His face looked drawn, his sorrow acute even now. "Somehow she rallied enough to be moved. Having nowhere else to go, I took her to London. I didn't know what else to do. I used the last of my allowance to find us a room, buy her some clothes and food, then fuel for the grate. For a few weeks she seemed better; then her illness returned. I called a physician but there was nothing he could do. She died soon after."

A single tear slid down Julianna's cheek, remembering the pain she'd suffered at the time of her own mother's death so long ago. She wiped the back of her hand over her damp cheek. "Tell me the rest."

Rafe collected himself and gave a suddenly weary sigh. "I went out into the world and made my way as best I could. For a long time I blamed my father for not making provision for my mother. Then Tony, a titled friend of mine, managed to get his hands on a copy of the will. In it, we discovered my father had indeed left money for both my mother and myself, money the St. George family did its best to keep out of my hands.

"It's my firm belief as well that my father left my mother the house. She'd mentioned several times over the years that he'd put the deed in her name. I think St. George altered it, changed the deed so the property would come to him."

One of his hands curled into a hard fist. "St. George stole that house from my mother and threw her out into the street like yesterday's rubbish. So when the opportunity presented itself, I arranged things so my 'little brother' would have no choice but to hand the property over to me."

A shiver of trepidation ran through her. "What did you do?"

"I quietly bought up his debt, including several promissory notes whose repayment was fully enforceable in a court of law. When it came time to pay his creditors, he discovered it was me he owed. Rather than risk dragging his name and his lack of funds out in public, I proposed a deal, the West Riding house and grounds in exchange for his outstanding notes. He had little choice but to accept. It made him angry. My mistake was in not realizing how angry. I got the house but lost Pamela. A devil's bargain to be sure."

He raised his gaze, sharp as green glass and filled with self-loathing. "So you see, sweeting, I had as much of a hand in her death as he did."

"His actions were not of your making," she stated with a shake of her head. "What he did to her was unspeakable. No matter the history between him and you, that did not give him the right to attack an innocent girl, to hurt and destroy her like some insect he could squash. He's a monster with no morals. Considering everything you've told me of him, he ought to be hanged for his crimes. He is the one responsible, not you."

Climbing to her feet, she crossed to Rafe. "You are not at fault and you must stop torturing yourself with the idea that you are. Pamela would not want that. I read the inscription in the watch she gave you. No woman who loved you like that could ever wish to see you anything but happy."

Then, before he had a chance to refuse, she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. Rafe stood stiff and unyielding, as if he were going to pull away. Then suddenly he crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair as his arms locked at her back.

They held each other for a long minute, drawing strength and succor from their embrace, their bodies pressed together warm and vital and alive, so very much alive. Instinct urged an even closer bond, his lips seeking and finding hers, his kiss soft and slow and tender. She responded, opening her mouth and urging him to take his fill.

Her senses spun in a dizzying whirl, boundless pleasure taking her in its grasp. She met his every move, teasing his tongue and nibbling at his lips, playing a tantalizing game that made her head hazy with yearning.

Passion billowed through her blood like steam heat, setting her nerves afire. Burrowing closer, she urged him to deepen their kiss, to raise the level of intensity between them in ways that should probably have frightened her, but didn't.

Craving more, she ran her hands across his chest and over his shoulders, clutching him tight as she put everything she had into her kiss. He responded, trailing his thumbs along the sensitive length of her spine.

With a sigh of almost feline satisfaction, she arched her back. Seconds later, she literally purred when he gave her bottom a caressing squeeze, then lifted her off her feet for a second time that evening.

All restraint fell away, her kisses turning as wild as his. Two weeks apart had been too long, leaving both of them eager to make up for lost time.

Rafe took a few steps forward, then stopped, obviously recalling that they were not in the Queens Square house, but instead inside Julianna's bedroom in Mayfair. She felt a shiver of repressed need go through him as he reluctantly broke their kiss. "I should probably go." He caught her lower lip between his teeth for a quick second before pressing another pair of kisses on her throbbing mouth.

"Hmm, probably," she sighed as she strung a line of kisses across his jaw and over the faint roughness of his cheek. When she reached his ear, she traced the edge of her tongue along the rim, then blew out a light stream of air.

He shuddered.

"You could stay." She tunneled her fingers into his thick hair.

He nuzzled her neck, then lifted and angled her hips so her femininity brushed against the hard tip of his erection, only the barrier of their clothing separating them.

This time she was the one to shudder.

"We might get caught," he whispered, taking a few more steps toward the bed.

"We might," she agreed, curling her legs around his hips. "Oh, heavens, please do not stop."

In that moment, she wanted him so much that no amount of risk could have kept her from him.

With a low growl, he carried her the rest of the way to the bed. After he laid her down upon the mattress, she expected him to strip off her nightgown, then hurriedly work to remove his own garments, leaving both of them naked.

She watched as he shrugged out of his jacket, then unwound the cravat from his neck, tossing both to the floor. After unfastening the short placket of buttons on his shirt, he toed off his shoes. But instead of continuing, he set a knee onto the bed and eased down so he lay full-length at her side.

Reaching out, he stroked a slow palm along the length of her hair, fanning her tresses out across the cool expanse of her pillow. Her pulse jittered, his simple touch sending her senses aloft. She began to reach for him, but he captured her hands and bore them back down.

"Let me," he whispered, dusting a kiss across her cheek. "Let me pleasure you. We have 'til dawn. Why not indulge our desires? There's no need to rush, is there?"

With a shake of her head, she agreed. Relaxing her muscles, she willed herself to do as he wished, knowing he would bring her delight, certain he would take her all the places she most longed to go.

Leisurely and lazily, he began to play, starting with light caresses and kisses, dappling her skin with a stroke here, a nibble there. Without removing a single scrap of cloth, he roused her need, making her ache as damp heat burned between her thighs. With restless need, she shifted her limbs beneath the skirt of her peignoir, wishing he would take it off and touch her bare flesh.

Instead he stroked her through the thin silk, the cloth growing wet when he fastened his mouth to one of her breasts and began to draw upon her with the most exquisite suction. Moaning, she bit the edge of her lip and closed her eyes, her brain buzzing, knowing her bliss was just out of reach. But he held her there on a wire-thin edge of need, stretching out each moment in a torment of glorious delight.

She cried out in relief when he finally drew off her nightgown, leaving her completely naked. "God, Rafe, take me," she urged, her control breaking as she reached for him.

But he slipped out of her grasp, sitting up to peel his shirt over his head and slip out of his trousers. "Be patient," he whispered as he turned back. "I haven't pleasured you enough yet."

She wanted to disagree, but couldn't seem to form the words, especially not when he set his wide palms upon her and began moving them in a long, gradual sweeping glide across her exposed flesh.

Capturing her mouth in another series of hot, wet kisses, he buried his face against her neck. A groan escaped her lips as he caught her nape between his teeth and gave her a gentle bite, adding a soothing lick and a kiss at the end.

Time took on a dreamlike quality as he repeated the process-bite, lick, kiss-working his way over her body, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

She whimpered, nearly feverish with need, when he reached the last spot, spreading her legs for the most intimate caress of all. Before he did, he pressed one of her hands across her lips. She didn't understand until a moment later when the barest brush of his lips and teeth sent her flying, her scream of release muffled against her skin. With a control that amazed her, he brought her to another peak before levering his body up and over her.

With a trio of sweet thrusts, he sheathed himself deep inside her. Clinging, she locked her legs high around his waist and kissed him, urging him to take his own climax as quickly as he wished.

But again, he didn't rush, drawing out the pleasure, pacing himself so he could reignite her hunger and take her with him over the brink one more time. Enthralled, she held on, her body, perhaps her very soul, his to control.

Opening his mouth over her own, he caught her cries of ecstasy along with his own rough shout, his body shaking hard in her arms as he claimed his own powerful release.

Long minutes passed as she drifted back to herself. Curling into him, she snuggled, nearly on the verge of sleep.

How I love having him here, she thought, her eyelids growing heavy. How I love him.

Her eyes blinked open and she stared.

Shifting her head to watch him slumber, her heart melted, and she knew it was true. Despite all the difficulties and improbabilities, in spite of everything that made their being together impossible, her heart knew what it wanted.

Quite without knowing how, she had tumbled headlong in love with Rafe Pendragon.

Chapter Fourteen.

RAFE AWAKENED JUST before dawn.

For a long moment, he stared into the darkness, Julianna curled beside him. Breathing in the sweet warmth of her skin, he wished he could stay, wished he could kiss her awake and make love to her again.

But he knew if he remained, chances were good they would be caught. For him discovery mattered little, but Julianna did not feel the same. To protect her and guard the secret nature of their relationship, he knew he must go, and go now.

Careful not to wake her, he eased from the bed. Crossing the room, he tugged open the curtains to let in the last waning bits of moonlight, the room's heavy shadows tempered just enough to allow him to find his clothes.

In silence, he dressed.

Outside in the trees, birds began to chatter, warning of the impending break of dawn. Fastening a final button on his coat, he turned for one last look at Julianna.

Slumbering as deeply as a child, her features held an angelic cast, sooty lashes fanned over sleep-warmed cheeks, her cherry-hued lips parted as though she were an enchanted princess awaiting the kiss of her lover.

His body let him know just how much he'd like to give in to temptation and slide back between the sheets with her, but he forced himself to resist.

There would be time enough later, when they next met.

After awakening to make love a second time, she'd promised to meet him at the Queens Square house in two days-tomorrow now. He would have preferred seeing her again this very afternoon but he knew she couldn't manage to slip away, having only just returned to Town last night.

Thinking about last night, he couldn't quite believe all the things he had revealed to her. Only his closest friends knew of the tragedy of Pamela, understood the circumstances and the reasons for his hatred of St. George.

But Julianna now knew more. With only a few soft words and the tenderness of her touch, he had found himself telling her things he'd never told anyone, sharing emotions he'd kept locked tightly away inside. Perhaps he should regret having said so much, but surprisingly he did not, knowing all his confidences were safe in her keeping.

Unable to resist, he bent down and pressed his lips to her temple, his touch as light as a whisper against her petal-soft skin.

Julianna stirred slightly, her lips curving into a dreamy smile.

With one last lingering glance, Rafe turned and strode to the window to climb out the way he had come.

How dare she!

The familiar phrase repeated in Burton's head as it had a hundred times before, the week just past doing nothing to dull his fury or salve his slighted pride.

Maris Davies was supposed to have been mine! How dare she refuse my offer of marriage!

Outwardly calm, he relaxed into a chair in the front room of his carriage-maker's, a clerk sent scurrying to inform his master that Lord Middleton awaited his immediate attention. Bathed in a stream of morning sunlight, Burton tapped his gold-topped cane against the dull wooden floor, his thoughts preoccupied by his recent misfortune. His careful planning, his skillful pursuit, his diligent investment of time and money and energy, had all come to naught.

Maris had been his for the taking. He'd known it, sensed it; she was a sweet, rosy apple just waiting to be plucked from the tree. She'd been on the verge of accepting him. After all, isn't that why he'd gone to the bother of hosting that dreary weekend party at his estate? So she would be flattered by his attention? So his interest in her would be made clear beyond any doubt?

Then something had occurred to change her mind, to put her off of him. He'd noticed a difference in her not long after she'd arrived at his home, a new reticence that set an invisible barrier between them.

He'd been quite justifiably annoyed when she'd begged for a few extra days to consider his proposal. He'd been absolutely livid when he'd called upon her in London and she had refused to see him.

Who does she think she is to send her brother to deliver her rejection? She ought to have had the courage to tell him herself.

But women were cowards, vain, idiotic creatures good for only one thing. Well, perhaps two, he corrected, if he considered the rich purses girls like Maris Davies could bring.

Whatever the reason for her change of heart, it scarcely mattered. She would be his whether she came to him of her own free will or not. He'd devoted far too much time and expense to let her flee now.

Stupid baggage, he fumed, leading me on the way she did, causing me to waste the entire Season on her when I might have been pursuing another suitable heiress!

And now it was too late. Lady Maris really gave him no choice. He must have money, and she was his prime candidate. Once he compromised her, her family would have little option but to see them wed. And after they married and her fat dowry was tucked safely in his accounts, he would make certain she learned a few lessons at his hand. When he was done with her, she would be careful never to displease him again.

"My lord, my sincere apologies for making you wait." Higgins, the carriage-maker, hurried through the door separating his shop from the front room. He stopped and bowed low, then straightened. "How may I be of assistance?"

Burton rose from his chair, accepting the older man's groveling as his due. "I have come to order a new phaeton. A black one this time, I believe."

A long silence followed. Higgins, not a tall man, drew himself up to the full extent of his height, setting his eyes on a level with Burton's cravat. Swallowing audibly, the carriage-maker squared his shoulders as if readying himself for battle.

"Ahem, my lord," he began, refusing to meet Burton's gaze. "I would be delighted to fashion you a new vehicle...um...however...that is...well, there is the matter of your account."

Burton scowled. "What about my account?"

Higgins coughed, ruddy veins popping out across his fair cheeks. "Well, my lord, there is an outstanding balance remaining from your last, um, two purchases. I have been carrying your debt on my books for some time now and I...well...Unhappily," he continued in rapid staccato, "I feel I must ask you to bring your account current before I undertake any new jobs of work on your lordship's behalf."

Burton's hand curled over the head of his cane, the skin around his knuckles turning white.

Did I hear correctly? he thought. Did this insolent little worm actually say what I think he said?

In his imagination, Burton reached out and grabbed the older man by the throat. Maintaining his hold, he lifted him off the ground, then increased the pressure of his grip, smiling as Higgins's feet kicked wildly, his eyes bulging as he clawed and scraped and gasped for his life.

Burton's fingers twitched at the notion, and he very nearly gave in to temptation. But he was a man of control. A man of reason and forethought, who maintained governance over his emotions and his actions at all times.

His anger, he decided, would be wasted on someone as insignificant as this lowly shopkeeper. Dismissing him would be as simple as flicking a speck of lint off his coat.

Still...

"You shall receive payment in full at my earliest convenience," Burton said, fully aware his "earliest convenience" would most likely be never.

The tradesman-ungrateful wretch that he was-smiled, then bowed. "Why thank you, my lord. And about the new phaeton-"

Burton cut him off. "Don't trouble yourself. I believe my business, all my business, with you is concluded. I shall be taking my trade elsewhere from now on. Good day." Giving his cane a hard tap on the floor, he strode toward the door.

"But my lord-" the carriage-maker sputtered, hurrying after him.

Burton ignored the man and stalked out of the shop. The inside of his belly burned as he strode ahead, leaving his tiger to take the reins of his carriage and follow at a discreet distance behind.

Humiliation ate at his nerves like tiny nibbling fish.

To be spoken to in such a manner, he raged, to be dunned in person for money! It was insupportable. Worse, it was galling, particularly since he didn't have the funds to pay, a pair of his investments having recently gone bad.

Of course, all would be well if a certain female had done as she was supposed to and had agreed to marry him. Every tradesman in Town-pesky insects that they were-would have known he had a rich bride on the string, and would have been willing to extend him even more credit.

But now he was left with nothing but aggravation.