The prince of pleasure n-5

by Nicole Jordan

  Yet even when he was buried deep inside a woman, bound in the most intimate way possible, he felt alone. Worse, he couldn't stop himself from yearning for the taste of another beauty's flesh. Julienne still tempted him, still tormented him.

  Damn her to hell.

  Seeing her again this afternoon had made him realize the wound she'd inflicted had never truly healed. He still wasn't completely over her. Even after all this time, his heart had stubbornly refused to abandon its obsession.

  "Dare?" the widow implored, this time with a note of impatience.

  "Forgive me, my sweet," he forced himself to reply.

  He crumpled the playbill in his fist, resisting the urge to hurl it into the fire. A new performance was to begin tomorrow night, starring the celebrated new actress Julienne Laurent. But he had yet to decide if he would attend.

  He would do better to keep as far away from her as possible, Dare cautioned himself. He knew how lethal she could be. He would never willingly make himself vulnerable to her again. He'd worked too hard never to feel so afflicted again. Still, a plan had begun to take shape in his mind…

  Suddenly impatient for action, he said over his shoulder, "I'm afraid I must go, Louisa."

  "Now? But it is so late."

  "It is not yet midnight."

  Momentarily ignoring the pouting of the lush, naked lady in the bed, he dressed silently. Then, going to her side, Dare employed his most charming manner to beg her forgiveness, kissing her breathless but evading her pleas to return soon.

  All her servants had retired for the night, he realized when he went below. And the mount he'd ridden in Hyde Park this afternoon was snugly stabled in the mews behind Lady Dunleith's mansion. Rather than rouse the household, Dare let himself out and walked the short distance along Mayfair's dark streets to Lucian's home.

  Lucian Tremayne, the Earl of Wycliff, was one of his closest friends, as well as one of England's chief spymasters. Lucian preferred not to advertise that he'd employed Dare in the hunt for a deadly traitor, so they had agreed to limit the frequency of their meetings. Yet they needed to confer about the latest developments.

  Bending against the frigid night air, Dare drew his greatcoat around him. This was the coldest winter in memory, and only now was the country thawing out. In London even the Thames River had frozen. And in Yorkshire, where he'd recently visited for several interminable weeks, the snowdrifts had piled higher than a man's head, shutting down roads and bringing commerce and travel to a complete halt.

  Tonight would be his first opportunity to update Lucian regarding his clandestine endeavors. He'd sent a message this morning, arranging to make his report.

  There were several lights burning in the windows of the regal Wycliff residence. Dare was admitted without question and shown into Lucian's study, where the earl was at work at his desk.

  The two men greeted each other with the fondness of long acquaintance.

  "And how is your beautiful wife?" Dare asked as Lucian poured them both a brandy.

  "Flourishing. Brynn is as round as a melon, even though the babe isn't due for nearly two months."

  "I regret I missed seeing her," Dare said, settling in a comfortable chair. "I understand she was in London this past week?"

  "Yes, but I escorted her home again. She's safer in the country."

  For her confinement, Brynn had retired to Lucian's family seat in Devonshire, where she could more easily be protected. Last fall she and her brother had been menaced by a criminal mastermind who called himself Lord Caliban, after the character in Shakespeare's play. Lucian had destroyed the gold-smuggling operation Caliban used to fund Napoleon's armies, silencing their leader for a time, but the traitor was still at large. Which was why Dare had become involved.

  Lucian handed his guest a brandy and then settled in an adjacent chair. "So tell me what you learned in Yorkshire."

  "Not much, I'm afraid. I stayed at a friend's estate barely six miles from Riddingham's, but all the damned snow made getting there difficult. Even so, I managed twice to enjoy dinner and cards with Riddingham and his houseguests. Perfectly insipid. He wore the ring the entire time. When I remarked on the uniqueness of the design, Riddingham claimed he won it playing piquet, but he couldn't remember from whom. And he could be lying."

  Pausing, Dare took a sip of brandy, absently noting the quality. "Yet he's still wearing the ring now. Even if he has no notion that we suspect him of being Caliban, it seems foolish to flaunt such a distinctive ornament. To be truthful, the more I see of Riddingham, the more I wonder if he's bright enough to be a deadly traitor."

  "Perhaps not, but we have to be certain." Lucian's mouth hardened. "It can be a fatal mistake to underestimate Caliban's cunning. Riddingham could be duping us all with his pretense of affability. And he was here in London in January when our man was killed."

  A diplomat in the Foreign Office had been found murdered two months ago-the work of Caliban, it was suspected, although there was no proof. But he would strike again, Dare and Lucian had no doubt. They could only hope to unmask the traitor before he could do even further damage.

  Cursing under his breath, Lucian brought his fist down hard on his chair arm.

  "My sentiments exactly," Dare agreed darkly.

  He well understood his friend's frustration at hunting a killer who was little more than a whisper and a shadow. They had only two clues thus far to Caliban's identity, both from a witness who'd had a momentary glimpse of him last year: Caliban was thought to be an English nobleman. And he possessed an unusual ring embellished with a ruby-eyed dragon's head.

  Dare had first spied the ring several months ago on Lord Riddingham's hand. Since then he'd covertly followed the viscount's trail, trying to determine if he could possibly be Caliban. It was that possibility that had led Dare to spend a tedious interlude in Yorkshire, where he could better investigate the theory.

  His lack of success galled him. But he could hardly be expected to accomplish overnight what had eluded the nation's best agents. His licentious past, Lucian was wont to remind him, had not exactly prepared him for a career in government espionage.

  In fact, Lucian had recruited him last fall primarily because of his well-known predilection for sin-he made such an unlikely candidate as a spy. Caliban would never suspect the Prince of Pleasure of leading the hunt for his capture.

  Dare had agreed to help, not only because he was familiar with most of society, both high and low, but because he'd become restless and bored with his life. He was more than a little intrigued by the challenge of pitting wits against a cunning killer. He'd only half laughed at Lucian's assertion that having a serious goal could be the making of him.

  He was not laughing now.

  Dare took another swallow of brandy, hesitating while he debated telling Lucian of the new twist in the game.

  "What do you know of the new actress at Drury Lane?" he finally said. "The Jewel who has the entire ton abuzz."

  Lucian sent him a penetrating glance. "Am I to presume you have a new love interest?"

  "Hardly. Riddingham is one of her suitors."

  "Ah." Lucian leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "I took Brynn to see Miss Laurent perform last week. We both found her surprisingly good. You're suggesting that her association with Riddingham is more than simply amorous?"

  "Possibly. She bears investigating, at least. She is French, after all. It wouldn't be impossible for her to be in Napoleon's employ. Given their sparse incomes and dubious moral values, actresses are highly susceptible to bribery."

  When Lucian raised an eyebrow, Dare realized how ironic it was for him to be decrying dubious moral values.

  Yet this was not the first time Julienne Laurent's allegiance to England had been questioned. Seven years ago his grandfather had called her a traitor, claiming she was conspiring with Bonapartists and threatening to have her arrested for treason.

  At the time Dare had been certain the accusations were fabricated-merely the old bastard's att
empt to force him to end his betrothal. His chief concern had been protecting Julienne from his grandfather's wrathful machinations. But he was more willing now to believe there had been substance to the charges after all.

  "I may be leaping to conclusions," he admitted, "but she could be in league with Riddingham."

  "Why do you say so?" Lucian asked curiously. "Didn't Riddingham return to London only last week? They would scarcely have had time to meet."

  "But they may claim a prior association. Riddingham's family seat is in Yorkshire. And Miss Laurent reportedly has spent the past half-dozen years treading the boards in York."

  "Perhaps she was once his mistress."

  "Perhaps. When I saw them driving in the park today, they seemed closer than mere acquaintances." Dare forced a smile. "If he isn't already sharing her bed, he certainly appeared eager to. He was hanging on her every word, along with half the male population of London." He hoped his sardonic tone hid the note of jealously he found difficult to repress. "But either way, she could be his accomplice."

  "Or," Lucian countered, "he may solely be pursuing her with a carnal relationship in mind. Rumor has it that she is looking for a protector."

  "I've heard the same rumor. Apparently La Belle Laurent made a public declaration that her choice will be made at the end of the season. A clever ploy," Dare said cynically. "The better to keep her admirers vying for her favors. Regardless, she merits watching. And you could perhaps use her to get closer to Riddingham."

  "I? Don't you mean you?"

  "I might not be the best man for the task. I had a… brief acquaintance with Miss Laurent a number of years ago."

  Lucian studied him for a long moment, while Dare struggled to remain unruffled by those perceptive eyes. He was not about to disclose his wretched history with Julienne. How he'd discovered his betrothed in the arms of another lover. How his heart and his pride had been ravaged by her betrayal. Or how the memory still left him aching.

  At length, Dare shrugged. "The affair ended unhappily."

  "So you think the lady will want nothing to do with you?"

  "Yes, I seriously doubt she will."

  Lucian flashed him a wry grin. "You, my friend, have never been at a loss with any female. Surely you have only to wield your vast charm to persuade her to change her opinion of you."

  Dare stared down at the amber liquid in his glass, wanting to refute the statement. It was true; when he chose to be persuasive, some of the haughtiest and most reluctant females had come into his arms willingly. But in this instance, he would be starting with a possibly insurmountable disadvantage.

  Lucian broke into his dark thoughts. "I understand your reluctance to become involved with her, Dare, but clearly you should be the one to investigate her connection with Riddingham."

  He grimaced wryly. "I feared you might say that."

  Lucian's expression grew intent as he leaned forward. "I'm certain I don't need to remind you that England's future could be at stake."

  "No, I need no reminding."

  "This bloody war may at last be coming to an end- nearly every day there are fresh reports from the battlefield about Allied victories. But even if Napoleon is vanquished, I don't expect Caliban to retire. A man like that does not simply disappear."

  "I'm well aware of the danger Caliban represents."

  "Then you will do it?"

  Dare took a long swallow of brandy, feeling the burn sear a trail down his throat to mingle with the fire already churning in his gut. "Yes," he said finally, exhaling a reluctant sigh. "I expect the best approach would be for me to join the supplicants for the Jewel's favors. Pretend to be one of Riddingham's rivals. That would give me a legitimate excuse for getting close to him. Stir the pot, as it were. Perhaps he will show his hand if I can manage to burrow deeply enough under his skin."

  "Good. And if you find your reservations interfering with your mission, you have only to recall how many innocents have died as the result of Caliban's treachery. Meanwhile, you can use the opportunity to ascertain Miss Laurent's loyalties. You may be right. She could very well be working for the French."

  Dare smiled to himself. It would be poetic justice if he could not only unmask Caliban, but discover that the temptress who'd broken his heart was abetting England's most dangerous traitor.

  The tension that had gripped him since seeing Julienne this afternoon eased with the sense of having reached a decision.

  He would use the dazzling actress to help him get closer to Riddingham, Dare vowed. And if she was indeed a French spy, he would make her pay dearly.

  Chapter Two

  The cloying scents of orange peels and tallow from the footlights and torcheres seemed almost overpowering tonight, yet Julienne knew the normal stage accoutrements were not to blame for her feeling of faintness. An entirely different cause had set her senses spinning.

  He was in the audience, watching her performance.

  She found her knees shaking. Even the ogling bucks in the pit couldn't distract her from his relentless regard. He sat in one of the luxury boxes, his fair hair shimmering in the glow of the theater's massive chandelier.

  Dare North. The legendary lover who had stolen her heart and left her reeling in the aftermath.

  Under his intent scrutiny, Julienne had executed her leading role in the John Webster tragedy in a daze, barely able to remember her lines. Once she had even missed her cue, which had earned her a disapproving scowl from the theater's august manager, Samuel Arnold.

  I will not think of him, Julienne vowed futilely for the hundredth time as she waited in the wings for her final entrance.

  The Theater Royal at Drury Lane was one of two premier theaters in London, and tonight's house was completely full. Filled to overflowing, in fact, a distinction normally reserved for London's reigning thespian, the remarkable Edmund Kean. Yet Kean had reportedly "taken ill," a public fiction to conceal the truth that he was still recovering from a fierce bout of drunken brawling.

  Julienne had been given top billing this evening-a splendid coup for a hitherto unknown actress from the provinces. She could not afford to squander this opportunity, or have her wits battered by memories she'd fought so hard to vanquish.

  It had taken years to cleanse the ache of Dare from her soul, to conquer her yearning for him. She'd risked coming to London, even knowing of his presence here, yet hoping to avoid him.

  A foolish notion, she realized now. The Marquess of Wolverton-his present illustrious title-was one of the chief leaders of the Beau Monde, despite his scandalous reputation, or perhaps because of it. He moved in London's most elite circles, as well as the more disreputable ones. She could no more have avoided him than she could quell the painful memories that seeing him resurrected.

  Another foolish notion, believing she could forget someone so unforgettable, or a passion so wondrous. She had loved Dare with a reckless hunger she'd never felt with any other man, before or since. But her love had proved her downfall.

  Her eyes blurred as she remembered the last time she had seen Dare, when she'd had no choice but to betray him. In a fleeting moment his regard had transformed from shock to desolation, from disillusionment to chilled contempt.

  Unable to explain her reasons, she had watched through a haze of scalding tears as he walked out of her life. Losing him had left her devastated. Alone. Facing disaster-

  A low hiss from the manager made Julienne realize she had missed another cue. Steeling herself, she swept out onto the stage to enact the final gory scenes of The White Devil.

  It was a coveted role for any actress, playing a scheming Venetian courtesan, and she managed to make it through the dark tale of murder and vengeance with no more serious lapses. But she was grateful when her character's demise came at the end and the company could finally take their bows to shouts and whistles and sincere applause.

  That the majority of the accolades were showered upon her surprised Julienne, considering her wretched performance. Pasting an alluring smile on he
r lips, however, she gracefully accepted the acclaim, executing a deep curtsy for the cheering crowd in the galleries, then the wilder throng in the pit, and finally the nobles and gentry in the boxes.

  She was just rising when she made the mistake of glancing at the particular nobleman she'd tried so desperately all evening to ignore. Dare had moved to the front of his box to stand at the railing.

  Julienne froze, caught in the hypnotizing power of his gaze; even at this distance, she could feel the searing impact. Her lips parted in a sharp inhalation, while his curved in a faint smile, slow and lazy and provocatively rakish.

  She saw his sensual mouth move then, but with the rush of blood in her head making her senses swim, it took her a moment to realize he had spoken to her.

  Without volition, she raised a hand, absently signaling for quiet. Slowly a hush went over the crowd, while countless heads swiveled in the direction of her fixed gaze.

  Dare called her name again, this time loudly enough to be heard throughout the theater.

  "Mademoiselle Laurent," he drawled, conversing as if they were completely alone. "Allow me to commend you on a most excellent performance."

  Uncertain of what he planned, Julienne felt an unmistakable ripple of tension course through her, drawing her nerves taut.

  "Thank you, my lord," she replied, striving to keep her voice steady.

  "Is it true?" he asked.

  "Is what true?"

  Casually he lifted a hip onto the railing and lounged there, surveying her indolently. "That you intend to make your choice of protectors at the end of the season?"

  Bewildered, Julienne thought back frantically to the declaration she'd made last week, half in jest. She had been in the green room after a performance, surrounded by eager swains, all vying for her attention and urging her to accept their unwanted invitations. When one persistent coxcomb crudely pronounced his determination to have her in keeping, she hid her dismay and feigned a laugh, protesting that she couldn't possibly decide from among such delightful gentlemen just yet.