"You and three of your friends pinned her against the wall by Tarleton's Fishery. You ripped her bodice open and jeered at her because she is no longer beautiful. A shrunken cat, you called her, because she is skin and bones and can barely eat because of the pain you caused her."
"What the devil? Is that what that bitch told you?"
"One of my other ladies came upon Elise afterward, found her cowering in that corner, holding her bodice together, sobbing."
"Isn't it possible she tempted some sailor and he got too rough?" Darlington sneered. "She is a whore. Once a whore, forever a whore."
"I beg to differ." Juliet turned back to the duchess. "Your Grace, I am Juliet Grafton-Moore, the mistress of a place called Angel's Fall. It is a home for prostitutes and courtesans who have lost their way. Women who are attempting to rebuild their lives. I've been having some success. I desperately hope to have more."
"I have heard of you!" the duchess said. "The house is on Crompton Street."
"It might as well be on Jester's Row," one of Darlington's compatriots interrupted. "She is a laughingstock neck deep in harlots! By glory, the article in the Spectator regarding her absurdities had every man at White's in gales of laughter."
But Darlington was definitely not laughing now. "I must insist that you leave our party in peace, Miss Grafton-Moore—"
"Your Grace," Juliet appealed to the duchess. "The girl in question is a gentle soul, trying to rebuild her life. Never have I met one more determined to put her past behind her, or more horrified by the mistakes she'd made in the past. She is suffering terribly. And is so afraid of all men, any men that I assure you she would never attempt to entice—"
"This is not for my daughter's ears! Have you not the slightest scrap of decency? Exposing her to such a creature?"
"Elise was once very much like your daughter. Innocent. Trusting. The one difference between them is the fact that your daughter is fortunate enough to have you to protect her from men who would take advantage of her helplessness."
"Of all the impudence!" The duchess quivered with outrage, but Juliet saw the sick cast to her features.
"You are a woman, Your Grace. For all your power and exalted station, you know how defenseless a lone woman can be."
Darlington gave a snort of derision. "For God's sakes! The streets are full of such women. I had the ill luck to stumble across Elise. I took what she offered, and paid generously for the folly. Not an admirable act, perhaps, but one almost any gentleman you might name has indulged in upon occasion. It happened long before Miss Stonebridge and I met. The rest of these accusations are just some Banbury tale the girl brewed up to make mischief."
He leveled a scornful glare at Juliet. "Frankly, madam, if I were you, I'd not get so distressed over the tales Elise tells you. After all, she might be confusing me with one of countless gentlemen she's serviced."
It was the curl of contempt in his lip that did it, dismissing Elise so callously that Juliet's fiercely held control snapped. She grabbed up a pitcher of wine from a tray and dashed it onto the snowy white of Darlington's exquisite frockcoat, the pewter pitcher banging down onto the floor.
A roar emanated from those inside the box, shrieks and cries that sent servants bolting toward Juliet as red wine ran down Darlington's body like blood.
Rough hands clamped on Juliet's arms, two of Darlington's burly footmen bruising her with their grip.
The glare Darlington turned on Juliet left no illusions as to the depth of cruelty he was capable of. "Barnes, this woman accosted me. You will remove her at once and teach her the proper way to behave toward her betters."
A look of complete understanding flashed between servant and master, chilling Juliet's blood.
"Unhand me at once," she demanded in her most imperious voice, struggling against the servant's viselike grip.
"You all saw her," Darlington raged. "She assaulted a peer of the realm! I vow, she should face the magistrate."
"Please, Foster." The duchess's daughter intervened. "Let her go. Misguided as she might be, I... I do not wish her harmed."
He gazed furiously at his intended bride. "After what she's accused me of? After what she's done you would have me let her go?" He waved one beringed hand at the ruin of his frockcoat and scowled. "This does not speak well of your loyalty toward me, my love."
"It's obvious there has been a terrible mistake." The girl flushed, and the one thing Juliet regretted was the sting of hurt and disillusionment she'd put in Miss Stonebridge's eyes. "This is my betrothal party. I couldn't bear to recall it as the night someone was cast into gaol."
"After what this woman said to hurt you? You think I would let her free?" Impatience flashed across Darlington's handsome features, the expression of a man who loathed being thwarted. Juliet felt a swift surge of pity for the girl who would be his wife.
"Foster, I beg you. If you care for me, you will let her go."
Darlington hesitated a long stormy moment, then muttered an oath under his breath. "Fine, then," he snapped. "You have the gift of your freedom, given by my betrothed's hand. But if you ever harass me again, or anyone connected with me, I promise you, I will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law." His eyes glittered, slits in his face, full of threats he couldn't voice with his betrothed and her mother beside him. Threats Juliet understood perfectly well.
They only served to make her square her shoulders. "I will do everything in my power to protect Elise. I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be." His pug-faced compatriot chortled. "He has a demned ugly temper, he does. And the thing I adore most about Britannia is that nearly everything's a hanging offense. Have to entertain the masses, don't you know?"
"The one thing we could be certain of is that Miss Grafton-Moore's hanging would be particularly well attended," Lord Darlington said with a nasty laugh.
"Personally, I much prefer a nice bloody duel to a hanging." A deep voice, cold and hard as an ice-sheathed saber, cut through the din of the crowd. Darlington looked up, fury and challenge twisting his mouth at the brazenness of this new intruder. Juliet wheeled around, her stomach plunging to her toes.
"A-Adam."
He walked toward them, magnificent as a knight's destrier amidst a stable full of overblown peacocks, his unpowdered hair flowing loose about his shoulders in a wild mane. The rippling muscles of his powerful thighs were sheathed in midnight-blue breeches, his frockcoat straining over the bunched muscles that capped his broad shoulders. He towered over the other men, turned the heads of every woman within the rotunda.
Juliet could scarcely breathe. How had he discovered her? Oh, Lord, Elise had sworn she wouldn't betray her!
"Wh-what are you doing here?" she stammered.
"Discussing hangings with Darlington." Adam crossed his muscular arms over the daunting breadth of his chest. "Damned cowardly business, if you ask me, watching while someone else slips a noose on a person who's bound hand and foot. As if there were any sport in that! Entertainment for those without enough nerve to drive a sword thrust to the hilt and feel the blood spatter on their own lily-white hands. But I suppose hanging would be a fitting diversion for a man so craven he would threaten a woman, Darlington."
"How dare you!" The aristocrat's long fingers groped for the hilt of the dress sword at his side. For a heartbeat, some bloodthirsty corner of Juliet's heart fluttered with anticipation at the prospect of swords unsheathed, Adam Slade driving fear into Darlington's eyes with the point of his blade—the same emotion Darlington had saddled Elise with. Yet she brought herself up short. Lord, the last thing needed here was bloodshed!
"Adam, I am finished here. Perhaps we should leave."
"Not before his lordship decides what to do about his hand on his sword hilt. Are you using that for a prop for tired fingers, or do you intend to draw your blade?"
"His sword hilt? Foster, no!" Miss Stonebridge pleaded, her voice breaking. "You mustn't fight. Oh, Mama! Stop him! This is just too awful!"
"
Darlington, enough of this nonsense!" the duchess commanded, gathering her daughter into her arms. "Can't you see that you're upsetting the poor dear? I forbid any swordplay. I absolutely forbid it!"
She sounded like a nursemaid attempting to separate two brawling boys.
"What's it to be, Darlington?" Adam demanded with silky menace. "Blood to join that wine stain? I will be happy to oblige you."
Juliet could almost hear the instinct for self-preservation whirling madly in the nobleman's head as he eyed Adam— legs thick as tree trunks, arms solid as ships' masts, the scar on his jaw hinting at another challenge, another rival who might be long dead.
"Who the devil are you?" Lord Darlington demanded, glaring. "I feel like I've seen you before."
Slade's sensual lips curved in a smile dripping with derision. "I doubt we move in the same circles. But it's possible we've met, I suppose. Have you locked horns with my philanthropic half-brother, the Earl of Glenlyon? I recall dropping in to watch him battle the rest of the House of Lords on one or two occasions."
"Glenlyon?" Darlington echoed. "The traitor?"
"Not the Glenlyon." Miss Stonebridge asked, a fervent glow in her cheeks. "The gentleman who saved so many poor children in Scotland? He was pardoned for his courage."
"In case you've forgotten, Annemarie," the duchess said, "the Scots were in rebellion at the time. They brought Armageddon down on their own heads. Why, your own cousin was injured in the fighting."
"I know, Mama. But I hardly think the children had any choice in the matter."
Juliet found herself liking the duchess's daughter immensely as the girl braved her mother's displeasure.
"I was so glad to hear that some of them had been spared," Miss Stonebridge said with tender ardor.
"Annemarie!" Darlington snapped. "I will not have you conversing with this interfering scoundrel. Now, sir." He turned a scathing glare on Adam. "I asked you a question!"
"You might be careful of the tone you ask it in, sir. Since the most likely place you might have seen me is at a salon of swordsmanship. My name is Adam Slade. Otherwise known as Sabrehawk." Adam bowed with an elegant flourish and flashed his most diabolical grin.
What an unholy pleasure he took in seeing the reaction that name garnered, not just among a low-born mob, but here, as well, amidst the most powerful in the land. And, God forgive her, elation flooded her as well as Darlington's lips tightened, the other guests in his box gasping and murmuring recognition.
She had seen Adam Slade do battle before, but this time was different. The hard glaze on his eyes was fiercer, his mouth the feral slash of a warrior defending something precious. Or someone precious. The notion thrilled her, stunned her, terrified her.
"Adam, please!" she said, grasping the iron-honed muscles of his arm. "There is no need to pursue this further! I wish to leave! I—I want to see the fireworks."
"Astonishing." He slanted her a glance beneath lashes as thick and curled as a child's, made all the more dauntingly masculine on that rough-hewn face. "You create so many wherever you go, I'd think the fascination would have palled. However, I am at your service. But before we go, I wish to make something clear to His Lordship, here."
Dark eyes pierced Darlington's arrogant mask, searing him with a warning so intense it made Juliet's knees quake. "I am a particular friend of Miss Grafton-Moore's. And of Miss Elise as well. I will consider any further harassment on your part a personal affront. And I can assure you, I have no aversion to wetting my hands with an enemy's blood, should the need arise."
"I would not lower myself to shed my blood over a harlot and a whorekeeper." Darlington sneered. "But it's no wonder you're neck deep in them." A cruel spark lit the backs of the nobleman's eyes. "Ah, yes, Slade. I remember you now, the stories about you and your sordid origins. A harlot's blood flows in your veins."
Adam didn't flinch, didn't move, but Juliet felt a jolt of emotion shooting through his body, savage, tearing, fierce—anger, and yet something more.
Pain?
The possibility slayed her, left her bleeding for him.
Lord, was it possible that proud, fierce Adam was the son of such a woman? If so, it was a gaping chink in Adam Slade's emotional armor, one Darlington had pierced with a poison-tipped lance.
She wanted nothing more than to get Adam away from this place, to shield him—of all the ridiculous, impossible urges, that she might be able to protect this strapping mountain of a man from biting words.
"Adam, please," Juliet said, her voice trembling at the force of emotion she sensed in him. "Please."
His eyes cleared just a whisper, those dark depths glancing down at her. And she perceived in that instant that he wanted to fight his lordship. Fight to obliterate whatever dark emotion had engulfed him in that moment. Fight forever to keep it at bay.
She reached up, laying her fingertips upon that stubborn jut of jaw, her thumb skimming the faint scar that marred his face. A scar that hinted at one she sensed cut far deeper.
He jerked a little in surprise, then stilled, like a wild thing experiencing its first fleeting communion with another creature. And in that instant, she sensed him wrestling his demons under control, and knew somehow that she had won.
He sucked in a steadying breath, his voice a low growl as he turned back to the nobleman. "It seems the lady wishes to escape your company. Don't forget my warning, Darlington."
"I'll try to remember, Slade." Darlington scowled at Adam, then Juliet felt the nobleman's gaze fix on her, cold, arrogant.
"Miss Grafton-Moore, don't forget my promise."
Juliet shivered, all but hauling Adam to the door. But even as she stepped into the night, she could still feel the hot press of Darlington's eyes upon her back.
Chapter 8
Night air struck Adam's face, cool and scented of wind and dusk-shadowed blossoms from the gardens just visible by the light of colored lanterns. He sucked in a deep breath, but it did nothing to soothe the raw places the encounter with Darlington had raked open somewhere beneath the crusty layer of warrior he fought so hard to hide behind.
He held Juliet's hand tighter, so tight he almost feared he'd bruise her. But he couldn't will himself to let go. He had to cling to something, someone, had to clutch tight to safer forms of anger so that the true reason for his rage could stay where it belonged. Buried in the deep hole a boy had dug inside his heart years ago.
"Adam, please. I can't keep up," Juliet cried, stumbling. "I know you're angry, but—"
"Angry? I'd like to wring your meddling little neck! How the devil am I supposed to guard you when you go racing off in the middle of the night like some accursed crusader? Attacking someone like Darlington, for God's sake. And you didn't even bring your parasol to spear him."
"I agreed you could stay at Angel's Fall. I didn't agree to allow you to interfere in my work."
"And what I just witnessed was your work? It's a miracle you've survived a year! Blast, do you have any idea how far- reaching Darlington's power is? Someone like Mother Cavendish and her surly mob might be swept up by the authorities and tossed in prison for harming you, but Darlington—he could have you destroyed with a snap of his fingers and no one—no one—would dare bring him to trial—that is, if they could even catch him."
"He's nothing but bluster. Preying on the weak. Something I believe I showed him that I am not."
"No, you just raked up all that muck in front of his betrothed—his very rich betrothed. Made things dashed uncomfortable."
"I hope Miss Stonebridge refuses to wed him! The girl would have made a grand escape."
"Don't hold your breath. Marriages in the aristocracy are planned out like the siege of a fortress, down to the tiniest detail. Properties, dowries, and matching the appropriate bloodlines are far more important than such trifling matters as being a cruel, stinking, cowardly son of a bitch who preys on women. The duchess will have her daughter hustling up the aisle with Darlington before the year is out. It's just that the poor girl wi
ll know earlier than most what a villain her husband is."
A gasp from a gaggle of passersby made Adam glance over to see that they were once again the center of attention. Growling an oath, he hauled Juliet across the grassy lawn to where a towering oak spread a canopy of green, a brace of colored lanterns bobbing from low-hanging branches.
"You were every bit as outraged as I was on Elise's behalf, Adam Slade. I could hear it in your voice, see it, sense it. You wanted to fight—"
"Of course I wanted to fight. I adore fighting. Have since I was a grubby-faced boy. Nothing more fun than bashing and thrashing. And God knows, no one's better at it than I am. Made me a bloody fortune."
"The question is, what are you fighting for?" She peered up at him, eyes huge and earnest in the lantern light.
"I just told you. Money. Perhaps a little fame."
"Or perhaps there is another reason."
Adam squirmed inwardly, pinned by the solemnity in that soft oval face. "Bloody hell! Don't you dare start trying to unscrew the top of my head and peer inside, madam. I'm not one of your fallen angels."
"But your mother could have been."
Adam felt the blood drain from his face, forced himself to release her hands. "Blast, my secret is out." He struck his brow with bitter sarcasm. "It's true. I'm a bastard— by birth as well as by temperament. Conceived in sin, born on the wrong side of the blanket. Are you shocked, Juliet?"
He'd wanted to disgust her, to knock the compassion from her eyes, but her gaze only darkened with understanding.
"I don't mean to judge, Adam. I'm just saying you bear no fault in your birth. It was your mother's choice—"
"My mother is doing just fine, thank you very much. She's the mistress of a large estate with so much wealth she couldn't spend it in three lifetimes. I hardly expect she'll be showing up on your doorstep anytime soon."
No, the possibility was as remote as Adam himself, arriving at the manor house at Strawberry Grove.