A Perfect Hero (6 page)

ane had not lied. Miss Julianna Clare had been unconscious for so long he’d feared she might never awake. He was heartily glad her in
jury wasn’t serious. For all the fragility of her ap
pearance, it appeared she was a lively one—to say nothing of the fact that she was passing fair.

Gingerly, he fingered his eye. The skin beneath was puffy and broken. By God, the wench had drawn blood! He was amazed, outraged—and admiring, all at once.

Yet his mouth turned down as he whistled for Percival. Whom did he fool? No one but himself, it seemed. The chit was more than passing fair, far more.

She was a beauty, the likes of which stirred his blood in a way that hadn’t happened in a long
while. He’d watched her as she slept, the light from the morning sun spilling in through the window and lighting the hair that spilled on his pillow with sun-burnished gold. It had taken all his will to crawl from the bed this morning.

Saddling Percival, he pondered further. The lovely Julianna was clearly well-mannered, well
born, well fed, and well educated. Her clothing came from the very best shops on Bond Street, unless he was very much mistaken, and Dane was quite sure he wasn’t. No twittering young debu
tante was the lady. Ah, yes, she was already past the first blush of youth. If he had to guess, he would put her age at somewhere just beyond her midtwenties.

But she was untried. Untouched, when it came to the ways of men. Dane would stake his life on that.

And the certainty aroused him undeniably.

Mounting Percival, he glanced back toward the hunting cottage in the woods; it belonged to his family, but it had recently been put to another use . . . Oh, but he wished with all his heart that Miss Julianna Clare was ugly, her charms nonex
istent, her beauty wilted and faded. He recalled how she’d leaped from the bed—straight into his arms—when she’d felt Maximilian beneath the covers. Why, she’d been practically crawling up his leg! A most disturbing sensation, that, he de
cided almost irritably.

He shifted on Percival’s back. Just thinking of her had a very physical effect. It made his blood swell heavy and thick between his thighs. Very odd, for Dane was a man who prided himself on being a master of his emotions. Considering his line of work, he had to be...

Yet his mind continued to stray.

He’d been right about her eyes. They were in
credible. Not just blue, but sheer, brilliant cobalt. He had to remind himself that those brilliant eyes were not alight with passion, her mouth soft with yearning and seeking his. Instead they were gla
cial and cold, her tongue as icy as a blast of wind from the most dreary winter skies. Considering her position, she’d been remarkably defiant. It was, he admitted reluctantly, a fascinating mix— both strength and delicacy.

Yet, truth be told, he liked her spirit, her poise, the fact that her brain wasn’t stuffed with muslin. Under other circumstances ...He dismissed the notion almost immediately. The circumstances were what they were. There was no changing them. He was pragmatic, if nothing else, for Dane had learned long ago that wishful thinking was for fools. Yet patience was also his strongest virtue, for a less patient man could not do what he did. The waiting, thinking, trying to pre
dict ...He had a temper, too, one that was rarely quick to arise, but dangerous when it did.

He was also a man of action, and in this partic
ular case, he would simply have to adapt. Cer
tainly it wouldn’t be the first time! He reminded himself he was a man who could charm and ca
jole and lie with ease, threaten and bully, capture and win . . . whatever he was called upon to do.

He sighed. Of course he’d seen the way she shrank against the headboard. If she glimpsed a beast in him, well, that was well and good. If she was convinced he was dangerous, so much the better. And much as he’d have liked to have done precisely the opposite—kissed the lovely Ju-lianna’s sweet, pink lips until she melted against him in yielding trust and ardor, he would not.

Nor did the lady need to know that his das
tardly reputation as the Magpie far exceeded his deeds. He had a reputation to maintain. Not as a womanizer, but as a robber.

For if Dane had learned anything throughout his adult life, it was this ...Fear could be a good thing. It kept one’s senses sharp and alert. Ah, yes, fear was good as long as it did not develop into a malignancy that obliterated all else and kept one from living
.. . .

Death—and dying—was the one inevitability in life. He had come to that realization on the battlefield at Waterloo, with bodies littered all around—a day that haunted him still. A day that would haunt him forever.

Dying was the one thing he was afraid of.

No one knew, of course. Dane defied it, decried it ...denied it.

He was no hero. He was simply lucky.

Ah, yes, death and dying terrified him. But that was his own cross to bear. His own private demon.

His own private hell.

Julianna’s heart was still slamming wildly against her ribs when the lock clicked. Her head had be
gun to throb as well. The urge to rest her aching head in her hands and succumb to a good cry was almost overwhelming. But when Thomas had de
serted her at the altar, she’d cried until there were no more tears left, until she was empty and dry. Tears had accomplished nothing then. Nor would they now.

She had changed since then. She would not be weak. She must be strong. She would not feel sorry for herself or bemoan her predicament.

Better to make use of her time alone. Better to find a way
out
of it. Better to find a way out, pe
riod.

But first she had a most urgent need. Spying a chamber pot in the corner, she quickly made use of it. Replacing the lid, she turned and gazed around the cottage, taking note of her surround
ings. It startled her to realize that the bed on
which she reclined was quite comfortable. And now that she took the time to examine it, the cot
tage itself was actually quite good-sized, in excel
lent repair and—most surprising of all, clean as a whistle. A pair of wing chairs sat before the wide stone hearth. A small table and two chairs stood nearby; it was then she noticed the plate in the middle of it. Suddenly realizing she was raven
ous, she crossed to the table and sat. Whatever the Magpie’s intentions, it wasn’t to starve her.

Unwrapping a wedge of cheese and bread, she broke off a hunk. It was simple fare, yet in Ju-lianna’s mind, she’d tasted no finer meal served from the most delicate china and finest crystal. There was even a small bottle of wine—and quite excellent wine, at that.

As she sated her hunger, her mind continued to race. With outrage. With possibilities. The Mag
pie was not like any robber she’d ever imagined—not that she had an intimate acquain
tance with men of his ilk! But he was right, she decided, finishing the last bite of cheese almost angrily. It was not wise to underestimate one’s en
emies. And if he were wise, he would not under
estimate
her
.

Wiping her mouth, she eyed the massive cup
board across from her. A search revealed that it was well stocked. It also held the portmanteau she’d packed for the journey to Bath.

Julianna couldn’t help it. She made a small sound of pleasure. So. Her captor had had the foresight to retrieve her belongings.

Careful,
warned a voice.
Remember, there’s a price on his head
.

It was a sobering thought. No doubt he’d only taken it believing there were jewels or such in
side! Again her gaze roamed the room. There was something odd about it. It came to her slowly; and then she called herself every sort of bloody idiot. This was not, she realized, the cottage of a man of meager means. The furniture was sturdy and well crafted, no pallet on the floor but a proper bed; the bedding, even the wine, all spoke of comfort.

So. He was not just a robber, but a successful one.

Dusting off her hands, she got to her feet. The ache in her head had begun to subside, but she was still smarting inside that he’d locked her in, the wretch! Moving to the door, she tugged and pulled and rattled the latch, all to no avail.

Calmly, she assessed the windows. There were four in all, two on either side of the door. Dis
couragement shot through her, for they were tiny and set high in the wall. Even if she stood on a chair, she would never be able to climb through; it was too high.

Rubbish! He was right. His absence afforded no opportunity for escape.

It was then she spied a burlap sack in the cor
ner next to the cupboard. Her hands on the ties, she paused, aware of a sliver of guilt. It was al
most as if she were snooping in someone else’s home without permission ...which you are, chided a voice in her mind.

But certainly the circumstances were out of the ordinary. With that, she loosened the ties and peeked inside.

The bag was stuffed with banknotes! The thief!

Beside her, Maximilian rubbed up against her. “You should tell your master there are safer ways to make a living than stealing.”

In answer, Maximilian thrust his head beneath her palm, seeking her touch.

With a sigh, Julianna moved to sit in the chair before the fire. Maximilian leaped lightly in her lap, kneaded her belly several times, then settled against her and closed his eyes.

Julianna stroked her fingers through his fur, glad for Maximilian’s company, such as it was. Perhaps she should be ashamed, but if this was to be her temporary prison, she was glad it was at least a comfortable one. For it
would
be tempo
rary, she promised herself. Clearly she wasn’t go
ing anywhere, not yet anyway. And since it appeared she had all the time in the world to pon
der her method of escape, that was exactly what she would do.

***

Julianna spent the remainder of the day quietly. By evening, her headache had subsided, and she was feeling much better. She had no idea of the time, other than to gauge it by the color of the sky through the windows and the shadows seeping into the cottage. The night aged, and for a time she could see the moon shining high in the sky.

Still the Magpie did not return.

Her mind turned, refusing to be still. What if he’d been caught? Captured? What if he’d been strung up on the spot? No one would even know she was here, wherever the devil that was!

The thought persisted. However much she dis
liked the wretch, she certainly had no wish to see his neck stretched by a noose. Oddly, when she finally crawled into bed, it was this thought that kept her from sleep. Finally, she lit the bed
side candle and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Maximilian had nosed his way beneath the cov
ers and warmed her side. Miraculously, she had just begun to doze when she heard the key grate in the lock.

The door swung wide. A rush of cool moist air accompanied his entrance.

Julianna was instantly wide-awake.

There was a bag slung over his shoulder. He handled it as though it weighed no more than a bag of feathers, depositing it across the room be
side the other.