It was breathtakingly lovely—or would be under other circumstances. Enclosed on three sides by high trellises to protect it from the wind, it descended over four wide terraces to a bubbling stream below.

There were roses everywhere, all shades and colors, all sizes and types. The air was heavy with their perfume.

Judith seated herself on a wrought-iron seat on the top tier and folded her hands in her lap.

“You need not remain to keep me company,” she said. “I will be quite happy alone in such surroundings.”

He stood beside her for what seemed a long while, saying nothing. She did not look up to see whether he looked at her or whether he was merely admiring the view, but she could see the toe of one of his Hessian boots beating out a tattoo on the cobbles beside her. She willed him to go away. She could not bear his closeness. She could not bear reality or the knowledge that her stolen dream was ruined forever.

And then he went without a word and she felt bereft.

Rannulf went straight up to his room. And paced.

She was a gentleman’s daughter. Damn it all to hell ! She had had no business being sent off to travel alone, without even a maid to offer respectability. Her father deserved to be shot for allowing it. She had had no business accepting a ride with him, using that husky voice, pretending to be an actress. Flirting with him. Allowing him to steal a kiss from her without whacking his head right off his shoulders for his impertinence.

She must know the rules of genteel behavior as well as he did.

He knew the rules .

He leaned both hands on the windowsill, drew a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. He peered downward. A footman was skirting about the formal gardens on his way back to the house. The glass of lemonade Rannulf had ordered sent out to her had been delivered then.

She had had no business accepting his outrageous suggestion that they move from the posting inn to the quieter one by the market green. Or agreeing to share a room with him. Or dining alone with him. Or fanning his lust with that acting—where the devil had she learned to act like that? Or wearing that Siren’s hair all down over her shoulders.

She had had no damned business bedding with him.

She must know the rules.

He knew the rules.

He pounded the edge of one fist against the windowsill and cursed between clenched teeth.

He knew the rules, dammit all to hell. His father had raised headstrong, unruly sons who flouted convention and public opinion at every turn. He had also raised honorable sons, ones who knew the rules that could not be broken.

He had told her he would have taken her with him even if he had known the truth about her. He would have made her his mistress, he had said. Would he have? Probably not—undoubtedly not.

She was a gentleman’s daughter.

Deuce take it, but she probably did not know yet if she had escaped the worst of all possible fates. She was an accomplished liar. She had probably lied about that too. She might be giving birth to his bastard child in a little less than nine months’ time.

He pounded a fist on the windowsill once more and then turned away from the window to pace his room again, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Damn, damn, damn.

Finally he tore open the door and strode out into the corridor beyond without stopping to close the door behind him. Without stopping to think further.

She was sitting where he had left her, her hands one on top of the other, palm up, in her lap, the glass of lemonade, with perhaps an inch drunk, standing on a small wrought-iron table that the footman must have drawn up beside her. She was staring toward the stream and only half turned her head when he came through the trellised arch from the terrace.

“I have been pacing my room,” he said, “trying to convince myself that you were entirely to blame for what happened. It is simply not true. I am as much to blame.”

Her head came about entirely then, and he found himself staring into wide, surprised green eyes.

“What?” she said.

“You were an innocent, inexperienced young lady,” he said. “I am far from either innocent or inexperienced. I should have known. I should have seen through the act.”

“You are blaming yourself for what happened between us?” she asked him, sounding quite astonished.

“How foolish! There is no question of blame on either side. It was something that was mutually entered into. It is over and best forgotten.”

If only it were that easy!

“It is not over,” he said. “I had your virginity. You are now, to put it crudely and bluntly, damaged goods, Miss Law, and you cannot be so innocent that you have not realized that fact.”

Her cheeks flamed, her head whipped around to face front again, and she stood up abruptly.

“What makes you think—” she began.

“Oh, not my own observations,” he told her. “I was somewhat inebriated, both by the wine I had consumed and by your acting performances and your charms. After you had fled, the landlady explained to me why she had changed the sheets on our bed after our first night together. There was blood on the ones she removed, she was charmed to report.”

Her back visibly flinched.

“You are a gentlewoman, Miss Law,” he said, “though not of a socially prominent or wealthy family, it is true. You are from a class well below any from which my family or my peers would expect me to choose a bride, but my hand has been forced. Not that I blame you. I blame myself for being so blind to reality.

But it is too late to regret that now. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Her back did not flinch this time. It stiffened. For several moments he thought she was not going to answer him. But she did speak eventually.

“No,” she said, her voice quite steady and firm. And she walked away from him, down over each wide terrace, past all the roses until she came to a stop at the water’s edge.

Perhaps he should have presented his offer with softer words, gone to stand in front of her, taken her hand in his. Instead, he had paid her the compliment of speaking the bald truth to her. She surely would have recognized falsehood from him anyway. In her guise as Claire Campbell she had struck him as an intelligent woman. He went after her.

“Why not?” he asked her.

“I am no one’s problem, Lord Rannulf,” she said. “I will be a salve to no one’s guilty conscience. But your guilt is unnecessary. I went with you willingly and I—I lay with you willingly. It was an experience I wished to have and decided to take when the chance offered itself. You are quite right about the reason for my coming to Harewood. There is not much likelihood that a woman in my circumstances will ever be found out as a fallen woman or damaged goods . Women like me remain spinsters all their lives. I suppose the chance of marrying after all should be tempting. I could be Lady Rannulf Bedwyn and rich beyond my dreams. But I will not be married because your hand has been forced or because it is too late to extricate yourself from the trap you perceive me to be. I would not be married because honor forces you to offer such an unequal and imprudent match. You would not feel honored if I married you but martyred.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not mean to imply—”

“Oh, no,” she said, “you implied nothing. You stated it. For which of several possible reasons did you expect me to leap at your offer, Lord Rannulf? Because you are a duke’s son and enormously wealthy?

Because my hopes of making any other marriage are dim indeed even if I still had my virginity ? Because propriety dictates that I must marry my seducer since he has seen fit to offer for me—though of course you did not seduce me, did you? Because you told me I would honor you by accepting? My answer is no.”

Relief warred with incredulity and continued guilt. It was the grudging manner of his offer that had offended her. If he had asked her properly, would she have done the proper thing?

“Forgive me,” he said. “I believed you would scorn smooth, flattering words. Allow me to—”

“No.” She turned to face him and her eyes gazed fully into his. “It was a fleeting experience, Lord Rannulf. It was never meant to last. I was curious, my curiosity was satisfied, and I was satisfied. I had no wish to continue the liaison, and I certainly have no wish to marry you. Why should I ? I am not so innocent or so ignorant that I do not know what men of your rank are like. I had proof of it on the road, and your words today have confirmed what I already knew. You are neither innocent nor inexperienced, you said with pride. Anyone who knows what is what, you said, would understand that such behavior is to be expected of you both before and after marriage. Even if I wished for marriage to you I would not marry you. Why would I knowingly become a wife married unwillingly and left to wilt in some quiet, respectable corner while her husband carries on with his life of philandering and debauchery just as if she did not exist? I wanted you for experience, not for a husband, and I was satisfied with the experience, which I feel no desire to repeat. How fortunate for you! Now you will not have to face the scorn of your peers and the displeasure of your brother, the Duke of Bewcastle, after all. Good day to you.”

Strangely, despite her fluent, scornful words and her barely suppressed anger and her drab, ill-fitting clothes, she was suddenly appealing to him again and he remembered the consuming sexual attraction he had felt for her during their day and a half and two nights together. Until now it had been hard to realize that she could possibly be the same woman.