Free A Tale of Two Lovers by Maya Rodale Page B

infuriating—young man. She wanted to savor this heat of pleasure, and the dizziness of desire.
    “I cannot,” she confessed.
    There was too much at stake, though. There was the fact that they were engaged in a very public battle over very scathing rumors. Reputations were everything, and they were on the line. Her position at The Weekly was on the line. Last, but not least, her body and her heart were in jeopardy. She had seen this play before; she had lived it, and had no desire to do so again.
    It was all too much to gamble on with a notorious man like Roxbury.
    Was she enjoying this, too? She had her moments. But she didn’t dare.
    A t the conclusion of the waltz, Julianna vanished into the crowds before Roxbury could whisk her off for . . . a kiss? More gloating? Another dance? An interlude on the terrace? She was obviously smarting over losing the latest round of their newspaper battle.
    Roxbury knew not what his intentions were.
    He did know she was not interested in whatever his intentions may be.
    Roxbury had purposely limited experience with her type, but he was well aware what he was dealing with: a woman who had suffered a rake before. They were difficult ones to seduce, for they knew all the tricks and had experienced the consequences.
    What did it mean that he was considering seducing her? Nothing. It meant nothing. He thought that about every woman. She was the only woman that could be cajoled into speaking to him at the moment and he had so craved the touch and the company of a woman. It had been too damn long.
    It would behoove him to take a wife, though . . .
    Jocelyn’s public confession in The Times did not have the effect he would have hoped. Women eyed him coyly again, but none dared to speak to him and he knew that none would be receptive to his advances.
    A life of poverty was staring him down. Just short of three weeks remained before the earl would cut off his funds.
    “Lord Roxbury,” a woman called his name. It’d been some time since he’d heard his name from a lady’s lips. Other than Julianna’s, that is.
    It was Lady Hortensia Reeves.
    “Lady Reeves, good evening,” he said, bowing to her. He saw her blush.
    “Good evening,” she replied, and then, because he could see that she was nervous, he initiated a conversation on the weather, and then the party, to warm her up and bolster her confidence. Then when her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling, he knew she had gathered the courage to say what was really on her mind.
    For once, it had nothing to do with her collections.
    “I wanted to say how unfortunate it is that everyone has turned on you, Lord Roxbury. But now you know your true friends,” she said.
    He smiled kindly at her, and wished deeply that he owned a modicum of attraction for Lady Reeves. Because then it would be so simple—they would marry, he would be rich and . . .
    No, she would love him and he would destroy her with his infidelity.
    Roxbury smiled kindly at Lady Reeves, clasped her hand, and thanked her sincerely. But then he caught sight of Julianna on the far side of the ballroom—tall, gorgeous, aloof, and dangerous. . . .

Chapter 11
     
    The offices of The London Weekly
    53 Fleet Street, London
     
    T he mood at the next gathering of The London Weekly ’s staff was more subdued than usual. A few days earlier the Man About Town had published that tittle-tattle tell-all with Jocelyn Kemble, thus upping the stakes in the ongoing battle between the two papers. It was the only thing London had been talking about.
    Was he or wasn’t he? Who to believe—the Lady of Distinction or the Man About Town? Should Lord Roxbury be received or not? Should the word of an actress be believed or not? The London Weekly or The London Times ?
    People avoided Roxbury in droves, just in case. Jocelyn’s plays were sold out. Sales for both newspapers were stellar.
    “You’ve seen the other column?” Eliza asked in a hushed, cautious whisper.
    “Yes, of