by Connie Mason
His strong hands cupped her face, bringing their lips together. He kissed her slowly, with such passion, such tenderness, that her eyes grew misty with tears. How would she exist without Drago? He deepened the kiss; his tongue plunged into her mouth, and the ability to think fled.
Excitement roared through Julian, as hot and intense as lightning. No woman had ever made his body sing and his blood thicken like his Gypsy lover. Kissing Lara was pure pleasure. Loving her was pure ecstasy. Leaving her was pure hell. If he wasn’t an earl he’d say to hell with propriety, to hell with society, and take her to London with him. People might think the very proper Earl of Mansfield had lost his mind, but he would be the envy of the ton.
His thoughts scattered when Lara slipped her fingers between the edges of his shirt. Her hands were warm and soft and infinitely arousing against his chest. He managed to get the front of his trousers undone and his shirt unbuttoned as her hands roamed over the muscular planes of his chest, down his stomach to his …
A groan of raw pleasure ripped from his throat when her fingers closed around him. He tore at her blouse, ripping it in his eagerness to render her naked. Clothes flew, mouths clung, hands explored. He skimmed a thumb across a taut nipple. He bent his head and took it between his teeth. Lara gasped; he felt her tremble. Julian knew she was as excited as he when she grasped his head and held it to her breasts. He sucked her nipples, savoring the gasping little moans escaping her throat, sadly aware that he would never hear them again after tonight.
She reached down and circled his staff, and Julian feared he’d spill his seed into her hand. He fought for control. Disgracing himself their last time together was not a pleasant thought. Briefly he considered taking her quickly, as his body demanded, but he swiftly discarded that notion. He turned her on her stomach and lifted her knees.
Lara gave a squeal of surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Have you never seen horses mating?”
“Of course, but what has that got to do with … oh …”
He spread her knees and positioned himself behind her, nipping gently at her neck. He stroked her cleft and tested her with his fingers. Wetness flooded his hand. Her heat scorched him. He opened her and buried his sex deep inside her. To prevent their loving from ending too soon, he held himself still inside her a long suspenseful moment.
“Drago, please. End this torture.”
Her plea undid him. Grasping her hips to hold her in place, he thrust forward, teeth clenched, head thrown back, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. The explosive end came suddenly, violently. They climaxed together, one in body, one in soul, yet as far apart as two star-crossed lovers could get.
Lara lay quietly in Drago’s arms as their breathing returned to normal. She wanted this night to go on forever, but she knew dawn would appear in the eastern sky as surely as day would follow. She wouldn’t beg Drago to stay, or beg him to take her with him. It was an impossible situation for both of them. He had those responsibilities he spoke of and she had a father waiting for her. But the thought that Drago could leave her without a backward glance still hurt.
Suddenly, from out of the blue, Lara had a chilling premonition. “We will meet again, Drago,” she murmured. “When danger stalks you, I will be at your side.”
“I doubt that, sweeting,” Drago replied. “I prefer to think of you living safely with your people in some remote part of Scotland. You would hate London and its intrigues.”
“Is that where you’re going? London? Is London your home?”
He remained silent so long Lara knew she was delving too deeply into his private life. “I’m sorry. You need not answer any of those questions. I know you do not like to talk about yourself. Forgive me.”
“We have so little time left, sweeting. There are other things I’d rather do than talk.”
“Aye,” Lara whispered, winding her arms around his neck. If this was the last night they had together, she wanted to make it special.
They loved again, arms and legs entwined, bodies pressed together, mouths and hands exploring places that might have been missed during their first frantic joining. Then they slept. When Lara awakened the following morning, Drago was gone.
And with him her heart.
Chapter 7
Julian traveled to his country estate for a brief visit before continuing on to London. He didn’t want Emma or any of his peers to see him in Gypsy garb. The less anyone knew about his sojourn with the Rom the safer they would remain. Peters, the Thornton Hall butler, opened the door to him.
“Beggars apply at the back door,” Peters sniffed, looking down his long nose at Julian. The door started to close in Julian’s face.
“Bloody hell, Peters, ’tis me,” Julian said as he pushed past the startled butler. “Don’t you recognize your own employer?”
The normally unflappable butler was clearly astounded. “I … that is, my lord, I didn’t recognize you. Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to seeing you dressed … um … like a disreputable person.”
“Stow it, Peters. I want a bath drawn. And quickly. Ask Mrs. Howard to prepare something substantial for me to eat. I’m off to London as soon as I’m presentable.”
“Very good, my lord,” Peters said. “I will see to it immediately.”
An hour later, freshly bathed and shaved, Julian dressed in his usual impeccable attire and sat down to the hearty meal Mrs. Howard had prepared for him. The food was ambrosia compared to the plain Gypsy fare he had become accustomed to, but for some reason it was less enjoyable than the simple meals he had shared with Lara and her family.
Lara. His Gypsy wife who wasn’t really his wife.
Thoughts of Lara had plagued him all the way home. Their last night together wouldn’t be easy to forget. He wasn’t sure he wanted to forget the passion they had shared, though he knew it must remain buried deep within himself while he pursued Diana’s killer.
Guilt continued to plague him, however, for the callous way in which he had left Lara. Hurting her hadn’t been his intention. If Lara had spoken up about her innocence he never would have taken her. After that first time, there was no way he could stop making love to her. He blamed himself for acting more like his roguish brother Sinjun than himself where Lara was concerned, but her passion was addictive. Wanting her was a hunger he couldn’t assuage. Somehow he had to learn how to live without Lara’s lush body tempting him beyond redemption, but it wasn’t going to be easy. The taste of her didn’t satisfy, it only whetted his appetite.
Julian reached London late that night. He didn’t have his key and was forced to use the iron knocker to gain admittance.
After a frustrating length of time, Farthingale, Julian’s town butler, opened the door, his nightcap askew on his gray head and his spindly ankles sticking out of his nightshirt.
“Lord Mansfield! Welcome h-h-home, my lord.”
“Your mouth is open, Farthingale,” Julian said, pushing past his stammering butler. “I lost my key. Are Emma and Aunt Amanda out for the evening?”
“Aye, my lord. They’re attending Lady Marshall’s musicale. Viscount Blakely is escorting them.”
“Blakely? Sinjun’s rascally friend?”
“Just so, my lord. Lord Blakely has been a frequent visitor during your absence.”
Julian frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. Blakely was as much a rogue as Sinjun had been before he’d settled down with Christy. Julian vowed to have a talk with Emma about the company she’d been keeping as soon as possible.
“Shall I summon your valet, my lord?” Farthingale asked, clearly anxious to return to his bed.
“Nay, let Ames sleep. I can undress myself. I’m exhausted. Good night, Farthingale.”
“Good night, my lord.”
Julian climbed the stairs to his chamber, weary to the bone. He’d been gone from home too long and in the end his investigation had led him back to London. He was convinced that someone high up in the government was the Jackal, the man behind the smuggling
ring. The man who wanted Julian dead, the one responsible for Diana’s death. One good thing came from Julian’s return to London, however. He’d be able to keep an eye on Emma. Obviously Emma was out of control if she was seeing Rudy Blakely regularly.
Julian undressed and collapsed in bed. He was so tired that he fell asleep before thoughts of Lara could produce the inevitable arousal.
“Julian! Wake up! How dare you stay away so long without letting me know where you were. Julian! Do you hear me? Wake up.”
Julian was being shaken violently awake. He opened one bleary eye and saw Emma standing over him like a vengeful angel, hands on hips, one foot tapping impatiently, her violet eyes aglitter with fury.
“Stop it, Emma. What’s gotten into you?”
“Where have you been?” Emma demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m home now. Kindly wait for me in the breakfast room, I’ll be down directly.”
“Very well, but don’t think you can appease me with your weak excuses this time. I was so worried I sent for Sinjun. I had no idea if you were dead or alive.”
“As you can see, I’m very much alive. Ring the bell for Ames on your way out.”
Tossing her head, Emma whirled and strode away, giving the bell pull a yank before she stomped out of the room.
Ames showed up shortly bearing a tray with tea and a slice of perfectly toasted bread. He set the tray carefully on the bedside table, poured cream and tea into the cup, and smiled at Julian. “ ’Tis good to have you back, my lord. Shall I draw your bath?”
“Aye,” Julian said, yawning. “Give me a moment to drink a cup or two of tea and eat my toast. Emma is in a fine froth this morning, and I doubt my breakfast will go down easily with her ranting in my ear.”
Two cups of strong tea diluted with rich cream did the trick. Even the toasted bread tasted good. Julian was in a much better mood when he sank down into the tub of hot water. After his bath, Ames shaved him and helped him into tight black breeches, ruffled white shirt, black jacket, and polished Hessians. Julian observed himself in the mirror. Nothing about his very proper image reminded him of Drago the Gypsy.
Emma was waiting for him in the breakfast room, seated in her normal place. She was attractively attired in a pale violet day gown that emphasized the deep purple of her eyes. The sweetheart neckline showed the barest hint of rounded breasts, reminding Julian that Emma was all grown up. He bent and kissed the top of her head. “Good morning, Emma. Where’s Aunt Amanda this morning?”
“Good morning,” Emma said without warmth. “Aunt Amanda is still abed, and it’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want her to hear this conversation. What have you got to say for yourself, Julian? What am I to think when you disappear for weeks at a time without a word in the interim?”
Julian knew he deserved the rebuke, but Emma’s words stung nevertheless. He was aware that his absences bothered Emma, but there was little he could do about it unless he removed himself from government service. And he wasn’t ready to do that yet.
“Answer me, Julian,” Emma demanded. “What will you tell Sinjun? He’ll arrive in London soon.”
“Sinjun won’t be arriving in London,” Julian explained. “I saw him but four days past and sent him back to Glenmoor.”
“You saw Sinjun? Where?”
“I … ran into him at a fair in Lockerbie. He heard about the unusually fine string of horses offered for sale at the fair and made a detour to look them over.”
Emma’s finely etched brows edged upward. “What were you doing at the fair?”
“That, my nosy little sister, is none of your business.”
Julian helped himself to food from the sideboard and took his usual place at the head of the table. “How is Aunt Amanda?”
“Well. What a dear she is. I don’t know how I would have managed without her after you and Sinjun abandoned me.”
Julian sent her a sharp look. “You haven’t been abandoned, dear. I expect to remain in London for an indefinite period of time. I’ll be on hand to escort you and Aunt Amanda to all the functions you ladies seem to dote upon.”
“I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out,” Emma huffed. “We have a perfectly good escort in Viscount Blakely. Rudy has been wonderfully accommodating during your absence.”
Julian’s dander rose. “Lord Blakely is hardly the escort I would choose for you, Emma dear. His reputation as a rake and womanizer is well documented. Have you forgotten his escapades with Sinjun? Your brother has reformed, but Blakely has shown no signs of changing his wicked ways.”
“Rudy has been nothing but a gentleman,” Emma sniffed.
“Nevertheless, I must curtail Blakely’s visits now that I am home.”
Emma rose abruptly, tossing her napkin into her plate. “I’m not a child, Julian. Why must you be such an ogre? Is your own life so bereft of human kindness and companionship that you wish the same for me?” She stomped her foot. “I won’t have it, Julian! I will continue to see Rudy and you can’t stop me.”
Julian’s mouth hung open as Emma charged from the room. What in bloody hell had happened during his absence? How had Blakely gotten so close to Emma? Where was the relationship headed? If Blakely compromised his sister, he’d have his head on a platter.
Julian’s fierce expression eased when Aunt Amanda breezed into the breakfast room.
“Julian. How wonderful to have you back. Emma told me you’d returned. Whatever did you say to deserve her ire?”
“I’ve forbidden her to continue her association with Viscount Blakely. You’re looking well,” he continued, adroitly changing the subject. “I hope my spirited sister hasn’t been too much of a handful for you.”
“Never! Emma is a sweet, lovable young lady. She makes me feel young again.” She paused, sending Julian a piercing look. “What do you have against Lord Blakely? He has been kind and generous to us. His escort has been much appreciated during your absence. Sinjun asked him to watch over Emma while you were away from London, and the dear, sweet boy has done just that.”
“Are we speaking about the same Lord Blakely?” Julian asked, aghast. “Blakely and Sinjun are cut from the same cloth.”
“Sinjun reformed, so can Rudy,” Amanda argued.
“Nevertheless, we can dispense with Blakely’s company now that I’m home.”
“Hmmm, whatever you say, Julian,” Amanda said, blinking innocently.
Julian finished his breakfast while Amanda chatted about nothing of importance. He listened with half an ear as he made a mental note of all the things he had to discuss with William Randall, the Earl of Chatham, when he reported his findings.
Julian left the breakfast room and went directly to his study, where he pored over the records forwarded to him by his estate manager at Thornton Hall. Everything seemed to be in order there. His other properties were also doing well. He read the exchange report and was pleased to learn that his investments were prospering. All in all, the Thornton family fortune was healthy and growing.
After luncheon, Julian ordered his carriage and drove to Whitehall to report to Randall. He cooled his heels but a short time before being admitted into Randall’s office.
“Lord Mansfield,” Randall greeted warmly. “I began to fear you had met with foul play. Sit down. I’m most anxious to hear your report. Brandy?”
Julian nodded. Randall filled two snifters and handed one to Julian. Julian rolled the amber liquid around in his snifter, then downed it in one gulp. Thus fortified, he launched into his report.
“The smugglers had access to secret information, my lord. They were expecting an agent to infiltrate their ranks. I was recognized and apprehended while loading contraband with the villagers. They took me aboard their ship. The Jackal was there. I saw him but not clearly enough to identify him. I do know this: He is a person of importance, and privy to our plans.”
Randall leaned forward in his seat. “You say you didn’t recognize the Jackal?”
“It was dark, and his face was shado
wed. I was wounded trying to escape and taken aboard ship unconscious. The Jackal knew I’d be there, and that a reception awaited the smugglers in Cornwall. They bypassed their usual drop-off point and unloaded their contraband on a desolate beach near Dumfries in Scotland.”
“I’m glad you survived to tell the story. But how did you escape? And where have you been these past weeks?”
“I dove into the Bay of Solway before the ship landed and took a bullet or two. I don’t recall much after that, until I came to in a Gypsy wagon.”
“Gypsy wagon,” Randall repeated, obviously intrigued.
“Aye. One of their women found me on the beach and had me carried to their camp. There, an old woman treated my wounds. She saved my life. I stayed with them until my wounds were healed.”
“Do you suppose the Jackal believes you perished in the sea?”
“I don’t know. He sent his cohorts to the Gypsy camp looking for me, but they protected me. Now that I’m back in London, I intend to find the traitor in our ranks. He’s raking in profits that rightfully belong to the government.”
Julian knew that Randall believed Great Britain’s destiny was to become the greatest trading nation in the world, and that he would stop at nothing to see his country reach its goal. Julian hoped that appealing to Randall on that level would convince him to allow Julian to continue his investigation.
“Scorpion has been exposed,” Randall mused thoughtfully. “Continuing your investigation could place your life in grave danger. I’ll assign another man to the Jackal.”
“No!” Julian protested. “You know my history, my lord. The Jackal killed my fiancée. I was the one who was supposed to die in that carriage accident. I am convinced the Jackal is aware of my identity, but that’s all the more reason I should continue. I will be more vigilant now. My presence in London will bring the Jackal out of hiding.”
“I don’t know,” Randall said doubtfully. “ ’Tis too risky. I’ve grown fond of you, Julian.”
“I have no intention of dying,” Julian said tensely, “but catching a traitor is more important than my life. Here is my plan. I will attend every function, every public and private affair. Become a decoy, so to speak. The Jackal won’t be able to resist another attempt on my life. This time I will be ready for him. This time there is no fiancée to hurt. There is only my sister, and I can send her to Sinjun in Scotland.”
