Kitabı oku: «Swept Away», sayfa 6

“I usually reserve it for the nights. But, no, I would not say that gambling is a passion with me.” The look in his eyes gave her little doubt as to what he did regard as a passion. “’Tis merely a pastime.”

“I see. And what do you do the rest of the time?” She hoped that he might mention the trust in his activities; she was beginning to see that it was not so easy as she had thought to direct their conversation along the path she wished.

He shrugged. “The sorts of things one does. I go to my club when I’m in London. Pay calls. I’ve been known to race my curricle or to spar a few rounds at Jackson’s. Even attend to some business affairs.” He grinned. “You see? I told you it was deadly dull.” He lifted her hand, idly stroking down the back of her hand and each finger to the tip. “I am sure it would be much more fun to talk about you. Where are you from? London?”

“No, Kent,” she replied automatically, then worried that she had been too truthful. But then, she reminded herself, thousands of people lived in Kent; he wouldn’t necessarily think of Thomas St. Leger or his nearby neighbors, the Armigers.

“Indeed? I come into Kent now and then.”

“Really?” she murmured vaguely. She was finding the way he was caressing her hand quite distracting.

“Yes. I have a ward who lives there, and I visit him sometimes.”

“A ward? You mean you are someone’s guardian? Is he a relative?”

“No. I’m not his guardian, merely a trustee of his money.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I am afraid it’s not very interesting.”

“Oh, no, it sounds quite interesting. So you invest his money and such?”

“We direct it. There are two other gentlemen who are trustees, also. But let’s not talk about that.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “I would much rather talk about you. Or not talk at all.”

Julia raised a coquettish brow. “Indeed? Do you find talking with me so boring?”

“Never.” He began to kiss each individual finger, his eyes gazing into hers all the while. “It is just that there are so many other interesting things about you.”

The warmth of his lips against her fingers sent tingles running through Julia. She did not understand how something so small could set up such a strong reaction within her. “My lord…”

“Deverel,” he murmured, turning her hand over and planting a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“Deverel…”

“What?” He was kissing his way slowly up her bare arm, his lips hot and velvety on her skin, stirring her senses.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Why not?” She could feel his smile upon her skin.

“Uh, well, anyone could walk out here at any moment and see us.”

“That’s true. But unlikely.” He had reached the point of her shoulder and now began to trail kisses across her collarbone to her neck.

Heat welled up in Julia so quickly and explosively that it almost frightened her. “Deverel, stop.”

There was a touch of panic in her voice, and Stonehaven lifted his head, looking at her in a puzzled way.

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“I—” Julia was embarrassed by her moment of fear. She looked up at Deverel. His eyes were dark and smoldering in a way that made her insides quiver. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. She thought about their kiss a few nights earlier, and warmth blossomed in her loins.

She could not stop now, she told herself. She was not about to act the coward. She had to lead him along until she got him to talk. It was a delicate line to walk—to give just enough to keep him interested without giving in entirely. She had known that from the start. She had also known that Lord Stonehaven was no schoolboy to fall easily into her trap.

Julia drew a steadying breath and smiled at him. “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter,” she said, putting her hand behind his neck and pulling his head down.

5

Though she had experienced it before, Julia was not quite prepared for the torrent of sensations that flooded her at his kiss. She trembled beneath the onslaught, and her fingers tightened against his neck, as if to help her hold on. She had never touched a man so boldly before, and she was very aware of the warmth of his skin and the way his hair brushed her fingers.

He kissed her long and deeply, as if he could reach her very soul, and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into him until she could scarcely breathe. Their bodies strained together, a little awkwardly because of their seated positions on the bench, until finally Deverel pulled Julia onto his lap. She leaned back against his supporting arm, giving herself up to the pleasure of his kiss.

When at last he broke their contact, it was only to trail kisses across her cheek to her ear and take the fleshy lobe between his teeth, teasing it gently. She could hear the harsh rasp of his breath, and the sound was somehow exciting, too. Little shivers of delight radiated through her. She knew she must get a grip on herself, must control what was happening, but everything was too new and startling.

He began to kiss his way down the side of her neck, and as he did so, his hand slid up from her waist until it cupped her breast. Julia jumped in surprise, drawing in her breath in a gasp. “Deverel!”

“Mmm?” He continued to make his way down her neck to her shoulder.

“I—uh—” She didn’t know what to say. Her whole body was throbbing, and there was a restless ache between her legs. This was not working. She was getting in deeper and deeper without discovering anything. She gestured vaguely back toward the cottage. “The house…your friends…”

He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes glittered ferally, and his chest moved up and down in harsh, rapid pants. He glanced back toward the house where she pointed, then cast a long look at her.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “This place is hardly private enough.”

He closed his eyes as if fighting to gain control of himself. His arms loosened around her, and Julia made herself hop off his lap, a little surprised at how reluctant she was to do so.

“Wait…Jessica…” He reached toward her, but Julia took another step backward.

“Ah, no,” she said, pleased at the flirtatious tone that she forced into her voice. “I don’t know what sort of women you are used to, but I am not the kind to fall so easily into dalliance.”

Irritation flashed across his face, and for a moment Julia thought that he was about to flare up in anger, but then he sighed and leaned back against the bench, looking up at her and saying in a bantering voice, “Oh, and what kind of woman are you, then?”

“The sort who places a high value on herself,” Julia retorted coolly.

He chuckled. “Indeed. I would say that you are one whose value is higher than most.”

He stood and came to her, his lazy smile telling her that he understood her game. No doubt it was not uncommon for a bird of paradise to play a waiting game, trying to raise the stakes.

“What next, then?” he asked.

Julia hesitated. This was exactly what she wanted—to have everything in her control. But she was not sure exactly what to do. She knew that she must arrange things differently. This evening everything had been too vague, and she had left him too much in control. She should arrange their rendezvous in some private place where she could ply him with alcohol to loosen his tongue while she allowed him a few kisses and caresses. But where could such a thing take place? She obviously could not have him come to her home, and everything engrained in her by her upbringing rebelled at the thought of going with him alone to his house.

Suddenly a thought struck her, and she grinned. “Well…I must confess that I have a great desire to visit Vauxhall Gardens to view the fireworks.”

While Vauxhall Gardens was the sort of place where a lady might go, as long as she was in a well-chaperoned party, it was also a public entertainment that anyone could attend, and Julia had heard rumors that it was a favorite spot for dallying among gentlemen and ladies of the night. There were private boxes to be had, where one could have a supper catered, and if one left one’s box, there were all sorts of secluded walkways where a couple could stroll alone in the dark—or pause in the shadows for a few stolen kisses. Moreover, people often went to it in masquerade, which meant that one could keep one’s identity a secret. All these things combined to make it a perfect site for their rendezvous.

“Do you?” he responded, the glitter in his eyes telling her that he was well aware of the suitability of Vauxhall Gardens. “Certainly you must see them. Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

“No, I am afraid I could not do it tomorrow.” She must, after all, keep him dangling for a while in order to whet his appetite. “What about the day after that?”

“As you wish,” he replied graciously, inclining his head toward her.

They took their leave of their host—Julia glanced around but could not find the couple who had been so busily engaged on the chair by the window—and quit the house. Once again Julia turned down his offer to escort her home. He pressed his case for a while, but finally gave in and hailed a hackney for her. He did not try to kiss her again, but let her go with a brief, courteous brush of his lips upon the back of her hand. Julia climbed into the vehicle, and it started off.

Deverel watched the hackney until it turned the corner. Then, with a sigh, he started toward his own home. It was, in truth, an earlier hour than he generally kept when he was in the city, but he found that he had little interest in any of the pursuits with which he could pass the remainder of the night. Without Jessica Nunnelly, the evening was suddenly flat.

It was strange that it should be so, he knew. He was a man quite familiar with women, both of his own class and of the demimonde, and he enjoyed their company. However, he was well past the age of tumbling head over heels for any of them. He was quite capable of finding a new woman attractive and desirable without feeling that he could not rest until she was in his bed. It had been many years since any woman had kept him awake or sent him chasing night after night to the same place in the hope of running into her again. But that was precisely what had happened with this woman. The instant he had seen Jessica Nunnelly across the hallway in Madame Beauclaire’s, desire had surged through him. He had wanted, immediately and fervently, to sweep her up in his arms and carry her home to his bed. Amazingly enough, when he talked to her, he found that the fire in his loins continued unabated—even grew.

She was a trifle cool, yet when he kissed her, she had flamed to life. Her dress stamped her as a bird of paradise, yet her carriage and speech would have been worthy of a duchess. She had wit; she was mysterious; she stirred his blood. And he had been consumed since the moment he met her with a deep and lustful desire to make her his.

He could imagine her in his bed, naked and languid with lovemaking, that glorious auburn hair spread out upon his pillow, her blue eyes smiling up at him. Indeed, it was an image that had been plaguing him day and night for days. Now, the thought of being alone with her at Vauxhall Gardens two nights from now filled him with an impatient lust.

He didn’t know why she had insisted on meeting him there rather than letting him escort her to the Gardens any more than he could figure out why she had twice refused to allow him to escort her home. He wondered if she had a husband or another wealthy “protector.” The thought filled him with an unaccustomed jealousy. Or it could be something she did to add to her air of mystery—he had to admit that, if that was the case, it certainly worked. He was almost as consumed with curiosity as he was with lust. Where had she come from? Why had he never seen her before? Or at least heard of her!

It seemed extremely unlikely that a diamond of the first water could have been inhabiting the demimonde of London for any length of time and he had not heard of her. On the other hand, she certainly did not seem like a green lass fresh from the country. She was too sophisticated, too poised. She spoke and acted like a woman of gentility. Had he met her anywhere else in more ladylike attire, he would have assumed she was a member of the ton. There had been moments when he was kissing her when her reaction had seemed naive and inexperienced. She had even looked embarrassed when she had glanced around at the free-and-easy scene at Alfred’s house. Yet no lady would have appeared in that dress, let alone showed up unaccompanied at Madame Beauclaire’s gambling house. He told himself that she must have pretended those inexperienced reactions in an effort to increase his desire; certainly her seemingly artless responses had quickened his pulse.

It occurred to him that unraveling the mystery of Jessica Nunnelly would be a delightful way to occupy his time, and he smiled to himself. He must procure a private box and supper at Vauxhall first thing tomorrow.

Julia and Phoebe were in the drawing room conversing with Geoffrey Pemberton the following afternoon when one of the footmen announced the arrival of the Honorable Varian St. Leger and Major Gordon Fitzmaurice.

“Of course,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Show them in.”

Geoffrey let out a groan as the footman left. “I think that I recall some urgent business.”

“Now, Geoffrey…Major Fitzmaurice is very nice,” Julia admonished her cousin.

“The man has the brains of a muffin.”

Even the kindhearted Phoebe had to smile at the description. “Perhaps. But he has always been most kind to me.”

“In that case,” Geoffrey said, nodding graciously toward her, “I suppose we must endure him.” He sighed and looked toward the door, muttering, “Too late to leave now, anyway.”

Two men entered the drawing room. One was Varian St. Leger. Beside him was a squarely built man of military bearing. His hair was brown, his eyes gray, and his countenance was blankly pleasant.

“Varian. Fitz,” Phoebe greeted them with the warmth of old friends. “It is so kind of you to call.”

“Kind?” Varian replied with a smile at the delicate blond woman. “Indeed, it is nothing of the kind. It was purely selfish pleasure that made us come here today, not kindness.”

Geoffrey made a noise deep in his throat, and Varian turned toward him. “Excuse me, Pemberton. Did you say something?”

Geoffrey returned the look blandly. “Indeed, no. I was simply moved to think that you denied yourself pleasure for so long.”

Varian blushed, and Fitzmaurice looked confused.

“Denied yourself what pleasure?” Fitzmaurice asked. “You haven’t gone pious on me, have you, Vare?”

“Now, Geoffrey…” Julia began warningly. “How was Varian to know that we were in town? We told no one.”

“I was speaking more about the past three years than the past three weeks.” He raised a languid eyebrow at St. Leger.

“Pemberton is right, Julia. Do not scold him. I have been neglectful of you and Lady Armiger. I should have come to visit more often at Greenwood. I was a coward. I rode over more than once when I was visiting young Thomas, but when I crested that hill above Greenwood, I would begin to think about Selby and—”

“Oh, no, pray do not distress yourself,” Phoebe cried softly. “I understand. Greenwood is full of memories. People are different. The memories, you see, give me comfort, so I am well content to live with them. And Julia and I had each other.”

Phoebe quickly turned the conversation to other channels—a discussion of the London weather, the Season, the latest on-dits. Julia glanced at her cousin after a few minutes and saw that his eyelids were perilously close to shutting.

“What have you ladies been doing in town?” Varian asked after a while.

“Very little, actually,” Phoebe replied. “Shopping. We’ve taken Gilbert to some of the amusements.”

“Actually,” Julia interjected, “we’re here to investigate the embezzlement.”

The room fell into a dead silence. Geoffrey’s eyes popped open, and he regarded his cousin with some trepidation.

Finally Varian spoke. “What did you say?”

“The crime Selby was accused of. We are going to prove that he did not do it.”

The two men stared at her blankly.

Fitzmaurice looked confused. “But, I say…didn’t he do it?”

Varian sent him an admonishing glance, then turned to Julia. “I am afraid I don’t understand. Certainly I could never quite credit that Selby would have done anything wrong, but the evidence—”

“The evidence was made up,” Julia said crisply. “I am sure of it. It is the only explanation. Phoebe and I know that Selby did not do it, which gives us an advantage over everyone else because, you see, we know that for the evidence against Selby to be so strong, it must have been manufactured deliberately to make it seem that Selby did it.”

“I don’t understand,” the major complained.

“I am astonished,” Geoffrey said dryly.

“But, Julia…” Varian frowned with concern.

“Don’t you see? It’s the only logical explanation. You yourself said that you could not imagine Selby doing it.”

“Yes, I own that it was hard to believe, but it’s hard to imagine someone laying such a detailed plan to get Selby. And why Selby? Everyone liked him.”

“Apparently not everyone. But I doubt that it was any particular spite directed at Selby. I think it was rather that he was the most logical candidate, since he handled most of Thomas’s affairs. Such a letter coming from one of the rest of you might have aroused suspicion in the agent, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“Are you saying that some other chap stole young Thomas’s money?” Fitzmaurice asked, understanding beginning to dawn on his face.

“You are exactly right, Major,” Phoebe assured him.

“And he made it look as if Selby had done it?” Fitzmaurice looked indignant. “Well, I say! That was a damned shabby thing to do. Beg your pardon, ladies.”

“It’s perfectly all right, Major,” Julia said graciously. “That is precisely what I think, too.”

“I’m not saying that you aren’t right,” Varian said slowly. “No one could be happier than I would be if it turned out that it was not Selby. But I’m afraid I don’t see how you could prove that it was not he.”

Julia was aware of her cousin stirring anxiously, but she ignored him. “Oh,” she said with a vague wave of her hand, “that is my secret. We wouldn’t want word to get out.”

Geoffrey relaxed with a faint sigh.

“But if you are right,” Varian persisted, “and it was the work of some other person, don’t you think that it is rather dangerous for you and Lady Armiger to be trying to find out his identity? If he was unscrupulous enough to not only steal the money but ruin a man in the process, I’d say he was a dangerous person.”

“That’s right,” Fitzmaurice chimed in. “Wouldn’t be a gentleman.”

Geoffrey let out a choked sound and suddenly found something of great interest to look at on the floor.

“I daresay you are right,” Julia allowed, suppressing her own smile. “He is no gentleman. But I doubt that there is any danger. The man must be a coward. Look at his actions! No bold and daring thievery there, but a sneaking sort of stealing, involving no real danger to himself. And to lay the blame on someone else—it’s the act of a coward.”

“But even a coward, if cornered, can turn on you,” Varian warned.

“I’m no milk-and-water miss. If that happens, I will be able to take care of myself.”

These words only served to make Varian look even more worried, but he said nothing more on the subject.

Major Fitzmaurice spoke up unexpectedly. “I remember once when we had a thief in the regiment. Bad business, that.”

“Indeed?” Phoebe asked with polite interest. “And did you manage to catch him?”

“Oh, yes. Well, I mean, not I. I didn’t know he’d been stealing until after it was all over. Been stealing out of other men’s kits, you see. Joseph Bollinger was the one who caught him—always a canny one, he was. Not good ton, of course. Wouldn’t present him to your sister, say, but a lot in his brain box.” He frowned, remembering. “Never could understand him.”

“How edifying,” Geoffrey said with awful irony and stood up. “I am sorry, ladies, but I am afraid that I must take my leave now. Arranged to meet someone at my club.”

“Of course.” Julia smiled at him. “I quite understand.”

“Going to Brooks’s?” Fitzmaurice asked. “Wait, and I’ll walk with you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Came around to your house the other day, but you wasn’t there. In need of a little advice—it’s my valet, you see.”

“Of course it is.”

Julia suppressed a smile at her cousin’s frozen expression as the two men left the room. Varian St. Leger stayed a few minutes longer, once again entreating her to reconsider the idea of catching the embezzler. Phoebe seemed pleased by his solicitude, but Julia grew impatient after a time, and when he finally took his leave, she let out a gusty sigh of relief.

“Thank heavens they’re gone. I would never have told them if I had known that Varian would be so old-maidish about the whole thing.”

“I thought it was very kind of him to be so concerned about us,” Phoebe protested gently.

Julia looked at her sister-in-law closely. She wondered if perhaps Phoebe had a special feeling for her husband’s old friend. Varian would, Julia supposed, make a good match for Phoebe. He was invariably kind and solicitous, and his breeding was impeccable. If he was a trifle dull compared to Selby, well, she had to admit that it would be difficult to find another such as her brother had been—particularly among their rustic neighbors. And, much as Phoebe had loved and mourned Selby, she was not the sort of woman who would be happy living a single life. She was a sweet creature who needed someone to fuss over and admire as much as she needed someone to lean on. Still, Julia could not but feel a little pang of sorrow at the thought that someday in the not too distant future she would probably lose the company of her sister-in-law and nephew, if not to Varian St. Leger, then to some other man.

It was a lowering thought. Julia was a warm and affectionate creature, used to loving relationships with both her parents and her brother. She knew that it would be difficult for her to live a life alone, but she saw little chance for anything else. She had been cut off from Society during the past few years, when she had been of an age when most young girls made eligible marriages. Even if she was able to get Stonehaven to confess and thus save her family name from dishonor, she was old enough, at twenty-four, that she would probably be considered a spinster. Certainly she would be past the age of making her come-out in London, and, besides, she had no older female relative to act as her chaperon, anyway.

There were certainly no men among her limited acquaintance in Kent whom she could bear the thought of marrying, and, besides, she was beginning to feel that perhaps she was too independent to marry any man. Kind though Varian St. Leger might be, his warnings and disapproval irritated her. Even her cousin had been doubtful and questioning about her scheme. And she was not even a dependent of either one of them! She could well imagine what life with a husband must be like, always full of strictures, warnings and rules.

Nor could she think of a single man who could live up to her ideal of what a man should be. She supposed that having a brother like Selby had spoiled her. He had been so fun and full of life, always ready with a quip or a story. But he had by no means been a lightweight. He had been a man of courage and principle, the sort of man who was a bruising rider to the hounds but was also a concerned and dutiful landlord to the tenants of his estate. She could not imagine marrying a lesser man, could not tie herself to someone with whom she could not share laughter and problems and intelligent conversations.

Lord Stonehaven’s image popped into her mind, startling her, and she immediately pushed it away. How absurd! Handsome he might be, and clever, as well as possessed of a certain charm, but she could not imagine anyone whom she would be less likely to marry. Not only was he a man of low character, he was her enemy, her nemesis!

“Julia? Julia?” Phoebe’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Julia looked at her and realized from the other woman’s puzzled expression that she must have said Julia’s name several times. “What?”

“Is something the matter?” Phoebe asked in concern. “You had the fiercest look on your face.”

“No, I—my mind was just wandering. I’m sorry. You are right. Varian was simply being kind. No doubt my nerves are stretched, waiting for tomorrow night.” She had not told Phoebe where she was going, knowing that she would be horrified to think that Julia would be alone in a box at Vauxhall Gardens with Lord Stonehaven. However, she had let her know that she thought that the next evening might bring what they had wished for.

“I know. Poor dear…aren’t you frightened?”

“Frightened? No. At least, only of failing at my task. No harm is going to come to me.”

Phoebe frowned. “I cannot help but worry. What if he were to find out who you are? Or what you are up to? He is not a gentleman—I mean, not in the true sense of the word.”

“It won’t happen. I won’t let the truth slip out. I don’t think he would hurt me, anyway.” She didn’t know exactly why she was so sure of this fact, but she was. “The worst that could happen would be that he would tell everyone how I was masquerading at Madame Beauclaire’s, but I don’t think he would relish the world knowing that he had been so gullible that I had been able to take him in.”

“If you are sure, dear…”

“I’m positive. Now, let’s talk of something else. What do you say we steal Master Gilbert away from Nurse and take him for a romp in the park?”

This idea pleased Phoebe immensely, and so they spent the rest of the day with Gilbert, playing games and chasing butterflies, returning so tired that they were happy to dine and go to bed at an unfashionably early hour.

Julia fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow and was deep in slumber some hours later when an unaccustomed noise brought her awake. She opened her eyes, confused and not knowing what had awakened her. Her room looked much the same as always. She turned her head toward the other side of the room, where the two long windows stood open to let in the cool night air. There, in front of one of the windows, silhouetted by the pale light from outside, stood the dark figure of a man.