by Brenda Joyce
She was so wrong, he thought grimly. She did not understand how power corrupted even the greatest cause. “I’m afraid I am not fond of politicians, not even radical ones.” He managed to soften, thinking it time to withdraw from the conversation.
But she was taken aback. “You almost sound like my brother Lucas. He favors reform, not revolution. He despises the mobs. He has accused the radicals in Paris of the same kinds of actions as you have. And Lucas fears violence here, at home.”
“Reform can be kinder and violence should always be feared.”
Her eyes widened. “The French nobility—the French king—would have never given the country a constitution without great pressure, Charles. The kind that comes from the rising up of hundreds of oppressed people.”
He smiled at her, knowing that she truly believed her words. But the pressure she spoke of had caused the execution of King Louis. Because of “pressure,” there was no constitutional monarchy now. Thousands of French noblemen had fled—and they would never return. Their lands had been taken away, or even destroyed. Why couldn’t she see the terrible loss that this was? Why didn’t she realize how savage and murderous the mobs were—and how many innocent men, women and children had died because of them? Would she still insist that this was liberty? Equality?
“I am against oppression. Who isn’t? But the violence in France is not justifiable. There are different ways one can achieve the same end, Julianne,” he finally said.
She stared at him, shocked. “Were you conscripted?” she finally asked.
He knew he must backtrack now. “I volunteered,” he said flatly. “There is no conscription in France. I am not against the revolution, Julianne, obviously. But I would have preferred a different means—a different beginning. But the convening of the Third Assembly has led us to this point in time, and there is no going back. Innocent men have died in my arms. Innocent men—and boys—will continue to die. I suppose I am glad you do not understand the reality.”
“I do understand,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. “And I am so sorry for those you have lost. I am so sorry you have suffered so much pain.”
She did not understand at all, he thought. “I will fight to the death for my cause—the cause of freedom.” For him, freedom meant being able to live in the Loire Valley without fear of reprisal—without fear of having his home taken from him. Just then, his family and friends were fighting for that very freedom in le Loire, yet they were running out of arms and food.
“You are frightening me.”
He looked at her. The urge to take her in his arms was stunning. “That is not my intention.”
She had saved his life and he owed her a great debt that did not include this deception. It did not include seduction. But he could not deny the urgent attraction he felt. “You are afraid for me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Death is a part of war, Julianne. Even you know that.”
“How can you be so casual about it?” she cried.
He almost told her that he did not feel casually about the subject at all. But he would never tell her any such thing. “Everyone dies sooner or later, whether in war or from sickness or from old age.”
She stared, stricken. “I must ask you something, Charles, and it is difficult for me.”
Although wary, he looked calmly at her.
“How long has it been since you lost Nadine?”
He instantly understood. “It has been a year and a half, Julianne.” He saw the flicker of relief in her eyes, and that twinge of guilt came again. Was she truly in love with her revolutionary war hero? “There has been so much death, in these past few years. One learns how to accept it rather quickly.”
She stood up and walked over to him and lay her shaking hand on his shoulder. “Do you still love her?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned partially away. “I shouldn’t have asked. That was selfish of me.”
He stood, pulling her into his arms, and her soft, voluptuous body inflamed him. It was becoming hard to think clearly. “You had every right to ask.”
She was trembling. He could feel the same insane urgency in her. He turned up her face. “I have become very fond of you, Julianne.”
“So have I,” she gasped. “I am so glad…Jack brought you here. I am so glad…that we are friends.”
He looked at her parted lips, very carefully. It was becoming hard to think coherently. “But we are more than friends, no?” he asked softly.
“We are more than friends,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Soon, I will return to France.” Finally, he was speaking the truth.
The tears brimmed. “And I will miss you.”
And as they stared at one another, he heard a door downstairs slam.
He could not believe her sister’s timing. It would not serve him or his deception to have Amelia walk in on them now. But there was no turning back now. Surely, one kiss would not hurt either one of them.
Dominic bent over her, touching his mouth to hers. And very carefully, he feathered her lips with his. As he did, he was blinded by a flood of hot desire.
She gasped, seizing his shoulders, opening for him.
The desire brought a shocking anguish. And as he claimed her mouth, hard, the memories of blood and death, of rage and hatred, of distress and despair engulfed him. A part of him was in France, in agony, another part of him was with her, in ecstasy. He could not pull away. He could not check himself now. Nor did he want to.
He deepened the kiss, demanding everything from her, and she mated fiercely with his tongue.
And he thought, she should know better than to trust a stranger.
AMELIA AND JULIANNE had gone into the town of St. Just together for some groceries. Dominic stood at the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to them, and watched the sisters exit the house.
Julianne had been concerned about leaving him alone for an hour or two but he had reassured her.
She had accepted his promise that he would rest. He had appeared stoic, but inwardly, he had been thrilled.
Spying was inherent in his nature now. Everything he had learned about Greystone, the family and the area and its denizens, he had learned from Julianne. He was eager to go through the house, prying into the family’s lives and affairs. He didn’t expect to find very much, but one never knew. Jack Greystone held the most promise. He might claim not to care about the war, and be a simple smuggler, but he could be actively involved.
He entered a woman’s bedroom. He saw the two beds, the two small bed stands, each with its own candle, the clothes hanging from the wall pegs, and knew the sisters shared the chamber. Julianne wore white muslin, exclusively, while Amelia favored gray frocks as if to make herself drabber than she actually was.
Within ten minutes, Dominic had made a thorough search of the room. He found some old journals, a few toiletries, spare candles and a sheath of letters, hidden in the armoire, under a pile of shirtwaists.
He paused, taken aback. The stack was tied with a blue ribbon, and his immediate assumption was that the letters belonged to Julianne.
He glanced at the top one—and realized he was looking at love letters written to Amelia. Oddly relieved, he put the letters back where he had found them.
The next room belonged to Jack. He was certain of it. It smelled like ships and the sea.
He began a rapid, thorough search. He found nothing of interest until he looked under the mattress, where he found a dozen navigational charts. The charts had been meticulously sketched. He was getting the inkling that Jack Greystone had made them himself. He sat on the bed, looking closely at the first chart, which detailed a cove at Land’s End, right down to hidden reefs and rocks. He went through them quickly then. The man had charted the entire Cornish peninsula, from Cape Cornwall, just above St. Just, to Penzance.
And there were maps of the coves and beaches near Brest, too.
He looked back at one of the Cornish charts. Here and t
here Jack had marked the coast with X’s. Dominic wondered what the marks stood for.
Jack had starred an area above St. Just, writing the word, navy, above the star.
“What a good man,” Dom murmured.
And he heard a horse whinny outside.
He leapt up, ran to the window, and saw Amelia and Julianne alighting from the carriage, both women carrying large baskets. He turned, unperturbed, and carefully began rolling up every chart. It would take the women a few minutes to unload, he thought, and he intended to put every chart back in the same order as they had been when he had discovered them.
As he adjusted the sequence of the charts, all now rolled and tied, he heard the front door slam. He now lifted the mattress and replaced the charts, then carefully adjusted the bedcovers. He was fairly certain that a successful smuggler would be astute enough to realize if anything in his private chamber had been touched.
The front door slammed again.
Satisfied that the bedchamber was exactly as he had found it, he went to the window and looked out. He became mildly alarmed when he saw Julianne alone at the carriage, retrieving more parcels. Where was her sister?
Julianne was very susceptible to his deceptions but he had no delusions about Amelia. She was blind to his appeal. She had a great deal of common sense. Although they were actually allies, in a way, just then they were enemies—he had an alias to maintain. He did not want to have to deceive the older sister, who had made it clear that she did not care for Charles Maurice at all.
Dominic was crossing the hall when Amelia appeared at the top of the stairs. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
His heart leapt but then quieted. He smiled at her. “I thought I heard a horse.”
“Were you in Jack’s chamber?” she asked.
“I went to the window so I could look out on the drive. Can I help with the packages?” he asked pleasantly.
Amelia stared at him. It was certainly unacceptable for a guest to walk, uninvited, into someone else’s private chamber. Amelia walked past him and opened up the door to Jack’s bedroom, as if she expected something to have been disturbed.
“I apologize,” he said amiably. “The door was ajar and I know your brother is not at home.”
Amelia shut the door, rather forcefully. “Yes. You have been spending a lot of time with my sister, and she speaks freely, does she not?”
“She is an unusual woman. I am grateful to have had her company while I convalesce.”
Amelia gave him a sharp look. “I am not a fool, sir. You may have worked your wiles on my sister, but I do not approve of who and what you are.”
Before he could reply, Julianne gasped, “Amelia!”
They both turned to find her on the landing. She hurried toward them.
“He was in Jack’s bedchamber,” Amelia said.
Julianne looked at him in surprise.
“I heard the horse,” he said calmly. “I went to the window to see who was calling.” He gave her a significant look.
And she understood, immediately, the implication he intended. Julianne faced her sister. “Amelia, no one can know who he is or that he is here. I knew we shouldn’t have left him alone! Of course he would go to see who was calling. Our friends are not his friends.”
Amelia looked back and forth between Dominic and Julianne. “I hope you are right.”
“You don’t trust him because he reminds you of St. Just,” Julianne said.
What was this? Dominic wondered.
Amelia started. “That is very rude, Julianne. Your Frenchman has nothing in common with St. Just—they don’t even look alike.”
“They both have that same air, that same tone,” Julianne said. She turned to Dominic. “It is all right, monsieur, There is no harm done.”
Amelia took her arm. “I’d like to talk to you downstairs.” She faced Dominic. “You need not come down to help with the groceries. You are ill, after all.”
He smiled at her. “I should like to help.”
“Absolutely not.” Amelia turned and marched down the hall and downstairs.
“I am sorry,” Julianne said.
“She is concerned about you. I hardly blame her.” He approached, recalling their very heated kiss of that morning. “You shouldn’t discuss me with her.”
“You’re right. But she is a mother hen. She is always asking about the time we spend together.”
“Divert her,” he suggested. He reached out to stroke her jaw with his thumb, the gesture unintentional. Realizing he had simply wanted to touch her, he dropped his hand.
She hesitated, then cupped his cheek, her gaze heating.
His entire body stiffened. “We don’t have much time, Julianne.”
“I know.”
He kissed her hand. “Come to me tonight.” He could hardly believe himself. But he knew that if she came, he would not send her away.
Her eyes widened.
A heavy silence fell. From downstairs, Amelia called, “Julianne!”
“You had better go.”
She bit her lip, turned and rushed to the stairs. He waited for ten seconds, and then followed. As he did, he closed his chamber door loudly, so they would think he had gone inside.
He did not want to make a sound as he went downstairs. But Amelia’s voice was raised and he realized they were just below the stairs. He did not have to go down them, after all. He knelt, straining to hear.
“In the past few days, I have become suspicious of him,” Amelia cried. “In fact, the more you speak of him, as highly as you do, the more suspicious I become.”
“Why? He is a kind, sincere man who has suffered greatly. And he is a hero!”
“My God, listen to yourself. He has charmed you senseless,” Amelia accused.
“I have hardly lost my wits.”
“You are at his bedside constantly.”
“He is recovering—where else should I be?”
“Has he seduced you?”
“What?” Julianne gasped.
“Well, I take it he has not, and thank God for that,” Amelia said harshly. “I do not trust him, and you shouldn’t, either.”
It was a moment before Julianne spoke. “Amelia, I won’t dissemble, I like him very much. But you are jumping to false conclusions!”
Another pause ensued. “Can you deny that you are infatuated?”
Julianne gasped.
“I didn’t think so. I am sorry, Julianne, I disapprove. The sooner he is gone from Greystone, the better. Hopefully Jack will return at any moment and we can send Monsieur Maurice on his way! I wonder what Jack would think if he learned that our guest was in his bedchamber.”
“He had cause to be there. Our neighbors are his enemies,” Julianne said softly.
“I just want him gone,” Amelia said, sounding distressed.
“He is going back to France, soon,” Julianne reassured her.
He had heard enough. Dominic went back to his room.
JULIANNE LAY MOTIONLESS in her white cotton nightgown. She was almost afraid to breathe. Yet she was trembling wildly. Tension riddled her entire body. Very slowly, as if moving her head might awaken Amelia, she turned so she could look at her sister. Amelia slept just an arm’s length from her, in the other bed.
She expected to find Amelia watching her, an expression of accusation on her face.
Instead, she saw her sister curled up on her side, soundly asleep.
She inhaled, and the sound was loud in the quiet night. Julianne glanced at Amelia again. But her sister kept breathing evenly and deeply. Amelia worked herself to the bone by day, and fortunately, she slept deeply at night.
But Julianne had many restless nights. When she couldn’t sleep, she had the habit of going downstairs to the library, where she would read. If Amelia awoke in the middle of the night, she would surely assume that Julianne was reading, even if she had been suspicious of her and Charles earlier.
Her heart leapt. Very slowly, praying her bed would not creak, Julianne sa
t up. It was probably close to midnight. Outside, a few stars twinkled. A crescent moon hung in a partially cloudy night. Their window was cracked open—they both slept better if it was cool in the chamber—and a strong breeze was coming from the ocean. A shutter was banging against the side of the house. As she sat up, she heard the buoy bell that was outside the cove.
Amelia never moved.
Was she really going to get up and go to Charles’s room? Was she really going to make love to a man she had known for only two weeks—and when he had been conscious for only half of that time? Was she really going to give him her virginity? In a week or two, he would return to France.
And he had said he would die for the cause of freedom.
Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest. He had frightened her terribly when he had said he would die for their cause, but she had never respected or admired him more. And her heart was singing wildly— Julianne had little doubt that she had fallen deeply in love with him.
She hadn’t ever realized how much a woman could desire a man. She had thought him terribly handsome before he’d ever opened his eyes; it was so much worse now. Their every conversation—their every encounter—fueled her desire. She hadn’t ever felt desire before, not like this. Touching him and being with him was all she could think about.
She felt tears arise. He was going to go back to France and the war. She hated even thinking about the possibility that she might never see him again, or that he might even die. They had so little time left in which to be together!
She flung off the bedcovers. She slid slowly to the floor, aware of the floorboard groaning, watching Amelia, who never moved.
Julianne left the room quickly, closing the door quietly behind her. Her heart was rioting in her chest now.
His fierce kiss had been haunting her since that morning. How could she not go to him?
Julianne crossed the corridor, barefoot. The floors were cold, but she didn’t shiver—her skin felt feverishly hot.
