Damsel in Disguise

by Heino, Susan Gee

  “Of course not. I told you; I overheard his plan by accident.”

  “Forgive me if I find your word a little hard to take. If you merely sought to warn me, why the disguise? Why the deception? No, this is Fitzgelder’s style. He likely thought dressing you in men’s clothing could get you close to me; then, once it was too late, I’d fall prey to your charms.” Here he paused and let his gaze roam over her again. “I daresay he knows better than any how irresistible you can be.”

  He hadn’t meant that as a compliment, but still her cheeks flushed.

  “He doesn’t know I’m here,” she assured him. “He thinks I’m dead.”

  Rastmoor cocked one eyebrow. “Does he?”

  She nodded. “He has no idea I’m here.”

  He leaned closer. She clutched the blanket tighter.

  “He didn’t send you out to lure me into his trap, Julia?”

  She shook her head. “I came out to warn you about his trap.”

  “And your ever-so-fetching disguise?”

  “To avoid him.”

  He touched her again. He slid one long finger across her jaw and down the sensitive slope of her neck. She flinched, pained at how easily her body became his.

  “So, he’s not sitting over his cups somewhere tonight, wondering if I’ve bedded you yet?”

  She shook her head again.

  “He’s not laughing at how easily I might be swayed by your soft skin or by the way your breath catches in your throat when I touch you just so?”

  She tried to speak but couldn’t; her breath caught in her throat when his burning touch traced the shape of her breast through the rough blanket.

  “And he’s not cursing himself for letting you out of his sight when there’s a chance I might take you places tonight he’s never been man enough to find?”

  “No, Anthony, he’s not.”

  His eyes were filled with burning ice when they met hers. “Then he’s a bastard and a fool.”

  She wasn’t sure who moved first, but in a heartbeat she was clinging tightly to Rastmoor’s shoulders as his lips crushed hers with a three-year-old vengeance. She gave in willingly, and the blanket slid down between them. Warmth from Rastmoor’s body spread into hers, his thin shirt all that separated skin from skin.

  Heat raged to life inside her, and bringing Rastmoor closer, feeling him with her again after all this time, became the only thought in her mind. Whatever else happened tonight, she needed to hold him to her until the aching need could finally be sated. For so long she’d been numb; this brief taste of Rastmoor now was intoxicating.

  He didn’t bother with the niceties of conversation. With animal passion he once again pulled the blanket from her, letting his hands roam freely across her skin. She moaned when he pressed her back down into the mattress. He was kissing her, touching her, groping her as if his need was as great as hers. His legs parted her thighs, and he paused just long enough to fumble at his trousers. She gathered her wits and reached between them to assist.

  He shoved her hand away. Clearly he did not need assistance; he made it very obvious when he thrust himself inside her a moment later he had things well in control. She bit back a surprised gasp. After wanting him so desperately as she had for these past years, how could she not be ready for him tonight? He’d caught her off guard. She hadn’t been ready.

  He didn’t let that stop him, though. He hardly seemed to notice her sudden discomfort. She clenched her eyes and tried to block all thoughts and simply relax in the wonder of being with this man again. Yet she could not. She understood what he was doing.

  Rastmoor was not making love to her; he was taking revenge on Fitzgelder. The passion he poured into her was not affection or even blind lust—it was bitter disgust. As his body heaved and thrust over her, his horrible cousin was occupying his thoughts. She was, basically, incidental.

  “What’s the matter, Julia?” he asked with a hard edge to his voice. “Am I not so much to your liking anymore?”

  “Does it matter?” she replied.

  He paused just long enough to shrug. “No, I suppose not.”

  And clearly it didn’t. His enthusiasm for these primitive actions didn’t seem diminished by her obvious uninvolvement. He kept right at it until she felt him find his release. He was careful to withdraw and spill his seed against her belly; just one more reminder his heart had been far from this. Fortunately, the whole event had not taken long. She wasn’t sure how much of this cold, impersonal coupling she could have endured. Angry tears formed, but she fought them back.

  Rastmoor slid off her and collapsed on the bed. She kept still, tugging as much of the blanket out from under him as she could. He tugged it right back.

  “No. I prefer you naked.”

  “It’s cold in here,” she declared. He held the blanket firm.

  “It’s warm enough.”

  “That’s because you’ve still got all your clothes on.” Beast.

  “Get some sleep. You’ll probably want an early start if you’re going after your friend Sophie.”

  “And where will you be?”

  “I’m leaving tonight. For London.”

  He didn’t move. She didn’t either. He was beside her, but they were not touching. At any moment she expected him to do up his trousers and go, but as the moments ticked by, she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t fallen asleep instead.

  The inn was quiet. She could hear an occasional snore from one of the nearby rooms, and through the window a night bird called. Something clattered in the stable just beyond the yard—a restless horse, most likely. All human movement had ceased for the night, it appeared.

  Rastmoor’s breathing was slow and regular. The chill of the damp June air began to settle in her. Cautiously, she reached to tug at the blanket again.

  “I said, I prefer you naked,” he announced, his unexpected voice causing her to jump.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Apparently.”

  All was silent once more. When he spoke again, her body jolted violently. For heaven’s sake, would this man make up his mind? Was he leaving, was he sleeping, or were they having a conversation? All his conflicting actions tonight wreaked havoc on her system.

  “Just what does my cousin think you can convince me to do for him?”

  “What? I told you, Fitzgelder believes I died. I’m not in league with him. Now, may I please have some blanket?”

  “No. How did you happen to ‘accidentally’ overhear his plan, then?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a long night.”

  “I thought you were leaving for London?”

  “I can wait until after you’ve explained.”

  She sighed in frustration. Well, perhaps if she gave him a few of the details, it might be enough to keep him from heading out to his death. The longer he remained here, infuriating as he was, the longer he might remain alive.

  “Fine. I was at his home with my father’s troupe. We were hired to put on a performance for a private party.”

  She could hear the disbelief in Rastmoor’s voice. “Oh? That’s odd. Last I heard, my cousin promised to murder your father if he ever saw him again. Apparently Fitzgelder was a bit miffed that the man helped mislead him regarding the true value of your dowry.”

  “Yes, which is very likely why he went to great trouble to keep his identity hidden from us. It was his steward who actually hired us. Papa had no idea whose home we were going to until we were there and it was too late. We were lucky to escape. If not for my disguise, I doubt I’d be here now.”

  “Ah, so that’s where the mustache came from.”

  “Yes. Can I please have the blanket now?”

  “No,” he said, but he rolled onto his side and draped his arm around her.

  By God, she wanted to hate him, but his touch was gentle and warm. He pulled her closer to his chest, and she snuggled there despite herself. What an idiot she was!

  �
��Is this better?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, but it was.

  “So you were at this clandestine performance when you overheard Fitzgelder’s plan to kill me? He was just chatting about it in front of all his friends?”

  “Of course not. I was trying to help Sophie escape, and we were hiding in a hallway.”

  “And just what was Sophie escaping from?”

  His posture was possessive, and his thumb brushed rhythmically over her breast. The nipple grew taut, and her body reminded her that the aching need was anything but sated. She drew a deep breath and tried to ignore him and his warmth and the feel of his hands on her skin. It took every ounce of her acting skills to keep still and not arch against him, begging for more.

  “She needed to escape your ruddy cousin,” she managed to say. “Sophie was a maid in his household, and he treated her shabbily—a behavior that must run in your family, as a matter of fact.”

  “I don’t think you’re the one to be giving lectures on proper behavior, my naked little player. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  “I am telling you the truth,” she began, but her breath was caught again when his hand slid from her breast down to the hot valley between her thighs.

  “You heard Fitzgelder say he would kill me, so you brought Sophie along to save me, is that right?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s right.”

  Heavens, was it ever right! He may have neglected her pleasure a few minutes ago, but he was tending to it now. Lord, if he kept this up, he’d have her admitting to the whole truth of the last three years.

  “But just what made you so sure he would really do what he said?”

  “He . . . he sounded quite determined.”

  “And what else is he determined to do? What will he do about Mother?”

  “I don’t know.” She was fairly gasping for air by now. Oh, if only this interrogation could go on forever! “I suppose he’s prepared to share what he knows about your mother with the public.”

  “But what good will that do if I’m dead? It’s not as if he could ever stand to inherit. No, Julia, there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Likely because there were many things she did not know. Why couldn’t he quit demanding answers and just let her concentrate on what he was doing? His hands were so warm, his touch was so gentle, she could almost believe this time he cared.

  But the ecstasy was over too soon. His caresses ceased, and he turned her to face him. She kept her eyes on his shirt, although even that was painful for her, because she could recall all too vividly the perfectly formed muscular chest that lay beneath it.

  “Why should Fitzgelder need me out of the way if he still intends to use his information against my mother? He would gain nothing—the fact of his illegitimacy would still be there.”

  “Perhaps that isn’t his motivation this time.”

  “Well, what else is there? If I were dead, Julia, the only ones who could possibly be hurt by Fitzgelder’s revelations would be my mother and my sister.”

  Indeed, she vaguely recalled Rastmoor had a younger sister. He’d spoken of her with brotherly affection a time or two. She couldn’t imagine how the sister might fit into all this, but the sudden change in Rastmoor’s expression and the ripple of tension that surged through his body said he was beginning to form an idea.

  “You are sincere when you say Fitzgelder believes you dead?” he asked.

  “Yes, but how does that . . . ?”

  His smoldering eyes lit with a dark fire. “So he would be free to marry again.”

  “Yes, of course, but who on earth would ever . . .”

  She paused. Indeed, Fitzgelder wanted revenge. Plus, he needed funds. How better to kill two birds with one stone than to marry judiciously—some vulnerable female who might fulfill both roles. Julia began to think she understood some of the concern washing over Rastmoor’s face.

  “Someone who was forced into it would marry him,” he said.

  My, but this really did sound like a devious plot, after all. If Fitzgelder truly did hold some damaging information over Rastmoor’s family, surely a loving daughter—a very wealthy, loving daughter whose inheritance would go up exponentially were her only sibling to suddenly be found dead—might do anything she could to prevent a scandal or further injury to her mother. She might even stoop to marry the most despicable man on the planet.

  “Your sister has a healthy dowry?”

  “By God, she’s swimming in it,” Rastmoor said.

  “And if you were out of the way . . .”

  “Fitzgelder would be free to drag out all our secrets, ruining my mother and destroying Penelope’s hopes for a decent future. Penny might think she’d have no choice but to give in to any demands he might have.”

  “But could he really destroy them? Is the information so very damning?”

  “You don’t think it’s damning enough?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I, er, I never actually heard what it was.”

  Now he actually smiled, and she thought maybe, just maybe, she detected some warmth to it. “No? By God, Julia, you are a damned good actress. Yes, the information is damning, provided, of course, he really does have it.”

  “Have what?”

  “The proof.”

  “There’s proof?”

  “Damn it, Julia. Just how much of this did you make up?”

  “I told you I wasn’t privy to the details. What proof does he have?”

  “I don’t know. If he’s got it, why hasn’t he used it already? I didn’t even know the item existed until I found it amongst my father’s things after his death. How could Fitzgelder suddenly get hold of it now?”

  “What is it?”

  He laughed again. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

  “I know Fitzgelder wants you dead, and now I think we know why. So what on earth does he have that’s worth killing you for?”

  “A locket,” he replied after a slight pause.

  He didn’t have to repeat it. Fitzgelder’s devastating proof was a locket? The locket? By God, it couldn’t be this simple, could it?

  “Did you say a locket?”

  “Small, heart-shaped—yes, a simple little locket. But I’m not convinced Fitzgelder actually has it.”

  “No,” she replied and watched his face. “He doesn’t. But he did.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen it—it must be the same one.”

  “You’ve seen it? Damn it, Julia! You know what’s inside?”

  “No, I didn’t see inside it. But I saw it.”

  “Where is it, then?”

  “Someone took it from him.”

  He frowned. “You?”

  “No, someone else.”

  “For God’s sake then, who took the locket?”

  “Sophie.”

  HE HELD HER THERE, HER FACE CUPPED IN HIS HAND so she had no choice but to look at him. She was telling the truth, wasn’t she? About three years too late, but finally Julia was telling the truth about something. Fitzgelder truly had found the locket, and Julia had seen it. Now, for some reason, it had run off with Sophie.

  “We’ve got to find her,” he said.

  Julia smiled at him. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

  He let himself stare at her just a few moments longer. God, he still wanted her. Even after forcing himself on her and caring nothing for whether she wanted it or not, he was as hot as he had been. He wanted her, and he wanted to hear her panting and calling his name the way she used to. He wanted to drive her insane with pleasure, to know that for a short while, at least, Fitzgelder was far from her thoughts, and she belonged only to him.

  He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her flushed lips. He convinced himself it was honest passion she felt as her body arched into his. He ran his hand back down to that place that was keeping her so distracted a minute ago. She reacted positively to that, too.

  It couldn’t be mere theatri
cs, could it? She wanted him; he was positive she did. He may have taken her too quickly earlier, but now he would take his time. Somehow, between now and when the sun rose, he’d find a way to curb this irresistible hunger for Julia. He’d have his fill of her if it took all night.

  And by God, it just might. Loving Julia was every bit as easy as it used to be. Her body seemed to mold itself to his. He watched her in awe as the passion played itself out on her face. She was tranquil; she was thrilling; she was like no one he’d ever found before.

  Carefully maintaining control, he teased her with his touch. It was as if his fingertips remembered every gentle curve, every graceful part that was Julia St. Clement. Perhaps they did. Lord knew she’d been etched forever in his brain.

  He bent low to kiss the slope between her breasts. She sucked in a breath and released it, sounding very much like a contented kitten. He kissed her again just to hear the sound. She didn’t disappoint.

  She’d always been this way for him, responsive and oh, so engaging, yet without that jaded quality he’d found time and again in women of much casual experience. Oh, he didn’t doubt there’d been many others besides himself with Julia, but somehow she always made him feel like the only one. Tonight, though, he’d put all that from his mind and just enjoy the fantasy.

  And what a fantasy she was; her golden skin glowed radiant in the moonlight through the window, her short dark hair spilled around her like a chestnut halo. Long, lush lashes brushed those porcelain cheeks as her eyes shut tight. Passion had taken over, and her body rocked against his hands as they smoothed the taut flesh over her belly and thighs. She would come easily for him.

  He didn’t rush her, though, much as he might want to. She was obvious in her reactions, so he was able to judge the best ways to prolong her ecstasy. His touch brought her right to the edge of the mountain, then he let her settle back down again. His kisses fanned the inferno to raging again, only to back off just in time. She was left writhing and panting beneath him, her fingers clawing at his back in hopes of bringing him into her and finally quenching the flames. God, she made it hard to wait.

  He was determined to draw this game out, though. He’d take great pride in having the upper hand as long as he possibly could. He was the one in control, not Julia.