Stormswept (6 page)

Two burly young men were indeed coming round the corner of the wall. He recognized Viscount Blackwood, the earl’s heir. Swiftly Rhys pulled her into the forest, praying that the men hadn’t seen them.

But when he tried to drag her deeper, she halted. “Please, I must go back. They won’t rest until they find me, and if they find you with me, ’twill be very bad for me.”

“I want to protect you. You shouldn’t suffer for my error—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can endure the caning, now that I know—” She broke off, coloring.

“Yes?” Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss into her palm. “Now that you know what?”

She ducked her head shyly. “That you no longer believe those awful things you said. That you didn’t lie last night.”

“I don’t. And I didn’t.” He stroked her hair. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

That sent his blood thundering through his veins. He didn’t deserve her kindness or trust. He shouldn’t desire her, or let her desire him. Yet he did, and he would.

He held her close. “Stay awhile.” He managed a smile. “Give your mother time to plead on your behalf.”

She cupped his cheek, looking as if she might do as he asked. But just then one of her brothers called out, “Darcy, I see something over there . . . in the woods! ”

She pushed him away hard. “Go! ” When he hesitated, her voice turned pleading. “If you care for me at all, run and don’t come back. Because if they find me with you, I’ll be caned within an inch of my life.”

Only that gave him the strength to flee into the woods. But he halted a short distance away and hid to watch as her brothers caught up with her.

“Juliana, you little fool, you’re in big trouble now,” said the viscount. “Father will have your hide for running off! ”

“You could tell him you couldn’t find me,” Juliana said hopefully.

Her brother shook his head. “This isn’t like when you were a girl and I hid you from Father. If you don’t come now, ’twill be worse for you later. So it’s better to get it over with.”

Despite the man’s sympathetic tone, Rhys had to fight the urge to jump out and snatch her from her brothers. But thrashing her brothers would only get her in more trouble.

By thunder, this was a damned mess! He shouldn’t have come at all. And he certainly shouldn’t have held her again, allowing her to steal once more into his heart.

Look at me, lurking behind trees, longing after an Englishwoman, and one beyond my station at that. She ought to hate me. I ought to hate her.

Yet he didn’t. And given the chance, he would see her again. That was what worried him most.

Where there’s love it’s all in vain

to draw the bolt or fix the chain;

and locks of steel, where there’s desire,

and doors of oak won’t hold that fire.

—ANONYMOUS, “STANZAS FOR THE HARP”

N
ight was falling as Darcy smoked a cigar before dinner on the terrace of Northcliffe Hall. When he saw Lettice leave the house, glance about her, and head for the woods, he frowned. She must be meeting someone. It had to be a man, or she wouldn’t be so secretive about it. But who might it be?

Lettice was
his
, damn it
.
As soon as he and Lady Elizabeth married, he meant to make the Welshwoman his mistress. Though Elizabeth’s dowry would bolster the family fortunes and her breeding would make her an excellent hostess for social affairs, she was too cold to warm a man’s bed.

Unlike the lovely Lettice.

Stubbing out his cigar, he followed her at a discreet distance until she halted in a clearing, and a tall Welshman in modest dress emerged from the shadows.

God rot it, he knew that fellow. Morgan Pennant, the printer. He had a shop on Lammas Street.

Darcy scowled as Pennant drew Lettice into his arms and kissed her. Was Pennant the reason that she’d stopped encouraging Darcy’s kisses of late? With jealousy boiling up inside him, he edged closer to watch from behind a tree.

After letting that bloody Welshman kiss her for far too long, Lettice jerked back. “I swear, Morgan, you try my patience. I told you last night, find someone else and leave me alone.”

“Yes, I can see how much you want to be left alone,” Pennant said dryly, pulling her against him. “You certainly came at my summons.”

“Only to make sure you never ‘summon’ me again.” She glanced around nervously, and Darcy flattened himself against the tree trunk.

“You don’t mean that.” Pennant tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head.

“I don’t want to lose my position. I won’t ever be forced to scrabble for a living like my parents, and that’s what I’ll get if I keep on with you.” She pushed Pennant away. “I know you printed those seditious pamphlets for Mr. Vaughan. One day you’ll be found out, and I don’t want to be linked with you when you are! ”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. Was she speaking of the same Mr. Vaughan who was his father’s enemy? The one who’d landed Juliana in trouble this morning? And what was all this about sedition?

Pennant laughed. “I told you last night, they were done in London. Nothing to do with me.”

Lettice turned her back to him. “I’m no fool. I know you’d do anything for your fellow Sons of Wales.”

Darcy clenched his fists. That deuced group of radicals? Father and the burgesses had been attempting to stamp them out for some time. Lettice was right to be concerned. Being mixed up with that lot would definitely get her turned off if Father found out about it.

Not one whit put off by her words, Pennant came up behind her to clasp her about the waist. “I won’t let your silly suspicions change what lies between us.”

“It’s already changed it. I shouldn’t even have gone last night. ’Twas very foolish. And after your idiot friend came today to make accusations against my poor Lady Juliana, I ought to wash my hands of you entirely.”

“That wasn’t my doing, and you know it.”

“Still . . .” When Pennant began nibbling her ear, she leaned her head back against his chest with a sigh. “Can’t you just forget about the radicals?”

Pennant turned Lettice to face him. “Nay, sweetheart, I cannot. And you don’t truly want me to. If I were a puling coward who paid lip service to English laws, then grumbled about it in the taverns, you wouldn’t love me.”

“I
don’t
love you, you fool! ”

Dragging her against him, Pennant kissed her with a passion that made Darcy rage. The scoundrel! ’Twasn’t right that he should have Lettice!

When Pennant stopped kissing her, he chuckled. “Say again that you don’t love me, and I’ll show you again that you’re lying.”

She clung to his shoulders in near desperation. “You devil,
how could I care for a man who doesn’t have the good sense to see the danger he puts himself—and his friends—in?”

“You’ve nothing to worry about. If I’m found out, you and I will start anew in London, or perhaps even America. You can be sure I’ll never leave you to the tender mercies of your master.” He stroked her cheek. “But no one will find out unless you tell them.”

“I swear I’ll never tell! ” She threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, you will be careful, won’t you?”

“Only if you promise to keep meeting me.” His voice grew serious. “I couldn’t bear it if you truly broke with me.”

“I must be ten kinds of a fool . . .” She paused. “But God help me, I do love you.”

His answer was to kiss her again so passionately, Darcy had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from leaping out and tearing into the too-handsome printer.

But if he jumped in now, Lettice would side with her lover and Darcy would never have her. There were better ways to get what he wanted.

First he’d see what he could find out about Pennant’s and Vaughan’s activities.

Then he’d make sure Pennant was no longer around to tempt Lettice.

The scent of roast duckling, mingled with the sugary smell of cinnamon apples, wafted up to Juliana where she lay on her bed. Her mouth watering, she thrust her head under her pillow.

Mama had prevailed upon Papa not to cane her, so he’d
chosen confining her to her room for the next two weeks and sending her to bed without supper tonight, when her favorite meal was being served.

She would rather have been caned, just to have it done and over with.

Then again, perhaps not. Papa had been furious. He might truly have hurt her, especially after she’d refused to tell him what meeting she’d attended and who’d taken her there. She’d never seen him so enraged.

Had last night’s adventure been worth it?

Aye. One kiss from Rhys Vaughan had been worth all of it.

Like as not, she’d never see the smooth-tongued Welshman again. She wished she could get a note to him, to explain . . .

She punched the pillow. What was there to explain? That she wished she were a Welsh girl who could kiss whomever she wanted? It was true. At the moment, she’d rather be a scullery maid than a lady.

The door swung open, making her jerk her head around. Her mother slipped into the room and came to sit on the bed beside her. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You do understand why your father punished you, don’t you?”

Juliana swallowed her resentful words.

“He merely wants what’s best for you, dear. If you’re to make a good marriage, you must learn to control these wild urges of yours. You cannot simply go off on your own. There are men who would—” Her mother broke off, lips tightening.

“Would what?”

Mama dropped her voice as if speaking of a deadly secret. “Assault your person.”

Juliana’s eyes widened. Lettice hadn’t told her that. “You mean they would hit me?” Juliana didn’t count Papa’s canings as hitting; that was merely punishment for transgressions.

“Not exactly.” Mama looked pained. “Men can assault a woman in other ways. They can touch a woman . . .” Her mother trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

“You mean, like kissing them?” Juliana added helpfully.

Her mother glanced up, startled. “What do you know of kissing?”

Juliana dropped her gaze. “I-I’ve watched Lettice.”

Her mother’s sigh of relief sounded loud in the room. “That maid of yours is entirely too forward with men for an unmarried woman. But then, she’s Welsh.”

What did that have to do with it? “Do only Welshwomen let men kiss them like that?”

“An unmarried Englishwoman would never allow a man to kiss her, unless he were her betrothed, of course. Even then, it would be a buss on the cheek, no more. Only married people may kiss on the mouth . . . and . . . well, touch each other.”

Mama’s voice grew brittle. “But men have trouble curbing their intense . . . ah . . . feelings. So women must be the strong ones and hold them at bay.”

Mr. Vaughan’s kiss had made her feel all tingly and pleasant inside. She’d wanted to stand there kissing him forever. “Don’t women have intense feelings?”

“Certainly not! Not proper Englishwomen and well-bred ladies. The Welsh are different, because they have impure blood. But English ladies are a higher breed—strong feelings aren’t in our constitution. There
are
a few unmarried women willing to be any man’s paramour, but certainly no one who travels in our circles.”

Juliana knew the word “paramour” had something to do with living in the same house with a man who wasn’t related to you either by blood or by marriage. But the word sounded so foreign that she’d dismissed it as a Continental peculiarity. “These few unmarried women . . . they’re English?”

Her mother sat up straight on the bed. “In name only, I should think. Their behavior demonstrates that they’re not—” She broke off. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. In any case, you mustn’t think about women with such impure blood.
You
aren’t of that kind, not with your breeding.”

“So you’re saying that if a woman, even an Englishwoman, lets a man kiss her and likes it, she has impure blood.”

“Of course.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully curious about this, Juliana.”

She managed a smile. “Well, my window is over the garden, so I see the servant girls with their sweethearts go by. I never could understand why they kiss so much.”