Break some rules

ilence fell over the bedchamber. Gabriel St. John, Marquess of Ralston, took in the early-morning light washing over the decadently appointed room. For a m

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

reed, latching onto the kindness in Nick's eyes. "I had not realized that you were able to make such decisions in this house, brother," Ralston drawled, his gaze not wavering from the solicitor. "I'm simply shortening Wingate's agony," Nick replied, with a nod to the lawyer. "You won't turn away blood." Nick was, of course, correct. Gabriel St. John, seventh Marquess of Ralston would not deny his sister, regardless of his deep-seated desire to do so. Raking a hand through his black hair, Ralston wondered at the anger that still flared at the thought of his mother, whom he hadn't seen in decades. She had been married at a young age-barely sixteen-and had borne twin sons within a year. She was gone a decade later, escaped to the Continent, leaving her sons and their father in despair. For any other woman, Gabriel would have felt sympathy, would have understood her fear and forgiven her desertion. But he had witnessed his father's sorrow, felt the pain that the loss of a mother had caused. And he had replaced sadness with anger. It had been years before he was able to speak of her without a knot of fury rising in his throat. And now, to discover that she had destroyed another family, the wound was refreshed. That she would bear another child-a girl no less-and leave her to a life without a mother infuriated him. Of course, his mother had been correct; he would do right by his family. He would do what he could to atone for her sins. And perhaps that was the most maddening part of this whole situation-that his mother still understood him. That they might still be connected. He set his glass down, resuming his place behind the wide mahogany desk. "Where is the girl, Wingate?" "I believe she's been placed in the green room, my lord." "Well, we might as well fetch her." Nick moved to the door, opening it and sending an unseen servant to retrieve the girl. In the ensuing, pregnant silence, Wingate stood, smoothing down his waistcoat nervously. "Indeed. If I may, sir?" Gabriel fixed him with an irritated look. "She is a good girl. Very sweet." "Yes. You've mentioned as much. Contrary to your clear opinion of me, Wingate, I am not an ogre with a taste for

not in... England." She spat the word as though it were foul-tasting. "You forget that you are half-English, Juliana," Nick said, amused. "Never! I am Italian!" Her blue eyes flashed. "And your personality shows it, kitten," Gabriel drawled. "But you are the very portrait of our mother." Juliana looked to the walls. "Portraits? Of our mother? Where?" Nick chuckled, charmed by her misunderstanding. "No. You will not find pictures of her here. Gabriel was saying that you look like our mother. Exactly like her, actually." Juliana slashed one hand through the air. "Never say such a thing to me again. Our mother was a-" She stopped herself, the silence in the room heavy with the unspoken epi

at you would prefer to return to Italy, I will arrange it." She tilted her head as though considering the offer and the possibilities for escape. Finally, she nodded once in agreement. "Two months. Not a day more." "You may have your pick of the bedchambers above stairs, little sister." She dropped into a deep curtsy. "Grazie, my lord." She turned toward the door of the study and was stopped by Nick's curiosity. "How old are you?" "Twenty." Nick cast a fleeting look at his brother before continuing. "You will need to be introduced to London society." "I hardly think it necessary as I am only here for eight weeks," Her emphasis on the last words was impossible to mista

d by her mother at such a young age...then losing her father as well." "No different than our own circumstances." Ralston feigned disinterest as he sorted through a pile of correspondence. "In fact, I would remind you that we lost our father along with our mother." Nick's gaze did not waver. "We had each other, Gabriel. She has no one. We know better than anyone what it is like to be in her position; to be deserted by everyone you have ever had-everyone you have ever loved." Ralston met Nick's eyes, somber with the memories of their shared childhood. The twins had survived their mother's desertion, their father's descent into despair. Their childhood had not been pleasant, but Nick was right-they had had each other. And that had made the difference. "The one thing I learned from watching our parents is that love is overrated. Whatmatters is responsibility. Honor. Juliana will be better for understanding that at such a young age. She has us, now. And likely she thinks it not much. But it will have to be enough." The brothers fell into silence, each lost to his own thoughts. Eventually, Nick said, "It will be difficult to get the ton to accept her." Ralston swore roundly, recognizing the truth in his brother's words. As the daughter of a woman who had not received a proper divorce, Juliana would not be immediately accepted into society. At best, Juliana was the child of a lady exiled from polite society, and she would struggle to cast off the heavy mantle of her mother's soiled reputation. At wors

espite being certain to arrive full of loud opinions and brash instructions, was a dowager duchess and a pillar of the ton. "No." Ralston's response was short and immediate. Phyllidia would not be able to manage such a delicate situation as this-a mysterious, unknown sister arriving o