Swept Away (9 page)

The honorable Alfred bowed to Julia, murmuring, “Ravishing. How do you always manage to find the most beautiful females in the city, Dev?”

“Not
all
the most beautiful ones.” Stonehaven made a polite demurral, bowing toward Alfred's companion. “You have captured one of the loveliest yourself.”

Callandra simpered at the compliment. Stonehaven chatted for a moment with his friend, then moved with Julia toward the edge of the room. Julia's gaze kept returning to the woman and man on the chair by the window. They were still kissing, and now his hand was sliding up her leg, shoving aside the flimsy skirt. She looked hastily away, her heart hammering inside her chest.
Was this what Stonehaven would expect of her?
Doubts assailed her. She looked down at her hands, unable to meet Stonehaven's eyes.

“Gad, it's noisy in here,” Stonehaven said. He bent down to Julia's ear and said softly, “Shall we go outside? There is a nice garden in the rear, and a bench where we can sit and talk.”

“Oh, yes,” Julia agreed quickly, smiling up at him. “That sounds most agreeable.”

Stonehaven took her by the hand and led her down the hallway and out a door. They entered a small side garden that smelled richly of herbs and followed a path around the house to where the garden widened out into a large array of flowers. A tinkling fountain stood in the center of the small yard, and in front of it was a stone bench.

Julia strolled with Lord Stonehaven along the path to the bench. The soft summer breeze caressed her skin, and the scent of roses hung thickly in the air. It was blessedly quiet. They sat down on the bench, and Julia noticed that Stonehaven had not let go of her hand. She tried to pull her scattered thoughts together, to recall herself to her duty and to the plans she had made. She could not let her brother down, she reminded herself, just because her sensibilities had been shocked by the scene inside. It might not be easy, but she had dedicated herself to worming the truth out of Lord Stonehaven, and she could not hesitate now. She had to go forward with her plan.

“Your friend seemed most happy to see you,” she began tentatively.

Stonehaven smiled faintly. “Alfred is a good fellow. Openhanded to a fault. It sometimes gets him in trouble, I'm afraid.”

“Oh?” she asked encouragingly, thinking that friends in trouble was a good path to be following.

He shrugged. “Just the usual. He is often taken advantage of.” He shook his head and smiled at her. “Please, let us not talk of Alfred. A dull subject, I'm afraid.”

“How unkind!” Julia's eyes sparkled at him. “Then let us talk of something more interesting. You, for instance.”

“Me! No, I am afraid that you have hit upon another dull topic.”

“I doubt that.” In her somewhat limited experience, Julia had found that most men's favorite topic of discourse was themselves, so she did not take him at his word. “At least,
I
do not find it dull. I know nothing about you.”

“There is little to tell. What would you like to know?”

What you did with that money, she thought—and how you made it look as if my brother had taken it. But those were scarcely things she could say, so Julia merely smiled and said, “Why, everything. I hardly know where to begin.” She paused. “Are cards your passion? Is that how you spend your days?”

“I usually reserve it for the nights. But, no, I would not say that gambling is a
passion
with me.” The look in his eyes gave her little doubt as to what he did regard as a passion. “'Tis merely a pastime.”

“I see. And what do you do the rest of the time?” She hoped that he might mention the trust in his activities; she was beginning to see that it was not so easy as she had thought to direct their conversation along the path she wished.

He shrugged. “The sorts of things one does. I go to my club when I'm in London. Pay calls. I've been known to race my curricle or to spar a few rounds at Jackson's. Even attend to some business affairs.” He grinned. “You see? I told you it was deadly dull.” He lifted her hand, idly stroking down the back of her hand and each finger to the tip. “I am sure it would be much more fun to talk about you. Where are you from? London?”

“No, Kent,” she replied automatically, then worried that she had been too truthful. But then, she reminded herself, thousands of people lived in Kent; he wouldn't necessarily think of Thomas St. Leger or his nearby neighbors, the Armigers.

“Indeed? I come into Kent now and then.”

“Really?” she murmured vaguely. She was finding the way he was caressing her hand quite distracting.

“Yes. I have a ward who lives there, and I visit him sometimes.”

“A ward? You mean you are someone's guardian? Is he a relative?”

“No. I'm not his guardian, merely a trustee of his money.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I am afraid it's not very interesting.”

“Oh, no, it sounds quite interesting. So you invest his money and such?”

“We direct it. There are two other gentlemen who are trustees, also. But let's not talk about that.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “I would much rather talk about you. Or not talk at all.”

Julia raised a coquettish brow. “Indeed? Do you find talking with me so boring?”

“Never.” He began to kiss each individual finger, his eyes gazing into hers all the while. “It is just that there are so many other interesting things about you.”

The warmth of his lips against her fingers sent tingles running through Julia. She did not understand how something so small could set up such a strong reaction within her. “My lord…”

“Deverel,” he murmured, turning her hand over and planting a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“Deverel…”

“What?” He was kissing his way slowly up her bare arm, his lips hot and velvety on her skin, stirring her senses.

“I don't think we should be doing this.”

“Why not?” She could feel his smile upon her skin.

“Uh, well, anyone could walk out here at any moment and see us.”

“That's true. But unlikely.” He had reached the point of her shoulder and now began to trail kisses across her collarbone to her neck.

Heat welled up in Julia so quickly and explosively that it almost frightened her. “Deverel, stop.”

There was a touch of panic in her voice, and Stonehaven lifted his head, looking at her in a puzzled way.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“I—” Julia was embarrassed by her moment of fear. She looked up at Deverel. His eyes were dark and smoldering in a way that made her insides quiver. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. She thought about their kiss a few nights earlier, and warmth blossomed in her loins.

She could not stop now, she told herself. She was not about to act the coward. She had to lead him along until she got him to talk. It was a delicate line to walk—to give just enough to keep him interested without giving in entirely. She had known that from the start. She had also known that Lord Stonehaven was no schoolboy to fall easily into her trap.

Julia drew a steadying breath and smiled at him. “Nothing. Nothing's the matter,” she said, putting her hand behind his neck and pulling his head down.

T
hough she had experienced it before, Julia was not quite prepared for the torrent of sensations that flooded her at his kiss. She trembled beneath the onslaught, and her fingers tightened against his neck, as if to help her hold on. She had never touched a man so boldly before, and she was very aware of the warmth of his skin and the way his hair brushed her fingers.

He kissed her long and deeply, as if he could reach her very soul, and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into him until she could scarcely breathe. Their bodies strained together, a little awkwardly because of their seated positions on the bench, until finally Deverel pulled Julia onto his lap. She leaned back against his supporting arm, giving herself up to the pleasure of his kiss.

When at last he broke their contact, it was only to trail kisses across her cheek to her ear and take the fleshy lobe between his teeth, teasing it gently. She could hear the harsh rasp of his breath, and the sound was somehow exciting, too. Little shivers of delight radiated through her. She knew she must get a grip on herself, must control what was happening, but everything was too new and startling.

He began to kiss his way down the side of her neck, and as he did so, his hand slid up from her waist until it cupped her breast. Julia jumped in surprise, drawing in her breath in a gasp. “Deverel!”

“Mmm?” He continued to make his way down her neck to her shoulder.

“I—uh—” She didn't know what to say. Her whole body was throbbing, and there was a restless ache between her legs. This was not working. She was getting in deeper and deeper without discovering anything. She gestured vaguely back toward the cottage. “The house…your friends…”

He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes glittered ferally, and his chest moved up and down in harsh, rapid pants. He glanced back toward the house where she pointed, then cast a long look at her.

“You're right,” he said finally. “This place is hardly private enough.”

He closed his eyes as if fighting to gain control of himself. His arms loosened around her, and Julia made herself hop off his lap, a little surprised at how reluctant she was to do so.

“Wait…Jessica…” He reached toward her, but Julia took another step backward.

“Ah, no,” she said, pleased at the flirtatious tone that she forced into her voice. “I don't know what sort of women you are used to, but
I
am not the kind to fall so easily into dalliance.”

Irritation flashed across his face, and for a moment Julia thought that he was about to flare up in anger, but then he sighed and leaned back against the bench, looking up at her and saying in a bantering voice, “Oh, and what kind of woman are you, then?”

“The sort who places a high value on herself,” Julia retorted coolly.

He chuckled. “Indeed. I would say that you are one whose value is higher than most.”

He stood and came to her, his lazy smile telling her that he understood her game. No doubt it was not uncommon for a bird of paradise to play a waiting game, trying to raise the stakes.

“What next, then?” he asked.

Julia hesitated. This was exactly what she wanted—to have everything in her control. But she was not sure exactly what to do. She knew that she must arrange things differently. This evening everything had been too vague, and she had left him too much in control. She should arrange their rendezvous in some private place where she could ply him with alcohol to loosen his tongue while she allowed him a few kisses and caresses. But where could such a thing take place? She obviously could not have him come to her home, and everything engrained in her by her upbringing rebelled at the thought of going with him alone to his house.

Suddenly a thought struck her, and she grinned. “Well…I must confess that I have a great desire to visit Vauxhall Gardens to view the fireworks.”

While Vauxhall Gardens was the sort of place where a lady might go, as long as she was in a well-chaperoned party, it was also a public entertainment that anyone could attend, and Julia had heard rumors that it was a favorite spot for dallying among gentlemen and ladies of the night. There were private boxes to be had, where one could have a supper catered, and if one left one's box, there were all sorts of secluded walkways where a couple could stroll alone in the dark—or pause in the shadows for a few stolen kisses. Moreover, people often went to it in masquerade, which meant that one could keep one's identity a secret. All these things combined to make it a perfect site for their rendezvous.

“Do you?” he responded, the glitter in his eyes telling her that he was well aware of the suitability of Vauxhall Gardens. “Certainly you must see them. Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

“No, I am afraid I could not do it tomorrow.” She must, after all, keep him dangling for a while in order to whet his appetite. “What about the day after that?”

“As you wish,” he replied graciously, inclining his head toward her.

They took their leave of their host—Julia glanced around but could not find the couple who had been so busily engaged on the chair by the window—and quit the house. Once again Julia turned down his offer to escort her home. He pressed his case for a while, but finally gave in and hailed a hackney for her. He did not try to kiss her again, but let her go with a brief, courteous brush of his lips upon the back of her hand. Julia climbed into the vehicle, and it started off.

 

Deverel watched the hackney until it turned the corner. Then, with a sigh, he started toward his own home. It was, in truth, an earlier hour than he generally kept when he was in the city, but he found that he had little interest in any of the pursuits with which he could pass the remainder of the night. Without Jessica Nunnelly, the evening was suddenly flat.

It was strange that it should be so, he knew. He was a man quite familiar with women, both of his own class and of the demimonde, and he enjoyed their company. However, he was well past the age of tumbling head over heels for any of them. He was quite capable of finding a new woman attractive and desirable without feeling that he could not rest until she was in his bed. It had been many years since any woman had kept him awake or sent him chasing night after night to the same place in the hope of running into her again. But that was precisely what had happened with this woman. The instant he had seen Jessica Nunnelly across the hallway in Madame Beauclaire's, desire had surged through him. He had wanted, immediately and fervently, to sweep her up in his arms and carry her home to his bed. Amazingly enough, when he talked to her, he found that the fire in his loins continued unabated—even grew.

She was a trifle cool, yet when he kissed her, she had flamed to life. Her dress stamped her as a bird of paradise, yet her carriage and speech would have been worthy of a duchess. She had wit; she was mysterious; she stirred his blood. And he had been consumed since the moment he met her with a deep and lustful desire to make her his.

He could imagine her in his bed, naked and languid with lovemaking, that glorious auburn hair spread out upon his pillow, her blue eyes smiling up at him. Indeed, it was an image that had been plaguing him day and night for days. Now, the thought of being alone with her at Vauxhall Gardens two nights from now filled him with an impatient lust.

He didn't know why she had insisted on meeting him there rather than letting him escort her to the Gardens any more than he could figure out why she had twice refused to allow him to escort her home. He wondered if she had a husband or another wealthy “protector.” The thought filled him with an unaccustomed jealousy. Or it could be something she did to add to her air of mystery—he had to admit that, if that was the case, it certainly worked. He was almost as consumed with curiosity as he was with lust. Where had she come from? Why had he never seen her before? Or at least heard of her!

It seemed extremely unlikely that a diamond of the first water could have been inhabiting the demimonde of London for any length of time and he had not heard of her. On the other hand, she certainly did not seem like a green lass fresh from the country. She was too sophisticated, too poised. She spoke and acted like a woman of gentility. Had he met her anywhere else in more ladylike attire, he would have assumed she was a member of the ton. There had been moments when he was kissing her when her reaction had seemed naive and inexperienced. She had even looked embarrassed when she had glanced around at the free-and-easy scene at Alfred's house. Yet no lady would have appeared in that dress, let alone showed up unaccompanied at Madame Beauclaire's gambling house. He told himself that she must have pretended those inexperienced reactions in an effort to increase his desire; certainly her seemingly artless responses had quickened his pulse.

It occurred to him that unraveling the mystery of Jessica Nunnelly would be a delightful way to occupy his time, and he smiled to himself. He must procure a private box and supper at Vauxhall first thing tomorrow.

 

Julia and Phoebe were in the drawing room conversing with Geoffrey Pemberton the following afternoon when one of the footmen announced the arrival of the Honorable Varian St. Leger and Major Gordon Fitzmaurice.

“Of course,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Show them in.”

Geoffrey let out a groan as the footman left. “I think that I recall some urgent business.”

“Now, Geoffrey…Major Fitzmaurice is very nice,” Julia admonished her cousin.

“The man has the brains of a muffin.”

Even the kindhearted Phoebe had to smile at the description. “Perhaps. But he has always been most kind to me.”

“In that case,” Geoffrey said, nodding graciously toward her, “I suppose we must endure him.” He sighed and looked toward the door, muttering, “Too late to leave now, anyway.”

Two men entered the drawing room. One was Varian St. Leger. Beside him was a squarely built man of military bearing. His hair was brown, his eyes gray, and his countenance was blankly pleasant.

“Varian. Fitz,” Phoebe greeted them with the warmth of old friends. “It is so kind of you to call.”

“Kind?” Varian replied with a smile at the delicate blond woman. “Indeed, it is nothing of the kind. It was purely selfish pleasure that made us come here today, not kindness.”

Geoffrey made a noise deep in his throat, and Varian turned toward him. “Excuse me, Pemberton. Did you say something?”

Geoffrey returned the look blandly. “Indeed, no. I was simply moved to think that you denied yourself pleasure for so long.”

Varian blushed, and Fitzmaurice looked confused.

“Denied yourself what pleasure?” Fitzmaurice asked. “You haven't gone pious on me, have you, Vare?”

“Now, Geoffrey…” Julia began warningly. “How was Varian to know that we were in town? We told no one.”

“I was speaking more about the past three years than the past three weeks.” He raised a languid eyebrow at St. Leger.

“Pemberton is right, Julia. Do not scold him. I have been neglectful of you and Lady Armiger. I should have come to visit more often at Greenwood. I was a coward. I rode over more than once when I was visiting young Thomas, but when I crested that hill above Greenwood, I would begin to think about Selby and—”

“Oh, no, pray do not distress yourself,” Phoebe cried softly. “I understand. Greenwood is full of memories. People are different. The memories, you see, give me comfort, so I am well content to live with them. And Julia and I had each other.”

Phoebe quickly turned the conversation to other channels—a discussion of the London weather, the Season, the latest on-dits. Julia glanced at her cousin after a few minutes and saw that his eyelids were perilously close to shutting.

“What have you ladies been doing in town?” Varian asked after a while.

“Very little, actually,” Phoebe replied. “Shopping. We've taken Gilbert to some of the amusements.”

“Actually,” Julia interjected, “we're here to investigate the embezzlement.”

The room fell into a dead silence. Geoffrey's eyes popped open, and he regarded his cousin with some trepidation.

Finally Varian spoke. “What did you say?”

“The crime Selby was accused of. We are going to prove that he did not do it.”

The two men stared at her blankly.

Fitzmaurice looked confused. “But, I say…didn't he do it?”

Varian sent him an admonishing glance, then turned to Julia. “I am afraid I don't understand. Certainly I could never quite credit that Selby would have done anything wrong, but the evidence—”

“The evidence was made up,” Julia said crisply. “I am sure of it. It is the only explanation. Phoebe and I know that Selby did not do it, which gives us an advantage over everyone else because, you see, we know that for the evidence against Selby to be so strong, it must have been manufactured deliberately to make it seem that Selby did it.”

“I don't understand,” the major complained.

“I am astonished,” Geoffrey said dryly.

“But, Julia…” Varian frowned with concern.

“Don't you see? It's the only logical explanation. You yourself said that you could not imagine Selby doing it.”