Nicole Jordan (34 page)

He wanted Julienne to be part of him for the rest of his days.

Dare’s breath caught in a hard knot in his throat. What he wanted might not matter. He hadn’t earned the right to have Julienne love him. He didn’t deserve her—he knew that better than anyone. He wasn’t worthy of her.

But he could change. He could prove himself worthy.

And he would, Dare vowed solemnly. When this was all over, he would win Julienne’s love, even if it took his last breath.

Chapter

Seventeen

The night was poignant and passionate but morning came too soon. Julienne woke with her nerves raw, a feeling that never diminished as she bathed and dressed for the grand festivities that were to begin at noon at the Tuileries Gardens.

When Dare called at her room, she met his eyes, and the dark solemnity she saw there mirrored her own.

“Solange has left,” he informed her in a quiet tone.

“I know. I said farewell to her a short while ago.”

They had arranged for the Frenchwoman to attend the celebration with friends, so as to keep her out of danger.

“Here,” Dare said, handing her a small pistol. “Do you know how to use this?”

“Yes. After…the assault, I learned how to defend myself. But I have my knife tucked in my garter.”

“Even so, I want you to be well-armed. That’s the only way I will allow you to get near Caliban.”

Julienne nodded and slipped the pistol into her reticule, which was hanging from her wrist.

Offering his arm, Dare escorted her below to the hotel entrance, where his carriage waited. The glorious June day, Julienne thought absently as they stepped out into the sunshine, presented a sharp contrast to the tension roiling inside her.

Her tension increased sharply when Dare suddenly came to a halt. She followed his gaze to see more than a dozen mounted British soldiers milling around his carriage.

Upon spying her, one of the soldiers broke away and rode up to them. “You are Julienne Laurent?” he asked, his face grim.

When she acknowledged that she was, he dismounted. “I am Captain Pritchard, and you are under arrest.”

She felt the muscles of Dare’s arm clench, but he held on to his temper and coolly raised an eyebrow. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I am to arrest the lady, by orders of Lord Aberdeen.”

“On what possible charges?”

“Attempted murder, my lord. Miss Laurent has been plotting to have you killed. I have a warrant sworn out against her by one Martin Perrine.” He turned and motioned to one of his men, who led forward a riderless mount.

Dare’s jaw hardened. “Miss Laurent is not going anywhere with you, Captain.”

“Dare, it’s all right,” Julienne interjected. “I’m certain this is all a simple mistake.”

“It is damned well not all right. I don’t intend to stand idly by while you’re prosecuted with fraudulent charges.”

“You may accompany us if you choose, Lord Wolverton,” the captain offered. “Lord Aberdeen said you would likely not believe the charges.”

“No,” Julienne said urgently, “you cannot come, Dare. You have business to attend to elsewhere. Please,” she entreated in an undertone. “This is most likely a ploy to keep you occupied while our devious friend accomplishes his goal. I will go with the captain while you attend the celebration.”

In response, Dare glanced around him, as if judging the odds. The carriage was surrounded, Julienne realized, and would be useless as a means of escape.

Offering a grim smile, Dare withdrew a pistol from inside his coat and aimed it at Pritchard. “I fear I don’t have time to resolve this misunderstanding just now, Captain. Stand aside.”

A look of outrage suffused Pritchard’s ruddy face, and Julienne watched with apprehension as he debated what to do. Several of his soldiers had drawn rifles from their scabbards, she saw.

“I also suggest,” Dare said pleasantly, “that if you wish to prevent your immediate demise, you will tell your men to put down their weapons.”

With a low curse, Pritchard commanded his men to obey.

Then, before the captain’s astonished eyes, Dare grasped the reins of the riderless horse and leapt into the saddle. Reaching down, he pulled Julienne up behind him.

The narrow skirts of her gown hampered her mounting, but she managed to wrap her arms around Dare’s waist. Her heart pounding, Julienne clung tightly as he spurred the horse past the soldiers and onto the busy boulevard, heading for the Jardins des Tuileries.

Hearing shouts behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to find Captain Pritchard had mounted and was giving chase with his men. Dare must have realized the danger for he bent lower and urged the horse to greater speed as he weaved through the heavy traffic.

“Hold on!” he warned Julienne as they clattered over the cobblestones.

She hoped Pritchard wouldn’t risk shooting for fear of hitting the multitude of carriages and riders surrounding them. And Dare seemed to be drawing away….

Julienne’s breath was ragged by the time their mad dash ended at the spectacular gardens. Dare had to slow their pace as he plunged into the crowds congregating on the elegant esplanades.

The vast acreage of the Tuileries was formally laid out with wide, paved paths flanked by lush flower beds and neatly trimmed shrubbery. Numerous fountains and statuary and tall shade trees completed the adornment, with an occasional pavilion artistically erected here and there.

The numbers of merrymakers were smaller than Julienne expected, perhaps because the French populace had accepted the return of the Bourbons without enthusiasm. But the mass grew more dense as they neared the parade passing in front of the palace. Evidence of the new regime showed in the uniforms of the cavalry troops and the horses whose bridles sported white Bourbon cockades.

She and Dare received countless stares as they doggedly made their way toward the main entrance, but when they crossed the columns of the parade, they were showered with angry oaths and denunciations.

Reaching the other side, where he quickly halted, Dare swung his right leg forward over the pommel and sprang down, then turned and caught Julienne by the waist and set her on her feet. Taking her hand, he quickly pushed through the crowd and up a curving sweep of marble steps, hoping to gain access to the royal residence.

Julienne’s pulse was racing as Dare pulled her behind him, and she barely had time to glimpse the famous palace. The building itself was large and rather cumbersome, with long, narrow wings and high roofs and countless arcaded windows. Here Louis XVI and his queen, Marie Antoinette, had been held under house arrest for nearly three years before a hostile mob stormed the palace and killed more than a thousand guards, taking the royals to the Temple prison, where they would live out the rest of their lives.

The fact that the current guards bristled with muskets and blunderbusses and sabers, however, suggested the new king preferred to take no chances that his subjects might become as unruly as his late brother’s.

The king’s household troops refused them admittance until Dare showed his invitation. They were permitted inside just in time, Julienne realized, for Captain Pritchard came charging up the steps, hard on their heels.

“Miss Laurent, halt! You are under arrest, I tell you!”

The guards blocked his entrance as Julienne swiftly asked in French where Lord Castlereagh might be found.

They were escorted through the palace to the royal audience chamber. Knowing they could be too late, Julienne felt anxious fear well inside her as she and Dare made their way through the cavernous halls. They passed an endless number of arches and massive stone columns before arriving at a grand room that was three stories high, with lofty, curved ceilings and railed galleries above.

Julienne halted in dismay at seeing the size of the crowd. In this packed chamber, a killer could easily strike and fade away undetected.

“What should we do now?” Julienne asked Dare, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the laughing, chattering guests bent on celebrating.

“Follow our original plan,” he replied. “Locate Perrine but try to keep from being seen ourselves. By now he probably thinks he’s taken care of us, that you’ve been arrested and that I’m on a rampage to try to get you released. Do you have the pistol I gave you?”

“Yes,” Julienne said after glancing down at her reticule. Surprisingly it was still attached to her wrist.

“We should separate.” Dare’s gaze surveyed the gallery above. “You’ll be safer up there, and you can better watch for Perrine.”

“Dare, my safety is not my first concern.”

Raising his fingers to her face, he gave her cheek a light caress. “I know, but it is mine. I’ll stay near Castlereagh in case Perrine acts.”

“Please, be careful,” Julienne begged.

“You, as well.”

He grasped her face and planted a hard kiss on her mouth, then left her to enter the audience chamber. For a moment she saw him skirt the crowd before he disappeared in the sea of bodies.

Turning, Julienne retraced her steps till she located a wide stairway that led to the upper floors. She chose the west gallery over the others, since it lay in shadows, and moved behind a column so she could covertly view the throng below.

The perspective was far better up here. The king stood out like a peacock in his magnificent costume. Louis XVIII, whom Julienne had heard described as gouty and clumsy as well as courteous and genial, beamed as he mingled among his distinguished guests. She saw numerous dignitaries, as well: Alexander, Metternich, Frederick. And, to one side, Lord Castlereagh.

Her heart beginning to thud, Julienne searched for Martin Perrine. There was no sign of him, but she spied Dare, partly hidden behind a column, his fair hair gleaming as he conversed with several members of the French aristocracy. He had lost his tall beaver hat in the wild ride, she realized for the first time. And he had positioned himself with a clear view of Castlereagh, who stood near the buffet table.

The table groaned with delicacies. Even from a distance she could make out crab patties and sugared grapes and small, frosted cakes among the ice sculptures formed in the shape of busts, including a large centerpiece of King Louis.

A score of footmen moved about the room with difficulty, offering glasses of wine and champagne. And stationed at frequent intervals were both French and British soldiers, all armed.

She saw nothing, however, of the man they feared was a ruthless assassin. When Dare glanced up at her briefly and met her gaze, Julienne gave a slight shake of her head to communicate her lack of success.

Slipping her hand into her reticule, she closed her fingers around the handle of the pistol and settled down to wait.

Nearly an hour later, Julienne had begun to grow weary and her nerves felt raw with strain. She had just shrugged her stiff shoulders to ease the tension when she saw a man push through the crowd below. He had brown hair, but his build was too slight for him to be Perrine.

The unkempt, dark blue coat he wore looked wrinkled, as if it had been slept in, and he was stumbling slightly as though drunk.

Julienne frowned, unable to shake the feeling that his actions had a sinister quality to them. Moreover, he carried something in his hand. A pistol?

Her heart leapt when she realized he was heading directly toward Castlereagh.

She tried shouting in order to warn Dare, but she couldn’t make herself heard over the babel of the crowd. She waved her hand frantically, trying to catch Dare’s eye, but to no avail. So she did the only thing she could think of: she withdrew her pistol and fired in the air.

The shot echoed around the vast chamber, taking a chunk out of the plaster ceiling and raining down a spray of dust and chips. For an instant, silence prevailed. Then, with startled cries, some of the guests began a mad rush toward the doors, while others fell prostrate on the floor, covering their heads.

But at least she had managed to attract Dare’s attention, Julienne realized. And he understood when she gestured wildly at the blue-coated man.

The man had his pistol raised and aimed as he charged toward Castlereagh with the grim determination of a general going into battle.

Dare leapt forward, shoving people out of his way, and rushed the assailant, knocking him to the floor just as the pistol discharged. An ice sculpture exploded two feet from Lord Castlereagh’s head, while the blast of the gunshot brought more screams and cries of “Assassin!” and “Murder!” as the guests scattered like frightened sheep.

For a dozen heartbeats, Julienne’s gaze was riveted on the chaos below. Yet once she realized the foreign secretary was safe, she forced her gaze to sweep the remaining assembly of stunned onlookers, looking for Martin Perrine.

It was only when she leaned over the railing that she saw him. He was almost directly below her, concealed in the shadows.

His fists clenched as he watched Dare haul the assassin to his feet. Then Perrine’s gaze lifted, his narrowed eyes searching the galleries.

When his gaze locked with Julienne’s, she saw his fury. His seething reaction left her with no real doubt that he’d employed the assassin and was enraged by his failure.

Dare was shaking the blue-coated man, obviously grilling him intensely. Perrine threw one last fulminating glare at Dare, then spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of fleeing guests.

He was leaving, Julienne thought, because he feared the blue-coated man would expose him. But if he escaped, the world would never be safe….

Forcing her sluggish brain to think past the frightening possibilities, she turned and raced for the stairs, knowing she would have to move quickly if she had any hope of keeping Perrine in sight. She had almost reached the bottom steps when a figure suddenly broke from the shadows and came to stand directly below her. Julienne stumbled to an abrupt halt.

She raised her pistol defensively, though she knew it was empty and useless. Her futile gesture earned her a scornful look.