The prince of pleasure n-5

by Nicole Jordan

  "Very well," Julienne snapped. "You may stay for a few moments more. But if it is not too inconvenient, would you mind coming out from behind the screen and allowing me use of it?"

  "I hoped you might need help changing," Dare replied lightly, even as he complied with her request.

  "No, I do not need help."

  "How tiresome. But truthfully, I am only here to persuade you to dine with me. One supper. What can it hurt? You can use the opportunity to ensnare my heart."

  She gave him a hard stare. "What do you really want of me, Lord Wolverton?"

  "I told you. I made a wager that I can win you."

  "How much?" When he raised an eyebrow, Julienne crossed her arms with impatience. "What sum did you wager?"

  "What does it matter?"

  "If it is not too excessive, I will pay it myself, so I won't be compelled to endure this ridiculous charade." She had little doubt the amount of the bet would be well beyond her means, but she wished Dare to know how preposterous she found his game.

  "This is not about money," he replied, feigning hurt. "My pride is at stake."

  "Your pride?" She made a moue of disgust. "You are not truly serious about this public contest of yours, are you?"

  "Ah, how little you know me."

  It was true, Julienne thought with a sudden sadness. The man she'd once loved had become a stranger to her, one who cared nothing about holding her up to public ridicule.

  And yet she couldn't truly blame him. She could only try to defend herself against whatever punishment he had in store for her.

  With that distressing thought, she moved behind the screen. To her relief, Dare stepped away, acting enough of the gentleman to allow her a measure of privacy.

  But it still unsettled her to have him in such close proximity.

  "You agreed to my challenge," he said after a moment. "I should think you would want to make good. That was a swift recovery, by the way. In one brilliant stroke you turned the tables on me."

  "I shall take that as a compliment," she said dryly as she removed her costume and began struggling with layers of panniers and petticoats.

  "The reports of your talent are not exaggerated. You are extremely good."

  "Sometimes I am. I was not at my best for tonight's performance."

  "Found yourself distracted, did you?"

  "As it happens, I did. I feared you might do something vindictive, and I was right."

  He didn't respond to her accusation but returned to the familiar subject instead. "Come to supper with me, cherie. We can reminisce about old times."

  "I find nothing I wish to remember."

  "Not even the carnal delights we once shared?"

  "Most especially that."

  She drew on a modest, long-sleeved gown of dark blue merino, one that she often wore going to and from the theater.

  Slipping from behind the screen, Julienne sat at her dressing table to scrub away her makeup. She made every effort to disregard Dare's presence, yet ignoring him was like pretending she wasn't trapped in a cage with a hungry tiger.

  She could see him in the small looking glass as he leaned indolently against the door, watching her. He was silent as she took down her hair, not speaking till she had removed the pins and combed her fingers through the thick mass.

  "You always had the loveliest hair. Like Russian sable. Rich and silken and luminous."

  Julienne kept her lips pressed together, refusing to respond. He had always had a silver tongue, she reminded herself. Dare delighted in overstepping polite bounds with his cajolery and too-intimate innuendos.

  "And you have the face and body of a temptress."

  "I am no temptress," she retorted. "And I am no longer a green girl, susceptible to your flattery."

  "No, not a girl at all. You've flourished into a ravishing woman."

  Unexpectedly, she felt an ache of sorrow. Once, he hadn't needed to flatter her with words. He had made her feel beautiful with merely a glance. Beautiful and cherished. Stop dwelling on the past, you fool.

  She felt Dare move behind her. Julienne froze as he took up the hairbrush and began drawing it slowly through her long hair.

  "I always relished doing this. Remember?"

  The warmth of his voice touched a chord in her that left her trembling. Remember? How could I possibly forget? She closed her eyes at the drugging shock of recognition and familiarity: the feel of Dare at her back, the vibrant heat of his body, the sweet sensation of his touch, his erotic tenderness. It had been so long…

  Heaven help her, she wanted him. She knew if she merely pressed back against him, he would carry it further… reach down to caress her, stroke her, arouse her. The thought of his lean, elegant hands fondling the swell of her breasts made her nipples peak with longing.

  Dismayed, Julienne locked her jaw, resenting her body's betrayal, cursing herself again for a fool. She was mad to have allowed herself to be alone with Dare. She'd thought herself strong enough to meet him again after all this time, but she was mistaken. She was too weak. And he was too dangerous.

  Unable to bear his nearness any longer, she rose abruptly to her feet, leaving her hair unpinned. In agitation she went to the wall hook and fumbled for her cloak, then flung it around her shoulders.

  "If you won't leave, then I will, Lord Wolverton. I bid you good evening."

  "No, I think not."

  He advanced with slow, determined strides across the small room until he stood directly before her. Warily Julienne took a step backward, but there was nowhere to go.

  For a moment he simply stared down at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. In a daze, she waited as he leaned toward her slightly, lowering his head until his warm breath touched her cheek… her lips. He intended to kiss her, she was certain. A ripple of panic flooded her, and she tried to brace herself for the impact-

  Yet astonishingly, his kiss never came. Instead he gave her his notorious, bone-melting smile. Bending, he slipped a hand behind her knees and lifted her up in his arms, turning her panic to startlement.

  "What the devil are you doing?" she demanded, gasping at his unexpected action.

  "Taking you to supper; what else?" Dare answered blandly. "My carriage awaits, darling."

  Chapter Three

  Dare shifted uneasily in the carriage seat, cursing the hot blood that stirred in his loins. His fierce arousal had taken him by surprise. He'd intended to exercise more control.

  And he would have, if not for Julienne's instinctive feminine response to his nearness. He'd seen the blank daze of desire in her eyes, sensed the subtle changes in her body as she parted her lips in expectation of his kiss.

  He'd had to veil the shock of raw need that ran through him. In sheer self-defense, he'd taken the first action that came to mind-swung her up in his arms and carried her out to his waiting carriage.

  But being alone with her in the seclusion of the town coach had an even more profound effect on his body, rousing his cravings to a painful ache.

  Involuntarily Dare cast a glance at Julienne as she sat staring silently out the window, her patrician countenance in profile. She was everything he remembered and more. In the muted light from the outer carriage lamps, her dark hair shone richly, flowing in heavy, silken waves over her shoulders. His gaze wandered to her bosom, where several curls lay in teasing disarray. Even now he had to fight the urge to move closer and bury his face in the luxurious mass, to slide his arms around her, to stroke those luscious breasts…

  Dare swore again silently, feeling a surge of resentment that she had remained so alluring… that she still had the power to make him feel so much.

  He'd been wholly determined to resist her, yet at her sensual response, memory had come rushing back to overwhelm him-every taste, every touch, every sensation, every yearning he'd thought forcibly buried deep in his heart, out of reach.

  Perhaps his pursuit of her was a mistake. He had launched the first salvo in his game, declaring his intention to win her, but Julienne had pr
oved just as enterprising, catching him off guard with her daring vow to bring him to his knees.

  She had already done so once before, Dare reminded himself, setting his jaw. He would have to proceed with caution if he hoped to emerge from this contest with his heart intact.

  His only satisfaction was that Julienne appeared to be as agitated as he was. She viewed him with wariness and mistrust, obviously, as if she feared his retribution. But he knew very well that her apprehension hadn't prevented her from remembering the passion that had once burned between them, or kept her from wanting him.

  Beside him, Julienne was having similar thoughts. It dismayed her, how helpless she had been against Dare's brazen tactics. After setting her aquiver with longing, purposely kindling her desire with his nearness, he had suddenly doused the flame he'd created and roused her indignation at the same stroke; he had literally swept her off her feet and carried her from the theater to the delight of numerous gawking bystanders.

  The nerve of the rogue, causing such a spectacle! He was exasperating, maddening, unsettling-although she had to admire his ingenious determination. Dare was single-minded when it came to getting what he wanted.

  And he had won their first skirmish, Julienne had to admit. If he hadn't trapped her by his wager in front of a gleeful London audience, if he hadn't virtually abducted her, she would not be here with him now.

  It was one thing to engage in a public battle of wits with Dare; it was another entirely to be secluded with him for the intimacy of a late-night supper. But she could manage to abide his company for an evening, Julienne silently promised herself. They were merely partaking of a meal. She was experienced enough now to keep Dare emotionally distant. And this was her chance to prove to herself that she was over him.

  More critically, she could prove to Dare that she had the ability to resist him. The sooner he realized she would never surrender, the sooner he would give up his attempt at revenge.

  I won't succumb to him. I won't.

  By repeating that mantra over and over again, Julienne was able to restore some measure of her shaken confidence. Yet she couldn't help her heart beating in anticipation as the carriage slowed to a halt.

  Her fierce awareness of Dare only increased when he helped her down. And when he pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the entrance stairs, she gave a start at the instant warmth that sprang up inside her, deploring how she was affected by the casual contact.

  She would have to do better if she hoped to win this encounter.

  It was a private gentlemen's club, Julienne noted, not certain whether she should be relieved. She had half expected Dare to take her to one of his notorious dens of iniquity where, according to the scandal sheets that chronicled his wicked deeds, he conducted his orgies and other debauched entertainments.

  They were greeted by a majordomo and led upstairs to an even more private chamber, lavishly but tastefully decorated. Candles glittered in gold sconces on the walls, reflecting the sparkle of china and crystal on the small, damask-covered dining table, while a cozy fire burned in the hearth, casting an intimate glow over the entire room.

  As she expected, the scene was set for seduction. One wall was partially concealed by a crimson brocade curtain, but Julienne could see an alcove in the shadows, with a bed large enough for two.

  Heat spread through her at the thought of sharing that bed with Dare.

  The majordomo seated her at the table and then withdrew, to her regret. To her further discomfort, Dare took the chair beside her rather than opposite her.

  "I must warn you," Julienne remarked lightly as he inspected the variety of wines on the table. "You are laboring under a misapprehension. Despite whatever machinations you have planned for tonight, you will not succeed."

  His smile came easily. "I never anticipate failure before I have even begun."

  Julienne felt a spark of dismay flare inside her at his smooth response. The facile charm was automatic, effortless, and highly potent. Dare still had the power to affect her without the least effort. She wondered how she would endure an entire evening in his company, with him so near and so clearly set on prevailing.

  His tone remained teasing as he poured a glass of wine. "I think it poor-spirited of you, cherie, not to give me a fighting chance. Or perhaps merely fainthearted. You are afraid I will win."

  "Hardly." Julienne managed a laugh. "I am more afraid I will do you an injury when you continue to persecute me."

  "Try this vintage," he suggested. "It comes from Languedoc."

  Where her late father's estates had been before his execution, she thought, wincing. Julienne did as she was bid, however, and found the wine delicious.

  "The food here is excellent," Dare said, observing her approving expression. "You will appreciate it. The chef is Parisian." At her surprised glance, he added, "Did you think I would forget your fondness for French cuisine?"

  She returned a smile that was faintly taunting. "Truthfully, I don't think of you at all."

  "I cannot say the same of you," he replied lazily.

  He leaned back in his chair, exhibiting his usual elegant grace, but Julienne found it difficult to show the same casual ease. She was too conscious of Dare. His gilded hair glimmered in the candlelight, its soft, thick waves threaded riotously with gold and flaxen. Worse, she kept seeing images of her fingers gliding through it, and images of his fingers reciprocating.

  Involuntarily she glanced down at his hands, which held a wine goblet, almost caressing the stem, and an inexplicable yearning Filled her. She could almost feel those warm, deft hands on her skin…

  "It has been a long time," he murmured, startling her with his perceptiveness.

  "Not long enough for my tastes," she rejoined, feigning nonchalance yet glad that the dimness of the room concealed her flush.

  She was even more relieved when a discreet knock on the door heralded the entrance of supper, served by two footmen. There were several courses: clear partridge soup with truffles, braised ham, trout in tomato and garlic sauce, peas, creamed artichoke hearts, sweetbreads, prawns, fricassee of veal with Madeira sauce, and finally preserved cherries and plum pudding.

  Every dish was delectable, but Julienne barely tasted any of them. Her attention kept straying to her companion… those arresting green eyes, the well-shaped, sensual mouth…

  Don't think about his mouth, she ordered herself. Don't think about those firm, warm lips that made you shiver with passion. The seductive lips that had given and had taken so much pleasure. That wicked, heart-stopping smile that could lure a woman's soul from her body.

  That smile had always been Dare's greatest asset. Or perhaps it was his remarkable way of looking at a woman. He focused such thrilling intensity on his target that she felt incredibly desirable.

  As he was doing now, Julienne realized. He was watching her as if engrossed, despite the presence of the two footmen. She managed to bear his scrutiny until he dismissed the servers at the conclusion of the meal, leaving her alone with him.

  "Did no one ever tell you it is ill-mannered to stare?" she asked, invoking a cool smile.

  He grinned, his bearing relaxed. "Can I help but be fascinated by someone of your dazzling beauty? You intoxicate me."

  "No doubt because the wine has gone to your head."

  He measured her in a slow, exacting way, obviously determined to tear holes in the thin facade of her composure. "So what you have been doing with yourself all these years, mademoiselle?"

  Her smile slipped, and she took a sip of wine, reluctant to answer. "I would rather you address me as Miss Laurent. I prefer not to call attention to the fact that I am French."

  "Very well… darling." Amusement laced the edge of his voice, but his tone remained curious. "Your trace of an accent is no longer noticeable. Is that by design?"

  "Yes," Julienne admitted. "It wasn't healthy for my acting career. The English consider themselves far superior to anyone of French origin and dislike any reminders of our d
ifferences."

  "Our dislike of the French might have something to do with their despot who is bent on world domination," Dare said blandly.

  She could have pointed out that many of her compatriots detested Napoleon Bonaparte far more than the British did, but she didn't intend to debate the issue with Dare.

  Steepling his long fingers, he continued to watch her with that disconcerting gaze, although he changed the subject. "Tell me… are you sharing your bed with any of those puppies who were panting at your skirts tonight?"

  Julienne drew a sharp breath at the boldness of the question. "That, I believe, is none of your concern."

  "I simply want to know who my competition is. It is hard to tell whom you prefer most from among all the fops and swells surrounding you. From what I've observed, I would guess Riddingham. Is he my chief rival?"

  Julienne allowed her lips to curve drolly and refused to reply.

  "I should think you would prefer a real man to warm your bed," Dare remarked. "But if I recall correctly, you are not overly particular about your bed partners." The sudden caustic note in his voice suggested censure.

  Calling on all her willpower, Julienne affected an expression of detachment and arched an eyebrow. "I find it incredible that the most profligate libertine in London would presume to judge my choices. From all reports, you have never been discriminating about the lovers you amuse yourself with. Or how many you have, for that matter."

  "Oh, no, I am exceedingly discriminating. At least I am now. There was a time after you…" His gaze remained fixed on her, slowly shredding her nerves. "After you, Jewel, I didn't much care who I bedded. I was only intent in burying my pain in pleasures of the flesh."

  She didn't respond to that admission, either, Dare noted. "It took me a long while to get over your cruelty, cherie."

  Some emotion flickered in her eyes, something vulnerable and too fleeting for him to identify. Then she lowered her gaze, her lashes dark against her ivory skin.

  "In fact, I could say that you were the one who set me on my path to wickedness."