Everything seemed to be a bit of a haze. Gillian watched James explode into the dining room. He moved with a surprising swiftness and ease, as if he was quite accustomed to battling the minions of a hellfire club. Earlier that day he had shown her his sweet, irresistible and all too seductive side, but now she saw a warrior before her.

She tried to walk toward him but tripped. Her feet felt clumsy and she looked down. She blinked past the pain in her head, and with an odd distant feeling noticed that the beautiful purple gown she wore was torn and—was that blood smeared on her bodice? Heavens…whose blood was that? The sound of fighting drew her attention back to the dining room and she looked up.

Her mouth fell open as she saw James grab a man and throw him over the table as he fought his way to Jonathan. Audrey stood in the corner of the dining room, a black cat in her arms and a fireplace poker in one hand, she faced a drunken lout who was stumbling toward her. Audrey wielded the poker like a fencing master would face an opponent. She swung hard and knocked the man down with a swift blow. Then she faced the hallway, still holding the feline under one arm. What the devil was Audrey doing with a cat and—

“Gillian?” Audrey shouted when she saw Gillian sitting in the hall. “Are you all right?”

“Y—yes.” Gillian stumbled toward her and that’s when she felt the stickiness dripping down her cheek. She reached up and touched her face. Her hand came back covered in blood. The sight of the scarlet liquid on her palms made her flinch. She was the one bleeding?

She glanced back at her mistress in time to see Jonathan help Audrey and her cat through an open windowsill. They vanished into the night. Suddenly James appeared, catching her by the hand.

“Time to go. Can you run?”

“I think so,” she said, glad he was pulling her along because it seemed she might not have the strength after all.

“Why did they go out the window?” she asked as she and James rushed down the corridor. The path that led back to the dining room was blocked as men were coming fast behind her and James, but as of yet they hadn’t been spotted.

“They had chance to get out that way. It’s better if we split up, we can hide easier in the shadows and attract less attention. I know of another way, many of these old houses are based on the same floor plans—” James paused at a door at the end of the hall and shoved the door open hard enough that the door crashed against the wall. They stumbled into the kitchens where a surly looking woman with a greasy apron stared at them.

“Oi! What are you doing here?” the cook demanded.

James didn’t bother to answer, he simply headed straight for the door at the end of the kitchens. Gillian followed, dodging pots and coughing as steam filled her lungs. They burst outside into a darkened alleyway and James hastily led her to the street where he hailed a hackney that was passing them by. He shouted an address to the driver.

“And another ten shillings if you get us the hell off this bloody street,” he added.

“That I can do!” The old driver said.

James lifted Gillian into the coach and set her down gently in the seat facing away from the driver. The coach jerked into motion and she fell against James. He caught her, keeping her from toppling to the floor.

“I’ve got you,” he said. The words seem to resonate deeply with her, even more than the simple act of catching her. The evening had been a complete blur and yet having him hold her seemed to ground her. Only now was able to finally catch her breath.

“My lord… What were you doing there?” Gillian reached up to touch her aching head.

“I was rescuing you, not that I did a very good job of it. Careful—” he grasped her hand and gently pulled it away from her temple. “You’re bleeding.”

“I really don’t need to be rescued,” she reminded him, though she was fully aware of just how ludicrous that sounded given the situation she’d found herself in.

Chasing after her mistress into a hellfire club—into a trap, no less—was not one of her brighter moments and she despised her own foolishness. If there was one thing she could have claimed proudly, it was that she knew how to be responsible and sensible. Nothing about tonight had been sensible. Instead, she had been reckless and almost lost her life. When she glanced James’s way she saw him biting his lip rather than arguing with her.

“You are right,” she grumbled. “I was in trouble. Thank you for coming to my aid.”

He smiled warmly and it brought back a fresh wave of memories from earlier that day. How he’d teased her in the library and kissed her senseless. She had let him believe she wasn’t a lady’s maid, but an actual lady. She couldn’t hide the truth from him anymore. He’d saved her life and she owed him her honesty.

“My lord…” she began, but the coach stopped and the driver announced the address. This was not the Sheridan townhouse. “Where are we?”

James looked at his boots then, suddenly bashful. “I brought you to my home. It’s late, no one will see you. I have a doctor who lives with me because of my mother and I want him to look at you at once. The moment he has assured me that you are well, I will escort you wherever you wish.”

His mother? She struggled to remember what James’s sister, Letty, had said to her. James’s mother had fallen ill after their father had died and over the last two years had become withdrawn and forgetful. Knowing that he looked after his mother filled Gillian with a sense of sympathetic compassion.

“Is that acceptable? Taking you home?” His voice was soft, silken, though a little dangerous in the way it made her heart flutter. He was exactly the sort of man she had dreamed of falling in love with. But she never could. He was a titled peer, a member of the haute ton. She was an earl’s bastard daughter.

If I dared to dream, you would be mine…

She couldn’t look away from him as she nodded. She shouldn’t agree to go into his house but she longed for one moment to pretend that this life might have been hers. Part of her heart still clung to foolish girlhood dreams, wanted to believe for one night that she was a high-born lady who could be seen with him, who could marry him, who could have a life with him.

He climbed out of the coach and held out his hand to her. She started to exit the vehicle and he gripped her by the waist carefully, slowly letting her slide down his body to the ground. Despite her aching head, she longed for him to kiss her in that moment. He cupped her chin, his eyes lowering to her lips before he gave himself a shake.

“My apologies. We need to get you inside and seen to by Dr. Wilkes.”

She fought off a wave of disappointment. Would it be silly and reckless to tell him that his kisses would have erased her pains?

Yes, very foolish. You’re acting like Audrey.

James knocked at the door, one arm curled around Gillian’s waist, as though he feared she would collapse at any moment. She greedily clung to him, hating how much she liked feeling his strong body pressed so close to hers. When the door opened, a young but tired looking footman answered.

“My lord!” His eyes widened and he snapped to attention when he recognized James standing before him.

“Brandon, Dr. Wilkes’ services are required at once. We’ll be in my bedchamber. Bring us some food and wine.”

“Of course.” The lad rushed off and James helped Gillian inside.

He curled an arm around her waist, which she didn’t shy away from. It felt good to be held like this, to feel his strong arm supporting her body when she still felt a bit dazed. He assisted her upstairs to his bedchamber and helped her into a chair, then retrieved a blanket from a nearby settee and tucked it around her lap. He gently curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his so he could study her.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked. The pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Despite his kind words and tenderness, she was never more aware of him in a purely masculine way than in that moment. He’d rescued her, taken her out of harm’s way and was now caring for her. She was torn between adoring him for his rescue and hating herself for needing that rescue.

“I’m fine, my lord, I assure you—”

They jumped as the door opened and footman returned with a tray of food and a bottle of wine. The young man bashfully exited the room after he set the tray and bottle of wine down.

“Heavens,” she blushed. “What he must think of me, with you here, alone…” She knew just what servants would think, since she was one. More than once she’d seen Audrey’s brother Cedric take women to his room alone in the years before he’d married Anne.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to think of an excuse for bringing you here. You mustn’t find yourself in a cloud of scandal—not that my servants would ever talk,” he rushed to reassure her.

Gillian’s stomach fluttered with nerves. He was worried about her? She was nothing in society, a nearly invisible presence. Aside from other servants, only Audrey had seen her as a person and not a lady’s maid. No, if anyone was in danger of their reputation being damaged it was him. She was the undesirable one here.

“My lord, I really must speak with you,” she said softly, knowing she had to tell him the truth about her station.

“I want Wilkes to see you first, then you can tell me whatever it is you wish to tell me.”

She leaned back in the chair by the fireplace and watched him pace the floor. Had her head not been pounding she would have chuckled at seeing him so clearly vexed over her when he really ought not to be worried. She would be fine.

“You must be careful not to wear a path into the rugs,” she said, finally letting a smile slip at his fretfulness. The man was a worrier. Her amusement faded as she realized it must have come from him becoming an earl so young and bearing his mother’s illness and his sisters welfare as his own responsibility.

“Hmm?” He responded before he realized what she said. With a wry chuckle he stopped. “Yes, wouldn’t want to wear down the carpets.”

His lips parted again as though he was about to speak but the door opened and a kindly looking middle-aged gentleman entered. He wore breeches and a shirt, but no waistcoat.

“My apologies, my lord, for my state of undress. But Brandon informed me that a lady here was in distress?”

“Yes. Wilkes, this is Miss Gillian Beaumont. Miss Beaumont, this is Dr. Giles Wilkes.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Gillian said.

“And you as well.” Wilkes smiled as he approached her. “Let’s have a look, shall we? The head, is it?”

James moved beside her, frowning in the most darling way while Wilkes examined her eyes, head and neck.

“I need to cleanse the wound and see exactly how deep the damage goes. Miss Beaumont, can I persuade you to sit on the bed?”

“Of course.” Gillian sat on the bed and tried to hold still as Wilkes retrieved several items from his black medicine bag.

Wilkes took his time examining her, and instructed James to hold a candelabra closer so he had proper lighting.

“Do you mind if I inquire as to how you were injured, Miss Beaumont?”

“Well, I was shoved hard against the wall and I think part of the ceiling fell down on top of me.”

Wilkes gaped at her and then at James. “Pardon?”

“It’s a long story, but I was helping escape a hellfire club. Things became complicated.”

“I see.” Wilkes frowned as he used a mixture of witch hazel to clean her scrapes. Gillian hissed at the sting but James’s powerful hand gripped one of hers as he stood beside her next to the bed, which comforted her somewhat.

“She should not be left alone tonight. The wound appears to be superficial, but she should be watched closely in case she’s having any pain. I want to be woken at once if that’s the case.”

“Oh, but I cannot stay—” Gillian protested.

“You can and you will.” James squeezed her hand again. “If Wilkes is concerned about you, you must do what he says.”

“But… I have no close no clothes and Miss Sheridan will worry about where I am…”

It was dangerous to stay. She would be too close to the man who tempted her like no other had.

“I will send a messenger to Miss Sheridan at once. I’m sure Letty will have some extra clothes you can borrow.” James caught her chin, turning Gillian’s head to face him. “Please, let me take care of you.” Their eyes locked and she had that feeling that his words weren’t simply about tonight, but for many nights to come.

He doesn’t even know who I am. If he did, he would be furious at my deception.

“Are you comfortable with that, Miss Beaumont?” Wilkes asked.

What could she say? “If it is what you recommend, then yes.”

“I’ll stay to watch over you, if you have no objection.” James still held her hand and heat crept into her cheeks at the thought of him being so close to her while she slept.

“I don’t,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes. They were warm and soft, a shade of brown that made her think of cinnamon.

“Good.” James let go of her hand as he walked with the doctor to the hallway.

Gillian curled her arms around her waist. She knew that what she was doing was wrong. Staying here with him was scandalous. She’d told him not to worry about her reputation, because she was afraid he’d try to do the honorable thing and offer marriage and then he’d despise her once he learned the truth of her situation. A woman in service lived and died by her reputation, and while Audrey might not care about this level of scandal, it would spread and make the Sheridan house lose respect which would hurt Audrey. Gillian felt like Audrey was her closest friend, even though they were employer and employee.

The door opened a little while later to reveal James and a young maid. The woman held a nightgown and other necessities in her arms.

“Miss Beaumont, this is Sybil. She’ll see to your needs. I’ll give you half an hour to see that you’re settled.” He paused by the door. The uncertain, almost worried look on his face was strangely charming, as if he feared to leave her alone in case she might need him.

“Thank you, my lord. I will be fine until you return,” she promised.

Sybil helped her change out of the dark purple dress and into the nightgown. The expensive fabric made her feel embarrassed. Did it belong to James’s sister, Letty? The fine lace at her throat and breasts was too lovely, too expensive compared to the simple homespun cotton gown she always wore. It had to belong to his sister.

“Do you need anything else, miss?” Sybil asked. She finished taking down Gillian’s hair from the hasty coiffure she’d styled earlier that evening. She’d had to rush from the house after Audrey and only had time for a simple chignon. Many of the pins had become tangled during her earlier struggles but the maid had a talent for setting them free.

“No, I’m quite all right, thank you.” It was odd to be on the receiving end of help like this. She’d spent most of her life taking care of herself and Audrey in much the same way.

“If you need anything else, just use the bell cord by the bed. We always have some staff remain awake at night because—” The maid suddenly covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t have spoken miss, it’s not my place to—”

“It’s all right, Sybil. I’m sure it has to do with Lord Pembroke’s mother and her illness.”

The maid bit her lip and nodded. Gillian thanked her again and pulled back the coverlet and the bed clothes before she climbed into bed.

She blew out the candle by her head and snuggled down into the soft feather mattress. It was far better than the slender cot she slept on in the attic of the Sheridan townhouse. Her accommodations at home were better than many ladies in service, but nothing could compare to a fine mattress like this. She closed her eyes, smiling a little.

“Feeling better?”

She jolted up at the sound of James’s voice. He had slipped into the room silently, holding a book and a candlestick.

“Yes.” She brushed her hair back from her face and watched him as he closed the bedroom door and walked over to a chair by the fireplace.

“Good. I didn’t mean to wake you. Please, rest. I’ll be here if you need me.” He waved the book in his hand, then settled into a chair by the fire. Gillian wondered if his broad shoulders ever tired of the burdens he carried. He bore so much responsibility, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow at the knowledge that there was no one to care for him.

She was still a bit shocked that she was sleeping at the Earl of Pembroke’s house and he was in her bedchamber. Despite her weariness, her nerves sprang to life and she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep any time soon. She slipped out of bed, went over to the chair beside him and eased herself into the seat. He glanced up in surprise.

“I can’t sleep. Not yet. Would you read to me?”

He looked down at the book in his hands and a swath of his dark fair hair fell over his eyes. She couldn’t take her gaze off his face, the way the firelight shadowed the elegant ridges of his jaw and cheekbones. His features had been crafted by the goddess of love to tempt any sane woman into thinking scandalous thoughts. Gillian remembered soft those lips were, how they’d felt teasing hers and the wicked flick of his tongue which had sent delicious shivers down her spine.

“You wish for me to read to you?” He raised the book so she might see the spine embossed Lady Gloria and the Earnest Earl. “Are you quite sure?” His voice was low, a seductive glint in his eyes, but there was humor twitching at the corners of his lips. “After all, the last time I read to you…” His gaze lowered to her lips as he paused and then he met her eyes. “We got quite lost, as I recall, and not in the pages.” She flushed as she realized he could somehow tease her and arouse her passions at the same time.

“I believe I’m willing to risk getting lost again—in the pages, I mean.” She had a feeling this man could read anything to her and she would have clung to his every word and syllable. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at herself.

James opened the book again, leaning toward her in his chair, as he turned back to the first page.

“Best to start at the beginning I think.”

Gillian tucked her legs up in her chair and leaned on the left arm to get comfortable. The warmth of the fire and the heat between her and James filled the room, making her feel soft, feminine, and all too aware of him as a man in a way that made her head dizzy for completely different reasons.

“‘It always seems that when a lady most needs adventure, that such an adventure comes knocking upon her door. For Miss Gloria Bellarmy, the knock was indeed an actual knock upon her door, in the form of a tall, dark stranger in need of help.’” James continued to read the Gothic novel, his deep voice pronouncing the words in a seductive tone, and sending Gillian into a tranquil mood.

She closed her eyes, picturing the scenes of the book. But rather than Miss Gloria as the heroine, it was she who was accompanying the mysterious man to his beautiful but crumbling home off the coast of Cornwall. And it was James who seduced her in the dining room, who carried her off to bed and made love to her with a savage intensity that aroused rather than frightened her. The dreams were exquisite. She almost whimpered in protest when her body was suddenly raised off the chair and she came awake James’s arms.

“You were asleep,” he whispered huskily. “I thought I ought to take you to bed.”

“Take me to bed?” she murmured, her body humming at the thought. Gillian looked up to his face and slowly curled her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed.

“Yes, you need rest.” He set her down, but when she didn’t let go, he stayed hovering over her. Their faces were inches apart in the candlelight.

“Gillian.” His voice was rougher now. He was on the edge and she could feel it too. The invisible edge that if they crossed they would fall into scandal and sin, but did it really matter? The hunger she had for him outweighed the rational thoughts she had clung to earlier.

“Would it be so bad to—” she didn’t finish the thought but simply lowered her gaze to his tempting mouth. Lord, please let him kiss me. She trembled in his arms with force of her hunger for him.

“It would be very bad… And very good.” He braced one arm on the other side of her as he leaned even farther over the bed. “But I promised I would be a gentleman.”

Gillian’s body was already humming at the thought of him kissing her again. There was something about him that deprived her of good sense. A gentleman who had a wild side, a gentleman who loved deeply and fought madly to protect those he cared about, including her.

Damn the consequences. She moved one of her hands to hit his cravat, tugging at the white neck cloth, unraveling it until it was loose enough to slide off him. She let it drop to the floor and he glanced at it and when he looked up at her again his luscious lips split into a wonderfully wicked grin. Sparks shot down her body as she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat at the same time he reached for her nightgown at her waist. They both laughed softly, their faces brushing cheek to cheek as they rushed to remove the other’s clothing. It was as though Gillian’s natural self-consciousness had faded into the night and all that remained was a creature of touch, taste and scent as she explored each bit of James’s body with her hands and mouth as she undressed him.

By the time he’d been stripped of his clothes, he was lifting her nightgown over her head. She didn’t have any time to be shy. He was crawling on top of her, kissing her madly.

“Open for me, love,” he whispered against her lips. She opened her mouth but he gave a gentle tap on her knees and she tensed.

“Easy now,” he chuckled. “We’ll go slow,” James nuzzled her cheek and she clutched his shoulders and she slowly opened herself to him. The heavy weight of his body was welcome, it made her feel grounded like an ancient tree in a wild forgotten garden that was growing deep roots to the center of the earth itself. That was how bonded, how connected he made her feel to him.

They seemed to kiss for hours, the gentle urging lips, the questing hands and sliding limbs as they explored one another. She’d never felt such a slow building need inside her before, one that seemed to exist outside of her as she sought something greater.

“Is it always like this?” she asked against his lips.

“Like what?” he replied, his tone husky.

She raked her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. “Like…like I’m on fire all over, like I need you in a way I barely understand.” She would have blushed at her own openness but in that moment, she didn’t care.

“No, it isn’t always like this, I feel the same,” he admitted, a boyish smile on his face rendering her speechless. Lost for words, Gillian kissed his chin, his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders as he slowly entered her. The tightness, the hint of pain flashed inside her womb like a shooting star and then faded into a sensation of fullness. He completed her in that moment, made her whole in a way she’d never imagined. This was the reason women fell in love, the reason why rakes were so dangerous. James wasn’t a rake . He was a gentleman, just as he’d promised. But a gentleman who knew how to use his body in the most wonderfully wicked ways.

“Move with me,” he encouraged between kisses. Gillian raised her hips as he lowered his and the sensation of fullness increased until she almost couldn’t breathe, then he withdrew and she gripped him harder, urging him to thrust back in. They shared a soft moan as their hips came together over and over.

“You feel like heaven,” he growled. “Bloody heaven.”

“So do you.” Gillian gasped as he thrust back into her and a wave of pleasure suddenly and frighteningly swept over her.

She inhaled and cried out. A second later James covered her mouth with his, muffling her cries. Then he thrust into her again and buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly as he collapsed on top of her. For a moment, she feared she couldn’t breathe, but he lifted his body and rolled to the side. Gillian’s bare body started to cool and for a second reason and logic threatened to sweep her away but James lifted the covers over them and pulled her into his arms, kissing the shell of her ear.

“Sleep. I’m here to watch over you.” His promise followed her into the darkness as sleep closed in at last.

* * *

James held Gillian in his arms, watching the candles slowly burn down. He had been reckless, taking her like that, and yet he had not regretted an instant. She was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but he knew he was going to have trouble convincing her to marry him. There were secrets in her eyes, and sorrow upon her lips and he wished he knew what it was that filled her with fear and hesitancy. He lived his entire life feeling distanced and alone from others, it was hard to find a young lady in society who would marry a man who wished to keep his mother close, a mother who suffered from an early onset of an illness of the mind. Many young ladies he had met had mentioned they would wish to see his mother retired to the country, out of sight, out of mind, but James couldn't do that. Gillian seemed to understand him and had compassion like no other woman he’d met. That was the sort of woman he could marry.

He brushed a stray lock of her hair back from her face and she snuggled closer to him. The light floral scent that clung to her hair made him think of those long-ago summers when he was a boy in the country. His father had been alive and his mother well. He and Letty had dashed about the tea tables beneath the vast canopies of the pavilion tents which were full of friends from the surrounding villages and estates.

Summer days full of warm sunlight… That was what it felt like to hold this woman in his arms. She was a strange and wonderful magic he couldn't quite believe he’d managed to capture. When his mother had first fallen ill and had lost so much of her ability to follow conversation and remember details of the present, he promised he would find a way to make her whole again. His mother had held his hands in hers, the premature gray at her temples lending a melancholy elegance as she smiled sadly and spoken to him.

“Promise me, James, that you will find a way to harness the rainbows after the storms life gives you. Your father was my rainbow captured in a jar. You need not worry about me. Chase your own wondrous mystery to its colorful end and catch it before it's too late.”

He had not completely understood her, a boy of sixteen rarely wants to think about the philosophies of life. But now he wondered if Gillian might be his rainbow in a jar. But how to catch and keep her?

“I want you to belong to me,” he murmured against her forehead before he placed a soft lingering kiss there. Come morning he would begin chasing his rainbow to its wondrous and mysterious end.