Nicole Jordan (12 page)

Julienne felt a sharp twinge of dismay as she wondered yet again how she could possibly defend herself against Dare with her own meager resources.

She was glad when the ladies repaired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their port, but her respite was short-lived since the gentlemen soon joined them.

When someone suggested they have some music, Julienne found herself approached by Lord Riddingham. “You sing like an angel, Miss Laurent. Will you do us the honor?”

She glanced up at Dare, who had moved to stand near her chair. He had offered her a huge sum to attend his house party, but they hadn’t actually discussed the terms of her employment.

Resuming her assigned role, she gave him a provocative smile. “So, Lord Wolverton, am I to sing for my supper?” she asked, a challenging edge to her voice.

“Not unless you wish to.”

“I believe I shall decline then. I prefer to devote my energies to winning our wager.”

Dare’s mouth curved in his notorious, wicked grin. “I look forward to your performance with great anticipation.”

Riddingham looked from her to Dare, evidently feeling the sudden sexual tension that crackled between the two of them, and hastened to intervene. “It is just as well, I expect. None of the ladies wish to be outshone by you, Miss Laurent.”

Several of the ladies did indeed look relieved when Julienne chose to play cards. They took turns performing on the pianoforte and singing, while the rest of the company made up several tables of whist and one of piquet.

That dinner set the tone for the house party’s evening entertainments, but during the next few days, numerous other amusements were offered for their pleasure: riding, playing pall-mall and battledore on the lawns, strolling through the magnificent gardens, and an historical excursion to the local ancient hill forts and shafts where flint arrowheads were once mined.

The gentlemen in particular were anxious to view Dare’s prime horseflesh and rose early each morning to watch his racers at their training gallops. They were preparing for the 2000 Guineas to be run at Newmarket in May and the Derby at Epsom Downs in early June.

The first half of the week, Julienne did her best to maintain her public battle with Dare but tried never to be alone with him, determined to avoid repeating the regrettable sexual intimacy of their last private encounter.

Yet evading him proved surprisingly easy. He performed his duties as host with impeccable grace and charm. And to the delight of his guests, he flirted with her outrageously, his rakish wit keeping Julienne constantly on her toes. But he made no effort to seduce her or lure her into seclusion as she expected.

His strategy bewildered her a little. She didn’t believe for one moment that he had given up the chase. Dare was a master of subtle manipulation. She suspected he meant to lull her into a false sense of security—but if so, it wasn’t working. His delay merely heightened her tension.

She felt on edge in Dare’s presence and far too aware of the heat that shimmered in her veins at his merest glance. And when he was absent, she found her heart beating in anticipation of seeing him again. Worse were the charged emotions that kept surfacing between them at the least instigation.

When the party partook of an alfresco picnic on Monday, Julienne couldn’t help contrasting the formality of it with the simple picnics she had once enjoyed with Dare. Nor could she forget the scorching memories of the last time they had dined out-of-doors together, when Dare had been far more interested in devouring her skin than the fare.

Now a long table had been set up by servants beneath a beech tree and covered with a pristine white cloth, while footmen served numerous delicacies on china plates and wine from crystal goblets. The blankets upon which the guests lounged seemed the only remnants of those days.

Except perhaps Dare himself. His hair shone with the same flaxen brilliance in the sunshine, his smile was just as wicked when he laughed, his gaze just as compelling.

She found that gaze fixed on her when Solange complimented him on the magnificence of his estate.

“I confess,” he replied with a bow of acknowledgement, “I am rather fond of it myself. I purchased the property some years ago when I was looking to set up my racing stables. I much prefer this residence to the family seat I inherited from my grandfather. Wolverton Hall holds several unpleasant memories for me…particularly of the last summer I was there.”

His gaze locked with Julienne’s for a moment, and she felt herself wince at his unspoken accusation.

Her first defensive thought was that Dare would never have inherited his grandfather’s estate if she had eloped with him as he’d asked her to. But it hurt too much to remember that magical summer that had ended in such devastation for her.

Pasting a smile on her face, Julienne rose abruptly. “I can certainly understand the appeal of this lovely setting.” She gestured toward the stream that meandered nearby. “I wonder if there are any fish to be seen. Lord Riddingham, would you be so kind as to escort me there?”

She took the viscount’s proffered arm, yet she couldn’t dismiss Dare so easily. She was much too conscious of his magnetism and his studied neglect of her. For the remainder of the afternoon, he gave his undivided attention to his other guests.

And the ladies at least responded with delight. Julienne watched his performance with growing frustration.

It irked her, the way he tantalized all the females in the party with his careless, seductive charm. And the way they all fawned over him in return. Yet she couldn’t fault them. Dare North was the most seductive, fascinating man she had ever known, and she found herself wishing she could be the focus of his devout attention instead of all the others—

When she suddenly realized the direction of her thoughts, Julienne scolded herself furiously. She would not be jealous of his lovers or she would go mad.

It was the following day when she intentionally violated her own plan to avoid him in private. The company went riding that afternoon, and during their return, her horse threw a shoe and came up lame. Julienne dismounted at once, as did Dare. Upon inspecting the animal’s leg and hoof, he pronounced the injury merely a bruised sole and told the party to ride on ahead while he led the mare home.

When Julienne hesitated, Riddingham offered to let her ride double with him, but Dare intervened quickly, offering his mount.

She allowed Dare to lift her up on his horse but then changed her mind, saying that she disliked abandoning Lord Wolverton.

When Riddingham started to argue, she shook her head gently. “No, please, Hugh, go on ahead. I will come to no harm. I trust Lord Wolverton can act the gentleman for a brief while. And I have something I wish to say to him, in any case.”

When the party obliged, leaving them alone, she felt Dare’s gaze settle on her.

“Hugh, is it? So you’re on a first-name basis with Riddingham?”

Julienne shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “We have had an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted over the past few days.”

“I can’t fathom why you spend so much of your time with him when you would enjoy yourself far more with me.”

“That is certainly a matter for debate.”

Dare didn’t reply to her jibe at first but instead coaxed the injured horse forward with a flow of soothing words. Julienne brought her mount alongside, matching the mare’s slow, painful steps, but listened with dismay. Dare might have been speaking to a lover with his velvet-edged voice. In fact, she could remember him using precisely that tone with her during a soul-wrenching bout of passion as he cooled the flames and then urged her on to even greater heights.

When after a moment he turned his attention from the injured mare and glanced up at her, she was certain he saw the flush on her cheeks.

“At last,” he said in a casual tone. “I am gratified finally to have you to myself. If I’d known all it would take was a lame horse, I might have sacrificed one of my beasts sooner. I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to steal you away from your devotees.” His gaze slid down her body. Her petticoats were hiked up, exposing a good deal of leg, since she was riding astride instead of sidesaddle. “I can’t fault them. Every man wants to bask in your beauty.”

“I don’t care to hear your empty flattery, my lord,” Julienne replied as she stirred uneasily in the saddle.

Dare apparently noticed her discomfort. “Would you prefer to walk?”

“Actually, I would. I have never been much of a horsewoman.”

“I remember. But you are safer up there, out of reach.” He let his remark sink in before adding, “So what did you wish to say to me that isn’t fit for the ears of my guests?”

“I should like to know what you are up to.”

“What do you mean?”

Julienne looked down at him in appraisal. “You went to a great deal of trouble and expense to coerce me here, and yet you have made no attempts at seduction since my arrival. I feel like a mouse under the cat’s paw, waiting to be devoured.”

“And here I thought I deserved some credit for showing restraint and not making a nuisance of myself.” He raised an eyebrow. “What? Did you expect I would bring you here and assault you? That I would have my wicked way with you in front of all my guests?”

“I certainly would not put it past you.”

Dare smiled that celebrated smile, devastating and suggestive. “My deepest apologies if you are feeling neglected,
chérie
. If you will climb down from that horse, I will be most happy to apply my best efforts at seduction.”

She wanted to deny that she was feeling neglected, but absurdly it was true. She would tread over hot coals, however, before she allowed Dare to know it. “I don’t wish you to seduce me. It is simply that I don’t trust you. I think you are planning something, and I would like to know what it is.”

At her remark about trust, his mouth tightened momentarily, making Julienne regret her choice of words.

Taking a steadying breath, she tempered her complaint. “You have comported yourself as such a gentleman recently that I scarcely recognize you. I keep waiting for you to show your true colors. I thought you intended to win our wager.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with infuriating smugness. “But allow me to point out that you’ve made no significant effort to win our wager yourself. What has stopped you? It would take little more than a glance to have me drooling at your feet like those other dim-witted saps. You could have me quaking with just a touch.”

The image of Dare shuddering in her arms was wholly arousing and infinitely disturbing, and so was his next remark.

“What do you say that I visit your rooms tonight? We could take up where we left off two weeks ago, but this time we would enjoy a comfortable bed. I assure you, it would vastly improve my mood. I’m finding that celibacy doesn’t agree with me in the slightest. It not only has a gravely deleterious effect on my spirits but on my body as well. I feel as if I’m on fire all the time.”

Strangely, Julienne felt a measure of relief at his offer.
This
was the Dare North she knew—lustful, seductive, and oh so tempting. But no matter how he had just bolstered her flagging self-esteem with his unexpected admissions, she didn’t intend to repeat her mistake of two weeks ago by letting him make love to her.

“Do you know, I believe I will ride on ahead after all,” she observed, gathering the reins.

“Coward,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice.

“Not at all,” Julienne retorted in a dulcet tone. “I am merely weary of listening to your tedious propositions.”

As she spurred her mount forward, she heard Dare’s soft laughter following her. But whatever guilt she might have felt for abandoning him dissipated when shortly she passed a groom leading a fresh horse for him.

When she arrived at his residence, she was told by the august butler that the other guests had gathered in the drawing room for tea. Julienne went upstairs to her bedchamber to change her riding habit, but once she had done so, she suddenly found herself reluctant to face the company.

Flinging herself on her bed, she lay staring up at the canopy overhead, feeling restless and dissatisfied and more melancholy than she had any right to feel. It dismayed her how Dare could hold such power over her, no matter what he said or did.

After another quarter hour, however, she finally rose and left her bedchamber, intending to go below to join the company.

She froze when she spied Dare farther down the corridor. He was still in his riding clothes, and he had just emerged from a bedchamber that was not his own.

Dare froze as well. He had expected Julienne to be with the others. He’d paid the Covent Garden actress Fanny Upcott to keep Riddingham occupied while he searched the viscount’s room, looking for any incriminating evidence. It was unfortunate that Julienne had discovered him in the act.

Dare set his jaw, knowing he could either try to bluff his way out or risk telling her the truth.

Still weighing the decision, he moved toward her.

“I suppose you have a good reason for being in Lord Riddingham’s bedchamber?” she remarked when he reached her.

Meeting her puzzled gaze, he raised an eyebrow. “How do you know which bedchamber belongs to Riddingham?”

“Because I’ve seen him entering it before. And pray don’t think to avoid my question by changing the subject. What were you doing in there? You are far too wealthy to steal his possessions.” When Dare hesitated, Julienne added tartly, “I doubt you want me to tell him that you have been rifling through his belongings.”

It was clearly a threat, one that rankled Dare. Thinking to intimidate her, he stepped closer and braced one hand on the wall behind Julienne, deliberately crowding her. He could feel her soft bosom against his chest, her thighs pressed hard against his, and the sudden ache in his loins grew and spread to the rest of his body. Even more deliberately he reached up to splay his hand between her breasts and felt her heart jump against his palm.

Julienne did indeed feel intimidated. The neckline of her afternoon gown was not immodestly low, but she deplored the intensely wicked sensation of Dare’s warm hand through the fabric, of his fingers brushing her skin above the bodice.