A Dangerous Courtship (8 page)

"I—I seemed to have scraped my leg during my expedition this evening. Could you perhaps ask below-stairs for any antiseptic that might be available?"

Nettie's brown eyes widened, but she wisely bit back any questions she might have of her lady's wanderings.

"Yes, m'lady. O' course."

The abigail nodded nervously, sketched what she clearly hoped was a proper curtsy, then hurried out of the room, leaving Veronica alone in the spacious bedchamber with its huge bed.

Veronica heaved a sigh of relief now that she had her servants busy with their business.

She glanced down at her skirts, wincing at the stain of blood near her left thigh. The cover of night had kept the sight from Shelton, no doubt. It had taken all of Veronica's strength not to limp back to her mount while at Fountains. She'd put up a brave front, not daring to let her coachman realize she'd been injured.

She now gently pressed her hand atop her left thigh, feeling fully the bandage Julian had wrapped about her scrape. He'd tied the strips of cloth tight, but not too tightly.

Veronica's cheeks warmed at the memory of his ministrations and the remembered feel of his callused but gentle hand along the underside of her thigh. He'd near taken her breath away with the feel of his soft touch... his kisses.

Imagine.

She, who had never,
ever,
allowed any man near her for longer than was necessary, had actually found herself melting in Julian's arms, returning his kisses.

Veronica sharply reminded herself she'd been in shock from the dogs, her mission, and the report of Shelton's gun. Though she'd compromised herself, no one save herself and Julian knew the truth. And who would the man be telling, anyway?

No one, of course.

He clearly had something to hide, and was known as a lowly Riverkeep, to boot. If he ever did repeat his tale of meeting a daughter of Earl Wrothram's at Fountains, he could not possibly tell it to any one worth note.

Her secret moments of shameless indiscretion would remain just that. A secret.

As for the package she sought, Veronica believed wholeheartedly the man would search for it. For some inexplicable, stupid, foolish reason, Veronica trusted Julian would search the abbey and would keep an eye out for anyone who might place the packet there this night.

Veronica now felt a bit better, having gone over all the facts in her mind. She began to relax. She unbuttoned her short-waisted spencer, looking about her.

The bed of her rented room was ridiculously large. Obviously this inn had been constructed at a time when travelers of the road invariably shared a bed with strangers.

Veronica's face flushed at the thought.

She glanced at the curtained window, her mind skirting back to Fountains. To Julian.

What type of bed had he fashioned for himself in those ruins? Could he truly have made a home in the prisons, of all places?

She hoped not.

Much later, dressed in a fresh gown of spotted muslin and carrying a light shawl, with her hair repaired and neatly pinned by Nettie, Veronica went downstairs to the private parlour she'd requested to be reserved. It appeared she'd been awarded the coffee room, now cleared of customers.

Shelton was standing at the door. "I shall stand watch while you dine, m'lady," he said, his tone indicating that not even wild horses would budge him from the doorway.

Veronica was about to tell him that wouldn't be necessary as she was wondering if Julian might make an appearance with word about the package. But she knew her coachman would not be coaxed away, and in truth, the sounds coming from the occupants of the nearby taproom and from the revelers out in the street of the village made Veronica realize it was best to have Shelton nearby.

The celebration of Midsummer's Eve had taken on a decided intensity during her ablutions, no doubt with many of the partygoers nearing a tipsy mood. From the raucous noise inside the taproom, Veronica deduced she'd be getting little sleep this night—not that she would have slept anyway. If Julian did not send word about the packet, Veronica would have to devise a plan to get back to Fountains.

Once inside the room, she found that the long deal table, much moisture ringed and nicked with wear, had been set for one. Veronica, too on nerves to dine alone, asked that another place be set and informed Nettie she'd be dining with her. The abigail nodded, her eyes wide as she clearly wondered what was on her lady's mind.

The answer, of course, was Julian and that dratted packet bound for Pamela's Lord Rathbone.

Veronica wondered how her rescuer fared in his quest to help locate the packet—if, indeed, he was even searching for it at all.

Chapter 6

Julian, standing atop the highest reaches of Fountains, watched until the lantern lights of Veronica and her companions receded into the distance. The mist and darkness seemed to swallow them as they headed back to the village. Clouds were skirting in, causing the moon's white glow to become fitful. Soon it and the stars would be hidden from view.

Alone at Fountains once again, Julian sat down on the ledge of stonework, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

He relished the slight noise his heels made scraping against the crumbles of small rocks... appreciated every whisper of the wind rustling through the grasses of the meadows below... and even smiled wryly at the baying of the wild dogs, not so far off in the distance. Having his hearing fully restored was a gift Julian had not been expecting, though it was one he'd fervently prayed for these past many months.

He tipped his head back against stone. Every vibration channeling through his ears to his brain was richly sweet, and Julian allowed himself a moment to simply drink it all in. The great height of where he sat did not bother him, nor did the further press of mists now creeping down in earnest from the far-flung moors. This night, it seemed, nothing could unsettle him.

Except, of course, the memory of Lady Veronica. The scent and feel of her was still fresh in his mind. It would likely take a lifetime or two to erase it, Julian wagered... and he doubted he would
ever
forget the honeyed taste of her.

A wave of heat seized him as he recalled just how sweet kissing her had been. After they'd tumbled down the ledge and he'd cracked his skull soundly on the rocks, Julian had awakened to find his hearing restored and Veronica's lovely body atop his own. Both realizations had rocked him with such profound emotion that he'd kissed her—and hungrily, at that. He had even delved his tongue inside her mouth to taste fully of the woman and of the overwhelming moment of hearing again after ten horrible months of silence.

His behavior with the lady had been far from gentlemanly, yet she had not slapped him away as she had had every right to do, but had instead returned his kisses with innocent ardor. Her sweet abandonment in the heat of the moment had aroused Julian no small amount. If not for the second report of her man's gun, who knew where those kisses would have led them?

Julian looked up at the few remaining stars to be seen, his black gaze narrowing as he mulled over the rest of the evening's events. The beautiful gel had said she was embroiled in a mission of some sort. What had it been? Ah, yes, he thought, remembering now.

A "Venus Mission," she'd said.

Venus.
What an intriguing tag for one to attach to one's duty. Venus, like the Greek Aphrodite, was, after all, a goddess of love. Could it be that the lady's mission had something to do with matters of the heart?
Hers,
specifically?

And was this person, for whom Veronica sought the package, a man who had perhaps stolen her heart?

The very notion that Veronica might be in love with some spineless gentleman who chose to stay comfortably in Town while she sojourned to Yorkshire on his behalf disturbed Julian.

The possibility that she may have shared her ardor with this faceless beau disturbed him even more.

Agitated by the train of his thoughts, Julian turned his mind to the other startling thing she'd said to him: that she was willing to pay handsomely for his help. A position of employment, to be exact, at one of her father's many estates.

Clearly, the lady thought him to be nothing more than a luckless vagabond with no steady income, and who could fault her for that assumption? He wasn't exactly acting or looking civilized these days, and he hadn't in too long a while.

Julian's eyes hooded. He wondered what Lady Veronica's reaction would be if she ever learned that she had offered such positions as gardener, stable help, and groundskeeper to one Julian Andrew Maxmillian Masters, the seventh Earl of Eve.

The circumstances of Julian's ascension to his distinguished title were a memory right out of hell. The night the title became his was one that would be forever burned in his soul.

His mood turning black as he recalled the exact moment he became Earl of Eve, Julian got to his feet and rifled one strong hand through the shagged lengths of his dark hair. He needed a shave and a haircut, but he'd vowed not to do either until the day he uncovered the vile culprit who had torn his life asunder.

Now that his hearing was restored, he could get on with that grave matter. He'd waited ten long months for this moment and was eager to be gone from Fountains and the desolate existence he'd known here. He needed to speak in person with the two remaining people in this world whom he trusted: his solicitor in London and his manservant, Garn.

But before he vacated Fountains, Julian knew he'd be making one last round of her ruinous grounds. He would, blast it all, search for the packet the lovely Veronica was so keen on discovering. He owed her that much, at least, for his graceless ravishment of her soft mouth.

Just as he turned to head for a way down off the ledge, Julian spied some movement—a small shadowy figure—near the abbey's outer walls to the north. Julian eased back into the darkness near the window, losing himself in the blackness there.

The figure darted quickly under an archway leading inside the abbey's great hall below and then, scanning the area and seeing no one, reached into the folds of his threadbare coat.

It was the figure of a lad, Julian noted. Probably no more than twelve years of age. And scrawny, to boot, but fleet—like the urchins inhabiting New Bond Street who were always ready to pick a deep pocket or two.

The lad withdrew a small bundle, bent down, and quickly stuffed it into the base of a pillar where the masonry had begun to crumble.

Julian stepped out of the shadows. "Ho! You, there!" he shouted.

The urchin looked up, freezing in midmotion for the fraction of a second. He seemed to be terrified by the mist threading about his legs, by the desolateness of Fountains and by the sudden appearance of a stranger when he'd thought to be alone in the great, hulking ruins. Eyes growing wide, the lad backed away from the pillar, falling to his rump as he did so, then skittering backward like a crab until, at last, he gained his footing. Once he did, he turned and ran.

Julian, long since in motion and now nearly to the ground, jumped the last few feet from the heights he'd just traversed. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he started running, hoping to head the lad off before he could escape. Julian had a few questions to ask the boy: namely, for whom the package was destined and whence it had come.

But the lad, quick and tiny, navigated the area of Fountains better than Julian ever had, and he was soon lost in the mist that had, within the last few minutes, grown knee-high to Julian's frame.

"Bloody hell,
" Julian said.

He knew he'd not be finding the boy now. The lad had had too much of a head start before him.

Hoping the urchin didn't come to harm—or worse, meet up with the wild dogs—Julian doubled back, heading for the pillar where the boy had tucked away the package.

Julian had it in his hands in a matter of moments. The thing was small, bound with twine and wrapped tight in sheepskin. There was nothing to note for whom the packet had been placed here or who had sent the boy to deliver it.

As Julian surveyed the package a premonition whipped up his spine, causing the hairs at the back of his neck to tingle. He knew a strong sensation that there was yet another intruder about.

Gad, who and his brother
wasn't
at Fountains this night? he wondered.