Lydia put up her veil again to bid her farewell. "I do hope we'll be like sisters," she said, kissing Juliana's cheek. "It will be so pleasant to have another woman in the house."

Juliana murmured something and returned the kiss. She glanced again at Quentin. His face was almost ugly, and she knew he was thinking, as was she, of Tarquin's setting up two families under his roof. Installing the woman Quentin loved as the mother of one of them.

Juliana was no longer in any doubt that Quentin loved Lydia Melton, and she suspected his love was reciprocated. Tarquin had admitted that he did not love Lydia, yet he was her betrothed. There must be a way to sort out this tangle. Quentin was not quite such a magnificent catch as his brother, but he was still the younger son of a duke, wealthy in his own right, and clearly destined for great things in the Church. He would be an excellent match for Lydia-once her engagement to Tarquin could be broken off.

But that would leave Tarquin without a wife. Without a mother for his legitimate heirs.

A problem for another day. She remounted with Ted's assistance, waved a cheerful farewell to Quendn and his lady, and trotted off. "Have you known the Courtney family for long, Ted?"

"Aye."

"Forever?"

"Aye."

"Since His Grace was a boy?"

"Since 'e was nobbut a babby."

That was a long sentence, Juliana thought. Maybe it was a promising sign. "Have you known Lady Lydia and her family for long?"

"Aye."

"Always?"

"Aye."

"So they've known the Courtneys for always?"

"Aye. Melton land marches with Courtney land."

"Ah," Juliana said. That explained a lot, including a marriage of convenience. Ted might well prove a useful source of information if she picked her questions correctly. However, his lips were now firmly closed, and she guessed he'd imparted as much as he was going to for the present.

She dismounted at the front door and Ted took the horses to the mews. Juliana made her way upstairs. As she turned toward her own apartments, she came face-to-face with Lucien. Her heart missed a beat. Tarquin had said she'd never have to face her vile husband again. He'd said he would deal with him. So where was he?

"Well, well, if it isn't my not so little wife." Lucien blocked her passage. The slurring of drink couldn't disguise the malice in his voice, and his eyes in their deep, dark sockets burned with hatred. His chin was blue-bruised. "You left in such a hurry last night, my dear. I gather the entertainment didn't please you."

"Let me pass, please." She kept her voice even, although every millimeter of skin prickled, her muscles tightened with repulsion, and the hot coals of rage glowered in her belly.

"You weren't so anxious to be rid of me yesterday," he declared, gripping her wrist in the way that sent a wave of remembered fear racing through her blood. He twisted her wrist and she gave a cry of pain, her fingers loosening on the riding crop she held. He wrenched it from her slackened grasp.

"What an unbiddable wife you've become, my dear." Catching a clump of her hair that was escaping from her hat brim, he gave it a vicious tug as he pulled her closer to him. "I promised you would pay for that kick last night. It seems you're getting quite above yourself for a Russell Street harlot. I think I must teach you proper respect."

Out of the corner of her eye Juliana caught the flash of movement as he raised the whip. Then she screamed, with shock as much as pain, as it descended across her shoulders in a burning stripe.

Lucien's eyes glittered with a savage pleasure at her cry. He raised his arm again, at the same time pulling brutally on her hair as if he would tear it from her scalp. But he'd underestimated his victim. It was one thing to take Juliana by surprise, quite another to face her when she'd had a chance to gather her forces. She had learned over the years to control the worst of her temper, but she made no effort to quench it now.

Lucien found he had one of the Furies in his hands. He clung on to her hair, but she seemed oblivious of the pain. The whip fell to the ground as her knee came up with lethal accuracy. His eyes watered, he gasped with pain. Before he could protect himself, she kicked his shins and was going for his eyes with her fingers curled into claws. Instinctively, he covered his face with his hands.

"You filthy bastard . . . son of a gutter-born bitch!" she hissed, driving her knee into his belly. He doubled over on an anguished spasm and was racked with a violent coughing fit that seemed to pull his guts up from his belly. Juliana grabbed up the whip, raised her arm to bring it down across his back.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Tarquin's voice pierced the scarlet circle of her blind rage. He had hold of her upraised wrist and was forcing her arm down. "What in the name of damnation is going on here?"

Juliana struggled to regain control. Her bosom was heaving, her cheeks deathly pale, her eyes on fire, seeing nothing but the loathsome, squirming shape of the man who had dared to raise his hand to her. "Gutter sweeping," she said, her voice trembling with fury. "Slubberdegullion whoreson. May you rot in your grave, you green, slimy maggot!"

Tarquin removed the whip from her hand. "Take a deep breath, mignonne."

"Where were you?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "You said I would never have to see him again. You promised you would keep him away from me." She touched her sore scalp and winced as the movement creased the stripe across her back.

"I didn't know until just now that he'd returned," Tarquin said. "I wouldn't have let him near you if I had. Believe me, Juliana." She was shivering violently and he laid a hand on her arm, his expression tight with anger and remorse. "Go to your apartments now and leave this with me. Henny will attend to your hurts. I'll come to you shortly."

"He hit me with that damned whip," Juliana said, catching her breath on an angry sob.

"He'll pay for it," Tarquin said grimly. Fleetingly, he touched her cheek. "Now, do as you're bid."

Juliana cast one last, scornful look at the still convulsed Lucien and trailed away, all the bounce gone from her step.

Tarquin said with soft savagery, "I want you out of my house within the hour, Edgecombe."

Lucien looked up, struggling for breath. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with pain, but his tongue was still pure venom. "Well, well," he drawled. "Reneging on an agreement, my dear cousin! Shame on you. The shining example of honor and duty has feet of clay, after all."

A pulse flicked in Tarquin's temple, but he spoke without emotion. "I was a fool to have thought it possible to have an honorable agreement with you. I consider the contract null and void. Now, get out of my house."

"Giving up on me at last, Tarquin?" Lucien pushed himself up until he was sagging against the wall. His deep-sunk eyes glittered suddenly. "You promised me once you would never give up on me. You said that you would always stand by me even when no one else would. You said blood was thicker than water. Do you remember that?" His voice had a whine to it, but his eyes still glittered with a strange triumph.

Tarquin stared down at him, pity and contempt in his gaze. "Yes, I remember," he said. "You were a twelve-year-old liar and a thief, and in my godforsaken naivete I thought maybe it wasn't your fault. That you needed to be accepted by the family in order to become one of us-"

"You never accepted me in the family," Lucien interrupted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You and Quentin despised me from the first moment you laid eyes on me."

"That's not true," Tarquin said steadfastly. "We gave you every benefit of the doubt, knowing the disadvantages of your upbringing."

"Disadvantages!" Lucien sneered, the blue bruises standing out against his greenish pallor. "A demented father and a mother who never left her bed."