Page 32 of After the Abduction

Rosalind looked appalled as her gaze swung to Juliet. “Did you know this?”

“I merely knew he disturbed me. I caught him lying once. On the way to a ball one night, I saw his carriage in a wicked part of town, and he later swore up and down that I’d been mistaken.” She shrugged. “But I’m not blind.”

Rosalind looked distressed. Apparently she’d pinned high hopes on Juliet’s marrying the duke. “They do say that reformed rakes make the best husbands—”

“The only people saying that,” Griff broke in, “are the rakes themselves, trying to seduce their latest victims. Any woman who believes it is already half in trouble.”

Lord Templemore nodded. “You might as well say that reformed thieves make the best bank clerks. The day the Bank of England starts hiring pickpockets is the day I’ll believe in the good character of reformed rakes.”

“Wait a minute here,” Rosalind protested, “my brother-in-law Daniel was something of a libertine before he married my sister, and you’d never find a more faithful husband. Love can make a man reform his habits.”

“Daniel’s an exception,” Juliet retorted. “But I wonder if Griff and his lordship aren’t right. Can a man who’s led a sordid life really change, even for love?” She cast Lord Templemore a taunting smile. “I promise you that if Morgan returned to England, swore he’d changed his ways, and then asked to marry me, I’d be highly suspicious.”

“I should hope so,” Griff ground out. “The bloody man kidnapped you.”

Lord Templemore looked less than pleased. “But what if you discovered he had a good reason for his actions?”

“Like what? I can’t imagine how he could excuse the suffering he heaped on my family, the injury he nearly leveled to my reputation or for that matter, the injuries he inflicted on your family name. What possible reason could he give?” She boldly met his gaze, daring him to answer, to even hint at the truth.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I still say my brother isn’t a villain.”

Coward, she thought. “And I still say the proof is in his behavior.”

She was thoroughly enjoying his disgruntlement when a footman entered the room and approached Rosalind carrying a tray with a glass on it. “Mare’s milk for you, m’lady. Cook said to tell you she was able to get some after all.”

Rosalind blanched and shot a quick glance at her husband. Juliet followed her gaze to find Griff’s brow lowering into a deep scowl as he rose from the table.

Quickly, Rosalind reached for the glass, but Griff’s voice boomed out, “Don’t you dare!” When her hand hovered in midair, Griff ordered the footman, “Take that vile stuff away. And from now on, tell your cook to ignore any special requests from my wife.”

The footman glanced helplessly to his master, who gave a cursory nod. Juliet should have known that Lord Templemore would never come between a man and his wife. And what in creation was this all about?

Rosalind leaped to her feet and threw down her napkin. “You’ve gone too far this time, Griff Knighton! How dare you?”

He rose as well. “I won’t let you put that poison in your body!”

“Mr. Arbuthnot says—”

“That bloody quack! Him with his sheep’s urine and rabbit’s blood and mare’s milk…God knows what other rot is in his potion! I won’t stand for it, do you hear?”

“You’re such a beast! You have no right…” Rosalind trailed off into tears, then ran from the room.

Juliet stared after her in shock. Rosalind tended to be dramatic, but this went beyond drama. Rosalind never cried, not without great provocation. And to do so before a stranger…

Juliet’s accusing gaze swung to Griff. He looked grim and lost, standing there with one hand gripping the back of his chair and the other still braced on the table. He caught her stare, then seemed to realize what both she and Lord Templemore had witnessed.

He released a shuddering breath. “If…you will both excuse me, I must see to my wife.” Then he hurried from the room.

An oppressive silence loomed stark and sudden after such an emotional outburst. She had no idea what to say to his lordship or even how to explain the source of the argument. Mare’s milk? Why in creation would Rosalind want that? And rabbit’s blood and…

“I beg your pardon,” came Lord Templemore’s stiff voice, “but is your sister by some chance…that is…” He trailed off into an uneasy silence.

When she glanced at him, his expression showed all the discomfort of a man caught in the act of peering into another man’s closets. “What?” she prodded.

He wouldn’t look at her. “Mare’s milk, rabbit’s blood, and sheep’s urine are occasionally touted by quacks as having properties that will…er…enhance fertility in a woman.”

Juliet continued to stare at him blankly.

His gaze swung to her, softening. “Could your sister be trying to conceive?”