Nicole Jordan (27 page)

He reached up to fondle a sweetly-rounded breast. “It doesn’t have to end, Julienne. You can remain here with me.”

“If I did, I would no longer be employed.”

“Your employment would be to provide me companionship.”

She smiled wryly against his shoulder. “Become your mistress, you mean. But then you would win the wager.”

“So?”

Her laughter was muted, shielding the wistful train of her thoughts.

After this magical time with Dare, it would be incredibly difficult to return to her daily life, she knew. During the past few days, as pleasure played upon pleasure, she had found herself pretending that nothing had ever come between them. Worse, she’d found herself thinking of what might have been, dreaming of what the future could hold.

For so long she had refused to dream. But locked in Dare’s arms like this, their heartbeats mingling, she could let her imagination wander freely. She could picture herself staying with him, sharing this sweet ecstasy, lovers forever.

For a moment, Julienne closed her eyes, letting that vision fill the emptiness within her. Dare was the only man she had ever wanted, ever loved. The only man to bring her happiness. She had loved him so deeply….

But that happiness had been shattered long ago. And this magical interlude had to end.

It was foolish to think it could go on. Foolish to hope for anything more. They had even less of a future together now than they’d had seven years ago. The obstacles for an exalted nobleman and a simple shopkeeper were now magnified a dozen times over. Dare could never take her for his wife. She was a notorious actress, no longer the virginal innocent she’d been when she first met him. And after all that had happened between them, the bitterness and pain…

Dare wanted her for his mistress, she had no doubt, but she would never agree to that role. It would give him too much power over her. Financially and, even more damning, emotionally. In such a dependent relationship, she would be too defenseless; it would be too easy to let herself fall in love with him again.

Julienne silently shook her head. She understood clearly the lunacy of handing her heart to a gazetted rake who was relentlessly set on breaking it.

Even so, she thought wistfully as her lips nuzzled Dare’s sleek, wet skin, she still wanted to dream.

Chapter

Thirteen

Returning to London proved to be a dose of cold reality for Julienne. Indeed, if not for her career, she might have remained away a good deal longer. She worried that in his determination to continue the search for Caliban, Dare would make himself a target and put himself in grave danger.

Moreover, it required all of her acting skills to resume her public game of seduction with him and pretend to be unaffected by the passionate interlude they had shared.

The current gossip about them in the scandal sheets was even more pronounced. Their disappearance from Newmarket had been particularly noted, since one of Dare’s colts had won the 2000 Guineas race and he was nowhere to be found. The speculation that he had gone into seclusion with London’s brightest Jewel was the talk of the town.

Julienne refused to confirm or deny the reports with her sulking admirers, but she was required to satisfy Solange’s curiosity when her friend called at her lodgings immediately after her return.

“And so?” the Frenchwoman demanded, settling herself in a chair in the cheerless parlor. “Was the Prince of Pleasure as marvelously wicked as legend holds?”

Absurdly Julienne felt herself flushing. “The tales of his prowess were not exaggerated, I admit.”

“
Tiens!
Does that mean you will agree to be his
chère amie
?”

“Not at all. I have no intention of letting him win our wager.”

Solange frowned. “Perhaps you are wise. Wolverton is such a prime catch. How do the
anglais
say it…if you ‘play your cards well’? I begin to wonder if you should hold out for marriage.”

Julienne’s eyebrows shot up scornfully at the mere suggestion. “A marquess would never in this world wed a mere actress.”

“It has been done before. And I should think a nobleman of his scandalous ilk would not be put off by a bride with a trifle notoriety of her own.”

But not one he despised for betraying him, Julienne reflected silently.

“If he truly wished to wed you—”

“It is out of the question,” Julienne declared, dismissing the subject altogether. She was reluctant to reveal even to her friend her former association with Dare. She would rather forget everything about that devastating summer.

Regrettably, however, Julienne feared that was beyond her ability now, for she had encountered the nightmare from her past at Newmarket.

Ivers. She dreaded the very thought of him. But she suspected she would be forced to deal with him sooner or later. He was in London, she knew, for Lord Ridingham had spotted him at one of the popular sporting gentlemen’s hotels.

Everywhere she went she kept a nervous watch out for Ivers, involuntarily starting at shadows despite her determination to conquer her fear. She kept her knife near to hand, strapped to her wrist. And when she returned home from the theater late at night, she always made certain she had an escort, either the footman Dare had provided for her physical protection or one of her admirers.

She stayed close to Riddingham in particular, for she felt safest with him. And Riddingham wasn’t inclined to ask unwanted questions.

Oddly she found herself relieved that Dare had made himself scarce following their return from Berkshire. She couldn’t possibly ask him to defend her from Ivers for fear of his explosive jealousy.

It would have surprised her to learn that Dare was keeping his distance because he thought it wiser. After their intense interlude at his pleasure house, he needed to determine how best to deal with Julienne. For weeks now his feelings for her had taken on the dark strains of obsession, and he was struggling with the problem of how to extricate himself—if that was even possible.

In his more rational moments, Dare understood what course he should take: he needed to relinquish this haunting fantasy of love, the intense need simply to have Julienne near.

Loving her defied all reason, he knew. The only way to master his craving for her was to absent himself.

He was considering leaving town when he received an urgent summons from Lucian. Even though it was barely noon, Dare immediately called at the Wycliff residence and found his friend at work in his study.

“Why,” Lucian asked at once, “did you send me that cryptic message all the way from Newmarket last week to ask about the Earl of Ivers?”

Dare settled himself on the couch. “Because I hadn’t seen him in well over a year, and I thought it odd that he showed up on my heels so soon after I advertised my search for Caliban.”

“Well, it seems there is at least a possible connection between Ivers and the companion’s murder. The man I installed at the Castlereagh household found a witness who recognized Ivers as the lover Alice Watson had been secretly meeting. And he uncovered further proof that Ivers has recently been spying on Lady Castlereagh’s doings—paying the servants to report to him.”

The tall, dark-haired stranger
. Dare frowned at the implication. “You don’t think Ivers could be Caliban, do you? I’ve known him since I was in short coats—his family seat is barely a dozen miles from Wolverton Hall—and while he might be capable of killing, I wouldn’t think him cunning enough to be a criminal mastermind.”

Thoughtfully Lucian shook his head. “I tend to concur, although he may be ruthless enough. Last year one of his former mistresses was mysteriously disfigured after she sent Ivers packing in favor of a new, wealthier protector who could afford her extravagances. And it’s common knowledge that he has been flirting with penury of late. Not only does he owe half the tradesmen in town, but he’s been unable to repay his debts of honor. There are rumors he may be asked to leave his club. It’s possible he is in Caliban’s employ for the income, or simply because he’s being blackmailed, like so many other of Caliban’s victims.”

“What of Sir Stephen Ormsby and Martin Perrine?” Dare asked. “Did you discover any leads that might suggest either of them are involved?”

“I had them both investigated as you suggested,” Lucian replied, “and found nothing more to incriminate Ormsby. Perrine, we’re now certain, was in town at the time of the companion’s death, and also in January when our diplomat was killed. But there is no direct evidence linking him to either murder. Still, Caliban has always been extremely careful to cover his trail. His pattern is to remain behind the scenes while his victims execute his orders. In any event, this is the first real break we’ve had in the case—and we have you to thank for it.”

Dare remained silent for a moment while he debated how much to reveal about his knowledge of their chief suspect. Finally he decided it would be wisest to tell Lucian everything he knew on the off chance that there was a connection between events. “Ivers has a past relationship with Julienne Laurent,” Dare said in a toneless voice.

“Oh?” Lucian responded curiously.

“They were lovers.”

Lucian’s eyebrow rose. “The reason for your broken betrothal, I gather?”

“Yes. So admittedly I have a vested interest in wanting revenge. I may not be the ideal candidate to pursue Ivers, since my judgment may be impaired, but I’ve been thinking of returning to Kent for a few days. I haven’t visited the ancestral pile since Christmas. If you like, I could see what I can discover about him.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Lucian commented. “Meanwhile I intend to keep my agents hard on his trail. Ivers is putting up at Limmer’s Hotel for now, but if he should be evicted, he could go to ground and be impossible to find.”

Dare left London that afternoon and arrived in Kent late at night, startling his household staff. The Wolverton principal seat was a vast estate with a large, elegant brick manor and an attractive park surrounded by numerous tenant farms and orchards. Dare rarely visited, for it held such unpleasant memories for him.

It was too late to begin inquiries tonight, but he intended to question his servants first thing in the morning, starting with his grandfather’s elderly secretary. If anyone would know about the neighboring peers, it would be Samuel Butner. Butner had been privy to all the late marquess’s business affairs, and while he’d been pensioned off when Dare succeeded to the title, he still lived in the manor as he had for the past thirty-odd years.

Too weary and restless to sleep after his long journey, Dare found himself in the comfortable library, drinking an excessive quantity of his late grandfather’s excellent brandy, remembering the last time they had been together in this particular room.

It was the third day of their argument over Dare’s marriage plans. Robert North, the sixth Marquess of Wolverton, had been enraged to the point of apoplexy because his grandson and heir refused once again to call off his betrothal to the scheming French jade.

“She has duped you, you damned young fool! She only wants you for your fortune. She will bleed you dry!”

“You are entirely mistaken, Grandfather,” Dare responded tightly, barely keeping his own temper in check out of respect for his relative’s advanced age and position as host. This was the marquess’s house, after all.

“I won’t stand for it, do you hear me? I will disown you before I allow one drop of her blood to taint our line!”

“I have told you more than once, your threat of disinheritance holds no weight with me,” Dare reminded him.

“Your jade is not as sanguine about you losing your inheritance. I think you will find her opinion of you greatly changed now that she knows she won’t get a penny of my fortune.”

Dare’s eyes narrowed. “You spoke to Julienne?”

His grandfather’s craggy brows knitted together in a scowl. “I made certain she understands the consequences of your insupportable marriage.”

For an instant Dare thought back to his last tryst with Julienne, remembering her reluctance to elope with him. But she hadn’t known then of his grandfather’s threat to disown him, for he hadn’t told her. Dare shook his head. “She is not interested in your fortune.”

“The devil she isn’t!” The marquess’s voice rose again to the level of a shout. “Hell and damnation, lad, don’t you see? You are letting your cock rule you!”

“No, Grandfather. For once I am letting my heart rule.”

A dark and furious flush suffused the old man’s cheekbones, but he made a visible effort at restraint. “I tell you, you are a blind fool. That Laurent trollop has been cuckolding you for months now with her lover. Ivers shared her bed long before you began sniffing at her skirts.”

Dare stiffened with instinctive jealousy. Ivers’s attentions to Julienne had always made him grind his teeth. But the idea of her cuckolding him was laughable.

At Dare’s scoffing sound, his grandfather waved an accusing finger at the library window, in the direction of the earl’s nearby estate. “Ask Ivers if you don’t believe me.”

Dare returned a wintery smile. “You will have to come up with a better tale than that if you expect to turn me against her.”

Giving a growl of pure rage, Lord Wolverton shook his gnarled fist. “How about this tale then? Your jade is guilty of treason. I will see her in prison or worse if you try to wed her.”

A sudden chill swept through Dare. His grandfather was powerful and influential enough to make good such a threat if he wished to.

When Dare hesitated, the marquess’s rheumy gaze narrowed with malice. “They hanged two English sailors from Whitstable last month for treason. Your whore was their accomplice.”

“You know damned well that is a lie.”

“I know nothing of the kind! Those bloody émigrés are always short of funds and willing to sell their loyalty for gain. I could easily find proof of your tart’s guilt.”

Dare’s hands momentarily clenched, but he kept his voice under tight control when he issued his own warning. “You would be ill-advised to threaten her with harm, old man.”