At Lady Birlington’s instigation, Julia had invited as many couples as she could squeeze into the small dining room at Hunterston House. The dinner began well enough, with the guests thoroughly impressed with each other, and satisfied to have been included in such a select gathering. Mrs. Winston conjured up a meal of unsurpassing quality which Burroughs served with an implacable dignity that added an air of formality rarely found outside Buckingham Palace.

While Burroughs served the soup, Desiree lightly tripped in and deposited the first course on the sideboard. Julia watched as the maid left to assist Mrs. Winston in the kitchen. Alec would eat his words before the night was through; Julia was becoming more convinced of it by the minute.

The first course proceeded well, the conversation flowing freely, Desiree performing her duties with flawless grace.

Baron Hewlett put down his spoon and sighed. “Best turtle soup I’ve ever had.”

“I must get the recipe,” Lady Chambers said.

“Of course.” Julia had always liked the quiet woman, though she thought Lord Chambers something of a simpleton.

Burroughs collected the soup bowls as the aging Duke of Devonshire nodded. “Excellent fare, my lady. Reminds of a dish I was served at the Pavilion, and….” He trailed into silence as Desiree reentered the room holding a steaming china bowl.

Julia frowned. “You were saying, Your Grace?”

He did not answer, merely stared at Desiree as she set down the dish and slipped from the room.

It was quite rude of the man, but Julia supposed she didn’t blame him. Desiree’s beauty was phenomenal.

The duchess leaned toward Julia. “You’ll have to forgive Devonshire. He was up past ten last night. Devastating to a man his age.” She cast a cold glare at her husband.

The duke caught her minatory gaze and started, tugging on his collar. “Ah, no. Yes, I mean, yes. Very tired today. Hardly hold my eyes open.” He leaned toward his wife and said urgently, “Perhaps we should leave.”

She lifted thin brows. “But we just arrived. You can sleep in the carriage on the way home.” As if that settled everything, the duchess returned to her meal. Left with a very red face, the duke began casting wild glances toward the door where Desiree had disappeared.

Julia watched him for a moment before sneaking a glance at Alec. He was staring at Devonshire with drawn brows, as if trying to figure out an especially confusing puzzle.

Desiree entered holding a large platter with a steaming goose. The fragrance wafted through the room, making Julia’s mouth water.

Lady Birlington’s fork clanked against her plate. “Good God! It looks like he’s having an apoplexy.”

Edmund turned to look at the duke, who was forking food into his mouth as fast as he could, his eyed fixed on his plate as if fearful someone would steal it.

“No, he don’t,” Edmund said. “Hungry, is all.”

“Not him, ninny.” Maddie gestured with her spoon. “Chambers over there.”

All eyes turned to Lord Chambers. Mouth open, fork suspended in midair, he stared at Desiree. His face shone a pasty white, his thin moustache standing out in dark relief against his pallor.

“Are you well, your lordship?” asked Julia, feeling her first real hint of alarm.

Lady Chambers leaned over and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Chambers, what on earth is the matter?”

He blinked, color flooding his pale face. “Nothing. Never better. Just…thinking, you know. Yes, thinking about the crimped cod.” He took a rapid mouthful and gulped. “Best I’ve ever had. What is this sauce, Lady Hunterston?”

“Rhenish Cream,” Julia replied, watching him uneasily. What was happening? Though she had known Desiree’s beauty would affect her guests, she had never expected anything like this.

Lady Birlington set down her wineglass. “Well, you may like it, but I think it is much too salty.”

A huge clatter arose from the sideboard as a large serving fork clanged to the floor. Desiree’s face turned beet red and she hurriedly bobbed a curtsey, casting an anguished glance at Julia. “Pardon, Your Gr—ladyship. It just slipped off the tray.”

“Oh…my…God.”

Everyone turned to Edmund. His face flushed, his eyes bulged, his mouth opened and closed. “You…she…good God, it can’t be…I mean, how could it be?”

The maid clapped her hands together. “Lord Valmont!” She held up her wrist and fingered a silver bangle. “Look, I still have the bracelet you gave me.”

Edmund’s gaze widened. “By Jove!”

Desiree looked at the bracelet and a slight frown marred her white brow. “It isn’t one of my favorites. I have to wear it over my sleeve so it won’t turn my arm green.” Her mouth pursed into an enchanting pout. “I was not happy you were trying to cheat me.”

If possible, Edmund’s face reddened even more. “Nonsense! Don’t know what you’re talking about! Never saw you before in my life.”

Lucien raised his quizzing glass to regard his friend. “Nip farthing to the end, eh, Edmund?”

“Demme, Luce!” Edmund whispered loudly. “I was cheated! I paid a guinea for that trinket.”

“What were you doing buying the gel a bracelet?” Lady Birlington’s brows arched in astonishment. “I’ve never heard of buying gifts for other people’s servants.”

Edmund gulped, casting a wild glance around the table. “Ahm, didn’t. Mean to say, wasn’t me. Just someone who looked like me.”

“With the same name? Impossible!” Lady Birlington scoffed.

Julia gave a breathless laugh. “Amazing, the people who look similar. I met a woman the other day who looked exactly like Princess Caroline.”

“Perhaps it was Princess Caroline,” Lucien suggested. He polished his quizzing glass with his napkin before turning it on Desiree. “She has the most annoying habit of showing up where she is least wanted.”

Lady Birlington frowned. “I don’t know about you, Edmund, but I would be very uncomfortable to think there was a person who looked like me. Especially if they were using my name and giving away shabby bracelets to people’s servants. There ought to be a law against such chicanery.”

“Oh, but your ladyship,” interjected Desiree, oblivious to Julia’s frantic signals, “I’m certain it was Lord Valmont.” She turned to Edmund. “I still have the poem you wrote, too.”

Lucien dropped his quizzing glass, letting it dangle on a ribbon from his waistcoat. “Edmund! Such unexpected depths.”

“Stop it, Luce,” hissed Edmund.

Julia wanted to crawl under the table. Nick’s evil intentions in placing Desiree in her path were suddenly painfully clear. Tossing caution to the winds, Julia cast an uncertain glance at Alec.

He met her gaze, his face dark and inscrutable. For one instant, she thought she saw a glint of triumph in his smoke gray eyes. The thought infuriated her.

Turning to Burroughs, she said with as much hauteur as she dared, “We are ready for the next course.”

The butler bowed. “Yes, my lady.” Without giving the maid time to do more than murmur a protest, he firmly led her from the room, leaving the guests in an uncomfortable silence.

Lady Chambers look a sip of wine. “I do so love a well-cooked goose.” She regarded her husband over the rim of her glass, a dangerous gleam in her eye. “Don’t you, Alfred?”

Color bloomed in his cheeks. “Ah, yes, m’dear,” he replied, setting his wineglass down so hard Julia was surprised it didn’t shatter.

Lady Birlington nodded. “You are to be commended on the meal, Julia. It’s a wonder Mrs. Winston can even cook in the tiny kitchen you have here.” She leaned toward Lady Hewlett. “I have tried to convince them to get a larger house, but they will not listen.”

“We are quite comfortable where we are,” Alec said, though he did not remove his gaze from Julia.

Julia fixed her attention on her plate and refused to look up. How was she to have known every man in the ton had such an appreciation for the theatre?

“It might be a comfortable house, but the rooms are not appropriately situated,” Lady Birlington said loudly, as if to cow Alec into submission by sheer zeal. “Lord Bentham wanted to paint Julia’s portrait here, but there’s no room. I finally told him to come to my house and do it there.”

Lady Chambers raised her brows. “Bentham is painting your portrait? How lovely.”

“He’s offered to donate it to the dowager’s charity ball next month,” Julia said brightly, hoping everyone had forgotten Desiree.

Alec offered no comment. Sitting at the end of the table, he appeared at his ease and relaxed. Too relaxed, as if he were already anticipating his victory. She remembered his words during their argument and heat flooded her cheeks. That he should make such demands was unconscionable. Worse, she had the distinct impression he expected her to fulfill them without protest.

Julia’s relief was beyond measure when the evening finally ended. Painfully sensible of Alec’s threat, she tarried in the vestibule until the last guest left, very aware of her husband’s presence. Lucien must have realized something was untoward, for he lingered, casting concerned glances at Julia. When Alec finally escorted his friend to the door, Julia tried to make her escape.

“Julia.”

She paused, one foot on the bottom step, and took a deep breath. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she turned. “That went well, didn’t it? But so tiring! Goodnight.” Julia placed her foot back on the step. To her surprise, he did not argue.

“Yes, it has been a long day.”

Julia breathed a sigh of relief and continued up the stairs. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she realized her error. He was following her—and much too closely.

With every step she took, his footfall echoed. She even fancied she could feel his knee brushing the back of her skirt. As she neared the top of the stairs, her bedroom door loomed in front of her. Julia felt like Joan of Arc facing her executioners, each second bringing her closer to her ultimate end.

Finally, she placed her foot on the top of the landing and distinctly felt Alec’s hand brush hers on the railing. She snatched it away, the touch burning up her arm. She had dreamed that one day Alec and she might share the intimacies of marriage, but not this way. Not as the result of an argument.

Stopping outside her bedroom door, she whirled and faced him, disconcerted to find him not even half a pace behind her. He was so close, she was forced to retreat until the doorknob pressed into the small of her back. “There’s no need to go any further. If you wish to yell at me, we might as well do it here.”

Alec lifted a hand and placed it on the door frame, his sleeve just brushing her hair. “I am not going to yell.”

“The veins in your forehead are bulging.”

He placed his other hand on the opposite side of the door frame until he had caged her within his muscular arms. “You can either open the door and enter of your own free accord, or I will pick you up and carry you.” His mouth lifted in a rakish grin that sent her heart tumbling. “But it will be one or the other, love.”

Julia wet her lips. “A-are you threatening violence?”

“I make no threats.” His breath stirred the hair at her temple. “Only promises.”

“How can you think…as if I would walk right into my room and lie down and…you cannot expect me to do such a thing.”

His silver gaze rested on her mouth for the longest time before he abruptly straightened from the door and crossed his arms. “I did and I do.”

It was ludicrous. Silly. Impossible. Julia crossed her arms and stared back. “I could not possibly do…that, without love.”

Alec’s mouth quirked in a devastating smile. “That, to many people, is love.”

She sniffed. “Not to me, it isn’t.”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten.” His face darkened. “You’ve been in love for four years with someone who hasn’t deigned to notice. How very noble.”

His sneer was more than she could bear. “That is none of your concern.”

For a second he appeared astounded, then his scowl returned in full force. His hands closed into fists as, with a fierce curse, he turned on his heel and stalked away, trampling across her heart in the process. Without a backward glance, he strode back down the steps into the study and slammed the door behind him.

Julia placed a hand across her mouth to still the desire to call after him. God knew she was no beauty, and never would be. But she had seen the unmistakable glimmer of desire in his gray gaze on more than one occasion. Like an idiot, she had dared to hope it might blossom into something more, given time and care.

But it was not to be. Shoulders slumped, Julia entered her own room and readied for bed, dressing by rote. Fighting tears, she pulled her nightrail over her head and sat at the dressing table, where she methodically twisted her hair into a heavy braid.

It was depressing to love a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word. And she had loved him since she’d first laid eyes on him, even though he’d been so far above her reach, she had never faced her own feelings. Now, seeing him every day, and discovering for herself that he could be kind, gentle, and so much more than he gave himself credit for, was pure torture.

She caught sight of her tear-blurred reflection and sniffed, gathering her resolve. “That’s enough of that,” she scolded the weakling in the mirror. “They don’t call him Devil Hunterston for nothing. He’s far from perfect.”

Tonight was an excellent example of his shortcomings. He’d bullied her, threatened her and practically forced himself into her room. If she dwelled long enough on the last one, she could almost remove the lingering hint of disappointment that he did not see fit to follow through.

Buoyed by the realization that, of the two, she was the infinitely superior in character, virtue, and eloquence, she climbed into bed. Julia then blew out her candle and whiled away the time waiting to fall asleep by categorizing all her rakehell husband’s faults.