long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.
Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.
Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.
Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.
Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.
He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably short, framed a square-jawed face of perfect proportions. His mouth was wide and mobile, his nose straight, and two black slashes of brows accented eyes as dark as his hair and sinfully long-lashed. A stubborn chin with a deep cleft and a small slash of a scar on his cheekbone gave his face a firmly masculine set.
Hate spurted up in Julia, hot and tasting of bile, and her heart pounded crazily. She detested this man with a fury that threatened to swamp her. And tonight she had to make him want her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.
Julia broke her paralysis and looked away from Stonehaven. Slowly, affecting an air of unconcern, she continued on her path into the large gaming room. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and it was all she could do to keep herself from turning to glance back at him. Was he still watching her? Would he follow?
She knew that she could not look, could not seem interested in him. Ever since she had come up with the idea of luring Lord Stonehaven into her feminine web, she had thought carefully about how to do it. He had been a friend of her brother’s for years, albeit not one of his closest, and Selby had spoken of him now and then, usually in the context of some sort of sport—hunting, boxing, marksmanship. He was, she knew, a man who thrived on competition, who liked a challenge. So she had determined that the best way to attract his interest was to appear disinterested herself. Let him be the hunter. Let him come to her and try to win her favors—that was the way to fix his desire on her.
Still, it took all her willpower to refrain from looking. She strolled into the gaming room and down the length of it, moving as far from him as she could get. She paused behind a table of players and idly observed them for a few moments. She could not have said what they were playing, and she did not even notice the inviting smile that one of the men sent her way. All her attention, all her thoughts, were on the room behind her and the question of whether or not Lord Stonehaven had entered it. She was about to turn away toward another table when a masculine voice spoke behind her.
“Are you fond of piquet?”
A thrill shot down her nerves, but she made herself turn casually to look at the speaker. Lord Stonehaven was standing only a foot away from her, a smile that she could classify only as supercilious touching his mouth. He was watching her, his dark eyes faintly amused. He was even more handsome up close, she thought, the sort of man who would set young women to giggling and smirking. Julia, however, had no desire to do either one; the urge she felt rushing up inside her was a strong desire to launch into him, fists flying. This man had ruined her brother! Her anger was so deep and bitter, she could almost taste it. It was going to require all her self-possession, she realized, to pretend to calm indifference.
“Were you addressing me, sir?” she asked in as cool a voice as she could muster.
“Why, yes, I was.” The amusement in his eyes deepened. “Sorry—I realize that we are not acquainted, but I presumed upon a common interest.” He made a vague gesture toward the room.
“Indeed.” Julia gave him a small smile, letting a hint of the dimple appear in her cheek. She had, after all, to give him some encouragement even as she pretended to elude him.
He returned the smile, and Julia felt her stomach turn a little flip. Who would have thought that a man such as he could have so much warmth in his eyes? She glanced away quickly, then worried that she had been too demure for the part she was playing.
“Have you played here before?” he asked, and she turned her attention back to him. “I have not seen you.”
“No. This is my first evening here. I came with a friend.”
“A good friend?” he asked in a slow, rich voice, and she realized that he was subtly asking if she was some other man’s mistress.
“No,” she replied, hoping that her cheeks did not betray her by reddening. “Not a good friend.”
“How nice for me. Then I am hopeful he will not mind if I get you a glass of punch.”
“It does not matter. You see, it is I you must ask about such things, not any man.”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Ah. An independent woman, I see.”
“Indeed I am.”
“Then may I escort you to the refreshment tables?” He offered her his arm.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “That would be very nice.”
There was something quite freeing about acting this way, Julia thought as she walked with him into the hall. She had never before in her life been in a place like this, where there were no matrons watching, no expectations on everyone’s part of how a young woman should act and what she should say. Though Julia considered herself a free thinker, she had been raised to act as a young lady should, and she had always been aware of the need to act in such a way as not to bring any embarrassment to her family.
