JULIANNA DRANK A sip of punch, wrinkled her nose, and set her cup aside.

Ghastly, she thought, wishing there was something else available to wash away the cloying aftertaste. But alas, this sad excuse for a beverage was the best Almacks could provide. Or would provide, since the Patronesses-leaders of Society all-certainly had the means to offer better had they wished.

If not for Maris and the official start of the Season, Julianna would have been enjoying her evening elsewhere. But gaining vouchers and attending the weekly dance held at the assembly rooms was essential to her sister's success in the Ton.

So here Julianna stood, grimacing over bad punch while she watched Maris dance the quadrille. At least her sibling appeared to be having a good time.

I wish I were. Julianna sighed.

If only Rafe was here to keep me entertained, she mused with an inner smile. Although the ways he usually found to bring her pleasure weren't at all the sort of thing fit for a public ballroom. Her skin warmed at the memory of their last encounter, her mouth growing dry in anticipation of their next, now only a day away.

In the month since their affair began, she found herself becoming obsessed with the man. When she was with Rafe, he commanded her focus entirely. When they were apart, he was never completely out of her thoughts.

Just yesterday she'd ruined the list of household accounts on which she'd been working, rousing from thrilling daydreams of Rafe to find her fingers stained black with ink, her earlier handwriting obliterated by drips from the pen forgotten in her hand.

He even invaded her dreams, leaving her skin damp, her body awash with desire as she tossed against her bedsheets. Most frustrating of all, she would awaken and long to find him beside her, wishing he were holding her, his arms offering strength and comfort.

And does he comfort me? she asked herself. Not entirely comfortable with the answer, Julianna forced herself to shake off her musings.

She was glad she had when she saw the dance end and Maris's partner lead her sister toward her, as propriety demanded. After exchanging pleasantries with the gentleman with whom Maris had been dancing, he bowed and moved away.

"Thank heavens he is required to mingle," Maris whispered as soon as the young man moved out of hearing range. "I feared he was about to start drooling on me like one of Squire Newington's mastiff dogs. During the dance, he would not stop staring at my bodice."

Julianna frowned. "Well then, I am glad he did not linger. The next time he asks you to dance, find an excuse to refuse."

"Oh, do not worry. I shall."

"Other than the Leerer, are you having a good time?"

Maris's dark eyes came alive with pleasure. "Oh, yes. With but a few exceptions, the evening has been wonderful. The only thing better was my come out ball last week. I'm still pinching myself over how well everything went."

The ball had gone well, Julianna thought. Splendidly, in fact, with the cream of Society in attendance, including the Prince of Wales, who rarely put in appearances at such events. And the gentlemen were already calling at Allerton House, sending sweetly scented bouquets and begging Maris to go walking or driving with them.

When the time came, Julianna knew her sister would not suffer from a lack of marriage proposals. She only prayed the right man for Maris would be among the group of hopefuls.

She wondered what Rafe would think of tonight's festivities, imagining he would likely consider everyone here a dreadful snob. And he would be right, she realized, disgraceful as it was to admit.

Sophisticated and suave, Rafe Pendragon could easily hold his own among any of the Ton's peers. And yet, because of his birth, he was excluded. In the past, she'd never been one to rail against class inequities and social injustices, but then she had never before known anyone like Rafe.

A shiver raced along her spine, wishing again that he were beside her. How magnificent he would appear on the dance floor, holding her scandalously close as he whirled her to the strains of a waltz! Every other woman in the room would watch them, envy and longing in their eyes. And later, during the carriage ride home, he would plunder her mouth with wild kisses, rousing her hunger to a fevered pitch until neither one of them could form a single, coherent thought.

"Jules, are you warm? Would you like some punch?"

Her sister's question brought her back to the present, real heat spreading upward into her cheeks.

"N-No, I'm fine," she said, striving to regain her composure. "And the punch is dreadful, by the way."

Opening her fan, she waved it in front of her face, hoping Maris and anyone else looking would attribute her heightened color to the room's warmth.

Dear heavens, what is the matter with me? she scolded. I have no business, no business at all, standing at a dance-next to my innocent young sister-fantasizing about Rafe Pendragon! Obviously, he is turning me wanton.

Before she had time to castigate herself further, a new gentleman made his way toward her and Maris-Burton St. George, looking elegant and urbane in a formal black coat and knee breeches, his white shirt and cravat impeccable.

"How do you do this evening?" the viscount greeted, executing a smart bow.

This was the first time she and Maris had encountered him since that night at the theater. She shivered, telling herself the reaction must be a bit of residual embarrassment from her recent musings.

"My lord," Julianna said, compelling a smile.

The three of them exchanged the usual round of polite small talk before Middleton directed his attention toward Maris. "Miss Davies, might I request the pleasure of the next dance?"

Maris appeared surprised. "Oh, I'd be honored, my lord, but it sounds like the musicians are preparing for a waltz, and I haven't yet been given permission to engage in that particular dance. Perhaps my sister would enjoy a turn about the floor."

"Maris," Julianna replied, "do not be foolish. I am fine right where I am. You know I rarely dance."

The viscount smiled, appearing not at all disappointed by the proposed change of partners. "Then let this be one of those occasions, madam. I should be delighted to share the next dance with you." He held out his arm.

"Oh, do go on, Jules," Maris encouraged.

"But what about you?"

"I see Sandra Conniver across the room. I shall visit with her for a while."

Trapped with no polite way out, Julianna agreed. Laying her fingers on the viscount's sleeve, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.

The musicians soon struck up an energetic tune, setting all the couples in motion.

Tipping back her head in order to see his face, she couldn't help but notice the viscount's height. Without question, he was taller than most men, but not as tall as Rafe, nor as broad in the shoulder. And although his movements were smooth and coordinated, she suspected his ability came from practice rather than natural grace. Such would not be true of Rafe, she mused. A confident, physical man like Rafe Pendragon would always know the exact spot to place his feet without having to first consider his steps.

Realizing she needed to redirect her thoughts away from Rafe once again, Julianna searched for a conversational opening. "I must tell you, my lord, you surprise me."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I would not have thought to see you here this evening. Almacks has never struck me as the sort of entertainment gentlemen of your tastes generally prefer."

He raised a sandy-colored brow. "Gentlemen of my tastes, Lady Hawthorne? And what exactly would those tastes be to which you refer?"

"Something a bit more lively than tame country dances, bland punch, and the chance to play penny-a-point whist."

He gave a short laugh. "You have caught me out, my lady, and are quite correct. Almacks, despite its illustrious reputation and elegant company, isn't one of my usual haunts."

"Your appearance here this evening has quite set the rumor mill ablaze with speculation, I must tell you."

"Has it, indeed? A good thing, then, that I've never been one to shy away from attention." After a pause, his face sobered. "I have been a widower for some while now. Four years and three months nearly to the day since I lost my own dear Eleanor. Having lost a spouse yourself, you must know the kind of sorrow I've endured."

"Yes," she murmured, a twinge of guilt pinching at her.

Her marriage to Basil had in no way been a love match. Her father had wanted her to marry him, and being a naive eighteen-year-old and a very dutiful daughter, she'd done as he had asked. But sorrow? No, she had felt no real sorrow at Basil's passing, only regret and relief.

She considered the viscount's words. She'd had no idea he had harbored such deep feelings for his wife. He must have loved her a great deal to still mourn her so keenly after all this time. Over the years, she'd heard a few murmured asides about his supposed profligate ways, despite the fact that he was a respected member of the nobility. Perhaps he was one of those men who hid his grief in work and occasional bouts of wild living.

"Thus my appearance here tonight," he continued. "I have decided, somewhat reluctantly, to surround myself with eligible ladies to see if I might by chance cross paths with a girl who can engage my affections. Single life grows lonely after a time, I'm afraid. And a man in my position has need of a family. My dear Eleanor and I were not fortunate enough to be blessed with children before her untimely demise."

More sympathy rose inside her, since she knew first-hand the pain of being childless.

"An accident, was it not?" she murmured. "Her death?"

A quick flash of pain shone in his blue eyes. "Yes, a tragic accident. She was afflicted with sleepwalking, and-" He broke off, involuntarily squeezing her hand as they continued to dance. Swallowing, he collected himself. "She stumbled on the stairs...I'm sorry, I don't like to speak of it."

"Of course not. I should not have inquired."

"No, no, it's quite all right. But perhaps we should talk of more cheerful subjects."

"Yes, I quite agree."

He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts and emotions before continuing the conversation.

"The Season seems to be off to a fine start," he said. "Already London is brimming with elegant Society, and your sister appears to be enjoying herself. From what I understand, she's already making a bit of a splash among the Ton, if it's not too forward of me to say."

"Yes, she is taking very well." Julianna smiled. "But then I knew she would. Maris is a sweet girl and cannot help but be liked. Even the queen commented on her delightful, unaffected manner."

"Look, there is your sister now," Middleton observed.

Julianna turned her head, locating Maris among the crowd that lined the sides of the assembly room. Her sister appeared to be having an animated discussion with Major William Waring, a handsome, forthright young man who'd returned from fighting in Spain only a few weeks ago.

So sad about the loss of his arm, Julianna thought, noticing the one pinned-up coat sleeve. She had heard that due to his disability, he'd been compelled to sell his commission as a cavalry officer and retire from active battlefield service. Despite being the son of the Earl of Grassingham, he had two older brothers, a circumstance that must surely leave him few career options and little money. She supposed he might accept a position in the Home Office, or even in Parliament should he ever wish to run for a seat.

She watched Maris place her hand over the Major's good arm and begin to stroll the perimeter. Her sister's cheeks were flushed pink as June roses, her pale cream gown an attractive foil beside her escort's dark attire.

"A remarkably pretty girl, your sister," Middleton commented in an admiring tone.

"Yes, but young yet."

"Not too young to be out in Society, though, or to take a husband."

She stiffened, not quite liking the viscount's obvious interest in her sister. "Maris has plenty of time to make her choice."

He gave her a quizzical look." You aren't warning me off by any chance, are you?"

Part of her wanted to say yes, wanted to tell him he was too mature and too sophisticated for her innocent sister. But young or not, Maris had a good head on her shoulders, and would be capable of making the right decision about her own future.

Wouldn't she?

If Rafe were there, Julianna would have sought his advice.

But he isn't here and never will be, she admonished, abruptly recalling the social chasm between them. Besides, family matters such as these were up to her to decide. What was she doing considering asking Rafe, anyway?

He is my lover, not my husband, after all.

No, she told herself, if Middleton courted her sister and Maris genuinely came to love him, then she would not stand in her way. After all, Julianna had promised herself not to interfere. So long as Maris was safe and happy, she would be content.

"Of course not," Julianna said, swallowing her misgivings. "It's just that I would ask any gentleman with an interest to have a care. Society is new to Maris. It's possible she could be swayed by a charming manner or a handsome face."

"Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment, you considering me both charming and handsome. But not to worry, my lady, my intentions toward your sister are strictly honorable."

"Thank you, my lord, I am sure they are."

So why do I still feel uneasy? she questioned.

"I have your permission to pay my addresses then?"

She hesitated for one last second. "Unless my sister has some objection, yes, you are most welcome to call upon her."

"So you'll come again on Monday?" Rafe murmured the following afternoon as he tied the laces on one of her kidskin half-boots, her ankle propped on his knee as he knelt at her side.

"As early in the day as I can manage," she promised. As she now understood, to deny him was to deny herself.

From her seat on the padded dressing-table stool, she gazed at his bent head. Without knowing she meant to do it, she sifted her fingers through his hair, then along the curve of his ear and jaw. A new growth of whiskers scratched faintly against her skin, the dark shadow giving him the look of a rake or a renegade.

He certainly ravished me, she thought with a secret smile.

Yet even in the deepest throes of passion, Rafe was careful, always seeing to her pleasure, even if it meant delaying or denying his own. His consideration never failed to warm her heart or wring a smile from her lips. The more she knew him, the more she liked, his thoughtfulness but one of the qualities that had turned what might have been bondage into nothing less than bliss.

Despite being well satisfied from their energetic lovemaking, she still craved the connection of touching him, the satisfaction of maintaining the simplest of joinings. Moving her hand to his neck, she caressed the skin just under his cravat.

Finished tying the lace of her boot into a neat, snug bow, Rafe gave her stocking-clad calf a gentle pat. Easing her foot onto the floor, he lowered her skirts into place. Rising to his full height, he offered a hand to assist her to her feet. "Ready?"

She nodded, stifling a sigh at knowing she must leave.

Preceding him, she moved to the door.

"Wait," he called. "What's this?"

Crossing back to the bed, he bent down and retrieved something from the carpet. As he turned, she saw the slender length of gold and seed pearls that dangled in his hand. "Your bracelet, my lady. It must have slipped to the floor after I removed it earlier."

"Oh, heavens! I don't know how I could have been so careless. I would be most distressed if this went missing."

He quirked a brow. "A gift, then? From someone special?"

"My mother. She gave this to me for my birthday the year before she died."

His face grew solemn. "Then I am glad it has come to no harm."

Taking her hand, he looped the jewelry around her wrist and fastened the clasp. With the bracelet secure, he raised her palm and pressed a kiss onto its center.

"I know I shouldn't wear it," she said, "since I would be crushed if it were to get lost or broken someday."

"But where is the joy in keeping precious things locked up out of sight? Your mother would want you to enjoy her gift rather than let it molder away in a dark box somewhere."