His face pinched with disapproval, Chilton replaced the stack of neatly starched cravats in the wardrobe. “Someone has applied too much starch to the linens.” He shot a telling glance at Alec. “Of course, considering everything Mrs. Winston has had to deal with, it is hardly surprising to see such an error occur.”

Alec continued to tie his cravat. He had enough on his mind without worrying about Chilton’s tendency toward high drama.

Julia had been noticeably cool to him following their argument, not speaking a word the entire way to Almack’s and studiously avoiding his presence in the days that followed. It had been almost a week now, and still his stubborn wife showed no signs of relenting.

He was not surprised; Julia was a strong, independent woman and it must be galling to admit defeat. He placed a sapphire pin in the folds of his cravat and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Julia might be able to maintain a frosty silence for an entire week, but she could not control her response to his touch.

Of course, he’d made a point of making each kiss the zenith of seduction, pushing both his control and her passion to the pinnacle of pleasure and frustration. Perhaps today he would see if he could move past a mere kiss. Perhaps today, he would discover how much of her anger he could fan into the hot blaze of passion. Humming softly, he buttoned his waistcoat.

Chilton shut the wardrobe with a sharp snap. “My lord, I must say something. The entire household is in an uproar and it is unbearable. Things simply cannot continue, or I….” He stopped, unable to continue, his mouth quivering with emotion.

“Are you threatening to leave, Chilton?”

“No, my lord! I would never leave your employ.” The valet waited a telling moment before adding, “Regardless of the number of vulgar persons allowed into your house.”

Alec offered no comment. He shrugged into the coat the valet held ready and then smoothed the sleeves, waiting.

After an apparent struggle, Chilton burst out, “It is the new maid, sir. Lady Hunterston brought her yesterday afternoon and she is unfit. Something must be done.”

Ah, Julia’s homely maid had arrived and offended Chilton’s delicate sensibilities. For some reason, the thought amused Alec. Just to goad the stuffy valet further, he remarked, “Lady Hunterston mentioned her. Taking thing, isn’t she?”

Chilton met his gaze reproachfully. “I would venture to suggest many would find her so. However, her conduct makes one question—” He broke off, his long nose quivering in outrage.

Alarm raised the fine hair on the back of Alec’s neck. Julia had promised that the maid was not one of the Society’s misfits, and yet…. Frowning, he dismissed the valet as soon as he was able, and went in search of Julia.

She was nowhere to be found on the upper floor, so he proceeded to the front drawing room. There he stopped short. A female attired in the strict black uniform of a maid stood on a small stool, watching out the window.

“Pardon me,” he said.

She started and turned, regarding him with wide blue eyes. Alec stepped backward as if someone had just thrown him a leveler. Far from the homely creature he had imagined, the new maid was a vision of female loveliness. Shining ringlets of dusky black framed a heart-shaped face while the stark lines of her uniform emphasized her enchanting figure.

As guileless as a lamb, the beauty fluttered long, thick lashes and obligingly climbed off her perch. “You must be the viscount.”

“And I suppose you are the new maid,” he said, hoping against all hope he was wrong.

She favored him with a blinding smile, enchanting dimples appearing in each cheek. “I am so thankful Lady Hunterston found me.” She clasped her hands together, the dozen bracelets adorning her slim wrists jangling noisily.

He raised his brows at the sparkling array. Silver and gold, some set with costly gemstones, they bedazzled the eye and gleamed against her sober uniform. “Where did you come from?”

“The Lowdry Theatre, off Fleet Street.” Her innocent gaze fastened on him, wide and unblinking. “I was an actress, you know.”

“Is that the new euphemism?” he asked dryly. “Actress?”

The maid’s white hand flew over her mouth. “Oh! Lady Hunterston said I was never to speak of that again.” She frowned, her pretty mouth curling down at the corners. “But I do think it is a pity. Mr. Bibbs, the theatre manager, said I was on my way to becoming his most popular attraction.”

Things were becoming clearer by the minute. “Pardon me, Miss…?”

“L’Amour. Desiree L’Amour.”

Lovely. A soiled dove with a name to match. “Miss…er, L’Amour, how did Lady Hunterston meet you?”

“She came to my room after a performance. I lived over the theatre, you know.” A frown marred the perfection of her brow. “Well, it wasn’t really over the theatre, more behind it.”

Alec could see it clearly—a whore’s squalid room in a filthy back alley, the stench of sin wafting through the air, and Julia, girded for battle, come to save the day. God, was there ever to be an end to his wife’s antics?

The maid must have mistaken his appalled silence for interest, for she smiled and jangled her trinkets. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She lifted her arm so the collection showed to advantage in the waning sun. “I love London. The gentlemen give me such handsome things.”

“Do they?” Alec asked grimly.

Her smile melted into a frown. “All except one. He gave me a bracelet that turned green after only a week.” Desiree tossed her glossy ringlets. “I refused to speak with him after that.”

“I’m sure that was wise.”

“I cannot afford to be cheated. I am very poor, you know,” she confessed with artless candor. “It is the most dreadful thing.”

Nonplussed, all he could do was murmur an agreement.

She fingered a gold bracelet that reflected a bevy of dancing lights across the carpet. “I would dearly love to have a real diamond bracelet. Lady Hunterston says I may have one if I work hard.”

“Did she indeed?” He had underestimated his wife for the last time. There simply were no bounds to her audacity.

“Oh, yes. And as soon as I have enough money, I am going to purchase my own cottage, too. I had thought to earn my way on stage, but it was frightfully uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable” was hardly the word he would have chosen.

Desiree heaved a regretful sigh that pressed her plump bosom against her modest bodice. “I did get to wear the loveliest costumes, though. I do wish you had seen the silver dress I wore in the last play.”

Alec regretted a lot of things, but seeing his maid perform on the open stage in a silver dress was not one of them. He’d reluctantly allowed the reprehensible Muck into his household, but this—a woman of sullied character—was beyond the acceptable. Alec couldn’t wait to get his hands around his wife’s slender, entirely too busy, neck.

Just then, the object of his ruminations breezed into the room amid a rustle of blue silk. Her gaze fixed immediately on the maid.

“There you are, Desiree! I’ve been looking all over for you. The guests will be arriving any minute and Mrs. Winston needs you in the kitchen. We’ve no cook, you know. You’ll have to help where you can.”

Desiree nodded, then blushed, sinking into a deep curtsey. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Julia waved an airy hand. “No, no, no. That’s for the Dowager Duchess of Roth. For me, it’s just ‘my lady.’ And you don’t have to call me that if no one is about.”

The maid’s face puckered, tears threatening. “I do hope I don’t ruin your dinner party. I was just telling His Grace—” She clapped a dimpled hand over her mouth. “Oops, I should say ‘my lord.’”

Julia turned a startled glance in his direction. “Alec! What are you doing hiding behind the settee?”

To his fury, he felt a flush lift up his face. He hurriedly stepped from behind the settee. “Nothing! I was conversing with Miss L’Amour. She was telling me of her adventures on stage.”

Telltale color stained Julia’s cheeks. “I was hoping to have a word with you about that, but what with the dinner party and attending Almack’s, and…I forgot.”

“Yes, you did.” Alec waited for Julia to reply, but she was much too busy herding the girl from the room.

“Go on, Desiree. Tell Mrs. Winston to let me know if she needs anything else.” Julia shut the door behind the maid before turning to him. “We have a paltry ten courses for dinner, but Lord Fallington had only eight and no one said a thing. Besides, the turtle soup is excellent, and Mrs. Winston has made—”

“Sit down.”

“There’s no need to grump, Alec. I am perfectly willing to discuss this with you.” Julia glanced at the clock as she slipped into a chair near the door. “But you will have to hurry. The guests will arrive any minute.”

“They can wait.” He crossed his arms and faced her sternly. “I thought you agreed to give up this preposterous idea of employing the Society’s Haymarket ware as respectable servants.”

“I did not ‘agree’ to anything. We simply ceased discussing it. Besides, Desiree is not from the Society.” Her smile was plainly condescending. “So you needn’t sulk.”

“Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Julia. That woman is a prostitute and little else.”

Julia’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “Desiree is not a prostitute. She is a young girl, hardly more than seventeen, and in the worst fix. I had to do something.”

It galled that she would risk everything, including his wrath, for a woman ripe from the gutters. The injustice rankled like a hot coal. “That does it: there will be no more visits to Whitechapel. You are entirely out of hand.”

“Nonsense,” she returned, adjusting the blue silk so that it pooled about her feet. “Mrs. Winston and I have complete faith that everything will go smoothly. You’ll see.”

“I’ve seen enough.” He glared. “I thought you said she was homely?”

Julia raised her brows. “I said that she had been persecuted for her appearance. It’s not my fault if you assumed that meant she had missing teeth and a sad tendency to freckle.”

The fact that he’d pictured just that made him even angrier. “If she was in such a fix, why didn’t you just pack her up and send her to the country?”

“She won’t accept charity. She wants to make enough money to buy her own cottage—a very commendable goal, I might add. Besides, there was precious little time. Someone was casting out very strong lures to the child and I had to remove her as quickly as possible.”

“Who could blame them? Your protégée couldn’t wait to thrust those bangles under my nose.”

“Exactly my point,” she replied, all cool hauteur. “All it would take is one gentleman with a modicum of address and a pretty bauble and Desiree would have been lost before she even knew what happened. She hasn’t the sense to open up an umbrella in the rain. And that, dear sir, is why I was forced to take action.”

“Damn it, Julia,” he burst out, raking a hand through his hair. “You cannot single-handedly help every urchin and guileless child in London!”

“I can try,” she returned, pressing her hands together so he would not see them shake. She would not apologize for helping others. Her heart had ached to see the shabby room Desiree had occupied, reminding Julia all too well of her own damp lodgings the year after her father had died. “I did what I must and there is no more to be said.”

A different type of heat warmed his eyes as he placed his hands on the arms of her chair and bent to face her, his mouth within inches of hers. “If anything goes awry, you will pay the price. And this time, I will not settle for mere kisses.”

Julia swallowed hard and stared at the winking sapphire nestled in his cravat. How could he call those incredible, drugging, sensual onslaughts “mere” anything?

He leaned closer until his breath warmed her cheek. “If our distinguished guests suspect your protégée of being anything other than an innocent kitchen maid, you will pay dearly indeed.”

Unable to answer, she gave a jerky nod.

“You will resign from the Society and come willingly to my bed. I want it all, Julia.” His voice softened into a husky invitation. “Every delectable inch.”

She would not have thought it possible, but he was even more handsome up close, his dark hair falling across his brow, begging to be straightened, his eyes shimmering with passion and anger. Julia’s instinct was to retreat, but she was already leaning as far back in her chair as she could.

There was nothing for it but to pretend she wasn’t in the least affected by his nearness. Yet her smile trembled. “Desiree will do well. Mrs. Winston and I have worked with her extensively these past two days. No one will suspect a thing.”

Alec ran a finger down her cheek, sending a ball of fire along her spine and through her lower limbs. “You had better hope they don’t, love.”

God save her from unprincipled rakes. Her insides had long since melted, her hands were damp, her heart fluttered like a caged butterfly. At any moment she would burst into flames, consumed by the fires of her own passion until nothing was left but a pile of ashes.

The thought of that lonely pile of ashes made her unaccountably angry, and she managed an admirable glare. “You have no right to make such demands.”

“Don’t I?” A muscle in his jaw clenched and he spoke in the stiff, cold tones of a stranger. “The only request my grandfather ever made of me was to protect the fortune from Nick’s clutches. We set a bargain, you and I. If I am to abide by your rules, then you will abide by mine.”

A lump rose to stick in Julia’s throat. “Your grandfather would have understood my intentions. Lady Birlington said he was quite generous and sponsored many charity efforts.”

Alec straightened abruptly, pushing himself away from the chair to tower over her. “Is that all you ever think about, your blasted charity work?”

“It was my parents’ dream.”

“And you? What do you dream about, Julia?”

If only he knew. “It is my dream, too.”

“My dreams are not so noble as yours.” He spoke more quietly now, his voice sifting through the silence like the brush of velvet on bared skin. “But each of us must fight his inclinations. I have relinquished my mistress; what have you given up?”

A hot flood of jealousy made her stiffen. Was that what he wanted? The right to return to his mistress? Before she could form her answer, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Cursing under his breath, Alec turned away as Burroughs entered the room. “Pardon me, my lord, but the Dowager Duchess of Roth and her niece have just arrived and are waiting in the front parlor.”

“We will be there immediately,” Alec answered shortly. Burroughs bowed and retreated, shutting the door behind him.

Julia struggled with a welter of emotions—fury at Alec’s arrogance, hurt at his lack of faith, and a strange thrill of excitement. She told herself she didn’t want his attentions, that she didn’t crave his touch, but the truth was, she had dreamed of nothing else since the first time she’d seen him almost four years ago. Dangerously handsome and forbidden, he had strolled into the Seftons’ ballroom and stolen her heart before she’d realized it. But that did not alter the cold, unpleasant truth: Alec did not love her.

Pride made her stand and meet his gaze with a stubborn scowl. “You needn’t worry that I will jeopardize anything. After all, half the money is mine and I would be a fool to let it slip away.”

His smile sliced her heart with its coldness. “Ah, yes, the money. Perhaps that is what you dream of as you lie in your cold, lonely bed.” His mouth curled unpleasantly. “If you are desperate, there are other ways to secure the fortune. The executors have made it clear that they will immediately award the funds if I get you with child. The thought is very tempting.” His gaze slid over her possessively. “Very tempting indeed.”

A child? She hadn’t even considered that. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a little boy with Alec’s gray eyes…. What was she thinking? Her husband was telling her he had decided to bed her, not for love, but to meet the approval of a group of men he freely castigated as doddering old fools! Well, he could just find another wife. “I will not bring a child into this world without love.”

“What do you know of love?”

Before she could stop herself, she answered, “I’ve known it these past four years.”

A blaze of fury raged across his face. “Who?”

Afraid he’d read the answer on her face, Julia spun on her heel and walked to the door. “Our guests are waiting.”

His hand closed about her arm and he yanked her against him. “Who is it?”

Julia pulled free and met him stare for stare. “Does it matter?”

For a long second he glowered, then he dropped his hold and turned away as if the sight of her disgusted him. Without a word, he crossed to the window and stood with one arm against the frame, his back to her, his head lowered.

Julia struggled to hold back the tears of anger that threatened to spill. Why did she let him affect her so? He was proud, arrogant, and selfish beyond thought. She no longer worshipped Alec from afar. She knew his weaknesses and faults, yet despite them all, she loved him even more than she’d ever thought possible. For his sake as well as her own, she could not allow him to get any closer to her heart than he was now.

Stiffening her resolve, Julia swept from the room. Come heaven or hell, she would see to it that everything went perfectly this evening. The entire house gleamed—the woodwork polished to a new luster, the china ornaments well dusted, and the carpets beaten until they looked new. Already the mouth-watering smell of dinner wafted through the house, evidence of Mrs. Winston’s culinary mastery. Buoyed by the scent, Julia gathered her scattered emotions and went to greet their guests.

Everything rested on Desiree’s small rounded shoulders. Somehow the thought did not bring Julia any comfort.