"Help me, Bella."

Deborah perched on the end of the bed as Bella eagerly helped Juliana into the underpetticoat and hoop she'd worn the previous evening before dropping the bronze silk gown over her head. " 'Ow shall I do yer 'air, miss?"

"It's more subdued today," Juliana said, unable to hide the uplift of her spirits at the thought of being out in the sunshine. "If you pin it up securely, it should stay in place."

Bella did as asked, then arranged the shawl of delicate cream silk over Juliana's shoulders. She stepped back, nodding her approval. Juliana examined herself in the glass. The bronze was a clever complement to her own coloring. Again she reflected that someone knew exactly what would flatter her. Did the Duke of Redmayne make the decisions? Or did he provide the money and leave the choice to Mistress Dennison?

Panic fluttered suddenly in her belly as a sense of helplessness washed over her. Every day the trap grew tighter. Every day she grew less confident of her own power to determine her destiny. Every day she grew insidiously more resigned.

A thrush trilling at the open window, the warmth of the sun on the back of her neck, sent the black wave into retreat. She was going out for a walk on a beautiful summer morning, and nothing should destroy her pleasure in such a prospect.

"Come, Deborah, let's go." She pranced through the door, thankful that no one had made objection to the comfortable leather slippers she still wore.

Lucy was waiting for them in the hall. "That's such a pretty gown," she said a little enviously as Juliana bounced exuberantly down the stairs. "Those pleats at the back are all the rage."

"Yes, and see the way the train falls," Deborah said. "It's the most elegant thing. I must ask Minnie to make up that bolt of purple tabby in the same style."

Juliana was too anxious to reach the door to pay any heed to this conversation. Mr. Garston opened it for her, with a bow and an indulgent smile. "Enjoy your walk, miss."

"Oh, I intend to," she said, stepping past him, lifting her lace to the sun and closing her eyes with a sigh of pleasure.

"Ah, Miss Juliana. What perfect timing."

Her eyes snapped open at the suave tones of the Duke of Redmayne. He stood at the bottom of the front steps, one gloved hand resting on the wrought-iron banister, a quizzical gleam in his eye.

"Perfect timing for what?" She waited for her pleasure in the morning to dissipate, but it didn't. Instead there was the strangest fizz of excitement in her belly; her face warmed, and her lips prickled as if anticipating the touch of his mouth on hers.

"I was coming to take you out for a drive," he said. "And I find you quite ready for me."

"You're mistaken, sir. I'm engaged to these ladies." She gestured to Lucy and Deborah, who both swept the duke a curtsy, a salutation that Juliana had omitted.

"They will excuse you," Tarquin said.

"Yes, of course, Juliana," Deborah said hastily.

"But I have no wish to be excused."

"I give you good day, ladies. Enjoy your walk." Tarquin bowed to Deborah and Lucy and stood aside to let them pass him on the step. As Juliana made to follow them, he laid a hand on her arm. "You will much prefer to drive with me, Juliana."

Juliana's skin burned where he touched her, and the fizzing excitement spread through her body as if she had champagne in her veins. She looked up at him, bewildered agitation flaring in her eyes. Tarquin smiled, then lightly brushed her lips with his own.

"You're very rewarding to dress, mignonne. Not many women could wear such a color without looking sallow and drab."

"So you did choose it?"

"Most certainly. I've been much entertained in designing your wardrobe. I trust it will all meet with your approval when you see it."

Juliana looked wildly up and down the street as if hoping to see some escape route, some knight in shining armor galloping to her rescue. But she met only the indifferent glances of grooms, barrow boys, fishwives, hurrying about their business.

"Come, my horses are getting restless." The duke tucked Juliana's hand into his arm and firmly ushered her across the street to where a light, open phaeton stood, drawn by a pair of handsome chestnuts. A groom jumped from the driver's seat and placed a footstep for them.

Juliana hesitated. The duke's hands went to her waist, lifting her clear off her feet and info the carriage seem remarkably dozy this morning," he observed, stepping lightly up behind her. "Perhaps you slept poorly." He vat down and took up the reins. "Grimes, you may go back to Albermarle Street."

The groom touched his forelock and set off at a loping down the street toward the Strand.

"Now, where would you like to go?" the duke inquired affably. "Is there something particular you'd like to see? Westminster, perhaps? The Houses of Parliament? Hyde Park? The lions in the Exchange?"

Juliana contemplated a sullen silence and then abandoned the idea. It would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. "All of them," she said promptly.

Tarquin nodded. "Your wish is my command, ma'am."

Juliana cut him a sharp sideways look. "I didn't think you were a liar, my lord duke."

He merely smiled. "We'll drive around Covent Garden first. You'll find it of some interest, I believe."

Juliana understood what he meant as soon as they turned the corner of Russell Street and she finally saw what was hidden from her window. The colonnaded Piazza was thronged with men and women of every class and occupation. Dandies lounged with painted whores on their arms: fashionably dressed women, accompanied by footmen, paraded the cobbles, inviting custom as obviously as their less fortunate sisters who leaned in the doorways of wooden shacks and coffeehouses, beckoning with grubby fingers, lifting ragged petticoats to display a knee or plump thigh. Barrow boys and journeymen carrying baskets of bread and pies on their heads threaded their way through the produce sellers shouting their wares.

Juliana stared in fascinated disgust at the prints displayed on a kiosk on the corner of Russell Street. The duke followed her eye and observed casually. "Obscenity sells well in the Garden. Obscenity and flesh." he added. "The two tend to go together." He gestured with his whip. "The hummums and the bagnios over there do a thriving trade in steam and sweat… and flesh, of course."

Juliana could think of nothing to say. She continued to gaze around her, engrossed by the scene even as she was repelled by it.

"The Dennisons' young ladies do not frequent the Piazza. You're more likely to see them at court than here," the duke continued. Juliana stared at a couple standing against the wall of one of the bagnios. Then, abruptly, she averted her eyes, a crimson flush spreading over her cheeks.

"Yes, privacy is not a particularly valued commodity around here," her companion observed. "You could see the same in St. James's Park after dark.. under every bush, against every tree."

Juliana remembered Emma's warning about lying under the bushes in St. James's Park. Her skin crawled. She wanted to ask him to take her out of this place, but she knew he had a reason for bringing her here, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing her dismay.

They turned onto Long Acre, and as they approached St. Martin-in-the-Fields, the duke slowed his horses. A ragged group of children were gathered around the church steps. Three elderly women walked among them, examining them, paying particular attention to the little girls. Some they dismissed with a wave: others they gestured to stand aside.

"What are they doing?" Juliana couldn’t help asking the question.

"The children are for hire… some of them for sale," her companion told her nonchalantly. "The bawds are picking the ones that might appeal to their customers' particular fancies."