A Perfect Hero (7 page)

He turned. His brows shot high. “So you’re awake! I trust you had a pleasant day?”

Julianna leveled upon him a gaze of utter dis
dain. Her newfound friend, Maximilian, had al
ready deserted her. He’d bounded from the bed at the sound of the key in the lock. Leaping onto the table, he jumped to his master’s back and lay curled across his shoulders like a fur. In the back of her mind, it came to her that’s what she had seen when she first awoke—and to think she’d thought her captor a hunchback!

Now two pairs of golden eyes surveyed her. He wore his arrogance like a medal of honor; it was there in the incline of his chin, the curl of his lips in that ever-so-confident smile.

Clad in black from head to toe, the very sight of him made a shiver run through her. He filled every corner of the room in a way that was utterly foreign to her, in a way that had naught to do with size, though his height and breadth and brawn proved impossible to ignore! For it was more than that, much more. Had the cottage been a hundred times larger, it would have made no difference. There was something about him that set her insides to quivering like pudding. Like it or not, his was a presence all-powerful, all-consuming. He commanded the eye ...nay, he
demanded
it!

No fop here. No dandified Corinthian. She could smell the wind in his hair, the earth on his
skin. He was quite handsome—he, a highway
man! She was stung by the acknowledgment, then struck by the strangest notion that despite the wildness she sensed in him, here was a man who would have been at home in the most ele
gant drawing rooms of the
haut ton
. It was a no
tion that left her puzzled. Confused.

Most shocking of all, consumed by utter fasci
nation.

Oh, the deuce take him! Whatever was wrong with her? The blow to her head must have addled her senses!

“My dearest Julianna, you surprise me.” He tossed his mask aside and removed his cloak, hanging it over the hook.

“My dearest
Dane
,” she emphasized sweetly, “how so?” If he thought he could get the best of her, he was mistaken.

He approached, sending prickles of awareness over her skin.

“Under the circumstances, I might easily have had an hysterical female on my hands. But you do not call for your Maker. You do not call for help. Instead you seem quite calm.”

Julianna glared. “What, do you have someone outside spying on me?”

He threw back his head and laughed as if she’d said something immensely amusing, a rich deep sound that might have been pleasing had it not been directed at
her
.

“You did make a point of warning me that screaming would serve no purpose,” she re
minded him.

“So I did. Nonetheless, as composed as you are, one could almost believe you are accustomed to being—” He paused.

“What? You think I’ve been kidnapped before? Hardly. Besides, what point is there in expending useless energy in melodramatics?”

“Precisely.” He smiled. “But that you think so ill of me wounds me.”

A chestnut brow arched in query.

“Oh, come,” he said lightly. “I have yet to hear of your gratitude for my gallantry in rescuing you.”

Julianna snorted, a most unladylike sound. Come to think of it, she was saying a lot of unla
dylike things. More strange behavior to dissect ...or was it?

The rogue stood before her, strong hands propped on his hips, his stance straight as an ar
row. And to think she’d been worried for his safety!

“A rescuer does not imprison his charge,” she snapped, “or advise her that screaming will ac
complish nothing.”

“We could argue the point until dawn, but then we wouldn’t get any sleep now, would we? And while I regret being such an inhospitable host and leaving you alone for so long, I suddenly find I am excessively weary.”

He advanced toward the bed. Her guard went up as he nudged Maximilian from his shoulders, then stripped off his shirt. Confronted with the sight of his naked, hairy chest, her heart began to pound in thick, uneven strokes.

Julianna wet her lips. “I suggest a simpler so
lution. Let me go, and there will be no need for argument.”

He said nothing, but bent to remove his boots.

Julianna had already scooted to the far side of the bed. “Please,” she said again, a touch of ragged pleading to her tone now, “let me go.”

“No.”

His bluntness stung. He didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her!

“Why not?”

He gave no answer.

She took a deep breath. “I can pay you. My father—he was a wealthy man. I have money enough—”

“I don’t want your money.”

He was growing impatient. She gestured to the two sacks in the corner. “Pray forgive me if I am skeptical!”

His eyes narrowed. “Ah,” he said silkily. “Snooping, were we, kitten?”

Kitten
again. Drat the man! “Snooping is not a criminal offense. Theft is!”

“I begin to think I should have bound you
and
gagged you. So now, if you don’t mind, I should
like to go to sleep.” He lifted a corner of the coverlet.

Julianna glared. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll escape while you sleep?”

His slow-growing smile should have served as a warning. He paused, reached for the key he’d laid on the bedside table, and dropped it deep into the pocket of his breeches. Still wearing that smug smile, he climbed into bed beside her.

The pompous ass! Julianna fumed and turned her back on him, putting as much space as possi
ble between them. With the key inside his breeches there was little she could do. She longed to flee while she had the chance, but she needed the key! How the devil was she to get it?

She was totally unaware that she tossed and turned until his voice split the night.

“For pity’s sake, can you not be still!”

Julianna froze. Peering up through the shad
ows, she saw him glaring over at her, his scrutiny like the prick of a knife. “A few hours of rest is all I crave. Can you not oblige me?”

Julianna spoke not a word. A sense of help
lessness assailed her. Releasing a long, uneven breath, she tore her eyes away from his accusing gaze.

Beside her, he raised up on an elbow. “What is this?” he demanded. “You’ve not decided to turn weepy on me now, have you?”

Her fingers clutched at the blanket. She stared
at the rafters on the ceiling. Stupidly, foolishly,

she
did
want to cry.

Time stretched endlessly.

“I’m sorry,” he said rather stiffly. “I neglected to ask you how you feel tonight.”

Manners again! Who would have expected such from a highwayman? She jerked when a hand came down to rest on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she said raggedly.

“Are you?” Lean fingers came up to graze her temple. “You’re looking rather pale, my dear. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” she said wildly. “No.”

“Ah, I do so like a woman who knows her own mind.”

Julianna wet her lips. “Well,” she said in a tiny, quavering voice, “my head does ache a bit.”

“You’ll feel better in the morning. Try to sleep.”

His manner was gruff, but there was a subtle softening in his tone. And his hands on her face ...his touch was unexpectedly gentle. But now he turned his back and laid his head down.

Damn! The key was farther away than ever. There was no way she could retrieve it without waking him. Why, no doubt he slept with one eye open.

Julianna’s mind was churning. Arguing had done no good. Pleading fared no better. She was clearly going to have to come up with another
way to extricate herself from this dilemma, for she refused to spend another night lying next to this oaf! Oddly, she’d thought a man like him would be impervious to tears. Yet she had the strangest sensation he was discomfited at the thought of her weeping ...What would he do if she burst into sobs? Would he let her go? Or would it merely make him angry?

Julianna was not quite willing to test the sup
position ...or him.

Time. She needed time to think. Time to plan her escape. She thought of her brother Sebastian, ever a great one for planning. There had to be a way out...

Somehow...some
way
.

ane was puzzled. He was also worried. He could not help it. From the moment the chit woke that morning, she had been unaccountably quiet. Wan and subdued throughout the day. And so weak she could barely stand! Why, he’d had to help her to the table to eat. Naturally, he’d in
sisted she remain in bed the rest of the day.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t argued.

He couldn’t help it. Her sudden frailty worried him. She’d sustained some lumps and bruises during the accident. But was it possible the bump on her head was worse than he’d thought?

Riding away from the cottage that evening, he paused and looked back. Damnation! He couldn’t help but feel guilty over locking her in.

Tomorrow, he decided cautiously. If she wasn’t
better tomorrow, he would simply have to fetch a physician.

Phillip wouldn’t be pleased at the turn of events. Alas, it couldn’t be helped.

Ten o’clock the next evening found him miles away, riding into a deserted clearing. His lovely guest was still very much on his mind.

Behind him, a twig snapped. Dane whirled.

“Phillip!”

His friend Phillip Talbot materialized from the shadows. “Either you’re growing careless,” he said, “or my skills are improving.”

Dane merely raised a brow. He’d met Phillip shortly after returning from the battlefield, and it wasn’t long before friendship sprung up between them. Beneath Phillip’s affable manner and kindly features was a man of lightning-quick in
tellect. Dane greatly admired his attention to de
tail, his ability to foresee the unforeseeable.

Most of all, he trusted him implicitly ...it was the same with Phillip.

A most necessary commodity in the affairs they conducted.

Phillip stared at his face. “What the devil hap
pened to you?” he asked in astonishment.

Dane cursed the moon, which chose to slide out from beneath a cloud a moment before. He’d forgotten his black eye. Devoid of his mask, no doubt he was quite a sight.

“A slight accident,” he said lightly.

Phillip wasn’t fooled.

“Someone tried to darken your daylights. Who?”

With an economy of words, Dane told him about the carriage accident two nights earlier. Phillip was quiet for a moment when he finished.

“This is most unfortunate,” he said. “I’d hoped there would be no more forfeiture of life.”

“You of all people know that sometimes things happen we cannot predict.”

Phillip nodded. “The lady’s involvement com
plicates matters. What the devil are you going to do with her?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Dane admitted, “but I’ll think of something. She knows nothing, nor is she suspicious, and I intend for it to stay that way. Someday the chit will tell her grandchildren how she was kidnapped by a highwayman and lived to tell the tale. For now, I can’t have her running to the authorities.”

“Perhaps we could have her spirited away to the north. By the time she made her way back to civilization, perhaps this will be over.”

Dane was shaking his head. “It would not be wise to involve anyone else. That, I fear, would increase the chances of being discovered.” He paused. “But what of you? What of our quarry?”

“Covering his tracks well. What else can we expect when he’s one of our own—and managed
to murder two unsuspecting souls while making it appear an accident?”

“Yes, it was clever. A wet, rainy night and a runaway carriage ...I doubt the pair of them even saw it coming. The poor woman’s only crime was in overhearing her husband and that
rat,
” Dane stated grimly. “All she wanted was to keep her husband from going back to prison. And the bastard is brazen enough to continue his plan.”

“Brazen. Yes, the culprit is that, isn’t he?” Phillip paused, then studied his friend. “As for you, my friend, the Magpie is garnering quite a reputation as well,” he observed quietly. “You should hear what’s being said about you, Dane. The people may soon be clamoring for your head.”

“It can’t be helped. We cannot openly conduct an inquiry. That would put the blackguard on alert, to say nothing of how it would embarrass the Home Office.” Dane shrugged and offered a faint smile. “The Magpie shall ride until this bas
tard is caught.”

Phillip’s gaze sharpened. “This is not a game, Dane. What will you do if someone decides to shoot?”

“I’d best be quick and duck then, eh?” He gave a wink.

Phillip sighed. “Be serious! Barring that, what
will happen if you’re caught? If that should oc
cur, there’s a good chance you’d be strung up be
fore the Home Office could intervene.”

“What, do you have so little confidence in me?” Dane clapped a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “I knew the risks at the outset, Phillip. There’s a reason you do what you do and I do what I do.”

Phillip sighed. “You relish it, don’t you? The adventure, the danger?”

He had, once. But now...now Dane wasn’t sure. He was a man of action, not a man who could sit back and bide his time. He hadn’t Phillip’s patience. But the excitement was no longer as satisfactory as it had once been... why, he wasn’t quite sure.

The smile he gave Phillip was inscrutable.

A breeze ruffled Phillip’s light brown hair. “Do you know,” he said slowly, “I should love to be in your place for just one night.”

“You? A highwayman? An adventurer?”

“I admit, I envy you. I have for quite some time.”

Dane couldn’t help it. He grinned and touched the puffiness of his eye. “This is not to be envied, my friend.”

“Nonetheless, I think I should like the thrill, the rush of the blood through my veins, the antic
ipation of never being quite sure what the next moment will bring, yet being ready and willing
to face it unafraid. I daresay it would never be boring.”

Dane lifted his brows. Unafraid? Ah, if he only knew ...And, though keen of mind and sharp of wit, Dane had never considered that Phillip the strategist might long for something else.

“Is that not life?” he murmured. “The chal
lenge of each new day?”

“I daresay my life is infinitely less exciting than yours, Dane.”

Dane eyed him curiously.

“Ah, well,” Phillip said. “Perhaps someday. For now there is work to be done.”

“So there is,” Dane agreed. He whistled for Percival.

“I should be off as well.” Phillip brushed an in
sect from his coat, then looked over at Dane. “When shall we meet again?”

“Let us see how the game plays out for a time, eh? I shall contact you in London.”

Phillip watched as Dane swung up onto Perci-val’s back. “To success,” Phillip said with a faint smile.

Dane inclined his head. “Indeed,” he mur
mured.

With a brief salute he rode into the night.

Miles away in London, the streets of Westminster were nearly deserted. Within a small, brick
fronted house, Nigel Roxbury strode into a tiny study and picked up a sheaf of papers from the middle of his desk. In the corner, a tall pendulum clock ticked loudly.

Dressed in a worn black jacket, his was a face undistinguished by any particularly remarkable features—except for the patch that covered one eye. Shrewd, calculating, and tough were among the traits attributed to him by his colleagues. Still, he considered himself a relatively simple man. He did not aspire to wealth. God knew he was in the wrong profession for that. He did not whore or gamble or drink to excess. But he was a great admirer of all things ancient, the graceful simplicity and line.

He glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. Where the devil was she—

A knock sounded.

He strode to the door and threw it open. With a swish of her skirts, a woman entered, pulling back the veil that covered her face.

Though some ten years his senior, she was, he admitted, a woman who had aged most grace
fully. Her skin was still ivory and smooth, her features elegantly refined, but there a glint of sil
ver here and there streaked in her hair. Clad in a gown of the latest Parisian fashion, her petite form remained as slim as many a girl’s.

“Greetings,
madame
!” He led her into the study. “Ah, you have something for me!”

She handed him a small box. Impatiently, he pulled off the lid and thrust aside the coarse yel
low straw. His eyes gleamed as he lifted out a gleaning statuette. The light from the lamp glinted off the smooth gold surface.

“Glorious! Absolutely glorious!”

Taking a seat across from him, his visitor arranged her skirts over her knees.

“That piece is worth a fortune.”

“And I am paying a small fortune for this and the other pieces you will bring.”

“Yes,” she said archly. “And I can only won
der how a man such as you can afford such pieces.”

“Oh, come!” he admonished. “Must you look at me so? Why should only the rich indulge their passions? For twenty years I’ve longed for such treasures. Your late husband Armand and I shared a fascination for the splendors of Egypt. Oh, but he was a generous man to allow others to view them at their leisure! He chose to donate his collection to a museum. I find, however, that I am not so magnanimous.”

“It is not your passion to which I object,” the woman said coldly, “it is how you go about it.”

“Ah, you mean
your
involvement. Come, a few pilfered pieces from the tombs of the an
cients, otherwise destined for the art market! I can hardly compete with private collectors or museum buyers, can I? How fortuitous for me,
though, that you remained acquainted with the

curator’s assistant François.”

“Yes,” she said shortly, “and I must pay him.”

His eyes flickered. “I fear there has been a slight problem.”

Her eyes flashed. “We had an agreement!”

“And it will be honored,” he said irritably. “There has simply been a delay in the transfer of funds.”

“The transfer of funds,” she repeated.

Roxbury’s expression hardened. “That damned highwayman the Magpie has seen fit to rob me,” he said brusquely. “And François did insist on gold.”

“I see. Perhaps there will be some delay, then, in the next transfer of your goods.”

“It would not be wise to threaten me,
madame
. You know who you deal with. Neither of us wants to lose what we have, do we?” With a fin
ger he traced the headdress of the statuette, ad
miring it once more before glancing at her. “We both have a great deal to gain. As you say, it is a mutually advantageous agreement, is it not?”

Her pointed chin came up. “I do not stand to profit from this.”

“Oh, but you do,” he contradicted. “And you know what will happen if you try to trick me. One word from me, and you won’t be able to show your face anywhere in Europe. Your secret
will be out. The estate you inherited will be lost. Your marriage to Armand Lemieux will be ex
posed as the sham it was should I choose to reveal you already had a husband! You will lose all you gained at Lemieux’s death. Your life, as you know it, will end.”