She’d realized then that their salvation would be up to her.
But could she do it?
Did she really have the courage, the conviction to put herself, her body, quite literally in the hands of a man like Rafe Pendragon? Did she have the strength of will to become The Dragon’s mistress?
She could always marry, she supposed. Her friends were continually urging her to find a new husband. She was young, they said. Attractive. Look how the men flocked to her. It was a running joke how Lord Summersfield kept proposing to her—a half dozen times at last count. And there were at least two other gentlemen, wealthy men both, who were always tossing her hints. Any one of them would offer her a ring tomorrow, she knew, if she’d only say the word.
But she didn’t want to say the word. The plain truth of it was she’d had a husband, and she didn’t want another.
Unlike the married women of her acquaintance who had to beg and cajole their husbands for every farthing in their purse, she had her own income. Her stipend wasn’t large but it was comfortable, allowing her adequate money for necessities, a few servants, and the occasional luxury or two. And she owned her townhouse on Upper Brook Street, a property that had come solely into her possession after her husband Basil’s death.
No, Julianna reasoned, being a widow isn’t so bad. The status gave her an immense amount of freedom, a rare independence that she cherished and had no desire to give up.
Marriage, of course, would be the respectable way out of her present dilemma, a choice most women in her position would make. But she’d been forced into marriage once, and by God, she would never let herself be forced again.
Many would condemn her if they learned of her bargain with Pendragon, would shun her for consorting with a man not her social equal. But in spite of the risks and the indignity of letting such a man use her body, she would rather spend six months as his mistress than a lifetime trapped in another empty marriage to a man she did not love.
Nerves ate at her stomach at the thought of what she would have to do in only two days’ time, together with an odd tingle in her blood that she could only describe as an innate sexual awareness.
Jittery as she might be, there was no denying the fact that Rafe Pendragon was an incredibly handsome man. The mere memory of him—his penetrating green eyes, the sculpted line of his jaw, the dimples that would send a nun into a swoon—made her go all hot and shivery. The idea that she would soon be granting him the right to kiss and touch her, to explore her body in the most carnal of ways, left her throat dry and her pulse alarmingly unsteady. She’d never particularly enjoyed the mating act, but with a man like Pendragon, who knew what might transpire?
Gracious! she thought, feeling warmth spread over her cheeks.
A movement from the far side of the shop interrupted her musings as Maris emerged from the fitting room. Her young sister looked a picture of vibrant youth and beauty, the new dress and its color genuinely flattering despite Maris’s poor opinion of the pale shade.
Julianna smiled, more determined than ever to see Maris enjoy all the things she herself had not—a carefree Season filled with innocent joy and fun. And most of all the freedom to choose her own spouse, and to marry for no more important a reason than love.
If Harry went bankrupt, all those dreams would perish. Maris’s come out would be forfeit, since there wouldn’t be enough money for the clothes and the parties and the balls it took to launch a debutante. And though she wished she could help, her own finances would never come close to covering such an expense.
My path is clear, Julianna realized. And in two days’ time, regardless of her private reservations, she would do what she must to keep her family happy and whole.
After the shopping excursion, she and Maris drove back to Allerton House in Grosvenor Square.
Hoping to catch Harry before he dashed out to spend the evening with friends, she agreed to stay and share a quiet dinner with Maris and Henrietta Mayhew, a distant cousin from their mother’s side of the family. Widowed with grown children, Henrietta had gratefully accepted the offer to act as Maris’s chaperone for the Season. Until last month, Maris had made her home with Julianna, but Julianna had decided her sister would be better off launching her coming out from the far grander family townhouse.
The evening progressed, filled with good food and enjoyable conversation. However, Harry did not appear.
Penning a note to her wayward brother, Julianna left instructions with the butler that Lord Allerton was to be given her message the instant he arrived. Saying her good-nights, she made the short carriage ride home and retired to bed.
She was frowning over a barely touched plate of eggs and toast, tea growing tepid in her cup, when Harry finally strode into her dining room the next morning. She gazed up at him in relief.
Disheveled and bleary-eyed, he looked as if he hadn’t slept. “Got your message,” he mumbled as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat down across from her. “What’s so urgent I had to run over here before I’d even had m’morning coffee? Feel dashed rotten, I do, despite some bloody awful concoction my valet poured down my throat not an hour since.”
She motioned to her footman to bring her brother a cup of hot coffee. Once done, the servant bowed and departed the room, shutting the doors behind him.
His eyes closed, Harry sipped his beverage as if for strength. “Devil take this head of mine.”
“Out drinking, I see,” she observed, trying not to sound as disapproving as she felt.
“Plague take me, yes. What else should a man do when his own ruin’s so near at hand? Just trying to forget my problems the best way I know how.”
“Well, if you’d come home yesterday I could have saved you a great deal of anguish. I have good news.” She pushed her plate away and leaned forward.
Harry reached out and shoved the plate even farther down the table, the scent of food obviously sickening him. “What sort of good news? Don’t see how anything can be good, not when The Dragon’s breathing down my neck, ready to destroy me day after next. Uncharitable as it might be to say, seems a shame somebody couldn’t do us a favor and run him over in the street.”
Julianna cleared her throat, an image of Rafe Pendragon lying prostrate in the middle of some London thoroughfare flashing into her mind. Knowing Pendragon, even as little as she did, she suspected he’d live through such an attack, climb to his feet, dust himself off, then methodically set about hunting down the man who’d done it.
“Well, put away your murderous thoughts because they’re completely unneeded.”
She paused, knowing once she recited the lies she’d prepared there would be no turning back. Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Harry, the most miraculous thing has happened. I’ve found the money to pay your debt.”
His dark brows shot upward. “What?”
“Yes. After you told me everything last week, I began searching the accounts, trying to find some means of aiding you. And I came across an old box.”
“A box?”
“Something of Basil’s that I’d put away and quite forgotten. Inside, you wouldn’t believe, there were certificates, investment shares for a shipping company. Curious to know their value, I immediately contacted my solicitor and asked him to look into the matter. Well, it turns out the stock is worth a veritable fortune.”
“Really? H-How much of a fortune?”
She could see him running calculations in his head, worrying that the found money still wouldn’t be enough to cover the true extent of his indebtedness.
“Enough to pay off your loan, your entire loan, not just the portion about which you chose to tell me,” she admonished in a stern voice.
He tugged at his neckcloth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I know. I paid a call on Mr. Pendragon and he told me how much you really owe him, all thirty thousand pounds of it.”
He scowled darkly. “Jules, what were you thinking to visit such a man? He’s not at all the sort with whom a
lady should associate.”
Shooting up from the table, Harry began to pace. He stopped seconds later, groaning and clutching his head between his fists, no doubt due to last night’s overindulgence. “Oh,” he moaned, “I knew it was a mistake to have told you any of it.”
“It’s a good thing you did tell me, otherwise you’d be up the River Tick without a paddle. Is your manly pride worth losing your estate over, worth bankrupting the family over?” She huffed out a breath. “Besides, it’s already done. The debt is paid.”
The pacing stopped. “Paid? You mean the stock certificates were worth that much? Egad, Julianna, did he accept your payment? Is the nightmare really over?”
She lowered her eyes, thinking of the real payment Pendragon had accepted. “Yes, it’s over. You are a free man and the estate is safe. At least for the present.”
A shaky smile broke over his face. Rushing forward, he grabbed her in a fierce bear hug. “Jules, Jules, how can I ever thank you? How will I ever repay you? Thirty thousand pounds—it’s a beastly lot of money, but I’ll find a way to return it. I swear I shall.”
He released her, clearly jubilant. “You shouldn’t have done it, but blister me if I’m not glad you did. Though you ought to have given the money to me so I could have been the one to approach Pendragon. Don’t like the thought of you with him.” He hugged her again, then gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best sister a man could have, have I told you that?”
She laughed and pulled away. “Yes, well, you’re welcome, so long as you promise never to do anything of the sort again. You are to stay away from the gaming tables. And if you take out any more loans for the home farm, you are to use the money for the home farm.”
He laid a palm against his chest. “Oh, I will. I’ll be a regular gentleman farmer, spouting nothing but talk of new cultivation methods and modern agricultural equipment.”
“Well, you needn’t go that far,” she said on a laugh. “I want you to stop risking your security, not turn into a bore. After all, I shan’t be there to bail you out if you land in the suds again, since I doubt I’ll be discovering another fortune in lost stock hiding in Basil’s office.”
“Dashed amazing about that. Rather startling, really, since I didn’t even know Basil dabbled in stock investments. He was always prattling on to me about the strength of land and gold, and how a man couldn’t go wrong with those. Shows you never can tell about a person, I suppose.”
Yes, she thought, that’s exactly what it showed, relieved Harry had so readily accepted her fairy story about the money and her payment of his debt. Perhaps in his distress he didn’t want to question her explanation. Perhaps in his relief, he never would.
Leaning over, he gave her another buss on the cheek. “I can never thank you enough, Jules. You’re simply the best. And I will pay you back, I promise, though it may take me some time. Still, I’ll find a way to make it right.”
“The money’s not important so long as you and Maris are safe and well. The two of you are all I truly care about in this world. Just be a good steward of your legacy and lead the family with pride, that’s all I ask.”
Harry grinned, then returned to collapse onto his chair. Reaching out, he grabbed up her square of cold toast and slathered it with strawberry preserves from a nearby pot.
“Hmm,” he said as he bit in and swallowed. “My appetite has returned. Do you think Cook could make me some breakfast?”
“I’m sure she could.” Julianna crossed the room to ring for a servant.
“So, where are my vowels?” Harry asked casually.
“Pardon?”
“My vowels. I.O.U.s, don’t you know. The Dragon must have returned them when you paid him. It’s customary when clearing a financial obligation.”
His vowels. Dear Lord, she’d never thought about that!
“Hmm, well, yes,” she dithered. “Of course he gave them to me, but I…I burned them.”
“Burned them!”
“Yes. The debt is paid, and I thought it best to put the whole dreadful affair in the past. You are to think on it no more.”
Please, she prayed, please, think on it no more.
He frowned for a long moment, then reached for another slice of toast. Gradually, his expression cleared. “I guess you are right. Best to forget it ever happened and start afresh.”
“Yes,” she murmured dully, her stomach churning to remember that she didn’t have such a luxury. For her, the indenture was only just beginning.
Chapter Four
RAFE CLICKED OPEN the engraved cover of his gold pocket watch and checked the time.
Ten minutes to one.
He snapped the watch closed again and tucked it into his vest pocket, then settled back on the drawing room sofa to wait, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
He tossed an idle glance around the room, eyeing the red brocade draperies with distaste. It’s what came, he supposed, of using acquired properties, such as this house, for his own purposes. If he were going to keep the place, he would make some changes to the decor, such as replacing several of the older, heavier pieces of furniture with lighter, more modern ones. But for now, the house was comfortable and well suited to his immediate needs.
Assuming he continued to have such needs, he thought ruefully.
He’d give Lady Hawthorne to the top of the hour as agreed, and perhaps ten minutes more. After that, he’d ride home and begin preparations for collecting the young earl’s debt.
It was growing ever more obvious that Lord Allerton’s sister wasn’t going to show. And to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t really expected she would. Despite all her pleas and protestations on behalf of her sibling, she’d obviously had second thoughts concerning the bargain she’d struck.
And justifiably so.
Her scapegrace brother had plunged himself deep into the abyss, and by rights, he ought to be the one forced to claw his way out. A tragedy, though, that the earl would need to put Davies Manor on the auction block.
The estate was a fine property with a grand house, a thriving tenantry, and two hundred acres of prime farmland situated in the heart of the Kent countryside. Perhaps he would bid on it himself, Rafe considered. With a trustworthy manager to tend to the day-to-day details, the estate had the potential to generate a nice, steady income. If that had not been the case, he would never have agreed to extend financing to Allerton in the first place. Truly, Julianna Hawthorne was doing him a favor by reneging on their agreement.
So why do I feel so vastly disappointed?
He sighed, suddenly annoyed by the desire humming in his blood, merely the notion of having Lady Hawthorne in his bed enough to bring him to a state of partial arousal. Normally, he wasn’t the sort of man to let lust cloud his mind, but where this particular lady was concerned, there was no fathoming his reactions. The logical, reasonable part of him still marveled that he’d proposed such a bargain with her at all. The animal part of him cheered, howling now at the likely prospect of being denied.
In all probability, he knew he would never see her again. Over the years he’d indulged in a couple of liaisons with aristocratic ladies, each of whom had been eager to add an element of verve and excitement to her otherwise tedious life. As a rule, though, he tended to steer clear of such associations, since they never ended well. As for virtuous widows like Lady Hawthorne…well, ladies like her were very selective when taking lovers, and they certainly never chose men from outside their own narrow social circle.
How ironic, then, to know his blood was every bit as blue as her own! But matters like legitimacy made all the difference in the world. He should know. He’d spent his entire life battling the slurs and slights of illegitimacy because his parents had dared to love outside the bounds of marriage.
His father, a viscount from the the Home Counties, had already been a married man when he’d met Charlotte Pendragon, the daughter of a poor clergyman who ministered to a small rural parish. The young viscount, miserable
in his arranged marriage, had come north to visit a friend and to do some hunting. He’d been riding home through an icy fall rain when he’d come upon a bedraggled girl struggling to make her way. He’d stopped, lifted her up onto his horse, wrapped her in his warm coat, and taken her home.
Over cups of hot tea, huddled under blankets in front of a roaring fire, the two of them had fallen in love. Though they knew it was wrong, though they tried to fight their feelings, they’d continued to meet, their love too strong to be denied. And when Miss Pendragon—a good girl from a good family—found herself enceinte, the viscount set her up in a house in the neighboring county, vowing to care for her and their child for all the rest of their days.
He was that child, Rafe thought, his father’s firstborn son, who could never openly be acknowledged no matter how beloved he might have been. His upbringing, his education, his manners—none of it mattered, only the circumstances of his birth and the side of the blanket on which he’d been born.
He wondered what Lady Hawthorne would think if she knew. Then again, what did it matter, since her opinion of him changed nothing.
He was, and always would be, a bastard. And that’s precisely what she must think of him after receiving his disreputable offer the other day.
He checked his watch again: ten minutes past one.
Oh, well, he reasoned with a shrug, some fantasies are simply not meant to be.
Seconds later, a knock sounded on the door.
His eyebrows shot skyward, blood jolting through his veins with renewed anticipation. Climbing to his feet, he made his way to the entrance.
Opening the door, he discovered her on the stoop, looking small in her heavy cloak. A plain gray hood was draped over her head in such a way that all he could see were her nose and mouth and chin.
He fought an impulse to reach out, to drag her inside and into his arms. Instead he contented himself with a look.
“I’d nearly given up on you,” he murmured, the fragrant scent of her as stirring as a caress.
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