Shadow Dance (9 page)

He let her go. In the murky light his silver eyes glittered, and she could see the rise and fall of his chest, see the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

She wiped her wrist across her mouth, not bothering to disguise her reaction. He simply looked at her, a dark, unreadable expression in his eyes. “I expect you now understand why you can’t be Val’s lady’s maid. He does far better with Hannigan. I doubt you’d have the strength to tie his laces.” The kiss might almost have not existed.

She could play it the same way. “Why is he doing it?”

There was no mistaking the man’s cool smile. What had his brother called him? Not Philip. Phelan? “I’ll tell you, fair Juliette,” he murmured, “if and when I decide to trust you.” He reached out and touched her mouth, his fingers gentle, questing, lightly callused.

She jerked away, staring up at him. “At least he won’t have to wear skirts in the house anymore,” he continued smoothly. “He’ll appreciate that.”

“Phelan,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “You heard that, did you?”

“Is that your real name?”

“For my sins, yes,” he said flatly.

“It’s an odd name.”

“Distinctive,” he agreed. “According to my mother, it means ‘the wolf.’”

Juliette’s temporary sense of power vanished. He was aptly named. “I think I should leave here.”

“I think,” said Phelan, “you won’t be going anywhere until I say so. And that won’t be for a long, long time.” He took a step back, away from her. “Come back upstairs. I imagine Valerian is decently clothed now, and the two of you ought to at least make one another’s acquaintance.”

“I think I’ve seen more of your brother than I care to,” Juliette muttered.

“Most likely,” Phelan said wryly. “Nevertheless, you’ll do as I say.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll assume you’re a schoolroom miss running away from a stern father, and I’ll do my best to return you to the bosom of your family.”

“I’ll come,” she said bitterly.

“I rather thought you would.”

And Juliette wondered if she had it in her to kill a man. She would certainly enjoy trying.

If he’d been a graceful, lovely woman, the man she’d surprised in the bathtub was an even more attractive man. Tall, strong, and intensely masculine, despite the beauty of his face and the silken blond hair, he rose when Juliette entered the room, a wry, self-deprecating smile on his mobile mouth.

“I presume there are no secrets between us,” he said with a charming smile. “I’m Valerian Romney.”

“Romney?” she questioned, putting her small hand in his.

“Valerian!” Phelan cautioned from directly behind her.

His brother shrugged, turning the masculine handshake she’d offered into a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand. “She’s living with us, Phelan. She’s bound to ferret out all our secrets sooner or later. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a relief. Do you play chess?”

“Not very well,” she admitted.

“All the better,” Valerian said. “My brother always beats me mercilessly. Now I can find someone smaller to trounce.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the man who now
seemed to be named Phelan Romney, but he simply watched them, no expression in his silver-gray eyes. “It would be my pleasure,” she said demurely. “Assuming I’m not needed in the kitchen.”

“You aren’t going to make her work, are you, Phelan?” his brother beseeched him.

“Why shouldn’t I? She was brought here as a serving lad, not a ward of the house,” he replied, lounging against the doorway.

“She can be my page,” Val declared. “We can get her a velvet suit, and she can carry my vinaigrette wherever I go.”

“You want a witness for your rendezvous with the bluestocking, brat?” Phelan inquired.

Val’s smile faded into uncertainty for a moment. “Not particularly,” he said. “Though it might be good for me. At least it would keep me in line.”

“I’m counting on your own good sense to do that.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. My good sense seems to have flown out the window the moment I let you and Hannigan talk me into wearing skirts,” Val said, his voice rich with disgust.

“It’s a very good disguise,” Juliette offered hesitantly. “I never guessed.”

Val grinned at her. “That’s because you were too busy trying to fool everybody yourself. I admit, though, I seem to have a talent for acting. Perhaps I should go on the stage, Phelan. Assuming we’re driven out of England forever.”

“Driven out of England?” Juliette echoed.

“Valerian,” Phelan said wearily, “whatever happened to your discretion?”

“I’ve used it all up on everyone else,” he said. “I’ve none to spare for your little spaniel.”

“Spaniel?” Juliette said, incensed.

“Because he’s had you trailing around after him, in a misguided attempt at keeping an eye on you. Though now that I have a good look at you, you don’t resemble a spaniel at all. Perhaps a she-lion. Or a very young wolverine. Not so tame at all.”

Of course, he would also know the meaning of Phelan’s name, and his choice of animals wasn’t random. “Think of me as a lapdog,” she said with deceptive affability. “A fat old pug, with an evil disposition and very sharp teeth.”

Valerian shouted with laughter. “I like her, Phelan,” he said. “I like her very much indeed.”

“Do you?” Phelan’s voice was cool and noncommittal, and Juliette resisted the impulse to glance at him. She couldn’t begin to guess what the older brother thought of her, and she didn’t want to. Because then she might start wanting him to think of her in certain ways, and therein lay disaster.

Valerian was another matter. Handsome, charming, and sunny-tempered, he was as different from his dark, brooding brother as night from day. He was no threat to her whatsoever. So why was she drawn to Phelan?

She’d never been terribly pragmatic, and the past weeks must have overset her common sense entirely. The sooner she escaped from this mysterious family, the better off she’d be. She’d learned she could count on no one but herself. She needed to remember that, when seduced by one man’s easy smiles and another’s wintry charm.

“Speaking of lapdogs,” Phelan said, “the fair Juliette may have a good idea there. I like the idea of her keeping
a censorious eye on you while you consort with Miss de Quincey. Why don’t we get you a yapping little terrier and have young Julian carry it wherever you go?”

“You don’t frighten me, Phelan. Find the terrier and we’ll take it from there,” Valerian said affably. “In the meantime, let me have Juliette. I need someone new to talk to.”

“Later, brat. I have need of her right now.”

Juliette turned to glance at him, but as usual there was no reading anything in his enigmatic expression. She didn’t want to go with him. For one thing, she didn’t want to obey any of his random commands. For another, she didn’t want to leave the sunny comfort of the one brother for the doubtless danger of the other. Did she?

She knew she had no choice. She made a low bow. “Yes, my lord and master.”

Valerian chuckled. “Better watch it, Phelan. You can’t thrash her when she mocks you.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Phelan said coolly. “Come along, lad,” he ordered, his voice heavy with irony.

Juliette followed in his wake, wondering whether she ought to keep a civil tongue in her head, always a difficult task for her. Or whether she had anything to lose.

She decided she didn’t. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said.

Phelan paused at the top of the stairs, turning to observe her with unsettling calm. “Wouldn’t do what?”

“Call me ‘lad’ with such sarcasm.”

“Forgive me,” he said without a trace of sincerity. “I am told my cynicism is one of my greatest flaws.”

“I doubt that.”

His smile lightened his dark face. “Doubtless you think I have many far greater ones,” he suggested.

“Doubtless,” she said boldly.

“Are you hoping to goad me into sending you on your way? As I’ve already remarked, you’re extremely innocent. If you irritate me enough, I’ll simply see that you’re locked in your room.”

“I could climb out the window.”

“I’m aware of that. I used the window to enter your room and remove your clothes. I’ll see to it that the window is barred as well.”

She could feel her face pale. “You did?”

“Who did you think? Hannigan? Much as I trust him, I wasn’t about to let him wander into a sleeping girl’s room. He is only a man after all, and subject to the same temptations as anyone.”

“But not you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You weren’t subject to any temptations when you entered my room.” She pursued it with an irrational disregard of her own well-being.

“On the contrary,” he said, and his voice was low, smooth, and evoking extreme warning. “But then, I have an unfair advantage. I already know what I’m planning to do with you.”

“Would you care to enlighten me?” She found she could be almost as mocking.

Almost. Phelan Romney was a master. “No.”

She stared at him in mute frustration. “To the kitchen, young Julian,” he said, dismissing her.

“I’ve already helped Dulcie …”

“She’s in need of more assistance,” Phelan said calmly.

“You just want to keep me away from your brother,” she said shrewdly.

“Why ever should I?”

She considered it. Jealousy certainly couldn’t be a motive. “You need to warn him not to be so frank. Not if you wish to keep any of your secrets, Mr. Romney.” She used his real last name with determined emphasis, hoping for a reaction.

She didn’t like the one she got. “Wrong name, little one,” he murmured with a mocking smile. “But you’re right about my brother. I’m about to tie his tongue in knots before I let you near him again. He could take lessons in discretion from you.”

For some reason she was inordinately pleased at the vague compliment.

“But it won’t do any good,” he added.

“What won’t?”

“Your discretion. When I want to find out your secrets, I will. For the time being, I’ll let you keep them. I have other, more important matters on my mind.” He turned from her. “To the kitchen, child,” he called over his shoulder.

The term incensed her. “I’m twenty-two years old.”

He turned and looked at her, and there was no mistaking his triumphant expression. “So ancient a hag, are you?” he murmured. “I would never have guessed it. And therein lies a lesson. I just tricked you into giving away one piece of information. I can get the rest just as easily.”

“Try it,” she challenged, still furious, mainly with herself.

He took a step toward her, and she could read the determination in his face. He was going to touch her. And she was horribly afraid she might begin to like it.

“Never mind,” she said swiftly. “I believe you.” And she turned and fled down the dark, narrow stairs to the kitchen.

Phelan should have been pleased with the way things were working out. Or so he told himself as he sat alone in the library at Sutter’s Head, staring out into the late-afternoon sunlight. The past few days had passed in relative peace and harmony. The introduction of Juliette into their lives had at least temporarily restrained some of Valerian’s more reckless tendencies. To be sure, he still rode neck or nothing along the beach to burn off some of his restlessness. But the rest of the time he spent with Juliette, playing chess, teasing her, trying, with a complete lack of success, to ferret out her secrets. He’d made no attempt to travel into Hampton Regis and visit the alluringly innocent Miss Sophie de Quincey, and for that Phelan could only be grateful. A few more days, and he might even be able to convince Val of the wonders of Paris.

Phelan knew he ought to be willing to give up his interest in Juliette as a sacrifice to Valerian’s well-being. But there was a limit to his brotherly devotion, and that limit had been reached in the person of a small, determined creature who didn’t even realize how deliciously feminine she was.

That was probably the secret of her charm. Most women flirted, using every weapon in their arsenal to try to ensnare men, whether they actually wanted them or not. It was probably just a case of keeping their skills sharp.

Phelan had always found it a dead bore. But Juliette Whoever-She-Was was a different matter entirely. She truly didn’t want to entice anyone, and her grace and femininity
came from somewhere inside her, unconscious and all the more desirable.

He was having a hard time of it, Phelan thought with grim humor. He ought to get rid of her. Failing that, he ought to encourage Valerian to bed her. He could do neither. As far as he could tell, and he’d been watching with jealous intensity, Valerian treated her like a younger brother, like a tame puppy, like a new toy. As long as that continued, he didn’t need to make any decisions. And he could control his own urges, no matter how irrationally fierce they seemed to have grown over the past week, ever since the advent of the fair Juliette into their lives.

God, if only they could leave this place! Leave her behind, with her unconscious temptation. Phelan had no home, and he wanted none. On the Continent he felt free, to roam, to discover, to live.

Taking his allowance and buying a commission in the army had been a rash, childish thing to do, back when he was a hotheaded eighteen-year-old. His father had even deemed it mad. But it had been the sanest thing he’d ever done. While none of his fellow officers could understand why an heir to a tidy estate would enter the army, they had accepted him, and he’d learned the kind of friendship that existed between men when lives were at stake. With Hannigan always at his side, he’d discovered a kind of peace within himself, the sort he’d never thought he could find. He’d accepted his lot with a cynical grace, continuing with his travels during the eight years since he’d sold out his commission. If only he hadn’t returned to Yorkshire and set the madness in motion once more.

He leaned back in the leather chair, a frown creasing his forehead. It had been years since he’d wasted his time in
useless regrets, in longing for what simply could not be. It was best he kept his attention fixed on what he could do. Enough people were already paying the price of the family heritage. He was damned if he’d let Valerian do so as well.

“We’ve got trouble, your lordship.”

Phelan lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as Hannigan strode into the room. He was still dusty from his travels, and his face was grim.

“It looks it,” Phelan said. “Wouldn’t you like something to quench your thirst before you tell me?”

“Dulcie’s bringing me some ale.” Hannigan sat heavily in a chair, with the weariness of an old friend, not a servant, and Phelan realized matters were very serious indeed.

Phelan had never been a man to stand on ceremony. He didn’t give a damn about social rules, or class order, or any of that absurdity. When long ago he’d learned that the young boy playing in the kitchens was actually his half brother, he’d seen to it that Valerian had joined in his own lessons. Phelan’s mother had protested in shrieks of fury, but even at fifteen he’d managed to ignore her, and for once his father had approved of his actions in taking Valerian under his wing.

Phelan had always considered Hannigan to be more of a father than the man who had sired him, and when they were abroad, Hannigan relaxed some of his standards. In England, however, he always stood deferentially, referred to Phelan by title, and seldom held more than the briefest of conversations.

Phelan leaned back in his chair, waiting patiently. Indeed, he was a man who’d learned to school his impulses, and he’d done very well at it. Until he’d met the girl who called herself Julian Smith.

“She’s an heiress,” Hannigan said, once Dulcie had delivered his mug of ale and then made herself scarce with her usual placid discretion.

Phelan considered the information. “Valerian will be pleased,” he said wryly. “He’s been looking for one to marry.”

“Won’t do him any good. She’s already married.”

Phelan didn’t allow a flicker of emotion to pass over his face. “Is she?” he said evenly.

But Hannigan had known him since birth. “I knew you wouldn’t like it,” he said. “And you won’t like who she’s married to even more.”

“Someone I know?” He didn’t deny his reaction. It would have been fruitless. “Why don’t you tell me everything you know? I suppose the girl has a name?”