Alec woke to the sounds of the street. Carriages rattled by, vendors hocked their wares, voices called in greeting. He frowned. His room didn’t open onto the street…of course. He wasn’t in his room, but Julia’s. Smiling drowsily, Alec reached out an arm to pull her to him.

His hand fell onto tangled sheets and a pillow. He stretched further, all the way to the edge of the bed, but no warm body rested beside his. Instantly awake, he raised himself on an elbow and looked about the room.

Julia’s gown still lay on the floor, a forlorn puddle of lace, and her robe was tossed across a chair. Other than the tangle of bedclothing, everything was perfectly neat and strangely empty. Perhaps she’d gone to request breakfast. The idea of his not-so-prim wife serving him breakfast in bed seemed entirely appropriate.

He turned onto his back and placed his hands beneath his head, the cool air brushing against his bared skin. Despite the late night and the amount of brandy he had consumed, he was as refreshed and rested as if he’d slept a week. Perhaps there were benefits to having a woman like Julia for a wife—one who had a compulsion to take care of everything and everybody. Lately, he had thought that she had exempted him from her list of cares. It was satisfying to see she was capable of expending at least some of her boundless attention on him.

The edge of a pillow tickled his ear. He lifted a hand to push it away and caught the lingering scent of their passion. An instant impression of Julia’s long legs and her heated response flashed through his mind.

Restless, he piled the pillows behind him and pulled the thin sheet over his lap. When she returned, he would take great delight in showing her how much he loved the morning, when the air held a tang of freshness and the early light dispelled all shadows. A good morning tumble set the mood for the entire day. The memory of her wildness the night before made him count the minutes with growing impatience.

Another quarter of an hour passed, and still no Julia. Where in the hell was she?

Chastising himself for a fool for lying in bed and waiting, he looked about for something to cover his nakedness. The sheets or blanket would wrap around him three times and still drag behind him like a serpent’s tail. Alec picked up the lace nightrail and wrapped it experimentally about his hips, but the thin cloth showed more than it hid.

He dropped it to the floor and grabbed the frilled robe from the chair and fastened it about his waist. Layers of ruffles fluffed from his hips to well above his knees, but it would have to do.

Muttering to himself about the inconvenience of being married to an independent woman, Alec opened the door and peered into the hall, hoping against hope that none of his meddling servants were about.

The hall was blessedly empty; nothing but the faint sound of Mrs. Winston’s voice floating up the stairs disturbed the early morning peace. Relieved, he opened the door wider and leaned out, scanning the floor for his robe.

“Good morning, my lord.” Burroughs stood in the doorway of Alec’s room, the butler’s gaze politely directed over his right shoulder. “Chilton found your robe this morning when he brought your wash water. I believe he blamed the incident on her ladyship’s page.”

Alec’s face heated, but he refused to retreat. Tightening his grip on the bunched material at his hip, he nodded. “I’ll be sure he knows I left it there.”

“Of course, my lord. If you’re finished lurking about the hallway, perhaps you would care for some breakfast?”

“I am not lurking.”

The butler’s gaze drifted to Alec’s makeshift covering. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ignoring the urge to bolt into his room and slam the door behind him, Alec tightened the robe about his hips. “Have you seen Lady Hunterston?”

“Yes, sir. She left early this morning.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Johnston complained about having to visit Whitechapel, my lord. I would venture to guess she went to one of her meetings.” The butler paused, then added in a deferential tone, “Her ladyship appeared somewhat distracted.”

So that was where she had gone. Alec had no doubt this morning’s journey would be difficult for Julia. As committed as she was to the Society, it would be hard to simply walk away. He frowned. She should have waited for him to accompany her.

From the stairs came Chilton’s unmistakable mincing tread.

“Oh, God,” Alec muttered. Straightening his shoulders, he marched past Burroughs and into his room, stopping long enough to glare. “Not a word of this to the others.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, my lord.” The faintest hint of amusement lingered in the dry tone.

His good mood long gone, Alec slammed the door. Despite the fact that Julia had gone to do as he had bidden, it irked him that she could apparently hop out of bed and go traipsing about town as if last night were less than nothing. Hell, he was a little shaky this morning. She should be equally affected.

He scowled and threw open the wardrobe, pulled out a shirt, and tossed it onto the bed. How could she just rise and leave without a word? It was the most heartless action he had ever witnessed from his giving and gracious wife. The fact that she’d done it to him only made it worse. Especially since he’d wakened ready to entice her with new pleasures.

Alec poured water into a basin and splashed his face, the warm liquid running down his unshaven jaw. He reached for a towel and caught sight of his reflection. For the first time in weeks, no fatigue shadowed his eyes. He rubbed the roughness of his chin and immediately thought of Julia’s mouth against his, her pale arms twined about his neck, her long legs wrapped around his hips.

Naked, she had the body of a sprite: slender and small breasted, as delicate as a wraith. She was a siren, dressed by day in the clothing of the righteous, protected by staid spectacles and a prim manner. But by night, she transformed into a passionate vixen, playful and seductive, but more beautiful and more vibrant than any woman he had ever known. His manhood twitched and rose and Alec cursed Julia’s blithe absence yet again.

Mrs. Winston’s voice came through the closed door. “Goodness! Someone has gone and mussed the mistress’s room. The bedsheets have been torn off the bed.”

“His lordship did not sleep in his bed last night,” said Chilton, a superior edge to his tone.

“Well, it’s about time.” Mrs. Winston’s giggle raked across Alec’s raw nerves. “I vow, I was beginning to think that you were going to have to have a talk with him about his conjugal duties.”

If the housekeeper’s giggle had raked Alec’s nerves, his valet’s high-pitched titter sliced them in two. He would not be made sport of in his own house.

He stomped to the door and flung it open. “If you are through gossiping, perhaps one of you would be good enough to see to my breakfast.”

Two pairs of astonished eyes fixed on him, but not on his stern face. Instead they locked on his hips, where Julia’s robe still hung in many-ruffled splendor. Heat flooded his neck and face.

“My lord,” said Chilton, stepping forward, his nose flared in alarm. “I will come immediately and see to your clothing.”

“No,” Alec said abruptly. The last thing he wanted was a chattering valet to keep him company.

“But, sir, I—”

“I don’t need any help dressing.”

Mrs. Winston looked pointedly at Alec’s ruffled attire, her mouth twitched into a grin. “Maybe not, my lord, but Chilton could at least iron some of the wrinkles out of that.”

For an instant even Chilton looked as if he might burst in a spate of wild giggles. It was more than Alec could endure. Red-faced, he retreated into his room and slammed the door. No man should be faced with a horde of merry, impertinent servants at this time of the morning.

He loosened the robe from his hips and tossed it to the floor, kicking it under the bed for good measure. Good God, what was wrong with him? He’d lost his ability to think. Irritation seethed in his stomach, and he knew he’d eat no breakfast this morning. Turning to his wardrobe, he yanked out a pair of breeches and jerked them on.

As he thrust his arm into his shirt, a sudden thought trickled through his annoyance. What if Julia had decided not to give up the Society, after all? God only knew what unpredictable thoughts might have settled in her brain while he lay blissfully asleep at her side. It didn’t bear thinking of.

Alec tried to recall her exact words regarding the Society, but couldn’t. His memories of the night before had less to do with words and more to do with silken hair, the touch of her skin against his, her seductive scent.

He tugged the shirt into place and buttoned it, hastily tying his cravat. Just to be sure Julia understood her responsibilities, he would go to the Society himself. And if she did not—Alec scowled. He would deal with that when the time came.

Hurrying in earnest, he shoved his feet into his boots and pulled on his coat. Then he ran down the stairs, calling for his carriage.

Julia had worked in the squalid alleyways and filthy streets of Whitechapel too long to consider herself an innocent. Indeed, she had seen far more than any maid should. But nothing had prepared her for the searing passion she had felt with Alec.

She had slept deeply, dreamlessly, only to awaken to find him wrapped about her, his legs entwined with hers, his warm breath against her neck. She had lain there, eyes closed, and savored the moment. Never had she felt more loved or in love. Perhaps one day he would learn to love her in return. Julia had smiled at the thought and snuggled closer, resting her check against his broad chest.

For now, she would be content with what he’d given her—a night of pure, delicious, satiating passion. Tears had gathered in her eyes and clogged her throat. It was all so new, so wonderful.

Of course, Alec would not think of their night of passion with any emotion at all. Like all rakes, he would think of it as nothing more than a pleasurable moment, one to be enjoyed and then dismissed.

The thought had made her stir within his comforting hold. Is that what he would do? Awaken and roll away, acting as if nothing had occurred? Would he expect her to act the same—casual and accepting, as if their relationship had not changed? As if she weren’t now even more committed to him, even more in love with him?

Julia had pulled away from the warm arms that held her and slipped from the bed. Frowning in his sleep, Alec gathered her pillow close, but did not awaken. As quietly as possible, she dressed, pulling on clothes and shoes at random. She couldn’t face him now, not when her love ran so near the surface that with one look at her face, he would know the truth. She needed time to collect her thoughts and arm herself against her own feelings.

One day, he would come to love her. But it would be fatal to rush him. She would woo him gently, teach him the value of true love, the pleasure of caring for others. Perhaps that was the way to reform him, after all.

For now, she needed to calm her tangled feelings. Fortunately, the Society was to meet this morning. Julia had pinned her hair in the predawn darkness and then stopped by the bed to watch Alec sleep. He looked mussed and boyish, his hair falling across his forehead. She reached out and almost touched him, but stopped. Sighing deeply, Julia had slipped silently from the room.

She arrived at Whitechapel just as Lord Burton stepped from his carriage. Full of jovial witticisms, he escorted her into the vicar’s office where the rest of the board had collected. The meeting passed in a blur.

Julia tried to keep her mind on the work at hand, but thoughts of the previous night kept flashing before her eyes, interrupting her ability to speak. Twice, she forgot what she was saying in mid-sentence. Flustered, she left as soon as was acceptable, saying a hurried good-bye and whisking out the door.

Halfway down the front steps, she halted, her heart thrumming a painful tattoo. “Alec.”

He leaned against the bottom railing, hands stuffed into his pockets. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes. “I came to take you home.”

Julia cast a wary glance over her shoulder, relieved to see that no one had followed her out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His jaw clenched. “Perhaps it’s time the members of the Society knew you have a husband.”

“It is a bit late to decide that.” She brushed past him and peered around his phaeton to where Johnston should have been waiting with the coach.

“I told him to leave.” Alec’s voice sounded at her ear. “Get in, Julia.”

“But I wasn’t going home. In fact, I won’t be home until late. I have errands to run, and a book to return to the lending library, and Lady Birlington specifically requested that I attend her for tea.” That should show him she was completely unaffected by last night.

Yet he looked far from pleased, his mouth tight with anger. “Whatever you have to do can wait.” He pulled her to his phaeton without giving her time to remonstrate.

Julia took her place with ill grace. “I don’t see why you couldn’t just wait until I got home.”

Alec climbed in beside her and tossed a coin to the boy who’d held the horses. “Because I have no wish for our confounded servants to barge in on us while we settle this once and for all.”

“Settle what?”

His gaze rested on her with a decided glint. “Us.”

Effectively robbed of speech, Julia could only nod. She waited for him to say more, but he seemed absorbed in guiding the phaeton through the crowded streets.

Finally, after an eternity of stomach-twisting silence, he said, “Julia, about last night—I don’t want you to think that…you shouldn’t….” He stopped, face flushed, his eye pinned straight ahead. “What I mean to say is—”

“Pray do not.” It was all too clear what he meant to say. Mouth aquiver, she sniffed miserably. “I understand perfectly.”

“No, you don’t,” he said with a grim glance. “I have never played fast and loose with a virgin, and I am not about to start now.”

Fast and loose? They had spent a night of remarkable passion and he described it as “fast and loose?” Her eyes showed an annoying tendency to water in the bright sunshine. “There’s no need for you to worry. Last night was all my fault.”

He turned to regard her, a puzzled crease between his brows. “Your fault?”

“Yes, but you needn’t fear. I don’t expect a declaration or anything.” Not that she’d refuse one, should he offer.

His face held a distinctive sickly pallor. “A declaration?”

Her heart sank into her stomach like a lead weight, but Julia managed an airy shrug. “Of course. It was just a brief interlude and means nothing to either of us.”

His pallor receded behind an angry flush. Staring straight ahead, he asked in a clipped voice, “A brief interlude. Is that how you see it?”

“Oh, yes. Very brief and very…well, an interlude.” This was all working out perfectly, Julia decided, trying to buoy her flagging spirits. She was effectively alleviating his distress while maintaining what little pride she had left. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop her eyes from leaking large, slow drops. She fumbled in her reticule for her handkerchief.

Alec stared straight ahead, too uninterested to notice her plight. He turned the phaeton onto a wide, pleasant street and left the stench and poverty of Whitechapel behind. “Julia, I think you miss the importance of what has occurred. You and I…there is a strong physical attraction between us.”

“Physical?” Her voice quavered piteously, but he didn’t notice.

Color touched his neck and face. “Our bodies are made for one another.”

How could he take the incredible beauty of their night of passion and reduce it to a physical explanation? He reminded her of Mr. Tumbolton, trying to fix a mathematical equation to the soul. Some things simply could not be measured.

Pride dried her eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you are talking about, Alec.”

His simmering glance sliced through her heart as surely as a sword. “You felt it, too, Julia. I know you did.”

“I felt a lot of things,” she said, stung. “I’m just not sure I wouldn’t have felt them with someone else.”

Alec abruptly pulled the horses to, oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare. “What?”

Her cheeks burned with her own audacity, but she resolutely plowed on. “I haven’t had much experience. For all I know, I might feel that way with….” She struggled to find a name and couldn’t think of a one. Just when she needed it most, her brain had fallen into a deep slumber and refused to be roused. More than likely it was reeling in shock at hearing her say such outrageous things, but she didn’t care.

“With whom?” His eyes gleamed beneath the brim of his hat. From behind them, a journeyman began to yell obscenities.

Julia struggled to think of a name. “Oh, I don’t know. Nick or someone.”

Alec appeared thunderstruck. “Nick?”

“Or someone.” Damn it, why couldn’t she think of a dashing suitor—someone who was as noble as he was handsome? Surely there must be dozens of them littering the ton, yet she could think only of the man beside her.

He stared at her for a long minute before turning back to the horses and urging them to a trot. His movements appeared mechanical, as if he were locked in some sort of inner struggle and scarcely knew what he was doing. “How long have you known Nick?”

It had been Julia’s first season as a chaperone…the first time she had seen Alec. A tremulous smile lifted her mouth. When she caught Alec’s stare, she forced herself to swallow. “Four years ago. A little more, to be exact. Why?”

His face tightened, white lines appearing at the side of his mouth. “I will remind you that you are married to me, madam.”

“I’m not likely to forget it.”

“Good.” With a distinctly unfriendly glance, he asked, “How did the Society take your news this morning?”

The change in topic made her blink. “I think we have settled most of the details,” she replied cautiously.

“Then it is done.” His hands tightened about the reins. “I know they will miss you as much as you will miss them, but it is for the best.”

She paused in returning her handkerchief to her reticule. “I beg your pardon?”

He shot her a short glance that confirmed her worse suspicions. “I said—”

“I know what you said; I just don’t understand it. What do you mean, they will miss me?”

Confusion flickered in his gray eyes before he frowned. “Do you remember last night, madam?”

“Of course I remember it. You came to my room and we—”

“No,” he interrupted, slightly red. “Not that. I meant the dinner party where the beauteous Desiree made such an impression. You agreed that you would give up the Society if she caused a scandal.”

It should not have bothered her that Alec thought Desiree beautiful, because the girl was. Yet it hurt to hear him say it aloud. Especially when he had never said such a thing to her. Clearing her throat, Julia said, “But she did not cause a scandal.”

“Julia, half the men around that table knew who and what that woman was!”

She regarded him with lifted brows. “Did they say anything when they retired to the library for port?”

“No. They stood in miserable silence, afraid to look each other in the eye.”

“Well, there. They will be too embarrassed to say anything. You see, nothing will come from it. From now on, I will just keep Desiree belowstairs when there is company.”

“It will not be so easy as that.”

“Wait and see.”

He shook his head. “I am through discussing this. You will cease your association with the Society and have nothing more to do with this ridiculous servant referral business.”

“Nonsense. We are all set to launch it next week.”

“Damn it! You have seen what happens when you try to pass off one of your women from the Society as a maid. It will not work.”

“I would hardly consider Desiree a good example. The women from the Society are from Whitechapel, and none of your acquaintances are likely to know them.”

“And if someone does?”

“They will dismiss it as an unlikely coincidence and never again think of it. Few people are as memorable as Desiree.”

Alec pulled the phaeton to a halt in front of Hunterston House. “You will find someone else to sponsor this project.” He spoke the words slowly, as though using all his strength to contain his anger. “I won’t allow you to be involved.”

Julia’s heart pounded in her dry throat. “You cannot stop me.”

“You would disobey me?”

She thought of the hopeless eyes of the women of Whitechapel and steeled herself. “Yes.”

Alec stared at her, his breath rapid, his mouth carved into an implacable line. “Very well, madam. Since you are so determined to pursue this path of ruin, then I need no longer concern myself with offending your delicate sensibilities—or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, I will drink, gamble, and do as I please.” His mouth curved in a cool smile. “I may even take a mistress.”

“But the executors—”

“Will not care, so long as I am discreet. Despite their age, they are men of the world and know how things are done.” His silver gaze raked across her. “No one will even lift a brow.”

He was right. She had imposed those rules herself, hoping to keep him from the corruptive influences of the gaming hells he normally attended. Jaw clenched against the telltale quiver of her chin, Julia gathered her skirts and clambered down from the phaeton. “Very well, do as you must. But heed me well: no brandy-soaked rake will ever be welcome in my bed. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed last night. It was your last. I want nothing more to do with you.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his gaze lightly skimming her face, her mouth, lingering on the curve of her body as intimately as a touch. “We shall see about that.” With a tip of his hat, he drove off.

Had she found a rock, she would have thrown it. As it was, she had to be content with kicking the wrought-iron gate as hard as she dared. Limping up the sidewalk, she was appalled to see Mrs. Winston, Burroughs, Chilton, and a very wide-eyed Desiree scurrying from sight.

Wonderful, Julia thought. Just wonderful. Sniffing, she made her way through the gauntlet of servantly concern to the safety of her own bedchamber, where she indulged herself thoroughly in a spate of angry tears.