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Her mention of the theater sparked the solution to his blunder. He nearly sagged against the table with relief. “Yes, that’s true. But I didn’t know you saw me.”

Her giddy smile faded. “What? Of course I saw you. That’s when we met, when we talked about the play and—”

“Talked about the play?” He forced himself to speak the words he knew would infuriate her. “We never spoke. I saw you from afar two years ago when we were both in London. We didn’t meet, but I saw you from my box. You wouldn’t remember it, of course, and indeed I hadn’t remembered it either until today but—”

“You…you…” she sputtered. “How dare you?” She shoved him hard, and instinctively he backed away to let her leap down from the pedestal. With alarming frenzy, she fastened her chemise, then began struggling with the buttons of her gown. “You don’t intend to claim…surely after this you can’t still—” She glanced up at him, eyes bleak with hurt. “How could you? How could you stand here kissing me and touching me, then turn around and lie to my face when…”

She trailed off, her breath coming in great tearful gasps that drove out all his own anger. He could handle her fury at being thwarted in her aims.

But to see her wounded feelings—oh Christ, that cut him to the soul.

Still, he couldn’t take back the words. He didn’t dare bring out into the open the reality of what they’d been to each other before. Because once he did, everything would change, and he couldn’t predict how.

The likelihood that knowing the truth would provoke her to vengeance seemed more real now than it had scant moments ago. He’d thought she was warming to him. Now he knew this had been a ploy to make him lower his guard and reveal himself. She could have only one reason for such measures—revenge.

He’d underestimated her before. He wouldn’t do it again. “I don’t…know what you’re talking about.” Every word was wrenched from somewhere inside his gut.

The most painful irony was that he was telling the truth about the theater. He had seen her in London two years ago, after the kidnapping, wanting to assure himself that she was well. Or so he’d told himself. What he’d wanted was a glimpse of her, any glimpse at all, no matter how imperfect.

Filled with regret for what might have been, he’d lurked in a private box and watched a succession of young idiots approach her seeking introductions, all of whom he’d wanted to strangle for being able to speak to her and flirt with her when he couldn’t, when he dared not.

“Truly, Juliet, the only time I ever saw you in a theater—” he began.

“No, don’t,” she said in a small, heart-ripping voice as she returned to struggling with her buttons.

“Here, let me.” He needed something to distract him from the pain on her face. And the uneasy sense that he was blundering somehow. Turning her around, he fastened her buttons. “I saw you in London, you know. I did.”

“Stop it! I can’t bear to hear your lies when I know the truth. When we both know the truth. It was hard enough before, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

She started to walk away, but her words had rekindled his own feelings of betrayal. He caught her arm to stay her. “So all your coy games and flirtations and response to my kisses were merely your attempt to prove that I’m Morgan, weren’t they?”

“No!”

“All you wanted from me was some heedless statement that would prove your point. And for that you were willing to let me—” He tamped down the bitterness souring his soul. “You’re more heartless than I realized, Juliet.”

Lifting her face, she showed him a countenance etched with hurt. “No more than you. Don’t you think I know why you practiced your seductions on me?”

He blinked. Had she guessed that he’d been courting her? “What do you mean?”

“I’m not an idiot. I quickly figured out that you wanted to distract me from my purpose, to…to wrap me so thoroughly in your spell again that I’d forget what I came here for. But I didn’t care. Not when you were kissing me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re a clever rogue, Sebastian. You always were. And you know too well how to make a woman want you. I was so affected that if you’d acknowledged the truth just now, I might have forgiven all.”

She shook her head blindly. “But I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.” Turning away, she darted up the steps for the door.

All he could do was stand there, fists clenching, while she fled into the hall.

I didn’t care. Not when you were kissing me. Devil take her for that. She’d been practicing her own seductions, and she tried to make him feel guilty for his? At least he’d had marriage in mind. All she’d had was vengeance.

Though he couldn’t blame her; God knew she had good reason. And it wasn’t as if he’d told her he wanted to marry her. He’d been so busy trying to keep from scaring her off that he hadn’t considered how she’d regard his advances. Especially since she’d never stopped knowing he was her kidnapper.

The worst of it was, if he had it to do all over again, he would in a heartbeat, just to see her face alight with pleasure, feel her flesh warm and soft beneath his fingers, have her tremble in his arms.

By thunder, she’d truly gotten to him. Spearing his hands through his hair, he paced a circle around the pedestal. What was he to do now?

The door to the conservatory slammed shut, and he jerked his head up to find that his uncle had entered the room.

“What’s going on, Sebastian?” Uncle Lew demanded. “Lady Juliet just nearly knocked me over in the hall in her eagerness to leave. She was so shaken I was afraid to let her return to Charnwood Hall in the sleigh without an escort, but she insisted. I thought you’d both left long ago, but apparently I misjudged your character. What the hell did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” He refused to discuss Juliet with Uncle Lew.