Swept Away. Candace Camp

than one occupant of the house turn toward her as they strolled in, but she was too busy gazing all around her at the strange atmosphere to pay attention to anything else.

      It was a house like many others, decorated with no lack of taste or expense, with the difference that instead of couches and chairs and the usual things that filled the drawing room and dining room, the rooms opening off the entry were furnished with tables and chairs, all filled by men playing cards. There were only two women among the fifteen or twenty men she could see. One was a silver-haired woman with a fortune in jewelry around her neck and at her ears. Her eyes were fixed intently on the cards in her hand, and a feverish spot of red colored each cheek. The other female was a petite woman with improbably blond hair and an overly voluptuous figure stuffed into a gown designed for a sylph. Julia’s first thought was that the woman looked vulgar, but she quickly reminded herself that she, too, was dressed in less-than-ladylike attire.

      A servant came up to take her gloves and cloak. Julia dawdled over the tasks, reluctant to reveal her attire to Geoffrey, but fortunately, before she had to draw off her cloak, a friend of Geoffrey’s hallooed at him from the next room. Geoffrey lifted his hand in a wave and smiled. He was as convivial as he was lazy, and Julia knew that he would spend the evening drinking and conversing with his friends in endless rounds of cards, and therefore, in his careless way, would probably lose all track of her.

      “Ah, there is Cornbliss. I suppose I must go to him.” He looked back at Julia. “Shall I introduce you? What is your name, by the by, or I shall make a shocking slip, I’m sure.”

      “Jessica,” Julia answered quickly, having spent a good part of the afternoon cogitating on names and other matters of deception. “That way, if either of us slips and starts to say my name, we can change it quickly.”

      “Clever girl.”

      “Jessica Murrow,” she added. “As for who I am, it doesn’t matter.”

      “I shall maintain an air of mystery, that’s always handy when one doesn’t know what one’s doing.”

      Julia smiled. “Go join your friends. I shan’t mind, and I don’t need to be introduced.”

      “If you are sure?”

      Julia nodded. She had counted on Geoffrey’s laziness and general unconcern to keep him out of her hair, and she was happy to see that she had been right. With a brief salute of his lips against the back of Julia’s hand, he strolled away to join his compatriots. Relieved, she shrugged out of her cloak and handed it to the long-suffering footman who still stood waiting for her. Quickly she stepped into the room opposite the one her cousin had entered and moved out of sight of the wide doorway. Thus established, she took stock of her surroundings.

      She had never before been in such an intensely masculine atmosphere. It must be, she thought, similar to a gentleman’s club, that inner sanctum of masculinity from which all women were excluded. Smoke rose lazily from cigars and pipes without regard to feminine sensibilities. Snifters of brandy and glasses of port or wine sat on the tables beside them. The rumble of male voices filled the air, punctuated now and then by a bark of loud laughter. Julia suspected that she would hear things tonight that would make her blush.

      She wandered through the room, then out the connecting doors into the larger room beyond. This, she realized, must be a small ballroom. Here, in addition to the tables of cardplayers, were two tables centered by the popular wheels of chance and another long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.

      Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.

      Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.

      Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.

      Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.

      He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably short, framed a square-jawed face of perfect proportions. His mouth was wide and mobile, his nose straight, and two black slashes of brows accented eyes as dark as his hair and sinfully long-lashed. A stubborn chin with a deep cleft and a small slash of a scar on his cheekbone gave his face a firmly masculine set.

      Hate spurted up in Julia, hot and tasting of bile, and her heart pounded crazily. She detested this man with a fury that threatened to swamp her. And tonight she had to make him want her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.

       2

      Julia broke her paralysis and looked away from Stonehaven. Slowly, affecting an air of unconcern, she continued on her path into the large gaming room. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and it was all she could do to keep herself from turning to glance back at him. Was he still watching her? Would he follow?

      She knew that she could not look, could not seem interested in him. Ever since she had come up with the idea of luring Lord Stonehaven into her feminine web, she had thought carefully about how to do it. He had been a friend of her brother’s for years, albeit not one of his closest, and Selby had spoken of him now and then, usually in the context of some sort of sport—hunting, boxing, marksmanship. He was, she knew, a man who thrived on competition, who liked a challenge. So she had determined that the best way to attract his interest was to appear disinterested herself. Let him be the hunter. Let him come to her and try to win her favors—that was the way to fix his desire on her.

      Still, it took all her willpower to refrain from looking. She strolled into the gaming room and down the length of it, moving as far from him as she could get. She paused behind a table of players and idly observed them for a few moments. She could not have said what they were playing, and she did not even notice the inviting smile that one of the men sent her way. All her attention, all her thoughts, were on the room behind her and the question of whether or not Lord Stonehaven had entered it. She was about to turn away toward another table when a masculine voice spoke behind her.

      “Are you fond of piquet?”

      A