But his fury was apparently lost on these women. Penelope burst into more giggles, and she actually had the nerve to point one long finger at him.
“Look, Mr. Nancini,” she cried. “He’s doing it, just as you showed us! And there’s that little tic in his jawline, just as it always is when he’s very upset. My, but you have such a talent for pantomime.”
Julia dared bow in appreciation of Penelope’s praise. Rastmoor unclenched his jaw and straightened his stance. He did not assume this pose whenever he was upset, and he never had a tic, despite what all the ladies in this room seemed to think.
“Indeed,” Lady Dashford said, equally smitten with Julia’s apparent talent. “I had no idea a life in the opera could develop such observational skill. No wonder Lord Rastmoor has been so gracious to sponsor you in society and promise your introduction to the London stage.”
Now Rastmoor’s eyes widened in surprise. He had been doing what?
His mother smiled at him. “I’m proud of you, Anthony. You should have told me you’d become so interested in the arts.”
“And that home for orphans!” Peneloped chimed. “How generous! Please say you’ll take me there someday so I can bring gifts to the poor little children you support.”
He wasn’t sure he heard that right. “What?”
Dashford literally choked. “By God!”
“Oh, I know you’re too modest to brag,” his mother said, beaming. “But Mr. Nancini told us all about it. How you’ve turned your back on the usual pursuits of privilege and earthly pleasure—it’s quite commendable, Anthony. And now you’ve become a temperate! Indeed, a mother can be proud. I’ll see to it all strong drink and temptation are removed from Rastmoor House the minute I go home.”
“You certainly will not!” Rastmoor announced. “What the devil has Mr. Nancini been saying to you?”
“Not saying, dear, writing,” his mother corrected. “But I understand you don’t wish to discuss it. He explained how you’ve been simply trying to assuage the plaguing guilt over your treatment of a certain young lady some years ago, but we will say no more on that tender subject.”
“He said what?!”
Julia just smiled demurely, while Dashford’s laughter drowned out the oaths Rastmoor muttered under his breath. By God, he’d murder the devious, storytelling female! How was he ever going to live any of this down? Obviously, based on the adoring way his mother and sister were ogling him and the rugged back-patting he was getting from Dashford, he wasn’t.
“I had no idea you were such a philanthropist,” Dashford was saying and seemed to find the whole notion more than a bit amusing.
“I’m a bloody victim, that’s what I am,” Rastmoor muttered. He tried to pin Julia with another killing glare, but she had become too distracted with fluffing her cravat to notice.
“It’s impressive, all these upstanding things you’ve been doing, Anthony,” Penelope said with a hint of sisterly skepticism. “I can nearly understand why Mr. Nancini was willing to put aside all thought of his own safety and plunge into that fire to save you—even if you were completely ape drunk.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rastmoor could hardly do more than gape at his sister. Never mind the fact that this was completely fabricated information, where in God’s name did Penelope learn a phrase like that?
“Oh, he didn’t mean to insult you,” Penelope went on, blushing. “We had to beg him to tell us all about that dreadful fire.”
“And now I wish we hadn’t,” his mother added. “It’s just awful to think what might have happened if Mr. Nancini hadn’t been there!”
“But he was,” Penelope reminded her. “And now he’s here. Our hero.” She twisted in her seat to flutter her lashes up at Julia, and Julia did not have the good sense to appear in the least ashamed of her actions. Some hero.
Enough was enough.
“Indeed, I owe Mr. Nancini quite a debt,” Rastmoor said, finally catching Julia’s truthless eye. “And I’ll start repaying him by reminding everyone he desperately requires rest and solitude.”
He moved to Julia’s side and dropped his hand down onto her shoulder. He felt her muscles tense, and she subtly cringed. Good. She ought to cringe.
“Come, Nancini,” he said. “You must be completely fatigued.”
Of course there was nothing she could say. She sure could glare, though, and she did. With a vengeance. He didn’t care. Like it or not, he was in charge here, and for her own good Julia was going to do what he said. It would only put her in danger if anyone suspected her true identity. How did he know Dashford’s servants wouldn’t talk or carry the tale of a disguised woman into the nearest town? All it would take was a hint of that to get back to Fitzgelder or Lindley or any number of people who might have reason to hold a grudge.
He had too many other things to worry about to be distracted by that concern.
“Oh, but Mr. Nancini seems perfectly healthy to me,” Penelope protested. “Except, of course, that he simply can’t talk.”
“Now, dear, if Anthony seems to think our new friend needs to rest, perhaps we ought to let him. I’m sure that was a harrowing experience for both of them last night.”
“Of course it was,” Lady Dashford said, rising to play the part of hostess. “Let me send for someone to attend you, Mr. Nancini.”
“No need,” Rastmoor assured her. “I’ll escort Mr. Nancini up to his room and see he’s tended to.”
Julia’s right eyebrow shot up into her forehead. Dashford seemed to find that amusing, too.
“I say, Rastmoor,” he laughed. “Perhaps we ought to simply hire a nursemaid for poor Nancini. You seem to think the man can’t be left alone.”
“I absolutely think the man should be left alone,” Rastmoor said. “Come, Nancini. You’ve written enough today. You’re likely to get a cramp—with any luck.”
Julia frowned at him but had the good sense to appear compliant. She gave a polite bow to the ladies and marched sedately out into the hallway. She was kind enough to wait until they were safely out of earshot of the others before she turned on him with a barely restrained hiss.
“And just what do you think you’ll be tending to once you’ve dragged me off to my lonely cell, my lord?” she asked in a tone that left no room to question her thoughts on the subject.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her, either. Just how exactly was he going to keep Julia safely in her room the rest of this evening and all through the long night ahead? Unless of course he intended to remain there with her, which he did not.
He made a particular point of reminding himself that he did not.
JULIA CHOSE NOT TO ARGUE AS RASTMOOR LED HER up to her chamber. She figured it was safer that way; clearly the man was furious with her. His ominous silence chilled her while his viselike grip never released from her shoulder as they left behind the relative safety of the Dashford drawing room and headed up the wide and deserted staircase toward the first floor. Even more unnerving, Rastmoor knew exactly which bedroom to direct her toward.
He followed her inside and shut the door behind them. Her heartbeat quickened, and she fought to forget the huge, well-stuffed bed looming just behind her. The huge, comfortable, well-stuffed bed. The huge, comfortable, lonely, well-stuffed bed. The huge, comfortable, well-stuffed bed that would be so very warm and inviting if Rastmoor would just . . .
Oh, bother it all! What was wrong with her that even after all his lies getting her here and his dreadfully rude manner toward her she could still think of such a thing? She was certain Rastmoor wasn’t. No, clearly amorous thoughts were far from his mind.
He practically shoved her away from him and glared at her with fiery eyes. “Brava, Miss St. Clement,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your impressive performance has won you some new admirers downstairs. Penelope, especially, seems absurdly infatuated.”
“Obviously she has better taste than I was giving her credit for,” Julia replied.
She took an invol
untary step backward when he moved toward her. His arms cut through the air as he gestured in anger.
“Damn it, what did you think you were doing down there?” he stormed.
No, this was definitely not amorous behavior. Still, she held her ground. “I did not give away my identity or break your silly rule about speaking. I simply found a way around it.”
“By God, this is not a game, Julia! What on earth were you doing, leading Penelope to fancy herself cow-eyed for some Italian prig who doesn’t even exist?”
“What?!”
“Don’t try to convince me you didn’t see it. She was mooning over you.”
Really? Well, that would serve the brute right if she had managed to catch the eye of his darling intended. Would serve him right indeed.
“She was mooning? I didn’t notice.”
“Like hell you didn’t.”
“What’s the matter? Are you jealous?”
“No, by God, I’m bloody furious. What made you think to use my sister this way?”
Well now, that gave her pause. “Sister?”
His fists were clenched, and he was pacing with a vengeance. “Is that what you were doing? Taking out your anger at me by toying with her? An innocent, impressionable girl? That’s reprehensible, Julia, even for you. Penelope’s barely out of the schoolroom.”
“Wait, I didn’t . . . I mean . . . Your sister?”
“Of course she’s my sister! Who in bloody Hades did you think she was?”
Well, she wasn’t in bloody Hades about to answer that. Oh, but how could she have been so silly? She could see it now; she’d let the green-eyed monster get the best of her and spent a full half hour purposely making Penelope fall a little bit in love because of foolish jealousy. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of the girl being any bit in love with Rastmoor. Good grief.
“You’re overreacting,” she said, hoping to end the discussion quickly. “I’m sure Penelope couldn’t care less for Mr. Nancini.”
“Penelope was worshipping Mr. Nancini!”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Oh? I watched her bat her eyelashes at you, and I saw the way you fawned over her. You ingratiated yourself with my mother! You had to have known how that would appear to a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old girl.”
“She seems a sensible sort. She would know it all meant nothing.”
“You wrote her sonnets, Julia. In French!”
“Just one. And I fail to see what difference it makes which language I used.”
“I told you to stay up here. Where it’s safe.”
“Safe? Safe from what, my lord? What horrors are stalking the halls of Lord Dashford’s fine home?”
“You know very well what horrors I’m talking about,” he said. “Unless, of course, you haven’t been entirely honest with me about your own dealings with Fitzgelder. Perhaps the man really holds no threat for you. Is that it?”
“You don’t believe that, else you’d have gone straight back to London and not bothered to bring me out here. You know I spoke the truth about my involvement with that man.”
He scowled. “I’d like to believe you, Julia, but how can I, when you show such complete and utter disregard for caution? All we need is for one gossiping servant to head to the village, babbling about a mysterious woman in men’s clothing hiding out at Hartwood. You’ve seen what Fitzgelder can do. If he indeed has as much against you as you claim, then why do you keep taking chances?”
She was taking chances, all right, just by meeting his eyes. Indeed, it was too easy to let his persistent talk of concern for her safety mislead her into believing he still cared. That smoldering heat behind his gaze could so easily be mistaken for concern—for tenderness, even. She turned away quickly and walked to the window.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to do anything to hurt your sister.”
“So what do you propose we do about it?” he said, still doubtful. “Penelope is young and sheltered. This misplaced attachment could seriously damage her.”
“Look, if there is any misplaced attachment, it will be easy enough to snuff,” Julia assured him. “Just tell everyone I’m married. I have a wife back in Italy, and I’m devoted to her. Surely that will keep your sister from fancying any great affection, right?”
“You believe affections are so easily cast off?”
She’d had her back to Rastmoor but turned to face him now. He’d come up close behind her, closer than she’d expected. Oh, she hoped he might not see the hurt his words had caused her.
“No, I don’t,” she replied. “But circumstance cares little for affection, does it? Penelope might as well learn that sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, I suppose that is one of life’s harsh lessons she’s bound to learn at some point,” he agreed. “I just wonder why you felt the need to educate her yourself.”
“I told you, it never crossed my mind that the girl might take a fancy to Mr. Nancini. I was simply enjoying their entertaining company after you so rudely trussed me up in here without so much as the ability to call for a fresh chamber pot!”
“And apparently I was the subject of your entertainment,” he said.
As if he had any reason to be so offended. He was not the cross-gendered, wounded mute.
“And why not?” she snipped. “I thought it a topic that might amuse them.”
“Oh?” he asked with a cocked brow. “Why should you have thought that? You just told me you had no idea who Penelope was. Why should a stranger be so amused by a discussion of my personal tics and endearing little quirks?”
“I don’t recall anyone mentioning that they are endearing.”
“Admit it. You did know Penelope was my sister.”
“No, I did not. I thought . . .” She was fortunate to stop herself, but it was apparently too late. Rastmoor’s interest was piqued. He reached to touch her cheek, brushing a stray hair back into its expected position.
“You thought what? Who did you think she was?”
Oh, bother. What was the way out of this? It would seem there was none.
“I thought she was your fiancée.” There. She’d given him the answer he wanted. Perhaps he would not laugh too long at her.
He didn’t quite laugh, in fact, but he did smile. Hugely. “My fiancée?”
“Introductions were a bit irregular, what with me being mute and Italian, and all.”
Now he slid one hand around to the small of her back and tugged her gently toward him. For pity’s sake, she couldn’t seem to find the strength to resist. And how very tantalizing his breath was when he leaned in and breathed against her neck.
“And you were jealous, weren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
Her quavering voice negated her words, especially as she melted into him and tipped her head, allowing him to slowly unfasten her pitiful cravat. He dragged it from her, the fabric brushing against her and leaving her nerves tingling for attention. The cravat hit the floor, and Rastmoor pushed her ill-fitted coat from her shoulders. Unrestricted, her shirt fell open nearly to her navel.
“You thought to steal her from me, didn’t you?”
His words were a low growl, and his lips teased their way along her collarbone.
“Er, you do recall I’m not really a man?”
“Yes, I do happen to recall that, as a matter of fact,” he said, and the dusky warmth in his voice convinced her he was every bit as aware of their difference in gender as she was. She shuddered at the little tingles running up and down her spine.
“Admit it, Julia. You were jealous, weren’t you?” he asked.
Of course, it wasn’t really a question. His voice already held the triumph of knowing the answer full well. He knew she’d been jealous as hell. She thought Penelope was his fiancée, and she’d been determined to put herself between them out of sheer feminine envy. It really wasn’t very nice of her, she did have to admit, and certainly not very smart. He was going to make her regret it now, in t
he most delightful ways possible.
“You know,” he began after covering her with kisses, “it disturbs me how much I enjoy looking at you in these infernal men’s clothes.”
“Then why are you going to so much effort to get me out of them?”
He chuckled, ripping her shirt from where she tucked it so carefully into her breeches and pulling it swiftly up over her head. “Because I’m not at all disturbed to look at you naked.”
With that, he grabbed the loose bit of the binding fabric she used to conceal her ample bosom. Clearly frustrated that it did not slide away so easily as the cravat, he gave a rough tug. As the fabric was wrapped twice around her body, this sent Julia spinning away from him. She couldn’t help but laugh as she tumbled onto the bed. Likely he planned that, the devious letch.
Not that she was doing anything to slow his progress. Her trousers were unfastened half a second before his, and he was pinning her into the luxurious counterpane. She wrapped herself around him and gave up trying to pretend this wasn’t exactly what she wanted.
His hands explored her, slipping inside her trousers to ignite the desire that seemed to perpetually smolder there. She happily returned the favor, although she had to admit his trousers were not nearly so accommodating as hers. Things were a bit more, er, crowded in his.
“Damn it, let’s just dispense with the bloody things,” he said, moving himself away from her long enough to see both sets of boots and unmentionables cast into a pile with the rest of their apparel.
Lord, now they were stark naked in the middle of the day! Julia was quite certain this had not occurred before. My, but how the daylight accentuated certain aspects of the man’s personal, er, appendage. Not that things didn’t appear remarkable enough by candlelight, but somehow the illicit nature of this mid-afternoon romp made everything just a bit more pronounced.
How wonderful.
She grabbed that delightful appendage and pulled it—and Rastmoor with it—closer to her. He did not seem to mind and obediently resumed his tactile exploration. She knotted her fingers into his hair and held him close, succumbing quickly to his deepening kiss.
Damsel in Disguise Page 17
