by Brenda Hiatt
Then Marcus saw her try to break free from Verwood’s hold. Instantly, he ran up behind them, and shouted for Verwood to release her. Verwood turned, still holding Juliette’s arm. She glanced over her shoulder at Marcus, looking relieved to see him.
“Juliette, tell him this is no concern of his,” said Verwood. “I’ve no desire to harm him.”
“I have no wish for either of you to fight,” she said, her voice defiant. “I only wish to go home quietly. Alone.”
“You heard Mademoiselle Lamant. Let her go or it will be the worse for you,” said Marcus, stepping in front of them and fingering his walking stick as if it concealed a sword. Which, unfortunately, it did not.
“Are you presuming to threaten me, Lord Dare?” Verwood looked contemptuous and amused.
“I do not believe in threats, Lord Verwood. Only in action.”
His fist hit Verwood’s nose with a satisfying crunch that sent the other man staggering backwards, to land on his backside on the dirty pavement.
“Good God, not again,” Verwood muttered, struggling to sit up, then lifting a hand to his bleeding nose.
Marcus did not pause to try to understand these words. A few passersby were already staring at them. Soon the audience from the theatre would fill the street.
“Come with me,” he commanded Juliette. He took her hand and together they sped down the pavement. Luckily, his own coach was not far down the line. He lost no time in opening the door. Juliette jumped nimbly in and he followed her, shouting to the startled coachman to drive on, and quickly.
Penelope ran out into the street, heart racing madly from the exertion, but even more so from worry. She peered about, but at first all she could see was servants and carriages awaiting the crowd soon to pour out of the theatre.
Where was Juliana? And where was Lord Verwood?
Somehow, her eye had alighted on him as she had looked down at the pit from the box in the balcony that her aunt had hired for the evening. Had she only imagined that his gaze was riveted on Juliana’s figure? Had he somehow recognized her friend, or was his interest the same as that of the majority of the male audience? In any case, it was suspicious that his hasty departure from the pit coincided with the end of Juliana’s part in the ballet. She didn’t know what she could do, but she could not sit idly by while Jule might be in danger. She’d ignored her aunt’s scandalized shrieks and run headlong from their box, hoping she was not too late to help.
She looked up and down the street again. This time, she caught sight of a man’s figure, half-sitting, half-lying on the cold pavement, facing up the street toward Pall Mall. She ran toward the figure, and saw that it was indeed Verwood, holding a handkerchief up to a bloody nose. As he looked up at her, she thought he looked a trifle dazed.
Juliana was not in sight.
“Ah, thank goodness!” she exclaimed, relief flooding through her. Her intrepid friend must have escaped Verwood, and in the process dealt him a much-deserved blow.
“My dear Miss Talcott,” murmured Verwood, pulling himself up a little straighter and seeming to come back to himself. “What a thing to say to a gentleman wounded on an errand of chivalry!”
Doubt replaced her sudden sense of relief.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your friend Juliana has just departed with a scoundrel of no common order. One with an unexpectedly punishing left,” he said, somehow regaining his urbane manner even while pressing a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose.
She pulled her own handkerchief out of her reticule and handed it down to him.
“Tell me what happened. My aunt will be coming after me soon, so make it quick,” she said tartly.
“A ministering angel, in truth,” he said, with the glimmer of a smile, half-amused, half-cynical. Slowly, he got to his feet and leaned against the side of the building.
“This is no time for your nonsense. What has happened to Juliana?”
“To escape me, she has flown with a gentleman who calls himself Lord Dare. Whether that is his real name I take leave to doubt. As to his intentions, I am quite certain they are most dishonorable.”
“And yours were not?”
He straightened up, and she was startled by a sudden flash of anger in his dark eyes.
“No.” Then, in a blink, he smiled. “Miss Talcott, you have the most extraordinary tendency to arouse my ire. While your assumptions are quite understandable, I assure you my only intention was to prevent your friend from landing herself in the devil’s own mess. However, I should know better by now than to yield to good intentions.”
She studied his face for a moment.
“I do not know why, but I believe you,” she said. “Do you know where this Lord Dare might have taken Juliana?”
“I might be able to find out. I collect you are asking me to rescue your friend from the consequences of her folly?”
“Yes. Please.”
She watched various emotions—exasperation, reluctance and others she could not name—steal across his face, then heard Aunt Mary’s voice from the direction of the theatre entrance.
“Penelope! You foolish girl, what are you doing?”
She turned to see Aunt Mary hurrying down upon them, then turned back to Verwood.
“Please help Juliana,” she entreated him once more.
“Very well. I will try.” He strode off with surprising energy, considering his recent injury.
Penelope turned to face her aunt, bracing herself for the inevitable scolding, and praying once again that she had not misplaced her trust in Lord Verwood.
As Marcus’s coach rattled off, he settled into the seat beside Juliette. Lights from the street-lamps intermittently pierced the darkness of the carriage, and he saw that her eyes were wide with fear or excitement.
“Juliette, you have nothing to fear now,” he said softly, taking one of her hands in his. It was a trifle cold. He began to chafe it between his own, relieved that she did not avoid his clasp.
“I must thank you for rescuing me from Lord Verwood,” she said, sounding breathless.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied. “I trust he did not frighten you too much.”
“No,” she replied, but there was a shaky quality to her voice that belied her brave words.
He caressed her hand, exploring its delicate bones and the velvet texture of her skin as it warmed to his touch. She had always seemed so bold, so independent. What had Verwood done to frighten her so? Had he threatened her with exposure, or perhaps physical violence? Marcus damned his own circumstances, that he could not do more to protect Juliette. But then, she had said she wished for no man’s protection.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my house,” he said, and felt her hand tense within his grasp. Heart sinking, he continued, “Or to your lodging, if you think you will be safe there. Do you think Verwood will continue to pursue you?”
“I am quite sure he will,” she replied, an unusual hint of despondency in her voice. He’d never seen her at a loss before.
“Have you thought what you will do? Is there any way I can help? Perhaps if you tell me how Verwood threatens you, I can try to put a stop to it.”
“I cannot tell you,” she replied. “I am grateful for your kindness, but there is nothing you can do.”
Marcus felt torn. He wished she would confide in him, but most likely Verwood was a past lover of hers. He did not wish to think about that.
“What will you do, then?”
“I shall have to leave the opera, and London,” she replied. “I have a friend in the country who will offer me a safe haven.”
A hard rain began to fall, pattering on the roof of the carriage. Marcus knew he should have felt relief in hearing Juliette’s plan. He certainly had nothing better or more permanent to offer her. Still, it was a wrench to think their paths would part so soon.
But there was still tonight.
“Then I beg you at least to consider accepting my protection and the shel
ter of my home for tonight.”
“Does Verwood know where you live?”
“He does not,” Marcus replied with a glimmer of a smile. Perhaps Verwood had guessed he was not Lord Dare, but there was no reason to think he had discovered his true identity.
The carriage jolted over an uneven patch of cobblestones, flinging Juliette against Marcus. Her hip bumped against his, and he put an arm around her protectively, steadying her even as the carriage righted itself. He heard her let out a little gasp, of fear or excitement, he did not know. An instant later, she slid out of his arms, once again keeping her distance from him.
The surge of excitement he had felt at holding her in his arms ebbed. It was selfish to think of such things when she had just been through such a frightening experience. Still, he longed to make love to her, to see if he could arouse her passions without betraying his own vast inexperience. To pierce her world-weary facade and spark at least a flicker of true feeling in her cynical heart.
Could he reassure her somehow, let her know she was safe in his arms, without destroying the last shreds of hope he held for the evening?
“Come with me, Juliette. I assure you nothing will happen that you do not desire.”
He knew she was looking at him, but in the fitful light he could not gauge her expression. Finally she answered.
“Very well, my lord. I accept your kind offer.”
Chapter Eight
Juliana’s pulse raced from the unexpected intimacy of having been thrown against Lord Dare, and at her own boldness in accepting his offer of shelter for the night. Try as she would, she could think of no other choice. She had meant to return to Half Moon Street to gather her belongings before setting out to visit Catherine, but now she knew it would be unsafe. Verwood had made it quite clear he would stop at nothing to get her back under his control, and it would be far too easy for him to discover where she lived.
She risked another glance at Dare, but could not see his face clearly in the dim light. Although she would have preferred to escape from Verwood on her own, she was grateful to Dare for coming to her rescue. She sensed she could trust him not to exact a payment she was not willing to give.
If only she could trust herself as much. Although she could not see him clearly, she felt the warmth of his body beside her, smelled the cologne he wore. She had only to slide closer, press herself against him, and he would take her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot all else…
Desperately, she reminded herself of all the good reasons she had for maintaining her virtue and her independence, why she could not afford to become entangled with any man, even this one. It would take all her resolution to resist him, and she didn’t even know how she could do it without jeopardizing her disguise. If she told him even part of the truth, if he guessed that she was a young lady from a respectable household, his chivalrous instincts would prompt him to restore her to her home and family. Unlike the hapless Bow Street Runner Grandpapa had hired, Dare had the intelligence to discover her identify.
The carriage made another turn, once more bringing her in contact with Dare, sending another jolt of unruly excitement through her even as she moved back to her corner of the carriage. Soon they came to a stop. Outside, all was obscured by the driving rain. Juliana realized she had no idea where they were.
“I wish I had brought an umbrella,” said Dare, removing his voluminous greatcoat. He climbed out of the carriage, and held the greatcoat out over her with one arm as he held out his other to help her descend.
Quickly, she climbed out. Together, they sped up the steps, Dare’s limp exaggerated a little as he hurried to keep her dry. His greatcoat provided some protection, but still one side of her pelisse was drenched by the time they reached the entrance hall.
“Good evening, my lord,” said the elderly butler who held the door for them.
“Good evening, Barnes,” replied Dare.
Juliana looked about the marble entrance hall, gaining a brief impression of elegance. She looked back at the butler, feeling some embarrassment at arriving at a nobleman’s establishment in such a scandalous manner. The butler’s expression registered only a polite welcome, but Juliana thought she detected a gleam of pride in his eyes as they rested on Dare. It was confusing. She was glad there were no other servants about to witness her entrance.
“My lord, perhaps you and the lady would prefer to repair to the drawing room. There is a good fire there where you may warm yourselves.”
She followed Dare through a door to the left. She saw an elegant room, decorated in shades of blue and dull gold. A gilded chaise longue upholstered in blue velvet had been drawn up to face the hearth, with a low Pembroke table in front of it. Vases of hothouse flowers and slender branches of candles adorned several mahogany side tables, filling the room with a soft, flickering light and beguiling fragrance. Now she knew for certain that Dare had been expecting her to return with him.
She shivered, unsure whether she felt hot or cold.
“I hope you’ve not taken a chill,” said Dare, looking over at her as Barnes helped him out of his dark coat, folding it over the greatcoat he had already taken from his master.
Then Barnes cleared his throat. “If you remove your pelisse, Madame, I can make sure it is dry by the morning. Or would you prefer a maid be summoned to assist you?”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” she said. She fumbled a little as she undid the buttons of her wet pelisse, then handed it to Barnes. She went to stand in front of the fire. Dare and the butler exchanged a few words she did not catch, then the butler left them alone.
Dare came to join her in front of the fire, his snowy white shirt and gray satin waistcoat gleaming in the candlelight and somehow enhancing the breadth of his shoulders. Odd how merely the removal of his coat made their situation seem even more intimate. There was a disturbing warmth in his eyes, making her acutely conscious of the costume she had not taken time to remove before leaving the theatre. Although the rain had not soaked through to the filmy layers of gauze, her dress was still revealing enough to make the heat mount in her cheeks. Somehow, it seemed more wicked to wear it in the privacy of Dare’s home than it had to let hundreds see her in it on the stage. There, she had been playing a role. This was real. She would have to keep her wits about her or she would find herself yielding to the seduction Dare evidently planned for her.
She started as he cleared his throat.
“I have asked Barnes to bring us some food and wine,” he said, an unexpected hesitancy in his voice. “I thought perhaps you might enjoy a small supper.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied. “I dine lightly before performances, so I am usually ravenous once the ballet is over.”
She hoped her voice did not reveal how breathless she felt. She’d spoken the truth, except that tonight she could not even think about eating. She forced herself to think about her plans. After supping with Dare, she would ask to be conducted to her bedchamber. He might be disappointed, but she felt sure he would comply. On the morrow, she would pack the few possessions she had at Half Moon Street and begin the journey to Cumberland.
She would probably never see Dare again.
The butler reentered the room, bearing a tray containing several covered dishes, two crystal flutes and a silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne. Deftly, he set the tray down on the table in front of the chaise longue, whisked the covers off the dishes and poured champagne into the flutes. After he had gone, Juliana sat down, and Dare joined her. She took a cautious sip of the sparkling wine, knowing it must be a drink Mademoiselle Juliette enjoyed. The effervescence tickled her mouth, and a tingling warmth spread through her as she carefully set her glass down. In doing so, she shifted slightly, and came into contact with Dare’s muscular thigh. Trying to appear unaffected, she took a bite of one of the lobster patties. It was delicious, but she did not know how she would do justice to it, or the rest of the meal, while sitting so intimately with Dare.
“D
o you not care for the champagne?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her glass.
“It is delightful,” she replied, and resolutely sipped some more.
He refilled her glass. After finishing the lobster patty, she sampled some of the other carefully prepared delicacies on the tray, and recklessly emptied her glass. The champagne was delicious, and even Grandpapa’s chef was not capable of such culinary delights. Was this how gentlemen treated their mistresses? Had Dare entertained other ladies here in such a manner? She did not care for the thought.
“Would you care for a bite of the raspberry tart?” Dare asked. “My chef takes great pride in his pastries.”
Before she could help herself, he lifted a bit of the tart to her mouth. She accepted it, finding the berries and cream made somehow even sweeter and richer by Dare’s feeding them to her. Knowing she should not, she allowed him to serve her the rest of the tart. A flush rose in her cheeks as he wiped crumbs from her lips. His hazel eyes seemed darker, almost green, full of a different sort of hunger.
When he finished, she slid over on the chaise longue, away from the small round table, and stood up.
“Thank you for the delightful meal, my lord. Now I should like to retire.”
“If you wish, although I had hoped you would stay and keep me company for a while longer,” he said as he stood up. “Please trust me, Juliette. You will come to no harm here. I will do nothing you do not desire.”
Once again that word hung temptingly in the air between them. She hesitated, poised to leave but unwilling to go.
“Stay,” he repeated quietly. “I wish to talk to you.”
Desire curled warmly in her stomach at his softened voice.
“What is it you wish to discuss with me?” she asked, desperately striving for a dispassionate tone.
“A number of things,” he replied steadily, though doubt clouded his eyes at her manner. Stiffly, he walked over to a bell-rope and pulled it.
Almost instantaneously, the elderly butler reappeared. With quick, deft movements, he cleared the trays and glasses from the Pembroke table, folded it and set it to one side of the hearth. Having ascertained that Dare had no further orders, he bowed himself out, leaving them alone once again. There was a resigned note in Dare’s voice as he broke the silence, but she sensed a deep underlying regret in his manner.