'd kissed me almost instantly, yet held back with his very own fiancé. Why? But even as I thought the question, I realized the answer. Because Penny was a lady, while I...I had been his whore.

"What would I do?" She looked so young, so incredibly miserable. "I can't stay here."

She was right. Where would she go? Perhaps she and I could run away, join the circus. Dress as men and become sailors. Both excellent plans, I thought sarcastically. "I have some money saved..."

She smiled sadly. "No. I won't do that to you. Besides, you'll need it if you wish to escape our aunt and uncle in the north."

Did she not understand that James was so much worse? No, she didn't. And I couldn't explain why. "He's an evil, evil man, Penny, and I will do whatever it takes to see you don't marry him."

She shook her head and stood. I knew that look of resolution. There was no changing her mind. "I have a duty to our family."

Anger sent me surging to my feet. "You have a duty to yourself!"

She sighed like a parent suffering her child's tantrums. "You wouldn't understand."

I stiffened, annoyed. "You're right. I wouldn't."

"Jules, please, I'm not—"

"Penny," Mother called out, standing on the back stoop and looking furious and relieved all at once. "There you are. Inside, now! Your guests await, and someone saw Whitfield riding this way!"

Without a backward glance, Penny trudged toward the house looking anything but the happy bride. How could our parents force this marriage? They had loved us at one time, hadn't they? We'd had a happy childhood, and had never felt pressured to marry. Never felt pressured to be anyone but ourselves. Who would have thought that the entire time they were planning our demise? That all along they were scheming at match-making. Is this truly what they wanted for us?

I sank back onto the swing with a heavy heart. He'd arrived every month for exactly three days. I dreaded those weekend visits like nothing I'd ever dreaded before. We'd never once spoken of our time together. I made sure never to see him alone. When we did meet in the hall or at dinner, he'd merely stare coldly, as if daring me to mention what had happened. I wouldn't, coward that I was. To out myself would not only be my utter ruination, but my family's as well.

How anyone could be so evil, I didn't understand, couldn't comprehend his lack of a conscience. And my sister was going to marry him. I took in a deep trembling breath. It was too late to tell the truth...wasn't it? But what if telling the truth could save my sister? I glanced at the door where Penny and Mother had disappeared.

He had three brothers in all, although only one had arrived. Poor Penny would be stuck with his family for eternity. I vaguely remembered Penny hinting months ago that she would match me with one of his siblings. Now, I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. I'd marry the devil before I'd marry anyone in his family. Yet, that's exactly what I was doing to Penny...letting her marry the devil.

Determined, I surged to my feet. I had to tell her the truth. I couldn't let her marry him knowing that he wouldn't be true to her. Knowing he would destroy her very innocence.

"Good day, Julianna."

I froze. It was the first time in all those months that he had addressed me directly. Why now? Hatred and anxiety burned a brilliant path through my gut. What did he want? And I had no doubt he wanted something.

I was forced to take in a deep, calming breath before I turned to face him. Although he'd ridden the mile from town on horseback, for I could see the grooms leading his mount away, he didn't look ruffled. It was as if the dust wouldn't dare settle upon his lofty shoulders. And as much as I hated him, I could admit, to myself, that he was as handsome as ever. How I despised the man. Hated his arrogant smirk, his stunning face and perfectly muscled body. The disgust that flared through me left me shaking.

"How can you marry her?" I blurted out.

He glanced dispassionately toward the house. "She's quite beautiful, pure, innocent and meek. I know it's hard for you to understand, but most men appreciate those qualities in a wife."

I wanted to slap him. To curl my hands and punch him in his perfect nose. Yes, she was pure but she wouldn't be once she married him. "You won't be true to her! You'll ruin her!"

As you have ruined me.

The unspoken words hung suspended between us.

His gaze returned to me, the amusement in his dark eyes stunning and horrifying. This was all just a game to him...toying with our emotions. No matter how hard I tried to appeal to the humanity within him, he would never relent. "As long as I'm discreet, I don't see the problem."

Unable to help myself, I did the one thing I'd been wanting to do for three months. I slapped him. Hard.

****

James

I didn't even flinch.

I'd certainly been hit harder in my life and by men twice my size. She jerked her hand back, cradling it to her chest. She hated me with a passion that flashed through her brilliant blue eyes, that vibrated from her being. Eyes that had been full of laughter and flirtation only three months ago. Until I'd ruined her. But I'd known it would happen, hadn't I? I'd known I'd destroy that happiness. I hadn't cared. I'd wanted her.

Slowly, I pulled my riding gloves from my hands. "You get one pass, my dear. Touch me again and you will regret it."

She continued to glare at me but I didn't miss the tremble that ran through her body. I frightened her. Good. "And if I tell my family what you did?"

I quirked a brow. "What I did? Please, do. Just make sure to tell them the truth...how you threw yourself at me. Jealous of your sister's attention. Wanting to ruin her good fortune."

She blanched. "They won't believe that! And I hardly see you as my sister's good fortune."

"Won't they believe?" I smoothed down my jacket as I prepared to enter the house and meet our doting guests. I didn't wear the common garb I'd worn when I had first arrived to this perfect little town. My coat and trousers were of the highest quality.

Those months ago I'd been playing a part, keeping my true identity a secret so that I might uncover the facts about my future bride with no one knowing any better. Instead of focusing on Penny, I'd become obsessed with Jules. I'd used these last three months to get over that obsession. So why the hell was I lingering in the damn garden when I should have been inside?

"It's not as if you haven't been in trouble before." I smiled. "Oh yes, I know all about your past, my dear."

"Because I told you!" she seethed.

The anger only brought a flush to her cheeks that made her look all the more beautiful. My body instantly heated, desire surging dangerously close to the forefront. I hated that she could influence me so. For three months I'd been coming here, wooing my fiancé. And those three months had been hell, my dormant body flaring to life every time I caught a glimpse of Jules. I couldn't shake the memory of our one time together. The memory of her satin skin, her fresh scent, her lush lips...

"You'd truly take what happened to me in London and twist it for your benefit?"

I laughed. "You'd be surprised at what I'd do to get what I want."

She was silent for a moment, stewing in her anger, while I continued to stand there watching her when I should have been inside. Hell, I wanted to shake sense into her. Wanted to hurt her deeply. I wanted to...damn it all, I wanted to shove her up against the tree and lift her skirts. I'd thought by staying away from her my interest would wane, but my desire for Julianna had merely increased to the point of desperation.

"Did Welch put you up to this?" she asked.

I snorted in disgust. The idiot was much too stupid to think of manipulation. "No one puts me up to anything."

"It's sinful," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself and looking small, vulnerable. "What we did..."

Damn it all, I would not be ashamed. "Fucked?"

"You can't sleep with me and then my sister. It's not right!"

I braced my shoulder against the tree, and reached for the rope of the swing where she and Penny had been seated only moments ago. Seeing them together looking so serious, so sisterly, almost made me feel guilty. Almost. "Why not? It's been done many times before. Hell, in France I once slept with sisters...at the same time."

She stomped her foot, her face flushing with outrage. "You are disgusting! And I don't ever want to see you again."

I laughed. "That will be a bit hard considering I'm marrying into the family, sister."

"Rot in hell, James." Practically shaking with fury, she spun on her heel and stomped back toward the house, but not before I noticed the tears glistening in her blue eyes. Eyes that only three months ago had looked at me with adoration.

I found little satisfaction in seeing her tears. Damn her, this was Julianna's fault, yet she tried to turn the tables and make herself the victim. She had set out to seduce me, to trap me into marriage. I had been completely honest about my intentions. She hadn't. My face still tingled from that slap, a lingering reminder. I clung to that pain, used it to dredge up my anger.

"What was that about?" Rafe asked as he paused next to me. "I came searching for my brother and hear the bride's sister telling you to rot in hell? Not that I'm surprised. I'm only surprised she didn't say it sooner."

The grin my brother wore was more than annoying.

"Shut up, Rafe."

I hated the witch with a passion I'd never felt before. Hated that she had used me. Hated that she had toyed with my affection. But mostly I hated that when she was nearby my body burst to life, betraying me. I wanted her as much as I had wanted her those months ago. Maybe even more. Hell, she had won after all. The realization left me furious.

"What did you do?" Rafe asked. "Tell her she looked fat? Tell her the gown she wore was ugly?" He sighed, shaking his head. "You're as bad as Oliver, you have no finesse when it comes to women."

"I did nothing," I muttered.

But the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. I wouldn't feel guilty about wanting to sleep with another. I hadn't been engaged to Penny...yet. Besides, married men had mistresses all the time. It was common knowledge, common practice. Damn Jules for making me even contemplate feeling bad.

A cool breeze shifted through the trees, but it did little to temper the stifling summer heat. I desperately needed to be home, back on my moors where the air was cool, where the rain and clouds covered the mocking sun.

"You did nothing? Jamie, I saw her slap you."

I started toward the door, hoping to leave him behind. I should have known better as he easily fell into step beside me. Music drifted from the open windows. Penny's parents had spared no expense, wanting to impress their friends and neighbors. Idiots, worried about impressing instead of their dwindling fortune. Typical members of the ton.

"Believe me, Rafe, you don't want to know."

"Oh I think I do."

I paused and looked at him. He wore that mulish expression he so often wore when dealing with me. He wouldn't relent. I knew my brother well. As much as he drove me mad, he'd always been the one to stand by my side. We were close, he, having been born only ten months after me. I suddenly found myself needing to tell someone, anyone what had happened. "Three months ago I slept with her."

He frowned. "Penny?"

It was a beautiful day. I should have been inside celebrating my upcoming wedding. Instead, I was once again thinking of Jules. "If only it were that simple, but no."

"The sister?" Rafe's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in shock. "Good God, please tell me you're jesting."

I could feel the heat of embarrassment rising up my neck. Hell, I never blushed. "I wish."

He burst out laughing, the bastard. "This is rich! Too bloody rich! After all the times you've lectured me about decorum? About the family name?"

My hands curled as I resisted the urge to hit him. "Shut up, Rafe."

"Seriously, I'd expect something like this from me...but you?"

I started toward the door. I had about thirty minutes to bathe and dress. "It was a lapse in good judgement. I had no idea they were sisters. Hell, the woman practically threw herself on me. Might have been planning the seduction even before I'd arrived. Showed up at the house I was renting and started undressing. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

I left out the fact that I had fully intended to have her even before she'd appeared at my cottage. But really, what woman, what virgin, slept with a man after only having known him for a couple weeks? She'd been planning, scheming...there was no other explanation. I'd been duped before by a bitch of a woman, I would not fall prey again. Never again.

Rafe's brows rose. "Really? I wouldn't have thought it of her. She seems too...respectable."

If only. Rafe obviously hadn't heard about her time in London with Welch's son. Damn it all, I'd had a plan. A perfectly reasonable plan and Jules with her lying and scheming had blown that plan to bits. "Not in the least."

Not once had I stayed overnight on this estate. Preferring instead to reside at an inn near town. I knew I'd never be able to sleep under the same roof as Jules. But it had nothing to do with my burning hatred and everything to do with wanting her so desperately.

I couldn't even bring myself to kiss Penny, for it only reminded me of my time with her sister. Jules had bewitched and cursed me. I'd thought the fact that they were sisters wouldn't matter. It did. Penny might have resembled her sister at times, but she had none of Julianna's fire and passion. Still, the younger woman was cheerful, polite, and doted on society. I'd been determined to make our engagement work.

Two nights until I would be married. Two nights and I would be free of Julianna. I'd sent my luggage to the house. I would stay here until the wedding. It would be the first and last time I would reside under the same roof as Julianna.

"Do not let what happened in your past influence your future," Rafe said like some blasted sage. "Not all women are the same, Jamie."

We reached the back stoop. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugged, but his gaze was much too astute. "I'm merely stating a fact."

I shook my head and brushed Rafe's comment aside. How the hell had I thought I could marry Penny? Seeing the woman day after day would only remind me of Jules. It would never end, but be a constant source of torture. Still, I couldn't call off now, could I?

"Blast the woman to hell," I muttered, tearing open the kitchen door.

I should have put a stop to this nonsense long ago, found a new fiancé. But I'd been so determined to forget Jules, to shake off the hold she had on me, that I'd been desperate to marry Penny and prove my strength.

The kitchen was full of servants preparing for the wedding, only reminding me of how close I was to becoming shackled to Julianna's sister.

"Hell, Jamie," Rafe said quietly. "Tell me you're not marrying Penny just to punish her sister."

"Don't be an idiot," I muttered, wishing I'd sounded more convincing.

I ignored the wide-eyed stares of the maids as I stomped through the kitchen, rattling the pans that hung from beams above.

"Ladies," Rafe grinned, snatching a biscuit from a tray and causing the staff to blush. Even the cook giggled like a young debutante.

I'd been like Rafe once, a long, long time ago. Charming, carefree. And for a brief moment when I'd first met Jules I'd thought perhaps I'd found that happy lad once more. We moved up the back stairs. I needed a moment alone and the only way I could bloody be alone was in my own room. I couldn't deny that Jules had made me feel more relaxed than I'd felt in a long while. Which had made her deception all the more unbearable.

"You will keep this to yourself, do you understand?" I said as we reached the second floor.

Rafe's lips twisted into a sneer. "Of course. Wouldn't dare disrespect the Earl of Whitfield." We paused outside a door. "Your room, my lord."

With an exaggerated bow, he turned and left. Wonderful, now Rafe was angry. I frowned, watching him go. I knew at times I was more a demanding lord than big brother, but someone had to keep them all in line. If I was cold, heartless, it had always been for their own good.

I gripped the doorknob and tore open the door. The room was large and well decorated in a rich silver and gray. No doubt they'd bought new furniture to impress me. Spending money they didn't have. As if I bloody cared about décor. If more people focused less upon impressing their neighbors, the debtor's prisons would be empty. It was why I'd managed to retain such wealth, because I didn't bloody give a shite about impressing anyone.

Stepping into the room, I closed the door behind me. Finally alone, only then could I breathe with some normalcy. But when I closed my eyes it was Julianna's fine features that crossed my mind.

"Blast it," I snapped.

If it hadn't been for Jules none of this would have happened. I'd be marrying Penny in two days and I would be content with my choice.

If not for Jules.

I turned and rested my forehead to the closed door, my hands fisted at my sides. "Damn you, Julianna."

I would see she paid if it took the rest of my life.

I wouldn't be the only one miserable.

Chapter 2

Julianna

"Penelope is gone!"

Mother's whispered words tore through my slumber, dredging me from the depths of sweet unconsciousness. I'd been awake half the night and had finally fallen into a fitful sleep only to be rudely awoken before dawn, the sun not even on the horizon.

For a moment I thought I was dreaming. Hadn't we been through this before? But no...Mother was leaning over my bed, a candle in hand, her eyes wide with worry and panic. Frantically she shook my shoulders.

"Oh Mother," I groaned, pulling my pillow over my head to block out the candlelight she carried. "I'm trying to sleep!"

"This is serious, Jules!" She jerked the pillow away and pulled down the covers, destroying my warm cocoon. "Utterly serious! She's gone!"

"Yes, as serious as the last time she went missing," I sighed, throwing my legs over the bed and sitting upright. "You must cease this nonsense, Mother."

She was nervous. So determined that something would go wrong to prevent them from becoming attached to an earl's family.

"Nonsense?" my mother squealed.

I yawned, attempting to stay focused. It had been months since I'd had a decent night's sleep thanks to James. James. It was only as I awoke fully that I realized tomorrow was the day Penny would marry James. A sudden variety of emotions battered me all at once, leaving my stomach aching.

"Jules, did you hear me?"

I raked the loose tendrils from my face, noting the way my hands trembled. Married. Penny was marrying the devil tomorrow morning. After slapping James, I hadn't the heart to tell my sister the truth. No, instead, I'd retired to my room for the rest of the night, pretending to be ill, stewing in my own anger and shame.

"Did you check the gardens?" I somehow managed to ask.

"Of course!" Mother still wore her night rail and her cap tucked neatly over her head. Even in the middle of the night she was prim and proper like I would never be. "You don't understand."

"Did you check Whitfield's room?" I asked drolly. I wouldn't put it past the man to have seduced her before the wedding. Bastard. But then again, he hadn't even kissed her yet, which still made little sense to me.

"Damnation Jules!" She shoved a piece of paper in front of my eyes. "Read it!"

Mother never cursed. Startled, I took the note.

My Dearest Family,

I know you have hung all your hopes upon my shoulders, and by doing this, I am letting you down. But I can't, will not, marry Whitfield. He doesn't love me. I doubt, by the way he looks at me, that he even likes me. And yes, I know, Mother, that you've said our love will grow but it can't because I'm in love with someone else.

Yours,

Penny

P.S. Dearest Jules I am sorry, but I've taken your savings. I promise to pay you back someday.

Slowly, I lowered the letter. Dear God, she'd done it. I'd begged her to run away, but now that she had it seemed insane. I wasn't sure whether to applaud her courage or cringe. She was gone... with my money. If Mother found out I'd had a hand in Penny's escape, she would murder me.

"Where is she?" I asked, hoping the dim lighting covered my flush of guilt. "Do you know?"

"On her way to Gretna Green, is my bet." Mother grabbed my arm. "On your feet, child! By my calculations, she has been gone for over four hours. If we send the footmen—"

"Mother," I sighed.

She ignored me and grabbed my blue day gown that lay over the dressing screen. "He might be able to—"

"Mother!"

She paused, my dress in hand. She wore the desperate look of someone being hunted. "What?"

I took the candle and set it upon the bedside table, least she catch my gown on fire. I wasn't the only one trembling, Mother was shaking as well. I worried about her. Ever since the engagement she'd been frantic, always in a hurry, as if time was running out. Perhaps she'd had a premonition that her carefully constructed plan would fall down around her sophisticated shoulders.

"It's too late," I said. "It's over."

She shook her head and shoved the gown into my arms. "No. It's never too late. Hurry. Dress."

Never too late? They'd seemed to think it was too late for me. Disgruntled, I pulled the clothing on over my night gown. Mother would have an apoplexy with Penny missing, and I'd be left to deal with the mess. Perhaps I wouldn't be sent to my aunt's after all. One positive. "Mother, please, be reasonable."

"I am!" she hissed. Lord, she was on the edge of going utterly mad. "You don't understand what this means!"

"No!" I snapped, buttoning the bodice of my gown. It was tight without my corset and I was forced to leave the top two buttons undone. "I don't! You're trying to farm your children off as if we're livestock! What happened to you? What happened to Father? We were a happy family once. You doted on us. You never would have—"

"Your father is dying, Jules."

I froze as I was reaching for my slippers. "What?"

"He's dying." She didn't cry, her lower lip didn't even tremble. It was as if she said we were having pheasant for dinner. "A weak heart. The doctor said he has a year, maybe two."

I collapsed onto the edge of my bed, my slippers forgotten. "No. He's so fit...so...."

"We've known for a year."

A year? Stunned, I couldn't seem to find the words to reply. The entire world tilted off balance. Father had been more reserved lately. He'd been taking naps, but I'd assumed he was merely getting older. He'd said he should have forced me to marry Welch, a man he hated, those months ago but I had assumed he was merely angry with me.

It suddenly all made sense. Oh God, they hadn't been trying to force a marriage because they were the typical entitled parents out to climb the social ladder. They were trying to see that we were provided for when my father died.

Mother handed me my slippers. "We wanted you to marry well so that we knew you would be taken care of when he is gone."

I slipped the shoes onto my feet. It was too much. All too much. Part of me wondered if perhaps I still slept and this was all a terrible nightmare. "We...we have our dowry."

"It's gone." She moved to my dressing table and sorted through my hair ribbons. "The trip to France last year...he used the savings to travel to the continent and speak with someone who might find a cure. When that didn't work, he purchased a cottage for me near town. I will need some place to live when your cousin inherits. Of course you'll be welcome to live with me. It will be tight quarters and little money, but..." She swallowed hard, her voice quivering. It was the first time in a long while that I'd seen her show emotion other than annoyance. "All will be well enough."

I grasped onto the bed post, my knees weak. Oh dear God, it was real. It was all real. "But Whitfield thinks he's getting..."

Mother shook her head as she started toward me, a white ribbon in hand. "We told him the dowry was much lower than we had expected. He still wanted to marry Penny even without the money. In fact, he said that whatever the savings, keep it. He doesn't want money for our daughter. He truly is a gentleman."

I had to stifle my bitter reply. If only she knew what he had done. Or maybe she, too, would blame me for what had happened. "Are you saying he wants her that badly?"

Mother nodded.

Stunned, I merely stood there. He gave up the money for Penny? Good lord, was James actually in love with my sister? Why did that thought sting much more than it should have? I sank onto the bed. James actually wanted my sister so desperately that he'd given up what was supposed to be a hefty dowry, merely so he could marry her.

"Apparently he does," Mother replied with a trembling smile. "So you see why it's so important for them to marry."

There was a soft knock on the door before Ramona peeked her head inside. She still wore her nightgown and cap. The entire house was in turmoil and all because I'd talked Penny into fleeing. I covered my face with my hands. I'd practically forced Penny into giving up her earl, a man who cared so much about her that he had decided to forgo her dowry. Who respected her so much he hadn't even tried to kiss her. Father was going to die and Penny and Mother would live in poverty because I had talked her out of marrying her earl.

"Have you found anything?" Mother demanded.

Ramona hesitated. "Samuel is missing."

Mother shook her head, confused. "Samuel?"

I lowered my hands as dread washed over me. She didn't. She couldn't have!

Ramona looked positively ill. "The stable hand, my lady."

Mother went white as a ghost. "Are you implying that my daughter ran off with a servant?"

All the kind comments Penny had made about Samuel made sense. And we'd thought she'd merely loved horses. She hadn't loved horses, she'd loved him. She'd told me months ago he'd kissed her, I should have known she had feelings for the man. I'd been too involved with my own problems to notice their growing attraction.

"Yes, Mother, she is implying that Penny ran off with Samuel."

"Oh dear Lord." It was Mother's turn to grip the bedpost. "No."

Well, at least I would no longer be known as the ruined sister. I now got to share the title with Penny.

"Ramona, water," I said, slipping my arm around Mother's waist. Part of me, a selfish part deep, deep down that I didn't want to dwell upon, was relieved Penny wouldn't be marrying James. And I hated myself for the thought. Hated myself for caring.

"No." Mother pushed the glass of water away and handed Ramona my hair ribbon. "I have to speak with your father."

She rushed from the room.

"What a terrible mess," Ramona said, moving to my side. She did quick work of braiding my hair and smoothing down my skirts, as if how I looked mattered at the moment. "Your father will be forced to go after them. Poor man."

Poor Father indeed. Penny and Samuel were the least of our issues for there were more important things to worry about. Father...gone in a year? No. It wasn't possible. Despite my mishaps, we'd experienced so much happiness in our young lives. At some point things had crumbled, and I had started the destruction years ago in London.

"Your parents will never forgive her. They will be shunned."

I swallowed hard, fighting back my tears. What did it matter when Father was dying? I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy. Images of my father reading me history books when I was a child came to mind. I hadn't understood half of what he'd said, but his deep voice had always soothed me like no other. He'd never made us feel unworthy for being girls. He'd never acted as if he would have preferred a boy.

How would we live without his sturdy reassurance?

"Come, dear," Ramona said gently. "We must go to your parents to see what we can do, if anything."

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and led me into the hall. We had at least twenty guests staying but all was quiet. They had no clue something was amiss as they slept so soundly. They would realize come morning. Mother and Father would be ruined. Two disastrous daughters. They had been good, decent, caring parents and we had destroyed them.

"I didn't realize," I whispered. I didn't realize the ramifications of the situation when I'd tried to talk Penny into calling off the marriage. "I didn't think she would..."

"Of course you didn't," Ramona whispered, fiercely loyal. But she had no idea what I had truly done. "How could you have known that your sister would cry off?"

"Ramona," I whispered, feeling as if I had to tell someone the truth, least it eat me alive. "There's something..."

We paused in the dark corridor. "What is it?"

"You don't understand what I..."

I saw the dark shadow only too late. Ramona gasped, while I froze. For a long moment no one uttered a single word. I didn't need to see his features to know who stood there. I felt his presence in the very air around me.

"You were saying," James finally drawled out from the darkness as he leaned casually against the frame of his door. "Something about my missing fiancé?"

****

James

"He's an evil, evil man, Penny, and I will do whatever it takes to see you don't marry him."

The damning words rang through my mind over and over, never leaving me in peace. I wasn't sure what bothered me so about the honest comment. I shouldn't have been angry, for she merely told the truth when she'd warned her sister from me. She certainly wasn't the first person to call me evil. But it didn't make it any easier to accept her opinion. How dare she judge me after she'd lied and manipulated, trying her best to trap me into marriage.

I'd had a plan. A carefully constructed plan. She'd ruined that plan. I should have been preparing for my upcoming wedding with my sweet, naïve fiancé who wouldn't know she'd entered into a pact with the devil until it had been too late.

I hadn't thought much about marriage until I'd hit the ripe old age of thirty. Hell, as much as I hated to admit it, I was getting old, my life half over. It was my damned duty as an earl to marry well. It was time to carry on the family line, for it wasn't as if I could count on my brothers to do the deed. And if I didn't carry on the line, then what would be my purpose in this wretched life?

As for a wife, I knew I wanted someone bright, happy and caring. My children would not be raised in a home with angry and bitter parents. I wasn't a complete monster; I would get Penny with child, and then I would do the most humane thing I could and leave them in peace...alone. They could stay in the country, I'd purchase property for her near her parents, or she could move to London. I didn't bloody care where she lived as long as she took care of my children and provided a happy home.

I was very much aware of the fact that I would never be a good father. I didn't pretend to be the romantic man most women dreamt of. But the family line would remain intact and the children would be content with their mother. My life would have a purpose.

Now the time I'd spent courting Penny was destroyed. I would be forced to start anew. Jules had tried to completely upend my carefully constructed plan three months ago. She had finally succeeded.

I rested in a leather chair across from the woman who remained foremost in my thoughts. The woman who had destroyed my everything. Sitting in an identical chair, Jules looked bemused, guilty, and exhausted as she stared unblinkingly at the fire in the hearth.

She'd changed in the three months since we'd met. There was a thinness about her previously lush frame that I didn't care for. Dark circles marred the area under her once vibrant eyes. Guilty conscience? At least it didn't seem as if she was with child. I'd been watching her waistline carefully, cursing myself the fool for not pulling out before spilling my seed. Siren. Enchantress. She'd burrowed into my wretched soul.

I stared hard at her as her parents talked back and forth between the two of them, attempting to uncover a solution to this problem. Rafe sat by the windows looking partly amused and completely entertained. Jules and I weren't alone, but it felt as if we were the only two in the room. The world had slowed, voices faded. Only the clock on the mantel seemed to tick in time with my heart beat. It felt as if my life was teetering on the edge of some precipice, about to change drastically. For better or worse, I could not say.

She didn't once glance at me, but I knew she was completely aware of my presence. On the rare occasion when I responded to a direct question from her parents she would stiffen, the pulse in the side of her neck pounding so furiously that I could see it from where I sat. She was trying her hardest not to look at me, to pretend as if I didn't exist.

Hell, she didn't fit the definition of an earl's wife in the least. She wasn't demure and elegant. She wasn't obedient or quiet. I should have despised her. I certainly despised the fact that memories of our time together kept me up at night. Hated that I hadn't been able to kiss her blasted sister because she reminded me too much of Jules. Yes, the woman had ruined everything. Months of careful planning. Days of courting Penny. And I wanted nothing more than to see her suffer as I suffered.

"We will find Penny," her father said. "I promise. Before anything happens."

With my gaze still pinned to Jules, I replied, "Do you honestly think I want your used daughter? A tainted woman in love with a stable hand?"

The man glanced helplessly at his wife. But she was of no assistance. The older woman choked on her tears. I'd grown numb to the pain of others. The tenderness between the two disgusted me. Weak fools. One took care of one's family because it was one's duty, not out of emotional attachment.

And Jules, she finally met my gaze only to narrow her eyes into a glare. "My parents are not at fault!"

"Then who is?" I dared to ask her. "Surely she didn't think of running off on her own. Perhaps I don't know Penny as well as you, but I do know your sister would never be so devious."

Jules, on the other hand...

Would she admit that she had tried to talk her sister out of marrying me just yesterday? Guilty, she flushed and looked away. Apparently not. She had no compunction throwing everything into turmoil, yet would never accept responsibility for her actions. The woman frustrated me beyond all measure.

"What can we do to rectify the situation?" her mother said, sniffling as she attempted to hold back her tears. "Surely there must be something, Lord Whitfield?"

What could they do? Draw and quarter their eldest daughter would be a start. My hands curled into the arms of the chair. I started to stand, intending to leave them altogether and return to my moors an unattached man; I'd had enough. But in that moment all actions slowed. Everything became utterly clear. I knew what I could do to win, to beat Jules at her own game. It was rash. It was completely unlike me. I didn't care. All that mattered was seeing her punished, destroyed.

"It's really quite simple," I replied, relaxing back into my chair with a smug determination coursing through my bones. I had not only inherited my father's coldness, but also his ruthless nature. He would be proud. "If one sister refuses, the other will do."

The entire room went silent, still. The only sound was the crackle of the fire. Once the words were out there was no regret. The loss of control and power I'd experienced since meeting Jules was slowly returning much like the awakening of spring after a cold winter. I felt the very devil and I savored the moment. The desperate need for revenge enflamed my soul.

Jules frowned in confusion, tearing her gaze from me to focus on her parents, looking for answers. I waited patiently for her to comprehend. Knew I would delight in seeing the shock and horror spread across her pretty face when she realized I had won.

Her mother clutched her shawl in front of her chest and shook her head, just as confused. "I don't understand."

But her father knew, for I could see his mind spinning, his rational need to reject such an offer warring with the absurd notion to accept. "Are you serious?"

"Quite. You will take your sister's place, Julianna," I said casually, as if it was completely normal and appropriate. "You will marry me."

Her face lost all color. "No."

What she said made no difference. I would win this game. This was between me and her parents. Parents who stood there looking horrified, confused, and yes...hopeful. "I want to speak to your daughter alone."

Jules jumped to her feet.

Rafe shot me a glance, catching my attention for the briefest moment, his brows raised in question. He thought I was insane. It wasn't the first time he'd believed it, nor would it be the last.

"It wouldn't be proper," her mother whispered, wringing her hands together in nervous agitation. "What would our guests think?"

Their guests could go to hell for all I cared. "What others think has never been any concern of mine, and I don't plan on making it a priority now."

Her mother's lips parted in surprise.

Julianna's father gripped his wife's arm, a silent command to keep her mouth shut. He'd told me months ago that because of some unforeseen issues, the dowry would be much less than previously assumed. Of course I hadn't cared. I had chosen Penny, and I would see it through. Besides, I didn't need the money, but he obviously did.

"Of course you can speak with her," the desperate man said. "We shall just be in the hall."

Fortunately someone was practical in this blasted family. "The reverend is staying here?"

He nodded. Her father had already made up his mind. Jules was mine. The relief I felt was immediate and confusing. I told myself I merely wanted to punish her, but deep down I wondered if it was more. I couldn't deny I was still attracted to the woman. Wanted her even now.

"Come, my dear," Julianna's father said.

I stood. "Wake the reverend."

Her father tugged her mother from the room, as the older woman looked helplessly at her daughter. Jules continued to stare at me in horror, hoping to wake from this nightmare. The heavy weight of responsibility hung upon her shoulders. Would she save her family or herself? I wondered briefly why she hadn't slapped me, why she wasn't throwing a fit to rival any two year old. Oddly, she remained quiet, still, trapped, just as I'd wanted her.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Rafe asked as he moved by me.

I didn't bother to look his way. "Yes."

I'd never been surer of anything. Once the words were out, they seemed utterly right. Damnation, I didn't just want to punish her. I wanted her. Wanted her with a desperation that fed my dark soul. The thought of anyone else marrying her, touching her, infuriated me.

"Very well." With a sigh, Rafe left the room.

And I was glad to see him go. Finally alone, we were quiet for a few moments. Julianna merely stared up at me in shock, while I waited for the outburst I knew was to come. And as I waited for her to gather her thoughts, I took the time to study and admire her figure.

The urge to touch her overwhelmed me. The deep slope of her neckline showed off the soft, pale mounds of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a corset, that was obvious. The gentle whisper of loose locks brushed her delicate collarbone. The small, straight nose with the slightest tilt at the end. The pale cream of her skin. She was lovely, damn it all, and I wanted her even now. Soon. Soon she would belong to me.

"You...you can't be serious, James," she whispered, stumbling over her words in her haste to make me see reason. "You despise me and I you."

I gave her a cool, thorough glance that left her blushing. She would never know how much she affected me. She would never know how I craved to taste her satin skin, how I lay awake at night dreaming of her lush body. "Absolutely serious."

Her shock gave way to anger. Her hands fisted at her sides. "Good Lord, please tell me you don't hate me so much you're trying to punish me through marriage?"

Was I? Yes, at first. Did it matter? No. I wanted her. I'd set my mind to having her and I would. I might be punishing Jules, but I might as well claim the prize I deserved.

"This is what you're going to do, my dear," I said, impatient now that I knew what I wanted. "You're going to stand in front of the reverend, marry me, and sign the documents with a smile."

Her glare turned murderous. The contempt she felt for me was plain and obvious. "And if I don't?"

The tension in my shoulders would not ease until we were bonded. Casually, I strolled toward the hearth, picked up the poker and stoked the flames. "I'll sue your parents. Then I will ruin your family. That little scandal of yours, kissing Welch's son in the garden, will be nothing compared to what I can do to you. And of course I'll make sure they know that you talked Penny into leaving. In a word, I will destroy everything you have."

"I don't believe you."

She believed me only too well. I turned to face her. "Then try it."

Her lower lip quivered, tears swimming in her eyes. She fought her panic well. I wished I could have felt some sort of guilt, but one didn't get what one wanted by feeling shame. Another lesson learned from my dear father.

"You are no gentleman."

"I never claimed to be." I looked away, for the first time slightly uneasy with my lack of compassion. Any other man would have felt something at the utter look of terror in her eyes. Had I been human once? Had I actually cared? I could barely remember. Hell, at least I was honest. "I've never made any pretense at being a decent, caring being, unlike you."

Anger colored her cheeks. "I love my sister and I'm glad she escaped. I wouldn't wish you upon my worst enemy."

My own anger flared, even as attraction heated my blood. In two steps I stood in front of her. I hadn't been this close to the woman in three months. Her sweet, feminine scent swirled around me, tempting and taunting and I realized my mistake in being near. My mind wasn't my only enemy. My body remembered every detail of our time together, every brush of her fingertips, every soft moan. I moved forward before she could realize my intention, before she had time to flee.

Without thought, I gripped her upper arms and jerked her toward me, crushing her lush body to mine. "Watch what you say, my dear. Pretty soon, under the eyes of the law, I will own you."

Her breath came out in rapid pants. She wanted to slap me again. Would have if I hadn't been gripping her arms to her sides. The defiance in her gaze made me want her even more, to prove that she wanted me as well.

"You will never own me," she hissed.

"We shall see."

I would have proven then and there how easy it would have been to seduce her, if the soft knock hadn't sounded on the door. I didn't respond, merely glared down at her. Hell, I wanted to push her away. Or maybe I wanted to kiss her. To shut her up and find pleasure in her body.

I could feel her heart pounding fiercely against mine. She was afraid, worried, but I could also see the attraction in her eyes. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. The relief I felt was immediate. As much as I despised her, I'd never been one to relish nor use force. I wanted my women willing. We would, at least, find common ground in bed. I would see to that.

The knock sounded again.

"Damnation," I snapped, shoving her away from me, least I do something we would all regret. "Enter."

The door opened. Her parents and Reverend Thomas walked inside, followed by Rafe. The reverend looked anything but pleased to see us standing so close. I knew he'd wanted Jules for his own, I'd seen the way the man greedily watched her. I should have let him have her merely to spite the woman. He could have crushed her soul, instead of leaving the task to me.

"Are you ready?" he asked coldly, gripping his bible to his chest as if to use it as a weapon should I dare try and attack the man.

Hell, perhaps Julianna's parents thought I was some savior, but this reverend knew a dark soul when he saw one. He understood not to trust me. "Now."

Jules went pale, her eyes wide with panic. "Now?"

"Now," I snapped, growing impatient and annoyed.

"You can't be serious!" her mother exclaimed. "She's not dressed properly! We have guests. We have to plan—"

"Now," I snapped. Did they not understand English? "We will be gone before the guests even wake."

I could barely hear the reverend over her mother's sobs. The older woman clung to her husband, knowing what they did was wrong. They were selling their daughter to save their hides. Rafe watched me warily from the side of the room, judging me and finding me lacking. And Jules merely stood there staring wide-eyed at the reverend, as if hoping the man could somehow save her. What a bloody way to start a marriage.

"Get on with it," I snapped when the reverend continued to stand there muttering about how improper the spectacle would be, should we actually marry.

"Very well," he muttered.

Latching onto Julianna's arm, I jerked her against my side. The reverend took his place in front of us, the look of disgust upon his holy face obvious, and started his speech about the sanctity of marriage while her mother wailed in the background. It was so absurd I had the sudden desire to laugh.

She had used me. Trapped me. Destroyed everything I had planned.

But I, at last, had found my revenge.

Chapter 3

Julianna

I was married. Completely attached. I could hardly wrap my mind around the fact that three months after he had taken my innocence and left me destroyed, I was married to James, Lord Whitfield.

"We will stop every three hours for you to use the facilities and stretch your legs," he had said as he led the way to his carriage only an hour after we had signed the papers as man and wife. My parents had hugged me tightly, his brother had offered a half-hearted congratulations. But I could merely stand there and stare at the papers, the damning evidence, our signatures: his bold and daring, mine shaky and weak.

"But...you can't expect me to sit in a carriage for three days, not even stopping to stay overnight!"

He'd tossed my carpetbag to the waiting footman and pulled open the carriage door. "It will be only two, if we stop every three hours."

He'd slammed the door shut, leaving me in the carriage alone while he rode his own mount ahead with his brother. I'd shoved aside the curtains and watched as my parents waved goodbye, watched as we turned a corner and the only home I'd ever known faded from view.

Day had fled and night had come. A full day of sitting in a carriage, being bumped and tossed about like a sack of potatoes, and with as much consideration. It was a fine carriage, but even a plush carriage with velvet lining had its limits, and at the speed we were traveling, it did not make for smooth sailing, so to speak.

Hours inside the coach had given me plenty of time to think...but mostly to worry. By law, James owned me. He had the ability to use me, to shame me, to abuse me. Searching his dark eyes during the ceremony, I'd hoped to find some sort of softening, a spark of conscience. There had been none. He hated me.

Another day and we would be home and then...then he could do with me what he wanted. He could take me as many times as he wished, no one would stop him. It was his right. The thought terrified me...yes. But I couldn't deny the curl of aching need that twisted through my body at the thought of his lips on mine. His body naked and straining atop me... Our one and only time together had left me desperate for more.

I hadn't seen James since we'd left my parents. An entire day had come and gone, and I had yet to hear a word from my husband. Could he not stand the thought of being near me? Would he rather ride on an uncomfortable mount for two days rather than be in a carriage with his own wife? Apparently so. And that was bleeding fine by me.

I flicked aside the curtains, but the land was dark. There was nothing to see. Was he riding ahead? It was hard to tell. When the carriage dutifully stopped every three hours it was a footman or two who escorted me into the inn. Footmen who would buy my meals. Meals I was forced to eat either alone in the pub, or in the bumpy carriage.

I glanced at the small watch pinned to my cloak. A parting gift from my mother. A pin that had been her mother's. She had kissed me, said she loved me, and told me that I was doing what was best given the circumstances. Then she was gone. How could I argue with her comment, knowing the dire straits in which my parents found themselves? I didn't start crying until my father had hugged me, knowing that if his affliction was worse than the doctors assumed, I might never see him again.

When James saw me crying he said not a word, merely gripped my elbow and led me from the house, from everything I'd ever known. Callous. Uncaring. The moment we stepped outside he dropped his hand and did not touch me again. I knew he'd eventually have to deal with me, if he wanted children. I wondered, as I shifted on my seat to alleviate the ache in my back, how I would stand it when he did. Oh, the thought didn't disgust me. No. Unfortunately, I worried I'd like it entirely too much.

Why? Why had he forced marriage when he hated me? It made no sense.

With a sigh, I rested my legs upon the seat opposite of me. It was dark, cold. There were no warmers or blankets. The footmen hadn't even bothered to light the lamps. But worst of all, I was bloody bored. I hadn't thought to bring a book, for I'd been so rushed I hadn't had time to think of much of anything. I had my drawing pad and charcoals; I rarely left without them. But when I'd found myself drawing James for the fifth time, as if my hands had a mind of their own, I'd given up. Even writing to Cecilia had been beyond my capability. How could I possibly explain what had happened in the last twenty-four hours in a mere letter?

I shifted once again, trying to get comfortable. And so I was left to deal with the incredible boredom of someone with nothing to do, and too much to think about. Father had pressed a purse of coins into my hands before we'd left, but during our stops I'd had no time to purchase anything. The footmen had rushed me inside the pub, and rushed me back out.

The sudden thump of wheels over cobbled streets caught me by surprise. I brushed aside the curtain. Sure enough we'd entered a small village and ahead I could see a comfortable looking inn ablaze with warm light. I picked up the watch pinned to my cloak. I still had another hour before we were allowed to stop. My stomach grumbled. My anger seethed.

"Blast you, James!"

Our last stop had been at an inn that looked less than reputable. I'd been forced to not only use their facilities, but drink their watered down ale while the inn keeper had leered at me from the dingy corner of the room. The food had appeared so undesirable that I'd barely eaten. Of course there was no one to complain to as James hadn't bothered to check on me. But I would no longer be ignored.

Unable to stop myself, I pounded on the roof. "There. Done."

Feeling rather smug, I settled back and waited. Nothing happened. The blasted coach didn't even slow. With a growl, I lifted off my seat and pounded again. Nothing. Ignored even by the servants. How would I run a household if they didn't respect me?

My anger boiled. I tore the curtain aside and leaned out the window. "If you do not stop, I will throw myself from this carriage, I do not jest, sir!"

The vehicle came to a shuddering stop.

I shoved open the door and stumbled outside. Silly move. I had to cling to the door, for my legs had grown numb and useless. Our five minute stops every three hours were doing nothing to restore my strength. If I fainted would James even care? Doubtful, he'd merely have a footman toss me back into the carriage and continue on.

"My lady," the driver jumped from his post, the footmen with him, peeking at me from atop the carriage. I shifted my gaze back toward the driver. He didn't look the sympathetic sort. If anything he looked much too arrogant and lofty for my liking. "Lord Whitfield said no stopping until he demanded it!"

"Yes," I said, pulling on my gloves and glancing toward the front of the carriage. "But he's not here, is he?"

The bastard. I couldn't deny how hurt I felt at realizing James truly didn't care enough to stay near the coach. I should have expected as much. Well then, I'd be in charge of my own travels from now on, thank you very much. I had a few coins, thanks to my father. What did I need James for anyway?

"I'm hungry, sir," I said, having no idea as to the driver's name. James hadn't deemed it important enough to introduce me to his staff. "I want to eat."

Ignoring his protests, I turned to face the pub. It was only then that I realized it wasn't as clean and welcoming as I'd thought. The night had softened its edges and hid the dirt and grime. I swallowed hard, not bothering to acknowledge the two unsavory looking men hovering near the entrance. I'd stopped the carriage in a fit, I couldn't back down now.

"Jimmy, escort the lady," the driver snapped. "Tim, Jacob and I will stay with the carriage."

Only one footman as escort? And a scrawny lad at that? Was the man intending to frighten me into staying? Aye, I could see the smirk in his gaze. He was doing it on purpose to teach me a lesson. Pompous bastard. He didn't think I would go through with my plan.

"My lady," Jimmy said nervously. He was young, perhaps sixteen years of age, and nervously clutched his cap in his hands. He would do little to protect me. More likely I'd be protecting him. "You really shouldn't go inside. Tis not safe."

I gripped the door handle, knowing I couldn't give in now. "Lord Whitfield won't even have to know," I said. "I shall stretch my legs, eat, and we can be on our way."

The boy with the brilliant red hair gasped. "My lady, Lord Whitfield knows everything!"

I rolled my eyes as I stepped into the pub. Really, James held much too much power. It was time someone questioned his authority. It was time he realized he wouldn't be lord over me. It was time...

Good lord. The room was crowded with unsavory looking men. The few women in residence wore gowns with necklines so low I feared their breasts would pop out as they bent to set down drinks. The driver had been right, this was no place for a lady. I breathed through my mouth, the stench of unwashed bodies and stale ale making me gag.

It was a small room with tables, a bar and a brick fireplace roaring with flames. A rickety staircase led to a second floor that no doubt held rooms for illicit activity.

Sensing my presence, the entire room went quiet as everyone turned to face me. I wasn't quite sure if I should curtsey, introduce myself, or ignore them all. What was the proper etiquette when facing a room of cutthroats?

I smiled at the closest bar wench, hoping to find friendship with another female. "I'd love a good meal, my dear."

She laughed, placing her hands on her hips and giving me a saucy glance up and down. "Then why'd ye stop here?"

Her male friends seated at the table where she stood didn't laugh, but continued to stare unblinkingly at me. I felt like a mince pie in a room of starving men. This wasn't good, I realized. Wasn't good at all.

"Come on then," the barmaid said, taking pity on me. "Sit here, near the door, yer back to the wall."

"Why?" I whispered, following her to the only empty table.

"Close to the door so you can escape, yer back to the wall so no one can sneak up on ye." She laughed when my gaze went wide. "Oh luv, what did ye expect coming in here alone?"

I settled on a stool, went to shift and realized my skirts were stuck to something sticky. Lovely. I crossed my hands in my lap, doing my best not to touch the tabletop. It looked about as clean as the floor. "But, I'm married and, and...Jimmy is with me."

She slid the footman a wry glance. "Aye, he looks ready to defend yer honor."

Jimmy, who stood nervously beside me, looked so pale I feared he might faint. What had I been thinking? A cold chill raced down my spine...a warning. "Perhaps I'll just take something to go along with me," I murmured, attempting to avoid contact with the many gazes pinned to my person. "I'd rather eat in the carriage anyway."

The woman winked. "Good idea. I'll bring it outside to ye."

She left to get me something. I stood, jerking my skirts from the stickiness of the stool. The sooner we returned to the carriage, the better. "Jimmy, I think it's time we left."

He nodded frantically. "Aye, my lady."

"And if we could keep this to ourselves..."

He nodded again, falling into step beside me. "Aye, my lady."

"My husband need not..." My voice trailed off as I noticed the large man blocking the door. I froze, Jimmy pausing beside me.

Dear lord, we were in trouble.

The man stood there with arms crossed, legs braced apart. Slowly, he smiled, showing yellowed and blackened stumps for teeth. "Where ye going, beauty?"

I squeezed my hands into fists as if that could keep me from shaking in fear. To show emotion, weakness, would be my downfall. And if need be, I would yell. Surely if I screamed, the rest of my husband's staff would come running to help. I hoped.

"Well," I said slowly, cursing myself when my voice trembled. "I was merely thinking to head back to my carriage."

He grinned, lowering his arms to his side and spreading his legs even farther, preparing to attack. "Oh no, we wouldn't want to dissuade you of our company."

The man's breath was foul. His stench overwhelming. My heart leapt into my throat, terror sending a sheen of sweat across my skin. Blast James! This was his fault. I glanced desperately toward the door. Surely if I screamed the driver would hear. Would he send reinforcements, or leave me to my own devices just to spite me?

"I...my husband is just outside. He's waiting..."

"Do you play the piano?" someone called out in a gruff and gravelly voice from the far corner of the room.

He'd startled me so that I actually forgot to be afraid for a moment.

The man in front of me scurried away as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his feet. The entire room ceased its leering and quickly dropped their attention to the tabletops, the floor, anywhere but on me. Confused, I turned to find the owner of the voice. At the far side of the room was a little old man with a pipe, a shock of white hair, an eye patch, and a hook for a hand. My eyes went wide with surprise and bemusement.

"Well?" he grumbled. "Do ye? Simple enough question, gurl!"

I nodded. "Yes, sir. I do."

He waved at me with his good hand as he puffed a cloud of smoke into the air. "Well then, come closer."

As a group of men shifted out of the way, I realized that the old gent was seated next to a piano. Someone rushed forward and set a stool near the instrument. Another man pulled a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to wipe the stool clean. Stunned, I merely stood there watching the sudden burst of gentlemanly activity, Jimmy quaking at my side. Who was this little old man who demanded such loyalty?

"I should go," I said hesitantly. "I have people waiting."

The old troll frowned, narrowing his beady black eyes. "Three songs, then ye can leave with me blessing."

Did he truly think I could play when my hands were shaking so badly? I glanced desperately at the bar wench who was holding our drinks. She gave me a quick nod, urging me to do as the old man demanded.

"Go on then, just do it," Jimmy encouraged, nudging me in the shoulder.

I turned my glare toward the footman who was being much too pushy for my liking. "Do you honestly trust him to keep his end of the bargain?"

"I keep me word, lass!" the old man cried out as if offended. At his age, I hadn't expected him to be able to hear from across the room. "Ye play me three songs, me boys will see ye escorted safely to your carriage, no harm done."

Jimmy stared pointedly at me. The entire room watched to see what I would do. Bloody hell, did I have a choice?

I sighed. "Oh, very well."

The old man grinned around his pipe. "Good gurl."

Gingerly, I moved across the room, surprised when not one man made a move to touch or lunge at me. In fact, they weren't even looking my way. Carefully, I stepped over the puddles of what I hoped were water and ale as I made my way farther into the pit of the pub. I couldn't help but feel as if I was walking into the lion's den.

"Well done," the bar wench whispered, handing me an ale as I passed by. "Ye've made friends with the one man who can protect ye."

I paused and took a deep drink. It tasted of dish water. I grimaced and handed the mug back to her. "Who is he?"

She looked taken aback. "Why, that's Terrifying Tony, the most wretched man in all of England."

I'd certainly never heard of him, but what did I know of outlaws and bandits. If she said he was terrifying, I would believe her. "Wonderful. Just bleedin' wonderful."

And here I'd thought no one could be worse than James.

****

James

"Where the hell is my wife?" I demanded, jumping from my mount.

We'd been some distance ahead, checking for highwaymen, when I'd noticed quite suddenly the carriage had stopped. My heart had leapt into my throat even as Rafe had insisted Julianna was safe and well. He didn't know her like I did. I'd spurred my mount around and raced back toward town.

"Inside, my lord," the driver said with an arrogant sniff, folding his gloved hands in front of him as he remained upon the driver's seat of the carriage. "She insisted. But I did send Jimmy in with her."

"Jimmy?" Rafe laughed. "He's merely a lad, but glad to see you have the carriage well protected."

My entire body went cold. "You sent Lady Whitfield in there with only one guard?"

"She insisted," Kelps said again, as if that made all the difference in the world.

The urge to do bodily harm to the man overwhelmed me. How dare he not properly protect my wife. How dare he disregard my instructions to stop only every three hours. Who the bloody hell did he think he was?

"You can't expect your staff to respect her," Rafe muttered under his breath. "When it's so obvious you don't."

"Shut up, Rafe." I narrowed my gaze on Kelps. "Collect your things. You're fired."

He paled, that arrogance fleeing. "My lord, you can't be—"

"Silence!" I pressed my hands to the back of my waistband, needing to feel the cool reassurance of my pistol, as I started toward the door. "Be gone by the time I'm back."

"But, my lord!" Kelps tried again.

Without bothering to respond, I pulled open the pub door and stepped inside. The moment I moved across the threshold, I tore the pistol from my waistband and pointed it at the nearest threat, a large, burly man seated at a table. But not one person glanced my way. The room was quiet. Although some visitors remained on the outskirts, most of the men had congregated at the far end of the building. Slowly, I lowered the pistol, attempting to understand the situation.

"Well that was rather anti-climactic," Rafe muttered as he paused beside me, just as confused. "What the hell has happened?"

A sad and melancholy tune started on a piano. Bemused, I moved across the floor. A soft, sweet and almost eerie voice drifted from the group of men, so at odds with the squalor of the area around us that it seemed as if an angel had been dropped into the middle of hell. A parlor song I'd heard before of unrequited love.

Juanita.

A silly song. But the voice that sang entranced me, pulled me closer. It was as if the singer trailed her very fingers over my body.

In thy dark eyes' splendor

Where the warm light loves to dwell,

Weary looks yet tender

Speak their fond farewell!

Good God, my wife.

Julianna.

I'd never heard her sing. Had no idea her husky voice could carry such a tune. I couldn't see her, yet I knew it was Jules. My body warmed, blood surging through my veins. Surely there were better singers, but at the moment I couldn't think of a blasted one. It was beautiful, almost ethereal, and I wasn't the only one to think so. I swore I saw a few of the cutthroats actually wipe a tear from their eyes.

Damnation! What was it about this woman that constantly gripped at me, pulled me under so I could barely breathe, think, even know who I was? My chest grew tight with an emotion I didn't dare dwell upon. Instead, I dredged up what anger I could manage and focused on my consuming need to punish her.

She could have been killed. Still might be if Rafe and I didn't get her out of here and soon. Jimmy cowered in the corner, of no help. Hell, while I had been terrified something had happened to her, she'd been making friends.

"Thank God for our sparring lessons," Rafe muttered.

Yes, Rafe and I were in good physical condition. Yet there were at least twenty men in the pub. Hell, she was going to get us killed and she'd probably dance a jig on my grave after. I stomped forward, grabbed two men by the collar and tossed them aside. Julianna sat at a piano bench singing her cold, black heart out. Her head was bent low, her fingers sliding over the keys, her eyes closed. She was completely unaware of me. Completely unaware, as always, of the havoc she had caused.

"Beautiful," the old man seated next to her sighed, dabbing at his one good eye.

"Jamie," Rafe whispered. "You realize who that man is, right?"

Hook hand, eye patch, cloud of white hair.

Christ and damnation.

Terrifying Tony. He was notoriously known throughout the area as a pirate, a highwayman, a smuggler, a veritable ruffian with his own group of never-do-wells who obeyed his every command. "Yes, unfortunately."

"You can't just rush in there." Rafe glanced around the room, calculating our odds. They weren't good. "Most of these men are likely working for him."

Furious, I knew I wasn't thinking rationally. "Like hell I can't."

The little idiot could have been killed, and why? Merely for the fun of disobeying me? I shoved aside two more men and reached out for Jules. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Startled, she yelped as I grabbed her upper arm.

This sent an immediate flurry of activity into motion. At least five men pulled out pistols and trained them directly at my chest. I growled low in my throat, my anger palpable. I was an earl, damn it all. They should be scraping and bowing, not threatening my life.

"I was hungry," she said, glaring up at me. "Which you would have known if you would have checked on me even once this day."

I jerked her up from the bench. "I told you we stop every three hours."

She struggled in my grasp. "Well, it's not enough."

Clasping her shoulders to keep her still, I lowered my face so we were a mere breath away. "Do you realize you've stopped in one of the worst inns in England, a place where criminals and smugglers congregate?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Well then, you should fit right in."

The urge to throw her over my shoulder and carry her from the pub overwhelmed me. She would drive me mad. I growled low in my throat. The blasted woman was intent on getting one of us killed.

"I don't think the lady wants to leave wit ye," Tony said. "And frankly, I'm trying to decide if I want to let me men put a few bullets through yer chest just fer fun."

"No!" Jules cried out, surging forward as if to protect me. The thought that a pistol might go off and hit her made me furious. I shoved the woman behind my back. Did she truly not understand the danger of the situation? Was she really so naïve?

"She's my wife, so I suggest you mind your own business, old man," I snapped.

Tony stood, and with him at least ten men stepped closer, surrounding us. The old man barely came to my shoulders, and although he was the leader, he wasn't the threat. No, it was his motley crew that held the physical power to see us destroyed.

"Hell," Rafe said, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to a nearby bar wench. "Looks like we'll be staying for a while after all."

I braced my legs apart, preparing for battle. "We are leaving."

"I don't bleedin care if she's the Queen of England," Tony snarled, slamming his hook upon the tabletop and denting the wood. "She needs to finish me song! She bleedin promised!"

"James," Jules said, lightly gripping the sleeve of my jacket to get my attention. "Perhaps..."

I shoved her behind my back again. "If you honestly think—"

"James, just one song!" Her fingers bit into my jacket. "This is my doing, I'll get us out of here."

"No," I snapped, glaring down at her. "As always, I'll clean up your mess."

I heard her hiss of outrage but didn't bloody care. She was right...it was her fault. While Rafe and I had ridden ahead to make sure the roads were safe, she'd thrown herself directly into the path of danger.

"Jamie," Rafe said under his breath. "I love a fight as much as you but ten men against two? Maybe you should just let her play the bloody song."

"Damnation, she's my wife!" I wasn't sure if I was angry because she had disobeyed me by leaving the carriage, or because these men had heard her play and sing before I had. "She is not bloody playing that damned song!"

Rafe sighed. "Very well." From his waistband he pulled two pistols. "Let the fun began!"

"Terrifying Tony," Jules pleaded. "Please!"

He sighed, looking completely put out as he crossed his arms over his scrawny chest. "Fine. No guns or knives! Only fists."

The moment he said the words a man surged forward, swinging. I ducked, only to come up and hit him underneath the chin. As he collapsed to the ground, I made quick work of shoving Julianna out of harm's way.

"Watch her," I snapped toward the bar wench standing there gawking, "and there will be a few coins coming your way."

The greedy whore latched onto Jules and jerked her behind the safety of the bar.

I spun around just as a second man lunged toward me. My fist connected with his gut, sending him doubling over with a howl of pain. Rafe was embattled in his own brawl, fighting two brutes. With quick assessment, I took in the room. Only Tony's ten men seemed intent on fighting. The other few visitors merely watched from the corners, entertained by the battle.

Perhaps it was arrogance, but I had no doubt we could take these ten ruffians.

I'd waylaid two, as had Rafe. Six left. They circled us, a variety of sizes and shapes, one as menacing as the next. There was no simple way out of this mess. I caught Rafe's gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, his hair was mussed and a sleeve was torn from his shirt. Any other day I would have mocked his state, taunted him as a weakling.

Not today. Today I had one goal and one only, get Julianna the hell out of this pub. Yes, they could do a lot of damage with their meaty fists, but I wasn't worried about myself. Jules could be hurt in the process and I couldn't allow that. Needing the reassurance, I glanced toward the bar. The chit was gone.

"Shite," I snapped.

Where the hell was Jules?

Frantic, I started to search for her when a fist caught me off guard. Knuckles connected with my cheek, snapping my head back. I stumbled. Somehow I managed to stand my ground, even as a warm trail of blood traveled down the side of my face.

"Damn it all! Rafe, find Jules!"

The bastard who had hit me would pay. I lunged forward. My body slammed into his. We fell back onto a table, the legs collapsing under our weight. Vaguely I was aware of the crowd cheering. We hit the floor with a thud that stirred the dust. I didn't pause but lifted my fist and hit the man in the face, knocking him unconscious.

"Jamie!" Rafe snapped, the warning in his voice sending a cold chill down my body. Something was wrong.

Jules. I needed to find Jules.

I stumbled to my feet.

"Julianna?"

"Here!" she called out.

I jerked my gaze toward the piano. Looking pale and uncertain, Julianna rested on the bench. She wasn't alone. One of the pirate's henchmen stood behind her with a knife to her throat while Tony merely sat there watching the fight with a grin of amusement. I would kill the man, right after I killed the minion holding a knife to Julianna's delicate throat.

Seeing the knife did something inside me. I could no longer control my emotions. The reserved, unruffled earl I'd tried so hard to portray, vanished. In his place an animal remained. With a roar, I charged toward them. How dare he touch my wife.

"Blast it, Jamie," Rafe snarled. "Slow down! I can't protect your back!"

"She owes me a song!" Tony grumbled, as I raced toward them.

The man holding my wife lifted his lips and growled, but I could see the unease in his black eyes. His anxiety caused him to tighten his hold and the knife pierced her skin. Jules flinched. When I saw the tiny drop of blood on her pale neck I lost all control. Fists weren't good enough. I pulled the pistol from my waistband, aimed and shot the bastard in the shoulder. Jules screeched, jumping to her feet and stumbling away from the injured man. It all happened so quickly it was a blur.

"Hell," Tony grumbled, looking distastefully at his man who was sprawled bleeding upon the floor. "I merely wanted me song."

I wrapped my arm around Julianna's waist and drew her close, nuzzling my chin into her silky hair, needing to hold her for some reason I didn't dare dwell upon. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Her scent was like heaven in the wretched hell. Shite, now that it was over, my hands were shaking. She could have been killed, and the thought had affected me more than I wanted to admit. I'd been in more than one fight, but never had I lost control. Never had I experienced so much anger, so much...feeling.

"No one touches my wife."

Tony gave a half shrug. The fun was over. "Fine." He glanced around the room at his men. "Enough already."

His ruffians grumbled as they shuffled back to their tables, leaving their fallen men laying upon the floor in moaning heaps. Two tables had been destroyed. Five men lay unconscious upon the ground. The bar wenches were making rounds, cleaning up the broken glass with muttered curses of annoyance. I pulled a small purse of coins from my jacket and tossed it to the bar keep for repairs. No one could say I didn't pay my tabs.

Rafe swiped at the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. "Surprised you'd go through all of this just to get back a wife you don't want."

Jules stiffened, pushing away from me. His words had hurt her feelings. Good. She deserved it. Instinct had made me pull her close, trying to protect her. I'd forgotten myself. Julianna was still the conniving witch who had lied. Still the woman who had placed us all in danger.

I lifted my hand and brushed aside the blood trickling from my brow. "Shut up, Rafe."

"Ye ever need anything," Tony said from his table, staring hard at Jules. "You ask for me. Anything at all, lass."

She nodded, looking confused and grateful. She hadn't expected such loyalty from a criminal and neither had I. I didn't like it. She was my damn wife. "She doesn't need your help, pirate."

He narrowed his eye and growled in response.

I might not ever love Jules, but I would provide for her and I sure as hell was capable of protecting her. I grabbed a tankard of ale the bar wench placed on the counter and drank.

Jules looked up at me with an apologetic gaze. "James..."

I slammed the empty tankard upon the bar. "Outside, now!"

She scampered across the room, but not before I noticed her expression. I'd embarrassed her in front of her ruffian friends. Good. Maybe she'd actually listen next time. I started after her, Rafe falling into step beside me. Jimmy held the door wide.

Knowing my brother, I realized the bastard had probably enjoyed the fight. Ten years ago I might have as well. But I had responsibilities. One of which was scurrying toward the door, a flush of heated anger in her cheeks.

"Go easy on her," my brother whispered.

I gritted my teeth in response.

"Will still be wanting me song eventually, lass!" Tony called out.

Rafe pressed his hand into my back. "Keep going, just let it be."

I bit back my growl of annoyance. When Jules actually paused to glance back at the pirate as if to respond, I gripped her arm and jerked her out into the night. I wanted to shake sense into her. To lock her in the carriage so she couldn't even think of leaving again. To threaten her if she dared to disobey me. But I knew it wouldn't matter. The blasted, stubborn woman. She hadn't been taught to be prim and proper. She'd been left to her own devices for far too long.

"You're bleeding," she whispered her eyes all soft and warm as she tripped beside me. I hated her for pretending to care. Hated my body for reacting to her compassion. Hell, it was her damn fault I was injured.

"I'm fine."

She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and started to reach toward my face.

Before she could touch me, I grabbed her wrist, making her gasp in surprise. "Get in the carriage."

Kelps, I was satisfied to see, was gone.

Her lips thinned, her jaw quivering. "I was merely concerned."

"I don't need your concern." I gripped her waist and tossed her into the coach. "So help you if you leave this carriage again without my permission."

She shoved her skirts aside and scampered across the seat. "James, please..."

I slammed the door shut in her pretty face. "Roberts!" The next in command, who had the decency to look ashamed, scurried off the top of the carriage. "Can you handle the team?"

"Aye, my lord," the young buck preened, ready to prove himself.

"Good, you're the new driver."

I started toward my mount. Her compassion wasn't real. She was play-acting. It was all a ruse. I had allowed her to manipulate me once, I would not again.

"Well, that's one way to win your wife's heart," Rafe muttered, falling into step beside me. "Great way to start off your marriage, Jamie."

"Who the hell said I wanted to win her heart?"

"I would assume you'd at least want a peaceful relationship with your wife." Rafe shrugged, glancing back to make sure we weren't being followed. "You missed your opportunity. There's nothing more a woman loves than an injured man."

"I don't want her touching me, I don't want her compassion, I don't need it."

I jumped onto my mount as Rafe found his.

"Well, sounds like you're going to have a long and happy life," Rafe said sarcastically as he spurred his horse forward.

Bastard was lucky my pistol was empty.

Chapter 4

Julianna

The carriage door opened, jerking me from a fitful slumber.

Startled, I jumped up, nearly hitting my head on the carriage ceiling. "James, I..."

But it wasn't James who stood there. It was Rafe. I was too tired to keep the disappointment from my gaze. I hated James. I hated him. So why, when I thought he might die in that pub, had my heart leapt into my throat? Why did I throw myself in front of him to save his wretched life? And why had I been so bloody relieved when the fighting ended with the man still breathing?

When he'd shoved me behind him as if to protect me, I'd falsely assumed that he had cared about my welfare. When I'd noticed the panic and anger in his gaze when he'd seen me sitting on the piano bench, a knife to my throat, I'd mistakenly assumed he might actually have feelings for me. Liked me, even. I'd been so wrong. He couldn't even stand my touch.

Still, I was adult enough to know that I had been at fault for forcing my way into that pub. That the injuries done to James and Rafe had been my doing. That even worse could have happened to the brothers...and me.

And I'd been meaning to apologize, but I hadn't expected Rafe to open the carriage door. I looked beyond him, searching the dusk to find James. He wasn't there.

"Come on, sweetheart." Rafe held out his hand. "We've finally arrived."

"Where's James?" I tried to brush the loose tendrils from my face, to smooth the wrinkles from my skirts and make myself somewhat presentable, but it was useless. Two days in a carriage had done their damage. I slid my hand into his and allowed him to help me from the coach. I was meeting the household staff for the first time, my household staff, and I looked no better than the women who'd been working at the pub where Tony resided.

Rafe shifted, looking anxious. A large, dark bruise marred the side of his face, adding to my guilt. "My brother, umm, went inside to see about dinner."

I flushed, knowing exactly what had happened: James had left me to Rafe's care because he didn't give a fig about my welfare. He had left, not bothering to introduce me to the staff because I wasn't important enough. I was almost too tired and too devastated to be angry. Almost.

The nerve of the man!

Forcing my irritation away, I gave him a wavering smile in appreciation. The sun had set, and I was finally going to get my first vision of my new home. It wouldn't do to be seething when I met the household. They would never take me seriously.

With the smile still in place, I allowed Rafe to escort me around the carriage. I would hold my head high. James would not see how he had injured my pride. But finally catching sight of the estate, I paused. My heart plummeted. It was a bleak and dreary place made of dark stone and heavy oppression, so depressing that it reminded me of its master.

A large and foreboding castle that crawled across the equally dreary landscape. The windows stared unblinkingly back at me. No one stood at the front steps, not even a servant to greet us.

Surely there had to be something to enjoy in this meager world where I suddenly found myself. Frantic, I pulled away from Rafe and spun around, only to find that the land that surrounded the monstrous castle was just as depressing. Gone was my beautiful, sunny, Dorset. In its place was a flat, dark, misty moor where fog seemed to hover like ghosts in a cemetery. Nothing. No trees. No hills. Only...grayness. My chest felt tight. I couldn't breathe.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Rafe said drolly.

I was so surprised by his sarcasm that I actually laughed. "Yes, very."

"God." He shook his head. "As children we were terrified of the place. Thought it haunted."

"Is it?"

He grinned. "Perhaps."

Why couldn't I have married Rafe instead? He might have been a blatant rake, flirting with whomever was available, but at least he was kind and attentive. With Rafe one knew what they were getting. With James...well, I was constantly on my toes.

He led me gently toward the door. "At night we'd always end up in Jamie's room. Especially during storms."

If he wished to distract me with sweet childhood memories, so be it.

"He didn't tell you to go away?" I asked, curious about my husband, despite wanting to be dismissive. How could I not wonder over his heartlessness? Perhaps I merely wanted to find an explanation for the way he acted. "Did he not demand you be adults, to stop being ninnies?"

"Jamie?" He looked suddenly serious, and I wondered if the memories were not good ones after all. "Not Jamie. Jamie was the one who protected us."

His response more than surprised me and I couldn't help but feel there was more to his statement that I didn't understand. "Protected you from what?"

He blinked, as if breaking from his stupor and smiled that rakish grin. He'd said too much. "The ghosts, of course."

He wasn't telling me all.

"Come, you'll have a hearty meal. Mrs. Vita has prepared the rooms in the west wing, which are quite lovely, if I remember correctly. All will be better tomorrow when the sun comes up."

I highly doubted that but decided to keep my mouth shut and continued to smile, thankful for the kindness he offered. We started up the wide set of stairs toward the double doors. "And where are Jamie's rooms?"

I wasn't sure why I used his nickname. Something so personal. Jamie. Perhaps it made him seem more human and I wanted to believe desperately he had a soul.

Rafe's face grew tight. "The east wing."

Of course. He wanted to be as far away from me as possible. Although I didn't want it to, the realization hurt. Would he ever forgive me? More importantly would I ever forgive him? The large front doors opened as we reached the top of the stairs. A butler, as dour looking as the landscape, stood there to greet us. His face was gray like the sky, and so wrinkled I couldn't possibly tell his age.

"Jenkins," Rafe called out in greeting. "Like the house, Jenkins has been with us since the 1400s."

The man nodded. "Very good, sir."

Why couldn't I be like Rafe? Dismissive, finding amusement in the absurd? I was blasted tired of my melancholy ways. I'd always been a jovial sort, until I'd met James. The man was enough to make the sweetest person sour.

I glanced around the large foyer. The walls were covered in dark paneling, and a staircase twisted and turned its way up to a second, and even third floor. On either side the foyer was a door, one leading into what looked like a library and one into a parlor. Both were covered with the same dark and dreary paneling. As for décor, an iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling above, and a large painting of the same dreary landscape outside hung on the far wall. That was all. No flowers. No portraits of happy children. Not even a porcelain shepherdess upon a fireplace mantel.

"Where is my dear brother, Jenkins?"

"Which one, my lord?" the man asked, closing the door behind us.

At least it was warm inside.

"The best of the lot, Jamie."

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. The best of the lot? Surely he was being sarcastic once more. The day I believed James was the sweet and caring man Rafe had tried to sell to me, would be the day I believed in St. Nicholas himself.

"I believe he retired to his chambers."

"Lovely," Rafe said through gritted teeth.

I gave him a sympathetic smile. He didn't want to be saddled with me any more than I wanted to be here. How I wanted to kill James! How could he be so disrespectful? It was embarrassing, belittling.

Rafe returned my smile, doing his best to put me at ease. "Come, we'll get a drink in the parlor while we wait for Mrs. Vita to escort you to your rooms."

"It is lovely," I said, trying at least. "I hadn't expected the estate to be so sprawling."

We made it to the threshold of the parlor. "I'm sure Jamie won't mind if you'd like to redecorate. The place could do with some lighter colors, something modern and fem—"

"You damn bastard!"

Rafe jerked me back just as two men flew across the room, crashing together and falling to the ground with a thud that vibrated the chandelier above.

I couldn't quite contain my gasp of surprise.

"Good lord," Rafe muttered, pushing me behind him for protection.

But I wasn't about to be shoved aside like a child. This was my home. I peeked around his shoulder just as a rather pretty blue vase tumbled to the ground and shattered. The two men rolling around on the carpet had broken the only decent thing in the room. Pity. Yet another painting of the dreary landscape hung above the fireplace. The walls were the same dark wood as the entryway, with rich green curtains covering the windows. How depressing.

"These lovely men are your new brothers-in-law. Lucky you," Rafe said. One man with a scar across his cheek sat up, pulled his arm back and hit the other in the face.

I grimaced.

First the fight in the pub, and now this? Dear lord, where had I ended up? Purgatory? Or perhaps I'd gone straight to hell. Surely this was punishment for some past deed.

"Eh, it's not normally like this," Rafe said, but I knew he lied. "Lads. How about we settle down."

"Shut up, Rafe," the man with the scar growled, as he rolled off his brother. They were all three handsome. Perhaps not as stunning as James, but attractive all the same. Large, muscled, mean-looking...and apparently prone to arguing and fighting. This was my new family.

"Now is that any way to speak to your brother, Will?"

Although Will had a scar, it only added to his appeal. His hair was unfashionably long as it brushed against his shoulders, and there was a bit of an animalistic nature to his person that mesmerized. He was like an untamed lion. He glared first at Rafe, then turned the glare to me. A shiver of warning raced down my spine. I had to resist the urge to step behind Rafe.

"Do you know what he called me?" Will snapped, jerking his gaze toward the other man who was slowly regaining his feet.

My other brother-in-law was the lightest in color, with hair that was almost blond. But he had the same handsome features, same broad shoulders and impressive height as the others. "I was merely telling the truth."

The man named Will cried out and lunged toward the blond like an irate bull. Rafe darted forward, stepping between the two. He shoved a hand against each male chest and attempted to hold them back. "Just calm down, damn it!"

"He's a bloody bastard, Rafe, and you know it!" Will cried out.

"And you're a bloody insane hermit!" the other man countered.

"Oliver, please!" Rafe sighed. "God, lads, can you not take a moment to act like gentlemen? At least when meeting your sister-in-law?"

The two men glanced dispassionately my way. They had absolutely no interest in their new relative. I smiled wanly, feeling the complete idiot standing there, clutching my reticule, legs trembling with exhaustion. I was covered in dust, I could barely keep my eyes open and thanks to sitting in the carriage for two days I was a wrinkled mess of a woman.

Yet, perhaps fortunately for me, they seemed more interested in fighting. I remembered telling Penny months ago that these men would welcome a woman's presence. The thought made me want to laugh, and I had to swallow the insane cackle working its way up my throat. Absurd. Utterly absurd. Was this how most men acted? I'd been spoiled by Father and his calm, happy disposition. Will made another surge toward Oliver. Oh, how I wished to see my father again, to draw comfort from his arms. Overwhelmed, sudden tears burned my eyes.

"Rafe," I whispered, as my knees began to buckle.

He didn't hear, for he was too busy holding Will away from Oliver. "Just stop, you bleedin fools!"

"Rafe!"

All three men paused and glanced my way as if only just remembering I stood there. Had they truly forgotten me already? A heated flush of embarrassment raced to my cheeks. "I'd like to know where my rooms are, please. I'm not feeling well."

"Who the hell is she?" Will demanded, his face holding a look of disgust that made me wonder if his dislike extended to all females, or merely me.

"I told you," Rafe snapped. "She's Jamie's wife."

"Thought she was blonde," Oliver said, looking me up and down, as if I was some strange specimen, the likes of which he'd never seen. I felt like an insect pinned and placed on display in a museum. An insect found lacking.

"No," Rafe muttered the lie. "Dark hair. Always dark."

Oliver frowned. "Are you sure? I'm positive—"

"Come along, Julianna." Rafe grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door before Oliver said something that would have embarrassed all of us, but mostly me. "I'll escort you to your room."

I nodded meekly. My body had grown flush. I was hot. Too hot. No one had taken my hat or cloak. No one had offered me tea or refreshment of any kind. I hadn't even been introduced to the housekeeper. Rafe led me toward the massive curled staircase, and just the thought of climbing all those steps seemed daunting. But I was determined. It was as I started to place my booted foot upon the first step that I swerved.

"Dear Lord." Rafe scooped me up into his arms as the world spun. "I'll kill Jamie, I swear it."

"My bet is Jamie will kill you for touching his wife," Oliver called out.

"Shut up, Oliver," Rafe grumbled as he started up the stairs.

Rafe didn't want to be saddled with me, any more than Jamie. He was merely more polite about it. Was I truly to be left here in this dark and dreary world with these brutish men? "Please, do put me down. I'm well enough now."

I could show no weakness. Not only would Jamie use it against me, but the staff as well.

"Don't be silly. Very few women would be able to endure what you have gone through, my dear."

I could feel Will and Oliver's attention on us and my embarrassment grew. I didn't dare look back. "Your brothers are..."

"Heathens?" He laughed as we made it to the first floor. "I'd love to say they aren't normally like this, but..."

Good God, lovely. So many more brawls to look forward to.

"Is something amiss, my lord?" A sudden voice crackled from the shadows. An old crone of a woman who hid in the narrow corridor of a servant's hall. Rafe's ghosts came to mind and I shivered.

Rafe didn't even pause. "Nothing to worry you, Mrs. Pickens."

I glanced over his shoulder as he continued down the hall. I could barely see the little old woman as she hid within the darkness. How peculiar she seemed. "Who was that?"

"The nanny."

I jerked my gaze to Rafe. "James has children?"

I would never be able to bear the utter humiliation of him not telling me.

"God no." Rafe shook his head. "I can't imagine him with children."

Obviously he didn't realize how his words would affect me.

"We can barely take care of ourselves. The nanny was ours when we were lads. Nasty creature who liked to give us ice baths as punishment."

Horrified, I glanced over his shoulder once more. She was gone, melting into the shadows as if she'd never been there, as if she was a very part of the house where she lived. I'd had enough. No welcome whatsoever, fights in the drawing room, and now an old witch of a woman hiding in shadows just waiting to give my unborn children ice baths. I pushed at Rafe's chest.

"I won't be any trouble, I swear it." My body trembled with anger. "If you could just set me down and show me to my rooms."

"Nonsense. You're in no condition to walk." Rafe paused in front of a door at the end of the hall. "You have a corner room that has views of the front and side of the estate."

Views of a dark and dreary moor. The door was already open. Someone had at least brought my trunks into the chamber. Seeing my things gave me some relief. At least I had my own clothing, my paints and pencils. But I was completely aware of how far away my rooms were from Jamie's. I should have been grateful. Why wasn't I?

"Rafe," I started. "Is James alright?"

"Well, he's a bastard, if that's what you're asking. Doubt he has a bleedin soul."

"I already know that." I smiled as he carried me into the room. "I mean because of the pub fight. I feel awfully guilty about involving you two. But if he would have merely let me play that last song..."

Rafe paused in the middle of the chamber, his stunned gaze on me. "Dear God, you actually care about him."

I flushed, embarrassed, although I shouldn't have been. He was, after all, my husband. Shouldn't I have cared about the man? And I did. Damn it all. He didn't deserve it, but I did. Or mayhap it was merely guilt eating at my soul. "As much as I care about anyone."

Rafe laughed. "Hell, you're in love with him."

"No!"

"Poor Jules," he sighed, shaking his head, his mirth falling to the wayside. The seriousness of his features gave me pause, made me nervous. "I need you to understand something. Promise me you'll listen."

I hesitated. "Alright."

"Don't waste your emotions on Jamie. He's a loyal man, a decent man. I care about him, I'd do anything for him, but he can't love you back."

The words were so sad, so dark and heavy that I didn't dare disbelieve him. And I realized as my heart sank that I had deep down believed at some point James might forgive me. But if his brother held out no hope, the only brother with a positive disposition, what hope dare I hold?

"You don't have to warn me, Rafe," I said, staring at the buttons of his jacket, refusing to let him see the disappointment in my gaze. "I know he hates me. He had no desire to marry me."

He laughed. "Dear, he wouldn't have married you if he didn't want you. My brother does nothing he doesn't want to do."

I jerked my gaze up to him. "But he was forced."

Still carrying me, he started toward one of the chairs flanking the fireplace. "Believe me, he wanted you, Jules. But don't let that fool you into thinking he will ever open his heart. I just don't want you to get hurt. Jamie had to become a man much too early in life. The things he's endured..."

His words haunted and confused me. "What, Rafe? What has Jamie endured?"

"Put my wife down now, Rafe, or I will give you another black eye to go with the one you have."

Startled by Jamie's sudden appearance, I almost jumped from Rafe's arms and into the burning hearth.

"As I said," Rafe whispered with a sad smile. "He isn't capable of love."

****

James

Seeing my wife in Rafe's arms was enough to drive me mad. Damn it all, would I ever be in control of my emotions when she was near?

Jealousy.

No. I merely wondered if this was her next plan of attack...seduce my brother. And Rafe, the bastard, would probably let her, while smiling the entire time. She was too charming to resist. She knew exactly how to draw a man in, take him under and suffocate the poor bastard with his own desire.

He released his hold and Jules slid down his body.

Hell, if I didn't want to lunge across the room, tear her from his side and slam my fist into his smug face. He was playing a game, of some sort. I could see it in his eyes. I'd had her trunks sent upstairs, had gone to see about her meal, her bath, and this is what I'd returned to find? So much for gratitude.

Jules, at least, had the decency to flush, embarrassed at being caught, if not ashamed of the act. Hell, were all women the same? Manipulative liars.

Shaking his head, Rafe left the room. My fingers curled as he brushed by me and I had to resist the urge to latch onto him. The sooner he returned to London, the better. I didn't trust any of my brothers where Jules was concerned. If she'd managed to seduce me, she could seduce anyone.

Jules turned, her profile to me as she faced the fire. "I'd like you to leave," she said with haughty disdain. Her hair had come loose from her braid and hung in waves around her sweet face. The face of a siren. "After the grueling pace you set, I need to rest."

I released a harsh laugh, my anger turning to fury. The grueling pace I'd set was for her own safety, but if she wished to portray me as the uncaring lord, so be it. "Do you truly think you can tell me what to do? This is my home, Julianna. Mine. Best you learn that now."

She spun around to face me, her cheeks flushed with anger. "I thought as man and wife we shared equally!"

Ah, there was that spirit I missed. I'd rather see her fighting, than meek. This, I knew, was the real Jules. Someone who didn't relent, who pushed back. Not the sweet, charming woman she portrayed to the outside world. "Your home, my lord, is as dark, dreary and cold as you."

Her anger calmed me for some reason. I could deal with the irate Julianna. I strolled by her and settled in the chair near the hearth. No more quivering miss, no more tears, no more pretense. "You didn't find me cold and dreary when you seduced me, did you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking tired and vulnerable. A skilled actress, no doubt. "I don't know what you think, James, but I swear I didn't mean to lie to you."

"Did you come to my home that day intending to fuck me so that I would marry you, or were you merely trying to get back at your sister?"

Her deepened flush only added to her guilt. "I would never hurt my sister. You've visited enough to know that. I swear I didn't know who you were!"

And with that comment she had answered my question. "Ah, so then you wanted marriage."

"No." She stepped hesitantly toward me. "I wanted you."

Her words hit me hard. Her pleading eyes almost took me under. Almost. My fingers curled into the arms of the chair, my nails biting into the fabric. I wouldn't fall for her. I wouldn't be duped yet again.

"Do not pretend you weren't going to use me as well," she hissed.

I shrugged. "You like sex. I suppose I shouldn't reprimand you for it. I'd be a hypocrite."

"I'm not a whore, James." She squared her shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. "You know I was a virgin."

"Yes, but you and I both know there are things a woman can do to find satisfaction without losing her virginity."

Her delicate hands fisted. She wanted to slap me...again. Why I didn't stop, I wasn't sure. Every poke and prod to her armor made me feel better, for some reason. Hell, maybe I wanted her to hit me so I could feel anything other than the aching need for her that I'd been fighting for months.

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"I'm saying that you might have been a virgin where it counts, but you sure as hell kissed like a whore. A person isn't born knowing how to kiss like that."

"How dare you!" she cried out.

I stood, hovering over her. "You did tell me you were ruined. That was, at least, one truth. But I wonder...how far did you go with Lord Welch's pathetic son?"

"Get out," she demanded, anger making her blue eyes shimmer like sapphires. God, how I despised myself for noticing. "Get out now!"

I laughed, although I felt no mirth. "Please, save the theatrics. You'll need them for week's end."

She hesitated. "What happens at week's end?"

"Children, Julianna," I said, holding up two fingers. "That's all I ask of you."

"I don't understand." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I'll offer you the same deal I was going to give your sister. When you have given me two children—two boys—I will leave you alone. We can live separately. A loveless marriage like everyone else. The children and you can live wherever you wish. Here. London. Near your parents. You'll be free of me."

Why didn't she look relieved? She only appeared perplexed. Had she truly thought we would reside together as man and wife? Hell, I would never understand the witch. Frustrated, I started toward the door. I needed a damn drink. Something to numb the ache.

"I'll let you rest this week, but then we enter this marriage as man and wife."

And hell if the prospect of bedding her didn't appeal to me much more than I thought it would. I left her room, closing the door and not bothering to wait for a response. One week. In one week I could sink into her warm, tight sheath. In one week I could ease the constant ache.

"Damn her," I whispered fiercely. Would I ever be free of my need for her? I paused, trying to breathe with some normalcy. My heart beat with a ferocity I didn't understand. Being in that room with her, that close to a bed, had turned my body to stone. I wanted her. As much as before. Maybe more.

Annoyed, I pushed away from the wall and started down the hall.

"Good eve, Jamie," I heard from the shadows. A raspy, ancient voice that had brought chills to my skin when I'd been a lad. Now I felt nothing but disgust. "See ye've brought a lovely wife home with ye."

My annoyance flared. She might have terrified me when I was a boy, but she didn't anymore. She could try her witchery on someone else. "Mrs. Pickens."

Slowly, I turned to face the old nanny.

"Your mum was sad ye didn't invite her to the wedding."

"Oh Pickens," I said with a tight smile. "You can tell my mum to go to hell."

The old woman narrowed her soulless eyes. I wouldn't have been surprised if she was cursing me under her breath. She probably was a witch and had put a spell on me years ago. It would explain so many things. "How dare you speak of your mother with such disrespect."

"Stepmother. Good night, Pickens. I do hope you sleep well." With a bow, I turned and left her standing there. I should have warned Jules to lock her door at night. Even my wife, with her skills in charm and manipulation, would be no match for the nanny.

I started down the steps. I'd seen Jules. I'd given her my warning. It was time to settle things with my brothers. I wouldn't have them here, underfoot, questioning my every act. She was my wife, damnation, and I would do with her as I saw fit.

"She's a sweet girl," I heard Rafe say as I made it to the parlor. "But he will crush her spirit, her soul."

"What do you expect?" Oliver said. "With what he went through."

I paused in the doorway, irritated. When had they become gossiping fools? They glanced my way but none looked sheepish for speaking about me. Oliver and Will merely appeared curious, while Rafe actually seemed annoyed. I started into the room and didn't pause until I reached him. Without hesitation I lifted my fist and punched him in the face.

His head jerked back with a crack. "Damnation, Jamie!"

The pain in my knuckles was worth it. "Don't ever touch my wife again, understand?"

"She almost fainted!" Rafe snapped back, rubbing his nose. "You arse! What should I have done? Left her in a pool upon the ground? Shoved her out of the way and gone about my business?"

I ignored his excuse and went to the sideboard. Had she truly been that exhausted? Damn, if the guilt didn't appear again. I'd pushed her hard, but I'd wanted away from bloody, sunny Dorset as soon as possible. Besides, the moors were teaming with highwaymen. I'd been trying to protect her. I refused to feel ashamed.

"You all have your own homes, so what the hell are you doing here?"

"I invited them," Rafe said.

I turned to face him, drink in hand. "Why? To congratulate me on my marriage?"

Rafe snorted. "Because I found a trail that might lead to Evangeline."

I stiffened, surprised. We hadn't talked about her in months, although I knew no one had truly given up hope. Still, I was beginning to wane in my enthusiasm that we would ever find her.

"Where?" Will asked, always that gallant soldier, preparing for battle.

Oliver didn't speak, merely looked at the fire, as if he didn't care in the least. As if this wasn't all his doing. Hell, Rafe thought I was bad, at times I wondered if Oliver had any sense of compassion, any conscience at all. It was his fault Evangeline was missing, not that we blamed him. Still, one would assume he'd show some sort of guilt.

"London," Rafe said. "She was spotted in London."

"Where?" I didn't dare get my hopes up. They'd been dashed too many times before.

"East end."

"Christ," Will muttered in disgust.

Hell, let it be a mistake. "The slums?"

Rafe nodded as he strolled toward the sideboard and poured himself a drink. "The slums."

"A whore." Leave it to Oliver to say the one thing we were all thinking, but too horrified to say. "Lovely."

Will started for the door. "I'll go."

Oliver nodded. "I'll go with you."

It would most likely be a fool's mission, but I didn't speak my thoughts. They left the room. The house settled silent and still. It was hard to believe that Jules was upstairs, so close at hand. What hell had I brought her into? No one, not even Jules, deserved this. I sank into the leather chair near the hearth and stared into the dancing flames.

"Jamie, what will you do with her?"

I took a healthy gulp of whiskey. "Evangeline?"

"Of course not." Rafe sat in the chair across from mine. I couldn't be annoyed with him for long. He looked a battered mess, but he'd watched my back in that pub. I could always count on him. "Your wife."

"What the hell do you mean, what will I do with her?"

His jaw tightened. "Jesus, Jamie, she's in love with you."

I laughed, finding true mirth in the ridiculous. "You're insane. She hates me about as much as I hate her."

After our conversation in her bedchamber, perhaps even more.

"But you don't hate her, do you?"

I shifted, uneasy. Did I? I hated how she made me feel. I hated that when I was near her I seemed to lose complete control. I hated that I couldn't trust her, or myself.

"You married Jules not to punish her, but because you wanted her. If you truly wanted to see her destroyed you would have left that house unattached, her family in ruins. Instead you gave them status, power."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to respond. Yes, I wanted Jules. Desperately, completely. But I sure as hell wouldn't admit that to my gloating brother.

"Penelope was never for you." Rafe watched the flames. "Someone that weak would have been destroyed here. But Jules...she just might have a chance. She could make this a home."

I snorted. "A home? This will never be a home."

He studied me, curious and bemused, as if I was some oddity in a museum. "These games you play will ruin any chance you might have."

My hand tightened around my glass so that I thought it might shatter. "When did you become so bloody emotional?"

"Not emotional. If you want to live in darkness, never seeing the light around you, so be it. But I know you. If you didn't want to marry her, you wouldn't have. You might not love her, but you care. You are certainly attracted to her."

"I needed a wife. She needed to be punished."

Rafe stood. "Is this about her or you?"

I took another drink, wishing he'd leave me in bloody peace. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. I think you're pushing her away not because you don't trust her, but because you don't trust yourself. You don't trust your own emotions. Don't do this, Jamie. Don't destroy her innocence, her pride. The very reasons why you find her so fascinating. Do you want to see that deadened, blank look we had to witness in our own mother's eyes before she finally succumbed?"

"Shut up, Rafe." I tossed the glass and its contents toward the fire, finding satisfaction when it shattered against the stone hearth. I surged to my feet as the flames roared with outrage.

Rafe sighed. "Jamie, I merely want to..."

Without another word, I brushed by my brother and left the room.

I would not destroy her and she would not destroy me. We would not have my parent's marriage because we would live in separate homes, have separate lives.

It would be a marriage of convenience and it would be the best for both of us.

But first and foremost, I would do the one thing I'd been wanting to do for months...I'd fuck Julianna. And I'd bloody well enjoy it.

Chapter 5

Julianna

The week went by at a snail's pace.

I became a prisoner in my own chambers, and even worse...in my own mind.

But I admit it was of my own making.

It wasn't as if I was locked inside my room, or told I could not leave. I merely preferred to be alone, rather than deal with the likes of Jamie and his brothers. I stayed busy with my drawings, paints, and the unpacking of my trunks. I certainly couldn't complain about my blue room, as it was quite lovely. The bedsheets were of the highest quality, the fire always warm, and my meals were plentiful and hearty, although I rarely had the appetite to enjoy them. All in all, I should have been quite content.

It was the uncertainty that finally drove me mad. I was thinking more and more often about the end of the week, and Jamie's dire warning of what it would bring. Memories of our only time together kept me up at night, heated my body with a lust that could not be controlled or ignored. I found myself wondering with more frequency if it would feel as good as it had the first time. Thoughts of what would come, thoughts of Jamie touching me, kissing me, made me nervous and desperate in a way I didn't understand.

And so when Rafe appeared the first few days to escort me about a dreary and dead garden for an hour or so, taking pity on me, I eagerly accepted. The cold, misty air cooled my fevered skin, made me think about something other than what would happen at the end of the week.

Unfortunately, his conversation revolved mostly around James.

"He's not all bad, Julianna," he'd said that second day.

At my disbelieving glance, he laughed.

"He dresses himself, you know. No valet. He said he refuses to stand there while someone dresses him like he's a child."

I'd rolled my eyes. "It's hardly an event that demands sainthood. Besides, it's most likely because he merely wants to be in complete and utter control."

When Rafe changed the subject I'd realized I'd been correct in my guess. Rafe mentioned that Will and Oliver had left and frankly I was relieved. Dealing with two brothers was my limit, four would be too much for any woman. I wondered more than once what sort of masculine, cold and dark world I'd entered. At least I could find comfort in the fact that Penny hadn't married James.

My dear, sweet sister would never have lasted here on this dreary moor, no matter how much Jamie thought he loved her. Penny was made for sunshine and society, of laughter and gaiety. She could not take the seclusion, the melancholy. I'd written to my mother the first day, begging for information about my sister. But the mail was slow and I knew it would be weeks before I'd hear a reply. And so I was left to wonder if she had returned, if society had forgiven my parents.

Rafe had introduced me to the housekeeper, Mrs. Vita and a few of the other staff. I'd done my best to smile and be polite. But Mrs. Vita was an aloof woman, much like her master and the rest of the household. There would be no laughter and gossip, no sharing biscuits and warmed chocolate with this staff. Still, there was no cruelty in her eyes and for that I was thankful. The housekeeper, at least, did not make me nervous.

The only one who made me leery was the nanny. I hadn't seen her since that first day, and for that, too, I was grateful. The way she watched through her beady eyes unsettled me. It was as if she searched for something she could use against me at a later date. When I mentioned as much to Rafe he'd merely laughed, dismissing my comment.

But by the fourth day Rafe was busy and I found myself anxious and unsettled, pacing my room like a caged tiger. I was too upset to sit still and read, although the library downstairs was full of books. I couldn't paint or draw. I could only think of home and my father, longing for our sweet life that was now merely a memory.

With a frustrated growl, I tore open my bedroom door. I was sick of my morose thoughts and could no longer be trapped in a room with myself. Intent on knowing my own home, and taking charge of my life, I left my chambers after breakfast and found myself wandering the estate.

Instinct had me moving up the stairs to the third floor. After all, it was my lot in life to have children, to procure the Whitfield line of secession. In fact, as a woman, it was my only duty. I should see where my children would reside.

The servant's staircase was whitewashed and plain, but clean. Although the house was old, I could find no fault with the size of the rooms or the cleanliness of the estate. It was a well-run factory of sorts.

I stepped into the hall of the third floor and almost ran into a maid. Startled she gasped, dropping the linens she held. I knelt quickly, helping her pick up the sheets.

"Thank...oh!" Her eyes went wide when she realized my identity. "So sorry, my lady!"

"Don't be silly," I said with a smile, handing her the sheets I'd picked up. "It was entirely my fault. I would like to see the nursery. Can you point me in the right direction?"

"Of course." I didn't miss the way her gaze dropped quickly to my waistline before she pointed down the hall. The heat in my face burned. "Two doors that way, my lady. But it hasn't been used in quite some time."

I couldn't escape fast enough. "I understand. Thank you."

She scurried on her way and I was left to wander down the hall alone. It was quiet, up so high within the house. The servants were working below, and there were no children to cause commotion, to fill the home with laughter and love. But someday, within a year, two...there would be boys and perhaps girls to fill these rooms, to chase away the stillness.

I pushed open the door and peered into the nursery. It was a large and open space with many windows that looked over the dreary landscape. Slowly, I moved across the chamber, noting the puffs of dust that stirred with each footfall. It was a room lost to memories, left to wait and rot. I peered out the windows. Flat, as far as the eye could see, a misty world of blue and gray. There was not even another cottage in sight. I felt alone, like a lost soul staring down from the heavens upon the earth.

Below, two gardeners arrived, rakes in hand and began to smooth the gravel drive. Every morning, the same thing. Over and over. Day after day.

I turned away from the windows. The room held four small beds, two cribs and a variety of wooden toys. It was obvious it hadn't been in use for some time. It was my duty to fill the chamber. I felt a smile pull at my lips. My children could be happy here in this large, open space, even if I couldn't. I trailed my hand over an old, lacy blanket. Someone had made it with loving fingers. Jamie's mother?

My smile turned into a frown.

How could he stuff her into a dowager house? The women who had made this blanket hadn't been uncaring, unloving. Disconcerted, I moved to the large windows once more and gazed out onto the land. I'd seen James ride off earlier and felt safe to search the place that would be my home. The very place where James had grown, lived even still. His entire life was here. What sort of childhood had he had on this desolate moor? Maybe it wasn't curiosity at all that had me searching the halls, but something more. Maybe, just maybe, I hoped to understand my husband by knowing this house.

Occasionally I'd hear the murmured voices of a servant as they rushed by the closed door, but all was silent and still up here at the top of the house. I was a ghost of a woman, wandering the estate alone. No one paid me any heed, not the staff and not my husband. Perhaps, come Friday, he would forget all about his promise to have me completely.

"Do we have hope to believe there will be a baby soon?" a creaky old voice called out from the shadows.

Startled, I spun around, my face flushing. I felt as if I'd been caught doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing. Which was ridiculous considering that I was the lady of the home. The old nanny stood in the shadows of a connecting door. "No, I'm afraid not."

She moved into the room, her black skirts swooshing across the floorboards. "That's too bad. We could use the distraction."

Distraction from what, I wondered.

In the bright light of day she looked even older than I'd assumed, her face lined like the ancient rocks we'd passed traveling here. Her gray hair was a storm cloud atop her head, adding to her age. But those eyes...those eyes were alert and intelligent in a way that made me wary. This woman, I had no doubt, saw and noticed everything.

She stared unblinkingly at me. "His mum would be mighty pleased, she would."

It was the first time anyone had mentioned his mother. "We missed her at the wedding."

I was being bold, fishing for information, and by the gleam in her eyes she knew it.

The old woman shrugged. "Hard to go when ye aren't invited. Near tore her up inside, it did."

I frowned. Why would Jamie not invite his own mother? A part of me, deep down, didn't believe that he could be so heartless. Even after the way he'd treated me, I still held out hope that he was the man I'd known those months ago. Besides, I didn't trust this woman.

"I've heard they don't get on well."

She snorted. "He was a wily one, he was." She shuffled toward a cot. It seemed sacrilegious to see the woman next to so innocent a baby bed. There was something about her that made me uneasy. "Our Jamie. Never liked to listen to reason. Always had too much of a mind of his own."

She smoothed a gnarled hand across the lace blanket. The same hands that had forced the boys to take ice baths when they were young. I shivered merely thinking about it. The thought of the woman laying her claws upon any child of mine made me ill. She would never touch my babies. Never.

"But his father showed him, he did." She grinned. "Beat the boy so he could barely walk, and on more than one occasion."

I flinched. Dear God, no wonder why Jamie acted the way he did. Beatings. Ice baths. She thought to make me despise my husband with her less than pleasing description. Yet, she was merely doing the opposite. If anything, I felt as if I was finally starting to understand the man I'd married.

The woman turned toward me. "Taught him to be the elegant and cold earl his father wanted him to be."

"Yes," I whispered. How horrible I felt for that lad he had been. "He is elegant."

And most definitely cold.

I finally had answers. Yet, I felt no relief. This was his father's doing then. His sire had made him the man he was. While I'd had the ideal childhood with a loving family, Jamie had lived in this home of hells. "When did his father die?"

There was an odd gleam in her eyes that made me nervous, as if she found my lack of knowledge amusing. She knew something incredibly important and couldn't wait to tell me. "Has he not mentioned his past?"

How I wished she would leave. I shook my head. At the same time I wanted to know more. Understand more. Understand Jamie.

She shuffled forward, her wrinkled hands twisting together as if in glee. "The very house vibrates with secrets."

Unease tasted bitter across my tongue. "Secrets?"

"We all have secrets, my lady." She smiled, showing her toothless grin. "Even, perhaps, yer dear husband."

She was trying to upset me, that was obvious. And I was falling for it. Who was this woman and why did she feel the need to frighten me so? Not wishing to hear any more of her strange opinions, I started for the door. "I do believe luncheon is being served soon."

"If yer lookin fer yer husband's chamber," the woman called out. "Tis at the far end of the hall, the floor below."

I paused for the briefest moment, wondering why she'd assume I'd search out Jamie. Did she think I would have her fired? Had she tried to frighten me on purpose, so that it might cause trouble? Everything felt like a blasted game and I hadn't been given the rules. "Thank you."

It wasn't until I left the room that I found I could breathe once more. She seemed to suck the air from the chamber. Kindness alluded the woman, she took delight in frightening others. She would never touch my children. Ever.

What had Jamie's mother been thinking to allow such a hag to watch over her boys? I continued down the hall, and took a narrow set of servant's stairs, more to get away from the witch than to see Jamie's room, but suddenly I found myself at the end of the hall that held his chambers. The floor was just as quiet as the rest of the house. The only sound was the soft tick of a grandfather clock tucked in a corner alcove. Dreary paintings of the landscape outside hung along the white walls, providing the only décor. It looked like every other corridor in this house.

I stared down the hall. Dare I?

Curiosity spurred me forward. My slippered feet were muffled by the carpet as I was pulled by desperation. He was my husband, surely I deserved to see his living quarters. My parents slept together, shared the same room every night. I should at least know where my husband dwelled. Hesitating only a moment, I lifted my fist and knocked.

I strained to hear someone beyond the door. Just as I'd expected and hoped, no response. I should have left, returned to my rooms. I didn't. I knew my husband visited the crofters every morning. I was safe.

Determined to know my husband, I wrapped my fingers around the brass handle and pushed the door wide. The room was exactly as I'd imagined: elegant, rich and furnished with heavy masculine furniture. A large four poster bed dominated the center, while a wardrobe was nestled in the far corner. Other than the dark green bedspread and thick drapes, there was no sign of softness. No personal touch. This was Jamie's sanctuary, yet there was nothing to define the man.

Still, I knew it was the correct chamber and not a guest room for I could sense his presence, I could smell his scent. If I'd been smart, I would have left. Instead, I moved toward his dressing table. A brush, comb, shaving supplies, and little else. Only the necessities. I lifted a bottle of cologne and pulled off the stopper. The scent was spicy, manly, and delicious. Jamie. A shiver of awareness whispered through my body, a taunting ache I knew only too well.

Swallowing hard, I replaced the cologne. How was it that his mere scent could make my stomach tightened? Could make my body warm? I took in a deep, trembling breath and tried to calm my racing heart. This was insane. If he appeared, how would I explain myself?

I turned, deciding to leave while I still had the chance to escape, when I caught sight of a painting nestled against the wall. A familiar painting. My painting. A cold wave of shock washed over me, momentarily stunning me in place.

"No," I whispered in disbelief.

Anger spurred me forward and I stumbled around the bed to get a better look, sure my mind must be playing tricks on me. But no. There was no denying it was my painting...my dream cottage. Why did he have it? I'd packed the piece when we'd left, but I'd been too distraught to realize it was missing. Was he being spiteful, hiding it from me? It didn't make sense. I reached out with trembling fingers, needing to touch it.

He'd taken everything from me...even my dream world.

Angry tears burned my eyes.

It was my painting. My work. My dream. Damn him! That painting was all I'd had to keep me going these last few months, and he'd stolen that from me. Perhaps the old nanny had been right. Perhaps she hadn't been trying to warn me, but had been trying to help.

The sudden sound of voices rang down the hall, jerking me from my thoughts and spurring me into action. James couldn't know I'd been here. He couldn't know how much he'd hurt me by taking that painting. I swiped at my damp eyes and raced to the door. The housekeeper and a maid were coming my way. Desperate, I glanced around the room. Where to hide? The wardrobe? No, if they were carrying clothing they'd see me. Without thought, I dove underneath the bed.

"Has she been out of her room?" the maid asked as they entered the chamber.

I grabbed my skirts and jerked them toward me just as they rounded the bed. Their scuffed black boots swept by, headed straight toward the wardrobe. Thank God I hadn't hidden there.

"Merely to take a stroll about the garden with the Lord Rafe," Mrs. Vita replied.

I closed my eyes and bit back my sigh. They were speaking about me. Bleedin wonderful.

"Have ye met her?" the maid asked as they opened the wardrobe and placed his clean clothing inside.

"Only in passing. Was introduced the other day."

"And?" the servant pressed.

Part of me wanted to cover my ears.

"And she's...interesting."

The maid snorted. "Daft, you mean."

Mrs. Vita chuckled. "I didn't say that. She's merely quiet."

Quiet? I'd never been described as quiet. I frowned. It wasn't the first time I'd been talked about and no doubt it wouldn't be the last. So why did it sting? Because this was supposed to be my domain, my household.

The maid sighed as she stuffed some clothing into the wardrobe. "Bleedin lucky she is, married to such a wealthy, prestigious man."

I could hear the dreamy quality in her voice and realized the maid was probably half in love with James. Was he interested in her as well? I wasn't naïve, I knew that in many households it was common for lords to sleep with their serving girls. The thought of James being intimate with the maids angered me so much, I had to dig my fingers into the carpet to keep from clawing my way out from underneath the bed and demanding answers.

"You know how the titled are, they don't truly understand how fortunate their lives," Mrs. Vita said. "No worries, no work."

My face flushed with heat. Is that what they thought of me? Some spoiled, titled lady who should have been kissing Jamie's feet in gratitude, instead of cowering in my chambers?

"Is she pretty?" the maid asked.

Mrs. Vita hesitated as if thinking it over. Her silence was less than promising. "Handsome enough. Although rather cold. I'm not quite sure what to make of her. Perhaps she's only overwhelmed."

They shoved the remaining clothing into the wardrobe and shut the door. I couldn't imagine what they'd think if they spotted me hiding under the bed.

"Mrs. Vita," another woman called out, rushing into the room. "Cook wants to know if Lady Whitfield will be taking her food in her room once more."

The housekeeper sighed. "Most likely."

"Strange one, she is, hiding away," this new maid said, apparently feeling the need to give her opinion as well. "She must be bloody bored in that chamber."

"Daisy, we don't gossip about the lord's family," Mrs. Vita snapped, as if she hadn't been gossiping moments before. "The impertinence."

Would serve them right if I stuck my head out and surprised them all. But even as the thought tempted, I knew they had a point. I'd done nothing to earn their respect. I was supposed to be the one in charge here, yet I hid away like a child.

"Yes, Mum." Daisy scurried from the room.

The housekeeper sighed, she and the other maid moving toward the door. "Servants don't know their places anymore."

They closed the door gently behind them, leaving me in peace to mull over their comments. No, I certainly hadn't gone out of my way to establish my place, but I'd been expecting James to help ease the transition. Apparently he wasn't going to assist. At some point I would need to take matters into my own hands.

I started to leave my awkward position when I spotted a wooden box, the only thing underneath the bed. The only object other than my painting that seemed personal. Dare I? Unable to stop myself, I pulled the box toward me and opened it. Letters. Many letters.

"What are you hiding?" I whispered.

I opened the first one, dated two years ago.

I'm sorry to inform you that Mrs. Crawler died years ago. I do not know what happened to Evangeline.

"Evangeline," I whispered. Who was Evangeline?

I replaced the letter, feeling heavy and oddly depressed. A long lost love?

I pulled out another letter and skimmed it.

We do believe your Evangeline was spotted in Brighton...

That letter was dated only a year ago. Whoever this Evangeline, she was dear to James. My heart sank. With trembling hands I replaced the notes and closed the box, wishing to see no more. There were so many things about my husband I didn't know, things I'd never understand. Things I wasn't even sure I wanted to comprehend.

But one thing was apparent...Rafe was wrong. Jamie was capable of love, just not capable of loving me. I pulled myself from the bed. Not even a speck of dust marred my skirts. Despite not having a feminine presence, the household ran to perfection. What did I have to offer? I'd been raised to believe that as a wife I would take over the household duties once I married. The house didn't need me. Jamie didn't want me. There was nothing here for me to do...but provide my husband with two boys.

And then...then I could be free. Free to have my cottage, to paint, to raise my children in a loving and happy home. The dream would keep me going. I took in a deep, trembling breath and squared my shoulders. I could be intimate with James. I would. Two boys. Only two boys. And if God was merciful I would have them soon.

I left his room determined. Determined to learn my place as the woman of the house. Determined to birth the children James desired. Determined to have the life I'd always wanted.

I turned the corner and ran directly into my husband.

****

James

Julianna stumbled back with a gasp.

"Where have you been?" I demanded.

She looked flushed with guilt. I shifted my gaze to the hall beyond her. My chambers lay that way and nothing else. Had she been visiting, intent on seeing me for some reason? Perhaps to demand I return her home. Maybe to ask why I hadn't introduced her to the staff. Or most likely to uncover the easiest way to escape once she murdered me in my sleep.

"I merely thought to explore my new home. I am allowed to leave my room, am I not?" she snapped, irritated. Or was it guilt?

I had a feeling she was more annoyed at being caught than because of my prying question. I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my growing frustration with the woman. Would she ever be honest with me? Hell, I was so exhausted with it all.

But her sweet scent hung heavy in the air, tempting and taunting and I forgot all about her lies. I had a feeling I would never be used to her presence. I'd spent many a sleepless night the last few days, knowing she was merely on the other side of the estate. It would have been so very easy to appear in her chamber. To demand my rights as a husband.

"Despite what you may think, you are no prisoner."

She released a sharp laugh and folded her arms over her chest. She'd been drawing. I could see the charcoal on her fingertips. At least she'd had something to occupy her time while she'd hidden away in her chambers, no doubt plotting her revenge. She hadn't been eating, for I'd asked Mrs. Vita.

"Only picks at her food," the woman had said.

I studied her body, noting that her once lush form continued to lose weight. I frowned, upset, although why, I wasn't sure. If she didn't want to eat, why should I care? Because she was my wife and I wouldn't be accused of starving her. I'd sit by her side and force her to eat if I must.

"Yes, but tis rather difficult to see my new home when I constantly get lost as no one has deemed it worthy enough to escort me about."

She wished to pick a fight? She'd find out soon enough that I was highly skilled in the craft of warfare. "Fine, you wish to see your new home?" I bowed. "Then by all means, I shall escort you."

She hesitated. The woman hadn't the least desire to be near me, while I constantly craved her presence. I should have dismissed her, sent her back to her rooms and been done with her for the day. For some reason, I couldn't. I wanted her near. Craved her as some men craved opium.

I held out my arm, daring her.

She ignored me and clasped her hands in front of her, hiding them in her yellow skirts, and starting down the hall without me. Annoyed, I fell into step beside her. Images of that time together flashed to mind. She'd looked stunning, an angel, when she'd appeared at my bedchamber door those months ago. How could I have rejected her? Even now the urge to lower my lips to the delicate curve of her neck overwhelmed me. To breathe in her scent, to taste her skin... I'd had her once, only once, and it hadn't been nearly enough to sate my appetite.

"The kitchens are in the west wing, underneath your rooms," I started, my voice coming out gruff with desire. "I'm sure you've noticed."

She nodded, but wouldn't look at me.

"When I was a child, my mother used that room as a parlor," I continued. "She said it smelled like nutmeg and baking bread. The scent still reminds me of her."

She slid me a curious glance and I realized that perhaps I'd said too much. I cleared my throat and looked away. What had possessed me to tell her something so personal? We turned a corner and started down the hall where my brothers resided when they were in residence.

"We have everything your typical estate can claim."

"Is there a ballroom?" she asked.

I almost smiled at her feminine question. Only a woman would ask. Only a woman would care. "Yes, but don't get your hopes up. We haven't had a gathering in some fifteen years. Not since my father..."

I bit back the words. Hell, I couldn't be near her without spilling my deepest secrets. What was it about my wife? I could admit that those months ago when I'd first met Jules I had felt an ease with her I hadn't felt with anyone ever. I'd said things to her I'd never even admitted to my brothers. She was slowly working her magic once more.

"Your father what?" She watched me with those fathomless eyes, waiting for me to continue, to bare my soul. I could tell her to mind her own damn business, but that would send her scurrying away in a huff, and I wasn't ready to let her go.

"Not since my father died." I tore my gaze from her, afraid she would read something in my gaze I wasn't ready for her to see. "When was the last time you were out in society?"

"You mean London?"

Each window we walked by sent dull rays of sunlight across her hair, making it shimmer. She was light in this dreariness. A star on a dark night. She was stunning, and God's truth, I didn't think she really understood her appeal. Penny had said Welch's son had tried to ruin Jules for her dowry, but I knew the real reason...he'd wanted her. Who wouldn't?

"Yes, London."

She shrugged as if it were of no concern. "Almost three years ago."

Three years hidden away. Had her parents been ashamed of her and the commotion she'd caused? No wonder why she'd been adamant about escaping her family those months ago, even if it meant seducing me and entering into marriage with a man she barely knew. "And how long were you there before the incident?"

She flushed. "Only a month."

So, she had never truly had a season in London. It didn't matter much to me but I knew that women cared. Flirting, buying gowns, tea with friends, dancing. And so the last three years she'd been imprisoned in her small town with little but her art to occupy her time. But she'd seemed to thrive in the countryside, it was one of many reasons why I'd made the rash decision to marry her. She could stand the isolation.

We paused outside a set of double doors.

She would only have to abide the isolation until my sons were born. Then she could go where she wanted, do as she wished. But the longer she stayed here, the harder it was to think of her leaving. I'd been avoiding her, keeping busy by visiting the crofters, yet her presence clung to the walls. The moment I stepped into the house I sensed her. She'd burrowed her way into my soul and now she had taken over my home. The building pulsed with an energy it had never had before.

"The ballroom." I pushed the doors wide and stepped aside to allow her entrance.

She stepped carefully into the large room and slowly spun around, taking in everything at once. Her gasp of surprise echoed against the walls. "It's stunning."

I tore my gaze from her and studied the large chamber, trying to see it through her eyes. It was built to show wealth, to proclaim importance. I strolled across the polished floorboards and studied the mural of clouds and angels painted above, the massive crystal and silver chandeliers, and heavy dark blue drapes. As children we had used the room to play. Since then it had been closed away, left waiting for a master who would appreciate its beauty and function.

"These are portraits of our many Whitfields. Lovely people," I muttered.

She focused on the paintings that lined the walls. Typical cold and dour men. I could see her keen interest as an artist. Appreciated the way she studied the portraits with a professional eye. It was time someone cared about them. "There are no women."

I glanced impatiently at the portraits. I'd never truly noticed before. "Yes. The weaker sex. My father would never have allowed it."

"Weaker? Yet they're forced to give birth." She looked me. "And your mother? What does she think?"

"My mother died twenty years ago."

Her brows drew together. "But...I thought your mother is...Penny said..."

"That would be my stepmother. A lovely women. Deceitful, conniving. She was my father's mistress while my mother still lived. Once Mother died, she swooped in, married my father to get what she had always wanted. You have a lot in common."

Her jaw clenched, her face flushing. I could see the hurt in her eyes. I cursed myself for my snide comment. Why could I not control myself when she was near?

"Don't worry, my father made her rue the day she married him."

"Much like you have with me." She tilted her chin high. Touché. She would not be defeated. I reluctantly respected her courage. "I'm sure your father would be proud."

Jules moved slowly around the room, turning every once in a while to get a better look at something or another that caught her attention. I could imagine her in a ball gown as she had looked that day she'd stood in my chamber doorway. But she looked just as stunning in a paint-stained smock as she had in an elegant dress.

My body grew hard merely imagining her in that green silk. The image she'd made when she'd appeared at my bedchamber door would not leave me in peace. Haunted me for months. My frustration flared, combining with attraction in a heady, desperate combination.

With a low growl, I moved toward her, my steps determined. I was done waiting. Her back to me, she didn't notice my arrival until it was too late. I slid my arm across her waist and spun her around. She gasped, turning into me. Damn it all, she was my wife. I could touch her, I could kiss her if I pleased.

"Do you like to dance, Julianna?"

Her palms flattened to my chest, her eyes wide with surprise and yes, wariness. Was she truly the naïve innocent I'd thought her to be those many months ago? Rafe seemed to think so. My brother wanted me to trust my wife. Could I? I took her hand in mine and rested my other at her waist. The warmth of her skin through her clothing sent my pulse racing.

"Do you know how to waltz?"

She didn't respond, merely stared up at me in bemused confusion.

I moved forward, forcing her to step back with my thighs. In a low voice, I counted the steps. She fell into place easily, naturally. Like all accomplished women she'd been taught to dance, prepared for the ballroom. But she had an elegance about her that other women of my acquaintance could not claim. She stared at my buttons the entire time, I stared at her. There was no music, but it didn't matter, I couldn't seem to stop.

Her hand grasped my shoulder as I spun her around, and around. She clung to me in a way that made the primal urge within roar to life. I wanted her with a desperation I'd never felt before. Tasting her those months ago had only lit the fire within. I twirled her around one last time and shoved her up against the wall.

I didn't let go, nor did she try to escape my hold. Slowly, she tilted her head back and meet my gaze. In her eyes I saw her nervousness, her confusion, her desire. I released her hand and trailed my knuckles down the side of her face. Her lips parted, her breath warm upon my neck. I could feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest. She was nervous, perhaps anxious, maybe both. Would she push me away if I kissed her?

Hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room, I could do whatever I wished with her and no one would notice. When I lowered my lips to hers, she closed her eyes. She did not flinch, did not scurry away. I paused, our breaths mingling. She wanted the kiss, but did she want me? Her hands curled into the lapels of my jacket. Unable to help myself, I brushed my lips against hers softly at first, testing.

When she moaned it was all the encouragement needed.

I pressed my body into her, holding her captive against the hard wall. She gave up, her lush body sinking into me, tempting, so very tempting. I could not get enough of her. With a growl, I slid my tongue between her parted lips. I would take her there in the ballroom. The heat inside my body burned through my veins. I was afire, aching with a hunger I'd never felt before. My hands trailed down her arms, pausing at her hips.

"James," she gasped. "Not here."

"Where ever I say," I growled against her lips. "Whenever."

She whimpered as my mouth trailed down her elegant neck, tracing a path across the sensitive skin. While I tasted her, I found the material of her skirts, crushing the muslin in my fists. I had to touch her. Needed to feel her heat, her warmth. Blasted women's fashion and their many layers.

Her breasts heaved with each harsh intake of her breath, just begging to be touched. I lowered my mouth to that valley between the mounds, desperate for more. I wanted to scrape my teeth over her tits, to bring the hardened buds into my mouth and suck until she cried out with pleasure.

I pulled her skirts higher, the hem brushing her shapely calves.

"Don't," she whispered, turning her head away from me. "Please."

I gritted my teeth and paused. My cock throbbed, pressing against my trousers. I could have her. So easily.

I could have her.

Damnation.

I couldn't.

With a curse, I pushed away from the woman and stumbled back.

For one long moment we merely stared at each other, both of us breathless, both of us in need. We wanted each other. There was so much left unspoken between us, neither wanting to say the words, admitting what we desired.

"Two children," I snapped. "Two boys."

She flushed. "And what about girls?"

A little girl with her wavy hair and brilliant blues eyes flashed to mind. My chest grew tight with an emotion I didn't dare dwell upon. I turned and started toward the door. "Two boys. You're welcome to have as many girls as you wish, and I will ignore them as well as I ignore my male spawn. But for your freedom...two boys."

"And if I continue to have girls?" she called out stubbornly.

I paused in the middle of the ballroom. "We keep trying."

The thought did not upset me like it should have. I could practically feel her mind spinning. I didn't have to wait long to know what she thought. "You don't wish to have a real marriage?"

I laughed as I turned toward her. Her face was flushed with desire, her lips swollen from my kisses. "Real? What is real? Most members of the ton marry for wealth, privilege. They lead separate lives, the men having a mistress on the side to fulfill their desires and satisfy their cravings. Is that what you mean by real?"

"My parents didn't have a marriage like that," she whispered, frowning. "They cared about each other. We were a family. They had no others to satisfy their...cravings."

"That you know of."

Her jaw clenched as she fought her irritation. I studied my wife, wondering if she expected the same of our marriage. Impossible. It was insane to think that a man could be content with one woman. I pushed the thought from my mind.

"Friday, Julianna. I will see you Friday."

Without another word I turned and left her standing there to find her own way back to her rooms, cursing her bloody perfect childhood and her bloody perfect parents and their bloody perfect marriage.

Chapter 6

Julianna

Friday came much too quickly.

After having stayed up most of the night, listening to the wind rattle against the panes and the eerie and terrifying howl of the breeze, I'd finally given up on sleep. How could I rest knowing what the day would bring? And so I'd spent the hours pacing my room.

Dinner had come, but I'd barely eaten a thing. My stomach felt twisted into knots. The sun had traveled across the sky. I'd bathed. The sun had set. The house had grown still. The only thing left to do was wait.

I sank into the chair near the fireplace and closed my eyes attempting to calm my racing heart. At times I felt like it would explode in my chest, as if the very air had left the room and I could breathe no longer. Images of that kiss in the ballroom flipped over and over through my troubled mind. It had taken all the energy I'd had to push him away. Another moment longer and I would have allowed him to take me up against that wall in a room where the servants could have walked in at any moment.

With a groan, I stood. James would arrive soon. He would kiss me again. He would touch me where no one else had ever touched me. And this time he wouldn't stop. I pressed my fingers to my lips. As much as I was loathe to admit it, that kiss had felt like coming home, as if I'd been hungering for something for far too long and my appetite had finally been sated.

With a sigh, I paced to the fireplace mantel. If I was being honest with myself I'd admit that I didn't fear Jamie's touch. No, it was worse. I feared that I would enjoy it far too much. That I wouldn't be able to help myself and I'd beg him for more, sell my soul merely for the satisfaction I knew he could bring. The thought that I might lose control worried me. The thought that I might always want him, always hunger for his touch, terrified me.

But there was a way out...if I got with child I would be free.

Could I? Could I sleep with him and not become emotionally attached as I had those months ago? He would destroy me, break my heart all over if I gave him the chance. But if we were intimate and I got with child, I would be free for at least nine months. Surely he wouldn't wish to be intimate while I was heavy with child. And I would be completely free within a few years.

I'd never have to see him again. Never have to hear his harsh and bitter words. See the anger and accusations in his gaze. Eventually, my heart would heal, wouldn't it? I closed my eyes and leaned against the mantel. Could I let him in?

No.

Fear raced through me. Not yet. I wasn't ready for his attentions. Wasn't ready for his touch. I needed to learn to control my feelings first.

I opened my eyes and raced across the room.

I couldn't let him see me vulnerable, wanting him, desperate.

He would destroy me, and he would enjoy it. Determined, I bolted the door. My hands shook as I flattened them to the hard, solid wood that would keep him out. It was insanity, madness. I understood the ridiculousness of locking my husband from my room, but couldn't seem to stop. I was being silly, immature. My mother would be so disappointed. I acted like a veritable child. Exhausted, I rested my forehead to the panel. He'd be angry, that I knew for sure. Perhaps I could ask for a few more days...

"I won't let you, James," I whispered, staring hard at that door. I was too vulnerable. I wouldn't let me him break my heart again. In a month or two, perhaps I could lay in bed and not feel while he took me...

"Won't let me what, my dear?"

With a yelp, I spun around. James reclined in the chair near the fireplace, his jacket gone, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up his sinewy forearms, looking every bit the relaxed lord.

"As is with many old manors, there are secret tunnels so that guests may go about their affairs unnoticed."

I barely heard his explanation. As surprised as I was, I still noticed every little detail about him in that moment. From the way the whiteness of his shirt contrasted with his tanned skin. The way his thick lashes made shadows against his cheeks. And most importantly the way he held my sketch pad, the pages open for his perusal.

Seeing him sent a thrilling ache of lust rushing through my body. At the same time, nervousness and anxiety crashed through my very core. It was a thunderous storm of emotions that left me shaken and trembling.

"Won't let me what?" He paused on a page in my sketch book. Dear God, the book was full of drawings of him. Was my humiliation to know no ends? "Won't let me enter your room? Won't let me fuck you?"

My jaw clenched. Anger and shame mixed together in a sickening queasiness. My embarrassment forgotten, I raced forward and snatched the book from his hands. "I don't feel well tonight."

As if I hadn't spoken a word, he stood slowly, unfolding his long, lean body from the chair. I stumbled back as he loomed over me. With his hard gaze pinning me in place, he started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "I will be quick."

Dear God, he was still going through with this utter madness. Yet again I wondered if he could claim any conscience at all. "Surely you can give me time to prepare!"

His face was all hard planes—cold, heartless—showing not the least bit of compassion. "The sooner we get you with child, the sooner we can part each other's company. Wouldn't you like that, Julianna? Your freedom?" He tossed his waistcoat to the chair. "Of course you can't be out of my sight until you're with child. I do want to make sure the babe is mine."

"Go to hell," I seethed. Insult after insult, the man didn't know when to stop. Fortunately, I was so used to his biting tongue that I was growing numb to the abuse. "God, you're an arse."

"Oh, I will eventually go to hell. But first I'm going to bed you properly, in my own home, as is my right." He started unbuttoning his shirt. "Remove your bodice, Julianna."

He said the words with no emotion, as if he ordered women to remove their clothes on a regular basis. My nails bit into my drawing book as I resisted the urge to toss it at his head. The conversation we'd had in the ballroom had not mattered. He still hated me. Still wanted only to use me. "Your right? And what of my rights?"

"You're a female, you have none. Take off your bodice, Julianna, or I will do it for you, and I won't be gentle."

I swallowed over the lump of fear clogging my throat. As he unbuttoned that last button, my gaze went unwillingly to his muscled chest, down over his flat stomach and the trail of dark, crisp hair that disappeared behind his waistband. The lust that flared low in my belly was as humiliating as it was frustrating. As much as I feared him, as much as I hated him, I still wanted him. He wasn't the only one insane.

He tossed his shirt to the chair, revealing broad shoulders. "This is the last time...take off your bodice or I will take it off for you."

"Will you force me?" I snapped, jerking my gaze away from his chest and focusing on his stoic, unforgiving face.

"I won't have to, will I?" He started toward me. "Because truth is you want me as much as I want you."

So, I wasn't the only one. He'd admitted he wanted me. It should have made me feel better about my own desires, it didn't. It didn't make me feel better because he knew...he knew I wanted him. He knew I had no choice.

With trembling fingers I started to unbutton my bodice before he tore the garment from me and ruined one of only a few dresses I'd managed to pack. "Fine," I said. "I will allow your advances. But I swear I won't react to your touch. I'll merely lay there while you do the deed."

He paused only two steps away. That close, he towered over me, but I would not quake under his hard gaze. I'd once thought he had demon eyes, now I knew for a fact they were. He didn't care if he humiliated me. He didn't care if I was shamed. He only cared about himself.

"We'll see."

I'd worn my most modest gray dress, but it didn't seem to deter him. He reached for my bodice. I froze. Even through the thick material the touch of his hands burned my skin. With quick and efficient movements he had my top unbuttoned before I could draw words to protest. He'd obviously undressed women before.

His fingers trailed down my throat. I couldn't deny that my body reacted. My very skin tingled with awareness, desperate for his touch. The musky scent of his aftershave swirled around me, teasing my senses, drugging me. I almost closed my eyes on a sigh as his hands slid underneath my bodice, over my corset and up toward my breasts. My nipples hardened, reacting instantly to his touch. Oh, how I wanted him. My body stirred with pleasure even while my rational mind told me not to trust him, not to give in.

"If you think I want this, if you think I want to want you, think again," he said.

I glared up at him. "Oh I think you do. I think you love controlling and frightening people as much as you love torturing me."

His jaw clenched, the only sign of his anger. With a jerk, he tugged my bodice over my shoulders, but the tight material got stuck halfway down my arms and I suddenly found myself captive, my arms pinned behind my back.

Realizing my predicament, he took advantage and jerked me closer, my breasts crushing to his hard chest. His warm breath fanned across my lips, his pupils dilating so his eyes were almost black as his lids lowered seductively. I was helpless to escape. "As I said, the sooner you are with child, the sooner you can leave. The sooner I can get on with my life."

Get on with his life? In other words, go back to his mistresses. Why did the thought sting? Why did I care? Fine, if he wanted nothing to do with me, if he wanted this to be a marriage of convenience, I would use it to my benefit. "I want the Welch estate. I want to be near my parents."

He slid his hands up my corset, under my breasts, cupping them. I sucked in a sharp breath. Slowly, tauntingly, he rubbed his thumbs over my hardened nipples. The touch seemed to travel down my body, quivering between my thighs. The world spun.

"I...I...want the Welch estate," I somehow managed to repeat.

He tugged the bodice down my arms. "No."

Free, I brought my arms forward, resisting the urge to cross them over my chest. "Why not?"

He reached for the strings of my corset and began to loosen them. His touch confused me, made me stupid and anxious. I couldn't think coherently when he was near. "I have three estates and a home in London. Pick one of those."

The corset fell to the ground. "I want the Welch estate."

"I said no," he snapped, his hard gaze meeting mine.

I could tell he wasn't going to relent. "Fine. Another place near my parents."

Before I realized his intentions, he gripped the thin material of my shift and jerked it over my head so I stood in only my skirts and slippers. I gasped, trying to cross my arms. My chest exposed, I'd never felt more vulnerable. He didn't take the time to appreciate me, or even sneer over my obvious embarrassment. He was like the automatons I'd once seen at a fair...cold, impersonal.

"You owe me at least that much," I continued, my voice quivering. He wasn't the only stubborn person in the room; I would not give in.

He undid the buttons of my skirts. "I owe you nothing and you know it."

Just like before he lifted me from the pool of material, my slippers falling from my feet, and set me on the floor. But this was not like our first time. No. During our first time together I'd wanted him with a fierceness that could barely be contained. I was excited about our prospects. Now I was merely nervous, unsure what this intimate act would bring.

He jerked down my bloomers. "I will not buy you a home near your family merely so you can go whimpering back to your parents about how badly I've treated you."

"I would never." Naked, I stood before him in all of my righteous anger. His words so frustrated me that for a moment I almost forgot I was devoid of clothing. "I want to be by my family. I want my children to know their grandparents."

His dark gaze flashed. "I won't have you buying that man's house!"

I flinched, startled. Why did the thought of me living in Welch's home anger him so? Would I ever understand James? Boldly, I took his hand, hoping to appeal to his humanity...if he had any. "My father is dying."

He tore his hand from mine. "Do you honestly think I'll believe anything you tell me?"

His words stung, hurt with an aching fierceness that left me gritting my teeth. I would never win with James. Never. Had I truly betrayed his trust so badly, or had I never had it in the first place? It didn't matter what I said, he would always twist the truth to support his horrible opinion of me.

I slammed my fists against his chest. "I hate you!"

With a growl, he gripped my wrists and jerked me up against his hard body, his cock straining boldly against his trousers and pressing intimately to my lower belly. "I despise you too, my dear."

He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted. I had little time to protest as he tossed me to the bed. I landed with a muffled cry to the soft bedding, no worse for wear. As I lay there, horrified and angry, he finished undressing.

He was as perfect and muscled as I'd remembered and his cock strained away from his body with an eagerness that terrified and fascinated me. Had he truly been that large the first time? The image of him sliding his shaft into my tight passage made me embarrassingly wet. And he would know...as soon as he touched me he would notice how wet he made me, and he would realize how very much I did want him.

How could we hate each other, yet feel so much attraction? It made no bloody sense. How many nights I'd dreamt about his touch. How many days I'd cursed my dreams. And now...as terrified as I was, I couldn't deny the throbbing ache that twisted and taunted between my thighs.

Slowly, he scanned my body as if I was a piece of art and he was deciding if I was worth the money. His gaze rested on my breasts and then skimmed down to the nest of curls that shielded my femininity. I didn't miss the way his cock pulsed, the thickened head glistening with his need. My breath hitched, my mouth going dry.

He was a god. A Greek God. Hard planes of muscle coming together into perfection.

Mother had always said I was too passionate. Too passionate in my love for art. Too passionate in my feelings. And apparently in the bedchamber things were not much different. My cheeks burned with utter humiliation. A true lady did not desire such relations. A true lady did her duty, but did not crave the temptation of male flesh. Apparently I was no true lady.

I squeezed my eyes shut, determined not to react to him.

The mattress shifted as he came near. Then he touched me. A light skim of his hands down my side, over my hip, down my thigh. Surprised, I jumped. But the surprise quickly fled as heat took its place. I had to resist the urge to strain up into his touch, to beg for more. Dear lord, my body remembered. My body wanted him, even if my mind didn't.

He leaned closer, the scent of his skin musky and temptingly male. The fact that his touch was gentle surprised me more than the actual deed itself. I peeked through my lashes just as he lowered his head to my breasts. My heart slammed wildly against my chest, pounding so fiercely I felt dizzy.

I will not react.

He took a hardened nipple between his lips. I gritted my teeth, as the ache between my legs flared. How badly I wanted to shift underneath him, to arch my back and urge him to take the breast fully into his warm mouth.

I will not react.

His lips covered the nipple, his tongue swirling around the hard bud. I whimpered, my fingers digging into the bedsheets. Although my hips naturally wanted to lift, and my body wanted to rock into him, I refused.

As he sucked on my breast, his hand skimmed down my stomach toward that nest of curls. It was too much. Why? Why did he taunt me? Why did he give me pleasure when this was supposed to be about producing a child? Yes, I admit I'd imagined him slamming into me, spilling his seed and being done with the matter altogether. But instead he put me through this torture. Exquisite torture. Beautiful pain.

"God, you taste good," he muttered.

I will not react.

While he licked, sucked and swirled his tongue around my nipple, his fingers slid through the curls. I swallowed my cry. He paused, tormenting me. When I thought I might scream out in frustration, he slid his finger over the sensitive nub, farther through my wet folds. Heat infused my body and I groaned.

He released my nipple, pulled his hand from my body and gripped my hips. I glared at the top of his head. He was torturing me on purpose, damn him. Slowly, he moved down my belly, pressing kisses over my stomach, farther, farther.

"Wh...what are you doing?" I demanded.

Sinful. I knew where he was going and my reserves began to crumble down around me. So much for not reacting. Hell, the man could make me come just by a mere glance. A sweep of his tongue. A brush of his fingers.

"Open for me, Jules," he growled, sending a shiver down my spine. "Now."

I should have refused. But I could no more refuse him than I could refuse to breathe.

I felt intoxicated by his presence, no longer in control of my own body. I was wet, aching and flushed with a desire that I could not control. With a whimper, I spread my legs.

When he lowered his head my hesitancy vanished into the night. His tongue delved into my sheath, torturing me with exquisite pleasure. I gripped the sheets, lifting my hips. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Never supposed to be like this.

"James, please," I whispered, although I wasn't sure what I asked for. To stop? No, I didn't want him to stop. To cease torturing me? Perhaps. To leave me in peace so that my aching heart could heal? Yes. Most certainly.

My entire body tightened, that lust twisting almost painfully. It was coming...that sweet, sweet release. But before I could find fulfillment, he pulled away.

Startled, I opened my eyes. He hovered over me, his breath harsh, his hair tousled and those dark eyes burning with a need that frightened me. Why had he stopped? Was this all a game? No, if he walked away now it would kill me, both physically and mentally.

"Jamie, please," I begged.

His jaw clenched, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. "I will give you pleasure, Jules, I'm not so heartless as to leave you aching."

Good lord, he knew how much I needed him. He didn't look pleased about the idea, and for a moment I almost thought about shoving him aside, telling him I didn't want him, that he could go to hell for all I cared. But I did need him. I needed him so badly I felt ready to scream in frustration. He slid up my body, his intense gaze locked to mine. It was as if he dared me to push him away. But he knew...he knew he had captured my heart, my soul, my body.

I felt the thick tip of his cock press to my core. "You are mine, Jules. Mine."

Before I could respond to his heated words, he surged forward.

I gasped over the shocking intrusion.

Arching my back, I threw my arms around his shoulders and dug my nails into his skin. He controlled me so thoroughly, so completely that it was terrifying. Yet, at the same time I wanted more.

His heavy, muscled body pressed deeply into me, holding me captive. With is arms braced on either side of me he pulled out, only to thrust forward again, sending him deeper. So very deep.

I cried out as a tingle of pleasure whispered through my body, promising more to come. The sense of intrusion I'd first experience eased as desire burned. Each stroke of his cock inside me sent the aching need twisting painfully, beautifully.

Finally, I gave up. With a groan, I slid my hands down his shoulders, gripping his biceps. I wanted him. I could no longer deny it. I wrapped my legs around his muscled thighs and lifted my hips, rocking up as he came down into me.

If I had to beg, so be it. "Please, Jamie, please."

He had won.

****

James

Her hands crept down my back toward my buttocks, her nails biting into my skin. Hell, I couldn't take much more. I grabbed her wrists and jerked them up over her head, pinning them to the bed.

Her surprised gaze met mine. She was flushed and nervous. Good. I wouldn't let her touch me. I couldn't. If she touched me I'd come too soon and I wasn't ready for this to be over. I'd waited months for this night, I was determined to take my time.

Held down by my weight, she struggled, trying to pull her hands free. I wouldn't relent. "You are mine, Jules," I demanded. "Mine."

Her gaze flashed with anger.

Perhaps to punish her, or maybe to punish myself, I lifted my hips and surged into her. She gasped, arching her back and taking me deeper. Her wet, heated sheath squeezed me tightly. It was heaven. It would be so damn easy to find my release, to be done with this and leave the room, leave her. But I knew as I pulled out and thrust deep within her again, that this one time wouldn't be enough.

For months I'd been waiting for her, wanting this, needing the release. I'd paced the floors at night, only to wake surly and bad-tempered in the morning, hard and wanting. Nothing and no one could appease me. Yes, I had suffered. Now I would savor the victory.

"Please, James," she murmured, half-gone with desire.

I felt like a damn heathen. I wanted to mark her as mine. Claim her so that no other man would ever dare touch her. "You are mine, Jules," I said fiercely. "Say it."

She squirmed under me, each lift of her hips taking me deeper, closer to heaven. Stubborn lass. I gripped her lush arse and pulled her up against me just as I pushed forward again...so deep, so blasted deep I could barely hold back. "Say it, you stubborn wench."

She merely whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Damn you." Angry, I pulled out of her, feeling the slightest bit of vindication when she cried out in frustration. Before she could question me, I gripped her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, horrified.

Ignoring her question, I shoved my knee between her thighs. Hell, her bottom was even better than I'd expected. I ran my hand down a smooth cheek, squeezing gently, before sliding my finger down around into her entrance. She sucked in a sharp breath.

"You're so damn ready." I pulled my finger free, her dampness glistening against my skin. Unable to resist any longer, I gripped her hips and pressed the head of my cock into her tight body. Before she could protest I surged into her from behind.

"James!" she cried out, arching beneath me.

"Fuck," I muttered. I'd never felt anything so good. "Hell."

I sank deeply into her as I drew my hand down the gentle curve of her back. The memories of that one time together had not done justice to how she felt. With every thrust forward, her sheath tightened around me, squeezing, pulling so I thought I'd die from the pleasure of it all. She quivered, her breath catching, and I knew she was close to finding her own release.

"Jamie," she whispered, her voice nervous. "We shouldn't...this isn't..."

Damn, she might have kissed like a whore, but she was as nervous as a virgin. Fully embedded, I leaned over her, that rounded bottom pressing into my hips, and I nipped the back of her neck. "You can fuck many, many ways, Jules."

"Oh," she whispered, her face pressed into the pillow. Her hands were curled at her sides, gripping the bedsheets tightly. There was no denying it...she was beautiful. Stunning. Her skin wore a healthy flushed glow of desire. Her breath came out in wanton gasps. She wanted me. She needed me as much as I needed her.

Determined, I lifted my hips and pushed into her again. I couldn't take it anymore. Could no longer hold back. As I thrust, I slid my hand around her body, down her flat stomach and found that nub between her folds. It was all she needed. Her cry came out muffled against the pillow, her entire body trembling around me as she let go.

With a growl deep in my throat, I rocked into her one last time, finding my release. She drained me completely and utterly. I felt as if I hadn't an ounce of feeling, of soul. Everything I was, I'd given to her. For a long, long moment I leaned against her, not wanting to pull out quite yet, savoring the feel of being connected to this woman.

I knew my weight would crush her. Before moving, I breathed in her scent, resisting the urge to kiss her satiny skin. But it was all so intimate. Reluctantly, I pulled from her body and collapsed onto the bed beside her. It was too much. Too damn much. Panting, I waited for my body to relax, for my breathing to return to normal. Why her? Why the bloody hell did she make me feel this way?

She didn't move, merely lay there with her head turned away from me. Shite. It wasn't supposed to be like that. I wasn't supposed to lose control. I raked my trembling hands through my hair, knowing I should leave. Instead, I had to fight the urge to pull her close and cradle her body to mine. To kiss and lick the sweat from her smooth skin. Hell, I wanted to breathe in her sweet scent and sleep in peaceful bliss for once.

And that scared the hell out of me.

She'd sucked the very life from me. Taken me for everything I had. "Every other day."

She rolled onto her side, her back to me. My chest grew tight with an emotion I didn't dare dwell upon. What the hell did she expect? Roses? Poetry? I closed my eyes, a part of me desperately wanting to apologize. For what, I wasn't even sure. But the words would not come. She needed to understand our relationship; I would not give her false hope.

Quickly, I stood and dressed. Still she didn't move, didn't say a word. Her shame hung heavy in the air around us. And her shame made me feel as angry as it did guilty. She was doing her duty, doing exactly what she was supposed to do, what she'd been taught. How dare she make me feel as if I'd done something wrong.

"I'll be back in two days." I paused at the door. "Order gowns, jewelry, visit the neighbors, do what you want until then."

Perhaps I was trying to buy her forgiveness, and the thought annoyed me. Still she didn't speak, didn't even flinch. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders I would have thought her dead. My fingers tightened around the door handle. I wanted to scream at her, or perhaps I merely wanted to fuck her again.

Or maybe...just maybe, I wanted to apologize. Damn it all, I would not feel guilty.

I had the oddest feeling she didn't hate me because I had forced her to give in, but because she had enjoyed it. She'd insisted she wouldn't react to my touch. She'd been wrong. Yet, I didn't feel the need to gloat. I'd won this battle, yet didn't feel like the victor.

"Two days," I said.

Not bothering to wait for a reply, I tore open the door and moved into the hall, closing the door behind me. Rafe stood there flushed with fury, hands fisted at his sides. It was obvious he'd heard what I said to her, and most likely knew what I'd done. "Eavesdropping? Or is it some new sport of yours...listening to others fuck?"

His lips lifted into a snarl. "Go to hell, I was merely passing by."

I shoved him out of the way and stormed down the hall. Passing by? His rooms were a good ten minutes from here. Hell, he probably believed himself half in love with the woman.

No doubt she was falling for him. I didn't miss their walks in the garden, the smiles she gifted him with. But she didn't know the real Rafe. Did she not understand her life could be much worse than being married to me? And Rafe was worse. He might be all charm and debonair smiles, but he had a woman in just about every shire, and he sure as hell wouldn't give them up merely because he'd fallen for yet another.

"You're a damn bastard, you know that?" Rafe said, following me down the stairs.

I had half a mind to shove him, and hope he broke his neck. What was one more murder to add to my list? If he wanted to think that I'd forced her, that she hadn't wanted me just as badly, let him. "That's rich coming from you."

He trailed after me as I entered the study. "What the hell happened to you? You've turned into an arrogant, soulless bastard."

I moved to the side table, needing a drink to steady my nerves. The emotions swirling through me were unwelcome and unfamiliar. I thrived on being in control, damn it all. But the moment I'd slept with Jules those months ago, I lost all sense of who I'd been born to be, trained to be. "I'm exactly as I've always been."

I wanted to retire to my rooms, to be alone and wipe her from my mind. I wanted to bathe and scrub her scent from my body and maybe then...maybe I could find some damn peace in my own home.

She had drawings of me in that sketch pad of hers. Drawing after drawing. What did it mean? Drawings of me looking pensive, angry. A drawing of me as I'd bathed in that creek. A drawing of me after I'd sat beside her on the bank, looking relaxed, at ease. Had I truly been that happy those months ago?

"What did she do that was so horrible?" he demanded. "Surely it can't be worth the treatment you've given her thus far."

I poured myself a whiskey, cursing the tremble of my hands. What had she done? She'd given me hope, damn her. Hope that I could have a relationship with someone I could trust, hope that I could feel something other than cold emptiness. I would be insane to trust her, to trust these feelings. Wouldn't I?

"You could have wooed her. Picnics, flowers, walks across the moors. Hell, it doesn't take much. It's so bloody easy."

"Then you do it," I snapped.

"She's not my wife!" The look of disappointment in his gaze was like a dagger that twisted painfully, slowly within my gut. We might have fought at times, but he'd always respected me. "You know, I remember the man who used to protect us from Father. The man who used to be loyal, caring...a fucking knight in shining armor."

I stared moodily into my glass. "Did that boy exist?"

"He did."

I clenched my jaw and shifted my gaze to the fire. That lad was long dead, and I was too far gone. "That boy was weak."

"Not to me, not to Oliver or Will."

I slumped into the chair near the fireplace, wishing he'd leave me in peace. That boy was beat more times than he would care to count, or care to remember. Aye, I'd saved my brothers, but at what cost to my soul?

"I can't stand this anymore," Rafe said. "God forgive me for taking the coward's way out, but I can't stand to stay here and see you crush that girl's soul."

I tossed my glass into the fire, watching with some satisfaction as it exploded against the hearth and the flames roared in protest. "That girl is a woman who knew exactly what she was getting into!"

"She's an innocent, even I can see that."

Was she? Damn it all, that guilt I'd been trying to ignore for weeks flared to life.

"Fuck off, Rafe. At least I don't use woman after woman to sate my lust! Up until now I've only kept a couple mistresses who have always been well compensated. You, on the other hand, will use any woman who lifts her skirts."

His jaw clenched. He knew I spoke the truth. How dare he paint me the sinner and he the saint. "She loved you."

I scoffed at the thought. "And half of England thinks themselves in love with you."

"You could have had a family, a life, instead you threw it all away. Damn it, she loved you. And now I doubt she'll ever forgive you."

He started toward the door. What the hell did he know? He spent his life seeking pleasure, with no responsibility. I'd been the one who'd had to deal with Father's fits, with Mother's melancholy. I'd been the one who had been forced to protect my younger brothers, taking their beatings.

Love.

How could she possibly love me? Love was an illusion that destroyed the weak and strong. Look what it had done to my mother. To Evangeline. We'd loved her, we'd thought we were saving her, yet we had only made things so much worse.

He paused in the doorway, apparently to take one more jab. "Yes, Jamie, you saved us from father. But who, I wonder, will save Jules from you?"

With those words he turned and walked away leaving me drowning in anger, guilt and shame.

Chapter 7

Julianna

My sleep patterns had become erratic since that night with James.

More and more often I found myself unable to rest when darkness arrived. I'd pace the room, wondering if he was at home, in his chamber, or perhaps visiting a mistress or two. I'd fall asleep for a few hours, only to wake up irritable and restless. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to forget. Let the darkness claim me, but my own racing mind betrayed and sleep eluded me.

Even my art changed. The dreamy quality of my paintings had morphed into something darker, more elusive. I no longer feared the moors, but craved them, for the dreariness was merely an extension of my soul.

I'd expected to see James two days after for our appointed time together. He had warned me, and James always kept his promises, of that I was sure. Yet five days had come and gone, still there was no sign of the man. Even Rafe had left, much to my dismay. He had been my one confidant, the only to sympathize with my plight, and I was truly sad to see him go.

And so I was left alone to do as I wanted. And only months ago I would have savored my freedom. Yet now I felt as if I was left teetering along the edge of a cliff, precariously facing my downfall. Nervous, anxious, waiting for James to appear and demand I undress. Waiting for my own body to betray me, for my arms to reach for him of their own accord, shaming me once more. He'd hurt my pride one too many times, and even though I'd rather run naked through the house than give myself to him again, I admit the fact that he was ignoring me stung.

"Manipulative, controlling bastard," I muttered.

I could not get the man from my mind. I'd bathed every blasted night yet swore I could still smell him, still feel his touch on my skin. And as much as I hated his scent, I couldn't deny that a part of me craved it, craved him.

And so it was early the fifth day after my body had betrayed me by reacting to Jamie's touch that I found myself wandering the halls, so early, that only the scullery maids were up and about, although none had seen me lurking in the shadows like some long-dead familial ghost.

Desperate to understand, I'd been searching for the ballroom. Something inside of me needed to see the paintings, hoped to explore this world where I suddenly resided and the portraits of the men who had built it. But I'd merely found myself lost.

With the sun just barely high enough to peek through the leaded glass windows and the house still and quiet, I made my way down the halls, deciding to explore the place that was my home.

The early morning stillness was made for contemplation, and I realized with little reluctance that it was time to accept my new reality: I would not be returning to my parents any time in the near future. Even if James allowed me to leave after I'd given birth to two boys, the process could take years. Years in which my father would wane...die.

Why hadn't James arrived at my room those days ago for our appointed time? Was he bored with me? Tired of the fighting and bickering? I certainly didn't blame him.

I knew my husband remained in residence as curiosity and desperation had forced me to ask the maid days ago, and she had admitted as much. The realization that he did not deem me important enough to visit was disheartening. Although why I cared, I wasn't sure. Like a festering illness, the man would not leave me be.

It frightened me how my body reacted to his presence. Shocked me how I wanted him with a desperation that haunted my dreams. I was a masochist, for I knew desiring Jamie would only cause pain.

While my heart beat fiercely, begging for me to walk toward his chambers and surrender to my desires, my mind remained in control and I forced myself to stay as far away from his wing as possible. I hadn't the stamina nor desire to spar with him this morn.

Two weeks. I'd been here for almost two weeks and it still felt as unfamiliar as another country. As isolated as a nunnery. As dark and depressing as hell itself. Was this punishment for earlier crimes? At times it felt as if so.

I started down the hall, knowing the many rooms I tip-toed by were empty. So many chambers. So much luxury. So much waste. Although our home had been large by many neighboring standards, every room was used, every chamber stuffed with family or servants. When I thought about how the money wasted here might provide my father with a better doctor it angered me. What use was there for ornate furniture in rooms that were never occupied?

But James hadn't even believed my father was ill. He didn't care. I trailed my fingers over the golden tassels that hung from the heavy burgundy drapes covering the floor to ceiling windows in the hall. Not a speck of dust. How many staff were in residence, I hadn't a clue. I knew for sure that I had yet to meet them all. How could I be surrounded by so many, yet feel so alone?

I'd been six when I'd entered my parent's room one morning. The sun had yet to rise and I was fearful of the dark. When I'd cracked the door open I'd seen my parents embracing, my mother giggling like a child as they kissed. She'd sounded so blasted happy in my father's arms, it was a memory I'd kept with me all my life.

I'd left their room knowing even in my innocent mind that I shouldn't have been there. But that memory had been stored away, for it had given me hope. Hope of respect and equality in a marriage. Of happiness and affection. That hope was fading fast. Would I ever know the comfort and safety of being in the arms of a husband who loved me? It was doubtful.

But nothing lasted. Even my parents and their perfect marriage would soon be over. I'd been here almost two weeks and still had yet to receive a letter from my family. No word on if they'd found Penny. No word on if my father had succumbed to his weak heart. I missed them so desperately that my very chest ached with a tight loneliness I'd never experienced before. Missed the dinners filled with conversation and laughter. Days of peace and safety. Moments spent dreaming of a future. Now, even my imagination had left me wanting.

I'd thought of writing to Cecilia and begging her to come here. Surely James couldn't deny me the visit of a friend. But I didn't want to subject her to this dreary house and my depressing company. How long would it take to get a letter across the country? A week? Two? Three? I might as well have been across the ocean, for the distance felt as far. How I longed for merely a token of their presence in this world.

"Clean the west wing," someone said, the voice drifting down the hall and startling me. The noise was obscene in the quiet dawn. "Then start on the fireplaces downstairs."

"Yes, Mum."

Not wanting to come across the maids and be fodder for more gossip, I reached for the closest bedroom door and shoved it open. Darkness surrounded me, held me close and comforted. I closed the door and pressed my ear against the panel, listening as the footsteps came closer. The scent of dust and old perfume assaulted my senses, tickling my nose. I screwed my eyes shut, forcing down the sneeze so desperate to release. Only when the footsteps faded, did my heart cease its maddening thump.

Even though the chamber was covered in dark shadows, I could see that the space was opulent. A large four poster bed stood between two windows covered with thick drapes. A massive fireplace was against the far wall and a mahogany wardrobe nestled against the opposite. Merely another chamber within hundreds? Something told me no.

Curious, I moved across the room, my footsteps softened by the thick carpet. Although the room was void of occupancy and obviously had been for some time, it felt alive, beating. I nudged open the curtains. Outside, it proved to be another dreary morning, that would no doubt press into another dreary day. Gray, misty, depressing. I leaned closer, pressing my nose to the cool glass. But there below, at one time, had been a garden. I could see the outlines of plots, the dried, overgrown flowers, the rocks placed around the edges as borders.

Whoever had resided in this chamber had perhaps desired more, as did I. Needed the reassurance of colorful blooms. The knowledge that there was other than stillness and gray. I turned to face the room. It was certainly designed for a female, if the golden brocade and flowered wall paper was any indication. It was a lovely room done in ivory with highlights of bronze. A room for a princess. A queen. I touched the silken blue bedspread, needing the reassurance that I didn't dream this space. Who had slept here? Someone of importance, for sure.

I felt as if I'd found a secret haven, a place where I might be safe, welcome. As if this chamber had merely been waiting for me all along. Unwilling to leave just yet, I moved across the room, studying every detail. This is where I'd reside, if given the choice. But I wasn't given the choice. It was only as I reached the marble fireplace that the painting above the mantel caught my attention. A woman with children. Suddenly, I realized whose room I stood in.

Jamie's long dead mother.

A shiver raced down my spine. The very woman who had given birth to the man who had somehow taken over my life, my soul. Caught by the fingertips of fascination, I moved across the carpet toward the cold hearth.

It was a large oil painting of a mother with her five children. Well done, but in the typical austere English style. She did not smile, but looked cold, grim-faced, her dark hair in a tight bun. Still, I couldn't deny that she was beautiful. She held a young child, two knelt at her feet and the two oldest stood behind her. Of those eldest two, only one placed his hand upon her shoulder. The other stood apart. Alone. He couldn't have been more than eight, perhaps ten.

"James," I whispered.

"Aye," someone replied from the doorway.

Shocked, I spun around.

It took a moment for my nonsensical brain to realize the old woman standing in the doorway was not some ghost out for revenge, but merely the old nanny. She said not another word but merely pinned me to the spot with a hard, unwavering gaze.

Was she following me? An embarrassed flush raced to my cheeks as I searched frantically for something to say. I'd been caught. Even as my shame intensified, I realized I was lady of the house and didn't need an excuse. Why should I feel embarrassed exploring my own home?

Tilting my chin high, I stared the woman down. "It's nice to see you again," I said politely. I had been taught, after all, to be a lady.

She, apparently had not been taught, for she didn't respond. She was the oldest woman I'd ever seen. Her back rounded with age, her hair a thin white cloud that surrounded her pale, wrinkled face. But those eyes...those eyes were as bright and knowing as one half her age. Hard eyes. Bitter eyes. I didn't trust her in the least.

"Is it?" she inquired.

And obviously she didn't trust me.

I forced myself to smile. I felt like a silly child playing house under her astute gaze. "Of course. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Julianna," I said. "And you are?"

"Mrs. Pickens," the nursemaid muttered, her narrowed gaze sweeping my form and finding me wanting. "I was the boys' nursemaid and their stepmother's before them."

Apparently James had a soft spot for the woman to let her stay on. It should have said something about the man, that he could care. If anything it made me more uneasy. I frowned, knowing this woman might be taking care of my children in a year or two. She would hold them in her scrawny arms, would glare down at them with those beady eyes, dump them in their ice-baths when they misbehaved.

"You've found the dowager's room," she said.

Had I imagined the hardness in her voice? It was as if she was warning me away. I had to remind myself that I belonged here as much as she did. Even more.

"Yes." Yet, something didn't feel right. The room seemed warm, welcoming in some inexplicable way. Yet the painting of the cold woman above did not match. I stepped closer to the portrait. "What was his mother like?"

"Weak and silly, but that's not her."

Startled, I glanced over my shoulder. She was serious.

"That's the current dowager. His mother is long dead."

Confused, I looked around the chamber. "This was his mother's room, yet a portrait of his stepmother hangs here?"

"Indeed," she hissed, as if taking offense to my questioning tone.

So the portrait was of Jamie's stepmother. That made much more sense. A cold, heartless woman, she did not touch the children with love. There was no feeling emanating from her features.

If she hadn't resided in this room, why did her portrait hang above the fireplace? Because someone had wanted to prove a point, was my bet. Jamie's stepmother was lady of the house now. She owned it all...even the long dead Lady Whitfield's room.

"She did not reside here though," I murmured my thought aloud. The room felt much too warm and homey. "His stepmother."

"The dowager did not," Pickens replied. "She preferred the west, so the sun didn't wake her."

While Jamie's mother preferred to be woken with the dawn. Preferred flowers underneath her windows. I wondered what she looked like. Wondered if there was a painting of her somewhere in the home. Would Jamie have been open and caring had his mother lived, providing him with love and kindness? I pushed that thought aside and focused upon the portrait. I knew the youngest boys were Will, Oliver and Rafe. The man standing toward the side, away from the rest was so obviously Jamie that I didn't need to look twice to know.

"Who is the older boy? The one with his hand upon the dowager's shoulder?"

"That would be the eldest, Michael."

The eldest? But Jamie was the heir, which meant... "He—"

"Died. Aye."

So much death. "They don't look much alike."

"Because they had different mothers."

Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. This Michael was the current dowager's son, yet was older than Jamie, which meant he had been born...a bastard. Lord, the family was cursed.

I studied Jamie's handsome face. Even at eight his eyes had become shrouded, his features hard. A dead father, brother, mother? Despite my best efforts to close off my emotions toward the man, my heart ached for the boy in that painting. While my childhood had been ripe with laughter and affection, he'd endured so very much at such a young, young age.

Why won't you let me in? Tell me what you're thinking, Jamie. What you're feeling.

Perhaps because he was too far gone down that dark, lonely road. Mayhap there was no hope for the man who had experienced such heartache at such a tender age. The thought made me morose and heavy. Jamie had been forced to watch his mother die, then stand aside while his father's mistress and bastard son swooped in.

"What sort of boy was James?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

She snorted in disgust. I tore my attention from the painting. The look of utter contempt upon her gnarled face shocked and worried me. "Arrogant. Thought he knew better than anyone. Hated when people told him what to do. Made his parent's lives a veritable hell."

No. I couldn't believe it. I glanced at the boy in the painting once more. If he'd been so dastardly, if he'd been so abusive, why did Pickens continue to live here?

"Surely he wasn't that bad," I said, feeling the stirrings of loyalty, although he deserved none. Still, he was my husband and I would have all the facts, not the obviously tainted memories of some old crone with a grudge.

"Not bad?" With a wicked snarl of a smile upon her twisted lips, she shuffled toward me. "You do know the rumors, don't you?"

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to have this conversation with her. What was she getting at? Surely she was up to no good, if the gleam in her eyes was any indication. I shook my head, confused and yes, intrigued. "What rumors?"

She clutched her hands in front of her chest, the excitement in her pale eyes disgusting and slightly fascinating. "Why, the rumor that Jamie shot his own father and half-brother for the title."

Heated anger overtook my fear. "You're lying."

"Am I?" She narrowed her eyes, a look of pure evil in her gaze. She hated Jamie. For some reason, something had happened between the two that made her hate the man I'd married. "I've known the boy since he was born. He killed his father and brother for that title. For you see, his father was going to try and make Michael the heir. And when his stepmother tried to prove his guilt, Jamie shoved her into the dowager house and never visited her again."

I was suddenly very much aware that I was in an isolated part of the estate with a madwoman. Was the entire house insane? At times it appeared so. I didn't belong here. I belonged in sunny Dorset with my kind and loving family. "That's ridiculous."

She continued forward, stalking me like I was no more than a fox at a hunting party. "Been fifteen years since he shot his sire. Ten since he shoved his mother into the dowager house and he hasn't seen her since."

It wasn't true. I wouldn't believe it. She continued toward me, her steps sure and steady for a woman her age. "His brother came next. Killed in a hunting accident. But we all know the truth."

People died all the time. Accidents, illnesses, old age. Unwillingly, I glanced at the portrait. Jamie stood aside, alone, aloof, just like now. Not a part of any family, he needed no one. Two men dead, leaving Jamie the heir. I wouldn't believe it. I couldn't. So why did a shiver race down my spine?

I jerked my gaze toward the nanny and glared at the woman, unsure if I was angry with her for implying James was a murderer, or angry at myself for that inkling of doubt that had crept into my mind. "He wouldn't...he wouldn't kill anyone."

"You don't think so?" She paused only a few steps away. So close I could see the deep craggily wrinkles crisscrossing her pale face. "The entire household knows how he's treated you. Forcing himself on your person. His very wife."

"He didn't," I said, defending him. "I wanted..."

What? Wanted him? I wouldn't admit my desires to this old hag.

"He doesn't love you, he merely wants an heir. He's obsessed with continuing the line."

I flushed. How did they know? Were they listening at the doors? Shame and humiliation combined, making my hands curl at my sides. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run from the room and find a place to cry, or slap the old witch for her impertinence.

"We all know how he seduced you, then forced you into marriage merely so he could punish you." She arched a gray brow. "And punish you he has, hasn't he?"

How could she possibly know the intimate details of our marriage? Who were these people? Everything I'd ever believed seemed suddenly false. Any safety I'd felt, however small, vanished. Would I know no privacy here? No peace?

She stepped closer, the scent of old age and decaying flesh overwhelming, and I had to resist the urge to step back. "Forcing you to marry him. What do you think he will do with you once you give him the children he needs? Let you go on your merry way? Think again. You're doomed, child. There will be no reason for you to live. He'll kill you just as he killed his father. His brother."

"You're insane!"

"Am I?" She snarled, her lips twisting. "I know this family. I know Jamie. I have for years. I've witnessed every sin in this home, every shame and abuse. And you know I'm right, you just don't want to admit it."

I didn't wait to hear any more.

"Be rational, child." She shook her head, feigning sympathy but I noted the glee in her gaze. "You know you can't trust him. Deep down you knew you couldn't trust him the minute you met him."

Having had enough, I darted around the woman and raced toward the door.

"Heed my warning," the woman called out.

They were mad. Every one of them was insane. I shoved open the door and ran down the hall. But I could not outrun my confusion, my fear, my unease. Was James truly such a monster? He'd cheated on Penny. He'd taken my virginity without care. Just to punish me, he'd forced me into marriage. And not once, in the weeks we'd been here, had he ever softened toward me...ever given any indication that he had forgiven me, that we could have the relationship I so desired, needed. I wanted to trust him, but maybe he was too far gone.

I couldn't stay here.

Couldn't stand to be trapped in the house any longer.

I stumbled down the servant's steps.

"My lady?" a maid called out in concern as I rushed by. "Is something amiss?"

My lungs seemed to shrink and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. I ignored her and tore open the door I knew would lead into the kitchen gardens. The cool air swirled around me, calming my fevered skin. The dark moors called to me. Called...

****

James

"What the hell do you mean you can't find my wife?"

I moved through the foyer and headed toward the front door. After having ridden around the estate to visit with crofters, I'd returned to my chambers to change. I'd stayed away from the house as long as possible, but lack of sleep and food had forced me to return. Yes, I'd been avoiding Jules. I hadn't expected to be waylaid and told my wife had vanished.

"Gone, my lord." My butler nervously explained as I tore open the front door and moved down the steps. Three hours. I'd been gone for three hours. When had she left? An hour ago? Two? Five?

"My horse," I demanded of the groomsman.

Anger and fear combined in a lethal combination. The little idiot. Didn't she realize how dangerous the moors could be? Furious, I scanned the open countryside, the rain-soaked clouds that hung heavy in the sky. Nothing. No stirrings or movement of any kind. Damn her.

"South, my lord." The gamekeeper met me in the drive. "We found what we think are her prints heading south."

She thought to flee, to make me look the fool. She would see soon enough that she was as trapped as I was in this damned marriage. If I was going to suffer, so would she. "How long ago?"

He rubbed his chin, gazing toward the south. "Can't say."

"My lord," Mrs. Vita called out, rushing down the stairs. "A kitchen maid spotted her around dawn this morning."

I glanced at the sun, not long over the horizon. One hour? Two? She couldn't have gotten far. Not in the rain, the cold, and on foot. Where the hell did she think she would go? Walk to Dorset?

"My lord," Mrs. Vita continued. "She seemed upset."

"And no one thought to stop her?" I demanded, even knowing how unjust I sounded. She was lady of the house, no one would question her. Hell, she was going to regret leaving. I'd lock her in her bloody room, if I must.

"Your mount, my lord," the stable lad called out, racing down the drive with the reins in hand. "A fresh horse."

I knew it wasn't fair to take my anger out on the staff. In reality I was more upset with myself than them. Damn it all, I should have watched her better. Should have known she'd try something so drastic. "I will find her."

I mounted the horse.

"My lord, she could be injured, or..." Mrs. Vita tapered off, paling as she realized how close she'd come to speaking my worst fears.

"She is not dead," I snapped through gritted teeth.

How dare she even think it.

"Of course not, but shall I call for the doctor in case she's injured?"

"Yes." Without further comment, I raced south, a cold panic spurring me forward. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The entire house was in an uproar, shirking their duties to search for Jules. By leaving she had not only set out to humiliate my family name, but upset my staff.

Thank God most of the servants had been with my family for years. They'd seen and heard things that could condemn us all. But they understood how to keep their mouths shut. So while I had to experience the humiliation of losing my wife in front of the staff, at least I knew it would not travel beyond the house.

I spurred the animal forward, heading away from the drive. Anything could happen out there. The wide expanse of the moors was an easy place to get lost, if the bogs didn't get her first. I sure as hell didn't need another death on my conscience.

What the hell had she been thinking?

"You could have wooed her. Picnics, flowers, walks across the moors. Hell, it doesn't take much. It's so bloody easy."

Rafe's words whispered through my mind.

I jumped a hedge and raced forward, my head bent against the wind and drizzle. Damn Rafe. He had no idea. The bastard hadn't a worry. He slept with whomever he wanted then left them when he got bored. He was a rake, yet he judged me?

"Julianna!" I called out, even knowing that she wouldn't respond, for the moors were as desolate as always. Where was she?

The wind grew chill, a sudden breeze that relentlessly blew the misty rain. She'd catch cold, at the least. How long had she been gone? What if the scullery maid had been wrong and she hadn't seen Jules this morn? Surely she hadn't left in the middle of the night.

The sudden tightness in my chest had me urging my mount faster, leaving the trail and heading into the open land. I wasn't worried about her. No. I never worried. Concern for my reputation? Yes. This family could not handle another scandal when the others had only recently faded.

"Where the hell are you, Jules?"

Suddenly the rain began to fall in earnest. I spurred my horse faster, undaunted. I would find her. I would not return home without her. But the farther I traveled the more my anger turned to unease. Damn it all, where was she?

Shite. She could have broken an ankle. Could have fallen into a bog. Could have been taken by bandits. Who the hell was I to think I could bring a woman here and she would survive? Even Jules, as strong-willed as she pretended to be, was still merely a sheltered lady.

If something happened to her it would be my own bloody fault. "Jules!"

Rain trailed into my eyes, practically blinding me. My hair was plastered to my head within moments, my clothing soaked through. But the cold only urged me onward. My anger and frustration gave way to panic. I paused, scanning the gray horizon. Nothing. Only the occasional large boulder.

I started to turn away in frustration when I spotted blue. A flutter of blue. A blue form huddled near a boulder in the distance. My relief was immediate. "Jules."

I spurred my horse forward. But every pounding leap closer my heart raced a little harder. She wasn't moving. Dear God, she wasn't moving. For the first time in my life I knew real panic. I realized in that moment that I wanted Jules in my house, in my life. I needed not just her body, but her. Her.

"Jules!"

There was the subtlest shift of her legs, the slight tensing of her shoulders. She lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. The relief I felt was short-lived. The paleness of her face worried me, and even from our distance apart I could see her body trembling. Hell, the woman didn't even wear a blasted hat. She was completely exposed to the elements.

Seeing me, her eyes went wide. An innocent, lost and frightened upon the moors. Shock, fear, I wasn't sure what flashed across those blue eyes, but I didn't like it. As she stumbled to her feet I realized with some annoyance that the woman was going to try and run. Damn her. She'd put me through so much. I barely slowed as I reached her side. Instead, I leaned down, wrapped my arm around her waist and jerked her upward.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Jules?" I demanded as I slammed her down on my lap. I could no longer deny my feelings. The fear coursing through me was real and palpable. "Do you understand you could have been killed?"

She squirmed and struggled in my gasp, her wet locks slapping across my face. "I don't care!"

Her refusal to see the rashness of the situation infuriated me. "Do you know how many men have been lost in the bogs? Their bodies consumed by the murk, never to be seen or heard from again?"

"So?" She gripped my arm, which was wrapped around her waist and pushed, but I wouldn't release my hold. "What will you do? Kill me as you killed your father and brother, and bury me in the bogs?"

I froze. Everything inside my body turned to ice. With one sentence she had done what the weather could not and destroyed me.

How had she heard? She hadn't known before we'd married, which meant someone here had told her. Someone in my home had betrayed me. Had Rafe admitted as much, wanting her for himself? No. He was too loyal. Pickens. I was sure of it. The witch.

She paused, the very energy leaving her body as she slumped into me, dejected. For a long, long moment neither of us spoke. We merely sat there as the horse shifted restlessly underneath us. Sat there as thunder rumbled and rain poured down, soaking us until we were more water than flesh.

"I won't do it anymore," she whispered, her breath catching. "I can't. I'd rather kill myself than be married to you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I sat there with my arm around her, studying the woman who was my wife, truly seeing her for the first time since I'd taken her virginity. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and something cracked within me. Anger and frustration and guilt swirled together...desire, need, lust. I wasn't sure what the hell I was feeling. Tightening my grip around her waist, I turned my mount. As Rafe warned, I was slowly destroying her spirit. Crushing her soul. I was my father.

"I will not return home with you," she said, through gritted teeth.

"Fine," I snapped, spurring my mount forward. "I wasn't planning on taking you there."

Chapter 8

Julianna

I didn't know where he was taking me and for the most part I no longer cared. Soaked through, my body had grown numb, my emotions locked away perhaps forever. He could kill me as he'd killed his father and brother and it wouldn't matter.

I squeezed my eyes shut and huddled within his hold, unwillingly soaking up the warmth from his body while the rain slashed down around us. I wasn't sure how long we raced across the moors but when my body was so cold I was no longer even shivering, he finally slowed.

Somehow I managed to open my eyes. A small cottage stood before us, the windows shuttered, the door closed, the house obviously empty. A private place where he could divest of me unseen, unheard. "Where are we?"

"A hunting lodge."

He slid off the mount, then reached up for me. I didn't want him to touch me, despised the fact that I needed his help, but I doubted I could stand on my own. And so I didn't fight when he pulled me into his arms and carried me toward the door. It was only once we were inside the musty cottage that he let me go. I slid down his body, the friction almost unbearable. Ignoring the betraying heat that flared through my form, I focused on our abode. It was a small cottage with a bed, table, fireplace and not much more.

He closed the door and the room went dark. The scent of beeswax and lemon told me someone had kept the place clean. Away from the rain and wind, my body began to surge with feeling, my chilled skin tingling with life. James moved to the hearth and started a fire. Had he used this cottage before? Perhaps to meet with a mistress. Perhaps to kill his brother.

The flames brought the room to life, sending shadows dancing across the plastered walls. A deep shiver ran through my body, then another. Suddenly, I couldn't seem to stop. I wrapped my arms around myself, horrified when my teeth started to knock together.

He turned toward me, his dark gaze glowing under the light of the flames. Demon eyes. Silence stretched uncomfortably between us. A silence that tore at my nerves, that made me shift in unease. The only noise in the cottage was the patter of rain on the walls and the crackle of the fire.

What did he want from me? He'd taken my innocence, my very life. Would he not be content until he had my soul? Who was the real James: caring brother or a selfish man without conscience?

"Come here," he demanded.

This was it then...he would claim his next moment of intimacy here and now. I stumbled back. "No! I won't."

"Damnation, Jules!" He scrubbed his hands over his face in obvious frustration. "I'm not asking so I can take advantage of you."

I didn't believe him. Never would I trust the man again. "No!"

As feeling came back to my body, icy needles pierced my skin. I tried to turn and race for the door, but my legs were weak and cold and my body was not my own. I'd taken only a couple steps when I suddenly found myself spun around and shoved up against the wall.

"Let me go!" I slammed my palms against his chest as I fought my tears. James grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, his hips and thighs crushed against me. Blast it all, I would never win against him. He was too strong.

For a long, long moment we merely glared at each other, both of us panting for air. Fighting for control. Who was the person before me? Sinner or saint? Perhaps neither. Perhaps he was merely a man.

"I don't trust you," I said.

"I know."

Suddenly his mouth was on mine. I wanted to slap him, to push him away. But even if he hadn't pinned my arms above my head I knew I wouldn't. It took only a touch, a brush of his lips against me, and I was his. Gone. Dizzy with need.

He shoved his knee between my thighs, parting my legs. I gasped into his mouth, arching my back and pressing my hips to his body. He was lean and strong and so handsome. Damnation, I wanted him with a desperation I'd never felt before. I wanted him even after all he had done. He released my wrists. Frantic, I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, keeping him close.

"Don't ever run from me again," he muttered against my lips. "You are mine, Jules. Mine."

I whimpered as he deepened the kiss, almost brutal. It was as if we couldn't get enough. He gripped my chin, forcing me to part my lips. With quickness that stunned me, he swept his tongue into my mouth. The heated passion that emanated from his body was fierce, consuming and warmed me to my very soul.

With a groan, I slid my hands down his arms, then up his shoulders. I couldn't stop touching him. My body was no longer my own. I was lost. He growled low in his throat as he lifted my skirts. The material was thick and bulky between us, but it didn't matter. His tongue probed the depths of my mouth as he undid his trousers. I was completely and utterly aware of the tip of his arousal pressing into my entrance.

With a gasp, my nails bit into his shoulders and I tore my mouth from his.

His gaze was dark, shimmering and intense. "You're mine."

He surged upward, lifting my hips and settling me atop him. I arched my back, taking him deeper. The feel of him inside of me was so incredibly right I wondered why I had run away at all. He rocked into me, pushing my back against the plastered wall as I wrapped my legs around his waist. It was uncomfortable and quick, but it was what I needed...what we both needed.

"Say it, Jules," he hissed. "Say you want me."

"I want you," I somehow muttered as he rocked into me over and over. "I do."

My clothes were too tight, I could barely breathe. Yet none of that seemed to matter as his shaft sank into me...deeper and deeper. My entire body tightened around him, and all the anxiety and fear I'd been feeling for weeks fled. I only wanted to know that life-shattering bliss I'd experienced before with him.

"Come for me, Jules," he said.

His hands gripped my hips as he thrust into me, rocking forward. That all too familiar shiver of awareness whispered through my womb. I tightened my arms around his neck, clinging to my husband. "Yes, Jamie, yes."

I came as he did, both of us sharing an intimacy we couldn't find anywhere else. My entire body seemed to explode into a billion white stars that danced across the heavens. It came quickly. Exquisitely. I trembled as I floated, floated down, back into a reality I wanted to avoid. For a long, breathless moment he held me. Our chests pressed tightly together, I could feel his heart beating against mine.

Slowly, he moved back, letting me slide down his muscled form and pulling himself free. I collapsed against the wall, too tired and weak to move. My wet skirts slipped back down around my body, hiding me from view. Somehow, in some way, things had changed between us.

James buttoned his trousers. I didn't miss the way his hands trembled and wondered over it. Physical exhaustion, or something more? "You need to get out of your clothes."

Why did he care? Surely he held no compassion for me. Still, I wasn't a complete ninny and knew I'd be ill if I didn't dry soon. I turned, giving my back to him. He didn't hesitate, but undid the buttons and pulled the bodice from my arms.

"Thank you," I muttered. Now that our intimate moment was over, the cold world invaded. Rain still slashed against the windows, but the fireplace did its best to warm the room. The heat of our intimacy was fading, leaving me standing there vulnerable and bemused.

James shrugged off his jacket and began to undress. I turned away, and with cold, numb fingers, I took off the rest of my clothing. Why had I ever thought I could survive alone in this hell? Unable to stop myself I peeked over my shoulders. James was nude, his broad, muscled back gleaming under the firelight. How I wished I could be as at ease with my body.

"Have you gone without while you have lived with me? Have I not sheltered you? Fed you?" he asked, standing near the hearth.

"You have." But I needed more. I needed sunshine and conversations. I needed...life. How could he not understand? I rested my clothing on the back of the four chairs around the small table. Hoping they would dry soon. I didn't want to be here alone with him. He'd placed his clothing over a screen near the hearth.

We stood silently for a few moments, his back to me. I had the oddest feeling I was finally seeing the real James in this unguarded moment. He wanted to understand, yet for some reason...couldn't. He needed honesty, no games, no half-truths. I knew that to get him to open up to me, I had to be open with him. Wear my heart on my sleeve.

I swallowed hard. "My father is dying."

His shoulders stiffened, yet he didn't call me a liar, as he had in the past. It was something, at least. Without word he moved to a trunk and pulled out a blanket.

"He has less than a year to live."

He handed me the blanket, his gaze meeting mine and holding. There was something in his gaze I'd never seen before...a softness, an unguarded moment. "I see."

Did he? I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. Hope swelled dangerously close to the surface. He moved back to the fireplace and knelt, stoking the flames, not saying a word.

The hope that had surfaced began to dissipate. Perhaps he couldn't understand because he'd not felt the love of a parent. But he didn't say a word, as if the statement meant nothing to him.

Desolate, I moved to the bed and settled on the edge, pulling the patchwork quilt tightly around me. As the rain pattered against the roof and windows, he merely stoked the flames.

"Why did you run?" he asked.

I could have lied and told him any perfectly presentable reason. Instead I told him the truth. The God's honest truth. "I hate you."

And I had. But saying the words aloud didn't sit well. Did I hate him? My shoulders sank with acceptance. No. Because deep down I knew that this was my fault as much as it was his. If I hadn't gone to him that day, intending to trap him into marriage...

"I thought we had an agreement."

"An agreement?" Yes, I'd give him two sons and my soul, and I'd gain my freedom. Supposedly. But how could I possibly trust him? "You gave me no choice in the matter. An agreement is when both parties choose."

He stood and faced me. The frustration in his gaze mirrored my own. "Then tell me...what would you have me do so we are both content? You married me for a reason, Julianna. To benefit you and your family. I married you—"

"To punish me," I interrupted.

He glanced toward the windows. "Perhaps a little. But I need children, Julianna."

The nanny's words came to mind. "He's obsessed with continuing the line."

"What would I like?" I swallowed hard. What would I like? "I'd like to go back in time and not take that walk to the creek." Hot tears burned my eyes. "I'd like to have never met you."

His jaw clenched. If I would have known better, I would have thought I'd hurt him. Once the words were out I regretted it. Why? I wasn't sure. He'd hurt me upon more than one occasion. Why did I care for his feelings now? I thought he'd be angry with my response, and I admit I said the words to destroy him. But he remained silent, unreadable, continuing to stare at me with those dark eyes.

"Did you kill your father?" I asked bluntly.

Why not? I'd already been more than truthful with the man.

"I did not," he replied.

There was no guilt in his gaze. For some strange reason I believed him. But then he'd never lied, had he? Not really. But I had. I looked at the fire, feeling guilty. I'd ruined his marriage with Penny, I'd tried to manipulate him when I thought him the gentleman farmer. But I knew he was no innocent. He'd manipulated things to get exactly what he wanted too...to punish me. He'd betrayed Penny by sleeping with me, damn him. For months we'd been playing at war. Was it time to call a truce?

"You didn't kill your father?"

"No."

"And do you know who did?"

He paused for a telling moment. "I can't speak of it."

A shiver of unease whispered over my chilled skin. It was a family secret. "You won't tell me the truth."

He went to the trunk and pulled out another blanket, wrapping it around his waist. "It's not mine to tell."

Of course not. Because he still didn't trust me and I didn't blame him. He shouldn't. I didn't trust him either. He'd be a fool to tell me the truth. He pulled a chair from the table and settled near the hearth, his gaze on the fire. The light shone against his bronzed skin, and highlighted his profile. He was so handsome it wasn't fair. He could have had anyone, yet he had wanted me. For the hundredth time I wondered why. Was it the mere challenge?

"The moment our clothes are dry, you're going back home with me, Julianna."

When we'd been intimate he'd called me Jules, I realized quite sudden. For some reason it bothered me, although why, I wasn't sure.

"You are mine, Jules. Mine."

In those few moments he was a different man. An entirely different person altogether. But he'd reverted to calling me by my full name. He was back to business. The stone wall he'd erected had been rebuilt. Merely thinking about the future ahead was exhausting. How long could we go on this way?

I studied my husband wondering if he was just as exhausted with the games as I. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscles in his smooth back, his dark hair curled from the rain...he looked like a Greek God. But he was a man. A handsome, strong and powerful man...but still merely a man.

"Can we be civil to each other, James? Do you think that's possible?" He paused for a long, long moment. I knew this was difficult for him, but I wouldn't relent. "Can we call a truce?"

"Perhaps."

I frowned, needing more. Needing something from him. Anything. I wanted a promise. I wanted a part of his heart, but I would be content with an agreement. "You'll try?"

He met my gaze. "I'll try."

My chest felt tight with an emotion I didn't truly understand. For the first time since meeting him, I felt a peace the likes of which I'd never known. "I'd like to visit my father."

He was quiet for a moment, studying me warily. "And if I let you go, will you return?"

I didn't miss the fear in his gaze. It was a small glimmer, hidden behind the harsh façade of a stoic man, but it was there. He wanted me to return. Perhaps...just perhaps he cared. I nodded, swallowing hard. This was the real James. "I swear it."

"Have dinner with me tonight," he demanded softly.

My hope soared. He was trying, it was all I could ask of him. "I will."

****

James

I'd sent the invitation. I'd expected her to arrive.

Frustrated, I settled back in my chair at the head of the table. I'd only eaten in the dining room when we had guests. Usually I took my meals in the library or my chambers. I'd never felt lonely. Until now. She was safely back in my home. I should have been content. But knowing Jules was here made me want more. More of something I didn't quite understand.

My wife was bold, daring. A warrior. Damn it all, I found her fascinating. Rafe had been right...I wanted her. I'd had no intention of ever marrying Penny. When the chit had left with the stable lad, my relief had been immediate. I'd married Jules because I'd needed her with a desperation that could not possibly be explained.

All I knew was that I didn't want this anymore. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to hate her. Certainly I didn't have to love her. I didn't have to trust her. But we could live in peace, couldn't we? Could we not come to some sort of understanding?

"Did you kill your father?"

She had asked the question so bluntly.

As much as I respected her for not hiding behind veiled questions and hints, hearing the words come from her lips was like a punch to the gut. Why? I knew the entire ton thought I had murdered my father. I'd assumed the rumors had reached her parents, but they had overlooked the gossip for a good match. Or they hadn't heard after all.

I glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. She was five minutes late. She wasn't going to come. The anger I should have felt didn't arrive. Instead, I felt only disappointment and frustration.

"Can we be civil to each other, James? Do you think that's possible?"

I promised to try. I had. She had not.

Tossing my napkin upon the table, I stood to leave.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Jules said breathlessly, appearing in the doorway. "I got lost."

She wore her hair in a simple braid that looped around her head and left loose tendrils to curl next to her heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as she breathed heavily, as if she'd raced down the steps to get here. Hell, I could feel my cock hardening at the mere sight of her. I wanted her desperately, completely.

She had come. The relief and pleasure I felt was disconcerting. "It's fine."

Perhaps a week ago I would have thought she'd left me waiting on purpose. But her blue eyes held only innocence. The footman raced forward and pulled out her chair. She seemed startled by our close proximity. I'd ordered her plate set next to mine, refusing to yell down the table, or worse, sit there ignoring each other as my parents used to do. She wore the same blue dress with white flowers I'd seen her in the other day. The guilt I'd been trying to ignore burst to life. I realized that I'd neglected her in so many ways.

"I'm sending for a seamstress," I said, as she settled at the table. "For you to be fitted for new gowns."

"Oh, no, you don't have to."

"I want to." The sudden urge to see her dressed in satins and silks overwhelmed me. I couldn't love her. I might not ever gain her trust, but damnation, I would see her taken care of. "You're the wife of an earl, you should dress like one. Unless you wish to let the world believe I neglect you."

"Of course not."

"I'll send someone to town this evening."

She stared meekly at her plate. "Thank you."

I hated that she had to thank me for something that should have been done without question, without hesitation. I was an amazing investor and had doubled the family fortune. I was a rather well-liked lord to my tenants. Even as master of the house I had absolute respect. Yet, I would admit to myself that as a husband I had failed.

The cucumber soup was placed before us, momentarily occupying her attention. She did not ignore the footman, but smiled gratefully up at him. That smile did odd things to me and I found myself wishing her joy might one day be directed my way. I tore my gaze from her and found my soup spoon.

"Tell me," I started in an attempt at conversation. "How do you like it here?"

She glanced around the chamber, keeping her polite smile in place. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes anymore. "The dining room is lovely."

At least she was trying. It wasn't what I'd asked and I had a feeling she knew. She didn't want to hurt my feelings. I didn't miss the way her gaze had landed on the painting on the wall. "Do you like it?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "It's..."

I laughed, some of the awkwardness leaving. "What? Come, be honest."

"Alright...it's the so similar to all the others. Dark. Dreary."

"Perhaps we might hang a painting of yours upon the wall." I thought of her cottage by the sea, but to hang the painting would be to admit I had stolen the piece.

She flushed. "You don't have to."

"I want to. You decide which one. Or paint something new." I sipped my wine. "I believe it was your dream, after all, to see one of your paintings hung in the room of a rich lord."

She played with her napkin, not meeting my gaze. "You remembered."

I remembered everything she had said to me those months ago. But to admit it, would be to admit too much. One step at a time. "And the estate?" I asked. "What do you think of the house?"

She took a sip of soup, stalling. "Tis very brooding. Did you spend your entire childhood here?"

Brooding? That was a different way of looking at the estate. Some called it elegant. Some called it dark. Much like how they spoke of me. I sipped my wine. "We did." But I didn't want to talk about my childhood. Nothing could be gained from such morose memories. "And you? Did you always live in Dorset?"

She nodded, relaxing. She, unlike myself, liked to speak of her childhood and family. I didn't mind. I liked to hear her talk. Her voiced soothed me. "Penny and I were born in that house. It's been in our family for generations."

But it would go to the male heir, a distant cousin who would most likely have little use for the place. I'd always thought the rule ridiculous. "As has ours."

How different our families were. How different our lives had been. While this monster of a castle had been in my family for generations as well, there were so very few fond memories here. My children might not have the happy, idyllic family that Jules could claim, but they wouldn't have my nightmare either. I supposed for that I should have been grateful.

"What did you do as children?"

She shrugged, looking dreamy for a moment. It was so very strange to sit here and speak so politely after all we had been through. Yet, at the same time...it was so very right.

"Played in the creek," she said, blushing. No doubt thinking of our meeting those many months ago. "Helped in the gardens. Went to town. Every Sunday there would be a picnic after church with all the townspeople."

She'd had a social life. I hadn't thought about the fact that she might be lonely here. I hadn't thought about much but punishing the woman who had betrayed me. No, not just punishing. I had wanted her. I had wanted her as my own, and I hadn't cared if I'd been selfish to take her. Hadn't cared if in the process I would hurt her.

"So then, you would have been content to stay there for the rest of your life?"

The fish arrived and the soup was taken away. It was a proper meal, and with the warmth of the fire and the beauty of Jules, it was even pleasant. Could we have our meals here every night? Would she enjoy the company as much as I? Or would she prefer I left her in peace? Hell, I didn't give a damn. Now that I had her here, I couldn't imagine dinning alone.

"Forever?" She took a dainty bite of fish as she thought over my question. I'd assumed she should have been grateful that I had swept her away from such a backward country life. Perhaps not. I waited with baited breath for her response.

"No, perhaps not forever." She frowned. "I love the country and the solitude. It does well with my painting. But..."

She paused, as if uncertain if she should share.

"Go on," I urged.

"But I enjoyed London. I always wished to return."

In other words, she had not been content to be stashed away like some insane relative one was embarrassed by. She had wanted her freedom, her own choice in where to go, what to do and see. By marrying me, she had given up one gilded cage for another.

"Can I ask you a question, and you won't be angry with me?"

"Yes," I said, determined to keep calm no matter what. Despite what it seemed, I had been in complete and utter control of my emotions at one time. Before I'd met Jules.

She stared at her plate. "You slept with me, wanted me those months ago, you can't deny it."

"I don't."

I wanted her here and now.

She looked up, meeting my gaze. "How could you marry my sister when you'd betrayed her? Had you no heart? No conscience?"

My jaw clenched, but I did everything in my power to calm my racing heart, to dampen down the urge to defend myself. She was merely curious, merely being honest. I could offer her no less. With a sigh, I relented. "I liked Penny. She was pleasant. I sure as hell wasn't in love with her. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. That was all."

She frowned, not looking convinced.

The fish course was taken away. My wife, I noticed, had barely touched her plate. "Jules, most men have mistresses. As long as they're discreet, no one seems to mind. Do you not realize that?"

She flushed. "And...will you?"

That depended entirely upon whether she would be willing to share my bed or not. I dropped my gaze to my wine glass. But the thought of sleeping with another didn't feel right. I did not wish to lie to her. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about having a mistress since our marriage. "I have slept with no one since you those months ago."

She blinked her eyes wide, the surprise apparent. As much as I was loathe to admit it, I'd told her the truth. Why? Why hadn't I slept with anyone? It wasn't natural, and I worried she would read too much into the comment. Expect too much from me.

"I'm sorry I ruined things between you and Penny."

Once again I could have lied, made her feel guilty as hell. I didn't. "There was never, nor would there have ever been, any attraction between me and Penny."

She frowned, obviously confused. "You didn't love her?"

I laughed, I couldn't quite help myself. "No."

"You don't love me either, yet you were forced to marry me."

"If anyone was forced into marriage, it was you." I played with the stem of my wine glass. It was time to give her something, just a little. "Jules, I married you because I wanted you. Hell, I can't..."

She looked at me so curious and hopeful that I couldn't seem to hold back.

"I can't sleep at night without dreaming about having you."

She flushed, sliding an embarrassed glance toward the footmen who stood stoically by, staring straight ahead as if they didn't hear a word. Hell, if we'd been alone, I would have had her on the dining room table. I lifted the glass and downed the wine, ignoring the sudden flare of heat that raced toward my cock.

"I've been looking into other properties near Dorset," I said, deciding to change the subject. "So that you might live by your parents after our first child is born."

She was quiet for a moment, mulling over my comment. "The child and I would live there?"

I nodded slowly. It was completely normal for a husband and wife to live separately, and that had been my plan all along. So why now did it not sit right with me? Why did the thought of my child living in a different home feel unnatural?

"And you? Will you live with us?"

Her softly spoken question jerked me from my thoughts. "I will visit you upon occasion. We must, after all, have a second son."

"Oh. I see." She played with her napkin, her gaze upon her lap. Her sudden morose contemplation confused me. What the bloody hell did the woman want? I'd assumed she'd be ecstatic to be rid of me. Hell, I was giving her complete and utter freedom.

"I need to stay here," I explained. "There is the house, and the tenants to manage."

She forced those lush lips up once more and gave me a brittle smile. "Of course."

I wasn't sure what to make of her reaction. She seemed almost disappointed. But no...that couldn't be. She despised me as much as I did her. Except...I wasn't sure I actually hated her any longer. Had her feelings toward me changed as well?

"Will you live with us?"

Dear God, had there been hope in her voice? Did she actually want me nearby?

She picked at her next course, her thoughts far, far away, her temper sullen. It couldn't be possible...but it seemed as if Jules actually cared.

A slow smile spread across my lips, the evening suddenly looking brighter.

Hell, she wanted me. It was a start.

A very, very good start.

Perhaps there was hope for us after all.

Chapter 9

Julianna

"Out here, my lady," Cora said with a giggle.

Bemused, I followed her out the side door and onto a stone patio. She had appeared a week ago, along with a wardrobe of new gowns. My very own lady's maid. She was a sweet local orphaned girl not yet seventeen. A bit young, still, her enthusiasm and cheerfulness was more than welcome.

"He told me to lead you here, my lady."

"Who?" I asked. Her excitement was contagious and I found myself smiling.

I'd been smiling a lot lately. How things had changed in the last couple weeks. Every evening I had dinner with James. Our meals weren't as carefree as the meals I'd shared with my family. But we had pleasant conversations all the same, and he seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts and beliefs. Yes, our time together had started out awkward and unsure, but it was slowly getting better and I found an ease with him that I hadn't felt with anyone else ever.

Cora led me across the patio toward the side garden where plants were trying desperately to bloom. Even the flowers suddenly seemed determined to thrive here. The entire world appeared brighter now that James and I had decided to lay aside our feud and attempt civility.

"What is it?" I laughed.

"There!" She pointed toward the far end of the patio, then hopped up and down in glee. "Do you see it?"

On a chair rested a large straw hat and a folded smock of some sort. But it was the easel and paints that took my breath away. A studio out of doors where I might paint?

"Lord Whitfield had it set up for you, my lady. He thought you might enjoy being outside. Ordered the paints and canvases all the way from London."

Warmth spread throughout my chest, down my arms and tingling my fingers. It was an emotion I was all too familiar with, and an emotion I never thought I'd experience with James. Blimey, I was actually starting to like him. Care about him, even. "He did?"

She nodded, her round face beaming.

Tentatively I went to the easel. At the edge of the patio, next to a small table and chairs, I would have the perfect view of the moors. I laughed. Yes, the house needed another painting of the dreary landscape before me.

But it wasn't the new paints or canvas that thrilled me. No, it was the fact that James had actually thought enough about me to go to the trouble at all. He knew how important my art was to me. He could have given me flowers or jewelry, something any girl would have wanted. It would have been so easy. But he knew what I truly desired.

"Such a wonderful lord, if you don't mind me saying, my lady."

Cora had a dreamy look in her eyes, and I realized that my husband had captured yet another heart. If I'd seen him pay any attention at all toward the maids, I might have been jealous. But he was as aloof with them as he was with everyone.

"As a master, I mean," she said with a flush, perhaps thinking I was annoyed with her devotion. "Pays so very well. Everyone wants to work here."

"Do they?" I felt the complete idiot for not knowing my own household. But that would change. I was determined. James was going out of his way to be kinder, to try, and I would too.

"I know it is vulgar of me to mention money, but Lord Whitfield pays his staff more than anyone in England. Everyone gets an entire day off, once a week, and he's always fair."

I was learning more and more about my husband as the days went on. Although he wore a cold, harsh façade, I was beginning to realize that James wasn't all that he portrayed to the outside world.

"I do apologize, my lady." Cora's face was beet red. "I do know I speak too much."

"Not at all." A cool breeze swept across the patio, bringing with the familiar scent of the moors. A scent I'd actually started to crave. A scent that reminded me of...home. This home. "I enjoy it. I've been a bit lonely here."

She grinned, relieved. "That's exactly what he said."

I frowned, confused. "He?"

"Lord Whitfield. When Mrs. Vita complained I was too young and immature. She said to be a good maid, I must learn to be invisible. But Lord Whitfield said that the chatter would do you good. It was obvious he worried you were lonely. He wanted someone caring and happy, he said. Even doffed his hat to me, when we spoke. What gentleman does that for a maid? None of my acquaintance!"

"Indeed," I murmured, bemused and unsettled. Even my own father rather ignored the servants. There was so much about James I was still uncovering.

"Mind you, he did warn me that if I spoke too much and did not do my duty to satisfaction, he would let me go." She paled, pausing. "I'm not chattering too much, my lady? I do so like it here!"

"No," I soothed, as I picked up a paintbrush, testing the bristles. "You're doing exceedingly well."

She flushed with pleasure. "Shall I get tea, my lady?"

"It's early, but...why not?" From the oak tree nearby a robin sang. It was a beautiful day, my relationship with James had taken a turn for the better, and I could paint to my heart's content. How could I not be happy?

"And after, I'll lay out your dinner gown, my lady."

"Very good."

She scurried off, so eager to please, and left me to my art. I settled on the stool in front of the easel. Someone had placed a vase of flowers upon the table next to me. The purple blooms were from the moors, a flower I'd noticed when I'd thought to escape those weeks ago. When everything had changed.

Noting the card placed within the wild blooms, I realized with a start they must have been here for me. I reached out and took the small missive in hand.

Julianna, I hope you find these paints to your liking. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.

Yours,

James

Simple enough, yet I flushed with pleasure and tucked the card into my apron pocket, wishing to save it. Yes, I wanted to soak in the attention. To savor our truce. Accept what he gave willingly. Yet...yet, a tiny part of me held back. He'd hurt me so thoroughly in the past. Could I trust him?

I picked up a jar of vibrant red paint. At times even now I felt as if I walked on eggshells, as if I might do the slightest thing he'd disapprove of and he'd hate me all over again. Was this to be my life? Constantly craving the man's attention, yet fearful of having it at the same time? It was no way to live, that was for sure.

"You paint." The words were spoken as a statement, not a question.

Startled, I spun around.

The brother with the scar upon his handsome face had returned. He stood at the top of the steps, his long hair wind-tousled, and what was apparently a permanent frown upon his lips, for I'd never seen him smile.

I set the jar down. "I do."

He merely watched me for a few moments, as if trying to understand. As if he'd never come across a female before and wasn't quite sure what to do with me. As he stared, I took the time to study him. His face was flushed from his ride, his clothing fine and tight against his muscled thighs, his chest broad. If Rafe was a charming rake and James was an elegant lord, this man was a powerful soldier, always prepared for battle, never quite relaxing.

"You're Will," I stated simply.

He looked fully at me, bold as you please. He had nothing to hide. Even the scar, although it must have hurt something fierce, only added to his appeal. "I am."

I smiled. "It's nice to properly meet you."

He nodded and started to walk away. Confused, I surged to my feet. Had I said or done something to upset him? "Wait!" I called out, so eager for company that I would even accept this taciturn man. "Please. Can I ask you something?"

He paused, his back to me, his shoulders tense. I could feel the urge within him to bolt. He didn't want to converse, and certainly not with a silly female. How I missed Rafe and his easy banter.

"The war," he snapped.

Confused, I started toward him. "I'm sorry?"

He wore a deeper flush than first appeared, and I didn't miss the annoyance in his gaze. He seemed embarrassed about something. "The scar is from the war."

"Oh," I stated, still slightly confused. He'd assumed I was going to question him about the injury. It wasn't surprising then that he was annoyed with me. He started to walk away. "No, you don't understand. That's not why I stopped you."

He sighed, as impatient as James. Apparently a reluctance to speak ran in the family. But then with the secrets they held close, I wasn't surprised. His fierce gaze swung to me, giving me pause. Was this Will the son who had killed their father?

"What?" he snapped.

As much as my rational mind told me to fear this man, to let him leave, I couldn't seem to. It was his eyes that truly caught my attention. While my blue gaze was pretty enough, his eyes were stunning. The deepest, deepest depths of the ocean.

"Yes, by all means, take your time," he snapped. "Look it over."

I blinked, frowning. "You're as rude as your brother, you know."

"Which?"

I quirked a brow. "Do I truly need to answer?"

The left corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he was going to smile. "What do you want?"

I placed my hands on my hips. This angry monster would not get the better of me. The best way to disarm James was with honesty. Perhaps the truth would work on his brother as well. "If you must know, I was admiring the color of your eyes."

He blinked, startled, and I realized I'd won this round. A flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked away, embarrassed. I had to bite back my laugh. I found utter enjoyment in making this mountain of a man suddenly shy. "What do you want?"

"The nursemaid."

His brows snapped together. "Old Pickens?"

I nodded, hesitating. What if he adored the woman? Someone did, why else would she still be in residence? Uneasy, I glanced at the windows, as if expecting to see the witch watching me even now. It had been many a times that I'd found her staring from the shadows. She didn't like me, that much was obvious. But I didn't exactly enjoy her company either.

"What about her?"

I returned my gaze to Will. "Why is she still here?"

He shrugged as he glanced at the house, as if he too expected her to be watching us. Surely this man wasn't afraid of her. Blimey, maybe she truly was a witch. "Been here all our lives, I suppose."

I bit my lower lip, pressing my hand to my belly. Soon, perhaps even now, I would have a babe growing within my womb. I would not let that mad bat get her claws on my child. Feeling suddenly morose, my good mood vanished. What sort of life would my child have here in this dreary castle? Or would we be free to live where ever we wished, as James claimed?

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I had a feeling he didn't ask the question often. In fact, he seemed downright annoyed. "I don't like her."

He laughed, those blue eyes sparkling. And I had a feeling he didn't laugh often. How peculiar he seemed. "No one does."

Although his comment should have made me feel worse, it actually put me at ease. So, I wasn't the only one then to find her strange and frightening. My instincts had been spot on. "Was she cruel to you as children?"

"Very."

I frowned, annoyed. Exactly what Rafe had implied. So why then did James allow her to stay?

"Tied us to our chairs for hours if we fought. Once forced Rafe to eat a worm when he'd been taunting Oliver with the creature."

I felt the color drain from my face. "Why is she here?"

"Because our stepmother insisted."

"But why would that matter?"

He hesitated, studying me as if to judge my worth. His lack of response said he didn't trust me much. This was my future child's life. I needed to know all.

I reached out, resting my hand on his forearm. "Please."

He sighed but relented. "James wanted our stepmother gone. She said she would only leave if he allowed Pickens to remain."

My anger flared. "As a spy."

He smile, a crooked grin that made him look more endearing than heartless soldier. "Very perceptive."

"But why does he allow your stepmother to rule?"

"Because, my dear, Pickens is the much, much better of two evils."

A shiver whispered through my body. "You're saying that woman who gave you ice-baths, who terrified you as children, is better than your stepmother?"

He didn't respond, perhaps finally realizing how nervous he was making me. But he didn't need to reply. Dear lord, what sort of monster was their stepmother?

"He's not afraid, if that's what you think. He merely doesn't want her spreading her vile gossip. He's trying his damnest to rebuild the family reputation."

"And you don't think it's important?"

"I've never really cared what people think of our family, but then my children won't be inheriting our mess."

Mine would. I glanced at the house. The estate that defined James. That gave him purpose. That trapped him here. "It's just a house," I muttered. "Merely a pile of stone."

"It's more than that to him. It's the reason why he had to endure what he did." Will leaned against the brick wall that surrounded the edge of the patio. "Poor James had to take the brunt of it, from Father, our step-mother and Pickens."

My chest felt tight. "What do you mean?"

He paused, as if attempting to figure out the best way to explain without upsetting me further. "Just that as the oldest, he, well," he raked his hands through his hair. "He tried to protect us, therefore he took the brunt of the lashes from Father and Pickens."

My lovely morning was no more. The sun could not change my dour mood. I wanted to hunt down his stepmother. I wanted to find Pickens and toss her from the estate. How dare they.

"I do not tell you this to frighten you," he continued. "Merely to help you understand my brother. If he seems taciturn, if he appears uncaring, it is merely his way of protecting himself, I suppose. And if James doesn't restore our legacy, well...what was the torture for? What purpose was the hell of his childhood? What purpose is his life even now?"

I shook my head, feeling the sudden sting of tears. It was beyond my understanding. I knew keeping his stepmother silenced was important, but my children and their safety would come first. "I don't want her here."

He narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious and angry. "Has she done something to you?"

How could I tell him that the old bat had accused James of murder? If I admitted as much, then Will would realize I knew their secret. "I merely don't like her."

He pushed away from the ledge, dismissing me. I'd taken up enough of his time. I was boring him with my silly feminine issues. "Talk to James, he's not the monster he portrays himself to be. He'll listen."

He started toward the house. He was right. I'd decided to be honest with James, completely and utterly. I would trust that he would do what was right.

"Will?"

He paused with a sigh, his patience gone.

I had to resist the urge to laugh. Perhaps having a brother or two wouldn't be so bad. They were awfully fun to tease. "Thank you."

He hesitated, his back to me, then started toward the house without response.

****

James

I watched Will walk toward me. The bemused look upon his face was not like him. Frowning, I wondered if I had yet another brother in love with Jules. Hell, I didn't want to care, but I did. As I caught sight of her fine features and noticed the frown, the worry that marked her pretty face, I realized if anything Will had upset her, not charmed her.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

He arched a brow. "Can't a brother visit?"

I cursed underneath my breath. I'd thought to have breakfast with Jules upon the patio. I didn't want an audience or a guest to interrupt. Things had been going well, almost too well. It made me nervous, wary. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled. The bastard knew I didn't want him here. Knew I wished to be alone with my wife. Hell, I could no longer deny it...I was jealous.

"Just thought I'd warn you, Rafe stopped by our stepmother's home and she knows about your wedding. Has for days. Is talking about visiting."

Just speaking about the woman soured my mood. "I'll kill her first."

If she knew, she would do her damnest to spread rumors, to ruin whatever happiness she thought I had achieved. I could certainly handle her venom. But what would happen when the rumors reached Jules? I'd kill the old bitch before I'd let her hurt my wife.

"Why was he there?"

"Wanted to try and get information about Evangeline."

"So London was for naught?" I sighed. "He should know better than to speak with her. She won't talk."

Will's gaze returned to Jules. The bright sun highlighted his face and made the scar stand out in stark contrast to his tanned skin. The mark was a constant reminder of my guilt. He'd admitted he was thinking about becoming a soldier, and I'd told him it was a capital idea. I'd even eagerly purchased his way in. I'd only thought for him to escape the dreariness of this place. Why should we all be trapped here? Hell, as the brother of an earl, I'd thought he'd be protected, a general merely giving out orders. I hadn't known he'd almost die. I'd been so damn naïve. No more.

"She's a sweet girl, Jamie."

Surprised, my startled gaze focused on Jules. She'd settled upon her stool, but she didn't paint. Merely gazed morosely out at the fields. Whatever Will had said had upset her. "I know that."

"Do you?" He looked at me fully. "Rafe said you don't treat her well, and he's had half a mind to kidnap her and take her away."

I clenched my jaw. The thought of anyone taking her from me made my blood boil. I couldn't go back to the coldness, to the isolation. "Rafe should worry about his own damn family."

"So should you." I didn't miss the way his fists curled at his sides. I wouldn't fight my brother, even though I wanted to. Not in front of Jules. "If he doesn't whisk Jules away, I just might."

"Does she look ill used to you?" I snapped, doing everything in my power not to lunge at the bastard. "Does she look..."

I glanced her way and my anger immediately faded. Hell, she looked miserable. The tension in my body eased as the fight drained from me. They were right. Both of them. But damn it all, I was trying to rectify a bad situation.

"You and I both know that a person can do much more damage to the soul and the inside, than the out."

Is that what I'd become? Someone who mentally tormented others? Someone like my stepmother? Like my father? The thought made me angry and nauseous. For so long and so hard I'd been trying to protect myself from them, but I'd merely become the very people I'd despised.

"She doesn't like Pickens," Will said.

"Who does?"

Jules picked up a jar of green paint.

"No, she seems genuinely afraid of the old woman."

I frowned. I didn't blame her. What in damnation had Pickens been up to? What had she said to Jules? "You know what will happen if I kick Pickens from the estate."

My stepmother would retaliate. She'd made it quite clear that Pickens was to stay until her dying breath. For the most part the old witch of a nanny kept to herself, hiding in shadowy corners. She sure as hell didn't frighten me, but every time I saw her the woman's appearance brought with bad memories. Mayhap that's why my stepmother had insisted she stay...to torment me with the past.

"Maybe it's time we stopped living in fear of the bitch," Will said. I wasn't sure which bitch he referred to, Pickens or our stepmother, but either would do. "I'm so bloody tired of it all."

As was I. I'd tried so hard to shelter my brothers, but I hadn't been able to keep them completely from harm's way. I sure as hell wouldn't let anything happen to Jules. "And if the truth comes out?"

"Then let it."

Perhaps Will was right. Jules picked up a paint brush. We could handle any gossip, any accusations, but could my wife? It wasn't the mere fact that she'd be thrown headfirst into any family scandal that gave me pause. No, it was the worry that once she knew the truth, she might never trust me again. Damn it all, I wanted a chance. This last week had been peaceful, had been bliss. And I knew it could be so much more. I suddenly hungered for the future.

"You don't have to keep the old bat here. Give her a cottage if your guilt gets to you."

I released a harsh laugh. "Guilt? After what she put us through? Never."

Will didn't leave, but continued to watch Jules, much to my annoyance. I had a wife, I could have a family. But would he ever? We were so bloody insane, every one of us, how could we ever have a normal relationship with anyone?

"You can make new memories, you know. It's not too late for you."

For me. I didn't miss the implication in his statement. My guilt flared. He had a scar and a limp at times, damn him. His life wasn't over.

"This place doesn't have to be a painful reminder of our childhood."

It was easy for him to forget, as he didn't reside here. He didn't have the constant reminder. The bad memory at every turn. I could go into no room without being painfully reminded of what we had endured.

"You care for her, that's obvious."

I couldn't deny it. I studied Jules, drawn to her lightness, her innocence. Part of me wanted to flee, to return to my chambers. She could destroy me if I let her. The other half of me wanted to draw her close, hold her tight.

"You're falling for her, Jamie, whether you want to admit it or not. And Jules is definitely worth the fall."

With those poetic words Will left, heading inside.

When had my blasted brothers become Lord Byron? I could have denied his accusation. I could have fled. Instead, I forced myself to move forward. Ignoring what lay before me would do no good. Perhaps I wasn't in love with her, but I wanted a fresh start, I wanted Jules. To keep her, I had to try.

She'd started to paint, so focused on her task she wasn't aware of my approach. She'd been right those months ago when she'd said she didn't paint like other women. These weren't delicate, fluttering brush strokes, but bold and dominating.

I was drawn to her art as I was drawn to her. She left a piece of herself in every painting. I hadn't been able to help myself and when they'd unpacked the carriage when she'd arrived, I'd taken that landscape of the cottage, perhaps wanting a piece of her. If I couldn't have her, I'd at least have that painting. A cottage by the sea, a woman sitting within the field, so small it was hard to see her, but she was there. I'd felt Jules within each brush stroke, within each splash of color.

"Do you like the paints?" I finally asked.

Startled, she jerked her head toward me. "Jamie."

I didn't miss the way she said my name...familiar and comforting. Jamie. It was the name only those closest to me used. I could admit to myself that I liked the way she said it, a whisper of air...a caress.

She smiled demurely. A smile that hit me like a punch to the gut. Hell, this woman had been an innocent all along. She'd been an innocent who didn't fully understand her body's reaction to desire. A woman who had given herself completely. And I'd treated her like a whore. The guilt I'd been trying to keep at bay rushed dangerously close to the surface.

"I like them very much," she said softly.

I settled by the table, on the chair closest to her. I could sit there watching her all day. She came alive when she painted. Life itself. I wanted her here with me now...forever.

But I couldn't make her stay here, as much as I wanted her by my side. She'd wither and fade, and I wouldn't allow that. "I've ordered breakfast, if that is to your liking."

"Yes, that would be nice." She set her paint brush upon the easel.

"No, please, continue. I like to watch you paint."

She flushed, but did as was told and continued to paint. I could tell the moment she became lost in her work and forgot about me. The brushstrokes became bold once more, daring and sure.

I wanted to see her like this always...happy. Content. Alive. It was a sudden thought, brought on by Will's suggestion to make new memories that had me speaking. "I thought perhaps we could hold a ball."

I cursed myself the moment the words were out. But it was too late. She straightened, perking up and facing me. And when I saw the excitement in her gaze, I could not take the words back. "A ball?"

"Yes." I smiled. I'd hate every moment, but I would adore watching her glow. "In celebration of our wedding."

It sounded ridiculous. Celebrate the hell that had been our wedding? Celebrate the monster I'd been?

But she remained excited, not the bitter cynic that I'd become. "Might I invite my parents and my friend Cecilia?"

I nodded. "Of course."

She smiled at me, her first genuine smile since arriving. The very light that shone from her eyes sucked the breath from my lungs, made my chest feel tight. The world suddenly felt as if it was void of air.

Hell, if I didn't realize in that moment that I was falling for Jules all over again.

Chapter 10

Julianna

Two months.

For two months I'd been Jamie's wife, living upon the moors of northern England.

And in those two months things had changed like the sea, dramatic and haunting one day, calm and serene the next. When I woke up in the morning, I never knew quite what to expect. Would Jamie be attentive? Caring? Or would he be morose, hiding away in his study, avoiding me and the growing feelings between us?

No matter what his mood, James and I still had dinner each evening. At times our talk was lively, memories of childhood, even discussing the estate, the tenants and politics. He never mentioned his father. Never mentioned his mother. He certainly never mentioned his step-mother. And neither of us ever talked about the future. Not wanting to sour the mood, I didn't push the subjects.

I'd finally gotten the courage to ask about Pickens one night, having not seen the woman lurking in the shadows for days. I was relieved to hear she was no longer in residence. He'd sent her to live in a cottage near his stepmother. I eased my guilt by believing that surely she would be happier with her own home.

Once in a while James would appear when I was painting outside. It wasn't as if I witnessed his arrival. No, it was a shiver of awareness that traveled down my spine. An aching need that shimmered deep within the pit of my belly. I'd turn and see him standing on the steps, a bemused look upon his handsome face as if he wasn't quite sure how he had gotten there. At first I'd been self-conscious with him watching, but I'd soon gotten used to his sudden appearances. I even liked when he was near, feeling oddly safe, secure, not so alone.

But for the most part we kept to ourselves.

And I was lonely.

I found myself searching him out, hoping he would arrive during my painting sessions, and relieved and excited on the rare occasions when he would. I was a puppy, happy to see its master, desperate for attention. But mostly I found myself waiting anxiously for dinner, the one time when I knew he would be there. He'd kept his promise.

And when I'd never cared before about my looks, I found myself preening, wondering what dress to wear, how to do my hair. He was always polite, always attentive. But there was something that told me he was holding back...something that told me he wasn't quite there when we were together. I wondered at times if he would ever trust me enough to let down that wall he'd built. Would I ever see the true Jamie? The man his brothers knew?

"This arrived for you my lady!" Cora raced into the room, a large box in hand. "I think I know what it is!"

She was still much too chatty for a lady's maid, but I'd rather have her chatter than the endless silence. I stepped away from the window where I'd been trying to imagine the many carriages that would be arriving to this desolate place in the next hour. Tried to imagine the house aglow with light and laughter. It was practically impossible, yet it excited me all the same. It was a test of sorts, to see if this place could be a home. Why? Was I truly thinking of staying here with the children once they were born?

"What is it?" I asked, focusing upon Cora instead of my sudden disconcerting feelings.

She set the box upon the bed. "From Lord Whitfield."

He'd sent me gifts before, but they were always little things here and there, nothing too extravagant. But it was enough to know that he was thinking about me. I moved toward the bed, Cora's excitement contagious, and I lifted the lid.

A beautiful silk blue and silver dress lay upon tissue paper. My breath caught. The material shimmered and glowed under the lamplight, like ocean water under the moon. The yellow gown I'd been planning to wear was nothing compared to this dress.

"Stunning," I said, breathless. It seemed alive, somehow.

"Oh my, it's simply beautiful!" Cora declared, clasping her hands together in delight. "You will be the most stunning creature at the ball!"

I smiled at the maid. She certainly knew how to stroke my arrogance. I picked up the note resting upon the dress.

It matched your eyes.

A warm shiver whispered through my body and I found my smile turning into a grin. My eyes were plain blue, but his praise had its desired effect. With that simple note he'd told me he'd noticed. We hadn't been intimate since that day in the hunter's cottage. I clasped the note to my chest, my heart pounding erratically. I wanted him. Tonight, I'd have him even if I had to seduce the man. I had before, I could do it again.

"My lady," Cora whispered. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there!"

"You'll feed my arrogance," I said, pulling off my robe. "I'll turn into an unbearable monster."

Her smile fell and she shook her head so passionately a brown curl danced across her forehead. "Oh no, my lady. That would never happen to you. We all know how kind you are. They talk about it downstairs all the time. Everyone adores you."

I flushed, pleased and slightly embarrassed by the words. It hadn't been easy, but perhaps I had finally won over the staff. "Help me?"

She pulled out the bodice and smoothed down the wrinkles. "Feels like melted butter!"

"It does." She tugged the silky material up on my shoulders. I'd never owned anything so beautiful. And I wanted to look stunning, but not to impress the guests, only to catch Jamie's eye.

"It's a bit snug around the chest," she said from behind me. "But no worries, it will look beautiful!"

I frowned as she tugged at the bindings in the back. "Too small?"

"No." She grunted as she pulled. "I gave Lord Whitfield one of your dresses to use as a guide."

I grinned. "Ah, so this was your doing?"

She continued to grunt as she pulled. I stiffened as I heard the crunch of wheels over gravel. Someone had arrived. I could only pray it was one of Jamie's brothers and not a guest. I wasn't ready to stand and be judged in front of them quite yet.

Cora had paused in her movements and was staring oddly at my body.

"Have I put on weight?" I asked, amused by the questioning look in her eyes. "I haven't been walking like I used to. Perhaps the lack of activity..."

"No," she said, hesitantly. "But your breasts, if you don't mind me saying, seem a bit larger than they are normally."

I frowned and glanced down. The dress was tight, and my breasts practically spilled from the scooped neckline. I'd never worn something so provocative, so sensual. During my one and only season in London I'd worn demure, pastel gowns fit for a virgin. Were my breasts larger than normal? Tentatively, I reached up and cupped the mounds. They did seem bigger.

Cora stepped toward me, her eyes wary, yet excited all at once. "My lady, may I speak freely?"

I dropped my hands to my sides. She was blushing. The outspoken girl never blushed. "Of course."

"Well, my mum, she always got sore breasts when she was expecting."

The sound of another carriage interrupted our conversation. Frantic, I reached for my skirts. "Expecting what?"

Remembering her position, Cora took the material from my hands. "Expecting a babe, my lady."

I froze, my gaze going wide. No. We'd only been intimate twice since arriving to the estate. Certainly it took more than two times to get with child, didn't it? I flatted my hands to my belly as Cora smoothed out the skirts. A baby? Impossible.

"Your chest is larger," Cora said, holding out the skirts for me to step into. "Is the area more sensitive?"

I wanted to deny it, but couldn't. Parted my lips to do so, instead, I merely nodded. I'd noticed weeks ago, but had merely thought my monthly would start soon. But it hadn't. Lord, when was the last time I'd had my monthly?

Although Cora was younger than me, I felt the utter fool standing next to her. I knew nothing about babies or childbirth. A grin swept across her knowledgeable face. Of course she thought I'd be happy about having a child. Any married woman would be ecstatic. It was, after all, what we had been born and bred for. But I wasn't sure what I felt.

Numbly, I stepped into the skirts and Cora pulled them up to my waist. No longer did my beautiful gown matter. No longer did I care about impressing Jamie. Society was of no importance.

A baby.

It might be a boy. James would be pleased and I would be one step closer to my freedom. Why did that thought not thrill me as it should have?

"Oh my lady!" Cora clapped her hands together. "You look breathtaking! What a magical night you'll have! And Lord Whitfield will be so pleased to know you're expecting!"

"You are not to mention this to anyone, do you understand?" I demanded, my voice holding a bite that it never had before. I knew how servants gossiped, and I would not have Jamie uncovering the truth by someone else's lips.

The young maid nodded quickly, her smile falling. "I wouldn't dream of it, my lady."

I glanced toward the full length mirror. Vaguely, I was aware that I did indeed look the best I ever had looked. In fact, I might even be called quite pretty. But my gaze immediately went to my midsection where I studied my flat belly as if I might find signs of the child within. There was nothing. Yet, I couldn't deny that my breasts were tender, that I hadn't had my monthly in weeks. How far along was I?

A soft knock sounded on the door. Cora raced to answer. I merely stood there staring at myself in the mirror. My belly had not rounded, but there was no mistaking the fact that my breasts were larger than normal. My demure day dresses and painting smocks had hidden the truth.

Jamie's reflection suddenly appeared in the mirror, and I could feel his presence behind me like a soft touch. With a quick glance over my shoulder I realized that Cora was gone and I was alone in the room with my husband. His heated gaze swept over my form, lingering at my bosom. Did he notice anything amiss?

Those eyes so dark, so tempting, so taunting. He wanted me. The heated stirrings of longing flared to life and I had to resist the urge to go to him, to throw my arms around his neck.

"You look stunning."

I blushed. "Thank you for the dress."

I wasn't used to his compliments and he wasn't the type of man to spew them regularly. Neither was I one to give them...at least not to him. If I told him he looked divine in his dark suit that matched his eyes, he would certainly laugh, perhaps even mock my sentiment. Before I realized his intent, he lowered his head and kissed the back of my neck. A mere soft brush of his heated lips.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my pulse pounding. Oh, how I wanted him. How I craved his touch. Desired him like I'd never desired another. Slowly he straightened. His gaze was heated with a fierceness that made me feel branded. I was his, it was undeniable. At some point he had claimed me.

He held out a small box. "This is for you."

I turned to face him. We were close, so close that I could see the sparks of gray in his dark eyes. If I leaned into him would he step back, or pull me into his body? "What is it?"

He grinned. "Open it and see."

I took my lower lip between my teeth and lifted the lid. A necklace of pearls and diamonds lay nestled upon a velvet pillow. It wasn't brilliant and obscene, but delicate and understated. It was exactly what I liked. I glanced up at him, searching his eyes for affection as he picked up the necklace. Did he know me, or had it been coincidence?

Sensing my attention, he met my gaze. "Do you like it?"

"I do."

I was surprised to see the flash of uncertainty. "Are you sure? I have a sapphire necklace that was my grandmother's, but the gems are quite large and I..."

"You what?"

"It didn't seem like you."

I'd never seen him so unsure. It was rather endearing. I rested my gloved hand on his. "I love this one. It's stunning."

He seemed relieved. "Shall I help you?"

I nodded and turned. He wrapped the cool beads around my throat, the doubled strands laying across my chest, sliding down between the valley of my breasts. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin at my neck as he clipped the clasp. I barely breathed. I felt afire. The urge to lean back into him was tempting. He didn't move away, his hands remaining on my shoulders.

Everything that had happened—the petty arguments, the distrust, the condemnation—faded away. I wanted him then and there. I wanted to feel his lips on my skin. To taste him. I wanted to feel him deep within me, touching my very soul.

His fingers gently gripped my shoulders and slowly, he turned me. When he lowered his head, I didn't pull away. Relieved, I closed my eyes and lifted up to meet him. His mouth molded to mine. His kiss was gentle, sweeping aside any reserves. A loving kiss. A caring caress. I wanted to sink into him, to grip his lapels, cling to the man, and beg for more.

But all too soon he pulled away. His gaze had grown hard, his pupils dilated with desire, but we didn't have time for more. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. Would he still want me when he realized I was with child? Surely James would notice my expanding girth. Things were finally going so well, I wasn't ready to leave this estate. Wasn't ready to leave...him.

"Mrs. Vita said you hung my mother's painting."

"I hope you don't mind. I asked if there was one somewhere nearby and they found it in the attic."

"I don't mind."

The relief I felt was immediate. "I thought to hang it in her chambers but decided she should be in the parlor where all could admire her. She was stunning."

He gave a curt nod. It was his belief, no doubt, that he'd shown too much emotion. "Thank you."

"Of course." I wanted to say more. He looked as if he wanted to say more. Was he truly pleased? It was so hard to tell. "Why is your stepmother's painting in her chambers?"

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. I wished I hadn't asked. He didn't like to talk about the woman. "She hung it there to prove a point. To be honest I haven't been in those rooms for years. I'd forgotten the painting was even there. You're welcome to remodel and use her chambers, if you'd like. You are the lady of the house, after all."

I forced myself to smile. "That's kind."

I didn't want his mother's chambers. I wanted...I wanted to share a room with Jamie, as my parents shared their space. But I knew the wealthy and titled did not normally reside in the same bedroom. He'd been so kind lately, truly trying, that I didn't want to push the matter.

He stepped toward the mirror and adjusted his cravat. "I should warn you, word is my stepmother is coming."

I stiffened. I'd finally meet the dragon. The woman who had caused so much torment. I wasn't sure if I was well enough prepared to face the devil. "Why not deny her entrance?"

But even as I thought the question, I knew the answer...he didn't want to cause a scene.

"If she arrives," he continued, "do not speak with her alone, understand?"

I bristled at his commanding tone, but nodded my agreement. It was so blasted hard not to react with anger when he became that haughty lord.

"She's not one to face alone. Trust me."

Trust him, yet he'd never truly trusted me. I moved toward the mirror and adjusted one of the curls that lay over my shoulder. He'd given me so much. I was pleased. Yet, I couldn't deny I wanted more. I wanted all of him.

He cupped the side of my face and brushed his thumb over my lower lip. "I'll meet you downstairs."

It was only after he'd left the room that I could finally breathe with some normalcy. I could never seem to function properly or think clearly when he was near. Part of me had wanted to ask him to forget the blasted party, to run away with me to that hunting cottage and spend the night alone. But Jamie was much too prim and proper to forgo his guests and make a scene.

I studied myself in the mirror once more, making sure there were no signs of my pregnancy. My parents would be arriving at any moment. Would mother realize? She'd be so pleased. I'd finally received a letter a week ago. They were looking forward to the trip, Penny was living near London and doing quite well, Father's health had improved, and they were even bringing Cecilia to the ball.

Everything was going so well. So why wasn't I happier?

Because James still hadn't opened up to me, continued to hold back. And because I knew I had to tell him about the pregnancy. Yes, I'd always wanted children.

But I realized with some despair that to have the children I craved, I'd have to give up James, the man I was falling in love with all over again.

****

I'd danced before at a ball. I'd had my exceedingly short season in London. But never had I been the recipient of such utter attention and devotion.

I was no longer Jules.

I was Lady Whitfield.

The dark ballroom had been turned into a stunning display of candlelight and flowers. Although I'd been reluctant to believe they could transform the place into something more cheerful, the servants had done their job well.

I scanned the many happy faces, until I landed on my parents. They were beaming, so thrilled I had made the match of the century, delighted to see me thriving, dressed so elegantly, the daughter they'd always wanted, always hoped for. But then they didn't realize what I had gone through: the pain, the confusion, the heartache. And they never would.

"Can't believe I'm here," Cecilia whispered, her eyes alight with excitement.

I clutched her hand and squeezed. She wore a gown of mine that I'd left behind. A pretty mauve dress that made her skin glow. I wanted to talk to her about coming to live with us, but I hadn't had the chance to broach the subject with James first.

"Yes, it is beautiful," I said.

"I suppose," Oliver said, sweeping between us and interrupting our conversation. He'd arrived moments before. "If one likes such a thing."

Cecilia gave me a questioning glance, wondering over the identity of the bizarre man.

"Cecilia, my brother-in-law, Oliver."

She curtsied, but he barely acknowledged her. My friend was much too good natured to be offended and we shared a grin. He seemed utterly indifferent to all. The man didn't give a fig about society, about money, about anything but his sciences. Jamie had admitted during one dinner that Oliver had always been a peculiar boy, but when they needed him, he was there. As he was now...keeping me company while James spoke with some important lord. I didn't miss the way the men showed my husband such respect. And I certainly didn't miss the way the women watched him admiringly.

"I suppose I should ask if you're doing well," Oliver said. "Say that marriage agrees with you."

I laughed. "Oliver, you don't need to stand on propriety with me. You may speak of whatever you wish."

"I doubt I have much to offer in conversation that would appeal to you." He said the words not to offend, but was completely serious. "Unless you have an affinity for the workings of the body and sciences."

"Alas, no."

His hopeful look faded and I felt rather bad for disappointing him. "As suspected."

"Oliver is going to be a doctor," I explained to my grinning friend.

"I do enjoy the occasional flower," Cecilia said, just to tease.

Oliver glanced at her, the disgust evident in his gaze. "Hard sciences, my dear, true science, not the gathering of blooms to appease our animalistic need for pretty things."

"And how do you appease your animalistic need?" she asked, blinking her eyes innocently.

Oh dear, this could end badly. I hid my laughter with a cough.

"I control it," he said quite seriously.

"Lia," I pleaded, "could you perhaps fetch me a glass of champagne?"

She grinned, knowing I was trying to get rid of her, the minx. "Of course."

With another polite curtsey she was gone.

"Strange and silly woman," Oliver muttered, watching her.

"Very strange," I agreed with a grin.

James started toward us and my heart took flight. Truly, there was no man as handsome and elegant as he. "Although lack of conversation aside, I do appreciate you keeping me company. It's all a bit overwhelming."

"Yes, I suppose it is to a woman."

I quirked a brow. "It's not to men?"

"Of course not." Oliver was quite handsome in his dark suit. In fact, he was probably the most handsome of them all. But I noticed the women stayed clear and I knew without doubt he'd offended them all at one time or another. How strange he seemed, but I rather liked that about him. "We couldn't care less, and to be blunt..."

As if he was anything but blunt.

"We aren't expected to care. It's much easier for men."

I nodded my agreement. He might be harshly truthful at times to the point of offending, but he was honest. "Indeed. I've always felt as much."

James came up beside me and slid his arm around my waist. I felt the touch all the way to my toes. Perhaps it was for show, for we'd never much caressed in public or private, but I still enjoyed it. "Has Oliver bored you to death?"

"Not at all."

He smiled as if he didn't believe me in the least. "Thank you, Oliver. You are free to go find your fellow science enthusiasts."

He rushed off without acknowledgement, without a goodbye as society dictated. James sighed, watching his brother leave. "I apologize if he's offended."

"No. Honestly, it's refreshing to speak with someone who tells the truth, who doesn't hold back."

"Give it time, add in an insult or ten, and it will stop being so refreshing," he said dryly. "I try to explain...we all have, but the man doesn't seem to care who he offends. He merely sees it as speaking his mind, being honest."

"Perhaps we should all be so honest once in a while," I whispered, wondering if he'd take the bait. Yet, who was I to judge Jamie for not speaking his mind, having secrets, when I hadn't been exactly forthright?

"Honestly?" he said, staring into my eyes. "I should have had this ball a long time ago. You are my wife, and you deserve such recognition and respect."

I flushed with delight. He hadn't spoken his heart, hadn't even claimed he liked me, but he had told me his truth, and I appreciated it. "Are Rafe and Will coming?"

He took a glass of whiskey from a passing tray. "Not Will. Since the war, and his injuries, he won't go out in public."

My loyalty flared. "That's nonsense! The scar only makes him look all the more dashing!"

He slid me a glance, the amusement back in his eyes. "Romantic?"

"Exactly."

He laughed, reminding me of the man I'd met those months and months ago bathing in our creek. "Do tell him that the next time he visits. I'd love to see his reaction."

"Jamie, is that you?" Rafe said, suddenly appearing in front of us with a surprised look upon his face. In his dark suit he looked even more handsome than usual, and I didn't miss the women turning his way like butterflies after a bloom. He was definitely a favorite. "I didn't recognize you with a smile upon your face."

"My brother, if we weren't in polite company I'd tell you exactly what I think of your comment."

"Polite company never stopped you before." Rafe turned toward me, his charming smile stunning. "My dear, I didn't think it possible but you look even more beautiful since the last time I saw you. You're practically glowing."

I gave him a wane smile. Pregnancy and glowing went hand in hand, or so I'd always heard. I had to resist the urge to press my palm to my belly. Was I truly with child? Could I really bring a baby into this family where no one seemed to get along? Where everyone kept secrets and bickered as if they were no better than Terrifying Tony's men?

I looked up at James, searching his face for answers. Would he be a good father? Could he tear down the wall in time to love and appreciate his own child? Perhaps more than anyone he needed this baby. Needed to learn to love, experience joy. If I couldn't get him to open up, perhaps a child could.

"Go find some unattached woman to flirt with Rafe, Jules is taken."

He winked at me. "If only I'd found you first."

I blushed.

"Rafe," James growled.

"Very well." He glanced out at the crowd and paused. "Who is that? Someone new? About bloody time."

I followed his gaze to find Cecilia speaking with my parents, her face flushed and pretty with her excitement. My worry soared. "You met her in Dorset, Rafe," I said, annoyed that he'd forget my friend so easily. "And don't even bloody think about it."

He quirked a brow. "She looks...different."

"She's my best of friends and I won't have you ruin her."

He bowed. "Of course not."

Before I could warn him further, he moved into the crowd, but I noticed his grin. The bastard. That man needed to fall in love and hard. He needed a taste of the heartache I was sure he'd provided so often.

Jamie sighed. "I'll speak with him."

"He's only teasing to upset us," I said. "He's like an unruly child we should ignore. Every woman is a prized fox and he the hunter."

"He's not teasing about you, Jules. The man would kill me if he thought he could get away with it, and marry you himself."

My lips parted to reject the ridiculous notion, but I realized he was utterly serious. Why me? There were many women much more beautiful. "Rafe needs a wife," I muttered, feeling highly uncomfortable.

I'd never had so much attention. Certainly hadn't been flirted with this often on my short trip to London. I wasn't sure if I liked it. I did know that I didn't like the attention that other women kept sliding my way. I felt as if they were dissecting me with their gazes, attempting to find flaws, trying to understand why it was that a man like James would attach himself to me.

"Rafe was married. Even has a child."

"What?" I gasped in surprise. "You didn't tell me."

"I didn't think it important."

I frowned. Of course it was important as they were my family now. But James hadn't deemed it important because he didn't like to share. Would he ever think of me as a confidant? A friend? Or merely someone to have dinner with, someone to carry his children? "What happened to her?"

I knew even before he said the words by the dark look in his gaze. "She died."

Dear lord, another dead? Why was it that whenever I felt as if I was making progress with this outlandish family, something happened that made me wary once more?

"In childbirth," he explained, as if sensing my unease. He was watching me closely, too closely. He knew I felt unsure. I wanted to smile and brush my insecurities away if merely to make him feel better, but couldn't.

What if I died while giving birth and left my child here to fend for himself? So many things to worry about. Desperate, I searched for my parents. They were holding court in the far corner. My mother caught my gaze and grinned. She adored the attention. Father, too, looked quite happy. I couldn't bother them with my insecurities.

"James," Rafe called out. I didn't miss the thunderous look upon his face. Something was wrong. "A moment."

"Of course."

James gave me one more glance, then he was gone and I was alone within a sea of unfamiliar faces, all watching me, all wondering. No doubt rumors of my first time in London those years ago was being shared around the room. They assumed Jamie had married much, much below himself. Penny wouldn't have minded. She would have smiled and charmed them all. But I'd never been good in social situations.

Feeling frustrated and alone, I moved toward the open balcony doors, the cool breeze calling. The darkness held me close like an embrace. I felt safe out there, looking in through the windows. Jamie still stood in the center of the room, Rafe at his side. They were close, their faces serious as they talked. I couldn't look at him without that desire flaring. I wanted him so desperately. But I wanted all of him. His body, his heart, his soul.

I turned away and leaned against the railing, gazing out upon the moors. The moon was a brilliant crescent that hung in the sky. I realized with some surprise that I no longer feared this place. Instead, I was beginning to see the magic in the silence. The stillness in the landscape. Even the hope within the estate. Could this house be a home for my children? For me?

The soft tap of heeled slippers alerted me to a female presence.

I turned, expecting to see Cecilia. Instead an older woman with graying hair stood in the open doors. For one long moment we merely stared at each other.

"So, you're Jamie's wife," she finally said.

The woman from the painting, only slightly older. I'd know her anywhere. She wore her gray hair in a tight bun, her lavender gown beautiful and rich. I knew without doubt this was Jamie's stepmother. The woman who had made his life hell. The woman who didn't care about him in the least.

"I am his wife, and you're the dowager."

She didn't respond, merely looked me up and down in a slow glance that left me feeling completely inadequate. "I am surprised. You're not his usual type."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

She was still a beautiful woman, but like a statue I'd once seen in Hyde Park, cold, untouchable. "I don't find you important enough to feel disappointed, my dear. It's Jamie you'll have to deal with when he realizes he's chosen a country mouse to parade about in society."

Her harsh words shouldn't have stunned me, for after the things I'd heard about the woman I should have expected as much. But the cruel hardness of her eyes sent a cold shiver down my spine and Jamie's warning not to interact with her rang through my mind.

I searched for my husband. He had spotted his stepmother and was headed our way, his face a mask of fury.

This was a woman who would hurt whomever needed to get what she wanted. I'd always thought of myself as quite clever, but I wondered if I could handle her. I'd been protected, coddled.

"He seems content enough," I said, keeping my voice pleasant and level. "And if not, well, there isn't exactly much he can do about it now. He's quite trapped."

Her lips curled at the corners. "Is he? There are always ways to dissolve a marriage."

My irritation flared. "Divorce is hardly appropriate in any society."

She shrugged. "There are other ways."

I was silent. Was she threatening to kill me off? I would not be baited. Deep down I prayed Jamie would get to me and fast, but he'd been waylaid by Oliver. He was no doubt warning him of their stepmother's arrival.

"Do you like plays," she asked, those dark eyes sparkling with a wickedness that was hard to miss. Even though her back was to the ballroom, she knew her appearance was causing a commotion.

"I suppose."

"Dramas?"

What was she getting at? "Actually I prefer comedies."

She laughed, surprising me. "Well, I'm sure someday you'll find this all amusing."

"All of this?" I asked.

"Come," she said, turning toward the doors. "You must see the next act. It will be talked about for years."

She floated back into the ballroom. Confused, desperate to speak with James, I started after her. My husband caught my gaze the moment I entered. I wanted to call out to him, to warn him, but I wasn't even sure what I warned him from. Frantic, I weaved my way through the crowds, trying to get to him.

"Excuse me," I muttered. "Excuse me."

Nervous, I searched for Jamie's stepmother. She'd reached the entrance of the ballroom just as another, younger woman entered. A stunning woman of exotic beauty, with dark hair and dark eyes. She had her long, wavy hair unfashionably free, flowing down her back and around her shoulders. The red dress she wore hugged her lush curves. She was a woman who pulsed with power and sensuality. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

A wave of silence swept over the crowd as one by one they turned to see what it was that could possibly draw such attention. The dowager reached the woman and kissed her cheek. They were more than acquaintances, they were friends. It was as the woman shifted that I noticed the boy.

A lad with his mother's dark hair and dark eyes.

A boy not more than six or seven.

A chill raced down my spine. Frantic, I searched for my husband. Jamie had paused in the middle of the room, Rafe and Oliver at his side. He no longer looked at me, but all three men were staring at the dark-haired woman in the doorway.

From where I stood I heard Rafe's curse, saw the anger flash across his face. Even Oliver looked upset, his hands fisted at his sides.

But Jamie...Jamie merely stood there as if frozen in place.

"Hello James," his stepmother said, her strong voice echoing across the silent ballroom, a wicked smile in place. "I'd heard you married."

She started across the floor, the dark-haired woman and her son following.

"But I thought...that can't be true."

The entire world seemed to slow. The floor below me felt tilted. The room devoid of air.

Something was wrong. So very wrong.

"Because of course you can't be married to Julianna." His stepmother wrapped her arm around the dark-haired woman's waist. "Since you're already married to Claudine here."

Chapter 11

James

I tore open the door to the parlor, and spotted Claudine standing casually near the windows as if she hadn't just appeared in my ballroom like some long dead ghost.

The moment I saw her everything faded but the beautiful woman before me...her shapely body outlined by the soft glow of lanterns that were placed around the room. Even now, years later, I could not deny she was stunning. That long, dark hair, those lush lips that had known so expertly how to give me pleasure.

Determinedly, I moved across the carpet, heading straight toward her, unconcerned with the others. Yes, vaguely, I was aware of my stepmother and the young boy they'd brought along on the other side of the room watching. Vaguely, I was aware of Rafe at my back, following me into the room. But none of that mattered.

Only one person remained important...Claudine.

Sensing me, she turned, a smile upon her beautiful face. "James."

My name was a breathy sensual brush of air that whispered from her lush lips. It was as if the years had not passed at all. She had not aged. Time had only brought a maturity to her features that made the woman all the more intriguing.

Her gaze devoured me, hungrily scanning my form. In her eyes I saw her desire, her need. It was as if nothing had changed between us. "Lovely to see you again."

I didn't stop until I reached her. My emotions could not be contained. In one swift movement I gripped her by the neck and slammed her back against the wall. Her eyes went wide, a gasp escaping her full lips as her shoulders hit the plaster hard.

I stepped close, pressing my body into hers and holding her captive. Her familiar rose scent swirled around me, taunting, mocking. "Get the bloody fuck out of my house."

Her gaze narrowed, a serpent's eyes. There was no soul there. No compassion. No empathy. Nothing that made a person...human.

After what Claudine had done to me those years ago, I'd sworn to never, ever allow a woman to control my emotions again. I had been determined to be indifferent to the feminine sex. In fact, I was determined to never think about her again. But even ten years later, one glance at the woman and all control vanished. I'd never hated anyone as much as I hated her. All of my carefully constructed control disappeared.

"Jamie," Rafe warned. "It's not worth it."

But it would be. Seeing her take her last breath would be so very much worth any punishment that would come my way. The bitch deserved to die. But not a quick death. Oh no. Long and pain-filled...torturous. As I continued to put pressure upon her neck the shock went out of Claudine's eyes and a smile spread across her lips. A slow, seductive grin. A smile that made me realize she was in control of me once more. I was willing to give up my life for her, my life with Jules.

"You did like to be rough at times," she rasped in her sensual French accent, "didn't you?"

My fingers curled, squeezing the delicate column of her neck. Her pulse pounded against my palm. I could kill her so easily. So easily. But then she would win. My stepmother would win. The gossips in London would win.

"Remember that time you took me in the alley? Shoved me up against the brick wall," she said, her voice just low enough for me to hear. "You couldn't wait to have me then and there. I've missed your passion."

How could I forget? I'd tried. I'd tried so hard to ignore the memories, and I had finally succeeded...when Jules had entered my life. Julianna, who had run from the ballroom, so obviously hurt, I swore I could feel her pain. Julianna, whom I had blamed because I hadn't trusted her when the true person, the only person, who should have been the recipient of my distrust was standing before me.

The shock faded slightly and surprise lit her gaze. Finally, she was taking me seriously. But she didn't look afraid...no. A witch like her didn't fear death, but laughed in the devil's face. Dared him to come after her. A woman like her would welcome hell.

"Jamie, stop." Rafe rested his hand on my shoulder. "Let go. Don't allow her to do this to you."

For one long moment I kept my hold. Although my rational mind demanded I release her, my fingers would not uncurl...until her breath grew labored. Rafe was right. She was controlling me all over again. Did I have a right to hate her? To be angry? Yes. Undoubtedly. But I'd wasted so much time trying to forget this woman, I was done. No more.

"Are you going to kill me in front of your son?" she gasped.

Her words sent a cold chill through my body and for a moment my fingers tightened as the world around me faded.

"You bitch," Rafe snapped, shoving me aside. "How dare you!"

"It's true! It's really him!" she insisted, looking frantically toward the boy.

The world came rushing back on a roar. The anger returned, burning a path through my body and leaving me shaking. "If you don't leave my house immediately I will kill you."

"Please do, my dear boy," my stepmother hissed from her chair. "Perhaps then you'll finally end up in Newgate where you belong."

I didn't even bother to look her way. She meant nothing to me. Yes, they had humiliated me and destroyed the family name in a crowded ballroom. But even worse they had humiliated Jules. They had destroyed what was supposed to be her day. Where the hell was she? "Get out."

"You'll do this to an innocent child?" my stepmother asked, resting her hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. He looked miserably at the floor.

My sympathy stirred. He was a mere pawn in this game. An innocent lad with dark hair and wide dark eyes.

Reluctantly, I stepped back, putting distance between me and Claudine.

I didn't miss the slow, seductive smile that tipped the corners of her lush mouth. She thought she had me. She thought she'd won. God, how I wished I could walk away. She wasn't the only one pleased. My stepmother sat in a chair near the hearth. The woman looked quite content with herself and I knew she had been the master behind this plan. She knew nothing would come of her declaration but my humiliation. But that was all she needed...to destroy my reputation in front of the ton.

I was so damn tired of being subject for their gossip. I'd spent my youth fighting those who ridiculed the family name until I'd earned the respect of the most important male members London parliament had to offer. But that didn't stop the gossipmongers from having fun. The battle was over. I no longer cared.

I shifted my gaze toward the child. The boy wasn't mine. I knew it. I would have guessed his age to be seven at the most. He didn't deserve this. Hell, where had they found him?

"Tu parles anglais?" I asked him.

He peeked up at me and nodded. "Little bit."

"Come here."

I settled in the chair opposite my stepmother, who watched it all with thinly veiled amusement. Evil bitch. He shuffled toward me. The poor boy was dressed well, as if to put on a façade. But I could see the bones underneath his clothing. On what street had they found him, attempting to pawn him off as my child? "Are you hungry? Food?"

His dull eyes lit up. "Oui."

I found my first smile in the last hour. Without a glance at Claudine or my stepmother, I stood. Resting my hand on his narrow shoulder, I led him toward the door. Rafe stood near a bookcase, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. Loyal to a fault, he wanted so badly to toss Claudine and our stepmother from the estate, but he was waiting for my word. This was, after all, my battle. Opening the door, I wasn't the least bit surprised to see my butler standing guard.

"Jenkins, have a maid take this young man to the kitchens. Get him whatever he wants." The lad went eagerly to the butler's side. Before he left, I lowered my voice. "And Jenkins, see if Oliver has found Lady Whitfield."

"Yes, my lord."

I turned, only to pause. "And find out which servant my stepmother bribed to get inside and fire him or her."

"Yes, my lord."

I watched them leave, but my thoughts remained with Jules. Where was she? Every moment that ticked by felt like another moment farther away from her. The gap between us widening. I couldn't imagine what she was thinking. I wouldn't even try. I knew she'd be angry, but surely she would understand once I told her the truth.

I had to resist the urge to slam my fist into the wall. "Damnation."

Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, I cleared my face of any emotion. Show no feelings. Hadn't that been drilled into my brain a million times as a child? I returned to the parlor. Claudine stared at the door with a frown. She was losing her pawn in this game. I waited until the door closed, in case a guest wandered by and heard us. "You're leaving."

She flushed. "How dare you!"

"Enough of the dramatics!" I seethed. "I said if you ever returned I'd kill you. You're fortunate I have a house full of guests so I can't get away with the deed."

"Oh James." She sashayed toward me. "And how would your guests react to the knowledge that you're throwing your wife and child onto the streets?"

"You are not my wife, nor is that boy my child."

She flushed. "He is, James. I'm sorry I kept him from you."

I didn't even bother searching her gaze for the truth. "You're a liar."

I wanted her gone before Oliver found Jules. I wouldn't allow her to poison my wife with her vileness. Who knew how much damage my lovely stepmother had already accomplished. She'd been spreading rumors for years, but never had she been so bold as to appear in my home.

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, I'll go. But if you believe this is over...think again. I'm traveling to London, and with your mother's support...I will ruin you."

"Stepmother. And do your best." I moved aside. "And by the way, the boy stays."

Claudine's eyes went wide, anger making her features harsh, unattractive. "How dare you!"

She didn't want the boy, she just didn't want me to have him. "If what you say is true, any court in London would allow me to raise my own son. He stays."

Her fingers curled. She wanted to claw at my face. She'd tried before. The madness was there...burning brightly in her eyes. Only a thin, very thin string held her connected to sanity. "So you can torture him?"

"I'm not you, Claudine. I don't use innocents." But that wasn't exactly true. I'd almost destroyed Julianna. Hell. The urge to see her, to explain all that had happened, overwhelmed me. "The boy stays and he will have a life here, be fed, sheltered. He will be abused by you no longer."

"I'm going to ruin you," she hissed, stepping so close her rose perfume overwhelmed me. "Do not doubt it."

A month ago I would have cared. A month ago I had been obsessed with restoring the family name. When had the family reputation stopped mattering? When I'd decided to have a life. A life with Julianna. "Do as you wish." I glanced at my brother. "Rafe, make sure they leave."

He nodded grimly. My stepmother swept from the room, head high. I knew she would spew as much vile gossip as she could on the way to her carriage, hoping some lingering guest might hear. Claudine followed, but not without throwing one last glare my way. I needed a drink. They were gone, but they sure as hell wouldn't be forgotten.

Alone, I took a moment to relax my tense shoulders, to breathe with some normalcy once more. I left the room, feeling off balance, uneasy as I made my way down the hall. It was as if they had taken the air with them. I raked my trembling hands through my hair and turned toward my study. Jules. I needed to see Julianna. I'd feel easier when I could explain. Needed her purity to wash away the darkness they'd left behind.

The music continued to play, floating from the ballroom upstairs. The murmured laughter and conversation of guests was irritating, to say the least. They were waiting to hear the gossip, eager to take any scandalous information back to London. I made it to my study unseen, and found Oliver standing guard outside the door. Arms crossed, a frown upon his face, told me something was wrong.

"Jamie." He pushed away from the wall. "We need to speak."

"Are they inside?"

"They are. But Jamie—"

"Thank you, Oliver." My relief was immediate. I shoved open the door and swept into the room. I knew at once that Julianna wasn't there. The air seemed heavy. There was no lightness, no sweetness, no hope. Her mother and Cecilia sat in chairs near the hearth while her father paced the room. Spotting me, he paused, his face flushed with obvious anger.

Where was Jules? I had wanted to explain to her before I spoke with anyone else. I owed her that much. Perhaps she was a tad angrier than I'd assumed.

"The moment I sold my daughter to you was the biggest mistake of my life," her father seethed. "You're a demon. The very devil."

It took all of my power to ignore the surge of impatience that raced through me. I didn't even bother to try and defend myself. I'd heard worse. He trembled with his righteous anger. If the man was as ill as Julianna implied, I worried he'd collapse, and...no doubt Jules would blame me. I sent Oliver a glance. Astute, he moved toward the sideboard to pour drinks.

"I swear to you, I am legally married to your daughter, if you'd let me explain—"

"Enough," her father snapped, slicing his arm through the air in a dismissive manner. "Whether your stepmother lied or not, you have humiliated our daughter one too many times."

Oliver headed toward the man with a whiskey in hand.

"I don't want your drink!" He swept his arm wide, knocking the glass from his hand and sending the cup shattering to the floor. "I want you in hell where you belong!"

My hands curled and I bit back the desire to sigh. Part of me didn't blame her father for his anger. I deserved it. Part of me wanted to shake some sense into the man. There were more important things to worry about than his disappointment. "Where is she?"

"We don't know where Julianna is," her mother said, standing. Her father wasn't the only one upset. I saw on her mother's face where Julianna got her strength and determination. "We haven't seen her since your stepmother's arrival. But if we did know where she was located, we wouldn't tell you."

I clenched my jaw to keep from saying something I'd regret.

Her father stomped toward the door. "I don't care what the courts say, you are no longer a part of this family, and I will do everything possible to end this sham of a marriage. We're leaving."

Her mother hurried after the man. Had we all been laughing and chatting like friends only a couple hours ago? Had everything truly been going so well? I should have known it wouldn't last. No happiness could survive in this hell.

"Cecilia," I pleaded as she followed, attempting her best to tip-toe passed me.

She hesitated, looked as if she might say something.

"Please."

We had barely said two words in passing to each other, but I knew this woman was important to Jules. I knew they were close. Closer than she was with any other woman, including her sister. If any woman were to know where my wife had gone, it would be her friend.

"Lia," Julianna's father snapped.

Shaking her head, she raced toward the door. Desperate, I followed them into the hall. They were gone. Just like that. The party continued upstairs, while my life was crumbling down around me. It didn't matter. No one mattered but my wife. As long as she believed me...

"Shite." I raked my hands through my hair. The unease I felt would not fade until I saw Jules. "Oliver, we have to find Julianna. I need to explain."

"James, you don't get it."

I started through the foyer. "Did you check her chambers? Speak with her maid?"

I started up the stairs. She had no reason to trust me, did she? Of course she was angry. But I'd rather deal with an irate Jules, than none at all. I'd become used to having her near. Liked, even, the fact that I always had someone to talk to, to share with.

"Jamie," Oliver said.

A few guests had mingled out into the halls. Some called out in greeting, others smiled. I didn't miss the curiosity in their gazes. Of course none of them would openly question me about my stepmother's recent proclamation. Damnation, I didn't have time for this.

"Jamie," Oliver hissed, following down the hall. "She's not in her chambers!"

I paused. Had she gone to my room? It made sense. She probably went there to wait for me, hoping for an explanation. I turned and headed toward my wing. "Of course."

"Jamie," Oliver snapped, following after me. "You don't understand. She's gone. More than one person saw her leaving in a carriage."

I stumbled to a halt, grabbed Oliver and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She left!"

Stunned, I slowly released my hold and stepped back. No. An icy chill raced down my body. Gone. I should have known. Even though there was a party that continued to thrive, the house felt empty. Gone. The world around me faded, I couldn't seem to catch my breath. "Did anyone get a description of the carriage?"

"Black."

Breathe. Just breathe, I told myself.

I stumbled down the hall toward my bedchamber door. "A black carriage," I snapped. "That helps."

Damnation. She could have gone anywhere with anyone. Who would have helped her? Her parents and Cecilia had been with me. Yet, someone must have seen her go, must have known.

"When did she leave?"

I shoved open my bedchamber door. It was empty. Yet, I swore the scent of her perfume lingered. Nothing overwhelming but the lightest, sweetest scent of Julianna. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to steady my nerves. Fear and anxiety were making me stupid, and I needed to be rational. I needed to think.

"Almost an hour ago," Oliver replied.

While I'd been dealing with my stepmother, she had been leaving me. I paused in the middle of my bedchamber, my skin tingling, itchy, tight. Something was wrong. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on...

A swift glance told me what I needed to know. The painting had disappeared. A cold rush of reality washed over me. My knees almost buckled.

Gone.

She was gone. It hit me fully in that moment. She'd taken her painting.

"There's more, James," Oliver said, although I was barely aware.

Slowly, I moved toward the spot where I'd placed the painting. Empty. She was making a point, telling me all I needed to know. She was done with me. Damn her. I moved determinedly across the room and reached for the bell cord. She'd married me, we were bonded. I wouldn't let her go. I couldn't.

"When I spoke to Julianna's maid," Oliver continued. "To see if she might have knowledge of her whereabouts the woman acted suspiciously upset."

"What is your point?" I snapped, reaching my wardrobe and tearing open the door. Highwaymen were plentiful this time of night. Most guests would have their own guards, but would Julianna? I wasn't leaving anything to chance. I had no doubt before this night was over, I would have my wife back in my house, in my arms.

"My point is that..." Oliver raked his fingers through his hair. "Damn it all, Jamie..."

I couldn't stop the ringing in my ears. The tightness in my chest. Nothing would make sense until she was here again. I shoved my pistol in my jacket pocket and reached for my coat.

"She's with child, Jamie."

I pulled on my coat, wondering if Julianna had properly dressed. Knowing how rashly she acted, she most likely hadn't. An image of her on the moors in the rain those weeks ago flashed to mind. Shite.

"With child, Jamie," Oliver repeated.

I started toward the door. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your wife, you idiot," Oliver snapped.

I froze as I was reaching for the door, my back to Oliver. My heart leapt into my throat, my pulse pounding frantically. "No."

"Your wife is carrying your child."

A baby? Jules was going to have a baby? My baby? I'd wanted children, planned for them, but now I seemed unprepared. Unprepared, yet...so very ready. A soft laugh escaped my throat as I turned to face my brother. "A baby?"

Oliver nodded, watching me warily.

Everything seemed suddenly right. Claudine's presence, my stepmother's arrival, even my father's lingering ghost no longer peppered the air. The world seemed brighter, hopeful.

"I'm worried," Oliver muttered. "And I never worry. In her condition..."

"Don't be." I clapped him on the back. She hadn't fled for good. Certainly not when she was with child. Not even Julianna was that rash. She was merely reacting in a dramatic fashion as women were prone to do. "Don't worry, my brother. I'll find her."

I moved into the hall, Oliver following.

"I promise she'll be home within a couple hours. I'd bet my title on it."

I was a damn earl.

I always got what I wanted.

And I wanted Julianna.

Volume Three

Julianna

When I was a child, I'd dreamt often of my future marriage.

This wasn't surprising...after all, it was what I, as a female, had been born and bred to do. Marry. It was something instilled in young girls from the time they could walk. A perfect match...what more was there to life?

I'd dreamt of a lovely wedding gown made of silks and satins. Of my parents beaming with pride. I'd dreamt of marrying a man of such high means that I'd be fodder for gossip for years...an example of the heights a woman could aspire to, if she behaved properly.

A man who would be every woman's dream.

Yes, I'd wanted the clichéd match.

But as I grew older, I'd also dreamt of a happy, loving marriage to a man with which I could have passionate and lively conversations. A man who would appreciate my artistic style and see me as something more than a womb with which to produce children. A man who would trust and respect me completely. Love me utterly.

For a short while I thought I'd found that man in James, Lord Whitfield. A husband who would please not only me, but my mother and father.

He was certainly a man of means.

He was what my parents wanted for me.

More importantly, what I wanted.

When he was near, my heart raced, my body grew warm. I found myself searching for him, wanting to be near, desiring to hear his thoughts and opinions on everything. And for a short while I thought I could have that loving marriage I had secretly desired, as well as one society deemed appropriate. I should've known we couldn't have it all.

I'd fallen for the man and his promises.

But he'd betrayed me once. Twice.

He would not do it a third time.

I loved James. Honest to god, I hadn't a clue why, after what he'd done. But I could not deny that I cared for the man much more than I should have.

But I would never, ever trust him.

I wouldn't be the genteel daughter for which my family had prayed. I wouldn't be the wife and woman society deemed proper. But I would be me. I would protect my unborn child and make sure the baby had a happy home. A loving home free of pain and betrayal.

Free of the Whitfield curse.

Chapter 1

James

"Jesus, Jamie," Rafe muttered. "You look like shite."

I lifted my glass of whiskey and drank deeply, not bothering to pull my gaze from the burning hearth. The cold wind battered the windows of the townhome, the snow ruthless. All over England, we were experiencing an unusually bitter winter. Fitting. The weather mirrored my mood.

"I mean you've never been known for your charm, but this is taking things a bit far."

Annoyed, I tossed the glass toward the fireplace. It shattered against the marble, the whiskey angering the flames and causing them to roar to life. The bitter weather was preventing me from searching for Julianna.

Rafe dusted the snowflakes from his woolen jacket, his face red from the wind. "Lovely."

Eight months.

She'd been missing for eight months.

"Just tell me if she's safe," I had begged, screaming like a bloody fool in the front garden of her parent's home, uncaring of the servants who peeked from the windows. I'd heard of men acting the fool when desperate for a woman, but never thought I'd be one of those idiots. "I just want to make sure she's safe."

But her father had closed the door in my face, as he had the many, many times before when I'd arrived demanding answers. Damnation, England wasn't that large! Where was she? Unless...she was no longer in England. She could have been anywhere.

Rafe moved to the hearth and held out his hands to warm them.

Damn Julianna. Not a word. I hadn't heard a word about her in eight months. Was she safe? Did she have enough money to survive? I closed my eyes and rested my head back against my chair. By now she'd had the baby...that much I knew. But childbirth was risky and who knew if the babe had survived. Who knew if Julianna had lived through the ordeal.

Hell, if she still lived, I'd throttle her. How dare she leave me without word. How dare she wait until I was captured, falling for her innocence, her purity, her kindness and passion, then disappear. It was as if I'd been walking along the edge of a wall and someone had knocked the stone out from under me.

"Shite," I whispered, rubbing my hands over my face.

Thoughts of Jules kept me up, tossing and turning. I hadn't had decent sleep since she'd left. In fact, I'd taken to drinking just so I could fall into unconsciousness at night. But while I slept I wasn't at peace. Memories haunted my dreams, had me waking in a sweat. The stricken image of Julianna's face from across the ballroom would haunt me forever. I'd lost her in that crowd and that had been my mistake...not going after her immediately.

I thought she'd needed a moment to herself.

Damn it all. For the first time in my life I was at a loss. I hadn't a clue how to go on. I felt completely adrift. An earl is always sure of himself. Another tidbit drilled into my brain thanks to my father. Yet here I was, an earl, and completely uncertain of what to do.

"As lovely as this visit has been, I'm not here to socialize. Come on." Rafe gripped my shoulder and squeezed. "There's something I need to show you."

He'd been attempting to lure me from the house and back into society for months. It hadn't worked then and it wouldn't now. How could I possibly go about my life? "I'm not in the mood, Rafe."

"This has to do with Jules."

My eyes opened, my body stiffening. Despite all the months that had gone by with no success, hope still bloomed within. "What the hell do you mean?"

He looked hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to tell me. "I found something. A clue."

I surged to my feet. A small bit of hope, but it was something. "What?"

"Come, you'll see."

He didn't wait for me but started toward the door. The house was silent, still, as I'd needed it. Wanting to be alone, I'd dismissed all but three of the staff a month ago. I couldn't stand the noise, couldn't stand chatter. I'd needed silence and darkness to wallow within my anger and grief.

"Damnation, Rafe." I stomped after him, not even bothering to grab my coat. "Just tell me now."

But he tore open the front door and headed down the stoop. If this was one of Rafe's tricks to force me back into society, I'd kill him. I crossed the threshold, the cold wind bracing and forceful. I welcomed the harsh bite, for it was better than feeling the aching need that had resided in my chest since Jules had left. Rafe was already inside the carriage. The streets were a canvas of brown sludge and brilliant white snow. Lantern lights glowed warmly behind closed windows. Not a soul could be seen outside. A few flakes drifted down.

For one long moment I stood there, savoring the stillness. "Where are you?" I whispered, looking up at the dark sky.

"Jamie?" Rafe called out.

Reluctantly, I followed after my brother and climbed into his carriage. The moment I settled on the seat, Rafe tapped the roof. The coach took off. We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Although it was dark, I could feel my brother's gaze on me. There was something he wasn't saying.

"Tell me."

He sighed. "It's a painting. I thought it looked like Julianna's."

My anger boiled. My brother had saved my arse more than once, which was the only reason why I hadn't slammed my fist into Rafe's face. "You dragged me out in the middle of a snow storm for a fucking painting?"

"It's something," he snapped back.

I knew I'd been a right arse, and Rafe was only trying to help. We fell silent. The only sound was the clomp of horse hooves as they raced down the cobbled lane. He was right. I had no reason to be angry with him.

I pushed aside the curtains and stared out onto the dark streets. "Well, are you going to give me your monthly report?"

"Do you want me to?"

I slid him a wry glance. "Do I have a choice?"

Every month, it never failed, Rafe appeared to tell me of the vile things my stepmother and Claudine were saying in London. They'd started with rumors, attempting to play the victims. When I'd not responded, they'd taken more drastic measures. They'd showed bruises and scars on Claudine's person and blamed them on me.

London, I knew without Rafe telling me, was starting to accept it as truth. It was human nature to believe the worst, I supposed. Perhaps I could have put an end to the rumors by attending a ball or two. In fact, I was rather positive that was why Rafe told me the gossip...he hoped I'd get angry enough to defend myself. He couldn't seem to accept that I didn't care.

"You need to know what they're up to."

I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. "No. I don't."

Even Rafe, who had switched between being amused by their attempts and angry, now merely seemed resigned. When he continued to sit there silently, I opened my eyes. "What? Do tell. I'm all eagerness."

"Her brother has arrived."

Not surprising. The man was always at her elbow, like a damned mutt protecting its master. Claudine's brother had been as blind to her faults as I had been. But he'd lived with her, grown up with her, he'd known she was mad. He just couldn't accept the fact. He would have done anything to pawn her off on someone, to prove she was sane. A happy family.

"Rumor is that your stepmother is going to the courts with proof of your marriage to Claudine."

"She won't find proof." Claudine was merely the emotional mess behind this supposed marriage. My stepmother was the mastermind. "She has nothing."

"They said you married and they can bring the priest to England who will prove it."

My fingers curled, my annoyance flaring. "Why the hell am I having to justify myself to you?"

The coach turned onto another street. "You don't have to, Jamie. I believed you then, and I do now."

I searched his face but it was too hard to see his features in the dark carriage. Did he believe me or Claudine? The lack of sleep was making me stupid and distrustful. I looked out the window onto the dreary, dark streets. The wind howled fiercely. Only a few lamps remained lit, most of the street thrown into shadows. Was Jules warm where ever she resided? Was she content without me? Happier, most likely.

The carriage slowed, jerking me from my morose thoughts. We'd stopped in front of a row of affluent townhomes. "Where are we?"

"Lord Baston's."

I knew the man, although we weren't well-acquainted. "Why?"

Rafe jumped from the carriage as the door opened. "You'll see."

"Rafe," I growled, reaching my limit. I would definitely make my brother rue this tomorrow when we sparred. Slamming my fist into his face, or whatever willing partner I could find, had been the only way to release my anger, the emotions that had built within. "You're trying my patience."

"It will be worth it." He moved up the front stoop, his boots crunching over the snow. "Besides, at least it's something."

I started after Rafe. The front door opened at his knock, the butler bowing low. There was no surprise upon his dour face. He was expecting us. "Lord Baston is awaiting you in the parlor."

"Thank you, Rollins."

The old man stood to the side. "Shall I take your coats?"

"No," I said. "We won't be staying long."

He nodded and closed the door behind us. "Very good, my lord."

Rafe started through the opulent foyer, his boots tapping over the marble floor. I had little choice but to follow. Gritting my teeth, and praying for patience, I went after my brother. "This better not be a waste of my time."

"Yes, because drinking yourself into oblivion isn't a waste of time."

"Shut up, Rafe," I snapped.

"Whitfield!" Baston called out from the leather chair where he lounged near a roaring hearth. He was the classic satisfied lord...ruddy cheeks, belly round with succulent meals. "Good to see you. Nasty weather, let me get you a drink to warm your insides."

He stood.

"Baston," I muttered, wondering what I was doing here. "No need. We won't be staying long."

"Nonsense. Your brother said you were interested in art?" He moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. "Had no idea."

I slid Rafe a glance.

He shrugged.

"Art is a sign of culture, I always say." Baston moved toward us, handing me, then Rafe a glass. "Why, look at the Romans. The men who started the movement. A thriving culture indeed."

"Until they fell," I muttered, setting my drink on a table. For once I had no desire to get roaring drunk. "Where is the painting?"

Baston gave me a tight smile. He didn't care for my tone. The man was used to respect from his peers. I didn't bloody give a fuck. "Just there."

I turned, facing the wall where he indicated. A medium-sized painting of a cottage near the ocean. The floor seemed to give way. I swore my heart stopped. "Julianna's painting," I whispered.

"Do you know the artist?" Baston asked.

My heart started beating once more, slamming wildly against my ribcage. I spun around. At the same time I pulled the pistol from my waistband and pointed it directly at Baston. I was cynical enough to expect the worst, and the worst sure as hell was rushing through my mind. "Where did you get that painting?"

"Jesus, Jamie!" Rafe snapped, lunging in front of Baston. "You can't pull a pistol on a peer!"

Baston had gone pale, peeking over Rafe's shoulder with wide eyes. Damnation, I knew I appeared as insane as Claudine, but I was desperate. I studied the man's face for guilt, his eyes for deception. Shite, I found none.

"Lower the gun, Jamie," Rafe said calmly.

I forced my arm down. "Where did you get the painting?"

Rafe stepped forward and took the pistol from my fingers. It was only then that Baston seemed to relax. He snatched a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped up the sweat on his brow. He was shaking so badly I feared he might faint.

"The painting, Baston," I snapped, eager to get the information before he collapsed. "Where did you get it?"

"Interesting piece, yes?" His voice came out shaky. "My wife fell in love with the work. A female artist, from what I've heard. Cost me a pretty penny as I got into a bidding war, but whatever makes the wife happy. Seems to speak to the female population for some reason."

Because it represented hope. Freedom. And so many women were repressed.

It was like a bloody magnet. I couldn't pull my attention from the painting. It was as if I was receiving a message from Jules, herself. As if she was near. The very air seemed sucked from the room.

The urge to snatch that painting from the wall and take it with me was overwhelming. I'd pay whatever needed to own that piece. I started to demand the painting, but something held me back.

I raked my hands through my hair. "Shite."

I wouldn't take the painting. I couldn't do that to Jules. Her dream had been to have her work hang in the house of a lofty lord where everyone would see the piece. Baston loved to socialize. Always held parties. The painting would be admired here by many, it would affect the lives of others. I would not take that from her. Besides, the painting deserved to hang here in London instead of being hidden away for only my unworthy attention.

I could appreciate it, I could admire it and even adore it, but I couldn't own the work. For owning something so beautiful, hiding it away, would do a disservice to the world. To Julianna.

"Can you tell me the name of the seller?" I asked, my voice coming out gruff, my throat suddenly tight. "I think I'd like to meet this artist."

"I can, but good luck getting her whereabouts. She's a recluse and little is known about the woman."

I smiled for the first time in months. "I'll uncover the information, doubt me not."

****

Julianna

"Penny? Is it really you?"

My sister stood at the doorway smiling sheepishly in the rain. Her bonnet held back most of the awful weather but not enough to keep the chill at bay. "It is!"

I grabbed her upper arms and pulled her into the house, giving her a close hug. "I've missed you! I can't believe you're here! Is Samuel with you? Mother and Father?"

I pulled back, giving her room to breathe. My surprise quickly gave way to delight.

"Samuel, only." She pulled at her bonnet ribbons, untying the frilly piece. I didn't miss the style. It was something she shouldn't have been able to afford. "He's just putting the horses away. We have our own coach, you know."

I glanced outside, seeing Samuel lead the horses to the small stable at the back of the cottage. Mother had been writing to me. I knew Penny and Samuel had procured a townhouse in London, but I had little other information. The letters, especially with the weather, were few and far between. Until Millie was born, I'd had so little to say anyway.

Hello Mother, how are you? I'm feeling rather melancholy once more. Typical day. And yes, in case you were wondering, I do still dream about James.

James kissing me. James watching me while I paint. James.

After a few months I'd even grown sick of myself. That was when I'd gone to town and hired Mrs. Willow. I'd needed someone in good cheer. Someone to force me into society once more. I didn't exactly want the children of the little village to tip-toe by my cottage on a dare, thinking I was some reclusive witch locked away making potions. Yet, that was what I'd become.

Mrs. Willow had assumed I was a widow and spread the word, even though I'd neither confirmed nor denied. She was also the one who had forced me to eat when I'd had no appetite. Her constant chatter had made me think of something other than James.

I took Penny's cloak, noting the rich fur lining the woolen material. "Samuel procured a good position then?"

Her cheeks were flushed with cold. The blue velvet gown only brought out the color in her eyes. My plain gray gown was pathetic in comparison. She looked as pretty as always. Even more so in love. For a moment I envied her happiness. "Oh very, very good!"

"Come in," I said, closing the door. "Will you be staying?"

"No." She followed me into the parlor. It was a small cottage, claiming only two bed chambers upstairs, while a parlor, kitchen and library were on the first floor. "Mother said your place was quaint so we've gotten rooms at the local inn."

I resisted the desire to roll my eyes. "Quaint? It does well enough for us." I hung up her cloak, then led her toward the parlor. Yes, it was small, quaint, but it was mine. Completely and utterly mine.

"Oh, I meant no offense! We just assumed everyone would be more comfortable if we stayed at the inn."

"Well, know that you're welcome to stay here any time you wish. Will you be in town long?"

"Sadly, no. Only a couple days. Samuel is here to buy a new thoroughbred for the man he now works for."

We settled on the blue settee, placed close to the fire. "You should have told me you were coming. I would have been better prepared."

She studied the room, taking in the comfortable, if worn chair across from the settee. The small cabinet in the corner which held a few trinkets, and finally looked back at me. "I wanted it to be a surprise!"

I knew the cottage wasn't to the standards of a typical earl's wife. But I liked it well enough. It was cozy and warm, and in the summer, it was surrounded by roses. From what Mother had written, I wondered if Penny's townhome outshone my place. And once again, I questioned Samuel's mystery position which, apparently, made him enough money to keep them in relative splendor.

"Let me have Mrs. Willow make us tea."

She perked up. "You have a house maid?"

"Mrs. Willow does it all, but mostly helps with Millie. She's a godsend." I couldn't quite hide my grin. "I'm not yet destitute."

"Mother mentioned you sold a painting."

I flushed, feeling somewhat proud of myself, and slightly embarrassed for it. "Yes. Father did bring it to the attention of some friends. I'm happy to report a few men, or should I say their wives, appreciated the work. In fact, it went to auction. I've been commissioned to paint another."

I had enough coins to last me a year, if I was frugal. I only prayed I could sell more. Yet, how long did I truly believe I could stay hidden away from life? It was a sweet village, quite out of the way. Yet it was still connected to the world. Reality would come crashing in.

"That's wonderful."

Penny fell quiet, sullen. She looked anything but thrilled. Something was wrong, that much was obvious. I knew my sister well enough to realize when something bothered her.

Mrs. Willow suddenly appeared. "Oh, we have company!"

Penny smiled, no doubt grateful for the interruption.

"My sister, Penelope," I explained. "She and her husband are visiting."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Willow clasped her ruddy hands together in front of her large bosom, her round face glowing. A cheerful woman, she always smiled, it was one of the reasons why I'd hired her. "I'll get tea."

"Thank you."

"So then," Penny said, drawing my attention back to her. "You really don't need anyone."

I frowned. What an odd thing to say. I waited until Mrs. Willow was out of hearing distance. "Penny, what are you getting at?"

She looked at the fire, the floor, everywhere but at me. "Jules, have you spoken with Whitfield?"

I stiffened, my good mood gone. The reason for her visit was suddenly quite clear. I wanted to curse her for mentioning his name. "No. And he can't know where I am, Penny. He'll take her from me. You know he will. Being that he's a man, the courts would side with him."

"Certainly he's not that bad."

Damn Penny. It hurt to even think about James. Why was she doing this to me? "Isn't he? He forced me to marry him."

The soft murmuring mew caught my attention. I stood and moved around the settee toward the little basket resting near the chair. Millie stared up at me with wide, innocent eyes. My heart squeezed. The thought of anyone taking my child terrified me. I slid my hands under her warm body and lifted her, holding the baby close to my chest.

"Ohhh," Penny cooed. "There she is!"

Just like that my anger fled. Penny stood, reaching for the child. Reluctantly, I handed her to my sister. I'd had Millie over a month ago, yet I still hated parting with her, even for a moment.

Penny held her close, smiling greedily down at the baby. "I do so hope to have one of my own soon."

I smiled. "You will."

With a sigh, Penny met my gaze. "Jules, you can't live here alone."

My smile fell. "I won't be alone. I've talked Cecilia into moving here."

Penny settled upon the settee. "You need a husband."

I stiffened, more than annoyed. Not only did I not wish to discuss James, but I felt quite offended by the fact that my sister seemed to think me a mere child who couldn't survive on her own. "I've done quite well for eight months without one, Penny."

"No, don't get me wrong." Millie started to fuss and she rocked her gently. "You, more than anyone, can thrive alone. Yet...yet..."

"What, Penny?" I settled next to her and took the babe. It was so obvious she wanted to say more, she might as well get it all out now. "What aren't you telling me?"

She clutched her gloved hands tightly together. "Promise you won't get angry."

I froze with Millie pressed to my chest. "What have you done?"

"Nothing! No." Attempting comfort, she rested her hand on my knee. "It's just that...well, the man Samuel works for is James! And he's not nearly as horrible as I first assumed."

James had given Samuel a position? Why? To get information about me, no doubt. I wasn't quite sure how to respond. Just speaking about my husband made me ill at ease. I stood and walked to the hearth, my back to Penny. Yes, I couldn't deny that I missed him. And I hated myself for it. Gently, I rubbed Millie's back. Was it wrong to keep Millie from James?

When I remembered the evil, vile look upon his stepmother's face, my instinct to protect Millie had kicked in. I couldn't have my child there...not with that woman, not in that cursed household.

"Is that woman still in London, claiming he married her?"

Penny didn't respond, giving me my answer.

Yet, hearing the man's name even eight months later left me aching with a yearning that I couldn't deny. It had taken months for me to sleep at night. Months before I desired food once more. Millie had certainly helped. I'd had no choice but to reenter the world when my child had been born.

"I know you feel as if you had no choice—"

"No. That's not it." I faced my sister. "I knew quite well I had a choice. I could have continued to ignore the issues I'd had with James since even before our marriage, or I could put an end to it all."

Penny shook her head, tears glimmering in her large blue eyes. "Please don't be angry. But I fear, dear sister, that you've made the wrong choice."

"That's rich, coming from you," I snapped annoyed. I'd lost my temper and hated myself for it. But she'd invaded my sanctuary and brought with fear and guilt I'd been trying so desperately to ignore. I would not be ashamed of taking Millie from James. I refused.

"How do you know?" she asked. "How do you know that this is the right choice? Your life will be so much more difficult."

"That's how I know." I smiled tightly. "Because the right choice is rarely ever easy. The wrong choice is easy. But the right choice, well, it takes work. That's why it's so wonderful, so special, so worth the pain. It would have been so much easier for you to marry Whitfield instead of Samuel. But would it have been the correct choice? Would it have made you happy?"

"No." Her shoulders slumped. "I hate when you're right."

I grinned.

"Making the right choice is bloody exhausting," she muttered.

"Perhaps at first." I settled next to her again and handed the baby over. "But when you choose to be true to yourself, and stop living for others, I think perhaps, making the right choice becomes easier with each decision."

She pressed her lips to Millie's cheek. "Perhaps you're right."

I laughed, for she didn't seem happy about it. "Not everyone has to have the perfect family and home." I gazed down at my daughter. "We'll make do. She will be loved and she will be safe."

"He will find you eventually, you know."

It wasn't a threat, but it felt like one. "I know. But it better not be because of you."

"It won't." She sighed. "He's been to Mother and Father's about every week looking for you. Even still, eight months later. It's so romantic."

"Yes, incredibly romantic finding out your husband is married to another and they have a son."

She rolled her eyes. "Mother told me he explained it all. He told her the wedding to that Claudine woman wasn't legitimate. Wasn't real. He also said the boy is too young to be his."

"Yes, but do we know for sure?" I stood and paced to the window. Samuel was headed toward the door. I lifted my hand and waved. He smiled back. "Besides, he humiliated me, Penny."

And I realized in that moment that perhaps a small part of me hadn't run from James out of fear, but to punish him. Bemused, I pushed that thought aside.

"I know he humiliated you. It is why Father says he will never forgive him."

For the first time in a long while I felt a rush of gratitude and love toward the very man who had raised me. At least someone remained loyal. "How is he?"

She gave me a forced smile. "Well enough."

I knew she lied. Father's health was fading. "Penny..."

Samuel stepped into the cottage and peeked into the parlor. It must have been odd for him to suddenly be associating with high society. "My lady."

"It's so good to see you." I swept forward to take his coat, truly happy he was here. Perhaps with her husband in attendance, Penny wouldn't mention James.

He bowed.

"Oh Samuel, nothing so formal as that!" Taking his coat, I shook off the rain. "We are brother and sister now, after all."

He smiled, that charming smile. It was easy to see why Penny had fallen for him. Not only was he handsome, but he was kind and quiet in a way that she needed. Whitfield would have destroyed her genteel soul, while I seemed to thrive with drama.

How often had Mother cursed my passionate nature? She'd been right...it had almost ruined me. No longer would I be ruled by my emotions. I was starting over and I would give my child a calm and happy, and most importantly, a peaceful home.

"Come, sit and tell me about your travels," I urged, desperate to think of something other than James.

"I'd rather talk about how much James misses you," Penny interrupted. "Tell her, Samuel."

"Penny, please." I flushed, having no wish to discuss something so personal in front of her husband. Yes, he was kind-hearted, but I barely knew the man.

"If you don't mind me saying, Miss Jules, I know a man in love and heartbroken when I see one." He took off his cap. "And your husband...he's desperate for you."

The words shook me to my core. Everything I'd been trying to forget, the memories and emotions I'd been attempting to vanquish, were slowly edging their way forward. I'd worked so hard to move on, I would not return to that dark and depressing place.

"No more," I said, hanging his coat on the hook in the foyer, eager to escape their gazes. My head was starting to ache with their constant chatter. "I am so grateful to see you both, but I will hear no more about James. Now, how about tea?"

I didn't miss the look they shared. They weren't going to give up. I sighed, exhausted. It was going to be a very, very long two days.

Chapter 2

James

She lived a mere seven hour jaunt from her parents in a small seaside town that I'd somehow overlooked. I felt dazed at the realization. I'd searched so many villages near the sea, but this one had escaped my notice. I cursed myself for being so careless. Nestled near a cove, I hadn't even known the village existed, and my lack of attention would forever haunt me.

I entered the only pub and paused just inside the door, searching the occupants for the familiar face. Weathered fishermen, for the most part. But for one delicate creature in the far corner. I found her easily, her features barely visible under the rim of her plain, black bonnet. Her pale face, and shifting gaze told me she was nervous, unsure.

I took the time to brush the snowflakes from my collar, giving her a moment to notice me, and giving myself a moment to steel my nerves. Finally, I headed her way. "Miss Watkins."

She met my gaze warily. "Lord Whitfield."

This woman was the link between the man who had sold Julianna's painting, and finding my wife. I'd never felt so very close to uncovering her whereabouts. I knew, deep down, she was near. The air seemed to suddenly spark with life.

Cecilia stared into her cup of hot ale. "I shouldn't have agreed to this. Julianna will kill me."

I settled in the chair across from her. It should have been enough to know I was so close to finding Jules but it wasn't. I needed to see her, touch her, kiss her. "Yet, you did agree to meet with me...for some reason."

She released a harsh laugh. "I didn't really have a choice. Now that you have my name, thanks to that no-good accountant who sold her painting, you would have pestered me until I told you the truth."

I smiled. She was right. "But that's not the only reason why you agreed to meet with me. Is it?"

She sighed, sliding her finger along the rim of her cup. We sat there for a while as she gathered her courage. I waited, I would not rush her now that I was so bloody close. I could practically feel Julianna nearby. Had to resist the urge to leave the pub and knock on every damn door in the vicinity until I found her.

"I'm telling you where she is because...because...I believe you."

I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but I knew better than to interrupt a woman when she was spilling her soul. I merely watched her, waiting. Hell, I stood on a precipice of sorts...teetering upon the edge of something that might influence my life forever, for better or for worse.

She took a deep drink, then swiped the back of her hand across her mouth in an unladylike manner that amused me. "And...because she loves you."

My amusement fled. The entire world seemed to stop. Everything went silent. Even my own body went still. "She told you this?"

Somehow, in some way my voice came out steady. It took everything in my power not to grip the woman's shoulders and shake the answer from her lips. She hesitated, driving me mad.

"No."

My heart sank.

"But I know Jules. I've known her for years. She's in love with you."

I could somehow breathe again. I leaned back in my chair and gazed out the windows. A warm glow spread across my chest. My throat grew thick. She loved me. At least according to Cecilia.

"Why do you think she was so hurt?" she demanded, showing that spark of loyalty. "So angry? Because she cared so much. You made her care, then pulled the rug out from under her...publicly humiliated!"

"I know," I said softly, gently. "Not telling her about Claudine was a mistake. Not better preparing her for my stepmother was my own fault. But I promise you I'm not married to that woman."

She sighed. "I believe you."

"Thank you."

She looked miserable. She might believe me, but she didn't want to. "I was supposed to live with her and..."

The baby.

She'd almost told me about the pregnancy. So, Jules had given birth. I realized in that moment that I'd thought deep down it might have been a mistake on the maid's part. I had to resist the urge to steady myself. The entire world felt off balance. A child. I had a baby. A boy? Girl? How old? My hands curled as I resisted the urge to demand answers. I'd spent my life demanding, but this Cecilia would not appreciate my commanding nature. I would not scare her off now when she was starting to trust me.

"She deserves a family, a life." She frowned, glaring at me again. "And I'm trusting you to give that to her. I'm trusting you will make this all better. Trusting you to protect her heart."

A bar wench stopped by and I ordered stew for the both of us. I was suddenly famished when I hadn't had an appetite in months.

Julianna is close.

The words whispered temptingly through my mind over and over. A few fishermen laughed the table over, the gruff sound startling. I'd forgotten we weren't alone. Outside the rain began to fall, tapping against the windows. The impulse to find Julianna raced through me, but I would not rush Cecilia.

The bar wench brought me a mug of ale. "You believe the marriage to Claudine wasn't real?"

"I do," Cecilia said. "As does her mother, who gave me her blessing to tell you."

I felt vindicated somehow. At the same time I couldn't deny the frustration that surged through me. Her parents had known all along where Jules lived. Her mother had believed me, yet stood passively by while I'd begged like a pathetic sod upon their front garden. "Her father?"

"Still despises you." She gave me a brief grin. "I won't ask you to explain what happened in France those years ago. Jules deserves to know the truth before me. Besides, she'll tell me eventually anyway."

I liked this woman's spirit. It was obvious why she and Jules were such good friends. They were identical in their passion. "I'm sure she will."

The bar wench set our bowls of stew upon the table and left.

"I believe you care very much about her." Cecilia took a bite of her stew and chewed thoughtfully. "But I want you to court her properly, mind you."

A woman scurried by outside and for a brief moment my desperate mind thought she might be my wife. But as she moved by the next window I realized she was too tall. I gripped the handle of my ale a little too tightly. Impatient to see Julianna, it was all I could do not to demand to know where she lived. "Flowers? Chocolates?"

"Exactly."

I couldn't take my gaze from those windows. A small village, I knew that Jules could stroll by at any moment. What would I do if I saw her?

"I feel as if I'll get in the way now," Cecilia continued, dragging her spoon through her soup, a frown marring her pretty face. "And so...I don't plan on heading to her cottage today."

The woman was a saint. She was giving me and Julianna time alone. At the same moment I realized she had nowhere to go. Almost a year earlier Jules had mentioned her friend was an orphan who lived with distant relatives that were less than kind. "You'll go to our estate..."

She shook her head, setting her spoon down. "No. I won't live off someone else. I've worked my entire life and I won't take advantage now."

I bit back my sigh. Why were women so bloody difficult? I studied her, trying to read her thoughts. What did she want? I couldn't offend her and chance that she wouldn't tell me Julianna's location, but like most females she was bloody hard to understand. "Would you like a position then?"

She looked hesitant, unsure. "It would be strange, wouldn't it? Working for a friend?"

Suddenly, I knew exactly what I would do. Rafe would curse me, but he'd agree if I insisted. "Have you ever thought about being a governess?"

"A governess?" She perked slightly. "I do enjoy studying."

I resisted the urge to grin. Everything was falling so easily into place. "You're going to take my carriage while I stay here. I know of the perfect position for you."

She nodded slowly, still unsure. I didn't blame her. I was asking the woman to trust me with her safety and future, a man she barely knew. "Promise me you won't hurt her."

"I swear to you."

She hesitated still, her gaze searching. "Do you love her?"

The question took my breath away. The entire world seemed to pause. Did I? Did I even know how to love someone? Love was unselfish. Love was giving. I'd never been unselfish or giving in my entire life. I wanted her. I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anyone. There was nothing unselfish about that.

"Never mind," she said with a knowing smile. "Of course you do."

I wished I had her confidence. "Do I?"

"No man would have gone through what you have to get back a wife he didn't love."

I couldn't imagine life without Julianna. In fact, I had no life without her. She'd brought me back from the edge of darkness. Before long I'd be spouting poetry, writing odes to the woman. "Perhaps I want her because she's my wife."

"Then you would have demanded I give up her location the moment you stepped into this pub. And the moment I admitted as much, you would have stormed out of here. You most certainly wouldn't have sat here patiently indulging me while seeing to my welfare."

I shifted, feeling uneasy. Hell, I hadn't been bred to be thought of as a kind, caring man. My father had taught me to be ruthless, demanding.

She hesitated. "You're a good man, Lord Whitfield. I hope someday you'll realize that."

****

Julianna

"Stonebrooke Cottage has been let," Mrs. Willow proclaimed as she shuffled into the parlor, a basket of clothes in hand.

I lifted Millie from her cradle and pressed my lips to her chubby cheek. Never in my life had I seen a child so perfect. She cooed. Forget orchestras and opera singers, they were nothing compared to the sound of her mewing.

Mrs. Willow had said I'd had an easy birthing. I couldn't imagine what a difficult birthing would be like. But along with my so called easy birthing, I'd had an easy child. She was quiet and beautiful, and looked so much more knowledgeable than her young life deemed. It was as if she had secrets inside that sweet head that she couldn't wait to share with me.

"Did you hear?" Mrs. Willow asked. "Someone will finally reside in the cottage. Let's hope the man clears the gardens, and fixes the roof. Near worried it would all fall down into crumbled ruins during the last storm."

"That's nice," I murmured, breathing deeply Millie's powdery scent.

"Might as well become acquainted with him, being that you're the only two on the lane."

I cradled the babe to my chest. Her warm body was like a little bundle of heaven placed on earth just for me. When I'd left James I'd thought I'd never be happy again. Painting held no love for me any longer. Even food contained no taste. Then one day I'd felt Millie move within my belly and the shock of it all had torn me from my selfish melancholy. I'd gotten out of bed and made breakfast for myself, intent on feeding my unborn daughter.

"Handsome man, they say."

I didn't miss the sly comment, and had to force myself not to roll my eyes in exasperation. No matter how often I claimed that I had no need for a husband, the woman wouldn't relent. She was worse than Penny. Besides, I couldn't marry...ever. Not if our nuptials were indeed true. It would be polygamy. And so I would pretend to mourn the death of my husband...until he found me. A shiver of unease whispered through my body at just the thought of James arriving.

He'd be angry. He would force me to return, I had no doubt. And then he would vow to punish me for eternity. He was no forgiving man.

I'd been so thrilled when Penny had visited last week. I was sad to see her go. She'd doted on Millie and I'd adored hearing about our parents and London. But Penny hadn't left without bringing up James once more. Mother had mentioned in a letter five months after I'd left that James had visited every week, demanding, begging, for answers. She'd told me that according to James he wasn't married to Claudine. But how could I trust him? How could I trust my own feelings when they'd led me astray so often in the past year? I'd explained to Mother I would refuse to read her letters if she mentioned his name again. And so she didn't.

I knew it was silly to think I could run away. To believe that I could live here in peace forever. I could for a while, couldn't I?

But could I be happy here?

Humming softly to Millie, I moved toward the windows and gazed out onto the front garden. Smoke swirled up from the chimney of the cottage next door. I wondered briefly what sort of man the new neighbor would be, but didn't care enough to dwell long on the subject.

The flowers had died months ago and a soft blanket of snow covered the ground. The sea beyond the cliffs was tumultuous. It was a harsh and cold winter, uncommon in this area, according to the locals. Apparently one of the worst winters in decades. I didn't mind being trapped in our town, for it would keep travelers away. I could be safe for a few more months. Maybe more.

No passion. No passion for the rest of my life. No more feeling a man's arms around me. The heat of his body pressed intimately to mine. It wasn't just the idea of intimacy that I would miss. No, it was the thought of having no one to be close to in that way, to share a life, to share hopes, dreams. I smiled down at Millie. But I wouldn't be alone. Cecilia would be here and soon enough Millie would be crawling, walking, chattering.

"Unless, the constable is to your liking?"

I sighed. "No. Nothing of the sort."

The constable had been visiting for a few months now. He hadn't even seemed to mind when I had been swollen with child. He was a kind man, a handsome man. But he wasn't for me. Never was and never would be. I hated that he wasted his time, but found I could not dissuade him from visiting. I certainly couldn't admit the truth...that I wasn't a widow, although at times I wanted to tell him.

I pushed aside thoughts of men and focused on the one relationship I could count on...Cecilia. After Penny had left I'd had little time to be depressed, for I'd been preparing the guest room for Cecilia who would be here any day. How I looked forward to her arrival. It wasn't exactly the sort of life either of us had imagined growing up, yet there could certainly be worse things than living with your best of friends.

"Mrs. Willow, before you go, would you mind watching Millie while I put the water on for tea?"

She opened her arms, her smile warm and comforting. "I'd be happy to."

Reluctantly, I handed over the baby and made my way into the kitchen. Mrs. Willow was a kindly older woman whose own children had married and moved away long ago. She was glad for the work and company, and I was thankful for the help.

I liked my tiny home. Mother worried, but I appreciated the privacy, the fact that I could make my own decisions. I set the sugar and cream upon a tray and carried it down the hall while the water boiled on the stove.

"Mrs. Willow," I called out entering the parlor with the tray in hand. "Can I talk you into staying for a cup..."

A dark shadow of a man stood near the hearth, his back to me. In one fell swoop I took in his broad shoulders, dark hair, tall form. Elegant, yet imposing, he reeked of class and sophistication. My entire body froze. I couldn't seem to breathe. The world tilted off balance. Everything faded. I no longer felt part of my body.

Slowly, he turned, Millie held awkwardly in his arms. "Hello, Jules."

It felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. A gasp escaped my lips. The familiar voice sent a chill down my spine...fear and desire mixed together. A variety of emotions that left me confused and terrified.

No. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. Vaguely, I heard the clatter of the sugar and cream bowls upon the tray as my hands trembled.

James.

I'd known this day would come. I'd hoped it would arrive later, rather than sooner. Yet, here it was, and I was so bloody unprepared. I wouldn't have been more surprised if he had walked up to me, tipped his hat in greeting, then slapped me across the face. It was as if I stood there about to witness my own hanging.

"Mrs. Willow..." I could barely get the words out. My lips and tongue would not work properly. "She..."

"She left," he interrupted, his gaze boring into me. "When I explained we were well acquainted, related even, she thought it would be quite proper enough to leave the babe in my care."

I had no doubt James had talked her into leaving. He'd probably demanded she go. Millie. Dear God, he was holding Millie.

"A maid's," I somehow managed to get out. "The baby is a maid's."

He was silent for a moment. Had he believed me? It had been so bloody long since I'd seen him. Yet, as he stood there, his gaze drilling into mine, it felt as if no time had passed at all. He looked the same. Perhaps a little more scruff covered his cheeks, and there were dark shadows under his eyes...but he was still that tall and imposing Earl of Whitfield.

"A maid's baby? I see." His voice was steady, giving no indication of emotion. He seemed so large in the small cottage, and Millie was so small in his arms. So small. So innocent. So delicate. Had he ever even held a child? The desire to lunge forward and grab her overwhelmed me.

Slowly, I lowered the tray to the table. I could not rush to his side, I could not demand he hand her over...it would look suspicious. "Here," I tried to say casually, but I didn't miss the strain to my tone. "Give the child here."

He quirked a brow. I'd expected to see his gaze hard and accusing. It was...unreadable. Still, I blushed under his attention.

"I'm sure you have no wish to hold a baby."

"I don't know." He looked down on her. Was it my imagination, or did his gaze soften? "There's something about her innocence, her purity that tugs at me."

Unable to hold back any longer, I scurried forward the few steps and closed in the distance that separated us. So close his musky cologne swirled around me. Tempting. Taunting. I had to resist the urge to close my eyes and breathe deeply. My body instantly reacted, recognizing his nearness even though it had been almost a year since we'd touched.

It was over. All over. My perfectly constructed, happy, peaceful life done.

With trembling hands I reached for the baby. Our fingers brushed. Startled, I almost jumped. Up until that moment I realized I'd looked at him like a ghost, a figment of my imagination. But touching him meant he was real, and he was here. Desperate, I cradled Millie close, the baby between us. If he thought my attachment to the child odd, he didn't say so. Even though she was back in my arms, I didn't feel safe. Would I ever? Perhaps that was another reason why I'd left him...I was so tired of the uncertainty.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, angry that he was destroying my carefully constructed life.

He didn't move away, but continued to stand so very close. "You're my wife, Jules. Did you honestly think I'd let you go?"

A shiver raced down my spine. I couldn't seem to draw breath. His voice was mild. Almost pleasant. I didn't believe his ease in the least. Yes, I'd known this moment would arrive. I'd even imagined it over and over. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me. It was as if I'd lived in a painting of the perfect town, and James had ripped it apart, shredding the canvas and forcing me into reality once more.

I stepped back, thanking God for my stoic English breeding. I could not react now, of all times. "Am I your wife?"

"You are."

Dare I believe him? How had he found me? I turned my back to him, and cradling Millie close, I moved toward the windows. Hell, I couldn't deny that having him here made my body ache. Ache for his touch, his kiss, his mere presence. Not that I would ever admit as much. "I won't return, I won't."

I braced myself for his response.

"I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, Julianna. You are free to make your own decisions and I will abide by your wishes."

Suspicious, I turned to face him. It certainly hadn't been what I'd expected. He was playing a game like a cat with a mouse. "Forgive me if I don't believe you'll let me go."

He smiled, but it was a hard, determined sort of smile that made me nervous. I'd seen that same smile the day we'd married. "I didn't say I would let you go. You can stay here. But as long as you stay, I will stay as well. I've even taken the cottage next door."

Dear God, he was my new neighbor. I shook my head, confused. "I don't understand."

"I'm going to court you, Jules. You're welcome to live here, and I'll live next door. But I will win you back."

Stupefied, I stood there staring at him. He couldn't mean it. Jamie, give up his estate, his pride? Who was the man standing before me? Even those months ago when he'd started to act like he cared, there had still been a wall between us. I knew then that his title and his family name would always come before me. But this man...this man I didn't know.

He bowed low. "Good night, Jules, I will see you soon."

With that said, he strolled into the foyer, whistling a jaunty tune, and left the cottage.

Chapter 3

James

As much as I was loathe to admit it...I did have a fault.

I was an impatient man.

Perhaps it was born of privilege and having certain expectations early on, but I'd rarely had to wait for anything in my life.

I wanted Jules, and I wanted her now.

I could have thrown her over my shoulder and forced her into a carriage. Demanded she return to my estate as was my right as her husband. But I knew forcing her would ruin any chance we might have of fixing our troubled marriage. So I would attempt to wait patiently for her to fall for me all over again. And I knew with certainty she would.

But I could nudge her along. I would do anything to win Julianna back, short of murder, and even that might depend upon the person being killed. Unfortunately I'd never courted a woman and found myself, for the first time in my life, completely unsure. My father might have been an arse, but he was brilliant at investing, a skill handed down to me. I was an earl with pleasing looks, plenty of money, a rarity in this world. I'd never had to fight for female attention.

Flowers. Chocolates. Jewelry. I didn't know what women liked and I hadn't had much time to court Jules before Claudine had arrived. But I knew my wife was not like other women. She'd seemed to like the paints I'd given her those months ago, but I highly doubted they had art supplies in this small village. I'd have to order them from London and that could take days.

And so I was left wondering how to capture her attention. How to prove that I cared. And I cared. So damn much. The moment I'd stepped into her cottage, held Millie in my arms, everything had felt right. My shattered world became whole again. Life mattered once more.

A bitter wind tugged at my coat, forcing me from my thoughts. I realized with some surprise that it had started to snow as I moved up the lane toward her cottage. Her little home looked like a painting of country perfection. Everything in this new world seemed brighter. Even the simple food I ate here tasted better. There was an eagerness when I awoke. I was actually ready to face the day, instead of hiding away in the darkness as I'd been doing in London.

When I saw the smoke drifting from the cottage chimney my relief was immediate. Hell, I'd half expected Jules to pack up and leave in the middle of the night, escaping me once more. Eagerly, I headed up the small path toward the front door. I was like a lad with his first woman.

Part of me was annoyed by my lack of control when she was near. But most of me was bemused. As I reached the stoop I noticed two figures silhouetted behind the curtains in the parlor. Jules wasn't alone. I knocked. I knew the housekeeper would be there as I'd uncovered the woman's schedule in town. It took only a few questions; people were so eager to talk. But the other shadow appeared to be male.

The door opened. The housekeeper's surprised look quickly gave way to glee. "Why, Mr. Corbin."

At least someone was happy to see me. She'd already learned my name. Another perk of a small town. I smiled and bowed my head. "Mrs. Willow."

"Come in, come in! I'm sure Mrs. Jules will be happy to have more visitors."

More? I tried not to let my irritation show. I stepped inside and she took my coat. The small cottage made of stone was warm and welcoming. But then Julianna could have lived in a cave and made it feel like a home. Her very scent peppered the air, and I had to resist the urge to breathe deeply. I understood why she wished to hide here in this village. Away from the worries of societal expectations, away from the gossip of the ton. Away from me.

"Please, do sit," Mrs. Willow said. "Mrs. Jules is getting tea."

I stepped into the parlor and my good mood fell. A young man sat upon the settee, my child in his arms. Jealousy flared through my body in a heated wave that left me burning. A feeling I'd never experienced before, a feeling that had me curling my fingers and seeing red.

A man in my wife's parlor. A man holding my child as if she belonged to him.

He glanced up and gave me a tight smile in greeting. I supposed with his tousled blond hair, a woman might have found him attractive. But he was so serious looking, so bloody calm and perfect that the Jules I knew should have grown bored in a day.

"Constable Thomas, this is Mr. Corbin."

A bloody constable?

"Nice to make your acquaintance." The constable stood, watching me warily. He was here for Jules, that much was obvious. A man didn't come calling on a mother because he liked children. Hell and damnation. I wanted to pick him up by his collar and toss him from the cottage.

"Constable," I muttered.

"Mr. Corbin, was it?" Millie looked quite content in his arms, her eyes closed as she slept peacefully, as if she'd napped many times before while he held her. He'd been here to comfort my child, to comfort my wife, while I'd been scouring England, searching for them. Constable or not, I wanted to kill the man.

"I'll just get Mrs. Jules," Mrs. Willow said, disappearing down the hall but I was barely aware when she left. I only had interest in the man who was trying to take my place and my family.

The room fell silent. Even the baby didn't make a sound.

"You live down the lane?"

There was nothing casual about his question. "I do."

Let him stew upon that realization. Yes, my friend, I was only a few steps away. I could see Julianna's silhouette when she changed upstairs. In fact, it had kept me up and aching for the last two nights.

"And you know Julianna how?"

"We're related," I said quite pleasantly.

More silence.

"I think you need to understand something," the constable stated. "Julianna and I...we...are friendly. More than friendly. I plan to court her."

He said this all as if he had every right. As if he'd already laid claim to her. Arrogant bastard. "Set the baby in the cradle."

His brows drew together. "Pardon?"

I flexed my hands, then curled them. "Place the baby in the cradle."

He stiffened. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to hurt her when I slam my fist into your face."

He flushed red. "You do understand that I'm a constable?"

I took a threatening step toward him. "You do understand that I don't bloody care?"

"Here we are," Mrs. Willow said. I didn't look at her, but continued to glare at the constable. "Mrs. Julianna is..." She hesitated, as if sensing the tension and unsure how to continue. "Delighted you're here to visit, Mr. Corbin."

The older woman didn't lie well. Julianna was most likely cursing my very existence. After all, I was interrupting her little liaison with her constable.

"Mr. Thomas, wasn't I just showing you out?" Mrs. Willow took Millie from his arms. "I know you're a busy man. I believe you said you needed to run by Mrs. Miller's home."

"I think I'll stay, if you don't mind," the constable muttered, giving me a dark look.

His threatening glare would have been amusing if I hadn't been so annoyed. Mrs. Willow shoved Millie into my arms and latched onto the constable. "Oh, no need. No need at all." Before the constable could argue, the housekeeper had led him toward the door. I wasn't sure if she was on my side, or trying to prevent a war. Either way I was grateful.

I grinned as the man was tugged passed me. Yes, I was gloating. It wasn't my finest moment. Millie gurgled, drawing my attention to her. She was such a delicate little thing that I was terrified I'd drop her. I was barely aware of their murmured voices in the hall as the constable argued with the housekeeper, attempting to extend his visit. How strange that I'd wanted a boy. I couldn't imagine a male. I could only imagine the beautiful little girl in my arms.

Dark hair and blue eyes, she had a tiny button nose and a little bow mouth, a face of beauty and innocence. Eyes full of curiosity that reminded me of Julianna. She was perfect. Utterly perfect. Her lashes lifted and she stared up at me as if she knew exactly why I was here, who I was. My throat felt suddenly tight, my heart squeezed. I barely knew the lass, but in that moment I would have done anything to protect her.

"Oh, Julianna, there you are!" Mrs. Willow called out. "My dear, the constable had to leave, but Mr. Corbin will keep you company."

I took in a deep breath, preparing myself. Even now as I stood in her parlor it seemed a dream. I could hardly believe I'd finally found her. Slowly, I lifted my gaze and our eyes met. It felt as if someone had punched me in the chest. As if the air was sucked from the room.

Jules stood in the hall, her face flushed with irritation. She wore a plain white gown with tiny blue flowers. She kept her hair simple, braided down her back, but she'd never looked lovelier. I could stand there drinking her in all day and it still wouldn't be enough.

"What are you doing here?"

"Visiting. Merely visiting."

Her gaze dropped to the baby in my arms. Her anger turned to panic, a flash of worry that crossed her blue eyes. She feared I'd take the babe from her. I could have. Legally I could have taken Millie, forced Jules to return to the estate and no one would have thought the worst of me. But I couldn't do that to her. Never.

I crossed the room slowly, pausing only when I reached my wife. I stared at her pale, anxious face. Her delicate hands fisted as she attempted to remain calm. How badly she wanted to snatch Millie from my hands. "She seems rather taken with me."

"She's a baby, she'd be taken with a monkey if it held her correctly." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Millie. I stood still as she took the babe. The look of anxiety upon her face changed to one of relief. "Why are you here, James?"

I didn't miss the way Mrs. Willow stared with wide eyes, as if watching a play on Drury Lane. She wondered why Jules sounded so harsh, if perhaps I wasn't welcome. Wondered if she'd taken the wrong side in my battle with the constable. I forced myself to smile, pretended as if everything was well. I'd pretended so often in my life, it was rather easy. I'd pretended not to care about Julianna for months, when I cared so very much.

"Julianna, would you care to go on a walk with me."

She narrowed her eyes into a glare. "It's snowing."

"Barely."

She took a step back, putting distance between us. "I can't leave the baby."

I didn't mention how odd her devotion to her mystery maid's baby appeared. I would not taunt a bear when her cub was involved.

"Of course you can, me dear," Mrs. Willow said. "I'll stay here with Millie."

Millie cooed, squirming in her blanket cocoon as if in response. My heart softened every time I looked at the child. At the same time, I was at a complete loss as to what to do with her. She was at least a month, if not older, and I didn't know her. Were her limbs long? Did she have any birthmarks? Did she sleep well at night? It seemed the sort of thing a father should know. Damn it all, she was mine to protect. To care for. But I hadn't been there, and I wasn't sure if I should have been angrier with Jules or myself.

"Give me the darling child." Mrs. Willow snatched Millie from Julianna's hands. "It's settled, you might as well get your cloak."

Jules hesitated, sent me another glare, then turned and left. She knew she could avoid me no longer. We had to talk, and face the reality of what had happened, even if neither of us wanted to.

Mrs. Willow gave me a conspiratorial grin. "You're taken with our Millie here."

Not just Millie. She knew I was attracted to Julianna, and she was doing all she could to help me along. If I had been Catholic, I'd would have been nominating the woman for sainthood. "She's beautiful."

"Everyone takes to her." She cuddled the child close to her bosom. "Don't they, my sweet?"

I frowned. I didn't like the idea of anyone taking with either my daughter, or my wife. Damn it all, they were mine. I'd wasted enough time. Now that I was here, I was finding the idea of sharing rather annoying.

Jules stepped in the doorway, a gray woolen cloak around her shoulders, her face tight with unease. She didn't want to walk with me, but she knew it was time to accept the inevitable. She'd been caught. I wasn't going anywhere.

While she pulled on red mittens, I brushed passed her and headed toward the front door, eager to get this first discussion over with. "Shall we?"

"Of course," she muttered.

"Do take your time!" Mrs. Willow called out cheerfully.

I grinned at her in return. Jules slid me another glare. It felt rather good having someone on my side. Together, we stepped into the twilight. I closed the door, following her down the stoop. Flurries swirled around us, the evening quiet, calm. We could have been the only two people in the world, it felt so still.

"This way," I said.

I offered her my arm. She ignored it. Instead, she started up the trail on her own. She never needed me for anything. "How dare you bully your way into my home."

Her home? By marriage, it was mine. But I didn't think she'd appreciate that input. I sighed. Obviously this wasn't going to be easy. "You know we must speak, Jules."

We followed the trail toward an outcropping of trees and shelter, a tense silence between us. The only sound was the crunch of our boots over a thin layer of icy snow and the roar of waves in the distance. My hands curled as I resisted the urge to shake some sense into her pretty head. She was being a bloody stubborn wench.

"Why?" I asked, my voice coming out hoarse. I hadn't meant to ask so soon, but found the word slipping over my lips.

"How did you find me?" she asked, ignoring my question.

Had she been punishing me? Had she truly not trusted me? Why had she left without a word? "I saw your painting."

I didn't tell her about Cecilia. She didn't need to know. Cecilia had done me an enormous favor and I would forever be in her debt. Besides, it might ruin their friendship, and I wouldn't do that to either of them.

"I see. I suppose you demanded it be returned?"

I hesitated. She knew me well. It had been my first instinct. "No. You said you wanted it hanging in the home of some lofty lord."

She slid me a glance. "You remembered."

I clasped my fingers behind my back to keep from touching her. From taking her hand in mine. From tucking that loose curl behind her ear. From drawing my fingers down the gentle slope of her jaw. "I remember everything you've said."

It was a bold and telling statement but she responded with little reaction. We lapsed into silence once more. A hare darted through the snow, startled from the underbrush by our approach. I'd never been so unsure in my entire life. I worried the slightest misstep, a wrong word, and I would destroy any chance we might have.

"You've supported yourself quite well."

I didn't miss the stubborn tilt of her chin. "I have."

I turned my head away to hide my smile, even as I wanted to throttle her. This was my wife, my stubborn, lovely wife who needed no one. She would get on quite nicely without me. I, on the other hand, had practically fallen apart without her. "It's been a long, long time, Jules."

She didn't respond. Was that a blush of shame upon her cheeks? We continued through the snow. I'd meant to take things slowly, yet found I didn't want to hold back. It had been so long since I'd spoken my true feelings I wasn't sure I knew how. I remembered as a young, young lad speaking my mind. If my brothers had upset me, I told them. If they hurt me, I'd cried. And then my father had caught me at five years of age, tears rolling down my face. I hadn't cried since.

"I've missed you."

Yes, a definite blush this time. "I would have thought you'd had your other wife to keep you company."

I bit back my annoyance. "I assume you've kept in contact with your parents."

She didn't respond, for if she did it would be admitting that her parents had known where she was all along. As if I wasn't already aware of their guilt. Hell, I couldn't even blame them. They thought they were protecting their daughter. I'd do the same for Millie, I knew that now.

"If you have been in contact with your parents, then you know that I am not married to anyone but you."

She took her lower lip between her teeth, looking lost and confused. Looking like that innocent Julianna I'd known a year ago. I almost felt sorry for her. She didn't trust me, didn't believe me. I didn't blame her.

We continued toward the patch of trees. Frustrated, I wasn't sure what to say in order to get her to understand. I could only hope what I had planned would be enough to at least catch her interest.

We stepped through the woods and into a clearing. Julianna's gasp of surprise broke the silence. A bonfire burned brightly in the middle of the area, while lanterns were aglow around the small clearing. Surely this was romantic enough for her. Surely this showed her that I cared.

But as she turned toward me, her face was anything but grateful. "James, what are you doing?"

"I'm winning you back, Jules. I'm courting you properly."

She frowned. "And you think a pretty setting will do that?"

My confusion turned to frustration. What the bloody hell did she want from me? "Would you prefer flowers? Jewelry?"

"I don't need to be courted, James." With a sigh, she turned to leave. "You don't understand. Perhaps you never will."

****

Julianna

"Understand what? I'm trying here, Jules."

I paused, my back to him, caught by the pleading quality of his voice. James had never pleaded with anyone for anything. I wanted to turn. To rush into his arms and forgive him. Blast it, I'd wanted to the moment I'd seen him in my parlor. It was as if no time at all had passed.

But he didn't understand what I needed. Honestly, I wasn't sure if he could give me what I desired. I wanted him. But I wanted all of him. I didn't want flowers, I didn't want candlelight. I wanted his trust.

I shook my head, feeling miserable, despondent. "It doesn't matter."

"Is the constable courting you?" he demanded.

He thought my disinterest was because of the constable? It would have been my right to say yes, to make him jealous. But I was tired of the games. "Of course not. I'm married. At least I think."

"I told you...our marriage is legitimate," I could hear the annoyance in his voice. "Recognized by God, by England, by the world. What more do you want?"

His heart. I wanted his heart.

"Damnation, Jules." I could hear him pace across the clearing like a caged lion, desperate to break free. "I don't want that man in our house."

My hands fisted as I spun around to face him in all of my anger. "It is not your house! It's mine! How dare you demand anything."

His intense concentration burned through me. "How dare I want my wife to be loyal?"

My face flushed as if I was guilty. It was hard to hold his gaze. A part of me was terrified by the strength, the power, the determination that burned brightly in his eyes. Perhaps I'd always been a little afraid of my husband and the emotions he stirred within. "Because you have been loyal?"

"I have," he snapped, thumping his chest for emphasis. "Since I met you at that damn creek I've not had another. Not even kissed another woman." He started toward me and I had to resist the urge to step back. Always a man in control, I'd never seen him so upset. "What more do you want?"

"I want you to open up to me completely," I cried out. "I want your trust!"

My demand echoed through the trees, getting lost out at sea. The sun had almost set and the world had grown gray. Quiet. Still. As if the universe, too, was waiting for his response. I could practically see his mind spinning; his training to be that stoic, unemotional earl fighting with his need to open up to me. He remained silent. The earl had won.

With a frustrated growl, I spun around and started toward the trail. James would never be the man I needed. The man I deserved.

"I was drunk, Jules," he said. "My stepmother introduced us, knowing that Claudine was...is...mad."

My curiosity got the better of me and I paused, glancing over my shoulder. "She's insane?"

He stood there looking completely serious as the snowflakes fell down around him. "Completely. And I don't mean it to be cruel, but the woman is mad. Her brother paid my stepmother to introduce us. He thought..."

He sighed, seeming as weary as me, and for a moment I wished we could both just forgive and forget what had happened. But I knew deep down we couldn't move on until he understood my wants, my needs.

"Hell, I don't know what he thought," he snapped. "He believed if she married a man of my pure breeding, our children might be normal. That it would end the insanity that had passed down from their mother, to Claudine."

"And you fell in love with her."

He released a harsh laugh. "In love? No. But she's..."

"Beautiful."

"Yes. Especially in the eyes of a young man twenty years of age who'd spent his life in the doldrums protecting his family, learning to run an estate. When I went to the continent, I felt free for the first time in my life. I wanted to do everything, experience everything. Live."

"And so her brother pushed you together, and you fell for her."

For the first time since I'd known him, James actually blushed. "Yes, as asinine as it makes me seem...yes."

I was grateful for the truth, but hated knowing he had wanted another woman so badly that he'd almost destroyed his life. I'd thought to make him jealous with the constable, yet I was the only one annoyed. "And you married her."

"No. I woke up one morn with the woman in my bed. She said we'd married, but I didn't remember a bloody thing."

He might not have married her, but he'd bedded her. Nausea burned slowly through my gut. I knew he had a past, but the thought of him touching anyone else made me ill. Would I forever be haunted by the image of them together? "She lied?"

"Sadly, she honestly thought we'd been married." He settled on a fallen log near the fire and stared into the flames. I had a feeling he was avoiding my gaze. "Her brother, Jean, laced my drink with opium the night before. The nearby priest would not marry us as he knew Claudine was insane. So her brother hired a man to pretend to be a man of the cloth. I was so drunk I didn't realize what had happened. And Claudine was too mad to realize the priest was a fraud."

He raked his hands through his hair, leaving it endearingly mussed.

"So she honestly believed, and still thinks, you are married?" I suddenly understood why James was unable to trust. Why he didn't dare open his heart. I actually felt sorry for the both of them. Sorry for James who had been duped at such a young age. Sorry for Claudine, for her insanity, after all, wasn't her fault. If anyone was to blame it would be his stepmother, or Claudine's brother, Jean.

"The marriage in France might not have been legitimate, but my stepmother thought to have a ceremony here, in England, once I returned with Claudine. A ceremony for friends and family who had missed the original, she had said. But in reality it would have legitimized the wedding. I would have been trapped then...till death do we part."

His stepmother had thought to ruin him, to destroy the family name. And if James hadn't thought something suspicious, she would have. The woman was a monster. A demon. "How did you uncover the truth?"

"Despite being duped, I'm not a complete idiot." He stood. "I knew almost immediately something was wrong. Her brother admitted it wasn't legitimate, even if my stepmother to this day has not."

And so the marriage had been a fraud. I could not deny the relief that flooded my body, making my knees weak. But it did not make up for the fact that he'd kept the entire relationship from me. An incredibly important part of his life that he'd hidden away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

He studied me warily. "It was in the past. I didn't think it important."

Of course it was important. He hadn't told me because he hadn't trusted me enough to be vulnerable, to open up about his past. Would he ever be able to give me his heart...his all?

I closed my eyes, attempting to remain in control. The truth was I missed him. He wasn't just my husband, but in that month before I'd left, he'd become my friend. Unfortunately, there remained a wall between us.

I swallowed hard, shoving my crumbling emotions into the deep recesses of my heart. If I wavered now, I had a feeling I would never get what I wanted, what I needed. "And now they are in London, spreading lies about me, about you, about us."

"I don't care, Jules. I don't care anymore about my blasted reputation. About the damn gossip."

"And you didn't care enough to tell me the truth. To trust me."

"I didn't know you!"

I could see the frustration in his gaze. He was trying. But I needed more. How could I make him understand?

"You had no issues forcing me into marriage, yet you couldn't tell me the truth about your past so that I might be prepared? How is it any different from what Claudine's brother did to you?" He flinched. I shook my head, feeling the sting of tears and cursing myself for it. "You could have told me about her, so then maybe I wouldn't have been so humiliated when your stepmother and Claudine appeared."

"Is this about your pride?" he dared to ask.

"You don't understand." Before I said something we'd both regret, I turned and started toward the field. "I fear you never will."

"Damnation, Jules." Firm fingers gripped my arm and jerked me to a stop. I wondered when the real James would appear: the demanding, forceful man I'd known most of our short relationship. "Let me explain. I know I don't deserve it, but let me...please."

He'd said enough. I shook my head, a tear sliding down my cheek. "I don't know if I can do this again."

"You don't have a choice!"

My anger flared and I jerked out of his grasp. "We always have a choice!"

"We are legally married, Jules. Do not forget that." I felt only a prickle of warning before he jerked me close. I fell into his warm, hard body.

"Bastard!" I slammed my fists against his chest, the hits muffled by his jacket. "Let me go!"

Before I could respond, his lips found mine suddenly, desperately.

It was a branding kiss. A kiss that said he owned me. I struggled against his hold, attempting to deny the feelings that surged within the moment his mouth touched mine. With a growl, his hold tightened. Suddenly, I found myself pushed up against a tree as his mouth plundered mine.

It felt right. So bloody right.

With a groan I could no longer deny, I slid my arms around his neck and pressed up into him. It was just as I'd remembered, but more. So much more. Jamie gripped my bottom, holding me tight to his hips. His erection surged against my lower belly, demanding attention. Crushed between the tree and the man, there was no escape. One kiss and I was drunk with passion. With need. Desire. It was a primal desperation, built from months of wanting, waiting.

I parted my lips and rubbed my tongue against his. I couldn't get enough. It felt as if it had been years since we'd touched, and I'd been slowly starving for this man. I clung to his broad shoulders, letting my desire take control. We were made for each other.

His hands slid beneath my cloak, the warmth of his touch piercing my dress and stinging my ribcage. Slowly, his hands traveled up my body until they were cupping the weight of my breasts. My nipples hardened, my breasts grew heavy.

I gasped into his mouth.

The startled sound seemed to wake him. He tore his lips from mine. So close, our harsh breaths mingled. I realized, with some shame, that I hadn't pushed him away, but had urged him on. He had been the one to end our kiss, and I would have happily lifted my skirts there in the woods if he'd demanded it. It terrified me how much power he held over me. Perhaps it had always scared me.

"Damn you, James!" I shoved my hands against his chest and stumbled back. My body cried out, wanting more from him, while my rational mind refused. "You can't do this to me again! You can't burst into my life, force me to be with you—"

"Fine." He stepped back, his face all hard planes under the light of the campfire. "Don't worry, Jules. I won't force you. But I swear when I'm done, you'll come willingly."

I didn't bother to respond, but clutched my skirts in my hands, and raced back toward the cottage, fearing he was right.

Chapter 4

James

A year ago an inconsequential housekeeper wouldn't have even caught my attention. But as I stepped from the only shop in the village where I'd been ordering supplies for what would apparently be an extended stay, and caught sight of Mrs. Willow scurrying down the lane, my interest was immediately piqued.

"Mrs. Willow," I called out in greeting.

She paused for the briefest moment, blinking wide, startled eyes. "Oh, Mr. Corbin. Lovely to see you. I do apologize, but I'm rather in a hurry."

Not her usual cheerful welcome. I fell into step beside her. I didn't miss the fact that she wore dark circles under her eyes and her bonnet sat askew upon her head. "What is it? May I be of assistance?"

Still fuming and frustrated from our talk in the woods, I'd left Jules to herself for the last few days. She wasn't the only one who needed time. I needed a few moments myself to untangle the confusing emotions ensnarling my usually calm life. She'd done this to me, the witch, completely upended all of my plans. But if she thought I would give in, return home, she could think again.

"The doctor," she said, darting down a narrow, cobbled lane, her black cloak flapping around her like a blackbird's wings. The town boasted all of three streets along the sea. In the distance the shouts of fishmongers calling out their wares occasionally interrupted the cry of gulls. But as the weather had turned wet and cold, most were burrowed within their warm cottages. "I'm going to get the doctor."

"Is someone ill?"

She seemed rather frazzled. Although there was a chill bite to the air, her cloak hung unbuttoned, as if she'd been in a hurry. "Yes. Very ill."

My bemusement fled as anxiety whispered through my veins. I'd noticed Julianna's cottage aglow late last night, but had assumed she'd been unable to sleep because of my presence. Apparently not. God, I was an arrogant bastard. "Who? Who is ill?"

She sighed and paused at the end of the street. "The baby."

My blood went cold. "Millie?"

She nodded as she scurried across the lane. I followed, my heart slamming erratically against my chest. "What's wrong with her?"

We reached a small cottage with a withered winter garden. Although the air was cold I barely noticed. "Poor dear has had a fever all night." She hurried up the stone path and knocked on the door. "We've tried everything."

The urge to grab the woman and shake answers from her overwhelmed me. "And Julianna?"

"She's well enough, although like any loving mother she is worried. Hasn't slept in two days. What with the influenza going around..."

My panic flared. "What do you mean?"

Before she could respond, the door opened. A short woman with a cloud of dark hair and a pale, pinched face stood on the threshold, looking anything but happy to see us. "Mrs. Willow, what can we do for you?"

"I'm looking for Doctor Waverly."

"Well, it will be a while. He's busy now. Dear man hasn't slept in days. Might as well come back later." She started to close the door. "He's with Jacob at the moment."

"Jacob?" Mrs. Willow cried out, shoving her hand against the door. "But he died yesterday!"

"Still needs preparing," the woman grumbled, attempting to close the door again. "Wouldn't be respectful to leave his family now."

My outrage spurred me on. I shoved my foot over the threshold so the door bounced wide. "If he's dead, I hardly see why he needs a doctor." I pushed my way into the cottage. Mrs. Waverly's gasp of shock did not dissuade me. "Where is he?"

It was a large room that served as parlor and kitchen. But a door to the left told me all I needed to know. Without permission, I started toward the room. The door opened before I had a chance to knock.

He was a short, thin man with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched upon the end of his narrow nose. "What is the commotion? I have a family in mourning..."

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of me.

"You," I snapped. "Are needed now."

Doctor Waverly frowned, then looked to his wife as if expecting answers. She merely shrugged. "Very well, let me finish with Jacob."

"Jacob's dead. He's more than finished." I grabbed a jacket on a hook near the door and tossed it toward the man. While the good doctor was chatting with a dead man's family, my daughter was suffering. "I said you're needed."

Mrs. Willow stood there watching wide-eyed, while Mrs. Waverly wore a flush of anger and shock upon her round face. Did they not understand the direness of the situation? Dear God, babies succumbed to their illnesses all the time. It was as common as rats in St. Giles.

Flustered, Dr. Waverly practically foamed at the mouth. "Listen to me, sir, you need—"

"No, you listen to me." I grabbed the man by his jacket and pulled him forward, lowering my voice so the others wouldn't hear. "I am the Earl of Whitfield and you will come with me immediately or pay the consequences. Do you understand?"

"Earl?" His eyes went wide. I could see the confusion within those depths. He wasn't sure if he dared believe me. "I...I should give a proper farewell to Jacob's family..."

I glanced toward the room behind him, only to spot two older men seated around a corpse upon a bed. They watched me with eyes as wide as Mrs. Willow's.

"Now," I snapped. "We leave now."

He had just enough time to grab his bag of supplies before I tugged the man from the cottage and out into the biting wind. "Sir, there is a proper order of things, which I—"

"My child is ill and you're going to fix her."

I could hear Mrs. Willow apologizing to the doctor's wife while we moved back up the lane, following the coast, leaving her behind.

"Sir...my lord...a doctor can't fix everyone. It's in the hands of God."

"If it's in the hands of the lord, what the hell is the point of you?" Shite, Millie couldn't be ill. I'd just held her a few days ago. She was too young to be sick, wasn't she? She'd barely been alive long enough to be ill. "You will make my child better."

"Your child?" The good doctor struggled to keep up. "Sir, who is your child?"

I ignored the curious interest of those we passed. Ignored the curtains being pushed aside as the many at home watched us rush by. Having been here less than a fortnight, I was still an oddity. "My daughter is Millie. My wife is Julianna—"

"Of course." His confusion cleared. "The young widow."

My annoyance morphed into outrage. Had she told everyone I'd died? "Not a widow, obviously, if I'm walking beside you." We trudged out of town and up the hill toward her cottage. "But you will keep this information to yourself, do you understand?"

He nodded, but still looked confused. Not that I could blame him. "What ills the child?"

"A fever," I said, feeling like an idiot for not knowing more. Why hadn't Julianna sent for me? Damn her, I could have helped. I clung to my anger, for it was my motivation. The only thing that kept me going.

"Unfortunately common," he said, as we moved passed my cottage. "The death rate for children is..."

I glared down at him in disbelief. Was he actually implying Millie might die? "That won't happen to Millie. She's strong."

"Of course," he murmured, but I could tell he wanted to argue. What did he know? A man who relied on God, instead of his own talents?

We made it to Julianna's stoop just when I was about to slam my fist into the idiot's face.

The door tore open and Julianna stood there looking terrified and exhausted, and so completely beautiful. "What are you doing here?"

I latched onto the doctor's collar and swept passed her, leading the man inside. We didn't have time to explain. Millie lay in a basket upon the settee, her face flushed red, her hair sweaty against her head. She whimpered and it felt as if my heart exploded, shattering into a million tiny pieces. I would have slit my wrists then and there if it would have helped her. My sweet rosy baby was suddenly frail.

"Fix her," I snapped, glaring at the doctor who stood hovering in the foyer with Jules. Jules who looked so lost, so desperate that I ached for her. Just like that, our troubles no longer mattered at the moment. We were bonded by our desperation. "Or so help me."

The doctor rushed forward and set his bag upon a side table. "Unfortunately, my son," he rested his hand on Millie's forehead. "It doesn't work that way."

"I'm not your damn son, I'm an earl," I growled. "And it works any way I demand."

****

Julianna

I awoke to the softly murmured voice of someone speaking. For a moment I sat there confused, unsure where I was, attempting to gather my wits. I tried to sit up, to unfold my legs, but the uncomfortable position had given me a crick in my neck and I cringed.

"You will be well, won't you?" Jamie murmured.

The words whispered through my mind, slowly bringing me back into the present. I opened my eyes, taking in the roaring fire in the hearth. I'd fallen asleep in the parlor chair.

Millie.

Millie was ill.

Startled, I bolted upright. But Millie was wriggling around in her basket on the floor while Jamie sat beside her, brushing back her fuzzy hair. Millie with rosy cheeks once more, her wide innocent eyes pinned to her father. Jamie, looking anything but an earl as he sat upon the carpet, his gaze focused on the baby. He wore only trousers, stockings and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Everything within me softened, warmed into gooey molasses. I'd never thought I'd be relieved to see Jamie. But when he'd appeared at the door yesterday eve with the doctor at his side, demanding he fix our child, all I wanted to do was throw my arms around him, sink into his hard, strong body, and cry in relief. I wasn't alone to worry and wonder.

Doctor Waverly had left only after I'd told Jamie to allow him to go. There wasn't much the man could do. It was a waiting game of sorts. Jamie and I hadn't spoken. I'd made tea, and we'd taken turns washing Millie with a cool cloth. In the early morning, before the sun had risen, I'd curled up into the chair intending to rest my aching legs. But at some point my body had given up and I'd fallen asleep.

"How is she?" I asked, my voice husky with exhaustion and the stress of the situation. "Is she well?"

He looked up at me, a smile upon his face. I'd never seen him so happy. It did odd things to my body...made my heart beat a little faster, my stomach clench with a desire I couldn't deny. "Fever has broken."

"Oh thank God." I collapsed to the carpet beside her. My entire body went weak with relief. For the last two nights I'd sat by her side, attempting to cool her heated flesh, praying, begging that she would survive. How could I go on without her? "Millie, my sweet."

I pressed my hand to her forehead. Perfectly cool. She gurgled. A sound of contentment. I laughed, tears burning my eyes. For the first time in a long, long while I felt alive with hope. This was how the world should be...always.

"See, she's well," Jamie said softly. Seated next to me, his breath was warm upon the side of my face. A heady temptation that reminded me how close his mouth was to mine. I was suddenly aware of his body pressed intimately to my side. We were a family...the three of us. Perhaps not a perfect family, but a family all the same.

I turned my head and met his gaze directly. "Thank you."

His jaw clenched, but he said not a word. He captured me with that heated gaze. I knew he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I could not have survived this night alone. I tore my gaze from his, needing to think. Millie was well, that was all that mattered at the moment. I slid my palms underneath her little body and lifted. Her fisted hands flung back and forth excitedly.

Grinning in relief, I cuddled her close to my chest. She was well. She had survived. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply her sweet scent. My breasts were heavy, aching, and holding her close only made them worse. She'd need to feed. But I couldn't nurse in front of James. Not yet. Maybe never. It was too...intimate.

"How do you do it?" he whispered.

I opened my eyes. "What?"

"How do you..." He stared hard at Millie, as if attempting to comprehend her. "Stand it? The terror I felt..."

He couldn't seem to go on. My heart softened toward the man. I understood. Shaking his head as if in disgust, he surged to his feet and moved toward the windows. His steps were agitated, angry almost. I knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling, for I'd experienced it all when she'd been born.

"If anything had happened to her..."

"It didn't."

He turned to face me. "How do you not live your life terrified it will?"

I took in a deep trembling breath and gave him a wobbly smile. "It might. You can't stop illness, you can't stop...death." Even now it was hard to say the word. "But you can make sure she has a lovely life for however long she's here."

He didn't look as if he felt any better. The poor earl, so used to controlling all within his reach. He could force the doctor here, but he could not beat death. He knew that. And yes, he'd experienced loss of a family member as I would when my father died sooner than he should. But nothing compared to the thought of losing one's child.

I stood, holding her close. "If there is one and only one thing that is certain in this life it's that we will all die." I pressed my lips to her forehead. "All we can do is make sure the ones we love know how much we care. All we can do is enjoy the life we have, however long that life might be."

The wind outside was fierce, batting the glass panes, but inside the cottage was warm, the fire roaring, Millie well. I needed nothing more. Everything was perfect.

"Julianna, when I met you it was as if I'd been struck by a blow." James started toward me. I tightened my grip on Millie, feeling suddenly lightheaded. "I couldn't breathe, food no longer mattered, sleep didn't seem important. I only wanted you. You."

His gaze was so intense, I didn't dare look away. My veins heated, my pulse pounded a little harder. I hadn't given my little speech on life and death so he would spill his heart. I certainly hadn't expected him to tell me his feelings...yet here he was.

"When you left..." He took in a deep, trembling breath. "When you left my world was destroyed. I didn't know what to do, how to go on. Since we met at the creek, nothing in this world has mattered but you." His gaze dropped to our daughter. "And now...Millie."

His words were exactly what I'd hoped to hear. Words that would have done Lord Byron proud. Yet...yet he hadn't said he loved me. His words were heated and fierce and they were more about obsession. And if there was one thing I knew, it was that obsession was not love.

"With you, for once, I can be myself, Jules. I do not worry about the family name. Restoring our reputation, our pride, no longer matters."

His words battered me like a storm off the coast, sudden and fierce. How I hungered for him. Ached for his touch. The months had not diminished my need. It was pure torture not to accept his apology and let the past go. But I'd had so little sleep in the last two days. Millie needed to be fed. "I just...I need time."

He closed his eyes as if he'd just been given a death blow. The old James would have demanded acceptance. I expected as much. Instead, he nodded. "Time. I'll give you all the time you want. But I'm not giving up, Jules. Not ever."

He stepped closer, rested his hand on Millie's belly, then kissed the top of her head. Slowly, he straightened, his gaze locking to mine. "Get some rest. I will return soon."

He turned away, leaving my knees weak, my legs quivering. The need to call out to him, to beg him to stay, overwhelmed me. Instead, I let him go. I let him pull on his boots, and take his jacket from the hook in the foyer. And I let him leave the cottage. Leave me, taking my heart once more.

Chapter 5

James

Give her time.

That's what she had asked. And that's what my instincts had told me to do.

My instincts could go to hell.

I'd been attempting to give Jules a few days, not wanting to scare her off. But at every moment I was completely aware of her cottage down the lane from mine. I was completely aware of the smoke trailing from the chimney telling me when she was awake and home. Aware of Mrs. Willow coming and going. And I certainly had been aware when the constable had visited only yesterday. It had taken every bit of my strength not to kill the man.

I'd even invited the housekeeper into my cottage for tea one evening as she walked by. She'd cheerfully entered, taking in every detail and peppering me with questions. I'd maintained my stance of being related to Jules, without giving away anything more. She'd been relentless, no doubt wanting to take the information she gathered to town. It was winter, after all, and people were bored. But I wasn't an earl for nothing. I knew how to hold my own and easily deflected her curiosity.

It had been two days since I'd seen Jules. Two days and I was so desperate, I had taken to fixing the dilapidated cottage where I now resided in order to occupy my mind. Wearing only shirtsleeves, trousers and boots, I stared at the crumbling wall I'd been beating with a hammer. I didn't know what I was doing, and had made an utter mess, but for some reason, knocking down that wall stone by stone made me feel better.

If only Rafe were here to spar with. Punching him in the face was just what I needed. I dropped the hammer to a chair and strolled toward the window of the small parlor, taking a moment to calm my ragged breath. Although the cottage leaked cold air, the exercise heated my body. The physical work intrigued and motivated me. There was something satisfying about the dust under my fingernails, the blisters on my palms. I started to return to my work when I noticed the fine figure battling her way across the icy snow.

Jules.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I muttered.

She slid, almost falling to her arse, but managed to gain her balance at the last minute. If she needed something in town, she should have asked me to go. I tore open the door and moved outside. The wind pierced my shirt and chilled my sweaty skin but I barely noticed. The woman was intent on doing everything on her own. It drove me absolutely mad. I wanted to be in her life. I wanted to help. I wanted...I wanted to be a family.

Jules was struggling to walk and balance the packages. I must have missed her when she'd left for town earlier. The howl of the wind muffled my approach, giving me the advantage. Her hood covered most of her face, and her cloak her body, but I knew her. I'd always know her.

I reached her side and grabbed the packages.

Startled, she yelped and swung around to face me. Those beautiful eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in suspicion. "James?"

"What are you doing out in this weather?" Balancing the packages in one arm, I gripped her gloved hand and led her toward my cottage. Between the icy path and my strength, she was no match. "Are you bloody mad?"

She stumbled along beside me. "I needed supplies in town."

"You have no mount?"

Her cheeks, flushed with cold, turned even brighter. "I don't have the money."

I gritted my teeth, annoyed. The woman had left without the least bit of planning in her pretty head. What would she have done if she had run out of coins? Her family sure as hell couldn't help. "Inside...now."

I opened the door for her and stepped aside.

Stubborn witch that she was, I expected her to resist. I was itching for a fight, a reason to yell at her. Unfortunately, she entered, albeit reluctantly. Inside, I pushed the door shut, trapping us together in the small cottage. Silence fell.

For a long moment I just stood there, watching the snow melt upon her lashes. She stared at the hearth. I stared at her. Two weeks. I'd been here almost two weeks with little success. My fingers curled as I resisted the urge to reach out, pull her close. To shake some sense into her.

The nagging voice in the back of my mind demanded I take control. Force her to return to the estate, if I must. This was getting out of hand. I wasn't used to waiting, and I sure as hell wasn't used to retaining so little control.

"How is Millie?" I asked.

"Good. Much better."

The silence continued.

She shifted, growing restless. "I need to get home."

For the baby, not that she would admit as much. She still hadn't told me Millie was hers...was mine. It was ridiculous, insane. I'd stayed up all night with the child, I'd comforted her, kissed her. She belonged to me.

"Alright. I'll walk you."

"No." She stiffened, finally meeting my gaze. "That's not necessary."

"It is." I moved across the room and picked up my jacket. "I insist."

She sighed long and loud, as if I was a bothersome gnat instead of her husband. I'd been patient with her. I'd waited for her to come to her senses. It still hadn't happened. I slowly pulled on my jacket, prolonging the moment as I attempted to regain control of my anger. There were all sorts of things I imagined doing to her in the privacy of this cottage. Even as I was annoyed, I still wanted the woman with a fierceness that could barely be contained. Having her so close was driving me utterly mad.

"You're working on the cottage?" She glanced around the space, taking in the crumbling wall. She looked rather nervous and I knew what she was thinking...if I was fixing up the place, that meant I was staying a while.

"I'm not a lazy lord, and there isn't much else to do."

While I wait for you to come to your senses.

She slid me a glance. "You can always return home."

"Not without you."

She flushed, obviously frustrated.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, I thought I made that clear."

She brushed the hood back, revealing her face fully. Just as stunning as the first moment I'd seen her at the creek. "I need to go home." She blushed. "I can't. I...I..."

I found her reaction more than strange. There were so many mysteries surrounding this woman and I wanted desperately to uncover them all. But hell, I'd do with revealing one. "What?"

"I need to feed our daughter."

The words were like a punch to my chest. She'd admitted it. She'd admitted Millie was mine. Boldly she met my gaze. She was daring me to deny the child. To accuse her of cuckolding me. I took in a deep, trembling breath. I only felt relief. A weak-kneed relief that almost brought me down. I'd known, of course, but to hear the confirmation that Millie was mine made everything so much easier to deal with. I had to resist the urge to grin like a bloody fool.

Disgruntled, she crossed her arms over her chest. "You knew she was yours, don't act as if you didn't."

I turned toward the fire, to hide the emotions storming across my face. Relief, happiness...pain. Confusion. Anger. "Why did you lie?"

"I panicked."

I glanced over my shoulder. She looked miserable. Young, forced into marriage with a man who might be married to another, and suddenly finding herself with child. Could I blame her for running? Any lingering anger I might have felt vanished. I wanted to pull her close and show her just how much I cared. To tell her all was forgiven. Beg her to forgive me. But were we ready?

She stared at my neck while I stared at her beautiful face. I would have studied her for an eternity. Wished I could paint as well as she did so I might capture her innocence, her purity. I wondered what she was thinking. It seemed insane to realize I had resisted her company when we'd first been married. That I'd tried to keep that wall in place, for what reason? What goal? I stepped close to her, drawn to the woman. "Was it an easy birth?"

She flushed again. Ladies did not discuss childbirth, and certainly not with men. Shite, I wanted to know everything about her. I didn't want any embarrassment between us. "Easy enough."

Unable to help myself, I reached out and brushed a melted snowflake from her cheek. "What's she like?"

"Millie?" Her face lit up, the unease leaving her gaze. Millie was a safe topic; she was the most important thing bonding us together at the moment. A common interest.

I nodded. I'd never in my life seen her look as happy as when she talked about the baby. We could have experienced the wonder of our child together, if Claudine hadn't arrived. If my stepmother hadn't decided to take her vileness out on me. I wanted so desperately to hate them both, to know revenge. But revenge and hatred had no place here on this lane, within these perfect cottages, so near to my child, to Jules. Besides, I knew deep down that this was all partly my fault.

"She's...wonderful. Perfect."

I closed my eyes, attempting to dampen down my frustration. "How could you, Jules?" There was no anger in the question I asked. It was mere curiosity. I needed to know why, to understand what had happened.

She dropped her gaze to her feet. "I thought I had no choice. I thought you were married, that you had the little boy you wanted."

"You could have asked." With a sigh, I paced across the small parlor. I had to turn and walk away before I said something I'd regret. "You could have asked. I would have told you the truth."

But would she have believed me if I had told her? That was the unspoken question lingering between us. Part of me didn't want to know the answer.

"The boy? Is he living at the estate now?" she asked timidly.

"The boy isn't mine," I admitted. "He's an orphan Claudine used to try and trap me, or perhaps make me look worse. Who the hell knows?"

"But that's terrible!"

I released a harsh laugh. "It's normal where Claudine is concerned."

Perhaps she was finally starting to understand the lengths which my stepmother and Claudine would go in order to destroy me. The fire in the hearth crackled while the wind battered the windows. She needed to return home, but I wasn't ready to let her go. I could demand she leave for the estate. Force her to be the wife society deemed proper. I ran my hands over my face. I couldn't. I didn't want the prim and proper society wife. I wanted...Jules. Lovely, stubborn, independent Jules.

"The boy...you didn't let her take him, did you?"

"No. He's living at the estate." Of course she would care about a child who wasn't her own. "He's oddly enough latched onto our gardener and found fascination with the plants."

She smiled for a moment, but it didn't last long. "And Claudine and your stepmother are still in London."

It wasn't a question, but a comment, as if she knew. She'd been keeping tabs then, or at the least her mother had been keeping her abreast of the latest. If we returned to the estate, I'd be forcing her back into the mess that had become my life. Here, in this small village, she could hide away from reality. Perhaps not forever, but for some time. And she deserved to enjoy her days with Millie. But this fantasy could not last.

"Allow me to escort you home."

She hesitated.

Could she not give me this one, simple request? "What is it, Jules?"

"Who is Evangeline?" she blurted out.

I didn't move, barely breathed.

I wasn't sure whether to be shocked or annoyed. Where the hell had she heard that name?

****

Julianna

He seemed startled by my comment. A variety of emotions crossed his features; anger, confusion, annoyance, but the pain was what I focused on. Whomever she was, James had loved her greatly.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asked in a mild voice. Too mild.

I flushed, looking at the floor, anywhere but in his hard gaze. I knew I was overstepping, but couldn't stop myself. How could I explain that I had pried? That I had searched his bedchamber those months ago? I peeked up at him through my lashes. "I read it, actually."

Confused, his brows drew together. James in a suit was stunning, yet in shirtsleeves, his hair tousled, he reminded me of that man I'd first met at the creek. Carefree, yet determined. I could barely think, barely focus with him near. The sinewy muscles in his arms drew my attention, those broad shoulders made my mouth dry...

"Jules?"

I jerked my gaze toward his face. "I might have snuck into your chamber at the estate, and I might have seen some letters."

He was silent for a moment. My skin felt afire with embarrassment.

"I see." He lifted the collar of his jacket and buttoned it tight. Then he picked up my packages, preparing to leave. "Shall we?"

That was all? He didn't wait for my response, but opened the door and stepped aside. A burst of chill air swept into the cottage, bringing with the sting of flurries. I trudged out into the cold. My confusion turned to irritation. It was a simple question.

"Did you love her?" I demanded, as he fell into step beside me.

He started down the lane toward my cottage. "I suppose I did."

My heart hurt. I knew it was silly to feel upset that he had loved another. But it wasn't that he had cared for a different woman...it was the fact that he still cared. He had been searching for her even up until a year ago. Claudine was nothing compared to this Evangeline. I blamed the cold on the sudden tears that blurred my eyes. Would I forever be competing with the women from his past?

My small cottage came into view, looking so homey and pleasant. Millie was there, the only one I needed. So why did I keep thinking of James? "Do you still love her?"

"I do."

My throat grew tight. "I see."

We moved up the path toward the front door. In the warm months the cottage was surrounded by pink and white roses that smelled utterly divine. I'd been so heartbroken last summer, I'd never thought I'd be happy again. But I'd found a peace here. He'd disrupted that peace.

"Jules." James paused on the front stoop. "Evangeline was my sister."

I jerked my gaze toward him. "What?"

"My sister."

The wind howled, the waves roared in the distance. Had I misheard him? "I don't understand."

He looked out toward the ocean, his face as unreadable as always. "She was the youngest, the only daughter. We adored her. She disappeared when she was only seven."

"Oh dear god." He might not have shown any emotion, always the stoic earl, but I could feel the pain, the heartache. Unable to help myself, I rested my hand upon his sleeve. "How?"

He looked down first at my hand, as if surprised that I was touching him, and then met my gaze again. "Because we sent her away."

I pulled my hand free. "What do you mean?"

"Michael, my stepbrother, was an evil man. There were rumors that he beat a woman, forced himself upon her."

I swallowed hard, and wrapped my arms around myself. My body felt suddenly chill, and not because of the weather. Michael, the young boy that I had seen in the portrait I'd found months ago. He'd looked as innocent as the rest of them. But with a mother like the dowager, I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised that he had turned out as evil as she.

"The woman died." He glanced toward the cottage windows. Mrs. Willow was pacing with Millie in her arms, singing to her as she did so often. The picture they made was so very innocent, I wanted to keep my child sheltered here forever.

"He denied it, of course. But there were more and more rumors. Then, he started paying special attention to Evangeline. Tickling her. Wanting her to sit on his lap. He was eighteen, she was only seven. I tried to tell my father, but he didn't believe me. I even tried talking my father into sending Evangeline to an aunt's home. He wouldn't. He didn't care. Didn't care about any of us."

I felt ill. All these years he'd been searching for his sister. A sister he'd tried desperately to protect. "What happened to her?"

He took in a deep breath, as if to steel his nerves. "Oliver took her. We actually didn't know his plans until it was too late. He left a note on my bed, explaining all. Said he would see her safe. As the youngest lad, he spent the most time with her. He saw the truth before any of us. And even as a child, he knew there was something wrong with Michael."

"But he couldn't have been much older than her."

"He was still a child."

He glanced at the window again, watching Millie. I couldn't imagine what he thought. First, not being able to protect his sister, and now not being there for Millie when she'd been born. My guilt flared.

"He took Evangeline to London. Found a home for her with our old nursemaid. He thought he was saving her. And for a couple years, from what we heard, she was happy. We never told my father. Burned the note Oliver left for me. My father thought gypsies had stolen her and we let him believe the lie."

So much pain in their short lives. I wanted to ask more, but the sound of a horse caught us off guard. The constable was headed our way. I resisted the urge to curse. We'd been having our first meaningful conversation since our marriage. I liked the constable, I did. He was a kind and attractive man, but he was not for me and never would be. He was wasting his time.

James glanced toward our visitor, annoyance flaring across his gaze. "When I was old enough and became earl, I tried to find her. But the nanny had died, and Evangeline had disappeared. Nowhere to be found."

The constable lifted his hand in a wave, and I waved back. How I wished that time would freeze, that this moment with just James, Millie and I could go on forever. "So, she's out there somewhere?"

He shrugged, but his hard gaze remained pinned to the constable. "Hopefully. Perhaps she doesn't remember her identity, which is why she hasn't come home. Perhaps she died. I don't know."

I'd never met this girl, but the thought of her death sent tears to my eyes. She couldn't be gone. He would find her. I knew that. James was determined. He never gave up. And he always, always got what he wanted. Thank God.

The constable arrived. "Julianna." He didn't even glance at James. I didn't miss the way Jamie's hands curled. If I didn't move quickly, there would be a fight. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you."

"Rather bad timing to be out and about," Jamie snapped. "With the weather and all."

The air crackled with tension, and I was suddenly finding it rather hot outside.

"I was passing by and thought I might see Mrs. Willow home."

"How very helpful you are," Jamie muttered.

Oh dear, this wasn't good.

The man's horse shifted, as the animal sensed the unease. "I do try. I believe we must always keep an eye on our neighbors."

"Is that why you visit Jules so often?" he said quite casually.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I had a bad feeling I knew where this argument would end.

"I thought I made myself clear," Jamie said, startling me. When had they talked? "That you were to leave Julianna alone."

"Jamie, please," I whispered, horrified.

The constable slid from his mount. "And why should I?"

"Because she's my damn wife."

The constable's pale gaze jumped to me. I had to resist the urge to groan. "Is this true?"

I took in a deep breath. For months I'd been acting as if in a play. Nothing was quite real. I was tired of it all. I might have kept the truth from the village, but I would not lie. "It is."

His jaw clenched, his gaze going hard. "I see."

I didn't miss the smirk on Jamie's face. The constable was an honorable man, but even he wouldn't be able to keep this secret for long. I would no longer be the kind widow from down the lane, but the woman who had run away from her husband. The door opened and Mrs. Willow stood there, Millie bundled in a blanket in her arms.

"There you are." She glanced first at Jamie, then the constable, then with raised brows she looked toward me. "My, aren't you overrun with visitors, and on such a miserable day."

I took Millie, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "The constable arrived to offer you a ride home."

"How kind." She grabbed her cloak from the hook in the foyer and started down the stoop. "Coming all this way and just for me."

The constable actually blushed. I felt sorry for him. The poor man had wasted so much time trying to court me. And James, the bastard, wasn't helping, standing there smirking as if he'd just won some blasted battle.

"If the snow and ice keep up, I won't be able to make it back tomorrow," Mrs. Willow said as she moved down the path.

I wasn't sure if her comment was a warning or a promise. "Of course, I understand."

She paused near the mount and glanced back, a cheeky grin upon her face. "But surely Mr. Corbin will check on you."

James nodded, looking every bit the gentleman as he carried my packages. "Of course. I'd be happy to."

The constable helped the housekeeper up upon the mount. Finally, he turned to face me. "Well. Good evening then."

I parted my lips, intending to say something, anything...but what? Before I could think of a ready explanation, he jumped up behind Mrs. Willow. I watched him go, wishing I could explain, ease his embarrassment in some way. He was such a good man, he didn't deserve to be dismissed so easily after all he had done for me. But I doubted Jamie would care.

Millie shifted, whimpering. She was hungry.

"Inside," Jamie said, pushing open the door, forever commanding like the captain of a ship. He set the packages upon the floor. "Go inside. Get warm."

I stepped into the small foyer only to pause when I realized he hadn't followed. I could let him go, or... "James?"

"Yes?"

Slowly, I turned to face him. My heart hammered madly in my chest. Everything was about to change. I prayed it was for the better. "Don't go. Stay in the guest room. There are things we need to discuss."

He paused for a long moment, as if mulling over his response. How desperately I wished I knew what he was thinking. "Are you sure?"

Absolutely not. "Yes."

Chapter 6

James

The soft murmured cry woke me.

An unfamiliar noise that had me reaching for the pistol on the small table next to my bed. A pistol I'd taken to carrying since Claudine had made her presence known. I bolted up in bed and waited.

There it was again. A soft mew like a kitten. Or a baby, I realized. It took a moment to remember where I was, but suddenly the warmth of realization flooded my body. Julianna was merely across the small hallway, in a bedchamber with our child. My shoulders relaxed, and I settled my feet upon the cold floorboards.

Jules was right across the hall. So nearby.

I'd been searching for her for months and had finally found her. It wasn't all a dream. Her gentle voice whispered from her chamber, pulling at me, stirring my emotions. I found myself standing, drawn to her. The wind still rattled the panes. The room had grown chill. But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was being near Julianna. I lit the lantern by my bedside, then tugged on my trousers. For a moment I stood there, savoring the lilt of her gentle voice as she sung to our child. How had I ever thought she was a conniving Claudine? She was nothing like the woman. I'd almost ruined everything, because I had allowed my past to control me.

Slowly, I pulled open my chamber door. I could see her bedroom from where I stood. Desperate to touch her, I closed my eyes, my hands curling as I resisted. It had been so long. So damn long. Unable to help myself I moved into the hall wearing only trousers.

Julianna rocked our baby in her arms. I leaned against the staircase railing, content to watch her. My wife hadn't noticed me yet and I wondered what she would say when she did. She stood, her gown dipped low around her shoulder, her right breast on display. She'd been feeding Millie. My heart leapt into my throat, my pulse pounding.

Stunning. Utterly stunning.

Her hair fell in dark waves down her back. My throat grew tight. Her pale breast gleamed under the light of the weak moon that managed to pierce the clouds. Did I dream? I'd always thought her beautiful, but as a mother she was a veritable angel, too damn good for me.

She lay Millie in the cradle then turned and spotted me. I heard her soft gasp from where I stood. Surprised, she froze. For a long, long while we stood there staring at each other. It was as if the very world paused. A variety of emotions swept back and forth across the room. Affection. Attraction. Need.

She didn't move to cover herself. She wasn't ashamed, for she wanted me. I could see the desire in her eyes. I was on her in three strides. My hands cupped her face and I lowered my mouth to hers. It was like a wonderful, haunting dream finally coming to life.

She tasted so damn sweet. I prayed she didn't push me away as I didn't think I could handle the rejection. Instead, she slid her hands up my arms, around my shoulders and pressed her lush body into me. Her hardened nipples brushed my chest and I almost came on the spot. It had been long. So damn long. I'd been obsessed with finding her, and hadn't even thought about sleeping with another all these months. Nobody could compare.

"God, I want you, Julianna." I moved my hands down her back and gripped her round bottom, pulling her up against my hard cock. "I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you."

She groaned and parted her lips under my persistent attack.

I took the invitation and swept my tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss. I'd never felt more alive. My entire body thrummed, burned, felt afire with the need to be closer to her. Inside of her.

With a growl, I pulled away and scooped her up into my arms. "Can you?"

She looked confused. "Can I what?"

"Since giving birth...I don't want to hurt you."

Considering Rafe was only ten months younger than me I knew my parents had wasted no time in being intimate after I'd been born. But I wasn't my father and I wouldn't hurt her.

She blushed. "I...I think."

I didn't want to cause her pain. "You tell me if there is any discomfort."

She nodded.

I carried her into the guest room and lay her down gently upon the bed. Unable to hold back, I followed, pressing my body into hers. She had a new fuller lushness I greatly appreciated. My hand skimmed up her waist toward her bare breast. No longer did it fit into my palm, but spilled over temptingly. She'd changed and I hadn't been here to see it all.

I lowered my head to her collarbone, pressing kisses to the delicate area. Then lower to the valley between her breasts. She moaned, shifting restlessly underneath me. Surrounded by her heady scent I could barely control myself. I had to taste her. I lowered my head, covering her breast with my mouth. She gasped, arching up into me. The burst of sweet milk caught me by surprise.

"James, no!" She shoved at my shoulders, but I would not relent. Fascinated, I brought my tongue around the hardened peak, only to taste the sweetness again.

"Please, it's not done! It's improper!"

I lifted my head, amused and intrigued. There were so many improper things I wanted to do with her, to her. All in good time. I moved away from her breast and trailed my mouth down her stomach. She quivered.

"No, I'm not ready for that either."

"Shhh," I soothed, parting her thighs. "Don't deny me what I've been dreaming of for months."

Before she could protest, I lowered my head. Her feminine scent swirled around me. My cock grew steel hard. I slid my tongue between her damp folds. She was ready. So damn ready. Her core pulsed, trembling with the desire to know release.

Jules groaned, her fingers gripping the cover she lay upon.

She tasted of feminine honey. Of heat. Need. I could take it no longer. Standing, I pulled off my trousers. "Don't be ashamed of your body in front of me, not ever." I leaned over her and tore the nightgown down her lush form, the material whispering over her skin. "Don't hide from me Jules. You're stunning. You were beautiful before the baby, and you're even more beautiful now."

She flushed, embarrassed by my compliments. Hell, she should have been used to such sweet words. If I'd been a better husband, she would have been. I wished I had lit more lanterns so that I might see every inch of her body. I wanted to build a damn temple and worship her for the rest of my life.

"Have you missed me?" I lay beside her and trailed my hand down her belly, toward her very heat. I would not rush this moment. "Have you missed my touch? My kiss?"

She murmured something indecipherable. I slid my fingers through the soft patch of hair, farther into her heat. "God, you're wet."

I shifted, moving atop her and nudging her thighs apart. She opened eagerly, her arms wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me close. The utter trust in her gaze humbled me. Here, in this bed, there was no wall between us. Our emotions were honest and true.

"You might have run from me, but you've spent these months wanting me as much as I've wanted you, haven't you, Jules?"

Her face flushed. She raked her fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, pulling almost painfully at the strands, punishing me. The question was too intimate. She wouldn't answer, she wouldn't admit the truth. Stubborn wench.

"Damnation, Jules." I slid my finger into her tight sheath. She cried out, arching her back. "Admit you've wanted me. Admit you've dreamt of this moment night after night."

She groaned, moving underneath me.

I pulled my finger from her, but not before my thumb brushed that sensitive nub between her folds. "Admit it."

"Yes!" she gasped. "Yes, you bastard! Yes, I've wanted you. Yes, I've dreamt of you inside me. Are you happy?"

The relief I felt was immediate. I lowered my head, my lips a mere breath from hers. "So very happy."

My mouth found hers. This time the kiss was branding, hard and passionate. I swept my tongue between her lips, thrusting into her warm mouth as my erection throbbed between her smooth thighs, pulsing and demanding release. I'd never kissed a woman like I kissed her. All-consuming. I felt naked, my soul exposed.

She reached for my cock, touching me like she never had before with an eagerness that pleased me all too well. Her warm fingers wrapped around my shaft and I groaned. Boldly, she pumped me. Blood raced to my erection, my need almost unbearable.

"Jules, I can't..."

She released her hold, then pushed at my shoulders, rolling me onto my back.

Hell, she was going to kill me.

She'd become a temptress. A woman I barely knew, yet had seen hints of while we'd been flirting near the creek those months and months ago. Before we'd known each other's true identities and everything had become so very complicated. She straddled my thighs and gripped my cock in her beautiful hands.

"Christ, Jules."

Emboldened, she started to move her hands up and down my steel shaft, exploring my body and my reaction. "You've studied my body, it's time to allow me the same liberties."

"Please," I ground out, "take your time."

Her delicate fingers explored my erection, trailing down the length, only to travel back up and cup the thick head. She was killing me. Killing me slowly, and so completely. "You're rather large."

"So I've been told," I somehow manage to get out. The heat that rushed through my body threatened to burn me alive. I had to have her, had to find my release and soon.

She seemed in no hurry and trailed a hand down my chest, her fingers scraping through the crisp hair that made a thin trail to my erection. "How is it that you know exactly where to touch me? How to please?"

Did she truly want me to respond? I wasn't sure I was capable. "I've had practice."

"I suppose I should thank your mistresses," she teased, finding fascination with the clear drop of liquid seeping from the head of my cock. With a heated gaze, she drew her fingertip through the liquid.

Damnation, she was torturing me on purpose. "You can send them your thanks later."

She frowned, her hands on my body hesitating. And for a moment I thought she was angry with me, jealous. "I don't know how to please you."

Frustrated and bemused, I gripped her hips. "Jules, you please me by just being here, don't you understand? I wanted you the moment I sensed you by the creek. And having you, even marrying you, hasn't been enough."

I lifted her so she was poised above my cock. She gasped, gripping my biceps for support as her hair fell down in dark waves around her shoulders, tickling my stomach. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, her breath coming out in harsh pants. But it was her eyes—her beautiful eyes—that showed me everything. The desire there matched my own.

"I want you every night, in my bed. No running. No hiding. Understand?"

She nodded, her face flushed with unfulfilled passion.

I lowered her onto my cock. The head squeezed through her opening and into her tight sheath. With an eagerness that almost killed me, her body pulled me in, gripping my shaft. I could take it no longer. I gritted my teeth and surged upward as she came down. It was like touching heaven, sinking into pure bliss. How I'd missed her. Her scent, her touch, her taste.

"Good god," she whispered.

Clutching her hips and guiding her down, I rocked up at the same time. I went deep, so damn deep I thought I'd lose control. Her breasts bounced as she came forward and with each thrust she released a breathy gasp that sounded more sensual than anything I'd ever heard. It was all I could do not to give into my release and spill my seed into her hot wetness.

We found our rhythm, rocking together as the wind rattled the glass panes. The entire world ceased. Nothing mattered but finding my release deep within her, making her come around me and experiencing her pure pleasure.

I slid my hands up her smooth back. I couldn't stop touching her, needed to feel every bit of her satiny skin. "You're stunning."

As she rocked forward, her long, dark hair brushed erotically against my body. I'd never been with anyone who stirred my blood like she did. A mixture of innocence and stubbornness. Sensual, yet so damn pure.

I gripped her rounded arse and pulled her closer with each thrust, plunging deeper into heaven. It had been long. Much, much too long. "Come for me, Jules."

****

Julianna

"James," I called, breathless. "Please!"

With each stroke, each thrust of his hips, he came farther into me. The friction of his cock rubbing against my sheath was more than I could stand. My entire body tightened, the very room fading, and all I could do was focus on my coming release. I'd been waiting for this, wanting this for months and months. I couldn't sleep at night without dreaming of James touching me, kissing me. My thighs tightened against his, my hips surging forward as he lifted. Another deep thrust and my core quivered.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes."

I felt him come inside, the warmth of his seed spilling deep within at the same time that I gave into my release. My entire body seemed to burst into a million tiny white stars, brilliant stars that danced and floated across the heavens in pure bliss. I never wanted the feeling to end.

All too soon the beautiful tremors faded. Exhausted, I collapsed atop James. My nipples were wet. I was leaking. I should have been horrified. I was too tired to care. Jamie's own harsh breathing rang in my ear, stirring the tendrils of hair that whispered around my face.

It had been different this time. So very different. Our other intimate moments those months ago had been rushed, frantic and almost angry. But this...this was something else. James had been tender, almost caring. Had he been afraid of hurting me because of the birth, or was it something more? Did he care? More than I realized, more than he wanted to admit.

His hands trailed down my spine, a soft caress. Outside the wind rattled but I felt safe, warm. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. When he reached for the covers and pulled them up over us, I didn't even move to assist, too bloody content. I'd missed him. I'd missed him so much that having him here now seemed unreal.

The sudden sting of tears caught me off guard. I slid off his body, my back to him. While pregnant, and now even after giving birth, my emotions were a jumbled mess I didn't understand. But James would not be ignored. His arm wrapped around my waist, and he tugged me close until his body curled around mine. I'd never felt more protected.

"Don't pull away from me," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "Please."

I closed my eyes. Could I trust him again? Could we somehow make this work? "What happens now, Jamie?"

He nuzzled his face into my hair. "I don't return without you."

I stiffened, surprised. "You'll force me to go back?"

He brushed aside my hair and pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "No."

I turned in his arms to face him. "You're saying as long as I remain here, as long as I refuse to leave, you'll stay as well?"

He nestled his chin atop my head and pulled me into the crook of his arm. "I am."

"But..." I pushed myself up on my elbows and away from him. I couldn't think that close to his heated body. "You have an estate to run."

He shrugged and fell onto his back. "It can wait." He stacked his hands under his head, his biceps flexing. He was right, he was no lazy lord. He was a Greek statue of some ancient god. "I have managers."

He was giving me almost everything I needed. Almost. I sat up, my back to him, and drew my knees to my chest. There was an unseasonal amount of ice and snow outside. The world felt so still. We would be trapped in the cottage for a couple days, at least. Time for me to think. Time for me to be alone with James. But when the ice melted...could I return to the moors? Could we make his estate a home for Millie? Or would it always be a place of bad memories?

His hand ran down my back, a gentle caress. "I could get used to this."

I smiled as I gazed out the dark windows. And I could get used to having him warm my bed. Feeling comforted and safe. "Have you not been intimate with many women?"

"Yes, of course. But I don't speak of the act of intimacy." He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close. "The...after."

I snuggled up against him, soaking in his warmth. Yes, I could get used to it too. I slid my cold feet between his muscled calves. "Cuddling?"

He sighed. "Yes. As reluctant as I am to admit it."

This was exactly as I'd always hoped our marriage would be. I'd never felt closer to anyone than I felt toward him at that moment. "You've never cuddled with any of your...special friends?"

"Special friends?" He laughed, a deep rumble that I could hear in his chest. "That's one thing to call them. No. The act of intimacy was just a way to find my release."

I didn't want to think of him with another, but I had to ask, "And...Claudine?"

He closed his eyes and raked his hand over his face. "I was young. I was drunk most of the time. It was after my father and Michael had died. I couldn't find Evangeline. I went to the continent after hearing rumors of her there."

Suddenly, he was pulling away and I regretted mentioning the woman's name. He sat up, his back to me, his feet on the cold floor. For a long moment he didn't speak, merely sat there, staring out the window. I wished I hadn't mentioned the vile woman. Wished we had continued to cuddle and caress, pretending as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"It was so easy for her to seduce me because I wanted it. I wanted to forget. Wanted to enjoy life for once. But no...I never loved her. I doubt I even cared."

Something didn't sit right. "Why did she bring the boy? It seemed a rather strange attempt to capture you."

He stood and paced toward the window, gazing out onto the cold, white scenery. He wasn't ashamed of his nudity, nor should he be. My gaze greedily traveled his wide shoulders, down his muscled back to his tight bottom. "I found out years after our fraud of a marriage that Claudine had been pregnant while we were together. I assume the baby was mine, although I can't be positive."

I froze. Jamie had a child out there? "What happened?"

"She got rid of it."

"Got rid?" I stood and reached for my dressing robe. "I don't understand."

He turned to face me. "There are ways that a woman can terminate a pregnancy."

"Oh," I whispered, shocked. I wasn't a complete dunce. As a young woman I'd heard rumors of concoctions that could get rid of an unwanted pregnancy, but they had always only been that...rumors.

"The ironic thing is that I would have..." His voice grew strained and he looked away. "I would have taken care of her and the baby if I'd realized. I would have married her even not knowing for sure if the child was mine. If she had kept the babe, she would have gotten what she wanted."

I tied the sash of my dressing gown. So many emotions were running through my mind. "That's why she brought the boy to the ball...to pretend to be your son."

He nodded. "If she had gotten rid of the child because she was alone and couldn't afford to raise him, I would have forgiven her. How could I not? I know how difficult it is for women."

He'd dealt with so much pain and distrust in his life. There was so much I wanted to say to him. So much I needed to explain. Perhaps I'd been punishing him and that's why I'd left. I'd wanted a real marriage; I'd wanted his trust. But mostly I wanted him. All of him. Damn it all, I loved the man.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Of course."

"How did you escape the estate?"

I flushed, knowing he wouldn't like what I had to say. "Would you believe that Terrifying Tony helped me?"

He went pale. "You're jesting. Surely you did not ask that man for help. A known criminal."

I shrugged sheepishly. "He said he owed me."

He fell back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands as if I'd just killed him. "Christ, do you know what could have happened to you?"

"He was very polite," I muttered in his defense.

He groaned.

"Would you prefer we discuss something else? For instance...whatever happened to Cecilia? She was supposed to arrive by now."

"Broken coach wheel?" Jamie offered with a grin. The man had no shame.

"Indeed." I was torn between amusement and annoyance. He knew almost everything now. Every dark secret. Every desire. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to be completely honest. "James, I—"

Millie cried out, whimpering for attention.

I knew that cry well. Something had startled her. She would not relent until I held her close, rocked her to sleep. "James, would you like to meet your daughter?"

It was my gift to him. This man who had received so little from anyone. Who had known only pain. He swallowed hard. The emotion in his gaze nearly undid me. And in that moment, much like a puzzle, everything settled into place. It all became so clear. How could I have ever doubted that he would love Millie?

"Yes," he said softly. "I think I'd quite enjoy that."

The floorboards were cold as I moved across the room and into my own chamber. The window latch had come undone, cold air seeping in through the crack. Shivering, I pulled it shut.

Millie lay there watching me, as if she'd known I would arrive all along. So trusting. So innocent. Keeping her from her father had been a mistake. I would never let her down like that again. I lifted her warm body and snuggled her close, then made my way back into the guest room. James stood there waiting, his trousers on, his gaze pinned to her as if she were the most valuable of any treasure.

"I think she has your hair," I said, mostly to make conversation. Carefully, I handed the child over. "Millie, your father."

He held her in the crook of his muscled arm, a myriad of emotions sweeping across his features. But it was the look of awe upon his handsome face that made me smile. I knew that feeling every time I looked at her.

"Lovely to meet you," he whispered.

She murmured, as if in response. With a soft laugh, he rocked her gently. Seeing him holding our baby took my breath away. The tears I'd been trying to keep at bay stung fiercely. I knew in that moment I couldn't remain here. Millie needed her father. She deserved her life of privilege on the moors. As much as I hated the idea of returning to that cold estate, it was time to say goodbye to my cottage by the sea.

Chapter 7

James

"Shhh, sweet one," I whispered. "Your mother needs her sleep. Can you not wait?"

The whimper grew louder, the tiny baby in my arms squirming in protest. Her round face looked so outraged that I nearly laughed, waking Jules myself. Every expression, every sound Millie made fascinated me. This tiny bundle I had helped create. This utter miracle.

I nestled Millie to my chest, knowing I would never get tired of holding her. It was cold and I worried she would catch a chill. She'd only recovered from her illness a week ago. So sweet. So innocent. I might not have been able to protect Evangeline, but I sure as hell would protect my daughter. And if Jules didn't want to leave this small, inconsequential village, I would stay. She might not realize quite yet, but she and Millie needed me. And if I could, I'd give up my damned inheritance in order to remain in their lives.

I glanced over my shoulder. Julianna's dark hair lay spread across the white pillows. Her thick lashes made shadows across her sharp cheekbones. Those full lips, still swollen from my kisses, parted on her deep and even breathing. My heart squeezed almost painfully.

Cecilia believed that I loved Jules.

I'd never loved anyone before, yet the feelings I'd experienced with my wife were new and unfamiliar. How would I know if it was love? I'd kill for her. I'd die for her. I'd give up my damn title if I could. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to hear her thoughts and opinions on everything under the sun. And I sure as hell wanted her in my bed.

Was that love?

Three days I'd been in Julianna's cottage. For three days we'd slept in the same bed. It was a quaint life, perfect all the same. She cooked me simple, peasant meals that no earl would have been caught dead eating. Yet, no Parisian chef I knew could have produced something as delicious. Everything seemed suddenly brighter. The world no longer dark and dreary, but full of hope and expectation.

I brushed my palm over the soft, dark hair covering Millie's head. Every purse of her tiny bow lips, every blink of her eyes fascinated me. She was completely perfect. Even while squirming in my arms, so very much less interested in me than I was in her, I found the child amazing.

In the last three days Jules and I hadn't talked much about our problems, about Claudine or my stepmother. Nor had we talked about moving back to the estate. We had been content in this little cottage by the sea and didn't want to ruin the peace we felt here. Yet, I knew it wouldn't last. The moment the ice melted, the world would invade. I cooed at Millie, attempting to comfort, but she wanted nothing to do with me. She only wanted her mother. I didn't blame her; I was a bad second choice.

"You seem to be getting on quite well," Jules said, her voice drowsy with sleep. It amazed me how often she was up in the middle of the night, singing softly to the baby while she fed. How she could thrive on so little sleep, I didn't understand. My own mother had nursed us, much to my father's annoyance. Yet another unpleasant memory I'd retained. At times I wished I could wipe my childhood from my mind.

"Ladies do not nurse!" he'd screamed when Evangeline had been a babe.

It was the one time she had refused to obey him. I'd heard him yelling from the room next door. Had surged to my feet and prepared to rush into the room to protect her. But he had not hit her that time, perhaps because she held his child. He'd left her in peace, probably to go visit his mistress...the current Dowager. How many times had I wished he still lived so that I might kill him myself? But this early morning, for the first time in my life, my father no longer mattered. Let him rot.

Jules crawled across the bed. Her white night rail hung off one shoulder and her hair shimmered in waves down her back. A pure seductress, I'd never seen anyone so beautiful. If I hadn't been holding Millie, I would have pulled my wife forward and showed her just how attractive she appeared in that moment.

She paused next to us and smoothed her hand over Millie's soft hair. I breathed deeply Julianna's sweet scent. Would I ever get used to her? Become bored? No. Never. Sensing her mother's presence, Millie squirmed even harder, determined to find food.

I smiled sheepishly. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"I didn't either." She met my gaze. A shiver of awareness swept through my body. The entire world seemed perfect in that moment. "No one does, do they?"

"I suppose not." Millie's little fingers wrapped around mine, drawing my attention to her. She stared up at me with an all too keen gaze. I had a feeling that she knew in that moment I was her father. My chest felt suddenly tight. "Was there anyone to help you?"

"Mrs. Willow was here, and a midwife."

Anything could have happened to her in this small shire. Jules was an earl's wife. She could have had the best doctor in London. The thought of losing her sent a cold chill over my body. "I should have been here."

"It's not uncommon for men to miss the births of their children."

She was right. But I wanted to be there. I wanted to hold her hand, to tell her all would be well. I wanted to be the first person to comfort my child. I'd missed it all. And I couldn't blame Jules. I couldn't even blame my stepmother and Claudine. I could only blame myself. If I had told her the truth from the beginning, she would have been prepared. If Jules had known my secret, they would have had no power over me.

I realized, in that moment, that I hadn't been terrified the world would know about Claudine, but I'd been terrified that Jules would find out. I hadn't wanted her to see me as weak, as pathetic and easily duped. I'd been no better than my father, attempting to portray to the world a man of strength, steel.

"I can hold her back no longer." Gently, I placed the baby in her arms. Jules tugged down the shoulder of her night rail, exposing a breast, and rested the baby against her chest. The greedy child opened her mouth like a baby bird, and latched on quickly. It was an intimate moment. Jules glanced up at me through her lashes and blushed but she made no move to cover herself or leave.

I knew I should have given her privacy, but I found utter fascination with the bonding experience. There was nothing to be ashamed of, and I'd already missed so much. With our baby latched to her breast, I reached out and rested my hand upon Millie's tiny head, brushing back her fuzzy hair. Her eyes closed, her body relaxing. I liked to think the child knew my touch, and that she felt safe with me nearby, but more likely Millie was merely content being fed.

"Why didn't you tell me about Claudine?"

And there was the question I dreaded. I could have brushed it off, given her the answer she expected, but I was tired of the deception. "I would like to say that I was protecting you from the vileness."

She lifted her brows. "But?"

"But in reality, I suppose I was protecting myself." Needing to think, I stood and walked to the windows. "Things were going so well with us, I didn't want to ruin it. For the first time in my life I looked forward to waking up in the morning." Once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. "Yes, I tried to stay away from you. But I couldn't. I found myself wandering toward your rooms, watching the windows to see when you would walk by outside..."

I turned to face her in all of my vulnerability.

"I couldn't get enough of you." I started toward the bed, wanting so badly for her to understand how I felt, but not sure if I could do it justice. "And I prayed you would never know the truth. Because to uncover the truth about Claudine, would mean that you'd see me as weak for being duped. And Whitfield men are never, ever weak."

She shook her head, the softness in her eyes telling me she understood. "You should have trusted me. And I should have trusted you."

I settled on the bed beside her. Fair enough. But we'd both been hurt too many times; we were wounded and vulnerable. "Can we move forward? Can we release the past? For our sakes, but also for Millie's?"

I reached out and drew my fingers down Julianna's cheek, waiting for her response.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm sorry for keeping her from you. I'm sorry for—"

"Don't." I cupped the side of her face. "Don't apologize. Please don't. I made life so very hard for you, I don't deserve it."

She sniffed, fighting her tears. "But if I had talked to you...if I had..."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips softly to hers. It was a gentle kiss that made my throat feel tight and my heart beat a little quicker. A kiss I'd never experienced with anyone before. A kiss to show my affection, that was all. Not to get under her skirts, to find my release, to forget...to show her I cared. All too soon I pulled back, worried about crushing Millie between us.

I could be happy here, resting beside my wife as she nursed our baby in this small, unassuming cottage. I could stay here for weeks, months...forever, and be content. It had been a long, long time since I'd done nothing. In the past I'd kept busy, always, trying to ignore the emptiness, ignore the pain. Worried that if I paused, the reality I'd tried to avoid would make its presence known.

"The snow has stopped," she whispered.

"It has." I glanced reluctantly toward the windows. I didn't want this moment to end any more than Jules did. "I should head to my cottage before Mrs. Willow returns."

"Or..." She hesitated, taking her lower lip between her teeth. I could practically see her mind spinning. "I could tell her the truth of who you are. That way you can remain here."

To tell the truth would mean giving up her safe little cocoon. It would mean admitting she was an earl's wife. It humbled me to realize she wanted me enough to give up her sense of peace. "You wish for me to reside here?"

She flushed. "I know we have to return to our responsibilities soon. But just a few more days alone?"

The relief I felt was immediate. It was as if I could breathe with some normalcy once more. She would return. But more importantly, she would have me again. "Jules, I wish we could stay here forever alone. But I'm happy to remain as long as you wish."

"I know." She smiled. "But I'm ready to return. To face reality with you."

But was I? I suddenly found myself not wanting to share my wife or daughter with the world. I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to hers once more. My lips lingered, for I had no desire to leave even for the few moments it would take to pack. Millie shifted between us, whimpering.

Reluctantly, I ended the kiss. "I should gather my belongings. We will stay here until the weather is a bit warmer, for Millie's sake."

Jules watched me as I finished dressing, her gaze greedy and heated. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. Our mutual attraction had never been the problem. In fact, it had kept us bonded. But we needed more.

She deserved more. Julianna shifted Millie to her other breast. "How many days left?" she asked.

"We will stay as long as you wish." I pulled on my boots, eager to get my things and return. "Whatever you wish."

I didn't want to rush her. Honestly, I was in no hurry to return to my world. Back to the rumors, the gossip. I'd tried to ignore my stepmother and Claudine. Ignoring them wasn't working. As an earl I had power. Extreme power. I also had friends who could help. It was time to call in some favors. It was time to stop ignoring the past.

She handed Millie to me and tugged on her slippers. "Don't stay away long."

Her words warmed me, made me feel wanted, needed. "I won't."

We headed onto the landing. A whisper of cold air caught my attention. The window in Julianna's bedchamber was open. "Do I heat your blood so much that you need the window ajar?"

She grinned and moved into the room to close it. "Indeed. I was thinking of rolling around in the snow if this didn't help. Blasted window keeps popping open."

"I shall procure my hammer and other tool thingies and fix it."

She laughed. "That sounds promising?"

I quirked a brow, pausing on the landing. "Do you doubt my manly prowess?"

"I wouldn't dare. You've shown me the last couple days just how manly you are."

I carried the baby down the steps, Jules following. "Very good."

"Shall I make breakfast?" she asked.

"Yes." I liked this playing house. At the bottom of the stairs I turned. Jules was standing a couple steps up, bringing her at eye level. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. "I'll return soon."

She was smiling when I returned Millie. I would never get tired of seeing Jules this way...thoroughly ruffled from a night of making love. If it took the rest of my damned life I would make sure she never hurt because of my actions again.

Grabbing my jacket from the hook in the foyer, I opened the door. Unable to help myself, I glanced back. One last look before I left. I wanted to memorize every detail. It was a new and pleasant feeling knowing there was someone waiting for me. Wanting me.

She and Millie were mine now. I would protect them no matter what.

Even if it meant destroying my family name.

****

Julianna

"What say you, Millie? Do you love your father as much as I?" I carried the babe back upstairs as Jamie left, closing the front door. "I can't deny it...at least not to you, my darling. I've loved him for some time now."

At the top of the steps I pressed my lips to her forehead. I could never get enough of the child. Her powdery scent. Her velvet skin. The sweet innocent face made my heart ache with an adoration I'd never experienced before.

And for the first time in almost a year I felt a peace like I'd never known. I moved into my bedchamber. Holding Millie made me feel better as I floundered in a relationship that was so unsteady. Yes, I loved James. But he'd never once indicated that he loved me. Oh, how I wanted to trust him, to tell him how I felt. It would be so much easier if I'd heard the words from his lips first...I love you.

With a sigh, I glanced out the windows onto the snowy scenery. In the distance, beyond the high cliffs, I could see the white-crested waves. They had become so familiar, and despite their volatile nature, I took comfort in knowing they were always there. Something, at least, was permanent.

But I must return to society. I'd shirked my duties long enough. James was certainly being more patient with me than I deserved. It was time to face my future, whatever that future might be. Finger-pointing. Perhaps even more snobbery from the ton.

A year ago I'd been so worried I would destroy what little reputation I'd managed to retain, that I'd tip-toed through life. I hadn't dared to dream the dowager and Claudine would ruin everything. My life was a jest. Fodder for gossip. Then again, I really had nothing to worry about anymore. They could do no further damage to my reputation. Perhaps I should thank them, for this had only brought James and me closer.

Millie cooed.

"Your father adores you, that much is obvious."

I paused at her basket. But how could he not love her? The problem was...did he love me? I wanted to have faith that he had changed. I wanted to believe there were no more secrets between us, that he trusted me. I so desperately wanted to have faith in James.

Resolutely, I squared my shoulders. Love would come. If it didn't...what did it matter? It was my duty to return to our privileged life for Millie's sake.

"No matter what my thoughts or insecurities, I owe you an apology, my sweetling." She gazed up at me with her wide, blue eyes as if she understood exactly what I said. "You missed out on your father for the first six weeks of your life because I was afraid. I know now that he would never hurt you, that you can trust him to keep you safe."

She cooed her forgiveness.

Laughing, I lifted her close and kissed her soft cheek. "You do forgive me, don't you?"

She cooed again as I lowered her to the basket. I wondered if her eyes would stay blue, or if they would turn dark like her father's. Her hair was as black as Jamie's. I brushed my fingertips across her downy cheek. Would she be sweet and kind, or would she be bossy and bold? Would she paint like me, or perhaps adore dresses and society as Penny did? She would never be earl of the estate, but I would make sure she knew she could do whatever she wished, despite being a woman in a society that defined ladies as weak.

"Will you be a good girl while I wash?" I tucked her blanket around her. "I would like to look somewhat presentable for your father when he returns."

Already her eyes were closing. With one last kiss to her cheek, I moved downstairs to procure hot water. How long would it take for James to return? I couldn't help but look outside the kitchen window as I put the kettle on the stovetop. Lord, I was like a virginal debutante with her first attraction.

Smoke trailed up from the chimney next door, which meant he was probably staying for some time. With a sigh of disappointment, I returned to the stove. I blushed at the thought of telling Mrs. Willow the truth. I doubted the honorable constable had told her about my marriage. No, the town would be knocking at my door if they knew an earl was in residence.

I could admit I missed the finer things I'd come to take for granted while living in the home of a titled lord. Bathtubs and maids to help with water. I missed warm beds and food always prepared, waiting. Thanks to Mrs. Willow's help, I'd learned to cook, yet I certainly was no professional chef from Paris.

The kettle whistled. I picked up the pot and carried it up the stairs. Perhaps Jamie wouldn't mind watching Millie so I might have a proper bath, instead of washing with a cloth and bowl. Perhaps Jamie might like to have a bath with me. I grinned at the thought. There was more than one positive about returning to the estate, the large bathing rooms, large beds...

I heard the voice the moment I reached the landing. Confused, I paused, thinking it had been my imagination. An eerie, whisper-like voice with a French accent. My heart leapt into my throat. The kettle fell from my hands, clanging down the steps and splashing hot water along the stairs. I could barely breathe as I bolted into the room.

A woman with long black hair held Millie. Not a ghost. Not my imagination. It took a moment for my mind to process what was happening. Another moment for me to recognize the person who stood in my chamber as if she belonged there, holding my baby like she was hers. "Claudine."

Slowly, she turned to face me. Dear God, it wasn't a nightmare...but real. All too real. She looked at me and smiled, a smirk of a smile that said she had won this game she played. "Such a lovely, lovely child. Would be terrible if something happened to her."

My body went cold.

How had Claudine gotten here? How had she made it up the stairs without me hearing her? Dear lord, the window. The hem of her gray gown was coated in mud. Her cloak was buttoned crooked, the material tattered. She looked as if she'd clawed her way up from the depths of hell.

Millie squirmed, whimpering.

My anxiety flared. The desire to kill the woman tormenting my child overwhelmed me. But I knew I could not react. If she sensed my desperation, she might pounce, and Millie could become a casualty in this war. Frantic, I glanced toward the window and at Jamie's cottage. He was still there, the smoke swirling from the chimney. I had to keep Claudine talking until he arrived.

Slowly, I moved into the room, cursing each creak of the floorboard. "Why are you here, Claudine?"

"Why?" She glared at me. Her nails were caked with dirt, her hair in ratty clumps that hung around her face. Her outside appearance matched her chaotic mind. "Because this has gone on too long. I'm tired of waiting for Jamie to come to his senses. Tired of waiting for the courts to bow to my side."

How could anyone so beautiful be so evil? She paced across the room, her steps agitated, her arms tightening around Millie. The baby whimpered, squirming, and my heart lurched. At one time I'd actually felt sorry for this woman. No more. If I'd had a gun, I would have shot her in her black soul without a moment's hesitation. She had tried to ruin my life. Had almost ruined Jamie's. She would not ruin Millie's life.

"Well then, put Millie in her basket, and we can go downstairs, discuss this over tea."

"Tea?" She released a harsh cackle of a laugh. Her dress was tattered, stained, as if she'd been wearing it for days. I knew without doubt that she'd traveled here alone. For once, perhaps Jamie's stepmother wasn't involved. "Yes, you English and your damn tea. I don't want your tea!"

She looked as if she'd escaped Bedlam. How had she found me? "If you don't want tea, what do you want?"

She frowned, looking confused. The woman had no idea what she truly wanted. "The dowager said that even if the courts didn't agree that our marriage was legitimate, we could ruin Jamie anyway. We would destroy his reputation."

I inched closer, my weak legs stumbling. Dare I dive at her? Could I catch Millie before she fell? "If you love him why would you want to ruin him?"

"I don't!" She stomped her foot, making Millie cry out, and making me cringe. "I want him. I want him and I will have him. We belong together!"

I held up my hands in surrender. "Very well. What say you we find Jamie and discuss this with him?"

"You'll sway him!" She shook her head, that angry gaze morphing into one of terror. "The only way to win him back is to get rid of you once and for all."

An icy chill raced down my spine. I surged forward.

"No!" she screamed.

Balancing Millie in one arm, she reached into her coat pocket and tore out a pistol. My heart lurched. I came to a skidding halt only a few steps away. She was going to kill me, but I'd be damned if I'd allow her to kill my daughter.

I swallowed hard over the lump of emotion in my throat. "If you kill me and the baby, Jamie will never forgive you."

She grinned, her black eyes shining with madness. "He won't know I did the deed. It will look like an accident."

Perhaps she wasn't quite as mad as we'd assumed. "Leave the baby and I swear I'll go with you without fight." My mind spun, attempting to figure out a plan. "The cliffs! If I fall off the cliffs it will certainly look like an accident."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you helping me?"

"Have you ever loved someone, Claudine? More than you love yourself?"

She tilted her chin stubbornly high. "Jamie, of course."

I could have argued with that, but didn't dare. "That's how I feel about Millie. Please, she's an innocent in all of this. She's Jamie's child."

She looked thoughtfully down into Millie's scrunched up face. My daughter was preparing to scream her displeasure. My fear intensified. If the crying annoyed Claudine, it would ruin my plan. One step at a time. First, I needed to get Millie out of the woman's arms. Then, get Claudine out of the house.

"If you shoot me here, the mess would be terrible. You would never clean it up before Jamie arrived. He'll know you did the deed. If it looks like I slipped off the cliffs, he'll never think that you were responsible. And Jamie can still raise his baby."

She frowned, studying my daughter. "With her dark hair, I suppose she might blend in with our children. No one need know. She does rather look like me. What say you, baby, shall you be part of our family?" She lifted Millie closer, the pistol tight against the baby's back. My heart lurched. One misstep, one twitch of her finger and Millie would be dead. "James would be grateful, perhaps, if I didn't kill his bastard child. If I took care of her like she was my own."

Her words chilled me. Made me ill. Claudine as Millie's mother was not something I could even stand to imagine. "He'd be grateful. He does enjoy her. He seems to love children."

"Very well." She settled Millie back in her basket. "I'll leave her alone, if you go without fuss."

I could finally breathe with some normalcy. "Just let me get dressed. It would look suspicious if I was seen out in my nightgown."

We weren't safe yet, but at least my baby was out of the mad woman's arms. I started toward the basket to check on Millie. I had to see her one last time. But I'd only taken two steps when Claudine lifted the pistol and pointed it directly at my chest.

I froze.

"My new daughter will stay," Claudine said with a smirk. "But you are going with me. I am getting rid of you once and for all. Then James and I can be together forever, just as God intended."

Chapter 8

James

A knock on the door surprised me. Other than Mrs. Willow and Jules, I knew no one in this small village who would dare to visit. Curious, I closed the trunk of clothing I'd been packing and moved out of the small bedroom at the back of the cottage. The knock sounded again, two impatient raps this time. Unease raised the hairs on the back of my neck. It wasn't a feminine knock, but heavy and fisted.

Things were progressing well with Jules...almost too well. I felt closer to her than I'd ever felt to anyone. She was starting to trust me and I wouldn't destroy that trust ever again. My instincts had been warning me something would go wrong eventually. My stepmother would not give up so easily. Neither would Claudine. Like serpents, they were waiting to strike.

I moved toward the door and tore it open, hoping to see Jules.

Instead, a tall dark-haired man stood there, beaver hat covering his head, dark eyes glaring at me under bushy brows. "Where is my sister?" he asked in a thick, French accent. "I know she's here."

My anger flared, boiling so I feared I might explode. This was the man who had sold Claudine to my stepmother, who had been so desperate for his sister to find a match that he hadn't cared about ruining my life. My hands curled. The urge to slam my fist into his face overwhelmed me.

"Get the hell off my property before I kill you."

He shifted, his desire to flee warring with his need to stand his ground. I could see the unease in his gaze, underneath the bravado. "I will leave when you tell me where to find my sister."

"Do you honestly think I'd allow that woman into my home?" How had the man uncovered my location? Unbelievably, he started into the cottage. I shoved my hand forward and pushed him back out the door. "I didn't invite you inside."

The anger that pulsed between us was almost palpable. His hands fisted, his breath coming out in white puffs that hung suspended in the cold air. He looked like an irate bull.

"Despite what I think of you, you bastard," he said in his thick French accent. "I am here to warn you."

I narrowed my eyes. The man had never helped anyone but himself. He'd tried to ruin my family for no reason other than the fact that I'd been naïve enough to fall for his sister. He'd seen easy prey and taken his chance. "Let me guess, Claudine is threatening to kill me."

"No." He paused a telling moment. "She's threatening to kill your current wife."

My body went cold. The urge to race to Julianna's cottage overwhelmed me. But if I gave into my desire, if I even glanced in her direction, I would be telling Jean where she lived. And I didn't trust him in the least. He could be setting me up even now, pretending to care.

"She left London days ago."

A drunken night ten years ago and this is what I was left with, a lifetime of punishment. "Where is your sister?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. She...disappeared."

"You mean she escaped," I snapped, shoving the man aside and heading into the cold. "You mean you were watching her because she's fucking mad and you lost her."

"Be careful what you say about my sister."

Shite, the man would defend her until the end. It was time to pack Jules and Millie into a carriage and get out of here. I was angry. Angry that my life was in turmoil once more. Angry that my time here in this pleasant and perfect bubble was at an end. Mostly angry that I'd been so stupid ten years ago. I'd make the damn estate a prison, if I must. No one would go in or out. But I would protect my family.

"Whitfield," her brother followed. "We need to discuss—"

"There is nothing to discuss. Your sister is mad. Insane. You knew and you never told me while we were courting." My boots crunched through the icy snow. "You're the bastard, you arse, in so many ways."

"Courting? Please. You were out to seduce her. You made a commitment to my sister despite the state of her sanity!"

I didn't have time to do what I really wanted to do and beat the idiot. "You lied and manipulated me. Befriended me, pushed your sister at me like she was a whore for sale."

He fell into place beside me, not relenting. "Yes, the poor lofty lord manipulated."

It would have been hard to miss the sneering sarcasm. Illegitimate, Jean had been forced to stand by why a cousin had taken his father's estate. The man blamed me and all those who were titled for losing his inheritance. "Careful, Jean, your bitterness is showing."

"Go to hell."

"Gladly," I snapped, pausing on the path that led to Julianna's door. "As long as you come along."

We stood there facing each other, each of us fuming. Perhaps it was time...time to deal with him, to face the past. My hands fisted. This man had almost ruined me, he deserved the beating I wanted so badly to give him.

Or maybe...maybe it was time to let it all go. I'd been smarter than him, than Claudine, than my stepmother. Smarter than my own father. They hadn't won. And they wouldn't. But in order for me to survive, to have a life, I had to let them go...I had to move on with Jules.

The soft neigh of a horse interrupted my thoughts. Mrs. Willow was coming down the lane upon a mount with the constable seated behind her. Damnation, the man wouldn't give in. He was a bloody saint, escorting elderly women about the village. He'd taken care of Jules when I hadn't been able to. Perhaps she actually felt something for him, which is why she didn't want to leave.

"Shite," I snapped, not liking the way of my thoughts.

It didn't matter if she had feelings for another. Jules was a married woman, by god. I wasn't sure who I wanted to kill first, Jean or the constable. Could nothing go as planned? Before I'd met Jules, my life had been carefully constructed. Julianna had blown that plan to bits, yet I couldn't deny she'd made my life better for it.

"Hello there!" Mrs. Willow called out, all rosy smiles. "The constable was kind enough to offer an escort to see Mrs. Jules and the baby."

"Yes," I muttered. "Bloody kind."

The constable had the good grace to flush.

Mrs. Willow's curious gaze went to Jean. "I see we have yet another guest, how wonderful."

"This one won't be staying."

The constable was more astute. Sensing the anger between us, he jumped from his mount. "Is something amiss?"

Mrs. Willow's round face went pale as she finally understood all wasn't as it seemed. "What's happened? Is it the baby?"

"They're fine." I started toward the cottage. Just this morning Julianna and I had been lounging in bed, taking comfort in each other and looking forward to the day. How surprised she'd be when she opened the door to find a small party upon her stoop. I lifted my fist and knocked.

The constable helped Mrs. Willow from the mount. "What is it?"

"Nothing." At least I hoped. I knocked again. The unmistakable sensation of unease was tip-toeing its spidery legs down my back. "Merely an insane former mistress."

"How insane?" the constable, asked, pushing Jean aside and stepping up onto the stoop beside me, as if he belonged there. I wasn't sure if I should be amused at his audacity or annoyed. Jean, for one, looked annoyed. I felt like a damn lad, fighting for the attention of the prettiest girl in the schoolroom. There were three too many people here, blast it all.

"How insane?" the constable repeated.

"That's none of your business," Jean muttered, glaring up at us from the path, his arms folded stubbornly in front of him. He would be of no help, but then I expected nothing less.

"I'm the constable," the man snapped, glaring down his nose at the Frenchman. "If something is amiss, I need to know."

What was taking Julianna so long? I strained to hear over the howl of wind and chatter of Jean, Mrs. Willow and the constable. Was that crying? I bristled, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

"This is none of your concern," Jean muttered. "Why are you even here?"

"Good question," I said. Ignoring them all, I pushed open the door. Millie's wail immediately assaulted me. The fear I felt was bitterly cold. "Millie? Julianna!"

I started into the cottage but the constable was quick to show his authority.

"Let me by," the man demanded, shoving passed me. "I will not leave until I make sure Julianna is well."

I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him up against the rock wall beside the door. His face went pale, his eyes wide. "I'm her husband!"

I didn't miss Mrs. Willow's gasp of surprise. "Yes, Mrs. Willow, Julianna is my wife. And it's about damned time the village knows. Feel free to spread the gossip."

"Oh my," Mrs. Willow replied. "I see."

Having given my warning, I released the constable and surged into the foyer. A kettle lay upon the floor, a puddle of water across the floorboards. It was all the confirmation I needed. Millie's cry became a shrill scream, an eerie sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Jules!" I raced up the steps. "Julianna, where are you?"

No response.

I darted into the guest room. Our blankets were still mussed; there was no sign she'd been there. Desperate, I raced across the hall and into her bedchamber. It lay empty as well. I scooped Millie up from her basket. My hands trembled so badly I feared I'd drop the babe. Her sweet little face was red and wet with tears. Julianna would never leave her to cry alone. Terror gripped at my gut. I settled Millie against my shoulder and patted her back as I'd seen Jules do. The baby instantly settled, whimpering against my shoulder.

Shite, the window. Blast it all to hell, I should have known something was suspicious.

"Shhh, now, everything will be well." I held her tightly to my chest and started back down the steps. Jean and Mrs. Willow were waiting for me in the foyer, their faces grim with foreboding.

No.

Jules could not be missing.

Yet...she wasn't here. She'd obviously left in a hurry. The fear I felt morphed into acute anger. I knew without doubt Claudine had taken her. I would kill the woman, and then I'd kill her brother.

"She's not down here," Mrs. Willow said. "We checked the kitchen and parlor."

"Where is she?" Jean asked, like the bloody idiot he was.

If I hadn't been holding Millie I would have slammed my fist into his face. "I think it's pretty obvious, you bastard...your sister took her."

I knelt and touched the kettle at the bottom of the steps. It was still warm. They hadn't been gone for long, thank God.

"You don't know that my sister is responsible." Jean shook his head, flustered. "You can't possibly know!"

I had to get to her and soon, before Claudine proved just how insane she had become. "Julianna would never leave her baby, you moron."

Millie whimpered and I smoothed my trembling hand down her back, attempting to comfort her. I didn't know what to do. I needed Jules. Where was she? Frantic, I started toward the door just as the constable was coming up the front path.

"There are footsteps outside in the snow," he said. "Two people headed toward the sea. But they're melting fast."

I forced my gaze to the volatile coast. Toward the sea. The rough and dangerous sea. Terror clawed its way to the forefront.

"Mrs. Willow," I didn't need to ask, but handed her the baby as the housekeeper stepped up beside me.

She nodded, cradling Millie to her bosom. "Go. Bring our Jules back."

Without another word, I raced toward the ocean, praying I wasn't too late.

****

Julianna

"James is a smart man, Claudine," I said as I trudged alongside the insane woman. "He will uncover what you have done, and he will not accept your apology. He will never forgive you."

Now that I had her away from Millie, I needed to work on saving myself. I couldn't leave my daughter here without a mother.

She gripped my arm and shoved the pistol into my side. "I'm smart, too. Smart enough to trick him into marrying me."

I looked at her, stunned. She'd known. She'd known the marriage had been forced, but she had gone along with it. And we'd thought she had been a naïve fool, trapped by her own madness.

"Smart enough to escape my brother's home in France and find my way here. Smart enough to escape London and find James. He will never know that I was responsible for your death. Never."

The pistol dug into my ribs, but I didn't dare flinch. As we tripped along, sliding on the ice, I worried she would fall and the gun would go off. Millie needed me. She deserved a mother. I couldn't leave my baby. I couldn't leave James. I knew him well enough to know he would blame himself if I died. He didn't deserve another scandal. He didn't deserve more guilt.

"He won't find out, he won't even know I was here," she insisted. "And once you're gone he'll forget you. He'll remember what we had."

"From what he said, you had nothing."

"Shut up!" She shoved me forward. I slid across the icy ground, twisted my ankle, and fell hard to my knees. It was my own fault for taunting her. "You know nothing!"

Anger did not work. Perhaps somewhere in that insane mind there was a bit of rationality left. I managed to sit upright. I hadn't brought a coat and the cold air had numbed my limbs, making it difficult to stand. "Claudine, you knew him only a short while."

"It doesn't matter! It took only a moment for me to know. Even he felt it." She gripped my upper arm and jerked me to my feet. Pain sliced through my injured ankle, making me wobble. "You should have seen the way he fell for me. You should have seen the way he looked at me."

Her face went soft and dreamy as she pushed me toward the cliff's edge. We were close...so close to the end. She was going to shove me into the rough, unforgiving sea. The very ocean that had given me comfort would take my life.

"He wanted me the moment he saw me. Only me. He wouldn't be waylaid. He was determined."

Her story sounded oddly familiar. It was how Jamie had been the moment he'd seen me at the creek that year ago. Perhaps he had felt something for her. Maybe she wasn't as insane as I believed. I shoved aside my reservations. I didn't have time to think about my relationship with Jamie, or my misgivings about his feelings for me. I had to figure out a way to save myself, and return to my daughter. I could only pray that Millie was well, that James had found her.

I limped beside Claudine, the cold wind tearing at my skirts and making me stumble off balance. We came to a large boulder in the middle of the clearing. A boulder where I'd sat dreaming of my unborn child last summer. "You hurt my ankle. I need to rest."

"No resting!" She shoved me again. I stumbled forward, lost my balance and fell once more. My fear turned to annoyance. I took a moment to gather my bearings, to study my surroundings. There had to be something...anything...

A small rock rested near my fingertips. Could I?

"You'll end up in Newgate, Claudine," I tried one more time. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Do you truly want to hang because of me?"

"They'll never know. They'll think you fell." She started to reach for me. I saw my chance then and there. My only chance. Before I lost the nerve, I reached out, wrapped my fingers around the icy stone and swung around. The rock slammed against her temple just as she was leaning down for me.

Claudine screamed as she stumbled back, clutching her head. The brilliant red blood seeping between her fingers momentarily stunned me. "You bitch!"

The harsh words threw me back into reality. Knowing I couldn't miss the opportunity, I dug my heels into the dirt, stood and hobbled toward the cottage. She still had her pistol and I braced myself, expecting it to go off at any moment.

"James!" I screamed. Surely he had returned to the cottage by now. Surely he had found Millie and knew something was wrong. I raced up the hill. "James!"

But the wind took my words away, tossing them out to the sea. I had to keep going, I couldn't stop. My heart hammered in my chest until I thought it would burst. Damn my tight corset, and damn the thin slippers I'd been forced to wear. My feet slid across the icy ground as I forced myself to keep going. I couldn't see the little home from where I was, but soon, just around the bend, it would be there...my haven.

"You stupid bitch!" Firm fingers bit into my scalp and pulled at my hair. The bun I wore fell down around my shoulders as my head jerked back. Frantic, I clawed at her wrists. She wouldn't let go. My knees buckled as pain lanced through my scalp and down my neck. I fell to my belly, Claudine atop my back. The weight of her body held me down upon the icy ground.

Desperate, I shoved my elbow into her side. Insanity made her strong. She wouldn't relent. With a cry, I managed to spin around and buck her off my chest. She stumbled back, falling to her bottom, but that pistol was still in hand. She might shoot me in the back, but I had no choice. I jumped to my feet and raced toward the cottage once more. The sudden blast had me stumbling to a stop. A chunk of ice flipped through the air at my feet, snapped free by a bullet.

"You fool," she screamed. "You think I won't kill you here and now, and toss your body into the ocean?"

"Claudine!" Jamie called out. He stood on the crest of the hill, like a warrior angel come to save my soul. I almost cried out in relief. I'd never been so happy to see him. "Stop this nonsense!"

She paused, her greedy eyes searching him out. "Jamie? You came for me?" Although her gun remained pointed my way, she stared at James. "You came for me. I knew you would. I told her you would."

"Yes, I'm here for you, Claudine." James started walking slowly down the trail toward us. The constable and a man I didn't know followed. All three looked pale, strained with worry and unease. "Come here and give me the gun so you don't hurt yourself."

She frowned, her gaze shifting to me. "No." She shook her head. "We can't have a life, Jamie, until she's gone. If she dies, then you can marry me legally."

"Claudine, your brother and the local constable are right behind me." Jamie wore only a coat, shirt sleeves, trousers, and boots. The cold wind tore at his hair, tousling the strands lovingly. He was close, so close I could touch him. Wanted to touch him. But I didn't dare.

"Jean is here?" she asked.

James didn't stop until he stood a few footsteps from me. "He is. And he's disappointed in you."

Her lips quivered like a child being reprimanded. Thank God, she lowered the gun. How stupid I'd been to call for James. If we were both killed, Millie would have no one. But I didn't move, didn't speak for fear of drawing Claudine's anger. Jamie didn't even glance my way, but I was smart enough to know he ignored me on purpose. To act like he cared about me would only make her angrier.

"That's a good girl. Now give me the gun, Claudine. This is not the way to be together."

I knew better than to relax.

"It is the way. The only way. Don't you see?" Her arms trembled as her gaze went to me. "It's the only way, Jamie. The only. I have to do it. I have to do it for us."

She lifted the gun and pointed it directly at my chest. The world seemed to slow. A numb reality washed over me. I saw the glint of determination in her gaze and knew this would be my last moment, my last chance to draw breath. I was going to die.

"Claudine, no!" James surged forward just as the gun went off.

Chapter 9

James

I hit Jules and pushed her to the ground. She fell to the ice hard, a gasp of warm air escaping her lips in a puff. Frantic, I ran my hands over her sides and back. "Are you alright?"

She didn't move. Didn't respond.

Terrified, I tore my gaze from her body and focused on her pale face. "Jules!"

"Y...yes," she finally managed to get out, blinking her eyes wide in surprise. "She didn't hit me. I don't think."

The relief I felt was immediate.

I allowed myself to look into her eyes just once, to cup the sides of her face and thank God nothing had happened to her. In that moment I wanted to pull her close, to hold her tight, to tell her how I truly felt about her. I didn't have time.

I spun around, my heart hammering madly. I'd almost lost her. It wouldn't happen again. I would do whatever it took to make sure Millie had her mother. I owed them that much. Claudine stood there with the pistol dangling from her fingers, staring at my chest with bemused concentration, as if she was trying to understand what had happened.

"Put the gun down," I said. "We can walk away, no one has been hurt."

"Damn you, Claudine," Jean yelled out, racing toward his sister. "What were you thinking?"

"Stop!" she hissed, swinging her arms around to point the pistol at her brother. Jean stumbled to a halt a few feet from her. She would kill her brother as easily as she would kill Jules. She blamed him for our broken relationship. Jean's stunned expression would have been amusing any other time. Did he honestly think she'd be loyal to him? He started toward her again.

"Don't," I hissed. "As much as I'd love to see you buried in the ground, we don't need the hassle of explaining your death to the courts."

He paused near me, his breath coming out in harsh pants. His unflinching gaze was pinned to his sister. A sister he was blindly devoted to. No more. The look of betrayal in his eyes was blatantly obvious.

"Julianna!" the constable called out, his face tight with worry as he knelt beside my wife. As much as I hated that he was touching her, I could admit to myself that I was grateful he would watch over her while I attempted to calm Claudine. Martyr that he was, I knew the constable would give his life for Jules.

Slowly, I got to my feet. The fall had made me oddly dizzy, or perhaps that was the fear coursing through my body, but I found myself stumbling as I stood. "Claudine, put the gun down."

"No!" She shook her head as she stepped back. The frantic look in her gaze didn't bode well. "If I can't kill her, I'll kill myself and you. We can be together, Jamie. Together, forever."

"Damn it, Claudine!" Jean yelled out. "Put the gun down."

She smiled. Her gaze contained the glassy look of madness that said she was no longer in control. "I'm sorry brother, but we have to die. Don't you see? It's the only way."

She pointed the gun at me.

"No!" Julianna screamed. "Please, no!"

I could see from the corner of my eye that the constable held my wife close. He would protect her. Millie would have her mother. I braced myself for the shot. Before she could pull the trigger, Jean dove toward her. It all happened within a blink. They fell back, hitting the ground hard. The pistol flew from Claudine's hands, skidding across the ice.

"The gun!" The constable raced toward the weapon. "Got it!"

If I'd had a lick of sense I would have picked up Julianna and left them to their fight. Damn it all, Jean needed my help. I raced forward. Despite the cold weather, sweat covered my body and my limbs were suddenly weak. What was wrong with me?

I made it only a few steps when my legs buckled and I fell to my knees. "Damnation!"

My body was no longer my own. I cursed my sudden weakness and forced my knees to lock. I knew exactly what Claudine could be like when she was determined. I'd felt the sting of her nails upon my skin, the kick of her toes, heard her shrill scream in my ears one too many times. Her insanity gave her strength. I raced forward, the wind tugging me precariously close to the edge of the cliff.

Jean had managed to pin her to the ground. She arched up, kicking him off. He stumbled toward the cliff's edge. The waves roared below. If either of them fell, they would be lost forever.

"Jean!" Claudine, in a moment of consciousness, reached for her brother and pulled him back to safety. For a few seconds I saw a flash of sanity in her eyes as they clung together. This was the Claudine I'd first met. The caring, kind, sarcastic and smart woman I'd known in France. A sharp pain in my side pulled me up short, forcing me to pause and catch my breath.

"Come home," Jean begged, gripping Claudine's upper arms. He wanted so badly for his sister to be normal, to believe she could change. I was painfully aware of his heartache. "Give up this nonsense."

His words did the opposite and just like that the madness returned, her gaze growing hard, brittle. "No!"

"Hell," I muttered. This would never end. "Jean, get away from the damn cliff."

She struggled in his arms and I surged toward the two, worried they'd topple to their deaths. As little care as I had for their lives, I didn't need the attention their sudden demise would cause.

"Let go!" she screamed.

Jean released her. Claudine stepped back, too close. The edge of the cliff gave way. Pebbles crumbled to the water below. Claudine cried out and fell back. I caught sight of her flailing arms, her wide eyes, her shocked face right before she tumbled toward the sea.

"Claudine!" Jean fell to the ground and grabbed her hand just in time.

I slid toward the edge of the cliff, laying upon the icy ground a few feet from Jean. The sea was rough below, white-crested waves crashing to the cliff's side. Jean held tightly to his sister's right hand. Claudine's skirts whipped around her legs in the wind, her body swinging back and forth like a pendulum. It was a long, long way down. Her pale face stared up at us, the fear in her eyes tugging at my conscience despite what she had done to me.

"Give me your other hand, Claudine," I yelled down to her as I inched closer to Jean. "Let me help!"

She gritted her teeth and struggled to lift her left arm toward me. But the wind was harsh and tossed her about like clothing hung on a line to dry.

"Try again!" I yelled.

"No," I heard Jean whisper beside me.

Confused, I dared to glance his way. He turned his head and looked directly into my eyes. Something shifted there, a knowing hardness that whispered through my body, a shiver of awareness that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I knew immediately what he planned.

"No." I shook my head. "No!"

His jaw clenched in determination. I dared to scoot closer to the edge of the cliff and desperately reached for Claudine. Jean released her. Shocked, I lay there in mute horror as Claudine fell. It was as if the world slowed in that moment. I could see every detail, from her dark, surprised eyes, to the highlights of auburn in her black hair. Yet, I could only lay there and watch as she fell...fell...fell. She hit the water and a wave washed over her body, taking her under, deep within its churning depths. Just like that, she was gone.

"Dear God," I muttered, turning my gaze toward Jean. He'd let her fall on purpose. His own sister. "You killed her."

He stared at the waves below, his face as blank as his eyes. "I saved her from herself."

"James!" Julianna was racing toward me.

She was the bright light in this dark, dark world.

Somehow, I managed to get to my feet and I met her halfway. She threw her arms around me with such force that I stumbled back a step. I was tired. So damn tired. The cold wind whipped around us, death hung heavy in the air. But none of it mattered because Julianna was here. Sighing, she slid her arms inside my jacket and rested the side of her face to my chest.

"I was so worried," she whispered, her breath catching. "I..."

She paused, and for a moment I thought she was overcome with emotion. But no. She pulled back, a bemused look upon her face. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to my torso. I intended to question her odd behavior, but suddenly my head throbbed, or perhaps it was my entire body. The world around me spun and I wanted to do nothing more than return to Julianna's cottage and forget this blasted day.

"James," she whispered, her voice quivering, her eyes going wide. "Dear god."

"What is it, Jules?" I somehow managed to ask. My teeth were chattering. How very strange. "What's wrong?"

Slowly, she lifted her hands.

Brilliant red blood coated her palms.

The edge of my vision went dark. "No!" I heard myself yell as I gripped her upper arms. "Tell me you're not hurt. Tell me!"

"I'm not." Her wide gaze went to me. "James..."

Her attention dropped to my belly.

"What?"

"It's you, James." She gripped the edges of my jacket and pushed the garment wide. Red blood stained the entire side of my linen shirt. "You were shot."

****

Julianna

"James!" my frantic voice echoed across the hills, drowned out by the ocean. He stumbled. I jumped forward and slid my hand around his waist, giving him support. "James!"

His body was warm, but the blood was wet and chill from the cold air. Blood draining from his veins slowly...slowly. Frantic, I tried to tug at his shirt and decipher the severity of the wound. But as my fingers brushed his side, he flinched, stumbled, taking me back with him. Somehow I managed to keep us both upright.

"Shite," he snapped, his voice strained. He was trying hard not to lean on me, but his knees were buckling and with every second that ticked by, he fell more heavily upon me. "I'm well. All will be well."

No. It wouldn't. But I didn't dare dwell upon that thought. I needed to find the entrance to the wound, needed to stop the blood. "Help! Thomas, hurry!"

"What is it?" The constable raced to our side, his frantic gaze taking in Jamie's wound. His normally stoic face went slightly pale. "Hell and damnation."

I'd never heard him curse. He'd always been exceedingly polite. Horrified, I stood there covered in Jamie's blood as the constable studied the wound, and I could do nothing...nothing but attempt to hold Jamie upright. Although Jamie was the one wounded, I felt ill. I couldn't lose him. Not now...not for a long, long time.

"We need to get him back to the cottage," Thomas said.

Jean appeared next to us. "If we move him it might lodge the bullet farther."

Terror gripped at me and I found it hard to breathe.

Jamie's face had gone pale, as if all the blood was draining the color from his body. His gaze found mine and held. There was a silent message there...within the dark depths. A goodbye. An apology. I wasn't sure, but I didn't like it. Damn him, he wasn't going to abandon me. Not until we were both old and ready to go.

"We can't leave him out here in the cold," the constable said.

"But if we move him, it might make things worse," Jean countered. "We need something to carry him on."

"Enough!" While they were standing there trying to decide the best course of action, Jamie was losing his life. "We don't have time to argue. To the cottage, now!"

"That's my lass," Jamie whispered near my ear. "You tell these idiots what to do."

His jest brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't lose him. I couldn't. "Stop, just stop. Keep quiet and save your strength."

"Move aside, Julianna," the constable insisted. "You aren't strong enough to help him."

Reluctantly I moved. The constable slid his arm underneath Jamie's shoulders. The movement had him cringing, a moan slipping from Jamie's lips. The pain that flashed quickly across his face tore at my heart.

I gripped my bloody hands tightly in front of me. "You're hurting him."

"Julianna," the constable gritted out, shuffling forward under Jamie's weight. "We can't help it. This will hurt and he'll have to take it."

I bit back my reply. He was only trying to help.

"Just a little way," I said to Jamie, praying I'd ordered them to do the right thing. What if Jean was correct and the movement would wound him further?

Claudine's brother took Jamie's other arm. Together, they started down the lane. I raced after them, torn between wanting to remain by my husband's side and wanting to run ahead to prepare. Jamie's face had grown damp with sweat despite the cold weather. He barely looked conscious.

"Go, get hot water," the constable said. "Bandages."

I pulled my skirts to my knees and darted up the hill.

He couldn't die. He wouldn't dare.

I wouldn't allow it. Tears burned my eyes, blurring the landscape before me, but I refused to pause even long enough to swipe them away. How could this happen when we'd just reunited? When everything was going so well? I tore open the front door of the cottage.

"What happened?" Mrs. Willow asked, stepping into the foyer, Millie in her arms.

"Jamie was shot," I somehow managed. Brushing passed her, I raced into the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove. Everything I touched left bloody prints. Jamie's blood. "Bandages. We need bandages and hot water."

"Oh dear lord," Mrs. Willow whispered, cradling Millie close.

Millie who had only met her father. She couldn't lose him. I couldn't lose him. Where were they? I glanced back at the foyer. What was taking so long? I wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to stop the trembles.

"Yes. Bandages." Mrs. Willow settled Millie into her basket. As if sensing something amiss, the baby began to squirm and whimper. She couldn't lose her father, not after she had just found him. I couldn't lose Jamie, not after I had just forgiven him. I wouldn't let his stepmother destroy our lives. She would not win.

Mrs. Willow had grabbed one of my old petticoats that was in the clean laundry basket and began to rip it into strips of cloth while watching for them out the window of the kitchen. Waiting for the water to boil was torture. I paced across the room, the floorboards creaking. Every snap like gunfire. It was a small room with a stove and table and I found myself running into Mrs. Willow more than once.

Millie's whimpers only reminded me of what we both had to lose. I moved toward her basket and rested my hand on her belly, needing to touch her. "Shhh, my love. All will be well."

"They're coming," Mrs. Willow called out.

I raced into the foyer, my heart slamming erratically against my ribcage. He had to be alive. I tore open the door. Jamie's head hung down, his chin to his chest so I couldn't see his eyes. The entire side of his shirt was covered in blood. The room began to spin, the world off balance. Vaguely I was aware of Millie crying from her basket. Vaguely aware of Mrs. Willow's gasp of shock at seeing the wound. None of it mattered at the moment. I needed to look into his eyes; needed to press my ear to his chest and hear his heart beating.

I held the door wide as they stumbled into the house, dragging in ice and mud upon their boots. "Up the stairs."

When I heard the moan slip from Jamie's lips as they hefted him up the first step, I almost dropped to my knees in relief. He was still alive. Hope remained. My legs felt weak, the world no longer real, yet somehow I managed to follow them up the stairs. Claudine and her madness could not win. She would not take Jamie to the afterlife with her, damn them all! He was mine. Mine.

They lay him gently upon the guest bed. Only a couple hours ago we'd been in that very bed, making love and making plans for a future together as a family. Gently, I started to take off Jamie's jacket. "Did the bullet go through?"

"I'm not sure," Thomas said, lifting Jamie so I could get the jacket and shirt free. His own clothing was covered in Jamie's blood. How much could he lose before he succumbed? It looked like so much, so much.

Jamie groaned and I flinched. "I'll be quick," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond, his eyes closed. His entire torso was stained red, but I could see the puncture at his side, where the blood continued to bubble. Fear sent a cold chill straight to my soul. I couldn't seem to stop shaking. It all felt like a dark, endless nightmare.

"I'll head to town," Jean said. "Find the doctor."

I waited until the man left. "I don't trust her brother."

"Neither do I," Thomas admitted.

Mrs. Willow appeared in the doorway with the strips of linen as I was removing Jamie's boots. She got one look at the bullet wound in his side, seeping blood, and went as pale as Jamie. With trembling fingers, she handed the linens to the constable. "I'll just check on the water and Millie."

"Jamie?" I whispered, settling on the edge of the bed. He didn't respond. I dared to tear my gaze from his face and focus on Thomas. "Tell me he'll be well?"

The constable sighed, handing the linens to me. "Bullet seems to have gone through, thank God for small favors. The wound isn't the problem. It's the loss of blood and chance of infection." He shook his head. "We just don't know."

I held the linens close. The tears I'd been trying to hold back fell, trailing down my face and dripping to the bed. "Lift him?"

The constable did as was told. This time Jamie didn't flinch, didn't make a sound. It worried me even more. I would have preferred him wailing in pain than silent. Quickly, I wrapped his waist, covering the wound. The blood did quick work of soaking through the material.

"Hurry, Thomas. Go to town to search for the doctor."

He nodded and headed toward the door. But on the threshold he paused, hesitating. "He is truly your husband?"

Any other moment I would have blushed in embarrassment for keeping the information from the man, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered but James. I didn't want to hide our relationship any longer. "Yes. He is. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

He shook his head. His own hands were covered in Jamie's blood, his clothing stained red. He'd done so much for me, and he deserved better. "You tried to dissuade me. But I was persistent. It's hard to let go of a lady like you."

I flushed and focused on Jamie. The only sweet words I would listen to, would come from my husband. "I should have known about his wound. If only I'd noticed it sooner."

"Do not blame yourself."

I settled in the chair and took Jamie's hand in mine. Such a strong, fine hand that had brought me so much pleasure. He had callouses from the work he'd done on his cottage. I rubbed those sores as if I could magically heal them. "How had he not noticed the wound?"

"Doctor is coming up the lane," Mrs. Willow called up the stairs.

My relief was immediate. Jean had come through after all.

"When there are extreme emotions involved, especially when one is protecting the person they love, it can numb them to the pain. I've seen it before."

Jamie had been protecting me. Me. I no longer needed to hear his words of love. He'd shown me in so many ways he cared.

"The next couple days will be vital," the constable said. "I'm going to meet the doctor at the door."

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. Although I didn't want to speak the thought aloud, I knew this could be my final moment with my husband. "Jamie?"

No response.

I placed my hand to his forehead. He was cold. So cold.

"Oh Jamie." I rested my elbows on the bed, my head in my hands as the tears trailed down my cheeks. How would Millie and I go on if he died? "You stupid man, why did you do it?"

"Because, you silly woman," his voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you. Isn't that obvious?"

I tore my hands from my face. "Jamie?"

His eyes were open, but clouded with pain. It was enough. He lifted his hands and started to reach for me, only to grimace and pull back. "I'm here."

I surged from my chair. "Oh, thank God!"

"Indeed, he wouldn't have me. Said I needed saving first. Besides, if you think I'm going to leave you here alone and give that bloody constable a chance..."

"Do not jest," I whispered. My entire body trembled, a mixture of emotions assaulting my senses. Needing to do something helpful, I grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the watering bowl near the bed, then brushed it across his forehead.

"Water?" he whispered.

I could hear the doctor and Thomas starting up the stairs. Our time alone was at an end. I reached for a glass and the pitcher. "You better not die. I mean it, Jamie." My hands shook so badly I poured more water onto the floor than into the cup. "Damn it all, do you want her to win?"

He watched me curiously as I brought the water to him. "I've never seen you this flustered, and over me? I find I rather enjoy it."

His voice sounded weak, so unlike him. I knew he would not last much longer. This was my fault. All my fault.

"Please, Jamie." I slid my arm under his neck and helped him drink. With my body pressed against his, I savored the moment. "Don't. Please be serious."

"I'm serious." He swallowed. "I love you, Jules."

My heart lurched. I wasn't sure if I wanted to shake some sense into him, or kiss him. For the first time since meeting the man, I didn't want to hear his words of love. I had this horrible, terrible feeling he was telling me because he thought he was going to die.

"I love you." His breath became shallow, his voice a mere thready whisper. "And I promise I'm not going anywhere."

His thick lashes lowered, his eyes closed.

My arm tightened around his shoulders, panic flaring. "Jamie?"

There was no response.

Epilogue

Julianna

I brushed aside the withered flowers and placed fresh ones on the grave. Even now, months later, the pain and sadness had not faded. I knew eventually I wouldn't think about him every minute of every day. But at the moment his death was as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday.

"I miss you so much," I whispered, my throat growing tight with emotion I didn't dare give into. For I knew if I was reduced to tears, I might never stop crying. "It's silly, I know, but I actually thought you might win. That you were too strong to succumb to something as common as death."

Although my belly was heavy and swollen with child, I managed to straighten and brushed the dirt from my skirts. It was peaceful in this cemetery upon the moors. Taking in a deep, calming breath, I allowed my gaze to wander across the cemetery and toward the fields dotted with blue flowers. When I'd once despaired to live here, this place now felt like home. Despite the bad memories at this estate, I could imagine residing nowhere else.

"I suppose all children believe their parents are immortal." I glanced at the headstone. "You had a good life, didn't you?"

A high-pitched squeal interrupted the peaceful setting. The sound of innocent laughter brought a smile to my face I could not deny. I turned to see Millie racing unsteadily through the entrance of the wrought iron fence. She'd started walking a couple months ago and hadn't stopped. Her bright, happy face made my heart squeeze with an emotion that almost overwhelmed me. She did not know to be sad or fearful of death in this cemetery, she only knew to enjoy life, to look forward to what was to come day after day. Spotting me she grinned and headed in my direction.

"Careful!" There were too many headstones to fall upon. "James?"

"I've got her." Jamie swooped into the cemetery like an archangel, and scooped up Millie saving her from certain injury. "You little sweetling."

Sweetling indeed. She screamed and arched her back, her happiness gone as quickly as it had arrived. What had happened to my calm and innocent baby? I'd once wondered if she would be sweet and kind or bold and demanding. Most certainly bold and demanding. I didn't let her get away with much...but James...she could wrap him around her little finger with a mere smile.

"You shouldn't be out here alone in your state." Balancing Millie against his chest, he slid his free arm around me. I lifted my head as he lowered his. The kiss was soft, gentle. "You should be inside."

"It's the first warm day without rain. Besides, I'm hardly ill, merely with child."

He rested his hand on my swollen belly. "Very, very with child."

I frowned. "Do keep speaking and you'll find yourself sleeping in a guest room tonight."

He leaned down and kissed me again.

"Excellent response, my lord," I murmured with a grin. I'd thought my feelings for Jamie would fade, but if anything they'd only grown stronger. How much he'd changed since being shot that year and a half ago. If it wasn't for the scar on his side, that memory would have seemed like some terrible, terrible nightmare. Two weeks after she'd fallen, Claudine's body had washed ashore. She was truly dead, yet there was little relief for his stepmother was still spreading her gossip.

"Kiss," Millie demanded.

Jamie lifted her high, making her giggle, then lowered her so they were face to face. She cupped his scruffy cheeks in her pudgy hands and smacked her lips to his. "Lovely," he laughed, swiping the slobber from his mouth.

The day was soft and gentle, the breeze warm, and the sky blue for once. Yes, these moors had grown on me, the watchful nature and quietness of it all. And we were making our own memories. Happy memories. The halls were now filled with Millie's laughter and my colorful paintings. I'd even sold two more pieces to affluent members of London society. I was making a name for myself as an artist.

"It's going to be a boy," I said as we left the cemetery. "I know it."

Jamie set Millie down and watched as she raced across the grass toward my mother who sat on the patio, sipping tea. I'd been so happy when Mother and Father had decided to spend their last few months with us that I hadn't thought about the end. When Father had asked to be buried here instead of our small plot at the church in Dorset, I'd been brought to tears. He didn't want strangers looking after his grave. Jamie had readily agreed to allow him to be laid to rest in the family plot. So he would always be here with us.

Jamie slid his arm around my waist. "A boy, huh?"

"Yes." I nodded. "I'm sure of it."

He grinned. "I think Millie will be able to hold her own against a brother or two."

I laughed. "Oh, she'll have them eating out of her palms."

A sudden rippling ache swept through my lower belly. I stumbled, but managed to bite back my gasp. Jamie was there, his arm tightening around me as concern flashed across his dark eyes. "Are you well?"

I forced myself to smile. "Fine. Just tripped upon my own feet. Clumsy."

He paused, forcing me to stop. "Jules, you would tell me if the baby was coming, wouldn't you?"

"Of course." I tore my attention from his steady gaze. "Oliver is here."

It worked and he focused on his brother. "Probably busy offending your mother at this very moment."

I laughed to cover up the flinch of pain. They were coming faster now. Poor Jamie. He hadn't a clue what would happen, as he hadn't been there for Millie's birth. If I told him the truth of what was to come, he'd force me to bed and I didn't want to lay there waiting, having nothing to focus on for hours but the pain.

I took Jamie's arm as we started up the steps and headed toward the table set for tea. Oliver had already scooped up Millie and was listening intently as she babbled. We weren't naïve enough to believe he had a soft spot for children. He found her fascinating...as a scientist would find a new species of insect intriguing. And she loved him because he actually paid attention to her nonsensical words. Yes, he measured, he checked her eyes and ears, and took notes, but to her it was still attention.

Oliver settled Millie into my mother's eager arms. Millie, of course, was not going to stand for that and slipped off her legs only to run laps around the stone patio.

"Mrs. Samson!" I called out.

I didn't use the nanny often, but I needed her more and more as of lately. Unfortunately, we'd been unable to persuade Mrs. Willow into moving here. She'd been born and raised in the small village and wanted to die there.

"Of course, my lady." Mrs. Samson raced after Millie. I could only relax when the nanny had escorted her to the safety of the soft grass. I'd heard that once I had my second child, I wouldn't worry as much about the first, but I had my doubts.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Mother asked.

"Well," I managed.

Mother was staying here until after the baby was born, then going to visit Penny in London. She'd decided to sell the small cottage Father had purchased for her in Dorset and reside between the two of us. Penny had given birth to a son some months ago and they were planning to spend Christmas with us here. After Father's death none of us wanted to be alone. The more the merrier.

"Have you heard from Cecilia?"

I didn't miss the glance Oliver and Jamie shared.

"I have." Although I'd told no one but Jamie, I knew where she resided. The little home by the sea where I'd given birth to Millie was no longer empty. Cecilia and I had dubbed it Heartbroken Cottage. Knowing it was better to change the subject for all of those involved, I did. "The weather is lovely. I do hope it lasts."

My mother surged into conversation about the sunshine. Rafe had hurt Cecilia horribly and I would never forgive him. Never. But as much as I wanted to be loyal to my friend, I could not prevent Jamie from seeing his own brother. It wouldn't be right. And so I smiled politely and left the room whenever Rafe appeared, instead of stabbing him in his cold, black heart as I desired.

Another pain rippled across my belly. I sank back into my chair to cover the grimace. Breathing through the ache helped. But I knew that soon nothing would dull the pain.

"Tea, my dear?" Mother asked, lifting the pretty kettle with the red roses. A tea set that had belonged to Jamie's mother. I thought of her often. Talked to her even at times, for I swore I could feel her presence in the estate. I hoped she had found some peace, now that her eldest son was happy and content.

I nodded.

Mother hesitated, her astute gaze scanning my features. I couldn't hide my cringe as another cramp started. When I remained silent, she sighed and poured. She knew how stubborn I could be and would not push, even though she realized the truth. Since having Millie, I felt closer to my mother than I ever had before. I understood what she had gone through, the worry and anxiety she felt even still.

She set a cup before me. "Perhaps you'd like to take your tea in your room?"

"No," I said, resting my hands on my belly. "I'm quite all right. It's so lovely outside."

She merely lifted a brow as she sipped her own tea. Sensing something amiss, Jamie jerked his gaze toward me. I wasn't quite ready to retire to my room. Not yet.

"Oliver, do tell us how you are."

He seemed startled by the sudden focus on him, when usually people tried to avoid conversation with the man. "Oh. Yes, of course, you wish to divert attention from you."

Jamie slowly lowered his tea cup, his fierce gaze bringing a blush to my cheeks. "Why is that, my dear?"

I gave him a forced smile. "Nothing, my sweet."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward me. He looked utterly annoyed and completely endearing. He was angry, but I could also see the panic in his gaze. Poor man. "Is there something you're not telling me, Jules?"

"No." I shook my head frantically. "Nothing at all."

"Jules," he drawled out. "What aren't you saying?"

"Jamie, really, don't be obtuse." Oliver reached across the table and grabbed a biscuit. "Your wife is about to give birth."

****

James

She made me leave the room after two hours.

According to Jules, every time she cried out, I looked as if I might faint, and she shouldn't have to worry about me falling over and cracking open my head while she was bringing our child into the world. Besides, I couldn't save her from childbirth. If it was time for her to die, it was time.

Those words, of course, did not make me feel any better. Rafe had arrived and between him and Oliver, they managed to pull me down the hall, but not before I'd given them each a black eye. Rationally, I knew I was not helping Julianna. But it didn't stop me from wanting to be with her, from holding her hand.

It was barbaric, it was. I'd be damned if we'd have another child. "Childbirth should be outlawed," I muttered mostly to myself.

"Well then we'd have a problem populating the earth," Rafe added. "Wouldn't we?"

"Shut up, Rafe," I snapped, pacing to the windows. Evening had fallen, the sky had grown dark. How much longer would it take?

"It's natural," Oliver had said an hour ago, which had made me want to give him another black eye.

There was nothing natural about watching your loved one in so much pain.

Rafe headed toward the sideboard to get a drink as if it was every other day. The clock struck the hour. Eight in the evening. If I'd been there for Millie's birth, she would have been an only child. I paced by Rafe. He handed me a glass. I took the whiskey and drank it in one gulp.

"How much longer?" I snapped, slamming the cup upon the sideboard. The room seemed too small. The walls felt as if they were leaning in on me. I tugged at my collar, warm and nauseous all at once. "Why does it take so damn long?"

"It's only been five hours, Jamie," Oliver said, casually flipping through a book on human anatomy as he lay relaxed upon the settee. "Most births are that long, if not longer. Are you sure you don't wish for me to help?"

"Damnation Oliver," Rafe snapped. "It's inappropriate! How often do we have to remind you?"

Looking annoyed, Oliver tossed the book to a side table. "I'm a damn doctor now, how is it inappropriate?"

Rafe rolled his eyes and poured himself another drink. He'd been an outright arse all evening. If I'd cared, I might have asked him what was wrong. But I had more important things to worry about.

"You'll treat her like a science specimen," Rafe muttered. "When she's our sister-in-law."

"I only see her as a person in need."

"Shut up, Oliver," Rafe snapped, heading toward his chair. "Sometimes you're a right arse."

"That's rich, coming from you," Oliver muttered. "Ever since Cecilia—"

"Do not say another word," Rafe seethed.

"I can't take it any longer." I started toward the door, their petty argument driving me mad. Did they not understand that my wife was in pain? That even now she could be losing her life? Hell, women died in childbirth every day. "It's too quiet."

I surged into the foyer. The house was still. Most of the servants were downstairs, or sleeping in preparation for their early morning. No sound of Julianna crying out, no sound of a baby's wails.

Fear had me racing up the steps three at a time.

When we'd returned home after Claudine's death Jules had moved into my bedchamber. I wanted her close by and she didn't want me to be alone after the injury. Over a year later I was fit as a fiddle, although the scar did sting once in a while, and she still shared my chamber.

While I'd been healing at the cottage, I'd thought about telling the constable about Jean murdering his sister. But Jean had disappeared, most likely headed back to the continent. It just wasn't worth the pain. Although I certainly didn't wish to see her meet such a horrible demise, I could admit that I was relieved I would no longer have to deal with Claudine, or her brother. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same about my stepmother, who had made it her goal to spread rumors through London that I had been responsible for Claudine's death.

Of course, it couldn't be proven. In fact, I had witnesses that said otherwise. But whether she spread the gossip or not no longer mattered. Let all of England believe what they would...I had Jules, I had Millie...

A sudden cry interrupted the silence.

A baby's cry.

And apparently I had a new child.

I bolted down the hall and tore open the door. "Jules?"

Vaguely, I was aware of the doctor washing a squirming bundle in a basin near the fireplace. But my gaze remained upon Julianna, who looked so vulnerable and small in my large bed.

"Julianna." I raced across the room and knelt by the bed. She was pale, so damn pale. Her gaze met mine, blue eyes hazy with exhaustion and pain. She'd told me Millie had been easy enough. Was this what easy resembled?

"Tell me you're well." I clutched her hand. Her lashes were fluttering as if she meant to sleep. "Tell me."

Her hair lay in a long braid across her shoulder, her white nightgown damp with sweat. And there was blood, dear god, brilliant red blood across the white sheets. My heart clenched.

Somehow she managed to smile. "I wouldn't dare tell you otherwise."

The relief I felt was immediate. I pressed my lips to her forehead, lower to her lips. Although there was a doctor, Julianna's mother, and a baby in the room, it felt completely intimate, just Julianna and me. "Hell, I was frightened." I wanted to pull her close, to hold her tight, but feared I'd hurt her. "I can't take this again. No more children, understand? No more."

"But I do believe you once said I had to give you two sons," she teased.

"Julianna," I insisted, wanting her promise, as if a woman could vow such a thing. "No more—"

"Out with you," her mother said. "And take the baby."

Suddenly, the child was shoved into my hands. A tiny thing barely larger than a puppy. I'd thought Millie had been small at six weeks, but a newborn was as delicate as a baby bird. I stared down at it's tiny, red face in horror, awe and utter fascination.

"Come now, Whitfield," her mother said. "You've done this before. You'll be fine. Now go on into the hall, while my daughter puts on a fresh gown and makes herself presentable."

But I hadn't done this before...Millie had been born and Julianna no worse for wear when I'd found them. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

"I don't give a damn what she looks like," I growled, merely wanting to be with Jules. "It's not a bloody ball."

Her mother tilted her chin, her lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. "I'll forgive you for snapping at me, my dear. Now, take your son out into the hall."

"Son?" I repeated, stunned.

Jules gave me a knowing smile from the bed.

My mother-in-law shoved me toward the door. I suddenly found myself in the hall, alone with the baby and not quite sure how I had gotten there. The babe murmured, making the softest sound. Intrigued, I stared down at my son feeling incredibly vulnerable and unsure. Millie had been so very easy. I'd missed the most difficult part of her birth. She'd been born adoring me, and I adored her.

But this boy...I didn't know what to do with a lad. Ironic, considering I'd been surrounded by the male species. I only knew that I didn't want him to ever feel about me the way I'd felt about my father. I wanted him to be proud of our family. More importantly, I wanted him to grow up to be sure of himself, not ashamed. Not desperate to prove he was worthy.

He blinked his eyes opened. I saw the innocence there in his blue gaze, the trust, the knowledge that somehow he knew I was his father. My chest grew tight. I would do him proud.

"We'll be all right, won't we?"

Of course he didn't respond, but he didn't need to. An odd warmth of reassurance swept through my body, tingling my hands and toes. All would be well.

The door opened and the doctor stood there with a smile in place. The same man who had brought me, Rafe, Will, Oliver and Evangeline into this world. He was a kind man who had tried to support my mother despite my father's wrath. "You can see her now."

"Thank you."

"Your mother, God rest her soul, would be proud of you."

My throat felt tight. I could only nod. He patted me on the shoulder as I moved by him and into the room. A fire burned brightly in the hearth. The sheets had been changed, Julianna's mother had left out the adjoining door, probably to check on Millie.

Jules was propped up against a mound of pillows. She still looked pale, but her hair had been combed and her nightgown replaced. There was an eagerness in her eyes that swept away her exhaustion. "How is he? Is he beautiful?"

I glanced down at our son's scrunched, red face and almost laughed. He looked rather like a grape that had been left out in the sun too long. "Yes, of course."

She lifted her arms. "Let me hold him, please."

I rested on the bed beside her and handed over the baby. He murmured, as if sensing she was his mother and already finding comfort in her arms. I studied every inch of her face, looking for signs of discomfort. I had to be sure she was well. She held our baby close, her bright gaze on him, studying his features with the same scrutiny that I studied her. "Have you thought about a name?"

She smoothed her palm over his downy hair, as dark as Millie's. "Do you have one in mind?"

I hesitated, for I didn't want to make her cry. Especially in her state. "I do."

"What?" Sensing my hesitation, she tore her attention from the little one and met my gaze. "What name do you have in mind?"

I trailed my fingers down the side of her face. Did she have any idea how dear she was to me? How much I needed her? How much she had given me? I could never repay her, but perhaps this would be a start. "I thought we might use your father's name."

"Edward?" Her surprised gaze widened in obvious delight. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. He gave you to me, after all." I cupped the side of her face. I'd do anything for her. "I think he knew, despite our reluctance, that we needed each other."

She smiled, a smile like the very sun, sending rays of warmth through my body, sweeping aside any doubt, any worry, any sorrow. "Edward James."

I couldn't help but kiss her. "I love it."

"And I love you," she whispered.

Content, I pulled back and leaned against the pillows next to her. Together, we studied the miracle we had somehow created, arguing over who he resembled more, until Jules, completely depleted, fell asleep and I was left to watch over my family.

I am the Earl of Whitfield.

Two years ago I didn't believe in love.

I thought emotion of any kind was a weakness.

Two years ago I'd thought I needed to marry someone proper and demure, someone who would obey me without question. Someone to help restore the family name that had been so thoroughly tarnished by my father.

And then I'd found Julianna.

She was rarely proper.

She rarely obeyed.

She could be angry and stubborn and damned annoying at times.

She'd ruined my carefully constructed plans.

And for that I would be forever grateful.

The End

Read the sneak peek below of A Dangerous Deception, available now!

A Dangerous Deception

Volume One

Chapter 1

William

"I do apologize if I misheard, but did you actually say you've never met your fiancé?" Rafe choked dramatically on his drink, always the one to make a scene. "The very woman who will be here within the hour? The woman you're to marry in four weeks' time?"

Amused, I leaned back in my chair and waited for Charles to respond. With the fire warm at my side, and a glass of whiskey in hand, I was content to spend my afternoon listening to our cousin's excuse. I had a feeling I was watching what would soon become a comedy of errors to make Shakespeare himself proud.

Charles shrugged. "Why so surprised, Rafe?"

I took a drink, the alcohol burning welcomingly down my throat. He had a point. Really, there was nothing untoward about a match between strangers. He would marry a woman his father had uncovered, as if she was some ancient buried treasure, for the benefit of the family name. A common occurrence in the ton. Thank heavens I was the third son in my family. No one cared if I married.

However, being a second son, I could understand why Rafe found the idea appalling. If only our older brother James would marry and have a child already, perhaps Rafe wouldn't feel such unease. While most spares were eager to take over, and would in fact go to extreme lengths to grasp that power, Rafe reveled in being free from responsibility.

The fact that James was traipsing around the continent as if he wasn't the least bit important worried Rafe. God forbid James never married. I slid Rafe a glance. He, as the heir apparent? The man to carry on our family name? The thought was as insane as it was frightening.

Although polite society had never deemed me nor my brothers of high moral character, they still grudgingly accepted us into their ballrooms. It was amazing what an old lineage and money could get one. They would expect even us to carry on the family name. It was just the way of things.

"We will marry in a very lavish ceremony, I might add," Charles said, sipping his port. He really had no concern at all over the fact that he was being forced to bond himself to a stranger. Then again, he was an only child. The sole heir. Which meant he really had never had control over his own life. "Already in the post and all."

Rafe sighed. "Trapped then."

I couldn't hold back my grin. Rafe found the idea of marriage to anyone horrifying, let alone someone he'd never met. If James didn't marry, it would be up to Rafe to settle down. Would he marry, if he must? Would he do his duty? If there was one thing that Rafe hated it was following the rules. More likely he'd be killed in a drunken brawl before he'd settle down. Which meant...dear Lord, I'd be next in line.

"Oh please, don't look down your shocked aristocratic nose at me," Charles continued, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his navy jacket. "It's all very English. And need I remind you that you're English as well, even though you drink whiskey, so start acting the part."

"Yes, marrying for advantageous reasons," Rafe murmured, settling on a settee that looked much too fragile to hold his tall, lanky frame. A feminine piece left over from Charlie's mother, God rest her soul. Like most women who married into our family, she'd been too delicate to last long. "So very English. No hand-holding. No kissing. As little touching as possible, even with your own bloody wife. What exactly is the point of getting married? Well, besides passing on the family name and all that nonsense."

Charles snorted as he pushed away from the mantel and paced to the windows. "Money, my cousin. That is the point. Her father has made millions in the railroad. Sad time for England indeed when we're forced to marry American heiresses to keep our estates afloat."

"Yes, but money or not, usually you've at least spoken to your fiancé." Rafe insisted, regarding our cousin with raised brows. He was enjoying this much too much.

"What do you expect, Rafe, a love match?" Charlie sneered.

The idea of anyone loving Charles was so preposterous, I almost laughed. Blood made me loyal to the man, but even I knew he was a selfish bastard.

"Seen her. Met with her," Rafe continued. "She could be a troll."

"I'll bed her with the lights out." Charles lifted his glass into the air as a salute. "They're all the same between the legs."

"I highly disagree," Rafe muttered, resting back onto the settee as if he meant to take a nap. He had no problem making himself at home no matter where the place. He just didn't care a bloody whit about protocol. If only I could be more like him. But hell, someone in our family had to be proper. Had to at least carry on a façade of decency.

"Besides, I've written her—what was it—two letters?" Much to my chagrin, Charlie looked to me for confirmation. I had to resist the urge to pull at my collar. "Wasn't it, Will?"

Even though I gave him a pointed glare, he hadn't caught on. Really, the man was an idiot at times.

"Why would you be asking Will?" Rafe wanted to know, his voice laced with suspicion as he stacked his hands behind his head and studied my features.

I could feel the heat race up my neck and into my cheeks. Rafe knew me well, too well. "I merely helped him write the letters. She seems like a highly intelligent, thoughtful woman."

Charles cursed under his breath, raking his hand through his hair and leaving the dark strands mussed. "Highly intelligent? Thoughtful? Hell, why not just say she's going to resemble Farmer John's pig down the road."

"Good lord, you wrote his letters?" Rafe said, bolting upright and ignoring Charlie's comment. "Say you didn't."

I knelt by the fire, stoking the flames with a poker, mostly to avoid my brother's astute gaze. "I didn't write them, merely suggested a comment or two."

It sounded guilty even to my own ears. Christ, what was I supposed to do? Charlie wasn't even going to respond to his own fiancé's missives. I did what any decent man would...I saved his arse.

"So you've never met her. Only written two letters... Correction, Will has written her two letters." Rafe shook his head in disgust. "And to top it off, your fiancé will be here at any moment but you're going for a picnic in the orchard?"

"You make me sound so dastardly," Charles grumbled. "Like a villain in a gothic novel."

I sank back onto my chair, content to watch this play out. Perhaps Charles was finally seeing the err of his ways. Most likely wishful thinking on my part.

"Villains are rather dashing," Rafe admitted, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, God help us all. When Rafe spent too much time thinking, it always led to one mishap or another. "The hero can be so bloody boring and predictable."

I rubbed my brow. Having a conversation with the two was much akin to conversing with a couple of highly spoiled toddlers. "Only you would think that, Rafe."

"Don't fret William, it will give you wrinkles." Charles moved by and clasped my shoulder in a companionable way. "Your handsome features, your dashing personality...no wonder why all the ladies like you."

Suspicious, I shot him a wary glance. He was buttering me up for something alright. What?

"You're truly leaving, and won't be here to welcome your fiancé?" I said, returning the subject to one that actually mattered.

He shrugged as he paused in front of a gilt-framed mirror to smooth down his hair. "How can I resist a picnic? The orchard is so lovely this time of year. Besides, I do have guests to entertain. She won't mind, you'll be there to meet her...won't you?"

And there it was. This time I did sigh, rather long and loud. Rafe slid me an amused glance. I knew what he was thinking: I let Charles take advantage of me. For the most part I hadn't minded. We saw each other only a couple times a year, and he was family, after all.

"William, can you pay off the milliner? I purchased a new bonnet for my mistress and he's breathing down my neck. I'll pay you back, of course."

Of course he never had.

"William, Lord Tippens is irate, thinks I slept with his wife."

"And did you?"

"What does that matter? Can you speak with him, set things right?"

The memories didn't help my mood. I shifted, growing rather irritated. It was bad enough I had to be the rational one to my three brothers and their philandering ways, but somehow over the years my cousin had been added to the list. "And if I say no, the poor girl will be left to welcome herself?"

"The butler will be in attendance." Charles brushed his hand through the air in a dismissive manner. "I assumed you had a book to read, or maps to study, and would be here anyway."

"Yes, because that's what I do all day...sit around studying maps," I drawled out, picking up my glass. I had a feeling I was going to need another drink.

"Nothing wrong with being the good one, my lad. There always has to be one in the family to make our parents proud."

Rafe rolled his eyes. As if our father would have been proud of anything we'd accomplished. Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about his thoughts as he was cold and buried. Charles didn't have the same luxury. Perhaps that was another reason why I gave our cousin so many chances. I felt sorry for him.

Charles started across the room. "Rafe, you coming?"

I knew our cousin would not be dissuaded. He was leaving whether I met his fiancé or not. And because I was too damn honorable to ignore his request, I'd be there on the front stoop, smiling and welcoming.

"Of course," Rafe replied. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Oh Charles," Lady Sybil called out, appearing on the threshold. Her saucy grin appealed to more than one eager buck. She wore her bodice too low and her morals too loose. If she hadn't been a wealthy widow she probably would have been given the cut direct by most of society.

She'd flirted with me not a month ago. When I hadn't had the time for her interests, she'd carried on to Rafe, and apparently now Charles. My cousin quickened his steps, only too eager to be in her good graces.

"I thought you were seeing Lady Sybil," I couldn't help but say to Rafe.

"Seeing is a rather strong word for fucking." He set his glass upon the mantel, grinning. "I got bored, so she's moved on to Charles."

"You always were rather good at sharing your toys," I said wryly.

He bowed low. "A veritable saint."

"Have a jolly good time," I said, reaching for the book on the side table. Staying here to greet Charlie's clueless little fiancé was sounding better and better.

My cousin had met Lady Sybil in the hall. They were leaning close, whispering and giggling, so obviously intimate. Surely he would keep his indiscretions private once his fiancé arrived. I frowned, biting back the sarcastic comment just begging to drip from my tongue. The good one indeed. I could be a downright bastard when I wanted. The sudden urge to protect a woman I didn't know was an unwelcome distraction.

Rafe paused near the door. Sybil and Charles had disappeared. "Why?"

"Why what?" I asked, forcing my attention to my brother. As much as I hated to think of the girl's rather rude awakening when she met her fiancé, it wasn't my problem to deal with. I had more pressing issues.

"Don't play stupid, Will. It doesn't become you."

I sighed. Why did I allow Charles to take advantage? It was a question I was currently asking myself more and more often as of lately. "You know why."

He shook his head. "The man saved your life once from a charging bull when you were children, no less, and you believe you owe him for eternity. Hell, I still think he merely tripped and fell into you, throwing you off balance. It's not in Charlie's nature to save anyone."

And I agreed, not that I would admit as much. But it wasn't the true reason. Charles was the only one who knew the truth about our father. My cousin had known for years and had kept quiet. That was worth something. Wasn't it? Not that I would explain to Rafe. My brother would murder me then and there if he knew that the truth had slipped from my drunken lips one evening while Charles and I had been visiting the local pub. I hadn't been drunk since, and that had been three years ago.

"You, my dear brother, have a soft spot for those in need," Rafe said. "Admit it, you feel sorry for the man."

If only I was so compassionate. No, it was pure self-preservation that kept me at Charlie's side. If he wasn't my cousin, I'd merely threaten Charlie with bodily harm if he told. That's, no doubt, what James would do. Of course James wouldn't have told him in the first place.

"Don't be insane, you know I despise picnics."

"Yes, rather nasty affairs." Rafe shook his head. "Oh, Will, you are much too honorable."

I laughed. He knew better. "There is no such thing as too honorable."

He moved to the same mirror where Charlie had preened. "Indeed, there is. Men were born to be selfish. Look at babes, they would kill their own mother, suck them dry, if given the chance."

"Good God, man, please do not tell me you're honestly demonizing babies."

He straightened his cravat. "All I'm saying is life can be a rather miserable affair, so find joy when you can. Especially you, of all people. Your time is limited."

"I'm going into the military, I'm not dying," I muttered defensively.

"Same thing."

I watched him go, unsure if I should feel disgust, or amusement. One month. One month and I'd be in France, far away from the shallow confines of London society. I took in a deep breath and relaxed against the chair, attempting to ease the pain in my neck that Rafe and Charlie had left behind.

They might have been able to drink and whore their way around London, with all the happiness of a child on sweets but I needed more. I needed...a purpose. I'd made a promise to my mother that I wouldn't break. I would be the honorable one.

I lifted the book that rested beside me and studied the volume. War Tactics. Was I boring? Charles and Rafe seemed to think so. After the traumatic childhood we'd experienced, boring had been a welcome relief. Besides, what did it matter? In one month I'd be doing something useful for England. Fighting enemies. Protecting our lands. Making a name for myself. Nothing boring about that.

"Sir," the butler appeared. "The carriage has arrived."

"Already?" I snatched up my glass and took another deep drink, needing the fortitude. All I had to do was be a welcome host, escort them inside, have a maid show them to their chambers. I was so very good at being the gentleman. So very good at pretending.

I moved down the hall and out the front door. I didn't miss the paint flaking from the walls. The crumbling brick. Worn carpets. The estate was old and in disrepair. It needed the money she would bring to the marriage. But what would his fiancé get in return, other than a crumbling mansion and philandering husband? A title. I supposed that was enough for most.

The carriage rolled down the drive, a garish thing of black and gold. I cringed. Americans. The coach stopped. I pasted a pleasant smile upon my face as the footmen raced forward. Her father stepped outside first. A big, burly man with a mustache. His shrewd gaze scanned the estate, missing nothing. He knew where his money would go.

The mother was next. A pretty thing, which boded well for her daughter. Her narrowed gaze went immediately to me, like a hawk after prey. No doubt she thought I was Charles. I'd have to dissuade her of that thought immediately. Not for the first time, I was thankful to be a third son.

Taking in a deep breath and steeling my reserves, I was just about to start down the stairs when she appeared. My steps faltered. In that moment, everything faded but her.

Lillian.

The bonnet she wore was crooked, giving her an innocent, if slightly disheveled appearance. Two auburn curls had escaped from their pins and lay across her chest. She wore a green gown of the highest fashion, nipped in at a narrow, elegant waist. A stunning form, Charles would be happy about that at least.

But it was the book she clasped that truly caught my attention. She could have held sewing, drawing materials, knitting...instead she carried a book. I had the sudden, intense desire to know what she read.

Then she tilted her face up to the estate and nothing else mattered. The only sound was the roar of blood through my veins, the sudden and fierce beat of my heart. A brilliant green gaze caught mine and held.

A rush of heat surged through my body, pooling at my cock. The heady, dizzying whirl of desire that I could not deny. I'd always taken care to keep my emotions buried. What the hell was wrong with me? And even as I fought to regain control, one word whispered through my thoughts.

Mine.

My lungs seemed to shrink. I couldn't draw breath.

Mine.

The attraction I felt was completely uncalled for and utterly dangerous. Yet, in that moment I knew, much like I'd known I would be a soldier the first time I'd seen them marching through town when I'd been all of five years of age. I knew.

She belonged to me.

If you've enjoyed these volumes, please consider giving them a review. Reviews not only help other readers, but also help the author decide whether to continue a series.

L.R. Olson writes historical romance, contemporary and new adult. You can find out more about

her work and sign up for her newsletter at www.LROlson.com

Other Books by L.R. Olson:

Historical Romance:

A Dangerous Temptation

A Dangerous Deception

A Dangerous Liaison

New Adult Books:

The St. Clare Series:

Seduction: Prequel, Free

Redemption: Book 1

Deception: Book 2

Salvation: Book 3

The Terminal Series

Terminal 19

Adult Contemporary:

The Southern Gents Series:

For Hire: Book 1

