When Juliana tapped at the door, he flung himself into the chair behind the massive mahogany desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. "Enter." He didn't look up from the documents as the door opened.
Juliana stood in the doorway, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Instead he said, still without looking up, "Close the door."
Juliana did so and stepped into the room. Her chin went up. If he was intending to humiliate her by this insulting treatment, he would find it didn't work. Without invitation she sat down casually on a chair, her wide skills flowing gracefully around her, and picked up a copy of the Morning Post from a side table.
Tarquin glanced up, and that same glimmer of reluctant laughter sprang to his eyes as he surveyed the red head bent over the newspaper, the graceful curve of her neck, the absolute resistance radiating from the still figure. Viscountess Edgecombe wasn't yielding an inch.
He put the papers aside and said, "Let's not beat around the bush, mignonne. As I understand it, you intend to form an alliance with Lucien. Is that correct?"
Juliana's eyebrows lifted. "I don't know what you mean, sir. The viscount is my husband. I am absolutely allied with him in the eyes of the Church and the law."
Tarquin's lips thinned. "I tell you straight, Juliana, that I will not tolerate it. Also, as of now, you will have nothing further to do with Mistress Dennison's girls. They will not visit you here, and you will not visit them. You mustn't be tainted with the whorehouse."
"But am I not already tainted? What am I but your whore, bought under contract to a bawd?"
"You are my mistress, Juliana. That doesn't make you a whore."
"Oh, come now, my lord duke," she said scornfully. "You bought me for three thousand pounds, as I recall. Or was it guineas? I'm flattered that I should be worth so much to you, but I suppose the breeding aspect to this arrangement makes me more valuable. I may be naive, but I do know that men don't buy their mistresses. They buy whores."
"I think you've said all there is to say on that subject," the duke said coldly. "Repeatedly, I might add. I will now repeat myself. You will have no further contact with the girls on Russell Street. Henny will take care of that unfortunate creature upstairs until she's well enough to leave, at which point I'll give her a sum of money that will enable her to establish herself without a protector."
Quentin had said the duke was generous to a fault. It seemed he hadn't exaggerated, and this liberal benevolence toward a girl he didn't know from Eve rather took the edge off Juliana's hostility. However, since it didn't suit her plans to be cut off from Russell Street, the battle must continue.
"You're very kind, sir," she said formally. "I'm certain Lucy will be suitably grateful."
"For God's sake, girl, I'm not asking for gratitude," he snapped. "Only for your obedience."
"As I'm aware, I owe obedience only to my husband, sir."
"You owe obedience to the man who provides for you," he declared, standing up in one fluid movement. Juliana had to force herself to stand her ground as she found herself looking up at him.
He leaned forward, his flat palms resting on the desk. "You have already played into Lucien's hands by encouraging him to embarrass me. God only knows who saw you this morning. Who knew where you were going. Whom he will tell. He paraded you through the streets of fashionable London with a trio of High Impures, and he played you for a fool, you silly child. These naive schemes of retaliation will hurt you a damn sight more than they'll hurt me."
Juliana paled. It hurt her that he believed Lucien had made a fool of her. Surely, she deserved more credit than that. "Your cousin's conduct doesn't appear to have affected your standing in society so far, sir," she said with icy calm. "I fail to see why his wife should alter the situation." She curtsied again. "I beg leave to leave you, sir."
Tarquin came out from behind the desk. He took her chin and brought her upright. "Don't do this, Juliana," he said quietly. "Please."
She looked up at him, read the sincerity in his eyes and the harsh planes of his face. She recognized that he was offering her an opening to back down without loss of face, but her anger and resentment ran too deep and too hot to be swept away so easily.
"My lord, you reap what you sow."
For a long moment their eyes held, and she read a confusion of emotion in his. There was anger, puzzlement, resignation, regret. And beneath it all a torch of desire.
"So be it," he said slowly. "But bear in mind that you also reap what you sow." He bent his head to take her mouth with his. It was a kiss of war, and her blood rose to meet the power and the passion, the bewildering knowledge that she could fight tooth and nail yet respond with desperate hunger to the touch and the feel, the scent, the taste, the glorious rhythms, of his body.
When he released her, his gaze still held hers, taking in the full red richness of her lips, the delicate flush of desire against the creamy pallor of her cheeks, the deep jade depths of her eyes, the flame of her hair. He could feel her arousal pulsing like an aura, and he knew she was as aroused by the declaration of war as she was by passion.
"You have leave to leave me," he said.
Juliana curtsied and left, closing the door gently behind her. She passed an unfamiliar footman as she walked down the corridor toward the hall. "Do you know if Viscount Edgecombe has returned to the house?"
"I don't believe so, my lady."
He kept his eyes fixed on the middle distance beyond her head, and it occurred to Juliana that, with the exception of Henny, the servants in this house had been trained to avoid eye contact with their employers.
"Would you inform me when he does return?" she asked pleasantly. "I shall be in my parlor."
The footman bowed and she went on her way, her mind whirling as she tried to organize her thoughts. She couldn't free her mind from the bubbling volcano of her body. The duke had started something with that kiss that wouldn't be soon extinguished. She wondered if he'd known it… if it was the same for him. She guessed grimly that he knew what he'd done to her, and that unlike her, he was able to control his own responses.
Upstairs in the yellow bedchamber she found Lucy propped up on pillows, with Henny feeding her gruel. "Oh, you look so much better," she said, approaching the bed. Lucy's hair was clean, although dull and straggly, and her thin face was no longer grime encrusted. She wore a white nightgown that clearly swamped her, but her dark eyes had regained some life.
She turned her head toward Juliana and smiled weakly. "I don't know who you are. Or where I am. But I owe you my life."
Juliana shook her head briskly. She'd done no more than any compassionate human being would have done, and gratitude struck her as both unnecessary and embarrassing. "My name's Juliana," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "And you're in the house of the Duke of Redmayne. I'm married to his cousin, Viscount Edgecombe."
Lucy looked even more bewildered. She shook her head as Henny offered her another spoonful of gruel. "I don't think I could eat any more."
"Aye, I daresay your belly's not used to being full," Henny said cheerfully, removing the bowl. "I'll leave you with her Ladyship. Just ring the bell if you want me." She indicated the rope hanging beside the bed and bustled out.
"How do you know Lilly and the others?" Lucy asked, lying back against the pillows.
"Ah, there hangs a tale," Juliana said with a grin. "But you look as if you need to sleep, so I'll tell you later, when you're stronger."