"Beautiful Jewel," he murmured, watching her face, her tightly closed eyes, her cheekbones splashed with streaks of crimson, her lips parted and releasing short gasps of air.

The slick heat of her tight pa.s.sage made him wild with the desire to thrust deep into her. To feel her channel contracting and pulsing around him...

No! He nearly shouted it. Not now. Not until she asked for it, not until he knew for certain that she wanted him again.

Instead he stroked her, watching her tight features relax as she transformed with arousal. The firm press of his hand, the slide of his fingers through her heat, her mewling sounds, her thrashing body. The base of his spine was on fire with need. He ground his teeth, tangled his fingers in her hair, and fought it.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

He stroked Julia until her teeth clenched, her muscles grew stiff, and her limbs straightened. He kissed her, licked the sh.e.l.l of her ear and finally pushed his head into the pillow, using all his willpower to prevent himself from letting go and taking her. He felt her body, from toes to face, grow rigid. Then, with a throaty cry, she came, her body undulating in slow, deep pulses beneath him.

As soon as she began to flutter under his hand, he buried his face in her hair and held her tight against him as his own release surprised him. His body bowed with the force of it, and he came powerfully, his seed flowing onto her hip. His body shuddered with spasms, becoming open and vulnerable.

I love you, Julia, he thought as he slumped down beside her.

d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. He still couldn't say it.

He loved this woman. He would make her his, all his, no matter what it took. But how could he control whether she loved him back? How could he risk his pride if she didn't return his feelings?

How could he risk her leaving again, like she'd left him at the opera?

He took her into his arms and held her until her body relaxed and returned to slumber. Just as the morning glow began to edge past the boards nailed to the window, he went downstairs to wait for the inevitable.

Devlin sat stiffly in his breakfast room. Sunlight had somehow managed to pierce the fog and now cut through the opening in the curtains and glared across his chestnut table, blinding him. Whittle served him breakfast, but Devlin just moved the food around on the plate.

This morning, when Julia had looked at him after he'd made her come, the wariness had not disappeared from her eyes. She didn't trust him, would probably never trust him again. And he couldn't blame her.

His stomach compressed into a hard, tight ball. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, but it tasted bitter and scorched his throat. Stabbing a piece of ham, he rammed it into his mouth and moved his jaw. Chewing leather would be as satisfying.

Someone rapped on his front door.

He knew who it was-Julia's male companions from the previous evening, come to search for her, to demand her release, to save her. It had certainly taken them long enough. Clenching his fists on the table, he raised his head and met Whittle's questioning gaze.

"Open it," he growled. "And invite them in for coffee."

Whittle disappeared only to return moments later, leading the two men from the night before. Devlin looked at them more closely than he had last night. One was thin and of average height, the other stocky and short. Both were dressed quite well and, strangely enough, in matching fabrics.

He rose to greet them politely. Last night he'd been furious and out of control, but today he had Julia under his roof and he was feeling far calmer. Today, they'd see the disciplined, polite side of Sir Devlin Vaughn. "Good morning, gentlemen. Please take a seat. I'm sorry to say my cook isn't in residence at the moment, so all I can offer is coffee."

The men hovered at the door. Then the taller-a blond-haired chap-walked haltingly inside. "Where's Julia?" he asked, clearly trying to sound authoritative, yet his gaze flicked nervously around the room.

"She's upstairs." Devlin kept his voice mild, though the fact that this man called Julia by her first name rankled. "Sleeping."

The stocky man moved beside the blond-haired man, standing just a hair closer to him than would have been completely proper. "Bring her to us, sir, and we will be on our way."

Again, Devlin looked them over. They were well mannered and dressed like true London dandies, yet they didn't possess the demeanor of men he'd expect to engage in a menage a trois with a high-priced courtesan. Remembering that looks could deceive and knowing he had no reason in h.e.l.l to trust either of these fops, Devlin shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I have already contacted the constable," the blond man bl.u.s.tered. "You've kidnapped an innocent woman!"

Devlin sank back into his chair and patted his mouth with a napkin. "Not to worry, gentlemen. Now if you would be so kind as to tell me your names-"

"Not to worry that you kidnapped a harmless lady?" the swarthy fellow exclaimed. "We insist you return her to us. At once!"

Devlin held up a hand, covering the seething rage inside of him with poise-something he was well accustomed to doing when he faced people he distrusted or disliked. Still, he'd hardly ever come face-to-face with two men he disliked more than these two, if only because they had touched Julia, and they had planned to...

No. He couldn't think about that right now. He spoke calmly. "Let us speak like civilized human beings. First of all, I should like to know your names. Second, I would like to know details of your connection with my...with Miss Beaumont."

The blond gritted his teeth, still refusing to take the proffered seat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he snapped out, "I am Algernon Ayers. Julia is my cousin and my dearest friend. This is my business partner, Thomas Jones."

Dev's mouth dropped open in shock, but Ayers continued, "We were escorting her home last night when you so...so villainously abducted her."

Dev stared at them for a long moment. Then slumped deeper into his chair, pushing his hand through his hair, unable to hide his relief. "Julia's cousin? I thought...I thought..."

One thing was for certain-he was the world's biggest a.s.s.

"Listen," Ayers said, stepping closer, "I don't care a jot what you thought. All I want is my cousin back, safe and sound. I will do whatever it takes to ensure her safety."

Devlin gazed up at the man, impressed by this show of loyalty. He remembered Julia talking fondly about a cousin who'd gone into trade despite her haughty uncle's objections. Was this the man she spoke of with such admiration?

He narrowed his eyes at Ayers and took a leap of faith. "Even sacrifice her happiness?"

"What do you mean by that?" Ayers snapped.

"Julia is safe and sound with me. She wants to be here." The first sentence was the honest truth. The second sentence...well, Devlin hoped it would be true someday.

"Do you truly expect us to believe that after the show you put on last night?" Jones said in an angry voice.

"I was incensed," Devlin said with a shrug. "You would be, too, in my position."

Ayers folded his arms over his chest and raised a brow. "In your position?"

Devlin glanced from one of the men to the other. If his interpretation was correct, these two were lovers. Amazing he hadn't seen it last night. But then, his focus had been entirely upon Julia.

"Yes," he said slowly. "What would you do if your paramour went to the Continent and you heard rumors of her taking every Englishman more rich and more powerful than yourself to bed?"

Ayers spoke through pursed lips. "I would verify whether those rumors were true before jumping to conclusions."

Devlin leapt up so quickly that both men stepped backward. "Are you saying I imagined what I saw? I saw her with Clayton. I saw her turn her back on me, take his arm, and climb into his carriage."

Ayers flushed. "That might be true, but how could you make any a.s.sumptions about her relationship with that man? How do you know she didn't view him as a mere friend?"

Dev gave a disbelieving snort. "I know Clayton," he spat. "Everyone in London knows Clayton. He's a debauched lecher."

Ayers was so angry now, it seemed he had forgotten his nerves. "Was Julia aware of that? How could she be? Did you tell her? Did anyone? How could you possibly know what happened once she arrived on the Continent? She was a sheltered, inexperienced, innocent girl, and Clayton followed her, leading her to believe he was a friend. He tricked her, then he attempted to rape her. She escaped, barely, then struggled to find odd jobs to stay alive until I found her living in a hovel in a Paris alley and brought her home."

Devlin was struck speechless. He stared at Ayers as the truth of his words filtered in through the tumult in his brain.

"Oh G.o.d." He sank back into the chair, weighted down by the guilt, thinking of all he'd said and done to Julia in the past several hours. "Oh G.o.d."

But Ayers wasn't finished. He stepped forward again and placed his hands flat on the breakfast table, his blue eyes feverishly bright. "I know all about you, Vaughn. Julia is more than a cousin to me, more than even a sister. She loved you, and you betrayed her." He stabbed his finger at Devlin's chest. "You ruined her life. You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I would call you out if I weren't sensible enough to know it would be the end of me. I promised Julia last night that I wouldn't go to the authorities, but if you do not hand her over to me right now, I will call every constable in London to your door."

The truth wound Devlin's jealous rage into knots of tension in his shoulders, neck, and stomach. And his heart, which he had thought shredded and in pieces, now hung dully in his chest like a dead weight, almost too heavy to bear.

He was a brute, a mindless cur. He didn't deserve her. She would never forgive him for what he had done.

"I'll go find her," Jones said, turning toward the door.

Devlin raised a hand. "Wait." His voice sounded like it was sc.r.a.ping over broken gla.s.s. "Don't go. I have to...to explain."

Jones shook his head. "I can't see what you could possibly explain. You've ruined a young woman. We are attempting to help her create a decent life for herself, and yet you seem determined to destroy it again."

"No," Devlin said, his voice barely a whisper. "No."

"What, then?"

"I want to do right by her." The moment of truth had arrived. The first true step in his repentance, the first step in proving himself to Julia. "I...need her."

Both men stared at him with suspicious eyes.

"I need her," he told them, "and I am...I am in love with her."

And then, as the two dandies tried to stare him down, he told them just what, exactly, he planned to do with Miss Julia Beaumont.

Dim light filtered through the cracks in the planks covering the window when Julia awoke to the sound of a key rattling in the lock. She crouched among the cashmere pillows, poised to sprint, but the door cracked open just enough for a plate of eggs, ham, and toast and a steaming cup to appear on the carpet before it shut and she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place once again.

She lay back in the bed, remembering how Dev had come to her early this morning. He'd teased her into a climax so powerful she'd nearly fainted. Indeed, she seemed to have lost consciousness soon afterward...or perhaps the intensity of the release had simply left her exhausted.

Did he truly plan to keep her here, coming in to allay his l.u.s.t-or hers, she supposed-whenever the mood struck? For how long would he continue doing this? And above all, why would he keep her by force when he could surely find a more beautiful and more willing mistress? Or was it "bed slave"?

Julia sighed deeply. She didn't even know what she was to him anymore. All she knew was that those were roles she couldn't accept. So why had she been so pa.s.sive this morning, so accepting?

He had apologized, she remembered. She'd never before heard him apologize to anyone about anything.

Still, he was keeping her locked in a room against her will. And she wouldn't just lie here pa.s.sively and accept that.

Clambering out of the high bed, she dressed quickly, took the cup of coffee in hand, and searched the room, checking every nook and cranny in hopes of finding something to aid in her escape. Pausing at the window, the most obvious portal out of this prison, she studied the planks of wood covering the gla.s.s. Someone had nailed them to the windowsill, but if she could yank one of them out, she might be able to use it as a makeshift crowbar on the others.

She ran her fingers along the edges of each plank and tried to pull the nails free from the sill. The fourth plank wobbled when she pulled it and seemed to give a bit when she tugged it harder. Encouraged, she set her coffee cup on the table, grabbed the plank with both hands, propped one foot against the wall for leverage, and yanked with all her might. It gave a little more. She repeated the process until, with a loud screech, one side of the board came free and a shaft of muted sunlight streamed into the room.

Squinting, she pulled on the edge of the board and looked out. The sun shone brightly on a vast carpet of ice-encrusted gra.s.s that spread from beneath her window. Latticed beams ran along this side of the house, supporting the thick branches of what appeared to be an enormous dormant climbing rose. If she could get through the window, she could easily climb down the trellis.

She craned her neck to look farther. A circular drive curved toward the front door, but at this angle, she could not see its end. But then she heard a faint clatter and a slam and a few moments later, she saw a familiar carriage pull away from the house and head toward the street.

Julia's skin p.r.i.c.kled. Algernon and Thomas! They were leaving! Why would they leave without her?

"Help! Help! Please help me!" she screamed, pounding on the windowpane. But the carriage rattled along, its driver and occupants oblivious to her cries, and pa.s.sed through Devlin's wrought-iron gates, turning onto the street just beyond.

She rested her forehead on the sill, heaving great, panicked breaths. If she'd thought Algernon and Thomas would come to rescue her, she'd just been proven wrong.

She had to get away.

With a desperate yank, she tore the plank off the window.

Chapter Four.

The sun hung low on the horizon when Julia heard the key turning in the lock again. She had planned for this eventuality and placed each board carefully back into position after she'd torn it from the wall. The planks hung loosely from the nails she had pulled out. She would have to keep Dev away from there-if he touched any of the boards, they'd fall. She'd only succeeded in getting three of the blasted things off, and her fingers were red and full of splinters, but she thought one more would be enough to allow her to open the double-hung window and squeeze her body through.

The door latch clicked, and she hurried to the center of the room, smoothing her skirts with stinging hands.

Dev came in, swept a dark, smoky gaze over her body that made her tremble from her crown to her toes, and held out his hand. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

He gave her a look which, if she had not known better, she might have called contrite. "To my bedchamber. I have drawn a bath for you. You must feel...soiled, after the...after everything."

What accounted for his new demeanor? She frowned at him. "Did my companions come for me?"

He dropped his hand. "They did."

"Where are they? What lies did you tell them?"

A muscle worked in his jaw. "They went away."

She felt that desperate, welling panic again. "But they wouldn't just leave me here! What did you tell them, Dev?"

"I made them a promise."

"A promise? What kind of a promise? And how could they possibly believe you?"

"I convinced them I was sincere."

Sincere? She shook her head at him, confused.

For the briefest moment, uncertainty skittered across his face. Then he raked his hand through his dark hair and held it out to her again. "Come with me, Julia."

She didn't have a choice. She brushed past him, ignoring the proffered hand, and marched toward his bedchamber. She knew where it was.

His suite of rooms was more familiar than her little prison-she'd been here exactly twice before, both times at Devlin's request. The connecting chambers smelled of him, of sandalwood and musky male, and she could not resist flicking her gaze past the furnishings upholstered in silver and black damask to his bed, where they had lain together on those two afternoons, laughing and talking and making love.