Seduction (24 page)

But this letter was from his fiancée. Now, she wondered if Nadine was even dead. After all, when he had told her about his fiancée, he had been in the midst of his deception.

Trembling, she glanced over her shoulder, but the parlor door remained shut. She opened the envelope and withdrew the letter and read it.

April 15, 1791

My dearest Dominic, I know we said our goodbyes last night. But I could not help myself. Last night was wonderful. What a perfect evening to have spent together before my trip to France with your mother. I could have danced with you until dawn. You do know, of course, that you are a superb dancer, and we made every other couple there green with envy?

Julianne was sick. She could almost hear Nadine’s soft, warm laughter now. She could almost see her in a ball gown, pretty and glowing and so in love. With moisture gathering in her eyes, she read on.

I know you are a bit anxious about our vacation in France, but I miss home, and so does Catherine. I so miss Paris! My dear, we will be fine and we will be home before you even know we have been gone! Thank you for the flowers, for the beautiful bracelet. Thank you, Dom, for such a perfect evening. I already miss you.

With all my love,

Nadine

Julianne stared at the letter in her hand, unable to see the delicate cursive clearly. Nadine had been in love with Dominic. Of course she had. She had no doubt that Nadine had been a beautiful, kind, warm woman. Had Dominic loved her in return?

Do you still love her?

No.

Suddenly Julianne did not believe him. He had been masquerading as Charles Maurice at the time. And now, damn it, she was afraid. Was Nadine’s family in Cornwall? Was
Nadine
in Cornwall?

Julianne refolded the letter, her hands shaking. She reminded herself that the letter was two years old. She tried to reassure herself—why go so far as to claim Nadine was dead if she were not? And it was horrid, hoping that someone was truly dead, but she would have never allowed Paget a single liberty if he were betrothed to someone else. She slid it back into the envelope and began to retie the ribbon. Tears blurred her vision. There was so much dread. And she heard footsteps outside the door.

She jammed the pile of letters in the drawer and slammed it shut. As she shot to her feet, Dominic opened the door and saw her. His gaze widened.

She inhaled, very distressed.

His gaze narrowed.

Julianne said, “I was going to write Tom.” The moment she spoke, she knew she shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“I see.” His tone was flat, his expression impossible to read.

She wet her lips. “I was looking for a quill.” She stopped, realizing her mistake. But she had never been so flustered.

“The quill is right there, on top of the desk.”

His face was a mask of indifference, yet she knew he suspected that she had been prying into his private things. “It is broken.”

Very quietly, he said, “I see.”

She stared and he stared back. If she asked him about his fiancée, he would know she had been reading his letters, yet she longed to blurt out her questions.

He finally asked, “Were you spying upon me?”

“No!” she cried.

A terrible paused ensued. “I thought you might want breakfast. Unfortunately, I cannot join you. It is in your room.”

She edged away from the desk. He did not move toward her. He did not attempt to embrace her. There was no exchange of happy greetings, no reference to the passionate night they had shared. His regard was intent and searching—it was mistrustful.

Julianne wished she had never gone through his desk or seen those letters.

J
ULIANNE
WAS
VERY
SURPRISED
as she approached the salon where Sebastian Warlock was waiting for her. She couldn’t even recall when she had last seen her uncle—possibly she had been a child of ten or eleven. But Amelia had said that he and Lucas were close; Lucas must have mentioned that she was staying at Bedford House. She supposed it was fortunate to have a chance to get to know her mother’s brother. But as she hurried down the hall, following Gerard, she thought about the fact that he never came to visit Momma.

Sebastian Warlock was standing by the sofa in the small blue salon with white accents. She faltered. He was a dark, handsome man and somehow formidable. He appeared rather impatient now. He was dressed in drab brown, without a wig, indicating either indifference to fashion or unfortunate circumstances. Having seen his London home, Julianne suspected the case to be the former. She did not recognize him at all.

For one moment he stared at her, his regard going over her from head to toe, quite clearly inspecting her. Julianne was taken aback.

He finally smiled, briefly, and came forward to greet her, taking her hand. “It has been a very long time, Julianne.” He bowed over her hand and released it.

“Yes, it has,” she said, feeling oddly tense. She reminded herself that this man allowed Lucas the use of his home, and Lucas liked him. “This is a surprise, but a pleasant one.”

He studied her for another moment. “You are the surprise, my dear. You are beautiful and you so remind me of your mother.”

Julianne’s tension increased, even though she knew that Momma had been a beauty in her day. “I hope you are flattering me.”

“I just remarked on how pleasing to the eye you are.” His brow lifted.

“You surely know Momma is addled.”

“Ah, yes, I do, just as I know that you are an intellectual bohemian.”

She didn’t know what to say. Was that last a compliment? Had Lucas said anything else? He would never reveal her radical politics to anyone outside the immediate family, she thought. “A great many subjects interest me. I am an avid reader, but I can hardly keep up with my interests.”

His expression was bland. “I believe Lucas mentioned some such thing.”

She was beginning to feel a bit of alarm, although that was surely absurd. Why had Lucas been discussing her? Had he mentioned Amelia? “My sister also reads avidly, although she has a fondness for novels, not journals.”

“I am not here to see Amelia,” he said.

“It is kind of you to call,” she said, awkwardly. “I would offer refreshments, but I am a guest here.”

“I don’t need refreshments. How are you feeling, after your ordeal?”

What, exactly, was he referring to? Did he enjoy keeping her uncertain and puzzled? For she was beginning to sense that he was hardly making a social call. “Did Lucas tell you that I was ill?”

“Lucas is very worried about you.”

She felt considerable trepidation, then.

“I am also worried.” He gestured at the sofa.

Julianne sat, fearing the worst. Surely Lucas hadn’t told their uncle about her brush with the authorities, for by doing so, he would have exposed her radical orientation. “Lucas manages the estate and the family—he always worries, often needlessly.” She smiled firmly, hoping to close the subject.

He slowly smiled, but it was not warm or kind. “Julianne, I have little time to spare. I have called for two reasons. The obvious one being my familial concern for you.”

She smiled again. Lucas had told Warlock that she was ill, she decided. “I was somewhat ill recently, but I am well on my way to a full recovery. It is kind of you to inquire about me.”

“I am speaking about your radical associations, my dear.”

She froze.

“I am speaking about your Society of the Friends of Man in Cornwall, the Rue de la Seine Club in Paris, and of course, about your attendance at the Newgate Convention earlier in the week—and your arrest and imprisonment in the Tower.”

She stood; he took her arm and pulled her back to sit. “You need not fear me. I am your uncle, after all.”

“How could Lucas tell you all of this?” she cried.

“First, I want you to listen to me—and listen well.” He wasn’t smiling now. “I haven’t called on you in years, Julianne, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about your fortunes. And you were very fortunate this time, to have a great peer like Bedford come rushing to your aid.”

She inhaled. He suspected the affair—she was certain.

“Do you truly think to triumph over the British government? This is not France. We are not ready for—or ripe for—a revolution here. Only one of three possible outcomes can meet radicals like you, Julianne—incarceration, transportation or execution.”

She cried out. “You are trying to frighten me. I cannot fathom why Lucas told you all of my secrets.”

“Can you admit defeat and give up your causes?” His stare was hard and direct.

She trembled in fear. “No, I cannot. I cannot—will not—admit defeat. And I am not giving up anything, sir!” She stood again.

He stood, as well. “Then heed me very well. You are not playing a game of cards. You are playing a game that affects men’s lives and causes their deaths.”

It took her a moment to absorb such a dire statement. She gasped. “I am hardly playing a game.”

“Oh, you are playing a game—a dangerous game, my dear. It is a game of us against them. It is a game of life and death. The stakes are so very high, and if you insist upon playing, then you must do so with great care.”

She wanted to end the conversation but she stared, almost mesmerized.

“You have promise,” he said softly. “You are brave.”

“What do you want?”

“This game is akin to chess. We make a move, they counter. I retrieve Paget. You write the Parisian Jacobins. I seek to locate a traitor. You seek to locate a family. It is a game, a very dangerous one, and we are all players in it.”

Did he know that she had been asked to locate the D’Archand family in Cornwall? Julianne was stupefied. Did he consider her a
traitor?

And what was he, exactly? Because she did not think Warlock the mere lord of a small estate.

“Were you frightened when Rob Lawton broke up the convention? When you were thrown in the Tower?” He spoke mildly.

“Of course I was!” she cried.

“Good. If you are going to play, then you should be afraid—fear makes one cautious.”

“What does that mean?” She looked up at him.

For a moment, he stared. “The British Convention of the Delegates of the People was ended before it ever began. Tom Treyton was arrested in Edinburgh along with three hundred other attendees.”

Julianne cried out in disbelief!

His expression was hard. “They will be tried for high treason, Julianne.”

She could hardly assimilate what he was saying. How had this happened? And then she realized the dire jeopardy Tom was in. “That is a hanging offense.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I must free Tom!”

He slowly smiled. “I had hoped for just such a response.”

As she met his gaze, she felt nothing but dread.

“I can help Treyton,” Warlock said.

Hope surged. “Then please, do so!”

He nodded slightly. “I will have him released, all charges dropped—if you do something for me in return.”

The dread returned, instantly. “What do you want of me?”

“I want you to continue your radical associations, Julianne. And then you will report back to me.”

It took her a moment to comprehend him. “You want me to spy on my friends and associates?”

“Yes, I do.”

For one moment, she stared, shocked. And then outrage began. “There is nothing familial about this call. You want to use me. You are despicable!” she cried. “Does Lucas know what you are asking of me?”

“He most certainly does not, and I suggest you keep this conversation to yourself.”

“I intend to tell Lucas how horrid you are immediately!”

“That is not wise, Julianne. Remember, I have what you want—the ability to have Tom released.” His gaze hardened. “I have a few uses for radicals like Treyton, my dear. None of them are pleasant, should you fail to comply, should you speak to your brother, should Treyton remain behind bars.”

She slowly realized what he was saying—he would hurt Tom if she defied him. “You are ruthless!”

“I am. This is
war,
Julianne.”

She began shaking her head. But even as she wanted to refuse him, she wondered how far he would go. Would he truly torture Tom if she refused to help him?

“I must leave,” he said pleasantly. Julianne wanted to spit at him. Instead, she stared as he picked up his bicorne hat. “I suggest you think carefully about poor Treyton, alone in a cell, at the mercy of his gaolers.” He started for the salon door.

“Better yet, think of Treyton swinging from the gallows, as he will surely be found guilty if I do not intervene.”

Speechlessly, Julianne stared at him. How she hated her uncle.

“I am not all bad, Julianne. Actually, I am a patriot, and I will do whatever I have to do to keep this country safe.” He settled his hat on his head and nodded politely at her. “I expect your answer by the end of the week.”