was as gracious as always. ‘As you wish.’
What Sebastian wished was that he had never seen Juliet Boyd. Never desired to bed her. Never come to Banford Park in pursuit of her. More than anything else he wished he could just leave here today, now, and forget he had ever been told of the suspicions harboured against her.
But Sebastian’s sense of fair play, his honour, his loyalty, said that he could do none of those things. That, no matter how Juliet might one day despise him for his actions, he owed it to her to see that she was given every opportunity to prove herself innocent of Bancroft’s accusations.
Or not …
‘Are you feeling unwell, Juliet …?’ Helena hovered behind her as she sat in front of the mirror. Juliet had dismissed her cousin once she had helped her out of her gown, wishing to be alone when she removed the pins from her hair, but Helena’s glance at her reflection showed Juliet’s face to be exceedingly pale, the green of her eyes the only colour, and there was a frown of tension upon her brow.
Altogether it had not been a successful evening. Yet another unpleasant exchange with Sebastian St Claire had occurred. Followed by a lengthy dinner when Juliet had found herself seated between two gentlemen who wished only to converse on fox hunting and their hounds. She had then been persuaded into partnering Lord Grayson in a game of whist, all the time aware of Sebastian as he sat at the next table, partner to the beautiful Lady Butler. Juliet’s distraction at the other woman’s obviously flirtatious manner had been such that she and Grayson had lost miserably. Juliet had been relieved when she could at last excuse herself and retire to her bedchamber.
The greatest disappointment, of course, had been the way Sebastian had seemed too preoccupied to notice her. For the first time in her life Juliet had deliberately set out to see if she could attract the attention of a certain man, and the man had shown her nothing but indifference!
‘I have a slight headache, that is all,’ she assured her cousin ruefully. ‘But I am perfectly capable of taking down my own hair. It would please me if you would go back upstairs and rest your ankle.’ She smiled encouragingly, knowing that she wished only to be alone to lick the wounds to her pride.
She maintained that smile until Helena turned and left the bedchamber, only relaxing into dejection once she knew herself to be completely alone.
What Juliet would have really liked to do was go out onto her balcony and breathe in some of the warm summer air. But she was loath to do so after the last time she had done just that. It would be too humiliating if by chance Sebastian happened to find her there once again. If he were to assume that she was deliberately trying to attract his attention.
Not that it was particularly likely; if Sebastian had already retired to any bedchamber then it was probably Lady Butler’s!
Sebastian was sprawled atop the bedcovers in a state of disarray, drinking brandy copiously, when he heard the first scream.
It had not been easy to turn down Lady Butler’s obvious invitation to retire with her to her bedchamber, without causing offence, but somehow Sebastian had managed it. As he had also managed to procure a decanter of brandy and a glass from a footman, before mounting the staircase two steps at a time and then striding to his bedchamber to close the door firmly behind him.
Watching Gray’s solicitations to Juliet Boyd for two hours had induced a need in Sebastian not to see or speak to anyone else this evening. He had thrown open the doors out onto his balcony before undressing down to his pantaloons, his intention to lie down upon his bed and get roaring drunk before hopefully falling into an unconscious stupor.
The fear and desperation he heard in Juliet’s scream wiped all thought of sleep from Sebastian’s mind, and he slammed his glass down on the bedside table before jumping to his bare feet.
It did not even occur to him to use the door out into the hallway. He rushed out onto his balcony to vault over the top of the ridiculous barrier before throwing open the door to Juliet’s room, fearful of what or who he might find there.
The bedchamber was lit by a single candle placed on the dressing table, its reflection in the mirror behind adding more light to the room.
The bedchamber showed only one occupant.
Juliet.
She lay alone in the centre of the bed, her fingers tightly clutching the bedclothes to her chest as she tossed and turned her head on the pillow.
Her eyes were firmly closed.
Sebastian stood very still beside the bed as he looked down at her. That Juliet was still sleeping, probably completely unaware that she had cried out, was obvious.
Her hair was a midnight curtain on the pillow beneath her. Her shoulders were bare, except for the thin straps of a white silk nightgown, and the revealed swell of her breasts was full and creamy.
Sebastian felt the fierceness of his expression soften as he took in how beautiful she looked. How fragile. How utterly—
‘No!’ Juliet suddenly cried out again, her eyes still closed but her features contorted. ‘Do not! Please do not!’ She sat up abruptly in the bed, her eyes wide and fearful as she stared straight ahead. ‘Please!’ she groaned achingly once again, before burying her face in her hands and beginning to sob.
Her distress was unbearable. Certainly more than Sebastian could bear anyway!
He quickly sat down on the side of the bed to reach out and draw her into his arms. ‘You are safe, Juliet,’ he assured her fiercely. ‘There is no one here who shall harm you.’ His arms tightened about her and he held her cradled against his chest.
Juliet froze as she became aware of bare flesh beneath her cheek.
Arms like steel bands were about her, holding her so tightly she could not break free.
Crestwood!
He was here. In her bedchamber. And if he was here it could mean only one thing!
She could not bear it. Not again. Never again could she lie unmoving, silent, while he—
No, Crestwood was not here!
He could not be here.
Crestwood was dead ….
Then who was holding her so tightly?
The skin Juliet felt beneath her breast was smooth and deeply muscled, rather than pale and lined, with no sign of that flabbiness of flesh she had become used to in a man thirty years her senior, and the softness of hair that covered this chest and stomach was dark rather than coarsely grey.
Juliet raised her gaze almost fearfully to the firmness of jaw, and above chiselled lips, a long aquiline nose, high cheekbones, eyes the colour of honey, and dark hair shot through with gold in rumpled disarray onto the broadness of those wide shoulders.
‘Lord St Claire!’ she gasped in recognition, even as she attempted to pull away from him. His arms tightened to prevent her. ‘You must release me, My Lord!’ She breathed unevenly.
‘Why must I?’ His voice sounded dark and mesmerising in the silence of the bedchamber.
‘Because—because—you should not be here, Sebastian,’ Juliet whispered shakily.
