Seduction

by Brenda Joyce

  His gray gaze widened in surprise when he saw her—clearly, he hadn’t known she was in town. “Julianne!” Then he grinned and pulled her into his embrace.

  Julianne was distraught, but thrilled to see him. She clung to him briefly. Then she pulled away as they stepped inside; Jack was disheveled, his clothing stained, quite possibly with dried blood and gun powder.

  “What are you doing in London, Julianne?”

  “I have been taking a holiday,” she said quickly. “Jack! Where on earth have you been all summer? And what has happened?”

  “I have been making my fortune on this war,” he said cheerfully. He closed the front door. “And it isn’t an easy task, outrunning two navies. But what is upsetting you? You are very distressed.”

  She replayed the recent encounter with Nadine in her mind. But she had come to Cavendish Square to beg Lucas to help Tom escape a certain hanging.

  “And why are you calling? If you are in town, aren’t you staying here?” His gaze narrowed.

  She refused to flush. “I am staying at Bedford House, where I am a guest.”

  “Since when do you move in such crowds?”

  “Since I saved Bedford’s life.”

  “Oh, ho. I smell a rat. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Where is Lucas?” she cried. “I am desperate for his help—but you will do!”

  “Thank you very much.” Jack put his arm around her and steered her into the salon. “You know I will always help you.”

  “Thank God. Something terrible has happened, Jack. The convention in Edinburgh was raided and Tom was amongst those arrested.”

  “I actually heard about it. So Treyton was one of those arrested?” He did not seem disturbed by the news.

  Julianne cried, “He will soon be charged with high treason! We have to help him. You have always liked Tom.”

  “No, actually, I have liked the fact that he is besotted with you, but I find him rather rabidly and boringly political.”

  “I am rabidly and boringly political!”

  “You manage to be radical with charm. And you are my little sister.” He winked.

  “Will you help him?”

  “Julianne, even if I agreed to help him, I do not have the power to get him freed.” He was serious now, a rare moment.

  She breathed hard. “Warlock does.”

  He started. “What makes you think that?”

  “Isn’t he your spymaster? Yours and Lucas’s?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  And she wondered if she should tell him about Warlock’s awful attempt at blackmail. And she was afraid to do so. Jack would be furious, and he would tell Lucas. One or the other would confront Warlock. Jack would probably assault him. Warlock would, in the end, hurt Tom. “I don’t like Warlock and I don’t think either of you should trust him.”

  “Lucas trusts him—therefore, so do I. But he isn’t a spymaster!” He was amused. “He is a down-and-out gentleman with rotten manners and an equally rotten estate.”

  She bit her lip, giving that tangent up. “Very well. But I know what you are up to, Jack! So do not claim you are not involved in the war. First, you helped Dominic flee France, and you have also helped Nadine. I wonder how many other Frenchmen and women you have helped flee to this country. Do not claim that you are a mere smuggler now! You do have means!”

  “How do you know about Lady D’Archand?”

  “I just met her, moments ago. She mentioned that you saved her life.”

  “I could hardly allow her to be shot, Julianne.”

  They were off topic. “Will you help Tom or not?”

  “I already told you, I do not have the means to help him.”

  “You and Lucas can do anything when you put your minds to it!”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “So you are still fond of Tom?” he finally said.

  He misunderstood. She didn’t care. “Yes. Please, Jack, I am begging you.”

  He stared closely. “Why do I feel as if I am being played?”

  “Promise me you will help Tom.”

  He studied her for a moment, then walked over to the sideboard with that rolling deck swagger he had. He poured a glass of Scotch whiskey and saluted her. “I am not promising any such thing. So, tell me about Bedford.”

  She felt like stomping her foot. “Bedford has nothing to do with this.”

  His stare hardened. “Tom is a leveler, Julianne.”

  She hadn’t realized that Jack knew anything about those radicals. Clearly, he knew more about politics than he claimed. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “Probably not.”

  “So you will help him?”

  He was serious now. “My instinct tells me to leave him exactly where he belongs, Julianne. But I will discuss the matter with Lucas.”

  She shuddered. Jack had changed. He was hard now, under the surface, as never before. But hadn’t the war changed them all? And she knew Lucas would have little inclination to help Tom. “Fine,” she said furiously. “But if you let him hang, I will never forgive you.”

  “Never is a very long time.”

  JULIANNE SLIPPED PAST the two liveried doormen, wondering if Dominic was home. It was the late afternoon, and she was ready to leap into his arms for comfort. Lucas would never agree to help Tom and Jack seemed as determinedly set against him. Could she simply let him hang? She did not think so.

  If she were the one in jeopardy, Tom would do everything in his power to help her.

  The house was quiet as the doormen let her inside. She hurried upstairs, heading directly to Dominic’s rooms.

  His suite was at the far end of the hall, past her bedchamber. As she approached, she heard voices coming from his rooms. She hesitated outside the sitting-room door, which was ajar, not wanting to intrude.

  “That will be all, François,” Lady Paget said pleasantly.

  About to knock, she jerked back against the wall.

  She so wanted to avoid the Dowager Countess! Was Catherine telling Dominic about her horrid encounter with Nadine? Julianne did not move as the servant hurried out of the suite, wondering if she should knock anyway, or simply retreat. François glanced at her impassively. She smiled politely in return as Catherine’s tone became strident.

  “You are my son and you are being taken advantage of!”

  Julianne inhaled—they were arguing about her.

  “You are being unfair,” Dominic said calmly. “And I do not appreciate your meddling in my private affairs.”

  “Surely you knew that Nadine would meet her sooner or later?”

  “I was hoping to be present when introductions were made,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  “You can hardly introduce your mistress to your fiancée!” Catherine cried.

  Julianne held her breath, afraid of what he might say. And he said, “Nadine and I are in agreement, as always. Neither one of us wishes to proceed with our engagement, much less a marriage.”

  Lady Paget gasped.

  “I know you are disappointed. But I have no time for a wife now.” He was final.

  “Nadine is one of the most beautiful and intelligent women you know. You have been friends since childhood and you care deeply for one another—”

  “I am not changing my mind.”

  “Julianne Greystone is a Jacobin! Yet you have ended it with Nadine because of her?”

  “She is not the enemy. I am asking you to respect my affections, and give her a chance at obtaining yours.”

  There was absolute silence now. Julianne dared to peek into the chamber. Catherine was ashen, while Dominic wore a determined and authoritarian expression she knew well.

  “What if she is a spy, sent here to destroy you?”

  “I know what you have been through, so I cannot blame you for being afraid of Julianne. I also know you are worried about me. If you ever got past Julianne’s politics, you would like her, very much. I am asking you to make such an attempt.”

  “But I can’t get pas
t her politics!”

  “I know you will do as I have asked.” He was firm. “Where is Jean? Who is François?”

  His tone was so sharp that Julianne looked into the room again. Dominic’s expression was one of displeasure.

  “There was a death in his family,” Lady Paget said. “Jean had to leave—he is returning to France as we speak. I was fortunate to find a new valet immediately. He comes highly recommended from Lord and Lady Frasier.”

  Dominic’s reply was immediate. “Jean’s mother died two years ago and he did not go home. The Frasiers are from the north, are they not? From the borders with Scotland?”

  “Yes, they are,” Lady Paget said, sounding puzzled.

  “Get rid of him. He could be an agent, sent to spy upon us.”

  Julianne was aghast.

  “But the Frasiers—”

  He cut her off. “His recommendation could be fabricated and it would take weeks, or more, to find that out.”

  Lady Paget cried out. “God, Dominic, has it really come to this? We must fear spies in our own home? What were you really doing in France? Why did you leave?”

  “You know I am not answering any of those questions. Simply get rid of François.”

  There was a silence and Julianne leaned her back against the wall, tears arising. This was her fault. She had not a doubt. If François was a French agent, sent to spy on Dominic, it was because she had betrayed him to Tom. She had never regretted anything she had ever done more. And now, she would have to make a confession. He had to know.

  Footsteps sounded. Julianne cringed.

  Lady Paget passed through the doorway, her face pale and pinched, and then she saw her. “You! How long have you been standing there?”

  She trembled. “I came to see Dominic. I did not mean to eavesdrop but I did not want to intrude.”

  “I am praying you will not destroy my son!” Her green eyes flashing, Catherine lifted her skirts and strode down the corridor.

  Dominic emerged from the room and he stared. “I take it you are looking for me?”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip and said, “I did not want to overhear you. But I was even more afraid to encounter Lady Paget, so I hid.”

  He studied her, softening. “She has been a terrible ogre to you, hasn’t she?”

  Some relief arose. “I understand why she dislikes me.”

  He gestured and she walked into the blue-and-gold parlor. “But you are not spying on me.”

  She tensed. “No, I would never do such a thing.”

  He smiled briefly. “You met Nadine. How did it go?”

  She inhaled. “She is a lovely woman, but it was horrible!”

  He pulled her close. “I am sorry you are distraught.”

  “I feel as if we are cuckolding her.”

  “No. We are not betraying her. She is neither my fiancée nor my wife.”

  She searched his gaze, which was becoming warm. She dreaded telling him about Tom.

  “Julianne?”

  “Dominic, I am worried that the Comte D’Archand is in danger.”

  His expression changed. “How so?”

  “I didn’t realize Nadine’s last name was D’Archand until I read her letter. I should have realized then that her family was the one Tom and I were asked to locate. But I thought it a common name. This morning I learned that her family settled in Cornwall and I knew that they must be those émigrés that Marcel is hunting for.”

  His eyes had widened. “I will warn them immediately.” He released her, turning for the door.

  There was some dismay. But of course he would rush out to warn the Comte of the danger he was in. She did not want to see any harm come to Nadine or her father. And what about her confession? Her heart was thundering now.

  At the door, he paused. “Is there more?”

  He was already suspicious of spies, so why did she have to really say anything? She somehow smiled. “Just… hurry home, Dominic.”

  His eyes darkened. “A command I can hardly disobey.”

  JULIANNE AWOKE, SMILING.

  She sighed, aware that she was alone. Perhaps an hour ago, Dom had kissed her cheek and told her that he had to go. She sighed again. She was impossibly sated and she had slept deeply and dreamlessly, as if she had no worries. But as she opened her eyes, anxiety instantly stole over her.

  She so hoped that she had not made a drastic mistake in not telling Dominic about her betraying him to Tom earlier in the summer. She prayed that there weren’t any spies in his household. And now, she was going to have to do as Warlock had asked—she was going to have to spy on her friends for him.

  The draperies in his bedroom were drawn, but some bright sunlight was slipping through the cracks. Julianne threw the covers aside and got up. As she did, she knocked something from the pillow beside her to the floor.

  There was an envelope on the spare pillow, with her name boldly written upon it. She would recognize Dominic’s handwriting anywhere. Her heart leapt and she glanced at the beautiful rug on the floor below the bed. She had knocked a blue velvet jeweler’s box off the pillow!

  What on earth…?

  She jumped to the floor and retrieved the box, her heart racing wildly as she opened it.

  She froze in disbelief. A stunning diamond bracelet glittered up at her.

  Dominic had given her diamonds.

  Tears arose.

  She set it down on the bed and opened the envelope. A card was within. It read “Wear it well. Yours, Dominic.”

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL DAY to be out and about, Julianne thought as she sat in the back of a small curricle driven by one of Dominic’s coachmen. She smiled and admired the bracelet on her right wrist. It glinted with fire as she held it up to the sun. Dominic had given her diamonds, and now, her worries seemed inconsequential. She was in love, her heart soaring impossibly, and maybe, just maybe, he felt as she did.

  She was on her way to Hyde Park. Dominic had not been in when she had finally finished dressing and gone downstairs. She would have to thank him later.

  Hyde Park was ahead. She had sent a note to Warlock requesting a meeting, but she had yet to hear back from him—giving her some relief and a small respite. She had impulsively decided to enjoy the day while she could. She had intended to walk, but Lady Paget had been on her way out at the same time as Julianne. She had insisted that she use the curricle.

  Julianne’s smile faded. When Lady Paget had walked into the entry tower, Julianne had been at the door. She hadn’t even had to think about it—she had pulled her sleeve down over her bracelet, to hide it from the Dowager Countess. She could imagine how caustic Lady Paget would be when she realized what Dominic had done.

  And then the Dowager Countess had mentioned that there would be guests for supper and the usual evening attire was required. Julianne had been stupefied. She had just been invited to Catherine’s dinner party.

  The curricle was moving through the imposing iron gates of the park’s Knightsbridge entrance and Julianne leaned forward. “I am going to walk for a bit, Eddie.”

  The young coachman pulled the curricle over, as several carriages and gigs were on the path, halting it so she could alight. Julianne walked up to her driver. “You don’t have to wait. It is a lovely afternoon and I am going to enjoy every moment of it.”

  “The Dowager Countess told me to wait, Miss Greystone,” Eddie returned.

  And Julianne found that odd, as well, but perhaps Lady Paget was doing as her son had asked—perhaps she was trying to give Julianne a chance. She smiled at him and started down a nearby walking path. She was hardly alone. Several pairs of ladies were strolling, as were two couples and a gentleman.

  It felt as if it were the most beautiful day she had ever witnessed.

  She was smiling when she bumped into the gentleman. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Julianne cried, meeting a pair of pale blue eyes. She had been so distracted, and in such a reverie, that she had walked right into him.

  “Are you all right…Miss Greys
tone?” he asked. He was tall, lanky, with almost white-blond hair and a large, crooked nose.

  Perplexed, she met the gentleman’s light blue gaze. “I am fine. Do I know you, sir?”

  He slowly smiled, and it sent a chill down her spine. “No, but I know you and I thought you would you like to know how Tom Treyton is faring.”

  Her heart lurched. The force was sickening.

  “There, there.” He took her arm and wrapped it in his. “I did not mean to startle you, Miss Greystone.”

  “Who are you? We have not met, I am certain.” She tried to tug her arm free but he would not allow her to do so, and she was truly alarmed.

  “You may call me Marcel.”

  She inhaled, seized with fear. Marcel was Tom’s Jacobin contact in Paris. But this man was English. Still, surely this was not a coincidence. “What do you want?”

  His smile was cold. “I want to help you. And you want to help Tom.”

  An Englishman in the heart of London was working for the French government. “Of course I want to help Tom. How is he? Has he been charged yet?”

  “He will be charged with treason by the end of the week, Miss Greystone.”

  Her heart now sank with equally sickening force. Was this even true? Warlock had never said any such thing. “What do you want of me?”

  “I am someone who can help your friend—if you help me.”

  With dread, she asked, “How can I possibly help you?”

  His smile vanished. “There are plans to resupply the La Vendée royalists. I must know them.”

  “I can hardly help you!”

  “Bedford has those plans, my dear. And we both know you have the best chance of discovering them.”

  Horror began. He wanted her to spy on Dominic?

  “Bedford is returning to France shortly,” Marcel said bluntly. “I must know the date of the convoy’s rendezvous with the royalists, and the exact location before he leaves and takes that information with him.”

  Julianne was in more shock. Dominic was returning to France? She did not believe it!

  He added, “I believe he is leaving within the week, so you must work swiftly. And of course, you may feel free to convey any other useful information you come across that will help us in our efforts to win this war against the revolution.”