Vice

ceiling, the massive chandeliers, the dainty gilt furniture, the graceful sweep of the horseshoe staircase. Forsett Towers, where she'd grown up, was a substantial gentleman's residence, but this house was in a different class altogether.

'Bring refreshment to the morning room,' the duke instructed over his shoulder, slipping an arm around Juliana's waist and sweeping her ahead of him toward the stairs. 'Tea, lemonade, cakes for the lady. Sherry for myself.'

'I imagine your servants are accustomed to your entertaining unchaperoned ladies,' Juliana stated frigidly as she was borne up the stairs with such dexterity that her feet merely skimmed the ground.

'I have no idea whether they are or not,' the duke responded. 'They're paid to do my bidding, that's all that concerns me.' He opened a door onto a small parlor, sunny and cheerful with yellow silk wallpaper and an Aubusson carpet. 'I have it in mind that this should be your own private parlor. Do you think you would care for it?' A hand in the small of her back propelled her forward even as she wondered if she'd heard him aright

'It's pleasant and quiet, overlooking the garden at the back,' he continued, gesturing to the window. 'If you wished to change the decor, then, of course, you must do whatever pleases you.'

Juliana told herself that this was some dream… some ghastly, twisted nightmare that would all fall apart in a moment like a broken jigsaw puzzle. But he'd turned back to her and was smiling as he took her hands and drew her toward him. Her eyes fixed on his mouth, thin but so beautifully sculpted. There was amusement and understanding in the deep-set gray eyes, and something else-a flicker of desire that set her blood frothing again. And then she was lost in the warmth and scent of his skin as his mouth took hers, without hesitation, with assertion. And she was responding in the same way, without will or thought. His mouth still on hers, he ran a fingertip over the rich swell of her breasts above her decolletage. She moaned against his lips, and when his finger slid into the deep valley between her breasts, her stomach contracted violently with a wild hunger that she couldn't put words to. Instead she pressed herself against him, a deep, primitive triumph flowing through her as she felt his hardness rising against her belly.

A tap at the door broke the charmed circle, and Juliana jumped back with a little cry of alarm. She turned away, blushing, her hand covering her tingling lips, as the footman placed a tray on the sideboard and asked the duke if there was anything else he needed. Tarquin responded as coolly as if nothing untoward had happened in the last minutes. Juliana, vividly remembering the feel of his erection pushing so urgently against her couldn't believe he could sound so matter-of-fact. She was relatively hazy about male anatomy, but surely such a manifestation couldn't be comfortably ignored.

She jumped when his hand touched her shoulder. Spinning round, she saw that the room was now empty. Tarquin laughed at her startled expression. 'Mignonne, you are delightful.' He caressed her mouth with his forefinger. 'I do believe we are going to enjoy ourselves.'

'No!' she cried, finding her voice at last. 'No. I won't let you do this to me.' She flung herself away from him just as the door opened without ceremony.

'The footman said you were in here, Tarquin, I wanted… Oh, I do beg your pardon.' Quentin's eyes ran over Juliana in one quick, all-encompassing assessment. 'I didn't realize you had company,' he said steadily. 'Catlett should have told me.'

'Allow me to present Miss Juliana Beresford, as she likes to be known.' Tarquin took her hand, drawing her forward. 'Juliana, this is my half brother, Lord Quentin Courtney. I'm sure you'll be getting to know him quite well.'

Juliana was too flustered for a moment to do more than stare at the new arrival. Then she realized that he was bowing to her, and hastily she curtsied. 'I give you good day, my lord.'

Quentin surveyed her gravely, and she felt her blush deepen. She wondered if her lips were marked by the duke's kiss, if this man could detect something on her, something that would give away the shameless arousal that still pulsed in her belly. Was there an aura? A scent, perhaps? Unable to bear his gaze any longer, she turned away.

'Is it fair to the poor child to bring her here unchaperoned, Tarquin?' Quentin's voice was harshly reproving. 'If she was seen on the street, her reputation will be compromised.'

A flicker of hope sprang into Juliana's disordered mind. Perhaps in this mad world she had found a champion. 'My lord, His Grace does not believe I have a reputation that could be compromised,' she said in a low, plaintive voice. Slowly she turned and raised her eyes to the somber-suited man, noting the strong physical Resemblance between the two men. 'Are you perhaps a man of the cloth?' she asked, guessing from his dark, modestly cut coat and plain starched stock.

'I am, child.' Quentin took a step toward her, but suddenly she flung herself to the floor at his feet, clasping his knees with a sob.

'Oh, sir, save me. Please, I beg you. don't let the duke have his wicked way with me.' Ignoring the strange, strangled sound from the duke standing behind her, she burst into wrenching sobs.

'Oh, hush, child. Hush. Pray don't distress yourself so.' Quentin bent to lift her to her feet. 'Tarquin, this has got to stop! I won't permit this to go one step further.' He stroked Juliana's bent head and handed her his handkerchief. 'Dry your eyes, my dear. You have nothing to fear in this house.'

Juliana took the handkerchief with a mumble and buried her face in the starched folds, every muscle strained to sense how the duke was reacting.

'Tarquin?' Quentin demanded. 'You must let her go.'

'Certainly.'

Juliana's head shot up at this. She regretted it immediately when the duke caught her chin and turned her face toward him. 'That was quite a performance, mignonne, I congratulate you. Real tears, too.' He smudged the track of a tear on her cheek with his thumb. 'Not many, but a respectable showing.'

'Oh, you are loathsome!' she whispered, tugging her head free. 'Let me go.'

'But of course.' He strode to the door and opened it. 'You're free to go where you wish… except, of course, back to Russell Street. Mistress Dennison will have no incentive to continue to provide you with hospitality.'

Juliana stared, uncomprehending. Was he really going to permit her to walk out of the house after everything that had been said?

'You may keep the clothes you have on your back, since the ones you arrived in appear to have been mislaid,' he continued with an amiable smile that gave no hint of his inner uncertainty. Would she call his bluff? Or had he judged her correctly? Impulsive and yet far from irrational. Stubbornly defiant and yet clearheaded and intelligent.

Juliana looked down at her bronze silk gown, the fringe of the silk shawl. Where could she possibly go in such finery? She couldn't hire herself out as a servant dressed like this.

'Forgive me,' he said gently, 'but I grow weary holding the door for you.'

Juliana walked past him, drawing her skirts aside. She marched down the stairs. The footman opened the door for her, and she stepped out into the street.

In the morning room Quentin turned on his half brother, rare anger snapping in his eyes. 'How dare you treat her like that!'

'She's free to go. I won't keep her against her will. D'you care for sherry?'

'No,' Quentin said shortly. 'What's she to do now?'

'I really don't know.' Tarquin poured himself a glass of sherry. 'She must have had a plan when she arrived in town. I imagine she'll put it into effect now.'

Quentin went uneasily to the window, but it looked out over the back of the house, and he could see nothing of the street. 'I'll go after her,' he said. 'Offer her money, at least. She's so young to be let loose on the city.'

'My sentiments exactly, dear boy.' Tarquin sipped his sherry, regarding his brother with narrowed eyes. 'Far too young. And far too innocent.'

'Gad, Tarquin, but you're a cold bastard,' Quentin said as if he'd never spent three years in a seminary. 'But if you'll do nothing for her, I will.' He marched to the door just as it opened again.

Juliana stood there. Her eyes were on Tarquin. 'Where am I to go?' she asked. 'What am I to do?'

'Wherever and whatever you wish.' he responded, but his voice had lost its hardness.

'You know what will happen to me That's why you showed me all those things this morning. isn't it?' Her face was paler than ever, the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out in harsh relief. Her eyes burned like green fire.

'My dear girl, you have no need to worry. I will give you some money and you can go home, back to your family.' Quentin fumbled in his pockets.

Juliana shook her head. 'Thank you. my lord. You are very kind, but you see I cannot go home as the duke well knows. He also knows that I have no real choice but to do what His Grace demands.'

Chapter 8

Mistress Dennison asks that Your Grace would do 'er the honor of waitin' upon her.' Mr. Garston bowed low, delivering this message as the Duke of Redmayne ushered Juliana into the hall at Russell Street half an hour later. 'If you can spare the time, Your Grace.'

'Certainly,' Tarquin said. 'I wish to speak with her anyway.' He turned to Juliana. 'Stay within doors. You'll be sent for shortly.' He strode up the stairs without a backward glance.

'Looks like you and 'Is Grace 'ave come to some arrangement,' Mr. Garston observed with a benign smile. 'Lucky girl. A right proper gent is 'Is Grace. 'E'll see you right.' He pinched her cheek. 'Such a long face, missie. There's no call fer that. The other young ladies will be green with envy, you mark my words.'

'Then I wish one of them would take my place.' Juliana said wanly. She turned restlessly back to the front door, still open behind her.

'Now, now, missie. You 'card what 'Is Grace said.' Mr Garston moved his large bulk with surprising speed to close the door. 'Y'are to stay within doors till yer sent for.'

Like a slave obeying her master, Juliana thought, still stunned by the magnitude of what she'd agreed to. She heard Emma's voice in the drawing room, followed by a giggle, and then a chorus of laughing voices.

They sounded so lighthearted. How could they accept this degrading servitude so cheerfully? Perhaps they could teach her a valuable lesson in resignation. Juliana went into the drawing room.

'Oh, Juliana, come and sit down.' She was greeted with warmth and enthusiasm by the trio of women sitting heads together on the sofa, leafing through a pattern magazine. 'You've been driving with the duke. Has he formalized his offer for you yet?'

'What do you mean… formalized?' Juliana perched on the arm of a chair.

'Oh, he has to make arrangements with the Dennisons. They draw up contracts if someone wants us exclusively,' Rosamund explained. 'Will you stay here, or will the duke set you up somewhere on your own? I don't think I'd like that myself, it would be so lonely.' Her plump, pretty face beamed contentedly as she squeezed Emma's arm beside her.

'I am to marry the duke's cousin, Viscount Edgecombe,' Juliana said flatly. She couldn't bring herself to tell them of the other half of the arrangement.

'Marriage!' gasped Emma. 'Oh, my dear Juliana. How wonderful for you. You'll be set for life.'

'So long as it's not a Fleet wedding,' Lilly said darkly. 'D'you remember Molly Petrie? She left Mother Needham's to marry Lord Liverton, only he took her to a marriage shop instead. And when he'd had enough of her, he threw her out with just the clothes on her back. And she ended up sleeping under the stalls in Covent Garden and taking anyone who'd give her a penny for gin.'

'What's a Fleet wedding?' Juliana asked, curiosity finally penetrating her stunned trance.

'Oh, it's when they get an unfrocked preacher to perform the ceremony. There's marriage shops all around the Fleet,' Lilly told her. 'It's not a proper marriage, although sometimes the girl doesn't know it… like poor Molly.'

'But that's dreadful!' Juliana exclaimed. 'Wicked. It's evil to trick a woman like that.'

Emma shrugged. 'Of course it is. But men don't care. They do what they want. And there's not much any of us can do to stop 'em.'