by Brenda Joyce
Julianne inhaled. “I am sure you don’t,” she said, and then wisely decided not to point out that this was a free country.
Catherine stood. “You are certainly entitled to your politics—but you are not entitled to a room in this house. You are the enemy.”
Julianne stared, stiff with tension. “I support the revolution,” she tried, “but I am not your enemy.”
“You most certainly are the enemy,” Catherine cried. “I am a Frenchwoman, a countess, a royalist! My son is an Englishman, a Tory and a patriot! You meet with your radical associates, espousing the great cause of l’egalité, la liberté, for all! Where is that freedom, Miss Greystone? It is not to be found in Paris, where my home was vandalized and destroyed deliberately by a mob. I fled Paris, fearing for my life. Is that freedom?” she cried. “Is that the revolution you condone?”
Julianne did not try to answer.
“I am afraid to go to my country home, which has been in my family for centuries! Is that freedom?”
She somehow said, “I do not condone vandalism, violence or other means of intimidation. But serfs, laborers and peasants deserve freedom, too.”
“In this house, you may keep your opinions to yourself. As for your radical activities, my son bears great burdens—and now he must worry about you? Rescue you? Shelter you? Because he is taken with that reddish hair, a fine figure, a pretty face?”
“We are friends,” she managed.
“I know a pair of lovers when I see one,” she said harshly. “If you think my son will ever make a serious commitment to a woman like yourself, a radical, Jacobin bohème, you are wrong! This is a passing inclination on his part. I know my son!” Flushed, she turned and stormed toward the door. But before leaving, she paused. “I want you out of my home as soon as you are fully recovered, Miss Greystone. I am hoping that will be today. Dominic is blinded by your charms. I am not.”
Julianne collapsed against the pillows. The countess would be intimidating even without being on the receiving end of her fury. And how could she even think Dominic blinded by her charms? He was the coolest, most rational man she had ever met!
Are you in love with her?
That is highly impertinent…
Why would Lady Paget even ask such a question? Julianne stared up at the ceiling, so tense now, her fists were clenched. She was drawn to a man she didn’t even know, when a war stood between them and she was only a passing interest. God, what was she doing?
She sat up and flung the covers aside. A wave of dizziness took her.
She sat back down. She needed to eat something, and then she would leave.
JULIANNE ASKED FOR HER clothes, but the maid told her that the dress had been tossed into the rubbish, and her undergarments were hanging to dry. Her interview with Lady Paget remained foremost in her mind. She wanted to leave immediately, before having another unpleasant encounter. The prospect of never seeing Dominic again hurt terribly, which was even more reason to leave.
After pleading with her, Nancy brought her clothes, and now Julianne stood in a chemise and under petticoat as they attached a bustle to each hip. “Thank you so much for lending me your things,” she whispered. She was still somewhat light-headed from her illness and her ordeal.
Nancy was petite, dark haired and French, and probably Julianne’s own age. “His lordship instructed us to meet your every command, my lady.” Her French accent was thick. She smiled slyly now. “I would not refuse, not when His Lordship is so fond of you.”
Julianne did not smile back. She knew exactly what the pretty housemaid was thinking. “We are friends,” she tried.
Nancy laughed. It was a happy sound. “Bien sur!” Then, as slyly, “He sat up all night with you, my lady.”
Julianne reverted to French. “It is simply Miss Greystone, Nancy. I do not have a title.” But her heart hammered now. “Did he really sit up all night with me?”
Before Nancy could answer, Dominic said, “Why don’t you ask me?”
She whirled. He leaned negligently against the door, wearing a magnificent chocolate-brown frock coat with gold embroidery. A bronze waistcoat was beneath and French lace gushed from his cuffs and at his collar. His breeches were cream colored, his stockings white. His gaze was very languid and trained steadily upon her.
Julianne felt as if he could see through her chemise and petticoat.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asked.
Nancy had frozen behind her, her head down. Julianne could feel her delighted and wicked thoughts. “I am getting dressed. I am leaving.”
“Really? Since when?” He sauntered forward now.
“I must go, Paget.”
He reached her and touched her chin, tilting up her face. Julianne trembled, slammed with desire. “You are going nowhere today.”
Her trembling increased. She would never tell him about the horrid interview with Lady Paget. “I can’t possibly impose upon you any longer.”
He was amused. “I imposed upon you for an entire month.”
“Dominic,” she tried.
He moved some of her hair back behind her shoulder—a lover’s casual gesture. “Nancy, would you leave us for a moment.” It was not a question.
Nancy fled, fighting a knowing smile.
“She knows—everyone knows,” Julianne said.
“She suspects, which is an entirely different matter. But no one can prove anything. I will deny any rumors—if anyone dares to gossip.” He was calm. “Why are you running away from me?”
“Because I would be ten times the fool to stay!” she cried.
He stared. “So I take it that I am not forgiven for my deception during my stay at Greystone?”
“No.”
He paced away and said, “You need rest. You cannot leave yet.” His gaze lifted to hers.
His look was making her resolve crumble. “Lucas is probably home. He will be frantic when he realizes that I am missing.”
“Lucas is not back in town. I left a letter for him this morning.”
She stared, with some dread. “What did you tell him?”
He slowly smiled at her. “Oh, have no fear. I did not tell him in a letter that you were dragged from your bed by the authorities and imprisoned in the Tower, with charges of sedition pending. I prefer to tell him that in person.”
She cried out. “Please, we must never tell him what happened!”
He gave her a sharp look. “You crossed many lines, Julianne. You could have been hurt, beaten, raped in that prison—and charged. And no one might have ever known anything about it.”
She hugged herself. “But none of those things happened, and I intend to be much more circumspect in the future.”
“None of those things happened, because I rescued you. Are you suggesting that you will continue to agitate for your radical causes?” He was incredulous.
“I can hardly change how I think.”
“People change their minds all of the time.”
“So you wish for me to become a Tory—a reactionary, like you?” she cried.
He flushed. “I am a Tory, but I am not a reactionary, Julianne.” His tone had filled with warning.
“I am sorry. I don’t even know you. I have no right to assume what you are thinking, or what you believe.”
“No, you do not.” He stared, unsmiling. “I do not expect you to change how you think. I know you very well. Your beliefs are ingrained. They are in your heart.”
He knew her well because she had always been honest with him. But she didn’t know him at all.
“I do expect you to change your behavior. I asked you to promise me to refrain from carrying on your radical activities when we were in my coach, and you did not make the promise.”
She didn’t know what to say. She had no wish to ever be arrested again—yet the cause she fought for was greater than herself.
He made a sound—a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I can feel how you are scheming now—you have no intention of backing off. Julianne
, next time, you might be hurt. Next time, you might be charged with sedition, or worse! I heard that Butler spoke at your assembly.”
She was taken aback. “I don’t agree with him.”
“Thank God!”
“Pitt is a tyrant.”
He choked. “Believe what you will. But let us consider the facts. This is war, and those supporting France will no longer be tolerated, Julianne. The government has declared war on radicals like yourself. You may hold to your beliefs, but you cannot espouse them and you cannot act on them. It is insane to do so! Please,” he added harshly.
“It is almost as if,” she said slowly, “you care about me.”
His gaze narrowed. And he reached out and drew her forward directly against his body. “I already told you that I care. How often must I repeat myself?”
She was acutely aware of being in his arms. “You deceived me once, entirely.”
“Yes, I did, and I regret it entirely.”
Julianne went still as his mouth claimed hers, fiercely. And then as her heart leapt, desire fisted and she was incapable of even wanting to resist. He deepened the kiss.
And the desire made her dizzy and faint. She kissed him back, wondering if she dared to believe him, to trust him, shaken to the core of her being. He tore his mouth from hers, kissing her throat and then her breasts. Only two thin layers of fabric covered her body and Julianne whimpered. It was impossible to think coherently.
But he seized her shoulders, anchored her and kissed her very thoroughly again. Julianne gave up trying to think. There was only the whirl of growing sensation and pleasure, of building pressure, of anticipation and need.
He ended the kiss, breathing hard, his green gaze on fire. “I want you very much.”
She stared into his gaze, too breathless to speak, her mind beginning to function. Did she dare start over with him now?
And her heart screamed “Yes!” at her.
He touched her cheek with his knuckles. “I don’t ever want to go through the horror of finding you in prison again.”
“I don’t ever want to be in prison again.”
“Good.” He was firm. “We are agreed. And I want you to stay here with me until you are fully recovered.”
She knew that if she stayed, she would wind up becoming his lover again.
“I am not letting you leave,” he said softly.
Their gazes locked. “That is tyrannical.”
He smiled. “I suppose so.”
“I don’t think Lady Paget will allow me to stay.”
He merely raised a brow, amused. “This is my home,” he said, “and she will do as I wish.”
And Julianne knew she had lost the argument.
JULIANNE WAS CURLED UP in her bed when a knock sounded on her door. She had been so exhausted that she had slept on and off for most of the day. She had just awoken and it was early evening now. Her heart leapt. She hoped Dominic was at the door.
Nancy came inside, a pile of clothes in her arms. “You have a caller. Can I help you to dress?”
The only person who would call on her was Lucas, she thought. She prayed Dominic was out. As she got up, she asked, “Is Lord Paget at home?”
“He is downstairs with your caller,” Nancy said, holding up a beautiful silk chemise trimmed with lace.
Julianne walked over to her and looked at the beribboned linen stays, the dimity under petticoat, and then at the pale blue silk ensemble—a corded and draped skirt and fitted jacket. “Whose clothes are these?” She had never worn such fine garments in her life.
“I don’t know. I believe his lordship sent someone to Lady Paget’s seamstress. Perhaps these garments were ordered by someone else and he found a way to acquire them?”
“I don’t think I should wear them.”
“I was instructed to bring them to you,” Nancy said, looking worried. “You will be beautiful, Miss Greystone, in that shade of pale blue.”
Julianne surrendered. Just then, she did not care what she wore—if Paget were filling Lucas’s ears with details of her misadventures, he was going to be furious with her.
Fifteen minutes later, her hair simply brushed, with a few sections pulled and tied back, the rest hanging loose, Julianne followed Nancy downstairs. As she descended the last few steps, she could see into the larger salon, as the mahogany doors were wide open. She saw both men before they saw her. Dominic faced the door, still clad in his dark brown coat. He held a drink in his hand. Lucas had his back to her, wearing an unadorned tan frock coat, breeches and boots. She faltered as Dom’s gaze moved slowly over her, widening with stark appreciation.
Lucas turned and stared coldly.
Her heart drummed. She didn’t even try to smile, coming down the rest of the stairs, and crossing the threshold of the salon with vast trepidation. “Hello, Lucas.”
He did not mince words. “I am very angry with you.”
She looked past him at Dominic. “Did you spare me at all?”
“No, I did not.”
She went to her brother and kissed his cheek but he seized her arm. “You were incarcerated.”
“Yes, I was. But as you can see, I am fine.”
“Only because Paget managed to free you!” His gray gaze flashed.
“You are engaged in your own clandestine activities. Surely there is not a double standard here?”
Lucas choked on disbelief. “I am not engaged in sedition—in treason! And do not bother to defend yourself. I am tired of hearing about your rights. Clearly, I have indulged you when I shouldn’t have.”
She said carefully, “Whatever Paget told you, I am sure he exaggerated.”
Dominic said flatly, “I told him everything, Julianne.”
She bit her lip. “Then Lucas knows I am no worse for the wear!”
Lucas was looking back and forth between them now. “I know that you lied to me, Julianne. That you attended an assembly filled with seditious speech, that you were struck and knocked down. Your jaw is black-and-blue! I understand you were very ill. But the moment you are well enough to travel, you are returning to Greystone Manor. At least there, no one will pay attention to what you say or do.”
“I am not sure of that anymore,” Dominic said to Lucas, his gaze still locked with Julianne’s. He finally looked at him. “What has just happened in London will be happening all over the country. I have had my suspicions confirmed. The Alien Office will hunt down British radicals—everywhere in the country.”
Lucas turned to Julianne. “I have heard the same thing. I have much to worry about. And now I must worry about you.”
She felt guilty then. “I am not a fool, Lucas. I have no intention of openly advocating my causes, or of inciting or attracting the authorities and their agents.” Both men regarded her at once. “I mean it. And I am glad you are back in town.” She finally smiled at him.
“I have to leave again, first thing in the morning. I hate to admit this, but I am afraid to leave you to your own devices in Warlock’s flat.”
“She can stay here.” Dom was final. “I owe her, and I intend to repay her now.”
She turned to him. Not looking at Lucas, he said to him, “She can stay here, and I will make certain she rests until she is recovered.”
“So you will be my keeper?” she asked, her heart thundering.
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Someone needs to protect you—from yourself.”
Lucas said sharply, “What is going on here?”
“Your sister saved my life. I feel that I must now save hers.” Dominic was firm.
“You already have, Bedford, when you got her out of the Tower. Your debt is undoubtedly repaid,” Lucas said, glancing with some suspicion between them now.
“I do not feel that it is repaid. What if Pitt’s men decide to question her? She is now undoubtedly on a watch list.”
Lucas gave Julianne a dark look. “You are right. I’d like a moment with my sister, if you do not mind.”
Dominic nodded, set his brandy d
own and strode out of the room.
Julianne sank down in a chair. Exhaustion—most of it emotional, she thought—claimed her. Lucas pulled over an ottoman and sat facing her. “Why are you near tears?”
She somehow shook her head. “I am exhausted.”
“Yes, being imprisoned is very exhausting.”
“Lucas!”
“He isn’t Maurice, Julianne—he is Bedford.”
She tensed. “I know.”
“Do you? I believe that you are falling for him.”
She looked into his searching, worried eyes. “I should go home,” she said, referring to Warlock’s Cavendish Square flat.
“You haven’t answered me.” He took her hand.
Julianne clung to it. “I pray that I am not falling in love with him, against all common sense. But sometimes it feels as if he is my hero after all.”
He pulled her close and held her. “He is not for you, Julianne. Trust me on that. Of course he feels like a hero to you—he just got you out of the Tower. But one day, he will marry some wealthy debutante. It is what nobles do. As witty and wonderful and as beautiful as you are, you will never be that woman. He is the earl of Bedford, Julianne, and you only have to look around you now to see that you cannot overcome the gulf of class and economy that separate you. I hate that he has affected you so.”
Julianne was afraid that Lucas was right.
“Has he made advances?” Lucas asked.
Julianne felt herself blanch. It was a moment before she could speak. “How could you ask such a thing?”
He studied her carefully. “Thank God you are in one piece.” Lucas embraced her briefly. “I have to go, Julianne. I have traveled all day, and it is getting late. But I believe it is best for you to stay here, for a while.”
“You won’t tell me what you are up to, will you?” When he simply smiled, not answering, she hugged him, hard. “Please be careful, Lucas.”
“I am always careful.”
He was so confident! Julianne walked him to the door. Dominic stood in the hall outside. Julianne paused on the threshold as her brother and Dominic walked into the adjacent tower room. She watched them exchange handshakes at the front door, aware of the fact that in a moment she and Paget would be alone in the house. Tension swept over her.
