by Anne Stuart
“I suspect that may be putting it mildly. I think I’ll make certain our guest is safely settled for the night. It wouldn’t do to underestimate the man.”
Valerian shuddered, and there was nothing delicate or feminine about the gesture. “He’s an evil man, Phelan.”
Phelan’s uneasiness grew. “I know,” he said. And he started for the door.
“There you are, my love.” Mark-David’s soft, oily voice slid over Juliette like rancid grease as he stood in her open doorway, a key in one hand. He surveyed her with a pleasant smile that made her blood run cold.
She didn’t move. She knew from past experience that it would do no good. He was blocking the only exit, and if she tried to scramble off the bed, to run away, he would have an excuse to hurt her. She simply watched him.
“I’d forgotten you had a taste for playing the boy,” he continued in a meditative voice. “I shouldn’t have indulged you earlier. It’s no wonder you failed to excite me sufficiently in the past. You need to be taught who and what you are. A mere woman, and my possession.”
She had to try. “Leave me be, Mark-David,” she pleaded. “I’ll disappear; no one need ever hear from me again. You can keep my money …”
“Don’t be absurd, child,” he said. “I’ll keep your money anyway. A husband has sole rights to his wife’s inheritance under English law. Surely you’re bright enough to realize that. As for your disappearing—you’ve already tried. And I’ve scoured the country, looking for you. Now that I’ve found you,” he said dreamily, reaching out his hand to touch her, “I have no intention of letting you go.”
She flinched, but he wasn’t about to allow her to escape. He stroked the side of her face, the caress a mockery. “I haven’t yet decided which of the Romneys you’re enamored of—Phelan or his long meg of a wife. It won’t do you any good, you know. Once Romney realizes you’re a girl, he’ll be quite disgusted. And I fancy his wife is more interested in the opposite sex than her own.”
A faint ray of hope penetrated Juliette’s despair. So Lemur wasn’t quite as clever as he thought he was. He assumed Phelan accepted her as a boy; he hadn’t realized Valerian was embarked on the same masquerade. If Lemur could make two mistakes, he could make more.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” he said in a dreamy voice. “I intend to take you to Chichester—we need privacy to continue our honeymoon.” He smiled faintly. “And don’t think that Romney will save you.”
His use of Phelan’s real name suddenly penetrated her fear. “Ramsey,” she said in a rusty voice.
“That’s what he’s told you. But he lied. His name is Phelan Romney, and he and his brother murdered their father.”
“They couldn’t have!” Juliette protested, shocked.
“Oh, but I’m afraid they did. At least one of them, but since they both ran off, it doesn’t really matter which one did it. Not that I care. He can slaughter his entire family if he chooses to, as long as he leaves me and mine alone.” Lemur’s smile was chilling. “No one has the faintest idea where he is, you know. Except me.” He took a step back. “I wouldn’t hesitate to let the authorities know where they might find him. And doubtless he’d have to tell where his brother is as well.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“There’s no need to. Not as long as you come with me. You need to convince Romney and his wife that you’re very happy to return with me. Or I won’t answer for the consequences.”
“He wouldn’t try to stop you. He brought you out here.”
“Against his will. There wasn’t much he could do to keep me from accompanying him, once that pansy Pinworth told me where to find you. Romney has a certain fondness for you, Juliette. I wonder if he shares Pinworth’s tastes.”
It took a moment for Mark-David’s malicious words to sink in. “He didn’t want to bring you?”
“I was half expecting him to try to push me off a cliff. But I’m far too clever for the likes of him.”
“Far too clever,” Juliette murmured dazedly.
Lemur let his hand trail down her throat, using his fingernails against her delicate skin. “I’ve waited too long for you, Juliette,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I won’t wait much longer.” And his hand tightened against her throat.
“Lemur.”
Phelan’s voice was quietly reasonable, yet Lemur withdrew his hand, stepping back swiftly from the bed. He glanced at his dark host as he stood in the doorway. “I was just discussing our future plans with my nephew,” he said, and there was only a faint tremor in his voice.
“Tomorrow’s time enough for that, don’t you think?” It was said in the mildest of voices, but Lemur wasn’t fool enough to think that he had any choice in the matter.
“Of course. Till tomorrow, Julian.” Lemur moved into the hallway. Juliette lifted her head to look at Phelan, knowing she had no reason to hope, but hoping anyway.
“I didn’t want to bring him,” he said in a voice that carried only to her ears.
“I know.”
“You’re not going anywhere with him.”
Ah, but she was. This time she had no choice. Lemur would do as he said and more. If she begged Phelan for help, he’d give it to her, but he and Valerian would be destroyed, and she couldn’t let that happen.
She could take care of herself. She had wits, she had courage. She’d survived Lemur before; she would do so again. As long as she got him away from the Romneys, she could deal with anything.
She didn’t answer Phelan, and he didn’t seem to expect her to. He closed the door behind him, and she heard the polite murmur of voices as he escorted Lemur away from her room. Juliette got out of bed and went over to the door, leaning her head against it and shivering. This was her last night.
Her last night of freedom, her very last night when she could call her body her own. Tomorrow Lemur would take her away from here, no matter what the Romney’s did to stop him. Tomorrow Lemur would take her body, and he would undoubtedly finish what he’d tried to do so many times before. He would hurt her, and debase her, and in the end, he might very well kill her. She could only hope he did.
But tonight was her own, to do with as she pleased. And she wasn’t going to spend that night locked away in her room, quaking like a scared rabbit. She was going to wait until it was dark, seek out Phelan Romney, and give him what Lemur had been unable to take.
She was going to make love with Phelan Romney, and deprive Lemur of his final triumph.
Phelan was alone in his room when he heard the quiet footsteps in the hallway. Lemur was at the far end, trapped, though he didn’t realize it. Hannigan was keeping an eye on his door, and if he tried to leave, he’d be politely, efficiently stopped.
Those weren’t Hannigan’s footsteps, or Valerian’s. Despite his brother’s efforts, he simply hadn’t managed a feminine glide. No blind person would ever mistake Valerian’s approach for that of a woman.
Dulcie had a heavy tread, and she wouldn’t be wandering around the upper story in the middle of the night. There could be only one person moving quietly outside his room.
Phelan was lying stretched out on his bed, fully clothed, his shirt undone, a glass of brandy in his hand. He’d left the window open. It was a cool night, but the damp summer air soothed him. It was well after midnight—Valerian had retired hours earlier, but Phelan sat up, waiting.
He wasn’t certain what he was waiting for, but now he knew. Juliette MacGowan wasn’t the sort of woman who allowed herself to be backed into a corner. Despite her very obvious terror, she wasn’t about to give up, not so easily. She was out roaming, looking for help.
The question was, whom was she going to ask?
Was she moving silently toward Valerian’s room? He would be the obvious choice—he’d been far kinder to her than Phelan had ever been. If she had any sense at all, she’d throw herself at Valerian, and Valerian, ever the gentleman, would catch her.
The footsteps continued past Valerian’s room, pausing outside his own door. Phelan waited, still
and silent, holding his breath, as the door slowly opened.
There was a three-quarter moon that night, shedding a silvery glow. He could see her face, and he almost wanted to laugh. She looked pale, determined, like a child forced to taste some particularly nasty medicine. And Phelan had the unflattering notion that he was that medicine.
He didn’t move, lowering his eyelids so that he appeared asleep, and he watched her as she closed the door behind her and turned the key. The girl had wicked plans, that was for certain, but she didn’t seem very happy about them.
He lay perfectly still, regulating his breathing as she tiptoed over to him. It was child’s play to guess her motive. She planned to offer her body to him in exchange for protection from her husband.
The question was, would he accept that noble sacrifice?
He’d have a hard time refusing it. He’d been in an adolescent quiver of lust since he’d first set eyes on her, and the thought of her offering herself almost made him dizzy with desire. She didn’t seem too excited about the prospect, but he had enough confidence to assume he could eventually guarantee her enthusiasm in the project.
He could take what she offered. He deserved it, didn’t he? He was ready to endanger his own and his brother’s welfare for the girl’s sake. Wasn’t he due some sort of payment? In advance, for services rendered?
She was standing so close he could feel her body heat, smell that faint trace of flowers that seemed to cling to her. All he had to do was reach out his hand, and she’d come to him, willingly paying the price for his protection.
He opened his eyes, watching her in the shadowed darkness. She was biting her lower lip, and the expression on her face was hardly conducive to passion. She was trying to work up her nerve to touch him, and if he weren’t so damnably aroused, he might think it funny.
“Yes?” he said in a bored voice.
She jumped, emitting a startled squeak that she silenced almost immediately by clapping her hands over her mouth. Her huge eyes were accusing. “You’re awake,” she said finally in an angry whisper.
“I am. I’m a light sleeper. I heard you clumping through the hallway and I wondered where you were going.”
“Here,” she said.
That gave him pause. “So I noticed.” He sat up, surveying her dispassionately. “I wondered why.”
The question annoyed her. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said.
“Not particularly. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
She looked as if she wanted to hit him. With a visible effort she controlled herself, trying to put a conciliatory smile on her face. She merely looked irritated.
“I came for you,” she said.
“To do what?” He was beginning to enjoy himself. If he couldn’t take her, and his damnable conscience was giving him a hard time about that, then at least he could amuse himself by baiting her.
“To take me to bed.” She spat out the words like nails.
“You were already in bed,” he pointed out with great practicality.
“To make love to me,” she said furiously.
“Oh,” he said with an air of great surprise, glad that the shifting moon shadows were disguising his more normal reaction to her words. “Any particular reason for this sudden surge of uncontrollable passion on your part?”
She glared at him. “I thought you wanted me,” she said in a tight voice.
“Oh, I do,” he murmured. “Most definitely. I’m merely questioning your motives.”
“Why should you care about my motives?”
“I’m funny that way. Somehow I suspect you’re here for reasons other than overwhelming desire. Am I right?”
“No,” she said.
“No?” he echoed. “Prove it.”
She stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, dear Juliette, that if you’ve suddenly decided that you’re possessed of an overpowering lust for me, than you need to climb up on the bed and demonstrate. You’re a married woman. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”
She almost left him. She started to turn, and he wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d really stalked from the room as she obviously longed to do. If he were a decent man he’d let her go.
But he knew he’d reach the door ahead of her, barring her escape.
She didn’t force him to make that choice. She turned back, and even in the moonlight he could see the color in her cheeks, the determination in her soft, pale mouth.
“All right,” she said, game as ever. And she started to climb up on the high bed beside him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The bed was soft beneath Juliette when she scrambled up, seductively so. She’d been in other beds, too many, with her husband, and none of them had felt so treacherously comfortable. She hadn’t wanted to be in those beds. For some obscure reason, she wanted to be in this one.
No, she didn’t, she reminded herself. This was an act of vengeance, the only one she could take. It certainly wasn’t a matter of her own choice.
Phelan was still lying there, stretched out, watching her out of hooded eyes. For all that the blasted man said he wanted her, he probably would have let her go. Just as he’d let her go with her husband in the morning, for all his protests.
She knelt on the bed, uncertain what to do next. He hadn’t moved, and if she had any sense of self-preservation, she’d climb down off that bed and run. But Lemur’s threats lingered in her mind, and she knew there was nowhere to run to.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Surely that would make the experience less awful.
To some people Lemur might be considered a well-enough-looking man, past his first youth, but handsome enough. And there was no question that Valerian was astonishingly beautiful, both as a man and as a woman.
But Phelan Romney was something else entirely. His dark hair framed his saturnine face; his eyes watched her; his thin, wide mouth was curved in a faintly mocking smile. His shirt was unfastened around his tanned chest, and his long, long legs were clad in snug black breeches. She even found his bare feet beautiful. And there was no question but that he had the most wondrous hands in the world.
But those hands weren’t moving. He hadn’t done a thing except lie there and wait.
“Well?” she said, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Well?” he said, and she couldn’t miss the amusement in his.
She almost left then, only the memory of Lemur keeping her there in his bed. He was still making no move to touch her, and his very stillness goaded her.
She flopped down on the big bed beside him, on her back, staring at the canopy above her head. “Go ahead,” she said between gritted teeth. “Do it.”
Finally he moved, rolling on his side to lean over her. Her hair had fallen in her face, and with a gentle hand he picked up the strand and moved it. “Such a gracious offer almost unmans me,” he murmured. “Almost.”
She cast a worried glance up at him. Surely he wasn’t supposed to be lighthearted about this endeavor. And yet he sounded so.
“Do you want me to take off my clothes?” she asked, determined to get on with it.
“It usually works better if you do.”
“What do you want me to leave on?” She was reaching for the buttons at the throat of her white shirt.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” The thought shocked her.
“Absolutely nothing,” he said again.
She watched him warily. “You are going to do this, aren’t you?” she asked suspiciously. “You aren’t just playing a game with me?”
That faint smile faded. “Oh, I’m most definitely going to do this,” he murmured. “Even if I know I shouldn’t.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because you don’t really want it. I haven’t quite fathomed why you’ve come to my bed, ready to offer yourself like a virgin sacrifice, and if I were a decent human being I’d send y
ou on your way. But I suppose I’m not really a decent human being after all, and I want you more than I want my self-respect.”
She could feel the color mounting in her cheeks. Virgin sacrifice was a bit too appropriate, but she had no intention of telling him that. “Does it matter why?” she asked.
“It should. I’m not in the habit of taking women for anything other than mutual pleasure, but I’m afraid I consider you irresistible. I suppose you think by sleeping with me you’ll be more likely to have me protect you from Lemur. I’ve already told you it’s not necessary. I won’t let him take you away from here.”
“That’s not it,” she said, knowing she should stay silent.
“Then why?”
She hesitated for a moment longer, then blurted it out. “Revenge.”
He laughed. “How erotic,” he said, his voice sardonic. He moved her hand away from her throat, and his long fingers began unfastening the small buttons. “I would think sending him away without you would be the best revenge. You don’t need to cuckold him as well.”
She tried to sit up, but his hand was at her chest, holding her down. “If you don’t want to do this …” she said.
He smiled, and there was something unnerving about his expression. It was predatory. Aroused. And oddly tender. “I just want to make sure you do as well.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said in a tight little voice.
“Yes,” he said. “You most assuredly are.” And he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.
She could taste the brandy on his breath, and she held her own, tensing. But he seemed content with just the soft feathering of his lips against hers, not seeking to deepen the kiss, and she forced herself to relax. Until she realized that he’d undone all the buttons on her shirt, and the cool night air was dancing against her skin.
She shivered then, unable to help herself, and he lifted his head to look down at her. “Are you having second thoughts?” he murmured. “Or are you just cold?”
“No second thoughts,” she lied.
“All right.” And he rolled on top of her, covering her with his larger, stronger body, his hard chest against her soft breasts, and his skin was warm, almost fiery hot. He threaded his fingers through her hair and held her still, and she looked up at him with what she hoped was fearlessness.
