He was admitted by a female servant, who bobbed a curtsy. "Miss Laurent is waiting in the boudoir," the maid informed him with a saucy giggle.

Dare followed her and was shown into a luxurious, silk-swathed bedchamber. The curtains had been drawn, providing an aura of romantic seclusion.

The stage was set for seduction, he realized, his pulse quickening further.

As the door shut behind him, Dare caught sight of Julienne. She was reclining upon a daybed, which was wider than a normal chaise longue and large enough to accommodate two lovers with ease. To his surprise, she was fully dressed in a gown of rose-colored muslin, but the small table beside her was laden with fruit and cheese and wine.

Taking a sip from her glass, Julienne studied him over the rim, her dark eyes half-closed, sensual, and compelling.

"Welcome," she said in a husky voice that stroked all his nerve endings. "I have missed you, Dare."

"I've missed you, too-like the very devil."

Her luscious lips formed a pout. "It hardly seems so. I would say rather that you have been severely neglecting me of late."

He smiled charmingly as he advanced into the room. "My apologies, my love." Reaching for her hand, he kissed her fingers tenderly. "I have been waiting for the right moment to speak to you in private."

"I have no interest in talking just now." Little flames warmed the depths of her eyes as she ran her finger down his chest to his breeches. "I think you should take off your clothes," she murmured, her voice liquid enticement.

Dare needed no second request. Obediently he shed his coat and waistcoat, then his cravat and shirt. He sat beside her on the daybed to remove his shoes and stockings, then stood again to remove his pantaloons and drawers.

When he stood naked before her, her gaze made a slow sweep of his body. Dare felt himself harden at the lust in her eyes. With a look of invitation, Julienne smiled languorously and held up her arms, bidding him to join her on the daybed. Eagerly he stretched out beside her and drew her into his embrace.

Their kiss was hard and passionate, and she seemed as breathless as he was when she broke it off. He might have protested but she gave him another slow, seductive smile and pressed him onto his back. Then she reached above his head to lift a silk scarf that was tied to a metal loop in the wood frame of the daybed.

When she attached the scarf to his left wrist, he gave her a grin that was part quizzical, part devilish. "Just what did you have in mind, cherie?"

"I imagine you can guess."

He could indeed guess when she secured his right wrist, then knelt to tie scarves around each of his ankles.

"You once told me had a fantasy about bondage," she murmured, bending over him. "Well, I am satisfying my own fantasy. I want you entirely at my mercy."

"I'm more than delighted to oblige, my sweet," he said hoarsely in return.

He held his breath as she pressed her lips lightly against his chest while her fingers danced over his skin, ending in a light, circling tease on his abdomen.

Dare felt desire curling, flaring, twisting inside him at the wicked sensation of her fingers.

Then he realized she had a scarf clutched in her hand. He sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath as she drew it along his body. In a moment she was stroking his rigid erection with the sensuous silk, curling the scarf around his swollen shaft, touching him with her lips.

It was one of the most erotic sensations he had ever experienced. She made him shudder, made his heart pound out of control. Dare arched his hips, his body white-hot with desire as Julienne continued her provocative ministrations, and clenched his teeth against the burning in his loins.

Then suddenly she stopped. Leaving the scarf draped over his arousal to form a tent, she rose from the bed. He thought she intended to undress, but instead she picked up his clothing that he'd left strewn on a chair and stepped back.

Her expression, which had been so ardently beguiling a moment before, was now impassive, almost blank.

"Julienne?"

Her sad smile pierced his heart. Delaying her answer, she went to the door and opened it.

"I want there to be no question that you have lost our wager, Dare, and for that we need witnesses. Your friends Riddingham and Sir Stephen Ormsby will soon be here to rescue you, along with several of your other Hellfire colleagues. I promised them a delicious spectacle."

Dare stared in shock as she turned to go.

"Good-bye, Dare," Julienne said in low, trembling whisper.

Then, with barely a fleeting backward glance, she slipped from the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The hackney Julienne had waiting took her to a posting inn, where she caught the afternoon stage for York. The interior was crowded with a variety of passengers, several of whom recognized her.

Acknowledging their accolades with a faint smile, Julienne squeezed farther into her corner and turned her face to the window. Yet she saw nothing of the passing countryside. The keening sense of loss was like a knife wound inside her; the sense of being cut into parts wouldn't leave her.

She missed Dare with every breath, every jostle and jolt of the swaying coach. Thinking of him was excruciating. But she would not weep. She had cried those tears out long ago.

Then she made the mistake of fishing in her reticule for a handkerchief. She found the one she had saved from Dare's clothing as a remembrance, and when she held it to her face, she discovered that the linen carried the faint scent of his cologne.

Despair rose higher, shoving at her throat, making her vision blur. It was all she could do to force back the scalding tears.

Somehow she had to forget her agonizing thoughts of Dare. Somehow she had to find the courage to continue.


* * *

He had to control the flare of panic inside him, Dare thought nearly two hours later. Julienne had disappeared, and none of the rakehells she had invited to witness his defeat knew where she had gone.

If the stakes weren't so high, if his own involvement was less personal, perhaps he could have felt a spark of admiration for her daring. It was a prank worthy of his former days-to strip him and steal his clothes and tie him to the bed while she absconded, leaving him helpless for his friends to discover. But he could find absolutely no humor in the situation.

The experience had been embarrassing in the extreme. His Hellfire colleagues thought it uproarious that after all the years of his tormenting them with practical jokes, the Prince of Pleasure had finally received justice in kind. Worse, they had all come on horseback, so that he was forced to hail a hackney with only a sheet to cover himself.

He managed to persuade the driver that he was indeed the Marquess of Wolverton and to return him to his home in Mayfair, but Dare spent the entire journey gritting his teeth and vowing severe retribution when he caught up with Julienne. Anger helped cloak his stark fear that he had lost her once more, without even telling her of his love for her.

His servants were too well-trained to show surprise when he came traipsing in, garbed like a Greek senator. And he felt better when he was dressed again in his own exquisitely tailored clothing. But as he called for his carriage, Dare couldn't rid himself of the sick feeling squeezing his heart. He had every intention of following Julienne. And he had at least two good places to begin his search-her friend Solange and the Drury Lane Theater.

What filled him with dread, however, was not knowing why Julienne had run-or what he would do about it when he found her.

Julienne arrived in York the following afternoon, her body weary from lack of sleep, her heart one huge, empty ache. Despite her fatigue, she went directly to the theater, where she was welcomed back eagerly by her former company.

To her surprise everyone had heard of her fame in routing a deadly traitor and had followed her London career avidly. Wanting to capitalize on her success, the manager gave her a role in the evening's performance of a Moliere comedy and even printed a special broadsheet announcing her return.

The small playhouse was packed that night, for word of her appearance had spread rapidly. Julienne could scarcely remember a more receptive audience. Even though she went through her lines numbly, they laughed and roared at even her smallest jests, extending their goodwill to the entire company.

The play was perhaps half through when she heard a commotion offstage. Julienne roused herself from her despondency enough to wonder what was happening. Glancing toward the wings, she saw the manager wildly gesturing, apparently engaged in an argument with a tall, burly man who was dressed in a greatcoat and tricorn hat.

Moments later the burly man stepped on stage and identified himself as the sheriff of York.

His narrowed gaze latched on to Julienne. "You are Miss Laurent?" When she acknowledged that she was, he snapped, "I am placing you under arrest."

Bewildered, Julienne stared at him. This was too strangely reminiscent of her near arrest in Paris. "On what charge?"

"Thievery."

"There must be some mistake, Sheriff."

"No mistake. You stole property belonging to the Marquess of Wolverton. You will come with me."

Her heart leapt to her throat at hearing Dare's title. She winced as the sheriff hauled her none too gently from the stage to a chorus of boos and catcalls from the disgruntled audience along with a spate of rotten tomatoes.