“I say, you are a young thing then, aren’t you? Pink and smooth like a little girl. How enticing.”
She supposed he’d meant that as flattery, but it merely served to make her want to retch again. She forced herself to be calm and draw in as much breath as she could in this stifling position.
“Sir, you’ve got to stop. I insist that you stop!”
“Ah, affecting you so much already, is it? Affecting me, too, laddie boy.”
“No, it’s—no!” she cried as his hand slid up her leg, approaching her buttocks.
“Ah, yes, yes!”
Bother, this man was hopelessly obtuse. Somehow she had to make him stop. She gathered her strength and was just about to call out at the top of her lungs when suddenly the man jolted.
“What the hell—” he exclaimed.
No, wait. That hadn’t been his voice. It was another voice, a voice she recognized. Oh, thank God. She was saved. Rastmoor was here!
She could just barely twist her head enough to see him standing there, his sturdy and glorious form dominating the room. She was so happy she could have danced, except of course that she was still wrapped in a blanket and pinned face-down to her bed by a mountain of rutting pervert.
“I say, you could have knocked first, my good fellow,” the man said.
“When I heard the commotion, I thought it unnecessary,” Rastmoor replied, dryly. “What the devil is going on here?”
“Anthony, he’s—” she began, but the man propped his elbow on her while he struggled to climb off the bed, and all the air left her lungs.
“What does it look like, man?” the mountain said. “We’re two grown men engaging in love play, and I’ll thank you to wait your turn, if you don’t mind.”
To her amazement, Rastmoor simply shrugged. “Fine with me, although I think there’s something you ought to know.”
Rastmoor marched himself to the side of the bed and pushed the man aside. Julia was ready to fling herself into his arms, but he simply took her by the shoulder and rolled her over. Before she could struggle up into a less vulnerable position, Rastmoor grasped the top edge of the blanket and yanked it down. Good God, but now her breasts were exposed!
“Anthony!” she cried, pulling the blanket back up and clutching it around her. Damn him! How dare he humiliate her this way!
“By God, he’s a female!” the man stammered, hopping up from the bed as if she’d been a scorpion. His gaze shifted from her to Rastmoor then back again. “What sort of game is this, madam? If I’d have wanted a ruddy woman, I’d have bought one downstairs!”
With a great huff he readjusted his clothing and stomped to the door. “At least I found out the truth before I did something regrettable! Honestly, parading yourself around like a man when all this time you were . . . I declare, you people are just not natural.”
At that, he flung the door open and left. It slammed loudly behind him. Julia was too stunned by all of this to have anything coherent to say. She blinked at the door, then slowly shifted her gaze up to Rastmoor and blinked at him. True, he’d just saved her from the most wretched thing imaginable, but somehow gratitude wasn’t exactly what she felt right now. Blinding rage, perhaps, but not so much gratitude.
“So, Julia,” he said, and his voice was far too light and casual, given the situation, “I see you’ve not changed a bit since last we saw one another. Still convincing gentlemen you’re something you’re not.”
“And you’re just the same, too,” she replied, matching his tone. “As eager to get me naked as ever.”
He stared at her, his eyes shifting their gaze from her face down to the blanket and her abysmally suggestive pose, tangled there in the bed with her shoulders and legs all exposed.
“Yes,” he said calmly, bringing his eyes back up to meet hers. “I suppose I am.”
BY GOD, SHE WAS RIGHT. HE DID WANT TO RIP THAT damn blanket off her and take up where their overheated friend had left off.
He wouldn’t, of course. That would be the height of stupidity. But, damn, even with her luxurious chestnut hair cropped and gone and that shabby blanket wrapped around her, Julia was a stunning woman. Her nut brown eyes were large and round, with just the hint of an exotic angle at the corners. Her original expression of terror was now being replaced by a defiant calmness.
She clearly recognized the desire he still felt, and she knew she held control. As it had always been between them. Damn and damn again. When would he ever be free from her?
“So what do I owe you for the rescue, my lord?” she asked, wriggling into a more upright position, her knees pulled tightly toward her chest.
“You can’t even approach what you owe me, Julia.”
“Very well, then. I’ll simply say thank you and leave it at that.”
Leave it at that? Indeed, he supposed he should. But he wouldn’t.
“Not on your life,” he said and was foolish enough to touch her.
He stroked her shoulder where the skin was exposed. A bolt of unexpected lightning coursed through his veins and his fingers flexed. She was warm, soft. Somehow he hadn’t expected that. It seemed after becoming Mrs. Fitzgelder she should have turned as cold and serpentlike as her damned husband. But she hadn’t. Her skin was as perfect as he remembered it.
His hand ached for more of her, so he slid his fingers down to hook the blanket. Slowly, he dragged it lower until it hung off her shoulder, and she had to clutch it against herself to remain covered. She glared at him, her dangerous eyes tempting and warning at the same time. He’d be an absolute fool to continue.
Then again, he’d always been her fool, hadn’t he? He’d believed her lies; he’d fallen for her deception. He’d promised to make her his wife, for God’s sake. And even after three years, the woman still occupied his mind and tortured his dreams.
He’d bedded every whore he could afford, and yet none of them had been able to drive her away or soothe the burning he felt inside. By God, Julia was alive, and he’d just spared her a most unpleasant night. She owed him, just as he’d said. Damn it, he’d make her pay, too.
He jerked the blanket out of her fingers. She gasped. He did, too. Age and experience had only added to her appeal—her skin, her form, her every feminine curve was more tempting than ever. Apparently life with Fitzgelder agreed with her.
Damn the man to hellfire.
“Anthony, no . . .” she whimpered.
She lowered her eyes. He did, too, and gazed in awe at her perfect breasts, rising and falling with each nervous breath. Beautiful. How Fitzgelder must have enjoyed her over the years. The thought nearly made him sick.
“No?” he asked her. “Don’t tell me you wish to remain faithful to my cousin.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s . . .”
“I didn’t think so. Faithfulness isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
“Give me my blanket.” She shot her eyes back up to glare hatefully at him. He was still too busy staring at the creamy mounds heaving before his eyes to care.
“I’m cold,” she informed him needlessly.
He smiled. “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps you’d like me to warm you, then?”
“I’d like you to give me my blanket and leave.”
“But why, my dear? Are you afraid a night with me will ruin you for the likes of your husband?”
“He’s not my husband!” she said in defiance.
Now he was finally able to look away from her chest and meet her glare. “Oh?”
“It’s a long story. Now, give me my blanket and go away.”
“I want to hear the long story, Julia.”
“No. Go away.”
“Why? Are you running out of lies already? What a shame.”
She lunged for the blanket. He dropped to sit on the bed and caught her, holding her shoulders so she was forced to meet him eye to eye. His eyes would have rather focused elsewhere, however. God, he had to get control of himself. What was it about her that could still do this to him?
Damn, but he wished he could be clearheaded about this. The only thing he felt clear about right now was that his body didn’t really care if she’d lied to him and left him for Fitzgelder. She was here with him now, and that seemed just fine.
It was just fine. His hand followed his eyes, tracing a tentative line from her shoulder to her breast. She drew in a sharp breath, and he felt the energy surge through her and rush into his own being. His thumb made a slow circle around her delicate nipple.
“No more lies, Julia,” he said. “I know about the child.”
“The child?” She shuddered under his touch.
“My cousin told me. He took great pleasure in it, as a matter of fact.”
God, his tongue splintered on the words, but he needed to speak them. She had to know he’d always been aware of the full measure of her treachery. The gentle movement of his hand on her breast kept her a captive audience.
“He came to me and gloated,” he went on. “Fitzgelder thought it was some sort of grand triumph when he lured you away from me. When he found you were carrying a child, well, that just added to his sick pleasure. He bragged how easily you’d gone to him, how happy you’d been to trade in my proposal for his. The bastard was actually looking forward to raising my child as his own.”
“Your child?”
She shrank back from him. Cold air filled the space between them, and he felt his head clearing. By God, what was he doing? This was insanity; he didn’t dare extract his due from this woman. Nothing he could do to her tonight would make up for these past three years. He really was a fool, wasn’t he? He had to get control of himself. For two minutes he’d say what needed to be said tonight then be gone, leaving Julia St. Clement behind him forever.
“I know all about it, Julia,” he said. “That was my child. You may have chosen not to inform me of your condition, but Fitzgelder was glad to divulge it. You knew you carried my child when you abandoned me for him.”
Obviously she couldn’t deny his accusations. Her eyes were round with surprise, but she didn’t utter a sound. So, she’d thought he hadn’t known. Well, he had.
“Where is that child, Julia?” he asked. “I heard it died. But since I also heard you died, forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.”
“It’s true. That child is dead.”
“Yet here you are, no worse for the experience, apparently.”
He’d meant his remark to cut her. It did, to judge from her expression. Her lips thinned as she struggled to keep from lashing out. A dark part of him enjoyed seeing her discomfort.
“What are you trying not to say, Julia?” he asked, glad to see he was rubbing salt in a tender wound. “That you never wanted my child? That you were glad when it was gone? Well, I suppose in a way I am, too. The poor thing is better off dead than being raised as Fitzgelder’s offspring . . . with you for a mother.”
Her color was gone, and her voice was hoarse. “You have no idea what would have been best,” she said. “Fitzgelder would have given the child a name and a home, at least.”
“And made it a monster. No, Julia. It’s better this way. Better for my child, better for you. You have no ties to me, just as you wanted it. I suppose we should both be quite content with how life has gone.”
He stood and moved toward the door. The blanket was still balled up in his grasp, so he threw it at her. She bundled it against herself. He turned away from the pitiful image.
“Where are you going?” she asked behind him.
“Back to London. My mother tells me Fitzgelder is causing some trouble for her there.”
“What sort of trouble?”
He didn’t dare risk looking back at her. “I would have expected you to know, since he is your husband.”
“He’s not! He’s nothing to me.”
Now he couldn’t help but turn and glare. “Oh, don’t give me that. You claim to know all about how he’s been plotting to kill me. You obviously still have some association with him, despite the fact you’re traipsing around in trousers now.”
“I told you, I overheard his plot by accident.”
“Give it up, Julia, and go back to Fitzgelder. You truly are his type.”
He tried to leave again, but she stopped him. Damn, why couldn’t he just keep going? But she called to him, and he was helpless.
“Wait! You can’t be leaving tonight, can you? After someone tried to kill you? Twice?”
“That’s all the more reason I’d better get back to London and look in on my mother.”
“What sort of trouble is your cousin causing for her?”
“I don’t know. Good-bye, Julia.”
Finally, his hand was on the door latch. She was behind him and would soon be out of his life forever. By God, perhaps this brief reunion was just what he needed—he could finally see her for what she truly was. Perhaps he could, at last, wipe her from his soul and start over.
“I know what he’s planning,” she said softly.
His hand stayed.
“I mean, beyond just his simple plans to kill you,” she went on.
Hell and damnation, but he turned to face her again. She was huddled there, wrapped in that foul blanket with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked terrified. Every ounce of his being wanted to go to her and hold her, promise her all would be well. By God, if he didn’t walk out that door this instant, he’d be lost forever.
“It, er, involves your family.”
His hand dropped to his side.
“He said he’d kill me if I ever told you about it,” she went on, her lip trembling.
She cowered into the blanket as he stalked back over to her. He knew the minute her dewy, dark eyes met his, he was doomed. Damn it, he did still have a heart, after all.
Chapter Six
Julia was shaking. True, she had her blanket back now, but it didn’t seem to help. Lord, what had she done? She didn’t know anything about plans Fitzgelder might have for Rastmoor’s family. This was insane, making up more lies like this!
But she couldn’t very well let him leave right now, could she? He’d go out into that dark night and get himself killed! And what of poor Sophie? How was Julia going to find the girl on her own? Like it or not, she simply had to keep Rastmoor around tonight. Oh, this was an awful muddle.
Then again, maybe not. She was amazed to watch as Rastmoor’s face lost some of its fury. He was regarding her with a cautious curiosity, and he certainly wasn’t walking out that door. Clearly he was intrigued by her words. It would seem her outrageous fabrication hit on something
“What are his plans, Julia?” he asked slowly.
Now, that was an excellent question; if only she had an excellent answer. Well, Papa had trained her to improvise. This seemed like a good time to make use of that skill.
“Fitzgelder, well . . . he knows something,” she said cautiously.
She watched as one eyebrow arched. Apparently she’d guessed right; Fitzgelder did know something. She didn’t, of course, so this was going to be tricky.
“Those secret papers. Mother was right to be concerned, wasn’t she?” Rastmoor finished for her.
Secret papers? His mother? What on earth could Fitzgelder have over Rastmoor’s mother? Well, that was interesting. Judging by the look on Rastmoor’s face, it just might be something important. Likely it was damaging, too. Was there indeed some dark family secret hovering over the Rastmoor name? What on earth could it be?
Something shocking and sordid, she supposed. It was always that way with the upper crust, wasn’t it? Well, unfortunate as this was for Lady Rastmoor, it certainly gave Julia a leg up. She’d make sure Rastmoor didn’t leave this inn without her tonight.
“Yes, Anthony,” she said, modulating her voice to a dusky and insinuating whisper. “He found out about those secret papers.”
This was the right thing to say. Rastmoor’s eyes grew dark.
“Damn it. He admitted as much three years ago, but I didn’t want to believe him.”
Rastmoor ran h
is hand through his hair and glanced around the room. She could feel the tension in his body; it was seeping into her own tired muscles. The urge to reach out and comfort him was no improvisation—it was real. She tamped it down.
“What does he want?” he asked finally, his eyes returning to rest on hers.
“Er, what does he always want?”
Rastmoor snorted. “Money, of course. The bastard is a veritable bottomless pit. I daresay he expected marrying you would solve his financial issues, the fool. He didn’t exactly get what he thought he was getting, did he?”
“No,” she said and decided to leave it at that. Better to change the subject. “He still hates you for inheriting, you know.” This much of the story she did know.
“Let him hate me,” Rastmoor growled. “The law is the law. If his father had been man enough to marry his mother instead of merely bringing another bastard into this world, then Grandfather’s title would have gone to him. I can’t help that his father was a bounder and mine was not.”
Everyone knew this aspect of the feud between Rastmoor and his cousin. Fitzgelder had always begrudged Rastmoor’s birth. Rastmoor said Fitzgelder often ranted that his father had been the elder, so he should have inherited, not Rastmoor. Julia heard he even went so far as to falsify church records to make it appear that his parents had indeed been married. It didn’t work. Thwarted, he turned to propagating rumors about Rastmoor’s own legitimacy. He found no success, though. Rastmoor inherited the title and all that went with it, while Fitzgelder could do nothing but grind his teeth and look for opportunities to make his cousin’s life miserable. Apparently he’d become quite adept at it.
“But what about you, Julia?” Rastmoor asked suddenly. “Where do you fit into this? Obviously my cousin’s blackmail will benefit you as well.”
“Benefit me?”
“You’re his wife, after all. Is that why you agreed to help him like this?”
“Help him? I’m not helping him!”
“Don’t think me a fool. It’s obvious what he’s done. He sent you out to find me, didn’t he?”
Damsel in Disguise Page 7
