Vice by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

Garston.” He waved the man away and deftly eased the cork from the neck of the champagne bottle. “I trust this will find favor, ma’am.” He poured a glass and took it to Juliana, still standing motionless by the table.
    Juliana had but once tasted champagne, and that on her wedding day. She was accustomed to small beer and the occasional glass of claret. But with the bravado of before, she took the glass and sipped, nodding her approval.
    The duke poured a glass of claret for himself, then said gently, “If you would take a seat, ma’am, I might also do so.”
    It was such an unlooked-for courtesy in the circumstances that Juliana found herself sitting down without further thought. The duke bowed and took a chair opposite her sofa.
    Tarquin took the scent of his wine and examined the still figure. She reminded him of a hart at bay, radiating a kind of desperate courage that nevertheless acknowledged the grim reality of its position. Her eyes met his scrutiny without blinking, the firm chin tilted, the wide, full mouth taut. There was something uncompromising about Juliana Beresford, from the tip of that flaming head of hair to the toes of her long feet. The image of her naked body rose unbidden in his mind. His eyes narrowed as his languidgaze slid over her, remembering the voluptuous quality of her nudity, the smooth white skin in startling contrast to the glowing hair.
    “If you insist upon making this proposition, my lord duke, I wish you would do so.” Juliana spoke suddenly, breaking the intensity of a silence that had been having the strangest effect upon her. Her skin was tingling all over, her nipples pricking against her laced bodice, and she had to fight against the urge to drop her eyes from that languid and yet curiously penetrating gray scrutiny.
    “By all means,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “But I must first ask you a question. Are you still virgin?”
    Juliana felt the color drain from her face. She stared at him in disbelief. “What business is that of yours?”
    “It’s very much my business,” the duke said evenly. “Whether or not I make this proposition depends upon your answer.”
    “I will not answer such a question,” Juliana declared from a realm of outrage beyond anger.
    “My dear, you must. If you wish to spare yourself the inconvenience of examination,” he said in the same level tones. “Mistress Dennison will discover the answer for herself, if you will not tell me.”
    Juliana shook her head, beyond words.
    He rose from his chair and crossed the small space between them. Bending over her, he took her chin between finger and thumb and tilted her face to meet his steady gaze. “Juliana, you told Mistress Dennison that your husband died before your marriage was consummated. Is that the truth?”
    “Why would I say it if it wasn’t?” Somehow she still managed to sound unyielding, even as she yielded the answer because she knew she had no choice but to do so.
    He held her chin for a long moment as she glared up at him, wishing she had a knife. She imagined plunging it into his chest as he stood so close to her she could smell his skin, and a faint hint of the dried lavender that had been strewn among his fresh-washed linen.
    Then he released her with a little nod. “I believe you.”
    “Oh, you do me too much honor, sir,” she said, her voice shaking with fury. Springing to her feet, she drove her fist into his belly with all the force she could muster.
    He doubled over with a gasp of pain, but as she turned to run, he grabbed her and held on even as he fought for breath.
    Juliana struggled to free her wrist from a grip like steel. She raised a leg to kick him, but he swung sideways so her foot met only his thigh.
    “Be still!” he gasped through clenched teeth. “Hell and the devil, girl!” He jerked her wrist hard and finally she stopped fighting.
    Slowly Tarquin straightened up as the pain receded and he could breathe again. “Hair as hot as the fires of