Tall, Dark & Irresistible: The Rogue's Disgraced Lady. Carole Mortimer
to Juliet’s bedchamber earlier, to remove the pins from her hair before helping her into her night attire—the pale green silk and lace gown and robe that were all Juliet was wearing now, as she engaged in conversation with the disreputable Sebastian St Claire!
Sebastian could almost see the panic of thoughts rushing through Juliet’s head as she gathered her robe about her and prepared herself for flight. ‘I merely meant to point out that the door behind me leads into my bedchamber, and therefore I am standing upon my own balcony rather than yours.’
She hesitated. ‘Your own balcony …?’ Her gaze moved to the open doors behind him, before lowering to the space between them, her eyes widening as she obviously saw the low ironwork that separated the two balconies but was concealed amongst the potted plants placed either side of it. Her throat moved convulsively. ‘It appears that I owe you an apology, Lord St Claire.’
‘Do not be over-hasty with that apology,’ Sebastian drawled, before stepping lithely over the ironwork that separated them. ‘There. You see. An apology is no longer necessary.’ He gave an unrepentant grin as he now stood only inches away from her.
Juliet trembled slightly. Despite being married for so long, she had little experience upon which she might draw in order to deal with this man’s outrageous behaviour!
St Claire had stared at her so boldly, so familiarly earlier this evening, when she’d first entered the drawing-room on the Earl’s arm. After their introduction he had chosen to bandy words with her, before proceeding to flirt with her during dinner—until Juliet had made a sharp end to it.
Finding herself alone with him now—on the balcony of her bedchamber, the hour late, the moonlight shining overhead, wearing only her night attire—could be considered scandalous!
No, it was scandalous, Juliet recognised with a sinking feeling—and it was exactly the sort of behaviour the ton were so avidly seeking in order that they might condemn her all over again.
She put out a shaking hand. ‘You must return to your own balcony this instant!’ she ordered.
‘Must I?’
He was suddenly standing much too close to her. So close that Juliet could smell the freshness of his cologne and the faint aroma of cigars that clung to his clothing. Worse, his eyes, those warm, whisky-coloured eyes, were gleaming down at her in the moonlight as he easily captured and held her gaze.
Nevertheless, she must stand firm against all temptations … ‘Yes, you most certainly must!’ Juliet averred firmly.
He gave her a considering look. ‘Why?’
‘Because we cannot be seen here alone together like this!’ she gasped.
‘That is hardly likely, now, is it, Juliet?’ He gave a pointed look at their surroundings, to indicate that no candles glowed in the other bedchambers to show that any of the other guests had yet retired to their rooms for the night.
No doubt they were all still downstairs in the drawing room, Juliet surmised impatiently, discussing the scandal that the presence of the notorious Countess of Crestwood in their midst represented!
‘I have not given permission for you to address me by name.’ Her chin rose challengingly. ‘And I trust you are aware, Lord St Claire, of the reason the ton labelled me the Black Widow?’
Sebastian frowned slightly at the mention of that name once again, discovering that he took serious exception to it. ‘For the main part, I choose to ignore malicious gossip.’
The Countess arched dark brows. ‘And what if on this occasion it is not merely malicious? What if it is true?’
His gaze became fixed on those clear, unblinking green eyes as she continued to meet his gaze in challenge. ‘Is it?’ he asked quietly.
She gave a humourless laugh. ‘I have no intention of answering such a question!’
‘I am glad of it,’ he replied simply. ‘It really does not signify what I or anyone else believes about your husband’s death.’
‘It—does—not signify?’ she repeated incredulously, those green eyes now flashing angrily.
‘No,’ Sebastian reiterated, and he reached out to lightly clasp the tops of her arms and pull her slowly, purposefully towards him. ‘As I have absolutely no interest in becoming your second husband, it is doubtful you will ever have a reason for wanting me dead.’
He was wrong—because Juliet had never felt more capable of inflicting physical retribution upon another person in her life as she did at that moment! ‘There you are mistaken, Lord St Claire.’ She snapped her indignation as she attempted to pull away from him. ‘At this moment I can think of nothing I would enjoy more than to see you consigned to the devil, where you so obviously belong!’
He gave a husky laugh, refusing to release her despite her struggles. ‘You believe my past misdeeds are serious enough to send me to the pits of hell?’
‘You do not?’ Juliet gave him a scornful glance.
‘It is a possibility, I suppose,’ he conceded, after appearing to consider the matter closely. ‘Drunkenness. Gambling. Debauchery. Hmm, it does seem more than a possibility, does it not …?’
The lowering of his head towards hers slowly blocked out the moonlight overhead, and Juliet became very still as she stared up at him. ‘What are you doing?’ she breathed unsteadily.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘As you seem to believe I am going to the devil anyway, I cannot see that one more indiscretion is going to make the slightest difference to my hellish fate!’
‘You—’ Juliet had no more chance for protest as Sebastian St Claire’s mouth laid claim to hers.
That arrogantly mocking mouth, which never seemed far from a smile. That firm, experienced mouth. It parted Juliet’s lips to deepen the kiss even as he pulled her closer against his body, in order to mould her much softer curves to the hard contours of his muscled chest and thighs.
In the whole of her thirty years Juliet had never known any other man’s kisses but Edward’s. And they certainly hadn’t prepared her for the warm seductiveness of Sebastian St Claire’s lips as they parted hers, or for the way the tip of his tongue delicately moved in exploration against them before sweeping into the heat beneath as he deepened and lengthened the kiss.
Was this arousal? Juliet wondered, slightly dazedly.
There was an unaccustomed warmth between her thighs as his mouth continued to plunder and claim hers. Her breasts had firmed, and the nipples tingled achingly where they were pressed so firmly against his brocade waistcoat. His hands caressed the length of her back, the movement causing the tips of her breasts to stroke against his body, and Juliet groaned low in her throat at the sensation that this caused throughout her body.
What was happening to her? Juliet wondered wildly.
She had never experienced any of these sensations on those occasions when Edward had pushed her nightgown up to her chin before he thrust the hard thing between his legs painfully inside her, his member so long and thick that the first time he had taken her Juliet had actually fainted as Edward ripped through the barrier of her innocence.
It had been the same every time Edward had come to her bed—he took her in a cold, silent way—and Juliet had always had to fight to keep the tears from falling, knowing that her tears would only anger Edward into making her suffer even worse degradation.
So Juliet had suffered the pain as Edward had thrust himself between her thighs, eventually giving a grunt and collapsing heavily on top of her, rather than suffer the verbal and physical retribution that would rain down on her should she attempt to refuse him.
Thankfully Edward had not come to her bedchamber quite so often during the last few years of her marriage, but on the occasions when he had done so no amount of pleading on her part had succeeded in softening his demands. She was his wife, he had told her coldly, and