Dangerous to Love (40 page)

Her eyes slid away from his and she blushed furiously.

He smiled, a look of pure masculine arrogance. “I think I’m going to enjoy shocking you.” When her eyes flew to his, he nodded. “Oh yes, that was only a foretaste of things to come. You have much to learn, Serena, my love, and I aim to be a patient, devoted teacher.”

“Rake,” she said, but her lips were twitching.

Grinning, he nodded. “And you are going to be the beneficiary of all my extensive experience.”

She struggled to her elbows. Eyes dancing, she retorted,
“There may be a thing or two I can teach you, Julian Raynor!”

His brows wiggled suggestively. “From what I could tell, Mr. Hadley hasn’t done much more than steal the odd kiss, if he dared even that.”

Mr. Hadley. The light in her eyes faded away. Horror-struck, she covered her cheeks with her hands. “Oh God,” she moaned. “I really am without shame! How could I betray him like this, with you?” Reaching for her clothes, she began to dress herself.

Julian was stupefied. “Betray him?” he roared. “I’m your damned husband! How can you betray him by allowing me my conjugal rights?”

Her throat ached, and shame and misery washed over her. How could she have forgotten about Trevor Hadley? She might not love him, but he did not deserve this from her.

Julian reached for his own clothes, and began to jerk them on. “I did not do anything you did not want me to do,” he said quietly, when it was evident that she was not going to answer him. “I gave you a chance to destroy our marriage certificate, and you refused it.”

“What difference does it make? It’s done now.”

She was on her hands and knees, hunting for her garters. Her chemise came down to mid-thigh. Though he was furious with her, he couldn’t help admiring the soft contours of her bottom. He remembered how she had wriggled against his groin only moments before, and he was tempted to lay his hand to her bare backside.

He yanked his shirt over his head, then his arms, and thrust the tails into the waistband of his breeches. “You are right in this. The thing is done, and whatever our wishes in the matter, there’s no going back now. You might well be pregnant with my child.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Oh God, how can I face
him? What can I say? Don’t just stand there. Dress yourself before someone walks in and finds us together.”

Julian’s face was like thunder. “A few moments ago, you didn’t care who walked in and found us.”

She pressed a hand to her eyes. “I know. I know. You don’t have to gloat about it.”

He wasn’t gloating, he was bewildered and hurt. For the next several minutes, they dressed in silence. Julian’s eyes went frequently to Serena but her attention was studiously focused on doing up the hooks and buttons on her gown.

When they were ready to leave, he spoke to her. “I shall call on Sir Jeremy tomorrow and lay the whole matter of our Fleet marriage before him.”

She was aghast. “You’ll do no such thing! How could I explain it to Trevor? He will think that I have been amusing myself at his expense. I need more time.”

He was done arguing, done trying to convince her to take a chance on him. Jaw set, he escorted her from the room.

They were halfway down the stairs when the sound of revelers in the gaming house wafted to them down the well of the staircase. Julian halted and turned to look up, and the noise suddenly abated.

“What is it?” asked Serena.

“Someone must have opened the door to the gaming house.”

“Is that so odd?”

“It is if you consider that I locked the door from the inside, and we are the only two people in this section of the house. You go on down. Don’t wait for me. On the other side of the door, you will find Harry waiting for you. Tell him to see that you get home at once.”

He ascended the stairs quickly and silently. When he came onto the landing that led to the gaming house, his
attention was drawn to the door to his office. It was ajar. Lifting a candle from a wall sconce, he cautiously pushed into the room. His eyes were instantly drawn to the doors to the dumbwaiter. They stood open. Crossing to them, Julian depressed the lift and opened the safe. Everything was there, everything was exactly as he had left it when he had extracted his marriage certificate not an hour before. The same could not be said for the rest of the room. Every drawer in his desk gaped open; papers littered the floor; pictures were askew.

Setting down the candle, he quickly turned on his heel and strode to the door to the gaming house. It was unlocked.

When he stepped through that door, he came out onto the gallery. People were milling about, laughing and conversing as they idled from one room to another. Julian stood with his hands curled around the balustrade, his eyes scanning the throng below searching for he didn’t know what.

Someone hailed him, and several faces turned to look up. Julian’s eyes moved over them, then suddenly jerked back. Eyes blazed out at him from one of his own liveried footmen whose handsome face was marred by a long white scar that ran across one cheekbone. Then the face was averted as the footman began to shoulder his way toward the exit. Anticipation shivered through Julian as recognition struck.
Pretty,
he murmured under his breath, and started after him.

He had not counted on the press of people who were eager to exchange a few words with him. He was rude, he was abrupt, and it made no difference. He was a person of celebrity, and every man and his lady wanted to shake his hand. In mounting exasperation, concentrating only on his quarry, he shook people off and broke into a run. Pretty was well aware that he was being pursued. From
time to time, he looked back over his shoulder. As he approached the front doors, Julian shouted a command to the footmen who were stationed there. Misunderstanding him, they left their posts and came forward to meet him, passing Pretty on his way out.

Julian swore. Fortunately at that moment Loukas came out from one of the cardrooms, immediately grasped what was afoot, and gave chase.

Out on the street, Julian was hampered by a crush of sedans and pedestrians.

“Halt! Thief!”

At the familiar voice, Julian’s head whipped round. Constable Loukas, arms waving frantically, was in hot pursuit. Julian sprinted after him. He heard the cries of alarm and the terrified scream of horses rearing and plunging as their driver tried to bring them under control. Then there was nothing but a deathly hush.

He was panting for breath by the time he caught up with Loukas. The constable was bent over the prone figure of a man.

“It was an accident,” the driver of the coach told the bystanders who were crowding round. “He darted across the road in front of me. There was nothing I could do.”

Julian kneeled beside Loukas. Pretty’s eyes were staring blankly. The constable closed them.

“Damn!” said Julian.

“He did not deserve this,” said Loukas. “Nellie Bloggs was merely a petty criminal.”

“Nellie?”

“Nelson. Go back to the house. I’ll take care of things here.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk later. It’s best if you do as I say.”

Julian reluctantly followed his friend’s advice. Once in his private office, he looked over the disorder with a perplexed
frown. One thing he soon discovered was that Bloggs had entered his private suite of rooms by climbing the shaft of the dumbwaiter. What he could not understand was that Bloggs had been hoping to find. Had he been intent on stealing his ledgers and the bills and vowels of his patrons? Or was he after something else? Until an hour ago, the only other document of any interest in the safe was his marriage certificate.

His hands clenched into fists and his whole body went rigid. Slamming the doors to the dumbwaiter with a resounding crash, he stormed out of the room and along the corridor to his bookroom. A swift, comprehensive glance told him that the marriage certificate was gone.

He was furious with disbelief. Sloshing brandy into a glass, he drank it back in one go, then poured himself another. He could not have been so mistaken in her. She could not have prostituted her body so that her accomplice would have time to do her bidding.

He was on his third glass of brandy before he calmed down enough to remember that the certificate of marriage could hardly profit Serena, not when he had already given her the chance to destroy it.

His thoughts shifted, and finally settled on the man with the scar. It hardly seemed possible that Bloggs did not have some connection to Serena. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that there could be no peace for him until he got to the bottom of this. He had to know how deeply Serena was involved and how far she would go. Loukas was right. They must flush out his enemies and bring them into the light.

E
sther, Countess of Kirkland, surveyed her handiwork with pleasure. A mound of gilt-edged cards lay strewn around her desk, invitations to her “informal” house party to be held later in the week at Bagley, their country place. She did not anticipate one refusal, considering that her guest of honor was the most celebrated man in London. Julian Raynor was, without doubt, the man of the hour.

She longed to share her triumph with someone, but that was impossible. Her husband, the earl, was not at all interested in what he considered domestic trivia, and even if he were, these days he was preoccupied with matters of state. Nor would she confide in her bosom friend, Lady Trenton, for fear Dorothea would steal a march on her.

She reached for a silver bell on her escritoire and shook it delicately, summoning the footman who was stationed on the other side of her boudoir door. When he entered, she indicated the cards on her desk.

“See that these are delivered today.” she told him.

The footman’s response was, as ever, neutral. Inside his head, he was calculating how long it would take five footmen to hand deliver her ladyship’s invitations. More than one day, he decided, and he wondered if he dared set aside a portion of them for the morrow. The countess would never know it.

“And Thomas,” said the countess, pinning him with a shrewd eye, “tell the footmen to wait for replies. I shall expect you to report back to me at”—she glanced at the
clock on the mantel—”shall we say shortly after the dinner hour?” And smiling, she left him to it.

Lady Amelia was one of the first to receive her invitation. Her answer was an unequivocal affirmative. Julian had already told her what to expect. He was attempting to scotch all the unpleasant rumors that were circulating respecting Serena Ward that had got started at Ranelagh. Her own reputation hardly mattered to her. Nor did she care one way or the other how things turned out for Serena Ward. Lady Amelia had her own plans. A house party in the country would be the ideal setting. Smiling, she called for her maid to begin the morning’s toilette.

Trevor Hadley was another who had anticipated the invitation. It was Serena’s brother, Sir Jeremy, who had warned him that he was counting on his support to see Serena through what must be a very difficult time for her. Mr. Hadley gazed at the gilt-edged invitation reflectively. The house party could not come too soon for his liking, and when it was over .  .  . his lips curved in a smile. When it was over, he would be free of all obligation.

“You may tell her ladyship that I accept with pleasure,” he said, and pressed a coin into the footman’s palm.

On receiving his invitation, Clive Ward let fly with a vicious profanity. “Beg pardon,” he said, grinning sheepishly. He was in his rooms where he and some of his cronies, his Jacobite cronies, had whiled the night away in drinking and gaming.

Lord Roderick took the card from his hand and read it with interest before passing it on. From the remarks that followed it was obvious that Clive’s friends envied him his good fortune. In their eyes, Julian Raynor was a figure of glamour.

“What’s got into you?” asked Lord Roderick, noting his friend’s chalk-white complexion.

“Don’t be an idiot,” drawled Quentin Page. “You
know perfectly well that Lord Kirkland is the archenemy of Jacobites. No self-respecting Jacobite would care to dine with him.” A thought occurred to him. “I say, do you suppose that there is any truth to the rumor that Raynor was once a government agent?”

“Now why would you say such a thing?” demanded Clive.

“It was only a thought.”

Lord Roderick tried to cover the awkward moment. “Thank God we are small fry and need not concern ourselves about such things. We are not agitators. We are not conspirators.” He smiled benignly. “We are merely drunken sots who know every Jacobite toast ever invented.”

He raised his glass of ruby-red wine. “Gentlemen,” he said, “To His Majesty across the water.”

Those who were awake and still reasonably sober obligingly raised their glasses and followed the ritual of passing them over a bowl of water which was set in the center of the table. “To His Majesty,” they said, and every man there knew that they were not referring to the king who sat on the throne of England.

Jeremy Ward was sharing a very late breakfast with his wife, when Lady Kirkland’s footman begged a few minutes of his time. On returning to the dining room, he passed Lady Kirkland’s card to Catherine without comment.