She wasn't sure that she wanted to. Something in Ren-nick's manner suggested that she wasn't going to like the direction he intended to go. She watched him vault out of the carriage, marveling at his fluid grace. That was a constant about him, she realized. Rennick never misstepped, never stumbled. He knew where he was going, what he was going to do, and always acted with unshakable commitment and confidence.

When he held out his hand, she accepted it without hesitation and let him a.s.sist her down the steps and onto the drive. She looked up at the sprawling, softly lit, ivy-covered mansion. "Is this Greenfield House?" she wondered aloud.

His grinned and looked at her askance as he guided her up the front steps. "I would definitely recall having brought you here previously. And I don't."

"Everyone knows about Greenfield House, Rennick," she laughingly countered. "It's renowned as your country pleasure palace. As opposed," she added as he opened the door for them, "to Warwick Place, your London pleasure palace."

Rennick paused, struck by an unpleasant realization. He'd brought countless numbers of women here in the past; he shouldn't have brought Julia. She was different from all the rest. "Would you prefer to take rooms at the local inn? I understand if you do."

"No, but thank you," she hastily replied. "This is considerably less public. The chances of emerging from the next few days with my reputation intact are far better here than they would be anywhere else." She smiled and shrugged a shawl-draped shoulder. "Except if I were in my own home, of course."

"Not if I were in residence with you there," he pointed out, resuming their course, deciding that if she agreed to marry him, he'd sell Greenfield. And Warwick, too.

"Would you really have bribed my footman into letting you in?" she asked as he closed the door behind them.

Rennick grinned, led her to the stairs and up. "His name is Paul. He's twenty-two and favors voluptuous blondes. He wouldn't have been so much bribed as incredibly distracted. For quite some time."

"You are a rogue to your marrow."

"Actually, I'm a reformed rogue."

"Since when?" she laughingly challenged as they reached the upstairs hallway.

Since he'd stared at her banns and realized that he'd come to the most important crossroads of his life. "I prefer to think of myself these days as a paragon of creativity and resourcefulness in the pursuit of true love."

She looked at him askance and rolled her eyes. "Creativity?"

"It's often the littlest of things, you know."

"For example?"

"Snuffing your porch light was a masterful move, even if I say so myself. If I hadn't, I would have had to openly challenge Sir Pa.s.sionate for you."

Julia stopped dead in the center of the hall and stared at him, her pulse racing. "You wouldn't have."

"I would have won, too," he a.s.sured her, his grin wide and bright. "But," he added, sobering slightly, "you would have been furious with me for it, and slinging you over my shoulder and hauling you off kicking and screaming wasn't exactly the way I preferred to go about it all. We have a sufficient number of obstacles to overcome already."

She was still reeling when he stepped past her, opened a door, said, "This will be your room," and then disappeared inside.

Julia followed. Reformed? Not in the least. When it came to the art of manipulation in the name of seduction, Rennick St. James was the best. He always had been and he always would be. And Lord knew why that fact amused and thrilled her; she didn't.

But she did know why she loved the room in which he was ensconcing her; it was beautiful, softly feminine, perfectly appointed and wondrously scented. Julia glanced around, taking in the whole of it, thinking that it had been created to frame the vase of dusky pink roses on the bureau. Roses, pinks, creams, and the tiniest sprigs of pale green. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth. Jars of creams, a spritzer of perfume, and a silver-backed brush and comb had been arranged on the dressing table. The tester bed had been turned down, the lace-edged pillows fluffed, the pale pink linen sheets smoothed. And at the foot of it, on the rosy silk-covered bench, sat a huge, neatly towering stack of white boxes, each tied with a gauzy opalescent ribbon.

"It's lovely, Rennick," she whispered, slipping her shawl from her shoulders. A realization stole over her and she laughed softly. "It's a garden of delights. A feast for the senses."

The mischievous sparkle in his eyes was an admission. He motioned to the second door in the room, saying, "On the other side is my chamber. The door's not locked."

Of course it wasn't. And for some inexplicable reason, she was incredibly tempted to walk over, open it, and see what lay on the other side. She exhaled and brought the impulse under control.

Even as she did, Rennick said softly, "The choice to open it is yours. I won't force you to make it, Julia."

"Thank you," she replied, knowing with absolute certainty that he meant it. She crossed to the foot of the bed and fingered one of the ribbons. "And what's all this?"

"Two weeks of concerted work by one modiste and her three a.s.sistants. I told you that you'd want for nothing. I had them start the day my father showed me your banns in the Times. They finished just yesterday."

She counted the boxes, noting their sizes. Clearly it was a complete wardrobe. "You must have paid them a fortune," she mused aloud.

"I didn't care what it cost."

"What if I had refused to be blackmailed?" she posed, turning to meet his gaze. "What if I had refused to come here with you?"

Standing beside the bed, his hands in his trousers pockets, he gave her a soft, deliciously roguish smile, winked, and said, "I appreciate the fact that you came along willingly."

Good G.o.d, he was handsome; tall and broad shouldered, his face so ruggedly chiseled, his hair so dark and inviting. And how very tempted she was to glide across the distance separating them and set about slowly, methodically discarding his well-tailored suit. But she knew Rennick and the power he had over her senses. To take a single step toward him would commit her to making love with him. And she wasn't at all certain that she could do that and walk away when the time came.

"Have you been planning these days for the last two weeks, Rennick?" she asked, looking back down at the ribbon she was rubbing between her fingers. "Since you returned from Ceylon?"

"Planning for these specific days, yes. But I've been hoping for this time together for thirteen years. Since the day I met you."

In her weakest moments, she'd hoped not only for these days but also that a golden forever would grow from them. And felt guilty for it all when she was stronger. After Giles had pa.s.sed, her hopes had been tempered, not by guilt, but by the reality of Rennick's nature and the impossibility of her gilt-edged dreams.

"The sun will be up soon," he said, quietly intruding on her thoughts. "Perhaps we should sleep while we can. Since you'd undoubtedly rest more comfortably in a night rail than you would your evening gown... And since I didn't think to blackmail your maid into accompanying you..."

"You'll undo my b.u.t.tons and laces for me?" she concluded, thinking that it was indeed a most creative and resourceful tack to take. Not necessarily in the pursuit of true love, but most definitely in the quest for a casual seduction.

"And I'll behave myself while doing so," he promised, pulling his hands from his pockets to motion her to come toward him.

Julia went, her pulse skittering, and obediently turned, presenting him her back. Her breath caught as his fingers brushed the skin above the first b.u.t.ton on her gown. She held it, savoring the sweet shudder that cascaded down the length of her spine, acutely aware of the warmth radiating through her as he smoothly worked his way down.

The gown began to slip from her shoulders and Julia crossed her arms over her midriff to hold it in place, to keep it from puddling around her ankles. And then, when he reached the last of the b.u.t.tons, he eased aside the fabric of her gown, plucked loose the ribbon of her petticoat, and began to loosen the strings of her corset.

Julia tightened her arms as everything outside her chemise started to slip downward. If he brushed a kiss over her nape ... If he reached around and cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, nibbled at her ear... She wouldn't be able to fend him off. And, more alarmingly, she honestly wouldn't want to. Her knees trembling, Julia forced herself to swallow.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping away and turning to face him while she still had the strength to do it.

"It was a pleasure."

The wicked light dancing in his eyes told her that he was perfectly aware that she'd enjoyed the small intimacy every bit as much as he had. Her heartbeat quickened and her blood warmed.

"You need to know, Rennick," she said softly, unable to draw a breath deep enough to make her voice firmer, "that I'm not going to call it off with Lawrence. You mustn't hope for something that isn't going to happen. I care for you too much to let you do that."

His brow inched up. As did one side of his smile. Slowly, ever so deliberately, he reached out and took her gently by the shoulders. Bending his head, he stepped closer and she closed her eyes, her heart racing, her hands clutching her clothing to her.

The brush of his lips over hers was feather-light, there for a second and then pa.s.sing away even as she strained to meet it. Her sigh of regret was involuntary, the reward instant and ever so softly deliberate. She leaned into him, savoring the caress of his lips, reveling in the taste of him, in the sweet promise of surrendering to his mastery.

He nibbled at her lower lip, catching it gently between his teeth to leisurely trail the tip of his tongue along the sensitive inside curve. The sensation was as deliriously exquisite as it was powerful. A splendid heat arced through her, igniting desire and turning her will to ash. She slipped her arms around his neck and melted against the length of him, softly groaning in a wordless plea for deliverance.

And he obliged her, deepening his kiss, taking certain possession of her mouth as he wrapped her in his arms and leaned her back. The feel of cool linen bolted through her awareness and then was gone, swept away in the flood tide of magnificent sensation and a torrent of consuming desire. She couldn't breathe, couldn't remain still. Julia strained upward, hungering for more, wanting with a desperation that engulfed all that she was.

He moaned in response and then slowly drew his arms from around her, gently eased his kiss and ended it. Breathless, her senses still reeling, Julia opened her eyes and gazed up into his.

"That, my darling," he whispered, his breathing ragged, his smile knowing and satisfied, "is what a good-night kiss should be." He kissed the tip of her nose then pushed himself up and onto his feet. His smile turned devilish as he winked and softly added, "Sweet dreams."

Julia watched, stunned and disbelieving, as he walked to the door connecting their rooms, opened it and then closed himself away on the other side. Collapsing back into the softness of the bedding, she stared up at the ceiling, listening to the thunder of her heartbeat and the inner voice of certainty.

Rennick was a man of his word. He wouldn't force her to open that door and join him in his bed. He didn't have to. She was going to go willingly. The wantonness of surrendering to temptation didn't matter. Neither did the foolishness of it and the heartbreak that would come at the end. And the betrayal of Lawrence, of his trust and his hopes...

Julia sighed and sat up, then started as she caught her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her dress and corset bunched around her waist, her budded nipples were clearly visible through the sheer lawn of her chemise. Her hair tumbled down over her left shoulder, the pins precariously dangling among the untidy curls that now framed the face of a woman who looked ... Well and thoroughly kissed. Radiant and wantonly happy.

It wasn't right. It wasn't sane. But her heart couldn't bear being denied. Not any longer.

She'd confess her folly to Lawrence before it was too late. He would either forgive her or he wouldn't. Which didn't matter to her. Not when weighed against the pleasure of being in the arms of Rennick St. James.

Yes, she was going to go to Rennick's bed willingly and happily. Julia studied the door that led to his room and smiled. But not tonight. She was simply too tired to properly express thirteen years of waiting and wanting. Come tomorrow, though...

CHAPTER 4.

Rennick leaned down and pressed a little kiss to the comer of her mouth, pleased that it instantly turned upward. Feathering one to the other comer elicited a contented murmur and a most tantalizing little wiggle of her hips. He drew back, smiling and watching her eyes flutter open. "And that's what a good-moming kiss should be," he said softly, brushing a golden strand off her forehead.

"Rennick," she whispered, her smile curving dreamily.

His loins tightened and in that moment he'd have sold his soul to have her draw him down into her bed. Before he could do something he'd regret, he straightened and turned away, saying "Breakfast is served," and retrieving the footed tray from the bureau.

Sitting up, her back propped against pillows and the silk-covered headboard, she considered the meal he placed in front of her with wide eyes. "My G.o.d. There's enough food here for a dozen people."

"And you're going to eat every bite of it yourself," he declared, filling the little china cup with coffee for her. "You're too thin, Julia. If nothing else, I'm going to spend the next three days putting some meat back on your bones."

With a nod, she picked up the napkin and spread it over her midriff. "Dining alone isn't good for the appet.i.te. Even if I'm hungry," she added, picking up her fork, "I often find myself deciding that I'd rather not bother."

Lawrence didn't take the evening meals with her? She sat at her dining room table alone while he supped with friends and business a.s.sociates? Rennick clenched his teeth in irritation and then deliberately forced himself to set it aside, reminding himself that Lawrence was the past and that Julia had eaten her last meal alone.

When he thought he could manage a tone approximating cheerful, he countered, "Well, I'm here to keep you company, darling. So eat heartily. We have much to do with the day and the morning's half gone already."

Julia forked up a bite of eggs and ham, watching him sort through the rubble she'd made of the modiste's box tower in her search for a night rail. "Have you eaten?" she asked, thinking that she couldn't consume all of the food he'd brought her. Not even if he gave her a week to do it.

"Hours ago," he said, carrying a dress to the armoire.

"I should have taken care of that last night," she apologized, absently stabbing a chunk of fried potato. "That I didn't implies that I'm unappreciative. Which isn't the case at all."

Hanging the dress in the cupboard, he grinned at her rakishly. "Or it might imply that you were too distracted to think of it."

"You are very distracting," she had to admit. "It never crossed my mind."

"Eat, Julia," he commanded, chuckling and heading back to the foot of her bed.

How did one go about seducing a man? she wondered, eating and watching him put away her things. With Giles, it had never been something she'd needed to consider. And for as long as she'd known Rennick, the question had been how to avoid being seduced by him. She hadn't let herself think of reversing their usual roles. Until now.

Simply asking outright if he'd like to make love with her seemed just a bit too businesslike. Would you like your hedges trimmed, Viscount Parnell? Another possible, course was to push aside the covers, flutter her lashes, give him an inviting smile, and hope he presumed to take matters from there. Which struck her as being not only too pa.s.sive, but also just a bit on the .. . well, tawdry side.

Sliding out of bed to stand in front of him while slipping out of her night rail would be much more direct. She could well imagine Rennick's unholy grin if she did. It would require a certain degree of panache and confidence, though, and since she'd never in her life done anything blatantly predatory, she wasn't at all convinced that she could do it without a blush ruining the entire effect. And it would be truly embarra.s.sing to lose courage with only half the b.u.t.tons undone. What would she say then?

Still, leaving it all up to Rennick didn't seem right or very fair. And, Lord, what she wouldn't give to be able to rock him back on his confident, worldly heels. She really should have given all of this some thought years ago. If only, she amended, it had occurred to her years ago that she might someday actually want to seduce a man.

She watched him lay a white gown and rose-colored weskit across the foot of the bed and made another mental amendment. She should have thought about what she was going to do the day she surrendered good judgment and wanted to seduce Rennick. It wasn't as though any other man had ever ignited her desire the way he did. And it certainly wasn't as though deep in her heart she hadn't known that this day would eventually arrive.

But since she hadn't given any of that the least bit of prior consideration, she didn't have any choice now other than to muddle through and trust that both a perfect opportunity would present itself and that she'd instinctively know what to do when it did.

"I gather that's what you intend for me to wear today?" she said, laying aside her fork as he finished putting her undergarments in the bureau drawers.

He nodded and came to the bed, a small wreath of dusty pink roses in his hand. "It's May Day," he announced brightly, placing it atop her head, "and we're going into the village for the festival." Stepping back, he considered the effect and then cleared his throat to add, "Please don't put up your hair. You're perfect just like that."

A woman her age out in public with her hair down was scandalous. But if it pleased Rennick, then she'd pretend that she didn't hear the gasps and the whispers. Not, she admitted to herself with a soft smile, that there was any way to avoid the whispers. They rippled in the wake of any woman who ventured out into public on the arm of Rennick St. James. That they would attend her... It was a price she would happily pay for the pleasure of his company. She reached up and brushed her fingertips over the softness of the rose petals. "It smells heavenly."

He studied her, the gentle intensity of his appraisal and the desire in his eyes making her heart skitter and her pulse race. Would he mind too terribly much delaying their trip into the village? Would he think her horribly lacking in finesse if she simply asked him if he'd like to join her in her bed? Deciding that she'd never know unless she acted, Julia lifted the napkin from her lap, tucked it under the edge of her breakfast plate, and took a steadying breath.

Her movement seemed to start him out of his reverie. He blinked and, hastily stepping forward, grasped the tray handles in his ma.s.sive hands, saying, "I'll take this down to the kitchen while you get dressed," and started to back away.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked, noticing for the first time the thin, jagged line running across the knuckles of his right one.

Shrugging with one shoulder, he smiled sheepishly and replied, "Roses have thorns. And I overlooked one while making your wreath."

He'd made it for her himself? She stared at him, her heart melting. "Thank you, Rennick," she whispered.

"For?"

"Everything."

He winked and then left her alone to consider what a rare and incredible man he was. And to wonder how she'd managed to resist him for as long as she had.

Rennick got two paces into her room before his step faltered and his senses overfilled. Julia was standing in front of her dressing table, dressed in the loosely flowing gown and closely fitted weskit, her hair tumbling in golden cascades down her back, the circle of roses nestled among the curls on her crown. His beautiful, delightfully luscious May Queen.

Turning to him with a radiant smile, she held her arms out from her sides and asked, "What do you think?"

That he didn't want to go into the village. That he didn't want to spend the day sharing her with everyone within ten miles. That he wanted to close the bedroom door, strip that gown off her delectably curved body, lay her down on the bed and make love to her until he dropped dead from sheer, sated exhaustion.

Which, while completely honest, might well be a bit more honest than Julia was prepared to hear. Much less consider at this point in their contest. He moistened his lips and drawled, "That if I can get through the day without having to fight someone for you, I'll be d.a.m.ned lucky."

She laughed. And in the sound of it, in the sight of her unbridled happiness, the years they'd spent apart melted away. No other woman could brighten his life the way Julia did. No other could make him forget that a world existed beyond them. He loved her with all his heart.

"Could we send these before we go?" she asked, picking up two parchment packets from her dressing table and handing them to him.

He glanced down at the top one. "Anne Michaels?" he read aloud, surprised and confused. "Why are you writing to her?" he asked, lifting his gaze back to hers. He c.o.c.ked a brow. "Surely you're not telling her where you are?"