The prince of pleasure

Chapter Thirteen

Returning to London proved to be a dose of cold reality for Julienne. Indeed, if not for her career, she might have remained away a good deal longer. She worried that in his determination to continue the search for Caliban, Dare would make himself a target and put himself in grave danger.

Moreover, it required all of her acting skills to resume her public game of seduction with him and pretend to be unaffected by the passionate interlude they had shared.

The current gossip about them in the scandal sheets was even more pronounced. Their disappearance from Newmarket had been particularly noted, since one of Dare's colts had won the 2000 Guineas race and he was nowhere to be found. The speculation that he had gone into seclusion with London's brightest Jewel was the talk of the town.

Julienne refused to confirm or deny the reports with her sulking admirers, but she was required to satisfy Solange's curiosity when her friend called at her lodgings immediately after her return.

"And so?" the Frenchwoman demanded, settling herself in a chair in the cheerless parlor. "Was the Prince of Pleasure as marvelously wicked as legend holds?"

Absurdly Julienne felt herself flushing. "The tales of his prowess were not exaggerated, I admit."

"Tiens! Does that mean you will agree to be his chere amie?"

"Not at all. I have no intention of letting him win our wager."

Solange frowned. "Perhaps you are wise. Wolverton is such a prime catch. How do the anglais say it… if you ?play your cards well'? I begin to wonder if you should hold out for marriage."

Julienne's eyebrows shot up scornfully at the mere suggestion. "A marquess would never in this world wed a mere actress."

"It has been done before. And I should think a nobleman of his scandalous ilk would not be put off by a bride with a trifle notoriety of her own."

But not one he despised for betraying him, Julienne reflected silently.

"If he truly wished to wed you-"

"It is out of the question," Julienne declared, dismissing the subject altogether. She was reluctant to reveal even to her friend her former association with Dare. She would rather forget everything about that devastating summer.

Regrettably, however, Julienne feared that was beyond her ability now, for she had encountered the nightmare from her past at Newmarket.

Ivers. She dreaded the very thought of him. But she suspected she would be forced to deal with him sooner or later. He was in London, she knew, for Lord Ridingham had spotted him at one of the popular sporting gentlemen's hotels.

Everywhere she went she kept a nervous watch out for Ivers, involuntarily starting at shadows despite her determination to conquer her fear. She kept her knife near to hand, strapped to her wrist. And when she returned home from the theater late at night, she always made certain she had an escort, either the footman Dare had provided for her physical protection or one of her admirers.

She stayed close to Riddingham in particular, for she felt safest with him. And Riddingham wasn't inclined to ask unwanted questions.

Oddly she found herself relieved that Dare had made himself scarce following their return from Berkshire. She couldn't possibly ask him to defend her from Ivers for fear of his explosive jealousy.

It would have surprised her to learn that Dare was keeping his distance because he thought it wiser. After their intense interlude at his pleasure house, he needed to determine how best to deal with Julienne. For weeks now his feelings for her had taken on the dark strains of obsession, and he was struggling with the problem of how to extricate himself-if that was even possible.

In his more rational moments, Dare understood what course he should take: he needed to relinquish this haunting fantasy of love, the intense need simply to have Julienne near.

Loving her defied all reason, he knew. The only way to master his craving for her was to absent himself.

He was considering leaving town when he received an urgent summons from Lucian. Even though it was barely noon, Dare immediately called at the Wycliff residence and found his friend at work in his study.

"Why," Lucian asked at once, "did you send me that cryptic message all the way from Newmarket last week to ask about the Earl of Ivers?"

Dare settled himself on the couch. "Because I hadn't seen him in well over a year, and I thought it odd that he showed up on my heels so soon after I advertised my search for Caliban."

"Well, it seems there is at least a possible connection between Ivers and the companion's murder. The man I installed at the Castlereagh household found a witness who recognized Ivers as the lover Alice Watson had been secretly meeting. And he uncovered further proof that Ivers has recently been spying on Lady Castlereagh's doings-paying the servants to report to him."

The tall, dark-haired stranger. Dare frowned at the implication. "You don't think Ivers could be Caliban, do you? I've known him since I was in short coats- his family seat is barely a dozen miles from Wolverton Hall-and while he might be capable of killing, I wouldn't think him cunning enough to be a criminal mastermind."

Thoughtfully Lucian shook his head. "I tend to concur, although he may be ruthless enough. Last year one of his former mistresses was mysteriously disfigured after she sent Ivers packing in favor of a new, wealthier protector who could afford her extravagances. And it's common knowledge that he has been flirting with penury of late. Not only does he owe half the tradesmen in town, but he's been unable to repay his debts of honor. There are rumors he may be asked to leave his club. It's possible he is in Caliban's employ for the income, or simply because he's being blackmailed, like so many other of Caliban's victims."

"What of Sir Stephen Ormsby and Martin Perrine?" Dare asked. "Did you discover any leads that might suggest either of them are involved?"

"I had them both investigated as you suggested," Lucian replied, "and found nothing more to incriminate Ormsby. Perrine, we're now certain, was in town at the time of the companion's death, and also in January when our diplomat was killed. But there is no direct evidence linking him to either murder. Still, Caliban has always been extremely careful to cover his trail. His pattern is to remain behind the scenes while his victims execute his orders. In any event, this is the first real break we've had in the case-and we have you to thank for it."

Dare remained silent for a moment while he debated how much to reveal about his knowledge of their chief suspect. Finally he decided it would be wisest to tell Lucian everything he knew on the off chance that there was a connection between events. "Ivers has a past relationship with Julienne Laurent," Dare said in a toneless voice.

"Oh?" Lucian responded curiously.

"They were lovers."

Lucian's eyebrow rose. "The reason for your broken betrothal, I gather?"

"Yes. So admittedly I have a vested interest in wanting revenge. I may not be the ideal candidate to pursue Ivers, since my judgment may be impaired, but I've been thinking of returning to Kent for a few days. I haven't visited the ancestral pile since Christmas. If you like, I could see what I can discover about him."

"That's an excellent idea," Lucian commented. "Meanwhile I intend to keep my agents hard on his trail. Ivers is putting up at Limmer's Hotel for now, but if he should be evicted, he could go to ground and be impossible to find."

Dare left London that afternoon and arrived in Kent late at night, startling his household staff. The Wolverton principal seat was a vast estate with a large, elegant brick manor and an attractive park surrounded by numerous tenant farms and orchards. Dare rarely visited, for it held such unpleasant memories for him.

It was too late to begin inquiries tonight, but he intended to question his servants first thing in the morning, starting with his grandfather's elderly secretary. If anyone would know about the neighboring peers, it would be Samuel Butner. Butner had been privy to all the late marquess's business affairs, and while he'd been pensioned off when Dare succeeded to the title, he still lived in the manor as he had for the past thirty-odd years.

Too weary and restless to sleep after his long journey, Dare found himself in the comfortable library, drinking an excessive quantity of his late grandfather's excellent brandy, remembering the last time they had been together in this particular room.

It was the third day of their argument over Dare's marriage plans. Robert North, the sixth Marquess of Wolverton, had been enraged to the point of apoplexy because his grandson and heir refused once again to call off his betrothal to the scheming French jade.

"She has duped you, you damned young fool! She only wants you for your fortune. She will bleed you dry!"

"You are entirely mistaken, Grandfather," Dare responded tightly, barely keeping his own temper in check out of respect for his relative's advanced age and position as host. This was the marquess's house, after all.

"I won't stand for it, do you hear me? I will disown you before I allow one drop of her blood to taint our line!"

"I have told you more than once, your threat of disinheritance holds no weight with me," Dare reminded him.

"Your jade is not as sanguine about you losing your inheritance. I think you will find her opinion of you greatly changed now that she knows she won't get a penny of my fortune."

Dare's eyes narrowed. "You spoke to Julienne?"

His grandfather's craggy brows knitted together in a scowl. "I made certain she understands the consequences of your insupportable marriage."

For an instant Dare thought back to his last tryst with Julienne, remembering her reluctance to elope with him. But she hadn't known then of his grandfather's threat to disown him, for he hadn't told her. Dare shook his head. "She is not interested in your fortune."

"The devil she isn't!" The marquess's voice rose again to the level of a shout. "Hell and damnation, lad, don't you see? You are letting your cock rule you!"

"No, Grandfather. For once I am letting my heart rule."

A dark and furious flush suffused the old man's cheekbones, but he made a visible effort at restraint. "I tell you, you are a blind fool. That Laurent trollop has been cuckolding you for months now with her lover. Ivers shared her bed long before you began sniffing at her skirts."

Dare stiffened with instinctive jealousy. Ivers's attentions to Julienne had always made him grind his teeth. But the idea of her cuckolding him was laughable.

At Dare's scoffing sound, his grandfather waved an accusing finger at the library window, in the direction of the earl's nearby estate. "Ask Ivers if you don't believe me."

Dare returned a wintery smile. "You will have to come up with a better tale than that if you expect to turn me against her."

Giving a growl of pure rage, Lord Wolverton shook his gnarled fist. "How about this tale then? Your jade is guilty of treason. I will see her in prison or worse if you try to wed her."

A sudden chill swept through Dare. His grandfather was powerful and influential enough to make good such a threat if he wished to.

When Dare hesitated, the marquess's rheumy gaze narrowed with malice. "They hanged two English sailors from Whitstable last month for treason. Your whore was their accomplice."

"You know damned well that is a lie."

"I know nothing of the kind! Those bloody emigres are always short of funds and willing to sell their loyalty for gain. I could easily find proof of your tart's guilt."

Dare's hands momentarily clenched, but he kept his voice under tight control when he issued his own warning. "You would be ill-advised to threaten her with harm, old man."

"Then do not force my hand, boy! I mean what I say. Your betrothal will not stand. It will not stand, do you hear me!"

Ignoring the aging nobleman's shout, Dare turned abruptly on his heel and stalked from the room, intent on calming his own seething rage before he rode to meet Julienne at their trysting site.

Until that afternoon, he had been fiercely determined to defy his grandfather's wrath, regarding the possibility of disinheritance as inconsequential to his future happiness.

But this new threat against her was enough to give Dare pause. Certainly enough to make him question the wisdom of an elopement. He wanted Julienne as his wife, but not at the risk of endangering her. His grandfather was powerful enough to cause her a great deal of trouble, perhaps even to give real substance to any fabricated charges of treason.

Dare realized he had a momentous decision to make. He couldn't stand by and allow Julienne to be hurt. And even if he could convince her to elope with him against his grandfather's objections, there was still the problem of her invalid mother. The comptess refused to leave her home, and Julienne would never abandon her mother.

One thing Dare knew for certain. He would end their betrothal before he allowed her to suffer from the old bastard's machinations. Despite his ardent feelings for Julienne-or because of them-he would give her up before allowing her to be hurt.

Now, seven years later, Dare recalled what a bloody fool he had been. His grandfather had been right on that account.

He felt his throat close on the bitter memory. Julienne had agreed to meet him at the cottage that afternoon if she could get away from her shop, but when she didn't come, he rode into Whitstable to find her.

It was then he discovered her betrayal-her lover. Until then, he hadn't believed a word of his grandfather's accusations about her relationship with Ivers.

His chest aching with remembered pain, Dare stared down into his empty brandy snifter. The old man had gotten his way; he'd caused the dissolution of the betrothal. But Dare had left Kent immediately afterward and never again set foot under his grandfather's roof until the marquess was dead and buried.

With a raw, mirthless laugh, Dare threw the crystal snifter at the hearth, watching it shatter in the fire. He hoped the sixth Lord Wolverton was happy in his grave. His bloodline had remained untainted by the jade's French blood, even if he had lost his only grandson in the process.

Dare slept poorly, enduring dreams of being entangled in his grandfather's malevolent spiderweb. The next morning, directly after breakfast, he summoned the marquess's former secretary, Samuel Butner, to the library in the hope of uncovering evidence linking Ivers to Caliban.

"Is it a fair statement," Dare began after a spate of congenial small talk, "that after living in this district for so many years, you are somewhat acquainted with the Earl of Ivers?"

"Yes, my lord," the elderly secretary answered respectfully. "I would say I am acquainted with him as well as most."

"I'm interested in anything you can tell me about Ivers. It seems he has run up a vast number of gaming debts recently, and there are rumors that his loyalties might have been bought by the French." Dare regarded the secretary with a penetrating look. "Perhaps you'll recall the summer I spent here almost seven years ago: Two sailors from Whitstable were hanged as spies for collaborating with French Bonapartists. Could Ivers possibly have been associated with them or anything resembling treason, do you think?"

Butner narrowed his craggy brows. "Lord Ivers was always a rum sort, but to my knowledge, he would not have stooped so low as to consort with the enemy. But… "

"Yes?" Dare prompted.

"He was regularly short of funds, even then. And I am aware that he found a way to line his pockets that summer. Lord Wolverton paid his gaming debts."

"How do you know?"

"Because I wrote out the draft, my lord. It was a vast sum… six thousand pounds. I presume it bailed him out of the River Tick."

"Why would my grandfather be so generous?"

"I'm not certain, my lord. But I believe it had something to do with your… young lady. The one who owned the millinery."

Dare felt his heart rate quicken uneasily. "Go on."

Butner frowned thoughtfully, as if trying to remember. "His lordship summoned Lord Ivers here one afternoon and was closeted with him for the better part of an hour. I always suspected that large payment was for services rendered. That your grandfather employed Lord Ivers for some purpose."

"But you have no idea what that purpose might be?"

The elderly secretary hesitated a moment. "I have my suspicions. If I may speak freely?"

"By all means."

"His lordship was exceedingly pleased that you decided to stay here at Wolverton Hall that summer. I believe he thought he could groom you to assume his place… once you had sown your wild oats, that is."

Dare pressed his mouth together to keep from showing his cynicism. "Instead I proved a grave disappointment to my grandfather," he said evenly. "I was never serious enough for his taste. Never had aspirations of settling down and becoming an apple farmer."

"No, my lord. But it wounded him deeply when you became betrothed to the… French lass. He was a proud man, you know-"

"He was a manipulating old bastard."

"Just so. But he did not wish to see you wed her."

"Because a Frog would taint his impeccable bloodlines," Dare said sardonically.

"Yes. And because… he suspected her of treason. He intimated to me that she was involved with the spies who were hanged."

Dare found himself grinding his teeth. "That was a falsehood he concocted to force me to end my betrothal. Miss Laurent had nothing whatever to do with treason or spying."

"I suspected as much. I admit, it never set well with me that your grandfather would intervene in your affairs so flagrantly. But he was adamant. You were his hope and pride. He did not wish to see you go to… Begging your pardon, my lord. My tongue does run away from me at times." Looking uncomfortable, Butner flushed.

"No, please… I value your honesty. What were you about to say? Go where?"

"To the devil, the way your father did."

With effort Dare kept his lip from curling. "So Grandfather employed the same high-handedness with me that he'd tried on my father."

"Lord Wolverton hoped to compel you to call off your betrothal."

"By threatening to disown me, I know. For years I thought he had done so."

"He never changed his will. He had no reason to, once your betrothal ended. At the time, however, he was utterly determined. He said that whatever it took, he would gladly pay. He wanted to ?free you from the clutches of a scheming fortune hunter.' Those were his words, if I recall correctly."

Steeling himself against his growing disquietude, Dare managed a calm reply. "I gather he intended to use Ivers to frame Miss Laurent for treason."

"Possibly. After you left here, vowing never to return, Ivers called to collect. And he came two years later to request a loan. His pockets apparently were empty again."

"Did my grandfather comply?"

"No, he refused adamantly. I overheard their argument. Ivers said he would go to you if Lord Wolverton wouldn't pay, that you would want to know the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"Again, I'm not certain, my lord. It had something to do with Miss Laurent, because I heard her name spoken."

"But you're certain Ivers threatened to blackmail my grandfather?"

"It seemed that way. His lordship was so enraged, he had the footmen throw the earl out of the house. Ivers never called again, to my knowledge. I am not surprised that he has fallen under suspicion now, though. I always thought he would come to a bad end."

"Thank you, Mr. Butner. You have been a great deal of help."

Once the elderly secretary had gone, Dare sat unmoving, trying to grapple with the fear hovering in the back of his mind. Had his grandfather actually hired Ivers to spoil his betrothal? And had Ivers held the threat of being hanged for treason over Julienne's head?

Dare felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Had he somehow mistaken the situation regarding her relationship with Ivers that day? If he could set his jealousy aside for a rational moment, he would have to admit that even before the secretary's revelation just now, he'd begun to question their alliance. In Newmarket Julienne had seemed to regard Ivers with an enmity bordering on loathing.

Was that because Ivers had abandoned her all those years ago? They had been lovers then, hadn't they? Dare had seen it with his own eyes, heard the admission from Julienne's own lips.

His gut churning with unease, Dare rose to call for his carriage. He needed to speak to someone who had greater knowledge of Julienne and what might have happened that long-ago summer.

Famous for its oysters, the small seaport of Whitstable boasted several excellent inns, two dozen shops, and a minor shipyard. The town hadn't changed much in the years since his last visit, nor apparently had the hat shop where his life had been turned upside down.

Stepping from the carriage, Dare stood outside the door of the millinery, hesitating. He had hopes of finding the sales clerk who had been in Julienne's employ, but his skin felt suddenly cold and clammy with apprehension at what he might discover. He had to force himself to open the shop door and enter.

Memories rushed in on him all at once, reflections of the last time he'd been here…

He'd thought it odd to find the millinery empty and unlocked, with no sign of Julienne or the girl she employed as a clerk. Hearing voices coming from the floor overhead, he'd climbed the stairs to the large room above the shop that was used for storage and sewing and occasionally as sleeping quarters.

Julienne sat on the cot, her disheveled hair spilling from its pins, while the Earl of Ivers stood beside the bed, hovering over her. When she spied Dare, she clutched a hand to her heart.

She looked dismayed to see him-although no more dismayed than he felt, seeing her with his rival in such an intimate setting.

Ivers's expression remained cool, however, as he rested a hand possessively on her shoulder. "Clune…I am glad you have come. Julienne has something she wishes to tell you."

Unwillingly Dare shifted his attention to the earl. His first impulse was to strangle the man with his bare hands for daring to touch Julienne-

"Tell him, my dear," Ivers urged.

"Tell me what?" Dare demanded, his anger welling to dangerous heights.

"She intends to end your betrothal," Ivers said when Julienne remained silent. He squeezed her shoulder. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

For a moment she shut her eyes. Then with a slow, shuddering breath, she stiffened her shoulders and raised her gaze to Dare's. "Yes. I no longer wish to marry you, Dare."

A sharp hollowness clawed at the pit of his stomach, while his mouth suddenly felt filled with sawdust. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"I… You never told me your grandfather would disown you if you wed me."

Dare stood frozen, staring at her as he tried to comprehend the import of her words. Did she care so much about the Wolverton fortune after all?

Watching his face, Julienne reached a trembling hand out to him. "Dare… I cannot marry you."

As if to comfort her, Ivers patted her shoulder. "I regret that you had to discover the truth this way, Clune, but it is better that you finally know. Julienne has always been mine. I enjoyed her favors long before you did."

His breath seizing in his lungs, Dare found he couldn't move. Every muscle in his body was paralyzed by shock and disbelief.

"Julienne?" The raw word finally scraped from his throat. "It isn't true."

Fleetingly she glanced up at Ivers, then lowered her gaze to stare at the floor. "I am sorry," she whispered hoarsely.

Ivers smiled in triumph, while turmoil rocked Dare. He staggered backward, recoiling as if struck by a blow. He'd expected her to denounce Ivers's sickening claim, not to uphold it.

His rival's exultant voice pierced the tumult of his thoughts. "It has been difficult for me, keeping quiet all this time while you courted her, Clune. But Julienne insisted that I stay out of her way. Fortunately she decided that if you are to lose your inheritance, she prefers me to you."

Reeling, Dare focused on Ivers, seeing the revolting smirk on his dark face… the blood coming from his split lower lip.

With a wry smile, Ivers reached up to gingerly touch his wound. "She does enjoy rough play, as I'm sure you know."

His gut heaving, Dare abruptly backed away and stumbled from the room, too stricken even to think of calling Ivers out. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest…

Feeling his head spin now, Dare pressed a hand to his temple. Had he been too swift to condemn Julienne? She hadn't refuted Ivers's claim, certainly. What words had she used precisely? I am sorry. He had taken that for an admission of guilt…

Dear God, could he have been so wrong? Had she been a victim all along? Or was it his memory now that was at fault? It had happened so long ago. And his own devastation might have led his recollections of that cataclysmic event to change over the years-

"My Lord Wolverton?" A grim female voice interrupted his churning thoughts. "May I be of assistance?"

Dare looked up to find a dark-haired woman perhaps in her mid-twenties standing in a corner near the counter, adding a plume to a bonnet. Her rather plump face seemed vaguely familiar.

"Do you know me?" he asked, frowning.

Her expression remained grave. "Yes, my lord. You were once my mistress's suitor. I could never forget you."

For an instant Dare saw a flash of something like antipathy flash in her blue eyes. Puzzled, he advanced farther into the shop. "You were Miss Laurent's sales clerk seven years ago."

"Yes… Rachel Grimble. I am now the proprietor."

Her antipathy was clearer now. Her tone held none of the deference a shopkeeper usually showed a nobleman of his consequence. Rather it held contempt.

"You seem to hold me in dislike, Miss Grimble."

"I have good reason, my lord-because of what you did to Miss Laurent. Or perhaps I should say, what you did not do."

"I trust you mean to explain?"

"You allowed the wolves to devour her."

Dare's eyebrows narrowed to a frown. "That tells me little."

"You left her at the mercy of that beast. I found her…" The shopkeeper took a deep breath. "Miss Laurent had sent me to deliver a commission, and when I returned… Lord Ivers had just driven away." The woman glanced toward the back of the millinery where the stairs were. "He had violated her, my lord."

Air hissed sharply between Dare's teeth; his gut clenched as if a knife had been plunged into him.

With sudden brutal clarity he recalled the blood on Ivers's lip, an injury the earl had claimed was due to Julienne's preference for rough play.

Oh, God. His heart thundered while a wave of horror crashed through his mind.

"He forced himself upon her," the Grimble woman repeated, twisting the knife further. "You didn't know?"

"No…" Dare whispered, the word a raw rasp. "I never knew. Perhaps I should have."

"Aye, I think you should have. He was a beast, but you… She loved you, my lord, and you abandoned her."

Raising a hand to his head, Dare clutched at his hair. Understanding nearly brought him to his knees; the violent reality of it was paralyzing.

He had fled Kent that very afternoon, too intent on his own bleeding wounds to question the fate of the beautiful deceiver who had savaged his heart. He had kept away for years, forcibly attempting to shut out even the slightest thought of Julienne.

The shopkeeper merely stood there, not speaking, her silence eloquent with condemnation while Dare grappled with the enormity of his transgression.

"Why in God's name didn't she tell me?" he said after a time.

"I don't know, my lord. I wanted to go to you. I thought you would somehow protect her, even after… what Lord Ivers did to her. But she wouldn't let me. I think she must have been too ashamed." Miss Grimble's tone hardened. "That was not the worst of it, either. Lord Wolverton made certain her reputation was utterly destroyed by rumors of treason. No one would give her business any longer, and the scandal nearly killed her mother. Miss Laurent was forced to leave town. His lordship drove her away. And by then you were long gone."

Dare couldn't speak. There was nothing he could say, no apology he could make to excuse his ignorance or his actions.

Turning, he blindly made his way out to his carriage. Self-contempt stuck in his throat, hot and thick, as he fell back against the squabs of the landau.

Julienne had been assaulted-raped by that vile bastard-and he had walked away.

They were never lovers at all. She had only wanted him to believe it. But in God's name, why? Had Ivers threatened to hurt her? Forced her to support his claim? Dare's mind rebelled at the possibility. Surely Julienne knew he would have done everything in his power to keep her safe.

But he hadn't kept her safe. Instead he had failed her in the worst possible way.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Julienne had never betrayed him with Ivers. She had been faithful all along. But his own jealousy had blinded him, caused him to condemn her as deceiver.

Was that why she hadn't told him? Because she'd anticipated what his response would be? Or had she thought he wouldn't want her as his wife after she had been violated? Or was there another, more immediate reason? Had she been afraid he would call Ivers out? That he would kill the man?

Dare's fists clenched. He would have killed Ivers if he'd had the slightest inkling of the truth.

Rage gripped him in its power, along with an acrid shame. However unwittingly, he had let Julienne suffer alone the consequences of their passion. Abandoned her to the mercy of his grandfather's wrath and brutal scheming. The marquess apparently had hired Ivers to break up their betrothal by whatever vile means necessary.

What a stupid, blind, bloody fool he had been! He had known his grandfather could be a ruthless bastard. He just hadn't known how ruthless.

For a long while Dare sat there, rocked to his soul by a tempest of emotions-grief, raw fury, hatred, self-contempt. The truth burned too hot and fierce for anything else to penetrate his dazed stupor.

"My lord?"

The concerned voice finally registering, Dare raised his gaze. His coachman was looking over his shoulder at him, his expression troubled.

"Are you unwell, my lord? Should I drive you to a doctor?"

A doctor could never cure his malady, Dare thought with a bitter, mirthless laugh. "No, no doctor."

"Where do you wish to go then, my lord?"

The coachman was waiting for orders as to his destination, Dare realized. He had to return to London at once. He had to see Julienne.

He gave the command to return to Wolverton Hall so that he could pack and collect his traveling chaise. But as he sank back into the searing turmoil of his thoughts, there was one agonizing question that burned brightest in his mind. How in this lifetime could Julienne ever forgive him?