He glanced down at her, his blue eyes both reproachful and a little wicked. Julia’s heart gave an unexpected, painful flutter. “So it is.” He shook his head. His usual good humor seemed to be returning. “You’re rather like her, you know.”
She paused as he handed her up the carriage steps. Was a confession in the offing? “Like her?”
“My sister. You have a way of finding trouble.”
“I’ve never found trouble in my entire life, Boscastle,” she said with a rueful smile, then added, “I’ve never needed to, unfortunately. Somehow it has always managed to find me.”
Heath laid his head back against the squabs, staring out the carriage window to the cobbled street. He hoped his coachman did not encounter any troublemakers. Now that he knew Julia was safe, he had the luxury of analyzing the situation a little more logically. Brentford, the sneaky bastard, had made a furtive getaway when he’d spotted Heath coming toward him. He knew that the baron had recognized him, even though they had never actually met. The man appeared to be a bloody coward as well as a rake. He shouldn’t be surprised.
Baron Brentford, the handsome buck who had all but led Heath’s younger sister down the road of social ruin. Not that Chloe had needed a helping hand. She had practically paved the original path with her own missteps. She had all but sent out engraved invitations to every eligible bachelor in London. If she hadn’t ended up happily married to Viscount Stratfield, the Boscastle brothers would have made Brentford pay.
The Earl of Odham rapped his cane on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward. Hermia settled back breathlessly on the seat that faced him.
“What are you doing here anyway, Odham?” she asked with a sniff of grudging gratitude.
“I thought you might require help,” the earl said, shaking his head. “This lecture was bound to end in a rumble. I did tell you that.”
“I wish someone had told me,” Heath said, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d never been involved in anything like this. He’d probably read about it in the paper tomorrow.
“There was no need to come, Odham,” Hermia said, but not with great conviction. “Boscastle is our bodyguard. He protected me as a knight would a queen.”
“Look at the egg on his sleeve,” Odham pointed out. “He didn’t protect himself from that.”
Heath caught the fleeting grin that crossed Julia’s face. The irritating thing was that he found himself tempted to grin back at her. She probably thought it was quite amusing that he’d been frantic to locate her. He cleared his throat. “Odham, kindly have your driver drop me off at my home after we see the ladies safely inside.”
“You cannot go home tonight,” Hermia exclaimed. “We have plans to go to the theater. Isn’t that right, Odham?”
“Indeed,” the earl replied with a frown. “And a far better choice of entertainment for two tender-hearted damsels such as these. Don’t you agree, Boscastle?”
Heath drew a breath at the unexpected pressure of warm, gloved fingertips on his knee. He looked down in fascination and saw Julia’s hand sliding back to her lap. Heat suffused his body, as disconcerting as a flame against bare flesh. Without even knowing how it had happened, he had an erection that throbbed inside his trousers. He raised his eyes to hers and hoped his stark hunger did not show. Hoped he could hide it from her if not from himself.
She hesitated, her lips parting as his gaze fastened on hers. He ought to teach her to touch him at her own peril. Did she not realize her own appeal? “I thought, well, I was thinking of a—”
“Yes?” Obviously she’d guessed what was on his mind. He had admitted his desire for her the other night, after all, and she had more than a rough notion of how she’d affected him in the past. She shouldn’t touch him, not knowing how he would react. The frightening part was that he did not know himself. She frowned, looking suddenly confused, on guard. Well, good. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
“You don’t have to go with us tonight, you know,” she said in a quiet voice. “I will be perfectly fine with Hermia and Odham.”
Chapter 12
Heath had no intention of allowing Julia to attend the theater without him, although in his heart of hearts he wondered whether it had less to do with protecting her for Russell’s sake than it did with his own personal feelings. He enjoyed her company far too much for comfort. But having begun this game, he would play it to the end. He owed her that, no matter if he did not know the rules they were to follow. Neither of them were innocent, but perhaps knowledge was not an advantage. He liked a challenge, yes, but a challenge to his wits, perhaps even to his life. Gambling at love posed a different liability, more powerful than sexual need, more dangerous. Lust he could control, pay the cost, and even raise the stakes.
He stood alone for several moments in the welcome darkness of his own private study. If he were a drinking man, he would get foxed, let his demons out on a long leash, and revel in hell for the duration.
As it was, he would have to wrestle those demons, balance his secret desire for Julia, in bleak sobriety. At least here at home he had the peace to prepare for battle, to brace himself against temptation.
Peace, that was, for approximately ten seconds. The pounding at the front door, the boisterous male voices that followed it, alerted him to the arrival of his brothers, Grayson and Drake.
Peace, alas, would have to be postponed. Family came first.
His brothers took over the drawing room, filling the house with male energy and lighthearted, bawdy banter. Grayson Boscastle, the eldest, the Marquess of Sedgecroft, lounged across the white brocade sofa in all his arrogant grace. Blond, muscular, gregarious, he had recently married and vowed to reform his wicked ways.
Their younger brother, Lieutenant Lord Drake Boscastle, more closely resembled Heath in both looks and temperament. Tall, lean, with short black hair and angular features, he shared Heath’s talent for espionage, his intensely private nature. He’d also developed a taste for adventure and dangerous women. He was like Heath and unlike him, an unknown element in the family line.
All three brothers claimed the compelling blue eyes and passionate character that made them irresistible to the opposite sex. Devon, their younger brother, who was not present, was a rogue in his own right.
“To what,” Heath demanded, leaning back against the sideboard, “do I owe the dubious honor of this visit?”
Drake’s firm mouth curved into a smile. “Rumors abound about you, dear brother. The women of the family have sent us to investigate.”
The women being Jane Boscastle, Grayson’s lovely and lively wife, and their sisters Emma and Chloe, the last of whose wings had hopefully been clipped by her recent wedding to Viscount Stratfield.
Grayson’s handsome face brightened with friendly deviltry. “Word on the street is that you, our discreet, most secretive sibling, almost got himself involved in a riot.”
Heath did not say a word.
“And,” Drake continued, “there was a woman involved.”
Grayson grinned. “Isn’t there always?”
Drake sighed. “In the best situations.”
Heath pushed away from the sideboard. “You hopeless fools have not investigated well enough, or you’d realize that there were two women involved.” He paused, allowing himself a strained smile. “And one of them is our old friend Julia Hepworth.”
Drake’s eyes met his in brief acknowledgment, indicating that he’d known all along and had not betrayed him. They shared the same passion for secrecy in their personal affairs. “Dear Julia, gorgeous and redheaded, if I remember correctly.”
Grayson lowered his arms. “The woman who shot you from a horse? She’s got you rioting in the streets now?”
“I’m afraid it’s rather more involved than that.” Heath glanced again at Drake. “In fact, I think you ought to visit her yourself, Drake. Keep her company for an hour or two until I see her later tonight.”
Drake pulled down the cuffs of his tailored sleeves. “Done. I never refuse the opportunity t
o visit a beautiful woman, even if I am a replacement.”
“As I am,” Heath said drily.
“Done?” Grayson said in confusion. “Just like that, and—” His face cleared. “There’s something more going on. And Drake knows. When will I ever learn? The pair of you have always dabbled in intrigues. Dear God, don’t tell me this woman who shot you is a spy?”
Heath threw back his head and laughed. “Not exactly. I am acting as Julia’s escort for Althorne, who is a spy. We might have lost the war if we’d had women like Julia and your wife working against us.”
“Which reminds me,” Grayson said, not questioning him further even if he might suspect there was more to this story. “Are you coming to Jane’s dinner party tonight, Heath?”
“Could we arrange another night? I’m escorting Julia and her aunt to the theater, I’m afraid. With the Earl of Odham.”
“Odd old Odham?” Grayson asked in disbelief. “That aging roué is still kicking about?”
Heath nodded in amusement. “We could all learn a thing or two from him, I suspect.”
Drake rose from his chair. “What or whom are you investigating anyway?”
“What do we know about Baron Brentford?”
Drake frowned. “Probably not enough, if it’s the same man who disgraced Chloe. It’s past time we looked into his background.”
Two minutes later Drake Boscastle had taken a cab from the fashionable bachelor’s town house to fulfill his promise, leaving Heath and Grayson alone. “What has Brentford done now?” Grayson asked, his voice deep with displeasure.
“He was a bit too friendly with Julia at the lecture hall earlier this evening.”
Grayson stretched out his legs. “He had his eye on Jane once, before his botched attempt to seduce Chloe. Jane, fortunately, was too involved with me to respond to him, and the rest is history.”
Heath smiled. “Naturally.”
“So tell your older, wiser brother,” Grayson continued, folding his hands over his flat stomach, “what is this sudden devotion to a woman who shot you in the shoulder? Spill the soup.”
“Are you referring to Julia?”
“Unless another female has shot you. Confess. What is she to you?”
An obsession. A need, a desire so deeply entwined in the past and present that he could not seem to remove her without cutting to the core of who he was.
“I suppose she is duty.”
Grayson looked skeptical. “Odd way to put it.”
“No, she really is. I have been commissioned to protect her.”
“Do explain.”
Which he did, grateful that Grayson listened without bursting into laughter or inserting a snide comment here and there. Grateful that he was part of the passionate Boscastle clan and could depend on its collective loyalty even if he had spent half his life getting his siblings out of trouble, defending the whole sorry lot of them.
Yet now he was in trouble, of the very worst sort. An affair of the heart, the sort of hazardous entanglement he had managed to elude until now.
“Am I asking you for advice, Grayson?”
“If you are, it’s a first. In fact, it has always been the other way around. You, Heath, are the one we all seek for direction and cool logic.”
“I believe I am in this too thick to advise myself.”
“Heath Boscastle, spymaster and unwitting heartbreaker, seeking the advice of one of London’s premier, reformed rakes,” Grayson mused. “Well, who better to ask?” He sat up, frowning in realization. “And you say that Julia is engaged to that male whore?”
“Sir Russell Althorne?” Heath was taken aback. He’d assumed that Russell’s sexual indiscretion had been a well-kept secret. He’d certainly never told. “Grayson, are we talking about the same man?”
Grayson snorted in contempt. “I’ve never told you, and I doubt Althorne has any idea, but I happen to be his landlord. I don’t want it to become common knowledge, mind you. Collecting rent makes me sound rather mercenary, although the money never touches my hands.”
“And how does this make him a male whore?”
“He was looking for a convenient place to keep his mistress near the club.”
“Near the club?”
“Well, it makes sense. Pop into the club for a brandy, then pop down the street for a different sort of stimulation.”
Heath’s chest tightened with an unpleasant sensation that he vaguely identified as resentment. He should have known that Russell’s promise of future fidelity to Julia was a lie. He felt betrayed on his own behalf, but even more so on Julia’s. If Grayson knew, then it was only a matter of time before she discovered the deception.
“I’m glad to be done with that sort of life,” Grayson added as an afterthought. “You’ve never been that type, though. I’ve always admired your discretion. A little more trouble, but worth it in the end.”
“I suppose,” Heath said drily, “that Lady Harrington has ordered every kind of refurbishment under the sun for their love nest.”
“Lady Harrington?” Grayson looked blank. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“She’s Russell’s mistress.”
“No, she isn’t.”
Heath’s forehead creased in a frown. “Yes, she is. I caught them red—well, red all over, actually.”
“You could have caught them tupping upside down on the staircase, but Lucy is not the woman Russell has set up on my property. This female was a voluptuous opera singer who is quite obviously breeding. She also has incredibly large breasts, not that I notice such things.”
“A pregnant opera singer?” Heath said in a cynical voice. He was tired of making excuses for Russell. “And there is no chance that this is his payoff to her, his way of thanking her for her past services?”
“There was nothing ‘past’ about their affair as it was reported to me,” Grayson said, raising his brow. “The expanding chanteuse let my factor know that she and Russell intend to put their nest to good use after he returns from Paris.”
Another mistress. Another infidelity. Another lie. And now a child would be involved. It was a mess of the most distasteful nature. Heath was sure Julia did not have any idea. She would have shot Russell right through his disloyal heart if she’d known. He felt like shooting him himself.
“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked, more incensed by the moment.
“I thought you were above gossip.”
“I am, but . . .”
Grayson’s blue eyes danced with unholy perception. “You’re not above Julia? Good Lord, this is rather sudden.”
Heath ground his jaw. He wouldn’t call six years sudden, but Grayson had no way of knowing that. “I have cared about her for some time,” he admitted after a long hesitation.
“Give me a few moments to recover from my shock. There. Now. What are we to do?”
Heath came out of his chair, restless, aware that he had only an hour or two to make inquiries about Brentford. “What do you think I should do?”
Grayson grinned like a satyr. “I know exactly what you should do. This happens to be my area of expertise.”
“And?”
“Seduce her. It’s quite simple.”
“There’s nothing simple about my relationship with Julia.”
“There would be if you reduced it to basic terms.” Grayson gave a deep pleasurable sigh. “It worked well enough for Jane and me. I seduced that woman senseless before I married her.” He paused. “She seduced me in a far more subtle way. I am more convinced every day that I could not live without her.”
Grayson’s reference to his wife and to the tantalizing game of seduction they had played in the period before their marriage gave Heath pause. Grayson and Jane belonged together. Everyone knew it. And yet the course of their true love had been a crooked road indeed.
“You desire her,” Grayson said, the words a statement of fact.
Heath picked up an unopened letter on his desk. A half smile played at the corners
of his mouth.
“She desires you,” Grayson continued. “You care for her, and she cares for you. This is mutual misery.”
“I—”
“Then what the deuce are you waiting for? Take her to bed. Make her your own. It is your turn.”
“There is the matter of her fiancé. My superior and friend. He did save my life.”
“The male whore?” Grayson snapped his long elegant fingers. “He’s sent you into danger as repayment several times since then, and reaped the acclaim. Besides, a Boscastle recognizes no competition. Don’t be so damn decent that she slips away from you.”
Heath turned the letter over. “I have no wish to hurt her.”
“Hurt her? My God. Devise an infallible strategy. Seduction is a pleasurable game, not a mortal battle.”
“A pleasurable game. A strategy.” He had never thought of plotting out a love affair. He rather liked the idea. Why not apply intellect to winning the woman he wanted?
Grayson shrugged expansively. “Always glad to be of help, Heath. Having been taken out of the game of love as a free spirit, so to speak, I can at least share my secrets. And wish you as much happiness as I’ve been given.”
The game of love. The game of seduction. Heath wondered why he’d never thought of romance or courtship in such a provocative manner before. Perhaps because he had not cared enough. And yet was it not the most tantalizing challenge of all? To lose oneself in a woman only to emerge as a victor? Russell obviously intended to continue betraying her. To have his cake and eat it, too. The rules had changed before Heath had even grasped them. How far would he take his role as protector? Did it include defending her against Russell’s infidelity?
He was not certain where his loyalty should lie. With Russell? With Julia? Or with himself? Or was this soul-searching an exercise in self-deception? Was he merely looking for an excuse to take what he wanted?
He’d been so blindly arrogant in his previous romantic affairs, taking the ladies who loved him for granted, secretly believing himself above the web of deceit and aimless desire that ruined lives. In sympathetic amusement he had watched his brothers pursue their conquests like a pack of animals, wild, unrestrained, merciless seducers of the opposite sex. How many times had he laughed at friends trapped in the throes of love, complaining at the club of their misery?
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 13