“Ralston…”
The name, carried on a feminine moan, sliced through the clearing, shaking Callie from her reverie. In shock, she dropped her hand and whirled away from the scene upon which she had intruded. She rushed through the maze, desperate for escape, and stopped once more at the marble bench where her garden excursion had begun. Breathing heavily, she collected herself, shocked by her behavior. Ladies did not eavesdrop. And they certainly did not eavesdrop in such a manner.
Besides, fantasies would do her no good.
She pushed aside a devastating pang of sorrow as the truth coursed through her. She would never have the magnificent Marquess of Ralston, nor anyone like him. She felt an acute certainty that the things he had said to her earlier were not truth, but instead the lies of an inveterate seducer, carefully chosen to appease her and send her blithely off, easing his dark tryst with his ravishing beauty. He hadn’t believed a word of it.
No, she was not Calpurnia, Empress of Rome. She was plain, old Callie. And she always would be.
One
London, England
April 1823
The incessant pounding woke him.
He ignored it at first, sleep clouding the source of the irritating noise.
There was a long pause and a thick silence fell over the bedchamber.
Gabriel St. John, Marquess of Ralston, took in the early-morning light washing over the decadently appointed room. For a moment, he remained still, registering the rich hues of the chamber, adorned with silk wall coverings and gilded edges, a garish haven of sensual pleasure.
Reaching for the lush female beside him, a half smile played over his lips as she curved her willing, naked body into his—the combination of the early hour and her heated flesh returning him to the edge of slumber.
He lay still, eyes closed, trailing his fingertips idly across his bedmate’s bare shoulder as one lithe, feminine hand stroked down the rigid planes of his torso, the direction of the caress a dark erotic promise.
Her touch became stronger, firmer, and he rewarded her skill with a low growl of pleasure.
And the pounding began again—loud and constant on the heavy oak door.
“Cease!” Ralston surged from his mistress’s bed, entirely prepared to terrify his intruder into leaving him in peace for the rest of the morning. He had barely pulled on his silk dressing gown before he tore the door open with a wicked curse.
On the threshold stood his twin brother, impeccably dressed and perfectly manicured, as though it were entirely normal to call upon one’s brother, at the home of his mistress, at the crack of dawn. Behind Nicholas St. John stood a sputtering servant, “My lord, I did my best to keep him from—”
An icy look from Ralston stopped the words in the man’s throat. “Leave us.”
Nick watched as the footman scurried away, one brow arched in amusement. “I had forgotten how charming you are in the morning, Gabriel.”
“What in God’s name brings you here at this hour?”
“I went to Ralston House first,” Nick said, “When you weren’t there, this seemed the most likely place to find you.” He let his gaze slide past his twin to land on the woman seated in the center of the enormous bed. With a lazy grin, Nick gave a nod of acknowledgment in the direction of his brother’s mistress. “Nastasia. My apologies for the intrusion.”
The Greek beauty stretched like a cat, sensual and sybaritic, allowing the sheet she held in feigned modesty to slip, revealing one luscious breast. A teasing smile played across her lips as she said, “Lord Nicholas. I assure you, I am not the least bit put out. Perhaps you would like to join us…” She paused suggestively. “For breakfast?”
Nick smiled appreciatively. “A tempting offer.”
Ignoring the interaction, Ralston prodded. “Nick, if you are in such need of female companionship, I am certain we could have found you a destination that did not so summarily disturb my rest.”
Nick leaned against the doorframe, allowing his gaze to linger on Nastasia before returning his attention to Ralston. “Resting, were you, brother?”
Ralston stalked away from the door, toward a basin in the corner of the room, hissing as he splashed bracing water on his face. “You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Immensely.”
“You have mere seconds to tell me why you are here, Nick, before I grow weary of having a younger sibling and toss you out.”
“Intriguing that you would select such a relevant turn of phrase,” Nick said casually. “As it happens, your position as eldest sibling is why I am here.”
Ralston lifted his head to meet his brother’s gaze as droplets of water coursed down his face.
“You see, Gabriel, it appears that we have a sister.”
“A half sister.”
Ralston spoke flatly, staring down his solicitor, waiting for the bespectacled man to overcome his nerves and explain the circumstances of this surprise announcement. Ralston had perfected the intimidation tactic in gambling hells across London and expected that it would work quickly to get the little man talking.
He was correct.
“I—that is, my lord—”
Ralston cut him off, stalking across the study to pour himself a drink. “Spit it out, man. I haven’t got all day.”
“Your mother—”
“My mother, if one may use such a word for the unloving creature who bore us, departed England for the Continent more than twenty-five years ago.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, affecting a look of boredom, “How are we to believe this girl is our sister and not some charlatan eager to capitalize on our goodwill?”