"Go away!" Juliana repeated crossly. "You've made your point. There's no need to gloat."

Gloat! He almost laughed aloud. If anyone should be gloating, it was Juliana. Turning on his heel, he left her to her angry tears.

Chapter 22

“I daresay you've known Lady Lydia all your life," Juliana remarked to Lord Quentin several mornings later, when he returned to her parlor after escorting her visitors to their carriages.

"What makes you say that?" He walked to the window overlooking the garden and stood looking out so she could see nothing of his face.

"Oh, just that you seem very easy together. Like very old friends." She refilled their coffee cups with an air of nonchalance.

In the last few days Lady Lydia had been a frequent visitor to Lady Edgecombe. Somehow her visits coincided with Lord Quentin's seemingly casual presence in Juliana's parlor. Lady Lydia never came alone; she always had some friend or acquaintance of her mother's in tow, a lady anxious to pay a courtesy visit to the new bride. But it was clear to Juliana, at least, that these chaperons were merely a blind. Behind their presence, Lady Lydia and Lord Quentin could talk and smile, brush hands in a fleeting gesture, sit side by side on a sofa, their heads bent together over a book of illustrations.

"We are old friends." Quentin turned from the window to take his refilled cup, that same bleak look haunting his eyes.

"But you feel more for each other than friendship." Juliana found herself taking the bull by the horns without conscious thought. Her impulses were always getting the better of her, but maybe in this case it might prove helpful.

Quentin said nothing for a minute. He drank his coffee, then said, "Is it that obvious?"

"To me."

"I am trying so hard to control it, Juliana." Quentin's voice was low and anguished, reflecting the misery in his eyes. "But I can't bear the idea of her marrying Tarquin. Of her marrying anyone but me." He began to pace the room from window to door, the words bubbling forth as if Juliana had unplugged a well. "I should go back to Melchester at once. Put myself beyond temptation. But I can't do it."

"Have you finished your business with the archbishop?"

Quentin shook his head. "If only I had, I wouldn't have an excuse to stay… to betray Tarquin every minute I'm in lydia's company."

"You're too harsh with yourself," Juliana said practically. "You're not betraying the duke by sitting with Lydia-"

"I lust after her!" he interrupted in anguish. "God help me, Juliana, but I lust after another man's wife."

"She's not his wife yet," Juliana pointed out.

"Don't split hairs." He sat down, dropping his head in his hands. "It's mortal sin. I know it and yet I can't stop myself."

"But she feels the same way about you."

Quentin raised his head. His face was haggard. "She has said so. God forgive me, but I asked her. I forced her to acknowledge her own sin." He dropped his head in his hands again with a soft groan.

Juliana tucked an errant ringlet behind her ear. All this talk of sin. she supposed, was only to be expected from a man of the cloth, but since it was impossible to believe that Quentin had carried his devotion to Lydia as far as consummation, he did seem to be going overboard with the self-flagellation.

"Why don't you ask the duke to release her?" It seemed a simple enough solution.

Quentin gave a short, bitter laugh. "Sometimes I forget how unworldly you are. Lydia's family would never countenance a match with me. Not when their daughter is destined to be a duchess. Our world doesn't work that way, my dear."

Juliana refused to be satisfied with this. "But Lydia surely is not so mercenary?"

"Lydia! Sweet heaven, no! Lydia is an angel!"

"Yes, of course she is. But if she doesn't care about becoming a duchess, surely she can persuade her parents that she loves someone else."

Quentin shook his head, almost amused by this naive pragmaticism. "Lord and Lady Melton would never give up such an advantageous match for their daughter."

"But supposing the duke offered to release Lydia?" she suggested. "Perhaps he would do it for your sake. If he understood how you feel-and how Lydia feels."

"My dear girl, it would be the same as jilting her. Tarquin would never do that to her… or her family. Besides," he added with a rueful sigh, "I could never ask Tarquin to make such a sacrifice. He wants this match. He's done so much for me over the years, I couldn't bring myself to ruin his life."

"Oh, pshaw!" Juliana exclaimed in disgust. "You wouldn't be ruining his life. He'd soon get over it. It isn't as if he's in love with her. And as far as jilting Lydia is concerned, a private rearrangement is no concern of anyone's. It'll be a nine days' wonder at worst."

Quentin wondered if she was right, and for a moment hope flickered. Then it died as swiftly as it had arisen.

"Lydia has been educated to be Tarquin's wife. She will bring him Melton land to augment his own. She knows her duty and she knows what to expect. She will be a good wife and mother to his children, and she'll expect no more than courtesy and consideration in return. She won't think about other women in his life, because she knows that all women of her social status do not marry for love. She knows that she must expect her husband to seek his pleasure outside the marriage bed." The bitterness was back in his voice now. "Tarquin has no truck with sentimentality, Juliana. And love comes into that category."

"I suppose so." Her fingers plucked restlessly at an overblown rose in a bowl beside her chair. The petals showered down. She and Tarquin had had no private talk since their last confrontation. He had been polite and distant, but he hadn't come to her bed. She wondered if he was waiting for an invitation. She had told him to leave her alone, after all.

"Don't you think he could change, Quentin?" She pinched a rose petal between her fingers, not raising her eyes as she asked the question.

"He already has a little," Quentin said thoughtfully. "I think you've had a softening effect on him."

Juliana looked up with a quick flush. "Do you think so?"

"Mmmm. But then you, my dear, are a most unusual young woman." He rose to his feet and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "Unusual, and most perceptive. I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles."

Juliana's flush deepened with pleasure. "You didn't burden me with anything, sir. I'm honored with your confidence."

He smiled again and bent to kiss her cheek. "You have, at least, enabled me to see clearly again. If it's so obvious to you what Lydia and I feel, then it may become obvious to Tarquin also. I don't want that to happen."

"So what will you do?"

"Write to my bishop and ask to return before my mission is completed."

It was a sad-indeed, rather pathetic-solution, Juliana thought, but she merely nodded as if in agreement, and he left her.

She leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. Her hand drifted over her belly. Had she conceived? It was five weeks since her last monthly terms. She felt no different, none of the signs so painstakingly pointed out by Mistress Dennison. And yet she had this strange, deep knowledge inside her body that something different was going on. She couldn't put words to it, but it was a definite conviction known in her blood if not in her brain.

She would wait until she was sure, of course, before telling the duke. In their present state of estrangement he'd probably be delighted that there was no further need for their lovemaking. She ought to be pleased herself, but Juliana was too honest to pretend that the thought brought her anything but a hollow pain. She hated the present coldness, but some stubborn streak kept her from making the first move. It was up to the duke to heal the breach if he wanted to.