Velvet Embrace

by Nicole Jordan

  Yes, most definitely he would return. He would find her, track her down if need be. And, yes, punish her for kindling this painful desire that threatened his rational mind. Soon, Dominic told himself as he silently let himself from the room. This business with Germain must be dealt with swiftly, and then he would be free to pursue his vixen.

  During the following week, the Earl of Stanton was seen frequently about town in the company of various females, although Denise was not among their number. Dominic made little progress in his search for Germain, however, and by the time he met Jason at White's club on St. James Street a sennight later, he was beginning to lose patience.

  The two men settled in one of the reading rooms where they could talk in private. Dominic stood before the fireplace, gazing intently into the flames, while Jason relaxed on a plush leather sofa.

  Dominic's friendship with Jason Stuart, Lord Effing, was of long standing—having begun when they were at Eton together. Although they both possessed keen intelligences and virile, muscular bodies, they differed in many respects. Jason

  was several inches taller and had a heavier build. He was also fair where Dominic was dark, and his features were less harsh. His blue eyes danced with laughter, manifesting none of the chill that often filled Dominic's gray ones.

  When Dominic seemed disinclined to speak, Jason broached the subject of Charles Germain. "I take it the search has been futile so far?" he said, tilting his tawny head to one side as he scrutinized his friend.

  "Entirely," Dominic responded. "Germain was seen once this past week, but Manning's agent lost him. I think tomorrow I'll begin making my own inquiries. This waiting is growing intolerable. I want to get back to Julian's place as soon as may be."

  Jason raised an eyebrow. "A woman?" When Dominic slanted a piercing glance over his shoulder, he chuckled. "Come now, Dom. The shooting cannot be very good this time of the year, and you've never been anxious to bury yourself in the country. There must be another attraction besides Denville's company."

  "There is," Dominic said softly, taking a sip of brandy.

  "Another conquest to add to your string?"

  Unconsciously, Dominic raised a hand to his cheek. "This one won't be so easy. She's a little wildcat who forgets she is female. I was about to teach her a well-deserved lesson when Manning's bloodhound interrupted us."

  "Don't tell me she slapped you?"

  Dominic's smile did not reach his eyes. "On the contrary, she struck me with her riding whip."

  "Good God, it's a wonder you left her with her skin intact. She sounds troublesome. Why bother with her? You have more than enough beauties hanging on your sleeve as it is. What about the Opera dancer all our friends are raving about—Miss Crowell? You were seen with her at least once this past week. I would have thought a woman with her charms could hold you for a time."

  Dominic shrugged. "I didn't bother to find out. I only wanted Cassandra to draw Germain's attention, and she suited my purpose for the evening. Her charms, as you put it, were adequate, but she liked the color of my money too well for me to contemplate anything further. A trifle too grasping. But then, aren't all women? Except Lauren, of course," Dominic added, knowing Jason's love for his wife.

  Jason laughed. "Not all, my friend—although many are, I suppose. At least Cassandra Crowell won't expect marriage. I hear Lady Denise has been thinking along those lines. Rumor has it that you have her in keeping again. There's even been speculation that she's holding out for the greater prize of becoming your countess."

  "Denise knows me better than that."

  "Perhaps, but the odds in the betting books went up when the lady suddenly acquired an exquisite ruby bracelet."

  "Merely a parting gift," Dominic acknowledged with a frown. "Do you know, all this talk about women and marriage is beginning to bore me. What do you say we adjourn to the cardrooms?"

  "Thanks, but I'll have to decline. I don't like to leave Lauren for too long. She tires easily in her condition. Incidentally, she asked me to remind you of your promise to stand godfather when our child is born."

  "I remember. You can assure her I'll be in town for the christening."

  They talked for a while longer before Jason took his leave, and afterward Dominic made a leisurely stroll through the card rooms in search of some worthy sport. He had his choice of Hazard, Commerce, Vingt-Un, or Faro, but none of the stakes were as high as he liked. He joined the play at the Faro table for a time, but the game didn't hold his interest for long. A few hours later he was shrugging into his greatcoat and accepting his hat and gloves from a footman. Meaning to walk, he directed the doorman to send his carriage home and stepped into the night.

  An icy wind whipped around him as he strode down St. James Street. The gusts played havoc with the recently installed gas lamps, but the freezing temperatures at least succeeded in reducing the putrid smell of the London streets. Dominic hunched his shoulders against the chill and buried his hands deeper in the pockets of his greatcoat. The silence of the night was sometimes broken by the clatter of a passing hackney, although Dominic hardly noticed as he pondered how to solve his current dilemma.

  The situation was indeed puzzling. He had seldom been frustrated by circumstances as he was now, but the mere fact that he was anxious to be done with the problem of Germain was odd. Normally he welcomed such diversions.

  When he had succeeded to the title and inherited his grandfather's vast fortune, Dominic had had the means to indulge almost any desire he cared to name. He had given up a life of leisure, however, for the challenge of pitting his skills against the formidable agents of Napoleon's government. During the war, he had had to depend on his wits and his superb physical condition merely to survive. Even with Napoleon imprisoned on Elba, his skills had been needed, since several factions in France and England were busy planning the Corsican's escape while trying to drum up support for his return to power.

  Dominic had worked for Edward Manning in the Foreign Office for nearly six years before Waterloo had put an end to his spying activities. At loose ends again, his fortune diminished by inflation and heavy wartime losses, he had set about rebuilding his holdings. He had spent a great deal of time at his country seat in Kent, plowing the income back into the land and making it thrive again.

  When his satisfaction with that endeavor had lessened, he had begun to travel a great deal. The lifestyle suited him, although it offered him few challenges. Moving about the great capitals of the world, however, he was at least able to ease the gnawing restlessness that filled him after too long a stay in one place.

  His most recent travels had taken him to America where he had enjoyed the untamed wilderness of that vast country for nearly a year before moving on to the West Indies. But the urge to return to a familiar way of life at last had driven him home. Since then, however, he had been oddly discontent with his life. And now he felt trapped where he normally experienced only boredom.

  He knew quite well what was causing his present vexation of spirit, though. Brie. He had been unable to forget her. There were constant reminders of her. The glowing coals of a fire, a heated conversation, a passionate embrace, the tang of snow in the air.

  Even Jason's wife Lauren had reminded him of Brie. Earlier in the week when he had dined with the Effings, the sparkling green of Lauren's eyes had mesmerized him for a moment, even though they were a different shade from Brie's, with too little blue, and none of the stormy clouds.

  Dominic grimaced. He was allowing Brie's memory to affect him far more than was wise. She was naught but a country wench he had known for a short time. Still, he would have to conquer his growing obsession before it got out of hand.

  Forcibly, Dominic turned his thoughts aside. When he reached his townhouse in Berkeley Square, he let himself in quietly. Of the skeleton staff he employed to maintain the residence, only Farley, his manservant,generally stayed awake till the wee hours to await his return. It was still early and Dominic was not expected, but Farley appeared in the foyer as if
by magic. Dominic relinquished his outer garments and turned to mount the stairs.

  "My lord?"

  Dominic paused, glancing impatiently over his shoulder. Farley cleared his throat. "Pardon m'lord, but a . . . er . . . lady called a short time ago. She insisted that she be allowed to await your return. I informed her you would not be home till late."

  Dominic's lips twitched at the accusation in his servant's tone, but his curiosity was piqued. In spite of his rakish habits, women seldom appeared on his doorstep uninvited.

  "Well, who is it, man?" he asked when Farley hesitated.

  "A Miss Crowell, my lord. I have put her in the small parlor."

  Surprised and a little puzzled, Dominic bounded up the stairs. Cassandra Crowell was a well-known figure among London Cyprians. A beautiful woman with raven hair and a voluptuous figure, she possessed an allure—as well as a reputation for having a charming bedside manner—that had attracted half the men in town to her side at one time or another. Dominic had escorted her to the theater earlier in the week, but nothing more. Even though Cassandra had pouted and become angry, he had not been interested enough to take what she so willingly offered.

  He entered the parlor without knocking and let his gaze sweep the small room. It was quite empty.

  Farley, who had followed, exclaimed in bewilderment. "But she was here but a moment ago! I brought her a tray. See, the tea is still warm."

  "Perhaps she grew tired of waiting and left."

  "Oh no, my lord. I would have heard her."

  "Then," Dominic said slowly, "she must still be in the house. Search the ground floor, Farley, while I take this one. And go quietly. If she has a weapon, it would not do to startle her."

  Farley swallowed. "A weapon, did you say?"

  "Never mind. Just stay out of range and call out if you find her. Now move, man," he ordered as Farley continued to stand there staring.

  Dominic began his search along the upper hall, his footsteps making no sound on the carpet as he carefully opened each door.

  He wasn't sure what to expect from Cassandra when he found her. His first thought, when he had realized she was in his house, had been that she was still anxious to ply her trade. But her disappearance had fostered a suspicion that Germain had hired her as an assassin of sorts. It would not be the first time Charles had used a female to further his own ends.

  Dominic found Cassandra in his bedroom. She was making no attempt to cover the sounds of her movements as she rummaged through his personal belongings, so it was easy for him to quietly enter the room and observe her hurried search. He could tell she was unarmed. The gown she was wearing was designed to expose as much flesh as possible and could not possibly have concealed a weapon.

  Dominic was puzzled. His jewel case containing some diamond stickpins and such was lying open, the items in plain view, but he saw enough to convince him it was no treasure hunt Cassandra had in mind.

  "Had I known you were so hungry for me, chérie, I would not have kept you waiting."

  A pistol shot could not have startled her more than Dominic's sardonic drawl did. Giving a gasp, Cassandra whirled to face him, hastily crossing one hand over her breasts while hiding the other behind her skirts. "My . . . my lord," she croaked. "I was not expecting you so soon."

  Dominic's eyes glittered like cool diamonds. His gaze flicked around the room, then returned to her pale face and heaving breasts. "I can see you weren't," he remarked acidly, closing the door with his heel. He moved toward her unhurriedly, a panther stalking his prey. Cassandra retreated, shrinking from his tall, menacing form, but Dominic prevented her from moving by clamping his hands over her shoulders.

  Reaching down, he wrenched her hands from behind her back. An object dropped from her grasp, making a dull thud on the thick carpet. Dominic recognized it immediately—a heavy gold seal ring that had once belonged to his father.

  His eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I think that you will tell me why you are here, chérie," he said, his tone deadly.

  Cassandra whimpered, then began to plead as his hand tightened around her wrist in warning, but Dominic only increased the pressure on her wrist, twisting slowly.

  "All right!" she cried.

  "Well?"

  "I . . . I was looking for the deed to your property in France."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know why! I only was supposed to find it."

  Dominic studied her face, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. His left hand slid upwards, his long fingers winding around her throat. "You have a lovely neck, ma belle," he murmured, "but I doubt it would retain its perfect form when stretched by a rope. Who sent you?"

  Cassandra clawed at his hand as his fingers tightened their grip on her throat. "Please, you are killing me!"

  "Who sent you?" Dominic repeated, his voice low and savage. "Was it Germain?" When Cassandra nodded, Dominic abruptly released his hold. He watched without pity as she sank limply to the floor. "Where can I find him?"

  Cassandra shook her head, sobbing brokenly as she cradled her arm. When Dominic took a step closer, she cringed. "I swear I don't know! He . . . he came to my rooms two days ago. I don't know where he is now."

  "How much did he pay you?"

  "Two hundred guineas. He was to meet me again on Friday."

  A muscle in Dominic's jaw clenched. "Where?"

  "My . . . my rooms."

  "You will not be there." He walked across the room and gave the bellpull a vicious tug. Turning, he cast a contemptuous glance at Cassandra. "You will leave London tonight, I don't care how. Don't count on Germain for protection if you disobey me, for no power on earth could stop me from killing you if I so much as set eyes on you again." When Farley burst into the room a moment later, Dominic indicated Cassandra with an impatient wave of his hand. "Get her out of my sight."

  Familiar with his employer's black moods, Farley quickly bundled up the sobbing woman and half carried her over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

  When they were gone, Dominic spun around and sent his balled fist crashing into the nearest wall. Since that brought no satisfaction, he threw himself in the chair beside the bed and sat perfectly still, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists until he felt able to control his rage.

  A deep frown curled his mouth as he brooded on the puzzle. For the life of him, he couldn't guess what Germain was planning. He could think of no possible reason why the man would be interested in papers showing his ownership of the land in France, or even why Charles would probe into his personal life. Dominic ran his fingers through his dark hair, swearing savagely.

  Before the Revolution the property had belonged to his father, but at the comte's death, the land had been confiscated by the French government. Part of it had been divided among the serfs of the estate; and later, sections had been given as rewards to supporters of Napoleon.

  The fall of Napoleon's empire had changed matters, though, and when the war had ended, Dominic had gone to Paris and commissioned an agent to purchase back the estate that was his rightful heritage. It had taken years and had cost a princely sum in bribes and inflated prices to secure the lands and old chateau. Dominic hadn't even visited the estate yet, for only recently had the agent succeeded in converting the parcels to a whole and arranged for a deed to be drawn up. The agent had also reported that while the chateau still stood, it had suffered heavy damages, and that neglect and lack of management had rendered the vineyards and farmlands completely unproductive. So why would Charles be interested in the deed? Dominic asked himself again.

  Feeling hatred and anger knotting his stomach, he pulled himself out of the chair and began to pace the room like a wild animal whose cage was far too confining.

  Cassandra was no problem, Dominic decided. She was merely Germain's tool. Her connection would be useful, however, since Charles had already arranged to meet her. And of course Cassandra wouldn't be attending the meeting. It would be Dominic himself who made the scheduled appointment.
>
  As it turned out, Dominic never went to Cassandra's rooms to find Charles Germain. Germain came to him.

  Early the next morning Dominic was wakened by Farley with the news that a gentleman waited below. Dominic shrugged into a crimson dressing gown and went downstairs to attend his visitor.

  The morning caller was definitely Charles Germain. A tall, fair-haired man with hooded eyes and a light complexion, Germain had a slender build and a vapid expression that made him appear harmless. Dominic had long ago learned not to underestimate the man, however. Germain's slight frame enabled him to move with a dancer's grace, and his expert agility was backed by a cunning brain. A formidable opponent by any standards, Dominic reflected as he met his enemy's gaze for the first time in almost four years.

  Charles was about forty now, Dominic guessed, but the years under the hot Indian sun had not been kind to him. His complexion was flushed a deep red, indicating permanent skin damage, and there were new lines about his eyes and mouth.

  Dominic paused in the doorway of the salon and raised a dark eyebrow. "Such a surprise, Charles. Where have you been hiding all these years?"

  Germain's mouth tightened. "Don't play the fool with me, Dominic. Unless Manning's spies have bungled it, you have known for some time of my return."

  A dark gleam appeared in Dominic's gray eyes. "I have. But I expected you much sooner—and certainly not in broad daylight. What kept you? I made it easy enough for you to find me."

  "Quite easy. I could have killed you several times over."

  "You could have tried. So why did you not? I confess that has me puzzled."

  Charles appeared to consider his words carefully. "You have something I want."

  "Ah yes, the deed," Dominic said, thrusting his hands deep in the pockets of his dressing gown. "I'll wager you were disappointed in Cassandra. I could have warned you she didn't have the intelligence to carry out your work. But why do you want the deed?"

  Germain's smile resembled a sneer. "It is not for me. It is for . . . a client, let us say. Someone who is extremely interested in your future. I am to receive a large bonus if I can obtain the property in addition to killing you." When Dominic merely raised an eyebrow, Germain waved his hand impatiently. "Last night you were lucky enough to find out about the deed, but now that you've been warned, it should prove difficult for me to get my hands on it. So I have a proposition for you. You get the name of my client in exchange for the property."