A Dangerous Courtship (To Woo an Heiress, Book 3)

by Randall, Lindsay

  This time, Veronica could not conceal the shudder that stole through her. Yes, Julian had appeared to be a man with something to hide. But was the cause of his hiding some fiendish act done to him, or by him?

  Veronica's shiver deepened as she remembered suddenly that she'd given him her direction, had told him where she'd be spending the night. Had she made a dreadful mistake in sharing with the dangerous stranger what little she had about her Venus Mission?

  Shelton, eyeing his lady, noted her sudden unease. Thoroughly disgusted by all this talk, he glowered at Drubbs and barked, "Enough talk, man. Just lead the way out of this gawdforsaken place."

  Veronica sent a glance at her coachman, but decided not to object further. Shelton was as good as the right hand of her father. He'd been handpicked by Earl Wrothram to act as coachman to his daughters, not because Shelton harbored any skills greater than other coachmen, but simply because he could be trusted to carry out her father's exact word.

  Ever versatile, and working his way up through various positions within the nobility, Shelton clearly knew on which side his bread was buttered. He had been many things during his life of serving the titled swells of Polite Society—a veritable henchman long ago for a vicious old crone of a lord full of thunder and vengeance, after that an instructor of boxing for the gentlemen in Town who liked such a sport... and for the past ten years, coachman to Veronica's family, his every move overseen by Earl Wrothram.

  Shelton's allegiance to the earl was great, and his allegiance was further assured by the hefty coin he earned for dogging the steps of his employer's youngest daughter.

  For some reason Veronica had yet to puzzle out, her father seemed to think she would one day make a mockery of him. Though it was the sweet, too-beautiful Lily whom the members of the Venus Society were continually saving from certain scandal due to her penchant for falling in love with every man who cast an empty compliment her way, it was Veronica whom the earl seemed not to trust. Veronica could go nowhere but that the coachman knew of it, and she could do nothing but that Shelton eventually got wind of it.

  That Veronica had managed to outsmart Shelton and get to Fountains Abbey long before he'd arrived was nothing short of miraculous.

  Now that he'd found her, though, Veronica knew she'd have to be twice as conniving to get out from under his watchful eye ever again.

  Veronica allowed Shelton his tiny victory of manipulating the moment, but only because she'd heard enough from the gnomelike Drubbs.

  Despite what the locals thought about The Riverkeep—and despite the fact Veronica could only imagine about Julian' s nefarious past or lack thereof—she had to believe in her conclusion that he was the very person, the only person, who could help see this particular Venus Mission to a successful conclusion.

  It was with that thought in mind that Veronica willingly allowed the guide and Shelton to lead her back to the horses, and then far away from the ruins of Fountains.

  She glanced back only once.

  The sight she saw took her breath away. The pale radiance of the moon cast the jutting stones of the abbey into a place of wonder and mystery.

  Was Julian watching their retreat?

  Odd, but Veronica felt certain that he was.

  Felt, too, that she was not the same person she'd been when she'd first come upon the ancient abbey and her dangerous rescuer.

  Veronica swallowed, then turned her face back to the road in front of her. A long Midsummer's Eve night lay ahead.

  * * *

  High up on a massive wall stood Julian, one dusty boot propped on a bit of stone, his right elbow anchored on his knee and his right hand stroking his bearded chin. He was positioned at an opening that had once been a window, beneath an arch of what had at one time been delicately wrought stone lace.

  From his vantage point he watched as the speck of light that was the sum of the trio's lanterns grew dimmer and dimmer as the three made haste from the abbey's sprawling lands.

  He had waited in the earthen cavern, his lamp extinguished. He'd not fully believed the lady's wild story of having to come to Fountains in search of a packet, and he had wondered if she would send the coachman and his companion into the cave after him.

  But there had been no ambush in the passageway, and so Julian had decided there must be some truth in the lady's tale. Given that, and the fact she appeared so terrified of her servant, he'd waited until he was assured Lady Veronica would not be abused in anyway by the gun-toting coachman.

  She'd held her ground well in the face of her coachman's questions. As for the other man... well, Julian had not been pleased to hear that he was thought to be a specter, a demon even. What rubbish.

  And yet... the tale the man had told was not so far off the mark. Julian had felt like a specter when he'd first arrived at the abbey, his hearing gone, his heart torn asunder. And for ten long months he had done naught but hide from the light of day in the heart of Fountains.

  But tonight he'd met Veronica and heard her speak. The sound of her voice in his ears had reawakened his world-weary soul, and the feel and taste of her had brought to life in him a hunger he'd not known in a long, long while.

  After exiting the earthen cavern once Veronica and her followers had gone, Julian had climbed to the highest ledge of Fountains, letting the wind tear at his long hair, allowing the wondrous sounds of night to pour over and through him. And he'd known in that instant that he was not the dead shell of a man he'd been when he saved Veronica from the wild dogs.

  He now felt renewed purpose and knew a kernel of hope.

  Whether by divinity, accident or supreme plotting, the violet-eyed Veronica had proved to be a catalyst, yanking him out of a dreary place he'd been for far too long.

  What exactly her presence at Fountains this night meant, though, not even Julian could guess. For good or ill, it was a mystery he intended to unravel.

  * * *

  Veronica was silent during the long ride back to the inn. She did not allow her coachman's accusatory mood to force her into any explanation of her wanderings. The man was an employee, she reminded herself. He did not need to know what she was about, or even the why of it.

  They soon reached the village.

  While Fountains had been an oasis filled with moonlight and mist once the dogs had gone, the village presented an altogether different atmosphere. Several bonfires had been lit in celebration of Midsummer's Eve, and everywhere Veronica looked there were people milling and moving about, their laughing faces wreathed in the fires' light. A mad celebration had begun—one likely not to end until dawn. The magic of summer had descended; the merriment was loud and raucous.

  Veronica's only thought was that she'd not stayed at Fountains long. Perhaps the person intending to deposit Rathbone's packet was among these revelers. Perhaps that person was getting a bellyful of food and drink and would strike out much later for the abbey.

  As soon as they reached the inn, Veronica slid down off her saddle, leaving Shelton to oversee the managing of the horses for the night. Then she scurried inside, moving quickly up the steps to her rented room. She could hear the shouts of voices outside, could see the light of the bonfires flickering through the thin-paned glass window on the first landing.

  Filially reaching her room, Veronica thrust the door open.

  Her maid jumped to her feet at the sight of her.

  "La, m'lady," said the brown-haired, brown-eyed Nettie, "I feared you'd met a foul end this night, and yer coachman, well, he near box'd me ears fer losin' sight of you! Oh, please, I beg, d'not be runnin' away like that ag'n, m'lady—beggin' yer pardon I be fer ev'n sayin' such words!"

  With a calm voice that belied the inner turmoil she was feeling, Veronica said, "You need not worry about anything, Nettie. I've returned now and am no more the worse for wear, I assure you."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Yes. Very."

  "But yer clothes be that rumpled, yer hat clean gone. Yer 'air, it be come undone frum its many pins... and�
�and yer eyes, m'lady!"

  "What about my eyes, Nettie?"

  The maid shrank back. "Nuthin'," she muttered and then, unable to help herself, and with a grimace for fear she'd be reprimanded, added nonetheless, "Other than m'lady be lookin' as though she just met 'er death... or ma'hap the light of 'er life."

  Veronica blinked. "Do not be absurd, Nettie." But even as Veronica said the words, she wondered if the transformation in her soul was so very evident that her flighty maid should notice. Veronica fought for some semblance of emotion. "I've encountered neither, Nettie. Now, if it would not be too much trouble, I'd like hot water for a bath."

  "Yes, m'lady. It be no trouble, o' course."

  "And I'm famished, Nettie. Please see that a private parlour is prepared downstairs."

  "Yes, m'lady." The girl seemed eager to be gone.

  "And, Nettie?"

  "Yes?" she asked, poised by the door like a nervous bird ready to spring from a cage.

  "I—I seemed to have scraped my leg during my expedition this evening. Could you perhaps ask below-stairs for any antiseptic that might be available?"

  Nettie's brown eyes widened, but she wisely bit back any questions she might have of her lady's wanderings.

  "Yes, m'lady. O' course."

  The abigail nodded nervously, sketched what she clearly hoped was a proper curtsy, then hurried out of the room, leaving Veronica alone in the spacious bedchamber with its huge bed.

  Veronica heaved a sigh of relief now that she had her servants busy with their business.

  She glanced down at her skirts, wincing at the stain of blood near her left thigh. The cover of night had kept the sight from Shelton, no doubt. It had taken all of Veronica's strength not to limp back to her mount while at Fountains. She'd put up a brave front, not daring to let her coachman realize she'd been injured.

  She now gently pressed her hand atop her left thigh, feeling fully the bandage Julian had wrapped about her scrape. He'd tied the strips of cloth tight, but not too tightly.

  Veronica's cheeks warmed at the memory of his ministrations and the remembered feel of his callused but gentle hand along the underside of her thigh. He'd near taken her breath away with the feel of his soft touch... his kisses.

  Imagine.

  She, who had never, ever, allowed any man near her for longer than was necessary, had actually found herself melting in Julian's arms, returning his kisses.

  Veronica sharply reminded herself she'd been in shock from the dogs, her mission, and the report of Shelton's gun. Though she'd compromised herself, no one save herself and Julian knew the truth. And who would the man be telling, anyway?

  No one, of course.

  He clearly had something to hide, and was known as a lowly Riverkeep, to boot. If he ever did repeat his tale of meeting a daughter of Earl Wrothram's at Fountains, he could not possibly tell it to any one worth note.

  Her secret moments of shameless indiscretion would remain just that. A secret.

  As for the package she sought, Veronica believed wholeheartedly the man would search for it. For some inexplicable, stupid, foolish reason, Veronica trusted Julian would search the abbey and would keep an eye out for anyone who might place the packet there this night.

  Veronica now felt a bit better, having gone over all the facts in her mind. She began to relax. She unbuttoned her short-waisted spencer, looking about her.

  The bed of her rented room was ridiculously large. Obviously this inn had been constructed at a time when travelers of the road invariably shared a bed with strangers.

  Veronica's face flushed at the thought.

  She glanced at the curtained window, her mind skirting back to Fountains. To Julian.

  What type of bed had he fashioned for himself in those ruins? Could he truly have made a home in the prisons, of all places?

  She hoped not.

  Much later, dressed in a fresh gown of spotted muslin and carrying a light shawl, with her hair repaired and neatly pinned by Nettie, Veronica went downstairs to the private parlour she'd requested to be reserved. It appeared she'd been awarded the coffee room, now cleared of customers.

  Shelton was standing at the door. "I shall stand watch while you dine, m'lady," he said, his tone indicating that not even wild horses would budge him from the doorway.

  Veronica was about to tell him that wouldn't be necessary as she was wondering if Julian might make an appearance with word about the package. But she knew her coachman would not be coaxed away, and in truth, the sounds coming from the occupants of the nearby taproom and from the revelers out in the street of the village made Veronica realize it was best to have Shelton nearby.

  The celebration of Midsummer's Eve had taken on a decided intensity during her ablutions, no doubt with many of the partygoers nearing a tipsy mood. From the raucous noise inside the taproom, Veronica deduced she'd be getting little sleep this night—not that she would have slept anyway. If Julian did not send word about the packet, Veronica would have to devise a plan to get back to Fountains.

  Once inside the room, she found that the long deal table, much moisture ringed and nicked with wear, had been set for one. Veronica, too on nerves to dine alone, asked that another place be set and informed Nettie she'd be dining with her. The abigail nodded, her eyes wide as she clearly wondered what was on her lady's mind.

  The answer, of course, was Julian and that dratted packet bound for Pamela's Lord Rathbone.

  Veronica wondered how her rescuer fared in his quest to help locate the packet—if, indeed, he was even searching for it at all.

  Chapter 6

  Julian, standing atop the highest reaches of Fountains, watched until the lantern lights of Veronica and her companions receded into the distance. The mist and darkness seemed to swallow them as they headed back to the village. Clouds were skirting in, causing the moon's white glow to become fitful. Soon it and the stars would be hidden from view.

  Alone at Fountains once again, Julian sat down on the ledge of stonework, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  He relished the slight noise his heels made scraping against the crumbles of small rocks... appreciated every whisper of the wind rustling through the grasses of the meadows below... and even smiled wryly at the baying of the wild dogs, not so far off in the distance. Having his hearing fully restored was a gift Julian had not been expecting, though it was one he'd fervently prayed for these past many months.

  He tipped his head back against stone. Every vibration channeling through his ears to his brain was richly sweet, and Julian allowed himself a moment to simply drink it all in. The great height of where he sat did not bother him, nor did the further press of mists now creeping down in earnest from the far-flung moors. This night, it seemed, nothing could unsettle him.

  Except, of course, the memory of Lady Veronica. The scent and feel of her was still fresh in his mind. It would likely take a lifetime or two to erase it, Julian wagered... and he doubted he would ever forget the honeyed taste of her.

  A wave of heat seized him as he recalled just how sweet kissing her had been. After they'd tumbled down the ledge and he'd cracked his skull soundly on the rocks, Julian had awakened to find his hearing restored and Veronica's lovely body atop his own. Both realizations had rocked him with such profound emotion that he'd kissed her—and hungrily, at that. He had even delved his tongue inside her mouth to taste fully of the woman and of the overwhelming moment of hearing again after ten horrible months of silence.

  His behavior with the lady had been far from gentlemanly, yet she had not slapped him away as she had had every right to do, but had instead returned his kisses with innocent ardor. Her sweet abandonment in the heat of the moment had aroused Julian no small amount. If not for the second report of her man's gun, who knew where those kisses would have led them?

  Julian looked up at the few remaining stars to be seen, his black gaze narrowing as he mulled over the rest of the evening's events. The beautiful gel had said she was embroiled in a mission
of some sort. What had it been? Ah, yes, he thought, remembering now.

  A "Venus Mission," she'd said.

  Venus. What an intriguing tag for one to attach to one's duty. Venus, like the Greek Aphrodite, was, after all, a goddess of love. Could it be that the lady's mission had something to do with matters of the heart? Hers, specifically?

  And was this person, for whom Veronica sought the package, a man who had perhaps stolen her heart?

  The very notion that Veronica might be in love with some spineless gentleman who chose to stay comfortably in Town while she sojourned to Yorkshire on his behalf disturbed Julian.

  The possibility that she may have shared her ardor with this faceless beau disturbed him even more.

  Agitated by the train of his thoughts, Julian turned his mind to the other startling thing she'd said to him: that she was willing to pay handsomely for his help. A position of employment, to be exact, at one of her father's many estates.

  Clearly, the lady thought him to be nothing more than a luckless vagabond with no steady income, and who could fault her for that assumption? He wasn't exactly acting or looking civilized these days, and he hadn't in too long a while.

  Julian's eyes hooded. He wondered what Lady Veronica's reaction would be if she ever learned that she had offered such positions as gardener, stable help, and groundskeeper to one Julian Andrew Maxmillian Masters, the seventh Earl of Eve.

  The circumstances of Julian's ascension to his distinguished title were a memory right out of hell. The night the title became his was one that would be forever burned in his soul.

  His mood turning black as he recalled the exact moment he became Earl of Eve, Julian got to his feet and rifled one strong hand through the shagged lengths of his dark hair. He needed a shave and a haircut, but he'd vowed not to do either until the day he uncovered the vile culprit who had torn his life asunder.

  Now that his hearing was restored, he could get on with that grave matter. He'd waited ten long months for this moment and was eager to be gone from Fountains and the desolate existence he'd known here. He needed to speak in person with the two remaining people in this world whom he trusted: his solicitor in London and his manservant, Garn.