The prince of pleasure

Chapter Two

The cloying scents of orange peels and tallow from the footlights and torcheres seemed almost overpowering tonight, yet Julienne knew the normal stage accoutrements were not to blame for her feeling of faintness. An entirely different cause had set her senses spinning.

He was in the audience, watching her performance.

She found her knees shaking. Even the ogling bucks in the pit couldn't distract her from his relentless regard. He sat in one of the luxury boxes, his fair hair shimmering in the glow of the theater's massive chandelier.

Dare North. The legendary lover who had stolen her heart and left her reeling in the aftermath.

Under his intent scrutiny, Julienne had executed her leading role in the John Webster tragedy in a daze, barely able to remember her lines. Once she had even missed her cue, which had earned her a disapproving scowl from the theater's august manager, Samuel Arnold.

I will not think of him, Julienne vowed futilely for the hundredth time as she waited in the wings for her final entrance.

The Theater Royal at Drury Lane was one of two premier theaters in London, and tonight's house was completely full. Filled to overflowing, in fact, a distinction normally reserved for London's reigning thespian, the remarkable Edmund Kean. Yet Kean had reportedly "taken ill," a public fiction to conceal the truth that he was still recovering from a fierce bout of drunken brawling.

Julienne had been given top billing this evening-a splendid coup for a hitherto unknown actress from the provinces. She could not afford to squander this opportunity, or have her wits battered by memories she'd fought so hard to vanquish.

It had taken years to cleanse the ache of Dare from her soul, to conquer her yearning for him. She'd risked coming to London, even knowing of his presence here, yet hoping to avoid him.

A foolish notion, she realized now. The Marquess of Wolverton-his present illustrious title-was one of the chief leaders of the Beau Monde, despite his scandalous reputation, or perhaps because of it. He moved in London's most elite circles, as well as the more disreputable ones. She could no more have avoided him than she could quell the painful memories that seeing him resurrected.

Another foolish notion, believing she could forget someone so unforgettable, or a passion so wondrous. She had loved Dare with a reckless hunger she'd never felt with any other man, before or since. But her love had proved her downfall.

Her eyes blurred as she remembered the last time she had seen Dare, when she'd had no choice but to betray him. In a fleeting moment his regard had transformed from shock to desolation, from disillusionment to chilled contempt.

Unable to explain her reasons, she had watched through a haze of scalding tears as he walked out of her life. Losing him had left her devastated. Alone. Facing disaster-

A low hiss from the manager made Julienne realize she had missed another cue. Steeling herself, she swept out onto the stage to enact the final gory scenes of The White Devil.

It was a coveted role for any actress, playing a scheming Venetian courtesan, and she managed to make it through the dark tale of murder and vengeance with no more serious lapses. But she was grateful when her character's demise came at the end and the company could finally take their bows to shouts and whistles and sincere applause.

That the majority of the accolades were showered upon her surprised Julienne, considering her wretched performance. Pasting an alluring smile on her lips, however, she gracefully accepted the acclaim, executing a deep curtsy for the cheering crowd in the galleries, then the wilder throng in the pit, and finally the nobles and gentry in the boxes.

She was just rising when she made the mistake of glancing at the particular nobleman she'd tried so desperately all evening to ignore. Dare had moved to the front of his box to stand at the railing.

Julienne froze, caught in the hypnotizing power of his gaze; even at this distance, she could feel the searing impact. Her lips parted in a sharp inhalation, while his curved in a faint smile, slow and lazy and provocatively rakish.

She saw his sensual mouth move then, but with the rush of blood in her head making her senses swim, it took her a moment to realize he had spoken to her.

Without volition, she raised a hand, absently signaling for quiet. Slowly a hush went over the crowd, while countless heads swiveled in the direction of her fixed gaze.

Dare called her name again, this time loudly enough to be heard throughout the theater.

"Mademoiselle Laurent," he drawled, conversing as if they were completely alone. "Allow me to commend you on a most excellent performance."

Uncertain of what he planned, Julienne felt an unmistakable ripple of tension course through her, drawing her nerves taut.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, striving to keep her voice steady.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what true?"

Casually he lifted a hip onto the railing and lounged there, surveying her indolently. "That you intend to make your choice of protectors at the end of the season?"

Bewildered, Julienne thought back frantically to the declaration she'd made last week, half in jest. She had been in the green room after a performance, surrounded by eager swains, all vying for her attention and urging her to accept their unwanted invitations. When one persistent coxcomb crudely pronounced his determination to have her in keeping, she hid her dismay and feigned a laugh, protesting that she couldn't possibly decide from among such delightful gentlemen just yet.

Her indecision was purely a defensive strategy. She had no intention of accepting any man's protection, but neither could she risk spurning her devotees or alienating any of these wealthy theater patrons. She would have to tread a careful line, holding her courtiers enthralled while putting them off, maintaining their admiration without committing herself.

When pressed, she pledged to make her choice at the end of her acting engagement. Her unattainability had an added benefit, she shortly discovered. Being fought over by rich, titled admirers actually increased her value to the theater because it brought in more business.

That Lord Wolverton had learned of the episode, however, was a testament to the efficiency of London gossips, Julienne surmised.

Trying to regain her splintered composure, she uttered a polite response. "I fail to see how my intentions would concern you, my lord."

"I should like to declare myself as a candidate in the competition."

An audible ripple of surprise and interest emanated from the crowd.

To her shock, Dare hoisted himself up to stand on the balcony railing. Julienne wasn't certain if the gasps she heard came from the audience or from her own throat. Both, she suspected. In all her days in the theater, she had never been more at a loss; her mind went blank, and she felt the particular panic that came from forgetting a crucial line.

Except that this time there were no scripted lines to learn. This was no play at all.

The crowd, however, was behaving as though the scene was merely a continuation of the earlier performance, maintaining an expectant hush. Julienne held her own silence, unable to guess what machinations Dare had planned.

Looking totally at ease in his precarious position, he leaned a shoulder against the column supporting one side of the box.

"I have made a wager regarding your choice, mademoiselle," he announced, enunciating clearly. "I've wagered that you will choose me."

The rowdy throng in the pit reacted with a chorus of titters and guffaws, while the rest waited with bated breath for her response.

"Have you indeed?" Julienne managed, stalling for time. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, it seems."

"An opinion that is warranted." His gaze slewed over the crowd. "Does anyone here doubt I can win the heart of this lovely Jewel?"

There were whoops and shouts from the riffraff in the pit and a spurt of clapping from the upper tiers. Dare sketched a debonair bow, acknowledging their approbation.

It was a dangerous maneuver, Julienne thought with alarm. If he were to fall from that height, he could severely injure himself. But he had always been the most reckless man of her acquaintance. Reckless, daring, outrageous. He appeared totally unconcerned that he was making a spectacle of them both in front a multitude of gawking spectators.

And the audience obviously relished his bold tactics, responding with titillation and delight.

Gritting her teeth, Julienne moved along the stage, closer to his box, while trying to recruit her wits. Dare had cleverly trapped her with his public declaration. She had no intention of taking a lover, most certainly not the notorious rake who so forcefully reminded her of the tormenting past, one who still had the power to bring her pain. But she didn't dare refuse him outright, not without jeopardizing all she had worked for. Her livelihood depended on pleasing her audience.

Fortunately, she had performed for years, and she had a great deal of practice dealing with rogues and obstinate pursuers.

Making a belated recovery, Julienne placed her hands on her hips and eyed Dare up and down, looking him over critically as she might a horse at Tattersalls.

"Perhaps your inflated opinion is warranted after all," she agreed thoughtfully. "Your reputation certainly precedes you. The notorious Lord Wolverton- a thoroughly wicked rake, famed for his charm and address and his fondness for debauchery. The Prince of Pleasure-is that not the name I heard? Also known as the scourge of feminine hearts."

"Yet you have fast become the scourge of male hearts, ma belle."

"That was not my intention," she said, offering an alluring smile that contradicted her words. "But since you remark on it… I might venture to make a wager of my own." She faced her audience, playing to the crowd. "I stand accused of willfully breaking gentlemen's hearts. Well, in this instance, I shall endeavor to live up to the accusation. I wager that I can bring the Prince of Pleasure to his knees."

The roar of approval was almost deafening, punctuated by the thunder of stomping feet and howls of glee. It was several minutes before the theater quieted enough to allow the spectacle to continue.

Dare's own smile was devilish. "So you think you can break my heart?"

"I am certain of it."

"You are welcome to try." He gave another bow, holding her gaze riveted. "I look forward to the first engagement, my beautiful Jewel."

Anticipating a delicious battle, the crowd burst into a wild round of applause. By the time Julienne swept a low curtsy and made her escape, bets had already started flying over who would win.

The manager, Samuel Arnold, lay in wait for her. She could barely make out his words over the pounding of her pulse and the still-deafening clamor behind her, but she realized he was expressing his approval. Forcing a smile, she fled backstage.

There were two green rooms at the theater, one designated for the general members of the company, another more elegantly appointed one for the principal performers. Here the actors met their adoring public and held court for their admirers.

Weakly Julienne sank onto a chaise longue to wait for the expected throng and buried her face in her hands, oblivious to her stage makeup. The rise of emotion churning inside her threatened to suffocate her.

She had thought herself prepared to face Dare, but never under such unsettling circumstances-matching wits with him in so open a forum, on such a shocking subject as what lover she intended to choose as her protector. She couldn't even begin to guess his motivation for issuing his public challenge, unless it was retribution for her past sins.

She could understand his desire for retribution. Seven years ago she had ended their betrothal in such a way that Dare would no longer want her for his bride. She'd purposely driven him away, for his own sake. Yet that hadn't made relinquishing him any less devastating- nor, in the end, had it saved her from ruin.

It had been the most terrifying, heartbreaking experience of her life. Not only had she lost Dare, but subsequently she'd found herself utterly defenseless, at the mercy of a grasping libertine and the machinations of a venomous old nobleman. Between the two of them, the Earl of Ivers and the Marquess of Wolverton had destroyed her good name, nearly destroyed her.

They had left her broken, her dreams shattered in fragments, herself shunned, her shop utterly devoid of customers and income, her beloved Maman sharing in her shame.

She regretted that the most, for the scandal had only weakened the comptess's rapidly deteriorating health. To spare her mother further anguish, Julienne had resolved to abandon her familiar life and numbly had begun the search for another home and occupation.

It was sheer coincidence that a traveling troupe of actors from York had returned to the district during her darkest moments. She could claim a slight acquaintance with them, for she had helped with costumes in past years. When they learned of her desperation, they offered her a means to escape the scandal, as well as shelter and solace and friendship.

With little chance of finding any sort of respectable employment, Julienne had joined their troupe and wound up settling in York. She spent years honing the skills of her new profession, her sole focus on survival- for both herself and her mother.

Most of her small earnings she sent home. And the millinery, which continued under the supervision of her sales clerk, initially earned enough to pay the doctors' bills. But the situation grew dire when her mother's wasting disease worsened, forcing Julienne to make some harsh choices so that her mother's final days might be less excruciating.

Even so, she had not stopped loving Dare. Not at first. For years he had haunted her, figuring in her fondest dreams and her darkest nightmares. The memories of his lovemaking had remained intense, desperate, wild. She had ached for his caresses, for the piercing pleasure he had given her.

Yet eventually she had taken control of her life and carved out a new future for herself. Since Maman's death nearly four years ago, Julienne had worked to achieve a kind of peace-and even found contentment of sorts.

When recently she was offered a plum engagement at the Drury Lane Theater in London for a substantial salary, she had accepted, refusing to let Dare's presence here destroy her hard-won opportunity for financial independence. Fame didn't interest her; fortune did. If she was successful enough, if she could command the income of a preeminent actress, then she would be free to make her own choices, to determine her own future. Never again would she be vulnerable and defenseless or dependent on any man's whims.

With trepidation, she had reentered Dare's world, wanting urgently to prove to herself that she was entirely over him. Wanting to close that door to their past irrevocably so that she could move on with her life.

Seeing Dare again, however, had reopened a dormant wound, roused an ache inside her that made it hard even to breathe.

Determinedly Julienne inhaled several slow, deep breaths, practicing the calming techniques she had learned at the beginning of her acting career.

The worst was over. Despite whatever game Dare was playing, she could manage to shield her emotions.

I can keep him distant, she vowed, although the weak trembling in her limbs belied her resolve.

She was grateful when the other lead actors in the company joined her. They were followed shortly by a throng of admirers, and in moments the green room was filled to overflowing, abuzz with talk of a certain scandalous nobleman.

Pretending that the spectacle had not affected her in the least, Julienne summoned a dazzling smile for the gentlemen clustered around her.

They had one intention, she well knew: to bribe their way into her bed. Any female in her profession was expected to be available for the right price. But though she was determined to keep her bed solitary, she had an image to maintain. And tonight she had an additional task-assuring her cavaliers that despite Wolverton's bold declaration, he would prove no rival for her affections.

One of the most vocal of her courtiers was Hugh Bramley, Viscount Riddingham. Tall and slightly gangly, he possessed unremarkable brown hair and nondescript features, but he was affable and amusing and extremely well-mannered, and Julienne found herself fonder of him than any of the others.

Riddingham was clearly unhappy with the turn of events, however, and showed an unmistakable jealousy.

"The nerve of the rogue, making such an exhibition of himself. Miss Laurent, I trust you don't intend to permit that insufferable fellow to make you the target of his depraved amusements. His perversions are legend."

"He will be no danger to me if you are at hand to protect me," she returned lightly, trying to soothe Riddingham's ruffled feathers while keeping a nervous eye on the door, expecting Dare to make an appearance at any moment.

It was all she could do to hide her tension and feign interest in their witticisms. When she was offered a dozen invitations for a late-night supper, she declined prettily, claiming fatigue.

Three-quarters of an hour later, her less persistent swains had retired from the lists and the crowd had thinned somewhat. Having regained a small measure of her composure, Julienne began to hope that she needn't deal with the notorious marquess any further this evening and she could retire to her dressing room and then to her lodgings alone.

She was laughing over one of Riddingham's sallies when she suddenly saw the viscount stiffen. A noted hush fell over the company, and when the sea of gentleman parted, Dare North stood before her.

Julienne's heart somersaulted violently in her chest.

At first glance he seemed to possess the same refined elegance she remembered, the same lithe grace, the same lean hardness. Yet his shoulders were broader beneath his exquisitely tailored blue coat, she noted; his thighs more powerfully muscled, sheathed in formal satin breeches.

His elaborate cravat set off the fine, aristocratic features she found just as striking as they had been seven years ago. His face, with its high cheekbones and noble brow, had always had the devil's own beauty.

It was all Julienne could do to keep from staring.

Dare had no such reservations, apparently. His slow appraisal seemed to penetrate her garments, brushing over her bosom significantly revealed by the low, square neckline of her elaborate costume, moving to her narrow waist, then resting on her hips encased in flaring panniers. It was the measuring scrutiny of a man who knew women intimately.

She took a steadying breath, trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

"At last I understand why all London is raving," he said. "From a distance, your stage presence is stunning. But in close proximity… your beauty renders me inarticulate."

Julienne eyed him coolly. "I take leave to doubt that, my lord. I would imagine you are rarely at a loss for words."

"Rarely." His mouth quirked with his heart-melting smile, rife with the sensual charm she remembered so well.

She tried frantically to think of something sophisticated and witty to say. Before anything occurred, however, Dare reached out and brought her fingers to his lips to kiss their tips slowly.

Her stomach tightened with a jolt of pure, feminine desire.

His faint smile was knowing and experienced.

Only with great effort did Julienne refrain from snatching her hand away, extricating her fingers slowly instead. Yet she deplored her response to that simple contact, deplored how the memory lingered too long.

"I wonder that you deign to grace us with your presence, my lord. The play has been over for some time."

"I wanted to allow your other courtiers their fair share of your company, since I intend to take you to supper."

There were several immediate objections from the gentlemen surrounding her, Riddingham's being the most adamant. "Miss Laurent will not be accompanying you anywhere, Wolverton."

Dare raised an eyebrow at the viscount. "I regret, old friend, to be poaching on your territory, but I have a wager to win, after all. Surely you understand."

Julienne intervened with a chilly smile, addressing Dare. "Thank you for your consideration, but Lord Riddingham is correct. I must decline. I fear that after tonight's performance, I have a headache."

"All that murder and mayhem, no doubt," he murmured. "But I trust you will allow me to register a protest. You accepted my challenge, mademoiselle. In all fairness, you must give me the chance to woo you. How can I win your surrender otherwise?"

"I fancy that is your problem, not mine."

"What of your vow to bring me to my knees?"

"Some other time, perhaps. Now, if you will forgive me, I must change my costume."

Rising from the chaise regally, she flashed an apologetic smile that encompassed everyone but Wolverton. "I hope very much to see all you gentlemen tomorrow."

Leaving the green room behind, Julienne negotiated the narrow corridor to her dressing room. She was about to close the door when, to her utter dismay, Dare entered behind her.

Whirling, she stared at him indignantly as he locked the door, shutting them in together.

"Your manners always were supremely deficient," she observed. "I thought I made myself clear. I wish to be alone."

"No, you said you wished to change your costume."

His green eyes bright, he surveyed her with interest. Julienne fought the defensive urge to cross her arms over her chest. It unnerved her to be alone with Dare for the first time since their rift. Yet she was not entirely surprised by his presumptuous invasion; Dare North was a man who knew the rules of polite behavior and blatantly ignored them.

She was spared a reply, however, when an urgent pounding sounded on the door, followed by Riddingham's concerned query. "Miss Laurent, did Wolverton follow you here? Do you need assistance?" He pounded again.

"You had best reassure him," Dare murmured, "before he smashes the door down."

She felt a strong desire to box Dare's ears as she watched him slip behind the large ornate dressing screen. He always did have the most incredible nerve…

She unlocked the door instead, opening it partway to find a scowling Lord Riddingham.

"Shall I summon the manager?" he growled.

Julienne had no desire to compound the recent spectacle or rouse the viscount's jealousy further by revealing that Dare was alone with her in her private dressing room. Feigning bewilderment, she gave Riddingham a puzzled frown. "Why would you wish to summon the manager?"

"I thought to find Wolverton here."

"You must have been mistaken." Holding her breath, she opened the door wide, showing him the small dressing room jammed with a wide variety of costumes and props, leaving just enough space for a dressing table and screen.

"See, my lord. I don't require assistance, although I thank you. It was kind of you. Were Wolverton here making a nuisance of himself, I would have been exceedingly glad for you to come to my rescue."

When Riddingham cleared his throat and apologized for disturbing her, Julienne reassured him once more. After he took his leave, she closed the door and counted to ten before saying in a wry tone, "I believe it is safe for you to come out now."

When Dare showed himself, she added with a tart edge, "You disappeared with such ease, I can only assume you have long practice evading outraged husbands and lovers."

"You suppose correctly," he agreed blandly.

"Well, I will thank you to take yourself off now and allow me some privacy."

The grin he flashed was brilliant enough to make her heart falter. "I cannot leave until I'm certain Riddingham is gone. Surely you prefer that I spare you embarrassment. You wouldn't wish me to expose you for a liar, would you?"

"Very well," Julienne snapped. "You may stay for a few moments more. But if it is not too inconvenient, would you mind coming out from behind the screen and allowing me use of it?"

"I hoped you might need help changing," Dare replied lightly, even as he complied with her request.

"No, I do not need help."

"How tiresome. But truthfully, I am only here to persuade you to dine with me. One supper. What can it hurt? You can use the opportunity to ensnare my heart."

She gave him a hard stare. "What do you really want of me, Lord Wolverton?"

"I told you. I made a wager that I can win you."

"How much?" When he raised an eyebrow, Julienne crossed her arms with impatience. "What sum did you wager?"

"What does it matter?"

"If it is not too excessive, I will pay it myself, so I won't be compelled to endure this ridiculous charade." She had little doubt the amount of the bet would be well beyond her means, but she wished Dare to know how preposterous she found his game.

"This is not about money," he replied, feigning hurt. "My pride is at stake."

"Your pride?" She made a moue of disgust. "You are not truly serious about this public contest of yours, are you?"

"Ah, how little you know me."

It was true, Julienne thought with a sudden sadness. The man she'd once loved had become a stranger to her, one who cared nothing about holding her up to public ridicule.

And yet she couldn't truly blame him. She could only try to defend herself against whatever punishment he had in store for her.

With that distressing thought, she moved behind the screen. To her relief, Dare stepped away, acting enough of the gentleman to allow her a measure of privacy.

But it still unsettled her to have him in such close proximity.

"You agreed to my challenge," he said after a moment. "I should think you would want to make good. That was a swift recovery, by the way. In one brilliant stroke you turned the tables on me."

"I shall take that as a compliment," she said dryly as she removed her costume and began struggling with layers of panniers and petticoats.

"The reports of your talent are not exaggerated. You are extremely good."

"Sometimes I am. I was not at my best for tonight's performance."

"Found yourself distracted, did you?"

"As it happens, I did. I feared you might do something vindictive, and I was right."

He didn't respond to her accusation but returned to the familiar subject instead. "Come to supper with me, cherie. We can reminisce about old times."

"I find nothing I wish to remember."

"Not even the carnal delights we once shared?"

"Most especially that."

She drew on a modest, long-sleeved gown of dark blue merino, one that she often wore going to and from the theater.

Slipping from behind the screen, Julienne sat at her dressing table to scrub away her makeup. She made every effort to disregard Dare's presence, yet ignoring him was like pretending she wasn't trapped in a cage with a hungry tiger.

She could see him in the small looking glass as he leaned indolently against the door, watching her. He was silent as she took down her hair, not speaking till she had removed the pins and combed her fingers through the thick mass.

"You always had the loveliest hair. Like Russian sable. Rich and silken and luminous."

Julienne kept her lips pressed together, refusing to respond. He had always had a silver tongue, she reminded herself. Dare delighted in overstepping polite bounds with his cajolery and too-intimate innuendos.

"And you have the face and body of a temptress."

"I am no temptress," she retorted. "And I am no longer a green girl, susceptible to your flattery."

"No, not a girl at all. You've flourished into a ravishing woman."

Unexpectedly, she felt an ache of sorrow. Once, he hadn't needed to flatter her with words. He had made her feel beautiful with merely a glance. Beautiful and cherished. Stop dwelling on the past, you fool.

She felt Dare move behind her. Julienne froze as he took up the hairbrush and began drawing it slowly through her long hair.

"I always relished doing this. Remember?"

The warmth of his voice touched a chord in her that left her trembling. Remember? How could I possibly forget? She closed her eyes at the drugging shock of recognition and familiarity: the feel of Dare at her back, the vibrant heat of his body, the sweet sensation of his touch, his erotic tenderness. It had been so long…

Heaven help her, she wanted him. She knew if she merely pressed back against him, he would carry it further… reach down to caress her, stroke her, arouse her. The thought of his lean, elegant hands fondling the swell of her breasts made her nipples peak with longing.

Dismayed, Julienne locked her jaw, resenting her body's betrayal, cursing herself again for a fool. She was mad to have allowed herself to be alone with Dare. She'd thought herself strong enough to meet him again after all this time, but she was mistaken. She was too weak. And he was too dangerous.

Unable to bear his nearness any longer, she rose abruptly to her feet, leaving her hair unpinned. In agitation she went to the wall hook and fumbled for her cloak, then flung it around her shoulders.

"If you won't leave, then I will, Lord Wolverton. I bid you good evening."

"No, I think not."

He advanced with slow, determined strides across the small room until he stood directly before her. Warily Julienne took a step backward, but there was nowhere to go.

For a moment he simply stared down at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. In a daze, she waited as he leaned toward her slightly, lowering his head until his warm breath touched her cheek… her lips. He intended to kiss her, she was certain. A ripple of panic flooded her, and she tried to brace herself for the impact-

Yet astonishingly, his kiss never came. Instead he gave her his notorious, bone-melting smile. Bending, he slipped a hand behind her knees and lifted her up in his arms, turning her panic to startlement.

"What the devil are you doing?" she demanded, gasping at his unexpected action.

"Taking you to supper; what else?" Dare answered blandly. "My carriage awaits, darling."