A Perfect Hero (25 page)

The door clicked shut. “Good evening, madam. My name is Phillip Talbot. I’m told you wished to speak to someone.”

Only her head turned as she beheld him. “I do,” she announced, her diction was clear, con
cise, cultured. “I have done many things in my life of which I am not particularly proud. But I will not be a part of murder.”

Phillip’s gaze had fixed on the jauntily plumed hat atop her head. A sheer veil hung from the brim, obscuring her features. His conversation with Dane earlier in the day washed through him, jarring his consciousness. No, he thought in amazement. Surely it wasn’t . . .

His heart was suddenly pounding. “Your name, madam?”

She paused. For all her air of haughty poise, Phillip had the strangest sensation she didn’t know what to say . . .

Her chin lifted. She pushed aside the veil that covered her face.

“Sterling. My name is Daphne Sterling. And I was once Marchioness of Thurston.” The com
ment was accompanied by the rise of a slender black brow. “Perhaps I still am.”

he misty haze of twilight had just begun to cling to the distant rooftops. Julianna sat near the window in the sitting room, her eyes downcast, her chin resting on her knuckles, her gaze fixed on the gold braiding that edged the carpet. The tea that Mrs. MacArthur had brought an hour earlier was cold, the biscuits un
touched on her plate. So much had happened to
day that she found it an impossible task to quiet her mind.

She didn’t hear the knocker, nor did she hear Mrs. MacArthur’s pronouncement that she had a visitor. Indeed, she was not aware of another presence until she chanced to glance up. Precisely what made her do so, she wasn’t sure. But she did...and, well, there he was.

Her heart began to thud with hard, almost painful strokes.

He presented a most devastating picture, an air of surety about him, his cravat very white against his strong throat. A long-fingered hand had care
lessly pushed aside his jacket and rested on one narrow hip, the muscled length of his thighs set off by tight black trousers. It was quite apparent from the arch of one dark brow that he’d been there for some time.

Crossing the floor, he pulled her to her feet. And if she hadn’t been thinking clearly before, she most certainly couldn’t do so now. The rhythm of her heart was gauged solely by his presence. His nearness provoked a piercing awareness. Her pulse skittered. She was all at once beset by the memory of that mouth brush
ing the very tips of her breasts, the heat of that very same hand clamped tight between her legs.

Their eyes met. His sudden, crooked, half smile made her heart catch.

“I do hope that I am not the cause of that fret
ful, anxious expression.”

“Not today.” A hint of dry laughter surfaced in her voice. “Actually I was hoping you’d come back.”

His mouth quirked. “Ah, a welcome I like.”

Raising a hand, he brushed his knuckles down the curve of flushed cheek, eyeing the frown gath
ered between her brows.

“You appeared lost in thought. What is on your mind? Your mother?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But mostly my brother.”

“I can see why, of course. But Sebastian strikes me—”

“Not Sebastian. Justin.” She paused. “He looked so odd for a moment. And he seemed rather subdued before they left, Dane. Like a shadow swept over him. Sebastian saw it, too.” She pondered a moment. “I’m so glad Justin has Arabella.”

“Arabella?”

“His wife. He worships the ground she walks on. And if you had known him before—” She gave a shake of her head. A slight smile rimmed her lips. “Tamed the beast, that’s what she did. And I suppose it’s foolish to dwell on matters about which I can do nothing.”

“You’re a compassionate woman. It’s natural to care about those you love.”

Their eyes held. “Thank you,” she said softly, “for understanding.” A pause. “Will you stay for supper?”

He hesitated. “I should like to,” he said care
fully. “But I fear I must be elsewhere.”

The Magpie would ride tonight. His guarded tone gave it away. “I see.” She willed the tremor from her voice.

He studied her for a moment, his regard oddly penetrating.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s something you should know,” he said slowly. “The man with your mother last night, Julianna, the man with the patch. I know him. His name is Nigel Roxbury. I’ve worked under his direction on numerous assignments.”

Julianna inhaled. “What? But how—”

“Phillip and I believe it’s possible it was Rox-bury’s brother who left with your mother all those years ago. We haven’t yet figured out the puzzle, if there’s a connection with the culprit at the Home Office. But there’s something peculiar going on.” He spoke, as if to himself. “We’re get
ting close. I can feel it.”

A shiver slid down her spine. She stared at him uneasily. “Dane,” she said unsteadily, “you’re scaring me.”

“I don’t mean to,” he said immediately. “I’ll be fine. Truly I will.”

His eyes darkened. He stepped close. A hand came up to gently touch her hair. “I know you don’t understand. But I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

A finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face to his. His gaze scoured hers, his features solemnly intent. “I love you, kitten.”

A scalding ache filled her throat. Heaven help her, she was going to cry. “Oh, God,” she whis
pered.

He smiled crookedly. “I do, sweet. I love you.”

The battle was lost. Her tears spilled into her voice. “Dane,” she said helplessly, “you can’t tell me that and—and leave.”

His smile ebbed. With his thumb, he traced the shape of her mouth, the tiniest caress. “I can’t
not
tell you and leave.”

Lightly he kissed her.

And then he walked away.

Before she knew it, she was standing at the nar
row window in the entrance hall, staring at his back. His head was high, his spine straight, the set of his shoulders wide and square.

A clamp seized hold of her heart. This was her every fear come to life. She wanted to cry out in despair, to beg him to stay. But this was about pride and honor—not just his, but her own. She could be brave, as brave as he. She
would
be brave.

She struggled against a sob, and wrenched the door wide.

“Dane!”

He turned, halting before the next house as she burst outside. Julianna flung herself against him. She lifted her face. “Be careful,” she cried. “Be careful and—come back to me!”

He caught his breath—and caught her up against him. His eyes darkened. His arms closed tight around her back.

His mouth came down on hers, hard and fierce.

It would surely be the longest night of her life.

He’d been gone no more than ten minutes, and she was pacing back and forth before the fire
place in the sitting room.

Her stomach churned. How, she wondered desperately, could she stand to wait? Wait and wonder, without knowing? How could she bear knowing he was in danger? That he might—

In the midst of that thought someone pounded on the door.

Mrs. MacArthur was already hastening briskly to the door.

A chill went through her. “Wait!” Julianna nearly shrieked. She snatched a vase from the table in the hall. Holding it high, she stationed herself just to the side of the door.

The pounding continued. “Hello!” a man was shouting. “Is anyone there?”

Mrs. MacArthur’s mouth formed a little “o” of shock, but she recovered quickly. Julianna nodded for Mrs. MacArthur to open the door.

It swept wide. The man on her doorstep saw her.

“For pity’s sake, it’s all right! My name is Phillip Talbot. I’m from the Home Office.”

Phillip. Dane’s partner. She sagged with relief,
lowering the vase to her side. She was shaking,

she realized.
Shaking.

“I must find Dane! Is he here?”

Her lips parted. “No.” She hesitated. “He’s . . . gone.”

Phillip understood. He cursed. “Dammit, I was afraid of that!”

Ice ran through her veins. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

“There is a passenger on the coach. A man who hopes to put a stop to—”

“Roxbury?” she breathed.

Phillip shot her a look.

“I know,” she cried. “I
know!
”

“He’s armed,” Phillip said curtly. “He wants the Magpie. If Dane stops him, he’s prepared.”

That was all she needed to hear. A trembling foreboding washed over her. Fear clutched at her insides—a fear quite unlike anything she’d ever known.

Phillip headed for the door. Julianna caught his arm. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Phillip shook his head. “Dane may need help. I’m going for a horse and some men.”

She was scarcely aware of his departure. She stood on the bottom stair, unmoving, her mind racing. Dane was in danger. Roxbury intended to kill him.

She couldn’t let that happen. She
wouldn’t
. ***

After buying her ticket at the booking office, Ju
lianna walked across the cobbled stones toward the coach. Several boys had just finished harness
ing the team. Another held the door wide while Julianna stepped inside.

The man with the patch was already aboard— Roxbury.

Her pulse hammering, Julianna seated herself, her back to the horses. Drat! It would have been better if she faced forward, so that she could see ahead of them.

But she also wanted to be able to see Roxbury.

He was not what she imagined. He was tall, al
most distinguished-looking, though the coat he wore was on the shabby side. She could imagine him behind a magistrate’s bench, for there was an air of authority about him. She guessed his age at somewhere in his forties.

The crunch of bootheels reached her ears. “All aboard!” shouted a voice.

“Wait!” cried a high, feminine voice. “Do not leave yet!”

A little girl clambered inside, followed by her mother. Julianna scooted aside to make room for them. She longed to warn them not to journey this night, but she didn’t dare.

The vehicle shifted with the weight of the driver climbing on the box. The inn yard’s gates scraped open. With a flick of the whip and a jan
gle of harness, they were off.

The little girl promptly peered up at Julianna. Beneath the brim of her little bonnet, huge brown eyes sparkled. “My name’s Annabelle,” she an
nounced cheerily. Her pixie features exactly matched her pixie voice.

Julianna guessed her age at somewhere around six or so. She returned her smile. “Hello, Annabelle.”

“We’re going to see Mama’s sister. My aunt Prudence.”

Her mother offered an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to forgive her, I fear. Annabelle is a bit of a prattle-box.”

“I don’t mind,” Julianna said softly.

The little girl had turned her attention to Roxbury—and so did Julianna. He gave no sign that he’d seen or heard any of them. His manner was distant; his gaze remained trained outside.

Julianna caught at the strap as they rattled around a corner. Before long they began to gain speed. The city was left behind.

It was strange, how much like before it was...

The darkness settled in. She found herself peer
ing out the window, anxiously scanning the side of the road, seeking to see behind every tree and bush. Each second was like the passage of a year.

And then it happened.

The coach was hurtling around a sweeping curve. From outside there came a shout and the squeal of the wheels. And just as before, Julianna
couldn’t stop herself from tumbling to the floor. But this time she managed to avoid cracking her head hard against the side of the coach. She groped for the cushion, and was about to heave herself up when she heard the sound of male voices punctuating the air outside.

The door was wrenched open. She found her
self staring at the gleaming barrels of twin pis
tols. Swallowing, she lifted her gaze to the man who possessed it.