Fourteen

She wasn’t being completely honest. She had been hurt. Her heart had been torn from her body and stomped on not once but twice. But that pain, that injustice, was not of the kind he spoke of. He thought some man had forced unwanted attentions on her. That wasn’t it at all, though she was not so innocent that she didn’t know some men would take as much as they could if given a chance. Even gentlemen were not averse to demanding that pleasure bestowed be repaid.

“But you don’t trust me.”

She looked up from where her hands had fisted in the material of her day dress. She was painfully aware she still sat on his lap, painfully aware she should not be there, painfully aware of the hard length of him waiting to press against that most intimate part of herself if she only scooted forward slightly.

“Trust you how?”

“To stop when you ask me to stop. To release you when you say no.”

Her cheeks heated. “We should not be discussing this.” And yet she could not make herself move away from him. His arms still encircled her, and she loved that he held her. She wanted to move closer, put her head on his chest, press her lips against his bronze skin because of one thing she was certain—he was absolutely magnificent. When he’d removed his shirt, her legs had gone weak at the sight of all that perfect, golden skin. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his waist flawlessly tapered, his chest tightly muscled, and his abdomen taut and flat. He looked every inch the knight, the warrior of the storybooks.

“And yet you do not move away from me.”

She might have moved away then, but as soon as the words were spoken, he leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. Small tendrils of pleasure curled through her. She sighed and put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat of him all but pulsing under her fingertips.

“Do you know why you don’t move away?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin.

“Why?” she murmured, angling her head to give him better access to that one spot just below her earlobe. She would end this in a moment. She would tell him to cease and mean it.

“Because you like this. Because all day, you take care of everyone else, and right now, you have a moment to yourself, and you deserve pleasure. You need pleasure.”

It was true. It had been so long since she had done anything for herself—read a book, taken a walk, lain abed and slept all day. Her life was all duty and responsibility—to the children, to her father, to the board. Wraxall’s mouth moved over her skin so lightly and with such skill that she could not stop the shivers racing down her spine. She could have given herself to his lips all day. She needed nothing but the feel of his stubble tickling her skin and the brush of his mouth tantalizing her flesh.

“The children,” she murmured.

“Are with Mrs. Dunwitty.” His hands moved up her back, pulling her closer until she was pressed against the warm skin of his bare chest.

“And if she releases them?”

“We’ll hear them.” His mouth traced her jaw. “They are louder than a cavalry regiment.” His mouth took hers in a long, lazy kiss. Her breasts felt heavy and ached for his touch. She pushed them harder against his chest, but her need went unfulfilled.

“I should see to the noon meal.”

“Let me see to you, and Mrs. Koch will see to the kitchen.”

Before she could protest—not that she intended to—his hands cupped her face, and he kissed her with such a thoroughness she could think of nothing but lips, and tongues, and teeth. Her hands explored the long, lean planes of his back, holding on tightly when she feared she had grown so light-headed she might fall.

“Juliana,” he murmured between kisses.

“I like the way you say my name,” she said. “You make it sound so exotic.” She’d always preferred Julia to Juliana, which sounded so formal. But when Wraxall said her name, it sounded soft and sensual.

“Let me show you pleasure, Juliana.”

Yes. That was what she wanted. More of this. More of him. More of those heart-stopping, head-lightening kisses that made her forget empty larders and leaky roofs and scheming crime lords. “Just for a moment,” she told him, but she knew she was his for as long as he continued this persuasive assault.

He pulled her even closer, and she felt the bulge of his erection pressing deliciously against the juncture of her thighs. Her skirts and his trousers were between them, but the feel of the material separating them did nothing to diminish the knowledge that he desired her. He wanted her, even after seeing her at her worst. His mouth continued to worship hers, and she wriggled on his lap, trying to relieve the ache growing between her legs.

He groaned, and she stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s an exquisite pain,” he said through clenched teeth. “I find that an apt descriptor.”

“Exquisite pain. What does that mean?”

“I’ll show you.” His hands circled around her ribs, coming to rest just beneath her too heavy breasts. With a slowness that made her catch her breath, his fingers skated upward until they caressed the dark-green ribbon that lay just beneath her bosom. His hands traced her curves, stroking and cupping her, until her breathing had grown from quick to panting.

“Please,” she said. Her eyes widened. “I did not mean—”

He put a finger to her lips. “Yes, you did. And I know what you want.” His hand went back where she wanted him and then his thumbs moved toward the center of the orbs, brushing lightly over her nipples. She jumped as sensation flashed through her. His fingers caressed the hard pebbles again, circling them until they grew harder.

“More?” he asked.

Of course there was more. She knew there was more. It was simply that she had never allowed any man to go any further than this. To do so now, with this man who made her feel what no other man had ever made her feel, was surely madness. And yet she would be mad to tell him to stop.

She was beginning to understand what he meant by exquisite pain. She yearned and ached, but she never wanted that sensation to cease.

“Trust me,” he said. His hand moved to where she’d pinned her bodice, and he slowly removed first one pin then another. He stuck them into the coverlet on the side of the bed, where they would not be lost, and he moved to unpin the other side of her bodice.

She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust any man. She knew what they were. She knew they were selfish creatures who cared only for their own pleasures, but as this man lowered her bodice, she watched his gaze turn reverent. His fingers brushed lightly over the swell of her breasts at the edge of chemise and stays.

“Your skin is as beautiful as it is soft,” he murmured. “Let me see you.”

No man had ever seen her. She’d never imagined she would allow a man that liberty. After all, why give a man that privilege, satisfy his selfish desire? But this did not feel selfish at all. This felt altogether different. He was not using her to satisfy himself, but worshipping her, giving her pleasure.

One hand swept into the valley of her breasts and tugged at the knot keeping her stays tightly laced. Since she had no one to help her dress, she had to lace them in front, and now he loosened them easily and pushed them down and out of his way.

“You are exquisite,” he said, his gaze going to her face and then back to her all-but-translucent chemise. She looked down and could see the pink of her aureoles and nipples through the fine fabric. He bent his head, pressing his warm mouth against one breast. His breath was hot, and the shot of pleasure went straight to her core. Wet heat dampened her sex as his tongue darted out to dampen the linen on her shift. He took her nipple through the fabric, sucking it and rubbing it with his tongue. The feel of the fabric scraping against her already-turgid flesh was more than she could resist. She moaned softly, and he stilled.

She opened her eyes—belatedly realizing she’d closed them—and looked at him to find his lovely eyes focused on her face. “I want to hear you do that again. Before we’re through here, you’ll moan my name, Juliana.”

His mouth took her other nipple, and she closed her eyes. “Wraxall,” she moaned.

“Neil,” he said, his mouth still on her. And then she felt the knot of her chemise loosen and the cool air on wet skin. He parted the fabric, and his bare hands touched her bare flesh. She trembled, and the hard points of her nipples seemed to grow even fuller. She needed his mouth on her there, though she knew it would not give her the relief she sought.

This was what he had meant by exquisite pain. She wanted more, burned for more, and when he gave it to her, her need simply grew.

His mouth pressed on the slope of one breast while his hand cupped the other. When he ran a thumb over that nipple, the rough pad of his finger on that tender bud, she moaned without restraint. His mouth moved lower, heat making a fiery path to the place she wanted him. “Please,” she whispered. “Yes,” she said when his mouth brushed over the stiff, throbbing point. His hand plucked at her flesh as his mouth teased her, and then he closed his hot lips over her, and she bucked at the pleasure. Her back arched, and she knew she had surrendered to him completely.

One hand wrapped around her, holding her steady, holding her sex against the hard length of him, while his mouth teased and tantalized. The more his mouth worshipped her, the more she wanted. She could not stop her moans and pants of pleasure, and if that behavior was not indignity enough, her hands fisted in his hair and all but pushed him into her chest.

And then his hands grasped her hips, and he groaned her name. “I shall embarrass myself if you keep this up.”

For a long moment she did not know what he meant. The panting? The hands in his hair? And then she realized he held her hips—hips that wanted desperately to move. Good Lord, she had been grinding against him. She was little better than a dog in heat.

“No,” he said, his hand cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Your movements are perfectly natural. Let me give you what you want.”

She nodded because she wanted so much, and he—he seemed to know exactly what it was her body yearned for. He lifted her, hands under her bottom, then laid her on the bed gently, on the side away from the pins. She looked up at him, feeling suddenly more exposed as she lay on the bed with her bodice open. Which was ridiculous. She had been just as exposed on his lap.

He sat on the bed beside her and one warm hand came to rest between her breasts. She might have turned into that touch if she hadn’t felt his other hand on her ankle. That hand moved upward inch by provocative inch, exposing her ankle. She opened her mouth to protest, and his large hand closed over one breast. And then he bent over her, his mouth on the other. Her hands gripped the bedclothes as his hot breath made her quiver and his hand on her calf made her itch to move, to squirm, to…something.

And then his hand was on her knee, and she knew she must stop him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, the pressure harder than before and that much more exquisite. At the same time, he pushed her knees open.

And she allowed it. She did not want him to stop. She wanted his hand on her thigh and higher—in that private place only she had ever touched. His hand slid upward, tickling the inside of her thigh. He raised his head, his eyes as blue as the sea when he looked at her.

“Are you wet for me?”

“Yes,” she said, too aroused to be embarrassed.

“Will you let me touch you? I want to feel how wet you are.”

“I can’t,” she said, the words so filled with regret she all but cried them. “I cannot risk a child, a pregnancy.”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I won’t take you—not like that. I won’t touch you with anything but fingers.” His fingers moved higher, and she widened her legs, despite knowing she should end this. The children could be through with their lessons. She had lost control. There was a midday meal to consider.

“And hands.” He shifted on the bed, his hands pushing her skirts up until she was exposed to him. She almost grabbed them, to lower them again, but his hands slid over her pelvis and across her sex until they rested between her legs, those skilled fingers teasing her by inching higher and retreating over and again.

“You see? Only fingers.” His finger brushed against her and she gasped. “And hands.” He cupped her, and God help her, she pressed against his hand. “And perhaps my mouth.”

She froze. Her gaze darted to his, and he gave her a wicked grin. “If you want me to stop, all you need do is ask.” His palm pressed against her again, giving her the pressure she wanted just as one finger delved down and parted her flesh. “You are wet,” he said. “But I want you dripping.”

His finger entered her then, and she stiffened with surprise and pleasure. He stroked in and out, all the while his palm pressing where she most needed him. Her hips wanted to move, and she closed her eyes and arched them so they rubbed against his palm. He made a sound of approval, and then he entered her again, this time with two fingers.

“Oh yes,” she moaned. Then “No!” when he moved his palm and slid his fingers out.

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

One of his fingers caressed her as it moved upward to part her flesh and then circle the small bud of pleasure hiding in her folds. The world went black for a moment as she caught her breath at the unfathomable sensation. She had never felt pleasure like this, and yet she knew there was more. That finger continued to spread wetness over the sensitive bud, circling it and tapping it. Pleasure built. Heat built. Need built. Julia opened her eyes. Her breasts were bare, her skirts hiked to her waist, her legs spread. Neil Wraxall straddled one of her legs, his eyes seeing her more intimately than anyone else ever had.

And she did not care. She only cared that he never stop.

“Let go,” he murmured, his intense gaze on her face. “I want to see you come.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew that was the aim of the tension she felt. His gaze touched her breasts, making her nipples pebble with yearning. And then he gazed at the place where his finger touched her, and the look of desire she saw in his eyes undid her.

A wave of pulsing sensation flooded through her. She gasped and pressed hard against his hand, then fell back with a shuddering breath as a delicious warmth spread through her. He was correct. This was what she had needed. The tightness in her temples and shoulders had eased, and she felt relaxed for the first time in recent memory.

And then he leaned over her, and the warmth of the pleasure ebbed away. He kissed her lips, exploring her mouth. She had been kissed enough to judge, and he was an excellent kisser. But she could not enjoy the kiss. She knew what would come next. Men were selfish and calculating. She knew it, and she should not have allowed this interlude with Neil—Wraxall, rather—to go as far as it had. He would want to take his pleasure. She was a virgin and intended to remain so. Even if the thought of lying with him thrilled her, she had to think of the children and her responsibilities here. She could not risk a pregnancy or being found alone with him.

His mouth slanted over hers in a long, lovely kiss, but she forced herself to push him back. “You should dress and go.”

A look she could only describe as shock crossed his face. He recovered quickly, raising one brow in amusement. “Am I to be so summarily dismissed?”

She threw her skirts down over her legs and pulled her bodice up, holding it with both hands. “I should never have allowed the events of this afternoon to progress as far as they did. I know you have expectations, and I am sorry to have to disappoint you.”

She pushed to the edge of the bed, but before she could rise, he slid his arm over her, effectively blocking her and holding her in place. “How do you know my expectations?”

She risked a look at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was so incredibly handsome, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and amazingly blue eyes bright against his bronze skin. She would have loved to trace his face with her fingers, to run her hands through his silky hair, to kiss his full lips. But she could not afford to dally with a lover. She had an orphanage to manage and children who needed her. “You are a man,” she said. “Any girl who has been to a half dozen balls or an equal number of theatrical productions knows what men want from women.”

“I see,” he said, but he didn’t move his arm. “So my plan is to debauch you. To have my way with you. To… What’s another polite term? Ah! Ruin you.”

“I did not say that was your plan, but now that you have given me pleasure, I assume you expect to be repaid in kind.”

“Repaid? Do you think I view what just happened as a business transaction?”

Had she offended him? Should she apologize? Perhaps that was also part of his plan to seduce her. “I—” she stuttered. “Very well, then. How do you view our…liaison?”

He leaned closer until his mouth brushed her ear. She tried not to shiver. “As something I have wanted to do since almost the moment I met you.”

“And how does that not prove my point?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“Because the more I have come to know you, the more I wanted to taste your lips, touch your skin”—he exerted gentle pressure with his arm and she gave in, lying back—“see your cheeks rosy with pleasure. I like you, Juliana. Our liaison is the physical evidence of my regard for you.”

He was very close to her, looking down at her, one hand stroking the hair back from her face. “And I suppose you wish to show me more of your regard.”

“I do, yes, but not in the way you mean.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to lie with me?”

Still holding a lock of her hair between two fingers he looked at her. “If you mean do I want to strip bare, throw up your skirts, and thrust inside you, the answer is yes. There’s nothing I want more. It’s pure instinct for a man when he is aroused, and you most definitely arouse me.” He rubbed her hair between his two fingers. “But I am not a man ruled by instincts. My father was such a man, and I don’t intend to follow in his footsteps. I will father no bastards.”

“I imagine most men don’t want bastards, and yet the orphanages are full.”

He dropped her hair and his gaze became serious. “Many men don’t care and others don’t care enough to do what is necessary to prevent a bastard from being born. I think you of all people know how I feel about bastards.”

Julia considered this. There was only one way to ensure a child did not result from a tryst. “Are you saying you have never… I mean, that you are…”

“A virgin? Yes. Does it shock you?”

Beyond words. In her experience, men wasted no time divesting themselves of their virginity. Men of the nobility seemed to pride themselves on sowing wild oats, which meant leaving a trail of prostitutes, actresses, and barmaids in their lascivious wake. Even if she could believe Neil had retained his virginity, despite being a soldier and the son of a wealthy marquess, she could hardly believe it after what he had just done with her.

“You are shocked,” he said, scrutinizing her. “You also seem dubious.”

“I wouldn’t dream of questioning you.” She tried to sit.

He stalled her with one finger. “But?”

She looked askance. “You seem to have some experience.”

“And you have none? I’ll wager you’ve been kissed before.”

“Yes, but not—” Her cheeks felt hot, though why she should feel at all embarrassed after lying half-naked and exposed before this man was a mystery. “Not the way you kissed me.”

“I kissed you in an unvirginal manner?”

He’d raised her ire. “‘Unvirginal’ is not a word, but to answer your question, you kissed me like a man who has kissed many women. Like a man who knows how to kiss, how to enjoy it, and how to make certain I enjoy it.”

She realized what she’d said too late and sighed at the wide smile on his face. “So you enjoyed my kisses. What else did you enjoy?”

“You know the answer to that.”

The finger that had rested on her shoulder slid down. “The way I touched your breasts?” He pushed her hands aside with lamentably no resistance on her part and moved the material covering her. His hand stroked over her skin, just as she’d hoped he would. “The way I suckled your nipples?” He bent and lapped at one hard tip with his tongue, and she put an arm around his neck as though to keep him there. What was she doing? She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust men, and yet this man was not at all like any other man she’d known.

“But I think what you really enjoyed was my hand between your legs.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.”

“My darling, Juliana, what you don’t seem to understand is that I may be a virgin, but I’m no priest. Just because I haven’t ever”—he seemed to be thinking of the way to put it—“known a woman in the biblical sense doesn’t mean I haven’t known women.”

“I see.” Her voice was barely a whisper as one of his hands trailed a lazy path down her abdomen.

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know all the extremely pleasurable, but very naughty, things we might do without there ever being any chance of a bastard.”

“No, I don’t.” She gasped as his hand stroked over her center.

“Shall I show you another? That had been my plan before you accused me of all manner of nefarious plots.”

“And how do I know you don’t have nefarious intentions now?”

His hand fisted in the fabric of her skirts and began pulling it higher, revealing more and more of her legs. “Oh, I do. I intend to behave most wickedly, all in the name of giving you pleasure. But, Juliana.” She opened her eyes at the demanding tone in his voice. “I do this because I want to, not because I expect anything in return. The day you give me more than the pleasure I take from watching you climax and hearing you moan and feeling your body writhe beneath my touch is the day you offer, freely and willingly, to pleasure me. Do you understand?”

His hand was between her legs again, and she couldn’t possibly answer him. Her body was already tightening in anticipation of the feelings she knew he could give her. Though she could not manage to find words, she understood something very well. She had found a man who was, ostensibly, far less selfish than she because she planned to take what he gave and give nothing in return.

He moved over her, less tender now, and lifted her by the waist until she was farther back on the bed. He settled himself between her knees and spread them wide. Julia reached to cover herself, but he caught her hands. “I only want to look at you, to see what I will taste.”

“Taste?” she squealed.

“I promised nefarious activities, didn’t I?” His gaze went back to her core. “Perhaps I wasn’t entirely honest earlier. Seeing you like this—lovely and pink and wet for me—is more than enough payment.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shh. I know what you meant, and I don’t fault you. You’d be a fool to trust most men, most women too. And you are no fool. No.” He bent and brushed his stubbled cheek along her inner thigh. Julia jumped. “You are brave.” He kissed her thigh. “Determined.” He kissed the other, this time a bit higher. “Intelligent.” His lips brushed her curls. “Caring.” His mouth brushed against that innermost part of her and she gasped. “And beautiful. So beautiful.”

His mouth settled against her and then she felt his tongue stroke and part her. The little bud he had teased with his hands earlier tightened and strained and was finally rewarded with a lick from his tongue. Julia moaned. He licked her again, his tongue lazy and inquisitive, rubbing against her until pressure began to build.

This pressure was unlike what she had felt last time. That had been pleasant and warm. This was more grasping, more desperate. As much as she had enjoyed the pleasure he’d given her before, this time she knew it would be more.

His hot breath feathered over her swollen flesh. “Do you enjoy my tongue here?”

She nodded.

“I can’t hear you all the way down here.” He blew a breath of cool air over her and she let out a small cry. “Do you like this?” He laved his tongue over her, and her hands fisted in the bedclothes. “Or this?” He flicked the tip of his tongue across her, and she cried out.

“Yes! Oh yes!”

“Good.” His tongue returned, grating and tapping against her until her whole body strained toward something indefinable. The entire experience wasn’t even pleasurable. It was agony, but the sweetest sort. She would have killed him if he had stopped, and she wanted to kill him for making her feel this way.

And then with a growl he pushed her legs wider. One finger slid inside her while his tongue kept up that exquisite torture. Then another finger slid inside her, stroking her, moving in and out as his tongue lashed at her. White spots blurred her vision and her entire body tensed. Then he did something. She could not have said whether it was his tongue or his fingers in the end, but everything inside her broke free. She felt as though her body was the fluffy dandelion seeds, blown apart by a wild gust of wind. Ecstasy rushed through her, making her cry out at its intensity. It twirled and danced and blew where the breeze would take it. And when it finally ebbed, she could only gasp in a breath and lay in an exhausted heap of feeling.

She managed to open her eyes and found him beside her, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Tenderness? Affection? Desire?

“What are you doing to me?” she murmured.

“I think the better question is, what are you doing to me?”

* * *

Several hours later, when he’d bathed, shaved, and changed into his evening clothing, Neil could admit he had not been entirely honest with Juliana. He’d been honest that he was, in the strictest sense, a virgin, but he was no sexual martyr. It was true that when he took a woman to his bed, he enjoyed giving her pleasure. Certainly, there had been times when, after the heat of battle, he needed a quick release and a woman willing to give it to him. For the most part, he was a considerate lover who gave as much as he took. The truth of the matter was that he did take. Juliana had been right to assume he would—any man would—seek his own release after giving her one.

But for the first time, his pleasure hadn’t been paramount. For the first time, he wanted only her fulfillment. She deserved an hour of joy in an otherwise difficult day. What to him seemed like a stream of difficult days. Putting her pleasure above his didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy her. She was a beautiful woman, despite the drab gowns and mussed hair. And she was even more beautiful in the throes of passion. He was still aroused from their encounter, and Neil wasn’t certain how he would manage to keep his hands off her the rest of the night.

Fortunately, the Earl St. Maur solved that problem. He arrived with the coach at half past eight, and soon, Neil and Juliana were inside with her father. Though her father attempted to appear interested in the orphanage by asking about the boys and the repairs, his questions were polite and his responses noncommittal.

For her part, Juliana sat stiffly and spoke only when spoken to. She was a vision in a white dress ornamented by sparkly gold flowers. She shimmered in the dark of the carriage, looking like a queen. Neil’s gaze continued to drift to her lips, still swollen from his kisses. What he would have given to kiss them again.

St. Maur’s next words reminded him, however, that this was the end of his association with Lady Juliana.

“And have you given any more consideration to my request you come home? I’m afraid if you are away much longer, people will begin to talk.”

It was not an idle observation. People would talk, if they hadn’t already, and then she would be ruined beyond repair.

“Papa, I told you, I don’t care about what people say. The orphanage is my home.”

“And what if I care? What if I do not want our family name dragged through the muck and mud?”

Juliana sighed. She could hardly argue against duty and honor.

“Fortunately, the way for Lady Juliana to return home should clear after tonight,” Neil said. “The last of the major obstacles should be dealt with.”

From across the carriage, Juliana glared at him. Her father, however, clapped his hands. “Capital! That is the best news I have had in weeks.”

Neil barely paid attention to the receiving line or the performers at the musicale. His attention was focused on the guests and the servants. Slag was here somewhere, and Neil intended to find him before he found Juliana. He spotted Rafe at one end of the large music room. A brunette woman was on his arm, staring up at him adoringly. Rafe nodded to Neil and made a cut with his hand, indicating he had not spotted Slag yet. On the other end of the room, Ewan stood, all foreboding blond menace. His wife, Lady Lorraine, whispered to him. She was one of the most verbose women Neil had ever met, and he didn’t expect an opera singer’s aria was enough to silence her, even for a few minutes. Despite the distractions, Ewan caught Neil’s eye and shook his head.

Juliana leaned toward Neil. He was seated on her right while her father sat on her left. “Do you think he is here yet?”

“If he is, no one has spotted him,” Neil murmured back.

“Should I excuse myself and walk about? Perhaps that might lure him into the open.”

Neil tensed. Was the woman mad? Why would she risk herself like that? “No. Under no circumstances should you be alone. Stay beside me or your father at all times. We will find Slag and deal with him.”

“I hope this works,” she said, sounding doubtful.

A woman behind them shushed them, and Neil focused his attention on the soprano again. Her high notes grated on his nerves almost as much as the stiff material of his cravat. Jackson, excited to have a reason to dress Neil in his best, had tied the damn neckcloth too high, not to mention starching the thing within an inch of its life.

After what seemed an interminable length of time, their host announced a brief intermission. Footmen in crisp, blue livery circled with wine and champagne, and ladies fluttered their fans and waxed poetic on the musical talent. Many of the men approached the soprano, who was young and pretty and spilled out of her bodice. Neil escorted Lady Juliana and her father toward one of the open windows and then excused himself. He headed toward Rafe, but he made certain to give Juliana a warning glance as he strode away. If she took even a step away from her father’s side, he would have her head.

He’d taken no more than a few steps himself when he felt his arm entangled with another. He turned to face a woman who was familiar but whose name escaped him. “Mr. Wraxall,” she cooed, drawing him close to her circle of three other ladies. “I have not seen you in ages.”

“Ladies,” he said with a quick bow. It must have been ages because he barely remembered her—Lady Sutcliffe perhaps? She had been one of the ladies vying for his oldest brother’s hand in marriage. She had not been successful. “Lady Sutcliffe, how is your husband?” he asked, peering about and finding the older man leering down at the opera singer’s chest.

“Tedious.” She waved her fan. “Do you know Lady Marsh? And this is Mrs. Kemp and Miss Elliott.” She made the introductions and Neil bowed, but his gaze sought Rafe. Ewan had joined Rafe, and the two watched him with undisguised amusement.

“It is a pleasure to meet all of you, but if you will—”

“Why do you not go into Society more often, Mr. Wraxall?” Lady Sutcliffe asked with a pout. “You are a war hero, and I, for one, know how to treat our heroes.” She gave him a wink, and Neil had an inkling how Rafe must feel.

“I will endeavor to be more social,” he said, knowing he would do nothing of the sort.

“Please do,” Mrs. Kemp said. “There are no dashing young men to dance with at any of the balls. I imagine you…dance very well, do you not, Mr. Wraxall?”

At any other time and place, Neil would not have minded this feminine attention. Now, he could all but feel Lady Juliana’s eyes boring into him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her glaring across the room.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Miss Elliott stepped forward. “Are you courting Lady Juliana? You were with her at the Sterling ball, were you not?”

“Her father and I are acquainted,” Neil answered.

“She is a curious one, is she not?” Lady Marsh added. “I don’t know why the men seem to fall all over her. She has that awful hair and spends all of her free time with dirty orphans.”

“No wonder all her dresses are from last season!” Lady Sutcliffe laughed.

Neil turned and met Juliana’s gaze again. “I can tell you why men fall all over her,” he said. “She’s the most beautiful woman in this room.” He looked back at the four women surrounding him, all of them scowling. “And not just on the outside. She has the kindest, most forgiving nature of any person—man or woman—I have ever met. You would be lucky to have half of her courage, spirit, or compassion. If you will excuse me.” And he strode toward Rafe and Ewan, leaving the women sputtering behind him.