by Brenda Joyce
She didn’t move. “We should make the most of this day. Let’s picnic in the cove.”
He smiled. “I can hardly object. But, Julianne, discovery at this point is as dangerous as at any other time.”
He was right, except she was so acutely aware of their time running out. He was leaving her, and he meant to sever all contact. She knew she would find a way to write to him, whether he wished it or not. But even worse, he could die.
She turned and kissed him, before sliding from the bed. As she put on her nightgown, she wished she could see some sign of anguish on his face, but his expression was so controlled, so contained. Once, she had admired his stoic nature. Now, she wanted a sign from him—an outburst! Yet she knew him so well now. He would never allow himself an emotional outpouring of any kind.
“I will see you at breakfast,” he said.
At the door, she faltered. She did not want to question his feelings for her, but doubt nagged at her. If he loved her, could he walk away like this?
He was a hero. He was going to war. Of course he could walk away. It was a matter of patriotism.
She hurried from his room, reminding herself that she must find her composure and enjoy the time they had left. Every minute was precious now.
“Where have you been?” Amelia asked sharply.
Julianne froze on the threshold of the chamber they shared. Amelia was fully dressed, which meant she had been up for some time, and she was clearly waiting for her. Her sister’s expression was tense and unhappy, and Julianne also thought it was accusing.
She had been discovered.
“Julianne? I have been up for a half an hour. I looked for you in the library. Where have you been?”
“I have been ill,” she said quickly, her pulse accelerating. She hated lying to her sister. “I have been sick for most of the night… It must have been something I ate.” She held her belly and stared breathlessly at her sister. It crossed her mind if she claimed she was too sick, she would not be able to see Charles at breakfast—Amelia wouldn’t let her go.
Amelia stared, her gaze searching. “Perhaps you had better go back to bed,” she finally said.
“I think the sickness has passed,” she said. “I’m going to get dressed and come downstairs.”
Amelia picked up her shawl, wrapped it around Julianne’s shoulders, and left the room they shared without saying another word.
DOMINIC HAD THE HOUSE to himself. Amelia had taken Mrs. Greystone out for a drive, but not before sending Julianne to the village of St. Just on an errand. Julianne had promised him she would be back within two hours, in time to tryst that afternoon in the cove.
He had nothing to do but read. He had already gone through the entire house on several occasions, and his most interesting discovery remained Jack’s charts. He had already ascertained that the Xs on those charts were caves. He’d discovered several on another occasion, earlier in the week, when left to his own devices. Two of the caves had contained smuggled cases of brandy.
Yesterday, he had checked out the horses in the barn. Neither the gelding nor the mare stabled within was young or fit enough to make the journey to London. When he left, he would take the gelding to St. Just, and get a better mount from his friend’s extensive stables. That way, he could have the horse returned to the Greystone family. Julianne, of course, would think he had disembarked for France.
He decided to admit it—he would miss the times they had shared.
She had asked him to stay a few more days. He had intended to refuse. He had healed completely. If not for her, he would be entirely bored in the countryside. In fact, he looked forward to a round of clandestine meetings in London with men in the know, like Warlock and Windham. He also looked forward to the finer things in life which did not exist for him in France—extravagant restaurants and hotel bars, lavish meals and elegant wines, his custom-made clothing, and of course, the luxurious accommodations of his Mayfair home.
Home. He could barely wait. He hadn’t been home in a year and a half.
But he hadn’t refused her. He had meant to, but instead, the words that had come out of his mouth were Yes, I will stay a few more days.
There were many rules to espionage. They were all rules of survival, and most he had learned the hard way, through narrow escapes with death. Some rules had been taught to him by Warlock. The most basic was to remain unattached. Attachments made one vulnerable.
And he knew that firsthand. When Catherine and Nadine had been in France, out of all communication with him, he had been near panic. He was amazed that he had successfully located his mother and gotten her out of the country, considering his state of mind.
He had become somewhat attached to Julianne. He looked forward to the times they spent together. He certainly looked forward to making love to her. But he hoped, very much, that his attachment was due more to the relief she provided him than any genuine affection on his part.
But it didn’t matter, because when he left, he would sever all ties, and it would be over. And even though he had told her he would not allow her to wait for him, maybe, when the war was over, if he was alive, he would call on her, just to make sure she had survived the affair and that she was married with children.
Dominic opened the terrace doors and for one moment stared out at the sight of the Atlantic Ocean, stretching away as far as the eye could see. It was a sunny but hazy day, making the ocean that dull shade of monotonous gray that he was now accustomed to. It was impossible to decide where the sea and sky met.
Some might consider the view majestic; he found it unbearably bleak.
Dominic poured himself a glass of brandy—Greystone kept a very fine French brandy, perhaps the best he’d ever had—and sat down to read from a new publication, which he happened to know was government sponsored, The British Sun. He had just become engrossed in an article about the successes of the Association for Preserving Liberty and Property Against Republicans and Levelers—pure Tory propaganda—when he heard the front door slam.
He had the library door wide open, and he glanced up, expecting to see Julianne, even if only an hour had passed since she had left. But before anyone emerged into his field of vision, he heard brisk, booted footsteps. Dominic stood, alarmed, his gaze now trained on the part of the front hall that he could see. He was acutely aware of the gun closet, half a room away. There was a dagger in the desk near that closet, but even as he contemplated quickly crossing the room and taking up the dagger, he realized that only Lucas or Jack Greystone would walk into the house without knocking.
The footsteps approached. A tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair and cool gray eyes, in a frock coat, breeches and boots, appeared in the library doorway. He locked his stare on Dominic as he pulled off his leather gloves. He then looked beyond Dominic, scanning the rest of the room, before returning to him. “I see that you have discovered my brandy, Paget,” he said. “Lucas Greystone, my lord.”
Dominic’s alarm was instantaneous. How would her brother know the truth about his identity? “I believe you have made a mistake, monsieur,” he said smoothly in his heavily accented English.
“You can give up the cover,” Lucas said flatly, closing the door behind them. “I take it no one is home?”
Dominic dropped the accent. “No one is home.”
“Good.” His smile was flitting, and without mirth. He was, Dom saw, a cool, controlled man. “Sebastian sent me to France to retrieve you last month, and he has sent me to Greystone to retrieve you now. His exact words were “You have been on holiday long enough.” You are sorely wanted at the War Office, my lord.”
Some tension abated, but not all of it. He smiled, for that most definitely sounded like Warlock. But if Sebastian Warlock had sent Lucas Greystone to France to rescue him, then Juliann’s brother was hardly the usual country gentleman. “Good to meet you, Greystone. And I am glad to replace the brandy. I have been enjoying it for about a week.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Lucas said, coming fo
rward. He extended his hand and Dom took it. “I hear you have rather charmed Julianne.”
Amelia had written to him, Dom thought. Amelia had not approved of all the time Julianne had been spending with him. He did not change his expression, and he could not tell what the other man was thinking.
“When I first awoke from the fever, I did not recall anything after being shot in Nantes,” Dom said carefully. “I did not remember being brought here, nor did I know whether I was in France or England. Your sister was speaking in French to me, but I knew she was English, so my confusion was even greater. The truth is that she had heard me shouting in my delirium and she jumped to the assumption that I was an officer in the French army.”
Lucas’s eyes widened. “Ah, and now I see.” He smiled slightly. “My radical little sister must have been thrilled to think you a French officer. You instantly became a hero in her eyes.”
How well he knew his sister, Dom thought. “She was very thrilled. I also saw that she was writing a letter to the Jacobins in Paris, and I quickly concluded that she was a Jacobin sympathizer. A few questions confirmed that. And while it became clear that I was in Cornwall, I thought that I was in a nest of Jacobins. So I played along. Once I was into the alias, I obviously could not shed it without her realizing what I was doing in France. I did very little to charm her. She was charmed by the mere notion that I was an officer in the French army. And she still believes me to be Charles Maurice.”
Lucas walked over to the magnificent carved sideboard and poured his own brandy. “And Amelia believes it, as well.”
“She has been in correspondence with you.”
“Of course she has.” Lucas sipped. “When I left you here, my instructions were precise. I wanted to know the moment you were out of all danger and on the way to recovery.”
“I believe I began recovering a week after I was first brought here. And I have been here for three weeks.”
“It has been three and a half weeks,” Lucas corrected, watching him as he sipped. “Amelia felt concerned enough to write me a few days ago. As it happened, Sebastian had just ordered me to return and fetch you.”
Dom took a sip of the brandy and had to admit he still could not read the other man. He set his glass down and sat on the sofa, crossing his legs. He preferred not to discuss Amelia’s concerns. “Tell me how I got here, precisely.”
Lucas started. Dominic’s tone had been one of command; he meant to remind the other man who was the one in authority. Lucas settled his hip against the sideboard. “I was given orders on July 1, just after dawn, to make haste to Brest to pick up a wounded man and convey him directly to Sebastian. I was in London. I recruited Jack, who happened to be in town, carousing. No one is as adept at avoiding the navy, any navy, as he is. Sebastian arranged for a small gunship and a crew. We left that night and arrived in Brest the evening of the first. We had been given very precise directions—we were looking for a beacon fire five kilometers south of the main harbor. It was easy to find. You, my friend, were more dead than alive, and we decided that the sooner we got you to dry land, the better. And so we brought you to Greystone, not London.” He added drily, “Sebastian was not pleased. I did explain that he would have been even less pleased if we brought a corpse to London.”
The Greystone brothers had defied the French navy and the French army to rescue him, not to mention any gendarmes, and he had repaid them by seducing their sister, Dominic thought. He was a good judge of character and knew this man would try to kill him if he ever learned of the affair. It was certainly unfair. But he had learned long ago that life was unjust, and filled with surprising twists and turns that no one wanted. After all, he also owed Julianne, and he had repaid her with a seduction.
The now-familiar guilt returned. “I owe you, Greystone, and your brother, as well. I intend to repay you—and the entire family.” He would settle a generous payment upon the family. And if ever a Greystone needed a word from him, or a push in high places, they would have it. “I can always be reached in London at my home. When I am not there, the Dowager Countess manages my affairs. I always repay my debts.”
“You don’t owe us anything. I am a patriot, and I was glad to be of help.”
Dom knew he meant it. He watched him, while Lucas paced restlessly, and Dom was certain he was going to return to the subject of his relationship with Julianne. But then he had a comment or two of his own to make. He said flatly, “You need to watch your sister.”
Lucas started.
“For an intellectual woman, her naiveté is shocking. She has no clue what is happening in France, she has no clue as to what war means, and she has glorified the revolution and the republicans. We are at war and she supports the enemy. No good can come of that.”
“I am well aware of Julianne’s views,” Lucas said sharply. “I have tolerated them, but I do not approve, and she knows it. But what, pray tell, concern is this of yours?”
“She saved my life. In this way, I am saving hers. She should not be open about her radical leanings, not in such a dangerous time.”
Lucas stared very closely. “I still do not understand your concern, Paget.”
Dom shook his head. “You do not need to understand it, then. Did you know she is thinking of aiding and abetting the Jacobins in Paris by hunting down an émigré family that has settled in Cornwall?”
Lucas said grimly, “No, I did not.”
“Treyton is in love with her. He is dangerously radical.”
“I do not approve of Treyton. She can do better. How do you know about this Jacobin mission?”
He did not approve of Treyton, either, so that satisfied him. “She told me. I have warned her not to go after this émigré family that her Jacobin friends are hunting. She will never survive such games of espionage.”
“I have chastised her over and over. I have forbidden her from attending radical assemblies. And I agree with you—Julianne can hardly survive games of espionage! But my sister is stubborn, and very hard to control. I can hardly put her under lock and key.”
“She must be controlled, or she might wind up in a predicament she cannot get out of. Her views are seditious, if not treasonous, and she might find herself in serious jeopardy. Our people could decide to prosecute her, and the Jacobins would destroy her the moment they were done with her.”
“Is it that bad in France?” Lucas asked.
“It is that bad in France,” Dominic said. He chose his words with care. “Your sister has her own charm. I have become fond of her in the past few weeks. I do not want to see her pay a terrible price for her inexperience.” The men locked stares. “She should mind her own affairs, stay out of politics and marry well.”
Lucas laughed without mirth. “You know, Paget, I respect you, and not because you are Bedford, but for what you are doing for our country. And as much as I agree with you about Julianne, if you think I could force a marriage on her, you do not know her as well as you claim to. I am loath to force her into anything, for that matter.”
“But you are head of this household, Greystone, and you decide what is in her best interest. Clearly, someone must look out for her. I am prepared to help in this matter,” he added.
Lucas was surprised. “What does that mean?”
“Again, I always repay my debts. I owe you and your brother and sisters. I can help with her dowry.”
Lucas looked shocked. Then he said, harshly, “Why the hell would you do that? Amelia wrote me that she was very concerned by Julianne’s susceptibility to your persuasion. She told me she was alarmed because Julianne had gone from nurse to companion. She elaborated that the two of you were constantly together. I, of course, knew who you were when I received her letter, so I was not alarmed, although I was surprised, knowing my sister as I do. But I am alarmed now. What is the extent of your relationship?”
He controlled his facial muscles. “You do not need to be alarmed. You already know the extent of our relationship—she has been my savior, my nurse and my companion. I
have appreciated her companionship while I have been confined. And that is the end of it. Surely you are not suggesting an inappropriate connection?”
Lucas stared. After a moment, he said, “No, of course not. You are an honorable man.”
He almost flinched. He knew that the motto War with Honor existed, but anyone who believed it was a fool who would not live for long. “Consider my offer, Greystone.”
“You are not helping with my sister’s dowry.” Lucas was flat.
He realized he would not be allowed to contribute even a penny. The other man impressed him. “I am also afraid that Julianne will be manipulated by her radical Parisian friends. If I were you, I would intercept her correspondence.”
He flushed. “The truth is, I have considered it. But I despise the notion of spying upon my sister. It goes against my sense of honor.”
“She needs your protection. You will regret it if you do not.”
Lucas took a draught of the brandy.
Dom knew an opening when he saw one and he barreled on. “She saved my life and I do not want her life endangered by her foolish views. Did you know she is having difficulty with your neighbors? That she is shunned by some of them? That doors which used to be open to her are now closed?”
“Yes, I do know,” Lucas said grimly. “But if you think the solution is for me to marry her off, so her husband can be her gaoler, then you are mistaken. Even if I got her to the altar, she would still maintain her radical principles—even more strongly, I believe.” Lucas picked up his drink, but he only stared at it while rotating the glass in his hands.
Dom realized he had made the strongest case that he could. He was surprised at how important it had been to do so. But Julianne was her own worst enemy. Someone had to look out for her.
He reminded himself that she was not his affair, not any longer. The reminder felt hollow. And he knew Julianne well enough to know that in the end, she would stubbornly do as she wished.