husband had shattered both. He had a whole world to wander; why the devil did he have to turn up in her own front yard?
Ross would have died if it hadn’t been for the timely appearance of Juliet and her men, so she could not truly regret this particular twist of fate. But she had still been angry, and her misdirected rage at life’s unfairness had caused her to treat him like merchandise at a slave mart. Ironically, her shocked reaction to the ugly scars of the old bullet wound had prolonged the moment and made it seem more threatening than she had intended. As a result, she had infuriated a man who was known for his easy disposition and condemned herself to what would be a deeply painful confrontation. And worst of all, by seeing and touching Ross’s beautiful, familiar body, she had reawakened feelings that she had tried to bury a dozen years before…
Juliet had hated making her debut in London society. She was too tall and gawky, her red hair was a flaming, inglorious beacon, and her background too unconventional for her to be a social success. The fact that she hadn’t wanted that kind of success did not make her humiliating failure any less painful.
Without Sara St. James, the Season would have driven Juliet mad. Lady Sara would have been popular even if she had not been a great heiress, for she was everything Juliet was not: petite, lovely in a graceful, feminine way, and possessed of a quiet charm that made everyone she met feel important and honored.
Their schoolgirl friendship could easily have foundered on the shoals of society. Instead, Sara had done everything she could to ease Juliet’s way, insisting that her friend be included in invitations and coaxing her own numerous admirers to dance with Miss Cameron. Juliet had not liked being an object of charity, but the alternative would have been far worse, and she knew that Sara was acting from genuine kindness.
Juliet had heard often about Sara’s favorite cousin, Lord Ross Carlisle, but had never met him. Then she had gone to a noisy, crowded ball at a house whose name she no longer remembered. Sara had been swept off by the attractive youth she was falling in love with. Juliet had found a quiet corner and was trying not to look as awkward and uncomfortable as she felt.
Then a young man was brought over by Juliet’s Aunt Louise, who was her sponsor and chaperone for the Season. The stranger was very tall and sinfully handsome, with butter-blond hair and an air of quiet confidence. From Aunt Louise’s fawning deference, he was also rich and wellborn.
The ballroom was so noisy that Juliet had not caught the young man’s name when he was introduced. While she did not particularly want to dance with the fellow, standing alone was worse, so she had ungraciously accepted his invitation.
He waltzed very well, but that hadn’t mollified Juliet. Doubtless he was another of Sara’s suitors and had been coerced into asking the wallflower to dance. The thought made it impossible to enjoy what would have otherwise been very pleasant.
She had answered all of his conversational attempts with a terseness just sort of incivility, until he had said, “I understand that you speak Arabic.”
That had caught her attention, and she had looked up into his face for the first time. Deciding to play a small private joke, she had replied, “Yes. Shall I say something in Arabic?”
He had indicated that he would be delighted to hear an example, so Juliet thought a moment, her long dark lashes hooding her eyes. Then she said sweetly, in classical Arabic,
“Thou art a frail, useless fellow, a chattering monkey with no spark of life’s wisdom.”
His deep brown eyes had widened. Then, with a wicked gleam, he had said in slow but fluent Arabic,
“Thou hast the tongue of an asp, daughter of the desert, but being only a frail, useless fellow, I have been vanquished by thy flaming beauty.”
Juliet had been so shocked that she had stopped stock-still in the middle of
Ross would have died if it hadn’t been for the timely appearance of Juliet and her men, so she could not truly regret this particular twist of fate. But she had still been angry, and her misdirected rage at life’s unfairness had caused her to treat him like merchandise at a slave mart. Ironically, her shocked reaction to the ugly scars of the old bullet wound had prolonged the moment and made it seem more threatening than she had intended. As a result, she had infuriated a man who was known for his easy disposition and condemned herself to what would be a deeply painful confrontation. And worst of all, by seeing and touching Ross’s beautiful, familiar body, she had reawakened feelings that she had tried to bury a dozen years before…
Juliet had hated making her debut in London society. She was too tall and gawky, her red hair was a flaming, inglorious beacon, and her background too unconventional for her to be a social success. The fact that she hadn’t wanted that kind of success did not make her humiliating failure any less painful.
Without Sara St. James, the Season would have driven Juliet mad. Lady Sara would have been popular even if she had not been a great heiress, for she was everything Juliet was not: petite, lovely in a graceful, feminine way, and possessed of a quiet charm that made everyone she met feel important and honored.
Their schoolgirl friendship could easily have foundered on the shoals of society. Instead, Sara had done everything she could to ease Juliet’s way, insisting that her friend be included in invitations and coaxing her own numerous admirers to dance with Miss Cameron. Juliet had not liked being an object of charity, but the alternative would have been far worse, and she knew that Sara was acting from genuine kindness.
Juliet had heard often about Sara’s favorite cousin, Lord Ross Carlisle, but had never met him. Then she had gone to a noisy, crowded ball at a house whose name she no longer remembered. Sara had been swept off by the attractive youth she was falling in love with. Juliet had found a quiet corner and was trying not to look as awkward and uncomfortable as she felt.
Then a young man was brought over by Juliet’s Aunt Louise, who was her sponsor and chaperone for the Season. The stranger was very tall and sinfully handsome, with butter-blond hair and an air of quiet confidence. From Aunt Louise’s fawning deference, he was also rich and wellborn.
The ballroom was so noisy that Juliet had not caught the young man’s name when he was introduced. While she did not particularly want to dance with the fellow, standing alone was worse, so she had ungraciously accepted his invitation.
He waltzed very well, but that hadn’t mollified Juliet. Doubtless he was another of Sara’s suitors and had been coerced into asking the wallflower to dance. The thought made it impossible to enjoy what would have otherwise been very pleasant.
She had answered all of his conversational attempts with a terseness just sort of incivility, until he had said, “I understand that you speak Arabic.”
That had caught her attention, and she had looked up into his face for the first time. Deciding to play a small private joke, she had replied, “Yes. Shall I say something in Arabic?”
He had indicated that he would be delighted to hear an example, so Juliet thought a moment, her long dark lashes hooding her eyes. Then she said sweetly, in classical Arabic,
“Thou art a frail, useless fellow, a chattering monkey with no spark of life’s wisdom.”
His deep brown eyes had widened. Then, with a wicked gleam, he had said in slow but fluent Arabic,
“Thou hast the tongue of an asp, daughter of the desert, but being only a frail, useless fellow, I have been vanquished by thy flaming beauty.”
Juliet had been so shocked that she had stopped stock-still in the middle of
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