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this silk square?” Julia turned back to the first bidder, her mannerism far from the restrained woman he was accustomed to seeing in his shipping office. “First I must tell you that I’m sworn to secrecy not to reveal the identity of the friend who acquired this infamous handkerchief.”
    “I bid thirty pounds, Mrs. Westgard.” A matronly woman raised her hand to bid on the item. “How did your friend acquire the handkerchief? Is it from one of St. Claire’s discarded lovers?”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Fellowes. No, this item was not given freely. It was taken right from underneath the great man’s nose itself. My friend, who shall go nameless, entered the lion’s den, simply to acquire this handkerchief.”
    “Good heavens! Do you mean your friend…oh my word.” Mrs. Fellowes went silent.
    “I bid fifty pounds if you tell us what lion’s den, Mrs. Westgard,” said a timid looking young woman on the front row.
    Julia, hazel eyes shining with mischief, moved to the other side of the room and smiled at the bidder. Folding his arms across his chest, he bit back a grin. The minx was enjoying keeping these women on tenterhooks.
    “Thank you for that bid, Miss Alverton. In fact, the lion’s den was no other than…” Julia paused for effect. “Morgan St. Claire’s very own room at the Clarendon.”
    The collective gasps in the room merely widened Julia’s smile, and her mischievous pleasure made it difficult for him to restrain his laughter.“Oh no, Mrs. Westgard…surely not.” The woman called Miss Alverton shook her head in horror.
    “I’m afraid so, although my friend confessed it was a frightening adventure.”
    With a dramatic gesture, she held up his handkerchief for inspection. “As you can see, here are the illustrious initials of the man himself. So which of you lovely ladies dares to own a genuine Morgan St. Claire handkerchief? All without having succumbed to the man’s licentious charms?”
    Her blithely spoken words made his muscles tense with annoyance. Licentious. The woman was about to find out just how unrestrained he could be in the bedroom, and he’d make damn sure she was begging for more before he finished with her. Relaxing back into his seat, he studied Julia’s lush, voluptuous figure.
    He knew what hid beneath that modest gray dress of hers. His eyes narrowed as he watched her continue to encourage the bidding for the handkerchief. The snug material of her gown clung with seductive longing to her breasts. The pattern slid downward to a pointed vee, just below her waist, before the material covered her hips in a graceful swag to the bustle behind her.
    The image of her portrait entered his mind, and he visualized exactly what that vee was pointing too. A nest of reddish-brown curls lay beneath that meek gown, and he had every intention of exploring the velvety folds those curls covered—and soon.
    “Do I have any more bids ladies? I have a hundred pounds from Lady Plumton, do I hear a hundred twenty?”
    “Two hundred pounds.” He watched as the sound of his voice reached her. The color drained from her face as she finally caught sight of him in the rear of the room. For a long, dramatic moment, the room was fraught with a loud silence that only sheer astonishment could create. Seconds later, a bevy of excited whispers erupted in the room with dozens of eyes fixed on him. He ignored all but one woman in room and arched his eyebrows at Julia.
    “I…Mr. St. Claire…I…I don’t think this auction is open to bidders outside of the Society for Lost Angels.”
    “I see. Lady Eldred, I was given to understand that my bid would be welcome today, did I misunderstand?” Slowly rising to his feet, his gaze sought and met Lady Eldred’s mortified expression.
    His hostess’s plump face flushed with embarrassment, and he watched the older woman rise to her feet and nod. “Yes, Mr. St. Claire, I did tell you we’d be delighted to have you bid at our auction. I…I failed to mention