Quentin smiled with his brother. You couldn't find two women more different from one another than Lydia Melton and Juliana Courtney, he reflected. The one so quiet and composed, with the pale gravity of a cameo. The other a turbulent, wildfire creature, ruled by passion. The comparison struck him to the heart with the familiar shaft of pain that came whenever he thought of Lydia. Of how impossibly unfair it was that Tarquin should have her and not truly want her, and he should be left on the outside, watching, his heart wrung with love and loss. But he must bow his head to God's will. Railing against the Almighty's plans was no proper behavior for a man of the cloth.

"What will you name her?" he asked abruptly.

Juliana patted the silken curve of the animal's neck. "Boadicea."

"Now, why that, in heaven's name?" Tarquin's eyebrows shot into his scalp.

"Because she was a strong, powerful woman who did what she believed in." Juliana's smile was mischievous, but her jade eyes were shadowed. "An example for us all, sir."

Tarquin smiled with resigned amusement and gestured toward the man holding the horses.

"This is Ted, Juliana. He's your groom, and he'll accompany you wherever you go."

Juliana looked startled. The man wore a leather jerkin and britches instead of livery. He had a broken nose, and his face had the misshapen appearance of one that had been in contact with a variety of hard objects over the years. He was very tall and very broad, but Juliana had the impression that his bulk was not fat, but muscle. His hands were huge, with hairy knuckles and splayed fingers.

He offered her a morose nod of the head, not a smile cracking his expression, not a glint of humor or pleasure in his eyes.

"Everywhere?" she queried.

"Everywhere," Tarquin repeated, the smile gone from his eyes.

"But I have no need of a bodyguard," Juliana protested, horrified at the implications of such a restriction.

"Oh, but you do," Tarquin declared. "Since I can't rely upon you to take sensible precautions, someone must take them for you." He reached out a hand and lightly caught her chin in his palm. "No Ted, no horse, Juliana."

It appeared he knew of her expedition. Juliana sighed. "How did you find out? I didn't think you'd come back."

"Not much goes on under my roof without my knowledge." He continued to hold her chin, his expression grave. "Do you accept the condition, Juliana?"

Juliana looked again at the morose Ted. Was he to be spy as well as protector? Presumably so. How was she to manage the projected visit to the Bedford Head in his dour company? Well, she'd get around him somehow. She returned her attention to Boadicea, saying by way of answer, "I should like to ride her immediately."

"It wants but ten minutes to dinner." Quentin said, amused.

"After dinner you may ride her in the park during the promenade, with Ted's escort," Tarquin suggested, hiding his relief at her capitulation. "Everyone will be wondering who you are. You'll create quite a stir."

Juliana laughed at this, not displeased with the idea. "I'd better tidy myself before dinner." She dropped a mischievous curtsy to the brothers and ran back inside.

Quentin chuckled, linking his arm in his brother's as they returned inside. "If she needs protection, Ted's as good a man as any for the task."

Tarquin nodded. "The best." They both smiled, each with his own boyhood memories of the taciturn, uncompromising gamekeeper, who'd taught them to ride, to tickle trout, to snare rabbits and track deer. Ted Rougley was utterly devoted to the Courtney family, with the exception of Lucien, and his loyalty was unwavering. Tarquin would never give him an order, but if he made a request, Ted would carry it out to the letter. Juliana would find it hard to take a step unguarded.

"I understand Juliana needs to be kept away from that stepson of hers, but what of Lucien?" Quentin asked as they entered the dining room.

Tarquin's nostrils flared, his mouth becoming almost invisible. "He hasn't returned to the house as yet. I'll deal with him when he does."

Quentin nodded and dropped the subject as Juliana came into the room.

"So," Juliana said conversationally, helping herself to a spoonful of mushroom ragout. "I'm to receive no visitors and go abroad only escorted by that morose-looking bodyguard. Is that the way it's to be?"

"My dear, you may have all the visitors you wish-"

"Except my friends," she interrupted Tarquin.

"Except Mistress Dennison's girls," he finished without heat.

"I suspect I am going to be bored to tears," she stated, sounding remarkably cheerful at the prospect.

"Heaven preserve us!" the duke declared, throwing up his hands in mock horror. "The combination of you and boredom, my dear Juliana, doesn't bear thinking of. But you will meet plenty of people. There will be those who come to pay a bridal visit. You may go to Vauxhall and Ranelagh, the play, the opera. You will be introduced to people there, and I daresay you'll be invited to soirees and card parties and routs."

"Well, that's a relief," Juliana said as cheerfully as before, popping a roast potato into her mouth.

Tarquin smiled to himself. Quentin sipped his wine, reflecting that there was a rare softness, an indulgence, in Tarquin's eyes when they rested on the girl, even when they were sparring.

Juliana left them when the port decanter appeared, saying she wished to get ready for her ride, and the brothers sat over their port in companionable silence, each with his own thoughts.

Twenty minutes later Juliana's head peeked around the door. "May I come in again, or is it inconvenient?" she asked delicately. Chamber pots were kept in the sideboard for the convenience of gentlemen sitting long over their port, and she knew better than to burst in unannounced.

"Come in by all means," Tarquin invited, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Quentin saw the warm, amused look spring into his eyes again.

"I thought since you must have chosen my riding dress, you'd like to see what it looked like." Juliana stepped into the room. "It's very beautiful." She couldn't disguise her complacence as she presented herself expectantly for their admiration. "Don't you think the velvet on the collar and cuffs is a clever touch?" She craned her neck to examine her reflection in the glass of the fireplace. "It does such nice things for my eyes and skin." With a critical frown she adjusted the angle of her black, gold-edged hat. "I've never had such an elegant hat, either."

Tarquin smiled involuntarily. He'd amused himself giving orders for this wardrobe, but his enjoyment was tripled with Juliana's clear pleasure and the fact that his eye had been accurate. The green cloth coat and skirt with a cream silk waistcoat and dark-green velvet trimmings accentuated the lustrous jade of her eyes and her vivid hair. The nipped waist of the jacket and graceful sweep of the skirt made the most of the rich lines of her body.

She swept them both a curtsy, then rose and twirled exuberantly. The train of her full skirt swirled and wrapped itself around the leg of a table. With a muttered curse she extricated herself before any damage could be done.

"You look enchanting," Quentin declared. "Tarquin has always had a good eye when it comes to women's clothes."

"Do you spend this amount of time and trouble, not to mention money, on all your mistresses' wardrobes?" Juliana tweaked at her snowy linen cravat, smoothing a fold.

Quentin turned aside to hide his grin as Tarquin stared in disbelief at the insouciant Juliana. "Do I what?"

"Oh, was that indiscreet of me?" She smiled sunnily. "I didn't mean to be. I was only interested. It's unusual, I believe, for men to take such an interest in women's clothes."

"Let's drop the subject, shall we?" The duke sat up straight, his brows coming together in a fierce frown.