A sense of being watched. An unease that gnawed at his nerves. He glanced around, his gaze studying the sea of innocuous faces that swam before him. He strove to discern the source of the sensation. It was impossible in the crush of overperfumed humanity to trace the stare that had singled him out.
He felt a hesitant touch on his arm.
He spun around, his voice sharp. “Who—”
“What is it, Heath?” Julia asked with a concerned smile. “You look as if a ghost had just walked over your grave.”
He looked back over her shoulder, his hand closing protectively around hers. Nothing appeared the least bit out of the ordinary; there were no menacing shadows, no reason for his reaction.
Still, his primary instinct was to get her safely home. Was she in danger? From what? From whom? He did not waste time considering that his urge to protect her from an invisible threat might be irrational. The impulse was too strong to ignore, and while not infallible, his instincts rarely proved wrong. He was not willing to take risks where she was concerned. A friendly voice called his name from behind him. He did not acknowledge it.
Gripping Julia’s arm, he guided her swiftly outside the theater where Odham and Hermia had gone to await them on the pavement. Julia complied without questioning him, but her voice dropped to a puzzled tone when the carriage pulled up alongside them.
“Where,” she whispered over her shoulder, “are we going in such a hurry? I assume there’s a reason why we are in such a rush.”
He slid his hand up her arm to her elbow, let it drift to the small of her back. The threat he felt had dissipated, allowing him to focus on more pleasant matters. He settled his palm on the firm swell of her backside. She drew a breath. He drew her nearer. For a moment he simply delighted in the feel of her, the sensual distraction of her earthy appeal. Julia had opulent curves, well toned but generous, a woman to arouse, to answer every fantasy. Imagining her moving underneath, or on top of him, beguiled him. He’d learned a lot about pleasing a woman in the last few years, and what pleased him.
She would please him in bed. He would please her, too. He took a breath to slow his heartbeat. The fragrance of her hair teased his senses.
She turned without warning, her eyes slowly lifting to his. Her gaze acknowledged the licentious wandering of his hand. The fleeting smile she gave him did not chastise as much as question his intentions.
“You’re touching me,” she said under her breath.
He pressed his palm down harder on the rise of her rump. “Yes.”
She looked a little mystified, perhaps uncertain why he had stepped outside his role as the stalwart protector in public. His fingers flirted with the warm hollow of her spine. He’d noticed that she did not move. His mouth curled in a smile.
Naturally, he could not tell her that Russell’s betrayal had altered his strategy. Not this early in the game. It was unnecessary. Let her assume that his rogue Boscastle blood was finally showing through, coming to a slow boil. He intended to win her fair and square, but with a liberal revision of the old rules. Protecting her would still be his primary concern. Beyond that he would allow himself carte blanche on the playing field. His guidelines for seducing her were fluid, subject to change at a moment’s notice.
It was going to be the most pleasurable conquest he had ever made, worth whatever wiles he would have to use.
Hermia gave a loud cough behind them. Heath suppressed a laugh and reluctantly lifted his hand away. Touching Julia tantalized all his senses. He could caress her lovely body for hours on end.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice low with curiosity. “Did you quarrel with Brentford?”
“He should not bother you again. I think I made that clear to him.” He waited for her to enter the carriage before he climbed up and took the seat across from her, next to Odham. His body felt heavy as he watched her in the dark. Just looking at her, hearing her voice, stirred him.
Julia fussed with a loose button on her glove. “There is no need to hover over me like a nervous nursemaid. The next thing I know you shall be turning me over your knee.”
He stroked the scar on his upper lip. “Do not tempt me.”
She leaned forward, away from Hermia’s watchful guard. “As if you could,” she said softly.
“As if you don’t deserve it.”
“I probably do,” she admitted, her eyes glittering.
“Did your husband spank you?” he asked with a challenging smile.
“He wouldn’t have dared.”
“Not after he gave you that gun.”
“I’ll have you know that I never took a shot at him.”
“Did he know how lucky he was?” And he meant in more ways than one.
“I think he was happy enough,” she said after a long hesitation.
Which meant that Julia had probably held the upper hand in her marriage. How deeply had she loved her husband? What kind of man had won her heart? Was Russell like him in any way? Before Heath could probe deeper, Drake made an untimely appearance, whistling as he swung his lean, muscular frame into the carriage.
“Good evening, all,” he said, his charm undeniable, his black hair spangled with the light rain that had begun to fall. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I met up with a friend. We’re going to a ball after I leave your enjoyable company. That is unless my escort services are required again.”
Julia sat forward, her voice firm. “No, they aren’t, but thank you for offering. I won’t require your services—I mean, your company—as pleasant as it is. This is beyond absurd. The only person who has approached me in weeks is Brentford, and he is a harmless fool. I can handle the likes of him.”
Heath gave Drake a pointed look. “I asked you to take care of her.”
Drake’s smile was cool but meaningful. “Brentford would not have gone any further, believe me. I had one eye trained on him.”
“He certainly is no French spy,” Odham remarked.
Hermia shook her head. “One never knows. I daresay, Drake, this means we won’t expect to see you again later tonight for cards and conversation.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “Probably not, ma’am. But I did enjoy the play.”
“You’re going to get soaked,” Heath said with a glance at the window. “Borrow my coat.”
Rain had begun falling in earnest by the time he removed his black woolen greatcoat to hand to his brother. Hermia lifted the curtain to watch the young man charge off into the rainy night with a friendly wave back at the carriage.
“Enjoyed the play, my foot,” she said in amusement. “He did not follow a single scene for flirting across the box at his lady friend.”
Julia shivered under her shawl. The night had taken a chill turn. “I believe the tendency to flirt runs in the family.”
“He has a marvelous physique,” Hermia murmured, returning her shrewd gaze to Heath. “I don’t suppose you could talk him into posing for the painting club next month? We still have not found our Hades.”
Julia was intensely aware of Heath throughout the short ride home. The way he’d touched her in the street, where he had touched her, had stirred her senses into a sweet confusion. She was almost afraid to meet his regard. Or to question what she felt.
The rain had not eased up by the time the four passengers in the carriage made a collective dash into the town house. Hermia insisted that the two men wait out the storm before leaving for the night. Which in Heath’s case appeared to be a moot point.
He stated that he had no intention of returning home until he was ready, and nothing Julia could say seemed to shake his resolve. He was as calm and unreadable as usual.
Still, there was a palpable tension about him tonight that intrigued her, a brooding sensuality that she could not overlook. Even the way he studied her had changed. This was a darker Heath than she had encountered, a man whose sharp edges enticed when they should have warned her away. She was drawn to this enigmatic facet of his character. She was drawn to the
heated desire he allowed to smolder in his eyes.
She poured brandy for Odham and Hermia as the four of them gathered in the drawing room to talk. Heath settled into an armchair by the window with his gaze searching the rainy street. The servants had lit a robust coal fire.
The room still felt rather cool and damp.
Until Heath turned to scrutinize her, his chin in hand, his gaze heavily lidded and frankly sensual. Unmistakable, the meaning, the fire that flared in those guarded blue eyes.
The power of his look penetrated her entire body, excited her so that she could not think of anything else. She felt his gaze raze through the barrier of her clothes, her promise to another man, their past relationship.
Her knees suddenly weak, she poured herself a generous glass of brandy and sat down on the sofa to sip it. Odham and Hermia were discussing the sensational actress Miss O’Neill, but Julia could not follow the conversation. It was all she could do to appear composed, to hold the glass steady in her hands.
The dark smoke of Heath’s stare lingered in her awareness. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that for the past hour or so, her protector had been priming her for seduction, and doing a dashed good job of it, too. With only a few looks, a touch, he had, well, reduced her to a state of . . . She didn’t want to admit what she felt for him, not even to herself. If she admitted it, then all hell would break loose. She would not be able to go on acting as though he meant nothing to her. She stared down at her hands.
She had finished her brandy without tasting a drop of it. Heath’s questioning gaze traveled from her face to the empty glass, then back to her eyes.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced suddenly, and feigned an enormous yawn. “Sweet dreams to all of you.” She lingered beside her chair, collecting her evening gloves. She wasn’t truly tired at all. She would probably read in bed, undress, and— “My bracelet is gone,” she said with a soft gasp. “I just realized it’s missing.”
Heath rose from his chair and came up beside her. “I didn’t notice it on you in the carriage. Perhaps you lost it somewhere in the theater.”
She frowned. “It’s very possible. There was such a crowd. Do you remember seeing it in the theater, Hermia?”
Hermia shook her head. “Come to think, I didn’t. You had it on when we left the house.”
“I’ll check in the morning,” Heath said, following her to the door. “Let me walk you up the stairs.”
She smiled, her back to him, her nerve endings sizzling at his nearness. “Do you think mortal danger awaits me somewhere between here and my bedchamber?”
His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her profile. “One never knows. Something more welcome might. Perhaps we’ll even find your bracelet.”
She felt her heart quicken as he moved up against her. She went still, conscious of the hard length of his body against hers, the muscular support of his thighs through her evening gown. If she turned, she would be flush against him. He hadn’t given her room to draw a breath. “You rogue, Heath Boscastle,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. “To think the world believes you are the honorable one.”
His jaw brushed the coil of hair at her nape in a blatant caress. Her voice caught at the unexpected pleasure that assailed her. “Did Hermia see you do that?” she asked in an undertone.
“I doubt it,” he murmured without a hint of apology. “Let’s remove ourselves to the hall just in case.”
She broke off. She had been so engrossed in her provocative exchange with Heath that she had not been paying attention to the two other people in the room. All at once she realized that Odham had risen from the sofa and was approaching them, leaving Hermia chattering midsentence. “I shall see Julia safely delivered to her room, Boscastle,” he said.
Heath turned in surprise, too much a gentleman to argue. Julia could have laughed aloud that whatever devilry he’d had in mind was foiled. Her gaze lifted to his; his eyes hinted that Odham’s interruption was only a reprieve. But from what?
A moment later she and Odham stood alone together in the hall.
She had no idea what had brought on the earl’s sudden act of chivalry. It was not characteristic of their relationship. In fact, he looked subdued, uncomfortable, almost sad. The harsh lines of his face softened as unexpectedly he took her hand. What had come over him? She realized that he seemed quite serious, that something must be wrong.
She stared down in trepidation at the gnarled knot of fingers clasping hers. “If Hermia has ordered you from her life again, I shall remain impartial,” she said. “You two are worse than children. Unless, of course, you resort to bribery. I—”
He cleared his throat. “I know how unforgiving women are, Julia. How you never forget an insult.”
“What is this about, Odham?” she asked quietly. “You know Hermia does not take my advice. Hand over those letters she wrote you, and let us be done with threats.”
“Poor Julia.” He squeezed the life out of her fingers. “This does not concern Hermia. It’s the rumors about Russell that I heard today at the club.”
Her smile felt stiff and artificial. She listened to the rhythmic patter of rain hammering the streets, the unsteady beat of her heart. “Rumors? What rumors? Has he been hurt?”
“Nothing of that nature.” His gruff face looked almost pitying. “Infidelities are common enough, and I am certainly not one to cast stones. Yet it becomes altogether different when children are involved. He’s having a child with another woman. Well, that is what is being said. Forgive me for being so blunt.”
She should have been more shocked, more distraught, more . . . something. Instead, she felt a welcome numbness seep into her bones as she listened to the strangely soothing violence of the rainstorm, the even more soothing sound of Hermia and Heath’s voices from behind the drawing room door. She heard Heath’s low-pitched laughter, the notes beguiling. He had a lovely, deep voice. How could she have ever forgotten it? How could Russell have been so kind and then betray her? How could he commit his heart when another woman was carrying his child?
“Does Hermia know? Does Heath?”
“Good heavens, no. I have not breathed a word. But perhaps the gossips have got it all wrong,” Odham said. “If you wish me to investigate, I shall.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” She gently pried her hand from his. “I do appreciate your honesty.”
“We don’t know yet that there’s any truth to it.”
She swallowed. He must have believed it, or he would never have told her. “You’re right. There’s no need to rush to judgment.”
He heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that’s off my chest. At least you will be prepared if it is true. You are all right, Julia?”
Her gaze drifted to the closed door, her thoughts to the darkly alluring man who stood behind it. Her protector. She wanted suddenly to be with him. “I’m perfectly fine, Odham. Thank you. It takes courage to do what you have done.”
* * *
She laid her brush down on the dressing table, swiveling around on the stool. The knock at her bedchamber door had been quiet but rather too insistent to ignore. Too tempting, if she were honest with herself. Not Hermia’s perfunctory knock when she even remembered to knock. It could only be Heath. Was she ready to face him again? She felt very vulnerable at the moment.
The seed that Odham had planted in her mind had already begun to grow roots. Ghastly, subterranean roots that choked trust and spread insidiously to her heart. That Russell had been unfaithful was painful enough. But Odham had used the word infidelities. And a child. There was to be a child.
The knock sounded again. She waited a moment, debating. “Who is it?”
“It’s Heath. Are you all right?”
She rose to open the door. Having to defend herself against his dark elegance and sardonic smile pushed her other concerns to the back of her mind. He had removed his evening jacket, and looked all too virile in his black silk vest, white linen shirt, and tig
ht broadcloth trousers. A vulnerable woman, and a virile rogue. A fatal mix, indeed.
“Why would I not be all right?” she asked as he invited himself inside.
He brushed around her. “I thought I should make a thorough inspection of your room before you retire. After all, we were gone all night.”
“I checked my room,” she said, watching him.
“Well, I wanted to make sure your windows are closed. It is raining.”
“As if it does not do so every other day in England.”
“Ah, yes, but this is the evening.” He prowled around the perimeter of the room, making a show of checking behind chairs and furniture. “Did you forget what happened the other evening when it rained?”
He had come to the window, gazing down in apparent concentration into the stygian wilderness of the garden. Julia’s arms lowered to her sides. With a worried frown, she walked toward him. “There isn’t anyone in the shed again, is there?”
He shook his head, glancing at her briefly as their shoulders bumped. Despite the drop in temperature, or perhaps because of it, Julia found herself drawn to the familiar warmth of his body. It was tempting to burrow against his hard-muscled form and not think.
“Julia,” he said, staring at her.
“If you’re here again in search of the sketch, I’ve hidden it elsewhere in the house.”
“I don’t want the sketch. Well, I do, but that isn’t why I came here.”
She brushed her knuckles across the damp windowpane. His confession intrigued her, but she could not bring herself to ask him to explain, as badly as she wanted to. The safe thing was to shift the subject. “I wish you had seen the play tonight. It was quite entertaining.”
“Look at me.”
Her heart raced at the arresting command in his voice. She didn’t trust herself to look at him. She would probably melt at his feet like a raindrop on a hot stone. Or go up in a wisp of steam.
“Miss O’Neill caused a sensation,” she murmured.
“Do you think I am the least bit interested?” he asked mildly, turning to pull her against his chest.
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 15
