Vice

She saw a door at the back of the armoire.

"Open it," he said, enjoying her puzzlement.

Juliana did so. The narrow door swung open onto another bedchamber quite unlike her own. No dainty, feminine chamber, this one was all dark wood and tapestries, with solid oak furniture and highly polished floors.

"Oh," she said.

"Convenient, wouldn't you agree?" His eyes were alight with amusement.

"Very." Juliana stepped back, shaking her hair free of its plaited coronet. "Did you install it specially?"

He shook his head. "No, it was put in by the third duke, who, it was said, like to play little tricks on his duchess. He was not a pleasant man, by all accounts. But I imagine we can put it to better use."

"Yes." Juliana was begi

"No. It's known to very few people. And I'll vouch for it that Lucien is not one of them. He doesn't know this house well."

"Lord Quentin?"

"Yes, he knows, of course."

"Just as he knows everything about this scheme?" She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at the tangles.

"Yes."

"And what does he think of it?"

"He completely disapproves," Tarquin stated flatly. "But he'll come round. He always does." He turned back to the armoire. "Shall we choose a gown suitable for Lady Edgecombe to wear to the play and a visit to Ranelagh?"

IVliy not? The man was an avalanche, rolling over all obstacles, unstoppable. And, although it confused her to realize it, for the moment she did not want him to stop.

Chapter 11

George Ridge emerged from the Cross Keys Bagnio in midafternoon feeling very much the man-about-town. He turned on his heel, enjoying the swish of his new full-skirted coat of puce brocade. His hand rested importantly on his sword hilt as he looked along Little Russell Street, debating whether to go into the Black Lion Chop-House for his di

The ordinary table at the Gardener's Arms offered a reasonable meal, and the fellow diners tended to be hard drinkers with a taste for crude conversation and lewd jests. In general it suited George very well, but last night, when the ordinary table had been cleared of di

His father would have gone berserk if he'd known. But, then, Sir John had been an old prude, except in his taste for young women, and he'd been very careful with his wealth. George had never been to London before his present visit. His father considered it a place for wastrels and idlers, inhabited by loose women and men ready to cut your throat for a groat.

George had enjoyed the loose women this afternoon in the bagnio. Three of them. Three very expensive women. His pockets were a deal lighter now than they had been when he'd left the Gardener's Arms that morning. But it had been worth every guinea. He supposed it was usual for London whores to drink champagne. Cider was all very well for a red-cheeked, wide-hipped country doxy in the barn or behind a haystack, but painted women in lawn shifts, with fresh linen on their beds, obviously had higher expectations.

But as a consequence he found himself guiltily aware that in twenty-four hours he'd probably spent enough to cover the farrier's bill for a twelvemonth. And if he returned to the Gardener's Arms, he would inevitably get drawn into the dicing later. A modest di

He examined the silver lace on his new cocked hat with pride before carefully placing it on his head, ensuring that the pigeon's wings on his pigtail wig were not disarranged. He tapped the hilt of his sword with the heel of his hand and gazed around imperiously, as if about to issue a challenge. A shabby gentleman in a skewed bag wig hastily crossed to the other side of the street as he approached George with his belligerant stance. London was full of aggressive young men-about-town who thought it famous sport to torment vulnerable pedestrians.

George gave him a haughty stare, flicking a speck of snuff from his deep coat cuff. He didn't wear a sword in the country, but he'd realized immediately that in town it was the mark of a gentleman. He had purchased his present weapon from an armorer in Ebury Street, having been assured by that craftsman that it was not a mere decoration- that in the hands of a skilled swordsman, such as His Honor must be, it would be a most deadly weapon, and a powerful protection.

With a little nod of satisfaction George strolled toward the Black Lion. Having experienced the pleasures of London, he was determined that he would spend some weeks of every year in town-in the winter, of course, when the land needed less attention.

Juliana would make him a more than satisfactory consort. She'd grown up in a gentleman's establishment, educated in all the areas necessary for a lady. She knew how to behave in the best society . . . better than he, himself, George was obliged to admit. George was his father's son. The son of a blunt, poorly educated landowner, who was more interested in his crops and his woods, his sport, his di

But where in the name of Lucifer was she? George's self-satisfaction and pleasure in the day suddenly evaporated. It was all very well making these happy plans, but they were castles in the air without the flesh-and-blood girl to make them real. He had to have her as his wife. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to see the superiority and contempt chased from her eyes as she acknowledged him as her husband and master.

Juliana, with her eyes that could be as cold and green as the deepest ocean; Juliana, with her full mouth that could curl into a derisive smile that shriveled a man; Juliana, with that swirling forest fire of hair and the long limbs, and the full, proudly upstanding breasts.

He would have that Juliana, obedient and docile in his house and in his bed. Or he would see her burn at the stake.

George turned into the Black Lion and ordered a bottle of burgundy. He would find her, if he had to pay a hundred guineas to do so.

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Juliana was in a very different frame of mind, Quentin thought as the three of them sat at di

Quentin was neither a prude nor a stranger to women, despite his calling. It didn't take a genius to deduce that Lady Edgecombe had been enjoying some bedsport that afternoon. His brother's indulgent amusement and the unmistakable caress of his eyes when they rested on Juliana clearly indicated that however much at odds they might be in some things, the Duke of Redmayne and his cousin's bride were clearly well matched in the bedchamber.