"Possibly a third of the Thoroughbreds in England train here," Dare informed them.

Several dozen trainers and owners stood beside the course, studying watches and giving instructions to jockeys.

There were no special seats for spectators or booths selling food or any other amenities. As a result, there were few ladies present, for few of the fairer sex would tolerate the spartan discomfort of the Newmarket course. Most of the observers, Dare said, would watch the race from horseback or from the top of coach roofs.

"You cannot expect us to climb upon a coach!" Solange protested-to which Dare flashed an amused grin and assured her that his servants would provide his guests with every comfort.

Despite the current lack of accommodations, however, the excitement was contagious. They saw the two colts Dare had entered in the race and watched their breathtaking performance as they pounded down the heath in a surge of thundering hooves and flying manes. Afterward, Dare introduced his trainer and spoke privately with him while Julienne and Solange waited.

"My apologies," Dare said at the conclusion. "The fellow is as temperamental as any blooded mare and must be handled with care. But he's the best there is at his profession."

That, too, didn't surprise Julienne, for she suspected Dare would hire only the best.

They lunched at a public house in Newmarket and later toured the Jockey Club on High Street, the center of breeding and racing in England, where the Stud Book and Racing Calendar were kept.

That evening they attended an assembly at the home of one of the local noblemen for supper and dancing. Dare, it seemed, knew everyone. The moment his party entered the ballroom, he was surrounded by acquaintances wanting to renew old friendships and requesting his opinion on their racers.

Julienne and Solange were given little chance to feel neglected, though, for the company was lively and congenial, and both ladies found themselves much sought after by gentlemen eager to dance.

Eventually Julienne enjoyed a waltz with Dare. And they partook of the buffet supper with him. But then she was drawn away again when her next partner claimed her.

Near the end of the evening, Julienne was returning from the floor to where Solange awaited her when out of the corner of her eye she caught a sight that froze her in her tracks: a tall, dark-haired figure of a man hovering at the edge of the crowd.

Ivers.

He disappeared from view just as suddenly, but a sense of unease washed over Julienne. Her skin felt cold and clammy, and she had difficulty breathing.

"Are you unwell, mon amie?" Solange asked solicitously. "You look quite pale."

"No, I am fine," she lied, telling herself she had only imagined him. Ivers was nothing but a remnant of a particularly unpleasant nightmare.

She hadn't seen him for seven years and had hoped never to see him again. Anthony Gale, the Earl of Ivers, had been a neighbor of Dare's grandfather-a wild young buck who'd developed a not-so-friendly rivalry with Dare over the course of that infamous summer.

They were both considered rakes and both stunningly handsome, but Ivers's coloring was as dark as Dare's was fair, while his suave charm had always seemed too calculating for Julienne's taste. Even she, however, hadn't realized just how despicable a cad Ivers was- to her everlasting regret.

With a shudder, she fixed a smile on her lips and greeted Solange's latest dance partner. But she was glad when the assembly ended and they drove back to the Harriford Arms in the quiet of Dare's luxuriously appointed coach.

He escorted them inside the inn, reminded Julienne that he would collect her at ten in the morning for her tour of the local stud farms, and then left them with a bow.

She had started to follow Solange up the stairs when the innkeeper spied her from the taproom and hurried to catch up to her. It puzzled her when he handed her a note.

"Go ahead, Solange," Julienne told the Frenchwoman absently as she tried to peruse the writing in the dim light. "I will meet you for breakfast in the morning."

Unable to make out the message, though, she mounted the stairs after a moment and moved down the corridor toward a wall sconce. It was quieter here away from the noise of the crowded taproom, so quiet she could hear the thudding of her heart as she began to read.

My dear Miss Laurent,

I believe we have much to discuss. Meet me at dawn tomorrow behind the inn.

It was signed with a bold scrawl: Ivers.

Prickles crawled along her spine at the same moment she heard the stealthy fall of footsteps behind her.

Whirling, she stared, her heart in her throat as the Earl of Ivers came sauntering toward her.

He stopped barely a few feet from her. He seemed to have changed little in the past seven years, Julienne thought. Except there were more lines of dissipation etching his noble features, and his eyes were a trifle bloodshot.

"Mademoiselle Laurent."

His knowing smile chilled her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Help was only a shout away, but she was too shocked to move.

"How fortuitous that I find you alone. I thought I would have to wait till the morrow."

"What…?" The word came out a croak. Swallowing, Julienne tried again. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I wish to speak to you."

Knotting her fists, she struggled for a semblance of composure. If he smelled her fear, he would only be more dangerous. "I am listening."

"I believe you can help me. I find myself in rather straitened circumstances at the moment. Debts of honor, you see. The Turf has proved my weakness, alas. I may have to flee the country if I cannot raise the necessary funds."

"What could that possibly have to do with me?"

"I was in London recently, and yours was the name on everyone's lips. You've become renowned as an actress. And you have several rich patrons at your beck and call… including Wolverton, I understand. It seems you've come full circle if he is your lover again. It shouldn't be difficult for you to wrest some of his wealth from him."

"You must be mad," Julienne said through gritted teeth, "if you think I would give you so much as a shilling for any reason."

"Not mad. Merely desperate." His eyelids drooped in speculation. "The Jewel of London… How long would your fame last if your past nefarious activities were made public? If it was revealed that you committed treason?"

"You know very well those accusations were false!"

"But you should have no doubt that I can unearth any amount of evidence against you if I choose."

Julienne felt her stomach knot. Ivers could doubtless fabricate more lies, but she wouldn't bow to his threats this time. "I have no intention of succumbing to your blackmail again."

"It would be foolish to ignore my request."

"Then I will simply be foolish. My answer is no."

He took another step toward her. "I can see I will have to attempt to persuade you."

Julienne cast a wild glance over her shoulder, finding the corridor deserted. She could scarcely believe Ivers would be brazen enough to accost her at a crowded inn. But he was a villain with few scruples, one who followed his own sinister rules.

When he reached out and grasped her shoulder, she flinched in revulsion; his mere touch filled her with dread.

Yet she was no longer the young innocent he had tormented seven years ago. She knew how to fight back.

Frantically Julienne fumbled in her reticule and gripped the handle of her knife. Drawing the blade from its sheath, she brandished the sharp steel in his face.

"I don't think you will persuade me to anything, Lord Ivers," she said, her voice low and fierce. "I've learned how to defend myself from vermin like you."

His smile turned grim yet taunting. "You won't use that."

"No?"

Schooling her features, she let her contemptuous gaze flicker over his face, noting the faint scars on his jaw just below his left ear. Scars that her nails had made years ago. "You still have the marks I gave you, my lord. But I assure you, they will be nothing to the ones I will carve in you if you dare touch me again."

His amusement faded, his gaze narrowing in doubt.

"Back away," Julienne demanded. "Unless you want me to slit your gullet."

A wild laugh almost escaped her. She had abundant theatrical experience making such melodramatic declarations, but no lines from a play had ever given her as much satisfaction as now. And she wasn't acting. She would kill Ivers before she allowed him to hurt her again.

He seemed to believe her. "You will regret this, Miss Laurent," he warned.

"Not as much as I regret letting you go unscathed all these years. If you threaten me again, I promise I will remedy my error."

He stood in indecision for an endless moment while Julienne's heart drummed in her ears. Finally backed away, then spun on his heel and stalked off, disappearing down the stairs in an irate clatter.

When her knees began to buckle, Julienne leaned weakly against the wall. She was shaking with reaction and the aftershock of confronting her nemesis again.

Dear heaven…

A dry sob escaped her, and she curled a fist into her stomach to try to ease the churning nausea. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so helpless.

She forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths, but her hands shook deplorably as she returned her knife to its sheath. She might have to keep it strapped to her wrist for protection from now on, Julienne realized.