The hired hackney made only one stop, so that she could say farewell to Solange.
"Are you certain there is no hope?" her friend asked sadly.
"Yes," Julienne answered in a low voice, giving Solange a fierce hug.
"I shall miss you, mon amie."
"I will miss you, too."
She would miss Dare even more, Julienne reflected as she returned to the carriage. The loss of him already felt like a bleeding wound inside her.
She directed the hackney to an elegant little house in St. John's Wood, which she had borrowed from another actress for the day. She had invited Dare to meet her at noon, but she intended to arrive more than two hours early. She needed the interval, not only to physically set the stage, but to prepare herself emotionally for the performance of a lifetime.
Dare bounded up the front steps to the charming little cottage, his whole being thrumming with the feverish eagerness of a young lad. Julienne's invitation had more than surprised him. He couldn't fathom why she had asked him here, unless she meant to concede the wager and wanted to use this setting to negotiate the terms of their arrangement.
If so, he would have to disabuse her of that notion quickly. He didn't want Julienne as his mistress. He wanted to have her in keeping, but permanently, forever. And he would tell her so this very afternoon. He intended to risk laying his heart on the line and ask for her hand in marriage.
He was admitted by a female servant, who bobbed a curtsy. "Miss Laurent is waiting in the boudoir," the maid informed him with a saucy giggle.
Dare followed her and was shown into a luxurious, silk-swathed bedchamber. The curtains had been drawn, providing an aura of romantic seclusion.
The stage was set for seduction, he realized, his pulse quickening further.
As the door shut behind him, Dare caught sight of Julienne. She was reclining upon a daybed, which was wider than a normal chaise longue and large enough to accommodate two lovers with ease. To his surprise, she was fully dressed in a gown of rose-colored muslin, but the small table beside her was laden with fruit and cheese and wine.
Taking a sip from her glass, Julienne studied him over the rim, her dark eyes half-closed, sensual, and compelling.
"Welcome," she said in a husky voice that stroked all his nerve endings. "I have missed you, Dare."
"I've missed you, too-like the very devil."
Her luscious lips formed a pout. "It hardly seems so. I would say rather that you have been severely neglecting me of late."
He smiled charmingly as he advanced into the room. "My apologies, my love." Reaching for her hand, he kissed her fingers tenderly. "I have been waiting for the right moment to speak to you in private."
"I have no interest in talking just now." Little flames warmed the depths of her eyes as she ran her finger down his chest to his breeches. "I think you should take off your clothes," she murmured, her voice liquid enticement.
Dare needed no second request. Obediently he shed his coat and waistcoat, then his cravat and shirt. He sat beside her on the daybed to remove his shoes and stockings, then stood again to remove his pantaloons and drawers.
When he stood naked before her, her gaze made a slow sweep of his body. Dare felt himself harden at the lust in her eyes. With a look of invitation, Julienne smiled languorously and held up her arms, bidding him to join her on the daybed. Eagerly he stretched out beside her and drew her into his embrace.
Their kiss was hard and passionate, and she seemed as breathless as he was when she broke it off. He might have protested but she gave him another slow, seductive smile and pressed him onto his back. Then she reached above his head to lift a silk scarf that was tied to a metal loop in the wood frame of the daybed.
When she attached the scarf to his left wrist, he gave her a grin that was part quizzical, part devilish. "Just what did you have in mind, cherie?"
"I imagine you can guess."
He could indeed guess when she secured his right wrist, then knelt to tie scarves around each of his ankles.
"You once told me had a fantasy about bondage," she murmured, bending over him. "Well, I am satisfying my own fantasy. I want you entirely at my mercy."
"I'm more than delighted to oblige, my sweet," he said hoarsely in return.
He held his breath as she pressed her lips lightly against his chest while her fingers danced over his skin, ending in a light, circling tease on his abdomen.
Dare felt desire curling, flaring, twisting inside him at the wicked sensation of her fingers.
Then he realized she had a scarf clutched in her hand. He sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath as she drew it along his body. In a moment she was stroking his rigid erection with the sensuous silk, curling the scarf around his swollen shaft, touching him with her lips.
It was one of the most erotic sensations he had ever experienced. She made him shudder, made his heart pound out of control. Dare arched his hips, his body white-hot with desire as Julienne continued her provocative ministrations, and clenched his teeth against the burning in his loins.
Then suddenly she stopped. Leaving the scarf draped over his arousal to form a tent, she rose from the bed. He thought she intended to undress, but instead she picked up his clothing that he'd left strewn on a chair and stepped back.
Her expression, which had been so ardently beguiling a moment before, was now impassive, almost blank.
"Julienne?"
Her sad smile pierced his heart. Delaying her answer, she went to the door and opened it.
"I want there to be no question that you have lost our wager, Dare, and for that we need witnesses. Your friends Riddingham and Sir Stephen Ormsby will soon be here to rescue you, along with several of your other Hellfire colleagues. I promised them a delicious spectacle."
Dare stared in shock as she turned to go.
"Good-bye, Dare," Julienne said in low, trembling whisper.
Then, with barely a fleeting backward glance, she slipped from the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The hackney Julienne had waiting took her to a posting inn, where she caught the afternoon stage for York. The interior was crowded with a variety of passengers, several of whom recognized her.
Acknowledging their accolades with a faint smile, Julienne squeezed farther into her corner and turned her face to the window. Yet she saw nothing of the passing countryside. The keening sense of loss was like a knife wound inside her; the sense of being cut into parts wouldn't leave her.
She missed Dare with every breath, every jostle and jolt of the swaying coach. Thinking of him was excruciating. But she would not weep. She had cried those tears out long ago.
Then she made the mistake of fishing in her reticule for a handkerchief. She found the one she had saved from Dare's clothing as a remembrance, and when she held it to her face, she discovered that the linen carried the faint scent of his cologne.
Despair rose higher, shoving at her throat, making her vision blur. It was all she could do to force back the scalding tears.
Somehow she had to forget her agonizing thoughts of Dare. Somehow she had to find the courage to continue.
* * *
He had to control the flare of panic inside him, Dare thought nearly two hours later. Julienne had disappeared, and none of the rakehells she had invited to witness his defeat knew where she had gone.
If the stakes weren't so high, if his own involvement was less personal, perhaps he could have felt a spark of admiration for her daring. It was a prank worthy of his former days-to strip him and steal his clothes and tie him to the bed while she absconded, leaving him helpless for his friends to discover. But he could find absolutely no humor in the situation.
The experience had been embarrassing in the extreme. His Hellfire colleagues thought it uproarious that after all the years of his tormenting them with practical jokes, the Prince of Pleasure had finally received justice in kind. Worse, they had all come on horseback, so that he was forced to hail a hackney with only a sheet to cover hims
elf.
He managed to persuade the driver that he was indeed the Marquess of Wolverton and to return him to his home in Mayfair, but Dare spent the entire journey gritting his teeth and vowing severe retribution when he caught up with Julienne. Anger helped cloak his stark fear that he had lost her once more, without even telling her of his love for her.
His servants were too well-trained to show surprise when he came traipsing in, garbed like a Greek senator. And he felt better when he was dressed again in his own exquisitely tailored clothing. But as he called for his carriage, Dare couldn't rid himself of the sick feeling squeezing his heart. He had every intention of following Julienne. And he had at least two good places to begin his search-her friend Solange and the Drury Lane Theater.
What filled him with dread, however, was not knowing why Julienne had run-or what he would do about it when he found her.
Julienne arrived in York the following afternoon, her body weary from lack of sleep, her heart one huge, empty ache. Despite her fatigue, she went directly to the theater, where she was welcomed back eagerly by her former company.
To her surprise everyone had heard of her fame in routing a deadly traitor and had followed her London career avidly. Wanting to capitalize on her success, the manager gave her a role in the evening's performance of a Moliere comedy and even printed a special broadsheet announcing her return.
The small playhouse was packed that night, for word of her appearance had spread rapidly. Julienne could scarcely remember a more receptive audience. Even though she went through her lines numbly, they laughed and roared at even her smallest jests, extending their goodwill to the entire company.
The play was perhaps half through when she heard a commotion offstage. Julienne roused herself from her despondency enough to wonder what was happening. Glancing toward the wings, she saw the manager wildly gesturing, apparently engaged in an argument with a tall, burly man who was dressed in a greatcoat and tricorn hat.
Moments later the burly man stepped on stage and identified himself as the sheriff of York.
His narrowed gaze latched on to Julienne. "You are Miss Laurent?" When she acknowledged that she was, he snapped, "I am placing you under arrest."
Bewildered, Julienne stared at him. This was too strangely reminiscent of her near arrest in Paris. "On what charge?"
"Thievery."
"There must be some mistake, Sheriff."
"No mistake. You stole property belonging to the Marquess of Wolverton. You will come with me."
Her heart leapt to her throat at hearing Dare's title. She winced as the sheriff hauled her none too gently from the stage to a chorus of boos and catcalls from the disgruntled audience along with a spate of rotten tomatoes.
To her dismay, the sheriff escorted her forcibly to the green room and shoved her down onto a chaise longue beside the gentleman already seated there.
Scrambling upright, Julienne scarcely heard the sheriff take his leave and shut the door behind him. Instead she froze, stunned, to meet Dare's emerald gaze.
The raw anger in those breathtaking eyes was unmistakable, and yet she saw a hint of uncertainty as well.
"Do you seriously intend to have me arrested for theft?" she demanded, taking the offensive. "I didn't steal anything."
"You did," Dare answered, his tone clipped.
"I suppose I took your clothing-"
"That isn't all you took-but let us set that issue aside for the moment. I want to know why you left me like that. Did you think to humiliate me? Was that your way of bringing me to my knees?"
A hot-cold flush spread over her cheeks in response to his smoldering gaze. "In part. I hoped to put a public end to our wager."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to be done with the games. There is no point in keeping up the charade. With Caliban dead, you no longer have any need of me, except perhaps physically."
The stormy hue of his eyes softened. "You couldn't be more wrong, Julienne."
Feeling the sting of renewed tears, she averted her gaze. "I couldn't endure being your mistress, Dare."
"That suits me well, because I don't want you for my mistress. I want you for my wife."
Her breath faltered, and her gaze flew back to his.
When she remained speechless, Dare ran a hand roughly through his hair. "I should have told you sooner, I know. But I didn't know how to begin. I was terrified you would refuse my proposal. I've been trying to get up the courage to ask you since we returned from Paris."
Julienne stared. She saw vulnerability in Dare's eyes, and fear. His apprehension tore at her heart, but she shook her head gravely. "Dare, I won't allow you to sacrifice yourself for me out of guilt."
"Marrying you won't be a sacrifice. Why the devil would you think so?"
"I know you feel guilty because of what Ivers did, because of what your grandfather did."
"My feelings have nothing whatsoever to do with guilt. I want to marry you because I can't live without you. It is as simple as that."
He reached forward to take her hand. "I love you, Julienne. Surely you realize that by now. I never stopped loving you."
At her shocked silence, his mouth curved, his smile one of misery. "What am I supposed to do without you if you leave me, tell me that? How will I go on? I've spent the last seven years longing for you. You spoiled me for any other woman, Jewel. After you, I never allowed myself to love anyone, to get close. I didn't dare risk the kind of pain I felt after losing you. I shielded myself so I wouldn't be left hurting in the end. But my case was hopeless once I found you again."
His voice, already low and ragged, took on a desolate edge. "I couldn't bear to lose you now. Do you really mean to condemn me to agony for the rest of my life?"
Longing caught in Julienne's chest, but she forced it away. "I can't possibly be your wife, Dare. I am an actress. I can never move in the same circles that you do. You will be utterly ridiculed if you wed me. Not only will society refuse to accept me, but you will be universally condemned for defying all the rules."
"Do you think I give a damn what society thinks?" His fingers tightened around hers, the gesture supplicating. "And I'm not so certain they'll refuse to accept you. You're a heroine at the moment. All London is singing your praises. And you have Prinny's support."
"That hardly makes me respectable. Nor will it endow me with a pristine reputation."
"But it will go a long way toward influencing opinions. Beyond that, title and wealth are all that really matter when it comes to being accepted, and you will have both when you're my wife."
"But, Dare… I've told you, I have had other lovers…"
"I don't give a bloody hell how many men you've taken to your bed, as long as I am the last. As long as I'm your husband."
Julienne still couldn't let herself believe in the future Dare was envisioning. Couldn't dismiss the fear she'd always felt of earning his lifelong resentment by tying him to her.
Her heart wrenching with turmoil, she searched his face. "How can you be certain you truly love me, Dare? I think it much more likely that you've mistaken your feelings. Eventually-perhaps even a few months from now-you will come to your senses and realize that you want me only for your carnal gratification."
"No." He held her gaze, his eyes stunningly bright. "I know better than anyone what carnal gratification is, Julienne. It's basic, selfish lust of the flesh. It involves the body. It has nothing to do with the mind or heart. What I feel for you goes far, far beyond the carnal."
When she didn't reply, he leaned closer, the earnestness in his eyes growing even more intense. "I know I don't deserve your love, but I intend to change. I mean to make something of myself, to someday prove myself worthy of you."
"Worthy of me?" she asked, frowning.
"Yes, dammit." His mouth twisted in a faint smile. "Why the devil do you think I'm taking up my seat in Parliament? So I can show you I'm not the worthless fribble you've always thought me."
Julienne stared fixedly at Dare. It
staggered her to realize his sincerity, and that he considered himself unworthy of her. "Dare, I never thought you a fribble… certainly not since meeting you again."
"Then you'll give me a chance?"
"Dare…"
When she didn't answer his question at once, he stood abruptly and pulled her to her feet, then strode out of the green room, drawing Julienne behind him.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked rather breathlessly.
"The stage."
To her utter amazement, he dragged her out on stage, interrupting the play and scattering the other actors. Positioning her in the exact center in front of the footlights, Dare sank to his knees before her and took her hand, the very picture of an avid suitor. The rumble of surprise from the audience died down so the spectators could hear his every word.
"Several months ago in London we made a wager, Miss Laurent. You vowed you could ensnare my heart and bring me to my knees. Well, I'm on my knees to you. I'm declaring you the victor. You've won, Julienne. Utterly and completely. My heart is yours. You have the absolute power to break it, as you will."
At his public declaration, Julienne wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Dare was showing the world he loved her; he was showing her he loved her.
He clenched her hand hard. "Julienne…" His voice had gone beyond strained and sat on the cutting edge of pain. "Tell me honestly that you don't love me-that you can never love me-and I'll let you go. It will probably kill me, but I want you to be happy."
She couldn't bear the desperate entreaty in his eyes.
"Oh, Dare, of course I love you. I've always loved you."
With a raw sound, he rose to his feet and hauled her into his arms. His kiss was fierce, fervent. He twisted his hand in her hair and held her still for the hungry plundering of her mouth.
Julienne could scarcely hear the wild cheers of the audience over the pounding of her heart.
When Dare finally released her, it was only to envelop her in a smothering embrace. "You drive me to madness, do you know that?" he said raggedly.
"I could say the same of you."
The prince of pleasure n-5 Page 29
