"You can start by calling me Lucien," he suggested. "Then you should probably begin screaming. Most debutantes would have run from the room in terror by now. I'm a stranger to you except for my scandalous reputation, which decries me as a hedonistic seducer of women."

She smiled. "I'm not afraid of you. You've no need to force yourself on a woman."

"Who said I would have to force you?" he purred seductively.

"Good grief," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "You deliberately cultivate your image, don't you? I'd wager you're not as bad as they say."

One side of his mouth twitched in amusement. "No," he agreed. "I'm much worse. If you weren't the purest, sweetest, most beautiful thing I've ever seen, I would have already had you on your back, with your heels in the air."

Julienne's mouth parted in surprise, and she looked away, her face flushed. He was a perfect scoundrel to say such things, but she didn't care. Strong, virile, and devastatingly handsome, Lucien Remington was her fantasy come to life. He had been since the first moment she'd seen him at the Milton country rout.

Taller than most of the other men there and heavily muscled like a common laborer, Lucien had permanently imprinted himself on her memory when he'd inclined his head toward her with a rakish wink. She'd not passed one night in the month since without dreaming of him in ways no proper lady would dream about any man, not even their husbands.

Ah, what she wouldn't give to be brazen and desirable, if only for a moment. She would love to be the kind of woman who could retain the interest of a man like Lucien. The thought made her sigh aloud.

"Bloody hell."

She looked up in surprise and was startled by the anguished look on his face.

"What is it?" she demanded. "Why do you look like that?"

Lucien stood and rounded the backside of the chair, putting the piece of furniture between them as if she posed some grave threat to his person. "Because you look like that't I know what you're thinking, and you must cease. Now."

"My thoughts happen to be none of your business." She waved toward the door. "The hour is late, and I'm tired. I'm undressed, and-"

"I wanted to watch you sleep."

Julienne blinked. "Beg your pardon?"

"You asked me why I was here." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to watch you sleep."

She frowned, confused. "Why would you want to do that?" Lucien Remington, notorious voluptuary, watching her sleep? How much more intimate that seemed than ravishment.

She studied him, noting his hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. It couldn't be possible that he was interested in her. It was so against his known nature, she simply couldn't credit it. He preferred mature, and usually married, women. "Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Rem-er, Lucien? Perhaps you are slightly in your cups?"

"I am not in my cups!" he growled. "But I am decidedly unwell. I'm coming undone. And damn it, the way you look at me tells me you feel the same. I'm not an honorable man, and I do not aspire to be one. I'll take your innocence and walk away without looking back. You'll be ruined, Julienne. I've been panting after you for weeks. Weeks." He shoved away from the chair and began to pace. "I wish to God you had not come into my club."

Julienne gaped. From the moment she'd arrived in London at the start of the Season, her life had seemed to turn completely upside down. Her brother was missing, creditors hounded Montrose Hall, and Lucien Remington wanted to bed her. She couldn't decide which event was most disturbing. Her skin grew hot and tight, her body achingly uncomfortable.

"Aren't you going to say something?" he snapped. "Shout at me. Call me a cad, or worse, if you have the coarse vocabulary to do so. Tell me to leave." When she just stared at him, wide-eyed with incredulity, Lucien approached her and grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her roughly. "Do something! Anything, damn it, to make me go." His fingers kneaded restlessly against her skin, as if he couldn't bear not to touch her.

She stared mutely at the ferocious man who held her. His voice, his words, his countenance-never in her life had she seen such passion. To think she had inspired such a display shocked her to silence.

And thrilled her.

"Tell me to leave," he repeated harshly. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

"Go," she said, her voice so soft it was less than a whisper. But it was enough. Lucien released her and walked away with angry strides.

As the door closed behind him, Julienne felt an odd panic, as if once he left she would never see him again, which was partially true. She would never be allowed to speak to him, to touch him, since simply looking at him was a grave offense. Once he walked out that door, her time with him would be over. Forever.

And she simply couldn't bear it.

"Lucien!" she cried in dismay, willing him to come back to her.

Instantly, the door swung open, and he was in her arms.

Chapter Three

Julienne La Coeur smelled heavenly. Her skin was like the finest silk, her breasts full and generously swelled as they pressed against his chest. Lucien didn't understand why she'd called him back, but he wasn't about to ask for an explanation.

"Sweet Julienne," he murmured feverishly against her throat. "You should have allowed me to go."

Her small, delicate hands slipped inside his velvet coat and slid across the smooth satin back of his waistcoat. "I tried."

He rolled to the side and shrugged out of his coat, tossing the expensive garment carelessly to the floor. He turned back to her and then froze in place.

The sheet had slipped down to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed to his gaze. Firm and gently swaying from his near-frantic movements, they were more lovely than anything Lucien had seen in his life. "You are more beautiful than I imagined," he breathed.

He watched in amazement as her skin flushed right before his eyes, rosy color sweeping across her chest before rising to her cheeks. His gaze studied her face, and he saw that she couldn't, or wouldn't, meet his eyes. With his fingertips, he tilted the bottom of her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. "Don't be shy, sweetheart. Not with me."

As he searched her face, he wondered at his good fortune. Lady Julienne La Coeur. Julienne, so lovely, laying in one of his beds, bare from the waist up, her rich blonde hair spilling around her creamy shoulders, her dark eyes staring at him with such desire. He was so damn desperate to fuck her, he thought he would burst with it, but the small portion of his mind not presently between his legs wondered why the beautiful, socially esteemed diamond would be so eager to spread her legs for a bastard like him. With a muffled curse, Lucien leapt from the bed.

He looked around wildly. "Is this a trap?" he bit out. "Is your brother hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out and catch me compromising you?"

"Beg your pardon?" She looked genuinely confused.

"What are you doing? Lying in bed naked? Giving yourself to me so easily?"

A frown marred the smooth area between her brows. "I was sleeping," she answered crossly. "I didn't ask you to come in here. I didn't even want to spend the night here. You insisted." Julienne rubbed her forehead, pulling the sheet up once again to cover herself. "Get out," she said coldly.

His hands clenched into fists.

"Leave, Mr. Remington. Before I take up your suggestion to scream."

He watched in amazement as she threw herself into the pillows and turned her back to him. It would damage her more than him to be caught, but why else would she offer herself?

"This is fantastic," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She gave a disdainful little grunt and punched the pillow.

Lucien wandered around the room, looking behind the thick sapphire velvet drapes and dropping to his knees to look under the bed. Finding no one lurking in the room, Lucien strode to both doors and locked them. He shrugged out of his waistcoat.

Julienne sat up again. "You're mad if you believe I would allow you to touch me now!"

Lucien yanked his shirt out of his trousers and drew it over his head. He smiled grimly when she gasped at the sight of his chest. He knew he was considered too muscled, the result of many hours spent engaged in fencing and pugilism. But the glimmer in her eyes wasn't fear or revulsion. It was desire.

"Why me?" he asked.

She rolled back onto her side. "Go away."

"Why me?" he repeated.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe?" she mumbled into the pillow. "Women throw themselves at you all the time. Why should I be any different?"

He moved toward the bed. "Am I something to boast to your friends about?"

Julienne tucked tighter into the pillows, pulling the sheet with her. "As if I would ever tell anyone that I'd succumbed to your charms. Which I won't!" she added hastily. "Succumb, that is. Now, please leave!"

"What if I spread the tale?" he asked. "What if I tell every member of my club that I rode between your thighs? That I ruined you, and you screamed with pleasure while I did it?" His mouth curved in a predatory smile. "And you will scream with pleasure."

She snorted. "I'll do no such thing."

"What if I tell everyone, Julienne?"

"You wouldn't."

"You don't know me well enough to say that."

"You don't know me well either. For if you did, you wouldn't be so fearful of my intentions."

Turning away, Lucien stared into the dying fire. "You are distraught over your brother."

"I am," she admitted, her clear voice telling him as she faced him again. "I will have to bail him out of this mess, just as I've always done."