Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  Julian stretched out beside her. He pushed down the sheet. “You’re too lovely to hide, Sophie.” With a lazy finger he began drawing lazy circles around the areola of her breast. “So tell me, Sophie, how a girl becomes interested in stealing diamonds.”

  Chapter 8

  Sophie shifted out of Julian’s embrace, levering herself up on one arm. “The story is fairly ordinary in its beginnings. My father passed away, and his heir, a distant cousin, inherited our little estate. This cousin had a wife who didn’t fancy sharing her home with me, so out I went.”

  “Your father was English?” Julian interrupted.

  “Yes. My mother was French. DuPlessy is her name,” Sophie explained. “It was easier to fit in over here with a French name. I worked as a companion to an English family in Brussels after the war. It was a good family with a lot of connections.” Sophie paused here. This was where her story became more sordid. “You don’t really want to hear all this, Julian.”

  “Yes, I do,” he encouraged quietly.

  “Well, one night at a ball a friend of the family asked me to help him retrieve something he’d left behind on a prior visit. I assumed he was telling the truth. I had no reason to disbelieve him. We went into the study and we took a book. It seemed harmless enough to me until he took me outside and showed me what was in the book. The book was hollow and there were some rubies inside. Of course, I was shocked. But he explained how these jewels really belonged to his mother’s side of the family and how the host had tricked his mother’s family out of them years ago.

  “Then he told me about the opportunities to help people find lost things, how the war had displaced valuables like those rubies and how they’d fallen into the wrong hands.”

  Julian supplied the rest. “You came to Vienna to help restore lost items, then?”

  “Yes.” She was defiant now. “I did not steal anything. The items I took truly did belong to the people who hired me.”

  “Until now,” Julian said firmly. “The diamonds don’t belong to Count di Brazzo, no matter what he’s told you.”

  Sophie bit her lip. “I know. This was to be the last job. I needed the money for my horse farm and a decent life in England. I suspected from the start he had not told me the whole truth.”

  Julian shifted to face her. He pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “The diamonds belong to the monarchy of England. I’ve been hired to bring them back. They were originally part of the royal treasury before the execution of Charles I. Much was destroyed intentionally by the council of state under the new government, but much of it was also discreetly looted and made its way abroad. Within time, people forget to be on the lookout for such treasures.”

  A quiet “oh” escaped Sophie’s lips. There was so much she didn’t know about Julian Burke. He was the king’s man, a diplomat, a jewel thief, a great lover of women. What else comprised the sum of the man who lay beside her? There was no time to ask or to ponder that question. Julian was rolling her beneath him again and her body was ready for him, for a chance to return to that magical place where nothing mattered for a few moments of bliss. In Julian’s arms she could hold the morning at bay.

  Julian dressed efficiently in the morning light. There was much he wanted to have done before Sophie awoke. He had loved her thoroughly in the night and now she slept deeply. No matter what happened this morning with di Brazzo, today would be their last day in Vienna. Sophie had to leave the city and he would protect her with his body, with his very name if need be. She had given herself to him and she was his.

  In his dressing room, Julian threw a spare change of clothes into a traveling valise. He wrapped the box holding the king’s diamonds in a clean shirt and placed it in the bottom of the bag. He packed up his personal items; razor and hairbrush. From his dresser drawer, he took out the wooden box containing his papers and tucked them into his coat pocket. There was another item in the box too, and Julian added it to his pocket. One never knew when a ring would come in handy. From the bottom dresser drawer he drew out his weapons; two pistols and a knife. There was powder and shot too. The next task was to write the necessary letters and get them delivered. With luck, St. Just hadn’t left for Italy yet.

  A half hour later, the notes were on their way a few blocks over to St. Just and his uncle. It was time to wake Sophie. Julian was reluctant to do it. She looked content as she slept. There was so much to face in the waking world. It would take all their wits to survive today.

  Julian bent and kissed her brow, praying he wasn’t waking her for the last day of her life. She stretched beneath him, her hair fanned about her like a halo.

  “Good morning, angel,” Julian whispered. His desire was rising but there was no time.

  Her green eyes opened. She smiled drowsily at him and he savored the moment. In an instant her peace was gone. He could see recognition, and all they faced today, flooding back to her. “You should have woken me sooner.”

  “It is soon enough. I had business to take care of,” he assured her. “There’s a little bread and cheese for breakfast on the table in the other room.” He left her to complete her morning ablutions.

  She was fast, and they ate quickly. “We’ll stop at your rooms first, Sophie. Grab anything of value you need—traveling papers, a change of clothes and anything personal you can’t live without. All else can be replaced. We must move with speed and stealth. We cannot be hampered by luggage,” Julian explained over the bread and cheese. “After that, we’ll go to St. Just. He should be able to arrange safe passage for us.”

  Sophie nodded. “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  “Your meeting with di Brazzo isn’t until eleven. There’s a good chance we’ll make it.” There were a lot of unspoken “ifs” in his reassurance but there was no need to worry her needlessly.

  Julian locked the door to his rooms with a sense of finality. Everything that mattered was on the landing with him. Beside him, Sophie sensed his mood—perhaps she even sensed all that he risked, not the least being his trust in her. “Thank you for doing this, Julian,” she said quietly.

  The streets were starting to fill with clerks heading to their work in banks and stores. Julian and Sophie were able to blend in a bit, in the event anyone was following them. They rounded the turn onto Schonlanterngasse and halted. They were too late.

  “Oh my God,” Sophie breathed in horror. “You were right.” Her rooms on the second floor of the building had clearly been vandalized. Passers-by stopped to stare and point at the broken windows and the open French doors leading onto her small balcony overlooking the street. The balcony was strewn with clothing and broken furniture. Shattered glass littered the street below.

  Julian eased them back around the corner, pressing Sophie to the wall. “I’m sorry, darling. They must have come in the night.” He couldn’t allow himself to think what would have happened to her if he hadn’t caught her in his apartments. He stole a look around the corner, scanning the street. His eyes found what he was looking for—someone asking questions. A swarthy-skinned man with dark hair and poor clothing stood on the sidewalk near the building, stopping people as they entered. Julian could guess what he was asking them.

  He took Sophie by the hand. “Let’s get to St. Just.” He needed the viscount’s influence more than he’d anticipated. Di Brazzo’s henchmen had destroyed her rooms and their contents, effectively trapping her in Vienna. She couldn’t travel without papers. St. Just could get the papers.

  Julian breathed a sigh of relief as they slid through the gates to the residence that acted as an unofficial British embassy in Vienna. St. Just ushered them inside a private room and locked the door.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. My eyes and ears on the streets this morning report only bad news. Di Brazzo has issued a warrant for Sophie’s arrest. He’s claiming he found the diamonds in her apartment.”

  Sophie clapped a hand over her mouth. “The paste set was in there.”

  Julian exchanged a sharp look with St. Just. H
e saw immediately what di Brazzo was about. If he’d merely wanted the diamonds, he’d have happily taken the paste by mistake and foregone paying Sophie the promised reward. He wouldn’t discover the deception until later. The paste set had been fooling visitors to the Tower for years. But the man couldn’t let Sophie live to tell the tale. He’d issued the warrant in an attempt to flush her out and have the police do his dirty work for him. Getting Sophie DuPlessy out of the city would be impossible. All the roads would be watched. Julian thought of the ring in his pocket. Getting Sophie DuPlessy out might be impossible. Getting Lady Burke out would be a hell of a lot easier.

  “What can I do, Julian?” St. Just asked.

  “She needs traveling papers.”

  St. Just shook his head in protest. “I can get the papers, but police will be watching the roads. Papers won’t be enough.”

  “I know. Make them out in the name of Lady Burke. Get me a special license and a gown of your cousin’s.”

  Plans swirled around Sophie until her head spun. What was Julian talking about? “Those papers will be a fraud. They’ll do no good if it can be proved they’re a forgery.” These men were mad. Julian was reorganizing the world with false names and alibis, and St. Just was standing there nodding as if it was perfectly acceptable behavior.

  Julian paused and turned to her. “It won’t be a lie, Sophie. We’ll be married by special license at Karlskirche within the hour. I know it’s not St. Stephens but it’s too far. Karlskirche is only around the corner.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Wait. You can’t marry me.”

  “Are you already married?” Julian inquired.

  “No, but…”

  “Do you have another idea for getting you out of the city before di Brazzo finds you?”

  “No, but…”

  An attractive young woman swept down the steps. “A wedding today, Julian? What will you think of next? You’re a positive scandal.” She laughed and moved toward them.

  “Good morning, Emma.” Julian bowed.

  “Cousin, can you find something suitable for Julian’s bride?” St. Just nodded in Sophie’s direction, and Sophie found herself being led upstairs by a young woman who seemed as stubborn as St. Just and as mad as the completely insane Julian Burke.

  “Here, this will be perfect.” Emma pulled a soft green gown the color of celery from her wardrobe and held it up to Sophie. “How exciting to be marrying Julian by special license.”

  “It’s not a real wedding,” Sophie tried to protest.

  “Julian doesn’t do anything that isn’t real,” Emma argued, pulling Sophie’s old gown over her head. “He’s an English lord, you know, back home. Lord Julian. His brother’s the earl but he gets the title as an honorific. You’ll be Lady Sophie.”

  Sophie’s knees nearly buckled at the announcement. Among his other careers, Julian was an English lord? She absently thrust her arms through the sleeves of the green dress, letting Emma arrange the skirts and find the matching shoes.

  “Come sit. I’ll do your hair up in a pretty style. Oh my, it’s so long,” Emma exclaimed as she pulled out the pins holding it in place. “Shall we leave it loose? You look like a medieval princess. We’re lucky the dress fits so well.” From somewhere, Emma produced a length of filmy, sheer material and fashioned it into an impromptu veil.

  Emma chatted away helpfully and Sophie knew she was doing her best to alleviate Sophie’s nerves. But Sophie’s thoughts were too far away to concentrate on the conversation for long. She wanted to talk to Julian, to tell him he needn’t do this. There had to be another way. He couldn’t possibly love her. That was the sad part. While he couldn’t possibly love her, she could quite possibly love him. Even without a title, she could love him. The irritating, cool, sardonic rake was also a man capable of extreme tenderness and intense passion.

  There was a knock at the door. St. Just poked his head into the room. “Emma, we’re ready. I’ve a carriage waiting to take her to church.” Good lord, it sounded like a real wedding day when St. Just said it like that. A carriage, a dress—one would be hard-pressed to believe assassins were searching the city for her.

  “Wait.” Sophie rose. “St. Just, can’t you talk him out of this? It’s madness.” Panic tinged her voice.

  St. Just flashed her a queer look. “You could do far worse than Julian, Miss DuPlessy. I would trust him with my life, and you can too. That’s enough to build a relationship on, don’t you think?”

  He was scolding her. “I’m not a coward,” Sophie retorted, gathering her skirts. She crossed the room to take St. Just’s arm, her head high, her eyes flashing.

  “All the same, Miss DuPlessy, you might need this.” At the door, St. Just handed her a little gun reminiscent of the one she’d left behind in her ruined apartment. “Julian mentioned you know how to use one of these. I trust there’s a pocket on Emma’s gown?”

  “You know I’ve had all my gowns made with a pocket,” Emma reminded her cousin teasingly. “It’s there on the right side, nice and deep. No one will notice it.”

  Sophie slipped the gun inside. “Are we expecting trouble?” She took St. Just’s arm.

  “One can never tell with Julian. I’ve found it best to always be prepared,” the handsome viscount counseled.

  Outside, a white, open carriage—a Viennese fiacre—waited with four matched grays. The viscount handed her up and followed her into the seat. He gave a shout to the driver and they were off. “I’m sorry Emma didn’t have a white gown for you. I know it’s all the rage these days. But you look lovely,” he offered in the way of small talk.

  “I hardly set store by such things.” Sophie shrugged. Everything felt surreal. She was on her way to her wedding, sitting beside a viscount in a white carriage, dressed in a beautiful but borrowed gown, her gauzy veil fluttering in the light breeze. It would have been ideal weather for a real wedding.

  Julian hadn’t been joking when he’d said the church was right around the corner. Karlskirche was a handsome Baroque building, its dome dominating the neighborhood. St. Just handed her out and then reached under the seat. “I did manage these for you.” He passed her a bouquet of white roses. “I grow them myself when I’m here in town.”

  “Thank you,” Sophie offered humbly. The gesture touched her and it spoke volumes about this young man’s friendship with Julian. Relationships of such quality were rare.

  Sophie stepped inside the church, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior and her nerves a moment to steady themselves. St. Just was beside her. “Julian is waiting at the high altar. Shall we?”

  Sophie began the long walk to the high altar and its trappings. Vaguely, she was aware of walking in Baroque splendor; columns and gold gilt surrounded her. But she was only intent on the figure of Julian Burke, his dark hair smooth and combed, patiently, calmly waiting for her. He must have raided St. Just’s wardrobe for the occasion. He was turned out in a dark blue morning coat and gray trousers, a cravat neatly tied at his throat, an emerald stickpin twinkling in its folds. He’d gone to great efforts to provide the trappings of a proper ceremony.

  Two other men stood with Julian. St. Just nodded in their direction, familiar with them. Then the priest began the rituals that would make Sophie and Julian man and wife. Julian kissed her soundly at the end. The two men came forward to congratulate them and introduce themselves; Andrew Truesdale and Camden Mathison. There were papers to sign. Sophie signed her name in tight, neat letters. Julian’s signature was done in a great flourish. Lord Julian Burke. An official seal was put on the document and it was done. They were bound together in the eyes of the law. In the eyes of the law, Sophie DuPlessy was no more. Sophie caught Julian’s gaze across the parchment.

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “Everything will be all right, Lady Burke.”

  The door to the church opened. Sophie realized she hadn’t noticed St. Just had left until he reentered the building.

  He strode up the aisle, reaching their side. “It’s
done, then?” He glanced at Julian. “Then congratulations are in order, Julian.” He shook Julian’s hand.

  “Thank you, Val, for all your efforts. Perhaps someday I can return the favor.”

  For a moment Sophie thought she saw a look of longing deep in St. Just’s eyes. Intuitively she understood the bouquet of roses better. The viscount was a romantic for all that his dashing ways proclaimed otherwise, and unless she missed her guess, he was a romantic with a broken heart. However he was so terse when he spoke, Sophie thought she might have imagined the look after all.

  “We need to go, Julian. The police are stopping everyone at the city exits.”

  Sophie looked nervously at Julian. “Perhaps a hat to hide my hair? Di Brazzo’s men will recognize me.”

  Julian shook his head. “No. We have nothing to be guilty of. If we act guilty, we give them reason to be suspicious. We’ve made it so far.”

  Sophie took up her seat in the carriage, now miraculously decorated with white satin ribbon and posies of white flowers. She saw St. Just pass Julian a packet of papers and murmur the words, “Carefully, don’t smear the ink. I sanded them heavily but the ink’s still fresh.”

  Julian gave a curt nod. “Pistols at the ready, St. Just. Tell the others.”

  Only then did Sophie note that Truesdale and Mathison had mounted horses next to the carriage. They were joined by four other men wearing the uniform of the British cavalry. “A mounted escort, Julian?” she asked skeptically. This boded ill.

  “It is suited to my station, dear,” he said with a wink and a smile.

  The trip through town went smoothly. They drew attention with their escort and the prettily decorated fiacre. Julian played the happy bridegroom to the hilt and threw gold coins to the children chasing the carriage.

  Traffic slowed at the gate. The horses champed restlessly at their bits in a desire to be off. Sophie shared their frustration. Her hand clenched instinctively around the gun in her pocket.

  Julian shot her a warning. “Don’t pull that gun out unless I’m dead,” he said in earnest seriousness.