Tall, Dark & Irresistible: The Rogue's Disgraced Lady. Carole Mortimer
and Sebastian had still been hiding in the shadows.
An occurrence which had caused Sebastian to take a firm clasp of Juliet’s hand before pulling her down the steps into the garden, to stride around to the side of the house.
And all that time Juliet had clutched at the front of her unbuttoned gown in an effort to stop it sliding completely from her body, her mood one of horror as she imagined what a pretty sight she would look, with her gown about her ankles and wearing no more than her chemise and her stockings!
Luckily that had not happened, and the two of them had been able to find access to the house through one of the servant doors. They had then proceeded to sneak through the house and up the back staircase to Juliet’s bedchamber. Much like two thieves in the night!
Juliet knew she had never behaved in such an undignified manner in the whole of her thirty years. And as for finding the situation amusing, as Sebastian St Claire so obviously did …!
‘Can you not imagine it, my dear Juliet?’ he prompted with an irrepressible smile. ‘The Duke’s jowls a-wobbling and the Duchess opening and shutting her mouth like a fish!’ He went off into another bout of laughter.
Juliet could imagine it—she would just rather not. What had happened this evening—especially her own behaviour—was no laughing matter. ‘Do you ever take anything seriously, My Lord?’ she murmured critically.
He sobered immediately. ‘Of course I do. Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends.’
Family. Honour. Loyalty to friends. They were indeed fine sentiments.
They did not signify where Juliet was concerned, however. She was neither friend nor family to Sebastian St Claire. As for honour—Juliet’s own honour was in shreds!
‘I think it better if you leave now.’ She spoke softly, avoiding so much as looking at him as she rearranged her perfume bottles on the dressing table. ‘This evening was—’
‘I trust you are not going to say regrettable?’ Sebastian cut in sternly.
Regrettable? Of course Juliet regretted it! Her only consolation was that it had not been the complete success Sebastian had hoped for. ‘I was about to express my doubts that this evening’s little adventure would be enough to win the wager for you!’ she said scornfully.
‘What wager?’ He frowned down at her.
‘Oh, come, My Lord.’ Juliet gave a disdainful grimace. ‘It is common knowledge that young gentlemen such as yourself enjoy certain wagers at their clubs. Escapades like curricle races to Brighton at midnight? Or the seduction of a certain woman …?’
Sebastian winced at the accusation. It was true that many such wagers took place in private—at least he had thought it was in private!—at the gentlemen’s clubs. It was also true that a year or so ago Sebastian had entered into such a wager himself, concerning another Countess. Although he very much doubted that was the wager Juliet referred to …
‘To my knowledge there is no such wager in existence where you are concerned,’ he denied. ‘And what do you mean by a man such as I …?’ he grated.
Juliet gave him a pitying look. ‘You are nothing but a rake, sir. A scoundrel. Indeed, a privileged fop, who meanders his way through life, imbibing too much alcohol, seducing women and laughing at anything or anyone who does not share those excesses!’
As set-downs went, this was certainly the harshest that Sebastian had ever received. In fact, it was the first of its kind that he had ever received!
He was a St Claire. The youngest brother of the Duke of Stourbridge. As such, he was untouchable—both in word and deed.
Except Juliet Boyd’s opinion of him had touched him in a way he did not care to dwell upon. Perhaps because he suspected that essentially she had only spoken the truth …? He had made such wagers as those she had accused him. He was also a rake, and often behaved the scoundrel. And, as his two older brothers were so fond of telling him, his profligate lifestyle left much to be desired.
But he was the youngest son of a Duke, damn it, and had been left his own estate in Berkshire and a veritable fortune to support it and himself on the death of his parents more than eleven years ago. More wealth than even Sebastian could run through in a dozen lifetimes.
What choices did a third son have but the church— for which he had no inclination!—or to live the life of a profligate?
Sebastian’s intention, his interest in Juliet Boyd, had been no more than the light-hearted seduction of a woman who had so far proved elusive to all men but her husband. He had certainly not expected to have his very lifestyle brought into question by that lady.
He gave a stiff bow. ‘Once again, let me assure you that I know of no such wager where you are concerned, Lady Boyd. I apologise if I have offended you with my unwanted attentions. I assure you that it will not happen again.’ He turned abruptly to cross the room and open the door before stepping out into the hallway.
Juliet felt as if her chest were being squeezed, making breathing difficult and speech impossible, as she watched him leave her bedchamber. The grimness of his countenance had erased all evidence of his usual handsome good humour, making him instead every inch the aristocrat he was.
Juliet remained standing in the middle of the bedchamber as the door closed behind him with a loud click of finality. At which time Juliet ceased even trying to maintain her dignity and instead collapsed weakly onto the bed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as tears fell hotly down her cheeks.
It really did not signify whether or not a wager concerning her seduction did or did not exist when her own behaviour this evening had been so shocking. Scandalous, even. The sort of behaviour that only a woman of loose morals could possibly have enjoyed. Women of breeding, of decency, did not—should not— feel physical pleasure in the way that she had earlier, when Sebastian had caressed and touched her in such an intimate way.
‘It would appear, Sebastian, that you have been scowling at my other guests in such a way as to cause them to completely lose their appetites!’
The darkness of Sebastian’s scowl did not lessen in the slightest as he turned to look at Dolly as she entered the dining room to sit down beside him at the breakfast table. A deserted breakfast table apart from the two of them, he now noticed. Although he seemed to recall there had been several other people present when he’d entered the room ten minutes or so ago …
He grimaced. ‘I doubt it will hurt some of them to miss a meal or two.’
‘True,’ Dolly acknowledged with an amused laugh.
Sebastian gave up even the pretence of eating his own breakfast and leant back in his chair. ‘Dolly, I am thinking of taking my leave later this morning—’
‘You cannot!’ Dolly looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘I really cannot allow you to even think of doing such a thing, Sebastian,’ she continued lightly. ‘You will quite put out the even number of my guests. Besides, we are to have a ball tomorrow evening, and I am sure you would not want to deny the daughters of the local gentry the opportunity to see and perhaps dance with the eligible Lord Sebastian St Claire!’
Sebastian did not return her teasing smile. ‘I am sure they would be all the better for being denied it!’
‘What is wrong, Sebastian?’ Dolly looked at him in genuine concern as he stared down grimly into his teacup. ‘You do not seem at all your usual cheerful self this morning.’ She gave him an encouraging smile.
‘You mean, my usual privileged and foppish self? Given to excesses and licentious behaviour?’ Sebastian didn’t attempt to hide his displeasure concerning Juliet’s opinion of his character.
Dolly looked taken aback. ‘What on earth do you mean, Sebastian?’
He grimaced in self-disgust. ‘The description is entirely fitting—do you not agree, Dolly?’
Sebastian