Touch of Rogue (9 page)

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Authors: Mia Marlowe

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Touch of Rogue
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In my chamber?
Julianne lifted her skirts and scurried up the rest of the way. Her heart sank when she saw the door was ajar. Her hand was almost on the knob when Jacob pulled her behind him, laying a warning finger to his lips.
Stay back,
he mouthed. Then he gave the door a swift kick and burst into the room, brandishing his walking stick like a cudgel.
“It’s all right,” he said after a few moments. “He’s gone.”
But someone had definitely been there. All the drawers in the chifferobe were turned out, her lacy undergarments tossed about. The bedclothes had been yanked off and dumped in a pile in the middle of the room. The mattress lay askew, half on, half off the bed frame. One of her pillows had even been gutted, its feathery innards lying in downy piles.
“Is your jewelry missing?” Jacob asked.
“Hang the jewelry,” she said, making a beeline for her traveling trunk. The lid was propped open and all the little compartments had been rifled through, but nothing seemed to be missing. Her sapphires set in silver, the emerald choker, the ruby pendant big enough to choke a horse were all where she’d left them. With relief, she found her ivory cameo in the bottom of the trunk. It was yellow with age and the tin setting was thin and misshapen, but she’d had it as long as she could remember. It was the least valuable piece in her collection, but if she had to part with her jewelry to support herself, it would be the last to go.
Clearly the man was after something else. She depressed a hidden lever in the trunk, praying he hadn’t realized it had a false bottom. She eased a bit of ribbon from the tight side joint and gave it a slight tug.
“Oh, thank God.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s still here.”
“What is?” Jacob stood over her to see what she had.
“The manuscript.” She lifted the fragile sheaves of parchment and carried it to the dressing table to make certain it hadn’t been damaged. “Remember I told you provenance was the most important thing about establishing the authenticity of ancient items? This manuscript is what Algernon used to discover the whereabouts of the five daggers.”
“I had no idea you’d brought it to London with you. You should have told me about it,” he said gruffly.
“It might have changed the way you behaved,” she parroted back to him. Careful to touch the delicate sheaves only on the upper corner, she turned the pages of the ornately worked book. It had suffered no new damage.
“Eighth century?” Jacob asked, peering over her shoulder at the fantastical beasts writhing in the margins of the handwritten codex.
“Late seventh, Algernon said.”
She stared at the text, but since it was in Latin, she couldn’t read a word. Given her haphazard education, she counted herself fortunate to be able to read English. But there was an illustration on the front piece that showed six daggers. With typical medieval disregard for perspective or relative size, the blades surrounded a human figure bedecked with light in the guise of gold leaf. For that reason alone, she knew there was another dagger to be found.
“After my husband studied this, he traveled about Britain for a good half year, visiting various sites and odd wayside shrines. When he returned, he had five daggers in his possession.”
“Why only five, do you suppose?” Jacob asked.
She turned the manuscript over to show him that the bindings were frayed and the back cover missing. “The manuscript has been vandalized at some point in the past, split in two. Algernon thought it was divided for the same reason the daggers were separated from each other—to keep them safe from discovery.”
“Has it occurred to you that some things are best left undiscovered?”
She frowned up at him. “It crossed my mind. Especially after Algernon died. But even if I didn’t complete the set of blades, it would not bring him back.” And selling the set would help her and the children of Mrs. Osgood’s school beyond knowing. “I’m hoping Lord Digory or someone else among the Druid Order has the rest of the manuscript. Algernon believed he’d find clues to the whereabouts of the last dagger in the remaining text. Perhaps we could arrange for an exchange or—”
“No,” Jacob said. “It’s important that no one learns you’re in possession of this manuscript.”
She looked around at the disarray of the room. “I suspect someone already knows.”
“Maybe not,” Jacob said. “The fellow who ransacked this place might have been looking for the daggers themselves.”
“But I’m sure Lord Digory knows about the manuscript. He mentioned it in his letters to Algernon and seemed almost as interested in that as he was the blades. If he has the rest of the manuscript, why shouldn’t we try to rejoin the pieces?”
“If they have the second half, wouldn’t they also have been able to find the missing blade?” Jacob asked.
“I don’t know,” Julianne said. “It was only Algernon’s guess that the location of the final blade was in the last half of the book. The text is not straightforward. Maybe the Druids simply haven’t figured out how to decipher the clues.”
“That may not be the problem,” Jacob said, narrowing his gaze at the final page. “The first part of the text is in Latin. This near the end is in some other language.”
It was all curving lines and squiggles to her. “Can you read it?”
“No. It’s not Greek, either, which exhausts my knowledge of ancient languages. But we have more pressing issues at the moment.” He crossed the room to give the bell pull a hard yank. “We’ll need some help to pack you up. It’s not safe for you to remain here. You are removing from this hotel immediately.”
“And where am I going?”
“I have plenty of room in my home.”
“Out of the question.” She didn’t have much of a reputation to begin with. She’d have none at all if she stayed at Jacob’s town house.
He snapped his fingers as an idea struck him. “Then I’ll take you to my cousin, Viola,” he said. “Lady Kilmaine, I mean. You’ll like her. Her husband Quinn is a decent chap as well. They’ll be delighted to have you.”
After the article in the
London Crier
denouncing her as a black widow, Julianne took leave to doubt that.
“Did you have a chance to read all the paper today?” she asked. “If not, I direct your attention to the
on dits
on page three.”
“I saw it.” He snorted. “In case you didn’t notice, they were no more charitable toward my sins than yours. Though I can’t fault them for accuracy, at least on my account.”
“In light of all this, what makes you think your cousin would welcome me?”
Julianne could count on one hand the number of genuine female friends she’d made over the years. There’d been too much jealousy. Too much scrabbling for the same limited means. During her stint in the theatre, they were all jostling for the same role.
Or the same director’s bed.
Once she married Algernon, the women of his class were either benignly neglectful or openly scornful toward her. She wasn’t sure she hadn’t preferred the latter. At least she knew where she stood with the ones who delivered direct cuts. The ones whose voices were soothingly bland while they smiled their thin pasty smiles were the ones who made her knees knock. Arrows that came without warning sliced deepest.
“Viola doesn’t put any stock in such things,” Jacob said. “She’s not the sort to care what others think. And you shouldn’t either.”
Julianne wished she didn’t have to. Thumbing her nose at the world and living exactly as she pleased without fear of what another’s censure might mean—that was real freedom.
That was what the six daggers meant to her.
She picked up the nightshift that the vandal had flung over a chair and tried to fold it. Her hands trembled so, she gave up and stuffed it back into a drawer. Obviously someone else wanted the daggers just as badly as she did. Her belly spiraled downward.
“If someone has been following me and is willing to risk breaking into my room, giving me hospitality might endanger your cousin.”
“Don’t trouble yourself on that account,” Jacob said. “Did I also mention that her husband Quinn is a very handy fellow to have at your back in a tight spot? Lord Kilmaine served with distinction in Her Majesty’s military. You’ll be safe as houses with them.”
When had she ever been safe, really? Her history with men was as dismal as her list of feminine friendships. Nothing lasted. In her most torrid affairs, nothing remained after the flame burned out. Even Algernon, her stalwart rock, had left her in the end.
Jacob would be no different.
He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “What’s this? You’re trembling.” He hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll stay at Viola’s home too just to make certain.”
She leaned into him, her crown tucked beneath his chin. His heartbeat against her cheek was steady, comforting.
She was used to Jacob’s nearness setting her insides aflutter. One look, one glancing touch, and her body leaped into a state of heightened sensual awareness. This calm center of safety was new.
And deceptively dangerous.
No, no, no,
something inside her screamed.
You can’t need anyone like this.
If life had taught her anything, it was that she could only rely on herself. Needing someone was an unacceptable risk.
If she needed Jacob Preston, she didn’t think her heart could take it when he left.
And she knew, eventually, he would.
C
HAPTER
8
 
“T
his gown is simply gorgeous.” Lady Kilmaine ran a slim palm over the rose silk laid out on the bed so the shimmering fabric wouldn’t wrinkle. Jacob’s cousin had not only welcomed Julianne heartily as a guest in her elegant Mayfair home, she’d made every effort to show herself friendly. “You have wonderful taste.”
“That’s Ja—Mr. Preston’s doing,” Julianne said from behind the dressing screen. “He chose the pattern and the material for the gown. I’m afraid I’ve been rusticating in Cornwall for the last few years and couldn’t be trusted to make a stylish choice.”
“Understandable. It’s difficult to remain fashionable while in mourning.” Her hostess cast a sly grin toward her. “So, Lady Cambourne, my cousin is ‘Jacob’ to you, is he?”
Julianne bit her tongue. She couldn’t afford to reveal so much to Lady Kilmaine, even if she did seem friendly. “Please don’t put any stock in that informality. We’ve been spending so much time together, it seemed trifling to insist he call me by my title all the time. It is only natural for me to use his Christian name as well.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that way. I wish you’d call me Viola. Honestly, Lady Kilmaine sounds ... well, rather barbaric, doesn’t it?” She smiled as if they were sharing a private joke at her husband’s expense. “If the title hadn’t come with such a devastatingly handsome man attached, I’d happily chuck it in the river.”
Julianne couldn’t help returning her smile. “Of course, I’ll call you Viola. And thank you again for your hospitality. But you’re wrong about Jacob and me. I know the
ton
believes we’ve formed an attachment, but actually, your cousin is ... my partner in a business endeavor. He’s helping me settle a final matter regarding some of my late husband’s possessions.”
It was strictly the truth and she felt she owed Viola some justification for the time she and Jacob spent together, even though she wasn’t quite sure how to classify their relationship herself. Mention of the old earl should put her further off the scent.
“Hmmm.” Viola’s sharp-eyed gaze narrowed in speculation.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars, of course—” Julianne’s words were cut off as Viola’s abigail cinched her corset so tightly half the air was forced from her lungs. She grabbed another breath to finish her thought. “There’s nothing between Jacob and me but mutual respect and business.”
One of Viola’s brows lifted in a delicate arch. “Quinn and I were ... mutually respectful business partners to start with too.” Then she wandered over to the dressing table. “Oh, these are lovely emeralds.” Viola stretched out her fingers to touch them, but drew back at the last moment.
“Try them on if you like.”
The maid fetched the rose gown and helped Julianne slip it over her head, letting the voluminous skirt fall in shining waves over the crinoline. Then the maid took up the hooking tool and started fastening the long row of small porcelain buttons that followed the line of Julianne’s spine.
“Oh, no, I never wear emeralds,” Viola said. “I usually make do with a ribbon around my neck. If the occasion requires more finery, I never wear any other stone but jet.”
“Mourning jewelry?”
Her hostess shrugged. “I find those stones restful, but I can well imagine you’re tired of them by now. Since your mourning has passed, do you think you’ll wear the ruby this night? It would suit the gown.”
Julianne stepped out from behind the dressing screen and caught her reflection in the long silvered looking glass. Jacob was right when he’d insisted she needed a new gown. She’d packed some of her old ones, but in the two and a half years of her mourning for Algernon, fashion had moved women’s waistlines several inches lower, dipping into a startling low V in front that pointed toward her sex and accentuated it. The skirts had belled out to even wider sweeps. The mirror told her the style of this new gown showed her figure to good advantage.
“Oh, even better.” Viola clapped her hands together. “The gown was lovely on the bed. It’s spectacular on you. Jacob will be utterly helpless.”
“I don’t want him helpless. Honestly.”
“Give us a moment, will you, Maggie?” Viola said to her maid. The girl dropped a curtsey and slipped out the door.
Here comes the truth,
Julianne thought.
Now that the servant is gone, Lady Kilmaine will reveal what she really thinks of having a black widow in her house.
“Jacob is my cousin and I care for him deeply,” Viola began.
“And you don’t think I’m right for him. I understand. That’s why I want to assure you that—”
“No, I think you’re splendid for him,” Viola said. “I’m more worried about him being worthy of you. He does have his ... quirks.”
“Such as?”
“Has he told you about—well, that’s none of my business, I suppose, but I just want to make sure you realize he’s not trying to be difficult. At least not all the time,” Lady Kilmaine said with a grin. “It’s because he wrestles with such a difficult ability.”
A difficult ability. Is that what they call being catnip to the rapacious she-cats of the Upper Crust nowadays?
The
Crier
had made sure everyone knew about Jacob’s “amatory exploits,” but Julianne hadn’t expected his cousin to speak so cavalierly about them. She kept her eyes downcast. It wouldn’t do for Viola to realize Julianne knew full well the extent of Jacob’s considerable abilities. The mere thought of their lovemaking in the coach made her body weep with fresh longing for more of him. “Yes, I’ve ... heard about his ability.”
“Oh, I’m so glad he confided in you.” Viola sank onto the end of the bed. “It’s a heavy burden to bear alone and his sensitivity is more complicated to avoid than my own.” She put a hand to the ribbon at her throat and smiled, as if that explained her odd words. “His gift is a blessing and a curse. I worry for him because it seems this modern world of ours is ‘metals mad.’ Everything is all steel and steam. I don’t see how he bears it.”
Julianne schooled her face not to react to this strange turn in the conversation. Clearly, she’d misunderstood. When Viola mentioned Jacob’s ability, she did not mean his bed skills.
“On the one hand, using his gift opens up a world of information not easy to obtain by other means,” Viola said with an upraised palm. She lifted the other to suggest a tipping scale. “But nothing comes without a price.”
“A price?” What on earth was she talking about?
“You don’t know about the sick headaches then? How like a man.” Viola rolled her eyes. “Never wanting to show weakness.”
“Is Jacob ill?” He seemed in robust health. Too robust, if his body’s reaction to her each time they were alone together was any indication.
Viola’s brows drew together and she cocked her head to the side. “Well, it appears I’ve said either too little or too much. So he’s careful to hide the headaches.”
She must know about Jacob’s opium use,
Julianne reasoned. If he was plagued with headaches, perhaps that excused an occasional bleary-eyed walk through the poppies. Barely. Laudanum was responsible for so much of the pain in Julianne’s past, it was hard for her to justify its use at all. “As far as I know, he’s only used laudanum once since we met.”
“Only once? He’s doing amazingly well, but then he’s always been strong. I managed to keep away from opiates myself, but as I said, the source of my sensitivity is more easily avoided. If I hadn’t discovered how jet and silver could act as a shield for me, I, too, might eventually have relied on laudanum to control the adverse effects of my gift.”
Gift. Sensitivity. Shield.
Viola didn’t appear mad. Her wide hazel eyes were clear and untroubled, but her words made no sense at all.
The hall clock on the lower level chimed the hour.
“Oh, goodness, I’ve kept you talking when you need to finish getting ready. I’ll send Maggie back in to dress your hair, shall I?” Before Julianne could answer, Viola hugged her impulsively. “I’m so very glad my rogue of a cousin has found someone like you.”
Lady Kilmaine was gone before Julianne could respond. The viscountess’s kindness disarmed her. The bizarre conversation disturbed her. And the idea that Jacob had some sort of malady brought on by a mysterious gift dismayed her beyond words.
 
Half an hour later, Julianne descended the stairs to the foyer where Jacob was waiting. He didn’t hear her soft tread, so she was able to look her fill of him without being caught doing so. She drank him in, as if he were some deliciously decadent and frothy syllabub. Her insides fizzed at the sight of him.
The man was an eyeful in street clothes. In formal attire, he was blinding. The cut of his dark frock coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The gray brocade vest echoed the gray of his dark-lashed eyes, and flashed with the same glinting light. The studs on his collar were the same shiny polished metal as the head of his walking stick. From his artfully tousled mane of chestnut hair to the tips of his polished hessians, Jacob Preston was the picture of sartorial splendor.
He didn’t look like a man with a mysterious, debilitating “gift.” Lady Kilmaine must be mistaken.
When he heard her approach and looked up, his gaze seared her with masculine approval. She nearly melted into a puddle on the landing. Somehow, she managed to descend the rest of the stairs without tripping.
“I’d tell you you’re ravishing, Julianne,” he murmured as he slipped a velvet cloak over her shoulders, “but I fear I’d give myself ideas.”
The way her belly cavorted about, her body would welcome a good ravishing from him.
He popped a beaver top hat on his head, emphasizing his already considerable height, and placed a hand on the small of her back to shepherd her out the door. Even through the layers of her cloak, gown, and corset, her spine welcomed that proprietary touch.
“Oh, an enclosed coach,” she said warily, as he handed her into the equipage he’d hired for the evening. It was one thing to admire a fine looking man and even revel in the way her body surged with life in his company. It was another to be in such a tempting situation with him. “I thought we’d agreed on using barouches.”
“It’s too cool for an open air drive now and will be even colder by the time we return,” he said as he climbed in behind her. He rapped on the ceiling and they lurched forward. “Alas! Our destination is too close for a reprise of our last enclosed coach ride. Unless, of course, you fancy a few trips around the park again.”
Julianne scooted as far as she could toward the opposite side of the small coach. She succeeded in creating only a finger-width of space between them.
“Regardless of how close or far we are from our destination, you and I decided not to give in to our baser natures again,” she said, tight-lipped.
“You mean
you
decided not to,” Jacob said. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
He took her hand between his. Even though their skin was separated by his soft kidskin and her silk gloves, her body remembered his touch in exquisite detail. When his fingertip slipped into one of the eyelets at her wrist, the thin skin there rioted in pleasure. He undid the pearl button over her pulse point and brought her wrist to his lips.
“Can you honestly tell me that coach ride hasn’t crossed your mind?”
After he kissed her wrist softly, he flicked his tongue over the small patch of exposed skin. Then his warm breath feathered across it.
Pleasure rippled up her arm.
“I remember every detail,” Jacob said. “I remember how your skin smells, how soft your breasts are, how responsive. Did you know your nipples are the exact color of the flesh of a pomegranate? And ever so much sweeter between my lips.”
Under her heavy boning, her nipples contracted into tight buds. He was still stroking her wrist in small circles, but she seemed to feel his fingertips brushing her sensitive breasts instead.
“When I can’t sleep, I think about you by night, Julianne. I imagine undoing every bit of lacing, popping every button, and laying you out naked on my bed.” His voice rustled over her like a piece of worn velvet, soft and decadent. “Would you like to know what I’d do then?”
She didn’t have enough breath to answer, so she simply shook her head.
He ignored her silent no.
“I’d touch you very slowly, every bit of you, front and back. Every hill. Every valley.”
His finger still massaged her wrist, but now she seemed to feel his touch along each rib, over the dimples of her spine down to tease slow circles above the crevice of her buttocks. She scarcely noticed that he’d slipped another button from its loop to expose more of her inner forearm.
“Then I’d kiss you,” he said.
He brought her wrist to his mouth again and this time, he sucked the bit of charged flesh. Now she imagined his hand dipping between her legs to find her swollen, wet and ready for him. She closed her eyes in bliss.

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