The Rogue's Disgraced Lady

‘Lord St Claire.’ She snapped her indignation as she attempted to pull away from him. ‘At this moment I can think of nothing I would enjoy more than to see you consigned to the devil, where you so obviously belong!’

He gave a husky laugh, refusing to release her despite her struggles. ‘You believe my past misdeeds serious enough to send me to the pits of hell?’

‘You do not?’ Juliet gave him a scornful glance.

‘It is a possibility, I suppose,’ he conceded consideringly. ‘Drunkenness. Gambling. Debauchery. Hmm, it does seem more than a possibility, does it not…?’ The lowering of his head towards hers slowly blocked out the moonlight overhead.

Juliet became very still as she stared up at him. ‘What are you doing…?’ she breathed huskily.

He gave an unconcerned shrug of those broad shoulders. ‘As you seem to believe I am going to the devil anyway, I cannot see that one more indiscretion is going to make the slightest difference to my hellish fate!’

Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Karin Stoecker

Thank you for listening to me when the idea for the St Claire family first entered my imagination!

Banford House, Mayfair, late July, 1817

‘It is you, Sebastian!’ his hostess greeted him warmly as he was announced into her drawing-room. ‘When Revell informed me that Lord St Claire had come to call I thought…But of course Lucian is newly married, and most probably still upon his honeymoon. It is so good to see you!’

Sebastian, Lord St Claire, was, as usual, dressed in the height of fashion, in a perfectly tailored brown superfine over a gold brocade waistcoat and snowy white linen, with fawn pantaloons and brown-topped black Hessians. His fashionably overlong teak-coloured hair was shot through with natural streaks of gold.

He gave a roguish smile as he crossed the room to where Dolly Vaughn reclined graciously upon the raspberry-red sofa in the drawing room of her town house. Except she was no longer Dolly Vaughn, of course, but Lady Dorothea Bancroft, the Countess of Banford.

Eyes the colour of warm whisky laughingly met her teasing blue ones as Sebastian took the hand she offered and raised it to his lips. ‘Please do not shatter all my illusions and tell me that you were once acquainted with my brother Lucian,’ he drawled.

‘Intimately,’ Dolly assured him mischievously. ‘Stourbridge too, on one memorable occasion. But that is another story entirely…’ She gave a delighted laugh as Sebastian’s eyes widened at this mention of his eldest brother Hawk, the aristocratic and aloof tenth Duke of Stourbridge. ‘Poor Bancroft has the devil of a time pretending not to be aware of the names of any of my past lovers,’ she added with an unrepentant smile.

William Bancroft, Earl of Banford, should, and did, consider himself the most fortunate of men in having Dolly as his wife for the last three years. Before her marriage she had been the discreet paramour of many a male member of the ton—both of Sebastian’s older brothers amongst them, apparently!

Sebastian’s own relationship with Dolly was based purely on a platonic friendship that had developed when he first came to town at the tender age of seventeen, still a virgin. Dolly had found Sebastian a less experienced young lady than herself to introduce him to all the carnal delights.

‘Please do sit down, Sebastian,’ she invited warmly now as she patted the sofa beside her, still a golden-haired beauty, though now aged in her mid-thirties. ‘I have ordered tea for us both. It is a little early as yet for me to offer any stronger refreshment, I am afraid,’ she added derisively as he raised dark brows.

Sebastian could remember a time when it had never been too early for Dolly to take ‘stronger refreshment’, but out of respect for her role as the Countess of Banford he did not remind her of those occasions. ‘You are looking very well, Lady Bancroft,’ he complimented her as he sat down beside her. ‘Marriage obviously suits you.’

‘Marriage to my darling Bancroft suits me,’ she corrected him firmly. ‘And I refuse to allow you to behave so formally with me.’ She tapped his wrist lightly with her fan. ‘When we’re alone like this, I insist we be as we always were—simply Dolly and Sebastian.’ She turned as the butler returned with a tray of tea things, informing him, ‘I am not at home to any more visitors this afternoon, Revell.’ She waited until the servant had vacated the room before speaking again. ‘I am afraid, even after three years, the servants still find my refusal to follow the rules something of a trial,’ Dolly explained airily as she sat forward to pour the tea, the blue of her high-waisted gown a perfect match for her eyes.