An ear-splitting scream emanated from the upstairs window of Hunterston House and echoed against the stately homes of Mayfair.

Johnston jerked around just as Julia stepped down from the coach. “What in thunder was that?”

Julia regained her balance by clinging to the open door. She bounded to the ground with a very unladylike hop, her bonnet tilting haphazardly to one side. “It couldn’t be the French cook. He left last week.”

“I never did like that Antoine. Too high in the instep, even fer a Frog.” The shrill yell sounded again and Johnston glared at the house. “Sounds like yer hellion has gone and murdered the whole household.”

Julia straightened her bonnet. “Muck has done no such thing, Johnston. I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak such nonsense.” But even she winced when another blood-curdling scream resonated, this time followed by a masculine shout that sounded very much like Alec.

“Now ye’re in the suds,” Johnston said with grim satisfaction. “The little rat has gone and woken the master. I wouldn’t be in yer shoes fer twenty quid.”

“My shoes are perfectly fine, thank you,” Julia said tartly. She gathered her skirts and marched up the front walk. The noise increased, screams and thundering footsteps preternaturally loud in the crisp morning air. Julia rushed through the doorway and halted.

Muck scrambled down the main stairway, his pale body in sharp relief against the dark wood. Naked, he took the steps two at a time. His skinny white arms and legs bore a shocking number of bruises, none debilitating, as evidenced by his rapid descent. With each thudding step, he screamed anew, the sound echoing throughout the entryway.

Julia approached the stairs, her arms outstretched, and Muck launched himself toward her with all the grace of a cat seeking sanctuary from a pack of wild dogs. Garbling unintelligible phrases, he tangled himself in her skirts and tried to disappear into the folds.

Hard on his heels came Burroughs. The butler’s cravat was wildly mussed, the center mashed together as if someone had tried to swing from it. Soapy water trailed from one elbow onto the floor.

He skidded to an undignified halt, his stocking feet sliding on the waxed floor. “Your…ladyship,” he said between pants, managing a very credible bow though his hair splayed about his head like a rack of feathers. “Pardon me.”

Alec was not far behind. He came to a halt a few steps from the bottom stair, regarding her with a silver-edged glare.

Julia’s mouth dropped open and she was suddenly bereft of speech. Alec was completely drenched. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned, the sodden material almost transparent across his muscular frame. It outlined his broad shoulders and clung to the ripples of his stomach. Even more disconcerting was the state of his soaked trousers. Molded across his powerful thighs, they left very little to the imagination.

Heat pooled in her belly, igniting a steady burn through her limbs as a flood of wildly improbable thoughts jumbled together in her muddled brain. God help her, but he was a magnificent specimen of male virility. Magnificent—and all hers.

Her hands splayed across the surface of her reticule as she imagined touching him, running her fingertips over the planes and angles of his shoulders, his chest…his thighs. Julia’s knees weakened to the consistency of bread pudding.

She wondered for a dazed minute if perhaps she’d taken ill. She certainly felt as if she had a fever.

Unaware of her turmoil. Burroughs caught his breath. “Forgive my appearance, my lady. An unfortunate mishap with a bag of flour made it necessary to bathe the young person. His lordship and I were assisting Mrs. Winston when he escaped.”

Julia nodded absently. No amount of persuasion could have pulled her attention from Alec. Bubbles slid with caressing slowness down one side of his face and threaded across his unshaven chin. She lifted a hand to her own chin and wondered how his shadowed jaw would feel beneath her fingertips. The tiny whiskers would scrape and tease. She closed her hand over the imagined feeling.

Alec swiped at the wet trail, brushing aside the bubbles, his shirt stretched across the muscles of his arms. Julia swallowed convulsively. He dropped his arm, the half-buttoned shirt opening further to reveal the most fascinating trail of dark, crisp curls across the wide expanse of his chest. The path directed her eyes down to his waistband.

There her gaze halted, though her mind churned busily on.

Alec crossed his arms. “We must discuss your brat, Julia.”

Julia’s heated mind cooled at the sight of the brush he held in his hand. “What were you going to do? Hit the child?”

His gaze followed hers. “Good God, no! I had this in my hand when the screams from that”—he gestured to the hump on the side of her skirt where Muck lurked—“boy drew me to your room. When he escaped the bath, I attempted to help Burroughs catch him.”

The butler nodded. “You were of immense assistance, my lord. A pity you were unable to keep the small person contained. I trust you did not hurt yourself when you fell in the—”

“I’m fine,” Alec returned curtly. He pinned Julia with a steady stare. “Don’t ask.”

She bit her lip, struggling to contain an undignified giggle. “Fell in the tub, did you?”

His scowl grew until it encompassed both her and the butler. “Burroughs didn’t come off any better than I. The brat attempted to climb him like a tree.”

The butler put a hand to his ruined neckcloth. “Yes, it has been quite an invigorating morning. The house is topsy-turvy.”

“It is unacceptable.” Alec’s glare fastened on Julia, leaving no doubt where he placed the blame.

Burroughs interjected smoothly, “If I may suggest a change of clothing, my lord. Shall I call for Chilton?”

Alec did not move his hard gaze. “Have him lay out fresh clothing in my room and inform him I will need a towel.”

The butler bowed and strode from the hall.

Alec leaned an arm on the newl post and said sourly, “It was fortunate you came when you did, madam. I was well on my way to chasing your hellchild all the way to St. James, if need be.”

The idea of a naked Muck leading a thundering Alec and a mussed Burroughs through town was more than she could bear, and Julia gave in to laughter.

Alec’s scowl softened. “What are you laughing at, wretch?”

She caught her breath, a chuckle still escaping. “I wonder what Edmund would say if he saw you dash by like that.”

“Nothing worth repeating.” His gaze dropped to where Muck’s wet head soaked her skirt. “You should rethink your plans, Julia. There is no way you can take such a poorly behaved urchin to tonight’s rout.”

His words sobered her immediately. Here was her chance to show Alec how well the Society’s servant referral effort would work. She patted Muck’s shoulder and smiled with far more confidence than she felt. “You are wrong. He will be perfectly behaved; you’ll see.”

Alec muttered something under his breath.

Julia frowned. “Pardon?”

He regarded her glumly. “I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“Despite Aunt Maddie’s best efforts, there is still talk about the confrontation with the sweep.” Embarrassed heat climbed her neck and face. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but I did.”

He appeared slightly mollified at her confession. “I hold Edmund at fault as much as you. I will never understand how he came to be cajoled into calling that scoundrel out.”

“Maddie says everyone will be overcome with sympathy once they see Muck, and it will turn the tide in our favor.”

“I certainly hope so.” He eyed her with a ruminative gaze. “Just how do you propose to pull this off?

Julia smiled and leaned over. “Muck, the tailor will be here soon. Remember what I told you?”

There was a second of silence before a freckled, buck-toothed face appeared. “Thet I’ll half me own uniform, like a soldier?”

“Just like a soldier.”

Muck’s face creased into a fierce scowl. “Ole Boney’d be afeared to see me in a uniform, wouldn’t ’e?”

“Bonaparte would turn tail and run.” Julia affected a loud sigh. “A pity you won’t be dried off when the tailor arrives. I so wanted you to serve as my guard at the party this evening.”

The child’s thin nose quivered with interest. “I’m to be yer guard?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll stand at attention, fetch supplies, and all manner of things. Just like a real soldier.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to get someone else to do it.”

The boy shot a glance at Alec, eyeing the brush with a dubious stare. “I’d go if’n this ’ere bloody stiff’ll keep ’is ’ands off me arse.”

Alec’s knuckles whitened about the brush while Julia tried to contain a chuckle. He shot her a fulminating glare before setting the brush on the step. “There, you ungrateful little romp. I promise not to give you the whipping you so deserve, providing you behave yourself from now on.”

Muck scampered past him, stopping just long enough to peep up at Alec through a sweep of sandy lashes. “Ye run fast…fer an old bloke.” The boy didn’t wait for a response, but clambered merrily up the rest of the stairs.

Alec eyed Julia without remorse. “I suppose you think I should be flattered by that.”

“Oh, no. It must be unpleasant to be considered old.” She blinked at him with her most innocent expression.

His mouth curved into a smile, made all the more devastating by his drenched attire. Seeing such perfection of both face and form sent her thoughts galloping into places no sane, virtuous woman would dare go. Julia shifted, uncomfortably aware of the growing warmth in her lower limbs. It was as if the heat of summer had slipped between the folds of her muslin dress and caressed her bare flesh.

“You’re very wet,” she blurted.

Alec quirked a brow. “You possess the most irritating habit of stating the obvious.”

“So my father used to say.”

“I suspect I would have liked your father.”

Her father would have liked Alec, too. “He was a very sensible man. I always try to do what he would have wanted.”

“Like taking in street urchins who thrust themselves upon you in the street?”

And handsome rakes who hide their kindnesses beneath a blanket of sin. “Something like that.”

His eyes softened to a smoky gray. “I must admit, Muck’s presence has certainly enlivened the household. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a weapon planted by Napoleon to dismantle London brick by brick.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a very naughty boy.”

She brushed at the wet spots on her skirt, realizing how mussed she must look. “Mrs. Winston said you used to run naked through the house all the time, riding a broom and waving a wooden spoon like a—”

“Besides an annoying tendency to state the obvious, you also possess a lamentable memory.”

“Lamentable?” She blinked at him. “I remember everything.”

“Exactly my point.”

His smile seemed to go awry and Julia noted how shadowed his eyes appeared. She wondered if his weariness sprang from something other than dissipation. Perhaps he was worried about the conditions of the will, too. “Having trouble sleeping?” she asked with sympathy.

His eyes rested on her, hooded and intent. To her increased discomfort, they traveled slowly over her, resting for a brief minute on her breasts and hips. “I cannot sleep at all.”

Julia rubbed her throat where a heated blush had left a trail of prickles. “You might want to try Burroughs’ warmed milk.”

He moved closer. “I’m not that desperate, Julia. Not yet.”

Oh, God. He was going to kiss her. Alec might not be desperate, but Julia was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was just that—and not for sleep, either. She didn’t know if she could handle another kiss. Not now, not with his clothing clinging to his powerful frame, emphasizing every delectable inch. She stepped back, her knees quivering as if someone had boiled her bones into jelly. “Warmed milk sounds very healthy. Perhaps I should try it myself.”

That stopped him. He frowned and stared at her carefully, as if just seeing her. “Haven’t you been sleeping well, Julia?”

How could she, when the man of her dreams lay across a narrow hallway, all sensual flesh and dangerously heated blood? She colored even more, almost afraid she’d blurted the thought aloud. Relieved her unruly tongue had been silent for once, she replied, “The rout is tonight. I never sleep the night before a big event.”

His brow creased and he took another step closer. “There is no need for concern. I’m sure everything will go well. Lady Birlington won’t allow it otherwise.”

If she reached out her hand, her fingers would rest on the strong plane of his chest, now beckoning through his gaping shirt.

He clearly took her silence for doubt, for he repeated his assurance, “Truly, Julia—everything will be fine.”

“Of course.” Even to her own ears, her voice rang hollow and thin.

Alec rubbed his jaw, his hand rasping across his unshaven skin. Julia watched his hand, long-fingered and well formed, as it stroked his chin. The air thickened with a languorous heat. Unable to stay still, Julia worried the braids of her reticule until they were hopelessly twisted into knots. The very fact Alec would assist his servants in bathing Muck, even going so far as to chase the recalcitrant child, spoke volumes for her husband’s capacity for kindness. Despite Alec’s protestations otherwise, he possessed a generous nature.

It made her want to throw her arms around him and….

Forcibly stopping her runaway thoughts, she plastered what she hoped was a cool, friendly smile on her face. The last thing Alec wanted was any show of affection, however well intentioned. But propriety urged her to at least thank him for his endeavors. Giving up her efforts at untangling her fingers from the reticule, she raised her gaze to his. “You were a great help with Muck. Thank you.”

“It was no bother.” Alec raked a hand through his still wet hair, his fingertips parting the thick strands in a way that left Julia breathless. A drip of water ran down his cheek and he grinned. “Well, it was a bit of a bother.”

Julia nodded dumbly, realizing she must resemble a witless sheep. But no woman could have looked upon Devil Hunterston, drenched with bath water, and remain any more composed than she.

He suddenly chuckled, his eyes glinting silver. “Perhaps we should offer to train Muck as a footman for Burroughs. I think he’d like that, don’t you?”

Julia opened her mouth. To her horror, she heard herself murmur, “You are wonderful.”

He recoiled as if she’d struck him. “What?”

Embarrassment seared through her, but Julia forced a shrug. “You are wonderful, to help with Muck.”

His brow lowered. “Don’t make me into a saint. It’s a good thing I didn’t catch that brat this morning. I may not have used the brush on him, but I sure as hell would have boxed his ears.”

To Julia’s relief, Burroughs entered the foyer. “Breakfast is served,” he intoned.

The butler had regained his usual state of propriety, his hair combed, his cravat neatly tied. He turned to Alec. “I believe you have a meeting with the executors this morning, my lord.”

Alec glanced down at his sodden appearance. “I need to change. It wouldn’t do for the old windbags to see me like this.”

“Yes, my lord.” Burroughs bowed and withdrew.

“What do the executors want?” Julia asked.

“My thoughts exactly, love.”

Love. She knew he said the word without meaning, a flippant caress he gave without thinking, yet her heart danced with excitement.

“If I were to guess, they wish to reiterate the conditions of the will.” A bitter smile flickered for an instant before disappearing. “As though I need a reminder.”

Julia almost winced. Thanks to Muck, Alec had received plenty of unpleasant reminders of his wedded state. “Perhaps I should accompany you. It doesn’t seem fair you should have to face such curmudgeons alone.”

“I hardly think that necessary.”

“A pity. I’ve never met an executor before. It might be interesting.”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “They aren’t elephants, love. They are just a bunch of philanthropists with no appreciation for the finer things in life.”

Though his words were not directed at her, they stung nevertheless. Irked, she asked, “What do you mean by ‘finer things’?”

Alec regarded her with a spark of amusement. “I mean those things that bring pleasure.”

Her brow creased. “You mean happiness.”

“No. I mean pleasure. Physical pleasure.”

A delicious flood of pink swept her cheeks. “Oh,” she said. “That kind of pleasure.”

With her bonnet askew, gloved hands clutching her reticule for dear life, Julia could not have appeared more innocent. Or more delectable. For some reason, he felt an absurd need to strip away her primness, to rattle her composure beyond their kisses—kisses that tortured him more than she would ever know.

Alec’s control was thread thin and ready to snap at the smallest instance. Yet he could not stop dreaming of possessing her. He dreamed of her by night and burned for her by day. He took a step closer. “Tell me, Julia, what brings you pleasure?”

She stepped away until her back was against the newel post. Twisting the cords of her reticule nervously, she regarded him with a wary expression. “Well…I had a maraschino jelly at the Comptons’ ball once that was quite nice.”

Alec had to smile. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Her clear green gaze fastened on him, sending a hum of warmth through him. “My Aunt Lydia said you were a man devoted to empty pleasures, the kind no honest woman should know about.”

He wondered that she could make him laugh even as he burned with yearning. “I hate to tell you, love, but that wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“I didn’t think it was. Aunt Lydia never says anything nice unless she is speaking about Therese. Horrid woman, my aunt.”

It always amazed him how dispassionately she spoke. Amazed—and, he admitted, not a little challenged. There she stood, calm and self-possessed, a confirmed virgin with no stain on her conscience. Meanwhile he, a blackened sinner, felt as if he were tied in a thousand knots, a prisoner of his own unbridled lust. How many times had he halted outside her door, wondering what she would feel like, writhing beneath him, her long legs locked around his waist as he took her to the heights of passion?

The urge to punish her for the discomfort she’d caused welled within him and silenced the lonely voice of his conscience. Disregarding anything but his increasing desire, he closed the space between them until she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “Do you know pleasure, Julia? Real pleasure?”

She gave a jerky nod, regarding the stair behind him as if planning her escape. “I have if you count maraschino jelly.”

He reached out and captured one of her golden brown curls. The strands clung to the roughness of his hands like a silken net. “Pleasure is something far grander than maraschino jelly, love.”

“Oh.” Her mouth trembled ever so slightly.

Alec leaned forward until his mouth drifted a scant inch from hers. “Pleasure is so many things, Julia. A waltz on a balcony under the caress of the moon. The thrill of placing a bet you know will win.” His voice lowered. “The hint of mint in the air after a spring rain.”

“Mint…spring rain,” she repeated. Her tongue appeared between her lips, running across the sensual slope and leaving a fascinating trail of glistening wetness.

He brushed the back of his hand across her jaw, lingering on the curve of her neck. She swallowed, her graceful throat moving with the effort. As elegant as a swan, her every gesture resonated with economical beauty.

“There is more,” he said, lowering his voice to a husky whisper.

Her gaze fluttered upward. “I was afraid there would be.”

The sensual heat in her eyes whispered to him of dark pleasures. He wondered how she would taste today. All prim and sugary? Warm and soft, like innocence melted with desire? Or would she surprise him with heated passion so raw and overwhelming that it threatened to consume them both?

Heedless of his wet clothing, he pressed against her, allowing the evidence of his desire to rake along her hip. She gasped and he threaded his hand through her hair, holding her in place. Her scent wafted to him. “Pleasure, my sweet Julia, is the scent of lemons and cinnamon in a place you least expect it.”

Tension flowed between their bodies like the tide at full moon. The rapid pulse that beat in the delicate hollow of her neck told him she felt it, too—and fought the urge just as he did.

But why? Why fight such an attraction? Julia had denied him the physical release that would lessen his yearning. Perhaps she yearned as much as he. If he possessed any nobility of character whatsoever, he would do what he could to remedy both of their frustrations.

Pleased with his reasoning, he smiled and cupped his hand over the smooth cream of her cheek. Cool and silken under his fingers, her skin warmed. He whispered, “The highest form of pleasure makes your heart thrum so hard, you wonder if it will expire from too much feeling, too much sensation. It is more than a kiss.”

“More than a kiss? Heavens,” she said faintly.

Behind her spectacles, her eyes seemed unfocused, her breathing rapid and shallow.

Alec trailed his fingers along the line of her cheekbone just below the rim of her spectacles. “As you can see, maraschino jelly doesn’t even compare.”

She closed her eyes and shivered, swaying toward him. Her breasts brushed his chest through the opening in his shirt, and Alec gritted his teeth. He was taking this much too far. He knew it, yet could no more stop than he could capture the sun.

Julia clutched at the newel post with both of her hands, the hopelessly mangled reticule dangling between them. “You…you can stop now.”

The husky tones of unrelenting desire trembling in her voice pulled him closer. “No, I can’t,” he answered, slipping her spectacles from her nose. She didn’t protest, her eyes fixed on his with silent pleading.

“Julia, let me show you how delicious, how fulfilling passion can be. Please,” his voice slipped into a whisper, “come to my room.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her lips parting. “I—”

“Pardon me, yer lordship,” came Johnston’s strident voice.

Cheeks flooded with color, Julia clutched her reticule to her chest like a shield.

Alec clenched his teeth as waves of intense frustration pounded through him. He fixed a fiery gaze on Johnston. “What?”

The groom looked at the ceiling, his ears suspiciously red. “Burroughs said ye needed the carriage.”

Julia’s gaze lifted to Alec. Her eyes glowed an incredible green, the black center expanded to a velvet sea of lingering desire. She silently pleaded for things she could not possibly understand. A twinge of conscience nipped at him and he scowled. What was he doing? Kisses were one thing. Seduction was something else.

He turned to Johnston, guilt reducing his desire to a lonely ache. “Walk the horses until I have changed.”

The groom nodded and left.

Alec’s stomach knotted in frustration. He would gladly forgo breakfast this morning.

From upstairs came a wild screech, and Julia cast a relieved glance at the landing. “Mrs. Winston needs some assistance.” Before he could stop her, she darted past him, racing up the stairs as if hell hounds nipped at her heels.

Alec started to reach for her, but Mrs. Winston’s round face peering over the banister stayed him. He halted and scowled. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think his servants had set themselves up as Julia’s protectors. A ridiculous thought, knowing how devoted they were to his interests, but one he couldn’t quite remove.

He watched his wife ascend the stairs, her damp skirts clinging to her long legs with each step. His discomfort already beyond endurance, he remained where he was until she disappeared from the landing and into her room, the door closing with a soft thud.

Alec let out a breath and slumped against the railing. Julia had burst into his life, forced him to the life of a monk, then transformed into a siren right before his eyes. He wasn’t a man used to being denied and was even less used to denying himself. He raked a hand through his hair. He was faced with the most damnable dilemma: his wife, every dewy, innocent inch of her, responded to his caresses like an avowed wanton, and yet he was honor bound not to proceed beyond a simple kiss.

Had he any sense, he would cease demanding the daily kiss that had become sheer, agonizing torture. Alec stared up the stairs where his wife had just walked.

But he would not relinquish his right to claim her lips. Not yet.